found His Majesty in a very ill humor, seated on an armchair, beating his boot with the handle of his whip. This, however, did not prevent his asking, with the greatest coolness, after His Majesty’s health.
“Bad, Monsieur, bad!” replied the king; “I am bored.”
This was, in fact, the worst complaint of Louis XIII , who would sometimes take one of his courtiers to a window and say, “Monsieur So-and-so, let us weary ourselves together.”
“How! Your Majesty is bored? Have you not enjoyed the pleasures of the chase today?”
“A fine pleasure, indeed, Monsieur! Upon my soul, everything degenerates; and I don’t know whether it is the game which leaves no scent, or the dogs that have no noses. We started a stag of ten branches. We chased him for six hours, and when he was near being taken—when St. Simon was already putting his horn to his mouth to sound the halali —crack,