Thank you for the music: Signal is Red

To be honest, before leaving on this assignment, all I knew of Cardinal Richelieu was the rather unflattering portrait of Alexandre Dumas'

"The Three Musketeers". Although I have been completely unable to catch more than a distant glimpse of the great man however, it seems my prejudice was entirely without foundation. Far from being the underhanded, scheming and ruthless politician of popular fiction, the various people I have spoken to have contributed to a much more charismatic picture.
While he is undoubtedly a master of political strategy, he is not a politician. He may be decisive and visionary, but it is not entirely fair to describe him as ruthless. And rather than underhanded, perhaps he should best be described as discreet. And I don't say these things as some wretched prisoner, hoping for mercy and terrified by the looming shadow of the Inquisition, but as an independent observer, visiting the age momentarily to learn what I can, and retrieve what seems most valuable to future ages. While my primary mission is to preserve examples of some of the best music ever recorded in codified form, I think I am also justified in paying tribute to his Eminence, and in my small way, remedying the injustice of his fictional portrait.
Sadly, none of my usual subterfuges have succeeded in gaining me access to the Cardinal, but I was fortunate enough to encounter a couple of musicians, members of an ensemble engaged to play for one of the Cardinal's entertainments at the Palais Richelieu, at one of the taverns nearby. And it is to these gentlemen that I am indebted for a rather hasty guided tour of the Palais during an interruption to their rehearsals.
Two things struck me during my tour; firstly, his Eminence is not only a very intelligent and capable statesman, but also a man of deeply-felt artistic sensibilities. His collection of works of art must surely be one of the finest in Europe, and, according to my guides, he collects not simply for the beauty of the paintings themselves, but for the ideas which they represent. Take for example the portrait of Robert Arnauld d'Andilly with his long gray hair and velvety black cloak. He might look, for all the world like some frail old grandma, but the bright eyes, and the firm grip with which he holds the scroll tell a very different story. This minister of finance for the nation of France is not a man to be trifled with, and I can quite understand how even Marie de Medicis hesitates to challenge him.

The Vow of Louis XIII skilfully combines the twin allegiances of his Eminence in a single painting, showing the King as he offers his crown and scepter to the dead Christ and the Virgin. And it is to the King that Richelieu owes his position as cardinal, for it was Louis XIII who nominated him for the scarlet robes nine years previous to my visit.
Over a couple of carefully nursed glasses of wine, I manage to learn that my host, Signor Paulo Vasari is an Italian musician in France to fulfil a contract to perform, and compose music for the Comte de Soissons, Louis de Bourbon. It's worth keeping in mind that in this period, the idea of arranging a piece of music, that is, of taking someone else's tune and using it in a new way, is taken for granted, so there is no meaningful distinction between a composer as someone who creates something entirely novel, and someone who cherry-picks the best of somebody else's output to express it a little differently.
I am indebted also, to Signor Vasari, for shedding some light on Richelieu's reputation as a zero-tolerance law enforcement officer; he tells me that before Richelieu was given his responsibility under the King, France was a notorious place not only for petty criminality, but for a corruption that was threatening to rot the state from within. If Richelieu's style of justice is sometimes forthright and brutal, it has brought about some far-reaching reconsiderations of the positions and liberties which momentarily threatened the throne of France.
Before we part company, Paulo is flattered that I insist on copying from his collection of songs and dances brought as he says "with my cap and my candle" from Italy, an entertaining Spanish dance. It seems that in court circles adaptations of real rustic dances are gaining popularity in contrast to the rather more refined, and classically influenced pastoral ballets of the previous generation.