CHAPTER 11
Mazarin's Policy
Instead of the hesitation with which he had accosted the
cardinal a quarter of an hour before, there might be read in
the eyes of the young king that will against which a
struggle might be maintained, and which might be crushed by
its own impotence, but which, at least, would preserve, like
a wound in the depth of the heart, the remembrance of its
defeat.
"This time, my lord cardinal, we have to deal with something
more easily found than a million."
"Do you think so, sire?" said Mazarin, looking at the king
with that penetrating eye which was accustomed to read to
the bottom of hearts.
"Yes, I think so; and when you know the object of my request
---- "
"And do you think I do not know it, sire?"
"You know what remains for me to say to you?"
"Listen, sire; these are King Charles's own words ---- "
"Oh, impossible!"
"Listen. `And if that miserly, beggarly Italian,' said he
---- "
"My lord cardinal!"
"That is the sense, if not the words. Eh! Good heavens! I
wish him no ill on that account, one is biased by his
passions. He said to you: `If that vile Italian refuses the
million we ask of him, sire, -- if we are forced, for want
of money, to renounce diplomacy, well, then, we will ask him
to grant us five hundred gentlemen.'"
The king started, for the cardinal was only mistaken in the
number.
"Is not that it, sire?" cried the minister, with a
triumphant accent. "And then he added some fine words: he
said, `I have friends on the other side of the channel, and
these friends only want a leader and a banner. When they see
me, when they behold the banner of France, they will rally
round me, for they will comprehend that I have your support.
The colors of the French uniform will be worth as much to me
as the million M. de Mazarin refuses us,' -- for he was
pretty well assured I should refuse him that million. -- `I
shall conquer with these five hundred gentlemen, sire, and
all the honor will be yours.' Now, that is what he said, or
to that purpose, was it not? -- turning those plain words
into brilliant metaphors and pompous images, for they are
fine talkers in that family! The father talked even on the
scaffold."
The perspiration of shame stood upon the brow of Louis. He
felt that it was inconsistent with his dignity to hear his
brother thus insulted, but he did not yet know how to act
with him to whom every one yielded, even his mother. At last
he made an effort.
"But," said he, "my lord cardinal, it is not five hundred
men, it is only two hundred."
"Well, but you see I guessed what he wanted."
"I never denied that you had a penetrating eye, and that was
why I thought you would not refuse my brother Charles a
thing so simple and so easy to grant him as what I ask of
you in his name, my lord cardinal, or rather in my own."
"Sire," said Mazarin, "I have studied policy thirty years;
first, under the auspices of M. le Cardinal de Richelieu;
and then alone. This policy has not always been over-honest,
it must be allowed, but it has never been unskillful. Now
that which is proposed to your majesty is dishonest and
unskillful at the same time."
"Dishonest, monsieur!"
"Sire, you entered into a treaty with Cromwell."
"Yes, and in that very treaty Cromwell signed his name above
mine."
"Why did you sign yours so low down, sire? Cromwell found a
good place, and he took it; that was his custom. I return,
then, to M. Cromwell. You have a treaty with him, that is to
say, with England, since when you signed that treaty M.
Cromwell was England."
"M. Cromwell is dead."
"Do you think so, sire?"
"No doubt he is, since his son Richard has succeeded him,
and has abdicated."
"Yes, that is it exactly. Richard inherited after the death
of his father, and England at the abdication of Richard. The
treaty formed part of the inheritance, whether in the hands
of M. Richard or in the hands of England. The treaty is,
then, still as good, as valid as ever. Why should you evade
it, sire? What is changed? Charles wants to-day what we were
not willing to grant him ten years ago; but that was
foreseen and provided against. You are the ally of England,
sire, and not of Charles II. It was doubtless wrong, from a
family point of view, to sign a treaty with a man who had
cut off the head of the king your father's brother-in-law,
and to contract an alliance with a parliament which they
call yonder the Rump Parliament; it was unbecoming, I
acknowledge, but it was not unskillful from a political
point of view, since, thanks to that treaty, I saved your
majesty, then a minor, the trouble and danger of a foreign
war, which the Fronde -- you remember the Fronde sire?" --
the young king hung his head -- "which the Fronde might have
fatally complicated. And thus I prove to your majesty that
to change our plan now; without warning our allies, would be
at once unskillful and dishonest. We should make war with
the aggression on our side, we should make it, deserving to
have it made against us, and we should have the appearance
of fearing it whilst provoking it, for a permission granted
to five hundred men, to two hundred men, to fifty men, to
ten men, is still a permission. One Frenchman, that is the
nation; one uniform, that is the army. Suppose, sire, for
example, that, sooner or later, you should have war with
Holland, which, sooner or later, will certainly happen; or
with Spain, which will perhaps ensue if your marriage fails"
(Mazarin stole a furtive glance at the king), "and there are
a thousand causes that might yet make your marriage fail, --
well, would you approve of England's sending to the United
Provinces or to Spain a regiment, a company, a squadron
even, of English gentlemen? Would you think that they kept
within the limits of their treaty of alliance?"
Louis listened; it seemed so strange to him that Mazarin
should invoke good faith, and he the author of so many
political tricks, called Mazarinades. "And yet," said the
king, "without any manifest authorization, I cannot prevent
gentlemen of my states from passing over into England, if
such should be their good pleasure."
"You should compel them to return, sire, or at least protest
against their presence as enemies in an allied country."
"But come, my lord cardinal, you who are so profound a
genius, try if you cannot find means to assist this poor
king, without compromising ourselves."
"And that is exactly what I am not willing to do, my dear
sire," said Mazarin. "If England were to act exactly
according to my wishes, she could not act better than she
does; if I directed the policy of England from this place, I
should not direct it otherwise. Governed as she is governed,
England is an eternal nest of contention for all Europe.
Holland protects Charles II., let Holland do so; they will
quarrel, they will fight. They are the only two maritime
powers. Let them destroy each other's navies, we can
construct ours with the wrecks of their vessels; when we
shall save our money to buy nails."
"Oh, how paltry and mean is all this that you are telling
me, monsieur le cardinal!"
"Yes, but nevertheless it is true, sire; you must confess
that. Still further. Suppose I admit, for a moment, the
possibility of breaking your word, and evading the treaty --
such a thing sometimes happens, but that is when some great
interest is to be promoted by it, or when the treaty is
found to be too troublesome -- well, you will authorize the
engagement asked of you: France -- her banner, which is the
same thing -- will cross the Straits and will fight; France
will be conquered."
"Why so?"
"Ma foi! we have a pretty general to fight under this
Charles II.! Worcester gave us good proofs of that."
"But he will no longer have to deal with Cromwell,
monsieur."
"But he will have to deal with Monk, who is quite as
dangerous. The brave brewer of whom we are speaking was a
visionary; he had moments of exaltation, of inflation,
during which he ran over like an over-filled cask; and from
the chinks there always escaped some drops of his thoughts,
and by the sample the whole of his thought was to be made
out. Cromwell has thus allowed us more than ten times to
penetrate into his very soul, when one would have conceived
that soul to be enveloped in triple brass, as Horace has it.
But Monk! Oh, sire, God defend you from ever having anything
to transact politically with Monk. It is he who has given
me, in one year, all the gray hairs I have. Monk is no
fanatic; unfortunately he is a politician; he does not
overflow, he keeps close together. For ten years he has had
his eyes fixed upon one object, and nobody has yet been able
to ascertain what. Every morning, as Louis XI. advised, he
burns his nightcap. Therefore, on the day when this plan
slowly and solitarily ripened, shall break forth, it will
break forthwith all the conditions of success which always
accompany an unforeseen event. That is Monk, sire, of whom
perhaps, you have never heard -- of whom, perhaps, you did
not even know the name before your brother Charles II., who
knows what he is, pronounced it before you. He is a marvel
of depth and tenacity, the two only things against which
intelligence and ardor are blunted. Sire, I had ardor when I
was young, I always was intelligent. I may safely boast of
it, because I am reproached with it. I have done very well
with these two qualities, since, from the son of a fisherman
of Piscina, I have become prime minister to the king of
France; and in that position your majesty will perhaps
acknowledge I have rendered some service to the throne of
your majesty. Well, sire, if I had met with Monk on my way,
instead of Monsieur de Beaufort, Monsieur de Retz, or
Monsieur le Prince -- well, we should have been ruined. If
you engage yourself rashly, sire, you will fall into the
talons of this politic soldier. The casque of Monk, sire, is
an iron coffer, in the recesses of which he shuts up his
thoughts, and no one has the key of it. Therefore, near him,
or rather before him, I bow, sire, for I have nothing but a
velvet cap."
"What do you think Monk wishes to do, then?"
"Eh! sire, if I knew that, I would not tell you to mistrust
him, for I should be stronger than he; but with him, I am
afraid to guess -- to guess! -- you understand my word? --
for if I thought I had guessed, I should stop at an idea,
and, in spite of myself, should pursue that idea. Since that
man has been in power yonder, I am like one of the damned in
Dante whose neck Satan has twisted, and who walk forward
looking behind them. I am traveling towards Madrid, but I
never lose sight of London. To guess, with that devil of a
man, is to deceive one's self, and to deceive one's self is
to ruin one's self. God keep me from ever seeking to guess
what he aims at; I confine myself to watching what he does,
and that is well enough. Now I believe -- you observe the
meaning of the word I believe? -- I believe, with respect to
Monk, ties one to nothing -- I believe that he has a strong
inclination to succeed Cromwell. Your Charles II. has
already caused proposals to be made to him by ten persons;
he has satisfied himself with driving these ten meddlers
from his presence, without saying anything to them but,
`Begone, or I will have you hung.' That man is a sepulcher!
At this moment Monk is affecting devotion to the Rump
Parliament; of this devotion, observe, I am not the dupe.
Monk has no wish to be assassinated, -- an assassination
would stop him in the midst of his operations, and his work
must be accomplished; -- so I believe -- but do not believe,
what I believe, sire: for I say I believe from habit -- I
believe that Monk is keeping on friendly terms with the
parliament till the day comes for dispersing it. You are
asked for swords, but they are to fight against Monk. God
preserve you from fighting against Monk sire; for Monk would
beat us, and I should never console myself after being
beaten by Monk. I should say to myself, Monk has foreseen
that victory ten years. For God's sake, sire, out of
friendship for you, if not out of consideration for himself,
let Charles II. keep quiet. Your majesty will give him a
little income here; give him one of your chateaux. Yes, yes
-- wait awhile. But I forgot the treaty -- that famous
treaty of which we were just now speaking. Your majesty has
not even the right to give him a chateau."
"How is that?"
"Yes, yes, your majesty is bound not to grant hospitality to
King Charles, and to compel him to leave France even. It was
on this account we forced him to quit you, and yet here he
is again. Sire, I hope you will give your brother to
understand that he cannot remain with us; that it is
impossible he should be allowed to compromise us, or I
myself ---- "
"Enough, my lord," said Louis XIV, rising. "In refusing me a
million, perhaps you may be right; your millions are your
own. In refusing me two hundred gentlemen, you are still
further in the right; for you are prime minister, and you
have, in the eyes of France, the responsibility of peace and
war. But that you should pretend to prevent me, who am king,
from extending my hospitality to the grandson of Henry IV.,
to my cousin-german, to the companion of my childhood --
there your power stops, and there begins my will."
"Sire," said Mazarin, delighted at being let off so cheaply,
and who had, besides, only fought so earnestly to arrive at
that, -- "sire, I shall always bend before the will of my
king. Let my king, then, keep near him, or in one of his
chateaux, the king of England; let Mazarin know it, but let
not the minister know it."
"Good-night, my lord," said Louis XIV., "I go away in
despair."
"But convinced, and that is all I desire, sire," replied
Mazarin.
The king made no answer, and retired quite pensive,
convinced, not of all Mazarin had told him, but of one thing
which he took care not to mention to him; and that was, that
it was necessary for him to study seriously both his own
affairs and those of Europe, for he found them very
difficult and very obscure. Louis found the king of England
seated in the same place where he had left him. On
perceiving him, the English prince arose; but at the first
glance he saw discouragement written in dark letters upon
his cousin's brow. Then, speaking first, as if to facilitate
the painful avowal that Louis had to make to him, --
"Whatever it may be," said he, "I shall never forget all the
kindness, all the friendship you have exhibited towards me."
"Alas!" replied Louis, in a melancholy tone, "only barren
good-will, my brother."
Charles II. became extremely pale; he passed his cold hand
over his brow, and struggled for a few instants against a
faintness that made him tremble. "I understand," said he at
last; "no more hope!"
Louis seized the hand of Charles II. "Wait, my brother,"
said he; "precipitate nothing, everything may change; hasty
resolutions ruin all causes, add another year of trial, I
implore you, to the years you have already undergone. You
have, to induce you to act now rather than at another time,
neither occasion nor opportunity. Come with me, my brother;
I will give you one of my residences, whichever you prefer,
to inhabit. I, with you, will keep my eyes upon events; we
will prepare. Come, then, my brother, have courage!"
Charles II. withdrew his hand from that of the king, and
drawing back, to salute him with more ceremony, "With all my
heart, thanks!" replied he, "sire; but I have prayed without
success to the greatest king on earth; now I will go and ask
a miracle of God." And he went out without being willing to
hear any more, his head carried loftily, his hand trembling,
with a painful contraction of his noble countenance, and
that profound gloom which, finding no more hope in the world
of men, appeared to go beyond it, and ask it in worlds
unknown. The officer of musketeers, on seeing him pass by
thus pale, bowed almost to his knees as he saluted him. He
then took a flambeau, called two musketeers, and descended
the deserted staircase with the unfortunate king, holding in
his left hand his hat, the plume of which swept the steps.
Arrived at the door, the musketeer asked the king which way
he was going, that he might direct the musketeers.
"Monsieur," replied Charles II., in a subdued voice, "you
who have known my father, say, did you ever pray for him? If
you have done so, do not forget me in your prayers. Now, I
am going alone, and beg of you not to accompany me, or have
me accompanied any further."
The officer bowed and sent away the musketeers into the
interior of the palace. But he himself remained an instant
under the porch watching the departing Charles II., till he
was lost in the turn of the next street. "To him as to his
father formerly," murmured he, "Athos, if he were here,
would say with reason, -- `Salute fallen majesty!'" Then,
reascending the staircase: "Oh! the vile service that I
follow!" said he at every step. "Oh! my pitiful master! Life
thus carried on is no longer tolerable, and it is at length
time that I should do something! No more generosity, no more
energy! The master has succeeded, the pupil is starved
forever. Mordioux! I will not resist. Come, you men,"
continued he, entering the ante-chamber, "why are you all
looking at me so? Extinguish these torches and return to
your posts. Ah! you were guarding me? Yes, you watch over
me, do you not, worthy fellows? Brave fools! I am not the
Duc de Guise. Begone! They will not assassinate me in the
little passage. Besides," added he, in a low voice, "that
would be a resolution, and no resolutions have been formed
since Monsieur le Cardinal de Richelieu died. Now, with all
his faults, that was a man! It is settled: to-morrow I will
throw my cassock to the nettles."
Then, reflecting: "No," said he, "not yet! I have one great
trial to make and I will make it; but that, and I swear it,
shall be the last, Mordioux!"
He had not finished speaking when a voice issued from the
king's chamber. "Monsieur le lieutenant!" said this voice.
"Here am I," replied he.
"The king desires to speak to you."
"Humph!" said the lieutenant; "perhaps of what I was
thinking about." And he went into the king's apartment.
