The Arithmetic of M. de Mazarin
Whilst the king was directing his course rapidly towards the wing of
the castle occupied by the cardinal, taking nobody with him but his
valet de chambre, the officer of musketeers came out, breathing like a
man who has for a long time been forced to hold his breath, from the
little cabinet of which we have already spoken, and which the king
believed to be quite solitary. This little cabinet had formerly been
part of the chamber, from which it was only separated by a thin
partition. It resulted that this partition, which was only for the eye,
permitted the ear the least indiscreet to hear every word spoken in the
chamber.
There was no doubt, then, that this lieutenant of musketeers had heard
all that passed in his majesty’s apartment.
Warned by the last words of the young king, he came out just in time to
salute him on his passage, and to follow him with his eyes till he had
disappeared in the corridor.
Then as soon as he had disappeared, he shook his head after a fashion
peculiarly his own, and in a voice which forty years’ absence from
Gascony had not deprived of its Gascon accent, “A melancholy service,”
said he, “and a melancholy master!”
These words pronounced, the lieutenant resumed his place in his
fauteuil, stretched his legs and closed his eyes, like a man who either
sleeps or meditates.
During this short monologue and the mise en scene that had accompanied
it, whilst the king, through the long corridors of the old castle,
proceeded to the apartment of M. de Mazarin, a scene of another sort
was being enacted in those apartments.
Mazarin was in bed, suffering a little from the gout. But as he was a
man of order, who utilized even pain, he forced his wakefulness to be
the humble servant of his labor. He had consequently ordered Bernouin,
his valet de chambre, to bring him a little traveling-desk, so that he
might write in bed. But the gout is not an adversary that allows itself
to be conquered so easily; therefore, at each movement he made, the
pain from dull became sharp.
“Is Brienne there?” asked he of Bernouin.
“No, monseigneur,” replied the valet de chambre; “M. de Brienne, with
your permission, is gone to bed. But, if it is the wish of your
eminence, he can speedily be called.”
“No, it is not worth while. Let us see, however. Cursed ciphers!”
And the cardinal began to think, counting on his fingers the while.
“Oh, ciphers is it?” said Bernouin. “Very well! if your eminence
attempts calculations, I will promise you a pretty headache to-morrow!
And with that please to remember M. Guenaud is not here.”
“You are right, Bernouin. You must take Brienne’s place, my friend.
Indeed, I ought to have brought M. Colbert with me. That young man goes
on very well, Bernouin, very well; a very orderly youth.”
“I do not know,” said the valet de chambre, “but I don’t like the
countenance of your young man who goes on so well.”
“Well, well, Bernouin! We don’t stand in need of your advice. Place
yourself there: take the pen and write.”
“I am ready, monseigneur; what am I to write?”
“There, that’s the place: after the two lines already traced.”
“I am there.”
“Write seven hundred and sixty thousand livres.”
“That is written.”
“Upon Lyons——” The cardinal appeared to hesitate.
“Upon Lyons,” repeated Bernouin.
“Three millions nine hundred thousand livres.”
“Well, monseigneur?”
“Upon Bordeaux seven millions.”
“Seven?” repeated Bernouin.
“Yes,” said the cardinal, pettishly, “seven.” Then, recollecting
himself, “You understand, Bernouin,” added he, “that all this money is
to be spent?”
“Eh! monseigneur; whether it be to be spent or put away is of very
little consequence to me, since none of these millions are mine.”
“These millions are the king’s; it is the king’s money I am reckoning.
Well, what were we saying? You always interrupt me!”
“Seven millions upon Bordeaux.”
“Ah! yes; that’s right. Upon Madrid four millions. I give you to
understand plainly to whom this money belongs, Bernouin, seeing that
everybody has the stupidity to believe me rich in millions. I repel the
silly idea. A minister, besides, has nothing of his own. Come, go on.
Rentrees generales, seven millions; properties, nine millions. Have you
written that, Bernouin?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“Bourse, six hundred thousand livres; various property, two millions.
Ah! I forgot—the furniture of the different chateaux——”
“Must I put of the crown?” asked Bernouin.
“No, no, it is of no use doing that—that is understood. Have you
written that, Bernouin?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“And the ciphers?”
“Stand straight under one another.”
“Cast them up, Bernouin.”
“Thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty thousand livres,
monseigneur.”
“Ah!” cried the cardinal, in a tone of vexation; “there are not yet
forty millions!”
Bernouin recommenced the addition.
“No, monseigneur; there want seven hundred and forty thousand livres.”
Mazarin asked for the account, and revised it carefully.
“Yes, but,” said Bernouin, “thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty
thousand livres make a good round sum.”
“Ah, Bernouin, I wish the king had it.”
“Your eminence told me that this money was his majesty’s.”
“Doubtless, as clear, as transparent as possible. These thirty-nine
millions are bespoken, and much more.”
Bernouin smiled after his own fashion—that is, like a man who believes
no more than he is willing to believe—whilst preparing the cardinal’s
night draught, and putting his pillow to rights.
“Oh!” said Mazarin, when the valet had gone out; “not yet forty
millions! I must, however, attain that sum, which I had set down for
myself. But who knows whether I shall have time? I sink, I am going, I
shall never reach it! And yet, who knows that I may not find two or
three millions in the pockets of my good friends the Spaniards? They
discovered Peru, those people did, and—what the devil! they must have
something left.”
As he was speaking thus, entirely occupied with his ciphers, and
thinking no more of his gout, repelled by a preoccupation which, with
the cardinal, was the most powerful of all preoccupations, Bernouin
rushed into the chamber, quite in a fright.
“Well!” asked the cardinal, “what is the matter now?”
“The king, monseigneur,—the king!”
“How?—the king!” said Mazarin, quickly concealing his paper. “The king
here! the king at this hour! I thought he was in bed long ago. What is
the matter, then?”
The king could hear these last words, and see the terrified gesture of
the cardinal rising up in his bed, for he entered the chamber at that
moment.
“It is nothing, monsieur le cardinal, or at least nothing which can
alarm you. It is an important communication which I wish to make to
your eminence to-night—that is all.”
Mazarin immediately thought of that marked attention which the king had
given to his words concerning Mademoiselle de Mancini, and the
communication appeared to him probably to refer to this source. He
recovered his serenity then instantly, and assumed his most agreeable
air, a change of countenance which inspired the king with the greatest
joy; and when Louis was seated,—
“Sire,” said the cardinal, “I ought certainly to listen to your majesty
standing, but the violence of my complaint——”
“No ceremony between us, my dear monsieur le cardinal,” said Louis
kindly: “I am your pupil, and not the king, you know very well, and
this evening in particular, as I come to you as a petitioner, as a
solicitor, and one very humble, and desirous to be kindly received,
too.”
Mazarin, seeing the heightened color of the king, was confirmed in his
first idea; that is to say, that love thoughts were hidden under all
these fine words. This time, political cunning, keen as it was, made a
mistake; this color was not caused by the bashfulness of a juvenile
passion, but only by the painful contraction of the royal pride.
Like a good uncle, Mazarin felt disposed to facilitate the confidence.
“Speak, sire,” said he, “and since your majesty is willing for an
instant to forget that I am your subject, and call me your master and
instructor, I promise your majesty my most devoted and tender
consideration.”
“Thanks, monsieur le cardinal,” answered the king; “that which I have
to ask of your eminence has but little to do with myself.”
“So much the worse!” replied the cardinal, “so much the worse! Sire, I
should wish your majesty to ask of me something of importance, even a
sacrifice; but whatever it may be that you ask me, I am ready to set
your heart at rest by granting it, my dear sire.”
“Well, this is what brings me here,” said the king, with a beating of
the heart that had no equal except the beating of the heart of the
minister; “I have just received a visit from my brother, the king of
England.”
Mazarin bounded in his bed as if he had been put in relation with a
Leyden jar or a voltaic pile, at the same time that a surprise, or
rather a manifest disappointment, inflamed his features with such a
blaze of anger, that Louis XIV., little diplomatist as he was, saw that
the minister had hoped to hear something else.
“Charles II.?” exclaimed Mazarin, with a hoarse voice and a disdainful
movement of his lips. “You have received a visit from Charles II.?”
“From King Charles II.,” replied Louis, according in a marked manner to
the grandson of Henry IV. the title which Mazarin had forgotten to give
him. “Yes, monsieur le cardinal, that unhappy prince has touched my
heart with the relation of his misfortunes. His distress is great,
monsieur le cardinal, and it has appeared painful to me, who have seen
my own throne disputed, who have been forced in times of commotion to
quit my capital,—to me, in short, who am acquainted with misfortune,—to
leave a deposed and fugitive brother without assistance.”
“Eh!” said the cardinal, sharply; “why had he not, as you have, a Jules
Mazarin by his side? His crown would then have remained intact.”
“I know all that my house owes to your eminence,” replied the king,
haughtily, “and you may believe well that I, on my part, shall never
forget it. It is precisely because my brother the king of England has
not about him the powerful genius who has saved me, it is for that, I
say, that I wish to conciliate the aid of that same genius, and beg you
to extend your arm over his head, well assured, monsieur le cardinal,
that your hand, by touching him only, would know how to replace upon
his brow the crown which fell at the foot of his father’s scaffold.”
“Sire,” replied Mazarin, “I thank you for your good opinion with regard
to myself, but we have nothing to do yonder: they are a set of madmen
who deny God, and cut off the heads of their kings. They are dangerous,
observe, sire, and filthy to the touch after having wallowed in royal
blood and covenantal murder. That policy has never suited me,—I scorn
it and reject it.”
“Therefore you ought to assist in establishing a better.”
“What is that?”
“The restoration of Charles II., for example.”
“Good heavens!” cried Mazarin, “does the poor prince flatter himself
with that chimera?”
“Yes, he does,” replied the young king, terrified at the difficulties
opposed to this project, which he fancied he could perceive in the
infallible eye of his minister; “he only asks for a million to carry
out his purpose.”
“Is that all—a little million, if you please!” said the cardinal,
ironically, with an effort to conquer his Italian accent. “A little
million, if you please, brother! Bah! a family of mendicants!”
“Cardinal,” said Louis, raising his head, “that family of mendicants is
a branch of my family.”
“Are you rich enough to give millions to other people, sire? Have you
millions to throw away?”
“Oh!” replied Louis XIV., with great pain, which he, however, by a
strong effort, prevented from appearing on his countenance;—“oh! yes,
monsieur le cardinal, I am well aware I am poor, and yet the crown of
France is worth a million, and to perform a good action I would pledge
my crown if it were necessary. I could find Jews who would be willing
to lend me a million.”
“So, sire, you say you want a million?” said Mazarin.
“Yes, monsieur, I say so.”
“You are mistaken, greatly mistaken, sire; you want much more than
that,—Bernouin!—you shall see, sire, how much you really want.”
“What, cardinal!” said the king, “are you going to consult a lackey
about my affairs?”
“Bernouin!” cried the cardinal again, without appearing to remark the
humiliation of the young prince. “Come here, Bernouin, and tell me the
figures I gave you just now.”
“Cardinal, cardinal! did you not hear me?” said Louis, turning pale
with anger.
“Do not be angry, sire; I deal openly with the affairs of your majesty.
Every one in France knows that; my books are as open as day. What did I
tell you to do just now, Bernouin?”
“Your eminence commanded me to cast up an account.”
“You did it, did you not?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“To verify the amount of which his majesty, at this moment, stands in
need. Did I not tell you so? Be frank, my friend.”
“Your eminence said so.”
“Well, what sum did I say I wanted?”
“Forty-five millions, I think.”
“And what sum could we find, after collecting all our resources?”
“Thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty thousand.”
“That is correct, Bernouin; that is all I wanted to know. Leave us
now,” said the cardinal, fixing his brilliant eye upon the young king,
who sat mute with stupefaction.
“However——” stammered the king.
“What, do you still doubt, sire?” said the cardinal. “Well, here is a
proof of what I said.”
And Mazarin drew from under his bolster the paper covered with figures,
which he presented to the king, who turned away his eyes, his vexation
was so deep.
“Therefore, as it is a million you want, sire, and that million is not
set down here, it is forty-six millions your majesty stands in need of.
Well I don’t think that any Jews in the world would lend such a sum,
even upon the crown of France.”
The king, clenching his hands beneath his ruffles, pushed away his
chair.
“So it must be then!” said he, “my brother the king of England will die
of hunger.”
“Sire,” replied Mazarin, in the same tone, “remember this proverb,
which I give you as the expression of the soundest policy: ‘Rejoice at
being poor when your neighbor is poor likewise.’”
Louis meditated for a few moments, with an inquisitive glance directed
to the paper, one end of which remained under the bolster.
“Then,” said he, “it is impossible to comply with my demand for money,
my lord cardinal, is it?”
“Absolutely, sire.”
“Remember, this will secure me a future enemy, if he succeed in
recovering his crown without my assistance.”
“If your majesty only fears that, you may be quite at ease,” replied
Mazarin, eagerly.
“Very well, I say no more about it,” exclaimed Louis XIV.
“Have I at least convinced you, sire?” placing his hand upon that of
the young king.
“Perfectly.”
“If there be anything else, ask it, sire, I shall be most happy to
grant it to you, having refused this.”
“Anything else, my lord?”
“Why yes, am I not devoted body and soul to your majesty? Hola!
Bernouin!—lights and guards for his majesty! His majesty is returning
to his own chamber.”
“Not yet, monsieur: since you place your good-will at my disposal, I
will take advantage of it.”
“For yourself, sire?” asked the cardinal, hoping that his niece was at
length about to be named.
“No, monsieur, not for myself,” replied Louis, “but still for my
brother Charles.”
The brow of Mazarin again became clouded, and he grumbled a few words
that the king could not catch.