 | Richelieu ; Or The Conspiracy |  |
SCENE II.
A room in the Palais Cardinal, the walls hung with arras. A large screen in one corner. A table covered with books, papers, &c. A rude clock in a recess. Busts, statues, bookcases, weapons of different periods, and banners suspended over Richelieu's chair.Richelieu.—Joseph.
RICHELIEU.
And so you think this new conspiracy
The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox?—
Fox!—Well, I like the nickname! What did Plutarch
Say of the Greek Lysander?
JOSEPH.
I forget.
RICHELIEU.
That where the lion's skin fell short, he eked it
Out with the fox's! A great statesman, Joseph,
That same Lysander!
JOSEPH.
Orleans heads the traitors.
RICHELIEU.
A very wooden head then! Well?
10
The favourite,
Count Baradas—
RICHELIEU.
A weed of hasty growth;
First gentleman of the chamber—titles, lands,
And the King's ear!—it cost me six long winters
To mount as high, as in six little moons
This painted lizard—But I hold the ladder,
And when I shake—he falls! What more?
JOSEPH.
A scheme
To make your orphan-ward an instrument
To aid your foes. You placed her with the Queen,
One of the royal chamber,—as a watch
I'th'enemy's quarters—
RICHELIEU.
And the silly child
Visits me daily,—calls me “Father,”—prays
Kind heaven to bless me—And for all the rest,
As well have placed a doll about the Queen!
She does not heed who frowns—who smiles; with whom
The King confers in whispers; notes not when
Men who last week were foes, are found in corners
Mysteriously affectionate; words spoken
Within closed doors she never hears;—by chance
Taking the air at keyholes—Senseless puppet!
No ears—nor eyes!—and yet she says—“She loves me!”
Go on—
JOSEPH.
Your ward has charm'd the King—
RICHELIEU.
Out on you!
Have I not, one by one, from such fair shoots
Pluck'd the insidious ivy of his love?
And shall it creep around my blossoming tree
Where innocent thoughts, like happy birds, make music
That spirits in Heaven might hear?—They're sinful too,
Those passionate surfeits of the rampant flesh,
The Church condemns them; and to us, my Joseph,
The props and pillars of the Church, most hurtful.
11
Must rule the King; the lady loves another,
The other rules the lady—thus we're balked
Of our own proper sway—The King must have
No goddess but the State:—the State—That's Richelieu!
JOSEPH.
This not the worst;—Louis, in all decorous,
And deeming you her least compliant guardian,
Would veil his suit by marriage with his minion,
Your prosperous foe, Count Baradas!
RICHELIEU.
Ha! ha!
I have another bride for Baradas.
JOSEPH.
You, my Lord?
RICHELIEU.
Ay—more faithful than the love
Of fickle woman:—when the head lies lowliest,
Clasping him fondest;—Sorrow never knew
So sure a soother,—and her bed is stainless!
JOSEPH
(aside).
If of the grave he speaks, I do not wonder
That priests are bachelors!
Enter François.
FRANÇOIS.
Mademoiselle De Mortemar.
RICHELIEU.
Most opportune—admit her.
[Exit François.
In my closet
You'll find a rosary, Joseph; ere you tell
Three hundred beads, I'll summon you.—Stay, Joseph;—
I did omit an Ave in my matins,—
A grievous fault;—atone it for me, Joseph;
There is a scourge within; I am weak, you strong,
It were but charity to take my sin
On such broad shoulders. Exercise is healthful.
JOSEPH.
I! guilty of such criminal presumption
As to mistake myself for you—No, never!
Think it not!— (Aside)
Troth, a pleasant invitation!
[Exit Joseph.
12
RICHELIEU.
That's my sweet Julie!—why, upon this face
Blushes such daybreak, one might swear the Morning
Were come to visit Tithon.
JULIE
(placing herself at his feet).
Are you gracious?—
May I say “Father?”
RICHELIEU.
Now and ever!
JULIE.
Father!
A sweet word to an orphan.
RICHELIEU.
No; not orphan
While Richelieu lives; thy father loved me well;
My friend, ere I had flatterers (now, I'm great,
In other phrase, I'm friendless)—he died young
In years, not service, and bequeath'd thee to me;
And thou shalt have a dowry, girl, to buy
Thy mate amidst the mightiest. Drooping?—sighs?—
Art thou not happy at the court?
JULIE.
Not often.
RICHELIEU
(aside).
Can she love Baradas?—Ah! at thy heart
There's what can smile and sigh, blush and grow pale,
All in a breath!—Thou art admired—art young;
Does not his Majesty commend thy beauty—
Ask thee to sing to him?—and swear such sounds
Had smooth'd the brows of Saul?—
JULIE.
He's very tiresome,
Our worthy King.
RICHELIEU.
Fie; kings are never tiresome,
Save to their ministers.—What courtly gallants
Charm ladies most?—De Sourdiac, Longueville, or
The favourite Baradas?
JULIE.
A smileless man—
I fear, and shun him.
13
Yet he courts thee?
JULIE.
Then
He is more tiresome than his Majesty.
RICHELIEU.
Right, girl, shun Baradas.—Yet of these flowers
Of France, not one, in whose more honied breath
Thy heart hears Summer whisper?
Enter Huguet.
HUGUET.
The Chevalier
De Mauprat waits below.
JULIE
(starting up).
De Mauprat!
RICHELIEU.
Hem!
He has been tiresome too!—Anon.
[Exit Huguet.
JULIE.
What doth he?—
I mean—I—Does your Eminence—that is—
Know you Messire de Mauprat?
RICHELIEU.
Well!—and you—
Has he address'd you often?
JULIE.
Often! No—
Nine times;—nay, ten;—the last time, by the lattice
Of the great staircase.— (In a melancholy tone)
The Court sees him rarely.
RICHELIEU.
A bold and forward royster?
JULIE.
He?—nay, modest,
Gentle, and sad methinks.
RICHELIEU.
Wears gold and azure?
JULIE.
No; sable.
14
So you note his colours, Julie?
Shame on you, child, look loftier. By the mass
I have business with this modest gentleman.
JULIE.
You're angry with poor Julie. There's no cause.
RICHELIEU.
No cause—you hate my foes?
JULIE.
I do!
RICHELIEU.
Hate Mauprat?
JULIE.
Not Mauprat. No, not Adrien, father.
RICHELIEU.
Adrien!
Familiar!—Go, child; no,—not that way;—wait
In the tapestry chamber; I will join you,—go.
JULIE.
His brows are knit;—I dare not call him father!
But I must speak—Your Eminence—
RICHELIEU
(sternly).
Well, girl!
JULIE.
Nay
Smile on me—one smile more; there, now I'm happy.
Do not rank Mauprat with your foes; he is not,
I know he is not; he loves France too well.
RICHELIEU.
Not rank De Mauprat with my foes? So be it.
I'll blot him from that list.
JULIE.
That's my own father.
[Exit Julie.
RICHELIEU
(ringing a small bell on the table.)
Huguet!
Enter Huguet.
De Mauprat struggled not, nor murmur'd?
15
No; proud and passive.
RICHELIEU.
Bid him enter.—Hold:
Look that he hide no weapon. Humph, despair
Makes victims sometimes victors. When he has enter'd,
Glide round unseen;—place thyself yonder (pointing to the screen)
; watch him;
If he show violence—(let me see thy carbine;
So, a good weapon;)—if he play the lion,
Why—the dog's death.
HUGUET.
I never miss my mark.
Exit Huguet; Richelieu seats himself at the table, and slowly arranges the papers before him. Enter De Mauprat, preceded by Huguet, who then retires behind the screen.
RICHELIEU.
Approach, Sir.—Can you call to mind the hour,
Now three years since, when in this room, methinks,
Your presence honour'd me?
DE MAUPRAT.
It is, my Lord,
One of my most—
RICHELIEU
(drily).
Delightful recollections.
DE MAUPRAT
(aside).
St. Denis! doth he make a jest of axe
And headsman?
RICHELIEU
(sternly).
I did then accord you
A mercy ill requited—you still live?
DE MAUPRAT.
To meet death face to face at last.
RICHELIEU.
Your words
Are bold.
16
My deeds have not belied them.
RICHELIEU.
Deeds!
O miserable delusion of man's pride!
Deeds! cities sack'd, fields ravaged, hearths profaned,
Men butcher'd! In your hour of doom behold
The deeds you boast of! From rank showers of blood,
And the red light of blazing roofs, you build
The Rainbow Glory, and to shuddering Conscience
Cry,—Lo, the Bridge to Heaven!
DE MAUPRAT.
If war be sinful,
Your hand the gauntlet cast.
RICHELIEU.
It was so, Sir.
Note the distinction:—I weigh'd well the cause
Which made the standard holy; raised the war
But to secure the peace. France bled—I groan'd;
But look'd beyond; and, in the vista, saw
France saved, and I exulted. You—but you
Were but the tool of slaughter—knowing nought,
Foreseeing nought, nought hoping, nought lamenting,
And for nought fit,—save cutting throats for hire.
Deeds, marry, deeds!
DE MAUPRAT.
If you would deign to speak
Thus to your armies ere they march to battle,
Perchance your Eminence might have the pain
Of the throat-cutting to yourself.
RICHELIEU
(aside).
He has wit,
This Mauprat— (Aloud)
—Let it pass; there is against you
What you can less excuse. Messire de Mauprat,
Doom'd to sure death, how hast thou since consumed
The time allotted thee for serious thought
And solemn penitence?
DE MAUPRAT
(embarrassed).
The time, my Lord?
RICHELIEU.
Is not the question plain? I'll answer for thee.
Thou hast sought nor priest nor shrine; no sackcloth chafed
17
Have not, with pious meditation, purged
Earth from the carnal gaze. What thou hast not done
Brief told; what done, a volume! Wild debauch,
Turbulent riot:—for the morn the dice-box—
Noon claim'd the duel—and the night the wassail;
These, your most holy, pure preparatives
For death and judgment. Do I wrong you, Sir?
DE MAUPRAT.
I was not always thus:—if changed my nature,
Blame that, which changed my fate.—Alas, my Lord,
There is a brotherhood which calm-eyed Reason
Can wot not of betwixt Despair and Mirth.
My birth-place mid the vines of sunny Provence,
Perchance the stream that sparkles in my veins
Came from that wine of passionate life which, erst,
Glow'd in the wild heart of the Troubadour:
And danger, which makes steadier courage wary,
But fevers me with an insane delight;
As one of old who on the mountain-crags
Caught madness from a Mænad's haunting eyes.
Were you, my Lord,—whose path imperial power,
And the grave cares of reverent wisdom guard
From all that tempts to folly meaner men,—
Were you accursed with that which you inflicted—
By bed and board, dogg'd by one ghastly spectre—
The while within you youth beat high, and life
Grew lovelier from the neighbouring frown of death—
The heart no bud, nor fruit—save in those seeds
Most worthless, which spring up, bloom, bear, and wither
In the same hour—Were this your fate, perchance,
You would have err'd like me!
RICHELIEU.
I might, like you,
Have been a brawler and a reveller;—not,
Like you, a trickster and a thief.—
DE MAUPRAT
(advancing threateningly).
Lord Cardinal!—
Unsay those words!—
(Huguet deliberately raises the carbine).
RICHELIEU
(waving his hand).
Not quite so quick, friend Huguet;
18
And he can wait!—
You have outrun your fortune;—
I blame you not, that you would be a beggar—
Each to his taste!—But I do charge you, Sir,
That, being beggar'd, you would coin false monies
Out of that crucible, called DEBT.—To live
On means not yours—be brave in silks and laces,
Gallant in steeds—splendid in banquets;—all
Not yours—ungiven—unherited—unpaid for;—
This is to be a trickster; and to filch
Men's art and labour, which to them is wealth,
Life, daily bread,—quitting all scores with—“Friend,
You're troublesome!”—Why this, forgive me,
Is what—when done with a less dainty grace—
Plain folks call “Theft!”—You owe eight thousand pistoles,
Minus one crown, two liards!—
DE MAUPRAT
(aside).
The old conjuror!—
Sdeath, he'll inform me next how many cups
I drank at dinner!—
RICHELIEU.
This is scandalous,
Shaming your birth and blood.—I tell you, Sir,
That you must pay your debts.—
DE MAUPRAT.
With all my heart,
My Lord.—Where shall I borrow, then, the money?
RICHELIEU
(aside and laughing).
A humorous dare-devil!—The very man
To suit my purpose—ready, frank, and bold!
(Rising, and earnestly).
Adrien de Mauprat, men have called me cruel;—
I am not;—I am just!—I found France rent asunder,—
The rich men despots, and the poor banditti;—
Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple;
Brawls festering to Rebellion; and weak Laws
Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths.—
I have re-created France; and, from the ashes
Of the old feudal and decrepit carcase,
Civilization on her luminous wings
Soars, phœnix-like, to Jove!—What was my art?
19
Not so;—my art was Justice!—Force and Fraud
Misname it cruelty—you shall confute them!
My champion YOU!—You met me as your foe,
Depart my friend—You shall not die.—France needs you.
You shall wipe off all stains,—be rich, be honour'd,
Be great.—
(De Mauprat falls on his knee—Richelieu raises him.)
I ask, Sir, in return, this hand,
To gift it with a bride, whose dower shall match,
Yet not exceed, her beauty.
DE MAUPRAT.
I, my Lord,— (hesitating)
I have no wish to marry.
RICHELIEU.
Surely, Sir,
To die were worse.
DE MAUPRAT.
Scarcely; the poorest coward
Must die,—but knowingly to march to marriage—
My Lord, it asks the courage of a lion!
RICHELIEU.
Traitor, thou triflest with me!—I know all!
Thou hast dared to love my ward—my charge.
DE MAUPRAT.
As rivers
May love the sunlight—basking in the beams,
And hurrying on!—
RICHELIEU.
Thou hast told her of thy love?
DE MAUPRAT.
My Lord, if I had dared to love a maid,
Lowliest in France, I would not so have wrong'd her,
As bid her link rich life and virgin hope
With one, the deathman's gripe might, from her side,
Pluck at the nuptial altar.
RICHELIEU.
I believe thee;
Yet since she knows not of thy love, renounce her;—
Take life and fortune with another!—Silent?
20
Your fate has been one triumph—You know not
How bless'd a thing it was in my dark hour
To nurse the one sweet thought you bid me banish.
Love hath no need of words;—nor less within
That holiest temple—the heaven-builded soul—
Breathes the recorded vow.—Base knight,—false lover
Were he, who barter'd all, that brighten'd grief,
Or sanctified despair, for life and gold.
Revoke your mercy;—I prefer the fate
I look'd for!
RICHELIEU.
Huguet! to the tapestry chamber
Conduct your prisoner.
(To Mauprat.)
You will there behold
The executioner:—your doom be private—
And Heaven have mercy on you!—
DE MAUPRAT.
When I'm dead,
Tell her, I loved her.
RICHELIEU.
Keep such follies, Sir,
For fitter ears;—go—
DE MAUPRAT.
Does he mock me?
Exeunt de Mauprat, Huguet.
RICHELIEU.
Joseph,
Come forth.
Enter Joseph.
Methinks your cheek hath lost its rubies;
I fear you have been too lavish of the flesh;
The scourge is heavy.
JOSEPH.
Pray you, change the subject.
RICHELIEU.
You good men are so modest!—Well, to business!
Go instantly—deeds—notaries!—bid my stewards
Arrange my house by the Luxembourg—my house
21
Who weds to-morrow.
JOSEPH.
Weds, with whom?
RICHELIEU.
De Mauprat.
JOSEPH.
Penniless husband!
RICHELIEU.
Bah! the mate for beauty
Should be a man, and not a money-chest!
When her brave sire lay on his bed of death,
I vow'd to be a father to his Julie:—
And so he died—the smile upon his lips!—
And when I spared the life of her young lover,
Methought I saw that smile again!—Who else,
Look you, in all the court—who else so well,
Brave, or supplant the favourite;—balk the King—
Baffle their schemes?—I have tried him:—He has honour
And courage;—qualities that eagle-plume
Men's souls,—and fit them for the fiercest sun,
Which ever melted the weak waxen minds
That flutter in the beams of gaudy Power!
Besides, he has taste, this Mauprat:—When my play
Was acted to dull tiers of lifeless gapers,
Who had no soul for poetry, I saw him
Applaud in the proper places: trust me, Joseph,
He is a man of an uncommon promise!
JOSEPH.
And yet your foe.
RICHELIEU.
Have I not foes enow?—
Great men gain doubly when they make foes friends.
22
All methods to conciliate.
JOSEPH.
Failing these?
RICHELIEU
(fiercely).
All means to crush: as with the opening, and
The clenching of this little hand, I will
Crush the small venom of these stinging courtiers.
So, so, we've baffled Baradas.
JOSEPH.
And when
Check the conspiracy?
RICHELIEU.
Check, check? Full way to it.
Let it bud, ripen, flaunt i'the day, and burst
To fruit,—the Dead Sea's fruit of ashes; ashes
Which I will scatter to the winds.
Go, Joseph;
When you return, I have a feast for you;
The last great act of my great play: the verses,
Methinks, are fine,—ah, very fine.—You write
Verses! — (aside)
such verses!—You have wit, discernment.
JOSEPH
(aside).
Worse than the scourge! Strange that so great a statesman
Should be so bad a poet.
RICHELIEU.
What dost say?
23
That it is strange so great a statesman should
Be so sublime a poet.
RICHELIEU.
Ah, you rogue;
Laws die, Books never. Of my ministry
I am not vain! but of my muse, I own it.
Come, you shall hear the verses now (Takes up a MS.).
JOSEPH.
My Lord,
The deeds, the notaries!
RICHELIEU.
True, I pity you;
But business first, then pleasure.
[Exit Joseph.
RICHELIEU
(seats himself and reading).
Ah, sublime!
Enter De Mauprat and Julie.
DE MAUPRAT.
Oh, speak, my Lord—I dare not think you mock me,
And yet—
RICHELIEU.
Hush—hush—This line must be consider'd!
JULIE.
Are we not both your children?
RICHELIEU.
What a couplet!—
How now! Oh! Sir—you live!
DE MAUPRAT.
Why, no, methinks,
Elysium is not life!
JULIE.
He smiles!—you smile,
My father! From my heart for ever, now,
I'll blot the name of orphan!
RICHELIEU.
Rise, my children,
For ye are mine—mine both;—and in your sweet
24
My own lost youth breathes musical!
DE MAUPRAT.
I'll seek
Temple and priest henceforward;—were it but
To learn Heaven's choicest blessings.
RICHELIEU.
Thou shalt seek
Temple and priest right soon; the morrow's sun
Shall see across these barren thresholds pass
The fairest bride in Paris.—Go, my children;
Even I loved once!—Be lovers while ye may!
How is it with you, Sir? You bear it bravely:
You know, it asks the courage of a lion.
[Exeunt Julie and De Mauprat.
RICHELIEU.
Oh! godlike Power! Woe, Rapture, Penury, Wealth,—
Marriage and Death, for one infirm old man
Through a great empire to dispense—withhold—
As the will whispers! And shall things—like motes
That live in my daylight—lackies of court wages,
Dwarf'd starvelings—mannikins, upon whose shoulders
The burthen of a province were a load
More heavy than the globe on Atlas,—cast
Lots for my robes and sceptre? France! I love thee!
All Earth shall never pluck thee from my heart!
My mistress France—my wedded wife,—sweet France,
Who shall proclaim divorce for thee and me!
[Exit Richelieu.
There are many anecdotes of the irony, often so terrible, in which Richelieu indulged. But he had a love for humour in its more hearty and genial shape. He would send for Boisrobert “to make him laugh,”—and grave ministers and magnates waited in the ante-room, while the great Cardinal listened and responded to the sallies of the lively wit.
The Abbé Arnaud tells us that the Queen was a little avenged on the Cardinal by the ill success of the tragi-comedy of Mirame—more than suspected to be his own—though presented to the world under the foster name of Desmarets. Its representation (says Pelisson) cost him 300,000 crowns. He was so transported out of himself by the performance, that at one time he thrust his person half out of his box to show himself to the assembly; at another time he imposed silence on the audience that they might not lose “des endroits encore plus beaux!” He said afterwards to Desmarets: “Eh bien, les Français n'auront donc jamais de goût. Ils n'ont pas été charmés de Mirame!” Arnaud says pithily, “On ne pouvoit alors avoir d'autre satisfaction des offenses d'un homme qui étoit maitre de tout, et redoutable à tout le monde.” Nevertheless his style in prose, though not devoid of the pedantic affectations of the time, often rises into very noble eloquence.
“Vialart remarque une chose qui peut expliquer la conduite de Richelieu en d'autres circonstances:—c'est que les seigneurs à qui leur naissance ou leur mérite pouvoit permettre des prétensions, il avoit pour systême, de leur accorder au-delà même de leurs droits et de leurs espérances, mais, aussi, une fois comblés—si, au lieu de reconnoître ses services ils se levoient contre lui, il les traitoit sans miséricorde.”—Anquétil. See also the Political Testament, and the Mémoires de Cardinal Richelieu, in Petitot's collection.
“Tantôt fanatique—tantôt fourbe—fonder les religieuses de Calvaire— faire des vers.” Thus speaks Voltaire of Father Joseph. His talents, and influence with Richelieu, grossly exaggerated in his own day, are now rightly estimated.
“C'étoit en effet un homme infatigable—portant dans les entreprises, l'activité, la souplesse, l'opiniâtreté propres à les faire réussir.”—Anquétil. He wrote a Latin poem, called “La Turciade,” in which he sought to excite the kingdoms of Christendom against the Turks. But the inspiration of Tyrtæus was denied to Father Joseph.
| Richelieu ; Or The Conspiracy | |