 | Richelieu ; Or The Conspiracy |  |
ACT II.
Second Day.
SCENE I.
A splendid Apartment in Mauprat's new House. Casements opening to the Gardens, beyond which the domes of the Luxembourg Palace.Enter Baradas.
BARADAS.
Mauprat's new home:—too splendid for a soldier!
But o'er his floors—the while I stalk—methinks
My shadow spreads gigantic to the gloom
The old rude towers of the Bastile cast far
Along the smoothness of the jocund day.—
Well, thou hast scaped the fierce caprice of Richelieu;
But art thou farther from the headsman, fool?
Thy secret I have whisper'd to the King;—
Thy marriage makes the King thy foe.—Thou stand'st
On the abyss—and in the pool below
I see a ghastly, headless phantom mirror'd;—
Thy likeness ere the marriage moon hath waned.
Meanwhile—meanwhile—ha—ha, if thou art wedded,
Thou art not wived.
Enter Mauprat (splendidly dressed).
MAUPRAT.
Was ever fate like mine?
So blest, and yet so wretched!
BARADAS.
Joy, de Mauprat!—
Why, what a brow, man, for your wedding-day!
DE MAUPRAT.
Jest not!—Distraction!
BARADAS.
What your wife, a shrew
Already? Courage, man—the common lot!
Oh! that she were less lovely, or less loved!
BARADAS.
Riddles again!
DE MAUPRAT.
You know, what chanced between
The Cardinal and myself.
BARADAS.
This morning brought
Your letter:—faith, a strange account! I laugh'd
And wept at once for gladness.
DE MAUPRAT.
We were wed
At noon;—the rite perform'd, came hither;—scarce
Arrived, when—
BARADAS.
Well?—
DE MAUPRAT.
Wide flew the doors, and lo,
Messire de Beringhen, and this epistle!
BARADAS.
'Tis the King's hand!—the royal seal!
DE MAUPRAT.
Read—read—
BARADAS
(reading).
“Whereas Adrien de Mauprat, Colonel and Chevalier in our
armies, being already guilty of High Treason, by the seizure
of our town of Faviaux, has presumed, without our knowledge,
consent, or sanction, to connect himself by marriage with Julie
de Mortemar, a wealthy orphan attached to the person of Her
Majesty, without our knowledge or consent—We do hereby
proclaim and declare the said marriage contrary to law. On
penalty of death, Adrien de Mauprat will not communicate
with the said Julie de Mortemar by word or letter, save in the
presence of our faithful servant the Sieur de Beringhen, and
then with such respect and decorum as are due to a Demoiselle
attached to the Court of France, until such time as it may
suit our royal pleasure to confer with the Holy Church on the
formal annulment of the marriage, and with our Council on
the punishment to be awarded to Messire de Mauprat, who is
more especially to Mademoiselle de Mortemar.
“Given under our hand and seal at the Louvre.
“LOUIS.”
BARADAS
(returning the letter).
Amazement!—Did not Richelieu say, the King
Knew not your crime?
DE MAUPRAT.
He said so.
BARADAS.
Poor de Mauprat!—
See you the snare, the vengeance worse than death,
Of which you are the victim?
DE MAUPRAT.
Ha!
BARADAS
(aside).
It works!
(Julie and De Beringhen in the Gardens.)
You have not sought the Cardinal yet to—
DE MAUPRAT.
No!
Scarce yet my sense awaken'd from the shock;
Now I will seek him.
BARADAS.
Hold, beware!—Stir not
Till we confer again.
DE MAUPRAT.
Speak out, man!—
BARADAS.
Hush!
Your wife!—De Beringhen!—Be on your guard—
Obey the royal orders to the letter.
I'll look around your palace. By my troth
A princely mansion!
DE MAUPRAT.
Stay—
BARADAS.
So new a bridegroom
Oh! happy pair—Oh, charming picture!
[Exit through a side-door.
JULIE.
Adrien,
You left us suddenly—Are you not well?
DE MAUPRAT.
Oh, very well—that is—extremely ill!
JULIE.
Ill, Adrien? (taking his hand).
DE MAUPRAT.
Not when I see thee.
(He is about to lift her hand to his lips when De Beringhen coughs and pulls his mantle. Mauprat drops the hand and walks away.)
JULIE.
Alas!
Should he not love me?
DE BERINGHEN
(aside).
Have a care, I must
Report each word—each gesture to his Majesty.
DE MAUPRAT.
Sir, if you were not in his Majesty's service,
You'd be the most officious, impudent,
Damn'd busy-body ever interfering
In a man's family affairs.
DE BERINGHEN.
But as
I do belong, Sir, to his Majesty—
DE MAUPRAT.
You're lucky!—Still, were we a story higher,
'Twere prudent not to go too near the window.
JULIE.
Adrien, what have I done? Say, am I chnaged
Since yesterday?—or was it but for wealth,
Ambition, life—that—that—you swore you loved me?
DE MAUPRAT.
I shall go mad!—I do, indeed I do—
(aside).
Not love her! that were highly disrespectful.
JULIE.
You do—what, Adrien?
DE MAUPRAT.
Oh! I do, indeed—
I do think, that this weather is delightful!
A charming day! the sky is so serene!
And what a prospect!— (to De Beringhen)
Oh! you Popinjay!
JULIE.
He jests at me!—he mocks me!—yet I love him,
And every look becomes the lips we love!
Perhaps I am too grave?—You laugh at Julie;
If laughter please you, welcome be the music!
Only say, Adrien, that you love me.
DE MAUPRAT
(kissing her hand).
Ay;
With my whole heart I love you!—
Now, Sir, go,
And tell that to his Majesty!—Who ever
Heard of its being a state-offence to kiss
The hand of one's own wife?
JULIE.
He says he loves me,
And starts away, as if to say “I love you”
Meant something very dreadful.—Come, sit by me,—
I place your chair!—fie on your gallantry!
(They sit down; as he pushes his chair back, she draws hers nearer.)
JULIE.
Why must this strange Messire de Beringhen
Be always here? He never takes a hint.
Do you not wish him gone?
DE MAUPRAT.
Upon my soul
I do, my Julie!—Send him for your bouquèt,
Your glove, your—anything—
JULIE.
Messire De Beringhen,
Or the alcove, or—stay—no, by the statue
Of Cupid; may I ask you to—
DE BERINGHEN.
To send for it?
Certainly (ringing a bell on the table)
. Andrè, Pierre (your rascals, how
Do ye call them?)
Enter Servants.
Ah—Madame has dropp'd her glove
In the gardens, by the fountain,—or the alcove;
Or—stay—no, by the statue—eh?—of Cupid.
Bring it.
DE MAUPRAT.
Did ever now one pair of shoulders
Carry such waggon-loads of impudence
Into a gentleman's drawing-room?
Dear Julie,
I'm busy—letters—visiters—the devil!
I do beseech you leave me—I say—leave me.
JULIE
(weeping).
You are unkind.
Exit. (As she goes out, Mauprat drops on one knee and kisses the hem of her mantle, unseen by her.)
DE BERINGHEN.
Ten million of apologies—
DE MAUPRAT.
I'll not take one of them. I have, as yet,
Withstood all things—my heart—my love—my rights.
But Julie's tears!—When is this farce to end?
DE BERINGHEN.
Oh! when you please. His Majesty requests me,
As soon as you infringe his gracious orders,
To introduce you to the Governor
Of the Bastile. I should have had that honour
Before, but, gad, my foible is good nature;
One can't be hard upon a friend's infirmities.
DE MAUPRAT.
I know the King can send me to the scaffold—
The Church and Council, by this hour to-morrow,
One way or other settle not the matter,
I will—
DE BERINGHEN.
What, my dear Sir?
DE MAUPRAT.
Show you the door,
My dear, dear Sir; talk as I please, with whom
I please, in my own house, dear Sir, until
His Majesty shall condescend to find
A stouter gentleman than you, dear Sir,
To take me out; and now you understand me,
My dear, most dear—Oh, damnably dear Sir!
DE BERINGHEN.
What, almost in a passion! you will cool
Upon reflection. Well, since Madame's absent,
I'll take a small refreshment. Now, don't stir;
Be careful;—how's your burgundy?—I'll taste it—
Finish it all before I leave you. Nay,
No form;—you see I make myself at home.
[Exit De Beringhen.
DE MAUPRAT
(going to the door through which Baradas had passed).
Baradas! Count!
Enter Baradas.
You spoke of snares—of vengeance
Sharper than death—be plainer.
BARADAS.
What so clear?
Richelieu has but two passions—
DE MAUPRAT.
Richelieu!
BARADAS.
Yes!
Ambition and revenge—in you both blended.
First for ambition—Julie is his ward,
Innocent—docile—pliant to his will—
He placed her at the court—foresaw the rest—
The King loves Julie!
DE MAUPRAT.
Merciful Heaven! The King!
Such Cupids lend new plumes to Richelieu's wings:
But the court etiquette must give such Cupids
The veil of Hymen—(Hymen but in name).
He look'd abroad—found you his foe:—thus served
Ambition—by the grandeur of his ward,
And vengeance—by dishonour to his foe!
DE MAUPRAT.
Prove this.
BARADAS.
You have the proof—the royal Letter:—
Your strange exemption from the general pardon,
Known but to me and Richelieu; can you doubt
Your friend to acquit your foe? The truth is glaring—
Richelieu alone could tell the princely Lover
The tale which sells your life,—or buys your honour!
DE MAUPRAT.
I see it all!—Mock pardon—hurried nuptials—
False bounty!—all!—the serpent of that smile!
Oh! it stings home!
BARADAS.
You yet shall crush his malice;
Our plans are sure:—Orleans is at our head;
We meet to night; join us, and with us triumph.
DE MAUPRAT.
To night?—Oh Heaven!—my marriage night!—Revenge!
BARADAS.
What class of men, whose white lips do not curse
The grim, insatiate, universal tyrant?
We, noble-born—where are our antique rights—
Our feudal seignories—our castled strength,
That did divide us from the base Plebeians,
And made our swords our law—where are they?—trod
To dust—and o'er the graves of our dead power
Scaffolds are monuments—the Kingly House
Shorn of its beams—the Royal Sun of France
'Clips'd by this blood-red comet. Where we turn,
Nothing but Richelieu!—Armies—Church—State—Laws,
But mirrors that do multiply his beams.
Spy at our boards—and deathsman at our hearths,
Under the venom of one laidley nightshade,
Wither the lilies of all France.
DE MAUPRAT
(impatiently).
But Julie—
BARADAS
(unheeding him).
As yet the Fiend that serves hath saved his power
From every snare; and in the epitaphs
Of many victims dwells a warning moral
That preaches caution. Were I not assured
That what before was hope is ripen'd now
Into most certain safety, trust me, Mauprat,
I still could hush my hate and mark thy wrongs,
And say “Be patient!”—Now, the King himself
Smiles kindly when I tell him that his peers
Will rid him of his Priest. You knit your brows,
Noble impatience!—Pass we to our scheme!
'Tis Richelieu's wont, each morn, within his chapel,
(Hypocrite worship ended,) to dispense
Alms to the Mendicant friars,—in that guise
A band (yourself the leader) shall surround
And seize the despot.
DE MAUPRAT.
But the King? but Julie?
BARADAS.
The King, infirm in health, in mind more feeble,
Is but the plaything of a Minister's will.
Where Richelieu dead—his power were mine; and Louis
Soon should forget his passion and your crime.
But whither now?
DE MAUPRAT.
I know not; I scarce hear thee;
A little while for thought: anon I'll join thee;
But now, all air seems tainted, and I loathe
The face of man!
[Exit De Mauprat through the Gardens.
BARADAS.
Start from the chase, my prey,
But as thou speed'st the hell-hounds of Revenge
Pant in thy track and dog thee down.
DE BERINGHEN.
Chevalier,
Your cook's a miracle,—what, my Host gone?
Faith, Count, my office is a post of danger—
A fiery fellow, Mauprat!—touch and go,—
Match and saltpetre,—pr—r—r—r—!
BARADAS.
You
Will be released ere long. The King resolves
To call the bride to court this day.
DE BERINGHEN.
Poor Mauprat!
Yet, since you love the lady, why so careless
Of the King's suit?
BARADAS.
Because the lady's virtuous,
And the King timid. Ere he win the suit
He'll lose the crown,—the bride will be a widow,—
And I—the Richelieu of the Regent Orleans.
DE BERINGHEN.
Is Louis still so chafed against the Fox,
For snatching yon fair dainty from the Lion?
BARADAS.
So chafed, that Richelieu totters. Yes, the King
Is half conspirator against the Cardinal.
Enough of this. I've found the man we wanted,—
The man to head the hands that murder Richelieu,—
The man, whose name the synonym for daring.
DE BERINGHEN.
He must mean me!—No, Count, I am—I own
A valiant dog—but still—
BARADAS.
Whom can I mean
But Mauprat?—Mark, to-night we meet at Marion's,
There shall we sign:—thence send this scroll (showing it)
to Bouillon.
You're in that secret (affectionately)
—one of our new Council.
DE BERINGHEN.
But to admit the Spaniard—France's foe—
It looks like treason, and I smell the headsman.
BARADAS.
Oh, Sir, too late to falter: when we meet
We must arrange the separate—coarser scheme,
For Richelieu's death. Of this despatch De Mauprat
Must nothing learn. He only bites at vengeance,
And he would start from treason.—We must post him
Without the door at Marion's—as a sentry.
(Aside)
—So, when his head is on the block—his tongue
Cannot betray our more august designs!
DE BERINGHEN.
I'll meet you, if the King can spare me.— (Aside.)
—No!
I am too old a goose to play with foxes,
I'll roost at home. Meanwhile, in the next room
There's a delicious pâté, let's discuss it.
BARADAS.
Pshaw! a man fill'd with a sublime ambition
Has no time to discuss your pâtés.
DE BERINGHEN.
Pshaw!
And a man fill'd with as sublime a pâté
Has no time to discuss ambition.—Gad,
I have the best of it!
(Enter Julie hastily with first Courtier.)
JULIE
(to Courtier).
A summons, Sir,
To attend the Louvre?—On this day, too?
COURTIER.
Madame,
The royal carriage waits below.—Messire (to De Beringhen)
.
You will return with us.
JULIE.
What can this mean?—
Where is my husband?
BARADAS.
He has left the house
Perhaps till nightfall—so he bade me tell you.
Alas, were I the lord of such fair treasure—
(impatiently).
Till nightfall?—Strange—my heart misgives me!
COURTIER.
Madame,
My orders will not brook delay.
JULIE
(to Baradas).
You'll see him—
And you will tell him!
BARADAS.
From the flowers of Hybla
Never more gladly did the bee bear honey,
Than I take sweetness from those rosiest lips,
Though to the hive of others!
COURTIER
(to De Beringhen).
Come, Messire.
DE BERINGHEN
(hesitating).
One moment, just to—
COURTIER.
Come, Sir.
DE BERINGHEN.
I shall not
Discuss the pâté after all. 'Ecod,
I'm puzzled now. I don't know who's the best of it!
Exeunt Julie, De Beringhen, and Courtier.
BARADAS.
Now will this fire his fever into madness!
All is made clear: Mauprat must murder Richelieu—
Die for that crime:—I shall console his Julie—
This will reach Bouillon!—from the wrecks of France
I shall carve out—who knows—perchance a throne!
All in despite of my Lord Cardinal.—
Enter De Mauprat from the Gardens.
DE MAUPRAT.
Speak! can it be?—Methought, that from the terrace
I saw the carriage of the King—and Julie!
No!—no!—my frenzy peoples the void air
With its own phantoms!
Nay, too true.—Alas!
Was ever lightning swifter, or more blasting,
Than Richelieu's forkèd guile?
DE MAUPRAT.
I'll to the Louvre—
BARADAS.
And lose all hope!—The Louvre!—the sure gate
To the Bastile!
DE MAUPRAT.
The King—
BARADAS.
Is but the wax,
Which Richelieu stamps! Break the malignant seal,
And I will rase the print! Come, man, take heart!
Her virtue well could brave a sterner trial
Than a few hours of cold imperious courtship.
Were Richelieu dust—no danger!
DE MAUPRAT.
Ghastly Vengeance!
To thee and thine august and solemn sister
The unrelenting Death! I dedicate
The blood of Armand Richelieu! When Dishonour
Reaches our hearths Law dies, and Murther takes
The angel shape of Justice!
BARADAS.
Bravely said!
At midnight,—Marion's!—Nay, I cannot leave thee
To thoughts that—
DE MAUPRAT.
Speak not to me!—I am yours!—
But speak not! There's a voice within my soul,
Whose cry could drown the thunder.—Oh! if men
Will play dark sorcery with the heart of man,
Let they, who raise the spell, beware the Fiend!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A room in the Palais Cardinal (as in the First Act).Richelieu.—Joseph.
François, writing at a table.
JOSEPH.
Yes;—Huguet, taking his accustom'd round,—
Disguised as some plain burgher,—heard these rufflers
Quoting your name:—he listen'd,—“Pshaw!” said one,
“We are to seize the Cardinal in his palace
To-morrow!”—“How?” the other ask'd;—“You'll hear
The whole design to-night; the Duke of Orleans
And Baradas have got the map of action
At their fingers' end.”—“So be it,” quoth the other,
“I will be there,—Marion de Lorme's—at midnight!”
RICHELIEU.
I have them, man, I have them!
JOSEPH.
So they say
Of you, my Lord;—believe me, that their plans
Are mightier than you deem. You must employ
Means no less vast to meet them!
RICHELIEU.
Bah! in policy
We foil gigantic danger, not by giants,
But dwarfs.—The statues of our stately fortune
Are sculptured by the chisel—not the axe!
Ah! were I younger—by the knightly heart
That beats beneath these priestly robes, I would
Lured to the ambush of the expecting foe,—
I clove my pathway through the plumed sea!
Reach me yon falchion, François,—not that bauble
For carpet-warriors,—yonder—such a blade
As old Charles Martel might have wielded when
He drove the Saracen from France.
(François brings him one of the long two-handed swords worn in the Middle Ages.)
With this
I, at Rochelle, did hand to hand engage
The stalwart Englisher,—no mongrels, boy,
Those island mastiffs,—mark the notch—a deep one—
His casque made here,—I shore him to the waist!
A toy—a feather—then!
(Tries to wield, and lets it fall.)
You see a child could
Slay Richelieu, now.
FRANÇOIS
(his hand on his hilt).
But now, at your command
Are other weapons, my good Lord.
RICHELIEU
(who has seated himself as to write, lifts the pen).
True,—THIS!
Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold
The arch-enchanter's wand!—itself a nothing!—
But taking sorcery from the master-hand
To paralyse the Cæsars—and to strike
The loud earth breathless!—Take away the sword—
States can be saved without it!
(Looking on the clock.)
'Tis the hour,—
Retire, Sir.
[Exit François.
(A knock is heard. A door, concealed in the arras opens cautiously. Enter Marion de Lorme.)
(amazed).
Marion de Lorme!
RICHELIEU.
Hist!—Joseph,
Keep guard.
(Joseph retires to the principal entrance.)
My faithful Marion!
MARION.
Good, my Lord,
They meet to-night in my poor house. The Duke
Of Orleans heads them.
RICHELIEU.
Yes—go on.
MARION.
His Highness
Much question'd if I knew some brave, discreet,
And vigilant man, whose tongue could keep a secret,
And who had those twin qualities for service,
The love of gold, the hate of Richelieu.—
RICHELIEU.
You?—
MARION.
Made answer, “Yes—my brother;—bold and trusty;
Whose faith, my faith could pledge;”—the Duke then bade me
Have him equipp'd and arm'd—well-mounted—ready
This night to part for Italy.
RICHELIEU.
Aha!—
Has Bouillon too turn'd traitor!—So, methought!—
What part of Italy?
MARION.
The Piedmont frontier,
Where Bouillon lies encamp'd.
Now there is danger!
Great danger!—If he tamper with the Spaniard,
And Louis list not to my council, as,
Without sure proof, he will not,—France is lost.
What more?
MARION.
Dark hints of some design to seize
Your person in your palace. Nothing clear—
His Highness trembled while he spoke—the words
Did choke each other!
RICHELIEU.
So!—Who is the brother
You recommended to the Duke?
MARION.
Whoever
Your Eminence may father!—
RICHELIEU.
Darling Marion!
(Goes to the table, and returns with a large bag of gold.)
There—pshaw—a trifle!—What an eye you have!
And what a smile—child!— (kisses her)
—Ah! you fair perdition—
'Tis well I'm old!
MARION
(aside and seriously).
What a great man he is!
RICHELIEU.
You are sure they meet?—the hour?
At midnight.
RICHELIEU.
And
You will engage to give the Duke's despatch
To whom I send?
MARION.
Aye, marry!
RICHELIEU
(aside).
Huguet? No;
He will be wanted elsewhere.—Joseph?—zealous,
But too well known—too much the elder brother!
Mauprat—alas—it is his wedding-day!—
François?—the Man of Men!—unnoted—young—
Ambitious— (goes to the door)
—François!
Enter François.
RICHELIEU.
Follow this fair lady:
(Find him the suiting garments, Marion,) take
My fleetest steed:—arm thyself to the teeth;
A packet will be given you—with orders,
No matter what!—The instant that your hand
Closes upon it—clutch it, like your honour,
Which Death alone can steal, or ravish—set
Spurs to your steed—be breathless, till you stand
Again before me.—Stay, Sir!—You will find me
Two short leagues hence—at Ruelle, in my castle.
Young man, be blithe!—for—note me—from the hour
I grasp that packet—think your guardian Star
Rains fortune on you!
FRANÇOIS.
If I fail—
RICHELIEU.
Fail—fail?
In the lexicon of youth, which Fate reserves
For a bright manhood, there is no such word
Follow her—but at distance;—speak not to her,
Till you are housed;—Farewell, boy! Never say
“Fail” again.
FRANÇOIS.
I will not!
RICHELIEU
(patting his locks).
There's my young hero!—
[Exeunt François—Marion.
RICHELIEU.
So, they would seize my person in this palace?—
I cannot guess their scheme:—but my retinue
Is here too large!—a single traitor could
Strike impotent the faith of thousands;—Joseph,
Art sure of Huguet?—Think—we hang'd his Father!
JOSEPH.
But you have bought the Son;—heap'd favours on him!
RICHELIEU.
Trash!—favours past—that's nothing.—In his hours
Of confidence with you, has he named the favours
To come—he counts on?
JOSEPH.
Yes:—a Colonel's rank,
And Letters of Nobility.
RICHELIEU.
What, Huguet!—
(Here Huguet enters, as to address the Cardinal, who does not perceive him.)
HUGUET.
My own name, soft— (glides behind the screen!)
RICHELIEU.
Colonel and Nobleman!
My bashful Huguet—that can never be!—
We have him not the less—we'll promise it!
A great convenience to a minister!
No wrong to Huguet either!—Moralists
Say, Hope is sweeter than Possession!—Yes—
We'll count on Huguet! Favours past do gorge
Our dogs; leave service drowsy—dull the scent,
Slacken the speed;—favours to come, my Joseph,
Produce a lusty, hungry gratitude,
A ravenous zeal, that of the commonest cur
Would make a Cerberus.—You are right, this treason
Assumes a fearful aspect:—but once crush'd,
Its very ashes shall manure the soil
Of power; and ripen such full sheaves of greatness,
That all the summer of my fate shall seem
Fruitless beside the autumn!
Huguet holds up his hand menacingly, and creeps out.)
JOSEPH.
The saints grant it!
RICHELIEU
(solemnly).
Yes—for sweet France, Heaven grant it!—O my country,
For thee—thee only—though men deem it not—
Are toil and terror my familiars!—I
Have made thee great and fair—upon thy brows
Wreath'd the old Roman laurel:—at thy feet
Bow'd nations down.—No pulse in my ambition
Whose beatings were not measured from thy heart!
In the old times before us, patriots lived
And died for liberty—
JOSEPH.
As you would live
And die for despotry—
RICHELIEU.
False monk, not so,
But for the purple and the power wherein
State clothes herself.—I love my native land
Not as Venetian, Englisher, or Swiss,
But as a Noble and a Priest of France;
“All things for France”—lo, my eternal maxim!
The vital axle of the restless wheels
That bear me on! With her, I have entwined
Hated and loved , and schemed, and shed men's blood,
As the calm crafts of Tuscan Sages teach
Those who would make their country great. Beyond
The Map of France—my heart can travel not,
But fills that limit to its farthest verge;
And while I live—Richelieu and France are one.
We Priests, to whom the Church forbids in youth
The plighted one—to manhood's toil denies
The soother helpmate—from our wither'd age
Shuts the sweet blossoms of the second spring
That smiles in the name of Father—We are yet
Not holier than Humanity, and must
Fulfil Humanity's condition—Love!
Debarr'd the Actual, we but breathe a life
To the chill Marble of the Ideal—Thus,
In thy unseen and abstract Majesty,
A thing to love. What are these robes of state,
This pomp, this palace? perishable baubles!
In this world two things only are immortal—
Fame and a People!
Enter Huguet.
HUGUET.
My Lord Cardinal,
Your Eminence bade me seek you at this hour.
RICHELIEU.
Did I?—True, Huguet.—So—you overheard
Strange talk amongst these gallants? Snares and traps
For Richelieu?—Well—we'll balk them; let me think—
The men at arms you head—how many?
HUGUET.
Twenty,
My Lord.
RICHELIEU.
All trusty?
HUGUET.
Yes, for ordinary
Occasions—if for great ones, I would change
Three-fourths at least.
RICHELIEU.
Ay, what are great occasions?
HUGUET.
Great bribes!
RICHELIEU
(to Joseph).
Good lack, he knows some paragons
Superior to great bribes!
HUGUET.
True Gentlemen
Who have transgress'd the Laws—and value life
And lack not gold; your Eminence alone
Can grant them pardon. Ergo you can trust them!
Logic!—So be it—let this honest twenty
Be arm'd and mounted— (aside.)
So they meet at midnight,
The attempt on me to-morrow—Ho! we'll strike
'Twixt wind and water.— (Aloud.)
Does it need much time
To find these ornaments to Human Nature?
HUGUET.
My Lord—the trustiest of them are not birds
That love the daylight.—I do know a haunt
Where they meet nightly—
RICHELIEU.
Ere the dawn be grey,
All could be arm'd, assembled, and at Ruelle
In my old hall?
HUGUET.
By one hour after midnight.
RICHELIEU.
The castle's strong. You know its outlets, Huguet?
Would twenty men, well posted, keep such guard
That not one step—(and Murther's step is stealthy)—
Could glide within—unseen?
HUGUET.
A triple wall—
A drawbridge and portcullis—twenty men
Under my lead, a month might hold that castle
Against a host.
RICHELIEU.
They do not strike till morning,
Yet I will shift the quarter—Bid the grooms
Prepare the litter—I will hence to Ruelle
While daylight last—and one hour after midnight
You and your twenty saints shall seek me thither!
You're made to rise!—You are, Sir;—eyes of lynx,
Ears of the stag, a footfall like the snow;
Religious, exemplary, incorrupt,
And precious jewel of a fellow, Huguet!
If I live long enough,—ay, mark my words—
If I live long enough, you'll be a Colonel—
Noble perhaps!—One hour, Sir, after midnight.
HUGUET.
You leave me dumb with gratitude, my Lord;
I'll pick the trustiest (aside)
Marion's house can furnish!
[Exit Huguet.
RICHELIEU.
How like a spider shall I sit in my hole,
And watch the meshes tremble.
JOSEPH.
But, my Lord,
Were it not wiser still to man the palace,
And seize the traitors in the act?
RICHELIEU.
No; Louis,
Long chafed against me—Julie stolen from him,
Will rouse him more.—He'll say I hatch'd the treason,
Or scout my charge:—He half desires my death;
But the despatch to Bouillon, some dark scheme
Against his crown—there is our weapon, Joseph!
With that all safe—without it, all is peril!
Meanwhile to my old castle; you to court,
Diving with careless eyes into men's hearts,
As ghostly churchmen should do! See the King,
Bid him peruse that sage and holy treatise,
Wherein 'tis set forth how a Premier should
Be chosen from the Priesthood—how the King
Should never listen to a single charge
Against his servant, nor conceal one whisper
That the rank envies of a court distil
Into his ear—to fester the fair name
Of my—I mean his Minister!—Oh! Joseph,
Good—all favours,
If François be but bold, and Huguet honest.—
Huguet—I half suspect—he bow'd too low—
'Tis not his way.
JOSEPH.
This is the curse, my Lord,
Of your high state;—suspicion of all men.
RICHELIEU
(sadly).
True;—true;—my leeches bribed to poisoners;—pages
To strangle me in sleep.—My very King
(This brain the unresting loom, from which was woven
The purple of his greatness) leagued against me.
Old—childless—friendless—broken—all forsake—
All—all—but—
JOSEPH.
What?
RICHELIEU.
The indomitable heart
Of Armand Richelieu!
JOSEPH.
Nought beside?
RICHELIEU.
Why, Julie,
My own dear foster-child, forgive me!—yes;
This morning, shining through their happy tears,
Thy soft eyes bless'd me!—and thy Lord,—in danger
He would forsake me not.
JOSEPH.
And Joseph—
(after a pause).
You—
Yes, I believe you—yes—for all men fear you—
And the world loves you not.—And I, friend Joseph,
I am the only man, who could, my Joseph,
Make you a Bishop. —Come, we'll go to dinner,
And talk the while of methods to advance
Our Mother Church. —Ah, Joseph,—Bishop Joseph!
Richelieu not only employed the lowest, but would often consult men commonly esteemed, the dullest. “Il disoit que dans des choses de très grande importance, il avait expérimenté, que les moins sages donnoient souvent les meilleurs expédiens.” —Le Clerc.
Both Richelieu and Joseph were originally intended for the profession of arms. Joseph had served before he obeyed the spiritual inspiration to become a Capuchin. The death of his brother opened to Richelieu the Bishopric of Luçon; but his military propensities were as strong as his priestly ambition. I need scarcely add that the Cardinal, during his brilliant campaign in Italy, marched at the head of his troops in complete armour. It was under his administration that occurs the last example of proclaiming war by the chivalric defiance of herald and cartel. Richelieu valued himself much on his personal activity,—for his vanity was as universal as his ambition. A nobleman of the house of Grammont one day found him employed in jumping, and, with all the savoir vivre of a Frenchman and a courtier, offered to jump against him. He suffered the Cardinal to jump higher, and soon after found himself rewarded by an appointment. Yet, strangely enough, this vanity did not lead to a patronage injurious to the state; for never before in France was ability made so essential a requisite in promotion. He was lucky in finding the cleverest fellows among his adroitest flatterers.
Voltaire openly charges Richelieu with being the lover of Marion de Lorme, whom the great poet of France, Victor Hugo, has sacrificed History to adorn with qualities which were certainly not added to her personal charms.—She was not less perfidious than beautiful.—Le Clerc, properly, refutes the accusation of Voltaire, against the discretion of Richelieu; and says, very justly, that if the great minister had the frailties of human nature, he learnt how to veil them,—at least when he obtained the scarlet. In earlier life he had been prone to gallantries which a little prepossessed the King (who was formal and decorous, and threw a singular coldness into the few attachments he permitted to himself) against the aspiring intriguer. But these gayer occupations died away in the engagement of higher pursuits or of darker passions.
Richelieu did in fact so thoroughly associate himself with the State, that, in cases where the extreme penalty of the law had been incurred, Le Clerc justly observes that he was more inexorable to those he had favoured—even to his own connections—than to other and more indifferent offenders. It must be remembered as some excuse for his unrelenting sternness that, before his time, the great had been accustomed to commit any disorder with impunity—even the crime of treason, “auparavant on ne faisoit poser les armes aux rebelles qu'en leur accordant quelque récompense.” On entering into the administration, he therefore laid it down as a maxim necessary to the existence of the State, that “no crime should be committed with impunity.” To carry out this maxim, the long-established licence to crime made even justice seem cruel. But the victims most commiserated from their birth or accomplishments, as Montmorenci, or Cinq Mars, were traitors in actual conspiracy against their country, and would have forfeited life in any land where the punishment of death existed, and the lawgiver was strong enough to vindicate the law. Richelieu was in fact a patriot unsoftened by philanthropy. As in Venice (where the favourite aphorism was, Venice first, Christianity next), so, with Richelieu, the primary consideration was, “what will be best for the Country?” He had no abstract principle, whether as a politician or a priest, when applied to the world that lay beyond the boundaries of France. Thus he, whose object was to found in France a splendid and imperious despotism—assisted the Parliamentary party in England, and signed a treaty of alliance and subsidies with the Catalan rebels for the establishment of a Republic in Barcelona;—to convulse other Monarchies was to consolidate the growing Monarchy of France.—So he, who completely crushed the Protestant party at home, braved all the wrath of the Vatican, and even the resentment of the King, in giving the most essential aid to the Protestants abroad. There was, indeed, a largeness of view in his hostility to the French Huguenots, which must be carefully distinguished from the intolerance of the mere priest. He opposed them, not as a Catholic, but as a Statesman. The Huguenots were strong republicans, and had formed plans for dividing France into provincial commonwealths; and the existence of Rochelle was absolutely incompatible with the integrity of the French Monarchy. It was a second capital held by the Huguenots, claiming independent authority, and the right to treat with Foreign Powers. Richelieu's final conquest was marked by a humanity, that had nothing of the bigot. The Huguenots obtained a complete amnesty, and had only to regret the loss of privileges and fortifications which could not have existed with any security to the rest of France.
The guard attached to RIchelieu's person was, in the first instance, fifty arquebussiers, afterwards increased to two companies of cavalry and two hundred musqueteers. Huguet is, therefore, to be considered merely as the lieutenant of a small detachment of this little army. In point of fact, the subdivisions of the guard took it in turns to serve.
This tract, on the “Unity of the Minister,” contains all the doctrines, and many more to the same effect, referred to in the text, and had a prodigious influence on the conscience of the poor king. At the onset of his career, Richelieu, as deputy of the clergy of Poitou, complained in his harangue to the king that ecclesiastics were too rarely summoned to the royal councils, and invoked the example of the Druids!
Joseph's ambition was not, however, so moderate; he refused a bishopric, and desired the Cardinal's Hat, for which favour Richelieu openly supplicated the Holy See, but contrived somehow or other never to effect it, although two ambassadors applied for it at Rome.
The peculiar religion of Père Joseph may be illustrated by the following anecdote:—An officer, whom he had dismissed upon an expedition into Germany, moved by conscience at the orders he had received, returned for farther explanations, and found the Capucin disant sa messe. He approached and whispered “But, my father, if these people defend themselves—” “Kill all” (Qu'on tue tout), answered the good father, continuing his devotions.
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