“Come, now, Joseph, give me a definition of love according to thy idea. What can it be—for thou seest it exists out of romances. This worthy youngster undertook these little conspiracies through love. Thou heardst it thyself with throe unworthy ears. Come, what is love? For my part, I know nothing about it.”
The monk was astounded, and looked upon the ground with the stupid eye of some base animal. After long consideration, he replied in a drawling and nasal voice:
“It must be a kind of malignant fever which leads the brain astray; but in truth, Monseigneur, I have never reflected on it until this moment. I have always been embarrassed in speaking to a woman. I wish women could be omitted from society altogether; for I do not see what use they are, unless it be to disclose secrets, like the little Duchess or Marion de Lorme, whom I can not too strongly recommend to your Eminence. She thought of everything, and herself threw our little prophecy among the conspirators with great address. We have not been without the marvellous this time. As in the siege of Hesdin, all we have to do is to find a window through which you may pass on the day of the execution.”
[In 1638, Prince Thomas having raised the siege of Hesdin, the
Cardinal was much vexed at it. A nun of the convent of Mount
Calvary had said that the victory would be to the King and Father
Joseph, thus wishing it to be believed that Heaven protected the
minister.—Memoires pour l’histoire du Cardinal de Richelieu.]
“This is another of your absurdities, sir,” said the Cardinal; “you will make me as ridiculous as yourself, if you go on so; I am too powerful to need the assistance of Heaven. Do not let that happen again. Occupy yourself only with the people I consign to you. I traced your part before. When the master of the horse is taken, you will see him tried and executed at Lyons. I will not be known in this. This affair is beneath me; it is a stone under my feet, upon which I ought not to have bestowed so much attention.”
Joseph was silent; he could not understand this man, who, surrounded on every side by armed enemies, spoke of the future as of a present over which he had the entire control, and of the present as a past which he no longer feared. He knew not whether to look upon him as a madman or a prophet, above or below the standard of human nature.
His astonishment was redoubled when Chavigny hastily entered, and nearly falling, in his heavy boots, over the Cardinal’s footstool, exclaimed in great agitation:
“Sir, one of your servants has just arrived from Perpignan; and he has beheld the camp in an uproar, and your enemies in the saddle.”
“They will soon dismount, sir,” replied Richelieu, replacing his footstool. “You appear to have lost your equanimity.”
“But—but, Monseigneur, must we not warn Monsieur de Fabert?”