The Cardinal could not resist this movement of displeasure, because he felt himself obliged, by the presence of his agent, to resume those profound and painful conversations from which he had for some days been free, in a country whose pure air, favorable to him, had somewhat soothed the pain of his malady; that malady had changed to a slow fever, but its intervals were long enough to enable him to forget during its absence that it must return. Giving, therefore, a little rest to his hitherto indefatigable mind, he had been awaiting, for the first time in his life perhaps, without impatience, the return of the couriers he had sent in all directions, like the rays of a sun which alone gave life and movement to France. He had not expected the visit he now received, and the sight of one of those men, whom, to use his own expression, he “steeped in crime,” rendered all the habitual disquietudes of his life more present to him, without entirely dissipating the cloud of melancholy which at that time obscured his thoughts.
The beginning of his conversation was tinged with the gloomy hue of his late reveries; but he soon became more animated and vigorous than ever, when his powerful mind had reentered the real world.
His confidant, seeing that he was expected to break the silence, did so in this abrupt fashion:
“Well, my lord, of what are you thinking?”
“Alas, Joseph, of what should we all think, but of our future happiness in a better life? For many days I have been reflecting that human interests have too much diverted me from this great thought; and I repent me of having spent some moments of my leisure in profane works, such as my tragedies, ‘Europe’ and ‘Mirame,’ despite the glory they have already gained me among our brightest minds—a glory which will extend unto futurity.”
Father Joseph, full of what he had to say, was at first surprised at this opening; but he knew his master too well to betray his feelings, and, well skilled in changing the course of his ideas, replied:
“Yes, their merit is very great, and France will regret that these immortal works are not followed by similar productions.”
“Yes, my dear Joseph; but it is in vain that such men as Boisrobert, Claveret, Colletet, Corneille, and, above all, the celebrated Mairet, have proclaimed these tragedies the finest that the present or any past age has produced. I reproach myself for them, I swear to you, as for a mortal sin, and I now, in my hours of repose, occupy myself only with my ‘Methode des Controverses’, and my book on the ‘Perfection du Chretien.’ I remember that I am fifty-six years old, and that I have an incurable malady.”
“These are calculations which your enemies make as precisely as your Eminence,” said the priest, who began to be annoyed with this conversation, and was eager to talk of other matters.
The blood mounted to the Cardinal’s face.