Scar. As a wise politick lady, when she has not the fool her husband to divert her, will have her monkey; so must the great statesman have his buffoon. He is the same to the politician as a clyster is to the man that’s costive. But go on with your story.
Furet. He being one day with the king, looking out at a window of Versailles, that faces the great road to Paris, and observing the passengers, the king at last discover’d a coach with more, as he thought, than six horses; and turning to la Feuillade, praising the equipage, ask’d him if it was not the archbishop of Rheims’s livery: yes, Sir, said la Feuillade. I can discover but seven horses, reply’d the king: Oh! Sir, said la Feuillade, the eighth is in the coach. But I pretend to degrade this archbishop, and prove that he’s but a mitred hog as well as the rest of his brethren.
Scar. Ah dear Monsieur l’Abbé, for the love of Monsieur le Tellier, who has render’d his king and country such great service, take not from him the honour la Feuillade conferr’d on him, and with the king’s approbation.
Furet. Plead not so earnestly for him, but hear me with patience. I do not say but the archbishop of Rheims is a brute, a very animal, a coach-horse, per omnes casus; but yet he pursues the affairs of love with as much zeal, and as little conscience, as any prelate in Europe, therefore must not be distinguish’d from his brethren. Besides, if you take him from his lawful title of mitred hog, you will hinder his preferment.
Scar. Oh! by no means. I have read that Caligula honour’d one of his horses with the title of senator; why then may not the Pope, who is the successor of that emperor, call into his senate your coach-horse?
Furet. With all my heart. Nevertheless, I’ll call him if you please, mitred hog, as I did the bishop of Loan before he was cardinal d’Estrée. Now to matter of fact. The duchess d’Aumont having surpris’d one of her chamber-maids in a very indecent posture with the marquis de Villequier, her son-in-law, turn’d her out of her service. The poor wench, distracted to find herself separated from her lover, told him, out of pure revenge, that the archbishop of Rheims lay with the duchess every time the duke went to Versailles. How! my uncle! Ah! I cannot believe it; thou say’st this out of malice.
Scar. Oh fie! oh fie! The archbishop of Rheims debauch the duchess d’Aumont, his brother-in-law’s wife! Do not you plainly perceive this jade’s malice? If the duchess had but suffer’d her intrigue with the marquis, she would not have open’d her mouth. Oh, horrible! Oh, horrible!
Furet. As much as you seem to wonder now, and abhor the thoughts of such doings, you were not formerly so nice, nor incredulous.
Scar. Be not angry, good Monsieur l’Abbé; I do believe as bad of a priest, as you can desire to have me; therefore pray continue.
Furet. By what follows you’ll find that the spirit of revenge discover’d a most luscious intrigue. Since you will not believe what I say, reply’d the wench to her gallant, I will, the next time the duke goes to Versailles, make your eyes convince you. The duchess, you must know, had imprudently given her leave to stay three or four days in her house. As it happen’d, the duke went that afternoon to court, who was no sooner gone, and the marquis plac’d in a dark room leading to the duchess’s bed-chamber, but by comes the archbishop, muffled up with a dark-lanthorn in his hand. This convinced the young marquis, and was enough to convince a more incredulous man than your worship.