The Vicomte de Bragelonne

the death of his father, and England at the abdication of Richard. The treaty formed part of the inheritance, whether in the hands of M. Richard or in the hands of England. The treaty is, then, still as good, as valid as ever. Why should you evade it, sire? What is changed? Charles wants today what we were not willing to grant him ten years ago; but that was foreseen and provided against. You are the ally of England, sire, and not of Charles II. It was doubtless wrong, from a family point of view, to sign a treaty with a man who had cut off the head of the king your father’s brother-in-law, and to contract an alliance with a parliament which they call yonder the Rump Parliament; it was unbecoming, I acknowledge, but it was not unskillful from a political point of view, since, thanks to that treaty, I saved Your Majesty, then a minor, the trouble and danger of a foreign war, which the Fronde⁠—you remember the Fronde, sire?”⁠—the young king hung his head⁠—“which the Fronde might have fatally complicated. And thus I prove to Your Majesty that to change our plan now, without warning our allies, would be at once unskillful and dishonest. We should make war with the aggression on our side; we should make it, deserving to have it made against us; and we should have the appearance of fearing it whilst provoking it, for a permission granted to five hundred men, to two hundred men, to fifty men, to ten men, is still a permission. One Frenchman, that is the nation; one uniform, that is the army. Suppose, sire, for example, that you should have war with Holland, which, sooner or later, will certainly happen; or with Spain, which will perhaps ensue if your marriage fails” (Mazarin stole a furtive glance at the king), “and there are a thousand causes that might yet make your marriage fail⁠—well, would you approve of England’s sending to the United Provinces or to Spain a regiment, a company, a squadron even, of English gentlemen? Would you think that they kept within the limits of their treaty of alliance?”

Louis listened; it seemed so strange to him that Mazarin should invoke good faith, and he the author of so many political tricks, called Mazarinades. “And yet,” said the king, “without any manifest authorization, I cannot prevent gentlemen of my states from passing over into England, if such should be their good pleasure.”

“You should compel them to return, sire, or at least protest against their presence as enemies in a allied country.”

“But come, my Lord Cardinal, you who are so profound a genius, try if you cannot find a means to assist this poor king, without compromising ourselves.”

“And that is exactly what I am not willing to do, my dear sire,” said Mazarin. “If England were to act exactly according to my wishes, she could not act better than she does; if I directed the policy of England from this place, I should not direct it otherwise. Governed as she is governed, England is an eternal nest of contention for all Europe. Holland protects Charles II, let Holland do so; they will quarrel, they will fight. They are the only two maritime powers. Let them destroy each other’s navies, we can construct ours with the wrecks of their vessels; when we shall save our money to buy nails.”

“Oh, how paltry and mean is all this that you are telling me, Monsieur le Cardinal!”

“Yes, but nevertheless it is true, sire; you must confess that. Still further. Suppose I admit, for a moment, the possibility of breaking your word, and evading the treaty⁠—such a thing as sometimes happens, but that is when some great interest is to be promoted by it, or when the treaty is found to be too troublesome⁠—well, you will authorize the engagement asked of you: France⁠—her banner, which is the same thing⁠—will cross the Straits and will fight; France will be conquered.”

“Why so?”

“Ma foi! we have a pretty general to fight under⁠—this Charles II! Worcester gave us proofs of that.”

“But he will no longer have to deal with Cromwell, Monsieur.”

“But he will have to deal with Monck, who is quite as dangerous. The brave brewer of whom we are speaking, was a visionary; he had moments of exaltation, of inflation during which he ran over like an overfilled cask; and from the chinks there always escaped some drops of his thoughts, and by the sample the whole of his thought was to be made out. Cromwell has thus allowed us more than ten times to penetrate into his very soul, when one would have conceived that soul to be enveloped in triple brass, as Horace has it. But Monck! Oh, sire, God defend you from ever having anything to transact politically with Monck. It is he who has given me, in one year, all the gray hairs I have. Monck is no fanatic; unfortunately he is a politician; he does not overflow, he keeps close together. For ten years he has had his eyes fixed upon one object, and nobody has yet been able to ascertain what. Every morning, as Louis XI advised, he burns his nightcap. Therefore, on the day when this plan, slowly and solitarily ripened, shall break forth, it will break forth with all the conditions of success which always accompany an unforeseen event. That is Monck, sire, of whom, perhaps, you have never heard⁠—of whom, perhaps, you did not even know the name, before your brother, Charles II, who knows what he is, pronounced it before you. He is a marvel of depth and tenacity, the two only things against which intelligence and ardor are blunted. Sire, I had ardor when I was young; I always was intelligent. I may safely boast of it, because I am reproached with it. I have done very well with these two qualities, since, from the son of a fisherman of Piscina,