Cambria to the Spaniards.”
“You have, perhaps, yourself written pamphlets without
severely persecuting pamphleteers.”
“Then, reverend father, I have truly a clean breast. I feel
nothing remaining but slight peccadilloes.”
“What are they?”
“Play.”
“That is rather worldly: but you were obliged by the duties
of greatness to keep a good house.”
“I like to win.”
“No player plays to lose.”
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“I cheated a little.”
“You took your advantage. Pass on.”
“Well! reverend father, I feel nothing else upon my
conscience. Give me absolution, and my soul will be able,
when God shall please to call it, to mount without obstacle
to the throne —- ”
The Theatin moved neither his arms nor his lips. “What are
you waiting for, father?” said Mazarin.
“I am waiting for the end.”
“The end of what?”
“Of the confession, monsieur.”
“But I have ended.”
“Oh, no; your eminence is mistaken.”
“Not that I know of.”
“Search diligently.”
“I have searched as well as possible.”
“Then I shall assist your memory.”
“Do.”
The Theatin coughed several times. “You have said nothing of
avarice, another capital sin, nor of those millions,” said
he.
“What millions, father?”
“Why, those you possess, my lord.”
“Father, that money is mine, why should I speak to you about
that?”
“Because, see you, our opinions differ. You say that money
is yours, whilst I — I believe it is rather the property of
others.”
Mazarin lifted his cold hand to his brow, which was beaded
with perspiration. “How so?” stammered he.
“This way. Your excellency has gained much wealth — in the
service of the king.”
“Hum! much — that is, not too much.”
“Whatever it may be, whence came that wealth?
“From the state.”
“The state, that is the king.”
“But what do you conclude from that, father?” said Mazarin,
who began to tremble.
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“I cannot conclude without seeing a list of the riches you
possess. Let us reckon a little, if you please. You have the
bishopric of Metz?”
“Yes.”
“The abbeys of St. Clement, St. Arnould, and St. Vincent,
all at Metz?”
“Yes.”
“You have the abbey of St. Denis, in France, a magnificent
property?”
“Yes, father.”
“You have the abbey of Cluny, which is rich?”
“I have.”
“That of St. Medard at Soissons, with a revenue of one
hundred thousand livres?”
“I cannot deny it.”
“That of St. Victor, at Marseilles, — one of the best in
the south?”
“Yes, father.”
“A good million a year. With the emoluments of the
cardinalship and the ministry, I say too little when I say
two millions a year.”
“Eh!”
“In ten years that is twenty millions, — and twenty
millions put out at fifty per cent give, by progression,
twenty-three millions in ten years.”
“How well you reckon for a Theatin!”
“Since your eminence placed our order in the convent we
occupy, near St. Germain des Pres, in 1641, I have kept the
accounts of the society.”
“And mine likewise, apparently, father.”
“One ought to know a little of everything, my lord.”
“Very well. Conclude, at present.”
“I conclude that your baggage is too heavy to allow you to
pass through the gates of Paradise.”
“Shall I be damned?”
“If you do not make restitution, yes.”
Mazarin uttered a piteous cry. “Restitution! — but to whom,
good God?”
“To the owner of that money, — to the king.”
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“But the king did not give it all to me.”
“One moment, — does not the king sign the ordonnances?”
Mazarin passed from sighs to groans. “Absolution!
absolution!” cried he.
“Impossible, my lord. Restitution! restitution!” replied the
Theatin.
“But you absolve me from all other sins, why not from that?”
“Because,” replied the father, “to absolve you for that
motive would be a sin for which the king would never absolve
me, my lord.”
Thereupon the confessor quitted his penitent with an air
full of compunction. He then went out in the same manner he
had entered.
“Oh, good God!” groaned the cardinal. “Come here, Colbert, I
am very, very ill indeed, my friend.”
CHAPTER 46
The Donation