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 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 good proofs of that.”
“But he will no longer have to deal with Cromwell,
monsieur.”
“But he will have to deal with Monk, 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 over-filled 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 Monk! Oh, sire, God defend you from ever having anything
to transact politically with Monk. It is he who has given
me, in one year, all the gray hairs I have. Monk 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 forthwith all the conditions of success which always
accompany an unforeseen event. That is Monk, 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, I have become prime minister to the king of
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France; and in that position your majesty will perhaps
acknowledge I have rendered some service to the throne of
your majesty. Well, sire, if I had met with Monk on my way,
instead of Monsieur de Beaufort, Monsieur de Retz, or
Monsieur le Prince — well, we should have been ruined. If
you engage yourself rashly, sire, you will fall into the
talons of this politic soldier. The casque of Monk, sire, is
an iron coffer, in the recesses of which he shuts up his
thoughts, and no one has the key of it. Therefore, near him,
or rather before him, I bow, sire, for I have nothing but a
velvet cap.”
“What do you think Monk wishes to do, then?”
“Eh! sire, if I knew that, I would not tell you to mistrust
him, for I should be stronger than he; but with him, I am
afraid to guess — to guess! — you understand my word? —
for if I thought I had guessed, I should stop at an idea,
and, in spite of myself, should pursue that idea. Since that
man has been in power yonder, I am like one of the damned in
Dante whose neck Satan has twisted, and who walk forward