France -- History -- Louis XIV, 1643-1715 -- Fiction
“Sinners?” replied Mazarin. “Do you use that word ironically, and to
reproach me with all the genealogies I have allowed to be made on my
account—I—the son of a fisherman, in fact?”*
* This is quite untranslatable—it being a play upon the words pecheur,
a sinner, and pecheur, a fisherman. It is in very bad taste.—TRANS.
“Hum!” said the Theatin.
“That is a first sin, father; for I have allowed myself made to descend
from two old Roman consuls, S. Geganius Macerinus 1st, Macerinus 2d,
and Proculus Macerinus 3d, of whom the Chronicle of Haolander speaks.
From Macerinus to Mazarin the proximity was tempting. Macerinus, a
diminutive, means leanish, poorish, out of case. Oh! reverend father!
Mazarini may now be carried to the augmentative Maigre, thin as
Lazarus. Look!” and he showed his fleshless arms.
“In your having been born of a family of fishermen I see nothing
injurious to you; for—St. Peter was a fisherman; and if you are a
prince of the church, my lord, he was the supreme head of it. Pass on,
if you please.”
“So much the more for my having threatened with the Bastile a certain
Bounet, a priest of Avignon, who wanted to publish a genealogy of the
Casa Mazarini much too marvelous.”
“To be probable?” replied the Theatin.
“Oh! if I had acted up to his idea, father, that would have been the
vice of pride—another sin.”
“It was excess of wit, and a person is not to be reproached with such
sorts of abuses. Pass on, pass on!”
“I was all pride. Look you, father, I will endeavor to divide that into
capital sins.”
“I like divisions, when well made.”
“I am glad of that. You must know that in 1630—alas! that is thirty-one
years ago——”
“You were then twenty-nine years old, monseigneur.”
“A hot-headed age. I was then something of a soldier, and I threw
myself at Casal into the arquebuscades, to show that I rode on
horseback as well as an officer. It is true, I restored peace between
the French and the Spaniards. That redeems my sin a little.”
“I see no sin in being able to ride well on horseback,” said the
Theatin; “that is in perfect good taste, and does honor to our gown. As
a Christian, I approve of your having prevented the effusion of blood;
as a monk I am proud of the bravery a monk has exhibited.”
Mazarin bowed his head humbly. “Yes,” said he, “but the consequences?”
“What consequences?”
“Eh! that damned sin of pride has roots without end. From the time that
I threw myself in that manner between two armies, that I had smelt
powder and faced lines of soldiers, I have held generals a little in
contempt.”
“Ah!” said the father.
“There is the evil; so that I have not found one endurable since that
time.”
“The fact is,” said the Theatin, “that the generals we have had have
not been remarkable.”
“Oh!” cried Mazarin, “there was Monsieur le Prince. I have tormented
him thoroughly.”
“He is not much to be pitied: he has acquired sufficient glory, and
sufficient wealth.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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