Nor was sickness his only trial now. Old Scarron was a citizen, and had, what was then criminal, sundry ideas of the liberty of the nation. He saw with disgust the tyranny of Richelieu, and joined a party in the Parliament to oppose the cardinal’s measures. He even had the courage to speak openly against one of the court edicts; and the pitiless cardinal, who never overlooked any offence, banished him to Touraine, and naturally extended his animosity to the conseiller’s son. This happened at a moment at which the cripple believed himself to be on the road to favour. He had already won that of Madame de Hautefort, on whom Louis XIII. had set his affections, and this lady had promised to present him to Anne of Austria. The father’s honest boldness put a stop to the son’s intended servility, and Scarron lamented his fate in a letter to Pellisson:
O mille ecus, par malheur
retranches,
Que vous pouviez m’epargner
de peches!
Quand un valet me dit, tremblant
et have,
Nous n’avons plus de
buches dans la cave
Que pour aller jusqu’a
demain matin,
Je peste alors sur mon chien
de destin,
Sur le grand froid, sur le
bois de la greve,
Qu’on vend si cher,
et qui si-tot s’acheve.
Je jure alors, et meme je
medis
De l’action de mon pere
etourdi,
Quand sans songer a ce qu’il
allait faire
Il m’ebaucha sous un
astre contraire,
Et m’acheva par un discours
maudit
Qu’il fit depuis sur
un certain edit.
The father died in exile: his second wife had spent the greater part of the son’s fortune, and secured the rest for her own children. Scarron was left with a mere pittance, and, to complete his troubles, was involved in a lawsuit about the property. The cripple, with his usual impudence, resolved to plead his own cause, and did it only too well; he made the judges laugh so loud that they took the whole thing to be a farce on his part, and gave—most ungratefully—judgment against him.
Glorious days were those for the penniless, halcyon days for the toady and the sycophant. There was still much of the old oriental munificence about the court, and sovereigns like Mazarin and Louis XIV. granted pensions for a copy of flattering verses, or gave away places as the reward of a judicious speech. Sinecures were legion, yet to many a holder they were no sinecures at all, for they entailed constant servility and a complete abdication of all freedom of opinion.
Scarron was nothing more than a merry buffoon. Many another man has gained a name for his mirth, but most of them have been at least independent. Scarron seems to have cared for nothing that was honourable or dignified. He laughed at everything but money, and at that he smiled, though it is only fair to say that he was never avaricious, but only cared for ease and a little luxury.