********************START OF HEADER******************** This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place. Title: Memoirs of Madame de Motteville, Volume I, an electronic edition Author: Motteville, Madame de Publisher: Hardy, Pratt, and Co. Place published: Date: 1902 ********************END OF HEADER******************** Madame de MottevilleMemoirs of Madame de Motteville On Anne of Austria and her CourtBoston: Hardy, Pratt & Co., 1902IV. 1644-1645.AT the beginning of the regency the queen had established a council of conscience, at which were decided all matters concerning benefices, the choice of bishops and abbés, and the distribution of pensions that she wished to give to the glory of God and the advantage of religion. This council existed as long as the minister, seeing his authority thwarted, remained under some restraint; but as soon as he had acquired complete dominion over the queen's mind, the council of conscience went off in smoke; he wished to dispose as he pleased, without any contradiction, of the benefices as of everything else, in order that those to whom the queen gave them should be friends of his, without caring much whether they were true servants of God, saying that he supposed all priests were that.This council consequently served only to exclude those he did not wish to favour; and a few years later it was abolished altogether because Père Vincent [Saint-Vincent de Paul] who was at its head, being a man of single mind, very devout and pious, who had never dreamed of winning the good graces of the Court people, whose manners and ways he knew not, was easily made, in spite of the queen's esteem for him, the ridicule of the Court; for it is almost impossible that humility, penitence, and gospel simplicity should accord with the ambition, vanity, and self-interest that reign there. She who had placed him in that position would gladly have maintained him. This is why she stillhad several long conversations with him on the scruples which continued in her mind; but she lacked firmness on this occasion, and finally let things go as it pleased her minister, not thinking herself as able as he, or as much so as she really was in many matters; which made it easy for him to persuade her to do what he chose, and to bring her round, after some resistance, to things he had resolved upon.I know nevertheless that, in the choice of bishops especially, she had great pain in yielding, and much more when she recognized that she had followed his advice too easily in these important matters, which she did not always do, and never without privately consulting Père Vincent, as long as he lived, or others whom she thought men of worth. But she was sometimes cruelly deceived by the false virtue of those who sought the prelacy, for whom the pious persons on whom she relied to examine them answered perhaps too lightly. However, in spite of the indifference her minister seemed to show on this subject, God so favoured this princess that the greater number of those who were raised to that dignity during her regency did their duty and fulfilled their functions with exemplary sanctity.The queen had appointed to the finances the president de Bailleul, a good man and a judge of great integrity, but too tame and gentle for that office, where justice is not the chief necessary quality. It was important for Cardinal Mazarin to change him for some one less precise but much harsher than he. He did not wish to turn him out at once but he put d'Emery under him as controller-general with power attached to that office, so that little by little he could install as superintendent of finances a man who was his own creature and over whom he had absolute control, --which happened not long after.At the same time the queen, who desired to remove Chavigny from the council, where the cardinal was not over pleased to have him exercise the office of secretary of state for foreign affairs (for which he was very capable and through which, having the management of the great matters that came before it, he became necessarily a part of the ministry), ordered him to resign and sell his office to the Comte de Brienne, who would then sell the one he held in the king's household to Duplessis-Guénégaud. As the queen respected de Brienne not only for his integrity but also on account of her friendship for his wife, she gave him two hundred thousand francs towards paying for the office, which was sold to him for five hundred thousand.The cardinal having no longer any one in the council to cause him jealousy, the Comte de Brienne making no difficulty in signing all the despatches they sent to him, nothing remained but the office of secretary of state for war, then held by des Noyers who had been dismissed by the late king. This the minister made him give in commission to Le Tellier,1Michel Le Tellier, father of the Marquis de Louvois. whom he had known in Italy, and who soon had the full title by the death of des Noyers. He has since never lacked offices, having been very important throughout our period, much liked by the queen, and well regarded by the minister; and we shall see him play his part in very extraordinary matters. In this way the cardinal had the gratification of filling for himself the offices of the four secretaries of state, the titular secretaries being merely his clerks.After relating thus the state of the Court I think it is right to say something personal of the queen. She waked usually between ten and eleven o'clock, on days of devotion at nine, and she always made a long prayer before callingthose who slept near her. As soon as her waking was announced her principal officers came to pay their court to her, and often other persons entered, especially certain ladies who came to tell her of alms and charities to be done in Paris, in all France, and even in foreign parts. Her liberalities at all times were great, extended usually to whatever concerned piety, and her attention to all claims on her protection and justice never relaxed.Men were not excluded from her audiences. During these early hours she gave them to several, entering into the business they brought before her according as she deemed it necessary. The king never missed, nor did Monsieur, coming to see her in the morning; not leaving her again till they went to bed, except for their meals and their games, -- their youth not permitting them to eat with her, as they did later.After half an hour's conversation, and those who desired to speak with her having had their audience, she rose, put on a dressing-gown, and, after making a second prayer, ate her breakfast with great appetite. Her breakfast was always good, for her health was admirable. After her bouillon she was served with cutlets, sausages, and boiled bread. Usually she ate a little of all, and dined on no less. Then she took her chemise, which the king gave her, kissing her tenderly; and this custom lasted a long time. After putting on her petticoat, she took a wrapper and a black hongreline, and in that state she heard mass very devoutly; and that sacred action ended, she returned to her toilet. At this there was unparalleled pleasure in seeing her do her hair and dress herself. She was skilful, and her beautiful hands thus employed were the admiration of those who saw them. She had the handsomest hair in the world, of a light chestnut, very long and in great quantity, which shepreserved for a long time, years having no power to destroy its beauty. She dressed with care and the choiceness permissible to those who desire to look well without luxury, without gold or silver or paint or any extravagant fashion. It was nevertheless easy to see, in spite of the modesty of her clothes, that she could be influenced by a little vanity.After the death of the late king she ceased to wear rouge, which increased the whiteness and nicety of her skin. Instead of diminishing her beauty, this made it the more esteemed, and public approbation soon obliged all ladies to follow her example. She took at this time a habit of keeping her room now and then for a day or two to rest, and see only such persons as were most familiar with her and least likely to importune her. On other days she readily gave audience to all who asked for it, whether on general business or on private matters. As she had good sense and good judgment she satisfied all by her answers, given with kindness; and those who loved her could have wished that she had always acted by her own ideas -- as she at first intended, to avoid the blame she saw given to the late king for abandoning his authority to Cardinal Richelieu, often saying at that time to her servants that she should never do likewise. But, unhappily for those who were about her, her resolutions were weakened by a desire for repose, and by the trouble she found in the multiplicity of business affairs inseparable from the government of a great kingdom. In course of time, as she became more lazy, she learned by experience that God has not placed kings on thrones to do nothing, but to endure some at least of the miseries which are attached to all sorts and conditions of life.The queen did not often dine in public served by her officers, but nearly always in her little cabinet served by her women. The king and Monsieur kept her companyand were seldom absent. After her dinner she retired to her own room to be a short time alone; often giving an hour to God in devout reading, which she did in her oratory. After which she held her "circle," or else she went out, either to see nuns or pay her devotions; and on returning she gave some time to the princesses and ladies of quality who came to pay their court to her.After the Duc d'Orléans returned to Court he came daily to see her. The Prince de Condé and the Duc d'Enghien also came occasionally. But as, at the beginning of the regency, they were not yet in the little secret council, as they were later, they retired early. The Duc d'Orléans stayed late, and Cardinal Mazarin never missed this fine evening hour, during which the conversation went on publicly between the queen, the princes, and the minister. At this period, therefore, the Court was a very large one. After this the queen retired to her private rooms. The Duc d'Orléans then had a private interview and returned to the Luxembourg, leaving Cardinal Mazarin alone with the queen. The minister stayed sometimes an hour, sometimes more. The doors of the rooms remained open after the departure of the Duc d'Orléans, and the Court people, assembled in the little chamber of the Palais-Royal adjoining the cabinet, remained there talking until the "little council" was over. When it ended the queen, shortly after, bade good-night to all who composed what is called the great world. The crowd of great seigneurs and courtiers remained in the grand cabinet, and it was there that took place, no doubt, all that gallantry and passionate intrigues can produce. A few men, with four or five persons of our sex, had the honour of remaining with the queen at all hours when she was in private.When she had bid good-night, and Cardinal Mazarin hadleft her, she entered her oratory and remained a full hour in prayer; after which she came out to supper at eleven o'clock. Her supper finished, we ate the rest of it, without order or ceremony, using, for all convenience, her napkin and the remains of her bread; and although this meal was ill-arranged, it was not disagreeable, through the quality of the persons present, and because of the jests and the conversation of the queen, who told us good things and laughed much because the women who served her, and who were not the most polite in the world, tried to rob us of all they could to keep it for the morrow. After this feast we followed her into her cabinet, where a gay and lively conversation continued till midnight or one o'clock; and then, after she was undressed, and often when she was in bed and ready to go to sleep, we left her to do likewise.We followed this life punctually for several years, even during the little journeys to Fontainebleau and Saint-Germain, until the civil war and the siege of Paris, when the troubles became so great as to interrupt its system--I mean as regards our attendance, but not as regards the queen, for she was the most regular person in the world in all her habits of life. She held a council Mondays and Thursdays, and on those days she was beset by crowds of people. She fasted on all appointed days and, in spite of her appetite, all through Lent. When in Paris, she went every Saturday to mass at Notre-Dame, and usually spent the remainder of that day in resting; taking the greatest pleasure in getting away from the crowd that surrounded her, but which, towards the last, grew accustomed not to importune her as much then as on other days. She took the communion regularly on Sundays and feast-days. On the evening before the great feasts she went to sleep at the Val-de-Gr;acirc;ce, where she resolved to build a new monastery,finer than the one already there, and to add to it a church worthy of a queen, mother of a great king. She gave this in charge of Tuboeuf. There she frequently remained several days, retired from the world, taking pleasure in conversations with the nuns. She sought the most saintly, accommodating herself to those who had but medium merit; but whenever they reached her esteem she honoured them with friendship. Good sermons from the sternest preachers were those that pleased her most. She went sometimes, but rarely, to visit the prisons disguised as a servant, and, to my knowledge, she one day followed the Princesse de Condé for that purpose. She had a waiting-maid, a pious and devout woman, who in the first years of her regency was shut up with her every evening in her oratory. The whole duty of that person was to inform the queen of the daily needs, public and private, of the poor, and to receive from her the money to relieve them. She was always touched by things she thought her duty. I have seen her during the war which happened later, when she had no money, sell her diamond ear-rings (which she had had very curiously made) to give money to those who were suffering by it.The queen had not yet renounced all the pleasures she had formerly liked and which she thought innocent. Her amusements were all moderate; she loved nothing ardently. She once liked balls, but had lost the liking with her youth, and her long residence at Saint-Germain had accustomed her to do without such things. But she went to the theatre half-hidden behind one of us, whom she made to sit forward in the box, not willing, during her mourning, to appear publicly in the place she would have occupied in other days. This amusement was not disagreeable to her. Corneille, the illustrious poet of our epoch, had enriched the stage with noble plays, the moral of which could serve as a lessonto correct the unruliness of human passions, and among the vain and dangerous occupations of the Court this at least was not among the worst.The queen was grave and discreet in all her ways of acting and speaking; she was judicious and very secret as to the confidences her familiar servants ventured to make to her. She was liberal by her own impulse; and what she gave she gave with a good grace; but she often failed to give for want of reflection, and it was necessary to employ too much help to obtain her benefits. This defect, which was not in her heart nor in her will, came from her permitting insensibly her resolutions to be formed by the will of others whose advice she respected, and her attendants suffered in consequence. She gave in profusion to certain persons who had the power to persuade her in their favour; persons who by constant application to their own fortune found means to make it.She did not like to read, and knew very little; but she had intelligence, and an easy, accommodating, and agreeable mind. Her conversation was serious and free both; those she esteemed found great charms in her because she was secret, and always glad to enter into the feelings and interests of those who opened their hearts to her; and this good treatment made a great impression on the souls of those who loved her. I have spoken elsewhere of her beauty; I shall only say here that, being agreeable in person, gentle and polite in her actions, and familiar with those who had the honour to approach her, she had only to follow her natural inclinations and show herself as she really was, to please every one. But, in spite of her virtuous inclinations, it was easy for the cardinal, making use of "reasons of State," to change her feelings and make her capable of doing harsh things to those she was accustomedto treat well. In the beginning of her regency she was much praised for her kindness, and great hopes were founded on its effects. But when she was seen to dismiss those she had formerly relied on she was loudly condemned. Many publications were issued to decry a goodness which the people had believed in, and with reason. But this belief was held for some time in the rank of things doubtful by those who were now not prosperous enough to be content.At the end of the year from the king's death [May, 1644], she quitted her deep mourning, which had made her seem beautiful, and the age of forty, so dreadful to our sex, did not prevent her from being still agreeable. She had a freshness and plumpness which placed her in the ranks of the handsomest women of her kingdom, and we saw her, as time went on, increase in years without losing these advantages.At the beginning of this year [1644] preparations were made for war. The Duc d'Orléans went to command the army of Flanders, and the Duc d'Enghien [the great Condé], that of Germany. We shall see the first conquer several fortresses, and the second defeat the enemy with glory and renown.President Barillon and several others of the principal parliament leaders were not satisfied because they were less considered than they hoped to be. On the first occasion that offered for a mutiny they took it; they began by complaining that the chancellor quashed in the council all the decrees of the parliament, and they loudly complained of their president, who seemed to consent with too much compliance. They assembled and made speeches against the royal authority, censured all things, and made the Court apprehensive of coming disorders and quarrels.The day after this assembly [May 22,1644], a command was sent to President Barillon, President Gayant, and othersof the cabal to retire. President Barillon was a worthy man and much respected; he had served the queen in the parliament, where he had much influence and reputation. The "Importants" were his friends; he and they had been servitors of the queen, and were so no longer. He was sent to Pignerol, to the great displeasure of many worthy persons, and he died there a year later regretted by every one. I have heard the queen say that during the life of the late king she had had no servant more faithful than this president, but that as soon as she was regent he abandoned her and disapproved of all her actions.Sometime after this dismissal, others of the parliament, rebelling at the rigour they declared had been shown to their company, held several assemblies. They determined to see the queen and complain of the wrong she had done them, and they resolved to go to her without asking for an audience. At this time, though Monsieur had not yet started for the army, he was at one of his country-houses, and Cardinal Mazarin had gone to make a little journey and meet Cardinal de Valençay, who was coming from Rome but was forbidden to enter Paris.The queen was in bed, alone in the Palais-Royal; I had the honour of being with her. They came to tell her that the parliament was coming in a body, on foot, to make remonstrances about the affair of President Barillon. It was easy to see that the object of this assembly was to stir up the people; and the persons who first gave notice of their coming seemed to me frightened. The queen, who had a firm soul and was not easily startled, showed no uneasiness. She sent for President de Bailleul, superintendent of finances, rather liked in his corps; and, not willing to close the doors as some advised, she ordered the parliament to be received under the arcade which separated the two arches.There she sent them word by the captain of her guards and the superintendent that she did not think it right they should come to her without her permission and without asking for an audience; that they must now return whence they started, for, having taken medicine, she could not see them.To their shame they had to do as she commanded; and the queen laughed at me because these old dotards had frightened me so much that I advised her to send for the Maréchal de Gramont, major of her regiment of guards, so as to have some defenders if the populace should take part in the affair. A few days later an audience was granted on their demand; and their harangues, which demanded the release of President Barillon, were not listened to as regarded him, but other points of no great weight were granted. After this first commotion, the parliament remained for some time rather peaceable, ruminating their designs to infringe on the royal authority, which appeared a few years later.When summer weather invited the princes to leave the pleasures of the Court for the toils of wars, the queen thought it time to seek cool airs out of Paris. She wished to pass the great heat at Ruel with the Duchesse d'Aiguillon. That house is very convenient through its vicinity to Paris, and very agreeable from the beauty of its gardens and the number of its streams, which are very natural. The queen took pleasure in the place, where her enemy Cardinal Richelieu had so long received the adoration of all France. It was not from that motive, however, that she chose it; she had too noble a soul to wish to trouble the repose of the dead by so petty a triumph. It was, on the contrary, to oblige his niece, the Duchesse d'Aiguillon, and give her marks of royal protection against the Prince de Condé, withwhom she had great differences to settle. It is to be supposed, however, that the queen, acting from generosity, had a certain joy in finding herself able to do good by her mere presence to those whom she believed had done her much evil. She took great pleasure in her evening walks during the time she was in this delightful place, and in all the innocent pleasures that its beauty and convenience afforded. But it pleased the people of Paris to rise against certain taxes which were about to be placed on houses, so that the king and herself departed at the end of six weeks in great haste to pacify them, and the whole Court followed them very willingly to Paris.One day during the queen's stay at Ruel, as she was driving in a calèche through the gardens she noticed Voiture, walking along in a revery. That man had wit, and by the charm of his conversation he was the amusement of the ruelles of those ladies who make it their boast to receive the best company. The queen, to please the Princesse de Condé who was seated beside her, asked him what he was thinking of. Voiture, without much reflection, made some burlesque verses in answer to the queen, which were amusing and bold. She was not offended by the jest; in fact, she thought the verses pretty, and kept them for a long time in her room. She did me the honour to give them to me afterwards, and, from the things I have already told about her life, it is easy to understand them. They were as follows: --"I'm thinking how that destinyAfter so many unjust ills,Has justly come to crown youWith splendour, honours, glory,But that you were plus heureuseAs you were in other days,When -I'll not say amoureuse Though my rhyme demands it."I'm thinking, too, bow this poor Love,Who always lent you arms,Is banished from your CourtWith arrows, bow, and charms;And what then will it profit meTo spend my life beside you,If you can choose to treat so illThose who have so well served you."I'm thinking (for we poetsDo think extravagantly)Of what, in your present mood,You would do if here before you,In this place and at this moment,Came the Duke of Buckingham;Which would be the worst dismissed,The duke or Father Vincent."I must end this trip to Ruel with this trifle, and return to Paris to resume the gravity and seriousness required for that great city. One of our kings [Henri III] has said that the head of this kingdom was always too big; that it was full of humours injurious to the rest of its members, and that a bleeding now and then was necessary. This time, however, the presence of the king and queen pacified everything; it was only a little blaze of straw, which did not in any way prevent the Court from enjoying in peace the comforts and pleasures that are ever to be found in that agreeable region.Pope Urbain VIII. died in July, 1644. He had held the Holy See for many years with the reputation of an able man and a great politician. The Cardinals Barberini, his nephews, who were protectors of France, were left masters of the election of his successor. Several partisans of Spain who sought to be raised to that dignity were opposed, par- ticularly the Cardinal Pamphilo, who seemed to have more claim to it than any other; but finally, the king did notprevail; the Barberinis served France very ill on this occasion.In this same month, the Queen of England, whom her rebellious people had driven into a little corner of her kingdom to give birth to her last child, was forced, only seventeen days later, to escape to France to avoid what she had to fear from the hatred of her subjects, who were at open war with their king, and wished to take her prisoner, perhaps to begin on her the lack of respect they owed to royalty. This princess, after being the most fortunate and most opulent of all the queens of Europe, with three crowns upon her head, was reduced to such a state that in order to lie-in it was necessary that our queen should send her Madame Peronne, her own midwife, and even the slightest articles that were necessary to her condition.She had been taken to Oxford by the king her husband, who left her there; but having reason to fear that his enemies would besiege her, she started hastily for Exeter, where she gave birth to her child in the poverty I have just represented. She was ill with a serious malady which preceded her pregnancy, and in no state to help her husband. In this extremity she was forced to take shelter from the dangers with which her person and health were threatened. She wished to come to her native country, to drink the waters at Bourbon and find safety for her life which was in danger.In France she was received with joy. The populace, regarding her as the sister, daughter, and aunt of their kings, respected her; the queen was delighted to help her in her troubles and to soften them as much as she could; although she had never been well-treated by her, who had, on the contrary, caused her many griefs while still in France. For the princess, being supported by the queen-mother [Mariede' Medici] who did not like the queen, did her those little malicious things which are great ills to those who receive them at certain times, but are not capable of altering friendship as soon as they are things of the past. The King of England had contributed much to soften these dislikes - for after his marriage he took pleasure in all opportunities of obliging our queen, particularly in the person of Madame de Chevreuse during her first exile. So that when the Queen of England arrived in France, the queen had a fine occasion to return in person to that afflicted princess all that she owed to the King of England; and the two princesses having changed in feeling, the one was truly glad to oblige the other, and she who was thus well received and well treated showed the greatest gratitude.The Queen of England remained at Bourbon three months endeavouring to recover her health, and our queen offered all that depended on the king and herself. I had the honour of approaching this unhappy princess familiarly, and I heard from her the beginning and end of their misfortunes, for she did me the honour to relate them to me in that solitary place, where peace and rest reigned without disturbance. I left her at Bourbon, where the queen, not contenting herself with the offers she had made to her, which were only compliments, sent her all the money necessary for her subsistence, also, great sums which she conveyed to the king her husband. But as that unhappy prince, who was only too good, was destined to serve as a formidable warning to all kings of the weakness of their power, and of the pleasure Fortune sometimes takes in playing with crowns and overthrowing the best-established thrones, taking them and returning them at her caprice, all was useless to him.As the memory of King Henri IV. is dear to Frenchmen, the Queen of England, his granddaughter, was constantly fol-,lowed by a great crowd of people running to see her. She was very ill and much changed; her misfortunes had given her such sadness, and her mind was so filled with her sorrows, that she wept continually, which shows what the sufferings of soul and body can do, for by nature this princess was gay and talked pleasantly. But now, in the grievous state to which she was reduced, she said one day to the great physician Mayerne, who attended her, that she felt her mind weakening, and feared that she might become crazy. To which, as she told me, he answered brusquely, "You need not fear it, madame, for you are that already." She certainly found some remedy for her bodily ills in France, her native country, the air and the baths of which were beneficial to her, but it needed much time to soften her other woes. I shall tell elsewhere how she seemed to us when we saw her at Court.The campaign of the Duc d' Enghien increased his reputation to a dazzling glory, and he fought a battle at Fribourg which will surely hold a great place in history; but as chance willed that I did not remark its particulars, and do not find them in my notes, I shall say no more about it.Elisabeth of France, Queen of Spain, died at the beginning of this winter, a worthy daughter of Henri le Grand, and most deserving of the esteem that Europe felt for her. She was regretted throughout its whole extent, and her people, who felt a great admiration for her, were afflicted. The king, her husband, had not always loved her as she deserved, because he was too gallant, not to say worse. But before she died he was beginning to recognize her noble qualities and her capacity. He left her for a time to govern his kingdom, which she did with much glory, so that he regretted her greatly. I have heard my late mother (who had the honour to know her on her return from Spain and beforethe princess left France) say that she was beautiful and agreeable, and glad of the prospect of being queen of so grand a kingdom. She lived there some years pleasantly. The Prince of Spain was handsome and well-made, and they loved each other. It is even said that the king her father-in-law, finding her beautiful, put off joining them, with a notion of taking her for himself. I have since been told that this was only true in that he loved her as his daughter, and very tenderly. But the prince her husband, after he became king [Philip IV.] had so many mistresses of all kinds that, from the jealousy she had reason to feel, her whole life became a torture as keen as it was long and sorrowful. She had reason to complain, but her complaints were always useless, and though she was as chaste as he was voluptuous, the customs of Spain were rigorous against her.2Her beautiful portrait by Rubens will be found in Brantôme's "Book of the Ladies," belonging to these "Historical Memoirs." -Tr.The queen, wishing to render to the memory of this illustrious queen, doubly her sister-in-law, all that was due to her as a daughter of France, ordered, according to custom, a service to be performed with the magnificence that was due to so great a princess. On such occasions it often happens that precedence, which is not well-regulated in France, produces bitter quarrels. Mademoiselle [daughter of Gaston, Duc d'Orléans] as the granddaughter of Henri IV., claimed that there was much distinction to be made between herself and the Princesse de Condé. On the other hand, the Duc d'Enghien, wishing to sustain his rank and the grandeur his birth and glory gave him, demanded of the queen that the duchess, his wife, should follow Mademoiselle on all occasions, declaring that the latter was only first princess of the blood. The queen,paying at that time little attention to the interests of Mademoiselle, without considering that she was then in possession of certain prerogatives which created a difference between her family and that of Condé, granted what he asked. Madame de Longueville [the Duc d'Enghien's sister] who had lost her rank by marrying the Duc de Longueville and had taken a patent from the king under which she preserved it, also wished to use this occasion to re-establish herself openly in the rights her Bourbon blood gave her; she therefore claimed to follow the Duchesse d'Enghien and do as she did.Mademoiselle, being warned of the designs against her, resolved not to go to the service of her aunt, the Queen of Spain. When the time came to start, she said she was ill and could not leave her room. The queen, as soon as she knew what the difficulty was, felt displeased; she sent her orders to go, and complained to the Duc d'Orléans. That prince blamed his daughter, and disapproved of her proceedings, so that Mademoiselle found herself deserted, not only by the queen but by her father, whose grandeur she was sustaining by maintaining her own rank. But not being able to hold out against such rough attack, she yielded, against her will, to force, went to Notre-Dame, and exposed herself to the pretensions of those who, having the honour to be her relations, wished to equal her. On starting, she had ordered that two persons should bear her train, but as soon as the Duc d'Enghien saw this, he signed to one of his suite to join the person who was already bearing the train of his wife, whom he led by the hand. Madame de Longueville, seeing that Mademoiselle, by seating herself in the canon's chairs in the choir, intended to put an empty place between them, pushed the Duchesse d'Enghien, her sister-in-law, and they both took the seats next to her.Mademoiselle was keenly affronted by this treatment. She wept, and made much talk about it; representing that she possessed many marks of distinction between herself and the Princesse de Condé, who was bound on all occasions to give way to her, -such, for instance, as having a dais in the king's house, a mailed coach [carrosse cloué], footmen with their hose turned over, and the privilege of giving the princesses of the blood chairs without backs in her own house, while she was in an armchair. Her anger was, however, crushed down by that of the queen against her. It was proposed to put her in a convent for a few days' punishment, but instead of bearing her trifling disgrace with noble indifference, she had recourse to the Princesse de Ccnndé, or rather, she accepted the offer the princess made her to heal matters with the queen, who blamed her extremely. The Duc d'Enghien gave as his reasons that she ought to be satisfied with the prerogatives she had, without always pretending to fresh ones, and that the advantages she enjoyed were all she ought to have. Monsieur bethought himself later that his daughter was right. He then grew angry, complained to the queen, and went and sulked for three days at Chambord. The queen, who had allowed the Duc d'Enghien to do what he did, felt obliged, for the sake of peace, to relieve him of all fault and take the blame on herself, so that finally, with a few excuses on her part, and a few compliments from the Duc d'Enghien, the matter was pacified.The Queen of England came to Paris soon after this affair, having been three or four months at Bourbon. The queen went out of the city to receive her, with the king and the Duc d'Anjou (the actual Monsieur). These two great princesses embraced with much tenderness and friendship, and paid each other compliments which were not mere compliments. They took the English queen to lodge in theLouvre, which was then unoccupied; and for a country-house they gave her Saint-Germain. As the king's affairs were in good condition and the wars had not yet ruined the royal finances, they gave her a pension of ten or twelve thousand crowns a month, so that in all things she had great reason to praise the queen.The Queen of England was much disfigured by the severity of her illness and her misfortunes, no trace remaining of her past beauty. Her eyes were fine, her complexion admirable, and her nose well-shaped. There was something so agreeable in her face that it made her beloved by every one, but she was thin and short; her figure was even deformed, and her mouth, never handsome naturally, was now, from the thinness of her face, too large. I have seen her portraits, done in the days of her beauty, which show that she was very pleasing; but as that beauty lasted but the space of a morning and left her before her midday, she was accustomed to declare that no woman could be handsome after twenty-two years of age.To complete the presentation of her such as I saw her, I must add that she had infinite wit, and a brilliant mind which pleased all spectators. She was agreeable in society, honourable, gentle, and easy; living with those who had the honour to approach her without ceremony. Her temperament inclined her to gaiety; and even amid her tears, if it occurred to her to say something amusing, she would stop them to divert the company. The almost continual suffering she endured gave her much gravity and contempt for life, which, to my thinking, made her more solid, more serious, more estimable than she might have been had she always been happy. She was naturally liberal; and those who knew her in prosperity assured us she had exhausted her wealth in doing good to those she loved.Her favourite, who, so the public said, had a share in the misfortunes of England, was a rather worthy man, of a gentle mind which seemed very narrow and more fitted for petty things than great ones. He had the fidelity towards her which ministers usually have; he wanted money, before all else, to meet his expenses, which were large. The princess no doubt had too much confidence in him, but it is true that he did not govern her absolutely; she often had a will quite contrary to his, which she maintained as the absolute mistress. She supported her opinions with strong reasons; but they were always accompanied with a charm, a raillery that pleased and corrected the signs of haughtiness and courage which she had shown in the principal actions of her life. She lacked the great and noble knowledge which is acquired by reading. Her misfortunes had repaired that defect, for grievous experience had given her capacity. We saw her in France lose the tottering crown she still wore, lose the king her husband by a dreadful death, and suffer with constancy the adversities it pleased God to send her.The cabinets of kings are stages on which are performed continually the plays that occupy the minds of the whole world. Some are simply comic, others are tragic, and their greatest events are caused by trifles. After speaking of the horrible effects of Fortune, and the indifference with which she scoffs at crowned heads, we should consider those produced by that mad passion of ambition, which is not content with intrigues of pleasure, but, mingling in affairs more serious, never fails to create the greatest disorders when it masters the hearts of men.VII. 1647.THE chief affairs of the Court, those of which it seemed to think the most, were amusement and pleasure. I have already said that the queen loved the theatre, and went there in secret during the year of her great mourning; but she now went publicly. Comedies were played every two days, sometimes Italian, sometimes French; and quite often there were assemblies. The preceding year the rector of Saint-Germain, a severe and pious man, wrote to the queen that she ought not, in conscience, to permit such amusements. He condemned the theatre; particularly Italian comedies, as freer and less modest. This letter had troubled the soul of the queen, who did not wish to permit anything against what she owed to God. Being still uneasy on the subject, she consulted many persons. Several bishops told her that plays which represented, as a usual thing, serious histories could not do harm; they assured her that the courtiers needed such occupations to keep them from worse things; they said that the piety of kings ought to be different from that of private persons, for being public personages they should authorize public amusements when they were of the class of harmless things. Accordingly the theatre was approved, and the gayety of Italian comedy saved itself under the wing of serious plays.The Court assembled in the evenings in the little salle des comédies at the Palais-Royal. The queen sat in a box to hear more conveniently, and went there by a little staircase which was not very far from her chamber. She took theking, the cardinal, and sometimes persons to whom she wished to pay attentions, either for their rank or as a favour. We received such favours with pleasure, because those who have the honour to approach kings familiarly can never prevent themselves from regarding these trifles as very important things; all the more because they are counted as such in public estimation. When the rector of Saint-Germain saw that the theatre was fully established, he woke up in good earnest and spoke against it like a man who wished to do what he thought his duty. He came to see the queen and maintained to her that this amusement was a mortal sin and ought not to be permitted. He brought his opinion signed by seven doctors of the Sorbonne who held the same sentiments. This second pastoral reprimand caused fresh uneasiness to the queen, who resolved to send the Abbé de Beaumont, the king's tutor, to consult in the Sorbonne itself a contrary opinion. It was declared by ten or twelve doctors that, provided nothing was said on the stage that could bring scandal or was contrary to virtuous morals, the theatre was in itself harmless and could be attended without scruple; and this was founded on the fact that the usage of the Church had greatly lessened the apostolic severity which the early Christians observed in the first centuries. By this means the queen's conscience was set at rest; but sorrow to us who have degenerated from the virtue of our fathers, sorrow to us for thus becoming infirm in zeal and faithfulness! The courtiers cried out against the rector and treated him openly with ridicule. They tried to persuade the queen that Père Vincent, a worthy man and one of great piety, had taken part in this affair in order to work the ruin of her minister, by condemning things that he had authorized. But on several occasions she replied to this that she did not believe a word of it.Though I only mention great affairs in passing, as a woman who cannot know them thoroughly and has often neglected to notice them at all, it has happened, nevertheless, that many have been discussed in the cabinet and that I have applied myself to listen to the actors in them when they spoke. Those that were of consequence, coming thus to my knowledge, I shall write down as they may happen to occur to me, without being careful to know them all, or any of them to their full extent, because I have no intention of writing a regular history. But I have taken care to tell only the truth; which has always come to me solely from those who had the chief part in such affairs. The peace which the Dutch made with Spain, which I shall mention here, is a proof of what I say; it is a fragment which I let fall as I go my way; it will find its place with others of the same nature, and as it will not be treated with more order or connection than those, it will not have more worth or value.This people, rebellious against its king, which had caused such trouble to Philip the Second, which had sated the cruelty of the Duke of Alba under his yoke, given employment to the valour of the Duke of Parma, and put to such proof the virtue of Marguerite and that of the Infanta Clara-Eugenia -- this republic, in short, so celebrated for its power, for the boldness of its enterprise, for its establishment and the glorious actions done by the Prince of Orange in governing it, had sustained its rebellion by the assistance of France; but this assistance it now resolved to abandon, and to put itself completely in possession of legitimate liberty.Liberty had already been offered to the people of Holland, but the ministers of France, Cardinals Richelieu and Mazarin, had always hindered it. The depressed condition of their real master, whose affairs were in a bad state, now gave them the means of making peace with him and preserving theirusurped States, their conquests, and their supremacy. Accordingly they made a treaty with him (which was not concluded until some time later) and became peaceably lords of their country, of which they remained sovereigns, with the shame of being as bad Christians as they were bad subjects. To keep some terms with France they delayed signing this treaty, saying that they wished to bring about a general peace before they separated entirely from us. Orders were given to the Comte de Servien, who was at Munster, to go to Holland and endeavour to break off this particular treaty; but he did not succeed; these people, following the example of all others, thought only of their own interests and the strengthening of their own grandeur.D'Estrades, who was envoy to the Prince of Orange from the king when this arrangement was concluded, told me that the cupidity of the Princess of Orange was the cause of it; and that the Spaniards had won her over during the last days of her husband's life. He declared that that prince, who resembled his forefathers in valour and capacity, would never have consented to the peace had he been in a state to follow his feelings of glory and ambition. He was convinced that the end of the war would be the end of the power of his house, and that when he no longer made himself feared by arms his people would despise him. But his maladies, by diminishing the strength of his body, diminished also his strength of mind, so that he did not oppose the negotiations he would have done had he been in better health. If the greed of a woman began the work, the avarice of the minister, in spite of his desire to prevent the peace, concluded it. D'Estrades, relating to me all the particulars, said that the princess only allied herself with Spain out of vexation that Cardinal Mazarin failed to send her some diamond earrings which he had led her to expect.But not to leave so long the Court of our regent let us return to the princes, who were the only cause of uneasiness that the queen now had [January, 1647]. The Prince de Condé, having become rich and powerful, was regarded by the whole Court as the one whose friendship or hatred was to make or mar the fortunes of men.That victorious air which the battles of Rocroy and Fribourg and the taking of Fumes, Mardick, and Dunkerque had given him, made him so considered by his masters that most persons sought his protection rather than that of the Duc d'Orléans. That is why his court was so very large; those who, through their great establishments, were in a position to do harm or good having offered him their services and attached themselves to his interests; whenever he came to visit the queen he filled her room with the most distinguished personages of the kingdom. His favourites, who were the greater part of the young seigneurs who had followed him in the army and now shared his grandeur as they did his glory, were called the petits-maîtres, because they belonged to one who seemed to be the master of them all; and this new title effaced that of the importants.At the end of the Shrovetide [March 2, 1647] Cardinal Mazarin gave a great fête to the Court, which was very fine and much praised by adulators, who are to be met with at all times. It consisted of a comedy, with stage scenery and music in the Italian fashion, which seemed to us most beautiful, although we had seen others that were wonderful and regal. He had brought the musicians from Rome with great trouble, also the machinist, who was a man of much reputation for such scenery. The dresses were magnificent, and the whole preparation of the same kind. Worldlings were delighted, the devout murmured; and those ill-regulated minds who blame everything that takes place did not fail, as usual,to poison pleasure, because such persons cannot breathe its atmosphere without vexation and wrath.This comedy could not be ready till the last days of the carnival, which caused the cardinal and the Duc d'Orléans to urge the queen to let it be played in Lent; but she, who kept her will in all that related to her conscience, refused consent. She even showed some annoyance that the comedy, which was played on a Saturday for the first time, was arranged to begin late, because she wished to make her devotions on the Sunday; and the evening of the days on which she took the communion she was accustomed to retire early in order to rise earlier than usual the next morning. She did not wish to lose the pleasure altogether, for the sake of him who gave it; but in order not to fail in what she thought her duty, she left the play in the middle to pray to God and sup and go to bed at the suitable time, so that nothing might upset the regularity of her life. Cardinal Mazarin showed some annoyance at this; and though the matter was a mere trifle, with only enough serious foundation to oblige the queen to do as she did, she was nevertheless considered to have acted against the feelings of her minister. And as he showed he was vexed, this little bitterness was a sweet morsel to a large number of persons. Idle tongues and ears were busy with it for days; and even the gravest persons felt moments of joy which were to them delectable.The Maréchal de Gramont, eloquent, witty, Gascon, and bold in flattery, set this comedy among the wonders of the world; the Duc de Mortemart, great amateur of music and great courtier, seemed enchanted with the mere name of the lowest actors; and the pair, in order to please the minister, made such exaggerations when they talked of it that they became wearisome at last to persons who were moderate in speech.The next evening the celebrated comedy was played again, and the queen saw the whole of it. On Monday there was a ball, given on the stage of a hall arranged with scenery, which could be moved in a moment; it was really the finest thing ever seen. The hall was gilded and lined with great frames in which were pictures painted in perspective, a most agreeable sight to those who occupied the amphitheatre. This hall was also furnished with seats and hassocks placed in niches around it, and did not look as if the hand of man had anything to do with it. At one end was a throne raised about four or five steps, on which were cushions, chairs with arms, and a dais overhead of silver and gold cloth, with fringes worthy of such furniture. Four great crystal chandeliers lighted this hail, which seemed a veritable fairyland, representing in our day the era of Urganda and Armida.The king, to show civility to the Prince of Wales, would not take his own seat, but gave it to Mademoiselle who was decked that evening by the queen's own hands with the crown jewels, pearls and diamonds, fastened with little cherry-coloured and black and white ribbons. This adornment was beautiful and pleasing, Particularly the bouquet she wore upon her head. It seemed as if those great diamonds and pearls were strewn among the flowers, and that all the beauty and wealth of nature were gathered there expressly to deck her. From this bouquet issued three feathers, of the three colours of the ribbons, which drooped to her throat, and she made us see on this occasion that a handsome person becomes handsomer for being decorated. The king wore a suit of black satin embroidered with silver and gold, through which the black appeared only enough to set off the embroidery. Cherry-coloured plumes and ribbons completed his adornment, but the beautiful features of his face, the sweetness of his eyes joined to their gravity, thewhiteness and brilliancy of his complexion, together with his hair, which was then very blond, adorned him more than his clothes. He danced perfectly; and though he was then only eight years old, it could be said of him that he was the one of the whole company who had the most distinguished air and assuredly the most beauty.The Prince of Wales received much praise and pleased everybody. But the one whose suit obtained the most approbation was the Vidame d'Amiens, son-in-law of the Maréchal de Villeroy. He wore an embroidery of gold and pearls, the workmanship of which was so delicate that there was nothing of the common order in it; it seemed to disdain jewels as if they were something too vulgar.The Duchesse de Montbazon came decked with pearls, and cherry-coloured feathers on her head, and though she was then more than forty years of age, she was still in dazzling beauty, showing that a fine autumn is always beautiful. Mademoiselle de Guise was present, no longer young, though much more so than the Duchesse de Montbazon. Her beauty, her kind manner and her modesty, with pearls and a black gown, made her admired by all who saw her. All the other persons of an age to adorn a ball did their best to please the spectators. The queen's maids-of-honour, Pons, Querchy, and Saint-Mégrin, tried to make a few natural conquests by the care they took to embellish themselves in all sorts of ways. Happy they if, among so many lovers, they had been able to catch husbands according to their ambition, and the unruliness of their desires.The comedy was again represented on the following day, the Mardi gras. It ended very late and we had had no supper. The cardinal offered us his, and we went to eat it with him, --Madame de Bregi, Mademoiselle de Beaumont, my sister, and I (for Mlle. de Beaumont was now restored to thegood graces of the queen). This was the only meal he ever gave us in his life, and it was not much. He treated us with great indifference and coldness. He despised women and did not think them worthy of esteem, unless, by intrigues or malice, they found means to obtain his confidence. We left him very ill-pleased at not being better received, particularly Madame de Bregi, who being a handsome woman made a profession of being so, and even had the audacity to pretend that the great minister had a certain feeling of tenderness for her. For this reason she felt his coldness more than the rest of us, who were quite resolved to put up with it and well accustomed to his disdainful manners.The Prince de Condé, seeing the month of March advancing, began to think of his journey to Catalonia. Before he started [March 20, 1647] he had a short emotion which troubled the peace of his heart. He had let himself be overcome by the beauty of Mademoiselle de Toussy, and this weakness slipped into his heart at a time when, in spite of his youth, he was beginning to profess loudly a contempt for the mad passion of love, and a resolve to give himself entirely to that of glory. He played the braggart against gallantry, often declaring that he renounced it, and even did so at this ball, though it was a place where his presence appeared to advantage. He was not handsome; his face was ugly in shape; his eyes were blue and keen, and there was much pride in his glance. His nose was aquiline, his mouth extremely disagreeable, because it was large and his teeth projected too much; but in his whole countenance there was something grand and haughty, with a certain resemblance to an eagle. He was not very tall, but his figure in itself was perfect. He danced well and had an agreeable air; his bearing was lofty and his head fine, -- its arrangement with curls and powder being required to make it appear so. Buteven at this time he neglected his person much; and in the deep mourning which he wore for his late father he was not pleasing, for, his face being long and thin, this negligence was the more disadvantageous to him.The Prince of Orange died about this time. His death, for the reasons I have given, was a loss to France, and his merits having made him respected throughout Europe, he was much regretted. The unfortunate King of England, who had honoured him with his alliance, was now finding himself on the verge of his fatal destiny. He was betrayed by the Scotch, to whom he had gone in search of fidelity and troops to avenge him on the parliamentarians; but that barbarous people delivered him to his enemies. I heard it said that they asked him if he was not content to go back to England, and he answered that it was more just he should go to those who had bought him than stay with those who had sold him. He went, only to be kept a prisoner in the Isle of Wight, where he stayed till his death. Many proposals were made to him by the parliament and his subjects. But, whether he found them contrary to his conscience, or lacked ability to choose those that were suitable (as was said by persons capable of judging), he did not accept any, and was reserved by God's decree for the most cruel and amazing end a king can come to.In France we no longer have, thank God, religious wars; there are now only contests frequently arising among our learned men on questions of theology. There was one on Grace which seemed to have been ended by a decision of Pope Urbain VIII., against which none of the doctors declaimed; but in their hearts both sides were still of the same sentiments made public by their writings. Père Des Mares, of the congregation of the priests of the oratory, who preached the Lent of this year with much zeal and whollyaccording to the Gospel as to morals, was admired by people of the highest quality, the finest minds, and even those who were most retired from the world. But, as to doctrine, he was thought to be of the opinion of Jansenius, Bishop of Ypres in Flanders, who had written a book in the spirit of Saint Augustin on this great mystery. And, as it was difficult for him, as for other preachers, to treat this matter so delicately that no word could be found to cavil at, nothing was talked of in Paris but "the Jansenists" and "the Molinists."This question, as to which there was no one who did not take an interest for the satisfaction of his conscience, not only divided the schools, but social life [les ruelles], and the city as well as the Court. Those who were called Molinists (from Molina, a learned Spanish priest) had on their side the censure of five propositions in the book of Jansenius; and those called Jansenists maintained that the five condemned propositions were not in that book. This defence, their wholly exemplary lives, the austerity of which they made profession, drew to them the esteem of a great number of persons of solid piety; and they would have been esteemed by every one if they had avoided the blame that may justly be cast upon them of having taught women (in French so beautiful that it made the sex quit their novels) those great difficulties on which it is forbidden to write, together with questions of conscience about which none but confessors should be instructed. It has cost us so much to have learned the knowledge of good and evil that we ought to agree that it is better to be ignorant of such matters than to learn them; especially for us women who are accused of being the cause of all evil. We see such great men, with all their intellect and all their learning, ruin themselves in heresies which they think they draw from Holy Scripture! I cannot withhold myself from saying that no Christian should decidefor himself that which is environed by so much obscurity; nor should he enter into the details of mysteries which the councils themselves cannot elucidate, and which they command us to believe surrounded by all their darkness. God himself having chosen, no doubt, to hide from us this knowledge and enclose it in its own immensity, we must hope that in heaven souls, separated from their earthly natures, will learn its wonders and see the causes for which it has pleased Him to leave them ignorant of the deep abysses of Grace, and the manner in which it operates in the soul for our salvation.The great Saint Augustin, whose ideas are revered in the Church, and whose writings seem to have produced the opinions of those who are called Jansenists, has never clearly explained these wonderful secrets. The saint himself could not comprehend them; he speaks of their Author with admiration, and confesses humbly that the judgments of God are inscrutable, and His ways past discovering. The most learned know nothing when it is a question of understanding them; and I believe that this great teacher of grace, teacher of all Christians, and of the Jansenists in particular, would have willingly said, when in this world, with the Italian poet, --"Arnpi volumi immensiDe le tue glorie eterneSon le sfere superne;E Con dorata, e lucida favellaDi te parla ogni stella.Io lo so, Signor, mà lion penetro i sensi,Ch' a la lingua del mondo avvezzo essendoLa favella del ciel non ben compreudo."1The celestial spheres are ample and vast volumes of Thy eternal glories; and each star speaks of Thee in golden words. I know it, Lord; but their meaning I cannot penetrate, because, being used to the language of earth, I cannot comprehend the language of heaven.Whenever I hear men speaking of God in relation to the hidden mysteries, I am delighted not to be obliged to know more than my Pater, my Credo, and the Commandments of God. As to the matter of which I have been speaking, I know that it suffices me to believe we have nothing but that which we have received; that I can do no good without the grace of God; and that he has given me my free will.The queen at once took the side of the Jesuits [Molinists], who had the advantage of governing the king's conscience. She thought herself obliged to oppose opinions which were considered novelties and might disturb the Church. On the other hand, one had reason to be surprised in seeing those who appeared to maintain the orthodox opinions allowing the publication, under their name, of maxims quite contrary to the Gospel touching morality, without sufficiently rebuking the authors. The queen, zealous for good, was often led to say with pain, not intending to lay it on any special person, that she knew no perfect virtue, nor any piety without much weakness.Early in the year the Duc d'Orléans started for Bourbon to take the waters, and Madame followed him. They went there for health in order to give a prince to France, a grandson of Henri IV., which Monsieur passionately desired. The princess never made long journeys, whether from crotchets or real illness; she seldom went out, declaring that the least agitation made her faint. I have sometimes heard Monsieur laughing about her, and telling the queen how she took the communion in her bed rather than go to the chapel which was close by, without her having, apparently, any real illness. When she came to see the queen, once in two years or so, she had herself carried in a chair, but with such fuss and affectation that her arrival at the Palais-Royal wascelebrated as if it were a little miracle. Often she would get only three steps from the Luxembourg, when she had to be taken back, being attacked by some of the many ills she said she felt, but which never appeared. She ate bread which she carried in a provision pocket; and Russia leather boots were her mortal enemies. She was sister to the Duc de Lorraine, and Monsieur had married her during his exile from France, without the consent of the late king. When Nancy was taken she had to fly, disguised as a page, in the bottom of a cart; and was forced to pay with great distresses for the honour she had gained in marrying Monsieur.That prince, on his side, being then heir presumptive to the crown, though obliged to leave her in Flanders when he returned to France, remained inviolably faithful to her. As he showed no firmness for others who had attached themselves to him, King Louis XIII., his brother, urged him, on his return to France, to consent to the rupture of the marriage; but this he would never do, and he brought his wife to France as soon as the death of the king and that of Cardinal Richelieu enabled him to do so.I have heard it said that on arriving at that beautiful palace of the Luxembourg in Paris some one asked if she did not feel great joy at finding herself in that superb place; to which she coldly answered that after the joy of again seeing Monsieur, all the rest seemed nothing to her. She had a good mind, and reasoned well on all subjects about which she chose to talk. She seemed, by what she said, to have heart and ambition. She loved Monsieur ardently; and hated in the same way any one who could injure her with him. She was handsome in the features of her face, which were beautiful and well-formed; but she was not agreeable; her whole person lacked I know not what thatwas pleasing; but as for actual ugliness, she had it only in her teeth, which were already decayed. It was said of this princess that she was beautiful without being so, and had intellect but seemed to have none because she made no use of it. She was fat and thin both; her face was full and her bosom handsome, so her women said, but her hands and arms were very thin. It must also be said that she had not a fine figure, but neither was she deformed. In short, all contrasts were collected in her in a surprising manner; and it was impossible to speak of her except with an ambiguity to be used about no one else.It was also true that Monsieur loved her and did not love her. He lived with her and treated her well; he never deliberately annoyed her; and when he thought her dissatisfied or grieved he did all he could to cure her little thoughts. He never left her, and when he was at home he spent nearly all his time in her room, showing sometimes that he esteemed her virtue and her intelligence. But he had a favourite [the Abbé de la Rivière] whom she did not like; he had raised him to extreme grandeur and had confidence in him, and she was never able to do him an injury. Monsieur often laughed at her delicacies and whims with the ladies who served her, and even with the queen, to whom he used to say that she was visionary, that her piety was ridiculous, that she never talked except to her confessor, whom she consulted about the merest trifles. Neither did he spare her favourites, who were among the silliest creatures in Paris. He said, speaking of them, that persons of merit, lacking discernment, ought to be ashamed to be on good terms with them; that her court was decried because those who were obliged to see her, on account of her rank, found there none but persons unworthy of her favour and approbation. So it may be said he loved her, but did notlove her often; and the respect he had for her was varied in the same degree.Those who knew her intimately told me she was naturally insensible to friendship; and that, if she loved Monsieur, that feeling had no other operation in her than to incite her to scold him continually and cause him much vexation; so that their union was as inexplicable as all the rest. As the princess was both healthy and ill at the same time, and as she belonged to those virtuous women who like to follow their husbands, her physician obliged her much by ordering her to the baths of Bourbon because Monsieur was to take them. She ceased to complain in order to make the journey, because she always wanted to be with him; and not only did she make it, but she did not go in a chair, as she first intended. She never left the coach in which Monsieur was, and seemed to bear the fatigues of the journey more easily than the most robust women.The Duchesse d'Orléans might justly have a passion for Monsieur. He was agreeable in person. His complexion and the features of his face were handsome, the expression of his countenance pleasing; his eyes were blue, his hair black. He looked like the son of a king, but badly trained. In spite of his natural restlessness and his grimaces, it was easy to see both birth and grandeur in his person. He was kind and easy of access. He had intelligence, spoke well, and jested pleasantly. He had read much and knew history thoroughly, with much other studious knowledge. Nothing was wanting in this prince for society, except that he was rather vainglorious, with that coarse pride which made him hold his rank too stiffly, though it did not prevent his treating kindly those who approached him. I have seen women of quality standing in the room where he was, to show the respect they owed him, without his having the civility toask them to sit down; and men complained that in the roughest weather he never told them to put on their hats, which the king, his brother, always did.He was accused of being timid and lazy. But I have heard it said that he sometimes went into very dangerous places, as far in the advance as the common soldiers. But there is one stain on his life which dishonours him. It was when, in his youth, he formed a party in France for the interests of the queen his mother, and the Duc de Montmorency, fighting for him, was made prisoner before his very eyes; he could have saved him, but he did not, and was the cause that that great seigneur, the most amiable, as I was told, of men, was beheaded. His favourite, the Abbé de la Rivière, whose interest it was to preserve him, kept him as much as he could from going into danger; and Maréchal de Gassion, one day when the prince had done personally well and had bravely risked musket shots, said, after praising him, that he had been lively that time because his suckfish [remora] was not there. It was for this reason that the Court desired this year that the Duc d'Orléans should not command the army; and the doctors who sent him to the Baths gave no little pleasure to the ministers; for not only did his expenses as commander increase immensely the royal budget, but the finest plans were rendered useless by cares for his preservation. The maxim of conquerors is to risk; but it was impossible to propose schemes of that nature to a general of such consequence, who, after the king, the queen, and the little real Monsieur, held the first place in the kingdom, and whose life was therefore precious to France, which naturally loves the children of her kings.The Comte d'Harcourt, that unfortunate general, returning from Catalonia, arrived in Holy-Week [April 20,1647]. The queen, by advice of the cardinal, received him coldly. Itwas the minister's habit to do harsh things through her, and to reserve favours, benefits, and pardons for his own bestowal; for the queen was convinced that the more friends the cardinal made, the more the peace of her regency was secured. With this idea, she told Comte d'Harcourt that she thought him wrong for having undertaken the siege of Lerida against the orders of the king. He replied like an able man, though he was not suspected of being one, that he entreated her very humbly to believe him incapable of failing in respect or fidelity to whatever concerned his duty and the obedience that he owed to her wishes; and (in order not to importune her with his reasons for so acting) he begged her to let him inform the cardinal, who, he hoped, would have sufficient equity to justify him to her. His scheme succeeded; for as the minister only wanted to mortify him, he took him back into his good graces after a great explanation, and, as the count himself had foreseen, he received good treatment from the queen when he next presented himself before her.The festivals passed as usual. The queen, after having taken the Lord's supper at home on Holy Thursday, went to shut herself up at the Val-de-Grâce to spend the rest of Holy-Week in retreat and prayer. We went there, my sister and I, very early on Good Friday morning, in order to profit by her example. She had risen and dressed by five o'clock, and was already employed in meditating on the wonders which God on that day had worked in our favour. She heard the Passion preached at seven o'clock by a Jesuit, who did not make himself admired; and after the service was over, she went to adore the Cross with the saintly nuns who live in continual penitence and show by all their actions that the Cross is ever in their thoughts and before their eyes. She did these things with a devoutness fit to edify the most hardened to the laws of God.After returning to her chamber she spoke to us, to my sister and me, of the instability of the things of earth, of the importance of our salvation, the danger in which we continually are of failing in what we have to do for the accomplishment of that great work, which we agreed at that moment was the first, and chief of all. After his dinner the king came to see her, bringing the cardinal with him, and about a dozen of the Court who were necessary about his person. The queen took great pleasure in showing them the whole house, and the designs she had for a beautiful new convent which should preserve to posterity eternal signs of the honour it had received in being the place where she went to enjoy solitude.The king and Cardinal Mazarin were present at the tenebroe. The former was admired by his people, who saw him, through the nun's grating, running hither and thither, blowing out the candles and behaving like a child that loves to play. The minister, who accompanied all his actions with great modesty, played the pious and devout personage, though perhaps he was not so at all. He took care to seem regular in his external actions, and it was impossible to reproach him for a vice, or for any irregularity which might go by that name.When the king had departed and the queen found herself alone in her desert, she went into the infirmary to visit a nun who was dying of a cancer in her breast, which had rotted away the side of it. The smell from the wound was not only such as to be offensive to the queen, who liked sweet odours, but to men the most used to infection and the misery of hospitals. She stayed a long time and chose to see the wound dressed; which was a pitiable sight. The disease had so eaten away the part on which it had fastened that we could see into her body. After this act of charity weleft the queen to enjoy the rest that is found at the foot of altars. The next day she returned to the Palais-Royal to be present on Easter-day in its parish church and perform her devotions.The fêtes over, nothing was talked of but war and journeys. The Court had planned to go to the frontier and even beyond Amiens and Compiègne, but in spite of this excitement which seemed to foreshadow battles, the peace that reigned in the Court itself and made it pleasurable induced the queen to have that fine comedy, with scenery, of which I have already spoken played three or four times before her; she was always present and never wearied of it. The last time was to entertain Madame de Longueville, who had lately returned from Munster.This princess, who, though absent, reigned in her family, and whose approbation every one desired as a sovereign good, returned to Paris in May, 1647, and did not fail to appear there with even more lustre than she had when she left it. The friendship that the Prince de Condé, her brother, felt for her gave authority to her actions and manners, and the grandeur of her beauty and of her mind so increased the cabal of her family that she had not been long at Court before she occupied it wholly. She became the object of all desires; her reception [ruelle] was the centre of all intrigues, and those whom she liked were considered at once as the darlings of fortune. Her courtiers were revered by the minister; and before long we shall see her the cause of our revolutions and of all the quarrels that came so near destroying France.The Prince de Marsillac had formed an intimacy with M. le Prince [the Court title given to the Prince de Condé] ever since the queen, changing to many, had changed to him, and after promising much had thought it her duty not to give him what he asked. In attaching himself to M. lePrince through policy, he gave himself to Madame de Longueville in a rather more tender manner, joining feelings of the heart to regard for her grandeur and fortune. This gift of himself was apparent to the eyes of the public; and it seemed to the whole Court that the princess received it with welcome. In all that she did later, it was clearly seen that ambition was not the only emotion that filled her soul, for the interests of the Prince de Marsillac held a large place in it. She became ambitious for him; for his sake she ceased to love repose, and in becoming sensible to that affection she became insensible to her own fame.Her ideas, her intellect, and the opinion formed of her discernment made her the admired of all men; they were convinced that her esteem alone was enough to give them reputation. Though she ruled all souls by this means, that of her beauty was no less potent; for although she had had the small-pox since the regency began and had slightly lost the purity of her complexion, the glow of her charms always attracted the inclination of those who saw her; above all, she possessed in a sovereign degree that which the Spanish language expresses by the words: donayre, brio, y bizaría. Her figure was admirable; the very air of her person had a charm, the spell of which extended even to her own sex. It was impossible to see her without liking her, and wishing to please her. Her beauty, nevertheless, consisted more in the colouring of her face than in the perfection of its features. Her eyes were not large, but beautiful, soft and brilliant, and the blue was wonderful, like that of the turquoise. Poets could only compare to liles and roses the tones of her face; and the silvery fair hair that accompanied such marvels made her resemble an angel -- such as the weakness of our nature makes us imagine them -- much more than a woman.It may be said that at this time all grandeur, all glory, allgallantry were held in this Bourbon family, of which M. le Prince was the head, and success was no longer thought a good unless it came through their hands. The Prince de Conti2Armand de Bourbon, brother of the great Condé, abbé and prior of Cluny. He left the Church and married Anne Martinozzi, niece of Cardinal Mazarin; their son Louis-Armand married the daughter of Louis XIV. and Mme. de la Vallière. -- TR. younger brother of this brother and sister, had just left college and was beginning to appear in society. He was handsome in face, but as his figure was deformed he was destined for the Church. He possessed many benefices, and several persons attached themselves to him in the hope of making their fortune on this line. The young prince, finding that his sister, Mme. de Longueville, had so great a reputation, desired to follow her advice and sentiments, and allowed himself to be tempted to win respect through her. He sought to please her, more even as an honourable man than as her brother; he had intelligence and he succeeded.The queen, who was by nature neither jealous nor ambitious, nevertheless showed some coldness towards Mm de Longueville. She did not like this manner of publicly professing to be a bel esprit; she disliked all the ways of it. She herself had reason and good sense; all that was in her was natural and without art; and these two personages, according to the measure of their age, both being infinitely amiable, were so different in character that it was impossible that the inferior, who lived as a queen and did not render great duty to her sovereign, could please the latter.The occupation given by the plaudits of the great world, which usually regards with too much admiration the fine qualities of people of high birth, had deprived Mme. de Longueville of the leisure to read and to give to her mind a knowledge sufficiently extended to call her learned. She was by nature too much concerned about sentiments; whichpassed with her for infallible rules, and were not so always; and there was too much affectation in her manner of speaking and acting, the greatest beauty of which consisted in the delicacy of her thoughts and a very just reasoning. She seemed constrained; and the refined satire, of which she and her courtiers made profession, often fell upon those who, wishing to pay her their duty, could not help feeling that the honest sincerity which should be observed in polite society was apparently banished from hers. The virtues and laudable qualities of the most excellent beings are mingled with things that are their opposite; all men share the clay from which they get their origin, and God alone is perfect.May 9, 1647, the queen took the road to Compiègne, intending to go as far as Amiens. The cardinal stayed three or four days behind her in Paris to conclude some business, and started to join her on the 15th of the same month. As he was indefatigable in working, and did the duties of all the secretaries of State, wishing to know everything, he was so continually busy that it was almost impossible to see him. Italians are usually haters of a crowd and bustle; for this reason the minister disliked to show himself -- so much so that persons of quality murmured at being forced to wait at his door until he would see them. They were not repulsed, however, by the contempt shown to them, which, apparently, produced no other effect upon their souls than to make them more humble and grovelling; but as the French allow themselves to be easily governed by favourites, so are they also as easily led into talking against them. The cardinal, knowing this, was accustomed to say, in speaking of these people, that he was willing to let them talk provided that they would let him do. The murmuring began from ear to ear in the antechamber of the man who sneered at their attentions,and was uttered in a loud voice as soon as the mutterers were out of it. Sometimes I grew weary of hearing him so abused; for, besides the fact that it was often unjust, what in itself is useless always seems to me disagreeable.The cardinal had as many lights as a man who was the artisan of his own grandeur could have. He had great capacity, above all, industry, and marvellous shrewdness in leading and amusing men by countless deceptive hopes. He never did harm unless from necessity to those who displeased him. Usually, he was content to complain of them, and these complaints produced explanations which readily restored to him the friendship of those who had been unfaithful to him or who thought they had cause to be vexed with him. He had the gift of pleasing, and it was impossible to keep one's self from being charmed by his sweetness; but this same sweetness was the cause, when not accompanied by the benefits it seemed to promise, that those who were weary of expecting fell into disgust and vexation. Until now, the complaints of private persons had made no great impression upon the public mind, and they were founded more on the loss of his favour than on hatred to his person.The respect that the halo of royal power, which surrounded him gloriously, impressed upon the hearts of the king's subjects arrested much that human malice tried to blame in him; and the tranquillity of the Court, joined to fortunate successes in war, had given him, up to this time, more reputation than the worst of the courtiers could give him shame. But, little by little, they went on discovering defects in him; some of which could be attributed to all favourites, other of which were essentially his. They said that he ignored our customs, and did not trouble himself sufficiently to have them observed; that he did not take pains, as he should have done, to govern the State by its long-established laws;that he did not protect justice and law as he was bound by his position as prime minister to do; and that he thus failed in the care he owed to the public weal. These sins of omission, though great, could not rightly dishonour him, because he may have had good intentions which, if known, would have justified him to the public.It may be said, nevertheless, that, with the temperament he had, these accusations were not far wrong, for it was his nature to neglect too much to do good. He seemed to respect no virtue, and to hate no vice. He appeared to have neither; he passed for a man habituated to the custom of Christian virtues, but showing no desire for their practice. He made no profession of piety, and gave no signs to the contrary by any of his actions, unless it were that satirical remarks occasionally escaped him which were at variance with the respect that a Christian ought to have for whatever concerns religion. In spite of his greed he had not yet seemed miserly; and the finances were more wasted at this period of his administration by partisans than at any previous time.He also, as I have said elsewhere speaking of the queen, granted the dignities of the Church to many persons who claimed them from profane motives; and he did not always appoint to the bishoprics men who could honour his choice by their virtue and piety. Religion was too much neglected by him; he was always too indifferent to that sacred trust which God had committed to him. By nature he was distrustful; and one of his greatest cares was to study men in order to know them and guard himself from attacks and from the intrigues that were formed against him. He professed to fear nothing, and to despise even the cautions that were given him about his person, though in reality the principle of his greatest care was his personal preservation.The few days that the minister remained behind in Paris served only to still further foment the jealousies that were beginning to appear; because many of those who wished to see him could not succeed in doing so. When he got into his coach to go away the whole courtyard of the Palais-Royal was filled with cordons-bleus, great seigneurs, and persons of rank, who by their eagerness seemed to be only too happy to look at him from a distance. All men are naturally slaves to fortune; I can truly say that I never saw any one at Court who was not a flatterer, some more, others less. Self-interest, which blinds us, takes us unawares and betrays us on occasions which concern us; it makes us act with more feeling than intelligence; and it happens often enough that we become ashamed of our weakness; which, however, we do not perceive except through sage reflection, and after the occasion for doing better has passed.XII. 1648.THE queen, wishing to have the Te Deum chanted at Notre-Dame, to render thanks to God for the great victory, and to carry to the church the banners conquered from the enemy,1These flags to the number of sixty-three, were borne to the choir by the Suisse guard. The members of parliament were present in great numbers at the ceremony, to remove all suspicion that this victory was not agreeable to them (Omer Talon). -- FR. ED. wished also to use this day of triumph to bring some remedy to the rebellion of parliament and to punish it for its last disobedience, which had seemed, in the eyes of every one, to hide a criminal audacity under a false appearance of fidelity.To do this, in full agreement with the Duc d'Orléans and her minister, she commanded Comminges, lieutenant of her guards, to arrest President Blancmesnil, President Charton, and, above all, a man named Broussel, counsellor of parliament, who had constantly raised the standard against the king and opened all discussions that tended to destroy the royal authority; he had made himself the mouthpiece of the people, showing on every occasion the spirit of a man born in a republic, and affecting the sentiments of a veritable Roman. This day was chosen by advice of the cardinal, because the ceremony of the Te Deum gave occasion to put the whole regiment of the guards under arms; it being usual to line the king's way and the neighbourhood of Notre-Dame, where Broussel lodged. As there was some reason to fear that the populacewould rise in his defence, it was necessary to have a certain amount of force ready. against that canaille, and thus prevent it from gathering sufficient strength to resist the name of the king and the glory of the successful victory.The queen, having given her orders to Comminges, he gave his for the execution of the enterprise confided to him. He sent two of his lieutenants, -- as he told me himself with every particular, one to President Blancmesnil, the other to President Charton, reserving for himself the most dangerous affair, that of seizing Broussel, the friend and protector of the people.The queen, after the Te Deum, and after committing this matter to the Sovereign of sovereigns as a severity forced upon her and necessary for public tranquillity, left the church, saying in a low voice to Comminges, "Go, and may God assist you;" well content with herself, as she told us afterwards, in being able to hope that she should be avenged on those who had despised her authority and that of the king her son.Le Tellier, secretary of State, also said to Comminges at the same time that he could go, for all was ready; meaning that the three men were in their homes. Comminges waited a short time at Notre-Dame with a few guards until he knew that an order he had given was executed. As it is usual for the officers of the body-guard never to leave the person of the king, notice was immediately given to some of the parliament who were still in the church that the lieutenant of the queen's guards had remained there, which seemed to threaten the liberty of some of the individuals of their assembly. On receiving this warning they all took to flight, and the church, to their thinking, had not doors enough to let them get out as fast as they wished. The populace who filled the space about the church, havingcome there to see the king pass, hearing this rumour, collected in groups, and began to watch and listen for what it might mean.Comminges had sent his carriage with four of his guards and one lieutenant to the end of Broussel's street, which was short and narrow, with orders to the officer soon as he saw him, Comminges, approach the house on foot, to bring the carriage to the door, with the curtains raised and the steps lowered. This he ordered, so he told me, that in case he was attacked in the carriage with his prisoner, he might see all around him and give his orders. Accordingly he went to the house on foot and knocked at the door. A little foot-boy opened it without delay; he seized the entrance, and leaving two guards there he went up to Broussel's apartment with the two others. He found him just finishing dinner, with his family around him. Comminges told him he brought an order from the king to seize his person; but, if he wished to spare himself the trouble of reading the lettre de cachet, which he showed him, he had only to follow and obey him.This man, over sixty years old, was alarmed, in spite of the courage he had shown in parliament, at hearing the king named in this way, and showed that the visit distressed him greatly. He replied that he was not in a state to obey, having taken medicine that morning, and he asked for time. An old woman of the house began to scream to the neighbours that her master was being carried off, begging them for succour, and telling Comminges with a thousand insults that he should not be obeyed, that she would prevent him from doing harm to her master. At the woman's noise, the populace collected in the little street; the first who ran up called to others, and in a moment the street was filled with canaille. When they saw the carriage full of arms andmen, they began to shout that their liberator was being carried off. Some wished to cut the horses' reins, others to break the carriage; but the guards and a little page of Comminges defended it valiantly, threatening to kill all those who attacked it.Comminges, hearing within the house the noise of the populace, and seeing the riot which might happen if he delayed any longer in his purpose, seized Broussel by force and threatened to kill him if he refused to walk. He dragged him from the house and the embraces of his family, and flung him into the carriage whether he would or not; the guards going before to push back the people, who threatened to attack them. At the sound of this uproar chains were fastened across the streets, and at the first turn Comminges found his way stopped; so that, in order to escape, he had to have the carriage turned round often, and gave a sort of battle to the populace, whose numbers increased the farther he advanced on his way.He arrived at last opposite to the house of the chief-president, where his carriage was upset and broken. He would have been lost if at this very place he had not found soldiers of a regiment of Guards, who still lined the street with orders to render him assistance if needed. He had sprung with his prisoner from the overturned carriage, and seeing himself surrounded by enemies who wanted to tear him in pieces, and having only three or four of his own guards, who were not enough to save him, he called out, "To arms, comrades! to the rescue!" The soldiers, faithful to the king at all times of the regency, surrounded him and gave him the necessary assistance.The populace also surrounded him, with very different intentions; and there ensued a combat of fists and insults not less dangerous to the State than those of guns andblades. Comminges remained in this position until one of his guards brought up another carriage, which he had taken from some passers, turning the ladies out with threats, and, in spite of their remonstrances, compelling the coachman to serve the occasion. This carriage also was broken at the corner of the rue Saint-Honoré, and these various accidents made known this action of the government to the whole city of Paris, and stirred to compassion a vast number of persons who thereupon fomented sedition.Finally another carriage arrived, which Guitaut, uncle of Comminges and captain of the queen's guard, sent to meet his nephew, foreseeing that he might need it. It came most luckily; he jumped into it, his prisoner with him, and reached a relay which was waiting for him near the Tulleries, where Mademoiselle was then lodged. This relay took him to the château de Madrid, thence to Saint-Germain, according to his orders from the queen. She intended to have Broussel taken from there by a sub-lieutenant to the place where she had determined to send him, which was, I think, Sedan.When the Parisians lost sight of their Broussel they were like madmen, shouting through the streets that they were lost, that they would have their protector restored to them, that they would die, every one of them, cheerfully in his behalf. They assembled, they stretched chains across the streets, and in a few hours they erected barricades in every quarter of the town.2Omer Talon says that twelve hundred and sixty barricades were counted in Paris. -- FR. ED. The queen, informed of this disturbance, sent Maréchal de La Meilleraye through the streets to pacify the people and speak to them of their duty.The Coadjutor of Paris [Jean-François-Paul de Gòndi, afterwards Cardinal de Retz], who, from inordinate ambition,had inclinations that were far from wishing to endeavour to remedy these evils, was also sent. But, wishing to conceal the tendency of his mind, which was to desire a change, he went out on foot with his hood and rochet; and mingling with the crowd he reproved the people, shouted peace to them, and pointed out the obedience they owed to the king; with every sign of disinterested affection for his service. Perhaps he may even have acted in good faith on this occasion, for, as his sole desire was to play a part in great affairs by any or every means that offered, if in this way he could enter the good graces of the queen and make himself necessary to the State, his ambition being satisfied he would have taken no other course.The populace replied to what he said to them with respect for his person, but with audacity and anger against the idea of what they owed to the king. They demanded their protector, with protestations that they would never be pacified until he was returned to them;3Broussel was an old army officer, sixty-three years of age, popular for his benefits, and for his zeal against the new taxes. In the Chamber of Saint-Louis, he had played the rôle and taken the attitude of a party leader (Omer Talon). -- FR. ED. and without considering the respect they owed to the Grand-Master, the MaRéchal de La Meilleraye, they flung stones at him, overwhelmed him with insults, and, in threatening him, uttered horrible imprecations against the queen and her minister. Against the latter they launched such insolence as deserved the gibbet if the king had been master, or if the queen had been capable from private vengeance of putting any one to death.The two men returned to the Palais-Royal to consult as to what should be done at this crisis, when words seemed too feeble a remedy for so great an evil. But, as it was thought best not to embitter the people still further in their first heat, they were sent back to expose themselves oncemore to stones and insults. They went with a good grace, although the Maréchal de La Meilleraye had the gout and could walk only by the aid of a stick, and the health of the coadjutor was feeble. Soldiers were also sent, to see if a show of arms would not frighten the furious groups. But after a few blows which dispersed them for a moment, their anger increased and their rage became more violent. This medicine, given only from necessity, to try if an appearance of force would not cure the evil, not having any such effect, they ceased to administer it; it was thought that the best plan would be to do nothing extraordinary, for fear of letting the Parisians know the danger to which their folly was exposing France.All this day was spent in hoping that the tumult would subside, but with many a fear that it might increase. The council was held at the Palais-Royal as usual; and we all sat peacefully laughing and talking, as usual, of a thousand frivolities. For, besides the fact that no one on such occasions likes to say what he is thinking of, or to appear to be afraid, none of us wished to be the first to prognosticate evil. Many persons, in fact, came to see the queen, and told her, with levity and on false assumptions, that the affair was nothing and that matters would soon be pacified. Kings flatter themselves readily; our regent did so, and being born with intrepid courage, she ridiculed the emotions of the populace and could not believe they would ever do her any serious harm.That evening, the coadjutor [ecclesiastic who aids a bishop or archbishop in his functions and succeeds him] returned to see the queen on behalf of the people, being forced to accept their commission to ask again for the release of Broussel, they being resolved, they said, if this request were refused, to recover him by force. As the queen's heart was not sus-ceptible of weakness, and she possessed a courage that might shame the most valiant, and as moreover the cardinal did not find it to his advantage to be always defeated, she scorned the proposal, and the coadjutor returned to the people without an answer. One of his friends (slightly one of mine), Laigues, who perhaps, like himself, was not, in the depths of his soul, in despair at the bad position of the Court and who had never quitted him all day, whispered in my ear that all was lost; that we must not amuse ourselves by thinking the affair was nothing; that there was everything to fear from the insolence of the people; that already the streets were filled with outcries against the queen, and that he did not believe the matter could be easily pacified.The night that followed dispersed the crowds and confirmed the queen in her belief that there was nothing to fear from the tumult of the day before. She turned the thing into a joke, and asked me, as she left the council and came to undress, if I had not been in a great fright. She was continually making war upon my cowardice; and she did me the honour to tell me gaily that when at midday, just after her return from the Te Deum, they came to tell her of the uproar the people were beginning to make, she had instantly thought of me and of the fright I should have on hearing the terrible news and those big words "stretched chains" and "barricades."She guessed rightly, for I thought I should die with the shock when they told me that the populace were up in arms; never supposing that in this Paris, the abode of pleasures and delight, war and barricades could exist except in the history and life of Henri III. The queen's jest lasted the whole evening; and as I was certainly the least valiant of the company the whole shame of that day fell upon me. I laughed myself, not only at my own terror, but also atthe advice Laigues had so charitably given me a few hours earlier. It was not without wondering at how differently things can be viewed, according to the diverse passions and desires of men.The same day the chief president came, on hearing of the banishment of his colleagues, to ask the queen for their release; but she sent him away without an answer. The people, who suspected him of being in collusion with the Court, went to his house; rascals full of fury shouted that he was a traitor and had sold his colleagues. He was compelled, in order to pacify them, to go out into the streets on foot to address the rioters and justify himself to them. Had he not done this firmly, they might perhaps have gone still further in their insolence; but his gentleness calmed their fury, and they received his justification on condition that he returned to the queen and demanded Broussel. This he did, with as little success as before.The next day, as resolved in the council of the preceding day, the chancellor, Séguier, had orders to go to the Palais de Justice and preside there, so as to calm the minds of the members and prevent any disturbance which might arise on pretext of this affair.4It was thought also that he was to forbid parliament; but have no certain knowledge of this. I saw at the time no sign of it, and I did not hear of it until long after. (Author's note.) The sedition had terrified every one, and the friends of the chancellor told him that this occasion seemed to them very perilous for him. He saw the danger to which he was exposed with the same eyes as theirs; but his soul, too attached to favour, was not as much attached to love of life. He preferred the advantage of doing an action which was out of the common; and as the queen thought it a necessary one, he wished to perform it without giving any sign of weakness.He started at five in the morning and went to the Palais, or rather, he left his house with the intention of doing so. The Bishop of Meaux, his brother, insisted on going with him, and his daughter, the Duchesse de Sully, young, beautiful, and brave, sprang into his carriage in spite of what he did to prevent her. When he was on the Pont-Neuf, three or four tail scoundrels came up to the carriage and insolently demanded that the prisoner be given up to them; telling him that if this were not done instantly they would kill him. These desperate fellows having begun the tumult, others came up and surrounded him, threatening the same thing.He, not knowing how to escape peacefully from this canaille, ordered his coachman to drive on, and go towards the Augustins, where the house of his friend the Duc de Luynes stood, intending, if compelled by the crowd, to enter the courtyard, or else, for greater safety, to go by the Pont Notre-Dame to the Palais; for he thought that the worthy burghers would not let him be maltreated by these rioters. When he arrived at the Augustins, the crowd had begun to scatter; so that he resolved to leave his carriage at the Duc de Luynes, and go on foot to the Palais. But he had hardly taken three steps when a tall ruffian, dressed in gray, came up shouting: "To arms! to arms! Let us kill him, and avenge upon him the evils from which we suffer!"On this the tumult grew hotter and hotter; and the chancellor was forced to take refuge in the hôtel de Luynes in order to save his life. He was received by a good old woman who, seeing the chancellor asking for help, took him by the hand and led him to a little closet made of pine boards at the end of a hall. He had no sooner entered, he and his party, than the canaille arrived with furious shouts,demanding to know where he was, and declaring, with many oaths, that they meant to have him. Some said: "Prisoner for prisoner; we will exchange him for our dear protector." Others, more malignant, said he ought to be killed and quartered, and the pieces hung in the public squares to show their resentment by their vengeance. They came at last to the little closet in search of him, but as the place looked deserted they contented themselves with giving a few kicks against the planks and listening if they could hear any sound; after which they went to seek him elsewhere. It is to be supposed that the chancellor while this was going on was not at his ease, and that he felt himself human. While in that closet he confessed to his brother, the Bishop of Meaux, and prepared himself to die.He had sent to the Palais-Royal for help, and as soon as the peril he was in was known the gendarmes and the light-horse were sent to his assistance. The Maréchal de La Meilleraye started to find him with two companies of Swiss guards; and the illustrious prisoner was saved at last by the coming of the grand-master. The latter took him by the arm to lead him to the Palais-Royal, for in the confusion the carriage could not be found, and all things were now safe except for exposure to the fury of the populace. The Comte d'Offremont also came to the chancellor's aid, and, meeting him on the way, he put him into his carriage with his daughter and the Bishop of Meaux. As they passed before the Place Dauphine in the middle of the Pont Neuf, the populace, angry at having lost their prey, fired upon him, killing several of the soldiers who surrounded the carriage. The Duchesse de Sully received a shot in the arm, from a ball that was nearly spent, having been fired from a distance; consequently the wound was only a bad contusion. One of the king's lieutenants, who was in the suite of thechancellor, was killed by this canaille, and so was one of the guards.They arrived at the Palais-Royal, much alarmed by their adventure; and the chancellor stayed there several days, not daring to return home lest the angry populace should attack and pillage his house. After he returned there I went to see him in his chamber, and he told me himself of the state of mind in which he was during this affair; and when I asked him whether the image of death was not horrible to him, he told me he had suffered that which, according to humanity, no one is exempt from feeling, but that God had shown him great favour, having entirely filled his mind with the care of his salvation and in asking from Him the forgiveness of his sins.Thus passed the morning of the second day, which was no better than the first. At the queen's waking, about nine o'clock, the news was told to her. She was infinitely angered; not only at the treatment given to a person of such quality, who, for her service, had been two hours in the hands of scoundrels deserving of a rope, but also because of the affront to her authority, which would certainly have dangerous consequences to the State, and produce bad effects through the noise it would make in foreign countries. She knew the latter would recover strength from this news. A chancellor of France, without respect in Paris, threatened with death in the streets, his king being present in the city, was a sure sign that the royal power was diminishing and the love of the subjects to their sovereign extinct.After the queen had received this blow, which showed her, in spite of her firmness in not allowing herself to be shaken by anything, that she had everything to fear, she was forced to rise and receive the parliament, which came on foot to demand the release of the prisoner. She spoketo them vigorously, with good sense and without anger, for on this occasion she acted according to her own feelings and of her own monition. Among other things that she said, these words remained in my memory and seemed to me worthy of remark: That it was strange and very shameful for them to have seen, in the days of the late queen her mother-in-law, the Prince de Condé in the Bastille without making any remonstrance; but that now, for a man like Broussel, they and the people made many; that posterity would regard with horror the cause of such disturbances, and that the king, her son, would some day be able to complain of their proceedings and punish them.The chief-president said little, and President de Mesmes, interrupting him, took speech and addressing the queen, said: "Shall I dare, Madame, to tell you that, in the state in which the people are, a remedy must alone be thought of; and that your Majesty ought, it seems to me, to avoid the pain of having the prisoner set free by force, by granting his freedom to us of your own will and with a good grace?" The queen replied that it was impossible to do that wrong to the royal authority, and to leave unpunished a man who had attacked it with such insolence; that parliament ought to see by the mildness of her regency what her intentions were; that, for herself, she was always disposed to pardon them; but they knew very well that kings were compelled to a certain severity, in order to control the people by some fear.After this sort of dispute she left them, and the head-president, running after her, conjured her to think well what she was doing. To which the queen (instructed here by her minister, as she admitted afterwards) replied that on their side they had better do what they ought, and show in the future more respect for the king's will; andwhen they did that, she, on her side, would do them all the favours they could justly claim from her.The chancellor, who was present, explained that this answer was meant to let them know that if they would promise not to discuss the king's declaration any longer, and cease absolutely from assembling to discuss the affairs of the State, she would release the prisoners; inasmuch as the only reason which had obliged the queen to act as she had done was their rebellion, and the censure they gave daily to that declaration which crowned them with favours and showed them plainly the kindness of the king and of his minister.On this proposition the members decided to return to the Palais and assemble to discuss their answer. They went out from the queen in the same order in which they came, and when they reached the rue Saint-Honoré the populace stopped them at the first barricade and surrounded them, shouting a demand for Broussel. Several approached the chief-president and putting a pistol to his throat, insulted him and threatened that if he did not cause M. de Broussel to be returned to them they would kill him. They showed, in fact, a strong desire to maltreat him; but he escaped by his own steady firmness; assuring them he intended to work for that result with all his strength; and on those words they gave him his life with the condition that he should go back at once to the queen, and signify to her that if he did not obtain Broussel they would cut him into a thousand pieces.The whole assembly, therefore, returned upon its steps, much astonished to find the anger of the people turned upon them. They knew themselves to be the cause of these disturbances, and yet they could not remedy them had they wished to undertake it; for when the people meddle withthe work of commanding, there is no master; each man for himself wants to rule. The famous republic of Rome, which made itself the mistress of nearly the whole world, learned by experience how dangerous it is to let the people have part in the government; and that illustrious, all-conquering community, in which each citizen counted himself a king, no doubt felt, through its noble illusion, the love of liberty, how hard and cruel and grievous a thing is popular fury.France, which is accustomed to a beautiful and honourable duty to sovereigns, regarded the power that the people were trying to seize in Paris as a great malady in the State; even parliament was startled. I entered the king's room shortly after the return of the long robes to the Palais-Royal, and I saw them pass from the queen's large cabinet over the terrace which separates the two main buildings of this palace, on their way to the grand gallery of the king, where they were to do what they had proposed to do at the Palais de Justice, namely: seek for means to remedy the evil. They had eaten nothing all day, and it was now late. Out of pity, rather than kindness, the queen had taken care to send them bread and wine with a few dishes, which, as I thought, they ought to eat with shame, seeing that they were the cause of these disturbances, of the anxieties of the queen, the capture of Broussel, and the revolt of the people.After their repast, the Duc d'Orléans went to them to take his usual place. The chancellor was also there to preside; which he did with great presence of mind, although the images of death and danger which he had so recently escaped pursued him. The cardinal went in for a moment; intending to conjure them to think seriously, with sincere intentions, on the remedy for evils that might grow out of these beginnings of rebellion. He had much cleverness of mind, and spoke our language fairly well, and he wrote it ina way to be admired; but as the accent of his own country stayed by him, he had no charm of speech, nor any facility to express himself elegantly. He merely told them that he thought they had good intentions, and the queen thought the same; and that being so, it was easy to agree. One of my friends who was in the assembly told me he repeated these few words over and over again, confusedly; so that his little harangue only made those laugh who did not seriously think of doing as he advised. Which ought to make us see that the heart of man is naturally perverse, and that justice is often banished from it. If it were not so, men would value things that are reasonably said, from whatever lips they came.All this day, in spite of the barricades, many persons visited the queen, who remained in the circle with the Queen of England and several princesses, awaiting the decision of parliament. The cardinal was not without anxiety, and during this period of waiting he shut himself up in the queen's little cabinet with the Abbé de La Rivière, who was not as troubled as he, for he hoped that the decline of the minister might lead to his own elevation.This anxiety did not appear on the cardinal's face. On the contrary, when he showed himself in public he assumed great tranquillity, and, as I have said elsewhere, he was more humane and gentle in misfortune than in prosperity; he did not fly from those who wished to speak to him with the same harshness as when he was satisfied and content. For this reason, the Court people always wished him some ill-luck in order to humble him; for it is natural to men to rule their feelings by their interests, and the most virtuous man is not virtuous when he desires some benefit which is refused to him with every mark of contempt and rudeness. In spite of the cardinal's apparent gentleness, he did notoften show that quality in his behaviour or in his words, which were nearly always harsh, and very different from his promises, which were never fulfilled, or seldom, unless he was compelled by the manoeuvres of claimants. They nearly always wrung his benefits from his weakness, not his kindness.Parliament, having ended its deliberations, came to see the queen, who went to receive it in her little gallery, taking no women with her. The chief-president, in the name of the Assembly, protested their fidelity in a rather brief compliment, and then rendered to the queen an account of their proceedings, in which they promised to postpone all further deliberations, except those on finance and tariff, until after Martinmas.This decision was of no good. Beneath that promise was seen the intention of beginning anew when the specified time had passed, and of assembling at their pleasure to discuss all matters. Nevertheless, in consequence of this postponement, the queen, forced by the state in which Paris then was, granted the release of the prisoner and gave them, then and there, a lettre de cachet to bring him back in the king's carriages, which were ordered to go for him with all diligence.This concession, extorted solely by an apparent but transitory obedience, was, properly speaking, a victory won over royalty which distressed the queen, and must have done the same the cardinal. It caused regret in the souls of honest Frenchmen, the number of whom was small; for those who composed the Court had ulcerated it with hatreds, or were filled with the desire to see the fortunes of the minister change. Thus it may be said that while the troubles of the queen were great, few persons took heed to them.Here, then, is the prisoner Brousel, whom the queen iscompelled to surrender; the parliament is victorious; it and the people are masters. The burghers had previously taken arms (by order of the king, fearing that the insolent canaille might become too absolute), and the colonels of quarters and the companies of the city are now mounting guard with such order that it may be said that disorder was never so well ordered. A sedition so great and impetuous would seem likely to cause more evil than it really caused.But the burghers who had taken arms very willingly to protect the town from pillage were no better than the populace, and demanded Broussel as heartily as the rag-pickers. For, besides being all infected with the love of the public good (which they held to be their own in particular), devoted to parliament, and hating the minister, they were filled with joy at the thought that they were necessary to some purpose. They believed they had a share in the government because they were guarding the gates of the city; and each man over his counter discussed the affairs of the State. They did not make as much noise as the others, but they demanded Broussel gravely, and declared that they would never disarm until they saw him free with their own eyes.After parliament had had its audience the assembly left the Palais-Royal, and returned as triumphant as the queen was humiliated. The populace and the burghers surrounded the members to ask what they had done for Broussel; to which they replied that they had obtained his liberty; and one of his nephews showed the lettre de cachet and promised that he should be in Paris the next day by eight in the morning. This promise gave them some comfort and calmed them a little. But, at the slightest doubt occurring to their minds, they began once more their imprecations, and in the midst of their anger the great exasperation thatthey showed against the person of the queen and of the minister was startling. They did not hesitate to say that if deceived they would sack the Palais-Royal and drive out that foreigner; and they shouted incessantly: "Vive le roi tout seul, et M. de Broussel!"The night was troubled, for with such a state of things there was much to fear. The alarm was great in the Palais-Royal; the queen herself, with all her firmness, was uneasy. The burghers were firing incessantly, and they were so near the king's house that the sentinels of the regiment of the Gardes and those of the rue Saint-Honoré could look at each other. The threats made by the people were not concealed from the cardinal, and in spite of the gaiety he affected in public, he did not fail to take the precautions of a frightened man. He sat up all night, being booted and ready to mount a horse in case he was compelled by the fury and madness of the people to fly. He had a body of soldiers in his house, a guard before his door, and in his stable a great pile of muskets for defence if attacked. He kept cavalry in the Bois de Boulogne to escort him if obliged to fly, and the persons who were attached to his service never left him at all that night. An Italian among them, who had as much cowardice as wit, and little tenderness for his master, said to me the next day, "For the whole kingdom of France, I would not pass another such night as that."The next day the rioters, while awaiting Broussel's arrival, continued their threats saying openly that they should send for the Duc de Beaufort and place him at their head. Their insolence increased when they heard of the cavalry being stationed in the Bois do Boulogne. Unable to divine what this really meant, they imagined there were ten thousand men held in ambush in order to chastise them for their revolt.When eight o'clock sounded and the prisoner had not arrived, the shouts redoubled, with such terrible threats that the state of Paris at that instant was something awful. At last, about ten o'clock, this tribune of the people having reached the city, the joy was unbounded; the street chains were let down, the barricades broken to allow of passing through. Never was triumph of king or Roman emperor greater than that of this poor little man, who had nothing to recommend him but his obstinacy for the public good and his hatred of taxes; which is, in fact, a praiseworthy thing if regulated by good and prudent conduct, and if its virtue is quite aloof from the spirit of cabal; but I know that during the whole war factious minds, acting solely from self-interest, had much intimacy and long conferences with him. That is why his good qualities were not pure, nor free from corruption. He was taken to Notre-Dame, where the people wanted to have a Te Deum sung for him, but the man himself, ashamed of the uproar, escaped from their hands, and getting out by a small door of the church fled to his home, where many of the Court people went to see him out of curiosity.After Broussel's return it seemed as if the disturbances ought to cease; but the burghers, showing no submission to the orders and will of the king, would not lay down their arms nor remove the barricades except by order of parliament; and they said openly that they recognized no other master or protector. The same morning, in presence of Broussel, the Assembly, masters of the life of the king and of the city, issued a decree in these terms: --"The court this day, the Chambers assembled: The provost of the merchants of this city, in view of the orders he had given in consequence of the excitement of the day before yesterday, yesterday, and this morning; hearing alsothat the procureur général du roi has ordered that the chains and barricades employed by the burghers be unloosed, demolished, and taken away; enjoins upon the people to retire to their homes and return to their vocations. Done in parliament, August 28, 1648."The result of this decree was that every one obeyed it so promptly that within two hours it was possible to go about Paris as in peaceful times; and matters so calmed down that what had just happened seemed like a dream. But as it takes very little to disturb the minds of a populace already excited, ill-luck would have it that two caissons of gunpowder for the regiment of the Guards were brought into Pans through the Porte Saint-Antoine. The sight struck the imagination of the people with a thousand terrors, and made the burghers believe, like criminals fearing the gallows, that the queen was intending to punish them. On which they rushed to the carts and pillaged them, crying out, as before, "To arms!" The magistrates of the city went to the spot to pacify them and assure them they had nothing to fear; but they were not to be persuaded. The fire of this new rebellion flared up with such rapidity that in less than half an hour it communicated its heat from one end of the town to the other; and Paris in an instant resumed the same aspect it had had in the morning.On this information reaching her the queen took counsel with the Duc d'Orléans, the cardinal, the grand-master, and others. It was resolved to send back to their quarters all the Guards stationed before the gates of the Palais-Royal, in order to remove the suspicions excited in the public by the sight of the caissons; this was done immediately. Popular emotions in Paris, which is a world rather than a city, are furious torrents, that spread themselves out with such impetuosity that if allowed to swell they would be capableof making ravages such as posterity could hardly believe even from their terrible effects.Finally the provost of the merchants was sent for, to whom the queen said that she was amazed at the rumour; that the powder which had so terrified the people was merely intended to supply the king's guard-house which happened to be without any, and in order to show that she had no intentions which could disquiet any one whatsoever she had sent all the companies of the Guards to their several quarters. She assured the provost that none were left in the guard-house but the king's usual guard, and she requested him to make known these truths through the streets in order to reassure everybody.He obeyed the orders of the queen; but he was not listened to,-- reason and truth not being within range of such a populace. The queen's assurances were received with insolent remarks, and rejected as wrongs against which the furious crowds had a natural antipathy. Incredulity was increased by a remembrance of the cavalry they had heard of in the morning as being ambushed in the Bois de Boulogne; and out of all these chimeras a fable was made in which the populace had more faith than in the truth. The terror they gave to themselves had such force upon their imagination that some were shy enough to say that the queen of Sweden was at the gates of Paris to help the queen, simply because they had heard that that princess was warlike, and they knew from her late ambassadors that she had contracted an alliance with our queen.However, by dint of shouting to them that there was nothing to fear, there came moments when their passion seemed about to subside; and at seven in the evening messages were brought to the queen that the people were apparently willing to quiet down; which allowed her toprepare to go to bed. She needed rest after the fatigue and the cruel anxieties she had felt in spite of her usual tranquillity.She was scarcely seated at her toilet-table before the uproar of the rue Saint-Antoine which had spread over Paris, began again in the rue Saint-Honoré, with much more terror for the Court than that of the previous day; for at night things seem more dreadful and cause more anxiety. There were persons wicked enough to scatter notes about the streets and public places urging the burghers to take arms, warning them, charitably, that there were troops in the neighbourhood of Paris, and that the queen was about to carry off the king and then have the city sacked as a punishment for their rebellion.The alarm was great everywhere, and the Palais-Royal had its share of it. They came to tell the queen frankly that she was not in safety in that house without moat or guards. They told her there were troops of burghers mingled with the canaille who declared openly that they wanted the king, and meant to take him into their own hands and guard him themselves in the Hotel de Vile; also that they wanted the keys of the city, fearing that the queen would carry him away; and declaring that if they once had him out of the Palais-Royal they did not care what happened, and would set fire to it themselves very willingly.On hearing these horrible threats we all began to fear both for her and for ourselves, for her person and for ours, and for our houses, which, being close to the Palais-Royal, ran great risk of being pillaged. Every one then spoke to her of the peril in which she was and of the insolent things that the people said against her; for though kings are flattered to the last extremity, when the mask is raised noone spares them. Jarzé, the new captain of the Guards, said to her ostentatiously, "Madame, we are a handful of men who will die at your door." But as such offers had more beauty than force, she received them more as signs of the danger in which she stood than as a remedy capable of supporting her under evils she had reason to fear.She was forced to find support in her own firmness; for the cardinal was so full of trouble and fright that she received no help from him. She now saw clearly all that might happen to her. She felt it; and the colour which flushed her face at Jarzé's words let us see it. But I must render her this testimony: after having observed her sentiments, her speech, her actions, I saw no sign of weakness in her. On the contrary, she continued equable, firm, and steady, appearing at this crisis very worthy of her great forefathers, and speaking like the granddaughter of Charles V., who added piety in his last retreat to his heroic virtues. To those who told her dreadful things she replied in these beautiful words, which I shall remember all my life: "Fear nothing, God will not abandon the king's innocence; we must trust in Him."When I heard her speak thus I was ashamed, I own, for having thought that her tranquillity was sometimes caused by ignorance of danger. I had suspected this, because, in truth, kings never see their misfortunes except through a thousand veils. Truth, which painters and poets represent naked, is always dressed for kings in a hundred ways, and never does worldly beauty change her fashions as often as Truth when she enters the palace of kings.On this occasion a great queen cannot be accused of blindness. She felt the position in which she was so strongly that she was well-nigh ill of it. But her soul, stronger than her body, supported her with such firmness that she scornedto show the suffering that nature made her endure. And this honourable pride of hers was so great that it kept her from giving to her griefs any witness save the darkness of the night. In our presence she contented herself by asking with untroubled manner for the news which arrived from time to time; without neglecting, however, all that care and foresight could do to remedy the present extraordinary evils, under which she had no advice or help of any kind whatsoever, not even from her minister, who thought then that he should be forced to leave France.It is true, in fact, that he dressed himself in gray to be ready to start; his horses were bridled all night, and his people kept ready to follow him. He even went to visit the burghers' guard-house, to hear what the people were saying and judge for himself. But finally, about midnight, the burghers, seeing that the guards were really no longer stationed around the Palais-Royal, where there were but two poor sentinels, and that quiet seemed to reign in the king's house, began to feel reassured. They became so, wholly, after the keys of the city were brought to them by the queen's order, and the magistrates, who walked the streets all night, had sworn to them that there was nothing to fear. The uproar quieted down; so much so that Comminges, having gone about the city to see for himself the state of things, came back to assure the queen that he had met scarcely any one. On which assurance we left her, and went to seek in rest some comfort for our misery.