After so many sins, to leave me can he dare?"
They proclaimed tragedy; it had appeared at last to Corneille; its
features, roughly sketched, were nevertheless recognizable.  He was
already studying Spanish with an old friend of his family, and was
working at the _Cid,_ when he brought out his _Illusion Comique,_ a
mediocre piece, Corneille's last sacrifice to the taste of his day.
Towards the end of the year 1636, the _Cid_ was played for the first time
at Paris.  There was a burst of enthusiasm forthwith.  "I wish you were
here," wrote the celebrated comedian Mondory to Balzac, on the 18th of
January, 1637, "to enjoy amongst other pleasures that of the beautiful
comedies that are being played, and especially a _Cid_ who has charmed
all Paris.  So beautiful is he that he has smitten with love all the most
virtuous ladies, whose passion has many times blazed out in the public
theatre.  Seated in a body on the benches of the boxes have been seen
those who are commonly seen only in gilded chamber and on the seat with
the fleurs-de-lis.  So great has been the throng at our doors, and our
place has turned out so small, that the corners of the theatre, which
served at other times as niches for the pageboys, have been given as a
favor to blue ribbons, and the scene has been embellished, ordinarily,
with the crosses of knights of the order."  "It is difficult," says
Pellisson, "to imagine with what approbation this piece was received by
court and people."  It was impossible to tire of seeing it, nothing else
was talked of in company; everybody knew some portion by heart; it was
taught to children, and in many parts of France it had passed into a
proverb to say, "Beautiful as the _Cid_."  Criticism itself was silenced
for a while; carried along in the general twirl, bewildered by its
success, the rivals of Corneille appeared to join the throng of his
admirers; but they soon recovered their breath, and their first sign of
life was an effort of resistance to the torrent which threatened to carry
them away; with the exception of Rotrou, who was worthy to comprehend and
enjoy Corneille, the revolt was unanimous.  The malcontents and the
envious had found in Richelieu an eager and a powerful auxiliary.

[Illustration: The Representation of "the Cid."----335]

Many attempts have been made to fathom the causes of the cardinal's
animosity to the _Cid_.  It was a Spanish piece, and represented in a
favorable light the traditional enemies of France and of Richelieu; it
was all in honor of the duel which the cardinal had prosecuted with such
rigorous justice; it depicted a king simple, patriarchal, genial in the
exercise of his power, contrary to all the views cherished by the
minister touching royal majesty; all these reasons might have contributed
to his wrath, but there was something more personal and petty in its
bitterness.  In tacit disdain for the work that had been entrusted to
him, Corneille had abandoned Richelieu's pieces; he had retired to Rouen;
far away from the court, he had only his successes to set against the
perfidious insinuations of his rivals.  The triumph of the _Cid_ seemed
to the resentful spirit of a neglected and irritated patron a sort of
insult.  Therewith was mingled a certain shade of author's jealousy.
Richelieu saw in the fame of Corneille the success of a rebel.  Egged on
by base and malicious influences, he attempted to crush him as he had
crushed the house of Austria and the Huguenots.

The cabal of bad taste enlisted to a man in this new war.  Scudery was
standard-bearer; astounded that such fantastic beauties should have
seduced knowledge as well as ignorance, and the court as well as the cit,
and conjuring decent folks to suspend judgment for a while, and not
condemn without a hearing _Sophonisbe, Cesar, Cleopdtre, Hercule,
Marianne, Cleomedon,_ and so many other illustrious heroes who had
charmed them on the stage."  Corneille might have been satisfied; his
adversaries themselves recognized his great popularity and success.

A singular mixture of haughtiness and timidity, of vigorous imagination
and simplicity of judgment!  It was by his triumphs that Corneille had
become informed of his talents; but, when once aware, he had accepted the
conviction thereof as that of those truths which one does not arrive at
by one's self absolutely, without explanation, without modification.

"I know my worth, and well believe men's rede of it;
I have no need of leagues, to make myself admired;
Few voices may be raised for me, but none is hired;
To swell th' applause my just ambition seeks no claque,
Nor out of holes and corners hunts the hireling pack:
Upon the boards, quite self-supported, mount my plays,
And every one is free to censure or to praise;
There, though no friends expound their views or preach my
cause,
It hath been many a time my lot to win applause;
There, pleased with the success my modest merit won,
With brilliant critics' laws I seek to dazzle none;
To court and people both I give the same delight,
Mine only partisans the verses that I write;
To them alone I owe the credit of my pen,
To my own self alone the fame I win of men;
And if, when rivals meet, I claim equality,
Methinks I do no wrong to whosoe'er it be."

"Let him rise on the wings of composition," said La Bruyere, "and he is
not below Augustus, Pompey, Nicodemus, Sertorius; he is a king and a
great king; he is a politician, he is a philosopher."  Modest and bashfnl
in what concerns himself, when it has nothing to do with his works and
his talents, Corneille, who does not disdain to receive a pension from
Cardinal Richelieu, or, in writing to Scudery, to call him "your master
and and mine," becomes quite another creature when he defends his genius:

"Leaving full oft the earth, soon as he leaves the goal,
With lofty flight he soars into the upper air,
Looks down on envious men, and smiles at their despair."

The contest was becoming fierce and bitter; much was written for and
against the _Cid;_ the public remained faithful to it; the cardinal
determined to submit it to the judgment of the Academy, thus exacting
from that body an act of complaisance towards himself as well as an act
of independence and authority in the teeth of predominant opinion.  At
his instigation, Scudery wrote to the Academy to make them the judges in
the dispute.  "The cardinal's desire was plain to see," says Pellisson;
"but the most judicious amongst that body testified a great deal of
repugnance to this design.  They said that the Academy, which was only in
its cradle, ought not to incur odium by a judgment which might perhaps
displease both parties, and which could not fail to cause umbrage to one
at least, that is to say, to a great part of France; that they were
scarcely tolerated, from the mere fancy which prevailed that they
pretended to some authority over the French tongue; what would be the
case if they proved to have exercised it in respect of a work which had
pleased the majority and won the approbation of the people?  M. Corneille
did not ask for this judgment, and, by the statutes of the Academy, they
could only sit in judgment upon a work with the consent and at the
entreaty of the author."  Corneille did not facilitate the task of the
Academicians: he excused himself modestly, protesting that such
occupation was not worthy of such a body, that a mere piece
(_un libelle_) did not deserve their judgment.  .  .  .  "At length,
under pressure from M. de Bois-Robert, who gave him pretty plainly to
understand what was his master's desire, this answer slipped from him:
'The gentlemen of the Academy can do as they please; since you write me
word that my Lord would like to see their judgment, and it would divert
his Eminence, I have nothing further to say.'"

These expressions were taken as a formal consent, and as the Academy
still excused themselves, " Let those gentlemen know," said the cardinal
at last, "that I desire it, and that I shall love them as they love me."

There was nothing for it but to obey.  Whilst Bois-Robert was amusing his
master by representing before him a parody of the _Cid,_ played by his
lackeys and scullions, the Academy was at work drawing up their
Sentiments respecting the _Cid_.

Thrice submitted to the cardinal, who thrice sent it back with some
strong remarks appended, the judgment of the Academicians did not succeed
in satisfying the minister.  "What was wanted was the complaisance of
submission, what was obtained was only that of gratitude."  "I know quite
well," says Pellisson, "that his Eminence would have wished to have the
_Cid_ more roughly handled, if he had not been adroitly made to
understand that a judge must not speak like a party to a suit, and that
in proportion as he showed passion, he would lose authority."

Balzac, still in retirement at his country-place, made no mistake as to
the state of mind either in the Academy or in the world when he wrote to
Scudery, who had sent him his _Observations sur le Cid,_ "Reflect, sir,
that all France takes sides with M. Corneille, and that there is not one,
perhaps, of the judges with whom it is rumored that you have come to an
agreement, who has not praised that which you desire him to condemn; so
that, though your arguments were incontrovertible and your adversary
should acquiesce therein, he would still have the wherewith to give
himself glorious consolation for the loss of his case, and be able to
tell you that it is something more to have delighted a whole kingdom than
to have written a piece according to regulation.  This being so, I doubt
not that the gentlemen of the Academy will find themselves much hampered
in delivering a judgment on your case, and that, on the one hand, your
arguments will stagger them, whilst, on the other, the public approbation
will keep them in check.  You have the best of it in the closet; he has
the advantage on the stage.  If the _Cid_ be guilty, it is of a crime
which has met with reward; if he be punished, it will be after having
triumphed; if Plato must banish him from his republic, he must crown him
with flowers whilst banishing him, and not treat him worse than he
formerly treated Homer."

The Sentiments de l'Academie at last saw the light in the month of
December, 1637, and as Chapelain had foreseen, they did not completely
satisfy either the cardinal or Scudery, in spite of the thanks which the
latter considered himself bound to express to that body, or Corneille,
who testified bitter displeasure.  "The Academy proceeds against me with
so much violence, and employs so supreme an authority to close my mouth,
that all the satisfaction I have is to think that this famous production,
at which so many fine intellects have been working for six months, may no
doubt be esteemed the opinion of the French Academy, but will probably
not be the opinion of the rest of Paris.  I wrote the _Cid_ for my
diversion and that of decent folks who like Comedy.  All the favor that
the opinion of the Academy can hope for is to make as much way; at any
rate, I have had my account settled before them, and I am not at all sure
that they can wait for theirs."

Corneille did not care to carry his resentment higher than the Academy.
At the end of December, 1637, when writing to Bois-Robert a letter of
thanks for getting him his pension, which he calls "the liberalities of
my Lord," he adds, "As you advise me not to reply to the _Sentiments de
l'Academie,_ seeing what personages are concerned therein, there is no
need of interpreters to understand that; I am somewhat more of this world
than Heliodorus was, who preferred to lose his bishopric rather than his
book; and I prefer my master's good graces to all the reputations on
earth.  I shall be mum, then, not from disdain, but from respect."

The great Corneille made no further defence he had become a servitor
again; but the public, less docile, persisted in their opinion.

"In vain against the Cid a minister makes league;
All Paris, gazing on Chimene, thinks with Rodrigue;
In vain to censure her th' Academy aspires;
The stubborn populace revolts and still admires; "

said Boileau subsequently.

The dispute was ended, and, in spite of the judgment of the Academy, the
cardinal did not come out of it victorious; his anger, however, had
ceased: the Duchess of Aiguillon, his niece, accepted the dedication of
the _Cid;_ when _Horace_ appeared, in 1639, the dedicatory epistle,
addressed to the cardinal, proved that Corneille read his works to him
beforehand; the cabal appeared for a while on the point of making head
again.  "_Horace,_ condemned by the decemvirs, was acquitted by the
people," said Corneille.  The same year _Cinna_ came to give the
finishing touch to the reputation of the great poet:--

"To the persecuted Cid the Cinna owed its birth."

Corneille had withdrawn to the obscurity which suited the simplicity of
his habits; the cardinal, it was said, had helped him to get married; he
had no longer to defend his works, their fame was amply sufficient.
"Henceforth Corneille walks freely by himself and in the strength of his
own powers; the circle of his ideas grows larger, his style grows loftier
and stronger, together with his thoughts, and purer, perhaps, without his
dreaming of it; a more correct, a more precise expression comes to him,
evoked by greater clearness in idea, greater fixity of sentiment; genius,
with the mastery of means, seeks new outlets.  Corneille writes
_Polyeucte_."  [_Corneille et son Temps,_ by M. Guizot.]

It was a second revolution accomplished for the upsetting of received
ideas, at a time when paganism was to such an extent master of the
theatre that, in the midst of an allegory of the seventeenth century,
alluding to Gustavus Adolphus and the wars of religion, Richelieu and
Desmarets, in the heroic comedy of _Europe,_ dared not mention the name
of God save in the plural.  Corneille read his piece at the Hotel
Rambouillet.  "It was applauded to the extent demanded by propriety and
the reputation already achieved by the author," says Fontenelle; "but
some days afterwards, M. de Voiture went to call upon M. Corneille, and
took a very delicate way of telling him that _Polyeucte_ had not been so
successful as he supposed, that the Christianism had been extremely
displeasing."  "The story is," adds Voltaire, "that all the Hotel
Rambouillet, and especially the Bishop of Vence, Godeau, condemned the
attempt of _Polyeucte_ to overthrow idols."  Corneille, in alarm, would
have withdrawn the piece from the hands of the comedians who were
learning it, and he only left it on the assurance of one of the
comedians, who did not play in it because he was too bad an actor.
Posterity has justified the poor comedian against the Hotel Rambouillet;
amongst so many of Corneille's masterpieces it has ever given a place
apart to _Polyeucte;_ neither the _Saint-Genest_ of Rotrou, nor the
_Zaire_ of Voltaire, in spite of their various beauties, have dethroned
_Polyeucte;_ in fame as well as in date it remains the first of the few
pieces in which Christianism appeared, to gain applause, upon the French
classic stage.

[Illustration: Corneille at the Hotel Rambouillet---342]

Richelieu was no longer there to lay his commands upon the court and upon
the world: he was dead, without having been forgiven by Corneille:--

"Of our great cardinal let men speak as they will,
By me, in prose or verse, they shall not be withstood;
He did me too much good for me to say him ill,
He did me too much ill for me to say him good!"

The great literary movement of the seventeenth century had begun; it had
no longer any need of a protector; it was destined to grow up alone
during twenty years, amidst troubles at home and wars abroad, to flourish
all at once, with incomparable splendor, under the reign and around the
throne of Louis XIV.  Cardinal Richelieu, however, had the honor of
protecting its birth; he had taken personal pleasure in it; he had
comprehended its importance and beauty; he had desired to serve it whilst
taking the direction of it.  Let us end, as we began, with the judgment
of La Bruyere: "Compare yourselves, if you dare, with the great
Richelieu, you men devoted to fortune, you who say that you know nothing,
that you have read nothing, that you will read nothing.  Learn that
Cardinal Richelieu did know, did read; I say not that he had no
estrangement from men of letters, but that he loved them, caressed them,
favored them, that he contrived privileges for them, that he appointed
pensions for them, that he united them in a celebrated body, and that he
made of them the French Academy."

The Academy, the Sorbonne, the Botanic Gardens (_Jardin des Plantes_),
the King's Press have endured; the theatre has grown and been enriched by
many masterpieces, the press has become the most dreaded of powers; all
the new forces that Richelieu created or foresaw have become developed
without him, frequently in opposition to him and to the work of his whole
life; his name has remained connected with the commencement of all these
wonders, beneficial or disastrous, which he had grasped and presaged, in
a future happily concealed from his ken.





CHAPTER XLIII.----LOUIS XIV., THE FRONDE, AND THE GOVERNMENT OF CARDINAL
MAZARIN.  (1643-1661.)

[Illustration: LOUIS XIV.----344]

Louis XIII. had never felt confidence in the queen his wife; and Cardinal
Richelieu had fostered that sentiment which promoted his views.  When M.
de Chavigny came, on Anne of Austria's behalf, to assure the dying king
that she had never had any part in the conspiracy of Chalais, or dreamt
of espousing Monsieur in case she was left a widow, Louis XIII.
answered, "Considering the state I am in, I am bound to forgive her, but
not to believe her."  He did not believe her, he never had believed her,
and his declaration touching the Regency was entirely directed towards
counteracting by anticipation the power intrusted to his wife and his
brother.  The queen's regency and the Duke of Orleans' lieutenant-
generalship were in some sort subordinated to a council composed of the
Prince of Conde, Cardinal Mazarin, Chancellor Seguier, Superintendent
Bouthillier, and Secretary of State Chavigny, "with a prohibition against
introducing any change therein, for any cause or on any occasion
whatsoever."  The queen and the Duke of Orleans had signed and sworn the
declaration.

King Louis XIII. was not yet in his grave when his last wishes were
violated; before his death the queen had made terms with the ministers;
the course to be followed had been decided.  On the 18th of May, 1643,
the queen, having brought back the little king to Paris, conducted him in
great state to the Parliament of Paris to hold his bed of justice there.
The boy sat down and said with a good grace that he had come to the
Parliament to testify his good will to it, and that his chancellor would
say the rest.  The Duke of Orleans then addressed the queen.  "The honor
of the regency is the due altogether of your Majesty," said he, "not only
in your capacity of mother, but also for your merits and virtues; the
regency having been confined to you by the deceased king, and by the
consent of all the grandees of the realm, I desire no other part in
affairs than that which it may please your Majesty to give me, and I do
not claim to take any advantage from the special clauses contained in the
declaration."  The Prince of Condo said much the same thing, but with
less earnestness, and on the evening of the same day the queen regent,
having sole charge of the administration of affairs, and modifying the
council at her pleasure, announced to the astounded court that she should
retain by her Cardinal Mazarin.  Not a word had been said about him at
the Parliament; the courtiers believed that he was on the point of
leaving France; but the able Italian, attractive as he was subtle, had
already found a way to please the queen.  She retained as chief of her
council the heir to the traditions of Richelieu, and deceived the hopes
of the party of Importants, those meddlers of the court at whose head
marched the Duke of Beaufort, all puffed up with the confidence lately
shown to him by her Majesty.  Potier, Bishop of Beauvais, the queen's
confidant during her troubles, "expected to be all-powerful in the state;
he sought out the Duke of Orleans and the Prince of  Conde, promising
them governorships of places, and, generally, anything they might desire.
He thought he could set the affairs of state going as easily as he could
his parish-priests; but the poor prelate came down from his high hopes
when he saw that the cardinal was advancing more and more in the queen's
confidence, and that, for him, too much was already thought to have been
done in according him admittance to the council, whilst flattering him
with a hope of the purple." [_Memoires de Brienne,_ ii. 37.]

Cardinal Mazarin soon sent him off to his diocese.  Continuing to humor
all parties, and displaying foresight and prudence, the new minister was
even now master.  Louis XIII., without any personal liking, had been
faithful to Richelieu to the death; with different feelings, Anne of
Austria was to testify the same constancy towards Mazarin.

A stroke of fortune came at the very first to strengthen the regent's
position.  Since the death of Cardinal Richelieu, the Spaniards, but
recently overwhelmed at the close df 1642, had recovered courage and
boldness; new counsels prevailed at the court of Philip IV., who had
dismissed Olivarez; the house of Austria vigorously resumed the
offensive; at the moment of Louis XIII.'s death, Don Francisco de Mello,
governor of the Low Countries, had just invaded French territory by way
of the Ardennes, and laid siege to Rocroi, on the 12th of May.  The
French army was commanded by the young Duke of Enghien, the Prince of
Conde's son, scarcely twenty-two years old; Louis XIII. had given him as
his lieutenant and director the veteran Marshal de l'Hopital; and the
latter feared to give battle.  The Duke of Enghien, who "was dying with
impatience to enter the enemy's country, resolved to accomplish by
address what he could not carry by authority.  He opened his heart to
Gassion alone.  As he was a man who saw nothing but what was easy even in
the most dangerous deeds, he had very soon brought matters to the point
that the prince desired.  Marshal de l'Hopital found himself
imperceptibly so near the Spaniards that it was impossible for him any
longer to hinder an engagement."  [_Relation de 31 de la Houssaye._] The
army was in front of Rocroi, and out of the dangerous defile which led to
the place, without any idea on the part of the marshal and the army that
Louis XIII. was dead.  The Duke of Enghien, who had received the news,
had kept it secret.  He had merely said in the tone of a master "that he
meant to fight, and would answer for the issue.  His orders given, he
passed along the ranks of his army with an air which communicated to it
the same impatience that he himself felt to see the night over, in order
to begin the battle.  He passed the whole of it at the camp-fire of the
officers of Picardy."  In the morning "it was necessary to rouse from
deep slumber this second Alexander.  Mark him as he flies to victory or
death!  As soon as he had kindled from rank to rank the ardor with which
he was animated, he was seen, in almost the same moment, driving in the
enemy's right, supporting ours that wavered, rallying the half-beaten
French, putting to flight the victorious Spaniards, striking terror
everywhere, and dumbfounding with his flashing looks those who escaped
from his blows.  There remained that dread infantry of the army of Spain,
whose huge battalions, in close order, like so many towers, but towers
that could repair their breaches, remained unshaken amidst all the rest
of the rout, and delivered their fire on all sides.  Thrice the young
conqueror tried to break these fearless warriors; thrice he was driven
knack by the valiant Count of Fuentes, who was seen carried about in his
chair, and, in spite of his infirmities, showing that a warrior's soul is
mistress of the body it animates.  But yield they must: in vain through
the woods, with his cavalry all fresh, does Beck rush down to fall upon
our exhausted men the prince has been beforehand with him; the broken
battalions cry for quarter, but the victory is to be more terrible than
the fight for the Duke of Enghien.  Whilst with easy mien he advances to
receive the parole of these brave fellows, they, watchful still,
apprehend the surprise of a fresh attack; their terrible volley drives
our men mad; there is nothing to be seen but slaughter; the soldier is
drunk with blood, till that great prince, who could not bear to see such
lions butchered like so many sheep, calmed excited passions, and to the
pleasure of victory joined that of mercy.  He would willingly have saved
the life of the brave Count of Fuentes, but found him lying amidst
thousands of the dead whose loss is still felt by Spain.  The prince
bends the knee, and, on the field of battle, renders thanks to the God of
armies for the victory he hath given him.  Then were there rejoicings
over Rocroi delivered, the threats of a dread enemy converted to their
shame, the regency strengthened, France at rest, and a reign, which was
to be so noble, commenced with such happy augury."  [Bossuet, _Oraison
funebre de Louis de Bourbon, Prince de Conde._]  Victory or death, below
the cross of Burgundy, was borne upon most of the standards taken from
the Imperialists; and "indeed," says the Gazette de France, "the most
part were found dead in the ranks where they had been posted.  Which was
nobly brought home by one of the prisoners to our captains when, being
asked how many there had been of them, he replied, "Count the dead."
Conde was worthy to fight such enemies, and Bossuet to recount their
defeat.  "The prince was a born captain," said Cardinal de Retz.  And all
France said so with him, on hearing of the victory of Rocroi.

The delight was all the keener in the queen's circle, because the house
of Conde openly supported Cardinal Mazarin, bitterly attacked as he was
by the Importants, who accused him of reviving the tyranny of Richelieu.

[Illustration: The Great Conde----348]

A ditty on the subject was current in the streets of Paris:--

"He is not dead, he is but changed of age,
The cardinal, at whom men gird with rage,
But all his household make thereat great cheer;
It pleaseth not full many a chevalier
They fain had brought him to the lowest stage.
Beneath his wing came all his lineage,
By the same art whereof he made usage
And, by my faith, 'tis still their day, I fear.
He is not dead.

"Hush! we are mum, because we dread the cage
For he's at court--this eminent personage
There to remain of years to come a score.
Ask those Importants, would you fain know more
And they will say in dolorous language,
'He is not dead.'"


And indeed, on pretext offered by a feminine quarrel between the young
Duchess of Longueville, daughter of the Prince of Conde, and the Duchess
of Montbazon, the Duke of Beaufort and some of his friends resolved to
assassinate the cardinal.  The attempt was a failure, but the Duke of
Beaufort, who was arrested on the 2d of September, was taken to the
castle of Vincennes.  Madame de Chevreuse, recently returned to court,
where she would fain have exacted from the queen the reward for her
services and her past sufferings, was sent into exile, as well as the
Duke of Vendome.  Madame d'Hautefort, but lately summoned by Anne of
Austria to be near her, was soon involved in the same disgrace.  Proud
and compassionate, without any liking for Mazarin, she was daring enough,
during a trip to Vincennes, to ask pardon for the Duke of Beaufort.
"The queen made no answer, and, the collation being served, Madame
d'Hautefort, whose heart was full, ate nothing; when she was asked why,
she declared that she could not enjoy anything in such close proximity to
that poor boy."  The queen could not put up with reproaches; and she
behaved with extreme coldness to Madame d'Hautefort.  One day, at
bedtime, her ill temper showed itself so plainly, that the old favorite
could no longer be in doubt about the queen's sentiments.  As she softly
closed the curtains, "I do assure you, Madame," she said, "that if I had
served God with as much attachment and devotion as I have your Majesty
all my life, I should be a great saint."  And, raising her eyes to the
crucifix, she added, "Thou knowest, Lord, what I have done for her."  The
queen let her go to the convent where Mademoiselle de la Fayette had
taken refuge ten years before.  Madame d'Hautefort left it ere long to
become the wife of Marshal Schomberg; but the party of the Importants was
dead, and the power of Cardinal Mazarin seemed to be firmly established.
"It was not the thing just then for any decent man to be on bad terms
with the court," says Cardinal de Retz.

Negotiations for a general peace, the preliminaries whereof had been
signed by King Louis XIII. in 1641, had been going on since 1644 at
Munster and at Osnabriick, without having produced any result; the Duke
of Enghien, who became Prince of  Conde in 1646, was keeping up the war
in Flanders and Germany, with the co-operation of Viscount Turenne,
younger brother of the Duke of Bouillon, and, since Rocroi, a marshal of
France.  The capture of Thionville and of Dunkerque, the victories of
Friburg and Nordlingen, the skilful opening effected in Germany as far as
Augsburg by the French and the Swedes, had raised so high the reputation
of the two generals, that the Prince of  Conde, who was haughty and
ambitious, began to cause great umbrage to Mazarin.  Fear of having him
unoccupied deterred the cardinal from peace, and made all the harder the
conditions he presumed to impose upon the Spaniards.  Meanwhile the
United Provinces, weary of a war which fettered their commerce, and
skilfully courted by their old masters, had just concluded a private
treaty with Spain; the emperor was trying, but to no purpose, to detach
the Swedes likewise from the French alliance, when the victory of Lens,
gained on the 20th of August, 1648, over Archduke Leopold and General
Beck, came to throw into the balance the weight of a success as splendid
as it was unexpected; one more campaign, and Turenne might be threatening
Vienna whilst Conde entered Brussels; the emperor saw there was no help
for it, and bent his head.  The house of Austria split in two; Spain
still refused to treat with France, but the whole of Germany clamored for
peace; the conditions of it were at last drawn up at Munster by MM.
Servien and de Lionne; M. d'Avaux, the most able diplomatist that France
possessed, had been recalled to Paris at the beginning of the year.  On
the 24th of October, 1648, after four years of negotiation, France at
last had secured to her Elsass and the three bishoprics of Metz, Toul,
and Verdun; Sweden gained Western Pomerania, including Stettin, the Isle
of Rugen, the three mouths of the Oder, and the bishoprics of Bremen and
Werden, thus becoming a German power: as for Germany, she had won liberty
of conscience and political liberty; the rights of the Lutheran or
reformed Protestants were equalized with those of Catholics; henceforth
the consent of a free assembly of all the Estates of the empire was
necessary to make laws, raise soldiers, impose taxes, and decide peace or
war.  The peace of Westphalia put an end at one and the same time to the
Thirty Years' War and to the supremacy of the house of Austria in
Germany.

So much glory and so many military or diplomatic successes cost dear;
France was crushed by imposts, and the finances were discovered to be in
utter disorder; the superintendent, D'Emery, an able and experienced man,
was so justly discredited that his measures were, as a foregone
conclusion, unpopular; an edict laying octroi or tariff on the entry of
provisions into the city of Paris irritated the burgesses, and Parliament
refused to enregister it.  For some time past the Parliament, which had
been kept down by the iron hand of Richelieu, had perceived that it had
to do with nothing more than an able man, and not a master; it began to
hold up its head again; a union was proposed between the four sovereign
courts of Paris, to wit, the Parliament, the grand council, the chamber
of exchequer, and the court of aids or indirect taxes; the queen quashed
the deed of union; the magistrates set her at nought; the queen yielded,
authorizing the delegates to deliberate in the chamber of St. Louis at
the Palace of Justice; the pretensions of the Parliament were exorbitant,
and aimed at nothing short of resuming, in the affairs of the state, the
position from which Richelieu had deposed it; the concessions which
Cardinal Mazarin with difficulty wrung from the queen augmented the
Parliament's demands.  Anne of Austria was beginning to lose patience,
when the news of the victory of Lens restored courage to the court.
"Parliament will be very sorry," said the little king, on hearing of the
Prince of Conde's success.  The grave assemblage, on the 26th of August,
was issuing from Notre Dame, where a Te Deum had just been sung, when
Councillor Broussel and President Blancmesnil were arrested in their
houses, and taken one to St. Germain and the other to Vincennes.  This
was a familiar proceeding on the part of royal authority in its
disagreements with the Parliament.  Anne of Austria herself had practised
it four years before.

[Illustration: Arrest of Broussel----352]

It was a mistake on the part of Anne of Austria and Cardinal Mazarin
not to have considered the different condition of the public mind.
A suppressed excitement had for some months been hatching in Paris and in
the provinces.  "The Parliament growled over the tariff-edict," says
Cardinal de Retz; "and no sooner had it muttered than everybody awoke.
People went groping as it were after the laws; they were no longer to be
found.  Under the influence of this agitation the people entered the
sanctuary and lifted the veil that ought always to conceal whatever can
be said about the right of peoples and that of kings, which never accord
so well as in silence."  The arrest of Broussel, an old man in high
esteem, very keen in his opposition to the court, was like fire to flax.
"There was a blaze at once, a sensation, a rush, an outcry, and a
shutting up of shops."  Paul de Gondi, known afterwards as Cardinal de
Retz, was at that time coadjutor of the Archbishop of Paris, his uncle
witty, debauched, bold, and restless, lately compromised in the plots of
the Count of Soissons against Cardinal Richelieu, he owed his office to
the queen, and "did not hesitate," he says, "to repair to her, that he
might stick to his duty above all things."

[Illustration: Cardinal de Retz----352]

There was already a great tumult in the streets when he arrived at the
Palais-Royal: the people were shouting, "Broussel!  Broussel!"  The
coadjutor was accompanied by Marshal la Meilleraye; and both of them
reported the excitement amongst the people.  The queen grew angry.
"There is revolt in imagining that there can be revolt," she said: "these
are the ridiculous stories of those who desire it; the king's authority
will soon restore order."  Then, as old M. de Guitaut, who had just come
in, supported the coadjutor, and said that he did not understand how
anybody could sleep in the state in which things were, the cardinal asked
him, with some slight irony, "Well, M. de Guitaut, and what is your
advice?"  "My advice," said Guitaut, "is to give up that old rascal of a
Broussel, dead or alive."  "The former," replied the coadjutor, "would
not accord with either the queen's piety or her prudence; the latter
might stop the tumult."  At this word the queen blushed, and exclaimed,
"I understand you, Mr. Coadjutor; you would have me set Broussel at
liberty.  I would strangle him with these hands first!"  "And, as she
finished the last syllable, she put them close to my face," says De Retz,
"adding, 'And those who .  .  .  ' The cardinal advanced and whispered in
her ear."  Advices of a more and more threatening character continued to
arrive; and, at last, it was resolved to promise that Broussel should be
set at liberty, provided that the people dispersed and ceased to demand
it tumultuously.  The coadjutor was charged to proclaim this concession
throughout Paris; he asked for a regular order, but was not listened to.
"The queen had retired to her little gray room.  Monsignor pushed me very
gently with his two hands, saying, 'Restore the peace of the realm.'
Marshal Meilleraye drew me along, and so I went out with my rochet and
camail, bestowing benedictions right and left; but this occupation did
not prevent me from making all the reflections suitable to the difficulty
in which I found myself.  The impetuosity of Marshal Meilleraye did not
give me opportunity to weigh my expressions; he advanced sword in hand,
shouting with all his might, 'Hurrah for the king!  Liberation for
Broussel!'  As he was seen by many more folks than heard him, he provoked
with his sword far more people than he appeased with his voice."  The
tumult increased; there was a rush to arms on all sides; the coadjutor
was felled to the ground by a blow from a stone.  He had just picked
himself up, when a burgess put his musket to his head.  "Though I did not
know him a bit," says Retz, "I thought it would not be well to let him
suppose so at such a moment; on the contrary, I said to him, 'Ah!
wretch, if thy father saw thee!'  He thought I was the best friend of his
father, on whom, however, I had never set eyes."

[Illustration: "Ah, Wretch, if thy Father saw thee!"----354]

The coadjutor was recognized, and the crowd pressed round him, dragging
him to the market-place.  He kept repeating everywhere that "the queen
promised to restore Broussel."  The fiippers laid down their arms, and
thirty or forty thousand men accompanied him to the Palais-Royal.
"Madame," said Marshal Meilleraye as he entered, "here is he to whom I
owe my life, and your Majesty the safety of the Palais-Royal."  The queen
began to smile.  "The marshal flew into a passion, and said with an oath,
'Madame, no proper man can venture to flatter you in the state in which
things are; and if you do not this very day set Broussel at liberty,
to-morrow there will not be left one stone upon another in Paris.'  I
wished to speak in support of what the marshal said, but the queen cut
me short, saying, with an air of raillery, 'Go and rest yourself, sir;
you have worked very hard.'"

The coadjutor left the Palais-Royal "in what is called a rage;" and he
was in a greater one in the evening, when his friends came and told him
that he was being made fun of at the queen's supper-table; that she was
convinced that he had done all he could to increase the tumult; that he
would be the first to be made a great example of; and that the Parliament
was about to be interdicted.  Paul de Gondi had not waited for their
information to think of revolt.  "I did not reflect as to what I could
do," says he, "for I was quite certain of that; I reflected only as to
what I ought to do, and I was perplexed."  The jests and the threats of
the court appeared to him to be sufficient justification.  "What
effectually stopped my scruples was the advantage I imagined I had in
distinguishing myself from those of my profession by a state of life in
which there was something of all professions.  In disorderly times,
things lead to a confusion of species, and the vices of an archbishop
may, in an infinity of conjunctures, be the virtues of a party leader."
The coadjutor recalled his friends.  "We are not in such bad case as you
supposed, gentlemen," he said to them; "there is an intention of crushing
the public; it is for me to defend it from oppression; to-morrow before
midday I shall be master of Paris."

For some time past the coadjutor had been laboring to make himself
popular in Paris; the general excitement was only waiting to break out,
and when the chancellor's carriage appeared in the streets in the
morning, on the way to the Palace of Justice, the people, secretly worked
upon during the night, all at once took up arms again.  The chancellor
had scarcely time to seek refuge in the Hotel de Luynes; the mob rushed
in after him, pillaging and destroying the furniture, whilst the
chancellor, flying for refuge into a small chamber, and believing his
last hour had come, was confessing to his brother, the Bishop of Meaux.
He was not discovered, and the crowd moved off in another direction.  "It
was like a sudden and violent conflagration lighted up from the Pont Neuf
over the whole city.  Everybody without exception took up arms.  Children
of five and six years of age were seen dagger in hand; and the mothers
themselves carried them.  In less than two hours there were in Paris more
than two hundred barricades, bordered with flags and all the arms that
the League had left entire.  Everybody cried, 'Hurrah! for the king!' but
echo answered, 'None of your Mazarin!'"

The coadjutor kept himself shut up at home, protesting his powerlessness;
the Parliament had met at an early hour; the Palace of Justice was
surrounded by an immense crowd, shouting, "Broussel!  Broussel!"  The
Parliament resolved to go in a body and demand of the queen the release
of their members arrested the day before.  "We set out in full court,"
says the premier president Mole, "without sending, as the custom is, to
ask the queen to appoint a time, the ushers in front, with their square
caps and a-foot: from this spot as far as the Trahoir cross we found the
people in arms and barricades thrown up at every hundred paces."
[_Memoires de Matthieu Mole,_ iii.  p. 255.]

[Illustration: President Mole----355]

"If it were not blasphemy to say that there was any one in our age more
intrepid than the great Gustavus and the Prince, I should say it was M.
Mole, premier president," writes Cardinal de Retz.  Sincerely devoted to
the public weal, and a magistrate to the very bottom of his soul, Mole,
nevertheless, inclined towards the side of power, and understood better
than his brethren the danger of factions.  He represented to the queen
the extreme danger the sedition was causing to Paris and to France.
"She, who feared nothing because she knew but little, flew into a passion
and answered, furiously, 'I am quite aware that there is disturbance in
the city, but you shall answer to me for it, gentlemen of the Parliament,
you, your wives, and your children.'"  "The queen was pleased," says
Mole, in his dignified language, "to signify in terms of wrath that the
magisterial body should be answerable for the evils which might ensue,
and which the king on reaching his majority would remember."

The queen had retired to her room, slamming the door violently; the
Parliament turned back to the Palace of Justice; the angry mob thronged
about the magistrates; when they arrived at Rue St. Honore, just as they
were about to turn on to the Pont Neuf, a band of armed men fell upon
them, "and a cookshop-lad, advancing at the head of two hundred men,
thrust his halbert against the premier president's stomach, saying,
'Turn, traitor, and, if thou wouldst not thyself be slain, give up to us
Broussel, or Mazarin and the chancellor as hostages.'"  Matthew Mole
quietly put the weapon aside, and, "You forget yourself," he said, "and
are oblivious of the respect you owe to my office."  "Thrice an effort
was made.to thrust me into a private house," says his account in his
Memoires, "but I still kept my place; and, attempts having been made with
swords and pistols on all sides of me to make an end of me, God would not
permit it, some of the members (Messieurs) and some true friends having
placed themselves in front of me.  I told President de Mesmes that there
was no other plan but to return to the Palais-Royal and thither take back
the body, which was much diminished in numbers, five of the presidents
having dropped away, and also many of the members on whom the people had
inflicted unworthy treatment."  "Thus having given himself time to rally
as many as he could of the body, and still preserving the dignity of the
magistracy both in his words and in his movements, the premier president
returned at a slow pace to the Palais-Royal, amidst a running fire of
insults, threats, execrations, and blasphemies."  [_Memoires de Retz._]

The whole court had assembled in the gallery: Mole spoke first.  "This
man," says Retz, "had a sort of eloquence peculiar to himself.  He knew
nothing of apostrophes, he was not correct in his language, but he spoke
with a force which made up for all that, and he was naturally so bold
that he never spoke so well as in the midst of peril.  Monsieur made as
if he would throw himself on his knees before the queen, who remained
inflexible; four or five princesses, who were trembling with fear, did
throw themselves at her feet; the Queen of England, who had come that day
from St. Germain, represented that the troubles had never been so serious
at their commencement in England, nor the feelings so heated or united."
[_Histoire du Temps,_ 1647-48.  (_Archives curieuses,_ vi. p. 162.)]  At
last the cardinal made up his mind; he "had been roughly handled in the
queen's presence by the presidents and councillors in their speeches,
some of them telling him, in mockery, that he had only to give himself
the trouble of going as far as the Pont Neuf to see for himself the state
in which things were," and he joined with all those present in entreating
Anne of Austria; finally, the release of Broussel was extorted from her,
"not without a deep sigh, which showed what violence she did her feelings
in the struggle."

"We returned in full court by the same road," says Matthew Mole, "and the
people demanding, with confused clamor of voices, whether M. Broussel
were at liberty, we gave them assurances thereof, and entered by the
back-door of my lodging; before crossing the threshold, I took leave of
Presidents De Mesmes and Le Coigneux, and waited until the members had