BOOK II.

MADAME:--I lay it down as a maxim, that men who enter the service of the

State should make it their chief study to set out in the world with some

notable act which may strike the imagination of the people, and cause

themselves to be discussed. Thus I preached first upon All Saints’ Day,

before an audience which could not but be numerous in a populous city,

where it is a wonder to see the Archbishop in the pulpit. I began now to

think seriously upon my future conduct. I found the archbishopric sunk

both in its temporals and spirituals by the sordidness, negligence, and

incapacity of my uncle. I foresaw infinite obstacles to its

reestablishment, but perceived that the greatest and most insuperable

difficulty lay in myself. I considered that the strictest morals are

necessarily required in a bishop. I felt myself the more obliged to be

strictly circumspect as my uncle had been very disorderly and scandalous.

I knew likewise that my own corrupt inclinations would bear down all

before them, and that all the considerations drawn from honour and

conscience would prove very weak defences. At last I came to a

resolution to go on in my sins, and that designedly, which without doubt

is the more sinful in the eyes of God, but with regard to the world is

certainly the best policy, because he that acts thus always takes care

beforehand to cover part of his failings, and thereby to avoid the

jumbling together of sin and devotion, than which nothing can be more

dangerous and ridiculous in a clergyman. This was my disposition, which

was not the most pious in the world nor yet the wickedest, for I was

fully determined to discharge all the duties of my profession faithfully,

and exert my utmost to save other souls, though I took no care of my own.

The Archbishop, who was the weakest of mortals, was, nevertheless, by a

common fatality attending such men, the most vainglorious; he yielded

precedence to every petty officer of the Crown, and yet in his own house

would not give the right-hand to any person of quality that came to him

about business. My behaviour was the reverse of his in almost

everything; I gave the right-hand to all strangers in my own house, and

attended them even to their coach, for which I was commended by some for

my civility and by others for my humility. I avoided appearing in public

assemblies among people of quality till I had established a reputation.

When I thought I had done so, I took the opportunity of the sealing of a

marriage contract to dispute my rank with M. de Guise. I had carefully

studied the laws of my diocese and got others to do it for me, and my

right was indisputable in my own province. The precedence was adjudged

in my favour by a decree of the Council, and I found, by the great number

of gentlemen who then appeared for me, that to condescend to men of low

degree is the surest way to equal those of the highest.

I dined almost every day with Cardinal Mazarin, who liked me the better

because I refused to engage myself in the cabal called “The Importants,”

though many of the members were my dearest friends. M. de Beaufort, a

man of very mean parts, was so much out of temper because the Queen had

put her confidence in Cardinal Mazarin, that, though her Majesty offered

him favours with profusion, he would accept none, and affected to give

himself the airs of an angry lover. He held aloof from the Duc

d’Orleans, insulted the late Prince, and, in order to support himself

against the Queen-regent, the chief minister, and all the Princes of the

blood, formed a cabal of men who all died mad, and whom I never took for

conjurers from the first time I knew them. Such were Beaupre,

Fontrailles, Fiesque, Montresor, who had the austerity of Cato, but not

his sagacity, and M. de Bethune, who obliged M. de Beaufort to make me

great overtures, which I received very respectfully, but entered into

none. I told Montresor that I was indebted to the Queen for the

coadjutorship of Paris, and that that was enough to keep me from entering

into any engagement that might be disagreeable to her Majesty. Montresor

said I was not obliged for it to the Queen, it having been ordered before

by the late King, and given me at a crisis when she was not in a

condition to refuse it. I replied, “Permit me, monsieur, to forget

everything that may diminish my gratitude, and to remember that only

which may increase it.” These words were afterwards repeated to Cardinal

Mazarin, who was so pleased with me that he repeated them to the Queen.

The families of Orleans and Conde, being united by interest, made a jest

of that surly look from which Beaufort’s cabal were termed “The

Importants,” and at the same time artfully made use of the grand

appearance which Beaufort (like those who carry more sail than ballast)

never failed to assume upon the most trifling occasions. His counsels

were unseasonable, his meetings to no purpose, and even his hunting

matches became mysterious. In short, Beaufort was arrested at the Louvre

by a captain of the Queen’s Guards, and carried on the 2d of September,

1643, to Vincennes. The cabal of “The Importants” was put to flight and

dispersed, and it was reported over all the kingdom that they had made an

attempt against the Cardinal’s life, which I do not believe, because I

never saw anything in confirmation of it, though many of the domestics of

the family of Vendome were a long time in prison upon this account.

The Marquis de Nangis, who was enraged both against the Queen and

Cardinal, for reasons which I shall tell you afterwards, was strongly

tempted to come into this cabal a few days before Beaufort was arrested,

but I dissuaded him by telling him that fashion is powerful in all the

affairs of life, but more remarkably so as to a man’s being in favour or

disgrace at Court. There are certain junctures when disgrace, like fire,

purifies all the bad qualities, and sets a lustre on all the good ones,

and also there are times when it does not become an honest man to be out

of favour at Court. I applied this to the gentlemen of the aforesaid

cabal.

I must confess, to the praise of Cardinal de Richelieu, that he had

formed two vast designs worthy of a Caesar or an Alexander: that of

suppressing the Protestants had been projected before by Cardinal de

Retz, my uncle; but that of attacking the formidable house of Austria was

never thought of by any before the Cardinal. He completed the first

design, and had made great progress in the latter.

That the King’s death made no alteration in affairs was owing to the

bravery of the Prince de Conde and the famous battle of Rocroi, in 1643,

which contributed both to the peace and glory of the kingdom, and covered

the cradle of the present King with laurels. Louis XIV.’s father, who

neither loved nor esteemed his Queen, provided him a Council, upon his

death-bed, for limiting the authority of the Regency, and named the

Cardinal Mazarin, M. Seguier, M. Bouthillier, and M. de Chavigni; but

being all Richelieu’s creatures, they were so hated by the public that

when the King was dead they were hissed at by all the footmen at Saint

Germain, and if De Beaufort had had a grain of sense, or if De Beauvais

had not been a disgraceful bishop, or if my father had but entered into

the administration, these collateral Regents would have been undoubtedly

expelled with ignominy, and the memory of Cardinal de Richelieu been

branded by the Parliament with shouts of joy.

The Queen was adored much more for her troubles than for her merit. Her

admirers had never seen her but under persecution; and in persons of her

rank, suffering is one of the greatest virtues. People were apt to fancy

that she was patient to a degree of indolence. In a word, they expected

wonders from her; and Bautru used to say she had already worked a miracle

because the most devout had forgotten her coquetry. The Duc d’Orleans,

who made a show as if he would have disputed the Regency with the Queen,

was contented to be Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom. The Prince de

Conde was declared President of the Council, and the Parliament confirmed

the Regency to the Queen without limitation. The exiles were called

home, prisoners set at liberty, and criminals pardoned. They who had

been turned out were replaced in their respective employments, and

nothing that was asked was refused. The happiness of private families

seemed to be fully secured in the prosperity of the State. The perfect

union of the royal family settled the peace within doors; and the battle

of Rocroi was such a blow to the Spanish infantry that they could not

recover in an age. They saw at the foot of the throne, where the fierce

and terrible Richelieu used to thunder rather than govern, a mild and

gentle successor,--[Cardinal Julius Mazarin, Minister of State, who died

at Vincennes in 1661.]--who was perfectly complacent and extremely

troubled that his dignity of Cardinal did not permit him to be as humble

to all men as he desired; and who, when he went abroad, had no other

attendants than two footmen behind his coach. Had not I, then, reason

for saying that it did not become an honest man to be on bad terms with

the Court at that time of day?

You will wonder, no doubt, that nobody was then aware of the consequence

of imprisoning M. de Beaufort, when the prison doors were set open to all

others. This bold stroke--at a time when the Government was so mild that

its authority was hardly felt--had a very great effect. Though nothing

was more easy, as you have seen, yet it looked grand; and all acts of

this nature are very successful because they are attended with dignity

without any odium. That which generally draws an unaccountable odium

upon even the most necessary actions of statesmen, is that, in order to

compass them, they are commonly obliged to struggle with very great

difficulties, which, when they are surmounted, are certain to render them

objects both of envy and hatred. When a considerable occasion offers,

where there is no victory to be gained because there is no difficulty to

encounter, which is very rare, it gives a lustre to the authority of

ministers which is pure, innocent, and without a shadow, and not only

establishes it, but casts upon their administration the merit of actions

which they have no hand in, as well as those of which they have.

When the world saw that the Cardinal had apprehended the man who had

lately brought the King back to Paris with inconceivable pride, men’s

imaginations were seized with an astonishing veneration. People thought

themselves much obliged to the Minister that some were not sent to the

Bastille every week; and the sweetness of his temper was sure to be

commended whenever he had not an opportunity of doing them harm. It must

be owned that he had the art of improving his good luck to the best

advantage. He made use of all the outward appearances necessary to

create a belief that he had been forced to take violent measures, and

that the counsels of the Duc d’Orleans and the Prince de Conde had

determined the Queen to reject his advice; the day following he seemed to

be more moderate, civil, and frank than before; he gave free access to

all; audiences were easily had, it was no more to dine with him than with

a private gentleman. He had none of that grand air so common to the

meaner cardinals. In short, though he was at the head of everybody, yet

he managed as if he were only their companion. That which astonishes me

most is that the princes and grandees of the kingdom, who, one might

expect, would be more quick-sighted than the common people, were the most

blinded.

The Duc d’Orleans and the Prince de Conde--the latter attached to the

Court by his covetous temper--thought themselves above being rivalled;

the Duke--[Henri de Bourbon, Duc d’Enghien, born 1646, died 1686. We

shall often speak of him in this history.]--was old enough to take his

repose under the shadow of his laurels; M. de Nemours--[Charles Amadeus

of Savoy, killed in a duel by M. de Beaufort, 1650.]--was but a child; M.

de Guise, lately returned from Brussels, was governed by Madame de Pons,

and thought to govern the whole Court; M. de Schomberg complied all his

life long with the humour of those who were at the helm; M. de Grammont

was a slave to them. The Parliament, being delivered from the tyranny of

Richelieu, imagined the golden age was returning, being daily assured by

the Prime Minister that the Queen would not take one step without them.

The clergy, who are always great examples of slavish servitude

themselves, preached it to others under the plausible title of passive

obedience. Thus both clergy and laity were, in an instant, become the

devotees of Mazarin.

Being ordered by my Lord Archbishop of Paris to take care of his diocese

in his absence, my first business was, by the Queen’s express command, to

visit the Nuns of the Conception, where, knowing that there were above

fourscore virgins, many of whom were very pretty and some coquettes, I

was very loth to go for fear, of exposing my virtue to temptation; but I

could not be excused, so I went, and preserved my virtue, to my

neighbour’s edification, because for six weeks together I did not see the

face of any one of the nuns, nor talked to any of them but when their

veils were down, which gave me a vast reputation for chastity. I

continued to perform all the necessary functions in the diocese as far as

the jealousy of my uncle would give me leave, and, forasmuch as he was

generally so peevish that it was a very hard matter to please him, I at

length chose to sit still and do nothing. Thus I made the best use

imaginable of my uncle’s ill-nature, being sure to convince him of my

honest intentions upon all occasions; whereas had I been my own master,

the rules of good conduct would have obliged me to confine myself to

things in their own nature practicable.

The Cardinal Mazarin confessed to me, many years afterwards, that this

conduct of mine in managing the affairs of the diocese, though it did him

no injury, was the first thing that made him jealous of my growing

greatness in Paris. Another thing alarmed him with as little reason, and

that was my undertaking to examine the capacity of all the priests of my

diocese, a thing of inconceivable use and importance. For this end I

erected three tribunals, composed of canons, curates, and men of

religious orders, who were to reduce all the priests under three

different classes, whereof the first was to consist of men well

qualified, who were therefore to be left in the exercise of their

functions; the second was to comprehend those who were not at present,

but might in time prove able men; and the third of such men as were

neither now nor ever likely to become so. The two last classes, being

separated from the first, were not to exercise their functions, but were

lodged in separate houses; those of the second class were instructed in

the doctrine, but the third only in the practice of piety. As this could

not but be very expensive, the good people opened their purses and

contributed liberally. The Cardinal was so disturbed when he heard of it

that he got the Queen to send for my uncle upon a frivolous occasion,

who, for reasons as frivolous, ordered me to desist. Though I was very

well informed, by my good friend the Almoner, that the blow came from

Court, I bore it with a great deal more patience than was consistent with

a man of my spirit, for I did not seem to take the least notice of it,

but was as gracious to the Cardinal as ever. But I was not so wary in

another case which happened some time after, for honest Morangis telling

me I was too extravagant, which was but too true, I answered him rashly,

“I have made a calculation that Caesar, when at my age, owed six times as

much.” This remark was carried, unluckily, by a doctor then present, to

M. Servien, who told it maliciously to the Cardinal, who made a jest of

it, as he had reason to do, but he took notice of it, for which I cannot

blame him.

In 1645 I was invited, as a diocesan, to the assembly of the clergy,

which, I may truly say, was the rock whereon the little share of favour I

had at Court was cast away. Cardinal de Richelieu had given a cruel blow

to the dignity and liberty of the clergy in the assembly of Mantes, and,

with very barbarous circumstances, had banished six of his most

considerable prelates. It was resolved in this assembly of 1645 to make

them some amends for their firmness on that occasion by inviting them to

come and take their places--though they were not deputed--among their

brethren. When this was first, proposed in the assembly, nobody dreamt

that the Court would take offence at it, and it falling to my turn to

speak first, I proposed the said resolution, as it had been concerted

betwixt us before in private conversation, and it was unanimously

approved of by the assembly.

At my return home the Queen’s purse-bearer came to me with an order to

attend her Majesty forthwith, which I accordingly obeyed. When I came

into her presence she said she could not have believed I would ever have

been wanting in my duty to that degree as to wound the memory of the late

King, her lord. I had such reasons to offer as she could not herself

confute, and therefore referred me to the Cardinal, but I found he

understood those things no better than her Majesty. He spoke to me with

the haughtiest air in the world, refused to hear my justification, and

commanded me in the King’s name to retract publicly the next day in full

assembly. You may imagine how difficult it was for me to resolve what to

do. However, I did not break out beyond the bounds of modest respect,

and, finding that my submission made no impression upon the Cardinal, I

got the Bishop of Arles, a wise and moderate gentleman, to go to him

along with me, and to join with me in offering our reasons. But we found

his Eminence a very ignoramus in ecclesiastical polity. I only mention

this to let you see that in my first misunderstanding with the Court I

was not to blame, and that my respect for the Cardinal upon the Queen’s

account was carried to an excess of patience.

Some months after, his profound ignorance and envenomed malice furnished

me with a fresh occasion to exercise patience. The Bishop of Warmia, one

of the ambassadors that came to fetch the Queen of Poland, was very

desirous to celebrate the marriage in the Church of Notre-Dame. Though

the archbishops of Paris never suffered solemnities of this kind to be

celebrated in their churches by any but cardinals of the royal family,

and though my uncle had been highly blamed by all his clergy for

permitting the Cardinal de La Rochefoucault to marry the Queen of

England,--[Henriette Marie of France, daughter of Henri IV., died

1669.]--nevertheless I was ordered by a ‘lettre de cachet’ to prepare the

said Church of Notre Dame for the Bishop of Warmia, which order ran in

the same style as that given to the ‘prevot des marchands’ when he is to

prepare the Hotel de Ville for a public ball. I showed the letter to the

deans and canons, and said I did not doubt but it was a stratagem of one

or other of the Secretary of State’s clerks to get a gift of money.

I thereupon went to the Cardinal, pressed him with both reasons and

precedents, and said that, as I was his particular humble servant, I

hoped he would be pleased to lay them before her Majesty, making use of

all other persuasion--which I thought would dispose him to a compliance.

It was then that I learned that he only wanted an opportunity to embroil

me with the Queen, for though I saw plainly that he was sorry he had

given such orders before he knew their consequence, yet, after some

pause, he reassumed his former obstinacy to the very last degree; and,

because I spoke in the name of the Archbishop and of the whole Church of

Paris, he stormed as much as if a private person upon his own authority

had presumed to make a speech to him at the head of fifty malcontents. I

endeavoured with all respect to show him that our case was quite

different; but he was so ignorant of our manners and customs that he took

everything by the wrong handle. He ended the conversation very abruptly

and rudely, and referred me to the Queen. I found her Majesty in a

fretful mood, and all I could get out of her was a promise to hear the

chapter upon this affair, without whose consent--I had declared I could

not conclude anything.

I sent for them accordingly, and having introduced them to the Queen,

they spoke very discreetly and to the purpose. The Queen sent us back to

the Cardinal, who entertained us only with impertinences, and as he had

but a superficial knowledge of the French language, he concluded by

telling me that I had talked very insolently to him the night before. You

may imagine that that word was enough to vex me, but having resolved

beforehand to keep my temper, I smiled, and said to the deputies,

“Gentlemen, this is fine language.” He was nettled at my smile, and said

to me in aloud tone, “Do you know whom you talk to? I will teach you how

to behave.” Now, I confess, my blood began to boil. I told him that the

Coadjutor of Paris was talking to Cardinal Mazarin, but that perhaps he

thought himself the Cardinal de Lorraine, and me the Bishop of Metz, his

suffragan.

Then we went away and met the Marechal d’Estrees coming up to us, who

came to advise me not to break with the Court, and to tell me that things

might be arranged; and when he found I was of another opinion, he told me

in plain terms that he had orders from the Queen to oblige me to come to

her. I went without more ado, accompanied by the deputies, and found her

more gracious and better humoured than I am able to express. She told me

that she had a mind to see me, not so much in relation to our affair,

which might be easily accommodated, as to reprimand me for using such

language to the poor Cardinal, who was as meek as a lamb, and loved me as

his own son. She added all the kind things possible, and ordered the

dean and deputies to go along with me to the Cardinal’s house, that we

might consult together what course to take. This was so much against my

inclination that I gave the Queen to understand that no person in the

world but her Majesty could have persuaded me to it.

We found the Minister even milder than his mistress. He made a world of

excuses for the word “insolent,” by which he said, and perhaps it may be

true, that he meant no more than ‘insolito’, a word signifying “somewhat

uncommon.” He showed me all the civility imaginable, but, instead of

coming to any determination, put us off to another opportunity. A few

days after, a letter was brought me at midnight from the Archbishop,

commanding me to let the Bishop of Warmia perform the marriage without

any more opposition.

Had I been wise I should have stopped there, because a man ought in

prudence to make his peace with the Court upon any terms consistent with

honour. But I was young, and the more provoked because I perceived that

all the fair words given me at Fontainebleau were but a feint to gain

time to write about the affair to my uncle, then at Angers. However, I

said nothing to the messenger, more than that I was glad my uncle had so

well brought me off. The chapter being likewise served with the same

order, we sent the Court this answer: That the Archbishop might do what

he listed in the nave of the church, but that the choir belonged to the

chapter, and they would yield it to no man but himself or his coadjutor.

The Cardinal knew the meaning of this, and thereupon resolved to have the

marriage solemnised in the Chapel Royal, whereof he said the Great

Almoner was bishop. But this being a yet more important question than

the other, I laid the inconveniences of it before him in a letter. This

nettled him, and he made a mere jest of my letter. I gave the Queen of

Poland to understand that, if she were married in that manner, I should

be forced, even against my will, to declare the marriage void; but that

there remained one expedient which would effectually remove all

difficulties,--that the marriage might be performed in the King’s Chapel,

and should stand good provided that the Bishop of Warmia came to me for a

license.

The Queen, resolving to lose no more time by awaiting new orders from

Angers, and fearing the least flaw in her marriage, the Court was obliged

to comply with my proposal, and the ceremony was performed accordingly.

Not long after this marriage I was unhappily embroiled with the Duc

d’Orleans, upon an occasion of no greater importance than my foot-cloth

in the Church of Notre-Dame, which was by mistake removed to his seat. I

complained of it to him, and he ordered it to be restored. Nevertheless

the Abby de la Riviere made him believe I had put an affront upon him

that was too public to be pardoned. The Duke was so simple as to believe

it, and, while the courtiers turned all into banter, he swore he would

receive incense before me at the said church for the future. In the

meantime the Queen sent for me, and told me that the Duke was in a

terrible passion, for which she was very sorry, but that nevertheless she

could not help being of his opinion, and therefore insisted upon it that

I ought to give him satisfaction in the Church of Notre-Dame the Sunday

following. Upon the whole she referred me to Cardinal Mazarin, who

declared to me at first that he was very sorry to see me in so much

trouble, blamed the Abby for having incensed the Duke to such a degree,

and used all the arguments he could to wheedle me to give my consent to

being degraded. And when he saw I was not to be led, he endeavoured to

drive me into the snare. He stormed with an air of authority, and would

fain have bullied me into compliance, telling me that hitherto he had

spoken as a friend, but that I had forced him henceforth to speak as a

minister. He also began to threaten, and the conversation growing warm,

he sought to pick a quarrel by insinuating that if I would do as Saint

Ambrose did, I ought to lead a life like him. As he spoke this loud

enough to be heard by some bishops at the other end of the room, I

likewise raised my voice, and told him I would endeavour to make the best

use of his advice, but he might assure himself I was fully resolved so to

imitate Saint Ambrose in this affair that I might, through his means,

obtain grace to be able to imitate him in all others.

I had not been long gone home when the Marechal d’Estrees and M.

Senneterre came, furnished with all the flowers of rhetoric, to persuade

me that degradation was honourable; and finding me immovable, they

insinuated that my obstinacy might oblige his Highness to use force, and

order his guards to carry me, in spite of myself, to Notre-Dame, and

place me there on a seat below his. I thought this suggestion too

ridiculous to mind it at first, but being forewarned of it that very

evening by the Duke’s Chancellor, I put myself upon the defensive, which

I think is the most ridiculous piece of folly I was ever guilty of,

considering it was against a son of France, and when there was a profound

tranquillity in the State, without the least appearance of any commotion.

The Duke, to whom I had the honour of being related, was pleased with my

boldness. He remembered the Abby de la Riviere for his insolence in

complaining that the Prince de Conti was marked down for a cardinal

before him; besides, the Duke knew I was in the right, having made it

very evident in a statement I had published upon this head. He

acquainted the Cardinal with it, said he would not suffer the least

violence to be offered to me; that I was both his kinsman and devoted

servant, and that he would not set out for the army till he saw the

affair at an end.

All the Court was in consternation for fear of a rupture, especially when

the Prince de Conde had been informed by the Queen of what his son had

said; and when he came to my house and found there sixty or eighty

gentlemen, this made him believe that a league was already made with the

Duke, but there was nothing in it. He swore, he threatened, he begged,

he flattered, and in his transports he let fall some expressions which

showed that the Duke was much more concerned for my interest than he ever

yet owned to me. I submitted that very instant, and told the Prince that

I would do anything rather than the royal family should be divided on my

account. The Prince, who hitherto found me immovable, was so touched at

my sudden surrender in complaisance to his son, at the very time, too,

when he himself had just assured me I was to expect a powerful protection

from him, that he suddenly changed his temper, so that, instead of

thinking as he did at first, that there was no satisfaction great enough

for the Duc d’Orleans, he now determined plainly in favour of the

expedient I had so often proposed,--that I should go and declare to him,

in the presence of the whole Court, that I never designed to be wanting

in the respect I owed him, and that the orders of the Church had obliged

me to act as I did at Notre-Dame. The Cardinal and the Abby de la

Riviere were enraged to the last degree, but the Prince put them into

such fear of the Duke that they were fain to submit. The Prince took me

to the Duc d’Orleans’s house, where I gave them satisfaction before the

whole Court, precisely in the words above mentioned. His Highness was

quite satisfied with my reasons, carried me to see his medals, and thus

ended the controversy.

As this affair and the marriage of the Queen of Poland had embroiled me

with the Court, you may easily conceive what turn the courtiers gave to

it. But here I found by experience that all the powers upon earth cannot

hurt the reputation of a man who preserves it established and unspotted

in the society whereof he is a member. All the learned clergy took my

part, and I soon perceived that many of those who had before blamed my

conduct now retracted. I made this observation upon a thousand other

occasions. I even obliged the Court, some time after, to commend my

proceedings, and took an opportunity to convince the Queen that it was my

dignity, and not any want of respect and gratitude, that made me resist

the Court in the two former cases. The Cardinal was very well pleased

with me, and said in public that he found me as much concerned for the

King’s service as I was before for the honour of my character.

It falling to my turn to make the speech at the breaking up of the

assembly of the clergy at Paris, I had the good luck to please both the

clergy and the Court. Cardinal Mazarin took me to supper with him alone,

seemed to be clear of all prejudices against me, and I verily believe was

fully persuaded that he had been imposed upon. But I was too much

beloved in Paris to continue long in favour at Court. This was a crime

that rendered me disagreeable in the eyes of a refined Italian statesman,

and which was the more dangerous from the fact that I lost no opportunity

of aggravating it by a natural and unaffected expense, to which my air of

negligence gave a lustre, and by my great alms and bounty, which, though

very often secret, had the louder echo; whereas, in truth, I had acted

thus at first only in compliance with inclination and out of a sense of

duty. But the necessity I was under of supporting myself against the

Court obliged me to be yet more liberal. I do but just mention it here

to show you that the Court was jealous of me, when I never thought myself

capable of giving them the least occasion, which made me reflect that a

man is oftener deceived by distrusting than by being overcredulous.

Cardinal Mazarin, who was born and bred in the Pope’s dominions, where

papal authority has no limits, took the impetus given to the regal power

by his tutor, the Cardinal de Richelieu, to be natural to the body

politic, which mistake of his occasioned the civil war, though we must

look much higher for its prime cause.

It is above 1,200 years that France has been governed by kings, but they

were not as absolute at first as they are now. Indeed, their authority

was never limited by written laws as are the Kings of England and

Castile, but only moderated by received customs, deposited, as I may say,

at first in the hands of the States of the kingdom, and afterwards in

those of the Parliament. The registering of treaties with other Crowns

and the ratifications of edicts for raising money are almost obliterated

images of that wise medium between the exorbitant power of the Kings and

the licentiousness of the people instituted by our ancestors. Wise and

good Princes found that this medium was such a seasoning to their power

as made it delightful to their people. On the other hand, weak and

vicious Kings always hated it as an obstacle to all their extravagances.

The history of the Sire de Joinville makes it evident that Saint Louis

was an admirer of this scheme of government, and the writings of Oresme,

Bishop of Lisieux, and of the famous Juvenal des Ursins, convince us that

Charles V., who merited the surname of Wise, never thought his power to

be superior to the laws and to his duty. Louis XI., more cunning than

truly wise, broke his faith upon this head as well as all others. Louis

XII. would have restored this balance of power to its ancient lustre if

the ambition of Cardinal Amboise,--[George d’Amboise, the first of the

name, in 1498 Minister to Louis XII., deceased 1510.]--who governed him

absolutely, had not opposed it.

The insatiable avarice of Constable Montmorency--[Anne de Montmorency,

Constable of France in 1538, died 1567.]--tended rather to enlarge than

restrain the authority of Francois I. The extended views and vast

designs of M. de Guise would not permit them to think of placing bounds

to the prerogative under Francois II. In the reigns of Charles IX. and

Henri III. the Court was so fatigued with civil broils that they took

everything for rebellion which was not submission. Henri IV., who was

not afraid of the laws, because he trusted in himself, showed he had a

high esteem for them. The Duc de Rohan used to say that Louis XIII. was

jealous of his own authority because he was ignorant of its full extent,

for the Marechal d’Ancrel and M. de Luynes were mere dunces, incapable of

informing him. Cardinal de Richelieu, who succeeded them, collected all

the wicked designs and blunders of the two last centuries to serve his

grand purpose. He laid them down as proper maxims for establishing the

King’s authority, and, fortune seconding his designs by the disarming of

the Protestants in France, by the victories of the Swedes, by the

weakness of the Empire and of Spain, he established the most scandalous

and dangerous tyranny that perhaps ever enslaved a State in the best

constituted monarchy under the sun.

Custom, which has in some countries inured men even to broil as it were

in the heat of the sun, has made things familiar to us which our

forefathers dreaded more than fire itself. We no longer feel the slavery

which they abhorred more for the interest of their King than for their

own. Cardinal de Richelieu counted those things crimes which before him

were looked upon as virtues. The Mirons, Harlays, Marillacs, Pibracs,

and the Fayes, those martyrs of the State who dispelled more factions by

their wholesome maxims than were raised in France by Spanish or British

gold, were defenders of the doctrine for which the Cardinal de Richelieu

confined President Barillon in the prison of Amboise. And the Cardinal

began to punish magistrates for advancing those truths which they were

obliged by their oaths to defend at the hazard of their lives.

Our wise Kings, who understood their true interest, made the Parliament

the depositary of their ordinances, to the end that they might exempt

themselves from part of the odium that sometimes attends the execution of

the most just and necessary decrees. They thought it no disparagement to

their royalty to be bound by them,--like unto God, who himself obeys the

laws he has preordained. [‘A good government: where the people obey their

king and the king obeys the law’--Solon. D.W.] Ministers of State, who

are generally so blinded by the splendour of their fortune as never to be

content with what the laws allow, make it their business to overturn

them; and Cardinal de Richelieu laboured at it more constantly than any

other, and with equal application and imprudence.

God only is self-existent and independent; the most rightful monarchs and

established monarchies in the world cannot possibly be supported but by

the conjunction of arms and laws,--a union so necessary that the one

cannot subsist without the other. Laws without the protection of arms

sink into contempt, and arms which are not tempered by laws quickly turn

a State into anarchy. The Roman commonwealth being set aside by Julius

Caesar, the supreme power which was devolved upon his successors by force

of arms subsisted no longer than they were able to maintain the authority

of the laws; for as soon as the laws lost their force, the power of the

Roman Emperors vanished, and the very men that were their favourites,

having got possession of their seals and their arms, converted their

masters’ substance into their own, and, as it were, sucked them dry under

the shelter of those repealed laws. The Roman Empire, formerly sold by

auction to the highest bidder, and the Turkish emperors, whose necks are

exposed every day to the bowstring, show us in very bloody characters the

blindness of those men that make authority to consist only in force.

But why need we go abroad for examples when we have so many at home?

Pepin, in dethroning the Merovingian family, and Capet, in dispossessing

the Carlovingians, made use of nothing else but the same power which the

ministers, their predecessors, had acquired under the authority of their

masters; and it is observable that the mayors of the Palace and the

counts of Paris placed themselves on the thrones of kings exactly by the

same methods that gained them their masters’ favours,--that is, by

weakening and changing the laws of the land, which at first always

pleases weak princes, who fancy it aggrandises their power; but in its

consequence it gives a power to the great men and motives to the common

people to rebel against their authority. Cardinal de Richelieu was

cunning enough to have all these views, but he sacrificed everything to

his interest. He would govern according to his own fancy, which scorned

to be tied to rules, even in cases where it would have cost him nothing

to observe them. And he acted his part so well that, if his successor

had been a man of his abilities, I doubt not that the title of Prime

Minister, which he was the first to assume, would have been as odious in

France in a little time as were those of the Maire du Palais and the

Comte de Paris. But by the providence of God, Cardinal Mazarin, who

succeeded him, was not capable of giving the State any jealousy of his

usurpation. As these two ministers contributed chiefly, though in a

different way, to the civil war, I judge it highly necessary to give you

the particular character of each, and to draw a parallel between them.

Cardinal de Richelieu was well descended; his merit sparkled even in his

youth. He was taken notice of at the Sorbonne, and it was very soon

observed that he had a strong genius and a lively fancy. He was commonly

happy in the choice of his parties. He was a man of his word, unless

great interests swayed him to the contrary, and in such a case he was

very artful to preserve all the appearances of probity. He was not

liberal, yet he gave more than he promised, and knew admirably well how

to season all his favours. He was more ambitious than was consistent

with the rules of morality, although it must be owned that, whenever he

dispensed with them in favour of his extravagant ambition, his great

merit made it almost excusable. He neither feared dangers nor yet

despised them, and prevented more by his sagacity than he surmounted by

his resolution. He was a hearty friend, and even wished to be beloved by

the people; but though he had civility, a good aspect, and all the other

qualifications to gain that love, yet he still wanted something--I know

not what to call it--which is absolutely necessary in this case. By his

power and royal state he debased and swallowed up the personal majesty of

the King. He distinguished more judiciously than any man in the world

between bad and worse, good and better, which is a great qualification in

a minister. He was too apt to be impatient at mere trifles when they had

relation to things of moment; but those blemishes, owing to his lofty

spirit, were always accompanied with the necessary talent of knowledge to

make amends for those imperfections. He had religion enough for this

world. His own good sense, or else his inclination, always led him to

the practice of virtue if his self-interest did not bias him to evil,

which, whenever he committed it, he did so knowingly. He extended his

concern for the State no further than his own life, though no minister

ever did more than he to make the world believe he had the same regard

for the future. In a word, all his vices were such that they received a

lustre from his great fortune, because they were such as could have no

other instruments to work with but great virtues. You will easily

conceive that a man who possessed such excellent qualities, and appeared

to have as many more,--which he had not,--found it no hard task to

preserve that respect among mankind which freed him from contempt, though

not from hatred.

Cardinal Mazarin’s character was the reverse of the former; his birth was

mean, and his youth scandalous. He was thrashed by one Moretto, a

goldsmith of Rome, as he was going out of the amphitheatre, for having

played the sharper. He was a captain in a foot regiment, and Bagni, his

general, told me that while he was under his command, which was but three

months, he was only looked upon as a cheat. By the interest of Cardinal

Antonio Barberini, he was sent as Nuncio Extraordinary to France, which

office was not obtained in those days by fair means. He so tickled

Chavigni by his loose Italian stories that he was shortly after

introduced to Cardinal de Richelieu, who made him Cardinal with the same

view which, it is thought, determined the Emperor Augustus to leave the

succession of the Empire to Tiberius. He was still Richelieu’s

obsequious, humble servant, notwithstanding the purple. The Queen making

choice of him, for want of another, his pedigree was immediately derived

from a princely family. The rays of fortune having dazzled him and

everybody about him, he rose, and they glorified him for a second

Richelieu, whom he had the impudence to ape, though he had nothing of

him; for what his predecessor counted honourable he esteemed scandalous.

He made a mere jest of religion. He promised everything without scruple;

at the same time he intended to perform nothing. He was neither

good-natured nor cruel, for he never remembered either good offices or

bad ones. He loved himself too well, which is natural to a sordid soul;

and feared himself too little, the true characteristic of those that have

no regard for their reputation. He foresaw an evil well enough, because

he was usually timid, but never applied a suitable remedy, because he had

more fear than wisdom. He had wit, indeed, together with a most

insinuating address and a gay, courtly behaviour; but a villainous heart

appeared constantly through all, to such a degree as betrayed him to be a

fool in adversity and a knave in prosperity. In short, he was the first

minister that could be called a complete trickster, for which reason his

administration, though successful and absolute, never sat well upon him,

for contempt--the most dangerous disease of any State--crept insensibly

into the Ministry and easily diffused its poison from the head to the

members.

You will not wonder, therefore, that there were so many unlucky cross

rubs in an administration which so soon followed that of Cardinal de

Richelieu and was so different from it. It is certain that the

imprisonment of M. de Beaufort impressed the people with a respect for

Mazarin, which the lustre of his purple would never have procured from

private men. Ondedei (since Bishop of Frejus) told me that the Cardinal

jested with him upon the levity of the French nation on this point, and

that at the end of four months the Cardinal had set himself up in his own

opinion for a Richelieu, and even thought he had greater abilities. It

would take up volumes to record all his faults, the least of which were

very important in one respect which deserves a particular remark. As he

trod in the steps of Cardinal de Richelieu, who had completely abolished

all the ancient maxims of government, he went in a path surrounded with

precipices, which Richelieu was aware of and took care to avoid. But

Cardinal Mazarin made no use of those props by which Richelieu kept his

footing. For instance, though Cardinal de Richelieu affected to humble

whole bodies and societies, yet he studied to oblige individuals, which

is sufficient to give you an idea of all the rest. He had indeed some

unaccountable illusions, which he pushed to the utmost extremity. The

most dangerous kind of illusion in State affairs is a sort of lethargy

that never happens without showing pronounced symptoms. The abolishing

of ancient laws, the destruction of that golden medium which was

established between the Prince and the people, and the setting up a power

purely and absolutely despotic, were the original causes of those

political convulsions which shook France in the days of our forefathers.

Cardinal de Richelieu managed the kingdom as mountebanks do their

patients, with violent remedies which put strength into it; but it was

only a convulsive strength, which exhausted its vital organs. Cardinal

Mazarin, like a very unskilful physician, did not observe that the vital

organs were decayed, nor had he the skill to support them by the chemical

preparations of his predecessor; his only remedy was to let blood, which

he drew so plentifully that the patient fell into a lethargy, and our

medicaster was yet so stupid as to mistake this lethargy for a real state

of health. The provinces, abandoned to the rapine of the

superintendents, were stifled, as it were, under the pressure of their

heavy misfortunes, and the efforts they made to shake them off in the

time of Richelieu added only to their weight and bitterness. The

Parliaments, which had so lately groaned under tyranny, were in a manner

insensible to present miseries by a too fresh and lively remembrance of

their past troubles. The grandees, who had for the most part been

banished from the kingdom, were glad to have returned, and therefore took

their fill of ease and pleasure. If our quack had but humoured this

universal indolence with soporifics, the general drowsiness might have

continued much longer, but thinking it to be nothing but natural sleep,

he applied no remedy at all. The disease gained strength, grew worse and

worse, the patient awakened, Paris became sensible of her condition; she

groaned, but nobody minded it, so that she fell into a frenzy, whereupon

the patient became raving mad.

But now to come to particulars. Emeri, Superintendent of the Finances,

and in my opinion the most corrupt man of the age, multiplied edicts as

fast as he could find names to call them by. I cannot give you a better

idea of the man than by repeating what I heard him say in full

Council,--that faith was for tradesmen only, and that the Masters of

Requests who urged faith to be observed in the King’s affairs deserved to

be punished. This man, who had in his youth been condemned to be hanged

at Lyons, absolutely governed Mazarin in all the domestic affairs of the

kingdom. I mention this, among many other instances which I could produce

of the same nature, to let you see that a nation does not feel the

extremity of misery till its governors have lost all shame, because that

is the instant when the subjects throw off all respect and awake

convulsively out of their lethargy.

The Swiss seemed, as it were, crushed under the weight of their chains,

when three of their powerful cantons revolted and formed themselves into

a league. The Dutch thought of nothing but an entire subjection to the

tyrant Duke of Alva, when the Prince of Orange, by the peculiar destiny

of great geniuses, who see further into the future than all the world

besides, conceived a plan and restored their liberty. The reason of all

this is plain: that which causes a supineness in suffering States is the

duration of the evil, which inclines the sufferers to believe it will

never have an end; as soon as they have hopes of getting out of it, which

never fails when the evil has arrived at a certain pitch, they are so

surprised, so glad, and so transported, that they run all of a sudden

into the other extreme, and are so far from thinking revolutions

impossible that they suppose them easy, and such a disposition alone is

sometimes able to bring them about; witness the late revolution in

France. Who could have imagined, three months before the critical period

of our disorders, that such a revolution could have happened in a kingdom

where all the branches of the royal family were strictly united, where

the Court was a slave to the Prime Minister, where the capital city and

all the provinces were in subjection to him, where the armies were

victorious, and where the corporations and societies seemed to have no

power?--whoever, I say, had said this would have been thought a madman,

not only in the judgment of the vulgar, but in the opinion of a D’Estrees

or a Senneterre.

In August, 1647, there was a mighty clamour against the tariff edict

imposing a general tax upon all provisions that came into Paris, which

the people were resolved to bear no longer. But the gentlemen of the

Council being determined to support it, the Queen consulted the members

deputed from Parliament, when Cardinal Mazarin, a mere ignoramus in these

affairs, said he wondered that so considerable a body as they were should

mind such trifles,--an expression truly worthy of Mazarin. However, the

Council at length imagining the Parliament would do it, thought fit to

suppress the tariff themselves by a declaration, in order to save the

King’s credit. Nevertheless, a few days after, they presented five

edicts even more oppressive than the tariff, not with any hopes of having

them received, but to force the Parliament to restore the tariff. Rather

than admit the new ones, the Parliament consented to restore the old one,

but with so many qualifications that the Court, despairing to find their

account in it, published a decree of the Supreme Council annulling that

of the Parliament with all its modifications. But the Chamber of

Vacations answered it by another, enjoining the decree of Parliament to

be put in execution. The Council, seeing they could get no money by this

method, acquainted the Parliament that, since they would receive no new

edicts, they could do no less than encourage the execution of such edicts

as they had formerly ratified; and thereupon they trumped up a

declaration which had been registered two years before for the

establishment of the Chamber of Domain, which was a terrible charge upon

the people, had very pernicious consequences, and which the Parliament

had passed, either through a surprise or want of better judgment. The

people mutinied, went in crowds to the Palace, and used very abusive

language to the President de Thore, Emeri’s son. The Parliament was

obliged to pass a decree against the mutineers.

The Court, overjoyed to see the Parliament and the people together by the

ears, supported the decree by a regiment of French and Swiss Guards. The

Parisians were alarmed, and got into the belfries of three churches in

the street of Saint Denis, where the guards were posted. The Provost ran

to acquaint the Court that the city was just taking arms. Upon which

they ordered the troops to retire, and pretended they were posted there

for no other end than to attend the King as he went to the Church of

Notre Dame; and the better to cover their design, the King went next day

in great pomp to the said church, and the day after he went to

Parliament, without giving notice of his coming till very late the night

before, and carried with him five or six edicts more destructive than the

former. The First President spoke very boldly against bringing the King

into the House after this manner, to surprise the members and infringe

upon their liberty of voting. Next day the Masters of Requests, to whom

one of these edicts, confirmed in the King’s presence, had added twelve

colleagues, met and took a firm resolution not to admit of this new

creation. The Queen sent for them, told them they were very pretty

gentlemen to oppose the King’s will, and forbade them to come to Council.

Instead of being frightened, they were the more provoked, and, going into

the Great Hall, demanded that they might have leave to enter their

protest against the edict for creating new members, which was granted.

The Chambers being assembled the same day to examine the edicts which the

King had caused to be ratified in his presence, the Queen commanded them

to attend her by their deputies in the Palais Royal, and told them she

was surprised that they pretended to meddle with what had been

consecrated by the presence of the King. These were the very words of

the Chancellor. The First President answered that it was the custom of

Parliament, and showed the necessity of it for preserving the liberty of

voting. The Queen seemed to be satisfied; but, finding some days after

that the Parliament was consulting as to qualifying those edicts, and so

render them of little or no use, she ordered the King’s Council to forbid

the Parliament meddling with the King’s edicts till they had declared

formally whether they intended to limit the King’s authority. Those

members that were in the Court interest artfully took advantage of the

dilemma the Parliament was in to answer the question, and, in order to

mollify them, tacked a clause to the decrees which specified the

restrictions, namely, that all should be executed according to the good

pleasure of the King. This clause pleased the Queen for a while, but

when she perceived that it did not prevent the rejecting of almost any

other edict by the common suffrage of the Parliament, she flew into a

passion, and told them plainly that she would have all the edicts,

without exception, fully executed, without any modifications whatsoever.

Not long after this, the Court of Aids, the Chamber of Accounts, the

Grand Council, and the Parliament formed a union which was pretended to

be for the reformation of the State, but was more probably calculated for

the private interest of the officers, whose salaries were lessened by one

of the said edicts. And the Court, being alarmed and utterly perplexed

by the decree for the said union, endeavoured, as much as in them lay, to

give it this turn, to make the people have a mean opinion of it. The

Queen acquainted the Parliament by some of the King’s Council that,

seeing this union was entered into for the particular interest of the

companies, and not for the reformation of the State, as they endeavoured

to persuade her, she had nothing to say to it, as everybody is at liberty

to represent his case to the King, but never to intermeddle with the

government of the State.

The Parliament did not relish this ensnaring discourse, and because they

were exasperated by the Court’s apprehending some of the members of the

Grand Council, they thought of nothing but justifying and supporting

their decree of union by finding out precedents, which they accordingly

met with in the registers, and were going to consider how to put it in

execution when one of the Secretaries of State came to the bar of the

house, and put into the hands of the King’s Council a decree of the

Supreme Council which, in very truculent terms, annulled that of the

union. Upon this the Parliament desired a meeting with the deputies of

the other three bodies, at which the Court was enraged, and had recourse

to the mean expedient of getting the very original decree of union out of

the hands of the chief registrar; for that end they sent the Secretary of

State and a lieutenant of the Guards, who put him into a coach to drive

him to the office, but the people perceiving it, were up in arms

immediately, and both the secretary and lieutenant were glad to get off.

After this there was a great division in the Council, and some said the

Queen was disposed to arrest the Parliament; but none but herself was of

that opinion, which, indeed, was not likely to be acted upon, considering

how the people then stood affected. Therefore a more moderate course was

taken. The Chancellor reprimanded the Parliament in the presence of the

King and Court, and ordered a second decree of Council to be read and

registered instead of the union decree, forbidding them to assemble under

pain of being treated as rebels. They met, nevertheless, in defiance of

the said decree, and had several days’ consultation, upon which the Duc

d’Orleans, who was very sensible they would never comply, proposed an

accommodation. Accordingly Cardinal Mazarin and the Chancellor made some

proposals, which were rejected with indignation. The Parliament affected

to be altogether concerned for the good of the public, and issued a

decree obliging themselves to continue their session and to make humble

remonstrances to the King for annulling the decrees of the Council.

The King’s Council having obtained audience of the Queen for the

Parliament, the First President strenuously urged the great necessity of

inviolably preferring that golden mean between the King and the subject;

proved that the Parliament had been for many ages in possession of full

authority to unite and assemble; complained against the annulling of

their decree of union, and concluded with a very earnest motion for

suppressing decrees of the Supreme Council made in opposition to theirs.

The Court, being moved more by the disposition of the people than by the

remonstrances of the Parliament, complied immediately, and ordered the

King’s Council to acquaint the Parliament that the King would permit the

act of union to be executed, and that they might assemble and act in

concert with the other bodies for the good of the State.

You may judge how the Cabinet was mortified, but the vulgar were much

mistaken in thinking that the weakness of Mazarin upon this occasion gave

the least blow to the royal authority. In that conjuncture it was

impossible for him to act otherwise, for if he had continued inflexible

on this occasion he would certainly have been reckoned a madman and

surrounded with barricades. He only yielded to the torrent, and yet most

people accused him of weakness. It is certain this affair brought him

into great contempt, and though he endeavoured to appease the people by

the banishment of Emeri, yet the Parliament, perceiving what ascendancy

they had over the Court, left no stone unturned to demolish the power of

this overgrown favourite.

The Cardinal, made desperate by the failure of his stratagems to create

jealousy among the four bodies, and alarmed at a proposition which they

were going to make for cancelling all the loans made to the King upon

excessive interest,--the Cardinal, I say, being quite mad with rage and

grief at these disappointments, and set on by courtiers who had most of

their stocks in these loans, made the King go on horseback to the

Parliament House in great pomp, and carry a wheedling declaration with

him, which contained some articles very advantageous to the public, and a

great many others very ambiguous. But the people were so jealous of the

Court that he went without the usual acclamations. The declaration was

soon after censured by the Parliament and the other bodies, though the

Duc d’Orleans exhorted and prayed that they would not meddle with it, and

threatened them if they did.

The Parliament also passed a decree declaring that no money should be

raised without verified declarations, which so provoked the Court that

they resolved to proceed to extremities, and to make use of the signal

victory which was obtained at Lens on the 24th of August, 1648, to dazzle

the eyes of the people and gain their consent to oppressing the

Parliament.

All the humours of the State were so disturbed by the great troubles at

Paris, the fountainhead, that I foresaw a fever would be the certain

consequence, because the physician had not the skill to prevent it. As I

owed the coadjutorship of the archbishopric to the Queen, I thought it my

duty in every circumstance to sacrifice my resentment, and even the

probability of glory, to gratitude; and notwithstanding all the

solicitations of Montresor and Laigues, I made a firm resolution to stick

close to my own business and not to engage in anything that was either

said or done against the Court at that time. Montresor had been brought

up from his youth in the faction of the Duc d’Orleans, and, having more

wit than courage, was so much the more dangerous an adviser in great

affairs; men of this cast only suggest measures and leave them to be

executed by others. Laigues, on the other hand, who was entirely

governed by Montresor, had not much brains, but was all bravery and

feared nothing; men of this character dare do anything they are set upon

by those who confide in them.

Finding that my innocence and integrity gained me no friends at Court,

and that I had nothing to expect from the Minister, who mortally hated

me, I resolved to be upon my guard, by acting in respect to the Court

with as much freedom as zeal and sincerity; and in respect to the city,

by carefully preserving my friends, and doing everything necessary to

get, or, rather, to keep, the love of the people. To maintain my

interest in the city, I laid out 36,000 crowns in alms and other

bounties, from the 26th of March to the 25th of August, 1648; and to

please the Court I told the Queen and Cardinal how the Parisians then

stood affected, which they never knew before, through flattery and

prejudice. I also complained to the Queen of the Cardinal’s cunning and

dissimulation, and made use of the same intimations which I had given to

the Court to show the Parliament that I had done all in my power to

clearly inform the Ministry of everything and to disperse the clouds

always cast over their understandings by the interest of inferior

officers and the flattery of courtiers. This made the Cardinal break

with me and thwart me openly at every opportunity, insomuch that when I

was telling the Queen in his presence that the people in general were so

soured that nothing but lenitives could abate their rancour, he answered

me with the Italian fable of the wolf who swore to a flock of sheep that

he would protect them against all his comrades provided one of them would

come every morning and lick a wound he had received from a dog. He

entertained me with the like witticisms three or four months together, of

which this was one of the most favourable, whereupon I made these

reflections that it was more unbecoming a Minister of State to say silly

things than to do them, and that any advice given him was criminal.

The Cardinal pretended that the success of the King’s arms at Lens had so

mortified the Court that the Parliament and the other bodies, who

expected they would take a sharp revenge on them for their late conduct,

would have the great satisfaction of being disappointed. I own I was

fool enough to believe him, and was perfectly transported at the thought;

but with what sincerity the Cardinal spoke will appear by and by.

On the 26th of August, 1648, the worthy Broussel, councillor of the Grand

Chamber, and Rene Potier, Sieur de Blancmenil, President of the Inquests,

were both arrested by the Queen’s officers. It is impossible to express

the sudden consternation of all men, women, and children in Paris at this

proceeding. The people stared at one another for awhile without saying a

word. But this profound silence was suddenly attended with a confused

noise of running, crying, and shutting up of shops, upon which I thought

it my duty to go and wait upon the Queen, though I was sorely vexed to

see how my credulity had been abused but the night before at Court, when

I was desired to tell all my friends in Parliament that the victory of

Lens had only disposed the Court more and more to leniency and

moderation. When I came to the New Market, on my way to Court, I was

surrounded with swarms of people making a frightful outcry, and had great

difficulty in getting through the crowd till I had told them the Queen

would certainly do them justice. The very boys hissed the soldiers of

the Guard and pelted them with stones. Their commander, the Marechal de

La Meilleraye, perceiving the clouds began to thicken on all sides, was

overjoyed to see me, and would go with me to Court and tell the whole

truth of the matter to the Queen. The people followed us in vast

numbers, calling out, “Broussel, Broussel!”

The Queen, whom we found in her Cabinet Council with Mazarin and others,

received me neither well nor ill, was too proud and too much out of

temper to confess any shame for what she had told me the night before,

and the Cardinal had not modesty enough to blush. Nevertheless he seemed

very much confused, and gave some obscure hints by which I could perceive

he would have me to believe that there were very sudden and extraordinary

reasons which had obliged the Queen to take such measures. I simulated

approval of what he said, but all the answer I returned was that I had

come thither, as in duty bound, to receive the Queen’s orders and to

contribute all in my power to restore the public peace and tranquillity.

The Queen gave a gracious nod, but I understood afterwards that she put a

sinister interpretation upon my last speech, which was nevertheless very

inoffensive and perfectly consonant to my character as Coadjutor of

Paris; but it is a true saying that in the Courts of princes a capacity

of doing good is as dangerous and almost as criminal as a will to do

mischief.

The Marechal de La Meilleraye, finding that the Abbe de la Riviere and

others made mere jest and banter of the insurrection, fell into a great

passion, spoke very sharply, and appealed to me. I freely gave my

testimony, confirmed his account of the insurrection, and seconded him in

his reflections upon the future consequences. We had no other return

from the Cardinal than a malicious sneer, but the Queen lifted up her

shrill voice to the highest note of indignation, and expressed herself to

this effect: “It is a sign of disaffection to imagine that the people are

capable of revolting. These are ridiculous stories that come from

persons who talk as they would have it; the King’s authority will set

matters right.”

The Cardinal, perceiving that I was a little nettled, endeavoured to

soothe me by this address to the Queen: “Would to God, madame, that all

men did but talk with the same sincerity as the Coadjutor of Paris. He

is greatly concerned for his flock, for the city, and for your Majesty’s

authority, and though I am persuaded that the danger is not so great as

he imagines, yet his scruples in this case are to be commended in him as

laudable and religious.” The Queen understood the meaning of this cant,

recovered herself all of a sudden, and spoke to me very civilly; to which

I answered with profound respect and so innocent a countenance that La

Riviere said, whispering to Beautru, “See what it is not to be always at

Court! The Coadjutor knows the world and is a man of sense, yet takes

all the Queen has said to be in earnest.”

The truth is, the Cabinet seemed to consist of persons acting the several

parts of a comedy. I played the innocent, but was not so, at least in

that affair. The Cardinal acted the part of one who thought himself

secure, but was much less confident than he appeared. The Queen affected

to be good-humoured, and yet was never more ill-tempered. M. de

Longueville put on the marks of sorrow and sadness while his heart leaped

for joy, for no man living took a greater pleasure than he to promote all

broils. The Duc d’Orleans personated hurry and, passion in speaking to

the Queen, yet would whistle half an hour together with the utmost

indolence. The Marechal de Villeroy put on gaiety, the better to make

his court to the Prime Minister, though he privately owned to me, with

tears in his eyes, that he saw the State was upon the brink of ruin.

Beautru and Nogent acted the part of buffoons, and to please the Queen,

personated old Broussel’s nurse (for he was eighty years of age),

stirring up the people to sedition, though both of them knew well enough

that their farce might perhaps soon end in a real tragedy.

The Abby de la Riviere was the only man who pretended to be fully

persuaded that the insurrection of the people was but vapour, and he

maintained it to the Queen, who was willing to believe him, though she

had been satisfied to the contrary; and the conduct of the Queen, who had

the courage of a heroine, and the temper of La Riviere, who was the most

notorious poltroon of his time, furnished me with this remark: That a

blind rashness and an extravagant fear produce the same effects while the

danger is unknown.

The Marechal de La Meilleraye assumed the style and bravado of a captain

when a lieutenant-colonel of the Guards suddenly came to tell the Queen

that the citizens threatened to force the Guards, and, being naturally

hasty and choleric, was transported even with fury and madness. He cried

out that he would perish rather than suffer such insolence, and asked

leave to take the Guards, the officers of the Household, and even all the

courtiers he could find in the antechambers, with whom he would engage to

rout the whole mob. The Queen was greatly in favour of it, but nobody

else, and events proved that it was well they did not come into it. At

the same time entered the Chancellor, a man who had never spoken a word

of truth in his whole life; but now, his complaisance yielding to his

fear, he spoke directly according to what he had seen in the streets. I

observed that the Cardinal was startled at the boldness of a man in whom

he had never seen anything like it before. But Senneterre, coming in

just after him, removed all their apprehensions in a trice by assuring

them that the fury of the people began to cool, that they did not take

arms, and that with a little patience all would be well again.

There is nothing so dangerous as flattery at a juncture where he that is

flattered is in fear, because the desire he has not to be terrified

inclines him to believe anything that hinders him from applying any

remedy to what he is afraid of. The news that was brought every moment

made them trifle away that time which should have been employed for the

preservation of the State. Old Guitaut, a man of no great sense, but

heartily well affected, was more impatient than all the rest, and said

that he did not conceive how it was possible for people to be asleep in

the present state of affairs; he muttered something more which I could

not well hear, but it seemed to bear very hard upon the Cardinal, who

owed him no goodwill.

The Cardinal answered, “Well, M. Guitaut, what would you have us do?”

Guitaut said, very bluntly, “Let the old rogue Broussel be restored to

the people, either dead or alive.”

I said that to restore him dead was inconsistent with the Queen’s piety

and prudence, but to restore him alive would probably put a stop to the

tumult.

At these words the Queen reddened, and cried aloud, “I understand you, M.

le Coadjutor. You would have me set Broussel at liberty; but I will

strangle him sooner with these hands,”--throwing her head as it were into

my face at the last word, “and those who--”

The Cardinal, believing that she was going to say all to me that rage

could inspire, advanced and whispered in her ear, upon which she became

composed to such a degree that, had I not known her too well, I should

have thought her at her ease. The lieutenant de police came that instant

into the Cabinet with a deadly pale aspect. I never saw fear so well and

ridiculously represented in any Italian comedy as the fright which he

appeared in before the Queen. How admirable is the sympathy of fearful

souls! Neither the Cardinal nor the Queen were much moved at what M. de

La Meilleraye had strongly urged on them, but the fears of the lieutenant

seized them like an infection, so that they were all on a sudden

metamorphosed. They ridiculed me no longer, and suffered it to be

debated whether or no it was expedient to restore Broussel to the people

before they took arms, as they had threatened to do. Here I reflected

that it is more natural to the passion of fear to consult than to

determine.

The Cardinal proposed that I, as the fittest person, should go and assure

the people that the Queen would consent to the restoration of Broussel,

provided they would disperse. I saw the snare, but could not get away

from it, the rather because Meilleraye dragged me, as it were, to go

along with him,--telling her Majesty that he would dare to appear in the

streets in my company, and that he did not question but we should do

wonders. I said that I did not doubt it either, provided the Queen would

order a promise to be drawn in due form for restoring the prisoners,

because I had not credit enough with the people to be believed upon my

bare word. They praised my modesty, Meilleraye was assured of success,

and they said the Queen’s word was better than all writings whatsoever.

In a word, I was made the catspaw, and found myself under the necessity

of acting the most ridiculous part that perhaps ever fell to any man’s

share. I endeavoured to reply; but the Duc d’Orleans pushed me out

gently with both hands, saying, “Go and restore peace to the State;” and

the Marshal hurried me away, the Life-guards carrying me along in their

arms, and telling me that none but myself could remedy this evil. I went

out in my rochet and camail, dealing out benedictions to the people on my

right and left, preaching obedience, exerting all my endeavours to

appease the tumult, and telling them the Queen had assured me that,

provided they would disperse, she would restore Broussel.

The violence of the Marshal hardly gave me time to express myself, for he

instantly put himself at the head of the Horse-guards, and, advancing

sword in hand, cried aloud, “God bless the King, and liberty to

Broussel!” but being seen more than he was heard, his drawn sword did

more harm than his proclaiming liberty to Broussel did good. The people

took to their arms and had an encounter with the Marshal, upon which I

threw myself into the crowd, and expecting that both sides would have

some regard to my robes and dignity, the Marshal ordered the Light-horse

to fire no more, and the citizens with whom he was engaged held their

hands; but others of them continued firing and throwing stones, by one of

which I was knocked down, and had no sooner got up than a citizen was

going to knock me down with a musket. Though I did not know his name,

yet I had the presence of mind to cry out, “Forbear, wretch; if thy

father did but see thee--” He thereupon concluded I knew his father very

well, though I had never seen him; and I believe that made him the more

curious to survey me, when, taking particular notice of my robes, he

asked me if I was the Coadjutor. Upon which I was presently made known

to the whole body, followed by the multitude which way soever I went, and

met with a body of ruffians all in arms, whom, with abundance of

flattery, caresses, entreaties, and menaces, I prevailed on to lay down

their weapons; and it was this which saved the city, for had they

continued in arms till night, the city had certainly been plundered.

I went accompanied by 30,000 or 40,000 men without arms, and met the

Marechal de La Meilleraye, who I thought would have stifled me with

embraces, and who said these very words: “I am foolhardy and brutal; I

had like to have ruined the State, and you have saved it; come, let us go

to the Queen and talk to her like true, honest Frenchmen; and let us set

down the day of the month, that when the King comes of age our testimony

may be the means of hanging up those pests of the State, those infamous

flatterers, who pretended to the Queen that this affair was but a

trifle.” To the Queen he presently hurried me, and said to her, “Here is

a man that has not only saved my life, but your Guards and the whole

Court.”

The Queen gave an odd smile which I did not very well like, but I would

not seem to take any notice of it, and to stop Meilleraye in his encomium

upon me, I assumed the discourse myself, and said, “Madame, we are not

come upon my account, but to tell you that the city of Paris, disarmed

and submissive, throws herself at your Majesty’s feet.”

“Not so submissive as guilty,” replied the Queen, with a face full of

fire; “if the people were so raging as I was made to believe, how came

they to be so soon subdued?”

The Marshal fell into a passion, and said, with an oath, “Madame, an

honest man cannot flatter you when things are come to such an extremity.

If you do not set Broussel at liberty this very day, there will not be

left one stone upon another in Paris by tomorrow morning.”

I was going to support what the Marshal had said, but the Queen stopped

my mouth by telling me, with an air of banter, “Go to rest, sir; you have

done a mighty piece of work.”

When I returned home, I found an incredible number of people expecting

me, who forced me to get upon the top of my coach to give them an account

of what success I had had at Court. I told them that the Queen had

declared her satisfaction in their submission, and that she told me it

was the only method they could have taken for the deliverance of the

prisoners. I added other persuasives to pacify the commonalty, and they

dispersed the sooner because it was supper-time; for you must know that

the people of Paris, even those that are the busiest in all such

commotions, do not care to lose their meals.

I began to perceive that I had engaged my reputation too far in giving

the people any grounds to hope for the liberation of Broussel, though I

had particularly avoided giving them my word of honour, and I apprehended

that the Court would lay hold of this occasion to destroy me effectually

in the opinion of the people by making them believe that I acted in

concert with the Court only, to amuse and deceive them.

While I was making these and the like reflections, Montresor came and

told me that I was quite mistaken if I thought to be a great gainer by

the late expedition; that the Queen was not pleased with my proceedings,

and that the Court was persuaded that I did what lay in my power to

promote the insurrection. I confess I gave no credit to what Montresor

said, for though I saw they made a jest of me in the Queen’s Cabinet, I

hoped that their malice did not go so far as to diminish the merit of the

service I had rendered, and never imagined that they could be capable of

turning it into a crime. Laigues, too, came from Court and told me that

I was publicly laughed at, and charged with having fomented the

insurrection instead of appeasing it; that I had been ridiculed two whole

hours and exposed to the smart raillery of Beautru, to the buffoonery of

Nogent, to the pleasantries of La Riviere, to the false compassion of the

Cardinal, and to the loud laughter of the Queen.

You may guess that I was not a little moved at this, but I rather felt a

slight annoyance than any transport of passion. All sorts of notions

came into my mind, and all as suddenly passed away. I sacrificed with

little or no scruple all the sweetest and brightest images which the

memory of past conspiracies presented in crowds to my mind as soon as the

ill-treatment I now publicly met with gave me reason to think that I

might with honour engage myself in new ones. The obligations I had to

her Majesty made me reject all these thoughts, though I must confess I

was brought up in them from my infancy, and Laigues and Montresor could

have never shaken my resolution either by insinuating motives or making

reproaches, if Argenteuil, a gentleman firmly attached to my interest,

had not come into my room that moment with a frightened countenance and

said:

“You are undone; the Marechal de La Meilleraye has charged me to tell you

that he verily thinks the devil is in the courtiers, who has put it into

their heads that you have done all in your power to stir up the sedition.

The Marechal de La Meilleraye has laboured earnestly to inform the Queen

and Cardinal of the truth of the whole matter, but both have ridiculed

him for his attempt. The Marshal said he could not excuse the injury

they did you, but could not sufficiently admire the contempt they always

had for the tumult, of which they foretold the consequence as if they had

the gift of prophecy, always affirming that it would vanish in a night,

as it really has, for he hardly met a soul in the streets.”

He added that fires so quickly extinguished as this were not likely to

break out again; that he conjured me to provide for my own safety; that

the King’s authority would shine out the next day with all the lustre

imaginable; that the Court seemed resolved not to let slip this fatal

conjuncture, and that I was to be made the first public example.

Argenteuil said: “Villeroy did not tell me so much, because he durst not;

but he so squeezed my hand ‘en passant’ that I am apt to think he knows a

great deal more, and I must tell you that they have very good reason for

their apprehensions, because there is not a soul to be seen in the

streets, and to-morrow they may take up whom they list.”

Montresor, who would be thought to know all things beforehand, said that

he was assured it would be so and that he had foretold it. Laigues

bewailed my conduct, which he said had raised the compassion of all my

friends, although it had been their ruin. Upon this I desired to be left

about a quarter of an hour to myself, during which, reflecting how I had

been provoked and the public threatened, my scruples vanished; I gave

rein to all my thoughts, recollected that all the glorious ideas which

have ever entered my imagination were most concerned with vast designs,

and suffered my mind to be regaled with the pleasing hopes of being the

head of a party, a position which I had always admired in Plutarch’s

“Lives.” The inconsistency of my scheme with my character made me

tremble. A world of incidents may happen when the virtues in the leader

of a party may be vices in an archbishop. I had this view a thousand

times, and it always gave place to the duty I thought I owed to her

Majesty, but the remembrance of what had passed at the Queen’s table, and

the resolution there taken to ruin me with the public, having banished

all scruples, I joyfully determined to abandon my destiny to all the

impulses of glory. I said to my friends that the whole Court was witness

of the harsh treatment I had met with for above a year in the King’s

palace, and I added: “The public is engaged to defend my honour, but the

public being now about to be sacrificed, I am obliged to defend it

against oppression. Our circumstances are not so bad as you imagine,

gentlemen, and before twelve o’clock to-morrow I shall be master of

Paris.”

My two friends thought I was mad, and began to counsel moderation,

whereas before they always incited me to action; but I did not give them

hearing. I immediately sent for Miron, Accountant-General, one of the

city colonels, a man of probity and courage, and having great interest

with the people. I consulted with him, and he executed his commission

with so much discretion and bravery that above four hundred considerable

citizens were posted up and down in platoons with no more noise and stir

than if so many Carthusian novices had been assembled for contemplation.

After having given orders for securing certain gates and bars of the

city, I went to sleep, and was told next morning that no soldiers had

appeared all night, except a few troopers, who just took a view of the

platoons of the citizens and then galloped off. Hence it was inferred

that our precautions had prevented the execution of the design formed

against particular persons, but it was believed there was some mischief

hatching at the Chancellor’s against the public, because sergeants were

running backwards and forwards, and Ondedei went thither four times in

two hours.

Being informed soon after that the Chancellor was going to the Palace

with all the pomp of magistracy, and that two companies of Swiss Guards

approached the suburbs, I gave my orders in two words, which were

executed in two minutes. Miron ordered the citizens to take arms, and

Argenteuil, disguised as a mason, with a rule in his hand, charged the

Swiss in flank, killed twenty or thirty, dispersed the rest, and took one

of their colours. The Chancellor, hemmed in on every side, narrowly

escaped with his life to the Hotel d’O, which the people broke open,

rushed in with fury, and, as God would have it, fell immediately to

plundering, so that they forgot to force open a little chamber where both

the Chancellor and his brother, the Bishop of Meaux, to whom he was

confessing, lay concealed. The news of this occurrence ran like

wild-fire through the whole city. Men and women were immediately up in

arms, and mothers even put daggers into the hands of their children. In

less than two hours there were erected above two hundred barricades,

adorned with all the standards and colours that the League had left

entire. All the cry was, “God bless the King!” sometimes, “God bless

the Coadjutor!” and the echo was, “No Mazarin!”

The Queen sent her commands to me to use my interest to appease the

tumult. I answered the messenger, very coolly, that I had forfeited my

credit with the people on account of yesterday’s transactions, and that I

did not dare to go abroad. The messenger had heard the cry of “God bless

the Coadjutor!” and would fain have persuaded me that I was the

favourite of the people, but I strove as much to convince him of the

contrary.

The Court minions of the two last centuries knew not what they did when

they reduced that effectual regard which kings ought to have for their

subjects into mere style and form; for there are, as you see, certain

conjunctures in which, by a necessary consequence, subjects make a mere

form also of the real obedience which they owe to their sovereigns.

The Parliament hearing the cries of the people for Broussel, after having

ordered a decree against Cominges, lieutenant of the Queen’s Guards, who

had arrested him, made it death for all who took the like commissions for

the future, and decreed that an information should be drawn up against

those who had given that advice, as disturbers of the public peace. Then

the Parliament went in a body, in their robes, to the Queen, with the

First President at their head, and amid the acclamations of the people,

who opened all their barricades to let them pass. The First President

represented to the Queen, with becoming freedom, that the royal word had

been prostituted a thousand times over by scandalous and even childish

evasions, defeating resolutions most useful and necessary for the State.

He strongly exaggerated the mighty danger of the State from the city

being all in arms; but the Queen, who feared nothing because she knew

little, flew into a passion and raved like a fury, saying, “I know too

well that there is an uproar in the city, but you Parliamentarians,

together with your wives and children, shall be answerable for it all;”

and with that she retired into another chamber and shut the door after

her with violence. The members, who numbered about one hundred and

sixty, were going down-stairs; but the First President persuaded them to

go up and try the Queen once more, and meeting with the Duc d’Orleans,

he, with a great deal of persuasion, introduced twenty of them into the

presence-chamber, where the First President made another effort with the

Queen, by setting forth the terrors of the enraged metropolis up in arms,

but she would hear nothing, and went into the little gallery.

Upon this the Cardinal advanced and proposed to surrender the prisoner,

provided the Parliament would promise to hold no more assemblies. They

were going to consider this proposal upon the spot, but, thinking that

the people would be inclined to believe that the Parliament had been

forced if they gave their votes at the Palais Royal, they resolved to

adjourn to their own House.

The Parliament, returning and saying nothing about the liberation of

Broussel, were received by the people with angry murmurs instead of with

loud acclamations. They appeased those at the first two barricades by

telling them that the Queen had promised them satisfaction; but those at

the third barricade would not be paid in that coin, for a journeyman

cook, advancing with two hundred men, pressed his halberd against the

First President, saying, “Go back, traitor, and if thou hast a mind to

save thy life, bring us Broussel, or else Mazarin and the Chancellor as

hostages.”

Upon this five presidents ‘au mortier’ and about twenty councillors fell

back into the crowd to make their escape; the First President only, the

most undaunted man of the age, continued firm and intrepid. He rallied

the members as well as he could, maintaining still the authority of a

magistrate, both in his words and behaviour, and went leisurely back to

the King’s palace, through volleys of abuse, menaces, curses, and

blasphemies. He had a kind of eloquence peculiar to himself, knew

nothing of interjections, was not very exact in his speech, but the force

of it made amends for that; and being naturally bold, never spoke so well

as when he was in danger, insomuch that when he returned to the Palace he

even outdid himself, for it is certain that he moved the hearts of all

present except the Queen, who continued inflexible. The Duc d’Orleans

was going to throw himself at her feet, which four or five Princesses,

trembling with fear, actually did. The Cardinal, whom a young councillor

jestingly advised to go out into the streets and see how the people stood

affected, did at last join with the bulk of the Court, and with much ado

the Queen condescended to bid the members go and consult what was fitting

to be done, agreed to set the prisoners at liberty, restored Broussel to

the people, who carried him upon their heads with loud acclamations,

broke down their barricades, opened their shops, and in two hours Paris

was more quiet than ever I saw it upon a Good Friday.

As to the primum mobile of this revolution, it was owing to no other

cause than a deviation from the laws, which so alters the opinions of the

people that many times a faction is formed before the change is so much

as perceived.

This little reflection, with what has been said, may serve to confute

those who pretend that a faction without a head is never to be feared. It

grows up sometimes in a night. The commotion I have been speaking of,

which was so violent and lasting, did not appear to have any leader for a

whole year; but at last there rose up in one moment a much greater number

than was necessary for the party.