THE MARRIAGE OF THE KING.
1658-1661
Marguerite of Savoy.--Sudden change of prospects.--An heir to the
Spanish throne.--Rejection of Marguerite.--Mazarin communicates
with the Duchess of Savoy.--Private interview of Mazarin and the
Duchess of Savoy.--Conduct of the king.--Movements of Mazarin.--Power
of the cardinal.--Mary exiled from the court.--Mary's parting with
the king.--The Isle of Pheasants.--Interview of Louis with
Mary.--Negotiations with Spain.--Marriage preparations according to
Spanish etiquette.--Appearance of the Infanta.--Interview of Anne of
Austria and her brother.--Meeting of Louis XIV. and his bride.--Tedious
ceremonies.--Gorgeous entrance into the capital.--Cruelty of the
queen-mother.--The Prince Colonna.--Mary is presented to the young
Queen of France.--Misery of Mary Mancini.--Mary concludes to accept
the hand of Prince Colonna.--Marriage of Mary Mancini.--Character of
Louis XIV. and Maria Theresa.--Magnificent ceremonies.--Festivities
continued.--Revolting state of society.--Mazarin guilty of great
extortion.--Fatal accident.--Sufferings of the cardinal.--Oppressive
measures of the cardinal.--Confession of Mazarin.--Advice of M.
Colbert.--Suspense of the cardinal.--His property restored.--Death
of Mazarin.--His immense wealth.--Legacies of Mazarin.--Views of
Louis XIV.
The Princess Marguerite of Savoy was very beautiful. She was a
brunette, with large, lustrous eyes, fairy-like proportions, queenly
bearing, and so graceful in every movement that she scarcely seemed to
touch the ground as she walked. Her reception by the king, the queen,
and the whole court was every thing that could be desired. The duchess
and her daughter that night placed their heads upon their pillows with
the undoubting conviction that Marguerite was to be the Queen of
France. The king ordered his suite to be ready, in their gala dresses,
to attend him on the morrow to the apartments of the princess.
The morning came. To the surprise and bewilderment of the court, every
thing was changed. The king was thoughtful, distant, reserved. With
great formality of etiquette, he called upon the princess. His
countenance and manner indicated an entire change of feeling. With the
coldest phrases of court etiquette he addressed her. He was civil,
and civil only. The warmth of the lover had disappeared entirely. The
Duchess of Savoy was astounded. Even the French court seemed stupefied
by so unexpected and decisive an alteration in the aspect of affairs.
The explanation which gradually came to light was very simple. During
the night a courier had arrived, in breathless haste, with the
announcement that the Queen of Spain had given birth to a son. Maria
Theresa was no longer heir to the throne. The way was consequently
open to the Spanish marriage. This alliance would secure peace with
Spain, and was altogether a more powerful and wealthy connection than
that with the court of Savoy. The cardinal immediately communicated
the intelligence to the queen-mother and the king. They alone knew it.
Marguerite was to be rejected, and the hand of Maria Theresa to be
claimed.
Mary Mancini was utterly bewildered by the change, so inexplicable to
her, in the posture of affairs. The face of the queen was radiant with
joy. The king seemed a little embarrassed, but very triumphant. The
Duchess of Savoy betrayed alternately surprise, indignation, and
despair. The eagle eye and painful experience of Mary taught her that
the Princess Marguerite was struggling to retain her self-possession,
and to maintain a cheerful spirit, while some terrible blow had fallen
upon her.
The news from Spain was such that Mazarin, upon receiving it after
midnight, hastened to the bedchamber of the queen with the
announcement. As he entered, the queen rose upon her pillow, and the
cardinal said:
"I have come to tell you, madame, a piece of news which your majesty
never anticipated."
"Is peace proclaimed?" inquired the queen, earnestly.
"More than peace," the cardinal exultantly replied; "for the Infanta
brings peace in her hand as but a portion of her dower."
This extraordinary scene took place on the night of the 29th of
November, 1658. It was the task of the wily cardinal to break the
humiliating intelligence to the Duchess of Savoy. He assured her that
he felt bound to seek, above all things else, the interests of France;
that an opportunity had unexpectedly occurred for an alliance with
Spain; that this alliance was far more desirable than any other; but
that, should any thing occur to interrupt these negotiations, he
would do every thing in his power to promote the marriage of the king
with the Princess Marguerite.
Notwithstanding the intense irritation which this communication
excited, there was too much self-respect and too much good breeding in
the court of Savoy to allow of a sudden rupture, which would provoke
the sarcastic remarks of the world. Still the duchess, in a private
interview with Mazarin, could not restrain her feelings, but broke out
into passionate upbraidings. The thought that she had been lured to
expose herself and her daughter to the derision of all Europe stung
her to the quick. The Princess Marguerite, however, by her graceful
composure, by her courtesy to all around her, and by the skill with
which she concealed her wounded feelings, won the admiration of all in
both courts.
For several days the two courts remained together, engaged in a round
of festivities. This seemed necessary to avoid the appearance of an
open rupture. The fickle king, in these assemblies, treated Marguerite
with his customary courtesy; but he immediately turned to Mary Mancini
with his marked attentions and devotion, dancing with her repeatedly
on the same evening, and keeping her constantly by his side. Indeed,
his attentions were so very marked as to lead the courtiers to think
that the king rejoiced at his escape from his marriage with Marguerite
from the hope that it might yet lead to his securing Mary for his
bride. But it is more probable that the king, utterly selfish,
reckless of the feelings of others, and devoted to his own enjoyment,
sought the society of Mary because it so happened that she was the
one, more than any other then within his reach, who, by her personal
beauty and her mental attractions, could best beguile his weary hours.
He was ready at any moment, without a pang, to lay her aside for
another who could better minister to his pleasure or to the aspirings
of his ambition.
The king, with his court, returned to Paris. The secret communicated
by the mysterious visitor from Spain was still undivulged. The mystery
was so great, and its apparent bearing upon the destiny of Mary so
direct, that she resolved to interrogate one of the most influential
ministers of the court upon the subject. He, thinking in some degree
to evade the question, replied that the courier had come simply to
inform Anne of Austria that the Queen of Spain had given birth to a
son. This revealed the whole to Mary.
In the mean time, arrangements were made for Cardinal Mazarin to meet
the Spanish minister on the frontiers of the two kingdoms to negotiate
for the Spanish marriage. The cardinal, fully convinced that now it
would be impossible to secure the hand of the king for his niece Mary,
and anxious to convince the queen that he was heartily engaged in
promoting the Spanish alliance, ordered Mary immediately to withdraw
from the court, and retire to Brouage. This was a fortified town on
the sea-coast many leagues from Paris. The king heard of the
arrangement, and, forbidding the departure of Mary from the court,
hastened to the cardinal demanding an explanation. Mazarin informed
him that the Infanta of Spain would be very indignant should she learn
that, while he was making application for her hand, he was retaining
near him one whom he had long treated with the most devoted and
affectionate attentions; that her father, Philip IV., would be
disgusted; that there would be a probable rupture of the negotiations;
and that the desolating war between France and Spain would continue.
Louis declared that he should not allow his pleasure to be disturbed
by such considerations. Roused by opposition, he went so far as to say
that he was quite ready to carry on the war with Spain if that power
so wished; that the war would afford him an opportunity to acquire
glory in the eyes of his countrymen, and in that case he would marry
Mary Mancini.
But the cardinal was fully conscious that neither the queen nor France
would now submit to such an arrangement. He had with great skill
retained his attitude of command over the young monarch, holding his
purse and governing the realm, while the boy-king amused himself as a
ballet-dancer and a play-actor. The cardinal remained inexorable. It
is said that the king wept in the excess of his chagrin as he felt
compelled to yield to the representations of his domineering minister.
As he unfolded to him the miseries which would be inflicted, not only
upon the kingdom, but upon the court, should the desolating and
expensive war be protracted, the king threw himself upon a sofa, and
buried his face in his hands in silent despair. It was decided that
Mary should be exiled from the court.
The king, thwarted, vexed, wretched, repaired to the cabinet of his
mother. They conversed for an hour together. As they retired from the
cabinet, Madame de Motteville says, "the eyes of both were red with
weeping. The orders were immediately issued for Mary's departure. She
was to go with an elder sister and her governess. The morrow came; the
carriage was at the door. Mary, having taken leave of the queen,
repaired to the apartment of Louis to bid him adieu. She found him
deluged in tears. Summoning all her resolution to maintain
self-control, she held out her trembling hand, and said to him
reproachfully, 'Sire, you are a king; you weep; and yet I go.'"
The king uttered not a word, but, burying his face in his hands upon
the table, sobbed aloud. Mary saw that it was all over with her; that
there was no longer any hope. Without speaking a word, she descended
the stairs to her carriage. The king silently followed her, and stood
by the coach door. She took her seat with her companions, and, without
the interchange of a word or a sign, the carriage drove away. Louis
remained upon the spot until it disappeared from sight.
[Illustration: ISLE OF PHEASANTS.]
The Isle of Pheasants, a small Spanish island in the Bidassoa, a
boundary river between France and Spain, was fixed upon as the
rendezvous for the contracting parties for the royal marriage. Four
days after the exile of Mary, the king and court, with a magnificent
civil and ecclesiastical retinue, set out for the island. The king
insisted, notwithstanding the vehement remonstrances of the queen,
upon visiting Mary Mancini on the journey. As the splendid cortege
passed through the streets of Paris, the whole population was on the
pavement, shouting a thousand blessings on the head of their young
king.
Mary Mancini had received orders from the queen to proceed with her
sister to Saint Jean d'Angely, where, upon the passage of the court,
she was to have an interview with the king. "Her interview," writes
Miss Pardoe, "was, however, a bitter one. Divided between vanity and
affection, Louis was at once less firm and less self-possessed than
Mary. He wept bitterly, and bewailed the fetters by which he was
shackled. But as he remarked the change which nights of watching and
of tears had made in her appearance, he felt half consoled. The only
result of this meeting was to harrow the heart of the poor victim of
political expediency, and to prove to her upon how unstable a
foundation she had built her superstructure of hope."[G]
[Footnote G: Louis XIV. and the Court of France, vol. ii., p. 23, 24.]
From Saint Jean d'Angely the court proceeded, by way of Bordeaux, to
Toulouse. Here they awaited the conclusion of the treaty. The
negotiation was tedious, as each party was anxious to gain all that
was possible from the other. Many questions of national moment and
pride were involved. At length the conference was amicably concluded.
The king agreed to pardon the Prince of Conde, and restore to him all
his honors; and the Infanta Maria Theresa renounced for herself and
her descendants all claim to the inheritance of her parents. She was
to receive as a dowry five hundred thousand golden crowns. There were
several other articles included in the treaty which have now ceased to
be of any interest.
Much surprise was soon excited in the court of Louis XIV. by the
intimation that the marriage ceremony must be postponed until the
spring. Philip IV. stated that his infirm health would not allow him
to take so long a journey in the inclement weather of winter. Louis
XIV. had never yet seen his affianced bride. We do not learn that he
was at all annoyed by the delay. The intervening weeks were passed in
journeyings and a round of amusements. Early in May, 1660, the king
returned to the vicinity of the Isle of Pheasants, where he was to
meet the King of Spain and Maria Theresa.
The most magnificent preparations had been made at the Isle of
Pheasants for the interview between the two courts and the royal
nuptials. Bridges were constructed to the island from both the French
and Spanish sides of the river. These bridges were covered, and so
decorated as to present the aspect of beautiful galleries. Upon the
island a palace was erected, consisting of one immense and gorgeous
apartment, with lateral chambers and dressing-rooms. This apartment
was carpeted, and furnished with all the splendor which the combined
monarchies of France and Spain could command.
Two doors, directly opposite each other, enabled the two courts to
enter simultaneously. A straight line across the centre of the room
divided it into two portions, one half of which was regarded as
French, and the other as Spanish territory. The Spanish court took up
its residence at Fontarabia, on the eastern or Spanish bank of the
river. Louis and his court occupied Saint Jean de Luz, on the French
or western side of the stream.
There are many exactions of court etiquette which to republican eyes
seem extremely irrational and foolish. Louis could not cross the river
to take his Spanish bride, neither could Maria Theresa cross the
stream to be married on French soil; therefore Don Luis de Haro, as
the proxy of Louis XIV., having the French Bishop of Frejus as his
witness, was married to Maria Theresa in the church at Fontarabia. The
ceremony was conducted with the most punctilious observance of the
stately forms of Spanish etiquette.
Madame de Motteville gives the following account of the appearance of
the bride:
"The Infanta is short, but well made. We admired the extreme fairness
of her complexion. The blue eyes appeared to us to be fine, and
charmed us by their softness and brilliancy. We celebrated the beauty
of her mouth, and of her somewhat full and roseate lips. The outline
of her face is long, but, being rounded at the chin, pleased us. Her
cheeks, rather large, but handsome, had their share of our praise. Her
hair, of a very light auburn, accorded admirably with her fine
complexion."
The Infanta was dressed in white satin, ornamented with small bows of
silver serge. She wore a large number of brilliant gems, and her head
was decorated with a mass of false hair. The first lady of her
household bore her train.
During the ceremony Philip IV. stood between his daughter and the
proxy of Louis. The princess did not present her hand to Don Luis, nor
did he present to her the nuptial ring. At the close of the ceremony
the father embraced his child, and silently the gorgeous train swept
from the church.
The next day Anne of Austria, accompanied by her second son, then Duke
of Orleans, repaired to the Isle of Pheasants to meet her brother,
Philip IV., and the royal bride. Court etiquette did not yet allow
Louis XIV. to have an interview with the lady to whom he was already
married by proxy. He, however, sent to his young queen, by one of his
nobles, a present of some very fine jewels.
Though Philip IV. was the brother of Anne of Austria, and though they
had not met for many years, Spanish etiquette would not allow any
demonstrations of tenderness. The interview was chillingly stately and
dignified. Anne, for a moment forgetting the icy restraints of the
court, in sisterly love endeavored to salute her brother on the cheek.
The Spanish king held back his head, rejecting the proffered fondness.
The young bride threw herself upon her knees, requesting permission to
kiss the hand of Anne of Austria. The queen-mother lifted her from the
floor, and tenderly embraced her.
After some time had elapsed, Cardinal Mazarin entered, of course from
the French side, and, advancing to their majesties, informed them that
there was a distinguished stranger at the door who begged permission
to enter. Anne and Philip affected to hold a brief conference upon the
subject, when they gave their consent for his admission.
Louis XIV. entered in regal attire to see for the first time, and to
be seen for the first time by, his bride. As he approached, Maria
Theresa fixed her eyes upon him, and blushed deeply. Philip IV. smiled
graciously, and said audibly to Anne of Austria, "I have a very
handsome son-in-law."
As we have mentioned, there was a line separating the Spanish half of
the room from the French half. Louis advanced to the centre of the
apartment, and kneeled upon a cushion which had been provided for him
there. The King of Spain kneeled also upon a similar cushion. Cardinal
Mazarin then brought in a Bible, with a cross upon the volume. One of
the high Spanish church officials did the same on his side. The treaty
of peace was then read simultaneously to Philip IV. in Spanish, to
Louis XIV. in French. At its conclusion, they each placed their hands
upon the Bible, and took a solemn oath to observe its stipulations.
During this scene one sovereign was ceremonially in France, and the
other in Spain. Having taken the oath, they rose, and in stately
strides advanced to the frontier line. Here they cordially embraced
each other.
At the conclusion of sundry other ceremonies, some tedious, some
imposing, the two courts returned each to its own side of the river.
Maria Theresa accompanied her father. The next morning the
queen-mother, with a suitable retinue, returned to the island palace,
where she met again the bride of her son, and conducted her to her own
apartments at Saint Jean de Luz. Two days elapsed, while preparations
were made again to solemnize the marriage beneath the skies of France.
A platform was constructed, richly carpeted, from the residence of
Anne of Austria to the church. The young maiden-queen was robed in
French attire for this repetition of the nuptial ceremony. She wore a
royal mantle of violet-colored velvet, sprinkled with fleur de lis,
over a white dress. A queenly crown was upon her brow. Her gorgeous
train was borne by three of the most distinguished ladies of France.
At the conclusion of this ceremony Louis XIV. received his bride. The
king was then in the twenty-second year of his age.
Until within a week of the royal marriage, the king wrote frequently
to Mary Mancini. Then the correspondence was suddenly dropped. The
king never after seemed to manifest any interest in her fate.
After a few days of festivity, the court commenced, on the 15th of
June, its leisurely return toward Paris. Having reached Vincennes, the
illustrious cortege tarried for several days in the royal chateau
there, until preparations could be completed for a magnificent
entrance into the capital. The gorgeous spectacle took place on the
26th of August, 1660. For many weeks the saloons of the Louvre and the
Tuileries resounded with unintermitted revelry.
[Illustration: THE LOUVRE AND THE TUILERIES.]
Very cruelly the queen-mother sent a message to Mary Mancini,
expressing her regret that she could not be present at the royal
nuptials, and requiring her to come immediately to be present at the
entree of the king and queen into the metropolis, and to share in the
festivities of the palace. The order came to the crushed and bleeding
heart of Mary like a death-summons. Accompanied by her two sisters,
and with suitable attendants, she set forth on her sad journey. All
France was rejoicing over the royal marriage, and as her carriage
rapidly approached Paris, every hour pierced her heart with a new
pang. With all the fortitude she could summon, she could not retain
the roseate glow of health and happiness. Her cheeks were pale and
emaciate, and her forced smile only proclaimed more loudly the grief
which was consuming her heart. She alighted at the new palace of her
uncle, Cardinal Mazarin, and hastily retired to her apartment.
She had scarcely entered her room ere a letter from the cardinal was
presented to her, soliciting her hand for Prince Colonna, one of the
most illustrious nobles in wealth and rank in Europe. This marriage
would give her position scarcely second to that of any lady not seated
on a throne. The ambitious cardinal, not fully understanding the
delicate mechanism of a young lady's heart, had negotiated this
matter, hoping thus to rescue his niece from the humiliating sympathy
of the courtiers. But the noble nature of Mary recoiled from such a
rescue. She had instinctively resolved that in her own person, and by
her own individual force of character, however great might be her
sufferings, she would maintain her womanly dignity. Consequently, to
the surprise of the cardinal, she returned a cold and positive refusal
to the proposition.
Soon after this she received a communication to repair to the palace
of Fontainebleau, there to be presented to the young queen, with her
two sisters, and many others of the notabilities of the realm. The
presentation was to take place on the ensuing Sunday, immediately
after high mass. Her elder sister, the Countess de Soissons, assisted
by the Princess de Conti, was to preside at the ceremony.
Mary had just entered the audience-hall, and was approaching the queen
to be presented, when Louis XIV. entered the apartment to invite Maria
Theresa to accompany him in a walk in the park. Just at that moment
Madame de Soissons was presenting Mademoiselle _Mancini_. The king
heard the name which had once been apparently so dear to him. Without
the slightest emotion or the least sign of recognition, he bowed, as
if in the presence of a perfect stranger, and inquired of Mary
respecting her uncle the cardinal. He then exchanged a few courteous
words with the other ladies in the room with the same assumed or real
indifference, and invited all the ladies of the circle to attend the
queen in a hunt in which she was about to engage.
It seemed as if the fates had combined to expose poor Mary to every
species of mental torture. Her brain reeled, and, scarcely able to
retain her footing, she withdrew a little apart to rally her
disordered senses. Unable any longer to endure these sufferings, she
begged to be excused from attending the hunt, alleging that the feeble
health of her uncle the cardinal rendered it necessary for her to
return to Paris. Her carriage was ordered for her departure, but, at a
short distance from the chateau, she encountered the whole
hunting-party, filling the road with its splendor. Her carriage was
compelled to stop, that the king and queen and royal train might pass.
"And thus again she saw Louis, who preceded the cavalcade on
horseback, surrounded by the nobles of his court. The heart of Mary
throbbed almost to bursting. It was impossible that the king should
not recognize the livery of her uncle--the carriage in which he had so
often been seated by her side; he would not, he _could_ not pass her
by without one word. She deceived herself. His majesty was laughing at
some merry tale, by which he was so much engrossed that he rode on
without even bestowing a look upon the gilded coach and its
heart-broken occupant."[H]
[Footnote H: Louis XIV. and the Court of France, vol. ii., p. 48.]
Mary returned to Paris pondering deeply her awful destiny. She saw
that she was fated to meet continually the king and queen in their
festivities; that with a broken heart she must feign gayety and
smiles; that by lingering torture she must sink into the grave. There
was no refuge for her but to escape from Paris and from the court.
Apparently the only way to accomplish this was to accept the proffered
hand of the Prince Colonna, who would remove her from Paris to Rome.
[Illustration: PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU.]
The next morning, pale and tearless, Mary drove to Vincennes, where
Cardinal Mazarin then was, and informed him that she was ready to
marry Prince Colonna, provided the marriage could take place
immediately, and that the cardinal would, without an hour's delay,
write to the king to obtain his consent. The cardinal was rejoiced,
and proceeded with energy. The king, without one kind word, gave his
cold and indifferent consent. In accordance with the claims of
etiquette, he sent her some valuable gifts, which she did not dare to
decline.
"Mary walked to the altar," says Miss Pardoe, to whom we are indebted
for many of these details, "as she would have walked to the scaffold,
carrying with her an annual dower of one hundred thousand livres, and
perjuring herself by vows which she could not fulfill. Her after
career we dare not trace. Suffice it that the ardent and enthusiastic
spirit which would, had she been fated to happiness, have made her
memory a triumph for her sex, embittered by falsehood, wrong, and
treachery, involved her in errors over which both charity and
propriety oblige us to draw a veil; and if all Europe rang with the
enormity of her excesses, much of their origin may safely be traced to
those who, after wringing her heart, trampled it in the dust beneath
their feet."
A few days after the scenes of presentation at Fontainebleau, the
royal pair made their triumphal entry into Paris. In those days of
feudal oppression and ignorance, the masses looked up to kings and
queens with a degree of superstitious reverence which, in our
enlightened land, seems almost inconceivable. Louis XIV. was a
heartless, selfish, pleasure-loving young man of twenty-one, who had
never in his life done any thing to merit the especial esteem of any
one. Maria Theresa was an amiable and pretty girl, who never dreamed
that she had any other function than to indulge in luxuries at the
expense of others. Millions were to be impoverished that she and her
husband might pass through life reveling in luxury and charioted in
splendor. One can not contemplate such a state of things without being
agitated by the conflicting emotions of pity for such folly and
indignation for such outrages. Louis and Maria Theresa were received
by the populace of Paris with as much reverence and enthusiasm as if
they had been angels descending from heaven, fraught with every
blessing.
Scarcely had the morning dawned ere the whole city was in commotion.
The streets were thronged with countless thousands in the most
brilliant gala dresses. Triumphal arches spanned the thoroughfares
through which the royal procession was to pass. Garlands of flowers
and hangings of brilliantly colored tapestry concealed the fronts of
the houses from view. The pavements were strewn with flowers and
sweet-scented herbs, over which the wheels of the carriages and the
hoofs of the horses would pass without noise. At the barrier a
gorgeous throne was erected. Here the young queen was seated in royal
state, to receive the homage of the several distinguished officers of
the city and of the realm. At the close of these ceremonies, which
were rendered as imposing as civil and ecclesiastical pomp could
create, the apparently interminable procession of carriages, and
horsemen, and footmen, with the most dazzling adornments of
caparisons, and uniforms, and banners, with resounding music, and
shouts of acclaim which seemed to rend the skies, commenced its
entrance into the city.
An antique car had been constructed, of massive and picturesque
proportions, emblazoned with gold. Upon this car the young queen was
seated. She was, in reality, very beautiful, but in this hour of
triumph, with flushed cheek and sparkling eye, robed in the richest
attire, brilliant with gems, and so conspicuously enthroned as to be
visible to every eye, she presented an aspect of almost celestial
loveliness.
The young king rode by her side, magnificently mounted. His garments
of velvet, richly embroidered with gold and jewels, had been prepared
for the occasion at an expense of considerably more than a million of
dollars. The splendors of this gala-day were never forgotten by those
who witnessed them.
For succeeding weeks and months the court luxuriated in one continued
round of gayety and extravagance. Night after night the magnificent
saloons of the Louvre and the Tuileries resounded with music, while
proud lords and high-born dames trod the floors in the mazy dance, and
inflamed their passions with the most costly wines. It can not be
denied that a man who is trained from infancy amidst such scenes could
acquire elegance of manner which those engrossed in the useful and
ennobling employments of life rarely attain. Neither can it be denied
that this is as poor a school as can possibly be imagined to prepare
one wisely to administer the affairs of a nation of twenty millions of
people. In fact, Louis XIV. never dreamed of consulting the interests
of the people. It was his sole object to aggrandize himself by
promoting the splendor, the power, and the glory of the monarchy.
One does well to be angry when he reflects that, to maintain this
reckless and utterly useless extravagance of the king and the court,
the millions of the peasantry of France were compelled to live in mud
hovels, to wear the coarsest garb, to eat the plainest food, while
their wives and their daughters toiled barefooted in the fields. One
would think that guilty consciences would often be appalled by the
announcement, "Know thou that for all these things God will bring thee
into judgment?"
Though this revolting state of society was the slow growth of time,
and though no one there could have regarded this aristocratic
oppression as it is now estimated in the clearer light of the present
day, still these outrages, inflicted by the strong upon the weak, by
the rich upon the poor, merit the unmitigated condemnation of men, as
they have ever incurred the denunciations of God.
Cardinal Mazarin, more than any other man in France, was accountable
for the enormous luxury of the court, and the squalid misery of the
people. He knew better. He was professedly a disciple of Jesus Christ,
and yet a more thorough worldling could hardly have been in Christian
or in pagan lands. He was one of the most gigantic robbers of the poor
of which history gives any mention.
In the midst of these festivities, Mazarin decided to invite the court
to a grand ballet, which should transcend in splendor every thing
which Paris had witnessed before. To decorate the saloons, a large
amount of costly draperies were manufactured at Milan. In arranging
these tapestries, by some accident they took fire. The flames spread
rapidly, utterly destroying the room, with its paintings and its
magnificently frescoed roof. The fire was eventually extinguished, but
the shock was a death-blow to the cardinal. He was then in feeble
health. His attendants conveyed him from the blazing room to the
Chateau Mazarin.
The terror of the scene so aggravated the maladies from which the
cardinal had for a long time suffered, that he was prostrated upon his
bed, and it soon became evident that his dying hour was near at hand.
There are many indications that the haughty cardinal was tortured by
the pangs of remorse. He was generally silent, though extremely
dejected. His body was subjected to the most extraordinary
convulsions, while inaudible murmurs escaped his lips.
Count de Brienne, in his memoirs, states that, on one occasion, he
entered the chamber of the cardinal on tiptoe, his valet informing him
that his eminence was asleep. He found Mazarin bolstered in an
arm-chair before the fire, apparently in a profound slumber, "and
yet," writes the count, "his body rocked to and fro with the greatest
rapidity, from the back of his chair to his knees, now swinging to the
right, and again to the left. These movements of the sufferer were as
regular and rapid as the vibrations of the pendulum of a clock. At the
same time inarticulate murmurs escaped his lips."
The count, much moved by the wretched spectacle, summoned the
attendant, and awoke the cardinal. Mazarin, in awaking, betrayed that
troubled state of soul which had thus agitated his body. In most
melancholy tones, he said,
"My physician, M. Guenaud, has informed me that I can live but a few
days."
Count de Brienne, wishing to console him, said, "But M. Guenaud is
not omniscient. He may be deceived."
The cardinal, uttering a heavy sigh, exclaimed, "Ah! M. Guenaud well
understands his trade."
Mazarin, as we have mentioned, had acquired enormous wealth. The
resources of the kingdom had been in his hands. The poor had been
oppressed by as terrible a system of taxation as human nature could
endure and live. With the sums thus extorted, he had not only
maintained the army, and supported the voluptuousness of the court,
but he had also appropriated vast sums, without the slightest right to
do so, to his own private enrichment. He was now dying. The thought of
going to the bar of God with his hands full of this stolen gold
tortured him. Constrained by the anguish of a death-bed, he sent for a
Theatine monk to act as his confessor, and to administer, in his last
hours, the services of the Church.
The virtuous monk was quite startled when the cardinal, with pale and
trembling lips, informed him that he had accumulated a fortune of over
forty millions of francs--$8,000,000. Mazarin allowed that he
considered it a sin that he had by such means accumulated such vast
wealth. His pious confessor boldly declared that the cardinal would
peril his eternal salvation if he did not, before his death, make
restitution of all his ill-gotten gains, reserving only that for which
he was indebted to the bounty of the king.
The dying sinner, trembling in view of the judgment, replied in
faltering accents, "In that case I must relinquish all. I have
received nothing from the king. My family must be left in utter
beggary."
The confessor was deeply moved by the aspect of despair presented by
the cardinal. Embarrassed by the difficulties of the position, he sent
for a distinguished member of the court, M. Colbert, to confer with
upon the situation.
The shrewd courtier, after a little deliberation, suggested that, as
it would be manifestly impossible to restore the money to the
different individuals, scattered all over the realm, from whom it had
been gathered in the ordinary collection of the taxes, the cardinal
should make a transfer of it, as a donation, to the sovereign. "The
king," added M. Colbert, "will, without any question, annul so
generous an act, and restore the property to you. It will then be
yours by royal grant."
The cardinal, who had lived, and moved, and had his being in the midst
of trickery and intrigue, highly approved of the suggestion. The
papers were immediately made out, transferring the property to the
king. It was the 3d of March, 1661. Three days passed, and there was
no response of rejection--no recognition of the gift. The cardinal was
terror-stricken. As he sat bolstered in his chair, he wrung his hands
in agony, often exclaiming, "My poor family! my poor family! they will
be left without bread."
At the close of the third day M. Colbert entered the dying chamber
with a document in his hand, announcing that the king had restored to
the cardinal all his property, authorizing him to dispose of it as he
judged to be best.
It is scarcely possible that this trickery could have satisfied the
conscience of the cardinal. His confessor professed to be satisfied,
and granted the dying man that absolution which he had previously
withheld. Still Mazarin was extremely reluctant to die. He dressed
with the utmost care; painted his wrinkled brow and emaciate cheeks,
and resorted to all the appliances of art to maintain the aspect of
youth and vigor. But death could not thus be deceived. The destroying
angel on the 9th of March bore his spirit away to the judgment seat of
Christ. He died in the Chateau Mazarin, at the age of fifty-two,
having been virtually monarch of France for eighteen years.
[Illustration: CHATEAU MAZARIN.]
It appeared by the will of Mazarin that his property was vastly
greater even than the enormous sum which he had reluctantly admitted.
That portion of it which might be included under the term real estate,
consisting of houses, lands, etc., amounted to over fifty millions of
francs, while his personal effects, embracing the most costly
furniture, diamonds, and other jewels, of which he strictly forbade
any inventory to be taken, amounted to many millions more. The
legacies to his nieces and to other aristocratic friends were truly
princely. To the _poor_ he left a miserable pittance amounting to
about twelve hundred dollars.
The cardinal was a heartless, avaricious man, of but little ability,
and yet endowed with a very considerable degree of that cunning which
sometimes proves to be temporarily so successful in diplomatic
intrigues. The king was probably glad to be rid of him, for he could
not easily throw off a yoke to which he had been habituated from
childhood. During most of the cardinal's illness Louis continued his
usual round of feasting and dancing. Upon his death he manifested no
grief. It seems that he had previously made up his mind no longer to
be troubled by a prime minister, but to rule absolutely by his own
will.
Two days before the death of Mazarin, when he was no longer capable of
transacting any business, the president of the ecclesiastical assembly
inquired of the king "to whom he must hereafter address himself on
questions of public business." The emphatic and laconic response was,
"_To myself_."