THE QUEEN REGENT.
Louis XIV. was four years and a half old when his father died at
Saint-Germain, aged forty-two. Tardy in everything, Louis XIII. was six
weeks in dying. The state christening of his son was celebrated during
his illness. When asked his name, the little lad replied, "I am Louis
XIV."
"Not yet, my son, not yet," murmured the dying King, "but shortly, if
so it please God."
Anne of Austria, named Regent by her husband's will, rules in her
son's name. A splendid Court assembles round her, at the Louvre, at
Saint-Germain, and at Fontainebleau. Her exiled favourites are there
to do her homage. The Duchesse de Chevreuse, after a long sojourn in
Spain, England, and Flanders,—for she loves travel and the adventures
of the road, either masked, or disguised as a page, a priest, or a
cavalier,—is reinstated in her Majesty's favour. In Spain the Duchess's
vanity was gratified by enslaving a royal lover—the King of Spain,
brother of Anne of Austria; in England she diverted herself with
fomenting personal quarrels between Charles I. and Henrietta Maria; in
Flanders—a dull country—she found little to amuse her.
Mademoiselle de Hautefort (soon to become Duchesse and Maréchale de
Schomberg) returns in obedience to the Queen's command, who wrote to
her even when the King was alive, "Come, dearest friend, come quickly.
I am all impatience to embrace you!"
The Duchesse de Sennécy arrives from the provinces, and the Chevalier
de Jars from England. The latter had been imprisoned in the Bastille,
and threatened with torture by Richelieu, to force him to betray the
Queen's correspondence with Spain at the time of the Val de Grâce
conspiracy. He had been liberated, however, but while the Cardinal
lived had remained in England.
These, among many other faithful attendants, resume their places at the
_petit coucher_, in the _grand cercle_, and at the morning _lever_.
Then there are the princes and princesses of the blood-royal:—Monsieur
the Duc d'Orléans—no longer breathing vows of love in the moonlight,
but a veteran intriguer—living on the road to Spain, which always meant
rebellion, together with his daughter, _La Grande Mademoiselle_, a
comely girl, the greatest heiress in Europe; Cæsar, Duc de Vendôme, son
of Gabrielle and Henry IV., with his Duchess and his sons, the Ducs de
Mercœur and De Beaufort; Condé, the uncrowned head of the great house
of Bourbon—more ill-favoured and avaricious than ever—his jealous
temper now excited against the bastards of the house of Vendôme, with
his wife, Charlotte de Montmorenci, sobered down into a dignified
matron, devoted to her eldest son, the Duc d'Enghien, and to her
daughter, the Duchesse de Longueville, the brightest ornament of the
Court; the Duc de Rochefoucauld and his son, the Prince de Marsillac,
the author of _Les Maximes_, to become a shadow on the path of the
last-named Duchess, who is to die in a convent; the great House of
La Tour d'Auvergne, Viscomtes de Turenne and Ducs de Bouillon, from
which springs Henri de Turenne, the rival of young Condé; Séguier,
Duc de Villemer, generously forgiven for the part he took against the
Queen as Chancellor, at the Val de Grâce; and, last of all, Henry, Duc
de Guise—by-and-by to astonish all Europe by his daring escapade at
Naples, where, but for Masaniello, he might have been crowned King,
with the Queen's beautiful maid of honour, Mademoiselle de Pons, at his
side.
There is also about the Court a young man named Giulio Mazarin, born
in Rome of a Sicilian family, late secretary to Cardinal Richelieu.
He has passed many years in Spain, and can converse fluently in that
language with her Majesty whenever she deigns to address him. He
has a pale, inexpressive face, with large black eyes, _à fleur de
tête_, generally bent on the ground. His manners are modest, though
insinuating; his address is gentle, his voice musical. Like all
Italians, he is artistic; a _conoscente_ in music, a collector of
pictures, china, and antiquities. So unobtrusive and accomplished a
gentleman cannot fail to please, especially as he is only a deacon,
and, with a dispense, free to marry. The Queen, who often converses
with him in her native tongue, appreciates his merits. Her minister,
the Bishop of Beauvais, leaves the Court. He finds that his presence
is useless, as the Queen acts entirely under the advice of this young
Italian, whom she also selects as guardian to the young King, who, poor
simple boy, looks on Mazarin as a father.
[Illustration: VICOMTE DE TURENNE.]
The Regency begins auspiciously. Fifteen days after the death of Louis
XIII. the decisive victory of Rocroy was gained over the Spaniards
by the Duc d'Enghien, a youthful general of twenty-two. Paris was
exultant. The roads were strewed with wreaths and flowers; tapestry and
banners hung from every window, fountains of choicest wines flowed at
the corners of the streets, and amid the booming of cannon, the blare
of trumpets, the crash of warlike instruments, and the frantic shouts
of an entire population, the Queen, and her little four-year old son,
ride in a gold coach to hear a _Te Deum_ at Notre-Dame.
Her Majesty's authority is much increased by this victory. Mazarin,
under favour of the Queen, gradually acquires more and more power.
He presides at the council; he administers the finances—for which he
came to be called "_the plunderer_"; he tramples on the parliament and
bullies the young King. The princes of the blood and all the young
nobles are excluded from offices of state or places in the household.
Every one begins to tremble before the once modest young Italian, and
to recall with dismay the eighteen years of Richelieu's autocracy.
But Mazarin has a rival in Henri de Gondi, afterwards Cardinal de
Retz, now coadjutor to his uncle, the Archbishop of Paris. No greater
contrast can be conceived than between the subtle, shuffling Italian,
patient as he is false, and Gondi, bold, liberal, independent, generous
even to his enemies, incapable of envy or deceit, grasping each turn of
fortune with the ready adaptiveness of genius, and swaying the passions
of men by his fiery eloquence; a daring statesmen, a resolute reformer,
one of whom Cromwell had said—"that he, De Retz, was the only man in
Europe who despised him."
Gondi considered himself sacrificed to the Church—for which he had no
vocation—and did his utmost, by the libertinism of his early life,
to render his ordination impossible; but in vain. Although he had
abducted his own cousin, and been the hero of numberless scandals,
the Archbishopric of Paris was considered a sinecure in the family
of Gondi, and Archbishop and Cardinal he must be in spite of his
inclination and of his excesses. In politics he was a republican,
formed on the pattern of Cato and of Brutus, whose lives he had studied
at the Sorbonne. He loved to be compared to Cicero and to Cataline,
and to believe himself called on to revolutionize France after the
fashion of a factious conspirator of old Rome. He longed to be anything
belligerent, agitative—tribune, general, or demagogue. "Ancient Rome,"
he said, "honoured crime, therefore crime was to be honoured." "Rather
let me be the leader of a great party than an emperor!" exclaimed he,
in the climax of one of his thrilling perorations. The mild precepts
of the gospel were clearly little to his taste. He had mistaken not
only his vocation but his century. He should have lived in the Middle
Ages; and as an ecclesiastical prince-militant led armies into battle,
conquered territories, and made laws to subject peoples. Yet underlying
the wild enthusiasm of his language, and the reckless energy of his
actions, there was a kindly, almost gentle temper that imparted to his
character a certain incompleteness which accounts for the falling off
of his later years. Grand, noble as was De Retz, Mazarin ultimately
beat him and remained master of the situation.
Under the guidance of Gondi (De Retz) the parliament, paralysed
for a time, soon learns its power, and gives unmistakable tokens
of insubordination by opposing every edict and tax proposed by
the Government. Some of the most fractious of "these impertinent
bourgeois," as Condé called them, were arrested and exhibited in chains
like captives in a Roman triumph—at Notre-Dame on the occasion of a
second _Te Deum_ sung for a second great victory gained by young Condé.
Mazarin, by this act, over-taxed the endurance of the citizens. In
one night two hundred barricades rise in the streets of Paris. The
Queen-Regent can see them from her windows. This ebullition of popular
fury appears to Gondi as the realisation of his youthful dreams. The
moment has come to make him a tribune of the people. He has loyally
warned the Regent of the impending peril. The Queen considered his
words mere bravado, and treated him personally with suspicion and
contempt. Gondi was warned that Mazarin had decided on his exile. His
generous nature was outraged: "To-morrow," he said, "before noon,
I will be master of Paris." Noon did see him master of Paris; but,
loose as was his estimate of the sacredness of his office, he was
still Archbishop-Coadjutor; he could not personally lead the rabble,
or publicly instigate the citizens to rebellion. A man of straw must
represent him, and do what he dared not—harangue at the crosses and
corners of the streets, head the popular assemblies, and generally
excite the passions of the turbulent Parisians to fever heat. This man
of straw was found in the Duc de Beaufort, grandson of Henri Quatre,
through Gabrielle d'Estrées,—a dandy, a swaggerer, but a warrior.
Now the Duc de Beaufort, hot-headed and giddy, without either judgment
or principles, cares little for either Cardinal, Coadjutor, or
Queen,—is utterly indifferent as to who may rule or who may serve,
provided always his own claims, as prince of the blood, to the most
lucrative posts are admitted. But he does care very much for an affront
offered to the Duchesse de Montbazon, of whom he is desperately
enamoured.
The Duchesse de Montbazon, stepmother of the Duchesse de Chevreuse,
and lady in waiting to the Queen, finds late one evening, on returning
to her hotel, two love-letters dropped on the floor of her private
closet. One is from a gentleman, the other is from a lady; both are
unsigned. She of course at once decides that the handwriting of the
one is that of the lady she most hates, that of the other, the lover
of that same lady, whom she hates even more, if possible, than the
lady herself. Now the lady whom she hates most is the Duchesse de
Longueville, younger, more attractive, and more powerful than herself.
The gentleman she selects is the Count de Coligni, who had deserted her
for the sake of the Duchess. The next morning, at the Queen's lever,
Madame de Montbazon shows these two love-letters to every one, and
being the mistress of a caustic tongue, makes some diverting remarks on
their contents. Her words are repeated to the Duchesse de Longueville;
she denies the fact altogether. Her mother, the Princesse de Condé,
Charlotte de Montmorenci, broadly hints to Anne of Austria that the
Prince de Condé, the greatest general France had ever possessed
since the days of the Constable de Bourbon, will join the malcontent
parliament, nay, may even lead Spain into France, if her Majesty does
not instantly cause the Duchesse de Montbazon to retract all she has
said of his sister. Such is patriotism under the Regency! The Queen,
overwhelmed by the clamour of the two duchesses, invokes the help of
Cardinal Mazarin. The Cardinal, in his Italian-French, soothes and
persuades both, muttering many classic oaths of _Cospetto_ and _Corpo
di Bacco_ under his breath. He goes to and fro between the ladies,
flatters both, and proposes terms of apology. Every suggestion is
objected to; an hour is spent over each word. Such a negotiation is
far more difficult than the government of France. All conclusion seems
impossible, the Queen at last speaks with authority. She says that
"if Madame de Montbazon will not retract, she shall lose her place at
Court."
So Spain is not at this time to invade France under the command of
Condé, and the Duchesse de Longueville is to receive an apology.
The apology is to be made at the Hôtel de Condé. The Duchesse de
Longueville—a superb blonde, with melting blue eyes, golden-brown hair,
transparent complexion, and a dazzling neck and shoulders, a coronet
of orient pearls and a red feather on her head, a chaplet of the same
jewels clasping her throat, wearing a robe of blue tissue, bordered
and worked with pearls—stands in the great saloon of her father's
ancestral palace. Her feet rest on a dais of cloth of gold and silver;
the dais is covered by a canopy spangled with stars. The walls of the
saloon are covered with bright frescoes of birds, fruit, and flowers,
panelled into golden frames. Four great chandeliers of crystal and
silver are placed on pedestals at each corner of the room, lighting up
a glittering crowd of princes and princesses of the blood who stand
beside the Duchess on the estrade. The greatest nobles of France are
present. The doors are flung open, and the Duchesse de Montbazon, a
dainty brunette, brilliant, audacious, enticing, who, although forty,
is still in the zenith of her charms, flashes into the room in full
court costume, her sacque (or train) of amber satin brocaded with gold
reaching many yards behind her. The colour on her cheeks is heightened
either by rouge or passion; her eyes glitter, and her whole bearing is
of one who would say, "I _must_ do this, but I defy you." She knows
that all the gentlemen take part with her, if the ladies side with
her enemy. She walks straight up to the dais on which the Duchesse de
Longueville, _née_ Princesse de Condé, stands, stops, looks her full
in the face, then leisurely and with the utmost unconcern casts her
eyes round on the company, smiles sweetly to the Duc de Beaufort, and
bows to those princes and nobles who are her champions, particularly to
the Ducs d'Orléans and de Guise. Then she unfolds her painted fan, and
with insolent unconcern reads what follows from a slip of pink paper
attached to one of the jewelled sticks:
"Madame, I come here to assure your highness that I am quite innocent
of any intention of injuring you. Had it not been so I would humbly beg
your pardon, and willingly submit to any punishment her Majesty might
see fit to impose on me. I entreat you, therefore, to believe that I
have never failed in the esteem which your virtues command, nor in the
respect due to your high rank."
The Duchesse de Longueville's soft blue eyes, usually incapable of
any other expression but tenderness or supplication, look absolutely
wicked, so defiant is the bearing of Madame de Montbazon. She advances
to the edge of the estrade, draws herself up with an imperious air, and
casting a haughty glance at her rival, who, crimson in the face, is
fanning herself violently and ogling the Duc de Beaufort, reading
also from her fan, pronounces the following words, dictated by Cardinal
Mazarin:
"Madame, I am willing to believe that you took no part in the calumny
which has been circulated to my prejudice. I make this acknowledgment
in deference to the commands of the Queen."
Thus ends the quarrel; but not the consequences. The whole Court and
city is in an uproar. The citizens are deeply interested, and to a man
take part with the _chère amie_ of Beaufort against the Duchesse de
Longueville, and against Condé and Mazarin.
[Illustration: THE GRAND CONDÉ.]
Condé is not sure if he will not after all lead the Spaniards against
France. The Duchesse de Montbazon feeds the flame for her private ends.
She lays all the blame of her humiliation on Cardinal Mazarin, which
exasperates Beaufort to madness. She incites Henri, Duc de Guise,
another of her adorers—the wildest, bravest, and most dissolute of
princes—to challenge the Comte de Coligni, whom she had designated as
the writer of one of the love-letters. A duel is fought in the Place
Royale. The Duchesse de Montbazon watches the while out of a window
of the palace of the Duc de Rohan, her cousin. Coligni is killed. He
falls, it is said, into the arms of the Duchesse de Longueville, who is
present on the Place, disguised as a page.
The Duc de Beaufort, whose turbulent folly foreshadows the _grand
seigneur_ of later reigns and almost excuses the great Revolution,
refuses to receive a royal herald, sent to him by the Queen, turns his
back upon her Majesty at her lever, and threatens the life of the
Cardinal. The Duchesse de Montbazon is banished.
[Illustration: Cardinal Mazarin as an Art Collector.
From the painting by H. J. Vetter.
(With permission of Neurdein Frères, Paris.)]