MIDNIGHT VISITORS.
The Queen could no longer appear in the streets without insult. The mob
laughed in her face, and called her _Madame Anne_. They saluted Mazarin
with howls, as her _bon ami_; some said _amant_. The words sound much
alike when shouted by a mob, and are not indeed always different in
point of fact. Gondi, in the parliament, uttered thrilling words about
_la belle France_ going to perdition between a Spanish regent and an
Italian minister. No president was found to rebuke him. Indeed when he
demanded that the law respecting aliens holding office of state, passed
against Concini (Maréchal d'Ancre) in the regency of Marie de' Medici,
should be amended to suit the present crisis, his words were received
with such a fury of applause that the roof was very nearly brought down
about his head. Yet if any single member of that noisy parliament had
been asked what national misfortune he dreaded, what unpunished crime,
what neglect, or what personal hardship he desired to redress, he would
have found it difficult to answer. It was the fashion for every one
to be discontented and to rebel. If citizens, to call themselves
_Frondeurs_; if nobles, _Importants_. To object to everything; to
harass the Government, refuse to pay taxes and subsidies; and to
threaten to call in Spain on the most trivial pretences. And this
because two duchesses had quarrelled, and certain hungry princes had
lost the sinecures they craved for. Thus began the civil war of the
Fronde, which lasted during the whole of the minority of Louis XIV.
Mazarin, when he heard that the parliament, lashed on by Gondi, the
Coadjutor, seriously proposed to revive an obsolete law, which would
connect his name with that of Concini, who had been shot down like
a dog within the precincts of the Louvre, was alarmed. Not being
a soldier like Richelieu, nor a patriot like De Retz, but only a
soft-spoken Italian, with a slight frame,—no unnecessary bones or
muscles,—long thin hands, and a sallow, womanish face, he applied to
the all-powerful Condé for help. Condé effected a compromise with
Gondi. So no more was heard of the obnoxious law at that particular
time. But the parliament had, like a young lion, tasted blood in
the way of power, liked it, and was not to be appeased. Spite of
Condé, seditious edicts and offensive measures, all suggested by the
Coadjutor, continued to be passed; and Mazarin shut himself up within
four walls, fearing for his very life.
It is night and very dark; only a few ill-trimmed lamps placed on
pulleys across the street, and under the signs of the various shops,
at long distances from each other, cast a dim and flickering light.
The unpaved streets are muddy and full of holes; a mob is collecting
in the darkness between the Louvre, the Church of Saint-Germain
l'Auxerrois, and the garden of the Palais Royal. It thickens every
moment; group after group of men and some women emerge from the gloom.
They pour down from Saint-Jacques and from Saint-Antoine, from the
quays and the heart of the old Roman city about Notre-Dame and the
Hôtel Dieu. They gather from all quarters. Before an hour has passed, a
dense multitude, many thousands in number, are packed together. Those
who stand under the dim lamps have a dogged, resolute look. All eyes
are directed towards the Palais Royal, separated by a high wall from
the street. The huge building rises up a gaunt mass before them. Not a
light is to be seen at any of the windows; not a sentinel is visible,
they are withdrawn within the postern. Threats and oaths and ribald
jests pass from mouth to mouth loudly and without fear; savage cries
and shouts of laughter ring along the silent streets. Anne of Austria,
with her two sons, is within the palace. She is quite aware what is
passing without. From an upper window, in a darkened room, she watches
the citizens pressing closer and closer to the gates. From amid the
tumult, groans and imprecations are now audible; the words reach her
ears. "Where is the little King?" cries one. "We will see him!" shrieks
another. "You fool! he is not here," answers a third, a smith, as black
as his forge, from the slums of Saint-Antoine. "Why not? where should
he be but at home?" another voice asks. "We will force the gates, and
find him!" roars a stumpy man, with stentorian voice, shaking his fist,
and struggling to the front. "Find him! where will you find him? he
is in Spain," shouts one at his elbow. "Curses on the Italian priest!"
howl many voices in horrible chorus. This cry excites the entire
multitude to frenzy; it is taken up from all parts, and a volley of
groans and curses for a time drowns all else. The crowd surges to and
fro, like breakers on a rocky shore. Each moment it approaches nearer
the palace. A tall spare man, an emissary of De Retz, who all along
has taken an active part in inciting the people, seizes on the moment
as propitious, and calls out in a loud voice, "Death to Mazarin!"
Thousands re-echo, "Death to Mazarin!" With hideous gesticulations
they throw their arms aloft; caps fly into the air; innumerable hands
are clapped in savage applause. "Death to Mazarin!" passes down the
lines of the long streets. It is heard at the crossways, and at every
side alley and opening, dying away in the far distance into indistinct
murmurs.
[Illustration: CARDINAL DE RETZ.]
The Queen hears this death-cry standing at the darkened window, and
trembles. Again the maddened people shout, "Death to Mazarin!" and
again, "Death!" is echoed from afar. "He has spirited away our little
Louis into Spain to kill him!" "He has murdered the Regent!" yells out
the tall, spare man, forcing his way hither and thither. "Death to
the traitor!" "To the gallows with all foreigners!" is the murderous
response of the mob.
Fresh cries now arise, led by the tall, spare man with the powerful
voice. "_Vive_ Gondi, our noble bishop! We will have Gondi! the Queen
shall choose Gondi, our Coadjutor!" "Come forth and answer to us, Dame
Anne!" shrieks a woman's shrill voice, very near the palace, during a
momentary lull. "Come forth, or we will break in and shoot you! Where
is our _Roi des Halles_? Where is Beaufort? Come out to us, and speak
like an honest woman! Let Beaufort free!—Give up your lover, Mazarin!"
bellows a fat beldame from the Halles. "Give up the _bon ami_, and
we will roast him at the Grève, and dance round the bonfire!" and
hideous peals of laughter, yells, hisses, and imprecations rise out of
the night. Then, growing impatient, the whole mass, with one accord,
vociferate, "We will see the King! where is the King? Show us the
little King, or we will set fire to the palace. The King! the King!"
A tremendous rush is made from behind; those in front fall down,
screaming that they are killed; others trample upon their bodies. The
gates are forced; the foremost find themselves within the court. Pushed
on by the press from behind, they now stand under the colonnade, then
beneath the portico, on past the Queen's Guards, who, commanded only
to defend, not to attack, stand back, drawn swords in their hands,
darkly eying the rioters. The lofty portals of the Palais Royal are
wide open; there are lights within the ample hall. Beyond is the grand
staircase, with gilded banisters. Finding no obstacle, the rioters
mount the stairs. On the first landing a woman stands, immovable. It
is the Queen. She is alone. She is pale, but betrays no fear. The rude
intruders draw back, amazed at the vision of majesty and loveliness
before them. Anne of Austria beckons to them to advance. She places
her finger on her lip, commanding silence. The rabble, before so
noisy, are instantly hushed as by a charm. Signing to the foremost to
follow her, she leads the way, through sumptuous chambers and vaulted
galleries, to the King's sleeping-room. She approaches his little bed
of gilt lattice-work, and gently drawing aside the lace curtains,
displays Louis XIV. in the sound and tranquil sleep of childhood. The
citizen _Frondeurs_ are satisfied. The mothers bless his baby face and
rich auburn curls. The men contemplate the Queen with awe. She stands
beside the bed, surveying them with royal unconcern. When they have
stared their full at the little King and at her, those who have already
entered turn back. No others dare approach. Ashamed and silent, they
retreat across the halls and through sculptured galleries in a very
different spirit to that in which they came.
* * * * *
Anne of Austria grows more and more devout. She spends long hours in
her oratory, prostrate before an image of the Magdalene. She often
retires to the Val de Grâce, where she has built a splendid church, as
a thank-offering for the birth of her sons. For days together she wears
closely fitting serge dresses, buttoned up to the throat, like a lay
nun. She fasts, and chastises herself with a severity proper alike to a
sinner or a saint.
Yet there are whispers, and confidences, and anecdotes touching her
intimacy with Cardinal Mazarin, not quite in accordance with such
excessive austerity.
It is a _liaison_ too public for intrigue, uneasy enough for marriage!
The constant reproaches she addresses to her ladies in waiting for
their lack of devotion, tends rather to enrage than to edify these
pretty sinners. Mademoiselle de Pons, with a smile and a toss of the
head, draws Mademoiselle de la Mothe into a corner, and repeats some
hard words the Queen has spoken to her. Mademoiselle de Hautefort, of a
quick, impulsive temperament, is continually either in a passion or in
tears. The Duchesse de Chevreuse is usually grave, and more silent than
she ever was before. The Duchesse de Noailles, lady of the bedchamber,
her attendance at the Palais Royal over, orders her coach, and, in
company with the Duchesse de Sennécy, returns home to her _hôtel_ in
the Place Royale, in a very bad humour. Here a party of ladies, "her
nineteen bosom friends," are awaiting her arrival. They are all eager
for gossip, and all pledged to a vow of eternal secrecy, a promise they
will keep as long as the retailer of the scandal is speaking. Coffee
has been handed round in delicate cups of Oriental porcelain. Bonbons
and cakes, served on trays of gold _repoussé_, have been discussed; the
ladies lean back in their chairs, to listen with greater ease. Then
the Duchesse de Noailles, addressing herself particularly to Madame de
Sennécy and a certain Comtesse de Lude, remarkable for a thin pinched
face and a very red nose, begins.
[Illustration: ANNE OF AUSTRIA.]