Gondy continued his way and went as far as the Tour de Nesle. There he
saw a lengthy chain of people gliding under the walls. They might be
said to be a procession of ghosts, for they were all wrapped in white
cloaks. When they reached a certain spot these men appeared to be
annihilated, one after the other, as if the earth had opened under their
feet. Gondy, edged into a corner, saw them vanish from the first until
the last but one. The last raised his eyes, to ascertain, doubtless,
that neither his companions nor himself had been watched, and, in spite
of the darkness, he perceived Gondy. He walked straight up to him and
placed a pistol to his throat.
"Halloo! Monsieur de Rochefort," said Gondy, laughing, "are you a boy to
play with firearms?"
Rochefort recognized the voice.
"Ah, it is you, my lord!" said he.
"The very same. What people are you leading thus into the bowels of the
earth?"
"My fifty recruits from the Chevalier d’Humieres, who are destined to
enter the light cavalry and who have only received as yet for their
equipment their white cloaks."
"And where are you going?"
"To the house of one of my friends, a sculptor, only we enter by the
trap through which he lets down his marble."
"Very good," said Gondy, shaking Rochefort by the hand, who descended in
his turn and closed the trap after him.
It was now one o’clock in the morning and the coadjutor returned home.
He opened a window and leaned out to listen. A strange,
incomprehensible, unearthly sound seemed to pervade the whole city; one
felt that something unusual and terrible was happening in all the
streets, now dark as ocean’s most unfathomable caves. From time to time
a dull sound was heard, like that of a rising tempest or a billow of the
sea; but nothing clear, nothing distinct, nothing intelligible; it was
like those mysterious subterraneous noises that precede an earthquake.
The work of revolt continued the whole night thus. The next morning, on
awaking, Paris seemed to be startled at her own appearance. It was like
a besieged town. Armed men, shouldering muskets, watched over the
barricades with menacing looks; words of command, patrols, arrests,
executions, even, were encountered at every step. Those bearing plumed
hats and gold swords were stopped and made to cry, "Long live Broussel!"
"Down with Mazarin!" and whoever refused to comply with this ceremony
was hooted at, spat upon and even beaten. They had not yet begun to
slay, but it was well felt that the inclination to do so was not
wanting.
The barricades had been pushed as far as the Palais Royal. From the Rue
de Bons Enfants to that of the Ferronnerie, from the Rue Saint
Thomas-du-Louvre to the Pont Neuf, from the Rue Richelieu to the Porte
Saint Honore, there were more than ten thousand armed men; those who
were at the front hurled defiance at the impassive sentinels of the
regiment of guards posted around the Palais Royal, the gates of which
were closed behind them, a precaution which made their situation
precarious. Among these thousands moved, in bands numbering from one
hundred to two hundred, pale and haggard men, clothed in rags, who bore
a sort of standard on which was inscribed these words: "Behold the
misery of the people!" Wherever these men passed, frenzied cries were
heard; and there were so many of these bands that the cries were to be
heard in all directions.
The astonishment of Mazarin and of Anne of Austria was great when it was
announced to them that the city, which the previous evening they had
left entirely tranquil, had awakened to such feverish commotion; nor
would either the one or the other believe the reports that were brought
to them, declaring they would rather rely on the evidence of their own
eyes and ears. Then a window was opened and when they saw and heard they
were convinced.
Mazarin shrugged his shoulders and pretended to despise the populace;
but he turned visibly pale and ran to his closet, trembling all over,
locked up his gold and jewels in his caskets and put his finest diamonds
on his fingers. As for the queen, furious, and left to her own guidance,
she went for the Marechal de la Meilleraie and desired him to take as
many men as he pleased and to go and see what was the meaning of this
pleasantry.
The marshal was ordinarily very adventurous and was wont to hesitate at
nothing; and he had that lofty contempt for the populace which army
officers usually profess. He took a hundred and fifty men and attempted
to go out by the Pont du Louvre, but there he met Rochefort and his
fifty horsemen, attended by more than five hundred men. The marshal made
no attempt to force that barrier and returned up the quay. But at Pont
Neuf he found Louvieres and his bourgeois. This time the marshal
charged, but he was welcomed by musket shots, while stones fell like
hail from all the windows. He left there three men.
He beat a retreat toward the market, but there he met Planchet with his
halberdiers; their halberds were leveled at him threateningly. He
attempted to ride over those gray cloaks, but the gray cloaks held their
ground and the marshal retired toward the Rue Saint Honore, leaving four
of his guards dead on the field of battle.
The marshal then entered the Rue Saint Honore, but there he was opposed
by the barricades of the mendicant of Saint Eustache. They were guarded,
not only by armed men, but even by women and children. Master Friquet,
the owner of a pistol and of a sword which Louvieres had given him, had
organized a company of rogues like himself and was making a tremendous
racket.
The marshal thought this barrier not so well fortified as the others and
determined to break through it. He dismounted twenty men to make a
breach in the barricade, whilst he and others, remaining on their
horses, were to protect the assailants. The twenty men marched straight
toward the barrier, but from behind the beams, from among the
wagon-wheels and from the heights of the rocks a terrible fusillade
burst forth and at the same time Planchet’s halberdiers appeared at the
corner of the Cemetery of the Innocents, and Louvieres’s bourgeois at
the corner of the Rue de la Monnaie.
The Marechal de la Meilleraie was caught between two fires, but he was
brave and made up his mind to die where he was. He returned blow for
blow and cries of pain began to be heard in the crowd. The guards, more
skillful, did greater execution; but the bourgeois, more numerous,
overwhelmed them with a veritable hurricane of iron. Men fell around him
as they had fallen at Rocroy or at Lerida. Fontrailles, his
aide-de-camp, had an arm broken; his horse had received a bullet in his
neck and he had difficulty in controlling him, maddened by pain. In
short, he had reached that supreme moment when the bravest feel a
shudder in their veins, when suddenly, in the direction of the Rue de
l’Arbre-Sec, the crowd opened, crying: "Long live the coadjutor!" and
Gondy, in surplice and cloak, appeared, moving tranquilly in the midst
of the fusillade and bestowing his benedictions to the right and left,
as undisturbed as if he were leading a procession of the Fete Dieu.
All fell to their knees. The marshal recognized him and hastened to meet
him.
"Get me out of this, in Heaven’s name!" he said, "or I shall leave my
carcass here and those of all my men."
A great tumult arose, in the midst of which even the noise of thunder
could not have been heard. Gondy raised his hand and demanded silence.
All were still.
"My children," he said, "this is the Marechal de la Meilleraie, as to
whose intentions you have been deceived and who pledges himself, on
returning to the Louvre, to demand of the queen, in your name, our
Broussel’s release. You pledge yourself to that, marshal?" added Gondy,
turning to La Meilleraie.
"Morbleu!" cried the latter, "I should say that I do pledge myself to
it! I had no hope of getting off so easily."
"He gives you his word of honor," said Gondy.
The marshal raised his hand in token of assent.
"Long live the coadjutor!" cried the crowd. Some voices even added:
"Long live the marshal!" But all took up the cry in chorus: "Down with
Mazarin!"
The crowd gave place, the barricade was opened, and the marshal, with
the remnant of his company, retreated, preceded by Friquet and his
bandits, some of them making a presence of beating drums and others
imitating the sound of the trumpet. It was almost a triumphal
procession; only, behind the guards the barricades were closed again.
The marshal bit his fingers.
In the meantime, as we have said, Mazarin was in his closet, putting his
affairs in order. He called for D’Artagnan, but in the midst of such
tumult he little expected to see him, D’Artagnan not being on service.
In about ten minutes D’Artagnan appeared at the door, followed by the
inseparable Porthos.
"Ah, come in, come in, Monsieur d’Artagnan!" cried the cardinal, "and
welcome your friend too. But what is going on in this accursed Paris?"
"What is going on, my lord? nothing good," replied D’Artagnan, shaking
his head. "The town is in open revolt, and just now, as I was crossing
the Rue Montorgueil with Monsieur du Vallon, who is here, and is your
humble servant, they wanted in spite of my uniform, or perhaps because
of my uniform, to make us cry ’Long live Broussel!’ and must I tell you,
my lord what they wished us to cry as well?"
"Speak, speak."
"’Down with Mazarin!’ I’faith, the treasonable word is out."
Mazarin smiled, but became very pale.
"And you did cry?" he asked.
"I’faith, no," said D’Artagnan; "I was not in voice; Monsieur du Vallon
has a cold and did not cry either. Then, my lord----"
"Then what?" asked Mazarin.
"Look at my hat and cloak."
And D’Artagnan displayed four gunshot holes in his cloak and two in his
beaver. As for Porthos’s coat, a blow from a halberd had cut it open on
the flank and a pistol shot had cut his feather in two.
"Diavolo!" said the cardinal, pensively gazing at the two friends with
lively admiration; "I should have cried, I should."
At this moment the tumult was heard nearer.
Mazarin wiped his forehead and looked around him. He had a great desire
to go to the window, but he dared not.
"See what is going on, Monsieur D’Artagnan," said he.
D’Artagnan went to the window with his habitual composure. "Oho!" said
he, "what is this? Marechal de la Meilleraie returning without a
hat--Fontrailles with his arm in a sling--wounded guards--horses
bleeding; eh, then, what are the sentinels about? They are aiming--they
are going to fire!"
"They have received orders to fire on the people if the people approach
the Palais Royal!" exclaimed Mazarin.
"But if they fire, all is lost!" cried D’Artagnan.
"We have the gates."
"The gates! to hold for five minutes--the gates, they will be torn down,
twisted into iron wire, ground to powder! God’s death, don’t fire!"
screamed D’Artagnan, throwing open the window.
In spite of this recommendation, which, owing to the noise, could
scarcely have been heard, two or three musket shots resounded, succeeded
by a terrible discharge. The balls might be heard peppering the facade
of the Palais Royal, and one of them, passing under D’Artagnan’s arm,
entered and broke a mirror, in which Porthos was complacently admiring
himself.
"Alack! alack!" cried the cardinal, "a Venetian glass!"
"Oh, my lord," said D’Artagnan, quietly shutting the window, "it is not
worth while weeping yet, for probably an hour hence there will not be
one of your mirrors remaining in the Palais Royal, whether they be
Venetian or Parisian."
"But what do you advise, then?" asked Mazarin, trembling.
"Eh, egad, to give up Broussel as they demand! What the devil do you
want with a member of the parliament? He is of no earthly use to
anybody."
"And you, Monsieur du Vallon, is that your advice? What would you do?"
"I should give up Broussel," said Porthos.
"Come, come with me, gentlemen!" exclaimed Mazarin. "I will go and
discuss the matter with the queen."
He stopped at the end of the corridor and said:
"I can count upon you, gentlemen, can I not?"
"We do not give ourselves twice over," said D’Artagnan; "we have given
ourselves to you; command, we shall obey."
"Very well, then," said Mazarin; "enter this cabinet and wait till I
come back."
And turning off he entered the drawing-room by another door.
48. The Riot becomes a Revolution.
The closet into which D’Artagnan and Porthos had been ushered was
separated from the drawing-room where the queen was by tapestried
curtains only, and this thin partition enabled them to hear all that
passed in the adjoining room, whilst the aperture between the two
hangings, small as it was, permitted them to see.
The queen was standing in the room, pale with anger; her self-control,
however, was so great that it might have been imagined that she was
calm. Comminges, Villequier and Guitant were behind her and the women
again were behind the men. The Chancellor Sequier, who twenty years
previously had persecuted her so ruthlessly, stood before her, relating
how his carriage had been smashed, how he had been pursued and had
rushed into the Hotel d’O----, that the hotel was immediately invaded,
pillaged and devastated; happily he had time to reach a closet hidden
behind tapestry, in which he was secreted by an old woman, together with
his brother, the Bishop of Meaux. Then the danger was so imminent, the
rioters came so near, uttering such threats, that the chancellor thought
his last hour had come and confessed himself to his brother priest, so
as to be all ready to die in case he was discovered. Fortunately,
however, he had not been taken; the people, believing that he had
escaped by some back entrance, retired and left him at liberty to
retreat. Then, disguised in the clothes of the Marquis d’O----, he had
left the hotel, stumbling over the bodies of an officer and two guards
who had been killed whilst defending the street door.
During the recital Mazarin entered and glided noiselessly up to the
queen to listen.
"Well," said the queen, when the chancellor had finished speaking; "what
do you think of it all?"
"I think that matters look very gloomy, madame."
"But what step would you propose to me?"
"I could propose one to your majesty, but I dare not."
"You may, you may, sir," said the queen with a bitter smile; "you were
not so timid once."
The chancellor reddened and stammered some words.
"It is not a question of the past, but of the present," said the queen;
"you said you could give me advice--what is it?"
"Madame," said the chancellor, hesitating, "it would be to release
Broussel."
The queen, although already pale, became visibly paler and her face was
contracted.
"Release Broussel!" she cried, "never!"
At this moment steps were heard in the ante-room and without any
announcement the Marechal de la Meilleraie appeared at the door.
"Ah, there you are, marechal," cried Anne of Austria joyfully. "I trust
you have brought this rabble to reason."
"Madame," replied the marechal, "I have left three men on the Pont Neuf,
four at the Halle, six at the corner of the Rue de l’Arbre-Sec and two
at the door of your palace--fifteen in all. I have brought away ten or
twelve wounded. I know not where I have left my hat, and in all
probability I should have been left with my hat, had the coadjutor not
arrived in time to rescue me."
"Ah, indeed," said the queen, "it would have much astonished me if that
low cur, with his distorted legs, had not been mixed up with all this."
"Madame," said La Meilleraie, "do not say too much against him before
me, for the service he rendered me is still fresh."
"Very good," said the queen, "be as grateful as you like, it does not
implicate me; you are here safe and sound, that is all I wished for; you
are not only welcome, but welcome back."
"Yes, madame; but I only came back on one condition--that I would
transmit to your majesty the will of the people."
"The will!" exclaimed the queen, frowning. "Oh! oh! monsieur marechal,
you must indeed have found yourself in wondrous peril to have undertaken
so strange a commission!"
The irony with which these words were uttered did not escape the
marechal.
"Pardon, madame," he said, "I am not a lawyer, I am a mere soldier, and
probably, therefore, I do not quite comprehend the value of certain
words; I ought to have said the wishes, and not the will, of the people.
As for what you do me the honor to say, I presume you mean I was
afraid?"
The queen smiled.
"Well, then, madame, yes, I did feel fear; and though I have been
through twelve pitched battles and I cannot count how many charges and
skirmishes, I own for the third time in my life I was afraid. Yes, and I
would rather face your majesty, however threatening your smile, than
face those demons who accompanied me hither and who sprung from I know
not whence, unless from deepest hell."
("Bravo," said D’Artagnan in a whisper to Porthos; "well answered.")
"Well," said the queen, biting her lips, whilst her courtiers looked at
each other with surprise, "what is the desire of my people?"
"That Broussel shall be given up to them, madame."
"Never!" said the queen, "never!"
"Your majesty is mistress," said La Meilleraie, retreating a few steps.
"Where are you going, marechal?" asked the queen.
"To give your majesty’s reply to those who await it."
"Stay, marechal; I will not appear to parley with rebels."
"Madame, I have pledged my word, and unless you order me to be arrested
I shall be forced to return."
Anne of Austria’s eyes shot glances of fire.
"Oh! that is no impediment, sir," said she; "I have had greater men than
you arrested--Guitant!"
Mazarin sprang forward.
"Madame," said he, "if I dared in my turn advise----"
"Would it be to give up Broussel, sir? If so, you can spare yourself the
trouble."
"No," said Mazarin; "although, perhaps, that counsel is as good as any
other."
"Then what may it be?"
"To call for monsieur le coadjuteur."
"The coadjutor!" cried the queen, "that dreadful mischief maker! It is
he who has raised all this revolt."
"The more reason," said Mazarin; "if he has raised it he can put it
down."
"And hold, madame," suggested Comminges, who was near a window, out of
which he could see; "hold, the moment is a happy one, for there he is
now, giving his blessing in the square of the Palais Royal."
The queen sprang to the window.
"It is true," she said, "the arch hypocrite--see!"
"I see," said Mazarin, "that everybody kneels before him, although he be
but coadjutor, whilst I, were I in his place, though I am cardinal,
should be torn to pieces. I persist, then, madame, in my wish" (he laid
an emphasis on the word), "that your majesty should receive the
coadjutor."
"And wherefore do you not say, like the rest, your will?" replied the
queen, in a low voice.
Mazarin bowed.
"Monsieur le marechal," said the queen, after a moment’s reflection, "go
and find the coadjutor and bring him to me."
"And what shall I say to the people?"
"That they must have patience," said Anne, "as I have."
The fiery Spanish woman spoke in a tone so imperative that the marechal
made no reply; he bowed and went out.
(D’Artagnan turned to Porthos. "How will this end?" he said.
"We shall soon see," said Porthos, in his tranquil way.)
In the meantime Anne of Austria approached Comminges and conversed with
him in a subdued tone, whilst Mazarin glanced uneasily at the corner
occupied by D’Artagnan and Porthos. Ere long the door opened and the
marechal entered, followed by the coadjutor.
"There, madame," he said, "is Monsieur Gondy, who hastens to obey your
majesty’s summons."
The queen advanced a few steps to meet him, and then stopped, cold,
severe, unmoved, with her lower lip scornfully protruded.
Gondy bowed respectfully.
"Well, sir," said the queen, "what is your opinion of this riot?"
"That it is no longer a riot, madame," he replied, "but a revolt."
"The revolt is at the door of those who think my people can rebel,"
cried Anne, unable to dissimulate before the coadjutor, whom she looked
upon, and probably with reason, as the promoter of the tumult. "Revolt!
thus it is called by those who have wished for this demonstration and
who are, perhaps, the cause of it; but, wait, wait! the king’s authority
will put all this to rights."
"Was it to tell me that, madame," coldly replied Gondy, "that your
majesty admitted me to the honor of entering your presence?"
"No, my dear coadjutor," said Mazarin; "it was to ask your advice in the
unhappy dilemma in which we find ourselves."
"Is it true," asked Gondy, feigning astonishment, "that her majesty
summoned me to ask for my opinion?"
"Yes," said the queen, "it is requested."
The coadjutor bowed.
"Your majesty wishes, then----"
"You to say what you would do in her place," Mazarin hastened to reply.
The coadjutor looked at the queen, who replied by a sign in the
affirmative.
"Were I in her majesty’s place," said Gondy, coldly, "I should not
hesitate; I should release Broussel."
"And if I do not give him up, what think you will be the result?"
exclaimed the queen.
"I believe that not a stone in Paris will remain unturned," put in the
marechal.
"It was not your opinion that I asked," said the queen, sharply, without
even turning around.
"If it is I whom your majesty interrogates," replied the coadjutor in
the same calm manner, "I reply that I hold monsieur le marechal’s
opinion in every respect."
The color mounted to the queen’s face; her fine blue eyes seemed to
start out of her head and her carmine lips, compared by all the poets of
the day to a pomegranate in flower, were trembling with anger. Mazarin
himself, who was well accustomed to the domestic outbreaks of this
disturbed household, was alarmed.
"Give up Broussel!" she cried; "fine counsel, indeed. Upon my word! one
can easily see it comes from a priest."
Gondy remained firm, and the abuse of the day seemed to glide over his
head as the sarcasms of the evening before had done; but hatred and
revenge were accumulating in his heart silently and drop by drop. He
looked coldly at the queen, who nudged Mazarin to make him say something
in his turn.
Mazarin, according to his custom, was thinking much and saying little.
"Ho! ho!" said he, "good advice, advice of a friend. I, too, would give
up that good Monsieur Broussel, dead or alive, and all would be at an
end."
"If you yield him dead, all will indeed be at an end, my lord, but quite
otherwise than you mean."
"Did I say ’dead or alive?’" replied Mazarin. "It was only a way of
speaking. You know I am not familiar with the French language, which
you, monsieur le coadjuteur, both speak and write so well."
("This is a council of state," D’Artagnan remarked to Porthos; "but we
held better ones at La Rochelle, with Athos and Aramis."
"At the Saint Gervais bastion," said Porthos.
"There and elsewhere.")
The coadjutor let the storm pass over his head and resumed, still with
the same tranquillity:
"Madame, if the opinion I have submitted to you does not please you it
is doubtless because you have better counsels to follow. I know too well
the wisdom of the queen and that of her advisers to suppose that they
will leave the capital long in trouble that may lead to a revolution."
"Thus, then, it is your opinion," said Anne of Austria, with a sneer and
biting her lips with rage, "that yesterday’s riot, which to-day is
already a rebellion, to-morrow may become a revolution?"
"Yes, madame," replied the coadjutor, gravely.
"But if I am to believe you, sir, the people seem to have thrown off all
restraint."
"It is a bad year for kings," said Gondy, shaking his head; "look at
England, madame."
"Yes; but fortunately we have no Oliver Cromwell in France," replied the
queen.
"Who knows?" said Gondy; "such men are like thunderbolts--one recognizes
them only when they have struck."
Every one shuddered and there was a moment of silence, during which the
queen pressed her hand to her side, evidently to still the beatings of
her heart.
("Porthos," murmured D’Artagnan, "look well at that priest."
"Yes," said Porthos, "I see him. What then?"
"Well, he is a man."
Porthos looked at D’Artagnan in astonishment. Evidently he did not
understand his meaning.)
"Your majesty," continued the coadjutor, pitilessly, "is about to take
such measures as seem good to you, but I foresee that they will be
violent and such as will still further exasperate the rioters."
"In that case, you, monsieur le coadjuteur, who have such power over
them and are at the same time friendly to us," said the queen,
ironically, "will quiet them by bestowing your blessing upon them."
"Perhaps it will be too late," said Gondy, still unmoved; "perhaps I
shall have lost all influence; while by giving up Broussel your majesty
will strike at the root of the sedition and will gain the right to
punish severely any revival of the revolt."
"Have I not, then, that right?" cried the queen.
"If you have it, use it," replied Gondy.
("Peste!" said D’Artagnan to Porthos. "There is a man after my own
heart. Oh! if he were minister and I were his D’Artagnan, instead of
belonging to that beast of a Mazarin, mordieu! what fine things we would
do together!"
"Yes," said Porthos.)
The queen made a sign for every one, except Mazarin, to quit the room;
and Gondy bowed, as if to leave with the rest.
"Stay, sir," said Anne to him.
"Good," thought Gondy, "she is going to yield."
("She is going to have him killed," said D’Artagnan to Porthos, "but at
all events it shall not be by me. I swear to Heaven, on the contrary,
that if they fall upon him I will fall upon them."
"And I, too," said Porthos.)
"Good," muttered Mazarin, sitting down, "we shall soon see something
startling."
The queen’s eyes followed the retreating figures and when the last had
closed the door she turned away. It was evident that she was making
unnatural efforts to subdue her anger; she fanned herself, smelled at
her vinaigrette and walked up and down. Gondy, who began to feel uneasy,
examined the tapestry with his eyes, touched the coat of mail which he
wore under his long gown and felt from time to time to see if the handle
of a good Spanish dagger, which was hidden under his cloak, was well
within reach.
"And now," at last said the queen, "now that we are alone, repeat your
counsel, monsieur le coadjuteur."
"It is this, madame: that you should appear to have reflected, and
publicly acknowledge an error, which constitutes the extra strength of a
strong government; release Broussel from prison and give him back to the
people."
"Oh!" cried Anne, "to humble myself thus! Am I, or am I not, the queen?
This screaming mob, are they, or are they not, my subjects? Have I
friends? Have I guards? Ah! by Notre Dame! as Queen Catherine used to
say," continued she, excited by her own words, "rather than give up this
infamous Broussel to them I will strangle him with my own hands!"
And she sprang toward Gondy, whom assuredly at that moment she hated
more than Broussel, with outstretched arms. The coadjutor remained
immovable and not a muscle of his face was discomposed; only his glance
flashed like a sword in returning the furious looks of the queen.
("He were a dead man" said the Gascon, "if there were still a Vitry at
the court and if Vitry entered at this moment; but for my part, before
he could reach the good prelate I would kill Vitry at once; the cardinal
would be infinitely pleased with me."
"Hush!" said Porthos; "listen.")
"Madame," cried the cardinal, seizing hold of Anne and drawing her back,
"Madame, what are you about?"
Then he added in Spanish, "Anne, are you mad? You, a queen to quarrel
like a washerwoman! And do you not perceive that in the person of this
priest is represented the whole people of Paris and that it is dangerous
to insult him at this moment, and if this priest wished it, in an hour
you would be without a crown? Come, then, on another occasion you can be
firm and strong; but to-day is not the proper time; to-day, flatter and
caress, or you are only a common woman."
(At the first words of this address D’Artagnan had seized Porthos’s arm,
which he pressed with gradually increasing force. When Mazarin ceased
speaking he said to Porthos in a low tone:
"Never tell Mazarin that I understand Spanish, or I am a lost man and
you are also."
"All right," said Porthos.)
This rough appeal, marked by the eloquence which characterized Mazarin
when he spoke in Italian or Spanish and which he lost entirely in
speaking French, was uttered with such impenetrable expression that
Gondy, clever physiognomist as he was, had no suspicion of its being
more than a simple warning to be more subdued.
The queen, on her part, thus chided, softened immediately and sat down,
and in an almost weeping voice, letting her arms fall by her side, said:
"Pardon me, sir, and attribute this violence to what I suffer. A woman,
and consequently subject to the weaknesses of my sex, I am alarmed at
the idea of civil war; a queen, accustomed to be obeyed, I am excited at
the first opposition."
"Madame," replied Gondy, bowing, "your majesty is mistaken in qualifying
my sincere advice as opposition. Your majesty has none but submissive
and respectful subjects. It is not the queen with whom the people are
displeased; they ask for Broussel and are only too happy, if you release
him to them, to live under your government."
Mazarin, who at the words, "It is not the queen with whom the people are
displeased," had pricked up his ears, thinking that the coadjutor was
about to speak of the cries, "Down with Mazarin," and pleased with
Gondy’s suppression of this fact, he said with his sweetest voice and
his most gracious expression:
"Madame, credit the coadjutor, who is one of the most able politicians
we have; the first available cardinal’s hat seems to belong already to
his noble brow."
"Ah! how much you have need of me, cunning rogue!" thought Gondy.
("And what will he promise us?" said D’Artagnan. "Peste, if he is giving
away hats like that, Porthos, let us look out and both demand a regiment
to-morrow. Corbleu! let the civil war last but one year and I will have
a constable’s sword gilt for me."
"And for me?" put in Porthos.
"For you? I will give you the baton of the Marechal de la Meilleraie,
who does not seem to be much in favor just now.")
"And so, sir," said the queen, "you are seriously afraid of a public
tumult."
"Seriously," said Gondy, astonished at not having further advanced; "I
fear that when the torrent has broken its embankment it will cause
fearful destruction."
"And I," said the queen, "think that in such a case other embankments
should be raised to oppose it. Go; I will reflect."
Gondy looked at Mazarin, astonished, and Mazarin approached the queen to
speak to her, but at this moment a frightful tumult arose from the
square of the Palais Royal.
Gondy smiled, the queen’s color rose and Mazarin grew even paler.
"What is that again?" he asked.
At this moment Comminges rushed into the room.
"Pardon, your majesty," he cried, "but the people have dashed the
sentinels against the gates and they are now forcing the doors; what are
your commands?"
"Listen, madame," said Gondy.
The moaning of waves, the noise of thunder, the roaring of a volcano,
cannot be compared with the tempest of cries heard at that moment.
"What are my commands?" said the queen.
"Yes, for time presses."
"How many men have you about the Palais Royal?"
"Six hundred."
"Place a hundred around the king and with the remainder sweep away this
mob for me."
"Madame," cried Mazarin, "what are you about?"
"Go!" said the queen.
Comminges went out with a soldier’s passive obedience.
At this moment a monstrous battering was heard. One of the gates began
to yield.
"Oh! madame," cried Mazarin, "you have ruined us all--the king, yourself
and me."
At this cry from the soul of the frightened cardinal, Anne became
alarmed in her turn and would have recalled Comminges.
"It is too late," said Mazarin, tearing his hair, "too late!"
The gale had given way. Hoarse shouts were heard from the excited mob.
D’Artagnan put his hand to his sword, motioning to Porthos to follow his
example.
"Save the queen!" cried Mazarin to the coadjutor.
Gondy sprang to the window and threw it open; he recognized Louvieres at
the head of a troop of about three or four thousand men.
"Not a step further," he shouted, "the queen is signing!"
"What are you saying?" asked the queen.
"The truth, madame," said Mazarin, placing a pen and a paper before her,
"you must;" then he added: "Sign, Anne, I implore you--I command you."
The queen fell into a chair, took the pen and signed.
The people, kept back by Louvieres, had not made another step forward;
but the awful murmuring, which indicates an angry people, continued.
The queen had written, "The keeper of the prison at Saint Germain will
set Councillor Broussel at liberty;" and she had signed it.
The coadjutor, whose eyes devoured her slightest movements, seized the
paper immediately the signature had been affixed to it, returned to the
window and waved it in his hand.
"This is the order," he said. All Paris seemed to shout with joy, and then the air resounded with the cries of "Long live Broussel!" "Long live the coadjutor!" |
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