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 he 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
