Twenty years after
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 Maréchal 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 Louvières 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 Honoré,
leaving four of his guards dead on the field of battle.
The marshal then entered the Rue Saint Honoré, 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 Louvières 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 Louvières’s bourgeois at
the corner of the Rue de la Monnaie.
The Maréchal 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 _Fête 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 Maréchal 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? Maréchal 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.
Chapter XLVIII.
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 Maréchal de la Meilleraie appeared at the door.
“Ah, there you are, maréchal,” cried Anne of Austria joyfully. “I trust
you have brought this rabble to reason.”
“Madame,” replied the maréchal, “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.”