Anne of Austria was not a woman of commanding ability. She was kind hearted, well-intentioned, of sufficiently noble character to forget her own likes and dislikes, and really desirous of ruling in the best interests of the country. Her situation was one of extraordinary difficulty and, not strangely, she was inclined to lean upon the best support that seemed to offer itself. Cardinal Mazarin was a possible successor to Richelieu and well fitted to continue that powerful minister’s policy. The Queen was willing to give Mazarin her full confidence and was aghast when he talked of withdrawing permanently to Rome. She now desired him to remain and take charge of the ship of state, but his elevation gave great umbrage to his many opponents at court, and the desire to undermine, upset and even to assassinate Mazarin was the cause of endless intrigues and conspiracies. The cabal of the “Importants” was the first to overcome. It consisted of Richelieu’s chief victims now returned from banishment, or released from gaol; princes of the blood and great nobles aiming at recovered influence, and the Queen’s favorites counting upon her unabated friendship. They gave themselves such airs and their pretensions were so high that they gained the ironical sobriquet of “the important people.” Mazarin, when they threatened him, made short work of them. The Duc de Beaufort, second son of the Duc de Vendôme, handsome of person but an inordinate swaggerer, whose rough manners and coarse language had gained him the epithet of “King of the Markets,” was arrested and shut up in Vincennes. Intriguing duchesses were once more exiled and the principal nobles sent to vegetate on their estates. A new power now arose; that of the victorious young general, the Duc d’Enghien, the eldest son of the Prince de Condé, afterwards known as the “great Condé.” He became the hero of the hour and so great was his popularity that had he been less self-confident and more willing to join forces with the Duc d’Orleans, “Monsieur,” the young King’s uncle, he would have become a dangerous competitor to Mazarin. D’Enghien soon succeeded to the family honors and continued to win battles and to be an unknown quantity in politics capable at any time of throwing his weight on either side.

The next serious conflict was with the Parliament of Paris, ever eager to vindicate its authority and importance and to claim control of the financial administration of France. The French treasury was as ill-managed as ever and the Parliament was resolved to oppose the proposed taxation. Extreme misery prevailed in the land. The peasants were ground down into the most wretched poverty, and were said to have “nothing left to them but their souls; and these also would have been seized, but that they would fetch nothing at the hammer.” The Parliament backed up the cry for reform, and Mazarin, to check and intimidate it, decided to arrest two of its most prominent members. The aged Broussel was sent to the Bastile and Blancmesnil was thrown into the castle of Vincennes.

These arbitrary acts drove the Parisian populace into open revolt. Broussel’s immediate release was demanded and obstinately refused until the disturbances increased and barricades were formed, when the Queen, at last terrified, surrendered her prisoner. The next day she left Paris, taking the young King with her, declaring that she would return with troops to enforce submission. Condé, who had returned from the army with fresh successes, advised conciliation, being secretly anxious to support those who would cripple the growing authority of Mazarin. Peace was restored, at least on the surface, and the Queen once more returned to Paris. But she was almost a prisoner in her palace and when she appeared in public her carriage was followed by a hooting mob. She again planned to disappear from Paris and send the royal army to blockade it. In the dead of a winter’s night the whole court, carrying the King, fled to St. Germain where no preparations had been made to receive them. For days they were short of food, fuel and the commonest necessaries. But a stern message was dispatched to the people of Paris, intimating the immediate advance of a body of twelve thousand troops. The capital was abashed but not greatly alarmed, and was prepared for defence and for the support of Parliament. The question of the moment was that of leadership, and choice lay between the Prince de Condé, the great Condé’s brother, and the Duc d’Elboeuf, who was appointed with the certainty that Condé would not submit to him.

The Duc de Beaufort was also available, for he had succeeded in escaping from Vincennes. A brief account of his evasion may well find place here. Chavigny, a former minister, was governor of the prison, and no friend to Beaufort. But Cardinal Mazarin did not trust to that, and special gaolers were appointed to ensure the prince’s safe custody. Ravile, an officer of the King’s body-guard, and six or seven troopers kept him constantly under eye, and slept in the prisoner’s room. Beaufort was not permitted to retain his own servants about him, but his friends managed to secure the employment of a valet, supposed to be in hiding to escape the consequences of a fatal duel in which he had killed his man. This mysterious retainer exhibited the most violent dislike of Beaufort and treated him openly with insolent rudeness. On the day of Pentecost, when many of the guards were absent at mass, Beaufort was permitted to exercise on the gallery below the level of his regular apartment, with a single companion, an officer of the Garde du Corps. The valet above mentioned had taken his seat at table with the rest, but suddenly rose, feigning illness, and leaving the dining room locked the door behind him. Rejoining the Duke the two threw themselves upon the officer, whom they overpowered and bound and gagged. A ladder of ropes, already prepared, was produced and fastened to the bars of the window, and the fugitives went down into the moat by means of it. Meanwhile, half a dozen confederates had been stationed below and beyond the moat to assist in the escape, and were in waiting, watching the descent. Unfortunately the ladder proved too short by some feet. A long drop was necessary, in which Beaufort, a stalwart figure, fell heavily and was so seriously hurt that he fainted. Further progress was arrested until he regained consciousness. Then a cord was thrown across the moat and the Prince was dragged over by his attendants, who carried him to a neighboring wood where he was met by fifty armed men on horseback. He mounted, although in great bodily pain, and galloped off, forgetting his sufferings in his delight at freedom regained. Beaufort fled to a distant estate of his father’s, where he remained in safety until the sword was drawn, when he promptly proceeded to Paris and was received with open arms after his imprisonment and long absence. His popularity was widespread and extravagantly manifested. The market women in particular lavished signs of affection on him and smothered him with kisses. Later, when it was believed that he had been poisoned by Mazarin and had applied to the doctors for an antidote, the mob was convulsed with alarm at his illness. Immense crowds surrounded the Hotel de Vendôme. So great was the concourse, so deep the anxiety that the people were admitted to see him lying pale and suffering on his bed; and many of them threw themselves on their knees by his bedside and wept pitifully, calling him the saviour of his country.

The moving spirit of the Fronde was really Gondi, better known afterwards as Cardinal de Retz, who had been appointed Coadjutor-Archbishop of Paris. He was a strange character who played many parts, controlled great affairs, exercised a supreme authority and dictated terms to the Crown. His youth had been stormy, and although he was an ordained ecclesiastic, he hated the religious profession. He led a vicious, irregular life, was a libertine and conspirator, fought a couple of duels and tried to abduct a cousin. None of these evil deeds could release him from his vows, and being permanently, arbitrarily committed to the Church, his ambition led him to seek distinction in it. Studying theology deeply and inclining to polemics, he became a noted disputant, argued points of doctrine in public with a Protestant and won him back to the bosom of the Catholic Church. It was Louis XIII who, on his death-bed, in reward for this conversion, named him Coadjutor. Gondi was possessed of great eloquence and preached constantly in the cathedral to approving congregations. He was essentially a demagogue on the side of the popular faction. Despite his often enthusiastic following, his position was generally precarious, and when the opposing parties made peace he fell into disgrace. In the midst of his thousand intrigues he was suddenly arrested and carried to Vincennes as a prisoner. When at length he escaped from Nantes, to which he had been transferred, his reappearance produced no effect and he wandered to and fro through Europe, neglected and despised. His only fame rests on a quality he esteemed the least, that of literary genius, for his “Memoirs,” which he wrote in the quiet years of latter life, still hold a high place in French literature.

The wars of the Fronde lasted with varying fortunes for five distressful years. This conflict owed its name to the boyish Parisian game of slinging stones. The sling, or fronde, was the weapon they used and the combatants continually gathered to throw stones at each other, quickly dispersing at the appearance of the watch. The Queen was implacably resolved to coerce the insurgents. The Parisians, full of fight, raised men and money in seemingly resolute, but really half-hearted resistance. Condé commanded the royal army, blockaded Paris for six weeks and starved the populace into submission. The earlier successes had been with the city. The Bastile had been attacked and its governor, Monsieur du Tremblay, the brother of Père Joseph, “His Grey Eminence,” capitulated, hopeless of holding out with his small garrison of twenty-two men. The conflict never rose above small skirmishes and trifling battles. The civic forces had no military value. The streets were filled with light-hearted mobs who watched their leaders disporting gaily in dances and entertainments at the Hotel de Ville. Condé, on the other hand, was in real earnest. He attacked the suburbs and carried serious war into the heart of the city. The insurgents prepared to treat, and Mazarin, who feared that the surrender of Paris to Condé would make that prince dictator of France, consented. He agreed to grant an amnesty, to reduce taxation and bring the King back to Paris.

Condé now went into opposition. He posed as the saviour of the Court, and as the nobles crowded round him he grew more and more overbearing. Mazarin had now secured the support of Gondi by promising to obtain for him the Cardinal’s hat and he detached the other leaders of the Fronde by liberal bribes. The final stroke was the sudden arrest of Condé and with him two other princes, Conti and Longueville. The volatile Parisians were overjoyed at the sight of the great general being escorted to Vincennes. Peace might have been permanently established had not Mazarin played the Coadjutor false by now refusing him the Cardinal’s hat, and Gondi therefore incited his friends to fresh rebellion. A strong combination insisted upon the dismissal of Mazarin and the release of the three princes. They had been removed for safe custody to Havre, where Mazarin went in person to set them free. He would have made terms with them, but they resisted his advances and returned to Paris in triumph, where the Parliament during Mazarin’s absence had condemned Mazarin to death in effigy. Mazarin now withdrew altogether from France to Cologne where he still directed the Queen’s policy. A fresh conflict was imminent. Gondi was gained by a new promise of a Cardinalate for him and the opposing forces gathered together for war.

Condé was now hostile. With him were Gaston, Duc d’Orleans, the Dukes of Beaufort and Nemours and other great nobles. Gaston’s daughter, the intrepid, “Grande Mademoiselle,” above all feminine weakness, took personal command of a part of the army. Turenne, one of the greatest soldiers of his time, led the royal troops against her. Condé made a bold but fruitless attempt to capture the Court. He then marched on Paris pursued by Turenne’s forces. A fight ensued in the suburb of Saint Antoine, where Condé became entangled and was likely to be overwhelmed. He was saved by the “Grande Mademoiselle,” who helped him to carry his troops through Paris and covered the movement by entering the Bastile in person, the guns of which were opened upon the royal troops. This was the final action in the civil war. The people, wearied of conflict, clamored loudly for peace. One obstacle was the doubtful attitude of Cardinal de Retz, who throughout this later phase had pretended to be on the side of the Court. He, however, was still bent on rebellion. He garrisoned and fortified his house and laid in ammunition and it was essential to take sharp measures with him. He was beguiled for a time with fair appearances, but the Queen was already planning his removal from the scene. One day Cardinal de Retz came to pay his homage and, on leaving the King’s apartments, was arrested by the captain of the guard.

The Cardinal has told his story at length in his extremely interesting “Memoirs.” Some of his friends knew of the fate impending but were too late to warn him and help him to escape, as they proposed, by the kitchen entrance of the Louvre. When taken they brought in dinner and he eat heartily much to the surprise of the attendant courtiers. After a delay of three hours he entered a royal carriage with several officers and drove off under a strong escort of gendarmes and light horse, for the news of his arrest had got out and had caused an immense sensation in Paris. All passed off smoothly, for those who threatened rescue were assured that on the first hostile sign, De Retz would be killed. The prisoner arrived at Vincennes between eight and nine o’clock in the evening and was shown into a large, bare chamber without bed, carpet or fire; and in it he shivered at this bitter Christmas season, for a whole fortnight. The servant they gave him was a ruffian who stole his clothes, his shoes and his linen, and he was compelled to stay constantly in bed. He was allowed books but no paper or ink. He passed his time in the study of Greek and Latin and when permitted to leave his room he kept doves, pigeons and rabbits. He entered into a clandestine correspondence with his friends, pondering ever upon the possibilities of escape, for he had little or no hope of release otherwise.

Now fortune played into De Retz’s hands. His uncle, the Archbishop of Paris, died, and the Coadjutor, although a prisoner, was entitled to succeed. Before the breath was out of the deceased’s body, an agent took possession of the Archbishop’s palace in the Coadjutor’s name, forestalling the King’s representative by just twenty minutes. De Retz was a power and had to be counted with. He was close in touch with all the parish clergy and through them could stir up the people to fresh revolt which the great ecclesiastics, chafing at the incarceration of their chief, the Archbishop, would undoubtedly support. Moreover, the Pope had written from Rome an indignant protest against the arrest of a prince of the Church. The situation was further embittered by a sad occurrence. A canon of the Notre Dame had been placed by the chapter near the Archbishop to take his orders for the administration of the diocese, and this aged priest, suffering from the confinement, lost his health and committed suicide. The death was attributed to the severity of the imprisonment and sympathy for De Retz redoubled, fanned into flame by incendiary sermons from every pulpit in Paris.