They fled in the darkness, cahin-caha, the children sobbing, the women expressing their sufferings in ways equally tempestuous. The Queen was gay; she was running away with Mazarin! "Never," said Mademoiselle, "had I seen a creature as gay as she was! had she won a battle, taken Paris and had all who displeased her put to death, she could not have been happier." They found Saint Germain bare; they had neither furniture nor clothing; they were worn out and anxious, and the château furnished no means of rest or refreshment; the exiles stood at the gates all day watching the highway and questioning the passers-by. No one had seen the luggage or the furniture. Toward night news arrived from Paris; the wains were not coming; the people were angry because the Queen had run away; they had fallen upon the loads; they had broken the courtiers' furniture. Only one load was on the road,—Mademoiselle's; the King's loads had been respected, but they were not to leave Paris.
Mademoiselle had left the bulk of her commodities to be sent out at a later day; only one load belonging to her had started to leave Paris; the people had examined that tenderly and then despatched it for Saint Germain.
No need to watch longer for the loaded wains! The tired courtiers made the best of a bad business; half a dozen of the highest of the Great "shared the Cardinal's two camp-beds"; the quilts on which the children had been bedded on the way from Paris were spread upon the floor. Those who had no mattresses lay upon straw or upon bare boards. The ladies fared worst of all; they had been used to the tender cares of their femmes-de-chambre.
Mademoiselle's spirits rose; she had always boasted that she was "a creature superior to trifles," and the general difficulty had put her on her mettle. Monsieur's wife wept feebly; she told the courtiers of the luxury of her early life, and of her present sufferings. Monsieur's little daughters were restless and displeased. Mademoiselle noted this adventure in her memoirs:
I slept in a vast and finely gilded room, but there was very little fire in it, and it had neither window-panes nor windows, which, as the month was January, was not agreeable. My mattress was on the floor, and my sister, who had no mattress, slept with me. I had to sing to her to put her to sleep; she greatly troubled my sleep. She turned, and re-turned; then, feeling me close to her, she cried out that she "saw the beast," and then I had to sing to her again, and thus the night passed. I had no underclothing to change, and they washed my nightdress during the day and my day-chemise during the night. I had not my women to comb my hair and to dress me, and that was very inconvenient. I ate with Monsieur, who made very bad cheer.... I lived in that way ten days, then my equipage arrived, and I was very glad to have all my commodities.
Louis XIV. and little Monsieur played about Saint Germain in the wintry weather, and as the days passed their garments acquired the marks of use. The King's furniture did not arrive, neither did his boxes; the Parisians would not permit them to leave the city. All the gates of Paris were guarded; no one was passed without papers. It was so difficult for people of quality to obtain passports that the ladies ran away in the garb of monks, or disguised in some other way. The Marquise d'Huxelles went through the gates in the uniform of a soldier, with an "iron pot" on her head.[134] Paris had never refused its favourite anything, and Mademoiselle's chariots went and came and no one asked what they contained; the belongings of her friends were transported as freely as her own if they were in her boxes or in her wains. In after life she used to call those days "the time of plenty." "I had everything!" she wrote exultantly; "they gave me passports for all that I wished taken out, and not only that, but they watched over and escorted my chariots! nothing equalled the civilities that they showed me."
Time passed; the royal garments were unfit for wear and the Queen, reduced to extremities, begged Mademoiselle to smuggle for her. Mademoiselle granted her request with joy. She recorded the event exultantly: "One has enough of it,—when one is in condition to render services to such people, and when one sees that one is of importance!"
The Parisians had given their favourite a convincing token of their love, and she regarded it as a proof that she was the one best fitted to share the throne of France.
As the Parisians slept well on the night of the Queen's second flight, they were not conscious of their separation from royalty until the morning of the 6th January. The first emotion felt was consternation. Parliament made overtures to the Queen; the Queen rudely repulsed the overtures, and Parliament issued an edict of expulsion against Mazarin. Mazarin expelled, Parliament raised money, and set about recruiting an army. The Council of the Hôtel de Ville, representing Parisian commerce, sent a delegation to the King. Arrived in the royal presence, the deputies fell at the King's feet. They portrayed the horrors of civil war, they explained to the child that to be driven to attack Paris would be abominable. In the midst of his supplications the chief speaker, choked by sobs, cut short his plea. His emotion was more effective than any argument; his tears proved the solemnity of the hour. The King wept bitterly, and, in fact, every one wept but the Queen and Condé, who surveyed the general distress dry-eyed.