capital. At one moment he was dallying with the famous courtesan, Marion de Lorme-at another he was making gallant advances to Anne of Austria-for securing the succession to the crown.

Brienne relates the following scene between the queen and the cardinal-it is an historical curiosity :

"The Cardinal (says he) was desperately in love with a great princess, and made no secret of it; respect for her memory forbids me to name her. Son Eminence voulut mettre une terme à sa stérilité-mais on l'en remercia civilement. The Princess and her confidant (Madame de Chevreuse) loved amusement at the time, at least as much as intrigue. One day whilst they conversed tête-àtête, and thought only of laughing at the amorous cardinal-' he is passionately in love with you, madame,' said the confidant, and would do any thing to please your majesty, will you allow me to send him some evening to your chamber, dressed as a jack-pudding, to dance a saraband?' The Princess young, gay, and in short a woman, took the confidant at her word. Richelieu accepted the singalar rendezvous, came quite secure of his conquest, wearing a pantaloon of green velvet, with bells jingling at his knees, and castanettes in his hands, and danced a saraband, which Boccau played on the violin, behind a screen. ladies laughed à gorge déployée,' (how could they do otherwise-I laugh at it myself after fifty years.) The Cardinal declared his love in due form-the Princess treated it as a farce (pantalonade), the haughty prelate was so irritated that ever after, his love was changed into hate, and the Princess paid but too dearly for the pleasure of seeing an Eminence dance!"

The

But if Anne of Austria laughed at the grotesque gallantries of Richelieu, she was not insensible to the graces of his brother Cardinal, Mazarin. Brienne says her passion for Mazarin was purely spiritual, and gives in proof an edifying scene between his mother and the queen in that royal "oratory," which served in turns the purposes of court plotting, gallantry, and devotion:

"The Queen," he says, "loved my mother who loved her tenderly. One day she ventured to talk to her majesty of the wicked things said respecting her and the cardinal. It happened as follows-My mother was in the queen's 'oratory,' absorbed in her devotions; the Queen entered without perceiving her, fell on her knees, and sighed deeply; my mother having moved, she was roused from her meditation, and perceiving her said, 'Is it you, Madame de Brienne? come let us pray together;' and then they prayed, after which my mother asked permission to tell her what malicious people said the queen embraced her-my mother told her all, which made the queen' blush frequently even to the whites of her eyes.' Why did you not tell me this before?' said the Queen in tears, and then she continued-'I own I like him, but my affection for him is not love-at least I do not know it to be love, et mes sens n'y ont point de part—it is only my mind that is taken with the beauty of his mind, can this be wrong? tell me if you think there is the shadow of sin in such love as this--if there be, I renounce it from this moment before God, and the holy saints whose relics are my witnesses

on that altar.'-'Swear, madam,' said my mother, by these holy relics to keep the vow you have just made;' and then she placed in the Queen's hand a relic which she took from the altar-' I do swear,' said the Queen, and I pray God to punish me if I know the least evil.'-' Ah! it is too much' said my mother weeping, and then they prayed again!!"

We will not sit in judgment on the passion of Anne of Austria, whether spiritual, according to Brienne and his mother, or carnal, according to the court chronicles of the day; and we give the foregoing scene only as an example of the good intentions with which the queen and court ladies of that period in France, called in to their aid devotion and the saints against temptation and les sens.

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Their most meritorious efforts, however, did not always succeed. The famous Duchesse de Longueville, who had more lovers, more confessors, and of course more secrets, than any other lady of her time, began the world and the war against the flesh with the fairest promise. "Beautiful as light," and a princess, she yet disdained the pleasures of the court, and placed herself wholly under the guidance of a sisterhood called the Carmelite nuns. Her devout seclusion did not meet the views of her mother, who insisted on her going to a grand court ball. In this extremity, she consulted the nuns. A council of the sisterhood was held in due form, and it was decided that the young lady should go to the ballbut armed against the enemy, in a cuirass of sackcloth, beneath her ball dress. She looked so beautiful that the sisters expressed alarm; but she answered courageously there was nothing to fear. "Fatal confidence-the assembly had eyes only for her. The jargon of flattery made its way to her artless soul, com"mitted dreadful ravages there, and soon became but too "familiar a guest." Such is the account given by the author of her "véritable vie."

Soon after another arrangement was adopted, and there was a sort of accommodating compromise between devotion and les sens. Madame de Sévigné, writing, be it remembered, to her daughter, relates the following tête-à-tête :-

"Le petit bon (M. de Fiésque) qui n'a pas l'esprit d'inventer la moindre chose, a conté naivement qu'étant couché l'autre jour familièrement avec la souricière (Mad. de Lionne) elle lui avait dit, après deux ou trois heures de conversation,- Petit bon, j'ai quelque chose sur le cœur contre vous.' Et

quoi, Madame? Vous n'êtes pas dévot à la Vierge-Ah! Vous n'êtes pas dévot à la Vierge-Cela me fait une peine étrange!'"

But, to return for a moment to Anne of Austria,―her

passion, whether of the soul or of the senses, for Mazarin was unrequited. The politic Italian-unlike the gallant Frenchman-loved nothing but money and money's worth. His levities and buffooneries, however, though gallantry had no share in them, were scarcely less inconsistent with decorum than those of Richelieu. We will cite but one example, "a "domestic pastime," recorded by his niece, the celebrated Duchess of Mazarin, in her memoirs. We will give it in the original :

"Une autre chose qui nous fit rire en ce temps-là fut une plaisante galanterie que M. le Cardinal fit à Madame de Bouillon [her sister, and the Cardinal's niece], qui pouvait avoir six ans. Un jour qu'il la raillait sur quelque galant qu'elle devait avoir, il s'avisa à la fin de lui reprocher qu'elle était grosse. Le ressentiment qu'elle en témoigna le divertit si fort qu'on résolut de continuer à le lui dire. On lui retrécit ses habits de temps en temps, et on lui fit croire que c'était qu'elle avait grossi. Cela dura autant qu'il fallait pour lui faire paraître la chose vraisemblable; mais elle n'en voulut jamais rien croire, et s'en défendit toujours avec beaucoup d'aigreur, jusqu'à ce que le temps de l'accouchement étant arrivé, elle trouva un matin entre ses draps un enfant qui venait de naître. Vous ne sauriez comprendre quel fut son étonnement et sa désolation à cette vue. ' Il n'y a donc,' disait-elle, 'que la sainte Vierge et moi à qui cela soit arrivé!' La reine vint la consoler, et voulut être marraine. Beaucoup de gens vinrent se réjouir avec l'accouchée, et ce qui était d'abord un passe-temps domestique devint à la fin un divertissement public pour toute la cour."

The young ladies did justice in after years to their early education. Madame Mazarin passed her life in suits of separation and divorce, imprisonments, elopements, and intrigues. She loved "pastime" like her uncle, and indulged her humcur in pretty much the same vein. One of her imprisonments was in the nunnery called St. Marie de la Bastille. She demanded a supply of water and a bath-was informed that such a luxury was against the rules of the sisterhood,-found in her chamber an empty chest, and had it filled with water, which soon escaped through the chinks of the chest and the floor, and deluged the mother abbess beneath in her bed. Another of her pastimes in the convent was to pour ink into the font of holy water from which the nuns sanctified themselves in the morning on their way to the chapel, upon entering which they beheld each other with consternation marked on the forehead with a black cross*.

The authenticity of the memoirs of the Duchess of Mazarin has been questioned. But even supposing them the composition of St. Real or St. Evremond, they are not the less authentic as to facts, for both lived in the most intimate familiarity with the duchess during her exile in England.

Mazarin, without the commanding genius of Richelieu, procured more riches and dignities for himself and his family, and ruled France with a securer sway. This did not content him; he would be Pope-when death, of which he seems never to have thought for a moment, came suddenly before him in all its terrors.

The last scene of his life related by Brienne, an eye witness, is one of the most melancholy and curious exhibitions of human nature. He was taken ill on his return from the conclusion of the peace of the Pyrennees, which crowned his glory as a diplomatist and minister. Arrived at the Louvre in a dying state, he ordered a grand ballet to be prepared in the galerie des rois, with all the splendour which painting, drapery, and gilding could bestow. The decorations and the Louvre took fire, as if, says Brienne, "by the will of heaven, "in condemnation of such extravagances. Upon the alarm of "fire,” he continues, " I ran to the apartment of the Cardinal, "and found him in the arms of his captain of the guards, pale "and trembling, with death in his looks-whether it was that "he dreaded being burned alive, or thought the fire a warning "of God." A consultation was held, and the physician, Guenaud, frankly passed sentence of death on Mazarin.

"I must not flatter you, Monseigneur--medicine cannot cure you." "How long have I to live?" "Two months, at the most." "That is enough—I thank you as a friend-profit by the short time I have to live, for the advancement of your fortune as I will profit by your warning; adieu-see what I can do to serve you."

His resignation did not endure.

"One day," says Brienne," whilst in his gallery (of painting, sculpture, and tapestry) I heard him coming, and concealed myself. He entered with a languid step, and stopping frequently as he came to different pictures, he mournfully cried, I must leave this-and this-and this-and all these, which have cost me so much-I am going where I shall no longer see them.' I could not help (continued Brienne) sighing deeply. Who is there--who is there?' said he, in a doleful tone. I came forward, and beheld him in his night gown, night cap, and slippers, with death in his countenance. It is I, Monseigneur, with a letter for you.' Come here, my friend - come here-your hand-I am faint-look, mon pauvre ami—that beautiful Corregio,—that Venus of Titian—that incompa rable deluge of Annibal Carracci. Ah, mon pauvre ami, I must leave all theseadieu! beloved pictures-which I loved so much—for which I paid so much.'” Brienne, on another occasion, entering the Cardinal's chamber, found him slumbering in his arm-chair, vibrating

backwards and forwards and talking indistinctly "as if he "were possessed." His valet de chambre, afraid of his falling into the fire, shook him rudely and told him Brienne was there. The Cardinal, after repeating several times "Guenaud "has said it," "I cannot escape, I must die," recognised Brienne with the words: "Ah, mon pauvre ami, I am dying!" "Je le vois bien, Monseigneur," was the consoling reply of the pauvre ami.

A day or two before his death, he made vain and melancholy battle against mortality and disease. He had himself shaved and dressed, his moustaches curled, his cheeks and lips coloured with vermilion; and white paint laid on with equal abundance. Thus made up, and placed in his sedan chair, left open in front, he made the tour of the garden. Brienne met him, and could hardly trust his eyes; so prompt and complete was the metamorphosis, from the bed of death, where he had but just left him, to a second youth, like that of Æson. This attempt to cheat nature hastened his end, not only from exertion and fatigue, but from the malice of the courtiers. "The open air ❝ improves you; I wonder your eminence does not come out more frequently," said the Count de Nogent, a court joker, who met him" in this precious equipage." "Let us go in"I am ill," said Mazarin. "I can readily believe it," said the courtier-" your eminence looks very red in the face.”

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This arch priest of knavery, after a life of successful ambition and sordid avarice, defeating his enemies and tricking his friends, cheating at play, which he openly called prendre mes avantages-practising even gratuitous rogueries, as if it were his natural instinct to deceive-delighting to fool mankind, even where he gained nothing by it,-could not help playing off one of his characteristic buffooneries even on the brink of the grave. Tubœuf, a courtier, came to pay him a small remnant of a gaming debt. Mazarin grasped the money, crawled to his jewel casket, in which he placed it, took out the jewels one by one, and repeated several times, "I give Madame Tubœuf”—“ What?” said the eager husband, holding out his hand-"I give "Madame Tuboeuf," said the dying knave, still gratified to play upon the weakness or meanness of mankind; "I "give Madame Tubœuf a very good morning." It would scarcely be believed, were it not related by Brienne, an eye