ANNE OF AUSTRIA, eldest daughter of Philip III. of Spain, and Queen of Louis XIII. of France, appears to have been a very ambiguous character. Some historians contend for her immaculate virtue, while others speak freely of her to an opposite extreme. Perhaps, as in many other cases, the truth lies in a medium. Born in 1601, she was married at fifteen to a spouse five days younger than herself- a precocious union, in which all thought of mutual liking was more completely set aside than is usual even in royal alliances. The natural consequence was, that they led an unhappy life, and in a short time seldom met except upon public occasions. When, after a nominal union of twenty-three years, Louis XIV. was born, the event was so extraordinary and unlooked for, that the ready tongue of scandal whispered more than doubts of the royal infant's legitimacy. The Queen was suspected of an undue partiality for Gaston of Orleans, her husband's brother; but no evidence was ever produced beyond her affable demeanour. This of itself was sufficient to rouse the King's jealousy, which he thought became his dignity, although his heart had no interest in the matter. There was reasonable colour for the suspicion notwithstanding, for when the King fell dangerously ill in 1630, and his life was despaired of, a marriage by mutual consent was talked of between the widow expectant and the heir presumptive. Cardinal Richelieu hated the Queen, did all in his power to ruin her, and for a series of years subjected her to a harassing and unmanly persecution. If we could believe secret anecdotes, and the court gossip of the day, he had been treated with contempt, and exposed to ridicule in a manner which a haughty and vindictive spirit, such as he possessed, was

not likely to forgive. Whatever might be her imperfections or weaknesses, the Queen was endowed with beauty, grace, gentleness of manner, a sweet temper, and an amiable disposition. The king-minister-who, as he said himself, covered all scruples of conscience with his cardinal's robe-fell in love with the Queen, and committed himself so far as unequivocally to declare his passion. Anne appeared to encourage his hopes, merely to turn him into ridicule. Such was her ascendancy over that strong mind, and the influence of the passion which he suffered to obscure his reason, that he was persuaded to appear in the presence of her Majesty, and dance a saraband in the costume of Scaramouch. At the appointed time, he caused himself to be conveyed secretly to the palace in a sedan-chair,* masked, and enveloped in a large cloak. The exhibition was to be perfectly private, and the Queen the only spectator; but when the infatuated politician was executing one of his happiest pirouettes, and the Queen imperfectly endeavoured to suppress her laughter, his quick ears caught an accompanying titter, which proceeded from the ladies in waiting and maids of honour, concealed purposely behind the arras. He saw

at once that he had been made a dupe and a victim. With unutterable vexation at his heart, and a deep scowl of malignity on his countenance, he rushed from the apartment to concoct plans of vengeance, from which he never afterwards relented for a moment. Thenceforward the unhappy Queen was constantly exposed to visits of scrutiny from the chancellor, and examinations before the presidents of the Parliament, on the pretence of being concerned in Spanish plots against the existing administration. These inflictions were enforced with personal rudeness, under

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the alleged sanction of the King's authority. Her strong-box was broken open; her presses forced and searched; the daring insolence was even carried so far as to ransack her pockets, and to look under her neckhandkerchief. The most faithful domestics were torn away from her, some immured in dungeons, and others treated with savage barbarity. On one of these trying occasions, when Richelieu himself superintended the proceedings, she lost her habitual self-command, and, bursting into an ecstacy of tears, exclaimed, "Monseigneur le Cardinal, Dieu ne paye pas toutes les semaines, mais enfin il paye.”—“ My Lord Cardinal, God does not settle his accounts with mankind every week, but at last he winds them up effectually." Yet this princess, in spite of the cruel treatment she received from Richelieu, was still so conscious of his great talents for legislation, that on seeing a picture of him soon after she became regent of France, she remarked, "If Richelieu had lived till this time, he would have been more powerful than

ever."

Nothing is more certain than that Anne of Austria treated the overtures of Richelieu with contempt and derision. It is not so clear that she was equally deaf to George Villiers, the first Duke of Buckingham, who by his influence with two successive monarchs-James and Charles - ruled over Great Britain as despotically as the Cardinal governed France. We are so accustomed to associate with this celebrated favourite the idea of a worthless court minion, swayed by caprice and evil passions, caring for nothing but his own selfish pleasures, and regardless of the public interest, that we are scarcely prepared for the eulogium pronounced on his character by a grave and conscientious historian, Lord Clarendon, who, in a comparison between this nobleman and the Earl of Essex, observes, after praising the Duke's extreme affability and gentleness to all men. "He had, besides, such a tenderness and compassion in his nature, that such as think the laws dead if they are not severely executed, censured him for being too merciful; but his charity was grounded upon a

wiser maxim of state: Non minus turpé principi multa supplicia, quam medico multa funera. He believed, doubtless, that hanging was the worst use man could be put to.' Buckingham, on his last fatal journey to Portsmouth, was intercepted on the road by an old woman, who told him she had heard some desperate persons vow to kill him. He laughed, and disregarded the intelligence, as Cæsar neglected the augury respecting the ides of March. His nephew, Lord Fielding, riding in company with him, desired him to exchange doublets, and to let him have his blue riband; and undertook to muffle himself up in such a manner that he should be mistaken for the Duke. The Duke immediately caught him in his arms, saying that he could not accept of such an offer from a nephew whose life he valued as highly as his own. Yet the unbridled passions of Buckingham involved two great nations in war, and occasioned the loss of many thousand lives. Being sent to Paris with a complimentary embassy on the occasion of his master's marriage with Henrietta Maria, and to conduct the bride elect to England, he was bold enough to fall in love with the Queen of Louis XIII., and had the hardihood to declare himself plainly in an interview which he obtained by artifice. The Marchioness de Senecy, lady of honour, who was present, thinking the conversation too long, placed herself in the Queen's arm-chair, who that day was in bed, only with a view of preventing the Duke from approaching too closely; and when she saw that he had entirely lost all selfcommand, and burst forth into the rhapsodies of a passionate lover, she interrupted him with a severe look, saying, "Hold your tongue, sir, and remember that a Queen of France is not to be spoken to in that strain." This fact, which seems somewhat romantic, is attested by Giovanni Battista Nani, an Italian historian of good repute, who distinguished himself in an important mission from the Republic of Venice to the French Court. Madame de Motteville seems to confirm it in her memoirs, for she says, that when the court went as far as Amiens, to accompany Madame Henrietta Maria, who

was going to marry the King of England, the Duke of Buckingham found an opportunity to obtain a moment's private conversation with the Queen, during which that princess was obliged to exclaim and call for her equerry. She adds, also, that when the audacious envoy took leave of the Queen, he kissed her gown, and let fall some tears. According to this retailer of court gossip, it was Madame de Launay, and not the Marchioness de Senecy, who was seated near the Queen's bed, when the Duke, transported beyond reason with his passion, having left Henrietta Maria at Boulogne, came back under pretence of some forgotten affairs, but in reality to see her Majesty. Other authorities say, that the King, who, when the royal cortege returned from the journey, was informed of every minute transaction that had taken place, and a great deal more which never occurred, discharged several of the Queen's servants, including her equerry, physician, and secretary, Laporte, who has also contributed some curious memoirs.

Richelieu, who received intelligence of all that happened within the court circle sooner than the King himself, conceived an inordinate jealousy of the pretensions of Buckingham, and before long made his rival feel the weight of his power. The Duke having shortly after got himself named to a second embassy for France, merely to have an opportunity of again pressing his suit to the Queen, he was peremptorily forbidden to set his foot within the kingdom. Hence the succours granted by the English to the Huguenots of Rochelle. Nani, mentioned above, says of this fact. "Richelieu and Buckingham were appointed one against the other, barefacedly, for reasons kept so much more under secret as they were rash in themselves; and afterwards the people had to pay out of their kets for the follies and quarrels of these two rivals." Hume, without hesitation, ascribes the rupture between England and France to the personal rivalship of the two ministers. The jealousy of the Cardinal became the more inflamed as he knew the Duke had been seen and received with favourable eyes. Our English historian maintains that the

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apparent merit of Buckingham made some impression on the Queen, and created that attachment of the soul which conceals so many dangers under a delicious surface." The list is almost endless of public calamities emanating from private jealousy where women are concerned, and passion is seconded by power. The next compiler should remember to include this memorable instance in the amended catalogue.

Buckingham" swore a great oath " that he would see the Queen, in spite of all the power of France. Accordingly he excited a war, very much against the wishes of the nation, the consequences of which neither enabled him to fulfil his vow, nor add anything to his honour. Beaten in an attempt to take the Isle of Rhé, and losing many of his troops, he was compelled to return to England, a baffled commander, and found himself, in consequence, a little more hated than he was before. The Parliament, already at variance with the King, spoke out plainly, and expressed the most unqualified indignation at seeing the people made "the victims of the frivolous gallantries of a favourite, and of his childish caprices."

Soon after this, Richelieu laid siege to Rochelle. The beleagured Huguenots sent to England, imploring fresh assistance. Buckingham, animated by the keenest stimulants, love and jealousy, and even more by the ambition of repairing his recent defeat, prepared quickly a considerable fleet, which, had it been despatched at once, might have destroyed the Cardinal's schemes, overthrown his great enterprise, and ruined his fortune. In this crisis the Queen was compelled to use her individual influence, and to write to the Duke, begging of him to suspend his armament. He received the missive with the obedience of a lover, countermanded the sailing of the ships, and suffered the glory of his antagonist to be consummated by the conquest of Rochelle. Anne of Austria must have given some tokens that the gallantry of Buckingham was not offensive to her, or Voiture would hardly have dared to allude to the subject in an impromptu, which he addressed to her, when one day seeing him walking alone in a gallery of the palace, she asked him of what

"Je pensois (car nous autres poetes

Nous pensons extravagamment),
Ce que, dans l'humeur ou vous etes,
Vous fieriez, si dans ce moment
Vous avisiez en cette place

Venir le Duc de Buckingham;
Et lequel seroit en disgrace,

De lui, ou du Pere Vincent."

Wherever Anne of Austria inspired love, she was so unfortunate as to bring disaster also, as in the earlier case of Mary of Scotland. The Marquis de Jarsay, who united with his personal graces all the talents and ornaments of the most accomplished mind, and was, besides, a favorite of the great Conde, was imprudent enough to suffer himself to be seized with a foolish penchant for the Queen, and had the additional fatuity to persuade himself that she looked upon him with a partial eye. He was bold enough to speak, even to write, and, in short, in a fit of his frenetic passion, carried things so far as to hide himself behind the curtains of her Majesty's bed. Full of indignation, she forbade him ever again to appear before her—a punishment singularly mild, when compared to the audacity of the offence. Nevertheless, the Prince de Condé, proud, absolute, and who paid respect to nothing but his own will, took openly the part of his favourite. It is said that he insisted, in the most imperative manner, that the Queen should admit De Jarsay to her presence. But even Condé here exceeded the verge of his iufluence. The Queen resisted, and the Prince was imprisoned, as a consequence of persevering in his disloyal interference.

According to the conflicting anecdotes of the day, which are to be ferreted out by those patient investigators who have time, leisure, and taste for the examination of family history, Anne of Austria was not always so severe as she is here represented. The libellous pamphlets which were pub. lished at the time of the Fronde, accuse her of having exceeded ordinary goodnature and friendship in her intercourse with Cardinal Mazarin.

But

it would be cruel injustice to give implicit credit to hired partisans, who, from political animosity, crusade against

was

she

everything but their own avowed principles and objects, and are ever ready to change white into black, or to displace truth for falsehood, to serve a political purpose. That the attachment of the Queen for this cardinal, successor to Richelieu (who possessed all the cunning and finesse of his predecessor, with much of his ability, and very little of his boldness), was carried to a great extreme, is certain; but the quality of the liaison is not so easily determined— it might be platonic, criminal, or matrimonial. The weight of evidence inclines to the latter solution; but in either case, the attachment was absolute and enduring, and led to all the misfortunes which beset France during the minority of Louis XIV., and especially to the civil wars of the Fronde. Madame the Duchess de Baviere says in her letters "The Abbé detected in an intrigue. Anne of Austria, however, did much worse was not contented with intriguing with Cardinal Mazarin, she married him." This she could do if she pleased, without infringing the ordinances of the Church, for Mazarin was only a secular cardinal, and had never taken priest's orders. Whatever might be their relative position, he soon quarrelled with the Queen, and used her as ill as if they had been actually married, and he was tired of her. Yet, in opposition to this deduction, when Mazarin sounded her respecting the marriage of Louis XIV. with one of his nieces, she rejected the idea with becoming indignation. "I am afraid," says the Cardinal, fencing, as he approached the subject," that the King's passion will hurry him on to marry my niece." The Queen, who knew every movement of the minister's mind, was not cajoled by this affectation, but saw at once that in his heart he wished what he pretended to fear. The wily Italian had already married another niece to the Prince de Conti (brother of Condé, but far from being of the same reputation); a second to the Duc de Mercœur; and this, the third, of whom Louis XIV. was enamoured, had been refused to Charles II., when in exile, and half proposed to Richard Cromwell, during the protectorate of his father. Voltaire plainly calls all these young ladies the daughters of the Cardinal; and al

though his general veracity as an historian is of the lowest order, the chances are, that in this particular instance he speaks the truth. The Queen replied to the suggestion of Mazarin with the dignity of a princess of the Austrian blood, who was the daughter, wife, and mother of a sovereign; and with the contempt she had now conceived for the man and the minister, who had forgotten his obligations, and affected no longer to depend on her. "If the King," said she, "should show himself capable of committing such a dishonourable and degrading action, I would put myself and my second son at the head of the whole French nation against him and you!" Mazarin never pardoned her; but he was too prudent not to conform to her sentiments, so powerfully expressed. He made a merit of necessity, and assumed credit for opposing from that time forward the King's passion. In fact, he feared the haughty character of his niece, who was very capable, when raised to the summit of power, of forgetting the ladder by which she had ascended. Mazarin was never honest; his life was a tissue of falsehood, and his last act of giving his accumulated wealth to the King, was done under the impression that his Majesty would restore the gift, which he did, after three days' deliberation. To be invariably deceitful, is as great an error in politics as to be systematically stright-forward. So says Machiavelli, a great master in the complicated science. Mazarin bequeathed to Louis a better legacy than money—namely, his dying advice, never again to have a prime minister to rule over him.

Richelieu, the bitter and persevering enemy of Anne of Austria, died in December, 1642. The King, Louis XIII., who was attacked by a mortal disease nearly at the same time, followed him to the grave in May, 1643. When on his deathbed, not having summoned the Queen to a parting adieu, she despatched Monsieur de Chavigny to demand pardon for all that had ever offended him in her conduct, and to implore him to believe that she had no participation in the

conspiracy of Chalais against his life, and that she never contemplated a marriage with his brother. Louis received her ambassador with coldness. "In the state to which I am reduced," said he, "it is my duty to pardon, but I cannot believe her." The Cardinal, though hated and feared, was admired in life, and remembered long after his death. The King, whom he had reduced to a nonentity, was forgotten almost before he was buried. As he disliked and despised his wife, he was determined, if possible, to leave her no power over his infant heir, and by his last will appointed a Regency, in which (although she was not totally excluded), her power was so limited as to be little better than nominal. But the monarch, who was illobeyed when living, was not likely to be treated with much respect when numbered with the things which had been. His widow had interest enough to cause the will of her deceased husband to be annulled, within four-andtwenty hours after his death, by a decree of the parliament of Paris. She had the precedent of Mary de Medicis, who after the death of Henry IV. had been declared unlimited regent during the minority of her son. The prece

dent was admitted, and custom, by which the Regency was bestowed on the King's mother, passed into a law almost as fundamental as the Salic ordinance by which women were excluded entirely from the succession. Riencourt, in his "History of Louis XIV.," says the will of Louis XIII. was confirmed in parliament for so much of it as related to the Queen being named in the Regency, but that portion was entirely abrogated which limited her authority, or encumbered her with a council. Thus the only act of justice which this unamiable monarch, miscalled by a strange perversion, Louis the Just, had ever executed, was set aside, while the evils he had done the state remained

in full activity, and prepared the way for heavier calamities, under which the nation was doomed to suffer for the next century and a-half.

The infant king was only four years and a-half old when his mother com