where that of Henry the Eighth lies. The funeral was conducted with decency, but without pomp ; six horses covered with black cloth drew the hearse; four coaches followed, two of which, also hung with black cloth, conveyed the king's latest servants, those who had followed him to the Isle of Wight. Next day, the 8th, with the consent of the Commons, the Duke of Richmond, the Marquis of Hertford, the Earls of Southhampton and Lindsay, and Bishop Juxon, arrived at Windsor, to assist at the funeral; they had these words only engraved engraved on the

coffin:

KING CHARLES,

1648.

As the body was being removed from the interior of the castle to the chapel, the weather, hitherto clear and serene, changed all at once; snow fell in abundance; it entirely covered the black velvet pall, and the king's servants were pleased to look on this sudden

whiteness of their unhappy master's coffin as a symbol of his innocence. On the arrival of the procession at the place selected for sepulture, Bishop Juxon was about to officiate according to the rites of the English Church, but Whychcott, the governor of the castle, stopped him: "The liturgy decreed by parliament," he said, "is obligatory for the king as for all." They submitted; no religious ceremony took place, and the coffin being lowered into the vault, all left the chapel, and the governor closed the door. The House of Commons called for an account of the expense of the obsequies, and allowed five hundred pounds to pay for them. The very day of the king's death, before any express had left London, they published an ordinance, denouncing as a traitor whoever should proclaim in his stead and as his successor 66 Charles Stuart, his son, commonly called Prince of Wales, or any other person whatsoever."

MIDNIGHT struck. I made Laigues and Montressor return to my chamber, and said to them: "You know I don't like apologies, but you shall see that I don't fear declarations. All the court will bear witness of the manner in which I have been treated for a year past at the Palais-Royal; the people are concerned to defend my honour, but they wish to oppress the people, and it is my business to defend it from oppression. affairs are not in such a bad state as you think, gentlemen, and tomorrow, before midday, I shall be master of Paris."

Our

My friends thought I was mad, and began to counsel moderation, though before they had always urged me on to action; but I did not listen to them. I sent at once for Miron, the accountant-general, one of the city officers, a man of honesty and courage and of great interest with the people. I laid measures with him, and he executed them with so much skill and boldness, that more than four hundred respectable citizens, un

armed as yet, were posted about in companies with no more noise or stir than if so many Carthusian novices had been assembled for contemplation. After having given orders for securing certain gates and bars of the city, I went to bed.

Next morning I was told that no soldiers had shown themselves through the night, except a few troopers who galloped off after taking a look at the bands of the citizens. From this it was supposed that our precautions had prevented the execution of designs formed against private persons; but it was thought that some mischief must be hatching against the people at the chancellor's, because serjeants were running backwards and forwards, and Ondedei went there four times in two hours. I was informed soon afterwards that the chancellor was going to the palace in full pomp, and that two companies of the Swiss guards were advancing towards the Porte de Nesle. Here was the important moment. I gave my orders

should march together in their robes to the Palais-Royal to demand the prisoners; that a decree should be made against Comminges, the lieutenant of the queen's guard; that all military men should be prohibited, under pain of death, from undertaking commissions of this sort; and that an information should be laid against those who had given this counsel, as disturbers of the public | peace. This resolution was put into effect without delay; the parliament, a hundred and sixty in number, issued forth. In every street they were greeted and accompanied with acclamations and incredible applause; all the barricades fell before them.

The first president addressed the queen with all the freedom that was justified by the state of affairs. He frankly represented to her the light estimation in which the royal word was held on all occasions; the shameful and even childish illusions by which the most useful, the most necessary resolutions had been evaded; he forcibly dwelt upon the peril in which the public welfare stood through this tumultuous and general taking up of arms. The queen, who was afraid of nothing because she understood little, flew into a passion, and replied in a tone more of fury than of anger, "I know that there is a disturbance in the city, but you shall answer for it, gentlemen of the parliament, you, your wives, and your children." As she uttered the last word, she retired into her

little grey chamber, and banged to the door.

The parliament was returning, and had already reached the stairs, when the president, De Mesmes, who was extremely timid, reflecting on the danger to which the whole body was about to expose itself among the people, exhorted them to go back and make another effort to move the queen. M. the Duke of Orleans, whom they met in the great cabinet, after earnest entreaty, let twenty of them enter the grey chamber. The first president represented to the queen all the horror of Paris angry and in arms; that is to say, he tried to represent this to her, for she would listen to nothing, and flung herself angrily into the little gallery.

The cardinal came forward and proposed to give up the prisoners if the parliament would promise not to continue its meetings. The first president replied that it would be necessary to deliberate on this proposition. They were about to do so on the spot, but several of the party having suggested that if they debated at the Palais-Royal, the people would suppose they had been detained by force, it was resolved to assemble after dinner at their palace, and the Duke of Orleans was requested to be present.

The parliament having left the Palais-Royal, and saying nothing to the mob of Broussel's being set at liberty, found the former cheers at first exchanged for a sullen silence. When they reached the

first barricade was, they were met with a murmur which was appeased by an assurance that the queen had promised to satisfy their demands. The threats of the second barricade were eluded by the same means. The third, which was at the Croix-du-Tiroir, was not to be paid in this coin; and a cook's apprentice, advancing with two hundred men, and holding his halbert to the breast of the first president, said to him, "Go back, traitor, and if you do not wish to be massacred yourself, bring us Broussel or the chancellor as a hostage." You can, no doubt, imagine the confusion and the terror which ensued. Five presidents in their caps of office, and more than twenty counsellors, threw themselves among the crowd to escape. The first president alone, to my mind one of the most intrepid men of his age, remained firm and immovable. He took time to rally what remained of his followers, and still retaining the magisterial dignity of his words and bearing, slowly returned to the Palais-Royal amid a fire of abuse, threatening, execrations, and blasphemies.

This man had a kind of eloquence which was all his own. He was not very correct in his style, but he spoke with a force which made up for all that, and he was of such a brave temperament that he never spoke so well as in a moment of danger. When he re

passed himself, and it is certain that he moved everybody except the queen, who remained inflexible.

Monsieur seemed about to throw himself on his knees before her; four or five princesses, who were trembling with fear, actually did so. The cardinal, to whom a young counsellor remarked that he had better go into the streets and see the state of things for himself; the cardinal, I say, joined his voice to the rest of the court, and at last, with great difficulty, they got this out of the queen," Very well, gentlemen of the parliament, see to what should be done." They assembled at once in the great gallery, and having deliberated, passed a vote, thanking the queen for the prisoners being set at liberty.

As soon as this vote was given, the lettre de cachet and the order were hurried off, and the first president let the people see the formal copies which he had made of both; but they would not lay down their arms so long as the result was not assured; indeed the parliament did not command them to do so until Broussel appeared in his place. Next day he came back to it, or rather he was carried on the people's heads with

tremendous acclamations. The barricades were knocked down, the shops were opened, and in less than two hours Paris looked quieter than I have ever seen it on a Good Friday.