Honest M. de Fontenay, who had been twice ambassador at Rome, a man of great experience and good sense and a hearty well-wisher to his country, daily condoled with me on the lethargy into which the intestine divisions had lulled the best citizens and patriots.  We saw the Spanish colours and standards displayed upon the Pont-Neuf; the yellow sashes of Lorraine appeared at Paris with the same liberty as the Isabelles and blue ones.  People were so accustomed to these spectacles and to the news of provinces, towns, and battles lost, that they were become insolent and stupid.  Several of my friends blamed my inactivity, and desired me to bestir myself.  They bid me save the kingdom, save the city, or else I should fall from the greatest love to the greatest hatred of the people.  The Frondeurs suspected me of favouring Mazarin’s party, and the Mazarins thought I was too partial to the Frondeurs.

I was touched to the quick with a pathetic speech made to me by M. de Fontenay.  “You see,” said he, “that Mazarin, like a Jack-in-the-bog, plays at Bo-peep; but you see that, whether he appears or disappears, the wire by which the puppet is drawn on or off the stage is the royal authority, which is not likely to be broken by the measures now on foot.  Abundance of those that appear to be his greatest opponents would be very sorry to see him crushed; many others would be very glad to see him get off; not one endeavours to ruin him entirely.  You may get clear of the difficulty that embarrasses you by a door which opens into a field of honour and liberty.  Paris, whose archbishop you are, groans under a heavy load.  The Parliament there is but a mere phantom, and the Hotel de Ville a desert.  The Duc d’Orleans and the Prince have no more authority than what the rascally mob is pleased to allow them.  The Spaniards, Germans, and Lorrainers are in the suburbs laying waste the very gardens.  You that have rescued them more than once, and are their pastor, have been forced to keep guards in your own house for three weeks.  And you know that at this day your friends are under great apprehension if they see you in the streets without arms.  Do you count it a slight thing to put an end to all these miseries?  And will you neglect the only opportunity Providence puts a into your hands to obtain the honour of it?  Take your clergy with you to Compiegne, thank the King for removing Mazarin, and beg his Majesty to return to Paris.  Keep up a good correspondence with those bodies who have no other design but the common good, who are already almost all your particular friends, and who look upon you as their head by reason of your dignity.  And if the King actually returns to the city, the people of Paris will be obliged to you for it; if you meet with a refusal, you will have still their acknowledgments for your good intention.  If you can get the Duc d’Orleans to join with you, you will save the realm; for I am persuaded that if he knew how to act his part in this juncture it would be in his power to bring the King back to Paris and to prevent Mazarin ever returning again.  You are a cardinal; you are Archbishop of Paris; you have the good-will of the public, and are but thirty-seven years old:  Save the city, save the kingdom.”