You will wonder, no doubt, that nobody was then aware of the consequence of imprisoning M. de Beaufort, when the prison doors were set open to all others.  This bold stroke—­at a time when the Government was so mild that its authority was hardly felt—­had a very great effect.  Though nothing was more easy, as you have seen, yet it looked grand; and all acts of this nature are very successful because they are attended with dignity without any odium.  That which generally draws an unaccountable odium upon even the most necessary actions of statesmen, is that, in order to compass them, they are commonly obliged to struggle with very great difficulties, which, when they are surmounted, are certain to render them objects both of envy and hatred.  When a considerable occasion offers, where there is no victory to be gained because there is no difficulty to encounter, which is very rare, it gives a lustre to the authority of ministers which is pure, innocent, and without a shadow, and not only establishes it, but casts upon their administration the merit of actions which they have no hand in, as well as those of which they have.

When the world saw that the Cardinal had apprehended the man who had lately brought the King back to Paris with inconceivable pride, men’s imaginations were seized with an astonishing veneration.  People thought themselves much obliged to the Minister that some were not sent to the Bastille every week; and the sweetness of his temper was sure to be commended whenever he had not an opportunity of doing them harm.  It must be owned that he had the art of improving his good luck to the best advantage.  He made use of all the outward appearances necessary to create a belief that he had been forced to take violent measures, and that the counsels of the Duc d’Orleans and the Prince de Conde had determined the Queen to reject his advice; the day following he seemed to be more moderate, civil, and frank than before; he gave free access to all; audiences were easily had, it was no more to dine with him than with a private gentleman.  He had none of that grand air so common to the meaner cardinals.  In short, though he was at the head of everybody, yet he managed as if he were only their companion.  That which astonishes me most is that the princes and grandees of the kingdom, who, one might expect, would be more quick-sighted than the common people, were the most blinded.

The Duc d’Orleans and the Prince de Conde—­the latter attached to the Court by his covetous temper—­thought themselves above being rivalled; the Duke—­[Henri de Bourbon, Duc d’Enghien, born 1646, died 1686.  We shall often speak of him in this history.]—­was old enough to take his repose under the shadow of his laurels; M. de Nemours—­[Charles Amadeus of Savoy, killed in a duel by M. de Beaufort, 1650.]—­was but a child; M. de Guise, lately returned from Brussels, was governed by Madame de Pons, and thought to govern the whole Court; M. de Schomberg complied all his