The early reign of Louis XIV was marked by intrigue, power struggles, and the remarkable political influence of Cardinal Mazarin. Following the death of Louis XIII, France entered a period of regency under Queen Anne of Austria. The queen’s decision to retain Mazarin as her chief minister shaped the nation’s political landscape for nearly two decades.
The Queen’s Regency and the Rise of Mazarin
Louis XIII had long distrusted his wife, Anne of Austria—a suspicion nurtured by Cardinal Richelieu. Upon his death in 1643, he established a regency council meant to limit her power. However, almost immediately after his passing, the queen defied these restrictions. On May 18, 1643, she appeared before the Parliament of Paris with the young king to assert her authority and formally assumed control of the government.
Despite rumors that Cardinal Mazarin would be dismissed, Anne of Austria retained him as her principal advisor. The court was astonished, but Mazarin’s political acumen and charm quickly consolidated his position. He proved himself to be both prudent and subtle, continuing Richelieu’s policies while avoiding overt tyranny.
The Victory at Rocroi and the Rise of the Great Condé
Just days after Louis XIII’s death, France’s fate was decided on the battlefield. On May 19, 1643, the twenty-two-year-old Duke of Enghien—later known as the Great Condé—won a decisive victory at Rocroi against the Spanish. This triumph, achieved against one of Europe’s most formidable armies, cemented France’s military supremacy and brought new prestige to the young regency.
The victory was celebrated across Paris. Bossuet would later immortalize the event in his funeral oration for the Prince of Condé, describing how “the threats of a dread enemy were converted to their shame, the regency strengthened, France at rest.” The success at Rocroi silenced Mazarin’s critics and secured his political standing.
Intrigues, Opposition, and the Fall of the Importants
Despite the victory, the court was rife with intrigue. A faction known as the “Importants,” led by the Duke of Beaufort and Madame de Chevreuse, plotted to assassinate Mazarin. The conspiracy failed, resulting in Beaufort’s imprisonment and the exile of several courtiers. These events marked the end of the Importants’ influence and confirmed Mazarin’s dominance.
Madame d’Hautefort, once a favorite of the queen, fell from grace after attempting to intercede for Beaufort. Her dismissal signaled Anne of Austria’s determination to defend her minister at all costs. By 1644, Mazarin was the uncontested ruler of France’s political affairs.
War, Diplomacy, and the Peace of Westphalia
While Mazarin managed the internal politics of France, the armies of Condé and Turenne continued the fight abroad. Their victories in Thionville, Dunkirk, Freiburg, and Nordlingen expanded French influence in Europe. The long negotiations at Münster and Osnabrück finally culminated in the Peace of Westphalia on October 24, 1648.
This historic treaty ended the Thirty Years’ War and reshaped the political map of Europe. France secured Alsace and the bishoprics of Metz, Toul, and Verdun; Sweden gained control of key territories in northern Germany. Most importantly, the Holy Roman Empire recognized greater religious and political freedom for its constituent states, ending the dominance of the Habsburgs.
The Seeds of the Fronde
Despite these triumphs, France was on the brink of internal conflict. War expenditures and corruption had drained the treasury. The new taxes imposed by Superintendent D’Emery angered the populace, while the Parliament of Paris—emboldened after Richelieu’s death—began to challenge royal authority.
In August 1648, as Paris celebrated the victory of Lens, the arrest of Councillor Broussel sparked riots in the capital. This marked the beginning of the Fronde—a series of civil wars that would test Mazarin’s power and shape the character of the young Louis XIV.
Legacy of the Early Reign
The period between 1643 and 1661 forged the foundations of the future Sun King’s absolute monarchy. Under the guidance of Mazarin and the regency of Anne of Austria, France emerged as a dominant European power. Yet the tensions between crown and Parliament, wealth and poverty, courtly ambition and royal authority foreshadowed the struggles that would define the next phase of Louis XIV’s reign.
These years were not merely a prologue to glory—they were the crucible in which France’s modern state was forged.
Arrest of Broussel and the Spark of the Fronde (1648–1649)
The arrest of Councillor Broussel marked one of the decisive moments in the French civil disturbances known as the Fronde. Queen Anne of Austria and
Cardinal Mazarin, confident in royal authority, underestimated the shifting temper of the people. What began as a simple administrative act quickly turned Paris into a city in open revolt.
The Public Unrest
A suppressed agitation had been brewing for months. “The Parliament growled over the tariff-edict,” writes Cardinal de Retz, “and no sooner had it muttered than everybody awoke.” The arrest of the elderly and respected Broussel was like fire to flax—within hours, Paris erupted. Shops closed, bells rang, and cries of “Broussel! Broussel!” filled the streets.
The Intervention of the Coadjutor
Paul de Gondi, later Cardinal de Retz, then coadjutor to the Archbishop of Paris, hurried to the Palais-Royal to warn the queen. The people were already gathering in dangerous numbers. “There is revolt in imagining that there can be revolt,” Anne of Austria replied angrily. But reality soon proved otherwise.
As Gondi and Marshal de La Meilleraye attempted to calm the crowds, the mob’s fury only grew. Stones flew, weapons flashed, and the coadjutor himself was struck down by a blow. “I said to a man who aimed his musket at me, ‘Ah, wretch, if thy father saw thee!’” writes Retz. The words saved him—the man, thinking him a family friend, spared his life.
Paris in Arms
By morning, barricades rose across the city. “Children of five and six years of age were seen dagger in hand,” wrote one witness, “and the mothers themselves carried them.” Two hundred barricades cut Paris into armed neighborhoods. The cry “Hurrah for the King! None of your Mazarin!” echoed through the
streets.
The Courage of President Molé
The Parliament met in session and resolved to appeal to the queen for Broussel’s release. Led by the premier president, Matthieu Molé, they crossed Paris amid jeers and threats. When a young cook thrust his halberd against Molé’s chest, the magistrate calmly pushed it aside: “You forget yourself, and are oblivious of the respect you owe to my office.”
Molé and his colleagues reached the Palais-Royal and spoke before the court. “If it were not blasphemy to say there was any man more intrepid than Gustavus or the Prince of Condé,” wrote Retz, “it would be M. Molé.” Yet Anne of Austria was unmoved: “You shall answer to me for this, gentlemen of the Parliament—you, your wives, and your children!”
At last, under pressure from Mazarin and the terrified courtiers, the queen reluctantly consented to Broussel’s release. When news spread through Paris, the people rejoiced and laid down their arms. But the peace would be brief.
The Outbreak of the Fronde
The Parliament, emboldened by its victory, soon clashed again with the crown. On January 8, 1649, the court declared Cardinal Mazarin an enemy of the
state. Anne of Austria and the young king fled Paris for Saint-Germain, leaving the capital in the hands of rebels. War was declared in the name of the people.
Nobles joined the popular cause—among them the Princes of Conti and Longueville, the Dukes of Bouillon and Beaufort, and the famous Duchess of Longueville, whose political zeal was inspired by her affection for the gallant La Rochefoucauld. The city became both a fortress and a ballroom: “A spectacle oftener seen in romances than elsewhere,” wrote Retz.
War and Negotiation
Fighting broke out around Paris. The royal army, led by the Prince of Condé, crushed the Frondeurs at Charenton. As food grew scarce, the Parliament sought peace. Talks began at Rueil on March 4, 1649, resulting in an amnesty that ended the first phase of the Fronde. Guy Patin wryly observed, “The king will have the honor of it, and we the profit.”
Yet peace was fragile. The proud Condé, flushed with victory, soon clashed with Mazarin. By January 1650, the cardinal struck first. At the Louvre, Captain de Guitaut approached Condé and said quietly, “My lord, I have orders to arrest you, your brother the Prince of Conti, and M. de Longueville.” “Me?” replied Condé, “Arrest me?” But the orders were firm.
Calm and unshaken, the prince surrendered, remarking only that he hoped the queen would grant him a “warm lodging.” He and his companions were taken to Vincennes, where they spent the night playing cards. “I had taken no precautions against this trip,” he laughed. Once again, Mazarin’s foresight had triumphed.
The Aftermath
The arrest of Condé, Conti, and Longueville marked a turning point in the struggle between the monarchy and the nobles. Even Mazarin’s enemies, such as Chavigny, admitted, “The cardinal has done quite right; without it he would have been ruined.” The victory confirmed Mazarin’s control and preserved the authority of Anne of Austria and her son, the future Sun King.
The Fronde had revealed the dangers of aristocratic ambition and popular unrest. From the chaos of barricades and revolts, France emerged stronger and more centralized—ready for the age of Louis XIV’s absolute monarchy.
The Fall and Return of Cardinal Mazarin (1651–1652)
As hostilities reopened, Cardinal Mazarin faced both political chaos and growing rebellion. Despite his efforts to support the loyal Frondeurs, the powerful House of Condé was rallying its followers across France. The Duke of Bouillon and La Rochefoucauld seized Bordeaux, while Madame de Longueville fortified Stenay and allied herself with Turenne.
France in Rebellion
The Queen, Anne of Austria, toured Normandy and Burgundy to secure royal authority, finding most towns eager to welcome her. Yet in Bordeaux, riots broke out daily as citizens, devoted
to “the dukes,” pressured the Parliament to resist the crown. The young Louis XIV himself marched with the royal army to suppress the revolt. A temporary peace followed, but no word was given concerning the imprisoned princes.
The Parliament Confronts the Crown
The Parliament of Paris, sympathetic to the princes, condemned the minister’s policy. Premier President Molé denounced Mazarin’s rule so sharply that even the young king was
offended. On January 30, 1651, Anne of Austria signaled her willingness to release the princes on one condition — that the armaments of Stenay and Turenne be disbanded. But the Duke of
Orléans had already struck an agreement with the rebels, and tensions exploded once again.
Mazarin compared the Parliament to the English Commons and the Coadjutor (Paul de Gondi) to Cromwell. The insult backfired: Monsieur (the Duke of Orléans) declared that he would never
again enter the Palais-Royal while Mazarin remained in office. The nobles assembled and openly demanded the cardinal’s dismissal. In response, Mazarin fled Paris by night on February 6,
setting out for Saint-Germain.
The King a Prisoner in His Own Capital
Rumors spread that the Queen and the King were preparing to flee. Crowds stormed the Palais-Royal. Though the young king was found sleeping, patrols surrounded the palace, and Anne of Austria was forced to admit citizens into her very chamber. “The king was a prisoner in the hands of the Parisians,” wrote Cardinal de Retz. The mob’s “protection” was more suffocating than Mazarin’s power had ever been.
Mazarin in Exile
Seeing the danger, Mazarin hastened to Le Havre, personally releasing the princes to win favor. “Liberty to be gone had more charms for the prince than the cardinal’s company,” wrote
Mademoiselle de Montpensier. Mazarin then crossed into exile at Brühl, near Cologne, on March 12, 1651. The Parliament of Paris declared him a public enemy.
Conde’s Defiance
Freed, the great Condé returned to court like a “raging lion,” demanding power and dismissals. When Anne of Austria refused, he withdrew to Saint-Maur and began secret negotiations with
Spain — influenced by his sister, Madame de Longueville. His betrayal marked a tragic turning point: the hero of Rocroi now stood ready to raise arms against France.
Intrigues and Open Conflict
The queen, meanwhile, allied with the Coadjutor. On August 17, 1651, she publicly accused Condé of treason and of conspiring with Spain. Condé, entering Parliament with his supporters,
exchanged sharp words with De Retz. “I will make you yield,” said the prince. “That will not be easy,” replied the Coadjutor. The altercation nearly led to bloodshed before the magistrates intervened.
Eventually the queen was forced to issue a declaration of Condé’s innocence and a formal renunciation of Mazarin — a bitter humiliation for the exiled cardinal, who wrote to her in
anguish: “Ten times I have taken up my pen, and could not. I demand not wealth or repose, but only the honor that has been torn from me.” Even so, his closing words betrayed his confidence: “You cannot make the people forget that I am the spring that moves all things.”
The Sword of the Great Conde
When Louis XIV declared his majority in September 1651, Condé refused to attend the ceremony. Soon afterward, persuaded by his sister, he resolved upon civil war: “I draw the sword in spite of myself,” he said, “but I will be the last to sheathe it.” Yet he found little support — neither Turenne nor Bouillon would join him.
Mazarin’s Return
By the end of 1651, Condé’s army was faltering. Spanish ships entered the Gironde to aid him, while the royal family advanced southward, restoring loyalty town by town. On November 17,
Anne of Austria wrote to Mazarin, summoning him back to France. From Brühl he had already warned her that Orléans was “wholly devoted to the prince.” On December 24 he re-entered France
with 6,000 troops, undaunted by the Parliament’s bounty on his head, and rejoined the king at Poitiers in January 1652.
The War Renewed
Mazarin’s enemies in Paris denounced him as a traitor, while the rebellious princes regrouped. The Duke of Orléans’s daughter, the famous Mademoiselle de Montpensier, boldly took command of Orléans and defied the royal troops. Her vivid memoirs recall scaling the city walls and breaking open a gate herself — “I climbed like a cat,” she wrote, “through briers and thorns.”
The Battle of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine
In July 1652, the decisive battle unfolded outside Paris. Condé’s forces, driven back toward the Bastille by Turenne’s royal army, faced annihilation — until the Bastille’s cannons, fired on Mademoiselle’s orders, turned against the king’s troops. The gates of Paris opened to the defeated rebels. Condé was saved, but Paris sank into terror and chaos.
The Fall of the Fronde
The mob ransacked the Hôtel de Ville, massacring officials and seizing control of the city. Even Chancellor Séguier, once loyal to the queen, joined the usurpers. Spain’s banners soon
flew along the Pont Neuf. Yet division among the rebels doomed them: Nemours and Beaufort quarreled, and Nemours was slain in a duel. The people, weary of bloodshed, began calling
for peace.
Mazarin’s Final Triumph
Pretending to withdraw once more, Mazarin left for Bouillon in August 1652, but his influence remained intact. The queen established her court at Pontoise, where a loyal Parliament declared the Paris magistrates rebels. Parisian factions collapsed into infighting, and public opinion turned toward reconciliation.
On October 18, 1652, Louis XIV proclaimed a general amnesty. Three days later, the king set out for Paris in triumph. The Duke of Orléans hesitated, torn between fear and pride.
“You wanted peace when you could make war,” his wife told him, “and now you want war when you can make neither.” Thus ended the long and ruinous drama of the Fronde — a conflict
that had shaken France but prepared it for the age of absolute monarchy.
“MONSEIGNEUR,” wrote Gaston, Duke of Orléans, in his final letter to the king, “Having understood from my cousin the Duke of Danville and from Sieur d’Aligre, the respect that your Majesty would have me pay you, I most humbly beseech your Majesty to allow me to assure you by these lines that I do not propose to remain in Paris longer than till to-morrow; and that I will go my way to my house at Limours, having no more passionate desire than to testify by my perfect obedience that I am, with submission, Monseigneur, your most humble and obedient servant, Gaston.
The Duke of Orléans retired soon after to his castle at Blois, where he died in 1660 — deserted by nearly all the friends he had alternately betrayed and abandoned. “He had, with the exception of courage, all that was necessary to make an honorable man,” wrote Cardinal de Retz. “But weakness was predominant in his heart through fear, and in his mind through irresolution; it disfigured the whole course of his life.”
The Close of the Fronde
The Fronde was finally over — both the Fronde of the robe and the Fronde of the sword. The Parliament of Paris fell back to the subordinate position that Richelieu had once assigned it.
France’s attempt at political reform, mirroring that of England, had failed. The same patriotic longing for liberty had inspired both revolts, yet the outcomes diverged sharply.
England’s unified Parliament, tempered by Protestant debate, produced a revolution. France’s divided magistracies produced only factions. Its nobles fought for their own power, not the public good. Without unity, leadership, or a popular base, the Fronde collapsed before Mazarin’s clever patience and Queen Anne’s unshakable loyalty to her minister.
The Arrest of Cardinal de Retz
On December 19, 1652, Cardinal de Retz, entering the Louvre, was suddenly arrested and taken to the Bois de Vincennes. “There was a great display of force in the street,” he later wrote, “but nobody moved — perhaps because the people were too dejected or too tired to resist.” Paris had grown weary of barricades.
Imprisoned in miserable conditions, he described sleeping under thin silk hangings in winter, robbed by his own guard of linen and boots, and suffering weeks without fire. “I was determined,” he said, “not to die of vexation.” Transferred later to Nantes, he escaped in August 1653 and spent nine years in exile across Europe — in Spain, Italy, and Germany — before returning to France in 1662.
He resigned his archbishopric, retired to Commercy, and devoted his last years to writing his Memoirs and reconciling with God. The once-fiery intriguer died peacefully on August 24, 1679 — the same era that saw Madame de Longueville die in repentance and the Prince of Conti end his days in piety.
The Triumph of Mazarin
While Retz languished, Cardinal Mazarin returned to France. Condé, now allied with Spain and bearing the title of “generalissimo of the Spanish armies,” was forced back into Luxembourg by Turenne. Bar-le-Duc soon fell, and by January 1653 Mazarin re-entered Paris in triumph. The last embers of rebellion in Guienne died out; Bordeaux opened its gates to the king.
The rebellious princes were pardoned. The Prince of Conti married Mazarin’s niece, Mademoiselle Martinozzi; Madame de Longueville retired to a convent. Only Condé remained a threat, now moredangerous to France than to his enemies abroad.
Cardinal Mazarin’s Consolidated Rule
Mazarin was now supreme. Whatever his private ties to the queen, his political mastery was complete. Unlike Richelieu, he was neither cruel nor vengeful; his motto was patience. “Time is an able fellow,” he often said. Though accused of enriching himself — selling offices and favors — he avoided open robbery of the people. His personal fortune grew vast, but so did his influence.
“Amidst those unreasonable disturbances,” wrote historian Mignet, “there was but one firm will — Anne of Austria’s; and one man of good sense — Mazarin.” From 1653 to 1657, he and Turenne, aided by Marshal de La Ferté, steadily reversed France’s losses against Spain.
The Alliance with Cromwell
In 1657, after long negotiation, Mazarin concluded an alliance with Oliver Cromwell’s England. Under the treaty of March 23, both nations agreed to wage war jointly against Spain. England dispatched 6,000 disciplined troops and a supporting fleet to aid 20,000 French soldiers under Turenne. Their targets were Gravelines, Mardyck, and Dunkerque — the last to remain in English hands.
The English arrived at Boulogne in May. “They were of austere manners and resolute courage,” noted contemporaries. The king himself welcomed them, and Mardyck soon fell. The combined armies advanced to Dunkerque in spring 1658, with Louis XIV and Mazarin observing the campaign from Calais.
The Battle of the Dunes (1658)
At Brussels, Spanish commanders Don Juan of Austria and the Marquis of Carracena ignored the cautious advice of Condé, who now served them. “Ah, you do not know M. de Turenne,” warned Condé. But his counsel went unheeded. On June 14, 1658, the Battle of the Dunes began.
The disciplined English troops under General Lockhart led the assault, storming the sandy heights with heavy losses. “All the officers of Lockhart’s regiment, save two, were killed or wounded,” recorded Turenne. After four hours of fierce combat, the Spanish army broke, leaving 4,000 prisoners. “God be praised,” wrote Turenne that night to his wife. “I have worked rather hard all day.”
Dunkerque surrendered ten days later. Louis XIV entered the city only to hand it over, as promised, to the English. “Though the court is in despair,” wrote Lockhart, “the cardinal is staunch to his word, and the king himself shows more honesty than I had supposed.”
The Dawn of Absolute Monarchy
The victories at Dunkerque and Gravelines sealed France’s supremacy and Spain’s decline. Peace negotiations followed; tranquility returned to France. The Parliament of Paris, long silent since the king’s famous appearance in 1655, had learned its lesson in obedience. Louis XIV had arrived in person at the Palace of Justice, forbidding debate and declaring, “The king must be obeyed.” From that moment, royal authority — and Mazarin’s — reigned unchallenged.
The Fronde, with its barricades and intrigues, faded into history. In its ashes rose the centralized monarchy that would define France for a century — governed first by Mazarin’s mind, and then by the will of the young king who had watched and learned: Louis XIV, the Sun King.
The court was taking its diversion. “There were plenty of fine comedies and ballets going on. The king, who danced very well, liked them extremely,” says Mdlle. de Montpensier, who was at that time exiled from Paris. “All this did not affect me at all; I thought I should see enough of it upon my return; but my ladies were different, and nothing could equal their vexation at not being in all these gayeties.”
It was still worse when the arrival of Queen Christina of Sweden was announced. This celebrated princess had reigned from the time she was six years old and had lately abdicated (1654) in favor of her cousin Charles Gustavus—ostensibly to regain her liberty, though perhaps also because of the opposition of her nobles and her rumored conversion to Catholicism.
When Christina arrived in Paris in 1656, she had already abjured Protestantism at Brussels. “Those who talk of my motives know nothing of them,” she would say; “and she who knows something about them has never spoken of them.” Great curiosity was aroused in Paris. The king sent the Duke of Guise to receive her, who described her vividly:
“She is not tall, but has a good arm and a hand white and well made, though rather a man’s than a woman’s. Her shoulder is high—a defect concealed by her odd dress and gestures. Her face is large,
all features strongly marked, and she wears a man’s wig, high in front, with the back arranged in a woman’s style. She is always powdered, wears little jewelry, and never gloves. She has as much swagger and haughtiness as her father Gustavus, yet she is mighty civil and speaks eight languages, especially French, like a Parisian. She knows painting, philosophy, and the intrigues of our court better than I.”
“The king, though timid at that time,” adds Madame de Motteville, “got on so well with this bold and learned princess that they associated together with much freedom. It was difficult to see or hear her without forgiving all her eccentricities, though some were blameworthy.”
Queen Christina at the French Academy
All Paris was fascinated by Christina, who insisted upon visiting even the French Academy, where no woman had ever been admitted. Patru, one of its members, related the event humorously: the members were warned only at the last moment; the chancellor forgot to display her portrait; and when she entered, she sat down without ceremony, inviting everyone to draw near. The word “Jeux” was read from the Dictionary draft, containing the proverb “Jeux de princes, qui ne plaisent qu’à ceux qui les font” — “Princes’ jokes, which amuse only those who make them.” Christina burst into laughter, delighted.
The Murder at Fontainebleau
Returning in 1657, Queen Christina stayed at Fontainebleau. There she had her equerry Monaldeschi, accused of betrayal, murdered in a gallery before her eyes. She showed no remorse. “This barbarous princess,” wrote Madame de Motteville, “after so cruel an act, remained laughing and chatting as if she had done something praiseworthy.” The queen-mother, Anne of Austria, was horrified. “The king and Monsieur blamed her, and the minister was astounded,” she adds.
The King’s Love for Marie Mancini
Queen Christina’s presence coincided with a more delicate matter—the young king’s affection for Marie Mancini, the bold and intelligent niece of Cardinal Mazarin. Her sister Olympia had already captivated the king before marrying the Count of Soissons. The queen of Sweden encouraged Marie: “The right thing is to marry one’s love,” she told Louis XIV.
Mazarin, alarmed, intervened firmly. “No power,” he told the king, “can wrest from me the authority God and the laws give me over my family.” He sent his niece to the convent of Brouage, saying he would leave France with her if necessary. “You are king; you weep; and yet I am going away,” cried Marie to her royal lover, who let her go. She was mistaken—he was not yet truly King.
The Peace of the Pyrenees and Royal Marriage
Mazarin and the queen-mother had long sought peace through an alliance with Spain. Their goal was a marriage between Louis XIV and the Infanta Maria Theresa. In 1659, negotiations culminated on the Island of Pheasants, a neutral spot on the Bidassoa River, where Mazarin met Don Luis de Haro, Philip IV’s minister. On November 7, 1659, the Peace of the Pyrenees was signed, ending twenty-three years of warfare.
France gained Artois, Roussillon, and strongholds in Flanders, Hainaut, and Luxembourg. Spain recognized the Peace of Westphalia, and the Infanta brought a dowry of 500,000 gold crowns,
renouncing her claim to the Spanish throne. The great Condé was reconciled with the king, restored to honor, and given Burgundy’s governorship.
The Marriage of Louis XIV and Maria Theresa
On June 3, 1660, at Fontarabia, Don Luis de Haro, on behalf of France, espoused the Infanta. Their meeting on the Island of Pheasants between Anne of Austria and her brother, Philip IV,
was deeply moving—their first after forty-five years. The definitive marriage took place at Saint-Jean-de-Luz on June 9. The court returned triumphantly to Vincennes; Paris rejoiced over peace and royal marriage alike.
The Death of Cardinal Mazarin
Yet Mazarin’s triumph was short. His gout struck his stomach, and he suffered excruciating pain. “Sir,” he told the king, “you are asking counsel of a man who no longer has his reason and who raves.” He gazed at his treasures and sighed, “All that must be left behind! What trouble I have had to obtain all these things! I shall never see them more where I am going.”
Removed to Vincennes, he continued to govern France from his bed, instructing the young king. “Nobody works so much as the cardinal,” said Turenne. Mazarin recommended Le Tellier, Lionne, and Colbert to the king. He had already secured his fortune for his heirs, and endowed the Collège des Quatre Nations—now the Palais de l’Institut—for the education of children from Alsace, Roussillon, Artois, and Pignerol.
On March 9, 1661, at two in the morning, Cardinal Mazarin died peacefully after praying aloud: “Holy Virgin, have pity upon me; receive my soul.” The queen-mother wept less than the king, weary of his domination. France, pacified and united, stood ready for a new era.
The Dawn of the Sun King’s Reign
Louis XIV now reigned over a submissive nation and a Europe at peace. The work of Henry IV, Richelieu, and Mazarin was complete: the monarchy stood absolute and unchallenged. The great ministers had passed; the king’s turn had come. Soon France would witness a reign of unprecedented splendor and power—one man embodying the state itself: L’État, c’est moi.