All the more decent folk among them were lying
wounded in different houses, and scarcely any of their chiefs were
left afoot but the Duke of Beaufort, with his handsome face and his
fine curls of flaxen hair, looking like a king, but good for nothing
but to be a king of ruffians.
What does the Prince do but go to the Hotel de Ville with the Duke of
Orleans and Beaufort, at six o'clock in the evening of the 4th of
July, under pretence of thanking the magistrates and deputies of
letting him in. Then he demanded of them to proclaim that the King
was a prisoner in Mazarin's hands, and to throw themselves into the
war. They would do no such thing, nor let themselves be intimidated,
whereupon the Prince went out on the steps, and shouted to his rabble
rout, where there were plenty of soldiers in disguise, who had been
drinking ever since noon: 'These gentlemen will do nothing for us,'
he cried. 'Do what you like with them.'
And then, like a coward, he got into a carriage with Monsieur and
drove off, while M. de Beaufort, in a mercer's shop, acted general to
the mob, who filled the whole place. It was a regular storm. Flags
with 'Arret d'Union' were displayed, shots fired, the soldiers got
into the houses and aimed in at the windows, logs of wood smeared
with fat were set fire to before the doors so as to burn them down.
Clement, who was a depute for his arrondissement, had, while this was
going on, been getting together the younger and stronger men with the
guard, to make a barricade of benches, tables, and chairs; and they
defended this for a long time, but ammunition failed them, and the
barricade began to give way amid the shouts of the mob.
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