returned to Court, having routed the Spaniards, taken twelve towns of
importance, subdued large tracts of country, and garrisoned the places
he had annexed. The reverses of the Spanish arms inclined Philip IV. to
listen to terms, while Anne of Austria represented to the Cardinal that
peace would be a fit thank-offering to Heaven for the recovery of the
King, who had been dangerously ill. Mazarin himself was also in favour
of a treaty, as during all these campaigns he had never quite abandoned
a darling scheme for uniting the interests of the two nations by the
marriage of King Louis with Maria Theresa, Infanta of Spain. The moment
seemed propitious in every way,—Cromwell was dead, and England treating
with her exiled King for his return. Both Charles and his brother, the
Duke of York, were personally attached to France, and the latter, as we
have seen, had served in the French army under the great Turenne.
In November 1659 the Treaty of the Pyrenees was made, which had for its
basis the marriage of Louis with his cousin, Maria Theresa, and
contained numerous conditions, stipulations, exchanges of territory, and
the like, which were very advantageous to France. Cardinal Mazarin was
unsuccessful in his endeavours to make peace between Spain and Portugal,
which he desired; otherwise, matters were arranged to his satisfaction,
and the marriage fixed for the spring or early summer of the ensuing
year. Louis XIV., anxious to bestow some mark of special favour on
Marshal Turenne, offered to revive in his honour the dormant title of
Grand Connétable, the highest dignity which was in the power of the
Crown to bestow. But the acceptance of the office entailed a
renunciation of the Protestant religion, and Turenne was not the man to
sacrifice his faith to his worldly interest. The King, on hearing the
decision, invented a new title, ‘Henri de la Tour d’Auvergne, fût
intitulé Maréchal Général, des Camps, et des armées du Roi.’
In the month of June, the Kings of France and Spain, attended by a
brilliant assemblage of princes, nobles, and officers, met on the Ile
des Faisans, formed by the river Bidassoa, which separates the two
kingdoms,—a small and insignificant place, suddenly transformed into a
theatre for the display of the magnificence and luxury in which the
Courts of both nations delighted. The young King of France, in the
flower of his age, handsome in form and features, and majestic in
bearing, the venerable King Philip IV., and Anne of Austria, sumptuous
in dress and imposing in manner. The brother and sister, who had not met
for nearly half a century, fell on each other’s neck and shed tears of
joy, though the tender affection thus manifested had not prevented them
from engaging for so long a space of time in bloody warfare. Perhaps the
most distinguished member of the French King’s Court was the Marshal
Turenne, who kept as much as was possible in the background, until
singled out by the King of Spain, who desired that he should be
presented. Gazing with eager scrutiny at the world-renowned soldier,
‘That is the man,’ he said, ‘who has caused me so many sleepless
nights.’ The Treaty of the Pyrenees produced a temporary lull in
European hostilities; but Spain and Portugal were still at issue, and
France involved in their quarrels.
In March 1661 died Cardinal Mazarin, who had been Prime Minister for
sixteen years, and the King assumed the reins of government, retaining
the heads of the Administration in office, but constantly consulting his
faithful friend, the Vicomte, on matters political as well as military;
and war being declared between England and Holland, France sided with
the latter country. The Vicomtesse de Turenne died the same year, to the
great sorrow of her husband. His biographer speaks of the noble lady in
high terms, ‘casting but one slur on her memory,—she clung to the
prejudices of her childhood, even though she had the advantage of
lengthened conferences with the most eminent divines of the Church of
Rome;’ _Anglicè_, she had remained steadfast in the Protestant faith.
Anne of Austria was no sooner dead than Louis XIV. once more declared
war with Spain and the Emperor of Germany, at the same time,
strengthening himself by fresh alliances with England, Holland, Sweden,
and other powers. He then announced to Turenne his intention to place
himself at the head of his army, and learn the art of war under the
auspices of that great commander. The rapid successful advances of the
French arms alarmed both England and Holland, and caused them to form a
defensive league with Sweden, under the name of The Triple Alliance, the
object of which was to arrest the encroachments of France.
A treaty between Spain and Portugal, by which the independence of the
last-named country was established, was shortly followed by the peace of
Aix-la-Chapelle, which compelled Louis to come to terms with Spain. The
enumeration of these diplomatic relations is essential to the details of
our biography.
Turenne had now leisure, although it did not last long, to turn his
thoughts seriously to a subject which for some time past had occupied
his mind. He had often, in his letters to his wife, expressed doubts and
scruples on points of religious faith, and it is supposed that he would
have embraced the Roman Catholic creed earlier, had he not feared, by so
doing, to afflict and distress the wife whom he loved so dearly. Be this
as it may, he now saw and conferred with the eloquent and learned Abbé
de Bossuet, afterwards Bishop of Meaux, and the result was that he
abjured the faith for which his house had fought and bled, and was
received into the Church of Rome. Unable as we are to join in the
exultation of the Marshal’s biographer on this point, we still coincide
with him in the belief that no hope of worldly advancement had any part
in Turenne’s change of creed. We are told that he became from that time
more rigid in his morals, more circumspect in his life, and, at all
events, the answer he made to his confessor deserves to be recorded. The
priest asked him whether he had fallen back into a fault, of which he
had repented. ‘Je n’ai jamais manqué de parole aux hommes, en
manquerais-je à Dieu?’
He went very little into society, and even showed an inclination towards
a monastic life, having a great desire to give himself up to the study
of theology; but the King, alarmed at the prospect of losing services
invaluable to the State, interfered to prevent him from taking this
step. Turenne now resided in Paris, surrounded by a small circle of
friends, keeping a frugal table, ‘where the conversation was far more
remarkable than the fare.’
About this time occurred an episode in his life which occasioned him
lasting regret. Louis XIV., feeling himself bound and crippled by the
conditions of the Triple Alliance, consulted with his Prime Minister
Louvois, and his faithful friend the Vicomte de Turenne, on the
possibility of detaching the King of England from his share in the
Treaty. Turenne was a constant visitor at the Court of the Duchess of
Orleans, sister of Charles II., and he now turned his thoughts towards
influencing that Princess to persuade her brother to secede from the
Alliance. Now Madame had a young and very beautiful lady-in-waiting, the
Marquise de Coëtquen, daughter of the Duke of Rohan-Chabot, who was a
great favourite with her royal mistress. Turenne thought it would serve
his purpose to win the confidence of the Duchess through the medium of
her lady, and, feeling a security in the disparity of years, paid Madame
de Coëtquen the most marked attention; while she, on her part, seemed to
ignore the difference of age, being highly flattered by the devotion of
so great a personage. A hero’s heart is proverbially susceptible (we
have already seen that Turenne was not exempt from such amiable
weaknesses); and he was accepted as a lover. The two were inseparable,
and the _liaison_ attracted the attention of the Duke of Orleans.
Jealous of his wife’s favour at Court, he imagined that some political
intrigue was being carried on, in which the Marquise and the Marshal
were implicated. He accordingly directed his favourite, the fascinating
Chevalier de Lorraine, to devote himself to Madame de Coëtquen, and
extract the secret from her. In order to please her younger adorer, the
lady wrung from the Marshal the details of the King’s conversation,
which she immediately imparted to the Chevalier.
The Duke of Orleans in a fury sought the Royal presence, and complained
to the King that every one was trusted with State secrets except
himself; but that he had ascertained without doubt that steps were being
taken to annul the Triple Alliance.
The King, indignant at the betrayal of his confidence, summoned Turenne
to his presence, and burst into violent complaints against Louvois,
‘For,’ said his Majesty, ‘you and he were the only persons to whom I
mentioned the subject.’ The Minister had always shown himself inimical
to Turenne, and never lost an opportunity of endeavouring to lower or
supplant him in the Royal favour, a circumstance of which the Marshal
was well aware; but he was in no way tempted to swerve from his
unwavering veracity. He exonerated the Minister, by taking the whole
blame on himself, and confessed that, in a moment of weakness, he had
divulged the King’s secret to Madame de Coëtquen.
‘A fellow-feeling makes one (sometimes) wondrous kind:’ the King,
perhaps reflecting he might have acted in the same manner in a similar
position, forgave his friend; but Turenne never forgave himself or the
lady, whom he never saw again. For himself, many years afterwards, when
the Chevalier de Lorraine jestingly inquired some particulars of the
affair, the Vicomte replied, ‘Commençons par éteindre les bougies.’
The Duchess of Orleans, as is well known, did undertake the mission to
her brother, in which she was successful; and shortly after her return
to France, she retired to St. Cloud, accompanied by several nobles;
among others the Vicomte de Turenne and the Duc de la Rochefoucauld. Her
sudden and mysterious death, generally believed to be the effect of
poison, in the bloom of life and beauty, threw a deep gloom over the
whole nation. Turenne, in particular, was profoundly affected by the
event, and again contemplated the idea of retirement from the world; but
France could not spare him, and he was soon once more in the field,
gaining fresh laurels. His last campaign was the crowning-point in his
glory, and in the beginning of the year 1675 he returned to Versailles,
his whole route one triumphal procession, flowers strewing his path,
acclamations and blessings attending him wherever he appeared. In the
whole of France no enemy was left, with the exception of such as were
prisoners; on his arrival at Versailles, he was embraced by the King,
and congratulated and made much of by all classes.
In the early summer of 1675, Turenne, at the head of the French army,
and the Count de Montecuculi, in command of the Imperialists, were
pitted against each other. Few periods in European history could have
been richer in names of distinguished military commanders,—the King of
France himself, the Prince of Orange, the Prince de Condé, the Elector
of Brandenburg, the Swedish General Wrangel, and above all, the two
heroes, Marshal Turenne and the Count de Montecuculi, who now disputed
with each other the passage of the Rhine. A paragraph in the life of the
former, from which we have so freely quoted, in speaking of the rival
generals, draws so good a parallel that we are tempted to transcribe it
verbatim:—
‘Les yeux de toute l’Europe furent fixés sur ces deux grands capitaines,
tous deux à peu près du même âge, qui avoient eu la même éducation,
formés par deux oncles rivaux, le Prince Maurice, et le Comte Ernest,
ils avoient porté le mousquet, avant que de parvenir à aucune grade, et
acquis par cinquante années de combats une expérience consommée dans
toutes les parties de l’art militaire. L’un et l’autre avoit reçu du
ciel un esprit supérieur, un jugement solide, et un sangfroid, qui dans
un général n’est pas moins nécessaire, que la prévoyance et la valeur.
Capitaines par étude, ils combattoient par principes, et ne donnoient
presque rien à la fortune. Adorés du soldat, l’amour pour le général
plutôt que l’obéissance due au souverain, paroissoit animer l’une et
l’autre armée. Ces deux généraux se connoissoient, s’estimoient, et se
craignoient mutuellement, ni l’un ni l’autre n’osoit attendre la
victoire des fautes de son ennemi, il falloit l’emporter, à force de
génie, et de science militaire.’
This last campaign was pronounced by an unquestionable authority to be
the _chef d’œuvre_ alike of Turenne and Montecuculi.
Their marches, countermarches, attacks and retreats, were worthy of
themselves and of each other; but Turenne was stronger and more active
than his rival, who often suffered from gout, which prevented his being
as much on horseback as he desired.
On the 27th of July the two armies drew up in order of battle not far
from the village of Salzbach, and the position seemed so advantageous
for the French troops that Turenne, contrary to his custom, expressed
himself most confidently as to the result. That morning, after hearing
Mass and partaking of the Holy Communion, the Marshal mounted his horse
and carefully reconnoitred the ground.
‘C’en est fait, je les tiens,’ he said to some by-standing officers.
‘Ils ne pourroient plus m’échapper; je vais recueillir les fruits d’une
si pénible campagne.’ The hero was indeed about to rest from his
labours, but not in the manner he anticipated. Observing a movement in
the enemy’s infantry, which he imagined denoted an intention to retreat,
he alighted from his charger, and sat down to rest under a large tree
and eat his breakfast; after which he again mounted, and rode up a small
eminence, forbidding his officers to follow him, and speaking with
well-simulated severity to his nephew, the Duc d’Elbeuf, ‘Pray do not
stick so close to me,’ he said; ‘you will cause me to be recognised.’
The youth’s life was very dear to him. The English general, Hamilton,
now came up, and begged him not to ‘ride up there, for they are firing
in that direction.’ Turenne smiled, and said, ‘Oh, I must not be killed
to-day,’ and passed on his way. He then met General St. Hilaire, who
asked his opinion of the spot at which he had stationed a battery.
Turenne reined back his horse a few paces in order to judge, when a
stray shot shattered St. Hilaire’s arm, and lodged in the middle of the
Marshal’s body. His favourite charger, ‘La Pie,’ wheeled round, and
galloped back to the point where he had left his company, then, halting
suddenly, the lifeless body of Henri de la Tour d’Auvergne fell into the
arms of his weeping soldiers. Twice he opened his eyes and moved his
lips, but never spoke again; while St. Hilaire thus addressed his son,
who was lamenting over his father’s sufferings: ‘Keep your tears,’ he
said, ‘for the great man whom we have this day lost.’ The consternation
of the spectators of this sad scene was indescribable; no one appeared
to have retained his presence of mind. Hamilton ordered a cloak to be
thrown over the body, and desired that the Marshal’s death should be
kept secret as long as possible, foreseeing the panic which would ensue
in the French army. But the news soon spread, and infused fresh vigour
into the enemy’s troops. The gallant and generous Montecuculi, on
hearing his great rival was no more, was much affected, and uttered
these memorable words (no insignificant or inappropriate epitaph), ‘Il
est mort! un homme qui faisoit honneur à l’homme.’ The intelligence
spread from rank to rank, and was at first received in dead silence,
broken after a few moments by sobs, and the loud cry, ‘Our father is
dead, and we are lost!’ Then they rushed in crowds to gaze on his dead
body, and called on their officers to lead them on to revenge his death.
But no one seemed willing to take the command. There was delay and
deliberation, till the soldiers again burst forth angrily, ‘Lâchez la
Pie, elle nous conduira.’
The Marshal’s death changed and reversed the plans of both armies. The
French began to retire, the Imperialists to advance, and on the 29th a
desperate battle took place, with considerable loss on both sides, after
which the French crossed the Rhine in retreat. So strong was their
belief, even to superstition, in the ruling star of Turenne, that some
soldiers were overheard to say, ‘If our father had been alive we should
not have been wounded.’
On their march to Paris, the troops paid funeral honours to their
beloved commander,—his nephews and brother officers with crape-bound
arms, the soldiers with muskets reversed, the voice of the officiating
priest often inaudible from the sobs and lamentations of the mourners.
The King was deeply affected, as we learn from Madame de Sévigné’s
touching letter to her daughter, and all the more so, that he received a
despatch from the Marshal, full of the most sanguine anticipations of
coming victory simultaneously with the account of his death. So deep a
sensation was produced at Court, that, marvellous to relate, a projected
fête that was to have taken place at Versailles was postponed, and a
courtier was on the point of fainting!
When the hero’s body reached Paris, the King ordered it to be placed in
the Chapel of St. Denis, usually allotted to the Royal family. It was
not only in the French capital that people of all classes came to swell
the funeral procession, artisans leaving their work unfinished for that
purpose, but all the way along the road from the Rhine country, marks of
honour and respect were paid, alike by friend and foe. The Court, the
Parliament, the University, the Municipality, all attended the Marshal’s
funeral, and the most celebrated divines vied with one another in
eulogising him from the pulpit. Père Mascaron, in his funeral oration,
says, ‘Au milieu du tumulte et du bruit des armes, les sentimens du
chrétien, accompagnoient, animoient, et perfectionnoient, en lui, ceux
du heros.’
In emergencies his decisions were prompt; where the matter did not press
he took time to consider. His military skill needs no encomium; to that
his whole life bore testimony. His early education had taught him to
revere discipline, and he consequently submitted willingly to those in
authority, except—as in the case of the Prime Minister Louvois, who
presumed to dictate to him on military tactics—when they interfered in
matters with which they were not competent to deal. The love his
soldiers bore him bordered upon worship, and he returned their
affection. Although a strict disciplinarian, he always tempered justice
with mercy; he shared the hardships of the men, and ministered to their
comforts, frequently paying out of his own privy purse the arrears which
he could not wring from the Government. His compassion to his prisoners
made him esteemed among his enemies; and he was most severe in the
prohibition of pillage. In one of his campaigns (we allude to it with
deep regret), his own troops, driven to terrible straits in the matter
of provisions, and burning with the desire to take reprisals for
cruelties practised on their countrymen, Turenne not only sanctioned,
but enforced, devastation and destruction in the Palatinate; so much so,
that the Elector wrote him a furious letter, terminating with a
challenge. His love of truth was proverbial; his simple word outweighed
the oaths of other men, and his own memoirs vouch for his modesty of
speech. When he alluded to a defeat, he used to say, ‘The battle I
lost;’ when to a victory, ‘The battle we gained.’ He was moral and
religious; he hated excess of any kind, and, with the exception of
occasional attacks of gout, his health was good to the end. In
appearance, Turenne was about the middle height, broad shoulders, bushy
eyebrows, and rather heavy features; simple but decent in dress.
In youth he had loved athletic exercises and military studies too well
to give his thoughts to other branches of learning; but as years passed
on, he became aware how necessary is general knowledge to a commander,
and he gave his mind to the study of history, geography, languages, etc.
He was not carried away by impulse, but calm in adversity as in
prosperity, unmoved by abuse or praise, he went like an arrow straight
to the mark. His pride was that of birth; his glory was in the honour of
his house, never in his own. He treated his brother as a sovereign, and
even yielded the _pas_ to his nephew, while he, the latter, was still a
child.
Numerous anecdotes are told of Turenne, which redound to his advantage.
An officer, wishing to ingratiate himself with the general, showed him a
way to obtain a large sum of money, and ‘no one be the wiser.’ ‘Thank
you,’ said Turenne coldly; ‘I have had plenty of such chances before
now, without taking advantage of them.’
Another time, the inhabitants of a certain town came to offer him a
considerable bribe if he would not pass through their district. ‘Keep
your money,’ was the reply; ‘you do not lie in my line of march.’
Walking one evening on the ramparts of a town, he was attacked by
several robbers, who insisted on his giving them a ring he habitually
wore. The Marshal calmly began to parley with them. ‘See, my friends,’
he said, ‘we will come to terms. If you will leave me in possession of
that trinket, I will promise you a hundred louis, which is considerably
above its value. I have not the money on my person, but if one of you
will come and claim it to-morrow, I will guarantee your safety.’
No one ever doubted the Marshal’s given word. The next morning,
surrounded by his staff, Turenne received the robbers’ messenger, and
giving him the money, dismissed him with courtesy, much to the surprise
and amusement of his officers, when made acquainted with the facts of
the case.
One day a servant of his household, coming behind him so quickly as not
to recognise the Marshal, dealt him a heavy blow; overcome with
confusion, the man apologised in the humblest terms, offering as an
excuse that he thought it was a fellow-servant. ‘Well,’ said his master,
smiling good-naturedly, though still smarting from the blow, ‘even if it
had been George, you need not have hit so hard.’
Turenne was mourned, not only by his countrymen and his allies, but his
very enemies showed the greatest respect for his memory. The spot where
he fell was left untouched, and the tree under which he had reposed
shortly before his death was held sacred by the peasants, and pointed
out by them to passers-by. Neither did it perish through decay, but was
carried off branch by branch as trophies, by soldiers of all nations. In
1781 the Cardinal de Rohan erected a monument to his memory at Salzbach,
which was repaired by Moreau in 1801, and about thirty years afterwards
a large pyramid of granite was raised on the spot.
Many and strange were the vicissitudes which befell the body of this
great man. It was placed (as we have said) in the Royal Chapel of St.
Denis, by order of Louis XIV., and when the tombs of the royal family
were desecrated in the Revolution of 1793, Turenne’s embalmed body was
so well preserved as to be an object of desire to the owner of a Museum
of Natural History. He gained permission to place it there, and it was
exhibited among the skeletons and fossils of animals for some time, and
then removed to an antiquarian museum for the edification of its
members. Buonaparte, who had a profound admiration for the memory of the
great soldier, caused the remains to be carried with much solemnity to
the Church of the Invalides, and there deposited, while the Marshal’s
heart, which had been placed in the Abbey of Cluny, was restored to his
family.