Condé is disappointed in his hopes of obtaining the post of
Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom--The prince incurs the hatred
of the extreme Catholics--Plot to assassinate him on the Feast
of Corpus Christi--Suspicion with which he is regarded by the
zealots of his own party--Condé, deceived in his ambition and
mortified by the hostility of the extremists on both sides,
turns to pleasure for consolation--Violent passion of the
Maréchale de Saint-André for him--Indignation and alarm aroused
at Geneva by the rumours of Condé’s amorous adventures--Calvin
and Bèze address a joint letter of remonstrance to the
prince--Condé at Muret--Death of two of his children--Failing
health of the Princesse de Condé--Her touching devotion
to her husband--Her dignified attitude in regard to his
infidelities--Return of Condé to the Court--Quarrel between him
and Isabelle de Limeuil--Temporary triumph of the Maréchale de
Saint-André--Refusal of the King to sanction the betrothal of
the Marquis de Conti to Mlle. de Saint-André--Condé quits the
Court in anger, but is reconciled to Isabelle and returns--A
second honeymoon.
After having broken definitely with his former allies, and even borne
arms against them in person, Condé looked to receive from the hands
of the Queen-Mother the post of Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom,
which Catherine appears to have given him to understand would be the
reward of his compliance with her wishes. But her Majesty, though she
complimented him warmly on the courage he had displayed during the
siege, had not the smallest intention of sharing with the prince the
power of which she was so jealous; and, by causing the Parlement of
Rouen to proclaim the majority of Charles IX., who had just entered
his fourteenth year, she adroitly contrived to reduce to nothing all
pretension on his part to the coveted title and to retain the sovereign
authority in her own hands.
The discovery that he had been the dupe of his ambition was not the
only mortification which Condé had to endure. If he were at bottom but
a lukewarm adherent of the Reformed Faith, if in the negotiations
which had preceded the Peace of Amboise he had been not unmindful of
his own interests, he was none the less sincerely anxious that the
rights guaranteed to the Protestants by that treaty should be observed;
and his persistence in defending them drew upon him the hatred of the
extreme Catholics. So exasperated, indeed, were the fanatical Parisians
against him that for some months his friends considered it unsafe
for him to appear in the capital, even in the suite of the King, and
on one occasion when he did venture there, he narrowly escaped being
assassinated.
In one of his despatches to Cecil, Middlemore gives the following
account of the affair:--
“On the 9th inst., the King went from Bois de Vincennes to Paris, as
well to keep the people from sedition as to assist at the Feast of
Corpus Christi, which was the next day. Condé (who had refused to go
thither) was won to accompany him, and on the morrow brought him to Our
Lady Church,[38] where he left him at the door, without entering. These
ceremonies passed, the King, about 7 p.m., came back to bed to Bois de
Vincennes, accompanied by his mother and the Prince. As they passed
the town-gates,[39] they found 600 horsemen, well-armed and mounted,
who were assembled to slay the Prince and all his, if they could have
taken him out of the presence of the King; but perceiving the King,
they divided themselves on both sides of the way, and suffered him to
pass quietly, on whose right hand at that time the Prince was, and the
Queen-Mother on his left. The Princess, his wife, coming in her coach
a little after, was assailed by them, and would have been murdered had
not the cochier bestirred himself; and such gentlemen as were about her
cried to them that it was not the Princess of Condé, but the Queen’s
maids, which kept them from shooting their pistols at her, having them
ready bent, until they overtook the King, in whose presence (when they
saw that they had failed of the Prince and Princess) they killed a
captain of the Prince[40] at the side of his wife’s coach, and took
five or six of his gentlemen prisoners, and retired. This outrage is
greatly stomached by the Prince, who has since been assured that some
of the House of Guise did ‘dress’ him this party; and therefore he told
the Queen, before the whole Council, that he will not tarry in the
Court unless the whole House of Guise retire from thence; and so has
desired her to consider which of them shall do the King better service,
and that the others may be commanded forthwith to dislodge.”[41]
On the other hand, the zealots of Condé’s own party, who had so
bitterly denounced the Peace, could not forgive his want of enthusiasm,
nor the very plain language in which he rebuked their insulting
behaviour towards the Catholics in those districts in which the latter
happened to be in a minority. They accused him of “swimming betwixt
two waters,” “of playing the Machiavelli,” and of seeking to use
both parties for his own ends.[42] “In their eyes,” observes the Duc
d’Aumale, “his desire for the maintenance of peace was nothing but the
indifference of gratified ambition, or the forgetfulness of duty amidst
the intoxication of pleasure.”[43]
If Condé’s efforts on behalf of his co-religionists should have
sheltered him from such accusations, his private life, it must be
admitted, was very far from being in accordance with the austere
religion which he professed, and was calculated to arouse grave
apprehensions among the Protestants. Deceived in his ambition,
mortified by the hostility which his well-intentioned efforts had been
received by the extremists of both parties, he had turned to pleasure
for consolation and surrendered himself unreservedly to all the
temptations of that gay and dissolute Court. His days were passed in
the hunting-field, the tennis-court, and the tilt-yard; his nights at
the ball, the play, or the card-table, and often in more questionable
amusements. Grave Huguenots who came to lay their grievances before
him were indignant to find the chief of their party, who should have
been occupying himself with the interests of religion and setting an
example of godly living to those about him, mingling in all the profane
diversions of the Court, as though he had not a care in the world, and
inexpressibly shocked to learn that he was forgetting his devoted wife
in the embraces of “Midianitish women.”
For Isabelle de Limeuil, if she occupied the premier place in Condé’s
affections, could not claim a monopoly of them. His Highness, in point
of fact, disdained few _bonnes fortunes_, and the complaisant
beauties of Catherine’s Court were generally ready to meet the advances
of the first Prince of the Blood a good deal more than halfway.
Among those who entered the lists against Isabelle, the most
redoubtable was Marguerite de Lustrac, the widow of the unfortunate
Maréchal de Saint-André, so foully slain at Dreux. Although no longer
in her first youth, Madame la Maréchale was still one of the most
beautiful and fascinating women at the Court--“_la Marguerite de
douceur_,”[44] a contemporary writer calls her. She was also
extremely wealthy and gave herself the airs of a queen, being always
attended by an immense retinue, which included cadets of the noblest
families in France.
Feeling the need of consolation in her bereavement, the lady cast
a favourable eye in the direction of Condé, and, piqued by his
indifference--he was just then in the middle of his honeymoon with
Isabelle--soon conceived for him the most violent passion. Since
sighs and languishing glances did not suffice to bring him to her
side, she resolved to have recourse to other means. By the Maréchal
de Saint-André she had had a daughter, who was one of the greatest
heiresses in France. This daughter had for some time past been destined
for the young Henri de Lorraine, who, by the tragic death of his
father, had now become Duc de Guise, and she had even been confided to
the care of the widowed duchess. But the maréchale, having decided that
the surest means of subjugating Condé was to appeal to his interests,
suddenly demanded that her daughter should be sent back to her,
repudiated her engagements with the Guises, and offered the girl to the
prince, for his eldest son, Henri, Marquis de Conti, now twelve years
old.
The prospect of an alliance which would not only bring great wealth
into his family, but inflict a cruel humiliation on the hated Guises
was naturally very favourably received by Condé, and the enamoured
maréchale did not fail to take full advantage of the frequent
interviews between her and the object of her passion which the affair,
of course, necessitated. Nevertheless, she did not succeed in weaning
the Prince from Isabelle, and had to rest content with the few crumbs
of affection which he condescended to bestow upon her.
Rumours of his Highness’s amorous adventures were not long in reaching
Geneva, where they aroused both indignation and alarm. Had the
delinquent been a less exalted personage, he would probably have been
straightway excommunicated; but Calvin and Bèze, though exasperated by
the carelessness with which he was compromising their common cause,
knew very well that the first Prince of the Blood was an asset with
which the party could not possibly dispense. They knew, too, that his
_amour-propre_ had already been deeply wounded by the reproaches
that had been addressed to him at the time of the Peace of Amboise, and
that it was necessary to spare his feelings as much as possible; and,
accordingly, contented themselves by addressing to him, in the name of
their afflicted Church, a letter of remonstrance, couched in studiously
moderate terms:
MONSEIGNEUR,
We cannot forbear to beseech you not only to use your endeavours
in the cause of Our Lord Jesus Christ, for the advancement of
the Gospel and for the security and repose of the poor faithful,
but also to show in your whole life that you have profited by
the doctrines of salvation, and to let your example be such as
to edify the good and to close the mouths of all slanderers. For
in proportion as you are conspicuous from afar in so exalted
a position, ought you to be on your guard lest they should
find any fault in you. You cannot doubt, Monseigneur, that we
love your honour as we desire your salvation; and we should be
traitors were we to conceal from you the rumours that are in
circulation concerning you. We do not suppose that there is
any direct offence to God; but when it is reported to us that
you make love to ladies, your authority and reputation are
seriously prejudiced. Good people will be scandalized thereby;
the evil-disposed will make it a subject of mockery. It involves
a distraction which hinders and retards you from attending to
your duty. There must even be some mundane vanity in it; and
it becomes you, above all else, to take heed lest the light
which God has placed in you be quenched or grow dim. We trust,
Monseigneur, that this warning will be taken in good part, when
you reflect how much it is for your service. From Geneva, this
thirteenth day of September 1563.
Your very humble brethren,
JEAN CALVIN
THÉODORE DE BESZE
Condé received this letter at the Château of Muret, in Picardy, whither
he had just arrived on a visit to his wife and family, accompanied by
his brother-in-law, the Comte de la Rochefoucauld,[45] and his nephew,
the Prince de Porcien. It would not appear to have been altogether
without effect, for, on 2 October, Condé’s mother-in-law, the Comtesse
de Roye, wrote to the Duke of Würtemberg: “The prince, my son-in-law,
intends to devote himself more and more to everything which can further
the reign of Jesus Christ.”[46]
In the course of that same month, a domestic calamity came to add
weight to the counsels of Calvin and Bèze. Two of his younger children,
Madeleine, aged three, and Louis, a child of eighteen months, fell ill
and died within a few days of one another, to the inexpressible grief
of the Princesse de Condé, who was one of the most devoted of mothers.
The princess’s relatives and friends, who probably regarded the death
of the children as a direct judgment from Heaven upon the father’s
sins, did not fail to improve the occasion, and represented to Condé
that it was his duty to withdraw, for some time at least, from the
Court and remain with his bereaved wife. The poor lady, indeed, needed
all the care and attention which were in his power to bestow, since she
was a prey to bodily suffering as well as to anguish of mind. Always a
delicate woman, the dangers and agitations of the past two years had
tried her cruelly. In the spring of 1562, when on her way from Meaux to
Muret with her eldest boy and a small retinue, she had been attacked
by a mob of fanatical peasants, who were marching in a Catholic
procession, “without any cause, unless it were that they had been
incited by a malignant priest, out of hatred for the Religion.”[47]
The litter in which the princess was being carried was smashed to
pieces by volleys of stones, and she herself narrowly escaped serious
injury. She was then in an advanced stage of pregnancy, and had barely
time to reach the nearest village when she gave birth to twin sons.
Nevertheless, as soon as she was able to leave her bed, she insisted on
setting out for Orléans to join her husband, and, during the siege of
that town in the following winter, she remained there, amid all the
horrors of war, pestilence, and famine, to encourage its defenders by
her heroic example.
Although her health had been profoundly affected by all that she had
gone through during the civil war, the princess considered it her
duty, so long as any physical strength remained to her, to reside at
the Court with her husband, and to follow him in his journeys. Thus,
when, in the early summer of 1563, Condé decided to take part in the
expedition against Le Havre, she set out for Normandy, accompanied by
her mother, the Comtesse de Roye. But, on reaching Gaillon, she was
attacked by small-pox of so severe a type that, for some time, she was
in grave danger. Scarcely was she convalescent, than Madame de Roye
fell ill, in her turn; and the princess, in attending to her mother,
neglected her own health, which from that moment declined steadily.
Although the dissolute life which Condé was leading had caused her
the greatest grief, she had refrained from reproaching him. “For
her,” says her biographer, “the true remedy for the irregularities
of the unfaithful husband and for the anguish of the outraged wife
was to be found in earnest and continual prayer. She implored God to
save the soul led astray, and strove, by patient efforts, discreetly
directed, and loving instances, to bring back this soul into the path
of duty, and to revive in it family affections.”[48] She now joined
her entreaties to those of her friends and relatives to persuade her
husband to remain with her. But Condé’s career of dissipation had
stifled his better nature; the impressions produced on his mind by
the death of his children were soon effaced, and, oblivious of the
duty which he owed his ailing wife, and of the many obligations under
which she had placed him, in the first days of November, he quitted
her abruptly and returned to the Court, which was now in residence at
Fontainebleau.
A most unwelcome piece of intelligence greeted him on his arrival. He
was informed that, during his absence in Picardy, Mlle. de Limeuil
had shown herself so unworthy of the signal honour he had done her
as to find consolation in the homage of M. du Fresne, a gentleman
for whom she had shown a decided preference in the days before Condé
appeared upon the scene. The prince, who entertained a very high
opinion both of the lady and of his own powers of fascination, was at
first incredulous; but the evidence laid before him was sufficiently
circumstantial to disturb his peace of mind very seriously. In
consequence, the reunion to which he had looked forward with so much
impatience was shorn of all its rapture, and, instead of smiles,
endearing words, and embraces, there were reproaches, indignant
denials, sarcastic rejoinders, tears, and sulks.
The Maréchale de Saint-André did not fail to profit by the
indiscretions of her rival, and delivered so vigorous and well-timed
an assault upon the prince’s heart that she succeeded in temporarily
establishing herself there, and “audaciously flaunted her conquest
before the eyes of the whole Court.” The maréchale had now recovered
her daughter from the Duchesse de Guise, though not without an appeal
to the law courts, and the little girl was on the point of being
formally betrothed to the Marquis de Conti, when the Queen-Mother, who
had got wind of the project, and had no mind to see the House of Condé
thus aggrandized, suddenly intervened and persuaded the King to inform
the parents that he should refuse his sanction to the match.
Condé could not contain his indignation. “The Prince de Condé has left
the Court in anger,” runs a letter from Fontainebleau, “because they
(Charles IX. and Catherine) would not give the daughter of the late
Maréchal de Saint-André to his son. He believes that they intend to
give her to Guise. The Constable has gone to fetch him back. Others
have gone to fan the flame.”[49] But it appears to have been Mlle. de
Limeuil, and not the Constable, who persuaded the prince to stomach the
affront he had received and to return to the Court. Acting doubtless
by Catherine’s orders, the damsel addressed to him eloquent and
persuasive letters, assuring him that he alone possessed her heart, and
that the affair with M. du Fresne had been no more than a harmless
flirtation, which malicious persons of both sexes--woman who envied
her her happiness, and gallants who could not forgive her for having
preferred the prince to them--had magnified into an intrigue. As for
the matter which had caused his departure from the Court, was it worth
while to sacrifice his pleasures to his _amour-propre_? The little
Mlle. de Saint-André was a sickly child, who would probably never live
to a marriageable age. Let him return, and he would find his Isabelle
impatiently awaiting him.
Condé did return, forgetting for the nonce his grievances against
Catherine and anxious only for a reconciliation with his mistress. The
Maréchale de Saint-André was compelled, to her intense mortification,
to resign her conquest and retire temporarily from the field; and
the prince and Isabelle embarked upon a second honeymoon, which was
conducted with so little pretence at concealment that people were
astonished that Catherine, who still insisted on the observance of
some outward decorum at her Court, should permit such “goings on.” Her
Majesty, however, who was fully alive to the political advantages of a
passion which was, so to speak, binding her adversary hand and foot,
found it convenient to be a little blind.
In the course of the month of November, Coligny and Andelot arrived at
the Court, and, on learning of the manner in which Condé was parading
his profligacy, expostulated with him in no measured terms. Their
remonstrances, however, had very little effect, and it was not until
the following February, when the Princesse de Condé paid a brief visit
to Fontainebleau, that his Highness condescended to show some respect
for _les convenances_.