Condé summoned by the Archdukes to Brussels--He places himself
under the protection of Philip III. of Spain--Mission of the
Marquis de Cœuvres to Brussels--His attempted abduction of the
Princesse de Condé--Condé declared guilty of high treason--He
leaves Brussels for Milan--Henri IV. and his Ministers
threaten the Archdukes with war if the princess is not given
up--Despatches of the Spanish Ambassador to his Court--Condé
at Milan--Assassination of Henri IV.--Embarrassing position
of Condé in regard to Spain--He returns to Brussels, but
declines to see his wife--His return to France--He contemplates
the dissolution of his marriage, but ultimately consents to
a formal reconciliation with the princess--His turbulent
conduct during the regency of Marie de’ Medici--His arrest and
imprisonment--The princess magnanimously shares her husband’s
captivity--Dangerous illness of the prince--Birth of Anne
Geneviève de Bourbon--Release of the Condés.
Towards the end of December, the Archdukes summoned Condé to Brussels,
under the pretext that an interview with the French representative
might induce him to return to France. But the real reason was that it
had been suggested to them by Spinola[159] that, if the prince could be
persuaded to place himself under the protection of Spain, he might be
utilized as a very valuable instrument against France.
On his arrival in Brussels, Condé expressed himself willing to return,
if guaranteed a place of surety in his government of Guienne; but
Henri IV. refused even to consider such a proposal, and insisted on an
immediate and unconditional return, promising him only a free pardon.
At the instance of Spinola, who had rapidly acquired considerable
influence over him, Condé thereupon decided to appeal to the King of
Spain for protection. The Council of State at Madrid was unanimously
of opinion that the request should be acceded to; and Philip III.
accordingly charged his ambassador at the French Court, Don Inigo de
Cardenas, to inform Henri IV. that he had taken the Prince de Condé
under his protection, “with the object of acting as a mediator in the
matter and contributing everything in his power towards the repose and
happiness of the Very Christian King.” The remainder of the despatch,
however, leaves no doubt that his Catholic Majesty was animated by very
different sentiments towards Henri IV. from those which Don Inigo was
instructed to express.[160] At the same time, Philip wrote to Condé
to assure him of his sympathy, and despatched one of his Council,
the Count Anôvar, to Brussels, with instructions to watch over the
interests of the prince, who, on his side, engaged to make no terms
with Henri IV. without the consent of Spain.
[Illustration: HENRY II DE BOURBON, PRINCE DE CONDÉ
FROM AN ENGRAVING BY MATHONIER]
Meanwhile, the Connétable de Montmorency, either because he really
believed the reports which were being industriously circulated by
French agents in Brussels that Condé was ill-treating his wife,
or, more probably, out of dishonourable servility to the King, had
intervened in the affair, and despatched to Flanders one of his
relatives, Louis de Montmorency-Boutteville, father of the unfortunate
gentleman whose execution for duelling caused such a painful sensation
seventeen years later. Boutteville was the bearer of a letter to
the Archdukes, in which the Constable complained bitterly of the
alleged sufferings of his daughter, and besought their Highnesses
to restore his beloved child to him. His request was refused, and
the reports as to Condé’s ill-treatment of his wife would appear to
have been altogether devoid of foundation. Nevertheless, the young
princess, who had little love for her husband and naturally resented
the strict surveillance to which she was subjected, was becoming more
and more dissatisfied with her life at Brussels. If she had done
nothing to encourage the advances of Henri IV., she had certainly
not been insensible to the homage of so great a monarch, and many
years later was wont to recall it with pride and emotion. Moreover,
intrigues of all kinds were at work to further the King’s odious
designs. The wife of the French Ambassador at Brussels, Brulart de
Berny, visited _Madame la Princesse_ constantly and enlarged on
the glories of which she was deprived by her husband’s jealousy; two
of her waiting-women had been bribed and added their persuasions to
those of the Ambassadress; while Girard, a secretary of the Constable,
was continually travelling to and fro between Paris, Chantilly, and
Brussels, bearing letters and instructions.
Towards the end of January, Henry IV. despatched an envoy extraordinary
to Brussels, in the person of Annibal d’Estrées, Marquis de Cœuvres,
brother of the beautiful and ill-fated Gabrielle. Cœuvres very speedily
perceived that there was small likelihood of being able to persuade the
Archdukes to surrender the princess to her relatives, or rather to the
King, and, on 9 February, wrote to his Majesty to obtain his consent to
a plan which he had formed for the abduction of the young lady. Henri
immediately sent the required authorization, but, unfortunately for the
success of the enterprise, the mere prospect of once more beholding
the object of his passion transported him to such a degree that he
was quite unable to conceal his joyous anticipations, either from his
_entourage_ or even from his long-suffering consort. The jealous
Queen took advantage of this indiscretion to acquaint the Nuncio
Ubaldini, a devoted friend of the Medici family, with what was in the
wind; the Nuncio, in his turn, communicated the news to the Spanish
Ambassador, who lost no time in sending a courier to Brussels to put
Spinola on his guard.
Spinola, fearing lest Condé, if informed of the proposed abduction of
his wife, might create a scandal, contented himself with arousing his
suspicions sufficiently to induce him to beg the Archdukes to receive
the princess into their own palace. To this their Highnesses readily
consented, and 14 February was fixed for the departure of _Madame la
Princesse_ and her attendants from the Hôtel de Nassau.
Cœuvres was naturally much disconcerted on learning of this change of
residence, and recognizing that, were the lady once within the walls of
the archducal palace, any such measures as he was contemplating would
be foredoomed to failure, determined to make his attempt on the night
of the 13th.
His plan was a bold one. The Princesse de Condé’s apartments abutted
on the garden of the Hôtel de Nassau, which was separated from the
ramparts only by a narrow street. Under cover of the confusion and
bustle which the preparations for her removal on the morrow would be
sure to entail, she was to descend, or be carried into the garden, pass
through it, and gain the street. A breach sufficient to admit of her
egress was to be made in the ramparts, and on the far side of the moat,
which was empty at this time, a body of horse, under the command of
Longueval de Manicamp, governor of La Fère, would be waiting to escort
her to the frontier, while another troop would cover their flight. Some
difference of opinion seems to exist as to whether the lady herself
was privy to this scheme; but the fact that one of her waiting-women
had carried that afternoon to the French Embassy a quantity of her
mistress’s clothes would certainly seem to point to her complicity.
It was only a few hours before the moment fixed for the execution of
Cœuvres’s design that Spinola learned of his intention, through the
treachery of a French adventurer in the marquis’s pay. This time he
felt obliged to inform Condé, who hastened to the Archdukes to demand
a guard, after which, beside himself with anger and excitement, he
hurried hither and thither, calling upon every one he met to assist
him to protect his wife. Soon the Hôtel de Nassau was surrounded by
soldiers, reinforced by five hundred armed citizens, whom the Prince
of Orange had procured from the Burgomaster, while cavalry, preceded
by torch-bearers, patrolled the neighbouring streets. These warlike
preparations brought almost the whole city to the spot, and “bred one
of the greatest tumults ever known in Brussels; and it was commonly
reported and believed that the King of France was himself in person at
the gates to carry away the princess by force.”[161]
The same day, about three o’clock in the afternoon, Henri IV. had
quitted Paris, “very jovial and much bedecked, contrary to his usual
custom,” accompanied by four coaches, “to go to meet his nymph,”[162]
and proceeded to Saint-Germain-en-Laye. But the nymph did not arrive,
and, in her stead, came a mud-bespattered courier with the news of the
failure of the attempt. The discomfited monarch returned to Paris in
a very ill-humour, and wrote a most unkind letter to Cœuvres, whom he
stigmatized as “a blockhead and a fool.”
That enterprising nobleman had, it would appear, very narrowly escaped
capture, having actually entered the Hôtel de Nassau before he learned
that he had been betrayed. However, being possessed of a large fund of
assurance, he resolved to brave the matter out, and early next morning
presented himself at the palace of the Archdukes, to complain of the
insult put upon the King, his master, by the precautionary measures
adopted the previous evening, and of the caluminous reports that were
being circulated concerning himself. The Archduke Albert replied that
he himself had given no credit to these reports, but that, as the
Prince de Condé had insisted on the necessity for a guard, he had felt
obliged to accede to his request.
On leaving the palace, Cœuvres, accompanied by the French Ambassador,
Brulart de Berny, the Sieur de Préaulx, counsellor to the Parlement of
Paris, and Manicamp, governor of La Fère, proceeded to the Hôtel de
Nassau, where, with much solemnity, he handed Condé a formal indictment
declaring him guilty of high treason, unless he forthwith made his
submission to the King. To this indictment the prince at once drew up
a reply, wherein he affirmed that “he had left France to save his life
and his honour; that he was prepared to return if any offer should be
made him which would enable him to reside there in security; that he
would live and die faithful to the King; but that, when the King should
stray from the ways of justice and should proceed against him by the
ways of violence, he held all such acts as should be done against him
null and invalid.”[163]
After this, Condé, fearing or feigning to fear, that it was now no
longer safe for him to remain in the Netherlands, determined, on the
advice of Spinola and the Spanish Ambassador at Brussels, to seek an
asylum at Milan. Accordingly, having exacted a solemn promise from
the Archdukes that his wife should not quit their palace without his
consent, on 21 February, he left Brussels secretly, in disguise,
accompanied by Rochefort, Virey, and one of Spinola’s officers named
Fritima, who was to act as guide and interpreter. The season was an
unusually severe one, and the travellers suffered many hardships, but
on the last day in March they reached Milan in safety.
The Spaniards attached great importance to the possession of Condé’s
person, for, as first Prince of the Blood and next in succession to
the King’s children, he might prove of the highest value to them in
exciting troubles in France, should Henri IV. persist in his hostile
projects against Spain, while, in the event of negotiations, his
extradition might be dearly sold. In accordance with instructions from
Madrid, the prince was received by the Spanish governor, Fuentes, with
every possible honour, lodged in the ducal palace, and a numerous
household appointed to wait upon him.
Henri IV. and his Ministers, finding persuasion of no avail with the
Archdukes, had recourse to threats, and represented to them that,
unless the fair Charlotte were surrendered, war would follow. “The
repose of Europe rests in your master’s hands,” said the Président
Jeannin to Pecquius, the Ambassador of the Archdukes in Paris; “peace
and war depend on whether the princess is or is not given up.” And the
King himself reminded the Ambassador that Troy fell because Priam would
not surrender Helen.
The gravity of these speeches was enhanced by the warlike preparations
which were in progress all over France for the execution of the “Great
Enterprise”: the scheme of liberating Europe from the domination of
the House of Austria and giving France her rightful place in the world,
which Henri IV. had cherished ever since his accession to the throne.
It was, however, believed by many that these formidable preparations
had no other object than the forcible recovery of the Princesse de
Condé, and Malherbe wrote--
“Deux beaux yeux sont l’empire
Pour qui je soupire.”
Such, undoubtedly, was the opinion of the Spanish Ambassador. “The King
is so blinded and infatuated by his passion,” he writes to Philip III.,
“that I know not what to say to your Majesty concerning it, and, if I
find many reasons for holding peace to be secure, in regarding affairs
from a political standpoint, I find many more for holding war to be
certain on the ground of love.” He goes on to say that he is informed
that the King’s infatuation has reached such a point that he is ready
to sacrifice everything to it. His health is much affected by it; he
has lost his sleep, and some persons believe that he is losing his
reason. And he adds that he is in daily expectation of seeing Henri IV.
marching on Brussels at the head of a large force of cavalry.
A fortnight later, the Ambassador writes again--
“Within the last three days, the King has endeavoured to persuade the
Queen to request her Highness the Infanta to send the princess (de
Condé) for her coronation. The Queen, through the King’s confessor
(Père Cotton), has begged to be excused, observing that it did not seem
to her to be becoming to appear as a third party and risk the indignity
of a refusal from the Infanta. The King fell into a violent rage, and
declared that the Queen should not be crowned, and that he would have
nothing done to displease him. The Queen wept and was much distressed,
both at this and at the ardour with which the King is pursuing one of
her ladies.”
Henri himself pretended to be entirely engrossed by his passion. “I am
so worn out by these pangs,” he wrote to Préaulx, “that I am nothing
but skin and bone. Everything disgusts me. I avoid company, and if, to
observe the usages of society, I allow myself to be drawn into some
assemblies, my wretchedness is completed.”
Fortunately for the fame of Henri IV., greatly as his mind was
disturbed and his judgment distracted by this miserable infatuation,
it is now generally admitted that the affair had little influence
on the course of events. The war upon which he was about to enter
was the outcome of twelve long years of persevering negotiations and
carefully-prepared alliances, and if he had never set eyes upon the
Princesse de Condé, the final result would have been the same. “The
King and his Ministers,” remarks Henri’s latest English biographer, Mr.
P. F. Willert, “used the large forces assembled for quite a different
purpose as a bugbear to frighten the Archdukes. But, when they refused
to purchase security by a compliance inconsistent with their honour, it
was not on Brussels that the French armies prepared to march. On the
contrary, four days before his death (10 May, 1610), the King in the
most friendly terms asked the Archduke Albert’s permission to lead his
army across his territory to the assistance of his German allies: a
permission granted by the Archduke, notwithstanding the opposition of
Spinola and of the Spanish party in his Council.”[164]
Nevertheless, almost up to the very last, there were many who still
believed that, if the Princesse de Condé were given up, war might be
averted. Among these was Henri IV.’s Jesuit confessor, Père Cotton,
who, in an interview with Pecquius, informed him that, at the previous
Easter, “the King was so sincerely desirous of securing his salvation
that he had readily forgotten his affection for the princess; but that
all his passion had been rekindled by the perusal of the letters which
she addressed to him.”[165]
Although she was treated with extreme kindness by the Infanta, the
young princess had grown heartily weary of the dull little Court of
Brussels, and not only stimulated the passion of her royal adorer by
the tenderness of her replies to his letters, but complained bitterly
of the restraints to which she was subjected, and which, she declared,
would have a most serious effect upon her health, unless his Majesty
procured her speedy liberation.
Meanwhile, Condé, at Milan, was becoming as bored with the
imperturbable gravity and solemn pomp which surrounded him as was his
young wife at Brussels, and, in order to find some distraction from
the monotony of his existence, had been driven to the study of the
antiquities of the neighbourhood and to beginning a translation of
Tacitus, under the guidance of his learned secretary, Virey. Fearing
that the prince might be persuaded to cast in his lot definitely with
the Spaniards, the French Government despatched agents to represent to
him that it would be more consonant with his dignity as a Prince of the
Blood were he to remove to Rome and place himself under the protection
of the common father of the faithful, rather than under that of the
common enemy of his race and country. Condé seemed disposed to adopt
this suggestion, but the arguments of Fuentes, and the news of the
invasion of Lombardy by the Duke of Savoy and Lesdiguières, caused him
to abandon all idea of leaving Milan, and to place himself entirely
under the guidance of Spain.
Had Henri IV. lived, two things are tolerably certain to have happened:
the first, that the Archdukes would sooner or later have been compelled
to surrender the princess; the second, that Condé would have been
found in arms against his country. But, on 14 May, 1610, the knife
of Ravaillac settled the question both of love and war, and Henri
de Bourbon, with all his greatness and his littleness, his splendid
schemes and his shameful passions, was but lifeless clay.
A letter from the governor of Alessandria informed Condé of the
tragedy. He received the news with somewhat mixed feelings, in which,
however, to his honour be it said, regret seems to have predominated.
His position was a very embarrassing one, as it was difficult for him
to cast off the ties which bound him to Spain. Virey, in the account in
Latin verse which he wrote of his master’s adventures, part of which he
subsequently translated into French, under the title of “l’Enlèvement
innocent, ou la retraite clandestine de Monseigneur le Prince (de
Condé) avec Madame la Princesse,” affirms that Fuentes came to the
prince to congratulate him as the “legal heir” of the murdered monarch;
and there can be no doubt that the Ministers of Philip III. approached
the Pope, with the view of ascertaining whether he would be prepared to
annul the marriage of Henry IV. and Marie de’ Medici, in which event it
was their intention to put Condé forward as a candidate for the throne.
As they received no encouragement from Paul V., they were forced to
abandon the idea, but they still cherished the hope that the prince
would, on his return to France, dispute the Queen-Mother’s title to the
regency, and, consequently, no objection was raised to his departure
from Milan.
Condé left Milan on 9 June, and deeming it unsafe to cross France in
the then unsettled state of the kingdom, and while still under the ban
of high treason, proceeded to Brussels, where he arrived nine days
later. In spite of the remonstrances of the Spanish members of the
Archdukes’ Council, he lost no time in despatching the faithful Virey
to Paris, with letters for Louis XIII. and the Queen-Mother, wherein
he protested his devotion to the new King. His overtures were very
graciously received, and Virey returned to Brussels with an assurance
that a cordial welcome awaited his master. The secretary brought also
a letter from the Dowager-Princesse de Condé, in which she endeavoured
to incite her son against his wife, informing him that up to the last
moment she had continued to encourage the late King’s passion, and
begging him to refuse to see her and to leave her with the Archdukes.
Condé did not see his way to comply with the latter injunction, and
accordingly consented to the Constable “sending for his daughter;” but
he firmly refused to meet her. “_Monsieur le Prince_ has been
some days in Brussels,” writes Malherbe to his friend Peiresc, under
date 24 June, 1610. “The Infant (the Archduke) told him that he had
a request to make to him. The latter, who did not doubt that it was
that he should consent to see his wife, replied that he besought him
very humbly not to lay any command upon him in which he should be
reduced to the extremity of disobeying him. Thus matters remain in
this affair. It is believed that he will take her back, but that he
wishes to be requested to do so by the Constable and her relatives. All
the letters which the King had exhibited, in which he was addressed
(by the Princess) as ‘_mon tout_’ and ‘_mon chevalier_’ are
disavowed.”
On 8 July, Condé set out for France, and on the afternoon of the 16th
he entered Paris by the Porte Saint-Martin, escorted by the Grand
Equerry (the Duc de Bellegarde), the Ducs d’Épernon and de Sully, and a
number of the nobility, who, by their Majesties’ orders, had met him at
Bourget. As he rode through the streets to the Louvre, he was obviously
preoccupied and ill at ease, “now playing with the collar of his shirt,
now biting his gloves, anon fingering his beard and chin; and one saw
clearly that he heard little of what was said to him, and that his
thoughts were elsewhere.”[166]
The cordiality of his reception by the young King and the Regent
somewhat reassured him, and it was with a more confident air that
he left the palace and rode to the Hôtel de Lyon, near the Porte
de Bussy, where he was visited by the Comte de Soissons and other
nobles. At nine o’clock that evening, he returned to the Louvre, and
assisted at the _coucher_ of the King, “_lequel il desguiletta,
tira ses chausses, et ne partit qu’il ne l’eut mis au lit_,” thus
demonstrating publicly that he repudiated the ambitious views which
some attributed to him, and had no other desire than to be the first of
his Majesty’s subjects.
For some little time, Condé persisted in his refusal to be reconciled
to his wife. He was much incensed, not only against the lady herself,
but also against her father, on account of the request he had addressed
to the Archdukes, and the accusation of cruelty to the princess which
he had not hesitated to bring against his son-in-law, though the
Constable pleaded, in extenuation of his conduct, that he had acted
under constraint, and that his letters to the Archdukes had been
drafted by the Président Jeannin, by order of the King. Urged on by the
princess-dowager and his sister, the Princess of Orange, Condé actually
appears to have contemplated taking steps towards getting his marriage
annulled, in the hope that, if this could be effected, the Regent
might offer him one of her daughters, or, failing a royal princess, he
might espouse the wealthy widow of the Duc de Montpensier. Finally,
however, recognizing the difficulties of the undertaking and the danger
of incurring the enmity of so numerous and powerful a family as the
Montmorencies, he yielded to the solicitations of the Constable and the
Duchesse d’Angoulême, and, at the beginning of August 1610, he and his
wife were formally reconciled at Chantilly.
We shall not attempt here more than a very brief account of the
career of Condé during the troublous minority of Louis XIII. For a
moment it seemed as though the prince were well disposed towards the
new government, and Marie de’ Medici certainly did everything in her
power to confirm him in his pacific intentions. She purchased, for
400,000 écus, the Hôtel de Gondi, in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, the
finest residence in Paris after the Louvre, and presented it to him;
she confirmed him in all his offices and appointments, increased his
pension to 200,000 écus, and gave him a large sum to pay his debts.
But Condé was ambitious and meddlesome; he could not forget that he
had once been heir to the throne, and that ill-fortune had in all
probability alone deprived him of the regency.[167] Scarcely had he
returned, than he became the principal factor in fomenting opposition
to the Government, with the design of diminishing the Queen-Mother’s
authority to the advantage of the great nobles of the realm, and for a
time found the _métier_ of rebel a highly profitable one. At the
peace of Sainte-Ménéhould (May, 1614), he received Amboise as a place
of surety, and the sum of 450,000 livres in cash; and at the Peace of
Loudon (February, 1616), so enormously had the wages of rebellion risen
in the interval, the government of Berry and 1,500,000 livres were
required to purchase his neutrality. But, at length, he went too far,
and a rumour having spread that his principal adherents, the Ducs de
Bouillon, de Longueville, de Mayenne and de Vendôme, were about to make
an attempt to place him on the throne, on 1 September, 1616--which, by
a singular coincidence, happened to be his birthday,--the Regent, on
the advice of Richelieu and Sully, caused him to be arrested at the
Louvre, whither he had come to attend a meeting of the Council.
For three weeks Condé remained a close prisoner in an upper apartment
of the palace, none of his Household being permitted to have access
to him, with the exception of his apothecary, “whose attentions were
necessary after two months of a somewhat dissolute life.” But in the
night of 24–25 September, he was transferred to the Bastille, where
he was treated as a State criminal, and subjected to a most rigorous
confinement in a gloomy chamber, the windows of which were so closely
grated that scarcely a ray of light was permitted to enter.
Ever since their formal reconciliation six years before, the relations
between Condé and his wife had been very cool; indeed, it would
appear that the tie which bound them had become merely a nominal one.
Nevertheless, on learning of the arrest of her husband, the princess,
who was at Valery, showed real magnanimity. Without a moment’s delay,
she set out for Paris, sent the prince messages assuring him of her
sympathy and devotion, and begged the Regent to allow her to share his
captivity. Her request, however, was refused, and she received orders
to leave Paris at once and return to Valery.
After the assassination of Concini and the departure of the
Queen-Mother for Blois, Condé’s principal adherents were restored to
favour, but he himself still remained in the Bastille. However, Louis
XIII.’s favourite, the Duc de Luynes, sent his uncle, the Comte de
Modène, to visit the prince and report upon his state of health. Condé
begged him to convey to the King his hope that, if reasons of State
required that he should remain a prisoner, his Majesty would at least
consent to ameliorate his captivity, and, particularly, to permit his
wife to join him. _Madame la Princesse_, it should be mentioned,
had recently obtained permission to leave Valery, and had taken up her
residence at Saint-Maur.
The immediate result of this interview was to procure the captive a
little more air and light; but the unfortunate man’s health had been so
much affected by the rigour of his confinement that, when the windows
of his room were opened he fainted away. Some days later, the favour
which he had so earnestly requested, was also granted. We read in a
journal of the time:
“26 May, 1617. The Princesse de Condé went to salute the King, and
to entreat him to permit her to share her husband’s captivity. The
King accorded her permission, and to take with her one demoiselle.
Upon which, her little dwarf, having begged him to consent to his not
abandoning his mistress, his Majesty permitted him also to accompany
her. The same afternoon, _Madame la Princesse_ entered the
Bastille, where she was received by _Monsieur le Prince_ with
every demonstration of affection, nor did he leave her in repose until
she had said that she forgave him.”[168]
The prince and princess remained in the Bastille until 15 September,
when they were transferred to the Château of Vincennes. Here Condé was
allowed a good deal more liberty than had been permitted him in the
Bastille, and took exercise daily “on the top of a thick wall, which
was in the form of a gallery.” In the last days of December, _Madame
la Princesse_ gave birth to a still-born son, “and was more than
forty-eight hours without movement or feeling. Never was a person in
greater extremity without dying. The prince desired that the child
should receive ecclesiastical burial; but the Archbishop of Paris
assembled the theologians, who decided that, since it had not received
baptism, it had not entered the Church, and that no funeral ceremony
was permissible.”[169]
Ill-fortune seemed to pursue both husband and wife. On 5 September,
1618, the princess gave birth to twin sons, neither of whom survived,
and, in the following March, Condé fell dangerously ill, and for
some days his life was despaired of. The physicians who attended him
attributed his illness to the state of profound melancholy into which
his captivity and the death of his children had thrown him, and, when
this was known, the prince became the object of universal sympathy, and
Louis XIII. was strongly urged to consent to his release. His Majesty
promised to set the prisoner at liberty, “so soon as he had placed his
(Condé’s) affairs in order,” but several months passed, and Condé still
remained at Vincennes, though granted every indulgence consistent with
a due regard to his security. However, at the end of August, another
domestic event, which, happily, had a different termination from the
others, came to relieve the monotony of his captivity, _Madame la
Princesse_ giving birth to a daughter, Anne Geneviève de Bourbon,
the future Duchesse de Longueville, the heroine of the Fronde.
The birth of this little girl was the turning-point of her parents’
fortunes, for on 20 October Condé was at length set at liberty, and
five weeks later the Parlement of Paris solemnly registered “the
declaration of innocence of _Monsieur le Prince_,[170] who was
restored to all his honours and offices.”
His three years’ captivity, which cannot be said to have been
altogether undeserved, had worked a great change in the character of
Condé. Like so many others, he had learned wisdom from adversity. Until
then he had struggled against the royal authority with almost as much
zeal as his father and grandfather, though, since the death of Henri
IV., without their justification. But the lesson he had received had
been a severe one, and henceforth the King had no more loyal servant,
his Ministers no stauncher supporter, than the first Prince of the
Blood. His enemies have accused him, and with only too much reason, of
servility towards those in power and of an excessive regard for his own
interests; but, on the whole, the line of conduct he pursued seems to
have been patriotic as well as prudent.
Two years after Condé’s release from Vincennes, on 8 September, 1621,
his wife bore him a son, Louis, Duc d’Enghien, who was to confer so
much lustre on the name of Condé; and in 1629 a second son was born to
them, Armand, Prince de Conti.