Notwithstanding his rupture with Mlle. du Vigean, the Duc
d’Enghien continues to treat his wife with coldness--The
heart of the prince is fiercely disputed by the ladies
of the Court--Dissipated life of Enghien: paternal
remonstrances--_Liaison_ between the duke and Ninon
de l’Enclos--Death of Henri II. de Bourbon, Prince de
Condé--Failure of the new Prince de Condé before Lerida--His
brilliant victory at Lens--Beginning of the Fronde--Condé
remains faithful to the Court, and takes command of the royal
troops--The Duchesse de Châtillon becomes his mistress--Peace
of Rueil--The arrogance and ambition of Condé causes the Court
and the Frondeurs to join forces against him--The arrest
of the Princes--The Princesse de Condé at Bordeaux--Death
of the dowager-princess--Equivocal conduct of Madame de
Châtillon--Episode of an unaddressed letter--Exile of Mazarin
and release of the Princes--Continued indifference of Condé
towards his wife, notwithstanding her courageous efforts on
his behalf--Negotiations between him and the Regent--His
rupture with the Frondeurs, who draw towards the Court--Condé
retires to Saint-Maur--Alliance between the Court and the
Frondeurs--Proceedings against Condé--The prince retires to
Montrond and “draws the sword.”
The brusque and unexpected rupture of the Duc d’Enghien with Marthe
du Vigean for a moment encouraged the hope of a better understanding
between the prince and the legitimate object of his affections.
Although she could not, of course, compare in outward attractions
with Mlle. du Vigean, the little duchess, now in her eighteenth year,
had improved greatly in appearance since her marriage, and, if not
regularly pretty, she was, with her open countenance, her fine dark
eyes, her beautiful complexion, and her trim figure, a decidedly
pleasing personality. Moreover, she was highly intelligent, conversing
well and agreeably on a number of subjects, and showing a good sense
and a keenness of observation beyond her years, possessed a singularly
sweet disposition, and was, notwithstanding the indifference with
which her husband had treated her, sincerely attached to him.
Unhappily, this hope proved illusive, for Enghien did not depart from
that studiously courteous but cold and distant attitude which he had
adopted towards his wife from the first day of his marriage. The poor
little duchess was bitterly disappointed, but she had schooled herself
to suffer in silence, and courageously refused to allow the world to
perceive how keenly she felt her husband’s neglect. Fresh trials,
however, awaited her. Hitherto, she had, at least, had the consolation
of believing that Enghien was still faithful to his marriage-vows, in
deed, if not in thought, for the virtue of Mlle. du Vigean had proved
a more impregnable fortress than Thionville, and his passion for her
seems to have preserved him from the wiles of more facile beauties. But
now even this was to be denied her. The moment it became known that
Enghien had broken definitely with Mlle. du Vigean, the heart over
which the latter had so long reigned supreme was fiercely disputed
by the ladies of the Court, and the young hero became the object of
the most singular advances. The majestic Duchesse de Montbazon,[193]
the fire of whose splendid eyes “penetrated even the most insensible
hearts,”[194] charged their common friend, the Duc de Rohan, to
acquaint the prince with the sentiments which she entertained for
him. Mlle. de Neuillant, afterwards Duchesse de Navailles, one of the
Queen-Mother’s _filles d’honneur_, made similar overtures, with
more diplomacy, but with equal ardour, and left no means untried to
engage the affections of his Highness. But neither of these ladies
appear to have made much impression upon their quarry, and it was a
colleague of Mlle. de Neuillant, the charming Louise de Prie, Mlle.
de Toussy, who came nearest to success. For some little time Enghien
paid her the most assiduous attentions, and negotiations of a very
equivocal nature were carried on between the prince and the damsel’s
relatives, through the medium of the Chevalier de la Rivière. But,
either because Mlle. de Toussy’s family was inclined to be too
exorbitant in its demands upon Enghien’s generosity, or, more probably,
because she herself was only willing to be a mistress in the poetic
acceptation of the term, the ducal ardour soon cooled, and the young
lady consoled herself for her admirer’s defection by marrying the Duc
de la Mothe-Houdancourt.
But, if no woman were permitted to succeed to the place which Marthe du
Vigean had occupied in Enghien’s affections, the ardent nature which
he had inherited together with the courage of his ancestors soon found
satisfaction in amours of a less sentimental character, and his life
became so dissipated that, during the summer of 1646, the Prince de
Condé felt obliged to remonstrate with him in the strongest terms. “My
son,” he writes, “God bless you. Cure yourself, or, it is better to
poniard yourself than lead the life that you are doing.... I pray God
to console me. I write to you in despair, and am, Monsieur, your good
father and friend....”[195]
The Duc d’Enghien did not poniard himself, but neither did he amend
his ways to any appreciable extent. His conquests in the _pays de
tendre_ far outnumbered those beyond the Rhine, but the very ease
with which they were achieved deprived them of all value in his eyes
and speedily quenched the flame of passion: indeed, the only woman to
whose charms he seems to have been really sensible was the celebrated
Ninon de l’Enclos, to whom his attention seems first to have been drawn
by the enthusiastic praises of their common friend Saint-Évremond. For
a year or two the prince was a frequent visitor at Ninon’s hôtel in the
Rue des Tournelles, and the lady, whose vanity was flattered by the
admiration of the hero of the hour, was very kind to him indeed. But
it was not in Ninon’s nature to be faithful to any one for long--“I
shall love you for three months,” she once wrote to a new admirer, “and
three months is an eternity!”--and, besides, the victor of Rocroi made
war a great deal better than he made love, and preferred to receive
homage rather than to offer it. So gradually her affection cooled, and
when the prince, on his return from the campaign of 1648, reproached
her for having encouraged the intrigue between his sister Madame
Longueville and La Rochefoucauld, and for permitting the lovers to meet
at her house, she dismissed him and consoled herself with the Marquis
de Villarceaux, who had long sued for her favours.
At the beginning of December, the Prince de Condé, who had been in
failing health for the last eighteen months, was taken seriously ill,
and at midnight on the 26th he died, in his fifty-seventh year. He
made, we are assured, a very Christian end, in the presence of his wife
and his two sons--Madame de Longueville had followed her husband to the
Congress of Münster--and “parted from _Madame la Princesse_ as
though he had loved her all his life.”[196] In his will, he left large
sums to the poor, “deeming it incumbent upon him to restore the profits
of the benefices that he had wrongly enjoyed,” and even the humblest
of his servants was not forgotten. His body was interred in the parish
church of Valery; his heart he bequeathed to the Jesuits of the Rue
Saint-Antoine, an example which was followed by his descendants.
Morose and bigoted, self-seeking and avaricious, the third Prince de
Condé is far from an attractive personality. Nevertheless, his death
was a sensible loss both to his family and to France. Selfish and
turbulent though his conduct had been during the regency of Marie de’
Medici, when once he had decided that his own interests would be better
served by loyalty than by opposition to the Crown, he certainly spared
no effort to deserve the important offices and immense pensions which
were the reward of his fidelity; and the steady support he gave to Anne
of Austria and Mazarin since the beginning of the new reign had been of
the highest value to the Government. “As sparing of the King’s money as
his own,” writes the Duc d’Aumale, “his ideas on financial matters were
sound; he desired that the public debts should be regularly discharged,
and opposed extravagance and the constant augmentation of expenses, as
well as increased taxation. He inspired confidence in serious men of
affairs, who never wished to conclude a treaty when he did not assist
at the Council. The quack financiers, the d’Émeris and the rest, feared
him and rejoiced at his death. They played a fine game after he was
gone.”[197]
[Illustration: NINON DE L’ENCLOS
FROM A MINIATURE IN THE SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM]
His authority over his family was absolute. His children, if they did
not love him, both feared and respected him, and to the last Enghien,
so impatient of all control, showed towards his father the greatest
deference. Had Henri de Bourbon lived a few years longer, his sound
common-sense would certainly have saved them from the disasters they
brought upon themselves and France; and the Fronde might have been,
after all, merely “a blaze of straw.”
Charlotte de Montmorency had the enjoyment for her life of the whole
of her deceased husband’s property, subject only to an annual charge
of 80,000 livres in favour of her elder son, and 10,000 in favour of
the younger. This arrangement was no doubt a just one, seeing that the
large fortune which his wife brought him had been the basis of Henri
de Bourbon’s great wealth. But it, nevertheless, weighed very hardly
on his successor, who had received comparatively little with Mlle. de
Brézé, and, being as liberal as his father was the reverse, soon found
himself seriously embarrassed to maintain his position as first Prince
of the Blood, notwithstanding the revenues he derived from his offices
and governments.
* * * * *
In the spring of 1647, the new Prince de Condé was despatched to
Catalonia to endeavour to retrieve the reverses sustained in that
province, which had of late years earned an unenviable notoriety as the
grave of French military reputations. He determined to lay siege to
the fortress of Lerida, and, on 18 May, the trenches were opened gaily
to the sound of violins. It was a fashion of the time, which made of a
war a fête; but it was the hitherto invincible general who had, on this
occasion, to pay the expenses of the music; for Lerida was resolutely
defended, while the supplies and siege-artillery promised him by the
Government did not arrive, and, after severe losses, he decided to
raise the siege. Condé deserved credit for having placed the safety of
his army before his pride; but it was his first reverse, and, though he
was aware that he had done everything possible to ensure success, his
mortification was none the less keen.
The memory of the Catalonian fiasco was brilliantly effaced in the
following year, when, in command of the Army of Flanders, he gained,
with comparatively trifling loss, the splendid victory of Lens, over
an enemy much superior in numbers, whom, by a feigned retreat, he
had succeeded in drawing from an almost unassailable position into
a battle on level ground (20 August). This success hastened the
conclusion of peace with the Emperor, and, on 24 October, 1648, the
Treaty of Westphalia terminated thirty years of war and twelve years of
negotiations, and extended the frontiers of France to the coveted line
of the Rhine.
Left with Spain alone to face, there seemed every reason to hope that
a great future awaited France, and that, as the result of two or
three successful campaigns, she would be enabled to secure the same
advantages in the North-East and South-West as she had already secured
in the East. That this hope was only very partially realized, and that
not until after more than ten years of further warfare, was due to
that miserable internecine strife which, under the name of the Fronde,
checked the victorious career of Condé at the age of twenty-seven,
plunged France into a welter of anarchy, and sapped the very vitals of
the nation.
This sanguinary and farcical struggle began with a contest between the
Court and the Parlement of Paris, which, encouraged by the weakness
of the Government and backed by popular feeling, was neglecting its
judicial duties to encroach upon the political rights of the Crown
and to claim an authority which even the States-General had never
possessed. The “Importants”--the aristocratic cabal, headed by the two
great turbulent Houses of Vendôme and Guise, which from the beginning
of the regency had bitterly opposed the ascendency of Mazarin--and
a number of discontented and ambitious princes, prelates, nobles
and great ladies: Paul de Gondi, afterwards the Cardinal de Retz,
La Rochefoucauld, the Duc and Duchesse de Longueville, the Prince de
Conti, Turenne, and the Duc and Duchesse de Bouillon, threw in their
lot with the popular cause.
Although Condé detested Mazarin and sympathized to a large extent with
the opposition to the Minister, and though Madame de Longueville, who
exercised great influence over both her brothers, made every effort to
win him over to her cause, the sentiment of duty, which was not yet
obscured, kept him faithful to the Court, and to the solicitations of
the rebels he replied simply: “My name is Louis de Bourbon, and I do
not wish to weaken the Crown.” An admirable maxim, which, however, he
was very soon to abandon.
In the early morning of 6 January, the Court quitted Paris for
Saint-Germain, a picturesque exodus of which the pen of _la Grande
Mademoiselle_ has traced an inimitable picture, and the rebellious
capital was forthwith invested by the royal troops, under the
command of Condé. The forces at the prince’s disposal were, however,
insufficient to invest the city completely, and, though some roads
were effectually closed, others remained open. Occasional skirmishes
took place, but the only serious fighting occurred at Charenton on
8 February. In this affair, the Duc de Châtillon, husband of the
beautiful Isabelle de Montmorency-Boutteville, was mortally wounded and
expired the following day at Vincennes, whither he had been carried.
With his death, the male line of the illustrious Admiral became extinct.
The widowed duchess received the sad news with comparative
indifference, but, according to Madame de Motteville, “counterfeited
grief, after the manner of ladies who love themselves too well to
care for any one else.” She had not, indeed, waited for the death of
her husband to establish tender relations with the fascinating Duc de
Nemours, and was already aspiring to resume over the heart of Condé the
empire which she had for a brief while exercised in former years.[198]
Hitherto, the prince would appear to have given the lady but scant
encouragement, for, though very far from indifferent to her charms,
Châtillon was one of his closest friends, and the idea of engaging in
a _liaison_ with his wife was repugnant to his sense of honour.
But, with the death of the duke, his scruples vanished, and not long
afterwards Isabelle became his mistress, without, however, renouncing
the Duc de Nemours, her relations with whom she was, of course, very
careful to conceal from her titular lover.
On 12 March, 1649, the Peace of Rueil put an end to the war, though
it was not until 18 August that the Court returned to Paris, after an
absence of seven and a half months.
To the Parliamentary Fronde succeeded, at a short interval, the Fronde
of the Princes, more difficult to characterize, since it was composed
of little save disappointed ambitions and interested calculations,
but also more difficult to conquer. The good understanding between
_Monsieur le Prince_ and Mazarin had been merely of a temporary
nature, called into being by the danger to which the royal authority
had found itself exposed, and it did not long survive the restoration
of order. Condé’s natural pride and arrogance had been enormously
increased by the events of the last few months, and he believed his
support absolutely indispensable to the Government. The Regent and her
Minister were willing to go to great lengths to secure a continuance
of it, but no ordinary concessions were likely to satisfy a man who
regarded himself as the saviour of the Crown, and believed that
he held its fate in the hollow of his hand, and whose jealous and
suspicious mind, skilfully played upon by his sister, seemed to see in
every action of Mazarin a carefully calculated move to strengthen the
Cardinal’s position or to diminish his own prestige. His increasing
pretensions rendered him more of a rebel than the Frondeurs themselves;
his arrogance disgusted every one. He exacted from Mazarin a written
agreement whereby he undertook not to make any appointment of
importance in Church or State unless he had first been consulted, or to
arrange any marriage for his nephews and nieces without his consent.
“In his ordinary life he had such mocking airs that no one was able to
endure him. However high their rank, people were obliged to wait an
interminable time in _Monsieur le Prince’s_ ante-chamber. In the
visits which were paid him he manifested so disdainful an ennui, that
he showed plainly that they were wearying him.”[199] Finally, having
exasperated the Regent and Mazarin beyond endurance, while, at the same
time, he had contrived to alienate the Frondeurs, who had been eager
for his alliance, the latter and the Court joined forces against him,
and, on 18 January, 1650, he, with his brother, the Prince de Conti,
and the Duc de Longueville, were arrested at the Palais-Royal, whither
they had come to attend a meeting of the Council, and conducted to the
Château of Vincennes. Madame de Longueville, whose arrest had also
been determined upon, succeeded in making her escape to her husband’s
government of Normandy.
Anne of Austria and Mazarin appear to have been in some doubt whether
to arrest the two Princesses de Condé, with the little Duc d’Enghien,
then between six and seven years old.[200] “But considering,” says
Lenet, “that the dowager was a princess of a timid and indolent
disposition, and that the young princess was without friends, without
money, and without experience, and not very well satisfied with the
conduct of the prince, her husband, they had decided merely to order
them to retire to Chantilly.”
In sparing the young princess, they committed a grave error, for
Claire-Clémence concealed beneath her gentle and retiring nature great
courage and energy of character, which only awaited the occasion to
manifest themselves. While all her _entourage_ were bewailing the
misfortune which had befallen them, she thought only of effecting her
husband’s liberation. The Duc de la Rochefoucauld had formed a plan
of resistance in the South, always ready to rise in insurrection on
the smallest provocation, and had united his fortunes to those of his
powerful neighbour, the Duc de Bouillon. The two dukes determined
to link to the cause of the imprisoned princes that of the citizens
of Bordeaux, who had been for months past in a state of semi-revolt
against the tyranny of their detested governor, the Duc d’Épernon; and
La Rochefoucauld despatched his confidant, Gourville, to Chantilly,
to inform the Princesse de Condé of their intentions. The courageous
princess at once determined to join them, and, with the aid of Lenet,
on the night of 11–12 April, 1650, she and the little Duc d’Enghien
escaped from Chantilly and made their way to Montrond, and thence to
Bouillon’s château of Turenne, in the Limousin.
The gentry of the South flocked to offer their services to the
princess, who soon found herself at the head of a considerable force;
and at the end of May she appeared before Bordeaux. The Parlement and
the municipal authorities hesitated to receive her, in the face of the
formal prohibition of the King; but the populace, incited by the agents
of Bouillon and La Rochefoucauld, took the matter out of their hands,
flung open the gates and welcomed her with frantic enthusiasm. The
following day, leading her son by the hand, she presented herself at
the Palais de Justice, to implore the protection of the Parlement. “Act
as a father to me, Messieurs, since the Cardinal Mazarin has taken my
own father from me,” cried the little duke, falling upon his knees; and
the magistrates, partly out of compassion for this touching spectacle,
and partly out of fear of the mob which was clamouring at the doors,
voted that “the dame Princesse de Condé and the seigneur Duc d’Enghien
might reside in that town in safety under the protection of the laws.”
Next day, notwithstanding the protests of the Parlement, Bouillon and
La Rochefoucauld entered the city, borne, so to speak, on the shoulders
of the mob. Soon appeared a Spanish envoy, with promises of prompt and
powerful assistance from Philip IV.; and Bordeaux and the greater part
of Guienne were in open rebellion.
The revolt in Guienne quickly assumed such alarming proportions
that Mazarin decided that the presence of the King and the Regent
in that province was indispensable, and having left the Maréchal
du Plessis-Praslin to hold in check the insurrection in the North,
on 4 July, the Court quitted Paris to join the royal army of the
South, commanded by the Maréchal de la Meilleraie. La Meilleraie soon
succeeded in confining the revolt within the walls of Bordeaux, but all
attempts to induce the city to open its gates proved unavailing, and on
5 September the siege was begun.
While the novelty of the affair lasted, the Bordelais displayed the
most desperate resolution. Encouraged by the example of the Princesse
de Condé, even the wives of the wealthiest citizens took part in the
defence of the town, and carried baskets of earth decorated with
bows of ribbon to the trenches. The little Duc d’Enghien rode to the
ramparts and cried to his attendants to give him a sword, “that he
might go and kill Mazarin.” Bouillon and La Rochefoucauld directed the
defence-works, and, as if the siege had been a pleasure-party, “regaled
the ladies with fruit and sweetmeats and the workmen with wine.”
Every evening there was dancing under the ramparts, and the Princesse
de Condé held a court in a brilliantly-illuminated gallery. The
festivities, indeed, were continuous, notwithstanding that skirmishes,
often very sanguinary, took place almost daily.
However, the assistance promised by Spain did not arrive; the
better-class citizens soon grew tired of a struggle into which they had
been forced against their better judgment; while the bellicose ardour
of the populace was cooled by the scarcity of provisions. Moreover,
the season of the vintage was approaching, and to lose the chief
crop of the year would be nothing short of disaster. Perceiving how
matters were tending, the Princesse de Condé resolved to anticipate
the surrender which she felt was imminent, and, on 11 September,
proceeded to the Hôtel de Ville, where the city fathers were assembled
in conclave, and informed them that, “since she sought only their
satisfaction and tranquillity, she would do nothing to hinder the peace
which they might be able to conclude with the Cardinal.”
The authorities took her at her word; and, on 1 October, articles of
peace were signed between the Regent and the insurgents, whereby a
full and complete amnesty was granted the Bordelais, on condition that
the King and his troops were admitted to the town; while the Princesse
de Condé, Bouillon, and La Rochefoucauld were permitted to retire to
their estates in the full enjoyment of all their dignities, on the
promise that they would lay down their arms and “continue henceforth
in fidelity and obedience.” It was also agreed that the Duc d’Épernon
should be temporarily suspended from his duties as governor of the
province. The treaty contained no mention of the Princes, although the
revolt had been made in their name and for their deliverance.
On 3 October, the Princesse de Condé and her son sailed from Bordeaux,
“amid a rain of flowers,” and proceeded to Bourg-sur-Mer, where the
Court had taken up its residence. Claire-Clémence went to salute Anne
of Austria, and, throwing herself at the Queen’s feet, demanded pardon
for her husband. Her Majesty received her very kindly and made her
sit by her side, but her answer to the princess’s petition was not
very encouraging. “I am well pleased, my cousin,” said she, “that you
acknowledge your fault; you have taken a bad way to obtain what you ask
for; now that you intend to take a different one, I will see when and
how I can give you the satisfaction you desire.”
While Condé’s neglected wife was promoting insurrections and
confronting the perils and hardships of war in her husband’s interests,
his mistress was very differently employed. The Dowager-Princesse de
Condé, although she was still only in her fifty-fourth year and had
hitherto enjoyed excellent health, had not been able to survive the
misfortunes of her House. As sensible to the present disgrace of the
children whom she so fondly loved as she had been to their former
triumphs, she had grieved over it to such a degree that she fell
seriously ill, and died on 2 December, 1650, at Châtillon-sur-Loing,
the residence of the Duchesse de Châtillon, to which she had obtained
permission to retire.
During her last days, the old princess had fallen very much under
the influence of Madame de Châtillon, who, as avaricious as she was
unprincipled, had determined to obtain a share of her property. In
this she was but too successful. “The Duchesse de Châtillon, who was
the most astute woman in the world,” observes Lenet, “had so well
understood how to employ her adroit and subtle mind and her agreeable
and insinuating manners as to make herself so completely mistress of
the princess-dowager, that she saw only with her eyes and spoke only
with her mouth.”
It was with the idea of separating the old princess from all the
friends and servants who might endeavour to frustrate her designs
that the duchess had persuaded her to take up her residence at
Châtillon-sur-Loing, where she was careful not to permit any one to
approach her, except Madame de Bourgneuf, the _gouvernante_ of
Madame de Longueville’s children, and _Madame la Princesse’s_
confessor, a worldly and intriguing abbé named Cambriac, both of whom
she had succeeded in gaining over to her cause. The outcome of these
manœuvres was that the dowager bequeathed to Madame de Châtillon nearly
the whole of her jewellery--in itself a respectable fortune--and the
revenues for life of several of her estates, including that of Merlou,
near Pontoise.
The young Princesse de Condé was at the Château of Montrond, whither
she had proceeded on leaving Guienne, when she learned of the death of
her mother-in-law. Well aware of the rapacity of the fair Isabelle,
she at once despatched Lenet to Châtillon to watch over her husband’s
interests; and this intervention obliged the impatient legatee to
make a journey to Montrond to ask the princess’s permission to take
possession of the jewellery bequeathed to her. The interview between
the two ladies was rendered the more piquant by an incident which
afforded Claire-Clémence an opportunity for enjoying a malicious
triumph over the too-coquettish mistress of her husband.
Before the arrival of Madame de Châtillon at Montrond, a courier
arrived from Paris, bearing a packet without any superscription, which
was brought to the Princesse de Condé and opened by her. It contained
a tender letter for the duchess from her _amant de cœur_, the
Duc de Nemours, in which he assured her that, since her departure from
Paris, he was changed to the point of being no longer recognizable, and
was gradually pining away. To these lamentations the lovelorn nobleman
joined some very practical counsels, advising his inamorata to take
possession of the estate of Merlou--which, as we have mentioned, the
late princess had left her for life--before Condé was set at liberty.
Claire-Clémence had the satisfaction of handing this missive to her
rival, when the latter arrived at Montrond a day or two afterwards. But
Madame de Châtillon, so far from exhibiting the confusion which she
had anticipated, declared, with superb audacity, that the letter was
a forgery, since M. de Nemours was nothing but a mere acquaintance.
Notwithstanding these denials, the story of the letter had a great
success, and circulated through all the _ruelles_, where Madame
de Châtillon was unmercifully bantered about it. However, she could
well afford to disregard these railleries, since Condé, too much
enamoured not to forgive the equivocal part she had played towards the
dowager-princess, showed no intention of disputing the will, and sent
instructions to his wife to authorize her to take possession of Merlou.
Notwithstanding the suppression of the revolt in Guienne and
the crushing defeat inflicted on the rebels and Spaniards by Du
Plessis-Praslin at Rethel (9 December, 1650), the party of the Princes
gained adherents every day, while the unpopularity of Mazarin steadily
increased. The Old Fronde, which he had alienated by his refusal to
accede to their exorbitant demands, made common cause with the friends
of Condé, and persuaded the fickle Gaston d’Orléans, the King’s uncle,
to side with them. Encouraged by them, the Parlement loudly demanded
the liberation of the Princes and the dismissal of the Cardinal, and
the Regent in vain endeavoured to defend her Minister. By the middle of
February, 1651, Mazarin was on his way into exile, and Condé was a free
man once more.
As soon as she was informed of the approaching liberation of her
husband, the princess had made preparations to set out for Paris and
bid him welcome at the Hôtel de Condé, but she was suddenly taken ill
and obliged to remain at Montrond. Such, however, was her impatience
to rejoin him that, while still barely convalescent, she insisted
on starting on her journey, travelling the first part of the way in
a litter. After having given her husband so many proofs of love and
devotion, after having supported with so much courage so many trials
and dangers for his sake, it was but natural that she should have
expected some return on his part; and, for the moment, it indeed seemed
as though Condé was by no means insensible to the noble conduct of the
princess. He came to meet her as far as Sainte-Geneviève-des-Bois,
near Montchéry, assured her that henceforth he should devote himself
entirely to her, and desired that she should make a sort of triumphal
entry into Paris in his own carriage, and sitting by his side. But,
though he was probably sincere enough at the time, the supreme
selfishness of his character rendered him incapable of any lasting
gratitude, and very soon the astute Madame de Châtillon had resumed her
former empire over him, and the poor princess found herself almost as
neglected as ever.
Unlike his father, Condé did not learn wisdom from adversity. The
turbulence of the third Prince de Condé had, as we have seen, been
effectually cooled by the three years’ imprisonment he had suffered in
the early part of the previous reign; but Louis de Bourbon was entirely
destitute of the prudence which had tempered his father’s greed and
ambition. His year of confinement seemed only to have accentuated
that impatience of all control, that haughtiness of manner, and that
contemptuous disregard for the feelings and opinions of others which he
had always shown. Restored to liberty, in circumstances which seemed
to promise him an almost undisputed ascendency, he returned to Paris
more than ever determined to carry matters with a high hand. But, to
exercise the power which he desired, the maintenance of the alliance
between the Old Fronde and the party of the Princes, which had opened
his prison doors and procured the exile of Mazarin, was essential, and
Condé, though possessed of the highest military gifts, had none of the
qualities necessary for successful political leadership.
Anne of Austria, on the advice of her exiled Minister, with whom she
was in constant communication, sought to break up the combination
between the two Frondes by a _rapprochement_ with Condé, and
secret negotiations were accordingly opened with the prince. The
latter, who cared nothing for his new allies, professed himself
ready to give or rather to sell his support to the Court, and even
to consent to the return of Mazarin; but the price he demanded would
have rendered him the virtual sovereign of the South of France. Acting
always on Mazarin’s instructions, Anne encouraged the belief that
these preposterous terms would eventually be accorded, until Condé
had completely alienated the Old Fronde, by breaking off the marriage
arranged between his brother Conti and Mlle. de Chevreuse, which had
been one of the conditions of their alliance. The Old Fronde, indignant
at the prince’s bad faith, drew towards the Court, and, on the night of
5–6 July, 1651, Condé, in the belief that his liberty, if not his life,
was threatened, fled to Saunt-Maur. _Madame la Princesse_ and
her son, Conti, Madame de Longueville, and a number of his partisans
followed him, and he had soon “a Court which was not less imposing than
that of the King.”
His more prudent supporters urged him to be reconciled to the Regent,
who had sent to assure him that his retreat had been due to an entire
misapprehension. But Madame de Longueville and others were in favour
of an open rupture with the Court, and the prince’s impetuosity
of character and ambitious views inclined him to the same course.
However, he was not yet prepared for an armed struggle against the
royal authority, and, having despatched his wife and son and Madame
de Longueville to Montrond, he returned to Paris and entered into
negotiations with the Queen. But his demands were so outrageous and his
conduct so insolent that the exasperated Queen decided to transform
without delay the understanding which she had had for some weeks past
with the Frondeurs into a definite alliance, and towards the middle of
August articles of agreement between the two parties were drawn up and
signed.
Being now assured of the co-operation of the Frondeurs, Anne felt
strong enough for an open struggle with Condé, and, having engaged
Retz to maintain her cause in the Parlement, she, on 17 August,
launched against the Prince a declaration, in which she charged him
with ingratitude, contempt for the royal authority, criminal alliances
with the enemies of the realm, and a desire to subvert the State.
These charges led to violent scenes at the Palais de Justice, in one
of which Retz narrowly escaped being assassinated by some of Condé’s
friends. They were not, however, pressed; indeed, on 5 September, the
Queen, on the mediation of Gaston d’Orléans, sent to the Parlement
a letter formally exonerating the prince. But, under the pretext of
giving more solemnity to the decree, she requested that it should not
be promulgated until after the majority of Louis XIV., which he would
attain on the following day, on completing his thirteenth year, the age
fixed by the laws of France for the majority of her kings.
Condé excused himself, by letter, from assisting at the proclamation of
his Sovereign’s majority, on the ground that his enemies had rendered
him so odious in his Majesty’s eyes that he could not be present
without danger; and while the King, in the midst of a magnificent
_cortège_, was wending his way through the cheering crowds to the
Palais de Justice, the first Prince of the Blood, whose place should
have been by his side, was hastening to his brother-in-law’s château of
Trie in Normandy, with the object of persuading the Duc de Longueville
to join him in resistance to the royal authority. He came, however, on
a bootless errand, for Longueville, unlike his consort, had had enough
of civil war, and declared that he was not in a position to render him
any effective support.
From Trie, Condé proceeded to Chantilly, whence he sent an envoy to
Louis XIV., offering to return to the capital, if the changes in the
Ministry which he understood that it was his Majesty’s intention to
make were deferred for three days. But the young King haughtily refused
even to consider this proposition. The prince thereupon summoned a
meeting of his partisans at Chantilly; but, now that he had actually
come to the very verge of the abyss, he found many reasons to deter
him from taking the final step: his reluctance to plunge his country
into the miseries of another civil strife; the many defections in his
party, for to make war on the King of France was a very different
matter from resisting the will of a Spanish regent and an Italian
minister; the danger of placing any reliance on the promises of help
he had received from Spain; and, finally, the knowledge that war would
mean an indefinite separation from Madame de Châtillon, of whom he was
more than ever enamoured, and who, having been gained by the Court, had
been using all her influence to bring her lover to a more pacific frame
of mind.
At length, fearing that, if he remained longer at Chantilly, he might
be arrested, he decided to withdraw to his government of Berry, and
on 13 September arrived at Montrond. Here, two days later, a final
conference was held, and the bellicose Madame de Longueville succeeded
in triumphing over her brother’s last scruples. It was then that Condé
uttered the prediction so often quoted, and which was to prove so true:
“You compel me to draw the sword. Well, let it be so. Remember that I
shall be the last to replace it in its scabbard.”