1607
Profuse expenditure of the French nobles--Prevalence of duelling under
Henri IV--Meeting of the Prince de Condé and the Duc de Nevers--They are
arrested by the King's guard--Reconciliation of the two nobles--The Duc
de Soubise is wounded in a duel--Profligacy of Madame de Moret--The King
insists upon her marriage with the Prince de Joinville--Indignation of
the Duchesse de Guise--A dialogue with Majesty--The Prince de Joinville
is exiled--Madame de Moret intrigues with the Comte de Sommerive--He
promises her marriage--He attempts to assassinate M. de Balagny--He is
exiled to Lorraine--Mademoiselle des Essarts--Birth of the Duc
d'Orléans--Peace between the Pope and the Venetians--The Queen and her
confidants--Death of the Chancellor of France--Death of the Cardinal de
Lorraine--Royal rejoicings--The last ballet of a dying Prince--Betrothal
of Mademoiselle de Montpensier to the infant Duc d'Orléans--Sully as a
theatrical manager--The Court gamester--Death of the Duc de
Montpensier--The ex-Queen Marguerite founds a monastery--Influence of
Concini and Leonora over the Queen--Arrogance of Concini--Indignation of
the King--A royal rupture--The King leaves Paris for Chantilly--Sully
and the Queen--The letter--Anger of the King--Sully reconciles the King
and Queen--Madame de Verneuil and the Duc de Guise---Court
gambling--Birth of the Duc d'Anjou--Betrothal of the Duc de Vendôme and
Mademoiselle de Mercoeur--Reluctance of the lady's family--Celebration
of the marriage--Munificence of Henry--Arrival of Don Pedro de
Toledo--His arrogance--Admirable rejoinder of the King--Object of the
embassy--Passion of Henry for hunting--Embellishment of Paris--Eduardo
Fernandez--The King's debts of honour--Despair of Madame de
Verneuil--Defective policy--A bold stroke for a coronet--The fallen
favourite.
Despite the presence of the pestilence the gaieties of the past winter
had surpassed, alike in the Court and in the capital, all that had
hitherto been witnessed in France. The profusion of the nobles, whom no
foreign war compelled to disburse their revenues in arming their
retainers, and in preparing themselves to maintain their dignity and
rank in the eyes of a hostile nation, was unchecked and excessive;
while, as we have already shown, the monarch felt no inclination to
control an outlay by which they thus voluntarily crippled their
resources.
The year 1607 commenced, with the exception of the fatal scourge which
still existed in and about Paris, in the greatest abundance, and the
most perfect peace. The Court celebrated the New Year at St.
Germain-en-Laye, and on the following day proceeded to Fontainebleau,
where during the _carême-prenant_[356] a ballet was danced, and several
magnificent entertainments were given to their Majesties by the great
nobles of the household. These festivities were, however, unfortunately
interrupted by an event which created universal consternation and
anxiety. The most glaring evil of the reign of Henri IV had long been
the prevalence of duelling, which he had in the first instance neglected
to discountenance; and which had, in consequence, reached an extreme
that threatened the most serious results, not only to the principal
personages of the kingdom, but even to those whose comparative
insignificance in society should have shielded them from all
participation in so iniquitous and senseless a practice. L'Etoile
computes the number of individuals who lost their lives in these illicit
encounters at several thousands; nor did the tardy edicts issued by the
King produce a cessation of the custom. On the 4th of February, the
Prince de Condé, conceiving himself aggrieved by some expression used by
the Duc de Nevers, sent him a challenge, to which the Duke instantly
responded; and he was already on the ground watching the approach of his
antagonist, when a company of the King's bodyguard arrived, who, in the
name of his Majesty, forbade the conflict, and escorted the two
quasi-combatants to the royal presence, where, "more in sorrow than in
anger," Henry reprimanded both Princes; reminding them of their
disobedience to his expressed commands, of the fatal example which their
want of self-government would afford to their inferiors, and of the loss
which the death of either party would have inflicted upon himself. He
then more particularly addressed M. de Nevers, and reproached him
severely for having evinced so little respect for the Blood Royal of
France as to accept, under any circumstances, a challenge from a
relative of his sovereign, who should have been sacred in his eyes.[357]
Whether the arguments of the King convinced the two nobles, or their
loyalty sufficed to render them conscious of their error, is
unimportant. Henry had the satisfaction of removing the misunderstanding
between them, and from the royal closet they proceeded to the apartments
of the Queen, in order to allay an anxiety which, from her friendship
and affection for Madame de Nevers who was then absent on one of her
estates, had been painfully great.
The expressed displeasure of the King at these encounters did not,
however, as we have already stated, suffice to prevent their frequent
occurrence; and on the 22d of the same month another hostile meeting
took place between the Duc de Soubise[358] and M. de Boccal, which had
nearly proved fatal to the former; but it having been explained to the
monarch that the antagonist of M. de Soubise had long withstood the
provocation of the Duke, declaring that he dare not raise his hand
against one so nearly connected with the throne, and that he had not
yielded until the impetuous and intemperate violence of his antagonist
had left him no other resource, Henry, with his usual clemency, forgave
the crime.[359]
In addition to these occurrences, which were moreover succeeded by
others of the same description during the month, the anger of the King
was excited by a discovery which he made of the infidelity of Madame de
Moret. Indulgent to his own profligacy to a degree which rendered him
insensible to his self-abasement, Henry was peculiarly alive to the
degradation of sharing with a rival the affections, or perhaps it were
more fitting to say the favours, of his mistresses. He readily forgot
the fact that he had himself been the first to initiate them into the
rudiments of vice--to induce them to abnegate their self-respect, and to
brave the opinion of the world and their own reproaches--while he could
not brook that they should reduce him to a level with one of his own
subjects, and that they should so far emancipate themselves as to feel a
preference for younger and more attractive men when they had been
honoured by his notice. The dissolute monarch did not pause to reflect
that with women the national proverb, _il n'y a que le premier pas qui
coûte_, is but too often realized, and that he was, in fact, the
architect of his own mortification.
Madame de Moret had long been attached to the Prince de Joinville; who,
young, reckless, and impetuous, returned her passion, and scarcely made
any effort to conceal his rivalry with the monarch. Courtiers have,
moreover, sharp eyes, and it was not long ere the King was apprised of
the intrigue. Bassompierre relates that he hastened to warn the
imprudent lovers of their danger, but that believing him to have some
personal motive for his interference, they disregarded the caution;[360]
and the fact of their mutual passion at length became so well
authenticated, that Henry, whose pride rather than his heart was wounded
by the levity of the Countess, reproached her in the most insulting
terms with her misconduct.[361] Madame de Moret did not attempt to deny
her attachment to the Prince, but excused herself by reminding the
monarch that, honoured as she was by his preference, she could not
forget that she was merely his mistress, and could anticipate no higher
destiny, while M. de Joinville was prepared to make her his wife.
"In that case, Madame," said the King, "you are forgiven. I can permit
my subjects to espouse my mistresses, but I cannot allow them to play
the gallants to those ladies whom I have distinguished by my own favour.
You shall not be disappointed in your expectations, and this marriage
shall have my sanction without delay."
It can scarcely be doubted that this ready assent must have been no
slight mortification to the vanity of Madame de Moret, while it is
equally certain that it was perfectly sincere on the part of the King,
although from a cause altogether independent of the Countess herself. In
fact, the Prince de Joinville having previously rendered himself
obnoxious to the monarch by his marked attentions to the Marquise de
Verneuil, the latter was anxious to see him married, and thus to rid
himself of a dangerous rival. Such an alliance must, moreover, as he at
once felt, deeply wound the pride of the Guises, whom it was his
interest to humble by every means in his power; and accordingly he
hastened upon leaving Madame de Moret to summon the young Prince to his
presence, and to insist upon the fulfilment of his promise.
Startled by so unexpected an order, M. de Joinville feigned a ready
compliance, but on his dismissal from the royal closet he expressed his
indignation in no measured terms, declaring that had any other than the
sovereign proposed to him so disgraceful an alliance, whatever might
have been his rank, he would have resented the insult upon the instant;
while no sooner did the Duchess his mother become apprised of the
circumstance, than she hastened to throw herself at the feet of the
King, beseeching him rather to take her life than to subject her son to
such dishonour.
"Rise, Madame," said Henry gravely; "yours is a petition which I cannot
grant, as I never yet took the life of any woman, and have still to
learn the possibility of doing so."
"A Guise, Sire," pursued the haughty Duchess, as she once more stood
erect before him, "cannot marry the mistress of any man, even although
that man should chance to be his monarch."
"Every man, Madame," retorted the King, "must pay the penalty of seeking
to humiliate his sovereign, even although that man be a Guise."
"M. de Joinville, Sire, shall never become the husband of Jacqueline de
Bueil."
"Neither, Madame," said the King angrily, "shall he ever become her
gallant. This is not the first occasion upon which he has had the
insolence to interpose between me and my favourites. I have not yet
forgotten his intrigue with Madame de Verneuil; and if I pardoned him
upon that occasion, it was not on his own account, but from respect for
the relationship which exists between us. Neither, Madame, has it
escaped my memory that the House of Guise endeavoured to wrest from me
the crown of France; and, in short, finding myself so ill-requited for
my indulgence, I am weary of exercising a lenity which has degenerated
into weakness. Your son is at perfect liberty to marry my mistress,
since he has seen fit to desire it, and he shall do so, or repent his
obduracy in the Bastille, where he will have time and leisure to learn
the respect which he owes to his sovereign."
"It is your Majesty who is wanting in respect to yourself," said the
Duchess haughtily.
"Madame!" exclaimed the King; "do not give me cause to forget that you
are my aunt. I can hear no more until you assume a tone better suited to
our relative positions. You have heard my resolve, and may retire."
Thus abruptly dismissed, Madame de Guise withdrew, and hastened to
apprise her son of the impending peril, upon which he escaped from the
capital before the order issued for his arrest could be put into
execution; while his relatives endeavoured by humility and submission to
obtain his forgiveness. Henry, however, had been too deeply wounded,
alike by the levity of the son and the overbearing haughtiness of the
mother, to yield to their entreaties, and the only concession which he
could be induced to make was a conditional pardon involving the
perpetual exile of the culprit.[362]
Nor was the King, who at once discovered that he had been duped, less
inclined to visit upon Madame de Moret the consequences of her
falsehood, and he openly declared that she should also have been
compelled to quit the country had she not been on the eve of becoming a
mother.[363]
This event shortly afterwards took place, but, although during the
following year Henry legitimated her son,[364] he ever afterwards
treated her with the greatest coldness; nor did the birth of the child
in any way affect her position, as had been the case with the Duchesse
de Beaufort and the Marquise de Verneuil, the King contenting himself by
sending to her a present of money and jewels, but evincing no
disposition to raise her rank.
It would appear, moreover, that the indifference was mutual, as only a
short time subsequently she encouraged the assiduities of the Comte de
Sommerive, from whom, according to Sully, there could be no doubt that
she did actually obtain a written promise of marriage; and the King was
no sooner apprised of the circumstance than he expressed, as he had
previously done in the case of the Prince de Joinville, his perfect
willingness to consent to the alliance, merely desiring M. de
Balagny,[365] a gentleman of his household upon whom he could rely, to
watch the proceedings of the lovers, and to acquaint him with every
particular, should he have cause to suspect that the intentions of the
Count were equivocal. M. de Sommerive, however, who soon discovered that
he was an object of _espionnage_, became so much exasperated that,
having on one occasion encountered the royal confidant at a convenient
moment for the purpose, he drew his sword and attacked him so vigorously
that his intended victim was compelled to save himself by flight.
In this instance Henry, who had ceased to feel any interest in Madame de
Moret, contented himself by reprimanding the culprit, branding him with
the name of assassin, and finally exiling him to Lorraine, with strict
orders not to leave that province without his express permission.
We will here terminate the history of the ex-favourite, who has already
occupied only too much space. After this last adventure she ceased to
make any figure at Court, her influence over the monarch having entirely
ceased; and seven years subsequent to his death she became the wife of
Réné du Bec, Marquis de Vardes, and the mother of two sons, the elder of
whom, François Réné, Comte de Moret, was afterwards famous during the
reign of Louis XIV under the title of Marquis de Vardes.[366]
The estrangement of the monarch from Madame de Moret, coupled with his
increasing coldness towards the Marquise de Verneuil, once more at this
period restored the unhappy Queen to a comparative peace of mind, which
she was not, however, long fated to enjoy; as at the close of the year a
new candidate for the royal favour presented herself in the person of
Mademoiselle des Essarts.[367] This lady, who was a member of the
household of the Comtesse de Beaumont-Harlay, had accompanied her
mistress to England, whither M. de Beaumont-Harlay[368] had been
accredited as ambassador; and on the return of her patroness to France
she appeared in her suite at Court, where she instantly attracted the
attention of the dissolute King. Her reign was happily a short one, and
at the close of two years she retired with the title of Comtesse de
Romorantin, having previously been privately married to the Archbishop
of Rheims.[369]
We shall pass over in silence the other _liaisons_ of the monarch, as
they were too transitory greatly to affect the tranquillity of the
Queen, until we are once more compelled to return to them in order to
record his unhappy passion for the beautiful Princesse de Condé--a
passion which at one period threatened to involve a European war.
On the 6th of April Marie de Medicis gave birth to her second son, who
received the title of Duc d'Orléans, that duchy having always since the
time of Philip VI been the appanage of a Prince of the Blood, or one of
the first nobles of the kingdom. The public rejoicings were universal,
and the satisfaction of the King without bounds. The little Prince was
privately baptized by the Cardinal de Gondy, until the state ceremonies
of his christening could take place; and on the 22d of the month he was
invested by the sovereign with the insignia of St. Michael and the Holy
Ghost, in the presence of the Cardinals, and the Commanders and Knights
of those Orders, with great pomp; after which a banquet was given by the
King in the great hall at Fontainebleau, and at nightfall the park was
illuminated in all directions by immense bonfires, and a pyrotechnic
display, which was witnessed by admiring and exulting thousands.
The intelligence which reached Paris on the following day that peace had
been restored between the Pope and the Venetians, through the
intervention of the French monarch; that the Papal excommunication which
had been fulminated against that republic had been repealed, and a
general absolution accorded, excited the enthusiasm of the French people
to its greatest height. They augured from this fact a brilliant future
for the little Prince, who had come into the world at the very moment
when the great work had been achieved; and this feeling was shared by
the august parents of the royal infant. So little can human foresight
fathom the designs of the Almighty Disposer of all things! Men
congratulated each other in the public street; and, forgetting the
Huguenot origin of Henry, considered him only as the champion of the
Romish faith; while they coupled his name and that of the Queen with
every endearing epithet of which they were susceptible.
The remainder of the summer was occupied by the monarch in the
embellishment of the capital, in high play,[370] and in his
rapidly-waning passion for Madame de Verneuil; while the Court resided
alternately at Fontainebleau and St. Germain; the Queen confining
herself more and more to the society of her children and her immediate
favourites, listening with jealous avidity to every rumour of infidelity
on the part of her royal consort, and occasionally renewing those
unhappy differences by which the whole of their married life had been
embittered.
The kingdom was at peace, but anarchy still reigned within the walls of
the palace. It is true that the advancing age of the monarch appeared to
offer a sufficient guarantee for his moral reformation, but the daily
experience of the Queen sufficed to convince her that she must never
hope for domestic happiness; and this conviction doubtless tended to
place her more thoroughly in the power of those treacherous advisers
who, in order to strengthen their own influence, did not hesitate to
exaggerate (where exaggeration was possible) the painful errors of her
husband. She saw herself idolized by the people, who regarded her with
earnest affection as the mother of two Princes whom they looked upon as
pledges for the safety and prosperity of France, while she found herself
at the same time an object of indifference to the monarch whom they were
destined to succeed; and who, while he lavished upon his children
incessant tokens of tenderness, sacrificed her personal happiness to
every passing fancy, even at the time when he affected to reproach her
with a coldness of which he was himself the cause.
Again we fearlessly repeat that the historians of the time have not done
Marie de Medicis justice. They expatiate upon her faults, they enlarge
upon her weaknesses, they descant upon her errors; but they touch
lightly and carelessly upon the primary influences which governed her
after-life. She arrived in her new kingdom young, hopeful, and
happy--young, and her youth was blighted by neglect; hopeful, and her
hopes were crushed by unkindness; happy, and her happiness was marred by
inconstancy and insult. Her woman-nature, plastic as it might have been
under more fortunate circumstances, became indurated to harshness; and
it is not they who strive to work upon the most solid marble who should
complain if the chisel with which they pursue their purpose become
blunted in the process.
On the 5th of September of this year died M. de Bellièvre, the
Chancellor of France, whose probity and justice had rendered him dear to
the people, in whose eyes the withdrawal of his Court favour only tended
to enhance his valuable qualities. He was, as a natural consequence,
succeeded by Brulart de Sillery, who had already superseded him as
Keeper of the Seals; and his body was attended to the church of St.
Germain-l'Auxerrois by a vast concourse of the citizens.
His demise was, in November, followed by that of the Cardinal de
Lorraine,[371] who, with the usual superstition of the age, was declared
to have been bewitched because his malady had baffled the skill of his
physicians; while that which renders the circumstance the more
melancholy, is the fact that the individual accused of his destruction
was burned alive at Nancy, after having been previously subjected to a
course of lingering torture.[372]
The Court meanwhile, according to Sully,[373] was more dissipated than
it had been during any previous winter since the arrival of Marie de
Medicis in France; while the account given of the state of morals
throughout the capital by L'Etoile, is one which will not bear
transcription. The new year (1608) commenced in the same manner. Ballets
were danced both at the Louvre and at the residences of the great
nobles. The ex-Queen Marguerite gave an entertainment in honour of the
birth of the young Prince, which terminated with a running at the ring,
where the prizes were distributed by herself and her successor; and,
finally, the King commanded that an especial ballet for the amusement of
the Duc de Montpensier, to whose daughter he was about to affiance the
infant Duc d'Orléans, should be executed by the Duc de Vendôme, the
Marquis de Bassompierre, the Baron de Thermes, and M. de Carmail, the
four nobles of the Court who were distinguished by the appellation of
"les Dangereux." The august party accordingly proceeded to the hotel of
that Prince, who was then nearly at the point of death, having
languished throughout two years in a low decline which had gradually
sapped his existence; but notwithstanding the state of debility to which
he was reduced, the Duke left his bed, and received his royal and noble
guests in the hall wherein the ballet was performed.[374] It may be
doubted, however, whether M. de Montpensier did not make this supreme
effort in consequence of the proposed alliance, and his anxiety to
evince to their Majesties his sense of the honour which was about to be
conferred upon himself and his family, rather than from any amusement
which he could hope to derive from such an exhibition. Be that, however,
as it may, the most magnificent preparations had been made for the
reception of Henry and his Queen, who were met at the foot of the great
staircase by the Duchess, followed by her women, and escorted by a score
of pages bearing lighted tapers, and thus conducted to the canopied dais
beneath which their ponderous chairs, covered with cloth of gold, had
been placed, with low stools behind and on either side of the throne,
for the use of such of the other guests as were privileged to seat
themselves in the presence of the sovereign.
The ballet, save as regarded the dying condition of the ducal host, was
executed under the happiest auspices. The King, to whom the proposed
marriage of the two children was agreeable under every aspect, was in
one of his most condescending and complacent moods; while Marie de
Medicis, whose affection for all her offspring amounted to passion, was
radiant with delight as she remembered that by the will of the Duke all
his property and estates devolved upon the young Prince, even should his
betrothed bride[375] not live to become his wife.[376]
On the following day the affiancing, of which this entertainment had
been the prelude, took place with great solemnity. The most costly
presents were exchanged, not only by the betrothed children, but also by
their royal and noble relatives. This ceremony, owing to the failing
health of the Duke, was also performed at the Hôtel Montpensier, and was
succeeded by amusements of every description; among which those prepared
for the occasion at the Arsenal by Sully afforded the most marked
gratification to their Majesties. The minister had caused a spacious
theatre to be constructed, in which the Italian actors who had been
summoned to France by the Queen gave their representations. This pit or
_salle de spectacle_ was, as he himself informs us, arranged
amphitheatrically, while above were galleries divided into separate
boxes, each approached by a different staircase and entered by a
different door. Two of these galleries were reserved entirely for the
ladies who were admitted to the performance, and no man, upon any
pretext whatever, was permitted to enter them; an arrangement which
appears to be strikingly at variance with the lax morality of the time.
So resolved, nevertheless, was Sully to enforce this restriction, that
he adds with a gravity curious enough upon such a subject: "This was one
of my regulations which I would not suffer to be violated, and of which
I did not consider it beneath me personally to compel the
observance." [377]
To impress, moreover, upon his readers the strength of this
determination, he relates an anecdote of which we cannot resist the
transcription:
"One day," he says, "when a very fine ballet was represented in this
hall, I perceived a man leading a lady by the hand, with whom he was
about to enter the women's gallery. He was a foreigner, and I moreover
easily recognized by his sallow complexion to what country he belonged.
'Monsieur,' I said to him, 'you will be good enough to look for another
door; for I do not think that with your skin you can hope to pass for a
lady.' 'My lord,' replied he in very bad French, 'when you ascertain who
I am, you will not, I can assure you, refuse to have the politeness of
permitting me to enter with these fair and lovely ladies, however dark I
may be. My name is Pimentello; I am well received by his Majesty, and
have frequently the honour of playing with him.' This was true, and too
true. This foreigner, of whom I had frequently heard, had won immense
sums from the King. 'How, _ventre de ma vie!_ I exclaimed, affecting
extreme anger; 'you are then, I perceive, that great glutton of a
Portuguese who daily wins the money of the King. _Pardieu_, you are by
no means welcome here, as I neither affect nor will receive such
guests.' He was about to reply, but I thrust him back, saying at the
same time, 'Go, go; find another entrance, for your jargon will fail to
make any impression upon me.' The King having subsequently inquired of
him if he had not thought the ballet magnificent and admirably executed,
Pimentello replied that he was anxious to have witnessed it, but that
he had been encountered at the door by his finance minister, who had met
him with a negative and shut him out; an adventure which so much amused
the monarch that he not only laughed heartily himself, but made the
whole Court participators in his amusement." [378]
Banquets, running at the ring, and balls in which the Queen occasionally
condescended to join, varied the entertainments; which were, however,
suddenly terminated by the death of the Duc de Montpensier, which
occurred on the 28th of the month; and so much was the King affected by
his demise, that he forbade all the customary diversions during the
ensuing Carnival.
Nothing could exceed, save in the case of a sovereign, the splendour of
the funeral ceremonies observed after the Duke's decease. He had no
sooner expired than his body was carried into a hall richly hung with
tapestry, and surrounded by seats and benches covered with cloth of
gold, elaborately embroidered with _fleurs-de-lis,_ intended for the
accommodation of the prelates, nobles, knights, and gentlemen of the
Duke's household who were appointed to watch beside the corpse. The body
lay upon a state bed covered with cloth of gold which swept the floor,
and was bordered with ermine. He wore his ducal robes, with a coronet,
and the great collar of St. Michael; and had his white-gloved hands
crossed upon his breast. At the foot of the bier stood a small table
upon which was a massive silver crucifix; and near it a second
supporting a vase of holy water. In this state the deceased Duke
remained during eight days; the officers of his household waiting upon
him in the same manner, and with the same ceremonies as when he was
alive. A prelate said the grace; the water, in which while in existence
the Prince had been accustomed to lave his hands previously to
commencing a meal, was presented to his vacant chair; the different
courses were placed upon the table by the proper officers; a silver
goblet was prepared at the same moment in which he had formerly been in
the habit of taking his first draught; and, finally, the same prelate
uttered a thanksgiving, to which he added a "De profundis," and the
prayer for the dead; when the food that had been served up was
distributed to the poor.
At the termination of the eight days the funeral service was performed
at Notre Dame, in the presence of the Knights of the Holy Ghost, all
wearing their collars. The chief mourners were the Prince de Condé and
the Comte de Soissons, the cousins of the deceased Duke; and his funeral
oration was delivered by M. de Fenouillet, Bishop of Montpellier. The
body was then conveyed to Champigny in Poitou, where the Duke was laid
to rest with his ancestors.[379]
Having strictly forbidden all public festivities, Henry removed the
Court to Fontainebleau; and Marguerite, whose unblushing libertinism was
a byword in Paris, seized the moment to erect an almshouse and convent
upon a portion of the grounds of her hotel. It was stated that the
ex-Queen during her residence at Usson, where, as we have already seen,
her career was one of the most degrading profligacy, had made a vow that
should she ever be permitted to revisit Paris, she would support a
certain number of monks who should daily sing the praises of the Deity;
and she accordingly gave to the chapel attached to the convent the name
of the Chapel of Praise, while the house itself was designated the
Monastery of the Holy Trinity. It was no sooner built than it was given
by the foundress to the reformed and bare-footed Fathers of St.
Augustine; but after having solicited in their favour various privileges
which were accorded by the Sovereign-Pontiff, she dispossessed them in
the year 1613, and established in their place the Augustine Fathers of
the Congregation of Bourges.
Meanwhile the influence of Concini and his wife over the mind of the
Queen unhappily increased with time, until the arrogance of the former
became so great that he had the insolence to enter the lists at a grand
tilting at the ring which was publicly held in the Rue St. Antoine in
the presence of the monarch and his Court; a piece of presumption which
was rendered still more unpalatable to Henry by the fact that the
Italian, who was well skilled in such exercises, bore away the prize
for which the whole of his own nobility had contended.
So arrogant, indeed, had he become, and so inflated with the
consciousness of wealth--Marie de Medicis having been lavish even beyond
her means both to his wife and himself--that he entered into a
negotiation for the purchase of La Ferté, a property estimated at
between two and three hundred thousand crowns; and he no sooner
ascertained that the Duchesse de Sully had waited upon the Queen to
entreat of her Majesty to forbid the transfer, as such an acquisition
made by an individual who was generally known to be penniless only a few
years previously would necessarily excite the public disaffection
towards herself, than he had the audacity to proceed to the Arsenal and
to upbraid that lady for her interference in the most unmeasured and
insulting terms, declaring that he was independent both of the King of
France and of his subjects, whatever might be their sex and rank; and
that whoever thwarted him in his projects might live to rue the day in
which they braved his anger.
This intemperance having come to the ears of the King, his indignation
was excessive; but, as on previous occasions, he lacked the moral
courage to assert his dignity; and satisfied himself by bitter
complaints to Sully of the fatal hold which her two Italian attendants
had secured upon the affections of the Queen, and by replying to the
reproaches of Marie upon the subject of his new attachment for Charlotte
des Essarts, and the continued insolence of Madame de Verneuil, with
vehement upbraidings on the vassalage in which she lived to the indecent
caprices and shameless extortions of a waiting-woman and her husband.
Marie de Medicis, who had hoped that the rank in her household which had
been conceded to Leonora would protect her for the future against
allusions to the obscurity of her origin, was greatly incensed by the
tone of contempt still maintained by the King whenever he made any
allusion either to Leonora or Concini; and eventually these
recriminations attained to such a height that Henry abruptly quitted the
Louvre (where the delicate health of his royal consort had induced him
to establish his temporary residence), and proceeded to Chantilly,
without taking leave of her. On his way, however, he alighted at the
Arsenal, where he informed Sully of the reason of his sudden departure;
and the minister became so much alarmed at this unequivocal
demonstration of displeasure on the part of the monarch, that he
resolved not to lose a moment in advising the Queen to some concession
which might cause the King to return to the capital. After the mid-day
meal he accordingly repaired to the Louvre, accompanied only by a
secretary who was to await him in an antechamber, and made his way to
the apartments of Marie. On reaching the saloon adjoining the private
closet of the Queen, he found Madame Concini seated at the door with her
head buried in her hands, evidently absorbed in thought. She started up,
however, when he addressed her; and in reply to his request that she
would announce him to her royal mistress, she replied that she would do
so willingly, although she apprehended that her Majesty would not
receive him, as she had refused entrance to herself. She had, however,
no sooner raised the tapestry, and scratched upon the door, than Marie,
on learning who was without, desired that M. de Sully should be
instantly admitted. When the Duke entered he found the Queen seated at a
table, busily engaged in writing; and as he approached her with the
customary obeisance, she hastily motioned to him to place himself upon a
stool immediately in front of her.
"You are right welcome, M. le Ministre," she said in a tone that was not
altogether steady, although she struggled to suppress all outward
emotion. "You are doubtless already apprised that the King has withdrawn
from the capital in anger, but you have yet to learn that he has left me
no whit more satisfied than himself. I was unprepared for so abrupt a
departure; and as I had still much to say to him on the subject of our
disagreement, I find myself compelled to the exercise of my clerkly
skill, and am now occupied in telling him in writing all that I had left
unsaid. There is the letter," she continued with a bitter smile, as she
threw the ample scroll across the table; "read it, and tell me if I have
not more than sufficient cause to consider myself both aggrieved and
outraged."
"Madame," said the incorruptible minister, when he had perused the
document thus submitted to him, "you must pardon me if I venture to
declare that you must never suffer that letter to meet the eye of your
royal consort: it contains matter to induce your eternal separation."
"Can you deny one assertion which I have made?" demanded the Queen
impatiently.
"I sympathize in all the trials and troubles of your Majesty," was the
evasive reply. "I would leave no effort untried to terminate them; a
fact of which you have long, I trust, Madame, felt convinced; and thus I
cannot see you about to wilfully destroy every chance of happiness,
without imploring of you to reflect deeply and calmly before you take so
extreme a measure as that which you now contemplate. The King is already
incensed against you; and if spoken words have thus angered him, I dare
not contemplate the consequences of such as these before me, written
hours after your contention. I therefore beseech you to suppress this
letter; and both for your own sake, and for that of the French nation,
rather to seek a reconciliation with His Grace your husband than to
increase the ill-feeling which so unhappily exists."
"You make no allowance for me, Monsieur, as a woman and a wife; you only
argue with the Queen."
"Madame," persisted Sully, "in this instance it is rather to the woman
and the wife that I address myself than to the Queen. As a woman, the
bitterness and invective of this missive," and he laid his spread hand
emphatically upon the paper, "would suffice to cover you with blame and
to deprive you of sympathy, while as a mother it would authorize your
separation from your children. Let me entreat of you therefore to forego
your purpose."
Marie de Medicis sat silent for a few moments, and then making a violent
effort over herself, she said slowly: "I will in so far follow your
counsel, M. le Duc, that I will destroy this letter, although the saints
bear witness that it has cost me both time and care to prepare it, but I
will yield no further. I am weary of being made the puppet of an
unfaithful husband and his band of unblushing favourites, who receive,
each in succession, some high-sounding title by which they are enabled
to thrust themselves and their shame upon me in the very halls of the
palace. I must and will tell the King this."
"Then, Madame, if such be unfortunately your decision," said her
listener, "at least let me urge you to do it in gentler terms."
"I am in no humour to temporize."
Sully made no reply.
"Do not wrap yourself up in silence, Monsieur," exclaimed the Queen
after waiting in vain for his reply. "I believe that you wish to serve
me, and you cannot better do so than by putting these unpalatable truths
into a less repulsive form. Here are the means at hand, but, mark me, I
will not suffer one particular to be omitted."
Under this somewhat difficult restriction the minister proceeded to obey
her command, but she argued upon every sentence, and cavilled at every
paragraph, which tended to soften the harsher features of the letter. At
length, however, the task was completed, and nothing remained to be
effected save its transcription by the Queen. The letter was long and
elaborate, as Sully had skilfully contrived to terminate every reproach
by some reasoning which could not fail to touch the feelings of the
King. Thus, after upbraiding her husband with his perpetual
infidelities, Marie was made to say that if she complained, it was less
for herself, than because, in addition to her anxiety to be the sole
possessor of his heart, she could not coldly contemplate the injury
which he inflicted upon his person and dignity by becoming the rival of
his own subjects, and thus compromising his kingly character; and that
if she insisted with vehemence upon the exile of Madame de Verneuil, her
excuse must be found in the fact that in no other way could her peace
and honour be secured, or the welfare of her children be rendered
sure--those children of whom he was the father as well as the sovereign,
and whom she would cause to fall at his feet to implore compassion for
their mother. She then reminded him of the numerous promises which he
had made to her that he would cease to give her cause of complaint, and
terminated the missive by calling God to witness that should he still be
willing to fulfil them, she would, on her side, renounce all desire for
vengeance upon those by whom she had been so deeply, wronged.
Certain, however, it is that, even with these modifications, the letter
gave serious offence to Henry, who, shortly after its receipt, wrote to
apprise Sully of what he denominated the _impertinence_ of his wife, but
declared that he was less incensed against her than against the
individual by whom the epistle had been dictated, as the style was not
hers, and that he had consequently discovered the agency of a third
person, whose identity he left it to Sully to ascertain, as he had
resolved never again either to serve or even to see him, be he whom he
might, so long as he had life.
With a truth and frankness which did him honour, the finance minister,
despite this threat, did not hesitate when subsequently urged upon the
subject by the King to admit the authorship of the obnoxious document,
and in support of his assertion to place in the hands of Henry the
original draft which he had retained. On comparing this with the
autograph letter of the Queen, however, Sully at once perceived that she
had been unable to repress her anger sufficiently to adhere to his
advice, and that the interpolations were by no means calculated to
advance her interests.[380] It was evident, nevertheless, that much of
the King's indignation had subsided, and that the delicate health of his
royal consort was not without its influence over his mind. Sully
adroitly profited by this circumstance to impress upon Henry the danger
of any agitation to the Queen, whose impressionable nature occasioned
constant solicitude to her physicians, and reminded him that her late
violence had been principally induced by the rumours which had reached
her of a _liaison_ between Madame de Verneuil and the Duc de Guise, an
indignity to his own person which she had declared herself unable to
brook with patience. In short, so zealously and so successfully did
Sully exert himself, that he at length induced the monarch to return to
the Louvre, and the Queen to disclaim all intention of exciting his
displeasure, in which latter attempt he was greatly aided by being
enabled to confide to her that instant measures were to be taken for the
disgrace of the Marquise, could it be proved that her friendship with
the Duc de Guise had exceeded the limits of propriety.
In the beginning of March the Court removed to Fontainebleau, where,
while awaiting the accouchement of the Queen, Henry indulged in the most
reckless gaming; nor did he pursue this vice in a kingly spirit, for
even his devoted panegyrist Péréfixe informs us that at this period he
knew not how to answer those who reproached his royal pupil with too
great a love for cards and dice, of itself a taste little suited to a
great and powerful sovereign; and that, moreover, he was an unpleasant
player, eager for gain, timid when the stake was a high one, and
ill-tempered when he was a loser.[381] In support of this reluctant
testimony, Bassompierre relates that, being anxious to assist at the
opening of the States of Lorraine in compliance with the invitation of
the Duke, he solicited the permission of Henry to that effect on two or
three different occasions, but as he always played on the side of the
King, and universally with great success, he was constantly refused.
Resolved to carry his point, however, the spoiled courtier at length set
forth without any leave-taking; a fact which was no sooner ascertained
by the monarch than he despatched two of the _exempts_ of his guard to
arrest him and bring him back. This they did without difficulty, as
Bassompierre did not travel at night; but as the gallant Marquis had no
ambition to be conveyed to Fontainebleau in the guise of a prisoner, he
despatched a letter to M. de Villeroy requesting to be liberated from
the presence of his captors, and pledging himself to return instantly to
Court. On his arrival the King laughed heartily at the idea of his
disappointment, which he, however, lightened by pledging himself that in
ten days he should be left at liberty to depart.[382]
On the 25th of April Marie de Medicis became the mother of a third son,
upon whom, after some contestation between his illustrious parents, was
bestowed the title of Duc d'Anjou. The Queen was desirous that he should
be called Prince of Navarre, but Henry preferred the former designation,
from the fact that it had been that of many of the French Princes who
had been sovereigns of Jerusalem and Sicily.[383] The birth of another
Prince to their beloved sovereign filled up the measure of joy in
France; the citizens of Paris made costly gifts to the Queen, and the
circumstance of the infant having come into the world on the anniversary
of St. Louis increased the general enthusiasm.[384] As the convalescence
of the royal invalid was less rapid upon this than on previous
occasions, the Court remained during the spring and a portion of the
summer at Fontainebleau, where every species of amusement was exhausted
by the courtiers. Once only, at the beginning of May, the King resided
for a few days in the capital, and on his return Marie manifested such
undisguised satisfaction that he accorded to her the sum of twelve
thousand crowns for the embellishment of her château at Monceaux.
So early as the year 1598, during the journey of the sovereign to
Brittany, a marriage had been arranged between his' son, the Duc de
Vendôme, and Mademoiselle de Mercoeur,[385] but the mother and
grandmother of the young lady had succeeded in inspiring her with such a
hatred of the legitimated Prince, that she would not allow his name to
be mentioned in her presence; and when she ascertained that the monarch
had resolved upon the fulfilment of the contract, she withdrew to the
Capuchin Convent, declaring that sooner than become the wife of M. de
Vendôme she would take the veil. The Duchesse de Mercoeur and her mother
had been anxious to marry the young heiress to the Prince de Condé, or
failing in this project, to some relative of their own, in order to
retain her large possessions in the family; but the King had resolved
upon securing them to his son by enforcing the promise made by the
deceased Duke. He accordingly adopted conciliatory measures by which he
succeeded in effecting his object, and before the conclusion of the
rejoicings on the birth of the infant Prince, the marriage was finally
celebrated in the chapel of Fontainebleau with all the pomp and
magnificence of which the ceremony was susceptible, while the King
appeared beside his son at the altar blazing with jewels of inestimable
price, and joined in the festivities consequent upon the alliance with a
zest and enjoyment which were the theme of general comment.
The arrival of Don Pedro de Toledo,[386] the ambassador of Philip III
of Spain, at this precise juncture gave further occasion for that
display of splendour in which Henry had latterly delighted, and after
his public reception at Fontainebleau the Court removed to Paris, where
the ambassador had been sumptuously lodged at the Hôtel de Gondy. His
arrogance, however, soon disgusted the French King; nor did he hesitate
to exhibit the same unbecoming hauteur towards his kinswoman the Queen,
who having despatched a nobleman of her household to welcome him to
France in that character, was informed by her envoy that the only answer
which he returned to the compliment was conveyed in the remark that
crowned heads had no relatives; they had only subjects.
The sole occasion upon which he laid aside his _morgue_, and then to all
appearance involuntarily, was while driving through the streets of the
capital in the carriage of the King. He had previously visited Paris,
and as he contrasted its present magnificence with the squalor, filth,
and disorder which it had formerly exhibited, he could not suppress an
exclamation of astonishment. "Why should you be surprised, Monsieur?"
demanded Henry; "when you last saw my good city of Paris, the father of
the family did not inhabit it; and now that he is here to watch over his
children, they prosper as you see." [387]
The object of this embassy was kept a profound secret; some historians
assert that it was undertaken with a view to effect a marriage between
the Dauphin and the Infanta of Spain, while others lean to the belief
that Philip had instructed Don Pedro to endeavour to prevail upon Henry
to abandon his alliance with the Dutch. Whatever were its motive, the
ambassador, who had reached Paris on the 7th of July, quitted the
capital on the 22nd of the same month, having only succeeded in
irritating the King by his overbearing and supercilious demeanour.[388]
It would appear that during the present year Henri IV indulged his
passion for field sports to such an excess as tended seriously to alarm
those who were anxious for his preservation; and it indeed seems as
though, at this period, his leisure hours were nearly divided between
his two favourite diversions of hunting and high play. Sully informs us,
however, that the King busied himself with the embellishments of
Fontainebleau, and in erecting the Place Dauphine at Paris; but adds
that these great works, which were necessary to the convenience of the
people, might have been carried much further if the monarch would have
followed his advice and been less profuse in his personal expenditure,
particularly as regarded his gambling transactions. He advances, as a
proof of this assertion, that he was called upon on one occasion to
deliver to Eduardo Fernandez, a Portuguese banker (who, according to
Bassompierre, had made a visit of speculation to the French Court, and
who unhesitatingly provided the nobles with large sums, either on
security or at immense interest), the enormous amount of thirty-four
thousand pistoles, for which the reckless monarch had become his debtor.
"I frequently received similar orders," he proceeds to say, "for two or
three thousand pistoles, and a great many others for less considerable
sums." [389]
It is scarcely doubtful that the _ennui_ occasioned by the waning
passion of Henri IV for Madame de Verneuil at this period induced him,
even more than formerly, to seek amusement and occupation at the
gaming-table, where he was emulated by his profuse and licentious
nobles, while even his Queen and the ladies of the Court entered with
avidity into the exciting pastime. We have frequent record of the
habitual high play of Marie de Medicis, who found in it a solace for her
sick-room and a diversion from her domestic annoyances, and thus the
dangerous propensity of the monarch was heightened by the presence of
the loveliest women of the land and the charm and fascination of wit and
intellect.
Madame de Verneuil was in despair; the coveted sceptre was sliding from
within her grasp, and with the ill-judged hope of regaining the
affections of her royal lover by exciting his jealousy, she encouraged
the attention of the Duc de Guise, who, undismayed by the previous
attempt of his brother to divert the affections of another of the royal
favourites and its unfortunate result, at length openly avowed himself
the suitor of the brilliant Marquise, and even promised to make her his
wife; while the scandalous chroniclers of the time do not hesitate to
affirm that the Prince de Joinville himself had previously done the
same, but that his proverbial fickleness had protected him from so gross
a _mésalliance_.
In the case of the Duke, however, the affair wore a more serious aspect;
and so earnest did he appear in his professions that Madame de Verneuil,
anxious at once to secure an illustrious alliance and to revenge herself
upon the monarch, caused the banns of marriage between the Prince and
herself to be published with some slight alteration in their respective
names, which did not, however, suffice to deceive those who had an
interest in subverting her project; and the fact was accordingly
communicated to the King, upon whom it produced an effect entirely
opposite to that which had been contemplated by the vanity of the lady,
who had been clever enough to procure from M. de Guise a written promise
similar to that which she had formerly extorted from the monarch. Four
years previously the knowledge of such a perfidy on her part would have
overwhelmed Henry with anxiety, jealousy, and grief, but his passion for
the Marquise had, as we have seen, long been on the decline, and his
only feeling was one of indignation and displeasure. To the Marquise
herself he simply expressed his determined and unalterable opposition to
the alliance, but to the Duke he was far less lenient, reminding him of
the former offences of himself and his family, and forbidding him to
pursue a purpose so distasteful to all those who had his honour at
heart This was a fatal blow to Madame de Verneuil, and one which she was
never destined to overcome. Clever as she was, she had suffered herself
to forget that youth is not eternal, and that passion is even more
evanescent than time; and thus, by a last impotent effort to assert a
supremacy to which she could no longer advance any claim, she only
succeeded in extinguishing in the heart of the King the last embers of a
latent and expiring attachment.[390]
FOOTNOTES:
[356] The _carême-prenant_ includes the three days which precede
Ash-Wednesday.
[357] L'Etoile, vol. iii. pp. 411, 412.
[358] Benjamin de Rohan, Duc de Soubise, was the grandson of Jean de
Parthenay-Soubise, and the son of Réné-Rohan. He was a zealous supporter
of the reformed faith, and was present at several sieges; but becoming
dissatisfied with the citizens of La Rochelle, with whom he took refuge
in 1622, he passed over to England, to solicit assistance; a proceeding
which compelled the French Court to declare him guilty of
_lèse-majesté_, and he subsequently refused to return to his own country
when a general amnesty was proclaimed.
[359] L'Etoile, vol. iii. pp. 414, 415.
[360] _Mémoires_, p. 57.
[361] Saint-Edmé, vol. ii. p. 238.
[362] Saint-Edmé, vol. ii. pp. 239, 240. L'Etoile, vol. iii. p. 360.
_Amours du Grand Alcandre_, p. 49.
[363] Bassompierre, _Mém_. p. 51.
[364] Antoine de Bourbon, Comte de Moret, the son of Henri IV and Madame
de Moret, was legitimated in 1608, and was killed during the subsequent
reign at the battle of Castelnaudary, while serving under the Duc de
Montmorency.
[365] Damin de Montluc, Seigneur de Balagny, son of Jean, Prince de
Cambray, and of Rénée de Clermont de Bussy d'Amboise. He was one of the
most confidential friends of the King.
[366] Saint-Edmé, vol. ii. pp. 241, 242.
[367] Charlotte, daughter of François des Essarts, Seigneur de Sautour,
Equerry of the King's Stable, and of his second wife, Charlotte de
Harlay de Chanvallon.
[368] The Comte Christophe de Beaumont-Harlay, Governor of Orleans. He
died in 1615.
[369] Louis de Lorraine, Cardinal de Guise, son of Henri, Duc de Guise,
who was killed at the States of Blois. He obtained a dispensation from
the Pope to effect his marriage with Mademoiselle des Essarts. He was a
warlike prelate; and his death, which took place at Saintes in 1621, was
caused by the extreme fatigue that he underwent during the campaign of
Guienne, and at the siege of Saint-Jean-d'Angély, whither he accompanied
Louis XIII.
[370] Bassompierre, _Mém_. p. 50.
[371] Charles, Cardinal de Lorraine, Bishop of Metz and Strasbourg, and
Abbot of St. Victor-lès-Paris. The Cardinal de Givry succeeded him in
the see of Metz, having the Marquis de Verneuil as his coadjutor, and
Leopold of Austria replaced him as Bishop of Strasbourg, having been
elected to that dignity by the chapter; while the Protestants named
George, Margrave of Brandenburg, administrator to that see, which caused
great dissension between the two concurrents, until a conciliation was
effected through the good offices of Duke Frederic of Würtemberg, who
induced them to enter into a truce for fifteen years, during which
period they divided between them the revenues of the benefice, Leopold
of Austria retaining the title of bishop.
[372] _Mercure Français,_ 1607, P-228. L'Etoile, vol. iii. pp. 437,
438.
[373] _Mémoires,_ vol. vii. p. 7. L'Etoile, vol. iii. pp. 417, 418.
[374] Bassompierre, _Mém_. p. 51.
[375] Marie de Bourbon, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, who, after the
decease of the Duc d'Orléans, married (in 1626) Gaston Jean Baptiste
de France.
[376] Bassompierre, _Mém_. p. 51.
[377] Sully, _Mém_. vol. vii. p. 8.
[378] Sully, _Mém_. vol. vii. pp. 8, 9.
[379] _Mercure Français_, 1608, p. 231. L'Etoile, vol. iii. pp. 444,
445.
[380] Sully, _Mém_. vol. vii. pp. 25-28.
[381] Péréfixe, vol. ii. pp. 463, 464.
[382] Bassompierre, _Mém_. pp. 50, 51.
[383] Gaston Jean Baptiste de France, originally named Duc d'Anjou, and
subsequently Duc d'Orléans, died in 1660. Before his birth, Henri IV
declared his intention of making him a churchman, and causing him to be
entitled Cardinal de France.
[384] _Mercure Français,_ 1608, p. 231. Sully, _Mém_. vol. vii. p. 37.
L'Etoile, vol. iii. p. 471.
[385] Mademoiselle de Mercocur was the only daughter and heiress of
Philippe Emmanuel de Lorraine, Duc de Mercocur, the brother of Louise de
Lorraine, Queen of Henri III. By that monarch he was appointed Governor
of Brittany, but in 1589 he revolted against him, and persisted in his
rebellion until 1598, when he entered into a treaty with Henri IV, by
which he bound himself to bestow the hand of his daughter, and the
reversion of his government, upon César de Vendôme, a condescension by
which he subsequently felt himself so much disgraced that he withdrew
from the Court and engaged in the war of Hungary. Pining, however, to
see once more his wife and daughter, he was on his way to France for
that purpose, when he was attacked by fever at Nuremberg, where he
expired in March 1602, at the age of forty-three years.
[386] Don Pedro de Toledo, Constable of Castile, and general of the
galleys of Naples, was a relative of Marie de Medicis, whose
grandfather, the Comte de Medicis, had married Eleonora de Toledo, the
daughter of the Viceroy of Naples. He was, moreover, a grandee of Spain,
and one of the most confidential friends of Philip III.
[387] Bonnechose, vol. i. p. 445. Péréfixe, vol. ii. p. 564.
[388] L'Etoile, vol. iii. pp. 474-477. _Mercure Français,_ 1608, p. 232.
Daniel, vol. vii. p. 488.
[389] _Mémoires,_ vol. vii. pp. 72-74.
[390] Dreux du Radier, vol. vi, p. 104.