CHAPTER I

Produced by David Widger

THE PROJECT GUTENBERT COURT MEMOIRS

By Various

CONTENTS:

Memoirs of Marguerite de Valois [see also #3841]

Memoirs of Cardinal de Retz [see also #3846]

Memoirs of Madame de Montespan [see also #3854]

Memoirs Louis XIV, by Duch d'Orleans [see also #3859]

Memoirs of Louis XIV, by Saint-Simon [see also #3875]

Memoirs Louis XV./XVI, by Hausset [see also #3883]

Memoirs Marie Antoinette, by Campan [see also #3891]

Memoirs of Court of St. Cloud [see also #3899]

Memoirs of Count Grammont [see also #5416]

MARGUERITE DE NAVARRE

MEMOIRS OF MARGUERITE DE VALOIS QUEEN OF NAVARRE

Written by Herself

Being Historic Memoirs of the Courts of France and Navarre

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Marguerite de Valois--Etching by Mercier

Bussi d' Amboise--Painting in the Versailles Gallery

Duc de Guise--Painting in the Versailles Gallery

Catherine de' Medici--Original Etching by Mercier

Henri VI. and La Fosseuse--Painting by A. P. E. Morton

A Scene at Henri's Court--Original Photogravure

PUBLISHER'S NOTE.

The first volume of the Court Memoir Series will, it is confidently

anticipated, prove to be of great interest. These Letters first appeared

in French, in 1628, just thirteen years after the death of their witty

and beautiful authoress, who, whether as the wife for many years of the

great Henri of France, or on account of her own charms and

accomplishments, has always been the subject of romantic interest.

The letters contain many particulars of her life, together with many

anecdotes hitherto unknown or forgotten, told with a saucy vivacity which

is charming, and an air vividly recalling the sprightly, arch demeanour,

and black, sparkling eyes of the fair Queen of Navarre. She died in

1615, aged sixty-three.

These letters contain the secret history of the Court of France during

the seventeen eventful years 1565-82.

The events of the seventeen years referred to are of surpassing interest,

including, as they do, the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, the formation of

the League, the Peace of Sens, and an account of the religious struggles

which agitated that period. They, besides, afford an instructive insight

into royal life at the close of the sixteenth century, the modes of

travelling then in vogue, the manners and customs of the time, and a

picturesque account of the city of Liege and its sovereign bishop.

As has been already stated, these Memoirs first appeared in French in

1628. They were, thirty years later, printed in London in English, and

were again there translated and published in 1813.

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.

The Memoirs, of which a new translation is now presented to the public,

are the undoubted composition of the celebrated princess whose name they

bear, the contemporary of our Queen Elizabeth; of equal abilities with

her, but of far unequal fortunes. Both Elizabeth and Marguerite had been

bred in the school of adversity; both profited by it, but Elizabeth had

the fullest opportunity of displaying her acquirements in it. Queen

Elizabeth met with trials and difficulties in the early part of her life,

and closed a long and successful reign in the happy possession of the

good-will and love of her subjects. Queen Marguerite, during her whole

life, experienced little else besides mortification and disappointment;

she was suspected and hated by both Protestants and Catholics, with the

latter of whom, though, she invariably joined in communion, yet was she

not in the least inclined to persecute or injure the former. Elizabeth

amused herself with a number of suitors, but never submitted to the yoke

of matrimony. Marguerite, in compliance with the injunctions of the

Queen her mother, and King Charles her brother, married Henri, King of

Navarre, afterwards Henri IV. of France, for whom she had no inclination;

and this union being followed by a mutual indifference and dislike, she

readily consented to dissolve it; soon after which event she saw a

princess, more fruitful but less prudent, share the throne of her

ancestors, of whom she was the only representative. Elizabeth was

polluted with the blood of her cousin, the Queen of Scots, widow of

Marguerite's eldest brother. Marguerite saved many Huguenots from the

massacre of St. Bartholomew's Day, and, according to Brantome, the life

of the King, her husband, whose name was on the list of the proscribed.

To close this parallel, Elizabeth began early to govern a kingdom, which

she ruled through the course of her long life with severity, yet

gloriously, and with success. Marguerite, after the death of the Queen

her mother and her brothers, though sole heiress of the House of Valois,

was, by the Salic law, excluded from all pretensions to the Crown of

France; and though for the greater part of her life shut up in a castle,

surrounded by rocks and mountains, she has not escaped the shafts of

obloquy.

The Translator has added some notes, which give an account of such places

as are mentioned in the Memoirs, taken from the itineraries of the time,

but principally from the "Geographie Universelle" of Vosgien; in which

regard is had to the new division of France into departments, as well as

to the ancient one of principalities, archbishoprics, bishoprics,

generalities, chatellenies, balliages, duchies, seigniories, etc.

In the composition of her Memoirs, Marguerite has evidently adopted the

epistolary form, though the work came out of the French editor's hand

divided into three (as they are styled) books; these three books, or

letters, the Translator has taken the liberty of subdividing into

twenty-one, and, at the head of each of them, he has placed a short table

of the contents. This is the only liberty he has taken with the original

Memoirs, the translation itself being as near as the present improved

state of our language could be brought to approach the unpolished

strength and masculine vigour of the French of the age of Henri IV.

This translation is styled a new one, because, after the Translator had

made some progress in it, he found these Memoirs had already been made

English, and printed, in London, in the year 1656, thirty years after the

first edition of the French original. This translation has the following

title: "The grand Cabinet Counsels unlocked; or, the most faithful

Transaction of Court Affairs, and Growth and Continuance of the Civil

Wars in France, during the Reigns of Charles the last, Henry III., and

Henry IV., commonly called the Great. Most excellently written, in the

French Tongue, by Margaret de Valois, Sister to the two first Kings, and

Wife of the last. Faithfully translated by Robert Codrington, Master of

Arts;" and again as "Memorials of Court Affairs," etc., London, 1658.

The Memoirs of Queen Marguerite contained the secret history of the Court

of France during the space of seventeen years, from 1565 to 1582, and

they end seven years before Henri III., her brother, fell by the hands of

Clement, the monk; consequently, they take in no part of the reign of

Henri IV. (as Mr. Codrington has asserted in his title-page), though

they relate many particulars of the early part of his life.

Marguerite's Memoirs include likewise the history nearly of the first

half of her own life, or until she had reached the twenty-ninth year of

her age; and as she died in 1616, at the age of sixty-three years, there

remain thirty-four years of her life, of which little is known. In 1598,

when she was forty-five years old, her marriage with Henri was dissolved

by mutual consent,--she declaring that she had no other wish than to give

him content, and preserve the peace of the kingdom; making it her

request, according to Brantome, that the King would favour her with his

protection, which, as her letter expresses, she hoped to enjoy during the

rest of her life. Sully says she stipulated only for an establishment

and the payment of her debts, which were granted. After Henri, in 1610,

had fallen a victim to the furious fanaticism of the monk Ravaillac, she

lived to see the kingdom brought into the greatest confusion by the bad

government of the Queen Regent, Marie de Medici, who suffered herself to

be directed by an Italian woman she had brought over with her, named

Leonora Galligai. This woman marrying a Florentine, called Concini,

afterwards made a marshal of France, they jointly ruled the kingdom, and

became so unpopular that the marshal was assassinated, and the wife, who

had been qualified with the title of Marquise d'Ancre, burnt for a witch.

This happened about the time of Marguerite's decease.

It has just before been mentioned how little has been handed down to

these times respecting Queen Marguerite's history. The latter part of

her life, there is reason to believe, was wholly passed at a considerable

distance from Court, in her retirement (so it is called, though it

appears to have been rather her prison) at the castle of Usson. This

castle, rendered famous by her long residence in it, has been demolished

since the year 1634. It was built on a mountain, near a little town of

the same name, in that part of France called Auvergne, which now

constitutes part of the present Departments of the Upper Loire and

Puy-de-Dome, from a river and mountain so named. These Memoirs appear to

have been composed in this retreat. Marguerite amused herself likewise,

in this solitude, in composing verses, and there are specimens still

remaining of her poetry. These compositions she often set to music, and

sang them herself, accompanying her voice with the lute, on which she

played to perfection. Great part of her time was spent in the perusal of

the Bible and books of piety, together with the works of the best authors

she could procure. Brantome assures us that Marguerite spoke the Latin

tongue with purity and elegance; and it appears, from her Memoirs, that

she had read Plutarch with attention.

Marguerite has been said to have given in to the gallantries to which the

Court of France was, during her time, but too much addicted; but, though

the Translator is obliged to notice it, he is far from being inclined to

give any credit to a romance entitled, "Le Divorce Satyrique; ou, les

Amours de la Reyne Marguerite de Valois," which is written in the person

of her husband, and bears on the title-page these initials: D. R. H. Q.

M.; that is to say, "du Roi Henri Quatre, Mari." This work professes to

give a relation of Marguerite's conduct during her residence at the

castle of Usson; but it contains so many gross absurdities and

indecencies that it is undeserving of attention, and appears to have been

written by some bitter enemy, who has assumed the character of her

husband to traduce her memory.

["Le Divorce Satyrique" is said to have been written by Louise Marguerite

de Lorraine, Princesse de Conti, who is likewise the reputed author of

"The Amours of Henri IV.," disguised under the name of Alcander. She was

the daughter of the Due de Guise, assassinated at Blois in 1588, and was

born the year her father died. She married Francois, Prince de Conti,

and was considered one of the most ingenious and accomplished persons

belonging to the French Court in the age of Louis XIII. She was left a

widow in 1614, and died in 1631.]

M. Pierre de Bourdeille, Seigneur de Brantome, better known by the name

of Brantome, wrote the Memoirs of his own times. He was brought up in

the Court of France, and lived in it during the reigns of Marguerite's

father and brothers, dying at the advanced age of eighty or eighty-four

years, but in what year is not certainly known. He has given anecdotes--

[The author of the "Tablettes de France," and "Anecdotes des Rois de

France," thinks that Marguerite alludes to Brantome's "Anecdotes" in the

beginning of her first letter, where she says: "I should commend your

work much more were I myself not so much praised in it." (According to

the original: "Je louerois davantage votre oeuvre, si elle ne me louoit

tant.") If so, these letters were addressed to Brantome, and not to the

Baron de la Chataigneraie, as mentioned in the Preface to the French

edition. In Letter I. mention is made of Madame de Dampierre, whom

Marguerite styles the aunt of the person the letter is addressed to. She

was dame d'honneur, or lady of the bedchamber, to the Queen of Henri

III., and Brantome, speaking of her, calls her his aunt. Indeed, it is

not a matter of any consequence to whom these Memoirs were addressed; it

is, however, remarkable that Louis XIV. used the same words to Boileau,

after hearing him read his celebrated epistle upon the famous Passage of

the Rhine; and yet Louis was no reader, and is not supposed to have

adopted them from these Memoirs. The thought is, in reality, fine, but

might easily suggest itself to any other. "Cela est beau," said the

monarch, "et je vous louerois davantage, si vous m'aviez moins loue."

(The poetry is excellent, and I should praise you more had you praised me

less.)]

of the life of Marguerite, written during her before-mentioned retreat,

when she was, as he says ("fille unique maintenant restee, de la noble

maison de France"), the only survivor of her illustrious house. Brantome

praises her excellent beauty in a long string of laboured hyperboles.

Ronsard, the Court poet, has done the same in a poem of considerable

length, wherein he has exhausted all his wit and fancy. From what they

have said, we may collect that Marguerite was graceful in her person and

figure, and remarkably happy in her choice of dress and ornaments to set

herself off to the most advantage; that her height was above the middle

size, her shape easy, with that due proportion of plumpness which gives

an appearance of majesty and comeliness. Her eyes were full, black, and

sparkling; she had bright, chestnut-coloured hair, and a complexion fresh

and blooming. Her skin was delicately white, and her neck admirably well

formed; and this so generally admired beauty, the fashion of dress, in

her time, admitted of being fully displayed.

Such was Queen Marguerite as she is portrayed, with the greatest

luxuriance of colouring, by these authors. To her personal charms were

added readiness of wit, ease and gracefulness of speech, and great

affability and courtesy of manners. This description of Queen Marguerite

cannot be dismissed without observing, if only for the sake of keeping

the fashion of the present times with her sex in countenance, that,

though she had hair, as has been already described, becoming her, and

sufficiently ornamental in itself, yet she occasionally called in the aid

of wigs. Brantome's words are: "l'artifice de perruques bien gentiment

faconnees."

[Ladies in the days of Ovid wore periwigs. That poet says to Corinna:

"Nunc tibi captivos mittet Germania crines;

Culta triumphatae munere gentis eris."

(Wigs shall from captive Germany be sent;

'Tis with such spoils your head you ornament.)

These, we may conclude, were flaxen, that being the prevailing coloured

hair of the Germans at this day. The Translator has met with a further

account of Marguerite's head-dress, which describes her as wearing a

velvet bonnet ornamented with pearls and diamonds, and surmounted with a

plume of feathers.]

I shall conclude this Preface with a letter from Marguerite to Brantome;

the first, he says, he received from her during her adversity ('son

adversite' are his words),--being, as he expresses it, so ambitious

('presomptueux') as to have sent to inquire concerning her health, as she

was the daughter and sister of the Kings, his masters. ("D'avoir envoye

scavoir de ses nouvelles, mais quoy elle estoit fille et soeur de mes

roys.")

The letter here follows: "From the attention and regard you have shown me

(which to me appears less strange than it is agreeable), I find you still

preserve that attachment you have ever had to my family, in a

recollection of these poor remains which have escaped its wreck. Such as

I am, you will find me always ready to do you service, since I am so

happy as to discover that my fortune has not been able to blot out my

name from the memory of my oldest friends, of which number you are one. I

have heard that, like me, you have chosen a life of retirement, which I

esteem those happy who can enjoy, as God, out of His great mercy, has

enabled me to do for these last five years; having placed me, during

these times of trouble, in an ark of safety, out of the reach, God be

thanked, of storms. If, in my present situation, I am able to serve my

friends, and you more especially, I shall be found entirely disposed to

it, and with the greatest good-will."

There is such an air of dignified majesty in the foregoing letter, and,

at the same time, such a spirit of genuine piety and resignation, that it

cannot but give an exalted idea of Marguerite's character, who appears

superior to ill-fortune and great even in her distress. If, as I doubt

not, the reader thinks the same, I shall not need to make an apology for

concluding this Preface with it.

The following Latin verses, or call them, if you please, epigram, are of

the composition of Barclay, or Barclaius, author of "Argenis," etc.

ON MARGUERITE DE VALOIS,

QUEEN OF NAVARRE.

Dear native land! and you, proud castles! say

(Where grandsire,[1] father,[2] and three brothers[3] lay,

Who each, in turn, the crown imperial wore),

Me will you own, your daughter whom you bore?

Me, once your greatest boast and chiefest pride,

By Bourbon and Lorraine,[4] when sought a bride;

Now widowed wife,[5] a queen without a throne,

Midst rocks and mountains [6] wander I alone.

Nor yet hath Fortune vented all her spite,

But sets one up,[7] who now enjoys my right,

Points to the boy,[8] who henceforth claims the throne

And crown, a son of mine should call his own.

But ah, alas! for me 'tis now too late [9]

To strive 'gainst Fortune and contend with Fate;

Of those I slighted, can I beg relief [10]

No; let me die the victim of my grief.

And can I then be justly said to live?

Dead in estate, do I then yet survive?

Last of the name, I carry to the grave

All the remains the House of Valois have.

1. Francois I.

2. Henri II.

3. Francois II., Charles IX., and Henri III.

4. Henri, King of Navarre, and Henri, Duc de Guise.

5. Alluding to her divorce from Henri IV..

6. The castle of Usson

7. Marie de' Medici, whom Henri married after his divorce from

Marguerite.

8. Louis XIII., the son of Henri and his queen, Marie de' Medici.

9. Alluding to the differences betwixt Marguerite and Henri, her

husband.

10. This is said with allusion to the supposition that she was rather

inclined to favour the suit of the Due de Guise and reject Henri for a

husband.

CONTENTS

LETTER I.

Introduction.--Anecdotes of Marguerite's Infancy.--Endeavours Used to

Convert Her to the New Religion.--She Is Confirmed in Catholicism.--The

Court on a Progress.--A Grand Festivity Suddenly Interrupted.--The

Confusion in Consequence.

LETTER II.

Message from the Duc d'Anjou, Afterwards Henri III., to King Charles His

Brother and the Queen-mother.--Her Fondness for Her Children.--Their

Interview.--Anjou's Eloquent Harangue.--The Queen-mother's Character.

Discourse of the Duc d'Anjou with Marguerite.--She Discovers Her Own

Importance.--Engages to Serve Her Brother Anjou.--Is in High Favour with

the Queenmother.

LETTER III.

Le Guast.--His Character.--Anjou Affects to Be Jealous of the

Guises.--Dissuades the Queen-mother from Reposing Confidence in

Marguerite.--She Loses the Favour of the Queen-mother and Falls

Sick.--Anjou's Hypocrisy.--He Introduces De Guise into Marguerite's Sick

Chamber.--Marguerite Demanded in Marriage by the King of Portugal.--Made

Uneasy on That Account.--Contrives to Relieve Herself.--The Match with

Portugal Broken off.

LETTER IV.

Death of the Queen of Navarre--Marguerite's Marriage with Her Son, the

King of Navarre, Afterwards Henri IV. of France.--The Preparations for

That Solemnisation Described.--The Circumstances Which Led to the

Massacre of the Huguenots on St. Bartholomew's Day.

LETTER V.

The Massacre of St. Bartholomew's Day.

LETTER VI.

Henri, Duc d'Anjou, Elected King of Poland, Leaves France.--Huguenot

Plots to Withdraw the Duc d'Alencon and the King of Navarre from

Court.--Discovered and Defeated by Marguerite's Vigilance.--She Draws Up

an Eloquent Defence, Which Her Husband Delivers before a Committee from

the Court of Parliament.--Alencon and Her Husband, under a Close Arrest,

Regain Their Liberty by the Death of Charles IX.

LETTER VII.

Accession of Henri III.--A Journey to Lyons.--Marguerite's Faith in

Supernatural Intelligence.

LETTER VIII.

What Happened at Lyons.

LETTER IX.

Fresh Intrigues.--Marriage of Henri III.--Bussi Arrives at Court and

Narrowly Escapes Assassination.

LETTER X.

Bussi Is Sent from Court.--Marguerite's Husband Attacked with a Fit of

Epilepsy.--Her Great Care of Him.--Torigni Dismissed from Marguerite's

Service.--The King of Navarre and the Duc d'Alencon Secretly Leave the

Court.

LETTER XI.

Queen Marguerite under Arrest.--Attempt on Torigni's Life.--Her Fortunate

Deliverance.

LETTER XII.

The Peace of Sens betwixt Henri III. and the Huguenots.

LETTER XIII.

The League.--War Declared against the Huguenots.--Queen Marguerite Sets

out for Spa.

LETTER XIV.

Description of Queen Marguerite's Equipage.--Her Journey to Liege

Described.--She Enters with Success upon Her Mission.--Striking Instance

of Maternal Duty and Affection in a Great Lady.--Disasters near the Close

of the Journey.

LETTER XV.

The City of Liege Described.--Affecting Story of Mademoiselle de

Tournon.--Fatal Effects of Suppressed Anguish of Mind.

LETTER XVI.

Queen Marguerite, on Her Return from Liege, Is in Danger of Being Made a

Prisoner.--She Arrives, after Some Narrow Escapes, at La Fere.

LETTER XVII.

Good Effects of Queen Marguerite's Negotiations in Flanders.--She Obtains

Leave to Go to the King of Navarre Her Husband, but Her Journey Is

Delayed.--Court Intrigues and Plots.--The Duc d'Alencon Again Put under

Arrest.

LETTER XVIII.

The Brothers Reconciled.--Alencon Restored to His Liberty.

LETTER XIX.

The Duc d'Alencon Makes His Escape from Court.--Queen Marguerite's

Fidelity Put to a Severe Trial.

LETTER XX.

Queen Marguerite Permitted to Go to the King Her Husband.--Is Accompanied

by the Queenmother.--Marguerite Insulted by Her Husband's Secretary.--She

Harbours Jealousy.--Her Attention to the King Her Husband during an

Indisposition.--Their Reconciliation.--The War Breaks Out

Afresh.--Affront Received from Marechal de Biron.

LETTER XXI.

Situation of Affairs in Flanders.--Peace Brought About by Duc d'Alencon's

Negotiation.--Marechal de Biron Apologises for Firing on Nerac.--Henri

Desperately in Love with Fosseuse.--Queen Marguerite Discovers Fosseuse

to Be Pregnant, Which She Denies.--Fosseuse in Labour. Marguerite's

Generous Behaviour to Her.--Marguerite's Return to Paris.

HISTORY OF THE HOUSE OF VALOIS. [Author unknown]

MARGUERITE DE VALOIS.

BOOK 1.

LETTER I.

Introduction.--Anecdotes of Marguerite's Infancy.--Endeavours Used to

Convert Her to the New Religion.--She Is Confirmed in Catholicism.--The

Court on a Progress.--A Grand Festivity Suddenly Interrupted.--The

Confusion in Consequence.

I should commend your work much more were I myself less praised in it;

but I am unwilling to do so, lest my praises should seem rather the

effect of self-love than to be founded on reason and justice. I am

fearful that, like Themistocles, I should appear to admire their

eloquence the most who are most forward to praise me. It is the usual

frailty of our sex to be fond of flattery. I blame this in other women,

and should wish not to be chargeable with it myself. Yet I confess that

I take a pride in being painted by the hand of so able a master, however

flattering the likeness may be. If I ever were possessed of the graces

you have assigned to me, trouble and vexation render them no longer

visible, and have even effaced them from my own recollection. So that I

view myself in your Memoirs, and say, with old Madame de Rendan, who, not

having consulted her glass since her husband's death, on seeing her own

face in the mirror of another lady, exclaimed, "Who is this?" Whatever

my friends tell me when they see me now, I am inclined to think proceeds

from the partiality of their affection. I am sure that you yourself,

when you consider more impartially what you have said, will be induced to

believe, according to these lines of Du Bellay:

"C'est chercher Rome en Rome, Et rien de Rome en Rome ne trouver."

('Tis to seek Rome, in Rome to go, And Rome herself at Rome not know.)

But as we read with pleasure the history of the Siege of Troy, the

magnificence of Athens, and other splendid cities, which once flourished,

but are now so entirely destroyed that scarcely the spot whereon they

stood can be traced, so you please yourself with describing these

excellences of beauty which are no more, and which will be discoverable

only in your writings.

If you had taken upon you to contrast Nature and Fortune, you could not

have chosen a happier theme upon which to descant, for both have made a

trial of their strength on the subject of your Memoirs. What Nature did,

you had the evidence of your own eyes to vouch for, but what was done by

Fortune, you know only from hearsay; and hearsay, I need not tell you, is

liable to be influenced by ignorance or malice, and, therefore, is not to

be depended on. You will for that reason, I make no doubt, be pleased to

receive these Memoirs from the hand which is most interested in the truth

of them.

I have been induced to undertake writing my Memoirs the more from five or

six observations which I have had occasion to make upon your work, as you

appear to have been misinformed respecting certain particulars. For

example, in that part where mention is made of Pau, and of my journey in

France; likewise where you speak of the late Marechal de Biron, of Agen,

and of the sally of the Marquis de Camillac from that place.

These Memoirs might merit the honourable name of history from the truths

contained in them, as I shall prefer truth to embellishment. In fact, to

embellish my story I have neither leisure nor ability; I shall,

therefore, do no more than give a simple narration of events. They are

the labours of my evenings, and will come to you an unformed mass, to

receive its shape from your hands, or as a chaos on which you have

already thrown light. Mine is a history most assuredly worthy to come

from a man of honour, one who is a true Frenchman, born of illustrious

parents, brought up in the Court of the Kings my father and brothers,

allied in blood and friendship to the most virtuous and accomplished

women of our times, of which society I have had the good fortune to be

the bond of union.

I shall begin these Memoirs in the reign of Charles IX., and set out with

the first remarkable event of my life which fell within my remembrance.

Herein I follow the example of geographical writers, who, having

described the places within their knowledge, tell you that all beyond

them are sandy deserts, countries without inhabitants, or seas never

navigated. Thus I might say that all prior to the commencement of these

Memoirs was the barrenness of my infancy, when we can only be said to

vegetate like plants, or live, like brutes, according to instinct, and

not as human creatures, guided by reason. To those who had the direction

of my earliest years I leave the task of relating the transactions of my

infancy, if they find them as worthy of being recorded as the infantine

exploits of Themistocles and Alexander,--the one exposing himself to be

trampled on by the horses of a charioteer, who would not stop them when

requested to do so, and the other refusing to run a race unless kings

were to enter the contest against him. Amongst such memorable things

might be related the answer I made the King my father, a short time

before the fatal accident which deprived France of peace, and our family

of its chief glory. I was then about four or five years of age, when the

King, placing me on his knee, entered familiarly into chat with me. There

were, in the same room, playing and diverting themselves, the Prince de

Joinville, since the great and unfortunate Duc de Guise, and the Marquis

de Beaupreau, son of the Prince de la Roche-sur-Yon, who died in his

fourteenth year, and by whose death his country lost a youth of most

promising talents. Amongst other discourse, the King asked which of the

two Princes that were before me I liked best. I replied, "The Marquis."

The King said, "Why so? He is not the handsomest." The Prince de

Joinville was fair, with light-coloured hair, and the Marquis de

Beaupreau brown, with dark hair. I answered, "Because he is the best

behaved; whilst the Prince is always making mischief, and will be master

over everybody."

This was a presage of what we have seen happen since, when the whole

Court was infected with heresy, about the time of the Conference of

Poissy. It was with great difficulty that I resisted and preserved

myself from a change of religion at that time. Many ladies and lords

belonging to Court strove to convert me to Huguenotism. The Duc d'Anjou,

since King Henri III. of France, then in his infancy, had been prevailed

on to change his religion, and he often snatched my "Hours" out of my

hand, and flung them into the fire, giving me Psalm Books and books of

Huguenot prayers, insisting on my using them. I took the first

opportunity to give them up to my governess, Madame de Curton, whom God,

out of his mercy to me, caused to continue steadfast in the Catholic

religion. She frequently took me to that pious, good man, the Cardinal

de Tournon, who gave me good advice, and strengthened me in a

perseverance in my religion, furnishing me with books and chaplets of

beads in the room of those my brother Anjou took from me and burnt.

Many of my brother's most intimate friends had resolved on my ruin, and

rated me severely upon my refusal to change, saying it proceeded from a

childish obstinacy; that if I had the least understanding, and would

listen, like other discreet persons, to the sermons that were preached, I

should abjure my uncharitable bigotry; but I was, said they, as foolish

as my governess. My brother Anjou added threats, and said the Queen my

mother would give orders that I should be whipped. But this he said of

his own head, for the Queen my mother did not, at that time, know of the

errors he had embraced. As soon as it came to her knowledge, she took

him to task, and severely reprimanded his governors, insisting upon their

correcting him, and instructing him in the holy and ancient religion of

his forefathers, from which she herself never swerved. When he used

those menaces, as I have before related, I was a child seven or eight

years old, and at that tender age would reply to him, "Well, get me

whipped if you can; I will suffer whipping, and even death, rather than

be damned."

I could furnish you with many other replies of the like kind, which gave

proof of the early ripeness of my judgment and my courage; but I shall

not trouble myself with such researches, choosing rather to begin these

Memoirs at the time when I resided constantly with the Queen my mother.

Immediately after the Conference of Poissy, the civil wars commenced, and

my brother Alencon and myself, on account of our youth, were sent to

Amboise, whither all the ladies of the country repaired to us.

With them came your aunt, Madame de Dampierre, who entered into a firm

friendship with me, which was never interrupted until her death broke it

off. There was likewise your cousin, the Duchesse de Rais, who had the

good fortune to hear there of the death of her brute of a husband, killed

at the battle of Dreux. The husband I mean was the first she had, named

M. d'Annebaut, who was unworthy to have for a wife so accomplished and

charming a woman as your cousin. She and I were not then so intimate

friends as we have become since, and shall ever remain. The reason was

that, though older than I, she was yet young, and young girls seldom take

much notice of children, whereas your aunt was of an age when women

admire their innocence and engaging simplicity.

I remained at Amboise until the Queen my mother was ready to set out on

her grand progress, at which time she sent for me to come to her Court,

which I did not quit afterwards.

Of this progress I will not undertake to give you a description, being

still so young that, though the whole is within my recollection, yet the

particular passages of it appear to me but as a dream, and are now lost.

I leave this task to others, of riper years, as you were yourself. You

can well remember the magnificence that was displayed everywhere,

particularly at the baptism of my nephew, the Duc de Lorraine, at

Bar-le-Duc; at the meeting of M. and Madame de Savoy, in the city of

Lyons; the interview at Bayonne betwixt my sister, the Queen of Spain,

the Queen my mother, and King Charles my brother. In your account of

this interview you would not forget to make mention of the noble

entertainment given by the Queen my mother, on an island, with the grand

dances, and the form of the salon, which seemed appropriated by nature

for such a purpose, it being a large meadow in the middle of the island,

in the shape of an oval, surrounded on every aide by tall spreading

trees. In this meadow the Queen my mother had disposed a circle of

niches, each of them large enough to contain a table of twelve covers.

At one end a platform was raised, ascended by four steps formed of turf.

Here their Majesties were seated at a table under a lofty canopy. The

tables were all served by troops of shepherdesses dressed in cloth of

gold and satin, after the fashion of the different provinces of France.

These shepherdesses, during the passage of the superb boats from Bayonne

to the island, were placed in separate bands, in a meadow on each side of

the causeway, raised with turf; and whilst their Majesties and the

company were passing through the great salon, they danced. On their

passage by water, the barges were followed by other boats, having on

board vocal and instrumental musicians, habited like Nereids, singing and

playing the whole time. After landing, the shepherdesses I have

mentioned before received the company in separate troops, with songs and

dances, after the fashion and accompanied by the music of the provinces

they represented,--the Poitevins playing on bagpipes; the Provencales on

the viol and cymbal; the Burgundians and Champagners on the hautboy, bass

viol, and tambourine; in like manner the Bretons and other

provincialists. After the collation was served and the feast at an end,

a large troop of musicians, habited like satyrs, was seen to come out of

the opening of a rock, well lighted up, whilst nymphs were descending

from the top in rich habits, who, as they came down, formed into a grand

dance, when, lo! fortune no longer favouring this brilliant festival, a

sudden storm of rain came on, and all were glad to get off in the boats

and make for town as fast as they could. The confusion in consequence of

this precipitate retreat afforded as much matter to laugh at the next day

as the splendour of the entertainment had excited admiration. In short,

the festivity of this day was not, forgotten, on one account or the

other, amidst the variety of the like nature which succeeded it in the

course of this progress.

LETTER II.

Message from the Duc d'Anjou, Afterwards Henri III., to King Charles His

Brother and the Queen-mother.--Her Fondness for Her Children.--Their

Interview.--Anjou's Eloquent Harangue.--The Queen-mother's Character.

Discourse of the Duc d'Anjou with Marguerite.--She Discovers Her Own

Importance.--Engages to Serve Her Brother Anjou.--Is in High Favour with

the Queenmother.

At the time my magnanimous brother Charles reigned over France, and some

few years after our return from the grand progress mentioned in my last

letter, the Huguenots having renewed the war, a gentleman, despatched

from my brother Anjou (afterwards Henri III. of France), came to Paris to

inform the King and the Queen my mother that the Huguenot army was

reduced to such an extremity that he hoped in a few days to force them to

give him battle. He added his earnest wish for the honour of seeing them

at Tours before that happened, so that, in case Fortune, envying him the

glory he had already achieved at so early an age, should, on the so much

looked-for day, after the good service he had done his religion and his

King, crown the victory with his death, he might not have cause to regret

leaving this world without the satisfaction of receiving their

approbation of his conduct from their own mouths, a satisfaction which

would be more valuable, in his opinion, than the trophies he had gained

by his two former victories.

I leave to your own imagination to suggest to you the impression which

such a message from a dearly beloved son made on the mind of a mother who

doted on all her children, and was always ready to sacrifice her own

repose, nay, even her life, for their happiness.

She resolved immediately to set off and take the King with her. She had,

besides myself, her usual small company of female attendants, together

with Mesdames de Rais and de Sauves. She flew on the wings of maternal

affection, and reached Tours in three days and a half. A journey from

Paris, made with such precipitation, was not unattended with accidents

and some inconveniences, of a nature to occasion much mirth and laughter.

The poor Cardinal de Bourbon, who never quitted her, and whose temper of

mind, strength of body, and habits of life were ill suited to encounter

privations and hardships, suffered greatly from this rapid journey.

We found my brother Anjou at Plessis-les-Tours, with the principal

officers of his army, who were the flower of the princes and nobles of

France. In their presence he delivered a harangue to the King, giving a

detail of his conduct in the execution of his charge, beginning from the

time he left the Court. His discourse was framed with so much eloquence,

and spoken so gracefully, that it was admired by all present. It

appeared matter of astonishment that a youth of sixteen should reason

with all the gravity and powers of an orator of ripe years. The

comeliness of his person, which at all times pleads powerfully in favour

of a speaker, was in him set off by the laurels obtained in two

victories. In short, it was difficult to say which most contributed to

make him the admiration of all his hearers.

It is equally as impossible for me to describe in words the feelings of

my mother on this occasion, who loved him above all her children, as it

was for the painter to represent on canvas the grief of Iphigenia's

father. Such an overflow of joy would have been discoverable in the

looks and actions of any other woman, but she had her passions so much

under the control of prudence and discretion that there was nothing to be

perceived in her countenance, or gathered from her words, of what she

felt inwardly in her mind. She was, indeed, a perfect mistress of

herself, and regulated her discourse and her actions by the rules of

wisdom and sound policy, showing that a person of discretion does upon

all occasions only what is proper to be done. She did not amuse herself

on this occasion with listening to the praises which issued from every

mouth, and sanction them with her own approbation; but, selecting the

chief points in the speech relative to the future conduct of the war, she

laid them before the Princes and great lords, to be deliberated upon, in

order to settle a plan of operations.

To arrange such a plan a delay of some days was requisite. During this

interval, the Queen my mother walking in the park with some of the

Princes, my brother Anjou begged me to take a turn or two with him in a

retired walk. He then addressed me in the following words: "Dear sister,

the nearness of blood, as well as our having been brought up together,

naturally, as they ought, attach us to each other. You must already have

discovered the partiality I have had for you above my brothers, and I

think that I have perceived the same in you for me. We have been

hitherto led to this by nature, without deriving any other advantage from

it than the sole pleasure of conversing together. So far might be well

enough for our childhood, but now we are no longer children. You know

the high situation in which, by the favour of God and our good mother the

Queen, I am here placed. You may be assured that, as you are the person

in the world whom I love and esteem the most, you will always be a

partaker of my advancement. I know you are not wanting in wit and

discretion, and I am sensible you have it in your power to do me service

with the Queen our mother, and preserve me in my present employments. It

is a great point obtained for me, always to stand well in her favour. I

am fearful that my absence may be prejudicial to that purpose, and I must

necessarily be at a distance from Court. Whilst I am away, the King my

brother is with her, and has it in his power to insinuate himself into

her good graces. This I fear, in the end, may be of disservice to me.

The King my brother is growing older every day. He does not want for

courage, and, though he now diverts himself with hunting, he may grow

ambitious, and choose rather to chase men than beasts; in such a case I

must resign to him my commission as his lieutenant. This would prove the

greatest mortification that could happen to me, and I would even prefer

death to it. Under such an apprehension I have considered of the means

of prevention, and see none so feasible as having a confidential person

about the Queen my mother, who shall always be ready to espouse and

support my cause. I know no one so proper for that purpose as yourself,

who will be, I doubt not, as attentive to my interest as I should be

myself. You have wit, discretion, and fidelity, which are all that are

wanting, provided you will be so kind as to undertake such a good office.

In that case I shall have only to beg of you not to neglect attending her

morning and evening, to be the first with her and the last to leave her.

This will induce her to repose a confidence and open her mind to you.

"To make her the more ready to do this, I shall take every opportunity,

to commend your good sense and understanding, and to tell her that I

shall take it kind in her to leave off treating you as a child, which, I

shall say, will contribute to her own comfort and satisfaction. I am

well convinced that she will listen to my advice. Do you speak to her

with the same confidence as you do to me, and be assured that she will

approve of it. It will conduce to your own happiness to obtain her

favour. You may do yourself service whilst you are labouring for my

interest; and you may rest satisfied that, after God, I shall think I owe

all the good fortune which may befall me to yourself."

This was entirely a new kind of language to me. I had hitherto thought

of nothing but amusements, of dancing, hunting, and the like diversions;

nay, I had never yet discovered any inclination of setting myself off to

advantage by dress, and exciting an admiration of my person and figure. I

had no ambition of any kind, and had been so strictly brought up under

the Queen my mother that I scarcely durst speak before her; and if she

chanced to turn her eyes towards me I trembled, for fear that I had done

something to displease her. At the conclusion of my brother's harangue,

I was half inclined to reply to him in the words of Moses, when he was

spoken to from the burning bush: "Who am I, that I should go unto

Pharaoh? Send, I pray thee, by the hand of him whom thou wilt send."

However, his words inspired me with resolution and powers I did not think

myself possessed of before. I had naturally a degree of courage, and, as

soon as I recovered from my astonishment, I found I was quite an altered

person. His address pleased me, and wrought in me a confidence in

myself; and I found I was become of more consequence than I had ever

conceived I had been. Accordingly, I replied to him thus: "Brother, if

God grant me the power of speaking to the Queen our mother as I have the

will to do, nothing can be wanting for your service, and you may expect

to derive all the good you hope from it, and from my solicitude and

attention for your interest. With respect to my undertaking such a

matter for you, you will soon perceive that I shall sacrifice all the

pleasures in this world to my watchfulness for your service. You may

perfectly rely on me, as there is no one that honours or regards you more

than I do. Be well assured that I shall act for you with the Queen my

mother as zealously as you would for yourself."

These sentiments were more strongly impressed upon my mind than the words

I made use of were capable of conveying an idea of. This will appear

more fully in my following letters.

As soon as we were returned from walking, the Queen my mother retired

with me into her closet, and addressed the following words to me: "Your

brother has been relating the conversation you have had together; he

considers you no longer as a child, neither shall I. It will be a great

comfort to me to converse with you as I would with your brother. For the

future you will freely speak your mind, and have no apprehensions of

taking too great a liberty, for it is what I wish." These words gave me

a pleasure then which I am now unable to express. I felt a satisfaction

and a joy which nothing before had ever caused me to feel. I now

considered the pastimes of my childhood as vain amusements. I shunned

the society of my former companions of the same age. I disliked dancing

and hunting, which I thought beneath my attention. I strictly complied

with her agreeable injunction, and never missed being with her at her

rising in the morning and going to rest at night. She did me the honour,

sometimes, to hold me in conversation for two and three hours at a time.

God was so gracious with me that I gave her great satisfaction; and she

thought she could not sufficiently praise me to those ladies who were

about her. I spoke of my brother's affairs to her, and he was constantly

apprised by me of her sentiments and opinion; so that he had every reason

to suppose I was firmly attached to his interest.

LETTER III.

Le Guast.--His Character.--Anjou Affects to Be Jealous of the

Guises.--Dissuades the Queen-mother from Reposing Confidence in

Marguerite.--She Loses the Favour of the Queen-mother and Falls

Sick.--Anjou's Hypocrisy.--He Introduces De Guise into Marguerite's Sick

Chamber.--Marguerite Demanded in Marriage by the King of Portugal.--Made

Uneasy on That Account.--Contrives to Relieve Herself.--The Match with

Portugal Broken off.

I continued to pass my time with the Queen my mother, greatly to my

satisfaction, until after the battle of Moncontour. By the same despatch

that brought the news of this victory to the Court, my brother, who was

ever desirous to be near the Queen my mother, wrote her word that he was

about to lay siege to St. Jean d'Angely, and that it would be necessary

that the King should be present whilst it was going on.

She, more anxious to see him than he could be to have her near him,

hastened to set out on the journey, taking me with her, and her customary

train of attendants. I likewise experienced great joy upon the occasion,

having no suspicion that any mischief awaited me. I was still young and

without experience, and I thought the happiness I enjoyed was always to

continue; but the malice of Fortune prepared for me at this interview a

reverse that I little expected, after the fidelity with which I had

discharged the trust my brother had reposed in me.

Soon after our last meeting, it seems, my brother Anjou had taken Le

Guast to be near his person, who had ingratiated himself so far into his

favour and confidence that he saw only with his eyes, and spoke but as he

dictated. This evil-disposed man, whose whole life was one continued

scene of wickedness, had perverted his mind and filled it with maxims of

the most atrocious nature. He advised him to have no regard but for his

own interest; neither to love nor put trust in any one; and not to

promote the views or advantage of either brother or sister. These and

other maxims of the like nature, drawn from tho school of Machiavelli, he

was continually suggesting to him. He had so frequently inculcated them

that they were strongly impressed on his mind, insomuch that, upon our

arrival, when, after the first compliments, my mother began to open in my

praise and express the attachment I had discovered for him, this was his

reply, which he delivered with the utmost coldness:

"He was well pleased," he said, "to have succeeded in the request he had

made to me; but that prudence directed us not to continue to make use of

the same expedients, for what was profitable at one time might not be so

at another." She asked him why he made that observation. This question

afforded the opportunity he wished for, of relating a story he had

fabricated, purposely to ruin me with her.

He began with observing to her that I was grown very handsome, and that

M. de Guise wished to marry me; that his uncles, too, were very desirous

of such a match; and, if I should entertain a like passion for him, there

would be danger of my discovering to him all she said to me; that she

well knew the ambition of that house, and how ready they were, on all

occasions, to circumvent ours. It would, therefore, be proper that she

should not, for the future, communicate any matter of State to me, but,

by degrees, withdraw her confidence.

I discovered the evil effects proceeding from this pernicious advice on

the very same evening. I remarked an unwillingness on her part to speak

to me before my brother; and, as soon as she entered into discourse with

him, she commanded me to go to bed. This command she repeated two or

three times. I quitted her closet, and left them together in

conversation; but, as soon as he was gone, I returned and entreated her

to let me know if I had been so unhappy as to have done anything, through

ignorance, which had given her offence. She was at first inclined to

dissemble with me; but at length she said to me thus: "Daughter, your

brother is prudent and cautious; you ought not to be displeased with him

for what he does, and you must believe what I shall tell you is right and

proper." She then related the conversation she had with my brother, as I

have just written it; and she then ordered me never to speak to her in my

brother's presence.

These words were like so many daggers plunged into my breast. In my

disgrace, I experienced as much grief as I had before joy on being

received into her favour and confidence. I did not omit to say

everything to convince her of my entire ignorance of what my brother had

told her. I said it was a matter I had never heard mentioned before; and

that, had I known it, I should certainly have made her immediately

acquainted with it. All I said was to no purpose; my brother's words had

made the first impression; they were constantly present in her mind, and

outweighed probability and truth. When I discovered this, I told her

that I felt less uneasiness at being deprived of my happiness than I did

joy when I had acquired it; for my brother had taken it from me, as he

had given it. He had given it without reason; he had taken it away

without cause. He had praised me for discretion and prudence when I did

not merit it, and he suspected my fidelity on grounds wholly imaginary

and fictitious. I concluded with assuring her that I should never forget

my brother's behaviour on this occasion.

Hereupon she flew into a passion and commanded me not to make the least

show of resentment at his behaviour. From that hour she gradually

withdrew her favour from me. Her son became the god of her idolatry, at

the shrine of whose will she sacrificed everything.

The grief which I inwardly felt was very great and overpowered all my

faculties, until it wrought so far on my constitution as to contribute to

my receiving the infection which then prevailed in the army. A few days

after I fell sick of a raging fever, attended with purple spots, a malady

which carried off numbers, and, amongst the rest, the two principal

physicians belonging to the King and Queen, Chappelain and Castelan.

Indeed, few got over the disorder after being attacked with it.

In this extremity the Queen my mother, who partly guessed the cause of my

illness, omitted nothing that might serve to remove it; and, without fear

of consequences, visited me frequently. Her goodness contributed much to

my recovery; but my brother's hypocrisy was sufficient to destroy all the

benefit I received from her attention, after having been guilty of so

treacherous a proceeding. After he had proved so ungrateful to me, he

came and sat at the foot of my bed from morning to night, and appeared as

anxiously attentive as if we had been the most perfect friends. My mouth

was shut up by the command I had received from the Queen our mother, so

that I only answered his dissembled concern with sighs, like Burrus in

the presence of Nero, when he was dying by the poison administered by the

hands of that tyrant. The sighs, however, which I vented in my brother's

presence, might convince him that I attributed my sickness rather to his

ill offices than to the prevailing contagion.

God had mercy on me, and supported me through this dangerous illness.

After I had kept my bed a fortnight, the army changed its quarters, and I

was conveyed away with it in a litter. At the end of each day's march, I

found King Charles at the door of my quarters, ready, with the rest of

the good gentlemen belonging to the Court, to carry my litter up to my

bedside. In this manner I came to Angers from St. Jean d'Angely, sick in

body, but more sick in mind. Here, to my misfortune, M. de Guise and his

uncles had arrived before me. This was a circumstance which gave my good

brother great pleasure, as it afforded a colourable appearance to his

story. I soon discovered the advantage my brother would make of it to

increase my already too great mortification; for he came daily to see me,

and as constantly brought M. de Guise into my chamber with him. He

pretended the sincerest regard for De Guise, and, to make him believe it,

would take frequent opportunities of embracing him, crying out at the

same time, "would to God you were my brother!" This he often put in

practice before me, which M. de Guise seemed not to comprehend; but I,

who knew his malicious designs, lost all patience, yet did not dare to

reproach him with his hypocrisy.

As soon as I was recovered, a treaty was set on foot for a marriage

betwixt the King of Portugal and me, an ambassador having been sent for

that purpose. The Queen my mother commanded me to prepare to give the

ambassador an audience; which I did accordingly. My brother had made her

believe that I was averse to this marriage; accordingly, she took me to

task upon it, and questioned me on the subject, expecting she should find

some cause to be angry with me. I told her my will had always been

guided by her own, and that whatever she thought right for me to do, I

should do it. She answered me, angrily, according as she had been

wrought upon, that I did not speak the sentiments of my heart, for she

well knew that the Cardinal de Lorraine had persuaded me into a promise

of having his nephew. I begged her to forward this match with the King

of Portugal, and I would convince her of my obedience to her commands.

Every day some new matter was reported to incense her against me. All

these were machinations worked up by the mind of Le Guast. In short, I

was constantly receiving some fresh mortification, so that I hardly

passed a day in quiet. On one side, the King of Spain was using his

utmost endeavours to break off the match with Portugal, and M. de Guise,

continuing at Court, furnished grounds for persecuting me on the other.

Still, not a single person of the Guises ever mentioned a word to me on

the subject; and it was well known that, for more than a twelvemonth, M.

de Guise had been paying his addresses to the Princesse de Porcian; but

the slow progress made in bringing this match to a conclusion was said to

be owing to his designs upon me.

As soon as I made this discovery I resolved to write to my sister, Madame

de Lorraine, who had a great influence in the House of Porcian, begging

her to use her endeavours to withdraw M. de Guise from Court, and make

him conclude his match with the Princess, laying open to her the plot

which had been concerted to ruin the Guises and me. She readily saw

through it, came immediately to Court, and concluded the match, which

delivered me from the aspersions cast on my character, and convinced the

Queen my mother that what I had told her was the real truth. This at the

same time stopped the mouths of my enemies and gave me some repose.

At length the King of Spain, unwilling that the King of Portugal should

marry out of his family, broke off the treaty which had been entered upon

for my marriage with him.

LETTER IV.

Death of the Queen of Navarre--Marguerite's Marriage with Her Son, the

King of Navarre, Afterwards Henri IV. of France.--The Preparations for

That Solemnisation Described.--The Circumstances Which Led to the

Massacre of the Huguenots on St. Bartholomew's Day.

Some short time after this a marriage was projected betwixt the Prince of

Navarre, now our renowned King Henri IV., and me.

The Queen my mother, as she sat at table, discoursed for a long time upon

the subject with M. de Meru, the House of Montmorency having first

proposed the match. After the Queen had risen from table, he told me she

had commanded him to mention it to me. I replied that it was quite

unnecessary, as I had no will but her own; however, I should wish she

would be pleased to remember that I was a Catholic, and that I should

dislike to marry any one of a contrary persuasion.

Soon after this the Queen sent for me to attend her in her closet. She

there informed me that the Montmorencys had proposed this match to her,

and that she was desirous to learn my sentiments upon it.

I answered that my choice was governed by her pleasure, and that I only

begged her not to forget that I was a good Catholic.

This treaty was in negotiation for some time after this conversation, and

was not finally settled until the arrival of the Queen of Navarre, his

mother, at Court, where she died soon after.

Whilst the Queen of Navarre lay on her death-bed, a circumstance happened

of so whimsical a nature that, though not of consequence to merit a place

in the history, it may very well deserve to be related by me to you.

Madame de Nevers, whose oddities you well know, attended the Cardinal de

Bourbon, Madame de Guise, the Princesse de Conde, her sisters, and myself

to the late Queen of Navarre's apartments, whither we all went to pay

those last duties which her rank and our nearness of blood demanded of

us. We found the Queen in bed with her curtains undrawn, the chamber not

disposed with the pomp and ceremonies of our religion, but after the

simple manner of the Huguenots; that is to say, there were no priests, no

cross, nor any holy water. We kept ourselves at some distance from the

bed, but Madame de Nevers, whom you know the Queen hated more than any

woman besides, and which she had shown both in speech and by

actions,--Madame de Nevers, I say, approached the bedside, and, to the

great astonishment of all present, who well knew the enmity subsisting

betwixt them, took the Queen's hand, with many low curtseys, and kissed

it; after which, making another curtsey to the very ground, she retired

and rejoined us.

A few months after the Queen's death, the Prince of Navarre, or rather,

as he was then styled, the King, came to Paris in deep mourning, attended

by eight hundred gentlemen, all in mourning habits. He was received with

every honour by King Charles and the whole Court, and, in a few days

after his arrival, our marriage was solemnised with all possible

magnificence; the King of Navarre and his retinue putting off their

mourning and dressing themselves in the most costly manner. The whole

Court, too, was richly attired; all which you can better conceive than I

am able to express. For my own part, I was set out in a most royal

manner; I wore a crown on my head with the 'coet', or regal close gown of

ermine, and I blazed in diamonds. My blue-coloured robe had a train to

it of four ells in length, which was supported by three princesses. A

platform had been raised, some height from the ground, which led from the

Bishop's palace to the Church of Notre-Dame. It was hung with cloth of

gold; and below it stood the people in throngs to view the procession,

stifling with heat. We were received at the church door by the Cardinal

de Bourbon, who officiated for that day, and pronounced the nuptial

benediction. After this we proceeded on the same platform to the tribune

which separates the nave from the choir, where was a double staircase,

one leading into the choir, the other through the nave to the church

door. The King of Navarre passed by the latter and went out of church.

But fortune, which is ever changing, did not fail soon to disturb the

felicity of this union. This was occasioned by the wound received by the

Admiral, which had wrought the Huguenots up to a degree of desperation.

The Queen my mother was reproached on that account in such terms by the

elder Pardaillan and some other principal Huguenots, that she began to

apprehend some evil design. M. de Guise and my brother the King of

Poland, since Henri III. of France, gave it as their advice to be

beforehand with the Huguenots. King Charles was of a contrary opinion.

He had a great esteem for M. de La Rochefoucauld, Teligny, La Noue, and

some other leading men of the same religion; and, as I have since heard

him say, it was with the greatest difficulty he could be prevailed upon

to give his consent, and not before he had been made to understand that

his own life aid the safety of his kingdom depended upon it.

The King having learned that Maurevel had made an attempt upon the

Admiral's life, by firing a pistol at him through a window,--in which

attempt he failed, having wounded the Admiral only in the shoulder,--and

supposing that Maurevel had done this at the instance of M. de Guise, to

revenge the death of his father, whom the Admiral had caused to be killed

in the same manner by Poltrot, he was so much incensed against M. de

Guise that he declared with an oath that he would make an example of him;

and, indeed, the King would have put M. de Guise under an arrest, if he

had not kept out of his sight the whole day. The Queen my mother used

every argument to convince King Charles that what had been done was for

the good of the State; and this because, as I observed before, the King

had so great a regard for the Admiral, La Noue, and Teligny, on account

of their bravery, being himself a prince of a gallant and noble spirit,

and esteeming others in whom he found a similar disposition. Moreover,

these designing men had insinuated themselves into the King's favour by

proposing an expedition to Flanders, with a view of extending his

dominions and aggrandising his power, knew would secure to themselves an

influence over his royal and generous mind.

Upon this occasion, the Queen my mother represented to the King that the

attempt of M. de Guise upon the Admiral's life was excusable in a son

who, being denied justice, had no other means of avenging his father's

death. Moreover, the Admiral, she said, had deprived her by

assassination, during his minority and her regency, of a faithful servant

in the person of Charri, commander of the King's body-guard, which

rendered him deserving of the like treatment.

Notwithstanding that the Queen my mother spoke thus to the King,

discovering by her expressions and in her looks all the grief which she

inwardly felt on the recollection of the loss of persons who had been

useful to her; yet, so much was King Charles inclined to save those who,

as he thought, would one day be serviceable to him, that he still

persisted in his determination to punish M. de Guise, for whom he ordered

strict search to be made.

At length Pardaillan, disclosing by his menaces, during the supper of the

Queen my mother, the evil intentions of the Huguenots, she plainly

perceived that things were brought to so near a crisis, that, unless

steps were taken that very night to prevent it, the King and herself were

in danger of being assassinated. She, therefore, came to the resolution

of declaring to King Charles his real situation. For this purpose she

thought of the Marechal de Rais as the most proper person to break the

matter to the King, the Marshal being greatly in his favour and

confidence.

Accordingly, the Marshal went to the King in his closet, between the

hours of nine and ten, and told him he was come as a faithful servant to

discharge his duty, and lay before him the danger in which he stood, if

he persisted in his resolution of punishing M. de Guise, as he ought now

to be informed that the attempt made upon the Admiral's life was not set

on foot by him alone, but that his (the King's) brother the King of

Poland, and the Queen his mother, had their shares in it; that he must be

sensible how much the Queen lamented Charri's assassination, for which

she had great reason, having very few servants about her upon whom she

could rely, and as it happened during the King's minority,--at the time,

moreover, when France was divided between the Catholics and the

Huguenots, M. de Guise being at the head of the former, and the Prince de

Conde of the latter, both alike striving to deprive him of his crown;

that through Providence, both his crown and kingdom had been preserved by

the prudence and good conduct of the Queen Regent, who in this extremity

found herself powerfully aided by the said Charri, for which reason she

had vowed to avenge his death; that, as to the Admiral, he must be ever

considered as dangerous to the State, and whatever show he might make of

affection for his Majesty's person, and zeal for his service in Flanders,

they must be considered as mere pretences, which he used to cover his

real design of reducing the kingdom to a state of confusion.

The Marshal concluded with observing that the original intention had been

to make away with the Admiral only, as the most obnoxious man in the

kingdom; but Maurevel having been so unfortunate as to fail in his

attempt, and the Huguenots becoming desperate enough to resolve to take

up arms, with design to attack, not only M. de Guise, but the Queen his

mother, and his brother the King of Poland, supposing them, as well as

his Majesty, to have commanded Maurevel to make his attempt, he saw

nothing but cause of alarm for his Majesty's safety,--as well on the part

of the Catholics, if he persisted in his resolution to punish M. de

Guise, as of the Huguenots, for the reasons which he had just laid before

him.

LETTER V.

The Massacre of St. Bartholomew's Day.

King Charles, a prince of great prudence, always paying a particular

deference to his mother, and being much attached to the Catholic

religion, now convinced of the intentions of the Huguenots, adopted a

sudden resolution of following his mother's counsel, and putting himself

under the safeguard of the Catholics. It was not, however, without

extreme regret that he found he had it not in his power to save Teligny,

La Noue, and M. de La Rochefoucauld.

He went to the apartments of the Queen his mother, and sending for M. de

Guise and all the Princes and Catholic officers, the "Massacre of St.

Bartholomew" was that night resolved upon.

Immediately every hand was at work; chains were drawn across the streets,

the alarm-bells were sounded, and every man repaired to his post,

according to the orders he had received, whether it was to attack the

Admiral's quarters, or those of the other Huguenots. M. de Guise

hastened to the Admiral's, and Besme, a gentleman in the service of the

former, a German by birth, forced into his chamber, and having slain him

with a dagger, threw his body out of a window to his master.

I was perfectly ignorant of what was going forward. I observed every one

to be in motion: the Huguenots, driven to despair by the attack upon the

Admiral's life, and the Guises, fearing they should not have justice done

them, whispering all they met in the ear.

The Huguenots were suspicious of me because I was a Catholic, and the

Catholics because I was married to the King of Navarre, who was a

Huguenot. This being the case, no one spoke a syllable of the matter to

me.

At night, when I went into the bedchamber of the Queen my mother, I

placed myself on a coffer, next my sister Lorraine, who, I could not but

remark, appeared greatly cast down. The Queen my mother was in

conversation with some one, but, as soon as she espied me, she bade me go

to bed. As I was taking leave, my sister seized me by the hand and

stopped me, at the same time shedding a flood of tears: "For the love of

God," cried she, "do not stir out of this chamber!" I was greatly

alarmed at this exclamation; perceiving which, the Queen my mother called

my sister to her, and chid her very severely. My sister replied it was

sending me away to be sacrificed; for, if any discovery should be made, I

should be the first victim of their revenge. The Queen my mother made

answer that, if it pleased God, I should receive no hurt, but it was

necessary I should go, to prevent the suspicion that might arise from my

staying.

I perceived there was something on foot which I was not to know, but what

it was I could not make out from anything they said.

The Queen again bade me go to bed in a peremptory tone. My sister wished

me a good night, her tears flowing apace, but she did not dare to say a

word more; and I left the bedchamber more dead than alive.

As soon as I reached my own closet, I threw myself upon my knees and

prayed to God to take me into his protection and save me; but from whom

or what, I was ignorant. Hereupon the King my husband, who was already

in bed, sent for me. I went to him, and found the bed surrounded by

thirty or forty Huguenots, who were entirely unknown to me; for I had

been then but a very short time married. Their whole discourse, during

the night, was upon what had happened to the Admiral, and they all came

to a resolution of the next day demanding justice of the King against M.

de Guise; and, if it was refused, to take it themselves.

For my part, I was unable to sleep a wink the whole night, for thinking

of my sister's tears and distress, which had greatly alarmed me, although

I had not the least knowledge of the real cause. As soon as day broke,

the King my husband said he would rise and play at tennis until King

Charles was risen, when he would go to him immediately and demand

justice. He left the bedchamber, and all his gentlemen followed.

As soon as I beheld it was broad day, I apprehended all the danger my

sister had spoken of was over; and being inclined to sleep, I bade my

nurse make the door fast, and I applied myself to take some repose. In

about an hour I was awakened by a violent noise at the door, made with

both hands and feet, and a voice calling out, "Navarre! Navarre!" My

nurse, supposing the King my husband to be at the door, hastened to open

it, when a gentleman, named M. de Teian, ran in, and threw himself

immediately upon my bed. He had received a wound in his arm from a

sword, and another by a pike, and was then pursued by four archers, who

followed him into the bedchamber. Perceiving these last, I jumped out of

bed, and the poor gentleman after me, holding me fast by the waist. I

did not then know him; neither was I sure that he came to do me no harm,

or whether the archers were in pursuit of him or me. In this situation I

screamed aloud, and he cried out likewise, for our fright was mutual. At

length, by God's providence, M. de Nangay, captain of the guard, came

into the bed-chamber, and, seeing me thus surrounded, though he could not

help pitying me, he was scarcely able to refrain from laughter. However,

he reprimanded the archers very severely for their indiscretion, and

drove them out of the chamber. At my request he granted the poor

gentleman his life, and I had him put to bed in my closet, caused his

wounds to be dressed, and did not suffer him to quit my apartment until

he was perfectly cured. I changed my shift, because it was stained with

the blood of this man, and, whilst I was doing so, De Nangay gave me an

account of the transactions of the foregoing night, assuring me that the

King my husband was safe, and actually at that moment in the King's

bedchamber. He made me muffle myself up in a cloak, and conducted me to

the apartment of my sister, Madame de Lorraine, whither I arrived more

than half dead. As we passed through the antechamber, all the doors of

which were wide open, a gentleman of the name of Bourse, pursued by

archers, was run through the body with a pike, and fell dead at my feet.

As if I had been killed by the same stroke, I fell, and was caught by M.

de Nangay before I reached the ground. As soon as I recovered from this

fainting-fit, I went into my sister's bedchamber, and was immediately

followed by M. de Mioflano, first gentleman to the King my husband, and

Armagnac, his first valet de chambre, who both came to beg me to save

their lives. I went and threw myself on my knees before the King and the

Queen my mother, and obtained the lives of both of them.

Five or six days afterwards, those who were engaged in this plot,

considering that it was incomplete whilst the King my husband and the

Prince de Conde remained alive, as their design was not only to dispose

of the Huguenots, but of the Princes of the blood likewise; and knowing

that no attempt could be made on my husband whilst I continued to be his

wife, devised a scheme which they suggested to the Queen my mother for

divorcing me from him. Accordingly, one holiday, when I waited upon her

to chapel, she charged me to declare to her, upon my oath, whether I

believed my husband to be like other men. "Because," said she, "if he is

not, I can easily procure you a divorce from him." I begged her to

believe that I was not sufficiently competent to answer such a question,

and could only reply, as the Roman lady did to her husband, when he chid

her for not informing him of his stinking breath, that, never having

approached any other man near enough to know a difference, she thought

all men had been alike in that respect. "But," said I, "Madame, since

you have put the question to me, I can only declare I am content to

remain as I am;" and this I said because I suspected the design of

separating me from my husband was in order to work some mischief against

him.

LETTER VI.

Henri, Duc d'Anjou, Elected King of Poland, Leaves France.--Huguenot

Plots to Withdraw the Duc d'Alencon and the King of Navarre from

Court.--Discovered and Defeated by Marguerite's Vigilance.--She Draws Up

an Eloquent Defence, Which Her Husband Delivers before a Committee from

the Court of Parliament.--Alencon and Her Husband, under a Close Arrest,

Regain Their Liberty by the Death of Charles IX.

We accompanied the King of Poland as far as Beaumont. For some months

before he quitted France, he had used every endeavour to efface from my

mind the ill offices he had so ungratefully done me. He solicited to

obtain the same place in my esteem which he held during our infancy; and,

on taking leave of me, made me confirm it by oaths and promises. His

departure from France, and King Charles's sickness, which happened just

about the same time, excited the spirit of the two factions into which

the kingdom was divided, to form a variety of plots. The Huguenots, on

the death of the Admiral, had obtained from the King my husband, and my

brother Alencon, a written obligation to avenge it. Before St.

Bartholomew's Day, they had gained my brother over to their party, by the

hope of securing Flanders for him. They now persuaded my husband and him

to leave the King and Queen on their return, and pass into Champagne,

there to join some troops which were in waiting to receive them.

M. de Miossans, a Catholic gentleman, having received an intimation of

this design, considered it so prejudicial to the interests of the King

his master, that he communicated it to me with the intention of

frustrating a plot of so much danger to themselves, and to the State. I

went immediately to the King and the Queen my mother, and informed them

that. I had a matter of the utmost importance to lay before them; but

that I could not declare it unless they would be pleased to promise me

that no harm should ensue from it to such as I should name to them, and

that they would put a stop to what was going forward without publishing

their knowledge of it. Having obtained my request, I told them that my

brother Alencon and the King my husband had an intention, on the very

next day, of joining some Huguenot troops, which expected them, in order

to fulfil the engagement they had made upon the Admiral's death; and for

this their intention, I begged they might be excused, and that they might

be prevented from going away without any discovery being made that their

designs had been found out. All this was granted me, and measures were

so prudently taken to stay them, that they had not the least suspicion

that their intended evasion was known. Soon after, we arrived at St.

Germain, where we stayed some time, on account of the King's

indisposition. All this while my brother Alencon used every means he

could devise to ingratiate himself with me, until at last I promised him

my friendship, as I had before done to my brother the King of Poland. As

he had been brought up at a distance from Court, we had hitherto known

very little of each other, and kept ourselves at a distance. Now that he

had made the first advances, in so respectful and affectionate a manner,

I resolved to receive him into a firm friendship, and to interest myself

in whatever concerned him, without prejudice, however, to the interests

of my good brother King Charles, whom I loved more than any one besides,

and who continued to entertain a great regard for me, of which he gave me

proofs as long as he lived.

Meanwhile King Charles was daily growing worse, and the Huguenots

constantly forming new plots. They were very desirous to get my brother

the Duc d'Alencon and the King my husband away from Court. I got

intelligence, from time to time, of their designs; and, providentially,

the Queen my mother defeated their intentions when a day had been fixed

on for the arrival of the Huguenot troops at St. Germain.

To avoid this visit, we set off the night before for Paris, two hours

after midnight, putting King Charles in a litter, and the Queen my mother

taking my brother and the King my husband with her in her own carriage.

They did not experience on this occasion such mild treatment as they had

hitherto done, for the King going to the Wood of Vincennes, they were not

permitted to set foot out of the palace. This misunderstanding was so

far from being mitigated by time, that the mistrust and discontent were

continually increasing, owing to the insinuations and bad advice offered

to the King by those who wished the ruin and downfall of our house. To

such a height had these jealousies risen that the Marechaux de

Montmorency and de Cosse were put under a close arrest, and La Mole and

the Comte de Donas executed. Matters were now arrived at such a pitch

that commissioners were appointed from the Court of Parliament to hear

and determine upon the case of my brother and the King my husband.

My husband, having no counsellor to assist him, desired me to draw up his

defence in such a manner that he might not implicate any person, and, at

the same time, clear my brother and himself from any criminality of

conduct. With God's help I accomplished this task to his great

satisfaction, and to the surprise of the commissioners, who did not

expect to find them so well prepared to justify themselves.

As it was apprehended, after the death of La Mole and the Comte de Donas,

that their lives were likewise in danger, I had resolved to save them at

the hazard of my own ruin with the King, whose favour I entirely enjoyed

at that time. I was suffered to pass to and from them in my coach, with

my women, who were not even required by the guard to unmask, nor was my

coach ever searched. This being the case, I had intended to convey away

one of them disguised in a female habit. But the difficulty lay in

settling betwixt themselves which should remain behind in prison, they

being closely watched by their guards, and the escape of one bringing the

other's life into hazard. Thus they could never agree upon the point,

each of them wishing to be the person I should deliver from confinement.

But Providence put a period to their imprisonment by a means which proved

very unfortunate for me. This was no other than the death of King

Charles, who was the only stay and support of my life,--a brother from

whose hands I never received anything but good; who, during the

persecution I underwent at Angers, through my brother Anjou, assisted me

with all his advice and credit. In a word, when I lost King Charles, I

lost everything.

LETTER VII.

Accession of Henri III.--A Journey to Lyons.--Marguerite's Faith in

Supernatural Intelligence.

After this fatal event, which was as unfortunate for France as for me, we

went to Lyons to give the meeting to the King of Poland, now Henri III.

of France. The new King was as much governed by Le Guast as ever, and

had left this intriguing, mischievous man behind in France to keep his

party together. Through this man's insinuations he had conceived the

most confirmed jealousy of my brother Alencon. He suspected that I was

the bond that connected the King my husband and my brother, and that, to

dissolve their union, it would be necessary to create a coolness between

me and my husband, and to work up a quarrel of rivalship betwixt them

both by means of Madame de Sauves, whom they both visited. This

abominable plot, which proved the source of so much disquietude and

unhappiness, as well to my brother as myself, was as artfully conducted

as it was wickedly designed.

Many have held that God has great personages more immediately under his

protection, and that minds of superior excellence have bestowed on them a

good genius, or secret intelligencer, to apprise them of good, or warn

them against evil. Of this number I might reckon the Queen my mother,

who has had frequent intimations of the kind; particularly the very night

before the tournament which proved so fatal to the King my father, she

dreamed that she saw him wounded in the eye, as it really happened; upon

which she awoke, and begged him not to run a course that day, but content

himself with looking on. Fate prevented the nation from enjoying so much

happiness as it would have done had he followed her advice. Whenever she

lost a child, she beheld a bright flame shining before her, and would

immediately cry out, "God save my children!" well knowing it was the

harbinger of the death of some one of them, which melancholy news was

sure to be confirmed very shortly after. During her very dangerous

illness at Metz, where she caught a pestilential fever, either from the

coal fires, or by visiting some of the nunneries which had been infected,

and from which she was restored to health and to the kingdom through the

great skill and experience of that modern Asculapius, M. de Castilian,

her physician--I say, during that illness, her bed being surrounded by my

brother King Charles, my brother and sister Lorraine, several members of

the Council, besides many ladies and princesses, not choosing to quit

her, though without hopes of her life, she was heard to cry out, as if

she saw the battle of Jarnac: "There! see how they flee! My son, follow

them to victory! Ah, my son falls! O my God, save him! See there! the

Prince de Conde is dead!" All who were present looked upon these words

as proceeding from her delirium, as she knew that my brother Anjou was on

the point of giving battle, and thought no more of it. On the night

following, M. de Losses brought the news of the battle; and, it being

supposed that she would be pleased to hear of it, she was awakened, at

which she appeared to be angry, saying: "Did I not know it yesterday?" It

was then that those about her recollected what I have now related, and

concluded that it was no delirium, but one of those revelations made by

God to great and illustrious persons. Ancient history furnishes many

examples of the like kind amongst the pagans, as the apparition of Brutus

and many others, which I shall not mention, it not being my intention to

illustrate these Memoirs with such narratives, but only to relate the

truth, and that with as much expedition as I am able, that you may be the

sooner in possession of my story.

I am far from supposing that I am worthy of these divine admonitions;

nevertheless, I should accuse myself of ingratitude towards my God for

the benefits I have received, which I esteem myself obliged to

acknowledge whilst I live; and I further believe myself bound to bear

testimony of his goodness and power, and the mercies he hath shown me, so

that I can declare no extraordinary accident ever befell me, whether

fortunate or otherwise, but I received some warning of it, either by

dream or in some other way, so that I may say with the poet

"De mon bien, on mon mal, Mon esprit m'est oracle."

(Whate'er of good or ill befell, My mind was oracle to tell.)

And of this I had a convincing proof on the arrival of the King of

Poland, when the Queen my mother went to meet him. Amidst the embraces

and compliments of welcome in that warm season, crowded as we were

together and stifling with heat, I found a universal shivering come over

me, which was plainly perceived by those near me. It was with difficulty

I could conceal what I felt when the King, having saluted the Queen my

mother, came forward to salute me. This secret intimation of what was to

happen thereafter made a strong impression on my mind at the moment, and

I thought of it shortly after, when I discovered that the King had

conceived a hatred of me through the malicious suggestions of Le Guast,

who had made him believe, since the King's death, that I espoused my

brother Alencon's party during his absence, and cemented a friendship

betwixt the King my husband and him.

LETTER VIII.

What Happened at Lyons.

An opportunity was diligently sought by my enemies to effect their design

of bringing about a misunderstanding betwixt my brother Alencon, the King

my husband, and me, by creating a jealousy of me in my husband, and in my

brother and husband, on account of their mutual love for Madame de

Sauves.

One afternoon, the Queen my mother having retired to her closet to finish

some despatches which were likely to detain her there for some time,

Madame de Nevers, your kinswoman, Madame de Rais, another of your

relations, Bourdeille, and Surgeres asked me whether I would not wish to

see a little of the city. Whereupon Mademoiselle de Montigny, the niece

of Madame Usez, observing to us that the Abbey of St. Pierre was a

beautiful convent, we all resolved to visit it. She then begged to go

with us, as she said she had an aunt in that convent, and as it was not

easy to gain admission into it, except in the company of persons of

distinction. Accordingly, she went with us; and there being six of us,

the carriage was crowded. Over and above those I have mentioned, there

was Madame de Curton, the lady of my bedchamber, who always attended me.

Liancourt, first esquire to the King, and Camille placed themselves on

the steps of Torigni's carriage, supporting themselves as well as they

were able, making themselves merry on the occasion, and saying they would

go and see the handsome nuns, too. I look upon it as ordered by Divine

Providence that I should have Mademoiselle de Montigny with me, who was

not well acquainted with any lady of the company, and that the two

gentlemen just mentioned, who were in the confidence of King Henri,

should likewise be of the party, as they were able to clear me of the

calumny intended to be fixed upon me.

Whilst we were viewing the convent, my carriage waited for us in the

square. In the square many gentlemen belonging to the Court had their

lodgings. My carriage was easily to be distinguished, as it was gilt and

lined with yellow velvet trimmed with silver. We had not come out of the

convent when the King passed through the square on his way to see Quelus,

who was then sick. He had with him the King my husband, D'O------ , and

the fat fellow Ruff.

The King, observing no one in my carriage, turned to my husband and said:

"There is your wife's coach, and that is the house where Bide lodges.

Bide is sick, and I will engage my word she is gone upon a visit to him.

Go," said he to Ruff, "and see whether she is not there." In saying

this, the King addressed himself to a proper tool for his malicious

purpose, for this fellow Ruffs was entirely devoted to Le Guast. I need

not tell you he did not find me there; however, knowing the King's

intention, he, to favour it, said loud enough for the King my husband to

hear him: "The birds have been there, but they are now flown." This

furnished sufficient matter for conversation until they reached home.

Upon this occasion, the King my husband displayed all the good sense and

generosity of temper for which he is remarkable. He saw through the

design, and he despised the maliciousness of it. The King my brother was

anxious to see the Queen my mother before me, to whom he imparted the

pretended discovery, and she, whether to please a son on whom she doted,

or whether she really gave credit to the story, had related it to some

ladies with much seeming anger.

Soon afterwards I returned with the ladies who had accompanied me to St.

Pierre's, entirely ignorant of what had happened. I found the King my

husband in our apartments, who began to laugh on seeing me, and said: "Go

immediately to the Queen your mother, but I promise you you will not

return very well pleased." I asked him the reason, and what had

happened. He answered: "I shall tell you nothing; but be assured of

this, that I do not give the least credit to the story, which I plainly

perceive to be fabricated in order to stir up a difference betwixt us

two, and break off the friendly intercourse between your brother and me."

Finding I could get no further information on the subject from him, I

went to the apartment of the Queen my mother. I met M. de Guise in the

antechamber, who was not displeased at the prospect of a dissension in

our family, hoping that he might make some advantage of it. He addressed

me in these words: "I waited here expecting to see you, in order to

inform you that some ill office has been done you with the Queen." He

then told me the story he had learned of D'O------ , who, being intimate

with your kinswoman, had informed M. de Guise of it, that he might

apprise us.

I went into the Queen's bedchamber, but did not find my mother there.

However, I saw Madame de Nemours, the rest of the princesses, and other

ladies, who all exclaimed on seeing me: "Good God! the Queen your mother

is in such a rage; we would advise you, for the present, to keep out of

her sight."

"Yes," said I, "so I would, had I been guilty of what the King has

reported; but I assure you all I am entirely innocent, and must therefore

speak with her and clear myself."

I then went into her closet, which was separated from the bedchamber by a

slight partition only, so that our whole conversation could be distinctly

heard. She no sooner set eyes upon me than she flew into a great

passion, and said everything that the fury of her resentment suggested. I

related to her the whole truth, and begged to refer her to the company

which attended me, to the number of ten or twelve persons, desiring her

not to rely on the testimony of those more immediately about me, but

examine Mademoiselle Montigny, who did not belong to me, and Liancourt

and Camille, who were the King's servants.

She would not hear a word I had to offer, but continued to rate me in a

furious manner; whether it was through fear, or affection for her son, or

whether she believed the story in earnest, I know not. When I observed

to her that I understood the King had done me this ill office in her

opinion, her anger was redoubled, and she endeavoured to make me believe

that she had been informed of the circumstance by one of her own valets

de chambre, who had himself seen me at the place. Perceiving that I gave

no credit to this account of the matter, she became more and more

incensed against me.

All that was said was perfectly heard by those in the next room. At

length I left her closet, much chagrined; and returning to my own

apartments, I found the King my husband there, who said to me:

"Well, was it not as I told you?"

He, seeing me under great concern, desired me not to grieve about it,

adding that "Liancourt and Camille would attend the King that night in

his bedchamber, and relate the affair as it really was; and to-morrow,"

continued he, "the Queen your mother will receive you in a very different

manner."

"But, monsieur," I replied, "I have received too gross an affront in

public to forgive those who were the occasion of it; but that is nothing

when compared with the malicious intention of causing so heavy a

misfortune to befall me as to create a variance betwixt you and me."

"But," said he, "God be thanked, they have failed in it."

"For that," answered I, "I am the more beholden to God and your amiable

disposition. However," continued I, "we may derive this good from it,

that it ought to be a warning to us to put ourselves upon our guard

against the King's stratagems to bring about a disunion betwixt you and

my brother, by causing a rupture betwixt you and me."

Whilst I was saying this, my brother entered the apartment, and I made

them renew their protestations of friendship. But what oaths or promises

can prevail against love! This will appear more fully in the sequel of

my story.

An Italian banker, who had concerns with my brother, came to him the next

morning, and invited him, the King my husband, myself, the princesses,

and other ladies, to partake of an entertainment in a garden belonging to

him. Having made it a constant rule, before and after I married, as long

as I remained in the Court of the Queen my mother, to go to no place

without her permission, I waited on her, at her return from mass, and

asked leave to be present at this banquet. She refused to give any

leave, and said she did not care where I went. I leave you to judge, who

know my temper, whether I was not greatly mortified at this rebuff.

Whilst we were enjoying this entertainment, the King, having spoken with

Liancourt, Camille, and Mademoiselle Montigny, was apprised of the

mistake which the malice or misapprehension of Ruff had led him into.

Accordingly, he went to the Queen my mother and related the whole truth,

entreating her to remove any ill impressions that might remain with me,

as he perceived that I was not deficient in point of understanding, and

feared that I might be induced to engage in some plan of revenge.

When I returned from the banquet before mentioned, I found that what the

King my husband had foretold was come to pass; for the Queen my mother

sent for me into her back closet, which was adjoining the King's, and

told me that she was now acquainted with the truth, and found I had not

deceived her with a false story. She had discovered, she said, that

there was not the least foundation for the report her valet de chambre

had made, and should dismiss him from her service as a bad man. As she

perceived by my looks that I saw through this disguise, she said

everything she could think of to persuade me to a belief that the King

had not mentioned it to her. She continued her arguments, and I still

appeared incredulous. At length the King entered the closet, and made

many apologies, declaring he had been imposed on, and assuring me of his

most cordial friendship and esteem; and thus matters were set to rights

again.

LETTER IX.

Fresh Intrigues.--Marriage of Henri III.--Bussi Arrives at Court and

Narrowly Escapes Assassination.

After staying some time at Lyons, we went to Avignon. Le Guast, not

daring to hazard any fresh imposture, and finding that my conduct

afforded no ground for jealousy on the part of my husband, plainly

perceived that he could not, by that means, bring about a

misunderstanding betwixt my brother and the King my husband. He

therefore resolved to try what he could effect through Madame de Sauves.

In order to do this, he obtained such an influence over her that she

acted entirely as he directed; insomuch that, by his artful instructions,

the passion which these young men had conceived, hitherto wavering and

cold, as is generally the case at their time of life, became of a sudden

so violent that ambition and every obligation of duty were at once

absorbed by their attentions to this woman.

This occasioned such a jealousy betwixt them that, though her favours

were divided with M. de Guise, Le Guast, De Souvray, and others, any one

of whom she preferred to the brothers-in-law, such was the infatuation of

these last, that each considered the other as his only rival.

To carry on De Guast's sinister designs, this woman persuaded the King my

husband that I was jealous of her, and on that account it was that I

joined with my brother. As we are ready to give ear and credit to those

we love, he believed all she said. From this time he became distant and

reserved towards me, shunning my presence as much as possible; whereas,

before, he was open and communicative to me as to a sister, well knowing

that I yielded to his pleasure in all things, and was far from harbouring

jealousy of any kind.

What I had dreaded, I now perceived had come to pass. This was the loss

of his favour and good opinion; to preserve which I had studied to gain

his confidence by a ready compliance with his wishes, well knowing that

mistrust is the sure forerunner of hatred.

I now turned my mind to an endeavour to wean my brother's affection from

Madame de Sauves, in order to counterplot Le Guast in his design to bring

about a division, and thereby to effect our ruin. I used every means

with my brother to divert his passion; but the fascination was too

strong, and my pains proved ineffectual. In anything else, my brother

would have suffered himself to be ruled by me; but the charms of this

Circe, aided by that sorcerer, Le Guast, were too powerful to be

dissolved by my advice. So far was he from profiting by my counsel that

he was weak enough to communicate it to her. So blind are lovers!

Her vengeance was excited by this communication, and she now entered more

fully into the designs of Le Guast. In consequence, she used all her art

to, make the King my husband conceive an aversion for me; insomuch that

he scarcely ever spoke with me. He left her late at night, and, to

prevent our meeting in the morning, she directed him to come to her at

the Queen's levee, which she duly attended; after which he passed the

rest of the day with her. My brother likewise followed her with the

greatest assiduity, and she had the artifice to make each of them think

that he alone had any place in her esteem. Thus was a jealousy kept up

betwixt them, and, in consequence, disunion and mutual ruin.

We made a considerable stay at Avignon, whence we proceeded through

Burgundy and Champagne to Rheims, where the King's marriage was

celebrated. From Rheims we came to Paris, things going on in their usual

train, and Le Guast prosecuting his designs, with all the success he

could wish. At Paris my brother was joined by Bussi, whom he received

with all the favour which his bravery merited. He was inseparable from

my brother, in consequence of which I frequently saw him, for my brother

and I were always together, his household being equally at my devotion as

if it were my own. Your aunt, remarking this harmony betwixt us, has

often told me that it called to her recollection the times of my uncle,

M. d'Orleans, and my aunt, Madame de Savoie.

Le Guast thought this a favourable circumstance to complete his design.

Accordingly, he suggested to Madame de Sauves to make my husband believe

that it was on account of Bussi that I frequented my brother's apartments

so constantly.

The King my husband, being fully informed of all my proceedings from

persons in his service who attended me everywhere, could not be induced

to lend an ear to this story. Le Guast, finding himself foiled in this

quarter, applied to the King, who was well inclined to listen to the

tale, on account of his dislike to my brother and me, whose friendship

for each other was unpleasing to him.

Besides this, he was incensed against Bussi, who, being formerly attached

to him, had now devoted himself wholly to my brother,--an acquisition

which, on account of the celebrity of Bussi's fame for parts and valour,

redounded greatly to my brother's honour, whilst it increased the malice

and envy of his enemies.

The King, thus worked upon by Le Guast, mentioned it to the Queen my

mother, thinking it would have the same effect on her as the tale which

was trumped up at Lyons. But she, seeing through the whole design,

showed him the improbability of the story, adding that he must have some

wicked people about him, who could put such notions in his head,

observing that I was very unfortunate to have fallen upon such evil

times. "In my younger days," said she, "we were allowed to converse

freely with all the gentlemen who belonged to the King our father, the

Dauphin, and M. d'Orleans, your uncles. It was common for them to

assemble in the bedchamber of Madame Marguerite, your aunt, as well as in

mine, and nothing was thought of it. Neither ought it to appear strange

that Bussi sees my daughter in the presence of her husband's servants.

They are not shut up together. Bussi is a person of quality, and holds

the first place in your brother's family. What grounds are there for

such a calumny? At Lyons you caused me to offer her an affront, which I

fear she will never forget."

The King was astonished to hear his mother talk in this manner, and

interrupted her with saying:

"Madame, I only relate what I have heard."

"But who is it," answered she, "that tells you all this? I fear no one

that intends you any good, but rather one that wishes to create divisions

amongst you all."

As soon as the King had left her she told me all that had passed, and

said: "You are unfortunate to live in these times." Then calling your

aunt, Madame de Dampierre, they entered into a discourse concerning the

pleasures and innocent freedoms of the times they had seen, when scandal

and malevolence were unknown at Court.

Le Guast, finding this plot miscarry, was not long in contriving another.

He addressed himself for this purpose to certain gentlemen who attended

the King my husband. These had been formerly the friends of Bussi, but,

envying the glory he had obtained, were now become his enemies. Under

the mask of zeal for their master, they disguised the envy, which they

harboured in their breasts. They entered into a design of assassinating

Bussi as he left my brother to go to his own lodgings, which was

generally at a late hour. They knew that he was always accompanied home

by fifteen or sixteen gentlemen, belonging to my brother, and that,

notwithstanding he wore no sword, having been lately wounded in the right

arm, his presence was sufficient to inspire the rest with courage.

In order, therefore, to make sure work, they resolved on attacking him

with two or three hundred men, thinking that night would throw a veil

over the disgrace of such an assassination.

Le Guast, who commanded a regiment of guards, furnished the requisite

number of men, whom he disposed in five or six divisions, in the street

through which he was to pass. Their orders were to put out the torches

and flambeaux, and then to fire their pieces, after which they were to

charge his company, observing particularly to attack one who had his

right arm slung in a scarf.

Fortunately they escaped the intended massacre, and, fighting their way

through, reached Bussi's lodgings, one gentleman only being killed, who

was particularly attached to M. de Bussi, and who was probably mistaken

for him, as he had his arm likewise slung in a scarf.

An Italian gentleman, who belonged to my brother, left them at the

beginning of the attack, and came running back to the Louvre. As soon as

he reached my brother's chamber door, he cried out aloud:

"Busai is assassinated!" My brother was going out, but I, hearing the

cry of assassination, left my chamber, by good fortune not being

undressed, and stopped my brother. I then sent for the Queen my mother

to come with all haste in order to prevent him from going out, as he was

resolved to do, regardless of what might happen. It was with difficulty

we could stay him, though the Queen my mother represented the hazard he

ran from the darkness of the night, and his ignorance of the nature of

the attack, which might have been purposely designed by Le Guast to take

away his life. Her entreaties and persuasions would have been of little

avail if she had not used her authority to order all the doors to be

barred, and taken the resolution of remaining where she was until she had

learned what had really happened.

Bussi, whom God had thus miraculously preserved, with that presence of

mind which he was so remarkable for in time of battle and the most

imminent danger, considering within himself when he reached home the

anxiety of his master's mind should he have received any false report,

and fearing he might expose himself to hazard upon the first alarm being

given (which certainly would have been the case, if my mother had not

interfered and prevented it), immediately despatched one of his people to

let him know every circumstance.

The next day Busai showed himself at the Louvre without the least dread

of enemies, as if what had happened had been merely the attack of a

tournament. My brother exhibited much pleasure at the sight of Busai,

but expressed great resentment at such a daring attempt to deprive him of

so brave and valuable a servant, a man whom Le Guast durst not attack in

any other way than by a base assassination.

LETTER X.

Bussi Is Sent from Court.--Marguerite's Husband Attacked with a Fit of

Epilepsy.--Her Great Care of Him.--Torigni Dismissed from Marguerite's

Service.--The King of Navarre and the Duc d'Alencon Secretly Leave the

Court.

The Queen my mother, a woman endowed with the greatest prudence and

foresight of any one I ever knew, apprehensive of evil consequences from

this affair, and fearing a dissension betwixt her two sons, advised my

brother to fall upon some pretence for sending Bussi away from Court. In

this advice I joined her, and, through our united counsel and request, my

brother was prevailed upon to give his consent. I had every reason to

suppose that Le Guast would take advantage of the reencounter to foment

the coolness which already existed betwixt my brother and the King my

husband into an open rupture. Bussi, who implicitly followed my

brother's directions in everything, departed with a company of the

bravest noblemen that were about the latter's person.

Bussi was now removed from the machinations of Le Guast, who likewise

failed in accomplishing a design he had long projected,--to disunite the

King my husband and me.

One night my husband was attacked with a fit, and continued insensible

for the space of an hour,--occasioned, I supposed, by his excesses with

women, for I never knew anything of the kind to happen to him before.

However, as it was my duty so to do, I attended him with so much care and

assiduity that, when he recovered, he spoke of it to every one, declaring

that, if I had not perceived his indisposition and called for the help of

my women, he should not have survived the fit.

From this time he treated me with more kindness, and the cordiality

betwixt my brother and him was again revived, as if I had been the point

of union at which they were to meet, or the cement that joined them

together.

Le Guast was now at his wit's end for some fresh contrivance to breed

disunion in the Court.

He had lately persuaded the King to remove from about the person of the

Queen-consort a princess of the greatest virtue and most amiable

qualities, a female attendant of the name of Changi, for whom the Queen

entertained a particular esteem, as having been brought up with her.

Being successful in this measure, he now thought of making the King my

husband send away Torigni, whom I greatly regarded.

The argument he used with the King was, that young princesses ought to

have no favourites about them.

The King, yielding to this man's persuasions, spoke of it to my husband,

who observed that it would be a matter that would greatly distress me;

that if I had an esteem for Torigni it was not without cause, as she had

been brought up with the Queen of Spain and me from our infancy; that,

moreover, Torigni was a young lady of good understanding, and had been of

great use to him during his confinement at Vincennes; that it would be

the greatest ingratitude in him to overlook services of such a nature,

and that he remembered well when his Majesty had expressed the same

sentiments.

Thus did he defend himself against the performance of so ungrateful an

action. However, the King listened only to the arguments of Le Guast,

and told my husband that he should have no more love for him if he did

not remove Torigni from about me the very next morning.

He was forced to comply, greatly contrary to his will, and, as he has

since declared to me, with much regret. Joining entreaties to commands,

he laid his injunctions on me accordingly.

How displeasing this separation was I plainly discovered by the many

tears I shed on receiving his orders. It was in vain to represent to him

the injury done to my character by the sudden removal of one who had been

with me from my earliest years, and was so greatly, in my esteem and

confidence; he could not give an ear to my reasons, being firmly bound by

the promise he had made to the King.

Accordingly, Torigni left me that very day, and went to the house of a

relation, M. Chastelas. I was so greatly offended with this fresh

indignity, after so many of the kind formerly received, that I could not

help yielding to resentment; and my grief and concern getting the upper

hand of my prudence, I exhibited a great coolness and indifference

towards my husband. Le Guast and Madame de Sauves were successful in

creating a like indifference on his part, which, coinciding with mine,

separated us altogether, and we neither spoke to each other nor slept in

the same bed.

A few days after this, some faithful servants about the person of the

King my husband remarked to him the plot which had been concerted with so

much artifice to lead him to his ruin, by creating a division, first

betwixt him and my brother, and next betwixt him and me, thereby

separating him from those in whom only he could hope for his principal

support. They observed to him that already matters were brought to such

a pass that the King showed little regard for him, and even appeared to

despise him.

They afterwards addressed themselves to my brother, whose situation was

not in the least mended since the departure of Bussi, Le Guast causing

fresh indignities to be offered him daily. They represented to him that

the King my husband and he were both circumstanced alike, and equally in

disgrace, as Le Guast had everything under his direction; so that both of

them were under the necessity of soliciting, through him, any favours

which they might want of the King, and which, when demanded, were

constantly refused them with great contempt. Moreover, it was become

dangerous to offer them service, as it was inevitable ruin for any one to

do so.

"Since, then," said they, "your dissensions appear to be so likely to

prove fatal to both, it would be advisable in you both to unite and come

to a determination of leaving the Court; and, after collecting together

your friends and servants, to require from the King an establishment

suitable to your ranks." They observed to my brother that he had never

yet been put in possession of his appanage, and received for his

subsistence only some certain allowances, which were not regularly paid

him, as they passed through the hands of Le Guast, and were at his

disposal, to be discharged or kept back, as he judged proper. They

concluded with observing that, with regard to the King my husband, the

government of Guyenne was taken out of his hands; neither was he

permitted to visit that or any other of his dominions.

It was hereupon resolved to pursue the counsel now given, and that the

King my husband and my brother should immediately withdraw themselves

from Court. My brother made me acquainted with this resolution,

observing to me, as my husband and he were now friends again, that I

ought to forget all that had passed; that my husband had declared to him

that he was sorry things had so happened, that we had been outwitted by

our enemies, but that he was resolved, from henceforward, to show me

every attention and give me every proof of his love and esteem, and he

concluded with begging me to make my husband every show of affection, and

to be watchful for their interest during their absence.

It was concerted betwixt them that my brother should depart first, making

off in a carriage in the best manner he could; that, in a few days

afterwards, the King my husband should follow, under pretence of going on

a hunting party. They both expressed their concern that they could not

take me with them, assuring me that I had no occasion to have any

apprehensions, as it would soon appear that they had no design to disturb

the peace of the kingdom, but merely to ensure the safety of their own

persons, and to settle their establishments. In short, it might well be

supposed that, in their present situation, they had danger to themselves

from such reason to apprehend as had evil designs against their family.

Accordingly, as soon as it was dusk, and before the King's supper-time,

my brother changed his cloak, and concealing the lower part of his face

to his nose in it, left the palace, attended by a servant who was little

known, and went on foot to the gate of St. Honore, where he found Simier

waiting for him in a coach, borrowed of a lady for the purpose.

My brother threw himself into it, and went to a house about a quarter of

a league out of Paris, where horses were stationed ready; and at the

distance of about a league farther, he joined a party of two or three

hundred horsemen of his servants, who were awaiting his coming. My

brother was not missed till nine o'clock, when the King and the Queen my

mother asked me the reason he did not come to sup with them as usual, and

if I knew of his being indisposed. I told them I had not seen him since

noon. Thereupon they sent to his apartments. Word was brought back that

he was not there. Orders were then given to inquire at the apartments of

the ladies whom he was accustomed to visit. He was nowhere to be found.

There was now a general alarm. The King flew into a great passion, and

began to threaten me. He then sent for all the Princes and the great

officers of the Court; and giving orders for a pursuit to be made, and to

bring him back, dead or alive, cried out:

"He is gone to make war against me; but I will show him what it is to

contend with a king of my power."

Many of the Princes and officers of State remonstrated against these

orders, which they observed ought to be well weighed. They said that, as

their duty directed, they were willing to venture their lives in the

King's service; but to act against his brother they were certain would

not be pleasing to the King himself; that they were well convinced his

brother would undertake nothing that should give his Majesty displeasure,

or be productive of danger to the realm; that perhaps his leaving the

Court was owing to some disgust, which it would be more advisable to send

and inquire into. Others, on the contrary, were for putting the King's

orders into execution; but, whatever expedition they could use, it was

day before they set off; and as it was then too late to overtake my

brother, they returned, being only equipped for the pursuit.

I was in tears the whole night of my brother's departure, and the next

day was seized with a violent cold, which was succeeded by a fever that

confined me to my bed.

Meanwhile my husband was preparing for his departure, which took up all

the time he could spare from his visits to Madame de Sauves; so that he

did not think of me. He returned as usual at two or three in the

morning, and, as we had separate beds, I seldom heard him; and in the

morning, before I was awake, he went to my mother's levee, where he met

Madame de Sauves, as usual.

This being the case, he quite forgot his promise to my brother of

speaking to me; and when he went, away, it was without taking leave of

me.

The King did not show my husband more favour after my brother's evasion,

but continued to behave with his former coolness. This the more

confirmed him in the resolution of leaving the Court, so that in a few

days, under the pretence of hunting, he went away.

LETTER XI.

Queen Marguerite under Arrest.--Attempt on Torigni's Life.--Her Fortunate

Deliverance.

The King, supposing that I was a principal instrument in aiding the

Princes in their desertion, was greatly incensed against me, and his rage

became at length so violent that, had not the Queen my mother moderated

it, I am inclined to think my life had been in danger. Giving way to her

counsel, he became more calm, but insisted upon a guard being placed over

me, that I might not follow the King my husband, neither have

communication with any one, so as to give the Princes intelligence of

what was going on at Court. The Queen my mother gave her consent to this

measure, as being the least violent, and was well pleased to find his

anger cooled in so great a degree. She, however, requested that she

might be permitted to discourse with me, in order to reconcile me to a

submission to treatment of so different a kind from what I had hitherto

known. At the same time she advised the King to consider that these

troubles might not be lasting; that everything in the world bore a double

aspect; that what now appeared to him horrible and alarming, might, upon

a second view, assume a more pleasing and tranquil look; that, as things

changed, so should measures change with them; that there might come a

time when he might have occasion for my services; that, as prudence

counselled us not to repose too much confidence in our friends, lest they

should one day become our enemies, so was it advisable to conduct

ourselves in such a manner to our enemies as if we had hopes they should

hereafter become our friends. By such prudent remonstrances did the

Queen my mother restrain the King from proceeding to extremities with me,

as he would otherwise possibly have done.

Le Guast now endeavoured to divert his fury to another object, in order

to wound me in a most sensitive part. He prevailed on the King to adopt

a design for seizing Torigni, at the house of her cousin Chastelas, and,

under pretence of bringing her before the King, to drown her in a river

which they were to cross. The party sent upon this errand was admitted

by Chastelas, not suspecting any evil design, without the least

difficulty, into his house. As soon as they had gained admission they

proceeded to execute the cruel business they were sent upon, by fastening

Torigni with cords and locking her up in a chamber, whilst their horses

were baiting. Meantime, according to the French custom, they crammed

themselves, like gluttons, with the best eatables the house afforded.

Chastelas, who was a man of discretion, was not displeased to gain time

at the expense of some part of his substance, considering that the

suspension of a sentence is a prolongation of life, and that during this

respite the King's heart might relent, and he might countermand his

former orders. With these considerations he was induced to submit,

though it was in his power to have called for assistance to repel this

violence. But God, who hath constantly regarded my afflictions and

afforded me protection against the malicious designs of my enemies, was

pleased to order poor Torigni to be delivered by means which I could

never have devised had I been acquainted with the plot, of which I was

totally ignorant. Several of the domestics, male as well as female, had

left the house in a fright, fearing the insolence and rude treatment of

this troop of soldiers, who behaved as riotously as if they were in a

house given up to pillage. Some of these, at the distance of a quarter

of a league from the house, by God's providence, fell in with Ferte and

Avantigni, at the head of their troops, in number about two hundred

horse, on their march to join my brother. Ferte, remarking a labourer,

whom he knew to belong to Chastelas, apparently in great distress,

inquired of him what was the matter, and whether he had been ill-used by

any of the soldiery. The man related to him all he knew, and in what

state he had left his master's house. Hereupon Ferte and Avantigni

resolved, out of regard to me, to effect Torigni's deliverance, returning

thanks to God for having afforded them so favourable an opportunity of

testifying the respect they had always entertained towards me.

Accordingly, they proceeded to the house with all expedition, and arrived

just at the moment these soldiers were setting Torigni on horseback, for

the purpose of conveying her to the river wherein they had orders to

plunge her. Galloping into the courtyard, sword in hand, they cried out:

"Assassins, if you dare to offer that lady the least injury, you are dead

men!" So saying, they attacked them and drove them to flight, leaving

their prisoner behind, nearly as dead with joy as she was before with

fear and apprehension. After returning thanks to God and her deliverers

for so opportune and unexpected a rescue, she and her cousin Chastelas

set off in a carriage, under the escort of their rescuers, and joined my

brother, who, since he could not have me with him, was happy to have one

so dear to me about him. She remained under my brother's protection as

long as any danger was apprehended, and was treated with as much respect

as if she had been with me.

Whilst the King was giving directions for this notable expedition, for

the purpose of sacrificing Torigni to his vengeance, the Queen my mother,

who had not received the least intimation of it, came to my apartment as

I was dressing to go abroad, in order to observe how I should be received

after what had passed at Court, having still some alarms on account of my

husband and brother. I had hitherto confined myself to my chamber, not

having perfectly recovered my health, and, in reality, being all the time

as much indisposed in mind as in body.

My mother, perceiving my intention, addressed me in these words: "My

child, you are giving yourself unnecessary trouble in dressing to go

abroad. Do not be alarmed at what I am going to tell you. Your own good

sense will dictate to you that you ought not to be surprised if the King

resents the conduct of your brother and husband, and as he knows the love

and friendship that exist between you three, should suppose that you were

privy to their design of leaving the Court. He has, for this reason,

resolved to detain you in it, as a hostage for them. He is sensible how

much you are beloved by your husband, and thinks he can hold no pledge

that is more dear to him. On this account it is that the King has

ordered his guards to be placed, with directions not to suffer you to

leave your apartments. He has done this with the advice of his

counsellors, by whom it was suggested that, if you had your free liberty,

you might be induced to advise your brother and husband of their

deliberations. I beg you will not be offended with these measures,

which, if it so please God, may not be of long continuance. I beg,

moreover, you will not be displeased with me if I do not pay you frequent

visits, as I should be unwilling to create any suspicions in the King's

mind. However, you may rest assured that I shall prevent any further

steps from being taken that may prove disagreeable to you, and that I

shall use my utmost endeavours to bring about a reconciliation betwixt

your brothers."

I represented to her, in reply, the great indignity that was offered to

me by putting me under arrest; that it was true my brother had all along

communicated to me the just cause he had to be dissatisfied, but that,

with respect to the King my husband, from the time Torigni was taken from

me we had not spoken to each other; neither had he visited me during my

indisposition, nor did he even take leave of me when he left Court.

"This," says she, "is nothing at all; it is merely a trifling difference

betwixt man and wife, which a few sweet words, conveyed in a letter, will

set to rights. When, by such means, he has regained your affections, he

has only to write to you to come to him, and you will set off at the very

first opportunity. Now, this is what the King my son wishes to prevent."

LETTER XII.

The Peace of Sens betwixt Henri III. and the Huguenots.

The Queen my mother left me, saying these words. For my part, I remained

a close prisoner, without a visit from a single person, none of my most

intimate friends daring to come near me, through the apprehension that

such a step might prove injurious to their interests. Thus it is ever in

Courts. Adversity is solitary, while prosperity dwells in a crowd; the

object of persecution being sure to be shunned by his nearest friends and

dearest connections. The brave Grillon was the only one who ventured to

visit me, at the hazard of incurring disgrace. He came five or six times

to see me, and my guards were so much astonished at his resolution, and

awed by his presence, that not a single Cerberus of them all would

venture to refuse him entrance to my apartments.

Meanwhile, the King my husband reached the States under his government.

Being joined there by his friends and dependents, they all represented to

him the indignity offered to me by his quitting the Court without taking

leave of me. They observed to him that I was a princess of good

understanding, and that it would be for his interest to regain my esteem;

that, when matters were put on their former footing, he might derive to

himself great advantage from my presence at Court. Now that he was at a

distance from his Circe, Madame de Sauves, he could listen to good

advice. Absence having abated the force of her charms, his eyes were

opened; he discovered the plots and machinations of our enemies, and

clearly perceived that a rupture could not but tend to the ruin of us

both.

Accordingly, he wrote me a very affectionate letter, wherein he entreated

me to forget all that had passed betwixt us, assuring me that from

thenceforth he would ever love me, and would give me every demonstration

that he did so, desiring me to inform him of what was going on at Court,

and how it fared with me and my brother. My brother was in Champagne and

the King my husband in Gascony, and there had been no communication

betwixt them, though they were on terms of friendship.

I received this letter during my imprisonment, and it gave me great

comfort under that situation. Although my guards had strict orders not

to permit me to set pen to paper, yet, as necessity is said to be the

mother of invention, I found means to write many letters to him. Some few

days after I had been put under arrest, my brother had intelligence of

it, which chagrined him so much that, had not the love of his country

prevailed with him, the effects of his resentment would have been shown

in a cruel civil war, to which purpose he had a sufficient force entirely

at his devotion. He was, however, withheld by his patriotism, and

contented himself with writing to the Queen my mother, informing her

that, if I was thus treated, he should be driven upon some desperate

measure. She, fearing the consequence of an open rupture, and dreading

lest, if blows were once struck, she should be deprived of the power of

bringing about a reconciliation betwixt the brothers, represented the

consequences to the King, and found him well disposed to lend an ear to

her reasons, as his anger was now cooled by the apprehensions of being

attacked in Gascony, Dauphiny, Languedoc, and Poitou, with all the

strength of the Huguenots under the King my husband. Besides the many

strong places held by the Huguenots, my brother had an army with him in

Champagne, composed chiefly of nobility, the bravest and best in France.

The King found, since my brother's departure, that he could not, either

by threats or rewards, induce a single person among the princes and great

lords to act against him, so much did every one fear to intermeddle in

this quarrel, which they considered as of a family nature; and after

having maturely reflected on his situation, he acquiesced in my mother's

opinion, and begged her to fall upon some means of reconciliation. She

thereupon proposed going to my brother and taking me with her. To the

measure of taking me, the King had an objection, as he considered me as

the hostage for my husband and brother. She then agreed to leave me

behind, and set off without my knowledge of the matter. At their

interview, my brother represented to the Queen my mother that he could

not but be greatly dissatisfied with the King after the many

mortifications he had received at Court; that the cruelty and injustice

of confining me hurt him equally as if done to himself; observing,

moreover, that, as if my arrest were not a sufficient mortification, poor

Torigni must be made to suffer; and concluding with the declaration of

his firm resolution not to listen to any terms of peace until I was

restored to my liberty, and reparation made me for the indignity I had

sustained. The Queen my mother being unable to obtain any other answer,

returned to Court and acquainted the King with my brother's

determination. Her advice was to go back again with me, for going

without me, she said, would answer very little purpose; and if I went

with her in disgust, it would do more harm than good. Besides, there was

reason to fear, in that case, I should insist upon going to my husband.

"In short," says she, "my daughter's guard must be removed, and she must

be satisfied in the best way we can."

The King agreed to follow her advice, and was now, on a sudden, as eager

to reconcile matters betwixt us as she was herself. Hereupon I was sent

for, and when I came to her, she informed me that she had paved the way

for peace; that it was for the good of the State, which she was sensible

I must be as desirous to promote as my brother; that she had it now in

her power to make a peace which would be as satisfactory as my brother

could desire, and would put us entirely out of the reach of Le Guast's

machinations, or those of any one else who might have an influence over

the King's mind. She observed that, by assisting her to procure a good

understanding betwixt the King and my brother, I should relieve her from

that cruel disquietude under which she at present laboured, as, should

things come to an open rupture, she could not but be grieved, whichever

party prevailed, as they were both her sons. She therefore expressed her

hopes that I would forget the injuries I had received, and dispose myself

to concur in a peace, rather than join in any plan of revenge. She

assured me that the King was sorry for what had happened; that he had

even expressed his regret to her with tears in his eyes, and had declared

that he was ready to give me every satisfaction. I replied that I was

willing to sacrifice everything for the good of my brothers and of the

State; that I wished for nothing so much as peace, and that I would exert

myself to the utmost to bring it about.

As I uttered these words, the King came into the closet, and, with a

number of fine speeches, endeavoured to soften my resentment and to

recover my friendship, to which I made such returns as might show him I

harboured no ill-will for the injuries I had received. I was induced to

such behaviour rather out of contempt, and because it was good policy to

let the King go away satisfied with me.

Besides, I had found a secret pleasure, during my confinement, from the

perusal of good books, to which I had given myself up with a delight I

never before experienced. I consider this as an obligation I owe to

fortune, or, rather, to Divine Providence, in order to prepare me, by

such efficacious means, to bear up against the misfortunes and calamities

that awaited me. By tracing nature in the universal book which is opened

to all mankind, I was led to the knowledge of the Divine Author. Science

conducts us, step by step, through the whole range of creation, until we

arrive, at length, at God. Misfortune prompts us to summon our utmost

strength to oppose grief and recover tranquillity, until at length we

find a powerful aid in the knowledge and love of God, whilst prosperity

hurries us away until we are overwhelmed by our passions. My captivity

and its consequent solitude afforded me the double advantage of exciting

a passion for study, and an inclination for devotion, advantages I had

never experienced during the vanities and splendour of my prosperity.

As I have already observed, the King, discovering in me no signs of

discontent, informed me that the Queen my mother was going into Champagne

to have an interview with my brother, in order to bring about a peace,

and begged me to accompany her thither and to use my best endeavours to

forward his views, as he knew my brother was always well disposed to

follow my counsel; and he concluded with saying that the peace, when

accomplished, he should ever consider as being due to my good offices,

and should esteem himself obliged to me for it. I promised to exert

myself in so good a work, which I plainly perceived was both for my

brother's advantage and the benefit of the State.

The Queen my mother and I set off for Sens the next day. The conference

was agreed to be held in a gentleman's chateau, at a distance of about a

league from that place. My brother was waiting for us, accompanied by a

small body of troops and the principal Catholic noblemen and princes of

his army. Amongst these were the Duc Casimir and Colonel Poux, who had

brought him six thousand German horse, raised by the Huguenots, they

having joined my brother, as the King my husband and he acted in

conjunction.

The treaty was continued for several days, the conditions of peace

requiring much discussion, especially such articles of it as related to

religion. With respect to these, when at length agreed upon, they were

too much to the advantage of the Huguenots, as it appeared afterwards, to

be kept; but the Queen my mother gave in to them, in order to have a

peace, and that the German cavalry before mentioned might be disbanded.

She was, moreover, desirous to get my brother out of the hands of the

Huguenots; and he was himself as willing to leave them, being always a

very good Catholic, and joining the Huguenots only through necessity. One

condition of the peace was, that my brother should have a suitable

establishment. My brother likewise stipulated for me, that my marriage

portion should be assigned in lands, and M. de Beauvais, a commissioner

on his part, insisted much upon it. My mother, however, opposed it, and

persuaded me to join her in it, assuring me that I should obtain from the

King all I could require. Thereupon I begged I might not be included in

the articles of peace, observing that I would rather owe whatever I was

to receive to the particular favour of the King and the Queen my mother,

and should, besides, consider it as more secure when obtained by such

means.

The peace being thus concluded and ratified on both sides, the Queen my

mother prepared to return. At this instant I received letters from the

King my husband, in which he expressed a great desire to see me, begging

me, as soon as peace was agreed on, to ask leave to go to him. I

communicated my husband's wish to the Queen my mother, and added my own

entreaties. She expressed herself greatly averse to such a measure, and

used every argument to set me against it. She observed that, when I

refused her proposal of a divorce after St. Bartholomew's Day, she gave

way to my refusal, and commended me for it, because my husband was then

converted to the Catholic religion; but now that he had abjured

Catholicism, and was turned Huguenot again, she could not give her

consent that I should go to him. When I still insisted upon going, she

burst into a flood of tears, and said, if I did not return with her, it

would prove her ruin; that the King would believe it was her doing; that

she had promised to bring me back with her; and that, when my brother

returned to Court, which would be soon, she would give her consent.

We now returned to Paris, and found the King well satisfied that we had

made a peace; though not, however, pleased with the articles concluded in

favour of the Huguenots. He therefore resolved within himself, as soon

as my brother should return to Court, to find some pretext for renewing

the war. These advantageous conditions were, indeed, only granted the

Huguenots to get my brother out of their hands, who was detained near two

months, being employed in disbanding his German horse and the rest of his

army.

LETTER XIII.

The League.--War Declared against the Huguenots.--Queen Marguerite Sets

out for Spa.

At length my brother returned to Court, accompanied by all the Catholic

nobility who had followed his fortunes. The King received him very

graciously, and showed, by his reception of him, how much he was pleased

at his return. Bussi, who returned with my brother, met likewise with a

gracious reception. Le Guast was now no more, having died under the

operation of a particular regimen ordered for him by his physician. He

had given himself up to every kind of debauchery; and his death seemed

the judgment of the Almighty on one whose body had long been perishing,

and whose soul had been made over to the prince of demons as the price of

assistance through the means of diabolical magic, which he constantly

practised. The King, though now without this instrument of his malicious

contrivances, turned his thoughts entirely upon the destruction of the

Huguenots. To effect this, he strove to engage my brother against them,

and thereby make them his enemies and that I might be considered as

another enemy, he used every means to prevent me from going to the King

my husband. Accordingly he showed every mark of attention to both of us,

and manifested an inclination to gratify all our wishes.

After some time, M. de Duras arrived at Court, sent by the King my

husband to hasten my departure. Hereupon, I pressed the King greatly to

think well of it, and give me his leave. He, to colour his refusal, told

me he could not part with me at present, as I was the chief ornament of

his Court; that he must, keep me a little longer, after which he would

accompany me himself on my way as far as Poitiers. With this answer and

assurance, he sent M. de Duras back. These excuses were purposely framed

in order to gain time until everything was prepared for declaring war

against the Huguenots, and, in consequence, against the King my husband,

as he fully designed to do.

As a pretence to break with the Huguenots, a report was spread abroad

that the Catholics were dissatisfied with the Peace of Sens, and thought

the terms of it too advantageous for the Huguenots. This rumour

succeeded, and produced all that discontent amongst the Catholics

intended by it. A league was formed: in the provinces and great cities,

which was joined by numbers of the Catholics. M. de Guise was named as

the head of all. This was well known to the King, who pretended to be

ignorant of what was going forward, though nothing else was talked of at

Court.

The States were convened to meet at Blois. Previous to the opening of

this assembly, the King called my brother to his closet, where were

present the Queen my mother and some of the King's counsellors. He

represented the great consequence the Catholic league was to his State

and authority, even though they should appoint De Guise as the head of

it; that such a measure was of the highest importance to them both,

meaning my brother and himself; that the Catholics had very just reason

to be dissatisfied with the peace, and that it behoved him, addressing

himself to my brother, rather to join the Catholics than the Huguenots,

and this from conscience as well as interest. He concluded his address

to my brother with conjuring him, as a son of France and a good Catholic,

to assist him with his aid and counsel in this critical juncture, when

his crown and the Catholic religion were both at stake. He further said

that, in order to get the start of so formidable a league, he ought to

form one himself, and become the head of it, as well to show his zeal for

religion as to prevent the Catholics from uniting under any other leader.

He then proposed to declare himself the head of a league, which should be

joined by my brother, the princes, nobles, governors, and others holding

offices under the Government. Thus was my brother reduced to the

necessity of making his Majesty a tender of his services for the support

and maintenance of the Catholic religion.

The King, having now obtained assurances of my brother's assistance in

the event of a war, which was his sole view in the league which he had

formed with so much art, assembled together the princes and chief

noblemen of his Court, and, calling for the roll of the league, signed it

first himself, next calling upon my brother to sign it, and, lastly, upon

all present.

The next day the States opened their meeting, when the King, calling upon

the Bishops of Lyons, Ambrune, Vienne, and other prelates there present,

for their advice, was told that, after the oath taken at his coronation,

no oath made to heretics could bind him, and therefore he was absolved

from his engagements with the Huguenots.

This declaration being made at the opening of the assembly, and war

declared against the Huguenots, the King abruptly dismissed from Court

the Huguenot, Genisac, who had arrived a few days before, charged by the

King my husband with a commission to hasten my departure. The King very

sharply told him that his sister had been given to a Catholic, and not to

a Huguenot; and that if the King my husband expected to have me, he must

declare himself a Catholic.

Every preparation for war was made, and nothing else talked of at Court;

and, to make my brother still more obnoxious to the Huguenots, he had the

command of an army given him. Genisac came and informed me of the rough

message he had been dismissed with. Hereupon I went directly to the

closet of the Queen my mother, where I found the King. I expressed my

resentment at being deceived by him, and at being cajoled by his promise

to accompany me from Paris to Poitiers, which, as it now appeared, was a

mere pretence. I represented that I did not marry by my own choice, but

entirely agreeable to the advice of King Charles, the Queen my mother,

and himself; that, since they had given him to me for a husband, they

ought not to hinder me from partaking of his fortunes; that I was

resolved to go to him, and that if I had not their leave, I would get

away how I could, even at the hazard of my life. The King answered:

"Sister, it is not now a time to importune me for leave. I acknowledge

that I have, as you say, hitherto prevented you from going, in order to

forbid it altogether. From the time the King of Navarre changed his

religion, and again became a Huguenot, I have been against your going to

him. What the Queen my mother and I are doing is for your good. I am

determined to carry on a war of extermination until this wretched

religion of the Huguenots, which is of so mischievous a nature, is no

more. Consider, my sister, if you, who are a Catholic, were once in

their hands, you would become a hostage for me, and prevent my design.

And who knows but they might seek their revenge upon me by taking away

your life? No, you shall not go amongst them; and if you leave us in the

manner you have now mentioned, rely upon it that you will make the Queen

your mother and me your bitterest enemies, and that we shall use every

means to make you feel the effects of our resentment; and, moreover, you

will make your husband's situation worse instead of better."

I went from this audience with much dissatisfaction, and, taking advice

of the principal persons of both sexes belonging to Court whom I esteemed

my friends, I found them all of opinion that it would be exceedingly

improper for me to remain in a Court now at open variance with the King

my husband. They recommended me not to stay at Court whilst the war

lasted, saying it would be more honourable for me to leave the kingdom

under the pretence of a pilgrimage, or a visit to some of my kindred. The

Princesse de Roche-sur-Yon was amongst those I consulted upon the

occasion, who was on the point of setting off for Spa to take the waters

there.

My brother was likewise present at the consultation, and brought with him

Mondoucet, who had been to Flanders in quality of the King's agent,

whence he was just returned to represent to the King the discontent that

had arisen amongst the Flemings on account of infringements made by the

Spanish Government on the French laws. He stated that he was

commissioned by several nobles, and the municipalities of several towns,

to declare how much they were inclined in their hearts towards France,

and how ready they were to come under a French government. Mondoucet,

perceiving the King not inclined to listen to his representation, as

having his mind wholly occupied by the war he had entered into with the

Huguenots, whom he was resolved to punish for having joined my brother,

had ceased to move in it further to the King, and addressed himself on

the subject to my brother. My brother, with that princely spirit which

led him to undertake great achievements, readily lent an ear to

Mondoucet's proposition, and promised to engage in it, for he was born

rather to conquer than to keep what he conquered. Mondoucet's

proposition was the more pleasing to him as it was not unjust, it being,

in fact, to recover to France what had been usurped by Spain.

Mondoucet had now engaged himself in my brother's service, and was to

return to Flanders' under a pretence of accompanying the Princesse de

Roche-sur-Yon in her journey to Spa; and as this agent perceived my

counsellers to be at a loss for some pretence for my leaving Court and

quitting France during the war, and that at first Savoy was proposed for

my retreat, then Lorraine, and then Our Lady of Loretto, he suggested to

my brother that I might be of great use to him in Flanders, if, under the

colour of any complaint, I should be recommended to drink the Spa waters,

and go with the Princesse de Roche-sur-Yon. My brother acquiesced in

this opinion, and came up to me, saying: "Oh, Queen! you need be no

longer at a loss for a place to go to. I have observed that you have

frequently an erysipelas on your arm, and you must accompany the Princess

to Spa. You must say, your physicians had ordered those waters for the

complaint; but when they, did so, it was not the season to take them.

That season is now approaching, and you hope to have the King's leave to

go there."

My brother did not deliver all he wished to say at that time, because the

Cardinal de Bourbon was present, whom he knew to be a friend to the

Guises and to Spain. However, I saw through his real design, and that he

wished me to promote his views in Flanders.

The company approved of my brother's advice, and the Princesse de

Roche-sur-Yon heard the proposal with great joy, having a great regard

for me. She promised to attend me to the Queen my mother when I should

ask her consent.

The next day I found the Queen alone, and represented to her the extreme

regret I experienced in finding that a war was inevitable betwixt the

King my husband and his Majesty, and that I must continue in a state of

separation from my husband; that, as long as the war lasted, it was

neither decent nor honourable for me to stay at Court, where I must be in

one or other, or both, of these cruel situations either that the King my

husband should believe that I continued in it out of inclination, and

think me deficient in the duty I owed him; or that his Majesty should

entertain suspicions of my giving intelligence to the King my husband.

Either of these cases, I observed, could not but prove injurious to me. I

therefore prayed her not to take it amiss if I desired to remove myself

from Court, and from becoming so unpleasantly situated; adding that my

physicians had for some time recommended me to take the Spa waters for an

erysipelas--to which I had been long subject--on my arm; the season for

taking these waters was now approaching, and that if she approved of it,

I would use the present opportunity, by which means I should be at a

distance from Court, and show my husband that, as I could not be with

him, I was unwilling to remain amongst his enemies. I further expressed

my hopes that, through her prudence, a peace might be effected in a short

time betwixt the King my husband and his Majesty, and that my husband

might be restored to the favour he formerly enjoyed; that whenever I

learned the news of so joyful an event, I would renew my solicitations to

be permitted to go to my husband. In the meantime, I should hope for her

permission to have the honour of accompanying the Princesse de

Roche-sur-Yon, there present, in her journey to Spa.

She approved of what I proposed, and expressed her satisfaction that I

had taken so prudent a resolution. She observed how much she was

chagrined when she found that the King, through the evil persuasions of

the bishops, had resolved to break through the conditions of the last

peace, which she had concluded in his name. She saw already the ill

effects of this hasty proceeding, as it had removed from the King's

Council many of his ablest and best servants. This gave her, she said,

much concern, as it did likewise to think I could not remain at Court

without offending my husband, or creating jealousy and suspicion in the

King's mind. This being certainly what was likely to be the consequence

of my staying, she would advise the King to give me leave to set out on

this journey.

She was as good as her word, and the King discoursed with me on the

subject without exhibiting the smallest resentment. Indeed, he was well

pleased now that he had prevented me from going to the King my husband,

for whom he had conceived the greatest animosity.

He ordered a courier to be immediately despatched to Don John of

Austria,--who commanded for the King of Spain in Flanders,--to obtain

from him the necessary passports for a free passage in the countries

under his command, as I should be obliged to cross a part of Flanders to

reach Spa, which is in the bishopric of Liege.

All matters being thus arranged, we separated in a few days after this

interview. The short time my brother and I remained together was

employed by him in giving me instructions for the commission I had

undertaken to execute for him in Flanders. The King and the Queen my

mother set out for Poitiers, to be near the army of M. de Mayenne, then

besieging Brouage, which place being reduced, it was intended to march

into Gascony and attack the King my husband.

My brother had the command of another army, ordered to besiege Issoire

and some other towns, which he soon after took.

For my part, I set out on my journey to Flanders accompanied by the

Princesse de Roche-sur-Yon, Madame de Tournon, the lady of my bedchamber,

Madame de Mouy of Picardy, Madame de Chastelaine, De Millon, Mademoiselle

d'Atric, Mademoiselle de Tournon, and seven or eight other young ladies.

My male attendants were the Cardinal de Lenoncourt, the Bishop of

Langres, and M. de Mouy, Seigneur de Picardy, at present father-in-law to

the brother of Queen Louise, called the Comte de Chalingy, with my

principal steward of the household, my chief esquires, and the other

gentlemen of my establishment.

LETTER XIV.

Description of Queen Marguerite's Equipage.--Her Journey to Liege

Described.--She Enters with Success upon Her Mission.--Striking Instance

of Maternal Duty and Affection in a Great Lady.--Disasters near the Close

of the Journey.

The cavalcade that attended me excited great curiosity as it passed

through the several towns in the course of my journey, and reflected no

small degree of credit on France, as it was splendidly set out, and made

a handsome appearance. I travelled in a litter raised with pillars. The

lining of it was Spanish velvet, of a crimson colour, embroidered in

various devices with gold and different coloured silk thread.

The windows were of glass, painted in devices. The lining and windows

had, in the whole, forty devices, all different and alluding to the sun

and its effects. Each device had its motto, either in the Spanish or

Italian language. My litter was followed by two others; in the one was

the Princesse de Roche-sur-Yon, and in the other Madame de Tournon, my

lady of the bedchamber. After them followed ten maids of honour, on

horseback, with their governess; and, last of all, six coaches and

chariots, with the rest of the ladies and all our female attendants.

I took the road of Picardy, the towns in which province had received the

King's orders to pay me all due honours. Being arrived at Le Catelet, a

strong place, about three leagues distant from the frontier of the

Cambresis, the Bishop of Cambray (an ecclesiastical State acknowledging

the King of Spain only as a guarantee) sent a gentleman to inquire of me

at what hour I should leave the place, as he intended to meet me on the

borders of his territory.

Accordingly I found him there, attended by a number of his people, who

appeared to be true Flemings, and to have all the rusticity and

unpolished manners of their country. The Bishop was of the House of

Barlemont, one of the principal families in Flanders. All of this house

have shown themselves Spaniards at heart, and at that time were firmly

attached to Don John. The Bishop received me with great politeness and

not a little of the Spanish ceremony.

Although the city of Cambray is not so well built as some of our towns in

France, I thought it, notwithstanding, far more pleasant than many of

these, as the streets and squares are larger and better disposed. The

churches are grand and highly ornamented, which is, indeed, common to

France; but what I admired, above all, was the citadel, which is the

finest and best constructed in Christendom.

The Spaniards experienced it to be strong whilst my brother had it in his

possession. The governor of the citadel at this time was a worthy

gentleman named M. d'Ainsi, who was, in every respect, a polite and

well-accomplished man, having the carriage and behaviour of one of our

most perfect courtiers, very different from the rude incivility which

appears to be the characteristic of a Fleming.

The Bishop gave us a grand supper, and after supper a ball, to which he

had invited all the ladies of the city. As soon as the ball was opened

he withdrew, in accordance with the Spanish ceremony; but M. d'Ainsi did

the honours for him, and kept me company during the ball, conducting me

afterwards to a collation, which, considering his command at the citadel,

was, I thought, imprudent. I speak from experience, having been taught,

to my cost, and contrary to my desire, the caution and vigilance

necessary to be observed in keeping such places. As my regard for my

brother was always predominant in me, I continually had his instructions

in mind, and now thought I had a fair opportunity to open my commission

and forward his views in Flanders, this town of Cambray, and especially

the citadel, being, as it were, a key to that country. Accordingly I

employed all the talents God had given me to make M. d'Ainsi a friend to

France, and attach him to my brother's interest. Through God's

assistance I succeeded with him, and so much was M. d'Ainsi pleased with

my conversation that he came to the resolution of soliciting the Bishop,

his master, to grant him leave to accompany me as, far as Namur, where

Don John of Austria was in waiting to receive me, observing that he had a

great desire to witness so splendid an interview. This Spanish Fleming,

the Bishop, had the weakness to grant M. d'Ainsi's request, who continued

following in my train for ten or twelve days. During this time he took

every opportunity of discoursing with me, and showed that, in his heart,

he was well disposed to embrace the service of France, wishing no better

master than the Prince my brother, and declaring that he heartily

despised being under the command of his Bishop, who, though his

sovereign, was not his superior by birth, being born a private gentleman

like himself, and, in every other respect, greatly his inferior.

Leaving Cambray, I set out to sleep at Valenciennes, the chief city of a

part of Flanders called by the same name. Where this country is divided

from Cambresis (as far as which I was conducted by the Bishop of

Cambray), the Comte de Lalain, M. de Montigny his brother, and a number

of gentlemen, to the amount of two or three hundred, came to meet me.

Valenciennes is a town inferior to Cambray in point of strength, but

equal to it for the beauty of its squares, and churches,--the former

ornamented with fountains, as the latter are with curious clocks. The

ingenuity of the Germans in the construction of their clocks was a matter

of great surprise to all my attendants, few amongst whom had ever before

seen clocks exhibiting a number of moving figures, and playing a variety

of tunes in the most agreeable manner.

The Comte de Lalain, the governor of the city, invited the lords and

gentlemen of my train to a banquet, reserving himself to give an

entertainment to the ladies on our arrival at Mons, where we should find

the Countess his wife, his sister-in-law Madame d'Aurec, and other ladies

of distinction. Accordingly the Count, with his attendants, conducted us

thither the next day. He claimed a relationship with the King my

husband, and was, in reality, a person who carried great weight and

authority. He was much dissatisfied with the Spanish Government, and had

conceived a great dislike for it since the execution of Count Egmont, who

was his near kinsman.

Although he had hitherto abstained from entering into the league with the

Prince of Orange and the Huguenots, being himself a steady Catholic, yet

he had not admitted of an interview with Don John, neither would he

suffer him, nor any one in the interest of Spain, to enter upon his

territories. Don John was unwilling to give the Count any umbrage, lest

he should force him to unite the Catholic League of Flanders, called the

League of the States, to that of the Prince of Orange and the Huguenots,

well foreseeing that such a union would prove fatal to the Spanish

interest, as other governors have since experienced. With this

disposition of mind, the Comte de Lalain thought he could not give me

sufficient demonstrations of the joy he felt by my presence; and he could

not have shown more honour to his natural prince, nor displayed greater

marks of zeal and affection.

On our arrival at Mons, I was lodged in his house, and found there the

Countess his wife, and a Court consisting of eighty or a hundred ladies

of the city and country. My reception was rather that of their sovereign

lady than of a foreign princess. The Flemish ladies are naturally

lively, affable, and engaging. The Comtesse de Lalain is remarkably so,

and is, moreover, a woman of great sense and elevation of mind, in which

particular, as well as in air and countenance, she carries a striking

resemblance to the lady your cousin. We became immediately intimate, and

commenced a firm friendship at our first meeting. When the supper hour

came, we sat down to a banquet, which was succeeded by a ball; and this

rule the Count observed as long as I stayed at Mons, which was, indeed,

longer than I intended. It had been my intention to stay at Mons one

night only, but the Count's obliging lady prevailed on me to pass a whole

week there. I strove to excuse myself from so long a stay, imagining it

might be inconvenient to them; but whatever I could say availed nothing

with the Count and his lady, and I was under the necessity of remaining

with them eight days. The Countess and I were on so familiar a footing

that she stayed in my bedchamber till a late hour, and would not have

left me then had she not imposed upon herself a task very rarely

performed by persons of her rank, which, however, placed the goodness of

her disposition in the most amiable light. In fact, she gave suck to her

infant son; and one day at table, sitting next me, whose whole attention

was absorbed in the promotion of my brother's interest,--the table being

the place where, according to the custom of the country, all are familiar

and ceremony is laid aside,--she, dressed out in the richest manner and

blazing with diamonds, gave the breast to her child without rising from

her seat, the infant being brought to the table as superbly habited as

its nurse, the mother. She performed this maternal duty with so much

good humour, and with a gracefulness peculiar to herself, that this

charitable office--which would have appeared disgusting and been

considered as an affront if done by some others of equal rank--gave

pleasure to all who sat at table, and, accordingly, they signified their

approbation by their applause.

The tables being removed, the dances commenced in the same room wherein

we had supped, which was magnificent and large. The Countess and I

sitting side by side, I expressed the pleasure I received from her

conversation, and that I should place this meeting amongst the happiest

events of my life. "Indeed," said I, "I shall have cause to regret that

it ever did take place, as I shall depart hence so unwillingly, there

being so little probability, of our meeting again soon. Why did Heaven

deny, our being born in the same country!"

This was said in order to introduce my brother's business. She replied:

"This country did, indeed, formerly belong to France, and our lawyers now

plead their causes in the French language. The greater part of the

people here still retain an affection for the French nation. For my

part," added the Countess, "I have had a strong attachment to your

country ever since I have had the honour of seeing you. This country has

been long in the possession of the House of Austria, but the regard of

the people for that house has been greatly, weakened by the death of

Count Egmont, M. de Horne, M. de Montigny, and others of the same party,

some of them our near relations, and all of the best families of the

country. We entertain the utmost dislike for the Spanish Government, and

wish for nothing so much as to throw off the yoke of their tyranny; but,

as the country is divided betwixt different religions, we are at a loss

how to effect it if we could unite, we should soon drive out the

Spaniards; but this division amongst ourselves renders us weak. Would to

God the King your brother would come to a resolution of reconquering this

country, to which he has an ancient claim! We should all receive him

with open arms."

This was a frank declaration, made by the Countess without premeditation,

but it had been long agitated in the minds of the people, who considered

that it was from France they were to hope for redress from the evils with

which they were afflicted. I now found I had as favourable an opening as

I could wish for to declare my errand. I told her that the King of

France my brother was averse to engaging in foreign war, and the more so

as the Huguenots in his kingdom were too strong to admit of his sending

any large force out of it. "My brother Alencon," said I, "has sufficient

means, and might be induced to undertake it. He has equal valour,

prudence, and benevolence with the King my brother or any of his

ancestors. He has been bred to arms, and is esteemed one of the bravest

generals of these times. He has the command of the King's army against

the Huguenots, and has lately taken a well-fortified town, called

Issoire, and some other places that were in their possession. You could

not invite to your assistance a prince who has it so much in his power to

give it; being not only a neighbour, but having a kingdom like France at

his devotion, whence he may expect to derive the necessary aid and

succour. The Count your husband may be assured that if he do my brother

this good office he will not find him ungrateful, but may set what price

he pleases upon his meritorious service. My brother is of a noble and

generous disposition, and ready to requite those who do him favours. He

is, moreover, an admirer of men of honour and gallantry, and accordingly

is followed by the bravest and best men France has to boast of. I am in

hopes that a peace will soon be reestablished with the Huguenots, and

expect to find it so on my return to France. If the Count your husband

think as you do, and will permit me to speak to him on the subject, I

will engage to bring my brother over to the proposal, and, in that case,

your country in general, and your house in particular, will be well

satisfied with him. If, through your means, my brother should establish

himself here, you may depend on seeing me often, there being no brother

or sister who has a stronger affection for each other."

The Countess appeared to listen to what I said with great pleasure, and

acknowledged that she had not entered upon this discourse without design.

She observed that, having perceived I did her the honour to have some

regard for her, she had resolved within herself not to let me depart out

of the country without explaining to me the situation of it, and begging

me to procure the aid of France to relieve them from the apprehensions of

living in a state of perpetual war or of submitting to Spanish tyranny.

She thereupon entreated me to allow her to relate our present

conversation to her husband, and permit them both to confer with me on

the subject the next day. To this I readily gave my consent.

Thus we passed the evening in discourse upon the object of my mission,

and I observed that she took a singular pleasure in talking upon it in

all our succeeding conferences when I thought proper to introduce it. The

ball being ended, we went to hear vespers at the church of the

Canonesses, an order of nuns of which we have none in France. These are

young ladies who are entered in these communities at a tender age, in

order to improve their fortunes till they are of an age to be married.

They do not all sleep under the same roof, but in detached houses within

an enclosure. In each of these houses are three, four, or perhaps six

young girls, under the care of an old woman. These governesses, together

with the abbess, are of the number of such as have never been married.

These girls never wear the habit of the order but in church; and the

service there ended, they dress like others, pay visits, frequent balls,

and go where they please. They were constant visitors at the Count's

entertainments, and danced at his balls.

The Countess thought the time long until the night, when she had an

opportunity of relating to the Count the conversation she had with me,

and the opening of the business. The next morning she came to me, and

brought her husband with her. He entered into a detail of the grievances

the country laboured under, and the just reasons he had for ridding it of

the tyranny of Spain. In doing this, he said, he should not consider

himself as acting against his natural sovereign, because he well knew he

ought to look for him in the person of the King of France. He explained

to me the means whereby my brother might establish himself in Flanders,

having possession of Hainault, which extended as far as Brussels. He

said the difficulty lay in securing the Cambresis, which is situated

betwixt Hainault and Flanders. It would, therefore, be necessary to

engage M. d'Ainsi in the business. To this I replied that, as he was his

neighbour and friend, it might be better that he should open the matter

to him; and I begged he would do so. I next assured him that he might

have the most perfect reliance on the gratitude and friendship of my

brother, and be certain of receiving as large a share of power and

authority as such a service done by a person of his rank merited. Lastly,

we agreed upon an interview betwixt my brother and M. de Montigny, the

brother of the Count, which was to take place at La Fere, upon my return,

when this business should be arranged. During the time I stayed at Mons,

I said all I could to confirm the Count in this resolution, in which I

found myself seconded by the Countess.

The day of my departure was now arrived, to the great regret of the

ladies of Mons, as well as myself. The Countess expressed herself in

terms which showed she had conceived the warmest friendship for me, and

made me promise to return by way of that city. I presented the Countess

with a diamond bracelet, and to the Count I gave a riband and diamond

star of considerable value. But these presents, valuable as they were,

became more so, in their estimation, as I was the donor.

Of the ladies, none accompanied me from this place, except Madame

d'Aurec. She went with me to Namur, where I slept that night, and where

she expected to find her husband and the Duc d'Arscot, her

brother-in-law, who had been there since the peace betwixt the King of

Spain and the States of Flanders. For though they were both of the party

of the States, yet the Duc d'Arscot, being an old courtier and having

attended King Philip in Flanders and England, could not withdraw himself

from Court and the society of the great. The Comte de Lalain, with all

his nobles, conducted me two leagues beyond his government, and until he

saw Don John's company in the distance advancing to meet me. He then

took his leave of me, being unwilling to meet Don John; but M. d'Ainsi

stayed with me, as his master, the Bishop of Cambray, was in the Spanish

interest.

This gallant company having left me, I was soon after met by Don John of

Austria, preceded by a great number of running footmen, and escorted by

only twenty or thirty horsemen. He was attended by a number of noblemen,

and amongst the rest the Duc d'Arscot, M. d'Aurec, the Marquis de

Varenbon, and the younger Balencon, governor, for the King of Spain, of

the county of Burgundy. These last two, who are brothers, had ridden

post to meet me. Of Don John's household there was only Louis de Gonzago

of any rank. He called himself a relation of the Duke of Mantua; the

others were mean-looking people, and of no consideration. Don John

alighted from his horse to salute me in my litter, which was opened for

the purpose. I returned the salute after the French fashion to him, the

Duc d'Arscot, and M. d'Aurec. After an exchange of compliments, he

mounted his horse, but continued in discourse with me until we reached

the city, which was not before it grew dark, as I set off late, the

ladies of Mons keeping me as long as they could, amusing themselves with

viewing my litter, and requiring an explanation of the different mottoes

and devices. However, as the Spaniards excel in preserving good order,

Namur appeared with particular advantage, for the streets were well

lighted, every house being illuminated, so that the blaze exceeded that

of daylight.

Our supper was served to us in our respective apartments, Don John being

unwilling, after the fatigue of so long a journey, to incommode us with a

banquet. The house in which I was lodged had been newly furnished for

the purpose of receiving me. It consisted of a magnificent large salon,

with a private apartment, consisting of lodging rooms and closets,

furnished in the most costly manner, with furniture of every kind, and

hung with the richest tapestry of velvet and satin, divided into

compartments by columns of silver embroidery, with knobs of gold, all

wrought in the most superb manner. Within these compartments were

figures in antique habits, embroidered in gold and silver.

The Cardinal de Lenoncourt, a man of taste and curiosity, being one day

in these apartments with the Duc d'Arscot, who, as I have before

observed, was an ornament to Don John's Court, remarked to him that this

furniture seemed more proper for a great king than a young unmarried

prince like Don John. To which the Duc d'Arscot replied that it came to

him as a present, having been sent to him by a bashaw belonging to the

Grand Seignior, whose son she had made prisoners in a signal victory

obtained over the Turks. Don John having sent the bashaw's sons back

without ransom, the father, in return, made him a present of a large

quantity of gold, silver, and silk stuffs, which he caused to be wrought

into tapestry at Milan, where there are curious workmen in this way; and

he had the Queen's bedchamber hung with tapestry representing the battle

in which he had so gloriously defeated the Turks.

The next morning Don John conducted us to chapel, where we heard mass

celebrated after the Spanish manner, with all kinds of music, after which

we partook of a banquet prepared by Don John. He and I were seated at a

separate table, at a distance of three yards from which stood the great

one, of which the honours were done by Madame d'Aurec. At this table the

ladies and principal lords took their seats. Don John was served with

drink by Louis de Gonzago, kneeling. The tables being removed, the ball

was opened, and the dancing continued the whole afternoon. The evening

was spent in conversation betwixt Don John and me, who told me I greatly

resembled the Queen his mistress, by whom he meant the late Queen my

sister, and for whom he professed to have entertained a very high esteem.

In short, Don John manifested, by every mark of attention and politeness,

as well to me as to my attendants, the very great pleasure he had in

receiving me.

The boats which were to convey me upon the Meuse to Liege not all being

ready, I was under the necessity of staying another day. The morning was

passed as that of the day before. After dinner, we embarked on the river

in a very beautiful boat, surrounded by others having on board musicians

playing on hautboys, horns, and violins, and landed at an island where

Don John had caused a collation to be prepared in a large bower formed

with branches of ivy, in which the musicians were placed in small

recesses, playing on their instruments during the time of supper. The

tables being removed, the dances began, and lasted till it was time to

return, which I did in the same boat that conveyed me thither, and which

was that provided for my voyage.

The next morning Don John conducted me to the boat, and there took a most

polite and courteous leave, charging M. and Madame d'Aurec to see me safe

to Huy, the first town belonging to the Bishop of Liege, where I was to

sleep. As soon as Don John had gone on shore, M. d'Ainsi, who remained

in the boat, and who had the Bishop of Cambray's permission to go to

Namur only, took leave of me with many protestations of fidelity and

attachment to my brother and myself.

But Fortune, envious of my hitherto prosperous journey, gave me two omens

of the sinister events of my return.

The first was the sudden illness which attacked Mademoiselle de Tournon,

the daughter of the lady of my bedchamber, a young person, accomplished,

with every grace and virtue, and for whom I had the most perfect regard.

No sooner had the boat left the shore than this young lady was seized

with an alarming disorder, which, from the great pain attending it,

caused her to scream in the most doleful manner. The physicians

attributed the cause to spasms of the heart, which, notwithstanding the

utmost exertions of their skill, carried her off a few days after my

arrival at Liege. As the history of this young lady is remarkable, I

shall relate it in my next letter.

The other omen was what happened to us at Huy, immediately upon our

arrival there. This town is built on the declivity of a mountain, at the

foot of which runs the river Meuse. As we were about to land, there fell

a torrent of rain, which, coming down the steep sides of the mountain,

swelled the river instantly to such a degree that we had only time to

leap out of the boat and run to the top, the flood reaching the very

highest street, next to where I was to lodge. There we were forced to

put up with such accommodation as could be procured in the house, as it

was impossible to remove the smallest article of our baggage from the

boats, or even to stir out of the house we were in, the whole city being

under water. However, the town was as suddenly relieved from this

calamity as it had been afflicted with it, for, on the next morning, the

whole inundation had ceased, the waters having run off, and the river

being confined within its usual channel.

Leaving Huy, M. and Madame d'Aurec returned to Don John at Namur, and I

proceeded, in the boat, to sleep that night at Liege.

LETTER XV.

The City of Liege Described.--Affecting Story of Mademoiselle de

Tournon.--Fatal Effects of Suppressed Anguish of Mind.

The Bishop of Liege, who is the sovereign of the city and province,

received me with all the cordiality and respect that could be expected

from a personage of his dignity and great accomplishments. He was,

indeed, a nobleman endowed with singular prudence and virtue, agreeable

in his person and conversation, gracious and magnificent in his carriage

and behaviour, to which I may add that he spoke the French language

perfectly.

He was constantly attended by his chapter, with several of his canons,

who are all sons of dukes, counts, or great German lords. The bishopric

is itself a sovereign State, which brings in a considerable revenue, and

includes a number of fine cities. The bishop is chosen from amongst the

canons, who must be of noble descent, and resident one year. The city is

larger than Lyons, and much resembles it, having the Meuse running

through it. The houses in which the canons reside have the appearance of

noble palaces.

The streets of the city are regular and spacious, the houses of the

citizens well built, the squares large, and ornamented with curious

fountains. The churches appear as if raised entirely of marble, of which

there are considerable quarries in the neighbourhood; they are all of

them ornamented with beautiful clocks, and exhibit a variety of moving

figures.

The Bishop received me as I landed from the boat, and conducted me to his

magnificent residence, ornamented with delicious fountains and gardens,

set off with galleries, all painted, superbly gilt, and enriched with

marble, beyond description.

The spring which affords the waters of Spa being distant no more than

three or four leagues from the city of Liege, and there being only a

village, consisting of three or four small houses, on the spot, the

Princesse de Roche-sur-Yon was advised by her physicians to stay at Liege

and have the waters brought to her, which they assured her would have

equal efficacy, if taken after sunset and before sunrise, as if drunk at

the spring. I was well pleased that she resolved to follow the advice of

the doctors, as we were more comfortably lodged and had an agreeable

society; for, besides his Grace (so the bishop is styled, as a king is

addressed his Majesty, and a prince his Highness), the news of my arrival

being spread about, many lords and ladies came from Germany to visit me.

Amongst these was the Countess d'Aremberg, who had the honour to

accompany Queen Elizabeth to Mezieres, to which place she came to marry

King Charles my brother, a lady very high in the estimation of the

Empress, the Emperor, and all the princes in Christendom. With her came

her sister the Landgravine, Madame d'Aremberg her daughter, M. d'Aremberg

her son, a gallant and accomplished nobleman, the perfect image of his

father, who brought the Spanish succours to King Charles my brother, and

returned with great honour and additional reputation. This meeting, so

honourable to me, and so much to my satisfaction, was damped by the grief

and concern occasioned by the loss of Mademoiselle de Tournon, whose

story, being of a singular nature, I shall now relate to you, agreeably

to the promise I made in my last letter.

I must begin with observing to you that Madame de Tournon, at this time

lady of my bedchamber, had several daughters, the eldest of whom married

M. de Balencon, governor, for the King of Spain, in the county of

Burgundy. This daughter, upon her marriage, had solicited her mother to

admit of her taking her sister, the young lady whose story I am now about

to relate, to live with her, as she was going to a country strange to

her, and wherein she had no relations. To this her mother consented; and

the young lady, being universally admired for her modesty and graceful

accomplishments, for which she certainly deserved admiration, attracted

the notice of the Marquis de Varenbon. The Marquis, as I before

mentioned, is the brother of M. de Balencon, and was intended for the

Church; but, being violently enamoured of Mademoiselle de Tournon (whom,

as he lived in the same house, he had frequent opportunities of seeing),

he now begged his brother's permission to marry her, not having yet taken

orders. The young lady's family, to whom he had likewise communicated

his wish, readily gave their consent, but his brother refused his,

strongly advising him to change his resolution and put on the gown.

Thus were matters situated when her mother, Madame de Tournon, a virtuous

and pious lady, thinking she had cause to be offended, ordered her

daughter to leave the house of her sister, Madame de Balencon, and come

to her. The mother, a woman of a violent spirit, not considering that

her daughter was grown up and merited a mild treatment, was continually

scolding the poor young lady, so that she was for ever with tears in her

eyes. Still, there was nothing to blame in the young girl's conduct, but

such was the severity of the mother's disposition. The daughter, as you

may well suppose, wished to be from under the mother's tyrannical

government, and was accordingly delighted with the thoughts of attending

me in this journey to Flanders, hoping, as it happened, that she should

meet the Marquis de Varenbon somewhere on the road, and that, as he had

now abandoned all thoughts of the Church, he would renew his proposal of

marriage, and take her from her mother.

I have before mentioned that the Marquis de Varenbon and the younger

Balencon joined us at Namur. Young Balencon, who was far from being so

agreeable as his brother, addressed himself to the young lady, but the

Marquis, during the whole time we stayed at Namur, paid not the least

attention to her, and seemed as if he had never been acquainted with her.

The resentment, grief, and disappointment occasioned by a behaviour so

slighting and unnatural was necessarily stifled in her breast, as decorum

and her sex's pride obliged her to appear as if she disregarded it; but

when, after taking leave, all of them left the boat, the anguish of her

mind, which she had hitherto suppressed, could no longer be restrained,

and, labouring for vent, it stopped her respiration, and forced from her

those lamentable outcries which I have already spoken of. Her youth

combated for eight days with this uncommon disorder, but at the

expiration of that time she died, to the great grief of her mother, as

well as myself. I say of her mother, for, though she was so rigidly

severe over this daughter, she tenderly loved her.

The funeral of this unfortunate young lady was solemnised with all proper

ceremonies, and conducted in the most honourable manner, as she was

descended from a great family, allied to the Queen my mother. When the

day of interment arrived, four of my gentlemen were appointed bearers,

one of whom was named La Boessiere. This man had entertained a secret

passion for her, which he never durst declare on account of the

inferiority of his family and station. He was now destined to bear the

remains of her, dead, for whom he had long been dying, and was now as

near dying for her loss as he had before been for her love. The

melancholy procession was marching slowly, along, when it was met by the

Marquis de Varenbon, who had been the sole occasion of it. We had not

left Namur long when the Marquis reflected upon his cruel behaviour

towards this unhappy young lady; and his passion (wonderful to relate)

being revived by the absence of her who inspired it, though scarcely

alive while she was present, he had resolved to come and ask her of her

mother in marriage. He made no doubt, perhaps, of success, as he seldom

failed in enterprises of love; witness the great lady he has since

obtained for a wife, in opposition to the will of her family. He might,

besides, have flattered himself that he should easily have gained a

pardon from her by whom he was beloved, according to the Italian proverb,

"Che la forza d'amore non riguarda al delitto" (Lovers are not criminal

in the estimation of one another). Accordingly, the Marquis solicited

Don John to be despatched to me on some errand, and arrived, as I said

before, at the very instant the corpse of this ill-fated young lady was

being borne to the grave. He was stopped by the crowd occasioned by this

solemn procession. He contemplates it for some time. He observes a long

train of persons in mourning, and remarks the coffin to be covered with a

white pall, and that there are chaplets of flowers laid upon the coffin.

He inquires whose funeral it is. The answer he receives is, that it is

the funeral of a young lady. Unfortunately for him, this reply fails to

satisfy his curiosity. He makes up to one who led the procession, and

eagerly asks the name of the young lady they are proceeding to bury.

When, oh, fatal answer! Love, willing to avenge the victim of his

ingratitude and neglect, suggests a reply which had nearly deprived him

of life. He no sooner hears the name of Mademoiselle de Tournon

pronounced than he falls from his horse in a swoon. He is taken up for

dead, and conveyed to the nearest house, where he lies for a time

insensible; his soul, no doubt, leaving his body to obtain pardon from

her whom he had hastened to a premature grave, to return to taste the

bitterness of death a second time.

Having performed the last offices to the remains of this poor young lady,

I was unwilling to discompose the gaiety of the society assembled here on

my account by any show of grief. Accordingly, I joined the Bishop, or,

as he is called, his Grace, and his canons, in their entertainments at

different houses, and in gardens, of which the city and its neighbourhood

afforded a variety. I was every morning attended by a numerous company

to the garden, in which I drank the waters, the exercise of walking being

recommended to be used with them. As the physician who advised me to

take them was my own brother, they did not fail of their effect with me;

and for these six or seven years which are gone over my head since I

drank them, I have been free from any complaint of erysipelas on my arm.

From this garden we usually proceeded to the place where we were invited

to dinner. After dinner we were amused with a ball; from the ball we

went to some convent, where we heard vespers; from vespers to supper, and

that over, we had another ball, or music on the river.

LETTER XVI.

Queen Marguerite, on Her Return from Liege, Is in Danger of Being Made a

Prisoner.--She Arrives, after Some Narrow Escapes, at La Fere.

In this manner we passed the six weeks, which is the usual time for

taking these waters, at the expiration of which the Princesse de

Roche-sur-Yon was desirous to return to France; but Madame d'Aurec, who

just then returned to us from Namur, on her way to rejoin her husband in

Lorraine, brought us news of an extraordinary change of affairs in that

town and province since we had passed through it.

It appeared from this lady's account that, on the very day we left Namur,

Don John, after quitting the boat, mounted his horse under pretence of

taking the diversion of hunting, and, as he passed the gate of the castle

of Namur, expressed a desire of seeing it; that, having entered, he took

possession of it, notwithstanding he held it for the States, agreeably to

a convention. Don John, moreover, arrested the persons of the Duc

d'Arscot and M. d'Aurec, and also made Madame d'Aurec a prisoner. After

some remonstrances and entreaties, he had set her husband and

brother-in-law at liberty, but detained her as a hostage for them. In

consequence of these measures, the whole country was in arms. The

province of Namur was divided into three parties: the first whereof was

that of the States, or the Catholic party of Flanders; the second that of

the Prince of Orange and the Huguenots; the third, the Spanish party, of

which Don John was the head.

By letters which I received just at this time from my brother, through

the hands of a gentleman named Lescar, I found I was in great danger of

falling into the hands of one or other of these parties.

These letters informed me that, since my departure from Court, God had

dealt favourably with my brother, and enabled him to acquit himself of

the command of the army confided to him, greatly to the benefit of the

King's service; so that he had taken all the towns and driven the

Huguenots out of the provinces, agreeably to the design for which the

army was raised; that he had returned to the Court at Poitiers, where the

King stayed during the siege of Brouage, to be near to M. de Mayenne, in

order to afford him whatever succours he stood in need of; that, as the

Court is a Proteus, forever putting on a new face, he had found it

entirely changed, so that he had been no more considered than if he had

done the King no service whatever; and that Bussi, who had been so

graciously looked upon before and during this last war, had done great

personal service, and had lost a brother at the storming of Issoire, was

very coolly received, and even as maliciously persecuted as in the time

of Le Guast; in consequence of which either he or Bussi experienced some

indignity or other. He further mentioned that the King's favourites had

been practising with his most faithful servants, Maugiron, La Valette,

Mauldon, and Hivarrot, and several other good and trusty men, to desert

him, and enter into the King's service; and, lastly, that the King had

repented of giving me leave to go to Flanders, and that, to counteract my

brother, a plan was laid to intercept me on my return, either by the

Spaniards, for which purpose they had been told that I had treated for

delivering up the country to him, or by the Huguenots, in revenge of the

war my brother had carried on against them, after having formerly

assisted them.

This intelligence required to be well considered, as there seemed to be

an utter impossibility of avoiding both parties. I had, however, the

pleasure to think that two of the principal persons of my company stood

well with either one or another party. The Cardinal de Lenoncourt had

been thought to favour the Huguenot party, and M. Descarts, brother to

the Bishop of Lisieux, was supposed to have the Spanish interest at

heart. I communicated our difficult situation to the Princesse de

Roche-sur-Yon and Madame de Tournon, who, considering that we could not

reach La Fere in less than five or six days, answered me, with tears in

their eyes, that God only had it in his power to preserve us, that I

should recommend myself to his protection, and then follow such measures

as should seem advisable. They observed that, as one of them was in a

weak state of health, and the other advanced in years, I might affect to

make short journeys on their account, and they would put up with every

inconvenience to extricate me from the danger I was in.

I next consulted with the Bishop of Liege, who most certainly acted

towards me like a father, and gave directions to the grand master of his

household to attend me with his horses as far as I should think proper.

As it was necessary that we should have a passport from the Prince of

Orange, I sent Mondoucet to him to obtain one, as he was acquainted with

the Prince and was known to favour his religion. Mondoucet did not

return, and I believe I might have waited for him until this time to no

purpose. I was advised by the Cardinal de Lenoncourt and my first

esquire, the Chevalier Salviati, who were of the same party, not to stir

without a passport; but, as I suspected a plan was laid to entrap me, I

resolved to set out the next morning.

They now saw that this pretence was insufficient to detain me;

accordingly, the Chevalier Salviati prevailed with my treasurer, who was

secretly a Huguenot, to declare he had not money enough in his hands to

discharge the expenses we had incurred at Liege, and that, in

consequence, my horses were detained. I afterwards discovered that this

was false, for, on my arrival at La Fere, I called for his accounts, and

found he had then a balance in his hands which would have enabled him to

pay, the expenses of my family for six or seven weeks. The Princesse de

Roche-sur-Yon, incensed at the affront put upon me, and seeing the danger

I incurred by staying, advanced the money that was required, to their

great confusion; and I took my leave of his Grace the Bishop, presenting

him with a diamond worth three thousand crowns, and giving his domestics

gold chains and rings. Having thus taken our leave, we proceeded to Huy,

without any other passport than God's good providence.

This town, as I observed before, belongs to the Bishop of Liege, but was

now in a state of tumult and confusion, on account of the general revolt

of the Low Countries, the townsmen taking part with the Netherlanders,

notwithstanding the bishopric was a neutral State. On this account they

paid no respect to the grand master of the Bishop's household, who

accompanied us, but, knowing Don John had taken the castle of Namur in

order, as they supposed, to intercept me on my return, these brutal

people, as soon as I had got into my quarters, rang the alarm-bell, drew

up their artillery, placed chains across the streets, and kept us thus

confined and separated the whole night, giving us no opportunity to

expostulate with them on such conduct. In the morning we were suffered

to leave the town without further molestation, and the streets we passed

through were lined with armed men.

From there we proceeded to Dinant, where we intended to sleep; but,

unfortunately for us, the townspeople had on that day chosen their

burghermasters, a kind of officers like the consuls in Gascony and

France. In consequence of this election, it was a day of tumult, riot,

and debauchery; every one in the town was drunk, no magistrate was

acknowledged. In a word, all was in confusion. To render our situation

still worse, the grand master of the Bishop's household had formerly done

the town some ill office, and was considered as its enemy. The people of

the town, when in their sober senses, were inclined to favour the party

of the States, but under the influence of Bacchus they paid no regard to

any party, not even to themselves.

As soon as I had reached the suburbs, they were alarmed at the number of

my company, quitted the bottle and glass to take up their arms, and

immediately shut the gates against me. I had sent a gentleman before me,

with my harbinger and quartermasters, to beg the magistrates to admit me

to stay one night in the town, but I found my officers had been put under

an arrest. They bawled out to us from within, to tell us their

situation, but could not make themselves heard. At length I raised

myself up in my litter, and, taking off my mask, made a sign to a

townsman nearest me, of the best appearance, that I was desirous to speak

with him. As soon as he drew near me, I begged him to call out for

silence, which being with some difficulty obtained, I represented to him

who I was, and the occasion of my journey; that it was far from my

intention to do them harm; but, to prevent any suspicions of the kind, I

only begged to be admitted to go into their city with my women, and as

few others of my attendants as they thought proper, and that we might be

permitted to stay there for one night, whilst the rest of my company

remained within the suburbs.

They agreed to this proposal, and opened their gates for my admission. I

then entered the city with the principal persons of my company, and the

grand master of the Bishop's household. This reverend personage, who was

eighty years of age, and wore a beard as white as snow, which reached

down to his girdle, this venerable old man, I say, was no sooner

recognised by the drunken and armed rabble than he was accosted with the

grossest abuse, and it was with difficulty they were restrained from

laying violent hands upon him. At length I got him into my lodgings, but

the mob fired at the house, the walls of which were only of plaster. Upon

being thus attacked, I inquired for the master of the house, who,

fortunately, was within. I entreated him to speak from the window, to

some one without, to obtain permission for my being heard. I had some

difficulty to get him to venture doing so. At length, after much bawling

from the window, the burghermasters came to speak to me, but were so

drunk that they scarcely knew what they said. I explained to them that I

was entirely ignorant that the grand master of the Bishop's household was

a person to whom they had a dislike, and I begged them to consider the

consequences of giving offence to a person like me, who was a friend of

the principal lords of the States, and I assured them that the Comte de

Lalain, in particular, would be greatly displeased when he should hear

how I had been received there.

The name of the Comte de Lalain produced an instant effect, much more

than if I had mentioned all the sovereign princes I was related to. The

principal person amongst them asked me, with some hesitation and

stammering, if I was really a particular friend of the Count's.

Perceiving that to claim kindred with the Count would do me more service

than being related to all the Powers in Christendom, I answered that I

was both a friend and a relation. They then made me many apologies and

conges, stretching forth their hands in token of friendship; in short,

they now behaved with as much civility as before with rudeness.

They begged my pardon for what had happened, and promised that the good

old man, the grand master of the Bishop's household, should be no more

insulted, but be suffered to leave the city quietly, the next morning,

with me.

As soon as morning came, and while I was preparing to go to hear mass,

there arrived the King's agent to Don John, named Du Bois, a man much

attached to the Spanish interest. He informed me that he had received

orders from the King my brother to conduct me in safety on my return. He

said that he had prevailed on Don John to permit Barlemont to escort me

to Namur with a troop of cavalry, and begged me to obtain leave of the

citizens to admit Barlemont and his troop to enter the town that; they

might receive my orders.

Thus had they concerted a double plot; the one to get possession of the

town, the other of my person. I saw through the whole design, and

consulted with the Cardinal de Lenoncourt, communicating to him my

suspicions. The Cardinal was as unwilling to fall into the hands of the

Spaniards as I could be; he therefore thought it advisable to acquaint

the townspeople with the plot, and make our escape from the city by

another road, in order to avoid meeting Barlemont's troop. It was agreed

betwixt us that the Cardinal should keep Du Bois in discourse, whilst I

consulted the principal citizens in another apartment.

Accordingly, I assembled as many as I could, to whom I represented that

if they admitted Barlemont and his troop within the town, he would most

certainly take possession of it for Don John. I gave it as my advice to

make a show of defence, to declare they would not be taken by surprise,

and to offer to admit Barlemont, and no one else, within their gates.

They resolved to act according to my counsel, and offered to serve me at

the hazard of their lives. They promised to procure me a guide, who

should conduct me by a road by following which I should put the river

betwixt me and Don John's forces, whereby I should be out of his reach,

and could be lodged in houses and towns which were in the interest of the

States only.

This point being settled, I despatched them to give admission to M. de

Barlemont, who, as soon as he entered within the gates, begged hard that

his troop might come in likewise. Hereupon, the citizens flew into a

violent rage, and were near putting him to death. They told him that if

he did not order his men out of sight of the town, they would fire upon

them with their great guns. This was done with design to give me time to

leave the town before they could follow in pursuit of me. M. de

Barlemont and the agent, Du Bois, used every argument they could devise

to persuade me to go to Namur, where they said Don John waited to receive

me.

I appeared to give way to their persuasions, and, after hearing mass and

taking a hasty dinner, I left my lodgings, escorted by two or three

hundred armed citizens, some of them engaging Barlemont and Du Bois in

conversation. We all took the way to the gate which opens to the river,

and directly opposite to that leading to Namur. Du Bois and his

colleague told me I was not going the right way, but I continued talking,

and as if I did not hear them. But when we reached the gate I hastened

into the boat, and my people after me. M. de Barlemont and the agent Du

Bois, calling out to me from the bank, told me I was doing very wrong and

acting directly contrary to the King's intention, who had directed that I

should return by way of Namur.

In spite of all their remonstrances we crossed the river with all

possible expedition, and, during the two or three crossings which were

necessary to convey over the litters and horses, the citizens, to give me

the more time to escape, were debating with Barlemont and Du Bois

concerning a number of grievances and complaints, telling them, in their

coarse language, that Don John had broken the peace and falsified his

engagements with the States; and they even rehearsed the old quarrel of

the death of Egmont, and, lastly, declared that if the troop made its

appearance before their walls again, they would fire upon it with their

artillery.

I had by this means sufficient time to reach a secure distance, and was,

by the help of God and the assistance of my guide, out of all

apprehensions of danger from Barlemont and his troop.

I intended to lodge that night in a strong castle, called Fleurines,

which belonged to a gentleman of the party of the States, whom I had seen

with the Comte de Lalain. Unfortunately for me, the gentleman was

absent, and his lady only was in the castle. The courtyard being open,

we entered it, which put the lady into such a fright that she ordered the

bridge to be drawn up, and fled to the strong tower.--[In the old French

original, 'dongeon', whence we have 'duugeon'.]--Nothing we could say

would induce her to give us entrance. In the meantime, three hundred

gentlemen, whom Don John had sent off to intercept our passage, and take

possession of the castle of Fleurines; judging that I should take up my

quarters there, made their appearance upon an eminence, at the distance

of about a thousand yards. They, seeing our carriages in the courtyard,

and supposing that we ourselves had taken to the strong tower, resolved

to stay where they were that night, hoping to intercept me the next

morning.

In this cruel situation were we placed, in a courtyard surrounded by a

wall by no means strong, and shut up by a gate equally as weak and as

capable of being forced, remonstrating from time to time with the lady,

who was deaf to all our prayers and entreaties.

Through God's mercy, her husband, M. de Fleurines, himself appeared just

as night approached. We then gained instant admission, and the lady was

greatly reprimanded by her husband for her incivility and indiscreet

behaviour. This gentleman had been sent by the Comte de Lalain, with

directions to conduct me through the several towns belonging to the

States, the Count himself not being able to leave the army of the States,

of which he had the chief command, to accompany me.

This was as favourable a circumstance for me as I could wish; for, M. de

Fleurines offering to accompany me into France, the towns we had to pass

through being of the party of the States, we were everywhere quietly and

honourably received. I had only the mortification of not being able to

visit Mons, agreeably to my promise made to the Comtesse de Lalain, not

passing nearer to it than Nivelle, seven long leagues distant from it.

The Count being at Antwerp, and the war being hottest in the

neighbourhood of Mons, I thus was prevented seeing either of them on my

return. I could only write to the Countess by a servant of the gentleman

who was now my conductor. As soon as she learned I was at Nivelle, she

sent some gentlemen, natives of the part of Flanders I was in, with a

strong injunction to see me safe on the frontier of France.

I had to pass through the Cambresis, partly in favour of Spain and partly

of the States. Accordingly, I set out with these gentlemen, to lodge at

Cateau Cambresis. There they took leave of me, in order to return to

Mons, and by them I sent the Countess a gown of mine, which had been

greatly admired by her when I wore it at Mons; it was of black satin,

curiously embroidered, and cost nine hundred crowns.

When I arrived at Cateau-Cambresis, I had intelligence sent me that a

party of the Huguenot troops had a design to attack me on the frontiers

of Flanders and France. This intelligence I communicated to a few only

of my company, and prepared to set off an hour before daybreak. When I

sent for my litters and horses, I found much such a kind of delay from

the Chevalier Salviati as I had before experienced at Liege, and

suspecting it was done designedly, I left my litter behind, and mounted

on horseback, with such of my attendants as were ready to follow me. By

this means, with God's assistance, I escaped being waylaid by my enemies,

and reached Catelet at ten in the morning. From there I went to my house

at La Fere, where I intended to reside until I learned that peace was

concluded upon.

At La Fere I found a messenger in waiting from my brother, who had orders

to return with all expedition, as soon as I arrived, and inform him of

it. My brother wrote me word, by that messenger, that peace was

concluded, and the King returned to Paris; that, as to himself, his

situation was rather worse than better; that he and his people were daily

receiving some affront or other, and continual quarrels were excited

betwixt the King's favourites and Bussi and my brother's principal

attendants. This, he added, had made him impatient for my return, that

he might come and visit me.

I sent his messenger back, and, immediately after, my brother sent Bussi

and all his household to Angers, and, taking with him fifteen or twenty

attendants, he rode post to me at La Fere. It was a great satisfaction

to me to see one whom I so tenderly loved and greatly honoured, once

more. I consider it amongst the greatest felicities I ever enjoyed, and,

accordingly, it became my chief study to make his residence here

agreeable to him. He himself seemed delighted with this change of

situation, and would willingly have continued in it longer had not the

noble generosity of his mind called him forth to great achievements. The

quiet of our Court, when compared with that he had just left, affected

him so powerfully that he could not but express the satisfaction he felt

by frequently exclaiming, "Oh, Queen! how happy I am with you. My God!

your society is a paradise wherein I enjoy every delight, and I seem to

have lately escaped from hell, with all its furies and tortures!"

LETTER XVII.

Good Effects of Queen Marguerite's Negotiations in Flanders.--She Obtains

Leave to Go to the King of Navarre Her Husband, but Her Journey Is

Delayed.--Court Intrigues and Plots.--The Duc d'Alencon Again Put under

Arrest.

We passed nearly two months together, which appeared to us only as so

many days. I gave him an account of what I had done for him in Flanders,

and the state in which I had left the business. He approved of the

interview with the Comte de Lalain's brother in order to settle the plan

of operations and exchange assurances. Accordingly, the Comte de

Montigny arrived, with four or five other leading men of the county of

Hainault. One of these was charged with a letter from M. d'Ainsi,

offering his services to my brother, and assuring him of the citadel of

Cambray. M. de Montigny delivered his brother's declaration and

engagement to give up the counties of Hainault and Artois, which included

a number of fine cities. These offers made and accepted, my brother

dismissed them with presents of gold medals, bearing his and my effigies,

and every assurance of his future favour; and they returned to prepare

everything for his coming. In the meanwhile my brother considered on the

necessary measures to be used for raising a sufficient force, for which

purpose he returned to the King, to prevail with him to assist him in

this enterprise.

As I was anxious to go to Gascony, I made ready for the journey, and set

off for Paris, my brother meeting me at the distance of one day's

journey.

At St. Denis I was met by the King, the Queen my mother, Queen Louise,

and the whole Court. It was at St. Denis that I was to stop and dine,

and there it was that I had the honour of the meeting I have just

mentioned.

I was received very graciously, and most sumptuously entertained. I was

made to recount the particulars of my triumphant journey to Liege, and

perilous return. The magnificent entertainments I had received excited

their admiration, and they rejoiced at my narrow escapes. With such

conversation I amused the Queen my mother and the rest of the company in

her coach, on our way to Paris, where, supper and the ball being ended, I

took an opportunity, when I saw the King and the Queen my mother

together, to address them.

I expressed my hopes that they would not now oppose my going to the King

my husband; that now, by the peace, the chief objection to it was

removed, and if I delayed going, in the present situation of affairs, it

might be prejudicial and discreditable to me. Both of them approved of

my request, and commended my resolution. The Queen my mother added that

she would accompany me on my journey, as it would be for the King's

service that she did so. She said the King must furnish me with the

necessary means for the journey, to which he readily assented. I thought

this a proper time to settle everything, and prevent another journey to

Court, which would be no longer pleasing after my brother left it, who

was now pressing his expedition to Flanders with all haste. I therefore

begged the Queen my mother to recollect the promise she had made my

brother and me as soon as peace was agreed upon, which was that, before

my departure for Gascony, I should have my marriage portion assigned to

me in lands. She said that she recollected it well, and the King thought

it very reasonable, and promised that it should be done. I entreated

that it might be concluded speedily, as I wished to set off, with their

permission, at the beginning of the next month. This, too, was granted

me, but granted after the mode of the Court; that is to say,

notwithstanding my constant solicitations, instead of despatch, I

experienced only delay; and thus it continued for five or six months in

negotiation.

My brother met with the like treatment, though he was continually urging

the necessity for his setting out for Flanders, and representing that his

expedition was for the glory and advantage of France,--for its glory, as

such an enterprise would, like Piedmont, prove a school of war for the

young nobility, wherein future Montlucs, Brissacs, Termes, and

Bellegardes would be bred, all of them instructed in these wars, and

afterwards, as field-marshals, of the greatest service to their country;

and it would be for the advantage of France, as it would prevent civil

wars; for Flanders would then be no longer a country wherein such

discontented spirits as aimed at novelty could assemble to brood over

their malice and hatch plots for the disturbance of their native land.

These representations, which were both reasonable and consonant with

truth, had no weight when put into the scale against the envy excited by

this advancement of my brother's fortune. Accordingly, every delay was

used to hinder him from collecting his forces together, and stop his

expedition to Flanders. Bussi and his other dependents were offered a

thousand indignities. Every stratagem was tried, by day as well as by

night, to pick quarrels with Bussi,--now by Quelus, at another time by

Grammont, with the hope that my brother would engage in them. This was

unknown to the King; but Maugiron, who had engrossed the King's favour,

and who had quitted my brother's service, sought every means to ruin him,

as it is usual for those who have given offence to hate the offended

party.

Thus did this man take every occasion to brave and insult my brother; and

relying upon the countenance and blind affection shown him by the King,

had leagued himself with Quelus, Saint-Luc, Saint-Maigrin, Grammont,

Mauleon, Hivarrot, and other young men who enjoyed the King's favour. As

those who are favourites find a number of followers at Court, these

licentious young courtiers thought they might do whatever they pleased.

Some new dispute betwixt them and Bussi was constantly starting. Bussi

had a degree of courage which knew not how to give way to any one; and my

brother, unwilling to give umbrage to the King, and foreseeing that such

proceedings would not forward his expedition, to avoid quarrels and, at

the same time, to promote his plans, resolved to despatch Bussi to his

duchy of Alencon, in order to discipline such troops as he should find

there. My brother's amiable qualities excited the jealousy of Maugiron

and the rest of his cabal about the King's person, and their dislike for

Bussi was not so much on his own account as because he was strongly

attached to my brother. The slights and disrespect shown to my brother

were remarked by every one at Court; but his prudence, and the patience

natural to his disposition, enabled him to put up with their insults, in

hopes of finishing the business of his Flemish expedition, which would

remove him to a distance from them and their machinations. This

persecution was the more mortifying and discreditable as it even extended

to his servants, whom they strove to injure by every means they could

employ. M. de la Chastre at this time had a lawsuit of considerable

consequence decided against him, because he had lately attached himself

to my brother. At the instance of Maugiron and Saint-Luc, the King was

induced to solicit the cause in favour of Madame de Senetaire, their

friend. M. de la Chastre, being greatly injured by it, complained to my

brother of the injustice done him, with all the concern such a proceeding

may be supposed to have occasioned.

About this time Saint-Luc's marriage was celebrated. My brother resolved

not to be present at it, and begged of me to join him in the same

resolution. The Queen my mother was greatly uneasy on account of the

behaviour of these young men, fearing that, if my brother did not join

them in this festivity, it might be attended with some bad consequence,

especially as the day was likely to produce scenes of revelry and

debauch; she, therefore, prevailed on the King to permit her to dine on

the wedding-day at St. Maur, and take my brother and me with her. This

was the day before Shrove Tuesday; and we returned in the evening, the

Queen my mother having well lectured my brother, and made him consent to

appear at the ball, in order not to displease the King.

But this rather served to make matters worse than better, for Maugiron

and his party began to attack him with such violent speeches as would

have offended any one of far less consequence. They said he needed not

to have given himself the trouble of dressing, for he was not missed in

the afternoon; but now, they supposed, he came at night as the most

suitable time; with other allusions to the meanness of his figure and

smallness of stature. All this was addressed to the bride, who sat near

him, but spoken out on purpose that he might hear it. My brother,

perceiving this was purposely said to provoke an answer and occasion his

giving offence to the King, removed from his seat full of resentment;

and, consulting with M. de la Chastre, he came to the resolution of

leaving the Court in a few days on a hunting party. He still thought his

absence might stay their malice, and afford him an opportunity the more

easily of settling his preparations for the Flemish expedition with the

King. He went immediately to the Queen my mother, who was present at the

ball, and was extremely sorry to learn what had happened, and imparted

her resolution, in his absence, to solicit the King to hasten his

expedition to Flanders. M. de Villequier being present, she bade him

acquaint the King with my brother's intention of taking the diversion of

hunting a few days; which she thought very proper herself, as it would

put a stop to the disputes which had arisen betwixt him and the young

men, Maugiron, Saint-Luc, Quelus, and the rest.

My brother retired to his apartment, and, considering his leave as

granted, gave orders to his domestics to prepare to set off the next

morning for St. Germain, where he should hunt the stag for a few days. He

directed the grand huntsman to be ready with the hounds, and retired to

rest, thinking to withdraw awhile from the intrigues of the Court, and

amuse himself with the sports of the field. M. de Villequier, agreeably

to the command he had received from the Queen my mother, asked for leave,

and obtained it. The King, however, staying in his closet, like

Rehoboam, with his council of five or six young men, they suggested

suspicions in his mind respecting my brother's departure from Court. In

short, they worked upon his fears and apprehensions so greatly, that he

took one of the most rash and inconsiderate steps that was ever decided

upon in our time; which was to put my brother and all his principal

servants under an arrest. This measure was executed with as much

indiscretion as it had been resolved upon. The King, under this

agitation of mind, late as it was, hastened to the Queen my mother, and

seemed as if there was a general alarm and the enemy at the gates, for he

exclaimed on seeing her: "How could you, Madame, think of asking me to

let my brother go hence? Do you not perceive how dangerous his going

will prove to my kingdom? Depend upon it that this hunting is merely a

pretence to cover some treacherous design. I am going to put him and his

people under an arrest, and have his papers examined. I am sure we shall

make some great discoveries."

At the time he said this he had with him the Sieur de Cosse, captain of

the guard, and a number of Scottish archers. The Queen my mother,

fearing, from the King's haste and trepidation, that some mischief might

happen to my brother, begged to go with him. Accordingly, undressed as

she was, wrapping herself up in a night-gown, she followed the King to my

brother's bedchamber. The King knocked at the door with great violence,

ordering it to be immediately opened, for that he was there himself. My

brother started up in his bed, awakened by the noise, and, knowing that

he had done nothing that he need fear, ordered Cange, his valet de

chambre, to open the door. The King entered in a great rage, and asked

him when he would have done plotting against him. "But I will show you,"

said he, "what it is to plot against your sovereign." Hereupon he

ordered the archers to take away all the trunks, and turn the valets de

chambre out of the room. He searched my brother's bed himself, to see if

he could find any papers concealed in it. My brother had that evening

received a letter from Madame de Sauves, which he kept in his hand,

unwilling that it should be seen. The King endeavoured to force it from

him. He refused to part with it, and earnestly entreated the King would

not insist upon seeing it. This only excited the King's anxiety the more

to have it in his possession, as he now supposed it to be the key to the

whole plot, and the very document which would at once bring conviction

home to him. At length, the King having got it into his hands, he opened

it in the presence of the Queen my mother, and they were both as much

confounded, when they read the contents, as Cato was when he obtained a

letter from Caesar, in the Senate, which the latter was unwilling to give

up; and which Cato, supposing it to contain a conspiracy against the

Republic, found to be no other than a love-letter from his own sister.

But the shame of this disappointment served only to increase the King's

anger, who, without condescending to make a reply to my brother, when

repeatedly asked what he had been accused of, gave him in charge of M. de

Cosse and his Scots, commanding them not to admit a single person to

speak with him.

It was one o'clock in the morning when my brother was made a prisoner in

the manner I have now related. He feared some fatal event might succeed

these violent proceedings, and he was under the greatest concern on my

account, supposing me to be under a like arrest. He observed M. de Cosse

to be much affected by the scene he had been witness to, even to shedding

tears. As the archers were in the room he would not venture to enter

into discourse with him, but only asked what was become of me. M. de

Cosse answered that I remained at full liberty. My brother then said it

was a great comfort to him to hear that news; "but," added he, "as I know

she loves me so entirely that she would rather be confined with me than

have her liberty whilst I was in confinement, I beg you will go to the

Queen my mother, and desire her to obtain leave for my sister to be with

me." He did so, and it was granted.

The reliance which my brother displayed upon this occasion in the

sincerity of my friendship and regard for him conferred so great an

obligation in my mind that, though I have received many particular

favours since from him, this has always held the foremost place in my

grateful remembrance.

By the time he had received permission for my being with him, daylight

made its appearance. Seeing this, my brother begged M. de Cosse to send

one of his archers to acquaint me with his situation, and beg me to come

to him.

LETTER XVIII.

The Brothers Reconciled.--Alencon Restored to His Liberty.

I was ignorant of what had happened to my brother, and when the Scottish

archer came into my bedchamber, I was still asleep. He drew the curtains

of the bed, and told me, in his broken French, that my brother wished to

see me. I stared at the man, half awake as I was, and thought it a

dream. After a short pause, and being thoroughly awakened, I asked him

if he was not a Scottish archer. He answered me in the affirmative.

"What!" cried I, "has my brother no one else to send a message by?" He

replied he had not, for all his domestics had been put under an arrest.

He then proceeded to relate, as well as he could explain himself, the

events of the preceding night, and the leave granted my brother for my

being with him during his imprisonment.

The poor fellow, observing me to be much affected by this intelligence,

drew near, and whispered me to this purport: "Do not grieve yourself

about this matter; I know a way of setting your brother at liberty, and

you may depend upon it, that I will do it; but, in that case, I must go

off with him." I assured him that he might rely upon being as amply

rewarded as he could wish for such assistance, and, huddling on my

clothes, I followed him alone to my brother's apartments. In going

thither, I had occasion to traverse the whole gallery, which was filled

with people, who, at another time, would have pressed forward to pay

their respects to me; but, now that Fortune seemed to frown upon me, they

all avoided me, or appeared as if they did not see me.

Coming into my brother's apartments, I found him not at all affected by

what had happened; for such was the constancy of his mind, that his

arrest had wrought no change, and he received me with his usual

cheerfulness. He ran to meet me, and taking me in his arms, he said,

"Queen! I beg you to dry up your tears; in my present situation, nothing

can grieve me so much as to find you under any concern; for my own part,

I am so conscious of my innocence and the integrity of my conduct, that I

can defy the utmost malice of my enemies. If I should chance to fall the

victim of their injustice, my death would prove a more cruel punishment

to them than to me, who have courage sufficient to meet it in a just

cause. It is not death I fear, because I have tasted sufficiently of the

calamities and evils of life, and am ready to leave this world, which I

have found only the abode of sorrow; but the circumstance I dread most

is, that, not finding me sufficiently guilty to doom me to death, I shall

be condemned to a long, solitary imprisonment; though I should even

despise their tyranny in that respect, could I but have the assurance of

being comforted by your presence."

These words, instead of stopping my tears, only served to make them

stream afresh. I answered, sobbing, that my life and fortune were at his

devotion; that the power of God alone could prevent me from affording him

my assistance under every extremity; that, if he should be transported

from that place, and I should be withheld from following him, I would

kill myself on the spot.

Changing our discourse, we framed a number of conjectures on what might

be the probable cause of the King's angry proceedings against him, but

found ourselves at a loss what to assign them to.

Whilst we were discussing this matter the hour came for opening the

palace gates, when a simple young man belonging to Bussi presented

himself for entrance. Being stopped by the guard and questioned as to

whither he was going, he, panic-struck, replied he was going to M. de

Bussi, his master. This answer was carried to the King, and gave fresh

grounds for suspicion. It seems my brother, supposing he should not be

able to go to Flanders for some time, and resolving to send Bussi to his

duchy of Alencon as I have already mentioned, had lodged him in the

Louvre, that he might be near him to take instructions at every

opportunity.

L'Archant, the general of the guard, had received the King's commands to

make a search in the Louvre for him and Simier, and put them both under

arrest. He entered upon this business with great unwillingness, as he

was intimate with Bussi, who was accustomed to call him "father."

L'Archant, going to Simier's apartment, arrested him; and though he

judged Bussi was there too, yet, being unwilling to find him, he was

going away. Bussi, however, who had concealed himself under the bed, as

not knowing to whom the orders for his arrest might be given, finding he

was to be left there, and sensible that he should be well treated by

L'Archant, called out to him, as he was leaving the room, in his droll

manner: "What, papa, are you going without me? Don't you think I am as

great a rogue as that Simier?"

"Ah, son," replied L'Archant, "I would much rather have lost my arm than

have met with you!"

Bussi, being a man devoid of all fear, observed that it was a sign that

things went well with him; then, turning to Simier, who stood trembling

with fear, he jeered him upon his pusillanimity. L'Archant removed them

both, and set a guard over them; and, in the next place, proceeded to

arrest M. de la Chastre, whom he took to the Bastille.

Meanwhile M. de l'Oste was appointed to the command of the guard which

was set over my brother. This was a good sort of old man, who had been

appointed governor to the King my husband, and loved me as if I had been

his own child. Sensible of the injustice done to my brother and me, and

lamenting the bad counsel by which the King was guided, and being,

moreover, willing to serve us, he resolved to deliver my, brother from

arrest. In order to make his intention known to us he ordered the

Scottish archers to wait on the stairs without, keeping only, two whom he

could trust in the room. Then taking me aside, he said:

"There is not a good Frenchman living who does not bleed at his heart to

see what we see. I have served the King your father, and I am ready to

lay down my life to serve his children. I expect to have the guard of

the Prince your brother, wherever he shall chance to be confined; and,

depend upon it, at the hazard of my life, I will restore him to his

liberty. But," added he, "that no suspicions may arise that such is my

design, it will be proper that we be not seen together in conversation;

however, you may, rely upon my word."

This afforded me great consolation; and, assuming a degree of courage

hereupon, I observed to my brother that we ought not to remain there

without knowing for what reason we were detained, as if we were in the

Inquisition; and that to treat us in such a manner was to consider us as

persons of no account. I then begged M. de l'Oste to entreat the King,

in our name, if the Queen our mother was not permitted to come to us, to

send some one to acquaint us with the crime for which we were kept in

confinement.

M. de Combaut, who was at the head of the young counsellors, was

accordingly sent to us; and he, with a great deal of gravity, informed us

that he came from the King to inquire what it was we wished to

communicate to his Majesty. We answered that we wished to speak to some

one near the King's person, in order to our being informed what we were

kept in confinement for, as we were unable to assign any reason for it

ourselves. He answered, with great solemnity, that we ought not to ask

of God or the King reasons for what they did; as all their actions

emanated from wisdom and justice. We replied that we were not persons to

be treated like those shut up in the Inquisition, who are left to guess

at the cause of their being there.

We could obtain from him, after all we said, no other satisfaction than

his promise to interest himself in our behalf, and to do us all the

service in his power. At this my brother broke out into a fit of

laughter; but I confess I was too much alarmed to treat his message with

such indifference, and could scarcely, refrain from talking to this

messenger as he deserved.

Whilst he was making his report to the King, the Queen my mother kept her

chamber, being under great concern, as may well be supposed, to witness

such proceedings. She plainly foresaw, in her prudence, that these

excesses would end fatally, should the mildness of my brother's

disposition, and his regard for the welfare of the State, be once wearied

out with submitting to such repeated acts of injustice. She therefore

sent for the senior members of the Council, the chancellor, princes,

nobles, and marshals of France, who all were greatly scandalised at the

bad counsel which had been given to the King, and told the Queen my

mother that she ought to remonstrate with the King upon the injustice of

his proceedings. They observed that what had been done could not now be

recalled, but matters might yet be set upon a right footing. The Queen

my mother hereupon went to the King, followed by these counsellors, and

represented to him the ill consequences which might proceed from the

steps he had taken.

The King's eyes were by this time opened, and he saw that he had been ill

advised. He therefore begged the Queen my mother to set things to

rights, and to prevail on my brother to forget all that had happened, and

to bear no resentment against these young men, but to make up the breach

betwixt Bussi and Quelus.

Things being thus set to rights again, the guard which had been placed

over my brother was dismissed, and the Queen my mother, coming to his

apartment, told him he ought to return thanks to God for his deliverance,

for that there had been a moment when even she herself despaired of

saving his life; that since he must now have discovered that the King's

temper of mind was such that he took the alarm at the very imagination of

danger, and that, when once he was resolved upon a measure, no advice

that she or any other could give would prevent him from putting it into

execution, she would recommend it to him to submit himself to the King's

pleasure in everything, in order to prevent the like in future; and, for

the present, to take the earliest opportunity of seeing the King, and to

appear as if he thought no more about the past.

We replied that we were both of us sensible of God's great mercy in

delivering us from the injustice of our enemies, and that, next to God,

our greatest obligation was to her; but that my brother's rank did not

admit of his being put in confinement without cause, and released from it

again without the formality of an acknowledgment. Upon this, the Queen

observed that it was not in the power even of God himself to undo what

had been done; that what could be effected to save his honour, and give

him satisfaction for the irregularity of the arrest, should have place.

My brother, therefore, she observed, ought to strive to mollify the King

by addressing him with expressions of regard to his person and attachment

to his service; and, in the meantime, use his influence over Bussi to

reconcile him to Quelus, and to end all disputes betwixt them. She then

declared that the principal motive for putting my brother and his

servants under arrest was to prevent the combat for which old Bussi, the

brave father of a brave son, had solicited the King's leave, wherein he

proposed to be his son's second, whilst the father of Quelus was to be

his. These four had agreed in this way to determine the matter in

dispute, and give the Court no further disturbance.

My brother now engaged himself to the Queen that, as Bussi would see he

could not be permitted to decide his quarrel by combat, he should, in

order to deliver himself from his arrest, do as she had commanded.

The Queen my mother, going down to the King, prevailed with him to

restore my brother to liberty with every honour. In order to which the

King came to her apartment, followed by the princes, noblemen, and other

members of the Council, and sent for us by M. de Villequier. As we went

along we found all the rooms crowded with people, who, with tears in

their eyes, blessed God for our deliverance. Coming into the apartments

of the Queen my mother, we found the King attended as I before related.

The King desired my brother not to take anything ill that had been done,

as the motive for it was his concern for the good of his kingdom, and not

any bad intention towards himself. My brother replied that he had, as he

ought, devoted his life to his service, and, therefore, was governed by

his pleasure; but that he most humbly begged him to consider that his

fidelity and attachment did not merit the return he had met with; that,

notwithstanding, he should impute it entirely to his own ill-fortune, and

should be perfectly satisfied if the King acknowledged his innocence.

Hereupon the King said that he entertained not the least doubt of his

innocence, and only desired him to believe he held the same place in his

esteem he ever had. The Queen my mother then, taking both of them by the

hand, made them embrace each other.

Afterwards the King commanded Bussi to be brought forth, to make a

reconciliation betwixt him and Quelus, giving orders, at the same time,

for the release of Simier and M. de la Chastre. Bussi coming into the

room with his usual grace, the King told him he must be reconciled with

Quelus, and forbade him to say a word more concerning their quarrel. He

then commanded them to embrace. "Sire," said Bussi, "if it is your

pleasure that we kiss and are friends again, I am ready to obey your

command;" then, putting himself in the attitude of Pantaloon, he went up

to Queus and gave him a hug, which set all present in a titter,

notwithstanding they had been seriously affected by the scene which had

passed just before.

Many persons of discretion thought what had been done was too slight a

reparation for the injuries my brother had received. When all was over,

the King and the Queen my mother, coming up to me, said it would be

incumbent on me to use my utmost endeavours to prevent my brother from

calling to mind anything past which should make him swerve from the duty

and affection he owed the King. I replied that my brother was so

prudent, and so strongly attached to the King's service, that he needed

no admonition on that head from me or any one else; and that, with

respect to myself, I had never given him any other advice than to conform

himself to the King's pleasure and the duty he owed him.

LETTER XIX.

The Duc d'Alencon Makes His Escape from Court.--Queen Marguerite's

Fidelity Put to a Severe Trial.

It was now three o'clock in the afternoon, and no one present had yet

dined. The Queen my mother was desirous that we should eat together,

and, after dinner, she ordered my brother and me to change our dress (as

the clothes we had on were suitable only to our late melancholy

situation) and come to the King's supper and ball. We complied with her

orders as far as a change of dress, but our countenances still retained

the impressions of grief and resentment which we inwardly felt.

I must inform you that when the tragi-comedy I have given you an account

of was over, the Queen my mother turned round to the Chevalier de Seurre,

whom she recommended to my brother to sleep in his bedchamber, and in

whose conversation she sometimes took delight because he was a man of

some humour, but rather inclined to be cynical.

"Well," said she, "M. de Seurre, what do you think of all this?"

"Madame, I think there is too much of it for earnest, and not enough for

jest."

Then addressing himself to me, he said, but not loud enough for the Queen

to hear him: "I do not believe all is over yet; I am very much mistaken

if this young man" (meaning my brother) "rests satisfied with this." This

day having passed in the manner before related, the wound being only

skinned over and far from healed, the young men about the King's person

set themselves to operate in order to break it out afresh.

These persons, judging of my brother by themselves, and not having

sufficient experience to know the power of duty over the minds of

personages of exalted rank and high birth, persuaded the King, still

connecting his case with their own, that it was impossible my brother

should ever forgive the affront he had received, and not seek to avenge

himself with the first opportunity. The King, forgetting the ill-judged

steps these young men had so lately induced him to take, hereupon

receives this new impression, and gives orders to the officers of the

guard to keep strict watch at the gates that his brother go not out, and

that his people be made to leave the Louvre every evening, except such of

them as usually slept in his bedchamber or wardrobe.

My brother, seeing himself thus exposed to the caprices of these

headstrong young fellows, who led the King according to their own

fancies, and fearing something worse might happen than what he had yet

experienced, at the end of three days, during which time he laboured

under apprehensions of this kind, came to a determination to leave the

Court, and never more return to it, but retire to his principality and

make preparations with all haste for his expedition to Flanders. He

communicated his design to me, and I approved of it, as I considered he

had no other view in it than providing for his own safety, and that

neither the King nor his government were likely to sustain any injury by

it.

When we consulted upon the means of its accomplishment, we could find no

other than his descending from my window, which was on the second story

and opened to the ditch, for the gates were so closely watched that it

was impossible to pass them, the face of every one going out of the

Louvre being curiously examined. He begged of me, therefore, to procure

for him a rope of sufficient strength and long enough for the purpose.

This I set about immediately, for, having the sacking of a bed that

wanted mending, I sent it out of the palace by a lad whom I could trust,

with orders to bring it back repaired, and to wrap up the proper length

of rope inside.

When all was prepared, one evening, at supper-time, I went to the Queen

my mother, who supped alone in her own apartment, it being fast-day and

the King eating no supper. My brother, who on most occasions was patient

and discreet, spurred on by the indignities he had received, and anxious

to extricate himself from danger and regain his liberty, came to me as I

was rising from table, and whispered to me to make haste and come to him

in my own apartment. M. de Matignon, at that time a marshal, a sly,

cunning Norman, and one who had no love for my brother, whether he had

some knowledge of his design from some one who could not keep a secret,

or only guessed at it, observed to the Queen my mother as she left the

room (which I overheard, being near her, and circumspectly watching every

word and motion, as may well be imagined, situated as I was betwixt fear

and hope, and involved in perplexity) that my brother had undoubtedly an

intention of withdrawing himself, and would not be there the next day;

adding that he was assured of it, and she might take her measures

accordingly.

I observed that she was much disconcerted by this observation, and I had

my fears lest we should be discovered. When we came into her closet, she

drew me aside and asked if I heard what Matignon had said.

I replied: "I did not hear it, Madame, but I observe that it has given

you uneasiness."

"Yes," said she, "a great deal of uneasiness, for you know I have pledged

myself to the King that your brother shall not depart hence, and Matignon

has declared that he knows very well he will not be here to-morrow."

I now found myself under a great embarrassment; I was in danger either of

proving unfaithful to my brother, and thereby bringing his life into

jeopardy, or of being obliged to declare that to be truth which I knew to

be false, and this I would have died rather than be guilty of.

In this extremity, if I had not been aided by God, my countenance,

without speaking, would plainly have discovered what I wished to conceal.

But God, who assists those who mean well, and whose divine goodness was

discoverable in my brother's escape, enabled me to compose my looks and

suggested to me such a reply as gave her to understand no more than I

wished her to know, and cleared my conscience from making any declaration

contrary to the truth. I answered her in these words:

"You cannot, Madame, but be sensible that M. de Matignon is not one of my

brother's friends, and that he is, besides, a busy, meddling kind of man,

who is sorry to find a reconciliation has taken place with us; and, as to

my brother, I will answer for him with my life in case he goes hence, of

which, if he had any design, I should, as I am well assured, not be

ignorant, he never having yet concealed anything he meant to do from me."

All this was said by me with the assurance that, after my brother's

escape, they would not dare to do me any injury; and in case of the

worst, and when we should be discovered, I had much rather pledge my life

than hazard my soul by a false declaration, and endanger my brother's

life. Without scrutinising the import of my speech, she replied:

"Remember what you now say,--you will be bound for him on the penalty of

your life."

I smiled and answered that such was my intention. Then, wishing her a

good night, I retired to my own bedchamber, where, undressing myself in

haste and getting into bed, in order to dismiss the ladies and maids of

honour, and there then remaining only my chamber-women, my brother came

in, accompanied by Simier and Cange. Rising from my bed, we made the

cord fast, and having looked out, at the window to discover if any one

was in the ditch, with the assistance of three of my women, who slept in

my room, and the lad who had brought in the rope, we let down my brother,

who laughed and joked upon the occasion without the least apprehension,

notwithstanding the height was considerable. We next lowered Simier into

the ditch, who was in such a fright that he had scarcely strength to hold

the rope fast; and lastly descended my brother's valet de chambre, Cange.

Through God's providence my brother got off undiscovered, and going to

Ste. Genevieve, he found Bussi waiting there for him. By consent of the

abbot, a hole had been made in the city wall, through which they passed,

and horses being provided and in waiting, they mounted, and reached

Angers without the least accident.

Whilst we were lowering down Cange, who, as I mentioned before, was the

last, we observed a man rising out of the ditch, who ran towards the

lodge adjoining to the tennis-court, in the direct way leading to the

guard-house. I had no apprehensions on my own account, all my fears

being absorbed by those I entertained for my brother; and now I was

almost dead with alarm, supposing this might be a spy placed there by M.

de Matignon, and that my brother would be taken. Whilst I was in this

cruel state of anxiety, which can be judged of only by those who have

experienced a similar situation, my women took a precaution for my safety

and their own, which did not suggest itself to me. This was to burn the

rope, that it might not appear to our conviction in case the man in

question had been placed there to watch us. This rope occasioned so

great a flame in burning, that it set fire to the chimney, which, being

seen from without, alarmed the guard, who ran to us, knocking violently

at the door, calling for it to be opened.

I now concluded that my brother was stopped, and that we were both

undone. However, as, by the blessing of God and through his divine mercy

alone, I have, amidst every danger with which I have been repeatedly

surrounded, constantly preserved a presence of mind which directed what

was best to be done, and observing that the rope was not more than half

consumed, I told my women to go to the door, and speaking softly, as if I

was asleep, to ask the men what they wanted. They did so, and the

archers replied that the chimney was on fire, and they came to extinguish

it. My women answered it was of no consequence, and they could put it

out themselves, begging them not to awake me. This alarm thus passed off

quietly, and they went away; but, in two hours afterward, M. de Cosse

came for me to go to the King and the Queen, my mother, to give an

account of my brother's escape, of which they had received intelligence

by the Abbot of Ste. Genevieve.

It seems it had been concerted betwixt my brother and the abbot, in order

to prevent the latter from falling under disgrace, that, when my brother

might be supposed to have reached a sufficient distance, the abbot should

go to Court, and say that he had been put into confinement whilst the

hole was being made, and that he came to inform the King as soon as he

had released himself.

I was in bed, for it was yet night; and rising hastily, I put on my

night-clothes. One of my women was indiscreet enough to hold me round

the waist, and exclaim aloud, shedding a flood of tears, that she should

never see me more. M. de Cosse, pushing her away, said to me: "If I were

not a person thoroughly devoted to your service, this woman has said

enough to bring you into trouble. But," continued he, "fear nothing. God

be praised, by this time the Prince your brother is out of danger."

These words were very necessary, in the present state of my mind, to

fortify it against the reproaches and threats I had reason to expect from

the King. I found him sitting at the foot of the Queen my mother's bed,

in such a violent rage that I am inclined to believe I should have felt

the effects of it, had he not been restrained by the absence of my

brother and my mother's presence. They both told me that I had assured

them my brother would not leave the Court, and that I pledged myself for

his stay. I replied that it was true that he had deceived me, as he had

them; however, I was ready still to pledge my life that his departure

would not operate to the prejudice of the King's service, and that it

would appear he was only gone to his own principality to give orders and

forward his expedition to Flanders.

The King appeared to be somewhat mollified by this declaration, and now

gave me permission to return to my own apartments. Soon afterwards he

received letters from my brother, containing assurances of his

attachment, in the terms I had before expressed. This caused a cessation

of complaints, but by no means removed the King's dissatisfaction, who

made a show of affording assistance to his expedition, but was secretly

using every means to frustrate and defeat it.

LETTER XX.

Queen Marguerite Permitted to Go to the King Her Husband.--Is Accompanied

by the Queenmother.--Marguerite Insulted by Her Husband's Secretary.--She

Harbours Jealousy.--Her Attention to the King Her Husband during an

Indisposition.--Their Reconciliation.--The War Breaks Out

Afresh.--Affront Received from Marechal de Biron.

I now renewed my application for leave to go to the King my husband,

which I continued to press on every opportunity. The King, perceiving

that he could not refuse my leave any longer, was willing I should depart

satisfied. He had this further view in complying with my wishes, that by

this means he should withdraw me from my attachment to my brother. He

therefore strove to oblige me in every way he could think of, and, to

fulfil the promise made by the Queen my mother at the Peace of Sens, he

gave me an assignment of my portion in territory, with the power of

nomination to all vacant benefices and all offices; and, over and above

the customary pension to the daughters of France, he gave another out of

his privy purse.

He daily paid me a visit in my apartment, in which he took occasion to

represent to me how useful his friendship would be to me; whereas that of

my brother could be only injurious,--with arguments of the like kind.

However, all he could say was insufficient to prevail on me to swerve

from the fidelity I had vowed to observe to my brother. The King was

able to draw from me no other declaration than this: that it ever was,

and should be, my earnest wish to see my brother firmly established in

his gracious favour, which he had never appeared to me to have forfeited;

that I was well assured he would exert himself to the utmost to regain it

by every act of duty and meritorious service; that, with respect to

myself, I thought I was so much obliged to him for the great honour he

did me by repeated acts of generosity, that he might be assured, when I

was with the King my husband I should consider myself bound in duty to

obey all such commands as he should be pleased to give me; and that it

would be my whole study to maintain the King my husband in a submission

to his pleasure.

My brother was now on the point of leaving Alencon to go to Flanders; the

Queen my mother was desirous to see him before his departure. I begged

the King to permit me to take the opportunity of accompanying her to take

leave of my brother, which he granted; but, as it seemed, with great

unwillingness. When we returned from Alencon, I solicited the King to

permit me to take leave of himself, as I had everything prepared for my

journey. The Queen my mother being desirous to go to Gascony, where her

presence was necessary for the King's service, was unwilling that I

should depart without her. When we left Paris, the King accompanied us

on the way as far as his palace of Dolinville. There we stayed with him

a few days, and there we took our leave, and in a little time reached

Guienne, which belonging to, and being under the government of the King

my husband, I was everywhere received as Queen. My husband gave the

Queen my mother a meeting at Wolle, which was held by the Huguenots as a

cautionary town; and the country not being sufficiently quieted, she was

permitted to go no further.

It was the intention of the Queen my mother to make but a short stay; but

so many accidents arose from disputes betwixt the Huguenots and

Catholics, that she was under the necessity of stopping there eighteen

months. As this was very much against her inclination, she was sometimes

inclined to think there was a design to keep her, in order to have the

company of her maids of honour. For my husband had been greatly smitten

with Dayelle, and M. de Thurene was in love with La Vergne. However, I

received every mark of honour and attention from the King that I could

expect or desire. He related to me, as soon as we met, the artifices

which had been put in practice whilst he remained at Court to create a

misunderstanding betwixt him and me; all this, he said, he knew was with

a design to cause a rupture betwixt my brother and him, and thereby ruin

us all three, as there was an exceeding great jealousy entertained of the

friendship which existed betwixt us.

We remained in the disagreeable situation I have before described all the

time the Queen my mother stayed in Gascony; but, as soon as she could

reestablish peace, she, by desire of the King my husband, removed the

King's lieutenant, the Marquis de Villars, putting in his place the

Marechal de Biron. She then departed for Languedoc, and we conducted her

to Castelnaudary; where, taking our leave, we returned to Pau, in Bearn;

in which place, the Catholic religion not being tolerated, I was only

allowed to have mass celebrated in a chapel of about three or four feet

in length, and so narrow that it could scarcely hold seven or eight

persons. During the celebration of mass, the bridge of the castle was

drawn up to prevent the Catholics of the town and country from coming to

assist at it; who having been, for some years, deprived of the benefit of

following their own mode of worship, would have gladly been present.

Actuated by so holy and laudable a desire, some of the inhabitants of

Pau, on Whitsunday, found means to get into the castle before the bridge

was drawn up, and were present at the celebration of mass, not being

discovered until it was nearly over. At length the Huguenots espied

them, and ran to acquaint Le Pin, secretary to the King my, husband, who

was greatly in his favour, and who conducted the whole business relating

to the new religion. Upon receiving this intelligence, Le Pin ordered

the guard to arrest these poor people, who were severely beaten in my

presence, and afterwards locked up in prison, whence they were not

released without paying a considerable fine.

This indignity gave me great offence, as I never expected anything of the

kind. Accordingly, I complained of it to the King my husband, begging

him to give orders for the release of these poor Catholics, who did not

deserve to be punished for coming to my chapel to hear mass, a

celebration of which they had been so long deprived of the benefit. Le

Pin, with the greatest disrespect to his master, took upon him to reply,

without waiting to hear what the King had to say. He told me that I

ought not to trouble the King my husband about such matters; that what

had been done was very right and proper; that those people had justly

merited the treatment they met with, and all I could say would go for

nothing, for it must be so; and that I ought to rest satisfied with being

permitted to have mass said to me and my servants. This insolent speech

from a person of his inferior condition incensed me greatly, and I

entreated the King my husband, if I had the least share in his good

graces, to do me justice, and avenge the insult offered me by this low

man.

The King my husband, perceiving that I was offended, as I had reason to

be, with this gross indignity, ordered Le Pin to quit our presence

immediately; and, expressing his concern at his secretary's behaviour,

who, he said, was overzealous in the cause of religion, he promised that

he would make an example of him. As to the Catholic prisoners, he said

he would advise with his parliament what ought to be done for my

satisfaction.

Having said this, he went to his closet, where he found Le Pin, who, by

dint of persuasion, made him change his resolution; insomuch that,

fearing I should insist upon his dismissing his secretary, he avoided

meeting me. At last, finding that I was firmly resolved to leave him,

unless he dismissed Le Pin, he took advice of some persons, who, having

themselves a dislike to the secretary, represented that he ought not to

give me cause of displeasure for the sake of a man of his small

importance,--especially one who, like him, had given me just reason to be

offended; that, when it became known to the King my brother and the Queen

my mother, they would certainly take it ill that he had not only not

resented it, but, on the contrary, still kept him near his person.

This counsel prevailed with him, and he at length discarded his

secretary. The King, however, continued to behave to me with great

coolness, being influenced, as he afterwards confessed, by the counsel of

M. de Pibrac, who acted the part of a double dealer, telling me that I

ought not to pardon an affront offered by such a mean fellow, but insist

upon his being dismissed; whilst he persuaded the King my husband that

there was no reason for parting with a man so useful to him, for such a

trivial cause. This was done by M. de Pibrac, thinking I might be

induced, from such mortifications, to return to France, where he enjoyed

the offices of president and King's counsellor.

I now met with a fresh cause for disquietude in my present situation,

for, Dayelle being gone, the King my husband placed his affections on

Rebours. She was an artful young person, and had no regard for me;

accordingly, she did me all the ill offices in her power with him. In the

midst of these trials, I put my trust in God, and he, moved with pity by

my tears, gave permission for our leaving Pau, that "little Geneva;" and,

fortunately for me, Rebours was taken ill and stayed behind. The King my

husband no sooner lost sight of her than he forgot her; he now turned his

eyes and attention towards Fosseuse. She was much handsomer than the

other, and was at that time young, and really a very amiable person.

Pursuing the road to Montauban, we stopped at a little town called Eause,

where, in the night, the King my husband was attacked with a high fever,

accompanied with most violent pains in his head. This fever lasted for

seventeen days, during which time he had no rest night or day, but was

continually removed from one bed to another. I nursed him the whole

time, never stirring from his bedside, and never putting off my clothes.

He took notice of my extraordinary tenderness, and spoke of it to several

persons, and particularly to my cousin M-----, who, acting the part of an

affectionate relation, restored me to his favour, insomuch that I never

stood so highly in it before. This happiness I had the good fortune to

enjoy during the four or five years that I remained with him in Gascony.

Our residence, for the most part of the time I have mentioned, was at

Nerac, where our Court was so brilliant that we had no cause to regret

our absence from the Court of France. We had with us the Princesse de

Navarre, my husband's sister, since married to the Duc de Bar; there were

besides a number of ladies belonging to myself. The King my husband was

attended by a numerous body of lords and gentlemen, all as gallant

persons as I have seen in any Court; and we had only to lament that they

were Huguenots. This difference of religion, however, caused no dispute

among us; the King my husband and the Princess his sister heard a sermon,

whilst I and my servants heard mass. I had a chapel in the park for the

purpose, and, as soon as the service of both religions was over, we

joined company in a beautiful garden, ornamented with long walks shaded

with laurel and cypress trees. Sometimes we took a walk in the park on

the banks of the river, bordered by an avenue of trees three thousand

yards in length. The rest of the day was passed in innocent amusements;

and in the afternoon, or at night, we commonly had a ball.

The King was very assiduous with Fosseuse, who, being dependent on me,

kept herself within the strict bounds of honour and virtue. Had she

always done so, she had not brought upon herself a misfortune which has

proved of such fatal consequence to myself as well as to her.

But our happiness was too great to be of long continuance, and fresh

troubles broke out betwixt the King my husband and the Catholics, and

gave rise to a new war. The King my husband and the Marechal de Biron,

who was the King's lieutenant in Guienne, had a difference, which was

aggravated by the Huguenots. This breach became in a short time so wide

that all my efforts to close it were useless. They made their separate

complaints to the King. The King my husband insisted on the removal of

the Marechal de Biron, and the Marshal charged the King my husband, and

the rest of those who were of the pretended reformed religion, with

designs contrary to peace. I saw, with great concern, that affairs were

likely soon to come to an open rupture; and I had no power to prevent it.

The Marshal advised the King to come to Guienne himself, saying that in

his presence matters might be settled. The Huguenots, hearing of this

proposal, supposed the King would take possession of their towns, and,

thereupon, came to a resolution to take up arms. This was what I feared;

I was become a sharer in the King my husband's fortune, and was now to be

in opposition to the King my brother and the religion I had been bred up

in. I gave my opinion upon this war to the King my husband and his

Council, and strove to dissuade them from engaging in it. I represented

to them the hazards of carrying on a war when they were to be opposed

against so able a general as the Marechal de Biron, who would not spare

them, as other generals had done, he being their private enemy. I begged

them to consider that, if the King brought his whole force against them,

with intention to exterminate their religion, it would not be in their

power to oppose or prevent it. But they were so headstrong, and so

blinded with the hope of succeeding in the surprise of certain towns in

Languedoc and Gascony, that, though the King did me the honour, upon all

occasions, to listen to my advice, as did most of the Huguenots, yet I

could not prevail on them to follow it in the present situation of

affairs, until it was too late, and after they had found, to their cost,

that my counsel was good. The torrent was now burst forth, and there was

no possibility of stopping its course until it had spent its utmost

strength.

Before that period arrived, foreseeing the consequences, I had often

written to the King and the Queen my mother, to offer something to the

King my husband by way of accommodating matters. But they were bent

against it, and seemed to be pleased that matters had taken such a turn,

being assured by Marechal de Biron that he had it in his power to crush

the Huguenots whenever he pleased. In this crisis my advice was not

attended to, the dissensions increased, and recourse was had to arms.

The Huguenots had reckoned upon a force more considerable than they were

able to collect together, and the King my husband found himself

outnumbered by Marechal de Biron. In consequence, those of the pretended

reformed religion failed in all their plans, except their attack upon

Cahors, which they took with petards, after having lost a great number of

men, M. de Vezins, who commanded in the town, disputing their entrance

for two or three days, from street to street, and even from house to

house. The King my husband displayed great valour and conduct upon the.

occasion, and showed himself to be a gallant and brave general. Though

the Huguenots succeeded in this attempt, their loss was so great that

they gained nothing from it. Marechal de Biron kept the field, and took

every place that declared for the Huguenots, putting all that opposed him

to the sword.

From the commencement of this war, the King my husband doing me the

honour to love me, and commanding me not to leave him, I had resolved to

share his fortune, not without extreme regret, in observing that this war

was of such a nature that I could not, in conscience, wish success to

either side; for if the Huguenots got the upper hand, the religion which

I cherished as much as my life was lost, and if the Catholics prevailed,

the King my husband was undone. But, being thus attached to my husband,

by the duty I owed him, and obliged by the attentions he was pleased to

show me, I could only acquaint the King and the Queen my mother with the

situation to which I was reduced, occasioned by my advice to them not

having been attended to. I, therefore, prayed them, if they could not

extinguish the flames of war in the midst of which I was placed, at least

to give orders to Marechal de Biron to consider the town I resided in,

and three leagues round it, as neutral ground, and that I would get the

King my husband to do the same. This the King granted me for Nerac,

provided my husband was not there; but if he should enter it, the

neutrality was to cease, and so to remain as long as he continued there.

This convention was observed, on both sides, with all the exactness I

could desire. However, the King my husband was not to be prevented from

often visiting Nerac, which was the residence of his sister and me. He

was fond of the society of ladies, and, moreover, was at that time

greatly enamoured with Fosseuse, who held the place in his affections

which Rebours had lately occupied. Fosseuse did me no ill offices, so

that the King my husband and I continued to live on very good terms,

especially as he perceived me unwilling to oppose his inclinations.

Led by such inducements, he came to Nerac, once, with a body of troops,

and stayed three days, not being able to leave the agreeable company he

found there. Marechal de Biron, who wished for nothing so much as such

an opportunity, was apprised of it, and, under pretence of joining M. de

Cornusson, the seneschal of Toulouse, who was expected with a

reinforcement for his army, he began his march; but, instead of pursuing

the road, according to the orders he had issued, he suddenly ordered his

troops to file off towards Nerac, and, before nine in the morning, his

whole force was drawn up within sight of the town, and within cannon-shot

of it.

The King my husband had received intelligence, the evening before, of the

expected arrival of M. de Cornusson, and was desirous of preventing the

junction, for which purpose he resolved to attack him and the Marshal

separately. As he had been lately joined by M. de La Rochefoucauld, with

a corps of cavalry consisting of eight hundred men, formed from the

nobility of Saintonge, he found himself sufficiently strong to undertake

such a plan. He, therefore, set out before break of day to make his

attack as they crossed the river. But his intelligence did not prove to

be correct, for De Cornusson passed it the evening before. My husband,

being thus disappointed in his design, returned to Nerac, and entered at

one gate just as Marechal de Biron drew up his troops before the other.

There fell so heavy a rain at that moment that the musketry was of no

use. The King my husband, however, threw a body of his troops into a

vineyard to stop the Marshal's progress, not being able to do more on

account of the unfavourableness of the weather.

In the meantime, the Marshal continued with his troops drawn up in order

of battle, permitting only two or three of his men to advance, who

challenged a like number to break lances in honour of their mistresses.

The rest of the army kept their ground, to mask their artillery, which,

being ready to play, they opened to the right and left, and fired seven

or eight shots upon the town, one of which struck the palace. The

Marshal, having done this, marched off, despatching a trumpeter to me

with his excuse. He acquainted me that, had I been alone, he would on no

account have fired on the town; but the terms of neutrality for the town,

agreed upon by the King, were, as I well knew, in case the King my

husband should not be found in it, and, if otherwise, they were void.

Besides which, his orders were to attack the King my husband wherever he

should find him.

I must acknowledge on every other occasion the Marshal showed me the

greatest respect, and appeared to be much my friend. During the war my

letters have frequently fallen into his hands, when he as constantly

forwarded them to me unopened. And whenever my people have happened to

be taken prisoners by his army, they were always well treated as soon as

they mentioned to whom they belonged.

I answered his message by the trumpeter, saying that I well knew what he

had done was strictly agreeable to the convention made and the orders he

had received, but that a gallant officer like him would know how to do

his duty without giving his friends cause of offence; that he might have

permitted me the enjoyment of the King my husband's company in Nerac for

three days, adding, that he could not attack him, in my presence, without

attacking me; and concluding that, certainly, I was greatly offended by

his conduct, and would take the first opportunity of making my complaint

to the King my brother.

LETTER XXI.

Situation of Affairs in Flanders.--Peace Brought About by Duc d'Alencon's

Negotiation.--Marechal de Biron Apologises for Firing on Nerac.--Henri

Desperately in Love with Fosseuse.--Queen Marguerite Discovers Fosseuse

to Be Pregnant, Which She Denies.--Fosseuse in Labour. Marguerite's

Generous Behaviour to Her.--Marguerite's Return to Paris.

The war lasted some time longer, but with disadvantage to the Huguenots.

The King my husband at length became desirous to make a peace. I wrote

on the subject to the King and the Queen my mother; but so elated were

they both with Marechal de Biron's success that they would not agree to

any terms.

About the time this war broke out, Cambray, which had been delivered up

to my brother by M. d'Ainsi, according to his engagement with me, as I

have before related, was besieged by the forces of Spain. My brother

received the news of this siege at his castle of Plessis-les-Tours,

whither he had retired after his return from Flanders, where, by the

assistance of the Comte de Lalain, he had been invested with the

government of Mons, Valenciennes, and their dependencies.

My brother, being anxious to relieve Cambray, set about raising an army,

with all the expedition possible; but, finding it could not be

accomplished very speedily, he sent forward a reinforcement under the

command of M. de Balagny, to succour the place until he arrived himself

with a sufficient force to raise the siege. Whilst he was in the midst

of these preparations this Huguenot war broke out, and the men he had

raised left him to incorporate themselves with the King's army, which had

reached Gascony.

My brother was now without hope of raising the siege, and to lose Cambray

would be attended with the loss of the other countries he had just

obtained. Besides, what he should regret more, such losses would reduce

to great straits M. de Balagny and the gallant troops so nobly defending

the place.

His grief on this occasion was poignant, and, as his excellent judgment

furnished him with expedients under all his difficulties, he resolved to

endeavour to bring about a peace. Accordingly he despatched a gentleman

to the King with his advice to accede to terms, offering to undertake the

treaty himself. His design in offering himself as negotiator was to

prevent the treaty being drawn out to too great a length, as might be the

case if confided to others. It was necessary that he should speedily

relieve Cambray, for M. de Balagny, who had thrown himself into the city

as I have before mentioned, had written to him that he should be able to

defend the place for six months; but, if he received no succours within

that time, his provisions would be all expended, and he should be obliged

to give way to the clamours of the inhabitants, and surrender the town.

By God's favour, the King was induced to listen to my brother's proposal

of undertaking a negotiation for a peace. The King hoped thereby to

disappoint him in his expectations in Flanders, which he never had

approved. Accordingly he sent word back to my brother that he should

accept his proffer of negotiating a peace, and would send him for his

coadjutors, M. de Villeroy and M. de Bellievre. The commission my

brother was charged with succeeded, and, after a stay of seven months in

Gascony, he settled a peace and left us, his thoughts being employed

during the whole time on the means of relieving Cambray, which the

satisfaction he found in being with us could not altogether abate.

The peace my brother, made, as I have just mentioned, was so judiciously

framed that it gave equal satisfaction to the King and the Catholics, and

to the King my husband and the Huguenots, and obtained him the affections

of both parties. He likewise acquired from it the assistance of that

able general, Marechal de Biron, who undertook the command of the army

destined to raise the siege of Cambray. The King my husband was equally

gratified in the Marshal's removal from Gascony and having Marechal de

Matignon in his place.

Before my brother set off he was desirous to bring about a reconciliation

betwixt the King my husband and Mareohal de Biron, provided the latter

should make his apologies to me for his conduct at Nerac. My brother had

desired me to treat him with all disdain, but I used this hasty advice

with discretion, considering that my brother might one day or other

repent having given it, as he had everything to hope, in his present

situation, from the bravery of this officer.

My brother returned to France accompanied by Marechal de Biron. By his

negotiation of a peace he had acquired to himself great credit with both

parties, and secured a powerful force for the purpose of raising the

siege of Cambray. But honours and success are followed by envy. The

King beheld this accession of glory to his brother with great

dissatisfaction. He had been for seven months, while my brother and I

were together in Gascony, brooding over his malice, and produced the

strangest invention that can be imagined. He pretended to believe (what

the King my husband can easily prove to be false) that I instigated him

to go to war that I might procure for my brother the credit of making

peace. This is not at all probable when it is considered the prejudice

my brother's affairs in, Flanders sustained by the war.

But envy and malice are self-deceivers, and pretend to discover what no

one else can perceive. On this frail foundation the King raised an altar

of hatred, on which he swore never to cease till he had accomplished my

brother's ruin and mine. He had never forgiven me for the attachment I

had discovered for my brother's interest during the time he was in Poland

and since.

Fortune chose to favour the King's animosity; for, during the seven

months that my brother stayed in Gascony, he conceived a passion for

Fosseuse, who was become the doting piece of the King my husband, as I

have already mentioned, since he had quitted Rebours. This new passion

in my brother had induced the King my husband to treat me with coldness,

supposing that I countenanced my brother's addresses. I no sooner

discovered this than I remonstrated with my brother, as I knew he would

make every sacrifice for my repose. I begged him to give over his

pursuit, and not to speak to her again. I succeeded this way to defeat

the malice of my ill-fortune; but there was still behind another secret

ambush, and that of a more fatal nature; for Fosseuse, who was

passionately fond of the King my husband, but had hitherto granted no

favours inconsistent with prudence and modesty, piqued by his jealousy of

my brother, gave herself up suddenly to his will, and unfortunately

became pregnant. She no sooner made this discovery, than she altered her

conduct towards me entirely from what it was before. She now shunned my

presence as much as she had been accustomed to seek it, and whereas

before she strove to do me every good office with the King my husband,

she now endeavoured to make all the mischief she was able betwixt us. For

his part, he avoided me; he grew cold and indifferent, and since Fosseuse

ceased to conduct herself with discretion, the happy moments that we

experienced during the four or five years we were together in Gascony

were no more.

Peace being restored, and my brother departed for France, as I have

already related, the King my husband and I returned to Nerac. We were no

sooner there than Fosseuse persuaded the King my husband to make a

journey to the waters of Aigues-Caudes, in Bearn, perhaps with a design

to rid herself of her burden there. I begged the King my husband to

excuse my accompanying him, as, since the affront that I had received at

Pau, I had made a vow never to set foot in Bearn until the Catholic

religion was reestablished there. He pressed me much to go with him, and

grew angry at my persisting to refuse his request. He told me that his

little girl (for so he affected to call Fosseuse) was desirous to go

there on account of a colic, which she felt frequent returns of. I

answered that I had no objection to his taking her with him. He then

said that she could not go unless I went; that it would occasion scandal,

which might as well be avoided. He continued to press me to accompany

him, but at length I prevailed with him to consent to go without me, and

to take her with him, and, with her, two of her companions, Rebours and

Ville-Savin, together with the governess. They set out accordingly, and

I waited their return at Baviere.

I had every day news from Rebours, informing me how matters went. This

Rebours I have mentioned before to have been the object of my husband's

passion, but she was now cast off, and, consequently, was no friend to

Fosseuse, who had gained that place in his affection she had before held.

She, therefore, strove all she could to circumvent her; and, indeed, she

was fully qualified for such a purpose, as she was a cunning, deceitful

young person. She gave me to understand that Fosseuse laboured to do me

every ill office in her power; that she spoke of me with the greatest

disrespect on all occasions, and expressed her expectations of marrying

the King herself, in case she should be delivered of a son, when I was to

be divorced. She had said, further, that when the King my husband

returned to Baviere, he had resolved to go to Pau, and that I should go

with him, whether I would or not.

This intelligence was far from being agreeable to me, and I knew not what

to think of it. I trusted in the goodness of God, and I had a reliance

on the generosity of the King my husband; yet I passed the time I waited

for his return but uncomfortably, and often thought I shed more tears

than they drank water. The Catholic nobility of the neighbourhood of

Baviere used their utmost endeavours to divert my chagrin, for the month

or five weeks that the King my husband and Fosseuse stayed at

Aigues-Caudes.

On his return, a certain nobleman acquainted the King my husband with the

concern I was under lest he should go to Pau, whereupon he did not press

me on the subject, but only said he should have been glad if I had

consented to go with him. Perceiving, by my tears and the expressions I

made use of, that I should prefer even death to such a journey, he

altered his intentions and we returned to Nerac.

The pregnancy of Fosseuse was now no longer a secret. The whole Court

talked of it, and not only the Court, but all the country. I was willing

to prevent the scandal from spreading, and accordingly resolved to talk

to her on the subject. With this resolution, I took her into my closet,

and spoke to her thus: "Though you have for some time estranged yourself

from me, and, as it has been reported to me, striven to do me many ill

offices with the King my husband, yet the regard I once had for you, and

the esteem which I still entertain for those honourable persons to whose

family you belong, do not admit of my neglecting to afford you all the

assistance in my power in pour present unhappy situation. I beg you,

therefore, not to conceal the truth, it being both for your interest and

mine, under whose protection you are, to declare it. Tell me the truth,

and I will act towards you as a mother. You know that a contagious

disorder has broken out in the place, and, under pretence of avoiding it,

I will go to Mas-d'Agenois, which is a house belonging to the King my

husband, in a very retired situation. I will take you with me, and such

other persons as you shall name. Whilst we are there, the King will take

the diversion of hunting in some other part of the country, and I shall

not stir thence before your delivery. By this means we shall put a stop

to the scandalous reports which are now current, and which concern you

more than myself."

So far from showing any contrition, or returning thanks for my kindness,

she replied, with the utmost arrogance, that she would prove all those to

be liars who had reported such things of her; that, for my part, I had

ceased for a long time to show her any marks of regard, and she saw that

I was determined upon her ruin. These words she delivered in as loud a

tone as mine had been mildly expressed; and, leaving me abruptly, she

flew in a rage to the King my husband, to relate to him what I had said

to her. He was very angry upon the occasion, and declared he would make

them all liars who had laid such things to her charge. From that moment

until the hour of her delivery, which was a few months after, he never

spoke to me.

She found the pains of labour come upon her about daybreak, whilst she

was in bed in the chamber where the maids of honour slept. She sent for

my physician, and begged him to go and acquaint the King my husband that

she was taken ill. We slept in separate beds in the same chamber, and

had done so for some time.

The physician delivered the message as he was directed, which greatly

embarrassed my husband. What to do he did not know. On the one hand, he

was fearful of a discovery; on the other, he foresaw that, without proper

assistance, there was danger of losing one he so much loved. In this

dilemma, he resolved to apply to me, confess all, and implore my aid and

advice, well knowing that, notwithstanding what had passed, I should be

ready to do him a pleasure. Having come to this resolution, he withdrew

my curtains, and spoke to me thus: "My dear, I have concealed a matter

from you which I now confess. I beg you to forgive me, and to think no

more about what I have said to you on the subject. Will you oblige me so

far as to rise and go to Fosseuse, who is taken very ill? I am well

assured that, in her present situation, you will forget everything and

resent nothing. You know how dearly I love her, and I hope you will

comply with my request." I answered that I had too great a respect for

him to be offended at anything he should do, and that I would go to her

immediately, and do as much for her as if she were a child of my own. I

advised him, in the meantime, to go out and hunt, by which means he would

draw away all his people, and prevent tattling.

I removed Fosseuse, with all convenient haste, from the chamber in which

the maids of honour were, to one in a more retired part of the palace,

got a physician and some women about her, and saw that she wanted for

nothing that was proper in her situation. It pleased God that she should

bring forth a daughter, since dead. As soon as she was delivered I

ordered her to be taken back to the chamber from which she had been

brought. Notwithstanding these precautions, it was not possible to

prevent the story from circulating through the palace. When the King my

husband returned from hunting he paid her a visit, according to custom.

She begged that I might come and see her, as was usual with me when any

one of my maids of honour was taken ill. By this means she expected to

put a stop to stories to her prejudice. The King my husband came from

her into my bedchamber, and found me in bed, as I was fatigued and

required rest, after having been called up so early.

He begged me to get up and pay her a visit. I told him I went according

to his desire before, when she stood in need of assistance, but now she

wanted no help; that to visit her at this time would be only exposing her

more, and cause myself to be pointed at by all the world. He seemed to

be greatly displeased at what I said, which vexed me the more as I

thought I did not deserve such treatment after what I had done at his

request in the morning; she likewise contributed all in her power to

aggravate matters betwixt him and me.

In the meantime, the King my brother, always well informed of what is

passing in the families of the nobility of his kingdom, was not ignorant

of the transactions of our Court. He was particularly curious to learn

everything that happened with us, and knew every minute circumstance that

I have now related. Thinking this a favourable occasion to wreak his

vengeance on me for having been the means of my brother acquiring so much

reputation by the peace he had brought about, he made use of the accident

that happened in our Court to withdraw me from the King my husband, and

thereby reduce me to the state of misery he wished to plunge me in. To

this purpose he prevailed on the Queen my mother to write to me, and

express her anxious desire to see me after an absence of five or six

years. She added that a journey of this sort to Court would be

serviceable to the affairs of the King my husband as well as my own; that

the King my brother himself was desirous of seeing me, and that if I

wanted money for the journey he would send it me. The King wrote to the

same purpose, and despatched Manique, the steward of his household, with

instructions to use every persuasion with me to undertake the journey.

The length of time I had been absent in Gascony, and the unkind usage I

received on account of Fosseuse, contributed to induce me to listen to

the proposal made me.

The King and the Queen both wrote to me. I received three letters, in

quick succession; and, that I might have no pretence for staying, I had

the sum of fifteen hundred crowns paid me to defray the expenses of my

journey. The Queen my mother wrote that she would give me the meeting in

Saintonge, and that, if the King my husband would accompany me so far,

she would treat with him there, and give him every satisfaction with

respect to the King. But the King and she were desirous to have him at

their Court, as he had been before with my brother; and the Marechal de

Matignon had pressed the matter with the King, that he might have no one

to interfere with him in Gascony. I had had too long experience of what

was to be expected at their Court to hope much from all the fine promises

that were made to me. I had resolved, however, to avail myself of the

opportunity of an absence of a few months, thinking it might prove the

means of setting matters to rights. Besides which, I thought that, as I

should take Fosseuse with me, it was possible that the King's passion for

her might cool when she was no longer in his sight, or he might attach

himself to some other that was less inclined to do me mischief.

It was with some difficulty that the King my husband would consent to a

removal, so unwilling was he to leave his Fosseuse. He paid more

attention to me, in hopes that I should refuse to set out on this journey

to France; but, as I had given my word in my letters to the King and the

Queen my mother that I would go, and as I had even received money for the

purpose, I could not do otherwise.

And herein my ill-fortune prevailed over the reluctance I had to leave

the King my husband, after the instances of renewed love and regard which

he had begun to show me.

HISTORY OF THE HOUSE OF VALOIS.

[Author unknown]

CHARLES, COMTE DE VALOIS, was the younger brother of Philip the Fair, and

therefore uncle of the three sovereigns lately dead. His eldest son

Philip had been appointed guardian to the Queen of Charles IV.; and when

it appeared that she had given birth to a daughter, and not a son, the

barons, joining with the notables of Paris and the, good towns, met to

decide who was by right the heir to the throne, "for the twelve peers of

France said and say that the Crown of France is of such noble estate that

by no succession can it come to a woman nor to a woman's son," as

Froissart tells us. This being their view, the baby daughter of Charles

IV. was at once set aside; and the claim of Edward III. of England, if,

indeed, he ever made it, rested on Isabella of France, his mother, sister

of the three sovereigns. And if succession through a female had been

possible, then the daughters of those three kings had rights to be

reserved. It was, however, clear that the throne must go to a man, and

the crown was given to Philip of Valois, founder of a new house of

sovereigns.

The new monarch was a very formidable person. He had been a great feudal

lord, hot and vehement, after feudal fashion; but he was now to show that

he could be a severe master, a terrible king. He began his reign by

subduing the revolted Flemings on behalf of his cousin Louis of Flanders,

and having replaced him in his dignities, returned to Paris and there

held high state as King. And he clearly was a great sovereign; the

weakness of the late King had not seriously injured France; the new King

was the elect of the great lords, and they believed that his would be a

new feudal monarchy; they were in the glow of their revenge over the

Flemings for the days of Courtrai; his cousins reigned in Hungary and

Naples, his sisters were married to the greatest of the lords; the Queen

of Navarre was his cousin; even the youthful King of England did him

homage for Guienne and Ponthieu. The barons soon found out their

mistake. Philip VI., supported by the lawyers, struck them whenever he

gave them opening; he also dealt harshly with the traders, hampering them

and all but ruining them, till the country was alarmed and discontented.

On the other hand, young Edward of England had succeeded to a troubled

inheritance, and at the beginning was far weaker than his rival; his own

sagacity, and the advance of constitutional rights in England, soon

enabled him to repair the breaches in his kingdom, and to gather fresh

strength from the prosperity and good-will of a united people. While

France followed a more restricted policy, England threw open her ports to

all comers; trade grew in London as it waned in Paris; by his marriage

with Philippa of Hainault, Edward secured a noble queen, and with her the

happiness of his subjects and the all-important friendship of the Low

Countries. In 1336 the followers of Philip VI. persuaded Louis of

Flanders to arrest the English merchants then in Flanders; whereupon

Edward retaliated by stopping the export of wool, and Jacquemart van

Arteveldt of Ghent, then at the beginning of his power, persuaded the

Flemish cities to throw off all allegiance to their French-loving Count,

and to place themselves under the protection of Edward. In return Philip

VI. put himself in communication with the Scots, the hereditary foes of

England, and the great wars which were destined to last 116 years, and to

exhaust the strength of two strong nations, were now about to begin. They

brought brilliant and barren triumphs to England, and, like most wars,

were a wasteful and terrible mistake, which, if crowned with ultimate

success, might, by removing the centre of the kingdom into France, have

marred the future welfare of England, for the happy constitutional

development of the country could never have taken place with a sovereign

living at Paris, and French interests becoming ever more powerful.

Fortunately, therefore, while the war evoked by its brilliant successes

the national pride of Englishmen, by its eventual failure it was

prevented from inflicting permanent damage on England.

The war began in 1337 and ended in 1453; the epochs in it are the Treaty

of Bretigny in 1360, the Treaty of Troyes in 1422, the final expulsion of

the English in 1453.

The French King seems to have believed himself equal to the burdens of a

great war, and able to carry out the most far-reaching plans. The Pope

was entirely in his hands, and useful as a humble instrument to curb and

harass the Emperor. Philip had proved himself master of the Flemish,

and, with help of the King of Scotland, hoped so to embarrass Edward III.

as to have no difficulty in eventually driving him to cede all his French

possessions. While he thought it his interest to wear out his antagonist

without any open fighting, it was Edward's interest to make vigorous and

striking war. France therefore stood on the defensive; England was

always the attacking party. On two sides, in Flanders and in Brittany,

France had outposts which, if well defended, might long keep the English

power away from her vitals. Unluckily for his side, Philip was harsh and

raw, and threw these advantages away. In Flanders the repressive

commercial policy of the Count, dictated from Paris, gave Edward the

opportunity, in the end of 1337, of sending the Earl of Derby, with a

strong fleet, to raise the blockade of Cadsand, and to open the Flemish

markets by a brilliant action, in which the French chivalry was found

powerless against the English yeoman-archers; and in 1338 Edward crossed

over to Antwerp to see what forward movement could be made. The other

frontier war was that of Brittany, which began a little later (1341). The

openings of the war were gloomy and wasteful, without glory. Edward did

not actually send defiance to Philip till 1339, when he proclaimed

himself King of France, and quartered the lilies of France on the royal

shield. The Flemish proved a very reed; and though the French army came

up to meet the English in the Vermando country, no fighting took place,

and the campaign of 1339 ended obscurely. Norman and Genoese ships

threatened the southern shores of England, landing at Southampton and in

the Isle of Wight unopposed. In 1340 Edward returned to Flanders; on his

way he attacked the French fleet which lay at Sluys, and utterly

destroyed it. The great victory of Sluys gave England for centuries the

mastery of the British channel. But, important as it was, it gave no

success to the land campaign. Edward wasted his strength on an

unsuccessful siege of Tournia, and, ill-supported by his Flemish allies,

could achieve nothing. The French King in this year seized on Guienne;

and from Scotland tidings came that Edinburgh castle, the strongest place

held by the English, had fallen into the hands of Douglas. Neither from

Flanders nor from Guienne could Edward hope to reach the heart of the

French power; a third inlet now presented itself in Brittany. On the

death of John III. of Brittany, in 1341, Jean de Montfort, his youngest

brother, claimed the great fief, against his niece Jeanne, daughter of

his elder brother Guy, Comte de Penthievre. He urged that the Salic law,

which had been recognised in the case of the crown, should also apply to

this great duchy, so nearly an independent sovereignty. Jeanne had been

married to Charles de Blois, whom John III. of Brittany had chosen as his

heir; Charles was also nephew of King Philip, who gladly espoused his

cause. Thereon Jean de Montfort appealed to Edward, and the two Kings

met in border strife in Brittany. The Bretons sided with John against

the influence of France. Both the claimants were made prisoners; the

ladies carried on a chivalric warfare, Jeanne de Montfort against Jeanne

de Blois, and all went favourably with the French party till Philip, with

a barbarity as foolish as it was scandalous, tempted the chief Breton

lords to Paris and beheaded them without trial. The war, suspended by a

truce, broke out again, and the English raised large forces and supplies,

meaning to attack on three sides at once,--from Flanders, Brittany, and

Guienne. The Flemish expedition came to nothing; for the people of Ghent

in 1345 murdered Jacques van Arteveldt as he was endeavouring to persuade

them to receive the Prince of Wales as their count, and Edward, on

learning this adverse news, returned to England. Thence, in July, 1346,

he sailed for Normandy, and, landing at La Hogue, overran with ease the

country up to Paris. He was not, however, strong enough to attack the

capital, for Philip lay with a large army watching him at St. Denis.

After a short hesitation Edward crossed the Seine at Poissy, and struck

northwards, closely followed by Philip. He got across the Somme safely,

and at Crecy in Ponthieu stood at bay to await the French. Though his

numbers were far less than theirs, he had a good position, and his men

were of good stuff; and when it came to battle, the defeat of the French

was crushing. Philip had to fall back with his shattered army; Edward

withdrew unmolested to Calais, which he took after a long siege in 1347.

Philip had been obliged to call up his son John from the south, where he

was observing the English under the Earl of Derby; thereupon the English

overran all the south, taking Poitiers and finding no opposition. Queen

Philippa of Hainault had also defeated and taken David of Scotland at

Neville's Cross.

The campaign of 1346-1347 was on all hands disastrous to King Philip. He

sued for and obtained a truce for ten months. These were the days of the

"black death," which raged in France from 1347 to 1349, and completed the

gloom of the country, vexed by an arbitrary and grasping monarch, by

unsuccessful war, and now by the black cloud of pestilence. In 1350 King

Philip died, leaving his crown to John of Normandy. He had added two

districts and a title to France: he bought Montpellier from James of

Aragon, and in 1349 also bought the territories of Humbert, Dauphin of

Vienne, who resigned the world under influence of the revived religion of

the time, a consequence of the plague, and became a Carmelite friar. The

fief and the title of Dauphin were granted to Charles, the King's

grandson, who was the first person who attached that title to the heir to

the French throne. Apart from these small advantages, the kingdom of

France had suffered terribly from the reign of the false and heartless

Philip VI. Nor was France destined to enjoy better things under John

"the Good," one of the worst sovereigns with whom she has been cursed. He

took as his model and example the chivalric John of Bohemia, who had been

one of the most extravagant and worthless of the princes of his time, and

had perished in his old age at Crecy. The first act of the new King was

to take from his kinsman, Charles "the Bad" of Navarre, Champagne and

other lands; and Charles went over to the English King. King John was

keen to fight; the States General gave him the means for carrying on war,

by establishing the odious "gabelle" on salt, and other imposts. John

hoped with his new army to drive the English completely out of the

country. Petty war began again on all the frontiers,--an abortive attack

on Calais, a guerilla warfare in Brittany, slight fighting also in

Guienne. Edward in 1335 landed at Calais, but was recalled to pacify

Scotland; Charles of Navarre and the Duke of Lancaster were on the Breton

border; the Black Prince sailed for Bordeaux. In 1356 he rode northward

with a small army to the Loire, and King John, hastily summoning all his

nobles and fief-holders, set out to meet him. Hereon the Black Prince,

whose forces were weak, began to retreat; but the French King outmarched

and intercepted him near Poitiers. He had the English completely in his

power, and with a little patience could have starved them into

submission; instead, he deemed it his chivalric duty to avenge Crecy in

arms, and the great battle of Poitiers was the result (19th September,

1356). The carnage and utter ruin of the French feudal army was quite

incredible; the dead seemed more than the whole army of the Black Prince;

the prisoners were too many to be held. The French army, bereft of

leaders, melted away, and the Black Prince rode triumphantly back to

Bordeaux with the captive King John and his brave little son in his

train. A two years' truce ensued; King John was carried over to London,

where he found a fellow in misfortune in David of Scotland, who had been

for eleven years a captive in English hands. The utter degradation of

the nobles, and the misery of the country, gave to the cities of France

an opportunity which one great man, Etienne Marcel, provost of the

traders at Paris, was not slow to grasp. He fortified the capital and

armed the citizens; the civic clergy made common cause with him; and when

the Dauphin Charles convoked the three Estates at Paris, it was soon seen

that the nobles had become completely discredited and powerless. It was

a moment in which a new life might have begun for France; in vain did the

noble order clamour for war and taxes,--they to do the war, with what

skill and success all men now knew, and the others to pay the taxes.

Clergy, however, and burghers resisted. The Estates parted, leaving what

power there was still in France in the hands of Etienne Marcel. He

strove in vain to reconcile Charles the Dauphin with Charles of Navarre,

who stood forward as a champion of the towns. Very reluctantly did

Marcel entrust his fortunes to such hands. With help of Lecocq, Bishop

of Laon, he called the Estates again together, and endeavoured to lay

down sound principles of government, which Charles the Dauphin was

compelled to accept. Paris, however, stood alone, and even there all

were not agreed. Marcel and Bishop Lecocq, seeing the critical state of

things, obtained the release of Charles of Navarre, then a prisoner. The

result was that ere long the Dauphin-regent was at open war with Navarre

and with Paris. The outbreak of the miserable peasantry, the Jacquerie,

who fought partly for revenge against the nobles, partly to help Paris,

darkened the time; they were repressed with savage bloodshed, and in 1358

the Dauphin's party in Paris assassinated the only great man France had

seen for long. With Etienne Marcel's death all hope of a constitutional

life died out from France; the Dauphin entered Paris and set his foot on

the conquered liberties of his country. Paris had stood almost alone;

civic strength is wanting in France; the towns but feebly supported

Marcel; they compelled the movement to lose its popular and general

character, and to become a first attempt to govern France from Paris

alone. After some insincere negotiations, and a fear of desultory

warfare, in which Edward III. traversed France without meeting with a

single foe to fight, peace was at last agreed to, at Bretigny, in May,

1360. By this act Edward III. renounced the French throne and gave up

all he claimed or held north of the Loire, while he was secured in the

lordship of the south and west, as well as that part of Northern Picardy

which included Calais, Guines, and Ponthieu. The treaty also fixed the

ransom to be paid by King John.

France was left smaller than she had been under Philip Augustus, yet she

received this treaty with infinite thankfulness; worn out with war and

weakness, any diminution of territory seemed better to her than a

continuance of her unbearable misfortunes. Under Charles, first as

Regent, then as King, she enjoyed an uneasy rest and peace for twenty

years.

King John, after returning for a brief space to France, went back into

his pleasant captivity in England, leaving his country to be ruled by the

Regent the Dauphin. In 1364 he died, and Charles V., "the Wise," became

King in name, as he had now been for some years in fact. This cold,

prudent, sickly prince, a scholar who laid the foundations of the great

library in Paris by placing 900 MSS. in three chambers in the Louvre, had

nothing to dazzle the ordinary eye; to the timid spirits of that age he

seemed to be a malevolent wizard, and his name of "Wise" had in it more

of fear than of love. He also is notable for two things: he reformed the

current coin, and recognised the real worth of Du Guesclin, the first

great leader of mercenaries in France, a grim fighting-man, hostile to

the show of feudal warfare, and herald of a new age of contests, in which

the feudal levies would fall into the background. The invention of

gunpowder in this century, the incapacity of the great lords, the rise of

free lances and mercenary troops, all told that a new era had arrived. It

was by the hand of Du Guesclin that Charles overcame his cousin and

namesake, Charles of Navarre, and compelled him to peace. On the other

hand, in the Breton war which followed just after, he was defeated by Sir

John Chandos and the partisans of Jean de Montfort, who made him

prisoner; the Treaty of Guerande, which followed, gave them the dukedom

of Brittany; and Charles V., unable to resist, was fair to receive the

new duke's homage, and to confirm him in the duchy. The King did not

rest till he had ransomed Du Guesclin from the hands of Chandos; he then

gave him commission to raise a paid army of freebooters, the scourge of

France, and to march with them to support, against the Black Prince, the

claims of Henry of Trastamare to the Crown of Castile. Successful at

first by help of the King of Aragon, he was made Constable of Spain at

the coronation of Henry at Burgos. Edward the Black Prince, however,

intervened, and at the battle of Najara (1367) Du Guesclin was again a

prisoner in English hands, and Henry lost his throne. Fever destroyed

the victorious host, and the Black Prince, withdrawing into Gascony,

carried with him the seeds of the disorder which shortened his days. Du

Guesclin soon got his liberty again; and Charles V., seeing how much his

great rival of England was weakened, determined at last on open war. He

allied himself with Henry of Trastamare, listened to the grievances of

the Aquitanians, summoned the Black Prince to appear and answer the

complaints. In 1369, Henry defeated Pedro, took him prisoner, and

murdered him in a brawl; thus perished the hopes of the English party in

the south. About the same time Charles V. sent open defiance and

declaration of war to England. Without delay, he surprised the English

in the north, recovering all Ponthieu at once; the national pride was

aroused; Philip, Duke of Burgundy, who had, through the prudent help of

Charles, lately won as a bride the heiress of Flanders, was stationed at

Rouen, to cover the western approach to Paris, with strict orders not to

fight; the Aquitanians were more than half French at heart. The record

of the war is as the smoke of a furnace. We see the reek of burnt and

plundered towns; there were no brilliant feats of arms; the Black Prince,

gloomy and sick, abandoned the struggle, and returned to England to die;

the new governor, the Earl of Pembroke, did not even succeed in landing:

he was attacked and defeated off Rochelle by Henry of Castile, his whole

fleet, with all its treasure and stores, taken or sunk, and he himself

was a prisoner in Henry's hands. Du Guesclin had already driven the

English out of the west into Brittany; he now overran Poitou, which

received him gladly; all the south seemed to be at his feet. The attempt

of Edward III. to relieve the little that remained to him in France

failed utterly, and by 1372 Poitou was finally lost to England. Charles

set himself to reduce Brittany with considerable success; a diversion

from Calais caused plentiful misery in the open country; but, as the

French again refused to fight, it did nothing to restore the English

cause. By 1375 England held nothing in France except Calais, Cherbourg,

Bayonne, and Bordeaux. Edward III., utterly worn out with war, agreed to

a truce, through intervention of the Pope; it was signed in 1375. In

1377, on its expiring, Charles, who in two years had sedulously improved

the state of France, renewed the war. By sea and land the English were

utterly overmatched, and by 1378 Charles was master of the situation on

all hands. Now, however, he pushed his advantages too far; and the cold

skill which had overthrown the English, was used in vain against the

Bretons, whose duchy he desired to absorb. Languedoc and Flanders also

revolted against him. France was heavily burdened with taxes, and the

future was dark and threatening. In the midst of these things, death

overtook the coldly calculating monarch in September, 1380.

Little had France to hope from the boy who was now called on to fill the

throne. Charles VI. was not twelve years old, a light-wined, handsome

boy, under the guardianship of the royal Dukes his uncles, who had no

principles except that of their own interest to guide them in bringing up

the King and ruling the people. Before Charles VI. had reached years of

discretion, he was involved by the French nobles in war against the

Flemish cities, which, under guidance of the great Philip van Arteveldt,

had overthrown the authority of the Count of Flanders. The French cities

showed ominous signs of being inclined to ally themselves with the civic

movement in the north. The men of Ghent came out to meet their French

foes, and at the battle of Roosebek (1382) were utterly defeated and

crushed. Philip van Arteveldt himself was slain. It was a great triumph

of the nobles over the cities; and Paris felt it when the King returned.

All movement there and in the other northern cities of France was

ruthlessly repressed; the noble reaction also overthrew the "new men" and

the lawyers, by whose means the late King had chiefly governed. Two years

later, the royal Dukes signed a truce with England, including Ghent in

it; and Louis de Male, Count of Flanders, having perished at the same

time, Marguerite his daughter, wife of Philip of Burgundy, succeeded to

his inheritance (1384.) Thus began the high fortunes of the House of

Burgundy, which at one time seemed to overshadow Emperor and King of

France. In 1385, another of the brothers, Louis, Duc d'Anjou, died, with

all his Italian ambitions unfulfilled. In 1386, Charles VI., under

guidance of his uncles, declared war on England, and exhausted all France

in preparations; the attempt proved the sorriest failure. The regency of

the Dukes became daily more unpopular, until in 1388 Charles dismissed

his two uncles, the Dukes of Burgundy and Berri, and began to rule. For

a while all went much better; he recalled his father's friends and

advisers, lightened the burdens of the people, allowed the new ministers

free hand in making prudent government; and learning how bad had been the

state of the south under the Duc de Berri, deprived him of that command

in 1390. Men thought that the young King, if not good himself, was well

content to allow good men to govern in his name; at any, rate, the rule

of the selfish Dukes seemed to be over. Their bad influences, however,

still surrounded him; an attempt to assassinate Olivier de Clisson, the

Constable, was connected with their intrigues and those of the Duke of

Brittany; and in setting forth to punish the attempt on his favourite the

Constable, the unlucky young King, who had sapped his health by

debauchery, suddenly became mad. The Dukes of Burgundy and Berri at once

seized the reins and put aside his brother the young Duc d'Orleans. It

was the beginning of that great civil discord between Burgundy and

Orleans, the Burgundians and Armagnacs, which worked so much ill for

France in the earlier part of the next century. The rule of the uncles

was disastrous for France; no good government seemed even possible for

that unhappy land.

An obscure strife went on until 1404, when Duke Philip of Burgundy died,

leaving his vast inheritance to John the Fearless, the deadly foe of

Louis d'Orleans. Paris was with him, as with his father before him; the

Duke entered the capital in 1405, and issued a popular proclamation

against the ill-government of the Queen-regent and Orleans. Much

profession of a desire for better things was made, with small results. So

things went on until 1407, when, after the Duc de Berri, who tried to

play the part of a mediator, had brought the two Princes together, the

Duc d'Orleans was foully assassinated by a Burgundian partisan. The Duke

of Burgundy, though he at first withdrew from Paris, speedily returned,

avowed the act, and was received with plaudits by the mob. For a few

years the strife continued, obscure and bad; a great league of French

princes and nobles was made to stem the success of the Burgundians; and

it was about this time that the Armagnac name became common. Paris,

however, dominated by the "Cabochians," the butchers' party, the party of

the "marrowbones and cleavers," and entirely devoted to the Burgundians,

enabled John the Fearless to hold his own in France; the King himself

seemed favourable to the same party. In 1412 the princes were obliged to

come to terms, and the Burgundian triumph seemed complete. In 1413 the

wheel went round, and we find the Armagnacs in Paris, rudely sweeping

away all the Cabochians with their professions of good civic rule. The

Duc de Berri was made captain of Paris, and for a while all went against

the Burgundians, until, in 1414, Duke John was fain to make the first

Peace of Arras, and to confess himself worsted in the strife. The young

Dauphin Louis took the nominal lead of the national party, and ruled

supreme in Paris in great ease and self-indulgence.

The year before, Henry V. had succeeded to the throne of England,--a

bright and vigorous young man, eager to be stirring in the world, brave

and fearless, with a stern grasp of things beneath all,--a very

sheet-anchor of firmness and determined character. Almost at the very

opening of his reign, the moment he had secured his throne, he began a

negotiation with France which boded no good. He offered to marry

Catharine, the King's third daughter, and therewith to renew the old

Treaty of Bretigny, if her dower were Normandy, Maine, Anjou, not without

a good sum of money. The French Court, on the other hand, offered him

her hand with Aquitaine and the money, an offer rejected instantly; and

Henry made ready for a rough wooing in arms. In 1415 he crossed to

Harfleur, and while parties still fought in France, after a long and

exhausting siege, took the place; thence he rode northward for Calais,

feeling his army too much reduced to attempt more. The Armagnacs, who

had gathered at Rouen, also pushed fast to the north, and having choice

of passage over the Somme, Amiens being in their hands, got before King

Henry, while he had to make a long round before he could get across that

stream. Consequently, when, on his way, he reached Azincourt, he found

the whole chivalry of France arrayed against him in his path. The great

battle of Azincourt followed, with frightful ruin and carnage of the

French. With a huge crowd of prisoners the young King passed on to

Calais, and thence to England. The Armagnacs' party lay buried in the

hasty graves of Azincourt; never had there been such slaughter of nobles.

Still, for three years they made head against their foes; till in 1418

the Duke of Burgundy's friends opened Paris's gates to his soldiers, and

for the time the Armagnacs seemed to be completely defeated; only the

Dauphin Charles made feeble war from Poitiers. Henry V. with a fresh

army had already made another descent on the Normandy coast; the Dukes of

Anjou, Brittany, and Burgundy made several and independent treaties with

him; and it seemed as though France had completely fallen in pieces.

Henry took Rouen, and although the common peril had somewhat silenced the

strife of faction, no steps were taken to meet him or check his course;

on the contrary, matters were made even more hopeless by the murder of

John, Duke of Burgundy, in 1419, even as he was kneeling and offering

reconciliation at the young Dauphin's feet. The young Duke, Philip, now

drew at once towards Henry, whom his father had apparently wished with

sincerity to check; Paris, too, was weary of the Armagnac struggle, and

desired to welcome Henry of England; the Queen of France also went over

to the Anglo-Burgundian side. The end of it was that on May 21,1420, was

signed the famous Treaty of Troyes, which secured the Crown of France to

Henry, by the exclusion of the Dauphin Charles, whenever poor mad Charles

VI., should cease to live. Meanwhile, Henry was made Regent of France,

promising to maintain all rights and privileges of the Parliament and

nobles, and to crush the Dauphin with his Armagnac friends, in token

whereof he was at once wedded to Catharine of France, and set forth to

quell the opposition of the provinces. By Christmas all France north of

the Loire was in English hands. All the lands to the south of the river

remained firmly fixed in their allegiance to the Dauphin and the

Armagnacs, and these began to feel themselves to be the true French

party, as opposed to the foreign rule of the English. For barely two

years that rule was carried on by Henry V. with inflexible justice, and

Northern France saw with amazement the presence of a real king, and an

orderly government. In 1422 King Henry died; a few weeks later Charles

VI. died also, and the face of affairs began to change, although, at the

first, Charles VII. the "Well-served," the lazy, listless prince, seemed

to have little heart for the perils and efforts of his position. He was

proclaimed King at Mehun, in Berri, for the true France for the time lay

on that side of the Loire, and the Regent Bedford, who took the reins at

Paris, was a vigorous and powerful prince, who was not likely to give way

to an idle dreamer. At the outset Charles suffered two defeats, at

Crevant in 1423, and at Verneuil in 1424, and things seemed to be come to

their worst. Yet he was prudent, conciliatory, and willing to wait; and

as the English power in France--that triangle of which the base was the

sea-line from Harfleur to Calais, and the apex Paris--was unnatural and

far from being really strong; and as the relations between Bedford and

Burgundy might not always be friendly, the man who could wait had many

chances in his favour. Before long, things began to mend; Charles wedded

Marie d'Anjou, and won over that great house to the French side; more and

more was he regarded as the nation's King; symptoms of a wish for

reconciliation with Burgundy appeared; the most vehement Armagnacs were

sent away from Court. Causes of disagreement also shook the friendship

between Burgundy and England.

Feeling the evils of inaction most, Bedford in 1428 decided on a forward

movement, and sent the Earl of Salisbury to the south. He first secured

his position on the north of the Loire, then, crossing that river, laid

siege to Orleans, the key to the south, and the last bulwark of the

national party. All efforts to vex or dislodge him failed; and the

attempt early in 1429 to stop the English supplies was completely

defeated at Bouvray; from the salt fish captured, the battle has taken

the name of "the Day of the Herrings." Dunois, Bastard of Orleans, was,

wounded; the Scots, the King's body-guard, on whom fell ever the grimmest

of the fighting, suffered terribly, and their leader was killed. All

went well for Bedford till it suited the Duke of Burgundy to withdraw

from his side, carrying with him a large part of the fighting power of

the besiegers. Things were already looking rather gloomy in the English

camp, when a new and unexpected rumour struck all hearts cold with fear.

A virgin, an Amazon, had been raised up as a deliverer for France, and

would soon be on them, armed with mysterious powers.

A young peasant girl, one Jeanne d'Arc, had been brought up in the

village of Domremy, hard by the Lorraine border. The district, always

French in feeling, had lately suffered much from Burgundian raids; and

this young damsel, brooding over the treatment of her village and her

country, and filled with that strange vision-power which is no rare

phenomenon in itself with young girls, came at last to believe with warm

and active faith in heavenly appearances and messages, all urging her to

deliver France and her King. From faith to action the bridge is short;

and ere long the young dreamer of seventeen set forth to work her

miracle. Her history is quite unique in the world; and though probably

France would ere many years have shaken off the English yoke, for its

strength was rapidly going, still to her is the credit of having proved

its weakness, and of having asserted the triumphant power of a great

belief. All gave way before her; Charles VII., persuaded doubtless by

his mother-in-law, Yolande of Aragon, who warmly espoused her cause,

listened readily to the maiden's voice; and as that voice urged only what

was noble and pure, she carried conviction as she went. In the end she

received the King's commission to undertake the relief of Orleans. Her

coming was fresh blood to the defence; a new spirit seemed to be poured

out on all her followers, and in like manner a deep dejection settled

down on the English. The blockade was forced, and, in eight days the

besiegers raised the siege and marched away. They withdrew to Jargeau,

where they were attacked and routed with great loss. A little later

Talbot himself, who had marched to help them, was also defeated and

taken. Then, compelling Charles to come out from his in glorious ease,

she carried him triumphantly with her to Rheims, where he was duly

crowned King, the Maid of Orldans standing by, and holding aloft the

royal standard. She would gladly have gone home to Domremy now, her

mission being accomplished; for she was entirely free from all ambitious

or secondary aims. But she was too great a power to be spared. Northern

France was still in English hands, and till the English were cast out her

work was not complete; so they made her stay, sweet child, to do the work

which, had there been any manliness in them, they ought to have found it

easy to achieve for themselves. The dread of her went before her,--a

pillar of cloud and darkness to the English, but light and hope to her

countrymen. Men believed that she was called of God to regenerate the

world, to destroy the Saracen at last, to bring in the millennial age.

Her statue was set up in the churches, and crowds prayed before her image

as before a popular saint.

The incapacity and ill-faith of those round the King gave the English

some time to recover themselves; Bedford and Burgundy drew together

again, and steps were taken to secure Paris. When, however, Jeanne,

weary of courtly delays, marched, contemptuous of the King, as far as St.

Denis, friends sprang up on every side. In Normandy, on the English line

of communications, four strong places were surprised; and Bedford, made

timid as to his supplies, fell back to Rouen, leaving only a small

garrison in Paris. Jeanne, ill-supported by the royal troops, failed in

her attack on the city walls, and was made prisoner by the Burgundians;

they handed her over to the English, and she was, after previous

indignities, and such treatment as chivalry alone could have dealt her,

condemned as a witch, and burnt as a relapsed heretic at Rouen in 1431.

Betrayed by the French Court, sold by the Burgundians, murdered by the

English, unrescued by the people of France which she so much loved,

Jeanne d'Arc died the martyr's death, a pious, simple soul, a heroine of

the purest metal. She saved her country, for the English power never

recovered from the shock. The churchmen who burnt her, the Frenchmen of

the unpatriotic party, would have been amazed could they have foreseen

that nearly 450 years afterwards, churchmen again would glorify her name

as the saint of the Church, in opposition to both the religious liberties

and the national feelings of her country.

The war, after having greatly weakened the noblesse, and having caused

infinite sufferings to France, now drew towards a close; the Duke of

Burgundy at last agreed to abandon his English allies, and at a great

congress at Arras, in 1435, signed a treaty with Charles VII. by which

he solemnly came over to the French side. On condition that he should

get Auxerre and Macon, as well as the towns on and near the river Somme,

he was willing to recognise Charles as King of France. His price was

high, yet it was worth all that was given; for, after all, he was of the

French blood royal, and not a foreigner. The death of Bedford, which

took place about the same time, was almost a more terrible blow to the

fortunes of the English. Paris opened her gates to her King in April,

1436; the long war kept on with slight movements now and then for several

years.

The next year was marked by the meeting of the States General, and the

establishment, in principle at least, of a standing army. The Estates

petitioned the willing King that the system of finance in the realm

should be remodelled, and a permanent tax established for the support of

an army. Thus, it was thought, solidity would be given to the royal

power, and the long-standing curse of the freebooters and brigands

cleared away. No sooner was this done than the nobles began to chafe

under it; they scented in the air the coming troubles; they, took as

their head, poor innocents, the young Dauphin Louis, who was willing

enough to resist the concentration of power in royal hands. Their

champion of 1439, the leader of the "Praguerie," as this new league was

called, in imitation, it is said, of the Hussite movement at Prague, the

enthusiastic defender of noble privilege against the royal power, was the

man who afterwards, as Louis XI., was the destroyer of the noblesse on

behalf of royalty. Some of the nobles stood firmly by the King, and,

aided by them and by an army of paid soldiers serving under the new

conditions, Charles VII., no contemptible antagonist when once aroused,

attacked and overthrew the Praguerie; the cities and the country people

would have none of it; they preferred peace under a king's strong hand.

Louis was sent down to the east to govern Dauphiny; the lessons of the

civil war were not lost on Charles; he crushed the freebooters of

Champagne, drove the English out of Pontois in 1441, moved actively up

and down France, reducing anarchy, restoring order, resisting English

attacks. In the last he was loyally supported by the Dauphin, who was

glad to find a field for his restless temper. He repulsed the English at

Dieppe, and put down the Comte d'Armagnac in the south. During the two

years' truce with England which now followed, Charles VII. and Louis drew

off their free-lances eastward, and the Dauphin came into rude collision

with the Swiss not far from Basel, in 1444. Some sixteen hundred

mountaineers long and heroically withstood at St. Jacob the attack of

several thousand Frenchmen, fighting stubbornly till they all perished.

The King and Dauphin returned to Paris, having defended their

border-lands with credit, and having much reduced the numbers of the

lawless free-lances. The Dauphin, discontented again, was obliged once

more to withdraw into Dauphiny, where he governed prudently and with

activity. In 1449, the last scene of the Anglo-French war began. In that

year English adventurers landed on the Breton coast; the Duke called the

French King to his aid. Charles did not tarry this time; he broke the

truce with England; he sent Dunois into Normandy, and himself soon

followed. In both duchies, Brittany and Normandy, the French were

welcomed with delight: no love for England lingered in the west. Somerset

and Talbot failed to defend Rouen, and were driven from point to point,

till every stronghold was lost to them. Dunois then passed into Guienne,

and in a few-months Bayonne, the last stronghold of the English, fell

into his hands (1451). When Talbot was sent over to Bordeaux with five

thousand men to recover the south, the old English feeling revived, for

England was their best customer, and they had little in common with

France. It was, however, but a last flicker of the flame; in July, 1453,

at the siege of Castillon, the aged Talbot was slain and the war at once

came to an end; the south passed finally into the kingdom of France.

Normandy and Guienne were assimilated to France in taxation and army

organisation; and all that remained to England across the Channel was

Calais, with Havre and Guines Castle. Her foreign ambitions and

struggles over, England was left to consume herself in civil strife,

while France might rest and recover from the terrible sufferings she had

undergone. The state of the country had become utterly wretched.

With the end of the English wars new life began to gleam out on France;

the people grew more tranquil, finding that toil and thrift bore again

their wholesome fruits; Charles VII. did not fail in his duty, and took

his part in restoring quiet, order, and justice in the land.

The French Crown, though it had beaten back the English, was still

closely girt in with rival neighbours, the great dukes on every frontier.

All round the east and north lay the lands of Philip of Burgundy; to the

west was the Duke of Brittany, cherishing a jealous independence; the

royal Dukes, Berri, Bourbon, Anjou, are all so many potential sources of

danger and difficulty to the Crown. The conditions of the nobility are

altogether changed; the old barons have sunk into insignificance; the

struggle of the future will lie between the King's cousins and himself,

rather than with the older lords. A few non-royal princes, such as

Armagnac, or Saint-Pol, or Brittany, remain and will go down with the

others; the "new men" of the day, the bastard Dunois or the Constables Du

Guesclin and Clisson, grow to greater prominence; it is clear that the

old feudalism is giving place to a newer order, in which the aristocracy,

from the King's brothers downwards, will group themselves around the

throne, and begin the process which reaches its unhappy perfection under

Louis XIV.

Directly after the expulsion of the English, troubles began between King

Charles VII. and the Dauphin Louis; the latter could not brook a quiet

life in Dauphiny, and the King refused him that larger sphere in the

government of Normandy which he coveted. Against his father's will,

Louis married Charlotte of Savoy, daughter of his strongest neighbour in

Dauphiny; suspicion and bad feeling grew strong between father and son;

Louis was specially afraid of his father's counsellors; the King was

specially afraid of his son's craftiness and ambition. It came to an

open rupture, and Louis, in 1456, fled to the Court of Duke Philip of

Burgundy. There he lived at refuge at Geneppe, meddling a good deal in

Burgundian politics, and already opposing himself to his great rival,

Charles of Charolais, afterwards Charles the Bold, the last Duke of

Burgundy. Bickerings, under his bad influence, took place between King

and Duke; they never burst out into flame. So things went on

uncomfortably enough, till Charles VII. died in 1461 and the reign of

Louis XI. began.

Between father and son what contrast could be greater? Charles VII.,

"the Well-served," so easygoing, so open and free from guile; Louis XI.,

so shy of counsellors, so energetic and untiring, so close and guileful.

History does but apologise for Charles, and even when she fears and

dislikes Louis, she cannot forbear to wonder and admire. And yet Louis

enslaved his country, while Charles had seen it rescued from foreign

rule; Charles restored something of its prosperity, while Louis spent his

life in crushing its institutions and in destroying its elements of

independence. A great and terrible prince, Louis XI. failed in having

little or no constructive power; he was strong to throw down the older

society, he built little in its room. Most serious of all was his action

with respect to the district of the River Somme, at that time the

northern frontier of France. The towns there had been handed over to

Philip of Burgundy by the Treaty of Arras, with a stipulation that the

Crown might ransom them at any time, and this Louis succeeded in doing in

1463. The act was quite blameless and patriotic in itself, yet it was

exceedingly unwise, for it thoroughly alienated Charles the Bold, and led

to the wars of the earlier period of the reign. Lastly, as if he had not

done enough to offend the nobles, Louis in 1464 attacked their hunting

rights, touching them in their tenderest part. No wonder that this year

saw the formation of a great league against him, and the outbreak of a

dangerous civil war. The "League of the Public Weal" was nominally

headed by his own brother Charles, heir to the throne; it was joined by

Charles of Charolais, who had completely taken the command of affairs in

the Burgundian territories, his father the old duke being too feeble to

withstand him; the Dukes of Brittany, Nemours, Bourbon, John of Anjou,

Duke of Calabria, the Comte d'Armagnac, the aged Dunois, and a host of

other princes and nobles flocked in; and the King had scarcely any forces

at his back with which to withstand them. His plans for the campaign

against the league were admirable, though they were frustrated by the bad

faith of his captains, who mostly sympathised with this outbreak of the

feudal nobility. Louis himself marched southward to quell the Duc de

Bourbon and his friends, and returning from that task, only half done for

lack of time, he found that Charles of Charolais had passed by Paris,

which was faithful to the King, and was coming down southwards, intending

to join the Dukes of Berri and Brittany, who were on their way towards

the capital. The hostile armies met at Montleheri on the Orleans road;

and after a strange battle--minutely described by Commines--a battle in

which both sides ran away, and neither ventured at first to claim a

victory, the King withdrew to Corbeil, and then marched into Paris

(1465). There the armies of the league closed in on him; and after a

siege of several weeks, Louis, feeling disaffection all around him, and

doubtful how long Paris herself would bear for him the burdens of

blockade, signed the Peace of Conflans, which, to all appearances,

secured the complete victory to the noblesse, "each man carrying off his

piece." Instantly the contented princes broke up their half-starved

armies and went home, leaving Louis behind to plot and contrive against

them, a far wiser man, thanks to the lesson they had taught him. They

did not let him wait long for a chance. The Treaty of Conflans had given

the duchy of Normandy to the King's brother Charles; he speedily

quarrelled with his neighbour, the Duke of Brittany, and Louis came down

at once into Normandy, which threw itself into his arms, and the whole

work of the league was broken up. The Comte de Charolais, occupied with

revolts at Dinan and Liege, could not interfere, and presently his

father, the old Duke Philip, died (1467), leaving to him the vast

lordships of the House of Burgundy.

And now the "imperial dreamer," Charles the Bold, was brought into

immediate rivalry with that royal trickster, the "universal spider,"

Louis XI. Charles was by far the nobler spirit of the two: his vigour

and intelligence, his industry and wish to raise all around him to a

higher cultivation, his wise reforms at home, and attempts to render his

father's dissolute and careless rule into a well-ordered lordship, all

these things marked him out as the leading spirit of the time. His

territories were partly held under France, partly under the empire: the

Artois district, which also may be taken to include the Somme towns, the

county of Rhetel, the duchy of Bar, the duchy of Burgundy, with Auxerre

and Nevers, were feudally in France; the rest of his lands under the

empire. He had, therefore, interests and means of interference on either

hand; and it is clear that Charles set before himself two different lines

of policy, according as he looked one way or the other.

At the time of Duke Philip's death a new league had been formed against

Louis, embracing the King of England, Edward IV., the Dukes of Burgundy

and Brittany, and the Kings of Aragon and Castile. Louis strained every

nerve, he conciliated Paris, struck hard at disaffected partisans, and in

1468 convoked the States General at Tours. The three Estates were asked

to give an opinion as to the power of the Crown to alienate Normandy, the

step insisted upon by the Duke of Burgundy. Their reply was to the

effect that the nation forbids the Crown to dismember the realm; they

supported their opinion by liberal promises of help. Thus fortified by

the sympathy of his people, Louis began to break up the coalition. He

made terms with the Duc de Bourbon and the House of Anjou; his brother

Charles was a cipher; the King of England was paralysed by the antagonism

of Warwick; he attacked and reduced Brittany; Burgundy, the most

formidable, alone remained to be dealt with. How should he meet him?--by

war or by negotiation? His Court was divided in opinion; the King

decided for himself in favour of the way of negotiation, and came to the

astonishing conclusion that he would go and meet the Duke and win him

over to friendship. He miscalculated both his own powers of persuasion

and the force of his antagonist's temper. The interview of Peronne

followed; Charles held his visitor as a captive, and in the end compelled

him to sign a treaty, of peace, on the basis of that of Conflans, which

had closed the War of the Public Weal. And as if this were not

sufficient humiliation, Charles made the King accompany him on his

expedition to punish the men of Liege, who, trusting to the help of

Louis, had again revolted (1469). This done, he allowed the degraded

monarch to return home to Paris. An assembly of notables of Tours

speedily declared the Treaty of Perrone null, and the King made some

small frontier war on the Duke, which was ended by a truce at Amiens, in

1471. The truce was spent in preparation for a fresh struggle, which

Louis, to whom time was everything, succeeded in deferring from point to

point, till the death of his brother Charles, now Duc de Guienne, in

1472, broke up the formidable combination. Charles the Bold at once

broke truce and made war on the King, marching into northern France,

sacking towns and ravaging the country, till he reached Beauvais. There

the despair of the citizens and the bravery of the women saved the town.

Charles raised the siege and marched on Rouen, hoping to meet the Duke of

Brittany; but that Prince had his hands full, for Louis had overrun his

territories, and had reduced him to terms. The Duke of Burgundy saw that

the coalition had completely failed; he too made fresh truce with Louis

at Senlis (1472), and only, deferred, he no doubt thought, the direct

attack on his dangerous rival. Henceforth Charles the Bold turned his

attention mainly to the east, and Louis gladly saw him go forth to spend

his strength on distant ventures; saw the interview at Treves with the

Emperor Frederick III., at which the Duke's plans were foiled by the

suspicions of the Germans and the King's intrigues; saw the long siege of

the Neusz wearing out his power; bought off the hostility of Edward IV.

of England, who had undertaken to march on Paris; saw Charles embark on

his Swiss enterprise; saw the subjugation of Lorraine and capture of

Nancy (1475), the battle of Granson, the still more fatal defeat of Morat

(1476), and lastly the final struggle of Nancy, and the Duke's death on

the field (January, 1477).

While Duke Charles had thus been running on his fate, Louis XI. had

actively attacked the larger nobles of France, and had either reduced

them to submission or had destroyed them.

As Duke Charles had left no male heir, the King at once resumed the duchy

of Burgundy, as a male fief of the kingdom; he also took possession of

Franche Comte at the same time; the King's armies recovered all Picardy,

and even entered Flanders. Then Mary of Burgundy, hoping to raise up a

barrier against this dangerous neighbour, offered her hand, with all her

great territories, to young Maximilian of Austria, and married him within

six months after her father's death. To this wedding is due the rise to

real greatness of the House of Austria; it begins the era of the larger

politics of modern times.

After a little hesitation Louis determined to continue the struggle

against the Burgundian power. He secured Franche Comte, and on his

northern frontier retook Arras, that troublesome border city, the "bonny

Carlisle" of those days; and advancing to relieve Therouenne, then

besieged by Maximilian, fought and lost the battle of Guinegate (1479).

The war was languid after this; a truce followed in 1480, and a time of

quiet for France. Charles the Dauphin was engaged to marry the little

Margaret, Maximilian's daughter, and as her dower she was to bring

Franche Comte and sundry places on the border line disputed between the

two princes. In these last days Louis XI. shut himself up in gloomy

seclusion in his castle of Plessis near Tours, and there he died in 1483.

A great king and a terrible one, he has left an indellible mark on the

history of France, for he was the founder of France in its later form, as

an absolute monarchy ruled with little regard to its own true welfare. He

had crushed all resistance; he had enlarged the borders of France, till

the kingdom took nearly its modern dimensions; he had organised its army

and administration. The danger was lest in the hands of a feeble boy

these great results should be squandered away, and the old anarchy once

more raise its head.

For Charles VIII., who now succeeded, was but thirteen years old, a weak

boy whom his father had entirely neglected, the training of his son not

appearing to be an essential part of his work in life. The young Prince

had amused himself with romances, but had learnt nothing useful. A head,

however, was found for him in the person of his eldest sister Anne, whom

Louis XI. had married to Peter II., Lord of Beaujeu and Duc de Bourbon.

To her the dying King entrusted the guardianship of his son; and for more

than nine years Anne of France was virtual King. For those years all

went well.

With her disappearance from the scene, the controlling hand is lost, and

France begins the age of her Italian expeditions.

When the House of Anjou came to an end in 1481, and Anjou and Maine fell

in to the Crown, there fell in also a far less valuable piece of

property, the claim of that house descended from Charles, the youngest

brother of Saint Louis, on the kingdom of Naples and Sicily. There was

much to tempt an ambitious prince in the state of Italy. Savoy, which

held the passage into the peninsula, was then thoroughly French in

sympathy; Milan, under Lodovico Sforza, "il Moro," was in alliance with

Charles; Genoa preferred the French to the Aragonese claimants for

influence over Italy; the popular feeling in the cities, especially in

Florence, was opposed to the despotism of the Medici, and turned to

France for deliverance; the misrule of the Spanish Kings of Naples had

made Naples thoroughly discontented; Venice was, as of old, the friend of

France. Tempted by these reasons, in 1494 Charles VIII. set forth for

Italy with a splendid host. He displayed before the eyes of Europe the

first example of a modern army, in its three well-balanced branches of

infantry, cavalry, and artillery. There was nothing in Italy to

withstand his onslaught; he swept through the land in triumph; Charles

believed himself to be a great conqueror giving law to admiring

subject-lands; he entered Pisa, Florence, Rome itself. Wherever he went

his heedless ignorance, and the gross misconduct of his followers, left

behind implacable hostility, and turned all friendship into bitterness.

At last he entered Naples, and seemed to have asserted to the full the

French claim to be supreme in Italy, whereas at that very time his

position had become completely untenable. A league of Italian States was

formed behind his back; Lodovico il Moro, Ferdinand of Naples, the

Emperor, Pope Alexander VI., Ferdinand and Isabella, who were now welding

Spain into a great and united monarchy, all combined against France; and

in presence of this formidable confederacy Charles VIII. had to cut his

way home as promptly as he could. At Fornovo, north of the Apennines, he

defeated the allies in July, 1495; and by November the main French army

had got safely out of Italy. The forces left behind in Naples were worn

out by war and pestilence, and the poor remnant of these, too, bringing

with them the seeds of horrible contagious diseases, forced their way

back to France in 1496. It was the last effort of the King. His health

was ruined by debauchery in Italy, repeated in France; and yet, towards

the end of his reign, he not merely introduced Italian arts, but

attempted to reform the State, to rule prudently, to solace the poor;

wherefore, when he died in 1498, the people lamented him greatly, for he

had been kindly and affable, brave also on the battle-field; and much is

forgiven to a king.

His children died before him, so that Louis d'Orleans, his cousin, was

nearest heir to the throne, and succeeded as Louis XII. By his accession

in 1498 he reunited the fief of Orleans County to the Crown; by marrying

Anne of Brittany, his predecessor's widow, he secured also the great

duchy of Brittany. The dispensation of Pope Alexander VI., which enabled

him to put away his wife Jeanne, second daughter of Louis XI., was

brought into France by Caesar Borgia, who gained thereby his title of

Duke of Valentinois, a large sum of money, a French bride, and promises

of support in his great schemes in Italy.

His ministers were men of real ability. Georges d'Amboise, Archbishop of

Rouen, the chief of them, was a prudent and a sagacious ruler, who,

however, unfortunately wanted to be Pope, and urged the King in the

direction of Italian politics, which he would have done much better to

have left alone. Louis XII. was lazy and of small intelligence; Georges

d'Amboise and Caesar Borgia, with their Italian ambitions, easily made

him take up a spirited foreign policy which was disastrous at home.

Utterly as the last Italian expedition had failed, the French people were

not yet weary of the adventure, and preparations for a new war began at

once. In 1499 the King crossed the Alps into the Milanese, and carried

all before him for a while. The duchy at first accepted him with

enthusiasm; but in 1500 it had had enough of the French and recalled

Lodovico, who returned in triumph to Milan. The Swiss mercenaries,

however, betrayed him at Novara into the hands of Louis XII., who carried

him off to France. The triumph of the French in 1500 was also the

highest point of the fortunes of their ally, Caesar Borgia, who seemed

for a while to be completely successful. In this year Louis made a

treaty at Granada, by which he and Ferdinand the Catholic agreed to

despoil Frederick of Naples; and in 1501 Louis made a second expedition

into Italy. Again all seemed easy at the outset, and he seized the

kingdom of Naples without difficulty; falling out, however, with his

partner in the bad bargain, Ferdinand the Catholic, he was speedily swept

completely out of the peninsula, with terrible loss of honour, men, and

wealth.

It now became necessary to arrange for the future of France. Louis XII.

had only a daughter, Claude, and it was proposed that she should be

affianced to Charles of Austria, the future statesman and emperor. This

scheme formed the basis of the three treaties of Blois (1504). In 1500,

by the Treaty of Granada, Louis had in fact handed Naples over to Spain;

now by the three treaties he alienated his best friends, the Venetians

and the papacy, while he in fact also handed Milan over to the Austrian

House, together with territories considered to be integral parts of

France. The marriage with Charles came to nothing; the good sense of

some, the popular feeling in the country, the open expressions of the

States General of Tours, in 1506, worked against the marriage, which had

no strong advocate except Queen Anne. Claude, on intercession of the

Estates, was affianced to Frangois d'Angouleme, her distant cousin, the

heir presumptive to the throne.

In 1507 Louis made war on Venice; and in the following year the famous

Treaty of Cambrai was signed by Georges d'Amboise and Margaret of

Austria. It was an agreement for a partition of the Venetian

territories,--one of the most shameless public deeds in history. The

Pope, the King of Aragon, Maximilian, Louis XII., were each to have a

share. The war was pushed on with great vigour: the battle of Agnadello

(14th May, 1509) cleared the King's way towards Venice; Louis was

received with open arms by the North Italian towns, and pushed forward to

within eight of Venice. The other Princes came up on every side; the

proud "Queen of the Adriatic" was compelled to shrink within her walls,

and wait till time dissolved the league. This was not long. The Pope,

Julius II., had no wish to hand Northern Italy over to France; he had

joined in the shameless league of Cambrai because he wanted to wrest the

Romagna cities from Venice, and because he hoped to entirely destroy the

ancient friendship between Venice and France. Successful in both aims,

he now withdrew from the league, made peace with the Venetians, and stood

forward as the head of a new Italian combination, with the Swiss for his

fighting men. The strife was close and hot between Pope and King; Louis

XII. lost his chief adviser and friend, Georges d'Amboise, the splendid

churchman of the age, the French Wolsey; he thought no weapon better than

the dangerous one of a council, with claims opposed to those of the

papacy; first a National Council at Tours, then an attempted General

Council at Pisa, were called on to resist the papal claims. In reply

Julius II. created the Holy League of 1511, with Ferdinand of Aragon,

Henry VIII. of England, and the Venetians as its chief members, against

the French. Louis XII. showed vigour; he sent his nephew Gaston de Foix

to subdue the Romagna and threaten the Venetian territories. At the

battle of Ravenna, in 1512, Gaston won a brilliant victory and lost his

life. From that moment disaster dogged the footsteps of the French in

Italy, and before winter they had been driven completely out of the

peninsula; the succession of the Medicean Pope, Leo X., to Julius II.,

seemed to promise the continuance of a policy hostile to France in Italy.

Another attempt on Northern Italy proved but another failure, although

now Louis XII., taught by his mishaps, had secured the alliance of

Venice; the disastrous defeat of La Tremoille, near Novara (1513),

compelled the French once more to withdraw beyond the Alps. In this same

year an army under the Duc de Longueville, endeavouring to relieve

Therouenne, besieged by the English and Maximilian, the Emperor-elect,

was caught and crushed at Guinegate. A diversion in favour of Louis

XII., made by James IV. of Scotland, failed completely; the Scottish King

was defeated and slain at Flodden Field. While his northern frontier was

thus exposed, Louis found equal danger threatening him on the east; on

this aide, however, he managed to buy off the Swiss, who had attacked the

duchy of Burgundy. He was also reconciled with the papacy and the House

of Austria. Early in 1514 the death of Anne of Brittany, his spouse, a

lady of high ambitions, strong artistic tastes, and humane feelings

towards her Bretons, but a bad Queen for France, cleared the way for

changes. Claude, the King's eldest daughter, was now definitely married

to Francois d'Angouleme, and invested with the duchy of Brittany; and the

King himself, still hoping for a male heir to succeed him, married again,

wedding Mary Tudor, the lovely young sister of Henry VIII. This marriage

was probably the chief cause of his death, which followed on New Year's

day, 1515. His was, in foreign policy, an inglorious and disastrous

reign; at home, a time of comfort and material prosperity. Agriculture

flourished, the arts of Italy came in, though (save in architecture)

France could claim little artistic glory of her own; the organisation of

justice and administration was carried out; in letters and learning

France still lagged behind her neighbours.

The heir to the crown was Francois d'Angouleme, great-grandson of that

Louis d'Orleans who had been assassinated in the bad days of the strife

between Burgundians and Armagnacs, in 1407, and great-great-grandson of

Charles V. of France. He was still very young, very eager to be king,

very full of far-reaching schemes. Few things in history are more

striking than the sudden change, at this moment, from the rule of

middle-aged men or (as men of fifty were then often called) old men, to

the rule of youths,--from sagacious, worldly-prudent monarchs--to

impulsive boys,--from Henry VII. to Henry VIII., from Louis XII. to

Frangois I, from Ferdinand to Charles.

On the whole, Frangois I. was the least worthy of the three. He was

brilliant, "the king of culture," apt scholar in Renaissance art and

immorality; brave, also, and chivalrous, so long as the chivalry involved

no self-denial, for he was also thoroughly selfish, and his personal aims

and ideas were mean. His reign was to be a reaction from that of Louis

XII.

From the beginning, Francois chose his chief officers unwisely. In

Antoine du Prat, his new chancellor, he had a violent and lawless

adviser; in Charles de Bourbon, his new constable, an untrustworthy

commander. Forthwith he plunged into Italian politics, being determined

to make good his claim both to Naples and to Milan; he made most friendly

arrangements with the Archduke Charles, his future rival, promising to

help him in securing, when the time came, the vast inheritances of his

two grandfathers, Maximilian, the Emperor-elect, and Ferdinand of Aragon;

never was a less wise agreement entered upon. This done, the Italian war

began; Francois descended into Italy, and won the brilliant battle of

Marignano, in which the French chivalry crushed the Swiss burghers and

peasant mercenaries. The French then overran the north of Italy, and, in

conjunction with the Venetians, carried all before them. But the

triumphs of the sword were speedily wrested from him by the adroitness of

the politician; in an interview with Leo X. at Bologna, Francois bartered

the liberties of the Gallican Church for shadowy advantages in Italy. The

'Pragmatic Sanction of Bourgea', which now for nearly a century had

secured to the Church of France independence in the choice of her chief

officers, was replaced by a concordat, whereby the King allowed the

papacy once more to drain the wealth of the Church of France, while the

Pope allowed the King almost autocratic power over it. He was to appoint

to all benefices, with exception of a few privileged offices; the Pope

was no longer to be threatened with general councils, while he should

receive again the annates of the Church.

The years which followed this brilliantly disastrous opening brought

little good to France. In 1516 the death of Ferdinand the Catholic

placed Charles on the throne of Spain; in 1519 the death of Maximilian

threw open to the young Princes the most dazzling prize of human

ambition,--the headship of the Holy Roman Empire. Francois I., Charles,

and Henry VIII. were all candidates for the votes of the seven electors,

though the last never seriously entered the lists. The struggle lay

between Francois, the brilliant young Prince, who seemed to represent the

new opinions in literature and art, and Charles of Austria and Spain, who

was as yet unknown and despised, and, from his education under the

virtuous and scholastic Adrian of Utrecht, was thought likely to

represent the older and reactionary opinions of the clergy. After a long

and sharp competition, the great prize fell to Charles, henceforth known

to history as that great monarch and emperor, Charles V.

The rivalry between the Princes could not cease there. Charles, as

representative of the House of Burgundy, claimed all that had been lost

when Charles the Bold fell; and in 1521 the war broke out between him and

Francois, the first of a series of struggles between the two rivals.

While the King wasted the resources of his country on these wars, his

proud and unwise mother, Louise of Savoy, guided by Antoine du Prat,

ruled, to the sorrow of all, at home. The war brought no glory with it:

on the Flemish frontier a place or two was taken; in Biscay Fontarabia

fell before the arms of France; in Italy Francois had to meet a new

league of Pope and Emperor, and his troops were swept completely out of

the Milanese. In the midst of all came the defection of that great

prince, the Constable de Bourbon, head of the younger branch of the

Bourbon House, the most powerful feudal lord in France. Louise of Savoy

had enraged and offended him, or he her; the King slighted him, and in

1523 the Constable made a secret treaty with Charles V. and Henry VIII.,

and, taking flight into Italy, joined the Spaniards under Lannoy. The

French, who had again invaded the Milanese, were again driven out in

1524; on the other hand, the incursions of the imperialists into Picardy,

Provence, and the southeast were all complete failures. Encouraged by

the repulse of Bourbon from Marseilles, Francois I. once more crossed the

Alps, and overran a great part of the valley of the Po; at the siege of

Pavia he was attacked by Pescara and Bourbon, utterly defeated and taken

prisoner (24th February, 1525); the broken remnants of the French were

swept out of Italy at once, and Francois I. was carried into Spain, a

captive at Madrid. His mother, best in adversity, behaved with high

pride and spirit; she overawed disaffection, made preparations for

resistance, looked out for friends on every side. Had Francois been in

truth a hero, he might, even as a prisoner, have held his own; but he was

unable to bear the monotony of confinement, and longed for the pleasures

of France. On this mean nature Charles V. easily worked, and made the

captive monarch sign the Treaty of Madrid (January 14, 1526), a compact

which Francois meant to break as soon as he could, for he knew neither

heroism nor good faith. The treaty stipulated that Francois should give

up the duchy of Burgundy to Charles, and marry Eleanor of Portugal,

Charles's sister; that Francois should also abandon his claims on

Flanders, Milan, and Naples, and should place two sons in the Emperor's

hands as hostages. Following the precedent of Louis XI. in the case of

Normandy, he summoned an assembly of nobles and the Parliament of Paris

to Cognac, where they declared the cession of Burgundy to be impossible.

He refused to return to Spain, and made alliances wherever he could, with

the Pope, with Venice, Milan, and England. The next year saw the ruin of

this league in the discomfiture of Clement VII., and the sack of Rome by

the German mercenaries under Bourbon, who was killed in the assault. The

war went on till 1529, when Francois, having lost two armies in it, and

gained nothing but loss and harm, was willing for peace; Charles V.,

alarmed at the progress of the Turks, was not less willing; and in

August, 1529, the famous Treaty, of Cambrai, "the Ladies' Peace," was

agreed to by Margaret of Austria and Louise of Savoy. Though Charles V.

gave up all claim on the duchy of Burgundy, he had secured to himself

Flanders and Artois, and had entirely cleared French influences out of

Italy, which now became firmly fixed under the imperial hand, as a

connecting link between his Spanish and German possessions. Francois

lost ground and credit by these successive treaties, conceived in bad

faith, and not honestly carried out.

No sooner had the Treaty of Cambrai been effectual in bringing his sons

back to France, than Francois began to look out for new pretexts and

means for war. Affairs were not unpromising. His mother's death in 1531

left him in possession of a huge fortune, which she had wrung from

defenceless France; the powers which were jealous of Austria, the Turk,

the English King, the members of the Smalkald league, all looked to

Francois as their leader; Clement VII., though his misfortunes had thrown

him into the Emperor's hands, was not unwilling to treat with France; and

in 1533 by the compact of Marseilles the Pope broke up the friendship

between Francois and Henry VIII., while he married his niece Catherine

de' Medici to Henri, the second son of Francois. This compact was a real

disaster to France; the promised dowry of Catherine--certain Italian

cities--was never paid, and the death of Clement VII. in 1534 made the

political alliance with the papacy a failure. The influence of Catherine

affected and corrupted French history for half a century. Preparations

for war went on; Francois made a new scheme for a national army, though

in practice he preferred the tyrant's arm, the foreign mercenary. From

his day till the Revolution the French army was largely composed of

bodies of men tempted out of other countries, chiefly from Switzerland or

Germany.

While the Emperor strove to appease the Protestant Princes of Germany by

the Peace of Kadan (1534), Francois strengthened himself with a definite

alliance with Soliman; and when, on the death of Francesco Sforza, Duke

of Milan, who left no heirs, Charles seized the duchy as its overlord,

Francois, after some bootless negotiation, declared war on his great

rival (1536). His usual fortunes prevailed so long as he was the

attacking party: his forces were soon swept out of Piedmont, and the

Emperor carried the war over the frontier into Provence. That also

failed, and Charles was fain to withdraw after great losses into Italy.

The defence of Provence--a defence which took the form of a ruthless

destruction of all its resources--had been entrusted to Anne de

Montmorency, who henceforward became Constable of France, and exerted

great influence over Francois I. Though these two campaigns, the French

in Italy and the imperialist in Provence, had equally failed in 1536,

peace did not follow till 1538, when, after the terrible defeat of

Ferdinand of Austria by the Turks, Charles was anxious to have free hand

in Germany. Under the mediation of Paul III. the agreement of Nice was

come to, which included a ten years' truce and the abandonment by

Francois of all his foreign allies and aims. He seemed a while to have

fallen completely under the influence of the sagacious Emperor. He gave

way entirely to the Church party of the time, a party headed by gloomy

Henri, now Dauphin, who never lost the impress of his Spanish captivity,

and by the Constable Anne de Montmorency; for a time the artistic or

Renaissance party, represented by Anne, Duchesse d'Etampes, and Catherine

de' Medici, fell into disfavour. The Emperor even ventured to pass

through France, on his way from Spain to the Netherlands. All this

friendship, however, fell to dust, when it was found that Charles refused

to invest the Duc d'Orleans, the second son of Francois, with the duchy

of Milan, and when the Emperor's second expedition against the sea-power

of the Turks had proved a complete failure, and Charles had returned to

Spain with loss of all his fleet and army. Then Francois hesitated no

longer, and declared war against him (1541). The shock the Emperor had

suffered inspirited all his foes; the Sultan and the Protestant German

Princes were all eager for war; the influence of Anne de Montmorency had

to give way before that of the House of Guise, that frontier family, half

French, half German, which was destined to play a large part in the

troubled history of the coming half-century. Claude, Duc de Guise, a

veteran of the earliest days of Francois, was vehemently opposed to

Charles and the Austro-Spanish power, and ruled in the King's councils.

This last war was as mischievous as its predecessors no great battles

were fought; in the frontier affairs the combatants were about equally

fortunate; the battle of Cerisolles, won by the French under Enghien

(1544), was the only considerable success they had, and even that was

almost barren of results, for the danger to Northern France was imminent;

there a combined invasion had been planned and partly executed by Charles

and Henry VIII., and the country, almost undefended, was at their mercy.

The two monarchs, however, distrusted one another; and Charles V.,

anxious about Germany, sent to Francois proposals for peace from Crespy

Couvrant, near Laon, where he had halted his army; Francois, almost in

despair, gladly made terms with him. The King gave up his claims on

Flanders and Artois, the Emperor his on the duchy of Burgundy; the King

abandoned his old Neapolitan ambition, and Charles promised one of the

Princesses of the House of Austria, with Milan as her dower, to the Duc

d'Orleans, second son of Francois. The Duke dying next year, this

portion of the agreement was not carried out. The Peace of Crespy, which

ended the wars between the two great rivals, was signed in autumn, 1544,

and, like the wars which led to it, was indecisive and lame.

Charles learnt that with all his great power he could not strike a fatal

blow at France; France ought to have learnt that she was very weak for

foreign conquest, and that her true business was to consolidate and

develop her power at home. Henry VIII. deemed himself wronged by this

independent action on the part of Charles, who also had his grievances

with the English monarch; he stood out till 1546, and then made peace

with Francois, with the aim of forming a fresh combination against

Charles. In the midst of new projects and much activity, the marrer of

man's plots came on the scene, and carried off in the same year, 1547,

the English King and Francois I., leaving Charles V. undisputed arbiter

of the affairs of Europe. In this same year he also crushed the

Protestant Princes at the battle of Muhlberg.

In the reign of Francois I. the Court looked not unkindly on the

Reformers, more particularly in the earlier years.

Henri II., who succeeded in 1547, "had all the faults of his father, with

a weaker mind;" and as strength of mind was not one of the

characteristics of Francois I., we may imagine how little firmness there

was in the gloomy King who now reigned. Party spirit ruled at Court.

Henri II., with his ancient mistress, Diane de Poitiers, were at the head

of one party, that of the strict Catholics, and were supported by old

Anne de Montmorency, most unlucky of soldiers, most fanatical of

Catholics, and by the Guises, who chafed a good deal under the stern rule

of the Constable. This party had almost extinguished its antagonists; in

the struggle of the mistresses, the pious and learned Anne d'Etampes had

to give place to imperious Diane, Catherine, the Queen, was content to

bide her time, watching with Italian coolness the game as it went on; of

no account beside her rival, and yet quite sure to have her day, and

ready to play parties against one another. Meanwhile, she brought to her

royal husband ten sickly children, most of whom died young, and three

wore the crown. Of the many bad things she did for France, that was

perhaps among the worst.

On the accession of Henri II. the duchy of Brittany finally lost even

nominal independence; he next got the hand of Mary, Queen of Scots, then

but five years old, for the Dauphin Francois; she was carried over to

France; and being by birth half a Guise, by education and interests of

her married life she became entirely French. It was a great triumph for

Henri, for the Protector Somerset had laid his plans to secure her for

young Edward VI.; it was even more a triumph for the Guises, who saw

opened out a broad and clear field for their ambition.

At first Henri II. showed no desire for war, and seemed to shrink from

rivalry or collision with Charles V. He would not listen to Paul III.,

who, in his anxiety after the fall of the Protestant power in Germany in

1547, urged him to resist the Emperor's triumphant advance; he seemed to

show a dread of war, even among his neighbours. After he had won his

advantage over Edward VI., he escaped the war which seemed almost

inevitable, recovered Boulogne from the English by a money payment, and

smoothed the way for peace between England and Scotland. He took much

interest in the religious question, and treated the Calvinists with great

severity; he was also occupied by troubles in the south and west of

France. Meanwhile, a new Pope, Julius III., was the weak dependent of

the Emperor, and there seemed to be no head left for any movement against

the universal domination of Charles V. His career from 1547 to 1552 was,

to all appearance, a triumphal march of unbroken success. Yet Germany

was far from acquiescence; the Princes were still discontented and

watchful; even Ferdinand of Austria, his brother, was offended by the

Emperor's anxiety to secure everything, even the imperial crown for his

son Philip; Maurice of Saxony, that great problem of the age, was

preparing for a second treachery, or, it may be, for a patriotic effort.

These German malcontents now appealed to Henri for aid; and at last Henri

seemed inclined to come. He had lately made alliance with England, and

in 1552 formed a league at Chambord with the German Princes; the old

connection with the Turk was also talked of. The Germans agreed to

allow' him to hold (as imperial vicar, not as King of France) the "three

bishoprics," Metz, Verdun, and Toul; he also assumed a protectorate over

the spiritual princes, those great bishops and electors of the Rhine,

whose stake in the Empire was so important. The general lines of French

foreign politics are all here clearly marked; in this Henri II. is the

forerunner of Henri IV. and of Louis XIV.; the imperial politics of

Napoleon start from much the same lines; the proclamations of Napoleon

III. before the Franco-German war seemed like thin echoes of the same.

Early in 1552 Maurice of Saxony struck his great blow at his master in

the Tyrol, destroying in an instant all the Emperor's plans for the

suppression of Lutheran opinions, and the reunion of Germany in a

Catholic empire; and while Charles V. fled for his life, Henri II. with

a splendid army crossed the frontiers of Lorraine. Anne de Montmorency,

whose opposition to the war had been overborne by the Guises, who warmly

desired to see a French predominance in Lorraine, was sent forward to

reduce Metz, and quickly got that important city into his hands; Toul and

Verdun soon opened their gates, and were secured in reality, if not in

name, to France. Eager to undertake a protectorate of the Rhine, Henri

II. tried also to lay hands on Strasburg; the citizens, however,

resisted, and he had to withdraw; the same fate befell his troops in an

attempt on Spires. Still, Metz and the line of the Vosges mountains

formed a splendid acquisition for France. The French army, leaving

strong garrisons in Lorraine, withdrew through Luxemburg and the northern

frontier; its remaining exploits were few and mean, for the one gleam of

good fortune enjoyed by Anne de Montmorency, who was unwise and arrogant,

and a most inefficient commander, soon deserted him. Charles V., as soon

as he could gather forces, laid siege to Metz, but, after nearly three

months of late autumnal operations, was fain to break up and withdraw,

baffled and with loss of half his army, across the Rhine. Though some

success attended his arms on the northern frontier, it was of no

permanent value; the loss of Metz, and the failure in the attempt to take

it, proved to the worn-out Emperor that the day of his power and

opportunity was past. The conclusions of the Diet of Augsburg in 1555

settled for half a century the struggle between Lutheran and Catholic,

but settled it in a way not at all to his mind; for it was the safeguard

of princely interests against his plans for an imperial unity. Weary of

the losing strife, yearning for ease, ordered by his physicians to

withdraw from active life, Charles in the course of 1555 and 1556

resigned all his great lordships and titles, leaving Philip his son to

succeed him in Italy, the Netherlands, and Spain, and his brother

Ferdinand of Austria to wear in his stead the imperial diadem. These

great changes sundered awhile the interests of Austria from those of

Spain.

Henri endeavoured to take advantage of the check in the fortunes of his

antagonists; he sent Anne de Montmorency to support Gaspard de Coligny,

the Admiral of France, in Picardy, and in harmony with Paul IV.,

instructed Francois, Duc de Guise, to enter Italy to oppose the Duke of

Alva. As of old, the French arms at first carried all before them, and

Guise, deeming himself heir to the crown of Naples (for he was the eldest

great-grandson of Rene II., titular King of Naples), pushed eagerly

forward as far as the Abruzzi. There he was met and outgeneraled by

Alva, who drove him back to Rome, whence he was now recalled by urgent

summons to France; for the great disaster of St. Quentin had laid Paris

itself open to the assault of an enterprising enemy. With the departure

of Guise from Italy the age of the Italian expeditions comes to an end.

On the northern side of the realm things had gone just as badly.

Philibert of Savoy, commanding for Philip with Spanish and English

troops, marched into France as far as to the Somme, and laid siege to St.

Quentin, which was bravely defended by Amiral de Coligny. Anne de

Montmorency, coming up to relieve the place, managed his movements so

clumsily that he was caught by Count Egmont and the Flemish horse, and,

with incredibly small loss to the conquerors, was utterly routed (1557).

Montmorency himself and a crowd of nobles and soldiers were taken; the

slaughter was great. Coligny made a gallant and tenacious stand in the

town itself, but at last was overwhelmed, and the place fell. Terrible

as these mishaps were to France, Philip II. was not of a temper to push

an advantage vigorously; and while his army lingered, Francois de Guise

came swiftly back from Italy; and instead of wasting strength in a

doubtful attack on the allies in Picardy, by a sudden stroke of genius he

assaulted and took Calais (January, 1558), and swept the English finally

off the soil of France. This unexpected and brilliant blow cheered and

solaced the afflicted country, while it finally secured the ascendency of

the House of Guise. The Duke's brother, the Cardinal de Lorraine,

carried all before him in the King's councils; the Dauphin, betrothed

long before, was now married to Mary of Scots; a secret treaty bound the

young Queen to bring her kingdom over with her; it was thought that

France with Scotland would be at least a match for England joined with

Spain. In the same year, 1558, the French advance along the coast, after

they had taken Dunkirk and Nieuport, was finally checked by the brilliant

genius of Count Egmont, who defeated them at Gravelinea. All now began

to wish for peace, especially Montmorency, weary of being a prisoner, and

anxious to get back to Court, that he might check the fortunes of the

Guises; Philip desired it that he might have free hand against heresy.

And so, at Cateau-Cambresis, a peace was made in April, 1559, by which

France retained the three bishoprics and Calais, surrendering Thionville,

Montmedy, and one or two other frontier towns, while she recovered Ham

and St. Quentin; the House of Savoy was reinstated by Philip, as a reward

to Philibert for his services, and formed a solid barrier for a time

between France and Italy; cross-marriages between Spain, France, and

Savoy were arranged;--and finally, the treaty contained secret articles

by which the Guises for France and Granvella for the Netherlands agreed

to crush heresy with a strong hand. As a sequel to this peace, Henri II.

held a great tournament at Paris, at which he was accidentally slain by a

Scottish knight in the lists.

The Guises now shot up into abounded power. On the Guise side the

Cardinal de Lorraine was the cleverest man, the true head, while

Francois, the Duke, was the arm; he showed leanings towards the

Lutherans. On the other side, the head was the dull and obstinate Anne

de Montmorency, the Constable, an unwavering Catholic, supported by the

three Coligny brothers, who all were or became Huguenots. The

Queen-mother Catherine fluctuated uneasily between the parties, and

though Catholic herself, or rather not a Protestant, did not hesitate to

befriend the Huguenots, if the political arena seemed to need their

gallant swords. Their noblest leader was Coligny, the admiral; their

recognised head was Antoine, King of Navarre, a man as foolish as

fearless. He was heir presumptive to the throne after the Valois boys,

and claimed to have charge of the young King. Though the Guises had the

lead at first, the Huguenots seemed, from their strong aristocratic

connections, to have the fairer prospects before them.

Thirty years of desolate civil strife are before us, and we must set it

all down briefly and drily. The prelude to the troubles was played by

the Huguenots, who in 1560, guided by La Renaudie, a Perigord gentleman,

formed a plot to carry off the young King; for Francois II. had already

treated them with considerable severity, and had dismissed from his

councils both the princes of the blood royal and the Constable de

Montmorency. The plot failed miserably and La Renaudie lost his life; it

only secured more firmly the authority of the Guises. As a counterpoise

to their influence, the Queen-mother now conferred the vacant

chancellorship on one of the wisest men France has ever seen, her Lord

Bacon, Michel de L'Hopital, a man of the utmost prudence and moderation,

who, had the times been better, might have won constitutional liberties

for his country, and appeased her civil strife. As it was, he saved her

from the Inquisition; his hand drew the edicts which aimed at enforcing

toleration on France; he guided the assembly of notables which gathered

at Fontainebleau, and induced them to attempt a compromise which moderate

Catholics and Calvinists might accept, and which might lessen the power

of the Guises. This assembly was followed by a meeting of the States

General at Orleans, at which the Prince de Conde and the King of Navarre

were seized by the Guises on a charge of having had to do with La

Renaudie's plot. It would have gone hard with them had not the sickly

King at this very time fallen ill and died (1560).

This was a grievous blow to the Guises. Now, as in a moment, all was

shattered; Catherine de Medici rose at once to the command of affairs;

the new King, Charles IX., was only, ten years old, and her position as

Regent was assured. The Guises would gladly have ruled with her, but she

had no fancy for that; she and Chancellor de L'Hopital were not likely to

ally themselves with all that was severe and repressive. It must not be

forgotten that the best part of her policy was inspired by the Chancellor

de L'Hopital.

Now it was that Mary Stuart, the Queen-dowager, was compelled to leave

France for Scotland; her departure clearly marks the fall of the Guises;

and it also showed Philip of Spain that it was no longer necessary for

him to refuse aid and counsel to the Guises; their claims were no longer

formidable to him on the larger sphere of European politics; no longer

could Mary Stuart dream of wearing the triple crown of Scotland, France,

and England.

The tolerant language of L'Hopital at the States General of Orleans in

1561 satisfied neither side. The Huguenots were restless; the Bourbon

Princes tried to crush the Guises, in return for their own imprisonment

the year before; the Constable was offended by the encouragement shown to

the Huguenots; it was plain that new changes impended. Montmorency began

them by going over to the Guises; and the fatal triumvirate of Francois,

Duc de Guise, Montmorency, and St. Andre the marshal, was formed. We

find the King of Spain forthwith entering the field of French intrigues

and politics, as the support and stay of this triumvirate. Parties take

a simpler format once, one party of Catholics and another of Huguenots,

with the Queen-mother and the moderates left powerless between them.

These last, guided still by L'Hopital, once more convoked the States

General at Pontoise: the nobles and the Third Estate seemed to side

completely with the Queen and the moderates; a controversy between

Huguenots and Jesuits at Poissy only added to the discontent of the

Catholics, who were now joined by foolish Antoine, King of Navarre. The

edict of January, 1562, is the most remarkable of the attempts made by

the Queen-mother to satisfy the Huguenots; but party-passion was already

too strong for it to succeed; civil war had become inevitable.

The period may be divided into four parts: (1) the wars before the

establishment of the League (1562-1570); (2) the period of the St.

Bartholomew (1570-1573); (3) the struggle of the new Politique party

against the Leaguers (1573-1559); (4) the efforts of Henri IV. to crush

the League and reduce the country to peace (1589-1595). The period can

also be divided by that series of agreements, or peaces, which break it

up into eight wars:

1. The war of 1562, on the skirts of which Philip of Spain interfered on

one side, and Queen Elizabeth with the Calvinistic German Princes on the

other, showed at once that the Huguenots were by far the weaker party.

The English troops at Havre enabled them at first to command the lower

Seine up to Rouen; but the other party, after a long siege which cost

poor Antoine of Navarre his life, took that place, and relieved Paris of

anxiety. The Huguenots had also spread far and wide over the south and

west, occupying Orleans; the bridge of Orleans was their point of

junction between Poitou and Germany. While the strength of the Catholics

lay to the east, in Picardy, and at Paris, the Huguenot power was mostly

concentrated in the south and west of France. Conde, who commanded at

Orleans, supported by German allies, made an attempt on Paris, but

finding the capital too strong for him, turned to the west, intending to

join the English troops from Havre. Montmorency, however, caught him at

Dreux; and in the battle that ensued, the Marshal of France, Saint-Andre,

perished; Conde was captured by the Catholics, Montmorency by the

Huguenots. Coligny, the admiral, drew off his defeated troops with great

skill, and fell back to beyond the Loire; the Duc de Guise remained as

sole head of the Catholics. Pushing on his advantage, the Duke

immediately laid siege to Orleans, and there he fell by the hand of a

Huguenot assassin. Both parties had suffered so much that the

Queen-mother thought she might interpose with terms of peace; the Edict

of Amboise (March, 1563) closed the war, allowing the Calvinists freedom

of worship in the towns they held, and some other scanty privileges. A

three years' quiet followed, though all men suspected their neighbours,

and the high Catholic party tried hard to make Catherine sacrifice

L'Hopital and take sharp measures with the Huguenots. They on their side

were restless and suspicious, and it was felt that another war could not

be far off. Intrigues were incessant, all men thinking to make their

profit out of the weakness of France. The struggle between Calvinists

and Catholics in the Netherlands roused much feeling, though Catherine

refused to favour either party. She collected an army of her own; it was

rumoured that she intended to take the Huguenots by surprise and

annihilate them. In autumn, 1567, their patience gave way, and they

raised the standard of revolt, in harmony with the heroic Netherlanders.

Conde and the Chatillons beleaguered Paris from the north, and fought the

battle of St. Denis, in which the old Constable, Anne de Montmorency, was

killed. The Huguenots, however, were defeated and forced to withdraw,

Conde marching eastward to join the German troops now coming up to his

aid. No more serious fighting followed; the Peace of Longjumeau (March,

1568), closed the second war, leaving matters much as they were. The

aristocratic resistance against the Catholic sovereigns, against what is

often called the "Catholic Reaction," had proved itself hollow; in

Germany and the Netherlands, as well as in France, the Protestant cause

seemed to fail; it was not until the religious question became mixed up

with questions as to political rights and freedom, as in the Low

Countries, that a new spirit of hope began to spring up.

The Peace of Longjumeau gave no security to the Huguenot nobles; they

felt that the assassin might catch them any day. An attempt to seize

Condo and Coligny failed, and served only to irritate their party;

Cardinal Chatillon escaped to England; Jeanne of Navarre and her young

son Henri took refuge at La Rochelle; L'Hopital was dismissed the Court.

The Queen-mother seemed to have thrown off her cloak of moderation, and

to be ready to relieve herself of the Huguenots by any means, fair or

foul. War accordingly could not fail to break out again before the end

of the year. Conde had never been so strong; with his friends in England

and the Low Countries, and the enthusiastic support of a great party of

nobles and religious adherents at home, his hopes rose; he even talked of

deposing the Valois and reigning in their stead. He lost his life,

however, early in 1569, at the battle of Jarnac. Coligny once more with

difficulty, as at Dreux, saved the broken remnants of the defeated

Huguenots. Conde's death, regarded at the time by the Huguenots as an

irreparable calamity, proved in the end to be no serious loss; for it

made room for the true head of the party, Henri of Navarre. No sooner

had Jeanne of Navarre heard of the mishap of Jarnac than she came into

the Huguenot camp and presented to the soldiers her young son Henri and

the young Prince de Conde, a mere child. Her gallant bearing and the

true soldier-spirit of Coligny, who shone most brightly in adversity,

restored their temper; they even won some small advantages. Before long,

however, the Duc d'Anjou, the King's youngest brother, caught and

punished them severely at Moncontour. Both parties thenceforward wore

themselves out with desultory warfare. In August, 1570, the Peace of St.

Germain-en-Laye closed the third war and ended the first period.

2. It was the most favourable Peace the Huguenots had won as yet; it

secured them, besides previous rights, four strongholds. The Catholics

were dissatisfied; they could not sympathise with the Queen-mother in her

alarm at the growing strength of Philip II., head of the Catholics in

Europe; they dreaded the existence and growing influence of a party now

beginning to receive a definite name, and honourable nickname, the

Politiques. These were that large body of French gentlemen who loved the

honour of their country rather than their religious party, and who,

though Catholics, were yet moderate and tolerant. A pair of marriages

now proposed by the Court amazed them still more. It was suggested that

the Duc d'Anjou should marry Queen Elizabeth of England, and Henri of

Navarre, Marguerite de Valois, the King's sister. Charles II. hoped thus

to be rid of his brother, whom he disliked, and to win powerful support

against Spain, by the one match, and by the other to bring the civil wars

to a close. The sketch of a far-reaching resistance to Philip II. was

drawn out; so convinced of his good faith was the prudent and sagacious

William of Orange, that, on the strength of these plans, he refused good

terms now offered him by Spain. The Duc d'Alencon, the remaining son of

Catherine, the brother who did not come to the throne, was deeply

interested in the plans for a war in the Netherlands; Anjou, who had

withdrawn from the scheme of marriage with Queen Elizabeth, was at this

moment a candidate for the throne of Poland; while negotiations

respecting it were going on, Marguerite de Valois was married to Henri of

Navarre, the worst of wives [?? D.W.] to a husband none too good.

Coligny, who had strongly opposed the candidature of Anjou for the throne

of Poland, was set on by an assassin, employed by the Queen-mother and

her favourite son, and badly wounded; the Huguenots were in utmost alarm,

filling the air with cries and menaces. Charles showed great concern for

his friend's recovery, and threatened vengeance on the assassins. What

was his astonishment to learn that those assassins were his mother and

brother! Catherine worked on his fears, and the plot for the great

massacre was combined in an instant. The very next day after the King's

consent was wrung from him, 24th August, 1572, the massacre of St.

Bartholomew's day took place. The murder of Coligny was completed; his

son-in-law Teligny perished; all the chief Huguenots were slain; the

slaughter spread to country towns; the Church and the civil power were at

one, and the victims, taken at unawares, could make no resistance. The

two Bourbons, Henri and the Prince de Conde, were spared; they bought

their lives by a sudden conversion to Catholicism. The chief guilt of

this great crime lies with Catherine de' Medici; for, though it is

certain that she did not plan it long before, assassination was a

recognised part of her way of dealing with Huguenots.

A short war followed, a revolt of the southern cities rather than a war.

They made tenacious and heroic resistance; a large part of the royal

forces sympathised rather with them than with the League; and in July,

1573, the Edict of Boulogne granted them even more than they, had been

promised by the Peace of St. Germain.

3. We have reached the period of the "Wan of the League," as the four

later civil wars are often called. The last of the four is alone of any

real importance.

Just as the Peace of La Rochelle was concluded, the Duc d'Anjou, having

been elected King of Poland, left France; it was not long before troubles

began again. The Duc d'Alencon was vexed by his mother's neglect; as

heir presumptive to the crown he thought he deserved better treatment,

and sought to give himself consideration by drawing towards the middle

party; Catherine seemed to be intriguing for the ruin of that

party--nothing was safe while she was moving. The King had never held up

his head since the St. Bartholomew; it was seen that he now was dying,

and the Queen-mother took the opportunity of laying hands on the middle

party. She arrested Alencon, Montmorency, and Henri of Navarre, together

with some lesser chiefs; in the midst of it all Charles IX. died (1574),

in misery, leaving the ill-omened crown to Henri of Anjou, King of

Poland, his next brother, his mother's favourite, the worst of a bad

breed. At the same time the fifth civil war broke out, interesting

chiefly because it was during its continuance that the famous League was

actually formed.

Henri III., when he heard of his brother's death, was only too eager to

slip away like a culprit from Poland, though he showed no alacrity in

returning to France, and dallied with the pleasures of Italy for months.

An attempt to draw him over to the side of the Politiques failed

completely; he attached himself on the contrary to the Guises, and

plunged into the grossest dissipation, while he posed himself before men

as a good and zealous Catholic. The Politiques and Huguenots therefore

made a compact in 1575, at Milhaud on the Tarn, and chose the Prince de

Conde as their head; Henri of Navarre escaped from Paris, threw off his

forced Catholicism, and joined them. Against them the strict Catholics

seemed powerless; the Queen-mother closed this war with the Peace of

Chastenoy (May, 1576), with terms unusually favourable for both

Politiques and Huguenots: for the latter, free worship throughout France,

except at Paris; for the chiefs of the former, great governments, for

Alencon a large central district, for Conde, Picardy, for Henri of

Navarre, Guienne.

To resist all this the high Catholic party framed the League they had

long been meditating; it is said that the Cardinal de Lorraine had

sketched it years before, at the time of the later sittings of the

Council of Trent. Lesser compacts had already been made from time to

time; now it was proposed to form one great League, towards which all

should gravitate. The head of the League was Henri, Duc de Guise the

second, "Balafre," who had won that title in fighting against the German

reiters the year before, when they entered France under Condo. He

certainly hoped at this time to succeed to the throne of France, either

by deposing the corrupt and feeble Henri III., "as Pippin dealt with

Hilderik," or by seizing the throne, when the King's debaucheries should

have brought him to the grave. The Catholics of the more advanced type,

and specially the Jesuits, now in the first flush of credit and success,

supported him warmly. The headquarters of the movement were in Picardy;

its first object, opposition to the establishment of Conde as governor of

that province. The League was also very popular with the common folk,

especially in the towns of the north. It soon found that Paris was its

natural centre; thence it spread swiftly across the whole natural France;

it was warmly supported by Philip of Spain. The States General, convoked

at Blois in 1576, could bring no rest to France; opinion was just as much

divided there as in the country; and the year 1577 saw another petty war,

counted as the sixth, which was closed by the Peace of Bergerac, another

ineffectual truce which settled nothing. It was a peace made with the

Politiques and Huguenots by the Court; it is significant of the new state

of affairs that the League openly refused to be bound by it, and

continued a harassing, objectless warfare. The Duc d'Anjou (he had taken

that title on his brother Henri's accession to the throne) in 1578

deserted the Court party, towards which his mother had drawn him, and

made friends with the Calvinists in the Netherlands. The southern

provinces named him "Defender of their liberties;" they had hopes he

might wed Elizabeth of England; they quite mistook their man. In 1579

"the Gallants' War" broke out; the Leaguers had it all their own way; but

Henri III., not too friendly to them, and urged by his brother Anjou, to

whom had been offered sovereignty over the seven united provinces in

1580, offered the insurgents easy terms, and the Treaty of Fleix closed

the seventh war. Anjou in the Netherlands could but show his weakness;

nothing went well with him; and at last, having utterly wearied out his

friends, he fled, after the failure of his attempt to secure Antwerp,

into France. There he fell ill of consumption and died in 1584.

This changed at once the complexion of the succession question. Hitherto,

though no children seemed likely to be born to him, Henri III. was young

and might live long, and his brother was there as his heir. Now, Henri

III. was the last Prince of the Valois, and Henri of Navarre in

hereditary succession was heir presumptive to the throne, unless the

Salic law were to be set aside. The fourth son of Saint Louis, Robert,

Comte de Clermont, who married Beatrix, heiress of Bourbon, was the

founder of the House of Bourbon. Of this family the two elder branches

had died out: John, who had been a central figure in the War of the

Public Weal, in 1488; Peter, husband of Anne of France, in 1503; neither

of them leaving heirs male. Of the younger branch Francois died in 1525,

and the famous Constable de Bourbon in 1527. This left as the only

representatives of the family, the Comtes de La Marche; of these the

elder had died out in 1438, and the junior alone survived in the Comtes

de Vendome. The head of this branch, Charles, was made Duc de Vendome by

Francois I. in 1515; he was father of Antoine, Duc de Vendome, who, by

marrying the heroic Jeanne d'Albret, became King of Navarre, and of

Louis, who founded the House of Conde; lastly, Antoine was the father of

Henri IV. He was, therefore, a very distant cousin to Henri III; the

Houses of Capet, of Alencon, of Orleans, of Angouleme, of Maine, and of

Burgundy, as well as the elder Bourbons, had to fall extinct before Henri

of Navarre could become heir to the crown. All this, however, had now

happened; and the Huguenots greatly rejoiced in the prospect of a

Calvinist King. The Politique party showed no ill-will towards him; both

they and the Court party declared that if he would become once more a

Catholic they would rally to him; the Guises and the League were

naturally all the more firmly set against him; and Henri of Navarre saw

that he could not as yet safely endanger his influence with the

Huguenots, while his conversion would not disarm the hostility of the

League. They had before, this put forward as heir to the throne Henri's

uncle, the wretched old Cardinal de Bourbon, who had all the faults and

none of the good qualities of his brother Antoine. Under cover of his

name the Duc de Guise hoped to secure the succession for himself; he also

sold himself and his party to Philip of Spain, who was now in fullest

expectation of a final triumph over his foes. He had assassinated

William the Silent; any day Elizabeth or Henri of Navarre might be found

murdered; the domination of Spain over Europe seemed almost secured. The

pact of Joinville, signed between Philip, Guise, and Mayenne, gives us

the measure of the aims of the high Catholic party. Paris warmly sided

with them; the new development of the League, the "Sixteen of Paris," one

representative for each of the districts of the capital, formed a

vigorous organisation and called for the King's deposition; they invited

Henri, Duc de Guise, to Paris. Soon after this Henri III. humbled

himself, and signed the Treaty of Nemours (1585) with the Leaguers. He

hereby became nominal head of the League and its real slave.

The eighth war, the "War of the Three Henries," that is, of Henri III.

and Henri de Guise against Henri of Navarre, now broke out. The Pope

made his voice heard; Sixtus excommunicated the Bourbons, Henri and

Conde, and blessed the Leaguers.

For the first time there was some real life in one of these civil ware,

for Henri of Navarre rose nobly to the level of his troubles. At first

the balance of successes was somewhat in favour of the Leaguers; the

political atmosphere grew even more threatening, and terrible things,

like lightning flashes, gleamed out now and again. Such, for example,

was the execution of Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, in 1586. It was known

that Philip II. was preparing to crush England. Elizabeth did what she

could to support Henri of Navarre; he had the good fortune to win the

battle of Contras, in which the Duc de Joyeuse, one of the favourites of

Henri III., was defeated and killed. The Duc de Guise, on the other

hand, was too strong for the Germans, who had marched into France to join

the Huguenots, and defeated them at Vimroy and Auneau, after which he

marched in triumph to Paris, in spite of the orders and opposition of.

the King, who, finding himself powerless, withdrew to Chartres. Once

more Henri III. was obliged to accept such terms as the Leaguers chose to

impose; and with rage in his heart he signed the "Edict of Union" (1588),

in which he named the Duc de Guise lieutenant-general of the kingdom, and

declared that no heretic could succeed to the throne. Unable to endure

the humiliation, Henri III. that same winter, assassinated the Duc and

the Cardinal de Guise, and seized many leaders of the League, though he

missed the Duc de Mayenne. This scandalous murder of the "King of

Paris," as the capital fondly called the Duke, brought the wretched King

no solace or power. His mother did not live to see the end of her son;

she died in this the darkest period of his career, and must have been

aware that her cunning and her immoral life had brought nothing but

misery to herself and all her race. The power of the League party seemed

as great as ever; the Duc de Mayenne entered Paris, and declared open war

on Henri III., who, after some hesitation, threw himself into the hands

of his cousin Henri of Navarre in the spring of 1589. The old Politique

party now rallied to the King; the Huguenots were stanch for their old

leader; things looked less dark for them since the destruction of the

Spanish Armada in the previous summer. The Swiss, aroused by the threats

of the Duke of Savoy at Geneva, joined the Germans, who once more entered

northeastern France; the leaguers were unable to make head either against

them or against the armies of the two Kings; they fell back on Paris, and

the allies hemmed them in. The defence of the capital was but languid;

the populace missed their idol, the Duc de Guise, and the moderate party,

never extinguished, recovered strength. All looked as if the royalists

would soon reduce the last stronghold of the League, when Henri III. was

suddenly slain by the dagger of a fanatical half-wined priest.

The King had only time to commend Henri of Navarre to his courtiers as

his heir, and to exhort him to become a Catholic, before he closed his

eyes, and ended the long roll of his vices and crimes. And thus in crime

and shame the House of Valois went down. For a few years, the throne

remained practically vacant: the heroism of Henri of Navarre, the loss of

strength in the Catholic powers, the want of a vigorous head to the

League,--these things all sustained the Bourbon in his arduous struggle;

the middle party grew in strength daily, and when once Henri had allowed

himself to be converted, he became the national sovereign, the national

favourite, and the high Catholics fell to the fatal position of an

unpatriotic faction depending on the arm of the foreigner.

4. The civil wars were not over, for the heat of party raged as yet

unslaked; the Politiques could not all at once adopt a Huguenot King, the

League party had pledged itself to resist the heretic, and Henri at first

had little more than the Huguenots at his back. There were also

formidable claimants for the throne. Charles II. Duc de Lorraine, who

had married Claude, younger daughter of Henri IL, and who was therefore

brother-in-law to Henri III., set up a vague claim; the King of Spain,

Philip II., thought that the Salic law had prevailed long enough in

France, and that his own wife, the elder daughter of Henri III. had the

best claim to the throne; the Guises, though their head was gone, still

hoping for the crown, proclaimed their sham-king, the Cardinal de

Bourbon, as Charles X., and intrigued behind the shadow of his name. The

Duc de Mayenne, their present chief, was the most formidable of Henri's

opponents; his party called for a convocation of States General, which

should choose a King to succeed, or to replace, their feeble Charles X.

During this struggle the high Catholic party, inspired by Jesuit advice,

stood forward as the admirers of constitutional principles; they called

on the nation to decide the question as to the succession; their Jesuit

friends wrote books on the sovereignty of the people. They summoned up

troops from every side; the Duc de Lorraine sent his son to resist Henri

and support his own claim; the King of Spain sent a body of men; the

League princes brought what force they could. Henri of Navarre at the

same moment found himself weakened by the silent withdrawal from his camp

of the army of Henri III.; the Politique nobles did not care at first to

throw in their lot with the Huguenot chieftain; they offered to confer on

Henri the post of commander-in-chief, and to reserve the question as to

the succession; they let him know that they recognised his hereditary

rights, and were hindered only by his heretical opinions; if he would but

be converted they were his. Henri temporised; his true strength, for the

time, lay in his Huguenot followers, rugged and faithful fighting men,

whose belief was the motive power of their allegiance and of their

courage. If he joined the Politiques at their price, the price of

declaring himself Catholic, the Huguenots would be offended if not

alienated. So he neither absolutely refused nor said yes; and the chief

Catholic nobles in the main stood aloof, watching the struggle between

Huguenot and Leaguer, as it worked out its course.

Henri, thus weakened, abandoned the siege of Paris, and fell back; with

the bulk of his forces he marched into Normandy, so as to be within reach

of English succour; a considerable army went into Champagne, to be ready

to join any Swiss or German help that might come. These were the great

days in the life of Henri of Navarre. Henri showed himself a hero, who

strove for a great cause--the cause of European freedom--as well as for

his own crown.

The Duc de Mayenne followed the Huguenots down into the west, and found

Henri awaiting him in a strong position at Arques, near Dieppe; here at

bay, the "Bearnais" inflicted a heavy blow on his assailants; Mayenne

fell back into Picardy; the Prince of Lorraine drew off altogether; and

Henri marched triumphantly back to Paris, ravaged the suburbs and then

withdrew to Tours, where he was recognised as King by the Parliament. His

campaign of 1589 had been most successful; he had defeated the League in

a great battle, thanks to his skilful use of his position at Arques, and

the gallantry of his troops, which more than counterbalanced the great

disparity in numbers. He had seen dissension break out among his

enemies; even the Pope, Sixtus, had shown him some favour, and the

Politique nobles were certainly not going against him. Early in 1590

Henri had secured Anjou, Maine, and Normandy, and in March defeated

Mayenne, in a great pitched battle at Ivry, not far from Dreux. The

Leaguers fell back in consternation to Paris. Henri reduced all the

country round the capital, and sat down before it for a stubborn siege.

The Duke of Parma had at that time his hands full in the Low Countries;

young Prince Maurice was beginning to show his great abilities as a

soldier, and had got possession of Breda; all, however, had to be

suspended by the Spaniards on that side, rather than let Henri of Navarre

take Paris. Parma with great skill relieved the capital without striking

a blow, and the campaign of 1590 ended in a failure for Henri. The

success of Parma, however, made Frenchmen feel that Henri's was the

national cause, and that the League flourished only by interference of

the foreigner. Were the King of Navarre but a Catholic, he should be a

King of France of whom they might all be proud. This feeling was

strengthened by the death of the old Cardinal de Bourbon, which reopened

at once the succession question, and compelled Philip of Spain to show

his hand. He now claimed the throne for his daughter Elisabeth, as

eldest daughter of the eldest daughter of Henri II. All the neighbours

of France claimed something; Frenchmen felt that it was either Henri IV.

or dismemberment. The "Bearnais" grew in men's minds to be the champion

of the Salic law, of the hereditary principle of royalty against feudal

weakness, of unity against dismemberment, of the nation against the

foreigner.

The middle party, the Politiques of Europe,--the English, that is, and

the Germans,--sent help to Henri, by means of which he was able to hold

his own in the northwest and southwest throughout 1591. Late in the year

the violence of the Sixteen of Paris drew on them severe punishment from

the Duc de Mayenne; and consequently the Duke ceased to be the recognised

head of the League, which now looked entirely to Philip II. and Parma,

while Paris ceased to be its headquarters; and more moderate counsels

having taken the place of its fierce fanaticism, the capital came under

the authority of the lawyers and citizens, instead of the priesthood and

the bloodthirsty mob. Henri, meanwhile, who was closely beleaguering

Rouen, was again outgeneralled by Parma, and had to raise the siege.

Parma, following him westward, was wounded at Caudebec; and though he

carried his army triumphantly back to the Netherlands, his career was

ended by this trifling wound. He did no more, and died in 1592.

In 1593, Mayenne, having sold his own claims to Philip of Spain, the

opposition to Henri looked more solid and dangerous than ever; he

therefore thought the time was come for the great step which should rally

to him all the moderate Catholics. After a decent period of negotiation

and conferences, he declared himself convinced, and heard mass at St.

Denis. The conversion had immediate effect; it took the heart out of the

opposition; city after city came in; the longing for peace was strong in

every breast, and the conversion seemed to remove the last obstacle. The

Huguenots, little as they liked it, could not oppose the step, and hoped

to profit by their champion's improved position. Their ablest man,

Sully, had even advised Henri to make the plunge. In 1594, Paris opened

her gates to Henri, who had been solemnly crowned, just before, at

Chartres. He was welcomed with immense enthusiasm, and from that day

onwards has ever been the favourite hero of the capital. By 1595 only

one foe remained,--the Spanish Court. The League was now completely

broken up; the Parliament of Paris gladly aided the King to expel the

Jesuits from France. In November, 1595, Henri declared war against

Spain, for anything was better than the existing state of things, in

which Philip's hand secretly supported all opposition: The war in 1596

was far from being successful for Henri; he was comforted, however, by

receiving at last the papal absolution, which swept away the last

scruples of France.

By rewards and kindliness,--for Henri was always willing to give and had

a pleasant word for all, most of the reluctant nobles, headed by the Duc

de Mayenne himself, came in in the course of 1596. Still the war pressed

very heavily, and early in 1597 the capture of Amiens by the Spaniards

alarmed Paris, and roused the King to fresh energies. With help of Sully

(who had not yet received the title by which he is known in history)

Henri recovered Amiens, and checked the Spanish advance. It was noticed

that while the old Leaguers came very heartily to the King's help, the

Huguenots hung back in a discontented and suspicious spirit. After the

fall of Amiens the war languished; the Pope offered to mediate, and Henri

had time to breathe. He felt that his old comrades, the offended

Huguenots, had good cause for complaint; and in April, 1598, he issued

the famous Edict of Nantes, which secured their position for nearly a

century. They got toleration for their opinions; might worship openly in

all places, with the exception of a few towns in which the League had

been strong; were qualified to hold office in financial posts and in the

law; had a Protestant chamber in the Parliaments.

Immediately after the publication of the Edict of Nantes, the Treaty of

Vervins was signed. Though Henri by it broke faith with Queen Elizabeth,

he secured an honourable peace for his country, an undisputed kingship

for himself. It was the last act of Philip II., the confession that his

great schemes were unfulfilled, his policy a failure.

THE ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Adversity is solitary, while prosperity dwells in a crowd

Comeliness of his person, which at all times pleads powerfully

Envy and malice are self-deceivers

Everything in the world bore a double aspect

From faith to action the bridge is short

Hearsay liable to be influenced by ignorance or malice

Honours and success are followed by envy

Hopes they (enemies) should hereafter become our friends

I should praise you more had you praised me less

It is the usual frailty of our sex to be fond of flattery

Lovers are not criminal in the estimation of one another

Mistrust is the sure forerunner of hatred

Much is forgiven to a king

Necessity is said to be the mother of invention

Never approached any other man near enough to know a difference

Not to repose too much confidence in our friends

Parliament aided the King to expel the Jesuits from France

Prefer truth to embellishment

Rather out of contempt, and because it was good policy

Situated as I was betwixt fear and hope

The pretended reformed religion

The Massacre of St. Bartholomew's Day

The record of the war is as the smoke of a furnace

There is too much of it for earnest, and not enough for jest

Those who have given offence to hate the offended party

To embellish my story I have neither leisure nor ability

Troubles might not be lasting

Young girls seldom take much notice of children

MEMOIRS OF JEAN FRANCOIS PAUL de GONDI,

CARDINAL DE RETZ

Written by Himself

Being Historic Court Memoirs of the Great Events

during the Minority of Louis XIV.

and the Administration of Cardinal Mazarin.

CONTENTS

BOOK I.

BOOK II.

BOOK III.

BOOK IV.

BOOK V.

ILLUSTRATIONS

Cardinal de Retz----Photogravure from an Old Painting

Turenne----Photogravure from an Old Painting

Richelieu----Engraving by Lubin

Anne of Austria----Original Etching by Mercier

Louis XIII----Painting in the Louvre

Conde'----Painting in Versailles Gallery

ORIGINAL PREFACE.

Our Author, John Francis Paul de Gondi, Cardinal de Retz, Sovereign of

Commercy, Prince of Euville, second Archbishop of Paris, Abbot of Saint

Denis in France, was born at Montmirail, in Brie, in October, 1614.

His father was Philippe Emanuel de Gondi, Comte, de Joigni, General of

the Galleys of France and Knight of the King's Orders; and his mother was

Frances Marguerite, daughter of the Comte de Rochepot, Knight of the

King's Orders, and of Marie de Lannoy, sovereign of Commercy and Euville.

Pierre de Gondi, Duc de Retz, was his brother, whose daughter was the

Duchesse de Lesdiguieres.

His grandfather was Albert de Gondi, Duc de Retz, Marquis de Belle Isle,

a Peer of France, Marshal and General of the Galleys, Colonel of the

French Horse, First Gentleman of the Bedchamber, and Great Chamberlain to

the Kings Charles IX. and Henri III.

This history was first printed in Paris in 1705, at the expense of the

Duchesse de Lesdiguieres, the last of this noble family, whose estate

fell after her decease to that of Villeroy.

His preceptor was the famous Vincent de Paul, Almoner to Queen Anne of

Austria.

In 1627 he was made a Canon of the Cathedral of Paris by his uncle, Jean

Francois de Gondi, first archbishop of that city, and was not long after

created a Doctor of the Sorbonne.

In 1643 he was appointed Coadjutor of the archbishopric of Paris, with

the title of Archbishop of Corinth, during which, such was his pastoral

vigilance that the most important affairs of the Church were committed to

his care.

As to his general character, if we take it from his own Memoirs, he had

such presence of mind, and so dexterously improved all opportunities

which fortune presented to him, that it seemed as if he had foreseen or

desired them. He knew how to put a good gloss upon his failings, and

oftentimes verily believed he was really the man which he affected to be

only in appearance. He was a man of bright parts, but no conduct, being

violent and inconstant in his intrigues of love as well as those of

politics, and so indiscreet as to boast of his successful amours with

certain ladies whom he ought not to have named. He affected pomp and

splendour, though his profession demanded simplicity and humility. He

was continually shifting parties, being a loyal subject one day and the

next a rebel, one time a sworn enemy to the Prime Minister, and by and by

his zealous friend; always aiming to make himself formidable or

necessary. As a pastor he had engrossed the love and confidence of the

people, and as a statesman he artfully played them off against their

sovereign. He studied characters thoroughly, and no man painted them in

truer colours more to his own purpose. Sometimes he confesses his

weaknesses, and at other times betrays his self-flattery.

It being his fate to be imprisoned by Mazarin, first at Vincennes and

then at Nantes, he made his escape to Rome, and in 1656 retired to

Franche Comte, where Cardinal Mazarin gave orders for his being arrested;

upon which he posted to Switzerland, and thence to Constance, Strasburg,

Ulm, Augsburg, Frankfort, and Cologne, to which latter place Mazarin sent

men to take him dead or alive; whereupon he retired to Holland, and made

a trip from one town to another till 1661, when, Cardinal Mazarin dying,

our Cardinal went as far as Valenciennes on his way to Paris, but was not

suffered to come further; for the King and Queen-mother would not be

satisfied without his resignation of the archbishopric of Paris, to which

he at last submitted upon advantageous terms for himself and an amnesty

for all his adherents. But still the Court carried it so severely to the

Cardinal that they would not let him go and pay his last devoirs to his

father when on his dying bed. At length, however, after abundance of

solicitation, he had leave to go and wait upon the King and Queen, who,

on the death of Pope Alexander VII., sent him to Rome to assist at the

election of his successor.

No wonder that King Charles II. of England promised to intercede for the

Cardinal's reestablishment; for when the royal family were starving, as

it were, in their exile at Paris, De Retz did more for them than all the

French Court put together; and, upon the King's promise to take the Roman

Catholics of England under his protection after his restoration, he sent

an abbot to Rome to solicit the Pope to lend him money, and to dispose

the English Catholics in his favour.

He would fain have returned his hat to the new Pope, but his Holiness, at

the solicitation of Louis XIV., ordered him to keep it. After this he

chose a total retirement, lived with exemplary piety, considerably

retrenched his expenses, and hardly allowed himself common necessaries,

in order to save money to pay off a debt of three millions, which he had

the happiness to discharge, and to balance all accounts with the world

before his death, which happened at Paris on the 24th of August, 1679, in

the 65th year of his age.

HISTORIC COURT MEMOIRS.

CARDINAL DE RETZ.

BOOK I.

MADAME:--Though I have a natural aversion to give you the history of my

own life, which has been chequered with such a variety of different

adventures, yet I had rather sacrifice my reputation to the commands of a

lady for whom I have so peculiar a regard than not disclose the most

secret springs of my actions and the inmost recesses of my soul.

By the caprice of fortune many mistakes of mine have turned to my credit,

and I very much doubt whether it would be prudent in me to remove the

veil with which some of them are covered. But as I am resolved to give

you a naked, impartial account of even the most minute passages of my

life ever since I have been capable of reflection, so I most humbly beg

you not to be surprised at the little art, or, rather, great disorder,

with which I write my narrative, but to consider that, though the

diversity of incidents may sometimes break the thread of the history, yet

I will tell you nothing but with all that sincerity which the regard I

have for you demands. And to convince you further that I will neither

add to nor diminish from the plain truth, I shall set my name in the

front of the work.

False glory and false modesty are the two rocks on which men who have

written their own lives have generally split, but which Thuanus among the

moderns and Caesar among the ancients happily escaped. I doubt not you

will do me the justice to believe that I do not pretend to compare myself

with those great writers in any respect but sincerity,--a virtue in which

we are not only permitted, but commanded, to rival the greatest heroes.

I am descended from a family illustrious in France and ancient in Italy,

and born upon a day remarkable for the taking of a monstrous sturgeon in

a small river that runs through the country of Montmirail, in Brie, the

place of my nativity.

I am not so vain as to be proud of having it thought that I was ushered

into the world with a prodigy or a miracle, and I should never have

mentioned this trifling circumstance had it not been for some libels

since published by my enemies, wherein they affect to make the said

sturgeon a presage of the future commotions in this kingdom, and me the

chief author of them.

I beg leave to make a short reflection on the nature of the mind of man.

I believe there never was a more honest soul in the world than my

father's; I might say his temper was the very essence of virtue. For

though he saw I was too much inclined to duels and gallantry ever to make

a figure as an ecclesiastic, yet his great love for his eldest son--not

the view of the archbishopric of Paris, which was then in his

family--made him resolve to devote me to the service of the Church. For

he was so conscious of his reasons, that I could even swear he would have

protested from the very bottom of his heart that he had no other motive

than the apprehension of the dangers to which a contrary profession might

expose my soul. So true it is that nothing is so subject to delusion as

piety: all sorts of errors creep in and hide themselves under that veil;

it gives a sanction to all the turns of imagination, and the honesty of

the intention is not sufficient to guard against it. In a word, after

all I have told you, I turned priest, though it would have been long

enough first had it not been for the following accident.

The Duc de Retz, head of our family, broke at that time, by the King's

order, the marriage treaty concluded some years before between the Duc de

Mercoeur--[Louis, Duc de Mercoeur, since Cardinal de Vendome, father of

the Duc de Vendome, and Grand Prior, died 1669.]--and his daughter, and

next day came to my father and agreeably surprised him by telling him he

was resolved to give her to his cousin to reunite the family.

As I knew she had a sister worth above 80,000 livres a year, I, that very

instant, thought of a double match. I had no hopes they would think of

me, knowing how things stood, so I was resolved to provide for myself.

Having got a hint that my father did not intend to carry me to the

wedding, as, foreseeing, it may be, what happened, I pretended to be

better pleased with my profession, to be touched by what my father had so

often laid before me on that subject, and I acted my part so well that

they believed I was quite another man.

My father resolved to carry me into Brittany, for the reason that I had

shown no inclination that way. We found Mademoiselle de Retz at

Beaupreau, in Anjou. I looked on the eldest only as my sister, but

immediately considered Mademoiselle de Scepaux (so the youngest was

called) as my mistress.

I thought her very handsome, her complexion the most charming in the

world, lilies and roses in abundance, admirable eyes, a very pretty

mouth, and what she wanted in stature was abundantly made up by the

prospect of 80,000 livres a year and of the Duchy of Beaupreau, and by a

thousand chimeras which I formed on these real foundations.

I played my game nicely from the beginning, and acted the ecclesiastic

and the devotee both in the journey and during my stay there;

nevertheless, I paid my sighs to the fair one,--she perceived it. I spoke

at last, and she heard me, but not with that complacency which I could

have wished.

But observing she had a great kindness for an old chambermaid, sister to

one of my monks of Buzai, I did all I could to gain her, and by the means

of a hundred pistoles down, and vast promises, I succeeded. She made her

mistress believe that she was designed for a nunnery, and I, for my part,

told her that I was doomed to nothing less than a monastery. She could

not endure her sister, because she was her father's darling, and I was

not overfond of my brother,--[Pierre de Gondi, Duc de Retz, who died in

1676.]--for the same reason. This resemblance in our fortunes

contributed much to the uniting of our affections, which I persuaded

myself were reciprocal, and I resolved to carry her to Holland.

Indeed, there was nothing more easy, for Machecoul, whither we were come

from Beaupreau, was no more than half a league from the sea. But money

was the only thing wanting, for my treasury, was so drained by the gift

of the hundred pistoles above mentioned that I had not a sou left. But I

found a supply by telling my father that, as the farming of my abbeys was

taxed with the utmost rigour of the law, so I thought myself obliged in

conscience to take the administration of them into my own hands. This

proposal, though not pleasing, could not be rejected, both because it was

regular and because it made him in some measure believe that I would not

fail to keep my benefices, since I was willing to take care of them. I

went the next day to let Buzai,--[One of his abbeys.]--which is but five

leagues from Machecoul. I treated with a Nantes merchant, whose name was

Jucatieres, who took advantage of my eagerness, and for 4,000 crowns

ready money got a bargain that made his fortune. I thought I had

4,000,000, and was just securing one of the Dutch pinks, which are always

in the road of Retz, when the following accident happened, which broke

all my measures.

Mademoiselle de Retz (for she had taken that name after her sister's

marriage) had the finest eyes in the world, and they never were so

beautiful as when she was languishing in love, the charms of which I

never yet saw equalled. We happened to dine at a lady's house, a league

from Machecoul, where Mademoiselle de Retz, looking in the glass at an

assembly of ladies, displayed all those tender, lively, moving airs which

the Italians call 'morbidezza', or the lover's languish. But

unfortunately she was not aware that Palluau, since Marechal de

Clerambaut, was behind her, who observed her airs, and being very much

attached to Madame de Retz, with whom he had in her tender years been

very familiar, told her faithfully what he had observed.

Madame de Retz, who mortally hated her sister, disclosed it that very

night to her father, who did not fail to impart it to mine. The next

morning, at the arrival of the post from Paris, all was in a hurry, my

father pretending to have received very pressing news; and, after our

taking a slight though public leave of the ladies, my father carried me

to sleep that night at Nantes. I was, as you may imagine, under very

great surprise and concern; for I could not guess the cause of this

sudden departure. I had nothing to reproach myself with upon the score

of my conduct; neither had I the least suspicion that Palluau had seen

anything more than ordinary till I arrived at Orleans, where the matter

was cleared up, for my brother, to prevent my escape, which I vainly

attempted several times on my journey, seized my strong box, in which was

my money, and then I understood that I was betrayed; in what grief, then,

I arrived at Paris, I leave you to imagine.

I found there Equilli, Vasse's uncle, and my first cousin, who, I

daresay, was one of the most honest men of his time, and loved me from

his very soul. I apprised him of my design to run away with Mademoiselle

de Retz. He heartily approved of my project, not only because it would

be a very advantageous match for me, but because he was persuaded that a

double alliance was necessary to secure the establishment of the family.

The Cardinal de Richelieu--[Armand Jean du Plesais, Cardinal de

Richelieu, was born in 1585, and died in 1642.]--(then Prime Minister)

mortally hated the Princesse de Guemenee, because he was persuaded she

had crossed his amours with the Queen,--[Anne of Austria, eldest daughter

of Philip II., King of Spain, and wife of Louis XIII., died 1666.]--and

had a hand in the trick played him by Madame du Fargis, one of the

Queen's dressing women, who showed her Majesty (Marie de Medicis) a

love-letter written by his Eminence to the Queen, her daughter-in-law.

The Cardinal pushed his resentment so far that he attempted to force the

Marechal de Breze, his brother-in-law, and captain of the King's

Life-guards, to expose Madame de Guemenee's letters, which were found in

M. de Montmorency's--[Henri de Montmorency was apprehended on the 1st of

September, 1632, and beheaded in Toulouse in November of the same

year.]--coffer when he was arrested at Chateau Naudari. But the Marechal

de Breze had so much honour and generosity as to return them to Madame de

Guemenee. He was, nevertheless, a very extravagant gentleman; but the

Cardinal de Richelieu, perceiving he had been formerly honoured by some

kind of relation to him, and dreading his angry excursions and

preachments before the King, who had some consideration for his person,

bore with him very patiently for the sake of settling peace in his own

family, which he passionately longed to unite and establish, but which

was the only thing out of his power, who could do whatever else he

pleased in France. For the Marechal de Breze had conceived so strong an

aversion to M. de La Meilleraye, who was then Grand Master of the

Artillery, and afterwards Marechal de La Meilleraye, that he could not

endure him. He did not imagine that the Cardinal would ever look upon a

man who, though his first cousin, was of a mean extraction, had a most

contemptible aspect, and, if fame says true, not one extraordinary good

quality.

The Cardinal was of another mind, and had a great opinion--indeed, with

abundance of reason--of M. de La Meilleraye's courage; but he esteemed

his military capacity infinitely too much, though in truth it was not

contemptible. In a word, he designed him for that post which we have

since seen so gloriously filled by M. de Turenne.

You may, by what has been said, judge of the divisions that were in

Cardinal de Richelieu's family, and how much he was concerned to appease

them. He laboured at them with great application, and for this end

thought he could not do better than to unite these two heads of the

faction in a close confidence with himself, exclusive of all others. To

this end he used them jointly and in common as the confidants of his

amours, which certainly were neither suitable to the lustre of his

actions nor the grandeur of his life; for Marion de Lorme, one of his

mistresses, was little better than a common prostitute. Another of his

concubines was Madame de Fruges, that old gentlewoman who was so often

seen sauntering in the enclosure. The first used to come to his

apartment in the daytime, and he went by night to visit the other, who

was but the pitiful cast-off of Buckingham and Epienne. The two

confidants introduced him there in coloured clothes; for they had made up

a hasty peace, to which Madame de Guemenee nearly fell a sacrifice.

M. de La Meilleraye, whom they called the Grand Master, was in love with

Madame de Guemenee, but she could not love him; and he being, both in his

own nature and by reason of his great favour with the Cardinal, the most

imperious man living, took it very ill that he was not beloved. He

complained, but the lady was insensible; he huffed and bounced, but was

laughed to scorn. He thought he had her in his power because the

Cardinal, to whom he had declared his rage against her, had given him her

letters, as above mentioned, which were written to M. de Montmorency,

and, therefore, in his menaces he let fall some hints with relation to

those letters to the disadvantage of Madame de Guemenee. She thereupon

ridiculed him no longer, but went almost raving mad, and fell into such

an inconceivable melancholy that you would not have known her, and

retired to Couperai, where she would let nobody see her.

As soon as I applied my mind to study I resolved at the same time to take

the Cardinal de Richelieu for my pattern, though my friends opposed it as

too pedantic; but I followed my first designs, and began my course with

good success. I was afterwards followed by all persons of quality of the

same profession; but, as I was the first, the Cardinal was pleased with

my fancy, which, together with the good offices done me by the Grand

Master with the Cardinal, made him speak well of me on several occasions,

wonder that I had never made my court to him, and at the same time he

ordered M. de Lingendes, since Bishop of Magon, to bring me to his house.

This was the source of my first disgrace, for, instead of complying with

these offers of the Cardinal and with the entreaties of the Grand Master,

urging me to go and make my court to him, I returned the most trifling

excuses and apologies; one time I pretended to be sick and went into the

country. In short, I did enough to let them see that I did not care to

be a dependent on the Cardinal de Richelieu, who was certainly a very

great man, but had this particular trait in his genius,--to take notice

of trifles. Of this he gave me the following instance: The history of

the conspiracy of Jean Louis de Fiesque,--[Author of "The Conspiracy of

Genoa." He was drowned on the 1st of January, 1557.]--which I had

written at eighteen years of age, being conveyed by Boisrobert into the

Cardinal's hands, he was heard to say, in the presence of Marechal

d'Estrees and M. de Senneterre, "This is a dangerous genius." This was

told my father that very night by M. de Senneterre, and I took it as

spoken to myself.

The success that I had in the acts of the Sorbonne made me fond of that

sort of reputation, which I had a mind to push further, and thought I

might succeed in sermons. Instead of preaching first, as I was advised,

in the little convents, I preached on Ascension, Corpus Christi Day,

etc., before the Queen and the whole Court, which assurance gained me a

good character from the Cardinal; for, when he was told how well I had

performed, he said, "There is no judging of things by the event; the man

is a coxcomb." Thus you see I had enough to do for one of two-and-twenty

years of age.

M. le Comte,--[Louis de Bourbon, Comte de soissons, killed in the battle

of Marfee, near Sedan, in 1641.]--who had a tender love for me, and to

whose service and person I was entirely devoted, left Paris in the night,

in order to get into Sedan, for fear of an arrest; and, in the meantime,

entrusted me with the care of Vanbrock, the greatest confidant he had in

the world. I took care, as I was ordered, that he should never stir out

but at night, for in the daytime I concealed him in a private place,

between the ceiling and the penthouse, where I thought it impossible for

anything but a cat or the devil to find him. But he was not careful

enough of himself, for one morning my door was burst open, and armed men

rushed into my chamber, with the provost at their head, who cried, with a

great oath, "Where is Vanbrock?" I replied, "At Sedan, monsieur, I

believe." He swore again most confoundedly, and searched the mattresses

of all the beds in the house, threatening to put my domestics to the rack

if they did not make a disclosure; but there was only one that knew

anything of the matter, and so they went away in a rage. You may easily

imagine that when this was reported the Court would highly resent it. And

so it happened, for the license of the Sorbonne being expired, and the

competitors striving for the best places, I had the ambition to put in

for the first place, and did not think myself obliged to yield to the

Abbe de La Mothe-Houdancourt, now Archbishop of Auch, over whom I had

certainly some advantage in the disputations. I carried myself in this

affair more wisely than might have been expected from my youth; for as

soon as I heard that my rival was supported by the Cardinal, who did him

the honour to own him for his kinsman, I sent the Cardinal word, by M. de

Raconis, Bishop of Lavaur, that I desisted from my pretension, out of the

respect I owed his Eminence, as soon as I heard that he concerned himself

in the affair. The Bishop of Lavaur told me the Cardinal pretended that

the Abby de La Mothe would not be obliged for the first place to my

cession, but to his own merit. This answer exasperated me. I gave a

smile and a low bow, pursued my point, and gained the first place by

eighty-four voices. The Cardinal, who was for domineering in all places

and in all affairs, fell into a passion much below his character, either

as a minister or a man, threatened the deputies of the Sorbonne to raze

the new buildings he had begun there, and assailed my character again

with incredible bitterness.

All my friends were alarmed at this, and were for sending me in all haste

to Italy. Accordingly, I went to Venice, stayed there till the middle of

August, and was very near being assassinated; for I amused myself by

making an intrigue with Signora Vendranina, a noble Venetian lady, and

one of the most handsome I ever saw. M. de Maille, the King's

ambassador, aware of the dangerous consequences of such adventures in

this country, ordered me to depart from Venice; upon which I went through

Lombardy, and towards the end of September arrived at Rome, where the

Marechal d'Estrees, who resided there as ambassador, gave me such

instructions for my behaviour as I followed to a tittle. Though I had no

design to be an ecclesiastic, yet since I wore a cassock I was resolved

to acquire some reputation at the Pope's Court. I compassed my design

very happily, avoiding any appearance of gallantry and lewdness, and my

dress being grave to the last degree; but for all this I was at a vast

expense, having fine liveries, a very splendid equipage, and a train of

seven or eight gentlemen, whereof four were Knights of Malta. I disputed

in the Colleges of Sapienza (not to be compared for learning with those

of the Sorbonne), and fortune continued still to raise me. For the

Prince de Schomberg, the Emperor's ambassador, sent me word one day,

while I was playing at 'balon' at the baths of Antoninus, to leave the

place clear for him. I answered that I could have refused his Excellency

nothing asked in a civil manner, but since it was commanded, I would have

him to know that I would obey the orders of no ambassador whatever, but

that of the King, my master. Being urged a second time by one of his

attendants to leave the place, I stood upon my own defence, and the

Germans, more, in my opinion, out of contempt of the few people I had

with me than out of any other consideration, let the affair drop. This

bold carriage of so modest an abbe, to an ambassador who never went

abroad without one hundred musketeers on horseback to attend him, made a

great noise in Rome, and was much taken notice of by Cardinal Mazarin.

The Cardinal de Richelieu's health declining, the archbishopric of Paris

was now almost within my ken, which, together with other prospects of

good benefices, made me resolve not to fling off the cassock but upon

honourable terms and valuable considerations; but having nothing yet

within my view that I could be sure of, I resolved to distinguish myself

in my own profession by all the methods I could. I retired from the

world, studied very hard, saw but very few men, and had no more

correspondence with any of the female sex, except Madame de -------.

The devil had appeared to the Princesse de Guemenee just a fortnight

before this adventure happened, and was often raised by the conjurations

of M. d'Andilly, to frighten his votary, I believe, into piety, for he

was even more in love with her person than I myself; but he loved her in

the Lord, purely and spiritually. I raised, in my turn, a demon that

appeared to her in a more kind and agreeable form. In six weeks I got

her away from Port Royal; I was very diligent in paying her my respects,

and the satisfaction I had in her company, with some other agreeable

diversions, qualified in a great measure the chagrin which attended my

profession, to which I was not yet heartily reconciled. This enchantment

had like to have raised such a storm as would have given a new face to

the affairs of Europe if fortune had been ever so little on my side.

M. the Cardinal de Richelieu loved rallying other people, but could not

bear a jest himself, and all men of this humour are always very crabbed

and churlish; of which the Cardinal gave an instance, in a public

assembly of ladies, to Madame de Guemenee, when he threw out a severe

jest, which everybody observed was pointed at me. She was sensibly

affronted, but I was enraged. For at last there was a sort of an

understanding between us, which was often ill-managed, yet our interests

were inseparable. At this time Madame de La Meilleraye, with whom,

though she was silly, I had fallen in love, pleased the Cardinal to that

degree that the Marshal perceived it before he set out for the army, and

rallied his wife in such a manner that she immediately found he was even

more jealous than ambitious. She was terribly afraid of him, and did not

love the Cardinal, who, by marrying her to his cousin, had lessened his

own family, of which he was extremely fond. Besides, the Cardinal's

infirmities made him look a great deal older than he was. And though all

his other actions had no tincture of pedantry, yet in his amorous

intrigues he had the most of it in the world. I had a detail of all the

steps he had made therein, which were extremely ridiculous. But

continuing his solicitation, and carrying her to his country seat at

Ruel,--[The Cardinal de Richelieu's seat, three leagues from

Paris.]--where he kept her a considerable time, I guessed that the lady

had not brains enough to resist the splendour of Court favour, and that

her husband's jealousy would soon give way to his interest, but, above

all, to his blind side, which was an attachment to the Court not to be

equalled. When I was in the hottest pursuit of this passion I proposed

to myself the most exquisite pleasures in triumphing over the Cardinal de

Richelieu in this fair field of battle; but on a sudden I had the

mortification to hear the whole family was changed. The husband allowed

his wife to go to Ruel as often as she pleased, and her behaviour towards

me I suspected to be false and treacherous. In short, Madame de

Guemenee's anger, for a reason I hinted before, my jealousy of Madame de

La Meilleraye, and an aversion to my own profession, all joined together

in a fatal moment and were near producing one of the greatest and most

famous events of our age.

La Rochepot, my first cousin and dear friend, was a domestic of the late

Duc d'Orleans,--[Gaston Jean Baptists de France, born 1608, and died at

Blois, 1660.]--and his great confidant. He mortally hated the Cardinal

de Richelieu, who had persecuted his mother, and had her hung up in

effigy, and kept his father still a prisoner in the Bastille, and now

refused the son a regiment, though Marechal de La Meilleraye, who very

highly esteemed him for his courage, interceded for the favour. You may

imagine that when we came together we did not forget the Cardinal.

I being crossed in my designs, as I told you, and as full of resentment

as La Rochepot was for the affronts put upon his person and family, we

chimed in our thoughts and resolutions, which were, dexterously to manage

the weakness of the Duc d'Orleans and to put that in execution which the

boldness of his domestics had almost effected at Corbie.

The Duc d'Orleans was appointed General, and the Comte de Soissons

Lieutenant-General of the King's forces in Picardy, but neither of them

stood well with the Cardinal, who gave them those posts only because the

situation of affairs was such that he could not help it. L'Epinai,

Montresor, and La Rochepot made use of all the arguments they could think

of to raise jealousies and fears in the Duc d'Orleans, and to inspire him

with resolution and courage to rid himself of the Cardinal. Others

laboured to persuade the Comte de Soissons to relish the same proposal,

but though resolved upon, it was never put into execution. For they had

the Cardinal in their power at Amiens, but did him no harm. For this

every one blamed the Count's companion, but I could never yet learn the

true cause; only this is certain, that they were no sooner come to Paris

than they were all seized with a panic, and retired, some one way, some

another.

The Comte de Guiche, since Marechal de Grammont, and M. de Chavigni,

Secretary of State and the Cardinal's most intimate favourite, were sent

by the King to Blois. Here they frightened the Duc d'Orleans and made

him return to Paris, where he was more afraid than ever; for such of his

domestics as were not gained by the Court made use of his pusillanimous

temper, and represented to him the necessity he was under to provide for

his own, or rather their, security. La Rochepot and myself endeavoured

to heighten his fears as much as possible, in order to precipitate him

into our measures. The term sounds odd, but it is the most expressive I

could find of a character like the Duke's. He weighed everything, but

fixed on nothing; and if by chance he was inclined to do one thing more

than another, he would never execute it without being pushed or forced

into it.

La Rochepot did all he could to fix him, but finding that the Duke was

always for delays, and for perplexing all expedients with groundless

fears of invincible difficulties, he fell upon an expedient very

dangerous to all appearance, but, as it usually happens in extraordinary

cases, much less so than at first view.

Cardinal de Richelieu having to stand godfather at the baptism of

Mademoiselle, La Rochepot's proposal was to continue to show the Duke the

necessity he lay under still to get rid of the Cardinal, without saying

much of the particulars, for fear of hazarding the secret, but only to

entertain him with the general proposal of that affair, thereby to make

him the better in love with the measures when proposed; and that they

might, at a proper time and place, tell him they had concealed the detail

to the execution from his Highness upon no other account but that they

had experienced on several occasions that there was no other way of

serving his Highness, as he himself had told La Rochepot several times;

that nothing, therefore, remained but to get some brave fellows fit for

such a resolute enterprise, and to hold post-horses ready upon the road

of Sedan under some other pretext, and to so execute the design in the

presence and in the name of his Royal Highness upon the day of the

intended solemnity, that his Highness should cheerfully own it when it

was done, and that then we would carry him off by those horses to Sedan.

Meanwhile the distraction of the inferior ministers and the joy of the

King to see himself delivered from a tyrant would dispose the Court

rather to invite than to pursue him. This was La Rochepot's scheme, and

it seemed exceedingly plausible.

La Rochepot and I had, it may be, blamed the inactivity of the Duc

d'Orleans and the Comte de Soissons in the affair of Amiens a hundred

times; yet, no sooner was the scheme sufficiently matured for execution,

the idea of which I had raised in the memory of La Rochepot, than my mind

was seized with I know not what fear; I took it then for a scruple of

conscience,--I cannot tell whether it was in truth so or not, but, in

short, the thought of killing a priest and a cardinal deeply affected my

mind. La Rochepot laughed at my scruples, and bantered me thus: "When

you are in the field of battle I warrant you will not beat up the enemy's

quarters for fear of assassinating men in their sleep." I was ashamed of

my scruples, and again hugged the crime, which I looked upon as

sanctified by the examples of great men, and justified and honoured by

the mighty danger that attended its execution. We renewed our

consultations, engaged some accomplices, took all the necessary

precautions, and resolved upon the execution. The danger was indeed very

great, but we might reasonably hope to come off well enough; for the

Duke's guard, which was within, would not have failed to come to our

assistance against that of the Cardinal's, which was without. But his

fortune, and not his guards, delivered him from the snare; for either

Mademoiselle or himself, I forget which, fell suddenly ill, and the

ceremony was put off to another time, so that we lost our opportunity.

The Duke returned to Blois, and the Marquis de Boissi protested he would

never betray us, but that he would be no longer concerned, because he had

just received some favour or other from the Cardinal's own hands.

I confess that this enterprise, which, had it succeeded, would have

crowned us with glory, never fully pleased me. I was not so scrupulous

in the committing of two other transgressions against the rules of

morality, as you may have before observed; but I wish, with all my heart,

I had never been concerned in this. Ancient Rome, indeed, would have

counted it honourable; but it is not in this respect that I honour the

memory of old Rome.

There is commonly a great deal of folly in conspiracies; but afterwards

there is nothing tends so, much to make men wise, at least for some time.

For, as the danger in things of this nature continues, even after the

opportunities for doing them are over, men are from that instant more

prudent and circumspect.

Having thus missed our blow, the Comte de La Rochepot and the rest of

them retired to their several seats in the country; but my engagements

detained me at Paris, where I was so retired that I spent all my time in

my study; and if ever I was seen abroad, it was with all the reserve of a

pious ecclesiastic; we were all so true to one another in keeping this

adventure secret, that it never got the least wind while the Cardinal

lived, who was a minister that had the best intelligence in the world;

but after his death it was discovered by the imprudence of Tret and

Etourville. I call it imprudence, for what greater weakness can men be

guilty of than to declare themselves to have been capable of what is

dangerous in the first instance?

To return to the history of the Comte de Soissons, I observed before that

he had retired to Sedan for safety, which he could not expect at Court.

He wrote to the King, assuring his Majesty of his fidelity, and that

while he stayed in that place he would undertake nothing prejudicial to

his service. He was most mindful of his promise; was not to be biassed

by all the offers of Spain or the Empire, but rejected with indignation

the overtures of Saint-Ibal and of Bardouville, who would have persuaded

him to take up arms. Campion, one of his domestics, whom he had left at

Paris to mind his affairs at Court, told me these particulars by the

Count's express orders, and I still remember this passage in one of his

letters to Campion: "The men you know are very urgent with me to treat

with the enemy, and accuse me of weakness because I fear the examples of

Charles de Bourbon and Robert d'Artois." He was ordered to show me this

letter and desire my opinion thereupon. I took my pen, and, at a little

distance from the answer he had already begun, I wrote these words:

"And I do accuse them of folly." The reasons upon which my opinion was

grounded were these: The Count was courageous in the highest degree of

what is commonly called valour, and had a more than ordinary share in

that boldness of mind which we call resolution. The first is common and

to be frequently met with among the vulgar, but the second is rarer than

can be imagined, and yet abundantly more necessary for great enterprises;

and is there a greater in the world than heading a party? The command of

an army is without comparison of less intricacy, for there are wheels

within wheels necessary for governing the State, but then they are not

near so brittle and delicate. In a word, I am of opinion there are

greater qualities necessary to make a good head of a party than to make

an emperor who is to govern the whole world, and that resolution ought to

run parallel with judgment,--I say, with heroic judgment, which is able

to distinguish the extraordinary from what we call the impossible.

The Count had not one grain of this discerning faculty, which is but

seldom to be met with in the sublimest genius. His character was mean to

a degree, and consequently susceptible of unreasonable jealousies and

distrusts, which of all characters is the most opposite to that of a good

partisan, who is indispensably obliged in many cases to suppress, and in

all to conceal, the best-grounded suspicions.

This was the reason I could not be of the opinion of those who were for

engaging the Count in a civil war; and Varicarville, who was the man of

the best sense and temper of all the persons of quality he had about him,

told me since that when he saw what I wrote in Campion's letter the day I

set out for Italy, he very well knew by what motives I was, against my

inclination, persuaded into this opinion.

The Count held out all this year and the next against every solicitation

of the Spaniards and the importunities of his own friends, much more by

the wise counsels of Varicarville than by the force of his own

resolution; but nothing could secure him from the teasings of the

Cardinal de Richelieu, who poured into his ears every day in the King's

name his many dismal discoveries and prognostications. For fear of being

tedious I shall only tell you in one word that the Cardinal, contrary to

his own interest, hurried the Count into a civil war, by such arts of

chicanery as those who are fortune's favourites never fail to play upon

the unfortunate.

The minds of people began now to be more embittered than ever. I was

sent for by the Count to Sedan to tell him the state of Paris. The

account I gave him could not but be very agreeable; for I told him the

very truth: that he was universally beloved, honoured, and adored in that

city, and his enemy dreaded and abhorred. The Duc de Bouillon, who was

urgent for war, be the consequence what it would, improved upon these

advantages, and made them look more plausible, but Varicarville strongly

opposed him.

I thought myself too young to declare my opinion; but, being pressed to

do so by his Highness, I took the liberty to tell him that a Prince of

the blood ought to engage himself in a civil war rather than suffer any

diminution of his reputation or dignity, yet that nothing but these two

cases could justly oblige him to it, because he hazards both by a

commotion whenever the one or the other consideration does not make it

necessary; that I thought his Highness far from being under any such

necessity; that his retreat to Sedan secured him from the indignity he

must have submitted to, among others, of taking the left hand, even in

the Cardinal's own house; that, in the meantime, the popular hatred of

the Cardinal gained his Highness the greater share of the public favour,

which is always much better secured by inaction than action, because the

glory of action depends upon success, for which no one can answer;

whereas inaction is sure to be commended as being founded upon the hatred

which the public will always bear to the minister. That, therefore, I

should think it would be more glorious for his Highness, in the view of

the world, to support himself by his own weight, that is, by the merit of

his virtue, against the artifices of so powerful a minister as the

Cardinal de Richelieu,--I say, more glorious to support himself by a wise

and regular conduct than to kindle the fire of war, the flagrant

consequences whereof no man is able to foresee; that it was true that the

minister was universally cursed, but that I could not yet see that the

people's minds were exasperated enough for any considerable revolution;

that the Cardinal was in a declining state of health, and if he should

not die this time, his Highness would have the opportunity of showing the

King and the public that though, by his own personal authority and his

important post at Sedan, he was in a capacity to do himself justice, he

sacrificed his own resentments to the welfare and quiet of the State; and

that if the Cardinal should recover his health, he would not fail, by

additional acts of tyranny and oppression, to draw upon himself the

redoubled execrations of the people, which would ripen, their murmurings

and discontents into a universal revolution.

This is the substance of what I said to the Count, and he seemed to be

somewhat affected by it. But the Duc de Bouillon was enraged, and told

me, by way of banter, "Your blood is very cold for a gentleman of your

age." To which I replied in these very words: "All the Count's servants

are so much obliged to you, monsieur, that they ought to bear everything

from you; but were it not for this consideration alone, I should think

that your bastions would not be always strong enough to protect you." The

Duke soon came to himself, and treated me with all the civilities

imaginable, such as laid a foundation for our future friendship. I stayed

two days longer at Sedan, during which the Count changed his mind five

different times, as I was told by M. Saint-Ibal, who said little was to

be expected from a man of his humour. At last, however, the Duc de

Bouillon won him over. I was charged to do all I could to convince the

people of Paris, had an order to take up money and to lay it out for this

purpose, and I returned from Sedan with letters more than enough to have

hanged two hundred men.

As I had faithfully set the Count's true interest before him, and

dissuaded him from undertaking an affair of which he was by no means

capable, I thought it high time to think of my own affairs. I hated my

profession now more than ever; I was at first hurried into it by the

infatuation of my kindred. My destiny had bound me down to it by the

chains both of duty and pleasure, so that I could see no possibility to

set myself free. I was upwards of twenty-five years of age, and I saw it

was now too late to begin to carry a musket; but that which tortured me

most of all was this fatal reflection, that I had spent so much of my

time in too eager a pursuit of pleasure, and thereby riveted my own

chains; so that it looked as if fate was resolved to fasten me to the

Church, whether I would or no. You may imagine with what satisfaction

such thoughts as these were accompanied, for this confusion of affairs

gave me hopes of getting loose from my profession with uncommon honour

and reputation. I thought of ways to distinguish myself, pursued them

very diligently, and you will allow that nothing but destiny broke my

measures.

The Marechaux de Vitri and Bassompierre, the Comte de Cremail, M. du

Fargis, and M. du Coudrai Montpensier were then prisoners in the Bastille

upon different counts. But, as length of time makes confinement less

irksome, they were treated very civilly, and indulged with a great share

of freedom. Their friends came to see them, and sometimes dined with

them. By means of M. du Fargis, who had married my aunt, I got

acquainted with the rest, and by conversing with them discovered very

remarkable emotions in some of them, upon which I could not help

reflecting. The Marechal de Vitri was a gentleman of mean parts, but

bold, even to rashness, and his having been formerly employed to kill the

Marechal d'Ancre had given him in the common vogue, though I think

unjustly, the air of a man of business and expedition. He appeared to me

enraged against the Cardinal, and I concluded he might do service in the

present juncture, but did not address myself directly to him, and thought

it the wisest way first to sift the Comte de Cremail, who was a man of

sound sense, and could influence the Marechal de Vitri as he pleased. He

apprehended me at half a word, and immediately asked me if I had made

myself known to any of the prisoners. I answered, readily:

"No, monsieur; and I will tell you my reasons in a very few words.

Bassompierre is a tattler; I expect to do nothing with the Marechal de

Vitri but by your means. I suspect the honesty of Du Coudrai, and as for

my uncle, Du Fargis, he is a gallant man, but has no headpiece."

"Whom, then, do you confide in at Paris?" said the Comte de Cremail.

"I dare trust no man living," said I, "but yourself."

"It is very well," said he, briskly; "you are the man for me. I am above

eighty years old, and you but twenty-five; I will qualify your heat, and

you my chilliness."

We went upon business, drew up our plan, and at parting he said these

very words: "Let me alone one week, and after that I will tell you more

of my mind, for I hope to convince the Cardinal that I am good for

something more than writing the 'Jeu de l'Inconnu.'"

You must know that the "Jeu de l'Inconnu" was a book, indeed, very ill

written, which the Comte de Cremail had formerly published, and which the

Cardinal had grossly ridiculed. You will be surprised, without doubt,

that I should think of prisoners for an affair of this importance, but

the nature of it was such that it could not be put into better hands, as

you will see by and by.

A week after, going to visit the prisoners, and Cremail and myself being

accidentally left alone, we took a walk upon the terrace, where, after a

thousand thanks for the confidence I had put in him, and as many

protestations of his readiness to serve the Comte de Soissons, he spoke

thus: "There is nothing but the thrust of a sword or the city of Paris

that can rid us of the Cardinal. Had I been at the enterprise of Amiens,

I think I should not have missed my blow, as those gentlemen did. I am

for that of Paris; it cannot miscarry; I have considered it well. See

here what additions I have made to our plan." And thereupon he put into

my hand a paper, in substance as follows: that he had conferred with the

Marechal de Vitri, who was as well disposed as anybody in the world to

serve the Count; that they would both answer for the Bastille, where all

the garrison was in their interest; that they were likewise sure of the

arsenal; and that they would also declare themselves as soon as the Count

had gained a battle, on condition that I made it appear beforehand, as I

had told him (the Comte de Cremail), that they should be supported by a

considerable number of officers, colonels of Paris, etc. For the rest,

this paper contained many particular observations on the conduct of the

undertaking, and many cautions relating to the behaviour to be observed

by the Count. That which surprised me most of all was to see how fully

persuaded these gentlemen were of carrying their point with ease.

Though it came into my head to propose this project to the persons in the

Bastille, yet nothing but the perfect knowledge I had of their

disposition and inclination could have persuaded me that it was

practicable. And I confess, upon perusal of the plan prepared by M. de

Cremail, a man of great experience and excellent sense, I was astonished

to find a few prisoners disposing of the Bastille with the same freedom

as the Governor, the greatest authority in the place.

As all extraordinary circumstances are of wonderful weight in popular

revolutions, I considered that this project, which was even ripe for

execution, would have an admirable effect in the city. And as nothing

animates and supports commotions more than the ridiculing of those

against whom they are raised, I knew it would be very easy for us to

expose the conduct of a minister who had tamely suffered prisoners to

hamper him, as one may say, with their chains. I lost no time;

afterwards I opened myself to M. d'Estampes, President of the Great

Council, and to M. l'Ecuyer, President of the Chamber of Accounts, both

colonels, and in great repute among the citizens, and I found them every

way answering the character I had of them from the Count; that is, very

zealous for his interest, and fully persuaded that the insurrection was

not only practicable, but very easy. Pray observe that these two

gentlemen, who made no great figure, even in their own profession, were,

perhaps, two of the most peaceable persons in the kingdom. But there are

some fires which burn all before them. The main thing is to know and

seize the critical moment.

The Count had charged me to disclose myself to none in Paris besides

these two, but I ventured to add two more: Parmentier, substitute to the

Attorney-General; and his brother-in-law, Epinai, auditor of the Chamber

of Accounts, who was the man of the greatest credit, though but a

lieutenant, and the other a captain. Parmentier, who, both by his wit

and courage, was as capable of a great action as any man I ever knew,

promised me that he would answer for Brigalier, councillor in the Court

of Aids, captain in his quarter, and very powerful among the people, but

told me at the same time that he must not know a word of the matter,

because he was a mere rattle, not to be trusted with a secret.

The Count made me a remittance of 12,000 crowns, which I carried to my

aunt De Maignelai, telling her that it was a restitution made by one of

my dying friends, who made me trustee of it upon condition that I should

distribute it among decayed families who were ashamed to make their

necessities known, and that I had taken an oath to distribute it myself,

persuant to the desire of the testator, but that I was at a loss to find

out fit objects for my charity; and therefore I desired her to take the

care of it upon her. The good woman was perfectly transported, and said

she would do it with all her heart; but because I had sworn to make the

distribution myself, she insisted upon it that I must be present, not

only for the sake of my promise, but to accustom myself to do acts of

charity. This was the very thing I aimed at,--an opportunity of knowing

all the poor of Paris. Therefore I suffered myself to be carried every

day by my aunt into the outskirts, to visit the poor in their garrets,

and I met very often in her house people who were very well clad, and

many whom I once knew, that came for private charity. My good aunt

charged them always to pray to God for her nephew, who was the hand that

God had been pleased to make use of for this good work. Judge you of the

influence this gave me over the populace, who are without comparison the

most considerable in all public disturbances. For the rich never come

into such measures unless they are forced, and beggars do more harm than

good, because it is known that they aim at plunder; those, therefore, who

are capable of doing most service are such as are not reduced to common

beggary, yet so straitened in their circumstances as to wish for nothing

more than a general change of affairs in order to repair their broken

fortunes. I made myself acquainted with people of this rank for the

course of four months with uncommon application, so that there was hardly

a child in the chimney-corner but I gratified with some small token. I

called them by their familiar names. My aunt, who always made it her

business to go from house to house to relieve the poor, was a cloak for

all. I also played the hypocrite, and frequented the conferences of

Saint Lazarus.

Varicarville and Beauregarde, my correspondents at Sedan, assured me that

the Comte de Soissons was as well inclined as one could wish, and that he

had not wavered since he had formed his last resolution. Varicarville

said that we had formerly done him horrible injustice, and that they were

now even obliged to restrain him, because he seemed to be too fond of the

counsels of Spain and the Empire. Please to observe that these two

Courts, which had made incredible solicitations to him while he wavered,

began, as soon as his purpose was fixed, to draw back,--a fatality due to

the phlegmatic temper of the Spaniard, dignified by the name of prudence,

joined to the astute politics of the house of Austria. You may observe

at the same time that the Count, who had continued firm and unshaken

three months together, changed his mind as soon as his enemies had

granted what he asked; which exactly comes up to the character of an

irresolute man, who is always most unsteady the nearer the work comes to

its conclusion. I heard of this convulsion, as one may call it, by an

express from Varicarville, and took post the same night for Sedan,

arriving there an hour after Aretonville, an agent despatched from the

Count's brother in-law, M. de Longueville.--[Henri d'Orleans, the second

of that name, died 1663.]--He came with some plausible but deceitful

terms of accommodation which we all agreed to oppose. Those who had been

always with the Count pressed him strongly with the remembrance of what

he himself thought or said was necessary to be done ever since the war

had been resolved on. Saint-Ibal, who had been negotiating for him at

Brussels, pressed him with his engagements, advances, and solicitations,

insisted on the steps I had, by his order, already taken in Paris, on the

promises made to De Vitri and Cremail, and on the secret committed to two

persons by his own command, and to four others for his service and with

his consent. Our arguments, considering his engagements, were very just

and clear. We carried our point with much ado after a conflict of four

days. Aretonville was sent back with a very smart answer. M. de Guise,

who had joined the Count, and was a well-wisher to a rupture, went to

Liege to order the levies, Varicarville and I returned to Paris, but I

did not care to tell my fellow conspirators of the irresolution of our

principal. Some symptoms of it appeared afterwards, but they very soon

vanished.

Being assured that the Spaniards had everything in readiness, I went for

the last time to Sedan to take my final instructions. There I found

Meternic, colonel of one of the oldest regiments of the Empire,

despatched by General Lamboy, who had advanced with a gallant army under

his command, composed for the most part of veteran troops. The Colonel

assured the Count that he was ordered to obey his commands in everything,

and to give battle to the Marechal de Chatillon, who commanded the army

of France upon the Meuse. As the undertaking at Paris depended entirely

on the success of such a battle, the Count thought it fitting that I

should go along with Meternic to Givet, where I found the army in a very

good condition. Then I returned to Paris, and gave an account of every

particular to the Marechal de Pitri, who drew up the order for the

enterprise. The whole city of Paris seemed so disposed for an

insurrection that we thought ourselves sure of success. The secret was

kept even to a miracle. The Count gave the enemy battle and won it. You

now believe, without doubt, the day was our own. Far from it; for the

Count was killed in the very crisis of the victory, and in the midst of

his own men; but how and by whom no soul could ever tell.

You may guess what a condition I was in when I heard this news; M. de

Cremail, the wisest of us all, thought of nothing else now but how to

conceal the secret, which, though known to only six in all Paris, was

known to too great a number; but the greatest danger of discovery was

from the people of Sedan, who, being out of the kingdom, were not afraid

of punishment. Nevertheless, everybody privy to it religiously kept it

secret, and stood their ground, which, with another accident I shall

mention hereafter, has made me often think, and say too, that secrecy is

not so rare a thing as we imagine with men versed in matters of State.

The Count's death settled me in my profession, for I saw no great things

to be done, and I found myself too old to leave it for anything trifling.

Besides, Cardinal de Richelieu's health was declining, and I already

began to think myself Archbishop of Paris. I resolved that for the

future I would devote myself to my profession. Madame de Guemenee had

retired to Port Royal, her country-seat. M. d'Andilly had got her from

me. She neither powdered nor curled her hair any longer, and had

dismissed me solemnly with all the formalities required from a sincere

penitent. I discovered, by means of a valet de chambre, that, captain

---- of the Marshal's Guards, had as free access to Meilleraye's lady as

myself. See what it is to be a saint! The truth is, I grew much more

regular,--at least affected to be thought so,--led a retired life, stuck

to my profession, studied hard, and got acquainted with all who were

famous either for learning or piety. I converted my house almost into an

academy, but took care not to erect the academy into a rigid tribunal. I

began to be pretty free with the canons and curates, whom I found of

course at my uncle's house. I did not act the devotee, because I could

not be sure how long I should be able to play the counterfeit, but I had

a high esteem for devout people, which with such is the main article of

religion. I suited my pleasures to my practice, and, finding I could not

live without some amorous intrigue, I managed an amour with Madame de

Pommereux, a young coquette, who had so many sparks, not only in her

house but at her devotions, that the apparent business of others was a

cover for mine, which was, at least, some time afterwards, more to the

purpose. When I had succeeded, I became a man in such request among

those of my profession that the devotees themselves used to say of me

with M. Vincent, "Though I had not piety enough, yet I was not far from

the kingdom of heaven."

Fortune favoured me more than usual at this time. I was at the house of

Madame de Rambure, a notable and learned Huguenot, where I met with

Mestrezat, the famous minister of Charento. To satisfy her curiosity she

engaged us in a dispute; we had nine different disputations. The

Marechal de la Forde and M. de Turenne were present at some of them, and

a gentleman of Poitou, who was at all of them, became my proselyte. As I

was then but twenty-six years of age, this made a great deal of noise,

and among other effects, was productive of one that had not the least

connection with its cause, which I shall mention after I have done

justice to a civility I received from my antagonist in one of the

conferences. I had the advantage of him in the fifth meeting, relating

to the spiritual vocation; but in the sixth, treating of the Pope's

authority, I was confounded, because, to avoid embroiling myself with the

Court of Rome, I answered him on principles which are not so easy to be

maintained as those of the Sorbonne. My opponent perceived the concern I

was under, and generously forebore to urge such passages as would have

obliged me to explain myself in a manner disagreeable to the Pope's

Nuncio. I thought it extremely obliging, and as we were going out

thanked him in the presence of M. de Turenne; to which he answered, very

civilly, that it would have been a piece of injustice to hinder the Abbe

de Retz from being made a cardinal. This was such complaisance as you

are not to expect from every Geneva pedant. I told you before that this

conference produced one effect very different from its cause, and it is

this: Madame de Vendome, of whom you have heard, without doubt, took such

a fancy to me ever after, that a mother could not have been more tender.

She had been at the conference too, though I am very well assured she

understood nothing of the matter; but the favourable opinion she had of

me was owing to the Bishop of Lisieux, her spiritual director, who,

finding I was disposed to follow my profession, which out of his great

love to me he most passionately desired, made it his business to magnify

the few good qualities I was master of; and I am thoroughly persuaded

that what applause I had then in the world was chiefly owing to his

encouragement, for there was not a man in France whose approbation could

give so much honour. His sermons had advanced him from a very mean and

foreign extraction (which was Flemish) to the episcopal dignity, which he

adorned with solid and unaffected piety. His disinterestedness was far

beyond that of the hermits or anchorites. He had the courage of Saint

Ambrose, and at Court and in the presence of the King he so maintained

his usual freedom that the Cardinal de Richelieu, who had been his

scholar in divinity, both reverenced and feared him. This good man had

that abundant kindness for me that he read me lectures thrice a week upon

Saint Paul's Epistles, and he designed also the conversion of M. de

Turenne and to give me the honour of it.

M. de Turenne had a great respect for him, whereof he gave him very,

distinguishing marks. The Comte de Brion, whom, I believe, you may

remember under the title of Duc d'Amville, was deeply in love with

Mademoiselle de Vendome, since Madame de Nemours; and, besides, he was a

great favourite of M. de Turenne, who, to do him a pleasure and to give

him the more opportunities to see Mademoiselle de Vendome, affected to be

a great admirer of the Bishop of Lisieux and to hear his exhortations

with a world of attention. The Comte de Brion, who had twice been a

Capuchin, and whose life was a continual medley of sin and devotion,

pretended likewise to be much interested in M. de Turenne's conversion,

and was present at all the conferences held at Mademoiselle de Vendome's

apartment. De Brion had very little wit, but was a clever talker, and

had a great deal of assurance, which not very seldom supplies the room of

good sense. This and the behaviour of M. de Turenne, together with the

indolence of Mademoiselle de Vendome, made me think all was fair, so that

I never suspected an amour at the bottom.

The Bishop of Lisieux being a great admirer of Corneille's writings, and

making no scruple to see a good comedy, provided it was in the country

among a few friends, the late Madame de Choisy proposed to entertain him

with one at Saint Cloud. Accordingly Madame took with her Madame and

Mademoiselle de Vendome, M. de Turenne, M. de Brion, Voiture, and myself.

De Brion took care of the comedy and violins, and I looked after a good

collation. We went to the Archbishop's house at Saint Cloud, where the

comedians did not arrive till very late at night. M. de Lisieux admired

the violins, and Madame de Vendome was hugely diverted to see her

daughter dance alone. In short, we did not set out till peep of day (it

being summer-time), and the days at the longest, and were got no further

than the bottom of the Descent of Bonshommes, when all on a sudden the

coach stopped. I, being next the door opposite to Mademoiselle de

Vendome, bade the coachman drive on. He answered, as plain as he could

speak for his fright, "What! would you have me drive over all these

devils here?" I put my head out of the coach, but, being short-sighted

from my youth, saw nothing at all. Madame de Choisy, who was at the

other door with M. de Turenne, was the first in the coach who found out

the cause of the coachman's fright. I say in the coach, for five or six

lackeys behind it were already crying "Jesu Maria" and quaking with fear.

Madame de Choisy cried out, upon which M. de Turenne threw himself out of

the coach, and I, thinking we were beset by highwaymen, leaped out on the

other side, took one of the footmen's hangers, drew it, and went to the

other aide to join M. de Turenne, whom I found with his eyes fixed on

something, but what I could not see. I asked him what it was, upon which

he pulled me by the sleeve, and said, with a low voice, "I will tell you,

but we must not frighten the ladies," who, by this time, screamed most

fearfully. Voiture began his Oremus, and prayed heartily. You, I

suppose, knew Madame de Choisy's shrill tone; Mademoiselle de Vendome was

counting her beads; Madame de Vendome would fain have confessed her sins

to the Bishop of Lisieux, who said to her, "Daughter, be of good cheer;

you are in the hands of God." At the same instant, the Comte do Brion

and all the lackeys were upon their knees very devoutly singing the

Litany of the Virgin Mary.

M. de Turenne drew his sword, and said to me, with the calm and

undisturbed air he commonly puts on when he calls for his dinner, or

gives battle, "Come, let us go and see who they are."

"Whom should we see?" said I, for I believed we had all lost our senses.

He answered, "I verily think they are devils."

When we had advanced five or six steps I began to see something which I

thought looked like a long procession of black phantoms. I was

frightened at first, because of the sudden reflection that I had often

wished to see a spirit, and that now, perhaps, I should pay for my

incredulity, or rather curiosity. M. de Turenne was all the while calm

and resolute. I made two or three leaps towards the procession, upon

which the company in the coach, thinking we were fighting with all the

devils, cried out most terribly; yet it is a question whether our company

was in a greater fright than the imaginary devils that put us into it,

who, it seems, were a parcel of barefooted reformed Augustine friars,

otherwise called the Black Capuchins, who, seeing two men advancing

towards them with drawn swords, one of them, detached from the

fraternity, cried out, "Gentlemen, we are poor, harmless friars, only

come to bathe in this river for our healths." M. de Turenne and I went

back to the coach ready to die with laughing at this adventure.

Upon the whole we could not help making this reflection, that what we

read in the lives of most people is false. We were both grossly

mistaken, I, for supposing him to be frightened; he, for thinking me calm

and undisturbed. Who, therefore, can write truth better than the man who

has experienced it? The President de Thou is very just in his remark

when he says that "There is no true history extant, nor can be ever

expected unless written by honest men who are not afraid or ashamed to

tell the truth of themselves." I do not pretend to make any merit of my

sincerity in this case, for I feel so great a satisfaction in unfolding

my very heart and soul to you, that the pleasure is even more prevalent

than reason with me in the religious regard I have to the exactness of my

history.

Mademoiselle de Vendome had ever after an inconceivable contempt for the

poor Comte de Brion, who in this ridiculous adventure had disclosed a

weakness never before imagined; and as soon as we were got into the coach

she bantered him, and said, particularly to me:

"I fancy I must be Henri IV.'s granddaughter by the esteem I have for

valour. There's nothing can frighten you, since you were so undaunted on

this extraordinary occasion."

I told her I was afraid, but being not so devout as M. de Brion, my fears

did not turn to litanies.

"You feared not," said she, "and I fancy you do not believe there are

devils, for M. de Turenne, who is very brave, was much surprised, and did

not march on so briskly as you."

I confess the distinction pleased me mightily and made me think of

venturing some compliments. I then said to her, "One may believe there

is a devil and yet not fear him; there are things in the world more

terrible."

"And what are they?" said she.

"They are so strong," said I, "that one dare not so much as name them."

She interpreted my meaning rightly, as she told me since, though she

seemed at that time not to understand me.

Mademoiselle was not what they call a great beauty, yet she was very

handsome, and I was complimented for saying of her and of Mademoiselle de

Guise that they were beauties of quality who convinced the beholders at

first sight that they were born Princesses. Mademoiselle de Vendome had

no great share of wit, but her folly lay as yet concealed; her air was

grave, tinctured with stateliness, not the effect of good sense, but the

consequence of a languid constitution, which sort of gravity often covers

a multitude of defects. In the main, take her altogether, she was really

amiable.

Let me beseech you, madame, with all submission, to call now to mind the

commands you were pleased to honour me with a little before your

departure from Paris, that I should give you a precise account of every

circumstance and accident of my life, and conceal nothing. You see, by

what I have already related, that my ecclesiastical occupations were

diversified and relieved, though not disfigured, by other employments of

a more diverting nature. I observed a decorum in all my actions, and

where I happened to make a false step some good fortune or other always

retrieved it. All the ecclesiastics of the diocese wished to see me

succeed my uncle in the archbishopric of Paris, but Cardinal de Richelieu

was of another mind; he hated my family, and most of all my person, for

the reasons already mentioned, and was still more exasperated for these

two which follow.

I once told the late President de Mesmes what seems now to me very

probable, though it is the reverse of what I told you some time ago, that

I knew a person who had few or no failings but what were either the

effect or cause of some good qualities. I then said, on the contrary, to

M. de Mesmes, that Cardinal de Richelieu had not one great quality but

what was the effect or cause of some greater imperfection. This, which

was only 'inter nos', was carried to the Cardinal, I do not know by whom,

under my name. You may judge of the consequences. Another thing that

angered him was because I visited the President Barillon, then prisoner

at Amboise, concerning remonstrances made to the Parliament, and that I

should do it at a juncture which made my journey the more noticeable. Two

miserable hermits and false coiners, who had some secret correspondence

with M. de Vendome, did, upon some discontent or other, accuse him very

falsely of having proposed to them to assassinate the Cardinal, and to

give the more weight to their depositions they named all those they

thought notorious in that country; Montresor and M. Barillon were of the

number. Early notice of this being given me, the great love I had for

the President Barillon made me take post that night to acquaint him with

his danger and get him away from Amboise, which was very feasible; but

he, insisting upon his innocence, rejected my proposals, defied both the

accusers and their accusations, and was resolved to continue in prison.

This journey of mine gave a handle to the Cardinal to tell the Bishop of

Lisieux that I was a cordial friend to all his enemies.

"True enough," said the Bishop; "nevertheless you ought to esteem him;

you have no reason to complain of him, because those men whom you mean

were all his true friends before they became your enemies."

"If it be so," replied the Cardinal, "then I am very much misinformed."

The Bishop at this juncture did me all the kind offices imaginable, and

if the Cardinal had lived he would undoubtedly have restored me to his

favour; for his Eminence was very well disposed, especially when the

Bishop assured him that, though I knew myself ruined at Court to all

intents and purposes, yet I would never come into the measures of M. le

Grand.--[M. de Cinq-Mars, Henri Coeffier, otherwise called Ruze d'Effial,

Master of the Horse of France; he was beheaded September 12, 1642.]--I

was indeed importuned by my friend M. de Thou to join in that enterprise,

but I saw the weakness of their foundation, as the event has shown, and

therefore rejected their proposals.

The Cardinal de Richelieu died in 1642, before the good Bishop had made

my peace with him, and so I remained among those who had rendered

themselves obnoxious to the Ministry. At first this character was very

prejudicial to my interest. Although the King was overjoyed at his

death, yet he carefully observed all the appearances of respect for his

deceased minister, confirmed all his legacies, cared for his family, kept

all his creatures in the Ministry, and affected to frown upon all who had

not stood well with the Cardinal; but I was the only exception to this

general rule. When the Archbishop of Paris presented me to the King, I

was treated with such distinguishing marks of royal favour as surprised

all the Court. His Majesty talked of my studies and sermons, rallied me

with an obliging freedom, and bade me come to Court once every week. The

reasons of these extraordinary civilities were utterly unknown to us

until the night before his death, when he told them to the Queen. I

passed them by in silence before as having no bearing on my history, but

I am obliged to insert them here because they have been, in their

consequences, more fortunate than I seemed to have any just claim to

expect.

A short time after I left the college, my governor's valet de chambre

found, at a poor pin-maker's house, a niece of hers but fourteen years

old, who was surprisingly beautiful. After I had seen her he bought her

for me for 150 pistoles, hired a little house for her, and placed her

sister with her; when I went to see her I found her in great heaviness of

mind, which I attributed to her modesty. I next day found what was yet

more surprising and extraordinary than her beauty; she talked wisely and

religiously to me, and yet without passion. She cried only when she

could not help it. She feared her aunt to a degree that made me pity

her. I admired her wit first, and then her virtue, for trial of which I

pressed her as far as was necessary, until I was even ashamed of myself.

I waited till night to get her into my coach, and then carried her to my

aunt De Maignelai, who put her into a convent, where she died eight or

ten years after, in great reputation for piety. My aunt, to whom this

young creature confessed that the menaces of the pin-maker had terrified

her so much that she would have done whatsoever I wished, was so affected

with my behaviour that she went to tell it to the Bishop of Lisieux, who

told it to the King.

This second adventure was not of the same nature, but it made as great an

impression on the King's mind. It was a duel I had with Coutenau,

captain of a company of the King's Light-horse, brave, but wild, who,

riding post from Paris as I was going there, made the ostler take off my

saddle and put on his. Upon my telling him I had hired the horse, he

gave me a swinging box on the ear, which fetched blood. I instantly drew

my sword, and so did he. While making our first thrusts his foot

slipped, and his sword dropped out of his hand as he fell to the ground.

I retired a little and bade him pick it up, which he did, but it was by

the point, for he presented me the handle and begged a thousand pardons.

He told this little story afterwards to the King, with whom he had great

freedom. His Majesty was pleased with it, and remembered both time and

place, as you will see hereafter.

The good reception I found at Court gave my relatives some grounds to

hope that I might have the coadjutorship of Paris. At first they found a

great deal of difficulty in my uncle's narrowness of spirit, which is

always attended with fears and jealousies; but at length they prevailed

upon him, and would have then carried our point, if my friends had not

given it out, much against my judgment, that it was done by the consent

of the Archbishop of Paris, and if they had not suffered the Sorbonne,

the cures, and chapter to return him their thanks. This affair made too

much noise in the world for my interest. For Cardinal Mazarin, De

Noyers, and De Chavigni thwarted me, and told his Majesty that the

chapter should not be entrusted with the power of nominating their own

archbishop. And the King was heard to say that I was yet too young.

But we met with a worse obstacle than all from M. de Noyers, Secretary of

State, one of the three favourite ministers, who passed for a religious

man, and was suspected by some to be a Jesuit in disguise. He had a

secret longing for the archbishopric of Paris, which would shortly be

vacant, and therefore thought it expedient to remove me from that city,

where he saw I was extremely beloved, and provide me with some post

suitable to my years. He proposed to the King by his confessor to

nominate me Bishop of Agde. The King readily granted the request, which

confounded me beyond all expression. I had no mind to go to Languedoc,

and yet so great are the inconveniences of a refusal that not a man had

courage to advise me to it. I became, therefore, my own counsellor, and

having resolved with myself what course to take, I waited upon his

Majesty, and thanked him for his gracious offer, but said I dreaded the

weight of so remote a see, and that my years wanted advice, which it is

difficult to obtain in provinces so distant. I added to this other

arguments, which you may guess at. I was in this adventure also more

happy than wise. The King continued to treat me very kindly. This

circumstance, and the retreat of M. de Noyers, who fell into the snare

that Chavigni had laid for him, renewed my hopes of the coadjutorship of

Paris. The King died about this time, in 1643. M. de Beaufort, who had

been always devoted to the Queen's interest, and even passed for her

gallant, pretended now to govern the kingdom, of which he was not so

capable as his valet de chambre. The Bishop of Beauvais, the greatest

idiot you ever knew, took upon himself the character of Prime Minister,

and on the first day of his administration required the Dutch to embrace

the Roman Catholic religion if they desired to continue in alliance with

France. The Queen was ashamed of this ridiculous minister, and sent for

me to offer my father--[Philippe Emmanuel de Gondi, Comte de Joigni; he

retired to the: Fathers of the Oratory, and became priest; died 1662,

aged eighty-one.]--the place of Prime Minister; but he refusing

peremptorily to leave his cell and the Fathers of the Oratory, the place

was conferred upon Cardinal Mazarin.

You may now imagine that it was no great task for me to obtain what I

desired at a time that nothing was refused, which made Feuillade say that

the only words in the French tongue were "La Reine est si bonne."

Madame de Maignelai and the Bishop of Lisieux desired the Queen to grant

me the coadjutorship of Paris, but they were repulsed, the Queen assuring

them that none should have it but my father, who kept from Court; and

would never be seen at the Louvre, except once, when the Queen told him

publicly that the King, the very night before he died, had ordered her

expressly to have it solicited for me, and that he said in the presence

of the Bishop of Lisieux that he had me always in his thoughts since the

adventures of the pinmaker and Captain Coutenau. What relation had these

trifling stories to the archbishopric of Paris? Thus we see that affairs

of the greatest moment often owe their rise and success to insignificant

trifles and accidents. All the companies went to thank the Queen. I

sent 16,000 crowns to Rome for my bull, with orders not to desire any

favour, lest it should delay the despatch and give the ministers time to

oppose it. I received my bull accordingly; and now you will see me

ascending the theatre of action, where you will find scenes not indeed

worthy of yourself, but not altogether unworthy of your attention.

BOOK II.

MADAME:--I lay it down as a maxim, that men who enter the service of the

State should make it their chief study to set out in the world with some

notable act which may strike the imagination of the people, and cause

themselves to be discussed. Thus I preached first upon All Saints' Day,

before an audience which could not but be numerous in a populous city,

where it is a wonder to see the Archbishop in the pulpit. I began now to

think seriously upon my future conduct. I found the archbishopric sunk

both in its temporals and spirituals by the sordidness, negligence, and

incapacity of my uncle. I foresaw infinite obstacles to its

reestablishment, but perceived that the greatest and most insuperable

difficulty lay in myself. I considered that the strictest morals are

necessarily required in a bishop. I felt myself the more obliged to be

strictly circumspect as my uncle had been very disorderly and scandalous.

I knew likewise that my own corrupt inclinations would bear down all

before them, and that all the considerations drawn from honour and

conscience would prove very weak defences. At last I came to a

resolution to go on in my sins, and that designedly, which without doubt

is the more sinful in the eyes of God, but with regard to the world is

certainly the best policy, because he that acts thus always takes care

beforehand to cover part of his failings, and thereby to avoid the

jumbling together of sin and devotion, than which nothing can be more

dangerous and ridiculous in a clergyman. This was my disposition, which

was not the most pious in the world nor yet the wickedest, for I was

fully determined to discharge all the duties of my profession faithfully,

and exert my utmost to save other souls, though I took no care of my own.

The Archbishop, who was the weakest of mortals, was, nevertheless, by a

common fatality attending such men, the most vainglorious; he yielded

precedence to every petty officer of the Crown, and yet in his own house

would not give the right-hand to any person of quality that came to him

about business. My behaviour was the reverse of his in almost

everything; I gave the right-hand to all strangers in my own house, and

attended them even to their coach, for which I was commended by some for

my civility and by others for my humility. I avoided appearing in public

assemblies among people of quality till I had established a reputation.

When I thought I had done so, I took the opportunity of the sealing of a

marriage contract to dispute my rank with M. de Guise. I had carefully

studied the laws of my diocese and got others to do it for me, and my

right was indisputable in my own province. The precedence was adjudged

in my favour by a decree of the Council, and I found, by the great number

of gentlemen who then appeared for me, that to condescend to men of low

degree is the surest way to equal those of the highest.

I dined almost every day with Cardinal Mazarin, who liked me the better

because I refused to engage myself in the cabal called "The Importants,"

though many of the members were my dearest friends. M. de Beaufort, a

man of very mean parts, was so much out of temper because the Queen had

put her confidence in Cardinal Mazarin, that, though her Majesty offered

him favours with profusion, he would accept none, and affected to give

himself the airs of an angry lover. He held aloof from the Duc

d'Orleans, insulted the late Prince, and, in order to support himself

against the Queen-regent, the chief minister, and all the Princes of the

blood, formed a cabal of men who all died mad, and whom I never took for

conjurers from the first time I knew them. Such were Beaupre,

Fontrailles, Fiesque, Montresor, who had the austerity of Cato, but not

his sagacity, and M. de Bethune, who obliged M. de Beaufort to make me

great overtures, which I received very respectfully, but entered into

none. I told Montresor that I was indebted to the Queen for the

coadjutorship of Paris, and that that was enough to keep me from entering

into any engagement that might be disagreeable to her Majesty. Montresor

said I was not obliged for it to the Queen, it having been ordered before

by the late King, and given me at a crisis when she was not in a

condition to refuse it. I replied, "Permit me, monsieur, to forget

everything that may diminish my gratitude, and to remember that only

which may increase it." These words were afterwards repeated to Cardinal

Mazarin, who was so pleased with me that he repeated them to the Queen.

The families of Orleans and Conde, being united by interest, made a jest

of that surly look from which Beaufort's cabal were termed "The

Importants," and at the same time artfully made use of the grand

appearance which Beaufort (like those who carry more sail than ballast)

never failed to assume upon the most trifling occasions. His counsels

were unseasonable, his meetings to no purpose, and even his hunting

matches became mysterious. In short, Beaufort was arrested at the Louvre

by a captain of the Queen's Guards, and carried on the 2d of September,

1643, to Vincennes. The cabal of "The Importants" was put to flight and

dispersed, and it was reported over all the kingdom that they had made an

attempt against the Cardinal's life, which I do not believe, because I

never saw anything in confirmation of it, though many of the domestics of

the family of Vendome were a long time in prison upon this account.

The Marquis de Nangis, who was enraged both against the Queen and

Cardinal, for reasons which I shall tell you afterwards, was strongly

tempted to come into this cabal a few days before Beaufort was arrested,

but I dissuaded him by telling him that fashion is powerful in all the

affairs of life, but more remarkably so as to a man's being in favour or

disgrace at Court. There are certain junctures when disgrace, like fire,

purifies all the bad qualities, and sets a lustre on all the good ones,

and also there are times when it does not become an honest man to be out

of favour at Court. I applied this to the gentlemen of the aforesaid

cabal.

I must confess, to the praise of Cardinal de Richelieu, that he had

formed two vast designs worthy of a Caesar or an Alexander: that of

suppressing the Protestants had been projected before by Cardinal de

Retz, my uncle; but that of attacking the formidable house of Austria was

never thought of by any before the Cardinal. He completed the first

design, and had made great progress in the latter.

That the King's death made no alteration in affairs was owing to the

bravery of the Prince de Conde and the famous battle of Rocroi, in 1643,

which contributed both to the peace and glory of the kingdom, and covered

the cradle of the present King with laurels. Louis XIV.'s father, who

neither loved nor esteemed his Queen, provided him a Council, upon his

death-bed, for limiting the authority of the Regency, and named the

Cardinal Mazarin, M. Seguier, M. Bouthillier, and M. de Chavigni; but

being all Richelieu's creatures, they were so hated by the public that

when the King was dead they were hissed at by all the footmen at Saint

Germain, and if De Beaufort had had a grain of sense, or if De Beauvais

had not been a disgraceful bishop, or if my father had but entered into

the administration, these collateral Regents would have been undoubtedly

expelled with ignominy, and the memory of Cardinal de Richelieu been

branded by the Parliament with shouts of joy.

The Queen was adored much more for her troubles than for her merit. Her

admirers had never seen her but under persecution; and in persons of her

rank, suffering is one of the greatest virtues. People were apt to fancy

that she was patient to a degree of indolence. In a word, they expected

wonders from her; and Bautru used to say she had already worked a miracle

because the most devout had forgotten her coquetry. The Duc d'Orleans,

who made a show as if he would have disputed the Regency with the Queen,

was contented to be Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom. The Prince de

Conde was declared President of the Council, and the Parliament confirmed

the Regency to the Queen without limitation. The exiles were called

home, prisoners set at liberty, and criminals pardoned. They who had

been turned out were replaced in their respective employments, and

nothing that was asked was refused. The happiness of private families

seemed to be fully secured in the prosperity of the State. The perfect

union of the royal family settled the peace within doors; and the battle

of Rocroi was such a blow to the Spanish infantry that they could not

recover in an age. They saw at the foot of the throne, where the fierce

and terrible Richelieu used to thunder rather than govern, a mild and

gentle successor,--[Cardinal Julius Mazarin, Minister of State, who died

at Vincennes in 1661.]--who was perfectly complacent and extremely

troubled that his dignity of Cardinal did not permit him to be as humble

to all men as he desired; and who, when he went abroad, had no other

attendants than two footmen behind his coach. Had not I, then, reason

for saying that it did not become an honest man to be on bad terms with

the Court at that time of day?

You will wonder, no doubt, that nobody was then aware of the consequence

of imprisoning M. de Beaufort, when the prison doors were set open to all

others. This bold stroke--at a time when the Government was so mild that

its authority was hardly felt--had a very great effect. Though nothing

was more easy, as you have seen, yet it looked grand; and all acts of

this nature are very successful because they are attended with dignity

without any odium. That which generally draws an unaccountable odium

upon even the most necessary actions of statesmen, is that, in order to

compass them, they are commonly obliged to struggle with very great

difficulties, which, when they are surmounted, are certain to render them

objects both of envy and hatred. When a considerable occasion offers,

where there is no victory to be gained because there is no difficulty to

encounter, which is very rare, it gives a lustre to the authority of

ministers which is pure, innocent, and without a shadow, and not only

establishes it, but casts upon their administration the merit of actions

which they have no hand in, as well as those of which they have.

When the world saw that the Cardinal had apprehended the man who had

lately brought the King back to Paris with inconceivable pride, men's

imaginations were seized with an astonishing veneration. People thought

themselves much obliged to the Minister that some were not sent to the

Bastille every week; and the sweetness of his temper was sure to be

commended whenever he had not an opportunity of doing them harm. It must

be owned that he had the art of improving his good luck to the best

advantage. He made use of all the outward appearances necessary to

create a belief that he had been forced to take violent measures, and

that the counsels of the Duc d'Orleans and the Prince de Conde had

determined the Queen to reject his advice; the day following he seemed to

be more moderate, civil, and frank than before; he gave free access to

all; audiences were easily had, it was no more to dine with him than with

a private gentleman. He had none of that grand air so common to the

meaner cardinals. In short, though he was at the head of everybody, yet

he managed as if he were only their companion. That which astonishes me

most is that the princes and grandees of the kingdom, who, one might

expect, would be more quick-sighted than the common people, were the most

blinded.

The Duc d'Orleans and the Prince de Conde--the latter attached to the

Court by his covetous temper--thought themselves above being rivalled;

the Duke--[Henri de Bourbon, Duc d'Enghien, born 1646, died 1686. We

shall often speak of him in this history.]--was old enough to take his

repose under the shadow of his laurels; M. de Nemours--[Charles Amadeus

of Savoy, killed in a duel by M. de Beaufort, 1650.]--was but a child; M.

de Guise, lately returned from Brussels, was governed by Madame de Pons,

and thought to govern the whole Court; M. de Schomberg complied all his

life long with the humour of those who were at the helm; M. de Grammont

was a slave to them. The Parliament, being delivered from the tyranny of

Richelieu, imagined the golden age was returning, being daily assured by

the Prime Minister that the Queen would not take one step without them.

The clergy, who are always great examples of slavish servitude

themselves, preached it to others under the plausible title of passive

obedience. Thus both clergy and laity were, in an instant, become the

devotees of Mazarin.

Being ordered by my Lord Archbishop of Paris to take care of his diocese

in his absence, my first business was, by the Queen's express command, to

visit the Nuns of the Conception, where, knowing that there were above

fourscore virgins, many of whom were very pretty and some coquettes, I

was very loth to go for fear, of exposing my virtue to temptation; but I

could not be excused, so I went, and preserved my virtue, to my

neighbour's edification, because for six weeks together I did not see the

face of any one of the nuns, nor talked to any of them but when their

veils were down, which gave me a vast reputation for chastity. I

continued to perform all the necessary functions in the diocese as far as

the jealousy of my uncle would give me leave, and, forasmuch as he was

generally so peevish that it was a very hard matter to please him, I at

length chose to sit still and do nothing. Thus I made the best use

imaginable of my uncle's ill-nature, being sure to convince him of my

honest intentions upon all occasions; whereas had I been my own master,

the rules of good conduct would have obliged me to confine myself to

things in their own nature practicable.

The Cardinal Mazarin confessed to me, many years afterwards, that this

conduct of mine in managing the affairs of the diocese, though it did him

no injury, was the first thing that made him jealous of my growing

greatness in Paris. Another thing alarmed him with as little reason, and

that was my undertaking to examine the capacity of all the priests of my

diocese, a thing of inconceivable use and importance. For this end I

erected three tribunals, composed of canons, curates, and men of

religious orders, who were to reduce all the priests under three

different classes, whereof the first was to consist of men well

qualified, who were therefore to be left in the exercise of their

functions; the second was to comprehend those who were not at present,

but might in time prove able men; and the third of such men as were

neither now nor ever likely to become so. The two last classes, being

separated from the first, were not to exercise their functions, but were

lodged in separate houses; those of the second class were instructed in

the doctrine, but the third only in the practice of piety. As this could

not but be very expensive, the good people opened their purses and

contributed liberally. The Cardinal was so disturbed when he heard of it

that he got the Queen to send for my uncle upon a frivolous occasion,

who, for reasons as frivolous, ordered me to desist. Though I was very

well informed, by my good friend the Almoner, that the blow came from

Court, I bore it with a great deal more patience than was consistent with

a man of my spirit, for I did not seem to take the least notice of it,

but was as gracious to the Cardinal as ever. But I was not so wary in

another case which happened some time after, for honest Morangis telling

me I was too extravagant, which was but too true, I answered him rashly,

"I have made a calculation that Caesar, when at my age, owed six times as

much." This remark was carried, unluckily, by a doctor then present, to

M. Servien, who told it maliciously to the Cardinal, who made a jest of

it, as he had reason to do, but he took notice of it, for which I cannot

blame him.

In 1645 I was invited, as a diocesan, to the assembly of the clergy,

which, I may truly say, was the rock whereon the little share of favour I

had at Court was cast away. Cardinal de Richelieu had given a cruel blow

to the dignity and liberty of the clergy in the assembly of Mantes, and,

with very barbarous circumstances, had banished six of his most

considerable prelates. It was resolved in this assembly of 1645 to make

them some amends for their firmness on that occasion by inviting them to

come and take their places--though they were not deputed--among their

brethren. When this was first, proposed in the assembly, nobody dreamt

that the Court would take offence at it, and it falling to my turn to

speak first, I proposed the said resolution, as it had been concerted

betwixt us before in private conversation, and it was unanimously

approved of by the assembly.

At my return home the Queen's purse-bearer came to me with an order to

attend her Majesty forthwith, which I accordingly obeyed. When I came

into her presence she said she could not have believed I would ever have

been wanting in my duty to that degree as to wound the memory of the late

King, her lord. I had such reasons to offer as she could not herself

confute, and therefore referred me to the Cardinal, but I found he

understood those things no better than her Majesty. He spoke to me with

the haughtiest air in the world, refused to hear my justification, and

commanded me in the King's name to retract publicly the next day in full

assembly. You may imagine how difficult it was for me to resolve what to

do. However, I did not break out beyond the bounds of modest respect,

and, finding that my submission made no impression upon the Cardinal, I

got the Bishop of Arles, a wise and moderate gentleman, to go to him

along with me, and to join with me in offering our reasons. But we found

his Eminence a very ignoramus in ecclesiastical polity. I only mention

this to let you see that in my first misunderstanding with the Court I

was not to blame, and that my respect for the Cardinal upon the Queen's

account was carried to an excess of patience.

Some months after, his profound ignorance and envenomed malice furnished

me with a fresh occasion to exercise patience. The Bishop of Warmia, one

of the ambassadors that came to fetch the Queen of Poland, was very

desirous to celebrate the marriage in the Church of Notre-Dame. Though

the archbishops of Paris never suffered solemnities of this kind to be

celebrated in their churches by any but cardinals of the royal family,

and though my uncle had been highly blamed by all his clergy for

permitting the Cardinal de La Rochefoucault to marry the Queen of

England,--[Henriette Marie of France, daughter of Henri IV., died

1669.]--nevertheless I was ordered by a 'lettre de cachet' to prepare the

said Church of Notre Dame for the Bishop of Warmia, which order ran in

the same style as that given to the 'prevot des marchands' when he is to

prepare the Hotel de Ville for a public ball. I showed the letter to the

deans and canons, and said I did not doubt but it was a stratagem of one

or other of the Secretary of State's clerks to get a gift of money.

I thereupon went to the Cardinal, pressed him with both reasons and

precedents, and said that, as I was his particular humble servant, I

hoped he would be pleased to lay them before her Majesty, making use of

all other persuasion--which I thought would dispose him to a compliance.

It was then that I learned that he only wanted an opportunity to embroil

me with the Queen, for though I saw plainly that he was sorry he had

given such orders before he knew their consequence, yet, after some

pause, he reassumed his former obstinacy to the very last degree; and,

because I spoke in the name of the Archbishop and of the whole Church of

Paris, he stormed as much as if a private person upon his own authority

had presumed to make a speech to him at the head of fifty malcontents. I

endeavoured with all respect to show him that our case was quite

different; but he was so ignorant of our manners and customs that he took

everything by the wrong handle. He ended the conversation very abruptly

and rudely, and referred me to the Queen. I found her Majesty in a

fretful mood, and all I could get out of her was a promise to hear the

chapter upon this affair, without whose consent--I had declared I could

not conclude anything.

I sent for them accordingly, and having introduced them to the Queen,

they spoke very discreetly and to the purpose. The Queen sent us back to

the Cardinal, who entertained us only with impertinences, and as he had

but a superficial knowledge of the French language, he concluded by

telling me that I had talked very insolently to him the night before. You

may imagine that that word was enough to vex me, but having resolved

beforehand to keep my temper, I smiled, and said to the deputies,

"Gentlemen, this is fine language." He was nettled at my smile, and said

to me in aloud tone, "Do you know whom you talk to? I will teach you how

to behave." Now, I confess, my blood began to boil. I told him that the

Coadjutor of Paris was talking to Cardinal Mazarin, but that perhaps he

thought himself the Cardinal de Lorraine, and me the Bishop of Metz, his

suffragan.

Then we went away and met the Marechal d'Estrees coming up to us, who

came to advise me not to break with the Court, and to tell me that things

might be arranged; and when he found I was of another opinion, he told me

in plain terms that he had orders from the Queen to oblige me to come to

her. I went without more ado, accompanied by the deputies, and found her

more gracious and better humoured than I am able to express. She told me

that she had a mind to see me, not so much in relation to our affair,

which might be easily accommodated, as to reprimand me for using such

language to the poor Cardinal, who was as meek as a lamb, and loved me as

his own son. She added all the kind things possible, and ordered the

dean and deputies to go along with me to the Cardinal's house, that we

might consult together what course to take. This was so much against my

inclination that I gave the Queen to understand that no person in the

world but her Majesty could have persuaded me to it.

We found the Minister even milder than his mistress. He made a world of

excuses for the word "insolent," by which he said, and perhaps it may be

true, that he meant no more than 'insolito', a word signifying "somewhat

uncommon." He showed me all the civility imaginable, but, instead of

coming to any determination, put us off to another opportunity. A few

days after, a letter was brought me at midnight from the Archbishop,

commanding me to let the Bishop of Warmia perform the marriage without

any more opposition.

Had I been wise I should have stopped there, because a man ought in

prudence to make his peace with the Court upon any terms consistent with

honour. But I was young, and the more provoked because I perceived that

all the fair words given me at Fontainebleau were but a feint to gain

time to write about the affair to my uncle, then at Angers. However, I

said nothing to the messenger, more than that I was glad my uncle had so

well brought me off. The chapter being likewise served with the same

order, we sent the Court this answer: That the Archbishop might do what

he listed in the nave of the church, but that the choir belonged to the

chapter, and they would yield it to no man but himself or his coadjutor.

The Cardinal knew the meaning of this, and thereupon resolved to have the

marriage solemnised in the Chapel Royal, whereof he said the Great

Almoner was bishop. But this being a yet more important question than

the other, I laid the inconveniences of it before him in a letter. This

nettled him, and he made a mere jest of my letter. I gave the Queen of

Poland to understand that, if she were married in that manner, I should

be forced, even against my will, to declare the marriage void; but that

there remained one expedient which would effectually remove all

difficulties,--that the marriage might be performed in the King's Chapel,

and should stand good provided that the Bishop of Warmia came to me for a

license.

The Queen, resolving to lose no more time by awaiting new orders from

Angers, and fearing the least flaw in her marriage, the Court was obliged

to comply with my proposal, and the ceremony was performed accordingly.

Not long after this marriage I was unhappily embroiled with the Duc

d'Orleans, upon an occasion of no greater importance than my foot-cloth

in the Church of Notre-Dame, which was by mistake removed to his seat. I

complained of it to him, and he ordered it to be restored. Nevertheless

the Abby de la Riviere made him believe I had put an affront upon him

that was too public to be pardoned. The Duke was so simple as to believe

it, and, while the courtiers turned all into banter, he swore he would

receive incense before me at the said church for the future. In the

meantime the Queen sent for me, and told me that the Duke was in a

terrible passion, for which she was very sorry, but that nevertheless she

could not help being of his opinion, and therefore insisted upon it that

I ought to give him satisfaction in the Church of Notre-Dame the Sunday

following. Upon the whole she referred me to Cardinal Mazarin, who

declared to me at first that he was very sorry to see me in so much

trouble, blamed the Abby for having incensed the Duke to such a degree,

and used all the arguments he could to wheedle me to give my consent to

being degraded. And when he saw I was not to be led, he endeavoured to

drive me into the snare. He stormed with an air of authority, and would

fain have bullied me into compliance, telling me that hitherto he had

spoken as a friend, but that I had forced him henceforth to speak as a

minister. He also began to threaten, and the conversation growing warm,

he sought to pick a quarrel by insinuating that if I would do as Saint

Ambrose did, I ought to lead a life like him. As he spoke this loud

enough to be heard by some bishops at the other end of the room, I

likewise raised my voice, and told him I would endeavour to make the best

use of his advice, but he might assure himself I was fully resolved so to

imitate Saint Ambrose in this affair that I might, through his means,

obtain grace to be able to imitate him in all others.

I had not been long gone home when the Marechal d'Estrees and M.

Senneterre came, furnished with all the flowers of rhetoric, to persuade

me that degradation was honourable; and finding me immovable, they

insinuated that my obstinacy might oblige his Highness to use force, and

order his guards to carry me, in spite of myself, to Notre-Dame, and

place me there on a seat below his. I thought this suggestion too

ridiculous to mind it at first, but being forewarned of it that very

evening by the Duke's Chancellor, I put myself upon the defensive, which

I think is the most ridiculous piece of folly I was ever guilty of,

considering it was against a son of France, and when there was a profound

tranquillity in the State, without the least appearance of any commotion.

The Duke, to whom I had the honour of being related, was pleased with my

boldness. He remembered the Abby de la Riviere for his insolence in

complaining that the Prince de Conti was marked down for a cardinal

before him; besides, the Duke knew I was in the right, having made it

very evident in a statement I had published upon this head. He

acquainted the Cardinal with it, said he would not suffer the least

violence to be offered to me; that I was both his kinsman and devoted

servant, and that he would not set out for the army till he saw the

affair at an end.

All the Court was in consternation for fear of a rupture, especially when

the Prince de Conde had been informed by the Queen of what his son had

said; and when he came to my house and found there sixty or eighty

gentlemen, this made him believe that a league was already made with the

Duke, but there was nothing in it. He swore, he threatened, he begged,

he flattered, and in his transports he let fall some expressions which

showed that the Duke was much more concerned for my interest than he ever

yet owned to me. I submitted that very instant, and told the Prince that

I would do anything rather than the royal family should be divided on my

account. The Prince, who hitherto found me immovable, was so touched at

my sudden surrender in complaisance to his son, at the very time, too,

when he himself had just assured me I was to expect a powerful protection

from him, that he suddenly changed his temper, so that, instead of

thinking as he did at first, that there was no satisfaction great enough

for the Duc d'Orleans, he now determined plainly in favour of the

expedient I had so often proposed,--that I should go and declare to him,

in the presence of the whole Court, that I never designed to be wanting

in the respect I owed him, and that the orders of the Church had obliged

me to act as I did at Notre-Dame. The Cardinal and the Abby de la

Riviere were enraged to the last degree, but the Prince put them into

such fear of the Duke that they were fain to submit. The Prince took me

to the Duc d'Orleans's house, where I gave them satisfaction before the

whole Court, precisely in the words above mentioned. His Highness was

quite satisfied with my reasons, carried me to see his medals, and thus

ended the controversy.

As this affair and the marriage of the Queen of Poland had embroiled me

with the Court, you may easily conceive what turn the courtiers gave to

it. But here I found by experience that all the powers upon earth cannot

hurt the reputation of a man who preserves it established and unspotted

in the society whereof he is a member. All the learned clergy took my

part, and I soon perceived that many of those who had before blamed my

conduct now retracted. I made this observation upon a thousand other

occasions. I even obliged the Court, some time after, to commend my,

proceedings, and took an opportunity to convince the Queen that it was my

dignity, and not any want of respect and gratitude, that made me resist

the Court in the two former cases. The Cardinal was very well pleased

with me, and said in public that he found me as much concerned for the

King's service as I was before for the honour of my character.

It falling to my turn to make the speech at the breaking up of the

assembly of the clergy at Paris, I had the good luck to please both the

clergy and the Court. Cardinal Mazarin took me to supper with him alone,

seemed to be clear of all prejudices against me, and I verily believe was

fully persuaded that he had been imposed upon. But I was too much

beloved in Paris to continue long in favour at Court. This was a crime

that rendered me disagreeable in the eyes of a refined Italian statesman,

and which was the more dangerous from the fact that I lost no opportunity

of aggravating it by a natural and unaffected expense, to which my air of

negligence gave a lustre, and by my great alms and bounty, which, though

very often secret, had the louder echo; whereas, in truth, I had acted

thus at first only in compliance with inclination and out of a sense of

duty. But the necessity I was under of supporting myself against the

Court obliged me to be yet more liberal. I do but just mention it here

to show you that the Court was jealous of me, when I never thought myself

capable of giving them the least occasion, which made me reflect that a

man is oftener deceived by distrusting than by being overcredulous.

Cardinal Mazarin, who was born and bred in the Pope's dominions, where

papal authority has no limits, took the impetus given to the regal power

by his tutor, the Cardinal de Richelieu, to be natural to the body

politic, which mistake of his occasioned the civil war, though we must

look much higher for its prime cause.

It is above 1,200 years that France has been governed by kings, but they

were not as absolute at first as they are now. Indeed, their authority

was never limited by written laws as are the Kings of England and

Castile, but only moderated by received customs, deposited, as I may say,

at first in the hands of the States of the kingdom, and afterwards in

those of the Parliament. The registering of treaties with other Crowns

and the ratifications of edicts for raising money are almost obliterated

images of that wise medium between the exorbitant power of the Kings and

the licentiousness of the people instituted by our ancestors. Wise and

good Princes found that this medium was such a seasoning to their power

as made it delightful to their people. On the other hand, weak and

vicious Kings always hated it as an obstacle to all their extravagances.

The history of the Sire de Joinville makes it evident that Saint Louis

was an admirer of this scheme of government, and the writings of Oresme,

Bishop of Lisieux, and of the famous Juvenal des Ursins, convince us that

Charles V., who merited the surname of Wise, never thought his power to

be superior to the laws and to his duty. Louis XI., more cunning than

truly wise, broke his faith upon this head as well as all others. Louis

XII. would have restored this balance of power to its ancient lustre if

the ambition of Cardinal Amboise,--[George d'Amboise, the first of the

name, in 1498 Minister to Louis XII., deceased 1510.]--who governed him

absolutely, had not opposed it.

The insatiable avarice of Constable Montmorency--[Anne de Montmorency,

Constable of France in 1538, died 1567.]--tended rather to enlarge than

restrain the authority of Francois I. The extended views and vast

designs of M. de Guise would not permit them to think of placing bounds

to the prerogative under Francois II. In the reigns of Charles IX. and

Henri III. the Court was so fatigued with civil broils that they took

everything for rebellion which was not submission. Henri IV., who was

not afraid of the laws, because he trusted in himself, showed he had a

high esteem for them. The Duc de Rohan used to say that Louis XIII. was

jealous of his own authority because he was ignorant of its full extent,

for the Marechal d'Ancrel and M. de Luynes were mere dunces, incapable of

informing him. Cardinal de Richelieu, who succeeded them, collected all

the wicked designs and blunders of the two last centuries to serve his

grand purpose. He laid them down as proper maxims for establishing the

King's authority, and, fortune seconding his designs by the disarming of

the Protestants in France, by the victories of the Swedes, by the

weakness of the Empire and of Spain, he established the most scandalous

and dangerous tyranny that perhaps ever enslaved a State in the best

constituted monarchy under the sun.

Custom, which has in some countries inured men even to broil as it were

in the heat of the sun, has made things familiar to us which our

forefathers dreaded more than fire itself. We no longer feel the slavery

which they abhorred more for the interest of their King than for their

own. Cardinal de Richelieu counted those things crimes which before him

were looked upon as virtues. The Mirons, Harlays, Marillacs, Pibracs,

and the Fayes, those martyrs of the State who dispelled more factions by

their wholesome maxims than were raised in France by Spanish or British

gold, were defenders of the doctrine for which the Cardinal de Richelieu

confined President Barillon in the prison of Amboise. And the Cardinal

began to punish magistrates for advancing those truths which they were

obliged by their oaths to defend at the hazard of their lives.

Our wise Kings, who understood their true interest, made the Parliament

the depositary of their ordinances, to the end that they might exempt

themselves from part of the odium that sometimes attends the execution of

the most just and necessary decrees. They thought it no disparagement to

their royalty to be bound by them,--like unto God, who himself obeys the

laws he has preordained. ['A good government: where the people obey their

king and the king obeys the law'--Solon. D.W.] Ministers of State, who

are generally so blinded by the splendour of their fortune as never to be

content with what the laws allow, make it their business to overturn

them; and Cardinal de Richelieu laboured at it more constantly than any

other, and with equal application and imprudence.

God only is self-existent and independent; the most rightful monarchs and

established monarchies in the world cannot possibly be supported but by

the conjunction of arms and laws,--a union so necessary that the one

cannot subsist without the other. Laws without the protection of arms

sink into contempt, and arms which are not tempered by laws quickly turn

a State into anarchy. The Roman commonwealth being set aside by Julius

Caesar, the supreme power which was devolved upon his successors by force

of arms subsisted no longer than they were able to maintain the authority

of the laws; for as soon as the laws lost their force, the power of the

Roman Emperors vanished, and the very men that were their favourites,

having got possession of their seals and their arms, converted their

masters' substance into their own, and, as it were, sucked them dry under

the shelter of those repealed laws. The Roman Empire, formerly sold by

auction to the highest bidder, and the Turkish emperors, whose necks are

exposed every day to the bowstring, show us in very bloody characters the

blindness of those men that make authority to consist only in force.

But why need we go abroad for examples when we have so many at home?

Pepin, in dethroning the Merovingian family, and Capet, in dispossessing

the Carlovingians, made use of nothing else but the same power which the

ministers, their predecessors, had acquired under the authority of their

masters; and it is observable that the mayors of the Palace and the

counts of Paris placed themselves on the thrones of kings exactly by the

same methods that gained them their masters' favours,--that is, by

weakening and changing the laws of the land, which at first always

pleases weak princes, who fancy it aggrandises their power; but in its

consequence it gives a power to the great men and motives to the common

people to rebel against their authority. Cardinal de Richelieu was

cunning enough to have all these views, but he sacrificed everything to

his interest. He would govern according to his own fancy, which scorned

to be tied to rules, even in cases where it would have cost him nothing

to observe them. And he acted his part so well that, if his successor

had been a man of his abilities, I doubt not that the title of Prime

Minister, which he was the first to assume, would have been as odious in

France in a little time as were those of the Maire du Palais and the

Comte de Paris. But by the providence of God, Cardinal Mazarin, who

succeeded him, was not capable of giving the State any jealousy of his

usurpation. As these two ministers contributed chiefly, though in a

different way, to the civil war, I judge it highly necessary to give you

the particular character of each, and to draw a parallel between them.

Cardinal de Richelieu was well descended; his merit sparkled even in his

youth. He was taken notice of at the Sorbonne, and it was very soon

observed that he had a strong genius and a lively fancy. He was commonly

happy in the choice of his parties. He was a man of his word, unless

great interests swayed him to the contrary, and in such a case he was

very artful to preserve all the appearances of probity. He was not

liberal, yet he gave more than he promised, and knew admirably well how

to season all his favours. He was more ambitious than was consistent

with the rules of morality, although it must be owned that, whenever he

dispensed with them in favour of his extravagant ambition, his great

merit made it almost excusable. He neither feared dangers nor yet

despised them, and prevented more by his sagacity than he surmounted by

his resolution. He was a hearty friend, and even wished to be beloved by

the people; but though he had civility, a good aspect, and all the other

qualifications to gain that love, yet he still wanted something--I know

not what to call it--which is absolutely necessary in this case. By his

power and royal state he debased and swallowed up the personal majesty of

the King. He distinguished more judiciously than any man in the world

between bad and worse, good and better, which is a great qualification in

a minister. He was too apt to be impatient at mere trifles when they had

relation to things of moment; but those blemishes, owing to his lofty

spirit, were always accompanied with the necessary talent of knowledge to

make amends for those imperfections. He had religion enough for this

world. His own good sense, or else his inclination, always led him to

the practice of virtue if his self-interest did not bias him to evil,

which, whenever he committed it, he did so knowingly. He extended his

concern for the State no further than his own life, though no minister

ever did more than he to make the world believe he had the same regard

for the future. In a word, all his vices were such that they received a

lustre from his great fortune, because they were such as could have no

other instruments to work with but great virtues. You will easily

conceive that a man who possessed such excellent qualities, and appeared

to have as many more,--which he had not,--found it no hard task to

preserve that respect among mankind which freed him from contempt, though

not from hatred.

Cardinal Mazarin's character was the reverse of the former; his birth was

mean, and his youth scandalous. He was thrashed by one Moretto, a

goldsmith of Rome, as he was going out of the amphitheatre, for having

played the sharper. He was a captain in a foot regiment, and Bagni, his

general, told me that while he was under his command, which was but three

months, he was only looked upon as a cheat. By the interest of Cardinal

Antonio Barberini, he was sent as Nuncio Extraordinary to France, which

office was not obtained in those days by fair means. He so tickled

Chavigni by his loose Italian stories that he was shortly after

introduced to Cardinal de Richelieu, who made him Cardinal with the same

view which, it is thought, determined the Emperor Augustus to leave the

succession of the Empire to Tiberius. He was still Richelieu's

obsequious, humble servant, notwithstanding the purple. The Queen making

choice of him, for want of another, his pedigree was immediately derived

from a princely family. The rays of fortune having dazzled him and

everybody about him, he rose, and they glorified him for a second

Richelieu, whom he had the impudence to ape, though he had nothing of

him; for what his predecessor counted honourable he esteemed scandalous.

He made a mere jest of religion. He promised everything without scruple;

at the same time he intended to perform nothing. He was neither

good-natured nor cruel, for he never remembered either good offices or

bad ones. He loved himself too well, which is natural to a sordid soul;

and feared himself too little, the true characteristic of those that have

no regard for their reputation. He foresaw an evil well enough, because

he was usually timid, but never applied a suitable remedy, because he had

more fear than wisdom. He had wit, indeed, together with a most

insinuating address and a gay, courtly behaviour; but a villainous heart

appeared constantly through all, to such a degree as betrayed him to be a

fool in adversity and a knave in prosperity. In short, he was the first

minister that could be called a complete trickster, for which reason his