1631-1632
Flight from France of the Queen-mother and Monsieur--New honours for
Cardinal de Richelieu--The fall of the Marillac brothers--The Duc de
Montmorency and Monsieur’s ride to Languedoc--Castelnaudary--The death
of Montmorency--Illness and recovery of the Cardinal.
A few months were enough to rid Cardinal de Richelieu of his most
active enemies. One after another, in the first half of the year 1631,
they disappeared from the scene by exile or imprisonment, in some cases
ending in death.
After the crushing disappointment of the “Day of Dupes,” Marie de
Médicis submitted to a kind of reconciliation with her “former
creature” who had so convincingly proved his strength. Gaston d’Orléans
too, led by his favourites, M. de Puylaurens and Président Le Coigneux,
whom Richelieu thought it worth while to bribe heavily, visited the
Cardinal and promised him his friendship. But it was not to be expected
that either mother or son should be in earnest. Gaston hardly needed
the discontent of his favourites--eager for places and honours which
the Cardinal was not in a hurry to give--to throw him once more into
violent opposition.
On January 30, attended by a dozen gentlemen, the young Prince appeared
at the Petit-Luxembourg. He told the Cardinal “that he had come to
retract the promise of friendship which he had given him a few days
before; on the contrary, to declare his resentment that a man of his
sort should so far have forgotten himself as to set the royal family
in a blaze. That, owing his whole fortune and elevation to the Queen
his benefactress, instead of proving his gratitude, as a good man and a
faithful servant would have done, he had become her chief persecutor,
by his artifices continually blackening her in the eyes of the King;
and that as to himself, he had treated him not only without respect,
but with insolence! And that he would have reproved him sooner, had he
not been restrained by his quality as a priest; but that this would not
save him in the future from the quite extraordinary treatment deserved
by the gravity of his offences against personages of such dignity.”
“This discourse,” continues the chronicler, “was made with so much heat
and such threatening gestures of hands and eyes, that the Cardinal made
no answer, not knowing whether it was all in earnest or only meant to
frighten him.”
The moment was alarming enough, for Monsieur’s people, so fierce were
their looks, seemed to be waiting their moment to fall upon their prey.
The Prince went down to his coach in a terrible humour, swearing and
threatening all the way, while the Cardinal attended him bare-headed
and prudently silent. It was not till the blustering company had
driven off that he regained his usual composure. None the less, we
are assured, he was extremely glad to see the King, who came dashing
“à toute bride” to the door, as his champion and protector, not many
minutes later.
Monsieur left Paris immediately for Orléans, where he swaggered for
some weeks and tried to rouse a civil war by posing as a friend to the
populace and a resister of taxation. Since he refused to submit to
his brother and to return to Court, Richelieu was prepared to bring
him to his senses by armed force. But he preferred self-banishment.
In the middle of March he rode across country to Besançon, and then
took refuge with the Duke of Lorraine. He was followed into exile by
a number of persons of quality, notably his half-brother the Comte de
Moret, the Duc d’Elbeuf, brother-in-law of the Duc de Vendôme, the Duc
de Bellegarde, governor of Burgundy, and M. and Madame du Fargis,
in disgrace at Court because of their intimate friendship with the
brothers Marillac.
Each day of that winter and spring brought fresh and painful experience
to Marie de Médicis. She saw herself checked in every direction by an
enemy who worked with extraordinary prudence, keeping all the outward
forms of due respect while he lured her gradually to ruin. No doubt her
presence in Paris, her atmosphere of plot and intrigue, was dangerous
to him, if not to the State. The question was, how to remove her from
the centre of things without a public scandal.
In February the Court went to Compiègne for hunting, and to spend the
Carnival. As Richelieu had foreseen, the Queen-mother was not deterred
by “the incommodity of the season” from following the King: she would
not repeat her mistake of St. Martin’s Day. At Compiègne the King made
a last unsuccessful attempt to soften her heart towards the Cardinal.
As she firmly refused to listen to any arguments, it was decided that
she must be separated from a Court in which her presence was a centre
for the factious and the ill-intentioned.
The Château of Compiègne was roused early on the morning of February
23. The King had announced that he would go hunting at dawn; and in
fact he and the Cardinal, with a large attendance, rode out of the
gates before either of the Queens was awake. Instead of turning into
the dim glades of the forest, the royal party rode hard for Paris.
Père Suffren, the Maréchal d’Estrées--formerly known as Marquis de
Coenores--and a Secretary of State, M. de la Ville-aux-Clercs, were
left behind with the King’s apologies and farewells to his mother, whom
he never saw again. They were also entrusted with a letter, begging Her
Majesty to retire to Moulins, where she might live in all honour and
liberty as governor of the Bourbonnais; it being understood that in her
present mind she was no longer welcome at Court. This very unpleasant
news was broken to Marie before she left her bed, not by the appointed
messengers, but by Queen Anne, her daughter-in-law, who paid her a
hurried visit before following the King, and parted from her with
embraces and tears. “Both,” says Madame de Motteville, “were deeply
moved at finding themselves the victims of the Cardinal de Richelieu,
their common enemy. It was the last time they saw each other.”
As to Moulins, Marie would have none of it. She could not openly refuse
to obey the King, but her excuses dragged on from day to day: bad roads
and wintry weather; an epidemic in the Bourbonnais; the ruinous state
of the Château de Moulins; a severe cold which kept her in her room.
All the spring royal messengers were galloping between Compiègne and
Paris. Sometimes they carried persuasion, sometimes threats. If the
Queen-mother disliked the Bourbonnais, would she accept her old abode
of Angers, with the government of Anjou? Let her remember that no law
in Holy Scripture obliged a son to live always with his mother when of
age to govern himself, whereas we are enjoined in divers places to obey
the King, as God’s lieutenant on earth. And many more arguments; but in
short, her disobedience was insupportable, and would in the end force
the King to treat her more rigorously.
It appeared that of her own free will she would never leave Compiègne.
In spite of the great courtesy shown her by M. d’Estrées, in command
of the guard--every morning he came to her for the pass-word, and
every night offered her the keys of the town--she treated herself as a
prisoner. As the season advanced, though free of all the country round,
she never went beyond the castle walls, hoping thus, says Aubery, to
excite general hatred against the Cardinal.
In the meanwhile her friends disappeared one by one. Her physician,
Vautier, was flung into the Bastille; the same fate befell the
unlucky Bassompierre. The Duc de Guise, intriguing for Monsieur, his
stepson-in-law, in his government of Provence, was forced to fly to
Italy, a lifelong exile as it proved. The Princesse de Conti, the
Duchesse d’Elbeuf (Henriette de Vendôme), the Duchesse de Roannez, the
Maréchale d’Ornano, and other great ladies, were ordered to retire to
their country houses; and the brilliant Princesse de Conti, sister of
Guise, the Queen-mother’s constant friend, adored by Bassompierre, to
whom they say she was secretly married, died at Eu of a broken heart on
the last day of April.
In June a report reached the Queen-mother at Compiègne that a royal
army was to be sent to remove her by force. If this story was invented
with the object of driving her out of the kingdom, it served its end.
On July 18, at ten o’clock at night, she left Compiègne on foot and
almost alone--an easier escape than that from the Château de Blois. A
coach and six, with outriders, was waiting in the shadow of the forest.
The Queen intended to stop at La Capelle, a small strong place in
Picardy, close to the frontier of the Low Countries: the governor, M.
de Vardes, had promised to receive her. But this coming to Richelieu’s
ears, the father of M. de Vardes, who had formerly commanded at La
Capelle, was sent post-haste from Paris to supersede his son, and the
gates were shut against the fugitive Queen. She was thus obliged to
cross the frontier, which she did, never to return; and was received
with great honour at Avesnes in Artois, by the officers of the
Archduchess Isabel.
So the great Henry’s Florentine widow removed herself from the path of
Cardinal de Richelieu; to his advantage and her own loss and ruin.
This political triumph was followed by new honours and personal
dignities. For a year past he had borne, with other Cardinals, the
new titles of _Eminentissime_ and _Eminence_, decreed by Pope Urban
VIII., and shared only by the ecclesiastical Electors of the Empire
and the Grand Master of Malta. He had added to his worldly goods and
to his spiritual power by becoming Coadjutor of the Abbot of Cluny,
and the strength of his resolute will for reform was felt by the great
religious orders as well as by the secular clergy.
In September 1631 letters patent from the King created him Duc de
Richelieu and a peer of France, and he took his seat in Parliament with
great state, escorted by the Prince de Condé, the Duc de Montmorency,
and a crowd of the first men in France. From that time he bore the
singular title of “Cardinal-Duc.” He also became governor of Brittany;
and one fortified town after another, throughout the north of France,
fell into his hands and were garrisoned by friends of his own. He
rewarded the Prince de Condé and the Cardinal de la Valette with the
governments of Burgundy and Anjou.
One foreign Power, at least, was not behindhand in paying homage to
the man whom the King of France delighted to honour. The Republic of
Venice sent him letters of Venetian nobility, to descend to any one of
his relations he might choose. “And she sent them with ceremony by an
express Gentleman, to whom His Eminence did not forget to present a
very fine chain of gold.”
It seemed that Richelieu had little now to fear from open enemies at
home, though the secret dread of assassination clung about him with
reason to his life’s end. He had already shown a certain sense of
security by acts of indulgence or of conciliation: the Duc de Vendôme
had been set at liberty and the Duchesse de Chevreuse had been allowed
to return to the Court, while her husband was made governor of Picardy.
Champagne, the important frontier province, was given as a mark of
royal confidence to the Comte de Soissons.
But there were those, not more guilty, but more dangerous from their
very worth and mental distinction, who felt the weight of Richelieu’s
vengeance. Michel de Marillac, counted in his own time among “martyrs
of the State,” after languishing for many months in his prison at
Châteaudun, died of grief at the tragic death of his soldier brother.
The trial and death of Marillac “l’Epée” are generally allowed to be
dark stains on the Cardinal’s career. Politically, there was no case
against him, and the Parliament, when first approached by Richelieu’s
tool, the notorious Laffemas, refused to commit him for trial.
Richelieu then appointed a Royal Commission, which sat at Verdun, the
charge against the Marshal being one of peculation and oppression when
governor there. Even now the Cardinal failed to secure a condemnation.
The Commissioners shrank from enforcing the extreme of the law against
a distinguished soldier whose sins were common to his time and his
trade, and the trial dragged on very slowly, till Richelieu brought
matters to a point by summoning the Commission, strengthened by members
of his own choosing and presided over by the new Chancellor, M. de
Châteauneuf, to meet at his country-house of Rueil. Louis de Marillac
was brought from the fortress of Ste. Menehould, where he had been
imprisoned since his sudden arrest some fifteen months before. He
was condemned to death, but only by a small majority of his judges.
Threatening letters from the Queen-mother and Monsieur did him no
good, but yet the Cardinal, in his own house and with a packed jury,
could not secure unanimity. All France agreed with the prisoner’s own
cry: “Condemned to die for hay and straw! Not reason enough to whip a
lackey!”
He was beheaded in the Place de Grève on May 2, 1632, and buried in
the Church of the Feuillants, long since swept away to make room for
the Rue Castiglione. There might be read, for less than two hundred
years, the simple and dignified epitaph in which his heirs handed down
to posterity the high virtues of “this illustrious victim of a powerful
and vindictive Minister.” Madame de Marillac, who bore the familiar
name of Catherine de Médicis, died of grief within a few months of her
husband.
A dozen years later, when Cardinal de Richelieu was dead, the
Parliament of Paris registered a decree acquitting Louis de Marillac of
the crimes for which he ostensibly suffered.
In that same year 1632 a still nobler head was to fall. The story
of Henry de Montmorency’s ruin tangles itself with the treasonable
adventures of Gaston d’Orléans.
Duke Charles of Lorraine, nominally a vassal of the Empire, had reasons
of his own for giving trouble to France. For nearly a century she
had held part of the old province of Lorraine, including the “Three
Bishoprics,” Metz, Toul, and Verdun. In giving armed support to the
exiled French prince, Charles IV. had the Empire at his back, and a
successful invasion of France, with the consequent fall of Cardinal
de Richelieu, was likely not only to restore his territory but to be
a decisive incident in the Thirty Years’ War. At this moment of happy
expectation, Monsieur fell in love with the young Princess Marguerite
of Lorraine, the Duke’s sister. A year or two before he had been
desperately in love with Princess Marie de Gonzague, daughter of the
Duke of Mantua, and the Queen-mother had imprisoned her at Vincennes to
be out of his way. This was a more serious affair. A secret, hurried
marriage at Nancy united Gaston to the one woman who kept her hold on
him through the rest of his frivolous life.
But even before the marriage, the Duke of Lorraine’s plans of conquest
had fallen through. French armies had crossed his frontier, driving
before them the small force which the Emperor had sent to his aid. From
the stronghold of Metz, Louis XIII. and Cardinal de Richelieu were
able to dictate their own terms. The Duke of Lorraine was to become
a faithful ally of France, and all her enemies were to be expelled
from his territory. In consequence of this treaty, Monsieur joined his
mother at Brussels. Left to himself, he might have been reconciled with
the King, and Richelieu did his best to that end; but his own friends
and favourites found it to their interest to keep him in rebellion.
It was not till after the signature of the treaty that Louis XIII.
was made aware of his brother’s marriage, to which he had definitely
refused his consent. In this and other ways the Duke of Lorraine had
played Richelieu false. The consequence was that a French army once
more swept over the province, seizing towns and fortresses and bringing
Richelieu’s favourite dream--that of extending the French frontier to
the Rhine--perceptibly nearer.
At this moment, having taught the Duke a second severe lesson,
Richelieu held his hand. The victories of Gustavus Adolphus in Germany
were an effectual check on the house of Hapsburg, and hindered the
advance of the Spanish and Imperial troops on the Rhine. A French army
was needed at home. Monsieur had left Brussels with a small army of
German, Walloon, and Spanish mercenaries, and had made a dash through
Lorraine, Burgundy, and Auvergne on his way to Languedoc, with the
encouragement of the Duc de Montmorency. Leaving Maréchal d’Effiat in
command on the German frontier, Richelieu despatched Schomberg and La
Force by different routes to the south.
Henry de Montmorency, by every title the flower of the French nobility,
was now thirty-seven years old. He was descended in the direct line,
through nineteen generations, from an ancestor who was baptized with
Clovis. Ever since then the heads of the family had borne the proud
legend of “Premier Chrestien que Roy en France; premier Seigneur de
Montmorency que Roy en France; premier Baron de France.” Their war-cry
was “Dieu ayde au premier Chrestien”; their motto, “Sans tache.”
Montmorency’s father, his grandfather, and several of his ancestors
had borne the title of Constable of France, and he was himself High
Admiral, till Richelieu purchased the charge and assumed the duties
under another name. He had succeeded to the government of Languedoc at
his father’s death in 1614, before he was twenty. A popular governor of
a very difficult province constantly torn by civil war, he spent the
greater part of his time in the south. When not engaged in keeping down
his turbulent Protestants or in managing his provincial Estates, always
discontented, he was to be found in the front rank of Louis XIII.’s
campaigns. He did not care greatly for life at Court, though, as a boy,
he had been a special favourite with Henry IV., who gave him his name,
and though, by the marriages of his half-sister and sister--one with
the Duc d’Angoulême, the other with the Prince de Condé--he was nearly
connected with the royal family. But he lived magnificently, when in
Paris, at the Hôtel de Montmorency, and in the country at his châteaux
of Écouen or Chantilly. He was the admiration of society--handsome,
a bold rider, a fine dancer, and a very great flirt, in spite of the
constant love between him and his young Roman wife, the best and most
devoted of women, Maria Felice Orsini. Their story is among the most
touching romances of the century.
In many ways the Duc de Montmorency stood above the ordinary ranks of
the noblesse, and a little apart from them. As proud and sensitive as
any, a certain high touch of generous chivalry kept him free of their
vindictive prejudices--as Cardinal de Richelieu had proved in the day
when Louis XIII. lay ill at Lyons. His loyalty to the King had always
been unimpeachable.
But as early as 1629 the storm which was to sweep Montmorency into
rebellion and ruin had begun to growl in the south. The governor of
Languedoc felt a dangerous sympathy with his province, one of the old
independent _pays d’États_, which saw itself deprived of power and
autonomy in the matter of taxation by a centralizing edict. In the view
of the provincial Estates, their “most sacred rights” were thus invaded
and torn away. And there were not wanting enemies of Richelieu to fan
the flame.
At first it seemed as if the Cardinal would yield to the remonstrances
of Languedoc. During the winter of 1631-2 Montmorency was able to
announce to his Estates that the hated edict would be withdrawn.
However, months dragged on in useless argument with the Cardinal’s
commissioners, who, in Montmorency’s own view, were merely amusing the
Estates while they led them on to a deeper ruin; while his friends
whispered that he himself, as well as his province, was on the brink of
destruction. Some slight coldness at Court, consequent on a quarrel of
his with the Duc de Chevreuse, was made to signify that his political
opposition to Richelieu, frank and reasonable as it might be, would
bring about sharp and terrible reprisals.
In this temper the proudest noble and most chivalrous man in France
read a manifesto published by Gaston d’Orléans in June 1632, in which
he summoned the French to rise on behalf of himself and the exiled
Queen-mother, not against the King, but against the “tyrant” who had
usurped his authority; while at the same time it was proposed to make
Languedoc, already known to be disaffected, the scene of the new civil
war.
There were circumstances which attached Montmorency to the
Queen-mother’s cause. His wife was related to her, and had always been
treated by her with the utmost kindness. If he had shown a friendliness
to Richelieu which may have justified the Cardinal in being amazed at
the present turn of events, it was yet most natural that he should
feel resentment at the Queen’s forced exile. Richelieu and many
historians following him have thrown the whole blame of the Duke’s
rising on Madame de Montmorency and her affection for the Queen. Recent
researches have shown this view to be most unfair. Through the spring
and early summer of 1632 the Duchess was lying ill of fever and knew
little of public events. It was not till the latest moment, too late
for any drawing back, that she heard from her husband of Monsieur’s
advance with his consent to Languedoc. With useless tears she learned
that he, who had fought so loyally for the King, was now arming against
him. When the Prince himself visited her on his arrival she said to
him: “Sir, if M. de Montmorency could have deferred to the counsel of a
woman, he would never have given you entrance into his government.”
The fatal step was taken with the full concurrence of the Estates of
Languedoc, in session at Pézénas. D’Elbène, Bishop of Albi, who has
been described as Montmorency’s evil genius, induced them formally to
disregard the royal edict and to sign a solemn declaration in which
they called on the Duke to make their interests his, as they would
make his theirs, that all might act together for His Majesty’s service
and the good of their country. Thus “the Estates signed their final
abdication; and the Duke his death-warrant.”
Monsieur’s ride through France, with a group of wild companions, at
the head of two thousand undisciplined horse, was not likely to do his
cause good in the country. Clamouring constantly for pay and receiving
nothing but fair words and promises, it was to be expected that the
soldiers should provide for themselves. All along Monsieur’s route, his
biographer tells us, at the earliest news of his approach, people fled
from the villages and open country into the towns, which one and all
shut their gates. But it was the season of fruit and crops, “so that
the army had not much to suffer.” “Nous entrâmes dans la Limagne, qu’il
faisoit beau voir en cette saison des fruits, si la licence des gens
de guerre ne lui eût un moment fait changer de face.” And the fate of
the Limagne--the most fertile district of Auvergne--was a sample of the
rest.
Monsieur and his precious army entered Languedoc in the first week of
August, two months before the Duc de Montmorency was ready for him.
The session of the Estates was only just over; there had been no time
to raise money, to collect troops, or to make sure of several strong
places whose loyalty to the governor was doubtful. The King had still
a powerful party in Languedoc, and the people generally, with a bitter
experience, dreaded civil war. Meanwhile, with swift decision, directed
from Paris by Richelieu, Marshals de Schomberg and de la Force were
advancing from the east and the west, hemming in Languedoc and its
unlucky governor.
The armies met at Castelnaudary--spelt by Aubery Castelnau-d’Arry--and
the result of the fight was never doubtful. Though Monsieur had had
some small successes since entering Languedoc, his friends and officers
spoiled all by quarrels among themselves. Puylaurens, the Duc d’Elbeuf,
and the Comte de Moret, each claimed the leadership under him, and all
refused to give precedence to the Duc de Montmorency. He was bitterly
reproached for the unreadiness which was no fault of his; and he, at
least, dashed forward in a spirit of reckless despair to the encounter
with the Maréchal de Schomberg and the Marquis de Brézé, whose army,
though small, was perfectly disciplined, while that of Monsieur fell
almost at once into panic and confusion.
Castelnaudary was rather a rout than a battle. Many of the mercenaries
fled without striking a blow, and those who died fighting were mostly
among the unfortunate “gens de qualité” who had thrown in their lot
with Monsieur. Among these victims the most distinguished was young
Antoine de Bourbon, Comte de Moret, son of Henry IV. by Jacqueline de
Bueil: she long survived as Comtesse de Vardes, a devout and eccentric
lady. Many persons believed that her son, who had taken orders and
held, with other rich preferments, the Abbey of St. Étienne at Caen,
was carried off alive into Italy after Castelnaudary, and ended his
days, sixty years later, as a pious hermit in Anjou. The tradition is
not without probability.
No such uncertainty hangs round the fate of Henry de Montmorency.
He fell wounded in a desperate charge along a hollow lane, made in
support of the Comte de Moret, whose men were in full flight before
the enemy. The lane was commanded by royal musketeers, who shot down
all the Duke’s followers except a few who dashed forward with him
into the ranks of the “cardinalistes.” “I have sacrificed myself for
cowards!” Henry cried to the officer who took him prisoner--the Comte
de Saint-Preuil, himself one day to be condemned by Richelieu.
The King and the Cardinal were on their way to Languedoc when the short
campaign thus suddenly ended. To make peace with Monsieur was their
first care, and this was easily brought about. At first his demands
were haughty and considerable, including a large sum of money, the
return of the Queen-mother, a fortress or two, and a free pardon for
the Duc de Montmorency. All these conditions were bluntly rejected.
Richelieu was not impressed by the Prince’s solemn promise to love and
esteem him in future.
Gaston’s first thought was to escape to Spain, but the way was blocked
by the royal troops, and a very few days saw him in abject submission
to the King. He even promised--surely an unnecessary baseness--to take
no further interest in certain persons who had been united with him,
and to make no complaint should the King punish them as they deserved.
Having thus delivered up Montmorency and all those who had fought in
his cause and the Queen-mother’s, Gaston rode off for Touraine with the
Duc d’Elbeuf and a few others whom the King pardoned, while the remnant
of his army straggled across the mountains into Spain.
Then the King and the Cardinal, from their head-quarters at Béziers,
set about arranging the affairs of Languedoc; and seldom, in his
political career, did Richelieu show a greater wisdom. While tremendous
severity was shown to bishops, barons, all the feudal magnates who had
encouraged or joined in the rebellion--death, confiscation, tearing
down of castles and fortresses--the provincial Estates were very
differently treated. They were convoked at Béziers, and most of their
just demands were granted by the King. On payment of a heavy fine they
kept to some extent their ancient liberties.
But a terrible example was made. After Castelnaudary the wounded
governor had been taken to the castle of Lectoure, and at the end of
October, nearly two months later, he was brought to Toulouse to be
tried for his life. The King and the Cardinal were already there, and
all the prayers of province and kingdom, of high and low, had for six
weeks been prayed in vain. The fact that M. de Montmorency was one of
the very greatest men in France, that his pardon was humbly begged
for not only by his miserable wife, but by the Princesse de Condé,
the Duc d’Épernon and his sons, the Ducs d’Angoulême, de Châtillon,
de Chevreuse, and many others, only made his condemnation more sure.
Richelieu was bent on teaching France, once for all, the lesson she
had been slow in learning, that no head was high enough to escape
the vengeance of the King. He listened, not untouched certainly,
but unmoved, even to the crying in the streets--“Grâce, grâce!
Miséricorde!”--with which, night and day, the people of Toulouse tried
to soften the hearts of King and Minister. And if we are to believe
the biographer of Père Joseph, any leanings towards mercy in either
were checked by the fiery zeal of the “Eminence grise,” who pressed
upon them both, in secret council of three, that “to pardon this
criminal would encourage all the rebels in the kingdom, who would not
fail to invite Monsieur to place himself once more at their head, since
they would be sure of impunity ... whereas, a chief of this rank and
quality being put to death, no one would henceforth dare to declare
himself for the King’s brother.”
The trial, presided over by Richelieu’s Chancellor, Châteauneuf, was
short and decisive: there was no doubt of the result; but we are
told that the judges wept when they pronounced the sentence, and the
courtiers wept when they heard it. Henry de Montmorency died that same
day, October 30, 1632, on the scaffold at Toulouse, patiently and
bravely, as became the “premier Chrestien.” In his will, made the day
before, he left a valuable picture, a St. Sebastian, to Cardinal de
Richelieu. The mourning throughout France was such as had not been seen
since the death of King Henry IV.
Terrified by so sharp an object-lesson, Gaston d’Orléans made one
more dash across France and again took refuge at Brussels. This was a
consequence not at all intended by Cardinal de Richelieu.
Worry and strain, political anxieties constantly fresh, the knowledge
that he was furiously hated by society, that dozens of desperate men
had vowed to kill him, and were watching for their opportunity--a
strong man would have felt the burden, and Richelieu, whatever the
power of his spirit, was always delicate and frail of body. One of the
worst illnesses of his life came upon him immediately after the death
of the Duc de Montmorency.
The King hurried back to his hunting near Paris, and it had been
arranged that the Cardinal should escort Queen Anne from Toulouse to
Bordeaux, and then to La Rochelle, after which she was to honour him
with a visit at his hardly finished, magnificent château and new town
of Richelieu. It was a bad time of year for travelling, and the Queen
and her ladies, one may believe, thought the whole thing a bore; but
the Eminentissime had his reasons for insisting, and could not be
refused.
He was ill when they left Toulouse. At Bordeaux he became worse, and
was forced to take to his bed; a few days more saw him in apparent
extremity. A weight of bad news fell upon him. The loyal Maréchal de
Schomberg died in Languedoc, where he had succeeded Montmorency as
governor. The death of Gustavus Adolphus seemed at first a mortal blow
to the Protestant cause and the allies of France in Germany.
The Queen and her Court did not remain at Bordeaux throughout the
Cardinal’s illness, but passed on to make their tour of the western
provinces, his place as their entertainer being taken by the Commander
de la Porte and the Marquis de la Meilleraye. The position was curious
enough. At any moment news of the Cardinal’s death might have overtaken
them. All France believed that he was dying; rumours flew through
the provinces that he was already dead. People held their breath
an instant, then forgot prudence and rejoiced, ten years too soon,
as though the report must be true. M. de Châteauneuf and Madame de
Chevreuse behaved with a rashness that seems amazing, whatever his
passion for her and whatever her hatred of Richelieu. Even before the
Queen left Bordeaux, while the Cardinal’s few devoted friends were
watching by his sick bed, they, with the rest of the lively Court
party, were dancing in public and private without even any outward show
of anxiety, and it was they, in wild spirits, who made the dark and
wintry journey to La Rochelle a _voyage de plaisir_. M. de Châteauneuf
already imagined himself First Minister, and Madame de Chevreuse,
ruling the Queen and him, saw France at her feet.
And then the Cardinal recovered. “From the gates of the tomb,” says M.
Martin, “he rose terrible and struck down those imprudent persons who
had dared to reach out with a too hasty hand towards his spoils.” The
King travelled many leagues from Paris to meet him, and received him
in his arms; the courtiers crowded to congratulate him, weeping for
joy! A few weeks later, the one disgraced and in prison, the other an
exile from Court, M. de Châteauneuf and Madame de Chevreuse had time to
reflect on their own foolishness and the amazing fortunes of Cardinal
de Richelieu.