CHAPTER IV
Condé is disappointed in his hopes of obtaining the post of Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom—The prince incurs the hatred of the extreme Catholics—Plot to assassinate him on the Feast of Corpus Christi—Suspicion with which he is regarded by the zealots of his own party—Condé, deceived in his ambition and mortified by the hostility of the extremists on both sides, turns to pleasure for consolation—Violent passion of the Maréchale de Saint-André for him—Indignation and alarm aroused at Geneva by the rumours of Condé’s amorous adventures—Calvin and Bèze address a joint letter of remonstrance to the prince—Condé at Muret—Death of two of his children—Failing health of the Princesse de Condé—Her touching devotion to her husband—Her dignified attitude in regard to his infidelities—Return of Condé to the Court—Quarrel between him and Isabelle de Limeuil—Temporary triumph of the Maréchale de Saint-André—Refusal of the King to sanction the betrothal of the Marquis de Conti to Mlle. de Saint-André—Condé quits the Court in anger, but is reconciled to Isabelle and returns—A second honeymoon.
After having broken definitely with his former allies, and even borne arms against them in person, Condé looked to receive from the hands of the Queen-Mother the post of Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom, which Catherine appears to have given him to understand would be the reward of his compliance with her wishes. But her Majesty, though she complimented him warmly on the courage he had displayed during the siege, had not the smallest intention of sharing with the prince the power of which she was so jealous; and, by causing the Parlement of Rouen to proclaim the majority of Charles IX., who had just entered his fourteenth year, she adroitly contrived to reduce to nothing all pretension on his part to the coveted title and to retain the sovereign authority in her own hands.
The discovery that he had been the dupe of his ambition was not the only mortification which Condé had to endure. If he were at bottom but a lukewarm adherent of the Reformed Faith, if in the negotiations which had preceded the Peace of Amboise he had been not unmindful of his own interests, he was none the less sincerely anxious that the rights guaranteed to the Protestants by that treaty should be observed; and his persistence in defending them drew upon him the hatred of the extreme Catholics. So exasperated, indeed, were the fanatical Parisians against him that for some months his friends considered it unsafe for him to appear in the capital, even in the suite of the King, and on one occasion when he did venture there, he narrowly escaped being assassinated.
In one of his despatches to Cecil, Middlemore gives the following account of the affair:—
“On the 9th inst., the King went from Bois de Vincennes to Paris, as well to keep the people from sedition as to assist at the Feast of Corpus Christi, which was the next day. Condé (who had refused to go thither) was won to accompany him, and on the morrow brought him to Our Lady Church,[38] where he left him at the door, without entering. These ceremonies passed, the King, about 7 p.m., came back to bed to Bois de Vincennes, accompanied by his mother and the Prince. As they passed the town-gates,[39] they found 600 horsemen, well-armed and mounted, who were assembled to slay the Prince and all his, if they could have taken him out of the presence of the King; but perceiving the King, they divided themselves on both sides of the way, and suffered him to pass quietly, on whose right hand at that time the Prince was, and the Queen-Mother on his left. The Princess, his wife, coming in her coach a little after, was assailed by them, and would have been murdered had not the cochier bestirred himself; and such gentlemen as were about her cried to them that it was not the Princess of Condé, but the Queen’s maids, which kept them from shooting their pistols at her, having them ready bent, until they overtook the King, in whose presence (when they saw that they had failed of the Prince and Princess) they killed a captain of the Prince[40] at the side of his wife’s coach, and took five or six of his gentlemen prisoners, and retired. This outrage is greatly stomached by the Prince, who has since been assured that some of the House of Guise did ‘dress’ him this party; and therefore he told the Queen, before the whole Council, that he will not tarry in the Court unless the whole House of Guise retire from thence; and so has desired her to consider which of them shall do the King better service, and that the others may be commanded forthwith to dislodge.”[41]
On the other hand, the zealots of Condé’s own party, who had so bitterly denounced the Peace, could not forgive his want of enthusiasm, nor the very plain language in which he rebuked their insulting behaviour towards the Catholics in those districts in which the latter happened to be in a minority. They accused him of “swimming betwixt two waters,” “of playing the Machiavelli,” and of seeking to use both parties for his own ends.[42] “In their eyes,” observes the Duc d’Aumale, “his desire for the maintenance of peace was nothing but the indifference of gratified ambition, or the forgetfulness of duty amidst the intoxication of pleasure.”[43]
If Condé’s efforts on behalf of his co-religionists should have sheltered him from such accusations, his private life, it must be admitted, was very far from being in accordance with the austere religion which he professed, and was calculated to arouse grave apprehensions among the Protestants. Deceived in his ambition, mortified by the hostility which his well-intentioned efforts had been received by the extremists of both parties, he had turned to pleasure for consolation and surrendered himself unreservedly to all the temptations of that gay and dissolute Court. His days were passed in the hunting-field, the tennis-court, and the tilt-yard; his nights at the ball, the play, or the card-table, and often in more questionable amusements. Grave Huguenots who came to lay their grievances before him were indignant to find the chief of their party, who should have been occupying himself with the interests of religion and setting an example of godly living to those about him, mingling in all the profane diversions of the Court, as though he had not a care in the world, and inexpressibly shocked to learn that he was forgetting his devoted wife in the embraces of “Midianitish women.”
For Isabelle de Limeuil, if she occupied the premier place in Condé’s affections, could not claim a monopoly of them. His Highness, in point of fact, disdained few bonnes fortunes, and the complaisant beauties of Catherine’s Court were generally ready to meet the advances of the first Prince of the Blood a good deal more than halfway.
Among those who entered the lists against Isabelle, the most redoubtable was Marguerite de Lustrac, the widow of the unfortunate Maréchal de Saint-André, so foully slain at Dreux. Although no longer in her first youth, Madame la Maréchale was still one of the most beautiful and fascinating women at the Court—“la Marguerite de douceur,”[44] a contemporary writer calls her. She was also extremely wealthy and gave herself the airs of a queen, being always attended by an immense retinue, which included cadets of the noblest families in France.
Feeling the need of consolation in her bereavement, the lady cast a favourable eye in the direction of Condé, and, piqued by his indifference—he was just then in the middle of his honeymoon with Isabelle—soon conceived for him the most violent passion. Since sighs and languishing glances did not suffice to bring him to her side, she resolved to have recourse to other means. By the Maréchal de Saint-André she had had a daughter, who was one of the greatest heiresses in France. This daughter had for some time past been destined for the young Henri de Lorraine, who, by the tragic death of his father, had now become Duc de Guise, and she had even been confided to the care of the widowed duchess. But the maréchale, having decided that the surest means of subjugating Condé was to appeal to his interests, suddenly demanded that her daughter should be sent back to her, repudiated her engagements with the Guises, and offered the girl to the prince, for his eldest son, Henri, Marquis de Conti, now twelve years old.
The prospect of an alliance which would not only bring great wealth into his family, but inflict a cruel humiliation on the hated Guises was naturally very favourably received by Condé, and the enamoured maréchale did not fail to take full advantage of the frequent interviews between her and the object of her passion which the affair, of course, necessitated. Nevertheless, she did not succeed in weaning the Prince from Isabelle, and had to rest content with the few crumbs of affection which he condescended to bestow upon her.
Rumours of his Highness’s amorous adventures were not long in reaching Geneva, where they aroused both indignation and alarm. Had the delinquent been a less exalted personage, he would probably have been straightway excommunicated; but Calvin and Bèze, though exasperated by the carelessness with which he was compromising their common cause, knew very well that the first Prince of the Blood was an asset with which the party could not possibly dispense. They knew, too, that his amour-propre had already been deeply wounded by the reproaches that had been addressed to him at the time of the Peace of Amboise, and that it was necessary to spare his feelings as much as possible; and, accordingly, contented themselves by addressing to him, in the name of their afflicted Church, a letter of remonstrance, couched in studiously moderate terms:
Monseigneur,
We cannot forbear to beseech you not only to use your endeavours in the cause of Our Lord Jesus Christ, for the advancement of the Gospel and for the security and repose of the poor faithful, but also to show in your whole life that you have profited by the doctrines of salvation, and to let your example be such as to edify the good and to close the mouths of all slanderers. For in proportion as you are conspicuous from afar in so exalted a position, ought you to be on your guard lest they should find any fault in you. You cannot doubt, Monseigneur, that we love your honour as we desire your salvation; and we should be traitors were we to conceal from you the rumours that are in circulation concerning you. We do not suppose that there is any direct offence to God; but when it is reported to us that you make love to ladies, your authority and reputation are seriously prejudiced. Good people will be scandalized thereby; the evil-disposed will make it a subject of mockery. It involves a distraction which hinders and retards you from attending to your duty. There must even be some mundane vanity in it; and it becomes you, above all else, to take heed lest the light which God has placed in you be quenched or grow dim. We trust, Monseigneur, that this warning will be taken in good part, when you reflect how much it is for your service. From Geneva, this thirteenth day of September 1563.
Your very humble brethren,
Jean Calvin
Théodore de Besze
Condé received this letter at the Château of Muret, in Picardy, whither he had just arrived on a visit to his wife and family, accompanied by his brother-in-law, the Comte de la Rochefoucauld,[45] and his nephew, the Prince de Porcien. It would not appear to have been altogether without effect, for, on 2 October, Condé’s mother-in-law, the Comtesse de Roye, wrote to the Duke of Würtemberg: “The prince, my son-in-law, intends to devote himself more and more to everything which can further the reign of Jesus Christ.”[46]
In the course of that same month, a domestic calamity came to add weight to the counsels of Calvin and Bèze. Two of his younger children, Madeleine, aged three, and Louis, a child of eighteen months, fell ill and died within a few days of one another, to the inexpressible grief of the Princesse de Condé, who was one of the most devoted of mothers.
The princess’s relatives and friends, who probably regarded the death of the children as a direct judgment from Heaven upon the father’s sins, did not fail to improve the occasion, and represented to Condé that it was his duty to withdraw, for some time at least, from the Court and remain with his bereaved wife. The poor lady, indeed, needed all the care and attention which were in his power to bestow, since she was a prey to bodily suffering as well as to anguish of mind. Always a delicate woman, the dangers and agitations of the past two years had tried her cruelly. In the spring of 1562, when on her way from Meaux to Muret with her eldest boy and a small retinue, she had been attacked by a mob of fanatical peasants, who were marching in a Catholic procession, “without any cause, unless it were that they had been incited by a malignant priest, out of hatred for the Religion.”[47] The litter in which the princess was being carried was smashed to pieces by volleys of stones, and she herself narrowly escaped serious injury. She was then in an advanced stage of pregnancy, and had barely time to reach the nearest village when she gave birth to twin sons. Nevertheless, as soon as she was able to leave her bed, she insisted on setting out for Orléans to join her husband, and, during the siege of that town in the following winter, she remained there, amid all the horrors of war, pestilence, and famine, to encourage its defenders by her heroic example.
Although her health had been profoundly affected by all that she had gone through during the civil war, the princess considered it her duty, so long as any physical strength remained to her, to reside at the Court with her husband, and to follow him in his journeys. Thus, when, in the early summer of 1563, Condé decided to take part in the expedition against Le Havre, she set out for Normandy, accompanied by her mother, the Comtesse de Roye. But, on reaching Gaillon, she was attacked by small-pox of so severe a type that, for some time, she was in grave danger. Scarcely was she convalescent, than Madame de Roye fell ill, in her turn; and the princess, in attending to her mother, neglected her own health, which from that moment declined steadily.
Although the dissolute life which Condé was leading had caused her the greatest grief, she had refrained from reproaching him. “For her,” says her biographer, “the true remedy for the irregularities of the unfaithful husband and for the anguish of the outraged wife was to be found in earnest and continual prayer. She implored God to save the soul led astray, and strove, by patient efforts, discreetly directed, and loving instances, to bring back this soul into the path of duty, and to revive in it family affections.”[48] She now joined her entreaties to those of her friends and relatives to persuade her husband to remain with her. But Condé’s career of dissipation had stifled his better nature; the impressions produced on his mind by the death of his children were soon effaced, and, oblivious of the duty which he owed his ailing wife, and of the many obligations under which she had placed him, in the first days of November, he quitted her abruptly and returned to the Court, which was now in residence at Fontainebleau.
A most unwelcome piece of intelligence greeted him on his arrival. He was informed that, during his absence in Picardy, Mlle. de Limeuil had shown herself so unworthy of the signal honour he had done her as to find consolation in the homage of M. du Fresne, a gentleman for whom she had shown a decided preference in the days before Condé appeared upon the scene. The prince, who entertained a very high opinion both of the lady and of his own powers of fascination, was at first incredulous; but the evidence laid before him was sufficiently circumstantial to disturb his peace of mind very seriously. In consequence, the reunion to which he had looked forward with so much impatience was shorn of all its rapture, and, instead of smiles, endearing words, and embraces, there were reproaches, indignant denials, sarcastic rejoinders, tears, and sulks.
The Maréchale de Saint-André did not fail to profit by the indiscretions of her rival, and delivered so vigorous and well-timed an assault upon the prince’s heart that she succeeded in temporarily establishing herself there, and “audaciously flaunted her conquest before the eyes of the whole Court.” The maréchale had now recovered her daughter from the Duchesse de Guise, though not without an appeal to the law courts, and the little girl was on the point of being formally betrothed to the Marquis de Conti, when the Queen-Mother, who had got wind of the project, and had no mind to see the House of Condé thus aggrandized, suddenly intervened and persuaded the King to inform the parents that he should refuse his sanction to the match.
Condé could not contain his indignation. “The Prince de Condé has left the Court in anger,” runs a letter from Fontainebleau, “because they (Charles IX. and Catherine) would not give the daughter of the late Maréchal de Saint-André to his son. He believes that they intend to give her to Guise. The Constable has gone to fetch him back. Others have gone to fan the flame.”[49] But it appears to have been Mlle. de Limeuil, and not the Constable, who persuaded the prince to stomach the affront he had received and to return to the Court. Acting doubtless by Catherine’s orders, the damsel addressed to him eloquent and persuasive letters, assuring him that he alone possessed her heart, and that the affair with M. du Fresne had been no more than a harmless flirtation, which malicious persons of both sexes—woman who envied her her happiness, and gallants who could not forgive her for having preferred the prince to them—had magnified into an intrigue. As for the matter which had caused his departure from the Court, was it worth while to sacrifice his pleasures to his amour-propre? The little Mlle. de Saint-André was a sickly child, who would probably never live to a marriageable age. Let him return, and he would find his Isabelle impatiently awaiting him.
Condé did return, forgetting for the nonce his grievances against Catherine and anxious only for a reconciliation with his mistress. The Maréchale de Saint-André was compelled, to her intense mortification, to resign her conquest and retire temporarily from the field; and the prince and Isabelle embarked upon a second honeymoon, which was conducted with so little pretence at concealment that people were astonished that Catherine, who still insisted on the observance of some outward decorum at her Court, should permit such “goings on.” Her Majesty, however, who was fully alive to the political advantages of a passion which was, so to speak, binding her adversary hand and foot, found it convenient to be a little blind.
In the course of the month of November, Coligny and Andelot arrived at the Court, and, on learning of the manner in which Condé was parading his profligacy, expostulated with him in no measured terms. Their remonstrances, however, had very little effect, and it was not until the following February, when the Princesse de Condé paid a brief visit to Fontainebleau, that his Highness condescended to show some respect for les convenances.