CHAPTER XII
Condé summoned by the Archdukes to Brussels—He places himself under the protection of Philip III. of Spain—Mission of the Marquis de Cœuvres to Brussels—His attempted abduction of the Princesse de Condé—Condé declared guilty of high treason—He leaves Brussels for Milan—Henri IV. and his Ministers threaten the Archdukes with war if the princess is not given up—Despatches of the Spanish Ambassador to his Court—Condé at Milan—Assassination of Henri IV.—Embarrassing position of Condé in regard to Spain—He returns to Brussels, but declines to see his wife—His return to France—He contemplates the dissolution of his marriage, but ultimately consents to a formal reconciliation with the princess—His turbulent conduct during the regency of Marie de’ Medici—His arrest and imprisonment—The princess magnanimously shares her husband’s captivity—Dangerous illness of the prince—Birth of Anne Geneviève de Bourbon—Release of the Condés.
Towards the end of December, the Archdukes summoned Condé to Brussels, under the pretext that an interview with the French representative might induce him to return to France. But the real reason was that it had been suggested to them by Spinola[159] that, if the prince could be persuaded to place himself under the protection of Spain, he might be utilized as a very valuable instrument against France.
On his arrival in Brussels, Condé expressed himself willing to return, if guaranteed a place of surety in his government of Guienne; but Henri IV. refused even to consider such a proposal, and insisted on an immediate and unconditional return, promising him only a free pardon. At the instance of Spinola, who had rapidly acquired considerable influence over him, Condé thereupon decided to appeal to the King of Spain for protection. The Council of State at Madrid was unanimously of opinion that the request should be acceded to; and Philip III. accordingly charged his ambassador at the French Court, Don Inigo de Cardenas, to inform Henri IV. that he had taken the Prince de Condé under his protection, “with the object of acting as a mediator in the matter and contributing everything in his power towards the repose and happiness of the Very Christian King.” The remainder of the despatch, however, leaves no doubt that his Catholic Majesty was animated by very different sentiments towards Henri IV. from those which Don Inigo was instructed to express.[160] At the same time, Philip wrote to Condé to assure him of his sympathy, and despatched one of his Council, the Count Anôvar, to Brussels, with instructions to watch over the interests of the prince, who, on his side, engaged to make no terms with Henri IV. without the consent of Spain.
HENRY II DE BOURBON, PRINCE DE CONDÉ
FROM AN ENGRAVING BY MATHONIER
Meanwhile, the Connétable de Montmorency, either because he really believed the reports which were being industriously circulated by French agents in Brussels that Condé was ill-treating his wife, or, more probably, out of dishonourable servility to the King, had intervened in the affair, and despatched to Flanders one of his relatives, Louis de Montmorency-Boutteville, father of the unfortunate gentleman whose execution for duelling caused such a painful sensation seventeen years later. Boutteville was the bearer of a letter to the Archdukes, in which the Constable complained bitterly of the alleged sufferings of his daughter, and besought their Highnesses to restore his beloved child to him. His request was refused, and the reports as to Condé’s ill-treatment of his wife would appear to have been altogether devoid of foundation. Nevertheless, the young princess, who had little love for her husband and naturally resented the strict surveillance to which she was subjected, was becoming more and more dissatisfied with her life at Brussels. If she had done nothing to encourage the advances of Henri IV., she had certainly not been insensible to the homage of so great a monarch, and many years later was wont to recall it with pride and emotion. Moreover, intrigues of all kinds were at work to further the King’s odious designs. The wife of the French Ambassador at Brussels, Brulart de Berny, visited Madame la Princesse constantly and enlarged on the glories of which she was deprived by her husband’s jealousy; two of her waiting-women had been bribed and added their persuasions to those of the Ambassadress; while Girard, a secretary of the Constable, was continually travelling to and fro between Paris, Chantilly, and Brussels, bearing letters and instructions.
Towards the end of January, Henry IV. despatched an envoy extraordinary to Brussels, in the person of Annibal d’Estrées, Marquis de Cœuvres, brother of the beautiful and ill-fated Gabrielle. Cœuvres very speedily perceived that there was small likelihood of being able to persuade the Archdukes to surrender the princess to her relatives, or rather to the King, and, on 9 February, wrote to his Majesty to obtain his consent to a plan which he had formed for the abduction of the young lady. Henri immediately sent the required authorization, but, unfortunately for the success of the enterprise, the mere prospect of once more beholding the object of his passion transported him to such a degree that he was quite unable to conceal his joyous anticipations, either from his entourage or even from his long-suffering consort. The jealous Queen took advantage of this indiscretion to acquaint the Nuncio Ubaldini, a devoted friend of the Medici family, with what was in the wind; the Nuncio, in his turn, communicated the news to the Spanish Ambassador, who lost no time in sending a courier to Brussels to put Spinola on his guard.
Spinola, fearing lest Condé, if informed of the proposed abduction of his wife, might create a scandal, contented himself with arousing his suspicions sufficiently to induce him to beg the Archdukes to receive the princess into their own palace. To this their Highnesses readily consented, and 14 February was fixed for the departure of Madame la Princesse and her attendants from the Hôtel de Nassau.
Cœuvres was naturally much disconcerted on learning of this change of residence, and recognizing that, were the lady once within the walls of the archducal palace, any such measures as he was contemplating would be foredoomed to failure, determined to make his attempt on the night of the 13th.
His plan was a bold one. The Princesse de Condé’s apartments abutted on the garden of the Hôtel de Nassau, which was separated from the ramparts only by a narrow street. Under cover of the confusion and bustle which the preparations for her removal on the morrow would be sure to entail, she was to descend, or be carried into the garden, pass through it, and gain the street. A breach sufficient to admit of her egress was to be made in the ramparts, and on the far side of the moat, which was empty at this time, a body of horse, under the command of Longueval de Manicamp, governor of La Fère, would be waiting to escort her to the frontier, while another troop would cover their flight. Some difference of opinion seems to exist as to whether the lady herself was privy to this scheme; but the fact that one of her waiting-women had carried that afternoon to the French Embassy a quantity of her mistress’s clothes would certainly seem to point to her complicity.
It was only a few hours before the moment fixed for the execution of Cœuvres’s design that Spinola learned of his intention, through the treachery of a French adventurer in the marquis’s pay. This time he felt obliged to inform Condé, who hastened to the Archdukes to demand a guard, after which, beside himself with anger and excitement, he hurried hither and thither, calling upon every one he met to assist him to protect his wife. Soon the Hôtel de Nassau was surrounded by soldiers, reinforced by five hundred armed citizens, whom the Prince of Orange had procured from the Burgomaster, while cavalry, preceded by torch-bearers, patrolled the neighbouring streets. These warlike preparations brought almost the whole city to the spot, and “bred one of the greatest tumults ever known in Brussels; and it was commonly reported and believed that the King of France was himself in person at the gates to carry away the princess by force.”[161]
The same day, about three o’clock in the afternoon, Henri IV. had quitted Paris, “very jovial and much bedecked, contrary to his usual custom,” accompanied by four coaches, “to go to meet his nymph,”[162] and proceeded to Saint-Germain-en-Laye. But the nymph did not arrive, and, in her stead, came a mud-bespattered courier with the news of the failure of the attempt. The discomfited monarch returned to Paris in a very ill-humour, and wrote a most unkind letter to Cœuvres, whom he stigmatized as “a blockhead and a fool.”
That enterprising nobleman had, it would appear, very narrowly escaped capture, having actually entered the Hôtel de Nassau before he learned that he had been betrayed. However, being possessed of a large fund of assurance, he resolved to brave the matter out, and early next morning presented himself at the palace of the Archdukes, to complain of the insult put upon the King, his master, by the precautionary measures adopted the previous evening, and of the caluminous reports that were being circulated concerning himself. The Archduke Albert replied that he himself had given no credit to these reports, but that, as the Prince de Condé had insisted on the necessity for a guard, he had felt obliged to accede to his request.
On leaving the palace, Cœuvres, accompanied by the French Ambassador, Brulart de Berny, the Sieur de Préaulx, counsellor to the Parlement of Paris, and Manicamp, governor of La Fère, proceeded to the Hôtel de Nassau, where, with much solemnity, he handed Condé a formal indictment declaring him guilty of high treason, unless he forthwith made his submission to the King. To this indictment the prince at once drew up a reply, wherein he affirmed that “he had left France to save his life and his honour; that he was prepared to return if any offer should be made him which would enable him to reside there in security; that he would live and die faithful to the King; but that, when the King should stray from the ways of justice and should proceed against him by the ways of violence, he held all such acts as should be done against him null and invalid.”[163]
After this, Condé, fearing or feigning to fear, that it was now no longer safe for him to remain in the Netherlands, determined, on the advice of Spinola and the Spanish Ambassador at Brussels, to seek an asylum at Milan. Accordingly, having exacted a solemn promise from the Archdukes that his wife should not quit their palace without his consent, on 21 February, he left Brussels secretly, in disguise, accompanied by Rochefort, Virey, and one of Spinola’s officers named Fritima, who was to act as guide and interpreter. The season was an unusually severe one, and the travellers suffered many hardships, but on the last day in March they reached Milan in safety.
The Spaniards attached great importance to the possession of Condé’s person, for, as first Prince of the Blood and next in succession to the King’s children, he might prove of the highest value to them in exciting troubles in France, should Henri IV. persist in his hostile projects against Spain, while, in the event of negotiations, his extradition might be dearly sold. In accordance with instructions from Madrid, the prince was received by the Spanish governor, Fuentes, with every possible honour, lodged in the ducal palace, and a numerous household appointed to wait upon him.
Henri IV. and his Ministers, finding persuasion of no avail with the Archdukes, had recourse to threats, and represented to them that, unless the fair Charlotte were surrendered, war would follow. “The repose of Europe rests in your master’s hands,” said the Président Jeannin to Pecquius, the Ambassador of the Archdukes in Paris; “peace and war depend on whether the princess is or is not given up.” And the King himself reminded the Ambassador that Troy fell because Priam would not surrender Helen.
The gravity of these speeches was enhanced by the warlike preparations which were in progress all over France for the execution of the “Great Enterprise”: the scheme of liberating Europe from the domination of the House of Austria and giving France her rightful place in the world, which Henri IV. had cherished ever since his accession to the throne. It was, however, believed by many that these formidable preparations had no other object than the forcible recovery of the Princesse de Condé, and Malherbe wrote—
“Deux beaux yeux sont l’empire
Pour qui je soupire.”
Such, undoubtedly, was the opinion of the Spanish Ambassador. “The King is so blinded and infatuated by his passion,” he writes to Philip III., “that I know not what to say to your Majesty concerning it, and, if I find many reasons for holding peace to be secure, in regarding affairs from a political standpoint, I find many more for holding war to be certain on the ground of love.” He goes on to say that he is informed that the King’s infatuation has reached such a point that he is ready to sacrifice everything to it. His health is much affected by it; he has lost his sleep, and some persons believe that he is losing his reason. And he adds that he is in daily expectation of seeing Henri IV. marching on Brussels at the head of a large force of cavalry.
A fortnight later, the Ambassador writes again—
“Within the last three days, the King has endeavoured to persuade the Queen to request her Highness the Infanta to send the princess (de Condé) for her coronation. The Queen, through the King’s confessor (Père Cotton), has begged to be excused, observing that it did not seem to her to be becoming to appear as a third party and risk the indignity of a refusal from the Infanta. The King fell into a violent rage, and declared that the Queen should not be crowned, and that he would have nothing done to displease him. The Queen wept and was much distressed, both at this and at the ardour with which the King is pursuing one of her ladies.”
Henri himself pretended to be entirely engrossed by his passion. “I am so worn out by these pangs,” he wrote to Préaulx, “that I am nothing but skin and bone. Everything disgusts me. I avoid company, and if, to observe the usages of society, I allow myself to be drawn into some assemblies, my wretchedness is completed.”
Fortunately for the fame of Henri IV., greatly as his mind was disturbed and his judgment distracted by this miserable infatuation, it is now generally admitted that the affair had little influence on the course of events. The war upon which he was about to enter was the outcome of twelve long years of persevering negotiations and carefully-prepared alliances, and if he had never set eyes upon the Princesse de Condé, the final result would have been the same. “The King and his Ministers,” remarks Henri’s latest English biographer, Mr. P. F. Willert, “used the large forces assembled for quite a different purpose as a bugbear to frighten the Archdukes. But, when they refused to purchase security by a compliance inconsistent with their honour, it was not on Brussels that the French armies prepared to march. On the contrary, four days before his death (10 May, 1610), the King in the most friendly terms asked the Archduke Albert’s permission to lead his army across his territory to the assistance of his German allies: a permission granted by the Archduke, notwithstanding the opposition of Spinola and of the Spanish party in his Council.”[164]
Nevertheless, almost up to the very last, there were many who still believed that, if the Princesse de Condé were given up, war might be averted. Among these was Henri IV.’s Jesuit confessor, Père Cotton, who, in an interview with Pecquius, informed him that, at the previous Easter, “the King was so sincerely desirous of securing his salvation that he had readily forgotten his affection for the princess; but that all his passion had been rekindled by the perusal of the letters which she addressed to him.”[165]
Although she was treated with extreme kindness by the Infanta, the young princess had grown heartily weary of the dull little Court of Brussels, and not only stimulated the passion of her royal adorer by the tenderness of her replies to his letters, but complained bitterly of the restraints to which she was subjected, and which, she declared, would have a most serious effect upon her health, unless his Majesty procured her speedy liberation.
Meanwhile, Condé, at Milan, was becoming as bored with the imperturbable gravity and solemn pomp which surrounded him as was his young wife at Brussels, and, in order to find some distraction from the monotony of his existence, had been driven to the study of the antiquities of the neighbourhood and to beginning a translation of Tacitus, under the guidance of his learned secretary, Virey. Fearing that the prince might be persuaded to cast in his lot definitely with the Spaniards, the French Government despatched agents to represent to him that it would be more consonant with his dignity as a Prince of the Blood were he to remove to Rome and place himself under the protection of the common father of the faithful, rather than under that of the common enemy of his race and country. Condé seemed disposed to adopt this suggestion, but the arguments of Fuentes, and the news of the invasion of Lombardy by the Duke of Savoy and Lesdiguières, caused him to abandon all idea of leaving Milan, and to place himself entirely under the guidance of Spain.
Had Henri IV. lived, two things are tolerably certain to have happened: the first, that the Archdukes would sooner or later have been compelled to surrender the princess; the second, that Condé would have been found in arms against his country. But, on 14 May, 1610, the knife of Ravaillac settled the question both of love and war, and Henri de Bourbon, with all his greatness and his littleness, his splendid schemes and his shameful passions, was but lifeless clay.
A letter from the governor of Alessandria informed Condé of the tragedy. He received the news with somewhat mixed feelings, in which, however, to his honour be it said, regret seems to have predominated. His position was a very embarrassing one, as it was difficult for him to cast off the ties which bound him to Spain. Virey, in the account in Latin verse which he wrote of his master’s adventures, part of which he subsequently translated into French, under the title of “l’Enlèvement innocent, ou la retraite clandestine de Monseigneur le Prince (de Condé) avec Madame la Princesse,” affirms that Fuentes came to the prince to congratulate him as the “legal heir” of the murdered monarch; and there can be no doubt that the Ministers of Philip III. approached the Pope, with the view of ascertaining whether he would be prepared to annul the marriage of Henry IV. and Marie de’ Medici, in which event it was their intention to put Condé forward as a candidate for the throne. As they received no encouragement from Paul V., they were forced to abandon the idea, but they still cherished the hope that the prince would, on his return to France, dispute the Queen-Mother’s title to the regency, and, consequently, no objection was raised to his departure from Milan.
Condé left Milan on 9 June, and deeming it unsafe to cross France in the then unsettled state of the kingdom, and while still under the ban of high treason, proceeded to Brussels, where he arrived nine days later. In spite of the remonstrances of the Spanish members of the Archdukes’ Council, he lost no time in despatching the faithful Virey to Paris, with letters for Louis XIII. and the Queen-Mother, wherein he protested his devotion to the new King. His overtures were very graciously received, and Virey returned to Brussels with an assurance that a cordial welcome awaited his master. The secretary brought also a letter from the Dowager-Princesse de Condé, in which she endeavoured to incite her son against his wife, informing him that up to the last moment she had continued to encourage the late King’s passion, and begging him to refuse to see her and to leave her with the Archdukes. Condé did not see his way to comply with the latter injunction, and accordingly consented to the Constable “sending for his daughter;” but he firmly refused to meet her. “Monsieur le Prince has been some days in Brussels,” writes Malherbe to his friend Peiresc, under date 24 June, 1610. “The Infant (the Archduke) told him that he had a request to make to him. The latter, who did not doubt that it was that he should consent to see his wife, replied that he besought him very humbly not to lay any command upon him in which he should be reduced to the extremity of disobeying him. Thus matters remain in this affair. It is believed that he will take her back, but that he wishes to be requested to do so by the Constable and her relatives. All the letters which the King had exhibited, in which he was addressed (by the Princess) as ‘mon tout’ and ‘mon chevalier’ are disavowed.”
On 8 July, Condé set out for France, and on the afternoon of the 16th he entered Paris by the Porte Saint-Martin, escorted by the Grand Equerry (the Duc de Bellegarde), the Ducs d’Épernon and de Sully, and a number of the nobility, who, by their Majesties’ orders, had met him at Bourget. As he rode through the streets to the Louvre, he was obviously preoccupied and ill at ease, “now playing with the collar of his shirt, now biting his gloves, anon fingering his beard and chin; and one saw clearly that he heard little of what was said to him, and that his thoughts were elsewhere.”[166]
The cordiality of his reception by the young King and the Regent somewhat reassured him, and it was with a more confident air that he left the palace and rode to the Hôtel de Lyon, near the Porte de Bussy, where he was visited by the Comte de Soissons and other nobles. At nine o’clock that evening, he returned to the Louvre, and assisted at the coucher of the King, “lequel il desguiletta, tira ses chausses, et ne partit qu’il ne l’eut mis au lit,” thus demonstrating publicly that he repudiated the ambitious views which some attributed to him, and had no other desire than to be the first of his Majesty’s subjects.
For some little time, Condé persisted in his refusal to be reconciled to his wife. He was much incensed, not only against the lady herself, but also against her father, on account of the request he had addressed to the Archdukes, and the accusation of cruelty to the princess which he had not hesitated to bring against his son-in-law, though the Constable pleaded, in extenuation of his conduct, that he had acted under constraint, and that his letters to the Archdukes had been drafted by the Président Jeannin, by order of the King. Urged on by the princess-dowager and his sister, the Princess of Orange, Condé actually appears to have contemplated taking steps towards getting his marriage annulled, in the hope that, if this could be effected, the Regent might offer him one of her daughters, or, failing a royal princess, he might espouse the wealthy widow of the Duc de Montpensier. Finally, however, recognizing the difficulties of the undertaking and the danger of incurring the enmity of so numerous and powerful a family as the Montmorencies, he yielded to the solicitations of the Constable and the Duchesse d’Angoulême, and, at the beginning of August 1610, he and his wife were formally reconciled at Chantilly.
We shall not attempt here more than a very brief account of the career of Condé during the troublous minority of Louis XIII. For a moment it seemed as though the prince were well disposed towards the new government, and Marie de’ Medici certainly did everything in her power to confirm him in his pacific intentions. She purchased, for 400,000 écus, the Hôtel de Gondi, in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, the finest residence in Paris after the Louvre, and presented it to him; she confirmed him in all his offices and appointments, increased his pension to 200,000 écus, and gave him a large sum to pay his debts. But Condé was ambitious and meddlesome; he could not forget that he had once been heir to the throne, and that ill-fortune had in all probability alone deprived him of the regency.[167] Scarcely had he returned, than he became the principal factor in fomenting opposition to the Government, with the design of diminishing the Queen-Mother’s authority to the advantage of the great nobles of the realm, and for a time found the métier of rebel a highly profitable one. At the peace of Sainte-Ménéhould (May, 1614), he received Amboise as a place of surety, and the sum of 450,000 livres in cash; and at the Peace of Loudon (February, 1616), so enormously had the wages of rebellion risen in the interval, the government of Berry and 1,500,000 livres were required to purchase his neutrality. But, at length, he went too far, and a rumour having spread that his principal adherents, the Ducs de Bouillon, de Longueville, de Mayenne and de Vendôme, were about to make an attempt to place him on the throne, on 1 September, 1616—which, by a singular coincidence, happened to be his birthday,—the Regent, on the advice of Richelieu and Sully, caused him to be arrested at the Louvre, whither he had come to attend a meeting of the Council.
For three weeks Condé remained a close prisoner in an upper apartment of the palace, none of his Household being permitted to have access to him, with the exception of his apothecary, “whose attentions were necessary after two months of a somewhat dissolute life.” But in the night of 24–25 September, he was transferred to the Bastille, where he was treated as a State criminal, and subjected to a most rigorous confinement in a gloomy chamber, the windows of which were so closely grated that scarcely a ray of light was permitted to enter.
Ever since their formal reconciliation six years before, the relations between Condé and his wife had been very cool; indeed, it would appear that the tie which bound them had become merely a nominal one. Nevertheless, on learning of the arrest of her husband, the princess, who was at Valery, showed real magnanimity. Without a moment’s delay, she set out for Paris, sent the prince messages assuring him of her sympathy and devotion, and begged the Regent to allow her to share his captivity. Her request, however, was refused, and she received orders to leave Paris at once and return to Valery.
After the assassination of Concini and the departure of the Queen-Mother for Blois, Condé’s principal adherents were restored to favour, but he himself still remained in the Bastille. However, Louis XIII.’s favourite, the Duc de Luynes, sent his uncle, the Comte de Modène, to visit the prince and report upon his state of health. Condé begged him to convey to the King his hope that, if reasons of State required that he should remain a prisoner, his Majesty would at least consent to ameliorate his captivity, and, particularly, to permit his wife to join him. Madame la Princesse, it should be mentioned, had recently obtained permission to leave Valery, and had taken up her residence at Saint-Maur.
The immediate result of this interview was to procure the captive a little more air and light; but the unfortunate man’s health had been so much affected by the rigour of his confinement that, when the windows of his room were opened he fainted away. Some days later, the favour which he had so earnestly requested, was also granted. We read in a journal of the time:
“26 May, 1617. The Princesse de Condé went to salute the King, and to entreat him to permit her to share her husband’s captivity. The King accorded her permission, and to take with her one demoiselle. Upon which, her little dwarf, having begged him to consent to his not abandoning his mistress, his Majesty permitted him also to accompany her. The same afternoon, Madame la Princesse entered the Bastille, where she was received by Monsieur le Prince with every demonstration of affection, nor did he leave her in repose until she had said that she forgave him.”[168]
The prince and princess remained in the Bastille until 15 September, when they were transferred to the Château of Vincennes. Here Condé was allowed a good deal more liberty than had been permitted him in the Bastille, and took exercise daily “on the top of a thick wall, which was in the form of a gallery.” In the last days of December, Madame la Princesse gave birth to a still-born son, “and was more than forty-eight hours without movement or feeling. Never was a person in greater extremity without dying. The prince desired that the child should receive ecclesiastical burial; but the Archbishop of Paris assembled the theologians, who decided that, since it had not received baptism, it had not entered the Church, and that no funeral ceremony was permissible.”[169]
Ill-fortune seemed to pursue both husband and wife. On 5 September, 1618, the princess gave birth to twin sons, neither of whom survived, and, in the following March, Condé fell dangerously ill, and for some days his life was despaired of. The physicians who attended him attributed his illness to the state of profound melancholy into which his captivity and the death of his children had thrown him, and, when this was known, the prince became the object of universal sympathy, and Louis XIII. was strongly urged to consent to his release. His Majesty promised to set the prisoner at liberty, “so soon as he had placed his (Condé’s) affairs in order,” but several months passed, and Condé still remained at Vincennes, though granted every indulgence consistent with a due regard to his security. However, at the end of August, another domestic event, which, happily, had a different termination from the others, came to relieve the monotony of his captivity, Madame la Princesse giving birth to a daughter, Anne Geneviève de Bourbon, the future Duchesse de Longueville, the heroine of the Fronde.
The birth of this little girl was the turning-point of her parents’ fortunes, for on 20 October Condé was at length set at liberty, and five weeks later the Parlement of Paris solemnly registered “the declaration of innocence of Monsieur le Prince,[170] who was restored to all his honours and offices.”
His three years’ captivity, which cannot be said to have been altogether undeserved, had worked a great change in the character of Condé. Like so many others, he had learned wisdom from adversity. Until then he had struggled against the royal authority with almost as much zeal as his father and grandfather, though, since the death of Henri IV., without their justification. But the lesson he had received had been a severe one, and henceforth the King had no more loyal servant, his Ministers no stauncher supporter, than the first Prince of the Blood. His enemies have accused him, and with only too much reason, of servility towards those in power and of an excessive regard for his own interests; but, on the whole, the line of conduct he pursued seems to have been patriotic as well as prudent.
Two years after Condé’s release from Vincennes, on 8 September, 1621, his wife bore him a son, Louis, Duc d’Enghien, who was to confer so much lustre on the name of Condé; and in 1629 a second son was born to them, Armand, Prince de Conti.