CHAPTER XV
Notwithstanding his rupture with Mlle. du Vigean, the Duc d’Enghien continues to treat his wife with coldness—The heart of the prince is fiercely disputed by the ladies of the Court—Dissipated life of Enghien: paternal remonstrances—Liaison between the duke and Ninon de l’Enclos—Death of Henri II. de Bourbon, Prince de Condé—Failure of the new Prince de Condé before Lerida—His brilliant victory at Lens—Beginning of the Fronde—Condé remains faithful to the Court, and takes command of the royal troops—The Duchesse de Châtillon becomes his mistress—Peace of Rueil—The arrogance and ambition of Condé causes the Court and the Frondeurs to join forces against him—The arrest of the Princes—The Princesse de Condé at Bordeaux—Death of the dowager-princess—Equivocal conduct of Madame de Châtillon—Episode of an unaddressed letter—Exile of Mazarin and release of the Princes—Continued indifference of Condé towards his wife, notwithstanding her courageous efforts on his behalf—Negotiations between him and the Regent—His rupture with the Frondeurs, who draw towards the Court—Condé retires to Saint-Maur—Alliance between the Court and the Frondeurs—Proceedings against Condé—The prince retires to Montrond and “draws the sword.”
The brusque and unexpected rupture of the Duc d’Enghien with Marthe du Vigean for a moment encouraged the hope of a better understanding between the prince and the legitimate object of his affections. Although she could not, of course, compare in outward attractions with Mlle. du Vigean, the little duchess, now in her eighteenth year, had improved greatly in appearance since her marriage, and, if not regularly pretty, she was, with her open countenance, her fine dark eyes, her beautiful complexion, and her trim figure, a decidedly pleasing personality. Moreover, she was highly intelligent, conversing well and agreeably on a number of subjects, and showing a good sense and a keenness of observation beyond her years, possessed a singularly sweet disposition, and was, notwithstanding the indifference with which her husband had treated her, sincerely attached to him.
Unhappily, this hope proved illusive, for Enghien did not depart from that studiously courteous but cold and distant attitude which he had adopted towards his wife from the first day of his marriage. The poor little duchess was bitterly disappointed, but she had schooled herself to suffer in silence, and courageously refused to allow the world to perceive how keenly she felt her husband’s neglect. Fresh trials, however, awaited her. Hitherto, she had, at least, had the consolation of believing that Enghien was still faithful to his marriage-vows, in deed, if not in thought, for the virtue of Mlle. du Vigean had proved a more impregnable fortress than Thionville, and his passion for her seems to have preserved him from the wiles of more facile beauties. But now even this was to be denied her. The moment it became known that Enghien had broken definitely with Mlle. du Vigean, the heart over which the latter had so long reigned supreme was fiercely disputed by the ladies of the Court, and the young hero became the object of the most singular advances. The majestic Duchesse de Montbazon,[193] the fire of whose splendid eyes “penetrated even the most insensible hearts,”[194] charged their common friend, the Duc de Rohan, to acquaint the prince with the sentiments which she entertained for him. Mlle. de Neuillant, afterwards Duchesse de Navailles, one of the Queen-Mother’s filles d’honneur, made similar overtures, with more diplomacy, but with equal ardour, and left no means untried to engage the affections of his Highness. But neither of these ladies appear to have made much impression upon their quarry, and it was a colleague of Mlle. de Neuillant, the charming Louise de Prie, Mlle. de Toussy, who came nearest to success. For some little time Enghien paid her the most assiduous attentions, and negotiations of a very equivocal nature were carried on between the prince and the damsel’s relatives, through the medium of the Chevalier de la Rivière. But, either because Mlle. de Toussy’s family was inclined to be too exorbitant in its demands upon Enghien’s generosity, or, more probably, because she herself was only willing to be a mistress in the poetic acceptation of the term, the ducal ardour soon cooled, and the young lady consoled herself for her admirer’s defection by marrying the Duc de la Mothe-Houdancourt.
But, if no woman were permitted to succeed to the place which Marthe du Vigean had occupied in Enghien’s affections, the ardent nature which he had inherited together with the courage of his ancestors soon found satisfaction in amours of a less sentimental character, and his life became so dissipated that, during the summer of 1646, the Prince de Condé felt obliged to remonstrate with him in the strongest terms. “My son,” he writes, “God bless you. Cure yourself, or, it is better to poniard yourself than lead the life that you are doing.... I pray God to console me. I write to you in despair, and am, Monsieur, your good father and friend....”[195]
The Duc d’Enghien did not poniard himself, but neither did he amend his ways to any appreciable extent. His conquests in the pays de tendre far outnumbered those beyond the Rhine, but the very ease with which they were achieved deprived them of all value in his eyes and speedily quenched the flame of passion: indeed, the only woman to whose charms he seems to have been really sensible was the celebrated Ninon de l’Enclos, to whom his attention seems first to have been drawn by the enthusiastic praises of their common friend Saint-Évremond. For a year or two the prince was a frequent visitor at Ninon’s hôtel in the Rue des Tournelles, and the lady, whose vanity was flattered by the admiration of the hero of the hour, was very kind to him indeed. But it was not in Ninon’s nature to be faithful to any one for long—“I shall love you for three months,” she once wrote to a new admirer, “and three months is an eternity!”—and, besides, the victor of Rocroi made war a great deal better than he made love, and preferred to receive homage rather than to offer it. So gradually her affection cooled, and when the prince, on his return from the campaign of 1648, reproached her for having encouraged the intrigue between his sister Madame Longueville and La Rochefoucauld, and for permitting the lovers to meet at her house, she dismissed him and consoled herself with the Marquis de Villarceaux, who had long sued for her favours.
At the beginning of December, the Prince de Condé, who had been in failing health for the last eighteen months, was taken seriously ill, and at midnight on the 26th he died, in his fifty-seventh year. He made, we are assured, a very Christian end, in the presence of his wife and his two sons—Madame de Longueville had followed her husband to the Congress of Münster—and “parted from Madame la Princesse as though he had loved her all his life.”[196] In his will, he left large sums to the poor, “deeming it incumbent upon him to restore the profits of the benefices that he had wrongly enjoyed,” and even the humblest of his servants was not forgotten. His body was interred in the parish church of Valery; his heart he bequeathed to the Jesuits of the Rue Saint-Antoine, an example which was followed by his descendants.
Morose and bigoted, self-seeking and avaricious, the third Prince de Condé is far from an attractive personality. Nevertheless, his death was a sensible loss both to his family and to France. Selfish and turbulent though his conduct had been during the regency of Marie de’ Medici, when once he had decided that his own interests would be better served by loyalty than by opposition to the Crown, he certainly spared no effort to deserve the important offices and immense pensions which were the reward of his fidelity; and the steady support he gave to Anne of Austria and Mazarin since the beginning of the new reign had been of the highest value to the Government. “As sparing of the King’s money as his own,” writes the Duc d’Aumale, “his ideas on financial matters were sound; he desired that the public debts should be regularly discharged, and opposed extravagance and the constant augmentation of expenses, as well as increased taxation. He inspired confidence in serious men of affairs, who never wished to conclude a treaty when he did not assist at the Council. The quack financiers, the d’Émeris and the rest, feared him and rejoiced at his death. They played a fine game after he was gone.”[197]
NINON DE L’ENCLOS
FROM A MINIATURE IN THE SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM
His authority over his family was absolute. His children, if they did not love him, both feared and respected him, and to the last Enghien, so impatient of all control, showed towards his father the greatest deference. Had Henri de Bourbon lived a few years longer, his sound common-sense would certainly have saved them from the disasters they brought upon themselves and France; and the Fronde might have been, after all, merely “a blaze of straw.”
Charlotte de Montmorency had the enjoyment for her life of the whole of her deceased husband’s property, subject only to an annual charge of 80,000 livres in favour of her elder son, and 10,000 in favour of the younger. This arrangement was no doubt a just one, seeing that the large fortune which his wife brought him had been the basis of Henri de Bourbon’s great wealth. But it, nevertheless, weighed very hardly on his successor, who had received comparatively little with Mlle. de Brézé, and, being as liberal as his father was the reverse, soon found himself seriously embarrassed to maintain his position as first Prince of the Blood, notwithstanding the revenues he derived from his offices and governments.
In the spring of 1647, the new Prince de Condé was despatched to Catalonia to endeavour to retrieve the reverses sustained in that province, which had of late years earned an unenviable notoriety as the grave of French military reputations. He determined to lay siege to the fortress of Lerida, and, on 18 May, the trenches were opened gaily to the sound of violins. It was a fashion of the time, which made of a war a fête; but it was the hitherto invincible general who had, on this occasion, to pay the expenses of the music; for Lerida was resolutely defended, while the supplies and siege-artillery promised him by the Government did not arrive, and, after severe losses, he decided to raise the siege. Condé deserved credit for having placed the safety of his army before his pride; but it was his first reverse, and, though he was aware that he had done everything possible to ensure success, his mortification was none the less keen.
The memory of the Catalonian fiasco was brilliantly effaced in the following year, when, in command of the Army of Flanders, he gained, with comparatively trifling loss, the splendid victory of Lens, over an enemy much superior in numbers, whom, by a feigned retreat, he had succeeded in drawing from an almost unassailable position into a battle on level ground (20 August). This success hastened the conclusion of peace with the Emperor, and, on 24 October, 1648, the Treaty of Westphalia terminated thirty years of war and twelve years of negotiations, and extended the frontiers of France to the coveted line of the Rhine.
Left with Spain alone to face, there seemed every reason to hope that a great future awaited France, and that, as the result of two or three successful campaigns, she would be enabled to secure the same advantages in the North-East and South-West as she had already secured in the East. That this hope was only very partially realized, and that not until after more than ten years of further warfare, was due to that miserable internecine strife which, under the name of the Fronde, checked the victorious career of Condé at the age of twenty-seven, plunged France into a welter of anarchy, and sapped the very vitals of the nation.
This sanguinary and farcical struggle began with a contest between the Court and the Parlement of Paris, which, encouraged by the weakness of the Government and backed by popular feeling, was neglecting its judicial duties to encroach upon the political rights of the Crown and to claim an authority which even the States-General had never possessed. The “Importants”—the aristocratic cabal, headed by the two great turbulent Houses of Vendôme and Guise, which from the beginning of the regency had bitterly opposed the ascendency of Mazarin—and a number of discontented and ambitious princes, prelates, nobles and great ladies: Paul de Gondi, afterwards the Cardinal de Retz, La Rochefoucauld, the Duc and Duchesse de Longueville, the Prince de Conti, Turenne, and the Duc and Duchesse de Bouillon, threw in their lot with the popular cause.
Although Condé detested Mazarin and sympathized to a large extent with the opposition to the Minister, and though Madame de Longueville, who exercised great influence over both her brothers, made every effort to win him over to her cause, the sentiment of duty, which was not yet obscured, kept him faithful to the Court, and to the solicitations of the rebels he replied simply: “My name is Louis de Bourbon, and I do not wish to weaken the Crown.” An admirable maxim, which, however, he was very soon to abandon.
In the early morning of 6 January, the Court quitted Paris for Saint-Germain, a picturesque exodus of which the pen of la Grande Mademoiselle has traced an inimitable picture, and the rebellious capital was forthwith invested by the royal troops, under the command of Condé. The forces at the prince’s disposal were, however, insufficient to invest the city completely, and, though some roads were effectually closed, others remained open. Occasional skirmishes took place, but the only serious fighting occurred at Charenton on 8 February. In this affair, the Duc de Châtillon, husband of the beautiful Isabelle de Montmorency-Boutteville, was mortally wounded and expired the following day at Vincennes, whither he had been carried. With his death, the male line of the illustrious Admiral became extinct.
The widowed duchess received the sad news with comparative indifference, but, according to Madame de Motteville, “counterfeited grief, after the manner of ladies who love themselves too well to care for any one else.” She had not, indeed, waited for the death of her husband to establish tender relations with the fascinating Duc de Nemours, and was already aspiring to resume over the heart of Condé the empire which she had for a brief while exercised in former years.[198] Hitherto, the prince would appear to have given the lady but scant encouragement, for, though very far from indifferent to her charms, Châtillon was one of his closest friends, and the idea of engaging in a liaison with his wife was repugnant to his sense of honour. But, with the death of the duke, his scruples vanished, and not long afterwards Isabelle became his mistress, without, however, renouncing the Duc de Nemours, her relations with whom she was, of course, very careful to conceal from her titular lover.
On 12 March, 1649, the Peace of Rueil put an end to the war, though it was not until 18 August that the Court returned to Paris, after an absence of seven and a half months.
To the Parliamentary Fronde succeeded, at a short interval, the Fronde of the Princes, more difficult to characterize, since it was composed of little save disappointed ambitions and interested calculations, but also more difficult to conquer. The good understanding between Monsieur le Prince and Mazarin had been merely of a temporary nature, called into being by the danger to which the royal authority had found itself exposed, and it did not long survive the restoration of order. Condé’s natural pride and arrogance had been enormously increased by the events of the last few months, and he believed his support absolutely indispensable to the Government. The Regent and her Minister were willing to go to great lengths to secure a continuance of it, but no ordinary concessions were likely to satisfy a man who regarded himself as the saviour of the Crown, and believed that he held its fate in the hollow of his hand, and whose jealous and suspicious mind, skilfully played upon by his sister, seemed to see in every action of Mazarin a carefully calculated move to strengthen the Cardinal’s position or to diminish his own prestige. His increasing pretensions rendered him more of a rebel than the Frondeurs themselves; his arrogance disgusted every one. He exacted from Mazarin a written agreement whereby he undertook not to make any appointment of importance in Church or State unless he had first been consulted, or to arrange any marriage for his nephews and nieces without his consent. “In his ordinary life he had such mocking airs that no one was able to endure him. However high their rank, people were obliged to wait an interminable time in Monsieur le Prince’s ante-chamber. In the visits which were paid him he manifested so disdainful an ennui, that he showed plainly that they were wearying him.”[199] Finally, having exasperated the Regent and Mazarin beyond endurance, while, at the same time, he had contrived to alienate the Frondeurs, who had been eager for his alliance, the latter and the Court joined forces against him, and, on 18 January, 1650, he, with his brother, the Prince de Conti, and the Duc de Longueville, were arrested at the Palais-Royal, whither they had come to attend a meeting of the Council, and conducted to the Château of Vincennes. Madame de Longueville, whose arrest had also been determined upon, succeeded in making her escape to her husband’s government of Normandy.
Anne of Austria and Mazarin appear to have been in some doubt whether to arrest the two Princesses de Condé, with the little Duc d’Enghien, then between six and seven years old.[200] “But considering,” says Lenet, “that the dowager was a princess of a timid and indolent disposition, and that the young princess was without friends, without money, and without experience, and not very well satisfied with the conduct of the prince, her husband, they had decided merely to order them to retire to Chantilly.”
In sparing the young princess, they committed a grave error, for Claire-Clémence concealed beneath her gentle and retiring nature great courage and energy of character, which only awaited the occasion to manifest themselves. While all her entourage were bewailing the misfortune which had befallen them, she thought only of effecting her husband’s liberation. The Duc de la Rochefoucauld had formed a plan of resistance in the South, always ready to rise in insurrection on the smallest provocation, and had united his fortunes to those of his powerful neighbour, the Duc de Bouillon. The two dukes determined to link to the cause of the imprisoned princes that of the citizens of Bordeaux, who had been for months past in a state of semi-revolt against the tyranny of their detested governor, the Duc d’Épernon; and La Rochefoucauld despatched his confidant, Gourville, to Chantilly, to inform the Princesse de Condé of their intentions. The courageous princess at once determined to join them, and, with the aid of Lenet, on the night of 11–12 April, 1650, she and the little Duc d’Enghien escaped from Chantilly and made their way to Montrond, and thence to Bouillon’s château of Turenne, in the Limousin.
The gentry of the South flocked to offer their services to the princess, who soon found herself at the head of a considerable force; and at the end of May she appeared before Bordeaux. The Parlement and the municipal authorities hesitated to receive her, in the face of the formal prohibition of the King; but the populace, incited by the agents of Bouillon and La Rochefoucauld, took the matter out of their hands, flung open the gates and welcomed her with frantic enthusiasm. The following day, leading her son by the hand, she presented herself at the Palais de Justice, to implore the protection of the Parlement. “Act as a father to me, Messieurs, since the Cardinal Mazarin has taken my own father from me,” cried the little duke, falling upon his knees; and the magistrates, partly out of compassion for this touching spectacle, and partly out of fear of the mob which was clamouring at the doors, voted that “the dame Princesse de Condé and the seigneur Duc d’Enghien might reside in that town in safety under the protection of the laws.”
Next day, notwithstanding the protests of the Parlement, Bouillon and La Rochefoucauld entered the city, borne, so to speak, on the shoulders of the mob. Soon appeared a Spanish envoy, with promises of prompt and powerful assistance from Philip IV.; and Bordeaux and the greater part of Guienne were in open rebellion.
The revolt in Guienne quickly assumed such alarming proportions that Mazarin decided that the presence of the King and the Regent in that province was indispensable, and having left the Maréchal du Plessis-Praslin to hold in check the insurrection in the North, on 4 July, the Court quitted Paris to join the royal army of the South, commanded by the Maréchal de la Meilleraie. La Meilleraie soon succeeded in confining the revolt within the walls of Bordeaux, but all attempts to induce the city to open its gates proved unavailing, and on 5 September the siege was begun.
While the novelty of the affair lasted, the Bordelais displayed the most desperate resolution. Encouraged by the example of the Princesse de Condé, even the wives of the wealthiest citizens took part in the defence of the town, and carried baskets of earth decorated with bows of ribbon to the trenches. The little Duc d’Enghien rode to the ramparts and cried to his attendants to give him a sword, “that he might go and kill Mazarin.” Bouillon and La Rochefoucauld directed the defence-works, and, as if the siege had been a pleasure-party, “regaled the ladies with fruit and sweetmeats and the workmen with wine.” Every evening there was dancing under the ramparts, and the Princesse de Condé held a court in a brilliantly-illuminated gallery. The festivities, indeed, were continuous, notwithstanding that skirmishes, often very sanguinary, took place almost daily.
However, the assistance promised by Spain did not arrive; the better-class citizens soon grew tired of a struggle into which they had been forced against their better judgment; while the bellicose ardour of the populace was cooled by the scarcity of provisions. Moreover, the season of the vintage was approaching, and to lose the chief crop of the year would be nothing short of disaster. Perceiving how matters were tending, the Princesse de Condé resolved to anticipate the surrender which she felt was imminent, and, on 11 September, proceeded to the Hôtel de Ville, where the city fathers were assembled in conclave, and informed them that, “since she sought only their satisfaction and tranquillity, she would do nothing to hinder the peace which they might be able to conclude with the Cardinal.”
The authorities took her at her word; and, on 1 October, articles of peace were signed between the Regent and the insurgents, whereby a full and complete amnesty was granted the Bordelais, on condition that the King and his troops were admitted to the town; while the Princesse de Condé, Bouillon, and La Rochefoucauld were permitted to retire to their estates in the full enjoyment of all their dignities, on the promise that they would lay down their arms and “continue henceforth in fidelity and obedience.” It was also agreed that the Duc d’Épernon should be temporarily suspended from his duties as governor of the province. The treaty contained no mention of the Princes, although the revolt had been made in their name and for their deliverance.
On 3 October, the Princesse de Condé and her son sailed from Bordeaux, “amid a rain of flowers,” and proceeded to Bourg-sur-Mer, where the Court had taken up its residence. Claire-Clémence went to salute Anne of Austria, and, throwing herself at the Queen’s feet, demanded pardon for her husband. Her Majesty received her very kindly and made her sit by her side, but her answer to the princess’s petition was not very encouraging. “I am well pleased, my cousin,” said she, “that you acknowledge your fault; you have taken a bad way to obtain what you ask for; now that you intend to take a different one, I will see when and how I can give you the satisfaction you desire.”
While Condé’s neglected wife was promoting insurrections and confronting the perils and hardships of war in her husband’s interests, his mistress was very differently employed. The Dowager-Princesse de Condé, although she was still only in her fifty-fourth year and had hitherto enjoyed excellent health, had not been able to survive the misfortunes of her House. As sensible to the present disgrace of the children whom she so fondly loved as she had been to their former triumphs, she had grieved over it to such a degree that she fell seriously ill, and died on 2 December, 1650, at Châtillon-sur-Loing, the residence of the Duchesse de Châtillon, to which she had obtained permission to retire.
During her last days, the old princess had fallen very much under the influence of Madame de Châtillon, who, as avaricious as she was unprincipled, had determined to obtain a share of her property. In this she was but too successful. “The Duchesse de Châtillon, who was the most astute woman in the world,” observes Lenet, “had so well understood how to employ her adroit and subtle mind and her agreeable and insinuating manners as to make herself so completely mistress of the princess-dowager, that she saw only with her eyes and spoke only with her mouth.”
It was with the idea of separating the old princess from all the friends and servants who might endeavour to frustrate her designs that the duchess had persuaded her to take up her residence at Châtillon-sur-Loing, where she was careful not to permit any one to approach her, except Madame de Bourgneuf, the gouvernante of Madame de Longueville’s children, and Madame la Princesse’s confessor, a worldly and intriguing abbé named Cambriac, both of whom she had succeeded in gaining over to her cause. The outcome of these manœuvres was that the dowager bequeathed to Madame de Châtillon nearly the whole of her jewellery—in itself a respectable fortune—and the revenues for life of several of her estates, including that of Merlou, near Pontoise.
The young Princesse de Condé was at the Château of Montrond, whither she had proceeded on leaving Guienne, when she learned of the death of her mother-in-law. Well aware of the rapacity of the fair Isabelle, she at once despatched Lenet to Châtillon to watch over her husband’s interests; and this intervention obliged the impatient legatee to make a journey to Montrond to ask the princess’s permission to take possession of the jewellery bequeathed to her. The interview between the two ladies was rendered the more piquant by an incident which afforded Claire-Clémence an opportunity for enjoying a malicious triumph over the too-coquettish mistress of her husband.
Before the arrival of Madame de Châtillon at Montrond, a courier arrived from Paris, bearing a packet without any superscription, which was brought to the Princesse de Condé and opened by her. It contained a tender letter for the duchess from her amant de cœur, the Duc de Nemours, in which he assured her that, since her departure from Paris, he was changed to the point of being no longer recognizable, and was gradually pining away. To these lamentations the lovelorn nobleman joined some very practical counsels, advising his inamorata to take possession of the estate of Merlou—which, as we have mentioned, the late princess had left her for life—before Condé was set at liberty. Claire-Clémence had the satisfaction of handing this missive to her rival, when the latter arrived at Montrond a day or two afterwards. But Madame de Châtillon, so far from exhibiting the confusion which she had anticipated, declared, with superb audacity, that the letter was a forgery, since M. de Nemours was nothing but a mere acquaintance. Notwithstanding these denials, the story of the letter had a great success, and circulated through all the ruelles, where Madame de Châtillon was unmercifully bantered about it. However, she could well afford to disregard these railleries, since Condé, too much enamoured not to forgive the equivocal part she had played towards the dowager-princess, showed no intention of disputing the will, and sent instructions to his wife to authorize her to take possession of Merlou.
Notwithstanding the suppression of the revolt in Guienne and the crushing defeat inflicted on the rebels and Spaniards by Du Plessis-Praslin at Rethel (9 December, 1650), the party of the Princes gained adherents every day, while the unpopularity of Mazarin steadily increased. The Old Fronde, which he had alienated by his refusal to accede to their exorbitant demands, made common cause with the friends of Condé, and persuaded the fickle Gaston d’Orléans, the King’s uncle, to side with them. Encouraged by them, the Parlement loudly demanded the liberation of the Princes and the dismissal of the Cardinal, and the Regent in vain endeavoured to defend her Minister. By the middle of February, 1651, Mazarin was on his way into exile, and Condé was a free man once more.
As soon as she was informed of the approaching liberation of her husband, the princess had made preparations to set out for Paris and bid him welcome at the Hôtel de Condé, but she was suddenly taken ill and obliged to remain at Montrond. Such, however, was her impatience to rejoin him that, while still barely convalescent, she insisted on starting on her journey, travelling the first part of the way in a litter. After having given her husband so many proofs of love and devotion, after having supported with so much courage so many trials and dangers for his sake, it was but natural that she should have expected some return on his part; and, for the moment, it indeed seemed as though Condé was by no means insensible to the noble conduct of the princess. He came to meet her as far as Sainte-Geneviève-des-Bois, near Montchéry, assured her that henceforth he should devote himself entirely to her, and desired that she should make a sort of triumphal entry into Paris in his own carriage, and sitting by his side. But, though he was probably sincere enough at the time, the supreme selfishness of his character rendered him incapable of any lasting gratitude, and very soon the astute Madame de Châtillon had resumed her former empire over him, and the poor princess found herself almost as neglected as ever.
Unlike his father, Condé did not learn wisdom from adversity. The turbulence of the third Prince de Condé had, as we have seen, been effectually cooled by the three years’ imprisonment he had suffered in the early part of the previous reign; but Louis de Bourbon was entirely destitute of the prudence which had tempered his father’s greed and ambition. His year of confinement seemed only to have accentuated that impatience of all control, that haughtiness of manner, and that contemptuous disregard for the feelings and opinions of others which he had always shown. Restored to liberty, in circumstances which seemed to promise him an almost undisputed ascendency, he returned to Paris more than ever determined to carry matters with a high hand. But, to exercise the power which he desired, the maintenance of the alliance between the Old Fronde and the party of the Princes, which had opened his prison doors and procured the exile of Mazarin, was essential, and Condé, though possessed of the highest military gifts, had none of the qualities necessary for successful political leadership.
Anne of Austria, on the advice of her exiled Minister, with whom she was in constant communication, sought to break up the combination between the two Frondes by a rapprochement with Condé, and secret negotiations were accordingly opened with the prince. The latter, who cared nothing for his new allies, professed himself ready to give or rather to sell his support to the Court, and even to consent to the return of Mazarin; but the price he demanded would have rendered him the virtual sovereign of the South of France. Acting always on Mazarin’s instructions, Anne encouraged the belief that these preposterous terms would eventually be accorded, until Condé had completely alienated the Old Fronde, by breaking off the marriage arranged between his brother Conti and Mlle. de Chevreuse, which had been one of the conditions of their alliance. The Old Fronde, indignant at the prince’s bad faith, drew towards the Court, and, on the night of 5–6 July, 1651, Condé, in the belief that his liberty, if not his life, was threatened, fled to Saunt-Maur. Madame la Princesse and her son, Conti, Madame de Longueville, and a number of his partisans followed him, and he had soon “a Court which was not less imposing than that of the King.”
His more prudent supporters urged him to be reconciled to the Regent, who had sent to assure him that his retreat had been due to an entire misapprehension. But Madame de Longueville and others were in favour of an open rupture with the Court, and the prince’s impetuosity of character and ambitious views inclined him to the same course. However, he was not yet prepared for an armed struggle against the royal authority, and, having despatched his wife and son and Madame de Longueville to Montrond, he returned to Paris and entered into negotiations with the Queen. But his demands were so outrageous and his conduct so insolent that the exasperated Queen decided to transform without delay the understanding which she had had for some weeks past with the Frondeurs into a definite alliance, and towards the middle of August articles of agreement between the two parties were drawn up and signed.
Being now assured of the co-operation of the Frondeurs, Anne felt strong enough for an open struggle with Condé, and, having engaged Retz to maintain her cause in the Parlement, she, on 17 August, launched against the Prince a declaration, in which she charged him with ingratitude, contempt for the royal authority, criminal alliances with the enemies of the realm, and a desire to subvert the State. These charges led to violent scenes at the Palais de Justice, in one of which Retz narrowly escaped being assassinated by some of Condé’s friends. They were not, however, pressed; indeed, on 5 September, the Queen, on the mediation of Gaston d’Orléans, sent to the Parlement a letter formally exonerating the prince. But, under the pretext of giving more solemnity to the decree, she requested that it should not be promulgated until after the majority of Louis XIV., which he would attain on the following day, on completing his thirteenth year, the age fixed by the laws of France for the majority of her kings.
Condé excused himself, by letter, from assisting at the proclamation of his Sovereign’s majority, on the ground that his enemies had rendered him so odious in his Majesty’s eyes that he could not be present without danger; and while the King, in the midst of a magnificent cortège, was wending his way through the cheering crowds to the Palais de Justice, the first Prince of the Blood, whose place should have been by his side, was hastening to his brother-in-law’s château of Trie in Normandy, with the object of persuading the Duc de Longueville to join him in resistance to the royal authority. He came, however, on a bootless errand, for Longueville, unlike his consort, had had enough of civil war, and declared that he was not in a position to render him any effective support.
From Trie, Condé proceeded to Chantilly, whence he sent an envoy to Louis XIV., offering to return to the capital, if the changes in the Ministry which he understood that it was his Majesty’s intention to make were deferred for three days. But the young King haughtily refused even to consider this proposition. The prince thereupon summoned a meeting of his partisans at Chantilly; but, now that he had actually come to the very verge of the abyss, he found many reasons to deter him from taking the final step: his reluctance to plunge his country into the miseries of another civil strife; the many defections in his party, for to make war on the King of France was a very different matter from resisting the will of a Spanish regent and an Italian minister; the danger of placing any reliance on the promises of help he had received from Spain; and, finally, the knowledge that war would mean an indefinite separation from Madame de Châtillon, of whom he was more than ever enamoured, and who, having been gained by the Court, had been using all her influence to bring her lover to a more pacific frame of mind.
At length, fearing that, if he remained longer at Chantilly, he might be arrested, he decided to withdraw to his government of Berry, and on 13 September arrived at Montrond. Here, two days later, a final conference was held, and the bellicose Madame de Longueville succeeded in triumphing over her brother’s last scruples. It was then that Condé uttered the prediction so often quoted, and which was to prove so true: “You compel me to draw the sword. Well, let it be so. Remember that I shall be the last to replace it in its scabbard.”