Cardinal de Richelieu

by Eleanor C. Price

The affair had been arranged, with extraordinary cleverness and secrecy, by the Abbé Rucellai, one of those Italians in Marie’s household whose intrigues had brought about the disgrace of Richelieu. The active agent was the old Duc d’Épernon.

He had been a courtier of Henry III. and Henry IV., and had not yet taken up arms in actual rebellion. It was he who stood by Marie de Médicis after the death of Henry, and faced the Parliament with a fierce declaration of her right to the Regency. She had not been grateful: the Maréchal d’Ancre took the place in her court which d’Épernon considered his due. Too proud for a lower position, he retired to his estates and governments, which were many, including the town of Metz, Saintonge, and the Angoumois. The rule of Luynes was quite as offensive to him as that of Concini had been, and the plot for the Queen’s escape was welcomed by one of the boldest, most romantic and adventurous characters of the century.

When the time drew near, the Duke was at Metz. It was necessary to gain the Angoumois by a secret dash across France, beset with so many dangers that the chroniclers called that ride “le voyage d’Amadis.” His province successfully reached, the Duke sent two active young men to Blois to manage the actual escape, and himself waited for the Queen at Loches, then conveying her to a place of greater safety. She was now free to make terms with her son or to set France on fire against him.

The Duc de Luynes heard of Her Majesty’s “sortie” with amazement and alarm. He had long watched her uneasily; and his brother afterwards told Richelieu that he had resolved to take the King to Blois on the pretext of a friendly visit, but really to convey the Queen-mother “politely” to Amboise, his own stronghold, where “she would remain for the future under good and sure guard.” He knew well that her quarrel with him grew more bitter with every month of her captivity. During that very winter he had married her second daughter, Madame Christine, to the Prince of Piedmont, the Duke of Savoy’s son, with scarcely the formal courtesy of asking her consent. Such an insult Marie was not likely to forget.

Once at liberty, she might become the rallying centre for all the discontented in the kingdom, and Luynes knew that they were many. He had offended the nobles by withdrawing various pensions, and had set the great Protestant party against him by royal decrees, especially one which aimed at restoring Catholic worship in the little kingdom of Béarn.

For a few days civil war seemed imminent. The King and Luynes, both furiously angry, began to raise troops, and talked of riding off to the west. But Luynes was not Concini. He was prudent au fond, some say timid, and no soldier. He began to ask advice from wiser men in Paris and elsewhere, even from the Duc de Bouillon, head of the Protestants, and they all with one voice counselled peace. Besides, the nobles showed no great eagerness to rebel suddenly against the King by joining the Queen-mother and d’Épernon, while Marie’s letters to her son gave a kind of basis for negotiations. It was resolved to throw the actual blame of the affair on d’Épernon, and a royal edict at once deprived him of all his appointments and governments, while ambassadors, carefully chosen to please the Queen, were sent to her at Angoulême. It seemed possible that such persuasive tongues as those of her old favourite the Père de Bérulle and of the Comte de Béthune, Sully’s more courtly brother and a devoted servant of Henry IV., might induce her to accept the terms offered by her son to renounce the company of rebels against his authority, and to choose a peaceable residence in some other part of the kingdom.

There were those in Paris at the moment who did not wait for the failure of these negotiations to suggest an even wiser plan. One man in France could manage the Queen-mother: he was in exile at Avignon. Restore him to her council; give him authority to mediate between her and the King; his cleverness and moderation would soon bring her to a less violent frame of mind, and so arrange matters to the King’s satisfaction.

The originators of this idea were Richelieu’s two faithful friends, the Dean of Luçon and Père Joseph.

The wonderful friar had been much away from France during Richelieu’s exile. He had been to Rome and to Spain, travelling mostly on foot, as the rule of his Order required. He had been working hard on the details of a new crusade against the Turks, with the object not only of rescuing the Holy Places, but of driving Islam out of Europe. It was the favourite dream of Joseph’s life. He worked at its realisation in concert with the Duc de Nevers, Charles de Gonzague, who was descended, through his mother, from the Christian emperors of the East. These two, with the Pope’s sanction, founded a crusading order of chivalry, “La Milice Chrétienne,” and before the Thirty Years War broke out their scheme had become popular throughout Catholic Europe. But it was an anachronism, a mediæval romance, and as such it soon died away. The two camps of Christendom had each other to fight. The revolt of the Bohemian Protestants sealed the fate of Constantinople and Palestine.

Père Joseph’s crusading ardour was equalled by his devotion to Richelieu. He and Bouthillier worked so well on the minds of Luynes and of the King that it was decided to recall the Bishop from his exile and to send him to join the Queen-mother at Angoulême, with the understanding that while faithfully serving Her Majesty he would counsel nothing against the King’s interest and the nation’s welfare. The letter of recall was written by Louis XIII.’s own hand, and was conveyed to Avignon by M. du Tremblay, Père Joseph’s brother. Riding post-haste, he arrived there on March 7, 1619.