Here Richelieu may tell his own story.
“As soon as I had received His Majesty’s despatch, though the weather was extraordinarily bad, the snow deep and the cold extreme, I posted away from Avignon to obey my orders, led both by inclination and duty. But my haste was soon interrupted, for in a little wood near Vienne I fell in with a troop of thirty men of the Sieur d’Alincourt’s guards, commanded by his captain of the guard, who met me with arms lowered, saying that they had orders to arrest me. I begged the captain to show me his powers, but he was provided with none. He replied to me that he was executing the orders of the Sieur d’Alincourt, who had his orders from the King....”
The Bishop’s impatient rage may be imagined. He was also greatly alarmed, for it was only too possible that the King might have changed his mind. Resistance was out of the question. M. du Tremblay rode off to Lyons, where M. d’Alincourt was governor—he was the son of the Duc de Villeroy, and had befriended Richelieu in his young days—in order to find out which of the royal commands was the latest in date. The Bishop and his servants were conveyed by the soldiers to Vienne, the stupid captain treating his prisoner “like a criminal.” A sleepless night at the inn was made more hideous by bands of men fighting in the streets; a sham rescue, it seems, was devised by the captain for the greater credit of himself and his men. No wonder that the Bishop was exceedingly angry. “I thought you were ignorant,” said he, “but I now see you are malicious.”
In the meanwhile, M. du Tremblay had laid the King’s letter before the governor of Lyons, who perceived that he had made a mistake. It had arisen from a morsel of gossip sent him by his son, who was at court when the news of the Queen’s escape arrived, and to whom the Duc de Luynes had hurriedly said—“If your father could arrest the Bishop of Luçon, he would do us a great pleasure.” Luynes probably forgot the words, spoken before the idea of making use of the Bishop as a mediator had even been suggested; but M. d’Alincourt made haste to act upon them, sending spies to Avignon and cleverly arranging the enterprise, “which was not a very difficult one,” observes Richelieu, “there being question only of stopping a man travelling alone.”
The governor did his best to “change his rigour into civility.” He sent his coach to meet the Bishop on his way to Lyons, with a letter to his captain, who was much astonished and ashamed. Richelieu showed no resentment. He easily forgave the captain, dined with M. d’Alincourt at Lyons, and then pursued his journey. Its risks were not over, for the snow lay deep in the high wild country between Lyons and Limoges, and the King’s troops, who were abroad in those parts, pursued the Bishop for some distance, supposing him to be the Duc d’Épernon’s son, the Archbishop of Toulouse.
Richelieu arrived at Angoulême on March 27, after a journey of more than three weeks. It was again Wednesday in Holy Week. According to his own account he was not made welcome, except by Madame de Guercheville. The Duc d’Épernon and his party looked on him with doubt and suspicion as an emissary of the King. Marie de Médicis, surrounded by them, hardly dared to show her feelings of relief and joy.
CHAPTER VIII
1619-1622
The Treaty of Angoulême—The death of Henry de Richelieu—The meeting at Couzières—The Queen-mother at Angers—Richelieu’s influence for peace—The Battle of the Ponts-de-Cé—Intrigues of the Duc de Luynes—Marriage of Richelieu’s niece—The campaigns in Béarn and Languedoc—The death of Luynes—The Bishop of Luçon becomes a Cardinal.
Neither the Duc d’Épernon’s haughty reserve nor the Abbé Rucellai’s malignant dislike and envy could long affect Richelieu’s place among the Queen-mother’s counsellors. The Treaty of Angoulême was his work, in concert with the King’s ambassadors, Bérulle, Béthune, the Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld, and last, not least, Père Joseph. On both sides the past was to be forgotten; Marie was to live where she chose and to dispose freely of her revenues; all her partisans were restored to the places and honours of which royal edicts had deprived them. On the other hand, she gave up the government of Normandy for the smaller one of Anjou, with 600,000 crowns in money, and the Duc d’Épernon was obliged to renounce Boulogne, for which he received an indemnity of 50,000 crowns. It was thought that the Queen and her party had the best of the bargain, and every one, even the Duc d’Épernon, gave the Bishop of Luçon credit for the compromise. He had still bitter enemies among the Queen’s entourage, but he had also firm friends, and the best of these was his brother Henry, distinguished alike as soldier and courtier, on whom the Queen immediately bestowed the military government of her chief town and castle of Angers. She thus gravely displeased her more greedy and restless servants, men who preferred active rebellion with its chances to peace and loyalty. The Abbé Rucellai was leader among them, and the Marquis de Thémines, captain of the Queen’s guard, was one of the most ambitious. Various insulting remarks made by him came to the ears of the Marquis de Richelieu; the consequence was a duel, in which Henry de Richelieu fell, stabbed to the heart.
“Death took him,” writes his brother, “but not so suddenly but that the Sieur de Bérulle, who chanced to be passing by, had time to give him absolution.”