The King and the Cardinal were on their way to Languedoc when the short campaign thus suddenly ended. To make peace with Monsieur was their first care, and this was easily brought about. At first his demands were haughty and considerable, including a large sum of money, the return of the Queen-mother, a fortress or two, and a free pardon for the Duc de Montmorency. All these conditions were bluntly rejected. Richelieu was not impressed by the Prince’s solemn promise to love and esteem him in future.
Gaston’s first thought was to escape to Spain, but the way was blocked by the royal troops, and a very few days saw him in abject submission to the King. He even promised—surely an unnecessary baseness—to take no further interest in certain persons who had been united with him, and to make no complaint should the King punish them as they deserved. Having thus delivered up Montmorency and all those who had fought in his cause and the Queen-mother’s, Gaston rode off for Touraine with the Duc d’Elbeuf and a few others whom the King pardoned, while the remnant of his army straggled across the mountains into Spain.
Then the King and the Cardinal, from their head-quarters at Béziers, set about arranging the affairs of Languedoc; and seldom, in his political career, did Richelieu show a greater wisdom. While tremendous severity was shown to bishops, barons, all the feudal magnates who had encouraged or joined in the rebellion—death, confiscation, tearing down of castles and fortresses—the provincial Estates were very differently treated. They were convoked at Béziers, and most of their just demands were granted by the King. On payment of a heavy fine they kept to some extent their ancient liberties.
But a terrible example was made. After Castelnaudary the wounded governor had been taken to the castle of Lectoure, and at the end of October, nearly two months later, he was brought to Toulouse to be tried for his life. The King and the Cardinal were already there, and all the prayers of province and kingdom, of high and low, had for six weeks been prayed in vain. The fact that M. de Montmorency was one of the very greatest men in France, that his pardon was humbly begged for not only by his miserable wife, but by the Princesse de Condé, the Duc d’Épernon and his sons, the Ducs d’Angoulême, de Châtillon, de Chevreuse, and many others, only made his condemnation more sure. Richelieu was bent on teaching France, once for all, the lesson she had been slow in learning, that no head was high enough to escape the vengeance of the King. He listened, not untouched certainly, but unmoved, even to the crying in the streets—“Grâce, grâce! Miséricorde!”—with which, night and day, the people of Toulouse tried to soften the hearts of King and Minister. And if we are to believe the biographer of Père Joseph, any leanings towards mercy in either were checked by the fiery zeal of the “Eminence grise,” who pressed upon them both, in secret council of three, that “to pardon this criminal would encourage all the rebels in the kingdom, who would not fail to invite Monsieur to place himself once more at their head, since they would be sure of impunity ... whereas, a chief of this rank and quality being put to death, no one would henceforth dare to declare himself for the King’s brother.”
The trial, presided over by Richelieu’s Chancellor, Châteauneuf, was short and decisive: there was no doubt of the result; but we are told that the judges wept when they pronounced the sentence, and the courtiers wept when they heard it. Henry de Montmorency died that same day, October 30, 1632, on the scaffold at Toulouse, patiently and bravely, as became the “premier Chrestien.” In his will, made the day before, he left a valuable picture, a St. Sebastian, to Cardinal de Richelieu. The mourning throughout France was such as had not been seen since the death of King Henry IV.
Terrified by so sharp an object-lesson, Gaston d’Orléans made one more dash across France and again took refuge at Brussels. This was a consequence not at all intended by Cardinal de Richelieu.
Worry and strain, political anxieties constantly fresh, the knowledge that he was furiously hated by society, that dozens of desperate men had vowed to kill him, and were watching for their opportunity—a strong man would have felt the burden, and Richelieu, whatever the power of his spirit, was always delicate and frail of body. One of the worst illnesses of his life came upon him immediately after the death of the Duc de Montmorency.
The King hurried back to his hunting near Paris, and it had been arranged that the Cardinal should escort Queen Anne from Toulouse to Bordeaux, and then to La Rochelle, after which she was to honour him with a visit at his hardly finished, magnificent château and new town of Richelieu. It was a bad time of year for travelling, and the Queen and her ladies, one may believe, thought the whole thing a bore; but the Eminentissime had his reasons for insisting, and could not be refused.
He was ill when they left Toulouse. At Bordeaux he became worse, and was forced to take to his bed; a few days more saw him in apparent extremity. A weight of bad news fell upon him. The loyal Maréchal de Schomberg died in Languedoc, where he had succeeded Montmorency as governor. The death of Gustavus Adolphus seemed at first a mortal blow to the Protestant cause and the allies of France in Germany.
The Queen and her Court did not remain at Bordeaux throughout the Cardinal’s illness, but passed on to make their tour of the western provinces, his place as their entertainer being taken by the Commander de la Porte and the Marquis de la Meilleraye. The position was curious enough. At any moment news of the Cardinal’s death might have overtaken them. All France believed that he was dying; rumours flew through the provinces that he was already dead. People held their breath an instant, then forgot prudence and rejoiced, ten years too soon, as though the report must be true. M. de Châteauneuf and Madame de Chevreuse behaved with a rashness that seems amazing, whatever his passion for her and whatever her hatred of Richelieu. Even before the Queen left Bordeaux, while the Cardinal’s few devoted friends were watching by his sick bed, they, with the rest of the lively Court party, were dancing in public and private without even any outward show of anxiety, and it was they, in wild spirits, who made the dark and wintry journey to La Rochelle a voyage de plaisir. M. de Châteauneuf already imagined himself First Minister, and Madame de Chevreuse, ruling the Queen and him, saw France at her feet.