Moreover, if somewhat diminutive in stature, he was “nimble and vigorous, and as adroit at martial exercises, both on foot and on horseback, as any man in France.”[4] His features, too, were pleasing without being regular, and illuminated by a pair of very bright eyes; he had excellent natural abilities, and had not neglected to cultivate them, being exceptionally well-informed and a good conversationalist, with a touch of sarcasm, which, however, his good-humour deprived of its sting, and “agreeable, accessible, and amiable.”[5]
The young prince was, therefore, not without qualifications to ensure advancement at Court, but in the two most essential—wealth and influence—he was conspicuously lacking. The absence of the first might have mattered little had he possessed the second, but the cloud under which the Bourbons had lain for a quarter of a century showed no sign of lifting. Henri II., who had ascended the throne two years before Condé’s arrival at Court, was a well-meaning man, who sincerely desired to do his duty and promote the interests of his subjects, but he was “born to be governed, rather than to govern,”[6] and was surrounded by ambitious and greedy favourites, who thought only of exploiting him for their own selfish ends. In the early days of the new reign, the favour of the King had been divided between his mature mistress, Diane de Poitiers, Duchesse de Valentinois, and his old friend, the Connétable Anne de Montmorency, who, disgraced by François I. in 1543, had, on the death of that monarch, been recalled to Court and entrusted with the direction of affairs. Diane, however, jealous of the influence of the Constable, formed an alliance with the Guises, those able and ambitious Lorraine princes who were to play so conspicuous a part in all the troubles of the latter half of the sixteenth century; François de Lorraine, who succeeded his father as Duc de Guise in the spring of 1550, and his brother, Charles, the second Cardinal de Lorraine, became two of the King’s most trusted advisers; and they and their younger brothers were loaded with honours and benefits. Henri II.’s favourites stood like a bodyguard around the throne to prevent any one else approaching it; their greed was insatiable; “estates, dignities, bishoprics, abbeys, offices, no more escaped them than do the flies the swallow; there was not a choice morsel that was not snapped up in a moment.”[7]
For the Bourbons to have attempted to break through this bodyguard and insinuate themselves into the good graces of their Sovereign would have been a hopeless task; and they soon recognized that their only chance of bettering their fallen fortunes was to follow the example of the other courtiers and attach themselves to one or other of the favourites who governed the King, in the hope that some scraps of the royal bounty might be passed on to them. From the party of Diane de Poitiers and the Guises they had nothing to expect, for, though the two families were closely connected,[8] their relations were exceedingly strained. In both Court and camp their paths crossed; and the sinister rumours to which the death of the young victor of Ceresole had given rise is an eloquent testimony to the jealousy which existed between them. Since the death of François I., who had regarded the Guises with profound mistrust, and in his last hours had warned his son to be on his guard against them, since “their aim was to strip him to his doublet, and his people to their shirts,”[9] the Lorraines had plainly shown their determination to keep the Bourbons in the background, and not content with enjoying the privileges of foreign princes, had profited by the impotence of their kinsmen to usurp those of the Princes of the Blood.
Policy and inclination therefore both prompted the Bourbons to attach themselves to the opposition, or Montmorency faction. This party, though it attracted to its ranks fewer of the Court nobility than did that of the Duchesse de Valentinois and the Guises, was supported by the bulk of the provincial noblesse, and Montmorency’s great wealth and official position—he was Grand Master of the King’s Household as well as Constable of France—enabled him to dispense extensive patronage. He had five sons and seven daughters, besides numerous nephews and nieces, and he did his duty nobly by them all, and allowed no opportunity to pass of advancing the importance of his family and enriching his relatives and friends. Condé, more ambitious than his brothers, determined to establish claims on the great man’s favour which it would be difficult for him to overlook, and, towards the end of the year 1550, demanded in marriage the hand of Éléonore de Roye, eldest daughter and heiress of Charles, Seigneur de Roye and de Muret, Comte de Roney, an alliance which would unite him with the two great Houses of Montmorency and Châtillon. For Éléonore de Roye’s mother, Madeleine de Mailly, was the daughter of Louise de Montmorency, sister of the Constable;[10] and Louise de Montmorency, by her second marriage with the Maréchal de Châtillon, was the mother of the future Admiral, Gaspard de Coligny, and of his two brothers, Odet, Cardinal de Châtillon, and François, Seigneur d’Andelot.
The consent of the young lady’s parents was readily given. They could not, indeed, fail to be flattered by such a proposal from a Prince of the Blood, besides which they felt that this young man, frank, brave, chivalrous, and amiable, was a husband of whom any girl might well be proud, and ought to have a brilliant future before him. It is possible that the rumours of their prospective son-in-law’s addiction to feminine society which had reached them may have occasioned them some misgivings; but Gaspard de Coligny, who had negotiated the affair, assured them that marriage would change all that, and that he had no doubt that, once in possession of the prince’s affections, Éléonore would be able to fix them permanently. This, in view of what we shall presently relate, seems a decidedly bold assertion; but then Coligny, the most faithful of husbands, was generously inclined to judge others by himself; while the political advantages of a match which would unite the Houses of Montmorency, Bourbon and Châtillon, and counterbalance the exorbitant credit of the Guises, may well have disposed him to regard the young prince’s gallantries with a lenient eye.
After being accepted by the Comte and Comtesse de Roye, the project was submitted to the Constable, who was graciously pleased to approve of it, and promised to obtain the sanction of the King. This proved far from an easy task, as Diane de Poitiers and the Guises did everything possible to persuade his Majesty to refuse his consent; but, in the end, Montmorency triumphed over their opposition, and on June 22, 1551, the marriage was celebrated at the Château of Plessis-lès-Roye, by the Cardinal de Bourbon, the bridegroom’s uncle.
This marriage added little to Condé’s fortune, but it brought him “an inexhaustible treasure of affection and devotion.” “If ever, in fact,” writes an enthusiastic biographer, “a young girl, pure and loving, entered married life with the energetic resolution to consecrate all the living forces of her soul to the practice of the most holy duties, and raised herself by her piety and her virtues, by the generosity of her soul and the heroism of her character, to the rank of a femme d’élite, it was this incomparable Éléonore de Roye, who, from the day of her union with Louis de Bourbon, became for this prince, and remained up to the day when she succumbed prematurely to the cruel attacks of disease, a tender and submissive companion, a faithful friend, an immovable support in time of trial.”[11]
Amidst that band of noble Huguenot ladies, who in the evil days to come so bravely upheld their persecuted faith against the overwhelming forces arrayed against it, and inspired their disheartened co-religionists with fresh energy and enthusiasm to maintain the unequal struggle, there is no nobler figure than that of Éléonore de Roye. Less capable, less ambitious, than Jeanne d’Albret, she is infinitely more attractive, for she possessed a boundless fund of sympathy, an exquisite tact, and a charity which was but too seldom found among the leaders of “the Religion.”
Catholic as well as Protestant writers bear homage to the charms and virtues of this admirable woman. “She was a lady of much intelligence, of heroic courage, and of an admirable chastity,” says De Thou; Le Laboureur, while describing her as “a very obstinate Huguenot,” admits that she was “beautiful and very virtuous”;[12] while Désormeaux declares that she yielded to none of her sex in beauty, in grace, in intelligence and in chastity, and that she “surpassed every one in knowledge, in courage, and in magnanimity.”[13]
Condé could not be indifferent to the devotion of such a woman, and there can be no doubt that, for a long time, he reciprocated her affection and that he always entertained for her a sincere regard. Nevertheless, his marriage did little to subdue his taste for gallantry, and his attentions to the light beauties of the Court must often have caused her the keenest pain. “The good prince,” observes Brantôme, “was as worldly as his neighbour and loved other people’s wives as much as his own, partaking largely of the nature of the Bourbons, who have always been of a very amorous complexion.”