Nothing less than the paternal exhortations were required to persuade the young duke to pay his court to his betrothed, and, in point of fact, he limited his visits to those which the exigencies of etiquette required. Claire-Clémence was “far from plain; she had beautiful eyes, a fine complexion, and a pretty figure.”[180] But she was barely twelve years old, and very small even for her years, and, besides, so childish in her ways that la Grande Mademoiselle declares that two years after her marriage she still amused herself with dolls. Very young men are more often attracted by ripe than by immature charms, and it was therefore scarcely to be expected that Enghien should have shown any inclination for the society of his betrothed—even if his affections had not been already engaged elsewhere.
Little time, however, was given the young people for becoming better acquainted with one another, as other matters than courtship and marriage were demanding Enghien’s attention. Since 1635 war had been declared against Spain, and France had come openly into that field in which her secret influence had long been exercised. The clash of arms which resounded throughout Europe had strongly affected the young prince, and he had long sighed for an opportunity of displaying his courage. So early as 1636 he had written to his father: “I read with pleasure the heroic actions of our kings in history.... I feel a holy ambition to imitate them and follow in their track, when my age and capabilities shall have made me what you wish.”[181] Condé, however, thinking that his son’s strength was not yet equal to the hardships of active service, had hitherto refused to gratify his ambition; but, in the spring of 1640, he at length gave his consent, and, at the end of April, the lad set out for Picardy to make his first campaign with the army operating against the Spaniards on the North-Eastern frontier. He was greatly disappointed that he was not to receive his baptism of fire under the eyes of his father, who commanded the French forces in Roussillon. But Richelieu had chosen the Army of Picardy, because its commander, the Maréchal de la Meilleraie, was the sworn enemy of Monsieur le Prince, and might, consequently, be trusted neither to allow the young soldier to shirk his duties nor to exaggerate his services. To mitigate his disappointment, the Cardinal overwhelmed his future nephew with compliments, and presented him with two splendid chargers.
This first campaign of the Great Condé was short and easy, terminating on 9 August with the taking of Arras. The young soldier earned golden opinions from all his superiors by the promptitude and intelligence with which he executed everything entrusted to him, and gave abundant proofs of the courage for which he was soon to become so celebrated in a cavalry skirmish before the beleaguered town.
The campaign over, the duke, by his father’s instructions, returned to Dijon without passing through Paris, to the great chagrin of his sister and her friends, who were naturally anxious to celebrate his exploits. But Monsieur le Prince, like a prudent father, had decided that, until his son was safely married, it would be as well for him to shun the society of those dangerously fascinating damsels, and of one of them in particular. The Cardinal, unaware that Enghien had been merely following the paternal orders, saw in this avoidance of Paris a confirmation of the persistent rumour that was going about the Court that the young prince “had no taste for his fiancée.” In high indignation, he despatched Chavigny to Dijon, to invite him to explain his conduct and to say candidly whether or no he desired the alliance which his father had solicited for him. There can be very little doubt what answer Enghien would have returned had circumstances permitted him to express his real sentiments; but, with the fear of both the Cardinal and Monsieur le Prince before his eyes, he indignantly denied the truth of the report that was in circulation, and begged Chavigny to assure his Eminence that his heart was entirely set upon the marriage.
“I feel myself obliged to inform you,” he writes to his father, “that M. de Chavigny came yesterday to see me and told me that he had something of importance to say to me. It is that a gentleman had told him that a rumour ran that I had no inclination for Mlle. de Brézé; that I regarded this marriage with aversion, and that people remarked that my countenance was very melancholy, and, finally, that he begged me to be on my guard. I replied that the person who had told him this was a wicked man, as were those who circulated these false reports; that I looked upon this marriage as a great honour and favour; that it was the thing in the world that you and I desired the most, and that all those who spread these reports were his enemies and mine, and that, far from being melancholy, I had never been so gay.”[182]
Notwithstanding these indignant protestations, the Cardinal, who, while naturally very anxious for a marriage which would connect him with the Royal House itself and serve to consolidate his power, was anxious also to assure the happiness of his niece, was still somewhat uneasy. In consequence, he showed himself a trifle cold when the marriage was mentioned, to the profound alarm of Monsieur le Prince, who redoubled his attentions both to his Eminence and his niece, and was as impatient for the conclusion of the affair “as if his son were about to espouse the queen of all the world.”
The marriage was finally fixed for 11 February, 1641. Early in January, the Duc d’Enghien arrived in Paris with his father, who accompanied him everywhere he went, apparently from fear lest he should fail to manifest sufficient enthusiasm for the fate in store for him. Mlle. de Brézé had already arrived and was lodged at the Hôtel d’Aiguillon, in charge of Madame Bouthillier; and, on 14 January, Richelieu gave a magnificent fête in honour of the young couple at the Palais-Cardinal. The principal attraction of this entertainment was the representation of “Mirame,” a “tragi-comédie” which his Eminence had written in collaboration with Desmarets. Richelieu had spared no expense to give his work—which was probably neither better nor worse than the mediocre pieces of the time—a setting in every way worthy of it. The theatre, constructed expressly for it, had cost 200,000 écus; the scenery had been brought from Italy, and the costumes had been designed by the Cardinal himself. All the effective passages in the play were rapturously applauded by the spectators, which is scarcely surprising, since the celebrated author, carried away by admiration for his own genius, invariably gave them the signal; and if the fall of the curtain did not leave his Eminence under the pleasing illusion that he was not only a great statesman, but a great poet as well, it was certainly not the fault of his guests.
The play was followed by a grand ball, in which the little Mlle. de Brézé appeared in a marvellous toilette and decorated with a part of the Queen’s jewels, which her Majesty had lent her for the occasion. Monsieur le Prince, who, with some of his intimates, watched the scene from the gallery, pretended to be in raptures of admiration, and every time that his future daughter-in-law danced, kept repeating: “Ah! how pretty she is! Ah! how pretty she is!” It is to be hoped that the report of these praises served to console their object for a trifling but ludicrous mishap of which she was the victim, and which must have occasioned her profound mortification.
She had come to the fête furnished with a pair of enormously high-heeled shoes, which she had been made to don in order to increase her stature, which, as we have said, was very short, even for her years. It was only with the greatest difficulty that she was able to preserve her equilibrium, and, while dancing a courante, she slipped and fell sprawling on the floor. La Grande Mademoiselle, who recounts this misadventure, declares that “no considerations of respect could hinder all the company from giving vent to their merriment, not even excepting the Duc d’Enghien.”[183]
On 7 February, the marriage-contract was signed in the King’s cabinet at the Louvre, as was the custom when Princes of the Blood were wed. The Prince and Princesse de Condé promised the young couple settlements to the value of 80,000 livres a year and an annual pension of 40,000 livres. His Eminence gave his niece the seigneuries of Ansac, Moy, Cambronne, and Plessis-Billebault, together with the sum of 300,000 livres, but under the express condition that she should renounce all claim to the rest of his property in the event of his death.