In 1675, in consequence of some rumours which had reached her that her sister-in-law was being ill-treated by those to whose care she had been entrusted, Madame de Longueville, more compassionate than the rest of her family, requested Père Tixier, a Benedictine monk in whom she had every confidence, to proceed to Châteauroux and ascertain if there were any justification for these reports. The monk, however, before undertaking this mission, considered it advisable to inquire if it would be agreeable to Monsieur le Prince, who was likewise a valued patron of his. Condé raised no objection. “You will go to Châteauroux,” said he, “since my sister wishes it, and will see whether Madame la Princesse has everything she requires; for, such as she is, she is my wife, and I do not wish her to want for anything. But do not speak of me to her at all, you understand.”
On his arrival at Châteauroux, Père Tixier was presented to the princess, who was about to sit down to dinner. “Father,” said she, “you belong to Monsieur le Prince, who sends you to see me.” “No, Madame,” replied the good man, “I am a monk, and the monks belong to God.” “Oh!” rejoined the princess, “I understand;” and she declared her conviction that Condé had sent him to confess her, because he intended to have her made away with. Tixier endeavoured to reassure her, and the officer whom Condé had placed in charge of his wife, and “who I saw clearly,” says the monk, “treated her very roughly,” exclaimed: “Morbleu! Madame, at your usual fables again! Will you never be sensible?”
Dinner was served, and, after the soup, a dish of cod was brought in. The princess partook of it with relish, and asked for a second helping. The dish, however, had just been removed, and, when it was brought back, she declined to touch it, saying that it had been to the kitchen and that there had been sufficient time to mix with it some fatal ingredient. The officer remonstrated. “But,” said he, “does not everything that is served you, Madame, come from the kitchen?” Nevertheless, the unfortunate woman refused to listen to reason.
The princess, having at length been persuaded by Père Tixier that he had merely come, at Madame de Longueville’s request, to inquire as to her welfare, begged him to convey her most grateful thanks to her sister-in-law. For her husband, she had no message and spoke of him with aversion. “Monsieur le Prince,” said she, “greatly despised me, but I greatly despised him also.”[217]
CHAPTER XVIII
Termination of Condé’s military career—His retirement at Chantilly—His improvements of the château and estate—His son, the Duc d’Enghien (Monsieur le Duc)—Portrait of this prince by Saint-Simon—His tyrannical treatment of his wife—His singular habits—Malicious practical joke which he perpetrates on the Duc de Luxembourg—His amours with the Duchesse de Nevers, the Marquise de Richelieu, and the Comtesse de Marans—His natural daughter by Madame de Marans legitimated and married to the Marquis de Lassay—His lack of military capacity—His children—The education of his only son, the Duc de Bourbon, superintended by Condé—Marriage of the young prince to Mlle. de Nantes, elder daughter of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan—The wedding-night—Conversion of Condé—His last illness—His death—His funeral oration by Bossuet—The Princesse de Condé remains in captivity—Her death.
Monsieur le Prince probably troubled himself very little about his unhappy wife’s feelings towards him. Having brought his military career to a triumphant close by restoring the fortunes of France in Alsace and driving the Imperialists across the Rhine, he had retired definitely to Chantilly, to spend the remaining years of his life in as much peace as his implacable enemy, gout, would permit.
In this delightful spot, his leisure was cheered by the society of all the celebrities of his time. There were to be met warriors, statesmen and ambassadors, divines and philosophers, poets, painters, scientists and wits. No general set out to join his army without coming to take leave of the great captain and discuss with him his plan of campaign; no distinguished foreigner visited Paris without paying homage at Chantilly; no author of repute published a book without sending a copy to the prince who was “thought the best judge in France both of wit and learning.”[218]
And so he grew old, honoured and adulated by all:
“Tranquille et glorieux