Il vit à Chantilly comme on vit dans les cieux.”[219]
Condé had a natural taste for gardening—even during his imprisonment at Vincennes he had amused himself by cultivating carnations—and his greatest pleasure in his declining years was to embellish the retreat which he had chosen for himself. In 1662, he had begun the enlargement of the park, and, under the direction of the celebrated gardener Le Nôtre, parterres were traced around the château, long alleys, bordered by trim hedges, stretching away into the forest began to make their appearance, and trees, shrubs, and rare plants were gathered from all quarters. But want of money imposed prudence, and it was not until some years later, when Monsieur le Prince’s finances were once more in a satisfactory condition, that the work took a wide scope. Then it was that Gitard constructed the grand staircase; that Mansart built the Orangerie, and commenced the Ménagerie; that the aqueduct which brought to Chantilly the water of the fountain of the Hôtel-Dieu-des-Marais was made; that the parterres were completed and new avenues pierced in all directions; that the fountains which “were silent neither day nor night”[220] were erected, and that Chantilly began to assume the appearance which it was to retain until the Revolution.
Condé, however, had another and more important occupation in his retirement than the embellishment of Chantilly.
One of the greatest disappointments of the prince’s life was his only son, the Duc d’Enghien, to whom, as we have mentioned, he was most tenderly attached. As a child, Monsieur le Duc—to give him his official designation—had been charming, but this early promise had unhappily not been fulfilled, either in appearance or in character; while, though he undoubtedly possessed great abilities, he was quite incapable of employing them to any useful purpose. Saint-Simon has drawn of him one of his most arresting portraits:
HENRI JULES DE BOURBON, DUC D’ENGHIEN (AFTERWARDS PRINCE DE CONDÉ)
FROM AN ENGRAVING BY N. POILLY, AFTER THE PAINTING BY MIGNARD
“He was a little man, very thin and slenderly made, whose countenance, though somewhat mean, was still imposing from the fire and intelligence of his eyes; while his nature was a compound as rare as could be met with. No man was ever endowed with a keener or more varied intelligence, which extended even to the arts and mechanics, and was joined to an exquisite taste. No man had a more frank or more natural courage, or a greater desire to shine; and, when he wished to please, he did so with so much tact, grace, and charm that it seemed spontaneous. Neither was any man more accomplished in invention and execution, in the pleasures of life, in the magnificence of fêtes, by which he often astonished and delighted in every conceivable way. But, then, no man had ever before so many useless talents, so much futile genius, or so lively and active an imagination, solely employed to be his own curse and the scourge of others. Abjectly and basely servile, even to lackeys, he scrupled not to use the lowest and paltriest means to gain his ends. Unnatural son (to his mother), cruel father, terrible husband, detestable master, pernicious neighbour; without friendship, without friends—incapable of having any—jealous, suspicious, ever restless, full of artifices to discover everything and to scrutinize all (in which he was unceasingly occupied, aided by an extreme vivacity and a surprising penetration); choleric and headstrong to excess, even over trifles, never in accord with himself and keeping all about him in a tremble, he caused the unhappiness of every one who had any connection with him. To conclude, impetuosity and avarice were his masters, which monopolized him always. With all this, he was a difficult man to resist, when he brought into play the pleasing qualities he possessed.”
To his unfortunate wife, Anne of Bavaria, he was a veritable tyrant. She was ugly, virtuous, and stupid, a little deformed, and not very clean in her person; but this did not hinder him from being furiously jealous till the end of his life. Nor were her piety, the unwearying attentions she lavished upon him, her gentleness, and her novice-like submission able to protect her from frequent insults, and even from blows and kicks. The poor woman was hardly allowed to call her soul her own. “She was not mistress even of the most trifling things; she did not dare to propose or to ask anything. He would make her start on a journey the moment the fancy took him, and often, as soon as she was seated in the carriage, he would make her descend again, or return from the end of the street, and recommence the journey after dinner or the next day. Once this kind of thing lasted for fifteen days running, before a journey to Fontainebleau. At other times, he would summon her from church, and make her leave High Mass, and sometimes would even send for her when she was on the point of receiving the Communion; and she would be obliged to return on the instant and defer her Communion until another occasion. This he did, not because he wanted her, but merely to gratify his whim.”
He was always uncertain in his movements, and had four dinners prepared for him every day: one in Paris, a second at Écouen, a third at Chantilly, and a fourth wherever the Court might be at the moment. But the expense of this arrangement was not so great as might be supposed, for the menu consisted merely of soup and half a chicken roasted upon a croûton of bread, the other half serving for the following day. He rarely invited any one to dine with him, but, when he did, no one could be more courteous or more attentive to his guests.