A Gallant of Lorraine; vol. 1 of 2 / François, Seigneur de Bassompierre, Marquis d'Haronel, Maréchal de France, 1579-1646

Henri IV only remained a few days in Paris, and then went to Fontainebleau; but Bassompierre did not accompany him, being desirous of enjoying the society of Marie d’Entragues, of whom, since their reconciliation, he was more enamoured than ever.

Bassompierre’s conquest of Mlle. d’Entragues had naturally aroused a good deal of jealousy amongst the less fortunate admirers of that young lady, who were numerous and distinguished, and included both the King and the Duc de Guise. As yet, however, they had no actual proof of his bonne fortune, as the intrigue was conducted with unusual discretion. It was his habit, he tells us, to enter the house in the Rue de la Coutellière, where Marie lived with her mother, late at night, by a back entrance, “whereby I ascended to the third floor, which Madame d’Entragues had not furnished, and her daughter, by a secret staircase leading from her wardrobe, came to join me there, when her mother had fallen asleep.”

Henri IV, piqued by the assurances of several of Bassompierre’s rivals, and principally by Guise, that Marie d’Entragues made game of them all and preferred the handsome Lorrainer, gave orders, just before his departure for Fontainebleau, to have the house watched.

The sequel was a most amusing comedy of errors.

A day or two later, Bassompierre, who had an assignation with his inamorata that night, happened to sup with the Grand Equerry, the Duc de Bellegarde. During the meal it came on to rain heavily, and, as he had come unprovided with a cloak, he borrowed one from his host, and, wrapped in this, made his way, at about eleven o’clock, to the Rue de la Coutellière, without noticing that the Cross of the Ordre du Saint-Esprit, of which none but Princes of the Blood, very great nobles, and Ministers of State, were members, was attached to the cloak. The spies posted around Madame d’Entragues’s house were more observant, and one of them at once hurried off to inform the Duc de Guise that they had just seen a young Knight of the Ordre du Saint-Esprit enter the house by a back door. Guise immediately sent two of his valets de chambre to identify the gentleman when he left, which did not happen until four o’clock in the morning. But Bassompierre caught sight of them before they saw him, and, recognising them as the duke’s servants, pulled his cloak over his face, though he had little hope of escaping detection, since he was well known to them both. The valets, however, deceived by the Cross of the Saint-Esprit, reported to their master that Mlle. d’Entragues’ midnight visitor was the Grand Equerry, since they were aware that there was no other Knight of the Order in Paris at the time in the least likely to have such a bonne fortune.

In the morning, Bassompierre wrote to Mlle. d’Entragues to inform her of the espionage of which he had been the object, and to urge her to be on her guard. On his side, the Duc de Guise went between nine and ten o’clock to the Grand Equerry’s house, but was told that Bellegarde had given directions that he could see no one until the evening, as he had been kept awake all night by violent toothache. This seemed to confirm his suspicions in regard to the Grand Equerry, since a man who had not returned from an assignation until four o’clock in the morning would naturally desire to sleep until late in the day; and chuckling at the thought of Bassompierre’s mortification when he learned that he had a successful rival, he made his way to that gentleman’s lodging.

Bassompierre, like Bellegarde, was still in bed when the duke arrived, but, having told the servants that he had come to see their master on a matter of urgency, he was conducted to his room.

“I beg you to put on your dressing-gown,” said he so soon as he entered; “I have a word to say to you.”

So soon as the duke had taken his departure, Bassompierre wrote to his mistress to inform her of this new incident. Marie d’Entragues had the caustic spirit of her family, and it pleased her, in order to perpetuate this comedy of errors and avert suspicion from Bassompierre, to show herself exceedingly gracious to the Grand Equerry when she met him that afternoon, so that Bellegarde, who was not without vanity, was himself deceived, and began to think he had made an impression upon the lady. The consequence was that when, on the morrow, Guise, who could not keep silent, although he and Bassompierre had agreed to say nothing to the Grand Equerry about it, began to rally that gentleman upon his supposed bonne fortune, the latter defended himself so feebly, that all the jealousy of Guise and of the King, when he heard of the affair, was turned in his direction, and the real gallant was able to continue his nocturnal visits to the Rue de la Coutillière with but few precautions.

However, they had warned Madame d’Entragues to take better care of her daughter—it was certainly high time that she did—and one fine June morning, happening to awake very early, she drew aside the curtain of her bed, and saw, to her astonishment, that that of Marie, who slept in the same room, was empty. She rose at once and went into her wardrobe, where she found the door leading to the secret staircase, which was always kept locked, open.

CHAPTER VIII

At Nancy, Bassompierre, as the representative of the King of France and a personal friend of Charles III of Lorraine, was received with great honour and very sumptuously lodged and entertained. At the marriage ceremony and the fêtes which followed it he appeared in great magnificence, and this, in conjunction with his handsome face and ingratiating manners, without doubt made a deep impression upon the ladies of the Court. However, owing presumably to the official position which he occupied, he appears to have refrained from making any fresh conquests—at any rate, he does not record any; and, after having obtained the consent of the Duchess of Mantua and the Duke of Lorraine to stand godmother and godfather to Henri IV’s children, he set out for Paris.

On his arrival, he found himself in sore distress of mind. The baptism of the Dauphin and Madame Élisabeth was fast approaching, and having imprudently worn all the new suits which he possessed at the marriage fêtes at Nancy, he had none in which to appear at it, or, at least, none which he considered worthy of so great an event. To appear in one which he had donned on some previous occasion was not to be thought of for a moment; his reputation as the most elegant and most recklessly extravagant gentleman of the Court would infallibly be lost. As well ask a modern professional beauty to wear the same toilette twice in a season! To add to his distress, he had spent so much money on his mission to Lorraine, for the post of Ambassador Extraordinary, in those days, though very gratifying to the vanity, was ruinously expensive to the pocket, that he had only a few hundred crowns in his purse, and the acolytes of Fashion were so overwhelmed with orders for the ceremony that they were actually impertinent enough to insist upon money down. Finally, they were reported to be so busy that, even if the financial difficulty were overcome, it was very improbable that he could get a costume of sufficient magnificence completed in time. Was ever so splendid a gallant in so sad a case?

However, Fortune once more came to his aid.

Bassompierre accompanied the King to Villers-Cotterets to meet the Duke of Lorraine and the Duchess of Mantua. On the way the King turned aside to pay a visit to his former mistress, Charlotte de Essars, Comtesse de Romorantin, who was staying at the Abbey of Sainte-Perrinne, the superior of which was her aunt. Time seems to have dealt leniently with the fair Charlotte, who appeared, according to Bassompierre, more beautiful than ever.

The King conducted his distinguished guests to Paris, where they were magnificently entertained. But, as the plague was increasing in the capital, it was decided that the baptism should take place at Fontainebleau. So the Parisians were deprived of the opportunity of admiring Bassompierre’s fourteen-thousand-crown suit and diamond scabbard, and he had to rest content with the sensation which they doubtless created at the Court.

In February, 1607, Charles III of Lorraine wrote to Bassompierre begging him, as a personal favour, to assist at the approaching meeting of the Estates of Lorraine, where his influence with the nobility of the duchy might serve to remove some of the difficulties which he feared that he might have with that body. Bassompierre, accordingly, requested leave of absence of Henri IV, but his Majesty was unwilling to let him go, because, he explains, he had been winning his money at play and he wanted to have his revenge, and put him off on two or three occasions. At last, in despair of obtaining permission, he determined to go without it, and one day, when the Court was at Chantilly, he slipped away unperceived and set out for Paris. On the road he met the Ducs d’Aiguillon and de Bouillon, and begged them not to tell the King that they had seen him; but the two dukes, probably supposing that he was bound on some amorous adventure which he wished to keep from his Majesty’s knowledge, denounced him so soon as they arrived at Chantilly. The consequence was that when Bassompierre reached Meaux, he found the provost of that town and two exempts of the King’s guards, whom his Majesty had sent to head him off, waiting to arrest him. In great indignation, he despatched one of his suite to Chantilly, with letters for the King and Villeroy, one of the Secretaries of State, protesting against the indignity to which he was being subjected; and the following day the provost came to inform him that he had received orders to set him at liberty, provided he would give his word to return to the Court. On his arrival at Chantilly he was sent for by the King, who laughed heartily at his crestfallen demeanour, telling him that he had now had an opportunity of seeing the good order that he maintained in his realm, which no one could leave without his consent; but that he only wanted him to remain ten days longer, when he would give him permission to go to Lorraine. He added that his stay would not be unprofitable; and he was as good as his word, for during this time the vexed question of the Saint-Sauveur lands was finally settled, to Bassompierre’s entire satisfaction.

Before leaving for Lorraine, Bassompierre endeavoured to do a good turn to his friend the Prince de Joinville and Madame de Moret, who had been so imprudent as to fall in love with one another, and warned them that the King intended to surprise them together, in which event he had vowed to make a public example both of the presumptuous noble who had dared to violate the sanctity of the royal seraglio and of his faithless sultana. The lovers, however, did not profit by his warnings, and, while on his way to Nancy, he learned that, though the King had not succeeded in surprising them, he had discovered enough to confirm his suspicions, and had banished Joinville from the Court for the second time. Bassompierre at once turned back and came to Paris incognito, “in order to see Madame de Moret and offer to serve her in her affliction”; but his presence was discovered and reported to Madame d’Entragues, who, suspecting that he had returned with the object of paying surreptitious visits to her daughter, promptly locked that flighty young lady up until he had taken his departure.

CHAPTER IX

After Easter the King went to Fontainebleau, where on April 25 the Queen gave birth to her third son, Gaston, Duc d’Anjou, afterwards Duc d’Orléans. Bassompierre, however, excused himself from accompanying his Majesty, apparently on the plea of illness, and remained in Paris, where, he tells us, he passed his time very agreeably.

The “good company” he speaks of was a little coterie of gamblers, “eight or ten worthy men of the town, and of the Court, M. de Guise, Créquy, and myself,” who played for tremendously high stakes, since Bassompierre had considerately introduced amongst them a Portuguese merchant named Fernandez, who came prepared to make good the losses of those upon whom Fortune happened to frown, in return for approved security. This kind of arrangement was so convenient that, when the King returned from Fontainebleau, he wished to be of the party, which met every day either at the Louvre, Zamet’s, or the Marquis de Roquelaure’s; and doubtless the organiser of these séances, who appears to have been one of the luckiest gamblers who ever turned a card or rattled a dice-box, and the accommodating Fernandez, derived substantial benefits from them.

In July, Queen Marguerite gave a grand fête at the Arsenal, the principal feature of which was the then fashionable pastime of tilting at the ring. Bassompierre, of course, attended it, very splendidly arrayed, but also very reluctantly, since, as he naïvely explains, those gentlemen who, like himself, had several love-affairs on their hands simultaneously were often sadly embarrassed at these great assemblies, since all the ladies whom they professed to adore were sure to be present, and it was practically impossible to pay sufficient attention to one without giving umbrage to the others.

On May 14, 1608, Charles III of Lorraine, who had been in bad health for some time past, died. Bassompierre went to Nancy to attend his funeral, and was away three weeks, during which, he tells us, he received the most gratifying testimony to the esteem in which he was held by the ladies of the Court of France:—

On his arrival in the capital, he learned that Marie d’Entragues had gone, with her mother and Madame de Verneuil, to Malesherbes, to marry a certain Comte d’Aché, of Auvergne; but, as may be supposed, his other lady-loves made every effort to console him for his loss, which, in point of fact, proved to be only a temporary one, since the parties were unable to agree about the marriage-articles, and the affair was broken off. In after years Bassompierre had good reason to regret that the projected marriage had not taken place, in which event he would have been spared great trouble and expense.

The King, learning that he had returned, wrote telling him to come at once to Fontainebleau, where the Court was then in residence, and informing him that, although he had until then been the greatest gambler in his circle of friends, since his absence in Lorraine a Portuguese gentleman named Pimentel had appeared upon the scene, who played much higher than even he did. He must lose no time in redeeming his lost reputation.

Bassompierre hastened to obey, and plunged once more into this ruinous amusement—ruinous, that is to say, to others, for, as we know, he was well able to take care of himself—with all the zest begotten of a three weeks’ abstinence from the card-table. For, though he had probably gambled at Nancy, the stakes in vogue there must have seemed a mere bagatelle compared with those for which Henri IV and his intimates played.

In July, Madame d’Entragues and her two daughters returned from Malesherbes, and went to stay at Conflans, Madame de Verneuil in one house, and Madame d’Entragues and Marie in another. Marie, however, frequently found a pretext for spending the night with her elder sister, and on these occasions, says Bassompierre, “M. de Guise and I played the part of knights-errant and went to visit them.” After a short stay at Conflans, the d’Entragues returned to Paris, where Marie and Bassompierre had another quarrel—for what reason he does not tell us—and “he broke entirely with her.” Like the last, however, it would not appear to have been of long duration.

At the beginning of August, the Duke of Mantua came to the French Court, where, as the husband of the Queen’s sister, he was magnificently entertained. His Highness, however, seems to have spent a considerable part of his visit at the card-tables, for, “being a great gambler, he was delighted to take part in the high play which went on, which was to him extraordinary.” When the Duke took his departure, Bassompierre, who spoke Italian fluently, was deputed to accompany him on his homeward journey so far as Montargis.

CHAPTER X

Bassompierre had now fairly established his claim to be regarded as “the most amiable and elegant gentleman of the Court,” and his position was in every way an enviable one. He was idolised by the ladies to a degree that no gallant has ever been either before or since his time, with the possible exception of the too-celebrated Maréchal de Richelieu, in the days of Louis XV;[57] liked and admired by the men, who looked upon him as “the glass of fashion and the mould of form;” so great a favourite of the King that his Majesty grumbled whenever he absented himself from Court, and there seemed no rank or office, however high, to which he might not ultimately aspire; and, though not wealthy, as wealth was accounted in those days at the Court of France, enabled, thanks to his extraordinary good fortune at play, to vie with the greatest in the land in luxury and extravagance. “It would have been well,” says a writer of the time, Tallemant des Réaux, “if there had always been at the Court someone like him; he did the honours and received and entertained foreigners. I used to remark that he was at the Court what Bon Accueil was in the romance of la Rose. People everywhere used to call a man a Bassompierre, if he excelled in good looks and the elegance of his appearance and manners.”

But Bassompierre possessed more solid claims to the universal popularity which he enjoyed than these. He was not only an adept at all manly exercises, but a good musician, a sound classical scholar, and a master of four languages: French, German, Spanish, and Italian. Despite his follies, his innumerable gallantries, his gambling, and his prodigality, he possessed a vein of sound common-sense, which caused him to be consulted frequently by those who were in pecuniary or other embarrassments; and he was a kindly, good-natured man, who held aloof from the intrigues of the Court, never spoke ill of anyone, and was always ready to do a service to a friend who needed it. And he was now about to receive the most flattering tribute to his better qualities possible to imagine—one, indeed, which he could not have hoped for even in his fondest dreams—namely, the offer of a bride who was at once the most beautiful girl at the Court, the greatest heiress in France, and, with a single exception,[58] the young lady of the highest rank in the land after the daughters of the Princes of the Blood.

One day, in October, 1608, the old Connétable de Montmorency, with whom Bassompierre had always been a great favourite, invited him to dine with him on the morrow, at the same time impressing upon him the importance of not failing to be there, which was no doubt a very necessary precaution, in view of the frequency with which that young gentleman’s love-affairs and gambling-parties must have necessitated the breaking of other social engagements. On his arrival at Montmorency’s hôtel, he found that the Duc d’Epernon, the Marquis de Roquelaure, Zamet, and a maître des requêtes named La Cave, had also been invited, all four being intimate friends of both the Constable and himself; and from their presence he divined that some important matter which must concern him very closely was in the wind.

After dinner, Montmorency conducted his guests into his chamber, where they were joined by Du Tillet-Girard, his confidential secretary, and his physician Rancin, the latter of whom the Constable directed to station himself at the door and on no account to allow their privacy to be interrupted. Then, in a solemn speech, the old nobleman proceeded to inform them of the reason which had led him to invite them there that day.

Having, he said, arrived at the close of life, he had deemed it his duty to look around him for a man to whom he might give his youngest daughter in marriage—one who might be agreeable both to himself and to her; and, although he might choose amongst all the princes in France, he preferred his daughter’s happiness to her elevation, and to see her, during the rest of his days, living in joy and contentment. For which reason, the esteem which he had so long entertained for the person and family of M. de Bassompierre had decided him to offer him what others of far higher rank would most gladly accept. And he had wished to do this in the presence of his best friends, who were likewise M. de Bassompierre’s, and to tell him that, having loved him as dearly as if he were his son, he desired to make him so by marrying him to his daughter, being assured that she would be happy with him, knowing as he did his good qualities; and that M. de Bassompierre, on his part, would hold himself honoured in marrying the daughter and grand-daughter of Constables of France; while he (Montmorency) would be happy the rest of his days if he saw them both living happily and contentedly together. He added that it was his intention to give his daughter a dowry of 100,000 crowns, while she would receive another 50,000 on the death of his younger brother;[59] and if nothing prevented M. de Bassompierre from accepting the offer which he now made him, he would instruct Du Tillet-Girard to draw up, in conjunction with whatever person he might choose to appoint, the marriage-articles.

The following day, the Princess de Conti, who had been let into the secret, took Madame de Bassompierre to the Constable’s hotel and presented her to the Duchesse d’Angoulême, who received her very graciously, observing: “We shall be the two mothers of our newly-married pair, and I know not whether you or I, Madame, will be the most rejoiced.” Madame de Bassompierre then had an interview with the Constable, who impressed upon her the importance of keeping the affair secret for the present, and proposed that, meanwhile, their respective men of business should meet and draw up the marriage-articles. This was accordingly done, Du Tillet-Girard acting for the one side, and Bauvillier, Procurator-General of the Cour des Monnaies, for the other; and a draft was submitted to the Constable and Madame de Bassompierre, and duly approved by them.

Shortly after this, the Constable, who, Bassompierre tells us, did not seem able to see enough of his prospective son-in-law or to think of anything but advancing his interests, proposed to give him at once 50,000 crowns out of his daughter’s promised dowry, to enable him to purchase the post of Colonel-General of the Light Cavalry, whose occupant, the Comte d’Auvergne, was then in the Bastille and likely to remain there indefinitely, though his wife, the Constable’s eldest daughter, had been allowed to receive the salary attached to it. Madame de Bassompierre, however, offered to find this sum, and suggested that, in lieu of the dowry of 100,000 crowns, Montmorency should give her son the estate of La Fère-en-Tardenois, near Château-Thierry, with remainder to his daughter and any children which might be born of the marriage. To this the Constable readily agreed, and, at the same time, told Bassompierre to make ready to come secretly to Chantilly, where he intended that the marriage should be celebrated so soon as possible, in the presence of none but members of his family and a few intimate friends. However, their common friend Roquelaure, who was making great efforts to reconcile the King to Montmorency, sought to dissuade the latter from this step, pointing out that, if he gave his daughter in marriage without previously informing his Majesty and obtaining his approval, he would offend him still more; while the King would certainly be seriously annoyed if so great a favourite of his as Bassompierre were to marry without consulting him.

Now, Henri IV had, some time before this, expressed a desire that Bassompierre should become one of his First Gentlemen of the Chamber, in place of the Duc de Bouillon, whose haughty airs displeased his Majesty, and had promised to give him 20,000 crowns to assist him to purchase this coveted office from the duke. He had also sent a gentleman of his Household to Bouillon to sound him upon the matter, and the latter had intimated his willingness to resign his post, in consideration of receiving the sum of 50,000 crowns, though it was believed that he would accept a smaller sum. Anyway, he was coming to the Court almost immediately, for the purpose of settling the matter. Roquelaure, who was much attached to Bassompierre, and had himself suggested to Henri IV that he should aid him to purchase the post, told the Constable that the announcement of his approaching marriage would be an excellent opportunity for Bassompierre to obtain from the King the 20,000 écus he had been promised, for which otherwise he might have to wait long, since, where money was concerned, the Béarnais was far more ready to promise than to perform.

Bassompierre was of the same opinion, and, since the Constable was not just then on visiting terms with his sovereign, it was decided that he and Roquelaure should wait upon Henri IV that evening, and that, after the former had acquainted the King with his matrimonial intentions, the latter should inform him that he came on behalf of the Constable to demand his Majesty’s consent to his daughter’s marriage. This they did, and the King, not only expressed his warm approval of the marriage, but declared that, in view of such a happy event, he felt that he could no longer remain on bad terms with the Constable, and sent Bassompierre to tell the old nobleman to come and see him on the morrow, when he might rest assured that he would be well received.

The following day, after receiving the Constable, whom he treated very graciously, Henri IV, at Bassompierre’s request, paid a visit to the Duchesse d’Angoulême, and told her that he had come, not as the King, but as Bassompierre’s personal friend, to see the young lady whom he was about to marry and to rejoice with her that so admirable a husband had been chosen for her. And he said all manner of kind things about Bassompierre, and spoke much of the affection which he entertained for him.

So far everything had gone smoothly, but now an obstacle arose.

That same evening the Duc de Bouillon arrived at Court. The King at once spoke to him about the proposed purchase of his post of First Gentleman of the Chamber by Bassompierre, and he answered that he had come to arrange the matter. Bassompierre, who was present, with several other nobles and gentlemen, exchanged a few words with the duke, as did the rest of the company; but he forgot to pay him a visit on the morrow, as he most certainly ought to have done, seeing that Bouillon was the Constable’s nephew,[63] and “for all manner of other reasons.” His unfortunate omission appears to have wounded the pride of this most haughty of nobles, who was already none too well disposed towards the projected marriage, since he believed that it was the work of the Duc d’Épernon, of whom, Bassompierre tells us, he had been all his life intensely jealous. He therefore resolved to do what he could to prevent it, and that evening, when he was talking to the King, who had just returned from the Queen’s apartments, “where he had seen Mlle. de Montmorency, whom he and everyone had found perfect in beauty,” he told him that he was greatly astonished that his Majesty should have given his consent to the marriage, since the Prince de Condé, the first Prince of the Blood,[64] was of an age to marry, and that, while it was inexpedient that he should marry a foreign princess, there were no young ladies of sufficiently high rank for him to wed in France, with the exception of Mlle. de Mayenne and Mlle. de Montmorency. Well, no one who had his sovereign’s interests at heart could possibly counsel his union with Mlle. de Mayenne, since the remnant of the League was still too powerful for it to be prudent to strengthen it by a marriage between the daughter of its former chief and the first Prince of the Blood. On the other hand, there could be no such objection to his marriage with Mlle. de Montmorency, which would give him no new connections, since he was already related to the Montmorencys on his mother’s side.[65] And he besought his Majesty very humbly to weigh the counsel which he had had the honour to give him and to reflect well upon it. This the King promised to do, and the interview ended.

It happened that the next day had been appointed by the Queen for the rehearsal of a grand ballet entitled les Nymphes de Diane, which some of the ladies of the Court, carefully chosen for their grace and beauty, were to dance during the approaching Carnival, Mlle. de Montmorency being amongst the number. The rehearsal took place in the great hall of the Louvre, from which all the masculine portion of the Court, with the exception of the King, the Grand Equerry, the Duc de Bellegarde, and Montespan, the Captain of the Guards, were rigorously excluded. The sight of Mlle. de Montmorency, who, according to Mézeray, had been cast for the part of Diana, in the costume of ancient Greece, proved altogether too much for the susceptible monarch, and inspired him with sentiments very different from those which that chaste goddess was supposed to implant in the hearts of men. In a word, he straightway fell madly in love with her. “Monsieur le Grand,” writes Bassompierre, “faithful to his habit of praising to excess anything new, and particularly Mlle. de Montmorency, infused into the excitable mind of the King that love which afterwards caused him to commit so many extravagances.”

The same evening the King was attacked by his old enemy, the gout, in so severe a form that he was obliged to keep his bed for a fortnight; and, most unfortunately as it was to prove for Bassompierre, the Constable also fell ill of the same malady, so that the wedding, which it had been decided was to take place almost immediately at Chantilly, had to be postponed until the old gentleman was well enough to leave Paris.

Meanwhile, Bassompierre had learned that the Duc de Bouillon was endeavouring to prevent the marriage. That nobleman, it appears, had told Roquelaure, who lost no time in informing his friend, that “M. de Bassompierre wanted to have his office of First Gentleman of the Chamber, and said nothing to him about it; that he wanted to marry his niece, and said not a word to him upon the matter; but that he would burn his books if he had either his office or his niece.”

Having already represented to the King the advisability of reserving the hand of Mlle. de Montmorency for the Prince de Condé, the duke sought an interview with Condé himself and proposed the match to him, pointing out that this alliance would give him for relatives all the grandees of France, who would become the very humble servants of a personage of his exalted rank, and that, if he did not marry Mlle. de Montmorency, he would probably have to spend the remainder of his days in single blessedness, because the King would not allow him to wed a foreign princess, and there was no other young lady in France of suitable rank, with the exception of Mlle. de Mayenne, and the King would never consent to his marrying her. These arguments were not without effect, and eventually Condé authorised him to approach the Constable on his behalf.

The Constable, warned by Bassompierre of his nephew’s machinations, told him not to allow them to disquiet him, since whatever match was proposed to him he should refuse it, adding that he knew M. de Bouillon’s ways far too well to be persuaded by him. He was as good as his word, and when Bouillon spoke to him on the subject, he met with a sharp rebuff, the Constable telling him that he had no need to seek a husband for his daughter, as he had found one, and that he already had the honour of being Monsieur le Prince’s great-uncle, which was enough for him.

During the illness of Henri IV, Bellegarde, Gramont, and Bassompierre took it in turn to sit up with him at night, the long hours being passed in reading to him d’Urfé’s sentimental romance Astrée, which was then enjoying a great vogue, or in conversation, for the King suffered so much pain that sometimes he was unable to sleep at all. It was the custom of the Princesses of the Blood to visit the sick-room daily; and the Duchesse d’Angoulême on more than one occasion brought her niece with her. One day, while the duchess was talking to one of his gentlemen, Henri IV, who did not disguise the pleasure which Mlle. de Montmorency’s visits gave him, called the girl to his bedside, told her that he intended to love her as if she were his own daughter, and that she should be lodged in the Louvre when Bassompierre was on duty as First Gentleman of the Chamber. He then desired her to tell him frankly whether she were pleased with the marriage which had been arranged for her, because, if it were not to her liking, he would soon find means to break it, and marry her to his nephew, the Prince de Condé. The damsel replied demurely that, since it was her father’s wish, she would esteem herself very happy with M. de Bassompierre. And, writes that gentleman, “he [the King] told me afterwards that these words made him resolve to break my marriage, from fear lest, if I married her, she should love me too much to be agreeable to him.”