“Rain fell continuously,” he says, “and, as the soil in the Rethelois is clay, we encountered a thousand difficulties, chiefly in moving our cannon, which sunk in it over the axle-trees. At last we made ready a battery of eight pieces below the town, but when I came on Friday morning, the 14th of April, to see if Lesines[118] had kept his promise to have the eight pieces in position by daybreak, I found that there were only two. A third was at thirty paces from the battery, sunk so deeply in the ground that they had been unable to move it; while a fourth was a hundred paces distant. This last had been abandoned by the officers because, in bringing it up, a driver and some of the horses had been killed, upon which the other drivers had unyoked their horses and fled.”
However, Bassompierre had his redoubtable mountaineers to fall back on.
“Then,” he continues, “I took fifty Swiss, to whom I promised fifty crowns, to bring those two pieces into position for me; and they harnessed themselves to them in place of the horses, having first dug a trench beneath the wheels of each piece and lined it with stout planks, so as to prevent it from sinking deeper in the mud. We drew the first into position without being fired upon from the town; but, as we were occupying ourselves with the more distant one, and had drawn it close to the battery, and I was lending them a hand, the enemy fired a salvo at us, by which two Swiss were killed and three wounded, and I myself hit by a musket-ball in the right side of the abdomen. I thought that I was wounded to the death, and the Maréchal de Thémines, who was in the battery, thought so too. However, God willed that the quantity of clothes which the ball encountered (for it pierced five folds of my cloak and two folds of my furred hongroline, my sword-belt, and my coat-skirt) caused it to stop on the peritoneum without penetrating it, so that when the wound was probed the ball was found in the thick flesh of the belly, where they made an incision, and out it fell. I only kept my bed for one day, although my wound was a month in healing, by reason of the cloth which was within.”
The following day, Praslin, who had replaced Bassompierre in command of the artillery, was also wounded by a musket-ball in the thigh, while directing the fire of the battery. But the ball did not injure the bone, and he was cured as quickly as his friend.
Rethel surrendered a few days later, and Guise, after placing a garrison there, resolved to lay siege to Mézières, where Nevers himself commanded. But, before doing this, he decided to send for additional siege-guns, and, as it would be at least ten days before they could arrive, Bassompierre asked for leave to go to Paris, in order to negotiate the sale of his office of Colonel-General of the Swiss to Concini. The marshal, as we have mentioned, had offered him 600,000 crowns for the post; but Bassompierre had asked for another 50,000, which the other was not at the time inclined to give. However, he was evidently so anxious to secure it that it was very probable that he would be willing to reconsider his offer.
The same evening he received very gracious letters from the King and Queen-Mother, who appear to have been under the impression that he was far more severely wounded than was the case, and another from the Maréchal d’Ancre, “who wrote me,” says he, “that, if I were trying to get myself killed, he would like to be my heir; and that, if I were well enough to come to Paris to conclude the matter of the Swiss, he would give me, instead of the 50,000 francs in dispute, 10,000 crowns’ worth of jewels at a goldsmith’s valuation.”
On April 21 he left Rethel, accompanied by the Marquis de Thémines, eldest son of the marshal, the Comte de Fiesque, Zamet, and more than fifty officers, who had also obtained leave, which appears to have been granted with amazing liberality in those days. But, instead of making straight for Paris, they decided to take a busman’s holiday by breaking their journey at Soissons, to see what progress the Comte d’Auvergne—now formally rehabilitated and therefore once more fit for the society of gentlemen—was making with the siege of that town, in which Mayenne commanded for the princes. On the 23rd they arrived in the Royal camp, where they were met by the Duc de Rohan, La Rochefoucauld, Saint-Géran and Saint-Luc, who conducted them to the general’s quarters.
To their astonishment, they learned that, though Auvergne had been blockading Soissons for more than ten days, the trenches had not yet been opened; indeed, it appeared to be an open question whether he was to be regarded as the besieger or the besieged, since they found him engaged in giving instructions for the erection of formidable earthworks to defend his troops against the perpetual sorties of the garrison, who gave him no rest. Only the previous night, Mayenne, who possessed all the dashing courage of his House, had sallied out, bringing with him two field-pieces, attacked and practically destroyed the regiment of Bussy-Lameth,[119] made its colonel prisoner and carried off its colours, which were now mockingly displayed on the bastions of the town. However, notwithstanding this unfortunate incident, Auvergne seemed brimful of confidence, and assured them that within a fortnight he would be master of Soissons.
The next day, after making the round of the camp, under the guidance of an officer, who pointed out to him the parts of the town which it was proposed to bombard, Bassompierre agreed with La Rochefoucauld, who, like himself, was a visitor to Auvergne’s army, to show their hosts what fine fellows they were, and to do what at this epoch, when rashness so often passed for valour, appears to have been regarded as a proof of the highest courage.
“As we were of a different army,” says he, “and wished to let them see that we had no fear of musket-shots, we went out to draw the enemy’s fire upon us. They, however, allowed us to approach without firing, and, since we did not wish to return without seeing them shoot, we walked right up to the edge of the moat. Still they did not fire. When we noticed their silence, we broke ours and shouted insults at them, which they returned, but never fired a shot. At length, after talking together for rather a long time, just as if we belonged to the same side, we retired; and they let us depart without once firing at us.”
The explanation of this singular conduct on the part of the besieged was not long in coming. That evening, Bassompierre, with Auvergne and Rohan, were supping with the Président Chevret, of the Chambre des Comptes, who had come to visit the army in connection with some legal business, when one of the president’s clerks arrived in all haste from Paris and whispered something to his master, who appeared very astonished. Then Chevret turned and spoke in a low voice to Auvergne, who sat next him, and Bassompierre remarked that the prince seemed no less astonished than the president. He begged them to let him know what news they had received, upon which they told him that, at eleven o’clock that morning, the Maréchal d’Ancre had been killed by the Marquis de Vitry, one of the captains of the Guards, and that it had been done by the King’s orders! Then Bassompierre remembered that when, a few hours before, he and La Rochefoucauld were standing on the edge of the moat of Soissons, one of the garrison had shouted to them: “Your master is dead, and ours has killed him!”—words to which he had attached no importance at the time—and marvelled that the enemy should have received so much earlier information of the event than the Royal army.
But let us see what had been happening in Paris since Bassompierre’s departure for the army in the middle of March, which had culminated in the tragedy of that morning.
We have related, in the last chapter, how Marie de’ Medici and Concini had begun to grow suspicious of the influence that Louis XIII’s favourite, Luynes, had acquired over the mind of the young King, and how a rumour had spread that he was about to be banished from the Court. No action, however, had been taken against him; nevertheless, Luynes felt quite certain that his disgrace was only a question of time, and he resolved to anticipate his enemies. Clever and crafty, greedy and ambitious, and entirely without scruple, this Provençal was a dangerous man, and, while seeking by a show of subservience to the Queen-Mother and the marshal to disarm the suspicions they had formed of him and so secure a respite to enable him to execute his projects, he worked unceasingly to embitter the young King’s mind against them. He succeeded so well that at length Louis was fully persuaded that his crown and even his life were in peril, and that his mother and Concini contemplated setting his younger brother on the throne, in order to have a new minority to exploit.
Having persuaded the King of his danger, Luynes spoke of the various means of escaping it, and these were debated in midnight councils between the King of France, his favourite, Déageant, Barbin’s chief clerk, who had been gained over by Luynes,[120] an obscure priest, three gentlemen, a soldier, a gardener from the Tuileries, and some valets. The composition of this strange council, as Henri Martin observes, was indeed a biting satire on the education which Marie de’ Medici had given her son and the isolation in which she had left him. The King proposed to make his escape from Paris and to retire to Amboise, of which place Luynes was governor, or to join the army of the Princes. But Luynes, who desired to render the mother and the son irreconcilable, rejected these expedients in favour of one more easy and more sure: that of getting rid of Concini by surprise. And this was decided upon.
The Marquis de Montpouillan, one of the sons of the Maréchal de la Force, and a playmate of Louis XIII in his boyhood, was admitted to their confidence; and Montpouillan, a young man of a bold and violent disposition, offered to poniard Concini in the King’s cabinet, if his Majesty would but get him there. The marshal came; but, at the last moment, Luynes’s courage failed him, and he would not allow the design to be executed.
The conspirators then addressed themselves to the Marquis de Vitry, one of the captains of the Guards, who entered on his term of service at the beginning of April. He was a son of that Vitry who had arrested Biron at Fontainebleau fifteen years earlier, and one of the few men at the Court who had refused to bow before the power of the favourite. Assured that Vitry would be prepared to execute any orders that he might receive, Louis XIII sent for him and directed him to arrest the Maréchal d’Ancre as he was entering the Louvre to visit the Queen-Mother, which he did every morning when he was in Paris. The bâton of a marshal of France was to be his reward, if he succeeded. “But, if he defends himself?” said Vitry. “Then,” cried Montpouillan, “the King intends you to kill him!” “Sire, do you command me?” asked the officer, turning to the King. “Yes, I command you to do it,” was the reply.
About ten o’clock on April 24, Concini entered the Louvre by the great gate on the side of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois, accompanied by some fifty gentlemen. The moment he passed the gate, a signal was given and it was closed; and Vitry, followed by several of his men with pistols hidden beneath their cloaks, advanced to meet him. He joined the marshal between the drawbridge and the bridge which led to the inner court of the palace, and laying his hand on his right arm, said: “The King commands me to seize your person.” “À moi!” cried Concini; but scarcely had he spoken, than several pistol-shots rang out, and he fell dead on the parapet of the bridge. “It is by order of the King,” cried Vitry, and the murdered favourite’s followers, who had laid their hands on their swords, dispersed without attempting to avenge him.
Louis XIII and Luynes were waiting anxiously in the King’s cabinet des armes, prepared to fly if the blow miscarried, for which purpose a coach was in readiness near the Tuileries. The cries of “Vive le Roi!” told them that it had succeeded, and a moment later d’Ornano, the colonel of the Corsicans, son of the marshal of that name, came knocking at the door of the cabinet. “Sire,” cried he, “now you are King! The Maréchal d’Ancre is dead!” Louis XIII hurried to the window, and d’Ornano, seizing his young sovereign round the body, lifted him up to show him to the cheering crowd of gentlemen and soldiers of the Guard who had gathered in the courtyard below. “Merci! Merci à vous!” cried Louis, and then repeated the words of d’Ornano: “Now I am King!”
The King gave orders that the Parlement and the municipal authorities should be informed of what had occurred, and announced his intention of recalling “the old servants of his father.” Villeroy, Jeannin, and the oldest of the Counsellors of State at once hurried to the Louvre, and couriers were despatched to summon the Sillerys and the ex-Keeper of the Seals, Du Vair, who had been banished from Paris.
Meantime, tidings of the tragedy had been carried to the Queen-Mother. Marie understood at once that it was the end of her power. “Povretta de mi!” she exclaimed. “I have reigned for seven years; I have nothing more to expect but a crown in heaven!” One of her attendants remarked that they did not know how to break the terrible news to the Maréchale d’Ancre, who was in her own apartments. But at such a moment the Queen had no thought for anyone but herself. “I have many other things to think about,” she exclaimed impatiently. “Do not speak to me any more about those people.” And she refused to see her hapless favourite, who, a few minutes later, was arrested and conducted to the Bastille. Marie then sent one of her gentlemen to her son to request an interview. It was curtly refused, and shortly afterwards her guards were removed from the ante-chamber and replaced by soldiers of the Gardes du Corps, every exit from her apartments, save one, blocked up, and she found herself a prisoner.
Marie’s Ministers fell with her. Mangot, the Keeper of the Seals, was at the Louvre; Luynes took the Seals from his hands and bade him begone. Barbin was arrested and sent to join the widow of Concini in the Bastille. Richelieu attempted to make head against the storm and repaired to the King’s apartments, where he found his Majesty receiving the felicitations of a crowd of courtiers with the air of one who had just gained a great battle. The King received him graciously enough, and told him that he knew him to be a stranger to the evil designs of the Maréchal d’Ancre and that “it was his intention to treat him well”; while Luynes advised him to go to the Council, which was assembling. He went and found Villeroy, Jeannin and Du Vair seated at the council-table. Villeroy, with a triumphant air, demanded in what quality M. de Luçon presented himself there; the others “continued to expedite affairs without occupying themselves with him.” “And so,” he writes, “after having been in that place long enough to say that I had entered there, I softly withdrew.”
While this revolution of the palace was proceeding, Paris resounded with acclamations, and when evening fell, bonfires blazed at all the crossways. The people went almost frantic with joy at their deliverance from the arrogant foreign favourite whom they had come to regard as a public enemy. The Parlement, which hastened to declare that “the King was not bound to justify his action,” the municipality, all the public bodies of the town, sent deputations to felicitate his Majesty, and everyone applauded his coup de main as if he had committed the finest action in the world. “They gave him the name of ‘Just,’ for having caused a man to be killed without trial!” observes Henri Martin.
This explosion of public joy was followed by atrocious scenes. The following morning some noblemen’s lackeys, followed by a rabble drawn from the dregs of the populace, entered the Church of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois, where the body of Concini, “naked, in a wretched sheet,” had been secretly buried the previous night, disinterred it, dragged it through the streets with obscene cries, in which the name of the Queen-Mother was mingled with that of the murdered marshal, and finished by tearing it to pieces and burning the remains before the statue of Henri IV on the Pont-Neuf.
At three o’clock in the morning of the 25th, the Comte de Tavannes, grandson of the celebrated marshal of that name, arrived in Auvergne’s camp with orders from the King to suspend hostilities against Soissons; and, a few hours later, Bassompierre and his party set out for Paris. Scarcely had they crossed the Aisne, than they encountered a regiment of Liégeois cavalry, part of the force which had been raised by Concini for service against the Princes. The Liégeois, who had just learned of the marshal’s assassination, called upon them to halt, and their officers held a sort of informal council of war. Bassompierre suspected that it was their intention to take him and his friends along with them as hostages for their safe return to their own country; and when presently an officer detached himself from the rest and came towards them, he assumed the air of a hunted fugitive and, before the other had time to open his mouth, inquired anxiously whether, if his party joined them, they would undertake not to surrender them if called upon to do so. The officer, thinking from this that they must be some of the Maréchal d’Ancre’s personal following, who were perhaps pursued, told him bluntly the Liégeois had quite enough to do to provide for their own safety, and that everyone must look to himself. Upon which he turned on his heel and rejoined his comrades, and the whole regiment mounted their horses and rode away. Bassompierre and his friends waited until they were out of sight, and then resumed their journey to Paris.
Bassompierre arrives in Paris—Marie de’ Medici is exiled to Blois—Bassompierre’s account of the parting between Louis XIII and his mother—The rebellious princes return to Court and are pardoned, but Condé remains in the Bastille—His wife solicits and receives permission to join him there—Arrest of the Governor and Lieutenant of the Bastille, on a charge of conniving at a secret correspondence between Barbin and the Queen-Mother—Bassompierre is placed temporarily in charge of the fortress—The Prince and Princesse de Condé are transferred to the Château of Vincennes—Bassompierre goes to Rouen to attend the assembly of the Notables—A rapid journey.
On the following day—April 26—Bassompierre reached Paris and lost no time in waiting upon Louis XIII, who received him very graciously and “commanded him to love M. de Luynes, who was a good servant.” He inquired if he might be permitted to pay his respects to the Queen-Mother, who since the 24th had been kept a close prisoner in her apartments. The King replied that he would consider the matter, which meant that the request did not meet with his approval. Bassompierre, however, was anxious not to appear to fail in respect to a princess who had been so good a friend to him, and whose disgrace, besides, might very well prove to be but a temporary one. And so, in default of being able to convey them himself, he sent his compliments to her Majesty every evening, through the medium of her dressmaker, the only person, with the exception of her servants, who was permitted to enter her apartments.
Meanwhile, negotiations were in progress for the Queen-Mother’s retirement from Paris and the Court, upon which Luynes had persuaded the King to insist. It was Richelieu who negotiated the conditions on Marie’s behalf. That astute personage, recognising that the victorious party was not inclined to pardon him, had attached himself to Marie de’ Medici, who had appointed him chief of her counsellors, hoping ere long to succeed in reconciling her with Luynes and Louis XIII, or with Louis XIII against Luynes, and, in either event, to recover the position he had lost. He obtained, after considerable difficulty, permission for her to reside no further off than Blois, for which she set out on May 3.
Bassompierre has left us an interesting account of the parting between Louis XIII and his mother, of which he was an eye-witness:
“All the morning people seemed to be doing nothing but load carts with the Queen’s baggage. The King, meantime, was at the Council, where the things which the Queen was to say to the King on parting from him, and the answers which the King was to make, were decided upon and committed to writing. It was also agreed that nothing further should be said on either side, and that when the Queen was dressed for her journey, the princesses should see her, while the men were to take leave of her after the King had done so. Neither the Maréchal de Vitry[121] nor his brother, Du Hallier[122] were to be amongst them.
“Then the King descended to the Queen’s apartments; where the Queen was awaiting him in the passage leading from her chamber, so as to enter it at the same moment as he did. The three Luynes[123] walked before the King, who held the eldest by the hand. M. de Joinville and I followed the King and entered after him. The Queen kept a good countenance until she saw the King approaching. Then she began to weep bitterly and put her handkerchief to her eyes and her fan before her face; and, when they met, she led him to the window which overlooks the garden, and removing her handkerchief and her fan, spoke as follows: ‘Monsieur, I am sorry that I have not governed your State during my regency and my administration more to your satisfaction than I have done. Nevertheless, I assure you that it was neither from lack of care nor endeavour; and I beg you to regard me always as your very obedient servant and mother.’ ‘Madame,’ replied the King, ‘I thank you very humbly for the care and pains you have taken in the administration of my kingdom, with which I am content, and hold myself obliged to you; and I beg you to believe that I shall always be your very humble son.’
“Upon this the King expected that she would stoop to kiss him and take leave of him, as had been arranged. But she said to him: ‘Monsieur, I am going to crave a parting favour of you, which I wish you to promise that you will not refuse me. It is that you will restore to me my intendant Barbin.’ The King, who was not expecting this demand, looked at her without making any reply. She said to him again: ‘Monsieur, do not refuse me this request that I am now making you.’ But he continued to look at her without answering. She added: ‘Perhaps it is the last I shall ever make you.’ And then, seeing that he answered nothing, she said: ‘Orsu!’ and then stooped and kissed him. The King made a reverence and then turned his back. Upon that M. de Luynes advanced to take leave of the Queen, and spoke to her some words which I could not hear, nor yet those in which she answered him. But after he had kissed the hem of her gown, she added that she had made a request to the King to restore Barbin to her, and that he would be doing her an agreeable service and a singular pleasure in prevailing upon the King to grant her request, which was not so important that he ought to refuse it. As M. de Luynes was about to reply, the King cried five or six times: ‘Luynes, Luynes, Luynes!’ And upon that M. de Luynes, making the Queen understand that he was obliged to go after the King, followed him. Then the Queen leaned against the wall between the two windows and wept bitterly. M. de Chevreuse [Joinville] and I kissed the hem of her gown, weeping likewise; but either she was unable to see us by reason of her tears, or she did not wish to speak to or look at us. This caused me to wait to take leave of her a second time, which I did as she was returning to her chamber. But she did not see me, or wish to see me, any more than on the first occasion.
“Upon that the King placed himself on the balcony before the chamber of the Queen, his wife, to see the departure of the Queen, and, after she had left the Louvre, he hastened into his gallery to see her again as she passed over the Pont-Neuf. Then he entered his coach and went to the Bois de Vincennes.”
On May 5, the rebellious princes Vendôme, Mayenne and Bouillon, who, on learning of Concini’s death, had hastened to lay down their arms, open the gates of their fortresses and disband their soldiers, as though they had been fighting only against the favourite, came to Vincennes, accompanied by a number of their principal followers, to salute the King and assure him of their allegiance. Although Louis XIII must have known very well that no reliance whatever could be placed in their professions of loyalty, and that, unless he made it worth their while to keep the peace, they would rise again on the first plausible pretext, they were received as though they had taken up arms for, and not against, the royal authority. On May 12 a declaration of the King reinstated them in all their property, honours, and offices, and excused them having taken up arms, “although unlawfully,” on the ground that they had done so in order to defend themselves against the tyranny of the Maréchal d’Ancre.
Logic would have demanded that the reconciliation should have gone further, and that Condé, whose arrest had been the pretext for the revolt, should have been released from the Bastille and reinstated as chief of the Council. Nothing of the kind happened, however. Louis XIII entertained a strong antipathy to his turbulent kinsman, which need occasion no surprise; Luynes feared that he might attempt to dispute his ascendancy over the young King; while the other princes, who were bound to their chief neither by affection nor even by party-loyalty, did not press for his liberation. And so he remained a prisoner.
The King stayed at Vincennes for some days and then returned to Paris; but, shortly afterwards, removed to Saint-Germain. After having been so long confined to the capital and a sedentary life, he was revelling in his new-found liberty, and the opportunity it afforded him of indulging in his favourite sports of hawking and hunting.
While the Court was at Saint-Germain, the Princess de Condé arrived there to ask the King’s permission to share her husband’s captivity. Although, for some time before Condé’s arrest, the relations between him and his wife had been very cool, the princess, on learning of the misfortune that had befallen him, had shown real magnanimity. Without a moment’s delay, she set out for Paris—she was at Valery at the time—sent the prince messages assuring him of her sympathy and devotion, and begged the Queen-Mother to allow her to join him. Her request, however, was refused, and she received orders to leave Paris at once and return to Valery.
Now, however, she did not plead in vain, and Louis XIII not only granted her request, but gave her permission to take with her “one demoiselle and her little dwarf, who had begged his Majesty to consent to his not abandoning his mistress.” The same day (May 26) the princess entered the Bastille, “where she was received by Monsieur le Prince with every demonstration of affection, nor did he leave her in repose until she had said that she forgave him.”[124]
In the following October, the authorities of the Bastille were discovered to be conniving at a secret correspondence which Barbin was carrying on with the Queen-Mother, and first Bournonville, the Lieutenant of the fortress, and brother of the Governor, the Baron de Persan, and subsequently Persan himself, were arrested.[125] Bassompierre was then sent with sixty Swiss to take charge of the Bastille, but he did not have the Prince and Princesse de Condé under his supervision, as, about a month previously, they had been transferred to the Château of Vincennes, where Condé was allowed a great deal more liberty than had been permitted him in Paris. Bassompierre only remained at the Bastille about ten days, at the end of which he received orders to hand over the command to the new favourite’s youngest brother, Brantes.
In December Bassompierre went to Normandy to attend the assembly of the Notables which Louis XIII was holding at Rouen. While he was there, news arrived that the Princesse de Condé had given birth to a still-born child and was in a critical condition; and the King being desirous of sending some important personages to make inquiries on her behalf, or, in the event of the princess being dead, to offer his condolences to Condé, Bassompierre and the Duc de Guise offered to go. They set out in a coach, a kind of conveyance which did not usually lend itself to rapid travelling; but, by arranging for an unusual number of relays, reached Paris the same day, and made the return journey with similar expedition. Bassompierre assures us that never before had a journey by coach been made in so short a time at that season of the year.
The princess recovered, “though she was more than forty-eight hours without movement or feeling,” and “never was a person in greater extremity without dying.”[126]
Luynes succeeds to the power and wealth of Concini—Trial and execution of Concini’s widow, Leonora Galigaï—Luynes begins to direct affairs of State—His marriage to Marie de Rohan—Conduct of the Duc d’Epernon—His quarrel with Du Vair, the Keeper of the Seals—His disgrace—He begins to intrigue with the Queen-Mother—Escape of the latter from Blois—Treaty of Angoulême—The Court at Tours—Arnauld d’Andilly’s account of Bassompierre’s lavish hospitality—Favours bestowed by the King on Bassompierre—Meeting between Louis XIII and the Queen-Mother—Liberation of Condé—Bassompierre entertains the King at Monceaux—He is admitted to the Ordre du Saint-Esprit.
The heir of the power of Concini was Luynes. He was, as we have mentioned, a gentleman of Provence—a very unimportant gentleman the Court had thought him before he had contrived to insinuate himself into the good graces of the young King. His father, an officer of fortune, the fruit, if we are to believe Richelieu, of a liaison between one d’Albert, a canon of Marseilles, and a chambermaid, was the owner of the Château of Luynes, near Aix, the vineyard of Brantes, and the islet of Cadenet in the middle of the Rhone, seigneuries, says Bassompierre, which a hare could jump over, but which, in default of revenues, furnished titles for his three sons. Charles Albert, the eldest, had begun life as page to the Comte du Lude, and was afterwards placed by Henri IV with the Dauphin. Both he and his younger brothers, Brantes and Cadenet, were exceedingly good-looking men, skilled in all bodily exercises, well-educated and possessed of ingratiating manners; but there were no limits to their ambition or their greed, and they did not intend to allow any little scruples to stand in the way of their advancement.
Despite the adage:
Luynes inherited, not only the power of Concini, but also the greater part of his charges and possessions: lieutenancy-general of Normandy, government of the Pont-de-l’Arche, domain of Ancre (the name of which was changed to Albert), his post of First Gentleman of the Chamber, his hôtel in Paris, his estate of Lesigny, and so forth. When people saw the confiscated property of the Concini pass straight from the royal demesne into the greedy hands of the new favourite, they began to ask themselves whether the country was after all likely to gain much by the change that had taken place.
But the confiscation of the property of the Florentine couple, though it might suffice, for the moment, the cupidity of Luynes, did not suffice his policy. He desired to widen the gulf which he had opened between Louis XIII and his mother,[127] by dragging the name of the latter through the mire of a criminal court; and, at his instigation, the Maréchale d’Ancre was brought to trial as a sorceress who had bewitched the Queen-Mother by her arts,[128] and on July 8, 1617, condemned to be burned alive in the Place de Grève for the crime of lèse-majesté human and divine.
It was with great difficulty, however, that Luynes succeeded in obtaining this verdict. The Advocate-General, Lebret, at first refused to demand the death penalty, and it was only on Luynes giving him his word that the prisoner would be pardoned after the decree that he consented to do so. But the only clemency that the unfortunate woman was able to obtain was that her head should be cut off before her body was committed to the flames. She died with great courage and resignation.
The death of Villeroy, in November, 1617, enfeebled the group of old counsellors who had been recalled to office after the assassination of Concini; and Luynes, whose favour with the King was constantly increasing, began to direct the State, although he was totally ignorant of public affairs. His Government benefited for some time by the unpopularity of the Maréchal d’Ancre; the grandees remained tranquil, and Luynes, by his marriage with the beautiful Marie de Rohan, daughter of the Duc de Montbazon, destined one day to become so celebrated under the name of the Duchesse de Chevreuse, assured himself of the support of the House of Rohan.
Alone amongst the great nobles, d’Épernon did not hurry himself to come and compliment the King on his assumption of the government of his realm and to salute the man to whom he had delegated the royal authority. As Colonel-General of the French Infantry, d’Épernon was a power in the land, and when at last, towards the end of March, 1618, he condescended to visit the Court, the colonels of all the regiments stationed in and around Paris and in Picardy and Champagne went so far as Étampes to meet him and escort him to the capital. Haughty and choleric and excessively touchy on the question of his rights, this former mignon of Henri III was not long in mortally offending the King, already incensed against him by his long delay in presenting himself at Court, which Luynes had not failed to represent as a gross want of the respect due to his sovereign.
Finding that Du Vair, to whom the Seals had been restored after the dismissal of Mangot, was in the habit of taking his seat at the Council above all the nobles, even when the Chancellor was present, although the Keeper of the Seals was not an officer of the Crown, his gorge rose at once, and he went to the King to protest against so intolerable an affront to his own dignity and that of his order. Du Vair happened to be with the King, and, says Bassompierre, “as M. d’Épernon was a little violent, he attacked the Keeper of the Seals, who answered him more sharply than he should have done.” Three days later, Louis XIII summoned the duke and Du Vair to his cabinet, and, in the presence of Bassompierre and several other courtiers, ordered them to be reconciled. By way of answer, d’Épernon shrugged his shoulders, upon which the young monarch, who was seated, rose in great indignation, and severely reprimanded him. Then, observing that he had affairs of importance to attend to, he abruptly quitted the room.
D’Épernon retired, followed by Bassompierre, but, to their astonishment, they found all the doors of the ante-chamber closed and locked. It looked “as though the King intended to have the duke arrested, and had given orders for the doors to be secured, in order to allow time for an officer of the Guards to be summoned.” However, it occurred to Bassompierre that perhaps the door leading to the King’s private staircase, which was opposite that of his chamber, might not be locked, and, finding it unfastened, he fetched d’Épernon, and they descended the stairs and made their way to the Salle Haute, where the old noble’s attendants were awaiting him.
As d’Épernon was leaving the Louvre, he asked his friend “to send him warning if anything had been resolved against him.” Bassompierre accordingly spoke to Luynes on the subject, and was informed that, as M. d’Épernon intended going to his government of Metz, he would be well advised to hasten his departure, since there were persons who might incite the King against him. Bassompierre, of course, understood very well who it was who was likely to incite the King.
On being assured that his Majesty was prepared to treat him as though nothing had happened when he went to ask permission to retire to Metz, d’Épernon proceeded to the Louvre, where the King received him “with a very good countenance,” and granted his request. Louis XIII was under the impression that the duke intended to leave Paris the following day; but, five days later, while the King was at Vanves, a village in the environs of the capital, he learned that d’Épernon was still there and that a great number of people were visiting him. His Majesty angrily told Bassompierre that if, when he returned to Paris on the morrow, he found M. d’Épernon there, it would be the worse for him; and Luynes advised Bassompierre to go and tell him that “he would not remain much longer, if he were wise.” This he did, and d’Épernon requested him to inform the King that he would leave Paris before noon on the morrow. He took his departure within the time specified, but, instead of proceeding to Metz, he only went so far as Fontenay-en-Brie, near Coulommiers, where he had a country-seat. Louis XIII was furious, and proposed to send a detachment of the Guards to arrest him; but the Chancellor, Sillery, who was a friend of d’Épernon, sent a messenger in all haste to the duke to warn him of what was intended, and d’Épernon, recognising that he had presumed too far on the young monarch’s forbearance, lost no time in resuming his journey to Metz.
Although d’Épernon had only himself to blame for his disgrace, he was none the less bitterly incensed against the King and his favourite; and, to avenge his outraged dignity, forthwith proceeded to establish a secret correspondence with the Queen-Mother, whom he urged to protest by force of arms against the treatment she was receiving, and promised to support by every means in his power.
Marie required little prompting: she had already resolved to make her escape. Thanks to the enmity of Luynes, she found herself little better than a prisoner in the Château of Blois; all correspondence with persons at the Court was forbidden her; Richelieu, who had aroused the suspicions of the favourite, had been banished to Avignon, and other members of her entourage had also been removed. Nevertheless, she dissimulated her resentment, and in April, 1619, consented, at the instance of a Jesuit, Père Arnoux, whom Luynes sent to her, to sign a declaration, in which she swore “before God and His angels,” to submit in all things to the wishes of the King, and to warn him immediately of “all communications and overtures contrary to his service.”
Luynes, however, continued to offend her. At the end of 1618, an embassy from Savoy came to Paris to demand the hand of her younger daughter, Christine, for the Prince of Piedmont, eldest son of Charles Emmanuel. Marie was not consulted, the King confining himself to informing her of the betrothal; and on February 10, 1619, the marriage was celebrated without her being invited. It was the last straw; she resolved to fly at the first favourable opportunity. D’Épernon, anticipating her intention, had left Metz, towards the end of January, without permission of the King, and gone to await her in the Angoumois; and, in the night of February 21-22, Marie made her escape to Blois and went to Angoulême, whence she wrote to her son, demanding the redress of her grievances.
Luynes was at first greatly alarmed, fearing that the Princes, already beginning to show signs of irritation at the increasing power of the favourite, might join the Queen-Mother; but they remained quiet. In these circumstances, he might easily have crushed d’Épernon; but he wished to avoid war, and accordingly sent the Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld and Père Bérulle, the famous preacher of the Oratoire, to propose peace to Marie, and recalled Richelieu from Avignon “to pacify her mind.” In this task the prelate succeeded, and on April 30, 1619, he signed with the Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld a treaty at Angoulême which authorised the Queen-Mother to dispose of the offices of her Household and to reside where she pleased, and gave her, in exchange for the government of Normandy, that of Anjou, with the Château of Angers, the Ponts-de-Cé and Chinon. D’Épernon, against whom the usual royal declaration had been launched, recovered his charges and appointments, and Richelieu was given to understand that he might hope for a cardinal’s hat at no very distant date.
However, Louis XIII, who had been on the point of setting out with the Court for the Loire when the news that peace had been signed reached him, determined to carry out his intention, Luynes no doubt thinking that, in view of the possibility of further trouble with the Queen-Mother, a visit of the young King to that part of his realm might be productive of good results. After a short stay at different towns, including Amboise, from which letters announcing the peace were sent to the Parlement of Paris for registration, at the end of May the Court arrived at Tours, where, says Bassompierre, “we remained three months and passed our time very pleasantly.”
Arnauld d’Andilly, in his Mémoires, has left us an interesting picture of life at Tours and, more particularly, of the lavish hospitality dispensed by Bassompierre:—
“While at Tours, I happened to be lodged near M. de Bassompierre, who kept a table which you might say was worthy of one of the greatest nobles of the Court, since it was always full. He did me the honour to invite me to come every day and pressed me in such fashion that, not being acquainted with any of these grandees so intimately that I believed myself competent to say that there was no one in France of my condition who lived so habitually or on such familiar terms with them, I was unable to refuse a civility so obliging. Those whom I met there were, apart from their rank, persons of a merit so great, that some had filled already, and others have filled since, the most important offices of State, and commanded armies. Thus, there was much to learn from their conversation, and nothing was more agreeable than the pleasant familiarity with which they lived together. Ceremony, the constraint of which is insupportable to those who are nourished in the air of the great world, was unknown there. Each one seated himself where he pleased. Those who came the latest never failed to find a place at the table, although the others may already have been there a long while. However great was the good cheer provided, no one ever spoke about eating. People came without saying good-day, and went away without saying adieu. And the conversation ranged over all kinds of topics, and was, not only agreeable, but instructive.”
On leaving Tours, the Court paid short visits to Le Lude, in the Maine, where the King was the guest of the Comte du Lude, whose page Luynes had once been, La Flèche, and Durtal, where he was entertained by the Comte de Schomberg. His Majesty was exceedingly gracious to Bassompierre about this time. On the death of the old Swiss colonel Galatty he offered him the choice of that veteran’s appointments; gave him the Abbey of Honnecourt, in the diocese of Cambrai, for one of his ecclesiastical friends, who appears to have contented himself with drawing the revenues of the benefice and did not even take the trouble to get instituted until twenty-five years later; and bestowed other favours upon him.
At the beginning of September, the Court returned to Tours, the King having decided that it would be advisable to placate his mother, who was complaining that the terms of the treaty signed at Angoulême had not been properly executed, by a personal interview. On September 4 Marie de’ Medici arrived at Couzières, a country-house belonging to Luynes’s father-in-law, the Duc de Montbazon, where she was received by the favourite, who was accompanied by all the princes and great nobles. On the following day she arrived at Tours, being met at some little distance from the town by Anne of Austria and all the princesses.
Marie remained with the King until the 19th, and then left for Chinon en route for Angers, while the Court proceeded to Amboise.
Bassompierre does not give us any information about Louis XIII’s attitude to his mother during these two weeks, but, if we are to believe Richelieu, he showed towards her “an incredible tenderness.” Anyway, Luynes appears to have become very uneasy, fearing lest the meeting at Tours might lead to a more or less complete reconciliation between mother and son; and one of his first acts when the Court returned to Paris was to persuade the King to set Condé at liberty and restore him to all his offices and dignities (October 20, 1619). He judged—and rightly, as it proved—that the harsh treatment to which the first Prince of the Blood had been subjected during the early months of his imprisonment in the Bastille would have so embittered him against the Queen-Mother, that he could be trusted to use all his influence to prevent the rapprochement which the favourite had so much cause to dread. And, to nullify the effects of the “incredible tenderness” of which Richelieu speaks, he caused to be inserted in the declaration of Condé’s innocence, which was registered by the Parlement on November 26, words which could not fail to be most offensive to Marie de’ Medici: “Being informed,” said the King, “of the reasons by which his detention has been excused, I have found that there was no cause, save the machinations and evil designs of his enemies, who desired to join the ruin of my State to that of my cousin.”
In November, the King spent a fortnight at Monceaux, and Bassompierre, who was captain of the château, entertained him most magnificently. At the close of the year there was a large promotion to the Ordre du Saint-Esprit, five prelates and fifty-nine nobles being admitted. Bassompierre was amongst the latter, his name figuring twenty-fourth on the list of the new knights.
The promotions to the Ordre du Saint-Esprit furnished Marie de’ Medici with yet another grievance, and she complained bitterly that they comprised all her chief enemies, to the exclusion of the friends whom she had recommended. Luynes seemed bent on exasperating her beyond endurance, and on making her little Court at Angers, where she had now established herself, a centre of disaffection.