Chapter III: Introduction (1)

The person of Madame de Longueville—Description of
contemporaries—Authentic portraits—Her wit and style—Her
character—Explanation of her conduct in the Fronde—Mademoiselle
de La Vallière and Madame de Longueville.

There are three well-defined periods in the life of the Duchess de Longueville.[3]

Born in 1619, in the castle of Vincennes, during the captivity of her father, Henri de Bourbon, prince de Condé, whose imprisonment was shared by his young wife, that celebrated beauty, Charlotte Marguerite de Montmorency, we at first see Mademoiselle de Bourbon, growing in graces by the side of such a mother, dividing her time between the convent of the Carmelites and the hôtel de Rambouillet, nourishing her heart with pious emotions and romantic reading; going to a ball, but with an under-garment of hair-cloth; sharing the confidence of a hero, her brother, the Duke d’Enghien; sympathizing with him in his love of the beautiful Mademoiselle Du Vigean, and witnessing her entrance into a cloister, where she herself is destined at last to die. At the age of twenty-three years she marries M. de Longueville, who is forty-seven, and who, instead of making up for this disparity, by an assiduous tenderness, continues in the suite of the saddest coquette of the time, the famous Duchess de Montbazon. Outraged by this rival, unprotected by a husband, who is even incapable of jealousy, she yields little by little to the contagion which surrounds her; and returning to Paris, after passing some time amid the magnificent distractions of the embassy of Munster, she suffers herself to be captivated by the wit, grand air, and chivalrous appearance of Prince de Marcillac, afterwards Duke de La Rochefoucauld. This liaison shapes her life, and closes its first period in 1648.

The Fronde with its vicissitudes; love—such as it was understood at the hôtel de Rambouillet, the love of Corneille and Scudéry—with its enchantments and its griefs, mingled with dangers and glory, crossed by a thousand adventures, the vanquisher of the rudest obstacles, and yielding to its own infirmities—in fine, exhausting itself;—such is the second period, so short and so full, beginning in 1648, and closing in the midst of 1654.

From this time the whole life of Madame de Longueville is one long, austere penance, performed successively in Normandy, near her aged husband, among the Carmelites, at Port Royal, and finally concluded in 1679.

Thus at first a spotless reputation, then faults, then expiation divide the career of Madame de Longueville.

It is in this order that we have collected, and that we shall present all that patient research has enabled us to gather concerning Madame de Longueville. We shall give political and religious writings, and especially confidential letters, thrown off from her pen during every important moment of her life, and which exhibit it in a manner equally faithful and agreeable.

But if the writings and letters which we are about to publish, elucidate the character of Madame de Longueville, it is quite as true that the character, well comprehended, explains them and places them in their true light. To introduce and give interest to a work, it is usual to begin with some details respecting its author; and as in this case the author is a woman, it is necessary to become acquainted with her person, as well as with her mind and her heart.

I.

Anne Geneviève de Bourbon was the daughter, as we have said, of that Charlotte Marguerite de Montmorency, Princess de Condé, who had turned the head of Henry IV., and whom, it is said, he wished to snatch from the hands of her jealous husband, at the risk of setting all Europe in commotion. The daughter was at least as beautiful as the mother, and this was a principal advantage of Madame de Longueville, which, we confess, possesses for us no ordinary attractions.

Beauty extends its prestige to posterity itself, and attaches a charm, for centuries, to the name alone of the privileged creatures upon whom it has pleased God to bestow it. But I speak of true beauty. This is not less rare than genius and virtue. Beauty has also its epochs. It does not belong to all men and to all ages to taste it in its exquisite truth. As there are fashions which spoil it, there are periods which affect its sentiment. For example, it became the eighteenth century to invent pretty women—those charming dolls, perfumed and powdered, affecting the attractions which they do not possess under their vast hoops and great furbelows. It was quite sufficient to prattle in a _salon_, to write _Lettres peruviennes_, to serve as models for the heroines of the younger Crébillon, and to turn the heads of the heroes of Rosbach. Those of Rocroy and of Lens, the contemporaries of Richelieu, of Descartes, and of Corneille, the energetic and somewhat rude men who preceded Louis XIV., and who delighted in a life of agitation, but to end it like Pascal and Rancé, would not have been tempted to bend the knee before such frail idols. Let us dare to say that the foundation of true beauty, as of true virtue, as of true genius, is force. Shed over this force a ray of heaven, elegance, grace, delicacy, and you have beauty. Its perfect type is the Venus of Milo;[4] or again, that pure and mysterious apparition, goddess or mortal, which is called the Psyche, or the Venus of Naples.[5] Beauty is certainly to be seen in the Venus de Médicis, but in this we feel that it is declining, or about to decline. Look at, not the women of Titian, but the virgins of Raphael and of Leonardi: the face is of infinite delicacy, but the body evinces strength; they will disgust you forever with the shadows and monkeys _à la Pompadour_. Adore grace, but do not in every thing separate it too much from force, for without force grace soon shares the fate of the flower that is separated from the stem which animates and sustains it.

It was Florence, it was its artists and its princes, that carried into France the sentiment of true beauty. Here it was rapidly developed, and, for various reasons which I cannot now even point out, it reigned among us until near the close of the XVIIth century.

What a train of accomplished women this century presents to us! women who were loaded with admiration, drawing after them all hearts, and spreading from rank to rank that worship of beauty which throughout all Europe received the name of French gallantry! They accompany this great century in its too rapid course; they mark its principal epochs, beginning with Charlotte de Montmorency, and finishing with Madame de Montespan. Between these place the lady of the High Constable of Luynes, afterwards Duchess de Chevreuse, Madame de Hautefort, Madame de Montbazon, Madame de Guimenée, Madame de Châtillon, Marie de Gonzague, afterwards Queen of Poland, her sister the Palatine, and so many others, among whom, to my extreme regret, I dare not mention Mademoiselle de La Vallière, and yet am compelled to place Madame de Maintenon.

Madame de Longueville has her place in this dazzling gallery. She had all the characteristics of true beauty, joining to it a peculiar charm.

She was of good stature and of an admirable form. Embonpoint with all its advantages were not wanting to her. She possessed, as I cannot doubt in examining the authentic portraits before me, that kind of attraction so much prized during the XVIIth century, and which, with beautiful hands, had made the reputation of Anne of Austria. Her eyes were of the most tender blue. Her fine light hair, descending in large ringlets, displayed the graceful contour of her face, and overspread her admirable shoulders, much exposed, according to the fashion of the times. Behold the foundation of true beauty. Add to it a complexion whose whiteness, delicacy, and tempered lustre have given it the name of pearly. This charming complexion displayed every shade of sentiment that crossed her soul. In speech she was most gentle. Her gestures, with the expression of her countenance, and the sound of her voice, produced the completest music; such is the language of a disinterested contemporary, a Jansenist, Nicole, perhaps, who describes her as “the most perfect actress in the world.” But her peculiar charm consisted in a graceful ease, a languor, as all her contemporaries expressed it, which would change to the highest degree of animation when passion seized her, but which usually gave her an air of indolence and aristocratic carelessness, mistaken sometimes for _ennuie_, sometimes for disdain. I have observed this air in but one person in all France, and this person has left a memory so pure, I may say so holy, that I dare not name her in this connection, even to compare her with Madame de Longueville.

Believe me, I am not drawing upon my fancy for a portrait. I confine myself strictly to the best authorities. I will cite them, if necessary, to prove my perfect exactness.

Let us begin with him who knew her best, and who certainly has not flattered her. “This princess,” says La Rochefoucauld in his _Mémoires_,[6] “had all the advantages of mind and beauty in such perfection, that it seemed as if nature had in her taken peculiar pleasure in forming a masterpiece.”

Listen also to Cardinal de Retz, a very good judge in such matters, and who would have gladly taken the place of La Rochefoucauld. “In regard to Madame de Longueville, the small-pox had marred her original beauty,[7] but it had left her nearly all its brilliancy, and this brilliancy, joined to her quality, her wit, and her languor, which in her possessed a peculiar charm, rendered her one of the most amiable persons in France.”[8] And elsewhere: “She had a languor in her manner more touching than the animation of those who were more beautiful.”

After consulting her male contemporaries, let us examine the opinions of those of her own sex. We may, it would seem, believe them when they eulogize the beauty of another. Observe what Madame de Motteville says in several places concerning that of Madame de Longueville: “Mademoiselle de Bourbon was beginning to display the first charms of that angelic face which has since become so celebrated.”[9] “If Madame de Longueville[10] exerted great influence in this way (by her mind and fortune), the influence of her beauty was not less powerful; for although the small-pox had, since the regency, somewhat injured the perfection of her complexion, the brilliancy of her charms attracted those who saw her; and she possessed in the highest degree what the Spanish language expresses by those words—_donayre, brio, y byzarria_ (gallant air). She had an admirable form, and her personal appearance had a charm whose power extended even over our own sex. It was impossible to see her without loving her, and without desiring to please her. Her beauty, however, consisted more in the coloring of her face than in the perfection of her features. Her eyes were not large, but beautiful, soft, and brilliant, and their blue was admirable; it was similar to that of the turquoise. Poets could compare the white and incarnation of her face to lilies and roses only; and the light shining hair which accompanied so many other wonderful things, made her resemble an angel, such as our feeble nature can conceive one, rather than a woman:

‘Poca grana y mucha nieve
Van competiendo en su cara,
Y entre lirios y iasmines
Assomanse algunas rosas.’”

To these different passages from Madame de Motteville, we would add a single line from the great Mademoiselle, who was not troubled with extreme benevolence: “Madame de Longueville was old; Mademoiselle de Bourbon was young and beautiful as an angel.”[11]

And the angelic air as well as the pearly complexion must have belonged to Madame de Longueville in a peculiar manner, since we again find these expressions in an unpublished letter[12] of another female of the same period, Mademoiselle de Vaudy, who writes to Madame de Longueville in 1655: “Though your Highness had not the tint of the pearl, the mind and the sweetness of an angel....” Does not this unintentional agreement of different persons prove the general effect produced by Madame de Longueville, and the justness of the comparisons naturally suggested by her beauty?

This fortuitous and striking harmony authorizes and fully justifies the language, which might otherwise be suspected, of Scudéry, in the dedication of _Artamène ou le Grand Cyrus_: “The beauty which you possess in the highest degree ... is not the most remarkable of your gifts, although an object of wonder to all the world. Doubtless we realize in your Highness the most perfect idea, whether it be of form, of which yours is so beautiful and so noble, or of majestic bearing, or of beautiful hair, or of brilliancy, as well in the eyes, in the clearness and vivacity of complexion, in the just proportion of all the features, and in that modest and gallant air, which is the soul of beauty.”[13]

Not content with this description, Scudéry has taken it up again, and, as we would now-a-days say, illustrated it with a portrait of Madame de Longueville, just as Chapelain, in dedicating _La Pucelle_ to her husband, placed the portrait of that prince at the beginning of his work. This leads us to say a few words in regard to the different portraits which we have seen of Madame de Longueville; they present her to us in the gracefulness of youth, in the full splendor of all her charms, in her maturity.

King Louis-Philippe conceived the happy idea of assembling at Versailles, in the galleries of the second floor, all the portraits which he could collect of the celebrated personages of France. Among them we find[14] a portrait of Madame de Longueville in youth, by the side of her father, Henri de Bourbon, and of her mother, Charlotte de Montmorency. It is unfortunately a copy. A note placed behind the frame says that this copy was made from an original painting of Ducayer executed in 1634. Mademoiselle de Bourbon, born in 1619, was then but fifteen years old. It is impossible to see or to imagine a more charming creature. All the signs of her future great beauty are already visible; certain attractions are still wanting, but the strength which promises and assures them is stamped upon every part.

We again behold her, after her marriage, and during the embassy of Munster, in 1646 and 1647. She is now twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age. Anselm Van Hull is the author of this portrait. It is a bust, with a highly ornamented frame. The young woman has well preserved all that the young girl promised. The forms of beauty are developed. Her tresses are magnificent. She has the collar of pearls, which seldom quits her. This portrait is engraved in the collection of the negotiators of Munster.[15]

That which is prefixed to the first volume of the _Grand Cyrus_ represents Madame de Longueville in 1649.[16] Her age at this period is thirty years. This engraving is by Regnesson, brother-in-law of Nanteuil, after Chauveau. There are also two other engravings, slightly differing from each other, one by Moncornet, the other by Frosne. Among the enamel pictures of Petitot, in the museum of the Louvre, is one, in our opinion, ordinary enough, marked No. 50, which is referred to Madame de Longueville. All these portraits are of nearly the same period, and give her the same character of beauty, strength, and ampleness of form, face more full than in Van Hull, and a more marked embonpoint. To the honor of Scudéry, it must be said that the passages from the dedication of the _Grand Cyrus_, which we have quoted, may serve as a faithful text to the engraving which accompanies them. Here are those light tresses, those eyes so soft, that complexion of dazzling brightness, and I may add that graceful and noble dress so becoming to beauty, even as the female dress of the eighteenth century seems to have been invented for ugliness itself.

Finally, the museum of Versailles[17] contains another portrait of Madame de Longueville, attributed to Mignard. It is easy to recognize in it the noble lady, whose image is prefixed to the _Grand Cyrus_. It is truly Madame de Longueville, with that grand air and amiable languor, which every one attributes to her. She is sitting, dressed in a rich court costume, and holding a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

Let us not forget to mention a beautiful silver medallion,[18] without date, and without engraver’s name, which represents her at nearly the same age as the portrait of Versailles, in her beautiful maturity, and in the opulence of her charms.[19]

Even after her conversion, and when she had entirely renounced the world, she preserved a portion of her beauty; and a gentleman who saw her at this time at the house of her brother, the Prince de Condé, declared[20] that the progress of age was scarcely visible upon her; that her piety became her; that her candor, her modesty, and her sweetness, ennobled by her air of dignity, rendered her at this period as capable of pleasing as ever.

II.

In describing the person of Madame de Longueville, we find ourselves tracing the character of her mind and of her soul.

Her mind has received the homage of the most delicate connoisseurs. We have seen that La Rochefoucauld, Retz, and Madame de Motteville praise it as much as they do her beauty. Retz urges particularly that this mind owed every thing to nature, and almost nothing to study, its indolence removing it from every effort in ordinary things. “Madame de Longueville,” says he, “has naturally a great fund of wit, but she has still more finesse and tact. Her capacity, which has not been aided by her indolence, is not exercised upon business matters,[21] etc.” And speaking of the languor of her manners: “She had even a languor of the mind, which was charming, because it had, if we may so speak, luminous and startling awakenings.” Madame de Motteville coincides with the Cardinal de Retz: “This princess ... was very indolent.”[22] The occupation furnished by the applause of the great world, which ordinarily regards with too much admiration the fine qualities of persons of rank, had deprived Madame de Longueville of opportunities for reading and for storing her mind sufficiently to be called learned.[23] She was indeed far enough from this, and did not pique herself at all upon her acquirements. While her two brothers, the Prince de Condé and the Prince de Conti, had studied assiduously with the Jesuits of Bourges and of Paris, Mademoiselle de Bourbon had received, under the direction of her mother, nothing more than the simple instructions given in those times to women. A happy disposition and social intercourse with the choice spirits around her supplied every thing. Even at an early age she acquired a great reputation, and I find that while yet a child she was loaded with praises and even with dedications. I have now before me a _pastoral tragic comedy_, entitled _Uranie_,[24] which a certain Bridard dedicated to her in 1631, that is, when she was twelve years old. This Bridard says to her: “The most perfect courtiers know that you have a mind far before your years. I can myself testify to this, having heard you recite verses with so much grace, that one might suppose that an angel, borrowing your beauty, had descended upon the earth to discourse upon the wonders of heaven.” I quote this passage from that book forgotten, and justly forgotten, because it forestalls all those of Madame de Motteville, of Mademoiselle de Montpensier, and of Mademoiselle de Vaudy. At twelve years we find her an _angel_, and so called ever afterwards. From early youth she had, with her brother, the Duke d’Enghien, frequented the hôtel de Rambouillet; and the _salons_ of the Rue Saint Thomas du Louvre were not the most proper school for a mind characterized by grandeur and finesse, but a grandeur tending to the romantic, and a finesse often degenerating into subtility—a mind, too, like that of Corneille, the perfect representative of its epoch. It seems, however, that the hôtel de Rambouillet did not fasten upon her its likes and dislikes, for one day, while listening to the reading of _La Pucelle_ of Chapelain, so praised in this quarter, and hearing the remarks upon its pretended beauties—“Yes,” said she,[25] “it is very beautiful, but it is very tiresome!” Somewhat in the same manner her brother, the great Condé, defended Corneille against the rules, exclaiming that he could not pardon rules which forced the Abbé d’Aubignac to write such bad tragedies. She was everywhere proclaimed the sovereign judge of all writings, the queen of wit, the arbiter of taste and of elegance, as Horace says. In 1649, in the quarrel concerning the two sonnets of Benserade and of Voiture, the whole court took the part of Benserade; but Madame de Longueville having declared herself in favor of Voiture, every one went over to her side. And at this period of her life she must have yielded to the prevailing taste, and must have been somewhat of a _précieuse_, for Madame de Motteville, in speaking of the principal beauty of her mind, which lay in delicacy of thought, accuses her of affectation, adding immediately, as if to excuse herself for finding any blemish in so accomplished a person: “All men partake of that clay from which they originate, and God alone is perfect.”[26]

All agree in saying that she conversed divinely, and with an exquisite mixture of vivacity and sweetness. The charm of her conversation must have been very extraordinary to have survived her youth and her worldly life, and still subsist in devotion and penitence. The Jansenist writer who left us a portrait, or, as it was then called, a _character_ of Madame de Longueville,[27] does not hesitate to compare, and almost prefer her, to one of the most intellectual men, and most celebrated conversationists, of the XVIIth century, M. de Tréville.[28] “The manner in which Madame de Longueville conversed is something to be studied.... Every thing that she said was so well said, that it would have been difficult, even with much study, to say it better. There were more lively and rare things in what M. de Tréville uttered, but there was more delicacy, and more spirit and good sense in Madame de Longueville’s manner of expression.”

But to speak and to write are two very different things, each demanding a particular cultivation; and that Madame de Longueville did not study, is evident as soon as she takes up the pen. Her great natural qualities showed themselves with difficulty through the faults of every kind which resulted from her inexperience. It is in fact no small affair to express one’s sentiments and ideas in a natural order, with their true shades, and in terms neither too nice nor too vulgar, terms which neither exaggerate nor enfeeble them. It is not unusual to find men full of wit, enthusiasm, and grace when they speak, and who, when they take up the pen, become contemptible. It is because writing is an art, a very difficult art, and which must have been learned. Madame de Longueville was entirely ignorant of it, and so were the most eminent women of her time. I have elsewhere[29] spoken of Madame Angélique Arnaud and of Jacqueline Pascal, who, though highly gifted, have left but very imperfect works. All are unanimous in representing the Princess Palatine as a person of great mind, who treated the greatest men as their equal. Retz[30] and Bossuet[31] affirm this, and I believe them, for in this matter they were better judges than I. Read, however, some of the manuscript letters of the Palatine. They are not, certainly, deficient in respect to solidity, finesse, and ingenuity; but I am forced to admit that they are often full of inaccuracies, that their construction is very awkward, and that the most common rules of orthography are sometimes outrageously violated. I do not conclude from this that the Palatine had not a mind of the first order, but simply that she had not been taught the art of writing properly her sentiments and thoughts. In this Madame de Longueville was no better skilled. Thus, all that we shall publish from her pen exhibits at once the beauty of her genius and the defects of her education.

With these women who write so well and so badly, we may contrast Madame de Sévigné and Madame de La Fayette, who always write well. To be just, however, it seems to me that we should take into consideration two very important things.

In the first place, these two ladies had received an education altogether different from that given to Madame de Longueville; they had been under the tuition of skilful masters of language and of literature, among whom was one of the most learned men of the seventeenth century, who at the same time made the greatest pretensions to wit, gentility, and gallantry. Ménage had, during their youth and even after their marriage, taught Mademoiselle de Rabutin, and afterwards Madame de Lavergne, not only the French language as it was spoken and written by the Academy, but the language of the wits of the time, the Italian, and even somewhat of the Latin; he excused them from the Greek alone. He exercised them in writing, pointing out their errors, cultivating their happy instincts, polishing and regulating their mind and style. He retained them for a considerable time under this discipline, which was indeed highly agreeable to himself. Their professor was also their Platonic admirer, more Platonic than he perhaps desired. He addressed to them stanzas, sonnets, idyls, madrigals, and all sorts of verses in French, in Italian, and in Latin. He celebrated by turns the _formosissima Laverna_ and the _bellissima Marchesa di Sevigni_.[32] He certainly would not have taken the trouble to compose, in honor of their wit and charms, Latin and Italian verses which they might have been unable to comprehend. On the contrary, both of them wrote very well in Italian.[33] In a manuscript correspondence of Madame de La Fayette, lately in my possession, I have found more than one allusion to the time when, thus to speak, she pursued her studies under Ménage.[34] Nature had done every thing for Madame de Sévigné: it had given her perfect exactness and solidity, with inexhaustible playfulness and sparkling vivacity. Art and genius united, made of her the incomparable letter-writer who left Balzac and Voiture a thousand leagues behind, and whom Voltaire himself has not surpassed. Like a mad and ignorant person, she appears to defy every thing; but in her boldest strokes she never miscalculates, which is an infallible sign of a finished art. Observe again, that if Madame de Sévigné wrote well, it was because she knew that her letters would be shown; but of this she does not betray the least suspicion: it is true that she wrote nothing but letters; I even doubt whether she could have written a book, and I could not imagine her engaged upon a romance, or upon any work whatever, except, perhaps, memoirs and satires, like those of her Cousin Bussy or Saint-Simon, or perhaps upon theological treatises like those of her daughter, Madame de Grignan.[35] This was not the case with Madame de La Fayette. She was not only a person of great wit and information, but she was also an author. It is not surprising that she knew how to write, since she made a profession of it. An exquisite polish is her prominent characteristic, and it may be in part referred to the literary discipline which she preserved much longer than her friend; it may also be accounted for by the fact that she never wrote a word without submitting it to that same Ménage, to Sagrais, who resided with her, and who, if he did not lend her his pen, aided her with his counsels and his name, to Huet, or to La Rochefoucauld. Madame de La Fayette is certainly far superior to Madame de La Suze, to Madame de Brégy, to Madame Deshoulières, to Mademoiselle de Scudéry, to Madame d’Aulnoy, to Madame Lambert, but she belongs to their family. Although she passed her life with Madame de Sévigné, she differs from her essentially, and she belongs, too, to a very different world from that of Madame de Longueville.

But it is important to remember that Madame de Longueville preceded, by several years, the two illustrious friends, and that, early separated from the world, and buried in retirement during the last twenty-five years of her life, she was unable to profit by the then rapid progress of language and taste. There are in fact two very different parties in the literature of the seventeenth century: that of Louis XIII. and of the Regency, represented by Corneille and Pascal; and that which is particularly the work of Louis XIV., of which Racine and Fénelon are the most accomplished expression. In one we find a grandeur somewhat uncouth; in the other a charming art, sometimes felt too sensibly. In the style as well as in the conversation of the women of the seventeenth century, we observe prolixity, carelessness, and even incorrectness, for the language which they write or speak is not settled. They are neither able to choose between their thoughts, nor to give them that happy turn, that precision and elegance which, thanks to the superabundance of genius, became so common at the close of the century. But their attainment to all great things, political and religious, worldly ambition and holy penitence, gave their minds a much harder tempering than that possessed by the women who came after the Fronde, and who, with all France, were stamped with the taste of Louis XIV. Madame de Sévigné, born and formed in the first epoch, became fully developed in the second. Her heart is with the first, her genius springs from it; the second gave her its polish without depriving her of its vigor and its original fervor.[36] Madame de Longueville was in full splendor under the Fronde; afterwards she lived among the Carmelites and at Port-Royal; the cultivation of her taste ceased about the year 1650. Let us not then demand in her qualities which she cannot possess. Let us recognize in her a mind of the first rank, but still the mind of a woman—of a great lady, of a very indolent princess, who has not made the least improvement of her talents, and who shows equally her merits and defects, which are also the merits and defects of the times in which she lived, namely, an uncultivated grandeur, a refined delicacy, with a perpetual negligence.

III.

If the mind of Madame de Longueville displays the woman, her soul especially is in the highest degree feminine, and, far from accusing, I desire to praise her for it. Yes, Madame de Longueville belongs to her own sex; she possesses its adorable qualities and its well-known imperfections. In a world in which gallantry was the order of the day, this young and ravishing creature, married to a man already old and even otherwise connected, followed the universal example. Naturally tender, the senses, according to her own most humble confession, had no part in the affairs of her heart; but, overwhelmed with homage, she yielded to it. Amiable, she made her happiness in being loved. The sister of the great Condé, she was not insensible to the idea of playing a conspicuous part; but far from pretending to rule, she was so much the woman, that she permitted herself to be governed and guided by him whom she loved. While around her, interest and ambition so often took the colors of love, she listened to her heart alone, and devoted herself to the ambition and interest of another. All authors are unanimous in this particular. Her enemies reproach her with severity for not having a proper aim, and for having despised her own interests. They do not suspect that in the expectation of overwhelming her, they elevate her; and even they themselves take care to conceal her conduct and her faults, which, after all, may be reduced to a single one.

She could even be touched by the devotion of Coligny, who shed his blood to avenge her of the outrage of Madame de Montbazon;[37] for a moment she listened[38] heedlessly to the gallantries of the brave and intellectual Moissons, afterwards Marshal d’Albret; still later she compromised herself somewhat with the Duke de Nemours; but the only person that she loved truly was La Rochefoucauld. She devoted herself to him entirely; she sacrificed every thing to him; her duty, her interests, her repose, her reputation. For him she staked her fortune and her life. She exhibited the most equivocal and the most contrary conduct. It was La Rochefoucauld, who caused her to take part in the Fronde, who, according to his liking, made her advance or recede, who united her to, or separated her from, her family, who governed her absolutely. In a word, she consented to be in his hand a mere heroic instrument. Pride and passion had doubtless something to do with this life of adventure and this contempt of peril. But of what stamp must have been the soul that could find consolation in this! And, as often happens, the man to whom she devoted herself was not wholly worthy of her. He had infinite spirit; but he was profoundly selfish, meanly ambitious; he measured others by himself; he was as subtile in evil as she was in good; he was full of refinement in his self-love, and in the pursuit of his own interest; in reality, the least chivalrous of men, although he affected all the appearance of the highest chivalry. So, as soon as he believes that Madame de Longueville has left him for a moment, and listened too long to the Duke de Nemours, he returns against her, and pursues her with the most pitiful resentment. He blackens her character in the eyes of her brother; he reveals the weaknesses of which he himself has taken advantage; and when she is devoted to the task of repairing the errors of her life, when she is expiating them by the severest penitence, he seeks, by publications in a foreign land, which he dares not own,[39] to blast her name, just as at a later period he will cause Madame de Sablé to print to his glory newspaper articles, which his own hand will correct, and carefully relieve of the little criticisms, inserted for the purpose of adding weight to the praise;[40] so that the poor woman on returning from the Carmelites or from Port-Royal was forced to encounter in the few _salons_ which she still entered, the history of her amours and the narrative of her errors penned by the hand of him who should have died in her defence, even, if necessary, against the truth. On the breaking up of the Fronde, La Rochefoucauld managed his affairs so well as to retain a good position with the court; he entered the carriage of Mazarin, uttering those famous words: “Every thing happens in France;” he solicited and obtained great favors for his son; he sought for himself the situation of governor of the Dauphin, which was given to Montausier; he knew how to surround himself with amiable women, who bestowed upon him their admiration and their little cares, and one of whom, Madame de La Fayette, consecrated to him her life, and took the place of Madame de Longueville. How different the conduct of Anne de Bourbon! Love had drawn her into the Fronde, love had there retained her; when love no longer exists, she knows not where she is. The proud heroine, who, to war upon Mazarin, had sold her jewels, pledged her fortune, risked her life in a frail bark upon the sea, aroused the South, and held in check the royal power, as soon as she finds that her exertions must avail herself alone, withdraws into obscurity, and, at the age of thirty-five years, in all her beauty, plunges into solitude to grieve, like Mademoiselle de La Vallière, over the errors of her past life. Ah! doubtless it would have been better to struggle against the heart, and by force of courage and vigilance to fly all weakness. We bow the knee before those who have never transgressed; but when, with Mademoiselle de La Vallière, or with Madame de Longueville, one would compare Madame de Maintenon, with the endless calculations of her worldly prudence, and the tardy scruples of her piety, which ever come to the aid of her fortune, we protest with all our soul. We speak boldly in behalf of the sister Louise de la Miséricorde, and for the penitent of M. Singlin and of M. Marcel. We prefer a thousand times the opprobrium with which they sought in vain to cover themselves, to the vain consideration which, in a degenerate court, surrounded Madame Scarron, who became privately the wife of Louis XIV. Two things only move us—virtue and true passion: the one is above all things else, and can be recompensed worthily by God alone; the other should not be too much celebrated; but it has its excuse in the grandeur of its disinterested transports, in its sacrifices, in its sufferings, and, above all, in its expiations.

Let us endeavor to comprehend Madame de Longueville. She was not a politician like the Palatine; she had no true business tact. It is folly to accuse her of not having consistency and personal character. Her true character and the unity of her life should be sought where they are—in her devotion to him whom she loved. It is there wholly and always the same, at once consistent and absurd, and touching even in her follies.

I attribute all her disorderly movements to the uneasy and fickle spirit of La Rochefoucauld. He it is who is ambitious; he it is who is full of intrigues; he it is who wanders at random here and there, according to circumstances, solely occupied with his own interests, and without any other great merit than a mind fertile in expedients of every kind, and a dashing courage, without military talents. And I attribute to Madame de Longueville—to the blood of the Condés, to that great heart which she ever exhibited—I attribute to her boldness in danger, a certain secret contentment in the excess of misfortune, and after reverses a pride before the victors which yields not to that of the Cardinal de Retz. Madame de Longueville, therefore, did not cast down her eyes; she lifted them to a more worthy object. Stripped of what was her all, she bid adieu to the world, and, making no apology to the court, went to ask pardon of God alone.

This considered, all the criticisms which have been lavished upon Madame de Longueville, result in her favor.

La Rochefoucauld, after having eulogized Madame de Longueville in the words which we have quoted, adds: “But these fine qualities were rendered less brilliant by a stain which was never seen upon a princess of such merit, which found no imitations on those who entertained for her a particular adoration; a stain which so transformed her in their sentiments that she did not recognize her own. At this time the Prince de Marcillac shared her mind, and as he joined his ambition to his love, he inspired her with a desire for business to which she had a natural aversion.” This stain, with which La Rochefoucauld here reproaches her, is precisely her glory—the affection of a loving and devoted woman.

The future author of the _Maximes_ has no difficulty in confessing that he was attached to her as much from interest as from affection. After such a declaration, we cannot admit the chivalrous exclamation:

That I might win her heart, be pleasant in her eyes,
War I’ve waged with kings, I would have storm’d the skies.

No, it was not to please her that you entered the Fronde; it was a passion for movement and intrigue that prompted you to take part in it. You know that she had a natural aversion to business, and that contrary to her taste and her manifest interests, she entered into it for your sake alone.

La Rochefoucauld relates, in the new part of his _Mémoires_, how and with what intentions he became connected with Madame de Longueville. He was striving to revenge himself of the queen and of Mazarin; to accomplish this he had need of the Prince de Condé, and he sought to secure the brother by means of the sister. But let us permit him to speak for himself: “So much unprofitable labor and so much weariness, finally gave me other thoughts, and made me attempt dangerous ways in order to show my resentment to the queen and the Cardinal Mazarin. The beauty of Madame de Longueville, her wit and the charms of her person attached to her all who could hope for her favor. Many men and women of quality sought to please her; and in addition to the charms of this court, Madame de Longueville was upon such good terms with all her house, and so tenderly beloved by the Duke d’Enghien, her brother, that the esteem and friendship of this prince could be safely counted upon by any one fortunate enough to secure the approval of his sister. Many people uselessly attempted this game, mingling other sentiments with those of ambition. Miossens, who afterwards became marshal of France, persisted longest, and with similar success. I was one of his particular friends, and he informed me of his designs. They were soon destroyed of themselves. He knew it, and told me several times that he had resolved to renounce them; but vanity, which was the strongest of his passions, prevented him often from telling me the truth, and he dissembled hopes which he had not, and which I knew he ought not to have entertained. Some time passed in this way, and finally I had reason to believe that I could make a more considerable use than Miossens of the friendship and confidence of Madame de Longueville. I convinced him of this. He knew my position at court. I told him my views, stating that consideration for him would always restrain me, and that I should not seek to form a connection with Madame de Longueville without his permission. I confess that to obtain this, I purposely excited him against her; not, however, by uttering any thing untrue. His full consent was finally obtained; but he repented of having given it to me when he saw the result of this connection.”

The declared enemy of Madame de Longueville was her daughter-in-law, Madame de Nemours, whose character was entirely the opposite of her own. She was judicious but severe. She was quite naturally on the side of M. de Longueville, her father, whom she endeavored to withdraw from the influence of his wife. In her _Mémoires_ she recognizes the perfect disinterestedness of Madame de Longueville, her sincere attachment to her brother, and her want of taste for politics: “It is certainly astonishing[41] that Madame de Longueville should have been one of the first (to take part in the Fronde), she who had nothing to hope from this party, and who had no reason to complain of the court.... The prince entertained an extreme tenderness for his sister. She, on her side, managed him less from interest than for the particular esteem and tender friendship which she felt for him.... Madame de Longueville knew very little about politics.” At the same time she accuses her of being fond of show, of having no weighty motive for her conduct; of having sacrificed fortune and repose to a false glory, and all under the influence of La Rochefoucauld. “It was,” said she, “M. de La Rochefoucauld who inspired this princess with so many foolish and false sentiments. As he had a very great power over her, and as, besides, he thought only of himself, he engaged her in all the intrigues with which she was connected, only to promote his own selfish designs.... Marcillac, who ruled her absolutely, and who wished that others should have no credit with her, or even to appear to have any, alienated her from the deputy, who would not have been sorry to rule her also.... Marcillac, to promote his own interest, showed Madame de Longueville.... As soon as Marcillac, who urged on Madame de Longueville only to procure sooner what had been promised to him by the court, had obtained what he desired, he thought no more of the interests of others; he found in his own all that he sought. He even persuaded Madame de Longueville that she herself was little thought of.”

Retz confirms the insinuations of Madame de Nemours concerning himself, and takes good care to explain her pretensions, and even her expectations. He thus concludes the portrait which he has traced of Madame de Longueville: “She would have had few defects had it not been for gallantry. As her passion compelled her to make politics a secondary matter, instead of the heroine of a great party, she became its adventurer.”

To justify the sentiments of Madame de Longueville, we might have limited ourselves to quoting two decisive passages from the most impartial witness of the things and persons of this period, Madame de Motteville:[42] “In attaching himself politically to the prince, Marcillac devoted himself to Madame de Longueville in a manner somewhat more tender, uniting the sentiments of the heart to the consideration of grandeur and fortune. It was quite apparent to the whole court that this princess treated him with great attention. In all that she afterwards did, it was clearly seen that her mind was not solely occupied with ambition, but that the interests of the Prince de Marcillac filled a prominent place therein. For him she became ambitious; for him she ceased to love repose, and, in order to be sensible to this affection, she became too insensible to her own glory.... The wishes of the Prince de Marcillac, as I have said, were not displeasing to her; and this nobleman, who was perhaps more selfish than tender, anxious to benefit himself through her, thought it his duty to inspire her with the desire of ruling the princes her brothers.”

Let us crown all these quotations with one from Guy-Joly: “The Prince de Marcillac managed her with care, judging that she would have particular consideration in the party, by reason of the ascendency which she had over the Princes de Condé and de Longueville, and that, being in her good graces, it would be easy for him to obtain great advantage whenever it might be necessary for him to treat with the court.”[43]

Thus, by the admission of every one, La Rochefoucauld pursued in the Fronde his own interest alone, and Madame de Longueville pursued only the interest of La Rochefoucauld.

But we must not stop here; we must establish, by undoubted facts, and present clearly the point of view which we have just indicated. La Rochefoucauld himself, closely interrogated, testifies that, far from having been drawn into the Fronde by Madame de Longueville, as some have been pleased to represent, it was he himself who drew her in, and he himself who directed all her movements.

It is he himself who informs us of the motive which prompted him to the connection which he formed with Madame de Longueville at the close of 1647, or at the beginning of 1648. He continued wonderfully faithful to the plan which he had proposed to himself.

1st. At the close of 1647, La Rochefoucauld was irritated because he could not obtain from the cardinal either the place of Governor of Havre or that of a colonel of cavalry. He succeeded in turning Madame de Longueville against Mazarin, by making her believe that Condé had not received all that was due to him. “Madame de Longueville, whose entire confidence I possessed, felt as keenly as I could desire the conduct of the cardinal towards the Duke d’Enghien.”[44] In 1648, before embracing the party of the Fronde, La Rochefoucauld tried for the last time to gain Mazarin, and demanded “for his house the same advantages which had been accorded to those of Rohan, of La Trémouille, and some others.” “I found myself,” said he,[45] “so removed from favor that I stopped here. I spoke of it to the cardinal in leaving him. He promised positively to grant my request in a short time. On my return I should have received the title of duke in order that my wife might have the privilege of sitting in the presence of the king. I went to Poitou with this expectation, and there I quelled the disorders (the first movements of the Fronde); but I saw that the cardinal, far from keeping his promise, had granted dukes’ patents to six persons of quality, without remembering me.” And then he engaged in the sedition. Madame de Longueville, following the instructions which he had given to her, had commenced laying snares for the deputy and the parliament, had overcome Conti, gained her husband, and circumvented Condé; but she held so loosely the reins of this intrigue, that she wrote to La Rochefoucauld, submitting to him her own proceedings, and begging him to come and decide what should be done. The passage from La Rochefoucauld on this subject is very curious, and deserves to be quoted.[46] “I was in the first transports which a treatment so extraordinary might be expected to produce, when I learned from Madame de Longueville that the whole plan of the civil war had been resolved upon at Noisy between the Prince de Conti, the Duke de Longueville, the Deputy of Paris, and the most prominent members of the parliament. She informed me that there was hope of gaining the Prince de Condé; that she did not know precisely what to do at this juncture, being ignorant of my sentiments, and she besought me to come by diligence to Paris, that we might decide together whether she ought to push or delay this project. This news consoled me in my chagrin, and I felt myself able to convince the queen and the cardinal that it would have been well for them to humor me. I asked leave of absence; I had difficulty in obtaining it; and it was granted only on condition that I would not complain of the treatment which I had received, and that I would not insist upon my pretensions. It was easy to promise all this, and I arrived in Paris full of the resentment which I had a right to feel. I there found things precisely in the condition described by Madame de Longueville; but I found less excitement, either because the first steps had been taken, or because the diversity of interests and grandeur of the design had diminished the ardor of those who had undertaken it. Madame de Longueville herself had purposely raised difficulties, in order that I might have time to make my appearance, and to render myself competent to decide. I did not hesitate to do it, and I felt great pleasure in knowing that, to whatever extremity the severity of the queen and the hatred of the cardinal might reduce me, I had still the means to be revenged.”