Chapter I: 1619 to 1635 (2)

“I write this to you to give you a severe reprimand. I
think you will be much astonished at it; but it seems to me
that I am not wrong. I must tell you, in order not to leave
you any longer in suspense, that, since the death[103] of
our blessed mother (Madeleine de Saint-Joseph), our mother
(Marie-Madeleine) has promised me her picture. It is three
or four days since I reminded her of this promise, and she
has sent me word that it was not her fault, but that you had
prevented her from giving me what she had promised, and that I
must tease you for it. I am therefore resolved to give you no
peace until you put me in possession of the portrait. If you
wish, I will allow you to have it copied, but if you are not
quick about it, you will see that we shall be on bad terms.
You know that it would not take much to embroil us, since we
are very much inclined to hate each other. It seems to me that
I have gone bravely through my reprimand, and that it is very
severe. I think it will put you in great alarm, and you will
consequently be in much fear of losing my good graces.[104]...
When the picture is finished, send to me for whatever it costs.
(Take care), if you please, to have it made very near the size
of that of my Sister Catherine[105] de Jésus, or a little
larger.

“Your very affectionate sister and servant,

“ANNE DE BOURBON.”

And observe that I have here spoken only of the most eminent prioresses, without saying a word of so many other nuns of the highest rank and the most amiable character, who were in the convent of the Rue Saint-Jacques during the youth of Madame de Longueville: Madame Séguier d’Autry, mother of Chancellor Séguier, the Mother Marie de Jésus-Christ; Madame La Rochefoucauld de Chandenier, Sister Marie de Saint-Joseph; Mademoiselle Le Bouthillier, Sister Philippe de Saint-Paul; Mademoiselle d’Anglure de Bourlemont, niece of Pope Urban VIII., Sister Geneviève des Anges; Madame de Brienne, the Mother Anne de Saint-Joseph; the Countess de Bury, left a widow at nineteen years of age, Sister Madeleine de Jésus; Mademoiselle de Lenoncourt, the Mother Charlotte de Jésus; Mademoiselle de Fieubet, Mesdemoiselles de Marillac, and somewhat later, names still more illustrious, hearts still nearer that of Mademoiselle de Bourbon, who, at the first impressions of passion or unhappiness, sought an asylum in the holy solitude.

Among those noble penitents, we must distinguish a particular friend of Madame de Longueville, whose rank was nearly equal to her own, who was, like her, sensitive and proud, who, wounded early in her affections, retired from the world before her, and heard the noise of the Fronde only through the walls of the convent of the Rue Saint-Jacques, where, several years before, she had fled the threat of a throne and the perils of her own heart. That friend to whom Madame de Longueville wrote more than one letter, was Sister Anne-Marie de Jésus, that is, Anne Louise-Christine de Foix de La Valette d’Epernon, sister of the Duke de Candale, daughter of Bernard, Duke de La Valette d’Epernon, and of Gabrielle de Bourbon, legitimate daughter of the Duchess de Verneuil and Henri IV.

We have a sufficiently full life of Mademoiselle d’Epernon, from the hand of the Abbé de Montis.[106] But edifying lives must be distrusted almost as much as the histories of Tallemant des Réaux. This person looks for scandal only, and nowhere sees any thing but the evil. The pious panegyrists are quite as credulous in regard to the good. Evidently the Abbé de Montis did not know every thing, or was unwilling to tell every thing. He seems to have read neither the Memoirs of Mademoiselle nor those of Madame de Motteville. He paints with truth the person and the character of Mademoiselle d’Epernon. He is deceived when he imagines that the instinct of Christian perfection alone led her to the Carmelites. This instinct was nourished and supported by the experience of the vanity of human affections; it shone forth, and suddenly threw Mademoiselle d’Epernon among the Carmelites, in consequence of a cruel loss, the death of a person to whom she had given her heart. This death, with the great error that preceded it, induced her to quit the world; and neither the long resistance of her family, nor even the hope of a crown could change her resolution.

For the sake of brevity, we shall confine ourselves to the collection of a limited amount of testimony. That of the veracious Madame de Motteville is decisive: “The Chevalier de Fiesque, who was killed at the siege of Mardyck, in 1646, had, according to the opinion of his friends, great spirit and valor. He was regretted by a young lady of high birth, who honored him with a tender and virtuous friendship. I know nothing of it in particular; but, according to the general opinion, it was founded upon piety and virtue, and consequently somewhat unusual. This virtuous lady began, soon after the death of De Fiesque, to despise the pleasures of the world, and finally forsook them all, as unworthy to occupy a place in her soul; she gave herself to God, entering the great convent of the Carmelites, where her pious life is an example to all.”[107]

Mademoiselle,[108] who knew Mademoiselle d’Epernon well, and loved her tenderly, takes up matters farther back: “It was principally at these balls (during the winter of 1644), that the Chevalier de Guise (afterwards the Duke de Joyeuse) testified, without any reserve, his passion for Mademoiselle d’Epernon.... The malady[109] of Mademoiselle d’Epernon gave me much pain. The Chevalier de Guise took every care of her imaginable. The danger to be apprehended in approaching those who have the small-pox, did not hinder him from visiting her every day. He manifested for her an incredible passion, which lasted during the whole of the following winter.” The marriage failed; not at all, as the Abbé Montis says, through the refusal or the indecision of Mademoiselle d’Epernon, but through the intrigues of Mademoiselle de Guise, who tried to marry her brother to Mademoiselle d’Angoulême.

After the death of Chevalier de Fiesque, killed at the siege of Mardyck, Mademoiselle d’Epernon appeared wholly changed. She, so recently given up to display, so carried away with pleasures, no longer thought of any thing but her own salvation, “which displeased and surprised me,” says Mademoiselle.[110] “I had seen her very far from the austerity which she was continually preaching; she no longer spoke of any thing but death, contempt for the world, and the happiness of the religious life.... The morning of her departure for Bordeaux (whither she was called by her father, Governor of Guyenne), which was the day of Saint Theresa, she came to bid me adieu. She found me in bed; fell upon her knees by my side, and told me that the goodness which I had always shown towards her, and the reciprocal confidence which had existed between us, obliged her to reveal to me the resolution which she had taken of joining the Carmelites, and the hope she entertained of carrying this resolution into execution. Such was my tenderness for her, that I could not help being moved. Touched by her design, I could not speak of it without weeping. I used every reason that I could to dissuade her from it.... She had already taken her resolution too firmly to listen to any thing that might change it.... The cardinal had been consulted[111] concerning the marriage of Prince Casimir, brother of the King of Poland,[112] and now himself king, with Mademoiselle d’Epernon.... I confess, that when I heard this news, I had the greatest joy. Although the emperor was married, he had a son, who was King of Hungary, of an age proportionate to mine, and a prince of good promise. Thus the proximity of Germany and Poland made me believe that my good friend and myself might pass our days together. She would be amply avenged of Mademoiselle de Guise and M. de Joyeuse. In this affair there was nothing to displease me; and it may be seen from the manner in which I wrote to her concerning it, that I strove to hinder her from becoming a Carmelite. The conjuncture was most favorable.... The devotion of Mademoiselle d’Epernon defeated this design, and she preferred the crown of thorns to that of Poland. Although she seemed to receive this proposition as a high honor, she feigned sickness, and caused the waters of Bourbon to be prescribed for her, in order to enter the first convent of the Carmelites that she should find on the way.... Madame d’Epernon[113] took her on this journey in utter ignorance of her design. They proceeded to Bourges, where the next day she joined the Carmelites. Here she took the habit with one of the domestics of Madame d’Epernon.... She wrote me from Bourges, informing me that she was coming to the great convent at Paris.... Mademoiselle d’Epernon could not be better situated. It is a great house, well located, and filled with young ladies of quality and spirit, who have left the world which they knew and despised. Now, it is this that makes great nuns.... When she had arrived, she requested me to pay her a visit. I went angry enough, grieved indeed to the very heart. When, however, I saw her, I was touched with the utmost tenderness, and all other feelings yielded so thoroughly thereto, that it was impossible for me to conceal it from her, my tears and my extreme grief not even leaving me power to speak; these tears did not cease during the two hours that I was with her, though I was unable to say a single word.... Time has taught me in turn the happiness which she enjoyed.”

Mademoiselle d’Epernon, born in 1624, entered among the Carmelites at twenty-four years of age, in 1648; took the veil in 1649; spent many years in penitence and religious training, and died in 1701, at the age of seventy-seven years, having passed fifty-three in the monastery of the Rue Saint-Jacques. She desired to live the most obscure life, and was not even sub-prioress.[114]

Like Mademoiselle d’Epernon, Mademoiselle de Bourbon thought of laying the storms that awaited her, in the peaceful retreat where she had so many friends. There she enjoyed herself, and passed the greater part of her life; for her mother, the Princess de Condé, always made her a companion in her frequent visits to this convent. This princess, as was not rare in those times, possessed at once great ambition, with a piety that bordered upon superstition. Contrasts abounded in her character. She never loved her husband very much, and at twenty-one years of age had imprisoned herself with him at the Bastile and Vincennes, for three long years. She was vain enough of her great beauty, taking great pleasure in making conquests; that of Henry IV. had at least flattered her; she had been very much sought after, much praised, and her life had always been free from scandal. She had a pride that passed all bounds when any want of proper respect was shown towards her; but when this pride was undisturbed, she was amiable and at ease. She was not destitute of greatness of soul or spirit. She destined her daughter for the highest position; but, observing her great beauty, and knowing, by her own experience, the perils thereof, she took care to arm her against them, by planting in her heart a serious piety, and by surrounding her with the most edifying examples. Not content with going often to the convent of the Carmelites, she wished to be able to go there at any hour; to remain there—she and her daughter—as long as she liked; to have an apartment there like the queen herself; and, to that end, she took upon her burdens onerous enough, as appears from an authentic act, passed November 18, 1637, in her own name, and in the name of Mademoiselle de Bourbon, from which we give the following extract:

“We, present in person, the reverend Mothers Marie-Madeleine de Jésus (Mademoiselle de Bains), humble prioress; Sister Marie de la Passion (Mademoiselle de Machault), sub-prioress; Sister Philippe de Saint-Paul (Mademoiselle de Bouthillier), and Sister Marie de Saint-Barthélemy (Mademoiselle Guichard), depositaries, representing the community, ... who, advertised of the great desire that the high and powerful princess, Dame Charlotte-Marguerite de Montmorency, spouse of the high and powerful Prince Henri de Bourbon, first prince of the blood, and Demoiselle Anne de Bourbon, their daughter, have shown to be received as founders of the new house which the said reverends are at present constructing, and which they expect to join to their ancient cloister; after having proposed the business in full chapter, and with the permission of their superiors, ... in consideration of the great piety professed by the said dame princesses, ... and of the very charitable affection which they have always borne towards the order of the Carmelites, and particularly towards this monastery, have voluntarily admitted the said princesses as founders, granting them the enjoyment of all the privileges accorded to founders, ... to wit, freely to enter the monastery whenever they wish; to drink, to eat, to sleep there; to be present at divine service and other spiritual exercises; to take part in all the prayers, vigils, and other pious works that are performed daily; we have moreover consented that the same dame princess may enjoy the privilege, which she has obtained from the Holy Father, of bringing two persons with her three times a month, as she has done thus far, ... always on the condition that the said two persons shall not remain in the monastery after six o’clock in the evening during the winter, and after seven o’clock during the summer.... This being accepted, ... the said dames are obligated to continue the honor of their benevolence to the reverends, and also to defray the costs and expenses of the building.”

In consequence of this act, Madame the Princess gave more than 120,000 livres at different times, a quantity of precious stones, ornaments for the church, relics which she caused to be set with a magnificence corresponding with her piety and her position. At the same time, she was anxious to enjoy her rights, and, while awaiting the completion of the new building, she took an apartment at the convent, which she furnished somewhat like a Carmelite. Her bed and all her furniture were of brown serge. In this desert she sometimes spent a whole week or a fortnight; finding herself more happy, she said, than in the midst of the pleasures of the court. A simple nun could never have shown more respect for the regulations of the house. She subjected herself to long silence through fear of meddling with that which was prescribed. Sometimes finding herself alone in her chamber with the two nuns who kept her company, she declared that she was afraid, and that at evening she took them for phantoms, because they spoke to her only by signs, and for things absolutely necessary. Subsequently, she wished to have a cell in the dormitory, as simple as that of all the others. “She would,” says the manuscript history[115] which has been confided to us, “have willingly employed all her goods for the use or the embellishment of the convent, if address had not been employed to conceal from her the knowledge of its most legitimate wants. Sometimes she complained with infinite grace: If your mothers were willing, I would do here a thousand things; but they cannot do this thing, they will not do that, and I can do nothing. This great princess, whom a natural pride sometimes rendered so formidable, here became the friend, the companion, the mother of whomsoever applied to her. Her power was never felt except through her benefits. The will of the mother prioress was her law: she called her our mother; rose up whenever she perceived her; submitted herself to her commands with a charming sweetness, and was seen in the choir, at morning prayers, at every service, in the refectory, practising ordinary mortifications, laying her natural greatness at the feet of the spouses of Jesus Christ, with a humility that rendered her to them still more noble.”

Admitted with her mother into the interior of the monastery, Anne-Geneviève filled her soul with the most edifying conversations, the gravest and most touching spectacles. Everywhere she met none but the living already dead and kneeling upon the grave. Here was the tomb of Michel de Marillac, keeper of the seals, who died in exile, at Châteaudun, in that same year, 1632, when Richelieu beheaded his brother, Marshal de Marillac, uncle of Mademoiselle de Bourbon, Duke de Montmorency; here were the funeral monuments of the two women of the house of Longueville, Marguerite and Catherine d’Orleans. She doubted not that she should one day see buried in this same place her brilliant friend, the famous Julie, Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, now Duchess de Montausier; that she should see carried to this place the heart of Turenne—that heart which, for a moment, she was destined to trouble and dispute with duty and the king; that here several of her own children should also have their tombs, and that here she herself should repose by the side of her mother, Madame the Princess, and of her sister-in-law, the sweet, pure, and graceful Anne-Marie Martinozzi, Princess de Conti.[116]

Mademoiselle de Bourbon wished, in her turn, to be one of the benefactresses of the Carmelites, and to make such presents as would please them. She obtained from Pope Urban VII. the relics of seven martyr virgins, with a brief of the Holy Father attesting their authenticity, and that the names of each of these victims of faith had been found entire, or abbreviated on the stone that held their bodies inclosed in the catacombs. Let us transport ourselves to those times; let us place ourselves in a convent of the Carmelites, and we shall form some idea of the holy joy which filled the house on witnessing the arrival of this magnificent and august present. Queen Anne, touched with a pious emulation, placed with them some relics of Saint Paule, a Roman dame, and an illustrious friend of Saint Jerome. The body of Saint Rosalie, a grandchild of France, had just been found at Palermo. M. d’Alincourt obtained it, and sent it as an offering. Mademoiselle de Bourbon placed all these relics in a silver shrine, made in the form of a dome, surmounted by a lantern, and surrounded by four figures, representing the Evangelists.

The Duke d’Enghien seeing his sister, whom he adored, and whose spirit he knew, thus occupied with embellishing and enriching the convent of the Carmelites, where he was sometimes taken, felt his honor piqued, and wished to make his offering also. In order to divert him during his recovery from a severe illness, various curiosities of the day were brought and shown to him in his chamber, and among other things a reliquary, admirable for its design and richness. The Duke d’Enghien asked the purpose of this masterpiece. The goldsmith replied that it was for the Carmelites of the Rue Saint-Jacques, but that, not being in a condition to pay for such a piece of workmanship, they had left it on his hands. The young duke exclaimed that he wished the Carmelites could have this beautiful reliquary, and he found a very good way of realizing his wish. He took a purse in hand, and, extolling the curiosity, which he kept concealed, refused to show it to those who came to visit him, unless some pieces of gold or silver were put in his purse; and he succeeded in procuring the sum demanded, which was 2,000 louis.[117]

Thus passed the infancy and the youth of Mademoiselle de Bourbon, in the midst of the spectacles and practice of a true and profound piety. We must not be surprised, then, that this piety should at length induce her to renounce the world and become a Carmelite. She who was one day to be the ardent disciple and the intrepid protector of Port-Royal, was then in the hands of a Jesuit, Father Le Jeune. He encouraged her design; but in vain she addressed the most earnest supplications to her father, the Prince de Condé. Having other views in regard to his daughter, he complained to Madame the Princess; and in order to break the charm that attached Anne-Geneviève to the Carmelites, it was decided that she should be taken oftener into society. Mademoiselle de Bourbon obeyed; but, her mind being still filled with the images and the discourses of the Rue Saint-Jacques, she took no pleasure in these brilliant assemblages. When her mother found fault with her poor success, Mademoiselle de Bourbon is said to have replied to her:[118] “You have, madame, such touching graces, that, as I simply attend you, and appear after you, I am not noticed.” This manner of justifying herself appeased Madame the Princess, who, in spite of her devotion, willingly suffered herself to be reminded that she had been and was still very beautiful.

Mademoiselle de Bourbon, during several years, followed her inclination; and, in order to make her renounce it, it was necessary to do her a sort of violence. Thus far she had found means of escaping the ball. Madame the Princess was obliged to employ her authority to make her go; and three days before its occurrence, she was commanded to prepare herself for it.

“Her first movement,” says Villefore,[119] “was to go and tell this news to her good friends the Carmelites, who were very much afflicted at it, and embarrassed in replying to her, for she asked their advice as to her conduct at so difficult a conjuncture. A council was held in due form, over which presided, in religious habit, two excellent virtues, Penitence and Prudence; and it was resolved that Mademoiselle de Bourbon, before going to the assault, should arm her self, under her clothing, with a small cuirass, vulgarly called a hair-cloth, and that she should then lend herself, in good faith, to all the finery that was designed for her. As soon as her consent was obtained, every thing was resorted to that could most enliven her natural graces, and nothing was forgotten to ornament a beauty more brilliant by its own splendor than by all the jewels with which it was loaded. The Carmelites had strongly recommended her to be on her guard, but her self-confidence misled her. From the moment she entered the ball-room, and as long as she remained there, the eyes of the whole assembly were fixed upon her. Admirers flocked about her, lavishing those subtle praises that easily lay hold of a newly enkindled self-love, which is suspicious of nothing.... On retiring from the ball, she felt her heart agitated by new emotions: she was no longer the same person.”

It would not be without interest to know something about that ball where Mademoiselle de Bourbon was carried away as a victim, where she appeared to conquer, and which she left intoxicated; but Villefore gives us no information respecting it. We are therefore reduced to conjecture. Here is one which we give for what it is worth. We read in the manuscript memoirs of André d’Ormesson, and in the _Gazette de France_, of Renaudot,[120] that, February 18, 1635, there was given at the Louvre, under King Louis XIII., a grand ball, in which figured all the beauties of the day, and among the rest Mademoiselle de Bourbon. Observe that it is the first court-ball in which the name of Mademoiselle de Bourbon is found, both in d’Ormesson and the _Gazette_. Again, that the great violence, an account of which has been preserved for us by Villefore, could have been shown to the princess only on an occasion that demanded the infliction, and for a royal ball. If this conjecture were admitted, we should have the precise date of the conversion of Mademoiselle de Bourbon to worldly life, as we have of the date of her conversion to the religious life, which is certainly August 2, 1654, when she was thirty-five years of age: the first would be February 18, 1635, when Mademoiselle de Bourbon was sixteen.

It is to very near this age of Madame de Longueville that these words of Madame de Motteville refer: “Mademoiselle de Bourbon began, although very young, to exhibit the first charms of that angelic face which has since had such renown.” In order to judge how faithful this slight sketch is, one must go to Versailles and see a portrait, by an old and excellent master, named Ducayer, representing Mademoiselle de Bourbon, at the age of fifteen years, by the side of her father and her mother, in 1634. She is here seen in all the freshness of her virgin beauty, but in court attire, and as if going to that ball which she so much dreaded, and which changed her soul and her life.

Mademoiselle de Bourbon did not, however, forget her friends of the convent of the Carmelites, and continued to visit them. Thus far she had experienced but one sentiment; from that time she had two,—love of God and of the Carmelites, with a taste for worldly success. She preserved the same piety, but that piety was henceforth combated by the desire of pleasure, the need of loving and being loved, the wish for applause upon that stage where she witnessed the success of so many persons who had neither her mirth, nor her spirit, nor her face. This combat continued a long time. We have letters addressed by her to the Carmelites, and in a tone of the most lively piety, even when she was allowing herself to be most carried away by her passions. Accuse neither her sincerity, nor the inefficacy of the best principles. We are really sincere when we express sentiments that are really in the heart, although we may not have strength to follow them; and these noble sentiments have also the precious advantage of mingling with our faults a remnant of virtue that hinders us from sinking to the bottom of the abyss, of uniting therewith a beneficent remorse that sustains the moral life, and of almost always achieving a triumphant restoration to well-doing. Let them sleep for a season in the soul of Madame de Longueville. There they will never be extinguished. At some future day they will be awakened, and we shall return to the convent of the Carmelites, in the Rue Saint-Jacques. But it is necessary to quit it, in order to follow Mademoiselle de Bourbon to the court, to Chantilly, to Ruel, to Liancourt, among beautiful companions, amid agreeable promenades, taking part in gallant conversations. We shall follow her first to Rue Saint-Thomas-du-Louvre, to the hôtel de Rambouillet.