1642 to 1644.
Poetry and gallantry—State of affairs in 1643—Battle of
Rocroy—Mazarin and the _Importants_—Madame de Montbazon—Letter
attributed to Madame de Longueville—Duel between Coligny and De
Guise.—An unpublished novel of the seventeenth century.
We find Mademoiselle de Bourbon married then on the 2d of June, 1642.
“For her it was a cruel destiny; M. de Longueville was old, she was
young and beautiful as an angel.” Thus, in relation to this marriage,
speaks Mademoiselle, the faithful interpreter of the opinions of that
period.[213]
Henri II., Duke de Longueville, descended from that famous Count de
Dunois whose name is connected with that of Jeanne d’Arc, in the great
wars of the independence under Charles VII. He was the son of Henri
d’Orleans, first of the name, sovereign prince of Neufchâtel and
Valengin, a warrior worthy of his ancestors, and who gave the League
a mortal blow by the victory of Senlis. His mother was Catherine de
Gonzague, sister of the Duke de Nevers, who was father of the two
celebrated princesses, Marie, Queen of Poland, and Anne, the Palatine.
Born in 1595, Henri II. had first married Louise de Bourbon, daughter
of the Count de Soissons, high steward of France, who died in 1637, and
by whom he had Marie d’Orleans, Mademoiselle de Longueville, who, in
1650, played a conspicuous part in the Fronde, and at length married the
Duke de Nemours, brother of him who was slain by the Duke de Beaufort.
Thus, when the Duke de Longueville took a second wife in 1642, he was
forty-seven years of age, and to this wife he brought a daughter-in-law
nearly as old, but of a very different character,—beautiful,
intellectual, but deprived of all sensibility, who soon became the censor
of her mother-in-law and her enemy in the family circle, and even with
posterity by means of the memoirs which she has left of the Fronde.
The Duke de Longueville was truly a great lord He was gallant and
brave,[214] liberal even to magnificence, of a noble and generous
character, but feeble; willing to engage in an enterprise, and ready to
abandon it; without passion, and without ambition; and possessing all
that was necessary to make him shine in the second rank, but incapable
of holding the first. He began by making some opposition to Richelieu,
but he yielded soon enough; afterwards he engaged in the Fronde; he
shared the captivity of his two brothers-in-law, but scarcely did he
leave the prison, than he made peace with the court. Nature had fitted
him to follow the path which his fathers had traced for him, and to
serve the crown in great military and civil offices, which he would
have worthily filled. The misfortune of his life was to be continually
engaged, through his own fault and through that of others, in enterprises
and adventures for which he was unfitted, and in which his good qualities
were less prominent than his defects.
Let us add that M. de Longueville, whose morals were not the best, had,
in early youth, by Jacqueline d’Illiers, afterwards abbess of Saint-Avit,
a natural daughter, Catherine Angélique d’Orleans, who was successively
a nun in several religious houses, and who died abbess of Maubuisson, in
1664, at the age of forty-seven years. Already in the decline of life,
he became smitten with the Duchess de Montbazon, who rejoiced at this
useful conquest, and maintained it, as is said, even after the second
marriage of M. de Longueville, notwithstanding the displeasure of Madame
the Princess, and the very bitter reproaches which she cast upon her
son-in-law.
It must be confessed that there was little in such a person to captivate
the heart and the imagination of a young woman such as we have described
Mademoiselle de Bourbon. With her instincts of pride and heroism,
her refinements of spirit and heart, her principles and habits as a
_précieuse_, she could not admire M. de Longueville, and, formed as she
was, admiration was for her the road to love. She was destined, with
all her advantages, to be wounded by a rival; and what made this wound
more painful was, that this rival, so little worthy of being compared
with her in character, was the greatest beauty of the day, so that the
apparent infidelity of M. de Longueville seemed an offensive preference
for this rival’s charms; and, as we have said, Mademoiselle de Bourbon
was not only tender, she was vain-glorious, and somewhat coquettish.
However, as she did not love her husband, her gentleness, easily
sustained by her indifference, saved her from irritation. She considered
herself at liberty to be admired, and she continued to live at the hôtel
de Longueville, as she had done at the hôtel de Condé, with the same
court of young and agreeable female friends, of young and brilliant
cavaliers.[215]
The marriage fêtes had hardly ended when Madame de Longueville was seized
with sickness. The small-pox, then so dreaded, which had driven her away
from Chantilly, and against which she had made, at Liancourt, such bad
verses, caught her in the autumn of 1642, and placed her charming face in
peril. All Rambouillet was moved. The Marchioness de Sablé, too faithful
to this fear of contagion, which was the ridicule of her life, could not
persuade herself, notwithstanding the most sincere tenderness, to take
care of the interesting sufferer; but Mademoiselle de Rambouillet did
not abandon her,[216] and there was a sort of public rejoicing when it
was known that Madame de Longueville had been spared, and that, if she
had lost the first freshness of her beauty, she had preserved all its
brilliancy. These are the very words of Retz,[217] and the gallant Bishop
de Grasse, Godeau, confirms them by compliments which, in a sermon-like
manner, he addresses to Madame de Longueville.[218]
During this sickness, M. de Longueville did not come near his wife. The
Cardinal de Richelieu had just sent for him to take command of the army
of Italy in the place of the Duke de Bouillon, the elder brother of
Turenne, who, compromised in the affair of Cinq-Mars, had been arrested,
by order of the cardinal, at the head of his army, conducted from Cazal
to Lyons, to the Château de Pièrre-Encise, and who was fortunate enough
to be able to purchase his life by abandoning his stronghold of Sedan.
The winter of 1643 passed away for Madame de Longueville in the agreeable
occupations which had delighted her youth. She was constantly at the
Louvre, at the hôtel de Condé, at the Place-Royale, or at the hôtel de
Rambouillet, whose éclat was every day increasing. It was about the
time of the _Guirlande de Julie_. Tallemant had proposed to add to the
collection of poems, by Voiture, many other productions of the hôtel de
Rambouillet. In truth, we might furnish it by aid of the manuscripts
of Conrart, who was also one of the inmates of the illustrious hôtel.
We might draw continually from these inexhaustible manuscripts, and
we should only be embarrassed as to choice. But if all these verses
describe admirably the society of the seventeenth century—fond of wit
as well as of bravery, intoxicated with heroism and gallantry—they
would charm, perhaps moderately, the society of the present day, and
we have already put our readers to a test which we should not dare to
repeat. Let us simply say that Madame de Longueville was still more
surrounded than Mademoiselle de Bourbon with that poetic incense,
somewhat tiresome it is true, but which has rarely been displeasing to
beauties the most spirituelle. We have before us poems of every kind,
and from every hand, which describe her sometimes at the balls of the
Louvre and of the Luxembourg, sometimes at court with her two beautiful
friends, Mesdemoiselles Du Vigean, sometimes following her husband into
his government of Normandy, and called back by the hôtel de Rambouillet,
everywhere pursued with assiduous cares and homages, and displaying
everywhere a gentleness full of charm, with a carelessness which seldom
abandoned her when her heart was not occupied. And it was not yet
occupied, or, if at all, only at the surface. She did not love, but
she had distinguished, in the crowd of her adorers, Maurice, Count de
Coligny, elder brother of Dandelot, son of Marshal de Châtillon, who had
sighed for her before her marriage, and had not yet yielded to a husband
of forty-seven years, but little jealous, and even still in the chains of
another.
“I do not know,” says Lenet,[219] “whether Coligny was attached to
Mademoiselle de Bourbon by reason of her beauty, her wit, or the respect
which he owed her; but I know well, that although he saw her only in the
midst of company, in presence of the princess or of the duke, it was said
in the end that he had sentiments of love for her.” In addition to this,
there is not a word in regard to Coligny, his character, his mind, or his
person. All that we know is, that he was one of the particular friends
of La Rochefoucauld, and especially of the Duke d’Enghien,[220] who
employed him in more than one delicate negotiation. We confess that such
silence is but little in his favor; but let us bear in mind that Coligny
was young, that he had not had time to make himself known, and that he
was naturally eclipsed by his younger brother, Dandelot, who inherited
his title and took his place near Condé. In the absence of every other
document, a manuscript of the National Library, to which we have already
had recourse, furnishes us some other details, the correctness of which
we do not guaranty, but which, for want of better, we are not permitted
to neglect. This manuscript represents Coligny to us as very well made,
without, however, a very elegant form; intellectual and ambitious, but
in merit below his ambition. The author, taking appearance for reality,
supposes also that Madame de Longueville shared the sentiments of
Coligny, because she did not repress them; and he paints, in a very
romantic manner, the beginning of their pretended loves. We give the
entire passage, leaving it to the judgment of the reader.[221]
“Anne de Bourbon, Duchess de Longueville, was then one of the most
pleasing persons in the world, as well on account of the charms of her
mind, as on account of those of her beauty. Coligny, eldest son of
the Marshal de Châtillon, loved her passionately, and it is said that
he was beloved by her. He was a young man of very fine form, but he
looked more like a German than a Frenchman. He had infinite spirits and
great thoughts, but it was believed that his valor[222] did not equal
his ambition. Even before the marriage of this princess, he was on the
best terms with her. It is said that he adopted a very excellent and
very singular plan for declaring to her his passion. The romance of
_Polexandre_[223] was very fashionable and much in vogue, but especially
at the hôtel de Condé, which was then regarded as the temple of
gallantry and of wit. The Duke d’Enghien read this book continually, and,
finding in it a tender and passionate letter, he showed it to Coligny,
from whom he had nothing to conceal. The latter saw how he might profit
by so favorable an occasion, and proposed to the Duke d’Enghien to make a
copy, and place it adroitly in the pocket of the duchess. Scarcely a day
passed that some fête did not occur at the hôtel de Condé, and there was
dancing almost every evening. The proposition was accepted, and Coligny,
having volunteered to copy this letter, gave it to the Duke d’Enghien.
Upon this day every one was in the gayest attire, and the duchess shone
with a thousand rays. The ball began early, and the duke, having taken
the hand of his sister, executed easily their design. I know no more of
the affair, but apparently the letter was read without giving any offence
to the duchess.”
Whilst the young people thus gave themselves up to the pleasures of
gallantry, grave events were changing the face of the court and of France.
Richelieu had died on the 2d of December, 1642, after having seen
Cinq-Mars ascend the scaffold, the Count de Soissons buried in his
victory of Marfée, and the Duke de Bouillon compelled to surrender the
principality of Sedan to the royal power. Scarcely had he closed his eyes
than his enemies renewed their designs and their hopes. Faithful to his
minister even after his death, Louis XIII. kept them within bounds for
some time; He employed Mazarin, whom the cardinal had given to him, and
continued his policy by softening it; but it did not survive him even
for a single year. The 14th of May, 1643, he went to join him, leaving a
king four years of age, the regency in the hands of a woman, our northern
frontier menaced, factions chafing, and, to sustain the burden of
affairs, the Duke d’Orleans and the Prince de Condé fortunately united in
the council of the regency, Mazarin at the head of the cabinet, and the
Duke d’Enghien at the head of the army. This was all that was needed for
the safety of France.
The Duke d’Enghien received in Flanders, publicly, by the hands of a
courier extraordinary, the news of the king’s death. He feared that this
news might increase the courage of the Spaniards, and diminish that of
the French; he determined to conceal it, and to hasten the inevitable
battle which was to decide the destiny of his country. Lost, it would
introduce the enemy into the heart of the kingdom; but, gained, it would
impress upon Spain and all Europe a terror necessary to the beginning
of a new reign; it would strengthen the regency of Anne of Austria; it
would place royalty above all factions, without taking into consideration
the high elevation which it would give to the house of Condé. The Duke
d’Enghien submitted the affair to the council of generals, but only for
form’s sake, declaring that he took upon himself the event; and the
next day, May 19th, whilst the body of Louis XIII. was on its way to
Saint-Denis, he hazarded the battle of Rocroy. It continued a whole day.
Compromised for a short time by the Marshal de l’Hôpital, who had been
intrusted with conducting it, it was gained by Condé himself, not yet
twenty-two years of age—thanks to a manœuvre which first revealed the
great captain, and inaugurated a new school of warfare.[224] Condé, with
Gassion, was charged with the command of the right wing. He had confided
his left to La Ferté-Seneterre, as well as to the Marshal de l’Hôpital,
who represented the old school. He had placed Espenan in the centre with
the infantry, and the reserve in the hands of Sirot,[225] an officer
of tried bravery, like Gassion. Directed by Condé in person, the right
French wing overthrew every thing that opposed it, and pushed the enemy
vigorously. During this time the left wing, under La Ferté-Seneterre
and Marshal de l’Hôpital, was very badly treated, and its two commanders
placed _hors de combat_; in giving way it threatened to draw with it
the centre, where Espenan was maintaining a firm ground, but earnestly
calling for reinforcements. Any other than Condé would doubtless have
turned upon his steps and retraced, in an equivocal attitude, the space
gloriously run over, and, thus affording aid to his left and his centre,
contrive, by means of his reserve, to achieve the victory, or cover and
repair the defeat. Condé took a very different course: instead of giving
way, he advanced still more; then, having arrived at the extreme of the
enemy’s lines, where the Italian infantry were located, he turned to
the left, threw himself upon this infantry, passed it furiously, and
went thundering down upon the rear of the victorious wing, after telling
Sirot to march, with all his reserve, to the help of Espenan and of
l’Hôpital. Thus caught between two fires, the enemy yielded on the left
as well as on the right, and the day was won. But it was not enough to
have delivered France from present danger, it was necessary at the same
time to secure the future by removing the terror connected with the name
of Spanish arms—the name of that old Spanish infantry which formed the
reserve, and, according to the rules of ancient strategy and the policy
of the court of Madrid, had been carefully preserved, that is, had
remained useless. Nothing remained but to destroy this infantry. Condé
assailed it on all sides with his victorious squadrons, with all that he
could pick up of his own infantry, especially with his artillery, and,
after a memorable resistance, he succeeded in demolishing it, root and
branch:[226] it perished almost to a man at Rocroy.
At the report of this battle, in which every thing was wonderful—the
youth of the general, the boldness and the novelty of the manœuvres, and
the grandeur of the results—the court and all Paris went into transports
of enthusiasm. The greatest disasters had been anticipated, but the army
was safe, it was victorious, and the future seemed crowded with similar
achievements. From the time of Henri IV., France had doubtless had
excellent generals, who were well acquainted with their profession, and
who had met with great success in Germany and in Italy; but here was a
general, of twenty-two years, who eclipsed them all, and who created a
new mode of warfare, wherein boldness was at the service of calculation,
just as Descartes and Corneille—pardon me the comparison—had created
a new philosophy and a new poesy, to serve as a solid foundation or
brilliant interpreter to sublime sentiments and thoughts. Rocroy answers
to the _Cid_, to _Cinna_, and to _Polyeucte_, so also to the _Discours de
La Méthode_ in the history of French greatness: incomparable epoch, which
no other has ever equalled, and which not even that of the Consulate,
after Marengo, approaches, because, amid all its splendors, it had
neither a Descartes nor a Corneille!
We may easily imagine the intoxication of the hôtel de Condé, when La
Moussaye, one of the companions of the Duke d’Enghien in the amusements
of Chantilly and Liancourt, and who had served him faithfully during the
eventful day, brought the triumphant news. All the muses of Rambouillet,
great and small, sang the exploits of their brilliant pupil. The Spanish
flags taken at Rocroy were displayed for several days in the great halls
of the hôtel de Condé, before being transported to Nôtre-Dame. The people
hastened to behold them. While all hearts were beating with patriotic
pride, all eyes were also moved to tears when it was known that the
young captain, as humane and pious as he was brave, had, before all his
army, knelt upon the battle-field in thanksgiving to God; that he had
immediately taken care of the wounded, conquerors and conquered, as if
they had been of his own household, consoling them, encouraging them,
distributing every thing abundantly among them without ever humiliating
them; that he had asked for his lieutenants every recompense, wishing,
like the Cid, Polexandre, and Cyrus, those heroes of tragedy and romance,
glory alone. In a short time it was known, that after a few days devoted
to religion and to humanity, the Duke d’Enghien had resumed the pursuit
of the enemy, and that he was already under the walls of Thionville.
The house of Condé needed the éclat and the strength which it received
from the victory of Rocroy in order to face its own enemies, and to
obtain satisfaction of the insult which it had just received in the
person of Madame de Longueville.
It is necessary to have a just idea of the situation of affairs, as well
as of the situation of the parties who disputed the government, in order
to see the importance of an adventure which in itself seems to be of
little consequence.
Soon after the death of Richelieu, there sprang up a powerful faction,
composed of all those whom the imperious cardinal had sacrificed to his
designs, whom he had had exiled from the court or from France, and who;
their terrible adversary being dead, burned to take possession of his
spoils. They expected the support of Queen Anne, for she also had been
oppressed, and it was in her service that they had incurred persecution.
The favor of the regent appeared to them a debt, and they claimed it in a
manner which, little by little, wounded the queen and turned her against
them. In proportion as they lost ground with her, Mazarin gained it. He
was still young, handsome, mild, insinuating, faithful to the policy of
Richelieu, his master, but practising it differently; of a mind less
elevated, less extensive—not uniting, like his incomparable predecessor,
the genius of administration in all its branches to that of politics in
general; especially a diplomatist, but a diplomatist of the first order,
with his name attached to two of the greatest treaties of the seventeenth
century, the treaty of Westphalia and that of the Pyrenees; inexhaustible
in resources and in expedients; always preferring artifice to violence;
managing every one, treating with all parties, choosing rather to corrupt
than to exterminate them; aiming, especially in 1643, to penetrate
into the heart of the queen, as had been attempted by Richelieu, but
possessing many other means for succeeding in his design. The handsome
cardinal[227] then gained his end. Once master of the heart,[228] he
directed easily the mind of the queen, and taught her the difficult art
of pursuing steadily the same aim, the supremacy of royal authority,
by means of the most contrary conduct, according to the change of
circumstances. In the beginning, all his efforts were used in supporting
himself and in avoiding the _Importants_. Such was the name applied
to the chiefs of the malcontents, on account of the air of importance
which they assumed, blaming inconsiderately every measure of government,
affecting a sort of melancholy, of profundity, and of refined sublimity,
which separated them from other men. They ruled in the _salons_, and they
exercised considerable authority at court and throughout all the kingdom,
because they had at their head the two great houses of Vendôme and of
Lorraine.
The Duke de Beaufort, second son of the Duke César de Vendôme, bore
proudly the name of grandson of Henry IV.: he was possessed of bravery
and of honor. During the evil times, he had shown a chivalrous fidelity
to the queen, who, before having appreciated Mazarin, was much inclined
to his side; and he would have perhaps succeeded, if he had not spoiled
his affairs by excessive pretensions and by a haughtiness of little
efficacy with a Spanish woman, who must be a long time flattered before
she can be governed. He had, moreover, no genius, and he would have made
a miserable figure in the highest rank: he was made only for the part
which he afterwards played, that of a theatrical hero.
The exhausted house of Guise did not possess at this time a single
superior man. Long exiled, it had, in 1640, lost in Italy its chief,
Charles de Lorraine, and, in 1639, the Prince de Joinville, to whom
Mademoiselle de Bourbon had once been destined. The brother who followed
this prince was that Henri de Guise, at first archbishop of Rheims,
then Duke de Guise, so celebrated for his adventures, his bravery,
and his fickleness; who had all kinds of ambition, formed all sorts
of enterprises, and succeeded in nothing, not even in being a hero of
romance, whatever may be said of him. See, I pray, if this is the life
of a chevalier, of an ancient paladin, as Madame de Motteville calls
him;[229] and if, according to the pretensions of Mademoiselle,[230] he
made love after the manner of romances. After the death of his father
and of his elder brother, he made his peace with Richelieu, and returned
to the court: a year had scarcely passed by, when he conspired against
Richelieu with the Count de Soissons, and was compelled to quit France.
Whilst archbishop of Rheims, he was smitten with the beautiful Anne de
Gonzague, afterwards Princess Palatine; he was engaged to her by an
explicit promise of marriage, and when Anne de Gonzague, relying upon
his word, commits the folly of going, under the name of Madame de Guise,
to rejoin him at Brussels, she finds him married to the Countess de
Bossu, of whom he soon grows weary and abandons, in order to return to
Paris, when Richelieu and Louis XIII. are no more. There he pays a very
easy court to Madame de Montbazon. A little while after he falls madly
in love with Mademoiselle de Pons, one of the maids of honor of Queen
Anne, very pretty and very coquettish: he wishes to marry her; he goes to
Rome to solicit the dissolution of his first marriage, and by the way,
in order to conquer a crown for his new mistress, he places himself at
the head of the insurrection of Naples. He arrives through a thousand
hazards, displays the most brilliant valor, without any political
or military talent, is made prisoner by the Spaniards, begs Condé,
unfortunately then all-powerful in Spain, to obtain his deliverance,
promising to him eternal devotion; and after recovering his liberty,
thanks to the intervention of Condé, instead of serving him as he had
publicly sworn, he abandons him, passes over to Mazarin, takes part in
every thing opposed to his liberator, commences a lawsuit against this
same Mademoiselle de Pons, whom he wished to make queen of Naples, for
the recovery of the furniture and jewels which he had given her, becomes
high chamberlain, and is fit only to parade in fêtes and tourneys of
the court, and to call forth the speech, when seen in the company of
Condé: “There goes the hero of fable by the side of the hero of history:”
carrying with him to the tomb, in 1664, that illustrious house of Guise
which merited a very different end. In 1643, on his arrival in Paris, he
fell into the party of the _Importants_, and he was marvellously formed
for one of the chiefs of this party, for he was vain, brilliant, and
incapable.
The women occupied a prominent place in this anticipated Fronde of the
beginning of the regency. Queen Anne had formerly had for her friends the
celebrated Duchess de Chevreuse and Mademoiselle d’Hautefort, afterwards
Duchess de Schomberg. These ladies shared equally great beauty, ambition,
and a courageously supported disgrace. Marie d’Hautefort[231] was,
with Madame de Sablé, one of the models of a true _précieuse_, whose
conduct equalled her maxims. Maid of honor to the queen, Louis XIII. had
entertained for her that Platonic love, then in fashion, which he also
showed for Mademoiselle de La Fayette. Richelieu, after having vainly
endeavored to obtain her, had embroiled her with her royal lover, and
exiled her from the court. Queen Anne had loved her almost as much as
the king; and, as soon as she was free and mistress of herself, she
wrote to her with her own hand: “Come, my dear friend, I am dying with
impatience to embrace you.” Mademoiselle d’Hautefort eagerly obeyed the
summons; but when she wished to speak of Mazarin as she formerly did of
Richelieu, she found a less favorable audience, and, not knowing how
to accommodate herself to the new situation, her stately tenderness
became wearisome. Madame de Chevreuse had possessed the beauty[232] of
Mademoiselle d’Hautefort, but not her virtues. Marie de Rohan Montbazon,
daughter of the Duke Hercule de Montbazon by a former marriage, was
first married to the High Constable de Luynes, early became a widow, and
then entered the house of Lorraine by marrying the Duke de Chevreuse. A
victim of her fidelity to the queen, banished by Richelieu, she had long
wandered in Europe, and returned to France with the pretensions of an
emigrant. Occupied with gallantry, devoted to the lover of the moment,
she moved heaven and earth to overturn Mazarin and to put in his place
Châteauneuf, the old keeper of the seals, who, in the party, passed for a
man of superior capacity, and in the State for being the most important
minister. She exacted also a high situation for La Rochefoucauld, who
had been more or less tenderly attached to her, and who still possessed
that romantic sentimentality, in the fashion of the Duke de Guise, whose
foundation is almost always a vanity, shameful in itself, and whose
climax must, in this case, be the book of _maxims_.
Mazarin defended himself, as we have said, by gaining, little by little,
the heart of the queen; and to the attacks of the houses of Vendôme and
of Lorraine he opposed the weight of the old partisans of Richelieu,
still numerous and influential, especially the house of Condé, with its
alliances and its friendships, the Montmorencys, the Longuevilles, the
Brézés, the Ventadours, the Châtillons. Mazarin would have been undone
in these difficult beginnings, if the Prince de Condé had not remained
firmly attached to royal authority. He supported the uncertain Duke
d’Orleans, who, after having engaged in more than one intrigue against
Richelieu, and saved himself by betraying his friends, had attempted
again to lay his snares. The prince was too good a politician not to
understand that it was better for him to be the powerful protector,
rather than the unequal adversary of royalty; that in this case it was
necessary to defend it with energy, and that his rank would always raise
him above a minister, when this minister was not Richelieu; and if no one
contested the capacity of Mazarin, no one would suspect all his power.
As chief of the council and governor of Paris, M. the Prince applied
himself, in concert with M. the Lieutenant-General of the kingdom, to
baffle all the designs of the _Importants_, and in this way he made
bitter enemies.
Their hatred for the house of Condé, hardly fell upon Madame de
Longueville. Her gentleness in every thing in which her heart was not
seriously engaged, her perfect indifference in regard to politics at
this period of her life, with the graces of her mind and of her person,
rendered her pleasing to every one, and protected her against the
injustice of parties. But aside from the affairs of State, she had an
enemy, and a fearful enemy, in the Duchess de Montbazon. We have said
that Madame de Montbazon had been the mistress of M. de Longueville; it
is necessary that she should be a little better known, for she is one of
the principal personages of the drama which we are about to relate.
Marie de Bretagne, who was born about 1612, and who died in 1657, at
the age of forty-five, was the eldest daughter of that famous Countess
de Vertus, whose father was La Varenne Fouquet, chief of the household,
and very obliging servant of Henry IV. The Count de Vertus, of the
illustrious house of Bretagne, had married Mademoiselle de La Varenne on
account of her extreme beauty, and he had hastened to withdraw her from
Paris, and to take her to his own house. He gained nothing by this,
and Tallemant[233] has told us, concerning the beautiful and foolish
countess, a story of the most tragic nature. In beauty the daughter was
worthy of the mother, but in vices she left her far behind. Married, in
1628, to the old Duke de Montbazon, father of Madame de Chevreuse, she
soon placed herself at ease. Her mind was not her most brilliant side,
and the little that she had was turned to intrigue and perfidy. “Her
mind,” says the indulgent Madame de Motteville,[234] “was not so fine as
her person; her brilliancy was limited to her eyes, which commanded love.
She claimed universal admiration.” In regard to her character, all are
unanimous. Retz, who knew her well, speaks of her in these terms;[235]
“Madame de Montbazon was a very great beauty. Modesty was wanting in her
air. Her jargon might, in a dull time, have supplied the defects of her
mind. She showed but little faith in gallantry, none in business. She
loved her own pleasure alone, and above her pleasure her interest. I
never saw a person who, in vice, preserved so little respect for virtue.”
Supremely vain and passionately fond of money, it was by aid of her
beauty that she sought influence and fortune. She therefore took infinite
care of it, as of her idol, as of her resources, her treasure. She kept
it in repair, heightened it by all kinds of artifices, and preserved
it almost uninjured till her death. Madame de Motteville asserts that,
during the latter part of her life, she was as full of vanity as if she
were but twenty-five years of age;[236] that she had the same desire to
please, and that she wore her mourning garb in so charming a manner, that
“the order of nature seemed changed, since years and beauty could be
found united.” Ten years before, in 1647, at the age of thirty-five, when
Mazarin gave a comedy in the Italian style, that is, an opera, there was
in the evening a great ball, and the Duchess de Montbazon was present,
adorned with pearls, with a red feather on her head, and so dazzling in
her appearance that the whole company was completely ravished. We can
imagine what she was in 1643, at the age of thirty-one years.
Of the two conditions of perfect beauty, strength and grace,[237]
Madame de Montbazon possessed the first in the highest degree; but this
quality being almost alone, or entirely dominant, left something to be
desired—that precisely which makes the charm of beauty. She was tall and
majestic, to such a point indeed that Tallemant, who always exaggerates,
and seldom lies, says: “She was a Colossus.”[238] She possessed all the
charms of embonpoint. Her throat reminded one of the fulness, in this
particular, of the antique statues, exceeding them perhaps somewhat. What
struck the beholder most were her eyes and hair of intense blackness,
upon a groundwork of the most dazzling white. Her defect was a nose
somewhat too prominent, with a mouth so large as to give her face an
appearance of severity.[239] It was plain enough that she was the
very opposite of Madame de Longueville. The latter was tall, but not
to excess. The richness of her form did not diminish its delicacy. A
moderate embonpoint exhibited, in full and exquisite measure, the beauty
of the female form. Her eyes were of the softest blue; her hair of the
most beautiful blonde. She had the most majestic air, and yet her
peculiar characteristic was grace. To these add the great difference
of manners and tone. Madame de Longueville was, in her deportment,
dignity, politeness, modesty, sweetness itself, with a languor and
a nonchalance which formed not her least charm. Her words were few,
as well as her gestures; the inflexions of her voice were a perfect
music.[240] The excess, into which she never fell, might have been a sort
of fastidiousness. Every thing in her was wit, sentiment, charm. Madame
de Montbazon, on the contrary, was free of speech, bold and easy in her
tone, full of stateliness and pride.
She was nevertheless a very attractive creature, when she wished to be
so, and she had a great number of adorers, and of happy adorers, from
Gaston, Duke of Orleans, and the Count de Soissons, slain at Marfée, to
Rancé, the young and gallant editor of Anacreon, and the future founder
of La Trappe. M. de Longueville had been for some time her lover by
title, and he afforded her considerable advantages. When he married
Mademoiselle de Bourbon, Madame the Princess exacted, without however
being very faithfully obeyed, the discontinuance of all intercourse with
his old mistress. Hence, in that interested soul, an irritation, which
wounded vanity redoubled, when she saw this young woman, with her great
name, her marvellous mind, her undefinable charms, advance into the world
of gallantry, without the least effort draw after her all hearts, and
take possession of, or at least share that empire of beauty of which she
was so proud, and which was to her so precious. On the other hand, the
Duke de Beaufort had not been able to restrain a passionate admiration
for Madame de Longueville, which had been very coldly received. He was
wounded by it, and his wound bled for a long time, as his friend, La
Châtre, informs us,[241] even after he had transferred his homage to
Madame de Montbazon. The latter, as may be easily imagined, was again
exasperated. Finally, the Duke de Guise, recently from Paris, placed
himself in the party of the _Importants_, and at the service of Madame
de Montbazon, who received him very well, at the same time that she was
striving to keep or to recall M. de Longueville, and that she was ruling
Beaufort, whose office near her was that, somewhat, of an attending
cavalier. Thus we see that Madame de Montbazon disposed, through Beaufort
and through Guise, as also through her daughter-in-law, Madame de
Chevreuse, of the house of Vendôme, and of the house of Lorraine, and she
employed all this credit to the profit of her hatred against Madame de
Longueville. She burned to injure her; she found an opportunity to do it.
One day when a large company was assembled at her house, some person
picked up two letters, having no signatures, but in the handwriting of
a female, and of a somewhat equivocal style. They were read; a thousand
jokes were perpetrated concerning them, and some effort made to discover
the author. Madame de Montbazon pretended that they had fallen from the
pocket of Maurice de Coligny, who had just gone out, and that they were
in the handwriting of Madame de Longueville. The word of command thus
once given, all the echoes of the party of the _Importants_ spread it,
and this adventure became the entertainment of the court. The following
are the two letters, found at the house of Madame de Montbazon: a
frivolous curiosity has preserved them very faithfully:[242]
I.
“I should much more regret the change in your conduct if I
thought myself less worthy of a continuation of your affection.
I confess to you that so long as I believed it to be true and
warm, mine gave you all the advantages which you could desire.
Now, hope nothing more from me than the esteem which I owe to
your discretion. I have too much pride to share the passion
which you have so often sworn to me, and I desire to punish
your negligence in seeing me, in no other way than by depriving
you entirely of my society. I request that you will visit me
no more, since I have no more the power of commanding your
presence.”
II.
“To what conclusion have you come after so long a silence? Do
you not know that the same pride which rendered me sensible to
your past affection forbids me to endure the false appearances
of its continuation! You say that my suspicions and my
inequalities render you the most unhappy person in the world:
I assure you that I believe no such thing, although I cannot
deny that you have perfectly loved me, as you must confess that
my esteem has worthily recompensed you. So far we have done
each other justice, and I am determined not to have in the end
less goodness, if your conduct responds to my intentions. You
would find them less unreasonable if you had more passion, and
the difficulties of seeing me would only augment instead of
diminishing it. I suffer for not loving enough, and you for
loving too much.[243] If I must believe you, let us exchange
humors: I shall find repose in doing my duty, and you in doing
yours must fail, in order to obtain liberty. I do not perceive
that I forget the manner in which I passed the winter with you,
and that I speak to you as frankly as I have heretofore done.
I hope that you will make as good use of it, and that I shall
not regret being overcome in the resolution which I have made
to return to it no more. I shall remain in my lodgings three or
four days in succession, and will be seen only in the evening:
you know the reason.”
These letters were not forged. They had been really written by Madame
de Fouquerolles to the handsome and elegant Marquis de Maulevrier,[244]
who had been foolish enough to drop them in the _salon_ of Madame de
Montbazon. Maulevrier, trembling at being discovered, and at having
compromised Madame de Fouquerolles, ran to one of the chiefs of the
_Importants_, La Rochefoucauld, who was his friend, confided to him
his secret, and begged him to undertake to hush up the affair. La
Rochefoucauld made Madame de Montbazon understand that it was for her
interest to be generous on this occasion, for the error or fraud would be
easily recognized as soon as the writing should be compared with that of
Madame de Longueville. Madame de Montbazon placed the original letters
in the hands of La Rochefoucauld, who showed them to M. the Prince,
and to Madame the Princess, to Madame de Rambouillet, and to Madame
Sablé, particular friends of Madame de Longueville, and, the truth being
well established, burned them in the presence of the queen, delivering
Maulevrier and Madame de Fouquerolles from the terrible uneasiness into
which they had been for some time thrown.[245]
It had perhaps been wise to have dropped the matter here. This was the
somewhat interested opinion of the weak and prudent M. de Longueville,
who wished to manage Madame de Montbazon, and who did not believe that
the honor of his wife would gain much by farther disclosures. Madame
de Longueville was not very much irritated; but Madame the Princess,
impelled by her high spirit, and still intoxicated by the success of
her son, exacted a reparation equal to the offence, and declared loudly
that, if the queen and the government did not defend the honor of her
house, she and all her family would withdraw from the court. She was
indignant at the mere idea of placing her daughter in the scales with
the granddaughter of a cook, as she called La Varenne, father of the
Countess de Vertus, who had been chief of the hôtel of Henri IV. In vain
did the whole party of the _Importants_, with Beaufort and Guise at their
head, agitate and threaten; in vain did Madame de Chevreuse, who had
not yet lost all her credit with the queen, strive earnestly in behalf
of her mother-in-law. Mazarin was too wise to take two enemies upon his
arms at once, and to become embroiled with the Condés, without any hope
of gaining or disarming the Lorraines and the Vendômes. He inclined the
queen without difficulty to the side of Madame the Princess. Madame de
Longueville had gone to pass the first moments of this disagreeable
adventure at La Barre, with her dear friends, Mesdemoiselles Du Vigean.
The queen herself went to see her there, and promised her protection. It
was decided that the Duchess de Montbazon should repair to Madame the
Princess at the hôtel de Condé, and make to her a public reparation.
Madame de Motteville tells, in a very pleasant way, how much diplomacy
was necessary in order to arrange the speech of Madame de Montbazon and
the reply of Madame the Princess. The queen was in her cabinet, and
Madame the Princess, terribly excited, was with her, endeavoring to
make the affair one of high-treason. Madame de Chevreuse, engaged for a
thousand reasons in the quarrel of her mother-in-law, was with Cardinal
Mazarin, composing the speech necessary to be made upon the occasion.
Every word of it occasioned an hour’s discussion. The cardinal, greatly
embarrassed, went from one side to the other to accommodate their
differences, as if this peace was necessary to the happiness of France,
and to his own in particular. It was concluded that the criminal should
go, the next day, to Madame the Princess, and say that the expressions
used in regard to the letters were false, invented by evil-disposed
persons, and that she herself had never entertained them, knowing too
well the virtue of Madame de Longueville and the respect that was due to
her. This harangue was written upon a small piece of paper and attached
to her fan, in order that she might repeat it word for word to Madame the
Princess. She did it in the most haughty manner possible, putting on an
air which seemed to say: I jest in every word I utter.
Mademoiselle[246] gives us the two speeches made upon the occasion:
“Madame, I come here to protest to you that I am innocent of the
wickedness of which I have been accused: no person of honor can utter
a calumny like this. If I had committed a fault like this, I should
have submitted to any punishment which it might have pleased the queen
to inflict upon me; I should have never shown myself in the world, and
would have asked your pardon. I beg you to believe that I shall never
fail in the respect which I owe to you and in the opinion which I have
of the virtue and of the merit of Madame de Longueville.” Madame the
Princess replied: “Madame, I receive very willingly the assurance which
you give me that you have had no part in the wicked things that have been
circulated; I have too much respect for the commands of the queen.”
We find in the manuscript journal of Olivier d’Ormesson some details
which add to the piquancy of this comical scene. It took place on the 8th
of August. The Cardinal Mazarin was present, as a witness on the part of
the queen. Madame de Montbazon having begun her speech without saying
_Madame_, the princess complained, and she was obliged to recommence with
the respectful addition. Such a reconciliation amounted to nothing, and a
few days after war recommenced.
Besides the satisfaction which she had just received, Madame the Princess
had asked and had been permitted the privilege of never associating
with the Duchess de Montbazon. Some time after, Madame de Chevreuse
invited the queen to a collation in the garden of Renard. This garden
was the rendezvous of the best society. It was at the termination of
the Tuileries, near the Porte de la Conférence, which conducted to the
Cours-la-Reine; that is, at the left angle of the Place Louis XV., upon
the ground since occupied by two of those ditches which even to this day
have spoiled that magnificent place which might so easily be rendered
the most beautiful in Europe. In the summer, on returning from the
Cours, which was the promenade of the nobility, and the spot where the
beauties of the day exercised their powers, it was customary to stop at
the garden Renard, for the purpose of taking refreshments, and to listen
to the serenades performed after the Spanish fashion. The queen took
great pleasure in visiting this place during the fine summer evenings.
She desired Madame the Princess to partake with her the collation offered
by Madame de Chevreuse, assuring her at the same time that Madame de
Montbazon would not be present; but the latter person was really there,
and even pretended to do the honors of the collation as mother-in-law
of the lady who gave it. Madame the Princess wished to withdraw, in
order that the entertainment might not be disturbed: the queen had no
right whatever to detain her. She therefore begged Madame de Montbazon
to pretend sickness, and by leaving the company, to relieve her from
embarrassment. The haughty duchess would not consent to fly before her
enemy, and kept her place. The queen, offended, refused the collation,
and quitted the promenade. On the morrow, an order from the king enjoined
upon Madame de Montbazon to leave Paris. This disgrace irritated the
_Importants_. They thought themselves humiliated and enfeebled, and there
were no violent or extreme measures which they did not contemplate. The
Duke de Beaufort, smitten at once in his credit and in his love, raised
loud cries, and it was reported that a plot had been formed against the
life of Mazarin.[247] In this conjuncture the cardinal showed himself
the worthy heir of Richelieu. Although he may have lacked his patience,
his cunning, and his intrigue, he was not deprived of courage, and he
knew how to take his part. He was already on very good terms with the
queen, and began to seem necessary, or at least very useful to her. He
represented to her mildly, but forcibly, what she owed to the State and
to the royal authority now menaced; that it was necessary to prefer the
interests of her son and of his crown to friendships which were perhaps
at one time well enough, but which were now becoming dangerous. He
won her, and the ruin of the _Importants_ was decided. On the 2d of
September, the Duke de Beaufort was arrested within the very walls of the
Louvre, and he was conducted to Vincennes. The command of the Swiss was
taken from his friend, La Châtre. The Bishop de Beauvais, who for a short
time enjoyed the favor of the queen, and was thought of as the successor
of Richelieu, was sent to his church; the Duke de Vendôme, as well as the
Duke de Mercœur, his eldest son, were exiled, and Madame de Chevreuse
banished to Tours. These measures, seasonably executed, broke up the
party of the _Importants._ The intestine disorders which menaced the new
reign were destined to await more favorable days. Mazarin, soon without
a rival with the queen, continued at home and especially abroad the
policy of his predecessor, and royalty, as well as France, anticipated a
succession of glorious years, thanks to the union of the princes of the
blood with the crown, to the skilful management of the prime minister, to
the prudence of Condé, and to the military genius of the Duke d’Enghien.
The latter had returned to Paris at the close of the campaign, after
having taken Thionville and several other places, and brought his
victorious army over the Rhine. The queen had received him as the
deliverer of France. Mazarin, who thought more of the reality than of
the appearance of power, told him that his greatest ambition was to be
his chaplain and his business man with the queen. At a distance the
Duke d’Enghien had applauded all that had been done, and he returned
still burning for Mademoiselle Du Vigean, and furious on account of the
insult which had been offered to his sister. He adored his sister, and he
loved Coligny. He was acquainted with, and he had favored his passion.
Burning himself with a love as ardent as it was chaste, he knew that his
sister could not have been insensible to the passion of Maurice; but he
revolted at the thought of attributing to her the letters of one Madame
de Fouquerolles, and he took it in a manner which intimidated the most
insolent.
Among the friends of the Duke de Beaufort and of Madame de Montbazon,
was the Duke de Guise, afterwards chief of the house of Lorraine in
France. He had been secured, as well as all his family, on account of
Gaston, Duke of Orleans, who had taken, as a second wife, a princess of
this house, the beautiful Marguerite.[248] The Duke de Guise was such as
we have described him. He had committed more than one folly, but he had
not yet shamefully failed in all his enterprises; his incapacity was
not declared. He had all the prestige of his name, of youth, of beauty,
and of a bravery bordering upon temerity. The avowed servant of Madame
de Montbazon, he had espoused her quarrel, without entering into the
violence of Beaufort, and he stood boldly up before the victorious Condés.
Coligny had been prudent enough to withdraw during the storm, for fear
of still more compromising Madame de Longueville by becoming openly
her defender; but some months having passed, he thought that he might
show himself, and, as we are informed by the unpublished work upon the
regency, which we have several times quoted,[249] “the prison of the
Duke de Beaufort not affording him an opportunity to draw his sword,
he addressed himself to the Duke de Guise.” La Rochefoucauld states it
thus:[250] “The Duke d’Enghien, not being able to testify to the Duke de
Beaufort, who was in prison, the resentment which he felt on account of
what had happened between Madame de Longueville and Madame de Montbazon,
suffered Coligny to fight with the Duke de Guise, who had taken part in
this affair.” The Duke d’Enghien knew, then, and approved what Coligny
did. As for Madame de Longueville, it is absurd to suppose that she,
wishing to be avenged, drove on Coligny, for every one attributes to her
a conduct very moderate compared with that of Madame the Princess. Far
from encouraging the quarrel, she sought to appease it, and Madame de
Motteville herself refutes the report which she relates by saying: “Her
jealousy of the Duchess de Montbazon, being proportioned to her love for
her husband, did not carry her away so far as to prevent her from finding
her advantage in dissembling this outrage.”
La Rochefoucauld gives us a piece of information which explains what
follows: Coligny had just risen from a long sickness; he was still
feeble, and he was not very skilful in fencing.[251] It was in this
condition that he attacked the Duke de Guise, who, like all fancy heroes,
possessed great skill in this kind of exercise.
Let us say a few words in regard to the seconds whom they chose; they
are in all respects worthy of the trouble. The seconds were then
witnesses who fought. Coligny took for his second and for the bearer of
his challenge, Godefroi, Count d’Estrades, a man of cool and well-tried
courage. D’Estrades had served in Holland, under Maurice de Nassau.
He had distinguished himself in several such encounters. One day, as
Tallemant relates, fighting with a bully who placed himself on the
border of a little ditch, saying to Estrades: “I will not pass over this
ditch.” “And I,” said Estrades, making a mark behind him with his sword,
“I will not pass over this mark.” They fought; Estrades slew him. He
was employed, by turns and with equal success, in war and in diplomacy,
and became Marshal of France in 1675. The second of the Duke de Guise
was the Marquis de Bridieu, a gentleman of Limosin, a brave officer,
and friend of the house of Lorraine, who, in 1650, made an admirable
defence of an important stronghold on the frontiers of Flanders,
against the Spanish army and against Turenne, for which he was created
lieutenant-general.[252]
It was agreed that the affair should take place at the Place-Royale—the
usual theatre of these combats, and which they had a thousand times
stained with the best blood. The Place-Royale was also the residence
of the greatest ladies, the flower of gallantry, Marguerite de Rohan,
Madame de Guimenée, Madame de Chaulnes, Madame de Saint-Géran, Madame
de Sablé, the Countess de Maure, and many others, under whose eyes these
thoughtless and valiant gentlemen delighted to cross their swords. Many
had there breathed their last. In the first quarter of the seventeenth
century, duelling was a custom at once useful and disastrous; it
encouraged the warlike spirit of the nobility, but it was almost as
destructive as war, and for more frivolous causes. To draw the sword for
a trifle had become a part of genteel manners, and, as gallantry had its
elegancies, so the duel had its refinements. During the period of a few
short years, nine hundred gentlemen had perished in private combats.
To arrest this scourge, Richelieu procured the terrible decree which
punished the surviving combatant with death, and sent the abettors from
the Place-Royale to the Place de Grève. Richelieu was inflexible, and
the example of Montmorency-Boutteville—decapitated, with his second,
the Count Deschapelles, for having provoked Beuvron, and for fighting
with him on the Place-Royale in full day—impressed a salutary terror,
and rendered infractions of the edict rare enough. Coligny braved every
thing; he challenged Guise, and, upon the appointed day, the two noble
adversaries, assisted by their seconds, d’Estrades and Bridieu, met upon
the Place-Royale.
We have it in our power to give the most minute details of the combat,
thanks to different contemporary memoirs, and especially to two new
documents, the manuscript already quoted in regard to the Regency, and
the unpublished journal of Olivier d’Ormesson.
It was on the morning of the 12th of December[253] that d’Estrades
carried to the Duke de Guise the challenge of Coligny. The meeting was
fixed for the same day, at the Place-Royale, at three[254] o’clock. The
two adversaries exhibited nothing unusual during the whole morning, and
at three o’clock they were at the rendezvous. A speech[255] is attributed
to the Duke de Guise, which gives to this scene an unexpected grandeur,
which exhibits upon the Place-Royale and places in hostility for the
last time the two most illustrious combatants of the wars of the League
in the persons of their descendants. On receiving his sword, Guise said
to Coligny: “We are now going to decide the ancient quarrels of our two
houses, and the world shall soon see what difference there is between the
blood of the Guise and that of Coligny.” Coligny aimed at his adversary a
prodigious thrust, says the journal of d’Ormesson,[256] but, still weak
on account of his recent sickness, his foot failed him, and he fell upon
his knee. Guise, closing with him, placed his foot upon the sword of the
fallen man. Coligny, though thus disarmed, would not ask his life. Guise
said to him:[257] “I will not kill you, but treat you as you deserve,
for having addressed, without any provocation, a prince of my birth;”
and thereupon he struck him with the flat of his sword.[258] Coligny,
indignant, summoned all his strength, threw himself backwards, disengaged
his sword, and renewed the struggle.[259] In this second encounter, Guise
was slightly wounded in the shoulder,[260] and Coligny in the hand; but
Guise, closing with Coligny a second time, seized his sword, by which he
cut his hand somewhat, and, taking it away, disabled him by a terrible
cut upon the arm. At the same time d’Estrades and Bridieu were sorely
wounded.[261]
Such was the issue of this duel, the last, I believe, of the celebrated
duels of the Place-Royale. It was referred to Parliament, agreeably to
the edict of Richelieu; but the course of justice was stayed by the
influence of Condé, and especially by the deplorable condition[262] into
which Coligny, the most guilty party, had been thrown. The proof that an
understanding existed between Condé and Coligny is based upon the fact
that the latter found an asylum in his house of Saint-Maur. There he
languished some time,[263] and died of the mortification occasioned by
his poor defence of the cause of his own house and of that of Madame de
Longueville.
This affair, with its dramatic circumstances and its tragic dénouement,
caused an extraordinary and painful sensation throughout Paris and
all France. It renewed, for a moment, the differences of parties, and
suspended the diversions and fêtes of the winter of 1644;[264] it did
not occupy the families interested and the court alone—it touched every
individual of the higher ranks, and continued for some time to be the
subject of conversation for the _salons_. We easily imagine that, as the
story spread, it was gradually lengthened by imaginary incidents. At
first, it was supposed that Madame de Longueville loved Coligny. Then,
that the tale might not lack interest, it was asserted that she did.
Hence the other invention, that she herself had placed the sword in the
hand of Coligny, and that d’Estrades, commissioned to challenge the Duke
de Guise, having told Coligny that the duke would disavow the injurious
words that had been attributed to him, and thus satisfy honor, Coligny
had replied to him: “This has nothing to do with the matter; I have
promised Madame de Longueville to fight him at the Place-Royale, and I
cannot fail to do it.”[265] It would not do to spoil so fine a tale, and
Madame de Longueville would not have been the sister of the conqueror of
Rocroy, a heroine worthy of being compared with those of Spain, who saw
their lovers dying at their feet in tourneys, if she had not been present
at the combat of Guise and Coligny. We are assured then that on the 12th
of December she was in a hôtel of the Place-Royale, at the Duchess de
Rohan’s, and that there, concealed by a window-curtain, she witnessed the
terrible encounter.
Then, as at the present day, it was poetry, that is, song, which placed
the seal upon the popularity of an event. When the event was sad, the
song was a complaint full of burlesque pathos, and always ridiculous.
Such was that which, upon this occasion, ran through every circle, and
was really sung, for we find it in the _Collection of noted Songs_ of the
Arsenal:[266]
Dry now your beauteous eyes,
Sweet Madame de Longueville;
Dry now your beauteous eyes,
Coligny’s getting well.
If death he’s seem’d to flee,
Oh blame him not therefore;
For as your lover, he
Would live forevermore.
After the song came the romance: Madame de Longueville had hers also. A
wit of the times, whose name is unknown to us, composed on this occasion
a novel, in which, under fictitious names, and mingling falsehood with
truth, he relates the touching adventure which then occupied all Paris.
We have discovered this novel of the middle of the seventeenth century in
the library of the Arsenal and in the National Library.[267] Its title
is: _Story of Agésilan and Isménie_; that is, the story of Coligny and
Madame de Longueville. It has the advantage of being very short. Not
daring to give it entire, we will partially exhibit this little monument
of the growing celebrity of Madame de Longueville.
It must be understood that Isménie loved Agésilan in the most tender
manner possible, and she loved him before being married to Amilcar, the
Duke de Longueville, by order of her father and of her mother, Antenor
and Simiane, M. the Prince and Madame the Princess. Isménie has for
an enemy Roxane, Madame de Montbazon, jealous of her beauty, and then
follow two portraits of Isménie and Roxane, which are historically
exact. “Roxane was wounded by the praises bestowed upon Isménie on
account of her beauty, which was truly wonderful. Her hair of a pale
yellow, her eyes blue; the whiteness of her complexion and her form were
incomparable; her spirit gentle, insinuating, and even pleasing, gave
her the approbation of all the world. Roxane, possessed of a beauty and
disposition very different, had not so many admirers of her grace as
Isménie, although many preferred her beauty. Her hair was of a light
brown; her eyes black and well formed, emitting a fire which penetrated
the most insensible hearts; her aspect, proud and haughty, inspired fear
rather than love; her spirit was cruel, full of violence. It would not do
to be at variance with her.”
The following is one of the conversations of the two lovers, not so
long, fortunately, as those of Astrée and of the great Cyrus, but which
possesses their agreeable insipidity, their melancholy sentimentality:
“Isménie was walking pensively along a stream which watered the woods of
Mirabelle (Chantilly). Suddenly she saw a man emerge from among the thick
trees, who, pale and dejected, came and cast himself at her feet. She
at once recognized Agésilan, who said to her: ‘What! my princess, will
you abandon me after so many promises of firmness? In refusing the match
which is offered to you, will you not show to the world that my princess
has as much fidelity as beauty, and that her word is not to be shaken
when she has given it? If you have still any remembrance of the unhappy
Agésilan, and of the tenderness which you have had for him, give him one
more month before you consent to this marriage. The term is short for an
affection which will cost me my life.’ ‘Agésilan,’ said Isménie, ‘God
knows, if my own feelings were consulted, whether I would belong to any
other than to you! For this I have done more than duty demanded: I have
long resisted the orders of Antenor and Simiane. I have passed days and
nights in weeping the loss of my dear Agésilan. All that I can do is to
preserve for him continually my esteem and my friendship.’ She embraced
him for the last time, and entered the château without waiting for his
reply.”
Agésilan, in despair, set out to rejoin the army, commanded by the
brother of Isménie, Marcomir, Duke d’Enghien, and we are presented with
a narrative of the battle of Rocroy, correct enough, except in two
particulars. The author does not seem to have been acquainted with the
bold and skilful manœuvre which decided the victory, and which we have
endeavored to describe. He has also given to Coligny, upon this great
occasion, a part which he did not perform. In the novel, Agésilan takes
the place of Gassion, and commands the right wing, whilst Gassion
commands the left in place of La Ferté-Seneterre and the Marshal de
l’Hôpital; for it is doubtless Gassion who is spoken of under the name of
Hilla or Hillarius, “an old colonel of horse, now[268] major-general, a
soldier of fortune, but who had occupied every post, having great courage
and firmness.” Marcomir had confided the right wing to Agésilan, “being
sure of his fidelity and of his great courage.” Agésilan seeks death,
and, according to the rules of romance, he finds only glory, with many
wounds, it is true, which will afterwards explain his languor and his
weakness. Among other exploits, he has an encounter with Alaric, king of
the Goths. Marcomir, on his part, performs extraordinary actions, and
kills, with his own hand, the chief of the hostile army. As Agésilan,
Coligny is here put in the place of Gassion, so d’Estrades, friend of
Coligny, is substituted, under the name of Théodate, for the brave Sirot,
who commanded the reserve, and contributed so much to the success of the
battle.
The novel describes faithfully the conduct of d’Enghien, Marcomir, after
the victory. “After having rendered thanks to God for so great a victory,
Marcomir returned to his camp. He was slightly wounded, had two horses
killed under him, and did in this action all that a good general and a
great captain can do: he took great care of the wounded, and he visited
them every day.” He could not fail to take particular care of Agésilan,
his kinsman, and of Théodate; he took them with him to Lutétie, where
they received all the praises which their fine actions merited.
In the novel, as well as in some memoirs, it is Roxane, Madame de
Montbazon, who invents and counterfeits the two famous letters, in order
to dishonor and destroy Isménie. She tries to compel her lover, Florizel,
the Duke de Guise, to maintain that these letters are veritable; and not
being able to get his consent to such an unworthy action, she asks him to
express himself at least with some doubt as to the matter. Florizel has
the weakness to please her in this; his words are promptly exaggerated
and envenomed, and it is everywhere reported that Florizel defends loudly
the truth of these letters, and declares himself ready to maintain it
against Agésilan himself, “in whatever manner he may choose.” Then comes
the indignation of Queen Amalasonte, Anne of Austria, against Isménie,
whom she believes guilty; the great wrath of Antenor and of Simiane, M.
the Prince and Madame the Princess, against their daughter, and the
despair of the latter, for the two imaginary letters by Roxane are much
stronger than those which were written by Madame de Fouquerolles to
Maulevrier, and which were attributed to Madame de Longueville. First
letter: “I cannot suffer you to remain any longer in the sadness into
which you are plunged. Your constancy has entirely gained me. Come this
evening to the avenue of the Sicamores, near the baths of Diane. I will
tell you what I wish you to do.” The other letter: “I believe that you
are pleased with me, dear Agésilan; but if the walk in the avenue of
the Sicamores has pleased you more, the one which I now invite you to
take will not please you less. Come, alone, at ten o’clock this evening,
through the garden gate; you will find Lydie, who will show you where I
am. Adieu.”
These two rendezvous are well enough imagined to explain the irritation
of Isménie, and to account for the manner in which she drove Agésilan
to avenge her, as well for her success in procuring for him a skilful
second in Théodate. The duel had been decided upon “in a council held at
the house of Isménie, at which Marcomir and Agésilan were present.” The
preparations for the encounter and the details are less striking and less
romantic in the tale than in the history. The scene in it is faithfully
related, but much abridged in regard to the two principal adversaries;
the intervention of the Duke d’Enghien is more marked.
“It was agreed that the meeting should take place at two o’clock in the
afternoon, at the Place des Nymphes (Place-Royale). Florizel was to come
with a second, a page, and a lackey; Agésilan and Théodate were to do
the same; the two carriages were to meet before the house of Caliste,
and the coachmen were to beat each other with their whips in order to
pretend that it was a chance fight. Things were conducted according
to arrangement, and the balconies and the windows of the houses were
filled with ladies. Chrysante and Théodate (Bridieu and d’Estrades) were
the first to seize their swords. Chrysante is a gentleman of merit,
brave, and one of the strongest men in the world. He is governor of a
considerable stronghold on the frontier of Belgium. Théodate, in the
first place, gives him a thrust in the body; he at the same time receives
one in the arm. Chrysante, feeling incommoded by the loss of blood,
wished to make use of his strength and to engage closely with Théodate;
he embraced him with both arms, and pressed him with so much violence
that, notwithstanding his great wound, he would have strangled Théodate,
if the latter had not made an effort to withdraw himself from his hands.
It was so great that they both fell to the ground, without a victory on
either side, and were separated immediately by persons of quality who
arrived upon the spot. In the mean time Florizel and Agésilan were both
engaged. Théodate thought it was time to separate them, when he saw the
poor Agésilan stretched upon the ground, disarmed. Florizel leaves him
in order to meet Théodate, and to embrace him and seek his friendship.
He says to him: ‘I am sorry for the sad condition in which you will
find Agésilan. He has quarrelled with me wantonly; I protest to you,
with truth, that I have never offended him.’ Théodate replied briefly
enough to this compliment, being in haste to reach Agésilan, whom he
finds unconscious, by reason of the dissatisfaction occasioned by his
ill-luck,—a dissatisfaction which, in the end, carried him to his grave.
At this moment, Marcomir, and several princes and nobles of the court,
arrived in the Place des Nymphes. Marcomir placed Agésilan and Théodate
in one of his carriages, and gave them an apartment in his hôtel for the
safety of their persons.”
“Not many days before, the senate had issued a decree against duels,
which condemned to death all those who engaged in them. Amalasonte,
wishing the decree to be executed according to its tenor, ordered the
arrest of Agésilan and Théodate as aggressors, but the proceedings were
less rigorous against Florizel and Chrysante. Marcomir complained loudly,
and the apprehensions which Amalasonte had lest the matter might produce
a civil war—all the court having arranged themselves upon one side or the
other—occasioned a command that the affair should pass for an accidental
encounter, and that the king should issue letters of pardon; which was
done to the satisfaction of all concerned.”
Here the romance resumes its rights, and, carrying Madame de Longueville
to the bed of the dying Coligny, places in the mouths of both of them
those pathetic speeches which never fail to produce an effect upon
readers less sensible to true art, than to what is touching in situations
of this kind.
“The wounds which Agésilan had received, grew worse every day. The
surgeons considered them mortal. Théodate did not care for his own.
He was continually by the side of Agésilan, who, feeling his strength
diminishing, said to Théodate: I have one request to make of you, and
that is, that you will compel Isménie to come and see me for the last
time, and that you will be the sole witness to what I have to say to her.
Théodate having been assured by the physicians and surgeons that Agésilan
could not survive the day, hastened to find Isménie, and to persuade her
to come and say adieu to Agésilan, which she did with extreme grief.
As soon as Agésilan saw her, the color returned to his face, and the
emotion occasioned by beholding her whom he loved dearly, gave him the
strength to say: ‘Madame, since I have lost you, I have desired nothing
more than to die in your service. God has heard my prayers. I cannot
be happy so long as I cannot possess you. My passion was too strong to
remain contented in the world. I render you thanks for the goodness with
which you permit me to tell you that I die for you, and glad that I can
no longer trouble your repose.’ And, stretching out his hand to her, he
said, ‘Adieu, my dear Isménie,’ and immediately breathed his last. After
the final adieu of Agésilan which accompanied his last sigh, Isménie
remained some time motionless. Then suddenly she threw herself upon his
body, embraced him, took his hands in hers, moistened them with her
tears, and, in a clear voice, said: ‘Must I survive the most faithful
and sincere lover that the world ever saw! Is this, my dear Agésilan,
the recompense that you should expect from the ungrateful Isménie? Her
alone thou hast loved, and when she abandoned thee, thy despair drove
thee to seek death upon the battle-field, where thy great courage, thy
reputation, and thy great actions rendered thee immortal; and after that
thou comest to breathe thy last before my eyes, and to tell me that thou
hast never known joy since losing me, and that thou dost die contented
since thou canst not possess me!... Receive, dear and faithful friend,
these tears and this endless regret for thy loss, which will pierce my
heart a thousand times each day. Receive the atonement which I make thee
for all my severity and for all the pains which I have caused thee. Ah!
miserable me! what will become of me? Where shall I go? Let me die of
regret and of love. I will quit thee no more; I will remain beside thee.’
And, embracing him, she kissed his eyes and his face with transports of
tenderness, sufficient to break the heart of any one.”
But let us bear in mind that all these tender sentiments are poetical
inventions of the author of the novel. To render Madame de Longueville
more touching, she has been represented as sharing the passion which
she inspired. But nothing authorizes us to suppose that she was in love
with Coligny. She loved him as one of the companions of her infancy, as
one of the comrades of her brother, as a gentleman of nearly her own
rank, whose homage she had no reason to reject, and who pleased her by
a persevering and devoted tenderness. She permitted him to sigh for
her, and to declare himself her loyal knight after the Spanish fashion,
according to the principles of Madame de Sablé and of the _précieuses_
of the hôtel de Rambouillet, who did not forbid men to serve and to
adore them, but in the most respectful fashion. Such were the manners of
this epoch. A gentleman did not pass for a well-bred man if he had not a
mistress, that is, a lady to whom he paid particular homage, and whose
colors he wore at fêtes and on the battle-field. There was not a beauty,
however virtuous, who had not lovers, that is, gentlemen who sighed for
her in truth and honorably. The Duchess d’Aiguillon, presenting her young
nephew, the Duke de Richelieu, to the elder Mademoiselle Du Vigean,
begged her to make an _honnête_ man of him; and to this end she exhorted
the young man seriously to fall in love with the beautiful lady.[269]
Madame de Longueville suffered thus the assiduous attentions of Coligny.
Her coquetry was flattered by them, while neither her virtue nor even her
reputation were sullied. Let us add that she was surrounded by the best
examples. The young Du Vigean, her dearest friend, resisted the conqueror
of Rocroy; Mademoiselle de Brienne was wholly devoted to her husband,
M. de Gamache; Julie de Rambouillet did not hastily yield to the long
passion of Montausier, and Isabelle de Montmorency herself did no more
than listen to the tender propositions of Dandelot. Retz affirms that
the love was all on the side of Coligny, and he says that he was thus
informed by Condé himself; but who is not acquainted with the frivolity
of Retz? Who would wish to rely on his testimony when he is alone, and
in relation to matters in which he has not personally mingled? In 1643,
Retz had hardly the secret of his own intrigues. The well-informed
Madame de Motteville, who, at a later period, will not conceal the fall
of Madame de Longueville, may be believed when she affirms that in
1643,[270] “she had still a great reputation for virtue and prudence,”
and that “she erred only in not hating adoration and praise.” Finally,
we have a decisive testimony, that of La Rochefoucauld. He was at once
the friend of Maulevrier and of Coligny; he was therefore well acquainted
with the whole affair. Now, he who, at a future day, will turn against
Madame de Longueville,—will reveal her weakness, will enlarge her faults,
will strive to blacken her character,—declares that, until a certain
period—at which we have not yet arrived—all those who attempted to
please the sister of Condé, _strove in vain_.[271] After Coligny, the
brave and presumptuous Miossens, afterwards Marshal d’Albret, paid very
assiduous court to Madame de Longueville, and he failed like the others.
She was too young still, and too recently drawn from the habits of her
pure and pious youth; she had not yet reached the age so fatal to the
most virtuous intentions: her hour had not yet come. It came at a later
period, when Madame de Longueville had become better acquainted with
the world and life, and had longer breathed the air of her times; when
her brother had forgotten the chaste grandeur of his first loves; when
the friend who could sustain her, the beautiful and noble Mademoiselle
Du Vigean, was no more beside her; when her husband was at a distance;
when, finally, weary of combating, and more than ever carried away by
wit and heroic appearances, she met a person, still young and handsome,
of great bravery, who passed for a model of chivalrous devotion, who
could skilfully interest her self-love in his ambitious projects, and
seduce her by the attractions of glory. La Rochefoucauld was the first
who touched the soul of Madame de Longueville; he says so, and we believe
him. Their connection commenced a little before or a little after the
embassy of Munster, their intimacy at the close of 1647 or at the
beginning of 1648, and the fulness of their love continued between 1648
and 1652. In 1643, Madame de Longueville was still occupied with the
noble and graceful gallantry which she saw everywhere in honor, which
she heard celebrated at the hôtel de Rambouillet as well as at the hôtel
de Condé, in the great verses of Corneille and in the trifling verses of
Voiture. She delighted in exhibiting the power of her charms. A thousand
adorers pressed around her. Coligny was perhaps nearest to her heart,
but had not, however, entered it. But one cannot, with impunity, trifle
with love. It will some day cost Madame de Longueville many tears. Its
victim at this time was the eldest of the Châtillons, who perished, in
the flower of his youth, by the hand of the eldest of the Guises, to
avenge her whom he loved. This tragic adventure, quickly spread by all
the echoes of the _salons_, by song and romance, cast a gloom upon the
destiny of Madame de Longueville, and gave her, at an early period, a
fame at once aristocratic and popular, which prepared her wonderfully to
play a great part in that other tragi-comedy, heroic and gallant, called
the Fronde.