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.