In the mean time, all the circles of Paris mourned the absence of Madame de Longueville. Godeau did not cease to urge her return in the name of the hôtel de Rambouillet:
“Is it not better, madame,” wrote he to her, “that you should return to the hôtel de Longueville, where you are still more powerful than at Munster? Every one is wishing it this winter. My lord, your brother, has returned covered with palms; come back yourself crowned with the myrtles of peace, for it seems to me that it is not enough for you to carry olive branches alone. I dare not explain myself farther, lest I should be guilty of gallantry. This I leave to the Julies and to the Chapelains, etc.”[302]
She had enjoyed sufficiently her brilliant exile, but, with her habitual politeness and sweetness, she dissembled her weariness. In the winter of 1647, she had two reasons for returning to France. Her father, M. the Prince, died at the close of December, 1646: this was an immense loss to his family and to France, and its consequences were soon keenly felt. In addition to this, Madame de Longueville had, for the third time, found herself enceinte at Munster. Her mother was, for this reason, anxious to have her at home; and M. de Longueville was constrained to permit his wife to take the road to Paris.
Her return to France—first to Chantilly, then to Paris—in the month of May, 1647, was a very different triumph from that which characterized her journey upon the Rhine, and into Holland, and her abode at Munster. She found the crowd of her adorers more numerous and more eager than ever; and in the first rank was her brother, the Prince de Conti, who, fresh from college, was taking his first lessons in the world. Let us say a word in regard to this new personage, who now appears for the first time, and who will play a very conspicuous part in the life of Madame de Longueville.
Armand de Bourbon, Prince de Conti, who was born in 1629, was eighteen years of age in 1647. He had a good mind, and not an unpleasant face; but a slight deformity and a certain feebleness of body, rendering him unfit for the army, he was early destined for the Church. He had studied among the Jesuits at the college of Clermont, with Molière, and M. the Prince, before his death, had obtained for him the richest benefices,[303] and demanded a cardinal’s hat. While waiting for this hat, Armand de Bourbon was living at the hôtel de Condé, partly an ecclesiastic, partly a man of the world, all occupied with wit, and greedy of every species of success. The glory of his brother filled him with emulation, and he dreamed himself of warlike exploits. When his sister returned from Germany, he went to meet her, and, dazzled by her beauty, her grace, and her fame, he began to love her rather as a gallant than as a brother.[304] He followed her blindly in all her adventures, in which he exhibited as much courage as lightness. When he had made his peace with the court—thanks to his marriage with a niece of Mazarin, the beautiful and virtuous Anne-Marie Martinozzi—he obtained the command-in-chief of the army of Catalonia, in which capacity he acquitted himself with great honor. He was much less successful in Italy. On the whole, he was far from injuring his name, and he gave to France, in the person of his young son, a true warrior, one of the best pupils of Condé, one of the last eminent generals of the seventeenth century. Constrained, through ill-health, to betake himself again to religion, the Prince de Conti finished, where he had begun, with theology. He composed several meritorious and learned works on various religious subjects.[305] In 1647, he was entirely devoted to vanity and pleasures. He adored his sister, and she exercised over him a somewhat ridiculous empire, which continued during several years.
The court and Paris were then occupied with festivals and enjoyments, which all were eager to share with Madame de Longueville. To please the queen, Mazarin multiplied the balls and the operas. At a great expense he sent to Italy for artists, singers, male and female, who represented an opera of Orpheus, the machinery and decorations of which are said to have cost more than 400,000 livres. The queen delighted in these spectacles. France also, as if touched with its own grandeur, took pleasure in the magnificence of its government, and seconded it by redoubling its own luxury and elegance. The pleasures of wit occupied the first rank. The hôtel de Rambouillet, near its decline, was shedding its last rays. Madame de Longueville reigned there as well as in all the circles of Paris; and, it must be confessed, with her good qualities she had also the defects of the best précieuses. The following is the picture which Madame de Motteville has traced[306] of her person, of the turn of her mind, of her occupations, of her credit, and of that of the whole house of Condé, at this period, which may be considered as the most brilliant of her life: “This princess, who, during her absence, reigned in her family, and whose approbation was sought as if she were a true sovereign, did not fail, on her return to Paris, to appear in greater splendor than when she left it. The friendship entertained for her by the prince, her brother, authorizing her actions and her manners, the greatness of her beauty and of her mind increased so much the cabal of her family, that she was not long at court without almost entirely engrossing it. She became the object of all desires: her clique was the centre of all intrigues, and those whom she loved became also the favorites of fortune.... Her intelligence, her wit, and the high opinion entertained for her discernment, won for her the admiration of all good people, who were persuaded that her esteem alone was enough to give them reputation. If, in this way, she governed souls, she was not less successful by means of her beauty; for, although she had suffered with the small-pox since the Regency, and although she had lost somewhat of the perfection of her complexion, the splendor of her charms exerted a powerful influence upon those who saw her; and she possessed especially, in the highest degree, what, in the Spanish language, is expressed by those words, donayre, brio, y bizarrie (gallant air). She had an admirable form, and her person possessed a charm whose power extended over our own sex. It was impossible to see her without loving her, and without desiring to please her. Her beauty consisted, however, more in the colors of her face than in the perfection of her features. Her eyes were not large, but beautiful, soft and brilliant, and their blue was admirable: it was like that of the turquoise. Poets could compare the incarnation upon her face to lilies and roses only; and the light shining hair which accompanied so many wonderful things, made her more like an angel, such as our poor nature can imagine one, than like a woman.... She was then too much engrossed with her own sentiments, which passed for infallible rules while they were not always so, and there was too much affectation in her manner of speaking and acting, whose greatest beauty was attributable to delicacy of thought and correctness of reasoning. She appeared constrained, and the fine raillery, exercised by herself and her courtiers, often fell upon those who, while rendering her their homage, felt, to their mortification, that honest sincerity, which ought to be observed in polite society, was apparently banished from hers. The virtues and praiseworthy qualities of the most excellent creatures are mingled with things which are opposed to them: all men partake of this clay from which they draw their origin, and God alone is perfect.... In fine, it may be said that at this time all greatness, all glory, and all gallantry were confined to this family of Bourbon, of which M. the Prince was the chief, and that fortune was not considered a desirable thing, if it did not come from their hands.”
It was about this time that the two sonnets of Voiture and of Benserade divided the court and the city, the salons and the academy. Almost all the documents appertaining to this little literary contest have been preserved;[307] but we have discovered some hitherto unknown, which we cannot withhold from the reader, because they show the passion which then existed for literary matters, the ascendency of Madame de Longueville, and the peculiar delicacy of her taste.
Voiture had just died in 1648, and his friends had caught, as the last sigh of his muse, the sonnet to Uranie. At the same time another sonnet appeared, written by one of the rivals of Voiture, younger than himself, and who had not been formed at the hôtel de Rambouillet: it was the complaint of a lover who pretended to be more miserable than Job, because Job could at least groan aloud on account of his misfortune, whilst the poor lover was compelled to suffer in silence:
All the fashionable lovers of the day, the languishing and the dying, admired this description of their martyrdom, the height of sorrow being to suffer without complaining; and it is certain that the close of the sonnet of Benserade is neither without spirit nor without charm. It created a furor. The sonnet of Voiture was of a very different character. It possessed a finished elegance, somewhat feeble it is true, but elevated and animated by a certain passionate accent, which is sweetly felt throughout it. It was of a more distinguished and more rare quality, and for this reason it had at first less success. Balzac[309] composed upon these two pieces a formal dissertation, in which he weighs in the balance of the most scrupulous criticism the merits and the defects of both. Corneille, annoyed by a quarrel which turned attention a little too much from his own works, began to make sport of the two sonnets; afterwards, the affair acquiring more and more literary interest, he engaged in it himself, and took sides with Job against Uranie, in a sonnet in which he does not hesitate to say that Voiture’s is doubtless better conceived, better conducted, better finished, but that he would prefer to be the author of the other. He returns to the charge in an epigram which terminates as follows:
This was a very imposing judgment, and, to all appearance, there was little hope for Voiture, when Madame de Longueville undertook his defence. Her situation was somewhat embarrassing. Her brother, the Prince de Conti, was at the head of the Jobelins, and Esprit, who had accompanied her to Munster, and on whom she might have depended upon any occasion, Esprit, who, without ceasing to be of the Church, was occupied with the most gallant literature, as he will at a future day be occupied with sentences and maxims, had written very warmly in favor of Benserade. But Madame de Longueville was not the person to take the lucky side and to abandon her old friend Voiture. Her authority soon changed the face of the combat.
In the camp of the Jobelins was the Countess de Brégy, one of the ladies of honor of Queen Anne, and wife of a famous ambassador, from whom we have a collection[311] of prose and verse, and some questions d’amour, to which Quinault replied by order of the young king. She was much surprised to learn that Madame de Longueville preferred to the universally applauded sonnet a piece of verse which had not produced a very great effect. She hastened to write to her, asking permission to maintain her own opinion against hers. The following is her letter, with the diplomatic reply of the ambassadress of Munster.[312]
Madame de Brégy to Madame de Longueville.
“Job, in ages past, was scarcely less humiliated than I now am to find myself opposed to the opinion of Your Highness; for if I had not enough sense to conform myself to it, my spirit of divination ought to serve the other in this encounter, and not permit him to endure the shame of seeing himself opposed to sentiments which I have regarded as a rule by which one could never fail. But, since I have taken up the cause of Job, more unfortunate because he suffers at your hands than on account of all his first evils, be pleased, Madame, to allow me an opportunity on Thursday evening to defend an unhappy person, against whom the devil has cunningly excited your persecution, as the only means of divesting him of that patience which he has exhibited for so many ages, and which cannot be preserved when one is despised by you.”
Madame de Longueville[313] to Madame de Brégy.
“Your letter has done more for the sonnet of Job than Benserade himself; and it occasions me so much regret at not entertaining sentiments conformed to those of the person who wrote it, that, if it does not make me alter, it makes me at least condemn my own, thus obtaining from me a preference for Job, which I should have always refused so long as the sonnet had spoken for itself. This, I think, is all that a generous person can do for a party to which she does not belong; and I assure you that if yours is not that of my choice, it is exalted in my esteem. I shall be glad to see you on Thursday, and to hear you advocate the cause of Job; but be admonished, at least, that I will hear you argue against my past sentiments only, consenting no longer to oppose your own, etc.”
The two ladies contended, as we see, in the most courteous manner; but they contended warmly and for a long time. I conjecture that aside from literature there was some secret motive in it all. Madame de Brégy was beautiful and coquettish as well as intellectual. She could, without much difficulty, believe that the piece of Benserade was addressed to her, and that it was an indirect declaration of a somewhat plebeian love, condemned to wear out secretly in suffering. Benserade had, at least, composed for her an epistle, in which he pleads the fear of love as his excuse for flying from her.[314] Madame de Longueville could not have forgotten all the verses which Voiture had written in her praise while yet quite young; and perhaps the latter, on again beholding, in 1647, the noble beauty in all the splendor of her charms, quitting his former familiarity for an affectionate respect, was desirous of ending as he had begun, and dying, as was then said, in the service of her whom he called Uranie, a celestial beauty upon whom he dares scarcely to lift his eyes.
Madame de Longueville thought, moreover, that her preference was supported by very good reason, and in this we are inclined to agree with her. The work of Benserade possesses undoubtedly more wit, invention, and even originality, since it is certainly something quite new to place in the mouth of Job a declaration of love: that of Voiture, to us, possesses a secret and melancholy gracefulness which touches the heart. With Corneille, we find the sonnet of Job prettier, though unnatural—a strange eulogium, and one hardly to be expected here from either party pronouncing it; but the sonnet of Uranie seems to us to proceed more from one in love, and this it is which decides us. Perhaps if Madame de Longueville had conversed with Corneille, she would have converted him in the name of their common principles; she succeeded, at least, in overcoming her brother, the Prince de Conti, who, after having made a sonnet to Benserade, at last took the part of Voiture and of his sister. She launched against him Sarrazin, whose commentary in verse we still possess—a commentary that turns into ridicule the sonnet of Benserade and the opinion of Esprit:
Madame de Longueville herself wrote to Esprit a letter, in which she evinces a fine cultivated literary taste. She acknowledges, in the sonnet of Job, a gallant air and delicacy, but nothing more. With the exception of a few lines, all the others seem to her full of faults, and she carries refinement and preciseness so far as to designate certain expressions of Benserade as disgusting, meaning by this, vulgar. On the contrary, she finds in the sonnet of Voiture, beauty and force of expression, with thoughts which, though not new, possess the sovereign merit of passion. She makes a thousand concessions to Esprit; she asks pardon for her audacity in differing with him;[316] she announces, at the same time, that she means to continue the war; she appeals to all Rambouillet, and jests pleasantly upon this new kind of Fronde.
Madame de Longueville to Monsieur Esprit.[317]
“It is true that I am in the utmost astonishment to find our tastes so different in this matter; and my astonishment is the greater because it seemed to me a subject upon which our sentiments should be the same. For, in short, with the exception of the seventh, eighth, and last lines of the sonnet of Job, I find it not only full of faults, but even of such as you have never been able to endure; its expression goes so far as to be disgusting; whereas, in the piece of Voiture (at least in its last six lines), the most beautiful and forcible expression in the world is united with a thought which, though not certainly new, is so passionate that it should, it seems to me, be more highly esteemed than the mere delicacy which characterizes that of Job. I confess that it has as gallant an air as any thing that I have even seen; also, although I find reason upon my side, I think that if there is none which authorizes the other party, there is at least the greatest cause in the world for preferring its taste; and if one may suffer himself to be seduced without dying of shame, I confess that it is upon such an occasion. This is all that my natural justice can permit me to feel for those who have not followed my sentiments. I send you what will acquaint you with the manner in which my brother has made known his own, that is, his final opinion; for the first was made in prose, and more favorable to Uranie than to Job, but with the declaration that if he should choose to send one of the two sonnets to his mistress, it would be that of Job. Neither party was satisfied with this judgment, not being able to turn it fully to its own account. A more decided one was demanded. There are some who think that even this[318] is not so; but, for my own part, I am contented that Voiture is therein pronounced admirable and grand, and Benserade only gallant and pretty. He has made another sonnet, which I send you also, together with the list of our friends and of our enemies. They have taken sides uninfluenced by prejudice, politics, or any other motives than the force of reason in some cases, and the gratification of taste and blindness of mind in others. But I am not going so far as to use invectives, and I think that there is as little generosity in attacking a father of the Oratoire, as there would be in assailing an unarmed man. I close therefore for the very reason which made me prefer Uranie to Job, and the celestial muse to a man infected from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.
“I beg you to tell M. the Abbé de Croisy,[319] that I wish him to take my part. I forgot to tell you that we are writing circular letters, and that we expect the opinions of M. and Madame de Montausier, of all Rambouillet, and of M. and Madame de Liancourt. In fine, this matter will not rest here; and if the excitement about it continues, the ministers will be more apt to occupy themselves with it than with the assemblies of the nobility; and the tolerance shown for our seditious manners, is the strongest indication which we have had for a year of the humbling of royal authority, for they are cantonments against the fundamental laws of a well-governed State.[320] In short, God wills it, and we have nothing to say.
“A word of reply in regard to persons of your own party and of mine, etc.”
Madame de Longueville gained the day; all the hôtel de Rambouillet went over to her side, and Benserade, beaten after having been triumphant, thus complained to her who had robbed him of his glory:
We give also this pretty quatrain of Mademoiselle de Scudéry:
Such were the frivolous pastimes, at once innocent and dangerous, of Madame de Longueville. All the prosperities and all the felicities of life surrounded her. Every thing conspired in her favor, or rather against her,—the triumphs of the mind as well as those of beauty, the continually increasing glory of her house, the intoxication of vanity, the secret desires of her heart. The trial was too strong; she yielded to it. In the enchanted circle in which she moved, more than one adorer attracted her attention; one of them succeeded in winning her, according to all appearances, at the close of 1647 or at the commencement of 1648. She was then about twenty-nine years of age.
François, first Prince de Marcillac, afterwards, upon the death of his father, Duke de La Rochefoucauld, was the eldest son of François de La Rochefoucauld, whom Louis XIII. created a duke and a peer in 1622, and of Gabrielle de Liancourt. He was born December 15, 1613, and at an early age married Mademoiselle de Vivonne. He served honorably in Italy and in Flanders, and in 1646 he was wounded at the siege of Mardyck. As Retz says, he was not a warrior, although he was a very good soldier. Without being very handsome, he was well formed and very agreeable. What distinguished him especially was his wit. Of this he possessed an infinite fund, of the finest and most delicate. His conversation was mild, easy, insinuating; and his manners were at once the most natural and most polished. He had a lofty air. In him vanity supplied the place of ambition. At an early age he showed a fondness for distinction and for intrigues. Profoundly selfish, and having succeeded in acquiring a knowledge of himself and in reducing to theory his nature, his character, and his tastes, he set out with contrary appearances, and with those chivalrous manners affected by the Importants. One of his first connections was with Madame de Chevreuse, who gave him to Queen Anne. He entered so earnestly into the interests of the queen and into those of Mademoiselle d’Hautefort, that he conceived or caught the idea of carrying them away. “I was,” says he,[321] “at an age when one loves to perform extraordinary and brilliant things, and I thought that nothing could be more so than to carry off the queen at once from the king, her husband, and from Cardinal Richelieu, who was jealous of him, and of bearing away Mademoiselle d’Hautefort from the king, who was enamored of her.” He did not execute this fine project; but Richelieu, who had some suspicion of all these intrigues, placed him for eight days in the Bastile. It seems that he was not entirely a stranger to the conspiracies of Cinq-Mars. At the death of Richelieu he hastened to Paris, and, when that of Louis XIII. had placed the supreme authority in the hands of Queen Anne, he imagined that his fortune was made. He sought successively various important offices which the queen could not grant, whatever fondness she might have entertained for him. Madame de Chevreuse exacted for her old friend the government of Havre, which was then of the highest consequence; but this government was in the family of Richelieu, and Mazarin could not take it away from the Duchess d’Aiguillon. La Rochefoucauld aspired to the command of the cavalry; he was very brave, but he was not considered capable of such an employment. He tried thus several schemes; the queen applied herself to soothing his disappointments, by manners so tender, as to retain him, as would be now said, in a moderate opposition, and keep him from taking part in the violence of Beaufort. He was not then covered with the disgrace of the Importants, though he shared it to a certain extent; and he did not cease to be, or to seem to be, very much attached, not to the government, but to the person of the queen. He looked continually for some great favor at her hands. These favors not arriving, he determined to procure through intimidation what his fidelity had not been able to secure.
It was during this state of his feelings that he met Madame de Longueville, on her return from Munster, surrounded by the most earnest admirers. The Count de Miossens, afterwards Marshal d’Albret—handsome, brave, full of wit and of talent, as enterprising in love as in war—was paying her a very zealous court. La Rochefoucauld persuaded Miossens, who was one of his friends, that, after all, if he should overcome the resistance of Madame de Longueville, it would only be a victory flattering to his vanity, whilst that he, La Rochefoucauld, would be able to turn it to a very good account. This was certainly a very touching and heroic reason for loving! Corneille did not think of it in the Cid and in Polyeucte. We have, however, done no more than to transfer, with the utmost exactness, a piece from La Rochefoucauld himself, which we will now quote, word for word:[322] “So much unprofitable labor and so much weariness, finally gave me other thoughts, and led me to attempt dangerous ways in order to testify my hostility to the queen and Cardinal Mazarin. The beauty of Madame de Longueville, her wit, and the charms of her person, attached to her all who could hope for her favor. Many men and women of quality strove to please her; and besides all this, Madame de Longueville was then upon such good terms with all her house, and so tenderly beloved by the Duke d’Enghien, her brother, that the esteem and friendship of this prince might be counted upon by any one in the favor of Madame his sister. Many persons vainly attempted this game, mingling other sentiments with those of ambition. Miossens, who afterwards became Marshal of France, persisted in it longest, but with similar success. I was one of his intimate friends, and he told me his designs. They soon fell to the ground of themselves. He saw this, and told me several times that he was about to renounce them; but vanity, which was the strongest of his passions, prevented him from telling me the truth, and he professed to entertain hopes which he had not, and which I knew that he could not have. Some time passed in this way; and, finally, I had reason to believe that I could make a more considerable use than Miossens of the friendship and confidence of Madame de Longueville. I made him believe it himself. He knew my position at court; I told him my views, declaring that my consideration for him would restrain me always, and that I would not attempt to form a connection with Madame de Longueville without his permission. I will even confess that I irritated him against her in order to obtain it, without however saying any thing untrue. He delivered her entirely to me, but he repented when he saw the result of this connection....”
La Rochefoucauld pleased Madame de Longueville, doubtless, by the graces of his mind and the charms of his person, and especially by that glory won for him by his conduct towards the queen, which was enough to dazzle a pupil of the hôtel de Rambouillet. He paid her homage which was, to all appearance, the most passionate in the world. In proportion as he insinuated himself into her heart, he skilfully aroused in her that desire of appearing and of producing an effect, so natural in woman. Little by little, he displayed before her eyes a new object which she had not yet perceived—an important part upon the theatre of events just opening. He transformed her natural coquetry into political ambition, or rather he inspired her with his own ambition.
When Madame de Longueville, touched by the passion shown for her by La Rochefoucauld, had determined to respond to it, she gave herself up to him entirely; she devoted herself to him whom she dared to love; she made it a point of honor, as well doubtless as a secret happiness, to share his destiny and to follow him without looking behind her, sacrificing to him all her private interests, the evident interest of her family, and the strongest sentiment of her soul, her tenderness for her brother Condé.
Oh admirable thing! do you know who it is that commits a crime against this devotion? He precisely who makes his profit in it. La Rochefoucauld expresses himself thus in regard to Madame de Longueville:[323] “This princess possessed all the advantages of mind and beauty to such a degree and with so much charm, that it seemed as if nature had taken pleasure in forming a masterpiece.... But these fine qualities were rendered less brilliant by a stain which was never seen upon a princess of such merit, which found no imitations on those who entertained for her a particular adoration; a stain which so transformed her in their sentiments, that she did not recognize her own. At this time the Prince de Marcillac shared her mind, and as he joined his ambition to his love, he inspired her with a desire for business, to which she had a natural aversion.”
Let us listen to the declared enemy of Madame de Longueville, her step-daughter, the Duchess de Nemours: “It will doubtless cause astonishment[324] that Madame de Longueville should have been one of the first (to join the party of malcontents), she who had nothing to hope from that party, and who had no reason to complain of the court.... M. the Prince felt an extreme tenderness for his sister. She, on her side, humored him, less from interest than from the particular esteem and tender friendship which she had for him. At this time neither she nor the whole cabal showed much wit in their designs; and although they were all possessed of enough of it, they employed it only in gay conversations, only in commenting and refining upon the delicacies of the heart and of the sentiments. They made all the wit and merit of a person to consist in making subtile distinctions and representations, sometimes unnatural enough. Those who made the most display were, in their opinion, the most creditable and most learned persons, and they treated as ridiculous and coarse whatever approached to grave conversation.... It was La Rochefoucauld who gave to this princess so many hollow and false sentiments. As he exercised a very great power over her, and as he seldom thought of any other person than himself, he drew her into all the intrigues in which she engaged, only to be able thereby to promote his own ends.”
Madame de Motteville, whom we must never grow weary of studying and citing when we wish to know and to establish the truth, after having marked the principal motive which urged La Rochefoucauld in his pursuit of Madame de Longueville, adds: “In[325] all that she has since done, it is clearly seen that ambition was not the only thing that occupied her soul, and that the interests of the Prince de Marcillac there held a prominent place. For him she became ambitious, for him she ceased to love repose; and in order to be sensible to this affection, she became too insensible to her own glory.... The declarations of the Prince de Marcillac, as I have already said, had not been displeasing to her; and this nobleman, who was perhaps more selfish than tender, wishing through her to promote his own interests, believed that he should inspire her with a desire of ruling the princes her brothers....”
Finally Retz, who was perfectly acquainted with all the actors and all the actresses of the Fronde, and who, in regard to this epoch, merits not to be believed without reserve, but to be listened to seriously, closes the most charming eulogy upon Madame de Longueville with these words, so often repeated, and which contain the true judgment of posterity: “As her passion obliged her to make politics only a secondary matter, from the heroine of a great party, she became its adventuress.”[326]
We must either renounce all historical criticism, or from these accumulated testimonies, which we could have much increased, we must draw this conclusion: 1, That before her connection with La Rochefoucauld, Madame de Longueville remained entirely unconcerned in every political intrigue; that she was occupied only with intellectual matters and gallantry, suffering herself to be guided absolutely in every thing else by her father and by her brother; 2, That it was not on her account, as has been often repeated, that La Rochefoucauld entered the Fronde; that, far from this, it was La Rochefoucauld, and La Rochefoucauld alone, who, little by little, engaged her in it, designedly and selfishly; 3, That the conduct of Madame de Longueville in the Fronde must be referred to La Rochefoucauld, who governed her, and that the only good thing in her is the character which she exhibited when the intrigue became a tempest, when it was necessary to risk her person; to stake her happiness, her repose, her fortune, and her life, retaining still under the hand of another what she could never lose—the pride of soul and brilliant energy of the sister of the great Condé.
It is not our business here to give a history of the Fronde, to make known its peripetics, its principal personages, the true springs of their actions, their apparent patriotism, their real ambition, their unstable hopes, their perpetual changes. We wish simply to describe Madame de Longueville; it is to her, without separating her from her brother Condé, that we would confine ourselves in this labyrinth of intrigues; here even we will show her only in the first scenes of the Fronde.
As soon as La Rochefoucauld had entered the heart of Madame de Longueville, he occupied it entirely. She employed in his service all the charms of her person, the resources of her mind, the greatness of her heart. Careless of her interests, and turning her back upon the fortunes of her house, she attacked openly, or undermined by artifice, that royalty which her family had supported, and which had been still more the support of her family. Forgetful of her most just resentment, even of her honor, she entered the ranks of those who, in 1643, had endeavored to blast in the bud her fresh and unsullied fame. The daughter of the Condés went over to the Vendômes and to the Lorraines, made common cause with Beaufort and with Madame de Chevreuse, and exposed herself to the risk of encountering in this new circle her old and implacable enemy, Madame de Montbazon. If Guise had not then been at Naples, she would doubtless have testified her perfect change by shaking the hand that had slain Coligny!
In the mean time La Rochefoucauld did not forget his reason for desiring so ardently the conquest of Madame de Longueville. He had wished, as he himself tells us, to reach the brother through the sister, and to draw into the Fronde the house of Condé, which had hitherto been a rampart to the queen and to Mazarin.
M. the Prince had died at the close of 1646, and with him his family had lost its political helm. Madame the Princess remained firmly attached to the queen; but Madame de Longueville succeeded, without much difficulty, in numbering among the malcontents the Prince de Conti, who, while waiting for a cardinal’s hat, was not sorry to make some noise, play some part, and acquire an importance which might make him compare favorably with his brother. She needed no great cunning to draw among the malcontents her husband, who was naturally inclined towards them. But the great difficulty was to win Condé himself.
The latter imagined that he had great cause of complaint against the cardinal. At the death of his brother-in-law, Brézé, in 1646, he asked to succeed him as High-Admiral of France. It was impossible to add this office to the number already possessed by the Condés; but, through management, the queen gave it to no one, and set it down for herself. M. the Prince, who was still living, ambitious and greedy, had warmly resented this refusal. The impetuous Condé had not concealed his anger. He was also much irritated at being sent into Catalonia to replace d’Harcourt, with the promise of every thing necessary to carry on a campaign worthy of him; and that he had been left, without the aid promised and earnestly claimed, between a strongly fortified place, which he could not take by assault on account of the condition of his troops, and a powerful army which he could neither wait for nor reach, so that he was obliged to raise the siege of Lerida, and to retreat in good order before the enemy. He felt that he had done well, but it was the first time that he had given way; in spite of him, his glory suffered by it, and he complained with bitterness of what he called the disloyalty of the cardinal. Finally, he was sent into Flanders to take command of a very feeble army,—not an army destitute of courage, but entirely undisciplined. Besides, it must be confessed, the true genius of Condé was for war. In this, again, he is the first of his age, and equal to the greatest in antiquity and in modern times,—as ardent as Alexander, as resolute as Cæsar, as fertile in expedients as Hannibal, as capable of making precise and vast calculations as Napoleon, which may be seen by the plan of the campaign by which, in 1645, he proposed to dictate peace to the Emperor in Vienna. He possessed all the qualifications of a warrior. He knew not only how to achieve a victory by the boldness of his manœuvres, but he knew how to calculate upon one, and, as Bossuet said of a very different person, he left nothing to fortune which he could accomplish through prudence and foresight. He was as good a military manager as he was an active and enterprising general. He excelled in the art of encamping and of besieging, as well as in that of fighting, and he surpassed Vauban. By turns, he exhibited that audacity which confounded Mercy at Fribourg and at Nortlingen, and that great prudence which led him to raise the siege of Lerida, and which at a later period, in 1675, wearied Montecuculli. With the most happy instincts, he united profound study. In Catalonia he marched with a copy of Cæsar in his hand, explaining it to his lieutenants. He formed the greatest generals, commencing with Turenne, who served under him during two campaigns, and finishing with that Luxembourg who, if he were rejudged, would perhaps be found not inferior to Turenne himself. Let us add this very striking fact: Condé is the only modern captain who never suffered defeat, and who was always victorious when he commanded in chief. Turenne was beaten twice in regular battle—at Rethel and at Mariendal; Frederic commenced with reverses; Napoleon terminated his dazzling career by two frightful routes—Leipsic and Waterloo; Condé alone was ever triumphant. He had arrayed against him the three greatest generals of Europe—Mercy, Montecuculli, and William; not one of them was able to deprive him of even the shadow of an advantage. We might easily extend, without exhausting it, the eulogy of the warrior in Condé; but, we acknowledge it, he had not the qualifications of a great politician, because at bottom he had no true determined ambition. First prince of the blood in a monarchy such as was that of France in the seventeenth century, what could he desire beyond the acquisition of glory? And after Richelieu and under Mazarin, this glory could be reached by him only on the battle-field. It was for this and for this alone that his father had reared him. He was also subjected, at an early age, to that severe discipline of ambition which teaches to speak at the proper moment and to be silent, to exhibit no humor, to keep the eye fixed upon the highest object, never suffering it to be turned aside by secondary interests, or by the caprices of the imagination or of the heart. Such is the ambitious man; such were, more or less, Henri IV., Richelieu, and Mazarin; for it is just to place Mazarin in this illustrious company. All three had a great end to attain, which they pursued with constancy. Condé had no aim; he formed no great design, being by birth as high as he could become—all that he could ever dream of being, unless he acted the madman or the traitor; and he had a mind perfectly correct, with a corresponding heart. His conscience and his good sense told him then that he had nothing to gain by all the intrigues in which others wished to engage him; that his place was near the throne, in order to protect it with his sword against its enemies, whoever they might be, whether at home or abroad. If he had kept this place, he would have attained to a rank much higher than even the usurpation of royalty. Let us not hesitate to look at it, that we may the better feel the greatness of his fall: to his five years of brilliant victories in Flanders and upon the Rhine, from 1643 to 1648, he might, beyond all doubt, have added, during the war which continued between France and Spain after the treaty of Westphalia, new victories, which, in two campaigns, at most, might have forever conquered Belgium, as the preceding had added Alsace to the French territory. He would then, at the age of thirty, have gained as many battles as Alexander, Hannibal, and Cæsar; and still there would have been before him twenty years of vigor, twenty other victories, like that of Senef, for example,[327] which he gained upon the verge of old age, before laying aside his sword, as a monument of what he might have done from 1648 to 1675. Incomparable would have been his destiny had he performed his part as first prince of the blood, firm defender of the crown yet loyal interpreter of the nation; bearing to the queen without frightening her, and to Mazarin, while sustaining him, the legitimate complaints of the nobility, of the parliament, and of the people.
There was, in fact, a cause for the Fronde; Mazarin, almost equal to Richelieu as a diplomatist, had not, in the smallest degree, the genius of his master for the administration of State affairs. Incessantly occupied with increasing the territory and strengthening the royal authority, he attended to little else, and suffered abuses and disorders to creep in everywhere. The great wars which he undertook, the four or five armies which he was obliged to support, had exhausted France, which did not always find in glory a consolation for its misery. It had been necessary to increase the taxes, even to sell the public offices, in order to have means for paying the troops. The authority of the parliament had often been eluded or disarmed. The blood of the nobility had flowed in torrents. The people groaned under the heaviest burdens; and if the sentiment of national grandeur abandoned them even for a moment, the greatness of the evil caused them to utter complaints, and drove them to revolt. I do not accuse the people: they are seldom wrong; they move only when they suffer; they agitate only to improve their condition, or at least to make it less unhappy. It is parties that are culpable, when, instead of striving to afford relief to the evils of the people, they apply themselves to rendering these evils more poignant and more bitter, by inflammatory declamations, thus driving the people beyond all bounds. I pity, in 1648, the people, naturally irritated by the increase of taxes, and by the disorders of the administration; I condemn the Fronde, which, in its chiefs, with few exceptions, was deceitful and corrupt, violent and mad; and I am in favor of Mazarin, without loving him or without being deceived in regard to his defects and his faults, because, after all, he served France well, conducting with great ability its affairs abroad, and diminishing, by the peace with Germany, its misery at home. I admire Condé in this first Fronde, for having resisted his own injuries, the antipathy which he felt for Mazarin, the solicitations of his own family, and of his sister. I shall blame him in the strongest terms when, unfaithful to his fortune and to his glory, sacrificing the part of a principal to that of an accessory, putting temper in the place of policy, he shall engage in the intrigues which he had spurned, and shall allow himself at first to humor, then to serve the Fronde.
He commenced very differently. In the beginning of the troubles, Condé, without having enough of the statesman to crush the sedition in its bud, preserved at least a lofty bearing towards the malcontents; he lent a careless ear to the proposals of his sister, and having no taste for popular agitations, and not more for the tumultuous and often ridiculous deliberations of the parliament, occupied only with the coalition of Spain and of the empire, he went, in the spring of 1648, to take command of the army of Flanders, resolved to strike a blow and to repeat the victory of Rocroy. Not being able to secure him, the malcontents wished at least to profit by his absence. While Mazarin, for the best interests of the country, was demanding its utmost resources, and turning every thing into money, in order to raise additional troops, the Frondeurs, that is, a few of the great lords, supported by a part of the nobility, aroused the people and the parliament, who had not the least idea of the true situation of affairs; for the parliament was not a political assembly, and the people were simply aware that they were suffering. Mazarin, entirely occupied with the peril of the frontier, did not give enough attention to domestic dangers. He had kept very few troops near him, and one fine morning it happened that the Frondeurs took possession of Paris. The battle of the barricades followed close upon that of Lens. On his return, Condé found royalty humiliated, the parliament triumphing and dictating laws to the crown, the Duke de Beaufort, with whom he once thought of measuring swords in defence of the honor of his sister, freed from his prison of Vincennes, and master of Paris by aid of the populace who idolized him; the fickle and vain Abbé de Retz transformed into a tribune of the people; the Prince de Conti into a captain; M. de Longueville under the guidance of his wife and La Rochefoucauld; and the feeble Duke d’Orleans fancying himself almost a king, because he saw the queen humiliated, and because the Frondeurs, cunningly flattering his self-love, were treating him like a sovereign. Condé, at a glance, saw the situation of affairs and his duty also; and, without any hesitation, he offered his sword to the queen.
He had a stormy explanation with his sister.
It is pretended, that for some time their reciprocal tenderness had suffered more than one interruption; that, in 1645, Madame de Longueville had crossed the loves of her brother and Mademoiselle Du Vigean; that, in 1646, Condé, seeing her too intimate with La Rochefoucauld, had caused her to be called to Munster by her husband: but for this we have only the authority of the Duchess de Nemours,[328] and nothing is less probable. The passion of Condé for Mademoiselle Du Vigean extinguished itself, as we have seen, and as all contemporaries affirm. The attentions of La Rochefoucauld to Madame de Longueville may have preceded the embassy of Munster, but they were not observed until 1647, and it is at the close of this year that Madame de Motteville places them, while attributing them especially to the desire of La Rochefoucauld to share the credit of the sister with the brother. But it is very certain, that as soon as the latter remarked this connection, he disapproved of it entirely; and not succeeding in his effort to rouse his sister from the intoxication of a first love, he passed from the most ardent affection to a bitter discontent. In the autumn of 1648, on his return from Lens, this connection had acquired its greatest strength, and become almost notorious. Madame de Longueville, directed by La Rochefoucauld, did then every thing in the world to gain her brother: she brought to bear upon him all her allurements, all her fondlings; she put into operation every thing which she thought might influence this passionate and fickle heart; she failed. He did not succeed in gaining over her his accustomed ascendency. They quarrelled and separated openly. Madame de Longueville plunged more deeply into the Fronde, and Condé applied himself to giving the new Importants a harsh lesson.
It is not my intention to enter into details. I wish simply to show that the brother and sister, in their opposite conduct, exhibited the same blood and the same audacity.
The queen had retired to Saint-Germain with the young king and all the government. Paris was under the absolute control of the Fronde. In spite of the first president, Molé, the l’Hôpital of the seventeenth century, it stirred up the parliament, by the aid of a few ambitious councillors and by seditious and mischievous inquests. It disposed of a great part of the Parisian clergy, through the coadjutor of the archbishop, Retz, who possessed and exercised all the authority of his uncle. It had continually at its head the two great houses of Vendôme and Lorraine, with two princes of the blood, the Prince de Conti and the Duke de Longueville, followed by a very great number of illustrious families. It gave law in the salons, thanks to a brilliant troupe of pretty women, who drew after them the flower of the young nobility. In short, the army itself was divided. Turenne, with his troops, who were stationed upon the borders of the Rhine until the perfect conclusion of the treaty of Westphalia, obedient to the suggestions of his eldest brother, the Duke de Bouillon, who wished to gain his principality of Sedan, had just raised the standard of revolt, and was threatening to place the court between his own army and that of Paris. Add that the parliament of the capital had sent deputies to all the parliaments of the kingdom, and that it was thus forming a sort of formidable parliamentary league in the face of monarchy. Condé took command of all the troops that remained faithful, and everywhere opposed the insurrection. He wrote himself to the army of the Rhine, which knew him, and which, after the route sustained by Turenne at Mariendal, had been led back by him to victory: these letters, supported by the proceedings of the government, succeeded in arresting the revolt; and Turenne, abandoned by his own soldiers, was obliged to fly to Holland.[329] At ease upon this subject, Condé marched upon Paris, and placed it in siege. Instead of disputing the ground, as he might have done, foot by foot, with the sedition, he allowed it the freest course, sure that the spectacle of licentiousness, which could not fail to appear, would, little by little, restore to loyalty those who had for a moment gone astray. He began by calling, in the name of the queen and through his mother, all his family to Saint-Germain. The Prince de Conti and M. de Longueville did not dare to disobey; but La Rochefoucauld saw that the Fronde was in the greatest peril; he hastened after these two princes; he brought them back to Paris, made the Prince de Conti generalissimo, placing under him the Dukes d’Elbeuf and de Bouillon, who shared authority with the Marshal de La Mothe Houdancourt, governor of Paris.[330] As to Madame de Longueville, she excused herself to the queen and to her mother on the grounds of her delicate situation, which would not permit her to undertake the least fatigue. In fact, Madame de Longueville was in this condition, for the last time, in 1648, when, it must be confessed, her connection with La Rochefoucauld was well known. It was in this condition that, willing to share the perils of her friends, proud also of playing a part and of filling all the trumpets of fame, she acted the warrior as well as she was able. There is, it is said,[331] a portrait representing her as Pallas, just as, a little later, Mademoiselle was represented; her light hair covered with a helmet, and her soft eyes trying to wear a martial look. It is at least certain that she shared all the fatigues of the siege, that she was present at the reviews of the troops, at the parades of the citizen soldiery,[332] and that all the civil and military plans were discussed before her. The memoirs of the times are full, in regard to this, of the most curious details. The hôtel de Longueville was continually filled with officers and generals; nothing was seen there but plumes, helmets, and swords.
Notwithstanding all this, the democratic spirit which had originated the Fronde, was not satisfied: it beheld with displeasure all the forces of Paris in the hands of the brother, of the brother-in-law, and of the sister of him who commanded the siege. Believing very little, and with reason, in the patriotism of the princes, the citizens demanded some sureties from the chiefs who might at any time betray them, and make peace, at their expense, with Saint-Germain. No one seemed to know how to appease this multitude, without which nothing could be done. It was then that Madame de Longueville showed that, if she had forgotten her true duties, she had retained the energy of her race and the intrepidity of the Condés. She took her young children, and, notwithstanding her delicate condition, proceeded to the principal quarter of the insurrection, the hôtel de Ville, placing herself in the hands of the people as a hostage, with all that was most dear to her.[333] Her example was followed by the Duchess de Bouillon.[334] “Imagine,” says Retz, “these two beautiful persons upon the balcony of the hôtel de Ville; more beautiful because they appeared neglected, although they were not. Each held in her arms one of her children, who were as beautiful as their mothers. La Grève was full of people, even to the housetops; the men all raised cries of joy, and the women wept with tenderness.”[335] There, on the night of the 28th of January, 1649, Madame de Longueville gave birth to her last child, a son, who was baptized by Retz in the church Saint-Jean-de Grève, having for its godfather the Provost, for its godmother the Duchess de Bouillon, and who received the name of Charles de Paris;[336] the child of the Fronde, handsome, talented, and brave, who during his life was the troublesome hope, the melancholy joy of his mother, and the cause of her greatest grief in 1672, when he perished, in the passage of the Rhine, by the side of his uncle.[337]
For some time, Condé limited himself to subjecting Paris to a blockade more and more rigorous, and to small attacks, the effect of which was not very encouraging to the citizen troops. The gentry alone, even during their negotiations with Mazarin, fought well. They carried on the war in two modes, by the sword and by epigrams, songs and vaudevilles. The party of Mazarin, as may be conceived, accomplished very little with Madame de Longueville.[338] Condé himself, who had loved her so much, and who, afterwards, will resume for her all his early tenderness, did not hesitate to ridicule her with the accustomed license of his language. He diverted himself very much at the expense of the martial spirit of his brother, the Prince de Conti, and he lampooned his adversaries, among others the Count de Maure,[339] the youngest of the Montemarts, with so much spirit and in such a soldierlike way, that he abused the troops and the citizens, when they dared to venture a few steps from the ramparts of Paris. To enable one to judge of the Fronde, even in this first period of its short, yet too long history, it will be sufficient to say that it had from that moment recourse to the only remaining enemy of France; that these great patriots, who continually reproached Mazarin with being a stranger, applied to Spain, and that an envoy of the archduke and of the Count de Fuensaldaigne was received, and heard in full parliament. Is it astonishing, after this, that in the course of a few years, the young Louis XIV. should, without attracting attention, enter this same parliament equipped for a ride and with whip in hand! Demagoguery produces necessarily tyranny, and, what is more sad, it therewith produces universal applause, bruising the hearts of those alone who had not merited it, and had simply desired a moderate liberty. When the shameful proposition was made to receive the Spanish envoy, the President de Mesmes, turning towards the Prince de Conti, addressed to him these severe words:[340] “Is it possible, sir, that a prince of the blood of France proposes to give audience upon the fleurs de lys to a deputy of the most cruel enemy of the fleurs de lys!”
Condé thought that it was time to bring matters to a close. He rendered more rigorous the blockade, and multiplied the attacks. It was in one of these attacks, at Charenton, February 9, 1649, that he lost his best friend, the younger Coligny, the brave d’Andelot, then Duke de Châtillon, the husband of Isabelle de Montmorency, one of the heroes of Lens, where he served in the capacity of a lieutenant-general, from which office he was about to be elevated to that of marshal; he was, it is true, somewhat easy in his life and manners, but he promised to make for France a captain of the strength of his brother-in-law, Montmorency Boutteville, Marshal de Luxembourg. Condé flew to the spot where Châtillon had just fallen, received him in his arms, and, bathing him with tears, caused him to be transported to Vincennes, where he drew his last breath.[341] All historians agree in their descriptions of the great grief into which Condé was thrown by this death; it animated him still more against the Fronde. At the same time, it showed the court the importance of terminating a war which was sweeping so many brave men from both sides, to the great joy of Spain; and by showing in this place the point of his sword, and by speaking with firmness in that, he soon brought Paris and the parliament to ask peace, and Mazarin to give one which was humiliating to neither. He did not simply obtain a general amnesty; he did more: he represented that, in order to disarm the Fronde, it was necessary to listen to its legitimate complaints, which constituted its strength; and that royalty once replaced above all factions, it was wise to make it the origin of all necessary ameliorations. Hence the royal declaration of the 12th of March, 1649,[342] which annulled all the measures taken by the parliament during the preceding six months, which expelled the envoy of Spain, placed all the civil and military forces in the hands of the king, interdicted, during the remainder of the year 1649, every general assembly of the parliament, but which promised that Paris should see the return of the king, that the parliament should henceforth consult him in regard to extraordinary imposts, and that, if a treaty was made with Spain, the parliament should choose one of its officers to assist in its formation. The declaration said nothing in regard to the nobility, for the very simple reason that there was among them no general cause to be satisfied, and that private interests alone demanded attention.
It is amusing to read, in Madame de Motteville,[343] a piece entitled: “Particular demands of Messieurs the Generals and others interested. They each had, at Saint-Germain, deputies who treated for them. For example, the Duke de Beaufort was not contented with what had been privately offered to him. He asked much, because his heart was still swollen by the pride occasioned by the remembrance of his past favor. He wished the ministry to reward him for his chains and his imprisonment; he spoke proudly; he declared loudly that he would not make terms with Mazarin; and, carrying his resentment farther than others, he rendered the adjustment of his affairs more difficult.... Madame de Montbazon, who was beloved by the Duke de Beaufort, gave hopes that she would at least please him, if she could have what she desired. She obtained moneys and abbeys; and the Duke de Beaufort, who loved her, was pleased that this lady could profit by the inclination which he had for her.”
In short, every one was, or strove to be contented. The Prince de Conti was the first who left Paris to salute the queen. He was presented by Condé, who made him embrace the Cardinal Mazarin. The Prince de Conti, in his turn, presented the Duke de Bouillon, La Rochefoucauld, the Count de Maure, and many others. M. de Longueville, who had gone to Normandy to arouse that province and its parliament, did not delay to return to offer his homage, and it was quite time for the beautiful and proud duchess to show her submission. The scene is worth relating: “I was alone,”[344] says Madame de Motteville, “with the queen, and she did me the honor to speak to me of the embarrassment testified by the Duke de Longueville in saluting her. As I knew that Madame de Longueville was about to enter, I arose, for I was on my knees beside her bed, and placed myself near to the queen, resolved not to stir, but to discover whether this witty princess would be more eloquent than the prince her husband. As she was naturally timid and apt to blush, all her care could not save her from the embarrassment which she experienced on meeting the queen. I was sufficiently near to these two illustrious persons to know what they said; but I heard nothing except Madame, and a few words which she pronounced so low that the queen, who listened attentively to what she would say, could not comprehend a single sentence.”
This same Madame de Motteville, so veracious notwithstanding her benevolence, so difficult in every thing concerning the queen, her mistress, does not hesitate to give to Condé the honor of the peace: “We should not forget to observe here the disinterested firmness of M. the Prince, who, without considering either his family or his friends, acted always for the interests of the king.”[345]
It is true, for the memorable service which he had just rendered, Condé reaped scarcely any benefit; but his noble conduct increased the splendor of his last campaign of 1648; it added to his military titles those of defender and saviour of the throne, of pacificator of the kingdom, of arbiter and enlightened conciliator of parties; it gave the climax to his credit and to his glory. Happy would it have been, if, after having thus terminated this sad war, he had quitted the court and its intrigues, to seek other battle-fields, and to finish another war somewhat more useful and more glorious to France—that which still remained with Spain! Happy also had been Madame de Longueville, if, taught by her own conscience, in her last interview with the queen, and by the shameful dénouement of the miserable intrigues of which she had the secret, instead of still serving as their instrument, she had shown her courage in resisting them; if, after all the proofs of devotion which she had just given to La Rochefoucauld, she had strongly represented to him that, even for his own interest, a different course was necessary; that it would be better to look for fortune and honors by making himself esteemed, than by trying to be feared; that ambition as well as duty showed his place to be by the side of Condé, in the service of the State and of the king; that it was easy for him to obtain in the army some post, where he would have simply to march forward, trusting to his courage and his merit! But even if she had been wise enough to speak thus to La Rochefoucauld, she would not have succeeded in gaining his ear. This restless spirit, this ever-discontented vanity, pursuing by turns the most dissimilar objects, because it selected none within its reach, this indefinable something, as Retz[346] says, which was in La Rochefoucauld, caused him to abandon the great and straight roads, and led him into by-paths full of precipices. The poor woman there follows him, and aids him in his extravagant and guilty designs. Receiving the law instead of giving it, she strives to promote the passion of another by devoting to his service all her coquetry and greatness of soul, her penetration and intrepidity, her attractive sweetness and indomitable energy. She undertakes to mislead Condé, to take away from France the conqueror of Rocroy and of Lens, and to give him to Spain. But let us not anticipate these unhappy times. We have now traced the last glorious days of Condé and the first faults of Madame de Longueville. Let us stop here; let us not enter upon the civil wars about to follow, impious wars, in which the brother and the sister will treasure up long remorse, in which the one will signalize himself by exploits so deplorable, that he will some day veil himself at Chantilly, for the sake of his own glory and of France, and in which the other will display the most brilliant qualities of mind, only to weep for twenty-five years among the Carmelites and at Port-Royal!