THE YOUTH OF MADAME DE LONGUEVILLE.

I shall some day attempt to make known in Madame de Longueville the heroine, or, if you prefer, the adventuress of the Fronde, casting herself amid dangers and intrigues of every kind in order to serve the interests and the passions of another. I shall afterwards show her overcome, disabused, her soul at once wounded and bereaved, turning its regards towards the only side that cannot deceive her, towards duty and God. At present, I would recount her life before the Fronde, and even before the unequal marriage imposed upon her by her family, the source, indeed, of her errors and her misfortunes. I would paint the youth of Madame de Longueville, show Mademoiselle de Bourbon in her days of innocent splendor, yet bearing in herself all the seeds of a stormy future; born in a prison, and leaving it to mount almost upon the steps of a throne; surrounded early by the most gloomy spectacles, with all the felicities of life, beautiful and intellectual; proud and tender, ardent and melancholy, wishing to bury herself at fifteen in a cloister, and, once thrown, in spite of herself, into the world, allowing herself there to be intoxicated with her own success; becoming the ornament of the court of Louis XIII. and of the hôtel de Rambouillet, eclipsing the most accomplished beauties by a peculiar sweetness and a ravishing languor; giving ear to two proposals, but still pure and free; and advancing, apparently, towards the most beautiful destiny, under the wing of a mother like Charlotte de Montmorency, by the side of a brother like the Duke d’Enghien.

I agree that this picture of a brilliant but fortunate youth, without adventures and without blemishes, may seem somewhat tame to readers accustomed to the great bustle and the sudden turns of fortune in fashionable romances. In order to indemnify them, I shall place with this picture another more highly colored. After the young girl growing up innocently between religion and the muses, as heretofore described, I shall exhibit the young woman, rushing, in her turn, into the arena of gallantry, scattering around her conquests and quarrels, and becoming the subject of the most famous of the great duels which, during so many years, reddened the Place-Royale, and were not arrested even before the implacable axe of Richelieu. These will be scenes sufficiently animated; but, while waiting for the tragi-comedy, endure, a little while, the pastoral. It was then a necessary interlude, and I beg you to assume for a moment with me the taste and the manners of the seventeenth century.

Anne Geneviève de Bourbon was born August 28, 1619, in the tower of Vincennes, where her father and mother had been prisoners for three years.

Her mother was Charlotte Marguerite de Montmorency, granddaughter of the high constable, and, according to unanimous testimonies, the most beautiful person of her times. Dazzling in her early youth, she preserved even in advanced age a remarkable beauty. In addition to her portraits, we have two faithful descriptions, one by Cardinal Bentivoglio, who knew her and loved her, it is said, at Brussels, where he was apostolic nuncio in 1609, when she was nearly sixteen years of age; the other, by the hand of Madame de Motteville, who has portrayed her as she saw her later at the court of Queen Anne. “She had a complexion,” says Bentivoglio,⁠[71] “of extraordinary whiteness, eyes and features full of charm; she was graceful in gestures and manner of speaking; and all her different qualities heightened each other, because she added to them none of the affectations of which women are accustomed to avail themselves.” Madame de Motteville thus expresses herself:⁠[72] “Among the princesses, she who was first had also the most beauty; and, though not young, she still caused admiration in those who saw her.... I wish to testify that her beauty was still great, when, in my infancy, I was at court, and that it endured to the end of her life. We praised her during the regency of the queen, at fifty years of age, and we praised her without flattery. Her complexion was fair; she had blue and perfectly beautiful eyes. Her mien was lofty and full of majesty, and her whole person, which was in every way agreeable, always pleased, except when she proudly and sharply opposed those who dared to displease her.” When, at fifteen years of age, she appeared at the court of Henry IV., she turned the head of the old king. He married her to his nephew, the Prince de Condé, in the hope of finding him a convenient husband; but he, proud and amorous, was clearly of the opinion that he had married the beautiful Charlotte for himself; and, seeing the king more and more inflamed, he found no other means of extricating himself from his difficult position, than by taking his wife and flying with her to Brussels. We know all the follies that Henry IV. then committed, and to what extremities he was about to go when he was assassinated, in 1610.⁠[73]

Henri de Bourbon, Prince de Condé, was no ordinary man. He owed much to Henry IV., and he expected much from him; but he had not the courage to peril the fortune of his house by voluntarily exiling himself; and later he compromised himself anew by his resistance to the tyrannical conduct of Marshal d’Ancre, under the regency of Marie de Médicis. Arrested in 1616, he did not leave his prison until the end of 1619, and from that time he no longer thought of any thing but his fortune. Born Protestant, he had embraced Catholicism through policy, after the example of Henry IV. His wife had brought to him a great part of the immense riches of the Montmorencys. He submitted himself to Luynes, and served Richelieu. He forced his son, the Duke d’Enghien, to espouse a niece of the all-powerful cardinal, who had just decapitated his brother-in-law. As avaricious as ambitious, he amassed property and heaped up honors. At the death of Richelieu, he became the chief of the council, and displayed in that difficult conjuncture a fortunate mixture of prudence and firmness. He sustained the regency of Anne of Austria, and saved France from the first perils of the long minority of Louis XIV. He merits a place in the gratitude of his country, for having given to it twice, as it were, the great Condé, by imposing upon that nature of fire—a nature wholly made for war, the severest military education that ever prince received, and by preparing him to take, at twenty-one years of age, the command in chief of the army, on which rested, in 1643, the destinies of France.

When Henri de Bourbon, who was called M. the Prince, was arrested, he preferred but one petition, and that was dictated by jealousy and love; he demanded that his wife might be allowed to share his prison. Charlotte de Montmorency was scarcely twenty-one years of age; she did not love her husband, and they did not live agreeably together; but, without hesitation, she besought the king in person to permit her to imprison herself with her husband, accepting the condition of remaining a prisoner as long as he should be the same. This captivity, at first very hard at the Bastile, then a little less rigorous at Vincennes, continued three years. The young princess was often ill; she was several times unfortunately the mother of untimely children.⁠[74] Finally, August 28, 1619, between midnight and one o’clock, she gave to the world Anne Geneviève. It seems as if the birth of this child brought good fortune to her parents; for two months had not passed away, when the Prince de Condé left prison with his wife and daughter, and resumed his rank and all his honors.

Anne Geneviève passed very soon from the tower of Vincennes to the hôtel de Condé. There, two years afterwards, September 2, 1621, was born the brother, who was destined to give such lustre to the name of Condé, Louis, Duke d’Enghien; and later, in 1629, another brother still, Armand, Prince de Conti. This last was not wanting in spirit; but he was feeble in body, and even considerably deformed. He was destined for the Church. He pursued his studies at the college of Clermont, with the Jesuits, in company with Molière, and studied theology at Bourges, under Father Deschamps. He made his appearance in the world in the early part of 1647, a little previous to the Fronde. The Duke d’Enghien, charged with sustaining the greatness of his house, was brought up by his father with the masculine tenderness already spoken of, the fruits of which have been too great to allow us to show them in a single moment.

M. the Prince gave no governor to his son; he chose to direct his education himself, calling to his aid two gentlemen, one for exercises of the body, the other for those of the mind. The young duke pursued his studies, under the Jesuits of Bourges, with the greatest success. He maintained there, with a certain éclat, philosophical theses. He learned the principles of law under the celebrated Doctor Edmond Mérille. He studied history and mathematics, without neglecting the Italian, dancing, boxing, horsemanship, and the chase. On his return to Paris, he saw again his sister, and was charmed with her grace and spirit: he bound himself to her in a most tender friendship, which suffered some changes, but resisted all trials, and, after the passionate age, became as firm as at first it had been ardent. At the hôtel de Condé, the Duke d’Enghien learned, in the company of his sister and his mother, politeness, elegant manners, and gallantry. His father placed him at the academy, under a renowned master, to whom he gave absolute authority over him. Louis de Bourbon was there treated as severely as a simple gentleman. He had at the academy the same success as at college, which he left, the most capable of all those that were there with him. Let us listen to the words of Lenet,⁠[75] the reliable witness of all that he recounts:

“No one had yet seen a prince of the blood brought up and instructed in that common manner; nor had any one seen a prince who, in so short a time, and in such extreme youth, exhibited so much knowledge, so much experience, and so much address in every thing. The prince, his father, skilful and enlightened in all matters, believed that in the academy he would be less diverted from that occupation, so necessary to a young man of birth, than in the hôtel. He also thought that those lords and gentlemen who were there, and who had entered it in order to have the honor of his company, would be servants and friends, who would attach themselves to his person and his fortune. During all those days devoted to work, nothing could divert his mind. The whole court admired his air and his grace in skilfully managing a horse, in running at the ring, in dancing and fencing. The king himself compelled him, from time to time, to give an account of his conduct, and often praised the profound judgment of the prince his father in every thing, and particularly in the education of the duke his son, saying to everybody that in this he wished to imitate him, and to have Monsieur the Dauphin instructed and brought up in the same manner.”...

... “After the young duke had remained at this excellent school the time necessary to perfect himself, as he did, he left it; and after having been some months at court and among the ladies, where, in the beginning, he exhibited that noble and gallant air so universally admired, the prince his father persuaded the king and Cardinal Richelieu—that powerful, skilled, and authoritative minister—to send him into his own government of Burgundy, with letters-patent, to command there in his absence.”...

... “The troops often traversed Burgundy, and frequently made it their winter-quarters. There the young prince began to learn the manner of properly establishing and governing them, that is, of giving subsistence to the troops without ruining the places where they sojourned. He learned how to mark out lines of march and places of bivouac, and to make soldiers live with order and discipline. He received the complaints of all, and caused justice to be done them. He found a manner of satisfying the soldiers and the people. He often received orders from the king, and letters from the ministers; he was punctual in replying to them; and the court, like the province, saw with astonishment his application to business. He entered the parliament when important subjects rendered his presence necessary, or when the discussion of some interesting question excited his curiosity. The intendant of justice completed nothing without rendering an account of it to him. He began from that moment, whatever might be his confidence in his secretaries, to sign no order, no letters, which he had not previously commanded, which he had not read from end to end.... These great and serious occupations did not interfere with his amusements, and his pleasures were no obstacle to his studies. He found days and hours for all things. He went to the chase, and was among the best at shooting on the wing; he gave balls to the ladies; he looked after the management of his servants; he danced; he continued to learn languages and read history; he applied himself to mathematics, and especially to geometry and fortifications; he planned and raised a fort of four bastions, a league from Dijon, in the plain of Bloye; and such was his eagerness to see it completed and in readiness for attack and defence—as was the case several times with the young lords and gentlemen who rendered themselves assiduous about him—that he had his table removed thither, and took there most of his meals.”

Thus prepared, the Duke d’Enghien went, during the summer of 1640, to serve, in the capacity of volunteer, in the army of Marshal de La Meilleraye. The marshal wished to take his orders, and to have the appearance at least of depending on him. The young duke firmly refused, saying that he had come to learn his trade, and wished to fulfil all the functions of a volunteer, without regard to his rank. In one of the first engagements, La Ferté-Seneterre was wounded, and had his horse killed by a cannon-shot. The Duke d’Enghien was so near him, that the blood of the horse covered his face. At the siege of Arras, he was everywhere seen at the head of the volunteers. He was found at all the sallies made by the besieged. He rarely left the trench; often slept there, and had his food brought there. Three engagements took place during this siege. The young duke distinguished himself in all. “The great heart which he showed upon these occasions,” says Lenet;⁠[76] “the obliging manner with which he treated every one; the liberality with which he assisted friends who were in need, wounded officers and soldiers; the secrecy which he observed in rendering them assistance, made the clear-sighted predict that he would some day be one of the greatest captains of the world.”

It was in the winter of 1641, that he was compelled to espouse Mademoiselle de Brézé, niece of Richelieu. The Duke d’Enghien did every thing in his power to shun an alliance which was repugnant to his heart as well as to his ambition. He had cast his eyes upon Mademoiselle, then the only daughter of the Duke of Orleans, beautiful, young, rich, and intellectual. He had already allowed his soul to be penetrated with a particular sentiment for another person, whom he at length adored. He yielded only after a long resistance, protesting officially and before a notary, that he gave way to force and to the deference that he owed to the will of his father. He fell sick, and was even in danger, when, suddenly, the report was spread abroad that the campaign was about to be opened, and that the army of Marshal de La Meilleraye was marching into Flanders, to attack the stronghold of Aire. This news reached him when still so feeble that he could scarcely quit his bed. “He sets out immediately,” says Lenet.⁠[77] “The prayers of his family, the tears of his mistress, the command of the king himself are not able to arrest him. He learns on his march, being at Abbeville, that the cardinal was approaching from the besieged place in order to attack the lines. He quits his coach, mounts a horse at the same hour with the Duke de Nemours, his intimate friend, a handsome prince, full of spirit and courage, whom death took from him soon after.⁠[78] He passes in the night by Hesdin, so near the enemy that one might almost say that he passed through their army, and arrives fortunately in the camp, where he is received with testimonies of joy that it would be difficult to express. This fatigue, which might have been expected to cause a relapse in a feeble and reduced convalescent, gives to him new strength, and from that moment he is seen exposing himself to all the perils of war. He often sleeps in the trench; he eats there; and there is no work, however advanced, where he is not seen taking part like a simple soldier.... At the siege of Bapaume, the duke wished to end the campaign as he had commenced it; that is, by going everywhere, and incurring all the hazards and all the perils of the trench and advance works. It was not possible for him to leave the army as long as he thought there was any thing of importance to undertake.”

Some time after, he followed the Cardinal de Richelieu and the king to the siege of Perpignan. He was there wounded, and there covered with glory; so that no one was astonished when, in 1643, after the death of Richelieu, Louis XIII., also near his death, at the same time that he established the Prince de Condé chief of council, named the Duke d’Enghien Generalissimo of the principal army of France, destined to defend the frontier of Flanders, menaced by a powerful Spanish army. The Duke d’Enghien was not twenty-two years of age. A month afterwards he gained the battle of Rocroy, soon to be followed by those of Friburgh, Nortlingen, and Lens.

Such was the brother. The sister had not disregarded the examples of her house, but on the contrary had rapidly attained, by her wit and her beauty, a renown sufficiently great.

From her infancy, great lessons had never been wanting to her.

She was eight years of age in 1627, when one of the near relatives of her mother, Montmorency-Boutteville, was beheaded in the Place de Grève, for having fought a duel in spite of the edict of the king, leaving, under the protection of Madame the Princess, his widow and three young children,—Marie-Louise, afterwards Marchioness de Valençay; Isabelle-Angélique, afterwards Duchess de Châtillon; and François-Henri de Montmorency, born after the death of his father, who became the Duke Marshal de Luxembourg, one of the most faithful friends and best lieutenants of Condé.

She was thirteen in 1632, when the own brother of her mother, the Duke de Montmorency, ascended the scaffold at Toulouse for having revolted against the king, or rather against Richelieu, upon the uncertain faith of Gaston, Duke of Orleans. This terrible catastrophe, which resounded from one end of France to the other, filled the hôtel de Condé with mourning, and made a profound impression upon the delicate and proud soul of Mademoiselle de Bourbon. She was so troubled by it, that her grief, adding new ardor to the piety in which she had been nourished, caused her to think seriously of quitting the world and becoming a Carmelite in the great convent of the Rue Saint-Jacques.

What religious education had Mademoiselle de Bourbon received, then, that such a thought should come to her at thirteen or fourteen years of age? How did she know the convent of the Carmelites—what ties had she already formed there, which attracted her so powerfully?

It was the time when the religious spirit, after having gone astray in the civil wars, and produced the great crimes and the great virtues of the League, refined, but not enfeebled, by the Edict of Nantes and the policy of Henry IV., found in peace new strength, and covered France, no longer with inimical parties armed against each other, but with pious institutions, in which weary souls were eager to seek an asylum. Everywhere the ancient orders were reformed, and new orders were founded. Richelieu courageously undertook the reformation of the clergy, created seminaries, and above these, as their model and tribunal, raised the Sorbonne. Bérulle instituted the Oratoire, César de Bus the Doctrine chrétienne. The Jesuits, who sprang up in the middle of the sixteenth century, and who spread themselves so rapidly over France, at first decried and even banished for their participation in culpable excesses, little by little regained favor under the protection of the immense services which their heroic skill daily rendered, beyond the ocean, to Christianity and civilization. The order of Saint Benedict engaged in a salutary reform, and the Benedictines of Saint-Maur gave the prelude to their gigantic works. But who can enumerate the fine institutions, designed for women, that were founded on every hand by Christianity, during the first half of the seventeenth century? The two most illustrious, after reformed Port-Royal, are the Sisters of Charity about 1640, and the Carmelites in 1602.

The first convent of the Carmelites was established at Paris, in the Faubourg Saint-Jacques, under the auspices and by the munificence of that house of Longueville, into which Mademoiselle de Bourbon was destined to enter. Her mother, Madame the Princess, was one of the benefactresses of the rising institution. There she had an apartment, where she often retreated for a long time. At an early period, she thither led her daughter, and there filled her soul with the principles and the devotional habits of the times. Mademoiselle de Bourbon grew up in the shade of the holy monastery. There she beheld the reign of virtue, goodness, concord, peace, silence: there she was loved, and there she was called. It is, then, natural that at the first sight of the tempests which menaced all the great things of the earth, and struck the most illustrious members of her own family, she should think of forestalling her destiny, and seek a shelter under the humble roof of the Carmelites. She had there sweet and noble friendships, which she never abandoned. We possess a multitude of letters, addressed by her to the Carmelites of the convent of the Rue Saint-Jacques, at all the epochs of her life, before, during, and after the Fronde. We feel that they were written to persons who had her entire confidence and whole soul. But what were those persons? She calls them sometimes the Mother Prioress, sometimes the Mother Sub-prioress, Sister Marthe, Sister Anne-Marie, Mother Marie-Madeleine, Mother Agnès, etc. One could wish to pierce the veil that covers the family names of all these nuns. We doubt much whether the friends of Mademoiselle de Bourbon and Madame de Longueville could have been common creatures; and as we know that many women of the first quality and of noblest heart found a refuge among the Carmelites, as the name of Sister Louise de La Miséricorde has become the popular symbol of disinterested and unfortunate love, a curiosity, somewhat profane but very natural, leads us to inquire what these nuns, so dear to the sister of the great Condé, were in the world.

Hitherto we have been reduced to conjectures, suggested to us by bringing together different passages from Madame de Sévigné, Madame de Motteville, and Mademoiselle. The French Carmelites have no history. Faithful to their vow of obscurity, these worthy daughters of Saint Theresa have passed away without leaving any traces of themselves behind. As during their life, an impenetrable cloister shut them out from all eyes, and buried them in advance, so the genius of their order seems to have taken care to annihilate them in the memory of men. At long intervals have appeared a few memoirs of the Carmelites, consecrated to edification, filled with holy maxims, void of human facts, and almost with out dates. At the beginning of this century, a priest, M. Boucher, in a new Life of the blessed Sister Marie, of the Incarnation, Madame Acarie, Foundress of the reformed Carmelites of France,⁠[79] has, for the first time, thrown a little light upon the origin of that holy house, presenting, or rather withholding, in the notes of his work, a few short biographies of the principal nuns. The national library, so rich in manuscripts of every kind, possesses none that comes from the Carmelites of the Faubourg Saint-Jacques, or that relates to them. The general Archives have inherited all their principal titles. We have studied them sufficiently to give the assurance that a record⁠[80] of the greatest interest might be formed of them. Among other precious pieces, we may designate an inventory of paintings, by different celebrated masters,⁠[81] statues,⁠[82] and objects of art which the liberal and generous piety of the faithful of every rank had, during two centuries, accumulated for the Carmelites, and which were again noticed in 1790. But there were other treasures which we had wished to discover—we desired an exact list of all the nuns of that convent during the seventeenth century, with their religious and their family names, the date of their profession and that of their death. We placed a particular value upon knowing the succession of prioresses who had, by turns, governed the convent, spoken or written in its name. It was conceived, in fact, that without these two documents, the friendships of Mademoiselle de Bourbon and Madame de Longueville would remain, for us, almost impenetrable.

Light has come to us from a quarter where we had not, at first, sought for it.

In the ruins of the convent of the Faubourg Saint-Jacques, spared by the revolutionary tempest, yet barely standing, some poor nuns, having escaped a stupid persecution, have been trying, for fifty years past, to collect the traditions of the Carmelites, and they continue it in obscurity, prayer, and toil:

Weary of uselessly searching archives and libraries, I addressed myself to these good nuns, and they responded to me with the most graceful kindness. The two documents that I needed were sent to me, with manuscript annals, and a collection of biographies ample and full of details. Thanks to these precious communications, it is easy to make out the history of the Carmelites of the Faubourg Saint-Jacques. Under the pious designations and mystic symbols of Carmel, we recognize more than one person who has already been met in the memoirs of the times. Instead of beings in some sort abstract and anonymous, we have before us animated and living creatures, whose regards were doubtless finally directed towards heaven, not to be turned thence, who, nevertheless, for a longer or shorter period, inhabited the earth, knew our sentiments, felt our weaknesses, and, always remaining pure, sometimes felt sorely tempted, and shared our humanity. Some day we shall deliver to the public the key that has been lent us, which will give the secret of many mysterious things in the intimate history of the manners of the seventeenth century. Here we shall allow ourselves only a few rapid sketches that can throw light upon the obscure part of the youth and of the whole life of Madame de Longueville.

Saint Theresa, who died in 1582, had refounded in Spain the ancient and degenerate order of Carmel. The saintly renown of the new Carmelites of Spain spread itself rapidly in Italy and France. An admirable woman, Madame Acarie, afterwards Sister Mary of the Incarnation, conceived the idea of sending to Spain for some disciples of Saint Theresa, and of establishing them at Paris in the Faubourg Saint-Jacques. Such was the origin of the first convent of French Carmelites.

There are two Princesses de Longueville who obtained from Henri IV., in 1602,⁠[83] the necessary letters-patent, Catherine and Marguerite d’Orleans, daughters of Henri, Duke de Longueville, who died unmarried,—Marguerite in 1615, Catherine in 1638, both buried in the convent whose second founders they were called, the title of first founder having been reserved for Marie de Médicis. And when, in 1617, the young institution was already strong enough to need another house at Paris, it was again a Princess de Longueville who defrayed the expense of the new establishment, in the Rue Chapon,⁠[84] to wit, the sister-in-law of Marguerite and of Catherine,⁠[85] the widow of their brother, Henri d’Orleans, first of the name, and the mother of Henri II., who espoused Mademoiselle de Bourbon. Madame the Princess de Condé was not backward in bestowing her benefits on the convent of the Rue Saint-Jacques, and she became especially attached to it. So it may be said that Mademoiselle de Bourbon was, in advance, consecrated in every way to the Carmelites.

Let us endeavor to represent what was, in the seventeenth century, the convent of the Carmelites, where Mademoiselle de Bourbon wished to conceal her life, where Madame de Longueville returned to die. It was situated in the street of the Faubourg Saint-Jacques, directly opposite to Val-de-Grâce. It extended from the Rue Saint-Jacques to the Rue d’Enfer, and finally embraced, with all its dependencies, the vast space which, from the garden and inclosure of the Oratorian seminary of Saint-Magloire, at present the Sourds-Muets, ascends to the buildings now occupied in the Rue Saint-Jacques and in the Rue d’Enfer, by the establishment called the brew-house of Luxembourg. There were two entrances, one from the Rue Saint-Jacques, the other from the Rue d’Enfer. The entrance from the Rue d’Enfer still exists, at No. 67, and is now what it was two centuries ago. It led into the existing court, which served as a public passage to the Rue Saint-Jacques. Almost opposite, a little to the right, was the church; a little farther to the right, on the grounds where the wholly new street of Val-de-Grâce has been opened, were vast gardens, with numerous chapels, the monastery itself, and, entirely upon the Rue d’Enfer, the infirmary and the apartments reserved for particular persons. On the other side, to the left, towards Saint-Magloire, were the different main-houses of the monastery and their dependents.⁠[86]

But the monastery had thus increased only with time.

The first seat of the community had been the ancient priory of Nôtre-Dame-des-Champs, whose church was of the time of Hugh Capet, and, according to ancient tradition, was established upon the ruins of a temple of Ceres, where Saint Denis had already taken refuge when he preached the gospel at Paris. At least, excavations made in 1630, have brought to light some remains of pagan antiquity. There was, therefore, already some mystery about the new establishment at the beginning of the seventeenth century.⁠[87]

If it was the Spanish Carmelites who founded the convent of the Rue Saint-Jacques, and established there the spirit and rule of Saint Theresa, it must be remembered that, those nuns having left France in 1618, to return to Spain, or to end their days in Belgium in the monasteries of their order, it was the French genius which early took possession of the convent of the Rue Saint-Jacques, and made it what it became.

In the number of the prioresses who governed it, may be distinguished four, who aided the rising congregation to advance rapidly towards the perfection which it attained at the close of the seventeenth century. These were Mademoiselle de Fontaines, the Mother Madeleine de Saint-Joseph; the Marchioness de Bréauté, Marie de Jésus; Mademoiselle Lancri de Bains, Marie-Madeleine; and Mademoiselle Bellefonds, the Mother Agnès de Jésus-Maria. Mademoiselle de Bourbon knew them all, and some of them were her friends.

Mademoiselle de Fontaines was the first French head-prioress. She was of an excellent family of Touraine. Her father had been ambassador to Flanders, and her mother was sister to the wife of Sillery the chancellor. It was the Cardinal de Bérulle who, meeting her at Tours, and seeing her there young and already filled with holy thoughts, pointed out to her the Carmelites of the Rue Saint-Jacques as the way to the perfection after which she aspired. She did not walk thither, but ran, as Madame Acarie says of her. And yet she loved her family so tenderly that she felt a poignant grief in leaving it, and, as she herself said at a subsequent period, the coach that took her to the Carmelites seemed to her like a car that carries criminals to punishment. Touched by her example, two of her sisters followed her to the Carmelites.⁠[88] She joined them at twenty-six years of age. For some time she had before her the Spanish mothers, and from them caught that holy ardor which excites and vivifies, and can alone surmount the difficult commencements of every great establishment. She was constantly faithful to the device of Saint Theresa: Endure or die. She is the Saint Theresa of France. The nun who succeeded her has thus painted the effects of the government of Mother Madeleine de Saint-Joseph: “When she was prioress, I can truly say the monastery resembled a paradise, so much fervor and desire for perfection of heart was seen. The question was who should be the most humble, the most penitent, the most subdued, the most collected, the most meditative, the most solitary, the most charitable; in brief, who should be most conformed to our Lord Jesus Christ; and all this, too, with a peace, an innocence, a beatitude, and an elevation to God that surpass the power of expression. This servant of God was among us like a torch that gave us light, like a fire that warmed us, a living rule by whose example we could learn how to become saints.” Some admirable words of hers have been preserved. We will cite but a single sentence: “Yes,” said she to her daughters, who for the most part were of high rank, “yes, we are of a very good house; we are daughters of a king, sisters of a king, spouses of a king; for we are the daughters of the Father Eternal, the sisters of Christ, and the spouses of the Holy Spirit.” She had one of those great hearts that make heroes of every kind, and which are the primary source of miracles. She therefore performed miracles like Saint Theresa: like her she had ecstasies and visions. It was the heart in her that warmed the imagination, and, in fact, the heart is the sacred source of all great things. What⁠[89] philosophy would interpose here its miserable objections! Be on your guard; those objections would turn against Socrates and his demon, as well as against the good angel of Mother Madeleine de Saint-Joseph. That good angel was at least the inner vision, the secret and truly marvellous voice of a great soul.

Mother Madeleine de Saint-Joseph was born in 1578, entered the convent in 1604, pronounced her vows in 1605, and died in 1637.⁠[90]

Marie de Jésus is a nun of a wholly different character.

Charlotte de Sancy was daughter of Nicolas de Harlay, Lord de Sancy, who was under Henri IV. ambassador, superintendent of the finances, and colonel of the Swiss. The two sons of Harlay de Sancy, after having occupied important positions, retired to the Oratoire. His first daughter was married to M. d’Alincourt, grandfather of Duke de Villeroy; the second, Charlotte, was married to the Marquis de Bréauté. Having remained a widow twenty-one years—beautiful,⁠[91] spirituelle, of a charming temper, she was the delight of her family, and one of the ornaments of the court of Henri IV. Two circumstances conspired to snatch her from the pleasures that surrounded her. One day, at Spa, while dancing at a ball during a storm, she heard a clap of thunder, and wished to retire. The gentleman who was her partner laughed at her fright, and retained her. At the same instant the thunder again sounded, and the man by her side was struck dead. Some time afterwards she met with the writings of Saint Theresa, read them, and was so touched by them, that, young as she was, she resolved at once to quit the world. She entered among the Carmelites, and took the veil, under the name of Marie de Jésus, the same year with Mademoiselle de Fontaines. She preserved in the cloister that winning gentleness which, in the world, added to the effect of her beauty, and subjected to her all hearts. She was adored by her new companions, as she had been at the court. Her particular gift was, with sweetness and humility, a boundless charity, which was especially exercised in the salvation of souls. She excelled in the art of bringing sinners to God. These were her miracles. Here is one of them that the tradition of the Carmelites has preserved for us:⁠[92]

A man of merit, who possessed goods and important occupations, formed a culpable connection. His mother was in distress about it, and often went to pour her grief into the bosom of her daughter, a nun at the convent of the Rue Saint-Jacques. One day when she was in the parlor, Marie de Jésus was inspired to go to her and console her. She gave her Saint Augustine’s Confessions and Saint Theresa’s Way to Perfection, asking her to make her son promise to read them for a quarter of a hour only every morning. He made the promise, but did not keep it for eight days. One night, feeling urged to keep his word, he arose and read some pages of these books. As he continued reading, God enlightened him, and so touched him, that he shed tears for several hours, troubled and agitated lest he should lose the Holy Spirit. Finally he became calm, and, during several nights, was penetrated, and, as it were, inundated with light in regard to the perfection of God. One morning, at the break of day, he drove to the Place de Grenelle with the person who held him captive. There he announced to her that he should never see her again. He left her his carriage to drive where she wished. Returning home on foot, he went to the Carmelites to visit his sister, whom he had not seen for many years. She called Marie de Jésus, and said to her brother: Behold your benefactress! Marie de Jésus had not ceased to pray for him. She lavished upon him the most affectionate counsels, which she renewed regularly once a week for several years. He followed them with great docility, and made such progress in virtue, that, giving up his charge, and renouncing all the pleasures of life, he retired into a country-place, lived there in penitence, and died in the love of God.

Marie de Jésus was loved much by Anne of Austria, who often went to see her, accompanied by Louis XIV. and his brother the Duke d’Anjou. She contributed largely to the aggrandizement and embellishment of the monastery, which lost her in 1652.

In the year 1620, the Carmelites acquired a worthy sister in one of the maids of honor of Queen Marie de Médicis, Mademoiselle Marie Lancri de Bains. In order to show what Mademoiselle de Bains was, we shall avail ourselves of a manuscript life, composed by a Carmelite who knew her perfectly well.⁠[93]

“Madame de Bains had her daughter brought up among the Ursulines: she removed her from their charge at the age of twelve years, to place her at court, hoping that her beauty and acquirements might procure for her an establishment, little reflecting upon the perils to which she exposed her by leaving her to herself in a place so full of dangers. But God, who had already appropriated this soul, kept watch over her, and preserved her, without a stain, in the midst of that court. Her virtue was there admired as much as her perfect beauty; her portrait passed even into foreign lands, where the most famous painters emulously drew it, in order to exhibit the skill of their pencil. She afterwards declared that until the age of fifteen years, she never reflected upon this advantage, but that she then saw herself with the same eyes as the public. The attractions of her person, and still more her sweetness and modesty, won the esteem and affection of the queen. Mademoiselle de Bains never gloried in any thing but in doing good to the unfortunate. This generosity had its source in a noble, tender, constant heart, united with a mind solid, judicious, capable of great things; and it seemed as if the Creator had been pleased to prepare in this masterpiece of nature the triumph of grace. So many amiable qualities attracted the attention of the whole court. A number of lords, as the Duke de Bellegarde, the Marshal de Saint-Luc, etc., sued for an alliance so desirable. But He who had elected her from all eternity for his bride, did not allow that heart, worthy of himself alone, to be shared by any creature. Divine Providence continued to bring upon her at the same time some mortification (we are ignorant of its nature), which began to open her eyes, and to give her some slight idea of a calling for the religious life.”

Mademoiselle de Bains never accompanied the Queen Marie de Médicis to the Carmelites, without wishing to remain there. A sickness which she had at eighteen years of age, redoubled her fervor, but she was opposed by the efforts of the whole court to retain her, especially by the entreaties and tears of her mother. When Mademoiselle de Bains threw herself among the Carmelites, at scarcely twenty years of age, her mother followed her thither. “She conducted her daughter to the bottom of the garden, and there, during three whole hours, employed all the persuasives that tenderest love could suggest. After having exhausted endearments, and tried to move her conscience by telling her that it was her duty to help her widowed mother in her old age, finally, getting beside herself, she fell at the feet of her daughter, drowned in tears. What a trial for Mademoiselle de Bains, who loved that tender mother as much as she was loved by her! Her recourse to God enabled her to come out victorious from that first contest, which was not the last, for, during the entire period of her novitiate, Madame her mother often returned to the charge.”

For some time the convent of the Rue Saint-Jacques was besieged by noblemen of the first rank, who went to offer their alliance to the beautiful novice. Her constancy was not in the least shaken, and she would have refused all these visits if the mother prioress had not, in order to prove her, constrained her to receive them. She pronounced her vows in 1620, under the name of Marie-Madeleine de Jésus.

Her beauty must have had something very extraordinary in it, to judge by the following anecdote, related by the pious author of whom we avail ourselves: “Humility being the foundation of every spiritual edifice, Sister Marie-Madeleine de Jésus seized with avidity every means of destroying, in her own eyes and in the eyes of others, the gifts of nature and of grace with which God had favored her. She was not contented with refusing the visits of the great, as well as of all her friends, but desirous of being forgotten, and of removing from their sight every thing that might remind them of her, she endeavored, under different pretexts, to recall her portraits from their hands, in order to burn them. One of these portraits having been sent to Mother Madeleine Saint-Joseph, she amused herself by showing it to the assembled community. At the sight of it all the nuns, not recognizing it at first, were touched, and besought God not to leave in the world that masterpiece of nature, worthy of himself alone, but to bestow her upon Carmel. One of them, Marie de Saint-Theresa, daughter of Madame Acarie, offered herself to God, to suffer every thing that it might please him to inflict in return for such a grace. Then Mother Madeleine de Saint-Joseph, smiling and touching her on the shoulder, told her that the goodness of God had anticipated her desires, that the person for whom she trembled was already in the order, and that it was only necessary to ask for her perseverance.”⁠[94]

Sister Marie-Madeleine passed rapidly through all the grades of the order. Elected prioress in 1635, and often re-elected, she witnessed, in 1637, the death of the venerable Mother Madeleine de Saint-Joseph, in 1652 the death of Mother Marie de Jésus, and successively the death of the head visitors of the order and of the instructors of the holy monastery.⁠[95] The wars of the Fronde were to her a perilous trial, wherein she often found herself sharing danger with Queen Anne and the Princess de Condé, the two protectresses of the convent. She was obliged to quit for some time the house in the Rue Saint-Jacques, which was too much exposed to the soldiery, to send a part of the community to Pontoise, and to take the rest to the Rue Chapon. It required great firmness to maintain religious discipline in the midst of such trouble. Through fear of the least abatement, she continually applied herself to renew the fervor of the primitive spirit in the souls committed to her charge. It is said that she then spoke to her daughters with words of fire, which filled them with a holy emulation. She displayed usually a sweet and majestic cheerfulness, a charming affability, with an intrepidity that was proof against every trial when the question was concerning the interests of God, of those of the order, or of the salvation of souls. On such occasions, says our manuscript, without being surprised or arrested, she would have overcome a world of opposition, and sacrificed her own life. So much virtue united with so much sensibility, had acquired for her such an ascendancy over the hearts and minds of her daughters, that one of them wrote that if she had undertaken to persuade them that white was black and day night, they would have believed her, so thoroughly were they convinced that she could not be deceived. In fine, she possessed in the highest degree the gift of governing. It was to her that so many persons of highest birth, wounded or repentant hearts, intrusted themselves, seeking refuge among the Carmelites.

Marie-Madeleine, born in 1598, lived a long time, and died in 1679, the same year with Madame de Longueville. She had found an admirable assistant in Mademoiselle de Bellefonds.

Judith de Bellefonds was born in 1611. Her father, governor of Caen, was the grandfather of the marshal of that name. Her mother was the sister of the wife of Marshal de Saint-Géran, and she herself was sister to the Marchioness de Villars, mother of the vanquisher of Denain, celebrated for graces of mind.⁠[96] She was as handsome⁠[97] as her mother, as spirituelle as her sister, and she possessed all the requisites for pleasing. She had the greatest success at the court of Queen Marie de Médicis. Going with her to the Carmelites, she met Madame de Bréauté, Marie de Jésus, who, like her, had known all the attractions of the world, and by her entreaties and her example persuaded her to renounce it, and to give herself to God alone. Mademoiselle de Bellefonds joined the Carmelites in 1629, at seventeen years of age, choosing Saint Agnès as her patron saint, from whom she took the name of Agnès de Jésus-Maria. Her first years at the convent being spent with Mother Madeleine de Saint-Joseph, who had become very infirm, she was penetrated with the spirit of that great servant of God, and promptly showed all the qualities requisite for a great prioress. She was elected sub-prioress at thirty years of age, prioress three years afterwards, and she discharged the duties of one or the other of these offices for thirty-two years, her life being prolonged until near the close of the century. She found the French Carmel established by the eminent virtues of those who had preceded her—she had simply to sustain it. Her dominant qualities were firmness and moderation. With equal facility she dealt with great and small things; always mistress of herself, even-tempered, sensible, and enlightened, speaking of every thing with justice and simplicity, and removing difficulties with an astonishing precision. She who, by the elevation and charms of her mind, seemed born only for the people of the world and important things, was still more admirable with the simple and the poor. She used their ills, to which she was sensible, to elevate them to God, yet ceased not in her endeavors to console them. The happy also found near her protection against the dangers of fortune. The Queen of England, in the midst of her terrible trials, often went to the Carmelites to find consolation with Mother Agnès. The chancellor, Le Tellier, often consulted her. Courted on all sides for the charm of her conversation, she sought solitude, and endeavored to make it loved by her companions. Mademoiselle de Guise having offered 100,000 livres to obtain the privilege of often entering the convent, Mother Agnès refused that sum, saying that 100,000 livres could not repair the injury thereby certain to be done to the spirit of the institution, which can be preserved only by seclusion and separation from the world. Her charity was such that after her death the mother who succeeded her, being blamed for bestowing alms a little too freely, replied: “You are very fortunate that Mother Agnès is no more; she would have left on this occasion neither communion-cup nor vessel of silver in our church.” It must be perceived in Madame de Sévigné, how much she made of Mother Agnès: “I was ravished,” wrote she to her daughter,⁠[98] “with the spirit of Mother Agnès.” Elsewhere she speaks of the vivacity and the charm of her speech.⁠[99] But all eulogies pale before that touching letter of Bossuet, written to the prioress who succeeded her:⁠[100] “We shall then see her no more, that dear mother; we shall no longer hear from her mouth those words that charity, that gentleness, that faith, that prudence dictated and rendered worthy of being listened to.⁠[101] This was the sensible person who believed in the law of God, and faithfully kept it. Prudence was her companion, Wisdom her sister. The joy of the Holy Spirit did not leave her. Her balance was always just; her judgments were always right. Her counsels never led astray; they were preceded by her example. Her death was tranquil as her life, and she rejoiced in the last day. I thank you for remembering me upon this sad occasion. My spirit unites with yours in the prayers and sacrifices that are offered for that soul blessed of God and men. I join you in the pious tears that you shed upon her tomb, and take part in the consolations with which faith inspires you.”

Such was the convent where Mademoiselle de Bourbon received those impressions that decided her whole life; such were the women whom she saw and heard, when she accompanied the princess her mother to the sacred house. She perceived, moreover, the venerable looks, the already transfigured face of Mother Madeleine de Saint-Joseph, and listened to her powerful speech, for Mother de Saint-Joseph was the friend and counsellor of Madame the Princess. She felt, too, the penetrating sweetness of the conversation of Marie de Jésus. She knew that Marie-Madeleine, who was so dangerous in the world by her beauty, so edifying and powerful in the cloister. With her she formed a connection which ceased only with life. But it was, above all, Mademoiselle de Bellefonds, the Mother Agnès, who attracted and charmed her. They were almost of the same age, and the free and joyous temper of the young and spiritual nun established between them, at an early period, an intimacy whose traces are found even in the letters subsequently addressed by the unfortunate and repentant princess to the great prioress, wholly occupied with her difficult duties. The following note,⁠[102] written during their youth, will give an idea of the intimacy of their relation, and show the natural graces of Mademoiselle de Bourbon’s mind. It bears the date of 1637. She was then seventeen years of age. These are the earliest lines of hers that we have been able to find. Did Marie de Rabutin write in a more amiable manner at the same age?

“To my Sister Agnès de Jésus-Maria.

“My very dear Sister:

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

“Your very affectionate sister and servant,

“Anne de Bourbon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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