Here again are a few words of Voiture, hitherto unintelligible, and which now have a certain application:

Evidently the poet speaks of Mademoiselle Du Vigean the younger, who, after having been a rising sun, an aurora, became, in a few years, a sun in full splendor. She was called the Aurora of La Barre, from the name of the house of which she was the most amiable ornament.

In writing all these verses in honor of Mesdemoiselles Du Vigean, Voiture had doubtless under his eyes the devices which had been made for them and for their mother, and which are preserved in the papers of Conrart:⁠[190] “For Madame Du Vigean, who had lost her eldest son, an orange-tree, having at its foot its topmost branch cut off, covered with flowers and fruit: Quis dolor.” “For Mademoiselle de Fors, her eldest daughter, a rose among several flowers: Dat decor imperium.” “For Mademoiselle Du Vigean, her second daughter, a lighted taper, surrounded with moths: Oblecto sed uro.” Let us add these two devices, which describe so well the character, and already the reputation of those who were the subject of them: “For Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, a crown with this inscription: Me quieren todos.” “For Mademoiselle de Bourbon, an ermine: Intus candidior.”

In 1635, at the great ball given at the Louvre by Louis XIII., to which Mademoiselle de Bourbon consented to go with so much difficulty, and which proved the ruin of her religious ardor, among the ladies who danced with her, André d’Ormesson⁠[191] mentions Mesdemoiselles Du Vigean. The eldest, Anne Fors Du Vigean, was pretty, sweet, insinuating,⁠[192] and, says Madame de Motteville, ambitious and prone to flattery. She was married to M. de Pons, who had not much property, but who pretended to be connected with the illustrious house d’Albredt. Becoming a widow in 1648, and the confidant of the Duchess d’Aiguillon, intimate friend of her mother, she succeeded in obtaining the love of the nephew, the young Duke de Richelieu, and in marrying him, notwithstanding the duchess and notwithstanding the queen, thanks to the protection of Condé and of Madame de Longueville. For this fortunate protection she was indebted to the remembrances of childhood, especially to the tender and profound sentiment which Condé and his sister had early felt and ever preserved for her younger sister, the young, beautiful, virtuous, and unfortunate—Mademoiselle Du Vigean.

Contemporaneous memoirs give neither the particular name, nor the precise date of the birth of this amiable person. But, thanks to the unpublished documents which have been placed in our hands, we know that the young Du Vigean was born in 1622, and that she was called Martha,⁠[193] a modest name, and answering well to her character and destiny. She was then almost of the same age as Mademoiselle de Bourbon. She had been brought up with her, and, when they appeared together, it was almost with the same éclat. It is impossible to find any portrait or engraving of her which can be relied upon. Her charms were greatly heightened by a modesty full of grace, and the verses which we have quoted from Voiture, show her still young, in the innocence of a beauty of which she was ignorant, and which excited passions which she herself did not share.

Let us say, in the first place, in order to justify Condé and her who received his first homage, that the inclination of the Duke d’Enghien for the young Du Vigean, preceded his marriage with Mademoiselle de Brézé, niece of the cardinal, and continued till the year 1640, when the young duke was leading, at Paris, at the hôtel de Condé, at Chantilly, and elsewhere, the innocent life which we have described, surrounded by his comrades in arms, and among the charming and dangerous companions of Mademoiselle de Bourbon. It was then that he met Madame Du Vigean and her two daughters, and that he began, says Lenet, “to feel for Mademoiselle Du Vigean an esteem and a friendship which became, by degrees, a strong and tender love.”⁠[194]

Indeed, the Duke d’Enghien might have imagined that it would not be impossible for him to obtain from his father and from the king, that is, from the Cardinal de Richelieu, their consent to a marriage, disproportionate, without doubt, but in no wise degrading to him. Mademoiselle Du Vigean was very rich, and her family was in great credit; Richelieu favored her; and it would not have been displeasing to him to see a prince of the blood descending somewhat from his own rank. The marriage which was imposed upon Condé some time after, was not much above what this might have been. A little delusion was permitted to the age and impetuosity of the young duke, and, once the affections engaged, they yielded only to time and necessity.

With such a sentiment in the heart, one can imagine how much the Duke d’Enghien must have suffered from the marriage to which he was condemned in 1641. It is to his chagrin upon this occasion, that the sickness with which he was then attacked is attributed. Although his young wife, Claire-Clémence Maillé de Brézé, was very agreeable, he did not live with her, and formed, from the moment of his marriage, the design of repudiating her as soon as he could. He protested against the violence which had been done to him. He made this protestation in the shape of a national deed, clothed with all legal forms, and signed by himself, by the president of Vernon, superintendent of his house, and by Perrault, at that time his secretary.⁠[195]

We have related how, notwithstanding his disorder, as soon as he learned that the campaign was about to open, nothing could retain him, neither the prayers of his family, nor the tears of his mistress; he set out hardly convalescent, and returned covered with glory. On his return, he “continued to give to Mademoiselle Du Vigean all the marks of a tender and respectful passion.”⁠[196]

In 1642, being at the waters of Bourbon with the Cardinal de Richelieu, the Duke d’Enghien, at a most critical period, seized a pretext for going to Paris, “where the passion which he felt for Mademoiselle Du Vigean called him.”⁠[197]

It was especially after the death of the cardinal, in the years 1643 and 1644, that the amours of Condé were chiefly observable. Gallantry being then fashionable, these amours were neither a mystery nor a scandal. The National Library possesses more than one manuscript history of the regency of Anne of Austria, the author of which declares that he was the witness of every thing that he relates, and, in a letter addressed to the Prince de Condé, dedicates these memoirs to him.⁠[198] The tenderness of the two young people is here several times alluded to. After the campaign of Flanders, in which the Duke d’Orleans had taken Gravelines, and in which Condé had taken Fribourg, “these illustrious conquerors,” says our manuscript, “having carried their laurels to the feet of the regent, who was then at Fontainebleau, retired, the first to Paris, and the other to Chantilly. If the court of Fontainebleau surpassed that of Chantilly in number, the latter did not yield to it in gallantry and in pleasures. The Princess de Condé, the Duchesses d’Anguyen and de Longueville, were there, accompanied by a dozen of the most agreeable persons of quality in France. In addition to the beauty of the place, games and promenades, music and the chase, and every thing generally that can make a place agreeable, were to be found here. The young Du Vigean was there, for whom the Duke d’Anguyen had then much esteem and friendship. She, on her side, responded to it, and every one favored them.”

It is necessary to look into the memoirs of the times for the details of this curious episode of the youth of Condé, the vicissitudes of this connection, as tender as it was pure, the hopes, the fears, the jealousies, all the troubles which accompany love. Mademoiselle Du Vigean had besought⁠[199] Condé to conceal his sentiments in public; she had engaged him, in joke, perhaps, to make believe that he loved Mademoiselle de Boutteville; but the latter was so beautiful, and the game was so dangerous, that Mademoiselle Du Vigean hastened to countermand her order, and to forbid the duke to see Mademoiselle de Boutteville and to speak to her. Condé again obeyed her; he discontinued all intercourse with his cousin, and yielded his place to Dandelot, whose projects he was the more eager to favor, as he felt some anxiety in regard to his own; for Mademoiselle Du Vigean had warned him that her father was thinking of marrying her to this same Dandelot, and that he had offered the Marshal de Châtillon a very considerable dower to have his son as a son-in-law.⁠[200] “This news,” says Madame de Motteville, “gave the prince the utmost alarm: he often faced the enemies of the State, but his heart was not so valiant against love as against them.”⁠[201] He took fright therefore, and, to parry the blow, he entered so earnestly into the cause of Dandelot, that he counselled him to elope with Mademoiselle de Boutteville.

In the mean time he continued all his efforts to break his own marriage; he labored for it with ardor and perseverance. The Duchess d’Enghien falling sick, he anticipated the accomplishment of his wishes; but she recovered; it was therefore necessary to obtain a judicial dissolution of his marriage. The thing was almost impossible, for the Duchess d’Enghien was then, at least, perfectly irreproachable, and moreover he had by her a son. Such, however, was the passion of Condé, that he addressed himself to Cardinal Mazarin,⁠[202] who, not being very scrupulous, would have permitted the rupture, if he had not feared that Condé, once at liberty, might aspire to Mademoiselle, and become much too powerful.

Thus we are enabled to judge of the depth of Condé’s feelings. These feelings were inspired not only by the beauty of Mademoiselle Du Vigean, but by her candor and her modesty, by that tenderness at once devoted and virtuous, which led her far enough to be compromised somewhat in the eyes of the world, while it suffered her to do nothing which might mar in the mind of Condé the ideal of angelic purity which she represented to him. Hence that passion mingled with respect and ardor which he burned to satisfy in despite of all obstacles, and which was never gratified. Madame de Motteville, who was informed of the least details of this amorous intrigue by Madame de Montausier, its witness and almost confidant, says expressly, as “a thing to be believed by every one,”⁠[203] that Mademoiselle Du Vigean “is the only one whom Condé truly loved.” Mademoiselle, who from different motives did not love those whom Condé loved, and who was very severe upon Madame de Châtillon, expresses herself thus in regard to the loves of Condé and of Mademoiselle Du Vigean: “She was very beautiful; this illustrious lover was also deeply moved. When he set out for the army, the desire of glory did not prevent him from feeling the grief of separation, and he could not bid adieu without shedding tears; and when he departed on his last journey to Germany (where he achieved the victory of Nortlingen), he fainted when he left her.”

Such a passion was too violent to continue for a great length of time; it was prolonged even beyond ordinary bounds. Mademoiselle Du Vigean would consent to be the wife alone of Condé, and the marriage of the latter could not be broken: things advanced on neither side, and every one grew weary.

It may be imagined that the interest which Condé manifested for Mademoiselle Du Vigean intimidated those who would have aspired to her hand. Two marriages were proposed to her. Among her admirers was the Marquis d’Huxelles, who afterwards married Marie de Bailleul, daughter of the Superintendent of Finances. D’Huxelles was a very distinguished military man, who expected to become Marshal of France, and whose services and premature death in consequence of his wounds,⁠[204] enabled his son to obtain that honor. He thought very seriously of marrying Mademoiselle Du Vigean.⁠[205] He hesitated on account of the reports which did not fail to find circulation. “Although,” says Lenet, from whom we obtain these facts, “I know with all the certainty that one can have in regard to matters of this kind, that love was never more passionate than that on the part of the prince, nor listened to with more discretion and modesty, than was exhibited on the part of Mademoiselle Du Vigean.” And in this Madame de Motteville and Mademoiselle agree perfectly with Lenet.

Mademoiselle Du Vigean had been also sought by another amiable and brave gentleman, the Marquis Jacques Stuart de Saint-Mégrin, brother of the beautiful Saint-Mégrin of whom the Duke d’Orleans was so fond. Saint-Mégrin continued for a long time his affection for Mademoiselle Du Vigean;⁠[206] but he dared not come in competition with Condé. At a later period he learned with extreme joy that his suit might be heard; and he addressed himself at once to the parents of Mademoiselle Du Vigean. The marriage did not take place: a passion such as that which we have just described was destined to have a very different dénouement.

It is known that after the German campaign of 1645, and the disputed victory of Nortlingen, Condé was seized with a violent sickness. It was then that, despairing of a dissolution of his marriage, and of conquering the virtuous scruples of Mademoiselle Du Vigean, he resolved to turn his thoughts in another direction. Mademoiselle Du Vigean did not complain; she closed her ears to all propositions, resisted the counsels and even the orders of her family, and in the full splendor of her beauty and her youth she cast herself among the Carmelites of the Rue Saint-Jacques.⁠[207] Condé did not attempt to see her again, but he always preserved for her, says Lenet, a remembrance full of respect.⁠[208] The love of Condé was not, then, a transient caprice. It began before his marriage; it continued four long years; it remained ardent and pure in the midst of camps, and was extinguished only in the despair of bringing it to a happy conclusion, and after a long and critical disorder, from which the hero of Nortlingen arose ever to renounce love for glory and ambition.

It would be gratifying to follow Mademoiselle Du Vigean to the convent of the Carmelites, to know at what time precisely she entered it, what occupied her there, and when she died. These are points upon which no contemporaries enlighten us, and all that we are now able to assert with certainty is, that Mademoiselle Du Vigean made a profession in 1649. Thus, she must have joined the Carmelites in 1647, since the vows can be taken only after a service of one or two years as a candidate and a novice. She took the name of sister Marthe de Jésus;⁠[209] she died in 1665; she was never prioress; she was sub-prioress in 1659, and ceased to be so in 1662. According to custom, she must have held this situation six years, and consequently her term of service was between the years 1656 and 1662; whence it follows that all the letters of Madame de Longueville, addressed to sister Marthe and to the Mother Sub-prioress, between 1656 and 1662, are to the same nun, and that this nun was Mademoiselle Du Vigean, which accounts for the particularly affectionate tone of these letters. In fact, we have found in the National Library, in the collection of Doctor Vallant⁠[210] and in those of Gaignières,⁠[211] two billets from Mademoiselle Du Vigean, then sister Marthe, to Madame de Sablé, and another to that very Marchioness d’Huxelles whose place she might have occupied. These billets are the only relics which remain to us of this interesting person, who, because she was too pleasing to a prince, was compelled to bury her beauty and her virtue in a cloister.

Such is often the end of the pleasures of youth, the inclinations of the most generous, the feasts of the heart and of life. Mademoiselle de Bourbon witnessed the birth, growth, and death of the loves of Condé and of Mademoiselle Du Vigean. Villefore says that she thwarted them, but he produces no proof of this. It is at least very certain that she strove to repair, as much as she could, the injury which her brother had done to her young and charming friend. For her sake, she loaded her sister with benefits, and, when the poor forlorn creature sought an asylum among the Carmelites, she maintained with her an affectionate intercourse; she visited her, wrote to her often, and, even to the end of life, retained for her a place in her heart by the side of Madame de Sablé.

But let us not anticipate the future. We are still amid the illusions of youth, still in the season of pleasures and love. Whilst around her, at the hôtel de Rambouillet and at the hôtel de Condé, at Chantilly, at Ruel, at Liancourt, all was heroism and gallantry, whilst surrounded by young and brilliant cavaliers, destined to become great captains; with agreeable female friends who drew after them all hearts, what did Mademoiselle de Bourbon do with her own? Did she bestow it as did Mademoiselle Du Vigean and Mademoiselle de Boutteville? Among so many adorers who crowded around her, did she distinguish none? Tender and somewhat coquettish, with the soul and the eyes of Chimène, what Rodrigue among the heroes of her brother’s court found her sensible? At the age of nineteen, she had been promised to the Prince de Joinville, son of Henri de Lorraine, Duke de Guise. A powerful alliance would this have been, which had united the Montmorencys, the Condés, and the Guises; but the Prince de Joinville died in Italy, where he went to meet his father, in the violent and obstinate persecution which the implacable avenger and indefatigable promoter of royal authority, Cardinal de Richelieu, did not cease to exercise against the Guises in remembrance of the League. It is said that a marriage was also contemplated between her and d’Armand, Marquis de Brézé, nephew of Cardinal Richelieu, brother of her who was forced upon the Duke d’Enghien, the intrepid sailor who twice beat the fleets of Spain, and perished at the age of twenty-seven, from a cannon shot, at the siege of Orbitello, in 1646. This marriage would have placed in the hands of the house of Condé, by means of the two heroic brothers-in-law, all the forces of France, both by sea and land; but this marriage was defeated, for reasons in regard to which there are various opinions.⁠[212]

Mademoiselle de Bourbon attracted whilst she discouraged. There was not a gentleman who would not have given his life for her favor; but no one was rash enough to aspire to her hand. Many then sighed for her, and some even paid her the most marked homage. Mention is made, among others, of the Duke de Beaufort, more brave than witty, loyal and chivalrous enough, who, being politely rejected, fell at the feet of Madame de Montbazon, and served her till death. Especial notice is taken of Maurice de Coligny, the son of Marshal de Châtillon. In 1642 M. the Prince and Madame the Princess, not finding a single young lord in all the kingdom to whom policy permitted them to give Mademoiselle de Bourbon, proposed to her the greatest lord of France, after the princes of the blood, the Duke de Longueville. He was the widower of Louise de Bourbon, daughter of the Count de Soissons, by whom he had Marie d’Orleans, who was already seventeen or eighteen years of age: he was forty-seven, and even at this age was said to be still attached to Madame de Montbazon. Mademoiselle de Bourbon resisted, or at least testified at first a great repugnance; it was, however, necessary to yield; herein she displayed the resolution which she testified on all great occasions. She married then on the 2d of June, 1642, at the age of twenty-three years, her heart and mind filled with poetry and gallantry, a man much older than herself, and who was not even sufficiently touched with her charms to renounce his old mistress.

The fêtes on the occasion of this marriage were still more brilliant than those which took place at the marriage of the Duke d’Enghien. Mademoiselle de Bourbon walked to the altar with a sort of intrepidity, and she seemed almost gay at the hôtel de Longueville, occupying the spectators so much with her dazzling beauty that they did not remark the violence which she did to her feelings. It is her historian, the Jansenist Villefore, who has preserved for us this tradition. Scarcely a year had flown by, when, without even giving her heart, for a long time yet unoccupied, she was the involuntary cause of a most tragic quarrel, in which Coligny, who had sighed for her, perished in the flower of youth, and perhaps under her own eyes, by the hand of one of those Guises to whom she had been for a moment destined. Sinister prelude of the storms that awaited her first adventure, which consecrated her beauty in so sad a manner, and which won for her, at the age of twenty-four years, in the world of gallantry, a renown, a popularity even, almost equal to that which victory had achieved for her brother, the Duke d’Enghien.