Chapter IV · 1644 to 1649. (continued 2)

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!

THE END.