Mademoiselle gives a graphic account of a journey which she took in 1637. The events recalled, with the [{362}] emotions they excited in her at the time, show an acuteness of perception far beyond that of most children of ten years old. Her sentiments are too virtuous not to demand a brief notice. "Arrived at Champigny, I went first to the Holy Chapel, as a place to which the memory of my predecessors, who had built and founded it, seemed to summon me, that I might pray to God for the repose of their souls." A little later we hear of her at the Convent of Fontevrault. The abbess was a natural daughter of Henri IV., and the nuns lavished every attention upon their guest, delighting to honor her with the title of "Madame's niece." Their devotion bored our princess greatly, and would have made her ill but for a grain of amusement to be derived from the simplicity of the poor ladies. But fortune, Mademoiselle's unfailing friend, soon relieved her from this monotony. Two ladies-in-waiting, Beaumont and Saint-Louis, instead of going into the church, explored the convent court-yards. Terrible cries attracted their notice, and were found to proceed from a poor maniac, confined in a dungeon, according to the ill-judged practice of those days. After amusing themselves with her extravagances, they went to find their little mistress, that she might share the enjoyment. "I broke off a conversation with the abbess and betook myself in all haste to the dungeon, which I did not leave until supper-time. The table was wretched, and for fear of suffering the same treatment the next day, I begged my aunt to let my officers prepare my meals elsewhere. She made use of them after that day, so that we fared better during the rest of our visit. Madame de Fontevrault treated me the next day to a second maniac. As there was not a third, ennui seized upon me, and I went away in spite of my aunt's entreaties." And this was the child who, at five years old, wept over the degradation of two of her father's followers. Through life, her best impulses seem to have had root rather in a sense of her own dignity than in compassion for others.
More easily understood is her enjoyment of the royal hunts, during the days of Louis XIII.'s attachment to the virtuous Madame de Hautefort. "We were all dressed in colors, mounted upon hackneys richly comparisoned, and each lady protected from the sun's rays by a hat covered with plumes. The chase led past several handsome houses, where grand collations were prepared for us, and on our return the king sat in my coach between Madame de Hautefort and me. When in a good humor, he entertained us very pleasantly with many topics. At such times he allowed us to speak freely of Cardinal Richelieu, and proved himself not displeased by joining in the conversation."
His eminence was destined to fall more deeply than ever into disgrace with Mademoiselle in 1638. The dauphin was born at the château of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, September 5th of that year; and his cousin, who, like any other little girl, enjoyed being in the royal nursery, used to call him "her little husband." This amused the king exceedingly, but Cardinal Richelieu viewed the matter more seriously. Mademoiselle was sent home to Paris. On the way, she was taken to Ruel to see the minister, and there received a grave reprimand for the indiscretion of her language. "He said I was too old to use such terms; that it was unbecoming in me to speak thus. He said so seriously to me things that might have been addressed to a reasonable person, that, without answering a word, I began to cry; to comfort me, he gave me a collation. None the less did I go away very angry at his words."
If this rebuke had made a deeper impression upon Louise de Bourbon, her biographer's task would be a more grateful one. The naïveté with which she reveals all her matrimonial castles in the air would be incomprehensible if these schemes had not been purely ambitious; as free [{363}] from sentiment as a military stratagem or a commercial speculation.
At fifteen Mademoiselle met with a great loss in the death of her excellent gouvernante, the Marchioness of Saint-Georges. She speaks of this trial with more tenderness and less egotism than one might have anticipated. "I learned, on awaking in the morning, how ill she was, and rose in haste that I might go to her and show by various attentions my gratitude for her noble performance of her duties toward me ever since I came into the world. I arrived while they were applying every possible remedy to revive her, in which they succeeded after repeated efforts. The viaticum and extreme unction were brought, and she received them with every evidence of a truly Christian soul. She responded with admirable devotion to each prayer: no subject of surprise to those who knew bow piously she had lived. This over, she called her children to her, that she might bless them, and asked permission to give me, also, her benediction, saying that the honor she had enjoyed of being with me from my birth made her venture to take the liberty. I felt a tenderness for her corresponding to all that she had shown toward me in the care of my education. I knelt beside her bed, with eyes bathed in tears; I received her sad farewell and kissed her. I was so touched by the thought of losing her, and by the infinite number of good things she had said to me, that I did not wish to leave the room until her death. She begged that I might be taken away, and her children too; she was too much agitated by our cries and tears, and testified that I alone was the subject of any regrets the was capable of feeling. I had hardly returned to my own room when the agony began, and she died in fifteen minutes."
Mademoiselle retired to the Carmelite convent of Saint Denis, until Monsieur should select another governess. She requested that the place might be given either to Mademoiselle de Fieique or Mademoiselle de Tillières (both "persons of quality, merit, and virtue, and relations of her own"), hoping earnestly that the choice might fall upon Mademoiselle de Tillières. Her wishes were thwarted, and the Countess de Fiesque entered upon the task with Spartan firmness. An illness of six months' duration vanished miraculously when the news of her appointment was announced, we are told with sarcastic emphasis.
Whether governess or pupil suffered most in this connection, it would be hard to say. Mademoiselle de Fiesque had an aggravating system of petty supervision, and Mademoiselle a fixed determination to elude it. On one occasion when our princess had been shut up in her room by the tyrant's orders, she managed to escape, stole the key of Mademoiselle de Fiesque's private apartment, and locked her in. "She was hours in uneasiness before a locksmith could be found; and her discomfort was all the greater because I had shut up her grandson in another room, and he screamed as if I had maltreated him."
But we should soon tire of these reminiscences, did they not bring upon the stage personages more important than Mademoiselle herself—hard as it would have been for her to think so.
In 1643 we find the dramatis personae much changed and extended. Louis XIII. has passed away, making so good an end, that we wonder at the grace of God to see how noble a death may close an insignificant career. Richelieu has been succeeded in Mademoiselle's ill graces by Cardinal Mazarin. Louis XIV. is a precocious, ignorant child of nine years old. The cabal of the Importantes has arisen and declined, and two seditions in Paris, founded upon slight provocation, have proved the populace ripe for the Fronde. Henrietta Maria and her children are refugees at the French court, and Mademoiselle, with her enormous possessions, is considered an eligible match for the Prince of Wales. As Charles Stuart in the character of an unsuccessful suitor is a novel topic, no [{364}] apology is needed for introducing at some length the history of his courtship.
The court was at Fontainebleau when his royal highness arrived in France; and their majesties went to meet him in the forest. His mother presented him first to the king and then to the queen, who kissed him, after which he bowed to the Princess of Condé, and to his cousin. "He was only sixteen or seventeen years old; quite tall for his age, with a fine head, black hair, brown complexion, and quite a good figure." One unpardonable sin he had in Mademoiselle's eyes; that, not speaking French in the least, he could not shine in society. Clever talk she enjoyed keenly even in childhood, Monsieur's brilliant conversation had fascinated her.