Thus wrecked and wasted, her opportunity past, her career a
disappointment, she leaves us only the passing glimpse of what she was,
and the hazy possibility of what she might have been. Perhaps the defect
was, after all, in herself; perhaps the soil was not deep enough to
produce anything but a few stray heroisms, bright and transitory;--perhaps
otherwise. What fascinates us in her is simply her daring, that inborn
fire of the blood to which danger is its own exceeding great reward; a
quality which always kindles enthusiasm, and justly,--but which is a thing
of temperament, not necessarily joined with any other great qualities, and
worthless when it stands alone--But she had other resources,--weapons, at
least, if not qualities; she had birth, wealth, ambition, decision, pride,
perseverance, ingenuity; beauty not slight, though not equalling the
superb Longuevilles and Chevreuses of the age; great personal magnetism,
more than average cultivation for that period, and unsullied chastity. Who
can say what these things might have ended in, under other circumstances?
We have seen how Mazarin, who read all hearts but the saintly, dreaded the
conjunction of herself and Conde; it is scarcely possible to doubt that it
would have placed a new line of Bourbons on the throne. Had she married
Louis XIV.
Pages:
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219