The Duchesse de Berri:

By RIGAUD.

Half-Length: Oval.

Born, 1694. Died, 1719. Marie Louise, daughter of Philip, second Duke of Orleans, afterwards Regent, by Mademoiselle de Blois, daughter of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan. This marriage, which had been determined on by the King, was not only strongly opposed, by the Duchess of Orleans, his mother, but Philip himself, then Duc de Chartres, was repugnant to the mÉsalliance. He was at length overruled by the commands of his father, and the King his uncle, and proceeded to break the announcement of his engagement to the proud German Princess his mother, who congratulated the fiancÉ with a blow. One son and five daughters were born to Philip, the second of whom, Marie Louise, married in 1710 the Duc de Berri, third son to the Dauphin, and consequently grandson to Louis XIV. He was a handsome Prince, full of endearing and sterling qualities, but his education had been shamefully neglected, and on this point he was most sensitive. It made him shy of society, and fearful of speaking in public, and on one occasion he was subjected to terrible mortification. At the general Treaty of Peace, when it was settled that the crowns of France and Spain should never devolve on the same person, the Dukes of Orleans and Berri proceeded to the Parliament House to attend to some necessary formalities, on the occasion of the death of the Duc de Bourgogne, and the Duc de Berri found himself compelled to speak. After stammering and stuttering for some time he entirely broke down, and retired in confusion. Relating the circumstance to a friend, he was said to have shed tears of mortification, bitterly complaining at the same time of the manner in which his education had been neglected for the express purpose of keeping him in the background. “J’avois,” said he, “autant de disposition [for learning] que les autres; on ne m’apprit qu’À chasser, on n’a cherchÉ qu’À m’abattre.” In spite of these disadvantages the Duc de Berri was very popular, and is said to have won all hearts, save that of the ill-conditioned Princess whose outward charms had subjugated him. Even at an early age Marie Louise d’OrlÉans laid herself open to the tongue of scandal, and had been censured for habits of intemperance. On finding there was a chance of making a brilliant marriage she changed her whole line of conduct, and persuaded every one, including the wary Madame de Maintenon, that she was a reformed character. But no sooner was the marriage consummated than the young Duchess threw off the mask, and returned to all her evil ways. In nowise touched by the kindness and devotion of her husband, she thwarted him on every occasion, and delighted to turn him into ridicule, which was easy in the case of one so diffident and sensitive. But even his forbearance had a limit; her conduct disgraced them both, and one day, maddened by jealousy and the insolence of his wife’s Chamberlain, he sought the advice of his trusty friend, the Duc de St. Simon.

St. Simon spoke strongly on the subject, urging the Duc de Berri to seek redress from the King, and strengthening his counsel by producing a correspondence that had fallen into his hands, between the Duchess and the aforesaid chamberlain. These letters left no doubt of their guilt: in one of them the lady proposed to elope, but her lover refused on the plea that the step would not be conducive to his advancement in life. The Duc de Berri, in conformity with his friend’s advice and his own convictions, determined to carry the correspondence to Rambouillet where Louis XIV. was then staying; but unfortunately his movements were not sufficiently prompt. The Duchess discovered that her husband and the Duc de St. Simon had been closeted together for some time over some animated and highly confidential business; it was not difficult to guess the subject, and no sooner had the Duc de Berri started, than she leaped into her coach, and pursuing him with all haste, broke into the Royal presence just in time to find the King examining the contents of the fatal correspondence. A scene of disgraceful violence and altercation ensued, and so exasperating and shameless was the language of the Duchess, that the hitherto indulgent and forbearing husband raised his heavy riding boot and with one kick sent his wife spinning into the arms of Madame de Maintenon. The King, whose dignity was outraged on all sides, lifted his cane to strike the unhappy Prince, but he had already withdrawn, full of shame at the violence into which he had been betrayed. As for the Duchess, no sooner had she recovered from the shock, than without a word to her sovereign, or Madame de Maintenon, she left the room in a paroxysm of rage. “It is true,” she said afterwards to one of her ladies, “that I have sustained no bodily injury, but the mark will ever remain here,” placing her hand upon what, by courtesy, she called her heart. It undoubtedly remained in her memory; the Duke apologised, and she pretended to be appeased; a reconciliation was patched up, and at a wolf hunt held by the King in the Forest of Marly, the Duc de Berri, who was passionately fond of the sport, rode hard and well. He was suffering from intense thirst when he fell in with his wife’s coach, and riding up asked anxiously if she could supply him with a draught of any kind. The Duchess smiled benignly, and drew from the pocket of the carriage a beautiful little case containing a bottle in which she said she always carried some excellent Ratafia in the event of over-fatigue. The unsuspecting man raised it to his lips and drained the last drop with many expressions of gratitude. The Duchess smiled again: “It is fortunate we met,” she said; and the heavy coach rolled on. In a few hours the Duke was taken ill, and after four days of suffering he expired on May 4th, 1714, at the early age of 28. As in the case of Madame no one doubted the existence of poison, and at first, public opinion was so violent against the Duke of Orleans that he had a narrow escape of his life from the fury of the mob, at the funeral of his son-in-law. Later evidence, however, seemed but too strong against the guilty wife, although the matter was gradually hushed up, as in those days the art of poisoning had become a fashionable pastime. The Duchess did not long survive her victim; she gave herself up to excesses of all kinds, and concluded her ill-spent life of 24 years in 1719.

In some letters of “Madame, veuve de Monsieur,” the first Duke of Orleans, the Princess of Bavaria to whom allusion has already been made, we are told that the Duchesse de Berri at the time of her death was undoubtedly married clandestinely to Captain de Rious, whose portrait Madame paints in the most unflattering terms as remarkable for his ugliness, in spite of which he was a great favourite with the ladies. He was absent on duty with the regiment the Duchess had bought for him at the time of her death. Madame goes on to say: “Pour se tirer de l’embarras que pouvoit lui donner une oraison funÊbre, on a pris le parti de n’en point faire du tout.” Apparently a prudent decision. The same authority states that the Duchesse de Berri had grown very large and florid, (and that she often jested on the change in her own appearance), which would account for her looking twice her real age in this picture.

Elizabeth, Countess of Sandwich:

By KNELLER.

Half-Length.

Born, ——. Died, 1757. She was the second daughter of John, Earl of Rochester, by Elizabeth Mallet. She married Edward, third Earl of Sandwich, in 1691. As we have mentioned in the short notice of his life, the marriage was very unhappy, and Lady Sandwich’s conduct in every respect most reprehensible, in spite of her numerous panegyrists. She was a brilliant member of society, and we are told that at the early age of ten years, she already showed a great taste for reading, and had begun to cultivate several foreign languages. She spoke French, Italian and Spanish; Montaigne was one of her favourite authors. She danced and sang, and played on several instruments, and though learned was in no wise pedantic. Neither did she waste so much time on dress, as was usual with ladies of her time. Lady Sandwich went to Paris not very long after her marriage, and St. Evremond, whose admiration she appears to have shared with the Duchesse de Mazarin and Ninon de l’Enclos, thus speaks of her in a letter (without date) to the latter: “Le Docteur Morelli, mon ami particulier, accompagne Madame la Comtesse de Sandwich qui va en France pour sa santÉ. Feu Monsieur le Comte de Rochester, PÈre de Madame Sandwich, avoit plus d’esprit qu’homme en Angleterre. Madame de Sandwich en a plus que n’avoit Monsieur son pÈre; aussi gÉnÉreuse que spirituelle, aussi aimable que spirituelle et gÉnÉreuse. VoilÀ une partie de ses qualitÉs.” According to St. Evremond’s implied wishes, his two friends formed a close intimacy, and Lady Sandwich at Paris seems to have merited Ninon’s report of her when she says: “J’ignore les maniÈres Anglaises, mais elle a ÉtÉ trÈs franÇaise.” It must have been during this first visit to Paris that Lady Sandwich made the acquaintance of the French celebrities whose portraits now adorn the Drawing-room at Hinchingbrook, as on her return to the French metropolis in 1729 they were all dead. Mademoiselle de l’Enclos is never tired of praising her English friend; in a letter dated August, 1698, she says to St. Evremond: “Madame Sandwich m’a donnÉ mille plaisirs, par le bonheur que j’ai eu de lui plaire; je ne croyois pas sur mon dÉclin, pouvoir Être propre À une femme de son Âge. Elle a plus d’esprit que toutes les femmes de France, et plus de vÉritable mÉrite. Elle nous quitte; c’est un regret pour tous qui la connoissent, et pour moi particuliÈrement. Si vous aviez ÉtÉ ici nous aurions faits des repas dignes du temps du passÉ. Vous allez revoir Madame Sandwich, que nous voyons partir avec beaucoup de regret.” Again in July, 1699: “Vous allez voir Madame Sandwich, mais je crains qu’elle n’aille À la campagne; elle sait tout ce que vous pensez d’elle; elle vous dira plus de nouvelles de ce pays ci que moi. Elle a tout approfondi et tout pÉnÉtrÉ: elle connoit parfaitement tout ce que je hante, et a trouvÉ le moyen de n’Être pas ÉtrangÈre ici.” In the lengthened correspondence between Mademoiselle de l’Enclos and her faithful AbbÉ, she constantly reverts to the English lady after her departure from Paris: “Madame Sandwich conservera l’esprit en perdant la jeunesse. Faites la souvenir de moi; je serois bien fÂchÉe d’en Être oubliÉe;” while St. Evremond on his part tells her: “Tout le monde connoit l’esprit de Madame la Comtesse; je vois son bon goÛt par l’estime extraordinaire qu’elle a pour vous. Elle est admirÉe À Londres comme elle fut À Paris.”

There is a long tedious poem from the same pen, describing the presents (comestibles) which Lady Sandwich had sent the Duchesse de Mazarin, with whom she had become very intimate: “Des moutons et des lapins de Bath.” He speaks of Morelli as friend and physician of all three:

He alludes to meeting her often in society, more especially at Boughton, the beautiful country house of Lord (afterwards Duke of) Montagu. “Jamais personne n’a mieux mÉritÉ d’Être reÇue magnifiquement, et galamment rÉgalÉe, que Madame Sandwich; jamais homme ne fut plus propre pour la bien recevoir que my Lord Montagu. J’espÈre que la cascade l’octagone, les jets d’eau, etc., auront fait oublier la France À Madame Sandwich, et comme my Lord est assez heureux pour inspirer son goÛt et ses desseins sur les bÂtiments et les jardins, je ne doute point qu’elle n’entreprenne bientÔt quelque nouvel ouvrage À Hinchinbrooke. On ne sauroit Être plus sensible que je le suis À l’honneur de son souvenir. Il ne manquoit rien pour combler mon dÉplaisir de n’avoir pas vu Boughton et le maÎtre du lieu, que de ne point voir Hinchinbrooke et sa maÎtresse, qui est le plus grand ornement de tous les lieux oÙ elle se trouve.” He writes to Ninon to tell her of a wager he had with Lady Sandwich, respecting their eating powers at a dinner at Lord Jersey’s: “Je ne fut pas vaincu,” boasts the epicure, “ni sur les louanges ni sur l’appÉtit.”

At Bath she evidently was the head of a coterie; and Pope writes: “I am beginning an acquaintance with Lady Sandwich, who has all the spirit of the past age, and the gay experience of a pleasurable life. It were as scandalous an omission to come to the Bath, and not to see my Lady Sandwich, as it had been to have travelled to Rome, and not to have seen the Queen of Sweden. It is, in a word, the best thing the country has to boast of, and as she has been all that a woman of spirit could be, so she still continues that easy and independent creature, that a sensible woman always will be.” Such is Pope’s standard of female excellence! In another letter to his friend, Charles Boyle, Earl of Orrery, he says: “This lady is both an honour, and a disgrace to her native country. She resided in France for some time; but it is a melancholy reflection that we have either nothing in England, valuable enough to make her prefer her own country to another, or that we will not suffer such a person to reside quietly among us.”

In 1729, on the death of her ill-fated husband, the object of so much praise and admiration, returned to the more genial atmosphere of Paris, for the remainder of her life.

In June 1751, Lord Chesterfield writes to his son, then at Paris, as follows: “A propos of beaux esprits, have you les entrÉes at Lady Sandwich’s, who, old as she was, when I saw her last, had the strongest parts of any woman I ever knew in my life. If you are not acquainted with her, the Duchesse d’Aiguillon or Lady Hervey can, and I daresay will, introduce you. I assure you it is worth while both on her own account, and for the sake of people of wit and learning, who frequent her salon. In such companies there is always something to be learned as well as manners; the conversation turns on something above trifles; some point of literature, customs, history, etc., is discussed with ingenuity and good manners; for I must do the French people of learning justice; they are not bears as most of ours are, but gentlemen.”

Lady Sandwich died at Paris, at her house in the Rue Vaugirard, July 1, 1757, in the Faubourg St. Germains. In a letter of Horace Walpole’s, to John Chute, Esq., the same year, he says: “Old Lady Sandwich is dead at Paris, and my Lord (her grandson) has given me her picture of Ninon de l’Enclos in the prettiest manner in the world. If ever he should intermeddle in an election in Hampshire, I beg you will serve him to the utmost of your power. I fear I must wait for the picture.” At Lady Sandwich’s death in Paris, although she had taken every precaution to prevent such a casualty, there arose a great difficulty in securing the property to her grandson and heir. The French officers rushed in, put seals on everything, and claimed le “mobilier, les tableaux, etc., par le droit d’aubaine.” Lord Sandwich sent over his solicitor, who had a roughish time of it, with these “harpies.” He appealed to the Duchesse d’ Aiguillon and other illustrious friends of the deceased countess, who promised him every assistance, and as he discovered afterwards, were working against him all the time. But the good lawyer was triumphant in the end and wrote to his noble client that everything was safe, including the pictures, and he especially notes that of Ninon de l’Enclos, “which is very valuable,” he says, “and innumerable offers have been made for it, here.” But it was reserved for Horace Walpole’s Gallery, and some letters passed on the subject, for although Horace could express his opinion of Lord Sandwich in no flattering terms, he did not object to receive a present at his hands; and he offers in return (later) a copy of the memoirs of the Comte de Grammont, printed at his own press at Strawberry Hill, which contains an engraving of the afore-mentioned portrait of Mademoiselle de l’Enclos, Lord Sandwich’s letters on the subject are in his most jocose style.

Ninon de l’Enclos:

By PIERRE MIGNARD.

Born at Paris, 1615. Died, 1705.—The early education of Anne de l’Enclos was not calculated to lead to favourable results. The characters of her parents were strangely opposed to each other, and remarkable for violent extremes. “M. de l’Enclos, duelliste, musicien, homme de plaisir, gentilhomme; Madame de l’Enclos, sÉvÈre, exacte.” The mother’s wish was to immure her daughter in a convent, a project which the father strenuously opposed. But by the time the girl had attained her fifteenth year she was left an orphan, at liberty to follow her own devices. Scepticism and Epicureanism were very prevalent at this epoch, and of these schools Ninon became a too willing disciple. She soon became the centre of attraction; her conquests were legion. Voltaire said: “There will be soon as many histories of Ninon as there are of Louis XIV.” Voltaire was only thirteen years old when he was first presented to Mademoiselle de l’Enclos, who was much struck with him, and evidently detected some promise of his future greatness. At her death she bequeathed him 2000 francs to buy books. She was a strange mixture of self-indulgence and self-restraint: at one time her conduct was so outrageous in its immorality as to scandalize even the Court of the Great Monarch, and it was reported that she was advised to emigrate, “Mais elle ne partit point,” says St. Beuve; “elle continua la mÊme vie, en baissant lÉgÈrement le ton.” Later on, he says: “Elle rangea sa vie et la rÉduisit petit À petit, sur le pied honorable, oÙ on la vit finir.” St. Simon “le sÉvÈre,” says: “Ninon eÛt des amis illustres de toutes les sortes, et elle les conserva tous. Tout se conduisit chez elle, avec un respect et une dÉcence extrÈme—jamais ni jeu, ni ris ÉlevÉs, ni dispute; sa conversation Était charmante, dÉsinteressÉe, fidÈle, secrÈte au dernier point.” She was temperate in eating and drinking, and would never suffer drunkards at her table; indeed in her youth, she appears to have drunk no wine, though occasionally in some of her later letters to St. Evremond, she discourses somewhat enthusiastically on a subject so near to her correspondent’s heart, and speaking of her advanced age she says: “L’appÉtit est quelque chose dont je jouis encore.” St. Beuve tells us: “Qu’elle rÉflÉchissait dans un Âge, et dans un train de vie, oÙ À peine les autres sont capables de penser, et elle, qui resta si longtemps jeune par l’esprit, se trouva mÛre par lÀ aussi avant l’Âge.” La Force says: “Je n’ai pas connu cette Ninon dans sa beautÉ, mais À l’Âge de cinquante et de soixante [the report ran until past 80] elle a eu des amants qui l’ont fort aimÉ, et les plus honnÊtes gens de France pour amis.” Her salon was the most brilliant in Paris; parents schemed that their children’s dÉbÛt in the world should be made under Ninon’s auspices, and Madame de Coulanges observes: “Les femmes courent aprÈs elle aujourd’hui, comme d’autres gens y couraient autrefois.” Even the straight-laced Madame de Maintenon, in speaking of her brother, writes to her thus: “Continuez, Mademoiselle, À donner de bons conseils À M. d’AubignÉ: il À bien besoin des leÇons de Leontium; [this was Ninon’s nickname, so called from the favourite disciple of Epicurus] les avis d’une amie aimable persuadent toujours plus que les conseils d’une soeur sÉvÈre.” Tallemant says that her beauty was never very remarkable: “Son esprit etoit plus charmant que son visage—dÈs qu’elle parloit, on Était pris et ravi.” She sang, and played on the lute. “‘La sensibilitÉ,’ dit elle, ‘est l’ame du chant.’” Her portrait is drawn by Mademoiselle de ScudÉry in her novel of “ClÉlie.” “Elle parle volontiers; elle rit aisÉment, elle aime À faire une innocente guerre À ses amis. Les cheveux d’un beau chatain, le visage rond, le teint vif, la bouche agrÉable, les lÈvres fort incarnates, une petite fosse au menton, les yeux noirs, brillants, pleins de feu, souriants, et la physionomie fine, enjouÉe, et fort spirituelle.” It can scarcely be denied that this description entitles to beauty, and so indeed do the portraits at Hinchingbrook and Althorp, though she was apparently at an advanced age when the latter was painted. “On a dit d’elle, qu’À la table elle Étoit ivre dÈs la soupe! ivre de bonne humeur, et de saillies;” for as we have seen before, she was always temperate. Her letters to St. Evremond when they were both old, are most characteristic. They occasionally lament together over their age, but appear to have had many gleams of consolation. From the highest and truest of all comfort, they seem to have cut themselves off; and yet, in Ninon’s touching and eloquent letter to her correspondent, on the occasion of the death of the Duchesse de Mazarin, his dearest friend, there is this passage: “Si on pouvoit penser comme Madame de Chevreuse, qui croyoit en mourant, qu’elle alloit causer avec tous ses amis en l’autre monde, il seroit doux de le penser.” In another letter to the same, she says: “Nous allons mÉriter la louange de la postÉritÉ, pour la durÉe de nos vies, et celle de l’amitiÉ; je crois que je vivrai autant que vous. Adieu Monsieur; pourquoi n’est ce pas un bon jour?” This was something like a prophecy, as they died within two years of each other, one having completed, the other within a few months of, ninety years of age. In speaking of her reception of a friend, whom St. Evremond had recommended to her notice, she says: “J’ai lu (devant lui) votre lettre avec des lunettes, mais elles ne me sieyent pas mal; j’ai toujours eu la mine grave.” Again: “Tout le monde me dit, que j’ai moins À me plaindre du temps qu’une autre; de quelque sorte que cela soit, qui m’aurait proposÉ une telle vie, je me serois pendue.” In spite of which, her letters are invariably cheerful. St. Evremond says, in very nearly the same strain as he writes to his other frequent correspondent the Duchess of Mazarin: “La nature commence À faire voir par vous, qu’il est possible de ne point vieillir. Vous Êtes de tous les pays, aussi estimÉe À Londres qu’À Paris: vous Êtes de tous les temps, vous Êtes la maÎtresse du prÉsent et du passÉ.” Ninon died at her house at Paris about five o’clock in the evening, having outlived her ninetieth birthday by five months.

Note.—The AbbÉ Charles de St. Evremond, to whom we are indebted for so much information relating to Ninon de l’Enclos, and the Duchesse de Mazarin, was (originally) a soldier, an author, and a statesman—likewise a bon vivant, in all of which characters, he distinguished himself. He was in great favour at one time with Cardinal Mazarin, but having incurred that potentate’s displeasure, he thought it prudent to take refuge in England, where he remained till his death, in 1703, having made friends with all the leading men in that country, and being in great favour with the ladies, for his agreeable conversation and delicate flattery.

Hortense Mancini, Duchesse de Mazarin:

By MIGNARD.

Half-Length.

Born, 1646. Died, 1699.—The five nieces of the Cardinal Mazarin were all remarkable for beauty and intelligence, and for lives full of dramatic interest. Ninon de l’Enclos says: “Toutes les niÈces du Cardinal avaient un don singulier d’attrait, et comme une magie: la source des charmes est dans le sang Mazarin.” They were the daughters of Lorenzo Mancini, by the Cardinal’s beloved sister. Lorenzo was a great astrologer, and had not only correctly foretold his own death, and that of their only son, but had also predicted that his widow would not survive her fifty-second year. The prophecy weighed on her mind, and perhaps hastened the fulfilment. Her eldest daughter Laura, Duchesse de Mercoeur, died in childbed, it is supposed brokenhearted at her mother’s loss. Hortense Mancini, the fourth, and apparently the favourite niece of the Cardinal, was born at Rome in 1646, and on her arrival in Paris, became the centre of attraction from her surpassing beauty. After many negociations, the Cardinal bestowed her hand, and an enormous fortune on the Duc de Meilleraye, on condition that he would assume the name of Mazarin. No sooner was she betrothed, than Hortense received at the hands of her uncle, who had hitherto been very niggardly towards her, a splendid corbeille de noces, and a large sum in gold. She was so elated by this sudden accession of fortune, that she sent for her brother, and sisters, and encouraged them to take what they pleased, and when this curious trio had helped themselves, she took handfuls of money, and flung them out to the lacqueys in the court-yard beneath, and was much amused by watching the scramble. The Cardinal, at that time very near his end, was furious at this wanton manner, of disposing of his bounty.

The marriage proved most unhappy; the husband morose, jealous, exacting; the wife beautiful, brilliant, wayward. In her later correspondence with St. Evremond, she makes many excuses for having left her husband, and not returning to him, in spite of all his solicitations and the action which he brought against her, for separating herself from him. She fled from his roof, in the disguise of a man, and by all accounts not empty handed; “mais tous les chemins mÈnent À Paris,” and on her return there she received a pension from the King, which, however, she did not consider sufficient to enable her to reside there. She accordingly retired to ChambÉri. But in the year 1675 she went to England in the train of Mary of Modena, the youthful Duchess of York. The real object of this journey is believed to have been a mission, with which she was entrusted by the numerous enemies of Mademoiselle de QuÉrouaille (afterwards Duchess of Portsmouth) to destroy that favourite’s influence by supplanting her, in the affections of Charles II. Nor did such a result appear improbable, as Hortense surpassed her rival, both in wit, and beauty, and it was well known that the King had already admired her so much, as to entertain serious notions of making her his wife. He gave her a most warm reception, and settled a pension on her, the Duke of Mazarin having already found means to possess himself of the pittance, allowed her by Louis XIV. But unfortunately for all these deep-laid schemes, Hortense was so much enamoured of the Prince de Monaco, then in England, as to incur the King’s anger, and cause him for a while even to suspend her pension.

She never left England; persuasions, stratagems, and menaces, all were useless to induce her, to return to France. Her husband sent over Madame de Rutz to try and bring her back to him, or induce her to enter a convent, but she says to St. Evremond: “La libertÉ ne coute jamais trop chÉre À qui se dÉlivre de la tyrannie.” She speaks of the alternative of returning to the Duke’s roof, or immuring herself in a convent, as “deux extrÉmitÉs À Éviter, autant l’une que l’autre.” Yet at one time, on the occasion of a lover being killed in a duel in Spain, she seems to have entertained the notion of embracing the latter alternative; but the easy-going St. Evremond advised her strongly against such a step, assuring her the loss of a lover, might soon be repaired. Her enemies in France, founded a scandal on the discovery that she did not reside under the roof of her Royal mistress, at Whitehall, “mais dans un Pavillon tout prÈs du ChÂteau de St. James.” She also incurred blame in many quarters, for not sharing Queen Mary’s exile in 1688; but she excuses herself, by saying that if she did so, not only would she place herself once more in the power of her enemies, but that it was impossible for her to leave England. She was deeply in debt; she scarcely dared leave the house, for fear of being arrested. She makes a most pitiful lament, (probably about the time of the escape of James II. to France) over her destitution, always to the same friend, and confidant. “Nul bien de moi, nulle assistance oÙ je suis, nulle espÉrance d’ailleurs.” Yet she received at different times, pensions from four different monarchs, for William III. continued her allowance. Be this as it may, she contrived to amuse herself, in her house at Chelsea, where St. Evremond was a constant visitor, in spite of his complaints to Lady Anne Hervey, of the occasional cold and discomfort. She assembled round her bassette table, (for in later years she was much addicted to play) a brilliant, aristocratic, literary circle. She gave dinners too, and the St. Evremond correspondence shows us, that presents of meat, wine, and fruit, were as common in those days, as baskets of game in the nineteenth century. Her friends, Lady Sandwich, and the Duke of Montagu in particular, appear to have been very generous, in such contributions, and both the Duchess, and St. Evremond, appreciated to their fullest extent, the pleasures of eating, and drinking, although the latter often expostulates with the former against over-indulgence in stimulants. He warns her against excess in white wine, absynthe or usquebaugh, which are bad for the lungs; her heart, and her head, were given her for better things. There seems every reason to believe the learned man’s precepts, and example, were not always in unison. She occasionally played too high, or too frequently at bassette, to please him. He wrote a poetical scene in which, playing with the handsome “Madame Middleton,” Hortense discusses with her the comparative beauties of “Madame Grafton, Madame Kildare, and Madame Lichfield.” In another letter, an answer no doubt to some lamentations over her pecuniary distresses, he says: “Demandez toujours de l’argent; s’il n’en vient point, c’est vous qui avez sujet de vous plaindre.”

She numbered amongst her friends and acquaintance the habituÉs of her house at Chelsea, many of the noblest names in England; the Duke of Montagu, one of her warmest admirers; Lord Godolphin, the Duke of St. Albans, Mr. Villiers, etc. Most of these gentlemen seem at a loss “oÙ passer leurs soirÉes” when she is absent from London. Lady Sandwich, a kindred spirit, Lady Anne Montagu, and many other members of the English aristocracy frequented her house. This was again in accordance with the exhortations of her counsellor, for he writes soon after her flitting to Chelsea: “Tout est triste À Londres; il n’est pas de mÊme À Chelsea. Montrez vous de temps en temps, oÙ laissez vous voir À Chelsea.” The picture that he draws of her charms, although in the high-flown language of the period, and of his nation, does not appear over-done when we look at Mignard’s beautiful portrait, of this undoubtedly beautiful woman. Her venerable adorer bids the young beauties of England tremble, at the name of Hortense; he describes her white teeth, her mouth a lovely opening flower, her pretty dimples, her bright dark eyes, (which were sometimes a source of great suffering to her), and her luxuriant hair; and in his description he begs you not to let the modelling of her dainty ear, escape your notice. He also assures her, that it is a pity to conceal her attractions in splendid robes, for that a simple dÉshabille becomes her best. Surely she acted on this hint, when she sate to Mignard. The titles of Madame, or Duchesse, ought not to be given her in speaking to, or of her: “Vous Êtes au dessus des titres, et il me semble qu’on Ôte À votre mÉrite tout ce qu’on donne À votre qualitÉ.” She did not disdain to dine with St. Evremond, but he was well aware how particular she was in her tastes, and provided for her accordingly. “Le mouton de Windsor cÈde au mouton de Bath, c’est la dÉcision de Hortense; Bath aura donc la prÉfÉrence. Si vous voulez du fruit, apportez en; le vin j’en ai de bon.” In one of her temporary absences, at Bath, or elsewhere, he went to Chelsea, and describes how melancholy, and deserted were the house, and household, her waiting maid Isabelle, her little Moorish page, the parrot Pretty, the lap-dog Chop, and Filis the canary bird; nothing is wanting to complete this picture of the English house of Hortense, Duchesse de Mazarin, in the country, which a contemporary and a compatriot designated as “un pays hÉrÉtique, l’objet du courroux du Ciel, et de la haine des hommes.” The beautiful exile had little to complain of, in the welcome she received in this vilified country.

St. Evremond’s letters to Ninon de l’Enclos, on the death of his dearest and best friend, are expressive of deep and sincere grief. She died heavily in his debt, but he would have given that, and all he had, to bring her back to life. People might live a century, and never see her equal: “Tout le monde vous imite, personne ne vous ressemble,” were the words, he once addressed to her. She scolded her friends at times, but in so charming a manner:

Elle n’avoit jamais su ni tromper, ni haÏr.” He praises the manner of her death, and says: “Les Anglais, qui surpassent toutes les nations À mourir, la doivent regarder avec jalousie.” What added poignancy to his regret, was the conviction that her own imprudence hastened the end, a circumstance over which he, and Ninon lament together. To the man who was within four years of ninety, Hortense at fifty-three, and evidently still most attractive, must have appeared comparatively young. She died in her house at Chelsea in the summer of 1699.

Mary, Queen of James II., King of England:

By L’ARGILLIERE.

Half-Length.

Born, 1658. Died, 1691.—The daughter of Alfonso the Fourth, Duke of Modena, by Marie Mancini. Became an orphan at an early age; was married to the Duke of York (soon after the death of his first wife, Anne Hyde) first by proxy, and then in London in 1673. Young, handsome, single-minded, impulsive, full of affection to a husband twenty years her senior, remarkable in an immoral Court for the modesty, and decorum of her conduct, Mary devoted herself to the restoration of the Catholic religion, and in consequence became the idol of its votaries, and was hated in proportion by the Protestants.

James had a great respect and even affection for his wife, in spite of the frequent causes he afforded her for jealousy, and there is no doubt that she influenced him very much in religious matters, and contributed to his downfall. They had several children who died in their infancy; but in 1688 the unfortunate Prince of Wales, afterwards called the Old Pretender, or Chevalier de St. George, was born. The Queen’s romantic adventures when, aided by the Duc de Lauzun, she escaped in the dead of night, with her infant in her arms, are too well known to be recorded here. She fled to St. Germains, where Louis XIV received her with royal honours, and human sympathy, and she was soon joined by her husband. Madame de SÉvignÉ’s portrait of Mary of Modena on her first arrival, might well be said to rival that of L’ArgilliÈre: “La Reine a des yeux beaux, et noirs, qui ont pleurÉ, un beau teint un peu pÂle, la bouche grande, de belles dents, une belle taille, et pleine d’esprit, tout cela compose une femme qui plait beaucoup. Tout ce qu’elle dit est juste, et de bon sens.” She was most grateful to the French King, and on one occasion when he held the Prince of Wales in his arms she said: “Hitherto I have been glad that my son was too young to understand his misfortunes; now I pity him that he cannot appreciate the goodness of your Majesty.”

Nothing could equal the consideration and generosity of Louis XIV. towards the exiled sovereigns. The ex-Queen of England had a small Court of her own, at St. Germains, where she presided with gentle quiet dignity, cheering the declining days of her unhappy husband, by her unceasing devotion. Whatever the faults of Mary of Modena may have been in public life, no one could deny to the exiled Princess a reputation for virtue, tenderness, and charity, very uncommon in the age in which she lived.

She was witness to the unsuccessful attempts of both her husband, and son, to recover the Crown, and died after a short illness in the “very odour of sanctity.”

Henrietta Maria, Duchess of Orleans:

By MIGNARD.

Half-length.

Born, 1644. Died, 1670.—Daughter of Charles I., King of England, by Henrietta Maria of France. When the Queen of Charles I., a fortnight after her confinement, was compelled to fly before the Parliamentary army, she confided the infant Princess to the care of her governess, Lady Morton, who retired with her charge to Oatlands. Two years afterwards, when the Parliament threatened to deprive that lady of her little ward, she determined to thwart them in the attempt. She disguised herself as a poor French servant, and provided herself with a humpback, in which she carried little Henrietta dressed as a boy. They proceeded in this way on foot to Dover, where they embarked, and the faithful governess restored the child to her mother at Paris. But Lady Morton had an enemy to contend with in the proud spirit of the English Princess, who was indignant at being clothed in a coarse dress, and still more at being mistaken for a boy; and she kept informing the passers by of her royal state, which information was fortunately unintelligible.

On the death of the King, she accompanied her mother to France, where they lived in great seclusion; on her first arrival indeed, the widowed Queen of England had established a small court, and some degree of state, but the niggardliness of the Cardinal-Minister, Mazarin, soon reduced her means. The first appearance of the young Princess was on the occasion of a select ball at court, given by Anne of Austria in her own private apartments. The Queen-Mother had taken a fancy to the beautiful girl, and the entertainment was given in her honour: Anne was therefore most indignant, when the King selected one of the beauties of her own Court, as his partner for the first dance. She separated their hands sharply, and in a peremptory tone, desired her son to dance with the English Princess. Louis XIV., in a pet, replied, “he did not care to dance with little girls,” and that in so audible a tone, as to be overheard by mother, and daughter. In vain Queen Henrietta Maria, stung to the quick by the slight put upon her child, declared she could not dance, having sprained her ancle; Anne of Austria insisted, and the King reluctantly led out his unwilling partner, whose crimson cheeks, and streaming eyes, drew the attention of the whole society upon her. For some time the King cherished a feeling of dislike towards the young Princess, so much so as to oppose the union between her, and his brother Monsieur, the Duke of Orleans. But this marriage was resolved on by the two royal mothers, and it was finally arranged that the nuptials should take place, on the return of the Queen and Princess Henrietta from England, whither they went for the ostensible motive of congratulating Charles II. on his restoration to the throne, although it was well known that political intrigues were mixed up with these congratulations.

At her brother’s Court the young Henrietta “turned all heads, and inflamed all hearts,” says a contemporary. The Duke of Buckingham, who accompanied them on their return to France, incurred the maternal anger, by his undisguised devotion to the fianÇÉe of Monsieur. The voyage was a disastrous one, the vessel struck on a rock, and nearly went to pieces, and no sooner had they gained the shore in safety, than the Princess sickened of the measles. The Duke of Buckingham, maddened by the dangers both by sea, and land, to which the beautiful object of his sudden passion, was exposed, became so demonstrative in the expressions of his grief, and affection, that the English Queen judged it prudent, to despatch him as avant-courier, to Paris. On her recovery, and return thither, the Princess found herself as much admired as she had been at her brother’s Court, and the King opened his eyes and wondered at himself for not caring to dance with “such a little girl.” “Les yeux vifs, noirs, brillans, pleins de feu,” says Choisy, “elle fut l’objet de tous les empressemens imaginables, compris ceux de Monsieur. Elle a l’esprit aussi aimable que le reste.” The Duke of Orleans was not supposed to be much in love with his wife, but that did not prevent his being very jealous of the Dukes of Buckingham, and Guiche, in particular. Buckingham indeed had brought the husband’s jealousy on his own head, by his absurd demeanour, and had been the means of instilling suspicion into his mind, with regard to the Duc de Guiche, a remarkably handsome, and attractive young courtier. In another quarter, jealousy was rife, for the newly married Queen of France, Maria Theresa, deeply attached to a husband who remained always indifferent to her, watched with dismay the influence “Madame,” (as Henrietta was now called) exercised over the King.

The second Court under “Madame’s” auspices, with its young beauties, its easy conversation, and pleasant pastimes, was exactly suited to the Monarch’s taste, and he was known to have said, in speaking of the Duchess of Orleans, “qu’il connoissoit en la voyant de plus prÈs, combien il avoit ÉtÉ injuste, À la plus belle personne du monde.” The admiration she excited, and the influence she obtained over her brother-in-law, ended indeed, only with her life. Her small Court was brilliant, in the extreme, and they amused themselves in divers ways. “Madame, montoit À cheval, suivie de toutes ses dames, habillÉes galamment, avec mille plumes sur leurs tÊtes, accompagnÉes du Roi, et de la jeunesse de la Cour.” Monsieur lived a great deal in the Palais Royal, and there she would go to sup with him, taking all her ladies, and chosen friends with her. Mademoiselle de la ValliÈre was one of her Maids of Honour, and the liaison with the King, began under Henrietta’s roof. She had been very fond of the beautiful girl, but treated her with marked displeasure, in the latter days.

Madame made a second journey to England, for the purpose of concluding a private treaty, between her brother, and the French monarch, and of detaching the former from his alliance with Holland. On this occasion, she was accompanied by the celebrated Mademoiselle de la QuÉrouaille, afterwards Duchess of Portsmouth, who had also her sealed orders. The mission was successful, though neither advantageous, nor honourable, as far as England was concerned. Madame returned in triumph, took up her abode at the Palace of St. Cloud, and appeared to have reached the zenith of worldly prosperity, always excepting the unhappy difference, with her husband, which commenced so soon after their marriage, and had increased rather than diminished. Her tried friend, and trusty confidant in these trials, was Cosnac, Bishop of Valence, afterwards Archbishop of Aix, a distinguished, but eccentric man. At twenty-four years of age, he preached a sermon, which made such an impression on the mind, of Mazarin, the Cardinal Minister, that on the conclusion of the service, he promised the preacher a bishopric; what he called “faire un marÉchal de France sur la brÊche.” Cosnac was afterwards appointed almoner to Monsieur, and resided with him, for some time, during which period, he endeavoured to gain an influence for good, over the mind of this fickle, and vacillating Prince, and often expostulated with him, on his conduct to the Duchess. They quarrelled, and separated, but his indignation against Monsieur’s unworthy favourite, the Chevalier de Loraine, so enraged the Duke that he contrived to procure a sentence of exile, against Cosnac. But absence could not sever the bonds of friendship, which bound him to Henrietta, and of which he gave a valuable proof, on the occasion of a libel, that was published against her in Holland, at the time of her negociations between England, and France. The Duchess dreaded lest the scurrilous pamphlet, most damaging to her reputation, should fall into her husband’s hands, and she wrote off in terror to her exiled friend, to ask his assistance. Cosnac immediately despatched an emissary to Holland, who did his work so effectually, that the whole edition was bought up, the publication stopped, and all the extant copies brought over, to be destroyed by this zealous friend. As in duty bound, “Madame” worked hard to obtain the Bishop’s recall, so much so that the King thought her attachment to him, must be of a more tender nature than she confessed. Louis XIV., in all probability, was not a good judge of friendship, or a believer in it, where a woman was concerned.

In her correspondence with Cosnac, in speaking of her mission to England, she hints at the hope of Charles II. becoming a Roman Catholic, in the event of which she promises that he shall obtain a Cardinal’s hat. On her return from England, four days before her death, describing the affectionate reception, she had met with from the French King, she says: “Le Roi mÊme À mon retour m’a tÉmoignÉ beaucoup de bontÉ; mais pour Monsieur rien n’est Égal À son acharnement, pour trouver moyen de se plaindre. Il me fit l’honneur de me dire, que je suis toute puissante, et que par consÉquent si je ne fais pas revenir le Chevalier de Loraine, exilÉ par le Roi, je ne me soucie pas de lui plaire, et il fait ensuite des menaces, pour le temps À venir.” To the same correspondent, she complains that her little girl is brought up, to hate her. Three days later, towards five o’clock in the afternoon, the Duchess of Orleans asked for a glass of iced chicory water; a short time after drinking which, she was seized with excruciating pain, and strong convulsions. As her condition grew worse, it became evident to herself, and all around her, that the end was approaching. Her confessor, Feuillet, was sent for, and in his questions, and exhortations, he did not spare his dying penitent, but both he, and Bossuet, who was also present, became deeply affected, by the humble devotion, and pious resignation, to the Divine Will, which the unhappy Princess, evinced in the midst of all her sufferings. She was most anxious not to forget any one, and recalling a promise she had made, some time ago to a friend, she called one of her weeping attendants to her, and gave orders where she would find a ring, and to whom it should be sent, as her parting gift. As the last moment approached, she placed her hand in that of her husband, and gazing earnestly in his face said most emphatically: “Monsieur, je ne vous ai jamais manquÉ.” She thought of every one in her last moments, and closed an adventurous, and chequered life, at the early age of twenty-six, at peace, with all mankind, repentant, and trusting in the mercy of God.

That her death was the effect of poison, none could doubt: the question arose, who was the murderer. The King sent for his brother, and charged him with the crime, and a violent scene ensued between them; but the real criminal appears to have been the exiled Chevalier de Loraine, and evidence of the strongest nature was brought to show, that he sent the poison from Rome by a Monsieur Morel (who was not in the secret) to the Marquise d’Effiat, and a footman deposed, to seeing the Marquise rubbing the inside of the cup, which was immediately afterwards given to Madame, with the chicory water, when she complained of thirst. Be this as it may, no sooner was she dead, than the Chevalier de Loraine was recalled from exile, and the whole matter hushed up.

Cosnac’s description of Madame, was as follows: “Elle avoit l’esprit solide, et du bon sens, l’Âme grande, et fort ÉclairÉe, sur tout ce qu’il faudroit faire, mais quelque-fois elle ne le faisoit pas, par une faiblesse naturelle.... Elle mÊlait dans toute sa conversation, une douceur qu’on ne trouvoit point dans les autres personnes royales; ce n’est pas qu’elle eÛt moins de majestÉ, mais elle en savoit user d’une maniÈre plus facile, et plus touchante. Pour les traits de son visage, on n’en trouve point de plus achevÉs; les yeux vifs, sans Être rudes, la bouche admirable, le nez parfait (chose rare), le teint blanc et uni, la taille mÉdiocre mais fine: son esprit animait tout son corps; elle en avoit jusqu’aux pieds; elle dansait mieux que femme au monde.” She loved poetry and befriended poets: Corneille in his old age, and Racine, whose heart she gained by shedding tears at the first reading of his “Andromaque.” La Force said after her death: “Le goÛt des choses de l’esprit avoit fort baissÉ. Il est certain qu’en perdant cette Princesse la cour perdoit la seule personne de son sang, qui Était capable d’aimer et de distinguer le mÉrite, et il n’y a eu depuis sa mort, que jeu, confusion, et impolitesse.”

Charles V., Emperor of Germany:

By TIZIANO VECELLI.

Three-quarter Length.

(In Armour, Standing by a Table, on which is his Plumed Helmet.)