THE PRINCESSES ELIGIBLE TO BECOME PHILIP’S CONSORT.

“Find me a wife!” The sentence was like a thunderclap in the ears of Madame des Ursins, so long accustomed as she had been to govern and domineer. Where to find one—one like Marie Louise of Savoy, who would consent to retain her in the same functions, and who, like her, with intelligence and firmness of mind, would have a boundless confidence in her camerara mayor, and a docility proof against everything? Louis XIV., being consulted, replied to his grandson that he gave him his choice between a princess of Portugal, a princess of Bavaria, and a princess of Parma. The first was greatly to the taste of the Castilians; they had always had reason to praise their Portuguese queens, and they attached to such choice hopes of renewed political unity for the Spanish peninsula to the profit of Castile, which thus, by marriages, would absorb, on the left, Portugal, as it had appropriated on the right, the kingdom of Arragon. But the Court of the King of Portugal, the brother of that princess, had been the rendezvous and the asylum of aristocratic and Austrian opposition. These antecedents alarmed Madame des Ursins on her own account, and did not appear much more assuring for Philip V. Was it not known, on the other hand, that Portugal—especially since the treaty of Utrecht, since the Bourbons had become, in spite of that nation, the immutable possessors of Spain—dreaded those neighbouring kings, after having previously loved them so much as liberators, and on that account had placed herself under the protection of England, the enemy of all the reigning branches of that powerful and ambitious house?

A marriage with the daughter of the Elector of Bavaria, of a firm ally of Louis XIV. and Philip V., might well be the boon and the bond of an old friendship, but could not procure for Spain any compensation for the sacrifices imposed upon her by the terms of the recent peace.

The Princess of Parma, as a guarantee of security, if not of material advantage, did not at the first glance seem more eligible. “Besides that she was the issue of a double bastardy, of a pope on her father’s side, of a natural daughter of Charles V. on her mother’s side, she was the daughter of a petty duke of Parma and a thoroughly Austrian mother, who was herself the sister of the dowager-empress, of the dowager-queen of Spain, who was so unpopular that she was exiled; and further of the Queen of Portugal, who had persuaded her husband to receive the Archduke at Lisbon, and to carry the war into Spain.”[72] On that account such was not an eligible choice for the King of Spain. It was certain, moreover, although Madame des Ursins was unaware of it, that “she was of a haughty disposition, and that she had been brought up at Parma with the same thoroughly French freedom which reigned at Turin.”[73] But by her uncle, the reigning Duke of Parma, who had no children, and was no longer of an age to have any, she was heiress to the duchies of Parma, Plaisance, and Guastalla, and by another uncle, the aged Gaston de Medicis, Duke of Tuscany, she had the expectation of Tuscany itself, and the isle of Elba, a dependance of it. United to Philip V. she might therefore some day, and perhaps shortly, bring Spain into Italy, alongside of its ancient possessions, from which the treaty of Utrecht had driven her. This consideration had much weight with Madame des Ursins, to whom that treaty, as we have seen from a letter of Madame de Maintenon, had appeared disgraceful for Spain, as well as detrimental to herself. Doubtless there was something disquieting in the family alliances of this princess; but it might be thought that the perspective of an union with one of the most illustrious crowned houses of Europe, and moreover the crown of a queen which would bind her brow, would render her favourable to Madame des Ursins, upon whom a marriage so brilliant depended, and which far surpassed Elizabeth’s utmost expectations. The former thought to find in the Farnese, brought up in a modest and virtuous court, a simple-minded, timorous girl. Gratitude for such a service appeared to Madame des Ursins a certain security for her future tranquillity; but a skilful intriguer who had but very slightly rendered himself agreeable to the princess—Alberoni, a native of Parma—afterwards celebrated throughout Europe as the Cardinal Alberoni, but then occupying a subordinate position in Spain, conceived at that moment one of those vast plans to which his fertile genius was wont to give birth, and which would have placed him in the foremost rank of great men had a like success equally crowned them all. He concealed, as already said, the real character of the Princess of Parma, who, moreover, could not then have been known to be what she afterwards turned out. The marriage was concluded, the new Queen set out for Spain, and Madame des Ursins went forward to meet her at Xadraque, a small town some few leagues from Madrid.

A dispensation from the Pope—for the future Queen was a near relative of Gabrielle of Savoy—had been promptly obtained. Already did the favourite indulge herself with the contemplation of the illimitable prospect of domination which the future seemed to open up for her, when she received more truthful information relative to the character of Elizabeth Farnese. Her letters during the latter part of 1714, notwithstanding their great reserve, reveal a manifest uneasiness, and it is with an ill-concealed emotion that she relates, without precisely detailing them, the contradictory reports which reach her relative to the Princess. It seems impossible to doubt that, during the few months which preceded the arrival of the Princess of Parma, the presence of Madame des Ursins had not become a torment to the Spanish King, and that he had not secretly lent his hand to a coup d’État carried out subsequently with a barbarous determination by his new consort. It was, in fact, by showing to the officers of the guard a plenary power from the King that Elizabeth triumphed over their hesitation, and that she secured their assistance in the execution of a measure which perhaps would have been less cruel if it had been more sanguinary; but if, since the death of Marie Louise of Savoy, the relations of the King of Spain with Madame des Ursins had assumed an obscure character, the active intervention of the latter in the second marriage of that Prince at least excludes the idea that she could have dreamed of a royal position for herself, as her enemies accused her. Granted that the AbbÉ Alberoni may have transformed the most ambitious princess in Europe into “a jolly Parmesane fattened upon cheese and butter,”[74] and that the habitual circumspection of Madame des Ursins did not protect her against the clumsiness of such a snare may be true, however unlikely; but it is at least doubtful that the camerara mayor could have cherished such illusion when she presented herself for the first time before the new Queen at the interview at Xadraque.

Whether the indiscretions of others had revealed to her the true character of Elizabeth Farnese, whether she had foreseen the manoeuvres of the Inquisition with the future Queen, whether she had dreaded the anger of Louis XIV., who had not been consulted; whether the triumphant attitude of her enemies had opened her eyes, certain it is, however, that the Princess attempted to break off the match. But it was in vain that she despatched a confidential agent to Parma for that purpose. On his arrival, the messenger was thrown into prison and threatened with death, and so failed in his mission. The marriage by procuration was celebrated on the 16th of August, 1714. That unskilful and tardy opposition released the Princess Farnese from all feelings of gratitude, furnished the enemies of Madame des Ursins with a deadly weapon, by appearing to justify their accusations in a striking manner, and so prepared her ruin.

Her disgrace was prompt, cruel, decisive. The plan had evidently been concerted long beforehand.[75] Confirmed in her design by her interview at Saint Jean de Luz with the Queen Dowager, widow of Charles II. and her relative, and at Pampeluna with Alberoni, Elizabeth held on her way to Madrid. The King advanced to meet her on the road to Burgos, and Madame des Ursins, as has been said, went on before as far as the little town of Xadraque. When the Queen arrived there on the 23rd of December, 1714, Madame des Ursins received her with the customary reverences. Afterwards, having followed her into a cabinet, she perceived her instantly change her tone. By some it is said that Madame des Ursins, being desirous of finding fault with something about the Queen’s head-dress, whilst she was at her toilette, the latter treated it as an impertinence, and immediately flew into a rage. Others relate (and these different accounts tally with each other in the main) that Madame des Ursins having protested her devotedness to the new Queen, and assured her Majesty “that She might always reckon upon finding her stand between the King and herself, to keep matters in the state in which they ought to be on her account, and procuring her all the gratifications which she had a right to expect—the Queen, who had listened quietly enough so far, took fire at these last words, and replied that she did not want anyone near the King; that it was an impertinence to make her such an offer, and that it was presuming too much to dare to address her in such a fashion.” Thus much is certain, that the Queen, outrageously thrusting Madame des Ursins out of her cabinet,[76] summoned M. d’Amezaga, lieutenant of the bodyguard, who commanded the escort, and ordered him to arrest the Princess, to make her get immediately into a carriage, and have her driven to the French frontiers by the shortest road, and without halting anywhere. As d’Amezaga hesitated, the Queen asked him whether he had not received a special command from the King of Spain to obey her in everything and without reserve—which was quite true. Madame des Ursins was arrested, therefore, and carried off instantaneously, just as she was, in her full dress of ceremony, and hurried across Spain as fast as six horses could drag her. It was mid-winter—no provisions to be found in the inns of Spain; no beds; not a change of clothes—the ground covered with frost and snow; and the Princess was then in her seventy-second year. A lady’s maid and two officers of the guard accompanied her in the carriage.

“I know not how I managed to endure all the fatigue of that journey,” she wrote Madame de Maintenon, whilst wandering about the French frontiers, eighteen days after the scene at Xadraque. “They compelled me to sleep upon straw, and to breakfast in a very different style to the repast to which I had been accustomed. I have not forgotten in the details which I have taken the liberty to send the King (Louis XIV.) that I ate only two stale eggs daily; it struck me that such a fact would excite him to take pity upon a faithful subject who has not deserved, it seems to me, in any way such contemptuous treatment. I am going to Saint Jean de Luz to take a little repose and learn what it may please the King to do in my behalf.”

And from this last-named town—at which she was set at liberty—and up to her arrival at which she had unfalteringly maintained the strength and constancy of her character, neither a tear nor a complaint escaping her—a few days later she wrote again to Madame de Maintenon:

“Here I shall await the King’s commands. I am in a small house—the ocean before me, sometimes calm, sometimes agitated: it is an image of what passes in courts. You know what has happened to me; I shall not implore in vain your generous compassion. I agree perfectly with you that stability is only to be found in God. Assuredly it is not to be found in the human breast; for who could be more certain than I was of the King of Spain’s heart?”

Everything leads us to infer, in fact, that it was Philip V. who, forgetting the long and faithful services of Madame des Ursins, and wearied of a domination from which he had not the courage to free himself, gave authority to his new consort to take everything upon herself; and the latter, who, like Alberoni, her crafty adviser, belonged to the intrepid race of political gamesters, did not hesitate for a single instant to commence her regal play with the execution of such a master-stroke. Elizabeth of Parma felt herself to be too first-rate a personage to condescend to figure side by side on the same stage with Madame des Ursins.

It was of this same Elizabeth, born for a throne, that Frederick the Great said: “The pride of a Spartan, the obstinacy of a Briton, added to Italian finesse and French vivacity, formed the character of this singular woman. She advanced audaciously to the accomplishment of her designs; nothing astonished her, nothing could stop her.” Possessed of such qualities it is not surprising to find that she profited by the smallest opening to sweep the ground clear on her arrival.

Recovering from this stunning downfall, Madame des Ursins, after the first moments of surprise, recovered all her strength, her sang-froid, her wonted equanimity. Not a complaint or unbecoming reproach or weak word escaped her lips. She had formed a just estimate beforehand of all that human instability; she said to herself, on beholding her enemies triumphant and her friends in consternation, that there was no reason to be greatly astonished. That this world was only a stage over which many very poor actors strutted, that she had thereon played her part better than many others perhaps, and that her enemies ought not to have expected to see her so humiliated that she could no longer perform it: “It is in the eye of heaven that I should be humbled,” said she, “and I am so.”

Every reader of Saint Simon must be deeply impressed with his narrative of that terrible night of December 24th, 1714. Who can fail to picture to himself the rude expulsion of the Princess des Ursins from the Queen’s apartment in her full dress of ceremony, suddenly packed off in a carriage, without proper clothing or change of linen, and without money, to be whirled away through a winter’s night so severe that her driver lost one of his hands from frost-bite, over mountain passes where the roads had disappeared beneath the snow, towards an unknown destination? Who cannot picture to himself hunger coming to add fresh tortures to those of the prolonged nightmare under which that unfortunate lady must have suffered the keenest pangs of incertitude, of astonishment, and of humiliation? Such, however, was the fate reserved for a woman who had inscribed her name among those of the founders of a dynasty and the liberators of a great kingdom!

For some time previous to the occurrence of that strange event—so unlooked for, so inconceivable—the Princess had not been free from inquietude with respect to the preservation of her prestige and authority, as also on the score of constantly recurring difficulties with the Court of Versailles, wherein she had numerous enemies keeping up an active correspondence with the still more numerous enemies by whom she was surrounded at Madrid; the affairs of the sovereignty, the isolation in which Philip was kept; the marriage of that Prince, determined upon and almost concluded without the consent of his grandfather—all which had deeply angered Louis the Fourteenth.

Though all this tended by turns to inspire the Princess with fear and disgust, still, she could not anticipate an ignominious treatment coming from that quarter. Soon, however, her wonted courage got the uppermost in her bosom; besides, she had hopes both from her justification and from the King of Spain, whose confidence she thought unshakeable, of a return to Court, difficult, nevertheless, after such a shock. Meanwhile, the Queen vouchsafed no replies to her letters; the King announced to her that he was unable to refuse the maintenance of the measure taken at the instance of the Queen, but assured her that pensions would be conferred upon her. Having reached St. Jean de Luz, Madame des Ursins wrote to Versailles, and shortly afterwards despatched thither one of her nephews. The Great Monarch was compelled to be guided by the decision of his grandson; Madame de Maintenon replied by evasive compliments. The Princess could then see that all was at an end, as regarded her resumption of power. She pursued her way through France, and arrived in Paris. The King received her coldly; her stay in France was not prolonged without difficulty. Moreover, she foresaw the approaching decease of Louis the Fourteenth, and a regency under the Duke of Orleans. Their old quarrels, the open hatred which had since existed between them, causing her uneasiness and misgivings, she resolved to quit France. She wished to visit the Low Countries, but was not permitted. She proceeded to Savoy, thence to Genoa, and at last returned to Rome, where she once more fixed her abode. There a suitable existence was secured to her, for Philip kept his promise, and caused her pension to be punctually paid.

Habituated to the stir of courts and the excitement of state affairs, she could not condemn herself, notwithstanding her age, to an absolute repose. Prince James Stuart, called the Pretender, having withdrawn to Rome, Madame des Ursins attached herself to him and his fortunes; she did the honours of his house: and thus she remained until her death, which took place December 5th, 1722, at the age of fourscore and upwards.

It has been sought to divine the real authors of the Princess’s disgrace; for it has been considered, not without good reason, that it was very improbable that no other cause save a sudden impulse arising from a feeling of anger, barely justifiable on the Queen’s part, had urged her to put in execution a resolution which brought about nothing less than an actual political revolution.

[72] Memoirs of St. Simon, tom. xx., p. 175.