Louise committed the error of not only approving the advice of that equivocal monitor, but the greater error of following it. Experience came very soon to open her eyes.

In 1672, as has been said, the Querouaille having presented the King with a son, her favour increased considerably. In 1673 she was created _d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth_, and at the close of the same year Louis XIV., alike to flatter the King of England, and to confirm him in his alliance with himself against Holland, as to reward the good offices of Louise Querouaille, conferred upon the latter the domain of D'Aubigny, in Berry. This domain given, in 1422, by Charles VII. to John Stuart, "as a token of the great services which he had rendered in war to that King,"

had reverted to the crown of France. In the letter of donation which Louis sent to Charles, it stated that "after the death of the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth, the demesne of Aubigny shall pa.s.s to such of the natural children of the King of Great Britain as he shall nominate." Charles II.

nominated Charles Lennox (his son by Querouaille), and created him Duke of Richmond on the 19th of August, 1675.

Although _maitresse-en-t.i.tre_, and favourite mistress as she became, she could not, however, prevent the unworthy and frequent resort of the debauched prince to rivals of a lower grade, and Madame de Sevigne penned some amusing lines on the subject of those duplicate amours:--"Querouaille has been in no way deceived; she had a mind to be the King's mistress, she has her wish. He pa.s.ses almost every evening in her company, in presence of the whole Court. She has a child which has just been acknowledged, and on whom two duchies have been bestowed. She ama.s.ses wealth, and makes herself feared and respected wherever she can; but she could not foresee finding a young actress in her path by whom the King is bewitched.... He shares his attentions, his time, and his health between them both. The actress is quite as proud as the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth: she spites her, makes wry faces at her, a.s.sails her, and often carries the King off from her. She boasts of those points in which she is preferable--that she is young, silly, bold, debauched, and agreeable; that she can sing, dance, and play the part _de bonne foi_.

She has a son by the King, and is determined that he shall be acknowledged. Here are her reasons:--'This d.u.c.h.ess,' she says, 'acts the person of quality; she pretends that she is related to everybody in France. No sooner does any grandee die, than she puts on mourning. Ah well! if she is such a great lady, why did she condescend to become a _catin_? She ought to expire with shame: for myself, it is my profession; I don't pique myself on anything else. The King keeps me; I am at present his solely. I have brought him a son, whom I intend he shall acknowledge, and I am a.s.sured that he will, for he loves me quite as well as he does his Portsmouth.' This creature takes the top of the walk, and embarra.s.ses and puts the d.u.c.h.ess out of countenance in a most extraordinary manner."

In Mrs. Nelly, with all her good qualities, Charles had not found exactly a rose without thorns to stick in his b.u.t.ton-hole. In her too wild fun, or spirit of mockery, she was apt, as most others, to give demonstration of all the variety of her woman's nature and her woman's wit, and to make her baffled and humbled sovereign wish in his inmost heart that he had never had anything to do with her.

Such were the annoyances--doubtless unforeseen by Mademoiselle Querouaille on quitting France, and to which La Valliere and Montespan were not exposed in the Court of the _Grand Monarque_, where vice itself put on airs of grandeur and majesty. It must be owned, however, that Madame de Sevigne exaggerates when she pretends to establish a sort of equilibrium between the position of the actress and that of the d.u.c.h.ess.

The triumphs of Nell Gwynne were triumphs of the alcove; whilst her Grace of Portsmouth reigned without a rival over the realm of diplomacy.

Charles II. was in the habit of pa.s.sing a great portion of his time in her apartments, where often, in the midst of a joyous circle, he met Barillon, the French Amba.s.sador, who, from his agreeable manners, was freely admitted to all the amus.e.m.e.nts of the indolent monarch. It was by means of these frequent conversations that, seizing the favourable moment, the d.u.c.h.ess and the Amba.s.sador succeeded in obtaining an order which suddenly changed the face of Europe, by bringing about the signature of the Treaty of Nimeguen, and more than once it fell to her lot to obtain a success of the same kind, to which neither her arrogant Grace of Cleveland nor the piquant Nelly could ever pretend. In political affairs the Querouaille held her own triumphantly over all her rivals, and obtained a dominion that ended only with the life of Charles. Too sensible to exact a strict fidelity from the King, the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth was content to sigh in silence so long as her womanly feelings alone were sported with; but when it seemed likely that the influence which she strove to utilise to the profit of France might be trenched upon, her resentment broke forth in sudden and sweeping ebullitions which even the dread of a public scandal was impotent to repress. The correspondence of Bussy-Rabutin furnishes us with a scene of that description:--

"It is rumoured that Querouaille has been sermonising the King, crucifix in hand, as well both to wean him from other women as to bring him back to Christianity: in fact, it appears that she herself has been very near the point of death. However, three or four days afterwards, finding herself better, she rose from her bed, and dragged herself into the box where the King was seeing a play in company with Madame de Mazarin, and there she overwhelmed him with endless reproaches for his infidelity. Love and jealousy are strong pa.s.sions."

Hortensia Mancini, d.u.c.h.ess de Mazarin, who was commonly thought to be the finest woman in Europe, and more than that--a very great lady, aunt of the d.u.c.h.ess of York, might have easily supplanted the "baby-faced"

Querouaille in the inconstant heart of Charles Stuart, but that the haughty Italian paid small attention to the predilections of that prince, whom she cut to the quick by receiving before his face the advances of the Prince de Monaco, and so Charles returned "_a ses premieres amours_." That phrase, somewhat vague in so far as it applies to the sensual instincts of a man who did not even believe in friendship, describes at least accurately that pa.s.sionate feeling with which the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth had inspired him. Under certain circ.u.mstances--very rare, it is true--she went so far as to sacrifice to him entirely her political _role_, and when the question of the famous "bill of exclusion" arose, she was seen to throw herself at the King's feet, and implore her royal lover not to rush headlong to destruction;[12] entreating him to abandon, if it must be so, the interests of his brother and those of Catholicism, rather than compromise his crown and life. Such proceeding appears still more generous, if we reflect that, in spite of the irregular position which she had accepted, the d.u.c.h.ess had remained deeply attached to her religion and her native country, and that at that juncture no one was ignorant that an era of persecution was about to commence for the reformed Churches of France. Two years later, on the eve of the Nimeguen treaty, the decline of the great reign was already foreshadowed; the influence of incapable though _right-thinking_ men became daily more marked, and the star of the austere Frances d'Aubigny (Maintenon) arose slowly above the horizon. Conversions at any price were clamoured for, and no extent of sacrifice deterred the proselytisers from bringing back within the fold souls of quality, save leaving one day to Louvois'

dragoons the charge of enlightening the Protestant vulgar. The d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth was, together with the d.u.c.h.ess of York, at the head of the English propagandists, and, curious enough, a regular exchange of edifying letters took place between the future foundress of Saint-Cyr and the joyous sinner of the Court of St. James's. Louis XIV., desirous of duly recompensing the services of the royal favourite, conferred upon her by letters-patent dated January, 1684, the French t.i.tle of d.u.c.h.ess d'Aubigny.

[12] Macaulay.

Thus had Louise Querouaille reached the summit of her rapid prosperity; but a great turn of chance was at hand, and in a moment she was about to be hurled from that dizzy height.

Lord Macaulay has graphically sketched the memorable scene in which she figured so creditably when Charles was struck with his fatal seizure. On the 2nd of February, 1685, "scarcely had Charles risen from his bed when his attendants perceived that his utterance was indistinct, and that his thoughts seemed to be wandering. Several men of rank had, as usual, a.s.sembled to see their sovereign shaved and dressed. He made an effort to converse with them in his usual gay style; but his ghastly look surprised and alarmed them. Soon his face grew black; his eyes turned in his head; he uttered a cry, staggered, and fell into the arms of one of his lords. A physician, who had charge of the royal retorts and crucibles, happened to be present. He had no lancet; but he opened a vein with a penknife. The blood flowed freely; but the King was still insensible.

"He was laid on his bed, where, during a short time, the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth hung over him with the familiarity of a wife. But the alarm had been given. The Queen and the d.u.c.h.ess of York were hastening to the room. The favourite concubine was forced to retire to her own apartments. Those apartments had been thrice pulled down and thrice rebuilt by her lover to gratify her caprice. The very furniture of the chimney was ma.s.sive silver. Several fine paintings, which properly belonged to the Queen, had been transferred to the dwelling of the mistress. The sideboards were piled with richly wrought plate. In the niches stood cabinets, masterpieces of j.a.panese art. On the hangings, fresh from the looms of Paris, were depicted, in tints which no English tapestry could rival, birds of gorgeous plumage, landscapes, hunting matches, the lordly terrace of Saint-Germain's, the statues and fountains of Versailles.[13] In the midst of this splendour, purchased by guilt and shame, the unhappy woman gave herself up to an agony of grief, which, to do her justice, was not wholly selfish."

[13] Evelyn's Diary, Jan. 24, 1681-2. Oct. 4, 1683.

On the morning on which the King was taken ill, the d.u.c.h.ess of York had, at the request of the Queen, suggested the propriety of procuring spiritual a.s.sistance. "For such a.s.sistance," continues Macaulay, "Charles was at last indebted to an agency very different from that of his pious wife and sister-in-law." A life of frivolity and vice had not extinguished in the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth all sentiments of religion, or all that kindness which is the glory of her s.e.x. The French Amba.s.sador, Barillon, who had come to the palace to inquire after the King, paid her a visit. He found her in an agony of sorrow. She took him into a secret room, and poured out her whole heart to him. "I have," she said, "a thing of great moment to tell you. If it were known, my head would be in danger. The King is really and truly a Catholic; but he will die without being reconciled to the Church. His bedchamber is full of Protestant clergymen. I cannot enter it without giving scandal. The Duke is thinking only of himself. Speak to him. Remind him that there is a soul at stake. He is master now. He can clear the room. Go this instant, or it will be too late."

Barillon hastened to the bedchamber, took the Duke aside, and delivered the message of the mistress. The conscience of James smote him. He started as if roused from sleep, and declared that nothing should prevent him discharging the sacred duty which had been so long delayed.

Several schemes were discussed and rejected. At last the Duke commanded the crowd to stand aloof, went to the bed, stooped down, and whispered something which none of the spectators could hear, but which they supposed to be some question about affairs of state. Charles answered in an audible voice, "Yes, yes, with all my heart." None of the bystanders, except the French Amba.s.sador, guessed that the King was declaring his wish to be admitted into the bosom of the Church of Rome.

The difficulty was to find a priest at a moment's notice; for, as the law then stood, the person who admitted a proselyte into the Roman Catholic Church was guilty of a capital crime. John Huddleston, a Benedictine monk, however, who had, with great risk to himself, saved the King's life after the battle of Worcester, readily consented to put his life a second time in peril for his prince. Father Huddleston was admitted by the back door. A cloak had been thrown over his sacred vestments; and his shaven crown was concealed by a flowing wig. "Sir,"

said the Duke, "this good man once saved your life. He now comes to save your soul." Charles faintly answered, "He is welcome." Huddleston went through his part better than had been expected, for he was so illiterate that he did not know what he ought to say on an occasion of so much importance, and had to be instructed on the spot by a Portuguese ecclesiastic, one Castel Melhor. The whole ceremony occupied about three-quarters of an hour; and, during that time, the courtiers who filled the outer room had communicated their suspicions to each other by whispers and significant glances. The door was at length thrown open, and the crowd again filled the chamber of death.

It was now late in the evening. The King seemed much relieved by what had pa.s.sed. His natural children were brought to his bedside--the Dukes of Grafton, Southampton, and Northumberland, sons of the d.u.c.h.ess of Cleveland; the Duke of St. Albans, son of Eleanor Gwynne; and the Duke of Richmond, son of the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth. Charles blessed them all, but spoke with peculiar tenderness to Richmond. One face, which should have been there, was wanting. The eldest and best beloved child was an exile and a wanderer. His name was not once mentioned by his father.

During the night Charles earnestly recommended the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth and her boy to the care of James; "And do not," he good-naturedly added, "let poor Nelly starve." The Queen sent excuses for her absence by Halifax. She said she was too much disordered to resume her post by the couch, and implored pardon for any offence which she might unwittingly have given. "She asks my pardon, poor woman!" cried Charles; "I ask hers with all my heart."

At noon of the next day (Friday, February 6th) he pa.s.sed away without a struggle.

As it commonly happens in the sequel of such sudden and mournful events, the most absurd rumours did not fail to be circulated on the subject of Charles's death. According to one, the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth had poisoned the King with a cup of chocolate; another a.s.serted that the Queen had poisoned him with a jar of preserved pears. Time has done justice to these ridiculous suspicions; but that which will probably never be discovered is the exact nature of the unfortunate monarch's malady, whom a deplorable fatality caused to fall into the hands of ignorant physicians who, not being able to agree amongst themselves, tortured the patient haphazard for many hours together.

Hume, at the end of his dissertation upon the hypothesis of the poisoning of Charles, relates the following anecdote:--"Mr. Henley, of Hampshire, told me that the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth having come to England in 1699, he learned that she had caused it to be understood that Charles II. had been poisoned, and that, being desirous of ascertaining the fact from the d.u.c.h.ess's own mouth, she told him that she continually urged the King to place himself at his ease as well as his people, and to live in perfect understanding with his Parliament; that he had taken the resolution of sending his brother out of the kingdom, and to convoke a Parliament, which was to have been put in execution on the day after that upon which he was seized with his first access; that, above everything, the King recommended her to keep it secret, and that she had only revealed it to her confessor; but she believed that her confessor had revealed the secret to persons who made use of that evil means of preventing the _coup d'etat_."

If such, indeed, was the political att.i.tude of the d.u.c.h.ess during the last months of Charles's life, it may be conceived that the supreme recommendations of the dying monarch may have exercised little influence over the predetermined resolves of his ign.o.ble successor, and it explains the sudden step she took to regain her native country. On her return to France she carried with her a large treasure in money and jewels. She had come to England poor, had lived there in splendour, but without much care for the future, and having proudly enjoyed a full-blown prosperity, was now about to endure adversity with courageous resolution. Having quarrelled with James II., the d.u.c.h.ess could not think of taking up her abode at Versailles, where her position would not have been tenable; she determined therefore to settle herself in Paris, where her house and surroundings became the object of a rigorous surveillance.

"It reached the King's ears," says Saint-Simon, "that great freedom of speech prevailed in her circle, and that she herself spoke very freely of him and Madame de Maintenon, upon which M. de Louvois was directed to prepare immediately a _lettre de cachet_ to exile her far away. Courtin was an intimate friend of Louvois, who had a small house at Meudon, where the former was accustomed to enter his cabinet unceremoniously at all hours. On his entrance one evening, he found Louvois alone writing, and whilst the minister was absorbed in that occupation, Courtin perceived the _lettre de cachet_ lying upon the bureau. When Louvois had finished writing, Courtin, with some emotion, asked him what that _lettre de cachet_ was? Louvois told him its purpose. Courtin remarked that it was surely an ungracious act, for that, even if the report were true, the King might be content to go no further than advising her to be more circ.u.mspect. He begged and entreated him to tell the King so on his part before acting upon the _lettre de cachet_; and that, if the King would not believe his words, he should get him, before going further, to look at the despatches of his negotiations with England, especially those relating to the important results he had obtained through the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth at the time of the Dutch war, and during the whole of his emba.s.sy; and that after such services rendered by her, it would be dishonour to himself to forget them. Louvois, who remembered it all very well, after Courtin had reminded him of several important facts, suspended the execution of the _lettre de cachet_, and gave the King an account of the interview, and of what Courtin had said; and upon such testimony, which recalled several facts to the King's mind, he ordered the _lettre de cachet_ to be thrown into the fire, and had the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth admonished to be more reserved in future. She defended herself stoutly from what had been imputed to her, and, true or false, she took heed in future of the nature of the conversation which was held at her house.

Louis XIV., become a bigot and a persecutor, suffered none but silent and submissive slaves to surround him. The d.u.c.h.ess showed herself docile to Courtin's advice, and pa.s.sed in profound obscurity the many long years which, remained to her of existence. Saint-Simon and Dangeau say nothing more about her, save to enregister the meagre favours which the Court measured out with an avaricious hand, and that woman, to whom was owing the signature of the Treaty of Nimeguen, was reduced in 1689 to solicit a pension of 20,000 livres, which was considerably diminished when the disasters soon afterwards happened which impoverished the French nation.

Such was the parsimony exercised by the great Monarch towards a woman who had laboured strenuously for French interests so long as her sway over Charles of England lasted, and which sway only ceased with his life. "Therein she employed unceasingly all her talent for politics, all her fascinations, all her wit," says the English chronicler already cited, and whose object has been, according to his translator, anonymous like himself, to demonstrate that if Charles II. acted in a way so little conformable to the interests not only of several foreign states, but still more of his own kingdom, it was the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth who urged him to it, through the pa.s.sion with which she had inspired him, by her cunning, and the power she possessed over his mind. The same translator afterwards remarks, that "this lady obtained more easily from the King in a moment and with a _coup de langue_ things the most unreasonable and the most contrary to true policy, than all the most judicious, the most voluble, the most insinuating persons could obtain from him in matters infinitely reasonable and just." Without attributing to the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth a power of action so prejudicial to the interests of the British nation as her anonymous biographer has done, who wrote under the excitement of discontent caused, says Lyttleton, by "the strengthening of the alliance with France, the secret enemy of England and the Protestant religion, as well as by a costly war with Holland, her natural ally," Hume states that "during the rest of his life Charles II. was extremely attached to Querouaille, and that this favourite contributed greatly to the close alliance between her own country and England." Voltaire, without particularising the effects of the ascendancy of the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth over Charles II., says that that monarch "was governed by her to the very last moment of his life."

He adds that "her beauty equalled that of Madame de Montespan, and that she was in England what the other beauty had been in France, but with more influence." This a.s.sertion, accurate as it is so far as concerns political influence--for Madame de Montespan never exercised any over the government of Louis XIV.--is not equally so with regard to the question of beauty. On that head, indeed, the d.u.c.h.ess had her detractors. "I have seen that famous beauty, Mademoiselle Querouaille,"

wrote Evelyn in his _Diary_, about a month after her arrival in England; "but, in my opinion, she is of a childish, simple, and baby face."

PART III.

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I.

TWO LADIES OF THE BEDCHAMBER DURING THE WAR OF THE SPANISH SUCCESSION, LADY CHURCHILL AND THE PRINCESS DES URSINS--POLITICAL MOTIVES FOR THEIR ELEVATION IN ENGLAND AND SPAIN.

AT the outset of that historic period known as the _War of the Spanish Succession_ a remarkable feature presents itself in the fact that two women were chosen to be, as it were, its advanced sentinels--the one of the Austrian party in England, the other of the French party in Spain.

These were Lady Churchill (wife of the famous soldier, Marlborough), first lady of the bedchamber to our Queen Anne, and the Princess des Ursins, fulfilling, under the t.i.tle of _Camerara-Mayor_, the same functions for the new Queen of Spain, Marie-Louise of Savoy, first wife of Philip V.

The perpetual struggle previously waged between France and Spain for two centuries const.i.tutes a theme of no ordinary interest. True, that in modern times armed interventions and dynastic and family tendencies have attested the political predominance of the former power, but it was not so in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when the bigoted Philip II. looked upon himself as the head of all Catholicism and the vicegerent of G.o.d on earth. The general character of the struggle, the events, the men, the results, are all worthy of consideration, and replete with ill.u.s.trations of historical and political adventure. Every effort made by the two great adversaries shook Europe to its centre, and the ultimate result of each has always been in favour of the great cause of religious and political freedom. Two centuries of warfare between two absolute governments and two states so profoundly Catholic gave birth to the first European republic--Holland; and served to confirm the power of the great Protestant state--England; and to establish religious liberty in Germany.

A brief glance at the more immediate circ.u.mstances which brought about this _War of Succession_ may here be necessary. The Treaty of the Pyrenees had terminated the long struggle above alluded to; peace being cemented by the marriage of the Infanta Maria Theresa, daughter of Philip IV. of Spain, to the young Louis XIV. of France, on the 3rd of June, 1660. The royal husband renounced for himself and his heirs all right of succession to the Spanish throne, but was promised in return a moderate dowry, which, however, was only partially paid. Forty years after this marriage, Charles II. of Spain, widowed, childless, and broken in health, selected as his successor Prince Leopold of Bavaria, but he died when five years old. In this difficulty Charles consulted Pope Innocent XII., who decreed that the children of the Dauphin of France were the true, only, and legitimate heirs. But this negotiation was conducted with such profound secresy that it was only after the accession of Philip V., grandson of Louis XIV., that the Pope's interference became public.

The Holy Father's reply, however, was so positive, that all the scruples of Charles II. were removed. His previous will was immediately burnt in the presence of his confessor; and a new one drawn up wherein Philip d'Anjou was declared absolute heir to the crown and kingdom of Spain; which, in the event of his demise, were to devolve to the Duke de Berri, third son of the Dauphin; and, he failing, to the Archduke Charles; with the reservation, as regarded the two first, that they should not unite in their own persons the sovereignties of France and Spain; and in that of the third that he should renounce all claim to the empire of Germany if he ever became heir to the Spanish throne; while it was, moreover, finally decreed that, if by any extraordinary concatenation of events, neither of those three princes should be enabled to claim the bequest of Charles II., it should devolve upon the Duke of Savoy without any restriction whatever.

The precaution was well-timed; for shortly afterwards, Charles, losing the use of his faculties, descended into the vaults of the Escurial, where he had commanded the tombs of his father, mother, and first wife to be opened in order that he might consult their tenants upon the sacred obligations of the will he had just signed. Wildly interrogating the mouldering relics, upon which he imprinted impa.s.sioned kisses, the unfortunate monarch fell senseless upon an adjacent tomb, destined shortly to receive his own remains, and was carried from those gloomy sepulchres back to his couch only to be borne back again in a few short days a corpse.

The royal will--the subject of so much gloomy meditation, of discussions the most anxious in the councils of the Escurial, and of intrigues the most active on the part of the foreigner, had been accepted by Louis XIV. in the name of his grandson, the Duke d'Anjou. The cabinet of Versailles, hoping to ally the Duke of Savoy to its policy, had brought about a marriage between Philip V. and the daughter of Victor Amadeus II., Marie Louise, sister of the young d.u.c.h.ess of Burgundy. The House of Hapsburg, during a period of almost hopeless anarchy, had exhausted its efforts in the attempt to establish a political duality in Spain. "If the government of that monarchy be closely scrutinised," wrote Count de Rebenac,[14] "it will be found that disorder everywhere prevails to an excessive degree; but that, in the condition in which matters stand, scarcely any change can be ventured upon without risk of incurring dangers more to be dreaded than the existing evils, and a complete revolution would be necessary before perfect order in the state could be re-established." Rebenac added that it was not the elements of strength that were wanting to Spain, but that they were scattered as in a chaos, and that no master-mind existed capable of reducing them to order and unity. The dynasty, in fact, which reigned at Madrid at that juncture had pa.s.sed from incapacity to impotence, and henceforward there only remained to Spain her _law of succession_ to rescue her from her abas.e.m.e.nt. The miserable Charles II. was then making and unmaking his will continually--sometimes indicating a prince of Bavaria as his successor, at others a prince of the house of Austria. At last he chose, as has been said, a grandson of Louis XIV., in the hope of interesting France in the preservation of the duality of the monarchy. Two years afterwards one half of Europe was in arms to hurl the youthful Philip from his throne.

[14] Memoirs of Count de Rebenac's Emba.s.sy to Spain in 1689, MS. No.

63, fol. 224, Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris.

CHAPTER II.

THE PRINCESS DES URSINS.