FOOTNOTES:[72]Memoirs of St. Simon, tom. xx., p. 175.[73]Histoire Secrete de la Cour de Madrid, année 1714, p. 315.[74]“Questo abbate pur freddamente, e come a mezza voce la nomino, aggiugnendo per altro, ch’ella era una buona Lombarda, impastata da buttero et fromagio picentino, elevata alla casalingua, ed avezza di non sentirsi di altro parlare che di mertelli ricami e tele.”—Memorie Istorichedi Poggiali, p. 279.[75]“I only ask one thing of you,” wrote Elizabeth Farnese to Philip V.; “that is the dismissal of Madame des Ursins;” and the king had replied—“At least do not spare your blow; for if she only talk to you for a couple of hours, she will enchain you, and hinder us from sleeping together, as happened to the late Queen.”—Duclos.[76]Madame des Ursins, stupified, sought to make excuses. “La Reine alors, redoublant de furie et de menaces, se mit à crier qu’on fît sortir cette folle de sa présence et de son logis, et l’en fit mettre dehors par les épaules.”—Saint Simon.
[72]Memoirs of St. Simon, tom. xx., p. 175.
[72]Memoirs of St. Simon, tom. xx., p. 175.
[73]Histoire Secrete de la Cour de Madrid, année 1714, p. 315.
[73]Histoire Secrete de la Cour de Madrid, année 1714, p. 315.
[74]“Questo abbate pur freddamente, e come a mezza voce la nomino, aggiugnendo per altro, ch’ella era una buona Lombarda, impastata da buttero et fromagio picentino, elevata alla casalingua, ed avezza di non sentirsi di altro parlare che di mertelli ricami e tele.”—Memorie Istorichedi Poggiali, p. 279.
[74]“Questo abbate pur freddamente, e come a mezza voce la nomino, aggiugnendo per altro, ch’ella era una buona Lombarda, impastata da buttero et fromagio picentino, elevata alla casalingua, ed avezza di non sentirsi di altro parlare che di mertelli ricami e tele.”—Memorie Istorichedi Poggiali, p. 279.
[75]“I only ask one thing of you,” wrote Elizabeth Farnese to Philip V.; “that is the dismissal of Madame des Ursins;” and the king had replied—“At least do not spare your blow; for if she only talk to you for a couple of hours, she will enchain you, and hinder us from sleeping together, as happened to the late Queen.”—Duclos.
[75]“I only ask one thing of you,” wrote Elizabeth Farnese to Philip V.; “that is the dismissal of Madame des Ursins;” and the king had replied—“At least do not spare your blow; for if she only talk to you for a couple of hours, she will enchain you, and hinder us from sleeping together, as happened to the late Queen.”—Duclos.
[76]Madame des Ursins, stupified, sought to make excuses. “La Reine alors, redoublant de furie et de menaces, se mit à crier qu’on fît sortir cette folle de sa présence et de son logis, et l’en fit mettre dehors par les épaules.”—Saint Simon.
[76]Madame des Ursins, stupified, sought to make excuses. “La Reine alors, redoublant de furie et de menaces, se mit à crier qu’on fît sortir cette folle de sa présence et de son logis, et l’en fit mettre dehors par les épaules.”—Saint Simon.
CLOSING SCENES.
THE PRINCESS DES URSINS.
ThePrincess des Ursins, as it will be seen, shared the fate of Portocarrero, of Medina-Cœli, and of all those whose power she had broken or whose designs she had frustrated; and who, after their decease, were immediately buried in silence and oblivion. Divided into two parts by the death of Marie-Louise of Savoy, her political life in Spain had not always assumed the same character, a like aspect. The first had been marked by useful or glorious actions, and was of real grandeur; the second was more remarkable for its weakness. Side by side with a bold and honourable, although unsuitable enterprise, ridiculous and extravagant pretensions were coupled. Finding herself alone at the right hand of Philip the Fifth, she became puffed up with her exclusive influence, her new rank and title. She exaggerated her personal importance. She was possessed with the secret desire of being in Spain, with a young sovereign, and he too on the eve of marriage, what Madame de Maintenon was in France, with an aged monarch, and for a while she attained that object, as flattering to her feminine vanity as to her ambition.
In this there was only one difference, a difference arising from the respective characters of these two ladies and of those two kings; which was that the ascendant of the one, taking the form of friendship the most discreet, was lasting, whilst the other, exercising a direct, immediate, and too overtdomination, was destined, sooner or later, to end in tiring out a monarch infinitely less capable than Louis the Fourteenth, but quite as jealous of sway. The Princess bore, therefore, rather the semblance of an intriguante, as people remarked, than of a serious woman, having large views, of will alike firm and prompt, of enlightened and, in a certain sense, liberal mind, with an entire abnegation of self—seeking the welfare of the State alone, and the interests only of the two great countries. Except those whom she had served, or who had sent her to Spain, few had approved her acts at any period of her favour. The misfortunes and the abuses that marked her possession of power, when it had reached its apogee, confirmed them in their opinion, especially when they saw, in France, the severest censure launched against her even from high places, whence until then praise had descended. Others, to whom her previous conduct was less known, judged her only by what seemed ridiculous or faulty at that period of her life, and the last impression received was that which they retained, which has been transmitted to posterity; which was regarded as that most to be relied upon, and which the almost exclusive perusal of Saint Simon, far from modifying in any way that impression, only served to confirm it. That consummate courtier has well said, in his Memoirs, that “her history deserved to be written,” implying the deep interest which would be derivable from it. The narrative, apart from its interest, is valuable for the lesson it conveys of the fruitlessness of the devotion of a most gifted woman’s life to the pursuit of politics on the grandest and most elevated scale. During twelve years the Princess des Ursins exercised a power almost absolute. If, however, the beneficent traces of her influence and sway are sought for, the search proves futile; thoughdoubtless, after so many crises and revolutions Spain has experienced since her time, that ungovernable country must have lost all such advantages; but at any rate posterity would have preserved a remembrance of them. We must not, however, accuse Madame des Ursins too severely. One of those vigorous geniuses was needed which but too seldom make their appearance upon the scene of events to resuscitate and sustain the Spanish monarchy amidst circumstances so untoward and difficult. After civil and foreign war which had driven Philip to the brink of a precipice, he had succeeded in reducing to obedience the last city of his kingdom, only a few days before the fall of Madame des Ursins. And then began a peaceful sway, which allowed useful reforms and beneficent ameliorations to be thought of.
The subject of so many accusations, and probably misconceptions, the Princess possessed a large, fine, and cultivated mind, a rare aptitude for business, a force of character little common among persons of her sex. Warm in her affections, she was naturally so in her hatreds; and though but too easily accessible to unjust prejudices, was prompt also to seek out and encourage merit. She has been reproached for her intrigues, but the same weapons with which she was assailed she turned against her enemies, and their number was great. How manifold must have been the animosities excited by the position of a woman who, standing only at the foot of the throne, governed both its possessors and their Court, created and directed its ministers, generals, and ambassadors! Fervent attachment to her sovereigns, eminent services rendered to them and their countries, an astonishing capacity, a profound knowledge of mankind, a rare presence of mind, and an unshakeable firmness in situations the most perilous and misfortunes the most unlooked-for,such attributes cannot be denied without injustice to the Princess des Ursins, and which, however futile the result of her political career, ought to consecrate the memory of her labours and her name.
It was a generous impulse which prompted Madame des Ursins to commence a fresh attack upon the Spanish Inquisition. Can it be said that the war she waged against it remained without any result? Assuredly not. By her active intervention the English Government obtained the privilege that the palace of its ambassador at Madrid should enjoy the right of an asylum against all the proceedings of the Inquisition, and the same privilege was acquired for British vessels in the ports of Spain. A Protestant nation thus opened in the capital of the Catholic King a perpetual refuge against the rigours of the Holy Office. It was a great innovation; it was the first blow dealt by the spirit of modern times against that of those Spanish institutions which represented the most faithfully the blind and almost barbarous religion of the Middle Ages.
It is difficult to decide whether it was a misfortune or an advantage to her to figure in the gallery of the ducal memoir-writer, Saint Simon. That portrait, sketched with a breadth and freedom by which her womanly character has somewhat suffered, depicts her as devoured by a thirst for power, without even allowing the important services which she rendered to the two nations to be so much as suspected. The great master has not given us a bust-portrait of Madame des Ursins, but a full-length likeness, with that lavish excess of colour flung upon the canvas which imparts more life than truth, more of relief than perspective to the majority of his pictures. If in that brilliant delineation the great lady shines with a somewhat theatrical majesty, thenational object which she pursued is in no wise indicated—a grave though natural omission on the part of a man in whom a passionate fondness for details almost always blinds him to the collective point of view, and who is not the first of portraitists only because he is the least reliable of historical painters. He, nevertheless, in her case, always manifests the feeling that she is worthy of a careful, special, and patient study, and he points out such study for the edification of posterity. “She reigned in Spain,” he remarks, “and her history deserves to be written.”
We will now reproduce his elaborate portrait of the Princess. “Rather tall than short of stature, she was a brunette with blue eyes whose expression incessantly responded to everything that pleased her; with a perfect shape, a lovely bosom, and a countenance which, without regularity of feature, was more charming even than the purely symmetrical. Her air was extremely noble, and there was something majestic in her whole demeanour, and a grace so natural and continual in all she did, even in things the most trivial and indifferent, that I have never seen anyone approach to, either in form or mind. Her wit was copious and of all kinds. She was flattering, caressing, insinuating, moderate, desirous to please for pleasing sake, and with charms irresistible when she strove to persuade and win over. Accompanying all this, she possessed a grandeur that encouraged rather than repelled. A delightful tone of conversation, inexhaustible and always most amusing—for she had seen many countries and peoples. A voice and way of speaking extremely agreeable and full of sweetness. She had read much and reflected much. She knew how to choose the best society, how to receive it, and could even have held a Court; was polite and distinguished; and, above all, carefulnever to take a step in advance without dignity and discretion. She was eminently fitted for intrigue, in which, from taste, she had passed her time at Rome. With much ambition, but of that vast kind far above her sex and the common run of men—a desire to occupy a great position and to govern. An inclination to gallantry and personal vanity were her foibles, and these clung to her until her latest days; consequently she dressed in a way that no longer became her, and as she advanced in life departed further from propriety in this particular. She was an ardent and excellent friend—of a friendship that time and absence never enfeebled; and therefore an implacable enemy, pursuing her hatred even to the infernal regions. Whilst caring little for the means by which she gained her ends, she tried as much as possible to reach them by honest means. Secret, not only for herself, but for her friends, she was yet of a decorous gaiety, and so governed her humours, that at all times and in everything she was mistress of herself.”
Such was the Princess des Ursins, as sketched by that painstaking limner, Saint-Simon; throughout whose “Memoirs” many other scattered traits are to be found of this celebrated woman, who so long and so publicly governed the Court and Crown of Spain, and whose fate it was to make so much stir in the world alike by her reign and her fall.
SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.
Throughoutthe political conflicts which agitated the Court of England since the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough had left their native shores, the Duke maintained a steady correspondence with his friends, but expressed a firm refusal to deviate from those principles which had occasioned his exile, or to approve of the Peace of Utrecht, or to abandon his desire for the Hanoverian succession. Distrusting the sincerity of Harley’s pretended exertions, he resolutely refused to hold intercourse with a Minister of whose hollowness he had already received many proofs. Nor was the Duchess less determined never to pardon the injuries which she conceived herself and her husband to have sustained from Harley. All offers of his aid, all attempts to lend to him the influence which Marlborough’s military and personal character still commanded, were absolutely rejected.
At the Court of Hanover, the Duke and Duchess saw, as it were, reflected the cabals of their native country. Little, indeed, that was reassuring reached them in their foreign retreat, relative to public affairs. The existing policy of Anne’s Ministers seemed likely to destroy all that his labours had effected during a long life of toil and danger; and the sacrifice of thousands of lives had gained no advantage which the malice of his enemies could not undo. In short, the friendly relations which were brought about between France and England threatened to change the face of things altogether.
The result of the shrewd Duchess’s experience of political life and royal favour was embodied in the sound advice she gave her illustrious husband on his return to England, shortly after the death of Anne, and previous to the arrival of her successor, George I. “I begged of the Duke upon my knees,” relates the Duchess, “that he would never accept any employment. I said everybody that liked the Revolution and the security of the law had a great esteem for him, that he had a greater fortune than he wanted, and that a man who had had such success, with such an estate, would be of more use to any court than they could be to him; that I would live civilly with them, if they were so to me, but would never put it into the power of any King to use me ill. He was entirely of this opinion, and determined to quit all, and serve them only when he could act honestly and do his country service at the same time.”
Though the Duchess witnessed the triumph of the Whigs on their return to power at the accession of George I., she was very far from possessing the influence she had enjoyed during Anne’s reign. Her feverish thirst for political and courtly intrigues had returned upon her, despite so many bitter deceptions and the advance of old age. She scolded incessantly her husband for his indolence, when he had really become incapable of any longer taking an active part in public affairs. He confined himself to the enjoyment of his opulence and his high position. In May, 1716, he experienced a violent attack of paralysis, which for some time deprived him of speech and recollection. His health continued to decline more and more to the close of his life in June, 1722, though the notion of his imbecility appears to have been erroneous.
The Duke of Marlborough was one of the bravest andmost kindly-tempered of men. His gentleness and devotion towards his wife and love of his children were not the only proofs which he gave of a kindly nature, and many curious anecdotes are related of the way in which he governed his imperious consort when he had to encounter her tears, sulks, and torrents of passionate reproaches, which were among the favourite and irresistible features of her conjugal eloquence. The fiery Duchess survived her illustrious husband the long period of twenty-two years. Notwithstanding her age, and probably on account of her immense fortune, she was sought in marriage by the Duke of Somerset and Lord Coningsby. The reply she made to the offer of the first-named, an old friend, the “proud Duke,” was admirable. She declined a second marriage as unsuitable to her age; but added—“Were I only thirty, and were you able to lay the empire of the world at my feet, I would not allow you to succeed to that heart and hand which has always been devoted wholly to John, Duke of Marlborough.” A proof of her good judgment and true dignity! At the same time, it must be owned that, alike through pride and gratitude, she truly owed such a testimony of respect to the memory of a husband who had left behind so great a name, and who was throughout his married life full of amiability, deference, and tenderness towards her, and who had suffered with an exemplary patience all the capriciousness of her imperious character.
The instructive lesson derivable from the extraordinary career and signal disgrace of this remarkable political woman is emphatically given by the Duchess herself, on her retirement, as the results of her own experience of royal favour.
“After what has passed, I do solemnly protest, that if itwere in my power I would not be a favourite, which few will believe; and since I shall never be able to give any demonstration of that truth, I had as good say no more of it. But as fond as people are of power, I fancy that anybody that had been shut up so many tedious hours as I have been with a person that had no conversation, and yet must be treated with respect, would feel something of what I did, and be very glad when their circumstances did not want it, to be freed from such a slavery, which must be uneasy at all times; though I do protest, that upon the account of her loving me, and trusting me so entirely as she did, I had a concern for her, which is more than you will easily believe, and I would have served her with the hazard of my life upon any occasion; but after she put me at liberty by using me ill, I was very easy, and liked better that anybody should have her favour than myself, at the price of flattery without which I believe nobody can be well with a King or Queen, unless the world should come to be less corrupt or they wiser than any I have seen since I was born.”
In another place she says: “Women signify nothing unless they are the mistresses of a Prince or a Prime Minister, which I would not be if I were young; and I think there are very few, if any, women that have understanding or impartiality enough to serve well those they really wish to serve.”
The wife of the great captain and hero of Queen Anne’s time—the most remarkable woman of her own, or perhaps of any epoch—lived to the age of eighty-four.
“So singular was the fate of this extraordinary woman in private life,” it has been truly observed, “that scarcely did she possess a tie which was not severed or embittered by worldly or political considerations.”
Those who hopelessly covet wealth, honour, and celebrity through the avenues of political strife may contemplate the career of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough with profit, and rise from the study reconciled to a calmer course of life and resigned to a humbler fate.