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 sœur
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.
(Oval. Dark Hair and Eyes. Very loose Déshabille.)
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 Mercœur, 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:
“‘Hélas, autre source de larmes,
Tous ses défauts, avoient des charmes.’
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.
(Murrey-coloured Dress. Blue Scarf. Pearl Necklace and
Ornaments.)
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.
(Oval. Auburn Hair. White Satin Dress. Pearls.)
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.