his feelings, wounded at once by ungratified ambition, and harrassed by
his affection being divided between two objects, each worthy of his
attachment, and each having great claims upon him, while neither was
likely to remain contented with the limited return of friendship in
exchange for love, and that friendship, too, divided by a rival. Time
wore on. Mrs Vanhomrigh was now dead. Her two sons survived her but a
short time; and the circumstances of the young ladies were so
embarrassed by inconsiderate expenses, as gave them a handsome excuse
for retiring to Ireland, where their father had left a small property
near Celbridge. The arrival of Vanessa in Dublin excited the
apprehensions of Swift and the jealousy of Stella. She importuned him
with complaints of neglect and cruelty; and it was obvious that any
decisive measure to break their correspondence would be attended with
some such tragic consequence as, though late, at length concluded their
story.
About the year 1717, she retired from Dublin to her house and property
near Celbridge, to nurse her hopeless passion in seclusion from the
world. Swift seems to have foreseen and warned her against the
consequences of this step. His letters uniformly exhort her to seek
general society, to take exercise, and divert as much as possible the
current of her thoughts from the unfortunate subject which was preying
upon her spirits. Until the year 1720, he never appears to have visited
her at Celbridge; they only met when she was occasionally in Dublin. But
in that year, and down to the time of her death, Swift came repeatedly
to Celbridge.
But Miss Vanhomrigh, irritated at the situation in which she found
herself, determined on bringing to a crisis those expectations of an
union with the object of her affections, to the hope of which she had
clung amid every vicissitude of his conduct towards her. The most
probable bar was his undefined connection with Mrs Johnson, which, as it
must have been perfectly known to her, had doubtless long excited her
secret jealousy; although only a single hint to that purpose is to be
found in their correspondence, and that so early as 1713, when she
writes to him, then in Ireland, "If you are very happy, it is
ill-natured of you not to tell me so, _except 'tis what is inconsistent
with mine_." Her silence and patience under this state of uncertainty
for no less than eight years, must have been partly owing to her awe for
Swift, and partly perhaps to the weak state of her rival's health, which
from year to year seemed to announce speedy dissolution. At length,
however, Vanessa's impatience prevailed, and she ventured on the
decisive step of writing to Mrs Johnson herself, requesting to know the
nature of that connection. Stella, in reply, informed her of her
marriage with the dean; and, full of the highest resentment against
Swift for having given another female such a right on him as Miss
Vanhomrigh's inquiries implied, she sent to him her rival's letter of
interrogation, and, without seeing him or awaiting his reply, retired to
the house of Mr Ford, near Dublin. Every reader knows the consequence.
Swift, in one of those paroxysms of fury to which he was liable, both
from temper and disease, rode instantly to Marley Abbey. As he entered
the apartment, the sternness of his countenance, which was peculiarly
formed to express the fiercer passions, struck the unfortunate Vanessa
with such terror that she could scarce ask whether he would not sit
down. He answered by flinging a letter upon the table, and, instantly
leaving the house, mounted his horse and returned to Dublin. When
Vanessa opened the packet, she only found her own letter to Stella. It
was her death-warrant; she sunk at once under the disappointment of the
delayed yet cherished hopes which had so long sickened her heart, and
beneath the unrestrained wrath of him for whose sake she had indulged
them. How long she survived this last interview is uncertain, but the
time does not seem to have exceeded a few weeks.
MARY ASTELL.
[BORN 1668. DIED 1731.]
BALLARD.
This great ornament of her sex, the daughter of a merchant in Newcastle,
and born about the year 1668, was taught all the accomplishments which
were usually learned by young women of her station; and although she
proceeded no further in the languages at that time than the learning of
the French tongue, yet she afterwards gained some knowledge of the
Latin. And having a piercing wit, a solid judgment, and tenacious
memory, she made herself a complete mistress of everything she attempted
to learn with the greatest ease imaginable. At about twenty years of age
she left Newcastle and went to London, where, and at Chelsea, she spent
the remaining part of her life, and where she prosecuted her studies
very assiduously, and in a little time made great acquisitions in the
sciences.
The learning and knowledge which she had gained, together with her great
benevolence and generosity of temper, taught her to observe and lament
the loss of it in those of her own sex, the want of which, as she justly
observed, was the principal cause of their plunging themselves into so
many follies and inconveniences. To redress this evil as much as lay in
her power, she wrote and published the two parts of her ingenious
treatise, entitled, "A Serious Proposal to the Ladies." Afterwards came
her "Letters, concerning the Love of God, between the author of the
Proposal to the Ladies and Mr John Norris." Notwithstanding her great
care to conceal herself, her name was soon discovered and made known to
several learned persons, whose restless curiosity would hardly otherwise
have been satisfied. These letters have been much applauded for their
good sense, sublime thoughts, and fine language.
Afterwards she acquired a more complete knowledge of many classic
authors,--Xenophon, Plato, Hierocles, Tully, Seneca, Epictetus, and
Antoninus. In 1700 she published her "Reflections on Marriage," which
was followed by her book against the sectaries, "Moderation truly
Stated,"--a work of which, notwithstanding all the arts she used to
conceal herself, she was soon discovered to be the author. Afterwards
came her "Religion of a Church of England Woman;" and her "Enquiry into
the Causes of Rebellion and Civil War."
As her notions and sentiments of religion, piety, charity, humility,
friendship, and all the other graces which adorn the good Christian,
were most refined and sublime, so she possessed these rare and excellent
virtues in a degree which would have made her admired and distinguished
in an age less degenerate and profane; and though from the very flower
of her age she lived and conversed with the fashionable world, amidst
all the gaiety, pomp, and pageantry of the great city, yet she well knew
how to resist and shun those infatuating snares. To know God, and to be
like Him, was her first and great endeavour. Though easy and affable to
others, to herself she was often over-severe. In abstinence, few or none
ever surpassed her; for she would live like a hermit a considerable time
together, with a crust of bread and water, with a little small beer.
And at the time of her highest living, she very rarely eat any dinner
till night, and then it was by the strictest rules of temperance.
She seemed to enjoy an uninterrupted state of health till a few years
before her death, when, having one of her breasts cut off, it so much
impaired her constitution that she did not long survive it. This was
occasioned by a cancer, which she had concealed from the world in such a
manner that even few of her most intimate acquaintances knew anything at
all of the matter. She dressed and managed it herself, till she plainly
perceived there was an absolute necessity for its being cut off; and
then, with the most intrepid resolution and courage, she went to the
Rev. Mr Johnson, a gentleman very eminent for his skill in surgery (with
only one person to attend her), entreating him to take it off in the
most private manner imaginable, and would hardly allow him to have
persons whom necessity required to be at the operation. She seemed so
regardless of the sufferings or pain she was to undergo, that she
refused to have her hands held, and did not discover the least timidity
or impatience, but went through the operation without the least
struggling or resistance, or even so much as giving a groan or a sigh.
Soon after this her health and strength declined apace; and at length,
by a gradual decay of nature, being confined to bed, and finding the
time of her dissolution drawing nigh, she ordered her coffin and shroud
to be made and brought to her bedside, and there to remain in her view
as a constant memento to her of her approaching fate, and that her mind
might not deviate or stray one moment from God, its proper object.
MADAME DES URSINS.
[BORN 1640. DIED 1722.]
ST SIMON.
When this extraordinary woman was appointed camarera-mayor to the queen
of Philip V. of Spain, she was a widow without children. No one could
have been better suited for the post. A lady of the French court would
not have done: a Spanish lady was not to be depended on, and might have
easily disgusted the queen. The Princess des Ursins appeared to be a
middle term. She was French, had been in Spain, and she passed a great
part of her life at Rome and in Italy. She was of the house of
Tremoille,--Anne Maria de la Tremoille. She first married M. Talleyrand,
who called himself Prince de Chalais. She followed her husband to Spain,
where he died. Her second husband was chief of the house of Ursins, a
grandee of Spain, and Prince of the Soglio.
Age and health were also appropriate, and likewise her appearance. She
was rather tall than otherwise; a brunette, with blue eyes of the most
varied expression; in figure perfect, with a most exquisite bosom; her
face, without being beautiful, was charming. She was extremely noble in
air, very majestic in demeanour, full of graces so natural and continual
in everything, that I have never seen any one approach her either in
form or mind. Her wit was copious, and of all kinds; she was
flattering, caressing, insinuating, moderate, wishing to please for
pleasing' sake, with charms irresistible when she strove to persuade and
win over; accompanying all this, she had a grandeur that encouraged
instead of frightening; a delicious conversation, inexhaustible and very
amusing, for she had seen many countries and persons; a voice and way of
speaking extremely agreeable, and full of sweetness. She knew how to
choose the best society, how to receive them, and could even have held a
court; was polite, _distingue_, and, above all, was careful never to
take a step in advance without dignity and discretion. She was eminently
fitted for intrigue, in which, from taste, she had passed her life in
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. A love for gallantry and personal vanity were her foibles, and
these clung to her until her latest day; consequently, she dressed in a
way that no longer became her, and, as she advanced in life, removed
further from propriety in this particular. She was an ardent and
excellent friend--of a friendship that time and absence never enfeebled,
and, consequently, an implacable enemy, pursuing her hatred to the
infernal regions. While 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
every thing she was mistress of herself.
From the first moment on which she entered the service of the Queen of
Spain, it became her desire to govern not only the queen but the king,
and by this means the realm itself. Such a grand project had need of
support from our king [Louis XIV.], who, at the commencement, ruled the
court of Spain as much as his own court, with entire influence over all
other matters.
The young Queen of Spain had been not less carefully educated than her
sister, the Duchesse de Bourgogne. She had even, when so young, much
intelligence and firmness, without being incapable of restraint. Indeed,
she became a divinity among the Spaniards, and, to their affection for
her, Philip V. was more than once indebted for his crown. Madame des
Ursins soon managed to obtain the entire confidence of this queen, and,
during the absence of Philip V. in Italy, assisted her in the
administration of all public offices. She even accompanied her to the
junta, it not being thought proper that the queen should be alone amidst
such an assemblage of men. In this way she became acquainted with
everything that was passing, and knew all the affairs of the government.
This step gained, it will be imagined that the Princess des Ursins did
not forget to pay her court most assiduously to our king and Madame de
Maintenon. Little by little she introduced into her letters details
respecting public affairs, without, however, conveying a suspicion of
her own ambition. She next began to flatter Madame de Maintenon, and to
hint that she might rule over Spain even more firmly than she ruled over
France, if she would entrust her commands to Madame des Ursins. Madame
de Maintenon was enchanted by the siren, and embraced the proposition
with avidity. It was next necessary to draw the King of Spain into the
same net--not a very arduous task. Soon the junta became a mere show.
Everything was brought before the king in private, and he gave no
decision until the queen and Madame des Ursins passed theirs.
[This rule Madame des Ursins continued for many years. Ultimately, a
quarrel with Madame de Maintenon, the death of the Queen of Spain, and
the second marriage of the king, with the cabals of enemies, forced her
in her old age into a retreat at Rome.] She was not long there before
she attached herself to the King and Queen of England (the Pretender and
his wife), and soon governed them openly. What a poor resource! But it
was courtly, and had a flavour of occupation for a woman who could not
exist without movement. She finished her life there, remarkably healthy
in mind and body, and in a prodigious opulence, which was not without
its use in that deplorable court. She had the pleasure of seeing Madame
de Maintenon forgotten and annihilated at St Cyr, of surviving her, of
seeing at Rome her two enemies, Guidice and Alberoni, as profoundly
disgraced as she. Her death, which a few years before would have
resounded through all Europe, made not the least sensation.
LADY GRIZEL JERVISWOODE.
[1665.]
ANDERSON.
Grizel Hume, born in 1665, was daughter of Patrick Hume, Baron of
Polwarth, and became the wife of George Baillie of Jerviswoode. She
began her life during the troubles of the Scottish persecution. At the
time of her father's liberation from prison, she was little more than
ten years of age; and, soon after, those romantic incidents occur in her
life which have given her a historical celebrity. From the tact and
activity with which, far beyond one of her years, she accomplished
whatever she was entrusted with, her parents sent her on confidential
missions, which she executed with singular fidelity and success. In the
summer of that same year, when Robert Baillie of Jerviswoode, the early
and intimate friend of her father, was imprisoned for rescuing his
brother-in-law, Mr James Kirkton, from a wicked persecutor, Captain
William Carstairs, she was sent by her father from his country-house to
Edinburgh, a long road, to try if from her age she could get admittance
into the prison unsuspected, and slip a letter of information and advice
into his hand, and bring back from him what intelligence she could.
Proceeding on her journey, she succeeded in getting access to Baillie,
though we are not informed in what way. But in whatever way young
Grizel got access to Baillie, and whatever were the circumstances of
their interview, she successfully accomplished the purpose of her
mission. It is also to be observed, that it was in the prison on this
occasion that she first saw Mr Baillie's son, and that then and there
originated that intimacy and attachment between him and her which
afterwards issued in their happy marriage.
When, in October 1683, Robert Baillie was apprehended in London and sent
down a prisoner to Scotland, her father, who was implicated in the same
patriotic measures for preventing a popish successor to the British
throne, for which Baillie was arrested, had too good ground to be
alarmed for his own personal safety. But he was allowed, it would
appear, to remain undisturbed in his own house till the month of
September next year, when orders were issued by the government for his
apprehension; and a party of troops had come to his house on two
different occasions for that purpose, though they failed in getting hold
of him. Upon this he found it necessary to withdraw from home, and to
keep himself in concealment till he got an opportunity of going over to
the Continent. The spot to which he betook himself for shelter was the
family burying-place, a vault under ground at Polwarth Church, at the
distance of a mile from the house. Where he was no person knew but Lady
Grizel Hume, and one man, James Winter, a carpenter, who used to work in
the house, and of whose fidelity they were not disappointed. The
frequent examinations to which servants were at that time subjected, and
the oaths by which it was attempted to extort discoveries from them,
made Grizel and her mother afraid to commit the secret to any of these.
By the assistance of James Winter, they got a bed and bed-clothes
carried during the night to his hiding-place; and there he was
concealed for a month, during which time the only light he had was that
admitted by means of a chink at one end, through which nobody on the
outside could see who or what was in the interior. While he abode in
this receptacle of the dead, Grizel, with the most exemplary filial
tenderness, and with the most vigilant precaution, ministered to his
temporal wants and comforts. Regularly at midnight, when men were sunk
in sleep, she went alone to this dreary vault, carrying to him a supply
of food and drink, and to bear him company. She stayed as long as she
could, taking care to get home before day, to prevent discovery. She had
a great deal of humour in telling a story; and during her stay she took
a delight in telling him, nor was he less delighted in hearing her tell
him, such incidents at home as had amused herself and the rest of the
family, and these were often the cause of much mirth and laughter to
them both.
[Grizel's adventures were continued into Holland, whither her father
retired, and where she showed her natural traits of sagacity, those
marks of genius for which she has been celebrated. She wrote many pieces
of poetry, and one in particular, "Werna my heart licht I would dee,"
which has been praised as simple, lively, and tender. Her personal
appearance is thus described by her daughter, Lady Murray: "She was
middle-sized, well made, clever, in her person very handsome, with a
life and sweetness in her eyes very uncommon, and great delicacy in all
her features; her hair was chestnut; and to her last she had the finest
complexion, with the clearest red in her cheeks and lips that could be
seen in any one of fifteen, which, added to her natural constitution,
might be owing to the great moderation she had in her diet throughout
her whole life.... Pottage and milk were her greatest feast, and by
choice she preferred them to everything, though nothing came wrong to
her that others could eat. Water she preferred to any liquor; and though
often obliged to take a glass of wine, she always did it unwillingly,
thinking it hurt her, and did not like it."]
MADAME DE PONTCHARTRAIN.
[1660.]
ST SIMON.
Was the daughter of Maupeon, president of one of the Chambers of
Inquest, and, though far from being rich, was an acquisition to
Pontchartrain, who was farther. One could scarcely be more _plain_ in
appearance than Madame; but then, to make up, she was a big woman, with
something of a grand air, which was not only imposing, but had a certain
refinement about it. No wife of a minister, or any other, possessed more
of the art of managing an establishment, of combining order with ease
and magnificence, of adroitly warding off inconveniences by looking
forward without showing solicitude, of making dignity harmonise with
politeness--a politeness so measured and advised as put all the world at
ease. She had a great deal of spirit, without any ambition to show it,
and a complaisance which was devoid of hollowness or duplicity. If she
happened to make a mistake, it was surprising with what quietness she
could repair the error; but she possessed also great good sense, which
enabled her to make a just estimate of people, and a general sagacity as
regards things and conduct, which few men of the time could boast of.
Every one wondered that a woman _de la robe_, who had never seen the
world but in Brittany, could in so short a time accommodate herself to
the manners, spirit, and language of the court, becoming one of the best
counsellors which one could find in cases of difficulty. True, she had
too long imbibed the manners of the people not to show some small
evidence of the contagion; but then it was all but unnoticed amidst the
gallantry of a refined and charming spirit, which seemed always welling
naturally from its source, accompanied by such grace of action that
every one was delighted.
No person understood so well as Madame Pontchartrain the art of giving
fetes. She had all the taste required, and all the invention, with a
sumptuosity, too, on all sides; yet she never gave without reason and a
good purpose, and she did all with an air perfectly simple and tranquil,
without forgetting her age, her place, her state, her modesty. She was
helpful to her relations; a trustworthy friend, effective, useful, true
in all points, and pure at heart; delicious in the freedom of the
country, dangerous at table in fixing you there, often very amusing
without saying a word out of joint; always gay, though sometimes not
exempt from humour. The virtue and the piety which she had exhibited
throughout all her life increased as her fortune increased. What she
gave in pensions well merited, what marriages she procured for poor
girls, what she did for poor nuns when well assured of their vocation,
what she deprived herself of to enable her to enable others to live,
will never be known.
ELIZABETH HALKETT.
[1677.]
CONOLLY.
Born in 1677, the authoress of the celebrated ballad of "Hardyknute" was
the second daughter of Sir Charles Halkett of Pitferrane. At the age of
nineteen she married Sir Henry Wardlaw of Pitreavie in Fife, to whom she
bore four daughters and a son.
She at first attempted to pass off the ballad of "Hardyknute" as a
genuine fragment of an ancient poem, and caused her brother-in-law, Sir
John Bruce of Kinross, to communicate the manuscript to Lord Binning,
himself a poet, as a copy of a manuscript found in an old vault of
Dunfermline.
The poem of "Hardyknute" was first published in 1719, and it was
afterwards admitted by Ramsay into the "Evergreen," and for many years
was received as an old ballad [a circumstance which has been founded on
by some modern writers as sufficient to invalidate the claims of many of
our "old ballads" to an origin beyond that of the date of Lady Halkett's
successful literary fraud. Nay, several of these have been ascribed to
this lady chiefly upon the internal evidence of identical words; but it
seems to have been overlooked by these inquirers that Lady Halkett would
naturally imitate the old ballads; and no doubt she did; so that the
supposed proof may be successfully turned against the new theory.] The
real authorship of "Hardyknute" was first disclosed by Bishop Percy in
his "Reliques," published in 1755, and has since been established beyond
a doubt [but there is no evidence beyond what has been mentioned that
she wrote "Sir Patrick Spens," or any other of our so-called old Scotch
ballads].
[Illustration: Drawn by J. Thurston. Engraved by W. Finden.
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE.
From an enamel Miniature by Zink in the possession of Charles Colville
Esqr.]
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU.
[BORN 1690. DIED 1762.]