It was of this same Elizabeth, born for a throne, that Frederick the Great said: “The pride of a Spartan, the obstinacy of a Briton, added to Italian finesse and French vivacity, formed the character of this singular woman. She advanced audaciously to the accomplishment of her designs; nothing astonished her, nothing could stop her.” Possessed of such qualities it is not surprising to find that she profited by the smallest opening to sweep the ground clear on her arrival.
Recovering from this stunning downfall, Madame des Ursins, after the first moments of surprise, recovered all her strength, her sang-froid, her wonted equanimity. Not a complaint or unbecoming reproach or weak word escaped her lips. She had formed a just estimate beforehand of all that human instability; she said to herself, on beholding her enemies triumphant and her friends in consternation, that there was no reason to be greatly astonished. That this world was only a stage over which many very poor actors strutted, that she had thereon played her part better than many others perhaps, and that her enemies ought not to have expected to see her so humiliated that she could no longer perform it: “It is in the eye of heaven that I should be humbled,” said she, “and I am so.”
Every reader of Saint Simon must be deeply impressed with his narrative of that terrible night of December 24th, 1714. Who can fail to picture to himself the rude expulsion of the Princess des Ursins from the Queen’s apartment in her full dress of ceremony, suddenly packed off in a carriage, without proper clothing or change of linen, and without money, to be whirled away through a winter’s night so severe that her driver lost one of his hands from frost-bite, over mountain passes where the roads had disappeared beneath the snow, towards an unknown destination? Who cannot picture to himself hunger coming to add fresh tortures to those of the prolonged nightmare under which that unfortunate lady must have suffered the keenest pangs of incertitude, of astonishment, and of humiliation? Such, however, was the fate reserved for a woman who had inscribed her name among those of the founders of a dynasty and the liberators of a great kingdom!
For some time previous to the occurrence of that strange event—so unlooked for, so inconceivable—the Princess had not been free from inquietude with respect to the preservation of her prestige and authority, as also on the score of constantly recurring difficulties with the Court of Versailles, wherein she had numerous enemies keeping up an active correspondence with the still more numerous enemies by whom she was surrounded at Madrid; the affairs of the sovereignty, the isolation in which Philip was kept; the marriage of that Prince, determined upon and almost concluded without the consent of his grandfather—all which had deeply angered Louis the Fourteenth.
Though all this tended by turns to inspire the Princess with fear and disgust, still, she could not anticipate an ignominious treatment coming from that quarter. Soon, however, her wonted courage got the uppermost in her bosom; besides, she had hopes both from her justification and from the King of Spain, whose confidence she thought unshakeable, of a return to Court, difficult, nevertheless, after such a shock. Meanwhile, the Queen vouchsafed no replies to her letters; the King announced to her that he was unable to refuse the maintenance of the measure taken at the instance of the Queen, but assured her that pensions would be conferred upon her. Having reached St. Jean de Luz, Madame des Ursins wrote to Versailles, and shortly afterwards despatched thither one of her nephews. The Great Monarch was compelled to be guided by the decision of his grandson; Madame de Maintenon replied by evasive compliments. The Princess could then see that all was at an end, as regarded her resumption of power. She pursued her way through France, and arrived in Paris. The King received her coldly; her stay in France was not prolonged without difficulty. Moreover, she foresaw the approaching decease of Louis the Fourteenth, and a regency under the Duke of Orleans. Their old quarrels, the open hatred which had since existed between them, causing her uneasiness and misgivings, she resolved to quit France. She wished to visit the Low Countries, but was not permitted. She proceeded to Savoy, thence to Genoa, and at last returned to Rome, where she once more fixed her abode. There a suitable existence was secured to her, for Philip kept his promise, and caused her pension to be punctually paid.
Habituated to the stir of courts and the excitement of state affairs, she could not condemn herself, notwithstanding her age, to an absolute repose. Prince James Stuart, called the Pretender, having withdrawn to Rome, Madame des Ursins attached herself to him and his fortunes; she did the honours of his house: and thus she remained until her death, which took place December 5th, 1722, at the age of fourscore and upwards.
It has been sought to divine the real authors of the Princess’s disgrace; for it has been considered, not without good reason, that it was very improbable that no other cause save a sudden impulse arising from a feeling of anger, barely justifiable on the Queen’s part, had urged her to put in execution a resolution which brought about nothing less than an actual political revolution.
FOOTNOTES:
[72] Memoirs of St. Simon, tom. xx., p. 175.
[73] Histoire Secrete de la Cour de Madrid, année 1714, p. 315.