St. Simon spoke strongly on the subject, urging the Duc de Berri to seek redress from the King, and strengthening his counsel by producing a correspondence that had fallen into his hands, between the Duchess and the aforesaid chamberlain. These letters left no doubt of their guilt: in one of them the lady proposed to elope, but her lover refused on the plea that the step would not be conducive to his advancement in life. The Duc de Berri, in conformity with his friend’s advice and his own convictions, determined to carry the correspondence to Rambouillet where Louis XIV. was then staying; but unfortunately his movements were not sufficiently prompt. The Duchess discovered that her husband and the Duc de St. Simon had been closeted together for some time over some animated and highly confidential business; it was not difficult to guess the subject, and no sooner had the Duc de Berri started, than she leaped into her coach, and pursuing him with all haste, broke into the Royal presence just in time to find the King examining the contents of the fatal correspondence. A scene of disgraceful violence and altercation ensued, and so exasperating and shameless was the language of the Duchess, that the hitherto indulgent and forbearing husband raised his heavy riding boot and with one kick sent his wife spinning into the arms of Madame de Maintenon. The King, whose dignity was outraged on all sides, lifted his cane to strike the unhappy Prince, but he had already withdrawn, full of shame at the violence into which he had been betrayed. As for the Duchess, no sooner had she recovered from the shock, than without a word to her sovereign, or Madame de Maintenon, she left the room in a paroxysm of rage. “It is true,” she said afterwards to one of her ladies, “that I have sustained no bodily injury, but the mark will ever remain here,” placing her hand upon what, by courtesy, she called her heart. It undoubtedly remained in her memory; the Duke apologised, and she pretended to be appeased; a reconciliation was patched up, and at a wolf hunt held by the King in the Forest of Marly, the Duc de Berri, who was passionately fond of the sport, rode hard and well. He was suffering from intense thirst when he fell in with his wife’s coach, and riding up asked anxiously if she could supply him with a draught of any kind. The Duchess smiled benignly, and drew from the pocket of the carriage a beautiful little case containing a bottle in which she said she always carried some excellent Ratafia in the event of over-fatigue. The unsuspecting man raised it to his lips and drained the last drop with many expressions of gratitude. The Duchess smiled again: “It is fortunate we met,” she said; and the heavy coach rolled on. In a few hours the Duke was taken ill, and after four days of suffering he expired on May 4th, 1714, at the early age of 28. As in the case of Madame no one doubted the existence of poison, and at first, public opinion was so violent against the Duke of Orleans that he had a narrow escape of his life from the fury of the mob, at the funeral of his son-in-law. Later evidence, however, seemed but too strong against the guilty wife, although the matter was gradually hushed up, as in those days the art of poisoning had become a fashionable pastime. The Duchess did not long survive her victim; she gave herself up to excesses of all kinds, and concluded her ill-spent life of 24 years in 1719.
In some letters of “Madame, veuve de Monsieur,” the first Duke of Orleans, the Princess of Bavaria to whom allusion has already been made, we are told that the Duchesse de Berri at the time of her death was undoubtedly married clandestinely to Captain de Rious, whose portrait Madame paints in the most unflattering terms as remarkable for his ugliness, in spite of which he was a great favourite with the ladies. He was absent on duty with the regiment the Duchess had bought for him at the time of her death. Madame goes on to say: “Pour se tirer de l’embarras que pouvoit lui donner une oraison funêbre, on a pris le parti de n’en point faire du tout.” Apparently a prudent decision. The same authority states that the Duchesse de Berri had grown very large and florid, (and that she often jested on the change in her own appearance), which would account for her looking twice her real age in this picture.
Elizabeth, Countess of Sandwich:
By KNELLER.
Half-Length.
(White Déshabille with Coloured Scarf. Hair en Négligé.)
Born, ——. Died, 1757. She was the second daughter of John, Earl of Rochester, by Elizabeth Mallet. She married Edward, third Earl of Sandwich, in 1691. As we have mentioned in the short notice of his life, the marriage was very unhappy, and Lady Sandwich’s conduct in every respect most reprehensible, in spite of her numerous panegyrists. She was a brilliant member of society, and we are told that at the early age of ten years, she already showed a great taste for reading, and had begun to cultivate several foreign languages. She spoke French, Italian and Spanish; Montaigne was one of her favourite authors. She danced and sang, and played on several instruments, and though learned was in no wise pedantic. Neither did she waste so much time on dress, as was usual with ladies of her time. Lady Sandwich went to Paris not very long after her marriage, and St. Evremond, whose admiration she appears to have shared with the Duchesse de Mazarin and Ninon de l’Enclos, thus speaks of her in a letter (without date) to the latter: “Le Docteur Morelli, mon ami particulier, accompagne Madame la Comtesse de Sandwich qui va en France pour sa santé. Feu Monsieur le Comte de Rochester, Père de Madame Sandwich, avoit plus d’esprit qu’homme en Angleterre. Madame de Sandwich en a plus que n’avoit Monsieur son père; aussi généreuse que spirituelle, aussi aimable que spirituelle et généreuse. Voilà une partie de ses qualités.” According to St. Evremond’s implied wishes, his two friends formed a close intimacy, and Lady Sandwich at Paris seems to have merited Ninon’s report of her when she says: “J’ignore les manières Anglaises, mais elle a été très française.” It must have been during this first visit to Paris that Lady Sandwich made the acquaintance of the French celebrities whose portraits now adorn the Drawing-room at Hinchingbrook, as on her return to the French metropolis in 1729 they were all dead. Mademoiselle de l’Enclos is never tired of praising her English friend; in a letter dated August, 1698, she says to St. Evremond: “Madame Sandwich m’a donné mille plaisirs, par le bonheur que j’ai eu de lui plaire; je ne croyois pas sur mon déclin, pouvoir être propre à une femme de son âge. Elle a plus d’esprit que toutes les femmes de France, et plus de véritable mérite. Elle nous quitte; c’est un regret pour tous qui la connoissent, et pour moi particulièrement. Si vous aviez été ici nous aurions faits des repas dignes du temps du passé. Vous allez revoir Madame Sandwich, que nous voyons partir avec beaucoup de regret.” Again in July, 1699: “Vous allez voir Madame Sandwich, mais je crains qu’elle n’aille à la campagne; elle sait tout ce que vous pensez d’elle; elle vous dira plus de nouvelles de ce pays ci que moi. Elle a tout approfondi et tout pénétré: elle connoit parfaitement tout ce que je hante, et a trouvé le moyen de n’être pas étrangère ici.” In the lengthened correspondence between Mademoiselle de l’Enclos and her faithful Abbé, she constantly reverts to the English lady after her departure from Paris: “Madame Sandwich conservera l’esprit en perdant la jeunesse. Faites la souvenir de moi; je serois bien fâchée d’en être oubliée;” while St. Evremond on his part tells her: “Tout le monde connoit l’esprit de Madame la Comtesse; je vois son bon goût par l’estime extraordinaire qu’elle a pour vous. Elle est admirée à Londres comme elle fut à Paris.”