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 •XV^' ^-5. 
 
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THIEI 
 
 Loves and Intrigues 
 
 OF 
 
 KIIGS and Oil EEIS 
 
 EMBRACING 
 
 The Romantic Adventures 
 
 OF THE 
 
 Most Remarkable Heroes, Rulers, Statesmen and Prelates 
 who have figured in the History of the World. 
 
 AS WELL AS 
 
 V 
 
 THE AMOURS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 m] EIIPR[SS[S, P[EIIS and PRIIICESSES 
 
 -T 5 lo... 
 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 FRANK TOUSEY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 ■ -"^ iv--^»w A/f^ore Street. 
 
 1 
 
 / 
 

 THE LIBRARY 
 OF CONGRESS 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Ent<>re(l according to Act of Congrttfis, in the year lt*2, by 
 
 FRANK T0U8ET, 
 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, J>. 0. 
 
 lUd. 
 
 03 
 
^92^ 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 rAOB. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. — With Some Pertinent Remarks and Facts as to the Loves and Intrigues of 
 
 Kings, Queens and Other Favored Mortals 5 
 
 THE LOVES AND WICKED DEEDS OF CLEOPATRA, THE FAMED QUEEN OF EGYPT.— The 
 
 Early Life of a Wicked Woman — Entrapping the Great Caesar — Marc Antony in the Web— 
 Reveling in a Guilty Love — The Avenger on the March— Despair, Madness and Death. . . 7 
 
 THE DISASTROUS LOVE OF A FAITHLESS IRISH PRINCESS.— The Meeting in the Arbor— 
 The Suspicious Fatlier — The Sick Wife and the Pretended Doctor — The Flight and the 
 Discovery — The Disastrous Consequences of a Guilty Love 12 
 
 THE FATAL AMOUR OF AN EAST INDIAN KING. —The Young Priest and the Lady— A Boar 
 Hunt and its Consequences- Love's First Caresses— The Secret Meetings— A False Friend's 
 Trcaciiery— The Fruits of a Guilty Love— A Terrible Vengeance 15 
 
 THE SCANDALS OF THE COURT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.— The Young Beauty in 
 France — The Death of a Crazy Lover — The Assassination of Rizzio — Her Husband King — 
 Bothwell the Corsair — The Death of Darnlcy — Marriage with Both well — Defeat and Iinpiison- 
 ment — The Treachery of Elizabeth of England — The Execution of the Unfortunate Mary. . 2i 
 
 THE FATAL LOVE INTRIGUES IN THE COURT OF PETER THE GREAT.— Peter the Great 
 as an E.\ecutioner— His First Wife and Her Lover — The Lover's Fearful Death — In Lcve 
 Again with a Brewer's Daughter — The Second Wife and Her Lover — The Emperor's 
 Vengeance — His Death— Catharine Follows Suit 31 
 
 THE INFAMOUS LOVE INTRIGUES OF CATHARINE II. OF RUSSIA.— The Empress 
 Elizabeth and Her Master of Hounds — The First Folly of the Young Princess — Her Husband 
 Retaliates in the Same Manner- Catharine Disposes of Her Ugly Husband— Lovers in Plenty— 
 A Vile Plot Against a Poor Girl — The Trick Played on the Gallant Paul Jones— The Rewards 
 Given to the Favorites 33 
 
 THE FATAL LOVE INTRIGUES OF ANNE BOLEYN, SECOND WIFE OF HENRY VIII., OF 
 ENGLAND. — Anne Bolejn's Frail Sister — The King Discovers an Angel— Jealousy and 
 Rage — Thtf Injured Queen's Prediction— Queen Anne's Lovers — The Saucy Rival — The Scene 
 at the Masked Ball -Retribution in Death 45 
 
 THE EARLY LOVE INTRIGUES OF KATHARINE HOWARD, FIFTH WIFE OF HENRY VIII. 
 OF ENGLAND.— Hunting tlic Rabbi i a -ysting-Place- Kate Receives a Last Embrace 
 From one Bold Lover— A Bolder Ad. aturer Vppears on the Scene— A Night's Carouse in 
 Secret— Exposcil Again— Kate Becon i a Mistress and a Queen — Hunted by Her Old Lover- 
 Sharing Anne Boleyn's Fate 5*2 
 
 THE LOVE INTRIGUES OF ELIZABETH, Tlffi VIRGIN QUEEN OF ENGLAND.— The First 
 
 Love of a Princess— Her Jealous Sist-er I- prisoned — The Queen in Love with Another 
 
 Woman's Husband — Royal Favorites sMiij,' )r Her— Sir Walter Raleigh and His Royal 
 
 pathrioi-m .p,^_ x- Youug Lover to ^ueen — His Presumption and his Death. . . 66 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 SOME OF THE LOVE INTRIGUES OF THE FAMOUS CARDINAL RICHELIEU.— The Great 
 Soldier-Statesman as a Lover — His Intrigue with Fair Marion- The Favored Lover -and His 
 Fate — Loolcing up to the Queen — His Great English Rival in Love as well as in War. . . 58 
 
 THE " MERRY MONARCH " OF ENGLAND AND HIS WITTY FAYORITE, NELL GWYNNE.— 
 Charles II. as a Husband and a Lover— Nell Gwynne's Early Life — Her First Appearance 
 on the Stage — Meeting with Charles— Fighting His Former Favorites — The Reign of an 
 Amorous Family 69 
 
 THE LOVE INTRIGUES OF THE COURT OF THE UNFORTUNATE MARIE ANTOINETTE.— " 
 Three Famous Lovers — The Woman Fiend — The Old Tempter — The Wounded Man's 
 Ravings — Strange Scenes in tlie Royal Park— A Fearful Charge — Trying to Solve a 
 Mystery — A Happy Prelate — The Queen Grants Favors — A Noble Lover Retreats — The Affair 
 of the Necklace — How De Rohan was Fooled — Punishing the Conspirators 63 
 
 THE SECRET AMOURS OF THE GREAT NAPOLEON.— Lifting the Veil From a Hero's Face- 
 Napoleon as a Lady of the Court saw Him — Hi.s Numerous Amours and His Quarrels with 
 Josephine — A Dispassionate Lover— His Last Love Affair — His Last Wife and Her Horror of 
 Him — A Great Change ' 71 
 
 AN AMOROUS KING OF SPAIN GETTING INTO A DROLL SCRAPE.— Visiting a Fail- Lady 
 
 in the Dark — The King and His Friend Treated as Thieves 78 
 
 THE STORY OF AN INFAMOUS SOCIETY IN ANCIENT ROME.— The Reformed Mistress- 
 Exposing the Crimes of the Secret Order 79 
 
 SOME OF THE PRIVATE AMOURS OF EMPEROR NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA.— The Daring 
 Traveler and the Pretty Jewess — Kisses for One and All— The old Nurse's Discovery — A 
 Romantic Courtship — A Dutiful Wife Shuts Her Eyes 80 
 
 THE LOVE INTRIGUE OF A GERMAN ARCHBISHOP.— Loving and Wedding in Secret— The 
 
 Jealousy of a Famous Queen 81 
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF AN OUTRAGED HUNGARIAN PRINCE.— The Palatine's Fair Wife- 
 
 A Passionate Prince — The Vile Outrage and the Vengeance 82 
 
 CURIOUS ANECDOTES OF TRUE LOVE, AND A BASE INTRIGUE.— The Fair Infidel and the 
 
 Prisoner — The Willing Wives — An Amorous Minister — His Vile Acts and His Punishment. 83 
 
 SOME OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF TWO AMOROUS NOBLES AND ONE OF 
 RICHELIEU'S FAVORITES.— Selecting Lady-Loves— A Quarrel and its Consequences- 
 Fooling a Rival 83 
 
 TH1<] LOVE INTRIGUES OF THE COURT OF NAPOLEON, EMPEROR OF FRANCE.— Getting 
 Rid of a Troublesome Mistress — The Punishment of a Fair Spy — Her Fearful Vengeance — 
 The Italian Enchantress — A Royal Lover Helpless— The False Mistress— A Fair Spy- 
 Napoleon Deceived 86 
 
 THE LOVE INTRIGUES OF JULIUS C^SAR AND OTHER FAMOUS ROMANS.— Caesar's 
 Third Wife and Her Error— The Sad Story of Lucretia— Her Tragic Death— The Guilty Loves 
 of Nero— The Love Intrigues of Catiline 90 
 
 THE TRAGIC INTRIGUES OF A FAMOUS MOTHER AND HER SON.— Killing a Rival— The Doubt 
 
 of the Great Son's Legitimacy — Alexander's Love Intrigue 92 
 
 THE FATAL LOVE INTRIGUE OF A BEAUTIFUL COUNTESS.— The Jealous Husband and tho 
 Ring Jjovcr— The Virtuous Woman Falls — The Revenge of a Tyrant Husb^u. .... .93 
 
AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 With Some Pertinent R^:narks and Facts 
 
 ; and Facts as to the Loves and Intrigues of Kinas, Queens 
 and other Favored Mortals. ^ ^^ucc.is. 
 
 '■ The king can ilrink the bost of wine ; 
 
 So can 1. 
 He cantiot onier ratn or ftlilne ; 
 
 Nor can I. 
 Then whai's the <lllTeiT;acc. and tell me why 
 BetwUt iny lord the king, and If" 
 
 This was the question propoanded by Charles Mackay, a popu- 
 lar English poet, some thirty years ago. As we quote from 
 memory, the words may not be given e.xactly as the poet wrote 
 them, but the meaning of the democratic writer is very plain for 
 all that. 
 
 He intends to convey the idea that the king may be no happier 
 than any humble subject who Is able to enjoy the good things of 
 this life without aspinng to the performance of the impossibili- 
 ties. 
 
 The ra'.crs of nations may not recline on beds of roses at all 
 times, while the paths of many have been full of very sharp bri- 
 ers; yet the average citizen is apt to regard them as favored 
 beings, more especially when he reads of their pleasures and 
 pastitnes, and of their tender amours. 
 
 A certain Iri.sh friend of ours tells a story about the celebrated 
 Daniel O'Connell, who was, by the way, a great favorite with the 
 gentl«r sox. 
 
 At a time when the poor people of Ireland were suffering from 
 a famine, the great liberator was arrcste<l by the British govern- 
 ment, and consigneil to prison as a patriot-martyr. 
 
 O'Connell was adored by the people; and the national press of 
 the country made much ado about consigning the stalwart leader 
 to the cell as a common felou. 
 
 One evening a group of citizens assembled at a tavern in a 
 southern town, when the school-master began to read aloud the 
 weekly newspaper account of the arrest, imprisonment and suf- 
 ferings of the great martyr in the canse of free<lom. 
 
 Among the eager listeners was a poor, half-witted shoemaker, 
 named Teddy O'Ryan, who had not enjoyed a 8ul)8tantlal meal 
 during the year, and who bad scarcely a pound of flesh on bis 
 miserable body. 
 
 TwUh listened to the story of the gufierings of the great patriot 
 without betraying the least emotion, although there was not an- 
 other dry eye in the audience; but the schoolmaster soon touch 
 ed on a point that arrested the poor shoemaker's attention and 
 'caused him to become unduly excited. 
 
 "A delegation composed of some of the noblest ladies in 
 Dublin," said the local orator, "waited on the great liberator iu 
 his martyr cell yesterday and, after salut ing him with kindly tokens 
 of their love and esteem, they presented him with a splendid 
 turkey ami a magnificent pound-cake prepared with their own 
 
 fair hand*, for " 
 
 " Oh, Jaycua!" exclaimed poor Teddy, in tones that could be 
 beard all over the house. 
 
 " What ails ye, Teddy, you goose?" cried the indignant school- 
 master, while all the others greeted the poor fellow with angry 
 frowns. 
 
 Teddy place<l both bands on his empty stomach and turned 
 his eyes nloft, as he exclaimed, in heart-rending tones: 
 
 " Oh, Jaycus — Jay ens! Wouldn't I like to become a grate 
 pathri()l-inarthi.rl" 
 
 The half-starved Irishman had no pity for the patriot while be 
 could enjoy fat turkeys and fine pound-cakes, and he wished him- 
 self in Daniel O'Connell's place, even though that place was ;i 
 prison cell. 
 
 And so it hoe been with many who are famishing for the pleas- 
 ures and allurements enjoyed by the rulers of tlie earth. 
 
 Historians and moralists may preach until Doomsday about 
 the sufl'erings, sorrows .and the anxieties of kings and queens, 
 yet the average mortal will be apt to exclaim, when bearing of 
 their enjoyments: 
 
 "Oh, Jaycus, Jaycas! but Td like to be a great ruler." 
 
 It would be all in vain for the philosopher to tell an ardent 
 lover of the many trials, disasters and great wars brought about 
 by love intrigues, as the latter would only say, with one of our 
 popular poets : 
 
 Love came, and hronght sorrow too noon in hiK train; 
 Yet so sweet that to-uiorrow 'twere welcuijie airaiu. 
 Thoiiifh iiilscT.Vs ftii: uieasurc uiy portion shall Ijo, 
 1 would drain It with pleasure if pour'd out by thee." 
 
 While perusing the histories of nations, we have found some 
 very strange facts and incidents connccte<l with the adventures 
 of those who devoted their Uvea and their fortunes to love in- 
 trigues. 
 
 A celebrated French historian, in speaking of the manners of 
 the thirteenth cehtury, mentions a very extravagant society of 
 fanulica, which went by the name of La Ligue des Amans, that 
 is to Say, the Amorous, or the Lovers' League. Their scheme 
 was to prove the excess of their love, by their invincible obstinacy 
 in withstanding the seasons. 
 
 The knights, the equerries, the married and single ladies who 
 were initiated into that order, were bound, according to the rules 
 of the Institution, to cover themselves very scantily in the most 
 frosty weather, and very warmly in the hottest days of summer. 
 In this last season tliey lighted great fii'es, with which tliey 
 warmed themselves, as if they stood in the greatest want of it. 
 Ill the winter, it would have been a shame and a sin to find the 
 le.ist spark of fire in their houses. Their chimneys, in that cold 
 season, were trimmed with green foliage. 
 
 As soon as one of them entered a house, the husband took 
 great care that bis guest's horse should want for nothing, and 
 left him master over everything in the house, to which he never 
 returned till he was gone. Then, if he were of the same brother- 
 hood, he met likewise with the same treatment and the some 
 complacency from the husband, whose wife was the object of his 
 cares and his visits. 
 
 This ridiculous society existed till the greatest part of those 
 chilled lovers starved with cold, or died one after another, with 
 the lie in their mouth, by protestiong how ardent were the flames 
 which burned in their hearts. 
 
 The same historian writes of another band of distinguished 
 gallants which existed in a portion of France in the days of 
 chivalry. 
 
 These chivalrous lovers lived under a regular code of laws, 
 and they were sworn to obey the rules thus laid down. Among 
 the maxims thus presented were the following: 
 
VI 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Miirriago is not a lawful excuse for not falling in love. 
 
 A man who cannot be silent cannot love. 
 
 No one can love two persons at the same time. 
 
 Love must ever be increasing or diminishing. 
 
 A widowhood of two years must be undergone for a dead 
 lover. 
 
 Every lover is bound to grow pale at the sight of his mis- 
 tress. 
 
 A new love expels the old. 
 
 A true lover ia bound to be sparing in sleep and food. 
 
 Love can deny nothing to love. 
 
 A certain cavalier, wlio was a member of this society, loved a 
 fair lady, and as he did not enjoy a frequent opportunity of con- 
 versing with her, it was agreed between them that they sliouUl 
 communicate by the intervention of a secretary, by which means 
 thi'ir passion might be the bolter concealed. 
 
 Their secretary, however, forgetting the confidence reposed 
 in him, pleaded his own cause, and was heard with a favorable 
 
 ear. 
 
 The cavalier then denounced him to the leading lady of the 
 court, and humbly demanded that the offense should be judged 
 bv her and other ladies; to which the criminal himself assented 
 Tlie countess liaviug convoked sixty ladies, pronounced the fol- 
 lowing judgment: 
 
 " Let this fraudulent lover, who has met with a lady worthy of 
 him, that has not blushed to become an accomplice in so Blame- 
 ful an offense, enjoy his ill-bought pleasure, and let her pride 
 herself in her lover. But let them both be excluded from all 
 other attachments; and let them never be invited to the assem- 
 blies of the ladies or the courts of the knights, since he has 
 offended aguinsi the knightly oath, and she contrary to womanly 
 modesty has yielded to the love of a secretary." 
 
 Whatever may have been tlie rules of the chivalrous knights 
 and ladies of old as to herding with folks of low degree, we find 
 that the kings and queens of later days were not so particular in 
 their amours. 
 
 The old King of Bavaria became enamored of Lola Montoz, a 
 fascinating woman who made a living by dancing on the stage, 
 and was the cause of inciting his people to an outbreak. 
 
 The great Catharine of Russia, as will be seen in the following 
 pages, selected her lovers from among her own stalwart sol- 
 diers. 
 
 Tlie late Victor Emanuel of Italy had mistresses who were iu 
 league with the most desperate secret societies formed by the dis- 
 coutcnled people of Europe; and some of these same fair crea- 
 tures were also emjiloyed to entice Louis Napoleon into dangerous 
 snares and pitfalls. 
 
 The late Emperor of Russia, wlio was assassinated by the 
 Nihilists, had a favored mistress who was selected by him from 
 a peasant home and placed in a palace, where she bore hira sev- 
 eral promising children. 
 
 The wife of Peter the Great of Russia was a woman of unknown 
 origin ; while one of his favored mistresses was the daughter of a 
 German brewer. 
 
 The great Napoleon was paying court to two actresses at one 
 lime, and it was said that the woman he favored most was not at 
 nil prepossessing when off the stage. 
 (Jeorge the Fourth of England led a disgraceful life, even in 
 
 Ills old age. The tlunVlies who thronged the court of London 
 called him the first genlleinah k,\ Vl'jrppe; but Tl^jckeray informs 
 US that the English sovereign merited the fliie or tba greatest 
 blackguard in Great Britain. Lord Byron, who was not an 
 a.lmirer of kings, called him an old profligate. 
 
 The marriage of George the Fourth was especially unfortunate. 
 He married on April the 8th, 1794, his cousin, Carohne Amelia 
 Elizabeth, second daughter of the Duke of Brunswick, under the 
 pressure of debt, and of his father. Their conjugal happiness, if 
 it ever existed, did not last many weeks. The Princess Charlotte 
 Augusta was born of the marriage, on the 9th of January, 1796, 
 and shortly after her parents separated, having ceased to speak 
 to each other months before. 
 
 We also find that, while love inspired great conquerors and 
 rulers, it also affected a great many of the leading prelates of the 
 olden time, and that it even brought uboul divisions iu religious 
 communities. 
 
 The sect of the Manimilaries, which is a branch of the Aca- 
 baplista, owes its origin to love. A young Anabaptist was 
 deeply enamored of a lady, whom be proposed to marry. Iu a 
 tete-a-tete with her, infaliialed by the violence of his love, be 
 believed he might take any liberlies, and he ventured too far. 
 
 This action came to the knowledge of the doctors of the sect, 
 and they soon convened an assembly to deliberate upon the pun- 
 ishment thoy should inflict upon the young lovec Some de- 
 clared for excommunication, others, more indulgent for the im- 
 pulses of nature, maintained tiiat the fault was pardonable. This 
 raised a dispute among the two parties. As is general in such 
 coses, neither would yield, and it occasioned a schism. Those 
 who were for the pardon were called Mammilaries. 
 
 Cardinal Richelieu aspired to win the love of the queen, and 
 be stooped to receive the smiles of a fair maid of honor. 
 
 The late celebrated Cardinal Antonelli was reported to have 
 carried on an intrigue wilh a lady of Rome, and when he died a 
 certain young woman claimed to be his daughter. 
 
 The famous Dean Swift, who was pastor of a loading Episco- 
 palian Cliurch in Dublin, and who was noted as a humorist and 
 a satirical writer of great power, had a faithful mistress who was 
 devoted to him until she died. 
 
 Indeed, lovely damsels have bewitched the leading men of the 
 world in all ages. Some of the greatest heroes have fallen vic- 
 tims to their passions, as did Marc Antony ; while many others 
 have been inspired to heroic deeds of valor by their attaclimenls. 
 The brave Lord Nelson was not regarded as an outcast from 
 society by the fiendish dames of England, though his intrigue 
 with a certain fair lady was almost as well known as his famous 
 victory iu Trafalgar Bay. 
 
 The present Prince of Wales bears the reputation of being a 
 regular Don Juan, yet be is welcomed and feasted in the stateliest 
 homes of Great Brilian ; and on the morrow or next day, when 
 he is crowned king, the poet laureate will sing his praises in 
 choice verse. 
 
 The immortal Shakespeare refers to the "divinity that doth 
 hedge a king;" but then simple citizens of our republic, when 
 reading about the loves and intrigues of courts, will be apt to 
 imagine that the yionarchs of the world were more favored by 
 the demons of their evil passions than by any protecting angels 
 from the regions above. 
 
LOVES AND INTRIGUES 
 
 OF 
 
 KINGS AND QUEENS 
 
 THE LOVES AND WICKED DEEDS OF CLEOPATRA, THE FAMED QUEEN 
 
 OF EGYPT. 
 
 TUE KARLY LIFE OP A WICKED WOMAN — ENTRAPPINO THE GREAT C.eSAB — MARC ANTONV IN THE WEB — BETEUNQ 
 LOVE— THE AVENGER OX THE MARCH — DESPAIR, MADNESS AND DEATH. 
 
 IN A OLILTV 
 
 Who has uol heard of Cleopatra, the sinful, voluptuous, wicked 
 Queen of Egj'pt. 
 
 The story of her life is a romance of murder, of liceiitiousaess, 
 an i of vile intrigue. In her strange and romantic history we see 
 that unlawful love controlled her and kept her enslaved during a 
 life of adventure and of crime, and that her beauty and her bland- 
 iahmenls affected the destinies of some of the greatest characters 
 in the world's history. 
 
 The famous queen was bora in Egypt, but she was of Greek 
 descent. The ancient blood of .Macedon flowed in her veins, and 
 her character was marked by the genius, the courage, and the 
 impulsiveness common to the proud stock from whence she 
 sprung. 
 
 About two hundred and fifty years before Cleopatra's time, 
 Alexander the Great, after he had conquered Persia, took pos- 
 session of Egypt and anne.^ed it to his own dominions. 
 
 After the death of Alexander Egypt fell into the hands of one 
 of his generals named Ptolemy. This soldier made it his king- 
 dom, and on liis death he left it to his heirs. 
 
 A long line of sovereigns succeeded the founder of the king- 
 dom, and they are known in history as the Ptolemys. Cleopatra 
 was the daughter of the eleventh of that line. 
 
 Alexander the Great founded the great city which bears bis 
 name- to this day, and which continues to be, after the lapse 
 of twenty centuries of change, warfare, and revolution, one of the 
 principal commercial emporiums of the East. 
 
 At the time when Cleopatra appeared on the world's stage 
 Kome was m the zenith of her power, and her all-conquering 
 armies were making conquests throughout the civilized world. 
 
 U|) to this time Egypt had been too remote from Rome to be 
 directly reached by her great armies, but circumstances at length 
 brought the conqucrers to the banks of the Nile. 
 
 Cleopatra's father was a degradeti, dissipated wretch, who spent 
 moat of his time in vile debauchery. The only accomplishment 
 of which he could boast was his skill in playing on the flute. Ho 
 was hated and despised by the people of Alexandria, who felt that 
 he was a degenerate son of a glorious race. 
 
 Rome was a sort of a republic at the time, and the most power- 
 ful men in the great state were Cicsar and Pompey. The former 
 was a very extravagant man, who was always in need of largo 
 sums of money, wherewith to prosecute his ambitions designs, as 
 well as to lavish presents on his numerous favorites. 
 
 As the people of Egypt were becoming dissatisfled with the 
 reign of Ptolemy, whose birth on the mother's side was consid- 
 ered irregular and ignoble, that degradeil monarch conceived the 
 idea of getting liimself recognized at Rome as one of tlio allies of 
 the Roman people. If this was once accomplished, Ptolemy felt 
 that he could have the su|)port of the Roman government in the 
 event of a revolution. I 
 
 After many negotiations and delays Ctcsar agreed to exert his 
 powerful influence in order to seore an alliance between tJie 
 Roman people and Ptolemy. The latter was to pay Ca.'sar a sum 
 equal to about six ■millions of dollars for the service, a portion of 
 which was to be given to Pompey, who was then prosecuting a 
 war in Asia Minor. 
 
 When the negotiations were concluded, Ptolemy undertook to 
 raise the money by taxing his dissatisfied people, wlio could not 
 endure to see their country sold to liome, and then pay a 
 tremendous sum for the treachery of their degraded and de- 
 bauched king. 
 
 A revolution was commenced in Alexandria, and Ptolemy was 
 compelled to fly. Uastening to Rome, he demanded succor in the 
 putting down of his rebellious subjects. 
 
 The banished king left five children behind him in his flight. 
 
 The eldest of these was the Princess licrenice, who had already 
 reached the age of maturity, and who was an ambitious creature. 
 
 The second child was the famous Cleopatra, who was destined 
 to occupy such a prominent place in the history of the period. 
 
 There were two sons, also, but they *ere very young'at the 
 time of the revolution. 
 
 The revolted citizens determined on placing Berenice on her 
 father's throne after he had fled to Rome, as they thought that 
 the boys were too young to reign in trying times. 
 
 Berenice was only too glad to accept the honor conferred on 
 her, and she at once established herself iu her father's palace, 
 beginning her reign in great magnificence and splendor, while 
 she commenced to look out for a suitable husband at the same 
 time. 
 
 After a time her choice fell on a prince of S)Tia, named Scleucus. 
 The young prince hastened to .\lexandria, and ho and Berenice 
 were married in groat state. 
 
 The young Syrian prince, however, did not enjoy the dellghta 
 of wedded life for any great length of time. Berenice, for reasons 
 only known to herself, soon grew tired of him, and she caused 
 him to t>e strangled. 
 
 .\fter various other intrigues and secret negotiations, Berenice 
 married a prince from Asia Minor, named Archelaus. The man 
 pleased the Egyptian queen better than her first husband; and 
 she felt that he would be of great assistance to her in maintaining 
 the throne against her father, should that degraded despot ever 
 attempt to regain Ids lost power. 
 
 It was in such scenes of revolution, crime, and debauchery 
 that Cleopatra spent the opening years of her life, and at a time 
 when one's character is formed for good or ill. 
 
 In the meantime, the deposed king arrived at Rome. Before 
 flying from Alexandria he had caused a report of bis death to be 
 spread, in order to efl"ect his escape in safety. 
 
 When Ptolemy reached Rome, Julius Csesar was absent In Gaul 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 with bis conquering armies; bat Pompey, wbo bad received a 
 portioa of the Egj'ptian gold, bad Jast returned from bis con- 
 tiaests in Aaia Minor. 
 
 On hearing of her father's arrival in Rome, Berenice became 
 aware of his object, and she adopted measures for frustrating 
 him. She appointed a large deputation, supplied the members 
 thereof with valuable presents for the Romans, and dispatched 
 them to the imperial city, In order that they might present her side 
 of the question to the Roman people. 
 
 Ptolemy contrived, however, with the aid of his partisans in 
 Rome, to waylay the delegation on its way to Rome. Some of 
 the company were assassinated, others were poisoned, and the 
 remainder were either bribed or terrified from pursuing their 
 mission. 
 
 The people of Rome were very much divided on the question 
 of giving military aid to the banished liing in his project for re- 
 gaining his lost throne. Pompey supported the claims of Ptol- 
 emy with great vigor, but other leading Romans opposed him 
 with great force and eloquence, contending that they had no right 
 to interfere in the internal affairs of a friendly nation. 
 
 At length the party opposed to Ptolemy consulted the several 
 oracles which were in the custody of the priests, and tliey pre- 
 tended to have found the following prophetic passage : 
 
 "If a king of Egyiit shall apply to you for aid, treat him in a 
 friendly manner, but do not furnish him with troops ; for, if you 
 do, yon will incur great danger." 
 
 The finding of this passage confounded Ptolemy and his friends 
 for a time, but Pompey did not hesitate to uphold the treacher- 
 ous king with all his power and eloquence. 
 
 At length Gambinius, the Roman lieutenant who commanded 
 in Syria, was induced to take command of an Egyptian e.xpe<laion 
 for the purpose of replacing the deposed king on his throne. 
 
 In the prosecution of this very hazardous enterprise Gambiniug 
 placed great reliance on the assistance of a very remarkable 
 man, then his second in command, who was afterwards destined 
 to play an important part in the tragic life of Cleopatra. 
 
 This man was Marc Antony. 
 
 Antony was a Roman, born of distinguished parents, whose 
 father died when he was very young, and who became a wild and 
 disHoluto youth. Ho wasted all his father's money in vice and 
 follj', and soon incurred enormous debts, which placed him in 
 extreme difficulties. 
 
 Being pursued by the hostility of his creditorsand enemies, and 
 having committed many crimes. Marc Antony was compelled to 
 fly to Greece. 
 
 When Gambiuius was on his way to Syria he met Marc An- 
 tony, and he invited hiin to join the invading army. 
 
 MarC Antony was as proud and as ambitious as he was reck- 
 less and wicked, and he refused to join Gambiuius unless that 
 general would give him an important command. 
 
 Gambinius saw that the young Roman was possessed of cour- 
 age, daring and energy; that he had all the qualiliea requisite 
 for a successful soldier of the time, and he gave him command of 
 his cavalry. 
 
 The daring exile distinguished himself In the Syrian campaigns. 
 He won great honor and renown ; and when he returned to Rome 
 be placed himself under the protection of the all-powerful Ca>8ar, 
 to whom he remained faithful in life and in death. 
 
 Marc Antony entered into the Egyptian expedition with great 
 entbusiiiani, making light of the difticulties presented to him by 
 those who opposed the hazardous undertaking. 
 
 In order to reach Egypt it was necessary to march the troops 
 across trackless deserts, wholly destitute of water, through which 
 peaceful caravans could only pass with great difficulty, and often 
 encountering many dangers. 
 
 Placing himself at the head of his cavalry. Marc Antony set out 
 on his perilous march across the desert, leaving Gambinius to 
 follow him. The deposed king accompanied Antony. 
 
 While the renowned soldier was noted for his many faults of 
 character, he also possessed many excellent qualities of mind 
 and heart. 
 
 In danger bo was cool, collected and sagacious; he was 
 frank and manly in his dealings with his men, with whom he was 
 an especial favorite; and he never assumed the manners of a 
 leader during the hours of recreation and amusement, as he 
 joined in all the sports and merry-makings of the camp with per- 
 fect freedom. 
 
 Marc Antony at this time was just twenty-eight years old. 
 Ho possessed a tall and manly form ; he had an expressive and 
 intelligent cast of countenance, and his eyes were full of life and 
 vivacity. 
 
 Pushing along over the desert with great speed, and without 
 incurring any loss. Marc Antony soon reached the city of Pelu- 
 sinm, which was held by Berenice's adherents. Antony surprised 
 and captured the city. 
 
 The deposed king wished to put the garrison to death, declaring 
 that they were rebels, but Antony would not consent to such 
 barbarity. 
 
 Berenice and her people were struck with dismay when they 
 heard of the fall of Pelusium, and the approach of tlio Roman 
 army under Gambinius; but, soon overcoming their fimt alarm, 
 they proceeded to raise a large army to encounter the invaders. 
 
 This Egyptian array was placed under the command of Arch- 
 elaus, Berenice's husband, who was Antony's friend in former 
 days. 
 
 Several battles were then fought, in all of which the Romans 
 were Victorious. At length a decisive engagement ensued, which 
 settled the controversy. Berenice was taken prisoner, her hus- 
 band was slain, and the Roman armies marched to the city of 
 Alexandria. 
 
 One of Ptolemy's first acts on regaining bis throne was to have 
 his daughter beheaded. 
 
 There were great rejoicings in Alexandria when the Roman 
 troops entered that city, and Marc Antony was the subject of 
 special admiration and regard. 
 
 It was at that time that Antony first encountered Cleopatra. 
 It does not appear that she was especially attracted to the 
 handsome Roman, with whom she afterwards became so inti- 
 mate, but it is certain that Antony was attracted to her, and 
 that he admired her blooming beauty, her beautiful form, and 
 her wit and spirit. 
 
 Cleopatra was then but fifteen years of age, while Antony was 
 verging on thirty. Antony went back to Rome soon after the 
 capture of Alexandria, and be did not see bis fatal charmer again 
 for many years. 
 
 The results of these campaigns raised Antony from the position 
 of a homeless wanderer to that of a wealthy and powerful leader. 
 On his return to Rome a civil war broke out between Csesar and 
 Pompey, and Antony espoused the cause of C»sar. 
 
 In the meantime Ptolemy maintained liimaelf in Alexandria 
 by aid of the Roman soldiers left him by Gambinius. When he 
 found death drawing near, he ordained tliat Cleopatra and one 
 of her younger brothers should succeed him, and that they 
 should be married according to the unnatural custom of the 
 Ptolemy family. 
 
 Having made his will, Ptolemy intrusted the guardianship of 
 liis chUdrcn to the Roman Senate. Tlie Roman Senate accepted 
 tlie responsibility, and intrusted Pompey as an agent to perform 
 the duties of this trust. 
 
 But Pompey was busily engaged in the civil war against 
 Ca'sar, and he had no time to bestow on the affairs of Egypt. 
 
 On the death of Ptolemy, Cleopatra and her brother were 
 married, and they were placed on the throne. The young queen 
 was then eighteen years of age, while her young brother was 
 only eight. Of course they were both too young to govern the 
 nation, and tlie marriage was merely a nominal affair. The 
 affairs of the kingdom were regulated by ton ministers. 
 
 One of these ministers was a eunuch named Pothinus, a 
 proud, domineering, and ambitious man, who soon conceived a 
 jealousy and a hatred for the beautiful young queen. 
 
 Cleopatra soon became very popular with the people, and more 
 especially with the young men of the nation^ who could not sbnt 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 their eyes to ber charms and occoiopUshments. The cunach be- 
 came alarmed at the yoang queeo'd increasing popalarlty, and 
 her disposition to throw off the restraints of htsgaardianship. He 
 intrigued with the young king, a conspiracy was formed, and 
 Cleopatra was expelled from the kingdom. 
 
 Cleopatra sought refuge in SjTia, where she appealed for aid 
 against her usurping minister. Her appeal was heard and ap- 
 plauded, and she was soon on the march for Alexandria at the 
 head of an army. 
 
 The usurping minister raised another army and marched out 
 towards Pelusium to give battle to the adventurous Cleopatra. 
 The armies met near the city, and all preparations were made 
 for a decisive battle, when an event occurred which not only pre- 
 vented the conflict, but was the means of opening a new epoch 
 in the career of Cleopatra. 
 
 The armies of Cicsar and Pompey had met on the Plains of 
 Pharsalia, and Pompoy suffered a crushing defeat. The defeated 
 general fled to the seashore with a small number of followers and 
 put out to sea in a few ships. 
 
 The impetuous Caesar followed him in eager pursuit, having 
 at his command a small flfret of galleys, on which he embarked 
 a small army of about three thonsaud men. 
 
 Pompey thouglit of Ptolemy in his hour of danger, and of the 
 great services he had rendered the Egyptian king in roguiuing 
 Ills throne, and he sailed directly for Pelusium, where Cleo- 
 patra's guardian was in power. 
 
 When the Utile tleet anchored, Pompey asked for aid and pro- 
 tection. He was invited on shore by Pothiuius. As soon as he 
 lauded he was set on by the treacherous Egyptians, who stubbed 
 him and beheaded him on the sand, while his wife watched the 
 bloo<ly work from the deck of one of the vessels. 
 
 CiBsar, in the meantime, pressed on to Alexandria in pursuit of 
 his flying foe, landed bis troops, and established himself in the 
 city. 
 
 The assaseination of Pompey and the landing of C-esar In 
 their capital tilled the Egyptians with great astonishment ; and, 
 instead of thinking of battle, both parties commenced to specu- 
 late on turning the events for their own beneflt. 
 
 Pothinius and the young king returned to Alexandria with 
 the hea<l of Pompey, which they sent to Caesar as an otiering, 
 hoping thereby to conciliate the great conqueror in their favor. 
 But the noble Roman general was shocked and disgnsted at the 
 bloody sight, and he |denounced the assassins in unmeasured 
 terms of reproach. 
 
 Pompey and Caesar had been warm friends in hoppier days; 
 and when the victor beheld the head of his gi-eat rival, all the 
 tender feelings of the past were recalled. He caused the head 
 to be buried with imposing funeral ceremonies, and it is recorded 
 that he wept over the face of his ancient friend. 
 
 While Cleopatra remained at Pelusium with her army, her 
 young brother and his cunning guardion endeavorotl to conciliate 
 the great Ca.'aar. The Roman general made demands on Po- 
 thinus, and the eunuch resisted them in secret, while he made 
 every open profession of friendship for the Romans. 
 
 At length the invader and the eunuch came to an open rup- 
 ture. Oajsar, with his small army, held the principal strong- 
 holds of the city, while Pothinus hatl a large army at Pelusium. 
 
 While these contentions were taking place, Cleopatra re- 
 mained In her camp near Pelusium. Knowing full well the 
 power of the great Cssar, the deposed queen was an.vious to 
 fly to his aid, and claim his assistance and protection; but the 
 army of the enemy was strongly intrerched before her, and she 
 could not proceed to Alexandria without dispersing it, or cut- 
 ting her way through the lines. 
 
 The daring Cleopatra was destined, however, to seek Caeaur 
 at all hazanls. As she had no fleet at her command, she could 
 njt proccetl to the city by sea. Besides, if she did succeed In 
 reaching the gates of Alexandria, she would run the risk of 
 being seized and slain by ber merciless enemies. 
 
 Under these circumstances, Cleopalra resolved to employ 
 Stratagem in ©rder to accomplish the great object In view. 
 
 Having sent a message to Ciesar, requesting permission to 
 appear before him, she received an answer, in which she was 
 urged to go to him by all means. Cleopatra prepared to put her 
 stratagem into play. 
 
 Taking a small boat, and accompanied by a few attendants, 
 she made her way along the coast to Alexandria. The person 
 on whom the queen principally depended in this hazardous ex- 
 pedition was one of her most faithful male attendants named 
 Apollodorus. 
 
 On reaching Alexandria, the liltle party rested until night, 
 and then they advanced to the front of the walls of the citadel. 
 Then the faithful attendant rolled the daring queen up in a piece 
 of common carpel, tied each end so as to give it the apiiearancc 
 of a bale of merchandise, raised the precious load on his shoul- 
 ders, and advanced with it into the heart of the city. 
 
 When the preteudeil porter arrived at the palace where Copsar 
 was residing, lie was flopped by the guards, who demanded to 
 know what it w.is he carried. The man replied that it was a 
 present for the noljle Ciesar. He was allowed to pass, and he 
 bore his burden along in safety. 
 
 When the packet was unrolled before the astonishi'd Ca;sar, 
 and the beautiful woman ap|>eared to his view, he was com- 
 pletely charmed. 
 
 Cleopalra at that time was alvout twenty-one years ef age, and 
 while she was graceful and in the fall bloom of womanhood, she 
 was not very heavy. 
 
 When she stood before the great Roman general, blushing 
 with excitement and hope, and still abashed at her situation, she 
 I)resenletl a picture on which the eye and the soul of a suscepti- 
 ble man could feast forever — almost. 
 
 Her beautiful face was glowing with a rosy tinge, her expres- 
 sive eyes flashed with all the fire of her warm race, and her very 
 form seemfil animated by the impulse that prompte<l her to throw 
 herself at the feet of the great man, and trust to her eloquence, 
 as well as to her resistless charms, in gaining bim as ber ally 
 against her enemies. 
 
 And Cleopatra did not pass through the trying ordeal without 
 receiving her looked-for recompense. From that moment the 
 great Ca;8ar became her devote<l admirer, her earnest advocate, 
 and her valiant champion. The great man caresaetl Cleopatra, 
 he kissed her red, volupluous lips over and over again, and be 
 seemed to live for her, and for her alone. 
 
 And Cleopatra 8eeme<l to be proud of her conquest, and to 
 take great delight in the caresses of the renowneil C*.sar. She 
 had enjoye<l other lovee and other embraces, but what were 
 the tawny sons of Egypt as compared with the great man who_wa3 
 now smitten with her glowing charms! 
 
 Ciesar at the time was about flfly years of age, and he was a 
 splendid specimen of manly beauty and elegance. 
 
 To be sure, he had a good wife, who was living in retirement In 
 Rome, and one who was most devotedly attached to him ; but if 
 ho ever thought of the absent one while dallying with t he Egyptian 
 enchantress, it was only to arouse comparisons not at all favora- 
 ble to the former partner of his love. 
 
 When Caesar had enjoyetl the pleasures of Cleopatra's company 
 for some time, he commenced to take a very strong interest in 
 her cause. Feeling that he was nat fully able to co()e with her 
 enemies, while commanding the small force with him. he dis- 
 patched messengers to Syria, the nearest country under the 
 Roman sway, for reinforcements. 
 
 He endeavored to bring about a reconciliation Ijetween Cleo- 
 patra and her yonng husband broUier; but failing in that 
 object, he denounced the young king, and commenced to make 
 war on him. 
 
 Tlien followed what is known in histor>- as the great Alexan- 
 drine war, in which, while Ciesar was eventually the conqueror, 
 he incurred the displeasure of many of the Roman people. 
 
 During the war Caesar encountere<l and overcame many great 
 dangers; he was incessantly engageil in fighting the enemies of his 
 mistress, who often beheld him in battle and in single combat, 
 
10 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 and who always received him in tbo palace, which they occupied 
 togellier, witli open arms and caressm? smiles. 
 
 At length, Ca-sar having received reinforcements, the Egyptian 
 forces were totally routed, young Ptolemy and his leading gen- 
 erals were slain, Cleopatra's sister, a young girl named Arsinoe, 
 was taken prisoner, and led captive to Rome, and the fair 
 charmer of his heart was ])lacetl on the throne. 
 
 Although the conqueror's work was fully accomplished, he 
 could not tear himself away from Cleopatra. 
 
 It was all in vain that his wife and his friends in Rome urged 
 Ilia return, and remonstrated with him for his guilty uttachmenl 
 lo the Egyptian queen. The great general was so fascinated by 
 Cleopatra's charms, and by the mysterious influence which she 
 exercised over him, that he was deaf to all entreaties and remon- 
 strances. 
 
 After the war was ended he remained some months enjoying 
 his favorite's caresses. He would s|)end whole nights with her 
 in feasting and revelry. He traveled with her through Egypt, 
 attended by a numerous train ; and he even formed the design 
 of taking her with him to Rome and marrying her there, having 
 taken measures to have the laws so altered as to enable him lo 
 do so, although his faithful and lawful wife was still living. 
 
 About this time Cleopatra gave birth to a son, whom the Alex- 
 andrians named Ciesarian, after his father. The birth of this son 
 caused the guilty Cleopatra to be regarded by the people with 
 great reproach, but she braved it all in her love for Ca;sar. 
 
 All this time Cleopatra was growing more and more beautiful 
 and accomplished. She^lost, however, all tho simple manners 
 of her youth, and she became bold and forward. Perfectly indif- 
 ferent as she was to the opinions of her subjects, her only object 
 seemed to be the maintenance of her guilty ascendancy over the 
 heart of tho lovo-^trick^n Cajsar. 
 
 Ciesar determined, however, to return to Rome. Leaving Cleo- 
 patra a suflicient force to secure herself on the tfltone, he em- 
 braced her tenderly, promised to meet her soon again, and sailed 
 away with his transports and his galleys. He took Cleopatra's 
 young sister with him,'iiileniling to exhibit her in Rome as a 
 trophy of his Egyptian victories. 
 
 After the war was ended. Ca'sar decreed that she should marry 
 ber younger brother, a boy of eleven, who was also named Ptole- 
 my. A marriage of the guilty queen with one so young was, of 
 course, a more form. 
 
 After the departure of Ca;sar, Cleopatra led a life of sensual 
 luxury, indulging in all kinds of extravagant pastimes and pleas- 
 ures. 
 
 Although she retained all her beauty and fascination, she 
 liecamo heartless, sellish and designing. Her little brother soon 
 iiecamo an object of jealou.sy to her, as she feared that he would 
 give her trouble when he arrived at the years of manhood, which 
 period he would attain, according to the usages of the Egy|)tian 
 kingdom, at the age of lifteen. 
 
 To free herself of this dread the wicked woman had her broth- 
 er put to death by poison, and then she gave free rein to all her 
 luxurious and amorous i)ropensities, i)aying no attention to the 
 laws of God or of nature in pursuing her pleasures. 
 
 While Cleopatra was enjoying the fleeting pleasures of a guilty 
 life, Julius Cicsar was jiressing his glorious conquests in Asia 
 Minor, in Spain, in Africa, and in Italy. He cynducted all his 
 campaigns with an energy and a skill that astonished the 
 natives, and when he returned to Rome in triumph he was the 
 acknowledged master of the world. 
 
 Cleopatra had watched her lover's career with pride and pleas- 
 ure, and when she heard that he had returned to Rome she de- 
 termined to set out for that city to make him a visit. 
 
 Cleopatra's young sister, who had taken sides against her in 
 the war, was then held as a jnisoner in Rome, where she had 
 excited the sympathies of the iieopb in her behalf. 
 
 The witching queen proceeded to Rome in great splendor, and 
 she was received by C.Tsar with open arms, while the people of 
 I he city, notwithstanding her beauty and her many charms, looked 
 coldly upon her. During her visit to Rome the guilty creature 
 
 lived with Ctcsar, enjoying his entertainments and his feasts, and 
 sharing with him in all the guilty pleasures of the hour. 
 
 About this time the famous conspiracy was formed by Brutus 
 and CassiuB, which culminated in the assassination of Cicsar in 
 the Senate Chamber. 
 
 On hearing of this dreadful tragedy, Cleopatra fled from Rome 
 and returned to Egypt. Iler sister had left the city some time 
 ijefore. 
 
 Marc Antony beheld the murder of bis best-loved friend, bnt 
 ho was unable to resist. He was enabled to avenge bin), how- 
 ever. 
 
 Marc Antony, Octavius Caesar, a nei)hew of the great emperor, 
 and an officer named Lepidus, formed a league against Cassias 
 and Brutus, and they marched to meet the assassins at Philip])!, 
 where a terrible battle was fought. Brutus and Cassias were 
 slain in this battle, their armies were defeated, and Antony and 
 his friends returned to Rome in triumph, having avenged the 
 death of the great Cajsar. 
 
 The result of this great battle established the ascendancy of 
 Marc Antony, and he was regarded as one of the most conspicu- 
 ous men in the civilized world. Cleopatra, the beautiful queea 
 of Egypt, was regarded as the most conspicuous woman. Kate 
 destined that they should soon meet again, and live and love for 
 themselves alone. 
 
 While Antony had made a great name for himself in the world, 
 he was as utterly abandoned and depraved as was possible for a 
 human being to become. All the spoils that be obtained during 
 Ills campaigns were squandered in a reckless manner, or bestow- 
 ed upon his soldiers with a free and reckless nand. 
 
 In the height of his prosperity. Marc Antony lived among his 
 soldiers in the most immoral manner. He prided himself on 
 being descended from Hercules, and he aflected a style of dress 
 and manner in keeping with the savage character of hie ancestor. 
 
 He had always around hiin a set of dissolute characters, com- 
 posed of frail and beautiful dancing girls, play-actors and jesters, 
 with whom be reveled, and drank, and sported for days at a 
 time. 
 
 Soon after Caesar's death Antony married a widow named 
 Fulvia. Thirf woman had led a wild and irregular life previous 
 to her union with the famous general; but she conceived a very 
 strong attachment for her new husband, and she devoted herself 
 to him with constant fidelity. 
 
 This woman possessed a stern character; she was ambitious 
 and bold; and she soon exercised a decided influence over her 
 wild and recklesss husband, whom she persuaded into a mode of 
 life suitable to his rank and fortune. 
 
 After remaining in Rome for some time, Antony proceeded to 
 take command of the armies in Asia Minor, and in the course of 
 the following year arrived at Cilicia. 
 
 From that place he sent a messenger to Egypt summoning 
 Cleopatra to appear before liiin, and assorting that there were 
 charges against her of having aided Cassius and Brutus during 
 the late war, instead of sending assistance to her old lover's 
 avengers. These charges had no foundation in fact, as Cleo- 
 patra had endeavored to aid Antony and his friends. 
 
 It is supposed that Antony fabricated this story, in order to 
 draw Cleopatra towards him, as he did not forget her early 
 charms, while the fame of her matured beauty was a matter of 
 very wide report. Antony's wife was not with him at this time, 
 as he had left her behind him in Rome. 
 
 The name of the messenger thus dispatched to Cleopatra was 
 Dellius. When he arrived at her court he was struck with her 
 fascinating beauty, as well as by the magic of her enchanting 
 conversation, which has been described by the ancient biogra- 
 phers as jierfoctly irresistible. 
 
 Cleopatra was then in her twenty-eighth year, and time hiwl 
 only served to increase her beauty and her numerous charms.- 
 
 Delliua delivered his message in the most courteous tones, 
 begged of Cleopatra to accept Antony's invitation without 
 fear, ami assured her that she had only to present herself before 
 hi;n in all her beautj', no matter how grave the charges against 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 11 
 
 her, to acqiiirtt an imliduiKied iiscinidmicy over tlie susceptible 
 Roman louder. 
 
 Cleopatra was not slow in profiting by the advice thug ten 
 dercd. Indeed, lier glowing imagination was aroused at the 
 thought of encountering the proud Antony, and of once more 
 making conquest of the greatest general and the most powerful 
 man of the age. 
 
 She began at once to make extensive preparations for the 
 voyage, and to collect stores of plate, diamonds and gold, as 
 presents for Antony, who was pressing her to appear before him 
 by frequent communications. 
 
 All being prepared, Cleopatra s(?t sail to meet the man who 
 was destined to share h t fortunes and her favors in the future. 
 She crossed the Mediterranean Sea, and entered the mouth of the 
 river Cydiius. Antony was at Tarsus at the time, awaiting her 
 arrival. Tarsus was a city near the mouth of the Cydiius. 
 
 When Cleopatra's fleet entered the river she embarked on a 
 magnificent barge, the sails of which were purple, and the oars 
 were inlaid and tipped with gold. On the deck of this gorgeous 
 barge Cleopatra reclined under a canopy of cloth-of-gold. 
 
 She was dressed In a magnilicent costume, in which she repre- 
 sented Venus, the goddess of Love and Beauty, and she was sur- 
 rounded by a company of beautiful boys, who attended upon her 
 in the fortn of Cupids, and fanned her with their wings, while a 
 company of charming young girls were arrayed as the Nymphs 
 and Graces. 
 
 A band of chosen musicians were stationed on the deck of the 
 royal barge, who kept time to the movements of the oars, and 
 the sounds of whose inslruments could be heard far and wide 
 over the waters and along the shore. 
 
 The ;Thole spectacle appeared like a vision of an enchanted 
 land, and it was well calculated fto impress the beholders with 
 the magnificence and wealth of the voluptuous queen, on her mis- 
 sion to enslave the heart of a warm and susceptible soldier. 
 
 When Cleopatra's splendid escort arrived at Tarsus .Marc An- 
 tony was giving public audience to a largo assemblage at bis pal- 
 ace. On hearing of the arrival of the beautiful queen, the whole 
 audience hastened to the banks of the river to witness the great 
 display, leaving the great soldier alone with a few attendants. 
 
 Cleopatra lauded on the shore, and commenced to pitch her 
 tents, when she received a message from Antony inviting her to 
 come and sup with him. 
 
 The designing queen declineil the invitation, saying that it was 
 more becoming of him to come and sup with her; and added that 
 she would be happy to receive him at the jiroper hour. 
 
 Antony complie<l with the proposal, and went to the grand en- 
 tertainment prepared for him. lie was received with a magnifi- 
 cence and a splendor that fairly amazed him. It surp^issed any- 
 thing that could be imagined even in that land of luxury and 
 wealth. 
 
 The rough Roman soldier was fairly eiichanteil liy the gor- 
 geous scence; he was bewitched by Cleopatra; and he became 
 her slave from that moment until the hour of his death. 
 
 On the following day Antony invited Cleoi)atra to return his 
 visit;, but ho could not rival her in display, although he made 
 every possible ell'ort to entertain her in a sumptuous maimer. 
 
 During their interviews Cleopatra commenced to weave her 
 webs around the great soldier. He was at once attracted by her 
 wit, her thousand accomplishments, and by the adroitness and 
 the tact which she at once diriplaycd in assuming a social supe- 
 riority over him. She beguiled him into security witli smiles and 
 caresses, while she was only toying with him for thegraliflcation 
 of her own amorous and ambitious designs. 
 
 Just as soon as Cleopatra gained her lover's favors, she 
 asked him, for the sake of her own security, to destroy her sister 
 Arsinoe, who had been her enemy, and who had been liberated at 
 Rome liy Julius Cssar. That unfortunate crciiture was living in 
 retirement in Asia Minor. 
 
 Antony, only too glad of the opportunity to pipase his charmer, 
 dispatched an officer in quest of the young girl. The ruthless ' 
 
 oliicer slew the poor maiden in a sanctuary, whither she had fled 
 for protection on hearing of his approach. 
 
 Cleopatra remained at Tarsus with Antony for some time, with 
 whom she lived on terms of open intimacy, and iudulgiug iu 
 scenes of the wildest revelry and debauchery. The guilty creat- 
 ure loaded her lover with gold and costly gems; she distributed 
 presents among his officers, with a lavish hand ; and she gave 
 entertainments that could not be surpassed, except in the imag- 
 ination of the author of the " Arabian Nights." 
 
 While Antony was basking in the smiles or receiving the 
 warm caresses of his Egyptian charmer, he was neglecting his 
 public duties. His wife, who was apprised of his connection 
 with the degraded Clvoputra, wrote to him and insisted on his 
 return to Koine, where she had to fight the battle against his 
 pov»erful enemies. 
 
 At length Antony made up his mind to tear hirosel' away from 
 the vile enchantress, lie broke his quarters at Tarsus and 
 moved south towards Tyre, with the purpose of taking a ship for 
 Rome. 
 
 Cleopatra accompanied hira on the march-towards Tyre, where 
 he intended to leave her. The bold woman was determined that 
 he should accompany her to Ale.xundria. 
 
 A brief struggle followed between the two guilty lovers. An- 
 tony thought of home and of duty, an<l ho emteavored to throw 
 olTthe tender chains that bound him, but he could not contend 
 against the wiles and the blandishments of this enchanting 
 queen. 
 
 Cleopatra carried 'her point. Antony was seduced from the 
 homeward path, and he was borne away to Ale^candria by tlie 
 queen. There he spent the winter with her, and there they ga\ e 
 themselves up to every sensual indulgence that tne m.ost re- 
 morseless license could tolerate and the most unbounded wealth 
 provide. 
 
 There was no limit to their wild excesses and debasing prac- 
 tices. Sometimes, at midnight, after having spent many hours 
 together in mirth and revelry, Antony and Cleopatra would 
 sally out from the palace in disguises, mingle with the common 
 people, and indulge in brawls, riots, and desperate quarrels with 
 the police. 
 
 .\t last, and to Cleopatra's great chagrin and disa])pointment, 
 Antony was compelled to return to his duties. Great disasters 
 liad befallen the Roman armies in .\aia Minor, and the love loin 
 general was called on to retrieve the disgrace. 
 
 During Antony's absence from Rome, his wife, Fulvia, who 
 was a strong-minded woman, became engagetl in a war with 
 Octavius Ca)sar, the nephew of the great Ciesar, and one of the 
 generals who had fought against Cassius and Brutus at the buttle 
 of rhilippi. 
 
 .Marc Antony was incensed at his wife for making war with 
 Octavius, and lie upbraidi-d hoj- in unmeasured terms. He then 
 left her, swearing that he would never see her again. ■ Fulvia 
 died a short time after, crushed with sorrow and chagrin. 
 
 Then Antony became reconciled to Octavius; and he sixm after 
 married Octavia, the sister of Octavius, who was the widow of a 
 celebrated Roman general named Marcellus. Octavia was a 
 beautiful, intelligent woman, who was as kind and as gentle as 
 she was fair to look upon ; ami she was most devotedly attached 
 to her brave husband, notwithstanding the fact that she was 
 aware of his infatuation for the guilty Cleopatra. Alas! tliat 
 same Cleopatra was destined to break the peace of another worthy 
 wife. 
 
 Marc Antony and Octavius CiBsar ruled the Roman provinces 
 tcigi'ther. They had many quarrels and many rivalries; but the 
 sweet Octavia e.xerted a jjeaceful iiifiuencc over her husband and 
 lier brother, and she was the means of reconciling them in their 
 disputes. 
 
 The waywanl husband was well jileased with his good wife for 
 a time, hut it was for a very short period only. The distant 
 charmer was ever in his mind; Cleopati'a's glorious eyes and her 
 voluptuous form appeared to him In his dreams as well as in his 
 wakeful hours. Her jewel-covered hand seemed to be over 
 
12 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 bockoninK lilin back to Alexandria, and to tlio sevenil pleasures 
 of Ihul corrupt ciiy. 
 
 I liouving liiH wifu at Uomu, Marc Antony proceeded lo llio East, 
 under the pretense of settling some disputes in tliiil portion of 
 the Uoinan empire; but Instead of followiiif; out his pretended 
 doBisns, he hurried away to Alexandria, and llunf; liiinself once 
 more Into the arms of the enchanting Queen of Egypt. The great 
 soldier tied lo his own destruction. 
 
 The good wife was very indignant at this biwe desertion. Oc- 
 toviuB, wlio was devotedly attached to his sister, became furious 
 in his resentment at Antony's outrugeoiis conduct. Cleopatra 
 gloried in her own triumph, for she loved Antony with ail the 
 jHiwcr of a guilty passion ; and she laughed In scorn at the tender 
 appeals of the loving wife In Home. 
 
 Antony's liifatualion for Cleopatra, and the continued indul- 
 gence inV'uilly pli^asures, had a fearful effect on the great soldier. 
 He became Indolent, weak, vacillating, lie was no longer the 
 linpeHious, liardy, courage-inspiring general who bad so often 
 le<l liiH troops to victory. 
 
 During his sul)se<iuent campaigns In Asia ho lost Iheconlldence 
 of his men, his armies were dealroye<l, and ho would have been 
 compelled to retreat before his enemies, were it not that his faith- 
 ful wife has'.oned to him with reinforcoinents. 
 
 Again and again Octavla appealed to her husband to desert 
 his mistress, and to return to his homo and to his faithful love; 
 but all Ihese appeals wore in voin. Cleopatra had woven her webs 
 nronnd liini, and the strong warrior of other days had not the 
 power to burst lliem asunder. 
 
 Then Oclavioa became determined lo avenge the conlimied in- 
 sults offered to his l)elovod sister, lie raised a poweifui army, 
 he organized a splendid Meet, nnil ho set out to invade Kgyid. 
 
 Aiiloiiy and t'lcopalra collected Iheir forces and their slilps, 
 and they sailed from Ale.\audria to oppose the young avenger. 
 The hostile fleets and the armies met at a place called Acliuni, 
 on Iho western coast of Kpirus, north of Greece. A naval combat 
 eiiKuetl, and the guilty lovers wore defeated in a disgraceful 
 manner. 
 
 During the battle, save In one affair. Marc Antony played the 
 part of an imbecile. His guilty love appeared lo have quenched 
 all the former llr« and manhood of the great soul ; and ho tied 
 back lo AlexaiKlria, where he acted as one who was bereft of 
 sense, reason, and manhood. 
 
 Cleopatra wa.s disgusted with Antony's conduct on that oc- 
 casion, and the lovers became eslrangwl for a time. Tlii' hero 
 became a moody misanthrope, and retired loan island lo pomler 
 over the errors of Ilia life. The guUly queen, in the ineanlinie. 
 look measures for securing her treasures and preparing for 
 IllghU 
 .\fler a time Antony returned to Alexandria, and lie lu'camc 
 
 reconciled to Cleopatra. The guilty pair renewed their life of 
 debauchery and wild revelry, while the avenging hand ap- 
 peared before them at all hours and In all places. 
 
 After the battle of Aclium, Uclavlua marched into Asia Minor, 
 and from thence into Syria. Even while the guilty pair were en- 
 joying themselves in the palaces of Alexandria, the stern Roman 
 avenger was pushing his arms across the deserts of .Syria, and he 
 was soon tliundering at the walls of the Egyptian capital. 
 
 During the siege that followed Antony acted the part of a 
 madman. At one lime he wouhl sally out and perform great 
 det^ds of valor, at other times he would wander around the city, 
 crying out that he was betrayed by Cleopatra, and then again Be 
 would shut himself up in his chambers, and give way lo his 
 despair In the most cowardly manner. 
 
 Cleopal 111, fearing thai Antony would slay herein one of his 
 furious fits of jeulousy, gave out that she was dead. She caused 
 lierHclf to be laid in a tomb, and bade lior ministeis inform ha'' 
 lover of the event. 
 
 .\iiloiiy rushed lo the lomb, and on beholding the form of Ihu 
 guilty loved one lying there in uil tlie semblance of death, he 
 calle<l on one of his faitliful oHleers to slay him. The otilcerdiew 
 liis sword, but, instead of plunging it into Antony's breast, he 
 pierced his own body with llie weapon, and fell dead at the feci of 
 his master. 
 
 Antony gazed ut the dead man for a moment, and then, draw- 
 ing Ills own sword, ho said: 
 
 '• I thank thee for this, noble Eros. Thou host set me an ex- 
 ample. I must do for myself what thou couldst not do for me.'* 
 So speaking, he took the bloody sword from the dead man's 
 liand. and plunged it into his own breast. He had inflicted a 
 mortal wound, but death did not occur al the- moment. 
 
 Wlillo reeling in mortal agony, he learned Ihut the report of 
 rieo|)atra'3 death was not tvue, and ho begged of his assistants 
 to bear him to the monument, where the queen still remained. 
 He was borne along the streets in a dying slate, but when his 
 assistants arrived at the monument, Cleopatra, fearing the 
 treachery of her enemies in llie city, refused to open the gales. 
 She went to a window above, however, and causing her attciid- 
 iinta to lower ropes, the dying Antony was raised and borne Into 
 llie monument. Ho died soon after. In the arms of Cleopatra, 
 who was overwhelmed with anguish and remorse. 
 
 Octuvius entered the city on liearingof the death of Antony, and 
 Cieopatro was taken prisoner. Hut slio did not survive long 
 after the death of her famous lover. Fearing that she would be 
 borne away lo Kome as a capiivo, it is reported that she apiilled 
 a deadly wasp lo her arm, and that Uie sting of the poisonous 
 insect caused her death. 
 
 Tliua perished the great Marc Antony and the-fainod Queen of 
 Egypt. 
 
 THE DISASTROUS LOVE OF A FAITHLESS IRISH PRINCESS. 
 
 TIIK MKKTlNi; l.V TllK AUllOU 
 
 -TllK SUSl'U'lors KATIIKU -Tllli SICK WIKK AXD TIIK I'UKTKNnEU IRKTOR - 
 DISCOVKKV — THE DISASTIIOIS LONSEyU KNOBS OF A <UILTV I/)VK. 
 
 Tllli I l.KJllT AND rllE 
 
 TllK daughters of groeii Erin are noted for their virhio as well 
 as for Iheir l>eauly, but yet it is recorded thai one fair damsel in 
 that forlilo isiaiul was frail euongh to follow the example of Helen 
 of Troy, and bestow a guilty love on one who proved lo be a traitor 
 alike lo friend and to native land. 
 
 Many years ago there dwelt In one of Ireland's pleasant v«lleys 
 a prince who was known and loved by all his neighbors as 
 O'ltiiark, Tiince of llreimi. This prince was valiant In war, right 
 faitlirul 111 his friendships; and he was devotedly attached to his 
 beautiful young wife, who was called Deborah, and who was the 
 daughter of the King of Mivith. 
 
 One pleasant evening in the spring time of the year, a young 
 woman, attended by a female servant, was strolling through the 
 woods near the Castle of Hreffni, when she was attracted by a po- 
 COllar noise Ihot resembled the cry of au owl. 
 
 The young woman paused on lliu Instant, and, turning to her 
 female attendant, said: 
 
 '• (Jo back and watch, Norali. ISivo mo the two warning sig- 
 nals, should any one approach." 
 
 The conlldante retiiwl on the Instant, muttering to herself, In a 
 mischievous manner: 
 
 " It will oil come to ill, I know; butwhot Is that to me? I am 
 making a rich harvest out of Iho pair, and I will serve them to 
 the end right faillifuliy, indeed." 
 
 Tlie young woman ailvaiiced into the depths of the dark wo«l, 
 repeating the cry of tlio owl as she advanced; and she soon 
 reached a natural arbor, beneath which a rustic seat was formed 
 by the twining limbs of some small dead trees. 
 
 She had s^rcoly reached the entrance lo the arbor, when a 
 man In the prime of life, and who was dressed in very hnmlilc 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIOUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 13 
 
 garmeuls, epraagout to meet her with extended arms, as he said, 
 ill joyous toaee: 
 
 " Once more, my beloved onel Ob, bow I have been counting 
 the moments since the sun went down!" 
 
 "Once more, dear Murroagh, and for the last time," said tbe 
 young woman, as she kissed her lover over and over again — " the 
 very last time." ' 
 
 " The lust time, say yon, Deborah? Do you want to drive me 
 out of my mind, dear one?" 
 
 " It must be, Murrough. These guilty meetings of ours cannot 
 last forever. We will bo discovered, and then what will follow ! 
 Diiigruce, death, and perdition in the life to come. Oh, my loved 
 one, wo must never meet again." 
 
 The man had drawn her into the arbor; his arm was entwined 
 around her waist, and ho was showering kisses on her red lips, 
 wlillo she was declaring her intention of never meeting him 
 again. 
 
 " Never meet again ?" he said. " Tell me to die, Deborah, and 
 death will bo most welcome. But do not speak of parting for- 
 ever. We will 4ive, and we will live for love and happiness. I 
 have found a plan for the destruction of your contlding husband. 
 1 will declare war against him, and slay him in battle, and 
 then " 
 
 "You will bo defeated, deur Murrough, as you were defeated 
 before. King Rodoric will uld my liusband. You may bo sloin; 
 and then I would die of a broken heart. Oh, no, no ! Better to 
 even live as we do, tasting the sweets of a guilty love for a time, 
 than to risk your precious life in that way." 
 
 " But you said you could never meet me again, sweet Deborah ; 
 and " 
 
 "I fear that we are watched, Murrough." 
 
 "Who wacbos us, my darling? Y'our sleeping husband has 
 not the least suspicion." 
 
 ■' I fear that my father suspects me, dear Murrough. I have 
 cauglil his stern eye ti.\ed on me more than once, when I return- 
 ed from enjoying our sweet, stolen interviews. He would slay 
 me on the instant, if he were assured of my guilt, and he could 
 then hide my disgrace from the world. This very night, as I was 
 leaving tbe castle, he questioned me as to where I was strolling 
 to." 
 
 "The suspicious old fool! Why should he Interefere with oor 
 pleasures? Would that 1 could crush liim with my good sword. 
 But away with all forebodings, dear Deborah. The moments 
 nre too precious to be wasted in that way ; let us forget all future 
 dangers In the sweet bliss of the present. Let us " 
 
 Before the amorous lover could utter another endearing word 
 a shrill cry was heard in the wood, as if It came from an alarmed 
 owl, and it was repeated over and over again in quick succession. 
 
 " Fly, fly, dearest," cried Deborah, as she pressed a kiss on 
 her lover's lips. " Some one comes this way. That is Norah'a 
 warning." 
 
 " When will wo meet again, Deborah?" 
 
 "This night week, if possible. There's the cry again. Fly, 
 fly. on your life. 
 
 The young woman ran out in the woods, and the guilty lover 
 dashtHi into the bushes behind. 
 
 "Who Is it, Norah?" mquircd the guilty creature, as she met 
 her maiden on the path. 
 
 " Your father, lady. Beware how you act after he meets yon. 
 Your face is all flushed, and your hair is in disorder. Fly along 
 the path with me, and we will seek to avoid him." 
 
 "Stay, Deborah," rang out astern voice, as a noble-looking 
 old man ran down the path leading from the castle. "Away 
 with you, maiden. I would speak to my daughter." 
 
 Norah ran along the path on the instant, leaving her mistress 
 with tlie stern old king. 
 
 "Where have you been loitering, Deborab?" demanded tbe 
 .stern old king. In angry tones. 
 
 •' Beyond in the wood, father." 
 
 " Whom did you meet there ?" 
 
 "No one, father." 
 
 " Your flushed cheeks and your disordered hair tell a ditrerent 
 story, false one. Woe to me that I should give being to such a 
 child. I am aware of your guilty passion. But I will hidu your 
 shame for the sake of the honor of our house. Go buck to your 
 chamber. I will see that you do not meet your false-hoartM 
 lover again. Go and pray, and bo penitent." 
 
 On (he following morning it was announced in the aistlo that 
 tbe I'rincess of Bretl'iii was dangerously ill. Her doting husband 
 was fearfully alarmed, and ho sent for the ablest doctors in the 
 land to give her comfort. 
 
 The stern old father, who was on a visit to the castle of his 
 son-in-law, did not appear to be much alarmed for his ciilld, al- 
 though it was remarked that he kept strict watch and guard at 
 the door of her chamber. ' 
 
 A week passed away, and Deborah appeared to be growing 
 weaker and weaker, despite the attentions of her doting husband 
 and Iho medicines of the great doctors. 
 
 "Oh, what can I do to save you, my loved one?" cried the 
 fond husband, as he bent over her pillow one night. "The doc- 
 tors say that a miracle alone can save you.'' 
 
 " Then you should go on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. 
 Patrick, good BrutTiii," responded tho deceitful one, "and pray 
 there for my happy recovery." 
 
 " I will set out on the morrow, Deborah. I was to have marched 
 under the standard of good King Koderic, but tbe great monarch 
 will pardon mo when he Is Informetl of my mission. My dear 
 one, you will be saved, if my prayers will avail you." 
 
 "Go, deur Breflni. I will keep that lamp burning ot my 
 chamber window until the night of your return. Whep you reach 
 yonder hill and see tbe light in tbe window, you will know that 
 I live. If you do not see the light, yon will know that I am lost 
 to you forever." 
 
 "Heaven forbid!" |oiclaimed O'Ruark, as ho kissea lOO pale 
 lips; and then hastened from tbe chamber to prepare lor hjs 
 journey. 
 
 Tlin Prince of BretTni, arrayed In the humblest garments, and 
 bearing a pilgrim's atatV in his hand, departed on his pilgrimage 
 at daylight on the following morning. 
 
 The old king, who was now becoming alarmed about his 
 daughter, remained in the castlu with her, while his contldonllul 
 guards kept watch in the neighborhood, to see that her guilty 
 lover did not approach the castle. On the night following the 
 day of Brefl^i's departure, Norah, the conOdaiite, stole out from 
 the castle, and took her way toward the city of Ferns. She was 
 back again in the morning, and her abeence had not been 
 noticeil by the watchful old king. 
 
 Three days passed away, and the sick woman did not Improve 
 In health, while her father grew more and more anxious about 
 her. 
 
 The time was drawing near for the return of Prince Bri^ffni from 
 his pilgrimage, and the old king saw that the signal lamp was 
 suspended at the window every evening. His daughter ap|>cared 
 to be so an.vious about the absent husband that the suspicious 
 father commenced to upbraid himself for doubting her love for 
 him. 
 
 One evening, as tho castle gates were aliout to bo closed for 
 the night, a stranger applied for admittance; and he was hospi- 
 tably received and welcomed, according to the good old custom 
 then prevailing in the land, and which custom still prevails in 
 portions of Ireland, despite of oppression and misery. 
 
 The stranger ap|)eare<l to bo an old man, and he was dressed 
 In the costume worn by the doctors or leeches of tb- ago. 
 
 When the old stranger had partaken of some refreshments, 
 the ohl king addressinl him, saying: 
 
 " I believe you are a doctor, sir?" 
 
 " I am, good king." 
 
 " Would that you would cure my daughter, stranger." 
 
 " If it is possililc for a human being to cure the famml Deborah. 
 I can elliH't a cure, sire." 
 
 " Then come with me to my daughter's chamber," continued 
 the old king, leading the way. 
 
14 
 
 TEE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 Tlie old doctor approached the bedside of the sick princess, took 
 her hand within liis own, and commenced to count the beatings 
 of her pulse, without uttering a single word. 
 
 Laying the hand down on the pillow again, he approached the 
 old king, saying: 
 
 " Your fair daughter is very ill indeed, but hers is not a hope- 
 less case. If you would have me cure her, let all withdraw save 
 hor chosen female attendant. She is troubletl with the disease 
 of llie heart. This magical medicine must be applied to her 
 heart by careful and skilled hands." 
 
 As the old man spoke these words, he drew a bottle from his 
 pocket, and lield it up before the unsuspecting old king. 
 
 " Of a certainty," replied the king, as ho motioned to the others 
 to withdraw. " I will await you in the anteroom, good leech, 
 and I will i)ray that UeavSn may assist yon in the cure of uiy 
 child." 
 
 The old father withdrew. Norah returned to the recess of the 
 window, and looked out on the valley beyond, and tbedoctor ad- 
 vanced to the bedside of the dying patient. 
 
 Bending down, he whispered some words into the sick one's 
 ear, and their effect was magical indeed. 
 
 Doliorah uttered a low cry of joy; slie clasped the hand ln'ld 
 ont to her, and she raised the Hushed face to meet the lips of llic 
 oW doctor, while she clasped his neck in a fond embrace. 
 
 " You have come, Murrough," she whispered, in joyous tones. 
 " Oh, if you are discovered! ' 
 
 " Fear not, dear Deborah," was the disguised man's reply. '■ I 
 have come to you, and we will never part again. To-morrow 
 you will fly with mo. To-night we will renew our fond embraces. 
 You arc much bolter, are you not, my sweet Deborah ?" 
 
 "Much better," responded the guilty one. " I feel that I have 
 strength enough to sup and eat at the festive board this very 
 night." 
 
 '•.\.3 you will, dear Deborah. But a perfect care will not be 
 effected until you have partaken freely of the waters of ."^t. 
 Bridget's holy well. You must drink of the water fresh from the 
 fountain; and I must be with you to see that you do n^ drink 
 loo much. Y'ou understand me, my adored one ?" 
 
 "I dol I do! I will do as you suggest. Life with you will be 
 paradise; without you, I am in eternal niLsery. Oh, how 1 lung 
 for the nioinenl when I can clasp you in my arms again." 
 
 When the old king was ailmilted to the room, and beheld the 
 wonderful change in his daughter, he turned to the doctor, say- 
 ing: 
 
 "In the name of all that is wonderful, how did you eflect tire 
 magic cure, good leech ?" 
 
 "By very simple means, good king. This bottle contains some 
 water from the holy well of St. Bridget, in the valley near Clon- 
 turf. One small draught and one application outside the heart 
 has improved her, as you see." 
 
 " But will she continue to improve, sir?" 
 
 " She will relapse again, nnless she drinks of the water fi-esh 
 from the fountain, and procures, at the same time, a supply for 
 the future." 
 
 " Wo will set out on the morrow," said the old king, joyously. 
 " We will " 
 
 "Pardon me, sire," interrupted the wily lover; "but it is 
 necessary that your daughter should be accompanied by only a 
 singlo female ultendaut, and a skilled physician only, or there 
 will bo no virtue in the water. On the contrary, it may increase 
 her malady. She must be also very careful about part;iking too 
 freely of the water. An overdose may, and it is very likely, to 
 cause instant death." 
 
 "IIow is that to be avoided, good leech?" 
 
 "Were it not that I am bound to visit and adininster to the 
 monarch Rodoric before he sets out for the war against TjTone, 
 I would be most happy to proceed to the holy well with her." 
 
 " I will dispatch a messenger to the goml King Kodsric on the 
 instant, and inform him that you are waiting on my daughter, 
 sir. Accompany her to the holy well, and I will reward you 
 richly." 
 
 After many objections were offered by the pretended physician, 
 he consented, at length, to accompaay the princess on her 
 journey. 
 
 The princess was seated at the festive board during the 
 evening's entertainment, and the physician was placed at the 
 seat of honor beside her. 
 
 When tho people of the castle had all retired to rest, the guilty 
 princess received her disguised lover in her chamber, where they 
 made final arrangements for their Hight on the morrow. 
 
 On tho following day, while tho sun was peeping up over the 
 distant hills, the old stranger left the castle with Deborah and 
 the iotrigui'Jg Norah, and they rode the best horses in the Prince 
 (if Bieffni's stables. 
 
 They rode along demurely enough until they reached the brow 
 of a hill overlooking the castle of Brert'ni; but just as they were 
 descending into the valley beyond, and when they were lost to 
 the view Qf the watchers on the battlements, the disguised lover 
 clasped the guilty woman in his arms, and kissed her in the most 
 raptuous manner, as he cried: 
 
 " You are mine now, and mine forever, Deborah. I will defy 
 all Ireland for your sake." 
 
 These passionate caresses were witnessed by an astonished 
 iiliopherd who was tending his flocks on a neighboring hill. The 
 man knew the faithless princess right well, bnt be did not know 
 the di8gui3e<l lover. 
 
 Dashing over the hill as fast as his active feet would bear him, 
 the shepherd rushed into Brert'ni Castle, sought out the old king, 
 and cried, in alarmed tones: 
 
 " Murder alive, good king, but there's a strange old man hug- 
 ging and kissing your daughter like mad on the hills beyond 
 there." 
 The old king's eyes were opened on the instant. 
 Calling out a body of mounted men, he started ofl' in pursuit; 
 but the guilty lovers rode the swiftest horses in the stables, and 
 lliey were well able to defy their pursuers. 
 
 It was growing dark on tho hills of Brefl"ni, when a weary pil- 
 grim reached a spot overlooking the castle in the valley. 
 
 It was the Prince of Brefl"ni returning from his pilgrimage; and 
 long and anxious were the looks that he cast at the casement, 
 where he e.xpected to see the promised beacon. 
 The betrayed prince looked in vain. 
 
 Fully expecting to find the loveil one lying in the arms of death, 
 ho flew to the castle, only to learn that she had fled with his 
 hated rival, MacMurrough, King of Leinster. 
 
 When the betrayed prince recovered from the first outliursts of 
 grief, he turned his thoughts on vengeance. He iniHietliately 
 made preparations for invading the country of his rival, and ho 
 was ably assisted by the disgraced old king. 
 
 MacMurrtugh and the faithless wife fled to the city of Ferns, 
 the capital of tho province which he ruled over, and while they 
 lived In guilty intercourse, they proi)osed to resist the betrayed 
 husband. 
 
 .\l the same time O'Ruark sent a message to Roderic, Mon- 
 arch of Ireland, calling on him to aid him in punishing a wretch 
 who bad so wantonly betrayed the most sacred rights of friend- 
 ship and humanity. 
 
 On receipt of the e.vpress, the monarch held a council ; and the 
 result was. that MacMurrough was pronounced unworthy to gov- 
 ern, and therefore must be deposed and banished. He imme- 
 diately dispatched a body of his troops, and sent with them 
 orders to the King of Meath, and to the people of Dublin and Os- 
 sory, to join O'Ruark, whom he nominated general in this e.'spe- 
 dition. MacMurrough endeavored to oppose their passage into ' 
 Leinster, but on this occasion found himself deserted by tlie bo- 
 bility, the military, and even by his principal favorites and de- 
 pendents, so horrible did the crime he was charged with appear 
 in their eyes. 
 
 Thus circumstanced, he retired to Ferns, and not daring to 
 stand a siege, he fled from thence, and had himself and about 
 si.xty persons in his suite conveyed to Bristol. The castle of 
 Ferca soon surrendered ; his country was divided between the 
 
 \ 
 
THE LOVES AND IXTRIGuH^' OF KIXGS ASD (JVEENS. 
 
 15 
 
 I'nnce of Oasory and Miirclia, a prince of his blood; and stiven- 
 teen bogtagea were liruu,:;lil lo llie monarch. 
 
 When MacMurroiigh found that lie was deserted and detested by 
 every one, lie tied lo f)ngland, hoping that, in a glran:;o coun- 
 try, where his tyranny and crimes were not so well known, ho 
 mi";ht procure friends and foUowere lo assist him. After remain- 
 ing some lime at Bristol, he procectled lo N'ormandy to claim the 
 protection of Henry, King of England. Henry gave him a fa- 
 voralile reception, heard his tale, hut excu8e<l himself from at 
 present engaging in his cause. MacMurrough requested at lc>a8t 
 bis permission to ct)nvey lo Ireland such volunteers as he could 
 procure in England, which Henry agree<l lo, and sent with him 
 the following proclamation : 
 
 " Uenry. Khig of Ewjlumf^ Duke of Xormandy and Aquitmne, 
 Eurl of Anjou, eU:, unto all liix subjects, Enr/lish, Xormans, 
 Wi'Uh and fUcots, and to all nations and people, beimj his 
 subjects, greeting : 
 
 "Whereas Dermod, King of Leinster, most wrongfully (as he 
 Informolli) banished out of his own country, hath craved our 
 aid; therefore, forasmuch as-we have received him into our |iio- 
 tcction, grace, and favor, whoever williln our realms, subject 
 onto our command, will aid and help him, whom we have em- 
 braced a? our trusty friend, for the recovery of his land, let him 
 b« assured of our grace and favor." 
 
 MacMurrough, by sound of tcumpet, had this proclamation 
 fre<iiiently read in Bristol, and some adjoining cities. Ho otTered 
 great rewards in money and lauds to such as woulO enlist uinler 
 his banners; hut his success was not great. After a month's 
 stay at Bristol ho retirinl to Wales. Ho applied lo Richard, Earl 
 of Strigul, commonly called Strongbow, a powerful and popular 
 chief in Wales. Ho made him considerable oflers lo attach liiin 
 to his service. He went so far as, at last, lo promise him his 
 daughter in marriage, and the reversion of his kingdom after his 
 death, if by his means, and those of his friends and associates, he 
 should bo restored to his dominions. So tempting an oU'er coold 
 not be resisted. 
 
 Strongbow immediately enteretl deep into all the schemes of 
 the exile. The treaty was signed and sworn to on both sides; 
 and MacMurrough bound himself by oath to give him, at a 
 proper time, his dauirliter in marriage, and to settle the reversion 
 of his kingdom on him; though this last he knew was contrary 
 to the fundamentals of the constitution, for the right of election 
 was vested in the chiefs of the country, and none could be pat 
 
 In nomination for the crown of Leinster who were not of the Una 
 of Ca'Jioir the Great. 
 
 And thus we find that the love of a guilty Irish princess was 
 the cau.se of the first invasion of the Normans in that laud. 
 
 With the assistance of the English invaders, MacMurrough 
 waged a relentless war on O'Ruark and his confederates, and tho 
 green fields of the unhappy isle were stained wilh the blood of 
 thousands Ijefore the invaders gained a lirm footing on the 
 shores. 
 
 It is recorde<l that Deborah retired into a convent after hor 
 lover was banished, where she soon died of a broken heart. 
 
 This romantic and disastrous adventure inspiretl Tom Moore, 
 the great poet of Erin, in the production of one of his most lou- 
 der and soul-stirring Irish melodies. The words of this beautifal 
 song will bo recognizetl by all who are familiar with the works of 
 the well-known bard: 
 
 The valley lay Kiuiling tx»for« me. 
 
 Where lately I left her ix-'hlnd. 
 Vet I tremble*), anil suuietlilni; hung o'er me 
 
 That 8a(I(leiie<l ilio Jny of my mlud. 
 I "iOokcil ft>r the hiiiip which she told me 
 
 .Should shine when her pilerlm returned ; 
 Rnt though dnrkness tiegan to entold rae, 
 
 Xo lamp from tier hattlemeute burned. 
 
 I (lew to her chamlier— 'twan lonely. 
 
 As ir ibe loveil tenant lay deaiK-, 
 Ah, would It were deaih. and death only I 
 
 Bnt no, the young fatso one had ae<I. 
 And there hung the lute that could rolten 
 
 My ven' worst pains Into blLss; 
 While the haml thai hail waked It eo often 
 
 Now throblK'il to a proud rival's kiss. 
 
 There was a time, falsest of women. 
 
 When lireifni's good sword would have soQgllt 
 Ttiat man, thro* a million bf foemen. 
 
 Who darcU but to wrong tbec tn thoaght. 
 While now.— oh. degenerate daughter 
 
 Of Krjn, how fairu is thy Atme ! 
 And through ages of iKiudagc and slaughter 
 
 Our country shall bleed for thy shame. 
 
 .\lrea<ly the curse ia upon her. 
 
 \tn\ strangers her valleys profane ; 
 Tbey come to divide, to dishonor. 
 
 And tyrants they long will remain. 
 Bnt onward— the green Imnner rearing, 
 
 t;o, desh every sword to the lult. 
 On our side Is Virtue and Erin, 
 
 On theirs Is the Saxou and guilt. 
 
 THE FATAL. AMOUR OF AN EAST INDIAN KING. 
 
 THE YOUNU PRIEST AND TIIK LADV — A BOAK Ill'.NT ANI> ITS 00NSEQCENCE8 — LO\'E's FIRST <'ARK!<SE.S— THE SECRET MEETINOS — A 
 PAL.SE FRIE.ND'S TREACHERY — THE KRITTS OK A GUILTY LOVE — A TERRIBLE VE.NOEA.NOK. 
 
 Till-: celebration of the august and imposing rito of admission to 
 the priesthood of the ancient and venerable order of .Seva, 
 had drawn together a crowd of |)erson8 from various parts of the 
 Boulhern district of Indi.i, to witness the fcene in llie great tem- 
 ple of the God, in the river-island of Iswara. The ceremony was 
 now over, and the muUilude liad dispersed. One person still lin- 
 gered near the altar; it was he who had Just assumed the vows 
 of a priest. 
 
 Godari was the younger son of a powerful and distinguished 
 oliicer of the sUile. If abundant wealth, wnrUliy lionor, and liigh 
 mental endowments could have secured the happiness of their 
 possessor, there bad been few whose blessedness had ei|ualed 
 bis; but it was the misfortune of Godari to l>o born witli that 
 morbidness of feeling and susceptibility of passion which are the 
 bane of comfort in every condition of existence. 
 
 In addition to the sufflcionl curse of an over-sensitive heart, it 
 happened, unforluualely, that the elder brother of Godari was a 
 
 person of a nature and disposition the very oi)po8ilo of his owti. 
 Cold, callous, and unfeeling, he took u 8av;ige pleasure in tyf' 
 annizing over the tenderness of his brother; he hourly vexed his 
 soul with deep and aching insults, and slung him into madness 
 by cruel irritation. The very prescuce of so uncongenial a .spirit 
 stirred up by a species of magnetic inflnence a dark strife of 
 struggling passions. 
 
 His father, also, though kindly nalured, was of the world, 
 worldly; he had l)reathe<l the petrifying air of a court until his 
 temper had become stern, hard, and inflexible. His son found in 
 bis forceful spirit nothing cognate to his gentle wi.shings. His 
 father put down all romantic and dreamy sentiments as fal.se and 
 noxious; and ardent minds, when tlwy despise or condemn a 
 passion wr a principle, often forget to allow for its existence. 
 Under such circumstances, it is not surprisirig if Godari lookeil 
 back upon his past life as a dark and distressful memory of woe. 
 
 The ceremony of bis entrance on tlie priesthood was com- 
 
16 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 pleted; and none remained In the temple, except the young 
 devotee. There was a gloom and weight upon hia spirit which he 
 could neither conquer nor account for; it was not that instinct- 
 Sve foreboding of ill which we sometimes feel, but merely a dull- 
 ness and ungeniality of feeling. 
 
 Perhaps it was the natural ofl'ect of the fatiguing pomp which he 
 had just passed through ; perhaps it was an uneasy feeling pro- 
 duced by the want of sympathy from his family in the course 
 which he had adopted; perhaps it was a shade cast upon the 
 glass of hia spirit by the breath of some passing dream — for so 
 small a thing as a forgotten vision of the night has power to 
 color the substance of our being. 
 
 He presently rose and turned to a room joining the main tem- 
 ple, and separated from it by a hanging curtain. As ho ap- 
 proached it ho thought he saw the figure of some one standing 
 upon the other side. He withdrew the folds a little, without 
 noise, and felt breathed upon liis face a soft, warm and delicious 
 au', " so sweet that the sense ached at it." 
 
 He paused a moment to inhale the ambrosial smell, and then 
 moving the curtain, beheld the loveliest woman he had ever seen, 
 standing and loolsing attentively upon a picture hung upon the 
 wall above the curtain. Her countenance was all roseate with 
 the bloom of splendid intelligence; her comple.xion was as 
 freslily soft and brightly pure as the dewy tints of a new-born 
 flower; her features were gently proud with the high-born grace 
 of iiurity and fine recession of a queenly innocence; and with a 
 ewan-like majesty, 
 
 Tbe manUIng spirit of reserve 
 Fashion 'd ber neck Into a goodly curve. 
 
 Her startled glance fell upon the intruder, and then fluctuated 
 with a painful timidnoss. It was a dove-like eye that seemed a 
 sphered soul; you might have loved and worshiped it apart from 
 its possessor. In the breast of young Godari the bright confla- 
 gration of love was kindled in a moment. 
 
 It B'Duld be difficult to determine which party was the most 
 embarrassed. They both stood bowing towards one another for 
 some time, blushing deeply, and looking on the ground. At 
 length the lady spoke. 
 
 "My brother left me here, "she said, with an agitated voice, 
 " while he has gone to see if we could be permitted to look at the 
 curiosities of the temple." And what a voice! There was a 
 spirit in the sound; the gushing tones seemed angels uttered into 
 Immortality: there was a breathing life upon tlie words that 
 piercetl and played upon the hearer's heart. 
 
 "Certainly," said Godari, " on any day that the rooms shall be 
 open, they will bo infinitely honored by your presence. To-day, 
 however, they are closed, and no e.Tceplion of persons is made. 
 Yet to you, I am sure, that even now tliey will be open. To you 
 I am sure that neither that nor anything else will be denied." 
 
 "0, »o," Said the strange lady. " I cannot think of opposing 
 any of tlie usual laws. It is not a matter of any consequence," 
 and she was moNnng away. 
 
 " Will you sufler me to bring you word," said Godari, " of the 
 time when the rooms are oi>eu?" 
 
 The lady bowed. 
 
 " And will you promise me to come?"8aid Godari, taking hold 
 of her hand, and looking into her eyes with a supplicating im- 
 pression, whieh it was impossible to resist. The lady smiled with 
 an embarrassed air, and looketl sideways at him. 
 
 " Promise me," continued the lover with the most persuasive 
 accent. 
 
 " I will," said the other, half unwillingly, and making her 
 «sca|)e at the same time from the room. 
 
 Like the dazzling blaze of sunlight, through a cloudy day, 
 making an unconsuming flame of all the air, was the Infinite 
 illumination of the passion that blaaed forth in the darkling mind 
 of young Godari. 
 
 He was panting with the agitation of this exciting interview. 
 Whether accident hud hitherto prevented his meeting with one 
 whose presence was fitted to disturb his soul with the might of 
 
 quivering feelings, or whether his proud and jealous temper bad 
 fell a lonely joy in turning softness into scorn, certainly never till 
 now had masterless love possessed his being. 
 
 Godari had taken the precaution of sending an attendant after 
 the lady to ascertain wliore she resided, and had resolved on vis- 
 iting her on the following day. Tlie night wsis passed by him In 
 tasting the sweetest thing the mental sense can ever know— a 
 lover's fragrant fancies and nectared hopes. 
 
 The summer shadows were beginning to lengthen through the 
 ancient forest which was skirted by the deejf and rapid river 
 Caveri, when the young king Goroyen rode through the wood to 
 enjoy the freshness of the rising breezes. This monarch, while 
 yet a boy, had been called to assume the throne of the southern 
 district of India; and was in the habit of compensating himself 
 for the annoying absorptions of business in the morning, by long 
 and soUtary rides through the royal forest in the afternoon. It 
 wiis on the same day that Godari had taken his vows, that the 
 king, after being present at the ceremony, and having returned 
 to his palace to dine, mounted his horse and set out on his usual 
 excursion. The father of Goroyen, who was a man of solitary 
 and meditative disposition, had built a lodge in the heart of the 
 forest and furnished it with the utmost luxury and elegance, as a 
 place of retreat and privacy from the business and bustle of his 
 court. The rooms were arranged every morning by a confiden- 
 tial servant from the palace, but no attendant resided at the 
 house and no one was intrusted by the king with the key. Gor- 
 oyen visited this place almost every afternoon, and its silence 
 and soUtude rendered It a delightful spot for reading or for 
 thought. 
 
 The king was riding leisurely along, within sight of this lodge, 
 when he was startled by a wild cry of terror and distress, issuing 
 from beyond a thicket of underwood which concealed the view. 
 The cry was followed by a loud crashing of limbs and rustling 
 of leaves, and the king spurnng his horse quickly around the 
 obstructing bushes, beheld with consternation a young and deU- 
 cate woman flying with breathless rapidity, and closely pursued 
 by a terrible wild boar. The lady in a few moments sank to the 
 earth, in horror and affright, and the ferocious animal was about 
 to spring upon her, when Goroyen threw himself from his liorse, 
 and drawing his sword with inconceivable swiftness, confront«d 
 tlie monster in the full rush of his violeace. The boar, suddenly 
 jerking his tusks sideways, infiicted a wound upon Goroyen, and 
 lirought him to his knee; then, drawing back, lowered his front 
 and dashed with all bis vehemence at his bending foe. Goroyen 
 planted himself firmly upon one knee, threw out his other foot 
 and fixed it against a root, then supporting one end of his sword 
 against hia breast with one hand, and directing the blade with 
 the other, was preparetl to receive the assailant on the point of 
 his weapon. The animal made one spring; the steel met and 
 clove the center of his skull: in a moment, he lay dead upon tbe 
 body of the king. 
 
 Goroyen was stunned by the violence with which the enormous 
 creature had leaped upon liim ; but, soon recovering, extricated 
 himself from the lifeless load that rested upon him, and turned 
 towards the ludy whose safety had urged him to this contest, and 
 wlio still lay where she had fallen, pale and insensible. The 
 first conviction of Goroyen was that she was dead. 
 
 Without a moment's delay he raised her lifeless form in his 
 arms, carried her to the lodge which was close at hand, and laid 
 her upon a rich velvet sofa in one of its rooms, lie resorted at 
 once to all the modes of rp.storutiou which he could think of; he 
 called her, shook her, begged her to come to life; then threw 
 water in her face, and loosened h.T dress behind, that her return ■ 
 ing breath might not be obstructed. Finding that none of tiiese 
 appliances were cfiectual, he knelt down and lookeil intently in 
 lier face; partly fascinated by her wondrous and peculiar beauty, 
 and partly to see if no signs of vitality were discovered in her 
 countenance. He then t!«rew iiimself beside her on the sofa, and 
 clasped her to his bosom in the hope that the warmth of his 
 person might quicken the coldness of her frame. In a little while 
 she heaved a dceji sigh, and presently after opened her eyes, and 
 
THE LOVES AND INTliKlUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 IT 
 
 closed them again; she tlieu drew a long and dlfllcult breath, 
 folded Goroyeii to her bosom, aud inutlered — "My brother." 
 
 The king, delighted with her restoration, imprinted eager kisses 
 on her check. The lady again oi)ened her eyes, and fi.\ed them 
 npon liiin. 
 
 " It is not my brother," she said, but without any surprise 
 or agitation. 
 
 " It is one who loves you," replied the other, " with more than 
 a brother's love." 
 
 " .\re we (|uite safe?" she asked, gazing Intently in the air. 
 
 "Entirely." 
 
 "Oh, what a horrid scene! a few minutes after you left me I 
 was hastening home, when a horrid animal sprung out of a 
 thicket, and ran directly towards me. I thought I should have 
 died with terror. I tried to run, but I felt so weak that I could 
 scarcely move. The animal was just upon me, when you, my 
 brother, appeared. Oh! oh! what I felt when I saw you," and 
 she bunjt into a flood of burning tears. 
 
 Goroyen rose from the couch, and kneeling on one knee, 
 watchetl her blind emotion, without interrupting the natural 
 course of her feelings. He was deeply touched, as well by her 
 « beauty as by the interesting e.\hibltion of uncontrollable disturb- 
 ance. As the violence of her sobs abated, and she grew more 
 composed, he took her hand in bis with kindness, and said in an 
 afToctionale tone: 
 
 "Well, the danger is now passed; you are entirely safe now." 
 
 The laily started, and fixed her eyes in astonishment ppon the 
 8|)eaker. The indulgence of her e.vcitcd feelings iii tears had 
 calmed her agitation and recalled her wandering tlioiglits to the 
 reality of her position. She raised herself upon the sofa, and 
 looking wildly round upon the gorgeous furniture of the apart- 
 ment, exclaimed: " Where am 1? Who are you? What place is 
 this?" Then looking down to where her falling dress had exposed 
 the exquisite fairness of her bosom, she raised her hand huiriodly 
 to conceal her breast, and blushed like scarlet. 
 
 Goroyen was enchanted by the graceful confusion and maiden 
 delicacy of the lovely girl; and pressing her hand gently to his 
 lips, said in a tone of profound respect: "Be assured, madam, 
 that nothing but the eye of the purest and sincerest love bus 
 looked u|)on those charms." The lady blushed more deeply than 
 before. 
 
 Goroyeii was silent. The stranger, after struggling with her 
 embarrassment, and essaying in vain several times to speak, 
 said in a broken voice, looking upon the ground, "I — I thought 
 it was my brother. I am hidebted to you, I suppose, for my life. 
 How shall I display my gratitude and — and regard?" Then fear- 
 ing that she had sai<l what she ought not to have done, she hung 
 her head and trembled with perplexity. 
 
 "Chiefly," replied the royal wooer, "by assuring me that you 
 arc not hurt in the least." 
 
 " I am not hurt at all; but— but, cannot I go home?' 
 
 " At ony moment that you please; yet I shall be most honored 
 and delighted if you will remain. Listen to me. This place is 
 sacred from all intrusion. Your presence will give me pleasure. 
 If j'ou will stay here a little while, I pledge you my stainless honor 
 that nothing shall occur that can possibly embarrass or of- 
 fend you, and that I will obey your directions hi everything. 
 .\nd. that you may feel yourself protected, put this little dagger 
 ill your belt." 
 
 As she was extending her hand to receive the weapon, her eye 
 fell upon a little stream of blood creeping slowly along the car- 
 ]>et. She starteil up, exclaiming with alarm, " You are woundetl." 
 
 "Not the least; th« merest scratch," said Goroyen, who, in 
 the warmth of interest, had forgotten his wound. 
 
 But in attempting to raise himself from his knee, the neces- 
 sary strain upon the sinews of his limb caused him such acute 
 suflerlng that he cried out, in spite of himself. Forgetful of his 
 l>oasl, he was fain to crawl to the sofa and stretch himself upon 
 it, with a countenance expressive of extreme pain. 
 
 " Docs It give yon much pain ?" said his companion with solici- 
 tude. 
 
 "Not much, my love," said Goroyen in a kindly tone, at the 
 same time frowning with anguish. 
 
 "I will dress it for yon," said she. 
 
 "My darling!" said Goroyen, in an Incredulous tone, " what 
 should you know about dressing wounds? You had better let it 
 alone^" 
 
 "No. indeed, I can dress it very well. Will you not let me?" 
 
 " You may try it, if you like. But you will kill me, I am sure." 
 
 The lovely chirurgeon began her operations. The congealing 
 blood had caused the dress of the king to be stuck to the flesh, 
 and the removal of it inflicted severe pangs upon the patient. 
 "Oweh ! my sweetest !" was the exclamation which thcflrst mo- 
 tion elicited: "Booh ! my dearest cherub !" marked the second: 
 "Bah ! you loveliest dear !" was roareil at the third. 
 
 At length the operation was completed. "Do you find your- 
 self better ?" asked the successful surgeon. 
 
 " Mucli," replied the king, " and shall be still better if you will 
 do one thing more." 
 
 " Viliat is that r 
 
 " Kiss mo," said the modest patient 
 
 There was something so frank yet so delicate about the 
 countenance of Goroyen, that he inspired confidence and ease in 
 all who came near him. Though the lineaments of his face could 
 not have disclosed his rank, they would have told you at once that 
 he was a thorough gentleman. The lovely lady seemc<l to under- 
 stand in a moment the playful retlneinent, and unpresiiming 
 familiarity of his manner; she only pouted with her pretty lips, 
 and said "I shan't." 
 
 " By the bye," said she, " I wonder wliereabouts we are. Do 
 you know?" And she looked with curiosity about the room. 
 She then walked to the window and looked out. "Good 
 gracious! this is the king's lodge. There is no other building In 
 the forest. I tell you what, the king often rides at this hour, and 
 if he comes and finds us here he will be terribly angry. What 
 shall we do? We had better got out as soon as possible. How 
 in the name of goodness did you get in?" 
 
 "There is the key," said Goroyen. 
 
 " There are but two persons who ever have that key," said she, 
 looking at him with a certain queerness; "the king and his 
 private servant." 
 
 "Might it never occur to you, yon perverse little angel! that I 
 was the private servant of the king?" 
 
 She paused a moment, and looking keenly at him. "No, no," 
 said she, shaking her head, " you have not the appearance of a 
 servant" 
 
 "Then," said Goroyen, smiling kindly towards her, " I mast 
 be " 
 
 He stopped and looked inquiringly at her. 
 
 "The king!" she exclaimed with surprise and awe. Aji Indian 
 monarch is looked upon as belonging to a sii|)erior order of 
 mortals. The color lied from the lady's cheek, and she bowe<l 
 with the deepest reverence. 
 
 "Nay, nay, my darhiig!" said Goroyen, "do not tremble at 
 having conquered a king. By my faith, I must renounce my 
 rank, if it deprives me of the privilege of your atTections. Come 
 to me," said he. "I told you that you would be an nnskillful 
 surgeon; for while you cured one wound, you inflicted a deeiier. 
 That wound," he continued, pressing her to his bosom, " only 
 yourself can heal." 
 
 Leaving the lovers in the solitude of sacred feeling, let us re- 
 turn to the history of young Godari. Tlie servant whom he had 
 sent after the lady whom he had met so suddenly, and whom the 
 reader has doubtless discovercl to l>e the same whom the king 
 liad rescued in the forest, returneil with the intelligence that her 
 name was Chatrya — that she resided a little beyond the termina- 
 tion of the forest, and that she belonged to the ancient and honor- 
 able tribe of the Samides. the descendants of an old dynasty of 
 kings who had been dethronetl ages before by the founder of the 
 present reigning family, and had since lived in entire seclusion, 
 within a separate district, totally disconnected wit'i ever>' other 
 family in the kingdom. Besides the interest of such pure and 
 
18 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 iliustrious blood, lliero floated around llie liistory and position of 
 this trihe, or fiirnily, iin air or roinance, wliich farther enfettered 
 tlie fancy of Godari and made him still more anxious to meet her 
 again. 
 
 Two or three days elapsed before the eiigaj;oments of his office 
 allowed liim leisure to leave the temple long enough to visit her. 
 At length, an unoccupied afternoon occurred, and mounting Ins 
 horse, and obtaining a very precise direction from his servant, he 
 set out towards her residence. In front of the house, above the 
 door, was a little terrace of llowers, ui)on which a large window 
 <il)cned from the second story. As Godari drew near he recognized 
 (ho form of Cliatrya stooping down to p.\amiue one of the llowers. 
 She raised her head and saw him, and instantly retreated within 
 the window. The heart of Godari boat with strange and painful 
 quickne.ss. He almost rei)ented of his enterprise, and actually 
 slackened his paco consitlerably, to protract the period of moel- 
 ing. Ho i)ictured to himself so vividly the lirst encounter with 
 the lady, that the scene, with all its jileasing terrors, seemed 
 present before him. • 
 
 Jle at length gained the porch, ami asked if Cliatrya was at 
 home. The inquiry was a mere matter of form: without think- 
 ing about an answer he was about to enter, when the servant re- 
 jdied that she was not. Goduri was thunderstruck. He had 
 seen her him.wlf al the window; and lie stood for a moment 
 balancing in his mind lietwoen the fact and reply, in confused 
 .surprise, and then turned from the door. 
 
 A man does not feel while he faiicie.s. The yonug priest had 
 nearly finished his homeward journey, before his senses had so 
 far pierced tlie thick mists of imagination aa to receive froni be- 
 yond them the impressions of disappointment. Still he did not 
 feel aggrieved or vexed ; hopes, such as he had scafToKled about 
 his being, were not to be dashed down by so slight a repulso. lie 
 imputed the denial to some mistake or accident, and looked for- 
 vvaril to his next visit as assuredly successful. That second 
 visit he made a few days after, and mot with the same cold re- 
 fusal. This time ho was stung and irritated. Ho was convinced 
 that Cliatrya must be resolved not to meet him iigain, for certain- 
 ly, she miglit either have appeared or olVered some explanation. 
 He rode home in a savage humor, and felt mad and desperate all 
 the evening. From these annoyances of " reality's dark dream " 
 he took refuge in airy visions of success; he imagined himself in 
 her company, hai)py and beloved, and thus his equanimity was 
 soon restored. Pleasing fancies soon renewed pleasing hopes. 
 Ho began to think that he had been hasty in his conclusion of 
 failure. 
 
 Accordin;;ly, after some days, he again took his way through 
 the forest, which alVordcd the only approach from the temple to 
 the residence of Cliatrya. After riding a little way, he fell in 
 with the king. IJy the established law no one was allowed to 
 pass through that wood except tlie king, and though the probi- 
 bition was not penally enforced, yet as it was known that the king 
 loved to be there alone, all who wont through it took care to 
 keep as much as possible out of his way; Godari therefore felt a 
 little awkward la intruding upon him. The priesthood, however, 
 constituted a high elevation in the rank, and thefamily of Godari 
 was so much connected with the court, that there had always ex- 
 isted as much familiarity between himself and the king as was 
 practicable between a suliject and his sovereign; these consid- 
 erations and the alTable bearing of the monarch soon set him at 
 ease, and lliey rode on together in familiar coinrersal ion. After 
 a little while the king turned to him and said that he had an 
 appointment at his lodge at that hour which would render it 
 necessary for him to leave his companion, and, smiling with a 
 peculiar expression, rode off through a narrow path and left 
 Godari alone. The latter suspected the nature of the engage- 
 ment, but his own thoughts were loo much interested in a simi- 
 lar manner to sufl'er him to blame the conduct of the king. 
 
 A brisk canter soon brought him to the brow of a hill from 
 which there issued a fine spring of water. He stopped his horse 
 to let him drink, and in the silence of the breezeless air, he iires- 
 ontlv heard a sound of motion among the leaves and branches 
 
 at a little distance which he at first imputed to a playful squirrel. 
 In a moninnt, however, he heard the low humming of a sweet 
 human voice, that tloated, fiake-like, on the yellow air, and 
 seemed the vocal incense of a happy heart. He raised his 
 eyes, and at the bottom of the hill saw his own Chatrya. With 
 one hand she was swinging her bonnet by its string and carry- 
 ing' in the other a choice bunch of flowers. The first impulse of 
 Godari's gladness to spring forward and embrace her was ar- 
 rested by a feeling of wonder at her presence in this place, and 
 curiosity to discover the object of her walk. A vague feeling of 
 suspicion, too shadowy to be combated, and too dark to be 
 forgotten, crept over his mind. He stood motionless till she was 
 out of sight, and then dismounting walked (piickly in the direc- 
 tion whicli she had taken, until he again came up with her. He 
 followed her till they came within view of the royal lodge. The 
 heart of Godari sank within him, and a sense of inexpressible 
 mortification came upon him, as he saw that her steps were di- 
 rocled towards it. She tripped gayly along, as soon .as she saw 
 the house, and running up the steps, the door opened to her aa 
 to one expected. 
 
 Godari leaned against a tree, breathless with dismoy. His 
 frame grew rigid with the force of unutterable feelings. .Scarcely 9 
 master of his actions, he walked towards the lodge, and observ- 
 ing a window in one end, accessible by a little effort, he climbed 
 noiselessly up, and looked within. In the midst of a room, fur- 
 iii.slied as became the secret place of royal luxury, on a couch of 
 richest crimson, he saw Goroyen and Cliatrya lying in the teii- 
 deiest embraces of love. He looked for one moment; and in 
 that moment the curdling coldness of a demon's temper crept 
 over his spirit and froze his soul to adamant. It was one of 
 those instants that are epochs in tlie calendar of the soul, trans- 
 forming it thenceafter ever. Godari sprang to tlie ground, an- 
 other creature. He cursed himself for having been the bubble of 
 a weak and womanish feeling, and the diqie of what now seemed 
 the most trivial passion in the world. Till this moment he had 
 been a bO)', begirt with boyhood's self-forming atmosphere oi' 
 leiiderncss; but now he waved and whistled down the wind all 
 giMitlenoss of thought, and thrilled with unbleuching manhood's 
 sleel-nerved force. 
 
 Godari felt that he had staked his destiny on a single cast, and 
 that had gone against him. Henceforth his portion was such 
 selfish gain as, by the onward miglit of abandoned fury, he could 
 work out for himself. He rode home calm and composed— one 
 might almost say, happy. Feeling in him was crushed and 
 swept away; and feeling is, to a man of sensibility, a source of 
 more misery than joy. 
 
 Days passed on, and the young priest grew sterner and more 
 relentless; for the sources of moral vitality were dried up within 
 him. 
 
 To detach the king from Chatrya, revenge as well as restless- 
 ness suggested; to marry the king to his own sistei', was a pur- 
 pose following close upon. The first of these objects he saw an 
 easy manner of accomplishing. 
 
 To the sect of Seva, of which Godari was a jiriest, it was usual 
 for the king and nobles of the country to be al some time ad- 
 mitted; for the order was honorable, and held forth high promise 
 of favor in a world to come. This was the religion professeil by 
 the ancestral family of Goroyen, who had vanquished and exiled 
 the race of Saniide kings; and in the oath taken by the king at 
 his admi.ssion, there was inserted a promise never to speak to, or 
 sit or eat with, any of the tribe of the Samides. It was not 
 usual for the lay members of this sect to take the vows "till 
 late in life, for they imposed a greater strictness in life and aus- 
 terity of conduct than was usually agreeable to the eagerness of 
 youth; some solicitation and management on the part of Godari 
 was therefore necessary to prevail upon the king to be initialed 
 into this sect. His consent, however, was at length obtained, 
 and he yielded to the wishes of his friend, profoundly ignorant 
 of the existence of the prohibitory clause, which we have spoken 
 of, in the oath. 
 
 A day was accordingly appointed for the ceremony to take 
 
TUE LOVES AND INTlilOVES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 19 
 
 place, aud at tbe appointed time tlierc asscmljlcd in Hie temple 
 all tliat tbe country held of dstinguialied, beautiful auU great. 
 By the private order of the king, a favorable place fur viewing 
 the scene was reserved for Chatrya, who, being informed of all 
 the proceedings by Goroyen, loolied forward to the event with 
 great curiosity and interest. Ggroyen, nieanwliile, wont through 
 tlie successive ceremonies with grace and dignity, aud at length 
 arrived at the solemn oath. The high-priest recited the success- 
 ive clauses, and Goroyen pronounced them after him. When he 
 came to that part in which it was necessary to renounce all con- 
 nection and communication with the Samides, the king started 
 with surpriso'and embarrassment. To repeat tliose words with 
 that sincerety with which he was performing the entire service 
 was utterly inconsistent with that relation to Chatrya, which 
 nothing would induce him to renounce; to mar the order of the 
 solemn ceremonies, and break up the assembly by refusing to 
 continue his part, was not to be thought of. Ills brain grew 
 dizzy with the preple.xity; the clearness of his thoughts was con- 
 fused by the iiilluence of tlie observant multitude, and the holy 
 and venerable countenance of the officiating hierareh ; his head 
 swam round with overpowering disturbance, and ho insensibly 
 I)ronounced the worils that divorced him forever from Chatryx 
 
 The disorder and agitation of mind with which Goroyen sought 
 liis chamber, when the services were over, cannot be easily do- 
 scribed. Bred in the strictest integrity of principle, he could not 
 tolerate the idea of violating so sacred an oath; yet, on the other 
 hand, honor and affection, and every impulse of piety, duty and 
 desire, forbade him to desert one upon whom hia love would soon 
 entail the cures and sorrows of a mother. Ho paced his room 
 In distraction of thought and distress of heart during the remain- 
 der of the day, and meeting with no suggestion that attbrded him 
 light or consolation, tlnally resolved on sending for Ms friend 
 Godari, to obtain the benefit of his counsel in this ditficulty. 
 
 Godari listeneil to his disclosures with gratifying interest; 
 sympathized with him iu his distress; pitied his unfortunate 
 position; and pondered profoundly upon the best course to pur- 
 sue. He showed him that this was a case in which inclination 
 and duty were opposed to one another, and pointed out to him the 
 necessity which always existed of disregarding one's own feelings 
 whenever they were at variance with the dictates of duty. To 
 this principle the well-regulated mind of Goroyen cordially as- 
 sonted; but between the obligation of his oath and that of his 
 connection with Chatrya there arose apparently a conflict of 
 equivalent duties. 
 
 Godari went on to say that as far as the king himself was con- 
 cerned, the paramount force of his vow was manifest ; and that 
 as respected Chatrya, every obligation was performed if by any 
 means her happiness was secured. If, tharefore, the king would 
 provide for her all those things which would promote her com- 
 fort and enjoyment, he might fairly consider himself as absolved 
 from the duty which rested upon him. This seemed to clear the 
 difficulty very well, and Goroyen was delighted with this satis- 
 factory exposition of the ciise. 
 
 He gave directions to Godari to assign the lodge as the resi- 
 dence and property of Chatrya, determining himself never to visit 
 it again; and he placed in his hands a liberal sum of money for 
 her use. Satisfied by his own judgment, and the assurance of 
 the priest that he had performctl his duly, he determined to 
 conquer the feelings of attachment which had held him to Chatrya, 
 and as a means of succeeding more fully in this, to fix them, if 
 possible, on some other object. This state of inclination was 
 exactly that which was re<iuiretl for the etTecting of Godaii"s am- 
 bitious intentions. While the affections of the king were hover- 
 ing, as it were, at large, doubtful upon what to alight, and willing 
 to adopt any object that should present itself, Godari directe<I one 
 of his creatures to represent delicately to Goroyen that the sister 
 of the former cherishetl an ardent but concealed attachment for 
 hun. Such a representation, when made to a man of kind nature, 
 will almost invariably accomplish its purpose; with one of Gor- 
 oyen's refined sense of honor, and especially at a time when he 
 was iieculiarly susceptible, it was certain of success. 
 
 Goroyen was deeply touched by the statement which was made 
 to him, and lost no time in presenting himself to the lady, and 
 offering his hand. The wish to forget Chatrya iu the ardor of 
 another pursuit, united with the attractions of the |>erson her- 
 self; and in a short period the approaching nuptials of the king 
 were publicly announced. 
 
 Lit us turn now to the gentle victim of these iiriestly machina- 
 tions. Chatrya, with her eyes intently fixed upon tlie king, sat 
 listening to the oath which ho was rejieatiug. The fatal words 
 of separation from hersolf fell u|)oii her ear without, at first, pro- 
 duchig any surprise or emotion. She concluded that she had not 
 heard the words aright, or thatsomething would presently follow 
 to explain or qualify them. She had seen Goroyen the very 
 evening before, and his manner at that time suggested nothing 
 less than an intention of parting from her. As the oath, how- 
 ever, concluded without anything which could relieve her alarm, 
 her heart gradually sank within her; a heaviness crept over her 
 feelings which she could not dissipate. The mere imagination of 
 being alicniiled from her lover, her only support and comfort, 
 made her sick in spirit. She sank into a dreary reverie, till the 
 heartless noise of the dispersing assembly arousetl her to her 
 lonely fears; she had nothing else to do but make her way home, 
 and wait until some intelligence reacheit her from the king. She 
 then set out, w ith something of hope but none of dread, to take 
 tliat path she had so often trod in gayety and joy ; one who had 
 seen her hasty step would not have thought "how ill was about 
 her heart." She gained the lodge, but it was closed and silent. 
 While she was standing upon the stei>s in the deep disquietude 
 of her heavy disai)pointment, she heard a sound of footsteps on 
 the adjoining path, and her bosom heaved with anxious expecta- 
 tion; but a carelessly-whistled song which presently smote upon 
 her ears, showed that it was only a passing jdowman. How 
 that whistling jarred upon her feelings! She walked down from 
 the door, and iiauseil in front of the lodge. As she looked up at 
 the building she was sure she saw Goroyen peeping at her from 
 behind one of the curtains. She threw out her hand with de- 
 light, and called to him that she saw him plainly enough; but 
 tlio object did not move, and upon changing her position she 
 perceived that she had been deceived l)y the shadow cast by one 
 of the trees. The iron of cruel anguish entered into her soul. 
 She walked around the lodge, and into the road which was near 
 it, feeling as if she should fall to the earth. She listeced to the 
 dropping of twigs among the leaves, till she seemed as solitary 
 as if she were standing in a desert. Occasionally a dog ran con- 
 tentedly along, engaging attention as he passed by, and then 
 leaving her mo're hopelessly alone. But to the griefs aud joys of 
 life Time is alike relentless ; and the •' cloud of night " descended 
 drearily around her path, "as if she had not sought a lover." 
 She resolved to wait just so many minutes longer, and then, if 
 Goroyen did not ajjpear, to retrace her steps as she had come. 
 
 Tlio time was nearly past wlien a flash of hope was again 
 kindled in her breast. She distinctly heard the tread of a rapid 
 horseman in the forest; she was sure it was the king, anl was 
 almost resolved to go homo before ho came, in order to punish 
 him for his neglect. The sound grew louder and louder, and not 
 a doubt remained in her heart. She walked back to the door of 
 the lodge, sighing for very excess of joy, and picturing the 
 pleasure that soon awaited her. Tracing, in fancy, the scene 
 of their first meeting, she forgot for awhile to observe that the 
 sound of footsteps was no longer audible. Sun'risoil, at length, 
 at the long delay, she paused her breath in sudden alarm to 
 listen for the noise— but nothing was to bo heard. She ran back 
 to the road, and "e'en with the very scrutiny of her soul," she 
 listened for his coming. She heard in a moment the faint sound 
 of a horse's hoofs upon the hill which wound along the edge of 
 the forest. It was manifest that the horseman had |)assed round 
 the wood. She heaved one long and burdened breath, and sank 
 into deep and utter despair. A stone seemed to lie upon her 
 heart. She tried to weep, but could not. Sorrow reslal on her 
 spirit with the hopeless weight of guilt. 
 
 On the following day Chatrya again came to the lodge, and 
 
THE LOVES AND INTBIOUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 again returaod borne, but on the third her strengtb wus not suffi- 
 cienl to bear her from her door. She was soon seized wiih a vio- 
 lent, malignant fever; she became delirious, and her ravings dis- 
 closed the dishonorable connection with Goroyea. 
 
 Chastity, among the Samides, was the first of virtues; no par- 
 don was granted, or allowance made for any who erred. The 
 father of Chalrya, a stern and proud-hearted man, renounced his 
 daughter at ouce; the moment that she was sufficiently recov- 
 ered to walk, ho gave her a purse of gold, and turned her from 
 his house. Pestrviyed in character, m'ned in health, broken in 
 spirit, without anything to vary the dull desolation of unpitied 
 deeertion, except the stings of regret and the pangs of con- 
 science, Chatrya went forth from the house of her childhood. 
 Incapable of judging of her course, she wandered on till she 
 reached a cottage, inhabited by a woman, who bore the reputa- 
 tion of a sorceress. She tottered into the bouse, and sank upon 
 the floor. The hag, who perceived her condition, i>03red forth 
 a torrent of abusive and irritating language, which wrung 
 Chatrya to the very soul. The old woman was, however, paci- 
 fM by the sight of gold, and consented to receive the unhappy 
 girl as a lodger. Before long she gave birth to a child, and the 
 companionship of the little creature relieved her sorrows. From 
 him she might hope for sympathy and kindness: she would have 
 something to love, and some one she might care for. 
 
 She was one night pressing her infant to her bosom, and shap- 
 ing some faint plans of future comfort, when her cluld was seized 
 with one of those sudden difficulties of brea'Jiing which so often 
 assail their tender lives. The mother rose to procure something 
 from another part of the room, and when she again laid her hand 
 u|)on her child, it no longer breathed. In the silent solitude of 
 midnight she stood a childless woman. 
 
 For Chatrya there remained no further hope; she was stripped 
 of the last i)romise of consolation ; her health forbade her to leave 
 her bed; and she was doomed to lie daily cxiKiseil to the taunts 
 of the harsh woman who attended her, and to the goadings of 
 her own tortured mind. There seemed to remain nothing for 
 her but •' to curse God and die." From the weary load of despair 
 her only relief was — hate. 
 
 Me;inwhile, to her road of suffering and shame Godari had been 
 running his parallel courses of villainy and deceit. He had con- 
 verted the lodge to his own use, and put the money of the kin;; 
 in his pocket. Farther than to desert her, he cared not to |>erse- 
 cuteher; leaving it to the ban-dogs of Poverty and Infamy to 
 hunt her down the precipice of woe. Well knowing that to one 
 of her condition life was agony and circumstance was grief, he 
 dismissed his revengeful thoughts towa-d her from his memory, 
 and thought no more alK)ut her. But his malignant spirit 
 towarils the king was not yet exhausted, nor was his ambition 
 yet sufficiently gratified By the laws of the country none but 
 males were allowed to ascend the throne, and on failure of the 
 blood relations of the reigning king, his male connections by 
 marriage succeeded. No male relations of Goroyen survived; 
 and it was manifest to Godari that if the queen were now dead 
 without issue, he would himself be the heir presumptive of the 
 throne. To place u|)on his brow the envie^l coronet of sovereign- 
 ty it was only necessary that the king and queen should cease to 
 live. Accordingly, this remorseless friend and brother resolved 
 si>eedily to destroy both of them. An accident, ere long, present- 
 ed a means which promised success. 
 
 The king was one day riiling alone some distance from the city, 
 when he met a woman on the road, whose miserable appearance 
 si> much affected him that he stopped to make some inquiries as 
 to her condition. She was sallow and wrinkled, thouirh apparent- 
 ly not with age: her hair was fleeting carelessly in the wind: and 
 her tattered garments barely protwtetl her from the cold. Goro- 
 yen addressed some questions to her. and his penetrating eye dis- 
 covered, as he looked more closely at !ier. thai this abject jierson 
 was no other than the object of his former love— Chatrya. 
 
 Shocked at such a result of misery to others from his own con- 
 duct, he demandeil if she had not received the lieneSts of the 
 pr..vUi,iii uhi.-i, ),.. i,^,j directed Godari to make for her. and 
 
 leaniel with inexpressible indignation that the malignant priest 
 had intercepted his intended kindness, and left tli« object of it to 
 perish in desertion. Goroyen explained to Chatrya all the cir- 
 cumstances of the case — spoke to her with kindness and regard 
 — a language that had long ceased to greet her ears— declared to 
 her that his love had never failed, and assured her that nothing 
 sliould hereafter be wanting that should contribute to her hap- 
 pinesis. 
 
 ■• It is too late, " said Chatrya, '• There remains no happiness, 
 and but little time, for me on earth. It is a comfort for me to know 
 that you did not purposely turn me over to neglect and want. 
 The things of earth no longer interest me, but I will"hot die until 
 that cold and selfish priest has tasted the dr«g8 of the cup of 
 vengeance." 
 
 When Goroyen reached the palace he sent for Godari. 
 
 " I have seen Chatrya," said he, pale with excessive rage. 
 '• What have you to say?" 
 
 "Simply to inquire," said Godari, coldly, " whether she was as 
 miserable as she deserves to be?" 
 
 "You admit, then, the villainy which stands charged against 
 yon?" said Goroyen, gasping for breath. 
 
 " And only regret," said Godari. ' that part of the suffering it 
 produced did not light upon her accursed lover." 
 
 " Leave me." roared the king. 
 
 The instant that the king had mentioned his having seen Cha- 
 tyra, Godari knew that he had him in his power. He might defy 
 his vengeance, for an easy calculation of time assured him that 
 he could destroy the king sooner than the king could punish him. 
 The mode which he proposed was briefly this : In the river of 
 Cavery, near to the temple in which he officiated, there was a fall 
 of water above sixty feet .in height On one side of the cascade 
 there rose a huge Up of rock, about eighty feet above the upper 
 be<l of the stream. » 
 
 It happened that Godari, in rambling recently among the rocks 
 that stood piled around this eminence, had clambered up to the 
 very summit of the ridge. On the top of the great rock he dis- 
 covered a crevice or niche, which was open towards the direction 
 in which the stream was flowing, but hidden for a long distance 
 by higher projections, from any observer on the shores. He was 
 standing in this niche aad looking down upon the horrid chasm 
 of waters below, when he observed that a little platform of stone, 
 which had been car\ed out ages before by a superstilionist, upon 
 the lowest level of the water, was directly below a huge piece of 
 rock that lay loose upon the top of the eminence where he stood, 
 and so singularly balanced that a very slight motion would suf- 
 fice to cast it down. This platform had been used for a long time 
 as a standing place for persons who were required to bathe their 
 heads in the falling waters of the sacred river Cavery, in espiatioa 
 of certain crimes, as required by the sect of Seva. 
 
 The strictness of the order had been so much relaxed of late, 
 that an instance of this sort of purification bad not occurred for 
 many years; but Godari as he esaminetl the place could not help 
 remarking, with the fertile invention of a scheming nllain, that 
 if any one were standing on that platform, the precipitation of 
 this great stone u|-)on their heads would be a mode of destroying 
 them as beautiful as it would l>e safe and efficacious. Of Uiis 
 ••gained knowledge" he now iletennined to make use for the 
 
 removal of the king 
 
 As soon, therefore, as he went from his presence, he hastened 
 to the archives of the temple, and took down a volume of the 
 institntes of the religion of Seva. He turned over the leaves 
 untU be found a blank space nponfone of the places large enough 
 to contain a couple of written sentences. Imitating with ad- 
 mirable skill the chiroeraphy, in which the rest of the book was 
 written, he inserted a paragraph to this effect among the rules of 
 the order: That if any King, after taking the oath to al«tain 
 from holdins any verbal communication with a .«amide, should 
 hv accident or desisn hold any conversation with one, he should, 
 the moment the fault was discovered, bum incense in the temple 
 for two days, and then, together with his queen, vwrform the 
 nsual ablution on the platform on the Cavery. before transacUng 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIOUES OF KINGS AND QUEENX 
 
 21 
 
 any other business. As bood as Gcxlari bud finished the writing 
 ho took the book, and proceeded to the room of the higli priest, 
 and laid the passage before him. He informed him that the king 
 bad l>een holding commanication with a woman of the forbidden 
 race; and calling his attention to the peculiarly stron;; language 
 of the injunction in question, sugge3te<l to him the propriety of 
 now putting it in force. 
 
 The venerable priest, with a placid smile, read the sentence al- 
 luded to by Godari, and applauding the learning of his young 
 friend for discovering a passage in the sacred institutes which he 
 confesses! had escape<l him, he directed the usual deputation to 
 wait upon the king with an order to appear at the temple. This 
 direction Godari obeyed, with the substitution of sending for 
 'going; and having done all that was required, retired to his 
 chamber to make bis reflections. 
 
 " A most fortunate thing, this of the king's meeting with 
 Chatrya!" said he to himself when be was alone. " In the first 
 place it enables me to disappoint both of them in their plan of 
 taking vengeance upon me. In the second place, it gives Die a 
 much earlier chance than I should otherwise have had of sweep- 
 ing the throne and placing myself upon iL This deputation will 
 soon reach the palace, and from its arrival, all business there is 
 snspenjed. The only precaution I have to take is to keep clear 
 of all the services of this occasion." 
 
 Goroyen gave a res|»cctful reception to the ofllcers, and con- 
 sented at once to the course which was proposed. lie laid aside 
 the intention of proceeding against Godari until the ceremony 
 was over, and went at once to the temple to commence the burn- 
 ing of incense. 
 
 The crisis was now approaching. The third day of the cere- 
 monies, the day appointed for the purification of the king and 
 queen on the platform in the river, had arriveil. Before the ear- 
 liest dawn, Godari had risen and gained the rock which was to be 
 the scene of his operations. lie ascertained that the stone, which 
 he was to cast down, would alight directly upon the platform, 
 and that even after it had fallen he would be entirely invisible 
 from all those spots that would probably l>e occupied by spec- 
 tators. There was no danger of his being interrupted or discov- 
 ereii, for the elevation in which he was hidden was usually called 
 "The Inaccessible;' and, as it was directly above the place 
 where the king and queen were to stand, no one would think of 
 occupying it on this occasion. The niche or step on which be 
 
 stood was pretty narrow, and hung directly over the dt-epest part 
 of the stream, at a height of an hundretl and forty feet. As he 
 supporteil himself against the sides of the rocks which rose 
 around him, he could just discern, under the bubbled surface of 
 the pool beneath, the sharp top of a yellow rock. 
 
 Godari counted the hours in his perilous situation, until the 
 time appointed for the ceremony arrived. At an early |>eriud 
 iu the day numbers began to collect along the contiguous 
 shores; be heard their movements and their voices. At length 
 a shoot from the multitude announced the coming of the royal 
 couple. Godari, by leaning over a little, saw them pass directly 
 under his feet, and gain the platform, where they were again 
 hidden from his view. The time had orrived for the execution of 
 his scheme. He raised his hand to push the huge stone, which 
 was to accomplish his object, when he felt his hair griped by a 
 steel-like band, that scraped his skull as it gathered bis hair in 
 its grasp. 
 
 His blood ran cold within him. To bend back hi3 neck suffi- 
 ciently to see the person who had seized him was impossible, 
 with the certainty of his being percipitated from the ledge. He 
 stood, therefore, motionless. 
 
 "It is Chatrya," said a shrill voice above him; and the arm 
 which held him was drawn forward, so as to compel him to look 
 into th? abyss l)eneath. The mind of Godari tottered os he 
 gazed, and his breast seemed to collapse with horror. At tliat 
 moment the multitude perceived the woman, and all eyes were 
 directed towarils her. 
 
 " Let the king and the queen leave the platform, and go upon 
 the shore," crietl Chatrya; and she was instantly obeyed. 
 
 " The priest Godari placed himself here. ' she continued iu a 
 loud voice, while the deepest silence reigned over the crowd, " for 
 the purpose of throwing this rock upon 'the king," and as s'.ie 
 spoke she touched the stone, and it thundered down, and swept 
 the platform away In an instant. 
 
 A deeper silence ensued among the multitode — the silence of 
 horror and expectation. It wos broken by the voice from the 
 summit of the rock. 
 
 " Upon the neglectful lover and the perfidious priest, Chatrya 
 is alike avenged." 
 
 Clenching the hair of her victim more firmly In her grasp, she 
 sprang from the rock, and in a moment the ruined pair were 
 buried tieneatb the waves. 
 
 THE SCANDALS OF THE COURT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 THK TODHO BEACTV IS FRA.VCE — THE DEATH OF A CRAZY LOVEB — THE A.'SSASSINATIO.V OP RIZZIO — UER HUSBAND KINO — BOTHWSU, 
 
 THE CORSAIR — THE DEATH OF DARNLEY — MARRIAOE WTTH BWTHWELL — DEFE.KT AND IMPRISONMENT — THK 
 
 TREACHERY OF EUZABETH OF ENOI_\JID — THE EXECITIO.S OF THE CNFORTC.NATE MARY. 
 
 Maky, Queen of Soots, was undoubtedly one of the most beau- 
 tiful of women, and she was as charming and attractive as she 
 was fair to behold. 
 
 Lamartine, one of the most eloquent of her historians, while at 
 the same time one of the seven'St critics of her reign, tells us 
 that, if another Homer were to arise, and if the poet were to seek 
 another Helen for the subject of a modern epic of war. religion, 
 and love, be would beyond all find her iu Mary Stuart, the most 
 beautiful, the weakest, the most attractive and most attracted of 
 women, raising around her, by her irresistible fascinations, a 
 whirlwind of love, ambition, and jealousy, in which her lovers 
 became, each in bis turn, the motive, the instrument, and the 
 victim of a crime. 
 
 Mary Stuart was tiie only daughter of James V., King of Scot- 
 land, and of Marie de Lorraine, daughter of the Duke of Guise. 
 She was born in Scotland on the 7th Decaml)er, 1542. Her fallier 
 was one of those adventurous, romantic, gallant, and poetic char- 
 acters who leave behind them popular traditions of bravery and 
 
 of licentiousness in the imagination of their country, like Francis 
 I. and Henry IV. of France. 
 
 James V. died young, prophesying a mournful destiny for his 
 daughter, yet iu her cradle. This prophecy was suggested by 
 his misgivings regarding the fate of a child. 
 
 His widow, Mary of Lorraine, depo3e<l from the regency by the 
 jealousy of the nobles, reconquere<l it by her ability, and allowed 
 the cardinals— the usual supporters of thrones at that ixjrhxl— to 
 govern the kingdom under her. Her daughter was sought after 
 by all the courts of Europe, not only because of her pieclous re- 
 nown for genius and beauty, but also, and principall}', for the 
 pur|>oee of acquiring, by marriage with her, a right to the Scot- 
 tish crown — an acquisition strongly coveted by the wearers of 
 other crowns. 
 
 After a journey to Lorraine and France to pay a visit to her 
 uncles, the Guises, the queen determined, by their advice, to 
 marry her daughter to the Dauphin, son of Henry II. 
 
 The Queen-Regent of Scotland left her child-danghter in the 
 
22 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 cliateau of St. Germain, to grow up under their protection in tlie 
 atmosphere of tliat France over which slie was destined one day 
 to reign. 
 
 Tlie learned and Italian education of the young Scottish woman 
 developed the natural gifts she possesacrl. French, Italian, 
 Greek, Latin, history, theology, poetry, music, and dancing, 
 were all learned and studied under the wisest masters and great- 
 est artists. In the refined and voluptuous court of the Valois, 
 governed by a favorite, she was brought up rather as an accom- 
 plished court lady than as a future queen ; and her education 
 rather seemed to fit her for becoming the mistress than the wife 
 of the Dauphin. The Valois were the Medici of France. 
 
 The i)0cts of the courts soon began to celebrate in their verses 
 the marvels of her beauty and the treasures of her mind— 
 
 " The gods tlicmselvcs excelled, In ft-aniing thy fair niiud, 
 Nature and art In tliy .vouns form their lilgliest powers combined. 
 All beauty of the beautiful to concentrate In thee," 
 
 writes du Bellay, the Petrarch of the time. 
 
 Ronsard, who was the Viigil of the age, expresses himself, 
 whenever he speaks of her, in such images and with such deli- 
 cacy and i)oli3h of accent, as prove that his praise sprang from 
 his love— that his heart had subjugated his genius. Mary was 
 evidently the BeatrLx of the poet. 
 
 "In fullness of the springtide, from among the lilies fair, 
 Sprang forth that form of whiteness, fairer than the lilies there. 
 Though stained with Adonis' ijlood, the gentle summer rose 
 Lies vanquished by the ruliy tint her cheeks and lips disclose. 
 Young Love himself with ariows keen hath armed her peerless eye, 
 The Graces too, those fairest three, bright daughters of the sky 
 Witli all their richest, rarest gifts my princess have endowed, 
 And evermore to serve her well have left their high abode." 
 
 The sudden death of Henry II., killed in a tournament by 
 Montgomery, sent Diana to the solitary Chateau of Anet, where 
 she had i)repared her retreat, and where she grew old in tears. 
 The young Mary of Scotland was crowned with her husbanil, 
 Francis II., who was even more of a child in mind and in weak- 
 ness tlian in age. The Guises reai)ed what they had sown in 
 advising this marriage; they reigned through their niece over 
 her husband, and through the king over Fi-ance. 
 
 This reign only lasted eleven montlis; France lost the phan- 
 tom of a king ratlier than a master, and barely granted him 
 royal obsequies. Mary alone sincerely mourned him as the mild 
 and agreeable companion of lier youth ratlier than as a husband. 
 The vei-ses which she composed in the first months of her widov,'- 
 liood neither exaggerate nor lessen the sentiment of her grief; 
 they are sweet, sad, but lukewarm as the first melancholy of the 
 80iU before the age of passionate despair. 
 
 " All that once In pleasure met 
 Now is pain and .sorrow; 
 The brilliant day hath quickly set 
 lu ulght Willi dreaiy morrow. 
 
 " Where'er I sojourn, sad, forlorn, 
 
 In forest, mead, or hill ; 
 Whether at the dawn of morn, 
 
 Or vesper hour so still— .. 
 My sorrowing heart shall beat for thee. 
 This absent one 1 ne'er shall sec I 
 
 " When slumbering on my couch 1 He, 
 And dreams the past reveal. 
 Thy form, beloved seems ever nigh, 
 Thy fond caress I feel." 
 
 It was in a convent at Rheims, where she had retired to enjoy 
 the society of the Abbess Renee of Lorraine, that she lamented 
 80 sweetly, not the loss of a throne, but the loss of love. Soon 
 after she heard of the death of her mother, the Queen of Scotland. 
 A new throne awaited her at Edinburgh, and she prepared for 
 her departure. 
 
 "Ah!" cries her poet and adorer, the great Ronsard, on learn- 
 ing the approaching return of the young queen to Scotland — 
 
 " Like to the heaven when starless, dark. 
 Like seas dried np or sailless bark, • 
 
 Like ring Its precious pearl gone. 
 Mourns France, without thee sad and lone. 
 Thou wert her gem, her (lower, her pride, 
 Iler young and Ijeauteous royal bride." 
 
 " .Scotland," continues the poet, "which is about to snatch 
 her from us, becomes so dim in the mist of its seas that her ship 
 wijl never reach its shores." 
 
 " But she I've sought long time lo vain 
 May soon to France return again. 
 To dwell In castle of Touralne I 
 Then, full of song, my lips would try 
 To swell her praise, and sing till I, 
 Like fabled swan, might singing die I" 
 
 Tlie same poet, when contemiilating her dressed in mournmg 
 in the park of Fontuinbleau some days before her departure, 
 thus with a loving pen traces her image, blending it forever with 
 the beautiful shades of Diana of Poitiers and of Lavalliere, which 
 people, in imaghmtion, the waters and woods of that exquisite 
 spot : 
 
 "A long and slender veil of sable crape; 
 Its folds unfolding, ever folds anew; 
 The mourning symbol that enwraps thy shape 
 From head to ginlle falls; 
 Now swelling to the wind, even as the sail 
 Of bark urged onward by the passing gale; 
 (Leaving, alas : this ever beauteous land. 
 Whose scepter once was borne by thy fair handii 
 Thus wert thou clad, when thou didst pensive stray 
 Along the royal garden's paths that day. 
 Bathing thy bosom with the crystal tears." 
 
 A cortege of regret, rather than of mere honor, nccom|)anied 
 lier to the vessel which was to bear her to Scotland. Ho who 
 ajipcared most grieved among the courtiers was the Mareclial de 
 Damville, son of tlie Great Constable de Montmorency; being un- 
 able to follow her to Scotland, on accountof his official duties, ho 
 resolved to have a constant representative there in the person of 
 a young geuUoman of his household, Du Chatelard, by whom he 
 might be daily gratified with a narrative of the slightest events, 
 and, so to speak, of every breath drawn by his idol. 
 
 Du Chatelard, unhappily for himself, fell madly In love with 
 her to whom he was the accredited ambassador of another's love. 
 He was a descendant of the Chevalier Bayard, brave and adven- 
 turous as his ancestor, a scholar and a poet like Ronsard, with 
 a tender soul ready to be speedily scorched by such a flame. 
 Everybody knows the toucliiiig verse written by Mary, through 
 her tears, on the deck of the vessel, while the coast of France 
 faded in the distance: 
 
 "Farewell, thou ever pleasant soli of France, 
 Beloved land of childhood's early day! 
 Farewell, my France; farewell, my happy years! 
 
 Though fl'om thy shores I now am snatched away. 
 Thou still retaloest half my loving heart. 
 The rest will ne'er forget thee though we part!" 
 
 On the 19th of August, 1561 — tlie very day on whicli she com- 
 pleted her ninelecnth year — Mary landed on Scottisli ground. 
 
 Slie confided the direction of the government to a natural son 
 of herfather, James V., who bore the name of the " Lord James," 
 whom she treated as a brother, and elevated to the rank of Earl 
 of Murray. Murray was, by character and spirit, worthy of the 
 confidence of his sister; young, handsome, eloquent like her, he 
 was better acquainted with llie country than slie was; he had 
 the friendship of the nobles, wisely managed the Presbyteiians, 
 had acquired the esteem of the people, and possessed that loyal 
 ability, that skillful uprightness, which is the gift of great states- 
 men. Such a brother was a favorite given by nature to the 
 young queen, and so long as he remained tlie only favorite he 
 made his sister popular by his government as by his arms. He 
 led her into the midst of the camps, and she fascinated all by her 
 charms and her courage; her address in horsemanship aston- 
 ished her subjects; she was present at the battle of Corrichie, In 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 23 
 
 which Murray vauquiahed the rebels and killed the Earl of Hunt- 
 ly, tht^ir leader. 
 
 Everylhiiig promised Mary Stuart a happy reign for herself 
 and her kingdom, had her heart been devoted lo notliing but 
 state policy ; but hers was the heart not merely of a queen, but 
 of a woman accustomed to the court of Franco, and to the idola- 
 try of her beauty professed by an entire kingdom. 
 
 The Scottish nobles were not less entliusiastic than were those 
 of France in this chivalric worship; yet to declare lierself sensible 
 to the homage of any one of tier subjects would only have been 
 to alienate all the rest by exciting their jealousy; but the jwlltic 
 watchfulness over herself willi relation to tlie Scottish lords, 
 which had been recommended l)y Murray, her brother and min- 
 ister, was precisely that which ruined her. 
 
 Unconsciously lo herself, an obscure favorite insinuated him- 
 self into her heart; this favorite, so celebrated afterward for his 
 sudden elevation and tragical death, was named David Rizzio. 
 
 Rizzio was an Italian of low birth and menial station. Gifted 
 with a touching voice, a pliant spirit, which enabled him to bow 
 before the great ; possessing a talent for playing the lute, and 
 for composing and for singing that languishing music which is 
 one of the ell'eminacies of Italy, Rizzio bail been attached at 
 Turin to the household of the French ambassador at the court of 
 Piedmont in the capacity of musical attendant. On hi.s return 
 to France, the ambassador had brought Rizzio with him to the 
 court of Franci.s II., and he entered the suite of one of the French 
 nobles who had escorted Mary to Scotland. 
 
 The young qneen had begged him of this nobleman, that she 
 might retain In the country where she was less a queen than an 
 exile one who would be to her as a living memory of llie arts, 
 leisure, and delights of France and Italy, those lands of her soul. 
 A musician herself, as she was also a i)oet — charming fre(|ueutly 
 her sadness by composing words and airs in which she exhaled 
 her sighs— the society of the Piedmoutesc musician became 
 habitual and dear to her. The study of his art and even the in- 
 feriority of Rizzio's condition concealed for some time the .lasi- 
 duity and familiarity of this intimacy from the observation of the 
 court of Holyrood. 
 
 Rumors in the palace regarding this i>reference of the (pieen 
 for the Italian were not slow to find an echo iti the city, and from 
 thence they spread all over Scotland. 
 
 Du Chatelard, treated as a child by the playful indulgence of 
 the queen, had conceived for his mistress a passion bordering on 
 madness. The queen had encouraged him too much to retain 
 the right of punishing him. Du Ohatelard, constantly admitted 
 to the most intimate familiarity with his mistress, ende<l by mis- 
 taking sport for earnest, persuading himself that she only de- 
 Sired a pretext for yielding to his audacity. 
 
 The ladies of the palace discovercil him one night hid<len under 
 the queen's bed; he was expelled with indignation, but his bold- 
 ness was placed to the account of the thoughtlessness of liis age 
 and character. Raillery w:is his only punishment. lie con- 
 tinued to i>rofes8 at court an adoring worshi|. for Mary, tilling 
 the palace with his amorous verses, ftnd reciting lo the courtiers 
 those lines which Ronsard, possessed with the same image, had 
 addressed lo her in Paris. 
 
 "The Ivorjr whiteness of thy Ijosom fair; 
 Thy luui; and Blender hand ko soft and rare; 
 Thy att-surpasslng look and form of love, 
 Enclianllng as a vision from above: 
 Then thy s^-eet voice and music of thy speech, 
 That roclcs and Woods might move, nor art couid reach, 
 When these are lost, fled to a foreljrn shore, 
 With loves and graces, France lieholils no more. 
 How shall the poet sing now thou art goner 
 For silent Is the muse since thou hast flown: 
 All that is beauteous short time doth abide. 
 The rose and Illy only bloom while laatelb the springtide. 
 
 " Thus here, in France, thy beauty only shone. 
 For thrice flvc years, and suddenly is gone; 
 Like to the Ughlnlng-flash. a momcnl bright, 
 To leave but darkness and regret like night; 
 
 To leave a deathless memory Iwhind, 
 Of that fair princeso. In my heart enshrined. 
 My wingfd thoughts, like birds, now ny to thee. 
 My iH-auteouB princess, and her home 1 see. 
 And there for evermore I fain would stay. 
 Nor from that sweetest dwelling ever stray. 
 
 " Nature hath ever in her deepest floods. 
 On loftiest hills, in lonely rocks and woods, 
 Her choicest treasures hid from mortal ken. 
 With rich and precious gems unseen of men. 
 The pearl and ruby sleep in secret stores, 
 Aud softest perfumes spring en wildest shores. 
 Thus (iod, who over thee his watch doih keep. 
 Hath boiue thy iKjauty safe across the deep 
 On foreign shore, In regal pride to rest, • 
 Far from mine eyes, but hidden In my breast." 
 
 These beautiful verses of Ronsard were doubtless esteemed an 
 excuse for the passion of a poet equally fascinated, but less dis- 
 creet. 
 
 Du Chatelard, surprised a second time hidden behind the cur- 
 tains of the queen's bed, was sent to trial and coiKlemnod to 
 death by the judges of Edinburgh for a meditated treason. With 
 a single word Mary might have commuted his punishment or 
 granted him pardon, but she ungenerously abandoned him to the 
 executioner. Ascending thescallold erected before the windows 
 of Holyrood palace, the theater of his madness and the dwelling 
 of the queen, he faced death like a hero and a jMct. 
 
 "If," said he, " I die not wit/tout reproach, like the Chevalier 
 Bayard, my ancestor, like him, I die, at least, without fear." 
 
 For his last prayer lie recited Ronsard's beautiful Ode on Death. 
 Then casting his last looks and thoughts towards the windows of 
 the palace, inhabited by tiie charm of his life and the cause of his 
 death : 
 
 "Farewell!" he cried, "thou who art so beautiful and so 
 cruel; who killest me, and whom I cannot cease to love!" 
 
 This tragedy was only the prelude to others which were soon 
 after to fill the palace with consternation and bloodsheil. 
 
 But already state politics began to intermingle with love, and 
 to invade the happiness of the young queen. England, by right 
 of kindred, had always exercised, partly by habit, partly by 
 force, a sort of recognized mediation over .Scotlatd. 
 
 Elizabeth, the daughter of Henry VIII., less woman than 
 statesman, wtis not of a characltr likely to forego this right of 
 mediation. Public and i>pr8onal policy alike prompted h(?r lo re- 
 tain it, the more so that Mary Stuart possessed eventual rights to 
 the crown of England — rights even more legiiimale than her 
 own. In the case of Elizabeth — who gloried in the title of virgin 
 queen — dying without issue, Mary might be called to succeed her 
 on the English throne. The marriage of the Queen of .''cots was 
 therefore a questioii which essentially interested Elizabeth, for, 
 according as thei^cottlsh princess should marry a foreign, a Scot- 
 ti.'<h, or an English i)rince, the fate of England would not fail to 
 be powerfully influenced by the king, with whom .Mary should 
 divide her two crowns. 
 
 Elizabeth had begun by supporting the pretensions «f her own 
 favorite, the handsome Leicester, to the hand of .Mary; then 
 jealousy restrained her, and she transferred her favor to a .\oung 
 Scot of the almost royal house of Lennox, whose father was de- 
 voted to her, and lived at court. She indirectly intimated to 
 Mary that such a marriage would cement ah eternal friendship 
 between them, and wonld be aareeable to both nations. 
 
 This advice, moreover, could not fail to be well rcceiveil by 
 a young queen, whose heart should naturally take precedence of 
 her hand, for Darnley, then in the flower of his youth, was one of 
 the handsomest of men, and the most likely to captivate the 
 eyes and heart of a young queen by the graces of his person. 
 
 Rizzio might perhaps have made himself the sole obstacle to 
 the marriage of Mary ; but whether it arose from womanly ca- 
 price or from the refined policy of Rizzio, which i)roiTi|)tcd him lo 
 concede a throne in order to retain his inSuence, he favored the 
 idea of Elizabeth by every means, thinking, doubtless, that he 
 might be unable to resist alone, or for a length of time, the en- 
 
24 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTlilGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 niity of the Scoltish nobles leagued against him; that a king was 
 nec(«8ary lo reduce them to obedience, and that Darnley, who, 
 though possessing a charming exterior, had only an inferior 
 mind, would be very grateful to him for placing him on the 
 throne, and would leave him to reign in reality, sheltered from 
 public envy under the protection of llie king. 
 
 Darnley appeared at Holyrood, and charmed all eyes by his 
 incomparal)l» beauty, but it was that incomplete kind of beauty 
 wanting in the manliness bestowed by years. lie had youth in 
 his face, and something of a woman in his shape, which was too 
 slender and unsteady for a kiug. A cliange, however, seemed to 
 come over Mary's heart on seeing him, and she bestowed upon 
 him her whole §oul with her crown. 
 
 The recitals of the French ambassador at the Scottish court 
 represent this marriage as the j)erfect union of two lovers, hav- 
 ing l)ut one heart, and ardently enjoying the prolonged revelries 
 of this first bliss of their lives. 
 
 Murray, the brother of Mary, who had firmly established the 
 kingdom under her rule Ijy his spirite<l and wise administration, 
 was soon dismissed by llie new king. 
 
 Mary had, after a few days of marriage, abandoned her tran- 
 sient fondness for the youth she imagined she had loved, con- 
 ceived a coolness for Darnley, and became again prodigal of 
 everything toward Rizzio, on whom she lavished power and 
 honors, violating the almost sacred etiquette of the times by ad- 
 mitting him to her table in her private apartments, and, sup- 
 pressing the name of the king in pLd)lic papers, substituted that 
 of Kizzio. 
 
 Darnley, a i>rey at once to shame and to jealousy, bore all this 
 like a child, dreaming of the vengeance which he had not the 
 strength to accomplish. The Scottisli nobles, feeling themselves 
 humbled in his person, secretly o.xcited in him this ferment of 
 hatred, and oO'ered to rid him at once from the worthless i)ara- 
 sito she had palmed on the kingdom as its ruler. What may be 
 called a national plot was fgrmed between them and Darnley, 
 whose objects were the death of the favorite, the imprisounient 
 of tile queen, and the restoration of the outraged royal power 
 into the hands of the kiug. 
 
 The Earl of Murray, brother of the queen, whom she had so 
 imprudently driven away to deliver herself up to the ascen<Iaiicy of 
 Rizzio, was consultetl, and listened with caution to the incom- 
 plete revelations of the plotters. Too honest to jiarticipate by 
 his consent in an assassination, he gave his approliation, or at 
 least his silence, to the enterprise for the delivery of .Scotland. 
 He promi.sed to return to Holyrood at the call of the lords, and 
 to resume the reins of government in the interest of the heir to 
 the throne, whom Mary already carried In her bosom. Rizzio, 
 defeated and captured, might be embarked aud thrown upon the 
 coast of Krance. 
 
 The queen and the favorite, ill-served by a disafl'ecled court, 
 suspected nothing of the plot, though the conspirators. Hocking 
 from the most distant castles in .Scotland, were already armed 
 and as8eml)led in her ante-chamber. 
 
 On the night of the 9th or 10th of March, 1506, Darnley, the 
 Earl of lAMino.x, his father. Lord Ruthven, George Douglas, 
 Lindsay, Andrew Ker, and some other lords of the party, await- 
 ed the hour in the king's chamber; three hundred men-at-arms, 
 furnished by the difl'erent com. ties, glided silently into Edinburgh 
 one by one, under the shade of the walls, by the street leading 
 from the city to the palace, ready to succor the conspirators if 
 the queen's guards should attempt to defend her. 
 
 According to the French amba-ssador, the murderers hadastill 
 more flagrant ami justifiable prete.vt for the assussiuation of the 
 favorite than historians relate. 
 
 "The king," we read in the dispatches of Paul de Foi.v to 
 Catherine of Medici, "a few days before had gone to the door of 
 the queen's chamber, which was immediately above his own, 
 about an hour after midnight. After having knocked frequently, 
 and no one replying, he called the queen several times, praying 
 her to open the door, and finally threatening to break it open, 
 uptm which she admitted him. The king supposed her to be 
 
 alone in the chamber, till, after having searched everywhere, he 
 discovered David in the cabinet, his only garm^t l>eing a furred 
 robe." 
 
 This was probably the official version given by the king and 
 his accomplices, but the witnesses, and even the actors in the 
 murder, gave a more truthful one of it afterward. The following 
 is the account given by Lord Ruthven, one of the conspirators, 
 after his flight to England, conlinned by unanimous testimony 
 and by documentary evidence. 
 
 The queen had unsuspectingly prolonged a nocturnal supper 
 with her favorite, iu company with a single female confidante, in 
 a small room of the palace next to her lied-chamber. Here let 
 us quote the French writer, who has studied on the spot the 
 most minute circum-'ftancos of this event, and who engraves them 
 in our raemoiy as he relates them : 
 
 " The king had supped in his own apartment in company with 
 the Earls of Morton, Ruthven, and Lindsay; the king's rooms 
 were on the ground Hoor, elevatetl by a few steps, and were 
 situated under the apartments of the (|ueen in the same tower. 
 During the dessert he sent to see who was with the queen. He 
 was told that the queen had finished horsupper in her little calii- 
 net, with Rizzio and her natural sister, the Duchess of Argyle. 
 Their conversation had been joyous and brilliant. The king went 
 up by a back stair, while Morton, Lindsay, and a troop of their 
 bravest vassals occupie<l the great staircase, and dispersed in 
 their passage some of the queen's friends and servants. 
 
 "The king passed from the chamber into Mary's cabinet. 
 Rizzio, dressed in a short mantle, a satin vest, and lower clothes 
 of purple velvet, was seated, with his head covered. He wore a cap 
 •lecorated witli a feather. The queen said to the king: ' My lord, 
 have you supped'? I thought you were supping now.' The king 
 leaned on the back of the queen's chair, who turned round toward 
 him; tliey embraced, and Darnley took a share in the conversa- 
 tion. His voice trembled, his face was inflamed, and from time 
 to time he cost an.xlous glances toward a little door he had left 
 ajar. Soon after a man issuetl from under the fringes of the 
 curtain which covered it— Ruthven, still pale and shaking wiili 
 fever, wdio, in spite of his extreme weakness, had determined to 
 join in the undertaking. He wore a damask douldet liiietl with 
 fur, a brass helmet, and iron gauntlets ; was armed as if for battle, 
 and accompanied by Douglas. Ker, ISallantyne, and Ormiston. 
 At this moment Morton and Lindsay violently burst into the bed- 
 chamber of the queen, and, pushing toward the cabinet, rushed 
 into that small room. 
 
 " Ruthven threw himself forward with such impetuosity that 
 the floor groaned beneath his weight. Mary and her guests were 
 terrified ; his livid, fierce aspect, distorted by illness and wrath, 
 froze them with terror. 
 
 "'Why are you here, and who gave you permission to 
 enter?' crieil the queen. 
 
 " 'I have a matter to settle with bavid,' replied Ruthven, in a 
 deep voice. 
 
 "Another of the conspirators coming forward, Mary said to 
 him, ' If David be guilty, I am ready to deliver him up to jus- 
 tice.' 'This is justice?' replied the conspirator, taking a rope 
 from under his mantle. 
 
 " Haggard with fear,. Rizzio retreated to a corner of the cham- 
 ber. He was followed, and the poor Italian, approaching the 
 queen, took hold of her dress, crying, 'I am a dead man! 
 giustizia ! giustizia ! save me, madame I save me !" Mary threw 
 herself between Rizzio and the assassins. She tried to stay tlieit 
 hands. All were crowded and jiressed' together in that narrow 
 space in one confused mass. Ruthven and Lindsay, brandishing 
 their naked dirks, spoke roughly to the queen; Andrew Ke« 
 placed a pistol to her breast and threatened to fire, and Mary, 
 throwing open her bosom, cried, 
 
 " ' Fire, if you do not respect the infant I bear !' 
 
 "The table was overturned during this tumult. The qaeea 
 still struggling, Darnley threw his arms rouniffher and pressed 
 her into a chair, in which he held her down ; while the others, 
 taking Rizzio by the neck, dragged him from the cabinet. Doug- 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND (jUEENS. 
 
 25 
 
 lua seized Darnley's di:k, etrnck the favorite willi it, ami leaving 
 the ilugger in his buck, cried, 'That is the king's stroke!" Rizzlo 
 still strnirgled desperately. He wept, prayed, and supplicated 
 with lamentable groans. He at first clung to the door of the 
 cabinet, and afterward crept to the fire-place; then he grasped 
 the bed-posts of the (jueen's bed; the conspirators tlireiitened, 
 struck, insulted him, and. forced him to let go by pricking his 
 hands with their dirks. Having ut last been dragged from the 
 (juoeu's chamber into the anteroom, Kizzio fell, pierced with 
 tifly-llve dagger wounds. 
 
 " The queeu made almost superhuman efforts to fly to the suc- 
 cor of llie unliappy man. The king could scarcely restrain her. 
 Placing her in other hands, he hastene<l to the room where Rizzio 
 lay expiring. He asked if there yet remained anything to do, 
 and plunged his dagger into the poor corpse. After thj)^ Rizzio 
 was lied by the feet with the rope brought by one of the i)urty, 
 and was then draggetl down the stairs of the palace. 
 
 " Lord Rji liven then returned to the queen's cabinet, where the 
 table had been replaced. He then sat down and asked for a little 
 wine. The queen was enraged at his insolence. Ho said he was 
 sick, and pouring out some wine with his own hand into an 
 empty cup i,Rizzio's perhaps), he added that ' be could not sub- 
 mit to be governed by a servant. Your husband is here; be is 
 our chief !' 
 
 " ' Is it so?' replied the queen, still doubtful of Rizzio's death. 
 ' For some lime,' said Darntey, ' you have been more devoted to 
 him than to me.' The ((ueen was about to reply, when one of 
 her ottlcers entered, of whom she asked whether David had been 
 taken to prison, and where? ' Madam,' replieil he, ' we must 
 spoak no more about Rizzio; he is dead.' 
 
 " The <|ueen uttered a cry, and then turning to the king, ex- 
 claimed: 'Ah, traitor and soa of a traitor! is this the reward 
 you have reserved for him who has done so much for your good 
 and for your honor? Is this my reward for having by his uilvice 
 elevated you to so high a dignity? Ah! no more tears, but re- 
 venge! No more joy for me till your heart shall be as desolate as 
 mine is this day!' Saying these words, she fainted away. 
 
 •• All her friends at Uolyrood immediately fled in disorder. 
 The Earl of Athol, the Flemings, and Livingstone escaped by a 
 dark passage; the Earls of Bothwell and Uuntly slid down a 
 pillar into the garden. 
 
 " Meantime a shudder ran through the city. The bells were 
 run;:; the burgesses of Edinburgh, with the Lord Provost at 
 their liead, assemble*! instantly around the palace. They asked 
 for the queen, who had now recovered her senses. While some 
 of the conspirators threatened that if she calletl out she would Ue 
 slain and thrown over the walls, others assured the burgesses 
 that all went well. 
 
 " Darnley himself opened a, window of the fatal tower and 
 begged the people to retire, with the assurance that all was done 
 by order of the queen, and that instructions would be given next 
 day. 
 
 " Guarded as a prisoner in her own palace, and even in her bed- 
 chanilier, without a single female attendant, Mary remained alone 
 all night, delivered up to the horrors of despair. She had been 
 pregnant for seven months, and her emotions were so powerful 
 that the infant she afterwaril bore, and who became James I. of 
 England, could never look upon a naked sword without a shud- 
 der of fear." 
 
 With astonishing promptitude Mary charmed, reconquered, and 
 a,;ain drew toward herself more than ever the eyes and the heart 
 of her young husband. 
 
 '■ From the 12lh of March, while the blood of Rizzio was still 
 reeking on the floor of the chamber and on the king's hands," 
 writes the French envoy, "the queen resumed all her empire 
 over Diirnlev; the fascination was so rapid and complete that 
 people believed in the influence of witchcraft on the part of the 
 queen over her hunband." 
 
 The real wucheraft was the beauty of the one, the ardent youth 
 of the other, and the Intellectual superiority of a woman who now 
 
 employed her genius and her charms in apparent submission, as 
 she had formerly employed them in oU'euse. 
 
 This reconciliation entirely concealed the new conspiracy be- 
 tween the king ojul queen against Darnley's own accomplices in 
 the murder of the favorite, but which suddenly became apparent 
 on the 15th of March, six days after the assassination, by the 
 flight of the king and queen to the castle of Dunbar, a fortress 
 whence the king could brave his accomplices and the queen her 
 enemies. From thence Mary wrote to her sister, Queeu Elizabeth 
 of England, recounting her misfortunes in her own way, and 
 demanding succor against her revolted subjects. She then sum- 
 moned to Dunbar those nobles who were innocent of the con- 
 spiracy against her, and eight thousand faithful Scots obeyed her 
 call. 
 
 Placing herself with the king at the head of these troops, she 
 marched upon Edinburgh; astonishment and terror went before 
 her; the presence of the king disconcerted the insurgent nobles, 
 clergy, and people, and, without striking a blow, she entered 
 Holyrood. A jiroclamation was issued forbidding any mention 
 of Darnley as a participator in Rizzio's murder, and all the 
 accomplices in that deed who fell into the queen's hands were 
 beheaded; Ruthven, Douglas, and Morton fled beyond the fron- 
 tiers; she recalled, as chief of her council, the able and upright 
 Murray, who had been suRlciently mixed up with the conspiracy 
 to in.iuro his popularity, though sufllciently guarded to preserve 
 his honor. 
 
 Finally, to gratify her afl'eclion, after having attained the ob- 
 ject of her ambition, she threw aside the mask, bewailed the fate 
 of Rizzio, ordered his body to be exhunieil, and burieil it with 
 regal obsequies in the sei)ulcher of the kings in Holyrood chapel. 
 Reconciled with Darnley, whom she more and more deepised; 
 well served by Murray, who brought back to her the affections of 
 the nation, on the 19th of the following June Mary gavo birlh to 
 a son, destined one day to reign over England. An amnesty, 
 ably counseled by Murray, granted a pardon to the conspirators 
 on the occasion of the auspicious event, and allowed those who 
 had been proscribed to return to their country and homes. 
 
 The hour of vengeance on her husband had, however, come; 
 her aversion for him made their lives miserable, and she no 
 longer took any pains to conceal it. Velvil, one of her most in- 
 timate confidants, says, in his memoirs of the reign of his mis- 
 tress, "I constantly found her, from the time uf Rizzio's murder, 
 with her heart full of rancor, and the worst way to {t;y court t»» 
 her was to speak of her reconciliation with the king." 
 
 The secret cause of this growing aversion was a new lo\ >, 
 more resembling a fatality of heart in the career of a modern 
 Pheilru than the aberration of a woman and a queen In an age 
 enjoying the Kght of civilization. 
 
 The object of this love was as extraordinary as the passion 
 itself was inexplicable, unless, indeed, we attribute it to the eflect 
 of magic, or of possession, a supernatural explanation of the 
 phenomena of the heart which was common in those superstitious 
 times. But the female heart contains within itself greater 
 mysteries than even magic can explain. The man now beloved 
 by Mary Stuart was Bothwell. 
 
 The Earl of Bothwell was a Scottish noble of a powerful and 
 illustrious house, whose principal stronghold was Hermitage 
 Castle, in Roxburghshire. He was born with thoso perverse 
 and unruly instincts which Indifferently drive men from exploit 
 to exploit, or from crime to crime— to a throne or to a scafl'old. 
 Impetuous in every impulse, in ambition, and in enterprise, 
 Bothwell was one of those adventurers gifted with superhuman 
 daring, who, in their development and as their desires expand, 
 seek to burst the social bounds within which they exist, to make 
 room for themselves or perish in the attempt. 
 
 Some meu seem born to madness, and Bothwell was one of 
 those. Byron, whose mother's ancestry was connected with 
 I.,ady Jean Gordon, Bothwell's wife, has depicted him in the 
 romantic and somber "Corsair;" but the poem is far behind his- 
 toric truth, for the sovereign poet. Nature, outvies fiction by 
 realitv. 
 
26 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 We know not wlietlier jirecocioiis crime, parental severity, or 
 voluntary fliglit exiled him from the paternal borne; but m his 
 early youth he became enroUeil among those corsairs of the 
 oceaa who stained the coasts, the islands, and the waves of the 
 Nortli Sea with blood. His name, liis rank, liis courage, had 
 speedily promoted him to the command of one of those squadrons 
 of criminals wlio had a den wherein to stow their spoils and an 
 arsenal fur their vessels, in a rock- fortress on the coast of Den- 
 mark. The crimes of Bothwell, and his exploits among tluisc 
 pirates, lie hidden in the shadow of the past; but his name in- 
 spired terror along the shores of the North Sea. 
 
 After this stormy youth the death of his father recalled him to 
 his Scottish domains and wild vassals. The troubles of the court 
 of Edinburgh had attracted him to Holyrood, where he discov- 
 erctl a wider field for ambition and crime. 
 
 He was among those Scottish chiefs who, at the api)eal of the 
 kins to his subjects while in the castle of Dunbar, hastened 
 thither with tlieir vassals, in the hope of seizing and pillaging 
 Edinburgh. Since the return of the court to Holyrood, he had 
 distinguished himself among the foremost partisans of the queen. 
 Whether inspired by ambition or spurred on by an indelinite hope 
 of subjugating the liearl of a woman by striking her imagina- 
 tion, he at all events succeeded in his enterprise; perhaps lio 
 knew that the surest way to conquer feminine pride is to ap|iear 
 iudilVerent to it. 
 
 Bothwell was no longer in the (lower of his youth ; but although 
 he had lost an eye by a wound received in one of his sea-lights. 
 ho was still handsome. His beauty was not efl'eminate like Darn- 
 ley's, nor melancholy and pensive like Rizzio's, but of that rude 
 and manly order which gives to passion the energy of heroism. 
 The licentiousness of his manners and llie victims of his libertin- 
 age had made him well known at the court of Holyrood. He had 
 many attachments among the women of that court, less for their 
 love than their dishonor. One of those mistresses. Lady Heves, 
 a dissipated woman, celebraletl by Brantomc for the notoriety of 
 her adventures, was the confidante of the t|uecn. She had re- 
 tained for Bothwell an admiration which survived their intimacy. 
 
 The queen, who amused herself by interrogating her confi- 
 dante regarding the exploits and amours of her old favorite, al- 
 lowed herself to be gra.duSnfy-ftUi'acted toward him by a senti- 
 ment which, at first, assumed the appearance of a good-natured 
 curiosity. Theeonfldante, divining, or believing she divined, ths 
 ^et unexpressed desires of the queen, introduced Bothwell one 
 evening into the garden, and even to the apartment of her mi.s- 
 Iress. This secret meeting forever sealed the ascendancy of 
 Bolliwell over the queen. 
 
 Her passion, though hidden, was, for that reason, still more 
 conimanding, and became for the first time apparent to all some 
 weeks after this interview, on the occasion of a wound Bothwell 
 had received in a border feud, on the marches of which he had 
 command. On hearing of this, Mary mounted on horseback, and 
 rode, without resting by the way, to the Hermitage where he had 
 been carried, assured herself with her own eyes of the danger he 
 had run, and returned tlie same day to Holyrood. 
 
 " Tlic Earl of Bothwell." writes at this time the French ambas- 
 sador 10 Catlierine of Medici, "is out of danger, at wliich the 
 queen is well pleased. To have lost him would have been no 
 small loss indeed to her." 
 
 She herself avows her anxiety in verses composed on the occa- 
 sion : 
 
 " When first my master he t)ecaiiic. 
 For lilia I shed full nianj a tear; 
 But now this new and dire alarm 
 Destroys In me l>oth life and fear!" 
 
 After his cure, Bothwell became master of the kingdom. 
 Everything was lavished on him as previously on Rizzio, and he 
 accepted all. not as a subject, but as a master. The king, shut 
 out from the councils of the queen, and even from her society as 
 his wife, "walked about alone," says Melvil, "from place to 
 plate, and it was evident to all that she regarded it as a crime 
 that any one should keep company with him." 
 
 "The Queen of Scots and her husband," writes the Duke of 
 Bedford, envoy of Elizabeth at the court of Scotland, "live to- 
 gether as before, and-even worse; she rarefy sits at table, and 
 never sleeps with him ; she in no wise esteems, his society, and 
 loves not those who entertain friendship for him. To such an 
 extent does she exclude him from business, that when she leaves 
 the palace to go out, he knows nothing. Modesty forbids me to 
 repeat what she has said of him, and which would not be honor- 
 able to the queen." 
 
 The insolence of the new favorite partook of the ferocity of his 
 former life; he once drew his dagger in full council before the 
 queen to strike Lethington, another member of the councB, for 
 having objected to his advice. 
 
 The king, outraged every day by Bothwell's contempt, and 
 3oraelj|K^s by his insults, retired to Glasgow, where he lived in 
 the house of his father, the Earl of Lennox. The queen and 
 Bothwell became alarmed lest he should make jmblic complaint 
 against the humiliation and neglect to which he was condemned, 
 appeal to the discontented amoug the nobility, and in his turn 
 marcli against Edinburgh. It is to this motive and to Both- 
 well's fear, rather than to his desire to Ijecome the husliand of 
 the queen, lliat we must attribute the odious crime which soon 
 alter threw the world into consternation. 
 
 The queen, on he'aring of the Bight of Darnloy to the house of 
 his father, the Earl of Lennox, suddenly left her favorite Bulh- 
 well, and repairing to one of her pleasure castles called Craig- 
 inillar, near Edinburgh, secretly convoked the confederate lords 
 of her own and Bothwell's par.y. The French ambassador re- 
 marks on her sadness and anxiety; her torment between the 
 fears of her husband and the demands of her favorite was such 
 as to make her cry out iu presence of the ambassador, "1 wish 
 I were dead !'' 
 
 She then leaves the conspirators at Craigmillar, and against 
 ;dl propriety or expectation, she proceeds to Glasgow, where she 
 linds Darnley recovering from the small-jjox, overwhelms him 
 with tenderness, passes days and nights by his i)illow, renews the 
 scenes of Holyrood after the murder of Kizzio, and finally con- 
 sents to the conjugal conditions implored Ity Darnley. In vain is 
 Darnley warned of the danger he incurs in following the queen 
 to Craigmillar into the midst of his enemies; he leiilies that 
 though it may appear strange, he will follow tlie queen he adores 
 even to death. The queen leaves Glasgow before him, to await 
 his restoration to liealth, i)rolongs with hnn the tenderest fare- 
 wells, and places on his finger a ring, as a precious pledge of 
 reconciliation and love. 
 
 Darnley followed her shortly after. Under pretext of promoting 
 his recovery, apartments were iirepared for him in a solitary 
 country-house in the neighborhood, called Kirk o' Field, witli no 
 other attendants than five or six servants, underlings sold to 
 Bothwell, and whom he ironically called his lambs. Only a 
 favorite jjage, named Taylor, slept in Darnley's chamber. The 
 queen came to visit him witli the same demonstrations of tender- 
 ness as she exhibited at Glasgow, but refused to live with him 
 jet. Darnley, astonished at this isolation, fell into deep melan- 
 choly, from which he sought relief by praying and weeping with 
 hi.-f page. An inward presentiment seemed to warn him of ap- 
 proaching death. 
 
 Meantime the festivities at Holyrood continued. At the close 
 of one of these feasts, during which Bothwell had conversed 
 much and alone with the queen, the favorite (according to the 
 testimony of his valet, Dalglish) came home and retired to bed; 
 soon after lie calls his valet and dresses; one of his agents enters 
 and whispers something in his ear; he takes his riding-cloak and 
 sword, covers his face with a mask, puts on a hat with a broad 
 brim, and proceeds, at one o'clock in the morning, to the king's 
 solitary dwelling. 
 
 What happened on that mysterious night? We know not; the 
 only thing Known is that before the morning twilight a terrible 
 explosion was heard at Holyrood and in Edinburgli. The house 
 of Kirk o" Field was blown to atoms, and its ruins would have 
 buried the victim, but owing to a strange forgetfulness on the 
 
THE LOVES AND INTJilOUES OF KINGS AND (QUEENS. 
 
 27 
 
 part of tlie assassins, the bodies of Darnley aad his i)uge liad 
 beeo lefl lying in an orcli.ird attacliei) to the garden, wlierc tliey 
 wei'c found next morning, bearing on their bodies, not the marks 
 of gunpowder, but those of a deadly struggle and of strangu- 
 lation. 
 
 II was supposed that the king and his page, hearing the steps 
 of the murderers early in the night, had tried to escape by the 
 orchard, but had been overtaken and strangled by Bolhwell's 
 assassins, and their bodies lefl on the scene of the murder by 
 negligence, or in ignorance of the explosion which was to have 
 destroyed the murderers with their victims. It is added that 
 Bothwell, believing that the corpses of Darnley and the page 
 were in the house, had needlessly tired the mine, and had re 
 turned to Ilolyrood lifter the explosion, believing that no ves- 
 tiges of the murder remained, and hoping that Darnley's death 
 wound be attributed to the accidental explosion of a sture of 
 gunpowder firwl by his own imprudence. 
 
 However that might be, Bothwell went home without betray- 
 ing any agitation ; again went to rest before llie end of the night, 
 and when his attendants awoke him and tohl him of what had 
 occurred, manifestal all the surprise and grief of perfect inno- 
 cence,. and, leaping from his bed, cried "Treason!" 
 
 The two bodies were not discovered in the orchard till day- 
 light. 
 
 Morning spread horror with the rumor of this murder among 
 the i)cople of Edinburgh. The emotion was so great that the 
 queen was forced to leave Holyrood and take refuge in the castle. 
 She was insulted by the women as she passed along the streets; 
 avenging placards covered the walls, invoking peace to the soul 
 of Darnley, and the vengeance of Heaven on his guilty wife. 
 Bothwell mounted on horseback, and sword in hand, galloped 
 through the streets, crying, " Death to the rebels, and to all who 
 speak against the queen!" 
 
 Sedition being calmed for a time, the (pieen proclaimed her 
 grief at Holyrood by assuming the garb of a mourning wiilow, 
 and remained for some days shut up in her apartments, with no 
 other light than the dim glimmering of lamps. Bothwell was 
 accused of regicide before the judges of E<linl)urgh, at the in- 
 stanc? of the Earl of Lennox, the king's father. The favorite, 
 with undaunted audacity, supported by the queen and by the 
 troops, devoted, as usual, to the reigning power, appeared in 
 arms before the judges, and insolently exacted from them an 
 acquittal. Th.> same day he rode forth, mounted on one of 
 Durnlcy's favorite horses, which the people recognized with 
 horror bearing his murderer. The <|ueen saluted him from her 
 balcony with a-gesturc of encouragement and tenderness. 
 
 Some days after the 24th of April, while returning from Stir- 
 ling, where she had been visiting her sou, Bothwell, with a body 
 of his friends, awaited her at Almond Bridge, six miles from 
 Edinburgh. He dismouutetl from his horse, respectfully look 
 hoM of the bridle of the queen's palfrey, feigned a slisht com- 
 pulsion, and conducted his voluntary captive to the castle of 
 Dunbar, of which he was governor, as warden of the borders. 
 There she (lassed with him eight days, as if sud'ering violence, 
 and returned on the 8th of May with him to Edinburgli, " re- 
 signed." she said, '• to marry with her consent him who had dis- 
 posed of her by force." 
 
 Bothwell, besides the blooil which staine<l his hands, had three 
 other wives living. By gold or threats he rid himself of two, and 
 he divorced the third. Lady Gordon, sister of the Earl of Iliintly. 
 In order to secure this divorce, he consented to be found guilty 
 of adultery. The verses written by Mary at this period and ad- 
 dressed to Bothwell prove the jealousy with which she regarded 
 this repudiated but stil loved wife. 
 
 •' Her painted word*, complaints, and tears, 
 Her cries, her louil laments, her fears, 
 Tbouf^h feiKQCd, deceitful, every art, 
 Are clierlHlied biIII within Ihy heart. 
 To all she writes full falih :hou givest. 
 Id her love more ilian nituc thou livest. 
 Sttil, still thou trustest her too well. I see. 
 And doubted ever m; Orm constanc;. 
 
 O njy sole liopc! My solitary blissl 
 
 Could I but show tbcc my true ralihfuluess. 
 
 Too lightly thou esteem st my love, my pain. 
 
 Nor of my faith can full aosurauce gaiu. 
 
 With dark suspicioD thou dost wrong my heart. 
 
 As ifanuiher in my love bad part; 
 
 My words and vows seem but a neeting wind, 
 
 Bered of wit, a woman's idle uiiud: 
 
 Alas: all this Increases box the flame 
 
 That burns lor thee forever and the same. 
 
 My love still grows, aud evermore will grow, 
 So long as lile shall In this bosom glow I" 
 
 She only refused Bothwell one thing— the tutelage and guard- 
 ianship of her son, who was kcjU at Stirling. Violent and noisy 
 (luariels took place about this at Holyrood, even on the evening 
 before the marriage of the widow and her husband's assiissin. 
 The French ambassador heard the turmoil. Bothwell insisted, 
 and the queen, determined to resist, called loudly for a dagger 
 wherewith to kill herself. 
 
 "On the day after the ceremony," writes the ambassador, '• I 
 percei>'ed strange clouds on the countenances both of the queen 
 and her husband, which she tried to excuse, saying that if I saw 
 her sad it was because she had no reason to rejoice, desiring 
 nothing but death." 
 
 The e.\piation had begun. A league was formed by the Scot- 
 tish lords against her and Bothwell. Thus confederated to 
 avenge the blood-stained throne, they, on the 13ih of June, 1567, 
 met the troops of the queen and Bothwell at Carberry Hill, 
 Courage deserted their partisans before the battle — they were 
 defeated. 
 
 Bothwell, covered with blood, rode up to the queen, when all 
 hope of safety from flight was already lc)8t. "Save your life," 
 cried he, " for my sake; we shall meet in happier times!'' Both- 
 wall seemed to desire death. The queen burst into toai-s. 
 " Will you keep faithful to me, madam," said he, in a doubtful 
 accent, " as to a husband and king ?" " Ves," she replied, " and 
 in token of my i)romise I give you my hand." Bothwell carried 
 her hand to his lips, kissed it, and (led to Dunbar, followed by 
 only a dozen horsemen. 
 
 The lords conducted the queen as a prisoner to Edinburgh 
 Castle. In passing through the army she was assailed wiih the 
 imprecations of the military and the populace. The soldiers 
 waved before her horse a banner, on which was represented the 
 dead body of Darnley lying beside his page in the orchard of Kirk 
 o' Field, and the little King James on his knees invoking the 
 vengeance of Heaven against his mother and the murderer of his 
 unhappy father, in these words of the royal poet of Israel, 
 "Judge and avenge my cause, O Lord!" 
 
 "By this royal hand," she said to ImvCl Lindsay, who had aided 
 in the murder of her Di-st favorite, Rizzio, "I'll have your heads 
 for this!'' 
 
 <")n her arrival in Edinburgh she took courage even in the ex- 
 cess of her humiliation. She appeared, says a chronicle of Edin- 
 burgh, at the window fronting the High Street, and addressing 
 the people in a firm voice told tliem how she had been thrown 
 into prison by her own traitorous subjects; she showed herself 
 many times at the same window m miserable plight, her disliev- 
 eletl hair flowing over her shoulders and bosom, her body uncov- 
 ered to the girdle. 
 
 At other times she became softened, and assuming the accents 
 of a suppliant, 
 
 " Dear Lethington," she said, "you, who have the gift of i>er- 
 suasion, speak to these lords; tell them I pardon all who will 
 consent to place me in a vessel with Bothwell, whom I espoused 
 with their api)robalion at Ilolyrood, and leave us to the mercy 
 of the winds and waves." 
 
 She wrote the most iinpas-sioned letters to Bothwell, which 
 
 were intercepted by her jailers at the gates of her prison. Finally 
 
 she was conducted with a small escort through a hostile country 
 
 to the castle of Lochleven, belonging to the Douglases. 
 
 Lady Douglas, who inhabited this stronghold, had been the 
 
28 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 mistress of King James V., tlie queen's father, and was the 
 mother of Lord James Mnrroy. 
 
 " Of a proud acd iniperious spirit," says a Scottish historian, 
 "she was accustomed to boust that she was the lawful wife of 
 James, and her sou Murray his legitimate issue, who had boon 
 supplanted by the queen." 
 
 The castle, situated in the county of Kinross, was built on an 
 island In the middle of a small lake which bathed its walls and 
 intercepted all flight. There she was treated by the Douglases 
 with the respect due to her rank and misfortunes. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth saw with alarm the triumph of the revolt 
 against the queen. She prevailed on Murray, who was respected 
 by all parties, to undertake the government during Mary's cap- 
 tivity. Murray went to Lochleven to confer with bis captive sis- 
 ter about the fate of the kingdom, and of James, the Infant heir 
 to the throne. Hopefully she saw him assume the supreme au- 
 thority, believing with reason that he would be indulgent toward 
 her. 
 
 She learned from him that Bothwell had fle<i to the Shetland 
 Islands, where he had emltarked for Denmark, there to resume, 
 with his old companions, the sea-robbers, the life of a pirate and 
 o l)rin;and, the only refuge fortune had left him. We shall after- 
 ward find him closing in captivity and Insanity a life passed al- 
 ternately in disgrace and on a throne, in exploits and assas- 
 sinations. 
 
 She made several attempts to escape from Lochleven to join 
 Bothwell or to fly to England. The historian we quote, who has 
 visited its ruins, thus describes the tirst prison of the queen: 
 
 '•The sojourn at Lochleven, over which romance and poetry 
 have shed their light, must bo depicted by history only in Its 
 nakedness and horrors. The castle, or rather fortress, is a 
 massive block of granite, flanked by heavy towers, peopled by 
 owls and bats, eternally bathed in mists, and defended by the 
 waters of the lake. There languished Mary Stuart, oppressed by 
 the violence of the hostile lords, torn by remorse, troubled by 
 the phantnins of the past and by the terrors of the future." 
 
 The English ambassador, Drury, thus relates to his sovereign 
 the last unsuocessful attempt at escajw: 
 
 " Toward the 'iM\ of last month (.Vpril, liieS) she very nearly 
 escaped, thanks to her habit of passing the mornings in bed. 
 She acted In this way: The washerwoman camo early In the 
 morning, as she liad often done, and the queen, as had been ar- 
 ranged, donned the woman's cap, took up a bundle of linen, and 
 covering her face with her cloak, left the castle and entered the 
 boat useil In traversing the loch. 
 
 " After some minutes one of the rowers said laughingly, ' Let 
 us see what kind of Jady we have got,' at the same time attempt- 
 ing to uncover her face. To prevent him she raised her hands, 
 and he remarked their beauty and whiteness, which made him 
 immediately suspect who she was. She showeil little fear, and 
 ordered the boatmen, under pain of death, to conduct her to the 
 coast. They refused, however, rowed buck toward the Island, 
 promising secrecy toward the commander of the guard to whom 
 she was confided." 
 
 It appears that she knew the place where, once landed, she 
 could take refuge, for she saw. In Kinross (a little village near 
 the banks of the loch), George Douglas and two of her former 
 most devoted servants wandering about in expectation of her 
 arrival. 
 
 George Douglas, the youngest son of that house, was passion- 
 ately in love with the captive. His enthusiastic admiration for 
 her beauty, rank, and misfortunes, determined him to brave all 
 dangers in the attempt to restore her to liberty and her throne. 
 He arranged signals witli the Hamlltons and other chiefs, who, on 
 (he opposite side of the loch, awaited the hour for an enterprise 
 in favor of the queen. 
 
 The signal agreed upon for the flight, which was to be a firo 
 kindled on the highest tower of the castle, at length shone forth 
 in the eyes of the Hamiltons. Soon an unperceived bout glides 
 over the lake, and approaching its banks, delivers to them the 
 fugitive queen. They throw tliemselvee at her feet, carry her off 
 
 to the mountains, raise their vassals, form an army, revoke her 
 abdication, tight for her cause under her eyea at Laugside against 
 the troops of Murray, and are a second time defeated. Mary, 
 without refuge and without hope, fled to England, where the let- 
 ters of Queen Elizabeth led her to e.\pcct the welcome due from 
 one sovereign to another. 
 
 Elizabeth had the choice of two policies — the one magnaol- 
 mous, to welcome and receive her unfortunate cousin; the other 
 openly hostile, to profit by her reverses, or to dethrone her a 
 second time by her freely expressed condemnation. She adopted 
 a third policy, indefinite, dissembling, caressing in speech, odious 
 in action, which delivered up her "sister" by turns to hope and 
 to despair, wearing out the heart of her rival by endless longing, 
 as if she had resolved that grief, anguish, and time should be 
 her executioners. 
 
 This queen, so great in genius, so mean in heart, cruel by pol- 
 icy, and rendered moro so by feminine jealousies, proved herself. 
 In this instance, the worthy daughter of Uenry the Eighth, all 
 whose passions were slaketl in blood. 
 
 She offered to Mary the castle of Carlisle as a royal refuge, and 
 detained her there as In a prison. She wrote that she could not 
 with propriety treat her as a queen and a, sister till she should 
 clear herself of the crimes imputed to her by her Scottish sub- 
 jects. She thus evoked before her own tribunal, as a forelj^n 
 queen, the great suit pending between Mary Stuart and her 
 people. 
 
 By assuming this attitude, her influence In Scotland, whose 
 queen she retained as a prisoner, and whose regent, Murray, had 
 everything to hope or to fear from her, became all-powerful. 
 She was about to rule over Scotland as arbiter, anil oven without 
 an army. This policy — counseled, it is said, by her great minis- 
 ter, Cecil — was ignoble, but national. 
 
 These ideas were e.xi)eilient in policy, but the avowal of them 
 was humbling to a queen, and above all to a woman, the more 
 so that Mary was her own kinswoman. The whole secret of this 
 temporizing craft of Elizabeth lay in the impossibility of openly 
 avowing a course which servetl her views, but which dishonored 
 her In the eyes of Europe. 
 
 "No, madam," replied Mary from Carlisle Castle, "I have 
 not come here to justify myself before my subjects, but to punish 
 tlicm, and to demand your succor against them. I neither CJin 
 nor will reply to llieir false accusations; but knowing well your 
 friendship and gooiL pleasure, I am willing to justify myself to 
 you, though not In the form of a suit wiUi my sulijects. They 
 and I are in no wise equal ; ami should I even remain here for- 
 ever, rather would I die than recognize such a thing!" 
 
 Already she was in reality a captive. The Spanish ambassa- 
 ilor in London, Don Guzman da Silva, who had gone to Carlisle 
 to offer to her the condolence of his court, thus describes her 
 abode in the castle; 
 
 " The room occupied by the queen is dark, and has but one 
 window, garnished with bars of Iron. It is entered through 
 three other rooms, guarded and occupied by armea men. 
 In the last, which forms an antechamber to the queen's room, 
 l.,ord Scropo is stationed, who is governor of the border district 
 of Carlisle. The queen has only three of her women with her. 
 Her attendants and domestics sleep outside of the castle. The 
 gates are opened only at ten o'clock in the morning. The queen 
 Is allowed to go as far as the city church, but is always escorteil 
 by a huntlred soldiers. On asking Lord Scrope to send her a 
 priest to say mass, he replied that in England there were none." 
 
 Alarmed at the evidently evil intentions of Elizabeth, Mary 
 Implored the interference of France. Forgetting her secret ha- 
 tred of Catherine de Medici, she wrote to her, and also to Charles 
 IX. and the Duke of Anjou, asking them to aid her. 
 
 Mary's apprehensions wore soon realized. Elizabeth deter, 
 mined to remove her from the Scottish Marches. On the 28th 
 July, l.'>6t', the august captive was conducted, in spite of her 
 energetic protestations, to Bolton Abbey, in the county of York, 
 which belonged to Lord Scrope, brother-in-law to the Earl ol 
 Norfolk. 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND IJUEENS. 
 
 'JO 
 
 II will be seen that, from the Urst days of her stay in England, 
 while pressing Elizabeth with one hand she wove with the other, 
 and with strangers as well as with her own subjects, that net in 
 which she was herself caught at last. Captivity wa* her excuse, 
 religion her pretext; oppression gave her a rigllt to conspire; 
 but if she could urge her misfortunes as a reason for thus plot- 
 ting, she could not, with truth, urge her innocence. She unceas- 
 ingly demanded from Madrid and from Paris armed interven- 
 tion against Scotland and against Elizabeth. Her whole life 
 during her captivity was one long conspiracy; the inhuman and 
 unprincipled duplicity of Elizabeth's policy justified all she did. 
 
 Murray, guardian of the infant king James and dictator of the 
 kingdom, governed the unhappy country willi vigor and address. 
 But a proscribed gentleman of good family, James Hamilton of 
 nothwellhuugh, whose wife Murray had left to die in Dii.?ei7 and 
 madni'ss on the threshold of her own dwelling, which had been 
 bestowed by the regent on Bellenden, one of his partisans, swore 
 to avenge at onco his wife and his country. Gathering a handful 
 of the earth which covered the bier of his wife, he wore it within 
 his girdle as an eternal incentive to revenge; and, repairing in 
 disguise to the small town of Linlithgow, through which Murray 
 had to pass on his return to ICdinburgh, he placed himself at a 
 window, fired upon and kille<l the regent. He then mounted a 
 horse ready for him behind the house, and by swift flight escaped 
 the regent's guards. " I alone," cried tlie dying Murray, " could 
 have saveil the church, the kingdom, and the king; anarchy will 
 now devour them all!" 
 
 The advisers of Elizabeth represented to her, for the first time, 
 the necessity of the immediate trial and death of the Queen of 
 Scots, to secure the peace of the kingdom, and perhaps even the 
 safety of her own life. Her most eminent statesmen, Burleigh, 
 Leicester, and Walsingham, were unanimous in recommending 
 this sacrifice. 
 
 One of the Earl of Derby's gentlemen, named Babington, 
 brought up in the household of the Earl of Shrewsbury, where 
 he had become acquainted with the queeu while she was a pris- 
 oner at Bolton Abbey, had resolved to serve and save her. 
 Babington had gone over to the Continent, and was at Paris 
 the agent of the correspondence in which the queen was en- 
 gaged with France and Spain to bring about her deliverance and 
 restora'.ion. 
 
 Walsingham, the chief coanselor and minister of Elizabeth, 
 who had brought the spy-system to a state of what might bo 
 called infamous perfection, and had his tools and agents every- 
 where, who insinuated themselves into the confidence of the con- 
 spirators, urged them on to the execution of their designs, at the 
 same time revealing all to him, and, with a malignant ingenuity, 
 even adding to the reality by inventions of their own, in order, 
 doubtless, to please their employer and lead the more certainly 
 to the accomplishment of his aim. 
 
 One of these spies, named Gifford, whose earnestness seemed 
 to place him above suspicion ut the French embassy, in which 
 was the repository of the correspondence, received letters, pre- 
 tended he had forwarded them to their address, but conveyed 
 thom secretly to Walsingham. 
 
 These letters prove some hesitation at first on the i)art of the 
 conspirators regarding the propriety of the assassination of 
 Elizabeth, and afterward a more decided resolution in favor of 
 the murder, after a consultation with Father Ballard, the Jesuit 
 of Kheims. One of the letters, bearing the signature of Babing- 
 ton, thus addressed Mary: 
 
 "Very dear Sovereign: I myself, with six gentlemen, and a 
 hundred others of our company and following, will undertake the 
 deliverance of your royal person fiom the hands of your enemies. 
 As for that which tends to rid us of the usurper, from the subjec- 
 tion of the . . ." 
 
 At the 8ubse()uent trial the co/ii/ only of a letter from Mur> in 
 reply was produced, containing these words: "These things 
 being prepare<l, and the forces, without as well as within the 
 kingdom, being all ready, It is necessary that the six gentlemen 
 should be set to work, and orders given that, their design being 
 
 effected, I may then be taken hence, and all the troops bo at the 
 same time in the field to receive me while awaiting the succors 
 from abroad, who must also hasten with all diligence. . . ." 
 
 Mary solemnly declared that she never wrote this letter; and 
 although she insisted upon the original being shown, it never 
 appeared, its only substitute being an alleged copy in the hand- 
 writing of Pliellipa, one of Walsingham's creatures, and an expert 
 forger of autographs. 
 
 No trace of any such original letter bos ever been found; and 
 when we consider Elizabeth's evident anxiety to get rid of her 
 troublesome captive, her subsequent remorse, the unscrupulous 
 efl'orts of Walsingham to please his mistress, by fair means or 
 foul, and the zeal of his s|>ies and tools, we cannot but arrive at 
 the conclusion that this letter, which was so fatal to Mary, but 
 which no one ever saw, was a forgery executed by Phellips, who, 
 besides, is proved to have added a postscript of his own to an- 
 other of Mary's letters now extant. 
 
 The punishment of her friends impressed Mary with a presenti- 
 ment of her own fate. Involved in their plots, and more feared 
 than they were, she could not long remain in suspense as to her 
 own destiny. She was carried, in fact, some days afterward, to 
 Fotheringay Castle, her last prison. This feudal residence was 
 solemn and gloomy, even as the hour of approaching death. 
 
 Elizabeth, after long and serious deliljeration, at lost named 
 thirty-six judges to examine Mary and report to the council. 
 The Queen of Scots protested against the right of trying a queen 
 and of judging her in a foreign country, where she was forcibly 
 detained as a prisoner. 
 
 "Is it thus," cried she, when she appeared before the commis- 
 sioners, "that Queen Elizabeth makes kings be tried by their 
 subjects? I only accept this place " (pointing to a seat lower 
 than that of the judges) "because as a Christian I humble my- 
 self. My jilace is there," she adde<l, pointing toward the dais. 
 " I was a queen from tlie cradle, and the first day that saw me a 
 woman saw me a queen!" Then turning toward Melvil, her es- 
 quire, and the chief of her household, on whose arm she leaned, 
 sh^said: " Here are many judges, but not one friend!" 
 
 She denied energetically having consented to the plan for as- 
 sassinating Elizabeth ; she insinuated, but without formally assert- 
 ing, that secretaries might easily have added to the meaning of 
 the letters dictated to them, as none were produced in her own 
 handwriting. "When I came to Scotland," she said to Lord 
 Burleigh, the principal minister, who interrogated her, "I offered 
 to your mistress, through Lethington, a ring shaped like a heart, 
 in token of my friendship; and when, overcome by rebels, I en- 
 tered England, I in my turn received from her this pledge of 
 encouragement and protection." Saying thjse words, she drew 
 from her finger the ring which had been sent by Elizabeth. " Look 
 at this, my lords, and answer. During the eighteen years that I 
 have passed under your bolts and bars, how often have your queen 
 and the English people despised it in my person!" 
 
 The commissioners, on their return to London, assembled at 
 Westminster, declared the Queen of Scots guilty of jtaiticipation 
 in the plot against the life of Elizabeth, and pronounced upon 
 her sentence of death. The two houses of parliament ratified the 
 sentence. 
 
 Mary asked, aa a single favor, not to be executed in secret, but 
 before her servants and the people, so that no one might attribute 
 a cowardice to her unworthy of her rank, and that all might bear 
 testimony to her constancy in suffering martyrdom. Thus she 
 already spoke of her punishment, a consolatory idea most natural 
 in a queen who desired that her death should be imputed to her 
 faith rather than to I.er faults. 
 
 The scene at the execution of the unfortunate qaeen is touch- 
 ing, indeed. 
 
 She arrived in the hall of death. Pale, but unflinching, she 
 contemplated the dismal i)reparation8. There lay the block and 
 the ax. There stood the executioner and his assistant. All 
 were clothed in mourning. On the floor was scattered the sawdust 
 which was to soak her blood, and in a dark corner lay the bier 
 which was to be her last prison. 
 
r.o 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTlilOUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 It WU3 nine o'clock wlieii tlio queen appeared in llie funeral 
 Imll. Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, and certain privileged 
 persons, to the number of more than two hundred, were assem- 
 bled. The hall Wiis hung with black cloth; the scallblil, which 
 was elevated about two feet and a half above the ground, was 
 covered with black frieze of Lancaster; the armed chair in which 
 jMary was to sit, the footstool on which she was to kneel, the 
 block on which her head was to be laid, were covered with black 
 velvet. 
 
 The (luoeii was clothed in mourning like the hall, and as the 
 ensigns of punishment. Her black velvet robo, with its high 
 collar and hanging sleeves, was borderetl with ermine. Her 
 mantle, lined with marten sable, was of satin, with pearl buttons 
 and a long train. A cluuu of sw«el-3melling beads, to which was 
 fltlached a scapulary, and beneath that a golden cross, fell upon 
 her bosom. Two rosaries were suspeniled to her girdle, anil a 
 long veil of white lace, which, in some me;vsure. softened Ihi.-J 
 costume of a widow and of a condemned criminal, was thrown 
 around her. 
 
 She was preceded by the sheriff, by Urury ami Paulet, the 
 carls and nobles of England, and followed liy her two maidens 
 imd four ollicera, among wliom was remarked Slolvil, bearing the 
 train of tlie royal robe. Mary's walk was llrm and majestic. 
 I''or a simile moment she raised her veil, ami her face, on whicli 
 shone a hope, no longer of this world, seemed beautiful as in the 
 <lays of her youth. The whole assembly were deeply moved. In 
 one hand she held a cruciU.'i, and in the other one of her chaplet.-j. 
 
 The Karl of Kent rudely addressed her, "We should wear 
 Christ in our hearts." 
 
 " And whoreforo," she replied quickly, "should I have Chri.st 
 ill my liand if lie were not in my heart?" 
 
 Paulet assisting her to mount the scaffold, she threw upon him 
 a look full of sweetness. 
 
 "Sir Amyas," slie said, "I tjiaiik you for your courtesy; it is 
 the last trouble I will give you, and the most agreeable service 
 you can render me." 
 
 Arrived on llie scallbkl, Mary seated herself in the chair i)ro- 
 vided for her, with her face towards the spectators. The Dean 
 of Peterborough, in ecclesiastical costume, sat on the right of 
 the queen, with a black velvet footstool before him. The Earls 
 of Kent and .Shrewsbury were seated, like liiin. on the right, hut 
 upon larger chairs. 
 
 On the other side of the queen stood the shcrili; Andrews, 
 witli white wand. In front of Mary were seen The e.xecutioneer 
 and his assistant, distinguishable Ijy their v>;stments of black 
 velvet, with red crape round the left arm. Behind the (pieen'.s 
 chair, ranged by the wall, wept her attendants and maidens. 
 In the body of the hall the nobles and citizens from the neigh- 
 boring counties were guarded by the musketeers of Sir Amyas 
 Paulet and Sir Drew Drury. Beyond the balustrade was the bar 
 of the tribunal. The sentence was read; the queen protested 
 against it in the name of royalty and innocence, but accepted 
 death for the sake of the faith. 
 
 She then knelt down before the block, and the e.xecutioneer 
 proceeded to remove her veil. She repelled him by a gesture, 
 and turning toward the earls with a blush on her forehead, "I 
 am not accustomed," she said, " to be undressed before so 
 numerous a comi)any, and by the hands of such grooms of tlu^ 
 chamber." 
 
 She then called Jano Kennedy and Elizabeth Curie, who took 
 off' her mantle, her veil, her chains, cross, and scapulary. Ou 
 their touching her robe, the queen told them to unloose the 
 corsage and fold down the ermine collar, so as to leave her neck 
 bare for the a.x. Her maidens weepingly yielded her these last 
 services. Melvil and tlio three other attendants wei)t and 
 lamented, and Mary placed her linger on her lips to signify that 
 they should be silent. 
 
 "My friends," slie cried, "I have answered for you, do not 
 melt me; ought you not rather to praise God for having inspired 
 your mistress with courage and resignation /" Yielding, how- 
 ever, in her turn to her own sensibility, she warmly embraced 
 
 her maidens; then pressing them to descend from the scaffold, 
 where they both clung to her dress, with hands bathetl in their 
 tears, she addressed to them a tender blessing and a last fare- 
 well. Melvil and his companions remained, as if choked with 
 grief, at a short distance from the queen. Overcome by her ac- 
 cents, the executioners themselves besought her on their knees 
 to pardon them. 
 
 "I pardon you," she said, "after the e.xample of my Re- 
 deemer." 
 
 She then arranged the handkerchief, embroidered with thistles 
 of gold, with whicli her eyes had been covered by Jane Kennedy. 
 Thrice she kissed the crucilix, each time repeating, " fjonl, ijiio 
 thy hands I commend my spirit." Slie knelt anew, and leaned 
 her head on that block which was already scoreil with deup 
 marks; and iu this solemn attitude she again recited some verses 
 from the Psalms. The executioner interrupted her at the third 
 verse by a blow of the ax but its trembling stroke only grazed 
 lierneck; she groaned slightly, and the second blow separated 
 tlie head from the body. The e.xecutioner held it up at the win- 
 dow, within siglit of all, proclaiming aloud, according to usage, 
 "So perisli the enemies of our queen !" 
 
 The (lueen's maids of honor and attendants enshrouded tlie 
 body, and claimed it, in order that it should be sent to France; 
 but these relics of their tenderness and faith were pitilessly re- 
 fused. Relics which might rekindle fanaticism were to be feared. 
 
 Hut that cruel prudence was deceived by the result. Mary's 
 death resembled a martyrdom; her memory, which li.ad been ex- 
 ecrated alike by the Scottish Presbyterians and the English 
 Protestants, was practically adopted by the Catholics as that of 
 a saint. The jiassions were Mary's judges; therefore she was not 
 fairly jiidgiHl, nor will she ever be. 
 
 Elizabeth, having tlius mercilessly sacriticod the life of her 
 whom she had so long and so unjustly retained in hopeless cap- 
 tivity, now added the most flagrant duplicity to her cruelty. De- 
 nying, with many oaths, all iiitontion of having her own warrant 
 carried into execution, she attempted to throw the entire odiu;!i 
 on those who in reality had acted as her blind and devoted 
 agents. 
 
 This policy of the English (pieen was unsuccessful, however; 
 posterity has witli clear voice proclaimed her guilty of the blood 
 of her royal sister, and the sanguinary stain will ever remain in- 
 ell'aceablo from the character of that otherwise great sovereign. 
 
 If we regard .Mary Stuart in the light of her charms, her talents, 
 her magical intluence over all men who approached her, she may 
 be called tl;o Sappho of the sixteenth century. All that was not 
 love in her soul was poetry ; her verses, like those of Konsard, 
 her wor^iiper and teaclier, possess a Greek softness combined 
 with a quaint simplicity; they are written with tears, and even 
 after the lapse of so many years retain something of the warmth 
 of her sighs. 
 
 If we judge her by her life, she is the Scottish Semiramis; 
 casting herself, before the eyes of all Europe, into tlie arms of 
 the assassin of her husband, and lluis giving to the people she 
 had thrown into civil war a coronation of murder for a lesson o( 
 morality. 
 
 Her direct and personal participation in the 'death of her 
 young husband has been denied, and nothing in effect, except 
 those suspected letters, proves that she actually and personally 
 accomplishetl or permitted the crime; but that she had attracted 
 the victim into the snare; that she had given Bothwell the right 
 and the hope of succeeding to the throne after his death; that 
 she had boen the end, the moans, and the alleged prize of the 
 crime; linally, that she absolved the murderer by bestowing 
 upon him her hand— no doubt can be entertained regarding these 
 points. To jirovoke to murder and then to absolve the perpetra- 
 tor — Is not this eiiuivalen;, to guilt ? 
 
 In line, if she be judged by her death— comparable in its majesty, 
 its piety, and its courage, to the most heroic and the holiest 
 sacrifices of the primitive martyrs— the horror and aversion with 
 whidi she had Ijeen regardeil change at last to pity, esteem, and 
 admiration. 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIOUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 31 
 
 THE FATAL LOVE INTRIGUES IN THE COURT OF PETER THE GREAT. 
 
 rKTIilt TUE OKEAT AS AX KXKCITIOSKR — HIS FIRST WIKp: AND HER LOVER— THE UiVER's FEARFUL BEATII— IX IJ)VK Ai: vrx WITH A 
 
 brewer's DAUGHTER — THE SEl'DND WIKE AXD HER LOVKR — THE EMPEROR'S TBNOBANCE -HIS 
 
 DEATH— UATHARINB FOU-OW3 SUIT. 
 
 Mast popular hiatories of Russia represent Peter tlie Great of 
 llmt country as a wise, litimanc, ami eiiergotic ruler, whose only 
 arnliition was the advancement ot Ins empire, ami the menial 
 ami moral improvement of Ins people. 
 
 On the other liaml, some reliahle iiiitorians assert that he was 
 the most violent anil the most cruel of monarchs: ami that he 
 not only beatowetl personal chastisement on his courtiers, gen- 
 erals and ministers who committed the slij^htest olTenees, but he 
 was very frequently tlio executioner of the sentence of death 
 which he had pronounced on his unfortunate victim. 
 
 The liistoriaiis last alluded to relate many incidents tendiiij; to 
 depict the cruel nature of tills popular Uussian hero, a few of 
 which we will present, with the object of showing how savage 
 I'eter could bo wlion aroused to anger by jealousy. 
 
 The tlrst insurrection that occurred in Uussia during the reign 
 of I'eter I. was occasioned by an order issued by him that all 
 Kussians "should leave oil' wearing beards." 
 
 This insurrection was crushed with great severity, ami over 
 eight thousand unfortunate persons were sentenced to be exe- 
 cuted. 
 
 Id ofdor to dispatch so many victims with due formalities, the 
 Czar selected a large spot of open ground convenient to one of 
 his palaces near Moscow. This place was surrounded by |)ali- 
 sades, through which might be easily seen what was passing 
 within. Within the inclosnre several blocks and logs li-id been 
 ))laced, and the miserable wretches destined to lose their lives 
 were conducted to thcin. Several executioners were employed in 
 chopping oir the heads of the unfortunates; and I'eter himself, 
 with a hatchet in his hand, set the example to the others. 
 
 On this occasion, as related by one "historian, a boy, about 
 twelve years old, went and placed his head upon the l)lock of the 
 Czar. The royal executioner stared at the child for a moment, 
 and then, seizing lilm by the arm, pushed him back. 
 
 The little lad, without speaking a word, went and laid his head 
 upon another block. The Czar perceived him, advanced towards 
 the lad, lifted him in his arms, and again drove him away. 
 
 In an instant after the lad advanced again, and again placed his 
 head on the block. The Czar then seized the lad once more, 
 lifted him up in his arms, and demanded, while his face was 
 purple with passion: 
 
 •• Boy, why do you insist on having your head cut oir by me?' 
 
 The young lad looked at the tyrant with undaunted eyes, as he 
 replied: 
 
 " Thou hast cut olT that ot my father, that of my brother, and 
 those of all my relations, who were not more culpable than I am. 
 Why, then, wilt thou not cut mineolV, as I do not wish to live?" 
 
 The Czar made no reply, but ordered the child to be put out of 
 the inclosure, flung down his hatchet, and went away. It is said 
 that he was forcibly moved by the touching incident. 
 
 About the same period the Czar invited .M. Printz, the Prussian 
 ambassador, to a magiiiliceiit repast. After the autocrat had 
 partaken of a great deal of wine and brandy, according to his 
 custom, lie determined to amuse his guest in a very horrible 
 manner. 
 
 Calling on one of his officers, he ordered that twenty of the 
 unfortunate insurgent prisoners should be brought before him. 
 And then, after each bumper, he amused himself by cutting ofl" 
 the bead of one of the wretched creatures, laughing the while at 
 the terror of the others. 
 
 The royal host then proposed that the Pnissian ambassador 
 should make a trial />f his skill in the same manner, but that 
 diplomat rejected the barbarous olTer on the instant. 
 
 Peter was endowed with a fine figure, and he possessed a su 
 
 parlor mind. .Vlthough invested with sapreme power, and pas- 
 sionately fond of the tender se.x, it is not recorded that ho over 
 won the sincere love of any woman. 
 
 Certain it is that he was deceived by all on whom he lavished 
 his caresses. 
 
 Whilst he was yet very young he married a young woman 
 known as Eudoxia Laponkin, who was the mother of the un- 
 fortunate Ale.xis, a prince who sufl'ered fearful persecutions at the 
 hands of his own father. 
 
 A short lime after his first marriage, the Czar became deeply 
 infatuateil with a certain Anne Moens, a very pretty Fleming, 
 the daughter of a beer-brewer, who had settled in the Russian 
 capital. 
 
 Eudo.xia appeared at first to be greatly out of humor at the 
 thought that her husband had deserted her for a damsel of hum- 
 ble birth; but she soon consoled herself and retaliated on the 
 Czar by following his example. 
 
 The deserted empress fell in love with a young boyai- named 
 Kleboff; but, unfortunately for her young lover, as well as f(ir 
 herself, she diti not employ sufficient mystery in carrying on her 
 clandestine amours, and tliey were discovered. 
 
 Although the Czar fell that he could enjoy his love with per- 
 fect impunity, he could not tolerate the same conduct on the part 
 of his wife. 
 
 The unfortunate woman was arrested, and sent to a cloister; 
 and she was aflerwanls solemnly repudiated by the unforgiving 
 Peter. 
 
 His revenge on Klobott was far more cruel. The young man 
 was seized and then impaled; and it is asserted as a fact that the 
 unfortunate being remained in that horrible situation more than 
 twenty-four hours before his sulTerings were brought to a close 
 by death. 
 
 Peter was eager to witness and enjoy the terrible imnisliment 
 of his young rival. Ho did even more, for ho ascended the pilas- 
 ter of mason work upon which the stake was fixed, and exhorted 
 the dying man to make a full confessicm of his crime. 
 
 "Approach me," said the victim, " that thou mayst hear me 
 more distinctly." 
 
 fhe Czar advancetl towards the stake, while the victim paused 
 an instant or two in order to recover sufficient strength to sjieak 
 out in a forcible manner. 
 
 •' Now, tyrant," he cried, " the most execrable which hell ever 
 sent forth, supposing that which thou impiitest to me bo true, 
 dost thou believe that, not having confessed it before my punish- 
 ment, and when I had still hope of obtaining pardon by that 
 avowal, dost thou believe, I say, that I could be such an idiot, so 
 weak, or such a coward, as to satisfy thee, now that it is out of 
 thy power to give mo my life? Go, horrible monster, and take my 
 scorn with thee!" 
 
 And the dying man spat in the Czar's face. 
 
 Peter thought seriously of placing .\nne Moens on the throne; 
 but the young woman, who regarded tho Czar's attentions a,< the 
 greatest of misfortunes, found means to cunningly evade all '>i8 
 ofl'era of marriage. 
 
 The royal lover continued to visit the young woman for some 
 time, however, but at length, growing weary and disgusted at 
 her coldness, he wandered elsewhere, and allowe<l her to marry 
 an old lover, with whom she had carried on an intrigue for a long 
 time. She became Madame Balk. 
 
 The next fair lady who inspired a passion in I he breast of Peter 
 was a winning young LiTinian, who had been the wife of a Sweil- 
 isli di-agoou, and successively the mistress of three prominent 
 
82 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 Russian generals. This woman soon became Empress of Russia, 
 under llie name of Catliarino I. 
 
 AHliongh Catharine was indebted for every favor to tlie Czar, 
 who had seated her on tlie tlirone, she was not as trne to him as 
 he had a right to expect. 
 
 Some years after obtaining her high honors, Catliarine chose 
 for h.cr chamberlain a young man named Moens de la Croi.\-, a 
 brother to the mistress of the Czar who liad rejected his hand.' 
 
 Moens was a very handsome man ; and it was not long before 
 he made a powerful impression on the heart of the empress. The 
 passion was quickly perceived by one of the Czars favorites, who 
 was base enough to inform his master of the proceedings of the 
 lovers. 
 
 All the fierce jealousy of Peter was instantly aroused. He swore 
 to avenge himself; but he resolved beforehand that he would be 
 an eye-witness of the treachery of Catharine. 
 
 The jealous autocrat pretented to leave .St. Petersburg with 
 the design of passing some days in one of his country palaces, 
 and then ho returned in secret to the Winter Palace. Ue after- 
 wards setit a page, on whom he could rely, to carry his compli- 
 ments to Catharine, and to tell her that he was at Doupka, some 
 leagues from the capital. 
 
 The iiage, who had received orders to take notice of all that 
 passed, was not long in returning to confirm the worst suspicions 
 of the jealous Czar, who immediately hastened to Catharine, and 
 surprised her in the arms of her lover. 
 
 It so liapi)ened that Madame Balk, the sister of Catharine's 
 lover, was a lady in waiting on the empress at the time of the 
 discovery. 
 
 It was two hours after midnight, and Madame Balk was watch- 
 ing at some distance from the apartment of the empress. Peter 
 rushed in in a great rage, overthrew a page whom he met on the 
 way, and struck Catharine with his cane. 
 
 The enraged Czar did not say a word to Madame Balk or her 
 guilty brother, as ho had made up his mind to punish them in a 
 more severe manner than by iniiicting a few strokes of his cane. 
 
 Rushing from his wife's apartments in a transport of fury 
 Peter entered the sleeping chamber of Prince Repnin, who was 
 his confidential minister and adviser, and the only man in Russia 
 who could control the violent autocrat. 
 
 The prince, on seeing Iho agitated Czar, gave himself up for 
 lost, as he was well aware that the passionate man conceived 
 sndden hatre<ls. 
 
 "Get up," said Peter to the princo, "and listen to me. Thou 
 hast no occasion to dress thyself." 
 
 The i)rince arose, pale and treml)ling. 
 
 Then Peter, in iiassionate tones, related what had just passed, 
 and added : 
 
 " I am resolved to have the empress' liead cut ofi" as soon as it 
 is day.'' 
 
 "You are ofl'endod, and you are absolute master," said Rep- 
 nin; "but permit me, with the utmost deference, to make an 
 observation to you. Why should you divulge the disgraceful 
 adventure which irritates you? You have been obliged to destroy 
 the rebels. Almost every year of your reign has been marked 
 with bloody executions. You have conceived it your dutv to 
 condemn your own son to death. If you cut ofl' the head of your 
 wife, you will sully forever the glory of your name. Europe" will 
 regard you as a prince who thirsts for the blood of his people and 
 all who approach him. Let Moens perish by the sword of justice ; 
 but, with regard to the empress, you must rid yourself of her in 
 a manner at which your glory will have no reason to blush." 
 
 During the address Peter was violently agitated. Ue fixed his 
 looks on the sijcaker for a long time, and left the chamber with- 
 out uttering a syllable. 
 
 The destruction of the young lover was already determined on. 
 Ue was arrestol, and so was his sister. 
 
 They were both shut up in an apartment in the Winter Palace, 
 into which no one was ever permitted to enter except the em- 
 peror himself, who carried them their provisions. 
 
 At the same time a report was spread that the brother and 
 sister had permitted themselves to become corrupted by the 
 enemies of the state, in the hope of caining oJ-er "he empress, in 
 the face of the Czar, to oppose the interests of Russia. 
 
 On being interrogated by the emjieror, in presence of one of his 
 prominent generals, the joung lover confessed everything re- 
 iiuited of him, and he was then condemned to be executed. " 
 
 Madame Balk was also tried by the autocrat, and she was con- 
 demned to sutTer the fearful punishment of the knout. It is 
 assorted that the Czar stiuck the blows on the tender part of his 
 former mistress with his own hand. The unfortunate woman was 
 then banished to Siberia. 
 
 The young lover walked to the place of execution with the ut- 
 most fortitude. He always wore a bracelet of diamonds, in 
 which was a miniature portrait of Catharine; but as it had not 
 been discovered when he was arrested, he found means to con- 
 ceal it under his garter. When he was on the scallold he confided 
 the secret to the Lutheran priest who accompaiiie:! him, and 
 under cover of his cloak slipped the bracelet in his hand, to be 
 resloretl to the empress. 
 
 The Czar was a witness to the punishment of young Jloens, 
 which he beheld from one of the windows of the seiwte-house. 
 
 After the execution he ascended the scafTold, took the head of 
 his dead rival by the hair, and expressed in a bmtal ami ener- 
 getic manner how well satisfied he was with his vengeance. 
 
 On the same day he had the cruelty to convey Catharine, in an 
 open carriage, to the stake on which the head of her unfortunate 
 lover was nailed. Catliarine was sufiicient mistress of herself not 
 to change countenance at the sight of the horrible spectacle, but 
 it is asserted that, on returning to her apartment, shu shed a 
 torrent of tears. 
 
 From that period Peter never saw Catharine again except in 
 public. The vengeful autocrat threw into the fire the will by 
 which he had named his wife heiress to the throne; and he did 
 not attempt to conceal the design which he had formed to reven"e 
 himself still farther upon the erring woman. " 
 
 But Catharine was not a woman who could bear with patience 
 all the indignities heaped upon hnr by her cruel husbaml, and 
 she soon became attached to another lover. 
 
 This man was Meuzikofl", one of the emperor's favorites, who 
 was a secret Intriguer against his master. 
 
 While they were in the height of their intrigues, Peter the 
 Great was suddenly called away, and it was believed in Russia 
 that his death had been hastened by his secret enemies. 
 
 On the death of her husband, and |)rincipally through the in. 
 strumentality of her lover, Catharine was proclaimed sovereign 
 of all the Russians, and Menzikoff shared the supreme jiow^r 
 with her. 
 
 The first days of Catharine's reign were very agreeable to the 
 people, as she caused the taxes to be diminished, and she abol- 
 ished some odious laws. 
 
 It may be interesting to know that the two persons thus placed | 
 at the head of one of the greatest nations of Europe were very ' 
 ignorant in point of education. They could neither read nor/ 
 
 write. 
 
 I 
 
 Catharine soon grew weary of the affairs of State, liowever; 
 disdained all business details, and abandoned herself entirely to 
 luxury and pleasure. 
 
 While retaining Meiizikotlas her prime minister, she took up 
 with two new favorites at the same time, and they were both 
 young and handsome. 
 
 Al)oiit the same time a brother of the empress arrived at .St. 
 Petersburgh. whom she called Count Skawronsky. This man 
 brought with him a wife and three children. As it was 
 always believed that the empress did not know one of her rela- I 
 tions, it was rumored that the count had been one of her old 
 lovers. 
 
 Catherine I. died in the year 1727, and while she was on her 
 death-bed her ministers were wrangling about her successor to 
 the throne. 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 33 
 
 THE INFAMOUS LOVE INTRIGUES OF CATHARINE II. OF RUSSIA. 
 
 THE EMPRESS EUZABGTH AND HER MASTER OF HOUNDS— THE FIRST POIXY OF THE YOL'NQ PRINCESS — HER HUSBAND RETAUATES IN THE 
 
 SAME MANNER — CATHARINE DISPasES OF HER UOLY HUSBAND— LOVERS IN PLENTY — A VII.E VIXTT AOAINST A POOR OIRL 
 
 — THE TRICK PLAYED ON THE GALLANT PAUL JONES — THE REWARDS (JIVEN TO THE FAVORITES. 
 
 The snow-storms of Russia had a terrible ed'ect on the all-con- 
 querins armies of the great Napoleon, but they do not seem to 
 have chilled the ardor of the sons and daughters of the country, 
 and more especially of its rulei-s, it we are to judge them— as 
 judge them we must— according to the clear statements present- 
 ed to us by the candid pen of the historian. 
 
 In the >ear 1742 Russia was ruled by Klizabetb, daughter of 
 Peter the Great and his " fair and frail" wife, Catharine. 
 
 While Elizabeth resembled her beautiful mother, she was still 
 more beautiful. She possessed a tall and admirably proportion- 
 ed flgure. and although her features were rather large, her physi- 
 ognomy had a sweetness ine.xpressible. She was winning in her 
 manners, and she could always command a lively flow of words 
 ill conversation. 
 
 Kut if Elizabeth rivaled her mother in those advantages 
 which lend so great a charm to the society of women, if she sur- 
 passed her in the unbounded love of pleasure, sho was far from 
 posseBsing that greatness of soul which serves to gain an ascend- 
 ancy over those by whom one is surrounde<l in public life. 
 
 Instead of possessing the art of ruling over others, Elizabeth 
 albwed herself to be governed by her crafty and designiog min- 
 isters. 
 
 In onler the better to rise above the reach of dependence, 
 Elizal>eth — like her namesake, the " virgin " queen of England — 
 constantly refused to take a husband, with whom she must have 
 divided her empire; but sho did not the less experience the de- 
 lights of love in the meantime. 
 
 Elizabeth's master of hounds was a gay, htindsomo young 
 man, of very humble origin. The amorous empress fi.\ed her 
 regards on this favored individual, and she married him in pri- 
 vate. Two children— a boy and a girl — were the fruits of this 
 clandestine marriage. 
 
 The vivacious empress was not always true to her master of 
 hounds, however, for she had often occasion to change her 
 favorite. Yet Elb.ab«lh always loved the father of her children, 
 humble though he was; and when she grew woaiy of her other 
 favorites she would turn to her first love, clinging to him to the 
 last. 
 
 As Elizabeth bad no legitimate heirs to the throne of Russia, 
 she nominated Peter Ulric, her nephew, as her successor. Peter 
 was only fourteen years of age at the time. 
 
 Having selected an heir to the throne, Elizabeth cast around 
 for a wife for the young prince, and she soon selected Anne, 
 Princess of Zerbst, who was only in her thirteenth year. 
 
 This young girl, who was destined to become one of the most 
 famous women that ever figured in the history of the world, was 
 afterwards known as Catharine, having changed her name on 
 being admitted into the fold of the Greek Church. 
 
 The young lovers met in St. Pelersburgh, where they were re- 
 ceived and entertained by Elizabeth in a cordial manner. Youn" 
 Catharine was pretty and very winning, and the young prince 
 was endowed with a fine person. An attachment soon sprang 
 up between the young pair, and the marriage was hastened. 
 
 While fortune was thus smiling on the young heir, a terrible 
 misfortune befell young Peter. He was seized with a violent 
 fever, and in a short time it was discovered that he was seized 
 with a malignant form of small-pox. 
 
 The young prince did not fall a victim to the cruel malady, 
 but be retaine<1 frightful traces of it. The change was terrible 
 indeed. Be lost all the charms of his countenance, and he be- 
 came deformed, and almost hideous to behold. 
 
 When Peter api)eared in public again, his promised bride 
 looked on him with secret horro*". She contrived, however, to 
 
 restrain her emotions, and, running to the prince, she embraced 
 him with every appearance of joy. On returning to her apart- 
 ment, Catharine became sensible of the wlic le extent of her mis- 
 fortune, and sho fell into a swoon, from which she did not re- 
 cover for three hours. 
 
 The chagrin which Catharine had just suffered did not suggest 
 any pretext for deferring her marriage with the ugly young 
 prince. The aged empress looked forwanl to the alliance with 
 pleasure, and the promptings of ambition, already influencing 
 the heart of young Catharine, did not permit her to hesitate. 
 
 As the writer may be accused by some mock modest critics of 
 presenting the scenes that followed this unhappy marriage in a 
 manner too free and open, we stale that we take the liberty of 
 quoting from the work of F. Castro, an authentic French his- 
 torian. 
 
 The work from which we quote is entitled: "The History of 
 Catharine II., Empress of Russia." This work was translated 
 into English by an English clergyman, Henry Hunter, D.D., and 
 it can be found in the public libraries of our great cities. 
 
 M. Castra thus describes the life of the young couple after their 
 unhappy marriage: 
 
 '•The marriage was accordingly celebrated; but notwithstand- 
 ing the attachment which had manifested itself between the 
 grand duke and the princess from the first moment that they met, 
 nature had not destined them to love each other long, and the 
 alteration that had taken place in the features of the prince was 
 not the only cause of the indifference of his youthful bride. 
 
 "Peter had a defect which, although easy to remove, seemed 
 so much more cruel: the violence of his love, his reiterated ef- 
 forts, could not accomplish the consummation of his marriage. 
 
 "If the prince had confided his secret to some one who pos- 
 sessed a little experience, the obstacle which opposed itself to 
 his desires might have been overcome. Tho lowest of the dis- 
 ciples of Moses, or the most insignificant surgeon, could have 
 freed him from it. But such was the shame with which this mi»> 
 fortune overwhelmed him, that he had not the courage to reveal 
 it; and the princess, who received his caresses with the utmost 
 repugnance, and who was not at that time more experienced 
 than himself, neither thought of consoling him, nor of mak'ng 
 him employ the means to bring hun back to her arms. 
 
 " Nevertheless, they lived for some time in apparent good un- 
 derstanding, which Catharine prolonged as long as she thought 
 it was necessary. 
 
 "This princess, educated not far from the conrt of the great 
 Frederick, wliere everything breathed the love of the sciences 
 and the fine arts, joined to beauty and to the superior under- 
 standing which sho had received from nature extensive knowl- 
 edge, and the facility of expressing herself with elegance in sev- 
 eral languages. 
 
 " Peter likewise posscsswl sense, but his education had been 
 dreadfully neglecte<l. He had an excellent heart, but was defi- 
 cient in politeness. Ho was of a very good stature, but ugly and 
 deformed. He frequently blushed at the superiority of his wife, 
 and his wife blushed to behold him so little worthy of her. In a 
 word, he did not know how to make her happy. From thence 
 arose that natural hatred which the courtiers wore not slow in 
 discovering, and which increase<i so rapidly." 
 
 The historian then tells of the intrisues of tho court, in which 
 the youthful Catharine mingled freely, while her husband was 
 "playing soldier" at a castle in the country, and indulging in 
 gambling and drunken debauchery. 
 
 M. Castra thus describes the first lover who attracted Catha- 
 rine's attention : 
 
34 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KlNdS AND QUEENS. 
 
 "There was one in particular wlio rendered himself as much 
 distinguished liy his taste for the line arts as by the graces of his 
 person. This was Sollikofl' Chamberlain to the jirince, ho was 
 in all his partios, but was ashamed of them. lie was tolerably 
 well acquainted with French literature, he knew by heart the 
 choicest morsels of Kacine aiul Voltaire, to which his voice 
 seemed to add new charms Although scarcely emerged from 
 childhood, he had already ol)tained the favors of several of the 
 court l)elle8, and his success rendered him arrogant. 
 
 "SoltiliolT, it is true, jiassed for being a little deficient in cour- 
 age among men, but he was not the less presumptuous nor the 
 le.ss forward in the society of women. Perhaps he miglit liave 
 trembleil at tlie sight of a naked sword, but to extend the num- 
 ber of his gallant conquests he ImU frequently appeared to brave 
 the deserts of Siberia. 
 
 "In a word, the married men regarded him as the most agree- 
 able and the most dangerous man in ,?t. I'etersburgh. 
 
 "It was not long before SollikofT raised his eyes toward the 
 wife of liis master, and vanity, Btill more than love, inspired him 
 ■with the bold design of captivating lier heart. Ho began by 
 carefully studying tlie inclinations of the princess. lie perceived 
 that, notwithstanding the constraint in which she lived, Catl)arine 
 had a great fondness for pleasure, and that the solitude of Oru- 
 nienbaum rendered dissipation necessary to her. 
 
 "He immediately procured for her some new amusement every 
 day. lie persuaded the grand duke to give festivals; he took 
 upon himself the charge of inventing thorn, of directing them, 
 and he did not allow the grand duchess to remain ignorant that 
 she was their sole object, and that it was to bim alone that she 
 was indebted for tliem. 
 
 " Catharine was not insensible to attentions so gallant, so un- 
 remitting. The seducing figure and the wit of Soltikoll'had made 
 an impression upon her. Ills assiduities comi)letely won lior; 
 but SoltikotT, well knowing that the heart of the grand duchess 
 was not an ordinary conquest, dreaded explaining himself in an 
 incautious manner. It is even possible that he only wished at 
 that time to feign a passion which proved in the end altogether 
 real. They at last had become attached to each other for a long 
 time, without having declared their atVection. 
 
 "A melancholy event accelerated the declaration. Soltikofl' 
 lost bis father. His duty obliged him to take his departure for 
 Moscow. He obtained permission to this eU'ect from the grand 
 duke, and on taking leave of Catharine he could not refrain from 
 lettnig her see what pangs his departure cost liim. 
 
 "The princess, who beheld his tears, was no less touched than 
 himself with the motive which caused them to (low, and, ti.xing 
 ber eyes with a very expressive air upon Soltikoir, slie conjured 
 bim to abridge the period of his absence as much as he could, 
 and to return to forget his sorrows in the bosom of a court where 
 without him it was impossible to enjoy pleasure. 
 
 "The character of SoltikotT may permit us easily to judge of 
 what an impression these words were productive. He thought 
 he perceived a return of affection on her part, and his pride re- 
 doubled. His journey lasted but a few clays. 
 
 " What were domestic occupations when put in competition 
 with the happiness which awaited him? What was Moscow to 
 bim in comparison of St. Petcrsburgh ? He abandoned everything 
 to hasten and to secure his triumi)h. 
 
 "However, on approaching the grand duchess, the presump- 
 tuous idea which liad flllod his mind at a distance from her began 
 to vanish away. His audacity abandoned him. The most 
 serious, the most melancholy reflections overwhelmed his spirit. 
 He foresaw all the danger of his attachment. He durst not i>re- 
 flume to flatter himself that Catharine would forget what slie 
 owed to her rank, to her husband, to receive the attentions of a 
 simple chaml)prlain. 
 
 "But were he so happy as to find that .she deigned to return to 
 his passion, was it po.sjsiblefor hm to believe he could exclude the 
 penetrating observations of the jealous courtiers who surrounded 
 her? How, in a word, risk an avowal of which perpetual ban- 
 ishment, or even the loss of life, might become the price. 
 
 " lie trembled, he was struck with terror, he resolved to re- 
 nounce those hopes, which he believed to have been too ambi- 
 tiously conceived. 
 
 "Id this state of inquietude and sorrow, SoltikotT could no 
 longer display that brilliant gayety which had till then distin- 
 guished him. He tried in vain to assume an unembarrassed 
 air. The deepest melancholy preyed upon his heart, and was 
 depicted in his countenance, his health visibly declined. 
 
 " The grand duchess wiw alarmed at it, and one day, when she 
 found herself alone with him, demanded the reason. 
 
 "Soltikofl' being then unable to resist the passion which he 
 felt made the confession. Catharine listened to it without anger; 
 she even appeared to pity him; but advised him to renounce a 
 propensity of which be could not but feel the impropriety and 
 the danger. 
 
 " Although still very young, Soltikofl' understood the female 
 sex too well not to know that she who permits herself to listen to 
 a lover already begins to approve bim. He gained new confi- 
 dence. He threw himself at the knees of the grand duchess, and 
 had the presumption to embrace them. 
 
 "The princess was distressed; she let fall some tears, and fly- 
 ing precipitately from the transports of SoltikotT, to go and shut 
 herself up in her closet, she repeated that line which Monimia 
 addresses Xiphores in the tragedy of ' Mithridates ' : 
 
 •• ' Anil merit the tears you are going to cost me.' 
 
 " From this moment the chamberlain recovered his gayety with 
 hope, and everything arounil him announced this alteration. 
 
 "Whilst the grand duke and the grand duchess jiassed the 
 line season at Oranicnbaum, the Empress Elizabeth remained at 
 I'etershof, and from time to time invited the couple thither to 
 partake of tlie pleasures of her court. It was on one of these 
 occasions that SoltikotT became completely happy. In order to 
 avoid spectacles and feasts, where too many indiscreet observa- 
 tions laid her under constraint, Catharine feigned indisposition. 
 
 "The grand duke was so blinded with respect to his chamber- 
 lain, that he himself entreated him to share the solitude of his 
 wife, and to cmi)loy all the allurements of his wit in order to 
 amuse her. 
 
 "This was ))recisely what the two lovers wished; accordingly 
 they did not fail to take advantage of it. But scarcely had the 
 grand duchess yielded than she abandoned herself to all the 
 apprehension with which the ilea of her weakness could inspire 
 her. She foresaw the dangerous consequences of the pleasures 
 which she tasted with .Soltikofl' and imparted her fears to him. 
 
 "The chamberlain observed to her that if he could lind a 
 method to bring her huslian 1 to her arms, the consequences 
 which she so much dreaded would become of advantage to her. 
 He took upon himself at the same time to procure the success 
 of his iiroject. 
 
 "The grand duke had, as luis already been said, beg"" 'o 
 abandon himself to the excesses of the table, and when heated 
 with wine, sometimes conversed with his friends respecting the ' 
 obstacle which estranged him from his wife. The cause of his 
 impotence was then known, and the method of removing it easy; 
 but the gi-and duke feared to make use of this method. 
 
 ".Soltikofl' resolved to make him determine upon It. He 
 wished, however, in the first place, to obtain the consent of the 
 empress. An opportunity soon presented itself. 
 
 "Madame do Narischken, sister and confidante of Soltikofl", was 
 pregnant. Soltikofl' was chatting with her when Elizabeth ap- 
 I)roacbed Madame de Narischkin to congratulate her on the hap- 
 piness she enjoved in knowing how to create an heir. 
 
 " 'I wish sincerely.' added she, ' you would communicate this 
 virtue to the grand duchess.' 
 
 "Soltikofl" saw that this was the favorable moment for letting 
 the empress know what it was that opposed the happiness of the 
 grand duke. He revealed it to her. He likewise informed her 
 that be bad formed the design of profiting by the ascendancy 
 which be bad over the prince to persuade him to rid himself of 
 an obstacle so easy to be removed. 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 35 
 
 ' ' Elizabeth approved it, and even recommended him to neglect 
 nothing which could i)rocure success in a project on which de- 
 pended the tranquillity of her nephew, and that of the empire. 
 
 "Soltikoff, emboldened by this first step, proposed the very 
 same day to the grand duke to submit to the operation prescribed 
 by the legislator of the Hebrews. He represented to him that ho 
 would experience but very slight pain, and that he would only be 
 obliged to keep his apartments for some days, to taste afterwards 
 tlic most delicious pleasures. 
 
 "The prince, naturally timid, manifested an extreme repug- 
 nance. The wishes of his aunt, the enthusiasm of Soltikofl', the 
 wish he himself fell of enjoying an unknown pleasure, the shame 
 of not being like other men, nothing could make him come to a 
 resolution. 
 
 "But Soltikoff was too much interested in this undertaking to 
 be discouraged by these first difUcullies. He gained over the 
 other favorites of the grand 'duke by assuring them that what be 
 had done was by the orders of the empress. 
 
 "One night this prince supped with him, and having, accord- 
 ing to custom, drank to excess, they turned the conversation 
 upon the pleasures of love. The prince permitted some expres- 
 sions of regret to escape him on the impossibility of having the 
 power of enjoying them. 
 
 " Upon this all the company threw themselves at his knees, 
 find conjured him to yield to the advice of Soltikoff. The grand 
 duke appeared irresolute. Some words which he stammered out 
 ■were interpreted to consent. Everything was prepared. The 
 famous physician, Bocrhave, was introduced, with a skillful sur- 
 geon. He had no longer any power of defending himself, and 
 the operation was very happily performed. 
 
 "The Empress Ei;zabeth was so well satisQed with the'con- 
 duct of Soltikoff that she testified her gratitude by presenting 
 him with a magnificent diamond. 
 
 "Tlie young chamberlain had been till then too happy not to 
 «xperience some disturbance of his happiness. The grand 
 duchess did not always observe sufficient precaution to conceal 
 the passion which she had for him. The courtiers, always ma- 
 lignant, always envions, began by remarking a preference which 
 offended them, and they very soon discovered the real cause. 
 
 "Immediately the ruin of Soltikoff was resolved upon. Even 
 those who testified the greatest friendship toward him, and, of 
 course, had it most in their power to injure him, continued 
 secretly to convey to the empress their suspicions respecting the 
 attachmenl existing between the grand duchess and the cham- 
 berlain. 
 
 "Greatly addicted to gallantry herself, Elizabeth should not 
 perhaps have been too deeply offended at this intrigue; but she 
 ■was stately, and in the first moments of her indignation she de- 
 clared that an exile to Siberia should be the price of the ter- 
 inerity of Soltikoff. She likewise declared that, as soon as the 
 grand duke, iierfeclly cured of the consequences of the operation 
 which he had undergone, would begin to enjoy the privileges of 
 & husband, it was her will that the grand duchess should con- 
 form to the ancient custom of the Russians, and give the tokens 
 of virginity, which she must have preserved till then. 
 
 "Soltikoff, informed of the danger which threatened him, im- 
 mediately applied himself to devise the way of escaping it. He 
 perceived that the best mode to prevent the storm from bursting 
 on bis head was to brave it. Assuming then an air of assur- 
 ance and with all the appearance of injured innocence, he flew 
 to the grand duke to complain of the reports which had been so 
 ■daringly spread. He reminded the prince that he had only pre- 
 sented himself before the grand duchess in conformity to the or- 
 ders which he himself had given him, and he protested that he 
 had never regarded that princess but with all the respect due to 
 lier rank. He observed, at the same time, that the calumniators 
 who wished to ruin him sought by a roundabout but certain 
 method to attack the heir of the empire, since by these infamous 
 reports the honor of the throne would find itself much more 
 deeply exposed than that of a simple chamberlain. 
 
 "Ho finally added, in order that he might no longer furnisli a 
 
 pretext for, the jealousy of his enemies, and to appease the 
 empress, that he begged the good duke's permission to retire to 
 Moscow. 
 
 " The discourse of Soltikoff not only deceived the credulous 
 prince, but persuaded him that his own glory retiuired he should 
 retain the chamberlain in the service of his wife. He ordered him 
 to remain ; afterward ho demandeil an audience of the empress, 
 in which lie complained of the insolent language which was 
 allowed; he defended Soltikoff with so much vehemence, and by 
 such plausible reasons, that Elizabeth began herself to realize 
 that the reports which had been made to her could be the off- 
 spring only of calumny. 
 
 " Whilst this scene was going forward in the apartment of 
 Elizabeth, the grand duchess did not remain idle; she was more 
 interested than any one in causing those injurious reports to be 
 quashed, and in the preservation of her lover. And who could 
 better than herself undertake liec own defense ? 
 
 "Informed by Madame de Narischkin of the pains which the 
 grand duke had taken to justify Soltikoff, and of the success 
 which he had just obtained, she presented herself immediately 
 before the empress. 
 
 " Laying aside the mildness in which she hud always, till then, 
 appeared clothed in the presence of the sovereign, she broke out 
 with reproaches for her having given credit to such odious sus- 
 picions. She represented how uncertain and deceitful the proof 
 which the empress demanded of her virtue might be, and how 
 such a request overwhelmed her with shame, since on occasions 
 of the kind the smallest doubt left an indelible stain. 
 
 " Grief, revenge, passion, lent so great a force to her elo- 
 quence, that Elizabeth could not resist it ; she appeared moved, 
 softened, persuaded, and the victory of Catharine was still more 
 complelethan that of the grand duke. 
 
 " In the evening there was, according to custom, a grand 
 party at the palace, and the empress hastened to take advan- 
 tage of it, to testify in the eyes of her courtiers that Soltikoff had 
 no longer anything to dread from her. 
 
 " The chamberlain was engaged at play. Elizabeth, advanc- 
 ing close to the back of his chair, asked him, with that grace 
 which she know how to infuse into everything she said, if he was 
 happy. 
 
 " 'Never, raadame,' replied Soltikoff. 
 
 " ' 1 am sorry for it,' rejoined she; ' but this is perhaps a some 
 measure your own fault. It is said that you intended quilting 
 the grand duke; I cannot believe it, and 1 invito you to remain 
 with him. Depend upon it, that if your enemies make any 
 further atlempt| to malign you, I will be the flrst to stand up in 
 your defense.' 
 
 " Had it been true that Soltikoff was forming a serious design 
 of withdrawing himself from court, these words would have been 
 suQlcicnt to retain him ; and supposing the courtiers to have pro- 
 cured the most positive ))roof of his presumption, they would 
 henceforth have imposed silence on them. 
 
 "However, the grand duke, feeling no longer any incon- 
 venience from the operation which ho had undergone, at last had 
 the courage to enjoy his privilege as a husband. All was pre- 
 pared ; he passed the night with his consort, and believed himself 
 perfectly happy. 
 
 "The next day he sent to the empress, at the instigation of 
 Soltikoff, a sealed casket, which contained the tokens of the pre- 
 tended virginity of the grand duchess. Elizabeth appeared to be 
 persuaded of their authenticity. 
 
 "Some i)eople, no doubt, laughed at this inwtuxUy, but every 
 one was eager loudly to felicitate the prince upon his happiness. 
 
 " From this period Soltikoff thought he had no danger to guard 
 against. He enjoyed, without disturbance and without remorse, 
 pleasures from which, the moment that the grand duke bad 
 passeil into the arms of Catharine, did not permit him to appre- 
 hend any ill consequences. 
 
 "Catharine herself had no longer any pccasion to employ ex- 
 treme circumspection. Her first attempt had inspired her with 
 greater courage. 
 
36 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 "Besides, the example of the Empress Elizabeth, whose man- 
 ners became more and more corrapted, and who abandoned her- 
 self every day to new propensities, seemed to excuse her own 
 attachment. The empress entertained no suspicions of an in- 
 trigue, which she might easily have perceived, or, if she remarked 
 it, she did not any longer discover at least either suspicion or 
 anger. 
 
 " Time, which weakens, and frequently extinguishes the most 
 ardent passions, did not in any degree diminish that of Catharine. 
 That princes^ was on the point of becoming a mother ; Soltikoff 
 gained every day a greater ascendancy over her heart ; but his 
 good fortune had arrived at ita summit; he became the artificer 
 of his own destruction." 
 
 The historian then dwells on the intrigues of the courtiers 
 against Catharine's favorite; about his implicatioa in a plot; 
 and of his banishment from the empire by the secret orders of the 
 Empress Elizabeth. 
 
 The beautiful Catharine mourned for her handsome lover, but 
 she did not mourn her heart away. She was scarcely " off with 
 the old love before she was on with the new." 
 
 The next love affair of the amorous Catharine is thus de- 
 scribed by the candid historian: 
 
 " The young Count Stanislaus Poniatowsky, to whom Catha- 
 rine has since given, and afterwards taken away, the throne of 
 Poland, was the happy successor of Soltikoff. Born a simple 
 gentleman and unpossessed of fortune, but endowed with a fine 
 figure and filled with ambition, Poniatowsky carried about 
 through Germany, and in France for some time, his restlessness 
 and vague expectations. 
 
 " He was at first tolerably successful at Paris, where the friend- 
 ship of the Swedish embassador procured him some distinguislied 
 connections; but his mother, who dreaded on his account the 
 too seductive pleasures of that city, wrote to him, with orders 
 to depart from it. She was in the right; for Poniatowsky had 
 already been imprisoned for debt. 
 
 "He quitted France and went over to England, where he met 
 agiUn Sir Hanbury Williams, with whom he had been acquainted 
 at Warsaw, and who, nominated by the court of London as em- 
 bassador to St. Petersburgh, carried him in his suite. 
 
 "Without having any title which could attach him to the em- 
 bassy, the young Polonese labored in the embassador's office, 
 and served him in the quality of secretary. lie at first intended 
 to devote himself entirely to diplomatic pursuits; but the taste 
 for dissipation which for a long time had led him away, his youth, 
 the seducing opportunities which were every day presenting 
 themselves to him, very soon hurried him back to pleasure. He 
 was gay, genteel, brilliant, and formed to succeed in a court 
 Of which amusement seemed to be the principal concern. Ac- 
 cordingly, he was not slow in percei\ing the impression he had 
 made upon the heart of Catharine. 
 
 "Poniatowsky was bold even to presumption. However, the 
 rank of the grand duchess intimidated him, and the numerous 
 courtiers whose eyes were upon him restrained him still more. 
 
 " The two lovers for some time conversed only by their looks, 
 but to these conversations in dumb-show some of another sort 
 afterwards succeeded, in which they came to an explanation in 
 regard to their attachment, and respecting the methq.ds wliicli 
 they should adopt in order to give themselves up to it without 
 restraint. 
 
 "Envy, which at that time studied the inclinations of the 
 Krand duchess only to censure and thwart them, hastened to 
 Inform tlie empress of the new Intrigue of her adopted niece. 
 
 "Elizabeth did not esteem her nephew, and gave herself as 
 little concern about the honor of the grand duchess; she did not 
 In general observe greater severity with regard to the manners of 
 others than to her own ; in a word, she was always reluctant to 
 punish ; but her extreme facility in following councils of all who 
 surrounded her, frequently caused her to act with a rigor entirely 
 foreign to her character. She gave orders to Poniatowsky to 
 quit Russia immediately. Poniatowsky obeyed." 
 But Catharine did not submit to the banishment of her second 
 
 lover as easily as she did to that of the other. Through the con- 
 nivance of the British embassador, Poniatowsky was recalled, 
 high honors were conferred on him by the Polish government, 
 and he was once more the recipient of Catharine's favors. 
 
 At length the jealous courtiers around the court aroused ths 
 jealousy of the husband. 
 
 The lovers had become so bold in their meetings that detection 
 was not impossible; and the grand duke was informed of their 
 proceedings. 
 
 The historian then presents us with some serio-comic scenes in 
 the life of the unhappy couple: 
 
 "When the jealousy of the grand duke was once aroused, they 
 were in haste to furnish him with positive proofs of the love of 
 his wife for the Polonese, and of the criminal commerce which 
 they carried on. 
 
 " The prince was overwhelmed, thunderstruck. He deplored 
 his misfortune and his imprudence. He laid aside the deference, 
 the respect whicli be had till then expressed for the grand 
 duchess, and he forbade Poniatowsky her presence. He after- 
 wards hastened to the empress, from whom he demanded venge- 
 ance for the insult he had received." 
 
 Catharine fell into disgrace after the expose, and though she 
 made every effort to conciliate the empress, she was not suc- 
 cessful. 
 
 The wily young woman even played the part of the penitent 
 sinner, in order to gain the pardon of the empress, well knowing 
 that her august mistress had often sinned herself. 
 
 Yet the lovers still clung to each other, while the storm was 
 gathering around them. 
 
 The historian then tells ns of the situation after the discovery 
 by the prince: 
 
 " Catharine remained there for some time in this painful situa- 
 tion. She had to support, at the same time, the hatred of the 
 grand duke, the disdain of the empress, the insulting dereliction 
 of a court which some days before had hastened to cringe at her 
 feet, and— what afflicted her still more— the apprehension of 
 losing Poniatowsky forever. 
 
 " Poniatowsky was not less tormented than her. The court 
 of Warsaw had just recalled him, and he could not resolve on 
 quitting Russia. Feigning indisposition, he kept himself, during 
 the day, concealed in his hotel, and at night stole mysteriously to 
 the grand duchess. But numerous spies observed the pair; their 
 interviews were discovered, and care was taken to render an 
 account of them to the empress. 
 
 "Upon the return of the summer season, the difflcnlties of 
 meeting each other still increased. 
 
 "The grand duchess was under a necessity of following her 
 husband to Oranienbaum, and Poniatowsky was obliged to em- 
 ploy every species of disguise in order to penetrate into the 
 castle. 
 
 " One night that he had been at considerable pains to conceal 
 his ribbon of the White Eagle, he was walking in an alley of the 
 park where Catharine had given him a meeting; he was recog- 
 nized by a servant, who ran to give the information to the grand 
 duke. 
 
 "The prince, wishing to avenge himself on Poniatowsky, im- 
 mediately ordered the stoutest of his Russian officers to be sum- 
 moned, and, after having given one of them the signal by which 
 to distinguish the Polonese, he ordered him to go and surprise 
 him in the park, and to bring him, either by fair means or by 
 force, to the corps-de-garde. 
 
 " The Russian immediately set out, joined the man who had 
 been pointed out to him, and demanded who he was and what 
 he wanted. 
 
 "Poniatowsky replied that he was a German tailor, and that 
 he had come to Oranienbaum to lake the measure of a Holstein- 
 ese olBcer for a coat. 
 
 '•• ' I have orders to conduct you to the corps-de-garde,' said the 
 Russian to him. 
 
 " ' I cannot consent to Uiis; I have not sufficient time,' replied 
 the Polonese. 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 37 
 
 " ■ Oh! wbetber thou hast time or not, tboa miut follow me,' 
 replied the Russian. 
 
 "Aud, throwing a handkerchief over his neck, in which he 
 1 made a slip-knot, he dragged him to the fort. 
 
 "As soou as the grand duke was sure of the arrest of Tonia 
 towsky, he assembled a council of war, and insisted that the 
 Polonese should be condemned to the gallows, for having in- 
 truded clandestinely within the limits of his fortifications. 
 
 " General Tottleben, whom the empress had placed about him 
 in order to watch his conduct, pretende<l to applaud thbi resolu- 
 tion ; but be observed that, as Poniatowsky was invested with the 
 character of a foreign minister, the sentence could not bo exe- 
 cuted until after they had obtained the approbation of the em- 
 press. 
 
 "A courier was immediately dispatched to St. Petersburgh. 
 Kratsehinsky, attached to Poniatowsky by ties of friendship, and 
 by the title of gentleman of the embassy, and lover of the 
 Ck)untes8 of RomanzofT, cmployetl this lady with Elizaljetli, 
 whose confidante she was, to prevail on her to restore the Polish 
 minister to liberty. 
 
 " Daring this time some courtiers of the grand duke had, at 
 the instigation of Catharine, tempted the avarice of the prince's 
 mistress; and through the medium of some money this young 
 woman hatl persuaded her lover to release Poniatowsky. 
 
 "Poniatowsky was then conducted into the presence of the 
 grand duke, as if the prince had been still ignorant who his pris- 
 oner was. He assnmed even the air of being hurt that he had 
 been treated with so much indignity on his account, and scolded 
 the officers who had arrested him; but he afterwards amused 
 himself greatly with this adventure, and took pleasure above all 
 things to relate it in the presence of the grand duchess. 
 
 " It was a short time before this that, whether yiekliug to an 
 involuntary inclination, or whether he wished to indemnify him- 
 self for the infidelities of bis wife, the grand duke had chosen a 
 mistress, one of the daughters of the Senator Woronzolf, brother 
 of llie new chancellor. 
 
 'These ladies were three sisters; the eldest of whom, Madame 
 do Boulourlin, passed with re;ison for one of the most beautiful 
 and must coquettish women in Russia. 
 
 " The youngest, who has since performed so courageous a 
 part, under the name of the Princess d'AschkolT, was not very 
 handsome, but lively aud very intelligent. 
 
 "As to the tliird, Elizabeth Woronzoff, to whom the grand 
 duke gave the title of countess, and of whom he was so passioa- 
 aUHy enamored, she possessed neither wit, grace, nor beauty. 
 Her complaisance seduceil him, her caprices amused him, and the 
 habit of living with her became very soon an imperious necessity. 
 
 "Tiie Senator Woronzofl', a mean and ambitious courtier, 
 proatitute<l his daughter to the prince in the basest manner. 
 
 " The grand duchess, who awaited with impatience the moment 
 which was to reconcile the empress to her, thought it her duty, 
 after a pretty long silence, to renew her attempts. 
 
 "She demanded pardon, hut it would not be granted, except 
 on conditions which shocked her. A proposal was made to her 
 to acknowledge herself guilty, and to throw herself on the clem 
 ency ol her hmband and of the empress. 
 
 "Catharine, upon this, recovered all her hauchtiness. She 
 avoided making her appearance at court, kept herself shut up 
 in her apartments, and asked permission of the empress to retire 
 Into Germany, a permission which she was certain would not be 
 granted, since, knowing the extreme tenderness of Eiizalielh for 
 the young Paul Petrouitz. she had no reason to apprehend that 
 this princess would remove the mother of a child whom she 
 would by that expose to the hazard of being one day declared a 
 bastard. 
 
 "This project of Catharine's procured the wished-for success. 
 An accommodation follnwe<l it. At the very moment when she 
 was thought to be completely ruined, and to the great a.-itonish- 
 mont of all the conrtiers. she made her appearance at the play 
 by the side of the empress, who lavished caresses on her. 
 
 " It is tme that in the secret conversation which the grand 
 
 duchess had with Elizabeth, she promised not to see Poniatowsky 
 any more, and from this moment m reality she infused a much 
 greater portion of reserve into her conduct. 
 
 " Poniatowsky demanded almost immediately his audience of 
 leave. But, as ambition still more than love attached him to 
 Catharine, and as bo was willing to neglect that which might kindle 
 still further a flame, which since then procured him the throne of 
 Poland, he found new pretexts to prolong still longer his stay in 
 Russia." 
 
 The historian then goes on to tell of the various intrigues of the 
 unhappy couple. The young prince was inspired by his mistress; 
 and Catharine, who possessed the power of winning many friends, 
 gained several of the powerful nobles over to her side. 
 
 The Empress Elizabeth died in the year 1762; and then Peter 
 was elevated to the throne, while Catharine was made empress. 
 
 And then a deadly conflict ensued between the emperor and his 
 wife. Prompted by his mistress, Peter 111. plotted to put aside 
 his erring wife, to consign her to a dungeon or to death, and 
 place his favorite beside bim on the throne. 
 
 Couut Poniatowsky was dismissed from St. Petersburgh before 
 the death of the old empress; but Catharine soon found another 
 lover, as well as a powerful ally, who is thus described by the his- 
 torian : 
 
 " Gregory OriofiT possessed the advantages neither of birth nor 
 education, but he had received from nature some of the happiest 
 endowments, beyond all doubt, courage and manly beauty. 
 
 " Grandson of a Strelitz who, in the grand execution at 
 Moscow, was in the act of losing bis head by the ax of Peter I., 
 when his apathetic composure induced that prince to spare his 
 life, Gregory served in the artillery, while two of his brothers 
 were only common soldiers in the guanls. 
 
 " Count Peler Schouwalofl", grandmaster of the ordnance, a 
 man vain and stately, wished to have the handsomest of his 
 officers for aide-de-camp, and made choice of Gregory Orloff. 
 He had likewise for his mistress one of the most illustrious and 
 most beautiful women at court, the Princess Kourakin, who 
 speedily notitiei the ald-de-camp that she preferred bim to the 
 general. 
 
 "But unfortunately the general, who surprised them together, 
 forbid QrlofT his presence, and threatened to employ his influence 
 to have him banished to Silieria. 
 
 " Tills adventure took place toward the close of Elizabeth's 
 reign, and made some noise. It became the subject of conversa- 
 tion both at court and in the city, and the report of it reached 
 the retreat to which Catharine had been obliged to condemn her- 
 self. Curiosity, perhaps compassion, inspired her to know the 
 young otiicer whose misfortune she had heard of. 
 
 "Ivanowana, her confidential maid, procured her a sight of 
 him, with all the accustomed percaution; and Orloff. without 
 guessing at first who the beauty was that interested herself in 
 his fate, found in her many more charms, and a much greater 
 ardor of alTection, than in the Princess Kourakin. 
 
 " This first and mysterious interview was followed by many 
 others, in which Catharine discovered tenderness only ; but when 
 she belie<-ed herself fully a8sure<l of the intrepidity and discretion 
 of her lover, she unfolded to him her ambitions designs. 
 
 "OrlolTon this formed with her a conspiracy, in which he soon 
 engaged his brothers and some intimate friends among the 
 officers of the army. 
 
 " Catharine was as j'et grand duchess only when her attach- 
 ment to Orloff commenced, and her intrigue with him was not 
 the only one which she conducted with equal address and good 
 fortune. Several other officers, beside various persons of her 
 court, had partaken of her favors; but as she did not find in 
 them the devotedntss and genius which were necessary to her, 
 she was satisfied with securing their friendship, but did not im- 
 part t<» them her secret. 
 
 " Lleutenant-General Vlllebois wis one of those whom that 
 princess di3tingni.'*he'l the most; and when he obtained the com- 
 mand of the artillery on the death of the general who discarded 
 
38 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 Orloff, she prevailed with him to bcalow the post of captain-pay- 
 masier to his corps on that favorite. 
 
 " Villeboia did wliatever she desired, without at once suspect- 
 ing that ho brought forward a preferred rival." 
 
 With the assistance of Orloff and the officers whom she had 
 won over to her side, Catharine raised a successful revolution 
 against her husband. That unfortunate man was taken prisoner, 
 cast into a dungeon, and afterwards assassinated by the orders 
 of his wife. 
 
 Tlien Catharine was declared empress of all the Russians, and 
 shecommenced her undivided reign by conferring high honors on 
 her favorite, and in putting down with a severe hand several 
 conspiracies organized against her by his jealons rivals. 
 
 The historian thus relates the new favorite's position after the 
 death of the unfortunate Peter III. : 
 
 " In truth this favorite became every day more dear to the 
 empress. His masculine beauty, which had given birth to the 
 attachment of this princess, and which was still heightened by 
 an air of confidence and self-sulFiciency, wliich the high degree 
 of favor lie enjoyed could not fail to inspire, the important ser- 
 vices he liad rendered to Catharine, those which it was still in 
 bis power to contribute, the secret claims with which the cer- 
 tainty of beholding her again a mother furnished him; every- 
 thing, in a word, secured the ascendant of Orlotl. 
 
 " Catharine had endeavored from time to time to conceal her 
 COonectioD with him under the veil of decency; but, whether from 
 excess of love, or from policy, she very soon laid aside all mys- 
 tery, and even seemed to glory in openly avowing her attach 
 ment. 
 
 "Although Poniatowsky could not be ignorant that OrlofThad 
 been long the preferred lover of Catharine, he attempted still to 
 rekindle, by his letters, the passion with which he had formerly 
 inspired the princess. In hopes that, perhaps, his presence 
 might insure him a triumph over his rival, he supplicated the 
 empress to permit him to come to St Petersburgh in the most 
 private manner. 
 
 "But his solicitations were inefTectnal. Catharine knew too 
 well what she had to apprehend from the violence of OrlofT to 
 consent to a journey which could not fall of being discovered. 
 She, therefore, ceased to dissemble with the Polonese; but in 
 acknowle<lging that she no longer felt any love for him, she as- 
 sured him of her constant friendship, and promised to give him 
 proofs of it on every occasion which presented itself. She was 
 not slow, as facts evinced, in realizing this promise." 
 
 Orloff reigned as mistress of Catharine's heart for some time, 
 gaining in favor and power each day, until he earned the envy ol 
 Panim, who was prime minister to the empress, and a very able 
 and cunning man. 
 
 The prime minister adopted a novel way of getting rid of the 
 favorite, and he was successful for a time in weaning her from 
 Orloff. 
 
 The historian gives us, in very clear words, the incidents of 
 this movement of the minister: 
 
 "Orloff's credit was founded on claims of a nature more 
 tender; but he employed it with little discretion, and incessantly 
 Shook it to the foundation. A lover satiated with his good for- 
 tune, the assiduity which Catharine exacted appeared to be a 
 constraint on his liberty. He would go bear-hunting for weeks 
 together, and dared to indulge himself on these occasions in 
 Infidelities which he was not sufficiently careful to conceal from 
 bis mistress, and the example of which she was naturally disposed 
 to follow. 
 
 "Pantm, who observed this conduct, imagined he conld avail 
 himself of it to ruin the arrogant favorite. He observed that the 
 empress frequently cast a look of complacency on a young officer 
 named Wissotzky. Henceforward he employed all his skill to 
 Strengthen this attachment. Wissotzky was soon made happy; 
 and, directed by the crafty minister, inspired the empress with a 
 passion sufficiently violent to create a belief that Orloff would be 
 m ide a sacrifice. 
 
 ' But this gentleman, who did not choose to surrender bis 
 
 right, showed himself by turns jealous and tender, dangerous 
 and necessary. He resumed his ascendant over the heart of 
 Catharine, and the new lover was dismissed with a handsome 
 recompense, and an employment which fixed hiin in a distant 
 province." 
 
 Orloff continued for some years to be the favorite of Catharine. 
 She elevated him to the highest honors possible, and he was 
 placed in command of one of her conquering armies. But the 
 favorite wavered in his afl'ections ; and he was ambitious to be- 
 come master of the^mpiro as well as of her heart. The historian 
 then writes of the actions of the lovers in 1772, after the genius 
 of Catharine had placed Russia among the foremost nations of 
 the earth : 
 
 "Catharine had been greatly attached to Orloff, and she loved 
 him still. Orloff, on the contrary, had never been attached to 
 Catharine but from complacence and ambition. 
 
 " For a long time, pufled up with the favors of his sovereign, 
 he displayed a zeal to merit them; but when he thought he had 
 acquire<.l sufficient rights over her, his zeal cooled, and those 
 favors even seemed to be frequently burdensome to him. The 
 greater efforts Catharine made to allure him back to her, the 
 more eager he appeared to avoid her, and to seek elsewhere 
 charms which he no longer found in her. 
 
 "That princess was mortified at the coldness of an ingrate, 
 and provoked at his iofldelity; but she was still attached to him 
 by such powerful ties that she durst not think of breaking them 
 asunder. 
 
 "Their son Bobrinsky, above all, rendered the love of Orloff 
 dear to her. She had him brought up in the house of the cham- 
 berlain Schkourin, and went frequently to see him, under a bor- 
 rowed name, and disguised in such a manner as not to be recog- 
 nized. 
 
 "One day, when she had just quitted bis child, and was medi- 
 tating how to cure Orloff' of his inconstancy, she thought she bad 
 discovered a method by espousing him i)rivately. 
 
 " She made him the proposition. Orloff rejected it in a haughty 
 manner. He replied to the empress that he did not think himself 
 worthy of bearing publicly the name of her husband, and of seat- 
 ing himself with her on a throne which he had preserved for her. 
 
 "Catharine, in astonishment, dissembled her displeasure, but 
 discerned immediately that the pride of her favorite might be pro- 
 ductive of fatal consequences to her. and did not delay overcom- 
 ing an attachment which exposed her to too great humiliation. 
 
 "Panim, wh5 carefully watched the inclinations of the empress, 
 was notslowof perceiving that she frequently regarded with com- 
 placency a sub-lieutenant of the guards named Waasillchikoff. 
 He immediately conceived the idea of making this young man 
 serve as an instrument for elfecting the ruin of Orloff. 
 
 " Wassiltchikoff pleased her, -because he was young and robust, 
 but he was deficient in understanding, in talents, in experience, 
 and even in personal courage. The empress was so well pleased 
 with him that she nominated him her chamberlain, made him 
 magnificent presents, and frequently treated him in public with a 
 familiarity which rendered it very easy to perceive their good un- 
 derstanding. 
 
 "When Catharine had proposed to the haughty Orloff to es- 
 pouse him in private, the favorite flattered himself that his re- 
 fusal wonld only stimulate the desire of that princess, and that 
 access to the throne would becone by that means more easy. 
 Accustomed to a love of which he had the most endearing 
 proofs, he did not believe it possible that he could lose the heart 
 of the empress. 
 
 "What must have been his thoughts when he learnt that sh» 
 had availed herself of his absence to choose a new lover? He at 
 first trembled with astonishment and rage. But pride sood 
 came (b his consolation. He Imagined that his presence would 
 be sufficient to rekindle a flame which he believed but ill extin- 
 guished. 
 
 " Full of this idea, he forgot negotiations, peace, all the inter- 
 ests of the empire, departed from Foskani without even de- 
 
THE LOVES AND INTHIGUES OF KINGH AND QUEENS. 
 
 :;'J 
 
 mandiiig lliu iieniiiadiuM uf llic empress, and arrived at tlie gates 
 of St. relerslmrgli. 
 
 " At the inataiil lio presented himself, tlie officer of Uie guard 
 advanced toward his carriage, and showed him tlie order which 
 he had not to permit him to enter the capital. OrlolT observed a 
 perfect silence, and took the road to Galscliina, one of his coun- 
 try residences." 
 
 The dismissal of the great favorite by Catharine served os a 
 warning to other ambitious lovers. But while OrlolV was never 
 afterward fufly reinstated m her favor, he was richly rewarded 
 with presents, and he was made a prince of the empire. 
 
 This bold, handsome, unscrupulous man was a mere puppet in 
 Catharine's hands, in everything where lovo was not concerned; 
 and she engaged him in the most difficult and questionable en- 
 terprises, at homo and in other countries. 
 
 The following account of a treacherous piece of work is pre- 
 senteil by the historian, and it will serve to show the character 
 of Ale.Yis OrlolT, brother of the favorite, as well as that of the 
 renowned empress: 
 
 " E.\travagances are not always crimes. But there is no 
 crime so atrocious that the e.xtravagaut Ale.xis OrlolT was inca- 
 pable of perpetrating. 
 
 "At the time of his departure from St. Petersburgh he had re- 
 ceived orders from Cathaiine to send her a young unfortunate 
 female placed beyond the reach of her tyranny. Orloft'kncw but 
 too well how to e.xecute those barbarous orders. 
 
 " It has already been mentioned that the Empress Elizabeth 
 had three children, the fruit of her clandestine marriage with the 
 master of the hounds. 
 
 " The youngest of those children was a daughter, educated 
 under the name of Princess TarrakanolT. Prince Charles Radzi- 
 will, informed of this secret, and filled with indignation that 
 Catharine should presume to trample under foot the rights of the 
 Polonese, imagined that the daughter of Elizabeth furnished him 
 with the means of e.xeculing final vengeance. 
 
 '• He believed it was possible to raise a successful opposition to 
 the sovereign whose armies were desolating his unhappy country, 
 in the person of a rival, whom the nahie of her mother must en- 
 dear to the Russians. 
 
 "Ambition, perhaps, presented to him still loftier pretensions. 
 Perhaps ho flattered himself with the hope of one day partaking 
 the throne to which ho wished to elevate the young TarrakanolT. 
 Be this as it may, he gaiuetl over the persons intrusted with the 
 education of this young princess, carried her olT, and conducted 
 her to Rome. 
 
 "Catharine, apprised of this elopement, strained every nerve 
 to render the designs of Kadziwill abortive. Availing herself of 
 his being the chief of the confederation of malcontents, she had 
 all his property seized, and reduced him to the necessity of sub- 
 sisting by the sale of his diamonds and other valuable elTecls 
 which he had carried into Italy. These resources were speedily 
 exhausted. 
 
 " Radziwill departed in quest of fresh supplies iu Poland, and 
 left the young TarrakanolT at Rome, under Hie guardianship of a 
 single governess, and in very narrow circumstances. 
 
 " Scarcely had he got back to his own country, when he was 
 olTered the restoration of his estates if he would bring the daugh- 
 ter of Elizabeth again into Russia. He refused to submit to that 
 indignity, but had the weakness to promise that he would no 
 longer take any interest in her. 
 
 '•• At that price he purchased his pardon from Catharine. 
 
 "Ale.xis Orlort', charged with the execution of her imperial 
 majesty's sovereign will, on his arrival at Leghorn, lost no lime 
 in laying a snare for the Princess TarrakanolT. One of those 
 intriguers so common in Italy, repaireil to Rome, and having 
 discovered the residence of the Russian damsel, presented him- 
 seU at her habitation under the name and in the garb uf an oillcer 
 of that nation. He pretended at first to be attracted thither 
 simply by a wish to pay homage to a princess whose fate 
 Interested all his compatriots. He aflected extreme concern 
 at finding her in a destitute condition. He offered her relief, 
 
 while necessity obliged her to accept, and the traitor soon ap- 
 peared to her, as well as to the woman who atteneded her, to 
 be a savior graciously sent from heaven. 
 
 "When he thought that he had sufficiently insinuated himself 
 into her confidence, he declared that he was empowered by 
 Count Alexis OrlolT to ofler to the daughter of Elizabeth the 
 throno which her mother had filled. 
 
 " Ho said that the Russian nation was dissatisfied with Cath- 
 arine; Orlofi ill particular could never forgive her tyranny and 
 ingratitude; and if the young princess would accept the services 
 of that general, and reward him by the gift of her hand, she 
 would soon behold the e.xploaion of the revolution of which be 
 had laid the train. 
 
 "Proposols so brilliant onght to have opened the eyes of 
 Princess TarrakanolT to discern the perfidy of the wretch who 
 made them. But her inexperience ond candor proventetl all sus- 
 |)icion of foul play. 
 
 "Besides, '.he language of OrloflPs emissary seemed analogous 
 to the ideas which she had received from Prince Ra<lziwill. She 
 believetl herself destined to the thorne; and all the chimeras 
 relative to that belief could not bat be flattering to her. She 
 abandoned herself, therefore, to the most delusive hope, and rtv 
 plied in terms of acknowledgment to the man who spoke only to 
 betray. 
 
 "Some time after OrlolT made his appearance at Rome. 
 
 " His agent had announced his arrival. He was r«K:eived as a 
 benefactor. Some persons, however, to whom the princess and 
 her duenna had communicated the news of the good fortune 
 which awaited them, cautioned them to be on their guard against 
 the designs of a man whose abandoned character had long been 
 notorious, and who, undoubtedly, had too many reasons to per- 
 severe in his fidelity to the empress to Uiink of forming a cjii- 
 spiracy against her. 
 
 "So far from |irofiling by such counsels, the princess had the 
 imprudent frankness to talk of them to OrlolV, who found no 
 difficulty in justifying liitnself, and learnt besides only to employ 
 more dissimulation and address. 
 
 "Not salislied with feeding the ambition of the young Russian, 
 he affected a violent passion for her, which quickly inspirwl her 
 with a very serious one for him. As soon as he was sure of this, 
 he conjured her to unite herself with him by the most sacred of 
 bonds. 
 
 "In a most unfortunate moment she yielded consent ; and it 
 was even with transport that the unfortunate maiden promised 
 to consummate a marriage which was to accomplish her destruc- 
 tion. She beljeved that the title of wife to Alexia Orlofi would 
 prove au impregnable security against the terrors with which she 
 was haunted. She could not believe it possible for a man to 
 abuse the sanctions of religion, and ties the most sacred, to 
 pursue an innocent victim to perdition. 
 
 "But was there an obligation of religion, was there a eacred- 
 ness of engagement that could bind the monster who deluded 
 her? Could the man who strangled the unfculunate Peter HI. 
 feel remorse at dishonoring the daughter of Elizabeth? 
 
 " Affecting to wish the marriage ceremony might be celebrate 
 ed conformably to the ritual of the Greek Church, he suborned 
 villains of au inferior order to fill up the parts of priests and law- 
 yers. Thus profanation allied itself to imposture to overwhelm 
 the feeble and too confident Tarrakanoff. 
 
 " As soon as Orloff had become the husband, or rather the rav- 
 isher, of this unfortunate princess, he represented to her that a 
 residence at Rome exposed her to too much observation, and that 
 it wonld be belter for her to retire to some other city of Italy, and 
 wait for the moment when the match would be applied to the 
 conspiracy which was to raise her to the throne. 
 
 "Believing the advice to be dictated by love and prudence, she 
 replied to the perfidious OrhilTthat she would follow him wherever 
 he pleased to carry her. He immediately conveyed her to Pisa, 
 where he had some time before hired a magnificent gialace. 
 
 "There he continued to treat her with every mark of respect 
 ond tenderness; but he never allowei.1 her to be approacheil by 
 
40 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 any but persons in his own pay, and when she went to tlie theater 
 or to the pviblic walks ho always uccompaniod her himself. 
 
 " The division of llie Russian squadron under the command of 
 Ronr-Admiral Greig liad ji'st returned to tlie port of Leghorn. 
 On cominunicatinf; this intellii;enco to tlie princess, OrlolV told 
 her that it was necessary for him lo repair thither to give orders 
 to the tieet, and made her an otter to be of the party. 
 
 "She consented the more readily that she had frequently heard 
 the beauty of Leghorn and the niagnificonco of the Russian 
 ships of war liiglily e.xtolled. Imprudent creature! The nearer 
 she approached the point at whicli OrlofT was to accomplish his 
 horrible i)uri)03e, the greater the coutldonce she reposed in the 
 tenderness and sincerity of that traitor. 
 
 "She left Pisa wiih her usual retinue. On arriving at Leg- 
 horn, she alighted at the house of the English consul, Di.;k, who 
 had prepared apartments for her under his roof, and received her 
 with every mark of the most profound respect. 
 
 "The ladies of the rear-admiral and of the consul hastened to 
 present themselves to her, and never quitted her more. She be- 
 held herself surrounded by a numerous court, every one vying 
 with another to outrun her slightest wishes, and seeming to have 
 no object but incessantly to procure for her new pleasures. 
 
 " When she wont abroad tlie populace crowded into her way. 
 At the theater all eyes were directed on her. Everything con- 
 spired to complete the delusion; everything kept out of sight the 
 danger ready to burst ui)on her head. 
 
 "It is undoul)tedly painful to think that a consul, an English 
 admiral, and their wives could have been so vile, so lost to human- 
 ity, as to decoy into the snare, with perfidious homage and ca- 
 resses, a victim wlioso youth, beauty, and innocence ought to have 
 melted hearts the most insensible. Everything proves, neverthe- 
 less, that they were associates iu the plot contrived to entrap her, 
 and that they practiced every art to gain her confidence, only to be- 
 tray her with more certain eQ'ect.* 
 
 '"The young Tarrakanofl' was so far from entertaining any 
 apprehension of lier misfortune that, after having passed some 
 days in amusement and dissipation, she herself expressed a desire 
 to visit the Rus.sian squadron. 
 
 "This idea was highly applauded. The necessary orders were 
 immediately issued ; and next day, ou rising from the table, all 
 was prepared on the beach for the reception of the princess. 
 
 "Thither she went; she was put on board a barge, superbly 
 decciniied. The English consul, liis wife, and the wife of Rear- 
 Admiral Greig, took their seats beside her, and a second barge 
 carried the rear-admiral and OrlolT; and a third, filled with En- 
 glish and Russian otficers, closed the procession. 
 
 " The barges left the shore in sight of an iniiumeralilo multi- 
 tude of spectators, and wore welcomed by the squadron with 
 bands of music, salutes from the artillery, and repeated huzzas. 
 
 "When the [irincess approached the ship on board of which 
 she was to be received, a magnificent accommodation chair was 
 lowered, in which they made her sit down, and hoisted her gent- 
 ly on deck,' observing to her that those were the particular honors 
 paid to her rank. 
 
 " But scarcely is she on board when her hands are loaded with 
 irons. To no purpose does she implore compassion from the un- 
 relenting OrlolT. whom she still addresses by the name of hus- 
 band. To no purpose does she throw herself at his feet and be- 
 dew them with her tears. The barbarian does not as much as 
 deig:-: to reply. 
 
 " Tliey carry her down to the bottom of the hold. The next 
 day the vessel sails for Russia. 
 
 "Upon her arrival at St. Petershurgh the youthful victim was 
 shut up in the fortress, and treated in the most barbarous man- 
 ner. Six years afterwards the waters of the Neva put a period 
 to her misery. She was drowned in her prison. 
 
 "The inhabitants of Leghorn, meanwhile, who had scon tlie 
 
 • In explanation of tlie forcgolnii: stiilemeiit, It will he well to slate thiit 
 Revernl Kni;li!i)inieii lielrl lilgli commaD.ls in the Russian nav; under 
 Cattiarinc 11., and tlie Rcar-Admiral Urelg mentioned was one ^f the 
 oamlier wlio had dliillni^iiislied ihomsclvefl. .' 
 
 prisoner embark, soon learned witli horror that, instead of a ban- 
 quet, which she was taught to expect on board the squadron, 
 she had found irons only. 
 
 "Leopold, Grand Duke of Tuscany, whose territorial rights 
 had just been so shamefully violated, wrote iraraediateiy to Vienna 
 and St. Petersbnrgh, complaining of the outrage. But Alexis 
 Orlolf insolently braved both the complaiots of Leopold and the 
 indignation of the public. 
 
 " Some of the English degraded themselves so far as to assist 
 in the machinations of Orlotf, but others were very far from ap- 
 proving his conduct. They even blushed to serve under him, 
 and gave in their resignations. Of this number was Admiral 
 Elphingston. Greig succeeded him." 
 
 In this connection it may be as well to give the author's ac- 
 count of the trick played on Paul Jones, the great naval hero of 
 our Revolution, by the cunning Catharine. 
 
 It is well known that Paul Jones served in the Russian navy 
 for a time, and that he was disgusted with his treatment therein; 
 but the immediate cause of his retirement from Catharine's ser- 
 vice is not so well understood. 
 
 The empress had given the command of a vessel to the pirate 
 Paul Jones, who had distinguislied himself by his intrepidity in 
 the American wnr. The English officers employed in the 
 Russian fleet had not been previously informed of this; and 
 whether it was that some agent of their nation secretly irritated 
 them, or that they were really oflended at serving with a man 
 whom they regarded as a traitor, they repaired to the President 
 of the Board of Admiralty, and declared that they would no 
 longer reiiMiin in a squadron to which Paul Jones bclonge<l. 
 
 The empress, informed of this measure, and knowing tliat 
 seven out of eight of her ships ran the risk of being totally de- 
 jirived of oflflcers, concealed her vexation, and withdrew Paul 
 Jones from serving in the Meet. 
 
 "That she might not appear to yield to circnmstances, she 
 resolved to give him employment iu the Black Sea, and orderei.1 
 him to go and join Potemkin. Paul Jones departed immediately, 
 and distinguished himself at the battle of Leinar, and was re- 
 warded for it with the riblion of St. Anne. 
 
 " But having accused the Prince of Nassau Siegen of not un- 
 derstanding how to profit by his advantages, he involved himself 
 in a quarrel with that admiral, and returned to St. Petersbnrgh, 
 where, in a very short time, means were found to get rid of him. 
 
 " A young girl wjis sent into tke inn in whicli the sailor lodged, 
 who, ii olTering him some trifles for sale, cast a few tender 
 glances upon him. lie thought himself in duty bound to reply 
 to them. The young girl screamed out. The officers of the 
 police, who were just at hand, entered, and Paul Jones was 
 obliged to quit Russia." 
 
 What beautiful consistency the hireliiig Englishmen displayed 
 in refusing to servo with Paul Jones, after they had assisted 
 Orlofl" in one of the basest acta of treachery ever perpetrated on 
 an innocent and defenseless woman! 
 
 But the brave Paul Jones had given them many a sound 
 thrashing, and they could never forgive him for his noble work 
 in defense of American liberty. They could serve under such 
 wretches as Greig and Orloft", but they could not fight side by 
 side with a man who had so often lowered the T'nion Jack in 
 their own waters! 
 
 After Catharine had banished Gregory Orlofl' from Russia, the 
 wretch spent ten years ill traveling in other countries; but his 
 eye was all the time fixed on the empress and the throne of 
 Russia. 
 
 The historian cannot inform us whether ho was recalled again 
 by the empress, or whether he ventured before her of his own 
 option, but certain it is that he appeared at St. Petersburgli again 
 after two years of exile, and he was received by bis mistress in a 
 kindly manner. Her last lover was dismissed, Orlofl' was ap-, 
 pointed in his place as chamberlain ; and Catharine, although she 
 declared that she loved him no more, bestowed many marks of 
 favor on the ambitious man whose audacity and power caused 
 her much fear. 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIOUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 41 
 
 The historiau then gives us a very lucid account of Catharine's 
 next love adventure: 
 
 "The post of favorite had been restored to Gregory Orlofl' 
 really from policy. Policy may assume the semblance of love, 
 but does not command it. Catharine ati'ected for her ancient 
 lover a passion. She no longer felt she was lavish of her caresses, 
 but she no longer opened her heart to him. 
 
 "Orloff deceived himself, then, In supposing he was the sole 
 cause of WassiltschikotTs dismission. This sacrifice had been 
 made to another and not to him. 
 
 " A considerable period had elapsed since the empress bad re- 
 marked the manly beauty and graceful demeanor of Potemkin. 
 She recollected, with complacency, that on the day of the revo- 
 lution in 1762, Potemkin, then a very young.man, seized the in- 
 etant of her mouBting on horseback to present his sword-knot 
 to her. 
 
 • She wished at length to know him more intimately; and the 
 first interview she had with him secured to this new lover the 
 advantage over all his rivals. 
 
 " Wassillschikoff was dismissed. Orloff was resumed, and gave 
 disgust. Potemkin aloue, administered consolation In secret for 
 the solicitude occasioned by the war, the terrors which rebellion 
 inspired, and the misunderstanding which prevailed between the 
 ancient favorite and the prime minister Panlm. 
 
 '• Potemkin was presumptuous. His good fortune inebriated 
 him. His pride soon met with its punishment. 
 
 •• One day when he was playing billiards with Alexis Orloff he 
 had the assurance to boaat of the favor he enjoyed, and asserted 
 that it depended entirely on himself to procure the banishment 
 from court of all who fell under his displeasure. Alexis Orloff 
 retorted in a haughty style. A scuffle ensued, and Potemkin re- 
 ceived' a blow which struck out one of his eyes. 
 
 '• Tills was not the full extent of his misfortune. Gregory Or- 
 loff, informed of the whole affair by his brother. Hew to the em- 
 press and insisted on Potemkin's dismission. 
 
 "Potemkin retired to Smolensko, the place of his birth, where 
 ho remained almost a year in solitule, suffering severely from 
 his eye, and under tlie languor of banishment from court. He 
 sometimes gave out th.'it it was his intention to turn monk; at 
 other times he predicted that he should become the most power- 
 ful man in Russia. 
 
 •■At length he suddenly thought of writing to the empress, 
 beseeching her to tliiiik of him. The empress instantly dis- 
 patches his recall, ami completely restores him to power. 
 
 "Orloff had been out upon a hunting match for several days. 
 Advantage was taken of his absence to Install Potemkin in the 
 palace; and when the ancient favorite returned, neither com- 
 plaints nor reproaches could shake the credit of the new one. 
 
 " It may be necessary in this place to unfold what were the 
 duties and the distinctions of Catharine's favorites. When that 
 empress had made choice of a new favorite she conferred on him 
 the rank of aide-de-camp, that he might accompany ber wherever 
 she went without furnishing any occasion for censure. 
 
 "From that time forward the favorite occupied apartments in 
 the palace, under those of the empress, and which had a com- 
 munication with them by a private staircase. 
 
 " The first day of his installment he received a present of 100,- 
 000 roubles, and every month found 12,000 on his toilet. The 
 purveyor of the court had orders to keep up for him a table of 
 twenty-four covers, and to defray the whole expense of his 
 household 
 
 " The favorite was obliged to att«nd the empress on all her ex- 
 cursions; he could not leave the palace without asking and ob- 
 taining permission. He scarcely durst venture to chat with 
 other women; for if he meant to keep his place it was incum. 
 bent on him to take care how he awakened the sovereign's 
 jealousy. 
 
 " As often as the empress fixed her eyes on a subject with the 
 view of raising him to the post of favorite, she contrived to have 
 him invited to dinner by some one of her confidants, to whom she 
 paid a visit, as if by accident. There she conversed with the 
 
 stranger, and endeavored to find out whether he was worthy of 
 the favor to which she destined him. 
 
 " When her judgment proved favorable, a look conveyed the 
 knowledge of it to the confidant, who in turn communicated the 
 intelligence to him wlio had the honor to please. Ne.xt day he 
 received a visit from the court physician, who came to inquire 
 into the state of his health, and the same evening accompanied 
 the empress to the hermitage, and took possession of the apart- 
 ment prepared for him. 
 
 "It was when the choice fell upon Potemkin that these formal- 
 ities were Qrst settled. Since then they have bsen constantly 
 observetl. 
 
 " When a favorite ceased to please, there was likewise a par 
 ticnlar mode of ousting him. He received orders to travel. 
 From that niomeut ho saw the empress no more. But he was 
 sure of finding at the place to which he repaired rewards worthy 
 of Catharine's pride." 
 
 The dismissal of Potemkin, and' the taking up of another fa- 
 vorite by the volatile Catharine, is thus described by the French 
 historian : 
 
 "Scarcely had she returned to St. Petersburgh when Potemkin 
 ceased to be the object of her tender affections. She loaded him 
 with benefits. 
 
 " It appeared as if she had not honors and dignities cnongh 
 to lavish upon him. She professed to love him, and him only, 
 and her heart was already decidedly bestowed on another. 
 
 "A young Ukrauian, named Zawadoffsky, was secretly in 
 possession of her favors. She began with making him her 
 secretary. Almost immediately she openly avowed him to be 
 her favorite. 
 
 "This change produced a scene very extraordinary at the 
 court of Catharine. Wlien she had once issued an order, there 
 was an apparent impossibility of its remaining unexecuted. She 
 insisted, in every case, on being obeyed. 
 
 " Now it is well known that the disgraced favorite always re- 
 ceived orders to set out upon his travels, and that he was never 
 more permitted to present himself to the empress till she vouch- 
 safed to recall him. 
 
 "The lofty Orloff himself had submitted to the regulatioa. 
 Potemkin had the Iwldness to neglect it. 
 
 "When lie received Ihu fatal order he feigned compliance, and 
 the next day came and very calmly took his place opposite the 
 empress, at the moment she was going to make up her party at 
 whist. 
 
 "Without expressing displeasure at Potemkin's presumption 
 and disobedience, Catharine holdout a card tohim, and told him 
 he was a very fortunate player, without saying a word about him 
 withdrawing from court. Potemkin retained his honors, his em- 
 ployments, his credit, and from being the lover, became the friend 
 of the empress. 
 
 "Zawadoffsky possessed the art of pleasing; but Potenikin 
 rendered himself useful ; and his genius, more analagous to the 
 genius of Catharine than that of any other of her lovers, ceased 
 not to maintain its ascendancy. 
 
 " Orloff, however, who had been informed rather too hastily of 
 Potemkin's disgrace, flew to St. Petersburgh. There he fonnfl his 
 rival still enjoying, not the love, but the confidence of the em- 
 press. 
 
 " Orloff believed it possible for him to recover that confidence 
 while a lover, young and unac(iuaiiited with politics, occupied the 
 heart of Catharine. He was speedily undeceived. 
 
 " He made his appearance at the court, kissed the empress' 
 hand, and observing Potemkin in habit* of intimacy with her, 
 instantly witlidrew, and found his way back to Moscow. 
 
 " Courtiers the most habituated to study the empress could 
 not divine which was the preferred lover. They did not lielieve 
 that Potemkin would tamely surrender the claims which he had 
 upon the heart of that princess. They forgot that in the pres- 
 ence of ambition love is mute. 
 
 "Gregory Orloff, who had returned to court without being 
 recalled, seemed to have been insensibly reconciled to behold 
 
42 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIOUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 Potemkii) occupying the first place by the side or CatBarine's 
 throne. Potemkin, elated with the credit he possessed, and more 
 Bolicitoua to preserve unlimited power than the atl'ections of the 
 empress, permitted her to indulge her inclinatioDB toward 
 Zawadofl'sky. 
 
 •' For eighteen months this last occupied the place of subaltern 
 favorite, when all at once his ambition caught tire. He had tlie 
 example of Potemkin before his eyes. He believed it possible, 
 like him, to pass from the arms of the empress into the post of 
 prime minister. 
 
 '■But in order to do this it was necessary to drive Potemkin 
 from it. To this arduous undertaking he vigorously applied 
 himself. He endeavored to render the despotism of Potemkin 
 hateful to the sovereign. He got himself seconded by discon- 
 tented officers, by envious courtiers, by women of ability and in- 
 trigue. 
 
 " Potemkin, informed of these cabals, and more intelligent 
 than his rival, resolved to supplant him. Chance almost in- 
 stantly furnished him with an opportunity. 
 
 " A young Servian named Zoritz, an officer of hussars, had 
 come to St. Petersburgh to solicit preferment. He was tail, very 
 finely formed, and very well calculated to excite the inclinations 
 of a voluptuous woman. 
 
 "Potemkin, who was well acquainted with Catharine's incon- 
 stancy and violence of appetite, gave Zoritz a captain's com- 
 mission, and made him throw himself in the empress' way. Siie 
 did not fail to distinguish him. The next day Zawadoll'sky was 
 dismissed. Zoritz replaced him. 
 
 "Zawadofl'sky, who had already received so many substantial 
 marks of Catharine's bounty, got, at the moment of his dismissal, 
 a gratuity of 90,000 roubles, an addition of 40,000 to his annual 
 pension, and a considerable landed estate. 
 
 " Zoritz at the same time received an estate in land worth 120,- 
 000 roubles, besides the usual presents, a great part of which the 
 greedy Potemkin took care to squeoze out of him. 
 
 "This new lover, without education, without experience, could 
 not possibly give umbrage to the lofty Potemkin. Content with 
 ministering in obscurity to the pleasures of the empress, the only 
 advantage he derived from the favor he jjossessed was to 
 strengthen the credit of the man to whom he was indebted for 
 it. 
 
 "It was with Potemkin alone that Catharine weighed the des- 
 tinies of Europe. 
 
 " But though Catharine frequently changed her lover, her in- 
 clination to love was always the same. The Servian Zoritz iiad 
 fixed her during a year, and had received considerable presents 
 and the rank of major general. 
 
 "Potemkin was neither jealous of the fortune nor the favors 
 which Zorilz enjoyed. He supported him, on the contrary, in 
 the apprehension of seeing him succeeded by some more danger- 
 ous rival. 
 
 " Catharine herself appeared every day more satisfied with her 
 favorite. But all at once she sent him an order to quit the 
 court. 
 
 "Zoritz Immediately hastened to complain to Potemkin, who 
 took upon him to demand of the empress what could be the 
 cause of the disgrace of his protege. 
 
 " ' Last night I loved him ; to-day I love him no longer,' replied 
 the empress. ' Perhaiis had he been better educated I should 
 love him still ; but his Ignorance makes me blush. lie can speak 
 nothing but Russian. He must travel through France and Eng- 
 land in order to learn foreign languages.' 
 
 " Potemkin respected the capriceof his sovereign. Zoritz took 
 his departure for France. 
 
 "The same day Potemkin, employing himself in looking out 
 for a successor to Zoritz, and going to pass the evening at the 
 hermitage, perceived with astonishment, behind the arm-chair 
 of Catharine, a chamberlain whom he did not know. 
 
 " This was Rinaky Korzakofl". From the obscure rank of 
 sergeant of the guards, Korzakofl' had been suddenly elevated to 
 that of aid-de-camp to the empress, and honored with all the 
 
 beneflta which the generosity of that empress usually lavished 
 upon her favorites. . 
 
 " Korzakofl' was endowed with a fine figure and a very elegant 
 air; but having neither \it nor understanding, it was not in his 
 power, any more than Zoritz, to undermine the cretlit of Potem- 
 kin. Besides, he disarmed his jealousy by sacrificing to his 
 avarice. 
 
 " A single fact will suffice to unfold the character of Korza- 
 kolT. Ab soon as he had obtained the place of favorite, he 
 thought a man like him should of necessity purchase a library. 
 He immediately summoned the most famous bookseller in St. 
 Petersburgh, and told him he wished to have some books, that 
 he might place tlieni in the palace of Wassiltschikofl", of which 
 the empress had just nuide him a present. 
 
 " The bookseller ask ed him what kind of books he preferred. 
 
 " ' You know better than I do,' replied the favorite; • that is 
 your concern. Largo books at the bottom, small ones atop. 
 This is the way they are placed in the library of the empress.' " 
 
 The fall of this favorite was brought about by his own caprice 
 and vanity. The historian disposes of him as readily as Catha- 
 rine could take up with a new lover. 
 
 " Korzakotr was at that time beloved of .the empress. The 
 benefits, the honors with which she overwhelmed him, ought to 
 have inspired him if not with love, at least with gratitude; but 
 he possessed only thoughtlessness and vanity. 
 
 " The Countess de Brisac. who saw him every day about the 
 empress, conceived an inclination for him. She could not, how- 
 ever, give herself up at first to this propensity. The con- 
 straint in which the lovers of Catharine lived allowed them but 
 little opportunity for infidelities. 
 
 " Potemkin assisted the Countess de Biisacto overcome every 
 obstacle. He took upon himself the charge of being her confi- 
 dant; he furnished her with the means of having secret iuter- 
 viewa with Korzakofl'; and although he had some esteem for the 
 favorite, he resolved to sacrifice him, in the hope of Involving in 
 his ruin the sister of Romanzofl'. 
 
 "The project of Potemkin succeeded. The empress was not 
 slow of discovering that she was deceived by her favorite and by 
 her friend. She immediately ordered the one to travel out of her 
 empire, and the other to repair to Moscow. 
 
 "She resolved henceforth that she would not again have a 
 female friend, but slie could not so easily form the resolution to 
 dispense with a favorite. 
 
 " The same day Laiiskoi, a chevalier-garde of the most beauti- 
 ful and most interesting figure, was upon duty at the door of the 
 empress, when General Tolstoi was struck with his graceful 
 mien, and caused his sovereign to remark it. 
 
 " From this moment the choice of Catharine was decided; and 
 it will be seen in the sequel of this work that of all her lovers, 
 Lanskoi was tlie one whom she most loved, aud who was the 
 most worthy of being loved." 
 
 The miserable death of Gregory Orloff is thus described by 
 the historian: 
 
 "A destiny still more tremendous was reserved for Gregory 
 Orlofl. Though he coutinued to be under an accuniulation of 
 benefits from the empress, and was the husband of a young and 
 beautiful woman, the sight of new favorites was insupportable 
 to him. 
 
 " He passed by far the greater part of the last years of his life 
 in traveling. In 1782 he stojiped at Lausanne, where he Saw his 
 wife breathe her last. This loss plunged him into a deep 
 melancholy. 
 
 " He immediately returned to court, but only to exhibit the 
 mournful spectacle of mental derangement. Sometimes he gave 
 vent to excessive gayety, which exposed him to the derision of 
 the courtiers. Sometimes the reproai-hes he thundered out 
 against the empress made all who heard him to shudder and sink 
 herself in sorrow and di.i(|uietude. 
 
 " At last it was found necessary to oblige him to retire to 
 Moscow. There his remorse awoke with redoubled fury. The 
 bloody shade of Peter III. pursued him wherever he went; he 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 43 
 
 saw it incessantly calling for vengeance, and perisbeJ in despair." 
 Then we have an account o( the death of Catharine's favorite 
 lover, her an^ish on the occasion, anil the intrigues set on toot 
 as to the selecting of his successor. 
 
 " Lanslioi lived on good terms with Potemkin, and became 
 every day dearer to the empress. The etlucation of this favorite 
 bad been neglected. Calhsrine exerted herself to remedy the de- 
 fect. She enriched his mind with knowledge the most useful, 
 and admired in him the fruits of her own labor. But this satis- 
 faction came to a period. 
 
 "Laoskoi excited Potemkin's jealousy. Perhaps he failed in 
 paying proper respect to that despot. lie was seized with a vio- 
 lent distemper, and expired, in the flower of life, in the empress' 
 arms, who lavished on him, to the very last moment, every e.i:- 
 pression of the most passionate love. 
 
 "When he ceased to breathe, she abandoned herself to all the 
 bitterness of grief. For several days she refused nourishment of 
 every kind, and remained three months at one of her private 
 palaces without stirring abroad. 
 
 "She afterwards reared a very beautiful mausoleum to Lans- 
 koi ; and more than ten years after, her attendants having acci- 
 dentally conducted her within sight of that monument, she was 
 seen suddenly to dissolve into a flood of tears. 
 
 "Potemkin undertook to cure Catharine of this exces.s of sor- 
 row. He was almost the only person who could penetrate into 
 the solitude in which she had buried herself. He acquired still 
 more of the ascendancy he had over her, and whether from grati- 
 tude, whether from weakness, she wished, it is said, to unite 
 herself to him by indissoluble bonds, and gave him her hand in 
 secret. 
 
 " Marriage could no more fix the inclinations of Potemkin than 
 those of Catharine. He soon thought of liberating himself from 
 the duties which that tie imposed, and of delegatin,w them to a 
 favorite younger and more complaisant than himself. 
 
 " Every courtier who looked for preferment wished to see the 
 place left open by the death of I,anskoi filled up by a personage 
 who would share with them tlie favors anue.xed to it. 
 
 " The Princess d'AschkofT employed all her arts to procure it 
 for her son. Her intrigues appeared for a moment to be crown- 
 ed with success. 
 
 "The young Prince d'AschkofT was tall, well made, and of a 
 figure well ailapted to make some impression on the heart of the 
 empress. 
 
 " Potemkin, who perceived the engines put in motion to bring 
 it about, took care not to give it an avowed opposition, lest con 
 tradiction should whet Catharine's appetite and determine her 
 choice. 
 
 "ACTecting, on the contrary, an inclination to favor young 
 D'Aschkofl', he tendered civilities to his family, with whom he 
 bad hitherto Hved on very indillerent terms. 
 
 " He had the skill of catching and mimicking with facility the 
 ridiculous traits of the persons with whom he was intimate, and 
 did not neglect to point out to Catharine those of the Princess 
 d'Aschkotf and her son. The empress was highly diverte<l at it. 
 "Potemkin next day sent for, one after another, two officers of 
 the guard, YermoIolTand Momonofl', on some trifling commission, 
 to give licr an opportunity of seeing them. Catharine decided In 
 favor of the former. 
 
 " There happened to be a ball at court, and young D'AschkofT 
 displayed uncommon magnificence on the occasion. The court- 
 iers imagined his triumph was at hand, and already treated him 
 with the deference which attached to the person of the favorite. 
 
 "Potemkin reiloublud his attentions to the Princess d'Asch- 
 koflT. She was so well i)leased with them that, the doy after, she 
 wrote him a billet, requesting he would admit into the number of 
 his aides-de-camp the young Count de Bouthourlln. her nephew. 
 " Potemkin maliciously replied that every place of aide-de-camp 
 was filled, and that the last had just been given away to Lieuten- 
 ant Yermolofi'. 
 
 ' ' Both the name and the person who bore it were strange to 
 
 Princ*8d'Aschkoll". That very day she learned to know them, by 
 seeing YermolofTat the hermitage with the empress." 
 
 The fall of YcrmololT was due to his own imprudence and in- 
 gratitude. Like very many others in this vain world, ho could 
 not stand prosperity. 
 The historian thus describes his fall: 
 
 " YermolofT had risen to the highest degree of favor. His im- 
 prudence tumbled him from it. This favorite, tall, fair, and of a 
 figure which announced total want of feeling, was replete with 
 jealousy. 
 
 Ho soon showed himself ungrateful to Potemkin, to whom he 
 owed his fortune. He eagerly seized every opportunity of injur- 
 ing him; and, merely in the view of thwarting him, defendeil the 
 unfortunate Khan Sahim-Ghcrai, the payment of whose pension 
 was most scandalously neglected. 
 
 "The empress, who became weaker every day, where her 
 lovers were concerned, discovered a degree of coldness lowanls 
 Potemkin, and also to the French Ambassador, whose credit gave 
 umbrage to Yermolofi. 
 
 " Some of the courtiers contributed, by underhand instigations, 
 to sonr the temper of Potemkin. 
 
 "Yermoloir had an uncle whom Potemkin dismiseed with 
 ignomouy from the service, in consequence of a quarrel at play, 
 in which the uncle had been on the wrong side. Yermoloff com- 
 plained to the empress. 
 
 " Potemkin had to stand the brunt of the empress' reproaches, 
 and he felt himself so keenly hurt that he haughtily said to her: 
 
 " 'Madame, make your choice, and dismiss YcrmololT or me; for 
 so long as you keep that white negro my foot shall not enter 
 your doors." 
 
 "That very day YermolofT received orders to set out on his 
 travels. MomonotT replaced him. 
 
 " These intrigues were known only at court. Elsewhere the 
 glory of Catharine was blazoned. 
 
 " Momonoff was very much beloveil of the empress, and 
 did not requite her tenderness. 
 
 " After the example of Potemkin, not content with the inag- 
 niUcient presents which the empress lavished on him, ho fraud- 
 ulently extorted from her immense sums. But he lived with her 
 as a slave, the gold of whose chains did not prevent him from 
 feeling their weight, and not as a lover delighted to please. His 
 h^art was not, however, insensible. 
 
 "Catharine had in the number of her maids of honor the 
 daughter of Prince Scherbatofl', a pretty young girl, very witty, 
 and with a considerable propensity to gallantry. 
 
 " Momonofi" was soon captivated with her charms, and made 
 successful love to her. His passion had not yet passeil the 
 bounds of respect, when one day he heard Potemkin vaunting of 
 the favor of the Princess Scherbatofl'. MomonofT shuddered at 
 it. He knew the unlimite<l power of Potemkin ; he knew that it 
 was sufficient for him to form desires to assure their accom- 
 plishment. 
 
 " Ho flew to throw himself at the feet of Princess Scherbatofl', 
 and imparted to her bis inquietude. To set his heart at rest, 
 she granted him that which he dreaded being carried ofl" by his 
 rival. But in a short time he had fresh reason to be easy. 
 Potemkin departed for the army. 
 
 " This intrigue lasted a considerable time. It was known to 
 all the court. Catharine alone had not perceived it. 
 
 " However, the jealousy of the conrtiers opened her eyes. She 
 was apprised that Momonofl' deceived her, and she had very 
 shortly clear proof of it. However ofliended she might be at 
 this discovery, she dissembled her resentment. This was during 
 the summer of 1789. 
 
 " The court was held at Tzarsko-Zebo, and the daughter of 
 Count de Bruce, one of the richest heiresses of the empire, came 
 to be presented there. 
 
 "Catharine, seizing this opportunity, said to Momonofl' that 
 she wished him to marry Countess de Bruce. Momonofl' suppli- 
 cated not to exact it of him. 
 
 "The empress demanded the reason of his refusal. He was 
 
44 
 
 TUE LUVES AND INTlilGUES OF KINUS AND QUEENS. 
 
 embarru8se(l. She insisted ; and he fell at at her feet, acknowl- 
 edging to her that he had pledged his faith to the Princess Scher- 
 batotr. 
 
 ■*• •' She wished for no other explanation. The two lovers were 
 affianced immediately, and a few days after they were married 
 in the chapel of the palace. 
 
 "Momonoff ought to have been grateful for the benefits of 
 Catharine, and for the extreme moderation which she exercised 
 towards him. Bat it is asserted that he had the imprudence to 
 disclose to his wife the details of \ni secret interviews with the 
 empress, and that the wife revealed them with a levity injurious 
 to the sovereign. 
 
 "It is added that the empress avenged herself in a terrible 
 manner. 
 
 "At a time when Momonoff and his wife were in bed, the chief 
 of the police at Moscow entered tlicir apartment, and after hav- 
 ing shown them an order from tlio empress, left them in the 
 hands of six women, and withdrew himself into a neighboring 
 room. 
 
 " Upon this the six women, or riitlier the six men dressed in 
 ■women's clothes, seized tlie babljling offender, and having 
 stripped her entirely naked, whipped her with rods in presence 
 of Momonoff, whom they had obliged to remain on his knees. 
 
 " When thechastisomont had been inHicted, the chief of police 
 re-entered and said: 
 
 " 'This is the mode in which the empress punishes a first in- 
 discretion. For the second, the delinquent is banished to Siberia. ' 
 
 " The very day of Momonoirs marriage, the place of favorite 
 was bestowed on Plato ZoubolT, an officer of the horse-guards. 
 
 " Potemkin heard witli no little vexation that the choice of 
 
 Catharine had fallen tipoh Zoulioff. lie wrote to her on the sub- 
 
 inct, and made use of all his efforts to prevail on her to change 
 
 ■r lover. But from tlie first day of his elevation, Zoubofi' had 
 
 J well understood how to i)lei8e, that ho no longer feared a rival. 
 
 "The empress sent word to Potemkin that, as he had no just 
 leason to complain of ZoubotT, she could not resolve to give him 
 his dismissal. 
 
 " Notwithstandiag this, Potemkin still insisted for some time 
 longer. 
 
 " ' When thou seest the empress,' he said, to one of the cour- 
 tiers who carried his dispatches to court, ' remark to her that I 
 have Icelh from wliich I suff'tT consideraljle uneasiness, and that 
 1 shall not be quiot until I have got rid of them.' 
 
 "This was a silly play on words. The name of Zonboff signi- 
 fies teeth in the Russian lan;;ua^e." 
 
 The death of tliis ambitious and voluptuous woman, who had 
 hid extended the power of Russia by conquest and policy, is 
 tlius described by the historian : 
 
 "But death blasteil her hopes. On the morning of November 
 fitli, 1796, she was tolerably gay, and drank coffee as usual. 
 Some time after she retired to her closet as usual. 
 
 "After an interval of half an hour, her female attendants, find- 
 ing that she did not reapitoar, t)ogan to be uneasy. They went 
 ill, and found the empress stretched on the lloor, with her feet 
 against the door. 
 
 "Dr. Rogerson, her first phj'sician, was called in, who, sup- 
 posing it to be a fit of apople.xy, ordered her to be bled twice. 
 
 "The empress appeared at first to be somewhat relieved, but 
 it was impossible for him to give a decided oiiinion, and at ten 
 in the evening she expired." 
 
 Tlie French author concludes his history of this very remark- 
 ii))le woman by giving a statement of the amounts received by her 
 numerous favorites during her lifetime. As this is a very inter- 
 
 esting document, we present it to our readers aa we find it in the 
 history : 
 
 Koublee 
 
 The Ave brolticrB Orloff received 45,000 peasants, and In lands. 
 
 palaces, Jewels, plate, and read.T money .... IT.OOO.OM 
 
 WIS.SOI8KY, an offlcer of the guards, In favor about tno months SOO.OO* 
 
 Wassiltschikoff, a simple lieutenant of the guards, received 
 the twenty months he was in fovor, an estate of land, with 
 
 7,000 peasants valued at 600,000 
 
 In ready money 100,000 
 
 In jewels 60,000 
 
 in plate oo.ooo 
 
 A palace fnmlsUed 100,000 
 
 A pension of 20,000 roubles, worth abont . . 200,000 
 
 1,110.00ft 
 
 roTBMKiN received the two first years about nine millions. 
 He afterwards accumulated vast wealth, lie had great 
 estates in I'oland, aud in all the provinces of Itu-ssia. One 
 of Ills chests was filled with gold, diamonds, and 'jauk-bills 
 on London, Amsterdam and Venice, tils foitune was 
 valued at 50,000,000 
 
 Zawadoffsky received. In eighteen months, lands In Poland, 
 with 2000 peasants, in the Ukraine with 6000, and In Russia 
 with ISOO, The whole valued at ... . 1,000,000 
 
 He received lu money 160,000 
 
 In plate 60,000 
 
 In jewels 80,000 
 
 And a pension from the privy pnrae of 10,000 
 roubles, worth . . . . • . . . 100,000 
 
 1,380,000 
 
 ZORiTz rcceiveil. In one year, the Ribbon of the Swedish order of 
 the Sword, and that of the White Eagle of Poland. An 
 
 estate in I'oland of 600,000 
 
 tluc in Lithuania of fifty liacka, worth . . . 100,000 
 
 In money 600,000 
 
 In jewels 200,000 
 
 1,420,000 
 
 KoBZAKOFF received, in sixteen mouths, the KIbbon of the 
 White E;igle of I'oland, and the i)alace of Was.sllt8chikoir, 
 
 which had been rejiurchased 100,000 
 
 An estate with 4, uOo peasants. . . . . 400.000 
 
 In inonfy and jewels 150,000 
 
 To pay his dsbts 100,000 
 
 To equip him for traveling 100,000 
 
 Gratuity on his travels 70,000 
 
 820,000 
 
 Lakskoi received in money or lands .... 7,000.000 
 
 In diamonds HU.OOO 
 
 To pay his debts 80.000 
 
 A palace valued at 100,000 
 
 7,260,000 
 
 liesidcs, his sister and cousin were admitted into the number 
 of the ninlds of honor of the empress, and received many 
 presents, of which no valuation can l)e made. 
 
 Vebmoloff received, in sixteen months, the Ribbon of the 
 White Eagle of Poland, and an estate valued at . 100.000 
 
 Another, with 3,0uu peasants 300,000 
 
 In money l.')0,ooo 
 
 560,000 
 
 Momonoff received, in twenty-six months, in land . wo 000 
 
 In money 1:00,000 
 
 In Jewels 80,000 
 
 880,0*9 
 
 Plato Zouboff was decorated with the title of prince and 
 with several ilbbons, and appointed grand-master of artil- 
 lery. Ue received immense estates in Russia, in I'oland 
 and In t'ourland. Ills fortune, exclusive of movables and 
 Jewels, amounted to an annual revenue of about loo.ooo 
 roubles, and is consequently estimated at . . 2,500,000 
 Furniture and jewels . . . . . . 200,000 
 
 2,700,000 
 
 Valerian Zouboff received a great deal of money, lands in 
 Poland and CourIand,and a pension of 12,000 roubles, payable 
 in golil. The whole may be estimated at . . . . 800,000 
 
 84,000,000 
 To these presents must be added the expense of the favorite, 
 calculated at 260 000 roubles a year, which amounts, dui'Ing 
 the 34 years tJiat Catharine's reign lasted, to . . . 8,600.000 
 
 Total 92,820,000 
 
 This sum is about equal to $96,650,000. 
 
 Hence it appears how magnificently Catharine rewarded the 
 attachment cf her lovers. 
 
 She was equally generous to her ministers, her generals, and 
 to any one about her person. 
 
 In excuse for a profusion which sometimes had the appear- 
 ance of bearing an extravagant proportion to the state of other 
 finances, she used to say: 
 
 " My pretended i)rodigality is real economy. All this remains 
 In the country, and returns to me one day." 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 46 
 
 THE FATAL LOVE INTRIGUES OF ANNE BOLEYN, SECOND WIFE OF 
 
 HENRY Vni., OF ENGLAND. 
 
 kimnt BOLETN'S FBAH. SISTEB — the KDia DISCOTBIM an ANOEL — JEALOUSY AND RAGE— THE INJUEED QUEEN'S PSEDICTIOIJ— QDEEM 
 ANNE'a LOVEBS -THE 6ACCY KTVAL— THE SCENE AT THE MASKED BALL — RETBIBUTION IN DEATH. 
 
 " Bluff King Harry," be was called by the stout English yeo- 
 men of the time; for he was brave and strong and handsome, 
 and he delighted in all the sports of the field, in rough tourna- 
 ments, and in stirring warfare. 
 
 He is famed in history as the "King of Many Wives," some of 
 whom he disposed of in a summary manner, while it would be 
 impossible to give a correct account of his numerous mistresses. 
 
 When he was in his nineteenth year, King Henry married 
 Catherine of Arragon, who was his brother's widow. Catherine 
 was some years olaer than her royal husband, but she was a very 
 beautiful and highly accomplished woman, tender and loving, and 
 she was devotedly attached to her handsome youug hnsband. 
 
 After he had lived with Catherine for some eighteen years, dur- 
 ing which time several children were bom to them, it suddenly 
 dawned on the conscience-stricken Henry that he was commitUiig 
 a great crime while sharing his couch with the widow of his 
 brother. The mere fact that Catherine's charms were on the 
 decline had no influence with the good king whatever. Ho only 
 thongbt of the salvation of his soul ; and to save that immortal 
 soul, it was very necessary to put his wife aside, and take up with 
 one who was not connected with him by any former ties of kin- 
 dred. 
 
 About the time that King Harrj- became inspired with the 
 idea that he was committing mortal sin while living with his 
 brother's widow, it happened that his queen had a very charm- 
 ing young maid of honor whose name was Mary Boleyn. Queen 
 Catherine soon noticed that her conscience-stricken husband 
 was often found paying homage to this young damsel, and that 
 Mary was not averse to receiving the smiles and the favors of 
 her royal master. 
 
 Perhaps the young girl pitied the penitent Harry, who was a 
 very handsome fellow, and that she endeavored to ofl"er him con- 
 solation in pure sympathy only ; but it does seem strange that 
 the unreasonable queen should grow jealous of the young favor- 
 ite, and that she should offer to chide her for her charitable and 
 innocent conduct. Kings will rei)ent in company, and queens 
 should not be jealous of their maids of honor. 
 
 This very unreasonable queen carried her jealousy so far, on a 
 certain evening, as to invite Mary Boleyn into her private cham- 
 ber, and to then and there question her as to the nature of the 
 consolation oflered to King Harry. Poor Mary, with tears in her 
 eyes, was obliged to confess her fault. She had loved the hand- 
 some Harry " not wisely but too well." 
 
 Poor Marj' Boleyn, in order to hide the consequences of her 
 fault, soon married a poor young gentleman named William Ca- 
 rey, and then the penitent King Harry had to seek consolation 
 io another quarter. 
 
 Now it so happened that Mary Boleyn had a younger sister, 
 who was called Anne. This Anne was still more charming than 
 her older sister; she was very witty and highly accomplished; 
 and as she had passed some years of her young life in the gay 
 court of France, she was well skilled in all the arts of coquetry. 
 
 Moreover, while Anne was a great lover of pleasure, and while 
 it was asserted that she had lavished her smiles and caresses on 
 other lovers of her youth, she was possessed of an ambitious 
 spirit. 
 
 The penitent King Harry was still seeking consolation in the 
 country when he first encountered the fair Anno Boleyn in her 
 father's garden at Hever. The meeting was accidental, but it 
 was not the less pleasant for all that. The king was so delighted 
 with Anne that on his return to Westminster ho told Cardinal 
 Wolsey "that he had been conversing with a young lady who 
 bad the wit of an angel, and who was worthy of a crown." 
 
 Very soon after that chance meeting Anne was appointed 
 maid of honor to the queen. 
 
 The first thing the winning Anne did on entering her new 
 career was to engage in a love affair with Henry, Ix)rd Percy, 
 the eldest son of the Earl of Northumberland, and at the very 
 time when she was engaged in marriage to another gentleman. 
 
 In the meantime King Harry had his eye on the two lovers, 
 and more especially on Anne, to whom he had become very much 
 attracted. 
 
 Young Percy was compelled to wed a young lady to wliom he 
 had been engaged, and Anne was sent back to her father's 
 house. 
 
 Anne was not fully aware of the king's jealousy, and she could 
 not understand why her intrigue with the noble Percy was 
 crushed in such a summary manner. On due reflection, she 
 blamed Cardinal Wolsey for her great love disappointment, and 
 she became the enemy of that powerful prelate during her life- 
 time. 
 
 When Anne was in retirement for some time, the penitent kmg 
 paid her a visit at her father's house, but Anne would not receive 
 him. On his arrival, she withdrew to her chamber, and pleadinl 
 indisposition as the cause of her not appearing in the reception- 
 room. 
 
 The young beauty soon learned that she bod made an impres- 
 sion on Harry; but she was determined that she would not oti'er 
 consolation to the penitent after the manner of her erring sister. 
 
 Then Harry commenced the siege by conferring great honors 
 on Anne's father, who was base enough to countenance the dis- 
 grace of his daughter in order to advance his own fortunes. The 
 coy maiden was also invited to return to court. 
 
 There is no doubt that Anne was deeply in love with Percy at 
 that time, and that this love inspired her to reject the dishonor- 
 able proposals made to her by the amorous king. 
 
 The blunt kiug was not long in finding an opportunity of 
 declaring his love for Anne. Finding her alone in one of the 
 private chambers of the court he presented her with some costly 
 jewels, and declared that he loved her only too well. Anne re- 
 colled from tlie king with real apparent abhorrence, and falling 
 on her knees before him she replied : 
 
 " I think, most noble and worthy king, your majesty speaks 
 those words in mirth to preve me, without the intent of degrad- 
 ing your princely self. Therefore, to case you of the labor of 
 asking me any such question hereafter, I beseech your highness 
 most earnestly to desist, and take this my answer (whicli I speak 
 from the depth of my soul) in good part. Most noble king, I 
 would rather lose my life than my virtue, which will be the 
 greatest and best part of the dowry I shall bring to my hus- 
 band." 
 
 Henry was a little nonplused at this decided refusal, as he 
 was not accustomecd to rebufls from the fair maids of his court. 
 
 After |)ressing his suit with all the ardor of a royal lover, and 
 still feeling that Anne was not to be couquered, he inquired : 
 
 "May I not hope, at least?" 
 
 "I understand not, most mighty king," replied Anne in proud 
 tones, " how you shall retain such hope. Your wife I cannot be, 
 both in respect of mine own unworthincss and also because you 
 have a queen already. Your mistress 1 will not be." 
 
 Very soon after this interview, Anne Boleyn returned to the 
 Court of France ; and it was four years afterwards ere her royal 
 lover had another opportunity of paying his addresses. 
 
 Through the instigations of her base and ambitious father, the 
 young charmer was again induced to resdme her place as maid 
 of h«nor to Catherine of Arragon, who was then in great distress 
 
48 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 " No," replied Anne. " Let Uiis dame be dismissed." 
 
 "I eball not go at your bidding, minion!" cried Catherine, 
 fiercely. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Anne, starting, " whom have we here?" 
 
 "One you had belter have avoided," whispered Henry. 
 
 "The queen!" exclaimed Anne, with a look of dismay. 
 
 "Ay, the queen!" echoed Catherine, unmasking. "Henry, if 
 you have any respect left for me, I pray you, order this woman 
 from my presence. Lot me depart in peace." 
 
 " Lady Anne, I pray you retire," said Henry. 
 
 But Anne stood her ground resolutely. 
 
 "Nay, let her stay, then," said the queen; "and I promise you 
 she shall repent her rashness. And do you stay too, Henry, and 
 regard well her whom you are about to make your spouse. 
 Question your sister Mary, Bomewhile consort to Louis tlie 
 Twelfth, and now Duchess of SuflTolk— question her as to the char- 
 acter and conduct of Anne Boleyn, when she was her altendunt 
 at the court of France— ask wlietlier she had never to reprove liei' 
 for levity— question the Lord Percy as to her love for him— ques- 
 tion Sir Thomas Wyalt, and a host of others." 
 
 "All these charges are false and calumnious," cried Anne 
 Boleyn. 
 
 "Let the king inquire and judge for himself," r^oined Cathe- 
 rine, " and if ho weds you, let him look well to you, or you will 
 make him a scoff to all honorable men. And now, as you have 
 come between him and me — as you have divided husband and 
 wife— for the intent, whether successful or not, I denounce you 
 before Heaven, and invoke its wrath upon your head. Night and 
 day, I will pray that you may be brought to shame; and when 1 
 shall be called hence, as I may be soon, I will appear before the 
 throne of the Most High, and summon you to judgment." 
 
 •Take me from her, Henry," cried Anne, faintly ; "her violence 
 affrights mo." 
 
 "No, you shall stay," said Catherine, grasping her arm, and 
 detaining her, "you shall hear your doom. You imagine your 
 career will be a brilliant one, and that you will be able to wield 
 the scepter you wrongfully wrest from me, but it will molder into 
 dust in your hand— the crown unjustly placed upon your brow 
 will fall to the ground, and it will bring the head with it." 
 
 "Take me away, Henry, I implore you!" cried Anne. 
 
 " You shall bear me out," pursued Catherine, e.xerting all her 
 strength, and maintaining her grasp— "or I will follow you down 
 you aisles, and pour forth my malediction against you in the hear- 
 ing of all your attendants. You have braved me, and shall feel 
 my power. Look at her, Henry— see how she shrinks before the 
 gaze of an injured woman. Look me in the face, minion — you 
 cannot!— you dare not!" 
 
 "Oh, Henry!" sobbed Anne. 
 
 " You have brought it upon yourself," said the king. 
 
 "She has," replied Catherine; "and unless she pauses and 
 repents, she will bring yet more upon her head. You sutler 
 now. minion, but how will you feel when, in your turn, you are 
 despised, neglected, and supplanted by a rival— when the false 
 glitter of your charms having passed away, Henry will see only 
 your faults— and will open his eyes to all I now tell him?" 
 
 A sob was all the answer Anne could return. 
 
 "You will feel as I feel towards you," pursued the queen— 
 "hatred towards her; but you will not have the consolations I 
 enjoy. Y'ou will have merited your fate; and you will then 
 tliink upon me and my woes, and will bitterly, but unavailingly, 
 repent your conduct. And now, Henry," she e.xclaimed, turning 
 solemnly to him, "you have pledged your royal word to me, and 
 given me your hand upon it, that if you find this woman false to 
 you. she shall expiate her oft'ense on the block. I call upon you 
 to ratify the pledge in her presence." 
 
 " I do so, Catherine," replied the king. " The mere suspicion 
 of her guilt shall be enough." 
 
 "Henry!" exclaimed Anne. 
 " I have said it, " replied the king. 
 
 ■'Tremble, then, Anne Boleyn!" cried Catherine, "tremblel 
 and when you are adjudged to die the death of an adulteress. 
 
 bethink you of the prediction of the queen you have injured. I 
 may not live to witness your fate, but we shall meet before the 
 throne of an eternal judge." 
 
 "Oh, Henry, this Is too muchl" gasped Anne. And she sank 
 fainting into his arms. 
 
 " Begone!" cried the king, furiously. " You have killed her! ' 
 
 "It were well for us both if I had done so," replied Catherine. 
 "But she will recover to work my misery and her own. To 
 your hands I commit her punishment. May God bless you, 
 Henry!" With this she replaced her mask, and quitted the 
 chapel. 
 
 Henry, meanwhile, anxious to avoid the comments of his at- 
 tendants, e.xerted himself to restore Anne Boleyn to sensibility, 
 and his efl'orts were speeilily successful. 
 
 "Is it, then, reality?" gasped Anne, as she gazed around. "I 
 hoped it was a hideous dream. Oh, Henry, this has been fright- 
 ful! But you will not kill me, as she predicted? Swear tome 
 you will not!" 
 
 "Why should you be alarmed?" rejoined the king. "If yoo 
 are faithful, you have nothing to fear." 
 
 "But you said suspicion, Henry— you said suspicion!" cried 
 Anne. 
 
 " You must put the greater guard upon your conduct," replied 
 the king, moodily. "I begin to thhik there is some truth in 
 Catherine's insinuations " 
 
 "Oh! no; I swear to you there is not," said Anne — "I have 
 trifled with the gallants of»Francis's court, and have listened, 
 perhaps too complacently, to the love-vows of Percy and Wyatt, 
 but when your majesty deigned to cast eyes upon me, all others 
 vanished as the stars of night before the rising of the god of day. 
 Henry, I love you deeply, devotedly — but Catherine's terrible im- 
 precations make me feel more keenly than I have ever done be- 
 fore the extent of the wrong I am about to inflict upon her — and 
 I fear that retributive punishment will follow it." 
 
 " You will do her no wrong," replied Henry. " I am satisfied 
 of the justice of the divorce, and of its necessity; and if my pur- 
 posed union with you were out of the question, I should demand 
 it. Be tlie fault on my head." 
 
 "Your words restore me, in some measure, my liege," said 
 Anne. "I love you too well to risk body and soul for you. I am 
 yours forever — ha!" she exclaimed, with a fearful look. 
 
 "What ails you, sweetheart?" e.vclaimed the king. 
 
 "I thought I saw a face at the window," she replied — "a black 
 and hideous face like that of a fiend!" 
 
 " It was mere fancy," replied the king. "Your mind is dis- 
 turbed by what has occurred. You had better join your attend- 
 ants, and retire to your own apartments." 
 
 "Oh, Henry!" cried Anne — " do not judge me unheard — do 
 not believe what any false tongue may utter agiTinst me. I love 
 only you — and can love only you. I would not wrong you, even 
 in thought, for worlds." 
 
 "I believe you, sweetheart," replied the king, tenderly. 
 
 So saying, he led her down the aisle to her attendants. They 
 then jiroceeded together to the royal lodgings, where Anne re- 
 tired to her own apartments, and Henry withdrew to his private 
 chamber. 
 
 Notwithstanding the ravings of his lawful wife, or her own 
 suspicious, Henry procured a divorce, married Anne, and made 
 her queen. 
 
 After some years of wedded life, Anne was doomed to feel 
 all the pangs which she had inflicted on poor Catharine of Arra- 
 gon. Her enemies began to whisper that she was playing false 
 to the king, and that she received the secret attention of some 
 of the courtiers, one of whom was a gentleman named Norris. 
 
 Anne Boleyn had observed a growing coldness towards her on 
 the part of the king, and latterly it had become evident that his 
 passion for her was fast subsiding, if indeed it had not altogetlier 
 expired. 
 
 Though Anne had never truly loved her royal consort, and 
 
 though at that very time she was secretly encouraging the re- 
 
 I gards of another, she felt troubled by this change, and watched 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 49 
 
 all the king's movemeuU willi jealous anxiety, to ascertaio if any 
 one hud supplanted her in his affections. 
 
 At length her vigilance was rewarded by discovering a rival 
 in one of the lovelist of her dames, Jane Seymour. This fair 
 creature, the daughter of .Sir .Tolm .Seymour, of Wolff Hall, in 
 Wiltshire, and who was afterwards, it is almost needless to say, 
 raised to as high a dignity as Anne Boleyn herself, was now in 
 the very pride of her beauty. Tall, exquisitely proportioned, 
 with a complexion of the utmost brilliancy and delicacy, large, 
 liquid blue eyes, bright chestnut tresses, and lovely features, she 
 possessed charms that could not fail to captivate the amorous 
 monarch. It seems marvelous that Anno Boleyn should have 
 such an attendant; but perhaps she felt confident in her own at- 
 tractions. 
 
 Skilled in intrigue herself, Anne, now that her eyes were opened, 
 perceived all the allurements thrown out by Jane to ensnare the 
 king, and she intercepted many a furtive glance bet ween them. Still 
 she did not dare to interfere. The fierceness of Henry's temiier 
 kept her in awe, and she well knew that the slightest opposition 
 would only make him the more determined to run counter to her 
 will. Trusting, therefore, to get rid of Jane Seymour by some 
 stratagem, she resolved not to attempt to dismiss her except as 
 a last resource. 
 
 A slight incident occurred, which occasioned a departure from 
 the prudent course she had laid down to herself. 
 
 Accompanied by her dames, she was traversing the great gal- 
 lery of the palace at Greenwich, when she caught the reflection of 
 Jane Seymour, who was following her, in a mirror, regarding a 
 jeweled miniature. She instantly turned round at the sight, and 
 Jane, in great confusion, thrust the i)icture into her bosom. 
 "Ah! what have you there?" cried Anne. 
 "A picture of my father. Sir John Seymour," repUed Jane, 
 blushing deeply. 
 
 " Let me look at it!" cried Anne, snatching the picture from 
 her. "Ah! call you this your father? To my thinking, it is more 
 like my royal husband. Answer me fr.inkly, minion— answer me, 
 as you value your life! Did the king give you this?" 
 
 " 1 must decline answering the question," replied Jane, who by 
 this time had recovered her composure. 
 
 " Ah! am I to be insolently treated by one of my own dames!" 
 cried Anne. 
 
 " I intend no disrespect to your majesty," replied Jane; " and 
 I win, since you insist upon it, freely confess that I received the 
 |K>rtrait from the king. I did not conceive there could be any 
 harm in doing so, because I saw your majesty present your own 
 portrait, the other day, to Sir Henry Norris." 
 
 Anne Boleyn turned as pale as death, and Jane Seymour per- 
 ceived that she had her in her power. 
 
 "1 gave the portrait to Sir Henry as a recompense for an 
 important service he rendered me," said Anne, after a slight 
 pause. 
 
 "No doubt," replied Jane; "and I marvel not that he should 
 press it 80 fervently to his lips, seeing he must value the gift 
 highly. The king likewise bestowed his portrait on me for ren- 
 dering him a service." 
 
 "And what w.is that?" asked Anne. 
 
 " Nay, there your majesty must hold me excused," replied 
 the other. "It were to betray his highness's confidence to de- 
 clare it. I must refer you to him for an explanation." 
 
 "Well, you are in the right to keep the secret," said Anne, 
 forcing a laugh: " I dare s.iy there is no harm in the portrait — 
 indeed, I am sure there is not, if it was given with the same in- 
 tent that mine was bc8towc<l upon Norris. And so we will say 
 no more upon the matter — except that I must beg you to be dis- 
 creet with the king. If others should comment upon your 
 conduct I may be compelled to dismiss you." 
 
 " Vour majesty shall be obeye<l," said Jane, with a look that 
 intimated that the request had but slight weight with her. 
 
 "Catherine will be avenged by means of this woman," mut- 
 tered Anne, as she turned away. " I already feel some of the 
 tornienta with which she threatened me. And she suspects 
 
 Norris. I must impress more caution on him. Ah! when a man 
 loves deeply, as he loves me, due restraint is seldom maintained." 
 But though alarmed, Anne was by no means aware of the crit- 
 ical position in which she stood. She could not persiiado her- 
 self that she had entirely lost her influence with the king; 
 and she thought that when his momentary passion had sub- 
 sided, it would return to its old channels. 
 
 She was mistaken. Jane Seymour was absolute mistress of his 
 heart; and Anne was now as great a bar to him as she had be- 
 fore been an attraction. Had her conduct been irreproachable, it 
 might have been difficult to remove her; but unfortunately, she 
 had placed herself at liis mercy, by yielding to the impulses of 
 vanity, and secretly encouraging the passion of Sir Henry Norris,. 
 groom of the stole. 
 
 This favored personage was somewhat above the middle size,^ 
 squarely and strongly built. His features were regularly and 
 finely formed, and he had a ruddy complexion, brown curlinn- 
 hair, good teeth and fine eyes of a clear blue. He possessed 
 great personal strength ; was expert in all manly exercises, and 
 shone especially at the jousts and the manege. He was of an 
 ardent temperament, and Anne Boleyn had in.spired him with .so 
 desperate .a passion that he set at naught the fearful risk he ran 
 to obtain her favor. 
 
 In all this seemed traceable the hand of fate— in Henry's pas- 
 sion for Jane Seymour, and Anne's insane regard for Norris— as 
 if In this way, and by the same means in which she herself had 
 been wronged, the injured Catherine of Arragon was to be 
 avenged. 
 
 How far Henry's suspicions of his consort's regard for Norris 
 hsd been roused did not at the time ajjpear. Whatever he felt 
 in secret, he took care that no outward manifestation should be- 
 tray him. On the contrary, ho loaded Norris, who had always 
 been a favorite with liiin, with new marks of regard, and 
 oncouniged rather than interdicted his approach to the queen. 
 
 On the day, after the solemnization of the Grand Feast of the 
 Order of the (Jarter, a masked fete of great splendor and mag- 
 nificence was held within the castle. The whole of the state 
 apartments were thrown open to the distinguished guests, and 
 universal gayety prevailed. ' No restraint was offered to the 
 festivity by the king, for though he was known to be present, he ■- 
 did not choose to declare himself. 
 
 The queen sat apart, on a fauteuil in the deep embrasure of a 
 window— and as various com|)anies of fantastic characters a»l- 
 vance<I towards her, she more than once fancied she detected 
 amongst them the king, but the voices convinced her of her mis- 
 take. As the evening was wearing, a mask in a blue domino 
 drew near her, and whispered, in a devoted and familiar tone, 
 "My queen!" 
 "Is it you, Norns?" demanded Anne, under her breath. 
 "It is," he replied. "Oh, madam! I have been gazing at yoa 
 the vbolo eyening, but have not dared to approach yon till 
 now." 
 
 "lam sorry you have addressed me at all, Norris," she re- 
 joined. " Your regani for me has been noticed by others, and 
 may reach the king's ears. You must |)romise never to address 
 me in the language of passion again." 
 
 "If I may not utter my love, I sliall go mad," replied Norris. 
 " After raising me to the verge of Paradise, do not thrust me to 
 the depths of Tartarus." 
 
 " I have neither raised you, nor do I cast you down,' rejoined 
 Anne. " That I am sensible of your devotion, and gi-atefiil for 
 it, I admit, but nothing more. My love and allegiance are due 
 to the king." 
 
 "True," replie<l Norris, bitterly; "they are so, but be is 
 wholly insensible to your merits. At this very moment he is 
 pouring his love-vows in the ear of Jane Seymour." 
 
 " All! is he so ?" cried Anna •• I^t me have proof of his per- 
 fidy, and I may incline a more favorable ear to you." 
 
 "I will instantly obtain you the proof, madam," replied Norris, 
 bowing and departing. 
 ReturnlDg soon after, Norris led the queen away from the 
 
50 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTHIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 upartnioiit. Passinj; from llio great luiU in which the crowd of 
 (lancers was assenihlod, Ihoy descniKled a short flight of steps, 
 when Norris pointiul witli iiis right hanil to a chamher partly 
 screened by tlie folds of ii curtain. 
 
 At this iiilimaliou, the queen and her companion Stepped 
 quickly on, and as she ailvanced, Anno Boleyn perceived Jane 
 Seymour and the king seat(;d on a couch within the apartment. 
 Henry was habited like a pilgrim, but he had thrown down his 
 hat, iirnanieuted with tlio scallop-sliell, his vizard, and his stall', 
 and liad just forced his fair companion to unmask. 
 
 At tlie .'<ight, Anne was transU.xed with jealous rage, and was 
 for tlie inonient almost unconscious of the presence of Nonis, 
 who remained behind tiie curtain, pointing to what was taking 
 place. 
 
 " Your majesty is dotormined toc^po-se my blushes," said Jane 
 .Seymour, slightly struggling willi her royal lover. 
 
 " Nay, I only want to bo satisfied that it is really yourself, 
 sweetheart," cried Henry, passionately. "It was in mercy to 
 me, [ suppose, that you insisted upon shrouding those beauteous 
 features from my view." 
 
 " Hoar you that, madam?" whispered Norris to Anne. 
 
 Tlie (lueen answered by a convulsive clasp of the hand. 
 
 " Vour majesty but jests with me," said Jane .Seymour. 
 
 ".Icstsl" cried Henry, passionately. "By tny faith, I never 
 understood the power of beauty till now. No charms ever moved 
 my h(!art like yours; nor shall I know a moment's peace till you 
 become iniuo." 
 
 "1 am grieved to he.ir it, my liege," replied Jano Seymour, 
 " for I never can lie yours, unless as your queen." 
 
 Again Norris hazarded a whisper to Anne Boleyn, which was 
 answered by another nervous grasp of the hand. 
 
 " Tliat is as much as to say," pursued Jane, seeing the gloomy 
 reverie into whicli her royal lover was thrown, " I can give your 
 majesty no hopes at all." 
 
 " You have been schooled by Anne Boleyn, 3\veetheart," said 
 Henry. 
 
 "How so, my liege?" demanded Jane Seymour. 
 
 " Those are tlie very words she used to me when I wooed her, 
 and which induced me to divorce Catherine of Arragon," replied 
 Uenr)'. " Now they may liriiig about her own removal." 
 
 " Just Heaven!" murmured .-Vnne. 
 
 " I dare not listen to your majesty," said Jane Seymour, in a 
 tremulous tone; "and yet, if I dared speak " 
 
 "Speak on, fearlessly, sweetheart," said Henry. 
 
 "Then 1 am well assured," said Jane, "that the queen no 
 longer loves you; nay, that she loves another." 
 
 " It is false, minion," cried Anne Boleyn, rushing forward, 
 while Norris hastily retreated — " it is false! It is you who would 
 deceive tlie king for your own purposes. But I have fortunately 
 been brought hither to prevent the injuryyou would do me. Oh! 
 Henry, have I deserved this of you?" 
 
 " Y'ou have chanced to overhear part of a scene in a masquer- 
 ade, madam— that is all," said the king. 
 
 "I have chanced to arrive most opportunely for myself," said 
 Anne. "As for this slanderous and deceitful minion, I shall 
 dismiss her from my service. If your majesty is determined to 
 prove faithless to me, it shall not be with one of my own dames." 
 
 "Catherine of Arragon should have made that speech," re- 
 torted Jano Seymour, bitterly; "she had reason to complain 
 that she was supplanted by one much beneath her. And she 
 never played the king falsely." 
 
 "Nor have I," cried Anne, fiercely. "If I had my will I 
 should strike thee dead for the insinuation. Henry — my lord — 
 my love— if you Iiavo any regard for me, instantly dismiss Jane 
 Seymour." 
 
 " It may not be, madam," replied Henry, in a freezing tone. 
 "She has done nothing to deserve dismissal. If anyone is to 
 blame in the matter it is myself." 
 
 "And will you allow her to make these accusations against me 
 without punishment?" cried Anne. 
 
 "Peace, madam!" cried the king, sternly; "and tbanki my 
 
 good nature that I go no further into the matter. If you are 
 weary of the masque, I pray you to retire to your own apart- 
 ments. For myself, I shall lead Jane .Seymour to the bransle." 
 
 " And if your majesty should need a partner," said Jane, walk- 
 ing up to Anne, and speaking in a low tone, "you will doubtless 
 find Sir Henry Norris disengaged." 
 
 The queen looked as if stricken by a thunderbolt. She heard 
 the triumphant laugh of lier rival ; she saw her led forth, all smiles 
 and beauty and triumph, by the king to the dance; and she cov- 
 ered her face in agony. While she w.ts in this state, adeep voice 
 breathed in lierears: " The vengeance of Catherine of Arragon 
 begins to work!" 
 
 Tottering to tlie seat which Henry and Jane had just quitted, 
 Anne sank into it. After a liltlc time, having in some degree re- 
 covered her composure, she was about to return to the great hall, 
 when Norris appeared. 
 
 " I did not deceive you, madam," he said, "when I told you 
 the king was insensible to your charms. He only lives for Jane 
 Seymour." 
 
 " Would I could dismiss her!" cried Anno, furiously. 
 
 " If you were to do so, she would soon be reiilaced by another," 
 rejoined Norris. "The king delights only in change. Willi him 
 the last face is ever the most beautiful." 
 
 " Y'ou speak fearful treason, sir!" replied Anne -" but I believe 
 it to be the truth." 
 
 "Oh, then, madam!" pursued Norris, "since the king is so re- 
 gardless of you, why trouble yourself about him? — there are those 
 who would sacrifice a thousand lives, if they possessed them, for 
 your love." 
 
 "I fear it is the same with all men," rejoined Anne. "A 
 woman's heart is a bauble which, when obtained, is speedily 
 tossed aside." 
 
 " Y'our majesty judges our se.\ too harshly," said Norris. " If 
 I had the same fortnne as the king, I should never change." 
 
 "The king himself once thought so — once swore so," replied 
 Anne, petulantly. " It is the common parlance of lovers. But 
 I may not listen to such discourae longer." 
 
 "Oh, madam!" cried Norris, "you misjudge me greatly. My 
 heart is not made of the same stutV as tliat of the royal Henry. 
 I can love deeply— devotedly — lastingly." 
 
 "Know you not that by these rash speeches, you place your 
 head in jeopardy?" said Anne. 
 
 " I would rather lose it than not be permitted to love you," he 
 replied. 
 
 "But your rashness endangers me," said the queen, "your 
 passion has already been noticed by Jane Seymour, and the 
 slightest further indiscretion will be fatal." 
 
 "Nay, if that be so," cried Norris, "and your maje.sty should 
 be placed in peril on my account, I will banish myself from the 
 court, and from your presence, whatever the efi'ort may cost me!" 
 
 " No," replied Anne, " I will not ta.\ you so hardly. I do not 
 think," she added, tenderly— " deserted as I am by the king, 
 that I could spare yc u." 
 
 " You confess, then, that I have inspired you with some re- 
 gard?" ho cried rapturously. 
 
 " Do not indulge in these transports. Norris," said Anne, 
 mournfully. " Y'our passion will only lead to your destruction— 
 perchance to mine ! Let the certainty that I do love, content 
 you, and seek not to tempt your fate further." 
 
 " Oh ! madam, you make me the happiest of men by the 
 avowal," he cried. "I envy not now the king, for I feel raised 
 above him by your love." 
 
 " You must join the revel, Norris," said Anne; " your absence 
 from it will be observed." 
 
 And e.vtendlng her hand to hlro, he knelt down, and pressed it 
 passionately to his lips. 
 
 The first outbreak between King Henry and Anne occurred at 
 a grand tournament which took place soon after the night of the 
 masked ball. The king had challenged Sir Henry Norris to a 
 tilt at arms, and the knight accepted the challenge. 
 . By the time Norris had placed his lance in the rest the trum- 
 
HIE LOVUS AND INTIilOUES OF KINGS AND (QUEENS. 
 
 51 
 
 pet 30uiuleil. The next moment the word was given, and the 
 champions started. Henry rode with great impetuosity, and 
 slrucli Norris in tl>e gorget with such good-will that both he and 
 his stond were shaken. 
 
 But Norris was more fortunate. He made the upiier part of 
 the king's helmet his mark, and the blow was so well dealt that, 
 I though it did not dislodge the royal horseman, it drove back his 
 steed on its haunches. 
 
 The success was so unequivocal that Norris was at once 
 declareil the victor by the judge. No applause, however, fol- 
 lowed the decision, from a fear of giving olfeuse to the king. 
 
 Norris dismounted, and committing his steed to the care of 
 au esquire, and his lance to a page, took otT his helmet, and 
 advanced toward the royal gallery, near which the Earl of Sur- 
 rey and Sir Tliomas Wyatt were standing talking with the other 
 dames. As Norris drew near, Anne leaned over the edge of the 
 gallery, smiteil at him tenderly, and whether by design or acci- 
 dent, let fall her embroidered handkerchief. 
 
 Norris stooped to pick it up, regarding her, as he did so, with 
 u glance of the roost passionate devotion. A terrible gaze, how- 
 <>ver, was fixed on the unfortunate pair at that moment. It was 
 that of the king. While Henry was careering in front of the 
 ^;dlery to display himself before Jane Seymour, Bome one said, 
 ■■ Look at Pir Henry Norris!" 
 
 Thus addressed, Henry raised his beaver, that lie might see 
 more distinctly, and beheld Norris take up the embroidered 
 handkerchief, which he recognizcl as one that he had given in 
 ■Jie early days of his alTection to the queen. 
 
 The sight stung him almost to madness, and he had great 
 dilliculty in repressing his choler. But if this slight action, 
 heightened to importance, as it was, by the looks of the parties, 
 roused his ire, it was nothing to wbat followetl. Instead of 
 restoring it to the (lueen, Norris, unconscious of the danger in 
 which he stood, pressed the handkerchief fervently to his lips. 
 
 " I am hitherto the victor of the jousts," he said; '• may I keep 
 this as I he prize?" 
 
 Anne smiled assent. 
 
 "It is tne proudest I ever obtained," pursued Norris. And he 
 place<l it wiihln his helmet. 
 
 "Death of my life!" exclaimed Henry, "it is the very hand- 
 kerchief I gave her before our union! I can contain myself no 
 longer, and must perforce precipitate matters. What, ho!" he 
 criod, rilling up to that part of the gallery where the Duke of 
 .•^utTolk was acateil— " let the jousts be stopped!" 
 
 "Wherefore, my dear Uege?" said Suffolk. "The Earl of Sur- 
 rey and Sir Thomas WyiUl are about to run a course." 
 
 "I,et them be slopped, I say!" roared Henry, in a tone that 
 ailmittod of no dispute. And wheeling round his charger, he 
 dashed into the middle of the barriers, shouting in loud, authori- 
 lative accents, — " The jousts are at an end. Disperse!" , 
 
 The utmost consternation was occasioned by the annouiice- 
 iiieiit. The Duke of Suflblk instantly quitted his seat, and presseii 
 through the crowd to the king, who whispered a few hasty words 
 in his ears. Henry then called to the Earl of Surrey, the Marquis 
 <if Dorset, the Lonl ClifTord, Wyatt, and some others, and bidding 
 them attend him, prepared to quit the court. As he passed the 
 royal galleiy. Anne called to him, in an agonized voice: 
 
 " Oh. Henry, what is the matter? what have I done? ' 
 
 Rut without paying the slightest attention to her, he dashed 
 rlirongh the Norman Gate, galloped down the lower quadrangle, 
 aid qiiitteil the castle. 
 
 The confusion that ensued may be imagined. All saw that 
 -iiinething extraordinary and terrible had taken place, though 
 fi'W knew precisely what it was. Dismay sat in every countenance, 
 :uid the general anxiety was heightened by the agitation of the 
 ■ lueen, who, uttering a piercing scream, fell back, and was borne 
 <iir in a state of insensibility by her attendants. 
 
 Unable to control himself at the sight, Norris burst through 
 the guard, and rushing up the great staircase, soon gained the 
 apartment to which the queen had been conveyed. Owing to the 
 timely aid afforded her, she was speetlily restored; and the first 
 
 person her eyes fell upon was her lover. At the sight of him a 
 glance of affection Illumined her features, but it was instantly 
 changed into an expression of alarm. 
 
 At this juncture the Duke of Sufl'olk, who, with Bouchier and 
 a party of halberdiers, had entered the room, stepped up to the 
 queen and said: 
 
 "Will it please you, madam, to retire to an inner apartment ? 
 I grieve to say you are under arrest." 
 
 "Arrest!" exclaimed Anne; " for what crime, your grace ?" 
 
 "You are charged with incontinency towards the king's high- 
 ness," replied Suffolk, sternly. 
 
 "But I am innocent!" cried Anne — "as Heaven shall judge 
 me, I am innocent!" 
 
 " I trust you will be able to prove yourself so, madam," said 
 SutTolk. "Sir Henry Norris, your person is likesvise attacheil." 
 
 "Then I am lost, indeed!" exclaimed Anne, distractedly. 
 
 " Do not let these false and malignant accusations alarm you, 
 madam," said Norris. " You have nothing to fear. I will die 
 protesting your innocence." 
 
 "Sir Henry Norris," said the duke, coldly, "your own impru- 
 dence has brought about this sad result." 
 
 " I feel It," replied Norris; "and I deserve the worst punish- 
 ment that can be inflicted upon me for it. But I declare to you 
 — as 1 will declare upon the rack, if I am placed upon it — that 
 the queen is wholly innocent. Lot her not suffer for my fault." 
 
 "You hear what Sir Henry says," cried Anne; "and I call 
 upon you to recollect the testimony he has borne." 
 
 "I shall not fail to do so, madam," replied Suffolk. "Your 
 majesty shall have strict justice." 
 
 "Justice!" echoed Anne, with a laugh of bitter incredulity. 
 "Justice from Henry the Eighth!" 
 
 " I beseech you, madam, do not destroy yourself !" said Norris, 
 prostrating himself before her. " Recollect b)- whom you are 
 surroundeii. My folly and madness have brought you into this 
 strait, and I sincerely implore your pardon for it." 
 
 "You are not to blame, Norris," said Anne; "it is fate, not 
 you, that has destroyetl me. The hand tliat has dealt this blow 
 is that of a queen within the tomb." 
 
 " Captain Boucliier," said the Duke of Suffolk, addressing that 
 officer, who stood near him, "you will convey Sir Henry Norris 
 to the strong-room in the lower gateway, whence he will be re- 
 moved to the Tower." 
 
 " Farewell, forever, Norris!" cried Anne. " We shall meet no 
 more on earth. In what has fallen on me, I recognize the hand 
 of retribution. But the same measure which has been meted to 
 me shall be dealt to others. I denounce Jane Seymour before 
 Heaven! She shall not long retain the crown she is about to 
 snatch from me!" 
 
 " That imprecation had better have been spared, madam," said 
 the duke. 
 
 "Be advised, my gracious mistress," cried Norris, "and do 
 not let your grief and distraction place you In the power of your 
 enemies. All may yet go well." 
 
 "I denounce her!" persisted Anne, wholly disregarding the 
 caution; " and I also denounce the king. No union of his shall 
 be happy, and other blood than mine shall flow!" 
 
 At a sign from the duke she was here borne, half-suffocated with 
 emotion, to an Inner apartment, while Norris was conveyed by 
 Bouchier and a company of halberdiers to the lower gateway, 
 and placed within the prison chamber. 
 
 Anne Boleyn's arraignment took place very soon after. 
 
 Notwithstanding an eloquent and impassioned defense, Anne 
 was found guilty ; and, having been required to lay aside her 
 crown and the other insignia of royalty, was condemned to bo 
 burned or beheaded at the king's pleasure. 
 
 On the following day, she was summoned to the arcbiepiscopal 
 palace at Lambeth, whither she was ))rivately conveyed; and her 
 marriage with the king was declared by Cranmer to be null and 
 void, and to have always been so. Death' by the ax was the 
 doom awarded to her by the king, and the day appointed for the 
 execution was Friday, the 19th of May, at the hour of noon. 
 
62 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 Leaving the conduct of the fatal ceremony to the Duke of 
 Sufl'olk— who had orders to have a signal gun fired from the sum- 
 mit of the White Tower, which was to be answered from various 
 points, when all was over — Henry re])aircd to Windsor Castle on 
 the evening of Thursday. Before this, lie had formally otl'ered 
 his hand to Jane Seymour; and, while the unfortunate queen was 
 languishing within the Tower, he was basking in the smiles of his 
 new mistress, and counting the hours till he could make her his 
 own. On the Tuesday before the execution, Jane Seymour retired 
 
 to her father's mansion, Wolff Hall, in Wiltshire, where prepara- 
 tions were made for the marriage, which it \ws arranged should 
 take place there in private on the Saturday! 
 
 Anne met her death with great courage and fortitude; but it 
 is said that, in her last moments, she was haunted by the thought 
 that she would soon have to encounter the spirit of the injured 
 Catherine of Arragon. 
 
 Sir Henry Norris was also executed by the orders of the jealous 
 king. 
 
 THE EARLY LOVE INTRIGUES OF KATHARINE HOWARD, FIFTH WIFE 
 
 OF HENRY VIII. OF ENGLAND. 
 
 HUNTINO TDE RABBIT TO A TRYSTINO-PLAOE — KATE RECEIVES A LAST EMBRACE FROM ONE BOLD LOVER — A BOLDER ADVENTURER 
 
 APPEARS ON THE SCENE — A NIGHT'S CAROUSE IN SECRET — EXPOSED AGAIN — KATE BECOMES A MISTRESS AND 
 
 A QIEEN — HUNTED BY HER OLD LOVER — SHARING ANNE BOLEYN's FATE. 
 
 A FINE old English mansion, with a spreading lawn in front, 
 gardens and orchards at each side, and a dark wood in the rear, 
 was the scene i)rosented to a young girl of fourteen, as she stood 
 on a hill overlooking tlio Norfolk mansion, over three hundred 
 years ago. 
 
 The young maiden was plump and fair to look at, with a form 
 that was fast developing into woraanliood, and with an eye that 
 was at once sprightly, passionate, and full of lire. 
 
 A large dog frisked around near the girl, every now and again 
 running to receive a pat on the head from the hand of liis mis- 
 tress, who was gazing wistfully towards the wood at the back of 
 the great mansioq. 
 
 " I wisli we had never come here, Nero," sighed the young girl, 
 addressing the dog. " I am not at all hai)py, and I know you 
 are not" 
 
 The great dog b.arked, as if giving his assent to the assertion, 
 and then scampered oil' again. 
 
 " I won't go to the wood to meet him," continued the maid in 
 petulant tones. " He's a nasty follow, and I begin to hate him. 
 Oh, what would grandmother say if she knew that he kissed me?" 
 
 The great dog started a rabbit from the bushes at the mo- 
 ment; the little animal darted oflT towards the wood with Nero 
 bouncing after him ; and then young Katliarine Howard, clapping 
 her hands in half-childish glee, ran after the dog, as she said: 
 
 "Chase him, Nero! Catch him before he gains the wood, or 
 he will escape you altogether!" 
 
 Across the lawn, into the kitchen garden, and 'then out into 
 the dark wood, the little rabbit kept on its lliglit for life, and 
 after it ran the eager Nero, yelling the wliile in full cry. 
 
 On after the flying animals, and forgetting all else beside in the 
 excitement, flew little Katharine, her flaxen ringlets streaming 
 behind heV, as she kept crying to the dog: 
 
 "Catch him, Nero, before he gets to the wood, or he will 
 escape you! Ha, ha! he's got him!" 
 
 The great dog had caught the rabbit on the edge of the wood, 
 and he was holding up his prize when the flushed maiden reached 
 the spot. 
 
 "Good dog," she said, as she patted the animal on tlie head. 
 ' ' You have not forgotten your early lessons. Now wc^l return 
 to the house, and " 
 
 " Katharine— Lady Kate!" cried a voice from the wood, "have 
 you forgotten your tryst with me?" 
 
 The young girl started, and a deep blush overspread her young 
 face, as she said : 
 
 " I don't want to meet you any more, sir. Yon are too rude. 
 You forget your place." 
 
 "Come in here, my dear young mistress, and I will crave your 
 pardon on my bended knees," cried the voice from the wood. 
 "Do not speak so loud, or you may be overheard. Come in, I 
 pray you." 
 
 "I will not, sir." 
 
 " Wliy, wliat has come over you, my sweet little lady? Yester- 
 day you were all smiles, and " 
 
 "I hate you to-day, Henry Manos. You are rude and low- 
 born. My father would kill you if he knew that you had dared 
 to kiss me." 
 
 " But you kissed me also, little lady. I am not rude or low- 
 born, if I wear the guise of a player on the virginals at present. 
 Draw near, I pray you, and I will not be rude again." 
 
 " You will not ofler to kiss me?"' 
 
 " On my oath, I will not." 
 
 " You will not press your arms around my waist?" 
 
 " 1 will not touch you, dear little lady." 
 
 The young girl advanced into the wood, as she said in pouting 
 tones : 
 
 " If you do, Henry Monox, I will set Nero on you. You are a 
 very rude man." 
 
 HanryManox had all the appearance of being a very rude man 
 at that moment. 
 
 He was a young man of twenty-two, with a face that was 
 pleasing enough were it not for the thick lips and the gross ex- 
 pression of the dark eyes. 
 
 "What do you want with me?" demanded Katharine, as she 
 gained the shelter of the wood. 
 
 "I wanted to (ell you, my dear little lady, that I am going 
 away to the wars." 
 
 "Going away to the wars, indeed, Henry Manox! Well, all 
 brave young men shall go to the wars." 
 
 " Yes, dear lady Kate, I hope to win a fortune and fame. I 
 hope to reclaim my birthright." 
 
 " You are really nobly born, then?" 
 
 " Can you doul)t my word, my little lady ? Will you not give 
 me one farewell kiss ?" 
 
 " You said you would not touch me, sir." 
 
 " Only one kiss, then, little angel. How can you refuse me 
 after all our sweet endearments?" 
 
 "I don't like you any more, sir. You are a very naughty, 
 wicked man, and " 
 
 The rest of tlie sentence was stopped by the meeting of two 
 lips, while the man stole his arm around the young maiden's 
 plump waist. 
 
 "Oh, you wretch!" she cried, while she struggled, in a very 
 feeble manner, to break away. " You said you would not touch 
 me again." 
 
 " How could I leave you, perhaps forever, dear Kate, without 
 taking a farewell embrace? Come with me into the bower, my 
 dear one." 
 
 " I will not, sir. Oh, if Lady Norfolk should know of this, I 
 would be disgraced." 
 
 " Pshaw, little Kate, your noble grandmother, old as she is. 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND (JUEENS. 
 
 53 
 
 has lovers of her own. I will bear you iuto the bower. Wlij', 
 how heavy you are." 
 The young man had lilted the young maiden in his arms, and 
 
 I lie was bearing her through the wood, when a noble-looking 
 old lady strode out from behind a tree, and confronted the 
 lovers. 
 
 "Hold, wretch," she cried, as she held up a heavy riding-whip, 
 "and release that silly maiden." 
 
 Katharine was on the ground even before her grandmother 
 had ceased speaking, and she was crouching behind her crest- 
 fallen lover as the old lady advanced on him with the uplifted 
 whip, crying: 
 
 " And 30 1 have lovers— have I— as old as I am?" she said, as 
 her voice trembled with rage. " Do not attempt to stir, villain, 
 or I will have j-ou torn limb from limb by the dogs." 
 
 The bold lover was dumbfounded for a moment, but he soon 
 recovered his composure, and, staring at the old lady la an im- 
 pudent manner, he replied: 
 
 " What crime have I committed, my Lady Norfolk? I have said 
 you had lovers, and I spoke but the truth. Do you wish me 
 to " 
 
 "Silence, wretch! Get thee to the house, Katharine, and re- 
 tire to my apartments. I will punish you for your gross conduct, 
 you wicked wench." 
 
 "Do not stir, Lady Kate," cried her saucy lover. "Lady 
 Norfolk, I have eyes, and ears, and a tongue. If you dare to 
 strike me, or punish the young lady, I will denounce you to your 
 noble husband. I will tell him of the doings with " 
 
 "Silence, wretch! Kate, hie thee away to the mansion, and 
 never mention what you have heard." 
 
 " You promise not to punish her. Lady Norfolk?" 
 
 " I will be silent, for the honor of our bouse, sir. I tell thee go 
 hence, wicked girl." 
 
 "Gfel thee away, Kate," said the young man, as he bent down 
 to kiss the trembling maiden. "Nay, Lady Norfolk, hold thy 
 liand. That Is the last kiss, perchance, I may ever ofl'er the 
 child." 
 
 "Vou deserve death, wretch," cried Lady Norfolk, as Katha- 
 rine darted away through the wo»d. 
 
 " On my oath. Lady Norfolk," returned the brazen rascal, " but 
 that would be your sentence, did your noble lord know that you 
 stooped to receive the emuraces of your head groom." 
 
 "Silence, you lying wretch, or I will strike you dead on the 
 instant. How dare you ?" 
 
 "That you may not do, my lady, while I wear this good sword. 
 ■\Vbat crimo have I committed, as compared to yours? The pretty 
 little maiden, who is treated as a servant in 50ur house, fell in 
 love with her music-master, and she received his caresses with 
 open arms. You " 
 
 " No more of that, wretch. Get thee away from here, or I 
 will have you murdereil." 
 
 "Not before I will send this letter to your valiant husband, 
 Lady Norfolk," said the desperate wretch, as he drew a sealed 
 packet from his breast. 
 
 "Oh, you infamous wretch ! What does that packet contain ? 
 Let me have it." 
 
 "This packet contains two of your letters to your late head- 
 groom, who is now residing in London, Lady Norfolk. They 
 speak of the boy born to you, while your husband was away in 
 the wars in France for two years. I had the good fortune to in- 
 tercept the precious documents on a certain night that I relieved 
 the messenger of his purse on the high-road." 
 
 " Then you are a robber, as well as a vile seducer, wretch! I 
 will have thee hung." 
 
 " Not until I have spent the two hundred golden pieces which 
 yon will present me with, for restoring those very interesting 
 letters, my dear Lady Norfolk. I am certain that your noble 
 husband would give even three hundred for them; but the road 
 to Scotland is very dangerous at present, and I have found this 
 Norfolk a very pleasant abiding-place." 
 
 " Y^ou demand two hundred pieces for these letters, wretch? 
 I will give thee two hundred lashes on your rascally backl" 
 
 " Nay, my lady; you would not be so cruel as to scourge the 
 back of your old lover's son. My real name is John Pollock, son 
 of James Pollock, your late head groom." 
 
 " You are a son of James Pollock — you!" ' 
 
 " In truth I am, my good lady. Y'ou may be my mother, for 
 all I know. I never heard that my worthy father bad a wedded 
 wife." 
 
 " Oh, Pm a miserable woman !" e.xclaimed the distracted old 
 lady. " I will give three hundred golden pieces, and the best 
 horse in the stable, and you but swear to ride hence, and never 
 approach young Katharine Ilowanl again. Will you swear V 
 
 " A hundred oaths, if necessary, my lady. On my oath, but 
 the damsel was growing cold. She is over young for a lasting 
 affection. Heed my advice, and watch her well in the future, or 
 she will be straying into pleasant paths again. When can I re- 
 ceive the heavy purse and tho good horse, lady ?" 
 
 " This very day— this very hour. Follow me to the bouse, and 
 beware how you dally with the maid again." 
 
 " On my oath, but my ardor is cooled, bounteous old lady. I 
 can now away to London and lind sweethearts in plenty while I 
 rattle the gold pieces in my purse. Adieu, sweet Katharine 
 Howard. I may never look on your comely face again." 
 
 " And I pray that I may never look on yours, wretch," mut- 
 tered the old lady, as she withdrew from the wood. 
 
 Young Katharine Howard was peeping out of a window in the 
 castle half an hour after, when she beheld her lover riding away 
 on a gallant steed. 
 
 " Dear me," she muttered, with a sigh, "I will never see him 
 again. Well, well, if grandmother oilers to chide me, I will soon 
 close her mouth." 
 
 The grandmother did not offer to chide the young maiden, but 
 she endeavoreil to keep a strict watch on her actions; and she 
 did not oiler to employ another young musician for her instruc- 
 tion. 
 
 Katharine was the daughter of Lord Edmund Howard, a gal- 
 lant soldier-sailor, who had distinguished himself in many en- 
 gagements, and more especially at the great battle of Flodden 
 Field, where the Scotch met with the greatest disaster ever en- 
 dured by that brave nation at the hands of their English in- 
 vaders. 
 
 Lord Edmund was very poor, notwithstanding his great ser- 
 vices to the crown, and he was often compelled to seek ahiding- 
 [)lace when his numerous creditors pressed him for payment. 
 Lady Howard, his good wife, died under tier sorrows, leaving 
 several children to tho tender charities of her numerous wealthy 
 relatives. 
 
 Katharine was brought up in tho house of her uncle, Sir John 
 Culpepper, of Holingbourno, where she had for a playfellow her 
 young cousin, Thomas Culiwpper, who waa afterwards accused 
 of being her paramour. 
 
 In an evil hour the young girl was received into the house of 
 her father's step-mother, the Duchess- Dowager of Norfolk. There 
 young Katharine was obliged to herd with the female servants, 
 an unprincipled, degradc<l, licentious lot, who gave vent to the 
 worst expressions in presence of the neglected child. 
 
 One of these criminal creatures, a nurse, named Mary Las- 
 sells, encouraged Katharine in her amour with Henry Manox, as 
 she scemetl to take a pride in the downfall of the unprotected 
 little lady. 
 
 Some months after the departure of the unprincipled lover, 
 Lady Norfolk's husband was killed in battle; and very soon after 
 that event occurred. Katharine's uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, rc- 
 tnrned from the war, bringing with him a goodly train of gentle- 
 tlemen retainers. 
 
 One of these bold spirits was a certain Francis Derham, a 
 cousin of young Katharine. 
 
 Derham was a handsome, dashing, fearless young fellow, and 
 he was as unprincipled in bis love afTaira as he was bold and 
 reckless in war. 
 
54 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 He was not long installed in the mansion before he became 
 attracted to his young cousin, who was then blooming fairer 
 every day. 
 
 The young adventurer commenced his love-making by nialcing 
 Katharine trilling jiresenle of handkerchiefs and lace; and as the 
 neglected creature was not supplied with i)ocket-money, she 
 readily accepted the gifts bestowed by her kinsman. 
 
 And it apiiears tliat she did not reject the more tender advances 
 made to her at the same time. 
 
 Tender love scenes soon followed, vows of eternal faith were 
 interchanged, and young Derham addressed Katharine in secret 
 as '• his dear wife," while she called him her " sweet husband."' 
 
 While this dallying was going on the only care the old duchess 
 seems to have taken of the young girl's honor wius to lock the 
 chamber door where Katharine and the women servants slept, 
 and to place the keys in her own sleeping-room, and in the 
 charge of her waiting-woman. 
 
 One night young Derham met Katharine in the hall as she was 
 about to retire to her sleeping-room, and he inquired: 
 
 " Where away so early, my sweet little wife ?" 
 
 "lam about to retire for the night, Francis. But you must 
 not call me wife, as you may be overheard. The old lady is very 
 watchful." 
 
 " The fiend take the old lady. Stay thee here with me awhile, 
 dear one." 
 
 "1 may not, Francis. The hour approaches for locking the 
 chamber-door." 
 
 " Locking the chamber-door! And does she lock you in every 
 night, the old prude ?" 
 
 "Ah, that she does, Francis. She fears, I presume, that some 
 of you gay gallants would be seeking stolen interviews with the 
 maids." 
 
 "Aflg for the maids, little wife. The drowsy damsels are 
 weary and soon fall asleep, I presume." 
 
 " Indeed, and they do not, Francis. They sit and talk of their 
 lovers for hours." 
 
 "And wish that their door was not locked, I'll wager thee, 
 Kate. 1 will even pay them a visit this very night and take some 
 good strong wine to cheer them in their solitude. You will share, 
 Kate ?" 
 
 " You are in jest, Francis. IIow could you enter and the door 
 locked ? The ca.sements cannot be reached from the ground, as 
 we Blcei) in the dormitory." 
 
 "Fear tlico not, sweet Kate. I will visit thee this very night, 
 even had I to steal the keys from the old lady's chamber." 
 
 "You do but jest, Francis." 
 
 "Faith, and I do not, sweetheart ; one more kiss now, and I will 
 return it hereafter." 
 
 "There calls the old lady's waiting-woman; Francis, I must 
 hasten to the chamber." 
 
 "But not to sleep, Kate. I will return that kiss to-iiight, on 
 the word Of your true lover." 
 
 Kate hastened away to her chamber, where she told her sleep- 
 ing companions in a laughing manner what her cousin had prom- 
 ised to entertain them with that very night. 
 
 "I pray that he may come" responded one lively damsel; 
 " but 'tis news that will not come to pass. The old duchess will 
 not part with her keys unless she is strangled to death." 
 
 "He is a bold youth, Kate," remarked another, "and he 
 loves you dearly. Alack-a-day, I would that my Jock had half 
 his spirit." 
 
 "And he but comes and brings the good wine, we will all 
 sleep without dreams," suggested a tliird, as she winked at the 
 others. 
 
 " Do not partake of much of the wine, my sweet young lady," 
 said another. " I am but a light sleeper, and I will drink thy 
 portion." 
 
 "Marry! and we will all drink merrily," said Mary Lassells 
 "The young lady will not fall asleep while her young lover is 
 present." 
 
 While lliey were chatting away in a lively strain, an hour 
 passed away. 
 
 Kate did not expect her lover, as she did not dream, wild and 
 reckless as he was, that he would dare to venture Into the old 
 lady's chamber to steal the coveted keys. 
 
 "He will not come to-night," remarked Mary Lassells, with a 
 yawn. "AVe must even retire without the good wine." 
 
 "Hist!' said another. "There is something in the keyhole. 
 As I live in sin, but there comes the gallant!" 
 
 As the woman spoke, the door was gently opened, and Francis 
 Derham, in his vamjjs, slipped into the chamber, closing the 
 door cautiously after him. 
 
 "I greet thee, merry women," he said, as he drew two large 
 bottles from under his coat. 
 
 "Oh, cousin, why did you come here?" asked Kate, as she re- 
 treated behind a bed. " Get thee away, or we will be undone." 
 
 "Not until the ladies partake of this good wine, Kate. Sit 
 thee down here with me." 
 
 "Sit thee down, Lady Kate," said Mary Lassells. "On my 
 faith, but you are a brave gallant, sir. And did you steal into 
 the old lady's chamber?" 
 
 "Nay, nay, Mary, I but looked under the waiting-wonian's pil- 
 low, while I slipped a broad gold piece into her hand. Come 
 here, Kate, and drink to my success on other nights." 
 
 Kate Howard did sit down, and she drank of the wine, while 
 her lover's arm was around her waist. 
 
 Francis Derham did not leave that chamber until the day was. 
 breaking. 
 
 Night after night tlie bold lover entered to pay his stolen visits 
 to the chamber, and as he always went supplied with wine and 
 other sleep-inviting refreshments, he was welcomed by the women 
 with great glee. 
 
 At length the suspicions of the lady were aroused by one of 
 the faithless women, who liad boon discharged frcfm the house 
 for an open amour with one of the retainers. 
 
 The old lady watched herself; she saw Derham getting the 
 keys from her faithless waiting-woman; and she followed him 
 to the room where Katharine was wont to receive liim nightly. 
 
 A fearful uiiroar followed the discovery, and during Ihe ex- 
 citement our adventurer escaped from the house and hastened 
 away to Ireland, in order to escape the vengeance of Katharine's 
 enraged relatives. 
 
 The erring girl was immediately placed in strict confinement; 
 but she managed, through the instrumentality of another cor- 
 rupt female, to carry on a correspondence witii him, while he 
 lived an outlawed life in Ireland. 
 
 Some years i)a8sed away, and erring Katharine Howard became 
 a refined, beautiful woman. She even became remarkable for 
 her modest and maidenly deportment. 
 
 When Derham returned fi'oni Ireland in a secret manner, with 
 his early love still strong in his breast, she positively refused io 
 hold any communication with him. He was still devotedly at- 
 tached to her, however, and ho found means to gain an interview 
 with the proud damsel. 
 
 It was reported at the time that Katharine was engaged in 
 marriage to her cousin, Thomas Culpepper; and Derham was in 
 a high state of jealous excitement when he broke in on Katha- 
 rine. 
 
 " Will you be my wife, Kate ?" he demanded. 
 
 " I will not wed you, sir," she replied. " I do not wish to ever 
 look on you again." 
 
 " You are going to marry Thomas Culpepper, Kate, and that 
 is why you forget n)e." 
 
 "If there was not another man in the world, sir, I would not 
 be your wife," was the reply, as Kate turned to leave the apart- 
 ment. ' 
 
 "Stay a moment, Kate." said the jealous lover. "Iheartbat 
 you are eoing to court soon." 
 
 ' That may be, sir." 
 
 "Then beware how you trifle with me. I will seek you unil 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIOUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 55 
 
 cluim you, even lliougi you were the wife of the king. I love 
 you still; and 1 will lioKl you, or perish in the striving." 
 
 King Henry had just married his fourth wife, Anne of Cleves, 
 when he l]|-sl met Katharine Howard at a banquet given by the 
 Iii:iliop of AViuchester, and bo became enamored of the young 
 girl at their Introduction. 
 
 The king had buried his third wife, Jane Seymour, who had 
 died in childbirth; he had chosen the ugly and unpreposessing 
 Anne of Cleves on the strength of a Haltering portrait, which 
 his favorite painter had taken; and he was already taking 
 measures to set her aside by a divorce. 
 
 It was only natural, then, for the beauty-loving king to pay 
 his attentions to the fair Katharine Howard, who was then in 
 the full bloom of womanhood. Katharine was immediately ap- 
 pointe<l maid of honor to the queen ; her royal lover pressed his 
 attentions on her in his own ardent fashion, and she was soon 
 looked upon as the future queen. 
 
 Francis Dorliain vanished from England at this time, and it 
 was reported that he had been killed at sea, while cruising on a 
 pirate ship. 
 
 The divorce was at length procured ; the favorite mistress be- 
 came the best-beloveU wife of the uowerful king, and peace and 
 
 happiness appeared to dawn on the pathway of the once erring 
 woman. 
 
 But the shadow of her past life was following her in her bright- 
 est moments. 
 
 The king undertook a northern journey, and his fair wife accom- 
 panied him. She met Derham at a castle on the coa.^it, mid he 
 compelletl her to introduce him into the royal household as her 
 private scretary, while the king had never heard of the young 
 adventurer before. 
 
 AVhile at Lincoln Katharine admitted her cousin, Tliomas 
 Cnlpepper, with her at nigbt in her i)rivate chamber; and that 
 interview lasted many hours. 
 
 At length the king, who adoroil Katharine even more than all 
 his former wives, heard some stories concerning her early life; 
 and these stories were circulated by her former base com- 
 panions. 
 
 An Investigation was ordered ; Katharine's old confidante, Mary 
 Lassells, was arrestetl and questioned by the king's agents; and 
 the faithless woman confessed all aliont the frail girl's connection 
 with Henry Manox and Francis Derham. 
 
 Then Katharine's days were numbered. She was doomed to 
 share the fate of Anne Boleyn, who was her cousni ; and her 
 lover, Francis Derham, was also seized and put lo death. 
 
 THE LOVE INTRIGUES OF ELIZABETH, THE VIRGIN QUEEN OF ENGLAND. 
 
 THE FIRST LOVE OP A PBI.N'CESS — HER JEALOl'S SISTER IMPRISONED— THE Ql'EEN IN LOVE WITH ANOTHER WOMAN'S UDSBAKO — ROYAL 
 
 FAVORITES VyiXC FOR HER — SIR WALTER RALEIGH AND HIS ROYAL -MISTRESS— ESSEX AS A VOl'NO LOVER 
 
 TO AN OLD gUEEX— HIS I'RESIMPTION AND HIS DEATH. 
 
 It must not be imagined, because Elizabeth of England never 
 sharecl her throne witli a husband, that she was a coulirmed 
 man-hater. 
 
 On the contrary, even In her old age she was a great admirer 
 of manly beauty, and her favorite courtiers were always noted for 
 their graces of person as much as for their mental endowments. 
 
 This famous queen was the child of two personages in history 
 who were noted for thsir warm and guilty attachments. She 
 was the daughter of Henry VUI. and the unfortunate Anne 
 Boleyn. 
 
 When her sister Mary was Queen of England, the Princess 
 Elizabeth becanid attached to Edward Courtney, Earl of Devon- 
 shire, a very handsome and highly accomiilished young noble- 
 man, who returned her atTection in a sincere and ardent manner. 
 
 Queen Mary, who was in a state of single blessedness at the 
 lime, had also conceived a violent iiassion for young Courtney, 
 and it is said that she would have placed him on the throne with 
 herself were it not that his attachment for Elizabeth causetl him 
 to look on the queen with feelings of abhorrence. 
 
 Although Mary was regarded as a very beautiful woman in 
 her youthful prime, she was anything but attractive at the time 
 when she became enamoro<l of Elizabeth's young lover. Besides, 
 .Mary was some eighteen years older than her young sister, who 
 was then in the pride of youth and beauty, as well as being noted 
 for her brilliant wit and higli accomplishments. 
 
 While Elizabeth was fully assured of Edward Courtney's love, 
 she was terribly afraid that her royal sister, who was the daugh- 
 ter of Catherine of Arragon, would bear away the prize. 
 
 One evening, as the two young lovers were strolling in the 
 royal gardens. Fllizabetli seated herself on a rustic seat, saying: 
 
 "lam weary, Edward. I have been dancing attendance on 
 the queen all the live-long day." 
 
 The young nobleman took a seat by her side and seized her 
 hand, as he re.sponded, in warm tones: 
 
 " Would to Heaven, my beloved lady, that we could be weUde<l 
 and retire to my castle.'' 
 
 "To be d.'agged friini thence to the scalT.iM K.ihvnrd? Y<m 
 
 know that the queen would have our heads if we were guilty of 
 such folly." 
 
 "I fear you are right, sweet princess. And yet it is almost 
 death to me— this life of anxiety and hopeless waiting. Why 
 shall we not be marrie<l in secret, my adoretl one?" 
 
 "I cannot consent to that, dear Courtney. If the queen were 
 to know of it, we should be sent to the Tower on the instant, 
 ■i'ou know that she loves you, and that she seeks your baud." 
 
 " And may that hand be withered on my arm ere I give it to 
 her in marriage, dear princess. I respect her as my queen, bnt 
 I could never love her. My heart is yours, and yours only." 
 
 "I feel it, Edward. If I cannot wed you, I will never wed an- 
 other. If I were queen of England to-morrow, you would be my 
 husband. If we are separnled for life, no other— not even the 
 mightiest prince in Christendom— will share the throne " 
 
 While the lovers were thus conversing a pale face was peering 
 out at them from some slirubbery at the side of the path above 
 them, while a low, threatening voice could be heard muttering: 
 
 "I will soon put an end to this dallying. The guilty pair will 
 soon llnd other quarters. I will cool their guilty love — the do- 
 ceilfiil wrelchesl" 
 
 On Hie following morning, the young Earl of Devonshire was 
 banished from the court, and the Princess Elizabeth was sent to 
 the Casllo of Alfieidge as a prisoner, and commanded, nnder 
 severe jienalties, not to hold any convereation with her lover. 
 
 But the devoted lovers were not to be batnc<l in their desires. 
 Young Courtney managed to find the opportunities of holding 
 secret interviews with the young princess, and several tender 
 letters were also interchanged. Two of these letters were inter- 
 cepte<l by the queen's emissaries, who convoyed them lo the 
 jealous creature. 
 
 The first letter 0|)ened by Mary was from her young sister to 
 her lover, and it contained the following declarations of a violent 
 passion : 
 
 " Mv I,oRD, — I do not doubt your love, but I fear this passion 
 will be to your prejudice. It is this which obliges me to conceal 
 
 my prefereiipp f..r y<i\ linvln<r -:n little hope; but 1 am sensible 
 
64 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 He wus not long installed in the mansion before lie became 
 attracted to his young cousin, who was then blooming fairer 
 every day. 
 
 The j'oung adventurer commenced his love-making by making 
 Katharine trifling presents of handkerchiefs and lace; and as the 
 neglected creature was not suijplied with iiocket-money, she 
 readily accepted the gifts bestowed by her kinsman. 
 
 And it apiiears that she did not reject the more tender advances 
 made to her at the same time. 
 
 Tender love scones soon followed, vows of eternal faith were 
 interchanged, and young Derliam addressed Katliarine Id secret 
 as " his dear wife," while she called liim her " sweet husband."' 
 
 AVliile this dallying was going on the only care the old duchess 
 seems to have taken of the young girl's honor was to lock the 
 chamber door where Katharine and the women servants slept, 
 and to place the keys in her own sleeping-room, and in the 
 charge of her waiting-woman. 
 
 One night young Derham met Katharine in the hall as she was 
 about to retire to her sleeping-room, and he inquired: 
 
 " Where away so early, my sweet little wife?" 
 
 "I am about to retire for the night, Francis. But you must 
 not call me wife, as you may be overheard. The old lady is very 
 watchful." 
 
 " The fiend take the old lady. Stay thee here with me awhile, 
 dear one." 
 
 "I may not, Francis. The hour approaches for locking the 
 chamber-door." 
 
 "Locking the chamber-door! And does she lock you in every 
 night, the old prude ?" 
 
 "Ah, that she does, Francis. She fears, I presume, that some 
 of you gay gallants would be seeking stolen interviews with the 
 maids." 
 
 " A flg for the maids, little wife. The drowsy damsels are 
 weary and soon fall asleep, I presume." 
 
 "Indeed, and they do not, Francis. They sit and talk of their 
 lovers for hours." 
 
 " And wish that their door was not locked, I'll wager thee, 
 Kate. I will even pay them a visit this very night and take some 
 good strong wine to cheer them in their solitude. You will share, 
 Kate ?" 
 
 " You are in jest, Francis. IIow could you enter and the door 
 locked ? The casements cannot be reached from the ground, as 
 we sleep in the dormitory." 
 
 "Fear thee not, sweet Kate. I will vjsit thee this very night, 
 even had I to steal the keys from the old lady's chamber." 
 
 " You do but jest, Francis." 
 
 " Faith, and I do not, sweetheart ; one more kiss now, and I will 
 return it hereafter." 
 
 "There calls the old lady's waiting-woman; Francis, I must 
 hasten to the chamber." 
 
 "But not to sleep, Kate. I will return that kiss to-i)ight, on 
 the word of your true lover." 
 
 Kate hastened away to her chamber, where she told her sleep- 
 ing companions in a laugliing manner what her cousin had prom- 
 ised to entertain tliem with that very night. 
 
 "I pray that he may come" responded one lively damsel; 
 " but 'tis news that will not come to pass. Tiie old duchess will 
 not part with her keys unless she is strangled to death." 
 
 "lie is a bold youth, Kate," remarked another, "and he 
 loves you dearly. Alack-a-day, I would that my Jock had half 
 his spirit." 
 
 "And he but comes and brings the good wine, we will all 
 sleep without dreams," suggested a third, as she winked at the 
 others. 
 
 "Do not partake of much of the wine, my sweet young lady," 
 said another. " I am but a light sleeper, aud I will drink thy 
 portion." 
 
 "Marry! and we will all drink merrily," said Mary Lassells 
 "The young lady will not fall asleep while her young lover is 
 present. " 
 
 While they were chatting away in a lively strain, an hour 
 passed away. 
 
 Kate did not e.xpect her lover, as she did not dream, wild and 
 reckless as he was, that he would dare to venture into the old 
 lady's chamber to steal the coveted keys. 
 
 "He will not come to-night," remarked Mary Lassells, with a 
 yawn. "We must even retire without the good wine." 
 
 " Hist!" said another. "There is something in the keyhole. 
 As I live in sin, but there conies the gallant!" 
 
 As the woman si)oke, the door was gently opened, and Francis 
 Derham, in liis vamps, slipped into the chamber, closing the 
 door cautiously after him. 
 
 "I greet tliee, merry women," he said, as he drew two large 
 bottles from under his coat. 
 
 "Oh, cousin, why did you come here?" asked Kate, as slie re- 
 treated behiud a bed. " Get thee away, or we will be undone." 
 
 "Not until the ladies partake of this good wine, Kate. Sit 
 thee down here with me." 
 
 "Sit thee down. Lady Kate," said Mary Lassells. "On my 
 faith, but you are a brave gallant, sir. And did you steal into 
 the old lady's chamber ?" 
 
 "Nay, nay, Mary, I but looked under the waiting-woman's jiil- 
 low, while I slipped a broad gold piece into her liand. Come 
 here, Kate, and drink to my success ou other nights." 
 
 Kate Howard did sit down, and she drnnk of the wine, while 
 her lover's arm was around her waist. 
 
 Francis Derham did not leave that chamber until tlie day was 
 breaking. 
 
 Night after night the bold lover entered to pay liis stolen visits 
 to the chamber, and as he always went supplied willi wine and 
 other sleep-invitingrefreshments, he was welcomed by the women 
 with great glee. 
 
 At length the suspicions of the lady were aroused by one of 
 the faithless women, who had been discharged frrfln the house 
 for an open amour with one of the retainers. 
 
 The old lady watched herself; she saw Derham getting the 
 keys from her faithless waiting-woman; and she followed him 
 to the room where Katliarine was wont to receive him nightly. 
 
 A fearful uproar followed the discovery, and during the ex- 
 citement our adventurer escaped from the house and hastened 
 away to Ireland, in order to escape the vengeance of Katharine's 
 enraged relatives. 
 
 The erring girl was immediately placed in strict confinomcnt; 
 but she managed, tlirough the instrumentality of anotlier cor- 
 rujit female, to carry on a correspondence with him, while he 
 lived an outlawed life in Ireland. 
 
 Some years i)asse<l away, and erring Katharine Howard became ' 
 a refined, beautiful woman. Slie even became remaikable for 
 her modest and maidenly deport meiit. 
 
 When Derham returned from Ireland in a secret manner, with 
 his early love still strong in his breast, she positively refused to 
 hold any communication with him. He was still devotedly at- 
 tached to her, however, and he found means to gain an interview 
 with the proud damsel. 
 
 It was reported at the time that Katharine was engaged in 
 marriage to her cousin, Thomas Culpepper; and Derham was in 
 a high state of jealous excitement when he broke in on Katha- 
 rine. 
 
 "Will you be my wife, Kate ?" he demanded. 
 
 " I will not wed you, sir," she rejilied. " I do not wish to ever 
 look on you again." 
 
 "You are going to marry Thomas Culpepper, Kate, and that 
 is why you forget me." 
 
 "If there was not another man in the world, sir, I would not 
 be your wife," was tlie reply, as Kate turned to leave tlu' npart- 
 ment. 
 
 "Stay a moment. Kate," said the jealous lover. " I hear that 
 you are coing to court soon." 
 
 ' That may be, sir." 
 
 "Then beware how you trifle with me. I will seek you and' 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND (QUEENS. 
 
 55 
 
 claim you, even lliougi you were lUe wife of the king. I love 
 yoQ still; and 1 will hold you, or perish in the Btriviiif;." 
 
 King Henry had just uinrried his fourth wife, Anue of Cleves, 
 wlieii lie lirst met Katharine Howard at a banquet ^ven by the 
 liisliop of Winchester, and lie became enamored of the young 
 girl at their introduction. 
 
 The king had buried his third wife, Jane ScjTiiour, who had 
 died ID childbirth; he had chosen the ugly and unpreposessiiig 
 Anne of Cleves on the strength of a flattering portrait, which 
 his favorite painter had taken; and he was already taking 
 measures to set her aside by a divorce. 
 
 It was only natural, then, for the beauty-loving king to pay 
 his attentions to the fair Katharine Howanl, who wius then in 
 the full bloom of womanlioo<l. Katharine wag immediately ap- 
 pointeti maid of honor to the (lueen ; her royal lover pres.'^ed bis 
 attentions on her in his own ardent fashion, and she was soon 
 looked upon as the future queen. 
 
 Francis Derham vanished from England at this time, and it 
 was reported that he bad been killed at sea, while cruising on a 
 pirate ship. 
 
 Tlie divorce was at length procured; the favorite mistress be- 
 came tlie best-beloved wife of the powerful king, and peace and 
 
 happiness ajipeared to dawn on the pathway of the once erring 
 woman. 
 
 But the shadow of her past life was following her in her bright- 
 est moments. 
 
 The king undertook a northern journey, and bis fair wife accom- 
 panied him. Sbe met Derham at a castle on the con.^il. niij be 
 compelled bor to introduce him into the royal household as her 
 private scretary, while the king bad never heard of the young 
 adventurer before. 
 
 While at Lincoln Katharine admitted her cousin, Thomas 
 Culpepper, with her at night in her private chamber; and that 
 interview lasted many hours. 
 
 At length tlie king, who adored Katharine even more than all 
 his former wives, beard some stories concerning her early life; 
 and these stories were circulate*! by her former liase com- 
 panions. 
 
 An investigation was ordered ; Katharine's old confidante, Mary 
 Lassells, was arrested and questioned by the king's agents; and 
 the faithless woman coiifesse^l all about the frail girl's connection 
 with Henry Manox and Francis Uerham. 
 
 Then Katharine's days were numbered. She was doomed to 
 share the fate of Anne Buleyn, who was her cousin; and her 
 lover, Francis Derham, was also seized and put to death. 
 
 1 
 
 THE LOVE INTRIGUES OF ELIZABETH, THE VIRGIN QUEEN OF ENGLAND. 
 
 THE FIR.ST I/)VE OF A PRI.NCES.S — HER JEAJW)l'S SLSTER IMrRISOXED— THE QfEES I.V LOVE WITH A.NOTIIER WOMAN'.S Hl'SBA.VD— R<iV »I, 
 
 FAVORITES VVIXG FOR HER — SIR WALTER RALEIGH AND HIS ROYAL MISTRESS— ESSEX AS A YOl'.NO LOVER 
 
 TO .VX OLD (JUEK.S — HIS I'RESrMITION AND HIS DEATH. 
 
 It must not be imagined, because Elizabeth of England never 
 shared her throne with a husband, that she was a confirmed 
 man-hater. 
 
 On the contrary, even In her old age she was a great admirer 
 of manly beauty, and her favorite courtiers were always noted for 
 their graces of person as much as for their mental endowments. 
 
 Tills famous queen was the child of two jiersonages in history 
 who were noted for tlieir warm and guilty attachments. Sbe 
 was the daughter of Henry VIII. and the unfortunate Anne 
 Boleyn. 
 
 M'lien her sister Mary was Queen of England, the Princess 
 Elizabeth liecame attached to Edward Courtney, Earl of Pevon- 
 shire, a very handsome and highly accomplished \ouiig noble- 
 man, who returned her attection in a sincere and ardniit manner. 
 
 Queen Mary, who was In a state of single blessedness at the 
 time, bad also conceived a violent passion for young Courtney, 
 and it is said that she would liave placed him on tlie throne with 
 herself were it not that his attachment for Elizabeth caused him 
 to look on the queen with feelings of abhorrence. 
 
 Although -Mary was regarded as a very beautiful woman in 
 her youthful prime, sbe was anything but attractive a* the time 
 wlien she became enamored of Elizabeth's young lover. Besides, 
 Mary was some eighteen years older than her young ,'iister, wlio 
 was then in the pride of youth and beauty, as well as being noted 
 for her brilliant wit and high accomplishments. 
 
 While Elizabeth was fully assured of Edward Courtney's love, 
 she was terribly afraid that her royal sister, who was the daugh- 
 ter of Catherine of Arragon, would bear away the ijrize. 
 
 One evening, as the two young lovers were strolling in the 
 royal gardens. Elizabeth seated herself on a rustic seat, saying: 
 
 "lam weary, Edward. I have been dancing attendance on 
 the queen all the live-long day." 
 
 The young nobleman took a scat by her side and seized her 
 hand, as he responded, in warm tones: 
 
 " Would to Heaven, my beloved lady, that we could be weddetl 
 and retire to my castle.'' 
 
 " To be dragged from thence to the scalTold, Edward? You 
 
 know that the queen would have onr heads if we were guilty of 
 such folly." 
 
 "I fear you are right, sweet princess. And yet it is almost 
 death to me- this life of an.xiety and hopeless waiting. Why 
 shall we not be married in secret, my adored one?" 
 
 "I cannot consent to that, dear Courtney. If the queen were 
 to know of it, we should be sent to the Tower on the instant. 
 You know that she loves you, and that she seeks your hand." 
 
 "And may that hand bewithere<l on my arm ere I give it to 
 her in marriage, dear princess. I respect her as my queen, but 
 I could never love her. My heart is yours, and yours only." 
 
 "I feel it, Edward. If I cannot wed you, I will never wed (in- 
 other. If I were queen of England to-morrow, you would be my 
 husband. If we are separated for life, no other — not even the 
 mightie.'it prince in Christendom — will sb.ire the throne " 
 
 While the lovor.'s were thus conversing a pale face was peering 
 out at them from some shrubbery at the side of the (lath above 
 them, while a low, threatening voice could be heard muttering: 
 
 "I will soon put an end to this dallying. The guilty p.air will 
 soon find other quarters. I will cool their guilty love— the de- 
 ceitful wretches!" 
 
 On the following morning, the young Earl of Devonshire was 
 banished from the court, and the Princess Elizabeth was sent to 
 the Castle of Alfreidge as a prisoner, and commanded, under 
 severe )>enalties, not to hold any conversation with her lover. 
 
 But the devoted lovers were not to be baffled in their desires. 
 Young Courtney managed to find the opportunities of holding 
 secret interviews with the young princess, and several tender 
 letters were also interchanged. Two of these letters were inter- 
 ceptixl by the queen's emissaries, who conveyed them to the 
 jealous creature. 
 
 The first letter opened by Mary was from her young sister to 
 her lover, and it contained the following declarations "f a violent 
 passion : 
 
 " My Lord, — I do not doubt your love, but I fear this passion 
 will be to your prejudice. It is this which otiliges me to conceal 
 my preference for yon, having so little hope; but 1 am sensllilf 
 
58 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 SOME OF THE LOVE INTRIGUES OF THE FAMOUS CARDINAL RICHELIEU. 
 
 THE CREAT SOLDIEK-STATESMAN AS A LOVKB- 
 
 TllE QUEEN— 
 
 -HIS INTRUJrE WITH FAIR MARION — THE FAVORED LOVER AND HIS FATE — LOOKINO I'r 
 HIS GREAT ENCLISH RIVAL IN LOVE AS WELL AS IN WAR. 
 
 Lovers of tlie diaina, who liave witnessed our leading actors 
 in IJulwer's jjopular play, are apt to regard the tottering old car- 
 dinal as a great statesman who had not yet lost his tact for state 
 intrigues, and as one who, after years of warfare and state craft? 
 declared that "the pen was mightier than the sword." 
 
 Students of history, reading of his great confjuesls, wliereby 
 lie raised France to a |)roud and jiGwcrful position as a nation, 
 are wont to look upon hiin as the greatest soldier of his age. 
 
 And many historians, who regarded the great cardinal only as 
 a stern and unflincliing prelate, have declared that his whole life 
 was engrossed in the advancement of his religious views, and 
 that he had neither tlie time nor the inclination to inilulge in the 
 weaker passions so common to the rulers of the age in which he 
 lived — and in all ages, for that matter. 
 
 Yet the great statesman ditl have a soft spot in his stern heart, 
 and he had an eye for female beauty as well as for ambition. 
 
 When llichelieu was in the prime of manhood and power, he 
 heard of the cliarms of a certain young lady who was attached to 
 the court of Louis XIII. of France, and who was known as 
 Marion de Lormes. 
 
 Being excited by curiosity, he managed to get a fair view of 
 the maiden without being seen himself, and he then found lliat 
 she was even ten times more beautiful and fascinating than he 
 had ever imagined she could be from the reports he had heard. 
 
 Anne of Austria was the neglected wife of the Frencli king at 
 the time, as the fickle monarch basked in the open smiles of more 
 than one fair dame; and he even rode witli two of his favorites 
 in the same open carriage while attending the ehase in the royal 
 forests. 
 
 When Richelieu became attracted to Marion, that bewitching 
 creature was carrying on an intrigue with Saint Mars, one of the 
 kind's male favorites. The bold prelate immediately set himself 
 up as a rival to Saint Mars, and he made love to the tickle lady 
 in secret. 
 
 Tlie lady received the addresses of the great statesman with 
 apparent satisfaction, knowing full well that it would be danger- 
 ous to incur the enmity of such a powerful lover. 
 
 But Richelieu, who was watchful and jealous in love as well as 
 in war. had grave doubts of the damsel's faith, and he set him- 
 self as a spy on her actions. 
 
 One evening, while looking out from a window of the palace, 
 he observed Marion walking along a pathway in the garden, as 
 If hastening to meet some favored lover. 
 
 Hastily donning a suitable disguise, Richelieu hastened out 
 into the garden, and stole along the path which his fair mistress 
 had taken. He moved along in a silent manner until he reached 
 a small grove, in the center of which was a small hunting-lodge, 
 which afforded shelter to the gamekeepers of the forest during 
 the severe storms of winter, and which was usually deserted in 
 the summer season, save when occupied by some devoted lovers 
 of the g.iy court during their tender and clandestine meetings. 
 
 Stealing along to the side of the lodge, with his ears wide open 
 and his eyes glaring with jealous rage, Richelieu heard soft voices 
 within, iis well as other sounds that did not serve to allay his 
 angry emotions. 
 
 "And so you have a new lover, Marion?" said a male voice, 
 which Richelieu did not recognize. 
 
 "I have, my dear friend. I did but try with Saint Mars to 
 flatter his vanity, while I was advancing your interests. And 
 now the great cardinal is at my feet." 
 
 " Beware that he does not enter your heart, my Marion. He 
 is not one to be triHed with, I assure you. I fear him as a rival, 
 and I dread him as an enemy, should he learn that you are at- 
 tached to me." 
 
 " But if I can advance your interests through bim, dear Des- 
 biirreau. If I could " 
 
 "He would never be content to have you share your favors 
 with another, dear Marion. You must keep our love a secret. 
 If we are discovered, my doom is sealed."' 
 
 "That is folly, my dear friend. If Richelieu should discover 
 our intrigue— or pretend to discover it you should make the 
 report a matter of jest; Laugh at the idea of the great cardinal 
 being your rival, and leave the rest to me. I.assure you that I 
 will cajole the great man, for he loves me too much to give me 
 any great pain or displeasure." 
 
 The cardinal was sorely tempted to break in on the happy 
 pair, more especially as every sentence uttered by them was ac- 
 companied with fond kisses and caresses, but he controlled his 
 rage, and hastened from the spot, in order to lay his iilans for 
 securing Marion's undivided embraces. 
 
 On the following day Monsieur Desbarreau, who was a coun- 
 selor of the Parliament, and a young man of good figure and 
 lively wit, received a visit from one of the cardinal's con- 
 fidential agents. 
 
 The agent, in a very diplomatic manner, informed the young 
 man that if he would give up Marion in favor of the cardinal, the 
 sacriHce would be acknowledged in a form that would lead to the 
 advancement of his fortune. 
 
 The young lawyer made light of the proposal, and rejoined, 
 in a pleasant manner: 
 
 "The great cardinal does but jest with me, monsieur. I can- 
 not imagine our eminent statesmen being capable of such a 
 weakness." 
 
 Richelieu became so angry at this reply that he commenced to 
 persecute the favored lover; he drove him from his position, and 
 he compelled him to leave the kingdom, and the charming Marion. 
 
 Richelieu has been accused of making love to other fair dames, 
 but his admiration for this neglected queen, Anne of Austria, is 
 a matter of historical record. 
 
 The queen was at first inclined to receive the attentions of the 
 powerful minister; but when she found that he was too ardent in 
 his manner, and that he desired to overstep the bounds of de- 
 corum, she met his fervent advances with great contempt and 
 disdain. 
 
 A historian of a later time, in speaking of the persecutions to 
 which the queen was subjected by her cruel and adulterous king, 
 speaks of Richelieu and a favored rival in the following strain: 
 
 " If we are to believe the annals of the times, those persecu- 
 tions against a qu<!en. the beauty, graces and sweetness of whose 
 temper were worthy a happier fate, were instigated liy love. The 
 Cardinal Richelieu, that great minister, had been audacious 
 enough to cast a wishful eye on the queen, from whom his pas- 
 sion met no return but contempt. It was therefore to avenge 
 himself of that rebuke that he thus persecuted her. To such a 
 cause are we to attribute the divisions which arose at that period 
 between France and England, and which occasioned so much 
 bloodshed. 
 
 " The Duke of Buckingham, who ruled over Great Britain, 
 while Richelieu did the same in France, came into the latter king- 
 dom on the occasion of his master's marriage. He was no less 
 daring than the cardinal, and lie fell in love with the queen, and 
 had the boldness to tell her so in a long interview which he had 
 with her. The Marchioness de Lencey, lady of honor, tired of 
 the long conversation, said to him, in a severe tone: 
 
 "'Hold your tongue, sir; the Queen of France is not to be 
 spoken to in that strain.' 
 
 "It is said that when taking leave of the queen he kissed her 
 gown and shed some tears. It is further said that the king was 
 
THE LOVES AM) lyTHIGUES OF KISGS ASD (^CEEM. 
 
 6V> 
 
 infornn-U of all that had transpired durinj; his absence, and dis- 
 charged some of the queen's attendants from her service. The 
 cardinal, who was also informed of this, conceived the greatest 
 jealousy, and soon made his rival feel the cflTects of it. 
 
 '•The duke, having caused himself to be sent on a second era- 
 Ijassy to France, merely to see the (jueen, was forbidden to set 
 his fool info the kingdom. Such is the version given ua by an 
 Ilullan author. 
 
 " Kichelieu and Ruckingham were pitted one against another for 
 reasons which were kept a secret because they were disgraceful 
 in themselves, and afterwards the people ha<l to pay out of their 
 (lockets for the follies and quarrels of these two rivals. Mr. 
 Hume ascribes the rupture between England and France to the 
 rivalship of these two ministers. The cardinal's jealousy was all 
 the stronger as he knew the duke had been received with some 
 favor, for that historiaD maintains that the apparent merit of the 
 
 duke had made some impression on the queen, and that she per- 
 mitted herself at least 'that attachment of the soul, which con- 
 ceals 80 many dangers under a delicious surface." 
 
 " However, the duke having sworn he would see the queen in 
 spite of all the power of Franco, he e.vciled a war, the conse- 
 quences of which were not of ninch credit, and he returned to 
 Kngland di.shonored and more hatetl than ever. 
 
 " Another author asserts that while the Cardinal Richelieu was 
 besieging La Kochello, the Rochellese sent to England for new 
 assistance, and that the Duke of Ruckingham, animated with all 
 the stimulus of love and jealousy, armed (piickly a considerable 
 fleet, which might liave occasioned the ruin of the cardinal. 
 They say that in this crisis they compelled the <|ueen to write to 
 the duke and beg him to suspend his armament, anil to this letter 
 was owed the taking of I.A Rochelle." 
 
 THE "MERRY MONARCH" OF ENGLANIl AND HIS WITTY FAVORITE 
 
 NELL G WYNNE. 
 
 IIARLES II. A.S A llfSBAND AXD A LOVER— NELL flWV.NNE's EARLY LIFE— HER FIR.ST APPEARANCE ON THE STAGE- MEETl.VU W'lTH 
 CUARLE8 — f1GHTI.NO HIS FORMER FAVORITES— THE KEIGN OF A.S A.MOROfS FAMILY. 
 
 Charles n. of England was one of the greatest libertines that 
 ever disgraced a throne, and he never pretended to bide bis amor- 
 ous intrigues. 
 
 After the death of his unfortunate father, Charles I., who was 
 defeated and beheaded by Oliver Cromwell, the young king had 
 to fly to France, where his morals were not at all improved by 
 associating with the titled ladies of a gay court. 
 
 On the death of Cromwell, Charles was restored to his king- 
 dom; and his ministers began negotiations for his marriage with 
 Catharine of Braganza, who was one of the richest princesses 
 in Europe. 
 
 While the marriage negotiations were going on, Charles car- 
 ried on an open intrigue with a certain Mrs. Palmer; while his 
 court was so riotous and unruly as to attract the censures of the 
 more sober-minded people of England. 
 
 When Catharine was wedded to Charles she was well aware of 
 his connection with Mrs. Palmer, but slie was not iirepared for 
 the insult oflered to her on her arrival in England. The king 
 then presentetl her with a list of the ladies of honor which he had 
 chosen for her, and at the head of the list was the name of his 
 infuinous paramour, Mre. Palmer. 
 
 The iodignanl queen seized a pen on the instant and erased the 
 odiiins name. Charles was then in some perplexity ns to the 
 course he would pursue in attempting to force hLs favorite into a 
 position at court; but the witty lover was not to be balllcd at a 
 first repulse. 
 
 Nearly si.\ week« of marrie<l serenity had passed away, when a 
 lady of majestic figure, and with a very beautiful face, was pre- 
 sented to the queen at one of her receptions, under the title of 
 Lady Castlemaine. As the title was new to the queen, she was 
 about to address the person in kindly tones, wlien one of her ladies 
 whisperei into her ear: 
 
 "That is the notorious Mrs. Palmer." 
 
 The queen was so indignant at this fresh outrage that she 
 could scarcely subdue her feelings; and in the struggle the blood 
 rushed from her nostrils and she fell in a fit. 
 
 Charles soon grew tireil of Mrs. l^lmer, and turned his atten- 
 tions to his cousin. Lady Frances Stuart, one of the queen's 
 maids of honor. She repelled his dishonorable advances, and she 
 soon afterwards married the Duke of Richmond. 
 
 While the queen was residing at Tunbridge Wells, which was 
 then a favorite watering-place, she sent for a company of actors, 
 lit order to ainase her and her friends. At that time the Merry 
 M.,iifnvli u-.a leading a life of the wildest dissipation, I'vieniling 
 
 his adventures and his amours over the country for miles around 
 London. 
 
 When the players arrived at the watering-place, Charles be- 
 came attracted by one of the actresses, who proved to be the 
 famous Nell Gwynoe. 
 
 Although Nell le<I a wild life from childhood, it Is asserte<l that 
 she maintained her virtue until she fell a victim to the wiles of 
 the Merry Monarch. As an account of her early career will 
 prove very interesting, we will draw on the historian for the facts 
 recorded thereof, as well as for an account of her introduction to 
 the stage : 
 
 The district of Alsalia, denominated Whilefriars, in London, 
 had formerly been under the government of a republic, which, 
 tliough often vi.sited with revolutionary niovenients, had existed 
 through the whole of the commonwealth. But about the same 
 time that Cromwell, with the aid of the army, nsurpetl the gov- 
 ernment of the nation, that of Alsatia also underwent a change, 
 and the chief authority was seized by an adventurous washer- 
 woman. This lady, being of an unscrupulous disposition, not 
 soon or easily intimidated, maintained her position till the Res- 
 toration, when, like the mother realm, Alsatia became the seat 
 of a monarchy. Its post of honor had since been successfully 
 filledby several eminent criminals; but, among other things, the 
 visitation of the Plague, in the year 16fi4, had brought about un 
 interregnum, which lasted nearly a year. 
 
 The realm was still in a state of anarchy, when it was invaded, 
 with every other pari of the metropolis, by the (Jreat I-lre. The 
 deeds of violence, rapine, and bloodshed, unrestrained by any 
 law, fear, or scruple, which then took place, amidst the general 
 confusion and helplessness, made an im)>ression even on the 
 Alsatians. When a knot of riilllans. herded for the nonce, were 
 reveling among them in every kind of outi-age, they were sud- 
 denly calle<l upon by a stranger, whom none of them swmed to 
 be acquainteil with, to put them down. 
 
 That done, the stranger subsequently engaged them in other 
 arrangements— formed them, with the general concurrence, into 
 several distinct companies— directed some to transport the 
 maimed and helpless over the river— some to guard and remove 
 whatever could be saved from the fire; and finally, when flight 
 couhl no longer lie deferred, brought the majority of them safe to 
 an encampment on St. Georgu's Fields. 
 
 On the return of the Alsatians to the sanctuary, the stranger, 
 who was now known by the name of Barker, bore them company, 
 and was unanimously i-l.<t...l ii,,.ir rhief. He had filled thi^ 
 
58 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 SOME OF THE LOVE INTRIGUES OF THE FAMOUS CARDINAL RICHELIEU. 
 
 THE (iREAT SOLDIEK-STATESMAN AS A LOVKB — IMS INTRHiL-E WITH FAIH MARION — THE FAVORED LOVER AND 1118 KATE- 
 
 THE QVEEN — HIS GREAT ENliUSJl RIVAL IN LOVE A8 WELL AS IN WAR. 
 
 •LOOKINll UP TO 
 
 Lovers of the drama, who liave witnessed our leading actors 
 in liulwer's popular play, arc apt to regard the tottering old car- 
 dinal as a great statesman who hat! not yet lost his tact for slate 
 intrigues, and as one who, after years of warfare and stale craftT 
 declared that "the pen was mightier than the sword." 
 
 Students of history, reading of his great conquests, wheret)y 
 he raised France to a proud and powerful position as a nation, 
 arc wont to look upon him as tlie greatest soldier of his age. 
 
 And many liistorians, wlio regarded tlie great cardinal only as 
 a stern and unllinching prelate, liave declared that liis whole life 
 was engrossed in the advancement of his religious views, and 
 that he had neither the time nor the inclination to indulge in the 
 weaker passions so common to the rulers of the age in which lie 
 lived — and in all ages, for that matter. 
 
 Yet the great statesman did have a soft spot in his stern heart, 
 and he liad an eye for female beauty as well as for ambition. 
 
 When Kicheheu was in the prime of manhood and power, he 
 heard of the charms of a certain young lady who was attached to 
 the court of Louis XIIL of France, and wlio was known as 
 Marion de Lormes. 
 
 Being excited by curiosity, he managed to get a fair view of 
 the maiden without being seen himself, and he then found that 
 she was even ten times more beautiful and fascinating than he 
 had ever imagined she could be from the rejiorts he had heard. 
 
 Anne of Austria was the neglected wife of the Frencli king at 
 the time, as the fickle monarch basked in the open smiles of more 
 than one fair dame; and he even rode with two of his favorites 
 in the same open carriage while attending the ehase in the royal 
 forests. 
 
 When Richelieu became attracted to Marion, that bewitching 
 creature was carrying on an intrigue with Saint Mars, one of llie 
 king's male favorites. The bold prelate immediately set himself 
 up as a rival to Saint Mars, and he made love to the tickle lady 
 in secret. 
 
 The lady received the addresses of the great statesman with 
 apparent satisfaction, knowing full well that it would be danger- 
 ous to incur the enmity of such a powerful lover. 
 
 Hut Richelieu, who was watchful and jealous in love as well as 
 in war, had grave doulits of the damsel's faith, and he set him- 
 self as a spy on her actions. 
 
 One evening, while looking out from a whidow of the palace, 
 he observed Marion walking along a i)atliway in the garden, as 
 if hastening to meet some favored lover. 
 
 Hastily donning a suitable disguise, Richelieu hastened out 
 into the garden, and stole along the path wliich liis fair mistress 
 had taken. He moved along in a silent manner until he readied 
 a small grove, in the center of wliich was a small liunling-lodge, 
 which afforded shelter to the gamekeepers of the forest during 
 the severe storms of winter, and which was usually deserted in 
 the summer season, save when occupied by some devoted lovers 
 of the gay court during their tender and clandestine meetings. 
 
 Stealing along to the side of the lodge, with his ears wide open 
 and his eyes glaring with jealous rage, Richelieu heard soft voices 
 within, as well as other sounds that did not serve to allay his 
 angry emotions. 
 
 "And so you have a new lover, Marion?" said a male voice, 
 which Richelieu did not recognize. 
 
 " I have, my dear friend. I did but try with Saint Mars to 
 flatter his vanity, while I was advancing your interests. And 
 now the great cardinal is at my feet." 
 
 "Beware that he docs not enter your heart, my Marion. He 
 is not one to be trilled with, I assure you. I fear him as a rival, 
 and I dread him as an enemy, should be learn that you are at- 
 tached to me." 
 
 " But if I can advance your interests through him, dear Des- 
 barreau. If I could—" 
 
 " He would never be content to have you share your favors 
 with another, dear Marion. You must keep our love a secret. 
 If we are discovered, my doom is sealed." 
 
 "That is folly, my dear friend. If Richelieu should discover 
 our intrigue— or pretend to discover it you should make the 
 report a matter of jest; Laugh at the idea of the great cardinal 
 being your rival, and leave the rest to me. I. assure you that I 
 will cajole the great man, for he loves me too much to give me 
 any great pain or displeasure." 
 
 The cardinal was sorely tem|)ted to break in on the happy 
 pair, more especially as every sentence uttered by them was ac- 
 comjianied with fond kisses and caresses, but he controlled his 
 rage, and hastened from the spot, in order to lay his jilaus for 
 securing Marion's undivided embraces. 
 
 On the following day Monsieur Desbarreau, who was a coun- 
 selor of the Parliament, and a young man of good figure and 
 lively wit, received a visit from one of the cardinal's con- 
 fidential agents. 
 
 The agent, in a very diplomatic manner, informed the young 
 man that if he would give up Marion in favor of the cardinal, the 
 sacrifice would be acknowledged in a form that would lead to the 
 advancement of his fortune. 
 
 The young lawyer made light of the proposal, and rejoined, 
 in a pleasant manner: 
 
 "The great cardinal does but jest with me, monsieur. I can- 
 not imagine our eminent statesmen being capable of such a 
 weakness." 
 
 Ricliolieu became so angry at this reply that he commenced to 
 persecute the favored lover; he drove him from his position, and 
 he compelled him to leave the kingdom, and the charming .Marion. 
 
 Richelieu has been accused of making love to other fair dames, 
 but bis admiration for this neglected queen, Anne of Austria, is 
 a matter of historical record. 
 
 The queen was at first inclined to receive the attentions of the 
 powerful minister; but when she found that he was too ardent in 
 his manner, and that he desired to overstep the bounds of de- 
 corum, she met his fervent advances with great contempt and 
 disdain. 
 
 A historian of a later time, in speaking of the persecutions to 
 which the queen was subjected by her cruel and adulterous king, 
 speaks of Richelieu and a favored rival in the following strain: 
 
 " If we are to believe the annals of the times, those persecu- 
 tions against a queen, the tieauty, graces and sweetness of whos* 
 temper were worthy a happier fate, were instigated by love. The 
 Cardinal Richelieu, that groat minister, had been audacious 
 enough to cast a wisliful eye on the queen, from whom his |)as- 
 sion met no return but contem|>t. It was therefore to avenge 
 himself of that rebuke that he thus persecuted her. To such a 
 cause are we to attribute the divisions which arose at that period 
 between France and England, and which occasioned so much 
 bloodshed. 
 
 "The Duke of Buckingham, who ruled over Great Britain, 
 while Richelieu did the same in France, came into the latter king- 
 dom on the occasion of his master's marriage. Ue was no less 
 daring than the cardinal, and he fell in love with the queen, and 
 had the boldness to tell her so in a long interview which he had 
 with her. The Marchioness de Lencey, lady of honor, tired of 
 the long conversation, said to him, in a severe lone: 
 
 "'Uold your tongue, sir; the Queen of France is not to be 
 spoken to in that strain.' 
 
 "It is said that when taking leave of the queen he kissed her 
 gown and shed some tears. It is further said that the king was 
 
THE WYES A^JJ IMRIOUES OF KlSu.s AMJ (^CEEy:S. 
 
 infornipd of all that had transpired dnrhif; liis absence, and dis- 
 charged some of llie queen's attendants from her service. The 
 cardinal, who was also informed of this, conceived tlic greatest 
 jealousy, and soon made his rival feel the efTects of it. 
 
 "The duke, having caused himself to be sent on a second em- 
 bassy to France, merely to see the i|neon, was forbidden to set 
 his foot into the kingdom. .Such is the version given us by an 
 Italian author. 
 
 " Kichelieu and Buckingham were pitted one against another for 
 reasons which were kept a secret because they were disgraceful 
 in themselves, and afterwards the peoiile had to pay out of their 
 pockets for tlio follies and quarrels of these two rivals. Mr. 
 Hume ascribes the rupture between England and France to the 
 rivalship of these two ministers. The cardinal's jealou.sy was ail 
 the stronger as he knew the duke had been received with some 
 favor, for that historian maintains that the apparent merit of the 
 
 duke had made some impression on tbo queen, and that she per- 
 mitted herself at least 'that attachment of the soul, which con- 
 coals so many dangers under a delicious surface.' 
 
 " However, the duke having sworn he would see the queen in 
 spite of all the power of France, he e.xcited a war, the conse- 
 quences of which were not of much credit, and he returned to 
 Knj^^and dishonored and more hatetl than ever. 
 
 " Anothec author asserts that while the Cardinal Richelieu was 
 besieging La Rochelle, the Rochellese sent to England for new 
 assistance, and that the Uuke of Buckingham, animated with all 
 the stimulus of love and jealousy, armed quickly a considerable 
 fleet, which might have occasioned the ruin of the cardinal. 
 They say that in tliis crisis they compelled the (|ueen to write to 
 the duke and beg him to suspend his armament, and to this letter 
 was owed the taking of La Rochelle." 
 
 THE "MERRY MONARCH" OF ENGLAND AND HIS WITTY FAVORITE 
 
 NELL GWYNNE. 
 
 IIARLES II. A.S A llfSBA.ND AND A LOVER— NELL GWVNNE'S EARLY LIFE— HER FIR.ST AFPEARANrB ON THE STAGE- MEETIXi; WITI 
 CHARLES — flGHTI.SO HIS FORMER FAVORITES— THE REIGN OF AN AMOROl'S FAMILY. 
 
 Charles H. of England was one of the greatest libertines that 
 ever disgraced a throne, and he never pretended to hide his amor- 
 ous intrigues. 
 
 After the death of his unfortunate father, Charles I., who was 
 defeated and beheaded by Oliver Cromwell, the young king had 
 to fly to France, where his morals were not at all improved by 
 associating with the titled ladies of a gay court. 
 
 On the death of Cromwell, Charles was restored to his king- 
 dom; and his ministers began negotiations for his marriage with 
 Catharine of Bragaaza, who was one of the richest princesses 
 in Euro|>e. 
 
 While the marriage negotiations were going on, Charles car- 
 ried on an open intrigue with a certain Mrs. Palmer; while his 
 court was so riotous and unruly as to attract the censures of the 
 more sober-mindetl people of England. 
 
 When Catharine was wedded to Charles she was well aware of 
 his connection with Mrs. rainier, but she was not prepared for 
 the insult otTered to heron her arrival in England. The king 
 then presented her with a list of llie ladies of honor which he had 
 chosen for her, and at the head of the list was the name of his 
 inTiinous paramour, Mre. rainier. 
 
 The indignant queen seized a pen on the instant and erased the 
 odious name. Charles was then in some perplexity as to the 
 course he would pursue in attempting to force his favorite into a 
 position at court; but the witty lover was not to be baffled at a 
 first repulse. 
 
 Nearly six weekfl of married serenity had passed away, when a 
 lady of majestic figure, and with a very beautiful face, was pre- 
 sented to the queen at one of her receptions, under tiie title of 
 Lady Castlemaine. As the title was new to the queen, she was 
 about to address the person in kindly tones, when one of her ladies 
 whisperei into her ear: 
 
 "That is the notoriou.s Mrs. Palmer." 
 
 The queen was so indignant at this fresh outrage that she 
 could scarcely subdue her feelings; and in the struggle the blood 
 rushed from her nostrils and she fell in a fit. 
 
 Charles soon grew tiretl of Mrs. Palmer, and turne<l his atten- 
 tions to his cousin, Ljidy Frances Stuart, one of the queen's 
 maids of honor. She repelled his dishonorable advances, and she 
 soon afterwards married the Duke of Richmond. 
 
 While the queen was residing at Tunbridgo WaWa, which was 
 then a favorite watering-place, she sent for a company of actors, 
 In orfler to amuse her and her friends. At that time the Merry 
 Monarch was leading a life of the wildest dissipation, extending 
 
 his adventures and his amours over the country for miles around 
 London. 
 
 When the players arrived at the watering-place, Charles be- 
 came attracted by one of the actresses, who iiroved to be tlie 
 famous Nell Gwyiine. 
 
 Although Nell led a wild life from childhood, it is osserteil that 
 she maintaine<l her virtue until she fell a victim to the wiles of 
 the iMerry Monarch. As an account of her early career will 
 prove very interesting, we will draw on the historian for the facts 
 recorded thereof, as well as for an account of her introduction to 
 the stage: 
 
 The district of Alsatia, denominated Whitefriars, in London, 
 had formerly l»een under the government of a republic, which, 
 though often visited with revolutionary movements, had existed 
 through the whole of the commonwealth. But alx)ut the same 
 time that Cromwell, with the aid of the army, usuriietl the gov- 
 ernment of the nation, that of Alsatia also underwent a change, 
 and the chief authority was seized by an adventurous washer- 
 woman. This lady, being of an unscni|>uluu8 disposition, nut 
 soon or easily intimidated, maintained her position till the Res- 
 toration, when, like the mother realm, Alsatia became the seat 
 of a monarchy. Its post of honor had since been successfully 
 filled by several eminent criminals; but, among other things, the 
 visitation of the Plague, in the year 1664, had brought about an 
 interregnum, which lasted nearly a year. 
 
 The realm was still in a state of anarchy, whgn it was invaded, 
 with every other part of the metropolis, by the Gi-eat Mre. The 
 deeds of violence, rapine, and bloodslic<l, unrestrained by any 
 law, fear, or scruple, which then took |)lace, amidst the general 
 confusion and helplessness, made an imiiression even on the 
 Alsatians. When a knot of rutlians. herded for the nonce, were 
 reveling among them in every kind of outrage, they were sud- 
 denly called upon by a stranger, whom none of them seemed to 
 be acquainted with, to |)ut them down. 
 
 That done, the stranger subsequently engaged them in other 
 arrangements— formed them, with the general concurrence, into 
 .several distinct companies— directed some to transport the 
 maimed and helpless over the river— some to guard and remove 
 wliatever could 1)6 saved from the fire; and finally, when flight 
 cnuld no longer be deferred, brought the majority of them safe to 
 au encampment on St. George's Fields. 
 
 On ihe return of the Alsatians to the sanctuary, the stranger, 
 who was now known by the name of Barker, bore them company, 
 and was unanimously elected their cliief. He had filled this 
 
00 
 
 TUE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 station for about a year, when bo was joined, one day, witbout 
 any previous intimation, by a woman and child; but, however 
 the former might be allied to him, bo claimed no consanguinity 
 with the latter. Indeed, the little girl— for such slie was— did not 
 even possess hid name; and it was soon generally known that 
 she bore the appellation of Null Gwynne. 
 
 lie was well adapted for the post he bad attained— possessing, 
 among other iiualilications, a strong and ready band, and a 
 dauntless spirit, with all the worst characteristics of the old 
 royalist soldiers, softened by a dash of their chivalry. Thus 
 qualified, and supported, whenever occasion arose, by many of 
 bis former companions in arms and quondam adversaries, be held 
 his ground amain, and met every attempt to depose him with 
 the most severe retribution. 
 
 After a lapse of years, the woman died, and the girl, now verg- 
 ing on womanhood, removed from the lodgings of the Uuui- 
 dumber and began to reside alone. But, protected by the in- 
 fluence of her guardian, she still lived securely, and though her 
 calling of a fruit-vendor, which slio pursued at the theater of the 
 Duke of York, at Dorset Gardens, frequently kept her abroad at 
 night, her connection with the Rum-dumber surrounded her with 
 ii constant safeguard, which the vilest bravo in Alsatia durst not 
 infringe. 
 
 Nell's business as fruit-vender brought her into contact with 
 the actors and actresses at the theater, and she soon acquired a 
 passion for tlio profession. After struggling for some time, under 
 the tuition of an able master, who bad taken a great fancy to the 
 beautiful fruit-girl, she was privately engaged to appear in a play 
 written by the celebrated Otway. 
 
 On a certain morning a number of distinguished persons bad 
 Assembled on the stage of the new theater in Lincoln's Inn 
 Square, to witness the tirst rehearsal of the new play. 
 
 The foremost of the party— a tall, intellectual-looking man. 
 dressed in grave habits, laced with black— was Betterton himself, 
 in si)eaking of whom it was said, by a celebrated critic, that 
 ' ' vShakesiJcare conceived, and Betterton realized. There bad never 
 been two Shakespoares, and there could only be one Betterton." 
 
 A cavalier of middle age, dressed in a frock of tissue, whose 
 noble features and engaging manner, free from the least affecta- 
 tion, at once denoted bim a gentleman and courtier, stood 
 ne.xt to him. It was Lord Buckhurst. 
 
 lie smiled at Betterton's observation, and, wheeling round, 
 turned the conversation to a person in bis rear — a man of nrkUlle 
 age, dressed, like Betterton, in grave habits, and having a slight 
 iuchuatiou to stoop, but whose countenance, notwithstanding a 
 look of gloom about the eyes, fairly beamed with expression. 
 
 "Thinkst thou this is true. Master Dryden ?'' b« said. "Is 
 this some hoax of our playful Otway ?" 
 
 "Nay, nay, my lord," smiled the illustrious Dryden. "He 
 would not mar bis play, metliinks, with a jest." 
 
 Before the nobleman could utter a rejoinder, a fourth person 
 interposed, a dashing, martial-looking cavalier, who was, indeed, 
 no other than Sir George Etherege. As he stepped forward to 
 iipeak, bo involuntarily displayed, in bis handsome and winning 
 oountonance, that look of innate kindness and immovable good 
 temper, which bad procured bim universal esteem, and, in an age 
 ■which dwelt more in scandal than eulogy, earned him the name 
 of "easy George and gentle Etherege." 
 
 "'Tis most honestly said, brother John," he remarked; "1 
 will wager my Hanover mare, which Is the best blood in town, 
 on Otway's earnestness." 
 
 "That mare of thi»o will certainly fail thee one day," cried 
 T,ord Buckhurst. "It hath, to my knowledge, been thy constant 
 stake and wager for two whole months. But here is our fair 
 cousin Davenant, who only lives in vivacity, as silent as a ghost. 
 Wliat mystery art thou fraught withal, good Charley ? An' thou 
 love us, unfold!— unfold, man, and sbame the devil !" 
 
 The person addressed was a slight young man, attired in ha- 
 biliments of some pretensions. But his chief attraction, as far as 
 appearances were concerned, lay in his face, which presented so 
 
 marked a resemblance to that of Shakespeare, that, bad they 
 lived in the same age, be might have passed fyr the poet himself. 
 
 "Nay, nay, I seek not to sbame the devil," answered Dave- 
 nant, "but to amaze your lordship! 'Tis a piece of woman's 
 wit." 
 
 "How wondrous deep!" cried Betterton. " Of a verity I may 
 say to thee, Charley, as Sir John Suckling said to thy father: 
 
 " ' Thou hast redeemed us, Will, and future times 
 Sball uut account unto tbe age's crimes 
 Dearth of pure wit.' '" 
 
 "Or, to go further," observed the nobleman, "as dear.Will 
 Shakespeare »f«y have said to my grandmother,* ' Make the doors 
 upon a woman's wit, and 'twill out at the keyhole; stop that, 
 'twill fly with tbe smoke out of the chimney.' " 
 
 "Truly, 'tis marvelous dark!" remarked Dryden. 
 
 "Nay/nay, not if it be woman's viit," suggested Sir George 
 Etherege." 
 
 " Gentle George, raetbinks, is driving after Barry,"t said the 
 nobleman. 
 
 There was a general laugh. 
 
 " Parbku, my lord!" said Etherege, with a slight smile, "this 
 is unfair of thee. But rive la bagatelle ! Did not I see thee last 
 night, at Dorset Gardens, coqueting with tbe pretty orange- 
 giri?" 
 
 "Oh! oh!" cried Betterton and Davenant. 
 
 " My lord, my lord, this is not well," smiled Dryden. "Fair 
 Nelly will beat thee off!" 
 
 " And so will Master Hart," observed Davenant 
 
 "And Lacy!" said Betterton. " But talk of the devil " 
 
 "And he appears!'' cried a new-comer. 
 
 It was tbe di-amatic Adonis— Lacy, who, like Sir George 
 Etherege, bad won a good name m an evil age, and, both in per- 
 son and conversation, was considered "tbe prettiest fellow about 
 town." He was followed by a military-looking man, apparently 
 about thirty, whose fine person, though set ofl' with every ad- 
 vantage of taste and dress (approaching almost to dandyisnn, 
 revealed marked traces of dissipated habits: it was Otway, the 
 poet. By his side walked bis double, Duke, whose poetry, as far 
 as respects the world at large, has long since been sunk in 
 Lethe, but whose friendship for Otway has rendered him im- 
 mortal. He was leaning on tbe arm of a player named Hart, 
 who, like Davenant, bore a I'emarkable resemblance to Shakes- 
 ])eare, and was, indeed, the grandson of the poet's sister. 
 Finally, two ladies, if one may so call them, brought up the 
 rear, and immediately secured universal attention. 
 
 One of the ladies, who was the taller of tbe two, wore a mask ; 
 tbe other was a pleasing-looking creature, though drawing fast 
 on thirty, and might, if she had been less affected, have been con- 
 sidered pretty. She was instantly recognized as Mrs. Barry; i\nd 
 Sir George Etherege, whose passion for her was as earnest as it 
 was unlawful, sprang forward to meet her. 
 
 " Fair Mistress Barry! how goes the day with you?" he whis- 
 peied. "'Tis now high noon with me." 
 
 " Now, Sir George, I protest, by my troth, and by every pretty 
 oath I can swear," answered Mrs. Barry, "you frighten me out 
 of my wits. Oh! Sir George! 'tis vastly cruel of you." 
 
 While Sir George, in an undertone, sought to reassure tbe 
 alarmed lady. Lord Buckhurst addressed himself to the copipaiiy 
 generally. 
 
 "Fair Mistress Barry, accept my entire devotion," be said. 
 " Master Lacy, you are fresh from the o|)era; how fares it, sir, 
 with your cousin Pureed and tbe dames of Charter-house Square? 
 Master Duke, I give you good-morrow; I owe you a nindlet ol 
 canary. Fair Master Hart, I hope all is well at the cockpit. 
 Killegrew, methiuks, is not doing amiss. Master Otway, I avow 
 myself, as ever, your most true admirer. And beauteous un- 
 
 * Sir William, father of Charles Davenant, was reported to lie the 
 natural Bon of Shakespeare, by the beautiful liostess of the CrowD, at 
 Oxford. 
 
 t Alluding, perhaps, to Sir George's tiaiaon for Mrs, Barry, tbe actreea. 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 61 
 
 knonti," be concluded, as he preseDted himself before the mask, 
 " who has taken mc captive with thy half-hidden glance, let me 
 remove thj" cruel vizard, and look on all thy charms." 
 
 He raised his hand, but, while it was yet only half lifted, he 
 was drawn back by Otway. 
 
 " Gramercy, my lord, the mask will scratch you!" cried the poet. 
 " But let her have her wilL The play is mine, and, if it fail, 
 'twill bo my loss." * 
 
 •' 'Tis well spoken," observed Master Duke. 
 
 "Then suffer it to stand so," interposed Betterton; "but, for 
 the sake of order, let us waste no more time. Ho, prompter, 
 ring thy bell! Now, lords and gallants, leave us a fair stage. 
 Dames and gentlemen, think of your parts, and let us, for Master 
 Otway's sake, do our best for ' Friendship's in Favor.' " 
 
 Such was the title of the play which, after a long interval of 
 preparation, was now to be rehearsed, and, as the manager 
 ceased speaking, the necessary arrangements for the exhibition 
 were speedily affected. But, interesting as the piece was, it 
 was by the character of Lady Squeamisli, which was sustained 
 by the fair mask, that admiration was especially excited; andtbe 
 conception of the part seemed to be strengthened and enlarged 
 by the performance of the actress. Plaudit after plaudit burst 
 from the admiring spectators; and Lord Buckburst, in particular, 
 seemed unable to give expression to his feelings. At tlie con- 
 clusion of the play, he broke away from his friends, and, pushing 
 through the leading players, who were breaking off into groups, 
 and past his favorite Betterton, made his way directly to the fair 
 
 • ' Mysterious divinity, whose very lisping is wit," he said, 
 "wilt thou still repel thy poor admirer?" 
 
 Tlio mask, who was pushing past him, drew up — perhaps 
 gratified that so noble a gentleman, the mirror and Maecenas of 
 his age, who was less distinguished by his rank than his wealth 
 — less by his wealth than his generosity — sliould offer her a 
 tribute of applause. But, it such were her feeUng, it soon sub- 
 sided, and she answered his salutation with a little laugh. 
 
 "Laugh on, cruel scorner!" said the nobleman ; "I would that, 
 for tbe future, I might provoke thy scorn forever, so that I could 
 hear that sweet laugh!" 
 
 " Hold! hold! an' thou wouldst not have me die!" answered 
 the mask. "Bethink thee! how many times, and how vainly, bast 
 thou uttered and repeatetl those false words?" 
 
 "False words!" echoed the nobleman. "By my hand, they 
 are most veritably true!" 
 
 " Thou art an absolute Lothario!" returned tbe mask. " Didst 
 thou not now, no longer since than yester-even, urge a lady with 
 this same protcstf 
 
 "On my faith, no!" replied the peer, musingly. "And yet, I 
 cry you mercy! 1 did, out of pure jest, say some sort of words to 
 an orange- wencb. No more, I promise you." 
 
 "An orange- wench!" laughed the mask. "Ho! ho!" 
 
 "A good jest, I promise you!" said the peer, also laughing: 
 "and it pleased her mightily. To speak the truth, she is a mar- 
 velous fair wench!" 
 
 "Still a wench?" answered the mask. 
 
 " No more of her, I prithee!'' returned the nobleman. " She 
 is, I doubt not, a mere drab. But thou, sweet goddess " 
 
 " N»y, nay, nay!" laughed tbe mask. 
 
 "Tliose eyes! " 
 
 "But the orange wenchT' cried the mask. 
 
 "That fair face! " 
 
 "Tell me of tlie drab!" said the mask. 
 
 " Hang her!" cried the peer. 
 
 "Nay, false lord!" returned the lady, "thou wouldst not surely 
 hang me?" 
 
 With those words she threw off her vizard, and the nobleman, 
 looking up, recognized the fair orange-girl, Nell Gwj-nne. 
 
 He dropped his glance directly ; and with one hand raised to 
 his face, and the otlier, which was ungloved, pressed on his heart, 
 fell on one knee at her feet. The part of the stage they occupied, 
 owing to tbe interposition of a side scene, was screened from ob- 
 
 servation ; and, in tbe bustle attending the general dispersion, 
 tboy had hitherto escaped remark. At this moment, however, 
 two persons came in sight ol them, who evidently beheld their 
 situation with anything but indifference. They were the two 
 players. Hart and Lacy. 
 
 " False lord," said Nell, " what should be thy punishment? ' 
 
 "Eternal disdain!" answered the peer. " Death." 
 
 "What if I forgive thee?" asked Nell. 
 
 Tbe nobleman, seemingly electrified by the mere thought, 
 sprung to bis feet, and ])ressed her hand to bis lips. As he did 
 so, Nell, looking around, discovered her two former admirers, 
 and, prompt in her perceptions, quickly perceived their discom- 
 posure. 
 
 "Sob, gallants!" she cried, laughing, "who is dead? Fair 
 Master Hart, give me thy band! Master Lacy, i)ull forth thy ker- 
 chief, and wipe that cloud from thy brow. For thee, my lord, 
 thou must bear my vizard for me." 
 
 And seeing that all were pleased, Nell checked her laugh, and 
 smiled on each alike. 
 
 Master Otway's i)lay, so carefully and effectively put forward, 
 with every advantage of scene, decoration, and aist, was received 
 by tbe public with unniinglcd apiirobation. Yet it was by the 
 representative of the batlled in/riijuante, Lady Squeamish, that 
 the applause of the spectators was most frequently elicited. Her 
 singular beauty, her winning manner, and her admirable art, 
 which was continually throwing forward some new and unex- 
 pected attraction, were tbe theme of universsil applause; and as 
 the play was again and again repeated, her personal loveliness 
 and professional merit became one of the topics of the day. 
 
 It will readily be ini:igiiied tliat in so vicious and licentious an 
 age this necessarily laid her open, in the course of time, to many 
 temptations — to the snares of the envious and the solicitations of 
 the corrupt. Apparently unfriended and defenseless, she re- 
 ceived more than one offer of distinguislietl protection; but, cau- 
 tiously threading the quicksands around her, she held straight to 
 her course, and was deaf alike to tbe jeers of her rivals and the 
 seductions of her admirers. 
 
 But, though undaunted, the poor girl, thus mocked and har- 
 assed, was not indifferent to tbe iieril of her situation. In her 
 solitary moments she felt it severely, and tbe epithets she had 
 won in public, and which are still applie<l to her, of " merrj'- 
 bearted Nell," "gay, laughing Nell," and "jocund Nelly,'' fell on 
 her ears like bitter mockery, as false and hollow as the world 
 itself. 
 
 Often, in the depth of night, when no eye could observe her, 
 did she bend thought after thought on her melancholy condition; 
 often did it recall the tears to her sleepless eyes ; and think as 
 she might, she could still start only the one reflection, "I MfST 
 pall!" 
 
 Thus, gad and anxious, but, over all, wearing an air of uniform 
 gayety, she passed nearly a month ; and, as each day increased 
 her popularity, so every hour, in her progress onwanl, aggra- 
 vated her embarrassment. At last she began to falter. 
 
 One evening, after an unusnally brilliant performance, which 
 drew from every part of the theater the most rapturous applause, 
 she hurried from the stage alone, .\nxiou8 to avoid observation, 
 she stole away from the company, and proceeded, with a quick 
 step and a heaN'y and ilrooping heart, to what, according to 
 Pepys, was calletl "Tlie Woman's Shift." Here, as the room 
 was devoted exclusively to the female jiortion of the company 
 (and, indeed, was ap])ropriated by them to the purposes of tlie 
 toilet), she hoped to enjoy a short period of seclusion; but she 
 bad been its occupant only a few minutes, when she was startlwl 
 by tbe approach of a footstep. 
 
 Indignant at this invasion of her privacy, she hastily arose, de- 
 termined that the intruder, however elevated his rank, should 
 not tltemph in his effrontery. Hardly had the resolution oc- 
 curre^o her, when the chamber door, which she had neglecte<l 
 to fasten, was thrown open, and, to her great surprise, she 
 found herself confronted by a stranger. 
 
 He was a man of good stature and commanding figure, al- 
 
w 
 
 THE LOVE^i AMI ISTRIGUES OF KING.^ AND QUEENS. 
 
 returned from a great naval batlle. io which he bad particularly 
 distinguished himself; and he was looked ui>on as one of the 
 great lions of the day, besides being young, attractive, and pos 
 sessed of a very fascinating apjiearance. 
 
 Marie Antoinette's third lover was the celebrated Cardinal de 
 Bolian, who loved the beautiful woman long and only too well, 
 and who became involved in a disgraceful intrigue through that 
 misguided and daring infatuation. 
 
 The Cardinal Louis de Rohan was a man in the prime of life, 
 and of an imposing figure and noble bearing; his eyes shone 
 with intelligence, his month was well cut and handsome, and liis 
 hands were beautiful. A premature baldness indicated either a 
 man of pleasure or a studious one — and he was both. lie was a 
 man no little sought after by the ladies, antl was noted for his 
 magnificent style of living; indeed, he had found the way to .feel 
 himself poor with an income of 1,600.000 francs. 
 
 The king liked him for his learning, but the queen hated bim. 
 The reasons for this hate were twofold ; first, when ambassador 
 to Vienna he had written to Louis XV. letters so full of sarcasm 
 on Maria Theresa, tlial her daughter had never forgiven bim : 
 and lie tad also written letters opposing her marriage, wliicli 
 b:ui been read alond by Louis XV. at a supiier at Madame l)u- 
 barry s. one of bis mistresses. The embassy at Vienna bad been 
 taken from M. de Breteuil and given to M. de Rohan ; the former 
 gentleman, not strong enough to revenge himself alone, had pro- 
 cured copies of these letters, which he bad laiJ before the dau- 
 pliiiie. thus making her the eternal enemy of M. de Rohan. 
 
 This hatretl rendereil the cardinal's position at court not a little 
 uncomfortable. Every time he presented himself before tlie 
 queen he met ^ilb the same discouraging reception. In spite of 
 tills he neglecteil no occasion of being near her, for which be bad 
 frequent opportunities, as he was chaplain to the court; and he 
 never complained of the treatment he received. A circle of 
 friends, among whom the Baron de Planta was the most intimate, 
 helped to console him for these royal rebufTs, not to s|>eak of the 
 ladies of tbe court, who by no means imitated the severity of the 
 queen towards him. 
 
 Certain friends of the cardinal, among whom was Madame de 
 la Motte, encouraged the enamored jirelaie in bis love intrigue, 
 and even hinted that the queen's apparent dislike was all as- 
 snmc<l. It was this intriguing creature who afterwards em- 
 liroiled the cardinal in the celebrated necklace affair, which 
 caused a great commotion as well as scandal at the time, and in 
 w bich he was made a dujie of the cunning and charming woman. 
 
 As this artful woman will figure in tbe adventures of the three 
 lovers, it will be well to give a brief account of ber biston-. 
 
 One day Madame de Boulainvilliers, wife of the Provost of 
 Paris, met in a village in Burgundy a little girl, who held out her 
 hand, saying: '-My l>eautiful lady, for the love of God, give some- 
 thing to tlie descendant of the former Kings of France." 
 
 The words snrpiisetl Mdme. de Boulainvilliers: sbe asked tbe 
 child to explain ber singular way of begging. The curate of the 
 village, who was passing by, told Madame that the child said tbe 
 truth, and that she was the lineal descendant of Henri de Saint- 
 Eemy, bastard of Henry II. and of Nicole de Savigny. 
 
 Madame de Boulainvilliers also beard that tbe child was an or- 
 phan, and that she lived on public charity. She look ber to Paris ; 
 her genealog}- w.13 examined, and it was discovered lliat the little 
 .leanne de Valois, ber brother, and her s'lster, were really scions 
 of tbe old royal stock. A v>etilion was presented to tbe Queen 
 and to M. de Maurepas by tbe Duke de Brancas-C'C-riste. Pensions 
 were granted to the three children. The boy entered the navy; 
 he became a lieutenant, and died ander tbe name of Baron de 
 Saint-Remy de Valo'is. 
 
 In 1780 Jeanne de Valois married a member of Monsieor's pri- 
 vate guard. Comte de la Motte. Tliis officer was poor; his wife's 
 portion consisted of a small i>ension: and this was insufficient 
 for the ambition of La Motte and bis -wife. Madame de la Motte 
 was considered to oe a very l>eautiful woman; she was witty and 
 attractive, and expressed herself with elegance and facility. Sbe 
 
 became acquainted with tbe Cardinal de Rohan, who lent ber 
 money and protected her. 
 
 It is diilicnlt to say whether tbe prelate's generosity was qaite 
 disinterested; but there is reason to believe tb:.t it was not, 
 especially as he lent Madame de la Motte, writhout any plausible 
 reason, a sum amounting to one hundred and twenty thousand 
 livres, previous to the necklace atlair. Howbeit Mdme. de la 
 Motte enjoyed the intimacy of the fastidions prelate, and dis- 
 covered h'ls secret aspirations. She found out that his desire 
 was to have over the Queen, who, it is said, exercised a sovere'ign 
 domination over ber husband, the same influence as Cardinal 
 Mazarin bad hai with Anne d'Autnche. She flattered bis hoUby, 
 and used it as the basis of her future fortunes. 
 
 The almost stupid simplicity through which M. de Rohan fell 
 a victim to the snare of this wily woman will afford an idea of 
 the prelate's intellectual caliliei-. Mdme. de la Motte persuaded 
 the Cardinal that she was on terms of intimacy with the Queen; 
 that, conscious as she was of the Cardinal's eminent qualities, 
 she bad so often spoken of him to ber Majesty that the Cardinal 
 was on his way to favor: that Marie Antoinette authoriEed him 
 to send her tbe justification of h'ls supposed blunders during bis 
 embassy in Austria; that she further wished to have with M. de 
 Rohan a correspondence which was to remain secret until she 
 could openly manifest ber preference for bim ; that Mdme. de la 
 Motte was to be tbe bearer of Ibis correspondence, the result of 
 which must infallibly lead tbe Cardinal to tbe highest favor and 
 influence. 
 
 The charming qneen received the young soldier from America 
 in the most gracious manner, and invited bim to accompany 
 her on a skating excursion on the French lake, on the following 
 day. 
 
 It so happened that, while young Tavemay was the soul of 
 honor and manhood, be had a corrupt and unscrupulous father, 
 who was ever involved in tbe scandals and intrignes of the 
 court. 
 
 This old reprobate was standing on the shore as h'ls son was 
 sending Marie Antoinette along the ice in a manner that raised 
 the envy of tbe most expert skaters on tbe frozen lake. Tbe 
 young soldier bad practiced skating on the great American 
 lakes, and he pleasetl the queen in the highest degree by tbe 
 swiftness and grace of his movements, as be pushed her along 
 on the little sleigh ; but he was not accustomed to the manners 
 and customs of a corrupt court. 
 
 When the young man reached tbe shore, bis father drew bim 
 aside in an energetic manner. sa\ing: 
 
 "Listen, M. Philipiie, America is, I know, a country a long 
 way from this, and where there is neither king nor queen." 
 
 "Nor subjects." 
 
 "Nor subjects, M. Philosopher; I do not deny it; that point 
 does not interest me; but what does so is, that I fear also to 
 have to come to a conclusion '' 
 
 •What, fatherr* 
 
 "Tliat you are a simpleton, my son; just trouble yoni»elf to 
 look over there." 
 
 •Well, sir." 
 
 ' Well, tbe queen looks bacK. and it is the third time slie has 
 done so: therel she turns again, and who do you think she 
 is looking for. but for you. M. Puritanr 
 
 "Well, sir," said the young man. "if it were true, which it 
 probably is not. that the queen was looking for " 
 
 ••Oh!" interrupted the old man. angrily, "this fellow is not of 
 my blood; be cannot be a Tavemay. Sir, I repeal to JOB, that 
 tbe queen is looking for yotL" 
 
 " You have good sight, sir." said his son, dryly. 
 
 " Come," said the old man. more gently, and trying to moder- 
 ate bis impatience, " trust my experience; are you. or are yon 
 not, a manr 
 
 Philippe made no reply. 
 
 His father ground bis teeth with anger, to see himself opposed 
 by this steadfast will : but making one more effort, '•PhUippc, 
 my son," said be, still more gently, "listen to me." 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIQUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 es 
 
 " It seems to lue. sir, tbat I have beeo doing nothing eise for 
 the last quarter of au hour." 
 
 "Oh," thought the old man, " I will draw you down from your 
 stilta. I will (iiiil out your weak side." Then aloud, " You 
 have overlooked one thing, Philippe." 
 
 " Wha(, sir?" 
 
 " When you left for America, there waa a king, but no queen, 
 if it were not ihe Dubarry; hardly a respectable sovereign. You 
 came back and see n queen, and you think you must be very re- 
 spectful." 
 
 " Doubtless." 
 
 " Poor child," said his father, laughing. 
 
 " llow, sir! You blame me for respecting the monarchy — 
 you, a Tavernay Maison Kouge, one of the best names in 
 France." 
 
 "I do not speak of the monarchy, but only of the queen." 
 
 '■ And yon make a difference? ' 
 
 "Pardieu, I should think so. What is royalty? a crown, that 
 is unapproachable. But what is a queen? a woman, and she, on 
 the contrarj", is very approachable." 
 
 Philippe made a gesture of disgust. 
 
 "You do not believe me,'' continued the old man, almost 
 lierccly; "well, ask M. de Coiguy, ask M. de Lauzun, or M. do 
 Vaudrcuil." 
 
 "Silence, father!" cried Philippe; "or for these three blas- 
 phemies, not being able to slrike you three blows with myswoid, 
 1 shall strike them on myself." 
 
 The old man stepped back, murmuring. " Mon Dieu, what a 
 stupid animal. Good-evening, son, you rejoice me; I thought I 
 was the father, the old man, but now I think it is I who must be 
 the yonng Apollo and you an old man ;" and he turned away. 
 
 Philippe slopped him : " You did not speak seriously, did you, 
 father? It is impossible that a gentleman of good blood like 
 yon should give ear to these calumnies, spread by the enemies, 
 not only of the queen, but of the throne." 
 
 " He will not believe, the double mule," said the old man. 
 
 " You speak to me as you would before God?" 
 
 "Yes, truly." 
 
 " Before Gixl, whom you approach every day?" 
 
 " It 8»*enis to me, my son," replied he, " that I am a gentleman, 
 and lli;it you may believe my word." 
 
 " It is, then, your opinion that the queen has had lovers ?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Those whom you have named?" 
 
 "And others, for what I know. Ask all the town and the 
 court. One must be just returned from America, to be ignorant 
 of all they say." 
 
 "And who says this, sir ? some vile pamphleteers." 
 
 "Oil! do you, then, lake me for an editor ?" 
 
 "No; and there is the mischief, when men like you repeat 
 such calumnies, which, without that, would melt away like the 
 unwholesome vapors which sometimes obscure the most brilliant 
 Baushine; but people like you repealing them, give them a 
 terrible stability. Oh, monsieur, for mercy's sake, do not repeat 
 such things." 
 
 "1 do repeat them, however." 
 
 •■ And why do you repeat them?" cried Philippe, fiercely. 
 
 "Oh!" said the old min, with his satanic laugh, " to iirove to 
 \'i\i that 1 was not wrong when I said ' Philippe, the queen looks 
 back ; she is looking for you. Philippe, the queen wishes for 
 you; run to her." 
 
 " Oh! fatlier, hold your tongue, or you will drive mo m.id." 
 
 " Really, Philippe, I do not understand you Is it a crime to 
 love? It shows that one has a heart: and in the eyes of tills 
 woman, in her voice, in everything, can )ou not read her heart? 
 Slie loves; is it you? or is it another? I know not, but believe in 
 my 0W1) experience, at this moment she loves, or is beginning to 
 love, some one. But you are a philosopher, a Puritan, a Quak- 
 er, an American; you do not love; well, then, let her look; let 
 her turn again and again; despise her, Philippe, I should say 
 Joseph de Tavernay." 
 
 The old man l.itrried away, satislied with the elTect he had 
 produced, and lied like the serpent who was the lirsl tempter into 
 crime. 
 
 Philipiie remained alone, his heart swelling and his blood boil- 
 ing. He remained fi.xed in his ]>lace for about half an hour, 
 when the queen having tiuished her tour, returned to wiierc he 
 stood, and called out to him: 
 
 "You must be rested now, M. de Tavernay; come, then, fur 
 there is no one like you to guide a <iueeu royally." 
 
 Philippe ran to her, giddy, and liardly knowing what he did. 
 He placed his hand on the back of the sledge, but started as 
 though he had burned his lingers; the queen had thrown herself 
 negligently back iu the sledge, and the lingers of the young uiuii 
 touched tlie locks of Muiie Antoinette. 
 
 From thai iiioiiieut until the day of his death, the young sol- 
 dier was the slave of the bewitching que«n. 
 
 Ue Charuy was also received by Mane Antoinette iu a very 
 gracious manner; and then the gallant sailor, who was not quite 
 us high-souled as the soldier in his gallantries, soon conceived a 
 guilty passion for his mistress. 
 
 The two young lovers became exceedingly jealous of each 
 other; a quarrel and a duel ensued, and De Churuy received a 
 severe wound, which was the forerunner of a violent fever. 
 
 While he was in a slate of delirium, raving wildly aboul the 
 (|ueea, she who was the cause of all his trouble jiaid him a secret 
 visit, IU company with the doctor who was in attendance on 
 him. 
 
 The queen stood in an anteroom, listening to the wild ex- 
 pressions, when the doctor said: 
 
 " Do you hear, niadame?' 
 
 " It is frightful," continued Charny, " to love on angel, a wo ■ 
 man— to love her madly — to be willing to give your life for her; 
 and when you come near her to lind her only a queen— of velvet 
 and of gold, of metal and of silk, and no heart." 
 
 "Oh! oh!" cried the doctor again. 
 
 "I love a married woman!" Charny went on. "and with that 
 wild love which makes me forget everything else. Well, I will 
 say to her, there remains for us still some happy days on this 
 earth. Come, my beloved, and we will live the life of the 
 lilessed, if we love each other. Afterwards there will be death— 
 lietler than a life like this. Let us love al least." 
 
 "Not badly reasoned for a man jn a fever," said the doctor. 
 
 "But her children!" cried Charny. suddenly, with fury; "she 
 will not leave her children. Oh! we will carry them away also. 
 ."Purely I can carry her, she is so light, and her children, too." 
 Then he gave a terrible cry— " But thev are the children of a 
 king!" 
 
 The doctor left his patient and approached the qneen. 
 
 " Yon are right, doctor," she said: "this young man would 
 incur a terrible danger if he were overheard." 
 
 " Listen again," said the doctor. 
 
 " Oh, no more." 
 
 But jnst then Charny said, in a gentler voice; 
 
 " Marie. I frel that yon love me. but I will say nothing aboul 
 it. Marie, I fell the touch of your foot in the coach; your hand 
 touched mine, but I will never tell: I will keep this secret with 
 my life. My blood may all flow away. >Iarie, but my secret shall 
 not esca|)e with it. My enemy stecpp<l his sword in my blood, 
 but if he gue.«scd my secret, yours is safe. Fear nothing, Marie, 
 I do not even ask you if you love mc; you blushed, that is 
 enough." 
 
 "Oh!" thought the doctor; "this sounds less like delirium 
 than like memory." 
 
 " I have heard enough," cried the queen, rising and trembling 
 violently; and she tried to go. 
 
 The doctor stopped her; "Madame," said he, "what do you 
 wish?" 
 
 "Nothing doctor, nothing." 
 
 "But if the king ask to see my patient?" 
 
 " Oh! that would be dreadful!" 
 
 " What shall I say?" 
 
66 
 
 TEE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 "Doctor, I caiiiiut lliiiiU; Ibid dreadful spectacle has coufused 
 me." 
 
 " I tbiuk you have caught his fever," said the doctor, feeling 
 her pulse." 
 
 She drew away her hand, and escaped. 
 
 The young man recovered soon after and went to reside on his 
 estate in llie country; but he was so impatient to be near his 
 adored mistress that ho set olT at midnight and returned to Ver- 
 sailles in secret. Having hired a little cottage outside the park, 
 De Charny spent his days and nights in watching the queen 
 during her rambles with her ladies, uud in gazing at her win- 
 dows at night. 
 
 One night the ardent lover uttered a cry of joy, for he per- 
 ceived the queen in the park attended by a single female. 
 Springing over Ihu walls, with the purpose of throwing himself at 
 the feet of the woman he adored so much, he had just gained a 
 j)Osition behind a tree, when he saw a tall man, enveloped in a 
 great coat, and wearing a slouched hat, approaching Marie An- 
 toinette, who hastened to meet him in a secluded spot, while the 
 female attendant remained behind. 
 
 In approaching the queen, the man raised her hand to his lips, 
 and then ho embraced her in a more atlectionate manner. 
 
 Mad with rage, the jealous lover (lew from tlie spot, moaning: 
 
 " She loves another. Oh! this is more than I can bear. My 
 Jiated rival is successfhl." 
 
 There were many strange rumors alloat at this time about the 
 sidvenlures uf the (pieen ill places and iu company that did not 
 redound to the credit of her fair name, and the name of Cardinal 
 de Rulian was iiii.\etl up with these rumors. 
 
 It was also asserted that the amorous cardinal had presented 
 the queen with a very valuable necklace, which had been made 
 for one of tte mistresses of the late king. 
 
 On the ue.\.t night, Charny was again in the park at the same 
 hour, and the two ladies appeared at the rendezvous. 
 
 Charny hacl taken his resolution, he would find out who this 
 lover was; but when he entered the avenue he could see no one, 
 they had entered the baths of Apollo. He walked toward the 
 door and saw the conlidante who waited outside. 
 
 The queen then was in there alone with her lover; it was too 
 much. Charny was about to seize this woman, and force her to 
 tell him everything, but the rage and emotion he had endured 
 wius too much for him; a mist passed over his eyes, internal 
 bleeding commenced, and he fainted; when he came to himself 
 again the clock was striking two, the jilace was deserted, and 
 there was no trace of what had passed there. He went home, 
 and passed a night almost of delirium. 
 
 The next morning he arose pale as death, and went toward the 
 castle of Trianon, just as the queen was leaving the chapel. 
 All heads were respectfully lowered as she pa'^sed. She was 
 looking beautiful, and when she saw Charny she colored and ut- 
 tered an e.xclaniation of surprise: 
 
 " I thought you were in the country, M. de Charny," she said. 
 
 " I have returned, madanie," said he, in a brusque, and almost 
 rude tone. 
 
 She looked at him in surprise; then turning towards the 
 ladies, " Good-morning, countess," she said to Madame Jeanne de 
 la Motte, who stood near. 
 
 Charny started as he caught sight of her, and looked at her al- 
 most wildly. '• Ho has not quite recovered his reason," thought 
 the queen, observing his strange manner; then turning to him 
 again, "How are you now, M. de Charny?" she said, in a kind 
 voice. 
 
 " Very well, niadamo." 
 
 She looked surprised again, then said, "Where are you living?" 
 
 " At Versailles, madame. " 
 
 " Since when?" 
 
 " For three nights," replied he, in a marked manner. 
 The queen manifested no emotion, but Jeanne trembled. 
 "Have you got something to say to me?" asked the queen 
 again with kindness. 
 
 " Oh, maUame, I should have too much to say to your ma- 
 jesty." 
 
 "Come," said she, and she walked towards her apartments, 
 but to avoid the ajipearance of a tete-a-tete she invited several 
 ladies to follow her. Jeanne, unquiet, placed herself among 
 tliem, but when they arrived she dismissed Madame de Misery, 
 and the other ladies, understanding that she wished to be alone, 
 left her. Charny stood before her— '-Speak," said the queen, 
 "you appear troubled, sir." 
 
 " Uow can I begin?" said Charny, thinking aloud, " how cau I 
 dare to accuse houor and majesty?" 
 
 " Sir!" cried Mane Antoinette, with a flaming look. 
 
 "And yet I should only say what I have seen." 
 
 The queen rose. "Sir," said she, "it is very early in the 
 morning for me to think you are into.xicated, but I can find no 
 other solution for this couduct.' 
 
 Charny, unmoved, continued, "After all what is a queen? a 
 woman ; and am I not a man as well as a subject?" 
 
 "Monsieur!" 
 
 ' ' Madame, anger is out of place now. I believe I have formerly 
 proved that I had respect for your royal dignity. I fear I proved 
 that I liad an insane love for yourself. Choose, therefore, to 
 whom I shall speak. Is it to the queen, or the woman, that I 
 shall address my accusation, of dishonor and shame?" 
 
 "Monsieur de Charny," cried the queen, growing pale; "if 
 you do not leave this room, I must have you turned out by my 
 guards." 
 
 "But I will tell you first," cried he, iiassionately, "why I call 
 you an unworthy queen and woman. I have bt>en in the park 
 these three nights." 
 
 Instead of seeing her tremble, as he believed she would on 
 hearing these words, the queen rose, and approaching him, said: 
 
 "jM. de Charny, your state e.xcites my pity, your hands trem- 
 ble, you grow pale, you are suffering; shall I call for help?" 
 
 "I saw you," cried he, again; "saw you with that man to 
 whom you gave the rose— saw you when he kissed your hands — 
 saw you when you entered the baths of Apollo with him.'' 
 
 The queen passed her hands over her eyes, as if to make sure 
 that she was not dreaming. 
 
 " Sit down," said she, "or you will fall." 
 
 Charny, indeed unable to keep up, fell upon the sofa. She sat 
 down by him. 
 
 " Be calm," said she, "and repeat what you have just said." 
 
 "Do you want to kill me?" he murmured. 
 
 " Then let me question," she said. " How long have you re- 
 turned from the country?" 
 
 "A fortnight." 
 
 " Where do you live?" 
 
 " In the huntsman's house, which I have hired." 
 
 "At the end of the park?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "You speak of some one whom you saw with me." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Where? ' 
 
 " In the pari." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " At midnight; Tuesday, for the first time, 1 saw you and your 
 companion." 
 
 "Oh! I had a companion. Do you know her, also?'' 
 
 "I thought just now I recognized her, but I could not be posi- 
 tive, because it was only the figure. She always hid her face, 
 like all who commit crimes." 
 
 " And this person, to whom you say I gave a rose?" 
 
 "I have never been able to meet him." 
 
 "You do not know him, then?" 
 
 " Only that he is called monseigneur." 
 
 The queen stamped her foot — "Go on," said she; "Tuesday, 
 I gave him a rose " 
 
 " Wednesday you gave him your hands to kiss, and yesterday 
 yon went alone with him into the baths of Apollo, while your 
 companion waited outside." 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND ■QUE-E:NS. 
 
 67 
 
 " And you saw me? ' said she, rising. 
 
 lie lifted bis bands to heaven, and cried, " I swear it." 
 
 " Oh, he swears." 
 
 "Yes, on Tuesday you wore your green dress, moire«, with 
 gold; Wednesday, the dress with great blue and brown leaves; 
 and yesterday the same dress that you wore when I lust kissed 
 your band. Oh, madaine, I am ready to die with grief and 
 abame, while I repeat, that on my life, my honor, it was really 
 
 J'OU." 
 
 " What can I say?" cried the queen, dreadfully agitated. " If 
 I swore be would not believe me." 
 
 Cbarny shook his bead. 
 
 '•Madman," cried she, "thus to accuse your queen ; to dis- 
 honor thus an innocent woman. Do you believe me, when I 
 swear by all I hold sacred, that I was not in the park on either 
 of those days after four o'clock? Do you wish it to be proved 
 by my women — by the king. No, he does not believe me." 
 
 " I saw you," replied he. 
 
 "Ob, I know," she cried; "did they not see me at the l>all at 
 the oi)cra— at Mesmer's, scandalizing the crowd? You know it; 
 you who fought for me." 
 
 " Madame, then I fought because I did not believe it; now I 
 might tight, but I believe." 
 
 The queen raised her arms to heaven, while burning tears 
 rolled down her cheeks — "My God," she cried, "send me some 
 thought which will save me. I do not wish this man to despise 
 me." 
 
 Cbarny, moved to the heart, hid his face in bis hands. 
 
 Then, after a moment's silence, the queen continued — "Sir, 
 you owe me reparation. I exact this from you; you say you 
 have seen me three nights with a man; I have been already in- 
 jured through the resemblance to me of some woman, I know 
 not whom, but who is like her unhappy queen. But you are 
 pleased to think it was me. Well, I will go with you into the 
 park, and if she appears again, you will be satisfied. Perhaps 
 we shall see her together; then, sir, you will regret the sufl'ering 
 you have caused me." 
 
 Cbarny pressed his hands to his heart — " Oh, madame, you 
 overwhelm me with your kindness." 
 
 " I wish to overwhelm you with proof; not a word to any one, 
 but this evening, at ten o'clock, wait alone at the door of the 
 park. Now, go, sir." 
 
 Cbarny kneeled, and went away without a word. 
 
 Jeanne, who was waiting in the ante-chamber, examined bim 
 attentively as be came out. She was soon after summoned to 
 the queen. 
 
 The intriguing Jeanne de la Motte was playing a very deep 
 game; and when she saw the queen and Cbarny together she 
 was in agony lest an exposure should ensue. When she was 
 summoned to the presence of the queen she hoped to gain some 
 important information ; but Marie Antoinette was beginning to 
 learn caution, and she guarded herself carefully. 
 
 Jeanne was, therefore, reduced to conjectures; she had al- 
 ready ordered one of her footmen to follow M. de Cbarny. The 
 man reported that he had gone into a house at the end of the 
 park. 
 
 "Then there is no more doubt," thought Jeanne; "it is a 
 lover who has seen everything, it is clear. I should be a fool 
 not to understand. I must undo what I have done." 
 
 On leaving Versailles she drove to the Rue St. Claude; there 
 she found a superb pre-sent of plate, sent to her by the cardinal. 
 She then drove to his house, and found bim radiant with joy and 
 pride. On her entrance he ran to meet her, calling her "Dear 
 countess," and full of protestations and gratitude. 
 
 "Thank you, also, for your charming present. You are more 
 than a happy man; you are a triumphant victor." 
 
 "Countess, it frightens me; it is too much." 
 
 Jeanne smiled. 
 
 "You came from Versailles !" continued he. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You have seen her ?" 
 
 " I have just left her." 
 
 " And she said nothing ?" 
 
 " What do you expect that she said ?" 
 
 "Oh ! I am insatiable." 
 
 "Well, you had belter not ask." 
 
 " You frighten me. Is anything wrong ? Have I come to 
 the height of my happiness, and is the descent to begin ?" 
 
 " You are very fortunate not to have been discovered " 
 
 "Oh, with precautions, and the intelligence of two hearts and 
 one mind " 
 
 "That will not prevent eyes seeing through the trees." 
 
 " We have been seen?" 
 
 " I fear so." 
 
 "And recognized?" 
 
 "Oh, monseigneur, if you had been— if this secret had been 
 known to any one, Joanne de Valois would be out of the kingdom, 
 and you would be dead." 
 
 "True; but tell me quickly. They have seen people walking 
 in the park; is there any harm in that?" 
 
 " Ask the king." 
 
 " The king knows?" 
 
 " I repeat to you, if the king knew, you would be in the Bas- 
 tile. But I advise you not to tempt Providence again." 
 
 "What do you mean, dear countess?" 
 
 " Do you not understand?" 
 
 "I fear to understand," he replied. 
 
 " 1 shall fear, if you do not promise to go no more to Versailles." 
 
 "By day?" 
 
 "Or by night." 
 
 " Impossible." 
 
 " Why 80, monseigneur?" 
 
 " Because 1 have in my heart a love which will end only witli 
 my life." 
 
 "So I perceive," replied she, Ironically; "and it is to ar- 
 rive more quicKly at this result that you persist in returning to 
 tlie park, for most assuredly if you do, your love and your Ufa 
 will end together." 
 
 "Oh, countess, how fearful you are; you who were so brave 
 yesterday!" 
 
 " I am always bravo when there is no danger." 
 
 "But I have the bravery of my race, and am happier in the 
 presence of danger." 
 
 "But permit me to tell you " 
 
 "No, countess, the die is cast. Death, if it comes; but first, 
 love. I shall return to Versailles." 
 
 "Alone, then." 
 
 " Is that what you were sent to tell me ?" 
 
 " It is what I have been preparing you for." 
 
 "She will see me no more ?" 
 
 " Never. And it is I who have counseled it." 
 
 " Madame, do not plunge the knife into my heart," cried he, 
 in a doleful voice. 
 
 "It would be much more cruel, monseigneur, to let two fool- 
 ish people destroy themselves for want of a little good advice." 
 
 "Countess, I would rather die." 
 
 "As regards yourself, that is easy; but subject, you dare not 
 dethrone your queen; man, you will not destroy a woman." 
 
 " But confess that you do not come in her name, that she does 
 not throw me off." 
 
 " I speak in her name." 
 
 " It is only a delay she asks." 
 
 " Take it as you wish ; but obey her orders." 
 
 "The paiTv is not the only place of meeting. There ares 
 hundred safer spots — the qoeen can come to you, for instance." 
 
 " Monseigneur, not a word more. The weight of your secret is 
 too much for me, and I believe her capable, in a fit of remorse, 
 of confessing all to the king." 
 
 "Good God! impossible." 
 
 " If you saw her you would pity her.'' 
 
 "What can I do, then?" 
 
 "Insure her safety by your silence." 
 
C8 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 " But she will think I have forgotten ber, and accuse me of 
 being a coward." 
 
 "To save lier." 
 
 " Can a woman forgive LIm who abandons her ?" 
 
 " Do not judge lier like others." 
 
 "I believe her great and strong. I love her for her courage 
 and her noble heart. She may count on me, as I do on lier. 
 Once more I will see her; lay bare my heart to her; and what- 
 ever she then commands, I will sacredly obey." 
 
 Jeanne rose. "Go, then," said she, "but go alone. I have 
 thrown the key of the park into the river. You can go to Ver- 
 Siiilles — 1 shall go to Switzerland or Holland. The further off I 
 am when the shell bursts the better." 
 
 " Countess, you abandon me. With whom shall I talk of her?" 
 
 " Oh ! you have the park and the echoes. Vou can teach them 
 her name !'' 
 
 " Countess, pity me; I am in despair." 
 
 " Well, but do not act in so childish and dangerous a manner. 
 If you love her so much, guard her name, and if you are not 
 totally without gratitude, do not involve in your own ruin those 
 who have served you through friendship. Swear to me not to 
 attempt to see or speak to her for a fortnight, and I will remain, 
 and may yet be of service to you. Bnt if you decide to brave all, 
 I s'.iall leave at once, and you must extricate yourself as you can." 
 
 " It is dreadful,'' murmured the cardinal; "the fall from so 
 much happiness is overwhelming. I shall die of it." 
 
 "Suffering is always the consequence of love. Come, nion 
 seigneur, decide. Am I to remain here, or start for Lausanne?" 
 
 "Remain, countess." 
 
 "You swear to obey me ?" 
 
 " On the faith of a Kohan." 
 
 " Good. Well, then, I forbid interviews, but not letters." 
 
 " Reallyl I may write ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And she will answer V 
 
 •• Try." 
 
 The cardinal kissed Jeanne's hand again, and called her his 
 guardian angel. The demon within her must have laughed. 
 
 Tliat day, at four o'clock, a man on horseback stopped in the 
 outskirts of the park, just behind the baths of Apollo, where M. 
 de Rohan used to wait. He got off, and looked at the places 
 where the grass had been trodden down. 
 
 " Here are the traces," thought he; "it is as I supposed, M. 
 de Charny has returned for a fortnight, and this is where he 
 enters the park." And he sighed "Leave him to his happi- 
 ness. God gives to one, and denies to another. lUit I will have 
 proof to-night. I will hide in the bushes, and see what ha|)pens." 
 
 As for Charny, obedient to the queen's commands, he waited 
 for orders; but it was half-past ten, and no one appeared. He 
 waited with imjjatient anxiety. Then he began to think she had 
 deceived him, and had promised what she did not mean to per- 
 form. " How could I be so foolish — I, who saw her — to be taken 
 in by her words and promises!" At last he saw a figure ap- 
 proaching, wrajiped in a large black mantle, and he uttered a 
 cry of joy, for he recognized the queen. He ran to her, and fell 
 at her feet. 
 
 " Ah, here you are, sir! it is well." 
 
 " Ah, madamel I scarcely hoped you were coming." 
 
 " Have you your sword?" 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 "Where do you say those people came fn?" 
 
 "By this door." 
 
 " At what time?" 
 
 "At midnight each time." 
 
 " There is no reason why they should not come again to-night. 
 You have not spoken to any one?" 
 
 "To no one." 
 
 "Come into the thick wood and let ns watch. I have not 
 spoken of this to M. de Crosne. 1 have already mentioned this 
 creature to him, and if she be not arrested, he is either incapable, 
 or in league with my enemies. It seems incredible that any one 
 
 should dare to play such tricks under my eyes, unless they were 
 sure of impunity. Therefore, I think it is-time to take the care 
 of my reputation on myself. What do you think?" 
 
 "Ob, madame, allow me to be silent! I am ashamed of all I 
 have said." 
 
 "At least you are an honest man," replied the queen, "and 
 speak to the accused face to face. You do not stab lu the dark." 
 
 "Oh, mudame, it is eleven o'clock! I tremble." 
 
 " Look abbut, that no one is here." 
 
 Charny obeyed. " No one," said he. 
 
 " Where did the scenes pass that you have described?". 
 
 "Oh, madame, I had a shock when I returned to you; for she 
 stood just where you are at this moment." 
 
 " Here!" cried the queen, leaving the jilace with disgust. 
 
 " Yes, madame; under the chestnut tree." 
 
 "Then, sir, let us move, for they will most likely come here 
 again." 
 
 He followed the queen to a diffeiciit place. She, silent and 
 proud, waited for the proof of lier innocence to appear. Midnight 
 struck. The door did not open. Half an hour passed, during 
 which the queen asked ten limes if they had always been pnnctual. 
 
 Three-quarters struck — the queen stamped with impatience. 
 
 "They will not come," she cried ; " these misfortunes only hap- 
 pen to me;" and slie looked at Charny, ready to quarrel with him, 
 if she saw any exjiression of triumph and irony; but he, as his 
 suspicions began to return, grew so pale, and looked so melan- 
 choly, that ho was like the figure of a martyr. 
 
 At last she took his arm, and led him under the chestnut tree. 
 
 "You say," she murmured, " that it was here you saw her?" 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 " Here, that she gave the rose?" 
 
 And the queen, fatigued, and wearied with waiting and disap- 
 pointment, leaned against a tree, and covered her face with her 
 hands, but Charny could see the tears stealing through. At last 
 she raised her liead. 
 
 "Sir," said she, "I am condemned. I promised to prove to 
 you to-day that I was calumniated; God does not permit it, and I 
 submit. I have done what no other woman, not to say queen, 
 would have done. What a queen! who cannot reign over one 
 heart, who cannot obtain the esteem of one honest man. Come, 
 sir, give me your arm if you do not desiiise me too much." 
 
 "Oh, madame!" cried he, falling at her feet, "if I were only an 
 unhappy man who loves you, could you not ])ardon nie?" 
 
 "You!" cried she, with a bitter laugh, "youjove me! and be- 
 lieve me infamous?" 
 
 "Oh, madame!" 
 
 "You accuse me of giving roses, kisses, and love. No, sir, no 
 falsehoods; you do not love me." 
 
 " Madame, I saw these phantoms. Tity me, for I am on the 
 rack." 
 
 She took his hands. 
 
 "Y'es, you saw, and you think it was I. Well, if here under 
 this same tree, you at my feet, I press your hands, and say to you, 
 M. de Charny, I love you, I have loved, and shall love no one else 
 in this world, may God pardon me— will that convince you? Will 
 you believe mo then?" 
 
 As she spoke she came so close to him that he felt her breath 
 on his lips. 
 
 " Oh!" cried Charny, " now I am ready to die." 
 
 "Give me your arm," said she, "and teach me where they 
 went, and where she gave the rose" — and she took from her 
 bosom a rose and held it to him. He took it, and pressed it to 
 his heart. 
 
 "Then," continued she, "the other gave him her hand to 
 kiss?" 
 
 "Both her hands," cried Charny, pressing bis burning lips 
 passionately on hers. 
 
 "Now they visited the baths— eo will we; follow me to the 
 place." 
 
 He followed ber, like a man in a strange, happy dream. Tbey 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 69 
 
 looked all round, then opened the door, and walked through. 
 When they came out again two o'clock struck. 
 
 " Adieu," said she; "now go home until to-morrow." 
 
 And she walked away quickly towards the chateau. 
 
 When they had gone a man rose from among the bushes, 
 lie had heard and seen all. 
 
 That man was young Philippe Tavernay. 
 
 The queen went out riding on the following day. She seemed 
 full of joy, and was generous and gracious to every one. The road 
 was lined as usual on her return with ladies and gentlemen. 
 Among them was Madame dc la Motte and M. de Charny, who 
 was complimented by many friends on his return, and on his 
 radiant looks. Glancing round he saw Philippe standing near 
 him, whom he had not seen since the day of the duel. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Charny, passing through the crowd, "al- 
 low nie to fulfill an act of politeness;" and advancing towanla 
 Philippe ho said, " Allow me, M. de Tavernay, to thank you for 
 the interest you have taken in my health. I shall have the honor 
 to pay you a visit to-morrow. I trust you preserve no enmity 
 towards mo." 
 
 "None, sir," replied Pbdippe. 
 
 Charny held out hia hand, but Philippe, without seeming to 
 notice it, said : 
 
 "Here comes the queen, sir." 
 
 As she approached she fixed her looks on Charny with that 
 rash openness which she always showed in her aficctions, while 
 she sold to several gentlemen, who were pressing round her: 
 
 "Ask mo what you please, gentlemen, for to-day I can refuse 
 nothing." 
 
 A voice said, "Madame." 
 
 Slie turned, and saw Philippe, and thus found herself between 
 t wo men, of whom she almost reproached herself with loving one 
 
 ■ > much and the other too little. 
 
 " M. de Tavernay, you have something to ask mo; pray 
 siMsak '" 
 
 " Only ten minutes' audience at your majesty's leisure," replied 
 he, with grave solemnity. 
 
 " Immediately, sir— follow me." 
 
 A quarter of an hour after, Philippe was IntroiiQced Into the 
 library, where the queen waited for him. 
 
 "Ahl M. de Tavernay, enter," said she, in a gay tone, "and 
 do not look so sorrowful. Do you know I feel rather frightened 
 whenever a Tavernay asks for an audience. Reassure nio quick- 
 ly, and tell me that you are not come to announce a misfortune." 
 
 " Miidame, this time I only bring you good news." 
 
 " Oh! some news?" 
 
 " Alas! yes, your majesty." 
 
 "There! an "alas" again." 
 
 "Madame, I am about to assure your majesty that you need 
 never again fear to be saddened by the sight of a Tavernay ; for, 
 inadame, the last of this family, to whom you once deigned to 
 show some kindness, is about to leave the Court of France for- 
 ever." 
 
 The queen, dropping her gay tone, said, " You lea^e us?" 
 
 " Yes, your majesty.'' 
 
 " You also?" 
 
 Philippe bowed. "My sister, mailame, has already had that 
 grief; I am much more useless to your majesty." 
 
 The queen started as she remembered that Andree or his 
 sister had asked for her conge on the day following her first visit 
 to Charny In the doctor's apartments. " It is strange," she mur- 
 mured, as Philippe remained motionless as a statue, waiting his 
 dismissal. At last she said, abruptly: 
 
 " Where are you going?" 
 
 "To join M. de la Perouse, tnadame." 
 
 "He is at Newfoundland." 
 
 " I have preparc<l to join him there." 
 
 " Do you know that a frightful death has been predicted for 
 him ?■' 
 
 " .V apce<ly one," replied Philippe; " that is not necessarily a 
 frightful one." 
 
 " And you are really going?" 
 
 " Yes, madame, to share his fate." 
 
 The queen was silent for a time, and then said: " Why do yon 
 go?" 
 
 " Because I am anxious to travel." 
 
 " But you have already made the tour of the world ?" 
 
 "Of the Now World, madame, but not of the Old." 
 
 "A race of iron, with hearts of steel, are you Tavernays. You 
 and your sister are terrible people— you go not for the sake of 
 traveling, but to leave me. Your sister said she was called by 
 religious duty; it was a pretext. However, she wished to go, 
 and she went. May she be happy. You might be happy here, 
 but you also wish to go away." 
 
 " ;>parc us, I pray you, madame. If you could read our 
 hearts you would find them full of unlimited devotion towards 
 you." 
 
 " Oh," cried the queen, "you are too exacting; she takes the 
 world for a heaven, where one should only live as a saint; you 
 look upon it as a hell— and both fly from it; she, because she 
 finds what she does not seek, and you, because you do not find 
 what you do seek. Am I not right ? Ah, M. de Tavernay, 
 allow human beings to be imperfect, and do not expect royalty 
 to be superhuman. Be more tolerant, or rather less egotistical." 
 
 She spoke earnestly, and continued: 
 
 " .\ll I know is, that I loved Andree, and that she left me; 
 that I valued you, and you are about to do the same. It is hu- 
 miliating to see two such people abandon my court." 
 
 " Nothing can humiliate persons like your majesty. Shame 
 does not reach those placcil so high." 
 
 " What has wounded you?" asked the queen. 
 
 " Nothing, madatne." 
 
 " Your rank has been raised, your fortune was progressing." 
 
 "I can but repeat to your majesty that the court does not 
 please me." 
 
 " And if I ordered you to stay here?" 
 
 " I should have the grief of disobeying your majesty." 
 
 "Oh! I know," cried she, impatiently, "you bear malice, you 
 quarreleil with a gentleman here, M. de Charny, and wounded 
 him; and because you see him returned to-day, you are jealous, 
 and wish to leave." 
 
 Philippe turned pale, but replied: 
 
 '• Madame, I saw him sooner than you imagine, for I met him 
 at two o'clock this morning by the baths of Apollo." 
 
 It was now the queen's time to grow pale, but she felt a kind 
 of adm ration for one who had retained so much courtesy and 
 self-command in the midst of his anger and grief. 
 
 " Go," niurmured she at length, in a faint voice. " I will keep 
 you no longer." 
 
 Philippe bowed, and left the room, while the queen sank, terri- 
 fied and overwhelmed, on the sofa. 
 
 And now the strangest portion of this strange historical affair 
 remains to be told, which explains tlie mystery of the (lueen's 
 appearance in the park, and her apparent amours with the man 
 wearing the slouched hat. 
 
 A magnificent necklace had been ordered by Louis XV. 
 of MM. Hiiemer and liosauiigo, the crown jewelers. It was made 
 for .Madame du Barry. The king died before it was finished; his 
 favorite mistress was exileil by the new monarch, and the beau- 
 tiful jewel remained in the hands of the makers. They ofl'ered it 
 to the queen; but the price, which amounted to 1,800.000 livres, 
 was thought too high. Madame de la Motte saw the necklace. 
 
 The jewelers told her they were much embarrassed by the 
 Queen's refusal to purchase it; they were impeded in tlieir trade 
 by such a consiilcrabic outlay of money, and they oircrcdto make 
 a rich presiMit to whoever could find a buyer. 
 
 The Countess thought that the Queen would be only too glad 
 to get the necklace if she had not to pay ffir it ; and she inferred 
 that Mario Antoinette could not but feel very grateful to the 
 person who would get it for her. Her husband, M. de la Motte, 
 entered into the plot. 
 
 They obUiined the support of the Corate de Caglioslro, who ex- 
 
70 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 ercised a powerful influence over M. de Rohan, and at length 
 Madame de la Motte jjersuaded the Cardinal that the Queen 
 wished to purchase the necklace with her own money; that, as 
 a token of good feeling toward the Cardinal, she requested him to 
 buy the jewel in her name ; and that she would send him a receipt 
 written and signed with her own hand. 
 
 This document was handed tx) M. de Rohan by Madame de la 
 Motte; it was dated from Trianon, and signed "Marie Antoinette 
 de France." 
 
 How the Cardinal could fail to discover the forgery when be 
 saw this signature, it is diflicult to say. The Queen, like all the 
 l)riiicesse3 who had preceded her on the throne, signed her 
 Christian name only, and the words " de France," due to the 
 imagination of the forger (Retaux de Villette) were a sufficient 
 indication of the origin of the document. 
 
 But ho had no suspicion ; and really believing that he was act- 
 ing In accordance with the wishes of his sovereign, and thinking 
 that the highest favor would be accorded to him for his interven- 
 tion, he sent for the jewelers, and showed them the Queen's 
 receipt. 
 
 They accepted the arrangements he proposed, and on the Ist 
 of February the casket was handed to Mdme. de la Motte at Ver- 
 sailles; and it was remitted Ijy her, in the Cardinal's presence, 
 to a so-called valet do cbamlire of the royal household, who was 
 no other than the forger, Retaux de Villette. This bold fraud 
 was brought to a conclusion by the departure for England of M. 
 de la Motte with the rich booty. 
 
 After thus gaining possession of the necklace, Mdme. de la 
 Motte was not satisfied; she hoped to compromise the Queen and 
 the Cardinal still more. She therefore set to work again. Re- 
 taux de Villette wrote other letters, by which the Queen inform- 
 ed M. de Rohan that, being unable to give him public marks of 
 her esteem, she wished to see him between eleven and midnight 
 in the suburbs of Versailles. Mdme. de la Motte had met an 
 abandoned giii of the name of Oliva whose resemblance to Marie 
 Antoinette had struck her, and who acted the iiart of the Qu^en. 
 
 The meeting took jtlace in the park and in the Baths of 
 Apollo. Mdlle. Oliva's performance was admirable; she gave a 
 rose to the Cardinal, who was choking with emotion, and then 
 sent him away in a state of high exultation. 
 
 De Rohan fell assured that he had received the embraces of the 
 Queen whom he had loved so long, and he was in raptures. 
 
 But the date fixed for the payment of the first installment of 
 the price of the necklace was drawing near, and the jewelers 
 were somewhat uneasy. They tried to ascertain whether the 
 necklace was in the Queen's possession; but they could not 
 obtain an audience, and they soon discovered they were the vic- 
 tims of a robbery. In their indignation they made known the 
 whole affair; and it was reported to M. de Breteuil, minister of 
 the King's household. 
 
 M. de Breteuil was the Cardinal's personal enemy, and he 
 eagerly seized the opportunity of manifesting his dislike. He 
 had a secret conversation with theQieen; informed her of the 
 rumors that were lieing circulated concerning herself, the Cardi- 
 nal, and Mdme. de la Motte; and besought her to tell him if she 
 had any reason to fear a public investigation. 
 
 The Queen answered that she had no ai)i)rehen8ion whatever, 
 and that the sooner the mystery was explained the better. On 
 August 15th, the Cardinal, as great almoner, was to officiate in 
 the chapel. He was about to assume his religious robes when an 
 usher came to inform him that the King wished to speak to him. 
 
 Louis XVI., Marie Antoinette, and M. de Breteuil were together 
 when the Cardinal appeared in the royal presence. The King 
 spoke to him in a strongly irritated tone: 
 
 " Sir, you have. I believe, liought diamonds at Boemer's?" 
 "I have, your Majesty," answered De Rohan. 
 "Where are they?" 
 
 M. de Rohan hesitated. " I thought. Sire," said he, atlength, 
 "that these diamonds were in the possession of the Queen." 
 "Who directed you to send them to the Queen?" 
 " A lady named Madame la Comtesse de la Motte Valois. She 
 
 gave me a letter from the Queen, whose orders I thought I 
 obeyed by purchasing the diamonds." . 
 
 The Queen here interrupted him. "How conld you believe, 
 sir," she exclaimed, " that after looking upon you with disfavor 
 for more than eight years I could select you for such a piece of 
 business, and through the interventionof such a woman?" 
 
 "I now perceive," answered the Cardinal, " that I have l)een 
 cruelly deceived. My wish to please your Majesty led me 
 
 astray. I will pay for the necklace I am the victim 
 
 of a fraud of which before this I had no suspicion. I am ex- 
 tremely sorry." 
 
 He i>roduced his pocket-book, and selected the Queen's re- 
 ceipt. The King looked at it: "Why," he said, " this is neither 
 the Queen's handwiitinir nor her signature. How could you, a 
 prince of the house of Rohan, and the great almoner of France, 
 believe that the Queen signed ' Marie Antoinette de France?' 
 Everybody knows that queens only sign their Christian names." 
 
 Tlie Cardinal was getting more and more disconcerted. He 
 was obliged to lean against a table. The King saw this, and told 
 him to go to an adjoining room, where he could write his justifi- 
 cation. M. de Rohan obeyed, and reappeared a quarter of an 
 hour after, with a jiaper which he handed to Louis. At the door 
 he found M. de Joufl'roy, lieutenant of the guards, who arrested 
 him, and handed him over to M. d'Agoult, who took him to the 
 Bastile. 
 
 Mdme. do la Motte was arrested on the following daj'. She 
 denied having in any way participated in the theft of the neck- 
 lace, and she charged M. de Cagliostro with the crime, alleging 
 that he persuaded the Cardinal to buy the necklace. Cajrliostro 
 and his wife were arrested. 
 
 Mdme. de la Motte hoped, no doubt, to escape by insinuating 
 that the Cardinal as well as Cagliostro was responsible for the 
 necklace; but, unfortunately for her, Mdlle. Ohva was arrested 
 in Brussels, ant! her revelations threw some light on the mystery. 
 Some time after, Retaux de Villette was taken, and he was con- 
 fronted with M. de la Motte. In the night of the 29lh all the ac- 
 cused were transferred from the Bastile to the Conciergerie; and 
 on September 5 letters patent of the King sent the case before 
 the Parliament. 
 
 The letters were couched in strong and bitter terms, and 
 lirought against the Cardinal a terrible charge. The aflair, which 
 was now publicly known, produced deep sensation. The nobility 
 and the clergy were equally interested in the issue of the trial, the 
 two principal parties being the Queen and a prince of the 
 Church. 
 
 The trial was commenced on December 22. Madame la Motte, 
 who was dressed with great care and elegance, was brought 
 in; her face was undisturbed, and she answered all the ques- 
 tions put to her by the president with the utmost coolness and 
 presence of mind. The Cardinal ajipeared after her. The mem- 
 liors of the bench showed him much regard, and it was easy to 
 perceive that, perhaijs, through a spirit of opposition to the 
 Court of Versailles, they were favorable to him. 
 
 On December 29 the procureur-geuferal read out his conclusions; 
 they were extremely hostile to the Cardinal. The piocureur de- 
 manded such humiliating admissions as M. de Rohan could not 
 have made, and which must have left him in prison for the re- 
 mainder of his life. These conclusions met with strong disap- 
 probation on the part of the bench. Sentence was iironounced 
 on the 31st. The court condemne<l La Motte. in contumacmm, 
 to hard labor for life; Jeanne de Sainl-Rcmy Valois, wife of La 
 Motte, to amende honorable, and afterward to be whipi)cd and 
 marked on both shoulders with the letter V, and also to imjjris- 
 onment for life; Retaux de Villette to banishment for life. 
 
 Mdlle. Oliva was acquitted; so was M. de Cagliostro. As 
 to the Cardinal, he was cleared of all charges. This judgment 
 was received with a kind of enthusiasm. Public opinion consid- 
 ered it in some sort as a victory. Tne judges were cheered, 
 writes De Besenval, and so warmly received by the people that 
 they made their way through the crowd with difficulty. 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AM' (JUEENS. 
 
 71 
 
 It may be remarkml that wliile the beautiful Marie Antoinette 
 bad lovers and admirers to tlie dav when she suffered death on 
 
 the guillotine at the hands of the Red Republicans in Paris, Car- 
 dinal de Rohan never paid court to her again. 
 
 THE SECRET AMOURS OP THE GREAT NAPOLEON. 
 
 LIFTINO THE VEIL FROM A IIEBO's FACE — NAPOLBOX AS A LADV OF THE OOIRT SAW lllil — HIS MMKKnls AHDl'RS AND HIS QUAR- 
 
 BEt.S WITH JOSEPHINE — A DISPASSIONATE LOVER — HIS LAST LOVE AFFAIR — UIS LAST WIFE 
 
 AND HER HORROR OF HIM — A GREAT CHANUE 
 
 Every intclligeut person must be familiar with tlie public 
 career of Napoleon Bonaparte, the first Emperor of the French. 
 
 Who has not read of his glorious campaigns in Europe and in 
 Egypt, of his disastrous march into Russia, his defeat at Water- 
 loo, and his death on the lone, barren island of .St. Helena ? 
 
 English histories, with scarcely an exception, represent Napo- 
 leon as an ambitious tyrant, aa a successful adventurer for the 
 time, and as one who wantonly sacrificed the lives of his people 
 In his march to glory and to conque.st. 
 
 If you read Sir Walter Scott's history of tlie great solilier, yon 
 will become impressed with the idea that he was almost a mon- 
 ster in human form, and that his defeat and his death should be 
 looked upon by all mankind with feeling of profound joy and 
 gratitude. 
 
 Some French historians criticise the actions of the emperor 
 with great severity; hut they all declare that he was the ablest 
 general of his age, and that he introduce*! many just and de- 
 sirable laws into the country. 
 
 Our popular American historian, Abbott, lauds Napoleon to 
 the very skies, and he finds no words of condemnation for his 
 hero, save and except his conduct in deserting Josephine. 
 
 Hitherto, from time to time, we have had but few glimpses 
 into the private life of the world-renownetl little Corsican, and 
 those views were generally given us by those who had very lit- 
 tle opportunity of looking behind the curtains that concealed 
 the actors in their imperial domiciles. 
 
 Now, however, we are presented with the memoirs of a lady, 
 who was for many years a resident in the pal.ices of the emperor, 
 and who was a confidential friend and companion of the unhappy 
 Josephine. 
 
 This very intelligent lady was a close observer of the foibles 
 and failings of the emperor; she saw him in every-day life; and 
 she e.Tpresses herself concerning him, in a manner verifying the 
 old adage that "familiarity breeds contempt.'' 
 
 It may have tjeen that Madame de Remusat was prejudiced 
 against the great Napolean, for causes which are not presented 
 in her Memoirs; it may be that the lady had all her sympathies 
 enlistc*! on the side of the suffering Josephine; and it may be 
 possible that her old afliliations with the aristocrat Bourbons in- 
 fluenced her to look on the pet of the people witli disdainful 
 eyes; but certain it is that the most violent foreign enemy of the 
 encroaching conqueror could not picture him with a pen more 
 deeply dip|>ed in gall. 
 
 Speaking of his appearance, the lady gives us a verj' familiar 
 picture, indeed. 
 
 "Napoleon Bonaparte," she says, "is short in stature, and 
 Bowewhat ill-proportioned; his body is loo long, and thus makes 
 the rest of his person appear short. His hair is thin and of a 
 chestnut color; his eyes are a grayish blue, and his skin, which 
 in his youth was yellow, became in later years a dead white. 
 His forehead, the setting of his eye, the line of his nose, were all 
 beautiful, and reminded me of an antique medallion. His mouth, 
 which is thin-lipped, becomes agreeable when he laughs, and his 
 teeth are regular. His chin is short, and his jaw heavy and 
 square. He has well-forme<l hands and feet. I mention them 
 particularly because he thought a good deal of them. He has an 
 habitual slight stoop; his eyes are dull, which gives to his face 
 when in repose a melancholy and thoughtful e.xpressi6n. When 
 he Is e.xcited with anger his looks are fierce and menacing. 
 
 Laughter makes him look more youthful and not so formidable. 
 It is ditficult not to like him when he laugh.s, his countenance im- 
 proves so much. He was always simjile in bis dress, and gener- 
 erally wore the uniform of his own guard. He was cleanly rather 
 from habit than from a liking for cleanlinogs; he bathed often, 
 sometimes in llie middle of the night, because he thought it was 
 healthy; the hurried manner in which he performed every action 
 did not admit of his clothes being put on with care; and on 
 special occasions his servants consulted as to when they might 
 snatch a moment to dress him." 
 
 While It is evident from the above that Madame Remusat 
 lookeil on Napoleon as a pleasing siiecimen of humanity as viewed 
 with the eyes of a woman who was capalileof appreciating manly 
 beauty, it is very evident, from the following e.xpressions, that 
 she had not a very high opinion of his education and training: 
 
 "Bonaparte was deficient in education and in manners; it 
 seemed as if he roust liavo been destined to live in a tent where 
 all men are equal, or upon a throne where everything is (lermit- 
 ted. He did not know how cither to enter or leave a room ; he 
 did not know how to make a bow, how to rise, or how to sit 
 down. Ho manner of speech, as well as his questions, were 
 abrupt. Italian lost all its grace and sweetness when s|)oken by 
 him. Whatever language he speaks, it seems always to be a 
 foreign tongue to him; he appears to force it to e.xpress liia 
 thoughts. And as any rule laid down becomes an insupportable 
 annoyance to him, every liberty which he takes gives him pleas- 
 ure as though it were a victory; and he would never yisld even 
 to grammar. He used to say that he loved. to read novels in hia 
 youth as well as studying the exact sciences. Unfortunately, he 
 met with the worst kind of romances, and retained such a remem- 
 brance of the pleasure they they had given him that when he 
 married the Archduchess Marie Louise he gave her ' Hippolyte, 
 Comte de Douglas,' and ' Les Contemporains,' so that, as he 
 said, she might form an idea of refined feeling, and also of the 
 customs of society." 
 
 In writing about the mental capacity of the great French law- 
 giver, the over-candid lady thus sums up his acquirements: 
 
 "Although remarkable for certain intellectual qualities, no 
 man was ever less lofty of soul. There was no generosity, no 
 true greatness in him. I have never known him to admire, I 
 have never known him to comprehend, a fine action; he looked 
 upon every indication of good feeling with suspicion; he did not 
 place any value on sincerity ; and he has been known to say that 
 he recognized the superiority of a man by the greater or less 
 degree of cleverness with which he usetl the art of lying; and l»e 
 added, with great complacency, that when he was a child one of 
 his uncles had pretlicted that he should govern the world, beoause 
 he was an habitual liar. 'M. de Metternich,' he added, 'ap- 
 proaches to being a statesman — he lies very well.' 
 
 But as we have now to do with the love intrigues of the re- 
 markable hero, we will proceed to jiresent his adventures in that 
 field; and there is not one word written by the lady on the sub- 
 ject which will not Ixi read with intense interest by all those 
 familiar with the hero's exploits on the battle-fields of Europe. 
 
 Before introducing any of the love scenes in which the great 
 man figured, the lady thus defines his sentiments as regards 
 woman, and gives the reasons why he waa attracted to his ftrat 
 wife: 
 
 " Bonaparte was not entirely without experience'of love, not- 
 
'l± 
 
 THE LOVEH AND JNTJilUUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 witlislanillug bis liabilual Imnlnt'ss. But, good heavens! what 
 kind of a sentiment was it in his case? A sensitive person for- 
 gets self in love, ami is changed; l)Ut to Bonaparte it only sup- 
 plied an additional sort of despotism. The Kmporor despised 
 women, and contempt cannot exist together with love. He re- 
 garded their weakness as proof of their inferiority. On this 
 account Bonaparte was under restraint in the society of women ; 
 and, as a restriction of his lil)erly i)ut him out of humor, he wa.-i 
 always awkward in their i)rcsence, and never knew how to talk 
 to them. It is true that the women he knew were not calculated 
 to cliango his views of tho se.x. We can imagine the nature of 
 his experiences in youth. In Italy morals were depraved, and 
 the general licentiousness was increaswl by the French army. 
 When ho returned to France society was broken up. The circle 
 around tho Directory was a corrupt one, and the Parisian women 
 were vain and frivolous, the wives of business men and con- 
 tractors. When Bonaparte was Consul and made his generals 
 and his aids-de-camps marry, or ordered them to bring their 
 wives to court, the only women he had alK)ut him were timid 
 and silent girls, newly marrie(', suddenly withdrawn from ob- 
 scurity, and ill able to conform to the change in their posillon. 
 
 •' I am inclined to believe that Bonaparte was never awakened 
 to love e.\cept by vanity, as ho was almost exclusively occupied 
 by politics. He only looked favorably on women when they 
 were beautiful, or at least young. He would probably agree to 
 that doctrine that women should bo killed, just as certain insects 
 are destined by natur(! to a speedy death, after having accom- 
 plished the task of maternity. Yet Bonaparte hadsomfe afleciion 
 for his first wife; and if ever he was really moved by any cmo- 1 
 tion, it was by her and for her. Kven a Bonaparte cainiot com- 
 pletely escape from every iiiHuenco, and a man's character is 
 composed of what he is most frequently, and not of what he is 
 always. 
 
 " When Bonaparte made the ac(|uaintance of Madame de Beau- 
 harnais he was young; she was greatly superior to the rest of 
 the circle in which she moved, both by reason of the name she 
 bore and from iho elegance of her manners. She atlacluHi her- 
 self to him and flattered his pride; she procured him a step in 
 rank; he became accustomed to associate the idea of her in- 
 fluence with the good fortune which befell him. This super- 
 atition, which she kept up very cleverly, had great power over 
 him for a longtime; it even induced him more than once to put 
 0(1' the execution of his projects of divorce. When ho married 
 Madame de Beauharnais, Bonaparte thought that he was allying 
 himself to a very great l.ady, and ho regarded his marriage as an- 
 other conquest. When I come to speak more particularly of 
 her, I shall give more details of the charm she e.\erci8e<l over 
 liiui. 
 
 "Notwithstanding his preference for her, I have seen him in 
 love two or three times, and on those occasions the full measure 
 of the despotism of his character was exhibited. How irritated 
 ho became at tho least obstacle! IIow roughly he put aside the 
 jealous remonstrances of his wife! 'To submit to all my fan- 
 cies,' he said, ' is your place, and you ought to regard it as quite 
 natural lliut I should allow myself anuiseinent of this kind. 1 
 have a right to answer all your complaints by an eternal /. I 
 am a person apart; I will not be dictated to by any one.' But 
 he soon desired to exercise over the olyect of his pa.ssing prefer- 
 ence an authority equal to that by which he silenced his wife. 
 Astonished that any ono should have any ascendancy over him, 
 ho speedily became angry with the audacious individual, and ho 
 would, m an abrupt manner, get rid of the object cf his brief 
 pas.sion, having let tho public into the transparent secret of his 
 success." 
 
 The following story concerning one of Napoleon's intrigues 
 was furninhed tho authoress l)y Talleyrand: and when it is e- 
 inembered that Talleyrand was one of the ministers who betrayeil 
 the emperor in his hour of need, it is safe to say that the in- 
 cidents are slightly colored. 
 
 " When he was traveling, or even during a campaign, he never 
 failiMl to indulge in pleasantries, which he regarded as a short 
 
 respite from business or battles. His brother-in-law, Mnrat, and 
 his Grand Marshal, Duroc, were charged with the task of pro- 
 curing him the means of gratifying his passing fancies. On the 
 occasion of his tirsl entry into Poland, Murat, who had preceded 
 him to Warsaw, was ordered to find for the Emperor, who would 
 shortly arrive, a young and pretty mistress, and to select lier 
 from among the nobility. He acquitted himself cleverly of the 
 commission, and induced a noble young Polish lady, who was 
 married to an old man, to comply with the wishes of the Em- 
 |)ei'or. No one knows what means ho employed, or what were 
 his promises, but at last the lady consented to go in the evening 
 to the castle near Warsaw, where the Emperor dwelt. ■» 
 
 "The /air one arrived rather late at her de,stlnation. .She has 
 herself given an account of this adventure, and she admits, what 
 we can easily believe, that she arrived agitated and trembling. 
 
 " The Emperor was in his Cabinet. The lady's arrival was 
 announced to him ; but, without disturbing himself, he ordered 
 her to be conducted to her apartment, and offered supper and a 
 bath, adding that afterwards she might retire to rest if she chose. 
 Then he quietly wont on writing until a late hour at night. 
 
 " When his business was finished, he proceeded to the room 
 where he had been so long waited for, and presented himself with 
 all tho air of a master who disdains useless preliminaries. With- 
 out losing a moment, lie began a singular conversation on the 
 political situation of Poland, interrogating the young lady as if 
 she had lieen a police agent, and demanding information respect- 
 ing the Polish nobles who were then in Warsaw. He inquired as 
 to tl\eir opinions and interests, and prolonged his questioning 
 for a long time. The astonishment of a young lady of twenty 
 years of age, who was not prepared for such an examination, 
 may be imagined. She answered him as well as she could, and 
 only when she could tell him no more did he seem to remember 
 that Murat had promised, in his name, an interview of a more 
 tender nature. 
 
 "This extraordinary wooing did not prevent the young Polish 
 lady from becoming attached to the Emperor, for their Haisou was 
 prolonged during several campaigns. Afterwards tho fair Pole 
 came to Paris, where a son was born, who became the object of 
 tho hopes of Polish dreams of independence. 
 
 "I saw his mother when .she was presented at the Imperial 
 Court, where she at first excited the jealousy of Madame Bona- 
 parte; but after the divorce she became the intimate friend of 
 the repudiated Empress at Malmaison, whither she often came 
 with her son. It is said that she was faithful to the Kmperor in 
 his troubles, and that she visited him more than once at the Isle 
 of Elba. He found her again in France when he made that last 
 and fatal appearance there. But after his second fall (I do not 
 know when she became a widow), she married again, and died in 
 Paris in this year tl818).' 
 
 It appears that, while Napoleon felt himself free to enjoy hla 
 amours as he pleased, he was capable of displaying great 
 anger even on the suspicion that his wife was unfaithful to him. 
 
 While ho was away in Egypt, his brother Lucien, with whom 
 Josephine was never a favorite, sent him letters which rellecled 
 on the purity of the wife at Paris. 
 
 The scene that followed the conqueror's return is thus described 
 by Madame Remusat: 
 
 " .Suddenly there was a rumor of Bonaparte's arrival at Frejus. 
 He returned with his mind full of the evil reports which Lucien 
 had written him in his letters. His wife, on hearing of his arrival, 
 set out to join him; but, missing ^ini, retraced her steps, and 
 returned to the house some hours after his arrival there. She 
 descended from her carriage in haste, followed by her son and 
 daughter, and ran np the stairs leading to his room; but what 
 was her surprise to find the door locked! She called to Napoleon 
 and begged him to open it. He replied through tho door that 
 it should never again be opened for her. Then she wept, fell on 
 her knees, and implored him in the name of herself and her 
 two children. But all was profound silence around her, and she 
 passed several hours of the night in this terrible anxiety. At 
 last, overcome by her cries and her perseverance, Bonaparte 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 73 
 
 o|)en<xl the Joor at about four o'clock in tbe morning, and ap- 
 peared, 08 Madame Bonaparte herself told me, witb a atom 
 countenance, which, however, betrayeil that he too bad been 
 weeping. He reproached her bitterly for hor conduct, horforget- 
 fulneaa of him, all the real and Imaginary wrongs of which Lucien 
 bad accused bet and endml by announcing an eternal separation. 
 Tlicn turning towards Eugene do Bcauharnais, wlio was then 
 about twenty years old — 
 
 '■ 'As for you,' he said, 'you sbull not bear the burden of j'our 
 mothcr'.s faults. You shall always be my son; I will always 
 keep you with me.' 
 
 '•'No, General,' replied Eugene, '1 must share the sad fort- 
 unes of my mother, and from this moment I muko M)y adieus.' 
 
 "These words shook Bonaparte's resolution. Ho opened his 
 arms to Eugene, weeping; bis wife and llorteuse knelt at his feet 
 and embraced his knees; and soon after all was forgiven. In the 
 explanation which followed, Madame Bonaparte was able to justify 
 her conduct against the accusations of her brother-in-law; and 
 Bonaparte, then eager to avenge her, sent for Lucien at seven 
 o'clock in the morning, and bad him ushered, without any fore- 
 warning, into the room where thehusbaud and wife, entirely rec- 
 onciled, occupied the same bed." 
 
 That Josephine possessed all the jealous spirit of a passionate 
 woman will be seen by tbe following incidents, and that she had 
 good cause for her jealousy is also very evident : 
 
 " The in-door life at tbe chateau was peaceable, when sud- 
 denly the First Consul's taking a fancy to a young and beautiful 
 actress of the Theatre Fran^aise, distressed Madame Bonaparte. 
 and gave rise to bitter quarrels. 
 
 " Two remarkable actresses (Miles. Duchesnois and Georges) 
 had made their debut in tragedy almost at the same time. One 
 was very plain, but her genius soon gained popularity; the other 
 was not so lalonted, but was extremely ijeautiful. 
 
 "The I'arisiau public sided warmly with one or the other, but 
 generally the success of talent was greater than that of beauty. 
 Bonaparte, on the contrary, was charmed by the latter; and 
 Madame Bonaparte soon learned through her servants that Mile. 
 Georges had on several occasions been introduced into a little 
 back room in the chateau. This discovery distressed her greatly; 
 she lohl mo of it with great emotion, and shod more tears than 
 I thought the affair called for. I represented to her that gentle- 
 ness and patience were the only remedies for a grief which time 
 wouhl certainly cure, and it was during these conversations that 
 she gave me a notion of her husband which 1 could not other- 
 wise have formed. According to her account he had no moral 
 principles, and only concealed his vicious habits at that time lor 
 fear tliat they might harm him ; but when ho could do so without 
 any risk he would abandon himself to the most shameful pas- 
 sions. Had he not seduced his own sisters one after the other? 
 Did ho not believe that his position entitled him to gniiify iiis 
 inclinations? And then his brothers were taking advantage of 
 his weakness to induce him to relinquish all relations with his 
 wife. As the result of their schemes she foresaw the much 
 dreaded divorce which had already been spoken of. 
 
 •■ ' It is a great misfortune for me,' she added, ' that I cannot 
 give Bonaparte a son. That will always be a weapon by which 
 they can wound me.' 
 
 " ' But, Madame,' I said, 'it seems to me that your daughter's 
 child almost repairs that misfortune; tho First Consul loves him, 
 and will perhaps end by a<lopting him.' 
 
 •• ' Alas!' replied she, ' that is tho object of my dearest wishes; 
 but the sullen and jealous character of Louis Bonaparte leails 
 him to oppose it. His family have repeated to him the insulting 
 rumors concerning my daughter's conduct and the paternity of 
 her son. Slander has declared the child to be Bonaparte's, and 
 that is.sulTicient to make Louis refuse his consent to the adop- 
 tion. You observe how he avoids us, and how guarded my 
 daughter is obliged to be. However, independently of the good 
 reasons I have for not enduring Bonaparte's inlidelities, they al- 
 ways mean that I shall submit to many other annoyances.' 
 
 •■This was quite true. I always noticed that when tho First 
 
 Consul was attracteil by another woman— whether it was that 
 his despotic temper led him to expect that his wife should ap- 
 prove of his absolute independence in all things, or whether he 
 was so constituted by nature that ho was only capable of loving 
 one thing ut a time— ho became harsh, violent, and pitiless to his 
 wife when he had a mistress. He showed a sort of savago sur- 
 prise because she would not approve of his indulging in pleasures 
 which, as he would demonstrate, were both allowable and neces- 
 sary for him. 'I am no ordinary man,' he would say. 'and the 
 laws of morals and of customs were never made for me.' 
 
 "Such declarations as these aroused tho anger of Madame 
 Bonaparte, and she answered them by tears and complaint.-<, 
 which her husband resented with violence. After a while he 
 would tire of Ins new fancy, and all his love and tenderness for 
 his wife would revive. Then he was touched by her grief and 
 tried to make amends by lavishing caresses upon her, and as she 
 was very gentle, she was easily appeased. 
 
 " While the storm lasted I was placed in a very embarrassing 
 position by the strange conlidences of which I was the recipient, 
 and ot times by proceedings in which I was obliged to take part. 
 I remember one occurrence iu particular which took place dur- 
 ing the winter of 1803, at which I have often lauglu'd. Bona- 
 parte was in the habit of occupying the same room with his wile; 
 she had persuaded him that in doing so he insureil his personal 
 safely. 
 
 " ' I told him,' she said, ' that as I was a very light sleeper, if 
 any one attempted to disturb him in the night I should be there 
 to call for help in a moment.' 
 
 "In the evening sho never retired until Bonaparte had gone to 
 bed. But when Mademoiselle Georges was in the ascendant and 
 visited the chatoiu late at night, he did not go to his wife's 
 room until an advanced hour of the night. 
 
 "One evening Madame Bonaparte, who was more than usu- 
 ally restless and jealous, kept me witli her, and talketl of her 
 troubles. It was one o'clock iu the morning; we were alone in 
 her boudoir, and profound silence reigned in the TuUeries. Sud- 
 ocnly she rose. 
 
 "•I cannot bear it any longer,' she said, 'Mademoiselle 
 Georges is certainly with him. I will surprise them.' 
 "I tried to persuade her from her purpose, but in vain. 
 " ' Follow ine,' she said. ' Let us go up together.' 
 "Then I represented to her that such an act, improper on her 
 part, would not be tolerated in me, and that I would be very cut 
 of place in tho scene that must ensue. She would not listen and 
 reproached me with deserting her in her troubles, and she 
 begged me so earnestly to accompany her that I yielded ngainoi 
 my wishes, saying to myself that our ex|)edition would end in 
 nothing, as no doubt care had been taken to prevent surprise. 
 
 " Silently we mounted the back staircase leading to Bona- 
 parte's room; Madame Bonaparte, much e.xcited, going Ilist, 
 while I followed .slowly, feeling very much ashamed of the part 
 I was obliged to l)lay. On our way we hoard a slight noise; 
 Madame Bonaparte turned to me and said : 
 
 " ' It is perhaps Rustan, Bonaparte's .Mameluke, who keeps tbe 
 door. The wretch is quite capable of killing us both.' 
 
 "At these words I was seize<l with such fright, although 
 ridiculous as it was I could not overcome It. and ran rapidly 
 back to the boudoir, candle in hand, forgetting that I left 
 .Madame Bonaparte in utter darkness. She followed me a few 
 minutes after, astonished at my sudden llight. When sho saw 
 how frightened I was. she began to laugh, and that made 
 mo laugh too: and we gave up our enterprise. I left her, telling 
 her that my fright had been very useful, and I was glad that I 
 had yielded to it. 
 
 " Jealousy altered the sweet temper of Madame Bonaparte, and 
 .she could not hide it from those around her. I was in the posi- 
 tion of a confidante without influence, and I could not but appear 
 to be mixed up in the quarrels which I had witnessed. Bona- 
 parte showed some annoyance at my beii\g made aware of tho 
 facts of his private life. 
 
 '• Meanwhile, the ugly actress grew in favor with the I'arisian 
 
74 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 public, and the beautiful one was often received with hisses. M. 
 deReniusat trieii and tried to divide patronage equally between 
 the two; but whatever he did was received with equal dissatis- 
 faction, either by the First Consul or by the pul)lic. 
 
 " These petty afl'airs gave us a good deal of trouble. Bona- 
 parte, without mentioning the actress, couiplained to my husband, 
 saying he would not object to my being his wife's confidante, pro- 
 vided I would only give her good advice. My husband represented 
 me as haring been very carefully brought up, an* too sensible to 
 encourage Madame Bonaparte's jealous fancies. The First Con- 
 sul, who was still well-disposed toward us, accepted this view of 
 my conduct. But llicnce arose another annoyance He wanted 
 me sometimes to interfere in his conjugal quarrels, and avail him- 
 self of what he called my good sense, against the foolish jealousy 
 of which he was tired. 
 
 "As I never could conceal my real feelings, I answered quite 
 sincerely, when he told me bow weary he was of all these scenes, 
 that I pitied Madame Bonaparte very much, and that he ought 
 to e.xcuse her; but at the same time I admitted that it was un- 
 dignified on her part to try and prove his unfaithfnlness through 
 her servants. He did not fail to tell her that I blamed her in 
 this respect; and so I was involved in endless e.xplanations be- 
 tween husband and wife, into which I threw all tlie ardor of my 
 ago, and the devotion which I felt for both of them. We went 
 through a constant succession of scenes; Bonaparte was in turn 
 imperious, harsh, rnd defiant; and at other times tender and 
 almost gentle, atoning with a good grace the faults he con- 
 fessed, but did not renounce. I remember one day, in order to 
 avoid a tete-a-tete with Madame Bonaparte, he made me remain 
 to dinner; his wife was then very angry because he had declared 
 his intention of having a separate apartment, and he insisted 
 that I should give my opinion on tliis subject. I was not i^re- 
 pared to answer him; and I knew that Madame Bonaparte would 
 never forgive me if I did not agree with her. I tried to evade a 
 reply, but Bonaparte insisted, and I said that I thought the least 
 change in their manner of living would give rise to injurious re- 
 ports, and that the least change in flie arrangements of the 
 chateau would surely be talked about. Bonaparte laughed, and 
 pinching my ear, said: 'Ah! you are a woman, and you all back 
 each other.' 
 
 " Nevertheless, he carried out his resolution, and from that 
 time occupied a separate apartment. His manner toward his 
 wife, however, became more affectionate, and she, on her part, 
 was less suspicious of him. She adopted the advice I urged 
 upon her, to treat such unworthy rivalry with disdain. 
 
 " • It would 1)6 quite time enough to fret,' I said, ' if the Con- 
 sul chose one of the women in your own society; that would 
 be a real grief, and for me a serious annoyance.' 
 
 " Two years afterwards my prediction was fully realized, espe- 
 cially as regards myself." 
 
 As it was destined that the authoress of the Memoirs was to 
 have a '-111110 unpleasantni^ss " with her friend Josephine, we 
 will give her own words in describing the unhappy woman: 
 
 " 8he had not a remarkable intellect. A Creole, and coquet- 
 tish, her education had been greatly neglected; but she knew her 
 dellcieiicies, and she never compromised her.'ielf in conversation. 
 She possessed true natural tact, and always found it easy to say 
 pleasant things. She had a convenient memory— a very useful 
 thing for those who are in high positions. Unfortunately she 
 lacked depth of feeling and elevation of soul. She iireferred to 
 charm her husband by her beauty, rather than to influence him by 
 her mind. She was excessively complaisant towards him. and kept 
 her hold over him only by conce.ssions, which f.trengthened the 
 contempt with which women inspired him. She miglit have 
 been able to teach him some useful lessons, but she feared him 
 too much, and received, on the contrary, most of her impres- 
 sions from him. 
 
 " Besides, she was fickle, impressionable, easily affected and 
 calmed, but incapable of prolonged emotion, of sustained atten- 
 tion, or of serious thought. If her grandeur did not turn her 
 head, on the other hand it did nothing towards educating her. 
 
 It was her nature to console the unhappy; but she could only 
 look at individual troubles; she never thought about the woes of 
 France. 
 
 "The genius of Bonaparte overpowered her; she never criti- 
 cised him except in what concerned herself; but in everything 
 else she respected what he called ' the force of his destiny.' He 
 e.^ercised over her an evil infiueuce, for he inspir-ed her witli a 
 contempt for morality, and he taught her to be suspicious, and 
 to form a habit of falsehood, which they both used by turns. 
 
 "It has been said that she was the prize of his command of 
 the army of Italy; she assured me that at this time Bonaparte 
 was really in love with her. She hesitated between him. Gene- 
 ral Hoche and M. Caulaincourt, who also loved her. The as- 
 cendency of Bonaparte won her. 1 know that my mother, then 
 living in retirement in the country, was very much astonished to 
 hear, in her retreat, that the widow of M. de Beauharnais had 
 married a man so little known. 
 
 " When I questioned her about Bonaparte's habits in his 
 youth, she told me that he was then dreamy, silent and embar- 
 rassed when with women, but passionate and fascinating, al- 
 though he was so strange a jierson. She attriliuted the change 
 in his disposition to his journey to Egypt, which developed that 
 petty despotism from which she had suflered so much." 
 
 The "little unpleasantness'' heretofore referred to occurred 
 soon after, and Josephine became jealous of her confidential 
 friend. 
 
 The incidents that led to the quarrel between the friends are 
 thus described by Madame de Remusat: 
 
 "While at Boulogne I spent the time in conversations of this 
 kind with the First Consul, but I soon learnt to mistrust person^ 
 among whom I was obliged to live at court. The officers of the 
 household could not understand that a woman might remain for 
 hours together with their master, simply talking on matters of 
 general interest; and they drew conclusions injurious to my 
 character. I will here say that a life-long attachment to my 
 husband prevented my even conceiving the possibility of such a 
 suspicion as that which was formed in the Consul's antecham- 
 ber while I was conversing with him in his salon. When Bona- 
 parte returned to Paris there was considerable talk about my 
 long interviews with him, and Madame Bonaparte became 
 alarmed about it. When after a month's sojourn at Pont-de- 
 Briques, my husband was sufficiently recovered to bear the jour- 
 ney, we returned to Paris; but my jealous patroness received me 
 coldly. It was the first time I had suffered injustice; my feel- 
 ings revolted against such an accusation. E.xperience only can 
 steel us against the unjust judgments of the world. My friend, 
 who was really attached to me, advised mo to be careful of my 
 words. My friend's warning had, however, explained Madame 
 Bonaparte's conduct towards me. One day I said to her with 
 tears in my eyes : 
 
 " ' What, Madame, do you suspect me?' 
 
 "She was touched and embraced me, and from thenceforth she 
 treated me with her former cordiality, but she did not under- 
 stand my feelings. In order to justify her suspicions, she told 
 me that the Bonaparte family had spread injurious reports 
 against me during my absence. 
 
 " 'Do you not see,' I said, ' that political jealousy has spread 
 suspicion broadcast everywhere, and as insignificant as I am, 
 they want to make you quarrel with me?' 
 
 "Madame Bonaparte agreed in the truth of my observation, 
 but she had no idea that I could feel aggrieved because it had 
 not occurred to herself in the first instance. She admitted that 
 she had reproached her husband about me, and he had appar- 
 ently amused himself by leaving her in doubt. I began to feel 
 that the ground which I had walked over up to that time, with 
 all the confidence of ignorance, was not firm. I felt that from 
 the kind of annoyance I had just undergone I should never again 
 be free." 
 
 Very soon after Joseiihine was in serious trouble again, as the 
 emperor had found a new lady-love to share his pleasures. 
 
 It appears that Madame de Remusat, became reconciled to the 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 Jealous wife' once more, and tbat she waa again installed as ber 
 confidential adviser. 
 
 Siie thus describes one of the family quarrels: 
 
 " The Kmpcror, harassed without rest by his family, seemed to 
 listen to these discourses, and a few words tliat Jhe let fall 
 caused his wife great alarm. She had a habit of confiding to me 
 all lier troubles. I was very an.xious to give her good advice, 
 and 1 feared being compromised in such a great difllculty. An 
 unexpected incident hastened the blow which we feared. For 
 some lime Madame Bonaparte thought she perceived an inti- 
 macy between her husband and Madame . In vain I im- 
 
 ploral her not to give llie Emperor any pretext for a quarrel 
 whicli they would use against lier; too animated and anxious to 
 listen to prudence, she watched, notwithstanding my advice, for 
 an occasion to convince herself of what she suspected. At St. 
 Cloud the Emperor occupied the apartment which led into the 
 garden, and was even with it. Above this he had caused to be 
 furnished a small private room which communicated with his 
 own by a hidden staircase; the Empress had some reason to fear 
 this mysterious retreat. One morning, there being several in 
 
 her salon (Madame hieing established for some days at St. 
 
 Cloud), the Empress, seeing her suddenly leave the apartment, 
 got ui) a few moments after ber departure, and taking me into 
 the alcove of a window : 
 
 "'I am going,' said she to me, 'to confirm my suspicions 
 presently; remain In the salon with all my circle; and if they 
 seek to know what has become of me, you will tell them that the 
 Emperor has sent for me.' 
 
 " I endeavored to withhold her, but she waa beside herself, and 
 would not listen to me; at the same time she retired, and I re- 
 mained very uneasy at what was going to take place. At the 
 end of half an hour's absence she enteretl suddenly by the door 
 of her apartment which was ojipositc to that by which she had 
 left; she seemed much moved, and could hardly contain herself; 
 she seated herself at a work-table that was in the salon. I re- 
 mained at a distance- from her, engaged with some work and 
 avoiding her eye, but I easily perceived her trouble !)y the hasti- 
 ness of all her movements, which were naturally so quiet. 
 
 " At length, unable as she was to keep In silence during any 
 strong emotion, no matter what it was, she could no longer con- 
 tinue this constraint, and calling me in a loud voice, she ordered 
 me to follow her. As soon as we were in her room : ' All Is 
 lost,' said she to me, ' that which 1 suspected is but too true. 
 I sought the Emperor in his cabinet and he was not there: then 
 I ascended by the hidden staircase to the little apartment; I 
 found the door shut, and through the lock I heard the voice of 
 Bonaparte and Madame I knocked loudly, naming myself. 
 
 '"You may imagine the trouble that 1 caused them; it was 
 long before they opened the door, and when they did so, the slate 
 in which tney both were, and their disorder, left me not the 
 slightest doubt. I know well that I ought to have restrained mj'- 
 self, but It was impossible; I burst out In reproaches. Madame 
 
 began to cry. Bonaparte went into such a violent passion 
 
 that I had hardly time to flee to escape his resentment. In fact, 
 I am still trembling, for I do not know to what excess he might 
 have been carried. No doubt he will come, and I expect a terri- 
 ble scene!' 
 
 "The emotion of the Empress excited mine, as you may easi- 
 ly suppose. 
 
 "• Do not, ' I said to her, 'make another mistake: for the Em- 
 peror will not forgive you for admitting any one, no mattof 
 whom, into your confidence. Let me leave you. Madame. You 
 must await him; let him find you alone, and try to smooih and 
 to repair so great an Imprudence.' 
 
 "After these few words I left her, and I re-entered the salon 
 
 where I found Madame who looked very uneasily at me. 
 
 She was very pale, speaking but few words, and trying to find 
 out if I was Informed. T seated myself at my work as tranquilly 
 
 ii.-< I could, but it waa not difficult for M.idame , seeing me 
 
 rnme oat of that apartment, to understand tliat I had just heard 
 
 something in confidence. Every one in the salon looked at each 
 other, without knowing what was taking place. 
 
 "A few moments after we heard a great noise iu the Empress's 
 apartment, and I understood that the Emperor was there, and 
 
 that a violent scene waa going on. Madame had ordered 
 
 her horses and had left for Paris. This sudden departure could 
 not quiet the storm. I had to return to Paris in the evening. 
 Before my departure the Empress sent for me and informed me, 
 with many tears, that Bonaparte, after having insulted her Id 
 every way, and broken In his rage several articles of furniture 
 which came under his hand, had signified to her that she must 
 prepare to leave St. Cloud, and that, tired of a jealous watch- 
 fulness, he had decided to shake off such a yoke, and, in 
 fact, to listen to the counsels of his politicians and take a wife 
 capable of giving him children. She added that she had sent 
 orders to Eugene de Beauharnais to come to St. Cloud to regu- 
 late the arrangements for the departure of his mother, and that 
 she saw she was lost entirelj". She ordered me logo and see her 
 daughter as soon as I should arrive in Paris, and to explain to 
 her all that had taken place. 
 
 " I called on Madame Louis Bonaparte. She had just seen 
 her brother, who had arrived from St. Cloud. The Emperor had 
 signified to him his resolve to obtain a divorce, which Eugene 
 had received with his usual submission, and refused all the per- 
 sonal indemnities which had been otTered him as consolation, 
 declaring that he would accept nothing when such a mis- 
 fortune was about to fall upon his mother, and that he would 
 follow her to the retreat that they would give her, were it to 
 Martinique itself, sacrificing all, if necessary, to the sacred duty 
 of consolation. Bonaparte sfemed struck with such a generous 
 resolve, and listened in savage silence. 
 
 " I found Madame Louis, her daughter, who was married to 
 Napoleon's brother, less moved at this event than I had ex- 
 pected : 
 
 "'I cannot interfere in anything,' said she to me, ' for my 
 husband has positively forbidden me to take any step. My 
 mother has been very imprudent; she is about to los3 a crown, 
 but at least she will have real. Ah! believe me, there are women 
 more unfortunate!' 
 
 "She pronounced these words with a sadness which enabled 
 me to guess all her thoughta; but as she never mentioned a 
 word with regard to her private situation, I did not dare to 
 answer in a way that would show her that I had understood 
 her. 
 
 " 'Besides,' she said to me, in conclusion, 'if there is any 
 chance of this affair being settled, that chance lays in the i)ower 
 my brother may have by gentleness and tears over Bonaparte. 
 We must leave them to themselves, avoid coming between them, 
 and I would advise you not to go to St. Cloud, i)articularly as 
 Madame has spoken of you and. believes that you en- 
 couraged her violent attack upon them.' 
 
 " I remained two days without sparing myself at St. Cloud, 
 following the advice of Madame Louis Bonaparte, and the third 
 day I went to see the Empress, about whose condition I was very 
 uneasy. 
 
 " She had partly recovered from her anguish. Her tears ami 
 entreaties had, in fact, disarmed Bonaparte, and there was no 
 longer any talk of his anger, or of that which had cjiusetl It. But 
 after a lender settlement, the Emperor had caused his wife fresh 
 pain, by showing her how necessary it was for him to be 
 divorce*!. 
 
 " ' I have not the courage," said he to her, " to make the last 
 resolution, and if you show loo much aflSiction, if you only obey 
 me, I feel that I shall never be strong enough to force you to 
 leave me; but I declare that I very much wish that you would 
 resign yourself to my political interests, and that yon would spare 
 me the embarrassment of taking the steps necessary to this pain- 
 ful separation.' 
 
 "Thus speaking, the Empress added that he had shed many 
 tears. 
 
 " While she waa speaking 1 remember that I perceived for her 
 
76 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 the plan of a great and generous sacritice. Believing thai lliu 
 gouU of France was irrevocably allaclied to that of Napoleon, I 
 thouglit that it would be an heroic action to devote oneself to all 
 that would allirm it, and that if I had been the woman 16 whom 
 such an address had been made, I should have fell tempted to 
 abandon that position so brilliant, where they looked upon me 
 With a sort of reijrot, and retired into a solitude where I could 
 live peaceably and conleiitcd with my sacritice. But, in seeing 
 the shadow that the imperial words had left on the face of Ma- 
 dame Bonaparte, I remembered that which I had often heard my 
 mother say, that iu order to give useful counsel you must always 
 study the character of the person to whom you give it. 
 
 " At the same lime I considered the terror which the retreat 
 would cause the Empress ; of her taste for lu.xury and gayely, 
 of the enniH which would devour her, when she had given up the 
 world; and then, awaking from the exalted feeling which had 
 come on me for a moment, I told her thai I saw but two things 
 for her 10 do: either to sacriUco herself with dignity and resolu- 
 tion to what they asked of her, and iu that case to leave for Mal- 
 maison the next morning, from whence she could write to the 
 Emperor to tell him that she gave him his freedom ; or else, 
 if she wished to remain, unable to decide on her course, always 
 ready to obey: but declaring very positively that she Would await 
 direct orders to descend from the throne which they hail made 
 her ascend. 
 
 "This last advice was the one which she followed, and with a 
 skillful and tender sweeli)e.ss, taking the character of a subdued 
 victim, she succeeded once more in weakening the shafts thatthc 
 jealousy of her family cast against her. Sad, complacent, en- 
 tirely subdued, but quick to prolil by the power which she ex- 
 ercised over her husband, she put him in a stale of agitation and 
 uncertainty from which he could not escape. 
 
 "At length, harasseil a liltle too strongly by his brothers, and 
 perceiving the joy thai the Bunapartes showed, thinking they had 
 gained the end they wished, touched by the comparison which lie 
 made of the conduct of his wife and her children, and as far as 1 
 can remember, hurt by the triumphal air of his family, who were 
 imprudent enough to boast of their having led him to act as they 
 wished, feeling a secret pleasure in overthrowing the scheme? 
 that Ihey had forineil around him, after long meditation, during 
 which time the Empress sutt'eiod terrible anxiety, all at once he 
 informed her one evening that the Pope would arrive, and that 
 they should botli lie crowned, and that she could at ouce com- 
 mence her preparations for that great ceremony. 
 
 "One can easily imagine the joy which such an announcement 
 gave her, and the rage of the Bonaparles, particularly of .loseph; 
 for the Emperor, faithful to his habits, told his wife all the temp- 
 tations which they had placed before him, and one may easily 
 conceive that these revelations increased the hatred between the 
 two parties. 
 
 "It was on this occasion that the Empress confided to me the 
 wish she had for some time that his marriage should be strength- 
 eneil by a religious ceremony, which had been neglected at the 
 time it was concluded. She spoke of it several times to Ihe Em- 
 peror, who showed no objection, but answered that even in 
 Viringing a priest to the palace, it could never be done secretly 
 enough to prevent it being known that up to that time they had 
 not been married by the church; and whether that was his real 
 reason, or whether he wished to reserve lo himself for future use 
 a iiretexl with which he might annul the marriagi!, when he 
 believed it really necessary, he repulsed, but with gentleness, all 
 the etl'orts made by his wife in that respect. She determined lo 
 await the arrival of the Po|)o, Haltering herself that on such an 
 occasion he would readily accord her wishes." 
 
 Josephine carried her point. She was married to Napoleon, 
 and she was declared Empress. 
 
 But the domestic troubles of the faithful and devoted creature 
 were not over. 
 
 During the winter of 1807 a new rival appears on the scene, 
 iind .Madame do Remusat thus describes the unhappy affair: 
 
 " I have already said that Eugene was well occupied with 
 
 Madame do X . This young woman, then twenty-four of 
 
 twenly-tlve years of age, was fair and white, her blue eyes had 
 all ihe expression she wished to give them, except that of being 
 frank, because 1 believe that Ihe habits of her character forced 
 her lo dissimulate. Her aquiline nose was rather long, her 
 mouth charming, adorned with beautiful teeth, which she showed 
 a great deal. Her slight figure was elegant, but wanted a liltlo 
 fullness; her foot was small, and she danced marvolously. She 
 had not a remarkable wit, but still she was not without lad ; sb« 
 was calm, a little dry, and not easy to move, and even more 
 difficult to trouble. 
 
 " The Empress had begun by treating her with much disliuc- 
 lion: she praiseil her figure, -always approved of her toilette, 
 amused her in preference lo the others on account of her son, 
 and perhaps assisted in making her known lo her husbalid. He 
 occupied himself with her as soon as they relurued from Eontaine- 
 bleau. Madame Mural, who was the first to guess the taste of 
 her brother, sought the confidence of this young lady, and she 
 succeeded well enough to set her jiromplly in deQance of the 
 Empress. Mural, by reason, I believe, of a private arrangement, 
 
 pretended to be in love with Madame de X , and thus gave 
 
 for some time a change to the observations of the court. 
 
 "The Empress did not doubt the new preoccupation of llie 
 Emperor, but could not guess the object; at first she suspected, 
 as I have said, the Marechale Ney, to whom, really, he very often 
 spoke; and during several days the unfortunate Marechale was 
 the object of the observation and bad humor of her mistress. I 
 received, as usual, the confidence of this jealous uneasiness, and 
 1 could as yet see nothing lo justify it. 
 
 "The Empress complained to Madame Louise Bonaparte of 
 what she called the perfidy of the Marechale. The latter was ex- 
 horted antl questioned; and after having assured us that she 
 only felt a kind of fear for the Emperor, she declared that he had 
 seemed as if sometimes he paid her attentions, and that Madame 
 
 de X had complimented her on the grand conquest that she 
 
 was on the point of making. 
 
 " This recital at once enlightened I he Empress. More attentive, 
 she discovered the truth, found out that Murat only feigned lo 
 love her in order to be able to carry the declarations of the Em- 
 l)eror. She found, in the deference that she saw iu Duroc for 
 
 Madame de X , a proof of the sentiments of his master, and 
 
 in the conduct of Madame Murat a scheme very well planned 
 against her own tranquillity. From that time, the Emperor was 
 seen much oftener in the apartment of his wife. Nearly every 
 evening he descended to the ground fioor, and his looks and 
 words instructed equally the Empress and the objocl of his pref- 
 erence. If his wife went lo the theater and occupied a private 
 iiox, for the Emperor did not like her lo appear in public without 
 him, he immediately joined her, and from day to day, less master 
 of himself, he appeared more engaged. Madame de X pre- 
 served an apparent coolness, but she used all the resources of 
 feminine coquetry. Her toilette was more &n(\ moro recherche, 
 her smile finer, her looks more intriguing, and it was soon easy 
 enough lo guess at what was passing. The Emiiress suspected 
 that Madame Mural had permitted at her house secret inter- 
 views. She assured me later on that she was certain of it. Then 
 she burst out in complaints and tears, as washer custom, and I 
 saw myself again obliged to receive confidences which compro- 
 mised me, and to recommence giving sermons which were not 
 listened to. 
 
 "The Empress wished lo attempt explanations which were 
 very badly received. Her husband got angry, treated her 
 harshly, reproached her with opposing iiim in his slightest dis- 
 iracllons, ordered her lo be silent, and while in public she, con- 
 sumed by her griefs, appeared sad and broken down, he was gay, 
 open, and more animated than we had ever seen him before — 
 entertained us all, and lavished upon us expressions of his sav- 
 age gallantry. In those assemblies in the Empress's apartment, 
 of which I have spoken before, he seemed like a real Sultan. FTe 
 placed himself at a play-table, called for his parly— generally his 
 sister Caroline, Madame de X , and myself— and hardly hold- 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 77 
 
 jiigtbe cards, be commenced with us dissertations, sentimental in 
 their way, where he displayed more wit than sense, and some- 
 times very bad taste, but exalted enough. 
 
 "In these interviews Madame de X , very reserved, and 
 
 perhaps fearing that I should discover her, replied only in mono- 
 syllables. Madame Murat took but little interest in it. bavin? 
 her own end in view, and caring nothing about the details. As 
 to myself, these conversations amused me, and I replied with all 
 the liberty and wit of which I was capable. I had the advantage 
 over these three other persons, who were more or less preoccu- 
 pied. Sometimoij, without naming any one, Bonaparte com- 
 menced a discussion on jealousy, and then it was easy to see 
 what applications he wished to make to his wife. I understood 
 him, and I defended her as well as I could, gayly, and avoiding 
 
 to designate her, and then I clearly suw that Madame* de X 
 
 and Madame Murat were not jileased with me. 
 
 " In these soirees, Madame Bonaparte, sadly jilnying in 
 another part of the salon, observed us from the distance and 
 suflered from these interviews, which always made her uneasy. 
 Although she had iilenty of reasons to believe in me, being 
 naturally defiant, sometitoes she fancied I would sacrifice her to 
 the desire to please the Emperor; and at least she was ve.xed 
 wilh me at not blaming his conduct. At one time she would ask 
 me to go and And him, and to speak to him of the harm that she 
 jirelcnded this new liaison did him in the eyes of the world; 
 
 again, she wished me to watch Madame de X in her own 
 
 house, wliere she knew that Bonaparte went sometimes in 
 the evening; or else she made me write In her presence anony- 
 mous letters full of re])roacbes, that I composed before her 
 in order to please her, and in order to prevent her from getting 
 others to do so; and that I took care to burn, after having 
 assured her that I had sent them. Uer faithful servants were 
 employed to discover proofs of what she sought. Workmen of 
 her favorite trades-people were in her confidence, and I sufTercd 
 all the more from these imi)radences, because I learnt soon after 
 that Madame Murat- blamed me for the discoveries made by 
 the Empress, and accused me of acts of which I was incapable. 
 
 '• Madame Bonaparte suflered more on account of her son, who 
 
 was greatly grieved at what took place. Madame de X , 
 
 who, at first by coquetry, taste, or vanity, had listened, since 
 her new and more splendid conquest, avoided even the slightest 
 appearance of any relation with him. Terhaps she boasted to 
 the Emperor of the love which she had inspired in Eugene. One 
 thing is certain, that is that the latter was very coldly treated by 
 bi^ father in-law. The Empress was enragetl; Madame Louis 
 was grieved about it, but dissimulated her secret impressions. 
 Eugene suffered, and hid himself under an apparent calm, which 
 happily took but little hold on bim. 
 
 " One sees in all this the eternal hatred felt between the Bona- 
 partists and the Beauharnais; and in which it was my destiny, 
 however moderate I might be, to see myself always involved. I 
 have had great experience; it is all, or nearly all, a chance in 
 courts. Human prudence has not the strength to defend Itself, 
 and I know no means of escaping misrepresentations, unless the 
 sovereign himself is not open to susi)icion ; but, far from that, 
 the Emjieror received all the reports, and even seemed to have 
 a kind of credulity for believing all those which were unjileasaut, 
 no matter of what kind. The surest means of gaining his favor 
 was to relate to bim all the reports, to denounce all conducts; 
 that is why M. de R^musat, jdaced close to him, had never ob- 
 tained it — for be had often refu8e<l to give himself up to a line of 
 conduct which Duroc himself bad often indicated to him. 
 
 " One evening the Emperor, out of patience because of a vio- 
 lent quarrel wilh bis wife, and in which, driven to extremes, she 
 
 had declared that she would forbid Madame de X to enter 
 
 her apartments, be addressed himself to M. de Remusat, and 
 complained that I did not employ the jiower I bad over her to 
 moderate her imprudences. He finished by saying that he wished 
 to see me in private, and that I had only to ask audience of him. 
 M.de Rimnsat sent me this order, and, in fact, during the next 
 
 day, I asked bim for an audience, which was fixed for the fol- 
 lowing morning. 
 
 " Agrand hunt had been prepared for that day. The Empress 
 had goue in advance with the foreign princes, and waited the 
 Emperor at the Bois de Boulogne. I arrived just as the Emperoi 
 was getting into his carriage; his suite were all assembled; be 
 re-entered bis cabinet to receive me, to the great astonishment 
 of the Court, to whom everything was an event. 
 
 " He commenced by complaining bitterly of his private trou- 
 bles; be was incensed against women in general— especially 
 against bis wife. lie rc]>roached mo wilh having encouraged 
 her espionage, and accused mo of a thousand actions to which I 
 was a stranger — the result of reports that bad been made to him. 
 1 recognized in his recitals the bad offices of Madame Murat, and 
 that which pained me the most was that the Empress, in order 
 to strengthen her complaints, had sometimes named me, and 
 had told to me what slie had said or thought. This and the 
 words of the Emperor caused me a little emotion, and tears start- 
 ed to my eyes. The Emperor, who perceived it, rudely apolo- 
 gized for the pain be had caused ine, with this phrase, that 
 was so common to him, and that I have already written: 
 'Women have always two means of making a scene— paint 
 and tears.' At that moment those words, spoken in an 
 ironical tone, and with the intention of disconcerting me, 
 produced a contrary effect; they enraged me, and gave me 
 the power to answer bim : ■ No, sire, it sometimes happens 
 that when one is unjustly accused, one cannot help shedding 
 tears of indignation.' 
 
 " We must do jtislice to the Emperor: lie is never angry with 
 you when you answer him with some firmness, whether because, 
 not often finding it in othera, he was less prepared to answer, 
 or whether the justness of his spirit approved of that which was 
 rightly resented. 
 
 " The feelings I showed did not displease. ' If you do not ap- 
 prove.' said be to me, ' of the inquisition which the Empress 
 exercises against me, liave you not sulllcient power over her to 
 restrain her ? .She humiliates us both by the espionage with 
 which-she surrounds me; she furnishes weapons to her enemies. 
 Since you are in her confidence, you must be answerable for her 
 to me, and I shall hold you responsible for all her faults.' In 
 pronouncing these words, he brightened a little; I then repre- 
 sented to bim that I tenderly loved the Em|)re83, that I w:is in- 
 capable of leading her in a wrong way, but that it was impossi- 
 ble to have any power over a jiassionate iierson. I also told 
 him that be did not act in a right way towards her, that even if 
 she did suspect him, whether she was right or wrong, be insulted 
 her and treated her too rouglUy. 
 
 " I did not dare to blame ine Empress for that in which her 
 conduct was really to be blamed, because I knew that ho would 
 not fail to repeal to lus wife all that I had said. I concluded by 
 telling him 'that for some time I would keep away from the pal- 
 ace, and that he would see If affairs went any better.' Then he 
 endeavored to i)rove to me that, in that he neither was nor could 
 be in love, that he had not paid more atlenlion to Madame de 
 
 X- than ano-her; that love was intended for other characters 
 
 than bis. That be was* wholly absorbed by politics; that he 
 would not have his Court to be under the empire of women; that 
 they bad done great barm to Henry IV. and Louis XIV. ; that 
 his profession was a great deal more serious than that of those 
 princes, and that tlio French were become loo grave to forgive 
 their sovereign published liaisons and tilled mislressos. 
 
 "He spoke a little lightly of the past conduct of his wife, aild- 
 ing that she bad no right to be so severe. I stopijotl him on this 
 subject, and be did not get v(xe<l. At length ho questioned me 
 about the persons who ac'ed as spies for the Empress. I an- 
 swered him always that I did not know. At that he approache<I 
 me, and said that I was not sufficiently devoted to bim. I tried 
 to prove to him that I was more sincerely attached to him than 
 those who reported to him so many trifling things that were n*** 
 worthy to be beard. This conversation terminated better lb 
 
76 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF JUNGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 the plun of a great and generous sacrifice. Believing that the 
 good of Frauce was irrevocably attached to that of Napoleon, I 
 thought thai it would be an heroic action to devote oneself to all 
 that would allirni it, and that if I had been the woman to whom 
 such an addreaa had been made, I should have ftlt tempted to 
 abandon that position so brilliant, where they looked upon nui 
 with a sort of rcijret, and retired into a solitude where 1 could 
 live peaceably and contented with my sacrilice. But, in seeing 
 the shadow that the imperial words had left on the face of Ma- 
 dame Bonaparte, I remembered that which I had often heard my 
 mother say, that in order to give useful counsel you must always 
 study the character of the person to whom you give it. 
 
 "At the same lime I considered the terror which the retreat 
 would causo the Empress ; of her taste for luxury and gayely, 
 of the eniiut which would devour her, when she had given up the 
 world; and then, awaking from the e.valled feeling which had 
 come on me for a moment, I told her that I saw but two things 
 for her to do: either to sacrilice herself with dignity aud resolu- 
 tion to what they asked of her, and in that case to leave for Mal- 
 maison the tie.\t morning, from whence she could write to the 
 Emperor to tell him that she gave him his freedom; or else, 
 If she wished to remain, unable to decide on her course, always 
 ready to obey: but declaring very positively that she would await 
 direct orders to descend from the throne which they had made 
 her ascend. 
 
 "Thi.-* last advice was the one which she followed, and with a 
 skillful and tender sweetness, taking the character of a subdued 
 viciim, she succeeded once more in weakening the shafts that the 
 jealousy of her family cast against her. Sad, complacent, en- 
 tirely subdued, but quick to profit by the power which she ex- 
 ercised over her husband, she put him in a state of agitation and 
 uncertainty from which he could not escape. 
 
 "At length, harassed a little too strongly by his brothers, and 
 perceiving the joy that the Bonapartes showed, thinking llieyhad 
 gained the end they wished, touched by the comparison which he 
 niatle of the conduct of his wife and her children, and as far as I 
 can remember, hurl by the triumphal air of his family, who were 
 impru<lcnt enough to boasl of their having led him to act as they 
 wished, feeling a secret pleasure in overthrowing the scheme 
 thai they had formed around him, after long meditation, during 
 which time the Kiiiprcss suO'ered terrible anxiety, all at once he 
 informed her one evening that the Pope would arrive, and thai 
 they should both be crownetl, and that she could at once com- 
 mence her preparations for that great ceremony. 
 
 "One can easily imagine the joy which such an announcement 
 gave her, and the rage of the Bonapartes, particularly of Joseph; 
 for the Emperor, faithful to his habits, told hia wife all the temp- 
 tations which they had placed lieforo him, and one may easily 
 conceive that these revelations increased the hatred between the 
 two parties. 
 
 " It was ou this occasion that the Empress confided to me the 
 wish she had for some time that his marriage should be strength- 
 ened by a religious ceremony, which had been neglected at the 
 time it was concluded. She spoke of it several times to the Em- 
 peror, wlio showed no objection, but answered that even in 
 bringing a priest to the palace, it could never be done secretly 
 enough to prevent it being known that up to that time Ihey had 
 not been married by the church ; and whether thai was his real 
 reason, or whether he wished to reserve to himself for future u:ie 
 a pretext with which he might annul the marriage, when he 
 believed it really necessary, he repulsed, but with gentleness, all 
 the ell'orts made by his wife in that respect. She determined to 
 await the arrival of the I'opo, Haltering herself that on such an 
 occasion he would readily accord her wishes.' 
 
 Josephine carried her point. She was married to Napoleon, 
 and she was declared Empres.s. 
 
 But the domestic troubles of Ihe faithful and devoted creature 
 were not over. 
 
 During the winter of 1807 a new rival appears on the scene, 
 iind .Madame dc Remusat thus describes the unliappy atlair: 
 
 "I have already said that Eugene was well occupied with 
 
 Madame do X . This young woman, then twenty-four of 
 
 twenly-Uve years of age, was fair and white, her blue eyes had 
 all the expression she wiaheil to give them, except that of being 
 frank, because 1 believe that Ihe habits of her character forced 
 her to dissimulate. Her aquiline nose was rather long, her 
 mouth charming, adorned with beautiful teeth, which she showed 
 a great deal. Her slight tigure was elegant, but wanted a little 
 fullness ; her foot was small, and she danced marvelously. She 
 had not a remarkable wit, but still she was not without tact ; she 
 was calm, a little dry, and not easy to move, and even more 
 difficult to trouble. 
 
 " The Empress had begun by treating her with much distidc- 
 tioii: she praised her figure, -always approved of her toilette, 
 amused her in preference to the others on account of her son, 
 and perhaps assisted in making her known to her husband. He 
 occupied himself with her as soon as they returned from I'^ontaiae- 
 bleau. Madame Mural, who was the tirst to guess the taste of 
 her brother, sought the confidence of this young lady, and she 
 succeeded well enough to set her promptly in defiance of the 
 Empress. Mural, by reason, I believe, of a private arrangement, 
 
 pretended to be in love with Madame de X , and thus gave 
 
 for some lime a change to the observations of the court. 
 
 "The Empress did not doubt the new preoccupation of the 
 Emperor, but could not guess the object ; at first she suspected, 
 as I have said, the Marechale Ney, to whom, really, he very often 
 spoke; and during several days iIk; unfortunate Marechale was 
 the object of the observation ami bad humor of her mistress. I 
 received, as usual, the confidence of this jealous uueasiness, and 
 I could as yet see nothing to justify it. 
 
 "The Empress complained to Madame Louise Bonaparte of 
 what she called the perfidy of the Marechale. The latter was ex- 
 horted and questioned; and after having assured us that she 
 only felt a kind of fear for the Emperor, she declared that he had 
 seemed as if sometimes he paid her atlenlions, and that Madame 
 
 de X had complimented her on the grand conquest that she 
 
 was on the point of making. 
 
 "This recital at once enlightened I he Empress. More attentive, 
 she discovered the truth, found out that Murat only feigned to 
 love her in order to be able to carry the declarations of the Era- 
 jieror. She found, in the deference that she saw in Duroc for 
 
 Madame de X , a proof of the sentiments of his master, and 
 
 in the conduct of Madame Murat a scheme very well planned 
 against her own tranquillity. From that time, the Emperor was 
 seen much oftener in the apartment of his wife. Nearly every 
 evening he descended to the ground fioor, and his looks and 
 words instructed equally the Empress and the object of his pref- 
 erence. If his wife went to the theater aud occupied a private 
 box, for the Emperor did not like her to appear in public without 
 him. he immediately joined her, and from day to day, less master 
 
 of himself, he appeared more engaged. Madame de X pre- 
 
 serveil an apparent coolness, but she used all the resources of 
 feminine coquetry. Her loilelle was more aoii more recherc/ie, 
 her smile finer, her looks more intriguing, and it was soon easy 
 enough to guess at what was passing. The Empress suspected 
 that Madame .Mural had permitted at her house secret inter- 
 viewa. She assured me later on that she was certain of it. Then 
 she burst out in complaints and tears, as was her custom, and I 
 saw myself again obliged to receive confidences which compro- 
 mised me, and to recommence giving sermons which were not 
 iJBtened to. 
 
 "The Empress wished to attempt exiilauations which were 
 very badly received. Her husband got angry, treated her 
 harshly, reproached her with opposing him in his slightest dis- 
 tractions, ordered her to bo silent, and while in pubhc she, con- 
 sumed by her griefs, ajipeared sad and broken down, he was gay, 
 open, and more animated than we had ever seen him before— 
 cntertaineil us all, and lavished upon us expressions of his sav- 
 age gallantry. In those assemblies in the Empress's apartment, 
 of which I have spoken before, he seemed like a real Sultan. He 
 placed himself at a play-table, called for his party— generally his 
 sister Caroline, Madame de X , and myself— and hardly hold- 
 
TEE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 11 
 
 iiig tbe cards, lie commenced with as dissertations, seDtimental in 
 tlieir way, where lie displaj-cd more wit than sense, and some- 
 times very bad taste, but exalted enough. 
 
 "In these interviews Madame de X , very reserved, and 
 
 perhaps fearing that I should discover her, replied only in mono- 
 syllables. Madame Murat took but little interest in it. having 
 lier own end in view, and caring nothing about the details. As 
 to myself, these conversations amused me, and I replied with all 
 the liberty and wit of which I was capable. I had the advantage 
 over these three other persons, who were more or less prooccu- 
 pieil. Sometimes, without naming any one, Bonaparte com- 
 menced a discussion on jealousy, and then it was easy to see 
 wliat applications he wished to make to his wife. I understood 
 him, and I defended her as well as I could, gayly, and avoiding 
 
 to designate her, and then I clearly saw that Madame' de X 
 
 and Madame Murat were not jileased with me. 
 
 "In these soirees, Madame Bonaparte, sadly pla^'ing in 
 another part of the salon, observed us from the distance and 
 suffered from these interviews, which always made her uneasy. 
 Although she had jilenty of reasons to believe in me, being 
 naturally defiant, sometimes she fancied I would sacrifice her to 
 the desire to please the Emperor; and at least she was vexed 
 with mo at not blaming his conduct. At one time she would ask 
 me to go and Gnd him, and to speak to him of the harm that she 
 jirctended this new liaison did him in the eyes of the world; 
 
 ogain, she wishetl me to watch Madame de X in her own 
 
 house, where she knew that Bonaparte went sometimes in 
 the evening; or else she made me write In her presence anony- 
 mous letters full of reproaches, that I comiwsed before her 
 in order to ])lease her, nnd in order to jirevent her from getting 
 others to do so; and that I took care to burn, after having 
 assured her that I had sent them. Her faithful servants were 
 employed to discover proofs of what she sought. AVorkmen of 
 her favorite trades-jieople were in her confidence, and I suffered 
 all the more from these imprudences, because I learnt soon after 
 that Madame Murat- blamed me for the discoveries made by 
 tbe Empress, and accused me of acts of which I was incapable. 
 
 '• Madame Bonaparte suffered mpre on account of her son, who 
 
 was greatly grieved at what took jilace. Madame de X , 
 
 who, at first by coquetry, taste, or vanity, had listened, since 
 her new and more splendid conquest, avoided even the slightest 
 appearance of any relation with him. Perhaps she boasted to 
 the Emperor of the love which she had inspired in Eugene. One 
 thing is certain, that is that the latter was very coldly treated by 
 bi^ father in-law. The Empress was enraged; Madame Louis 
 was grieved about it, but dis-^imulated her secret impressions. 
 Eugene suffered, and hid himself under an apparent calm, which 
 happily took but little hold on bim. 
 
 " One sees in all this the eternal hatred felt between the Bona- 
 parlists and the Beauharnais; and in which it was iny destiny, 
 however moderate I might be, to see myself always involved. I 
 have had great experience; it is all, or nearly all, a chance in 
 courts. Human prudence has not the strength to defend Itself, 
 and I know no means of escaping misrepresentations, unless the 
 sovereign himself is not open to suspicion; but, far from that, 
 the Emperor received all the reports, and even seemed to have 
 a kind of credulity for believing all those which were unpleasant, 
 no matter of what kind. The surest means of gaining his favor 
 was to relate to bim all the reports, to denounce all conducts; 
 that is why M. de Rdmusat, jilaced close to him, had never ob- 
 tained it^ — for he had often refusetl to give himself up to a line of 
 conduct which Duroc himself had often indicated to him. 
 
 " One evening the Emperor, out of patience because of a vio- 
 lent quarrel with his wife, and in which, driven to extremes, she 
 
 had declared that she would forbid Madame de X to enter 
 
 her apartments, he addressed himself to M. de Remusat, and 
 complained that I did not employ the power I had over her to 
 moderate her imiirudences. He finished by saying that he wished 
 to see me in private, and that I had only to ask audience of him. 
 M.de R6muBat sent me this order, and, in fact, daring tbe next 
 
 day, I asked bim for an audience, which was fixed for tbe fol- 
 lowing morning. 
 
 " A grand hunt had been prepared for that day. The Empress 
 had gone in advance with the foreign princes, and waited the 
 Emperor at the Bois de Boulogne. I arrived just as the Emperoi 
 was getting into his carriage; his suite were all assembled; he 
 re-entered his cabinet to receive me, to the great astonishment 
 of the Court, to whom everything was an event. 
 
 " He commenced by complaining bitteriy of bis private trou- 
 bles; ho was mccnscd against women in general— especially 
 against his wife. lie reproached me with having encouraged 
 her espionage, and accused mo of a thousand actions to which I 
 was a stranger — the result of reports that had been made to him. 
 I recognized in bis recitals the bad offices of Madame Murat, and 
 that which pained me the most was that the Empress, in order 
 to strengthen her complaints, bad sometimes named me, and 
 had told to me what she had said or thought. This and the 
 words of the Emperor caused me a littleeniotion, and tears start- 
 ed to my eyes. The Emperor, who perceived it, nidi-ly apolo- 
 gize<l for the pain he had caused me, with this i)hrase, that 
 was so common to him, and that I have already written: 
 '■Women have always two means of making a scene— )>'><■>(' 
 and tears.' At that moment these words, spoken in an 
 ironical tone, and with tbe intention of disconcerting me, 
 produced a contrary effect; they enraged me, and gave mo 
 the power to answer bim : ' No, sire, it sometimes happens 
 that when one is unjustly accused, one cannot help shedding 
 tears of indignation.' 
 
 " We must do justice to tbe Emperor: be is never angry with 
 yon when you answer bim with some firmness, whether because, 
 not often finding it in others, be was less prepared to answer, 
 or whether tbe justness of his spirit approved of that which was 
 rightly resented. 
 
 " The feelings I showed did not displease. ' If you do not ap- 
 prove.' said he to me, ' of the inquisition which the Empress 
 exercises against me, liave you not sufficient jiower over her to 
 restrain her ? She humiliates us both by the espionage with 
 which she surrounds me; she furnishes weapons to her enemies. 
 Since you are in her confidence, you must be answerable for her 
 to me, and I shall hold you responsible for all her faults.' In 
 pronouncing these words, he brightened a little; I then repre- 
 sented to him that I tenderly loved the Empress, that I was in- 
 capable of leading her in a wrong way, but that it was impossi- 
 ble to have any power over a ))assionate person. I also told 
 bim that he did not act in a right way towards her, tliat even if 
 she did suspect him, whether she was right or wrong, he insulted 
 her and treated her too rouglUy. 
 
 " I did not dare to blame the Empress for that in which her 
 conduct was really to be blamed, because I knew that he would 
 not fail to repeat to b'ls wife all that I had said. I concluded by 
 telling bim 'that for some time I would keep away from the pal- 
 ace, and that be would see If aflaire went any better.* Then be 
 endeavored to prove to me that, in that he neither was nor could 
 be in love, that be had not paid more attention to Madame de 
 
 X than ano.her; that love was intended for other characters 
 
 than his. That he was* wholly absorbed by politics; that be 
 would not have bis Court to be under the empire of women ; that 
 they had done great harm to Henry IV. and Louis XIV. ; that 
 his profession was a great deal more serious than that of those 
 princes, and that the French were become too grave to forgive 
 their sovereign published liaisons and tilled mistresses. 
 
 "He spoke a little lightly of the past conduct of his wife, add- 
 ing that she had no right to be so severe. I stopiied him on this 
 subject, and he did not get vf.\c<l. At length he questioned me 
 about the jiersons who ac'ed as spies for the Empress. 1 an- 
 swered him always that I did not know. At that he approached 
 me, and said that I was not sufficiently devoted to bim. I tried 
 to ]>rove to bim that I was more sincerely attached to him than 
 those who reported to him so many trifling things that were ni^* 
 worthy to be heard. This conversation terminated better tb 
 
78 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINOS AND QUEENS. 
 
 liad commenced. I /ancied that I bad left bim with a pretty 
 good impression of me. 
 
 " The interview had been very long. The Empress, tired of 
 waiting at the Bois do Boulogne, had sent a mounted footman to 
 know what kept her husband. Word was taken, back to her, 
 that he was closeted with me. Her. uneasiness became very 
 great; she relumed to the Tuileries, and as she did not find me 
 there, she sent after me Madame de Talhouet, charged to tind 
 out what had taken ])lace. In order to obey the Emperor's 
 orders, I answered that he had only asked a question in relation 
 to M. de Remusat. 
 
 "In the evening the General Savary gave a small ball, at 
 which the Emperor had promised to assist. During that winter 
 he sought all the occasions of reunions; he was gay, and even 
 danced a little, and rather badly. I arrived at Madame Savary 's 
 a little before the Court; I saw coming towards me the Grand 
 Marshal Duroc, who gave me his arm as far as my place; the 
 master of the house was very polite. The long audience I had 
 had in the morning, gave me plenty to think about; they cared 
 for me as if I was a favored person, or in the grand coiilideiices. 
 I laughed to myself at these precautious of courtiers. The 
 Emperor arrived with his wife; in walking through the assembly, 
 be stopped before me, and spoko to mo in an obliging manner. 
 The Empress had her eyes fixed on us, and was dying with 
 uneasiness. Madame Murat appeared surprised, Madame tie 
 
 X , slightly troubled. All this amused mo; I did not foresee 
 
 that which was about to result from it. 
 
 "The ne.xt day the Empress asked me a thousand questions, to 
 which I replied with caution ; she was hurt, and pretended that I 
 was sacrificing her to the Emperor, tliat I went on the safe side, 
 that I did not love her more than another; she greatly afflicted 
 me. I reported to my excellent mother all my secret griefs. I 
 was acquiring a painful experience, and I was yet young enough 
 for it to cause my tears to flow. My mother consoled me, and 
 advised me to remain aloof, which I did; but that did not aid me 
 any. The Emperor did not fail to make rao speak, and to back 
 himself with the opinions that ho had given me, in reproaching 
 bis wife, for her imprudences; the Empress treated me coldly; I 
 saw that she avoided speaking to me, and on many accounts I 
 thought it best not to seek her couOdences. 
 
 "The Emperor, who Uked to be at variance, seeing our cold- 
 ness, treated rao better; but Madame de X , whom they bad 
 
 persuaded to dislike me, was uneasy at the little favor which I 
 seemed to be enjoying, and, perhap.s, doing me the honor of be- 
 ing jealous, sought for the means to injure me, and as the things 
 of the world when evil is intended always arrange themselves 
 only too well, she soon found an opportunity which succeeded 
 jwrfectly. 
 
 " On the other side, Eugdne and Madame Louis were ijcrsuaded 
 that I had betrayed their mother in denouncing her, and 
 that on account of the amljition of my husband, who preferred 
 the favor of the master to that of the mistress. M. do Remusat 
 was entirely a stranger to all these maneuvers ; l)ut as to ambi- 
 tion among the inhabitants of courts, that which is probable is 
 always true. Eugene, who had some friendship for my hus- 
 band, kept away from him. 
 
 " As courtiers our situation would not have been bad; but we 
 
 were honest people, and we were both grieved, and we would 
 not make any shameful profit out of our position." 
 
 One of the last of Napoleon's love affairs t>f which Madame 
 de Remusat gives us an account, was rather tame as compared 
 with the others, and it is described in a few words: 
 
 "When the Emperor found himself at Munich, the thought 
 passed through his head to gratify a certain fancy, half gallant, 
 half political, with regard to the Queen of Bavaria. This Prin- 
 cess, second wife of the King, without being beautiful, had an 
 elegant figure, and agreeable manners, which added to her dig- 
 nity. The Emperor pretended, I think, he was in love with her. 
 Those who assisted at this scene said it was curious enougti to 
 see him, with his weak character, and bis somewhat common 
 manners, endeavoring to succeed with a Princess accustomed to 
 the kind of etiquette from which they never depart in Germany, 
 no mutter what the occasion may be. The Queen of Bavaria 
 held in respect her strange admirer, and yet seemed to be 
 amused with his homage. The Empress found her a little more 
 of a coquette than she wished, and this inspired her with the 
 wish to quickly quit the Court of Bavaria, and spoilt the pleasure 
 which the marriage of her son had caused her." 
 
 The last amour of all which she had any knowledge of depicts 
 Napoleon in the character of a sensual man, who was not in the 
 least inspired by emotions that would serve to inspire even the 
 guilty love of a weak woman: 
 
 " During that sojourn at Fontainebleau, there appeared among 
 us a very pretty personage, in whom the Emperor was somewhat 
 interested. This was an Italian lady, whom Monsieur de Talley- 
 rand had seen in Italy, and bad persuaded the Em))eror to place 
 her near the person of the Empress in the quality of reader. Her 
 husband was mailc Receiver General. The Empress, at first con- 
 siderably startled by this apparition of this beautiful one, soon 
 decided that it were best to lend herself complacently to those 
 amusements, which it was impossible to oppose for any length of 
 lime, and she consequently closed her eyes on this occasion to 
 what was going on. The Italian was a gentle creature, submis- 
 sive, and by no means elated by her success. She yielded to her 
 master from a sort of conviction that she bad no right to resist 
 him, she felt a great attachment to Madame Bonaparte for her 
 complaisance in not opposing the Emperor's fancy. Consequently 
 Iho whole aflair blew over without any noise and scandal. The 
 lady was by far the most beautiful of a court which numbered 
 many fair faces. I have never seen finer eyes, nor more lovely 
 features. She was tall and elegantly made; she needed only a 
 little move embonpoint. 
 
 " The Emperor bad no great passion for her— be confided this 
 fact to his wife, and reassured her, as,' without any reserve, he 
 told her the secret of that cold liaison. He had established her 
 at Fontainebleau in such a way that he could see her whenever 
 he pleased. It was whispered that she went to him in the even- 
 ing, or that be ascended to her rooms; but in society he spoke 
 to her no more frequently than he did to others, and our Court 
 soon ceased to notice the affair, finding that it brought no 
 changes in its train. M. de Talleyrand, who had first suggested 
 to Bonaparte that he should take the Italian as his mistress, re- 
 ceived the confidence as to the amount of pleasure she gave bim, 
 and this was all." 
 
 Madame de Remusat retired from the court when Napoleon put 
 the loving Josephine aside to marry the daughter of the Austrian. 
 
 AN AMOKOUS KING OF SPAIN GETTING INTO A DROLL SCRAPE. 
 
 VISITING A KAin LADY IN THE DARK — THE KINO AND HIS FRIEND TREATED AS THIEVES. 
 
 The sons and daughters of sunny Spain were always noted for 
 the order in which they carried on their love intrigues at home 
 and abroad ; and the historians inform us that King Philip IX. 
 
 was not an exception to the general rule prevailing in that 
 country. 
 Philip bad a fair wife of bis own, but that fact did not binder 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 79 
 
 him from casting laacivioos eyes on a certain fair ducbess who 
 waa attached to the court. 
 
 The duchess had a basband, however, wlio was powerful, 
 jealous, and watchful, and he managed to keep a strict watch 
 upon his tempting wife. 
 
 King Philip attempted several stratagems in order to send the 
 watchful duke away from his wife, but the husband battled him 
 on every occasion ; and when he was compelled to travel on war- 
 like missions, he was always accompanie«l by the bewitching 
 duchess. 
 
 Vet the king did not despair; and the more he waited and 
 plotted, the more resolveil did ha become in his unholy love for 
 the fair prize, while at the same lime he feigned an indlfl'erence 
 for the object of his passion. 
 
 At length Philip became convinced that the lady would receive 
 him with smiles and caresses if it wa.s only possible for him to 
 elude the vigilance of the jealous husband and gain admittance 
 to her private apartments at an hour when her lord would lie 
 engaged elsewhere. 
 
 One night when the king was playing a very close game of 
 cards, he feignc<i to recollect that he had a letter to write of the 
 utmost importance, and ref|uesled the duke to take his cards. 
 Soon after the king went to bis closet, put on a cloak, and ac- 
 companied by his favorite the Count of Olivarcy, left the palace 
 by a private staircase and repaired to the fair duchess. 
 
 The jealous duke, thinking more of his domestic interests than 
 a game of cards, concluded that he had some particular design 
 in giving him this charge. Ue began to complain of sudden and 
 violetit illness, and throwing bis cards to another ran in baste to 
 his house. 
 
 The king was in a dark room with the lady, and they were en- 
 gaged in a very agreeable conversation, when the watchful bus- 
 band rushed into the bouse, crying to bis servants: 
 
 " The place is beset with thieves. The watchman outside tells 
 mo that he saw the rascals stealing in over the garden wall. 
 Get sticks and we will beat the life out of the miscreants." 
 
 The lady appeared to tx? in a great terror when she heard her 
 husband's voice, and she turned to the -king crying: 
 
 "I am undone, sir. You must hide under the bed, or I am 
 lost." 
 
 " Under the bed," returned the king. " I will bide where you 
 will, fair lady. But what will l>ecome of my friend the count, who 
 awaits me outside in the arbor?" 
 
 " Ue has fled, 1 trust, sire. Hasten under, or I am undone." 
 
 " But when can I escape?" asked the king, as be crawled under 
 the bed. 
 
 "When my husband sleeps, I will lead you out by the garden 
 gate. Ue comes this way now. Silence, or lam lost! He is so 
 violent that I fear he will murder you." 
 
 " Thieves! — thieves!" yelled the husband, as he ran from room 
 to room. "They are in the bonse, the knaves. Where is the 
 duchess?" 
 
 " What is all this uproar about, my lord?" cried the duchess, 
 as the jealous man rushed into the dark bedroom. " I thought 
 the house was on tire when you aroused mo from my sleep." 
 
 " There are thieves in the house, my dear. We have searched 
 every apartment in the bouse save this. They must be liidiug 
 here." 
 
 " Mercy on me, my lord! Thieves in my apartment! Itis im- 
 possible, I'm sure." 
 
 "There's one of the rascals," cried the husband, as he ilragged 
 the king from under the bed, and commenced to beat linn with 
 all bis might. 
 
 "Here's the other," cried some of the servants, who had seized 
 the king's friend in the garden below. 
 
 " Beat the rascal as I belabor this fcUow," cried the duke, who 
 kept striking the king in the dark room. 
 
 The count, who was not better treated, fearing the worst, cried 
 out several times that it was the king; but the duke only re- 
 doubled his blows upon the prince and minister, assuring him that 
 this was a great stroke of insolence, to make use of his majesty's 
 name upon that occasion, and that he had a great mind to have 
 him carried to the palace, and that the king would surely have 
 him hung. 
 
 The king was silent during this uproar; he at length e8cape<l, 
 much mortiOed at receiving so many blows, without being con- 
 soled with any of the favors that he had anticipated. 
 
 On the following day the duke appeared at court with his fair 
 wife; and tliey told the courtiers about the two robbers who had 
 entered the house on the previous night. 
 
 "Just imagine their insolence," said the duke. "One of Ihera 
 asserted that the other was the king. If the rascals bad not 
 escaped through the window I would have dragged them here to 
 the palace, so that his majesty could have them put to death." 
 
 This adventure did not terminate to the prejudice of the Duke 
 of Albuquerque; on the contrary, the passion of the king for the 
 duchess having subsided, be laughed at it himself. 
 
 THE STORY OF AN INFAMOUS SOCIETY IN ANCIENT ROME 
 
 THE REFORMED MISTRESS— E.XI'O.S1.SO TUE CRIMES OF THE SECRET ORDER. 
 
 The Roman historians furnish us with the following startling 
 account of a terrible order which flonrished in Rome in ancient 
 days, and of the manner in which the members were exposed. 
 
 A young man, the son of a Roman knight, and whose name 
 was ^butius, lost his father at a very tender age, and also lost 
 too soon the tutors who had been given him. By these means 
 Titus Sempronius Rutilus, his step-father, had the whole control 
 of his largo estate. He misused the trust, and when the time 
 came to render his accounts, he, in concert with the mother of 
 jEbutius, took the resolution of destroying the son-in-law. Du- 
 rania, his mother, reminded her husband that during her last ill- 
 ness she promised to initiate him into the mysteries of Bacchus, 
 and that in the course of two days she would take him to the 
 Bacchanals. 
 
 j1Ci)utins was in love with a beautiful woman, called Hispalu 
 Sisceiinia, who having acquired much wealth by her crimes, had 
 entirely renounced her wicked life. Xs she was sincerely at- 
 tachi'il to tlio young .lEbutius, it .ilTorded her much pleasure to 
 
 contribute to bis wants, which were often pressing. .Abulias 
 soon imparted to his mistress the project of his mother. 
 
 What was his surprise when he saw Ilispala employ all her 
 prayers and tears to dissuade him from being initiated into the 
 mysteries of Bacchus. 
 
 However, as he seemed averse to yield to her prayers, she con- 
 fessed to him that during her servitude she had accompanied her 
 mistress to the assembly of Bacchanalians, and that it was the 
 sanctuary of the most scandalous crimes, that almost all the 
 young men who were admitted died before the age of twenty, in 
 a most strange manner. This recital, accompanied with many 
 tears, made a deep impression upon the mind of iEbutius. 
 
 On his return to his home he informeil his mother that he 
 would not go to the Bacchanalian assembly; but did not disclose 
 his reason. Durania then threw aside the mask, aixl turned her 
 son from the paternal home. He took refuge with an aunt, and 
 related to her the cause of his disgrace. She advi.sed her nephew 
 to inform the consul what be bad beard of the murders and in- 
 
80 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTlilGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 famiea commuted in tbe uocturual asaembly, which were held in 
 llie forest of Sliniula. 
 
 The consul, whose name was Spurius Posthumius Albinos, was 
 seized with horror at tliis disclosure, and being desirous of find- 
 ini; out all the iiarticulars, he sent for Hispala, at the liouse of 
 Sulpicia, his niolher-in-law. Tliere it was that he learned all 
 theminutiip of those infamous meetings, wlicre all modesty was 
 thrown aside, and where tbe most decent were sure to lose their 
 lives. Hispala concluded her account by naming several men 
 and women of the highest distinction who were members. 
 
 After taking proper measures to prevent harni to Hispala and 
 ^liltmius. the consul reported to the Senate all that he hail heard 
 of those criminal meetings. 
 
 Pudicity liad always been a cherislied virtue by the Romans, 
 and those venerable " patres conscripti" heard with horror the 
 news of the disorders wliich reigned in the republic. Hy order 
 of the Senate and people, the most e,\act inquiry was made to 
 find out the guilty. Most of tliem were put to death, ami this 
 abominable set were entirely destroyed both in Rome and its en- 
 virons. 
 
 Hispala and /El)utius botti received one Imndred thousand 
 brass asses as a reward. Hispala received all the privileges of a 
 free woman, with the permission of choosing a husband from 
 any rank she pleased. History does not inform us whether 
 jEbulius married \\\i mistress. 
 
 SOME OF THE PRIVATE AMOURS OF EMPEROR NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA. 
 
 THE D.\RINO TRAVKLER AND THE I'RETTV JEWESS — KISSES FOR ONE AND ALL — THE OLD NURSE S DISCOVEBV- 
 
 A DLTIKUL WIKE SHUTS HER EYES. 
 
 ■A ROMANTIC rOIRTSllIP- 
 
 One Stormy evening in the month of December three yonng 
 .lewisli girls were seated in theiiublic-room of an inn on the out- 
 skirts of St. Petersburgh, when a tall traveler entered the ])lace 
 and advanced to the stove, crying In very abrupt tones, address- 
 ing the oldest-looking: 
 
 " A bottle of your best wine on the instant, girl, and some 
 bread and ham." 
 
 " 1 am not a girl, sir," replied the i)er8on addressed. " I am a 
 married woman. Rachel, you will wait on the gentleman. I 
 will order the bread and ham for you, sir." 
 
 " Stay a moment," cried the stranger, as he ti.xed his eyes on 
 the beautiful Jewess. "You say you are a married woman?" 
 
 '• I am, 8H-. My husband is the owner of this inn, and those 
 young girls are my sisters." 
 
 "You are all very i)retly, I swear," said the abrupt traveler, as 
 he cast a glance at the girls; " but you are surprisingly hand- 
 some, madam. I envy your husband.' 
 
 " You are very free in your remarks, sir," said the beautiful 
 Jewess. " If my husband were present he would resent a — -" 
 
 " I would lling him out of that window it he did, madam. Pray 
 what is your name?" 
 
 The man spoke with an air of authority; he wore a sword at his 
 side, and he held a brace of pistols in his belt; while he was 
 evidently very strong and active. 
 
 The woman, who was one of a race accustomed to bow tlie 
 knee in despotic Russia, fearing tliat her visitor' was some power- 
 ful nobleman in disguise, answered In humble tones: 
 
 " My name is Rebecca Leman, sir." 
 
 " Where is your husband?" 
 
 " He is in Poland on business, sir " 
 
 " Hal —in Poland. }Ie is a Jew and a Pole, I could swear. Is 
 he not?" 
 
 " He is, sir." 
 
 " And a rebel. He is up in arms now with his countrymen, 
 I'll warrant you, madam." 
 
 " My husband is a traveling merchant, sir," replied the cautious 
 Jewess. 
 
 " Have you any children, madam?" 
 
 " I have none, sir." 
 
 " How long has your husband lieen absent from you, my 
 sweet dame?" 
 
 "Over six months, sir." 
 
 " You have a lover in his absence, of course?" 
 
 "You would insult me, sir. The daughters of our race, I 
 would have you know " 
 
 " Are like all the other daughters of Eve In this wide world, 
 madam," cried the rough stranger, with a meaning smile. "I 
 will remain in tliis house to-night. I will sup with you in your pri- 
 
 vate room. I will take yonr husband's place for the time, and 
 I " 
 
 "You will leave this house on the instant, sir, or I will sum- 
 mon the otiicers of the law and have you e.xpelled," said the in- 
 dignant Jewess, while her two sisters stood by her side in Ihreat- 
 eiiing attitudes, as they bent flashing glances at the insulting 
 stranger. 
 
 " Leave this house on tlw instant," cried tbe stranger. " No, 
 on ray oath. Summon the police, if you will; but I will have one 
 kiss ere they can come." 
 
 ■ As the man sjioke lis seized the fair Jewess in his powerful 
 arms, lifted her up as he would a child, and pressed his month to 
 her red lips with all the ardor of a returned sailor kissing his 
 sweetheart. 
 
 The two sisters attempted to seize the male stranger, but he 
 flung them aside impatiently, as he cried in merry tones: 
 
 "Your turn some other time, girls. On my oalh, but that 
 was the sweetest kiss 1 ever had, madam, and you will be well 
 paid for it." 
 
 " If I had had a dagger I would have stabbed you to the heart, 
 wretch," cried the indignant Jewe.ss, as she lore herself away 
 from the man's passionate embrace. 
 
 " Nay, madam, you will bless me for it on the morrow. Come 
 and join me in the good wine, and then I will sup wiih you. lam 
 not a brute. Look at me well. Is your husband half as comely 
 as I am?" 
 
 "On my word but he is not,'' cried one of the girls, as she burst 
 out laughing at the contrast. "He is not half your size, he is 
 deformed, and Rebecca knows she hates him.'' 
 
 "Hush, Rachel," cried the pretty madam, as she saw the heavy 
 purse in the stranger's hands. " My husband is a good man, if 
 he is a little crooked m the back." 
 
 "I'll wager the contents of this purse, my fair dame," cried 
 the stranger, "that you never enjoyed a kiss from him half us 
 much as you did the one I have given you." 
 
 " Why he has no teeth," cried Rachel; " and he snarls like an 
 old hound." 
 
 " She hates him," cried the other girls. " AVe all hate him, for 
 he is a stingy old rogue." 
 
 "And you all love me, as I am young, handsome, and liberal." 
 cried the stranger, flinging his purse on the table. "There's 
 somotliing to buy you all new dresses, girls. Oue kiss apiece, 
 and the madam here will not be jealous." 
 
 Quick as thought, the forward stranger seized the girls, pass 
 ing one of his strong arms round each of their waists, and raising 
 them up, he pressed his month to their pouting lips, as he con- 
 tinued to cry: 
 
 "On my faith, but you Jewish dames are the most charming 
 
THE LUVEH AND INTRIUUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 81 
 
 (lamsele I ever mot; but the matron here tastea sweetest of all. 
 You must each wed an old toothless miser, girls, and tlion you 
 will know how pleasant it is to kiss a young man." 
 
 "You act as one accustomed to kiss whom you please, sir,'' 
 said the young woman ol the house, who was becoming very 
 much inlcreated in the handsome stranger. 
 
 "Well, yes, my sweet madam. I have kissed some of the no- 
 blest ladies in the land ere now." 
 
 " What impudence," cried Rachel. " I presume you will tell 
 us that you have kissed the empress herself." 
 
 " I have kissed the empress, fair damsel, and before she was an 
 empress at all." 
 
 "Treason," cried Rachel. "That is, if you are not her 
 brother?" 
 
 " Indeed, and I am not a brother of the empress, |)ert datnsel. 
 But a truce to this folly. I will sup with you, dame." 
 
 " Yuu are pressit)g too far, sir," replied the blushing woman. 
 • Vou will not sup with me." 
 
 "I will sup with you, sweet dame. Come, come, and be not 
 80 bashful. Forget that snarling old husband of yours, and ini- 
 agiue that I am your lord and muster. Ha! — you would lly from 
 me, but you cannot. See! I am very strong and active. Stand 
 aside, girls, your sister will be my companion to-night." 
 
 The strong stranger lifted the young woman in his arms and 
 bore her into an inner apartment, despite her cries and 
 struggles. 
 
 The two young girls, being somewhat alarmed at the bearing 
 of the young stranger, ran to the door and called aloud for help. 
 
 " What is the matter?" cried an agent of the police, who ap- 
 Ijeared at the door oo the instant. 
 
 " Our sister has been insulted by a rude stranger, officer. He 
 is now in there." 
 
 "Your sister makes bo outcry, girl," said the man, with a 
 peculiar smile. "Trust me the young stranger will be more 
 welcome than the old husband. Perchance, when the old Jew 
 comes back from Poland he will And another young stranger here 
 before him." 
 
 The two girls were impressed with the policeman's remarks, 
 and they stepped back to listen. 
 
 " Rachel," cried their married sister from the inner apartment, 
 "see that you order a splendid repast at once. The young 
 stranger will sup with me to-night. Do not raise an outcry. 
 The gentleman will not injure any of us. We will not be dis- 
 turbed by other guests." 
 
 " Who can it be, Rachel ?" inquired the yoangest sister, as the 
 police agent turnetl to leave the door. 
 
 " I cannot say, Ruth. I trust he will not remain here all Dlgbt, 
 for our sister's sake." 
 
 " He is very handsome, Rachel. I coald love him myself, if he 
 were of our race." 
 
 " I would give the world to see the old miser walk in soon, and 
 find Rebecca supping with the young man in the private room." 
 
 " And so would I, sister. Let us hasten the 8ui)per, and per- 
 chance the stranger will invite us to share it with him." 
 
 "No danger of that, young one. He is taken with Rebecca 
 to-night. You heard what he said about our wedding old men. 
 Sister, Bister I I know who be is !" 
 
 " Who is he, girl ?" 
 
 "The Emperor Nicholas ! Oh, our sister is a lost woman ! 
 Slie will become his mistress !" 
 
 The daring stranger was Nicholas, Emperor of all the Russias, 
 and the handsome Jewish woman did become his mistress. 
 
 When the old Jew returned from Poland, after a year's absence 
 from his liome, he found his young wife surrounded by many lu.\- 
 uries, and in a fair way to boeome a mother. 
 
 When the old man commeuceil to upbraid the handsome 
 woman, he was arrested by a police agent and taken back ta 
 Poland. 
 
 Two years after his banishment, ho stole back to St. Peters- 
 burgh, for the purpose of reclaiming some gold and jewels that he 
 had buried in the yard baek of the river. On making secret in- 
 f|uiries abont his young wife and her sistore, he learned that they 
 were alt living together in a grand mansion ; that the emperor 
 often visited them in disguise; and that each of the fair women 
 had two children, without being at all troubled by snarling old 
 husbands. 
 
 While Nicholas of Russia carried on bis secret amoui-s in the 
 manner described, he would play the gallant with his etjuals in 
 another fashion. 
 
 His marriage with the charming princess of Prussia had a 
 pleasant piece of giillantry in it. It is customary, when a mon- 
 arch is to be married, to have the whole affair arranged by the 
 courts of the marrying parties. But not so with Nicholas. 
 
 He detennined to pick out his own wife, and he went rambling 
 about among the courts of Europe in searcli of a woman who 
 had tho?e peculiar personal charms which could captivate his 
 heart. At last he found such a one in the person of the young 
 and beautiful princess of Prussia. 
 
 At her father's court he tarrieil long enough to beciyne well 
 acquainted with her quahties of mind and heart; and one day at 
 dinner he rolled a smalt ring in a pie:e of bread, and handed it 
 to the princess, saying to her in an under tone: 
 
 "If you will accept my hand, put this ring on your Bnger." 
 
 And that is the way he popped the question. 
 
 She took no time to deliberate, in the fashion of cunning 
 prudes, tint suffered her heart to tell the truth at once, and in- 
 stantly put the ring on her finger. 
 
 Nicholas was one of the finest-looking men in Europe; and, at 
 the time of his marriage, he and his spouse were considered the 
 handsomest couple in Europe. 
 
 Notwithstanding the innumerable little gallantries of Nicholas, 
 he was always kind, attentive and affectionate to bis wife; and 
 she had the wisdom and amiability never to annoy him with any 
 of the reproaches of jealousy. 
 
 In 1830 she lost her beauty by a most singular freak of nature, 
 occasioned by a fright she received at the moment when the em- 
 peror rushed into the presence of the infuriated mob that sought 
 his life, and commanded them to " down on their knees " before 
 him. 
 
 It was after this that Nicholas fell in love with the young and 
 beautiful Nelhydofl', one of the maids of honor to the empress. 
 
 The empress, though perfectly aware of this affair, always 
 treate<l N«lhydoff with the greatest respect in public. 
 
 This love aflair was terminated only by the death of Nicholas, 
 but it did not prevent him from numerous other intrigues. 
 
 THE LOVE INTRIGUE OF A GERMAN ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 LOVI.no and WEDDI.NO I.N SECRET — TUB JEALOCSY OF A KAMdLS QIEEN. 
 
 .^T a time when the world was agitated by religious discassions 
 a noble German archbishop became involved in a lively love in- 
 trigue. 
 
 Gebhar Truchses, baron of Walbourg, was the son of William, 
 and nephew of Otho, Cardinal of Ausbourgh, who died in 1573. 
 
 He was ordained Archbishop and Elector of Cologne, in 1577, 
 at the ago of thirty; and appeared in character of Deputy to the 
 Emperor, at the famous assembly of Cologne, for the purpose 
 of trying to effect a peace between the emperor and the United 
 Proviaces. 
 
82 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 There it was lliat the prelate became acquainteU with Agnes, 
 the daughter of John Georges, Count of Mansfield, and Can- 
 oness of Gurisheim, with whom he became passionately in 
 love. 
 
 This passion was so publicly talked of, that the brothers of 
 Agnes, irritated by the scandalous assiduities of the Elector to- 
 ward their sister, threatened to wash away in his blood, and in 
 that of their sister, the injury done to their house. 
 
 Truclises was too much enamored to hesitate an instant; he 
 l)romi.s(-'d to renounce all ecclesiastic dignities, to marry Agnes. 
 Nevertheless, the Archbishopric de Cologne was au object of 
 sullicient importance to occasion his regret; the prelate would 
 willingly have retained the one and possessed the other. 
 
 They persuaded him that this was not difficult, and that by 
 embracing Lutherisni, he could marry his mistress and remain 
 Archbishop de Cologne. Love decided it, he espoused Agnes, 
 and carried her to the Eiiiscopal Palace. 
 
 This marriage was for some time kept secret, but strong 
 suspicions of it arising, the Chapter of Cologne resolved to 
 bring the prelate to an explanation, and took up arras against 
 him. 
 
 In this critical situation, Truchses threw aside the mask, and 
 l)ubUcly declared his marriage at Rosenthal, which imprudent 
 step hastened on his ruin. The Emperor Rodolphus declared 
 himself for tlie Chapter, and the Pope after having, for some time 
 debated upon llio i)unishment he should indict, issued e.xcom- 
 municatioM against Gebhar. 
 
 The Canons, on their side, proceeded to an election, and the 
 choice fell upon Ernestus, of Bavaria, already Bishop of Tlies- 
 ingue, of Hildesheim, and of Liege— war must of necessity decide 
 the difl'erence. The Protestant princes of Germany took up arms 
 in favor of Gebhar, The electors and princes, being assembled 
 
 at Frankfort, proposed a means of accommodation to put au end 
 to the miseries inseparable from war. 
 
 Their proposal was, that Gebhar should resign his dignity of 
 elector and archbishop, in favor of Ernest; reserving to himself a 
 pension sufficient to support him honorably. G«bhar consented 
 to give up the title of archbishop, but insisted upon retaining the 
 dignity of elector with Westphalia; this irritated the princes, and 
 they resolved vigorously to prosecute the war. 
 
 The siege of Bonn, where Charles Truchses, brother of the pre- 
 late, was shut up, concluded the war. Charles was delivered to 
 the enemy by his own troops, who seized upon the city. Gebhar, 
 deprived of every resource, retired with his wife (the only com- 
 fort left him) to Dclf, in Holland, to the court of the Prince of 
 Orange. 
 
 It was not long before this prince received a mortification very 
 humiliating. lie had always relied upon the protection of Queen 
 Elizabeth; and on his arrival at Holland, wrote to that princess 
 to ask succors and leave to retire into England. 
 
 The queen sent him two thousand crowns, but refused to grant 
 the permission he requested. Truchses thinking that his wife, 
 tlirough her beauty and address, would obtain more than he had 
 by his letters, sent her into England. 
 
 Madame Truchses thought she could not do better than to so- 
 licit the Earl of Essex to siieak in her favor to Elizabeth, which 
 lie accordingly did. The earl, either from gallantry or compas- 
 sion, gave Madame Truchses apartments in his house, and loaded 
 her with civilities, waiting for the return of the queen, to speak 
 in her behalf. That princess, informed of all that had passed, 
 conceived the most violent jealousy ; she sent a message to this 
 unfortunate lady to leave England immediately, and forbade the 
 earl to appear before her till Madame Truchses had quitted Lon- 
 don. She soon after rejoined her unfortunate husband, who fin- 
 ished his life in poverty and grief. 
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF AN OUTRAGED HUNGARIAN PRINCE. 
 
 TUE rAl..\TINE',S KAIB WIKE — A r.t.SSI<J.NATE PUI.NCE — TUE VILE OUTRAGE A.SD THE VENGEANCE. 
 
 Amono the gallant warriors who went to fight the infidels in 
 the Holy Land was Andrew, King of Hungary. When the king 
 left his kingdom he trusted the administration of it to the pala- 
 tine of Hungary, whose name wiis Banchanus, and recommended 
 him, above all things, to do strict justice to every one, without 
 any regard to either rank or fortune. 
 
 Banchanus's wife, a woman of the greatest beauty, anxious to 
 soothe the melancholy of the queen, bestowed upon her the 
 greatest attention. 
 
 The Count of Moravia, who was the queen's own brother, com- 
 ing to Hungary under these circumstances, was received with all 
 liossible marks of distinction, and it was the endeavor of every 
 one to amuse him with balls and assemblies. 
 
 It was amidst those entertainments that the prince fell in love 
 with the regent's wife. It was not long liefore he miule a con- 
 fession of his passion, and employed all the means which the most 
 ardent love can insiiire to win the heart of that lady. 
 
 All his attempts wore vain, and Banchanus's wife, followed with 
 so close a pursuit, pretontlcd indisposition for some time, that 
 she might keep away from court. This obstinate repulse only 
 increased and irritated the prince's desires. 
 
 A gloomy melancholy, the usual cirectof a great passion, took 
 possession of his mind, and, to ease his soul, he was ot)liged to 
 intrust it to the queen, his sister. This princess took rather too 
 much interest in her brother's distress of heart, and waa weak 
 enough to favor his criminal intentions. 
 
 In order to succeed belter, the count afiected a more respect- 
 f;il behavior towards his mistress; and her fears being removed 
 l)y the alteration of his conduct, she took less precaution; and 
 one day, having accompanied the queen to a remote place of her 
 
 apartment, she was abandoned to the count, who was there, and 
 who cruelly abused the opportunity. 
 
 Although the regent's wife was enraged in her soul, she kept 
 the secret of this atlventure for some lime. But oue day, seeing 
 her husband disposed to caress her with his usual tenderness, she 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Approach me not," at the same time pouring out a flood ol 
 tears, " and leave a woman who is no longer worthy of your 
 pure embraces! A villain, full of boldness, has been rash enough 
 to abuse me; and the queen, his sister, herself delivered me into 
 his power. I should have punished myself for this crime, did 
 not my religion forbid my attempting to take my life. I am but 
 too guilty since I have lost my honor, and I beg of you my 
 death, that I may no longer survive my shame and disgrace." 
 
 Banchanus, after having consoled his wife, considered how it 
 was best to avenge this affront. Tlie first victim should have 
 been the Count of Moravia, but he had prudently left the king- 
 dom. 
 
 Banchanus then repaired to the palace of the queen, and asked 
 her to retire to a closet with him, in order to read some letters 
 he had just received. When alone with her, he reproached her 
 with great bitterness of her crime, and stabbed her. He him- 
 self Informed the conrl of what he had done. Then, taking the 
 road to Constantinople, he met there the king, Andrew, and said 
 to him— 
 
 "Mighty Lord, in giving me your last commands, as you 
 were starting for Hungary, you charged me to administer justice 
 with the strictest rigors to your subjects, without any regard to 
 rank or fortune. That I have done. I have killed the queen, 
 your wife, who bad ruined mine; and far from seeking my own 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 83 
 
 safety by a shameful flight, I bring you my head. Dispose as 
 you like of my life; but remember, that by my life or my death, 
 your people will judge of your equity, and whether I am iuno- 
 cent or guilly." 
 
 The example of bravery was without parallel The king thus 
 replied : 
 
 " If you have spoken truly, go bock to Hungary, continue to 
 admmister justice to my subjects with the same severity as you 
 
 did to yourself. My stay in the Holy Land will not be long, and 
 on my return, I shall judge for myself whether your actiou la 
 worthy of praise or punishment." 
 
 The prince did not remain long in Palestine, much to the 
 detriment of the Christians, to whose aid he had come. The 
 action of Banchanus h»d made on him a terrible iinprt-iision. and 
 immediately on his return home, he examined for himself all the 
 circumstances, and was equitable enough to acquit Bauchaoos. 
 
 CURIOUS ANECDOTES OF TRUE LOVE, 'AND A BASE INTRIGUE. 
 
 THE FAIR I.NFIDEL A.VD THE PRISONER — TUB WILLI.NO WIVES — AN AMOROITS MINISTER— HIS VILE ACTS AND HIS PUNISHMENT. 
 
 DfBiNo one of the wars waged by Poland against Turkey, a 
 brave German count was taken prisoner by the inlldcls. He was 
 taken to one of the Turkic provinces, where lie was sold as a 
 slave to the king. 
 
 His employment, among other servile occupations, was that 
 of cultivaling the earth. As he was one day thus employed, he 
 was accosted, and much interrogated, by the daughter of the 
 king, his master, as she took the air. His good mien and gen- 
 teel address wrought so powerfully upon the princess that she 
 promised to break his chains, and at the same time to follow 
 him to him to his own country, provided he would marry her. 
 
 " But I have a wife and children," roplie<i the count. 
 
 "That," answered the princess, " will not be an impediment; 
 It is the custom in Turkey to have several wives." 
 
 Considering liberty as the most precious of all bumaa posses- 
 sions, the count did not make any further objections, but ex- 
 pressed his gratitude and engaged his word to the princess. She 
 employed herself to such advantage that the count soon after 
 found himself at liberty, and embarked with her. 
 
 They arrivetl without interruption at Venice, where the count 
 found one of his gentlemen, who informed him of all that had 
 happened during his captivity. 
 
 From this domestic be learned that his wife and children 
 were well; and before he allowed himself the pleasure of em- 
 bracing them, he went to Rome; and after having related the 
 whole of his singular case to the Pope, the pontiff gave him per- 
 mission to keep bis two wives. 
 
 If the Court of Rome had shown complaisance upon this occa- 
 sion, the wife of the count could not do less. She loaded the 
 Turkish princess, to whom she was indebted for the return of 
 her beloved husband, with caresses and marks of friendship. 
 
 The princess was sensible of, and returned all these civilities ; 
 she had no children, but was not the less attached to the chil- 
 dren of the other. 
 
 The above anecdote demonstrates the truth of the assertion 
 that the spirit of gratitude will always be found predominant in 
 the noble breast. 
 
 The next incident will serve to show that a base mind will 
 never rise above the follies and mistrusts of early youth. 
 
 Louis XI. of France was one of the most crafty monarchs in 
 the world, and he galiiered around him, as his instruments, the 
 vilest wretches in the kingdom. This monarch's prime minister 
 was a licentious villain who had once been his boarder, and who 
 arose to great power by his cunning intrigues. 
 
 The vile minister's name was Oliver le Dain ; and the follow- 
 ing story will sene as an example of his many acts of 
 treachery : 
 
 A gentleman, arrested by the order of the king, was in great 
 danger of his life. His wife, who was tenderly attached to him, 
 ardently solicited his pardon ; and thought she could not apply 
 to a more powerful protector than Oliver le Dain. She was 
 young and handsome, and her tears and grief increased and 
 enibellishe<I her charms. She made an impression upon the 
 favorite, who was not ashamed to promise this unhappy woman 
 the pardon of her husband, on condition that she would make 
 him a sacrifice of her honor. Tlie alternative was cruel, but 
 honor carried it. This virtuous woman had the liberty of seeing 
 her husband, and she imparted to him the proposition of Le 
 Dain. The unfortunate prisoner conjured his wife to save him, 
 and such was his control over her that he succeeded in persuad- 
 ing her to accept the terrible terms. And when this unfortunate 
 victim of conjugal love sought to dry her tears in the arms of 
 her husband, she had the horror to learn that be bad been put 
 to death. 
 
 The barbarous Oliver, to have longer possession of a woman 
 he loved, ordered her husband to be put Into a sack and thrown 
 into the river. The corpse was discovered by some flghernien 
 who acquainted the wife with her misfortune. She remained silent 
 during the reign of Louis XI. Her tears and groans would not 
 have reached his throne. But after the death of that prince, and 
 under the reign of Charles VIII., she became the accuser of Le 
 Dain, who was banged, together with the accomplice in his 
 guilt. 
 
 SOME OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF TWO AMOROUS NOBLES AND 
 
 ONE OF RICHELIEU'S FAVORITES. 
 
 SELEfTINO 1,ADV-L0VES — A gUAKHEL AND ITS CONSEQUENCES — FOOLINO A RTVAI,. 
 
 The celebrated Marion de Lorme, who had bewitchetl Cardinal 
 Richelieu, was one of the most remarkable coquettes of her 
 time, and many strange stories are told of her intrigues with the 
 noted men of France. 
 
 Count de Gramont, after the siege of Turin, passed some time 
 
 In that city with his friend the Chevalier de Malta. They were to bring her passion to the conclusion he wished. In the mean' 
 
 not long before they each chose a lady-love. Count de Gramont 
 addressed his vows to Mademoiselle de Saint-Germain, and 
 recommended to his friend Madame de Senantes. 
 
 The count made an early impression on the heart of bis favorite, 
 but in spite of bis vivacity and insinuating address, was not able 
 
86 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 Miss Howard was saluted by General P aud M. P , a 
 
 banker, by the title of the Countess de Beauregard. 
 
 Tliey presented her as an aci£nowled>;enient of the debt of 
 Louis Napoleon the title-deeds of an estate which bore the name 
 of Beauregard, and was situated near Versailles. 
 
 For a time the new-made Countess was satisfied. 
 
 After a time, however, the Englishwoman again made herself 
 conspicuous. Slie was eager to annoy the Spaniard who had 
 " robbed her children of their bread," as she expressed it. 
 
 Slie showed herself at the Bois in her caleche with the Imperial 
 livery, and for some time all Paris enjoyed at the races the pres- 
 ence of "tlie two Empresses." 
 
 For th is performance Miss Howard paid dearly. She was taken 
 off in tlie night and carried over the frontier. She was never 
 heard of again, though rumor bad it that she was stifled in her 
 bed. 
 
 Although Louis Napoleon was well advanced in years when he 
 took the beautiful young Spanish lady for hia wife, he was not 
 satisfied with the pleasures of liis married life, and he very often 
 gave the Empress proofs of his inconstancy. 
 
 While his foreign enemies sent beautiful women to Paris to en- 
 trap him, Louis employed his own fair creatures as spies. 
 
 Monsieur Claude gives us a very interesting account of an ad- 
 venture in which one of these spy-mistresses played a disagreea- 
 ble part : 
 
 A woman unconscious and entirely nude had been found by 
 the police within an inclosure, surrounded by the materials of a 
 house that was rapidly being erected. 
 
 The inspector who made the discovery had hastened to tell 
 me of it, leaving two of his men mounting guard over the uncon- 
 Bcicus woman. 
 
 3 went at once with the inspector to the place, which was 
 one of the most obscure, and of the worst repute in the whole 
 vicinity. 
 
 The immense Pare Monceau at this time was like a huge 
 black spot in the outer boulevards. It was entirely unlighted, 
 and its darkness insured impunity to the most daring villains. 
 
 Odious tumble-down buildings, with grimy windows and 
 barred doofs, stood not far from the thick shadows of the park. 
 
 The places were mostly occupied as wine shops. They over- 
 looked an enormous plain, as rough and uneven as a sea in a 
 heavy gale. The whole plain was redolent of crime and poverty. 
 
 The inspector led me to the corner of a road crossing the 
 Plaino Monceau, and then took me within the walls of a house 
 that was being built. Tliese walls were only a few feet above 
 the ground, but they were high enough to conceal what was 
 going on inside. 
 
 I entered the hollow square, which was lighted by the sky. In 
 the center I saw a group of men holding lanterns. I saw the 
 nude form of a woman lying on the ground. She looked like a 
 statue on a granite base. Hardly had my eyes fallen on this 
 woman than I uttere<l an exclamation of pained surprise. I 
 signed to the men to raise their lanterns and mass them above 
 the face of the poor creature, that I might be sure that I was not 
 mistaken. 
 
 When the light fell full on the beautiful face and form of this 
 woman, I saw that my first supposition was correct. 
 
 "Madame X— — !" I cried. " It is certainly she!" 
 
 I had recognized the Mme. X whom, when in the compan- 
 ionship of my old friend, I had been fortunate enough to rescue 
 from great peril. IIow this woman, whose conduct, it is true, 
 was less to be admired than her beauty, came in this place and 
 in this condition, was a thing which seemed to me absolutely in- 
 credible. 
 
 Who had carried her there? 
 
 Of course it could ouly be a man animated by motives of the 
 basest revenge. 
 
 * But this man could never have carried her to this place alone; 
 he had accomplices. And that a man could find any one to as- 
 sist him in such a dastardly revenge, it must be that Mme. X 
 
 was on her side very guilty, or she must, at all events, have 
 
 given to her persecutors some most powerful reasons for hatred 
 
 and vengeance. Yes, it was plain ; for not only was Mme. X 
 
 as nude as Eve, hut while under the influence of a powerful nar- 
 cotic her magnificent hair had been shaved close to her head! 
 
 I remembered that she was more proud of her hair than of all 
 her other natural advantages. 
 
 The loss of the lady's hair convinced me that her enemy was a 
 jealous lover I 
 
 And I reflected tha'. only a lover who had been deceived could 
 be guilty of such villainy. 
 
 I also felt certain that he must consider his wrongs something 
 beyond parallel. 
 
 I recalled the incidents of a few years before, when Madame 
 
 X so nearly fell a victim to the bandits of the Trocadero, 
 
 when I had said to myself that some day — her imprudence was so 
 great — she would not escape so readily. 
 
 That jay had come. 
 
 By a singular accident I was summoned at Monceau, as at 
 Passy, to save her if possible. 
 
 I suddenly asked myself if Madame X was not a spy ? 
 
 That I was on the track of the mysterious crime of which this 
 unfortunate woman was the victim, I fell certain. 
 
 It must be that persons whom she had denounced had hu- 
 miliated her after tiiis cruel fashion. 
 
 I did not linger at this time to verify my conjectures. I sim- 
 ply assured myself that the woman was living and that she had 
 sustained no fracture of any limb, and then I called up the in- 
 spector. I said a few words to him in a low voice. He went 
 back to his agents and in formal terms repeated to them what I 
 had said in less formal words. 
 
 Presently one of the agents offered his cloak to the inspector, 
 
 which he himself wrapped around Madame X . He bore her 
 
 then, assisted by one of his men, to the carriage, which had beeu 
 sent for and which stood not far away. 
 
 Five minutes later the insjiector and Madame X were 
 
 driving rapidly toward tlie residence of the latter. 
 
 The agent had done this at my orders, I having told him of my 
 suspicions, and assured him I felt perfectly sure that Madame 
 
 X was the secret agent of the Chief of the Division of Police. 
 
 M. Lagrange. I told him, moreover, that the whole affair must 
 be kept as quiet as possible, because were it known it would oc- 
 casion great joy to the enemies of the Empire, and if this scandal 
 got into the journals it would be especially disagreeable to the 
 chateau. 
 
 After this I, of course, set to work to know the cause of this 
 still inexplicable cataslro|)he. 
 
 I ordered the two agents who remained on the place where the 
 unfortunate woman had been found to go forward, with their 
 lanterns. 
 
 I threw myself on my knees near the spot where Madame 
 X had lain. Crawling slowly over the ground, 1 soon dis- 
 covered the footprints of the men who had deposited their victim 
 within the walls. After a long and close ezarainatiOD of these 
 footprints, I exclaimed: 
 
 " There were two. By the shape of their boots I am convinced 
 that one is a civilian and the other a military man. We will fol- 
 low these indications, and in that way can at least discover from 
 what direction they entered this place. It has rained, the ground 
 is very soft, and I think wo hold the clew in our possession." 
 
 The police of the Empire had created a new class of secret 
 agents. They were under the absolute orders of M. Lagrange. 
 They were 'called " indicators," and were in no way to be con- 
 founded with the policemen whose duty it was to maintain order 
 in the streets, nor with the inspectors, who were charged with 
 the responsibility of carrying on investigations which afl'ccted 
 the welfare of the public. 
 
 These "indicators" were distributed Uirough every class of 
 society. They wrote to M. Lagrange under fictitious names. 
 They sent to him detailed accounts of their most intimate con- 
 versations with their friends. Mme. X was one of these 
 
 "indicators" in the pay of the government. At this time 
 
TEE LOVES AND JNTRTGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 87 
 
 wumen playeU a most important part in tlie police u( the Em- 
 pire. 
 
 UnfortuDately, it was not the women about the Emperor's 
 liouseholJ who aloue exercised this degrading but lucrative pro- 
 fession. 
 
 The police of otlier lands, more especially of Italy and Ger- 
 many, imitated the policy of llie Emperor. Italian and German 
 princesses appeared in Paris, being intrusted by their govern- 
 ments with the mission of dragging his Majesty, through the 
 magic of their beauty, into some trap, laid by his mysterious 
 enemies. 
 
 It was through one of these foreign women that Fieri, the 
 Kalian refugee and furnicr cavalry officer, learned that he had 
 been denounced by Mme. X . This was in 1852. Fieri, at- 
 tached to a secret society, known as " Young Italy," can)e to 
 France under a false name, hoping to awaken among the non- 
 commissioned officers in the army a feeling of indignation 
 against the coup iTHat. Before reaching Loudon and entering 
 into communication with Ledru-Rollin, Fieri had renewed his 
 acquaintance with a second lieutenant, a former companion in 
 arms in Africa. 
 
 The young man was a fascinating fellow; he had all the pres- 
 tige Imparted by epaulettes, as well as manly beauty and a perfect 
 education. 
 
 Mme. X did not serve Napoleon with impuuity like the 
 
 mother of our Sovereign. She had some of the blood of Messahna 
 in her veins. 
 
 As soon as she saw the young lieutenant — as soon as she talked 
 with him— she fell madly in love with him, and Circe-like, em- 
 ployed all her witchery to entice him. 
 
 As the young man met her half way, their relations were soon 
 of the most passionate nature. 
 
 . Mme. X speedily informed the lieutenant that she was ver)' 
 
 intimate with the Minister of War, and that he hod been a friend 
 from chddhood of her father, who was a page to Charles X. at 
 the same time as the .Marshal. 
 
 The lieutenant was delighted at his conquest, and felt sure that 
 fortune had begun to smile upon him, -and that this fair creature 
 
 would soften the heart of the Marshal in his behalf. Mme. X , 
 
 who was amiably disposed toward all the world, did not long de- 
 lay in pleading the cause of her lover before the illustrious friend 
 of her father. 
 
 The Marshal replied sharply: 
 
 " You are a simpleton, my dear. Tou do not know in the 
 least to whom you have given your heart. This man is an enemy 
 of the empire. I have most explicit information in regard to 
 him as an Orleanist. At this very moment, when you are plead- 
 ing his cause, he is in correspondence with the London Socialists. 
 Far from promoting him, we intend to seize the Hrst opportunity 
 of cashiering him. If you wish to be acceptable at the chateau 
 you, instead of protecting him, will assist us in getting rid of 
 him." 
 
 Mme. X was greatly perplexed. She had not in the least 
 
 anticipated such an outbreak as this from tlie Marshal. 
 
 As at this time the wishes of the chateau were looked upon as 
 orders, she did not hesitate to follow the advice of her father's 
 powerful friend. 
 
 This spy, Mme. X , enjoyed the friendship of a certain prin- 
 cess, who was a spy like herself. Only this princess, who osten- 
 sibly worked with Mme. X for »he chateau, in reality man- 
 aged to possess herself of the secrets of her companions, only to 
 hand them over to foreign courts. 
 
 The spy of the Tuileries told the foreign spy everything that 
 took place. 
 
 Entirely au courant with each act of the society known as 
 "Young Italy," the foreign princess discovered and informed 
 
 Mme. X that the handsome young lieutenant, furious 
 
 against the Empire, had put himself Into communication with 
 Fieri, Mazzini's agent, and had agreed to work against Napo- 
 leon III. and for his downfall. 
 
 " Now ray dear," said the Frincess in conclusion, " use my in- 
 
 formation as you will, make such profit out of it as you can. 
 Were I in your place I would see Fieri and prftond that I was 
 with him and wished to be of use. In that way you would have 
 it in your power to deliver one, if not both of these conspirators, 
 over to justice." 
 
 Mme. X did just what this perfidious foreigner advised. 
 
 It was not difficult, through her lover, to make Pleri's acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 At first the unsuspicious young lieutenant, who had never 
 spoken of this Italian to his fair friend, appeared very much sur- 
 prised, but was entirely unsuspicious. 
 
 Mme. X made him believe that the Marshal Saint- Arnaud 
 
 was out of temper with tlie Emperor because he had alienated 
 the estates of the Orleans family, and was quite ready to take a 
 stand with the disaffected, and that he only waited for an oppor- 
 tunity to i)romote the officers of his old regiment, thus strength- 
 ening the adversaries of the Empire. 
 
 "Appoint a time when I can see your friend Fieri," she said, 
 "and I will tell him all the thoughts of the .Marshal, who, let me 
 assure you, is so far from being an enemy of yours, that he only 
 awaits the opportunity of becoming your ally." 
 
 The young man who would not haveyielded so ready a credence 
 
 toMme. X had he not been in love with her, went at once to 
 
 Fieri, who was just about to embark for Havre, and told him all 
 that had been said. 
 
 Fieri, however, was far less confident, and warned by the 
 Frincess, told the lieutenant that be was deceived and was in 
 mortal danger. 
 
 The lieutenant, at last convinced, swore to be avengc<l. 
 
 " No; let me attend to that," answered the fierce Fieri. "As 
 your fair friend desires to make my acquaintance, I prefer to sal • 
 Isfy her and make her pay very dearly for having had the presump- 
 tion to suppose that she could dupe us." 
 
 On this the horrible revenge, and tlie details of the plot into 
 
 whlfch Mme. X fell, were concerted between Fieri and the 
 
 young lieutenant of the 47th. 
 
 How was it all managed ? 
 
 It was Mme. X , who, later, explained all this to me, when, 
 
 less than a week after, I called at her house, by special Invita- 
 tion. 
 
 Hardly had I entered the presence of Mme. X than the Mar- 
 shal Saint-Arnaud walked In. This old friend, by reason of the 
 warm aflectlon he had fell for this lady ever since she was a child, 
 had been summoned for the same reason she had sent for me. A 
 young lieutenant was also there, whom I did not know, but when 
 he saw me the young officer turned deadly pale. 
 
 My appearance was certainly not calculated tore-assure him, 
 notwithstanding the cordial manner in which the Marshal treat 
 ed the protege of his fair friend. 
 
 My apijearanco produced on this man, however, a most chill- 
 ing eflect. 
 
 He was a youth of twenty-flve. His heavy, sulky face was not 
 interesting; his forehead was low, and his mouth sensual. 
 
 I made up my mind that he was a hypocrite, whose epaulets 
 and uniform covered a vulgar, covetous nature. 
 
 It was difficult for me to understand how a woman, refined in 
 
 spite of all her mad follies, like Mme. X , could possibly be 
 
 Interested in such a person. 
 
 I felt sure that she would never forgive herself for having been 
 in the power of a man like this, and began to be a little uneasy 
 for him, as I well knew the coun^e and determination of Mme. 
 X . 
 
 That lady wore, for some reason which I could not compre- 
 hend, a riding costume. 
 
 She invited us. however, after breakfast, to ride to the Bois, 
 out of compliment to the Marshal, who was a great admirer of 
 English horses. 
 
 "She wished," she said, " to show her new ponies, which had 
 just come from the stables of her Majesty, to the Marshal, who 
 knew a good horse when he saw it. 
 
 The conversation at the breakfast-table turned on the Duchess 
 
88 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 of Bcrri, which could hardly be agreeable to him who looked 
 back on a past of ireachery. 
 
 " My dear child," exclaimed the Marshal, anxious to turn the 
 conversation, and addressing Mnie. X— — , "we have talked 
 enough of the past, suppose we confine ourselves now to the 
 present. Have you any clew to the rascals who played such a 
 foul trick on you recently— a trick which I thirst to avenge?" 
 
 "Yes, Marshal," responded our hostess, turning toward me 
 as she spoke; " thanks to Monsieur Claude, who has the eyes of 
 a lynx and the scent of a bloodliound, we have a clew." 
 
 "Good!" cried Saint-ArnauO., clapping his hands joyously; 
 " I pray Heaven that, wiili the aid of Monsieur Claude, wo may 
 punish the scoundrels as they deserve, though I hear that one of 
 them has got otf to England!" 
 
 While the Marshal uttered these words without seeming to 
 suspect the lieutenant, I never took my eyes from the young 
 man. I saw him change color, become perfectly livid, and then 
 deep crimson, lie coughed violently, and passed his handker- 
 chief over his face to hide his confusion and mortal anxiety. 
 
 jjijie. X did not seem to notice the embarrassment of her 
 
 unhappy guest, but continued to converse with the Marshal. 
 
 "My dear friend," she said, "your wishes and my own will be 
 thoroughly gratilied. The wretch who aided this Italian to be- 
 tray his Majesty and assisted him in this deadly insult to me is 
 in Paris. We think. Monsieur Claude and I, that we have him 
 in our power." 
 
 At these words, the young officer made a movement as if to 
 rise, lie stammered a word or two and sunk back in his chair, 
 l)aralyiied with terror. 
 
 In this movement he knocked over a glass of champagne 
 which had been standing by his side, and which he absolutely 
 liad not the courage to lift to his lips. 
 
 " What is the matter?" said Mine. X , as she hastily drew 
 
 her dress aside to save il from the wine. 
 
 "I beg ten thousand pardons," stammered the young officer, 
 summoning all his self-control. "1 feel such deep interest in all 
 that concerns you, madame, that I can never hear an allusion 
 made to that terrible all'air without becoming excited." 
 
 Mme. X was utterly amazed at the audacity of this accom 
 
 plice of the .Socialist. She turned her eyes full upon him ; they 
 were blazing with contempt. 
 He lelt it and again turuoil pale. 
 
 Then Mme. X rose from her chair, and in a clear, ringing 
 
 voice said : 
 
 " You are quite right, sir, in expressing yourself with such 
 scorn. I feel quite sure that your indignation will be shared by 
 my friends, when they learn that this man who aided his accom- 
 l)lice in his plan of degrading and humiliating me, when they 
 learn, I say, that this man enjoyed my confidence, that he owed 
 everything to me, even his honor — for my purse was emptied for 
 liim at a moment when, but for me, he was friendless. The 
 lime he selected for tliis outrage was when I had just discharged 
 his debts of honor and save<l his being dismissed from his 
 regiment." 
 
 " Madame ! Madame !" stammered the lieutenant, with his 
 hands extended to bis hostess, "it was not 1 who did this. I 
 have been calumniated— 1 swear that it was not I." 
 
 "Calumniated !" replied Mme. X , with her arms folded on 
 
 her breast, and her eyes blazing. "Calumniated I suppose by 
 the woman who favored you with her advice— by this Princesse 
 
 C , by this Italian, this worthy accomplioo of your Mazziuists. 
 
 Pshaw I It is useless to add falsehood to your baseness." 
 
 "But," added the officer, whose self-possession was now gone, 
 " I was not with the Italian when the assault was committed upon 
 you." 
 
 "You were there !" she cried, as she showed him a button 
 which I had found in the Pare Monceau. 
 
 At the sight of this button, bearing the number of the ITth 
 regiment, the lieutenant blanched as he uttered a terrified excla- 
 mation, followed immediately by a cry of pain. 
 , Just as ho had leaneil over to look at the button, Mme. X 
 
 struck him across the face with her riding whip, which she had 
 snatched from a table at her side. 
 
 Neither the Marshal nor I had time to interfere, and the face of 
 the young officer was nearly cut in two by the lash. 
 
 The revengeful spy had kept her word. She had returned in- 
 sult for insult lo the wretch who had treated her in such a das- 
 tardly fashion. I considered it expedient to bring the scene to a 
 close. It was neither in the interest of the amazon nor for the 
 dignity of the Marshal that it should continue. 
 
 I thought, too, that the officer had been sufficiently punished 
 by his mistress, and that it was time for the law to interfere. 
 
 I drew my scarf from my pocket, and tying it around my 
 waist, I went up to the young man, who had dropped into a 
 cliair and was wiping the drops of blood from his face. 
 I said to him : 
 " I command you in the name of the Law to follow me." 
 
 The Marshal and Mme. X vanished; they did not choose to 
 
 figure with the guard and policemen in the scene which this 
 impetuous amazon had prepared. 
 
 When I opened the door two sergeants came in ; this made me 
 believe that the fair spy with the Marshal had prepared the 
 whole plan, in which I was a necessary assistant. 
 
 The lieutenant was at once taken to the station-house, and 
 shortly afterward, on an order from the Minister of War, was 
 transferred to the prison of Cherche-Midi. 
 
 The accomplice of Mazzinists realized that bis career was 
 ruined, and I felt sure that lie would never be heard of again; 
 l)ut I was mistaken. I under-estimated the vengeance of Mme. 
 
 X , and later I learned the mysterious and tragical fate of the 
 
 lieutenant. 
 
 Once degraded, once imprisoneil, the officer believed that 
 Mme. X would be satisfied. But a woman's hatred is im- 
 placable. 
 
 On the eve of being taken to Lambessa to sutler his punish- 
 ment there, as the accomplice of Mazzini, our lieutenant received 
 
 a letter full of repentance from Mme. X . 
 
 She implored his forgiveness In most touching phrases for hav- 
 ing so cruelly avenged herself. She explained the excess of her 
 passion by saying she was madly jealous. She promised that 
 she would have him restored to his rank, and to insure him a 
 future if he would' swear never to see the princess again. She 
 solicited him to grant her a last interview in his prison, in order 
 that she might receive pardon from his li|)S. 
 
 Men are foolish at times. This one fully believed in the peni- 
 tence of his Circe. The hope of regaining her favor, and through 
 her the favors of the chateau, where she was all powerful, induced 
 liim to commit the imprudence of receiving in his prison her 
 whose vengeance was far from being assuaged. 
 
 Mme. X ordered an excellent breakfast to be served to 
 
 the prisoner in his cell, and the two sat down at table together. 
 The credulous youth drank a glass of wine, and as he replaced 
 the glass on the table, he said to this woman, whom he funded 
 himself deceiving: 
 
 "The Empire will not last, and the Republic will remember 
 iny services." 
 
 Mme. X , lifting her glass to her lips, replied: 
 
 "You speak as confidently of the future as if your hours were 
 not numbered. You forget that you have received me here and 
 are breakfasting with me!" 
 
 Mme. X then went on to inform him coolly that she bad 
 
 given him poison. 
 The next morning the officer was found dead in hi s prison. 
 It was whispered about Paris that the young man was poi- 
 soned at a farewell breakfast with his mistress. 
 
 Such crimes were by no means rare at the court of this Em- 
 peror. 
 
 The vengeful woman was not satisfied with the death of her 
 young lover, as she was determined that Pieri, the Italian, 
 should also sufler for his cruel act against her. 
 
 Some time after the death of the young officer, Napoleon be- 
 came infatuated with an Italian princess, who was the mistresa 
 
THE LOVES AND INTRIOUEH OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 89 
 
 of OrsiDi, tbe great conspirator. This charming creature invited 
 the Emperor to sup with her in private at ber bouse in the sub- 
 urbs of Paris. 
 
 Louis Napoleon drove to the bouse disguised as a servant, and 
 accompanied by a faithful Corsican named Griscelli, who acted 
 as coachman. 
 
 Griscelli had notified Mme. X , the owner of the bouse, of 
 
 what was to take place that evening. He had told ber that the 
 Emperor was to sup with the Princess that night. 
 
 When the Emperor reacheil the hous^ he was in the best of 
 spirits, and was greatly amused because the gardener, takine 
 him for a lackey, bad said that he could not enter the vestibule. 
 This colloquy went on for some time to the great delight of 
 his Majesty, who enjoyed practical jokes. But the Princess 
 appeared; and on seeing Napoleon III. in her livery, began to 
 laugh, declaring that it was the best thing she had ever seen. 
 
 ThejEmperor had never tliought the Princess half as lovely 
 before. 
 
 Her manner was usually reserved and dignified, and her cos- 
 tume usually black — her mourning, as she said, for her country. 
 But to-night she was altogether transformed. She was radiant, 
 and the briglit colors of her costume corresponded with her eyes 
 and her bright color. Napoleon III. attributed the gayety of 
 the Princess to very diflerent causes from the real ones — it was 
 inspired by the hope of the liberation of her beloved Iboly. 
 
 They went to the table. The repast was a gay one. The 
 Italian, usually so quiet and melancholy, was now wit itself, 
 astonishing tbe Emperor more and more. 
 
 He did not notice th§ movements of her soubrette. 
 This woman had been in the room all the time, coming and 
 going, and speaking occasionally in a low voice to ber mistress, 
 all this to the great annoyance of the Emperor, who was burning 
 to be alone with the lady; and yet he did not think it at all strange 
 that this woman should be obliged to come to her mistress for 
 orders so often, more particularly as the man-servant who 
 usually offidated in tbe dining-room bad been dismissed for tbe 
 evening. 
 
 If Griscelli had still been there, he, however, would have been 
 greatly disturbed by seeing this woman go so often to the buffet, 
 where the dessert was laid ready. 
 
 Griscelli, however, was in an adjoining room, waiting until the 
 soubrette, having finished hor duties, should join him there. 
 At last she left her mistress alone with the Emperor. 
 His Majesty was by this time embarked in a long conversation 
 with the Princess on the subject of Italy and its independence, 
 of [Victor Emanuel, Cavour, and Mazzini, all supporting, under 
 iliflcrent titles, the Democratic cause. But at dessert, under the 
 influence of champa^no, politics were laid aside and the Em- 
 peror was only the lover. 
 
 At this moment they were dining in tbe two rooms — Griscelli 
 and the soubrette in the anteroom being also seated at table. 
 
 Napoleon rose from the chair; but when he fell on his knees 
 before the Princess, it was as if a mantle of lead had fallen on 
 his shoulders and weighed him down. 
 
 The champagne, instead of exhilarating him, had made bim 
 deadly sleepy; his eyelids drooped, he found bis ideas confused, 
 and his tongue heavy. 
 
 He was on his knees and couldn't rise ; he was as if touched 
 by a magic wand. By a last effort he Ufted his eyes and looked 
 at the Princess. He fancied that he detected an expression of 
 hate and triumph in her face; her lovely lips were parted with a 
 smile of scorn. 
 
 Then Napoleon, gasping for breath, stretched out his arm, 
 which seemed almost paralyzetl, and taking, with a feeble grasp. 
 a glass from the table, he threw it with all the strength he had 
 against the door opposite, behind which Griscelli was supping 
 with the maid. 
 
 At this moment the door was thrown open with a crash, and 
 Griscelli appeared with a dagger in his hand. He leaped over 
 the table, but the Princess sat motionless but perfectly mistress 
 of all her acts. 
 
 A new prodigy now took place. Hardly had Griscelli executed 
 this perilous feat, than he fell like the Emperor an Inert moss 
 upon the floor. 
 
 The Princess, who had quietly raised a revolver, now leaned 
 over and place<.l it against Griscelli's forehead, when the *-aM6j-e«e, 
 with a wild shriek, caught the arm of her mistress, crying: 
 
 " Do not kill him! Ah! do not kill him!" 
 
 As if the agent had been awakened by this despairing shriek, 
 be started to his feet with one bound, but only to fall again by 
 the side of Napoleon, wlio lay without the smallest sign of life. 
 
 " Then," said the Princess, coldly, handing her woman tbe re- 
 volver, " Then kill him yourself!" 
 
 As the woman made no movement to take the revolver, tbe lady 
 said, as she drew a dagger from her belt: 
 
 "No — this is better, for it will make less noise." 
 
 The soubrette took tbe dagger with some hesitation. 
 
 She finally dashed it away, crying aloud: 
 
 " No — I cannot I I cannot !" 
 
 "Coward!" exclaimed ber mistress, "70U love him! And 
 your guilty love for the assassin of our fathers and brothers will 
 be our ruin!" 
 
 While she was speaking, the door was thrown open. The 
 
 Italian recoiled; she recognized Mme. X , who, warned by 
 
 Griscelli, hod secreted herself in the vicinity of the house. She 
 crossed the room, and, standing before the Princess, said, quietly: 
 
 " No, madame, you shall not carry the Emperor away. You 
 shall not take him across the frontier. You shall not kill Gris- 
 celli. I have watched you, and, in spite of your putting all the 
 servants in this house to sleep, you will find that other agents 
 than yours have also watched the Avenue d'Auteuil." 
 
 "Oh! that woman 1 She is here again !" cried the Princess, 
 
 tearing her hair with rage. She had just recognized Mme. X , 
 
 who had known her only too well and too long. 
 
 "Yes, madame," added the avenger, "you are right, I am 
 'that woman!' — a woman whom you can deceive no more, as 
 you did, when you alienated my lover's affections and inspired 
 him with your diabolical ideas. He is dead; his dealli lies at 
 your door, for you brouglit him into communion with one of your 
 Mazzinists, a certain Pieri, who has not long to live. Yes, 
 madame, you triumphed over me once; it is my turn to triumph 
 over you. You have i)layed a most daring game to-day; but 
 wait until I kill your lover, your Orsini, as you killed mine. In 
 the meantime, iearn that I kill you because you have tried to 
 kill my Emperor!" 
 
 As she said these words, Mme. X went nearer to the 
 
 Princess, whom she ordered to leave the room. 
 
 The Princess hesitated, and then glided away like a serpent. 
 Ou the threshold of the door she turned and cried to ber maid: 
 
 " Leona, if you lovo me, if you are faithful, come with me, 
 leave this woman here with these men. It must be that all my 
 
 people are asleep or Mme. X could not have been allowed to 
 
 enter." 
 
 Tbe door closed. Tlie spy, Mme. X , uttered a cry of rage 
 
 when she heard the soubrette lock the door, and knew tJiat she 
 was left alone with her unconscious Sovereign and with Grescelli, 
 who bad fainted. 
 
 Then Leona followed the Princess. They went all through the 
 house and found that every one was as sound asleep as in the 
 chateau of the Sleeping Beauty. 
 
 As soon as the servants in the house were put to sleep by the 
 same process which had reduced the Emperor and his improvised 
 coachman to unconsciousness, the Mazzinists had quietly placed 
 the horses again in the coach in which the Emperor had arrived. 
 
 When the Princess and Leona drove away in this carriage, 
 driven by a coachman who was a Mazzinist in the livery of the 
 Princess, the guard that had been stationed around the bouse 
 never dreamed of arresting the caleche, because they recognized 
 it as the same in which they knew the Emperor had gone to the 
 cottage. 
 
 The caleche, therefore, went on unquestioned, as far as the 
 
90 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRJOUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS.- 
 
 Rue de Chaillot, Ijut the Mazzinist who drove knew little aboat 
 horses, and a catastrophe was imminent, 
 
 Orsini, who was watching, beheld this carriage coming like 
 the wind, and also saw that the coachman had lost all control 
 over the animals. lie, without the smallest hesitation, shot one 
 of the horses through the leg, for cost what it would, the persons 
 in that carriage must not be detained by any accident. 
 
 Around Orsini there were only Italians in disguise; the square 
 was then only a vast extent of open ground. Orsini had hoped 
 that no police agent would arrive before he coald remove the 
 Emperor from the carriage. 
 
 What then was his disappointment when Orsini beheld only the 
 Princess and her maid. In a few hurried words, tlic Italian told 
 him that the abduction of the Emperor had been prevented by the 
 sudden appearance of Mme. X . 
 
 The Princess told Orsini that she would not have hesitated to 
 administer a dose of cold poison to this lady bad she suspected 
 her vicinity. 
 
 As the clima.lL of misfortune, the police now appeared on the 
 scene, having heard the report of the pistol. 
 
 One of Orsini's accomplices answered the agents who ques- 
 tioned liim. He said to them : 
 
 "It is Sir Henry Backett's carriage; he is an eccentric, 
 orginal person, sir — an Englishman. When his horses are 
 troublesome, he always slioots them. This is the fourth animal 
 he has sliot in the year tlial I have been in his service." 
 
 The carriage drove on witli the wounded horse. But Orsini 
 was not in a happy frame of mind, for his plan had failed. 
 
 During all this time, Mme. X was in a state of utter 
 
 desperation. It was not until the next morning that she was 
 able to summon any one to her assistance. Then the gardener 
 heard her, he having been less heavily drugged than the others. 
 When this man entered tlie room, he cried: 
 
 " The Emperor! lie and his agent are both poisoned!" 
 
 Mme. X bade him hold his tongue, and persuaded him 
 
 that this man in the costume of a chasseur was not Napoleon III. 
 
 The gardener knew better, however, the soubrette having 
 made him notice the chasseur the evening before, and laughed 
 at him for not recognizing the Emperor. His silence, therefore, 
 
 was purchased by Mme. X only with gold. This lady at 
 
 once dispatched to the Prefecture the details of this nocturnal 
 adventure. A carriage and guard were at once sent to tlie cot- 
 tage. 
 
 It was not until six o'clock in the evening that the Emperor 
 recovered his senses, long after Grcscelli had recovered. The 
 Sovereign, already debilitated, needed violent remedies to rouse 
 him from his lethargy. 
 
 When tlie Emperor was finally able to enter the carriage sent 
 
 from the Prefecture, he liegged Mme. X to precede him to tlie 
 
 cliateau, and relate there the terrible experiences of the night. 
 
 The Empress, at this intelligence, fell into a rage, which Mme. 
 X found it Impossible to soothe. She sent for the Duo de 
 
 Morny, who succeeded, not without difficulty, in reconciling the 
 Emperor with the Empress, who had been so cruelly humiliated. 
 
 The story was soon told abroad by the Princess and by Orsini. 
 Th»y both said : 
 
 " We could not carry out our plans of abducting the Emperor, 
 but we can kill him." 
 
 Orsini went back to London, after the failure of this scheme, 
 there to mature the infernal plan which led to the catastrophe of 
 the 14th of January. 
 
 The details of this adventure, which were as ridiculous as they 
 were extraordinary, appeared in all the foreign papers. The 
 Emperor and his agents, found unconscious in the livery of 
 servants in a cottage at Auteuil, became the subject of a story 
 in verse, callml, "The Sleeping Beauty; or, the New Mysteries 
 of the Tour de Nesle." 
 
 Orsini and Pieri were arrested in Paris soon after, while en- 
 gaged in an attempt to assassinate Napoleon by means of 
 
 bombs. Mme. X witnessed the execution of her enemy, after 
 
 she had paid him a visit in his prison cell. 
 
 The affair with the fair Italian did not seem to quell the ardor 
 of Louis Napoleon for love intrigues. 
 
 He soon had a new mistress. Marguerite Bellanger, who de- 
 ceived him, and made him believe that her child was his. She 
 hoped by this falsehood that Napoleon III. would do for his son 
 what Louis XIV. did for his bastards. 
 
 .She did not take into account either the jealousy of the Em- 
 press or the weakness of the Emperor, whose faculties were rap 
 idly failing. 
 
 It was the first president of the court; M. Dovienne, who made 
 himself ridiculous, if nothing worse, liy condescending, at the 
 mandate of the Emperor, to perform a mission most unworthy of 
 his position. 
 
 After a violent scene between Louis Napoleon and the Era- 
 press, who unquestionably feared some rivalry between the child 
 of this Marguerite Bellanger and the "Child of France" — the 
 Emperor compelled his mistreas to write to M. Devienne, 
 president of the court, the following curious and disgraceful 
 letter: 
 
 " Sib, — You have asked an account of my relations with the 
 Emperor. However much it may cost me, I feel that I must tell 
 the entire truth. It is terrible to confess that I have deceived him 
 to whom I owe everything, but lie has done so much for me that 
 I must tell all. I will only say that he is not the father of my 
 child. Toll him that I ask his forgiveness. I have your promise, 
 sir, that you will keep this letter. 
 
 "Accept, sir, the assurance of my distinguished consideration. 
 
 "Marguerite Bellanoer." 
 
 For this amende honorable, sent through the bands of a pres- 
 ident of the court, the estate of Mouchy was presented to 
 Marguerite Bellanger, while for the honorable president of the 
 court there was only ridicule and contempt. 
 
 THE LOTE INTRIGUES OF JULIUS CiESAR AND OTHER FAMOUS ROMANS. 
 
 CiESAR's TBIRD WIFE AND HEB ERROR — THE RAD STORY OP LUCBETIA — HER TRAGIC DEATH — ^TDE OtTILTY LOVES OF NERO— THE 
 
 LOVE INTRIOUES OF CATILINE. 
 
 All those who have read about the loves and crimes of the 
 infamous Cleopatra, Queen of Eg>'pt, will remember that the 
 renowned Roman general, Julius Ccesar, was her favored lover 
 before Marc Antony was enslaved by the wicked charmer. 
 
 When the great Roman first met the Egyptian queen ho was 
 somewhat advanced in years, and he was at the zenith of his 
 fame. During his early life, Ca'sar was a great admirer of female 
 beauty; he was unscrupulous In the pursuit of the objects of his 
 love; and he was more than severe on one of his own wives, 
 under circumstances where doubt existed as to her guilt. 
 
 Having disposed of two wives, Caesar selected a fair creature 
 as his bride. Pome historians maintain that this woman, who 
 was named Pompeia, was pure and virtuous, while others main- 
 tain that she had been seduced by one Clodius, a young Roman 
 gentleman of fortune, who had the reputation of being a vile 
 libertine. 
 
 One writer, in his account of Ca!sar'8 quarrel with his thu-d 
 wife, gives us a peculiar account of the intrigue. 
 
 He states, in positive terms, that Pompeia had been seduced 
 by the celebrated Clodius; but as she was so closely watched uy 
 
THE LOVES Ayn INTRIGUES OF Kl.SUS AND yUEEA'S. 
 
 91 
 
 i'-xmr auU lier molher-in-law, she could not obtain a favorable 
 • pportunity of seeing her lover. She thought, however, lo ac- 
 
 ■mplish this by a trick. The day on which they celebrated the 
 ri^'hts of Venus at her house, Clodius, disguised in woman's 
 clothes, passed for a singer, and was introduced among the rest. 
 Unfortunately he was discovered, and Pomi)eia divorced. 1 
 
 " It is not enougli for the wife of Ca?sar lliat she should be in- 
 nocent, she must also be above suspicion," said Ca?sar. 
 
 Not content with divorcing his wife, Cxsar resolved^to pursue 
 ('lo<lius. The prosecution was at first suspended, on account of 
 the triumph of Pompey, who returned from Asia; but afterwards, 
 I ';csar pursued it with great spirit against Clodius. Ilappy for 
 Die latter, all were venal at Rome; money and love saved him. 
 
 Of his judges, some were gained by money, others by their 
 mistresses,. The great Cicero, so formidable lo Catiline, took 
 the part of Clodius, because he was passionately in love with 
 Clodia, his sister. This connection was so public, that they 
 jested upon it at Home; but Terenlia, the wife of Cicero, who had 
 the ascendency over her husband, and who feared that his attacli- 
 ment to Clodia might induce him to divorce her, obliged him to 
 depose against Clodius. The young lover;was acquitted, however; 
 but he"was killed soon after in a private quarrel. 
 
 Another thrilling story of love intrigues in ancient Rome is 
 presented to us iu the sad story of Lucretia, which Shakespeare 
 has given us in glowing verge. 
 
 Tarquin, surnamed the Proud, having ascended the throne of 
 the Romans, sought to support himself on it by the fear with 
 which he inspired his subjects. His victories did not a little 
 contribute to obliterate the memory of his injustice and cruelty. 
 He had attained to an advanced age when the people of Rutuli 
 obliged him to turn his arms against them ; his first etTorts wore 
 carried against .A.rdea, the capital of the enemy, the riches of 
 which excited the avarice of Tarquin. He found more resist- 
 ance than he expected, being obliged to besiege it in form. 
 During this siege a singular revolution broke out at Rome. 
 
 The young nobility sought to forget their fatigues in the 
 pleasures of the table, at a repast given by Sextus Tarqnlnus. 
 The king's son being a little elevated, andthe conversation turn- 
 ing upon the merit of their wives, every guest made the eulogium 
 upon his own, but none with so much ardor and tenderness as 
 Colliitiuns, cousin of Sextus. He was descended from .itginus, 
 nephew of the ancient Tarquin, and enjoyed, as his own inheri- 
 tance, the city of CoUatia, which had been given him by his 
 granciiuvhcr. 
 
 It was there he passed the most happy days with Lucretia his 
 wife. Her beauty, her birth, her virtue and the gentleness of 
 her disposition, all unite»l to render her extremely amiable. 
 
 Collatinus loved her to adoration, and was sensible of no 
 greater pleasure than an opportunity to boast of his good for- 
 tune. The portrait which he drew of Lucretia atthe entertain- 
 ment of Sextus excited the curiosity of the guests, who proposed 
 to go and surprise their wives, and immediately every young 
 noble mounted his horse, and when they had arrived at Rome 
 they found the three wives of Tarquin's sons engaged in their 
 pleasures; and from them they proceeded to Collatia, where the 
 scene was very different, for Lucretia was tranquilly seated in 
 the midst of her women at work. 
 
 Tlii-s interview made the deepest impression on the heart of 
 Sextus Tarquin ; he conceive<l for Lucretia the most violent pas- 
 sion, and thought only of the means to accomplish his wishes. 
 
 A few days after he introduced himself, towards night, into 
 the house of Collatinus, under pretense of giving some orders 
 concerning the siege. Lucretia received him with all the civility 
 lue to the son of a king, and to her husband's relation. 
 
 Scarcely had this young prince retired to his apartment, and 
 when thinking every one in the house to be asleep, he repaired 
 (o the chamber of Lucretia. His first words were a threat to 
 kill her if she attempted to make the least noise; he then de- 
 ,clared his passion in the most ardent expressions. 
 
 Fioding the virtue of Lucretia immovable, he again renewed 
 his threats to kill her, adding that he would convey a slave into 
 
 her bed, whom be would also kill, and publish that be bad, by 
 these murders, avenged the honor of Collatinus. 
 
 Death appeared but trilling in the eyes of the chaste Lucretia, 
 but to die dishonored in the opinion of her husband, his family, 
 and the public! she could not support the idea, and yielded. 
 
 The following day Lucretia desired her husband to meet her at 
 the house of her father-in-law, at Rome, where she repaired 
 attired in deep mourning. This appearance surprised her father 
 and her husband, but she refused to satisfy their curiosity till 
 they bad assembled her family. 
 
 It was then she informed Collatinus of the crime of Sextus 
 Tarquinus. 
 
 This recital e.\cited the indignation of all jiresent, but the sight 
 of Lucretia, who plunged a dagger into her own bosom, iuspii'ed 
 the whole assembly with the greatest horror and fury. 
 
 Junius Hrutus, the son of a respectable senator, whom this 
 prince had put to death on account of his virtue and rjches, be- 
 ing present at this affecting scene, drew near the expiring Lu- 
 cretia, and tearing out the dagger stained with her blood, held 
 it up, and said : 
 
 "By this blood once so pure, and which had never been con- 
 taminated but for the detestable Tarquin, I swear that I will 
 pursue with sword and fire, llie king, the queen, and their chil- 
 dren, and will exterminate from these places a guilty race, which 
 infects the throne. of the Romans; Gods, I call you to witness 
 my oath!" 
 
 These words, pronounced with firmness by a man, who, till 
 this moment, had been considered an idiot, made the deepest 
 impression, and all present took the same oath. 
 
 Without losing a moment, Lucretius, who was governor of 
 Rome in the king's absence, caused the gates of the city to be 
 shut, to hinder any from going out, 
 
 Brutus then assembled the people, and after exposing the 
 bloody corpse of Lucretia, he painted in the most energetic 
 terms the unjust, tyrannic and violent conduct of Tarquin, and 
 what they bad to expect on the part of his sons, and concluded 
 with offering liberty to the Romans if they would join with and 
 support him. 
 
 Repeated acclamations convinced Brutus that they a]iplauded 
 his views. The senate issued an edict, which perpetually con- 
 demned the Tarquins and their posterity to banishment, and de- 
 prived them of the rights and honors of royalty. They then con- 
 Gdetl the authority to Spurius Lucretius, and the resolution was 
 taken to destroy the monarchy, and to create two consuls. 
 
 Brutus and Collatinus were immediately chosen to fill their 
 places. Without suffering the ardor of the Romans to cool, they 
 departed for the army which lay before Ardea; the chiefs who 
 had been informed of the revolution, had gained the troops, who 
 declared in favor of the new government. 
 
 Tarquin attempted lo enter Rome, but having found the gate9 
 shut against him, was obliged to retire with his family to CeiV 
 the city of the Etrurians. 
 
 Sextus, author of the king's misfortune, retired to the Gabiens 
 whom he had once deceived in the most unworthy manner: and 
 as he was in a situation no longer to be feared, they deprived 
 him of his life lo punish his perfidy. 
 
 The criminal love intrigues of the famous Nero also form a 
 very interesting chapter In Roman history. This prince attain 
 ed the throne througli the crimes of Agrippa, his mother, and 
 he began his reign with great moderation. lie became deeply in 
 love with a girl named Acta, but the fear which he fell for his 
 mother made him take all possible precautions to conceal this 
 intrigue. 
 
 Agrippina, who employed vigilant spies, was soon informed of 
 all. Desirous of reigning under the name of her son, she feared 
 that Acta might prove a dangerous rival. She broke out Into 
 the most violent reproaches against her son, and those who as- 
 sisted him in his atnours. 
 
 Afterwards, she endeavored to overcome him by her caresses 
 and prayers, but she clearly perceived that Nero had more r? 
 sped Ihan affection for her. 
 
MZ 
 
 THE LOVES AND INTRIGUES OF KINGS AND QUEENS. 
 
 Nwro had married (Jctavia, who, by her birth, her graces, ami 
 bcr virtues, merited all hia attachment. But becoming enamored 
 of Poppla Saliina, the wife of Otho, he evinced even disgust for 
 the virtuous Octavia. 
 
 Fo))pia, who had made herself sole mistresa of hia heart, soon 
 succeeded, by her caresses and tears, in making him divorce bis 
 wife. But lie still f«ared Agrippina. Already familiar with 
 crime, and vanquished by the endeurmenta of the woman be 
 adored, he at last resolved ujion the ruin of his mother. 
 
 Having reflected upon the means he should use, he determined 
 that she should perish in a storm. This i)lot did not succeed, 
 and Agripiiinii being only slightly wounded, Nero resolved to 
 throw olf the musk. Without giving liis mother time to recover 
 herself, he sent a band of soldiers to put her to death. 
 
 It ap|>ean) almost incredible thul llarrhus and Seneca, two 
 wise men of Rome, were accomplices in this most horrid crime; 
 and tliat the Romans od'ereil up thanks to the gods for Aggrij)- 
 plna's death, on pretense thatshe would have altonipled the life 
 of her son. 
 
 Nero, however, did not dare to divorce Octavia; but some two 
 years after he exiled her, after having put hor slaves to the tor- 
 ture to prove Ihul she had been untrue. 
 
 The iieople, who were e.\tromely attached to the princess, 
 mailo their displeasure known to the emperor, and he was 
 obliged to recall her. 
 
 I'oppia then fearing for her life, throw herself with tears at 
 the feet of the emperor, and made him determine ujion the death 
 of Octavia. To justify (his new crime, they had recourse to a 
 vile freed-nian, who publicly declared that he had recently re- 
 ceived favors from the princess. 
 
 No one believed it; but still this unfortunate lady— the daugh- 
 ter, the sister, and the wife of an emperor— was exiled to the 
 Isle of I'andatoria, where she soon after received the barbarous 
 order of renouncing her life. It was sad to die at the age of 
 twenty; but thoy opened hor veins in spite of her cries and tears, 
 and, as the blood did not flow quickly enough, they stilled her 
 in a hot bath. 
 
 The Roman senate ordained that thanks should be offered to 
 the gods for this event, 
 
 I'oppia, after the many crimes she had caused him to commit, 
 at last married Nero. Hor Iiap))ines8 was not of long duration. 
 Having made some romoiisdunce to the emperor, ho gave her a 
 kick with his foot, of which hIio died. 
 
 N(T0 then became enamored of Antonia, daughter of Claudius, 
 and because she lefuacd to marry liim, he had hor put to death, 
 under (jretense of a crime against the slate. 
 
 The love intrigues of Ihe famous Catiline form another inler- 
 csling chapter in the Inslnry of the great Roman empire. This 
 man waa of illustrious descent, and while he was minister of the 
 cruelties of Sylla, he had acquired groat riches, which he soon 
 dissipated in licentiousness. Given up from the most tender ago 
 to his passions, he ruined a young person of high birth who 
 afterwards became his mother-in-law. 
 
 Ho had the presumption to ofler his vows to the ve.ntal .Sabia 
 Terenlia, ami he did^iot moot a refu.sal. It i.s known how severe 
 the Romans were upon the faults of their vestals; it required all 
 the credit of Culnliis to save Terentia and her lover. 
 
 Catiline became aflerwanls desperately in love with Aurolia 
 Oreslilla, an illustrious Roman, then a widow, who had a child 
 by her lirst husband. Catiline ardently desired her to marry 
 him, but the affeclion Oreslilla entertained for hor child pre- 
 vented lier yielding to the wishes of her lover. 
 
 Catiline stopped at no crime when it tended to gratify hia 
 passions. Ho poisoned the child which was the obstacle to his 
 marriage, and espoused the mother. 
 
 Soon after this his licentiousness and prodigality reduced him 
 to misery; this wretched situation threw him into despair, to es- 
 cape which ho abandoned himself to the delirium of .his imagi- 
 nation. Connected with a number of debauchees as ruined aa 
 himself, Catiline thought he must overthrow bis country to re- 
 trieve his shattered fortunes. 
 
 His connections with the most illustrious young men of Rome, 
 and likewise with several Roman colonies of Italy, made him 
 hope his projects would be crowned with the greatest aitccesa. 
 What still increased the numlxjr of the conspirators was a society 
 of licentious young women, loathers of their liusbands, and given 
 up to crime. In this number, Simpronia, the wife of Junius 
 lirutus, was above all distinguished. 
 
 Never bad woman more talents than she to captivate hearts. 
 To an uncommon share of beauty she joined a charming voice 
 and all the allurements of wit. It was from her school that Cati- 
 line drew several of his associates. Nothing less was attempted 
 than to assassinate the consuls, and above all Cicero, one of 
 them; to set Are to the four corners of Rome; to massacre a great 
 part of the Patricians; to seize upon their riches and the govern- 
 ment of the republic. 
 
 The con8i)irators several times fhted the day ond hour to exe- 
 cute their proejcts, but they always observed that precautions 
 were taken against their enterprises. The con8i)iracy was at 
 length discovered; Cicero told it to Catiline in the senate. 
 
 It was then this prince of orators made one of those orations 
 which will be the admiration of all ages. Catiline, although dis- 
 covered, did not lose all hope; he left Rome, and put himself at 
 the head of the troops which he had raised in Italy, relying on those 
 friends he left at Rome who were not yet discovered to execute 
 what they had agreed to, and facilitate bis entrance into the 
 city. 
 
 This hoj)e was vain. Cicero having obtained the most unequiv- 
 ocal proofs of the conspiracy, four of the princijial conspirators 
 were put to death. Catiline, pursued by the Roman legions, 
 gave them battle; and feeling his army give way, listened only to 
 his despair, threw himself into the midst of the enemy and was 
 killed. Thus ended, with its chief, tills famous conspiracy. 
 
 Among the number of the conspirators was one named Quintus 
 CuriuM, who had been expelled the senate for the number of bis 
 crimes. Passionately enamored of a woman named Fuivia, he 
 had dissipated all his property with her, and was reduced to the 
 most extreme indigence; Fuivia had uot then the same attention 
 and ufl'cctlon for lior lover as before. 
 
 Curlus, enchanted with the project of Catiline, which he hoped 
 would soon put him in a situation to regain the afl'eclions of 
 Fuivia, whom he adored, bad the weakness to intimate to this 
 woman tlie greatness of his expectations; but ho alTectod the ut- 
 most secrecy upon all the rest. Fuivia was soon informed of all 
 she wished to know. Either through inadvertency, or what is 
 more i)robable, from disgust of Curius, she divulged the secret. 
 
 Cicero, then consul, was njiprisod of it. He sent privately for 
 Fuivia, to draw from lier all the necessary information, and like- 
 wise engaged her to obtain from Curius a particular detail and 
 plan of the whole conspiracy. It was by this means that Cicero, 
 wlio distinguished himself so greatly on that account during bis 
 consulshi]), frustrated the fatal machinations of Catiline, and 
 saved his country. 
 
 THE TRAGIC INTRIGUES OF A FAMOUS MOTHER AND HER SON. 
 
 KILLINU A RIVAL — TUE DOIBT OK TUB GREAT SON's LEtllTIMACV — ALEXANDER'S l*VE INTRIOUE. 
 
 The world hag heard of Alexander of Macedon, aa a greatlerally known that bis mother was one of the most Infamous 
 conqueror, and as a founder of uoted cities; but it U not so gen- 1 cboractere of oncioot times. 
 
THE LUVKS AND ISTliUIUtlS OF KLXGH AJS'V QOt.£NS. 
 
 93 
 
 I ilym|)ia, llio mother of the great general, was divorced by 
 l'liili|), King of Macedonia, in cousoqucnco ot Iier bad conduct. 
 It is in fact believed that llii3 prince was not tlio father ot Alex- 
 ander, and Olympia did not strongly allirm that he was. After 
 the divorce, Philip married Cloopiitra, daughter of Attains. 
 
 Olympia conceived a jealousy so violent that she was detor- 
 mined to revenge herself. It was she who engaged Pausanius, 
 her lover, to assassinate the king. 
 
 After this murder she took no measures to conceal her guilt, 
 and caused the greatest honors to bo paid to the memory of 
 Pausanius, who had been punished with death. Cleopatra, the 
 principal cause, was not forgotten. Olympia tlrst murdered 
 Philip's child, and then hung the mother. 
 
 This wickedwoman then consc'-atcil lo Apidlo the poniard 
 that Jmd d<""-ive<lli. • ' "^ ; of hig life 
 
 At 111'' fi.ist of ti .' tliH inKiro \' Hi, Cleopatra, At- 
 
 ■ -!■ i I." Macedonians 
 . .a might give Philip a 
 legitiinaiu i '■ ' ' 1 ... ..mgOum. 
 
 Ale.tniidor, who was present, exclaimed with rage: 
 
 "How, rascal, dost thou take me for a bastardl" lie threw 
 his cu|) at his head at tlie same moment. 
 
 The king, who was at anolhor tal)le, rose in fury, and ad- 
 v.inrcd. sword in hand, towards liis son. Happily, his anger and 
 
 the fumoa of the wine, caused him to fall, which gave the specta- 
 tors time to prevent ony serious consequences. 
 
 The celebrated comiueror also became involve*! in a tragic love 
 intrigue. 
 
 After the celebrated battle of Arbelles, which decided the falo 
 of Darius and that of his vast empire, .\lexander marched to- 
 wards I'erscpolis, tlio capital of Persia, the gales of which he 
 found open. 
 
 The conqueror gave the plundering ot the town to his soldier.^, 
 and reserved for himself the treasuri'.s of a king. The palace of 
 Darius was reckonoil a superb edillce. 
 
 One evening Alexander gave himself up to the company of a 
 beauty named Thais, who begged of him to have that place set 
 on lire. The prince, whose reason was drowned in wine, and 
 wlio felt hiniseir Inciteil by the carcsHcs and prayers of a pretty 
 woman, took upon liimHulf the trouble of selling llro to that 
 splendid l)nil(ling; tlie llames soon reached the town, and oil 
 was reduced lo a.ilips. 
 
 Tliais, acconling lo Plutarch, was the fuvorilo of Ptolemy, 
 who wia king of Kgypt. .Sim boIIcIIimI the ruin of Persepolis for 
 no other reason but lo make up for the conllagration Of .MIicur. 
 and that It might be said tliut a woman hud more contributed lo 
 avenge Greece (ban the greatest soldiers hod been able to accom- 
 plish. 
 
 THE FATAIi LOVE INTRIGUE OF A BEAUTIFUL COUNTFSS. 
 
 iTRE JEALOUS IIl'SBAND A.ND THE KINO LOVER — THE VIKTL'Ol'S WOMAN FALLS— THE KEVENOE <)V A TVIIA.ST III'SBANO. 
 
 Oke of the most beautiful women in France during the reign 
 of Francis I. was the daughter of Madame de Grallly, of the once 
 powerful but impoverished house of Froix. 
 
 This unfortunate woman was celelirated for her beauty before 
 she had attained her thirteenth year; and it was at that period 
 thdt the wealthy Count deChauteaubriant sought hor in marriage. 
 She being without portion, his propoHilion wa.-^ readily accepted; 
 and this young beauty was delivered into llio arms of a man 
 she did not love. His conduct was not unch as to gain the heart 
 of his wife. Jealous to excess, he conllned hor in a castle, where 
 ho permitted hor to see no one hut himself — a certain way to in- 
 spire her with the desire of Beeing others. Chance at length 
 wrestcti from this jealous man the treasure he guarded with so 
 much care. 
 
 He was obliged to repair to the court of Francis 1. to defend a 
 lawsuit of tlio greatest consequence, upon which his wliole 
 fortune dependcti, and the king !iske<l the Count de Chateaubriant 
 why he had not brought Ins wife with him, adding she was young 
 and handsome, and with these qualities was sure to be an orna- 
 ment to his court. 
 
 The count replied that liis wife hated the great worhl. anil only 
 ileliglited In solitude. Hut the king pressed him so often that he 
 at length promised that he would write lo his wife to come lo 
 him. 
 
 The count well knew that this letter would not produce the 
 expected effect, as he had agreed with the countess that she 
 should nol leave the castle without a bracelel of hair, which slie 
 had presented to him, and lliis bracelet did not acccompany the 
 letter; nt least he believed so. 
 
 But M. de Lautrec, l)rother of the countess, entertained a |)as- 
 sion fur one of her ladies, ond greatly desired that liis sister 
 should come to court, that ho might see his mistress; the young 
 lady, who e(|nally desired it, informed by him of all that had 
 passed, sent him a bracelet worked with lier mistress's hair, and 
 exactly resembling that which she had given to her husband. 
 
 The bracelet being sent to the countess, with a letter from the 
 count, she instantly began her journey with hor attendants. On 
 her arrival, she easily proved lo her jealous husband that she had 
 iiKBn deceived. 
 
 Then the Count de Cbatcaubiiant grew frantic; and, regarding 
 
 [the 
 
 himself as already'ilishonored, he abandone<l his wife and his 
 lawsuit, and retired to his castle in Brittany. 
 
 A young and beautiful woman, yet inexperienced, and admired 
 by a king as amiable and gallant ns Francis I., was in great dan- 
 ger of forgetting herself. This was tlio case in whicli we tind the 
 Countess do Chateaubriant. Her beauty mailo the most lively 
 impression upon the heart of the king, and it was not long be- 
 fore he acquainted her with It. 
 
 The countess was proud of her virtue, and relied too much upon 
 It. The resistance she at first opposed made the king fear that 
 his cause was hopeless. But the match was une(|ual. The Utile 
 god conquered, and the Count de Chateaubriant, In his retire- 
 ment, was soon intormed that his wife liail become the mistrei<8 
 of the king, and that she was the dlstributress of favors and re- 
 wards. 
 
 The brothers of Iho countess thought they ought to profit by 
 this circumstance; but the incensed husband refused all their en- 
 treaties, and inwardly swore that he would In a signal manner 
 avenge his honor. 
 
 Francis I., being called to Italy, loft the countess at court. 
 The battle of Pavia, where he was made prisoner, retarled his 
 return. During his absence, the Duchess d'Angouleme, mother 
 to the king, inllicted so many mortilications upon the countess, 
 that she i)referred to return to her husband. 
 
 In vain this fiiully but charming woman wrote a letter, in the 
 most submissive tenns, to iier husbaml. He was inllexilde; and 
 if he did not take her life upon tlie spot, it was because he hod 
 some remains of afToctlon, which, In spile of her conduct, he still 
 felt for her. 
 
 When the king had regained his liberty, the Count <le Chntenu- 
 briant, fearing that lie would exert his authority to take his wife 
 from him, entered llie apartment of the counleHS, accompanied 
 by several maHko<l rulllans, and lold hor that she must die. .She 
 made little or no resistance; lluiy opnned her veins, and her bar- 
 barons husband had the cruelty to Htay I ill she breathed her last 
 sigh. After this severe vengeance, he escaped to England, and 
 never returned to Fiance, till aflflr having given the house that 
 bore his name to the High Constable do Montmorency, to shelter 
 himself from the pursull of llie parents of bis wife. 
 
 end.] 
 
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 fishing guide over publishixl. It contJdns full InstructionH 
 abont guns, hunting dogs, trajw, trapping, and Usiiiug. to- 
 gether with descriptions of game and Ush. Price 10 cents. 
 For sale by all newsdealers in the United Htates and Canada, 
 or Bont, postpalcl, to your addreas, O'l r<3ceipt of price, by 
 Frank Tousey, publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore street, New 
 York. Box 27;W. 
 
 HOW TO OOOK.— Ono of the most instructive books OD«ooking 
 over published. It contains recipiss for cooking mtsats, flsh, 
 game, and oyBters ; also i>if», puddings, cjikes, and all kiuds 
 of pastry; and a grand eollectiou of recipes by ono of our 
 moKt popular cooks. Only 10 cents per copy. For sale by 
 all newsdiialcrs, or it will bcBeut toyouraddress, post-imhf, 
 on receipt of price, 10 cents. Address Frank Tousey, 31 aud 
 30 North Moore stroot. Now i'ork City. Box 2730. 
 
 HOW TO BECOME A SCIENTIST.— A useful and Instructive 
 
 book, giving a complete treatise on chemistry ; aIso,expeii- 
 ments in acoustics, mef^hanics, uiatheinatics, chemistry, 
 and directions for making (Ireworks, colored Ilrtss, and gits 
 balloons, 'i'his book (umnot be (Ktualed. PriiM) 10 (?onti*. 
 For sale by all newsdealers, or it will bo sent to .your ad- 
 dress, postage free, on receipt of jirice. Address Frank 
 Tousey, publisher, 34 and 36 North Mooro street, Now 
 York. Box 2730. 
 
 HOW TO BECOME AN INVENTOB.-Evory boy should know 
 how inventions originate. This book explains them all, 
 giving examples in electricity, hydraulics, maguetism, op- 
 ti<^s. pneuinaties, mechanics, etc., etc. The nnjst Instructive 
 book published. Price 10 cents. For sale by all news- 
 dealers In the United States and Canada, or sent to your 
 address, [lostage free, on receipt of price. Addreas Frank 
 Tousey, publisher, 34 aud 36 North Moore »tre«t. Now York. 
 Box 2730. 
 
 HOW TO WRITE LETTERS. -A wonderful little book, telling 
 you how to write to your sweetheart, your father, mother, 
 sister, brother, employer; aud, in fact, everylKidy aud any- 
 Ixiily you wi.'ih to write to. Every young man and every 
 young lady iu the laud should have this book. It is f(>r sale 
 by all newsdealers, price 10 cents, or sunt from this odlce on 
 receipt of |>rice. Audrcss Frank Tousey, publisher, 34 and 
 36 North Moore street. New York. P. O. Box 2730. 
 
 HOW TO ENTERTAIN AN EVENINO PARTY Is the title of 
 a very valuable little book just published. A complete com- 
 pendium of games, S|jorts, card-diversions, comic recrea- 
 tions, etc., suitable for parlor or drawing-room eutortiiin- 
 ment. It contains more for the money than any book pub- 
 lished. Sold by all newsdealers, or send 10 cents to Frank 
 Tousey, publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore street, New York, 
 and receive it by return mail, post-jmid. 
 
 HOW TO FLIRT.— Ju.st out. The arts and wllofl of Ilirtatlou 
 are fully explained by this little lK>ok. Besides the various 
 methods of handkerchief, fan, glove, parasol, window, ar.d 
 hat flirtations, it contains a full list of tlio language and sen- 
 timent of flowers, which is interesting to evorylyjdy, botii 
 old and young. You (taiinot be happy without one. Price 
 10 events. Address Frank Tousey, publisher, 34 and 30 
 Nortli Mooro stroot. New Y'ork. Box 2730. 
 
 HOW TO BECOME BEAUTIFUL.-One of the lirlghtost and 
 most valuable Utile books over given to the world. Every- 
 body wishes to know how to become beautiful, both male 
 and female. The socriit is simple, and almost c>*stless. 
 Bond this book and be convinced. " How to Become Beau- 
 tiful." Price 10 cents. For sale by book and newsdealers, 
 or si'iid 10 cents to Frank Tousey, 34 and 36 North Moore 
 street. New York, and it will be inailod to your address 
 post-paid. 
 
 THE OEM COOK BOOKS, Nos. 1 and 2.— The tiest and most 
 useful cook books published ; containing recipes tor cook- 
 ing all kinds of meats, llsh, game, oysters, and iiastry. Price 
 10 cents each. For aalo by all nowsdeulers, or sent to your 
 address, postage free, on nM>eipt of the pricti. Frank Tou- 
 sey, publisher, 31 and 36 North Mooro street, New York. 
 Box 2730. 
 
 HOW TO BECOME A VENTRILOQUIST.— By Harry Kennedy. 
 The secret given away. Every intelligent boy rea<ling this 
 book of Instructions, by a practical iirofessor (delighting 
 multitudes evi^ry night with his wonderful Iniitati ins), can 
 master the art and create any amount of fun for himself 
 and friends. It is the obeatest book over published, and 
 there's mili.ionsMo/ /im) in IT. HOW TO BECOME A 
 VENTRILOl^UIST. For sale by nil newsdealers, price 10 
 cents ; or send price to the olllce of The Hovb of New Youk, 
 and receive a copy by return mail. Adilri>ss Fmnk Tousey, 
 publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore struct. New York. P. 0. 
 Box 2730. 
 bn nrmt to yiiir oddrpNH. poxt-pAid, on receipt ot the price. Addrewt 
 
 FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore St., N. Y. 
 
THE ARM CHAIR 
 
 Is now in its THIRD YEAR, and is well known in almost every household in 
 
 the United States, It is 
 
 AN EIGHT-PAGE ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY PAPER, 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 Continued Stories, Short Stories, Sketches, Poetry, 
 
 llaiulsoiue UlustratioiiH, An Amateur Departiiient, Correspondents' Coliiinn, 
 
 A BUKEAU OF INFORMATION, "FKOM EVERYWHERE," and "LET US SMILE," 
 
 Making it the Handsomest, Best Printed and Most Attractive Paper published in the 
 
 world. Every family should read 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 
 Because it contains a pure moral tone, and nothing of an impure or offensive character 
 
 is allowed to enter its columns. 
 
 No Advertisements are allowed in The Arm Chair, 
 
 As it is devoted exclusively to our readers. 
 
 WE EMPLOY THE BEST TALENT THAT MONEY CAN PROCURE. 
 
 ONLY AUTHORS OF AN ESTABLISHED REPUTATION WRITE FOR THE ARM CHAIR. 
 
 KEAI> THE FOLLOWING LIST OF TALENTED AUTHORS WHO WHITE EXCLUSIVELY FOB 
 
 HAZEL WOOD, HARRY HAMMOND, 
 
 DORA THORNTON, E. E. TEN EYCK, 
 
 FLORENCE MAY CARROLL, F. M. COBB, 
 
 ALICE WARD, GEORGE J. MANSON, 
 
 DENNIS O'SULLIVAN, MRS. H. C. HOFFMAN, 
 
 ARRAH LEIGH, "BRICKTOP," 
 
 MARY GRACE HALPINE, ROSE PALMER, 
 
 GEO. G. SMALL, ADAH M. HOWARD, 
 ANNIE A. GIBBS, and a number of others. 
 
 The price of THE ARM CHAIR will remain the same lor the year 1882, and will be sent to any address, 
 postajro free, one year for $3; for six months, $1.50; for three months, 75 cents. For sale by all news- 
 dealers. 
 
 Remember every number of THE ARM CHAIR is in print. Send your name and address for a sample 
 copy, and wo will forward one to you free of charge. Address 
 
 FRANK TOUSEY, PubUsher, 
 
 Box 2730. 34 and 36 North Moore St., New York. 
 
THE BROOKSIDE LIBRARY. 
 
 The Finest, Grandest and Best Family Library Published in the World. 
 EVERY NUMBER IS A COMPLETE LIBRARY IN ITSELF. 
 
 No. 
 1 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 r> 
 (> 
 
 7 
 
 K 
 
 9 
 
 10 
 
 11 
 
 la 
 
 i:j 
 
 14 
 
 ir, 
 
 l*i 
 
 n 
 
 IS 
 
 lit 
 
 ■iO 
 Ml 
 3'i 
 83 
 S4 
 
 ar. 
 
 20 
 
 27 
 SK 
 3)> 
 
 :«) 
 
 31 
 3'i 
 33 
 34 
 35 
 3'i 
 37 
 3S 
 3!) 
 40 
 41 
 43 
 43 
 44 
 4.'> 
 4li 
 47 
 4» 
 40 
 
 no 
 
 61 
 
 n« 
 
 63 
 61 
 
 nr. 
 
 611 
 67 
 68 
 69 
 
 <,n 
 ni 
 
 OS 
 
 STANDARD 
 
 Price. 
 
 Katliloen 6 
 
 From Blossom to Berry 6 
 
 Miss Littoii's Lovers 5 
 
 Two I>atiRlit-erf* of Oiie Race fi 
 
 Marrietl for Gold 6 
 
 .Su-*M't D.I rot hy Cape! 6 
 
 lvi«l,v .MArabout's Troubled 5 
 
 lltiiHirs Divided 5 
 
 I£<'iiiem»>er or Fiirget 6 
 
 A Bnlterdy in Bonds 6 
 
 Only the Old, Old Story B 
 
 Saved hy I.ove Alone 5 
 
 .\ Way ivar<l Fate 6 
 
 .-Vnn. .'. 6 
 
 ll*'r Daring A'enture 6 
 
 .\ Woman's Heart 6 
 
 lleiri'ss ttt a ^lillion 5 
 
 \ Waif's Fortune 6 
 
 .in ICrror of L.<>ve 6 
 
 Love's Faith 5 
 
 K<litli's Seeret 6 
 
 A Strange Guest 6 
 
 Floy 6 
 
 The Fatal Itirthday 6 
 
 By Faith .VIone 6 
 
 Doris 6 
 
 His Wife or Mine 6 
 
 A tiirl's Mistake 6 
 
 A Strange Wedding-Eve 5 
 
 Throngli the Shallow of l>eath. 5 
 
 Sihyl Chester 6 
 
 Lfive Lies Kleeding 5 
 
 A Lost Bride B 
 
 The Time Thev Lost in Wooing 6 
 
 A Lily Maid B 
 
 Mark .Vrcher's t'lioice 6 
 
 A Lover's Triuinpli B 
 
 .'Vt Daggers Drawn 5 
 
 In the I'rimrose Time 6 
 
 The Shadow of a Dreaiu B 
 
 Drifted .\part B 
 
 Queen Mab B 
 
 Husband or Lover B 
 
 .\ Simple ^'eouian 6 
 
 Love's tiolden Harvest 6 
 
 Across the .'\loor 5 
 
 t'arnewood C'liace B 
 
 Avis Morna.v's Knmity 6 
 
 ,V Woman to the Last 5 
 
 Fulke Flemyng's Wife 6 
 
 .\ll In the Golden Weather B 
 
 IsabeHiale 6 
 
 They sto€>p to f'onquer B 
 
 William Gair's Ward B 
 
 Love Uey€»nd the Grave B 
 
 Gladys tile Heiress 
 
 SirKalph'H Kcccntric W^lll. B 
 
 Stainless 6 
 
 Her Bitter Sorrow B 
 
 Onl.v a Woman's Hair 6 
 
 Faust ine « B 
 
 Helena 5 
 
 WORKS 14Y POPULAR AUTHORS 
 
 No. Price. No. 
 
 (»:* AVritton ill I^rttem of Gold 5 
 
 *i4 l>u<l.v Holly's Leap 6 
 
 <i5 Mult iiig SHiulrt 5 
 
 <»«» late 5 
 
 <>7 An <)l«l Maitl'H Folly 5 
 
 H8 A Mystt-rious Lover 6 
 
 (»9 A Happy Ri'K-ase 5 
 
 70 We Kisf*e*l Agaiu with Teai'8 5 
 
 71 KinilelkiiKl 5 
 
 73 Silverdeail 5 
 
 73 A <;iil ^Vorth Winning 5 
 
 74 <;ilt and <i<»ld , rt 
 
 75 My Mistake , 5 
 
 70 One ^I iflsiiimner Day 5 
 
 77 Mai.'^ WooiuKs 5 
 
 78 What Will Ktliel ^ay ? 5 
 
 7!* Minnie Vnrke's Ofl'ertt « 5 
 
 «0 (JleiiKowanV Heir 5 
 
 Kl FauUloNS. 5 
 
 8'-5 A Fair Kipiivalent 5 
 
 83 Seeminp I-aUe, ItrallyTrue 5 
 
 81 Sinned Against iir Mniitug 5 
 
 S/i Fair riiyliiK 6 
 
 8« The <>v«Tst4>pe MyKtcry 5 
 
 87 Never Forj;<>(t^" 5 
 
 88 The I>oeti>r of Mar»tun 5 
 
 8!» Faithful IleartK 5 
 
 90 A Uitter \'enKeanue 4 fi 
 
 !)1 His \'iel<»ria <r*»SH 5 
 
 ii'i lie Stooped ttt <'onquer 5 
 
 »3 A Nohle Sacrilice 5 
 
 94 From a Dintant Shore 5 
 
 95 l-ost L i v«'s 5 
 
 9G An I'ttfr Despair 5 
 
 97 Twite Stolen 5 
 
 98 A Kightenus ICetribution 6 
 
 99 Vanedene 5 
 
 100 She Would Ho a La<lj- 5 
 
 KH Onlya Mar],;uerite 5 
 
 10'-2 Muriel's late 5 
 
 lO.'J Kuth'K l>»)ve-Story 6 
 
 104 Her thoiee 6 
 
 lor. In the Midst of Peril 6 
 
 1(H{ The La.st of the Nngents 5 
 
 107 A Runaway Hride 5 
 
 108 Azalea: or. Love the Winner 5 
 
 109 Clare'H Rival 6 
 
 110 In the Net 5 
 
 111 Poppet 6 
 
 112 My .Second Self -. 6 
 
 113 The Romance i»f a Rose 5 
 
 114 Oarkest llefore Dawn 6 
 
 115 Wife or Widow 6 
 
 11*1 The Lady of Gornuin Lea 5 
 
 117 John < litheroe'8 Ward 6 
 
 118 Too Bad of Him 5 
 
 119 Like No Otlier Love, by the Author 
 
 of "Dora Tliorne" S 
 
 130 The Mai^terof llrereton 6 
 
 131 An Angel I'nawares 5 
 
 133 That Heautiful AVretch, by William 
 
 Ulack 10 
 
 133 The Fatal Marriage, by MIm M. £. 
 
 Hrad<ti>u ti 
 
 134 Dora Thorne 30 
 
 135 Missing, bv Mary Cecil Hay 6 
 
 13H The Red Lights of Rockby 5 
 
 137 The Sin ot a Lifetime, by the Au- 
 
 thor of " l>ora Tliorne" 15 
 
 138 At War With Herself, by the Aytlior 
 
 of** Dora Thorne*' 10 
 
 139 Mrs. Rrtiwn's Uoarding-Honse tliaitrl- 
 
 somely illn.Htraied). by " BricKtop". . .30 
 
 130 Two Hallow Kves, and other sto- 
 
 ries, by Mary Teeil Hay 10 
 
 131 Anne, by Mrs. Henry Wood 5 
 
 133 "One of Three," and "Made or 
 
 Marred,*' hy .lessie Fotlierglll 16 
 
 133 Through the Breakers, and other 
 
 stories, by Marj- i'ecll Hav 5 
 
 134 A Fight for Him, by F. W. Robinson.. 5 
 
 135 The Grass Wl<low, bv F. 1:. West 5 
 
 136 The Third Time of Asking, by l>ut- 
 
 ton C(»ok 5 
 
 137 Miss Anderson's Colors, by F. AV, 
 
 H«>binson 5 
 
 138 Only a Million, bv Charles Gibbon. 5 
 
 139 The Little Karl, by "OuicUi" 5 
 
 140 In the Holidays, l>y Mary Cecil Hay 5 
 
 141 Dudley Carleon, by Miss M. K. Brad- 
 
 don 5 
 
 143 A Shadow on the Threshold, by 
 
 Mary <'ecil Hay ". 5 
 
 143 Kith an<l Kin, by Jesale FothergUl.. 30 
 
 144 Cbrtstowell, by K. J>. Blackmore. . . 30 
 
 145 A Bridge of Love, by the author of 
 
 " DoraTborue " 5 
 
 146 A Romanoi^ of the 19th Century, by 
 
 W. H. Mallock ! 15 
 
 147 Rose Lodge, and other stories, by 
 
 Mrs. Henry Wood 5 
 
 148 My Hero, by Mrs. Forrester 15 
 
 149 The Senior Proctor's Wooing, by J. 
 
 Arbtithnot Wilson 5 
 
 150 The Millers Niece, by Henry W. 
 
 Lucy " 5 
 
 151 A Tale of Sin. by Mrs. Henry Wood.. A 
 153 Passion Flowers, by Beatrice 31. lititt 5 
 
 153 A Dav of Pleasure, by Mrs. Henry 
 
 Wood 5 
 
 154 A Heart's Problem, by Charles Gib- 
 
 bon 10 
 
 155 T^vo Kisses, by the Author of ■" J>ora 
 
 Thorne' 10 
 
 166 The Senior Partner, by Mrs. J. H. 
 
 Riddell 30 
 
 157 Your Money or Your Life, by.Wilkle 
 
 Collins 5 
 
 158 The Woman Who Saved Him, by F. 
 
 W. Robinson 5 
 
 159 The Story of a Railway Journey, by 
 
 Lady Lindsay 
 
 160 The Victim of a Virtue, and other 
 
 stories, by Jaiues I'ajn ff 
 
 LATEST ISSUES: 
 
 IBl The Question OP Cain, by Mrs. Cashel Hoey . . .20c 
 
 1K2 L'.\»soMMOiR, by Emile Zola 20c 
 
 16:! Oi'R Landlord, liy " Bricktop" (illustrateil) . . . 10c 
 104 No .SuKRENDBR, by E. Werner. (Translaletl by Christina 
 
 Tyrrell) 20c 
 
 Ifi.'i now I Married Him, edited by Wilkie Collins . .'ic 
 
 IGCi IIenpeokkd, by "Bricktop" (illustrated) . . . Ific 
 
 li)7 From Gi-oomto Sitxi.mut, by tlio Author of "Dora Thome"' 20c 
 
 lii8 Or.D Loves and New .Ic 
 
 Ifii) Why Had TiiEi- Parted? r>e 
 
 170 A DorBTixr, Love ."ic 
 
 171 One May Day, by Miss Grant 20c 
 
 172 An Only Sister, by Madame Guizot De Witt. Edited by 
 
 Miss Mulock 
 
 175 Paul, Denier's Atonement 
 
 174 Wife in Name Only, by the Author of "Dora Thorne" . 
 17.') Heart and CROS.S, by Mrs. Olipliant .... 
 
 176 .\monq the Ruin.s, and other stories, by Mary Cecil Hay. 
 
 177 A Golde.'^ Heart, by Bertha M. Clay, Author of " Dora 
 
 Thorne" 
 
 178 Second Love, by the Author of "In His Power," etc 
 
 10c 
 5c 
 20c 
 10c 
 10c 
 
 20c 
 20c 
 
 179 Nana, by Emile Zola, translated from tlio French by My- 
 
 ron A. Cooney 20c 
 
 180 East Lynne; or, The Earl's Dattohter, by Mrs. Henry 
 
 Wood 200 
 
 181 The Freres, by Mrs. Alexander 20c 
 
 182 Lord Marsden's Revenge 5c 
 
 183 Teie Perils of Love . . ■ . . . • . 20c 
 
 184 A Foolish Marriage , . 5c 
 
 185 For Love and For Gold 20c 
 
 186 In the Gloamino, by Herbert Herbert . . . .5c 
 
 187 The Beautiful Lady Gladys .5c 
 
 188 For Cash Only, by .Tames Payn 20c 
 
 189 Si-iNOZA, by Berthold .\.uerl)ach 20c 
 
 190 Sweet Bells Acro.ss The Snow 5c 
 
 191 My Marriaoe 20c 
 
 192 PoT-BouiLLE, by Emile Zola 20c 
 
 193 Marion Fay, by Anthony TroUope 20c 
 
 194 A Weak Woman 5c 
 
 195 Mv Sailor Boy 5c 
 
 196 A Dai.nty Little Lady 5c 
 
 You can obtain any 
 
 of the above Books from 
 address, postpaid, by 
 
 any Newsdealer, or they will be sent to your 
 sending the price to 
 
 Box 2730. 
 
 34 and 36 NORTH MOORE STREET, N. Y. 
 
T«R[[ S PLEMOIO m BOOKS. 
 
 The Loves and Intrigues 
 
 KINGS AND°QUEENS, 
 
 EMBRACING 
 
 The Romantic Adventures of the Most Remarkable Heroes, 
 
 Rulers, States'^en, and Prelates who have figured 
 
 in the History of the World, 
 
 AS WELL AS 
 
 THE AMOURS OF THE GREAT EMPRESSES, QUEENS AND PRINCESSES. 
 
 FrMCt: XiS> CKIVTS. 
 
 THIS :F^^DynOTTS 
 
 HEROES AND HEROINES OF HISTORY, 
 
 WITH NAI!KATIVK.S oF THEIR 
 
 Most Stirring- Adventures on Land and Sea, 
 
 T(ii:i:tmi;r with 
 
 DESCRIPTIONS OF THE GREAT BATTLE-FIELDS OF THE WORLD, NAVAL 
 
 ENGAGEMENTS, AND NOTED SIEGES. 
 
 MtlCE «S CKIVTS. 
 
 FAMOUS ASSASSINATIONS 
 
 From the time of Julius Caesar to the Present Day, 
 
 i;MliliACIN(i 
 
 The Lioves, Adventures and Revenges of Many of the Great Characters ■who have 
 
 figured in the Dramas of the World. Containing the Lives and Tragic 
 
 Deaths of the Notorious American Assassins, 
 
 JOHN WILKES BOOTH M CHABLES J. GOITEAB 
 
 And a full account of the Mysterious Assassinations in Phenix Park, Dublin 
 
 PRICE 25 CENTS. 
 
 The atiove books are for sale by all newsiloaliji-s iii Hit. Viiiti-d Slates uiiii Canada, or will be sent to vour address, post-paid, 
 on receipt of the price. Address 
 
 FRANK TOUSEY, PubHsher, 
 
 p. O. Box 2730. 34 and 36 North Moore Street, N. Y. ' 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
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