o had fallen so
desperately in love with this beautiful child, that he declared 'if he
did not marry her he should die in three months.' Cardinal Mazarin,
although he had destined his niece Mary to this alliance, gave his
consent on condition that the duke should take the name of Mazarin. The
cardinal died a year after this marriage, leaving his niece Hortense the
enormous fortune of L1,625,000; yet she died in the greatest
difficulties, and her corpse was seized by her creditors.

The Duc de Mayenne proved to be a fanatic, who used to waken his wife
in the dead of the night to hear his visions; who forbade his child to
be nursed on fast-days; and who believed himself to be inspired. After
six years of wretchedness poor Hortense petitioned for a separation and
a division of property. She quitted her husband's home and took refuge
first in a nunnery, where she showed her unbelief, or her irreverence,
by mixing ink with holy-water, that the poor nuns might black their
faces when they crossed themselves; or, in concert with Madame de
Courcelles, another handsome married woman, she used to walk through the
dormitories in the dead of night, with a number of little dogs barking
at their heels; then she filled two great chests that were over the
dormitories with water, which ran over, and, penetrating through the
chinks of the floor, wet the holy sisters in their beds. At length all
this sorry gaiety was stopped by a decree that Hortense was to return to
the Palais Mazarin; and to remain there until the suit for a separation
should be decided. That the result should be favourable was doubtful:
therefore, one fine night in June, 1667, Hortense escaped. She dressed
herself in male attire, and, attended by a female servant, managed to
get through the gate at Paris, and to enter a carriage. Then she fled to
Switzerland; and, had not her flight been shared by the Chevalier de
Rohan, one of the handsomest men in France, one could hardly have blamed
an escape from a half-lunatic husband. She was only twenty-eight when,
after various adventures, she came in all her unimpaired beauty to
England. Charles was captivated by her charms, and, touched by her
misfortunes, he settled on her a pension of L4,000 a year, and gave her
rooms in St. James's. Waller sang her praise:--

'When through the world fair Mazarine had run,
Bright as her fellow-traveller, the sun:
Hither at length the Roman eagle flies,
As the last triump