romantic lives of the shrinking La Valliere, of
Madame de Montespan the impassioned, of sleek Madame de Maintenon--the
trio of beauties honoured by the admiration of Louis le Grand; and of
the bevy of favourites of Louis XV, the three fair and short-lived
sisters de Mailly-Nesle, the frail Pompadour who mingled scheming with
debauchery, and the fascinating but irresponsible Du Barry. Even the most
minute details of Marie Antoinette's tragic career are fresh in our
memories, but which of us can remember the part in the history of France
played by Marie Leczinska? Yet, apart from her claim to notability as
having been the last queen who ended her days on the French throne, her
story is full of romantic interest.

Thrusting aside the flimsy veil of Time, we find Marie Leczinska the
penniless daughter of an exiled Polish king who is living in retirement
in a dilapidated commandatory at a little town in Alsace. It is easy to
picture the shabby room wherein the unforeseeing Marie sits content
between her mother and grandmother, all three diligently broidering
altar cloths. Upon the peaceful scene the father enters, overcome by
emotion, trembling. His face announces great news, before he can school
his voice to speak.

"Why, father! Have you been recalled to the throne of Poland?" asks
Marie, and the naive question reveals that many years of banishment have
not quenched in the hearts of the exiles the hope of a return to their
beloved Poland.

"No, my daughter, but you are to be Queen of France," replies the
father. "Let us thank God."

[Illustration: Marie Leczinska]

Knowing the sequel, one wonders if it was for a blessing or a curse that
the refugees, kneeling in that meagre room in the old house at
Wissenberg, returned thanks.

Certain it is that the ministers of the boy-monarch were actuated more
by a craving to further their own ends than either by the desire to
please God or to honour their King, in selecting this obscure maiden
from the list of ninety-nine marriageable princesses that had been drawn
up at Versailles. A dowerless damsel possessed of no influential
relatives is not in a position to be exacting, and, whate'er befell,
poor outlawed Stanislas Poniatowski could not have taken up arms in
defence of his daughter.

Having a sincere regard for unaffected Marie Leczinska, I regret being
obliged to admit that, even in youth, "comely" was the most effusive
adjective that could veraciously be awarded her.