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 triumph of her conquering eyes.'
If Hortense failed to carry off from the Duchess of Portsmouth--then the
star of Whitehall--the heart of Charles, she found, at all events, in
St. Evremond, one of those French, platonic, life-long friends, who, as
Chateaubriand worshipped Madame Recamier, adored to the last the exiled
niece of Mazarin. Every day, when in her old age and his, the warmth of
love had subsided into the serener affection of pitying, and yet
admiring friendship, St. Evremond was seen, a little old man in a black
coif, carried along Pall Mall in a sedan chair, to the apartment of
Madame Mazarin, in St. James's. He always took with him a pound of
butter, made in his own little dairy, for her breakfast. When De
Grammont was installed at the court of Charles, Hortense was, however,
in her prime.
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