THE GARDENS OF ITALY. 
as hardie et rude, became soft and gay as 
everyone tried to please her, and burnt incense 
before the rising star. It was in the midst of her 
happy dream that the Cardinal and Queen-mother 
urged on the King an alliance with the House of 
Savoy. With a very ill grace the King allowed a 
non-committing meeting with the Duchess of Savoy 
and her daughter to be arranged at Lyons, and 
Maria rode with the Court. The meeting had 
no result, and all could see the reason. That 
was Maria’s hour of triumph. The King never 
left her. He rode by her side, himself saw to 
the choice of her horse and the safety of her 
saddle, surrounding her with an atmosphere of 
love and tenderness, and after long, animated 
conversations with her, showed himself coldly 
averse to the proposed marriage. It was on the 
return from this expedition that he formally asked 
Mazarin for his niece’s hand. Mazarin, who had 
the interests of France sincerely at heart, was 
uncompromising in his refusal; but the King 
declared his devotion to Maria herself and_ his 
determination that she should be his wife and 
Queen of France. It was now that he bought 
for her the famous string of pearls, which 
belonged to the exiled Queen of England, with 
which she never parted during her life, and which 
may be seen to-day on the neck of her descen- 
dant, Princess Rospigliosi. 
The Queen and Cardinal were absolutely 
determined against such a politically undesirable 
marriage, and Maria and her youngest sister were 
exiled to a convent at Brouage. She parted from 
the King with the memorable words that Racine 
puts into the mouth of Berenice : “ Ah Sire, vous 
étes roi; vous pleurez et je pars.” From Brouage 
she kept up a long and ardent correspondence 
with Louis, even after he had been persuaded 
into a betrothal with the Infanta of Spain. 
That Maria was his truest, purest love is not 
to be doubted. She had something proud, farouche, 
chaste in her nature, which then and always 
preserved her from any less honourable connection. 
The King, urged on by public exigency, married 
the Infinta, and Maria suftered terribly from dis- 
appointed love and from the mortification of her 
position. She listened now to her uncle’s wish to 
arrange a marriage for her, and the young Prince 
Charles of Lorraine was first thought of. Her 
enemies persuaded the King, on his return from 
Spain, that she had already transferred her affec- 
tions to the Prince, and the unhappy girl was 
met by him with a cold contempt which aggravated 
her sorrow. 
The King himself had left his dull, sandy- 
haired bride on the homeward journey from Spain, 
to make a pilgrimage to Brouage, to sleep in the 
room Maria had occupied so long, and to weep 
bitterly through the night over her loss. The 
Cardinal decided that it was too dangerous to let 
her remain in France, and a marriage was speedily 
arranged with the young and handsome Colonna, 
( 
93 
who was attracted by the account of her charms 
and the rich dowry given by her uncle. She had 
never seen him, but all fates seeming alike, she 
allowed herself to be married by proxy, and set out 
to Milan to meet him. Before departing, however, 
she had a violent and agitating interview with the 
King, in which they poured out all their hearts, 
and Louis endeavoured to persuade her to throw 
aside all claims and to remain with him; but the 
woman who had hoped to be his wife and Queen 
refused to accept such widely differing terms. She 
left Paris, taking with her his promise of life-long 
protection, and thus closed the first act of Maria 
Mancini’s stormy life. 
The second opens on her arrival at Palazzo 
Colonna. She had been attacked during her 
journey by brain fever, and had lain ill for some 
time at Loreto, and as she recovered she was 
brought by easy stages to her new home by the 
husband who had met her at Milan. The great 
reception prepared had had to be abandoned, but 
all the household was drawn up to welcome her. 
She confesses that her first feeling at sight of the 
palace was one of disappointment, the courtyard 
not being particularly imposing. When, however, 
she passed into those spacious halls, splendidly 
decorated by Pintoricchio, the Carracci, and Guido 
Reni, cooled with fountains and hung with fine 
pictures, she was much struck, and, in spite of her 
weakness, was full of admiration of the rooms 
prepared for her. She was so tired that she had 
to go at once to bed, but she sent to the Constable 
to beg him to share her meal; so he dined by her 
bedside, and she seemed more kindly disposed to 
him than she had yet shown herself. 
As her health reasserted itself, she received 
the visits of all the great Roman ladies. Her 
husband allowed her to live with the freedom of 
French society, much to the vexation of other 
Roman husbands, whose wives were accustomed 
to lead almost cloistered lives. Prince Colonna 
surrounded her with care and attentions, and she 
has left a charming picture of their amusements. 
One hot evening he asked her to walk to see a 
lake. As they turned a corner, they found them- 
selves in Piazza Navona, which had been flooded 
and illuminated and covered with gay boats, their 
flags flying and some having musicians on board. 
A larger one, a bower of flowers and lights, awaited 
the princess ; a concert, fireworks, and waterworks 
were organised to remind her of the gay fétes she 
had left at Fontainebleau. 
The Constable, who at this time adored his 
beautiful young wife, was always planning some- 
thing new. As the heat of the day declined, he 
would take her “in a light carriage, drawn at a 
gallop by six matchless barbs, to the Villa Borghese, 
which Prince Borghese had lent him. Strolling in 
those wonderful gardens, listening to soft music, 
Maria drank in all the intoxication of the Roman 
nights. She was only twenty, and, with a charming 
and devoted lover whispering in her ear, her warm 
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