town between Parma and Placentia. Alberoni, who filled nearly the same situation about his person, that he had done about that of Monsignor Barnithe situation of a diverting companion, was his attendant on the occasion.

When these reverend deputies were announced to Vendome, he happened to be performing a ceremony, the gravity of history finds it difficult to express.* He was not a man to be disturbed by the entrance of such deputies. Without therefore changing his position, he ordered them to be admitted.

Roncovieri, a nobleman and a bishop, affronted at this strange reception, precipitately withdrew; but Alberoni remained, witnessed the whole process with much good-humour, and finally broke out into a sally of buffoon adulation, exactly calculated to please the Duke.

The Duke was indeed so pleased, that he would not allow him to return to the court of Parma, but kept him with him to season his nocturnal revels with that gross pleasantry in which he delighted.

Alberoni saw the moment of his fortune arrived; and determined to improve it.†

* He was actually on his close-stool. At the conclusion he exhibited himself in a way, which produced the burlesque exclamation of Alberoni, "Ah culo di Angelo!"

+ Another account is, that his introduction to Vendome was by means of a poet of the name of Capriston, with whom he had accidentally formed an acquaintance. I have followed the narrative of the Duke de St. Simon and Duclos.

The Duke had a voracious appetite for flattery. This he plentifully supplied. With the topics of adulation, he occasionally intermixed obscene jests and stories, was busy in the kitchen, and possessed the art of dressing ragouts of cheese to the Duke's taste.

He was soon admitted to familiarity, crept into his patron's confidence, and was allowed to inspect his letters.

This inflaming his natural presumption, his impertinence would sometimes draw on him severe chastisement. On one occasion, he received a regular caning in presence of the whole army but his vivacity was proof against such checks. He was laughed at, laughed himself.

When Vendome quitted Italy, he took Alberoni along with him. He continued an humble attendant about his person, sometimes in Flanders, sometimes in the Duke's retirement of Anet; and in this capacity, followed him to Spain in 1710, where Vendome was sent to take the command of the French and Spanish army. The monarchy was obstinately disputed between Philip, of the family of Bourbon, supported by his grandfather, Lewis XIV. and the Archduke Charles, brother to the Emperor Joseph..

Philip, who was finally declared King of Spain, was a prince of slender capacity, indolent, and uxorious. His wife, who was in reality the sovereign, was Maria-Louisa, of Savoy, daughter

of Duke Victor Amodeus; and she used with moderation the power she derived from the character and passions of her husband. Her disposition was undescribably sweet, and pictured in her lovely countenance. Her eyes were touched with a sprightly softness, which bespoke a mind at once gentle and animated. Her person was small, but finely proportioned. She was adored by the people, and deserved their attachment, not only by the affable graces which adorned her, but by the higher virtues of courage and magnanimity. These she had often occasion to exert.

Reverses had nearly wearied out the constancy of Philip. In despair, he was on the point of giving up his crown. The voice of his consort made him ashamed of his weakness, and called up in his breast more generous resolutions.

Lewis XIV. sinking in the same manner under the misfortunes of war, would have withdrawn his support from his grandson, but this temporary wavering was soon overcome, by the pathetic entreaties and mild expostulations of Maria-Louisa.

When the royal coffers were exhausted, and the financiers of Philip perplexed, she procured money by her soothing address and captivating manners.

In one of these pressing exigencies, she went in person to the town-hall of Madrid, and harangued the magistrates with the dignity of a queen, and the persuasive sweetness of a woman. They immediately contributed six thousand pistoles.

By the forms of the Spanish court, the Cameristas, or young ladies who attend the Queen, are under the care and superintendance of a chief, who is called Camerara Major.

This is a situation of considerable importance, from the opportunities of personal influence which it gives.

On the marriage of Philip, Cardinal Portocarrero had procured it for a lady to whom he had been attached by very tender ties. This was the Princess D'Ursini.

She was a French woman by birth;—her name La Tremouille. When very young, she had been married to Talleyrand, Prince de Chalais. After his death, she travelled into Italy. Here she became acquainted with Cardinal Portocarrero. A rich Italian nobleman, the Duke de Bracciano, of the family D'Ursini, was persuaded to fall in love with her, and marry her.

She now established her residence at Rome. Her house was the resort of all that was elegant and distinguished in that city. Every one was in good-humour, except her husband. But this created little uneasiness in the sprightly Duchess. She amused herself with occasional excursions to Paris. In one of these, she formed a connection with Madame de Maintenon, and was admitted into her little knot of saints.

She soon distinguished herself by the vigour of her orthodoxy.

The mother of the Gallican church had been unfortunately seduced by the soft, mystical eloquence of Fenelon, in the famous controversy concerning the love of God. The tender-hearted Archbishop had recommended this love in language so much resembling that of human passion, that the ladies were zealous partisans of his opinions, Not so D'Ursini; she was rigid and inflexible. Returning from one of her visits to the French capital, she found her husband dead. After this, whether from the embarrassment of her circumstances, or from that unaccountable ambition often observed among the higher ranks of mankind, of courting slavery when disguised by the names and splendid trappings of greatness, she quitted the life of independence she had hitherto led, and solicited the appointment that has been mentioned, of Camerara Major to the Queen of Spain.

This is the picture she gives of her situation: "Good God! what a lot has been cast upon me; I have not a moment's repose! The time is past, when I could take a little rest after my dinner, and eat when I was hungry. I esteem myself but too lucky when I can make a hurried meal. It often happens I am called away just as I am tasting the first bit. I have the honour of giving the King his

* In one of her letters, quoted in the Memoires de Noailles, she says, "Je suis gueuse; il est vrai:" yet it is mentioned in the Memoires de St. Simon, that she had been recently left a considerable fortune.