Extract from a letter dated 11 September 1675, written by The Marchioness de Sevigne to her daughter, the Countess de Grignan.

"With regard to England, Mademoiselle de Kéroualle has not been disappointed in anything she proposed; she desired to be a mistress to the King, and she is so. He lodges with her almost every night in the face of all the whole Court. She has had a son, who has been acknowledged, and presented with two dutchies. She amasses treasure, and makes herself feared and respected by as many as she can. But she did not foresee that she should find a young actress in her way, whom the King doats on; and she had it not in her power to withdraw him from her. He divides his care, his time, and his health between these two. The actress is as haughty as Mademoiselle; she insults her, she makes grimaces at her, she attacks her, she frequently steals the King from her, and boasts whenever he gives her the preference. She is young, indiscreet, confident, wild, and of an agreeable humour; she sings, she dances, she acts her part with a good grace. She has a son by the King, and hopes to have him acknowledged. As to Mademoiselle, she reasons thus: this dutches says she, pretends to be a person of quality. If she be a lady of such quality, why does she demean herself to be a courtesan? She ought to die for shame. As for me, it is my profession; I do not pretend to be anything better. The King entertains me, and I am constant to him at present. He has a son by me; I pretend that he ought to acknowledge him, and I am well assured he will, for he loves me as well as he does Mademoiselle. This creature gets the upper hand, and discountenances, and embarrasses the dutchess extremely. I like these original characters..."

Louise de Kéroualle returned to France as a wealthy woman and lived to the age of 85. Voltaire knew her when she was seventy and described her "with a face still noble and pleasing, that the years had never withered." She died on the same date as Nell Gwyn - the 14th of November - but forty-seven years later.

Dialogue by Rochester:

Nell Gwyn:

When to the King I big good morrow
With tongue in mouth and hand on tarse,
Portsmouth may rend her cunt for sorrow,
And Mazarin may kiss mine arse.



The Duchess of Portsmouth:


When England's monarch's on my belly,
With prick in cunt, though double crammed,
Fart of mine arse for small whore Nelly,
And great whore Mazarin be damned.



The King:


When on Portsmouth's lap I lay my head,
And Knight does sing her bawdy song,
I envy not George Porter's be,
Nor the delights of Madame Long.



The People:


Now heavens preserve our faith's defender
From Paris plots and Roman cunt;
From Mazarin, that new pretender,
And from that politique, Grammont.