Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF COUNT GRAMMONT, VOLUME 7.
By Anthony Hamilton
EDITED, WITH NOTES, BY SIR WALTER SCOTT
CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
RETURN OF THE CHEVALIER GRAMMONT TO FRANCE--HE IS SENT
BACK TO ENGLAND--VARIOUS LOVE INTRIGUES AT THIS COURT,
AND MARRIAGE OF MOST OF THE HEROES OF THESE MEMOIRS.
The nearer the Chevalier de Grammont approached the court of France, the
more did he regret his absence from that of England.
A thousand different thoughts occupied his mind upon the journey:
Sometimes he reflected upon the joy and satisfaction his friends and
relations would experience upon his return; sometimes upon the
congratulations and embraces of those who, being neither the one nor the
other, would, nevertheless, overwhelm him with impertinent compliments:
All these ideas passed quickly through his head; for a man deeply in love
makes it a scruple of conscience not to suffer any other thoughts to
dwell upon his mind than those of the object beloved. It was then the
tender, endearing remembrance of what he had left in London that diverted
his thoughts from Paris; and it was the torments of absence that
prevented his feeling those of the bad roads and the bad horses. His
heart protested to Miss Hamilton, between Montreuil and Abbeville that he
only tore himself from her with such haste, to return the sooner; after
which, by a short reflection, comparing the regret he had formerly felt
upon the same road, in quitting France for England, with that which he
now experienced, in quitting England for France, he found the last much
more insupportable than the former.
It is thus that a man in love entertains himself upon the road; or
rather, it is thus that a trifling writer abuses the patience of his
reader, either to display his own sentiments, or to lengthen out a
tedious story; but God forbid that this character should apply to
ourselves, since we profess to insert nothing in these memoirs, but what
we have heard from the mouth of him whose actions and sayings we transmit
to posterity.
Who, except Squire Feraulas, has ever been able to keep a register of all
the thoughts, sighs, and exclamations, of his illustrious master? For my
own part, I should never have thought that the attention of the Count de
Grammont, which is at present so sensible to inconveniences and dangers,
would have ever permitted him to entertain amorous thoughts upon the
road, if he did not himself dictate to me what I am now writing.
But let us speak of him at Abbeville. The postmaster was his old
acquaintance: His hotel was the best provided of any between Calais and
Paris; and the Chevalier de Grammont, alighting, told Termes he would
drink a glass of wine during the time they were changing horses. It was
about noon; and, since the preceding night, when they had landed at
Calais, until this instant, they had not eat a single mouthful. Termes,
praising the Lord, that natural feelings had for once prevailed over the
inhumanity of his usual impatience, confirmed him as much as possible in
such reasonable sentiments.
Upon their entering the kitchen, where the Chevalier generally paid his
first visit, they were surprised to see half a dozen spits loaded with
game at the fire, and every other preparation for a magnificent
entertainment. The heart of Termes leaped for joy: he gave private
orders to the hostler to pull the shoes off some of the horses, that he
might not be forced away from this place before he had satisfied his
craving appetite.
Soon after, a number of violins and hautboys, attended by all the mob of
the town, entered the court. The landlord, being asked the reason of
these great preparations, acquainted the Chevalier de Grammont that
they were for the wedding of one of the most wealthy gentlemen in the
neighbourhood with one of the handsomest girls in the whole province;
that the entertainment was to be at his house; and that, if his lordship
chose to stop, in a very short time he would see the new-married couple
arrive from the church, since the music was already come. He was right
in his conjectures; for these words were scarce out of his mouth, when
three uncommonly large coaches, loaded with lackeys, as tall as Swiss,
with most gaudy liveries, all covered with lace, appeared in the court,
and disembarked the whole wedding company. Never was country
magnificence more naturally displayed: Rusty tinsel, tarnished lace,
striped silks, little eyes, and full swelling breasts, appeared on every
side.
If the first sight of the procession surprised the Chevalier de Grammont,
faithful Termes was no less astonished at the second. The little that
was to be seen of the bride's face appeared not without beauty; but no
judgment could be formed of the remainder: Four dozen of patches, at
least, and ten ringlets of hair, on each side, most completely concealed
her from all human eyes; but it was the bridegroom who most particularly
attracted the Chevalier de Grammont's attention.
He was as ridiculously dressed as the rest of the company, except a coat
of the greatest magnificence, and of the most exquisite taste. The
Chevalier de Grammont, walking up to him to examine his dress, began to
commend the embroidery of his coat. The bridegroom thought himself much
honoured by this examination, and told him he bought it for one hundred
and fifty louis, at the time he was paying his addresses to his wife.
"Then you did not get it made here?" said the Chevalier de Grammont.
"No," replied the other; "I bought it of a London merchant, who had
ordered it for an English lord." The Chevalier de Grammont, who now
began to perceive in what manner the adventure would end, asked him if
he should recollect the merchant if he saw him again? "Recollect him!"
replied the other, "I surely ought; for I was obliged to sit up drinking
with him all night at Calais, as I was endeavouring to beat down the
price." Termes had vanished out of sight as soon as ever this coat
appeared, though he little supposed that the cursed bridegroom would
have any conversation concerning it with his master.
The Chevalier's thoughts were some time wavering between his inclination
to laugh, and a desire of hanging Master Termes; but the long habit of
suffering himself to be robbed by his domestics, together with the
vigilance of the criminal, whom his master could not reproach with having
slept in his service, inclined him to clemency; and yielding to the
importunities of the country gentleman, in order to confound his faithful
servant, he sat down to table, to make the thirty-seventh of the company.
A short time after, he desired one of the waiters to call for a gentleman
whose name was Termes. He immediately appeared; and as soon as the
master of the feast saw him, he rose from table, and offering him his
hand; "Welcome, my friend," said he; "you see that I have taken good care
of the coat which you sold me with so much reluctance, and that I have
kept it for a good purpose."
Termes, having put on a face of brass, pretended not to know him, and
pushed him back with some degree of rudeness. "No, no!" said the other;
"since I was obliged to sit up with you the whole night, in order to
strike the bargain, you shall pledge me in the bride's health."
The Chevalier de Grammont, who saw that Termes was disconcerted,
notwithstanding his impudence, said to him with a smile: "Come, come, my
good London merchant, sit down, as you are so civilly invited: we are not
so crowded at table but that there will be room enough for such an honest
gentleman as yourself." At these words five-and-thirty of the guests
were in motion to receive this new visitor: the bride alone, out of an
idea of decorum, remained seated; and the audacious Termes, having
swallowed the first shame of this adventure, began to lay about him at
such a rate, as if it had been his intention to swallow all the wine
provided for the wedding, if his master had not risen from the table as
they were taking off four-and-twenty soups, to serve up as many other
dishes in their stead.
The company were not so unreasonable as to desire a man who was in such
haste to remain to the end of a wedding dinner; but they all got up when
he arose from table, and all that he could obtain from the bridegroom was
that the company should not attend him to the gate of the inn. As for
Termes, he wished they had not quitted him till the end of their journey,
so much did he dread being left alone with his master.
They had advanced some distance from Abbeville, and were proceeding on in
the most profound silence, when Termes, who expected an end to it in a
short time, was only solicitous in what manner it might happen, whether
his master would attack him with a torrent of invectives, and certain
epithets which were most justly his due, or whether, in an insulting,
ironical manner, he might make use of such commendations as were most
likely to confound him; but finding, instead of either, that he remained
in sullen silence, he thought it prudent rather to prevent the speech the
Chevalier was meditating than to suffer him to think longer about it;
and, accordingly, arming himself with all his effrontery: "You seem to be
very angry, Sir," said he, "and I suppose you think you have reason for
being so; but the devil take me, if you are not mistaken in reality."
"How! traitor! in reality?" said the Chevalier de Grammont. "It is then
because I have not had thee well thrashed, as thou hast for a long time
merited." "Look ye, Sir," replied Termes, "you always run into a
passion, instead of listening to reason! Yes, Sir, I maintain that
what I did was for your benefit." "And was not the quicksand likewise
for my service?" said the Chevalier de Grammont. "Have patience,
if you please," pursued the other: "I know not how that simpleton of
a bridegroom happened to be at the custom-house when my portmanteau
was examined at Calais: but these silly cuckolds thrust in their noses
everywhere. As soon as ever he saw your coat, he fell in love with it.
I immediately perceived he was a fool; for he fell down upon his knees,
beseeching me to sell it him. Besides being greatly rumpled in the
portmanteau, it was all stained in front by the sweat of the horses.
I wonder how the devil he has managed to get it cleaned; but, faith,
I am the greatest scoundrel in the world, if you would ever have put it
on. In a word, it cost you one hundred and forty louis d'ors, and seeing
he offered me one hundred and fifty for it; 'My master,' said I, 'has no
occasion for this tinselled bauble to distinguish him at the ball; and,
although he was pretty full of cash when I left him, how know I in what
situation he may be upon my return? there is no certainty at play.'
To be brief, Sir, I got ten louis d'ors for it more than it cost you:
this you see is all clear profit: I will be accountable to you for it,
and you know that I am sufficiently substantial to make good such a sum.
Confess now, do you think you would have appeared to greater advantage at
the ball, if you had been dressed out in that damned coat, which would
have made you look just like the village bridegroom to whom we sold it?
and yet how you stormed at London when you thought it lost; what fine
stories you told the king about the quicksand; and how churlish you
looked, when you first began to suppose that this country booby wore it
at his wedding!"
What could the Chevalier reply to such uncommon impudence? If he
indulged his resentment, he must either have most severely bastinadoed
him, or he must have discarded him, as the easiest escape the rogue could
expect; but he had occasion for him during the remainder of his journey;
and, as soon as he was at Paris, he had occasion for him for his return.
The Marechal de Grammont had no sooner notice of his arrival than he went
to him at the hotel; and, the first embraces being over on both sides,
"Chevalier," said the Marechal, "how many days have you been in coming
from London hither? for God knows at what a rate you travel on such
occasions." The Chevalier told him he had been three days upon the road;
and, to excuse himself for making no more haste, he related to him his
Abbeville adventure. "It is a very entertaining one," said his brother;
"but what is yet more entertaining is, that it will be your fault if you
do not find your coat still at table; for the country gentry are not
accustomed to rise very soon from a wedding dinner." And then, in a
very serious tone, told him, "he knew not who had advised him to this
unexpected return, which might probably ruin all his affairs; but he had
orders from the king to bid him go back again without appearing at court.
He told him afterwards that he was very much astonished at his
impatience, as, till this time, he had conducted himself uncommonly well,
and was sufficiently acquainted with the king's temper to know that the
only way to merit his pardon was to wait until it freely came from his
clemency."
The Chevalier, in justification of his conduct, produced Madame de Saint
Chaumont's letter, and told the Marechal that he would very willingly
have spared her the trouble of writing him such kind of news, to occasion
him so useless a journey. "Still more indiscretion," replied his
brother; "for pray how long has our sister being either secretary of
state or minister, that she should be employed by the king to make
known his majesty's order? Do you wish to know the real state of the
case? Some time ago the king told Madame--[Henrietta]--how you had
refused the pension the King of England offered you.
["Henrietta, youngest daughter of Charles the First,--born at Exeter
16th June, 1644, from whence she was removed to London in 1646, and,
with her governess, Lady Dalkeith, soon afterwards conveyed to
France. On the restoration, she came over to England with her
mother, but returned to France in about six months, and was married
to Philip, Duke of Orleans, only brother of Louis XIV. In May,
1670, she came again to Dover, on a mission of a political nature,
it is supposed, from the French king to her brother, in which she
was successful. She died, soon after her return to France,
suddenly, not without suspicion of having been poisoned by her
husband. King James, in his Diary, says, 'On the 22d of June, the
news of the Duchess of Orleans' death arrived. It was suspected
that counter-poisons were given her; but when she was opened, in the
presence of the English ambassador, the Earl of Ailesbury, an
English physician and surgeon, there appeared no grounds of
suspicion of any foul play. Yet Bucks tallied openly that she was
poisoned; and was so violent as to propose to foreign ministers to
make war on France.'--Macpherson's Original Papers, vol i. At the
end of Lord Arlington's Letters are five very remarkable ones from a
person of quality, who is said to have been actually on the spot,
giving a particular relation of her death.]
"He appeared pleased with the manner in which Comminges had related to him
the circumstances attending it, and said he was pleased with you for it:
Madame interpreted this as an order for your recall; and Madame de Saint
Chaumont being very far from possessing that wonderful discretion she
imagines herself mistress of, she hastened to despatch to you this
consequential order in her own hand. To conclude, Madame said yesterday,
when the king was at dinner, that you would very soon be here; and the
king, as soon as dinner was over, commanded me to send you back as soon
as you arrived. Here you are; set off again immediately."
This order might have appeared severe to the Chevalier de Grammont at any
other time; but, in the present state of his heart, he soon resolved upon
obeying. Nothing gave him uneasiness but the officious advice which had
obliged him to leave the English court; and being entirely unconcerned
that he was not allowed to see the French court before his departure, he
only desired the Marechal to obtain leave for him to stay a few days to
collect in some play debts which were owing him. This request was
granted, on condition that he should not remain in Paris.
He chose Vaugirard for his retreat: it was there that he had several
adventures which he so often related in so humorous and diverting a
manner, that it would be tedious to repeat them; there it was that he
administered the sacrament in so solemn a manner, that, as there did not
remain a sufficient number of Swiss at Versailles to guard the chapel,
Vardes was obliged to acquaint the king that they were all gone to the
Chevalier de Grammont, who was administering the sacrament at Vaugirard:
there likewise happened that wonderful adventure which threw the first
slur upon the reputation of the great Saucourt, when, having a
tete-a-tete with the gardener's daughter, the horn, which was agreed upon
as the signal to prevent surprises, was sounded so often, that the
frequent alarms cooled the courage of the celebrated Saucourt, and
rendered useless the assignation that was procured for him with one of
the prettiest girls in the neighbourhood. It was, likewise, during his
stay at Vaugirard, that he paid a visit to Mademoiselle de l'Hopital at
Issy, to inquire into the truth of a report of an amour between her
and a man of the long robe; and it was there that, on his arriving
unexpectedly, the President de Maisons was forced to take refuge in a
closet, with so much precipitation, that half of his robe remained on the
outside when he shut the door; while the Chevalier de Grammont, who
observed it, made his visit excessively long, in order to keep the two
lovers upon the rack.
His business being settled, he set out for England on the wings of love.
Termes redoubled his vigilance upon the road. The post horses were ready
in an instant at every stage: the winds and tides favoured his
impatience; and he reached London with the highest satisfaction. The
court was both surprised and charmed at his sudden return. No person
condoled with him upon his late disappointment, which had occasioned him
to come back, as he testified no manner of uneasiness concerning it
himself: nor was Miss Hamilton in the least displeased at his readiness
in obeying the orders of the king his master.
Nothing new had happened in the English court during his short absence;
but it assumed a different aspect soon after his return: I mean with
respect to love and pleasure, which were the most serious concerns of the
court during the greatest part of this gay reign.
The Duke of Monmouth, natural son to Charles the Second, now made his
first appearance in his father's court.
[James Duke of Monmouth, was the son of Charles the II., by one Lucy
Walters. He was born at Rotterdam, April 9, 1649, and bore the name
of James Crofts until the restoration. His education was chiefly at
Paris, under the eye of the queen-mother, and the government of
Thomas Ross, Esq., who was afterwards secretary to Mr. Coventry
during his embassy in Sweden. At the restoration, he was brought to
England, and received with joy by his father, who heaped honours and
riches upon him, which were not sufficient to satisfy his ambitious
views. To exclude his uncle, the Duke of York, from the throne, he
was continually intriguing with the opposers of government, and was
frequently in disgrace with his sovereign. On the accession of
James II. he made an ineffectual attempt to raise a rebellion, was
taken prisoner, and beheaded on Tower-hill, 15th July, 1685. Mr.
Macpherson has drawn his character in the following terms:
"Monmouth, highly beloved by the populace, was a fit instrument to
carry forward his (i.e. Shaftesbury's) designs. To a gracefulness
which prejudiced mankind in his favour as soon as seen, he joined an
affability which gained their love. Constant in his friendships,
and just to his word, by nature tender, and an utter enemy to
severity and cruelty, active and vigorous in his constitution, he
excelled in the manly exercises of the field. He was personally
brave. He loved the pomp and the very dangers of war. But with
these splendid qualities, he was vain to a degree of folly,
versatile in his measures, weak in his understanding. He was
ambitious without dignity, busy without consequence, attempting ever
to be artful, but always a fool. Thus, taking the applause of the
multitude for a certain mark of merit, he was the dupe of his own
vanity, and owed all his misfortunes to that weakness."--History of
England, vol. i., chap. iii.]
His entrance upon the stage of the world was so brilliant, his ambition
had occasioned so many considerable events, and the particulars of his
tragical end are so recent, that it were needless to produce any other
traits to give a sketch of his character. By the whole tenor of his
life, he appeared to be rash in his undertakings, irresolute in the
execution, and dejected in his misfortunes, in which, at least, an
undaunted resolution ought to equal the greatness of the attempt.
His figure and the exterior graces of his person were such, that nature
perhaps never formed anything more complete: His face was extremely
handsome; and yet it was a manly face, neither inanimate nor effeminate;
each feature having its beauty and peculiar delicacy: He had a wonderful
genius for every sort of exercise, an engaging aspect, and an air of
grandeur: in a word, he possessed every personal advantage; but then he
was greatly deficient in mental accomplishments. He had no sentiments
but such as others inspired him with; and those who first insinuated
themselves into his friendship, took care to inspire him with none but
such as were pernicious. The astonishing beauty of his outward form
caused universal admiration: those who before were looked upon as
handsome were now entirely forgotten at court: and all the gay and
beautiful of the fair sex were at his devotion. He was particularly
beloved by the king; but the universal terror of husbands and lovers.
This, however, did not long continue; for nature not having endowed him
with qualifications to secure the possession of the heart, the fair sex
soon perceived the defect.
The Duchess of Cleveland was out of humour with the king, because the
children she had by his majesty were like so many little puppets,
compared to this new Adonis. She was the more particularly hurt, as she
might have boasted of being the queen of love, in comparison with the
duke's mother.
The king, however, laughed at her reproaches, as, for some time, she had
certainly no right to make any; and, as this piece of jealousy appeared
to be more ill-founded than any she had formerly affected, no person
approved of her ridiculous resentment. Not succeeding in this, she
formed another scheme to give the king uneasiness: Instead of opposing
his extreme tenderness for his son, she pretended to adopt him, in her
affection, by a thousand commendations and caresses, which she was daily
and continually increasing. As these endearments were public, she
imagined they could not be suspected; but she was too well known for
her real design to be mistaken. The king was no longer jealous of her;
but, as the Duke of Monmouth was of an age not to be insensible to the
attractions of a woman possessing so many charms, he thought it proper to
withdraw him from this pretended mother-in-law, to preserve his
innocence, or at least his fame, uncontaminated: it was for this reason,
therefore, that the king married him so young. An heiress of five
thousand pounds a-year in Scotland, offered very a-propos: her person was
full of charms, and her mind possessed all those perfections in which the
handsome Monmouth was deficient.
[This was Lady Anne Scott, daughter and sole heir of Francis, Earl
of Buccleugh, only son and heir of Walter, Lord Scott, created Earl
of Buccleugh in 1619. On their marriage the duke took the surname
of Scott, and he and his lady were created Duke and Duchess of
Buccleugh, Earl and Countess of Dalkeith, Baron and Baroness of
Whitchester and Ashdale in Scotland, by letters patent, dated April
20th, 1673. Also, two days after he was installed at Windsor, the
king and queen, the Duke of York, and most of the court being
present. The next day, being St. George's day, his majesty
solemnized it with a royal feast, and entertained the knights
companions in St. George's hall in the castle of Windsor. Though
there were several children of this marriage, it does not appear to
have been a happy one; the duke, without concealment attaching
himself to Lady Harriet Wentworth, whom, with his dying breath, he
declared he considered as his only wife in the sight of God. The
duchess, in May, 1688, took to her second husband Charles, Lord
Cornwallis. She died Feb. 6, 1731-32, in the 81st year of her age,
and was buried at Dalkeith in Scotland. Our author is not more
correct about figures than he avows himself to be in the arrangement
of facts and dates: the duchess's fortune was much greater than he
has stated it to have been.]
New festivals and entertainments celebrated this marriage. The most
effectual method to pay court to the king, was to outshine the rest in
brilliancy and grandeur; and whilst these rejoicings brought forward all
manner of gallantry and magnificence, they either revived old, or
established new amours.
The fair Stewart, then in the meridian of her glory, attracted all eyes,
and commanded universal respect and admiration. The Duchess of Cleveland
endeavoured to eclipse her at this fate, by a load of jewels, and by all
the artificial ornaments of dress; but it was in vain: her face looked
rather thin and pale, from the commencement of a third or fourth
pregnancy, which the king was still pleased to place to his own account;
and, as for the rest, her person could in no respect stand in competition
with the grace and beauty of Miss Stewart.
It was during this last effort of her charms, that she would have been
queen of England, had the king been as free to give his hand as he was
to surrender his heart: for it was at this time that the Duke of Richmond
took it into his head either to marry her, or to die in the attempt.
A few months after the celebration of the Duke of Monmouth's nuptials,
Killegrew, having nothing better to do; fell in love with Lady
Shrewsbury; and, as Lady Shrewsbury, by a very extraordinary chance,
had no engagement at that time, their amour was soon established. No one
thought of interrupting an intimacy which did not concern any one; but
Killegrew thought proper to disturb it himself. Not that his happiness
fell short of his expectation, nor did possession put him out of love
with a situation so enviable; but he was amazed that he was not envied,
and offended that his good fortune raised him no rivals.
He possessed a great deal of wit, and still more eloquence, which most
particularly displayed itself when he was a little elevated with the
juice of the grape: he then indulged himself in giving luxurious
descriptions of Lady Shrewsbury's most secret charms and beauties, which
above half the court were as well acquainted with as himself.
The Duke of Buckingham was one of those who could only judge from outward
appearances: and appearances, in his opinion, did not seem to promise any
thing so exquisite as the extravagant praises of Killegrew would infer.
As this indiscreet lover was a frequent guest at the Duke of Buckingham's
table, he was continually employing his rhetoric on this subject, and he
had full opportunity for his harangues; for they generally sat down to
dinner at four o'clock, and only rose just in time for the play in the
evening.
The Duke of Buckingham, whose ears were continually deafened with
descriptions of Lady Shrewsbury's merits, resolved at last to examine
into the truth of the matter himself. As soon as he had made the
experiment, he was satisfied; and, though he fancied that fame did
not exceed the truth, yet this intrigue began in such a manner, that
it was generally believed its duration would be short, considering, the
fickleness of both parties, and the vivacity with which they had engaged
in it: nevertheless, no amour in England ever continued so long.
The imprudent Killegrew, who could not be satisfied without rivals, was
obliged, in the end, to be satisfied without a mistress. This he bore
very impatiently; but so far was Lady Shrewsbury from hearkening to, or
affording any redress for the grievances at first complained of, that she
pretended even not to know him. His spirit could not brook such
treatment; and without ever considering that he was the author of his own
disgrace, he let loose all his abusive eloquence against her ladyship: he
attacked her with the most bitter invectives from head to foot: he drew
a frightful picture of her conduct; and turned all her personal charms,
which he used to extol, into defects. He was privately warned of the
inconveniences to which these declamations might subject him, but
despised the advice, and, persisting, he soon had reason to repent it.
As he was returning one evening from the Duke of York's apartments at
St. James's, three passes with a sword were made at him through his
chair, one of which went entirely through his arm. Upon this, he was
sensible of the danger to which his intemperate tongue had exposed him,
over and above the loss of his mistress. The assassins made their escape
across the Park, not doubting but they had dispatched him.
Killegrew thought that all complaints would be useless; for what redress
from justice could he expect for an attempt of which his wounds were his
only evidence? And, besides, he was convinced that if he began a
prosecution founded upon appearances and conjectures, the parties
concerned would take the shortest and most effectual means to put a stop
to all inquiries upon the subject, and that their second attempt would
not prove ineffectual. Being desirous, therefore, of deserving mercy
from those who had endeavoured to assassinate him, he no longer continued
his satires, and said not a word of the adventure. The Duke of
Buckingham and Lady Shrewsbury remained for a long period both happy and
contented. Never before had her constancy been of so long a duration;
nor had he ever been so submissive and respectful a lover.
This continued until Lord Shrewsbury, who never before had shown the
least uneasiness at his lady's misconduct, thought proper to resent this:
it was public enough, indeed, but less dishonourable to her than any of
her former intrigues. Poor Lord Shrewsbury, too polite a man to make any
reproaches to his wife, was resolved to have redress for his injured
honour: he accordingly challenged the Duke of Buckingham; and the Duke
of Buckingham, as a reparation for his honour, having killed him upon the
spot, remained a peaceable possessor of this famous Helen. The public
was at first shocked at the transaction; but the public grows familiar
with everything by habit, and by degrees both decency, and even virtue
itself, are rendered tame, and overcome. The queen was at the head of
those who exclaimed against so public and scandalous a crime, and against
the impunity of such a wicked act. As the Duchess of Buckingham was a
short fat body, like her majesty, who never had had any children, and
whom her husband had abandoned for another; this sort of parallel in
their situations interested the queen in her favour; but it was all in
vain: no person paid any attention to them; the licentiousness of the age
went on uncontrolled, though the queen endeavoured to raise up the
serious part of the nation, the politicians and devotees, as enemies
against it.
The fate of this princess was in many cases truly melancholy: The king,
indeed, paid her every outward attention; but that was all: She easily
perceived that the respect he entertained for her daily diminished, in
proportion as the credit of her rivals increased: She saw that the king
her husband was now totally indifferent about legitimate children, since
his all-charming mistresses bore him others. As all the happiness of her
life depended upon that blessing, and as she flattered herself that the
king would prove kinder to her if Heaven would vouchsafe to grant her
desires, she had recourse to all the celebrated secrets against
sterility: pious vows, nine days' prayers, and offerings having been
tried in all manners, but all to no purpose, she was at last obliged
to return to natural means.
What would she have given on this occasion for the ring which Archbishop
Turpin wore on his finger, and which made Charlemagne run after him, in
the same manner as it had made him run after one of his concubines, from
whose finger Turpin had taken it after her death! But it is now many
years since the only talismans for creating love are the charms of the
person beloved, and foreign enchantments have been looked upon as
ineffectual. The queen's physicians, men of great prudence, sagacity,
and wisdom, as they always are, having duly weighed and considered that
the cold waters of Tunbridge had not succeeded in the preceding year,
concluded that it would be advisable for her to try the warm baths at
Bristol--[Probably Bath, D.W.]--This journey was therefore fixed for the
next season; and in the confidence of its proving effectual, this
excursion would have afforded her much pleasure, if the most dangerous of
her rivals had not been one of the first that was appointed to attend the
court. The Duchess of Cleveland being then near her time, there was no
uneasiness on her account: the common rules of decency required a little
attention. The public, it is true, was not either more or less
acquainted with the circumstances of her situation; by the care which
she now took to conceal it; but her appearing at court in her present
condition would have been too great an insult to the queen. Miss
Stewart, more handsome than ever, was appointed for this excursion, and
began to make magnificent preparations. The poor queen durst say nothing
against it; but all hopes of success immediately forsook her. What could
the baths, or the feeble virtue of the waters, perform against charms
that entirely counteracted their effects, either through the grief and
uneasiness they occasioned her, or by their still more powerful
consequences?
The Chevalier de Grammont, to whom all pleasures were insipid without the
presence of Miss Hamilton, was yet unable to excuse himself from
attending the court: the king delighted too much in his sprightly
conversation to leave him behind; and however pleasing his company might
have been in the solitude occasioned by the absence of the court, Miss
Hamilton did not think it right to accept his offer of staying in town,
because she was obliged to remain there: she, however, granted him the
permission of writing her an account of any news that might occur upon
the journey. He failed not to make use of this permission, in such a
manner as one may imagine: and his own concerns took up so much space
in his letters, that there was very little room left for other subjects
during his stay at the baths. As absence from the object of his
affections rendered this place insupportable, he engaged in everything
that might dissipate his impatience, until the happy moment of return
arrived.
He had a great esteem for the elder of the Hamiltons; no less esteem, and
far more friendship for his brother, whom he made the confidant of his
passion and attachment for his sister. The Chevalier was also acquainted
with his first engagements with his cousin Wetenhall; but being ignorant
of the coldness that had interrupted a commerce so brisk in its
commencement, he was surprised at the eagerness he showed upon all
occasions to please Miss Stewart: his assiduity appeared to the Chevalier
de Grammont to exceed those civilities and attentions that are usually
paid for the purpose of making court to the favourites of princes.
He observed him more strictly, and soon perceived that he was deeper in
love with her than was consistent either with his fortune or his repose.
As soon as the remarks he made had confirmed him in his suspicions,
he resolved to use his endeavours to prevent the consequences of an
engagement pernicious in every respect: but he waited for a proper
opportunity of speaking to him upon the subject.
In the mean time, the court enjoyed every kind of diversion, in a place
where amusement is sought with avidity. The game of bowls, which in
France is the pastime of mechanics and servants only, is quite the
contrary in England, where it is the exercise of gentlemen, and requires
both art and address: it is only in use during the fair and dry part of
the season, and the places where it is practised are charming, delicious
walks, called bowling-greens, which are little square grass plots, where
the turf is almost as smooth and level as the cloth of a billiard-table.
As soon as the heat of the day is over, all the company assemble there:
they play deep; and spectators are at liberty to make what bets they
please.
The Chevalier de Grammont, long before initiated in the English games
and diversions, had been engaged in a horse-race, in which he was indeed
unsuccessful; but he had the satisfaction of being convinced by
experience, that an English horse can go twenty miles upon the high road
in less than an hour. He was more fortunate at cock-fighting; and in the
bets he made at the bowling-green, the party he betted upon never failed
to win.
Near all these places of diversion there is usually a sort of inn, or
house of entertainment, with a bower or arbour, in which are sold all
sorts of English liquors, such as cider, mead, bottled beer, and Spanish
wines. Here the rooks meet every evening to drink, smoke, and to try
their skill upon each other, or, in other words, to endeavour to trick
one another out of the winnings of the day. These rooks are, properly
speaking, what we call capons or piqueurs, in France; men who always
carry money about them, to enable them to lend to losing gamesters, for
which they receive a gratification, which is nothing for such as play
deep, as it is only two per cent., and the money to be repaid the next
day.
These gentlemen are so nice in their calculations, and so particularly
skilful in all manner of games, that no person would dare to enter the
lists with them, were they even assured that no unfairness would be
practised. Besides, they make a vow, to win four or five guineas a day,
and to be satisfied with that gain; a vow which they seldom or never
break.
It was in the midst of a company of these rooks, that Hamilton found the
Chevalier de Grammont, when he called in one evening to get a glass of
cider. They were playing at hazard; and as he who holds the dice is
supposed to have the advantage, the rooks did the Chevalier de Grammont
that honour out of compliment: he had the dice in his hand when Hamilton
came into the room. The rooks, secure of their odds, were betting
against him at a high rate, and he took all.
Hamilton could hardly believe his eyes, to see a man of his experience
and knowledge engaged in so unequal a contest; but it was to no purpose
that he informed him of his danger, both aloud in French, and in private
by signs; he still disregarded his warnings, and the dice, that bore
Caesar and his fortunes, performed a miracle in his favour. The rooks
were defeated for the first time, but not without bestowing upon him all
the encomiums and praises of being a very fair and honourable player,
which they never fail to lavish upon those whom they wish to engage a
second time; but all their commendations were lost, and their hopes
deceived: the Chevalier was satisfied with the first experiment.
Hamilton, when the king was at supper, related to him how he found the
Chevalier de Grammont rashly engaged with the rooks, and in what manner
he had been providentially preserved. "Indeed, Sir," said the Chevalier
de Grammont, "the rooks were discomfited for once;" and thereupon related
the adventure to his majesty in his usual way, attracting the attention
of all the company, to a circumstance trifling in itself, but rendered
interesting by his humour.
After supper, Miss Stewart, in whose apartment there was play, called
Hamilton to her to tell the story. The Chevalier de Grammont, perceiving
that she attended to him with pleasure, was fully confirmed in the truth
of his first conjectures; and, having carried Hamilton home with him to
supper, they began to discourse freely together as usual, "George," said
the Chevalier de Grammont, "are you in any want of money? I know you
love play: perhaps it may not be so favourable to you as it is to me. We
are at a great distance from London. Here are two hundred guineas: take
them, I beseech you; they will do to play with at Miss Stewart's."
Hamilton, who little expected this conclusion, was rather disconcerted.
"How! at Miss Stewart's!" "Yes, in her apartments. Friend George,"
continued the Chevalier de Grammont, "I have not yet lost my eyes: you
are in love with her, and, if I am not mistaken, she is not offended at
it; but tell me how you could resolve to banish poor Wetenhall from your
heart, and suffer yourself to be infatuated with a girl, who perhaps
after all is not worth the other, and who besides, whatever favourable
dispositions she may have for you, will undoubtedly in the end prove your
ruin. Faith, your brother and you are two pretty fellows, in your
choice. What! can you find no other beauties in all the court to fall
in love with, except the king's two mistresses! As for the elder
brother, I can pardon him he only took Lady Castlemaine after his master
had done with her, and after Lady Chesterfield had discarded him; but,
as for you, what the devil do you intend to do with a creature, on whom
the king seems every day to dote with increasing fondness? Is it because
that drunken sot Richmond has again come forward, and now declares
himself one of her professed admirers? You will soon see what he will
make by it: I have not forgotten what the king said to me upon the
subject. 'Believe me, my dear friend, there is no playing tricks with
our masters; I mean, there is no ogling their mistresses.' I myself
wanted to play the agreeable in France with a little coquette, whom
the king did not care about, and you know how dearly I paid for it.
I confess she gives you fair play, but do not trust to her. All the sex
feel an unspeakable satisfaction at having men in their train, whom they
care not for, and to use them as their slaves of state, merely to swell
their equipage. Would it not be a great deal better to pass a week or
ten days incognito at Peckham, with the philosopher Wetenhall's wife,
than to have it inserted in the Dutch Gazette.--We hear from Bristol,
that such a one is banished the court on account of Miss Stewart, and
that he is going to make a campaign in Guinea on board the fleet that is
fitting out for the expedition, under the command of Prince Rupert."
Hamilton, who was the more convinced of the truth of this discourse, the
more he considered it, after musing some time, appeared to wake from a
dream, and addressing himself with an air of gratitude to the Chevalier
de Grammont: "Of all the men in the world, my dear friend," said he, "you
have the most agreeable wit, and at the same time the clearest judgment
with respect to your friends: what you have told me has opened my eyes.
I began to suffer myself to be seduced by the most ridiculous illusion
imaginable, and to be hurried away rather by frivolous appearances than
any real inclination: to you I owe the obligation of having preserved me
from destruction at the very brink of a precipice. This is not the only
kindness you have done me, your favours have been innumerable; and,
as a proof of my gratitude for this last, I will follow your advice,
and go into retirement at my cousin Wetenhall's, to eradicate from my
recollection every trace of those chimeras which lately possessed my
brain; but so far from going thither incognito, I will take you along
with me, as soon as the court returns to London. My sister shall
likewise be of the party; for it is prudent to use all precautions with
a man who, with a great deal of merit, on such occasions is not over
scrupulous, if we may credit your philosopher." "Do not pay any
attention to that pedant," replied the Chevalier de Grammont: "but tell
me what put it into your head to form a design upon that inanimate
statue, Miss Stewart?" "How the devil should I know?" said Hamilton:
"you are acquainted with all her childish amusements. The old Lord
Carlingford was at her apartment one evening, showing her how to hold a
lighted wax candle in her mouth, and the grand secret consisted in
keeping the burning end there a long time without its being extinguished.
I have, thank God, a pretty large mouth, and, in order to out-do her
teacher, I took two candles into my mouth at the same time, and walked
three times round the room without their going out. Every person present
adjudged me the prize of this illustrious experiment, and Killegrew
maintained that nothing but a lanthorn could stand in competition with
me. Upon this she was like to die with laughing; and thus was I admitted
into the familiarity of her amusements. It is impossible to deny her
being one of the most charming creatures that ever was: since the court
has been in the country, I have had an hundred opportunities of seeing
her, which I had not before. You know that the dishabille of the bath is
a great convenience for those ladies, who, strictly adhering to all the
rules of decorum, are yet desirous to display all their charms and
attractions. Miss Stewart is so fully acquainted with the advantages she
possesses over all other women, that it is hardly possible to praise any
lady at court for a well-turned arm, and a fine leg, but she is ever
ready to dispute the point by demonstration; and I really believe, that,
with a little address, it would not be difficult to induce her to strip
naked, without ever reflecting upon what she was doing. After all, a man
must be very insensible to remain unconcerned and unmoved on such happy
occasions; and, besides, the good opinion we entertain of ourselves is
apt to make us think a woman is smitten, as soon as she distinguishes us
by habitual familiarity, which most commonly signifies nothing. This is
the truth of the matter with respect to myself: my own presumption, her
beauty, the brilliant station that sets it off, and a thousand kind
things she had said to me, prevented me from making serious reflections;
but then, as some excuse for my folly, I must likewise tell you, that the
facility I found in making her the tenderest declarations by commending
her, and her telling me in confidence a thousand things which she ought
not to have entrusted me with, might have deceived or infatuated any
other man as well as myself.
"I presented her with one of the prettiest horses in England. You know
what peculiar grace and elegance distinguish her on horseback. The king,
who, of all the diversions of the chase, likes none but hawking, because
it is the most convenient for the ladies, went out the other day to take
this amusement, attended by all the beauties of his court. His majesty
having galloped after a falcon, and the whole bright squadron after him,
the rustling of Miss Stewart's petticoats frightened her horse, which was
at full speed, endeavouring to come up with mine, that had been his
companion; so that I was the only witness of a disorder in her clothes,
which displayed a thousand new beauties to my view. I had the good
fortune to make such gallant and flattering exclamations upon that
charming disorder as to prevent her being concerned or out of countenance
upon it: on the contrary, this subject of my admiration has been
frequently since the subject of our conversation, and did not seem to
displease her.