As those who read only for amusement are, in my opinion, more worthy of
attention than those who open a book merely to find fault, to the former
I address myself, and for their entertainment commit the following
pages to press, without being in the least concerned about the severe
criticisms of the latter. I further declare, that the order of time and
disposition of the facts, which give more trouble to the writer than
pleasure to the reader, shall not much embarrass me in these Memoirs.
It being my design to convey a just idea of my hero, those circumstances
which most tend to illustrate and distinguish his character shall find
a place in these fragments just as they present themselves to
my imagination, without paying any particular attention to their
arrangement. For, after all, what does it signify where the portrait
is begun, provided the assemblage of the parts forms a whole which
perfectly expresses the original? The celebrated Plutarch, who treats
his heroes as he does his readers, commences the life of the one just as
he thinks fit, and diverts the attention of the other with digressions
into antiquity, or agreeable passages of literature, which frequently
have no reference to the subject; for instance, he tells us that
Demetrius Poliorcetes was far from being so tall as his father,
Antigonus; and afterwards, that his reputed father, Antigonus, was only
his uncle; but this is not until he has begun his life with a short
account of his death, his various exploits, his good and bad qualities;
and at last, out of compassion to his failings, brings forward a
comparison between him and the unfortunate Mark Antony.
What I have said upon this subject is not meant to reflect upon this
historian, to whom, of all the ancients, we are most obliged; it is only
intended to authorize the manner in which I have treated a life far more
extraordinary than any of those he has transmitted to us. It is my part
to describe a man whose inimitable character casts a veil over those
faults which I shall neither palliate nor disguise; a man distinguished
by a mixture of virtues and vices so closely linked together as in
appearance to form a necessary dependence, glowing with the greatest
beauty when united, shining with the brightest lustre when opposed.
It is this indefinable brilliancy, which, in war, in love, in gaming,
and in the various stages of a long life, has rendered the Count de
Grammont the admiration of his age, and the delight of every country
wherein he has displayed his engaging wit, dispensed his generosity and
magnificence, or practised his inconstancy: it is owing to this that
the sallies of a sprightly imagination have produced those admirable
bons-mots which have been with universal applause transmitted to
posterity. It is owing to this that he preserved his judgment free and
unembarrassed in the most trying situations, and enjoyed an uncommon
presence of mind and facetiousness of temper in the most imminent
dangers of war. I shall not attempt to draw his portrait: his person has
been described by Bussi and St. Evremond, authors more entertaining than
faithful.
[Voltaire, in the age of Louis XIV., ch. 24, speaking of that
monarch, says, “even at the same time when he began to encourage
genius by his liberality, the Count de Bussi was severely punished
for the use he made of his: he was sent to the Bastile in 1664.
‘The Amours of the Gauls’ was the pretence of his imprisonment; but
the true cause was the song in which the king was treated with too
much freedom, and which, upon this occasion, was brought to
remembrance to ruin Bussi, the reputed author of it.
Que Deodatus est heureux,
De baiser ce bec amoureux,
Qui d’une oreille a l’autre va!
See Deodatus with his billing dear,
Whose amorous mouth breathes love from ear to ear!
“His works were not good enough to compensate for the mischief they
did him. He spoke his own language with purity: he had some merit,
but more conceit: and he made no use of the merit he had, but to
make himself enemies.” Voltaire adds, “Bussi was released at the
end of eighteen months; but he was in disgrace all the rest of his
life, in vain protesting a regard for Louis XIV.” Bussi died 1693.
Of St. Evremond, see note, postea.]
The former has represented the Chevalier Grammont as artful, fickle, and
even somewhat treacherous in his amours, and indefatigable and cruel
in his jealousies. St. Evremond has used other colours to express the
genius and describe the general manners of the Count; whilst both, in
their different pictures, have done greater honour to themselves than
justice to their hero.
It is, therefore, to the Count we must listen, in the agreeable relation
of the sieges and battles wherein he distinguished himself under another
hero; and it is on him we must rely for the truth of passages the least
glorious of his life, and for the sincerity with which he relates his
address, vivacity, frauds, and the various stratagems he practised
either in love or gaming. These express his true character, and to
himself we owe these memoirs, since I only hold the pen, while he
directs it to the most remarkable and secret passages of his life.
CHAPTER SECOND. ARRIVAL OF THE CHEVALIER GRAMMONT AT THE SIEGE OF TRINO,
AND THE LIFE HE LED THERE
In those days affairs were not managed in France as at present. Louis
XIII.--[Son and successor of Henry IV. He began to reign 14th May, 1610,
and died 14th May, 1643.]--then sat upon the throne, but the Cardinal de
Richelieu, governed the kingdom; great men commanded little armies, and
little armies did great things; the fortune of great men depended solely
upon ministerial favour, and blind devotion to the will of the minister
was the only sure method of advancement.
[Of this great minister Mr. Hume gives the following character:--
“Undaunted, Undaunted and implacable, prudent and active, he braved
all the opposition of the French princes and nobles in the
prosecution of his vengeance; he discovered and dissipated all their
secret cabals and conspiracies. His sovereign himself he held in
subjection, while he exalted the throne. The people, while they
lost their liberties, acquired, by means of his administration,
learning, order, discipline, and renown.”]
Vast designs were then laying in the heart of neighbouring states the
foundation of that formidable greatness to which France has now risen:
the police was somewhat neglected; the highways were impassable by day,
and the streets by night; but robberies were committed elsewhere with
greater impunity. Young men, on their first entrance into the world,
took what course they thought proper. Whoever would, was a chevalier,
and whoever could, an abbe: I mean a beneficed abbe: dress made no
distinction between them; and I believe the Chevalier Grammont was both
the one and the other at the siege of Trino.--[Trino was taken 4th
May, 1639.]--This was his first campaign, and here he displayed those
attractive graces which so favourably prepossess, and require neither
friends nor recommendations in any company to procure a favourable
reception. The siege was already formed when he arrived, which saved him
some needless risks; for a volunteer cannot rest at ease until he has
stood the first fire: he went therefore to reconnoitre the generals,
having no occasion to reconnoitre the place. Prince Thomas commanded
the army; and as the post of lieutenant-general was not then known, Du
Plessis Pralin and the famous Viscount Turenne were his majors general.
Fortified places were treated with some respect, before a power which
nothing can withstand had found means to destroy them by dreadful
showers of bombs, and by destructive batteries of hundreds of pieces of
cannon. Before these furious storms which drive governors underground
and reduce their garrisons to powder, repeated sallies bravely repulsed,
and vigorous attacks nobly sustained, signalized both the art of the
besiegers and the courage of the besieged; consequently, sieges were of
some length, and young men had an opportunity of gaining some knowledge.
Many brave actions were performed on each side during the siege of
Trino; a great deal of fatigue was endured, and considerable losses
sustained; but fatigue was no more considered, hardships were no more
felt in the trenches, gravity was at an end with the generals, and the
troops were no longer dispirited after the arrival of the Chevalier
Grammont. Pleasure was his pursuit, and he made it universal.
Among the officers in the army, as in all other places, there are men of
real merit, or pretenders to it. The latter endeavoured to imitate the
Chevalier Grammont in his most shining qualities, but without success;
the former admired his talents and courted his friendship. Of this
number was Matta:
[Matta, or Matha, of whom Hamilton has drawn so striking a picture,
is said to have been of the house of Bourdeille, which had the
honour to produce Brautome and Montresor. The combination of
indolence and talent, of wit and simplicity, of bluntness and irony,
with which he is represented, may have been derived from tradition,
but could only have been united into the inimitable whole by the pen
of Hamilton. Several of his bons-mots have been preserved; but the
spirit evaporates in translation. “Where could I get this nose,”
said Madame D’Albret, observing a slight tendency to a flush in that
feature. “At the side board, Madame,” answered Matta. When the
same lady, in despair at her brother’s death, refused all
nourishment, Matta administered this blunt consolation: “If you are
resolved, madame, never again to swallow food, you do well; but if
ever you mean to eat upon any future occasion, believe me, you may
as well begin just now.” Madame Caylus, in her Souvenirs,
commemorates the simple and natural humour of Matta as rendering him
the most delightful society in the world. Mademoiselle, in her
Memoirs, alludes to his pleasantry in conversation, and turn for
deep gaming. When the Memoirs of Grammont were subjected to the
examination of Fontenelle, then censor of the Parisian press, he
refused to license them, or account of the scandalous conduct
imputed to Grammont in this party at quinze. The count no sooner
heard of this than he hastened to Fontenelle, and having joked him
for being more tender of his reputation than he was himself, the
license was instantly issued. The censor might have retorted upon
Grammont the answer which the count made to a widow who received
coldly his compliments of condolence on her husband’s death: “Nay,
madame, if that is the way you take it, I care as little about it as
you do.” He died in 1674. “Matta est mort sans confession,” says
Madame Maintenon, in a letter to her brother. Tome I., p. 67.]
He was agreeable in his person, but still more by the natural turn of
his wit; he was plain and simple in his manners, but endued with a quick
discernment and refined delicacy, and full of candour and integrity in
all his actions. The Chevalier Grammont was not long in discovering his
amiable qualities; an acquaintance was soon formed, and was succeeded by
the strictest intimacy.
Matta insisted that the Chevalier should take up his quarters with him;
to which he only consented on condition of equally contributing to the
expense. As they were both liberal and magnificent, at their common cost
they gave the best designed and most luxurious entertainments that had
ever yet been seen. Play was wonderfully productive at first, and the
Chevalier restored by a hundred different ways that which he obtained
only by one. The generals, being entertained by turns, admired their
magnificence, and were dissatisfied with their own officers for not
keeping such good tables and attendance. The Chevalier had the talent of
setting off the most indifferent things to advantage; and his wit was so
generally acknowledged, that it was a kind of disgrace not to submit to
his taste. To him Matta resigned the care of furnishing the table and
doing its honours; and, charmed with the general applause, persuaded
himself that nothing could be more honourable than their way of living,
and nothing more easy than to continue it; but he soon perceived that
the greatest prosperity is not the most lasting. Good living, bad
economy, dishonest servants, and ill-luck, all uniting together to
disconcert their housekeeping, their table was going to be gradually
laid aside, when the Chevalier’s genius, fertile in resources, undertook
to support his former credit by the following expedient.
They had never yet conferred about the state of their finances, although
the steward had acquainted each, separately, that he must either receive
money to continue the expenses, or give in his accounts. One day, when
the Chevalier came home sooner than usual, he found Matta fast asleep in
an easy chair, and, being unwilling to disturb his rest, he began musing
on his project. Matta awoke without his perceiving it; and having, for
a short time, observed the deep contemplation he seemed involved in,
and the profound silence between two persons who had never held their
tongues for a moment when together before, he broke it by a sudden fit
of laughter, which increased in proportion as the other stared at him.
“A merry way of waking, and ludicrous enough,” said the Chevalier;
“what is the matter, and whom do you laugh at!” “Faith, Chevalier,” said
Matta, “I am laughing at a dream I had just now, which is so natural and
diverting, that I must make you laugh at it also. I was dreaming that we
had dismissed our maitre-d’hotel, our cook, and our confectioner, having
resolved, for the remainder of the campaign, to live upon others as
others have lived upon us: this was my dream. Now tell me, Chevalier, on
what were you musing?” “Poor fellow!” said the Chevalier, shrugging up
his shoulders, “you are knocked down at once, and thrown into the utmost
consternation and despair at some silly stories which the maitre-d’hotel
has been telling you as well as me. What! after the figure we have made
in the face of the nobility and foreigners in the army, shall we give it
up, and like fools and beggars sneak off, upon the first failure of
our money! Have you no sentiments of honour? Where is the dignity of
France?” “And where is the money?” said Matta; “for my men say, the
devil may take them, if there be ten crowns in the house, and I believe
you have not much more, for it is above a week since I have seen you
pull out your purse, or count your money, an amusement you were very
fond of in prosperity.” “I own all this,” said the Chevalier, “but yet I
will force you to confess, that you are but a mean-spirited fellow upon
this occasion. What would have become of you if you had been reduced to
the situation I was in at Lyons, four days before I arrived here? I will
tell you the story.”
CHAPTER THIRD. EDUCATION AND ADVENTURES OF THE CHEVALIER GRAMMONT BEFORE
HIS COMING TO THE SIEGE OF TRINO
“This,” said Matta, “smells strongly of romance, except that it should
have been your squire’s part to tell your adventures.”
“True,” said the Chevalier; “however, I may acquaint you with my first
exploits without offending my modesty; besides, my squire’s style
borders too much upon the burlesque for an heroic narrative.
“You must know, then, that upon my arrival at Lyons--”
“Is it thus you begin?” said Matta. “Pray give us your history a little
further back. The most minute particulars of a life like yours are
worthy of relation; but above all, the manner in which you first
paid your respects to Cardinal Richelieu: I have often laughed at it.
However, you may pass over the unlucky pranks of your infancy, your
genealogy, name and quality of your ancestors, for that is a subject
with which you must be utterly unacquainted.”
“Pooh!” said the Chevalier; “you think that all the world is as ignorant
as yourself; you think that I am a stranger to the Mendores and the
Corisandes. So, perhaps I don’t know that it was my father’s own fault
that he was not the son of Henry IV. The king would by all means have
acknowledged him for his son, but the traitor would never consent to it.
See what the Grammonts would have been now, but for this cross-grained
fellow! They would have had precedence of the Caesars de Vendome. You
may laugh if you like, yet it is as true as the gospel: but let us come
to the point.
“I was sent to the college of Pau, with the intention of being brought
up to the church; but as I had quite different views, I made no manner
of improvement: gaming was so much in my head, that both my tutor and
the master lost their labour in endeavouring to teach me Latin. Old
Brinon, who served me both as valet-de-chambre and governor, in vain
threatened to acquaint my mother. I only studied when I pleased, that is
to say, seldom or never: however, they treated me as is customary with
scholars of my quality; I was raised to all the dignities of the forms,
without having merited them, and left college nearly in the same
state in which I entered it; nevertheless, I was thought to have
more knowledge than was requisite for the abbacy which my brother had
solicited for me. He had just married the niece of a minister, to whom
every one cringed: he was desirous to present me to him. I felt but
little regret to quit the country, and great impatience to see Paris. My
brother having kept me some time with him, in order to polish me, let me
loose upon the town to shake off my rustic air, and learn the manners of
the world. I so thoroughly gained them, that I could not be persuaded
to lay them aside when I was introduced at court in the character of an
Abby. You know what kind of dress was then the fashion. All that they
could obtain of me was to put a cassock over my other clothes, and my
brother, ready to die with laughing at my ecclesiastical habit, made
others laugh too. I had the finest head of hair in the world, well
curled and powdered, above my cassock, and below were white buskins and
gilt spurs. The Cardinal, who had a quick discernment, could not help
laughing. This elevation of sentiment gave him umbrage; and he foresaw
what might be expected from a genius that already laughed at the shaven
crown and cowl.
“When my brother had taken me home, ‘Well, my little parson,’ said he,
‘you have acted your part to admiration, and your parti-coloured dress
of the ecclesiastic and soldier has greatly diverted the court; but
this is not all: you must now choose, my little knight. Consider then,
whether, by sticking to the church, you will possess great revenues, and
have nothing to do; or, with a small portion, you will risk the loss of
a leg or arm, and be the fructus belli of an insensible court, to arrive
in your old age at the dignity of a major-general, with a glass eye and
a wooden leg.’ ‘I know,’ said I, ‘that there is no comparison between
these two situations, with regard to the conveniences of life; but, as
a man ought to secure his future state in preference to all other
considerations, I am resolved to renounce the church for the salvation
of my soul, upon condition, however, that I keep my abbacy.’ Neither the
remonstrances nor authority of my brother could induce me to change my
resolution; and he was forced to agree to this last article in order
to keep me at the academy. You know that I am the most adroit man in
France, so that I soon learned all that is taught at such places, and,
at the same time, I also learnt that which gives the finishing stroke to
a young fellow’s education, and makes him a gentleman, viz. all sorts
of games, both at cards and dice; but the truth is, I thought, at first,
that I had more skill in them than I really had, as experience proved.
When my mother knew the choice I had made, she was inconsolable; for she
reckoned, that had I been a clergyman I should have been a saint; but
now she was certain that I should either be a devil in the world, or be
killed in the wars. And indeed I burned with impatience to be a soldier;
but being yet too young, I was forced to make a campaign at Bidache--[A
principality belonging to the family of the Grammonts, in the Province
of Gascony.]--before I made one in the army. When I returned to my
mother’s house, I had so much the air of a courtier and a man of the
world, that she began to respect me, instead of chiding me for my
infatuation towards the army. I became her favourite, and finding me
inflexible, she only thought of keeping me with her as long as she
could, while my little equipage was preparing. The faithful Brinon,
who was to attend me as valet-de-chambre, was likewise to discharge the
office of governor and equerry, being, perhaps, the only Gascon who was
ever possessed of so much gravity and ill-temper. He passed his word
for my good behaviour and morality, and promised my mother that he would
give a good account of my person in the dangers of the war; but I hope
he will keep his word better as to this last article than he has done as
to the former.
“My equipage was sent away a week before me. This was so much time
gained by my mother to give me good advice. At length, after having
solemnly enjoined me to have the fear of God before my eyes, and to love
my neighbour as myself, she suffered me to depart, under the protection
of the Lord and the sage Brinon. At the second stage we quarrelled. He
had received four hundred louis d’or for the expenses of the campaign: I
wished to have the keeping of them myself, which he strenuously opposed.
‘Thou old scoundrel,’ said I, ‘is the money thine, or was it given
thee for me? You suppose I must have a treasurer, and receive no money
without his order. I know not whether it was from a presentiment of what
afterwards happened that he grew melancholy; however, it was with
the greatest reluctance, and the most poignant anguish, that he found
himself obliged to yield. One would have thought that I had wrested
his very soul from him. I found myself more light and merry after I had
eased him of his trust; he, on the contrary, appeared so overwhelmed
with grief, that it seemed as if I had laid four hundred pounds of lead
upon his back, instead of taking away these four hundred louis. He went
on so heavily, that I was forced to whip his horse myself, and turning
to me, now and then, ‘Ah! sir,’ said he, my lady did not think it would
be so. ‘His reflections and sorrows were renewed at every stage; for,
instead of giving a shilling to the post-boy, I gave him half-a-crown.
“Having at last reached Lyons, two soldiers stopped us at the gate of
the city, to carry us before the governor. I took one of them to conduct
me to the best inn, and delivered Brinon into the hands of the other,
to acquaint the commandant with the particulars of my journey, and my
future intentions.
“There are as good taverns at Lyons as at Paris; but my soldier,
according to custom, carried me to a friend of his own, whose house he
extolled as having the best accommodations, and the greatest resort of
good company, in the whole town. The master of this hotel was as big as
a hogshead, his name Cerise; a Swiss by birth, a poisoner by profession,
and a thief by custom. He showed me into a tolerably neat room, and
desired to know whether I pleased to sup by myself or at the ordinary.
I chose the latter, on account of the beau monde which the soldier had
boasted of.
“Brinon, who was quite out of temper at the many questions which the
governor had asked him, returned more surly than an old ape; and seeing
that I was dressing my hair, in order to go downstairs: ‘What are you
about now, sir?’ said he. ‘Are you going to tramp about the town? No,
no; have we not had tramping enough ever since the morning? Eat a bit
of supper, and go to bed betimes, that you may get on horseback by
day-break.’ ‘Mr. Comptroller,’ said I, ‘I shall neither tramp about
the town, nor eat alone, nor go to bed early. I intend to sup with the
company below.’ ‘At the ordinary!’ cried he; ‘I beseech you, sir, do
not think of it! Devil take me, if there be not a dozen brawling fellows
playing at cards and dice, who make noise enough to drown the loudest
thunder!’
“I was grown insolent since I had seized the money; and being desirous
to shake off the yoke of a governor, ‘Do you know, Mr. Brinon,’ said I,
‘that I don’t like a blockhead to set up for a reasoner? Do you go
to supper, if you please; but take care that I have post-horses ready
before daybreak.’ The moment he mentioned cards and dice, I felt the
money burn in my pocket. I was somewhat surprised, however, to find the
room where the ordinary was served filled with odd-looking creatures. My
host, after presenting me to the company, assured me that there were but
eighteen or twenty of those gentlemen who would have the honour to sup
with me. I approached one of the tables where they were playing, and
thought I should have died with laughing: I expected to have seen
good company and deep play; but I only met with two Germans playing
at backgammon. Never did two country boobies play like them; but their
figures beggared all description. The fellow near whom I stood was
short, thick, and fat, and as round as a ball, with a ruff, and
prodigious high crowned hat. Any one, at a moderate distance, would have
taken him for the dome of a church, with the steeple on the top of it. I
inquired of the host who he was. ‘A merchant from Basle,’ said he, ‘who
comes hither to sell horses; but from the method he pursues, I think he
will not dispose of many; for he does nothing but play.’ ‘Does he play
deep?’ said I. ‘Not now,’ said he; ‘they are only playing for their
reckoning, while supper is getting ready; but he has no objection to
play as deep as any one.’ ‘Has he money?’ said I. ‘As for that,’ replied
the treacherous Cerise, ‘would to God you had won a thousand pistoles of
him, and I went your halves; we should not be long without our money.’ I
wanted no further encouragement to meditate the ruin of the high-crowned
hat. I went nearer to him, in order to take a closer survey; never was
such a bungler; he made blots upon blots; God knows, I began to feel
some remorse at winning of such an ignoramus, who knew so little of the
game. He lost his reckoning; supper was served up; and I desired him
to sit next me. It was a long table, and there were at least
five-and-twenty in company, notwithstanding the landlord’s promise. The
most execrable repast that ever was begun being finished, all the crowd
insensibly dispersed, except the little Swiss, who still kept near me,
and the landlord, who placed himself on the other side of me. They
both smoked like dragoons; and the Swiss was continually saying, in bad
French, ‘I ask your pardon, sir, for my great freedom,’ at the same time
blowing such whiffs of tobacco in my face as almost suffocated me. Mr.
Cerise, on the other hand, desired he might take the liberty of asking
me whether I had ever been in his country? and seemed surprised I had so
genteel an air, without having travelled in Switzerland.
“The little chub I had to encounter was full as inquisitive as the
other. He desired to know whether I came from the army in Piedmont; and
having told him I was going thither, he asked me, whether I had a mind
to buy any horses; that he had about two hundred to dispose of, and that
he would sell them cheap. I began to be smoked like a gammon of
bacon; and being quite wearied out, both with their tobacco and their
questions, I asked my companion if he would play for a single pistole
at backgammon, while our men were supping; it was not without great
ceremony that he consented, at the same time asking my pardon for his
great freedom.
“I won the game; I gave him his revenge, and won again. We then played
double or quit; I won that too, and all in the twinkling of an eye; for
he grew vexed, and suffered himself to be taken in so that I began to
bless my stars for my good fortune. Brinon came in about the end of the
third game, to put me to bed, he made a great sign of the cross, but
paid no attention to the signs I made him to retire. I was forced to
rise to give him that order in private. He began to reprimand me for
disgracing myself by keeping company with such a low-bred wretch. It
was in vain that I told him he was a great merchant, that he had a great
deal of money, and that he played like a child. ‘He a merchant,’ cried
Brinon. ‘Do not believe that, sir! May the devil take me, if he is not
some conjurer.’ ‘Hold your tongue, old fool,’ said I; ‘he is no more a
conjurer than you are, and that is decisive; and, to prove it to you, I
am resolved to win four or five hundred pistoles of him before I go to
bed. With these words I turned him out, strictly enjoining him not to
return, or in any manner to disturb us.
“The game being done, the little Swiss unbuttoned his pockets, to pull
out a new four-pistole piece, and presenting it to me, he asked my
pardon for his great freedom, and seemed as if he wished to retire. This
was not what I wanted. I told him we only played for amusement; that I
had no design upon his money; and that, if he pleased, I would play
him a single game for his four pistoles. He raised some objections; but
consented at last, and won back his money. I was piqued at it. I played
another game; fortune changed sides; the dice ran for him, he made
no more blots. I lost the game; another game, and double or quit; we
doubled the stake, and played double or quit again. I was vexed; he,
like a true gamester, took every bet I offered, and won all before him,
without my getting more than six points in eight or ten games. I asked
him to play a single game for one hundred pistoles; but as he saw I did
not stake, he told me it was late; that he must go and look after his
horses; and went away, still asking my pardon for his great freedom. The
cool manner of his refusal, and the politeness with which he took his
leave, provoked me to such a degree, that I could almost have killed
him. I was so confounded at losing my money so fast, even to the last
pistole, that I did not immediately consider the miserable situation to
which I was reduced.
“I durst not go up to my chamber for fear of Brinon. By good luck,
however, he was tired with waiting for me, and had gone to bed. This was
some consolation, though but of short continuance. As soon as I was laid
down, all the fatal consequences of my adventure presented themselves
to my imagination. I could not sleep. I saw all the horrors of my
misfortune, without being able to find any remedy; in vain did I rack
my brain; it supplied me with no expedient. I feared nothing so much as
daybreak; however, it did come, and the cruel Brinon along with it. He
was booted up to the middle, and cracking a cursed whip, which he
held in his hand, ‘Up, Monsieur le Chevalier,’ cried he, opening the
curtains; ‘the horses are at the door, and you are still asleep. We
ought by this time to have ridden two stages; give me money to pay the
reckoning.’ ‘Brinon,’ said I, in a dejected tone, ‘draw the curtains.’
‘What!’ cried he, ‘draw the curtains! Do you intend, then, to make your
campaign at Lyons? you seem to have taken a liking to the place. And for
the great merchant, you have stripped him, I suppose? No, no, Monsieur
le Chevalier, this money will never do you any good. This wretch has,
perhaps, a family; and it is his children’s bread that he has been
playing with, and that you have won. Was this an object to sit up all
night for? What would my lady say, if she knew what a life you lead?’
‘M. Brinon,’ said I, ‘pray draw the curtains.’ But instead of obeying
me, one would have thought that the devil had prompted him to use the
most pointed and galling terms to a person under such misfortunes. ‘And
how much have you won?’ said he; ‘five hundred pistoles? what must the
poor man do?
“‘Recollect, Monsieur le Chevalier, what I have said, this money will
never thrive with you. It is, perhaps, but four hundred? three? two?
well if it be but one hundred louis d’or, continued he, seeing that
I shook my head at every sum which he had named, there is no great
mischief done; one hundred pistoles will not ruin him, provided you have
won them fairly.’ ‘Friend Brinon,’ said I, fetching a deep sigh, ‘draw
the curtains; I am unworthy to see daylight’ Brinon was much affected at
these melancholy words, but I thought he would have fainted, when I told
him the whole adventure. He tore his hair, made grievous lamentations,
the burden of which still was, ‘What will my lady say?’ And, after
having exhausted his unprofitable complaints, ‘What will become of
you now, Monsieur le Chevalier?’ said he, ‘what do you intend to
do?’ ‘Nothing,’ said I, ‘for I am fit for no thing. After this, being
somewhat eased after making him my confession, I thought upon several
projects, to none of which could I gain his approbation. I would have
had him post after my equipage, to have sold some of my clothes. I was
for proposing to the horse-dealer to buy some horses of him at a high
price on credit, to sell again cheap. Brinon laughed at all these
schemes, and after having had the cruelty of keeping me upon the rack
for a long time, he at last extricated me. Parents are always stingy
towards their poor children; my mother intended to have given me five
hundred louis d’or, but she had kept back fifty, as well for some little
repairs in the abbey, as to pay for praying for me. Brinon had the
charge of the other fifty, with strict injunctions not to speak of them,
unless upon some urgent necessity. And this you see soon happened.
“Thus you have a brief account of my first adventure. Play has hitherto
favoured me; for, since my arrival, I have had, at one time, after
paying all my expenses, fifteen hundred louis d’or. Fortune is now
again become unfavourable: we must mend her. Our cash runs low; we must,
therefore, endeavour to recruit.”
“Nothing is more easy,” said Matta; “it is only to find out such another
dupe as the horse-dealer at Lyons; but now I think on it, has not the
faithful Brinon some reserve for the last extremity? Faith, the time is
now come, and we cannot do better than to make use of it!”
“Your raillery would be very seasonable,” said the Chevalier, “if you
knew how to extricate us out of this difficulty. You must certainly have
an overflow of wit, to be throwing it away upon every occasion as
at present. What the devil! will you always be bantering, without
considering what a serious situation we are reduced to. Mind what I say,
I will go tomorrow to the head-quarters, I will dine with the Count de
Cameran, and I will invite him to supper.” “Where?” said Matta. “Here,”
said the Chevalier. “You are mad, my poor friend,” replied Matta. “This
is some such project as you formed at Lyons: you know we have neither
money nor credit; and, to re-establish our circumstances, you intend to
give a supper.”
“Stupid fellow!” said the Chevalier, “is it possible, that, so long as
we have been acquainted, you should have learned no more invention? The
Count de Cameran plays at quinze, and so do I; we want money; he has
more than he knows what to do with; I will bespeak a splendid supper, he
shall pay for it. Send your maitre-d’hotel to me, and trouble yourself
no further, except in some precautions, which it is necessary to take on
such an occasion.” “What are they?” said Matta. “I will tell you,” said
the Chevalier; “for I find one must explain to you things that are as
clear as noon-day.”
“You command the guards that are here, don’t you? As soon as night comes
on, you shall order fifteen or twenty men, under the command of your
sergeant La Place, to be under arms, and to lay themselves flat on the
ground, between this place and the head-quarters.” “What the devil!”
cried Matta, “an ambuscade? God forgive me, I believe you intend to
rob the poor Savoyard. If that be your intention, I declare I will have
nothing to say to it” “Poor devil!” said the Chevalier, “the matter is
this; it is very likely that we shall win his money. The Piedmontese,
though otherwise good fellows, are apt to be suspicious and distrustful.
He commands the horse; you know you cannot hold your tongue, and are
very likely to let slip some jest or other that may vex him. Should he
take it into his head that he is cheated, and resent it, who knows what
the consequences might be? for he is commonly attended by eight or
ten horsemen. Therefore, however he may be provoked at his loss, it is
proper to be in such a situation as not to dread his resentment.”
“Embrace me, my dear Chevalier,” said Matta, holding his sides and
laughing; “embrace me, for thou art not to be matched. What a fool I was
to think, when you talked to me of taking precautions, that nothing more
was necessary than to prepare a table and cards, or perhaps to provide
some false dice! I should never have thought of supporting a man who
plays at quinze by a detachment of foot: I must, indeed, confess that
you are already a great soldier.”
The next day everything happened as the Chevalier Grammont had planned
it; the unfortunate Cameran fell into the snare. They supped in the most
agreeable manner possible Matta drank five or six bumpers to drown a few
scruples which made him somewhat uneasy. The Chevalier de Grammont shone
as usual, and almost made his guest die with laughing, whom he was soon
after to make very serious; and the good-natured Cameran ate like a man
whose affections were divided between good cheer and a love of play;
that is to say, he hurried down his victuals, that he might not lose any
of the precious time which he had devoted to quinze.
Supper being done, the sergeant La Place posted his ambuscade, and the
Chevalier de Grammont engaged his man. The perfidy of Cerise, and the
high-crowned hat, were still fresh in remembrance, and enabled him to
get the better of a few grains of remorse, and conquer some scruples
which arose in his mind. Matta, unwilling to be a spectator of violated
hospitality, sat down in an easy chair, in order to fall asleep, while
the Chevalier was stripping the poor Count of his money.
They only staked three or four pistoles at first, just for amusement;
but Cameran having lost three or four times, he staked high, and the
game became serious. He still lost, and became outrageous; the cards
flew about the room, and the exclamations awoke Matta.
As his head was heavy with sleep, and hot with wine, he began to laugh
at the passion of the Piedmontese, instead of consoling him. “Faith, my
poor Count,” said he, “if I were in your place, I would play no more.”
“Why so?” said the other. “I don’t know,” said he, “but my heart tells
me that your ill-luck will continue.” “I will try that,” said Cameran,
calling for fresh cards. “Do so,” said Matta, and fell asleep again.
It was but for a short time. All cards were equally unfortunate for the
loser. He held none but tens or court-cards; and if by chance he had
quinze, he was sure to be the younger hand, and therefore lost it. Again
he stormed. “Did not I tell you so?” said Matta, starting out of his
sleep. “All your storming is in vain; as long as you play you will lose.
Believe me, the shortest follies are the best. Leave off, for the devil
take me if it is possible for you to win.” “Why?” said Cameran, who
began to be impatient. “Do you wish to know?” said Matta; “why, faith,
it is because we are cheating you.”
The Chevalier de Grammont was provoked at so ill-timed a jest, more
especially as it carried along with it some appearance of truth. “Mr.
Matta,” said he, “do you think it can be very agreeable for a man who
plays with such ill-luck as the Count to be pestered with your insipid
jests? For my part, I am so weary of the game, that I would desist
immediately, if he was not so great a loser.” Nothing is more dreaded
by a losing gamester, than such a threat; and the Count, in a softened
tone, told the Chevalier that Mr. Matta might say what he pleased, if
he did not offend him; that, as to himself, it did not give him the
smallest uneasiness.
The Chevalier de Grammont gave the Count far better treatment than he
himself had experienced from the Swiss at Lyons; for he played upon
credit as long as he pleased; which Cameran took so kindly, that he lost
fifteen hundred pistoles, and paid them the next morning. As for Matta,
he was severely reprimanded for the intemperance of his tongue. All
the reason he gave for his conduct was, that he made it a point of
conscience not to suffer the poor Savoyard to be cheated without
informing him of it. “Besides,” said he, “it would have given me
pleasure to have seen my infantry engaged with his horse, if he had been
inclined to mischief.”
This adventure having recruited their finances, fortune favoured them
the remainder of the campaign, and the Chevalier de Grammont, to prove
that he had only seized upon the Count’s effects by way of reprisal,
and to indemnify himself for the losses he had sustained at Lyons, began
from this time to make the same use of his money, that he has been known
to do since upon all occasions. He found out the distressed, in order to
relieve them; officers who had lost their equipage in the war, or their
money at play; soldiers who were disabled in the trenches; in short,
every one felt the influence of his benevolence: but his manner of
conferring a favour exceeded even the favour itself.
Every man possessed of such amiable qualities must meet with success in
all his undertakings. The soldiers knew his person, and adored him. The
generals were sure to meet him in every scene of action, and sought his
company at other times. As soon as fortune declared for him, his first
care was to make restitution, by desiring Cameran to go his halves in
all parties where the odds were in his favour.
An inexhaustible fund of vivacity and good humour gave a certain air of
novelty to whatever he either said or did. I know not on what occasion
it was that Monsieur de Turenne towards the end of the siege, commanded
a separate body. The Chevalier de Grammont went to visit him at his new
quarters, where he found fifteen or twenty officers. M. de Turenne was
naturally fond of merriment, and the Chevalier’s presence was sure
to inspire it. He was much pleased with this visit, and, by way of
acknowledgment, would have engaged him to play. The Chevalier de
Grammont, in returning him thanks, said, that he had learned from his
tutor, that when a man went to see his friends, it was neither prudent
to leave his own money behind him, nor civil to carry off theirs.
“Truly,” said Monsieur de Turenne, “you will find neither deep play nor
much money among us; but, that it may not be said that we suffered you
to depart without playing, let us stake every one a horse.”
The Chevalier de Grammont agreed. Fortune, who had followed him to a
place where he did not think he should have any need of her, made
him win fifteen or sixteen horses, by way of joke; but, seeing some
countenances disconcerted at the loss, “Gentlemen,” said he, “I should
be sorry to see you return on foot from your general’s quarters; it will
be enough for me if you send me your horses to-morrow, except one, which
I give for the cards.”
The valet-de-chambre thought he was bantering. “I speak seriously,” said
the Chevalier, “I give you a horse for the cards; and, what is more,
take whichever you please, except my own.” “Truly,” said Monsieur de
Turenne, “I am vastly pleased with the novelty of the thing; for I don’t
believe that a horse was ever before given for the cards.”
Trino surrendered at last. The Baron de Batteville, who had defended it
valiantly, and for a long time, obtained a capitulation worthy of such a
resistance.
[This officer appears to have been the same person who was
afterwards ambassador from Spain to the court of Great Britain,
where, in the summer of 1660, he offended the French court, by
claiming precedence of their ambassador, Count d’Estrades, on the
public entry of the Swedish ambassador into London. On this
occasion the court of France compelled its rival of Spain to submit
to the mortifying circumstance of acknowledging the French
superiority. To commemorate this important victory, Louis XIV.
caused a medal to be struck, representing the Spanish ambassador,
the Marquis de Fuente, making the declaration to that king, “No
concurrer con los ambassadores des de Francia,” with this
inscription, “Jus praecedendi assertum,” and under it, “Hispaniorum
excusatio coram xxx legatis principum, 1662.” A very curious
account of the fray occasioned by this dispute, drawn up by Evelyn,
is to be seen in that gentleman’s article in the Biographia
Britannica.]
I do not know whether the Chevalier de Grammont had any share in the
capture of this place; but I know very well, that during a more glorious
reign, and with armies ever victorious, his intrepidity and address have
been the cause of taking others since, even under the eye of his master,
as we shall see in the sequel of these memoirs.
CHAPTER FOURTH. HIS ARRIVAL AT THE COURT OF TURIN, AND HOW HE SPENT HIS
TIME THERE
Military glory is at most but one half of the accomplishments which
distinguish heroes. Love must give the finishing stroke, and adorn their
character by the difficulties they encounter, the temerity of their
enterprises, and finally, by the lustre of success. We have examples
of this, not only in romances, but also in the genuine histories of the
most famous warriors and the most celebrated conquerors.
The Chevalier de Grammont and Matta, who did not think much of these
examples, were, however, of opinion, that it would be very agreeable to
refresh themselves after the fatigues of the siege of Trino, by forming
some other sieges, at the expense of the beauties and the husbands of
Turin. As the campaign had finished early, they thought they should have
time to perform some exploits before the bad weather obliged them to
repass the mountains.
They sallied forth, therefore, not unlike Amadis de Gaul or Don
Galaor after they had been dubbed knights, eager in their search after
adventures in love, war and enchantments. They were greatly superior
to those two brothers, who only knew how to cleave in twain giants, to
break lances, and to carry off fair damsels behind them on horseback,
without saying a single word to them; whereas our heroes were adepts at
cards and dice, of which the others were totally ignorant.
They went to Turin, met with an agreeable reception, and were greatly
distinguished at court. Could it be otherwise? They were young and
handsome; they had wit at command, and spent their money liberally.
In what country will not a man succeed, possessing such advantages? As
Turin was at that time the seat of gallantry and of love, two strangers
of this description, who were always cheerful, brisk and lively, could
not fail to please the ladies of the court.
Though the men of Turin were extremely handsome, they were not, however,
possessed of the art of pleasing. They treated their wives with respect,
and were courteous to strangers. Their wives, still more handsome, were
full as courteous to strangers, and less respectful to their husbands.
Madame Royale, a worthy daughter of Henry IV., rendered her little court
the most agreeable in the world. She inherited such of her father’s
virtues as compose the proper ornament of her sex; and with regard to
what are termed the foibles of great souls, her highness had in no wise
degenerated.
The Count de Tanes was her prime minister. It was not difficult to
conduct affairs of state during his administration. No complaints
were alleged against him; and the princess, satisfied with his conduct
herself, was, above all, glad to have her choice approved by her whole
court, where people lived nearly according to the manners and customs of
ancient chivalry.
The ladies had each a professed lover, for fashion’s sake, besides
volunteers, whose numbers were unlimited. The declared admirers wore
their mistresses’ liveries, their arms, and sometimes even took their
names. Their office was, never to quit them in public, and never to
approach them in private; to be their squires upon all occasions, and,
in jousts and tournaments, to adorn their lances, their housings, and
their coats, with the cyphers and the colours of their dulcineas.
Matta was far from being averse to gallantry; but would have liked it
more simple than as it was practised at Turin. The ordinary forms would
not have disgusted him; but he found here a sort of superstition in
the ceremonies and worship of love, which he thought very inconsistent:
however, as he had submitted his conduct in that matter to the direction
of the Chevalier de Grammont, he was obliged to follow his example, and
to conform to the customs of the country.
They enlisted themselves at the same time in the service of two
beauties, whose former squires gave them up immediately from motives
of politeness. The Chevalier de Grammont chose Mademoiselle de
Saint-Germain, and told Matta to offer his services to Madame de
Senantes. Matta consented, though he liked the other better; but the
Chevalier de Grammont persuaded him that Madame de Senantes was more
suitable for him. As he had reaped advantage from the Chevalier’s
talents in the first projects they had formed, he resolved to follow his
instructions in love, as he had done his advice in play.
Mademoiselle de Saint-Germain was in the bloom of youth; her eyes were
small, but very bright and sparkling, and, like her hair, were black;
her complexion was lively and clear, though not fair: she, had an
agreeable mouth, two fine rows of teeth, a neck as handsome as one could
wish, and a most delightful shape; she had a particular elegance in her
elbows, which, however, she did not show to advantage; her hands were
rather large and not very white; her feet, though not of the smallest,
were well shaped; she trusted to Providence, and used no art to set off
those graces which she had received from nature; but, notwithstanding
her negligence in the embellishment of her charms, there was something
so lively in her person, that the Chevalier de Grammont was caught at
first sight; her wit and humour corresponded with her other qualities,
being quite easy and perfectly charming; she was all mirth, all life,
all complaisance and politeness, and all was natural, and always the
same without any variation.
The Marchioness de Senantes was esteemed fair, and she might have
enjoyed, if she had pleased, the reputation of having red hair, had she
not rather chosen to conform to the taste of the age in which she lived
than to follow that of the ancients: she had all the advantages of red
hair without any of the inconveniences; a constant attention to her
person served as a corrective to the natural defects of her complexion.
After all, what does it signify, whether cleanliness be owing to nature
or to art? it argues an invidious temper to be very inquisitive about
it. She had a great deal of wit, a good memory, more reading, and a
still greater inclination towards tenderness.
She had a husband whom it would have been criminal even in chastity
to spare. He piqued himself upon being a Stoic, and gloried in being
slovenly and disgusting in honour of his profession. In this he
succeeded to admiration; for he was very fat, so that he perspired
almost as much in winter as in summer. Erudition and brutality seemed to
be the most conspicuous features of his character, and were displayed in
his conversation, sometimes together, sometimes alternately, but always
disagreeably: he was not jealous, and yet he was troublesome; he was
very well pleased to see attentions paid to his wife, provided more were
paid to him.
As soon as our adventurers had declared themselves, the Chevalier de
Grammont arrayed himself in green habiliments, and dressed Matta in
blue, these being the favourite colours of their new mistresses. They
entered immediately upon duty: the Chevalier learned and practised all
the ceremonies of this species of gallantry, as if he always had been
accustomed to them; but Matta commonly forgot one half, and was not over
perfect in practising the other. He never could remember that his office
was to promote the glory, and not the interest, of his mistress.
The Duchess of Savoy gave the very next day an entertainment at La
Venerie, where all the ladies were invited.
The Chevalier was so agreeable and diverting, that he made his mistress
almost die with laughing. Matta, in leading his lady to the coach,
squeezed her hand, and at their return from the promenade he begged
of her to pity his sufferings. Thus was proceeding rather too
precipitately, and although Madame de Senantes was not destitute of
the natural compassion of her sex, she nevertheless was shocked at the
familiarity of this treatment; she thought herself obliged to show some
degree of resentment, and pulling away her hand, which he had pressed
with still greater fervency upon this declaration, she went up to the
royal apartments without even looking at her new lover. Matta, never
thinking that he had offended her, suffered her to go, and went in
search of some company to sup with him: nothing was more easy for a man
of his disposition; he soon found what he wanted, sat a long time at
table to refresh himself after the fatigue, of love, and went to bed
completely satisfied that he had performed his part to perfection.
During all this time the Chevalier de Grammont acquitted himself towards
Mademoiselle de Saint Germain with universal applause; and without
remitting his assiduities, he found means to shine, as they went
along, in the relation of a thousand entertaining anecdotes, which he
introduced in the general conversation. Her Royal Highness heard them
with pleasure, and the solitary Senantes likewise attended to them. He
perceived this, and quitted his mistress to inquire what she had done
with Matta.
“I” said she, “I have done nothing with him; but I don’t know what he
would have done with me if I had been obliging enough to listen to his
most humble solicitations.”
She then told him in what manner his friend had treated her the very
second day of their acquaintance.
The Chevalier could not forbear laughing at it: he told her Matta was
rather too unceremonious, but yet she would like him better as their
intimacy more improved, and for her consolation he assured her that
he would have spoken in the same manner to her Royal Highness herself;
however, he would not fail to give him a severe reprimand. He went the
next morning into his room for that purpose; but Matta had gone out
early in the morning on a shooting party, in which he had been engaged
by his supper companions in the preceding evening. At his return he took
a brace of partridges and went to his mistress. Being asked whether he
wished to see the Marquis, he said no; and the Swiss telling him his
lady was not at home, he left his partridges, and desired him to present
them to his mistress from him.
The Marchioness was at her toilet, and was decorating her head with
all the grace she could devise to captivate Matta, at the moment he was
denied admittance: she knew nothing of the matter; but her husband knew
every particular. He had taken it in dudgeon that the first visit was
not paid to him, and as he was resolved that it should not be paid to
his wife, the Swiss had received his orders, and had almost been beaten
for receiving the present which had been left. The partridges, however,
were immediately sent back, and Matta, without examining into the cause,
was glad to have them again. He went to court without ever changing
his clothes, or in the least considering he ought not to appear there
without his lady’s colours. He found her becomingly dressed; her eyes
appeared to him more than usually sparkling, and her whole person
altogether divine. He began from that day to be much pleased with
himself for his complaisance to the Chevalier de Grammont; however,
he could not help remarking that she looked but coldly upon him. This
appeared to him a very extraordinary return for his services, and,
imagining that she was unmindful of her weighty obligations to him, he
entered into conversation with her, and severely reprimanded her for
having sent back his partridges with so much indifference.
She did not understand what he meant; and highly offended that he did
not apologize, after the reprimand which she concluded him to have
received, told him that he certainly had met with ladies of very
complying dispositions in his travels, as he seemed to give to himself
airs that she was by no means accustomed to endure. Matta desired to
know wherein he could be said to have given himself any. “Wherein?”
said she: “the second day that you honoured me with your attentions, you
treated me as if I had been your humble servant for a thousand years;
the first time that I gave you my hand you squeezed it as violently as
you were able. After this commencement of your courtship, I got into my
coach, and you mounted your horse; but instead of riding by the side of
the coach, as any reasonable gallant would have done, no sooner did a
hare start from her form, than you immediately galloped full speed after
her; having regaled yourself, during the promenade, by taking snuff,
without ever deigning to bestow a thought on me, the only proof you gave
me, on your return, that you recollected me, was by soliciting me to
surrender my reputation in terms polite enough, but very explicit. And
now you talk to me of having been shooting of partridges and of some
visit or other, which, I suppose, you have been dreaming of, as well as
of all the rest.”
The Chevalier de Grammont now advanced, to the interruption of this
whimsical dialogue. Matta was rebuked for his forwardness, and his
friend took abundant pains to convince him that his conduct bordered
more upon insolence than familiarity. Matta endeavoured to exculpate
himself, but succeeded ill. His mistress took compassion upon him,
and consented to admit his excuses, for the manner, rather than his
repentance for the fact, and declared that it was the intention alone
which could either justify or condemn, in such cases; that it was
very easy to pardon those transgressions which arise from excess of
tenderness, but not such as proceeded from too great a presumption of
success. Matta swore that he only squeezed her hand from the violence
of his passion, and that he had been driven, by necessity, to ask her to
relieve it; that he was yet a novice in the arts of solicitation; that
he could not possibly think her more worthy of his affection, after a
month’s service, than at the present moment; and that he entreated her
to cast away an occasional thought upon him when her leisure admitted.
The Marchioness was not offended, she saw very well that she must
require an implicit conformity to the established rule of decorum, when
she had to deal with such a character; and the Chevalier de Grammont,
after this sort of reconciliation, went to look after his own affair
with Mademoiselle de St. Germain.
His concern was not the offspring of mere good nature, nay, it was the
reverse; for no sooner did he perceive that the Marchioness looked with
an eye of favour upon him, than this conquest, appearing to him to be
more easy than the other, he thought it was prudent to take advantage of
it, for fear of losing the opportunity, and that he might not have spent
all his time to no purpose, in case he should prove unsuccessful with
the little St. Germain.
In the mean time, in order to maintain that authority which he
had usurped over the conduct of his friend, he, that very evening,
notwithstanding what had been already said, reprimanded him for
presuming to appear at court in his morning suit, and without his
mistress’s badge; for not having had the wit or prudence to pay his
first visit to the Marquis de Senantes, instead of consuming his time,
to no purpose, in inquiries for the lady; and, to conclude, he asked him
what the devil he meant by presenting her with a brace of miserable red
partridges. “And why not?” said Matta: “ought they to have been blue,
too, to match the cockade and sword-knots you made me wear the other
day? Plague not me with your nonsensical whimsies: my life on it, in one
fortnight your equal in foppery and folly will not be found throughout
the confines of Turin; but, to reply to your questions, I did not call
upon Monsieur de Senantes, because I had nothing to do with him, and
because he is of a species of animals which I dislike, and always shall
dislike: as for you, you appear quite charmed with being decked out in
green ribands, with writing letters to your mistress, and filling your
pockets with citrons, pistachios, and such sort of stuff, with which you
are always cramming the poor girl’s mouth, in spite of her teeth: you
hope to succeed by chanting ditties composed in the days of Corisande
and of Henry IV., which you will swear yourself have made upon her:
happy in practising the ceremonials of gallantry, you have no ambition
for the essentials. Very well: every one has a particular way of
acting, as well as a particular taste: your’s is to trifle in love;
and, provided you can make Mademoiselle de St. Germain laugh, you are
satisfied: as for my part, I am persuaded, that women here are made of
the same materials as in other places; and I do not think that they can
be mightily offended, if one sometimes leaves off trifling, to come to
the point: however, if the Marchioness is not of this way of thinking,
she may e’en provide herself elsewhere; for I can assure her, that I
shall not long act the part of her squire.”
This was an unnecessary menace; for the Marchioness in reality liked him
very well, was nearly of the same way of thinking herself, and wished
for nothing more than to put his gallantry to the test. But Matta
proceeded upon a wrong plan; he had conceived such an aversion for her
husband, that he could not prevail upon himself to make the smallest
advance towards his good graces. He was given to understand that he
ought to begin by endeavouring to lull the dragon to sleep, before he
could gain possession of the treasure; but this was all to no purpose,
though, at the same time, he could never see his mistress but in public.
This made him impatient, and as he was lamenting his ill-fortune to her
one day: “Have the goodness, madam,” said he, “to let me know where you
live: there is never a day that I do not call upon you, at least, three
or four times, without ever being blessed with a sight of you.” “I
generally sleep at home,” replied she, laughing; “but I must tell you,
that you will never find me there, if you do not first pay a visit
to the Marquis: I am not mistress of the house. I do not tell you,”
continued she, “that he is a man whose acquaintance any one would very
impatiently covet for his conversation: on the contrary, I agree that
his humour is fantastical, and his manners not of the pleasing cast; but
there is nothing so savage and inhuman, which a little care, attention,
and complaisance may not tame into docility. I must repeat to you some
verses upon the subject: I have got them by heart, because they contain
a little advice, which you may accommodate, if you please, to your own
case.”