RONDEAU.

Keep in mind these maxims rare,

You who hope to win the fair;

Who are, or would esteemed be,

The quintessence of gallantry.

That fopp’ry, grinning, and grimace,

And fertile store of common-place;

That oaths as false as dicers swear,

And Wry teeth, and scented hair;

That trinkets, and the pride of dress,

Can only give your scheme success.

Keep in mind.

Has thy charmer e’er an aunt?

Then learn the rules of woman’s cant,

And forge a tale, and swear you read it,

Such as, save woman, none would credit

Win o’er her confidante and pages

By gold, for this a golden age is;

And should it be her wayward fate,

To be encumbered with a mate,

A dull, old dotard should he be,

That dulness claims thy courtesy.

Keep in mind.

“Truly,” said Matta, “the song may say what it pleases, but I cannot put

it in practice: your husband is far too exquisite a monster for me. Why,

what a plaguey odd ceremony do you require of us in this country, if we

cannot pay our compliments to the wife without being in love with the

husband!”

The Marchioness was much offended at this answer; and as she thought she

had done enough in pointing out to him the path which would conduct him

to success, if he had deserved it, she did not think it worth while to

enter into any farther explanation; since he refused to cede, for her

salve, so trilling an objection: from this instant she resolved to have

done with him.

The Chevalier de Grammont had taken leave of his mistress nearly at the

same time: the ardour of his pursuit was extinguished. It was not that

Mademoiselle de Saint Germain was less worthy than hitherto of his

attentions: on the contrary her attractions visibly increased: she

retired to her pillow with a thousand charms, and ever rose from it with

additional beauty the phrase of increasing in beauty as she increased

in years seemed to have been purposely made for her. The Chevalier could

not deny these truths, but yet he could not find his account in them: a

little less merit, with a little less discretion, would have been more

agreeable. He perceived that she attended to him with pleasure, that

she was diverted with his stories as much as he could wish, and that

she received his billets and presents without scruple; but then he

also discovered that she did not wish to proceed any farther. He had

exhausted every species of address upon her, and all to no purpose:

her attendant was gained: her family, charmed with the music of his

conversation and his great attention, were never happy without him:

in short, he had reduced to practice the advice contained in the

Marchioness’s song, and everything conspired to deliver the little Saint

Germain into his hands, if the little Saint Germain had herself been

willing: but alas! she was not inclined. It was in vain he told her the

favour he desired would cost her nothing; and that since these treasures

were rarely comprised in the fortune a lady brings with her in marriage,

she would never find any person, who, by unremitting tenderness,

unwearied attachment, and inviolable secrecy, would prove more worthy of

them than himself. He then told her no husband was ever able to convey

a proper idea of the sweets of love, and that nothing could be more

different than the passionate fondness of a lover, always tender, always

affectionate, yet always respectful, and the careless indifference of a

husband.

Mademoiselle de Saint Germain, not wishing to take the matter in a

serious light, that she might not be forced to resent it, answered, that

since it was generally the custom in her country to marry, she thought

it was right to conform to it, without entering into the knowledge of

those distinctions, and those marvellous particulars, which she did not

very well understand, and of which she did not wish to have any further

explanation; that she had submitted to listen to him this one time, but

desired he would never speak to her again in the same strain, since

such sort of conversation was neither entertaining to her, nor could

be serviceable to him. Though no one was ever more facetious than

Mademoiselle de Saint Germain, she yet knew how to assume a very serious

air, when ever occasion required it. The Chevalier de Grammont soon saw

that she was in earnest; and finding it would cost him a great deal of

time to effect a change in her sentiments, he was so far cooled in this

pursuit, that he only made use of it to hide the designs he had upon the

Marchioness de Senantes.

He found this lady much disgusted at Matta’s want of complaisance; and

his seeming contempt for her erased every favourable impression which

she had once entertained for him. While she was in this humour, the

Chevalier told her that her resentment was just; he exaggerated the

loss which his friend had sustained; he told her that her charms were

a thousand times superior to those of the little Saint Germain, and

requested that favour for himself which his friend did not deserve.

He was soon favourably heard upon this topic; and as soon as they were

agreed, they consulted upon two measures necessary to be taken, the

one to deceive her husband, the other his friend, which was not very

difficult: Matta was not at all suspicious: and the stupid Senantes,

towards whom the Chevalier had already behaved as Matta had refused to

do, could not be easy without him. This was much more than was wanted;

for as soon as ever the Chevalier was with the Marchioness, her husband

immediately joined them out of politeness; and on no account would have

left them alone together, for fear they should grow weary of each other

without him.

Matta, who all this time was entirely ignorant that he was disgraced,

continued to serve his mistress in his own way. She had agreed with

the Chevalier de Grammont, that to all appearance everything should

be carried on as before; so that the court always believed that the

Marchioness only thought of Matta, and that the Chevalier was entirely

devoted to Mademoiselle de Saint Germain.

There were very frequently little lotteries for trinkets: the Chevalier

de Grammont always tried his fortune, and was sometimes fortunate; and

under pretence of the prizes he had won, he bought a thousand things

which he indiscreetly gave to the Marchioness, and which she still more

indiscreetly accepted: the little Saint Germain very seldom received any

thing. There are meddling whisperers everywhere: remarks were made upon

these proceedings; and the same person that made them communicated them

likewise to Mademoiselle de Saint Germain. She pretended to laugh, but

in reality was piqued. It is a maxim religiously observed by the fair

sex, to envy each other those indulgences which themselves refuse. She

took this very ill of the Marchioness. On the other hand, Matta was

asked if he was not old enough to make his own presents himself to

the Marchioness de Senantes, without sending them by the Chevalier de

Grammont. This roused him; for of himself, he would never have perceived

it: his suspicions, however, were but slight, and he was willing to have

them removed. “I must confess,” said he to the Chevalier de Grammont,

“that they make love here quite in a new style; a man serves here

without reward: he addresses himself to the husband when he is in love

with the wife, and makes presents to another man’s mistress, to get

into the good graces of his own. The Marchioness is much obliged to you

for-----”

“It is you who are obliged,” replied the Chevalier, “since thus was

done on your account: I was ashamed to find you had never yet thought

of presenting her with any trifling token of your attention: do you know

that the people of this court have such extraordinary notions, as to

think that it is rather owing to inadvertency that you never yet have

had the spirit to make your mistress the smallest present? For shame!

how ridiculous it is, that you can never think for yourself?”

Matta took this rebuke, without making any answer, being persuaded that

he had in some measure deserved it: besides, he was neither sufficiently

jealous, nor sufficiently amorous, to think any more of it; however,

as it was necessary for the Chevalier’s affairs that Matta should be

acquainted with the Marquis de Senantes, he plagued him so much about

it, that at last he complied. His friend introduced him, and his

mistress seemed pleased with this proof of complaisance, though she

was resolved that he should gain nothing by it; and the husband,

being gratified with a piece of civility which he had long expected,

determined, that very evening, to give them a supper at a little country

seat of his, on the banks of the river, very near the city.

The Chevalier de Grammont answering for them both, accepted the offer;

and as this was the only one Matta would not have refused from the

Marquis, he likewise consented. The Marquis came to convey them in his

carriage at the hour appointed; but he found only Matta. The Chevalier

had engaged himself to play, on purpose that they might go without him:

Matta was for waiting for him, so great was his fear of being left alone

with the Marquis; but the Chevalier having sent to desire them to go on

before, and that he would be with them as soon as he had finished his

game, poor Matta was obliged to set out with the man who, of all the

world, was most offensive to him. It was not the Chevalier’s intention

quickly to extricate Matta out of this embarrassment: he no sooner knew

that they were gone, than he waited on the Marchioness, under pretence

of still finding her husband, that they might all go together to supper.

The plot was in a fair way; and as the Marchioness was of opinion that

Matta’s indifference merited no better treatment from her, she made no

scruple of acting her part in it: she therefore waited for the Chevalier

de Grammont with intentions so much the more favourable, as she had for

a long time expected him, and had some curiosity to receive a visit from

him in the absence of her husband. We may therefore suppose that this

first opportunity would not have been lost, if Mademoiselle de Saint

Germain had not unexpectedly come in, almost at the same time with the

Chevalier.

She was more handsome and more entertaining that day than she had ever

been before; however, she appeared to them very ugly and very tiresome:

she soon perceived that her company was disagreeable, and being

determined that they should not be out of humour with her for nothing,

after having passed above a long half hour in diverting herself with

their uneasiness, and in playing a thousand monkey tricks, which she

plainly saw could never be more unseasonable, she pulled off her hood,

scarf, and all that part of her dress which ladies lay aside, when in a

familiar manner they intend to pass the day anywhere. The Chevalier de

Grammont cursed her in his heart, while she continued to torment him for

being in such ill-humour in such good company: at last the Marchioness,

who was as much vexed as he was, said rather drily that she was obliged

to wait on her Royal Highness: Mademoiselle de Saint Germain told her

that she would have the honour to accompany her, if it would not be

disagreeable: she took not the smallest notice of her offer; and the

Chevalier, finding that it would be entirely useless to prolong his

visit at that time, retired with a good grace.

As soon as he had left the house, he sent one of his scouts to desire

the Marquis to sit down to table with his company without waiting

for him, because the game might not perhaps be finished as soon as he

expected, but that he would be with him before supper was over. Having

despatched this messenger, he placed a sentinel at the Marchioness’s

door, in hopes that the tedious Saint Germain might go out before her;

but this was in vain, for his spy came and told him, after an hour’s

impatience and suspense, that they were gone out together. He found

there was no chance of seeing her again that day, everything falling

out contrary to his wishes; he was forced therefore to leave the

Marchioness, and go in quest of the Marquis.

While these things were going on in the city, Matta was not much

diverted in the country: as he was prejudiced against the Marquis, all

that he said displeased him: he cursed the Chevalier heartily for the

tete-a-tete which he had procured him; and he was upon the point of

going away, when he found that he was to sit down to supper without any

other company.

However, as his host was very choice in his entertainments, and had

the best wine and the best cook in all Piedmont, the sight of the first

course appeased him; and eating most voraciously, without paying any

attention to the Marquis, he flattered himself that the supper would end

without any dispute; but he was mistaken.

When the Chevalier de Grammont was at first endeavouring to bring

about an intercourse between the Marquis and Matta, he had given a very

advantageous character of the latter, to make the former more

desirous of his acquaintance; and in the display of a thousand other

accomplishments, knowing what an infatuation the Marquis had for the

very name of erudition, he assured him that Matta was one of the most

learned men in Europe.

The Marquis, therefore, from the moment they sat down to supper, had

expected some stroke of learning from Matta, to bring his own into

play; but he was much out in his reckoning; no one had read less, no one

thought less, and no one had ever spoken so little at an entertainment

as he had done as he did not wish to enter into conversation, he opened

his mouth only to eat, or ask for wine.

The other, being offended at a silence which appeared to him affected,

and wearied with having uselessly attacked him upon other subjects,

thought he might get something out of him by changing the discourse of

love and gallantry; and therefore, to begin the subject, he accosted him

in this manner:

“Since you are my wife’s gallant--” “I!” said Matta who wished to carry

it discreetly: “those who told you so, told a damned lie.” “Zounds,

sir,” said the Marquis, “you speak in a tone which does not at

all become you; for I would have you to know, notwithstanding your

contemptuous airs, that the Marchioness de Senantes is perhaps as worthy

of your attentions as any of your French ladies, and that I have known

some greatly your superiors, who have thought it an honour to serve

her.” “Very well,” said Matta, “I think she is very deserving, and since

you insist upon it, I am her servant and gallant, to oblige you.”

“You think, perhaps,” continued the other, “that the same custom

prevails in this country as in your own, and that the ladies have

lovers, with no other intentions than to grant them favours: undeceive

yourself if you please, and know, likewise, that even if such events

were frequent in this court, I should not be at all uneasy.” “Nothing

can be more civil,” said Matta; “but wherefore would you not?” “I will

tell you why,” replied he: “I am well acquainted with the affection my

wife entertains for me: I am acquainted with her discretion towards all

the world; and, what is more, I am acquainted with my own merit.”

“You have a most uncommon acquaintance then,” replied Matta; “I

congratulate you upon it; I have the honour to drink it in a bumper.”

The Marquis pledged him; but seeing that the conversation dropped on

their ceasing to drink, after two or three healths, he wished to make a

second attempt, and attack Matta on his strong side, that is to say, on

his learning.

He desired him, therefore, to tell him, at what time he thought the

Allobroges came to settle in Piedmont. Matta, who wished him and his

Allobroges at the devil, said, that it must be in the time of the civil

wars. “I doubt that,” said the other. “Just as you like,” said Matta.

“Under what consulate?” replied the Marquis: “Under that of the League,”

said Matta, “when the Guises brought the Lansquenets into France; but

what the devil does that signify?”

The Marquis was tolerably warm, and naturally savage, so that God knows

how the conversation would have ended, if the Chevalier de Grammont had

not unexpectedly come in to appease them. It was some time before he

could find out what their debate was; for the one had forgotten the

questions, and the other the answers, which had disobliged him, in order

to reproach the Chevalier with his eternal passion for play, which made

him always uncertain. The Chevalier, who knew that he was still more

culpable than they thought, bore it all with patience, and condemned

himself more than they desired: this appeased them; and the

entertainment ended with greater tranquillity than it had begun. The

conversation was again reduced to order; but he could not enliven it as

he usually did. He was in very ill humour, and as he pressed them every

minute to rise from table, the Marquis was of opinion that he had lost

a great deal. Matta said, on the contrary, that he had won; but for want

of precautions had made perhaps an unfortunate retreat; and asked him if

he had not stood in need of Serjeant La Place, with his ambuscade.

This piece of history was beyond the comprehension of the Marquis, and

being afraid that Matta might explain it, the Chevalier changed the

discourse, and was for rising from table; but Matta would not consent

to it. This effected a reconciliation between him and the Marquis, who

thought this was a piece of civility intended for him; however, it was

not for him, but for his wine, to which Matta had taken a prodigious

liking.

The Duchess, who knew the character of the Marquis, was charmed with the

account which the Chevalier de Grammont gave her of the entertainment

and conversation: she sent for Matta to know the truth of it from

himself: he confessed, that before the Allobroges were mentioned the

Marquis was for quarrelling with him, because he was not in love with

his wife.

Their acquaintance having begun in this manner, all the esteem which

the Marquis had formerly expressed for the Chevalier seemed now directed

towards Matta: he went every day to pay Matta a visit, and Matta was

every day with his wife. This did not at all suit the Chevalier: he

repented of his having chid Matta, whose assiduity now interrupted all

his schemes; and the Marchioness was still more embarrassed. Whatever

wit a man may have, it will never please where his company is disliked;

and she repented that she had been formerly guilty of some trifling

advances towards him.

Matta began to find charms in her person, and might have found the same

in her conversation, if she had been inclined to display them; but it

is impossible to be in good humour with persons who thwart our designs.

While his passion increased, the Chevalier de Grammont was solely

occupied in endeavouring to find out some method, by which he might

accomplish his intrigue; and this was the stratagem which he put in

execution to clear the coast, by removing, at one and the same time,

both the lover and the husband.

He told Matta, that they ought to invite the Marquis to supper at their

lodgings, and he would take upon himself to provide everything proper

for the occasion. Matta desired to know if it was to play at quinze, and

assured him that he should take care to render abortive any intention

he might have to engage in play, and leave him alone with the greatest

blockhead in all Europe. The Chevalier de Grammont did not entertain

any such thought, being persuaded that it would be impossible to take

advantage of any such opportunity, in whatever manner he might take his

measures, and that they would seek for him in every corner of the

city rather than allow him the least repose: his whole attention was

therefore employed in rendering the entertainment agreeable, in finding

out means of prolonging it, in order ultimately to kindle some dispute

between the Marquis and Matta. For this purpose he put himself in the

best humour in the world, and the wine produced the same effect on the

rest of the company.

The Chevalier de Grammont expressed his concern, that he had not been

able to give the Marquis a little concert, as he had intended in the

morning; for the musicians had been all pre-engaged. Upon this the

Marquis undertook to have them at his country-house the following

evening, and invited the same company to sup with him there. Matta asked

what the devil they wanted with music, and maintained that it was of no

use on such occasions but for women who had something to say to their

lovers, while the fiddles prevented them from being overheard, or for

fools who had nothing to say when the music ended. They ridiculed all

his arguments: the party was fixed for the next day, and the music was

voted by the majority of voices. The Marquis, to console Matta, as well

as to do honour to the entertainment, toasted a great many healths:

Matta was more ready to listen to his arguments on this topic than in

a dispute; but the Chevalier, perceiving that a little would irritate

them, desired nothing more earnestly than to see them engaged in some

new controversy. It was in vain that he had from time to time started

some subject of discourse with this intention; but having luckily

thought of asking what was his lady’s maiden name, Senantes, who was a

great genealogist, as all fools are who have good memories, immediately

began by tracing out her family, by an endless confused string of

lineage. The Chevalier seemed to listen to him with great attention;

and perceiving that Matta was almost out of patience, he desired him to

attend to what the Marquis was saying, for that nothing could be more

entertaining. “All this may be very true,” said Matta; “but for my part,

I must confess, if I were married, I should rather choose to inform

myself who was the real father of my children, than who were my wife’s

grand fathers.” The Marquis, smiling at this rudeness, did not leave off

until he had traced back the ancestors of his spouse, from line to line,

as far as Yolande de Senantes: after this he offered to prove, in less

than half an hour, that the Grammonts came originally from Spain. “Very

well,” said Matta, “and pray what does it signify to us from whence the

Grammonts are descended? Do not you know, sir, that it is better to know

nothing at all, than to know too much?”

The Marquis maintained the contrary with great warmth, and was preparing

a formal argument to prove that an ignorant man is a fool; but the

Chevalier de Grammont, who was thoroughly acquainted with Matta saw very

clearly that he would send the logician to the devil before he should

arrive at the conclusion of his syllogism: for which reason, interposing

as soon as they began to raise their voices, he told them it was

ridiculous to quarrel about an affair in itself so trivial, and

treated the matter in a serious light, that it might make the greater

impression. Thus supper terminated peaceably, owing to the care he took

to suppress all disputes, and to substitute plenty of wine in their

stead.

The next day Matta went to the chase, the Chevalier de Grammont to

the bagnio, and the Marquis to his country house. While the latter was

making the necessary preparations for his guests, not forgetting the

music, and Matta pursuing his game to get an appetite, the Chevalier was

meditating on the execution of his project.

As soon as he had regulated his plan of operations in his own mind, he

privately sent anonymous intelligence to the officer of the guard at the

palace that the Marquis de Senantes had had some words with Monsieur de

Matta the preceding night at supper; that the one had gone out in the

morning; and the other could not be found in the city.

Madame Royale, alarmed at this advice, immediately sent for the

Chevalier de Grammont: he appeared surprised when her highness mentioned

the affair: he confessed, indeed, that some high words had passed

between them, but that he did not believe either of them would have

remembered them the next day. He said that if no mischief had yet taken

place, the best way would be to secure them both until the morning, and

that if they could be found, he would undertake to reconcile them, and

to obliterate all grievances: in this there was no great difficulty.

On inquiry at the Marquis’s they were informed that he was gone to his

country-house: there certainly he was, and there they found him; the

officer put him under an arrest, without assigning any reason for so

doing, and left him in very great surprise.

Immediately upon Matta’s return from hunting, her Royal Highness sent

the same officer to desire him to give her his word that he would not

stir out that evening. This compliment very much surprised him, more

particularly as no reason was assigned for it. He was expected at a good

entertainment he was dying with hunger, and nothing appeared to him more

unreasonable than to oblige him to stay at home, in a situation like the

present; but he had given his word, and not knowing to what this might

tend, his only resource was to send for his friend; but his friend did

not come to him until his return from the country. He had there found

the Marquis in the midst of his fiddlers, and very much vexed to find

himself a prisoner in his own house on account of Matta, whom he was

waiting for in order to feast him: he complained of him bitterly to

the Chevalier de Grammont: he said that he did not believe that he had

offended him; but that, since he was very desirous of a quarrel, he

desired the Chevalier to acquaint him, if he felt the least displeasure

on the present occasion, he should, on the very first opportunity,

receive what is called satisfaction. The Chevalier de Grammont assured

him that no such thought had ever entered the mind of Matta; that on the

contrary, he knew that he very greatly esteemed him; that all this could

alone arise from the extreme tenderness of his lady, who, being alarmed

upon the report of the servants who waited at table, must have gone to

her Royal Highness, in order to prevent any unpleasant consequences;

that he thought this the more probable, as he had often told the

Marchioness, when speaking of Matta, that he was the best swordsman

in France; for, in truth, the poor gentleman had never fought without

having the misfortune of killing his man.

The Marquis, being a little pacified, said he was very much obliged

to him, that he would severely chide his wife for her unseasonable

tenderness, and that he was extremely desirous of again enjoying the

pleasure of his dear friend Matta’s company.

The Chevalier de Grammont assured him that he would use all his

endeavours for that purpose, and at the same time gave strict charge

to his guard not to let him escape without orders from the Court, as he

seemed fully bent upon fighting, and they would be responsible for him:

there was no occasion to say more to have him strictly watched, though

there was no necessity for it.

One being thus safely lodged, his next step was to secure the other: he

returned immediately to town: and as soon as Matta saw him, “What the

devil,” said he, “is the meaning of this farce which I am obliged

to act? for my part, I cannot understand the foolish customs of this

country; how comes it that they make me a prisoner upon my parole?” “How

comes it?” said the Chevalier de Grammont, “it is because you yourself

are far more unaccountable than all their customs; you cannot help

disputing with a peevish fellow, whom you ought only to laugh at;

some officious footman has no doubt been talking of your last night’s

dispute; you were seen to go out of town in the morning, and the Marquis

soon after; was not this sufficient to make her Royal Highness think

herself obliged to take these precautions? The Marquis is in custody;

they have only required your parole; so far, therefore, from taking

the affair in the sense you do, I should send very humbly to thank her

Highness for the kindness she has manifested towards you in putting

you under arrest, since it is only on your account that she interests

herself in the affair. I shall take a walk to the palace, where I will

endeavour to unravel this mystery; in the mean time, as there is but

little probability that the matter should be settled this evening,

you would do well to order supper; for I shall come back to you

immediately.”

Matta charged him not to fail to express to her Royal Highness the

grateful sense he had of her favour, though in truth he as little feared

the Marquis as he loved him; and it is impossible to express the degree

of his fortitude in stronger terms.

The Chevalier de Grammont returned in about half an hour, with two or

three gentlemen whom Matta had got acquainted with at the chase, and

who, upon the report of the quarrel, waited upon him, and each offered

him separately his services against the unassisted and pacific Marquis.

Matta having returned them his thanks, insisted upon their staying

supper, and put on his robe de chambre.

As soon as the Chevalier de Grammont perceived that every thing

coincided with his wishes, and that towards the end of the entertainment

the toasts went merrily round, he knew he was sure of his man till

next day: then taking him aside with the permission of the company, and

making use of a false confidence in order to disguise a real treachery,

he acquainted him, after having sworn him several times to secrecy, that

he had at last prevailed upon the little Saint Germain to grant him an

interview that night; for which reason he would take his leave, under

pretence of going to play at Court; he therefore desired him fully

to satisfy the company that he would not have left them on any other

account, as the Piedmontese are naturally mistrustful. Matta promised he

would manage this point with discretion; that he would make an apology

for him, and that there was no occasion for his personally taking leave:

then, after congratulating him upon the happy posture of his affairs, he

sent him away with all the expedition and secrecy imaginable; so great

was his fear lest his friend should lose the present opportunity.

Matta then returned to the company, much pleased with the confidence

which had been placed in him, and with the share he had in the success

of this adventure. He put himself into the best humour imaginable in

order to divert the attention of his guests; he severely satirised

those, whose rage for gaming induced them to sacrifice to it every other

consideration; he loudly ridiculed the folly of the Chevalier upon this

article, and secretly laughed at the credulity of the Piedmontese, whom

he had deceived with so much ingenuity.

It was late at night before the company broke up, and Matta went to bed,

very well satisfied with what he had done for his friend; and, if we may

credit appearances, this friend enjoyed the fruit of his perfidy. The

amorous Marchioness received him like one who wished to enhance the

value of the favour she bestowed; her charms were far from being

neglected; and if there are any circumstances in which we may detest the

traitor while we profit by the treason, this was not one of them; and

however successful the Chevalier de Grammont was in his intrigues, it

was not owing to him that the contrary was not believed; but, be that

as it may, being convinced that in love whatever is gained by address

is gained fairly, it does not appear that he ever showed the smallest

degree of repentance for this trick. But it is now time for its to take

him from the court of Savoy, to see him shine in that of France.

CHAPTER FIFTH. HE RETURNS TO THE COURT OF FRANCE--HIS ADVENTURES AT THE

SIEGE OF ARRAS--HIS REPLY TO CARDINAL MAZARIN--HE IS BANISHED THE COURT

The Chevalier de Grammont, upon his return to France, sustained, with

the greatest success, the reputation he had acquired abroad: alert in

play, active and vigilant in love; sometimes successful, and always

feared, in his intrigues; in war alike prepared for the events of good

or ill fortune; possessing an inexhaustible fund of pleasantry in the

former, and full of expedients and dexterity in the latter.

Zealously attached to the Prince de Conde from inclination, he was a

witness, and, if we may be allowed to say it, his companion, in the

glory he had acquired at the celebrated battles of Lens, Norlinguen, and

Fribourg; and the details he so frequently gave of them were far from

diminishing their lustre.

[Louis of Bourbon, Duke d’Enghien, afterwards, by the death of his

father in 1656, Prince de Conde. Of this great man Cardinal de Retz

says, “He was born a general, which never happened but to Caesar, to

Spinola, and to himself. He has equalled the first: he has

surpassed the second. Intrepidity is one of the least shining

strokes in his character. Nature had formed him with a mind as

great as his courage. Fortune, in setting him out in a time of

wars, has given this last a full extent to work in: his birth, or

rather his education, in a family devoted and enslaved to the court,

has kept the first within too straight bounds. He was not taught

time enough the great and general maxims which alone are able to

form men to think always consistently. He never had time to learn

them of himself, because he was prevented from his youth, by the

great affairs that fell unexpectedly to his share, and by the

continual success he met with. This defect in him was the cause,

that with the soul in the world the least inclined to evil, he has

committed injuries; that with the heart of an Alexander, he has,

like him, had his failings; that with a wonderful understanding, he

has acted imprudently; that having all the qualities which the Duke

Francis of Guise had, he has not served the state in some occasions

so well as he ought; and that having likewise having all the

qualities of the Duke Henry of Guise, he has not carried faction so

far as he might. He could not come up to the height of his merit;

which, though it be a defect, must yet be owned to be very uncommon,

and only to be found in persons of the greatest abilities.”]

So long as he had only some scruples of conscience, and a thousand

interests to sacrifice, he quitted all to follow a man, whom strong

motives and resentments, which in some manner appeared excusable, had

withdrawn from the paths of rectitude: he adhered to him in his first

disgrace, with a constancy of which there are few examples; but he could

not submit to the injuries which he afterwards received, and which such

an inviolable attachment so little merited. Therefore, without fearing

any reproach for a conduct which sufficiently justified itself, as he

had formerly deviated from his duty by entering into the service of the

Prince de Conde, he thought he had a right to leave him to return again

to his duty.

His peace was soon made at Court, where many, far more culpable than

himself, were immediately received into favour, when they desired it;

for the queen, still terrified at the dangers into which the civil wars

had plunged the State at the commencement of her regency, endeavoured by

lenient measures to conciliate the minds of the people.

[Anne of Austria, daughter of Philip III. of Spain, widow of Louis

XIII., to whom she was married in 1615, and mother of Louis XIV.

She died in 1666. Cardinal de Retz speaks of her in the following

terms. “The queen had more than anybody whom I ever knew, of that

sort of wit which was necessary for her not to appear a fool to

those that did not know her. She had in her more of harshness than

haughtiness; more of haughtiness than of greatness; more of outward

appearance than reality; more regard to money than liberality; more

of liberality than of self-interest; more of self-interest than

disinterestedness: she was more tied to persons by habit than by

affection; she had more of insensibility than of cruelty; she had a

better memory for injuries than for benefits; her intention towards

piety was greater than her piety; she had in her more of obstinacy

than of firmness; and more incapacity than of all the rest which I

mentioned before.” Memoirs, vol. i., p. 247.]

The policy of the minister was neither sanguinary nor revengeful: his

favourite maxim was rather to appease the minds of the discontented by

lenity, than to have recourse to violent measures; to be content with

losing nothing by the war, without being at the expense of gaining any

advantage from the enemy; to suffer his character to be very severely

handled, provided he could amass much wealth, and to spin out the

minority to the greatest possible extent.

[Cardinal Mazarin, who, during a few of the latter years of his

life, governed France. He died at Vincennes the 9th of March 1661,

aged 59 years, leaving as heir to his name and property the Alarquis

de la Meilleray, who married his niece, and took the title of Duke

of Mazarin. On his death, Louis XIV. and the court appeared in

mourning, an honour not common, though Henry IV. had shewn it to the

memory of Gabrielle d’Estrees. Voltaire, who appears unwilling to

ascribe much ability to the cardinal, takes an opportunity, on

occasion of his death, to make the following observation.

--“We cannot refrain from combating the opinion, which supposes

prodigious abilities, and a genius almost divine, in those who have

governed empires with some degree of success. It is not a superior

penetration that makes statesmen; it is their character. All men,

how inconsiderable soever their share of sense may be, see their own

interest nearly alike. A citizen of Bern or Amsterdam, in this

respect, is equal to Sejanus, Ximenes, Buckingham, Richelieu, or

Mazarin; but our conduct and our enterprises depend absolutely on

our natural dispositions, and our success depends upon fortune.”

Age of Louis XIV., chap. 5.]

His avidity to heap up riches was not alone confined to the thousand

different means, with which he was furnished by his authority, and the

situation in which he was placed: his whole pursuit was gain: he was

naturally fond of gaming; but he only played to enrich himself, and

therefore, whenever he found an opportunity, he cheated.

As he found the Chevalier de Grammont possessed a great deal of wit, and

a great deal of money, he was a man according to his wishes, and soon

became one of his set. The Chevalier soon perceived the artfulness and

dishonesty of the Cardinal, and thought it was allowable in him to put

in practice those talents which he had received from nature, not only in

his own defence, but even to attack him whenever an opportunity offered.

This would certainly be the place to mention these particulars; but who

can describe them with such ease and elegance as maybe expected by

those who have heard his own relation of them? Vain is the attempt to

endeavour to transcribe these entertaining anecdotes: their spirit seems

to evaporate upon paper; and in whatever light they are exposed the

delicacy of their colouring and their beauty is lost.

It is, then, enough to say, that upon all occasions where address was

reciprocally employed, the Chevalier gained the advantage; and that if

he paid his court badly to the minister, he had the consolation to find,

that those who suffered themselves to be cheated, in the end gained no

great advantage from their complaisance; for they always continued in

an abject submission, while the Chevalier de Grammont, on a thousand

different occasions, never put himself under the least restraint. Of

which the following is one instance:

The Spanish army, commanded by the Prince de Conde and the

archduke,--[Leopold, brother of the Emperor Ferdinand the

III.]--besieged Arras. The Court was advanced as far as Peronne.--[A

little bat strong town, standing among marshes on the river Somme, in

Picardy.]--The enemy, by the capture of this place, would have procured

a reputation for their army of which they were in great need; as the

French, for a considerable time past, had evinced a superiority in every

engagement.

The Prince supported a tottering party, as far as their usual inactivity

and irresolution permitted him; but as in the events of war it is

necessary to act independently on some occasions, which, if once

suffered to escape, can never be retrieved; for want of this power

it frequently happened that his great abilities were of no avail.

The Spanish infantry had never recovered itself since the battle of

Rocroy;--[This famous battle was fought and won 19th May, 1643, five

days after the death of Louis XIII.]--and he who had ruined them by

that victory, by fighting against them, was the only man who now, by

commanding their army, was capable of repairing the mischief he had done

them. But the jealousy of the generals, and the distrust attendant upon

their counsels, tied up his hands.

Nevertheless, the siege of Arras was vigorously carried on.

[Voltaire observes, that it was the fortune of Turenne and Conde

to be always victorious when they fought at the head of the French,

and to be vanquished when they commanded the Spaniards. This was

Conde’s fate before Arras, August 25, 1654, when he and the archduke

besieged that city. Turenne attacked them in their camp, and forced

their lines: the troops of the archduke were cut to pieces; and

Conde, with two regiments of French and Lorrainers, alone sustained

the efforts of Turenne’s army; and, while the archduke was flying,

he defeated the Marshal de Hoquincourt, repulsed the Marshal de la

Ferte, and retreated victoriously himself, by covering the retreat

of the vanquished Spaniards. The king of Spain, in his letter to

him after this engagement, had these words: “I have been informed

that everything was lost, and that you have recovered everything.”]

The Cardinal was very sensible how dishonourable it would be to suffer

this place to be taken under his nose, and almost in sight of the king.

On the other hand, it was very hazardous to attempt its relief, the

Prince de Conde being a man who never neglected the smallest precaution

for the security of his lines; and if lines are attacked and not forced,

the greatest danger threatens the assailants. For, the more furious the

assault, the greater is the disorder in the retreat; and no man in the

world knew so well as the Prince de Conde how to make the best use of an

advantage. The army, commanded by Monsieur de Turenne, was considerably

weaker than that of the enemy; it was, likewise, the only resource they

had to depend upon. If this army was defeated, the loss of Arras was not

the only misfortune to be dreaded.

The Cardinal, whose genius was happily adapted to such junctures, where

deceitful negotiations could extricate him out of difficulties, was

filled with terror at the sight of imminent danger, or of a decisive

event: he was of opinion to lay siege to some other place, the capture

of which might prove an indemnification for the loss of Arras; but

Monsieur de Turenne, who was altogether of a different opinion from the

Cardinal, resolved to march towards the enemy, and did not acquaint him

with his intentions until he was upon his march. The courier arrived in

the midst of his distress, and redoubled his apprehensions and alarms;

but there was then no remedy.

The Marshal, whose great reputation had gained him the confidence of the

troops, had determined upon his measures before an express order from

the Court could prevent him. This was one of those occasions in which

the difficulties you encounter heighten the glory of success. Though the

general’s capacity, in some measure, afforded comfort to the Court, they

nevertheless were upon the eve of an event, which in one way or other

must terminate both their hopes and their fears while the rest of

the courtiers were giving various opinions concerning the issue,

the Chevalier de Grammont determined to be an eye-witness of it; a

resolution which greatly surprised the court; for those who had seen as

many actions as he had, seemed to be exempted from such eagerness; but

it was in vain that his friends opposed his resolutions.

The king was pleased with his intention; and the queen appeared no less

satisfied. He assured her that he would bring her good news; and she

promised to embrace him, if he was as good as his word. The Cardinal

made the same promise: to the latter, however, he did not pay much

attention; yet he believed it sincere, because the keeping of it would

cost him nothing.

He set out in the dusk of the evening with Caseau, whom Monsieur de

Turenne had sent express to their majesties. The Duke of York, and the

Marquis d’Humieres, commanded under the Marshal: the latter was upon

duty when the Chevalier arrived, it being scarce daylight. The Duke of

York did not at first recollect him; but the Marquis d’Humieres, running

to him with open arms, “I thought,” said he, “if any man came from

court to pay us a visit upon such an occasion as this, it would be the

Chevalier de Grammont. Well,” continued he, “what are they doing at

Peronne?”

[Louis de Crevans, Marechal of France. He died 1694. Voltaire says

of him, that he was the first who, at the siege of Arras, in 1658,

was served in silver in the trenches, and had ragouts and entremets

served up to his table.]

“They are in great consternation,” replied the Chevalier. “And what do

they think of us?” “They think,” said he, “that if you beat the Prince,

you will do no more than your duty; if you are beaten, they will

think you fools and madmen, thus to have risked everything, without

considering the consequences.” “Truly,” said the Marquis, “you bring

us very comfortable news. Will you now go to Monsieur de Turenne’s

quarters, to acquaint him with it; or will you choose rather to repose

yourself in mine? for you have been riding post all last night, and

perhaps did not experience much rest in the preceding.” “Where have you

heard that the Chevalier de Grammont had ever any occasion for sleep?”

replied he: “Only order me a horse, that I may have the honour to attend

the Duke of York; for, most likely, he is not in the field so early,

except to visit some posts.”

The advanced guard was only at cannon shot from that of the enemy.

As soon as they arrived there, “I should like,” said the Chevalier

de Grammont, “to advance as far as the sentry which is posted on that

eminence: I have some friends and acquaintance in their army, whom

I should wish to inquire after: I hope the Duke of York will give me

permission.” At these words he advanced. The sentry, seeing him come

forward directly to his post, stood upon his guard the Chevalier stopped

as soon as he was within shot of him. The sentry answered the sign

which was made to him, and made another to the officer, who had begun to

advance as soon as he had seen the Chevalier come forward, and was soon

up with him; but seeing the Chevalier de Grammont alone, he made no

difficulty to let him approach. He desired leave of this officer to

inquire after some relations he had in their army, and at the same time

asked if the Duke d’Arscot was at the siege. “Sir,” said he, “there he

is, just alighted under those trees, which you see on the left of our

grand guard: it is hardly a minute since he was here with the Prince

d’Aremberg, his brother, the Baron de Limbec, and Louvigny.” “May I

see them upon parole?” said the Chevalier. “Sir,” said he, “if I were

allowed to quit my post, I would do myself the honour of accompanying

you thither; but I will send to acquaint them, that the Chevalier de

Grammont desires to speak to them:” and, after having despatched one

of his guard towards them, he returned. “Sir,” said the Chevalier de

Grammont, “may I take the liberty to inquire how I came to be known to

you?” “Is it possible,” said the other, “that the Chevalier de Grammont

should forget La Motte, who had the honour to serve so long in his

regiment?” “What! is it you, my good friend, La Motte? Truly, I was to

blame for not remembering you, though you are in a dress very different

from that which I first saw you in at Bruxelles, when you taught the

Duchess of Guise to dance the triolets: and I am afraid your affairs are

not in so flourishing a condition as they were the campaign after I had

given you the company you mention.” They were talking in this manner,

when the Duke d’Arscot, followed by the gentlemen above mentioned, came

up on full gallop. The Chevalier de Grammont was saluted by the whole

company before he could say a word. Soon after arrived an immense number

of others of his acquaintance, with many people, out of curiosity, on

both sides, who, seeing him upon the eminence, assembled together with

the greatest eagerness; so that the two armies, without design, without

truce, and without fraud, were going to join in conversation, if, by

chance, Monsieur de Turenne had not perceived it at a distance. The

sight surprised him: he hastened that way; and the Marquis d’Humieres

acquainted him with the arrival of the Chevalier de Grammont, who wished

to speak to the sentry before he went to the headquarters: he added,

that he could not comprehend how the devil he had managed to assemble

both armies around him, for it was hardly a minute since he had left

him. “Truly,” said Monsieur de Turenne, “he is a very extraordinary man;

but it is only reasonable that he should let us now have a little of his

company, since he has paid his first visit to the enemy.” At these words

he despatched an aide-de-camp, to recal the officers of his army, and to

acquaint the Chevalier de Grammont with his impatience to see him.

This order arrived at the same time, with one of the same nature, to the

enemy’s officers. The Prince de Conde, being informed of this peaceable

interview, was not the least surprised at it, when he heard that it was

occasioned by the arrival of the Chevalier de Grammont. He only gave

Lussan orders to recal the officers, and to desire the Chevalier to meet

him at the same place the next day; which the Chevalier promised to do,

provided Monsieur de Turenne should approve of it, as he made no doubt

he would.

His reception in the king’s army was equally agreeable as that which he

had experienced from the enemy. Monsieur de Turenne esteemed him no less

for his frankness than for the poignancy of his wit: he took it very

kindly that he was the only courtier who came to see him in a time so

critical as the present: the questions which he asked him about the

court were not so much for information, as to divert himself with

his manner of relating their different apprehensions and alarms. The

Chevalier de Grammont advised him to beat the enemy, if he did not

choose to be answerable for an enterprise which he had undertaken

without consulting the Cardinal. Monsieur de Turenne promised him he

would exert himself to the utmost to follow his advice, and assured him,

that if he succeeded, he would make the queen keep her word with him;

and concluded with saying, that he was not sorry the Prince de Conde

had expressed a desire to see him. His measures were taken for an

attack upon the lines: on this subject he discoursed in private with the

Chevalier de Grammont, and concealed nothing from him except the time

of execution: but this was all to no purpose; for the Chevalier had seen

too much, not to judge, from his own knowledge, and the observations he

had made, that from the situation of the army, the attack could be no

longer deferred.

He set out the next day for his rendezvous, attended by a trumpet, and

found the Prince at the place which Monsieur de Lussan had described to

him the evening before. As soon as he alighted: “Is it possible,” said

the Prince, embracing him, “that this can be the Chevalier de Grammont,

and that I should see him in the contrary party?” “It is you, my lord,

whom I see there,” replied the Chevalier, “and I refer it to yourself,

whether it was the fault of the Chevalier de Grammont, or your own, that

we now embrace different interests.” “I must confess,” said the Prince,

“that if there are some who have abandoned me like base ungrateful

wretches, you have left me, as I left myself, like a man of honour, who

thinks himself in the right: but let us forget all cause of resentment,

and tell me what was your motive for coming here, you, whom I thought at

Peronne with the court.” “Must I tell you?” said he: “why, faith then,

I came to save your life. I know that you cannot help being in the midst

of the enemy in a day of battle; it is only necessary for your horse

to be shot under you, and to be taken in arms, to meet with the same

treatment from this Cardinal, as your uncle Montmorency did from the

other.

[Henry, Duke of Montmorency, who was taken prisoner first September,

1692, and had his head struck off at Toulouse in the month of

November following.]

“I come, therefore, to hold a horse in readiness for you, in case of

a similar misfortune, that you may not lose your head.” “It is not the

first time,” said the Prince, smiling, “that you have rendered me this

service, though the being taken prisoner at that time could not have

been so dangerous to me as now.”

From this conversation, they passed to more entertaining subjects. The

Prince asked him many questions concerning the court, the ladies, play,

and about his amours; and returning insensibly to the present situation

of affairs, the Chevalier having inquired after some officers of his

acquaintance, who had remained with him, the Prince told him that if he

chose, he might go to the lines, where he would have an opportunity

not only of seeing those whom he inquired after, but likewise the

disposition of the quarters and entrenchments. To this he consented, and

the Prince having shown him all the works and attended him back to their

rendezvous, “Well, Chevalier,” said he, “when do you think we shall see

you again?” “Faith,” replied he, “you have used me so handsomely, that

I shall conceal nothing from you. Hold yourself in readiness an hour

before daybreak; for, you may depend upon it, we shall attack you

to-morrow morning. I would not have acquainted you with this, perhaps,

had I been entrusted with the secret, but, nevertheless, in the present

case you may believe me.” “You are still the same man,” said the Prince,

again embracing him. The Chevalier returned to Monsieur de Turenne’s

camp towards night; every preparation was then making for the attack of

the lines, and it was no longer a secret among the troops.

“Well, Monsieur le Chevalier, were they all very glad to see you?”

said Monsieur de Turenne; “the Prince, no doubt, received you with the

greatest kindness, and asked a great number of questions?” “He has

shown me all the civility imaginable,” replied the Chevalier; “and, to

convince me he did not take me for a spy, he led me round the lines

and entrenchments, and showed me the preparations he had made for

your reception.” “And what is his opinion?” said the Marshal. “He is

persuaded that you will attack him to-night, or to-morrow by daybreak;

for you great captains,” continued the Chevalier, “see through each

other’s designs in a wonderful manner.”

Monsieur de Turenne, with pleasure, received this commendation from

a man who was not indiscriminately accustomed to bestow praise. He

communicated to him the disposition of the attack; and at the same time

acquainted him, that he was very happy that a man who had seen so many

actions was to be present at this; and that he esteemed it no small

advantage to have the benefit of his advice, but as he believed that the

remaining part of the night would be hardly sufficient for his repose,

after having passed the former without any refreshment, he consigned him

to the Marquis d’Humieres, who provided him with a supper and a lodging.

The next day the lines of Arras were attacked, wherein Monsieur de

Turenne, being victorious, added additional lustre to his former glory;

and the Prince de Conde, though vanquished, lost nothing of his former

reputation.

There are so many accounts of this celebrated battle, that to mention it

here would be altogether superfluous. The Chevalier de Grammont, who,

as a volunteer, was permitted to go into every part, has given a better

description of it than any other person. Monsieur de Turenne reaped

great advantage from that activity which never forsook the Chevalier

either in peace or war; and that presence of mind which enabled him to

carry orders, as coming from the general, so very apropos, that Monsieur

de Turenne, otherwise very particular in such matters, thanked him, when

the battle was over, in the presence of all his officers, and despatched

him to court with the first news of his success.

All that is generally necessary in these expeditions, is to be

accustomed to hard riding, and to be well provided with fresh horses,

but he had a great many other obstacles to surmount. In the first

place, the parties of the enemy were dispersed over all the country,

and obstructed his passage. Then he had to prepare against greedy and

officious courtiers, who, on such occasions, post themselves in all the

avenues, in order to cheat the poor courier out of his news. However,

his address preserved him from the one, and deceived the others.

He had taken eight or ten troopers, commanded by an officer of his

acquaintance, to escort him half way to Bapaume, being persuaded that

the greatest danger would lie between the camp and the first stage. He

had not proceeded a league before he was convinced of the truth of what

he suspected, and turning to the officer who followed him closely, “If

you are not well mounted,” said he, “I would advise you to return to the

camp; for my part, I shall set spurs to my horse, and make the best of

my way.” “Sir,” said the officer, “I hope I shall be able to keep you

company, at whatever rate you go, until you are out of all danger.”

“I doubt that,” replied the Chevalier, “for those gentlemen there seem

prepared to pay us a visit.” “Don’t you see,” said the officer, “they

are some of our own people who are grazing their horses?” “No,” said

the Chevalier; “but I see very well that they are some of the enemy’s

troopers.” Upon which, observing to him that they were mounting, he

ordered the horsemen that escorted him to prepare themselves to make a

diversion, and he himself set off full speed towards Bapaume.

He was mounted upon a very swift English horse; but having entangled

himself in a hollow way where the ground was deep and miry, he soon

had the troopers at his heels, who, supposing him to be some officer of

rank, would not be deceived, but continued to pursue him without paying

any attention to the others. The best mounted of the party began to

draw near him; for the English horses, swift as the wind on even ground,

proceeded but very indifferently in bad roads; the trooper presented

his carbine, and cried out to him, at some distance, “Good quarter.” The

Chevalier de Grammont, who perceived that they gained upon him, and

that whatever efforts his horse made in such heavy ground, he must be

overtaken at last, immediately quitted the road to Bapaume, and took a

causeway to the left, which led quite a different way; as soon as he had

gained it, he drew up, as if to hear the proposal of the trooper, which

afforded his horse an opportunity of recovering himself; while his

enemy, mistaking his intention, and thinking that he only waited to

surrender, immediately exerted every effort, that he might take him

before the rest of his companions, who were following, could arrive, and

by this means almost killed his horse.

One minute’s reflection made the Chevalier consider what a disagreeable

adventure it would be, thus coming from so glorious a victory, and

the dangers of a battle so warmly disputed, to be taken by a set of

scoundrels who had not been in it, and, instead of being received in

triumph, and embraced by a great queen, for the important news with

which he was charged, to see himself stripped by the vanquished.

During this short meditation, the trooper who followed him was arrived

within shot, and still presenting his carbine, offered him good quarter,

but the Chevalier de Grammont, to whom this offer, and the manner in

which it was made, were equally displeasing, made a sign to him to lower

his piece; and perceiving his horse to be in wind, he lowered his hand,

rode off like lightning, and left the trooper in such astonishment that

he even forgot to fire at him.

As soon as he arrived at Bapaume, he changed horses; the commander of

this place showed him the greatest respect, assuring him that no person

had yet passed; that he would keep the secret, and that he would retain

all that followed him, except the couriers of Monsieur de Turenne.

He now had only to guard against those who would be watching for him

about the environs of Peronne, to return as soon as they saw him,

and carry his news to court, without being acquainted with any of the

particulars. He knew very well that Marshal du Plessis, Marshal de

Villeroy, and Gaboury, had boasted of this to the Cardinal before his

departure. Wherefore, to elude this snare, he hired two well-mounted

horsemen at Bapaume, and as soon as he had got a league from that place,

and after giving them each two louis d’ors, to secure their fidelity,

he ordered them to ride on before, to appear very much terrified, and

to tell all those who should ask them any questions, “that all was lost,

that the Chevalier de Grammont had stopped at Bapaume, having no great

inclination to be the messenger of ill news; and that as for themselves,

they had been pursued by the enemy’s troopers, who were spread over the

whole country since the defeat.”

Everything succeeded to his wish: the horsemen were intercepted by

Gaboury, whose eagerness had outstripped the two marshals’; but whatever

questions were asked them, they acted their parts so well, that Peronne

was already in consternation, and rumours of the defeat were whispered

among the courtiers, when the Chevalier de Grammont arrived.

Nothing so enhances the value of good news, as when a false alarm of

bad has preceded; yet, though the Chevalier’s was accompanied with this

advantage, none but their Majesties received it with that transport of

joy it deserved.

The queen kept her promise to him in the most fascinating manner:

she embraced him before the whole court; the king appeared no less

delighted; but the Cardinal, whether with the view of lessening the

merit of an action which deserved a handsome reward, or whether it

was from a return of that insolence which always accompanied him in

prosperity, appeared at first not to pay any attention to what he said,

and being afterwards informed that the lines had been forced, that the

Spanish army was beaten, and that Arras was relieved, “Is the Prince de

Conde taken?” said he. “No,” replied the Chevalier de Grammont. “He is

dead then, I suppose?” said the Cardinal. “Not so, neither,” answered

the Chevalier. “Fine news indeed!” said the Cardinal, with an air of

contempt; and at these words he went into the queen’s cabinet with

their majesties. And happy it was for the Chevalier that he did so, for

without doubt he would have given him some severe reply, in resentment

for those two fine questions, and the conclusion he had drawn from them.

The court was filled with the Cardinal’s spies: the Chevalier, as is

usual on such an occasion, was surrounded by a crowd of courtiers and

inquisitive people, and he was very glad to ease himself of some part

of the load which laid heavy on his heart, within the hearing of the

Cardinal’s creatures, and which he would perhaps have told him to his

face. “Faith, gentlemen,” said he, with a sneer, “there is nothing like

being zealous and eager in the service of kings and great princes: you

have seen what a gracious reception his Majesty has given me; you are

likewise witnesses in what an obliging manner the queen kept her promise

with me; but as for the Cardinal, he has received my news as if he

gained no more by it than he did by the death of Peter Mazarin.”

[Peter Mazarin was father to the Cardinal. He was a native of

Palermo in Sicily, which place he left in order to settle at Rome,

where he died in the year 1654.]

This was sufficient to terrify all those who were sincerely attached

to him; and the best established fortune would have been ruined at some

period by a jest much less severe: for it was delivered in the presence

of witnesses, who were only desirous of having an opportunity of

representing it in its utmost malignancy, to make a merit of their

vigilance with a powerful and absolute minister. Of this the Chevalier

de Grammont was thoroughly convinced; yet whatever detriment he foresaw

might arise from it, he could not help being much pleased with what he

had said.

The spies very faithfully discharged their duty: however, the affair

took a very different turn from what they expected. The next day, when

the Chevalier de Grammont was present while their Majesties were at

dinner, the Cardinal came in, and coming up to him, everybody making way

for him out of respect: “Chevalier,” said he, “the news which you have

brought is very good, their Majesties are very well satisfied with it;

and to convince you it is more advantageous to me than the death of

Peter Mazarin, if you will come and dine with me we will have some play

together; for the queen will give us something to play for, over and

above her first promise.”

In this manner did the Chevalier de Grammont dare to provoke a powerful

minister, and this was all the resentment which the least vindictive of

all statesmen expressed on the occasion. It was indeed very unusual for

so young a man to reverence the authority of ministers no farther, than

as they were themselves respectable by their merit; for this, his own

breast, as well as the whole court, applauded him, and he enjoyed the

satisfaction of being the only man who durst preserve the least shadow

of liberty, in a general state of servitude; but it was perhaps owing

to the Cardinal’s passing over this insult with impunity, that

he afterwards drew upon himself some difficulties, by other rash

expressions less fortunate in the event.

In the mean time the court returned: the Cardinal, who was sensible that

he could no longer keep his master in a state of tutelage, being himself

worn out with cares and sickness, and having amassed treasures he knew

not what to do with, and being sufficiently loaded with the weight

of public odium, he turned all his thoughts towards terminating, in a

manner the most advantageous for France, a ministry which had so cruelly

shaken that kingdom. Thus, while he was earnestly laying the foundations

of a peace so ardently wished for, pleasure and plenty began to reign at

court.

The Chevalier de Grammont experienced for a long time a variety of

fortune in love and gaming: he was esteemed by the courtiers, beloved by

beauties whom he neglected, and a dangerous favourite of those whom

he admired; more successful in play than in his amours; but the one

indemnifying him for want of success in the other, he was always full of

life and spirits; and in all transactions of importance, always a man of

honour.

It is a pity that we must be forced here to interrupt the course of his

history, by an interval of some years, as has been already done at

the commencement of these memoirs. In a life where the most minute

circumstances are always singular and diverting, we can meet with no

chasm which does not afford regret; but whether he did not think them

worthy of holding a place among his other adventures, or that he has

only preserved a confused idea of them, we must pass to the parts of

these fragments which are better ascertained, that we may arrive at the

subject of his journey to England.

The peace of the Pyrenees, the king’s marriage,--the return of the

Prince de Conde, and the death of the Cardinal, gave a new face to the

state.

[Louis XIV. married Maria Theresa of Austria. She was born 20th

September, 1638, married 1st June, 1660, and entered Paris 26th

August following. She died at Versailles 30th July, 1683, and was

buried at St. Denis.]

The eyes of the whole nation were fixed upon their king, who, for

nobleness of mien, and gracefulness of person, had no equal; but it was

not then known that he was possessed of those superior abilities, which,

filling his subjects with admiration, in the end made him so formidable

to Europe. Love and ambition, the invisible springs of the intrigues

and cabals of all courts, attentively observed his first steps: pleasure

promised herself an absolute empire over a prince who had been kept

in ignorance of the necessary rules of government, and ambition had no

hopes of reigning in the court except in the minds of those who were

able to dispute the management of affairs; when men were surprised

to see the king on a sudden display such brilliant abilities, which

prudence, in some measure necessary, had so long obliged him to conceal.

An application, inimical to the pleasures which generally attract that

age, and which unlimited power very seldom refuses, attached him solely

to the cares of government: all admired this wonderful change, but

all did not find their account in it: the great lost their consequence

before an absolute master, and the courtiers approached with reverential

awe the sole object of their respects and the sole master of their

fortunes: those who had conducted themselves like petty tyrants in

their provinces, and on the frontiers, were now no more than governors:

favours, according to the king’s pleasure, were sometimes conferred on

merit, and sometimes for services done the state; but to importune, or

to menace the court, was no longer the method to obtain them.

The Chevalier de Grammont regarded his master’s attention to the affairs

of state as a prodigy: he could not conceive how he could submit at his

age to the rules he prescribed himself, or that he should give up so

many hours of pleasure, to devote them to the tiresome duties, and

laborious functions of government; but he blessed the Lord that

henceforward no more homage was to be paid, no more court to be made,

but to him alone, to whom they were justly due. Disdaining as he did

the servile adoration usually paid to a minister, he could never crouch

before the power of the two Cardinals who succeeded each other:

he neither worshipped the arbitrary power of the one, nor gave his

approbation to the artifices of the other; he had never received

anything from Cardinal Richelieu but an abbey, which, on account of

his rank, could not be refused him; and he never acquired anything from

Mazarin but what he won of him at play.

By many years’ experience under an able general he had acquired a talent

for war; but this during a general peace was of no further service to

him. He therefore thought that, in the midst of a court flourishing in

beauties and abounding in wealth, he could not employ himself better

than in endeavouring to gain the good opinion of his master, in making

the best use of those advantages which nature had given him for play,

and in putting in practice new stratagems in love.

He succeeded very well in the two first of these projects, and as he had

from that time laid it down as the rule of his conduct to attach himself

solely to the king in all his views of preferment, to have no regard for

favour unless when it was supported by merit, to make himself beloved by

the courtiers and feared by the minister, to dare to undertake anything

in order to do good, and to engage in nothing at the expense of

innocence, he soon became one in all the king’s parties of pleasure,

without gaining the ill will of the courtiers. In play he was

successful, in love unfortunate; or, to speak more properly, his

restlessness and jealousy overcame his natural prudence, in a situation

wherein he had most occasion for it. La Motte Agencourt was one of the

maids of honour to the queen dowager, and, though no sparkling beauty,

she had drawn away lovers from the celebrated Meneville.

[These two ladies at this period seem to have made a distinguished

figure in the annals of gallantry. One of their contemporaries

mentions them in these terms: “In this case, perhaps, I can give a

better account than most people; as, for instance, they had raised a

report, when the queen-mother expelled Mademoiselle de la Motte

Agencourt, that it was on his score, when I am assured, upon very

good grounds, that it was for entertaining the Marquis de Richelieu

against her majesty’s express command. This lady, who was one of

her maids of honour, was a person whom I was particularly acquainted

with; and that so much, as I was supposed to have a passion for her:

she was counted one of the finest women of the court, and therefore

I was not at all displeased to have it thought so; for except

Mademoiselle de Meneville, (who had her admirers,) there was none

that could pretend to dispute it” Memoirs of the Comte de Rochfort,

1696, p. 210. See also Anquetil, Louis XVI. sa Cour et le Regent,

tome i. p. 46.]

It was sufficient in those days for the king to cast his eye upon a

young lady of the court to inspire her with hopes, and often with tender

sentiments; but if he spoke to her more than once, the courtiers took it

for granted, and those who had either pretensions to, or love for her,

respectfully withdrew both the one and the other, and afterwards only

paid her respect; but the Chevalier de Grammont thought fit to act quite

otherwise, perhaps to preserve a singularity of character, which upon

the present occasion was of no avail.

He had never before thought of her, but as soon as he found that she

was honoured with the king’s attention, he was of opinion that she

was likewise deserving of his. Having attached himself to her, he soon

became very troublesome, without convincing her he was much in love.

She grew weary of his persecutions, but he would not desist, neither on

account of her ill-treatment nor of her threats. This conduct of his at

first made no great noise, because she was in hopes that he would change

his behaviour; but finding him rashly persist in it, she complained

of him: and then it was that he perceived that if love renders all

conditions equal, it is not so between rivals. He was banished the

court, and not finding any place in France which could console him for

what he most regretted--the presence and sight of his prince--after

having made some slight reflections upon his disgrace, and bestowed a

few imprecations against her who was the cause of it, he at last formed

the resolution of visiting England.

CHAPTER SIXTH. HIS ARRIVAL AT THE ENGLISH COURT--THE VARIOUS PERSONAGES

OF THIS COURT

Curiosity to see a man equally famous for his crimes and his elevation,

had once before induced the Chevalier de Grammont to visit England.

Reasons of state assume great privileges. Whatever appears advantageous

is lawful, and every thing that is necessary is honourable in politics.

While the King of England sought the protection of Spain in the Low

Countries, and that of the States-General in Holland, other powers sent

splendid embassies to Cromwell.

This man, whose ambition had opened him a way to sovereign power by

the greatest crimes, maintained himself in it by accomplishments which

seemed to render him worthy of it by their lustre. The nation, of all

Europe the least submissive, patiently bore a yoke which did not even

leave her the shadow of that liberty of which she is so jealous; and

Cromwell, master of the Commonwealth, under the title of Protector,

feared at home, but yet more dreaded abroad, was at his highest pitch of

glory when he was seen by the Chevalier de Grammont; but the Chevalier

did not see any appearance of a court. One part of the nobility

proscribed, the other removed from employments; an affectation of purity

of manners, instead of the luxury which the pomp of courts displays all

taken together, presented nothing but sad and serious objects in the

finest city in the world; and therefore the Chevalier acquired nothing

by this voyage but the idea of some merit in a profligate man, and the

admiration of some concealed beauties he had found means to discover.

Affairs wore quite a different appearance at his second voyage. The joy

for the restoration of the royal family still appeared in all parts.

The nation, fond of change and novelty, tasted the pleasure of a natural

government, and seemed to breathe again after a long oppression. In

short, the same people who, by a solemn abjuration, had excluded

even the posterity of their lawful sovereign, exhausted themselves in

festivals and rejoicings for his return.

The Chevalier de Grammont arrived about two years after the restoration.

The reception he met with in this court soon made him forget the other;

and the engagements he in the end contracted in England lessened the

regret he had in leaving France.

This was a desirable retreat for an exile of his disposition.

Everything flattered his taste, and if the adventures he had in this

country were not the most considerable, they were at least the most

agreeable of his life. But before we relate them it will not be improper

to give some account of the English court, as it was at that period.

The necessity of affairs had exposed Charles II. from his earliest youth

to the toils and perils of a bloody war. The fate of the king his father

had left him for inheritance nothing but his misfortunes and disgraces.

They overtook him everywhere; but it was not until he had struggled with

his ill-fortune to the last extremity that he submitted to the decrees

of Providence.

All those who were either great on account of their birth or their

loyalty had followed him into exile; and all the young persons of the

greatest distinction having afterwards joined him, composed a court

worthy of a better fate.

Plenty and prosperity, which are thought to tend only to corrupt

manners, found nothing to spoil in an indigent and wandering court.

Necessity, on the contrary, which produces a thousand advantages whether

we will or no, served them for education; and nothing was to be seen

among them but an emulation in glory, politeness, and virtue.

With this little court, in such high esteem for merit, the King of

England returned two years prior to the period we mention, to ascend a

throne which, to all appearances, he was to fill as worthily as the

most glorious of his predecessors. The magnificence displayed on thus

occasion was renewed at his coronation.

The death of the Duke of Gloucester, and of the Princess Royal, which

followed soon after, had interrupted the course of this splendour by

a tedious mourning, which they quitted at last to prepare for the

reception of the Infanta of Portugal.

[The Princess Royal: Mary, eldest daughter of Charles I., born

November 4th, 1631, married to the Prince of Orange, 2nd May, 1641,

who died 27th October, 1650. She arrived in England, September

23rd, and died of the smallpox, December 24th, 1660,-according to

Bishop Burnet, not much lamented. “She had lived,” says the author,

“in her widowhood for some years with great reputation, kept a

decent court, and supported her brothers very liberally; and lived

within bounds. But her mother, who had the art of making herself

believe anything she had a mind to, upon a conversation with the

queen-mother of France, fancied the King of France might be inclined

to marry her. So she wrote to her to come to Paris. In order to

that, she made an equipage far above what she could support. So she

ran herself into debt, sold all her jewels, and some estates that

were in her power as her son’s guardian; and was not only

disappointed of that vain expectation, but fell into some

misfortunes that lessened the reputation she had formerly lived in.”

History of his Own Times, vol. i., p. 238. She was mother of

William III.]

[“The Infanta, of Portugal landed in May (1662) at Portsmouth. The

king went thither, and was married privately by Lord Aubigny, a

secular priest, and almoner to the queen, according to the rites of

Rome, in the queen’s chamber; none present but the Portuguese

ambassador, three more Portuguese of quality, and two or three

Portuguese women. What made this necessary was, that the Earl of

Sandwich did not marry her by proxy, as usual, before she came away.

How this happened, the duke knows not, nor did the chancellor know

of this private marriage. The queen would not be bedded, till

pronounced man and wife by Sheldon, bishop of London.”--Extract 2,

from King James II.’s Journal.--Macpherson’s State Papers, vol. i.

In the same collection is a curious letter from the King to Lord

Clarendon, giving his opinion of the queen after having seen her.]

It was in the height of the rejoicings they were making for this new

queen, in all the splendour of a brilliant court, that the Chevalier de

Grammont arrived to contribute to its magnificence and diversions.

Accustomed as he was to the grandeur of the court of France, he was

surprised at the politeness and splendour of the court of England. The

king was inferior to none, either in shape or air; his wit was pleasant;

his disposition easy and affable; his soul, susceptible of opposite

impressions, was compassionate to the unhappy, inflexible to the wicked,

and tender even to excess; he showed great abilities in urgent affairs,

but was incapable of application to any that were not so: his heart was

often the dupe, but oftener the slave, of his engagements.

The character of the Duke of York was entirely different he had the

reputation of undaunted courage, an inviolable attachment for his word,

great economy in his affairs, hauteur, application, arrogance, each in

their turn: a scrupulous observer of the rules of duty and the laws of

justice; he was accounted a faithful friend, and an implacable enemy.

[James, Duke of York, afterwards King James II. He was born 15th

October, 1633; succeeded his brother 6th February, 1684-5; abdicated

the crown in 1688; and died 6th September, 1701. Bishop Burnet’s

character of him appears not very far from the truth.--“He was,”

says this writer, “very brave in his youth; and so much magnified by

Monsieur Turenne, that till his marriage lessened him, he really

clouded the king, and passed for the superior genius. He was

naturally candid and sincere, and a firm friend, till affairs and

his religion wore out all his first principles and inclinations he

had a great desire to understand affairs: and in order to that he

kept a constant journal of all that passed, of which he showed me a

great deal. The Duke of Buckingham gave me once a short but severe

character of the two brothers. It was the more severe, because it

was true: the king, (he said,) could see things if he would: and the

duke would see things if he could. He had no true judgment, and was

soon determined by those whom he trusted: but he was obstinate

against all other advices. He was bred with high notions of kingly

authority, and laid it down for a maxim, that all who opposed the

king were rebels in their hearts. He was perpetually in one amour

or other, without being very nice in his choice: upon which the king

once said, he believed his brother had his mistress given him by his

priests for penance. He was naturally eager and revengeful: and was

against the taking off any, that set up in an opposition to the

measures of the court, and who by that means grew popular in the

house of commons. He was for rougher methods. He continued many

years dissembling his religion, and seemed zealous for the church of

England, but it was chiefly on design to hinder all propositions,

that tended to unite us among ourselves. He was a frugal prince,

and brought his court into method and magnificence, for he had

L100,000. a-year allowed him. He was made high admiral, and he came

to understand all the concerns of the sea very particularly.”]

His morality and justice, struggling for some time with prejudice, had

at last triumphed, by his acknowledging for his wife Miss Hyde, maid of

honour to the Princess Royal, whom he had secretly married in Holland.

Her father, from that time prime minister of England, supported by this

new interest, soon rose to the head of affairs, and had almost ruined

them: not that he wanted capacity, but he was too self-sufficient.