The Duke of Ormond possessed the confidence and esteem of his master:

the greatness of his services, the splendour of his merit and his birth,

and the fortune he had abandoned in adhering to the fate of his prince,

rendered him worthy of it nor durst the courtiers even murmur at seeing

him grand steward of the household, first lord of the bed-chamber,

and lord-lieutenant of Ireland. He exactly resembled the Marshal de

Grammont, in the turn of his wit and the nobleness of his manners: and

like him was the honour of his master’s court.

The Duke of Buckingham and the Earl of St. Albans were the same in

England as they appeared in France: the one full of wit and vivacity,

dissipated, without splendour, an immense estate upon which he had

just entered: the other, a man of no great genius, had raised himself a

considerable fortune from nothing, and by losing at play, and keeping a

great table, made it appear greater than it was.

[“The Duke of Buckingham is again one hundred and forty thousand

pounds in debt; and by this prorogation his creditors have time to

tear all his lands to pieces.”--Andrew Marvell’s Works, 4to. edit.,

vol. i. p. 406.]

Sir George Berkeley, afterwards Earl of Falmouth, was the confidant

and favourite of the King: he commanded the Duke of York’s regiment of

guards, and governed the Duke himself. He had nothing very remarkable

either in his wit, or his person; but his sentiments were worthy of the

fortune which awaited him, when, on the very point of his elevation, he

was killed at sea. Never did disinterestedness so perfectly characterise

the greatness of the soul: he had no views but what tended to the glory

of his master: his credit was never employed but in advising him

to reward services, or to confer favours on merit: so polished in

conversation, that the greater his power, the greater was his humility;

and so sincere in all his proceedings, that he would never have been

taken for a courtier.

The Duke of Ormond’s sons and his nephews had been in the king’s court

during his exile, and were far from diminishing its lustre after

his return. The Earl of Arran had a singular address in all kinds of

exercises, played well at tennis and on the guitar, and was pretty

successful in gallantry: his elder brother, the Earl of Ossory, was not

so lively, but of the most liberal sentiments, and of great probity.

The elder of the Hamiltons, their cousin, was the man who of all the

court dressed best: he was well made in his person, and possessed those

happy talents which lead to fortune, and procure success in love: he was

a most assiduous courtier, had the most lively wit, the most polished

manners, and the most punctual attention to his master imaginable: no

person danced better, nor was any one a more general lover: a merit of

some account in a court entirely devoted to love and gallantry. It is

not at all surprising, that with these qualities he succeeded my Lord

Falmouth in the King’s favour; but it is very extraordinary that he

should have experienced the same destiny, as if this sort of war had

been declared against merit only, and as if this sort of combat was

fatal to none but such as had certain hopes of a splendid fortune. This,

however, did not happen till some years afterwards.

The beau Sydney, less dangerous than he appeared to be, had not

sufficient vivacity to support the impression which his figure made; but

little Jermyn was on all sides successful in his intrigues.

[Robert Sydney, third son of the Earl of Leicester, and brother of

the famous Algernon Sydney, who was beheaded. This is Lord Orford’s

account; though, on less authority, I should have been inclined to

have considered Henry Sydney, his younger brother, who was

afterwards created Earl of Rumney, and died 8th April, 1704, as the

person intended. There are some circumstances which seem

particularly to point to him. Burnet, speaking of him, says, “he

was a, graceful man, and had lived long in the court, where he lead

some adventures that became very public. He was a man of a sweet

and caressing temper, had no malice in his heart, but too great a

love of pleasure. He had been sent envoy to Holland in the year

1679, where he entered into such particular confidences with the

prince, that he had the highest measure of his trust and favour that

any Englishman ever had.”--History of his Own Times, vol. ii., p.

494.

In the Essay on Satire, by Dryden and Mulgrave, he is spoken of in

no very decent terms.

“And little Sid, for simile renown’d,

Pleasure has always sought, but never found

Though all his thoughts on wine and women fall,

His are so bad, sure he ne’er thinks at all.

The flesh he lives upon is rank and strong;

His meat and mistresses are kept too long.

But sure we all mistake this pious man,

Who mortifies his person all he can

What we uncharitably take for sin,

Are only rules of this odd capuchin;

For never hermit, under grave pretence,

Has lived more contrary to common sense.”

These verses, however, have been applied to Sir Charles Sedley,

whose name was originally spelt Sidley. Robert Sydney died at

Pensburst, 1674.]

The old Earl of St. Albans, his uncle, had for a long time adopted him,

though the youngest of all his nephews. It is well known what a table

the good man kept at Paris, while the King his master was starving at

Brussels, and the Queen Dowager, his mistress, lived not over well in

France.

[To what a miserable state the queen was reduced may be seen in the

following extract from De Retz.--“Four or five days before the king

removed from Paris, I went to visit the Queen of England, whom I

found in her daughter’s chamber, who hath been since Duchess of

Orleans. At my coming in she said, ‘You see I am come to keep

Henrietta company. The poor child could not rise to-day for want of

a fire.’ The truth is, that the cardinal for six months together

had not ordered her any money towards her pension; that no

trades-people would trust her for anything; and that there was not at

her lodgings in the Louvre one single billet. You will do me the

justice to suppose that the Princess of England did not keep her bed

the next day for want of a faggot; but it was not this which the

Princess of Conde meant in her letter. What she spoke about was,

that some days after my visiting the Queen of England, I remembered

the condition I had found her in, and had strongly represented the

shame of abandoning her in that manner, which caused the parliament

to send 40,000 livres to her majesty. Posterity will hardly believe

that a Princess of England, grand-daughter of Henry the Great, hath

wanted a faggot, in the month of January, to get out of bed in the

Louvre, and in the eyes of a French court. We read in histories,

with horror, of baseness less monstrous than this; and the little

concern I have met with about it in most people’s minds, has obliged

me to make, I believe, a thousand times, this reflection,--that

examples of times past move men beyond comparison more than those of

their own times. We accustom ourselves to what we see; and I have

sometimes told you, that I doubted whether Caligula’s horse being

made a consul would have surprised us so much as we imagine.”

--Memoirs, vol. i., p. 261. As for the relative situation of the king

and Lord Jermyn, (afterwards St. Albans,) Lord Clarendon says, that

the “Marquis of Ormond was compelled to put himself in prison, with

other gentlemen, at a pistole a-week for his diet, and to walk the

streets a-foot, which was no honourable custom in Paris, whilst the

Lord Jermyn kept an excellent table for those who courted him, and

had a coach of his own, and all other accommodations incident to the

most full fortune: and if the king had the most urgent occasion for

the use but of twenty pistoles, as sometimes he had, he could not

find credit to borrow it, which he often had experiment of.”

--History of the Rebellion, vol. iii., p. 2.]

Jermyn, supported by his uncle’s wealth, found it no difficult matter to

make a considerable figure upon his arrival at the court of the Princess

of Orange: the poor courtiers of the king her brother could not vie with

him in point of equipage and magnificence; and these two articles often

produce as much success in love as real merit: there is no necessity

for any other example than the present; for though Jermyn was brave,

and certainly a gentleman, yet he had neither brilliant actions, nor

distinguished rank, to set him off; and as for his fibre, there was

nothing advantageous in it. He was little: his head was large and his

legs small; his features were not disagreeable, but he was affected in

his carriage and behaviour. All his wit consisted in expressions learnt

by rote, which he occasionally employed either in raillery, or in love.

This was the whole foundation of the merit of a man so formidable in

amours.

The Princess Royal was the first who was taken with him: Miss Hyde

seemed to be following the steps of her mistress: this immediately

brought him into credit, and his reputation was established in England

before his arrival. Prepossession in the minds of women is sufficient

to find access to their hearts: Jermyn found them in dispositions so

favourable for him, that he had nothing to do but to speak.

It was in vain they perceived that a reputation so lightly established,

was still more weakly sustained: the prejudice remained: the Countess of

Castlemaine, a woman lively and discerning followed the delusive shadow;

and though undeceived in a reputation which promised so much, and

performed so little, she nevertheless continued in her infatuation: she

even persisted in it, until she was upon the point of embroiling herself

with the King; so great was this first instance of her constancy.

Such were the heroes of the court. As for the beauties, you could not

look anywhere without seeing them: those of the greatest reputation were

this same Countess of Castlemaine, afterwards Duchess of Cleveland, Lady

Chesterfield, Lady Shrewsbury, the Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Middleton, the

Misses Brooks, and a thousand others, who shone at court with equal

lustre; but it was Miss Hamilton and Miss Stewart who were its chief

ornaments.

[Lady Shrewsbury: Anna, Maria, Countess of Shrewsbury, eldest

daughter of Robert Brudenel, Earl of Cardigan, and wife of Francis,

Earl of Shrewsbury, who was killed in a duel by George, Duke of

Buckingham, March 16, 1667. She afterwards re-married with George

Rodney Bridges, Esq., second son of Sir Thomas Bridges of Keynsham,

in Somersetshire, knight, and died April 20, 1702. By her second

husband she had one son, George Rodney Bridges, who died in 1751.

This woman is said to have been so abandoned, as to have held, in

the habit of a page, her gallant, the duke’s horse, while he fought

and killed her husband; after which she went to bed with him,

stained with her husband’s blood.]

The new queen gave but little additional brilliancy to the court, either

in her person or in her retinue, which was then composed of the Countess

de Panetra, who came over with her in quality of lady of the bedchamber;

six frights, who called themselves maids of honour, and a duenna,

another monster, who took the title of governess to those extraordinary

beauties.

[Lord Clarendon confirms, in some measure, this account. “There

was a numerous family of men and women, that were sent from

Portugal, the most improper to promote that conformity in the queen

that was necessary for her condition and future happiness that could

be chosen; the women, for the most part, old, and ugly, and proud,

incapable of any conversation with persons of quality and a liberal

education: and they desired, and indeed had conspired so far to

possess the queen themselves, that she should neither learn the

English language, nor use their habit, nor depart from the manners

and fashions of her own country in any particulars: which

resolution,” they told, “would be for the dignity of Portugal, and

would quickly induce the English ladies to conform to her majesty’s

practice. And this imagination had made that impression, that the

tailor who had been sent into Portugal to make her clothes could

never be admitted to see her, or receive any employment. Nor when

she came to Portsmouth, and found there several ladies of honour and

prime quality to attend her in the places to which they were

assigned by the king, did she receive any of them till the king

himself came; nor then with any grace, or the liberty that belonged

to their places and offices. She could not be persuaded to be

dressed out of the wardrobe that the king had sent to her, but would

wear the clothes which she had brought, until she found that the

king was displeased, and would be obeyed; whereupon she conformed,

against the advice of her women, who continued their opiniatrety,

without any one of them receding from their own mode, which exposed

them the more to reproach.”--Continuation of Clarendon’s Life, p.

168. In a short time after their arrival in England, they were

ordered back to Portugal.]

Among the men were Francisco de Melo, brother to the Countess de

Panetra; one Taurauvedez, who called himself Don Pedro Francisco Correo

de Silva, extremely handsome, but a greater fool than all the Portuguese

put together: he was more vain of his names than of his person; but the

Duke of Buckingham, a still greater fool than he, though more addicted

to raillery, gave him the additional name of Peter of the Wood. He

was so enraged at this, that, after many fruitless complaints and

ineffectual menaces, poor Pedro de Silva was obliged to leave England,

while the happy duke kept possession of a Portuguese nymph more hideous

than the queen’s maids of honour, whom he had taken from him, as well as

two of his names. Besides these, there were six chaplains, four bakers,

a Jew perfumer, and a certain officer, probably without an office, who

called himself her highness’s barber. Katharine de Braganza was far from

appearing with splendour in the charming court where she came to reign;

however, in the end she was pretty successful.

[Lord Clarendon says, “the queen had beauty and wit enough to make

herself agreeable to him (the king); and it is very certain, that,

at their first meeting, and for some time after, the King had very

good satisfaction in her.... Though she was of years enough

to have had more experience of the world, and of as much wit as

could be wished, and of a humour very agreeable at some seasons,

yet, she had been bred, according to the mode and discipline of her

country, in a monastery, where she had only seen the women who

attended her, and conversed with the religious who resided there;

and, without doubt, in her inclinations, was enough disposed to have

been one of that number: and from this restraint she was called out

to be a great queen, and to a free conversation in a court that was

to be upon the matter new formed, and reduced from the manners of a

licentious age to the old rules and limits which had been observed

in better times; to which regular and decent conformity the present

disposition of men or women was not enough inclined to submit, nor

the king enough disposed to exact.”--Continuation of Lord

Clarendon’s Life, p. 167. After some struggle, she submitted to the

king’s licentious conduct, and from that time lived upon easy terms

with him, until his death. On the 30th March, 1692, she left

Somerset-house, her usual residence, and retired to Lisbon, where

she died, 31st December, 1705, N. S.]

The Chevalier de Grammont, who had been long known to the royal family,

and to most of the gentlemen of the court, had only to get acquainted

with the ladies; and for this he wanted no interpreter: they all

spoke French enough to explain themselves, and they all understood it

sufficiently to comprehend what he had to say to them.

The queen’s court was always very numerous; that of the duchess was less

so, but more select. This princess had a majestic air, a pretty good

shape, not much beauty, a great deal of wit, and so just a discernment

of merit, that, whoever of either sex were possessed of it, were sure to

be distinguished by her: an air of grandeur in all her actions made her

be considered as if born to support the rank: which placed her so near

the throne.

[“The Duchess of York,” says Bishop Burnet, “was a very

extraordinary woman. She had great knowledge, and a lively sense of

things. She soon understood what belonged to a princess, and took

state on her rather too much. She wrote well, and had begun the

duke’s life, of which she showed me a volume. It was all drawn from

his journal; and he intended to have employed me in carrying it on.

She was bred in great strictness in religion, and practised secret

confession. Morley told me he was her confessor. She began at

twelve years old, and continued under his direction till, upon her

father’s disgrace, he was put from the court. She was generous and

friendly, but was too severe an enemy.”--history of his Own Times,

vol. i., p. 237. She was contracted to the duke at Breda,

November 24, 1659, and married at Worcester-house, 3rd September,

1660, in the night, between eleven and two, by Dr. Joseph Crowther,

the duke’s chaplain; the Lord Ossory giving her in marriage.

--Kennet’s Register, p. 246. She died 31st March, 1671, having

previously acknowledged herself to be a Roman Catholic.--See also

her character by Bishop Morley.--Kennet’s Register, p. 385, 390.]

The queen dowager returned after the marriage of the princess royal, and

it was in her court that the two others met.

The Chevalier de Grammont was soon liked by all parties those who

had not known him before were surprised to see a Frenchman of his

disposition. The king’s restoration having drawn a great number of

foreigners from all countries to the court, the French were rather in

disgrace; for, instead of any persons of distinction having appeared

among the first who came over, they had only seen some insignificant

puppies, each striving to outdo the other in folly and extravagance,

despising everything which was not like themselves, and thinking they

introduced the ‘bel air’, by treating the English as strangers in their

own country.

The Chevalier de Grammont, on the contrary, was familiar with everybody:

he gave in to their customs, eat of everything, and easily habituated

himself to their manner of living, which he looked upon as neither

vulgar nor barbarous; and as he showed a natural complaisance, instead

of the impertinent affectation of the others, all the nation was charmed

with a man, who agreeably indemnified them for what they had suffered

from the folly of the former.

He first of all made his court to the king, and was of all his parties

of pleasure: he played high, and lost but seldom: he found so little

difference in the manners and conversation of those with whom he

chiefly associated, that he could scarcely believe he was out of his

own country. Everything which could agreeably engage a man of his

disposition, presented itself to his different humours, as if the

pleasures of the court of France had quitted it to accompany him in his

exile.

He was every day engaged for some entertainment; and those who wished to

regale him in their turn, were obliged to take their measures in time,

and to invite him eight or ten days before hand. These importunate

civilities became tiresome in the long run; but as they seemed

indispensable to a man of his disposition, and as they were the most

genteel people of the court who loaded him with them, he submitted with

a good grace; but always reserved to himself the liberty of supping at

home.

His supper hour depended upon play, and was indeed very uncertain;

but his supper was always served up with the greatest elegance, by the

assistance of one or two servants, who were excellent caterers and good

attendants, but understood cheating still better.

The company, at these little entertainments, was not numerous, but

select: the first people of the court were commonly of the party; but

the man, who of all others suited him best on these occasions, never

failed to attend: that was the celebrated Saint Evremond, who with great

exactness, but too great freedom, had written the history of the treaty

of the Pyrenees: an exile like himself, though for very different

reasons.

Happily for them both, fortune had, some time before the arrival of the

Chevalier de Grammont, brought Saint Evremond to England, after he had

had leisure to repent in Holland of the beauties of that famous satire.

[Charles de St. Denis, Seigneur de Saint Evremond, was born at St.

Denis le Guast, in Lower Normandy, on the 1st of April, 1613. He

was educated at Paris, with a view to the profession of the law; but

he early quitted that pursuit, and went into the army, where he

signalized himself on several occasions. At the time of the

Pyrenean treaty, he wrote a letter censuring the conduct of Cardinal

Mazarin, which occasioned his being banished France. He first took

refuge in Holland; but, in 1662, he removed into England, where he

continued, with a short interval, during the rest of his life. In

1675, the Duchess of Mazarin came to reside in England; and with her

St. Evremond passed much of his time. He preserved his health and

cheerfulness to a very great age, and died 9th of September, 1703,

aged ninety years, five months, and twenty days. His biographer

Monsieur Des Maizeaux, describes him thus: “M. de St. Evremond had

blue, lively, and sparkling eyes, a large forehead, thick eyebrows,

a handsome mouth, and a sneering physiognomy. Twenty years before

his death, a wen grew between his eye-brows, which in time increased

to a considerable bigness. He once designed to have it cut off, but

as it was no ways troublesome to him, and he little regarded that

kind of deformity, Dr. Le Fevre advised him to let it alone, lest

such an operation should be attended with dangerous symptoms in a

man of his age. He would often make merry with himself on account

of his wen, his great leather cap, and grey hair, which he chose to

wear rather than a periwig.” St. Evremond was a kind of Epicurean

philosopher, and drew his own character in the following terms, in a

letter to Count de Grammont. “He was a philosopher equally removed

from superstition and impiety; a voluptuary who had no less aversion

from debauchery than inclination for pleasure: a man who had never

felt the pressure of indigence, and who had never been in possession

of affluence: he lived in a condition despised by those who have

everything, envied by those who have nothing, and relished by those

who make their reason the foundation of their happiness. When he

was young he hated profusion, being persuaded that some degree of

wealth was necessary for the conveniencies of a long life: when he

was old, he could hardly endure economy, being of opinion that want

is little to be dreaded when a man has but little time left to be

miserable. He was well pleased with nature, and did not complain of

fortune. He hated vice, was indulgent to frailties, and lamented

misfortunes. He sought not after the failings of men with a design

to expose them; he only found what was ridiculous in them for his

own amusement: he had a secret pleasure in discovering this himself,

and would, indeed, have had a still greater in discovering this to

others, had not he been checked by discretion. Life, in his

opinion, was too short to read all sorts of books, and to burden

one’s memory with a multitude of things, at the expense of one’s

judgment. He did not apply himself to the most learned writings, in

order to acquire knowledge, but to the most rational, to fortify his

reason: he sometimes chose the most delicate, to give delicacy to

his own taste, and sometimes the most agreeable, to give the same to

his own genius. It remains that he should be described, such as he

was, in friendship and in religion. In friendship he was more

constant than a philosopher, and more sincere than a young man of

good nature without experience. With regard to religion, his piety

consisted more in justice and charity than in penance or

mortification. He placed his confidence in God, trusting in His

goodness, and hoping that in the bosom of His providence he should

find his repose and his felicity.”--He was buried in Westminster

Abbey.]

The Chevalier was from that time his hero: they had each of them

attained to all the advantages which a knowledge of the world, and

the society of people of fashion, could add to the improvement of good

natural talents. Saint Evremond, less engaged in frivolous pursuits,

frequently gave little lectures to the Chevalier, and by making

observations upon the past, endeavoured to set him right for the

present, or to instruct him for the future. “You are now,” said he, “in

the most agreeable way of life a man of your temper could wish for: you

are the delight of a youthful, sprightly, and gallant court: the king

has never a party of pleasure to which you are not admitted. You

play from morning to night, or, to speak more properly, from night to

morning, without knowing what it is to lose. Far from losing the money

you brought hither, as you have done in other places, you have doubled

it, trebled it, multiplied it almost beyond your wishes, notwithstanding

the exorbitant expenses you are imperceptibly led into. This, without

doubt, is the most desirable situation in the world: stop here,

Chevalier, and do not ruin your affairs by returning to your old sins.

Avoid love, by pursuing other pleasures: love has never been favourable

to you.

[“Saint Evremond and Bussi-Rabutin, who have also written on the

life of the Count de Grammont, agree with Hamilton in representing

him as a man less fortunate in love than at play; not seeking for

any other pleasure in the conquest of a woman but that of depriving

another of her; and not able to persuade any one of his passion,

because he spoke to her, as at all other times, in jest: but cruelly

revenging himself on those who refused to hear him; corrupting the

servants of those whom they did favour, counterfeiting their

handwriting, intercepting their letters, disconcerting their

rendezvous; in one word, disturbing their amours by everything which

a rival, prodigal, indefatigable, and full of artifice, can be

imagined to do. The straitest ties of blood could not secure any

one from his detraction. His nephew, the Count de Guiche, was a

victim: he had in truth, offended the Count de Grammont, by having

supplanted him in the affection of the Countess de Fiesque, whom he

loved afterwards for the space of twelve years. Here was enough to

irritate the self-love of a man less persuaded of his own merit.”

Hamilton does not describe the exterior of the count, but accuses

Bussi-Rabutin of having, in the following description, given a more

agreeable than faithful portrait of him: “The chevalier had laughing

eyes, a well-formed nose, a beautiful mouth, a small dimple in the

chin, which had an agreeable effect on his countenance, a certain

delicacy in his physiognomy, and a handsome shape, if he had not

stooped.”]

“You are sensible how much gallantry has cost you; and every person here

is not so well acquainted with that matter as yourself. Play boldly:

entertain the court with your wit: divert the king by your ingenious and

entertaining stories; but avoid all engagements which can deprive you of

this merit, and make you forget you are a stranger and an exile in this

delightful country.

“Fortune may bow weary of befriending you at play. What would have

become of you, if your last misfortune had happened to you when your

money had been at as low an ebb as I have known it? Attend carefully

then to this necessary deity, and renounce the other. You will be missed

at the court of France before you grow weary of this; but be that as

it may, lay up a good store of money: when a man is rich he consoles

himself for his banishment. I know you well, my dear Chevalier: if you

take it into your head to seduce a lady, or to supplant a lover, your

gains at play will by no means suffice for presents and for bribes: no,

let play be as productive to you as it can be, you will never gain so

much by it as you will lose by love, if you yield to it.

“You are in possession of a thousand splendid qualifications which

distinguish you here: generous, benevolent, elegant, and polite; and for

your engaging wit, inimitable. Upon a strict examination, perhaps, all

this would not be found literally true; but these are brilliant marks;

and since it is granted that you possess them, do not show yourself

here in any other light: for, in love, if your manner of paying your

addresses can be so denominated, you do not in the least resemble the

picture I have just now drawn.”

“My little philosophical monitor,” said the Chevalier de Grammont,

“you talk here as if you were the Cato of Normandy.” “Do I say anything

untrue?” replied Saint Evremond: “Is it not a fact, that as soon as a

woman pleases you, your first care is to find out whether she has any

other lover, and your second how to plague her; for the gaining her

affection is the last thing in your thoughts. You seldom engage in

intrigues, but to disturb the happiness of others: a mistress who has

no lovers would have no charms for you, and if she has, she would be

invaluable. Do not all the places through which you have passed furnish

me with a thousand examples? Shall I mention your coup d’essai at Turin?

the trick you played at Fontainebleau, where you robbed the Princess

Palatine’s courier upon the highway? and for what purpose was this fine

exploit, but to put you in possession of some proofs of her affection

for another, in order to give her uneasiness and confusion by reproaches

and menaces, which you had no right to use?

“Who but yourself ever took it into his head to place himself in ambush

upon the stairs, to disturb a man in an intrigue, and to pull him back

by the leg when he was half way up to his mistress’s chamber? yet did

not you use your friend the Duke of Buckingham in this manner, when he

was stealing at night to ------ although you were not in the least his

rival? How many spies did not you send out after d’Olonne?

[Mademoiselle de la Loupe, who is mentioned in De Retz’s Memoirs,

vol. iii., p. 95. She married the Count d’Olonne, and became

famous for her gallantries, of which the Count de Bussi speaks so

much, in his History of the Amours of the Gauls. Her maiden name

was Catherine Henrietta d’Angennes, and she was daughter to Charles

d’Angennes, Lord of la Loupe, Baron of Amberville, by Mary du

Raynier. There is a long character of her by St. Evremond, in his

works, vol. i., p. 17. The same writer, mentioning the concern of

some ladies for the death of the Duke of Candale, says, “But his

true mistress (the Countess d’Olonne) made herself famous by the

excess of her affliction, and had, in my opinion, been happy, if she

had kept it on to the last. One amour is creditable to a lady; and

I know not whether it be not more advantageous to their reputation

than never to have been in love.”--St. Evremond’s works, vol. ii.,

p. 24.]

“How many tricks, frauds, and persecutions, did you not practise for the

Countess de Fiesque, who perhaps might have been constant to you, if you

had not yourself forced her to be otherwise? But, to conclude, for the

enumeration of your iniquities would be endless, give me leave to ask

you, how you came here? Are not we obliged to that same evil genius of

yours, which rashly inspired you to intermeddle even in the gallantries

of your prince? Show some discretion then on this point here, I beseech

you; all the beauties of the court are already engaged; and however

docile the English may be with respect to their wives, they can by no

means bear the inconstancy of their mistresses, nor patiently suffer the

advantages of a rival: suffer them therefore to remain in tranquillity,

and do not gain their ill-will for no purpose.

“You certainly will meet with no success with such as are unmarried:

honourable views, and good landed property, are required here; and you

possess as much of the one as the other. Every country has its

customs: in Holland, unmarried ladies are of easy access, and of tender

dispositions; but as soon as ever they are married, they become like

so many Lucretias: in France, the women are great coquettes before

marriage, and still more so afterwards; but here it is a miracle if a

young lady yields to any proposal but that of matrimony and I do not

believe you yet so destitute of grace as to think of that.”

Such were Saint Evremond’s lectures; but they were all to no purpose:

the Chevalier de Grammont only attended to them for his amusement;

and though he was sensible of the truth they contained, he paid little

regard to them: in fact, being weary of the favours of fortune, he had

just resolved to pursue those of love.

Mrs. Middleton was the first whom he attacked: she was one of the

Handsomest women in town, though then little known at court: so much

of the coquette as to discourage no one; and so great was her desire of

appearing magnificently, that she was ambitious to vie with those of the

greatest fortunes, though unable to support the expense. All this suited

the Chevalier de Grammont; therefore, without trifling away his time in

useless ceremonies, he applied to her porter for admittance, and chose

one of her lovers for his confidant.

This lover, who was not deficient in wit, was at that time a Mr. Jones,

afterwards Earl of Ranelagh: what engaged him to serve the Chevalier de

Grammont, was to traverse the designs of a most dangerous rival, and to

relieve himself from an expense which began to lie too heavy upon him.

In both respects the Chevalier answered his purpose.

Immediately spies were placed, letters and presents flew about: he was

received as well as he could wish: he was permitted to ogle: he was

even ogled again; but this was all. He found that the fair one was very

willing to accept, but was tardy in making returns. This induced him,

without giving up his pretensions to her, to seek his fortune elsewhere.

Among the queen’s maids of honour, there was one called Warmestre: she

was a beauty very different from the other. Mrs. Middleton was well

made, fair, and delicate; but had in her behaviour and discourse

something precise and affected. The indolent languishing airs she gave

herself did not please everybody: people grew weary of those sentiments

of delicacy, which she endeavoured to explain without understanding

them herself; and instead of entertaining she became tiresome. In these

attempts she gave herself so much trouble, that she made the company

uneasy, and her ambition to pass for a wit, only established her the

reputation of being tiresome, which lasted much longer than her beauty.

Miss Warmestre was brown: she had no shape at all, and still less air;

but she had a very lively complexion, very sparkling eyes, tempting

looks, which spared nothing that might ensnare a lover, and promised

everything which could preserve him. In the end, it very plainly

appeared that her consent went along with her eyes to the last degree of

indiscretion.

It was between these two goddesses that the inclinations of the

Chevalier de Grammont stood wavering, and between whom his presents were

divided. Perfumed gloves, pocket looking-glasses, elegant boxes, apricot

paste, essences, and other small wares of love, arrived every week from

Paris, with some new suit for himself; but, with regard to more solid

presents, such as ear-rings, diamonds, brilliants, and bright guineas,

all this was to be met with of the best sort in London, and the ladies

were as well pleased with them as if they had been brought from abroad.

Miss Stewart’s beauty began at this time to be celebrated.

[Frances, Duchess of Richmond, daughter of Walter Stewart, son of

Walter, Baron of Blantyre, and wife of Charles Stewart, Duke of

Richmond and Lennox: a lady of exquisite beauty, if justly

represented in a puncheon made by Roettiere, his majesty’s engraver

of the mint, in order to strike a medal of her, which exhibits the

finest face that perhaps was ever seen. The king was supposed to be

desperately in love with her; and it became common discourse, that

there was a design on foot to get him divorced from the queen, in

order to marry this lady. Lord Clarendon was thought to have

promoted the match with the Duke of Richmond, thereby to prevent the

other design, which he imagined would hurt the king’s character,

embroil his affairs at present, and entail all the evils of a

disputed succession on the nation. Whether he actually encouraged

the Duke of Richmond’s marriage, doth not appear; but it is certain

that he was so strongly possessed of the king’s inclination to a

divorce, that, even after his disgrace, he was persuaded the Duke of

Buckingham had under taken to carry that matter through the

parliament. It is certain too that the king considered him as the

chief promoter of Miss Stewart’s marriage, and resented it in the

highest degree. (See Pepys’ Diaries. Ed.) The ceremony took place

privately, and it was publicly declared in April, 1667. From one of

Sir Robert Southwell’s dispatches, dated Lisbon, December 12,

1667, it appears that the report of the queen’s intended divorce had

not then subsided in her native country.--History of the Revolutions

of Portugal, 1740, p. 352. The duchess became a widow in 1672, and

died October 15, 1702. See Burnet’s History, Ludlow’s Memoirs, and

Carte’s Life of the Duke of Ormond. A figure in wax of this duchess

is still to be seen in Westminster-abbey.]

The Countess of Castlemaine perceived that the king paid attention to

her; but, instead of being alarmed at it, she favoured, as far as she

was able, this new inclination, whether from an indiscretion common

to all those who think themselves superior to the rest of mankind, or

whether she designed, by this pastime, to divert the king’s attention

from the commerce which she held with Jermyn. She was not satisfied with

appearing without any degree of uneasiness at a preference which all

the court began to remark: she even affected to make Miss Stewart her

favourite, and invited her to all the entertainments she made for

the king; and, in confidence of her own charms, with the greatest

indiscretion, she often kept her to sleep. The king, who seldom

neglected to visit the countess before she rose, seldom failed likewise

to find Miss Stewart in bed with her. The most indifferent objects have

charms in a new attachment: however, the imprudent countess was not

jealous of this rival’s appearing with her, in such a situation, being

confident, that whenever she thought fit, she could triumph over all the

advantages which these opportunities could afford Miss Stewart; but she

was quite mistaken.

The Chevalier de Grammont took notice of this conduct, without being

able to comprehend it; but, as he was attentive to the inclinations of

the king, he began to make his court to him, by enhancing the merit

of this new mistress. Her figure was more showy than engaging: it was

hardly possible for a woman to have less wit, or more beauty: all her

features were fine and regular; but her shape was not good: yet she was

slender, straight enough, and taller than the generality of women: she

was very graceful, danced well, and spoke French better than her mother

tongue: she was well bred, and possessed, in perfection, that air of

dress which is so much admired, and which cannot be attained, unless it

be taken when young, in France. While her charms were gaining ground

in the king’s heart, the Countess of Castlemaine amused herself in the

gratification of all her caprices.

Mrs. Hyde was one of the first of the beauties who were prejudiced with

a blind prepossession in favour of Jermyn she had just married a

man whom she loved: by this marriage she became sister-in-law to the

duchess, brilliant by her own native lustre, and full of pleasantry and

wit. However, she was of opinion, that so long as she was not talked of

on account of Jermyn, all her other advantages would avail nothing for

her glory: it was, therefore, to receive this finishing stroke, that she

resolved to throw herself into his arms.

She was of a middle size, had a skin of a dazzling whiteness, fine

hands, and a foot surprisingly beautiful, even in England: long custom

had given such a languishing tenderness to her looks, that she never

opened her eyes but like a Chinese; and, when she ogled, one would have

thought she was doing something else.

Jermyn accepted of her at first; but, being soon puzzled what to do

with her, he thought it best to sacrifice her to Lady Castlemaine. The

sacrifice was far from being displeasing to her; it was much to her

glory to have carried off Jermyn from so many competitors; but this was

of no consequence in the end.

Jacob Hall (the famous rope-dancer) was at that time in vogue in London;

his strength and agility charmed in public, even to a wish to know what

he was in private; for he appeared, in his tumbling dress, to be quite

of a different make, and to have limbs very different from the fortunate

Jermyn.

[“There was a symmetry and elegance, as well as strength and

agility, in the person of Jacob Hall, which was much admired by the

ladies, who regarded him as a due composition of Hercules and

Adonis. The open-hearted Duchess of Cleveland was said to have been

in love with this rope-dancer and Goodman the player at the same

time. The former received a salary from her grace.”--Granger, vol.

ii., part 2, p. 461. In reference to the connection between the

duchess and the ropedancer, Mr. Pope introduced the following lines

into his “Sober Advice from Horace:”

“What push’d poor E--s on th’ imperial whore?

‘Twas but to be where Charles had been before,

The fatal steel unjustly was apply’d,

When not his lust offended, but his pride

Too hard a penance for defeated sin,

Himself shut out, and Jacob Hall let in.”]

The tumbler did not deceive Lady Castlemaine’s expectations, if report

may be believed; and as was intimated in many a song, much more to the

honour of the rope-dancer than of the countess; but she despised all

these rumours, and only appeared still more handsome.

While satire thus found employment at her cost, there were continual

contests for the favours of another beauty, who was not much more

niggardly in that way than herself; this was the Countess of Shrewsbury.

The Earl of Arran, who had been one of her first admirers, was not one

of the last to desert her; this beauty, less famous for her conquests

than for the misfortunes she occasioned, placed her greatest merits in

being more capricious than any other. As no person could boast of being

the only one in her favour; so no person could complain of having been

ill received.

Jermyn was displeased that she had made no advances to him, without

considering that she had no leisure for it; his pride was offended; but

the attempt which he made to take her from the rest of her lovers was

very ill-advised.

Thomas Howard, brother to the Earl of Carlisle, was one of them; there

was not a braver, nor a more genteel man in England; and though he was

of a modest demeanour, and his manners appeared gentle and pacific,

no person was more spirited nor more passionate. Lady Shrewsbury,

inconsiderately returning the first ogles of the invincible Jermyn, did

not at all make herself more agreeable to Howard; that, however, she

paid little attention to; yet, as she designed to keep fair with him,

she consented to accept an entertainment which he had often proposed,

and which she durst no longer refuse. A place of amusement, called

Spring Garden,--was fixed upon for the scene of this entertainment.

As soon as the party was settled, Jermyn was privately informed of it.

Howard had a company in the regiment of guards, and one of the soldiers

of his company played pretty well on the bagpipes; this soldier was

therefore at the entertainment. Jermyn was at the garden, as by chance;

and, puffed up with his former successes, he trusted to his victorious

air for accomplishing this last enterprise; he no sooner appeared on the

walks, than her ladyship showed herself upon the balcony.

I know not how she stood affected to her hero; but Howard did not fancy

him much; this did not prevent his coming up stairs upon the first sign

she made to him; and not content with acting the petty tyrant, at an

entertainment not made for himself, no sooner had he gained the soft

looks of the fair one, than he exhausted all his common-place, and all

his stock of low irony, in railing at the entertainment, and ridiculing

the music.

[Spring Garden: They stay there so long as if they wanted not time

to finish the race; for it is usual here to find some of the young

company till midnight; and the thickets of the garden seem to be

contrived to all advantages of gallantry, after they have refreshed

with the collation, which is here seldom omitted, at a certain

cabaret, in the middle of this paradise, where the forbidden fruits

are certain trifling tarts, newts’ tongues, spacious meats, and bad

Rhenish, for which the gallants pay sauce, as indeed they do at all

such houses throughout England; for they think it a piece of

frugality beneath them to bargain or account for what they eat in

any place, however unreasonably imposed upon.’’-Character of

England, 12mo., 1659, p. 56, written, it is said, by John Evelyn,

Esq. Spring Garden is the scene of intrigue in many of our comedies

of this period.]

Howard possessed but little raillery, and still less patience; three

times was the banquet on the point of being stained with blood; but

three times did he suppress his natural impetuosity, in order to satisfy

his resentment elsewhere with greater freedom.

Jermyn, without paying the least attention to his ill-humour, pursued

his point, continued talking to Lady Shrewsbury, and did not leave her

until the repast was ended.

He went to bed, proud of this triumph, and was awakened next morning by

a challenge. He took for his second Giles Rawlings, a man of intrigue,

and a deep player. Howard took Dillon, who was dexterous and brave, much

of a gentleman, and, unfortunately, an intimate friend to Rawlings.

In this duel fortune did not side with the votaries of love poor

Rawlings was left stone dead; and Jermyn, having received three wounds,

was carried to his uncle’s, with very little signs of life.

While the report of this event engaged the courtiers according to their

several interests, the Chevalier de Grammont was informed by Jones, his

friend, his confidant, and his rival, that there was another gentleman

very attentive to Mrs. Middleton: this was Montagu, no very dangerous

rival on account of his person, but very much to be feared for his

assiduity, the acuteness of his wit, and for some other talents which

are of importance, when a man is once permitted to display them.

There needed not half so much to bring into action all the Chevalier’s

vivacity, in point of competition: vexation awakened in him whatever

expedients the desire of revenge, malice, and experience, could suggest,

for troubling the designs of a rival, and tormenting a mistress. His

first intention was to return her letters, and demand his presents,

before he began to tease her; but, rejecting this project, as too weak a

revenge for the injustice done him, he was upon the point of conspiring

the destruction of poor Mrs. Middleton, when, by accident, he met with

Miss Hamilton. From this moment ended all his resentment against Mrs.

Middleton, and all his attachment to Miss Warmestre: no longer was he

inconstant: no longer were his wishes fluctuating: this object

fixed them all; and, of all his former habits, none remained, except

uneasiness and jealousy.

Here his first care was to please; but he very plainly saw, that to

succeed he must act quite in a different manner to that which he had

been accustomed to.

The family of the Hamiltons, being very numerous, lived in a large

and commodious house, near the court: the Duke of Ormond’s family was

continually with them; and here persons of the greatest distinction in

London, constantly met: the Chevalier de Grammont was here received in

a manner agreeable to his merit and quality, and was astonished that

he had spent so much time in other places; for, after having made this

acquaintance, he was desirous of no other.

All the world agreed that Miss Hamilton was worthy of the most ardent

and sincere affection: nobody could boast a nobler birth, nothing was

more charming than her person.

[Elizabeth, sister of the author of these Memoirs, and daughter of

Sir George Hamilton, fourth son of James, the first Earl of

Abercorn, by Mary, third daughter of Thomas, Viscount Thurles,

eldest son of Walter, eleventh Earl of Ormond, and sister to James,

the first Duke of Ormond. She married Philibert, Count of Grammont,

the hero of these Memoirs, by whom she had two daughters: Claude

Charlotte, married, 3rd April, 1694, to Henry, Earl of Stafford; and

another, who became superior, or abbess, of the Canonesses in

Lorraine.]

CHAPTER SEVENTH. HE FALLS IN LOVE WITH MISS HAMILTON--VARIOUS ADVENTURES

AT THE BALL IN THE QUEEN’S DRAWING-ROOM--CURIOUS VOYAGE OF HIS

VALET-DE-CHAMBRE TO AND FROM PARIS

The Chevalier de Grammont, never satisfied in his amours, was fortunate

without being beloved, and became jealous without having an attachment.

Mrs. Middleton, as we have said, was going to experience what methods

he could invent to torment, after having experienced his powers of

pleasing.

He went in search of her to the queen’s drawing-room, where there was

a ball; there she was; but fortunately for her, Miss Hamilton was there

likewise. It had so happened, that of all the beautiful women at Court,

this was the lady whom he had least seen, and whom he had heard most

commended; this, therefore, was the first time that he had a close view

of her, and he soon found that he had seen nothing at court before this

instant; he asked her some questions, to which she replied; as long as

she was dancing, his eyes were fixed upon her; and from this time he no

longer resented Mrs. Middleton’s conduct. Miss Hamilton was at the happy

age when the charms of the fair sex begin to bloom; she had the finest

shape, the loveliest neck, and most beautiful arms in the world; she

was majestic and graceful in all her movements; and she was the original

after which all the ladies copied in their taste and air of dress. Her

forehead was open, white, and smooth; her hair was well set, and fell

with ease into that natural order which it is so difficult to imitate.

Her complexion was possessed of a certain freshness, not to be equalled

by borrowed colours: her eyes were not large, but they were lively,

and capable of expressing whatever she pleased: her mouth was full of

graces, and her contour uncommonly perfect; nor was her nose, which was

small, delicate, and turned up, the least ornament of so lovely a face.

In fine, her air, her carriage, and the numberless graces dispersed over

her whole person, made the Chevalier de Grammont not doubt but that

she was possessed of every other qualification. Her mind was a

proper companion for such a form: she did not endeavour to shine in

conversation by those sprightly sallies which only puzzle; and with

still greater care she avoided that affected solemnity in her discourse,

which produces stupidity; but, without any eagerness to talk, she just

said what she ought, and no more. She had an admirable discernment

in distinguishing between solid and false wit; and far from making an

ostentatious display of her abilities, she was reserved, though very

just in her decisions: her sentiments were always noble, and even lofty

to the highest extent, when there was occasion; nevertheless, she was

less prepossessed with her own merit than is usually the case with those

who have so much. Formed, as we have described, she could not fail

of commanding love; but so far was she from courting it, that she was

scrupulously nice with respect to those whose merit might entitle them

to form any pretensions to her.

The more the Chevalier de Grammont was convinced of these truths,

the more did he endeavour to please and engage her in his turn:

his entertaining wit, his conversation, lively, easy, and always

distinguished by novelty, constantly gained him attention; but he was

much embarrassed to find that presents, which so easily made their way

in his former method of courtship, were no longer proper in the mode

which, for the future, he was obliged to pursue.

He had an old valet-de-chambre, called Termes, a bold thief, and a still

more impudent liar: he used to send this man from London every week, on

the commissions we have before mentioned; but after the disgrace of

Mrs. Middleton, and the adventure of Miss Warmestre, Mr. Termes was only

employed in bringing his master’s clothes from Paris, and he did not

always acquit himself with the greatest fidelity in that employment, as

will appear hereafter.

The queen was a woman of sense, and used all her endeavours to please

the king, by that kind obliging behaviour which her affection made

natural to her: she was particularly attentive in promoting every sort

of pleasure and amusement especially such as she could be present at

herself.

She had contrived, for this purpose, a splendid masquerade, where those,

whom she appointed to dance, had to represent different nations; she

allowed some time for preparation, during which we may suppose, the

tailors, the mantua makers, and embroiderers, were not idle: nor were

the beauties, who were to be there, less anxiously employed; however,

Miss Hamilton found time enough to invent two or three little tricks, in

a conjuncture so favourable, for turning into ridicule the vain fools of

the court. There were two who were very eminently such: the one was Lady

Muskerry, who had married her cousin-german; and the other a maid of

honour to the Duchess, called Blague.

The first, whose husband most assuredly never married her for beauty,

was made like the generality of rich heiresses, to whom just nature

seems sparing of her gifts, in proportion as they are loaded with those

of fortune: she had the shape of a woman big with child, without being

so; but had a very good reason for limping; for, of two legs uncommonly

short, one was much shorter than the other. A face suitable to this

description gave the finishing stroke to this disagreeable figure.

Miss Blague was another species of ridicule: her shape was neither good

nor bad: her countenance bore the appearance of the greatest insipidity,

and her complexion was the same all over; with two little hollow eyes,

adorned with white eye-lashes, as long as one’s finger. With these

attractions she placed herself in ambuscade to surprise unwary hearts;

but she might have done so in vain, had it not been for the arrival

of the Marquis de Brisacier. Heaven seemed to have made them for each

other: he had in his person and manners every requisite to dazzle a

creature of her character he talked eternally, without saying anything,

and in his dress exceeded the most extravagant fashions. Miss Blague

believed that all this finery was on her account; and the Marquis

believed that her long eyelashes had never taken aim at any but himself:

everybody perceived their inclination for each other; but they had only

conversed by mute interpreters, when Miss Hamilton took it into her head

to intermeddle in their affairs.

She was willing to do everything in order, and therefore began with her

cousin Muskerry, on account of her rank. Her two darling foibles were

dress and dancing. Magnificence of dress was intolerable with her

figure; and though her dancing was still more insupportable, she never

missed a ball at court: and the queen had so much complaisance for the

public, as always to make her dance; but it was impossible to give her

a part in an entertainment so important and splendid as this masquerade:

however, she was dying with impatience for the orders she expected.

It was in consequence of this impatience, of which Miss Hamilton was

informed, that she founded the design of diverting herself at the

expense of this silly woman. The queen sent notes to those whom she

appointed to be present, and described the manner in which they were

to be dressed. Miss Hamilton wrote a note exactly in the same manner to

Lady Muskerry, with directions for her to be dressed in the Babylonian

fashion.

She assembled her counsel to advise about the means of sending it: this

cabinet was composed of one of her brothers and a sister, who were glad

to divert themselves at the expense of those who deserved it. After

having consulted some time, they at last resolved upon a mode of

conveying it into her own hands. Lord Muskerry was just going out, when

she received it: he was a man of honour, rather serious, very severe,

and a mortal enemy to ridicule. His wife’s deformity was not so

intolerable to him, as the ridiculous figure she made upon all

occasions. He thought that he was safe in the present case, not

believing that the queen would spoil her masquerade by naming Lady

Muskerry as one of the dancers nevertheless, as he was acquainted with

the passion his wife had to expose herself in public, by her dress and

dancing, he had just been advising her very seriously to content herself

with being a spectator of this entertainment, even though the queen

should have the cruelty to engage her in it: he then took the liberty to

show her what little similarity there was between her figure, and that

of persons to whom dancing and magnificence in dress were allowable. His

sermon concluded at last, by an express prohibition to solicit a place

at this entertainment, which they had no thoughts of giving her; but far

from taking his advice in good part, she imagined that he was the only

person who had prevented the queen from doing her an honour she so

ardently desired; and as soon as he was gone out, her design was to go

and throw herself at her Majesty’s feet to demand justice. She was in

this very disposition when she received the billet: three times did

she kiss it; and without regarding her husband’s injunctions, she

immediately got into her coach in order to get information of the

merchants who traded to the Levant, in what manner the ladies of quality

dressed in Babylon.

The plot laid for Miss Blague was of a different kind: she had such

faith in her charms, and was so confident of their effects, that she

could believe anything. Brisacier, whom she looked upon as desperately

smitten, had wit, which he set off with common-place talk, and

with little sonnets: he sung out of tune most methodically, and was

continually exerting one or other of these happy talents: the Duke of

Buckingham did all he could to spoil him, by the praises he bestowed

both upon his voice and upon his wit.

Miss Blague, who hardly understood a word of French, regulated herself

upon the Duke’s authority, in admiring the one and the other. It was

remarked, that all the words which he sung to her were in praise of fair

women, and that always taking this to herself, she cast down her eyes

in acknowledgment and consciousness. It was upon these observations they

resolved to make a jest of her, the first opportunity.

While these little projects were forming, the king, who always wished to

oblige the Chevalier de Grammont, asked him, if he would make one at the

masquerade, on condition of being Miss Hamilton’s partner? He did not

pretend to dance sufficiently well for an occasion like the present; yet

he was far from refusing the offer: “Sire,” said he, “of all the favours

you have been pleased to show me, since my arrival, I feel this more

sensibly than any other; and to convince you of my gratitude, I promise

you all the good offices in my power with Miss Stewart.” He said this,

because they had just given her an apartment separate from the rest of

the maids of honour, which made the courtiers begin to pay respect

to her. The king was very well pleased at this pleasantry, and having

thanked him for so necessary an offer: “Monsieur le Chevalier,” said he,

“in what style do you intend to dress yourself for the ball? I leave you

the choice of all countries.” “If so,” said the Chevalier, “I will dress

after the French manner, in order to disguise myself; for they already

do me the honour to take me for an Englishman in your city of London.

Had it not been for this, I should have wished to have appeared as a

Roman; but for fear of embroiling myself with Prince Rupert, who so

warmly espouses the interests of Alexander against Lord Thanet, who

declares himself for Caesar, I dare no longer think of assuming the

hero: nevertheless, though I may dance awkwardly, yet, by observing

the tune, and with a little alertness, I hope to come off pretty well;

besides, Miss Hamilton will take care that too much attention shall

not be paid to me. As for my dress, I shall send Termes off tomorrow

morning; and if I do not show you at his return the most splendid habit

you have ever seen, look upon mine as the most disgraced nation in your

masquerade.”

Termes set out with ample instructions, on the subject of his journey:

and his master, redoubling his impatience on an occasion like the

present, before the courier could be landed, began to count the minutes

in expectation of his return: thus was he employed until the very eve of

the ball; and that was the day that Miss Hamilton and her little society

had fixed for the execution of their project.

Martial gloves were then very much in fashion: she had by chance several

pairs of them: she sent one to Miss Blague, accompanied with four yards

of yellow riband, the palest she could find, to which she added this

note:

“You were the other day more charming than all the fair women in the

world: you looked yesterday still more fair than you did the day before:

if you go on, what will become of my heart? But it is a long time since

that has been a prey to your pretty little young wild boar’s eyes. Shall

you be at the masquerade to-morrow? But can there be any charms at an

entertainment, at which you are not present? It does not signify: I

shall know you in whatever disguise you may be: but I shall be better

informed of my fate, by the present I send you: you will wear knots of

this riband in your hair; and these gloves will kiss the most beautiful

hands in the universe.”

This billet, with the present, was delivered to Miss Blague with the

same success as the other had been conveyed to Lady Muskerry. Miss

Hamilton had just received an account of it, when the latter came to pay

her a visit: something seemed to possess her thoughts very much;

when, having stayed some time, her cousin desired her to walk into her

cabinet. As soon as they were there: “I desire your secrecy for what

I am going to tell you,” said Lady Muskerry. “Do not you wonder what

strange creatures men are? Do not trust to them, my dear cousin: my Lord

Muskerry, who, before our marriage, could have passed whole days and

nights in seeing me dance, thinks proper now to forbid me dancing, and

says it does not become me. This is not all: he has so often rung in my

ears the subject of this masquerade, that I am obliged to hide from him

the honour the queen has done me, in inviting me to it. However, I am

surprised I am not informed who is to be my partner: but if you knew

what a plague it is, to find out, in this cursed town, in what manner

the people of Babylon dress, you would pity me for what I have suffered

since the time I have been appointed: besides, the cost which it puts me

to is beyond all imagination.”

Here it was that Miss Hamilton’s inclination to laugh, which had

increased in proportion as she endeavoured to suppress it, at length

overcame her, and broke out in an immoderate fit: Lady Muskerry took it

in good humour, not doubting but it was the fantastical conduct of

her husband that she was laughing at. Miss Hamilton told her that all

husbands were much the same, and that one ought not to be concerned

at their whims; that she did not know who was to be her partner at the

masquerade; but that, as she was named, the gentleman named with

her would certainly not fail to attend her; although she could not

comprehend why he had not yet declared himself, unless he likewise had

some fantastical spouse, who had forbid him to dance.

This conversation being finished, Lady Muskerry went away in great

haste, to endeavour to learn some news of her partner. Those who were

accomplices in the plot were laughing very heartily at this visit, when

Lord Muskerry paid them one in his turn, and taking Miss Hamilton aside:

“Do you know,” said he, “whether there is to be any ball in the city

tomorrow?” “No,” said she; “but why do you ask?” “Because,” said he, “I

am informed that my wife is making great preparations of dress. I know

very well she is not to be at the masquerade: that I have taken care of;

but as the devil is in her for dancing, I am very much afraid that she

will be affording some fresh subject for ridicule, notwithstanding all

my precautions: however, if it was amongst the citizens, at some private

party, I should not much mind it.”

They satisfied him as well as they could, and having dismissed him,

under pretence of a thousand things they had to prepare for the next

day, Miss Hamilton thought herself at liberty for that morning, when

in came Miss Price, one of the maids of honour to the Duchess. This was

just what she was wishing for: This lady and Miss Blague had been at

variance some time, on account of Duncan, whom Miss Price had drawn away

from the other; and hatred still subsisted between these two divinities.

Though the maids of honour were not nominated for the masquerade, yet

they were to assist at it; and, consequently, were to neglect nothing to

set themselves off to advantage. Miss Hamilton had still another pair of

gloves of the same sort as those she had sent to Miss Blague, which she

made a present of to her rival, with a few knots of the same riband,

which appeared to have been made on purpose for her, brown as she was.

Miss Price returned her a thousand thanks, and promised to do herself

the honour of wearing them at the ball. “You will oblige me if you do,”

said Miss Hamilton, “but if you mention that such a trifle as this comes

from me, I shall never forgive you; but,” continued she, “do not go and

rob poor Miss Blague of the Marquis Brisacier, as you already have of

Duncan: I know very well that it is wholly in your power: you have wit:

you speak French: and were he once to converse with you ever so little

the other could have no pretensions to him.” This was enough: Miss

Blague was only ridiculous and coquettish: Miss Price was ridiculous,

coquettish, and something else besides.

The day being come, the court, more splendid than ever, exhibited all

its magnificence at this masquerade. The company were all met except the

Chevalier de Grammont: every body was astonished that he should be one

of the last at such a time, as his readiness was so remarkable on every

occasion; but they were still more surprised to see him at length appear

in an ordinary court-dress, which he had worn before. The thing was

preposterous on such an occasion, and very extraordinary with respect

to him: in vain had he the finest point-lace, with the largest and best

powdered peruke imaginable his dress, magnificent enough for any other

purpose, was not at all proper for this entertainment.

The king immediately took notice of it: “Chevalier,” said he, “Termes

is not arrived then?” “Pardon me, sire,” said he, “God be thanked!” “Why

God be thanked?” said the king; “has anything happened to him on the

road?” “Sire,” said the Chevalier de Grammont, “this is the history of

my dress, and of Termes, my messenger.” At these words the ball,

ready to begin, was suspended: the dancers making a circle around the

Chevalier de Grammont, he continued his story in the following manner:

“It is now two days since this fellow ought to have been here, according

to my orders and his protestations: you may judge of my impatience all

this day, when I found he did not come: at last, after I had heartily

cursed him, about an hour ago he arrived, splashed all over from head

to foot, booted up to the waist, and looking as if he had been

excommunicated ‘Very well, Mr. Scoundrel,’ said I, ‘this is just like

you, you must be waited for to the very last minute, and it is a miracle

that you are arrived at all.’ ‘Yes, faith,’ said he, ‘it is a miracle.

You are always grumbling: I had the finest suit in the world made for

you, which the Duke de Guise himself was at the trouble of ordering.’

‘Give it me then, scoundrel,’ said I. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘if I did not

employ a dozen embroiderers upon it, who did nothing but work day and

night, I am a rascal: I never left them one moment: ‘And where is

it traitor?’ said I: ‘do not stand here prating, while I should be

dressing.’ ‘I had,’ continued he, ‘packed it up, made it tight, and

folded it in such a manner, that all the rain in the world could never

have been able to reach it; and I rid post, day and night, knowing your

impatience, and that you were not to be trifled with.’ ‘But where is

it?’ said I. ‘Lost, sir,’ said he, clasping his hands. ‘How! lost,’

said I, in surprise. ‘Yes, lost, perished, swallowed up: what can I say

more?’ ‘What! was the packet-boat cast away then?’ said I. ‘Oh! indeed,

sir, a great deal worse, as you shall see,’ answered he: ‘I was within

half a league of Calais yesterday morning, and I was resolved to go by

the sea-side, to make greater haste; but, indeed, they say very true,

that nothing is like the highway; for I got into a quicksand, where I

sunk up to the chin.’ ‘A quicksand,’ said I, ‘near Calais?’ ‘Yes, sir,’

said he, ‘and such a quicksand that, the devil take me, if they saw

anything but the top of my head when they pulled me out: as for my

horse, fifteen men could scarce get him out; but the portmanteau, where

I had unfortunately put your clothes, could never be found: it must be

at least a league under ground.’

“This, sire,” continued the Chevalier de Grammont, “is the adventure,

and the relation which this honest gentleman has given me of it. I

should certainly have killed him, but I was afraid of making Miss

Hamilton wait, and I was desirous of giving your Majesty immediate

advice of the quicksand, that your couriers may take care to avoid it.”

The King was ready to split his sides with laughing, when the Chevalier

de Grammont, resuming the discourse, “apropos, sire,” said he, “I had

forgot to tell you, that, to increase my ill-humour, I was stopped, as

I was getting out of my chair, by the devil of a phantom in masquerade,

who would by all means persuade me that the queen had commanded me

to dance with her; and as I excused myself with the least rudeness

possible, she charged me to find out who was to be her partner, and

desired me to send him to her immediately so that your Majesty will do

well to give orders about it; for she has placed herself in ambush in

a coach, to seize upon all those who pass through Whitehall. However,

I must tell you, that it is worth while to see her dress; for she must

have at least sixty ells of gauze and silver tissue about her, not

to mention a sort of a pyramid upon her head, adorned with a hundred

thousand baubles.”

This last account surprised all the assembly, except those who had a

share in the plot. The queen assured them, that all she had appointed

for the ball were present; and the king, having paused some minutes: “I

bet,” said he, “that it is the Duchess of Newcastle.” “And I,” said Lord

Muskerry, coming up to Miss Hamilton, “will bet it is another fool; for

I am very much mistaken if it is not my wife.”

The king was for sending to know who it was, and to bring her in:

Lord Muskerry offered himself for that service, for the reason already

mentioned; and it was very well he did so. Miss Hamilton was not sorry

for this, knowing very well that he was not mistaken in his conjecture;

the jest would have gone much farther than she intended, if the Princess

of Babylon had appeared in all her glory.

The ball was not very well executed, if one maybe allowed the

expression, so long as they danced only slow dances; and yet there were

as good dancers, and as beautiful women in this assembly, as were to be

found in the whole world: but as their number was not great, they left

the French, and went to country dances. When they had danced some time,

the king thought fit to introduce his auxiliaries, to give the others

a little respite; the queen’s and the duchess’s maids of honour were

therefore called in to dance with the gentlemen.

Then it was that they were at leisure to take notice of Miss Blague,

and they found that the billet they had conveyed to her on the part of

Brisacier had its effect: she was more yellow than saffron: her hair was

stuffed with the citron-coloured riband, which she had put there out of

complaisance; and, to inform Brisacier of his fate, she raised often to

her head her victorious hands, adorned with the gloves we have before

mentioned: but, if they were surprised to see her in a head-dress that

made her look more wan than ever, she was very differently surprised

to see Miss Price partake with her in every particular of Brisacier’s

present: her surprise soon turned to jealousy; for her rival had not

failed to join in conversation with him, on account of what had been

insinuated to her the evening before; nor did Brisacier fail to return

her first advances, without paying the least attention to the fair

Blague, nor to the signs which she was tormenting herself to make him,

to inform him of his happy destiny.

Miss Price was short and thick, and consequently no dancer, the Duke of

Buckingham, who brought Brisacier forward as often as he could, came to

desire him, on the part of the king, to dance with Miss Blague, without

knowing what was then passing in this nymph’s heart: Brisacier excused

himself, on account of the contempt that he had for country dances: Miss

Blague thought that it was herself that he despised; and, seeing that he

was engaged in conversation with her mortal enemy, she began to dance,

without knowing what she was doing. Though her indignation and jealousy

were sufficiently remarkable to divert the court, none but Miss Hamilton

and her accomplices, understood the joke perfectly: their pleasure was

quite complete; for Lord Muskerry returned, still more confounded at the

vision, of which the Chevalier de Grammont had given the description. He

acquainted Miss Hamilton, that it was Lady Muskerry herself, a thousand

times more ridiculous than she had ever been before, and that he had had

an immense trouble to get her home, and place a sentry at her chamber

door.

The reader may think, perhaps, that we have dwelt too long on these

trifling incidents; perhaps he may be right. We will therefore pass to

others.

Everything favoured the Chevalier de Grammont in the new passion which

he entertained: he was not, however, without rivals; but, what is

a great deal more extraordinary, he was without uneasiness: he was

acquainted with their understandings, and no stranger to Miss Hamilton’s

way of thinking.

Among her lovers, the most considerable, though the least professedly

so, was the Duke of York: it was in vain for him to conceal it, the

court was too well acquainted with his character to doubt of his

inclinations for her. He did not think it proper to declare such

sentiments as were not fit for Miss Hamilton to hear; but he talked to

her as much as he could, and ogled her with great assiduity. As hunting

was his favourite diversion, that sport employed him one part of the

day, and he came home generally much fatigued; but Miss Hamilton’s

presence revived him, when he found her either with the queen or the

duchess. There it was that, not daring to tell her of what lay heavy on

his heart, he entertained her with what he had in his head: telling her

miracles of the cunning of foxes and the mettle of horses; giving

her accounts of broken legs and arms, dislocated shoulders, and other

curious and entertaining adventures; after which, his eyes told her the

rest, till such time as sleep interrupted their conversation; for these

tender interpreters could not help sometimes composing themselves in the

midst of their ogling.

The duchess was not at all alarmed at a passion which her rival was far

from thinking sincere, and with which she used to divert herself, as

far as respect would admit her; on the contrary, as her highness had

an affection and esteem for Miss Hamilton, she never treated her more

graciously than on the present occasion.

The two Russells, uncle and nephew,--were two other of the Chevalier

de Grammont’s rivals: the uncle was full seventy, and had distinguished

himself by his courage and fidelity in the civil wars. His passions and

intentions, with regard to Miss Hamilton, appeared both at once; but

his magnificence only appeared by halves in those gallantries which love

inspires. It was not long since the fashion of high crowned hats had

been left off, in order to fall into the other extreme. Old Russell,

amazed at so terrible a change, resolved to keep a medium, which made

him remarkable: he was still more so, by his constancy for cut

doublets, which he supported a long time after they had been universally

suppressed; but, what was more surprising than all, was a certain

mixture of avarice and liberality, constantly at war with each other,

ever since he had entered the list with love.

His nephew was only of a younger brother’s family, but was considered as

his uncle’s heir; and though he was under the necessity of attending to

his uncle for an establishment, and still more so of humouring him, in

order to get his estate, he could not avoid his fate. Mrs. Middleton

showed him a sufficient degree of preference; but her favours could not

secure him from the charms of Miss Hamilton: his person would have had

nothing disagreeable in it, if he had but left it to nature; but he was

formal in all his actions, and silent even to stupidity; and yet rather

more tiresome when he did speak.

The Chevalier de Grammont, very much at his ease in all these

competitions, engaged himself more and more in his passion, without

forming other designs, or conceiving other hopes, than to render himself

agreeable. Though his passion was openly declared, no person at court

regarded it otherwise than as a habit of gallantry, which goes no

farther than to do justice to merit.

His monitor, Saint Evremond, was quite of a different opinion;

and finding, that, besides an immense increase of magnificence and

assiduity, he regretted those hours which he bestowed on play; that he

no longer sought after those long and agreeable conversations they used

to have together; and that this new attachment everywhere robbed him of

himself:

“Monsieur le Chevalier,” said he, “methinks that for some time you

have left the town beauties and their lovers in perfect repose: Mrs.

Middleton makes fresh conquests with impunity, and wears your presents,

under your nose, without your taking the smallest notice. Poor Miss

Warmestre has been very quietly brought to bed in the midst of the

court, without your having even said a word about it. I foresaw it

plain enough, Monsieur le Chevalier, you have got acquainted with Miss

Hamilton, and, what has never before happened to you, you are really in

love; but let us consider a little what may be the consequence. In

the first place, then, I believe, you have not the least intention

of seducing her: such is her birth and merit, that if you were in

possession of the estate and title of your family, it might be excusable

in you to offer yourself upon honourable terms, however ridiculous

marriage may be in general; for, if you only wish for wit, prudence,

and the treasures of beauty, you could not pay your addresses to a more

proper person: but for you, who possess only a very moderate share of

those of fortune, you cannot pay your addresses more improperly.

“For your brother Toulongeon, whose disposition I am acquainted with,

will not have the complaisance to die, to favour your pretensions: but

suppose you had a competent fortune for you both--and that is

supposing a good deal--are you acquainted with the delicacy, not to say

capriciousness, of this fair one about such an engagement? Do you know

that she has had the choice of the best matches in England? The Duke of

Richmond paid his addresses to her first; but though he was in love with

her, still he was mercenary: however, the king, observing that want of

fortune was the only impediment to the match, took that article upon

himself, out of regard to the Duke of Ormond, to the merit and birth of

Miss Hamilton, and to her father’s services; but, resenting that a

man, who pretended to be in love, should bargain like a merchant, and

likewise reflecting upon his character in the world, she did not think

that being Duchess of Richmond was a sufficient recompense for the

danger that was to be feared from a brute and a debauchee.

“Has not little Jermyn, notwithstanding his uncle’s great estate, and

his own brilliant reputation, failed in his suit to her? And has she

ever so much as vouchsafed to look at Henry Howard, who is upon the

point of being the first duke in England, and who is already in actual

possession of all the estates of the house of Norfolk? I confess that he

is a clown, but what other lady in all England would not have dispensed

with his stupidity and his disagreeable person, to be the first duchess

in the kingdom, with twenty-five thousand a year?

“To conclude, Lord Falmouth has told me himself, that he has always

looked upon her as the only acquisition wanting to complete his

happiness: but, that even at the height of the splendour of his fortune,

he never had had the assurance to open his sentiments to her; that

he either felt in himself too much weakness, or too much pride, to be

satisfied with obtaining her solely by the persuasion of her relations;

and that, though the first refusals of the fair on such occasions are

not much minded, he knew with what an air she had received the addresses

of those whose persons she did not like. After this, Monsieur le

Chevalier, consider what method you intend to pursue: for, if you are in

love, the passion will still increase, and the greater the attachment,

the less capable will you be of making those serious reflections that

are now in your power.”

“My poor philosopher,” answered the Chevalier de Grammont, “you

understand Latin very well, you can make good verses, you understand

the course, and are acquainted with the nature of the stars in the

firmament; but, as for the luminaries of the terrestrial globe, you

are utterly unacquainted with them: you have told me nothing about Miss

Hamilton, but what the king told me three days ago. That she has refused

the savages you have mentioned is all in her favour if she had admitted

their addresses, I would have had nothing to say to her, though I love

her to distraction. Attend now to what I am going to say: I am resolved

to marry her, and I will have my tutor Saint Evremond himself to be the

first man to commend me for it. As for an establishment, I shall make my

peace with the king, and will solicit him to make her one of the ladies

of the bed-chamber to the queen: this he will grant me. Toulongeon will

die, without my assistance.

[Count de Toulongeon was elder brother to Count Grammont, who, by

his death, in 1679, became, according to St. Evremond, on that

event, one of the richest noblemen at court.--See St. Evremond’s

Works. vol. ii., p. 327.]