“Notwithstanding all his care; Miss Hamilton will have Semeat,--[A

country seat belonging to the family of the Grammonts.]--with the

Chevalier de Grammont, as an indemnification for the Norfolks and

Richmonds. Now, have you any thing to advance against this project? For

I will bet you an hundred louis, that everything will happen as I have

foretold it.”

At this time the king’s attachment to Miss Stewart was so public, that

every person perceived, that if she was but possessed of art, she might

become as absolute a mistress over his conduct as she was over his

heart. This was a fine opportunity for those who had experience and

ambition. The Duke of Buckingham formed the design of governing her, in

order to ingratiate himself with the king: God knows what a governor he

would have been, and what a head he was possessed of, to guide another;

however, he was the properest man in the world to insinuate himself

with Miss Stewart: she was childish in her behaviour, and laughed at

everything, and her taste for frivolous amusements, though unaffected,

was only allowable in a girl about twelve or thirteen years old. A

child, however, she was, in every other respect, except playing with

a doll: blind man’s buff was her most favourite amusement: she was

building castles of cards, while the deepest play was going on in her

apartments, where you saw her surrounded by eager courtiers, who handed

her the cards, or young architects, who endeavoured to imitate her.

She had, however, a passion for music, and had some taste for singing.

The Duke of Buckingham, who built the finest towers of cards imaginable,

had an agreeable voice: she had no aversion to scandal: and the duke was

both the father and the mother of scandal, he made songs, and invented

old women’s stories, with which she was delighted; but his particular

talent consisted in turning into ridicule whatever was ridiculous in

other people, and in taking them off, even in their presence, without

their perceiving it: in short, he knew how to act all parts with so much

grace and pleasantry, that it was difficult to do without him, when he

had a mind to make himself agreeable; and he made himself so necessary

to Miss Stewart’s amusement, that she sent all over the town to seek for

him, when he did not attend the king to her apartments.

He was extremely handsome, and still thought himself much more so than

he really was: although he had a great deal of discernment, yet his

vanity made him mistake some civilities as intended for his person,

which were only bestowed on his wit and drollery: in short, being

seduced by too good an opinion of his own merit, he forgot his first

project and his Portuguese mistress, in order to pursue a fancy in which

he mistook himself; for he no sooner began to act a serious part with

Miss Stewart, than he met with so severe a repulse that he abandoned,

at once, all his designs upon her: however, the familiarity she had

procured him with the king, opened the way to those favours to which he

was afterwards advanced.

[George Villiers, the second Duke of Buckingham, was born 30th

January, 1627. Lord Orford observes, “When this extraordinary man,

with the figure and genius of Alcibiades, could equally charm the

presbyterian Fairfax and the dissolute Charles; when he alike

ridiculed that witty king and his solemn chancellor: when he plotted

the ruin of his country with a cabal of bad ministers, or, equally

unprincipled, supported its cause with bad patriots,--one laments

that such parts should have been devoid of every virtue: but when

Alcibiades turns chemist; when he is a real bubble and a visionary

miser; when ambition is but a frolic; when the worst designs are for

the foolishest ends,--contempt extinguishes all reflection on his

character.”]

Lord Arlington took up the project which the Duke of Buckingham had

abandoned, and endeavoured to gain possession of the mind of the

mistress, in order to govern the master. A man of greater merit and

higher birth than himself might, however, have been satisfied with the

fortune he had already acquired. His first negotiations were during

the treaty of the Pyrenees: and though he was unsuccessful in his

proceedings for his employer, yet he did not altogether lose his time;

for he perfectly acquired, in his exterior, the serious air and profound

gravity of the Spaniards, and imitated pretty well their tardiness in

business: he had a scar across his nose, which was covered by a long

patch, or rather by a small plaister, in form of a lozenge.

Scars in the face commonly give a man a certain fierce and martial air,

which sets him off to advantage; but it was quite the contrary with him,

and this remarkable plaister so well suited his mysterious looks, that

it seemed an addition to his gravity and self-sufficiency.

Arlington, under the mask of this compound countenance where great

earnestness passed for business, and impenetrable stupidity for secrecy,

had given himself the character of a great politician; and no one having

leisure to examine him, he was taken at his word, and had been made

minister and secretary of state, upon the credit of his own importance.

His ambition soaring still above these high stations, after having

provided himself with a great number of fine maxims, and some historical

anecdotes, he obtained an audience of Miss Stewart, in order to display

them; at the same time offering her his most humble services, and best

advice, to assist her in conducting herself in the situation to which

it had pleased God and her virtue to raise her. But he was only in the

preface of his speech, when she recollected that he was at the head of

those whom the Duke of Buckingham used to mimic; and as his presence and

his language exactly revived the ridiculous ideas that had been given

her of him, she could not forbear bursting out into a fit of laughter in

his face, so much the more violent as she had for a long time struggled

to suppress it.

The minister was enraged: his pride became his post, and his punctilious

behaviour merited all the ridicule which could be attached to it: he

quitted her abruptly, with all the fine advice he had prepared for her,

and was almost tempted to carry it to Lady Castlemaine, and to unite

himself with her interests; or immediately to quit the court party, and

declaim freely in parliament against the grievances of the state, and

particularly to propose an act to forbid the keeping of mistresses; but

his prudence conquered his resentments; and thinking only how to enjoy

with pleasure the blessings of fortune, he sent to Holland for a wife,

in order to complete his felicity.

Hamilton was, of all the courtiers, the best qualified to succeed in

an enterprise, in which the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Arlington had

miscarried: he was thinking upon it; but his natural coquetry traversed

his intentions, and made him neglect the most advantageous prospects

in the world, in order unnecessarily to attend to the advances and

allurements thrown out to him by the Countess of Chesterfield. This was

one of the most agreeable women in the world: she had a most exquisite

shape, though she was not very tall; her complexion was extremely fair,

with all the expressive charms of a brunette; she had large blue eyes,

very tempting and alluring; her manners were engaging; her wit lively

and amusing; but her heart, ever open to tender sentiments, was neither

scrupulous in point of constancy, nor nice in point of sincerity.

She was daughter to the Duke of Ormond, and Hamilton, being her

cousin-german, they might be as much as they pleased in each other’s

company without being particular; but as soon as her eyes gave him some

encouragement, he entertained no other thoughts than how to please

her, without considering her fickleness, or the obstacles he had to

encounter.

[This lady was Isabella, daughter to Lewis de Nassau, Lord Beverwaert,

son to Maurice, Prince of Orange, and Count Nassau. By her, Lord

Arlington had an only daughter, named Isabella.]

His intention, which we mentioned before, of establishing himself in the

confidence of Miss Stewart, no longer occupied his thoughts: she now

was of opinion that she was capable of being the mistress of her own

conduct: she had done all that was necessary to inflame the king’s

passions, without exposing her virtue by granting the last favours;

but the eagerness of a passionate lover, blessed with favourable

opportunities, is difficult to withstand, and still more difficult to

vanquish; and Miss Stewart’s virtue was almost exhausted, when the queen

was attacked with a violent fever, which soon reduced her to extreme

danger.

Then it was that Miss Stewart was greatly pleased with herself for the

resistance she had made, though she had paid dearly for it: a thousand

flattering hopes of greatness and glory filled her heart, and the

additional respect that was universally paid her, contributed not a

little to increase them. The queen was given over by her physicians: the

few Portuguese women that had not been sent back to their own country

filled the court with doleful cries; and the good nature of the king

was much affected with the situation in which he saw a princess, whom,

though he did not love her, yet he greatly esteemed. She loved him

tenderly, and thinking that it was the last time she should ever speak

to him, she told him, that the concern he showed for her death, was

enough to make her quit life with regret; but that not possessing charms

sufficient to merit his tenderness, she had at least the consolation in

dying to give place to a consort who might be more worthy of it, and to

whom heaven, perhaps, might grant a blessing that had been refused to

her. At these words, she bathed his hands with some tears, which he

thought would be her last: he mingled his own with hers; and without

supposing she would take him at his word, he conjured her to live for

his sake. She had never yet disobeyed him; and, however dangerous sudden

impulses may be, when one is between life and death, this transport

of joy, which might have proved fatal to her, saved her life, and the

king’s wonderful tenderness had an effect, for which every person did

not thank heaven in the same manner.

Jermyn had now for some time been recovered of his wounds: however, Lady

Castlemaine, finding his health in as deplorable a condition as ever,

resolved to regain the king’s heart, but in vain: for notwithstanding

the softness of her tears, and the violence of her passions, Miss

Stewart wholly possessed it. During this period the court was variously

entertained: sometimes there were promenades, and at others the court

beauties sallied out on horseback, and to make attacks with their charms

and graces, sometimes successfully, sometimes otherwise, but always to

the best of their abilities at other seasons there were such shows on

the river, as the city of London alone can afford.

The Thames washes the sides of a large though not a magnificent palace

of the kings of Great Britain:--[This was Whitehall, which was burnt

down, except the banqueting-house, 4th January, 1698.]--from the stairs

of this palace the court used to take water, in the summer evenings,

when the heat and dust prevented their walking in the park: an infinite

number of open boats, filled with the court and city beauties, attended

the barges, in which were the Royal Family: collations, music, and

fireworks, completed the scene. The Chevalier de Grammont always made

one of the company, and it was very seldom that he did not add something

of his own invention, agreeably to surprise by some unexpected stroke of

magnificence and gallantry. Sometimes he had complete concerts of vocal

and instrumental music, which he privately brought from Paris, and which

struck up on a sudden in the midst of these parties; sometimes he gave

banquets, which likewise came from France, and which, even in the

midst of London, surpassed the king’s collations. These entertainments

sometimes exceeded, as others fell short of his expectations, but they

always cost him an immense deal of money.

Lord Falmouth was one of those who had the greatest friendship and

esteem for the Chevalier de Grammont: this profusion gave him concern,

and as he often used to go and sup with him without ceremony, one day

finding only Saint Evremond there, and a supper fit for half a

dozen guests, who had been invited in form: “You must not,” said he,

addressing himself to the Chevalier de Grammont, “be obliged to me for

this visit. I come from the king’s ‘coucher’, where all the discourse

was about you; and I can assure you that the manner in which the king

spoke of you, could not afford you so much pleasure as I myself felt

upon the occasion. You know very well, that he has long since offered

you his good offices with the King of France; and for my own part,”

continued he, smiling, “you know very well that I would solicit him so

to do, if it was not through fear of losing you as soon as your peace is

made; but, thanks to Miss Hamilton, you are in no great haste: however,

I am ordered by the king, my master, to acquaint you, that while you

remain here, until you are restored to the favour of your sovereign, he

presents you with a pension of fifteen hundred Jacobus’s: it is indeed a

trifle, considering the figure the Chevalier de Grammont makes among us;

but it will assist him,” said he, embracing him, “to give us sometimes a

supper.”

The Chevalier de Grammont received, as he ought, the offer of a favour

he did not think proper to accept: “I acknowledge,” said he, “the king’s

bounty in this proposal, but I am still more sensible of Lord Falmouth’s

generosity in it; and I request him to assure his Majesty of my perfect

gratitude: the king, my master, will not suffer me to want, when he

thinks fit to recall me; and while I continue here, I will let you

see that I have wherewithal to give my English friends now and then a

supper.”

At these words, he called for his strong box, and showed him seven or

eight thousand guineas in solid gold. Lord Falmouth, willing to improve

to the Chevalier’s advantage the refusal of so advantageous an offer,

gave Monsieur de Comminge, then ambassador at the English court, an

account of it; nor did Monsieur de Comminge fail to represent properly

the merit of such a refusal to the French court.

Hyde Park, every one knows, is the promenade of London! nothing was so

much in fashion, during the fine weather, as that promenade, which was

the rendezvous of magnificence and beauty: every one, therefore, who

had either sparkling eyes, or a splendid equipage, constantly repaired

thither; and the king seemed pleased with the place.

Coaches with glasses were then a late invention.

[Coaches were first introduced into England in the year 1564.

Taylor, the water poet, (Works, 1630, p. 240,) says,--“One William

Boonen, a Dutchman, brought first the use of coaches hither; and the

said Boonen was Queen Elizabeth’s coachman; for, indeed, a coach was

a strange monster in those days, and the sight of them put both

horse and man into amazement.” Dr. Percy observes, they were first

drawn by two horses, and that it was the favourite Buckingham, who,

about 1619, began to draw with six horses. About the same time, he

introduced the sedan. ‘The Ultimum Vale of John Carleton’, 4to,

1663, p. 23, will, in a great measure, ascertain the time of the

introduction of glass coaches. He says, “I could wish her (i. e.

Mary Carleton’s) coach (which she said my lord Taff bought for her

in England, and sent it over to her, made of the new fashion, wide

glasse, very stately; and her pages and lacquies were of the same

livery,) was come for me,” &c.]

The ladies were afraid of being shut up in them: they greatly preferred

the pleasure of showing almost their whole persons, to the conveniences

of modern coaches: that which was made for the king not being remarkable

for its elegance, the Chevalier de Grammont was of opinion that

something ingenious might be invented, which should partake of the

ancient fashion, and likewise prove preferable to the modern; he

therefore sent away Termes privately with all the necessary instructions

to Paris: the Duke of Guise was likewise charged with this commission;

and the courier, having by the favour of Providence escaped the

quicksand, in a month’s time brought safely over to England the most

elegant and magnificent calash that had ever been seen, which the

Chevalier presented to the king.

The Chevalier de Grammont had given orders that fifteen hundred louis

should be expended upon it; but the Duke of Guise, who was his friend,

to oblige him, laid out two thousand. All the court was in admiration

at the magnificence of the present; and the king, charmed with the

Chevalier’s attention to everything which could afford him pleasure,

failed not to acknowledge it: he would not, however, accept a present of

so much value, but upon condition that the Chevalier should not refuse

another from him.

The queen, imagining that so splendid a carriage might prove fortunate

for her, wished to appear in it first, with the Duchess of York. Lady

Castlemaine, who had seen them in it, thinking that it set off a fine

figure to greater advantage than any other, desired the king to lend her

this wonderful calash to appear in it the first fine day in Hyde Park:

Miss Stewart had the same wish, and requested to have it on the same

day. As it was impossible to reconcile these two goddesses, whose former

union was turned into mortal hatred, the king was very much perplexed.

Lady Castlemaine was with child, and threatened to miscarry, if her

rival was preferred; Miss Stewart threatened, that she never would be

with child, if her request was not granted. This menace prevailed, and

Lady Castlemaine’s rage was so great, that she had almost kept her

word; and it was believed that this triumph cost her rival some of her

innocence.

The queen dowager, who, though she had no share in these broils, had no

objection to them, and as usual being diverted with this circumstance,

she took occasion to joke with the Chevalier de Grammont, for having

thrown this bone of contention among such competitors; and did not fail

to give him, in the presence of the whole court, those praises which so

magnificent a present deserved: “But how comes it,” said she, “that you

have no equipage yourself, though you are at so great an expense? for I

am told that you do not keep even a single footman, and that one of the

common runners in the streets lights you home with a stinking link.”

“Madam,” said he, “the Chevalier de Grammont hates pomp: my linkboy, of

whom you speak, is faithful to my service; and besides, he is one of

the bravest fellows in the world. Your Majesty is unacquainted with

the nation of link-boys: it is a charming one, I can assure you: a man

cannot step out in the night without being surrounded by a dozen of

them. The first time I became acquainted with them, I retained all that

offered me their services; so that when I arrived at Whitehall, I had at

least two hundred about my chair: the sight was new; for those who had

seen me pass with this illumination, asked whose funeral it was. These

gentlemen, however, began fighting about some dozen shillings I had

thrown among them then; and he whom your Majesty mentions having beaten

three or four of his companions, I retained him for his valour. As for

the parade of coaches and footmen, I despise it: I have sometimes had

five or six valets-de-chambre at once, without having a single servant

in livery, except my chaplain Poussatin.” “How!” said the queen,

bursting out laughing, “a chaplain in your livery! he surely was not a

priest?” “Pardon me, madam,” said he, “and the first priest in the world

for dancing the Biscayan jig.” “Chevalier,” said the king, “pray tell us

the history of your chaplain Poussatin.”

CHAPTER EIGHTH. FUNNY ADVENTURE OF THE CHAPLAIN POUSSATIN--THE STORY

OF THE SIEGE OF LERIDA--MARRIAGE OF THE DUKE OF YORK, AND OTHER DETAILS

ABOUT THE ENGLISH COURT

“Sir,” said the Chevalier de Grammont, “the Prince de Conde besieged

Lerida: the place in itself was nothing; but Don Gregorio Brice who

defended it, was something. He was one of those Spaniards of the old

stamp, as valiant as the Cid, as proud as all the Guzmans put together,

and more gallant than all the Abencerrages of Granada: he suffered us

to make our first approaches to the place without the least molestation.

The Marshal de Grammont, whose maxim it was, that a governor who at

first makes a great blustering, and burns his suburbs in order to make

a noble defence, generally makes a very bad one, looked upon Gregorio de

Brice’s politeness as no good omen for us; but the prince, covered

with glory, and elated with the campaigns of Rocroy, Norlinguen,

and Fribourg, to insult both the place and the governor, ordered the

trenches to be mounted at noon-day by his own regiment, at the head of

which marched four-and-twenty fiddlers, as if it had been to a wedding.

“Night approaching, we were all in high spirits: our violins were

playing soft airs, and we were comfortably regaling ourselves: God knows

how we were joking about the poor governor and his fortifications, both

of which we promised ourselves to take in less than twenty-four hours.

This was going on in the trenches, when we heard an ominous cry from the

ramparts, repeated two or three times, of, ‘Alerte on the walls!’

This cry was followed by a discharge of cannon and musketry, and

this discharge by a vigorous sally, which, after having filled up the

trenches, pursued us as far as our grand guard.

“The next day Gregorio Brice sent by a trumpet a present of ice and

fruit to the Prince de Conde, humbly beseeching his highness to excuse

his not returning the serenade which he was pleased to favour him with,

as unfortunately he had no violins; but that if the music of last night

was not disagreeable to him, he would endeavour to continue it as long

as he did him the honour to remain before the place. The Spaniard was

as good as his word; and as soon as we heard, ‘Alerte on the walls,’ we

were sure of a sally, that cleared our trenches, destroyed our works,

and killed the best of our officers and soldiers. The prince was so

piqued at it, that, contrary to the opinion of the general officers, he

obstinately persisted in carrying on a siege which was like to ruin his

army, and which he was at last forced to quit in a hurry.

“As our troops were retiring, Don Gregorio, far from giving himself

those airs which governors generally do on such occasions, made no other

sally, than sending a respectful compliment to the prince. Signor Brice

set out not long after for Madrid, to give an account of his conduct,

and to receive the recompense he had merited. Your majesty perhaps will

be desirous to know what reception poor Brice met with, after having

performed the most brilliant action the Spaniards could boast of in all

the war--he was confined by the inquisition.”

“How!” said the Queen Dowager, “confined by the inquisition for his

services!” “Not altogether for his services,” said the Chevalier; “but

without any regard to his services, he was treated in the manner I have

mentioned for a little affair of gallantry, which I shall relate to the

King presently.

“The campaign of Catalonia being thus ended, we were returning home, not

overloaded with laurels; but as the Prince de Conde had laid up a great

store on former occasions, and as he had still great projects in his

head, he soon forgot this trifling misfortune: we did nothing but joke

with one another during the march, and the prince was the first to

ridicule the siege. We made some of those rhymes on Lerida, which were

sung all over France, in order to prevent others more severe; however,

we gained nothing by it, for notwithstanding we treated ourselves freely

in our own ballads, others were composed in Paris in which we were ten

times more severely handled. At last we arrived at Perpignan upon a

holy-day: a company of Catalans, who were dancing in the middle of the

street, out of respect to the prince came to dance under his windows:

Monsieur Poussatin, in a little black jacket, danced in the middle of

this company, as if he was really mad. I immediately recognized him

for my countryman, from his manner of skipping and frisking about: the

prince was charmed with his humour and activity. After the dance, I sent

for him, and inquired who he was: ‘A poor priest, at your service, my

lord,’ said he: ‘my name is Poussatin, and Bearn is my native country: I

was going into Catalonia to serve in the infantry, for, God be praised,

I can march very well on foot; but since the war is happily concluded,

if your lordship pleases to take me into your service, I would follow

you everywhere, and serve you faithfully.’ ‘Monsieur Poussatin,’ said I,

‘my lordship has no great occasion for a chaplain; but since you are so

well disposed towards me, I will take you into my service.’

“The Prince de Conde, who was present at this conversation, was

overjoyed at my having a chaplain. As poor Poussatin was in a very

tattered condition, I had no time to provide him with a proper habit

at Perpignan; but giving him a spare livery of one of the Marshal de

Grammont’s servants, I made him get up behind the prince’s coach, who

was like to die with laughing every time he looked at poor Poussatin’s

uncanonical mien in a yellow livery.

“As soon as we arrived in Paris, the story was told to the Queen, who at

first expressed some surprise at it: this, however, did not prevent her

from wishing to see my chaplain dance; for in Spain it is not altogether

so strange to see ecclesiastics dance, as to see them in livery.

“Poussatin performed wonders before the Queen; but as he danced with

great sprightliness, she could not bear the odour which his violent

motions diffused around her room the ladies likewise began to pray for

relief; for he had almost entirely got the better of all the perfumes

and essences with which they were fortified: Poussatin, nevertheless,

retired with a great deal of applause, and some louis d’or.

“Some time afterwards I procured a small benefice in the country for my

chaplain, and I have since been informed that Poussatin preached

with the same ease in his village as he danced at the wedding of his

parishioners.”

The King was exceedingly diverted at Poussatin’s history; and the Queen

was not much hurt at his having been put in livery: the treatment of

Gregorio Brice offended her far more; and being desirous to justify the

court of Spain, with respect to so cruel a proceeding: “Chevalier de

Grammont,” said she, “what heresy did Governor Brice wish to introduce

into the state? What crime against religion was he charged with, that he

was confined in the inquisition?” “Madam,” said he, “the history is not

very proper to be related before your majesty: it was a little amorous

frolic, ill-timed indeed; but poor Brice meant no harm: a school-boy

would not have been whipped for such a fault, in the most severe college

in France; as it was only for giving some proofs of his affection to

a young Spanish fair one, who had fixed her eyes upon him on a solemn

occasion.”

The King desired to know the particulars of the adventure; and the

Chevalier gratified his curiosity, as soon as the Queen and the rest of

the court were out of hearing. It was very entertaining to hear him

tell a story; but it was very disagreeable to differ with him, either in

competition, or in raillery: it is true that at that time there were few

persons at the English court who had merited his indignation: Russell

was sometimes the subject of his ridicule, but he treated him far more

tenderly than he usually did a rival.

This Russell was one of the most furious dancers in all England, I

mean, for country dances: he had a collection of two or three hundred in

print, all of which he danced at sight; and to prove that he was not an

old man, he sometimes danced until he was almost exhausted: his mode

of dancing was like that of his clothes, for they both had been out of

fashion full twenty years.

The Chevalier de Grammont was very sensible that he was very much

in love; but though he saw very well that it only rendered him more

ridiculous, yet he felt some concern at the information he received, of

his intention of demanding Miss Hamilton in marriage; but his concern

did not last long. Russell, being upon the point of setting out on

a journey, thought it was proper to acquaint his mistress with his

intentions before his departure. The Chevalier de Grammont was a great

obstacle to the interview, he was desirous of obtaining of her; but

being one day sent for, to go and play at Lady Castlemaine’s, Russell

seized the opportunity, and addressing himself to Miss Hamilton,

with less embarrassment than is usual on such occasions, he made his

declaration to her in the following manner: “I am brother to the Earl of

Bedford: I command the regiment of guards: I have three thousand pounds

a year, and fifteen thousand in ready money: all which, madam, I come to

present to you, along with my person. One present, I agree, is not worth

much without the other, and therefore I put them together. I am advised

to go to some of the watering places for something of an asthma, which,

in all probability, cannot continue much longer, as I have had it for

these last twenty years: if you look upon me as worthy of the happiness

of belonging to you, I shall propose it to your father, to whom I

did not think it right to apply before I was acquainted with your

sentiments: my nephew William is at present entirely ignorant of my

intention; but I believe he will not be sorry for it, though he will

thereby see himself deprived of a pretty considerable estate; for he

has great affection for me, and besides, he has a pleasure in paying

his respects to you since he has perceived my attachment. I am very much

pleased that he should make his court to me, by the attention he pays

to you; for he did nothing but squander his money upon that coquet

Middleton, while at present he is at no expense, though he frequents the

best company in England.”

Miss Hamilton had much difficulty to suppress her laughter during this

harangue: however, she told him that she thought herself much honoured

by his intentions towards her, and still more obliged to him for

consulting her, before he made any overtures to her relations: “It will

be time enough,” said she, “to speak to them upon the subject at your

return from the waters; for I do not think it is at all probable that

they will dispose of me before that time, and in case they should be

urgent in their solicitations, your nephew William will take care to

acquaint you; therefore, you may set out whenever you think proper; but

take care not to injure your health by returning too soon.”

The Chevalier de Grammont, having heard the particulars of this

conversation, endeavoured, as well as he could, to be entertained

with it; though there were certain circumstances in the declaration,

notwithstanding the absurdity of others, which did not fail to give

him some uneasiness. Upon the whole, he was not sorry for Russell’s

departure; and, assuming an air of pleasantry, he went to relate to the

king how Heaven had favoured him by delivering him from so dangerous a

rival. “He is gone then, Chevalier,” said the king. “Certainly, sir,”

said he; “I had the honour to see him embark in a coach, with his

asthma, and country equipage, his perruque a calotte, neatly tied with

a yellow riband, and his old-fashioned hat covered with oil skin, which

becomes him uncommonly well: therefore, I have only to contend with

William Russell, whom he leaves as his resident with Miss Hamilton; and

as for him, I neither fear him upon his own account, nor his uncle’s;

he is too much in love himself to pay attention to the interests of

another; and as he has but one method of promoting his own, which is by

sacrificing the portrait, or some love-letters of Mrs. Middleton, I have

it easily in my power to counteract him in such kind of favours, though

I confess I have pretty well paid for them.”

“Since your affairs proceed so prosperously with the Russells,” said the

king, “I will acquaint you that you are delivered from another rival,

much more dangerous, if he were not already married: my brother has

lately fallen in love with Lady Chesterfield.” “How many blessings at

once!” exclaimed the Chevalier de Grammont: “I have so many obligations

to him for this inconstancy, that I would willingly serve him in his new

amour, if Hamilton was not his rival: nor will your majesty take it ill,

if I promote the interests of my mistress’s brother, rather than those

of your majesty’s brother.” “Hamilton, however,” said the king, “does

not stand so much in need of assistance, in affairs of this nature, as

the Duke of York; but I know Lord Chesterfield is of such a disposition,

that he will not suffer men to quarrel about his wife, with the same

patience as the complaisant Shrewsbury; though he well deserves the same

fate.” Here follows a true description of Lord Chesterfield.

[Philip, the second Earl of Chesterfield. He was constituted, in

1662, lord-chamberlain to the queen, and colonel of a regiment of

foot, June 13, 1667. On November 29, 1679, he was appointed lord-

warden and chief-justice of the king’s forests on this side Trent,

and sworn of the privy-council, January 26, 1680. On November 6,

1682, he was made colonel of the third regiment of foot, which, with

the rest of his preferments, he resigned on the accession of James

IT. He lived to the age of upwards of 80, and died, January 28,

1713, at his house, in Bloomsbury-square.]

He had a very agreeable face, a fine head of hair, an indifferent shape,

and a worse air; he was not, however, deficient in wit: a long residence

in Italy had made him ceremonious in his commerce with men, and jealous

in his connection with women: he had been much hated by the king;

because he had been much beloved by Lady Castlemaine: it was reported

that he had been in her good graces prior to her marriage; and as

neither of them denied it, it was the more generally believed.

He had paid his devoirs to the eldest daughter of the Duke of Ormond,

while his heart was still taken up with his former passion: the king’s

love for Lady Castlemaine, and the advancement he expected from such an

alliance, made him press the match with as much ardour as if he had been

passionately in love: he had therefore married Lady Chesterfield without

loving her, and had lived some time with her in such coolness as to

leave her no room to doubt of his indifference. As she was endowed with

great sensibility and delicacy, she suffered at this contempt: she was

at first much affected with his behaviour, and afterwards enraged at

it; and, when he began to give her proofs of his affection, she had the

pleasure of convincing him of her indifference.

They were upon this footing, when she resolved to cure Hamilton, as she

had lately done her husband, of all his remaining tenderness for Lady

Castlemaine. For her it was no difficult undertaking: the conversation

of the one was disagreeable, from the unpolished state of her manners,

her ill-timed pride, her uneven temper, and extravagant humours Lady

Chesterfield, on the contrary, knew how to heighten her charms with all

the bewitching attractions in the power of a woman to invent who wishes

to make a conquest.

Besides all this, she had greater opportunities of making advances to

him than to any other: she lived at the Duke of Ormond’s, at Whitehall,

where Hamilton, as was said before, had free admittance at all hours:

her extreme coldness, or rather the disgust which she showed for her

husband’s returning affection, wakened his natural inclination to

jealousy: he suspected that she could not so very suddenly pass from

anxiety to indifference for him, without some secret object of a new

attachment; and, according to the maxim of all jealous husbands, he

immediately put in practice all his experience and industry, in order to

make a discovery, which was to destroy his own happiness.

Hamilton, who knew his disposition, was, on the other hand, upon his

guard, and the more he advanced in his intrigue, the more attentive

was he to remove every degree of suspicion from the Earl’s mind: he

pretended to make him his confidant, in the most unguarded and open

manner, of his passion for Lady Castlemaine: he complained of her

caprice, and most earnestly desired his advice how to succeed with a

person whose affections he alone had entirely possessed.

Chesterfield, who was flattered with this discourse, promised him his

protection with greater sincerity than it had been demanded:

Hamilton, therefore, was no further embarrassed than to preserve Lady

Chesterfield’s reputation, who, in his opinion, declared herself rather

too openly in his favour: but whilst he was diligently employed in

regulating, within the rules of discretion, the partiality she expressed

for him, and in conjuring her to restrain her glances within bounds, she

was receiving those of the Duke of York; and, what is more, made them

favourable returns.

He thought that he had perceived it, as well as every one besides; but

he thought likewise, that all the world was deceived as well as himself:

how could he trust his own eyes, as to what those of Lady Chesterfield

betrayed for this new rival? He could not think it probable, that

a woman of her disposition could relish a man, whose manners had a

thousand times been the subject of their private ridicule; but what he

judged still more improbable was, that she should begin another intrigue

before she had given the finishing stroke to that in which her own

advances had engaged her: however, he began to observe her with more

circumspection, when he found by his discoveries, that if she did not

deceive him, at least the desire of doing so was not wanting. This he

took the liberty of telling her of; but she answered him in so high

a strain, and treated what he said so much like a phantom of his own

imagination, that he appeared confused without being convinced: all

the satisfaction he could procure from her, was her telling him, in a

haughty manner, that such unjust reproaches as his ought to have had a

better foundation.

Lord Chesterfield had taken the same alarm; and being convinced, from

the observations he had made, that he had found out the happy lover who

had gained possession of his lady’s heart, he was satisfied; and

without teasing her with unnecessary reproaches, he only waited for an

opportunity to confound her, before he took his measures.

After all, how can we account for Lady Chesterfield’s conduct, unless

we attribute it to the disease incident to most coquettes, who, charmed

with superiority, put in practice every art to rob another of her

conquest, and spare nothing to preserve it.

But before we enter into the particulars of this adventure, let us

take a retrospect of the amours of his Royal Highness, prior to the

declaration of his marriage, and particularly of what immediately

preceded this declaration. It is allowable sometimes to drop the thread

of a narrative, when real facts, not generally known, give such a

variety upon the digression as to render it excusable: let us see then

how those things happened.

The Duke of York’s marriage, with the chancellor’s daughter, was

deficient in none of those circumstances which render contracts of this

nature valid in the eye of heaven the mutual inclination, the formal

ceremony, witnesses, and every essential point of matrimony, had been

observed.

[The material facts in this narrative are confirmed by Lord

Clarendon.--‘Continuation of his Life’, p. 33. It is difficult to

speak of the persons concerned in this infamous transaction without

some degree of asperity, notwithstanding they are, by a strange

perversion of language, styled, all men of honour.]

Though the bride was no perfect beauty, yet, as there were none at

the court of Holland who eclipsed her, the Duke, during the first

endearments of matrimony, was so far from repenting of it, that he

seemed only to wish for the King’s restoration that he might have an

opportunity of declaring it with splendour; but when he saw himself

enjoying a rank which placed him so near the throne; when the possession

of Miss Hyde afforded him no new charms; when England, so abounding in

beauties, displayed all that was charming and lovely in the court of the

King his brother; and when he considered he was the only prince, who,

from such superior elevation, had descended so low, he began to reflect

upon it. On the one hand, his marriage appeared to him particularly ill

suited in every respect: he recollected that Jermyn had not engaged him

in an intimacy with Miss Hyde, until he had convinced him, by several

different circumstances, of the facility of succeeding: he looked upon

his marriage as an infringement of that duty and obedience he owed

to the King; the indignation with which the court, and even the whole

kingdom, would receive the account of his marriage presented itself to

his imagination, together with the impossibility of obtaining the King’s

consent to such an act, which for a thousand reasons he would be obliged

to refuse. On the other hand, the tears and despair of poor Miss Hyde

presented themselves; and still more than that, he felt a remorse

of conscience, the scruples of which began from that time to rise up

against him.

In the midst of this perplexity he opened his heart to Lord Falmouth,

and consulted with him what method he ought to pursue: He could not have

applied to a better man for his own interests, nor to a worse for Miss

Hyde’s; for at first, Falmouth maintained not only that he was not

married, but that it was even impossible that he could ever have formed

such a thought; that any marriage was invalid for him, which was made

without the King’s consent, even if the party was a suitable match:

but that it was a mere jest, even to think of the daughter of an

insignificant lawyer, whom the favour of his sovereign had lately made a

peer of the realm, without any noble blood, and chancellor, without

any capacity; that as for his scruples, he had only to give ear to some

gentlemen whom he could introduce, who would thoroughly inform him of

Miss Hyde’s conduct before he became acquainted with her; and provided

he did not tell them that he really was married, he would soon have

sufficient grounds to come to a determination.

The Duke of York consented, and Lord Falmouth, having assembled both

his council and his witnesses, conducted them to his Royal Highness’s

cabinet, after having instructed them how to act: these gentlemen were

the Earl of Arran, Jermyn, Talbot, and Killegrew, all men of honour;

but who infinitely preferred the Duke of York’s interest to Miss Hyde’s

reputation, and who, besides, were greatly dissatisfied, as well as the

whole court, at the insolent authority of the prime minister.

The Duke having told them, after a sort of preamble, that although they

could not be ignorant of his affection for Miss Hyde, yet they might be

unacquainted with the engagements his tenderness for her had induced him

to contract; that he thought himself obliged to perform all the

promises he had made her; but as the innocence of persons of her age

was generally exposed to court scandal, and as certain reports, whether

false or true, had been spread abroad on the subject of her conduct, he

conjured them as his friends, and charged them upon their duty, to

tell him sincerely everything they knew upon the subject, since he was

resolved to make their evidence the rule of his conduct towards her.

They all appeared rather reserved at first, and seemed not to dare to

give their opinions upon an affair of so serious and delicate a nature;

but the Duke of York having renewed his entreaties, each began to relate

the particulars of what he knew, and perhaps of more than he knew,

of poor Miss Hyde; nor did they omit any circumstance necessary to

strengthen the evidence. For instance the Earl of Arran, who spoke

first, deposed, that in the gallery at Honslaerdyk, where the Countess

of Ossory, his sister-in-law, and Jermyn, were playing at nine-pins,

Miss Hyde, pretending to be sick, retired to a chamber at the end of

the gallery; that he, the deponent, had followed her, and having cut her

lace, to give a greater probability to the pretence of the vapours, he

had acquitted himself to the best of his abilities, both to assist and

to console her.

Talbot said, that she had made an appointment with him in the

chancellor’s cabinet, while he was in council; and, that, not paying so

much attention to what was upon the table as to what they were engaged

in, they had spilled a bottle full of ink upon a despatch of four pages,

and that the King’s monkey, which was blamed for this accident, had been

a long time in disgrace.

Jermyn mentioned many places where he had received long and favourable

audiences: however, all these articles of accusation amounted only

to some delicate familiarities, or at most, to what is generally

denominated the innocent part of an intrigue; but Killegrew, who wished

to surpass these trivial depositions, boldly declared that he had had

the honour of being upon the most intimate terms with her he was of a

sprightly and witty humour, and had the art of telling a story in the

most entertaining manner, by the graceful and natural turn he could

give it: he affirmed that he had found the critical minute in a certain

closet built over the water, for a purpose very different from that

of giving ease to the pains of love: that three or four swans had been

witnesses to his happiness, and might perhaps have been witnesses to the

happiness of many others, as the lady frequently repaired to that place,

and was particularly delighted with it.

The Duke of York found this last accusation greatly out of bounds, being

convinced he himself had sufficient proofs of the contrary: he therefore

returned thanks to these officious informers for their frankness,

ordered them to be silent for the future upon what they had been telling

him, and immediately passed into the King’s apartment.

As soon as he had entered the cabinet, Lord Falmouth, who had followed

him, related what had passed to the Earl of Ossory, whom he met in the

presence chamber: they strongly suspected what was the subject of the

conversation of the two brothers, as it was long; and the Duke of York

appeared to be in such agitation when he came out, that they no longer

doubted that the result had been unfavourable for poor Miss Hyde. Lord

Falmouth began to be affected for her disgrace, and to relent that he

had been concerned in it, when the Duke of York told him and the Earl of

Ossory to meet him in about an hour’s time at the chancellor’s.

They were rather surprised that he should have the cruelty himself to

announce such a melancholy piece of news: they found his Royal Highness

at the appointed hour in Miss Hyde’s chamber: a few tears trickled down

her cheeks, which she endeavoured to restrain. The chancellor, leaning

against the wall, appeared to them to be puffed up with some thing,

which they did not doubt was--rage and despair. The Duke of York said to

them, with that serene and pleasant countenance with which men generally

announce good news: “As you are the two men of the court whom I most

esteem, I am desirous you should first have the honour of paying your

compliments to the Duchess of York: there she is.”

Surprise was of no use, and astonishment was unseasonable on the present

occasion: they were, however, so greatly possessed with both surprise

and astonishment, that in order to conceal it, they immediately fell

on their knees to kiss her hand, which she gave to them with as much

majesty as if she had been used to it all her life.

The next day the news was made public, and the whole court was eager to

pay her that respect, from a sense of duty, which in the end became very

sincere.

The petits-maitres who had spoken against her, seeing their intentions

disappointed, were not a little embarrassed. Women are seldom accustomed

to forgive injuries of this nature; and, if they promise themselves the

pleasure of revenge, when they gain the power they seldom forget it: in

the present case, however, the fears of these petits-maitres were their

only punishment.

The Duchess of York, being fully informed of all that was said in the

cabinet concerning her, instead of showing the least resentment, studied

to distinguish, by all manner of kindness and good offices, those who

had attacked her in so sensible a part; nor did she ever mention it to

them, but in order to praise their zeal, and to tell them that nothing

was a greater proof of the attachment of a man of honour, than his being

more solicitous for the interest of his friend or master, than for his

own reputation: a remarkable example of prudence and moderation, not

only for the fair sex, but even for those who value themselves most upon

their philosophy among the men.

The Duke of York, having quieted his conscience by the declaration of

his marriage, thought that he was entitled, by this generous effort, to

give way a little to his inconstancy: he therefore immediately seized

upon whatever he could first lay his hands upon: this was Lady Carnegy,

who had been in several other hands. She was still tolerably handsome,

and her disposition, naturally inclined to tenderness, did not oblige

her new lover long to languish. Everything coincided with their wishes

for some time: Lord Carnegy, her husband, was in Scotland; but his

father dying suddenly, he as suddenly returned with the title of

Southesk, which his wife detested; but which she took more patiently

than she received the news of his return. Some private intimation

had been given him of the honour that was done him in his absence:

nevertheless, he did not show his jealousy at first; but, as he was

desirous to be satisfied of the reality of the fact, he kept a strict

watch over his wife’s actions. The Duke of York and her ladyship had,

for some time, been upon such terms of intimacy, as not to pass their

time in frivolous amusements; however, the husband’s return obliged them

to maintain some decorum: he therefore never went to her house, but in

form, that is to say, always accompanied by some friend or other, to

give his amours at least the appearance of a visit.

About this time Talbot returned from Portugal: this connection had taken

place during his absence; and without knowing who Lady Southesk was, he

had been informed that his master was in love with her.

A few days after his arrival, he was carried, merely to keep up

appearances, to her house by the duke; and after being introduced, and

some compliments having been paid on both sides, he thought it his duty

to give his Royal Highness an opportunity to pay his compliments, and

accordingly retired into the ante-chamber, which looked into the street,

and placed himself at the window to view the people as they passed.

He was one of the best meaning men in the world on such occasions;

but was so subject to forgetfulness, and absence of mind, that he once

forgot, and left behind him at London, a complimentary letter which the

duke had given him for the Infanta of Portugal, and never recollected it

till he was going to his audience.

He stood sentry, as we have before said, very attentive to his

instructions, when he saw a coach stop at the door, without being in the

least concerned at it, and still less, at a man whom he saw get out of

it, and whom he immediately heard coming upstairs.

The devil, who ought to be civil upon such occasions, forgot himself in

the present instance, and brought up Lord Southesk ‘in propria persona’:

his Royal Highness’s equipage had been sent home, because my lady had

assured him that her husband was gone to see a bear and a bull baiting,

an entertainment in which he took great delight, and from whence he

seldom returned until it was very late; so that Southesk, not seeing any

equipage at the door, little imagined that he had such good company in

his house; but if he was surprised to see Talbot carelessly lolling in

his wife’s ante-chamber, his surprise was soon over. Talbot, who had not

seen him since they were in Flanders, and never supposing that he had

changed his name: “Welcome, Carnegy, welcome, my good fellow,” said he,

giving him his hand, “where the devil have you been, that I have never

been able to set eyes on you since we were at Brussels? What business

brought you here? Do you likewise wish to see Lady Southesk? If this is

your intention, my poor friend, you may go away again; for I must

inform you, the Duke of York is in love with her, and I will tell you in

confidence, that, at this very time, he is in her chamber.”

Southesk, confounded as one may suppose, had no time to answer all

these fine questions: Talbot, therefore, attended him downstairs as his

friend; and, as his humble servant, advised him to seek for a mistress

elsewhere. Southesk, not knowing what else to do at that time, returned

to his coach; and Talbot, overjoyed at the adventure, impatiently waited

for the duke’s return, that he might acquaint him with it; but he was

very much surprised to find that the story afforded no pleasure to those

who had the principal share in it; and his greatest concern was,

that Carnegy had changed his name, as if only to draw him into such a

confidence.

This accident broke off a commerce which the Duke of York did not much

regret; and indeed it was happy for him that he became indifferent; for

the traitor Southesk meditated a revenge, whereby, without using either

assassination or poison, he would have obtained some satisfaction upon

those who had injured him, if the connection had continued any longer.

He went to the most infamous places, to seek for the most infamous

disease, which he met with; but his revenge was only half completed; for

after he had gone through every remedy to get quit of his disease, his

lady did but return him his present, having no more connection with the

person for whom it was so industriously prepared.

[Bishop Burnet, taking notice of the Duke of York’s amours, says,

“a story was set about, and generally believed, that the Earl of

Southesk, that had married a daughter of the Duke of Hamilton’s,

suspecting some familiarities between the duke and his wife, had

taken a sure method to procure a disease to himself, which he

communicated to his wife, and was, by that means, sent round till it

came to the duchess. Lord Southesk was, for some years, not ill

pleased to have this believed. It looked like a peculiar strain of

revenge, with which he seemed much delighted. But I know he has, to

some of his friends, denied the whole of the story very solemnly.”

--history of His Own Times, vol. i., p. 319. It is worthy of notice

that the passage in the text was omitted in most editions of

Grammont, and retained in that of Strawberry-hill, in 1772.]

Lady Robarts was then in the zenith of her glory; her beauty was

striking; yet, notwithstanding the brightness of the finest complexion,

with all the bloom of youth, and with every requisite for inspiring

desire, she nevertheless was not attractive. The Duke of York,

however, would probably have been successful, if difficulties, almost

insurmountable, had not disappointed his good intentions: Lord Robarts,

her husband, was an old, snarling, troublesome, peevish fellow, in

love with her to distraction, and to complete her misery, a perpetual

attendant on her person.

She perceived his Royal Highness’s attachment to her, and seemed as if

she was inclined to be grateful: this redoubled his eagerness, and every

outward mark of tenderness he could possibly show her; but the watchful

husband redoubling his zeal and assiduity, as he found the approaches

advance, every art was practised to render him tractable: several

attacks were made upon his avarice and his ambition. Those who possessed

the greatest share of his confidence, insinuated to him that it was his

own fault if Lady Robarts, who was so worthy of being at court, was

not received into some considerable post, either about the queen or the

duchess: he was offered to be made Lord Lieutenant of the county where

his estate was; or to have the management of the Duke of York’s revenues

in Ireland, of which he should have the entire disposal, provided

he immediately set out to take possession of his charge; and having

accomplished it, he might return as soon as ever he thought proper.

He perfectly well understood the meaning of these proposals, and was

fully apprised of the advantages he might reap from them: in vain did

ambition and avarice hold out their allurements; he was deaf to all

their temptations, nor could ever the old fellow be persuaded to be

made a cuckold. It is not always an aversion to, or a dread of this

distinction, which preserves us from it: of this her husband was

very sensible; therefore, under the pretence of a pilgrimage to

Saint Winifred, the virgin and martyr, who was said to cure women of

barrenness, he did not rest, until the highest mountains in Wales were

between his wife and the person who had designed to perform this miracle

in London, after his departure.

The duke was for some time entirely taken up with the pleasures of the

chase, and only now and then engaged in those of love; but his taste

having undergone a change in this particular, and the remembrance of

Lady Robarts wearing off by degrees, his eyes and wishes were turned

towards Miss Brook; and it was in the height of this pursuit that Lady

Chesterfield threw herself into his arms, as we shall see by resuming

the sequel of her adventures.

The Earl of Bristol, ever restless and ambitious, had put in practice

every art, to possess himself of the king’s favour. As this is the same

Digby whom Count Bussy mentions in his annals, it will be sufficient to

say that he was not at all changed: he knew that love and pleasure had

possession of a master, whom he himself governed, in defiance of the

chancellor; thus he was continually giving entertainments at his house;

and luxury and elegance seemed to rival each other in those nocturnal

feasts, which always lead to other enjoyments. The two Miss Brooks, his

relations, were always of those parties; they were both formed by nature

to excite love in others, as well as to be susceptible of it themselves;

they were just what the king wanted: the earl, from this commencement,

was beginning to entertain a good opinion of his project, when Lady

Castlemaine, who had lately gained entire possession of the king’s

heart, was not in a humour, at that time, to share it with another, as

she did very indiscreetly afterwards, despising Miss Stewart. As soon,

therefore, as she received intimation of these secret practices, under

pretence of attending the king in his parties, she entirely disconcerted

them; so that the earl was obliged to lay aside his projects, and Miss

Brook to discontinue her advances. The king did not even dare to think

any more on this subject; but his brother was pleased to look after what

he neglected; and Miss Brook accepted the offer of his heart, until it

pleased heaven to dispose of her otherwise, which happened soon after in

the following manner.

Sir John Denham, loaded with wealth as well as years, had passed his

youth in the midst of those pleasures which people at that age indulge

in without restraint; he was one of the brightest geniuses England

ever produced, for wit and humour, and for brilliancy of composition:

satirical and free in his poems, he spared neither frigid writers, nor

jealous husbands, nor even their wives: every part abounded with the

most poignant wit, and the most entertaining stories; but his most

delicate and spirited raillery turned generally against matrimony; and,

as if he wished to confirm, by his own example, the truth of what he had

written in his youth, he married, at the age of seventy-nine, this Miss

Brook of whom we are speaking, who was only eighteen.

The Duke of York had rather neglected her for some time before; but the

circumstance of so unequal a match rekindled his ardour; and she, on her

part, suffered him to entertain hopes of an approaching bliss, which a

thousand considerations had opposed before her marriage: she wished

to belong to the court; and for the promise of being made lady of the

bedchamber to the duchess, she was upon the point of making him another

promise, or of immediately performing it, if required, when, in the

middle of this treaty, Lady Chesterfield was tempted, by her evil

genius, to rob her of her conquest, in order to disturb all the world.

However, as Lady Chesterfield could not see the Duke of York, except

in public assemblies, she was under the necessity of making the most

extravagant advances, in order to seduce him from his former connection;

and as he was the most unguarded ogler of his time, the whole court was

informed of the intrigue before it was well begun.

Those who appeared the most attentive to their conduct were not the

least interested in it. Hamilton and Lord Chesterfield watched them

narrowly; but Lady Denham, vexed that Lady Chesterfield should have

stepped in before her, took the liberty of railing against her rival

with the greatest bitterness. Hamilton had hitherto flattered himself

that vanity alone had engaged Lady Chesterfield in this adventure; but

he was soon undeceived, whatever her indifference might have been when

she first commenced this intrigue. We often proceed farther than we at

first intended, when we indulge ourselves in trifling liberties which we

think of no consequence; for though perhaps the heart takes no part at

the beginning, it seldom fails to be engaged in the end.

The court, as we have mentioned before, was an entire scene of gallantry

and amusements, with all the politeness and magnificence which the

inclinations of a prince naturally addicted to tenderness and pleasure,

could suggest: the beauties were desirous of charming, and the men

endeavoured to please: all studied to set themselves off to the best

advantage: some distinguished themselves by dancing; others by show and

magnificence; some by their wit, many by their amours, but few by their

constancy. There was a certain Italian at court, famous for the guitar:

he had a genius for music, and he was the only man who could make

anything of the guitar: his style of play was so full of grace and

tenderness, that he would have given harmony to the most discordant

instruments. The truth is, nothing was so difficult as to play like

this foreigner. The king’s relish for his compositions had brought the

instrument so much into vogue, that every person played upon it, well or

ill; and you were as sure to see a guitar on a lady’s toilet as rouge or

patches. The Duke of York played upon it tolerably well, and the Earl

of Arran like Francisco himself. This Francisco had composed a saraband,

which either charmed or infatuated every person; for the whole guitarery

at court were trying at it; and God knows what an universal strumming

there was. The Duke of York, pretending not to be perfect in it, desired

Lord Arran to play it to him. Lady Chesterfield had the best guitar

in England. The Earl of Arran, who was desirous of playing his best,

conducted his Royal Highness to his sister’s apartments: she was lodged

at court, at her father’s, the Duke of Ormond’s; and this wonderful

guitar was lodged there too. Whether this visit had been preconcerted or

not, I do not pretend to say; but it is certain that they found both

the lady and the guitar at home: they likewise found there Lord

Chesterfield, so much surprised at this unexpected visit, that it was a

considerable time before he thought of rising from his seat to receive

them with due respect.

Jealousy, like a malignant vapour, now seized upon his brain: a thousand

suspicions, blacker than ink, took possession of his imagination, and

were continually increasing; for, whilst the brother played upon the

guitar to the duke, the sister ogled and accompanied him with her eyes,

as if the coast had been clear, and no enemy to observe them. This

saraband was at least repeated twenty times: the duke declared it

was played to perfection: Lady Chesterfield found fault with the

composition; but her husband, who clearly perceived that he was the

person played upon, thought it a most detestable piece. However, though

he was in the last agony at being obliged to curb his passion while

others gave a free scope to theirs, he was resolved to find out the

drift of the visit; but it was not in his power: for, having the

honour to be chamberlain to the queen, a messenger came to require his

immediate attendance on her majesty. His first thought was to pretend

sickness: the second to suspect that the queen, who sent for him at

such an unseasonable time, was in the plot; but at last, after all the

extravagant ideas of a suspicious man, and all the irresolutions of a

jealous husband, he was obliged to go.

We may easily imagine what his state of mind was when he arrived at the

palace. Alarms are to the jealous what disasters are to the unfortunate:

they seldom come alone, but form a series of persecution. He was

informed that he was sent for to attend the queen at an audience she

gave to seven or eight Muscovite ambassadors: he had scarce begun to

curse the Muscovites, when his brother-in-law appeared, and drew upon

himself all the imprecations he bestowed upon the embassy: he no longer

doubted his being in the plot with the two persons he had left together,

and in his heart sincerely wished him such recompense for his good

offices as such good offices deserved. It was with great difficulty

that he restrained himself from immediately acquainting him what was his

opinion of such conduct: he thought that what he had already seen was

a sufficient proof of his wife’s infidelity; but before the end of

the very same day, some circumstances occurred which increased his

suspicions, and persuaded him that they had taken advantage of his

absence, and of the honourable officiousness of his brother-in-law. He

passed, however, that night with tranquillity; but the next morning,

being reduced to the necessity either of bursting or giving vent to his

sorrows and conjectures, he did nothing but think and walk about the

room until Park-time. He went to court, seemed very busy, as if seeking

for some person or other, imagining that people guessed at the subject

of his uneasiness: he avoided everybody, but at length meeting with

Hamilton, he thought he was the very man that he wanted; and, having

desired him to take an airing with him in Hyde Park, he took him up in

his coach, and they arrived at the Ring, without a word having passed

between them.

Hamilton, who saw him as yellow as jealousy itself, and particularly

thoughtful, imagined that he had just discovered what all the world had

perceived long before; when Chesterfield, after a broken, insignificant

preamble, asked him how he succeeded with Lady Castlemaine. Hamilton,

who very well saw that he meant nothing by this question, nevertheless

thanked him; and as he was thinking of an answer: “Your cousin,” said

the earl, “is extremely coquettish, and I have some reason to suppose

she is not so prudent as she ought to be.” Hamilton thought the last

charge a little too severe; and as he was endeavouring to refute it:

“Good God!” said my lord, “you see, as well as the whole court, what

airs she gives herself: husbands are always the last people that are

spoken to about those affairs that concern them the most; but they are

not always the last to perceive it themselves: though you have made me

your confidant in other matters, yet I am not at all surprised you have

concealed this from me; but as I flatter myself with having some share

in your esteem, I should be sorry you should think me such a fool as to

be incapable of seeing, though I am so complaisant as not to express my

sentiments: nevertheless, I find that affairs are now carried on with

such barefaced boldness, that at length I find I shall be forced to take

some course or other. God forbid that I should act the ridiculous part

of a jealous husband: the character is odious; but then I do not intend,

through an excess of patience, to be made the jest of the town. Judge,

therefore, from what I am going to tell you, whether I ought to sit down

unconcerned, or whether I ought to take measures for the preservation of

my honour.

“His royal highness honoured me yesterday by a visit to my wife.”

Hamilton started at this beginning. “Yes,” continued the other, “he

did give himself that trouble, and Lord Arran took upon himself that of

bringing him: do not you wonder, that a man of his birth should act such

a part? What advancement can he expect from one who employs him in such

base services? But we have long known him to be one of the silliest

creatures in England, with his guitar, and his other whims and follies.”

Chesterfield, after this short sketch of his brother-in-law’s merit,

began to relate the observations he had made during the visit, and asked

Hamilton what he thought of his cousin Arran, who had so obligingly left

them together. “This may appear surprising to you,” continued he, “but

hear me out, and judge whether I have reason to think that the close

of this pretty visit passed in perfect innocence. Lady Chesterfield

is amiable, it must be acknowledged; but she is far from being such a

miracle of beauty as she supposes herself: you know she has ugly feet;

but perhaps you are not acquainted that she has still worse legs.”

“Pardon me,” said Hamilton, within himself: and the other continuing the

description: “Her legs,” said his lordship, “are short and thick; and,

to remedy these defects as much as possible, she seldom wears any other

than green stockings.”

Hamilton could not for his life imagine the drift of all this discourse,

and Chesterfield, guessing his thoughts: “Have a little patience,” said

he: “I went yesterday to Miss Stewart’s, after the audience of those

damned Muscovites: the king arrived there just before me; and as if the

duke had sworn to pursue me wherever I went that day, he came in just

after me. The conversation turned upon the extraordinary appearance of

the ambassadors. I know not where that fool Crofts had heard that

all these Muscovites had handsome wives; and that all their wives had

handsome legs. Upon this the king maintained that no woman ever had

such handsome legs as Miss Stewart; and she, to prove the truth of his

majesty’s assertion, with the greatest imaginable ease, immediately

shewed her leg above the knee. Some were ready to prostrate themselves,

in order to adore its beauty; for indeed none can be handsomer; but

the duke alone began to criticise upon it. He contended that it was too

slender, and that as for himself he would give nothing for a leg that

was not thicker and shorter, and concluded by saying that no leg was

worth anything without green stockings. Now this, in my opinion, was a

sufficient demonstration that he had just seen green stockings, and had

them fresh in his remembrance.”

Hamilton was at a loss what countenance to put on during a narrative

which raised in him nearly the same conjectures; he shrugged up his

shoulders, and faintly said that appearances were often deceitful; that

Lady Chesterfield had the foible of all beauties, who place their merit

on the number of their admirers; and whatever airs she might imprudently

have given herself, in order not to discourage his royal highness,

there was no ground to suppose that she would indulge him in any greater

liberties to engage him: but in vain was it that he endeavoured to

give that consolation to his friend which he did not feel himself.

Chesterfield plainly perceived he did not think of what he was saying;

however, he thought himself much obliged to him for the interest he

seemed to take in his concerns.

Hamilton was in haste to go home to vent his spleen and resentment in a

letter to his cousin. The style of this billet was very different from

those which he formerly was accustomed to write to her: reproaches,

bitter expostulations, tenderness, menaces, and all the effusions of

a lover who thinks he has reason to complain, composed this epistle;

which, for fear of accidents, he went to deliver himself.

Never did she before appear so lovely, and never did her eyes speak so

kindly to him as at this moment: his heart quite relented; but he was

determined not to lose all the fine things he had said in his letter.

In receiving it, she squeezed his hand: this action completely disarmed

him, and he would have given his life to have had his letter again. It

appeared to him at this instant that all the grievances he complained

of were visionary and groundless: he looked upon her husband as a madman

and an impostor, and quite the reverse of what he supposed him to be

a few minutes before; but this remorse came a little too late: he had

delivered his billet, and Lady Chesterfield had shewn such impatience

and eagerness to read it as soon as she had got it that all

circumstances seemed to conspire to justify her, and to confound

him. She managed to get quit, some way or other, of some troublesome

visitors, to slip into her closet. He thought himself so culpable that

he had not the assurance to wait her return: he withdrew with the rest

of the company; but he did not dare to appear before her the next day,

to have an answer to his letter: however, he met her at court; and this

was the first time, since the commencement of their amour, that he

did not seek for her. He stood at a distance, with downcast looks,

and appeared in such terrible embarrassment that his condition was

sufficient to raise laughter or to cause pity, when Lady Chesterfield

approaching, thus accosted him: “Confess,” said she, “that you are in

as foolish a situation as any man of sense can be: you wish you had not

written to me: you are desirous of an answer: you hope for none: yet you

equally wish for and dread it: I have, however, written you one.”

She had not time to say more; but the few words she had spoken were

accompanied with such an air, and such a look, as to make him believe

that it was Venus with all her graces who had addressed him. He was near

her when she sat down to cards, and as he was puzzling himself to devise

by what means he should get this answer, she desired him to lay her

gloves and fan down somewhere: he took them, and with them the billet

in question; and as he had perceived nothing severe or angry in the

conversation he had with her, he hastened to open her letter, and read

as follows:

“Your transports are so ridiculous that it is doing you a favour to

attribute them to an excess of tenderness, which turns your head: a man,

without doubt, must have a great inclination to be jealous, to entertain

such an idea of the person you mention. Good God! what a lover to have

caused uneasiness to a man of genius, and what a genius to have got the

better of mine! Are not you ashamed to give any credit to the visions

of a jealous fellow who brought nothing else with him from Italy? Is

it possible that the story of the green stockings, upon which he has

founded his suspicions, should have imposed upon you, accompanied as it

is with such pitiful circumstances? Since he has made you his confidant,

why did not he boast of breaking in pieces my poor harmless guitar?

This exploit, perhaps, might have convinced you more than all the rest:

recollect yourself, and if you are really in love with me, thank

fortune for a groundless jealousy, which diverts to another quarter the

attention he might pay to my attachment for the most amiable and the

most dangerous man of the court.”

Hamilton was ready to weep for joy at these endearing marks of kindness,

of which he thought himself so unworthy he was not satisfied with

kissing, in raptures, every part of this billet; he also kissed several

times her gloves and her fan. Play being over, Lady Chesterfield

received them from his hands, and read in his eyes the joy that her

billet had raised in his heart. Nor was he satisfied with expressing

his raptures, only by looks: he hastened home, and wrote to her at least

four times as much. How different was this letter from the other! Though

perhaps not so well written; for one does not show so much wit in suing

for pardon, as in venting reproaches, and it seldom happens that the

soft languishing style of a love-letter is so penetrating as that of

invective.

Be that as it may, his peace was made: their past quarrel gave new life

to their correspondence; and Lady Chesterfield, to make him as easy as

he had before been distrustful expressed on every occasion a feigned

contempt for his rival, and a sincere aversion for her husband.

So great was his confidence in her, that he consented she should show in

public some marks of attention to the duke, in order to conceal as

much as possible their private intelligence. Thus, at this time nothing

disturbed his peace of mind, but his impatience of finding a favourable

opportunity for the completion of his desires: he thought it was in

her power to command it; but she excused herself on account of several

difficulties which she enumerated to him, and which she was desirous he

should remove by his industry and attentions.

This silenced his complaints; but whilst he was endeavouring to surmount

these obstacles, still wondering how it was possible that two persons

who were so well disposed to each other, and who were agreed to make

each other happy, could not put their designs in execution, accident

discovered an unexpected adventure, which left him no room to doubt,

either of the happiness of his rival, or of the perfidy of his mistress.

Misfortunes often fall light when most feared; and frequently prove

heaviest when merited, and when least suspected. Hamilton was in the

middle of the most tender and passionate letter he had ever written

to Lady Chesterfield, when her husband came to announce to him the

particulars of this last discovery: he came so suddenly upon him, that

he had only just time to conceal his amorous epistle among his other

papers. His heart and mind were still so full of what he was writing to

his cousin, that her husband’s complaints against her, at first, were

scarce attended to; besides, in his opinion, he had come in the most

unfortunate moment on all accounts.

He was, however, obliged to listen to him, and he soon entertained quite

different sentiments: he appeared almost petrified with astonishment,

while the earl was relating to him circumstances of such an extravagant

indiscretion, as seemed to him quite incredible, notwithstanding the

particulars of the fact. “You have reason to be surprised at it,” said

my lord, concluding his story; “but if you doubt the truth of what I

tell you, it will be easy for you to find evidence that will convince

you; for the scene of their tender familiarities was no less public than

the room where the queen plays at cards, which while her majesty was at

play, was, God knows, pretty well crowded. Lady Denham was the first who

discovered what they thought would pass unperceived in the crowd; and

you may very well judge hew secret she would keep such a circumstance.

The truth is, she addressed herself to me first of all, as I entered the

room, to tell me that I should give my wife a little advice, as other

people might take notice of what I might see myself, if I pleased.

“Your cousin was at play, as I before told you: the duke was sitting

next to her: I know not what was become of his hand; but I am sure that

no one could see his arm below the elbow: I was standing behind them,

just in the place that Lady Denham had quitted: the duke turning round

perceived me, and was so much disturbed at my presence, that he almost

undressed my lady in pulling away his hand. I know not whether they

perceived that they were discovered; but of this I am convinced, that

Lady Denham will take care that everybody shall know it. I must confess

to you, that my embarrassment is so great, that I cannot find words to

express what I now feel: I should not hesitate one moment what course to

take, if I might be allowed to show my resentment against the person who

has wronged me. As for her, I could manage her well enough, if, unworthy

as she is of any consideration, I had not still some regard for an

illustrious family, that would be distracted were I to resent such an

injury as it deserves. In this particular you are interested yourself:

you are my friend, and I make you my confidant in an affair of the

greatest imaginable delicacy: let us then consult together what is

proper to be done in so perplexing and disagreeable a situation.”

Hamilton, if possible, more astonished, and more confounded than

himself, was far from being in a proper state to afford him advice on

the present occasion: he listened to nothing but jealousy, and breathed

nothing but revenge; but these emotions being somewhat abated, in hopes

that there might be calumny, or at least exaggeration in the charges

against Lady Chesterfield, he desired her husband to suspend his

resolutions, until he was more fully informed of the fact; assuring him,

however, that if he found the circumstances such as he had related, he

should regard and consult no other interest than his.

Upon this they parted; and Hamilton found, on the first inquiry, that

almost the whole court was informed of the adventure, to which every one

added something in relating it. Vexation and resentment, inflamed his

heart, and by degrees extinguished every remnant of his former passion.

He might easily have seen her, and have made her such reproaches as a

man is generally inclined to do, on such occasions; but he was too much

enraged to enter into any detail which might have led to an explanation:

he considered himself as the only person essentially injured in this

affair; for he could never bring his mind to think that the injuries of

the husband could be placed in competition with those of the lover.

He hastened to Lord Chesterfield, in the transport of his passion, and

told him that he had heard enough to induce him to give such advice, as

he should follow himself in the same situation, and that if he wished to

save a woman so strongly prepossessed, and who perhaps had not yet lost

all her innocence, though she had totally lost her reason, he ought

not to delay one single instant, but immediately to carry her into the

country with the greatest possible expedition, without allowing her the

least time to recover her surprise.

Lord Chesterfield readily agreed to follow this advice, which he had

already considered as the only counsel a friend could give him; but his

lady who did not suspect he had made this last discovery of her conduct,

thought he was joking with her, when he told her to prepare for going

into the country in two days: she was the more induced to think so as

it was in the very middle of an extremely severe winter; but she soon

perceived that he was in earnest: she knew from the air and manner of

her husband that he thought he had sufficient reason to treat her in

this imperious style; and finding all her relations serious and cold

to her complaint, she had no hope left in this universally abandoned

situation but in the tenderness of Hamilton. She imagined she should

hear from him the cause of her misfortunes, of which she was still

totally ignorant, and that his love would invent some means or other

to prevent a journey, which she flattered herself would be even more

affecting to him than to herself; but she was expecting pity from a

crocodile.

At last, when she saw the eve of her departure was come, that every

preparation was made for a long journey; that she was receiving farewell

visits in form, and that still she heard nothing from Hamilton, both

her hopes and her patience forsook her in this wretched situation. A few

tears perhaps might have afforded her some relief, but she chose

rather to deny herself that comfort, than to give her husband so much

satisfaction. Hamilton’s conduct on this occasion appeared to her

unaccountable; and as he still never came near her, she found means to

convey to him the following billet.

“Is it possible that you should be one of those, who, without

vouchsafing to tell me for what crime I am treated like a slave, suffer

me to be dragged from society? What means your silence and indolence in

a juncture wherein your tenderness ought most particularly to appear,

and actively exert itself? I am upon the point of departing, and am

ashamed to think that you are the cause of my looking upon it with

horror, as I have reason to believe that you are less concerned at it

than any other person: do, at least, let me know to what place I am to

be dragged; what is to be done with me within a wilderness? and on what

account you, like all the rest of the world, appear changed in your

behaviour towards a person whom all the world could not oblige to change

with regard to you, if your weakness or your ingratitude did not render

you unworthy of her tenderness.”

This billet did but harden his heart, and make him more proud of his

vengeance: he swallowed down full draughts of pleasure in beholding her

reduced to despair, being persuaded that her grief and regret for

her departure were on account of another person: he felt uncommon

satisfaction in having a share in tormenting her, and was particularly

pleased with the scheme he had contrived to separate her from a rival,

upon the very point perhaps of being made happy. Thus fortified as he

was against his natural tenderness, with all the severity of jealous

resentment, he saw her depart with an indifference which he did not even

endeavour to conceal from her: this unexpected treatment, joined to the

complication of her other misfortunes, had almost in reality plunged her

into despair.

The court was filled with the story of this adventure; nobody was

ignorant of the occasion of this sudden departure, but very few approved

of Lord Chesterfield’s conduct. In England they looked with astonishment

upon a man who could be so uncivil as to be jealous of his wife; and in

the city of London it was a prodigy, till that time unknown, to see a

husband have recourse to violent means, to prevent what jealousy fears,

and what it always deserves. They endeavoured, however, to excuse poor

Lord Chesterfield, as far as they could safely do it, without incurring

the public odium, by laying all the blame on his bad education. This

made all the mothers vow to God that none of their sons should ever set

a foot in Italy, lest they should bring back with them that infamous

custom of laying restraint upon their wives.