Jermyn was more fortunate than her in this undertaking he came off

victorious; but as his courage had far exceeded the strength of his

constitution in this exertion to win the wager, he got a violent fever

into the bargain, which brought him very low. Miss Jennings inquired

after his health; but that was all she dared to do. In modern romances,

a princess need only pay a visit to some hero, abandoned by his

physicians, a perfect cure would be wrought in three days; but since

Miss Jennings had not been the cause of Jermyn’s fever, she was not

certain of relieving him from it, although she had been sure that a

charitable visit would not have been censured in a malicious court.

Without therefore paying any attention to the uneasiness she might feel

upon the occasion, the court set out without him: she had, however, the

gratification to testify her ill-humour throughout the whole journey, by

appearing displeased with everything which seemed to afford satisfaction

to all the rest of the company.

Talbot made one of the company; and flattering himself that the absence

of a dangerous rival might produce some change in his favour, he was

attentive to all the actions, motions, and even gestures, of his former

mistress. There was certainly enough fully to employ his attention: it

was contrary to her disposition to remain long in a serious humour. Her

natural vivacity hurried her away, from being seemingly lost in thought,

into sallies of wit, which afforded him hopes that she would soon

forget Jermyn, and remember that his own passion was the first she had

encouraged. However, he kept his distance, notwithstanding his love

and his hopes, being of opinion that it ill became an injured lover to

betray either the least weakness, or the smallest return of affection,

for an ungrateful mistress, who had deserted him.

Miss Jennings was so far from thinking of his resentments, that she

did not even recollect he had ever paid his addresses to her; and her

thoughts being wholly occupied upon the poor sick man, she conducted

herself towards Talbot as if they never had had anything to say to each

other. It was to him that she most usually gave her hand, either in

getting into or out of the coach; she conversed more readily with him

than any other person, and, without intending it, did everything to make

the court believe she was cured of her passion for Jermyn in favour of

her former lover.

Of this he seemed likewise convinced, as well as the rest; and thinking

it now proper to act another part, in order to let her know that his

sentiments with respect to her were still the same, he had resolved

to address her in the most tender and affectionate manner upon this

subject. Fortune seemed to have favoured him, and to have smoothed the

way for this intended harangue: he was alone with her in her chamber;

and, what was still better, she was rallying him concerning Miss

Boynton; saying, “that they were undoubtedly much obliged to him for

attending them on their journey, whilst poor Miss Boynton had fainting

fits at Tunbridge, at least twice every day, for love of him.” Upon

this discourse, Talbot thought it right to begin the recital of his

sufferings and fidelity, when Miss Temple, with a paper in her hand,

entered the room. This was a letter in verse, which Lord Rochester had

written some time before, upon the intrigues of the two courts; wherein,

upon the subject of Miss Jennings, he said: “that Talbot had struck

terror among the people of God, by his gigantic stature; but that

Jermyn, like a little David, had vanquished the great Goliath.”

Jennings, delighted with this allusion, read it over two or three

times, thought it more entertaining than Talbot’s conversation, at first

heartily laughed at it, but soon after, with a tender air, “Poor little

David!” said she, with a deep sigh, and turning her head on one side

during this short reverie, she shed a few tears, which assuredly did not

flow for the defeat of the giant. This stung Talbot to the quick; and,

seeing himself so ridiculously deceived in his hopes, he went abruptly

out of the room, vowing never to think any more of a giddy girl, whose

conduct was regulated neither by sense nor reason; but he did not keep

his resolution.

The other votaries of love, who were numerous in this court, were more

successful, the journey being undertaken solely on that account. There

were continual balls and entertainments upon the road; hunting, and all

other diversions, wherever the court halted in its progress. The tender

lovers flattered themselves with the thought of being able to crown

their happiness as they proceeded in their journey; and the beauties

who governed their destiny did not forbid them to hope. Sidney paid his

court with wonderful assiduity: the duchess made the duke take notice

of his late perfect devotion to his service: his royal highness

observed it, and agreed that he ought to be remembered upon the first

opportunity, which happened soon after.

Montagu, as before mentioned, was master of the horse to the duchess:

he was possessed of a great deal of wit, had much penetration, and loved

mischief. How could she bear such a man near her person, in the present

situation of her heart? This greatly embarrassed her; but Montagu’s

elder brother having, very a-propos, got himself killed where he had no

business, the duke obtained for Montagu the post of master of the horse

to the queen, which the deceased enjoyed; and the handsome Sidney was

appointed to succeed him in the same employment to the duchess. All this

happened according to her wish; and the duke was highly pleased that he

had found means to promote these two gentlemen at once, without being at

the least expense.

Miss Hobart greatly applauded these promotions: she had frequent and

long conversations with Sidney, which, being remarked, some did her the

honour to believe it was upon her own account; and the compliments that

were made her upon the occasion she most willingly received. The duke,

who believed it at first, observed to the duchess the unaccountable

taste of certain persons, and how the handsomest young fellow in England

was infatuated with such a frightful creature.

The duchess confessed that taste was very arbitrary; the truth whereof

he himself seemed to be convinced of, since he had fixed upon the

beauteous Helen for his mistress. I know not whether this raillery

caused him to reflect for what reasons he had made his choice; but it

is certain he began to cool in his affections for Miss Churchill;

and perhaps he would entirely have abandoned this pursuit, had not an

accident taken place, which raised in him an entirely new inclination

for her.

The court having halted for a few days in a fine open country, the

duchess was desirous of seeing a greyhound course. This diversion is

practised in England upon large downs, where the turf, eaten by the

sheep, is particularly green, and wonderfully even. She was in her

coach, and all the ladies on horseback, every one of them being attended

by her squire; it therefore was but reasonable that the mistress should

likewise have her squire. He accordingly was at the side of her coach,

and seemed to compensate for his deficiencies in conversation, by the

uncommon beauty of his mien and figure.

The duke attended Miss Churchill, not for the sake of besieging her with

soft flattering tales of love, but, on the contrary, to chide her for

sitting so ill on horseback: She was one of the most indolent creatures

in the world; and although the maids of honour are generally the worst

mounted of the whole court, yet, in order to distinguish her, on account

of the favour she enjoyed, they had given her a very pretty, though

rather a high-spirited horse; a distinction she would very willingly

have excused them.

The embarrassment and fear she was under had added to her natural

paleness. In this situation, her countenance had almost completed

the duke’s disgust, when her horse, desirous of keeping pace with the

others, set off in a gallop, notwithstanding her greatest efforts to

prevent it; and her endeavours to hold him in, firing his mettle, he at

length set off at full speed, as if he was running a race against the

duke’s horse.

Miss Churchill lost her seat, screamed out, and fell from her horse.

A fall in so quick a pace must have been violent; and yet it proved

favourable to her in every respect; for, without receiving any hurt, she

gave the lie to all the unfavourable suppositions that had been formed

of her person, in judging from her face. The duke alighted, in order to

help her: she was so greatly stunned, that her thoughts were otherwise

employed than about decency on the present occasion; and those who first

crowded around her found her rather in a negligent posture: they could

hardly believe that limbs of such exquisite beauty could belong to Miss

Churchill’s face. After this accident, it was remarked that the duke’s

tenderness and affection for her increased every day; and, towards the

end of the winter, it appeared that she had not tyrannized over his

passion, nor made him languish with impatience.

The two courts returned to London much about the same time, equally

satisfied with their respective excursions; though the queen was

disappointed in the hopes she had entertained of the good effects of the

Tunbridge waters.

It was about this time that the Chevalier de Grammont received a letter

from the Marchioness de Saint-Chaumont, his sister, acquainting him,

that he might return when he thought proper, the king having given him

leave. He would have received this news with joy at any other time,

whatever had been the charms of the English court; but, in the present

situation of his heart, he could not resolve to quit it.

He had returned from Tunbridge a thousand times deeper in love than

ever; for, during this agreeable excursion, he had every day seen

Miss Hamilton, either in the marshes of melancholy Peckham, or in the

delicious walks of cheerful Summerhill, or in the daily diversions

and entertainments of the queen’s court; and whether he saw her on

horseback, heard her conversation, or observed her in the dance, still

he was persuaded that Heaven had never formed an object in every respect

more worthy of the love, and more deserving of the affection, of a man

of sense and delicacy. How then was it possible for him to bear the

thoughts of leaving her? This appeared to him absolutely impracticable;

however, as he was desirous of making a merit with her, of the

determination he had made to neglect his fortune, rather than to be

separated from her charms, he showed her his sister’s letter: but this

confidence had not the success he expected.

Miss Hamilton, in the first place, congratulated him upon his recall:

She returned him many thanks for the sacrifice he intended to make her;

but as this testimony of affection greatly exceeded the bounds of mere

gallantry, however sensibly she might feel this mark of his tenderness,

she was, however, determined not to abuse it. In vain did he protest

that he would rather meet death than part from her irresistible charms;

and her irresistible charms protested that he should never see them

more, unless he departed immediately. Thus was he forced to obey.

However, he was allowed to flatter himself, that these positive orders,

how harsh soever they might appear, did not flow from indifference;

that she would always be more pleased with his return than with his

departure, for which she was now so urgent; and having generously given

him assurances that, so far as depended upon herself, he would find,

upon his return, no variation in her sentiments during his absence, he

took leave of his friends, thinking of nothing but his return, at the

very time he was making preparations for his departure.

CHAPTER ELEVENTH. RETURN OF THE CHEVALIER GRAMMONT TO FRANCE--HE IS SENT

BACK TO ENGLAND--VARIOUS LOVE INTRIGUES AT THIS COURT, AND MARRIAGE OF

MOST OF THE HEROES OF THESE MEMOIRS

The nearer the Chevalier de Grammont approached the court of France, the

more did he regret his absence from that of England.

A thousand different thoughts occupied his mind upon the journey:

Sometimes he reflected upon the joy and satisfaction his friends

and relations would experience upon his return; sometimes upon the

congratulations and embraces of those who, being neither the one nor the

other, would, nevertheless, overwhelm him with impertinent compliments:

All these ideas passed quickly through his head; for a man deeply in

love makes it a scruple of conscience not to suffer any other thoughts

to dwell upon his mind than those of the object beloved. It was then

the tender, endearing remembrance of what he had left in London that

diverted his thoughts from Paris; and it was the torments of absence

that prevented his feeling those of the bad roads and the bad horses.

His heart protested to Miss Hamilton, between Montreuil and Abbeville

that he only tore himself from her with such haste, to return the

sooner; after which, by a short reflection, comparing the regret he had

formerly felt upon the same road, in quitting France for England, with

that which he now experienced, in quitting England for France, he found

the last much more insupportable than the former.

It is thus that a man in love entertains himself upon the road; or

rather, it is thus that a trifling writer abuses the patience of his

reader, either to display his own sentiments, or to lengthen out a

tedious story; but God forbid that this character should apply to

ourselves, since we profess to insert nothing in these memoirs, but

what we have heard from the mouth of him whose actions and sayings we

transmit to posterity.

Who, except Squire Feraulas, has ever been able to keep a register of

all the thoughts, sighs, and exclamations, of his illustrious master?

For my own part, I should never have thought that the attention of the

Count de Grammont, which is at present so sensible to inconveniences

and dangers, would have ever permitted him to entertain amorous thoughts

upon the road, if he did not himself dictate to me what I am now

writing.

But let us speak of him at Abbeville. The postmaster was his old

acquaintance: His hotel was the best provided of any between Calais and

Paris; and the Chevalier de Grammont, alighting, told Termes he would

drink a glass of wine during the time they were changing horses. It

was about noon; and, since the preceding night, when they had landed at

Calais, until this instant, they had not eat a single mouthful. Termes,

praising the Lord, that natural feelings had for once prevailed over the

inhumanity of his usual impatience, confirmed him as much as possible in

such reasonable sentiments.

Upon their entering the kitchen, where the Chevalier generally paid his

first visit, they were surprised to see half a dozen spits loaded

with game at the fire, and every other preparation for a magnificent

entertainment. The heart of Termes leaped for joy: he gave private

orders to the hostler to pull the shoes off some of the horses, that

he might not be forced away from this place before he had satisfied his

craving appetite.

Soon after, a number of violins and hautboys, attended by all the mob

of the town, entered the court. The landlord, being asked the reason of

these great preparations, acquainted the Chevalier de Grammont that

they were for the wedding of one of the most wealthy gentlemen in the

neighbourhood with one of the handsomest girls in the whole province;

that the entertainment was to be at his house; and that, if his lordship

chose to stop, in a very short time he would see the new-married couple

arrive from the church, since the music was already come. He was right

in his conjectures; for these words were scarce out of his mouth, when

three uncommonly large coaches, loaded with lackeys, as tall as Swiss,

with most gaudy liveries, all covered with lace, appeared in the

court, and disembarked the whole wedding company. Never was country

magnificence more naturally displayed: Rusty tinsel, tarnished lace,

striped silks, little eyes, and full swelling breasts, appeared on every

side.

If the first sight of the procession surprised the Chevalier de

Grammont, faithful Termes was no less astonished at the second. The

little that was to be seen of the bride’s face appeared not without

beauty; but no judgment could be formed of the remainder: Four dozen

of patches, at least, and ten ringlets of hair, on each side, most

completely concealed her from all human eyes; but it was the bridegroom

who most particularly attracted the Chevalier de Grammont’s attention.

He was as ridiculously dressed as the rest of the company, except a

coat of the greatest magnificence, and of the most exquisite taste. The

Chevalier de Grammont, walking up to him to examine his dress, began to

commend the embroidery of his coat. The bridegroom thought himself much

honoured by this examination, and told him he bought it for one hundred

and fifty louis, at the time he was paying his addresses to his wife.

“Then you did not get it made here?” said the Chevalier de Grammont.

“No,” replied the other; “I bought it of a London merchant, who had

ordered it for an English lord.” The Chevalier de Grammont, who now

began to perceive in what manner the adventure would end, asked him if

he should recollect the merchant if he saw him again? “Recollect him!”

replied the other, “I surely ought; for I was obliged to sit up drinking

with him all night at Calais, as I was endeavouring to beat down the

price.” Termes had vanished out of sight as soon as ever this coat

appeared, though he little supposed that the cursed bridegroom would

have any conversation concerning it with his master.

The Chevalier’s thoughts were some time wavering between his inclination

to laugh, and a desire of hanging Master Termes; but the long habit

of suffering himself to be robbed by his domestics, together with the

vigilance of the criminal, whom his master could not reproach with

having slept in his service, inclined him to clemency; and yielding to

the importunities of the country gentleman, in order to confound his

faithful servant, he sat down to table, to make the thirty-seventh of

the company.

A short time after, he desired one of the waiters to call for a

gentleman whose name was Termes. He immediately appeared; and as soon

as the master of the feast saw him, he rose from table, and offering him

his hand; “Welcome, my friend,” said he; “you see that I have taken good

care of the coat which you sold me with so much reluctance, and that I

have kept it for a good purpose.”

Termes, having put on a face of brass, pretended not to know him, and

pushed him back with some degree of rudeness. “No, no!” said the other;

“since I was obliged to sit up with you the whole night, in order to

strike the bargain, you shall pledge me in the bride’s health.”

The Chevalier de Grammont, who saw that Termes was disconcerted,

notwithstanding his impudence, said to him with a smile: “Come, come,

my good London merchant, sit down, as you are so civilly invited: we are

not so crowded at table but that there will be room enough for such an

honest gentleman as yourself.” At these words five-and-thirty of the

guests were in motion to receive this new visitor: the bride alone, out

of an idea of decorum, remained seated; and the audacious Termes, having

swallowed the first shame of this adventure, began to lay about him at

such a rate, as if it had been his intention to swallow all the wine

provided for the wedding, if his master had not risen from the table as

they were taking off four-and-twenty soups, to serve up as many other

dishes in their stead.

The company were not so unreasonable as to desire a man who was in such

haste to remain to the end of a wedding dinner; but they all got up when

he arose from table, and all that he could obtain from the bridegroom

was that the company should not attend him to the gate of the inn. As

for Termes, he wished they had not quitted him till the end of their

journey, so much did he dread being left alone with his master.

They had advanced some distance from Abbeville, and were proceeding on

in the most profound silence, when Termes, who expected an end to it

in a short time, was only solicitous in what manner it might happen,

whether his master would attack him with a torrent of invectives, and

certain epithets which were most justly his due, or whether, in an

insulting, ironical manner, he might make use of such commendations as

were most likely to confound him; but finding, instead of either, that

he remained in sullen silence, he thought it prudent rather to prevent

the speech the Chevalier was meditating than to suffer him to think

longer about it; and, accordingly, arming himself with all his

effrontery: “You seem to be very angry, Sir,” said he, “and I suppose

you think you have reason for being so; but the devil take me, if you

are not mistaken in reality.”

“How! traitor! in reality?” said the Chevalier de Grammont. “It is then

because I have not had thee well thrashed, as thou hast for a long

time merited.” “Look ye, Sir,” replied Termes, “you always run into a

passion, instead of listening to reason! Yes, Sir, I maintain that what

I did was for your benefit.” “And was not the quicksand likewise for

my service?” said the Chevalier de Grammont. “Have patience, if

you please,” pursued the other: “I know not how that simpleton of a

bridegroom happened to be at the custom-house when my portmanteau was

examined at Calais: but these silly cuckolds thrust in their noses

everywhere. As soon as ever he saw your coat, he fell in love with it.

I immediately perceived he was a fool; for he fell down upon his knees,

beseeching me to sell it him. Besides being greatly rumpled in the

portmanteau, it was all stained in front by the sweat of the horses. I

wonder how the devil he has managed to get it cleaned; but, faith, I am

the greatest scoundrel in the world, if you would ever have put it on.

In a word, it cost you one hundred and forty louis d’ors, and seeing he

offered me one hundred and fifty for it; ‘My master,’ said I, ‘has no

occasion for this tinselled bauble to distinguish him at the ball; and,

although he was pretty full of cash when I left him, how know I in what

situation he may be upon my return? there is no certainty at play.’ To

be brief, Sir, I got ten louis d’ors for it more than it cost you: this

you see is all clear profit: I will be accountable to you for it, and

you know that I am sufficiently substantial to make good such a sum.

Confess now, do you think you would have appeared to greater advantage

at the ball, if you had been dressed out in that damned coat, which

would have made you look just like the village bridegroom to whom we

sold it? and yet how you stormed at London when you thought it lost;

what fine stories you told the king about the quicksand; and how

churlish you looked, when you first began to suppose that this country

booby wore it at his wedding!”

What could the Chevalier reply to such uncommon impudence? If he

indulged his resentment, he must either have most severely bastinadoed

him, or he must have discarded him, as the easiest escape the rogue

could expect; but he had occasion for him during the remainder of his

journey; and, as soon as he was at Paris, he had occasion for him for

his return.

The Marechal de Grammont had no sooner notice of his arrival than he

went to him at the hotel; and, the first embraces being over on both

sides, “Chevalier,” said the Marechal, “how many days have you been in

coming from London hither? for God knows at what a rate you travel on

such occasions.” The Chevalier told him he had been three days upon the

road; and, to excuse himself for making no more haste, he related to

him his Abbeville adventure. “It is a very entertaining one,” said his

brother; “but what is yet more entertaining is, that it will be your

fault if you do not find your coat still at table; for the country

gentry are not accustomed to rise very soon from a wedding dinner.” And

then, in a very serious tone, told him, “he knew not who had advised him

to this unexpected return, which might probably ruin all his affairs;

but he had orders from the king to bid him go back again without

appearing at court. He told him afterwards that he was very much

astonished at his impatience, as, till this time, he had conducted

himself uncommonly well, and was sufficiently acquainted with the king’s

temper to know that the only way to merit his pardon was to wait until

it freely came from his clemency.”

The Chevalier, in justification of his conduct, produced Madame de Saint

Chaumont’s letter, and told the Marechal that he would very willingly

have spared her the trouble of writing him such kind of news, to

occasion him so useless a journey. “Still more indiscretion,” replied

his brother; “for pray how long has our sister being either secretary of

state or minister, that she should be employed by the king to make known

his majesty’s order? Do you wish to know the real state of the case?

Some time ago the king told Madame--[Henrietta]--how you had refused the

pension the King of England offered you.

[“Henrietta, youngest daughter of Charles the First,--born at Exeter

16th June, 1644, from whence she was removed to London in 1646, and,

with her governess, Lady Dalkeith, soon afterwards conveyed to

France. On the restoration, she came over to England with her

mother, but returned to France in about six months, and was married

to Philip, Duke of Orleans, only brother of Louis XIV. In May,

1670, she came again to Dover, on a mission of a political nature,

it is supposed, from the French king to her brother, in which she

was successful. She died, soon after her return to France,

suddenly, not without suspicion of having been poisoned by her

husband. King James, in his Diary, says, ‘On the 22d of June, the

news of the Duchess of Orleans’ death arrived. It was suspected

that counter-poisons were given her; but when she was opened, in the

presence of the English ambassador, the Earl of Ailesbury, an

English physician and surgeon, there appeared no grounds of

suspicion of any foul play. Yet Bucks tallied openly that she was

poisoned; and was so violent as to propose to foreign ministers to

make war on France.’--Macpherson’s Original Papers, vol i. At the

end of Lord Arlington’s Letters are five very remarkable ones from a

person of quality, who is said to have been actually on the spot,

giving a particular relation of her death.]

“He appeared pleased with the manner in which Comminges had related to

him the circumstances attending it, and said he was pleased with you for

it: Madame interpreted this as an order for your recall; and Madame de

Saint Chaumont being very far from possessing that wonderful discretion

she imagines herself mistress of, she hastened to despatch to you this

consequential order in her own hand. To conclude, Madame said yesterday,

when the king was at dinner, that you would very soon be here; and the

king, as soon as dinner was over, commanded me to send you back as soon

as you arrived. Here you are; set off again immediately.”

This order might have appeared severe to the Chevalier de Grammont at

any other time; but, in the present state of his heart, he soon resolved

upon obeying. Nothing gave him uneasiness but the officious advice

which had obliged him to leave the English court; and being entirely

unconcerned that he was not allowed to see the French court before his

departure, he only desired the Marechal to obtain leave for him to stay

a few days to collect in some play debts which were owing him. This

request was granted, on condition that he should not remain in Paris.

He chose Vaugirard for his retreat: it was there that he had several

adventures which he so often related in so humorous and diverting a

manner, that it would be tedious to repeat them; there it was that he

administered the sacrament in so solemn a manner, that, as there did not

remain a sufficient number of Swiss at Versailles to guard the chapel,

Vardes was obliged to acquaint the king that they were all gone to the

Chevalier de Grammont, who was administering the sacrament at Vaugirard:

there likewise happened that wonderful adventure which threw the

first slur upon the reputation of the great Saucourt, when, having a

tete-a-tete with the gardener’s daughter, the horn, which was agreed

upon as the signal to prevent surprises, was sounded so often, that

the frequent alarms cooled the courage of the celebrated Saucourt, and

rendered useless the assignation that was procured for him with one of

the prettiest girls in the neighbourhood. It was, likewise, during his

stay at Vaugirard, that he paid a visit to Mademoiselle de l’Hopital at

Issy, to inquire into the truth of a report of an amour between her

and a man of the long robe; and it was there that, on his arriving

unexpectedly, the President de Maisons was forced to take refuge in a

closet, with so much precipitation, that half of his robe remained on

the outside when he shut the door; while the Chevalier de Grammont, who

observed it, made his visit excessively long, in order to keep the two

lovers upon the rack.

His business being settled, he set out for England on the wings of love.

Termes redoubled his vigilance upon the road. The post horses were

ready in an instant at every stage: the winds and tides favoured his

impatience; and he reached London with the highest satisfaction. The

court was both surprised and charmed at his sudden return. No person

condoled with him upon his late disappointment, which had occasioned

him to come back, as he testified no manner of uneasiness concerning it

himself: nor was Miss Hamilton in the least displeased at his readiness

in obeying the orders of the king his master.

Nothing new had happened in the English court during his short absence;

but it assumed a different aspect soon after his return: I mean with

respect to love and pleasure, which were the most serious concerns of

the court during the greatest part of this gay reign.

The Duke of Monmouth, natural son to Charles the Second, now made his

first appearance in his father’s court.

[James Duke of Monmouth, was the son of Charles the II., by one Lucy

Walters. He was born at Rotterdam, April 9, 1649, and bore the name

of James Crofts until the restoration. His education was chiefly at

Paris, under the eye of the queen-mother, and the government of

Thomas Ross, Esq., who was afterwards secretary to Mr. Coventry

during his embassy in Sweden. At the restoration, he was brought to

England, and received with joy by his father, who heaped honours and

riches upon him, which were not sufficient to satisfy his ambitious

views. To exclude his uncle, the Duke of York, from the throne, he

was continually intriguing with the opposers of government, and was

frequently in disgrace with his sovereign. On the accession of

James II. he made an ineffectual attempt to raise a rebellion, was

taken prisoner, and beheaded on Tower-hill, 15th July, 1685. Mr.

Macpherson has drawn his character in the following terms:

“Monmouth, highly beloved by the populace, was a fit instrument to

carry forward his (i.e. Shaftesbury’s) designs. To a gracefulness

which prejudiced mankind in his favour as soon as seen, he joined an

affability which gained their love. Constant in his friendships,

and just to his word, by nature tender, and an utter enemy to

severity and cruelty, active and vigorous in his constitution, he

excelled in the manly exercises of the field. He was personally

brave. He loved the pomp and the very dangers of war. But with

these splendid qualities, he was vain to a degree of folly,

versatile in his measures, weak in his understanding. He was

ambitious without dignity, busy without consequence, attempting ever

to be artful, but always a fool. Thus, taking the applause of the

multitude for a certain mark of merit, he was the dupe of his own

vanity, and owed all his misfortunes to that weakness.”--History of

England, vol. i., chap. iii.]

His entrance upon the stage of the world was so brilliant, his ambition

had occasioned so many considerable events, and the particulars of his

tragical end are so recent, that it were needless to produce any other

traits to give a sketch of his character. By the whole tenor of his

life, he appeared to be rash in his undertakings, irresolute in the

execution, and dejected in his misfortunes, in which, at least, an

undaunted resolution ought to equal the greatness of the attempt.

His figure and the exterior graces of his person were such, that nature

perhaps never formed anything more complete: His face was extremely

handsome; and yet it was a manly face, neither inanimate nor effeminate;

each feature having its beauty and peculiar delicacy: He had a wonderful

genius for every sort of exercise, an engaging aspect, and an air of

grandeur: in a word, he possessed every personal advantage; but then he

was greatly deficient in mental accomplishments. He had no sentiments

but such as others inspired him with; and those who first insinuated

themselves into his friendship, took care to inspire him with none but

such as were pernicious. The astonishing beauty of his outward form

caused universal admiration: those who before were looked upon as

handsome were now entirely forgotten at court: and all the gay and

beautiful of the fair sex were at his devotion. He was particularly

beloved by the king; but the universal terror of husbands and lovers.

This, however, did not long continue; for nature not having endowed him

with qualifications to secure the possession of the heart, the fair sex

soon perceived the defect.

The Duchess of Cleveland was out of humour with the king, because

the children she had by his majesty were like so many little puppets,

compared to this new Adonis. She was the more particularly hurt, as she

might have boasted of being the queen of love, in comparison with the

duke’s mother.

The king, however, laughed at her reproaches, as, for some time, she had

certainly no right to make any; and, as this piece of jealousy appeared

to be more ill-founded than any she had formerly affected, no person

approved of her ridiculous resentment. Not succeeding in this, she

formed another scheme to give the king uneasiness: Instead of opposing

his extreme tenderness for his son, she pretended to adopt him, in her

affection, by a thousand commendations and caresses, which she was

daily and continually increasing. As these endearments were public, she

imagined they could not be suspected; but she was too well known for her

real design to be mistaken. The king was no longer jealous of her;

but, as the Duke of Monmouth was of an age not to be insensible to the

attractions of a woman possessing so many charms, he thought it proper

to withdraw him from this pretended mother-in-law, to preserve his

innocence, or at least his fame, uncontaminated: it was for this reason,

therefore, that the king married him so young. An heiress of five

thousand pounds a-year in Scotland, offered very a-propos: her person

was full of charms, and her mind possessed all those perfections in

which the handsome Monmouth was deficient.

[This was Lady Anne Scott, daughter and sole heir of Francis, Earl

of Buccleugh, only son and heir of Walter, Lord Scott, created Earl

of Buccleugh in 1619. On their marriage the duke took the surname

of Scott, and he and his lady were created Duke and Duchess of

Buccleugh, Earl and Countess of Dalkeith, Baron and Baroness of

Whitchester and Ashdale in Scotland, by letters patent, dated April

20th, 1673. Also, two days after he was installed at Windsor, the

king and queen, the Duke of York, and most of the court being

present. The next day, being St. George’s day, his majesty

solemnized it with a royal feast, and entertained the knights

companions in St. George’s hall in the castle of Windsor. Though

there were several children of this marriage, it does not appear to

have been a happy one; the duke, without concealment attaching

himself to Lady Harriet Wentworth, whom, with his dying breath, he

declared he considered as his only wife in the sight of God. The

duchess, in May, 1688, took to her second husband Charles, Lord

Cornwallis. She died Feb. 6, 1731-32, in the 81st year of her age,

and was buried at Dalkeith in Scotland. Our author is not more

correct about figures than he avows himself to be in the arrangement

of facts and dates: the duchess’s fortune was much greater than he

has stated it to have been.]

New festivals and entertainments celebrated this marriage. The most

effectual method to pay court to the king, was to outshine the rest in

brilliancy and grandeur; and whilst these rejoicings brought forward

all manner of gallantry and magnificence, they either revived old, or

established new amours.

The fair Stewart, then in the meridian of her glory, attracted all eyes,

and commanded universal respect and admiration. The Duchess of Cleveland

endeavoured to eclipse her at this fate, by a load of jewels, and by all

the artificial ornaments of dress; but it was in vain: her face looked

rather thin and pale, from the commencement of a third or fourth

pregnancy, which the king was still pleased to place to his own

account; and, as for the rest, her person could in no respect stand in

competition with the grace and beauty of Miss Stewart.

It was during this last effort of her charms, that she would have been

queen of England, had the king been as free to give his hand as he

was to surrender his heart: for it was at this time that the Duke of

Richmond took it into his head either to marry her, or to die in the

attempt.

A few months after the celebration of the Duke of Monmouth’s nuptials,

Killegrew, having nothing better to do; fell in love with Lady

Shrewsbury; and, as Lady Shrewsbury, by a very extraordinary chance,

had no engagement at that time, their amour was soon established. No one

thought of interrupting an intimacy which did not concern any one; but

Killegrew thought proper to disturb it himself. Not that his happiness

fell short of his expectation, nor did possession put him out of love

with a situation so enviable; but he was amazed that he was not envied,

and offended that his good fortune raised him no rivals.

He possessed a great deal of wit, and still more eloquence, which most

particularly displayed itself when he was a little elevated with

the juice of the grape: he then indulged himself in giving luxurious

descriptions of Lady Shrewsbury’s most secret charms and beauties, which

above half the court were as well acquainted with as himself.

The Duke of Buckingham was one of those who could only judge from

outward appearances: and appearances, in his opinion, did not seem to

promise any thing so exquisite as the extravagant praises of Killegrew

would infer. As this indiscreet lover was a frequent guest at the Duke

of Buckingham’s table, he was continually employing his rhetoric on

this subject, and he had full opportunity for his harangues; for they

generally sat down to dinner at four o’clock, and only rose just in time

for the play in the evening.

The Duke of Buckingham, whose ears were continually deafened with

descriptions of Lady Shrewsbury’s merits, resolved at last to examine

into the truth of the matter himself. As soon as he had made the

experiment, he was satisfied; and, though he fancied that fame did not

exceed the truth, yet this intrigue began in such a manner, that it

was generally believed its duration would be short, considering, the

fickleness of both parties, and the vivacity with which they had engaged

in it: nevertheless, no amour in England ever continued so long.

The imprudent Killegrew, who could not be satisfied without rivals, was

obliged, in the end, to be satisfied without a mistress. This he bore

very impatiently; but so far was Lady Shrewsbury from hearkening to, or

affording any redress for the grievances at first complained of, that

she pretended even not to know him. His spirit could not brook such

treatment; and without ever considering that he was the author of

his own disgrace, he let loose all his abusive eloquence against her

ladyship: he attacked her with the most bitter invectives from head to

foot: he drew a frightful picture of her conduct; and turned all her

personal charms, which he used to extol, into defects. He was privately

warned of the inconveniences to which these declamations might subject

him, but despised the advice, and, persisting, he soon had reason to

repent it.

As he was returning one evening from the Duke of York’s apartments at

St. James’s, three passes with a sword were made at him through his

chair, one of which went entirely through his arm. Upon this, he was

sensible of the danger to which his intemperate tongue had exposed him,

over and above the loss of his mistress. The assassins made their escape

across the Park, not doubting but they had dispatched him.

Killegrew thought that all complaints would be useless; for what redress

from justice could he expect for an attempt of which his wounds were

his only evidence? And, besides, he was convinced that if he began

a prosecution founded upon appearances and conjectures, the parties

concerned would take the shortest and most effectual means to put a stop

to all inquiries upon the subject, and that their second attempt would

not prove ineffectual. Being desirous, therefore, of deserving mercy

from those who had endeavoured to assassinate him, he no longer

continued his satires, and said not a word of the adventure. The Duke of

Buckingham and Lady Shrewsbury remained for a long period both happy and

contented. Never before had her constancy been of so long a duration;

nor had he ever been so submissive and respectful a lover.

This continued until Lord Shrewsbury, who never before had shown the

least uneasiness at his lady’s misconduct, thought proper to resent

this: it was public enough, indeed, but less dishonourable to her than

any of her former intrigues. Poor Lord Shrewsbury, too polite a man to

make any reproaches to his wife, was resolved to have redress for his

injured honour: he accordingly challenged the Duke of Buckingham; and

the Duke of Buckingham, as a reparation for his honour, having killed

him upon the spot, remained a peaceable possessor of this famous Helen.

The public was at first shocked at the transaction; but the public grows

familiar with everything by habit, and by degrees both decency, and even

virtue itself, are rendered tame, and overcome. The queen was at the

head of those who exclaimed against so public and scandalous a crime,

and against the impunity of such a wicked act. As the Duchess of

Buckingham was a short fat body, like her majesty, who never had had any

children, and whom her husband had abandoned for another; this sort of

parallel in their situations interested the queen in her favour; but

it was all in vain: no person paid any attention to them; the

licentiousness of the age went on uncontrolled, though the queen

endeavoured to raise up the serious part of the nation, the politicians

and devotees, as enemies against it.

The fate of this princess was in many cases truly melancholy: The king,

indeed, paid her every outward attention; but that was all: She easily

perceived that the respect he entertained for her daily diminished, in

proportion as the credit of her rivals increased: She saw that the king

her husband was now totally indifferent about legitimate children, since

his all-charming mistresses bore him others. As all the happiness of her

life depended upon that blessing, and as she flattered herself that the

king would prove kinder to her if Heaven would vouchsafe to grant

her desires, she had recourse to all the celebrated secrets against

sterility: pious vows, nine days’ prayers, and offerings having been

tried in all manners, but all to no purpose, she was at last obliged to

return to natural means.

What would she have given on this occasion for the ring which Archbishop

Turpin wore on his finger, and which made Charlemagne run after him, in

the same manner as it had made him run after one of his concubines, from

whose finger Turpin had taken it after her death! But it is now many

years since the only talismans for creating love are the charms of

the person beloved, and foreign enchantments have been looked upon as

ineffectual. The queen’s physicians, men of great prudence, sagacity,

and wisdom, as they always are, having duly weighed and considered that

the cold waters of Tunbridge had not succeeded in the preceding year,

concluded that it would be advisable for her to try the warm baths at

Bristol--[Probably Bath, D.W.]--This journey was therefore fixed for

the next season; and in the confidence of its proving effectual, this

excursion would have afforded her much pleasure, if the most dangerous

of her rivals had not been one of the first that was appointed to attend

the court. The Duchess of Cleveland being then near her time, there was

no uneasiness on her account: the common rules of decency required a

little attention. The public, it is true, was not either more or less

acquainted with the circumstances of her situation; by the care which

she now took to conceal it; but her appearing at court in her present

condition would have been too great an insult to the queen. Miss

Stewart, more handsome than ever, was appointed for this excursion, and

began to make magnificent preparations. The poor queen durst say nothing

against it; but all hopes of success immediately forsook her. What could

the baths, or the feeble virtue of the waters, perform against charms

that entirely counteracted their effects, either through the grief

and uneasiness they occasioned her, or by their still more powerful

consequences?

The Chevalier de Grammont, to whom all pleasures were insipid without

the presence of Miss Hamilton, was yet unable to excuse himself from

attending the court: the king delighted too much in his sprightly

conversation to leave him behind; and however pleasing his company might

have been in the solitude occasioned by the absence of the court, Miss

Hamilton did not think it right to accept his offer of staying in town,

because she was obliged to remain there: she, however, granted him the

permission of writing her an account of any news that might occur upon

the journey. He failed not to make use of this permission, in such a

manner as one may imagine: and his own concerns took up so much space

in his letters, that there was very little room left for other subjects

during his stay at the baths. As absence from the object of his

affections rendered this place insupportable, he engaged in everything

that might dissipate his impatience, until the happy moment of return

arrived.

He had a great esteem for the elder of the Hamiltons; no less esteem,

and far more friendship for his brother, whom he made the confidant

of his passion and attachment for his sister. The Chevalier was also

acquainted with his first engagements with his cousin Wetenhall; but

being ignorant of the coldness that had interrupted a commerce so brisk

in its commencement, he was surprised at the eagerness he showed upon

all occasions to please Miss Stewart: his assiduity appeared to the

Chevalier de Grammont to exceed those civilities and attentions that

are usually paid for the purpose of making court to the favourites of

princes. He observed him more strictly, and soon perceived that he was

deeper in love with her than was consistent either with his fortune

or his repose. As soon as the remarks he made had confirmed him in

his suspicions, he resolved to use his endeavours to prevent the

consequences of an engagement pernicious in every respect: but he waited

for a proper opportunity of speaking to him upon the subject.

In the mean time, the court enjoyed every kind of diversion, in a place

where amusement is sought with avidity. The game of bowls, which in

France is the pastime of mechanics and servants only, is quite the

contrary in England, where it is the exercise of gentlemen, and requires

both art and address: it is only in use during the fair and dry part of

the season, and the places where it is practised are charming, delicious

walks, called bowling-greens, which are little square grass plots, where

the turf is almost as smooth and level as the cloth of a billiard-table.

As soon as the heat of the day is over, all the company assemble there:

they play deep; and spectators are at liberty to make what bets they

please.

The Chevalier de Grammont, long before initiated in the English games

and diversions, had been engaged in a horse-race, in which he was

indeed unsuccessful; but he had the satisfaction of being convinced by

experience, that an English horse can go twenty miles upon the high road

in less than an hour. He was more fortunate at cock-fighting; and in the

bets he made at the bowling-green, the party he betted upon never failed

to win.

Near all these places of diversion there is usually a sort of inn, or

house of entertainment, with a bower or arbour, in which are sold all

sorts of English liquors, such as cider, mead, bottled beer, and Spanish

wines. Here the rooks meet every evening to drink, smoke, and to try

their skill upon each other, or, in other words, to endeavour to trick

one another out of the winnings of the day. These rooks are, properly

speaking, what we call capons or piqueurs, in France; men who always

carry money about them, to enable them to lend to losing gamesters, for

which they receive a gratification, which is nothing for such as play

deep, as it is only two per cent., and the money to be repaid the next

day.

These gentlemen are so nice in their calculations, and so particularly

skilful in all manner of games, that no person would dare to enter the

lists with them, were they even assured that no unfairness would be

practised. Besides, they make a vow, to win four or five guineas a day,

and to be satisfied with that gain; a vow which they seldom or never

break.

It was in the midst of a company of these rooks, that Hamilton found the

Chevalier de Grammont, when he called in one evening to get a glass

of cider. They were playing at hazard; and as he who holds the dice is

supposed to have the advantage, the rooks did the Chevalier de Grammont

that honour out of compliment: he had the dice in his hand when Hamilton

came into the room. The rooks, secure of their odds, were betting

against him at a high rate, and he took all.

Hamilton could hardly believe his eyes, to see a man of his experience

and knowledge engaged in so unequal a contest; but it was to no purpose

that he informed him of his danger, both aloud in French, and in private

by signs; he still disregarded his warnings, and the dice, that bore

Caesar and his fortunes, performed a miracle in his favour. The rooks

were defeated for the first time, but not without bestowing upon him all

the encomiums and praises of being a very fair and honourable player,

which they never fail to lavish upon those whom they wish to engage

a second time; but all their commendations were lost, and their hopes

deceived: the Chevalier was satisfied with the first experiment.

Hamilton, when the king was at supper, related to him how he found the

Chevalier de Grammont rashly engaged with the rooks, and in what manner

he had been providentially preserved. “Indeed, Sir,” said the Chevalier

de Grammont, “the rooks were discomfited for once;” and thereupon

related the adventure to his majesty in his usual way, attracting the

attention of all the company, to a circumstance trifling in itself, but

rendered interesting by his humour.

After supper, Miss Stewart, in whose apartment there was play, called

Hamilton to her to tell the story. The Chevalier de Grammont, perceiving

that she attended to him with pleasure, was fully confirmed in the truth

of his first conjectures; and, having carried Hamilton home with him to

supper, they began to discourse freely together as usual, “George,” said

the Chevalier de Grammont, “are you in any want of money? I know you

love play: perhaps it may not be so favourable to you as it is to me. We

are at a great distance from London. Here are two hundred guineas:

take them, I beseech you; they will do to play with at Miss Stewart’s.”

Hamilton, who little expected this conclusion, was rather disconcerted.

“How! at Miss Stewart’s!” “Yes, in her apartments. Friend George,”

continued the Chevalier de Grammont, “I have not yet lost my eyes: you

are in love with her, and, if I am not mistaken, she is not offended at

it; but tell me how you could resolve to banish poor Wetenhall from your

heart, and suffer yourself to be infatuated with a girl, who perhaps

after all is not worth the other, and who besides, whatever favourable

dispositions she may have for you, will undoubtedly in the end prove

your ruin. Faith, your brother and you are two pretty fellows, in your

choice. What! can you find no other beauties in all the court to fall in

love with, except the king’s two mistresses! As for the elder brother,

I can pardon him he only took Lady Castlemaine after his master had done

with her, and after Lady Chesterfield had discarded him; but, as for

you, what the devil do you intend to do with a creature, on whom the

king seems every day to dote with increasing fondness? Is it because

that drunken sot Richmond has again come forward, and now declares

himself one of her professed admirers? You will soon see what he will

make by it: I have not forgotten what the king said to me upon the

subject. ‘Believe me, my dear friend, there is no playing tricks with

our masters; I mean, there is no ogling their mistresses.’ I myself

wanted to play the agreeable in France with a little coquette, whom

the king did not care about, and you know how dearly I paid for it. I

confess she gives you fair play, but do not trust to her. All the sex

feel an unspeakable satisfaction at having men in their train, whom they

care not for, and to use them as their slaves of state, merely to swell

their equipage. Would it not be a great deal better to pass a week or

ten days incognito at Peckham, with the philosopher Wetenhall’s wife,

than to have it inserted in the Dutch Gazette.--We hear from Bristol,

that such a one is banished the court on account of Miss Stewart, and

that he is going to make a campaign in Guinea on board the fleet that is

fitting out for the expedition, under the command of Prince Rupert.”

Hamilton, who was the more convinced of the truth of this discourse, the

more he considered it, after musing some time, appeared to wake from a

dream, and addressing himself with an air of gratitude to the Chevalier

de Grammont: “Of all the men in the world, my dear friend,” said he,

“you have the most agreeable wit, and at the same time the clearest

judgment with respect to your friends: what you have told me has opened

my eyes. I began to suffer myself to be seduced by the most ridiculous

illusion imaginable, and to be hurried away rather by frivolous

appearances than any real inclination: to you I owe the obligation of

having preserved me from destruction at the very brink of a precipice.

This is not the only kindness you have done me, your favours have been

innumerable; and, as a proof of my gratitude for this last, I will

follow your advice, and go into retirement at my cousin Wetenhall’s,

to eradicate from my recollection every trace of those chimeras which

lately possessed my brain; but so far from going thither incognito, I

will take you along with me, as soon as the court returns to London.

My sister shall likewise be of the party; for it is prudent to use

all precautions with a man who, with a great deal of merit, on such

occasions is not over scrupulous, if we may credit your philosopher.”

“Do not pay any attention to that pedant,” replied the Chevalier de

Grammont: “but tell me what put it into your head to form a design upon

that inanimate statue, Miss Stewart?” “How the devil should I know?”

said Hamilton: “you are acquainted with all her childish amusements. The

old Lord Carlingford was at her apartment one evening, showing her

how to hold a lighted wax candle in her mouth, and the grand secret

consisted in keeping the burning end there a long time without its being

extinguished. I have, thank God, a pretty large mouth, and, in order to

out-do her teacher, I took two candles into my mouth at the same time,

and walked three times round the room without their going out. Every

person present adjudged me the prize of this illustrious experiment,

and Killegrew maintained that nothing but a lanthorn could stand in

competition with me. Upon this she was like to die with laughing;

and thus was I admitted into the familiarity of her amusements. It is

impossible to deny her being one of the most charming creatures that

ever was: since the court has been in the country, I have had an hundred

opportunities of seeing her, which I had not before. You know that the

dishabille of the bath is a great convenience for those ladies, who,

strictly adhering to all the rules of decorum, are yet desirous to

display all their charms and attractions. Miss Stewart is so fully

acquainted with the advantages she possesses over all other women, that

it is hardly possible to praise any lady at court for a well-turned

arm, and a fine leg, but she is ever ready to dispute the point by

demonstration; and I really believe, that, with a little address,

it would not be difficult to induce her to strip naked, without ever

reflecting upon what she was doing. After all, a man must be very

insensible to remain unconcerned and unmoved on such happy occasions;

and, besides, the good opinion we entertain of ourselves is apt to make

us think a woman is smitten, as soon as she distinguishes us by habitual

familiarity, which most commonly signifies nothing. This is the truth of

the matter with respect to myself: my own presumption, her beauty, the

brilliant station that sets it off, and a thousand kind things she had

said to me, prevented me from making serious reflections; but then, as

some excuse for my folly, I must likewise tell you, that the facility

I found in making her the tenderest declarations by commending her, and

her telling me in confidence a thousand things which she ought not to

have entrusted me with, might have deceived or infatuated any other man

as well as myself.

“I presented her with one of the prettiest horses in England. You know

what peculiar grace and elegance distinguish her on horseback. The king,

who, of all the diversions of the chase, likes none but hawking, because

it is the most convenient for the ladies, went out the other day to take

this amusement, attended by all the beauties of his court. His majesty

having galloped after a falcon, and the whole bright squadron after him,

the rustling of Miss Stewart’s petticoats frightened her horse, which

was at full speed, endeavouring to come up with mine, that had been his

companion; so that I was the only witness of a disorder in her clothes,

which displayed a thousand new beauties to my view. I had the good

fortune to make such gallant and flattering exclamations upon

that charming disorder as to prevent her being concerned or out of

countenance upon it: on the contrary, this subject of my admiration has

been frequently since the subject of our conversation, and did not seem

to displease her.

“Old Lord Carlingford, and that mad fellow, Crofts (for I must now make

you my general confession), those insipid buffoons, were frequently

telling her some diverting stories, which passed pretty well with the

help of a few old threadbare jests, or some apish tricks in the recital,

which made her laugh heartily. As for myself, who know no stories, and

do not possess the talent of improving them by telling, if I did know

any, I was often greatly embarrassed when she desired me to tell her

one: ‘I do not know one, indeed,’ said I, one day, when she was teazing

me on the subject. ‘Invent one, then,’ said she. ‘That would be still

more difficult,’ replied I; ‘but if you will give me leave, madam, I

will relate to you a very extraordinary dream, which has, however, less

appearance of truth in it than dreams generally have.’ This excited her

curiosity, which would brook no denial. I therefore began to tell

her that the most beautiful creature in the world, whom I loved to

distraction, paid me a visit in my sleep. I then drew her own portrait,

with a rapturous description of all her beauties; adding, that this

goddess, who came to visit me with the most favourable intentions, did

not counteract them by any unreasonable cruelty. This was not sufficient

to satisfy Miss Stewart’s curiosity: I was obliged to relate every

particular circumstance of the kindness I experienced from this delicate

phantom; to which she was so very attentive, that she never once

appeared surprised or disconcerted at the luscious tale. On the

contrary, she made me repeat the description of the beauty, which I drew

as near as possible after her own person, and after such charms as I

imagined of beauties that were unknown to me.

“This is, in fact, the very thing that had almost deprived me of

my senses: she knew very well that she herself was the person I was

describing: we were alone, as you may imagine, when I told her this

story; and my eyes did their utmost to persuade her that it was herself

whom I drew. I perceived that she was not in the least offended at

knowing this; nor was her modesty in the least alarmed at the relation

of a fiction, which I might have concluded in a manner still less

discreet, if I had thought proper. This patient audience made me plunge

headlong into the ocean of flattering ideas that presented themselves

to my imagination. I then no longer thought of the king, nor how

passionately fond he was of her, nor of the dangers attendant upon such

an engagement: in short, I know not what the devil I was thinking of;

but I am very certain that, if you had not been thinking for me, I might

have found my ruin in the midst of these distracted visions.”

Not long after, the court returned to London; and from that time, some

malevolent star having gained the ascendant, every thing went cross in

the empire of Love: vexation, suspicions, or jealousies, first entered

the field, to set all hearts at variance; next, false reports, slander,

and disputes, completed the ruin of all.

The Duchess of Cleveland had been brought to bed while the court was at

Bristol; and never before had she recovered from her lying-in with such

a profusion of charms. This made her believe that she was in a proper

state to retrieve her ancient rights over the king’s heart, if she had

an opportunity of appearing before him with this increased splendour.

Her friends being of the same opinion, her equipage was prepared for

this expedition; but the very evening before the day she had fixed on to

set out, she saw young Churchill, and was at once seized with a disease,

which had more than once opposed her projects, and which she could never

completely get the better of.

[Churchill--Afterwards the celebrated Duke of Marlborough. He was

born midsummer-day, 1650, and died June 16, 1722. Bishop Burnet

takes notice of the discovery of this intrigue. “The Duchess of

Cleveland finding that she had lost the king, abandoned herself to

great disorders; one of which, by the artifice of the Duke of

Buckingham, was discovered by the king in person, the party

concerned leaping out of the window.”--History of his own Times,

vol. i. p. 370. This was in 1668. A very particular account of

this intrigue is to be seen in the Atalantis of Mrs. Manley, vol.

i., p. 30. The same writer, who had lived as companion to the

Duchess of Cleveland, says, in the account of her own life, that she

was an eye-witness when the duke, who had received thousands from

the duchess, refused the common civility of lending her twenty

guineas at basset.--The history of Rivella, 4th ed. 1725, p. 33.

Lord Chesterfield’s character of this noblemen is too remarkable to

be omitted.

“Of all the men that ever I knew in my life, (and I knew him

extremely well,) the late Duke of Marlborough possessed the graces

in the highest degree, not to say engrossed them: and indeed he got

the most by them! for I will venture, (contrary to the custom of

profound historians, who always assign deep causes to great events,)

to ascribe the better half of the Duke of Marlborough’s greatness

and riches to those graces. He was eminently illiterate, wrote bad

English, and spelled it still worse. He had no share of what is

commonly called parts; that is, he had no brightness, nothing

shining in his genius. He had, most undoubtedly, an excellent good

plain understanding, with sound judgment. But these alone would

probably have raised him but something higher than they found him,

which was page to King James II.’s queen. There the graces

protected and promoted him; for while he was an ensign of the

guards, the Duchess of Cleveland, then favourite mistress to King

Charles II., struck by those very graces, gave him five thousand

pounds; with which he immediately bought an annuity for his life, of

five hundred pounds a-year, of my grandfather, Halifax; which was

the foundation of his subsequent fortune. His figure was beautiful;

but his manner was irresistible by either man or woman. It was by

this engaging, graceful manner, that he was enabled, during all his

wars, to connect the various and jarring powers of the grand

alliance, and to carry them on to the main object of the war,

notwithstanding their private and separate views, jealousies, and

wrong-headednesses. Whatever court he went to, (and he was often

obliged to go himself to some restive and refractory ones,) he as

constantly prevailed, and brought them into his measures. The

pensionary Heinsius, a venerable old minister, grown grey in

business, and who had governed the republic of the United Provinces

for more than forty years, was absolutely governed by the Duke of

Marlborough, as that republic feels to this day. He was always

cool; and nobody ever observed the least variation in his

countenance. He could refuse more gracefully than other people

could grant; and those who went away from him the most dissatisfied,

as to the substance of their business, were yet personally charmed

with him, and, in some degree, comforted by his manner. With all

his gracefulness, no man living was more conscious of his situation,

or maintained his dignity better.”--Chest. Letters, letter 136.]

A man who, from an ensign in the guards, was raised to such a fortune,

must certainly possess an uncommon share of prudence, not to be

intoxicated with his happiness. Churchill boasted in all places of

the new favour he had received: the Duchess of Cleveland, who neither

recommended to him circumspection in his behaviour, nor in his

conversation, did not seem to be in the least concerned at his

indiscretion. Thus this intrigue was become a general topic in all

companies, when the court arrived in London, and occasioned an immense

number of speculations and reasonings: some said she had already

presented him with Jermyn’s pension, and Jacob Hall’s salary, because

the merits and qualifications of both were united in his person: others

maintained that he had too indolent an air, and too delicate a shape,

long to maintain himself in her favour; but all agreed that a man who

was the favourite of the king’s mistress, and brother to the duke’s

favourite, was in a fair way of preferment, and could not fail to make

his fortune. As a proof, the Duke of York soon after gave him a place in

his household: this was naturally to be expected; but the king, who

did not think that Lady Cleveland’s kindness to him was a sufficient

recommendation to his favour, thought proper to forbid him the court.

This good-natured king began now to be rather peevish: nor was it

altogether without reason: he disturbed no person in their amours, and

yet others had often the presumption to encroach upon his. Lord Dorset,

first lord of the bed-chamber, had lately debauched from his service

Nell Gwyn, the actress. Lady Cleveland, whom he now no longer regarded,

continued to disgrace him by repeated infidelities with unworthy rivals,

and almost ruined him by the immense sums she lavished on her gallants;

but that which most sensibly affected him, was the late coldness

and threats of Miss Stewart. He long since had offered her all the

settlements and all the titles she could desire, until he had an

opportunity more effectually to provide for her, which she had pretended

only to decline, for fear of the scandal they might occasion, on her

being raised to a rank which would attract the public notice; but since

the return of the court, she had given herself other airs: sometimes

she was for retiring from court, to appease the continual uneasiness her

presence gave the queen: at other times it was to avoid temptations, by

which she wished to insinuate that her innocence was still preserved:

in short, the king’s heart was continually distracted by alarms, or

oppressed by humour and caprice.

As he could not for his life imagine what Miss Stewart wished him to do,

or what she would be at, he thought upon reforming his establishment

of mistresses, to try whether jealousy was not the real occasion of her

uneasiness. It was for this reason that, after having solemnly declared

he would have nothing more to say to the Duchess of Cleveland, since her

intrigue with Churchill, he discarded, without any exception, all the

other mistresses which he had in various parts of the town. The Nell

Gwyns, the Misses Davis, and the joyous rain of singers and dancers in

his majesty’s theatre, were all dismissed. All these sacrifices were

ineffectual: Miss Stewart continued to torment, and almost to drive the

king to distraction; but his majesty soon after found out the real cause

of this coldness.

This discovery was owing to the officious Duchess of Cleveland, who,

ever since her disgrace, had railed most bitterly against Miss Stewart

as the cause of it, and against the king’s weakness, who, for an

inanimate idiot, had treated her with so much indignity. As some of her

grace’s creatures were still in the king’s confidence, by their means

she was informed of the king’s uneasiness, and that Miss Stewart’s

behaviour was the occasion of it--and as soon as she had found the

opportunity she had so long wished for, she went directly into the

king’s cabinet, through the apartment of one of his pages called

Chiffinch. This way was not new to her.

The king was just returned from visiting Miss Stewart, in a very ill

humour: the presence of the Duchess of Cleveland surprised him, and did

not in the least diminish it: she, perceiving this, accosted him in an

ironical tone, and with a smile of indignation. “I hope,” said she, “I

may be allowed to pay you my homage, although the angelic Stewart has

forbid you to see me at my own house. I will not make use of reproaches

and expostulations, which would disgrace myself: still less will I

endeavour to excuse frailties which nothing can justify, since your

constancy for me deprives me of all defence, considering I am the only

person you have honoured with your tenderness, who has made herself

unworthy of it by ill conduct. I come now, therefore, with no other

intent than to comfort and to condole with you upon the affliction and

grief into which the coldness, or new-fashioned chastity of the inhuman

Stewart have reduced your majesty.” These words were attended by a

fit of laughter, as unnatural and strained as it was insulting and

immoderate, which completed the king’s impatience: he had, indeed,

expected that some bitter jest would follow this preamble; but he

did not suppose she would have given herself such blustering airs,

considering the terms they were then upon; and, as he was preparing to

answer her: “be not offended,” said she, “that I take the liberty of

laughing at the gross manner in which you are imposed upon: I cannot

bear to see that such particular affectation should make you the jest of

your own court, and that you should be ridiculed with such impunity. I

know that the affected Stuart has sent you away, under pretence of some

indisposition, or perhaps some scruple of conscience; and I come to

acquaint you that the Duke of Richmond will soon be with her, if he is

not there already. I do not desire you to believe what I say, since it

might be suggested either through resentment or envy: only follow me to

her apartment, either that, no longer trusting calumny and malice, you

may honour her with a just preference, if I accuse her falsely; or, if

my information be true, you may no longer be the dupe of a pretended

prude, who makes you act so unbecoming and ridiculous a part.”

As she ended this speech, she took him by the hand, while he was yet

undecided, and pulled him away towards her rival’s apartments. Chiffinch

being in her interest, Miss Stewart could have no warning of the visit;

and Babiani, who owed all to the Duchess of Cleveland, and who served

her admirably well upon this occasion, came and told her that the Duke

of Richmond had just gone into Miss Stewart’s chamber. It was in the

middle of a little gallery, which, through a private door, led from the

king’s apartments to those of his mistresses. The Duchess of Cleveland

wished him good night, as he entered her rival’s chamber, and retired,

in order to wait the success of the adventure, of which Babiani, who

attended the king, was charged to come and give her an account.

It was near midnight: the king, in his way, met his mistress’s

chamber-maids, who respectfully opposed his entrance, and in a very low

voice, whispered his majesty that Miss Stewart had been very ill since

he left her: but that, being gone to bed, she was, God be thanked, in a

very fine sleep. “That I must see,” said the king, pushing her back, who

had posted herself in his way. He found Miss Stewart in bed, indeed, but

far from being asleep: the Duke of Richmond was seated at her pillow,

and in all probability was less inclined to sleep than herself. The

perplexity of the one party, and the rage of the other, were such as may

easily be imagined upon such a surprise. The king, who, of all men, was

one of the most mild and gentle, testified his resentment to the Duke

of Richmond in such terms as he had never before used. The duke was

speechless, and almost petrified: he saw his master and his king justly

irritated. The first transports which rage inspires on such occasions

are dangerous. Miss Stewart, window was very convenient for a sudden

revenge, the Thames flowing close beneath it: he cast his eyes upon it;

and, seeing those of the king more incensed and fired with indignation

than he thought his nature capable of, he made a profound bow, and

retired, without replying a single word to the vast torrent of threats

and menaces that were poured upon him.

Miss Stewart, having a little recovered from her first surprise, instead

of justifying herself, began to talk in the most extravagant manner, and

said everything that was most capable to inflame the king’s passion and

resentment; that, if she were not allowed to receive visits from a man

of the Duke of Richmond’s rank, who came with honourable intentions, she

was a slave in a free country; that she knew of no engagement that

could prevent her from disposing of her hand as she thought proper; but,

however, if this was not permitted her in his dominions, she did not

believe that there was any power on earth that could hinder her from

going over to France, and throwing herself into a convent, to enjoy

there that tranquillity which was denied her in his court. The king,

sometimes furious with anger, sometimes relenting at her tears, and

sometimes terrified at her menaces, was so greatly agitated, that he

knew not how to answer, either the nicety of a creature who wanted to

act the part of Lucretia under his own eye, or the assurance with which

she had the effrontery to reproach him. In this suspense, love had

almost entirely vanquished all his resentments, and had nearly induced

him to throw himself upon his knees, and entreat pardon for the injury

he had done her, when she desired him to retire, and leave her in

repose, at least for the remainder of that night, without offending

those who had either accompanied him, or conducted him to her

apartments, by a longer visit. This impertinent request provoked and

irritated him to the highest degree: he went out abruptly, vowing never

to see her more, and passed the most restless and uneasy night he had

ever experienced since his restoration.

The next day the Duke of Richmond received orders to quit the court, and

never more to appear before the king; but it seems he had not waited for

those orders, having set out early that morning for his country seat.

Miss Stewart, in order to obviate all injurious constructions that might

be put upon the adventure of the preceding night, went and threw herself

at the queen’s feet; where, acting the new part of an innocent

Magdalen, she entreated her majesty’s forgiveness for all the sorrow and

uneasiness she might have already occasioned her. She told her majesty

that a constant and sincere repentance had induced her to contrive all

possible means for retiring from court: that this reason had inclined

her to receive the Duke of Richmond’s addresses, who had courted her

a long time; but since this courtship had caused his disgrace, and had

likewise raised a vast noise and disturbance, which perhaps might be

turned to the prejudice of her reputation, she conjured her Majesty

to take her under her protection, and endeavour to obtain the king’s

permission for her to retire into a convent, to remove at once all those

vexations and troubles her presence had innocently occasioned at court.

All this was accompanied with a proper deluge of tears.

It is a very agreeable spectacle to see a rival prostrate at our feet,

entreating pardon, and at the same time justifying her conduct. The

queen’s heart not only relented, but she mingled her own tears with

those of Miss Stewart. After having raised her up, and most tenderly

embraced her, she promised her all manner of favour and protection,

either in her marriage, or in any other course she thought fit to

pursue, and parted from her with the firm resolution to exert all her

interest in her support; but, being a person of great judgment, the

reflections which she afterwards made, induced her to change her

opinion!

She knew that the king’s disposition was not capable of an obstinate

constancy. She therefore judged that absence would cure him, or that a

new engagement would by degrees entirely efface the remembrance of Miss

Stewart, and that, since she could not avoid having a rival, it was more

desirable she should be one who had given such eminent proofs of her

prudence and virtue. Besides, she flattered herself that the king would

ever think himself eternally obliged to her, for having opposed

the retreat and marriage of a girl, whom at that time he loved to

distraction. This fine reasoning determined her conduct. All her

industry was employed in persuading Miss Stewart to abandon her schemes;

and what is most extraordinary in this adventure, is, that, after having

prevailed upon her to think no more either of the Duke of Richmond, or

of a nunnery, she charged herself with the office of reconciling these

two lovers.

Indeed it would have been a thousand pities if her negotiation had

miscarried but she did not suffer this misfortune; for never were the

king’s addresses so eager and passionate as after this peace, nor ever

better received by the fair Stewart.

His majesty did not long enjoy the sweets of a reconciliation, which

brought him into the best good humour possible, as we shall see. All

Europe was in a profound peace, since the treaty of the Pyrenees: Spain

flattered herself she should be able to recruit, by means of the new

alliance she had contracted with the most formidable of her neighbours;

but despaired of being able to support the shattered remains of a

declining monarchy, when she considered the age and infirmities of

her prince, or the weakness of his successor: France, on the contrary,

governed by a king indefatigable in business, young, vigilant, and

ambitious of glory, wanted nothing but inclination to aggrandize

herself.

It was about this time, that the king of France, not willing to disturb

the tranquillity of Europe, was persuaded to alarm the coasts of Africa,

by an attempt, which, if it had even been crowned with success, would

have produced little good; but the king’s fortune, ever faithful to his

glory, has since made it appear, by the miscarriage of the expedition of

Gigeri, that such projects only as were planned by himself were worthy

of his attention.

[Gigeri is about forty leagues from Algiers. Till the year 1664 the

French had a factory there; but then attempting to build a fort on

the sea-coast, to be a check upon the Arabs, they came down from the

mountains, beat the French out of Gigeri, and demolished their fort.

Sir Richard Fanshaw, in a letter to the deputy governor of Tangier,

dated 2nd December, 1664, N.S., says, “We have certain intelligence

that the French have lost Gigheria, with all they had there, and

their fleet come back, with the loss of one considerable ship upon

the rocks near Marseilles.”--Fanshaw’s Letters, vol. i. p. 347.]

A short time after, the king of England, having resolved also to explore

the African coasts, fitted out a squadron for an expedition to Guinea,

which was to be commanded by Prince Rupert. Those who, from their own

experience, had some knowledge of the country, related strange and

wonderful stories of the dangers attendant upon this expedition that

they would have to fight not only the inhabitants of Guinea, a hellish

people, whose arrows were poisoned, and who never gave their prisoners

better quarter than to devour them, but that they must likewise endure

heats that were insupportable, and rains that were intolerable, every

drop of which was changed into a serpent: that, if they penetrated

farther into the country, they would be assaulted by monsters a thousand

times more hideous and destructive than all the beasts mentioned in the

Revelations.

But all these reports were vain and ineffectual: for so far from

striking terror into those who were appointed to go upon this

expedition, it rather acted as an incentive to glory, upon those who

had no manner of business in it. Jermyn appeared among the foremost of

those; and, without reflecting that the pretence of his indisposition

had delayed the conclusion of his marriage with Miss Jennings, he

asked the duke’s permission, and the king’s consent to serve in it as a

volunteer.

Some time before this, the infatuation which had imposed upon the fair

Jennings in his favour had begun to subside. All that now inclined

her to this match were the advantages of a settlement. The careless

indolence of a lover, who faintly paid his addresses to her, as it were

from custom or habit, disgusted her; and the resolution he had taken,

without consulting her, appeared so ridiculous in him, and so injurious

to herself, that, from that moment, she resolved to think no more

of him. Her eyes being opened by degrees, she saw the fallacy of the

splendour, which had at first deceived her; and the renowned Jermyn was

received according to his real merit when he came to acquaint her with

his heroical project. There appeared so much indifference and ease in

the raillery with which she complimented him upon his voyage, that he

was entirely disconcerted, and so much the more so, as he had prepared

all the arguments he thought capable of consoling her, upon announcing

to her the fatal news of his departure. She told him, “that nothing

could be more glorious for him, who had triumphed over the liberty of so

many persons in Europe, than too and extend his conquests in other parts

of the world; and that she advised him to bring home with him all the

female captives he might make in Africa, in order to replace those

beauties whom his absence would bring to the grave.”

Jermyn was highly displeased that she should be capable of raillery in

the condition he supposed her reduced to; but he soon perceived she was

in earnest: she told him, that she considered this farewell visit as

his last, and desired him not to think of making her any more before his

departure.

Thus far everything went well on her side: Jermyn was not only

confounded at having received his discharge in so cavalier a manner;

but this very demonstration of her indifference had revived, and even

redoubled, all the love and affection he had formerly felt for her.

Thus she had both the pleasure of despising him, and of seeing him more

entangled in the chains of love than he had ever been before. This

was not sufficient: she wished still farther, and very unadvisedly, to

strain her resentment.

Ovid’s Epistles,--[This is the translation of Ovid’s Epistles

published by Mr. Dryden. The second edition of it was printed in

1681.]--translated into English verse by the greatest wits at court,

having lately been published, she wrote a letter from a shepherdess in

despair, addressed to the perfidious Jermyn. She took the epistle

of Ariadne to Theseus for her model. The beginning of this letter

contained, word for word, the complaints and reproaches of that injured

fair to the cruel man by whom she had been abandoned. All this was

properly adapted to the present times and circumstances. It was her

design to have closed this piece with a description of the toils,

perils, and monsters, that awaited him in Guinea, for which he quitted

a tender mistress, who was plunged into the abyss of misery, and was

overwhelmed with grief and despair; but not having had time to finish

it, nor to get that which she had written transcribed, in order to send

it to him under a feigned name, she inconsiderately put this fragment,

written in her own hand, into her pocket, and, still more giddily,

dropped it in the middle of the court. Those who took it up, knowing her

writing, made several copies of it, which were circulated all over the

town; but her former conduct had so well established the reputation

of her virtue, that no person entertained the smallest doubt but the

circumstances were exactly as we have related them. Some time after, the

Guinea expedition was laid aside for reasons that are universally known,

and Miss Jenning’s subsequent proceedings fully justified her letter;

for, notwithstanding all the efforts and attentions Jermyn practised to

regain her affections, she would never more hear of him.

But he was not the only man who experienced the whimsical fatality, that

seemed to delight in disuniting hearts, in order to engage them soon

after to different objects. One would have imagined that the God of

Love, actuated by some new caprice, had placed his empire under the

dominion of Hymen, and had, at the same time, blind-folded that God, in

order to cross-match most of the lovers whom we have been speaking of’

The fair Stewart married the Duke of Richmond; the invincible Jermyn, a

silly country girl; Lord Rochester, a melancholy heiress; the sprightly

Temple, the serious Lyttleton; Talbot, without knowing why or wherefore,

took to wife the languishing Boynton; George Hamilton, under more

favourable auspices, married the lovely Jennings; and the Chevalier de

Grammont, as the reward of a constancy he had never before known, and

which he never afterwards practised, found Hymen and Love united in his

favour, and was at last blessed with the possession of Miss Hamilton.

[After the deaths of Miss Boynton and of George Hamilton, Talbot

married Miss Jennings, and became afterwards Duke of Tyrconnel.]

[“The famous Count Grammont was thought to be the original of The

Forced Marriage. This nobleman, during his stay at the court of

England, had made love to Miss Hamilton, but was coming away for

France without bringing matters to a proper conclusion. The young

lady’s brothers pursued him, and came up with him near Dover, in

order to exchange some pistol-shot with him: They called out, ‘Count

Grammont, have you forgot nothing at London?’ ‘Excuse me,’ answered

the Count, guessing their errand, ‘I forgot to marry your sister; so

lead on, and let us finish that affair.’ By the pleasantry of the

answer, this was the same Grammont who commanded at the siege of a

place, the governor of which capitulated after a short defence, and

obtained an easy capitulation. The governor then said to Monsieur

Grammont, I’ll tell you a secret--that the reason of my capitulation

was, because I was in want of powder.’ Monsieur replied, ‘And

secret for secret--the reason of my granting you such an easy

capitulation was, because I was in want of ball.”--Biog. Gallica,

vol. i., p. 202.

Count Grammont and his lady left England in 1669. King Charles in a

letter to his sister, the Duchess of Orleans, dated 24th October, in

that year, says, “I writt to you yesterday, by the Compte de

Grammont, but I beleeve this letter will come sooner to your handes;

for he goes by the way of Diep, with his wife and family; and now

that I have named her, I cannot chuse but againe desire you to be

kinde to her; for, besides the merrit her family has on both sides,

she is as good a creature as ever lived. I beleeve she will passe

for a handsome woman in France, though she has not yett, since her

lying-inn, recovered that good shape she had before, and I am

affraide never will.”--Dalxymple’s Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 26.

“The Count de Grammont fell dangerously ill in the year 1696; of

which the king (Louis XIV.) being informed, and knowing, besides,

that he was inclined to libertinism, he was pleased to send the

Marquis of Dangeau to see how he did, and to advise him to think of

God. Hereupon Count de Grammont, turning towards his wife, who had

ever been a very devout lady, told her, Countess, if you don’t look

to it, Dangeau will juggle you out of my conversion. Madame de

l’Enclos having afterwards written to M. de St Evremond that Count

de Grammont was recovered, and turned devout,--I have learned,

answered he to her, with a great deal of pleasure, that Count de

Grammont has recovered his former health, and acquired a new

devotion. Hitherto I have been contented with being a plain honest

man; but I must do something more; and I only wait for your example

to become a devotee. You live in a country where people have

wonderful advantages of saving their souls, there vice is almost as

opposite to the mode as to virtue; sinning passes for ill-breeding,

and shocks decency and good manners, as much as religion, Formerly

it was enough to be wicked; now one must be a scoundrel withal, to

be damned in France. They who have not regard enough for another

life, are led to salvation by the consideration and duties of this.”

--“But there is enough upon a subject in which the conversion of the

Count de Grammont has engaged me: I believe it to be sincere and

honest. It well becomes a man who is not young, to forget he has

been so.”--Life of St. Evremond, by Des Marzeaux, p. 136; and St.

Evremond’s Works, vol. ii. p. 431.]