and as this was the only one Matta would not have refused from the
Marquis, he likewise consented. The Marquis came to convey them in his
carriage at the hour appointed; but he found only Matta. The Chevalier
had engaged himself to play, on purpose that they might go without him:
Matta was for waiting for him, so great was his fear of being left alone
with the Marquis; but the Chevalier having sent to desire them to go on
before, and that he would be with them as soon as he had finished his
game, poor Matta was obliged to set out with the man who, of all the
world, was most offensive to him. It was not the Chevalier's intention
quickly to extricate Matta out of this embarrassment: he no sooner knew
that they were gone, than he waited on the Marchioness, under pretence of
still finding her husband, that they might all go together to supper.
The plot was in a fair way; and as the Marchioness was of opinion that
Matta's indifference merited no better treatment from her, she made no
scruple of acting her part in it: she therefore waited for the Chevalier
de Grammont with intentions so much the more favourable, as she had for
a long time expected him, and had some curiosity to receive a visit from
him in the absence of her husband. We may therefore suppose that this
first opportunity would not have been lost, if Mademoiselle de Saint
Germain had not unexpectedly come in, almost at the same time with the
Chevalier.
She was more handsome and more entertaining that day than she had ever
been before; however, she appeared to them very ugly and very tiresome:
she soon perceived that her company was disagreeable, and being
determined that they should not be out of humour with her for nothing,
after having passed above a long half hour in diverting herself with
their uneasiness, and in playing a thousand monkey tricks, which she
plainly saw could never be more unseasonable, she pulled off her hood,
scarf, and all that part of her dress which ladies lay aside, when in a
familiar manner they intend to pass the day anywhere. The Chevalier de
Grammont cursed her in his heart, while she continued to torment him for
being in such ill-humour in such good company: at last the Marchioness,
who was as much vexed as he was, said rather drily that she was obliged
to wait on her Royal Highness: Mademoiselle de Saint Germain told her
that she would have the honour to accompany her, if it would not be
disagreeable: she took not the smallest notice of her offer; and the
Chevalier, finding that it would be entirely useless to prolong his visit
at that time, retired with a good grace.
As soon as he had left the house, he sent one of his scouts to desire the
Marquis to sit down to table with his company without waiting for him,
because the game might not perhaps be finished as soon as he expected,
but that he would be with him before supper was over. Having despatched
this messenger, he placed a sentinel at the Marchioness's door, in hopes
that the tedious Saint Germain might go out before her; but this was in
vain, for his spy came and told him, after an hour's impatience and
suspense, that they were gone out together. He found there was no chance
of seeing her again that day, everything falling out contrary to his
wishes; he was forced therefore to leave the Marchioness, and go in quest
of the Marquis.
While these things were going on in the city, Matta was not much diverted
in the country: as he was prejudiced against the Marquis, all that he
said displeased him: he cursed the Chevalier heartily for the tete-a-tete
which he had procured him; and he was upon the point of going away, when
he found that he was to sit down to supper without any other company.
However, as his host was very choice in his entertainments, and had the
best wine and the best cook in all Piedmont, the sight of the first
course appeased him; and eating most voraciously, without paying any
attention to the Marquis, he flattered himself that the supper would
end without any dispute; but he was mistaken.
When the Chevalier de Grammont was at first endeavouring to bring
about an intercourse between the Marquis and Matta, he had given a very
advantageous character of the latter, to make the former more desirous of
his acquaintance; and in the display of a thousand other accomplishments,
knowing what an infatuation the Marquis had for the very name of
erudition, he assured him that Matta was one of the most learned men in
Europe.
The Marquis, therefore, from the moment they sat down to supper, had
expected some stroke of learning from Matta, to bring his own into play;
but he was much out in his reckoning; no one had read less, no one
thought less, and no one had ever spoken so little at an entertainment as
he had done as he did not wish to enter into conversation, he opened his
mouth only to eat, or ask for wine.
The other, being offended at a silence which appeared to him affected,
and wearied with having uselessly attacked him upon other subjects,
thought he might get something out of him by changing the discourse of
love and gallantry; and therefore, to begin the subject, he accosted him
in this manner:
"Since you are my wife's gallant--" "I!" said Matta who wished to carry
it discreetly: "those who told you so, told a damned lie." "Zounds,
sir," said the Marquis, "you speak in a tone which does not at all become
you; for I would have you to know, notwithstanding your contemptuous
airs, that the Marchioness de Senantes is perhaps as worthy of your
attentions as any of your French ladies, and that I have known some
greatly your superiors, who have thought it an honour to serve her."
"Very well," said Matta, "I think she is very deserving, and since you
insist upon it, I am her servant and gallant, to oblige you."
"You think, perhaps," continued the other, "that the same custom prevails
in this country as in your own, and that the ladies have lovers, with no
other intentions than to grant them favours: undeceive yourself if you
please, and know, likewise, that even if such events were frequent in
this court, I should not be at all uneasy." "Nothing can be more civil,"
said Matta; "but wherefore would you not?" "I will tell you why,"
replied he: "I am well acquainted with the affection my wife entertains
for me: I am acquainted with her discretion towards all the world; and,
what is more, I am acquainted with my own merit."
"You have a most uncommon acquaintance then," replied Matta;
"I congratulate you upon it; I have the honour to drink it in a bumper."
The Marquis pledged him; but seeing that the conversation dropped on
their ceasing to drink, after two or three healths, he wished to make a
second attempt, and attack Matta on his strong side, that is to say, on
his learning.
He desired him, therefore, to tell him, at what time he thought the
Allobroges came to settle in Piedmont. Matta, who wished him and his
Allobroges at the devil, said, that it must be in the time of the civil
wars. "I doubt that," said the other. "Just as you like," said Matta.
"Under what consulate?" replied the Marquis: "Under that of the League,"
said Matta, "when the Guises brought the Lansquenets into France; but
what the devil does that signify?"
The Marquis was tolerably warm, and naturally savage, so that God knows
how the conversation would have ended, if the Chevalier de Grammont had
not unexpectedly come in to appease them. It was some time before he
could find out what their debate was; for the one had forgotten the
questions, and the other the answers, which had disobliged him, in order
to reproach the Chevalier with his eternal passion for play, which made
him always uncertain. The Chevalier, who knew that he was still more
culpable than they thought, bore it all with patience, and condemned
himself more than they desired: this appeased them; and the entertainment
ended with greater tranquillity than it had begun. The conversation was
again reduced to order; but he could not enliven it as he usually did.
He was in very ill humour, and as he pressed them every minute to rise
from table, the Marquis was of opinion that he had lost a great deal.
Matta said, on the contrary, that he had won; but for want of precautions
had made perhaps an unfortunate retreat; and asked him if he had not
stood in need of Serjeant La Place, with his ambuscade.
This piece of history was beyond the comprehension of the Marquis, and
being afraid that Matta might explain it, the Chevalier changed the
discourse, and was for rising from table; but Matta would not consent
to it. This effected a reconciliation between him and the Marquis, who
thought this was a piece of civility intended for him; however, it was
not for him, but for his wine, to which Matta had taken a prodigious
liking.
The Duchess, who knew the character of the Marquis, was charmed with the
account which the Chevalier de Grammont gave her of the entertainment and
conversation: she sent for Matta to know the truth of it from himself: he
confessed, that before the Allobroges were mentioned the Marquis was
for quarrelling with him, because he was not in love with his wife.
Their acquaintance having begun in this manner, all the esteem which the
Marquis had formerly expressed for the Chevalier seemed now directed
towards Matta: he went every day to pay Matta a visit, and Matta was
every day with his wife. This did not at all suit the Chevalier: he
repented of his having chid Matta, whose assiduity now interrupted all
his schemes; and the Marchioness was still more embarrassed. Whatever
wit a man may have, it will never please where his company is disliked;
and she repented that she had been formerly guilty of some trifling
advances towards him.
Matta began to find charms in her person, and might have found the same
in her conversation, if she had been inclined to display them; but it
is impossible to be in good humour with persons who thwart our designs.
While his passion increased, the Chevalier de Grammont was solely
occupied in endeavouring to find out some method, by which he might
accomplish his intrigue; and this was the stratagem which he put in
execution to clear the coast, by removing, at one and the same time,
both the lover and the husband.
He told Matta, that they ought to invite the Marquis to supper at their
lodgings, and he would take upon himself to provide everything proper for
the occasion. Matta desired to know if it was to play at quinze, and
assured him that he should take care to render abortive any intention he
might have to engage in play, and leave him alone with the greatest
blockhead in all Europe. The Chevalier de Grammont did not entertain any
such thought, being persuaded that it would be impossible to take
advantage of any such opportunity, in whatever manner he might take his
measures, and that they would seek for him in every corner of the city
rather than allow him the least repose: his whole attention was therefore
employed in rendering the entertainment agreeable, in finding out means
of prolonging it, in order ultimately to kindle some dispute between the
Marquis and Matta. For this purpose he put himself in the best humour in
the world, and the wine produced the same effect on the rest of the
company.
The Chevalier de Grammont expressed his concern, that he had not been
able to give the Marquis a little concert, as he had intended in the
morning; for the musicians had been all pre-engaged. Upon this the
Marquis undertook to have them at his country-house the following
evening, and invited the same company to sup with him there. Matta asked
what the devil they wanted with music, and maintained that it was of no
use on such occasions but for women who had something to say to their
lovers, while the fiddles prevented them from being overheard, or for
fools who had nothing to say when the music ended. They ridiculed all
his arguments: the party was fixed for the next day, and the music was
voted by the majority of voices. The Marquis, to console Matta, as well
as to do honour to the entertainment, toasted a great many healths: Matta
was more ready to listen to his arguments on this topic than in a
dispute; but the Chevalier, perceiving that a little would irritate them,
desired nothing more earnestly than to see them engaged in some new
controversy. It was in vain that he had from time to time started some
subject of discourse with this intention; but having luckily thought of
asking what was his lady's maiden name, Senantes, who was a great
genealogist, as all fools are who have good memories, immediately began
by tracing out her family, by an endless confused string of lineage. The
Chevalier seemed to listen to him with great attention; and perceiving
that Matta was almost out of patience, he desired him to attend to what
the Marquis was saying, for that nothing could be more entertaining.
"All this may be very true," said Matta; "but for my part, I must
confess, if I were married, I should rather choose to inform myself who
was the real father of my children, than who were my wife's grand
fathers." The Marquis, smiling at this rudeness, did not leave off until
he had traced back the ancestors of his spouse, from line to line, as far
as Yolande de Senantes: after this he offered to prove, in less than half
an hour, that the Grammonts came originally from Spain. "Very well,"
said Matta, "and pray what does it signify to us from whence the Grammonts
are descended? Do not you know, sir, that it is better to know nothing
at all, than to know too much?"
The Marquis maintained the contrary with great warmth, and was preparing
a formal argument to prove that an ignorant man is a fool; but the
Chevalier de Grammont, who was thoroughly acquainted with Matta saw very
clearly that he would send the logician to the devil before he should
arrive at the conclusion of his syllogism: for which reason, interposing
as soon as they began to raise their voices, he told them it was
ridiculous to quarrel about an affair in itself so trivial, and treated
the matter in a serious light, that it might make the greater impression.
Thus supper terminated peaceably, owing to the care he took to suppress
all disputes, and to substitute plenty of wine in their stead.
The next day Matta went to the chase, the Chevalier de Grammont to the
bagnio, and the Marquis to his country house. While the latter was
making the necessary preparations for his guests, not forgetting the
music, and Matta pursuing his game to get an appetite, the Chevalier was
meditating on the execution of his project.
As soon as he had regulated his plan of operations in his own mind, he
privately sent anonymous intelligence to the officer of the guard at the
palace that the Marquis de Senantes had had some words with Monsieur de
Matta the preceding night at supper; that the one had gone out in the
morning; and the other could not be found in the city.
Madame Royale, alarmed at this advice, immediately sent for the Chevalier
de Grammont: he appeared surprised when her highness mentioned the
affair: he confessed, indeed, that some high words had passed between
them, but that he did not believe either of them would have remembered
them the next day. He said that if no mischief had yet taken place, the
best way would be to secure them both until the morning, and that if they
could be found, he would undertake to reconcile them, and to obliterate
all grievances: in this there was no great difficulty. On inquiry at the
Marquis's they were informed that he was gone to his country-house: there
certainly he was, and there they found him; the officer put him under an
arrest, without assigning any reason for so doing, and left him in very
great surprise.
Immediately upon Matta's return from hunting, her Royal Highness sent the
same officer to desire him to give her his word that he would not stir
out that evening. This compliment very much surprised him, more
particularly as no reason was assigned for it. He was expected at a good
entertainment he was dying with hunger, and nothing appeared to him more
unreasonable than to oblige him to stay at home, in a situation like the
present; but he had given his word, and not knowing to what this might
tend, his only resource was to send for his friend; but his friend did
not come to him until his return from the country. He had there found
the Marquis in the midst of his fiddlers, and very much vexed to find
himself a prisoner in his own house on account of Matta, whom he was
waiting for in order to feast him: he complained of him bitterly to the
Chevalier de Grammont: he said that he did not believe that he had
offended him; but that, since he was very desirous of a quarrel, he
desired the Chevalier to acquaint him, if he felt the least displeasure
on the present occasion, he should, on the very first opportunity,
receive what is called satisfaction. The Chevalier de Grammont assured
him that no such thought had ever entered the mind of Matta; that on the
contrary, he knew that he very greatly esteemed him; that all this could
alone arise from the extreme tenderness of his lady, who, being alarmed
upon the report of the servants who waited at table, must have gone to
her Royal Highness, in order to prevent any unpleasant consequences; that
he thought this the more probable, as he had often told the Marchioness,
when speaking of Matta, that he was the best swordsman in France; for, in
truth, the poor gentleman had never fought without having the misfortune
of killing his man.
The Marquis, being a little pacified, said he was very much obliged to
him, that he would severely chide his wife for her unseasonable
tenderness, and that he was extremely desirous of again enjoying the
pleasure of his dear friend Matta's company.
The Chevalier de Grammont assured him that he would use all his
endeavours for that purpose, and at the same time gave strict charge to
his guard not to let him escape without orders from the Court, as he
seemed fully bent upon fighting, and they would be responsible for him:
there was no occasion to say more to have him strictly watched, though
there was no necessity for it.
One being thus safely lodged, his next step was to secure the other: he
returned immediately to town: and as soon as Matta saw him, "What the
devil," said he, "is the meaning of this farce which I am obliged to act?
for my part, I cannot understand the foolish customs of this country; how
comes it that they make me a prisoner upon my parole?" "How comes it?"
said the Chevalier de Grammont, "it is because you yourself are far more
unaccountable than all their customs; you cannot help disputing with a
peevish fellow, whom you ought only to laugh at; some officious footman
has no doubt been talking of your last night's dispute; you were seen to
go out of town in the morning, and the Marquis soon after; was not this
sufficient to make her Royal Highness think herself obliged to take these
precautions? The Marquis is in custody; they have only required your
parole; so far, therefore, from taking the affair in the sense you do, I
should send very humbly to thank her Highness for the kindness she has
manifested towards you in putting you under arrest, since it is only on
your account that she interests herself in the affair. I shall take a
walk to the palace, where I will endeavour to unravel this mystery; in
the mean time, as there is but little probability that the matter should
be settled this evening, you would do well to order supper; for I shall
come back to you immediately."
Matta charged him not to fail to express to her Royal Highness the
grateful sense he had of her favour, though in truth he as little feared
the Marquis as he loved him; and it is impossible to express the degree
of his fortitude in stronger terms.
The Chevalier de Grammont returned in about half an hour, with two or
three gentlemen whom Matta had got acquainted with at the chase, and who,
upon the report of the quarrel, waited upon him, and each offered him
separately his services against the unassisted and pacific Marquis.
Matta having returned them his thanks, insisted upon their staying
supper, and put on his robe de chambre.
As soon as the Chevalier de Grammont perceived that every thing coincided
with his wishes, and that towards the end of the entertainment the toasts
went merrily round, he knew he was sure of his man till next day: then
taking him aside with the permission of the company, and making use of a
false confidence in order to disguise a real treachery, he acquainted
him, after having sworn him several times to secrecy, that he had at last
prevailed upon the little Saint Germain to grant him an interview that
night; for which reason he would take his leave, under pretence of going
to play at Court; he therefore desired him fully to satisfy the company
that he would not have left them on any other account, as the Piedmontese
are naturally mistrustful. Matta promised he would manage this point
with discretion; that he would make an apology for him, and that there
was no occasion for his personally taking leave: then, after
congratulating him upon the happy posture of his affairs, he sent him
away with all the expedition and secrecy imaginable; so great was his
fear lest his friend should lose the present opportunity.
Matta then returned to the company, much pleased with the confidence
which had been placed in him, and with the share he had in the success of
this adventure. He put himself into the best humour imaginable in order
to divert the attention of his guests; he severely satirised those,
whose rage for gaming induced them to sacrifice to it every other
consideration; he loudly ridiculed the folly of the Chevalier upon this
article, and secretly laughed at the credulity of the Piedmontese, whom
he had deceived with so much ingenuity.
It was late at night before the company broke up, and Matta went to bed,
very well satisfied with what he had done for his friend; and, if we may
credit appearances, this friend enjoyed the fruit of his perfidy. The
amorous Marchioness received him like one who wished to enhance the value
of the favour she bestowed; her charms were far from being neglected; and
if there are any circumstances in which we may detest the traitor while
we profit by the treason, this was not one of them; and however
successful the Chevalier de Grammont was in his intrigues, it was not
owing to him that the contrary was not believed; but, be that as it may,
being convinced that in love whatever is gained by address is gained
fairly, it does not appear that he ever showed the smallest degree of
repentance for this trick. But it is now time for its to take him from
the court of Savoy, to see him shine in that of France.
CHAPTER FIFTH.
HE RETURNS TO THE COURT OF FRANCE--HIS ADVENTURES AT
THE SIEGE OF ARRAS--HIS REPLY TO CARDINAL MAZARIN
--HE IS BANISHED THE COURT.
The Chevalier de Grammont, upon his return to France, sustained, with the
greatest success, the reputation he had acquired abroad: alert in play,
active and vigilant in love; sometimes successful, and always feared, in
his intrigues; in war alike prepared for the events of good or ill
fortune; possessing an inexhaustible fund of pleasantry in the former,
and full of expedients and dexterity in the latter.
Zealously attached to the Prince de Conde from inclination, he was a
witness, and, if we may be allowed to say it, his companion, in the glory
he had acquired at the celebrated battles of Lens, Norlinguen, and
Fribourg; and the details he so frequently gave of them were far from
diminishing their lustre.
[Louis of Bourbon, Duke d'Enghien, afterwards, by the death of his
father in 1656, Prince de Conde. Of this great man Cardinal de Retz
says, "He was born a general, which never happened but to Caesar, to
Spinola, and to himself. He has equalled the first: he has
surpassed the second. Intrepidity is one of the least shining
strokes in his character. Nature had formed him with a mind as
great as his courage. Fortune, in setting him out in a time of
wars, has given this last a full extent to work in: his birth, or
rather his education, in a family devoted and enslaved to the court,
has kept the first within too straight bounds. He was not taught
time enough the great and general maxims which alone are able to
form men to think always consistently. He never had time to learn
them of himself, because he was prevented from his youth, by the
great affairs that fell unexpectedly to his share, and by the
continual success he met with. This defect in him was the cause,
that with the soul in the world the least inclined to evil, he has
committed injuries; that with the heart of an Alexander, he has,
like him, had his failings; that with a wonderful understanding, he
has acted imprudently; that having all the qualities which the Duke
Francis of Guise had, he has not served the state in some occasions
so well as he ought; and that having likewise having all the
qualities of the Duke Henry of Guise, he has not carried faction so
far as he might. He could not come up to the height of his merit;
which, though it be a defect, must yet be owned to be very uncommon,
and only to be found in persons of the greatest abilities."]
So long as he had only some scruples of conscience, and a thousand
interests to sacrifice, he quitted all to follow a man, whom strong
motives and resentments, which in some manner appeared excusable, had
withdrawn from the paths of rectitude: he adhered to him in his first
disgrace, with a constancy of which there are few examples; but he could
not submit to the injuries which he afterwards received, and which such
an inviolable attachment so little merited. Therefore, without fearing
any reproach for a conduct which sufficiently justified itself, as he had
formerly deviated from his duty by entering into the service of the
Prince de Conde, he thought he had a right to leave him to return again
to his duty.
His peace was soon made at Court, where many, far more culpable than
himself, were immediately received into favour, when they desired it; for
the queen, still terrified at the dangers into which the civil wars had
plunged the State at the commencement of her regency, endeavoured by
lenient measures to conciliate the minds of the people.
[Anne of Austria, daughter of Philip III. of Spain, widow of Louis
XIII., to whom she was married in 1615, and mother of Louis XIV.
She died in 1666. Cardinal de Retz speaks of her in the following
terms. "The queen had more than anybody whom I ever knew, of that
sort of wit which was necessary for her not to appear a fool to
those that did not know her. She had in her more of harshness than
haughtiness; more of haughtiness than of greatness; more of outward
appearance than reality; more regard to money than liberality; more
of liberality than of self-interest; more of self-interest than
disinterestedness: she was more tied to persons by habit than by
affection; she had more of insensibility than of cruelty; she had a
better memory for injuries than for benefits; her intention towards
piety was greater than her piety; she had in her more of obstinacy
than of firmness; and more incapacity than of all the rest which I
mentioned before." Memoirs, vol. i., p. 247.]
The policy of the minister was neither sanguinary nor revengeful: his
favourite maxim was rather to appease the minds of the discontented by
lenity, than to have recourse to violent measures; to be content with
losing nothing by the war, without being at the expense of gaining any
advantage from the enemy; to suffer his character to be very severely
handled, provided he could amass much wealth, and to spin out the
minority to the greatest possible extent.
[Cardinal Mazarin, who, during a few of the latter years of his
life, governed France. He died at Vincennes the 9th of March 1661,
aged 59 years, leaving as heir to his name and property the Alarquis
de la Meilleray, who married his niece, and took the title of Duke
of Mazarin. On his death, Louis XIV. and the court appeared in
mourning, an honour not common, though Henry IV. had shewn it to the
memory of Gabrielle d'Estrees. Voltaire, who appears unwilling to
ascribe much ability to the cardinal, takes an opportunity, on
occasion of his death, to make the following observation.
--"We cannot refrain from combating the opinion, which supposes
prodigious abilities, and a genius almost divine, in those who have
governed empires with some degree of success. It is not a superior
penetration that makes statesmen; it is their character. All men,
how inconsiderable soever their share of sense may be, see their own
interest nearly alike. A citizen of Bern or Amsterdam, in this
respect, is equal to Sejanus, Ximenes, Buckingham, Richelieu, or
Mazarin; but our conduct and our enterprises depend absolutely on
our natural dispositions, and our success depends upon fortune."
Age of Louis XIV., chap. 5.]
His avidity to heap up riches was not alone confined to the thousand
different means, with which he was furnished by his authority, and the
situation in which he was placed: his whole pursuit was gain: he was
naturally fond of gaming; but he only played to enrich himself, and
therefore, whenever he found an opportunity, he cheated.
As he found the Chevalier de Grammont possessed a great deal of wit, and
a great deal of money, he was a man according to his wishes, and soon
became one of his set. The Chevalier soon perceived the artfulness and
dishonesty of the Cardinal, and thought it was allowable in him to put in
practice those talents which he had received from nature, not only in his
own defence, but even to attack him whenever an opportunity offered.
This would certainly be the place to mention these particulars; but who
can describe them with such ease and elegance as maybe expected by those
who have heard his own relation of them? Vain is the attempt to
endeavour to transcribe these entertaining anecdotes: their spirit seems
to evaporate upon paper; and in whatever light they are exposed the
delicacy of their colouring and their beauty is lost.
It is, then, enough to say, that upon all occasions where address was
reciprocally employed, the Chevalier gained the advantage; and that if
he paid his court badly to the minister, he had the consolation to find,
that those who suffered themselves to be cheated, in the end gained no
great advantage from their complaisance; for they always continued in
an abject submission, while the Chevalier de Grammont, on a thousand
different occasions, never put himself under the least restraint. Of
which the following is one instance:
The Spanish army, commanded by the Prince de Conde and the archduke,
--[Leopold, brother of the Emperor Ferdinand the III.]--besieged Arras.
The Court was advanced as far as Peronne.--[A little bat strong town,
standing among marshes on the river Somme, in Picardy.]--The enemy, by
the capture of this place, would have procured a reputation for their
army of which they were in great need; as the French, for a considerable
time past, had evinced a superiority in every engagement.
The Prince supported a tottering party, as far as their usual inactivity
and irresolution permitted him; but as in the events of war it is
necessary to act independently on some occasions, which, if once suffered
to escape, can never be retrieved; for want of this power it frequently
happened that his great abilities were of no avail. The Spanish infantry
had never recovered itself since the battle of Rocroy;--[This famous
battle was fought and won 19th May, 1643, five days after the death of
Louis XIII.]--and he who had ruined them by that victory, by fighting
against them, was the only man who now, by commanding their army, was
capable of repairing the mischief he had done them. But the jealousy
of the generals, and the distrust attendant upon their counsels, tied up
his hands.
Nevertheless, the siege of Arras was vigorously carried on.
[Voltaire observes, that it was the fortune of Turenne and Conde
to be always victorious when they fought at the head of the French,
and to be vanquished when they commanded the Spaniards. This was
Conde's fate before Arras, August 25, 1654, when he and the archduke
besieged that city. Turenne attacked them in their camp, and forced
their lines: the troops of the archduke were cut to pieces; and
Conde, with two regiments of French and Lorrainers, alone sustained
the efforts of Turenne's army; and, while the archduke was flying,
he defeated the Marshal de Hoquincourt, repulsed the Marshal de la
Ferte, and retreated victoriously himself, by covering the retreat
of the vanquished Spaniards. The king of Spain, in his letter to
him after this engagement, had these words: "I have been informed
that everything was lost, and that you have recovered everything."]
The Cardinal was very sensible how dishonourable it would be to suffer
this place to be taken under his nose, and almost in sight of the king.
On the other hand, it was very hazardous to attempt its relief, the
Prince de Conde being a man who never neglected the smallest precaution
for the security of his lines; and if lines are attacked and not forced,
the greatest danger threatens the assailants. For, the more furious the
assault, the greater is the disorder in the retreat; and no man in the
world knew so well as the Prince de Conde how to make the best use of an
advantage. The army, commanded by Monsieur de Turenne, was considerably
weaker than that of the enemy; it was, likewise, the only resource they
had to depend upon. If this army was defeated, the loss of Arras was not
the only misfortune to be dreaded.
The Cardinal, whose genius was happily adapted to such junctures, where
deceitful negotiations could extricate him out of difficulties, was
filled with terror at the sight of imminent danger, or of a decisive
event: he was of opinion to lay siege to some other place, the capture of
which might prove an indemnification for the loss of Arras; but Monsieur
de Turenne, who was altogether of a different opinion from the Cardinal,
resolved to march towards the enemy, and did not acquaint him with his
intentions until he was upon his march. The courier arrived in the midst
of his distress, and redoubled his apprehensions and alarms; but there
was then no remedy.
The Marshal, whose great reputation had gained him the confidence of the
troops, had determined upon his measures before an express order from the
Court could prevent him. This was one of those occasions in which the
difficulties you encounter heighten the glory of success. Though the
general's capacity, in some measure, afforded comfort to the Court, they
nevertheless were upon the eve of an event, which in one way or other
must terminate both their hopes and their fears while the rest of the
courtiers were giving various opinions concerning the issue, the
Chevalier de Grammont determined to be an eye-witness of it; a resolution
which greatly surprised the court; for those who had seen as many actions
as he had, seemed to be exempted from such eagerness; but it was in vain
that his friends opposed his resolutions.
The king was pleased with his intention; and the queen appeared no less
satisfied. He assured her that he would bring her good news; and she
promised to embrace him, if he was as good as his word. The Cardinal
made the same promise: to the latter, however, he did not pay much
attention; yet he believed it sincere, because the keeping of it would
cost him nothing.
He set out in the dusk of the evening with Caseau, whom Monsieur de
Turenne had sent express to their majesties. The Duke of York, and the
Marquis d'Humieres, commanded under the Marshal: the latter was upon duty
when the Chevalier arrived, it being scarce daylight. The Duke of York
did not at first recollect him; but the Marquis d'Humieres, running to
him with open arms, "I thought," said he, "if any man came from court to
pay us a visit upon such an occasion as this, it would be the Chevalier
de Grammont. Well," continued he, "what are they doing at Peronne?"
[Louis de Crevans, Marechal of France. He died 1694. Voltaire says
of him, that he was the first who, at the siege of Arras, in 1658,
was served in silver in the trenches, and had ragouts and entremets
served up to his table.]
"They are in great consternation," replied the Chevalier. "And what do
they think of us?" "They think," said he, "that if you beat the Prince,
you will do no more than your duty; if you are beaten, they will think
you fools and madmen, thus to have risked everything, without considering
the consequences." "Truly," said the Marquis, "you bring us very
comfortable news. Will you now go to Monsieur de Turenne's quarters,
to acquaint him with it; or will you choose rather to repose yourself in
mine? for you have been riding post all last night, and perhaps did not
experience much rest in the preceding." "Where have you heard that the
Chevalier de Grammont had ever any occasion for sleep?" replied he:
"Only order me a horse, that I may have the honour to attend the Duke of
York; for, most likely, he is not in the field so early, except to visit
some posts."
The advanced guard was only at cannon shot from that of the enemy. As
soon as they arrived there, "I should like," said the Chevalier de
Grammont, "to advance as far as the sentry which is posted on that
eminence: I have some friends and acquaintance in their army, whom I
should wish to inquire after: I hope the Duke of York will give me
permission." At these words he advanced. The sentry, seeing him come
forward directly to his post, stood upon his guard the Chevalier stopped
as soon as he was within shot of him. The sentry answered the sign which
was made to him, and made another to the officer, who had begun to
advance as soon as he had seen the Chevalier come forward, and was soon
up with him; but seeing the Chevalier de Grammont alone, he made no
difficulty to let him approach. He desired leave of this officer to
inquire after some relations he had in their army, and at the same time
asked if the Duke d'Arscot was at the siege. "Sir," said he, "there he
is, just alighted under those trees, which you see on the left of our
grand guard: it is hardly a minute since he was here with the Prince
d'Aremberg, his brother, the Baron de Limbec, and Louvigny." "May I see
them upon parole?" said the Chevalier. "Sir," said he, "if I were
allowed to quit my post, I would do myself the honour of accompanying you
thither; but I will send to acquaint them, that the Chevalier de Grammont
desires to speak to them:" and, after having despatched one of his guard
towards them, he returned. "Sir," said the Chevalier de Grammont, "may I
take the liberty to inquire how I came to be known to you?" "Is it
possible," said the other, "that the Chevalier de Grammont should forget
La Motte, who had the honour to serve so long in his regiment?" "What!
is it you, my good friend, La Motte? Truly, I was to blame for not
remembering you, though you are in a dress very different from that which
I first saw you in at Bruxelles, when you taught the Duchess of Guise to
dance the triolets: and I am afraid your affairs are not in so
flourishing a condition as they were the campaign after I had given you
the company you mention." They were talking in this manner, when the
Duke d'Arscot, followed by the gentlemen above mentioned, came up on
full gallop. The Chevalier de Grammont was saluted by the whole company
before he could say a word. Soon after arrived an immense number of
others of his acquaintance, with many people, out of curiosity, on both
sides, who, seeing him upon the eminence, assembled together with the
greatest eagerness; so that the two armies, without design, without
truce, and without fraud, were going to join in conversation, if, by
chance, Monsieur de Turenne had not perceived it at a distance. The
sight surprised him: he hastened that way; and the Marquis d'Humieres
acquainted him with the arrival of the Chevalier de Grammont, who wished
to speak to the sentry before he went to the headquarters: he added, that
he could not comprehend how the devil he had managed to assemble both
armies around him, for it was hardly a minute since he had left him.
"Truly," said Monsieur de Turenne, "he is a very extraordinary man; but
it is only reasonable that he should let us now have a little of his
company, since he has paid his first visit to the enemy." At these words
he despatched an aide-de-camp, to recal the officers of his army, and to
acquaint the Chevalier de Grammont with his impatience to see him.
This order arrived at the same time, with one of the same nature, to the
enemy's officers. The Prince de Conde, being informed of this peaceable
interview, was not the least surprised at it, when he heard that it was
occasioned by the arrival of the Chevalier de Grammont. He only gave
Lussan orders to recal the officers, and to desire the Chevalier to meet
him at the same place the next day; which the Chevalier promised to do,
provided Monsieur de Turenne should approve of it, as he made no doubt he
would.
His reception in the king's army was equally agreeable as that which he
had experienced from the enemy. Monsieur de Turenne esteemed him no less
for his frankness than for the poignancy of his wit: he took it very
kindly that he was the only courtier who came to see him in a time so
critical as the present: the questions which he asked him about the court
were not so much for information, as to divert himself with his manner of
relating their different apprehensions and alarms. The Chevalier de
Grammont advised him to beat the enemy, if he did not choose to be
answerable for an enterprise which he had undertaken without consulting
the Cardinal. Monsieur de Turenne promised him he would exert himself to
the utmost to follow his advice, and assured him, that if he succeeded,
he would make the queen keep her word with him; and concluded with
saying, that he was not sorry the Prince de Conde had expressed a desire
to see him. His measures were taken for an attack upon the lines: on
this subject he discoursed in private with the Chevalier de Grammont, and
concealed nothing from him except the time of execution: but this was all
to no purpose; for the Chevalier had seen too much, not to judge, from
his own knowledge, and the observations he had made, that from the
situation of the army, the attack could be no longer deferred.
He set out the next day for his rendezvous, attended by a trumpet, and
found the Prince at the place which Monsieur de Lussan had described to
him the evening before. As soon as he alighted: "Is it possible," said
the Prince, embracing him, "that this can be the Chevalier de Grammont,
and that I should see him in the contrary party?" "It is you, my lord,
whom I see there," replied the Chevalier, "and I refer it to yourself,
whether it was the fault of the Chevalier de Grammont, or your own, that
we now embrace different interests." "I must confess," said the Prince,
"that if there are some who have abandoned me like base ungrateful
wretches, you have left me, as I left myself, like a man of honour, who
thinks himself in the right: but let us forget all cause of resentment,
and tell me what was your motive for coming here, you, whom I thought at
Peronne with the court." "Must I tell you?" said he: "why, faith then,
I came to save your life. I know that you cannot help being in the midst
of the enemy in a day of battle; it is only necessary for your horse to
be shot under you, and to be taken in arms, to meet with the same
treatment from this Cardinal, as your uncle Montmorency did from the
other.
[Henry, Duke of Montmorency, who was taken prisoner first September,
1692, and had his head struck off at Toulouse in the month of
November following.]
"I come, therefore, to hold a horse in readiness for you, in case of a
similar misfortune, that you may not lose your head." "It is not the
first time," said the Prince, smiling, "that you have rendered me this
service, though the being taken prisoner at that time could not have been
so dangerous to me as now."
From this conversation, they passed to more entertaining subjects. The
Prince asked him many questions concerning the court, the ladies, play,
and about his amours; and returning insensibly to the present situation
of affairs, the Chevalier having inquired after some officers of his
acquaintance, who had remained with him, the Prince told him that if he
chose, he might go to the lines, where he would have an opportunity not
only of seeing those whom he inquired after, but likewise the disposition
of the quarters and entrenchments. To this he consented, and the Prince
having shown him all the works and attended him back to their rendezvous,
"Well, Chevalier, said he, "when do you think we shall see you again?"
"Faith," replied he, "you have used me so handsomely, that I shall
conceal nothing from you. Hold yourself in readiness an hour before
daybreak; for, you may depend upon it, we shall attack you to-morrow
morning. I would not have acquainted you with this, perhaps, had I been
entrusted with the secret, but, nevertheless, in the present case you may
believe me." "You are still the same man," said the Prince, again
embracing him. The Chevalier returned to Monsieur de Turenne's camp
towards night; every preparation was then making for the attack of the
lines, and it was no longer a secret among the troops.
"Well, Monsieur le Chevalier, were they all very glad to see you?" said
Monsieur de Turenne; "the Prince, no doubt, received you with the
greatest kindness, and asked a great number of questions?" "He has shown
me all the civility imaginable," replied the Chevalier; "and, to convince
me he did not take me for a spy, he led me round the lines and
entrenchments, and showed me the preparations he had made for your
reception." "And what is his opinion?" said the Marshal. "He is
persuaded that you will attack him to-night, or to-morrow by daybreak;
for you great captains," continued the Chevalier, "see through each
other's designs in a wonderful manner."
Monsieur de Turenne, with pleasure, received this commendation from
a man who was not indiscriminately accustomed to bestow praise. He
communicated to him the disposition of the attack; and at the same time
acquainted him, that he was very happy that a man who had seen so many
actions was to be present at this; and that he esteemed it no small
advantage to have the benefit of his advice, but as he believed that the
remaining part of the night would be hardly sufficient for his repose,
after having passed the former without any refreshment, he consigned him
to the Marquis d'Humieres, who provided him with a supper and a lodging.
The next day the lines of Arras were attacked, wherein Monsieur de
Turenne, being victorious, added additional lustre to his former glory;
and the Prince de Conde, though vanquished, lost nothing of his former
reputation.
There are so many accounts of this celebrated battle, that to mention it
here would be altogether superfluous. The Chevalier de Grammont, who,
as a volunteer, was permitted to go into every part, has given a better
description of it than any other person. Monsieur de Turenne reaped
great advantage from that activity which never forsook the Chevalier
either in peace or war; and that presence of mind which enabled him to
carry orders, as coming from the general, so very apropos, that Monsieur
de Turenne, otherwise very particular in such matters, thanked him, when
the battle was over, in the presence of all his officers, and despatched
him to court with the first news of his success.
All that is generally necessary in these expeditions, is to be accustomed
to hard riding, and to be well provided with fresh horses, but he had a
great many other obstacles to surmount. In the first place, the parties
of the enemy were dispersed over all the country, and obstructed his
passage. Then he had to prepare against greedy and officious courtiers,
who, on such occasions, post themselves in all the avenues, in order to
cheat the poor courier out of his news. However, his address preserved
him from the one, and deceived the others.
He had taken eight or ten troopers, commanded by an officer of his
acquaintance, to escort him half way to Bapaume, being persuaded that the
greatest danger would lie between the camp and the first stage. He had
not proceeded a league before he was convinced of the truth of what he
suspected, and turning to the officer who followed him closely, "If you
are not well mounted," said he, "I would advise you to return to the
camp; for my part, I shall set spurs to my horse, and make the best of
my way." "Sir," said the officer, "I hope I shall be able to keep you
company, at whatever rate you go, until you are out of all danger."
"I doubt that," replied the Chevalier, "for those gentlemen there seem
prepared to pay us a visit." "Don't you see," said the officer, "they
are some of our own people who are grazing their horses?" "No," said the
Chevalier; "but I see very well that they are some of the enemy's
troopers." Upon which, observing to him that they were mounting, he
ordered the horsemen that escorted him to prepare themselves to make a
diversion, and he himself set off full speed towards Bapaume.
He was mounted upon a very swift English horse; but having entangled
himself in a hollow way where the ground was deep and miry, he soon had
the troopers at his heels, who, supposing him to be some officer of rank,
would not be deceived, but continued to pursue him without paying any
attention to the others. The best mounted of the party began to draw
near him; for the English horses, swift as the wind on even ground,
proceeded but very indifferently in bad roads; the trooper presented his
carbine, and cried out to him, at some distance, "Good quarter." The
Chevalier de Grammont, who perceived that they gained upon him, and that
whatever efforts his horse made in such heavy ground, he must be
overtaken at last, immediately quitted the road to Bapaume, and took a
causeway to the left, which led quite a different way; as soon as he had
gained it, he drew up, as if to hear the proposal of the trooper, which
afforded his horse an opportunity of recovering himself; while his enemy,
mistaking his intention, and thinking that he only waited to surrender,
immediately exerted every effort, that he might take him before the rest
of his companions, who were following, could arrive, and by this means
almost killed his horse.
One minute's reflection made the Chevalier consider what a disagreeable
adventure it would be, thus coming from so glorious a victory, and the
dangers of a battle so warmly disputed, to be taken by a set of
scoundrels who had not been in it, and, instead of being received in
triumph, and embraced by a great queen, for the important news with
which he was charged, to see himself stripped by the vanquished.
During this short meditation, the trooper who followed him was arrived
within shot, and still presenting his carbine, offered him good quarter,
but the Chevalier de Grammont, to whom this offer, and the manner in
which it was made, were equally displeasing, made a sign to him to lower
his piece; and perceiving his horse to be in wind, he lowered his hand,
rode off like lightning, and left the trooper in such astonishment that
he even forgot to fire at him.
As soon as he arrived at Bapaume, he changed horses; the commander of
this place showed him the greatest respect, assuring him that no person
had yet passed; that he would keep the secret, and that he would retain
all that followed him, except the couriers of Monsieur de Turenne.
He now had only to guard against those who would be watching for him
about the environs of Peronne, to return as soon as they saw him, and
carry his news to court, without being acquainted with any of the
particulars. He knew very well that Marshal du Plessis, Marshal de
Villeroy, and Gaboury, had boasted of this to the Cardinal before his
departure. Wherefore, to elude this snare, he hired two well-mounted
horsemen at Bapaume, and as soon as he had got a league from that place,
and after giving them each two louis d'ors, to secure their fidelity,
he ordered them to ride on before, to appear very much terrified, and to
tell all those who should ask them any questions, "that all was lost,
that the Chevalier de Grammont had stopped at Bapaume, having no great
inclination to be the messenger of ill news; and that as for themselves,
they had been pursued by the enemy's troopers, who were spread over the
whole country since the defeat."
Everything succeeded to his wish: the horsemen were intercepted by
Gaboury, whose eagerness had outstripped the two marshals'; but whatever
questions were asked them, they acted their parts so well, that Peronne
was already in consternation, and rumours of the defeat were whispered
among the courtiers, when the Chevalier de Grammont arrived.
Nothing so enhances the value of good news, as when a false alarm of
bad has preceded; yet, though the Chevalier's was accompanied with this
advantage, none but their Majesties received it with that transport of
joy it deserved.
The queen kept her promise to him in the most fascinating manner: she
embraced him before the whole court; the king appeared no less delighted;
but the Cardinal, whether with the view of lessening the merit of an
action which deserved a handsome reward, or whether it was from a return
of that insolence which always accompanied him in prosperity, appeared at
first not to pay any attention to what he said, and being afterwards
informed that the lines had been forced, that the Spanish army was
beaten, and that Arras was relieved, "Is the Prince de Conde taken?"
said he. "No," replied the Chevalier de Grammont. "He is dead then, I
suppose?" said the Cardinal. "Not so, neither," answered the Chevalier.
"Fine news indeed!" said the Cardinal, with an air of contempt; and at
these words he went into the queen's cabinet with their majesties. And
happy it was for the Chevalier that he did so, for without doubt he would
have given him some severe reply, in resentment for those two fine
questions, and the conclusion he had drawn from them.
The court was filled with the Cardinal's spies: the Chevalier, as is
usual on such an occasion, was surrounded by a crowd of courtiers and
inquisitive people, and he was very glad to ease himself of some part
of the load which laid heavy on his heart, within the hearing of the
Cardinal's creatures, and which he would perhaps have told him to his
face. "Faith, gentlemen," said he, with a sneer, "there is nothing like
being zealous and eager in the service of kings and great princes: you
have seen what a gracious reception his Majesty has given me; you are
likewise witnesses in what an obliging manner the queen kept her promise
with me; but as for the Cardinal, he has received my news as if he gained
no more by it than he did by the death of Peter Mazarin."
[Peter Mazarin was father to the Cardinal. He was a native of
Palermo in Sicily, which place he left in order to settle at Rome,
where he died in the year 1654.]
This was sufficient to terrify all those who were sincerely attached to
him; and the best established fortune would have been ruined at some
period by a jest much less severe: for it was delivered in the presence
of witnesses, who were only desirous of having an opportunity of
representing it in its utmost malignancy, to make a merit of their
vigilance with a powerful and absolute minister. Of this the Chevalier
de Grammont was thoroughly convinced; yet whatever detriment he foresaw
might arise from it, he could not help being much pleased with what he
had said.
The spies very faithfully discharged their duty: however, the affair took
a very different turn from what they expected. The next day, when the
Chevalier de Grammont was present while their Majesties were at dinner,
the Cardinal came in, and coming up to him, everybody making way for him
out of respect: "Chevalier," said he, "the news which you have brought
is very good, their Majesties are very well satisfied with it; and to
convince you it is more advantageous to me than the death of Peter
Mazarin, if you will come and dine with me we will have some play
together; for the queen will give us something to play for, over and
above her first promise."
In this manner did the Chevalier de Grammont dare to provoke a powerful
minister, and this was all the resentment which the least vindictive of
all statesmen expressed on the occasion. It was indeed very unusual for
so young a man to reverence the authority of ministers no farther, than
as they were themselves respectable by their merit; for this, his own
breast, as well as the whole court, applauded him, and he enjoyed the
satisfaction of being the only man who durst preserve the least shadow of
liberty, in a general state of servitude; but it was perhaps owing to the
Cardinal's passing over this insult with impunity, that he afterwards
drew upon himself some difficulties, by other rash expressions less
fortunate in the event.
In the mean time the court returned: the Cardinal, who was sensible that
he could no longer keep his master in a state of tutelage, being himself
worn out with cares and sickness, and having amassed treasures he knew
not what to do with, and being sufficiently loaded with the weight of
public odium, he turned all his thoughts towards terminating, in a manner
the most advantageous for France, a ministry which had so cruelly shaken
that kingdom. Thus, while he was earnestly laying the foundations of a
peace so ardently wished for, pleasure and plenty began to reign at
court.
The Chevalier de Grammont experienced for a long time a variety of
fortune in love and gaming: he was esteemed by the courtiers, beloved by
beauties whom he neglected, and a dangerous favourite of those whom he
admired; more successful in play than in his amours; but the one
indemnifying him for want of success in the other, he was always full of
life and spirits; and in all transactions of importance, always a man of
honour.
It is a pity that we must be forced here to interrupt the course of his
history, by an interval of some years, as has been already done at the
commencement of these memoirs. In a life where the most minute
circumstances are always singular and diverting, we can meet with no
chasm which does not afford regret; but whether he did not think them
worthy of holding a place among his other adventures, or that he has only
preserved a confused idea of them, we must pass to the parts of these
fragments which are better ascertained, that we may arrive at the subject
of his journey to England.
The peace of the Pyrenees, the king's marriage,--the return of the
Prince de Conde, and the death of the Cardinal, gave a new face to the
state.
[Louis XIV. married Maria Theresa of Austria. She was born 20th
September, 1638, married 1st June, 1660, and entered Paris 26th
August following. She died at Versailles 30th July, 1683, and was
buried at St. Denis.]
The eyes of the whole nation were fixed upon their king, who, for
nobleness of mien, and gracefulness of person, had no equal; but it was
not then known that he was possessed of those superior abilities, which,
filling his subjects with admiration, in the end made him so formidable
to Europe. Love and ambition, the invisible springs of the intrigues and
cabals of all courts, attentively observed his first steps: pleasure
promised herself an absolute empire over a prince who had been kept in
ignorance of the necessary rules of government, and ambition had no hopes
of reigning in the court except in the minds of those who were able to
dispute the management of affairs; when men were surprised to see the
king on a sudden display such brilliant abilities, which prudence, in
some measure necessary, had so long obliged him to conceal.
An application, inimical to the pleasures which generally attract that
age, and which unlimited power very seldom refuses, attached him solely
to the cares of government: all admired this wonderful change, but all
did not find their account in it: the great lost their consequence before
an absolute master, and the courtiers approached with reverential awe the
sole object of their respects and the sole master of their fortunes:
those who had conducted themselves like petty tyrants in their provinces,
and on the frontiers, were now no more than governors: favours, according
to the king's pleasure, were sometimes conferred on merit, and sometimes
for services done the state; but to importune, or to menace the court,
was no longer the method to obtain them.
The Chevalier de Grammont regarded his master's attention to the affairs
of state as a prodigy: he could not conceive how he could submit at his
age to the rules he prescribed himself, or that he should give up so many
hours of pleasure, to devote them to the tiresome duties, and laborious
functions of government; but he blessed the Lord that henceforward no
more homage was to be paid, no more court to be made, but to him alone,
to whom they were justly due. Disdaining as he did the servile adoration
usually paid to a minister, he could never crouch before the power of the
two Cardinals who succeeded each other: he neither worshipped the
arbitrary power of the one, nor gave his approbation to the artifices of
the other; he had never received anything from Cardinal Richelieu but an
abbey, which, on account of his rank, could not be refused him; and he
never acquired anything from Mazarin but what he won of him at play.
By many years' experience under an able general he had acquired a talent
for war; but this during a general peace was of no further service to
him. He therefore thought that, in the midst of a court flourishing in
beauties and abounding in wealth, he could not employ himself better than
in endeavouring to gain the good opinion of his master, in making the
best use of those advantages which nature had given him for play, and in
putting in practice new stratagems in love.
He succeeded very well in the two first of these projects, and as he had
from that time laid it down as the rule of his conduct to attach himself
solely to the king in all his views of preferment, to have no regard for
favour unless when it was supported by merit, to make himself beloved by
the courtiers and feared by the minister, to dare to undertake anything
in order to do good, and to engage in nothing at the expense of
innocence, he soon became one in all the king's parties of pleasure,
without gaining the ill will of the courtiers. In play he was
successful, in love unfortunate; or, to speak more properly, his
restlessness and jealousy overcame his natural prudence, in a situation
wherein he had most occasion for it. La Motte Agencourt was one of the
maids of honour to the queen dowager, and, though no sparkling beauty,
she had drawn away lovers from the celebrated Meneville.
[These two ladies at this period seem to have made a distinguished
figure in the annals of gallantry. One of their contemporaries
mentions them in these terms: "In this case, perhaps, I can give a
better account than most people; as, for instance, they had raised a
report, when the queen-mother expelled Mademoiselle de la Motte
Agencourt, that it was on his score, when I am assured, upon very
good grounds, that it was for entertaining the Marquis de Richelieu
against her majesty's express command. This lady, who was one of
her maids of honour, was a person whom I was particularly acquainted
with; and that so much, as I was supposed to have a passion for her:
she was counted one of the finest women of the court, and therefore
I was not at all displeased to have it thought so; for except
Mademoiselle de Meneville, (who had her admirers,) there was none
that could pretend to dispute it" Memoirs of the Comte de Rochfort,
1696, p. 210. See also Anquetil, Louis XVI. sa Cour et le Regent,
tome i. p. 46.]
It was sufficient in those days for the king to cast his eye upon a
young lady of the court to inspire her with hopes, and often with tender
sentiments; but if he spoke to her more than once, the courtiers took it
for granted, and those who had either pretensions to, or love for her,
respectfully withdrew both the one and the other, and afterwards only
paid her respect; but the Chevalier de Grammont thought fit to act quite
otherwise, perhaps to preserve a singularity of character, which upon the
present occasion was of no avail.
He had never before thought of her, but as soon as he found that she
was honoured with the king's attention, he was of opinion that she was
likewise deserving of his. Having attached himself to her, he soon
became very troublesome, without convincing her he was much in love.
She grew weary of his persecutions, but he would not desist, neither on
account of her ill-treatment nor of her threats. This conduct of his at
first made no great noise, because she was in hopes that he would change
his behaviour; but finding him rashly persist in it, she complained of
him: and then it was that he perceived that if love renders all
conditions equal, it is not so between rivals. He was banished the
court, and not finding any place in France which could console him for
what he most regretted--the presence and sight of his prince--after
having made some slight reflections upon his disgrace, and bestowed
a few imprecations against her who was the cause of it, he at last
formed the resolution of visiting England.
MEMOIRS OF COUNT GRAMMONT, VOLUME 3.
By Anthony Hamilton
EDITED, WITH NOTES, BY SIR WALTER SCOTT
CHAPTER SIXTH.
HIS ARRIVAL AT THE ENGLISH COURT
--THE VARIOUS PERSONAGES OF THIS COURT
Curiosity to see a man equally famous for his crimes and his elevation,
had once before induced the Chevalier de Grammont to visit England.
Reasons of state assume great privileges. Whatever appears advantageous
is lawful, and every thing that is necessary is honourable in politics.
While the King of England sought the protection of Spain in the Low
Countries, and that of the States-General in Holland, other powers sent
splendid embassies to Cromwell.
This man, whose ambition had opened him a way to sovereign power by the
greatest crimes, maintained himself in it by accomplishments which seemed
to render him worthy of it by their lustre. The nation, of all Europe
the least submissive, patiently bore a yoke which did not even leave her
the shadow of that liberty of which she is so jealous; and Cromwell,
master of the Commonwealth, under the title of Protector, feared at home,
but yet more dreaded abroad, was at his highest pitch of glory when he
was seen by the Chevalier de Grammont; but the Chevalier did not see any
appearance of a court. One part of the nobility proscribed, the other
removed from employments; an affectation of purity of manners, instead of
the luxury which the pomp of courts displays all taken together,
presented nothing but sad and serious objects in the finest city in the
world; and therefore the Chevalier acquired nothing by this voyage but
the idea of some merit in a profligate man, and the admiration of some
concealed beauties he had found means to discover.
Affairs wore quite a different appearance at his second voyage. The joy
for the restoration of the royal family still appeared in all parts. The
nation, fond of change and novelty, tasted the pleasure of a natural
government, and seemed to breathe again after a long oppression. In
short, the same people who, by a solemn abjuration, had excluded even the
posterity of their lawful sovereign, exhausted themselves in festivals
and rejoicings for his return.
The Chevalier de Grammont arrived about two years after the restoration.
The reception he met with in this court soon made him forget the other;
and the engagements he in the end contracted in England lessened the
regret he had in leaving France.
This was a desirable retreat for an exile of his disposition.
Everything flattered his taste, and if the adventures he had in this
country were not the most considerable, they were at least the most
agreeable of his life. But before we relate them it will not be improper
to give some account of the English court, as it was at that period.
The necessity of affairs had exposed Charles II. from his earliest youth
to the toils and perils of a bloody war. The fate of the king his father
had left him for inheritance nothing but his misfortunes and disgraces.
They overtook him everywhere; but it was not until he had struggled with
his ill-fortune to the last extremity that he submitted to the decrees of
Providence.
All those who were either great on account of their birth or their
loyalty had followed him into exile; and all the young persons of the
greatest distinction having afterwards joined him, composed a court
worthy of a better fate.
Plenty and prosperity, which are thought to tend only to corrupt manners,
found nothing to spoil in an indigent and wandering court. Necessity, on
the contrary, which produces a thousand advantages whether we will or no,
served them for education; and nothing was to be seen among them but an
emulation in glory, politeness, and virtue.
With this little court, in such high esteem for merit, the King of
England returned two years prior to the period we mention, to ascend a
throne which, to all appearances, he was to fill as worthily as the most
glorious of his predecessors. The magnificence displayed on thus
occasion was renewed at his coronation.
The death of the Duke of Gloucester, and of the Princess Royal, which
followed soon after, had interrupted the course of this splendour by a
tedious mourning, which they quitted at last to prepare for the reception
of the Infanta of Portugal.
[The Princess Royal: Mary, eldest daughter of Charles I., born
November 4th, 1631, married to the Prince of Orange, 2nd May, 1641,
who died 27th October, 1650. She arrived in England, September
23rd, and died of the smallpox, December 24th, 1660,-according to
Bishop Burnet, not much lamented. "She had lived," says the author,
"in her widowhood for some years with great reputation, kept a
decent court, and supported her brothers very liberally; and lived
within bounds. But her mother, who had the art of making herself
believe anything she had a mind to, upon a conversation with the
queen-mother of France, fancied the King of France might be inclined
to marry her. So she wrote to her to come to Paris. In order to
that, she made an equipage far above what she could support. So she
ran herself into debt, sold all her jewels, and some estates that
were in her power as her son's guardian; and was not only
disappointed of that vain expectation, but fell into some
misfortunes that lessened the reputation she had formerly lived in."
History of his Own Times, vol. i., p. 238. She was mother of
William III.]
["The Infanta, of Portugal landed in May (1662) at Portsmouth. The
king went thither, and was married privately by Lord Aubigny, a
secular priest, and almoner to the queen, according to the rites of
Rome, in the queen's chamber; none present but the Portuguese
ambassador, three more Portuguese of quality, and two or three
Portuguese women. What made this necessary was, that the Earl of
Sandwich did not marry her by proxy, as usual, before she came away.
How this happened, the duke knows not, nor did the chancellor know
of this private marriage. The queen would not be bedded, till
pronounced man and wife by Sheldon, bishop of London."--Extract 2,
from King James II.'s Journal.--Macpherson's State Papers, vol. i.
In the same collection is a curious letter from the King to Lord
Clarendon, giving his opinion of the queen after having seen her.]
It was in the height of the rejoicings they were making for this new
queen, in all the splendour of a brilliant court, that the Chevalier de
Grammont arrived to contribute to its magnificence and diversions.
Accustomed as he was to the grandeur of the court of France, he was
surprised at the politeness and splendour of the court of England. The
king was inferior to none, either in shape or air; his wit was pleasant;
his disposition easy and affable; his soul, susceptible of opposite
impressions, was compassionate to the unhappy, inflexible to the wicked,
and tender even to excess; he showed great abilities in urgent affairs,
but was incapable of application to any that were not so: his heart was
often the dupe, but oftener the slave, of his engagements.
The character of the Duke of York was entirely different he had the
reputation of undaunted courage, an inviolable attachment for his word,
great economy in his affairs, hauteur, application, arrogance, each in
their turn: a scrupulous observer of the rules of duty and the laws of
justice; he was accounted a faithful friend, and an implacable enemy.
[James, Duke of York, afterwards King James II. He was born 15th
October, 1633; succeeded his brother 6th February, 1684-5; abdicated
the crown in 1688; and died 6th September, 1701. Bishop Burnet's
character of him appears not very far from the truth.--"He was,"
says this writer, "very brave in his youth; and so much magnified by
Monsieur Turenne, that till his marriage lessened him, he really
clouded the king, and passed for the superior genius. He was
naturally candid and sincere, and a firm friend, till affairs and
his religion wore out all his first principles and inclinations he
had a great desire to understand affairs: and in order to that he
kept a constant journal of all that passed, of which he showed me a
great deal. The Duke of Buckingham gave me once a short but severe
character of the two brothers. It was the more severe, because it
was true: the king, (he said,) could see things if he would: and the
duke would see things if he could. He had no true judgment, and was
soon determined by those whom he trusted: but he was obstinate
against all other advices. He was bred with high notions of kingly
authority, and laid it down for a maxim, that all who opposed the
king were rebels in their hearts. He was perpetually in one amour
or other, without being very nice in his choice: upon which the king
once said, he believed his brother had his mistress given him by his
priests for penance. He was naturally eager and revengeful: and was
against the taking off any, that set up in an opposition to the
measures of the court, and who by that means grew popular in the
house of commons. He was for rougher methods. He continued many
years dissembling his religion, and seemed zealous for the church of
England, but it was chiefly on design to hinder all propositions,
that tended to unite us among ourselves. He was a frugal prince,
and brought his court into method and magnificence, for he had
L100,000. a-year allowed him. He was made high admiral, and he came
to understand all the concerns of the sea very particularly."]
His morality and justice, struggling for some time with prejudice, had at
last triumphed, by his acknowledging for his wife Miss Hyde, maid of
honour to the Princess Royal, whom he had secretly married in Holland.
Her father, from that time prime minister of England, supported by this
new interest, soon rose to the head of affairs, and had almost ruined
them: not that he wanted capacity, but he was too self-sufficient.
The Duke of Ormond possessed the confidence and esteem of his master: the
greatness of his services, the splendour of his merit and his birth, and
the fortune he had abandoned in adhering to the fate of his prince,
rendered him worthy of it nor durst the courtiers even murmur at seeing
him grand steward of the household, first lord of the bed-chamber, and
lord-lieutenant of Ireland. He exactly resembled the Marshal de
Grammont, in the turn of his wit and the nobleness of his manners: and
like him was the honour of his master's court.
The Duke of Buckingham and the Earl of St. Albans were the same in
England as they appeared in France: the one full of wit and vivacity,
dissipated, without splendour, an immense estate upon which he had just
entered: the other, a man of no great genius, had raised himself a
considerable fortune from nothing, and by losing at play, and keeping a
great table, made it appear greater than it was.
["The Duke of Buckingham is again one hundred and forty thousand
pounds in debt; and by this prorogation his creditors have time to
tear all his lands to pieces."--Andrew Marvell's Works, 4to. edit.,
vol. i. p. 406.]
Sir George Berkeley, afterwards Earl of Falmouth, was the confidant and
favourite of the King: he commanded the Duke of York's regiment of
guards, and governed the Duke himself. He had nothing very remarkable
either in his wit, or his person; but his sentiments were worthy of the
fortune which awaited him, when, on the very point of his elevation, he
was killed at sea. Never did disinterestedness so perfectly characterise
the greatness of the soul: he had no views but what tended to the glory
of his master: his credit was never employed but in advising him to
reward services, or to confer favours on merit: so polished in
conversation, that the greater his power, the greater was his humility;
and so sincere in all his proceedings, that he would never have been
taken for a courtier.
The Duke of Ormond's sons and his nephews had been in the king's court
during his exile, and were far from diminishing its lustre after his
return. The Earl of Arran had a singular address in all kinds of
exercises, played well at tennis and on the guitar, and was pretty
successful in gallantry: his elder brother, the Earl of Ossory, was not
so lively, but of the most liberal sentiments, and of great probity.
The elder of the Hamiltons, their cousin, was the man who of all the
court dressed best: he was well made in his person, and possessed those
happy talents which lead to fortune, and procure success in love: he was
a most assiduous courtier, had the most lively wit, the most polished
manners, and the most punctual attention to his master imaginable: no
person danced better, nor was any one a more general lover: a merit of
some account in a court entirely devoted to love and gallantry. It is
not at all surprising, that with these qualities he succeeded my Lord
Falmouth in the King's favour; but it is very extraordinary that he
should have experienced the same destiny, as if this sort of war had been
declared against merit only, and as if this sort of combat was fatal to
none but such as had certain hopes of a splendid fortune. This, however,
did not happen till some years afterwards.
The beau Sydney, less dangerous than he appeared to be,
[Robert Sydney, third son of the Earl of Leicester, and brother of
the famous Algernon Sydney, who was beheaded. This is Lord Orford's
account; though, on less authority, I should have been inclined to
have considered Henry Sydney, his younger brother, who was
afterwards created Earl of Rumney, and died 8th April, 1704, as the
person intended. There are some circumstances which seem
particularly to point to him. Burnet, speaking of him, says, "he
was a, graceful man, and had lived long in the court, where he lead
some adventures that became very public. He was a man of a sweet
and caressing temper, had no malice in his heart, but too great a
love of pleasure. He had been sent envoy to Holland in the year
1679, where he entered into such particular confidences with the
prince, that he had the highest measure of his trust and favour that
any Englishman ever had."--History of his Own Times, vol. ii., p.
494.
In the Essay on Satire, by Dryden and Mulgrave, he is spoken of in
no very decent terms.
"And little Sid, for simile renown'd,
Pleasure has always sought, but never found
Though all his thoughts on wine and women fall,
His are so bad, sure he ne'er thinks at all.
The flesh he lives upon is rank and strong;
His meat and mistresses are kept too long.
But sure we all mistake this pious man,
Who mortifies his person all he can
What we uncharitably take for sin,
Are only rules of this odd capuchin;
For never hermit, under grave pretence,
Has lived more contrary to common sense."
These verses, however, have been applied to Sir Charles Sedley,
whose name was originally spelt Sidley. Robert Sydney died at
Pensburst, 1674.]
had not sufficient vivacity to support the impression which his figure
made; but little Jermyn was on all sides successful in his intrigues.
The old Earl of St. Albans, his uncle, had for a long time adopted him,
though the youngest of all his nephews. It is well known what a table
the good man kept at Paris, while the King his master was starving at
Brussels, and the Queen Dowager, his mistress, lived not over well in
France.
[To what a miserable state the queen was reduced may be seen in the
following extract from De Retz.--"Four or five days before the king
removed from Paris, I went to visit the Queen of England, whom I
found in her daughter's chamber, who hath been since Duchess of
Orleans. At my coming in she said, 'You see I am come to keep
Henrietta company. The poor child could not rise to-day for want of
a fire.' The truth is, that the cardinal for six months together
had not ordered her any money towards her pension; that no
trades-people would trust her for anything; and that there was not at
her lodgings in the Louvre one single billet. You will do me the
justice to suppose that the Princess of England did not keep her bed
the next day for want of a faggot; but it was not this which the
Princess of Conde meant in her letter. What she spoke about was,
that some days after my visiting the Queen of England, I remembered
the condition I had found her in, and had strongly represented the
shame of abandoning her in that manner, which caused the parliament
to send 40,000 livres to her majesty. Posterity will hardly believe
that a Princess of England, grand-daughter of Henry the Great, hath
wanted a faggot, in the month of January, to get out of bed in the
Louvre, and in the eyes of a French court. We read in histories,
with horror, of baseness less monstrous than this; and the little
concern I have met with about it in most people's minds, has obliged
me to make, I believe, a thousand times, this reflection,--that
examples of times past move men beyond comparison more than those of
their own times. We accustom ourselves to what we see; and I have
sometimes told you, that I doubted whether Caligula's horse being
made a consul would have surprised us so much as we imagine."
--Memoirs, vol. i., p. 261. As for the relative situation of the king
and Lord Jermyn, (afterwards St. Albans,) Lord Clarendon says, that
the "Marquis of Ormond was compelled to put himself in prison, with
other gentlemen, at a pistole a-week for his diet, and to walk the
streets a-foot, which was no honourable custom in Paris, whilst the
Lord Jermyn kept an excellent table for those who courted him, and
had a coach of his own, and all other accommodations incident to the
most full fortune: and if the king had the most urgent occasion for
the use but of twenty pistoles, as sometimes he had, he could not
find credit to borrow it, which he often had experiment of."
--History of the Rebellion, vol. iii., p. 2.]
Jermyn, supported by his uncle's wealth, found it no difficult matter to
make a considerable figure upon his arrival at the court of the Princess
of Orange: the poor courtiers of the king her brother could not vie with
him in point of equipage and magnificence; and these two articles often
produce as much success in love as real merit: there is no necessity for
any other example than the present; for though Jermyn was brave, and
certainly a gentleman, yet he had neither brilliant actions, nor
distinguished rank, to set him off; and as for his fibre, there was
nothing advantageous in it. He was little: his head was large and his
legs small; his features were not disagreeable, but he was affected in
his carriage and behaviour. All his wit consisted in expressions learnt
by rote, which he occasionally employed either in raillery, or in love.
This was the whole foundation of the merit of a man so formidable in
amours.
The Princess Royal was the first who was taken with him: Miss Hyde seemed
to be following the steps of her mistress: this immediately brought him
into credit, and his reputation was established in England before his
arrival. Prepossession in the minds of women is sufficient to find
access to their hearts: Jermyn found them in dispositions so favourable
for him, that he had nothing to do but to speak.
It was in vain they perceived that a reputation so lightly established,
was still more weakly sustained: the prejudice remained: the Countess of
Castlemaine, a woman lively and discerning followed the delusive shadow;
and though undeceived in a reputation which promised so much, and
performed so little, she nevertheless continued in her infatuation: she
even persisted in it, until she was upon the point of embroiling herself
with the King; so great was this first instance of her constancy.
Such were the heroes of the court. As for the beauties, you could not
look anywhere without seeing them: those of the greatest reputation were
this same Countess of Castlemaine, afterwards Duchess of Cleveland, Lady
Chesterfield, Lady Shrewsbury, the Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Middleton, the
Misses Brooks, and a thousand others, who shone at court with equal
lustre; but it was Miss Hamilton and Miss Stewart who were its chief
ornaments.
[Lady Shrewsbury: Anna, Maria, Countess of Shrewsbury, eldest
daughter of Robert Brudenel, Earl of Cardigan, and wife of Francis,
Earl of Shrewsbury, who was killed in a duel by George, Duke of
Buckingham, March 16, 1667. She afterwards re-married with George
Rodney Bridges, Esq., second son of Sir Thomas Bridges of Keynsham,
in Somersetshire, knight, and died April 20, 1702. By her second
husband she had one son, George Rodney Bridges, who died in 1751.
This woman is said to have been so abandoned, as to have held, in
the habit of a page, her gallant, the duke's horse, while he fought
and killed her husband; after which she went to bed with him,
stained with her husband's blood.]
The new queen gave but little additional brilliancy to the court, either
in her person or in her retinue, which was then composed of the Countess
de Panetra, who came over with her in quality of lady of the bedchamber;
six frights, who called themselves maids of honour, and a duenna, another
monster, who took the title of governess to those extraordinary beauties.
[Lord Clarendon confirms, in some measure, this account. "There
was a numerous family of men and women, that were sent from
Portugal, the most improper to promote that conformity in the queen
that was necessary for her condition and future happiness that could
be chosen; the women, for the most part, old, and ugly, and proud,
incapable of any conversation with persons of quality and a liberal
education: and they desired, and indeed had conspired so far to
possess the queen themselves, that she should neither learn the
English language, nor use their habit, nor depart from the manners
and fashions of her own country in any particulars: which
resolution," they told, "would be for the dignity of Portugal, and
would quickly induce the English ladies to conform to her majesty's
practice. And this imagination had made that impression, that the
tailor who had been sent into Portugal to make her clothes could
never be admitted to see her, or receive any employment. Nor when
she came to Portsmouth, and found there several ladies of honour and
prime quality to attend her in the places to which they were
assigned by the king, did she receive any of them till the king
himself came; nor then with any grace, or the liberty that belonged
to their places and offices. She could not be persuaded to be
dressed out of the wardrobe that the king had sent to her, but would
wear the clothes which she had brought, until she found that the
king was displeased, and would be obeyed; whereupon she conformed,
against the advice of her women, who continued their opiniatrety,
without any one of them receding from their own mode, which exposed
them the more to reproach."--Continuation of Clarendon's Life, p.
168. In a short time after their arrival in England, they were
ordered back to Portugal.]
Among the men were Francisco de Melo, brother to the Countess de Panetra;
one Taurauvedez, who called himself Don Pedro Francisco Correo de Silva,
extremely handsome, but a greater fool than all the Portuguese put
together: he was more vain of his names than of his person; but the Duke
of Buckingham, a still greater fool than he, though more addicted to
raillery, gave him the additional name of Peter of the Wood. He was so
enraged at this, that, after many fruitless complaints and ineffectual
menaces, poor Pedro de Silva was obliged to leave England, while the
happy duke kept possession of a Portuguese nymph more hideous than the
queen's maids of honour, whom he had taken from him, as well as two of
his names. Besides these, there were six chaplains, four bakers, a Jew
perfumer, and a certain officer, probably without an office, who called
himself her highness's barber. Katharine de Braganza was far from
appearing with splendour in the charming court where she came to reign;
however, in the end she was pretty successful.
[Lord Clarendon says, "the queen had beauty and wit enough to make
herself agreeable to him (the king); and it is very certain, that,
at their first meeting, and for some time after, the King had very
good satisfaction in her. . . . Though she was of years enough
to have had more experience of the world, and of as much wit as
could be wished, and of a humour very agreeable at some seasons,
yet, she had been bred, according to the mode and discipline of her
country, in a monastery, where she had only seen the women who
attended her, and conversed with the religious who resided there;
and, without doubt, in her inclinations, was enough disposed to have
been one of that number: and from this restraint she was called out
to be a great queen, and to a free conversation in a court that was
to be upon the matter new formed, and reduced from the manners of a
licentious age to the old rules and limits which had been observed
in better times; to which regular and decent conformity the present
disposition of men or women was not enough inclined to submit, nor
the king enough disposed to exact."--Continuation of Lord
Clarendon's Life, p. 167. After some struggle, she submitted to the
king's licentious conduct, and from that time lived upon easy terms
with him, until his death. On the 30th March, 1692, she left
Somerset-house, her usual residence, and retired to Lisbon, where
she died, 31st December, 1705, N. S.]
The Chevalier de Grammont, who had been long known to the royal family,
and to most of the gentlemen of the court, had only to get acquainted
with the ladies; and for this he wanted no interpreter: they all spoke
French enough to explain themselves, and they all understood it
sufficiently to comprehend what he had to say to them.
The queen's court was always very numerous; that of the duchess was less
so, but more select. This princess had a majestic air, a pretty good
shape, not much beauty, a great deal of wit, and so just a discernment of
merit, that, whoever of either sex were possessed of it, were sure to be
distinguished by her: an air of grandeur in all her actions made her be
considered as if born to support the rank: which placed her so near the
throne.
["The Duchess of York," says Bishop Burnet, "was a very
extraordinary woman. She had great knowledge, and a lively sense of
things. She soon understood what belonged to a princess, and took
state on her rather too much. She wrote well, and had begun the
duke's life, of which she showed me a volume. It was all drawn from
his journal; and he intended to have employed me in carrying it on.
She was bred in great strictness in religion, and practised secret
confession. Morley told me he was her confessor. She began at
twelve years old, and continued under his direction till, upon her
father's disgrace, he was put from the court. She was generous and
friendly, but was too severe an enemy."-history of his Own Times,
vol. i., p. 237. She was contracted to the duke at Breda,
November 24, 1659, and married at Worcester-house, 3rd September,
1660, in the night, between eleven and two, by Dr. Joseph Crowther,
the duke's chaplain; the Lord Ossory giving her in marriage.
--Kennet's Register, p. 246. She died 31st March, 1671, having
previously acknowledged herself to be a Roman Catholic.--See also
her character by Bishop Morley.--Kennet's Register, p. 385, 390.]
The queen dowager returned after the marriage of the princess royal, and
it was in her court that the two others met.
The Chevalier de Grammont was soon liked by all parties those who had not
known him before were surprised to see a Frenchman of his disposition.
The king's restoration having drawn a great number of foreigners from all
countries to the court, the French were rather in disgrace; for, instead
of any persons of distinction having appeared among the first who came
over, they had only seen some insignificant puppies, each striving to
outdo the other in folly and extravagance, despising everything which
was not like themselves, and thinking they introduced the 'bel air', by
treating the English as strangers in their own country.
The Chevalier de Grammont, on the contrary, was familiar with everybody:
he gave in to their customs, eat of everything, and easily habituated
himself to their manner of living, which he looked upon as neither vulgar
nor barbarous; and as he showed a natural complaisance, instead of the
impertinent affectation of the others, all the nation was charmed with a
man, who agreeably indemnified them for what they had suffered from the
folly of the former.
He first of all made his court to the king, and was of all his parties
of pleasure: he played high, and lost but seldom: he found so little
difference in the manners and conversation of those with whom he chiefly
associated, that he could scarcely believe he was out of his own country.
Everything which could agreeably engage a man of his disposition,
presented itself to his different humours, as if the pleasures of the
court of France had quitted it to accompany him in his exile.
He was every day engaged for some entertainment; and those who wished to
regale him in their turn, were obliged to take their measures in time,
and to invite him eight or ten days before hand. These importunate
civilities became tiresome in the long run; but as they seemed
indispensable to a man of his disposition, and as they were the most
genteel people of the court who loaded him with them, he submitted with
a good grace; but always reserved to himself the liberty of supping at
home.
His supper hour depended upon play, and was indeed very uncertain;
but his supper was always served up with the greatest elegance, by the
assistance of one or two servants, who were excellent caterers and good
attendants, but understood cheating still better.
The company, at these little entertainments, was not numerous, but
select: the first people of the court were commonly of the party; but the
man, who of all others suited him best on these occasions, never failed
to attend: that was the celebrated Saint Evremond, who with great
exactness, but too great freedom, had written the history of the treaty
of the Pyrenees: an exile like himself, though for very different
reasons.
Happily for them both, fortune had, some time before the arrival of the
Chevalier de Grammont, brought Saint Evremond to England, after he had
had leisure to repent in Holland of the beauties of that famous satire.
[Charles de St. Denis, Seigneur de Saint Evremond, was born at St.
Denis le Guast, in Lower Normandy, on the 1st of April, 1613. He
was educated at Paris, with a view to the profession of the law; but
he early quitted that pursuit, and went into the army, where he
signalized himself on several occasions. At the time of the
Pyrenean treaty, he wrote a letter censuring the conduct of Cardinal
Mazarin, which occasioned his being banished France. He first took
refuge in Holland; but, in 1662, he removed into England, where he
continued, with a short interval, during the rest of his life. In
1675, the Duchess of Mazarin came to reside in England; and with her
St. Evremond passed much of his time. He preserved his health and
cheerfulness to a very great age, and died 9th of September, 1703,
aged ninety years, five months, and twenty days. His biographer
Monsieur Des Maizeaux, describes him thus: "M. de St. Evremond had
blue, lively, and sparkling eyes, a large forehead, thick eyebrows,
a handsome mouth, and a sneering physiognomy. Twenty years before
his death, a wen grew between his eye-brows, which in time increased
to a considerable bigness. He once designed to have it cut off, but
as it was no ways troublesome to him, and he little regarded that
kind of deformity, Dr. Le Fevre advised him to let it alone, lest
such an operation should be attended with dangerous symptoms in a
man of his age. He would often make merry with himself on account
of his wen, his great leather cap, and grey hair, which he chose to
wear rather than a periwig." St. Evremond was a kind of Epicurean
philosopher, and drew his own character in the following terms, in a
letter to Count de Grammont. He was a philosopher equally removed
from superstition and impiety; a voluptuary who had no less aversion
from debauchery than inclination for pleasure: a man who had never
felt the pressure of indigence, and who had never been in possession
of affluence: he lived in a condition despised by those who have
everything, envied by those who have nothing, and relished by those
who make their reason the foundation of their happiness. When he
was young he hated profusion, being persuaded that some degree of
wealth was necessary for the conveniencies of a long life: when he
was old, he could hardly endure economy, being of opinion that want
is little to be dreaded when a man has but little time left to be
miserable. He was well pleased with nature, and did not complain of
fortune. He hated vice, was indulgent to frailties, and lamented
misfortunes. He sought not after the failings of men with a design
to expose them; he only found what was ridiculous in them for his
own amusement: he had a secret pleasure in discovering this himself,
and would, indeed, have had a still greater in discovering this to
others, had not he been checked by discretion. Life, in his
opinion, was too short to read all sorts of books, and to burden
one's memory with a multitude of things, at the expense of one's
judgment. He did not apply himself to the most learned writings, in
order to acquire knowledge, but to the most rational, to fortify his
reason: he sometimes chose the most delicate, to give delicacy to
his own taste, and sometimes the most agreeable, to give the same to
his own genius. It remains that he should be described, such as he
was, in friendship and in religion. In friendship he was more
constant than a philosopher, and more sincere than a young man of
good nature without experience. With regard to religion, his piety
consisted more in justice and charity than in penance or
mortification. He placed his confidence in God, trusting in His
goodness, and hoping that in the bosom of His providence he should
find his repose and his felicity."--He was buried in Westminster
Abbey.]
The Chevalier was from that time his hero: they had each of them attained
to all the advantages which a knowledge of the world, and the society of
people of fashion, could add to the improvement of good natural talents.
Saint Evremond, less engaged in frivolous pursuits, frequently gave
little lectures to the Chevalier, and by making observations upon the
past, endeavoured to set him right for the present, or to instruct him
for the future. "You are now," said he, "in the most agreeable way of
life a man of your temper could wish for: you are the delight of a
youthful, sprightly, and gallant court: the king has never a party of
pleasure to which you are not admitted. You play from morning to night,
or, to speak more properly, from night to morning, without knowing
what it is to lose. Far from losing the money you brought hither, as you
have done in other places, you have doubled it, trebled it, multiplied it
almost beyond your wishes, notwithstanding the exorbitant expenses you
are imperceptibly led into. This, without doubt, is the most desirable
situation in the, world: stop here, Chevalier, and do not ruin your
affairs by returning to your old sins. Avoid love, by pursuing other
pleasures: love has never been favourable to you.