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

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

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

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

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

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

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

servants of those whom they did favour, counterfeiting their

handwriting, intercepting their letters, disconcerting their

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

stooped."]

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

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

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

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

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

delightful country.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

into your head to seduce a lady, or to supplant a lover, your gains at

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

be as productive to you as it can be, you will never gain so much by it

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

"You are in possession of a thousand splendid qualifications which

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

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

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

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

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

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

have just now drawn."

"My little philosophical monitor," said the Chevalier de Grammont, "you

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

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

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

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

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

intrigues, but to disturb the happiness of others: a mistress who has no

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

menaces, which you had no right to use?

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

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

the leg when he was half way up to his mistress's chamber? yet did not

you use your friend the Duke of Buckingham in this manner, when he was

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

p. 24.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and still more so afterwards; but here it is a miracle if a young lady

yields to any proposal but that of matrimony and I do not believe you yet

so destitute of grace as to think of that."

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

Chevalier de Grammont only attended to them for his amusement; and though

he was sensible of the truth they contained, he paid little regard to

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

resolved to pursue those of love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

one of her lovers for his confidant.

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

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

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

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

In both respects the Chevalier answered his purpose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

something precise and affected. The indolent languishing airs she gave

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

of delicacy, which she endeavoured to explain without understanding them

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

indiscretion.

It was between these two goddesses that the inclinations of the Chevalier

de Grammont stood wavering, and between whom his presents were divided.

Perfumed gloves, pocket looking-glasses, elegant boxes, apricot paste,

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

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

such as ear-rings, diamonds, brilliants, and bright guineas, all this was

to be met with of the best sort in London, and the ladies were as well

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

disputed succession on the nation. Whether he actually encouraged

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

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

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

Buckingham had under taken to carry that matter through the

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

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

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

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

Sir Robert Southwell's dispatches, dated Lisbon, December ?/12,

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

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

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

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

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

is still to be seen in Westminster-abbey.]

The Countess of Castlemaine perceived that the king paid attention to

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

able, this new inclination, whether from an indiscretion common to all

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

she designed, by this pastime, to divert the king's attention from the

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

appearing without any degree of uneasiness at a preference which all

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

advantages which these opportunities could afford Miss Stewart; but she

was quite mistaken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

graceful, danced well, and spoke French better than her mother tongue:

she was well bred, and possessed, in perfection, that air of dress which

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

young, in France. While her charms were gaining ground in the king's

heart, the Countess of Castlemaine amused herself in the gratification of

all her caprices.

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

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

she loved: by this marriage she became sister-in-law to the duchess,

brilliant by her own native lustre, and full of pleasantry and wit.

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

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

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

resolved to throw herself into his arms.

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

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

such a languishing tenderness to her looks, that she never opened her

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

was doing something else.

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

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

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

to have carried off Jermyn from so many competitors; but this was of no

consequence in the end.

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

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

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

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

Jermyn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

into his "Sober Advice from Horace:"

"What push'd poor E--s on th' imperial whore?

'Twas but to be where Charles had been before,

The fatal steel unjustly was apply'd,

When not his lust offended, but his pride

Too hard a penance for defeated sin,

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

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

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

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

these rumours, and only appeared still more handsome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

received.

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

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

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

very ill-advised.

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

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

of a modest demeanour, and his manners appeared gentle and pacific, no

person was more spirited nor more passionate. Lady Shrewsbury,

inconsiderately returning the first ogles of the invincible Jermyn, did

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

walks, than her ladyship showed herself upon the balcony.

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

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

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

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

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

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

the music.

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

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

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

contrived to all advantages of gallantry, after they have refreshed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

of this period.]

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

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

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

resentment elsewhere with greater freedom.

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

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

the repast was ended.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

inconstant: no longer were his wishes fluctuating: this object fixed them

all; and, of all his former habits, none remained, except uneasiness and

jealousy.

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

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

accustomed to.

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

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

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

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

manner agreeable to his merit and quality, and was astonished that he had

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

acquaintance, he was desirous of no other.

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

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

charming than her person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lorraine.]

CHAPTER SEVENTH.

HE FALLS IN LOVE WITH MISS HAMILTON--VARIOUS ADVENTURES

AT THE BALL IN THE QUEEN'S DRAWING-ROOM--CURIOUS VOYAGE

OF HIS VALET-DE-CHAMBRE TO AND FROM PARIS.

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

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

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

could invent to torment, after having experienced his powers of pleasing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

capable of expressing whatever she pleased: her mouth was full of graces,

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

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

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

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

possessed of every other qualification. Her mind was a proper companion

for such a form: she did not endeavour to shine in conversation by those

sprightly sallies which only puzzle; and with still greater care she

avoided that affected solemnity in her discourse, which produces

stupidity; but, without any eagerness to talk, she just said what she

ought, and no more. She had an admirable discernment in distinguishing

between solid and false wit; and far from making an ostentatious display

of her abilities, she was reserved, though very just in her decisions:

her sentiments were always noble, and even lofty to the highest extent,

when there was occasion; nevertheless, she was less prepossessed with her

own merit than is usually the case with those who have so much. Formed,

as we have described, she could not fail of commanding love; but so far

was she from courting it, that she was scrupulously nice with respect to

those whose merit might entitle them to form any pretensions to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

for the future, he was obliged to pursue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

will appear hereafter.

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

king, by that kind obliging behaviour which her affection made natural to

her: she was particularly attentive in promoting every sort of pleasure

and amusement especially such as she could be present at herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

honour to the Duchess, called Blague.

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

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

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

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

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

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

description gave the finishing stroke to this disagreeable figure.

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

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

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

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

attractions she placed herself in ambuscade to surprise unwary hearts;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

to intermeddle in their affairs.

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

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

dress and dancing. Magnificence of dress was intolerable with her

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miss Hamilton wrote a note exactly in the same manner to Lady Muskerry,

with directions for her to be dressed in the Babylonian fashion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

a mortal enemy to ridicule. His wife's deformity was not so intolerable

to him, as the ridiculous figure she made upon all occasions. He thought

that he was safe in the present case, not believing that the queen would

spoil her masquerade by naming Lady Muskerry as one of the dancers

nevertheless, as he was acquainted with the passion his wife had to

expose herself in public, by her dress and dancing, he had just been

advising her very seriously to content herself with being a spectator

of this entertainment, even though the queen should have the cruelty

to engage her in it: he then took the liberty to show her what little

similarity there was between her figure, and that of persons to whom

dancing and magnificence in dress were allowable. His sermon concluded

at last, by an express prohibition to solicit a place at this

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

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

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

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

herself at her Majesty's feet to demand justice. She was in this very

disposition when she received the billet: three times did she kiss it;

and without regarding her husband's injunctions, she immediately got into

her coach in order to get information of the merchants who traded to the

Levant, in what manner the ladies of quality dressed in Babylon.

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

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

believe anything. Brisacier, whom she looked upon as desperately

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

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

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

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

upon his voice and upon his wit.

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

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

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

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

acknowledgment and consciousness. It was upon these observations they

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

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

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

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

pretend to dance sufficiently well for an occasion like the present; yet

he was far from refusing the offer: "Sire," said he, "of all the favours

you have been pleased to show me, since my arrival, I feel this more

sensibly than any other; and to convince you of my gratitude, I promise

you all the good offices in my power with Miss Stewart." He said this,

because they had just given her an apartment separate from the rest of

the maids of honour, which made the courtiers begin to pay respect to

her. The king was very well pleased at this pleasantry, and having

thanked him for so necessary an offer: "Monsieur le Chevalier," said he,

"in what style do you intend to dress yourself for the ball? I leave you

the choice of all countries." "If so," said the Chevalier, "I will dress

after the French manner, in order to disguise myself; for they already do

me the honour to take me for an Englishman in your city of London. Had

it not been for this, I should have wished to have appeared as a Roman;

but for fear of embroiling myself with Prince Rupert, who so warmly

espouses the interests of Alexander against Lord Thanet, who declares

himself for Caesar, I dare no longer think of assuming the hero:

nevertheless, though I may dance awkwardly, yet, by observing the tune,

and with a little alertness, I hope to come off pretty well; besides,

Miss Hamilton will take care that too much attention shall not be paid to

me. As for my dress, I shall send Termes off tomorrow morning; and if I

do not show you at his return the most splendid habit you have ever seen,

look upon mine as the most disgraced nation in your masquerade."

Termes set out with ample instructions, on the subject of his journey:

and his master, redoubling his impatience on an occasion like the

present, before the courier could be landed, began to count the minutes

in expectation of his return: thus was he employed until the very eve of

the ball; and that was the day that Miss Hamilton and her little society

had fixed for the execution of their project.

Martial gloves were then very much in fashion: she had by chance several

pairs of them: she sent one to Miss Blague, accompanied with four yards

of yellow riband, the palest she could find, to which she added this

note:

"You were the other day more charming than all the fair women in the

world: you looked yesterday still more fair than you did the day before:

if you go on, what will become of my heart? But it is a long time since

that has been a prey to your pretty little young wild boar's eyes. Shall

you be at the masquerade to-morrow? But can there be any charms at an

entertainment, at which you are not present? It does not signify: I

shall know you in whatever disguise you may be: but I shall be better

informed of my fate, by the present I send you: you will wear knots of

this riband in your hair; and these gloves will kiss the most beautiful

hands in the universe."

This billet, with the present, was delivered to Miss Blague with the same

success as the other had been conveyed to Lady Muskerry. Miss Hamilton

had just received an account of it, when the latter came to pay her a

visit: something seemed to possess her thoughts very much; when, having

stayed some time, her cousin desired her to walk into her cabinet. As

soon as they were there: "I desire your secrecy for what I am going to

tell you," said Lady Muskerry. "Do not you wonder what strange creatures

men are? Do not trust to them, my dear cousin: my Lord Muskerry, who,

before our marriage, could have passed whole days and nights in seeing me

dance, thinks proper now to forbid me dancing, and says it does not

become me. This is not all: he has so often rung in my ears the subject

of this masquerade, that I am obliged to hide from him the honour the

queen has done me, in inviting me to it. However, I am surprised I am

not informed who is to be my partner: but if you knew what a plague it

is, to find out, in this cursed town, in what manner the people of

Babylon dress, you would pity me for what I have suffered since the time

I have been appointed: besides, the cost which it puts me to is beyond

all imagination."

Here it was that Miss Hamilton's inclination to laugh, which had

increased in proportion as she endeavoured to suppress it, at length

overcame her, and broke out in an immoderate fit: Lady Muskerry took it

in good humour, not doubting but it was the fantastical conduct of her

husband that she was laughing at. Miss Hamilton told her that all

husbands were much the same, and that one ought not to be concerned at

their whims; that she did not know who was to be her partner at the

masquerade; but that, as she was named, the gentleman named with her

would certainly not fail to attend her; although she could not comprehend

why he had not yet declared himself, unless he likewise had some

fantastical spouse, who had forbid him to dance.

This conversation being finished, Lady Muskerry went away in great haste,

to endeavour to learn some news of her partner. Those who were

accomplices in the plot were laughing very heartily at this visit, when

Lord Muskerry paid them one in his turn, and taking Miss Hamilton aside:

"Do you know," said he, "whether there is to be any ball in the city

tomorrow?" "No," said she; "but why do you ask?" "Because." said he,

"I am informed that my wife is making great preparations of dress. I

know very well she is not to be at the masquerade: that I have taken care

of; but as the devil is in her for dancing, I am very much afraid that

she will be affording some fresh subject for ridicule, notwithstanding

all my precautions: however, if it was amongst the citizens, at some

private party, I should not much mind it."

They satisfied him as well as they could, and having dismissed him, under

pretence of a thousand things they had to prepare for the next day, Miss

Hamilton thought herself at liberty for that morning, when in came Miss

Price, one of the maids of honour to the Duchess. This was just what she

was wishing for: This lady and Miss Blague had been at variance some

time, on account of Duncan, whom Miss Price had drawn away from the

other; and hatred still subsisted between these two divinities.

Though the maids of honour were not nominated for the masquerade, yet

they were to assist at it; and, consequently, were to neglect nothing to

set themselves off to advantage. Miss Hamilton had still another pair of

gloves of the same sort as those she had sent to Miss Blague, which she

made a present of to her rival, with a few knots of the same riband,

which appeared to have been made on purpose for her, brown as she was.

Miss Price returned her a thousand thanks, and promised to do herself the

honour of wearing them at the ball. "You will oblige me if you do," said

Miss Hamilton, "but if you mention that such a trifle as this comes from

me, I shall never forgive you; but," continued she, "do not go and rob

poor Miss Blague of the Marquis Brisacier, as you already have of Duncan:

I know very well that it is wholly in your power: you have wit: you speak

French: and were he once to converse with you ever so little the other

could have no pretensions to him." This was enough: Miss Blague was only

ridiculous and coquettish: Miss Price was ridiculous, coquettish, and

something else besides.

The day being come, the court, more splendid than ever, exhibited all its

magnificence at this masquerade. The company were all met except the

Chevalier de Grammont: every body was astonished that he should be one

of the last at such a time, as his readiness was so remarkable on every

occasion; but they were still more surprised to see him at length appear

in an ordinary court-dress, which he had worn before. The thing was

preposterous on such an occasion, and very extraordinary with respect to

him: in vain had he the finest point-lace, with the largest and best

powdered peruke imaginable his dress, magnificent enough for any other

purpose, was not at all proper for this entertainment.

The king immediately took notice of it: "Chevalier," said he, "Termes is

not arrived then?" "Pardon me, sire," said he, "God be thanked!" "Why

God be thanked?" said the king; "has anything happened to him on the

road?" "Sire," said the Chevalier de Grammont, "this is the history of

my dress, and of Termes, my messenger." At these words the ball, ready

to begin, was suspended: the dancers making a circle around the Chevalier

de Grammont, he continued his story in the following manner:

"It is now two days since this fellow ought to have been here, according

to my orders and his protestations: you may judge of my impatience all

this day, when I found he did not come: at last, after I had heartily

cursed him, about an hour ago he arrived, splashed all over from head to

foot, booted up to the waist, and looking as if he had been

excommunicated 'Very well, Mr. Scoundrel,' said I, 'this is just like

you, you must be waited for to the very last minute, and it is a miracle

that you are arrived at all.' 'Yes, faith,' said he, 'it is a miracle.

You are always grumbling: I had the finest suit in the world made for

you, which the Duke de Guise himself was at the trouble of ordering.'

'Give it me then, scoundrel,' said I. 'Sir,' said he, 'if I did not

employ a dozen embroiderers upon it, who did nothing but work day and

night, I am a rascal: I never left them one moment: 'And where is it

traitor?' said I: 'do not stand here prating, while I should be

dressing.' 'I had,' continued he, 'packed it up, made it tight, and

folded it in such a manner, that all the rain in the world could never

have been able to reach it; and I rid post, day and night, knowing your

impatience, and that you were not to be trifled with.' 'But where is

it?' said I. 'Lost, sir,' said he, clasping his hands. 'How! lost,'

said I, in surprise. 'Yes, lost, perished, swallowed up: what can I say

more?' 'What! was the packet-boat cast away then?' said I. 'Oh!

indeed, sir, a great deal worse, as you shall see,' answered he: 'I was

within half a league of Calais yesterday morning, and I was resolved to

go by the sea-side, to make greater haste; but, indeed, they say very

true, that nothing is like the highway; for I got into a quicksand, where

I sunk up to the chin.' 'A quicksand,' said I, 'near Calais?' 'Yes,

sir,' said he, 'and such a quicksand that, the devil take me, if they saw

anything but the top of my head when they pulled me out: as for my horse,

fifteen men could scarce get him out; but the portmanteau, where I had

unfortunately put your clothes, could never be found: it must be at least

a league under ground.'

"This, sire," continued the Chevalier de Grammont, "is the adventure, and

the relation which this honest gentleman has given me of it. I should

certainly have killed him, but I was afraid of making Miss Hamilton wait,

and I was desirous of giving your Majesty immediate advice of the

quicksand, that your couriers may take care to avoid it."

The King was ready to split his sides with laughing, when the Chevalier

de Grammont, resuming the discourse, "apropos, sire," said he, "I had

forgot to tell you, that, to increase my ill-humour, I was stopped, as I

was getting out of my chair, by the devil of a phantom in masquerade, who

would by all means persuade me that the queen had commanded me to dance

with her; and as I excused myself with the least rudeness possible, she

charged me to find out who was to be her partner, and desired me to send

him to her immediately so that your Majesty will do well to give orders

about it; for she has placed herself in ambush in a coach, to seize upon

all those who pass through Whitehall. However, I must tell you, that it

is worth while to see her dress; for she must have at least sixty ells of

gauze and silver tissue about her, not to mention a sort of a pyramid

upon her head, adorned with a hundred thousand baubles."

This last account surprised all the assembly, except those who had a

share in the plot. The queen assured them, that all she had appointed

for the ball were present; and the king, having paused some minutes:

"I bet," said he, "that it is the Duchess of Newcastle." "And I," said

Lord Muskerry, coming up to Miss Hamilton, "will bet it is another fool;

for I am very much mistaken if it is not my wife."

The king was for sending to know who it was, and to bring her in: Lord

Muskerry offered himself for that service, for the reason already

mentioned; and it was very well he did so. Miss Hamilton was not sorry

for this, knowing very well that he was not mistaken in his conjecture;

the jest would have gone much farther than she intended, if the Princess

of Babylon had appeared in all her glory.

The ball was not very well executed, if one maybe allowed the expression,

so long as they danced only slow dances; and yet there were as good

dancers, and as beautiful women in this assembly, as were to be found in

the whole world: but as their number was not great, they left the French,

and went to country dances. When they had danced some time, the king

thought fit to introduce his auxiliaries, to give the others a little

respite; the queen's and the duchess's maids of honour were therefore

called in to dance with the gentlemen.

Then it was that they were at leisure to take notice of Miss Blague, and

they found that the billet they had conveyed to her on the part of

Brisacier had its effect: she was more yellow than saffron: her hair was

stuffed with the citron-coloured riband, which she had put there out of

complaisance; and, to inform Brisacier of his fate, she raised often to

her head her victorious hands, adorned with the gloves we have before

mentioned: but, if they were surprised to see her in a head-dress that

made her look more wan than ever, she was very differently surprised to

see Miss Price partake with her in every particular of Brisacier's

present: her surprise soon turned to jealousy; for her rival had not

failed to join in conversation with him, on account of what had been

insinuated to her the evening before; nor did Brisacier fail to return

her first advances, without paying the least attention to the fair

Blague, nor to the signs which she was tormenting herself to make him,

to inform him of his happy destiny.

Miss Price was short and thick, and consequently no dancer, the Duke of

Buckingham, who brought Brisacier forward as often as he could, came to

desire him, on the part of the king, to dance with Miss Blague, without

knowing what was then passing in this nymph's heart: Brisacier excused

himself, on account of the contempt that he had for country dances: Miss

Blague thought that it was herself that he despised; and, seeing that he

was engaged in conversation with her mortal enemy, she began to dance,

without knowing what she was doing. Though her indignation and jealousy

were sufficiently remarkable to divert the court, none but Miss Hamilton

and her accomplices, understood the joke perfectly: their pleasure was

quite complete; for Lord Muskerry returned, still more confounded at the

vision, of which the Chevalier de Grammont had given the description. He

acquainted Miss Hamilton, that it was Lady Muskerry herself, a thousand

times more ridiculous than she had ever been before, and that he had had

an immense trouble to get her home, and place a sentry at her chamber

door.

The reader may think, perhaps, that we have dwelt too long on these

trifling incidents; perhaps he may be right. We will therefore pass to

others.

Everything favoured the Chevalier de Grammont in the new passion which he

entertained: he was not, however, without rivals; but, what is a great

deal more extraordinary, he was without uneasiness: he was acquainted

with their understandings, and no stranger to Miss Hamilton's way of

thinking.

Among her lovers, the most considerable, though the least professedly so,

was the Duke of York: it was in vain for him to conceal it, the court was

too well acquainted with his character to doubt of his inclinations for

her. He did not think it proper to declare such sentiments as were not

fit for Miss Hamilton to hear; but he talked to her as much as he could,

and ogled her with great assiduity. As hunting was his favourite

diversion, that sport employed him one part of the day, and he came home

generally much fatigued; but Miss Hamilton's presence revived him, when

he found her either with the queen or the duchess. There it was that,

not daring to tell her of what lay heavy on his heart, he entertained her

with what he had in his head: telling her miracles of the cunning of

foxes and the mettle of horses; giving her accounts of broken legs and

arms, dislocated shoulders, and other curious and entertaining

adventures; after which, his eyes told her the rest, till such time as

sleep interrupted their conversation; for these tender interpreters could

not help sometimes composing themselves in the midst of their ogling.

The duchess was not at all alarmed at a passion which her rival was far

from thinking sincere, and with which she used to divert herself, as far

as respect would admit her; on the contrary, as her highness had an

affection and esteem for Miss Hamilton, she never treated her more

graciously than on the present occasion.

The two Russells, uncle and nephew,--were two other of the Chevalier de

Grammont's rivals: the uncle was full seventy, and had distinguished

himself by his courage and fidelity in the civil wars. His passions and

intentions, with regard to Miss Hamilton, appeared both at once; but his

magnificence only appeared by halves in those gallantries which love

inspires. It was not long since the fashion of high crowned hats had

been left off, in order to fall into the other extreme. Old Russell,

amazed at so terrible a change, resolved to keep a medium, which made him

remarkable: he was still more so, by his constancy for cut doublets,

which he supported a long time after they had been universally

suppressed; but, what was more surprising than all, was a certain mixture

of avarice and liberality, constantly at war with each other, ever since

he had entered the list with love.

His nephew was only of a younger brother's family, but was considered as

his uncle's heir; and though he was under the necessity of attending to

his uncle for an establishment, and still more so of humouring him, in

order to get his estate, he could not avoid his fate. Mrs. Middleton

showed him a sufficient degree of preference; but her favours could not

secure him from the charms of Miss Hamilton: his person would have had

nothing disagreeable in it, if he had but left it to nature; but he was

formal in all his actions, and silent even to stupidity; and yet rather

more tiresome when he did speak.

The Chevalier de Grammont, very much at his ease in all these

competitions, engaged himself more and more in his passion, without

forming other designs, or conceiving other hopes, than to render himself

agreeable. Though his passion was openly declared, no person at court

regarded it otherwise than as a habit of gallantry, which goes no farther

than to do justice to merit.

His monitor, Saint Evremond, was quite of a different opinion; and

finding, that, besides an immense increase of magnificence and assiduity,

he regretted those hours which he bestowed on play; that he no longer

sought after those long and agreeable conversations they used to have

together; and that this new attachment everywhere robbed him of himself:

"Monsieur le Chevalier," said he, "methinks that for some time you have

left the town beauties and their lovers in perfect repose: Mrs. Middleton

makes fresh conquests with impunity, and wears your presents, under your

nose, without your taking the smallest notice. Poor Miss Warmestre has

been very quietly brought to bed in the midst of the court, without your

having even said a word about it. I foresaw it plain enough, Monsieur le

Chevalier, you have got acquainted with Miss Hamilton, and, what has

never before happened to you, you are really in love; but let us consider

a little what may be the consequence. In the first place, then, I

believe, you have not the least intention of seducing her: such is her

birth and merit, that if you were in possession of the estate and title

of your family, it might be excusable in you to offer yourself upon

honourable terms, however ridiculous marriage may be in general; for, if

you only wish for wit, prudence, and the treasures of beauty, you could

not pay your addresses to a more proper person: but for you, who possess

only a very moderate share of those of fortune, you cannot pay your

addresses more improperly.

"For your brother Toulongeon, whose disposition I am acquainted with, will

not have the complaisance to die, to favour your pretensions: but suppose

you had a competent fortune for you both--and that is supposing a good

deal--are you acquainted with the delicacy, not to say capriciousness, of

this fair one about such an engagement? Do you know that she has had the

choice of the best matches in England? The Duke of Richmond paid his

addresses to her first; but though he was in love with her, still he was

mercenary: however, the king, observing that want of fortune was the only

impediment to the match, took that article upon himself, out of regard to

the Duke of Ormond, to the merit and birth of Miss Hamilton, and to her

father's services; but, resenting that a man, who pretended to be in

love, should bargain like a merchant, and likewise reflecting upon his

character in the world, she did not think that being Duchess of Richmond

was a sufficient recompense for the danger that was to be feared from a

brute and a debauchee.

"Has not little Jermyn, notwithstanding his uncle's great estate, and his

own brilliant reputation, failed in his suit to her? And has she ever so

much as vouchsafed to look at Henry Howard, who is upon the point of

being the first duke in England, and who is already in actual possession

of all the estates of the house of Norfolk? I confess that he is a

clown, but what other lady in all England would not have dispensed with

his stupidity and his disagreeable person, to be the first duchess in the

kingdom, with twenty-five thousand a year?

"To conclude, Lord Falmouth has told me himself, that he has always

looked upon her as the only acquisition wanting to complete his

happiness: but, that even at the height of the splendour of his fortune,

he never had had the assurance to open his sentiments to her; that he

either felt in himself too much weakness, or too much pride, to be

satisfied with obtaining her solely by the persuasion of her relations;

and that, though the first refusals of the fair on such occasions are not

much minded, he knew with what an air she had received the addresses of

those whose persons she did not like. After this, Monsieur le Chevalier,

consider what method you intend to pursue: for, if you are in love, the

passion will still increase, and the greater the attachment, the less

capable will you be of making those serious reflections that are now in

your power."

"My poor philosopher," answered the Chevalier de Grammont, "you

understand Latin very well, you can make good verses, you understand the

course, and are acquainted with the nature of the stars in the firmament;

but, as for the luminaries of the terrestrial globe, you are utterly

unacquainted with them: you have told me nothing about Miss Hamilton, but

what the king told me three days ago. That she has refused the savages

you have mentioned is all in her favour if she had admitted their

addresses, I would have had nothing to say to her, though I love her

to distraction. Attend now to what I am going to say: I am resolved

to marry her, and I will have my tutor Saint Evremond himself to be the

first man to commend me for it. As for an establishment, I shall make my

peace with the king, and will solicit him to make her one of the ladies

of the bed-chamber to the queen: this he will grant me. Toulongeon will

die, without my assistance.

[Count de Toulongeon was elder brother to Count Grammont, who, by

his death, in 1679, became, according to St. Evremond, on that

event, one of the richest noblemen at court.--See St. Evremond's

Works. vol. ii., p. 327.]

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

seat belonging to the family of the Grammonts.]--with the Chevalier de

Grammont, as an indemnification for the Norfolks and Richmonds. Now,

have you any thing to advance against this project? For I will bet you

an hundred louis, that everything will happen as I have foretold it."

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

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

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

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

The Duke of Buckingham formed the design of governing her, in order to

ingratiate himself with the king: God knows what a governor he would have

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

he was the properest man in the world to insinuate himself with Miss

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

and her taste for frivolous amusements, though unaffected, was only

allowable in a girl about twelve or thirteen years old. A child,

however, she was, in every other respect, except playing with a doll:

blind man's buff was her most favourite amusement: she was building

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

talent consisted in turning into ridicule whatever was ridiculous in

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

made him mistake some civilities as intended for his person, which were

only bestowed on his wit and drollery: in short, being seduced by too

good an opinion of his own merit, he forgot his first project and his

Portuguese mistress, in order to pursue a fancy in which he mistook

himself; for he no sooner began to act a serious part with Miss Stewart,

than he met with so severe a repulse that he abandoned, at once, all his

designs upon her: however, the familiarity she had procured him with the

king, opened the way to those favours to which he was afterwards

advanced.

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

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

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

presbyterian Fairfax and the dissolute Charles; when he alike

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

character."]

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

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

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

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

fortune he had already acquired. His first negotiations were during the

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

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

perfectly acquired, in his exterior, the serious air and profound gravity

of the Spaniards, and imitated pretty well their tardiness in business:

he had a scar across his nose, which was covered by a long patch, or

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

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

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

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

seemed an addition to his gravity and self-sufficiency.

Arlington, under the mask of this compound countenance where great

earnestness passed for business, and impenetrable stupidity for secrecy,

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

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

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

His ambition soaring still above these high stations, after having

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

his language exactly revived the ridiculous ideas that had been given her

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

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

suppress it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

in order to complete his felicity.

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

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

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

his intentions, and made him neglect the most advantageous prospects in

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

encouragement, he entertained no other thoughts than how to please her,

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

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

Arlington had an only daughter, named Isabella.]

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

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

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

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

she had done all that was necessary to inflame the king's passions, without

exposing her virtue by granting the last favours; but the eagerness of a

passionate lover, blessed with favourable opportunities, is difficult to

withstand, and still more difficult to vanquish; and Miss Stewart's

virtue was almost exhausted, when the queen was attacked with a violent

fever, which soon reduced her to extreme danger.

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

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

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

additional respect that was universally paid her, contributed not a

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

place to a consort who might be more worthy of it, and to whom heaven,

perhaps, might grant a blessing that had been refused to her. At these

words, she bathed his hands with some tears, which he thought would be

her last: he mingled his own with hers; and without supposing she would

take him at his word, he conjured her to live for his sake. She had

never yet disobeyed him; and, however dangerous sudden impulses may be,

when one is between life and death, this transport of joy, which might

have proved fatal to her, saved her life, and the king's wonderful

tenderness had an effect, for which every person did not thank heaven in

the same manner.

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

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

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

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

wholly possessed it. During this period the court was variously

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

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

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

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

river, as the city of London alone can afford.

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

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

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

palace the court used to take water, in the summer evenings, when the

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

open boats, filled with the court and city beauties, attended the barges,

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

completed the scene. The Chevalier de Grammont always made one of the

company, and it was very seldom that he did not add something of his own

invention, agreeably to surprise by some unexpected stroke of

magnificence and gallantry. Sometimes he had complete concerts of vocal

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

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

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

of London, surpassed the king's collations. These entertainments

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

always cost him an immense deal of money.

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

for the Chevalier de Grammont: this profusion gave him concern, and as he

often used to go and sup with him without ceremony, one day finding only

Saint Evremond there, and a supper fit for half a dozen guests, who had

been invited in form: "You must not," said he, addressing himself to the

Chevalier de Grammont, "be obliged to me for this visit. I come from the

king's 'coucher', where all the discourse was about you; and I can assure

you that the manner in which the king spoke of you, could not afford you

so much pleasure as I myself felt upon the occasion. You know very well,

that he has long since offered you his good offices with the King of

France; and for my own part," continued he, smiling, "you know very well

that I would solicit him so to do, if it was not through fear of losing

you as soon as your peace is made; but, thanks to Miss Hamilton, you

are in no great haste: however, I am ordered by the king, my master,

to acquaint you, that while you remain here, until you are restored to

the favour of your sovereign, he presents you with a pension of fifteen

hundred Jacobus's: it is indeed a trifle, considering the figure the

Chevalier de Grammont makes among us; but it will assist him," said he,

embracing him, "to give us sometimes a supper."

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

did not think proper to accept: "I acknowledge," said he, "the king's

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

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

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

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

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

supper."

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

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

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

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

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

the merit of such a refusal to the French court.

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

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

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

either sparkling eyes, or a splendid equipage, constantly repaired

thither; and the king seemed pleased with the place.

Coaches with glasses were then a late invention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

livery,) was come for me," &c.]

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

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

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

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

ingenious might be invented, which should partake of the ancient fashion,

and likewise prove preferable to the modern; he therefore sent away

Termes privately with all the necessary instructions to Paris: the Duke

of Guise was likewise charged with this commission; and the courier,

having by the favour of Providence escaped the quicksand, in a month's

time brought safely over to England the most elegant and magnificent

calash that had ever been seen, which the Chevalier presented to the

king.

The Chevalier de Grammont had given orders that fifteen hundred louis

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

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

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

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

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

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

refuse another from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Castlemaine's rage was so great, that she had almost kept her word; and

it was believed that this triumph cost her rival some of her innocence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

nation of link-boys: it is a charming one, I can assure you: a man cannot

step out in the night without being surrounded by a dozen of them. The

first time I became acquainted with them, I retained all that offered me

their services; so that when I arrived at Whitehall, I had at least two

hundred about my chair: the sight was new; for those who had seen me pass

with this illumination, asked whose funeral it was. These gentlemen,

however, began fighting about some dozen shillings I had thrown among

them then; and he whom your Majesty mentions having beaten three or four

of his companions, I retained him for his valour. As for the parade of

coaches and footmen, I despise it: I have sometimes had five or six

valets-de-chambre at once, without having a single servant in livery,

except my chaplain Poussatin." "How!" said the queen, bursting out

laughing, "a chaplain in your livery! he surely was not a priest?"

"Pardon me, madam," said he, "and the first priest in the world for

dancing the Biscayan jig." "Chevalier," said the king, "pray tell us the

history of your chaplain Poussatin."

MEMOIRS OF COUNT GRAMMONT, VOLUME 4.

By Anthony Hamilton

EDITED, WITH NOTES, BY SIR WALTER SCOTT

CHAPTER EIGHTH.

FUNNY ADVENTURE OF THE CHAPLAIN POUSSATIN--THE STORY OF

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

OTHER DETAILS ABOUT THE ENGLISH COURT.

"Sir," said the Chevalier de Grammont, "the Prince de Conde besieged

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

defence, generally makes a very bad one, looked upon Gregorio de Brice's

politeness as no good omen for us; but the prince, covered with glory,

and elated with the campaigns of Rocroy, Norlinguen, and Fribourg, to

insult both the place and the governor, ordered the trenches to be

mounted at noon-day by his own regiment, at the head of which marched

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

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

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

were joking about the poor governor and his fortifications, both of which

we promised ourselves to take in less than twenty-four hours. This was

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

repeated two or three times, of, 'Alerte on the walls!' This cry was

followed by a discharge of cannon and musketry, and this discharge by a

vigorous sally, which, after having filled up the trenches, pursued us as

far as our grand guard.

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

to the Prince de Conde, humbly beseeching his highness to excuse his not

returning the serenade which he was pleased to favour him with, as

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

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

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

as his word; and as soon as we heard, 'Alerte on the walls,' we were sure

of a sally, that cleared our trenches, destroyed our works, and killed

the best of our officers and soldiers. The prince was so piqued at it,

that, contrary to the opinion of the general officers, he obstinately

persisted in carrying on a siege which was like to ruin his army, and

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

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

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

than sending a respectful compliment to the prince. Signor Brice set out

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

receive the recompense he had merited. Your majesty perhaps will be

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

King presently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

more severely handled. At last we arrived at Perpignan upon a holy-day:

a company of Catalans, who were dancing in the middle of the street, out

of respect to the prince came to dance under his windows: Monsieur

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

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

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

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

him, and inquired who he was: 'A poor priest, at your service, my lord,'

said he: 'my name is Poussatin, and Bearn is my native country: I was

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

march very well on foot; but since the war is happily concluded, if your

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

everywhere, and serve you faithfully.' 'Monsieur Poussatin,' said I, 'my

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

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

"The Prince de Conde, who was present at this conversation, was overjoyed

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

condition, I had no time to provide him with a proper habit at Perpignan;

but giving him a spare livery of one of the Marshal de Grammont's

servants, I made him get up behind the prince's coach, who was like to

die with laughing every time he looked at poor Poussatin's uncanonical

mien in a yellow livery.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

chaplain, and I have since been informed that Poussatin preached with the

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

parishioners."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

occasion."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tenderly than he usually did a rival.

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

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

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

he sometimes danced until he was almost exhausted: his mode of dancing

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

twenty years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

one day sent for, to go and play at Lady Castlemaine's, Russell seized

the opportunity, and addressing himself to Miss Hamilton, with less

embarrassment than is usual on such occasions, he made his declaration to

her in the following manner: "I am brother to the Earl of Bedford: I

command the regiment of guards: I have three thousand pounds a year, and

fifteen thousand in ready money: all which, madam, I come to present to

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

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

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

probability, cannot continue much longer, as I have had it for these last

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

to you, I shall propose it to your father, to whom I did not think it

right to apply before I was acquainted with your sentiments: my nephew

William is at present entirely ignorant of my intention; but I believe he

will not be sorry for it, though he will thereby see himself deprived of

a pretty considerable estate; for he has great affection for me, and

besides, he has a pleasure in paying his respects to you since he has

perceived my attachment. I am very much pleased that he should make his

court to me, by the attention he pays to you; for he did nothing but

squander his money upon that coquet Middleton, while at present he is at

no expense, though he frequents the best company in England."

Miss Hamilton had much difficulty to suppress her laughter during this

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

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

her, before he made any overtures to her relations: "It will be time

enough," said she, "to speak to them upon the subject at your return from

the waters; for I do not think it is at all probable that they will

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

their solicitations, your nephew William will take care to acquaint you;

therefore, you may set out whenever you think proper; but take care not

to injure your health by returning too soon."

The Chevalier de Grammont, having heard the particulars of this

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

it; though there were certain circumstances in the declaration,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

him, I neither fear him upon his own account, nor his uncle's; he is too

much in love himself to pay attention to the interests of another; and as

he has but one method of promoting his own, which is by sacrificing the

portrait, or some love-letters of Mrs. Middleton, I have it easily in my

power to counteract him in such kind of favours, though I confess I have

pretty well paid for them."

"Since your affairs proceed so prosperously with the Russells," said the

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your majesty's brother." "Hamilton, however," said the king, "does not

stand so much in need of assistance, in affairs of this nature, as the

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

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

as the complaisant Shrewsbury; though he well deserves the same fate."

Here follows a true description of Lord Chesterfield.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

been in her good graces prior to her marriage; and as neither of them

denied it, it was the more generally believed.

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

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

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

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

passionately in love: he had therefore married Lady Chesterfield without

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

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

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

much affected with his behaviour, and afterwards enraged at it; and, when

he began to give her proofs of his affection, she had the pleasure of

convincing him of her indifference.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

to make a conquest.

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

than to any other: she lived at the Duke of Ormond's, at Whitehall, where

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

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

husband's returning affection, wakened his natural inclination to

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he to remove every degree of suspicion from the Earl's mind: he pretended

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

passion for Lady Castlemaine: he complained of her caprice, and most

earnestly desired his advice how to succeed with a person whose

affections he alone had entirely possessed.

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

protection with greater sincerity than it had been demanded: Hamilton,

therefore, was no further embarrassed than to preserve Lady

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

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

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

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

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

favourable returns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

engaged her: however, he began to observe her with more circumspection,

when he found by his discoveries, that if she did not deceive him, at

least the desire of doing so was not wanting. This he took the liberty

of telling her of; but she answered him in so high a strain, and treated

what he said so much like a phantom of his own imagination, that he

appeared confused without being convinced: all the satisfaction he could

procure from her, was her telling him, in a haughty manner, that such

unjust reproaches as his ought to have had a better foundation.

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

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

gained possession of his lady's heart, he was satisfied; and without

teasing her with unnecessary reproaches, he only waited for an

opportunity to confound her, before he took his measures.

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

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

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

and spare nothing to preserve it.

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

retrospect of the amours of his Royal Highness, prior to the declaration

of his marriage, and particularly of what immediately preceded this

declaration. It is allowable sometimes to drop the thread of a

narrative, when real facts, not generally known, give such a variety upon

the digression as to render it excusable: let us see then how those

things happened.

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

deficient in none of those circumstances which render contracts of this

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

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

observed.

[The material facts in this narrative are confirmed by Lord

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

speak of the persons concerned in this infamous transaction without

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

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

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

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

of matrimony, was so far from repenting of it, that he seemed only to

wish for the King's restoration that he might have an opportunity of

declaring it with splendour; but when he saw himself enjoying a rank

which placed him so near the throne; when the possession of Miss Hyde

afforded him no new charms; when England, so abounding in beauties,

displayed all that was charming and lovely in the court of the King his

brother; and when he considered he was the only prince, who, from such

superior elevation, had descended so low, he began to reflect upon it.

On the one hand, his marriage appeared to him particularly ill suited in

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

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

circumstances, of the facility of succeeding: he looked upon his marriage

as an infringement of that duty and obedience he owed to the King; the

indignation with which the court, and even the whole kingdom, would

receive the account of his marriage presented itself to his imagination,

together with the impossibility of obtaining the King's consent to such

an act, which for a thousand reasons he would be obliged to refuse. On

the other hand, the tears and despair of poor Miss Hyde presented

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

the scruples of which began from that time to rise up against him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

sufficient grounds to come to a determination.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

unacquainted with the engagements his tenderness for her had induced him

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

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

exposed to court scandal, and as certain reports, whether false or true,

had been spread abroad on the subject of her conduct, he conjured them as

his friends, and charged them upon their duty, to tell him sincerely

everything they knew upon the subject, since he was resolved to make

their evidence the rule of his conduct towards her. They all appeared

rather reserved at first, and seemed not to dare to give their opinions

upon an affair of so serious and delicate a nature; but the Duke of York

having renewed his entreaties, each began to relate the particulars of

what he knew, and perhaps of more than he knew, of poor Miss Hyde; nor

did they omit any circumstance necessary to strengthen the evidence. For

instance the Earl of Arran, who spoke first, deposed, that in the gallery

at Honslaerdyk, where the Countess of Ossory, his sister-in-law, and

Jermyn, were playing at nine-pins, Miss Hyde, pretending to be sick,

retired to a chamber at the end of the gallery; that he, the deponent,

had followed her, and having cut her lace, to give a greater probability

to the pretence of the vapours, he had acquitted himself to the best of

his abilities, both to assist and to console her.

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

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

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

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

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

a long time in disgrace.

Jermyn mentioned many places where he had received long and favourable

audiences: however, all these articles of accusation amounted only to

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

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

these trivial depositions, boldly declared that he had had the honour of

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

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

manner, by the graceful and natural turn he could give it: he affirmed

that he had found the critical minute in a certain closet built over the

water, for a purpose very different from that of giving ease to the pains

of love: that three or four swans had been witnesses to his happiness,

and might perhaps have been witnesses to the happiness of many others, as

the lady frequently repaired to that place, and was particularly

delighted with it.