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

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

returned thanks to these officious informers for their frankness, ordered

them to be silent for the future upon what they had been telling him, and

immediately passed into the King's apartment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

with that serene and pleasant countenance with which men generally

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

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

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

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

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

astonishment, that in order to conceal it, they immediately fell on their

knees to kiss her hand, which she gave to them with as much majesty as if

she had been used to it all her life.

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

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

sincere.

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

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

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

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

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

only punishment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

philosophy among the men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

lover long to languish. Everything coincided with their wishes for some

time: Lord Carnegy, her husband, was in Scotland; but his father dying

suddenly, he as suddenly returned with the title of Southesk, which his

wife detested; but which she took more patiently than she received the

news of his return. Some private intimation had been given him of the

honour that was done him in his absence: nevertheless, he did not show

his jealousy at first; but, as he was desirous to be satisfied of the

reality of the fact, he kept a strict watch over his wife's actions. The

Duke of York and her ladyship had, for some time, been upon such terms of

intimacy, as not to pass their time in frivolous amusements; however, the

husband's return obliged them to maintain some decorum: he therefore

never went to her house, but in form, that is to say, always accompanied

by some friend or other, to give his amours at least the appearance of a

visit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

till he was going to his audience.

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

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

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

it, and whom he immediately heard coming upstairs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fine questions: Talbot, therefore, attended him downstairs as his friend;

and, as his humble servant, advised him to seek for a mistress elsewhere.

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

coach; and Talbot, overjoyed at the adventure, impatiently waited for the

duke's return, that he might acquaint him with it; but he was very much

surprised to find that the story afforded no pleasure to those who had

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

changed his name, as if only to draw him into such a confidence.

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

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

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

assassination or poison, he would have obtained some satisfaction upon

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

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

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

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

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

person for whom it was so industriously prepared.

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

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

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

suspecting some familiarities between the duke and his wife, had

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

would probably have been successful, if difficulties, almost

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

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

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

attendant on her person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fault if Lady Robarts, who was so worthy of being at court, was not

received into some considerable post, either about the queen or the

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

temptations, nor could ever the old fellow be persuaded to be made a

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

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

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

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

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

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

in London, after his departure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

sequel of her adventures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

very indiscreetly afterwards, despising Miss Stewart. As soon,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the following manner.

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

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

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

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

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

jealous husbands, nor even their wives: every part abounded with the most

poignant wit, and the most entertaining stories; but his most delicate

and spirited raillery turned generally against matrimony; and, as if he

wished to confirm, by his own example, the truth of what he had written

in his youth, he married, at the age of seventy-nine, this Miss Brook of

whom we are speaking, who was only eighteen.

The Duke of York had rather neglected her for some time before; but the

circumstance of so unequal a match rekindled his ardour; and she, on her

part, suffered him to entertain hopes of an approaching bliss, which a

thousand considerations had opposed before her marriage: she wished to

belong to the court; and for the promise of being made lady of the

bedchamber to the duchess, she was upon the point of making him another

promise, or of immediately performing it, if required, when, in the

middle of this treaty, Lady Chesterfield was tempted, by her evil genius,

to rob her of her conquest, in order to disturb all the world.

However, as Lady Chesterfield could not see the Duke of York, except

in public assemblies, she was under the necessity of making the most

extravagant advances, in order to seduce him from his former connection;

and as he was the most unguarded ogler of his time, the whole court was

informed of the intrigue before it was well begun.

Those who appeared the most attentive to their conduct were not the least

interested in it. Hamilton and Lord Chesterfield watched them narrowly;

but Lady Denham, vexed that Lady Chesterfield should have stepped in

before her, took the liberty of railing against her rival with the

greatest bitterness. Hamilton had hitherto flattered himself that vanity

alone had engaged Lady Chesterfield in this adventure; but he was soon

undeceived, whatever her indifference might have been when she first

commenced this intrigue. We often proceed farther than we at first

intended, when we indulge ourselves in trifling liberties which we think

of no consequence; for though perhaps the heart takes no part at the

beginning, it seldom fails to be engaged in the end.

The court, as we have mentioned before, was an entire scene of gallantry

and amusements, with all the politeness and magnificence which the

inclinations of a prince naturally addicted to tenderness and pleasure,

could suggest: the beauties were desirous of charming, and the men

endeavoured to please: all studied to set themselves off to the best

advantage: some distinguished themselves by dancing; others by show and

magnificence; some by their wit, many by their amours, but few by their

constancy. There was a certain Italian at court, famous for the guitar:

he had a genius for music, and he was the only man who could make

anything of the guitar: his style of play was so full of grace and

tenderness, that he would have given harmony to the most discordant

instruments. The truth is, nothing was so difficult as to play like

this foreigner. The king's relish for his compositions had brought the

instrument so much into vogue, that every person played upon it, well or

ill; and you were as sure to see a guitar on a lady's toilet as rouge or

patches. The Duke of York played upon it tolerably well, and the Earl of

Arran like Francisco himself. This Francisco had composed a saraband,

which either charmed or infatuated every person; for the whole guitarery

at court were trying at it; and God knows what an universal strumming

there was. The Duke of York, pretending not to be perfect in it, desired

Lord Arran to play it to him. Lady Chesterfield had the best guitar in

England. The Earl of Arran, who was desirous of playing his best,

conducted his Royal Highness to his sister's apartments: she was lodged

at court, at her father's, the Duke of Ormond's; and this wonderful

guitar was lodged there too. Whether this visit had been preconcerted

or not, I do not pretend to say; but it is certain that they found both

the lady and the guitar at home: they likewise found there Lord

Chesterfield, so much surprised at this unexpected visit, that it was a

considerable time before he thought of rising from his seat to receive

them with due respect.

Jealousy, like a malignant vapour, now seized upon his brain: a thousand

suspicions, blacker than ink, took possession of his imagination, and

were continually increasing; for, whilst the brother played upon the

guitar to the duke, the sister ogled and accompanied him with her eyes,

as if the coast had been clear, and no enemy to observe them. This

saraband was at least repeated twenty times: the duke declared it was

played to perfection: Lady Chesterfield found fault with the composition;

but her husband, who clearly perceived that he was the person played

upon, thought it a most detestable piece. However, though he was in the

last agony at being obliged to curb his passion while others gave a free

scope to theirs, he was resolved to find out the drift of the visit; but

it was not in his power: for, having the honour to be chamberlain to the

queen, a messenger came to require his immediate attendance on her

majesty. His first thought was to pretend sickness: the second to

suspect that the queen, who sent for him at such an unseasonable time,

was in the plot; but at last, after all the extravagant ideas of a

suspicious man, and all the irresolutions of a jealous husband, he was

obliged to go.

We may easily imagine what his state of mind was when he arrived at the

palace. Alarms are to the jealous what disasters are to the unfortunate:

they seldom come alone, but form a series of persecution. He was

informed that he was sent for to attend the queen at an audience she gave

to seven or eight Muscovite ambassadors: he had scarce begun to curse the

Muscovites, when his brother-in-law appeared, and drew upon himself all

the imprecations he bestowed upon the embassy: he no longer doubted his

being in the plot with the two persons he had left together, and in his

heart sincerely wished him such recompense for his good offices as such

good offices deserved. It was with great difficulty that he restrained

himself from immediately acquainting him what was his opinion of such

conduct: he thought that what he had already seen was a sufficient proof

of his wife's infidelity; but before the end of the very same day, some

circumstances occurred which increased his suspicions, and persuaded him

that they had taken advantage of his absence, and of the honourable

officiousness of his brother-in-law. He passed, however, that night with

tranquillity; but the next morning, being reduced to the necessity either

of bursting or giving vent to his sorrows and conjectures, he did nothing

but think and walk about the room until Park-time. He went to court,

seemed very busy, as if seeking for some person or other, imagining that

people guessed at the subject of his uneasiness: he avoided everybody,

but at length meeting with Hamilton, he thought he was the very man that

he wanted; and, having desired him to take an airing with him in Hyde

Park, he took him up in his coach, and they arrived at the Ring, without

a word having passed between them.

Hamilton, who saw him as yellow as jealousy itself, and particularly

thoughtful, imagined that he had just discovered what all the world had

perceived long before; when Chesterfield, after a broken, insignificant

preamble, asked him how he succeeded with Lady Castlemaine. Hamilton,

who very well saw that he meant nothing by this question, nevertheless

thanked him; and as he was thinking of an answer: "Your cousin," said the

earl, "is extremely coquettish, and I have some reason to suppose she is

not so prudent as she ought to be." Hamilton thought the last charge a

little too severe; and as he was endeavouring to refute it: "Good God!"

said my lord, "you see, as well as the whole court, what airs she gives

herself: husbands are always the last people that are spoken to about

those affairs that corcern them the most; but they are not always the

last to perceive it themselves: though you have made me your confidant

in other matters, yet I am not at all surprised you have concealed this

from me; but as I flatter myself with having some share in your esteem,

I should be sorry you should think me such a fool as to be incapable of

seeing, though I am so complaisant as not to express my sentiments:

nevertheless, I find that affairs are now carried on with such barefaced

boldness, that at length I find I shall be forced to take some course or

other. God forbid that I should act the ridiculous part of a jealous

husband: the character is odious; but then I do not intend, through an

excess of patience, to be made the jest of the town. Judge, therefore,

from what I am going to tell you, whether I ought to sit down

unconcerned, or whether I ought to take measures for the preservation

of my honour.

"His royal highness honoured me yesterday by a visit to my wife."

Hamilton started at this beginning. "Yes," continued the other, "he did

give himself that trouble, and Lord Arran took upon himself that of

bringing him: do not you wonder, that a man of his birth should act such

a part? What advancement can he expect from one who employs him in such

base services? But we have long known him to be one of the silliest

creatures in England, with his guitar, and his other whims and follies."

Chesterfield, after this short sketch of his brother-in-law's merit,

began to relate the observations he had made during the visit, and asked

Hamilton what he thought of his cousin Arran, who had so obligingly left

them together. "This may appear surprising to you," continued he, "but

hear me out, and judge whether I have reason to think that the close of

this pretty visit passed in perfect innocence. Lady Chesterfield is

amiable, it must be acknowledged; but she is far from being such a

miracle of beauty as she supposes herself: you know she has ugly feet;

but perhaps you are not acquainted that she has still worse legs."

"Pardon me," said Hamilton, within himself: and the other continuing the

description: "Her legs," said his lordship, "are short and thick; and, to

remedy these defects as much as possible, she seldom wears any other than

green stockings."

Hamilton could not for his life imagine the drift of all this discourse,

and Chesterfield, guessing his thoughts: "Have a little patience," said

he: "I went yesterday to Miss Stewart's, after the audience of those

damned Muscovites: the king arrived there just before me; and as if the

duke had sworn to pursue me wherever I went that day, he came in just

after me. The conversation turned upon the extraordinary appearance of

the ambassadors. I know not where that fool Crofts had heard that all

these Muscovites had handsome wives; and that all their wives had

handsome legs. Upon this the king maintained that no woman ever had

such handsome legs as Miss Stewart; and she, to prove the truth of his

majesty's assertion, with the greatest imaginable ease, immediately

shewed her leg above the knee. Some were ready to prostrate themselves,

in order to adore its beauty; for indeed none can be handsomer; but the

duke alone began to criticise upon it. He contended that it was too

slender, and that as for himself he would give nothing for a leg that was

not thicker and shorter, and concluded by saying that no leg was worth

anything without green stockings. Now this, in my opinion, was a

sufficient demonstration that he had just seen green stockings, and had

them fresh in his remembrance."

Hamilton was at a loss what countenance to put on during a narrative

which raised in him nearly the same conjectures; he shrugged up his

shoulders, and faintly said that appearances were often deceitful; that

Lady Chesterfield had the foible of all beauties, who place their merit

on the number of their admirers; and whatever airs she might imprudently

have given herself, in order not to discourage his royal highness, there

was no ground to suppose that she would indulge him in any greater

liberties to engage him: but in vain was it that he endeavoured to give

that consolation to his friend which he did not feel himself.

Chesterfield plainly perceived he did not think of what he was saying;

however, he thought himself much obliged to him for the interest he

seemed to take in his concerns.

Hamilton was in haste to go home to vent his spleen and resentment in a

letter to his cousin. The style of this billet was very different from

those which he formerly was accustomed to write to her: reproaches,

bitter expostulations, tenderness, menaces, and all the effusions of a

lover who thinks he has reason to complain, composed this epistle; which,

for fear of accidents, he went to deliver himself.

Never did she before appear so lovely, and never did her eyes speak so

kindly to him as at this moment: his heart quite relented; but he was

determined not to lose all the fine things he had said in his letter.

In receiving it, she squeezed his hand: this action completely disarmed

him, and he would have given his life to have had his letter again. It

appeared to him at this instant that all the grievances he complained of

were visionary and groundless: he looked upon her husband as a madman and

an impostor, and quite the reverse of what he supposed him to be a few

minutes before; but this remorse came a little too late: he had delivered

his billet, and Lady Chesterfield had shewn such impatience and eagerness

to read it as soon as she had got it that all circumstances seemed to

conspire to justify her, and to confound him. She managed to get quit,

some way or other, of some troublesome visitors, to slip into her closet.

He thought himself so culpable that he had not the assurance to wait her

return: he withdrew with the rest of the company; but he did not dare to

appear before her the next day, to have an answer to his letter: however,

he met her at court; and this was the first time, since the commencement

of their amour, that he did not seek for her. He stood at a distance,

with downcast looks, and appeared in such terrible embarrassment that his

condition was sufficient to raise laughter or to cause pity, when Lady

Chesterfield approaching, thus accosted him: "Confess," said she, "that

you are in as foolish a situation as any man of sense can be: you wish

you had not written to me: you are desirous of an answer: you hope for

none: yet you equally wish for and dread it: I have, however, written you

one." She had not time to say more; but the few words she had spoken

were accompanied with such an air, and such a look, as to make him

believe that it was Venus with all her graces who had addressed him. He

was near her when she sat down to cards, and as he was puzzling himself

to devise by what means he should get this answer, she desired him to lay

her gloves and fan down somewhere: he took them, and with them the billet

in question; and as he had perceived nothing severe or angry in the

conversation he had with her, he hastened to open her letter, and read as

follows:

"Your transports are so ridiculous that it is doing you a favour to

attribute them to an excess of tenderness, which turns your head: a man,

without doubt, must have a great inclination to be jealous, to entertain

such an idea of the person you mention. Good God! what a lover to have

caused uneasiness to a man of genius, and what a genius to have got the

better of mine! Are not you ashamed to give any credit to the visions of

a jealous fellow who brought nothing else with him from Italy? Is it

possible that the story of the green stockings, upon which he has founded

his suspicions, should have imposed upon you, accompanied as it is with

such pitiful circumstances? Since he has made you his confidant, why did

not he boast of breaking in pieces my poor harmless guitar? This

exploit, perhaps, might have convinced you more than all the rest:

recollect yourself, and if you are really in love with me, thank fortune

for a groundless jealousy, which diverts to another quarter the attention

he might pay to my attachment for the most amiable and the most dangerous

man of the court."

Hamilton was ready to weep for joy at these endearing marks of kindness,

of which he thought himself so unworthy he was not satisfied with

kissing, in raptures, every part of this billet; he also kissed several

times her gloves and her fan. Play being over, Lady Chesterfield

received them from his hands, and read in his eyes the joy that her

billet had raised in his heart. Nor was he satisfied with expressing his

raptures, only by looks: he hastened home, and wrote to her at least four

times as much. How different was this letter from the other! Though

perhaps not so well written; for one does not show so much wit in suing

for pardon, as in venting reproaches, and it seldom happens that the soft

languishing style of a love-letter is so penetrating as that of

invective.

Be that as it may, his peace was made: their past quarrel gave new life

to their correspondence; and Lady Chesterfield, to make him as easy as he

had before been distrustful expressed on every occasion a feigned

contempt for his rival, and a sincere aversion for her husband.

So great was his confidence in her, that he consented she should show in

public some marks of attention to the duke, in order to conceal as much

as possible their private intelligence. Thus, at this time nothing

disturbed his peace of mind, but his impatience of finding a favourable

opportunity for the completion of his desires: he thought it was in her

power to command it; but she excused herself on account of several

difficulties which she enumerated to him, and which she was desirous he

should remove by his industry and attentions.

This silenced his complaints; but whilst he was endeavouring to surmount

these obstacles, still wondering how it was possible that two persons who

were so well disposed to each other, and who were agreed to make each

other happy, could not put their designs in execution, accident

discovered an unexpected adventure, which left him no room to doubt,

either of the happiness of his rival, or of the perfidy of his mistress.

Misfortunes often fall light when most feared; and frequently prove

heaviest when merited, and when least suspected. Hamilton was in the

middle of the most tender and passionate letter he had ever written to

Lady Chesterfield, when her husband came to announce to him the

particulars of this last discovery: he came so suddenly upon him, that he

had only just time to conceal his amorous epistle among his other papers.

His heart and mind were still so full of what he was writing to his

cousin, that her husband's complaints against her, at first, were scarce

attended to; besides, in his opinion, he had come in the most unfortunate

moment on all accounts.

He was, however, obliged to listen to him, and he soon entertained quite

different sentiments: he appeared almost petrified with astonishment,

while the earl was relating to him circumstances of such an extravagant

indiscretion, as seemed to him quite incredible, notwithstanding the

particulars of the fact. "You have reason to be surprised at it," said

my lord, concluding his story; "but if you doubt the truth of what I tell

you, it will be easy for you to find evidence that will convince you; for

the scene of their tender familiarities was no less public than the room

where the queen plays at cards, which while her majesty was at play, was,

God knows, pretty well crowded. Lady Denham was the first who discovered

what they thought would pass unperceived in the crowd; and you may very

well judge hew secret she would keep such a circumstance. The truth is,

she addressed herself to me first of all, as I entered the room, to tell

me that I should give my wife a little advice, as other people might take

notice of what I might see myself, if I pleased.

"Your cousin was at play, as I before told you: the duke was sitting next

to her: I know not what was become of his hand; but I am sure that no one

could see his arm below the elbow: I was standing behind them, just in

the place that Lady Denham had quitted: the duke turning round perceived

me, and was so much disturbed at my presence, that he almost undressed my

lady in pulling away his hand. I know not whether they perceived that

they were discovered; but of this I am convinced, that Lady Denham will

take care that everybody shall know it. I must confess to you, that my

embarrassment is so great, that I cannot find words to express what I now

feel: I should not hesitate one moment what course to take, if I might be

allowed to show my resentment against the person who has wronged me. As

for her, I could manage her well enough, if, unworthy as she is of any

consideration, I had not still some regard for an illustrious family,

that would be distracted were I to resent such an injury as it deserves.

In this particular you are interested yourself: you are my friend, and I

make you my confidant in an affair of the greatest imaginable delicacy:

let us then consult together what is proper to be done in so perplexing

and disagreeable a situation."

Hamilton, if possible, more astonished, and more confounded than himself,

was far from being in a proper state to afford him advice on the present

occasion: he listened to nothing but jealousy, and breathed nothing but

revenge; but these emotions being somewhat abated, in hopes that there

might be calumny, or at least exaggeration in the charges against Lady

Chesterfield, he desired her husband to suspend his resolutions, until he

was more fully informed of the fact; assuring him, however, that if he

found the circumstances such as he had related, he should regard and

consult no other interest than his.

Upon this they parted; and Hamilton found, on the first inquiry, that

almost the whole court was informed of the adventure, to which every one

added something in relating it. Vexation and resentment, inflamed his

heart, and by degrees extinguished every remnant of his former passion.

He might easily have seen her, and have made her such reproaches as a man

is generally inclined to do, on such occasions; but he was too much

enraged to enter into any detail which might have led to an explanation:

he considered himself as the only person essentially injured in this

affair; for he could never bring his mind to think that the injuries of

the husband could be placed in competition with those of the lover.

He hastened to Lord Chesterfield, in the transport of his passion, and

told him that he had heard enough to induce him to give such advice, as

he should follow himself in the same situation, and that if he wished to

save a woman so strongly prepossessed, and who perhaps had not yet lost

all her innocence, though she had totally lost her reason, he ought not

to delay one single instant, but immediately to carry her into the

country with the greatest possible expedition, without allowing her the

least time to recover her surprise.

Lord Chesterfield readily agreed to follow this advice, which he had

already considered as the only counsel a friend could give him; but his

lady who did not suspect he had made this last discovery of her conduct,

thought he was joking with her, when he told her to prepare for going

into the country in two days: she was the more induced to think so as it

was in the very middle of an extremely severe winter; but she soon

perceived that he was in earnest: she knew from the air and manner of her

husband that he thought he had sufficient reason to treat her in this

imperious style; and finding all her relations serious and cold to her

complaint, she had no hope left in this universally abandoned situation

but in the tenderness of Hamilton. She imagined she should hear from him

the cause of her misfortunes, of which she was still totally ignorant,

and that his love would invent some means or other to prevent a journey,

which she flattered herself would be even more affecting to him than to

herself; but she was expecting pity from a crocodile.

At last, when she saw the eve of her departure was come, that every

preparation was made for a long journey; that she was receiving farewell

visits in form, and that still she heard nothing from Hamilton, both her

hopes and her patience forsook her in this wretched situation. A few

tears perhaps might have afforded her some relief, but she chose rather

to deny herself that comfort, than to give her husband so much

satisfaction. Hamilton's conduct on this occasion appeared to her

unaccountable; and as he still never came near her, she found means

to convey to him the following billet.

"Is it possible that you should be one of those, who, without vouchsafing

to tell me for what crime I am treated like a slave, suffer me to be

dragged from society? What means your silence and indolence in a

juncture wherein your tenderness ought most particularly to appear, and

actively exert itself? I am upon the point of departing, and am ashamed

to think that you are the cause of my looking upon it with horror, as I

have reason to believe that you are less concerned at it than any other

person: do, at least, let me know to what place I am to be dragged; what

is to be done with me within a wilderness? and on what account you, like

all the rest of the world, appear changed in your behaviour towards a

person whom all the world could not oblige to change with regard to you,

if your weakness or your ingratitude did not render you unworthy of her

tenderness."

This billet did but harden his heart, and make him more proud of his

vengeance: he swallowed down full draughts of pleasure in beholding her

reduced to despair, being persuaded that her grief and regret for her

departure were on account of another person: he felt uncommon

satisfaction in having a share in tormenting her, and was particularly

pleased with the scheme he had contrived to separate her from a rival,

upon the very point perhaps of being made happy. Thus fortified as he

was against his natural tenderness, with all the severity of jealous

resentment, he saw her depart with an indifference which he did not even

endeavour to conceal from her: this unexpected treatment, joined to the

complication of her other misfortunes, had almost in reality plunged her

into despair.

The court was filled with the story of this adventure; nobody was

ignorant of the occasion of this sudden departure, but very few approved

of Lord Chesterfield's conduct. In England they looked with astonishment

upon a man who could be so uncivil as to be jealous of his wife; and in

the city of London it was a prodigy, till that time unknown, to see a

husband have recourse to violent means, to prevent what jealousy fears,

and what it always deserves. They endeavoured, however, to excuse poor

Lord Chesterfield, as far as they could safely do it, without incurring

the public odium, by laying all the blame on his bad education. This

made all the mothers vow to God that none of their sons should ever set a

foot in Italy, lest they should bring back with them that infamous custom

of laying restraint upon their wives.

MEMOIRS OF COUNT GRAMMONT, VOLUME 5.

By Anthony Hamilton

EDITED, WITH NOTES, BY SIR WALTER SCOTT

CHAPTER NINTH.

VARIOUS LOVE INTRIGUES AT THE ENGLISH COURT.

Every man who believes that his honour depends upon that of his wife is

a fool who torments himself, and drives her to despair; but he who, being

naturally jealous, has the additional misfortune of loving his wife, and

who expects that she should only live for him; is a perfect madman, whom

the torments of hell have actually taken hold of in this world, and whom

nobody pities. All reasoning and observation on these unfortunate

circumstances attending wedlock concur in this, that precaution is vain

and useless before the evil, and revenge odious afterwards.

The Spaniards, who tyrannise over their wives, more by custom than from

jealousy, content themselves with preserving the niceness of their honour

by duennas, grates, and locks.

The Italians, who are wary in their suspicions, and vindictive in their

resentments, pursue a different line of conduct: some satisfy themselves

with keeping their wives under locks which they think secure: others by

ingenious precautions exceed whatever the Spaniards can invent for

confining the fair sex but the generality are of opinion, that in either

unavoidable danger or in manifest transgression, the surest way is to

assassinate.

But, ye courteous and indulgent nations, who, far from admitting these

savage and barbarous customs, give full liberty to your dear ribs, and

commit the care of their virtue to their own discretion, you pass without

alarms or strife your peaceful days, in all the enjoyments of domestic

indolence!

It was certainly some evil genius that induced Lord Chesterfield to

distinguish himself from his patient and good-natured countrymen, and

ridiculously to afford the world an opportunity of examining into the

particulars of an adventure which would perhaps never have been known

without the verge of the court, and which would everywhere have been

forgotten in less than a month; but now, as soon as ever he had turned

his back, in order to march away with his prisoner, and the ornaments she

was supposed to have bestowed upon him, God only knows what a terrible

attack there was made upon his rear: Rochester, Middlesex, Sedley,

Etheredge, and all the whole band of wits, exposed him in numberless

ballads, and diverted the public at his expense.

The Chevalier de Grammont was highly pleased with these lively and

humorous compositions; and wherever this subject was mentioned, never

failed to produce his supplement upon the occasion: "It is strange," said

he, "that the country, which is little better than a gallows or a grave

for young people, is allotted in this land only for the unfortunate, and

not for the guilty! poor Lady Chesterfield, for some unguarded looks, is

immediately seized upon by an angry husband, who will oblige her to spend

her Christmas at a country-house, a hundred and fifty miles from London;

while here there are a thousand ladies who are left at liberty to do

whatever they please, and who indulge in that liberty, and whose conduct,

in short, deserves a daily bastinado. I name no person, God forbid I

should; but Lady Middleton, Lady Denham, the queen's and the duchess's

maids of honour, and a hundred others, bestow their favours to the right

and to the left, and not the least notice is taken of their conduct. As

for Lady Shrewsbury, she is conspicuous. I would take a wager she might

have a man killed for her every day, find she would only hold her head

the higher for it: one would suppose she imported from Rome plenary

indulgences for her conduct: there are three or four gentlemen who wear

an ounce of her hair made into bracelets, and no person finds any fault;

and yet shall such a cross-grained fool as Chesterfield be permitted to

exercise an act of tyranny, altogether unknown in this country, upon the

prettiest woman in England, and all for a mere trifle: but I am his

humble servant; his precautions will avail him nothing; on the contrary,

very often a woman, who had no bad intentions when she was suffered to

remain in tranquillity, is prompted to such conduct by revenge, or

reduced to it by necessity: this is as true as the gospel: hear now what

Francisco's saraband says on the subject:

"Tell me, jealous-paced swain,

What avail thy idle arts,

To divide united hearts?

Love, like the wind, I trow,

Will, where it listeth, blow;

So, prithee, peace, for all thy cares are vain.

"When you are by,

Nor wishful look, be sure, nor eloquent sigh,

Shall dare those inward fires discover,

Which burn in either lover

Yet Argus' self, if Argus were thy spy,

Should ne'er, with all his mob of eyes,

Surprise.

"Some joys forbidden,

Transports hidden,

Which love, through dark and secret ways,

Mysterious love, to kindred souls conveys."

The Chevalier de Grammont passed for the author of this sonnet: neither

the justness of the sentiment, nor turn of it, are surprisingly

beautiful; but as it contained some truths that flattered the genius of

the nation, and pleased those who interested themselves for the fair sex,

the ladies were all desirous of having it to teach their children.

During all this time the Duke of York, not being in the way of seeing

Lady Chesterfield, easily forgot her: her absence, however, had some

circumstances attending it which could not but sensibly affect the

person who had occasioned her confinement; but there are certain

fortunate tempers to which every situation is easy; they feel neither

disappointment with bitterness, nor pleasure with acuteness. In the mean

time, as the duke could not remain idle, he had no sooner forgotten Lady

Chesterfield, but he began to think of her whom he had been in love with

before, and was upon the point of relapsing into his old passion for Miss

Hamilton.

There was in London a celebrated portrait-painter called Lely, who had

greatly improved himself by studying the famous Vandyke's pictures, which

were dispersed all over England in abundance. Lely imitated Vandyke's

manner, and approached the nearest to him of all the moderns. The

Duchess of York, being desirous of having the portraits of the handsomest

persons at court, Lely painted them, and employed all his skill in the

performance; nor could he ever exert himself upon more beautiful

subjects. Every picture appeared a master-piece; and that of Miss

Hamilton appeared the highest finished: Lely himself acknowledged that he

had drawn it with a particular pleasure. The Duke of York took a delight

in looking at it, and began again to ogle the original: he had very

little reason to hope for success; and at the same time that his hopeless

passion alarmed the Chevalier de Grammont, Lady Denham thought proper to

renew the negotiation which had so unluckily been interrupted: it was

soon brought to a conclusion; for where both parties are sincere in a

negotiation, no time is lost in cavilling. Everything succeeded

prosperously on one side; yet, I know not what fatality obstructed the

pretensions of the other. The duke was very urgent with the duchess to

put Lady Denham in possession of the place which was the object of her

ambition; but as she was not guarantee for the performance of the secret

articles of the treaty, though till this time she had borne with patience

the inconstancy of the duke, and yielded submissively to his desires;

yet, in the present instance, it appeared hard and dishonourable to her,

to entertain near her person, a rival, who would expose her to the danger

of acting but a second part in the midst of her own court. However, she

saw herself upon the point of being forced to it by authority, when a far

more unfortunate obstacle for ever bereft poor Lady Denham of the hopes

of possessing that fatal place, which she had solicited with such

eagerness.

Old Denham, naturally jealous, became more and more suspicious, and found

that he had sufficient ground for such conduct: his wife was young and

handsome, he old and disagreeable: what reason then had he to flatter

himself that Heaven would exempt him from the fate of husbands in the

like circumstances? This he was continually saying to himself; but when

compliments were poured in upon him from all sides, upon the place his

lady was going to have near the duchess's person, he formed ideas of what

was sufficient to have made him hang himself, if he had possessed the

resolution. The traitor chose rather to exercise his courage against

another. He wanted precedents for putting in practice his resentments in

a privileged country: that of Lord Chesterfield was not sufficiently

bitter for the revenge he meditated: besides, he had no country-house to

which he could carry his unfortunate wife. This being the case, the old

villain made her travel a much longer journey without stirring out of

London. Merciless fate robbed her of life, and of her dearest hopes, in

the bloom of youth.

As no person entertained any doubt of his having poisoned her, the

populace of his neighbourhood had a design of tearing him in pieces, as

soon as he should come abroad; but he shut himself up to bewail her

death, until their fury was appeased by a magnificent funeral, at which

he distributed four times more burnt wine than had ever been drunk at any

burial in England.

[The lampoons of the day, some of which are to be found in Andrew

Marvell's Works, more than insinuate that she was deprived of life

by a mixture infused into some chocolate. The slander of the times

imputed her death to the jealousy of the Duchess of York.]

While the town was in fear of some great disaster, as an expiation for

these fatal effects of jealousy, Hamilton was not altogether so easy as

he flattered himself he should be after the departure of Lady

Chesterfield: he had only consulted the dictates of revenge in what he

had done. His vengeance was satisfied; but such was far from being the

case with his love; and having, since the absence of her he still

admired, notwithstanding his resentments, leisure to make those

reflections which a recent injury will not permit a man to attend to:

"And wherefore," said he to himself, "was I so eager to make her

miserable, who alone, however culpable she may be, has it in her power to

make me happy? Cursed jealousy!" continued he, "yet more cruel to those

who torment than to those who are tormented! What have I gained by

having blasted the hopes of a more happy rival, since I was not able to

perform this without depriving myself, at the same time, of her upon whom

the whole happiness and comfort of my life was centred."

Thus, clearly proving to himself, by a great many reasonings of the same

kind, and all out of season, that in such an engagement it was much

better to partake with another than to have nothing at all, he filled his

mind with a number of vain regrets and unprofitable remorse, when he

received a letter from her who occasioned them, but a letter so exactly

adapted to increase them, that, after he had read it, he looked upon

himself as the greatest scoundrel in the world. Here it follows:

"You will, no doubt, be as much surprised at this letter as I was at the

unconcerned air with which you beheld my departure. I am led to believe

that you had imagined reasons which, in your own mind, justified such

unseasonable conduct. If you are still under the impression of such

barbarous sentiments it will afford you pleasure to be made acquainted

with what I suffer in the most horrible of prisons. Whatever the country

affords most melancholy in this season presents itself to my view on all

sides: surrounded by impassable roads, out of one window I see nothing

but rocks, out of another nothing but precipices; but wherever I turn my

eyes within doors I meet those of a jealous husband, still more

insupportable than the sad objects that encompass me. I should add to

the misfortunes of my life that of seeming criminal in the eyes of a man

who ought to have justified me, even against convincing appearances, if

by my avowed innocence I had a right to complain or to expostulate: but

how is it possible for me to justify myself at such a distance; and how

can I flatter myself that the description of a most dreadful prison will

not prevent you from believing me? But do you deserve that I should wish

you did? Heavens! how I must hate you, if I did not love you to

distraction. Come, therefore, and let me once again see you, that you

may hear my justification; and I am convinced that if after this visit

you find me guilty it will not be with respect to yourself. Our Argus

sets out to-morrow for Chester, where a law-suit will detain him a week.

I know not whether he will gain it; but I am sure it will be entirely

your fault if he does not lose one, for which he is at least as anxious

as that he is now going after."

This letter was sufficient to make a man run blindfold into an adventure

still more rash than that which was proposed to him, and that was rash

enough in all respects: he could not perceive by what means she could

justify herself; but as she assured him he should be satisfied with his

journey, this was all he desired at present.

There was one of his relations with Lady Chesterfield, who, having

accompanied her in her exile, had gained some share in their mutual

confidence; and it was through her means he received this letter, with

all the necessary instructions about his journey and his arrival.

Secrecy being the soul of such expeditions, especially before an amour

is accomplished, he took post, and set out in the night, animated by the

most tender and flattering wishes, so that, in less than no time almost,

in comparison with the distance and the badness of the roads, he had

travelled a hundred and fifty tedious miles at the last stage he

prudently dismissed the post-boy. It was not yet daylight, and

therefore, for fear of the rocks and precipices mentioned in her letter,

he proceeded with tolerable discretion, considering he was in love.

By this means he fortunately escaped all the dangerous places, and,

according to his instructions, alighted at a little hut adjoining to the

park wall. The place was not magnificent; but, as he only wanted rest,

it did well enough for that: he did not wish for daylight, and was even

still less desirous of being seen; wherefore, having shut himself up in

this obscure retreat, he fell into a profound sleep, and did not wake

until noon. As he was particularly hungry when he awoke, he ate and

drank heartily: and, as he was the neatest man at court, and was expected

by the neatest lady in England, he spent the remainder of the day in

dressing himself, and in making all those preparations which the time and

place permitted, without deigning once to look around him, or to ask his

landlord a single question. At last the orders he expected with great

impatience were brought him, in the beginning of the evening, by a

servant, who, attending him as a guide, after having led him for about

half an hour in the dirt, through a park of vast extent, brought him at

last into a garden, into which a little door opened: he was posted

exactly opposite to this door, by which, in a short time, he was to be

introduced to a more agreeable situation; and here his conductor left

him. The night advanced, but the door never opened.

Though the winter was almost over, the cold weather seemed only to be

beginning: he was dirtied up to his knees in mud, and soon perceived that

if he continued much longer in this garden it would all be frozen. This

beginning of a very dark and bitter night would have been unbearable to

any other; but it was nothing to a man who flattered himself to pass the

remainder of it in the height of bliss. However, he began to wonder at

so many precautions in the absence of a husband his imagination, by a

thousand delicious and tender ideas supported him some time against the

torments of impatience and the inclemency of the weather; but he felt his

imagination, notwithstanding, cooling by degrees; and two hours, which

seemed to him as tedious as two whole ages, having passed, and not the

least notice being taken of him, either from the door or from the window,

he began to reason with himself upon the posture of his affairs, and what

was the fittest conduct for him to pursue in this emergency: "What if

I should rap at this cursed door," said he; "for if my fate requires that

I should perish, it is at least more honourable to die in the house than

to be starved to death in the garden but then," continued he, "I may,

thereby, perhaps, expose a person whom some unforeseen accident may, at

this very instant, have reduced to greater perplexity than even I myself

am in." This thought supplied him with a necessary degree of patience

and fortitude against the enemies he had to contend with; he therefore

began to walk quickly to and fro, with resolution to wait, as long as he

could keep alive, the end of an adventure which had such an uncomfortable

beginning. All this was to no purpose; for though he used every effort

to keep himself warm, and though muffled up in a thick cloak, yet he

began to be benumbed in all his limbs, and the cold gained the ascendancy

over all his amorous vivacity and eagerness. Daybreak was not far off,

and judging now that, though the accursed door should even be opened, it

would be to no purpose, he returned, as well as he could, to the place

from whence he had set out upon this wonderful expedition.

All the faggots that were in the cottage were hardly able to unfreeze

him: the more he reflected on his adventure, the circumstances attending

it appeared still the more strange and unaccountable; but so far from

accusing the charming countess, he suffered a thousand different

anxieties on her account. Sometimes he imagined that her husband might

have returned unexpectedly; sometimes, that she might suddenly have been

taken ill; in short, that some insuperable obstacle had unluckily

interposed, and prevented his happiness, notwithstanding his mistress's

kind intentions towards him. "But wherefore," said he, "did she forget

me in that cursed garden? Is it possible that she could not find a

single moment to make me at least, some sign or other, if she could

neither speak to me nor give me admittance?" He knew not which of these

conjectures to rely upon, or how to answer his own questions; but as he

flattered himself that everything would succeed better the next night,

after having vowed not to set a foot again into that unfortunate garden,

he gave orders to be awakened as soon as any person should inquire for

him: then he laid himself down in one of the worst beds in the world, and

slept as sound as if he had been in the best: he supposed that he should

not be awakened, but either by a letter or a message from Lady

Chesterfield; but he had scarce slept two hours when he was roused by the

sound of the horn and the cry of the hounds. The but which afforded him

a retreat, joining, as we before said, to the park wall, he called his

host, to know what was the occasion of that hunting, which made a noise

as if the whole pack of hounds had been in his bed-chamber. He was told

that it was my lord hunting a hare in his park. "What lord?" said he,

in great surprise. "The Earl of Chesterfield," replied the pea sant.

He was so astonished at this that at first he hid his head under the

bed-clothes, under the idea that he already saw him entering with all his

bounds; but as soon as he had a little recovered himself he began to

curse capricious fortune, no longer doubting but this jealous fool's

return had occasioned all his tribulations in the preceding night.

It was not possible for him to sleep again, after such an alarm; he

therefore got up, that he might revolve in his mind all the stratagems

that are usually employed either to deceive, or to remove out of the way,

a jealous scoundrel of a husband, who thought fit to neglect his law-suit

in order to plague his wife. He had just finished dressing himself, and

was beginning to question his landlord, when the same servant who had

conducted him to the garden delivered him a letter, and disappeared,

without waiting for an answer. This letter was from his relation, and

was to this effect:

"I am extremely sorry that I have innocently been accessary to bringing

you to a place, to which you were only invited to be laughed at: I

opposed this journey at first, though I was then persuaded it was wholly

suggested by her tenderness; but she has now undeceived me: she triumphs

in the trick she has played you: her husband has not stirred from hence,

but stays at home, out of complaisance to her: he treats her in the most

affectionate manner; and it was upon their reconciliation that she found

out that you had advised him to carry her into the country. She has

conceived such hatred and aversion against you for it, that I find, from

her discourse, she has not yet wholly satisfied her resentment. Console

yourself for the hatred of a person, whose heart never merited your

tenderness. Return: a longer stay in this place will but draw upon you

some fresh misfortune: for my part, I shall soon leave her: I know her,

and I thank God for it. I do not repent having pitied her at first; but

I am disgusted with an employment which but ill agrees with my way of

thinking."

Upon reading this letter, astonishment, shame, hatred, and rage, seized

at once upon his heart: then menaces, invectives, and the desire of

vengeance, broke forth by turns, and excited his passion and resentment;

but, after he deliberately considered the matter, he resolved that it was

now the best way quietly to mount his horse, and to carry back with him

to London a severe cold, instead of the soft wishes and tender desires he

had brought from thence. He quitted this perfidious place with much

greater expedition than he had arrived at it, though his mind was far

from being occupied with such tender and agreeable ideas: however, when

he thought himself at a sufficient distance to be out of danger of

meeting Lord Chesterfield and his hounds, he chose to look back, that

he might at least have the satisfaction of seeing the prison where this

wicked enchantress was confined; but what was his surprise, when he saw a

very fine house, situated on the banks of a river, in the most delightful

and pleasant country imaginable. Neither rock nor precipice was here to

be seen; for, in reality, they were only in the letter of his perfidious

mistress. This furnished fresh cause for resentment and confusion to a

man who thought himself so well acquainted with all the wiles, as well as

weaknesses, of the fair sex; and who now found himself the dupe of a

coquette, who was reconciled to her husband in order to be revenged on

her lover.

At last he reached London, well furnished with arguments to maintain that

a man must be extremely weak to trust to the tenderness of a woman who

has once deceived him, but that he must be a complete fool to run after

her.

This adventure not being much to his credit, he suppressed, as much as

possible, both the journey and the circumstances attending it; but, as we

may easily suppose, Lady Chesterfield made no secret of it, the king came

to the knowledge of it; and, having complimented Hamilton upon it,

desired to be informed of all the particulars of the expedition. The

Chevalier de Grammont happened to be present at this recital; and, having

gently inveighed against the treacherous manner in which he had been

used, said: "If she is to be blamed for carrying the jest so far, you

are no less to be blamed for coming back so suddenly, like an ignorant

novice. I dare lay an hundred guineas, she has more than once repented

of a resentment which you pretty well deserved for the trick you had

played her: women love revenge; but their resentments seldom last long;

and if you had remained in the neighbourhood till the next day, I will be

hanged if she would not have given you satisfaction for the first night's

sufferings." Hamilton being of a different opinion, the Chevalier de

Grammont resolved to maintain his assertion by a case in point; and,

addressing himself to the king: "Sir," said he, "your majesty, I suppose,

must have known Marion de l'Orme, the most charming creature in all

France: though she was as witty as an angel, she was as capricious as a

devil. This beauty having made me an appointment, a whim seized her to

put me off, and to give it to another; she therefore wrote me one of the

tenderest billets in the world, full of the grief and sorrow she was in,

by being obliged to disappoint me; on account of a most terrible

headache, that obliged her to keep her bed, and deprived her of the

pleasure of seeing me till the next day. This headache coming all of a

sudden, appeared to me very suspicious; and, never doubting but it was

her intention to jilt me: 'Very well, mistress coquette,' said I to

myself, 'if you do not enjoy the pleasure of seeing me this day, you

shall not enjoy the satisfaction of seeing another.'

"Hereupon, I detached all my servants, some of whom patrolled about her

house, whilst others watched her door; one of the latter brought me

intelligence that no person had gone into her house all the afternoon;

but that a foot-boy had gone out as it grew dark; that he followed him as

far as the Rue Saint Antoine, where this boy met another, to whom he only

spoke two or three words. This was sufficient to confirm my suspicions,

and make me resolve either to make one of the party, or to disconcert it.

[Marion de l'Orme, born at Chalons, in Champagne, was esteemed the

most beautiful woman of her times. It is believed that she was

secretly married to the unfortunate Monsieur Cinqmars. After his

death, she became the mistress of Cardinal Richelieu, and, at last,

of Monsieur d'Emery, superintendent of the finances.]

"As the bagnio where I lodged was at a great distance from the Marais, as

soon as the night set in I mounted my horse, without any attendant. When

I came to the Place-Royale, the servant, who was sentry there, assured me

that no person was yet gone into Mademoiselle de l'Orme's house: I rode

forward towards the Rue Saint Antoine; and, just as I was going out of

the Place-Royale, I saw a man on foot coming into it, who avoided me as

much as he possibly could; but his endeavour was all to no purpose; I

knew him to be the Duke de Brissac, and I no longer doubted but he was my

rival that night: I then approached towards him, seeming as if I feared I

mistook my man; and, alighting with a very busy air 'Brissac, my friend,'

said I, 'you must do me a service of the very greatest importance: I have

an appointment, for the first time, with a girl who lives very near this

place; and, as this visit is only to concert measures, I shall make but a

very short stay: be so kind, therefore, as to lend me your cloak, and

walk my horse about a little, until I return; but, above all, do not go

far from this place: you see that I use you freely like a friend; but you

know it is upon condition that you may take the same liberty with me.'

I took his cloak, without waiting for his answer, and he took my horse by

the bridle, and followed me with his eye; but he gained no intelligence

by this; for, after having pretended to go into a house opposite to him,

I slipped under the piazzas to Mademoiselle de l'Orme's, where the door

was opened as soon as I knocked. I was so much muffled up in Brissac's

cloak that I was taken for him: the door was immediately shut, not the

least question asked me; and having none to ask myself I went straight to

the lady's chamber. I found her upon a couch in the most agreeable and

genteelest deshabille imaginable: she never in her life looked so

handsome, nor was so greatly surprised; and, seeing her speechless and

confounded: 'What is the matter, my fair one?' said I, 'methinks this is

a headache very elegantly set off; but your headache, to all appearance,

is now gone?' 'Not in the least,' said she, 'I can scarce support it,

and you will oblige me in going away that I may go to bed.' 'As for your

going to bed, to that I have not the least objection,' said I, 'but as

for my going away, that cannot be, my little princess: the Chevalier de

Grammont is no fool; a woman does not dress herself with so much care for

nothing.' 'You will find, however,' said she, 'that it is for nothing;

for you may depend upon it that you shall be no gainer by it.' 'What!'

said I, 'after having made me an appointment!' 'Well,' replied she

hastily, 'though I had made you fifty, it still depends upon me, whether

I chose to keep them or not, and you must submit if I do not.' 'This

might do very well,' said I, 'if it was not to give it to another.'

Mademoiselle de l'Orme, as haughty as a woman of the greatest virtue,

and as passionate as one who has the least, was irritated at a suspicion

which gave her more concern than confusion; and seeing that she was

beginning to put herself in a passion: 'Madam,' said I, 'pray do not talk

in so high a strain; I know what perplexes you: you are afraid lest

Brissac should meet me here; but you may make yourself easy on that

account: I met him not far from this place, and God knows that I have so

managed the affair as to prevent his visiting you soon.' Having spoken

these words in a tone somewhat tragical, she appeared concerned at first,

and, looking upon me with surprise: 'What do you mean about the Duke de

Brissac?' said she. 'I mean,' replied I, 'that he is at the end of the

street, walking my horse about; but, if you will not believe me, send one

of your own servants thither, or look at his cloak which I left in your

ante-chamber.' Upon this she burst into a fit of laughter, in the midst

of her astonishment, and, throwing her arms around my neck, 'My dear

Chevalier,' said she, 'I can hold out no longer; you are too amiable and

too eccentric not to be pardoned.' I then told her the whole story: she

was ready to die with laughing; and, parting very good friends, she

assured me my rival might exercise horses as long as he pleased, but that

he should not set his foot within her doors that night.

"I found the duke exactly in the place where I had left him: I asked him

a thousand pardons for having made him wait so long, and thanked him a

thousand times for his complaisance. He told me I jested, that such

compliments were unusual among friends; and to convince me that he had

cordially rendered me this piece of service, he would, by all means, hold

my horse while I was mounting. I returned him his cloak, bade him good

night, and went back to my lodgings, equally satisfied with my mistress

and my rival. This," continued he, "proves that a little patience and

address are sufficient to disarm the anger of the fair, to turn even

their tricks to a man's advantage."

It was in vain that the Chevalier de Grammont diverted the court with his

stories, instructed by his example, and never appeared there but to

inspire universal joy; for a long time he was the only foreigner in

fashion. Fortune, jealous of the justice which is done to merit, and

desirous of seeing all human happiness depend on her caprice, raised up

against him two competitors for the pleasure he had long enjoyed of

entertaining the English court; and these competitors were so much the

more dangerous, as the reputation of their several merits had preceded

their arrival, in order to dispose the suffrages of the court in their

favour.

They came to display, in their own persons, whatever was the most

accomplished either among the men of the sword, or of the gown. The one

was the Marquis de Flamarens, the sad object of the sad elegies of the

Countess de la Suse, the other was the president Tambonneau, the most

humble and most obedient servant and admirer of the beauteous Luynes. As

they arrived together, they exerted every endeavour to shine in concert:

their talents were as different as their persons; Tambonneau, who was

tolerably ugly, founded his hopes upon a great store of wit, which,

however, no person in England could find out; and Flamarens, by his air

and mien, courted admiration, which was flatly denied him.

They had agreed mutually to assist each other, in order to succeed in

their intentions; and therefore, in their first visits, the one appeared

in state, and the other was the spokesman. But they found the ladies in

England of a far different taste from those who had rendered them famous

in France: the rhetoric of the one had no effect on the fair sex, and the

fine mien of the other distinguished him only in a minuet, which he first

introduced into England, and which he danced with tolerable success.

The English court had been too long accustomed to the solid wit of Saint

Evremond, and the natural and singular charms of his hero, to be seduced

by appearances; however, as the English have, in general, a sort of

predilection in favour of anything that has the appearance of bravery,

Flamarens was better received on account of a duel, which, obliging him

to leave his own country, was a recommendation to him in England.

Miss Hamilton had, at first, the honour of being distinguished by

Tambonneau, who thought she possessed a sufficient share of wit to

discover the delicacy of his; and, being delighted to find that nothing

was lost in her conversation, either as to the turn, the expression, or

beauty of the thought, he frequently did her the favour to converse with

her; and, perhaps, he would never have found out that he was tiresome,

if, contenting himself with the display of his eloquence, he had not

thought proper to attack her heart. This was carrying the matter a

little too far for Miss Hamilton's complaisance, who was of opinion

that she had already shown him too much for the tropes of his harangues:

he was therefore desired to try somewhere else the experiment of his

seducing tongue, and not to lose the merit of his former constancy

by an infidelity which would be of no advantage to him.

He followed this advice like a wise and tractable man; and some time

after, returning to his old mistress in France, he began to lay in a

store of politics for those important negotiations in which he has since

been employed.

It was not till after his departure that the Chevalier de Grammont heard

of the amorous declaration he had made: this was a confidence of no great

importance; it, however, saved Tambonneau from some ridicule which might

have fallen to his share before he went away. His colleague, Flamarens,

deprived of his support, soon perceived that he was not likely to meet in

England with the success he had expected, both from love and fortune: but

Lord Falmouth, ever attentive to the glory of his master, in the relief

of illustrious men in distress, provided for his subsistence, and Lady

Southesk for his pleasures: he obtained a pension from the king, and from

her everything he desired; and most happy was it for him that she had no

other present to bestow but that of her heart.

It was at this time that Talbot, whom we have before mentioned, and

who was afterwards created Duke of Tyrconnel, fell in love with Miss

Hamilton. There was not a more genteel man at court: he was indeed but

a younger brother, though of a very ancient family, which, however, was

not very considerable either for its renown or its riches; and though he

was naturally of a careless disposition, yet, being intent upon making

his fortune, and much in favour with the Duke of York, and fortune

likewise favouring him at play, he had improved both so well that he was

in possession of about forty thousand pounds a year in land. He offered

himself to Miss Hamilton, with this fortune, together with the almost

certain hopes of being made a peer of the realm, by his master's credit;

and, over-and-above all, as many sacrifices as she could desire of Lady

Shrewsbury's letters, pictures, and hair; curiosities which, indeed, are

reckoned for nothing in housekeeping, but which testify strongly in

favour of the sincerity and merit of a lover.

Such a rival was not to be despised; and the Chevalier de Grammont

thought him the more dangerous, as he perceived that Talbot was

desperately in love; that he was not a man to be discouraged by a first

repulse; that he had too much sense and good breeding to draw upon

himself either contempt or coldness by too great eagerness; and, besides

this, his brothers began to frequent the house. One of these brothers

was almoner to the queen, an intriguing Jesuit, and a great match-maker:

the other was what was called a lay-monk, who had nothing of his order

but the immorality and infamy of character which is ascribed to them; and

withal, frank and free, and sometimes entertaining, but ever ready to

speak bold and offensive truths, and to do good offices.

When the Chevalier de Grammont reflected upon all these things, there

certainly was strong ground for uneasiness: nor was the indifference

which Miss Hamilton showed for the addresses of his rival sufficient to

remove his fears; for being absolutely dependent on her father's will,

she could only answer for her own intentions: but Fortune, who seemed to

have taken him under her protection in England, now delivered him from

all his uneasiness.

Talbot had for many years stood forward as the patron of the distressed

Irish: this zeal for his countrymen was certainly very commendable in

itself; at the same time, however, it was not altogether free from

self-interest: for, out of all the estates he had, through his credit,

procured the restoration of to their primitive owners, he had always

obtained some small compensation for himself; but, as each owner found

his advantage in it, no complaint was made. Nevertheless, as it is very

difficult to use fortune and favour with moderation, and not to swell

with the gales of prosperity, some of his proceedings had an air of

haughtiness and independence, which offended the Duke of Ormond, then

Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, as injurious to his Grace's authority. The

Duke resented this behaviour with great spirit. As there certainly was

a great difference between them, both as to their birth and rank, and

to their credit, it had been prudent in Talbot to have had recourse to

apologies and submission; but such conduct appeared to him base, and

unworthy for a man of his importance to submit to: he accordingly acted

with haughtiness and insolence; but he was soon convinced of his error;

for, having inconsiderately launched out into some arrogant expressions,

which it neither became him to utter nor the Duke of Ormond to forgive,

he was sent prisoner to the Tower, from whence he could not be released

until he had made all necessary submissions to his Grace: he therefore

employed all his friends for that purpose, and was obliged to yield more

to get out of this scrape than would have been necessary to have avoided

it. By this imprudent conduct he lost all hopes of marrying into a

family, which, after such a proceeding, was not likely to listen to any

proposal from him.

[A very exact account of this transaction is given by Lord

Clarendon, by which it appears, that Talbot was committed to the

Tower for threatening to assassinate the Duke of Ormond.

--Continuation of Clarendon, p. 362.]

It was with great difficulty and mortification that he was obliged to

suppress a passion which had made far greater progress in his heart than

this quarrel had done good to his affairs. This being the case, he was

of opinion that his presence was necessary in Ireland, and that he was

better out of the way of Miss Hamilton, to remove those impressions which

still troubled his repose: his departure, therefore, soon followed this

resolution.

Talbot played deep, and was tolerably forgetful: the Chevalier de

Grammont won three or four hundred guineas of him the very evening on

which he was sent to the Tower. That accident had made him forget his

usual punctuality in paying the next morning whatever he had lost

over-night; and this debt had so far escaped his memory, that it never

once occurred to him after he was enlarged. The Chevalier de Grammont,

who saw him at his departure, without taking the least notice of the

money he owed him, wished him a good journey; and, having met him at

court, as he came to take his leave of the king: "Talbot," said he, "if

my services can be of any use to you during your absence, you have but to

command them: you know old Russell has left his nephew as his resident

with Miss Hamilton: if you please, I will act for you in the same

capacity. Adieu, God bless you: be sure not to fall sick upon the road;

but if you should, pray remember me in your will." Talbot, who, upon

this compliment, immediately recollected the money he owed the Chevalier,

burst out a-laughing, and embracing him: "My dear Chevalier," said he, "I

am so much obliged to you for your offer, that I resign you my mistress,

and will send you your money instantly." The Chevalier de Grammont

possessed a thousand of these genteel ways of refreshing the memories of

those persons who were apt to be forgetful in their payments. The

following is the method he used some years after with Lord Cornwallis:

this lord had married the daughter of Sir Stephen Fox,--treasurer of the

king's household, one of the richest and most regular men in England.

His son-in-law, on the contrary, was a young spendthrift, was very

extravagant, loved gaming, lost as much as any one would trust him, but

was not quite so ready at paying. His father-in-law disapproved of his

conduct, paid his debts, and gave him a lecture at the same time. The

Chevalier de Grammont had won of him a thousand or twelve hundred

guineas, which he heard no tidings of, although he was upon the eve of

his departure, and he had taken leave of Cornwallis in a more particular

manner than any other person. This obliged the Chevalier to write him a

billet, which was rather laconic. It was this:

"MY LORD,

"Pray remember the Count de Grammont, and do not forget Sir Stephen

Fox."

To return to Talbot: he went away more concerned than became a man who

had voluntarily resigned his mistress to another: neither his stay in

Ireland, nor his solicitude about his domestic affairs, perfectly cured

him; and if at his return he found himself disengaged from Miss

Hamilton's chains, it was only to exchange them for others. The

alteration that had taken place in the two courts occasioned this

change in him, as we shall see in the sequel.

We have hitherto only mentioned the queen's maids of honour, upon account

of Miss Stewart and Miss Warmestre the others were Miss Bellenden,

Mademoiselle de la Garde and Mademoiselle Bardou, all maids of honour,

as it pleased God.

Miss Bellenden was no beauty, but was a good-natured girl, whose chief

merit consisted in being plump and fresh-coloured; and who, not having a

sufficient stock of wit to be a coquette in form, used all her endeavours

to please every person by her complaisance. Mademoiselle de la Garde,

and Mademoiselle Bardou, both French, had been preferred to their places

by the queen dowager: the first was a little brunette, who was

continually meddling in the affairs of her companions; and the other by

all means claimed the rank of a maid of honour, though she only lodged

with the others, and both her title and services were constantly

contested.

It was hardly possible for a woman to be more ugly, with so fine a shape;

but as a recompense, her ugliness was set off with every art. The use

she was put to, was to dance with Flamarens, and sometimes, towards the

conclusion of a ball, possessed of castanets and effrontery, she would

dance some figured saraband or other, which amused the court. Let us now

see in what manner this ended.

As Miss Stewart was very seldom in waiting on the queen, she was scarcely

considered as a maid of honour: the others went off almost at the same

time, by different adventures; and this is the history of Miss Warmestre,

whom we have before mentioned, when speaking of the Chevalier de

Grammont.

Lord Taaffe, eldest son of the Earl of Carlingford, was supposed to be

in love with her; and Miss Warmestre not only imagined it was so, but

likewise persuaded herself that he would not fail to marry her the first

opportunity; and in the mean time she thought it her duty to entertain

him with all the civility imaginable. Taaffe had made the Duke of

Richmond his confidant: these two were particularly attached to each

other; but still more so to wine. The Duke of Richmond, notwithstanding

his birth, made but an indifferent figure at court; and the king

respected him still less than his courtiers did: and perhaps it was in

order to court his majesty's favour that he thought proper to fall in

love with Miss Stewart. The Duke and Lord Taaffe made each other the

confidants of their respective engagements; and these were the measures

they took to put their designs in execution. Little Mademoiselle de la

Gardet was charged to acquaint Miss Stewart that the Duke of Richmond

was dying of love for her, and that when he ogled her in public it was

a certain sign that he was ready to marry her, as soon as ever she would

consent.

Taaffe had no commission to give the little ambassadress for Miss

Warmestre; for there everything was already arranged; but she was charged

to settle and provide some conveniences which were still wanting for the

freedom of their commerce, such as to have free egress and regress to her

at all hours of the day or night: this appeared difficult to be obtained,

but it was, however, at length accomplished.

The governess of the maids of honour, who for the world would not have

connived at anything that was not fair and honourable, consented that

they should sup as often as they pleased in Miss Warmestre's apartments,

provided their intentions were honourable, and she one of the company.

The good old lady was particularly fond of green oysters, and had no

aversion to Spanish wine: she was certain of finding at every one of

these suppers two barrels of oysters; one to be eaten with the party, and

the other for her to carry away: as soon, therefore, as she had taken her

dose of wine, she took her leave of the company.

It was much about the time that the Chevalier de Grammont had cast his

eyes upon Miss Warmestre, that this kind of life was led in her chamber.

God knows how many ham pies, bottles of wine, and other products of his

lordship's liberality were there consumed!

In the midst of these nocturnal festivals, and of this innocent commerce,

a relation of Killegrew's came up to London about a lawsuit: he gained

his cause, but nearly lost his senses.

He was a country gentleman, who had been a widower about six months, and

was possessed of fifteen or sixteen thousand pounds a-year: the good man,

who had no business at court, went thither merely to see his cousin

Killegrew, who could have dispensed with his visits. He there saw Miss

Warmestre; and at first sight fell in love with her. His passion

increased to such a degree that, having no rest either by day or night,

he was obliged to have recourse to extraordinary remedies; he therefore

early one morning called upon his cousin Killegrew, told him his case,

and desired him to demand Miss Warmestre in marriage for him.

Killegrew was struck with wonder and astonishment when he heard his

design: nor could he cease wondering at what sort of creature, of all the

women in London, his cousin had resolved upon marrying. It was some time

before Killegrew could believe that he was in earnest; but when he was

convinced that he was, he began to enumerate the dangers and

inconveniences attending so rash an enterprise. He told him that a girl

educated at court, was a terrible piece of furniture for the country;

that to carry her thither against her inclination, would as effectually

rob him of his happiness and repose, as if he was transported to hell;

that if he consented to let her stay, he needed only to compute what it

would cost him in equipage, table, clothes, and gaming-money, to maintain

her in London according to her caprices; and then to cast up how long his

fifteen thousand a-year would last.

His cousin had already formed this computation; but, finding his reason

less potent than his love, he remained fixed in his resolution; and

Killegrew, yielding at length to his importunities, went and offered his

cousin, bound hand and foot, to the victorious fair. As he dreaded

nothing more than a compliance on her part, so nothing could astonish him

more than the contempt with which she received his proposal. The scorn

with which she refused him, made him believe that she was sure of Lord

Taaffe, and wonder how a girl like her could find out two men who would

venture to marry her. He hastened to relate this refusal, with all the

most aggravating circumstances, as the best news he could carry to his

cousin; but his cousin would not believe him: he supposed that Killegrew

disguised the truth, for the same reasons he had already alleged; and not

daring to mention the matter any more to him, he resolved to wait upon

her himself. He summoned all his courage for the enterprise, and got his

compliment by heart; but as soon as he had opened his mouth for the

purpose, she told him he might have saved himself the trouble of calling

on her about such a ridiculous affair; that she had already given her

answer to Killegrew; and that she neither had, nor ever should have, any

other to give; which words she accompanied with all the severity with

which importunate demands are usually refused.

He was more affected than confounded at this repulse: everything became

odious to him in London, and he himself more so than all the rest: he

therefore left town, without taking leave of his cousin, went back to his

country seat, and thinking it would be impossible for him to live without

the inhuman fair, he resolved to neglect no opportunity in his power to

hasten his death.

But whilst, in order to indulge his sorrow, he had forsaken all

intercourse with dogs and horses; that is to say, renounced all the

delights and endearments of a country squire, the scornful nymph, who was

certainly mistaken in her reckoning, took the liberty of being brought

to-bed in the face of the whole court.

An adventure so public made no small noise, as we may very well

imagine: all the prudes at court at once broke loose upon it; and those

principally, whose age or persons secured them from any such scandal,

were the most inveterate, and cried most loudly for justice. But the

governess of the maids of honour, who might have been called to an

account for it, affirmed that it was nothing at all, and that she was

possessed of circumstances which would at once silence all censorious

tongues. She had an audience of the queen, in order to unfold the

mystery; and related to her majesty how everything had passed with her

consent, that is to say, upon honourable terms.

The queen sent to inquire of Lord Taaffe, whether he acknowledged Miss

Warmestre for his wife: to which he most respectfully returned for

answer, that he neither acknowledged Miss Warmestre nor her child, and

that he wondered why she should rather father it upon him than any other.

The unfortunate Warmestre, more enraged at this answer than at the loss

of such a lover, quitted the court as soon as ever she was able, with a

resolution of quitting the world the first opportunity.

Killegrew, being upon the point of setting out upon a journey, when this

adventure happened, thought he might as well call upon his afflicted

cousin in his way, to acquaint him with the circumstance; and as soon as

he saw him, without paying any attention to the delicacy of his love, or

to his feelings, he bluntly told him the whole story: nor did he omit any

colouring that could heighten his indignation, in order to make him burst

with shame and resentment.

We read that the gentle Tiridates quietly expired upon the recital of the

death of Mariamne; but Killegrew's fond cousin falling devoutly upon his

knees, and lifting up his eyes to Heaven, poured forth this exclamation:

"Praised be the Lord for a small misfortune, which perhaps may prove

the comfort of my life! Who knows but the beauteous Warmestre will now

accept of me for a husband; and that I may have the happiness of passing

the remainder of my days with a woman I adore, and by whom I may expect

to have heirs?" "Certainly," said Killegrew, more confounded than his

cousin ought to have been on such an occasion, "you may depend upon

having both: I make no manner of doubt but she will marry you as soon as

ever she is recovered from her lying-in; and it would be a great

ill-nature in her, who already knows the way, to let you want children:

however, in the meantime I advise you to take that she has already,

till you get more."

Notwithstanding this raillery, all that was said did take place. This

faithful lover courted her, as if she had been the chaste Lucretia, or

the beauteous Helen: his passion even increased after marriage, and the

generous fair, first out of gratitude, and afterwards through

inclination, never brought him a child of which he was not the father;

and though there have been many a happy couple in England, this certainly

was the happiest.

Some time after, Miss Bellenden, not being terrified by this example,

had the prudence to quit the court before she was obliged so to do: the

disagreeable Bardou followed her soon after; but for different reasons.

Every person was at last completely tired of her saraband, as well as of

her face; and the king, that he might see neither of them any more, gave

each a small pension for her subsistence. There now only remained little

Mademoiselle de la Garde to be provided for neither her virtues nor her

vices were sufficiently conspicuous to occasion her being either

dismissed from court, or pressed to remain there: God knows what would

have become of her, if a Mr. Silvius, a man who had nothing of a Roman in

him except the name, had not taken the poor girl to be his wife. We have

now shown how all these damsels deserved to be expelled, either for their

irregularities, or for their ugliness; and yet, those who replaced them

found means to make them regretted, Miss Wells only excepted.

She was a tall girl, exquisitely shaped: she dressed very genteel, walked

like a goddess; and yet, her face, though made like those that generally

please the most, was unfortunately one of those that pleased the least:

nature had spread over it a certain careless indolence that made her look

sheepish. This gave but a bad opinion of her wit: and her wit had the

ill-luck to make good that opinion: however, as she was fresh coloured,

and appeared inexperienced, the king, whom the fair Stewart did not

render over nice as to the perfections of the mind, resolved to try

whether the senses would not fare better with Miss Wells's person than

fine sentiments with her understanding: nor was this experiment attended

with much difficulty: she was of a loyal family; and her father having

faithfully served Charles the First, she thought it her duty not to

revolt against Charles the Second. But this connection was not attended

with very advantageous circumstances for herself; some pretended that she

did not hold out long enough, and that she surrendered at discretion

before she was vigorously attacked; and others said, that his majesty

complained of certain other facilities still less pleasing. The Duke of

Buckingham made a couplet upon this occasion, wherein the king, speaking

to Progers, the confidant of his intrigues, puns upon the name of the

fair one, to the following purport:

When the king felt the horrible depth of this Well,

"Tell me, Progers," cried Charlie, "where am I? oh tell!

Had I sought the world's centre to find, I had found it,

But this Well! ne'er a plummet was made that could sound it."

[Edward Progers, Esq., was a younger son of Philip Progers, Esq., of

the family of Garreddin, in Monmouthshire. His father was a colonel

in the army, and equerry to James I. Edward was early introduced to

court, and, after having been page to Charles I., was made groom of

the bed-chamber to his son, while Prince of Wales. He attached

himself to the king's interest during the war with the parliament,

with laudable fidelity. The following letter, from which

antiquaries may derive the minute information that Charles II. did

wear mourning for a whole year for his father, serves to shew the

familiar style which Charles used to Progers, as well as his

straitened circumstances while in the island of Jersey.

"Progers, I wold have you (besides the embroidred sute) bring me a

plaine riding suite, with an innocent coate, the suites I haue for

horsebacke being so spotted and spoiled that they are not to be

seene out of this island. The lining of the coate, and the petit

toies are referred to your greate discretion, provided there want

nothing when it comes to be put on. I doe not remember there was a

belt, or a hat-band, in your directions for the embroidred suite,

and those are so necessarie as you must not forget them.

"Jearsey, 14th Jan. old stile, 1649. CHARLES R."]

Miss Wells, notwithstanding this species of anagram upon her name, and

these remarks upon her person, shone the brightest among her new

companions. These were Miss Levingston, Miss Fielding, and Miss Boynton,

who little deserve to be mentioned in these memoirs; therefore we shall

leave them in obscurity until it please fortune to draw them out of it.

This was the new establishment of maids of honour to the queen. The

Duchess of York, nearly about the same time, likewise recruited hers; but

showed, by a happier and more brilliant choice, that England possessed an

inexhaustible stock of beauties. But before we begin to speak of them,

let us see who were the first maids of honour to her royal highness, and

on what account they were removed.

Besides Miss Blague and Miss Price, whom we have before mentioned, the

establishment was composed of Miss Bagot and Miss Hobart, the president

of the community. Miss Blague, who never knew the true reason of her

quarrel with the Marquis de Brisacier, took it up upon that fatal letter

she had received from him, wherein, without acquainting her that Miss

Price was to wear the same sort of gloves and yellow riband as herself,

he had only complimented her upon her hair, her fair complexion, and her

eyes marcassins. This word she imagined must signify something

particularly wonderful, since her eyes were compared to it; and being

desirous, some time afterwards, to know all the energy of the expression,

she asked the meaning of the French word marcassin. As there are no wild

boars in England, those to whom she addressed herself, told her that it

signified a young pig. This scandalous simile confirmed her in the

belief she entertained of his perfidy. Brisacier, more amazed at her

change, than she was offended at his supposed calumny, looked upon her

as a woman still more capricious than insignificant, and never troubled

himself more about her; but Sir Yarborough, of as fair a complexion as

herself, made her an offer of marriage in the height of her resentment,

and was accepted: chance made up this match, I suppose, as an experiment

to try what such a white-haired union would produce.

Miss Price was witty; and as her person was not very likely to attract

many admirers, which, however, she was resolved to have, she was far from

being coy when an occasion offered: she did not so much as make any

terms: she was violent in her resentments, as well as in her attachments,

which had exposed her to some inconveniences; and she had very

indiscreetly quarrelled with a young girl whom Lord Rochester admired.

This connection, which till then had been a secret, she had the

imprudence to publish to the whole world, and thereby drew upon herself

the most dangerous enemy in the universe: never did any man write with

more ease, humour, spirit, and delicacy; but he was at the same time the

most severe satirist.

Poor Miss Price, who had thus voluntarily provoked his resentment, was

daily exposed in some new shape: there was every day some new song or

other, the subject of which was her conduct, and the burden her name.

How was it possible for her to bear up against these attacks, in a court,

where every person was eager to obtain the most insignificant trifle that

came from the pen of Lord Rochester? The loss of her lover, and the

discovery that attended it, was only wanting to complete the persecution

that was raised against her.

About this time died Dongan, a gentleman of merit, who was succeeded by

Durfort, afterwards Earl of Feversham, in the post of lieutenant of the

duke's life guards. Miss Price having tenderly loved him, his death

plunged her into a gulf of despair; but the inventory of his effects had

almost deprived her of her senses: there was in it a certain little box

sealed up on all sides: it was addressed in the deceased's own

handwriting to Miss Price; but instead of receiving it, she had not even

the courage to look upon it. The governess thought it became her in

prudence to receive it, on Miss Price's refusal, and her duty to deliver

it to the duchess herself, supposing it was filled with many curious and

precious commodities, of which perhaps she might make some advantage.

Though the duchess was not altogether of the same opinion, she had the

curiosity to see what was contained in a box sealed up in a manner so

particularly careful, and therefore caused it to be opened in the

presence of some ladies, who happened then to be in her closet.

All kinds of love trinkets were found in it; and all these favours, it

appeared, came from the tender-hearted Miss Price. It was difficult to

comprehend how a single person could have furnished so great a

collection; for, besides counting the pictures, there was hair of all

descriptions, wrought into bracelets, lockets, and into a thousand other

different devices, wonderful to see. After these were three or four

packets of letters, of so tender a nature, and so full of raptures and

languors so naturally expressed, that the duchess could not endure the

reading of any more than the two first.

Her royal highness was sorry that she had caused the box to be opened in

such good company; for being before such witnesses, she rightly judged it

was impossible to stifle this adventure; and, at the same time, there

being no possibility of retaining any longer such a maid of honour, Miss

Price had her valuables restored to her, with orders to go and finish her

lamentations, or to console herself for the loss of her lover, in some

other place.

Miss Hobart's character was at that time as uncommon in England, as her

person was singular, in a country where, to be young, and not to be in

some degree handsome, is a reproach; she had a good shape, rather a bold

air, and a great deal of wit, which was well cultivated, without having

much discretion. She was likewise possessed of a great deal of vivacity,

with an irregular fancy: there was a great deal of fire in her eyes,

which, however, produced no effect upon the beholders and she had a

tender heart, whose sensibility some pretended was alone in favour

of the fair sex.

Miss Bagot was the first that gained her tenderness and affection, which

she returned at first with equal warmth and sincerity; but perceiving

that all her friendship was insufficient to repay that of Miss Hobart,

she yielded the conquest to the governess's niece, who thought herself as

much honoured by it as her aunt thought herself obliged by the care she

took of the young girl.

It was not long before the report, whether true or false, of this

singularity, spread through the whole court, where people, being yet so

uncivilized as never to have heard of that kind of refinement in love

of ancient Greece, imagined that the illustrious Hobart, who seemed so

particularly attached to the fair sex, was in reality something more

than she appeared to be.