Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF COUNT GRAMMONT, VOLUME 6.
By Anthony Hamilton
EDITED, WITH NOTES, BY SIR WALTER SCOTT
CHAPTER TENTH.
OTHER LOVE INTRIGUES AT THE ENGLISH COURT.
The conversation before related was agreeable only to Miss Hobart; for if
Miss Temple was entertained with its commencement, she was so much the
more irritated by its conclusion this indignation was succeeded by the
curiosity of knowing the reason why, if Sidney had a real esteem for her,
she should not be allowed to pay some attention to him.
As soon as they retired from the closet, Miss Sarah came out of the bath,
where during all this conversation, she had been almost perished with
cold, without daring to complain. This little gipsy had, it seems,
obtained leave of Miss Hobart's woman to bathe herself unknown to her
mistress; and having, I know not how, found means to fill one of the
baths with cold water, Miss Sarah had just got into it, when they were
both alarmed with the arrival of the other two. A glass partition
enclosed the room where the baths were, and Indian silk curtains, which
drew on the inside, screened those that were bathing. Miss Hobart's
chamber-maid had only just time to draw these curtains, that the girl
might not be seen to lock the partition door, and to take away the key,
before her mistress and Miss Temple came in.
These two sat down on a couch placed along the partition, and Miss Sarah,
notwithstanding her alarms, had distinctly heard, and perfectly retained
the whole conversation. As the little girl was at all this trouble to
make herself clean, only on Lord Rochester's account, as soon as ever she
could make her escape she regained her garret; where Rochester, having
repaired thither at the appointed hour, was fully informed of all that
had passed in the bathing room. He was astonished at the audacious
temerity of Hobart, in daring to put such a trick upon him; but, though
he rightly judged that love and jealousy were the real motives, he would
not excuse her. Little Sarah desired to know whether he had a real
affection for Miss Temple, as Miss Hobart said she supposed that was the
case. "Can you doubt it," replied he, "since that oracle of sincerity
has affirmed it? But then you know that I am not now capable of
profiting by my perfidy, were I even to gain Miss Temple's compliance,
since my debauches and the street-walkers have brought me to order."
This answer made Miss Sarah very easy, for she concluded that the first
article was not true, since she knew from experience that the latter was
false. Lord Rochester was resolved that very evening to attend the
duchess's court, to see what reception he would meet with after the fine
portrait Miss Hobart had been so kind as to draw of him. Miss Temple
did not fail to be there likewise, with the intention of looking on him
with the most contemptuous disdain possible, though she had taken care to
dress herself as well as she could. As she supposed that the lampoon
Miss Hobart had sung to her was in everybody's possession, she was under
great embarrassment lest all those whom she met should think her such a
monster as Lord Rochester had described her. In the mean time, Miss
Hobart, who had not much confidence in her promises never more to speak
to him, narrowly watched her. Miss Temple never in her life appeared so
handsome every person complimented her upon it; but she received all the
civilities with such an air, that every one thought she was mad; for when
they commended her shape, her fresh complexion, and the brilliancy of her
eyes: "Pshaw," said she, "it is very well known that I am but a monster,
and formed in no respect like other women: all is not gold that glisters;
and though I may receive some compliments in public, it signifies
nothing." All Miss Hobart's endeavours to stop her tongue were
ineffectual; and continuing to rail at herself ironically, the whole
court was puzzled to comprehend her meaning.
When Lord Rochester came in, she first blushed, then turned pale, made a
motion to go towards him, drew back again, pulled her gloves one after
the other up to the elbow; and after having three times violently flirted
her fan, she waited until he paid his compliments to her as usual, and as
soon as he began to bow, the fair one immediately turned her back upon
him. Rochester only smiled, and being resolved that her resentment
should be still more remarked, he turned round and posting himself face
to face: "Madam," said he, "nothing can be so glorious as to look so
charming as you do, after such a fatiguing day: to support a ride of
three long hours, and Miss Hobart afterwards, without being tired,
shows indeed a very strong constitution."
Miss Temple had naturally a tender look, but she was transported with
such a violent passion at his having the audacity to speak to her, that
her eyes appeared like two fireballs when she turned them upon him.
Hobart pinched her arm, as she perceived that this look was likely to be
followed by a torrent of reproaches and invectives.
Lord Rochester did not wait for them, and delaying until another
opportunity the acknowledgments he owed Miss Hobart, he quietly retired.
The latter, who could not imagine that he knew anything of their
conversation at the bath, was, however, much alarmed at what he had said;
but Miss Temple, almost choked with the reproaches with which she thought
herself able to confound him and which she had not time to give vent
to, vowed to ease her mind of them upon the first opportunity,
notwithstanding the promise she had made; but never more to speak
to him afterwards.
Lord Rochester had a faithful spy near these nymphs: this was Miss Sarah,
who, by his advice, and with her aunt's consent, was reconciled with Miss
Hobart, the more effectually to betray her: he was informed by this spy,
that Miss Hobart's maid, being suspected of having listened to them in
the closet, had been turned away; that she had taken another, whom in all
probability, she would not keep long, because, in the first place, she
was ugly, and, in the second, she eat the sweetmeats that were prepared
for Miss Temple. Although this intelligence was not very material, Sarah
was nevertheless praised for her punctuality and attention; and a few
days afterwards she brought him news of real importance.
Rochester was by her informed, that Miss Hobart and her new favourite
designed, about nine o'clock in the evening to walk in the Mall, in the
Park; that they were to change clothes with each other, to put on scarfs,
and wear black-masks: she added, that Miss Hobart had strongly opposed
this project, but that she was obliged to give way at last, Miss Temple
having resolved to indulge her fancy.
Upon the strength of this intelligence, Rochester concerted his measures:
he went to Killegrew, complained to him of the trick which Miss Hobart
had played him, and desired his assistance in order to be revenged: this
was readily granted, and having acquainted him with the measures he
intended to pursue, and given him the part he was to act in this
adventure, they went to the Mall.
Presently after appeared our two nymphs in masquerade: their shapes were
not very different, and their faces, which were very unlike each other,
were concealed with their masks. The company was but thin in the Park;
and as soon as Miss Temple perceived them at a distance, she quickened
her pace in order to join them, with the design, under her disguise,
severely to reprimand the perfidious Rochester; when Miss Hobart stopping
her: "Where are you running to?" said she; "have you a mind to engage in
conversation with these two devils, to be exposed to all the insolence
and impertinence for which they are so notorious?" These remonstrances
were entirely useless: Miss Temple was resolved to try the experiment:
and all that could be obtained from her, was, not to answer any of the
questions Rochester might ask her.
They were accosted just as they had done speaking: Rochester fixed upon
Hobart, pretending to take her for the other; at which she was overjoyed;
but Miss Temple was extremely sorry she fell to Killegrew's share, with
whom she had nothing to do: he perceived her uneasiness, and, pretending
to know her by her clothes: "Ah! Miss Hobart," said he, "be so kind as
look this way if you please: I know not by what chance you both came
hither, but I am sure it is very apropos for you, since I have something
to say to you, as your friend and humble servant."
This beginning raising her curiosity, Miss Temple appeared more inclined
to attend him; and Killegrew perceiving that the other couple had
insensibly proceeded some distance from them: "In the name of God," said
he: "what do you mean by railing so against Lord Rochester, whom you know
to be one of the most honourable men at court, and whom you nevertheless
described as the greatest villain, to the person whom of all others he
esteems and respects the most? What do you think would become of you, if
he knew that you made Miss Temple believe she is the person alluded to in
a certain song, which you know as well as myself was made upon the clumsy
Miss Price, above a year before the fair Temple was heard of? Be not
surprised that I know so much of the matter; but pay a little attention,
I pray you, to what I am now going to tell you out of pure friendship:
your passion and inclinations for Miss Temple are known to every one but
herself; for whatever methods you used to impose upon her innocence, the
world does her the justice to believe that she would treat you as Lady
Falmouth did, if the poor girl knew the wicked designs you had upon her:
I caution you, therefore, against making any farther advances, to a
person, too modest to listen to them: I advise you likewise to take back
your maid again, in order to silence her scandalous tongue; for she says
everywhere, that she is with child, that you are the occasion of her
being in that condition, and accuses you of behaving towards her with the
blackest ingratitude, upon trifling suspicions only: you know very well,
these are no stories of my own invention; but that you may not entertain
any manner of doubt, that I had all this from her own mouth, she has told
me your conversation in the bathing-room, the characters you there drew
of the principal men at court, your artful malice in applying so
improperly a scandalous song to one of the loveliest women in all
England; and in what manner the innocent girl fell into the snare you had
laid for her, in order to do justice to her charms. But that which might
be of the most fatal consequences to you in that long conversation, is
the revealing certain secrets, which, in all probability, the duchess did
not entrust you with, to be imparted to the maids of honour: reflect upon
this, and neglect not to make some reparation to Sir Lyttleton, for the
ridicule with which you were pleased to load him. I know not whether he
had his information from your femme-de-chambre, but I am very certain
that he has sworn he will be revenged, and he is a man that keeps his
word; for after all, that you may not be deceived by his look, like that
of a Stoic, and his gravity, like that of a judge, I must acquaint you,
that he is the most passionate man living. Indeed, these invectives are
of the blackest and most horrible nature: he says it is most infamous,
that a wretch like yourself should find no other employment than to
blacken the characters of gentlemen, to gratify your jealousy; that if
you do not desist from such conduct for the future, he will immediately
complain of you; and that if her royal highness will not do him justice,
he is determined to do himself justice, and to run you through the body
with his own sword, though you were even in the arms of Miss Temple; and
that it is most scandalous that all the maids of honour should get into
your hands before they can look around them.
"These things, madam, I thought it my duty to acquaint you with: you are
better able to judge than myself, whether what I have now advanced be
true, and I leave it to your own discretion to make what use you think
proper of my advice; but were I in your situation, I would endeavour to
reconcile Lord Rochester and Miss Temple. Once more I recommend to you
to take care that your endeavours to mislead her innocency, in order to
blast his honour, may not come to his knowledge; and do not estrange from
her a man who tenderly loves her, and whose probity is so great, that he
would not even suffer his eyes to wander towards her, if his intention
was not to make her his wife."
Miss Temple observed her promise most faithfully during this discourse:
she did not even utter a single syllable, being seized with such
astonishment and confusion, that she quite lost the use of her tongue.
Miss Hobart and Lord Rochester came up to her, while she was still in
amazement at the wonderful discoveries she had made; things in
themselves, in her opinion, almost incredible, but to the truth of which
she could not refuse her assent, upon examining the evidences and
circumstances on which they were founded. Never was confusion equal to
that with which her whole frame was seized by the foregoing recital.
Rochester and Killegrew took leave of them before she recovered from her
surprise; but as soon as she had regained the free use of her senses, she
hastened back to St. James, without answering a single question that the
other put to her; and having locked herself up in her chamber, the fast
thing she did, was immediately to strip off Miss Hobart's clothes, lest
she should be contaminated by them; for after what she had been told
concerning her, she looked upon her as a monster, dreadful to the
innocence of the fair sex, of whatever sex she might be: she blushed at
the familiarities she had been drawn into with a creature, whose maid was
with child, though she never had been in any other service but hers: she
therefore returned her all her clothes, ordered her servant to bring back
all her own, and resolved never more to have any connection with her.
Miss Hobart, on the other hand, who supposed Killegrew had mistaken Miss
Temple for herself, could not comprehend what could induce her to give
herself such surprising airs, since that conversation; but being desirous
to come to an explanation, she ordered Miss Temple's maid to remain in
her apartments, and went to call upon Miss Temple herself, instead of
sending back her clothes; and being desirous to give her some proof of
friendship before they entered upon expostulations, she slipt softly into
her chamber, when she was in the very act of changing her linen, and
embraced her. Miss Temple finding herself in her arms before she had
taken notice of her, everything that Killegrew had mentioned, appeared
to her imagination: she fancied that she saw in her looks the eagerness
of a satyr, or, if possible, of some monster still more odious; and
disengaging herself with the highest indignation from her arms, she began
to shriek and cry in the most terrible manner, calling both heaven and
earth to her assistance.
The first whom her cries raised were the governess and her niece. It was
near twelve o'clock at night: Miss Temple in her shift, almost frightened
to death, was pushing back with horror Miss Hobart, who approached her
with no other intent than to know the occasion of those transports. As
soon as the governess saw this scene, she began to lecture Miss Hobart
with all the eloquence of a real duenna: she demanded of her, whether she
thought it was for her that her royal highness kept the maids of honour?
whether she was not ashamed to come at such an unseasonable time of night
into their very apartments to commit such violences? and swore that she
would, the very next day, complain to the duchess. All this confirmed
Miss Temple in her mistaken notions: and Hobart was obliged to go away at
last, without being able to convince or bring to reason creatures, whom
she believed to be either distracted or mad. The next day Miss Sarah did
not fail to relate this adventure to her lover, telling him how Miss
Temple's cries had alarmed the maids of honour's apartment, and how
herself and her aunt, running to her assistance, had almost surprised
Miss Hobart in the very act.
Two days after, the whole adventure, with the addition of several
embellishments, was made public: the governess swore to the truth of it,
and related in every company what a narrow escape Miss Temple had
experienced, and that Miss Sarah, her niece, had preserved her honour,
because, by Lord Rochester's excellent advice, she had forbidden her
all manner of connection with so dangerous a person. Miss Temple was
afterwards informed, that the song that had so greatly provoked her,
alluded to Miss Price only: this was confirmed to her by every person,
with additional execrations against Miss Hobart, for such a scandalous
imposition. Such great coldness after so much familiarity, made many
believe, that this adventure was not altogether a fiction.
This had been sufficient to have disgraced Miss Hobart at court, and to
have totally ruined her reputation in London, had she not been, upon the
present, as well as upon a former occasion, supported by the duchess:
her royal highness pretended to treat the whole story as romantic and
visionary, or as solely arising from private pique: she chid Miss Temple,
for her impertinent credulity: turned away the governess and her niece,
for the lies with which she pretended they supported the imposture; and
did many improper things in order to re-establish Miss Hobart's honour,
which, however, she failed in accomplishing. She had her reasons for not
entirely abandoning her, as will appear in the sequel.
Miss Temple, who continually reproached herself with injustice, with
respect to Lord Rochester, and who, upon the faith of Killegrew's word,
thought him the most Honourable man in England, was only solicitous to
find out some opportunity of easing her mind, by making him some
reparation for the rigour with which she had treated him: these
favourable dispositions, in the hands of a man of his character, might
have led to consequences of which she was not aware; but heaven did not
allow him an opportunity of profiting by them.
Ever since he had first appeared at court he seldom failed being banished
from it, at least once in the year; for whenever a word presented itself
to his pen, or to his tongue, he immediately committed it to paper, or
produced it in conversation, without any manner of regard to the
consequences the ministers, the mistresses, and even the king himself,
were frequently the subjects of his sarcasms; and had not the prince,
whom he thus treated, been possessed of one of the most forgiving and
gentle tempers, his first disgrace had certainly been his last.
Just at the time that Miss Temple was desirous of seeing him, in order to
apologize for the uneasiness which the infamous calumnies and black
aspersions of Miss Hobart had occasioned both of them, he was forbid the
court for the third time: he departed without having seen Miss Temple,
carried the disgraced governess down with him to his country seat, and
exerted all his endeavours to cultivate in her niece some dispositions
which she had for the stage; but though she did not make the same
improvement in this line, as she had by his other instructions, after he
had entertained both the niece and the aunt for some months in the
country, he got her entered in the king's company of comedians the next
winter; and the public was obliged to him for the prettiest, but at the
same time, the worst actress in the kingdom.
[Though no name is given to this lady, there are circumstances
enough mentioned to fix on the celebrated Mrs. Barry, as the person
intended by the author. Mrs. Barry was introduced to the stage by
Lord Rochester, with whom she had an intrigue, the fruit of which
was a daughter, who lived to the age of thirteen years, and is often
mentioned in his collection of love-letters, printed in his works,
which were written to Mrs. Barry. On her first theatrical attempts,
so little hopes were entertained of her, that she was, as Cibber
declares, discharged the company at the end of the first year, among
others that were thought to be a useless expense to it. She was
well born; being daughter of Robert Barry, Esq., barrister at law; a
gentleman of an ancient family and good estate, who hurt his fortune
by his attachment to Charles I.; for whom he raised a regiment at
his own expense. Tony Aston, in his Supplement to Cibber's Apology,
says, she was woman to lady Shelton of Norfolk, who might have
belonged to the court. Curl, however, says, she was early taken
under the patronage of Lady Davenant. Both these accounts may be
true. The time of her appearance on the stage was probably not much
earlier that 1671; in which year she performed in Tom Essence, and
was, it may be conjectured, about the age of nineteen. Curl
mentions the great pains taken by Lord Rochester in instructing her;
which were repaid by the rapid progress she daily made in her
profession. She at last eclipsed all her competitors, and in the
part of Monimia established her reputation. From her performance in
this character, in that of Belvidera, and of Isabella, in the Fatal
Marriage, Downes says she acquired the name of the famous Mrs.
Barry, both at court and in the city. "Mrs. Barry," says Dryden, in
his Preface to Cleomenes, "always excellent, has in this tragedy
excelled herself, and gained a reputation beyond any woman I have
ever seen on the theatre." "In characters of greatness," says
Cibber, "Mrs. Barry had a presence of elevated dignity; her mien
and motion superb, and gracefully majestic; her voice full, clear,
and strong; so that no violence of passion could be too much for
her; and when distress or tenderness possessed her, she subsided
into the most affecting melody and softness. In the art of exciting
pity, she had a power beyond all the actresses I have yet seen, or
what your imagination can conceive. In scenes of anger, defiance,
or resentment, while she was impetuous and terrible, she poured out
the sentiment with an enchanting harmony; and it was this particular
excellence for which Dryden made her the above-recited compliment,
upon her acting Cassandra in his Cleomenes. She was the first
person whose merit was distinguished by the indulgence of having an
annual benefit play, which was granted to her alone in King James's
time, and which did not become common to others till the division of
this company, after the death of King William and Queen Mary."]
About this time Talbot returned from Ireland: he soon felt the absence of
Miss Hamilton, who was then in the country with a relation, whom we shall
mention hereafter. A remnant of his former tenderness still subsisted in
his heart, notwithstanding his absence, and the promises he had given the
Chevalier de Grammont at parting: he now therefore endeavoured to banish
her entirely from his thoughts, by fixing his desires upon some other
object; but he saw no one in the queen's new court whom he thought worthy
of his attention: Miss Boynton, however, thought him worthy of hers.
Her, person was slender and delicate, to which a good complexion and
large motionless eyes gave at a distance an appearance of beauty, that
vanished upon nearer inspection: she affected to lisp, to languish, and
to have two or three fainting-fits a day. The first time that Talbot
cast his eyes upon her she was seized with one of these fits: he was told
that she swooned away upon his account: he believed it, was eager to
afford her assistance; and ever after that accident showed her some
kindness, more with the intention of saving her life, than to express any
affection he felt for her. This seeming tenderness was well received,
and at first she was visibly affected by it. Talbot was one of the
tallest men in England, and in all appearance one of the most robust; yet
she showed sufficiently that she was willing to expose the delicacy of
her constitution, to whatever might happen, in order to become his wife;
which event perhaps might then have taken place, as it did afterwards,
had not the charms of the fair Jennings at that time, proved an obstacle
to her wishes.
I know not how it came to pass that he had not yet seen her; though he
had heard her much praised, and her prudence, wit, and vivacity equally
commended; he believed all this upon the faith of common report. He
thought it very singular that discretion and sprightliness should be so
intimately united in a person so young, more particularly in the midst of
a court where love and gallantry were so much in fashion; but he found
her personal accomplishments greatly to exceed whatever fame had reported
of them.
As it was not long before he perceived he was in love, neither was it
long before he made a declaration of it: as his passion was likely enough
to be real, Miss Jennings thought she might believe him, without exposing
herself to the imputation of vanity. Talbot was possessed of a fine and
brilliant exterior, his manners were noble and majestic: besides this, he
was particularly distinguished by the favour and friendship of the duke;
but his most essential merit, with her, was his forty thousand pounds
a-year, landed property, besides his employments. All these qualities
came within the rules and maxims she had resolved to follow with respect
to lovers: thus, though he had not the satisfaction to obtain from her an
entire declaration of her sentiments, he had at least the pleasure of
being better received than those who had paid their addresses to her
before him.
No person attempted to interrupt his happiness; and Miss Jennings,
perceiving that the duchess approved of Talbot's pretensions; and after
having well weighed the matter, and consulted her own inclinations, found
that her reason was more favourable to him than her heart, and that the
most she could do for his satisfaction was to marry him without
reluctance.
Talbot, too fortunate in a preference which no man had before
experienced, did not examine whether it was to her heart or to her head
that he was indebted for it, and his thoughts were solely occupied in
hastening the accomplishment of his wishes: one would have sworn that the
happy minute was at hand; but love would no longer be love, if he did not
delight in obstructing, or in overturning the happiness of those who live
under his dominion.
Talbot, who found nothing reprehensible either in the person, in the
conversation, or in the reputation of Miss Jennings, was however rather
concerned at a now acquaintance she had lately formed; and having taken
upon him to give her some cautions upon this subject, she was much
displeased at his conduct.
Miss Price, formerly maid of honour, that had been set aside, as we have
before mentioned, upon her leaving the duchess's service, had recourse to
Lady Castlemaine's protection: she had a very entertaining wit: her
complaisance was adapted to all humours, and her own humour was possessed
of a fund of gaiety and sprightliness which diffused universal mirth and
merriment wherever she came. Her acquaintance with Miss Jennings was
prior to Talbot's.
As she was thoroughly acquainted with all the intrigues of the court, she
related them without any manner of reserve to Miss Jennings, and her own
with the same frankness as the others: Miss Jennings was extremely well
pleased with her stories; for though she was determined to make no
experiment in love, but upon honourable terms, she however was desirous
of knowing from her recitals, all the different intrigues that were
carrying on: thus, as she was never wearied with her conversation, she
was overjoyed whenever she could see her.
Talbot, who remarked the extreme relish she had for Miss Price's company,
thought that the reputation such a woman had in the world might prove
injurious to his mistress, more especially from the particular intimacy
there seemed to exist between them: whereupon, in the tone of a guardian
rather than a lover, he took upon him to chide her for the disreputable
company she kept. Miss Jennings was haughty beyond conception, when once
she took it into her head; and as she liked Miss Price's conversation
much better than Talbot's, she took the liberty of desiring him "to
attend to his own affairs, and that if he only came from Ireland to read
lectures about her conduct, he might take the trouble to go back as soon
as he pleased." He was offended at a sally which he thought ill-timed,
considering the situation of affairs between them; and went out of her
presence more abruptly than became the respect due from a man greatly in
love. He for some time appeared offended; but perceiving that he gained
nothing by such conduct, he grew weary of acting that part, and assumed
that of an humble lover, in which he was equally unsuccessful; neither
his repentance nor submissions could produce any effect upon her, and the
mutinous little gipsy was still in her pouts when Jermyn returned to
court.
It was above a year since he had triumphed over the weakness of Lady
Castlemaine, and above two since the king had been weary of his triumphs:
his uncle, being vile of the first who perceived the king's disgust,
obliged him to absent himself from court, at the very time that orders
were going to be issued for that purpose; for though the king's
affections for Lady Castlemaine were now greatly diminished, yet he did
not think it consistent with his dignity that a mistress, whom he had
honoured with public distinction, and who still received a considerable
support from him, should appear chained to the car of the most ridiculous
conqueror that ever existed. His majesty had frequently expostulated
with the countess upon this subject: but his expostulations were never
attended to; it was in one of these differences that he, advising her
rather to bestow her favours upon Jacob Hall, the rope-dancer, who was
able to return them, than lavish away her money upon Jermyn to no
purpose, since it would be more honourable for her to pass for the
mistress of the first, than for the very humble servant of the other, she
was not proof against his raillery. The impetuosity of her temper broke
forth like lightning: she told him "that it very ill became him to throw
out such reproaches against one, who, of all the women in England,
deserved them the least; that he had never ceased quarrelling thus
unjustly with her, ever since he had betrayed his own mean low
inclinations; that to gratify such a depraved taste as his, he wanted
only such silly things as Stewart, Wells, and that pitiful strolling
actress,--[Probably Nell Gwyn.]--whom he had lately introduced into their
society." Floods of tears from rage, generally attended these storms;
after which, resuming the part of Medea, the scene closed with menaces of
tearing her children in pieces, and setting his palace on fire. What
course could he pursue with such an outrageous fury, who, beautiful as
she was, resembled Medea less than her dragons, when she was thus
enraged!
The indulgent monarch loved peace; and as he seldom contended for it on
these occasions without paying something to obtain it, he was obliged to
be at great expense, in order to reconcile this last rupture: as they
could not agree of themselves, and both parties equally complained, the
Chevalier de Grammont was chosen, by mutual consent, mediator of the
treaty. The grievances and pretensions on each side were communicated to
him, and what is very extraordinary, he managed so as to please them
both. Here follow the articles of peace, which they agreed to:
"That Lady Castlemaine should for ever abandon Jermyn; that as a proof of
her sincerity, and the reality of his disgrace, she should consent to his
being sent, for some time, into the country; that she should not rail any
more against Miss Wells, nor storm any more against Miss Stewart; and
this without any restraint on the king's behaviour towards her that in
consideration of these condescensions, his majesty should immediately
give her the title of duchess, with all the honours and privileges
thereunto belonging, and an addition to her pension, in order to enable
her to support the dignity."
[The title of Duchess of Cleveland was conferred on her 3rd August,
22 Charles II., 1670.]
As soon as this peace was proclaimed, the political critics, who, in all
nations, never fail to censure all state proceedings, pretended that the
mediator of this treaty, being every day at play with Lady Castlemaine,
and never losing, had, for his own sake, insisted a little too strongly
upon this last article.
Some days after, she was created Duchess of Cleveland, and little Jermyn
repaired to his country-seat: however, it was in his power to have
returned in a fortnight; for the Chevalier de Grammont, having procured
the king's permission, carried it to the Earl of St. Alban's: this
revived the good old man; but it was to little purpose he transmitted it
to his nephew; for whether he wished to make the London beauties deplore
and lament his absence, or whether he wished them to declaim against the
injustice of the age, or rail against the tyranny of the prince, he
continued above half a year in the country, setting up for a little
philosopher, under the eyes of the sportsmen in the neighbourhood, who
regarded him as an extraordinary instance of the caprice of fortune. He
thought the part he acted so glorious, that he would have continued there
much longer had he not heard of Miss Jennings: he did not, however, pay
much attention to what his friends wrote to him concerning her charms,
being persuaded he had seen equally as great in others: what was related
to him of her pride and resistance, appeared to him of far greater
consequence; and to subdue the last, he even looked upon as an action
worthy of his prowess; and quitting his retreat for this purpose, he
arrived in London at the time that Talbot, who was really in love, had
quarrelled, in his opinion, so unjustly with Miss Jennings.
She had heard Jermyn spoken of as a hero in affairs of love and
gallantry. Miss Price, in the recital of those of the Duchess of
Cleveland, had often mentioned him, without in any respect diminishing
the insignificancy with which fame insinuated he had conducted himself in
those amorous encounters: she nevertheless had the greatest curiosity to
see a man, whose entire person, she thought, must be a moving trophy, and
monument of the favours and freedoms of the fair sex.
Thus Jermyn arrived at the right time to satisfy her curiosity by his
presence; and though his brilliancy appeared a little tarnished by his
residence in the country; though his head was larger, and his legs more
slender than usual, yet the giddy girl thought she had never seen any man
so perfect; and yielding to her destiny, she fell in love with him, a
thousand times more unaccountably than all the others had done before
her. Everybody remarked this change of conduct in her with surprise; for
they expected something more from the delicacy of a person who, till this
time, had behaved with so much propriety in all her actions.
Jermyn was not in the least surprised at this conquest, though not a
little proud of it; for his heart had very soon as great a share in it as
his vanity. Talbot, who saw with amazement the rapidity of this triumph,
and the disgrace of his own defeat, was ready to die with jealousy and
spite; yet he thought it would be more to his credit to die than to vent
those passions unprofitably; and shielding himself under a feigned
indifference, he kept at a distance to view how far such an extravagant
prepossession would proceed.
In the mean time Jermyn quietly enjoyed the happiness of seeing the
inclinations of the prettiest and most extraordinary creature in England
declared in his favour. The duchess, who had taken her under her
protection ever since she had declined placing herself under that of the
duke, sounded Jermyn's intentions towards her, and was satisfied with the
assurances she received from a man, whose probity infinitely exceeded his
merit in love: he therefore let all the court see that he was willing to
marry her, though, at the same time, he did not appear particularly
desirous of hastening the consummation. Every person now complimented
Miss Jennings upon having reduced to this situation the terror of
husbands, and the plague of lovers: the court was in full expectation of
this miracle, and Miss Jennings of a near approaching happy settlement:
but in this world one must have fortune in one's favour, before one can
calculate with certainty upon happiness.
The king did not use to let Lord Rochester remain so long in exile: he
grew weary of it, and being displeased that he was forgotten, he posted
up to London to wait till it might be his majesty's pleasure to recall
him.
He first took up his habitation in the city, among the capital tradesmen
and rich merchants, where politeness indeed is not so much cultivated as
at court; but where pleasure, luxury, and abundance reign with less
confusion, and more sincerity. His first design was only to be initiated
into the mysteries of those fortunate and happy inhabitants: that is to
say, by changing his name and dress, to gain admittance to their feasts
and entertainments; and, as occasion offered, to those of their loving
spouses; as he was able to adapt himself to all capacities and humours,
he soon deeply insinuated himself into the esteem of the substantial
wealthy aldermen, and into he affections of their more delicate,
magnificent, and tender ladies: he made one in all their feasts, and at
all their assemblies; and, whilst in the company of the husbands, he
declaimed against the faults and mistakes of government, he joined their
wives in railing against the profligacy of the court ladies, and in
inveighing against the king's mistresses: he agreed with them, that the
industrious poor were to pay for these cursed extravagances; that the
city beauties were not inferior to those of the other end of the town,
and yet a sober husband in this quarter of the town was satisfied with
one wife; after which, to out-do their murmurings, he said, that he
wondered Whitehall was not yet consumed by fire from heaven, since such
rakes as Rochester, Killegrew, and Sidney were suffered there, who had
the impudence to assert that all married men in the city were cuckolds,
and all their wives painted. This conduct endeared him so much to the
cits, and made him so welcome at their clubs, that at last he grew sick
of their cramming and endless invitations.
But, instead of approaching nearer the court, he retreated into one of
the most obscure corners of the city: where, again changing both his name
and his dress, in order to act a new part, he caused bills to be
dispersed, giving notice of "The recent arrival of a famous German
doctor, who, by long application and experience, had found out wonderful
secrets, and infallible remedies."
[Bishop Burnet confirms this account.--"Being under an unlucky
accident, which obliged him to keep out of the way, he disguised
himself so, that his nearest friends could not have known him, and
set up in Tower Street for an Italian mountebank, where he practised
physic for some weeks, not without success. In his latter years he
read books of history more. He took pleasure to disguise himself as
a porter, or as a beggar; sometimes to follow some mean amours,
which, for the variety of them, he affected. At other times, merely
for diversion, he would go about in odd shapes; in which he acted
his part so naturally, that even those who were in the secret, and
saw him in these shapes, could perceive nothing by which he might be
discovered."--Burnet's Life of Rochester, ed. 1774, p. 14.]
His secrets consisted in knowing what was past, and foretelling what was
to come, by the assistance of astrology: and the virtue of his remedies
principally consisted in giving present relief to unfortunate young women
in all manner of diseases, and all kinds of accidents incident to the
fair sex, either from too unbounded charity to their neighbours, or too
great indulgence to themselves.
His first practice being confined to his neighbourhood, was not very
considerable; but his reputation soon extending to the other end of the
town, there presently flocked to him the women attending on the court,
next, the chamber-maids of ladies of quality, who, upon the wonders they
related concerning the German doctor, were soon followed by some of their
mistresses.
Among all the compositions of a ludicrous and satirical kind, there never
existed any that could be compared to those of Lord Rochester, either for
humour, fire, or wit; but, of all his works, the most ingenious and
entertaining is that which contains a detail of the intrigues and
adventures in which he was engaged while he professed medicine and
astrology in the suburbs of London.
The fair Jennings was very near getting a place in this collection; but
the adventure that prevented her from it, did not, however, conceal from
the public her intention of paying a visit to the German doctor.
The first chamber-maids that consulted him were only those of the maids
of honour; who had numberless questions to ask, and not a few doubts to
be resolved, both upon their own and their mistresses' accounts.
Notwithstanding their disguise, he recognised some of them, particularly
Miss Temple's and Miss Price's maids, and her whom Miss Hobart had lately
discarded: these creatures all returned either filled with wonder and
amazement, or petrified with terror and fear. Miss Temple's chamber-maid
deposed that he assured her she would have the small-pox, and her
mistress the great, within two months at farthest, if her aforesaid
mistress did not guard against a man in woman's clothes. Miss Price's
woman affirmed that, without knowing her, and only looking in her hand,
he told her at first sight that, according to the course of the stars, he
perceived that she was in the service of some good-natured lady, who had
no other fault than loving wine and men. In short, every one of them,
struck with some particular circumstance relating to their own private
affairs, had either alarmed or diverted their mistresses with the
account, not failing, according to custom, to embellish the truth, in
order to enhance the wonder.
Miss Price, relating these circumstances one day to her new friend, the
devil immediately tempted her to go in person, and see what sort of a
creature this new magician was. This enterprise was certainly very rash;
but nothing was too rash for Miss Jennings, who was of opinion that a
woman might despise appearances, provided she was in reality virtuous.
Miss Price was all compliance, and thus having fixed upon this glorious
resolution, they only thought of the proper means of putting it into
execution.
It was very difficult for Miss Jennings to disguise herself, on account
of her excessive fair and bright complexion, and of something particular
in her air and manner: however, after having well considered the matter
the best disguise they could think of was to dress themselves like orange
girls.
[These frolics appear to have been not unfrequent with persons of
high rank at this period. In a letter from Mr. Henshaw to Sir
Robert Paston, afterwards Earl of Yarmouth, dated October 13, 1670,
we have the following account: "Last week, there being a faire
neare Audley-end, the queen, the Dutchess of Richmond, and the
Dutchess of Buckingham, had a frolick to disguise themselves like
country lasses, to red petticoats, wastcotes, &c., and so goe see
the faire. Sir Barnard Gascoign, on a cart jade, rode before the
queen; another stranger before the Dutchess of Buckingham; and Mr.
Roper before Richmond. They had all so overdone it in their
disguise, and looked so much more like antiques than country volk,
that, as soon as they came to the faire, the people began to goe
after them; but the queen going to a booth, to buy a pair of yellow
stockings for her sweet hart, and Sir Bernard asking for a pair of
gloves sticht with blew, for his sweet hart, they were soon, by
their gebrish, found to be strangers, which drew a bigger flock
about them. One amongst them had seen the queen at dinner, knew
her, and was proud of her knowledge. This soon brought all the
faire into a crowd to stare at the queen. Being thus discovered,
they, as soon as they could, got to their horses; but as many of the
faire as had horses got up, with their wives, children, sweet harts,
or neighbours, behind them, to get as much gape as they could, till
they brought them to the court gate. Thus, by ill conduct, was a
merry frolick turned into a penance."--I've's Select Papers, p. 39.
Bishop Burnet says, "at this time, (1668) the court fell into much
extravagance in masquerading: both the king and queen, all the
court, went about masked, and came into houses unknown, and danced
there, with a great deal of wild frolic. In all this people were so
disguised, that, without being in the secret, none could distinguish
them. They were carried about in hackney chairs. Once the queen's
chairmen, not knowing who she was, went from her. So she was alone,
and was much disturbed, and came to Whitehall in a hackney coach;
some say in a cart."--Burnet's History, vol. i., p. 368.]
This was no sooner resolved upon, but it was put in execution they
attired themselves alike, and, taking each a basket of oranges under
their arms, they embarked in a hackney coach, and committed themselves to
fortune, without any other escort than their own caprice and
indiscretion.
The duchess was gone to the play with her sister: Miss Jennings had
excused herself under pretence of indisposition she was overjoyed at the
happy commencement of their adventure; for they had disguised themselves,
had crossed the Park, and taken their hackney coach at Whitehall gate,
without the least accident. They mutually congratulated each other upon
it, and Miss Price, taking a beginning so prosperous as a good omen of
their success, asked her companion what they were to do at the
fortune-teller's, and what they should propose to him.
Miss Jennings told her that, for her part, curiosity was her principal
inducement for going thither; that, however, she was resolved to ask him,
without naming any person, why a man, who was in love with a handsome
young lady, was not urgent to marry her, since this was in his power to
do, and by so doing he would have an opportunity of gratifying his
desires. Miss Price told her, smiling, that, without going to the
astrologer, nothing was more easy than to explain the enigma, as she
herself had almost given her a solution of it in the narrative of the
Duchess of Cleveland's adventures.