moment's reflection, said, that since fortune favoured them, a fair
opportunity was now offered to signalize their courage, which was to go
and sell oranges in the very playhouse, in the sight of the duchess and
the whole court. The proposal being worthy of the sentiments of the one,
and of the vivacity of the other, they immediately alighted, paid off
their hack, and, running through the midst of an immense number of
coaches, with great difficulty they reached the playhouse door. Sidney,
more handsome than the beautiful Adonis, and dressed more gay than usual,
alighted just then from his coach: Miss Price went boldly up to him, as
he was adjusting his curls; but he was too much occupied with his own
dear self to attend to anything else, and so passed on without deigning
to give her an answer. Killegrew came next, and the fair Jennings,
partly encouraged by the other's pertness, advanced towards him, and
offered him her basket, whilst Price, more used to the language, desired
him to buy her fine oranges. "Not now," said he, looking at them with
attention; "but if thou wilt to-morrow morning bring this young girl to
my lodgings, I will make it worth all the oranges in London to thee" and
while he thus spoke to the one he chucked the other under the chin,
examining her bosom. These familiarities making little Jennings forget
the part she was acting, after having pushed him away with all the
violence she was able, she told him with indignation that it was very
insolent to dare--"Ha! ha!" said he, "here's a rarity indeed! a young
w----, who, the better to sell her goods, sets up for virtue, and
pretends innocence!"
Price immediately perceived that nothing could be gained by continuing
any longer in so dangerous a place; and, taking her companion under the
arm, she dragged her away, while she was still in emotion at the insult
that had been offered to her.
Miss Jennings, resolving to sell no more oranges on these terms, was
tempted to return, without accomplishing the other adventure; but Price
having represented to her the disgrace of such cowardly behaviour, more
particularly after having before manifested so much resolution, she
consented to go and pay the astrologer a short visit, so as they might be
enabled to regain the palace before the play was ended.
They had one of the doctor's bills for a direction, but there was no
occasion for it; for the driver of the coach they had taken told them he
knew very well the place they wanted, for he had already carried above an
hundred persons to the German doctor's: they were within half a street of
his house, when fortune thought proper to play them a trick.
Brounker had dined by chance with a merchant in that part of the city,
and just as he was going away they ordered their coach to stop, as
ill-luck would have it, just opposite to him. Two orange girls in a
hackney coach, one of whom appeared to have a very pretty face,
immediately drew his attention; besides, he had a natural curiosity for
such objects.
[Gentleman of the chamber to the Duke of York, and brother to Lord
Viscount Brounker, president of the royal society. Lord Clarendon
imputes to him the cause of the great sea-fight, in 1665, not being
so well improved as it might have been, and adds, "nor did the duke
come to hear of it till some years after, when Mr. Brounker's ill
course of life, and his abominable nature, had rendered him so
odious, that it was taken notice of in parliament, and, upon
examination, found to be true, as is here related; upon which he was
expelled the house of commons, whereof he was a; member, as an
infamous person, though his friend Coventry adhered to him, and used
many indirect acts to have protected him, and afterwards procured
him to have more countenance from the king than most men thought he
deserved; being a person, throughout his whole life, never notorious
for anything but the highest degree of impudence, and stooping to
the most infamous offices, and playing very well at chess, which
preferred him more than the most virtuous qualities could have
done."--Continuation of Clarendon's Life, p. 270.]
Of all the men at court, he had the least regard for the fair sex, and
the least attention to their reputation: he was not young, nor was his
person agreeable; however, with a great deal of wit he had a violent
passion for women. He did himself justice respecting his own merit; and,
being persuaded that he could only succeed with those who were desirous
of having his money, he was at open war with all the rest. He had a
little country-house four or five miles from London always well stocked
with girls: in other respects he was a very honest man, and the best
chess-player in England.
Price, alarmed at being thus closely examined by the most dangerous enemy
they could encounter, turned her head the other way, bid her companion do
the same, and told the coachman to drive on. Brounker followed them
unperceived on foot; and the coach having stopped twenty or thirty yards
farther up the street, they alighted. He was just behind them, and
formed the same judgment of them which a man much more charitable to the
sex must unavoidably have done, concluding that Miss Jennings was a young
courtesan upon the look-out, and that Miss Price was the mother-abbess.
He was, however, surprised to see them have much better shoes and
stockings than women of that rank generally wear, and that the little
orange girl, in getting out of a very high coach, showed one of the
handsomest legs he had ever seen: but as all this was no obstruction to
his designs, he resolved to purchase her at any rate, in order to place
her in his seraglio.
He came up to them, as they were giving their baskets in guard to the
coachman, with orders to wait for them exactly in that place. Brounker
immediately pushed in between them: as soon as they saw him, they gave
themselves up for lost; but he, without taking the least notice of their
surprise, took Price aside with one hand, and his purse with the other,
and began immediately to enter upon business, but was astonished to
perceive that she turned away her face, without either answering or
looking at him: As this conduct appeared to him unnatural, he stared her
full in the face, notwithstanding all her endeavours to prevent him: he
did the same to the other: and immediately recognised them, but
determined to conceal his discovery.
The old fox possessed a wonderful command of temper on such occasions,
and having teazed them a little longer to remove all suspicions he
quitted them, telling Price; "That she was a great fool to refuse his
offers, and that her girl would not, perhaps, get so much in a year, as
she might with him in one day; that the times were greatly changed, since
the queen's and the duchess's maids of honour forestalled the market, and
were to be had cheaper than the town ladies." Upon this he went back to
his coach, whilst they blessed themselves, returning heaven their most
hearty thanks for having escaped this danger without being discovered.
Brounker, on the other hand, would not have taken a thousand guineas for
this rencounter: he blessed the Lord that he had not alarmed them to such
a degree as to frustrate their intention; for he made no doubt but Miss
Price had managed some intrigue for Miss Jennings: he therefore
immediately concluded, that at present it would be improper to make known
his discovery, which would have answered no other end but to have
overwhelmed them with confusion.
Upon this account, although Jermyn was one of his best friends, he felt a
secret joy in not having prevented his being made a cuckold, before his
marriage; and the apprehension he was in of preserving him from that
accident, was his sole reason for quitting them with the precautions
aforementioned.
Whilst they were under these alarms, their coachman was engaged in a
squabble with some blackguard boys, who had gathered round his coach in
order to steal the oranges: from words they came to blows: the two nymphs
saw the commencement of the fray as they were returning to the coach,
after having abandoned the design of going to the fortuneteller's. Their
coachman being a man of spirit, it was with great difficulty they could
persuade him to leave their oranges to the mob, that they might get off
without any further disturbance: having thus regained their hack, after a
thousand frights, and after having received an abundant share of the most
low and infamous abuse applied to them during the fracas, they at length
reached St. James's, vowing never more to go after fortune-tellers,
through so many dangers, terrors, and alarms, as they had lately
undergone.
Brounker, who, from the indifferent opinion he entertained of the fair
sex, would have staked his life that Miss Jennings did not return from
this expedition in the same condition she went, kept his thoughts,
however, a profound secret; since it would have afforded him the highest
satisfaction to have seen the all-fortunate Jermyn marry a little
street-walker, who pretended to pass for a pattern of chastity, that he
might, the day after his marriage, congratulate him upon his virtuous
spouse; but heaven was not disposed to afford him that satisfaction, as
will appear in the sequel of these memoirs.
Miss Hamilton was in the country, as we before mentioned, at a
relation's: the Chevalier de Grammont bore this short absence of hers
with great uneasiness, since she would not allow him permission to visit
her there, upon any pretence whatever; but play, which was favourable to
him, was no small relief to his extreme impatience.
Miss Hamilton, however, at last returned. Mrs. Wetenhall (for that was
the name of her relation) would by all means wait upon her to London, in
appearance out of politeness; for ceremony, carried beyond all bearing,
is the grand characteristic of country gentry: yet this mark of civility
was only a pretence, to obtain a peevish husband's consent to his wife's
journey to town. Perhaps he would have done himself the honour of
conducting Miss Hamilton up to London, had he not been employed in
writing some remarks upon the ecclesiastical history, a work in which he
had long been engaged: the ladies were more civil than to interrupt him
in his undertaking, and besides, it would entirely have disconcerted all
Mrs. Wetenhall's schemes.
This lady was what may be properly called a beauty, entirely English,
made up of lilies and roses, of snow and milk, as to colour; and of wax,
with respect to the arms, hands, neck, and feet, but all this without
either animation or air; her face was uncommonly pretty; but there was no
variety, no change of countenance in it: one would have thought she took
it in the morning out of a case, in order to put it up again at night,
without using it in the smallest degree in the daytime. What can I say
of her! nature had formed her a baby from her infancy, and a baby
remained till death the fair Mrs. Wetenhall. Her husband had been
destined for the church; but his elder brother dying just at the time he
had gone through his studies of divinity, instead of taking orders, he
came to England, and took to wife Miss Bedingfield, the lady of whom we
are now speaking.
His person was not disagreeable, but he had a serious contemplative air,
very apt to occasion disgust: as for the rest, she might boast of having
one of the greatest theologists in the kingdom for her husband: he was
all day poring over his books, and went to bed soon, in order to rise
early; so that his wife found him snoring when she came to bed, and when
he arose he left her there sound asleep: his conversation at table would
have been very brisk, if Mrs. Wetenhall had been as great a proficient
in divinity, or as great a lover of controversy, as he was; but being
neither learned in the former, nor desirous of the latter, silence
reigned at their table, as absolutely as at a refectory.
She had often expressed a great desire to see London; but though they
were only distant a very short day's journey from it, she had never been
able to satisfy her curiosity: it was not therefore without reason, that
she grew weary of the life she was forced to lead at Peckham. The
melancholy retired situation of the place was to her insupportable; and
as she had the folly, incident to many other women, of believing
sterility to be a kind of reproach, she was very much hurt to see that
she might fall under that suspicion; for she was persuaded, that although
heaven had denied her children, she nevertheless had all the necessary
requisites on her part, if it had been the will of the Lord. This had
occasioned her to make some reflections, and then to reason upon those
reflections; as for instance, that since her husband chose rather to
devote himself to his studies, than to the duties of matrimony, to turn
over musty old books, rather than attend to the attractions of beauty,
and to gratify his own pleasures, rather than those of his wife, it might
be permitted her to relieve some necessitous lover, in neighbourly
charity, provided she could do it conscientiously, and to direct her
inclinations in so just a, manner, that the evil spirit should have no
concern in it. Mr. Wetenhall, a zealous partisan for the doctrine of the
casuists, would not perhaps have approved of these decisions; but he was
not consulted.
The greatest misfortune was, that neither solitary Peckham nor its
sterile neighbourhood, presented any expedients, either for the execution
of the afore-mentioned design, or for the relief of poor Mrs. Wetenhall:
she was visibly pining away, when, through fear of dying either with
solitude or of want, she had recourse to Miss Hamilton's commiseration.
Their first acquaintance was formed at Paris, whither Mr. Wetenhall had
taken his wife half a year after they were married, on a journey thither
to buy books: Miss Hamilton, who from that very time greatly pitied her,
consented to pass some time in the country with her, in hopes by that
visit to deliver her, for a short time at least, out of her captivity;
which project succeeded according to her wish.
The Chevalier de Grammont, being informed of the day on which they were
to arrive, borne on the wings of love and impatience, had engaged George
Hamilton to go with him, and meet them some miles out of London. The
equipage he had prepared for the purpose, corresponded with his usual
magnificence; and on such an occasion, we may reasonably suppose he had
not neglected his person: however, with all his impatience, he checked
the ardour of the coachman, through fear of accidents, rightly judging
that upon a road prudence is preferable to eagerness. The ladies at
length appeared, and Miss Hamilton, being in his eyes, ten or twelve
times more handsome than before her departure from London, he would have
purchased with his life so kind a reception as she gave her brother.
Mrs. Wetenhall had her share of the praises, which at this interview
were liberally bestowed upon her beauty, for which her beauty was very
thankful to those who did it so much honour; and as Hamilton regarded
her with a tender attention, she regarded Hamilton as a man very well
qualified for putting in execution the little projects she had concerted
with her conscience.
As soon as she was in London, her head was almost turned, through an
excess of contentment and felicity: everything appeared like enchantment
to her in this superb city; more particularly, as in Paris she had never
seen anything farther than the Rue Saint Jacques, and a few booksellers'
shops. Miss Hamilton entertained her at her own house, and she was
presented, admired, and well received at both courts.
The Chevalier de Grammont, whose gallantry and magnificence were
inexhaustible, taking occasion, from this fair stranger's arrival, to
exhibit his grandeur, nothing was to be seen but balls, concerts, plays,
excursions by land and by water, splendid collations and sumptuous
entertainments: Mrs. Wetenhall was transported with pleasures, of which
the greatest part were entirely new to her; she was greatly delighted
with all, except now and then at a play, when tragedy was acted, which
she confessed she thought rather wearisome: she agreed, however, that the
show was very interesting, when there were many people killed upon the
stage, but thought the players were very fine handsome fellows, who were
much better alive than dead.
Hamilton, upon the whole, was pretty well treated by her, if a man in
love, who is never satisfied until the completion of his wishes, could
confine himself within the bounds of moderation and reason: he used all
his endeavours to determine her to put in execution the projects she had
formed at Peckham: Mrs. Wetenhall, on the other hand, was much pleased
with him. This is the Hamilton who served in the French army with
distinction; he was both agreeable and handsome. All imaginable
opportunities conspired to favour the establishment of an intimacy, whose
commencement had been so brisk, that in all probability it would not
languish for a conclusion; but the more he pressed her to it, the more
her resolution began to fail, and regard for some scruples, which she had
not well weighed, kept her in suspense: there was reason to believe that
a little perseverance would have removed these obstacles; yet this at the
present time was not attempted. Hamilton, not able to conceive what
could prevent her from completing his happiness, since in his opinion the
first and greatest difficulties of an amour were already overcome, with
respect to the public, resolved to abandon her to her irresolutions,
instead of endeavouring to conquer them by a more vigorous attack. It
was not consistent with reason, to desist from an enterprise, where so
many prospects of success presented themselves, for such inconsiderable
obstacles; but he suffered himself to be intoxicated with chimeras and
visions, which unseasonably cooled the vigour of his pursuit, and led him
astray in another unprofitable undertaking.
[I apprehend he is the same George Hamilton already described, who
married Miss Jennings, and not the author of this work, as Lord
Orford supposes. In a letter from Arlington to Sir William
Godolphin, dated September 7, 1671, it is said, "the Conde de Molina
complains to us of certain levies Sir George Hamilton hath made in
Ireland. The king hath always told him he had no express license
for it; and I have told the Conde he must not find it strange that a
gentleman who had been bred the king's page abroad, and losing his
employment at home, for being a Roman Catholic, should have some
more than ordinary connivance towards the making his fortune abroad
by the countenance of his friends and relations in Ireland: and yet
take the matter in the worst sense he could give, it would not
amount to the breach of any article betwixt the king my master and
the court of Spain."--Arlington's letters, vol. ii., p. 332. In
a letter from the same nobleman to Lord Sandwich, written about
October, 1667, we find the cause of Sir George Hamilton's entering
into the French service "Concerning the reformadoes of, the guards
of horse, his majesty thought fit, the other day, to have them
dismissed, according to his promise, made to the parliament at the
last session. Mr. Hamilton had a secret overture made him, that he,
with those men, should be welcome into the French service; his
majesty, at their dismissal, having declared they should have leave
to go abroad whither they pleased. They accepted of Mr. Hamilton's
offer to carry them into France. "Arlington's Letters," vol. i., p.
185. Lodge, in his Peerage of Ireland, says, Sir George Hamilton
died in 1667, which, from the first extract above, appears to be
erroneous. He has evidently confounded the father and son; the
former of whom was the person who died in 1667.]
I know not whether poor Wetenhall took the blame upon herself; but it is
certain, she was extremely mortified upon it. Soon after being obliged
to return to her cabbages and turkeys at Peckham, she had almost gone
distracted: that residence appeared a thousand times more dreadful to
her, since she had been initiated into the amusements of London; but as
the queen was to set out within a month for Tunbridge Wells, she was
obliged to yield to necessity, and return to the philosopher, Wetenhall,
with the consolation of having engaged Miss Hamilton to come and live at
her house, which was within ten or twelve miles of Tunbridge, as long as
the court remained there.
Miss Hamilton promised not to abandon her in her retirement, and further
engaged to bring the Chevalier de Grammont along with her, whose humour
and conversation extremely delighted her. The Chevalier de Grammont, who
on all occasions started agreeable raillery, engaged on his part to bring
George Hamilton, which words overwhelmed her with blushes. The court set
out soon after to pass about two months in the place of all Europe the
most rural and simple, and yet, at the same time, the most entertaining
and agreeable. Tunbridge is the same distance from London, that
Fontainebleau is from Paris, and is, at the season, the general
rendezvous of all the gay and handsome of both sexes. The company,
though always numerous, is always select: since those who repair thither
for diversion, ever exceed the number of those who go thither for health.
Everything there breathes mirth and pleasure: constraint is banished,
familiarity is established upon the first acquaintance, and joy and
pleasure are the sole sovereigns of the place.
The company are accommodated with lodgings in little, clean, and
convenient habitations, that lie straggling and separated from each
other, a mile and a half all round the Wells, where the company meet in
the morning: this place consists of a long walk, shaded by spreading
trees, under which they walk while they are drinking the waters: on one
side of this walk is a long row of shops, plentifully stocked with all
manner of toys, lace, gloves, stockings, and where there is raffling, as
at Paris, in the Foire de Saint Germain: on the other side of the walk is
the market; and, as it is the custom here for every person to buy their
own provisions, care is taken that nothing offensive appears on the
stalls. Here young, fair, fresh-coloured country girls, with clean
linen, small straw hats, and neat shoes and stockings, sell game,
vegetables, flowers and fruit: here one may live as one pleases: here is,
likewise, deep play, and no want of amorous intrigues. As soon as the
evening comes, every one quits his little palace to assemble at the
bowling-green, where, in the open air, those who choose, dance upon a
turf more soft and smooth than the finest carpet in the world,
Lord Muskerry had, within two or three short miles of Tunbridge, a very
handsome seat called Summer-hill: Miss Hamilton, after having spent eight
or ten days at Peckham, could not excuse herself from passing the
remainder of the season at his house; and, having obtained leave of Mr.
Wetenhall, that his lady should accompany her, they left the melancholy
residence of Peckham, and its tiresome master, and fixed their little
court at Summer-hill.
They went every day to court, or the court came to them. The queen
even surpassed her usual attentions in inventing and supporting
entertainments: she endeavoured to increase the natural ease and freedom
of Tunbridge, by dispensing with, rather than requiring, those ceremonies
that were due to her presence; and, confining in the bottom of her heart
that grief and uneasiness she could not overcome, she saw Miss Stewart
triumphantly possess the affections of the king without manifesting the
least uneasiness.
Never did love see his empire in a more flourishing condition than on
this spot: those who were smitten before they came to it, felt a mighty
augmentation of their flame; and those who seemed the least susceptible
of love, laid aside their natural ferocity, to act in a new character.
For the truth of the latter, we shall only relate the change which soon
appeared in the conduct of Prince Rupert.