just to be here omitted. "Born with the taste of an uncle whom his
sword was not fortunate in defending, Prince Rupert was fond of
those sciences which soften and adorn a hero's private hours, and
knew how to mix them with his minutes of amusement, without
dedicating his life to their pursuit, like us, who, wanting capacity
for momentous views, make serious study of what is only the
transitory occupation of a genius. Had the court of the first
Charles been peaceful, how agreeably had the prince's congenial
propensity flattered and confirmed the inclination of his uncle!
How the muse of arts would have repaid the patronage of the monarch,
when, for his first artist, she would have presented him with his
nephew! How different a figure did the same prince make in a reign
of dissimilar complexion! The philosophic warrior, who could relax
himself into the ornament of a refined court, was thought a savage
mechanic, when courtiers were only voluptuous wits. Let me
transcribe a picture of Prince Rupert, drawn by a man who was far
from having the least portion of wit in that age, who was superior
to its indelicacy, and who yet was so overborne by its prejudices,
that he had the complaisance to ridicule virtue, merit, talents.
--But Prince Rupert, alas! was an awkward lover!" Lord Orford here
inserts the character in the text, and then adds, "What pity that
we, who wish to transmit this prince's resemblance to posterity on a
fairer canvas, have none of these inimitable colours to efface the
harsher likeness! We can but oppose facts to wit, truth to satire.
--How unequal the pencils! yet what these lines cannot do they may
suggest: they may induce the reader to reflect, that if the prince
was defective in the transient varnish of a court, he at least was
adorned by the arts with that polish which alone can make a court
attract the attention of subsequent ages."--Catalogue of Engravers,
p 135, 8vo ed.]
He was brave and courageous, even to rashness; but cross-grained and
incorrigibly obstinate: his genius was fertile in mathematical
experiments, and he possessed some knowledge of chemistry: he was polite
even to excess, unseasonably; but haughty, and even brutal, when he ought
to have been gentle and courteous: he was tall, and his manners were
ungracious: he had a dry hard-favoured visage, and a stern look, even
when he wished to please; but, when he was out of humour, he was the true
picture of reproof.
The queen had sent for the players, either that there might be no
intermission in the diversions of the place, or, perhaps, to retort upon
Miss Stewart, by the presence of Nell Gwyn, part of the uneasiness she
felt from hers. Prince Rupert found charms in the person of another
player called Hughes, who brought down and greatly subdued his natural
fierceness.
[Mrs. Hughes was one of the actresses belonging to the king's
company, and one of the earliest female performers. According to
Downs, she commenced her theatrical career after the opening of
Drury lane theatre, in 1663. She appears to have been the first
female representative of Desdemona. By Prince Rupert she had a
daughter, named Ruperta, married to Lieutenant-general Howe, who
survived her husband many years, dying at Somerset house, about the
year 1740.]
From this time, adieu alembics, crucibles, furnaces, and all the black
furniture of the forges: a complete farewell to all mathematical
instruments and chemical speculations: sweet powder and essences were now
the only ingredients that occupied any share of his attention. The
impertinent gipsy chose to be attacked in form; and proudly refusing
money, that, in the end she might sell her favours at a dearer rate, she
caused the poor prince to act a part so unnatural, that he no longer
appeared like the same person. The king was greatly pleased with this
event, for which great rejoicings were made at Tunbridge; but nobody was
bold enough to make it the subject of satire, though the same constraint
was not observed with other ridiculous personages.
There was dancing every day at the queen's apartments, because the
physicians recommended it, and no person thought it amiss: for even those
who cared least for it, chose that exercise to digest the waters rather
than walking. Lord Muskerry thought himself secure against his lady's
rage for dancing; for, although he was ashamed of it, the princess of
Babylon was, by the grace of God, six or seven months advanced in
pregnancy; and, to complete her misfortune, the child had fallen all
on one side, so that even Euclid would have been puzzled to say what
her figure was. The disconsolate lady, seeing Miss Hamilton and Mrs.
Wetenhall set out every morning, sometimes on horseback and sometimes in
a coach, but ever attended by a gallant troop to conduct them to court,
and to convey them back, she fancied a thousand times more delights at
Tunbridge than in reality there were, and she did not cease in her
imagination, to dance over at Summer-hill all the country dances which
she thought had been danced at Tunbridge. She could no longer support
the racking torments which disturbed her mind, when relenting heaven,
out of pity to her pains and sufferings, caused Lord Muskerry to repair
to London, and kept him there two whole days: as soon as ever he had
turned his back, the Babylonian princess declared her resolution to make
a trip to court.
She had a domestic chaplain who did not want sense, and Lord Muskerry,
for fear of accidents, had recommended her to the wholesome counsels and
good prayers of this prudent divine; but in vain were all his preachings
and exhortations to stay at home; in vain did he set before her eyes her
husband's commands, and the dangers to which she would expose herself in
her present condition; he likewise added that her pregnancy, being a
particular blessing from heaven, she ought therefore to be so much the
more careful for its preservation, since it cost her husband, perhaps,
more trouble than she was aware of, to obtain it. These remonstrances
were altogether ineffectual: Miss Hamilton and her cousin Wetenhall,
having the complaisance to confirm her in her resolution, they assisted
in dressing her the next morning, and set out along with her all their
skill and dexterity were requisite to reduce her shape into some kind of
symmetry; but, having at last pinned a small cushion under her petticoat
on the right side, to counteract the untoward appearance the little
infant occasioned by throwing itself on the left, they almost split their
sides with laughter, assuring her at the same time that she looked
perfectly charming.
As soon as she appeared, it was generally believed that she had dressed
herself in a farthingale, in order to make her court to the queen; but
every person was pleased at her arrival: those who were unacquainted with
the circumstances assured her in earnest that she was pregnant with
twins; and the queen, who envied her condition, notwithstanding the
ridiculous appearance she then made, being made acquainted with the
motive of her journey, was determined to gratify her inclinations.
As soon as the hour for country dances arrived, her cousin Hamilton was
appointed her partner: she made some faint excuses at first on account of
the inconvenient situation she was then in: but soon suffered them to be
overcome, in order, as she said, to show her duty to the queen; and never
did a woman in this world enjoy such complete satisfaction.
We have already observed, that the greatest prosperity is liable to the
greatest change: Lady Muskerry, trussed up as she was, seemed to feel no
manner of uneasiness from the motion in dancing; on the contrary, being
only apprehensive of the presence of her husband, which would have
destroyed all her happiness, she danced with uncommon briskness, lest her
ill stars should bring him back before she had fully satisfied herself
with it. In the midst, therefore, of her capering in this indiscreet
manner, her cushion came loose, without her perceiving it, and fell to
the ground in the very middle of the first round. The Duke of
Buckingham, who watched her, took it up instantly, wrapped it up in his
coat, and, mimicking the cries of a new-born infant, he went about
inquiring for a nurse for the young Muskerry among the maids of honour.
This buffoonery, joined to the strange figure of the poor lady, had
almost thrown Miss Stewart into hysterics; for the princess of Babylon,
after this accident, was quite flat on one side, and immoderately
protuberant on the other. All those who had before suppressed their
inclinations to laugh, now gave themselves free scope, when they saw that
Miss Stewart was ready to split her sides. The poor lady was greatly
disconcerted: every person was officious to console her; but the queen,
who inwardly laughed more heartily than any, pretended to disapprove of
their taking such liberties.
Whilst Miss Hamilton and Mrs. Wetenhall endeavoured to refit Lady
Muskerry in another room, the Duke of Buckingham told the king that,
if the physicians would permit a little exercise immediately after a
delivery, the best way to recover Lady Muskerry was to renew the dance
as soon as ever her infant was replaced; this advice was approved, and
accordingly put in execution. The queen proposed, as soon as she
appeared, a second round of country-dances; and Lady Muskerry accepting
the offer, the remedy had its desired effect, and entirely removed every
remembrance of her late mishap.
Whilst these things were passing at the king's court, that of the Duke of
York took a journey on the other side of London; the pretence of this
journey was to visit the county whose name he bore; but love was the real
motive. The duchess, since her elevation, had conducted herself with
such prudence and circumspection, as could not be sufficiently admired:
such were her manners, and such the general estimation in which she was
held, that she appeared to have found out the secret of pleasing every
one; a secret yet more rare than the grandeur to which she had been
raised: but, after having gained universal esteem, she was desirous of
being more particularly beloved; or, more properly speaking, malicious
Cupid assaulted her heart, in spite of the discretion, prudence, and
reason, with which she had fortified it.
In vain had she said to herself a hundred times, that if the duke had
been so kind as to do her justice by falling in love with her, he had
done her too much honour by making her his wife; that with respect to his
inconstant disposition, which estranged him from her, she ought to bear
it with patience, until it pleased heaven to produce a change in his
conduct; that the frailties on his part, which might to her appear
injurious, would never justify in her the least deviation from her duty;
and, as resentment was still less allowable, she ought to endeavour to
regain him by a conduct entirely opposite to his own. In vain was it, as
we have said before, that she had long resisted Love and his emissaries
by the help of these maxims: how solid soever reason, and however
obstinate wisdom and virtue may be, there are yet certain attacks which
tire by their length, and, in the end, subdue both reason and virtue
itself.
The Duchess of York was one of the highest feeders in England: as this
was an unforbidden pleasure she indulged herself in it, as an
indemnification for other self-denials. It was really an edifying sight
to see her at table. The duke, on the contrary, being incessantly in the
hurry of new fancies, exhausted himself by his inconstancy, and was
gradually wasting away; whilst the poor princess, gratifying her good
appetite, grew so fat and plump that it was a blessing to see her.
It is not easy to determine how long things would have continued in this
situation, if Love, who was resolved to have satisfaction for her late
conduct, so opposite to the former, had not employed artifice as well as
force, to disturb her repose.
He at first let loose upon her resentment and jealousy two mortal enemies
to all tranquillity and happiness. A tall creature, pale-faced, and
nothing but skin and bone, named Churchill, whom she had taken for a maid
of honour, became the object of her jealousy, because she was then the
object of the duke's affection. The court was not able to comprehend
how, after having been in love with Lady Chesterfield, Miss Hamilton, and
Miss Jennings, he could have any inclination for such a creature; but
they soon perceived that something more than unaccountable variety had a
great share in effecting this conquest.
[Miss Arabella Churchill, daughter of Sir Winston Churchill of
Wotton Basset, in the county of Wilts, and sister to the celebrated
John, Duke of Marlborough. She was born 1648.]
The duchess beheld with indignation a choice which seemed to debase her
own merit in a much greater degree than any of the former; at the very
instant that indignation and jealousy began to provoke her spleen,
perfidious Cupid threw in the way of her passions and resentments the
amiable, handsome Sidney; and, whilst he kept her eyes fixed upon his
personal perfections, diverted her attention from perceiving the
deficiency of his mental accomplishments: she was wounded before she was
aware of her danger; but the good opinion Sidney had of his own merit did
not suffer him long to be ignorant of such a glorious conquest; and, in
order more effectually to secure it, his eyes rashly answered everything
which those of her royal highness had the kindness to tell him, whilst
his personal accomplishments were carefully heightened by all the
advantages of dress and show.
The duchess, foreseeing the consequences of such an engagement, strongly
combated the inclination that hurried her away; but Miss Hobart, siding
with that inclination, argued the matter with her scruples, and, in the
end, really vanquished them. This girl had insinuated herself into her
royal highness's confidence by a fund of news with which she was provided
the whole year round: the court and the city supplied her; nor was it
very material to her whether her stories were true or false, her chief
care being that they should prove agreeable to her mistress: she knew,
likewise, how to gratify her palate, and constantly provided a variety of
those dishes and liquors which she liked best. These qualifications had
rendered her necessary; but, desirous of being still more so, and having
perceived both the airs that Sidney gave himself, and what was passing in
the heart of her mistress, the cunning Hobart took the liberty of telling
her royal highness that this unfortunate youth was pining away solely on
her account; that it was a thousand pities a man of his figure should
lose the respect for her which was most certainly her due, merely because
she had reduced him to such a state that he could no longer preserve it;
that he was gradually dying away on her account, in the sight of the
whole court; that his situation would soon be generally remarked, except
she made use of the proper means to prevent it; that, in her opinion, her
royal highness ought to pity the miserable situation into which her
charms had reduced him, and to endeavour to alleviate his pain in some
way or other. The duchess asked her what she meant by "endeavouring to
alleviate his pain in some way or other." "I mean, madam," answered Miss
Hobart, "that, if either his person be disagreeable, or his passion
troublesome, you will give him his discharge; or, if you choose to retain
him in your service, as all the princesses in the world would do in your
place, you will permit me to give him directions from you for his future
conduct, mixed with a few grains of hope, to prevent his entirely losing
his senses, until you find a proper occasion yourself to acquaint him
with your wishes." "What!" said the duchess, "would you advise me,
Hobart--you, who really love me--to engage in an affair of this nature,
at the expense of my honour, and the hazard of a thousand inconveniences!
If such frailties are sometimes excusable, they certainly are not so in
the high station in which I am placed; and it would be an ill-requital on
my part for his goodness who raised me to the rank I now fill to----"
"All this is very fine," interrupted Miss Hobart: "but is it not very
well known that he only married you because he was importuned so to do?
Since that I refer to yourself whether he has ever restrained his
inclination a single moment, giving you the most convincing proofs of
the change that has taken place in his heart, by a thousand provoking
infidelities? Is it still your intention to persevere in a state of
indolence and humility, whilst the duke, after having received the
favours, or suffered the repulses, of all the coquettes in England, pays
his addresses to the maids of honour, one after the other, and at present
places his whole ambition and desires in the conquest of that ugly
skeleton, Churchill? What! Madam, must then your prime of life be spent
in a sort of widowhood in deploring your misfortunes, without ever being
permitted to make use of any remedy that may offer? A woman must be
endowed with insuperable patience, or with an inexhaustible degree of
resignation, to bear this. Can a husband, who disregards you both night
and day, really suppose, because his wife eats and drinks heartily, as,
God be thanked, your royal highness does, that she wants nothing else
than to sleep well too? Faith, such conduct is too bad: I therefore once
more repeat that there is not a princess in the universe who would refuse
the homage of a man like Sidney, when a husband pays his addresses
elsewhere."
These reasons were certainly not morally good; but had they been still
worse the duchess would have yielded to them, so much did her heart act
in concert with Miss Hobart, to overthrow her discretion and prudence.
This intrigue began at the very time that Miss Hobart advised Miss Temple
not to give any encouragement to the addresses of the handsome Sidney.
As for him, no sooner was he informed by the confidant Hobart that
the goddess accepted his adoration than he immediately began to be
particularly reserved and circumspect in his behaviour, in order to
divert the attention of the public; but the public is not so easily
deceived as some people imagine.
As there were too many spies, too many inquisitive people and critics, in
a numerous court, residing in the midst of a populous city, the duchess
to avoid exposing the inclinations of her heart to the scrutiny of so
many inquisitors, engaged the Duke of York to undertake the journey
before mentioned, whilst the queen and her court were at Tunbridge.
This conduct was prudent; and, if agreeable to her, was far from
displeasing to any of her court, except Miss Jennings: Jermyn was not of
the party; and, in her opinion, every party was insipid in which he was
not one of the company. He had engaged himself in an enterprise above
his strength, in laying a wager which the Chevalier de Grammont had laid
before, and lost. He betted five hundred guineas that he would ride
twenty miles in one hour upon the same horse, in the high road. The day
he had fixed upon for this race was the very same in which Miss Jennings
went to the fortune-teller's.
Jermyn was more fortunate than her in this undertaking he came off
victorious; but as his courage had far exceeded the strength of his
constitution in this exertion to win the wager, he got a violent fever
into the bargain, which brought him very low. Miss Jennings inquired
after his health; but that was all she dared to do. In modern romances,
a princess need only pay a visit to some hero, abandoned by his
physicians, a perfect cure would be wrought in three days; but since Miss
Jennings had not been the cause of Jermyn's fever, she was not certain of
relieving him from it, although she had been sure that a charitable visit
would not have been censured in a malicious court. Without therefore
paying any attention to the uneasiness she might feel upon the occasion,
the court set out without him: she had, however, the gratification to
testify her ill-humour throughout the whole journey, by appearing
displeased with everything which seemed to afford satisfaction to
all the rest of the company.
Talbot made one of the company; and flattering himself that the absence
of a dangerous rival might produce some change in his favour, he was
attentive to all the actions, motions, and even gestures, of his former
mistress. There was certainly enough fully to employ his attention: it
was contrary to her disposition to remain long in a serious humour. Her
natural vivacity hurried her away, from being seemingly lost in thought,
into sallies of wit, which afforded him hopes that she would soon forget
Jermyn, and remember that his own passion was the first she had
encouraged. However, he kept his distance, notwithstanding his love and
his hopes, being of opinion that it ill became an injured lover to betray
either the least weakness, or the smallest return of affection, for an
ungrateful mistress, who had deserted him.
Miss Jennings was so far from thinking of his resentments, that she
did not even recollect he had ever paid his addresses to her; and her
thoughts being wholly occupied upon the poor sick man, she conducted
herself towards Talbot as if they never had had anything to say to each
other. It was to him that she most usually gave her hand, either in
getting into or out of the coach; she conversed more readily with him
than any other person, and, without intending it, did everything to make
the court believe she was cured of her passion for Jermyn in favour of
her former lover.
Of this he seemed likewise convinced, as well as the rest; and thinking
it now proper to act another part, in order to let her know that his
sentiments with respect to her were still the same, he had resolved to
address her in the most tender and affectionate manner upon this subject.
Fortune seemed to have favoured him, and to have smoothed the way for
this intended harangue: he was alone with her in her chamber; and, what
was still better, she was rallying him concerning Miss Boynton; saying,
"that they were undoubtedly much obliged to him for attending them on
their journey, whilst poor Miss Boynton had fainting fits at Tunbridge,
at least twice every day, for love of him." Upon this discourse, Talbot
thought it right to begin the recital of his sufferings and fidelity,
when Miss Temple, with a paper in her hand, entered the room. This was a
letter in verse, which Lord Rochester had written some time before, upon
the intrigues of the two courts; wherein, upon the subject of Miss
Jennings, he said: "that Talbot had struck terror among the people of
God, by his gigantic stature; but that Jermyn, like a little David, had
vanquished the great Goliath." Jennings, delighted with this allusion,
read it over two or three times, thought it more entertaining than
Talbot's conversation, at first heartily laughed at it, but soon after,
with a tender air, "Poor little David!" said she, with a deep sigh, and
turning her head on one side during this short reverie, she shed a few
tears, which assuredly did not flow for the defeat of the giant. This
stung Talbot to the quick; and, seeing himself so ridiculously deceived
in his hopes, he went abruptly out of the room, vowing never to think any
more of a giddy girl, whose conduct was regulated neither by sense nor
reason; but he did not keep his resolution.
The other votaries of love, who were numerous in this court, were more
successful, the journey being undertaken solely on that account. There
were continual balls and entertainments upon the road; hunting, and all
other diversions, wherever the court halted in its progress. The tender
lovers flattered themselves with the thought of being able to crown their
happiness as they proceeded in their journey; and the beauties who
governed their destiny did not forbid them to hope. Sidney paid his
court with wonderful assiduity: the duchess made the duke take notice of
his late perfect devotion to his service: his royal highness observed it,
and agreed that he ought to be remembered upon the first opportunity,
which happened soon after.
Montagu, as before mentioned, was master of the horse to the duchess:
he was possessed of a great deal of wit, had much penetration, and loved
mischief. How could she bear such a man near her person, in the present
situation of her heart? This greatly embarrassed her; but Montagu's
elder brother having, very a-propos, got himself killed where he had no
business, the duke obtained for Montagu the post of master of the horse
to the queen, which the deceased enjoyed; and the handsome Sidney was
appointed to succeed him in the same employment to the duchess. All this
happened according to her wish; and the duke was highly pleased that he
had found means to promote these two gentlemen at once, without being at
the least expense.
Miss Hobart greatly applauded these promotions: she had frequent and long
conversations with Sidney, which, being remarked, some did her the honour
to believe it was upon her own account; and the compliments that were
made her upon the occasion she most willingly received. The duke, who
believed it at first, observed to the duchess the unaccountable taste of
certain persons, and how the handsomest young fellow in England was
infatuated with such a frightful creature.