This adventure not being much to his credit, he suppressed,

Produced by David Widger

MEMOIRS OF COUNT GRAMMONT, VOLUME 5.

By Anthony Hamilton

EDITED, WITH NOTES, BY SIR WALTER SCOTT

CHAPTER NINTH.

VARIOUS LOVE INTRIGUES AT THE ENGLISH COURT.

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

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

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

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

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

nobody pities. All reasoning and observation on these unfortunate

circumstances attending wedlock concur in this, that precaution is vain

and useless before the evil, and revenge odious afterwards.

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

jealousy, content themselves with preserving the niceness of their honour

by duennas, grates, and locks.

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

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

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

ingenious precautions exceed whatever the Spaniards can invent for

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

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

assassinate.

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

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

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

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

indolence!

It was certainly some evil genius that induced Lord Chesterfield to

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

ridiculously to afford the world an opportunity of examining into the

particulars of an adventure which would perhaps never have been known

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

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

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

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

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

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

ballads, and diverted the public at his expense.

The Chevalier de Grammont was highly pleased with these lively and

humorous compositions; and wherever this subject was mentioned, never

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Francisco's saraband says on the subject:

"Tell me, jealous-paced swain,

What avail thy idle arts,

To divide united hearts?

Love, like the wind, I trow,

Will, where it listeth, blow;

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

"When you are by,

Nor wishful look, be sure, nor eloquent sigh,

Shall dare those inward fires discover,

Which burn in either lover

Yet Argus' self, if Argus were thy spy,

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

Surprise.

"Some joys forbidden,

Transports hidden,

Which love, through dark and secret ways,

Mysterious love, to kindred souls conveys."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

circumstances attending it which could not but sensibly affect the

person who had occasioned her confinement; but there are certain

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

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

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

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

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

Hamilton.

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

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

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

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

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

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

performance; nor could he ever exert himself upon more beautiful

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

Hamilton appeared the highest finished: Lely himself acknowledged that he

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

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

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

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

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

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

negotiation, no time is lost in cavilling. Everything succeeded

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

eagerness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

resolution. The traitor chose rather to exercise his courage against

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

a privileged country: that of Lord Chesterfield was not sufficiently

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

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

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

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

the bloom of youth.

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

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

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

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

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

burial in England.

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

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

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

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

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

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

he flattered himself he should be after the departure of Lady

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

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

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

admired, notwithstanding his resentments, leisure to make those

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

barbarous sentiments it will afford you pleasure to be made acquainted

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

as that he is now going after."

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

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

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

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

journey, this was all he desired at present.

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

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

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

all the necessary instructions about his journey and his arrival.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

thousand delicious and tender ideas supported him some time against the

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

from whence he had set out upon this wonderful expedition.

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

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

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

accusing the charming countess, he suffered a thousand different

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

flattered himself that everything would succeed better the next night,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

return had occasioned all his tribulations in the preceding night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

was to this effect:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tenderness. Return: a longer stay in this place will but draw upon you

some fresh misfortune: for my part, I shall soon leave her: I know her,

and I thank God for it. I do not repent having pitied her at first; but

I am disgusted with an employment which but ill agrees with my way of

thinking."

Upon reading this letter, astonishment, shame, hatred, and rage, seized

at once upon his heart: then menaces, invectives, and the desire of

vengeance, broke forth by turns, and excited his passion and resentment;

but, after he deliberately considered the matter, he resolved that it was

now the best way quietly to mount his horse, and to carry back with him

to London a severe cold, instead of the soft wishes and tender desires he

had brought from thence. He quitted this perfidious place with much

greater expedition than he had arrived at it, though his mind was far

from being occupied with such tender and agreeable ideas: however, when

he thought himself at a sufficient distance to be out of danger of

meeting Lord Chesterfield and his hounds, he chose to look back, that

he might at least have the satisfaction of seeing the prison where this

wicked enchantress was confined; but what was his surprise, when he saw a

very fine house, situated on the banks of a river, in the most delightful

and pleasant country imaginable. Neither rock nor precipice was here to

be seen; for, in reality, they were only in the letter of his perfidious

mistress. This furnished fresh cause for resentment and confusion to a

man who thought himself so well acquainted with all the wiles, as well as

weaknesses, of the fair sex; and who now found himself the dupe of a

coquette, who was reconciled to her husband in order to be revenged on

her lover.

At last he reached London, well furnished with arguments to maintain that

a man must be extremely weak to trust to the tenderness of a woman who

has once deceived him, but that he must be a complete fool to run after

her.

This adventure not being much to his credit, he suppressed, as much as

possible, both the journey and the circumstances attending it; but, as we

may easily suppose, Lady Chesterfield made no secret of it, the king came

to the knowledge of it; and, having complimented Hamilton upon it,

desired to be informed of all the particulars of the expedition. The

Chevalier de Grammont happened to be present at this recital; and, having

gently inveighed against the treacherous manner in which he had been

used, said: "If she is to be blamed for carrying the jest so far, you

are no less to be blamed for coming back so suddenly, like an ignorant

novice. I dare lay an hundred guineas, she has more than once repented

of a resentment which you pretty well deserved for the trick you had

played her: women love revenge; but their resentments seldom last long;

and if you had remained in the neighbourhood till the next day, I will be

hanged if she would not have given you satisfaction for the first night's

sufferings." Hamilton being of a different opinion, the Chevalier de

Grammont resolved to maintain his assertion by a case in point; and,

addressing himself to the king: "Sir," said he, "your majesty, I suppose,

must have known Marion de l'Orme, the most charming creature in all

France: though she was as witty as an angel, she was as capricious as a

devil. This beauty having made me an appointment, a whim seized her to

put me off, and to give it to another; she therefore wrote me one of the

tenderest billets in the world, full of the grief and sorrow she was in,

by being obliged to disappoint me; on account of a most terrible

headache, that obliged her to keep her bed, and deprived her of the

pleasure of seeing me till the next day. This headache coming all of a

sudden, appeared to me very suspicious; and, never doubting but it was

her intention to jilt me: 'Very well, mistress coquette,' said I to

myself, 'if you do not enjoy the pleasure of seeing me this day, you

shall not enjoy the satisfaction of seeing another.'

"Hereupon, I detached all my servants, some of whom patrolled about her

house, whilst others watched her door; one of the latter brought me

intelligence that no person had gone into her house all the afternoon;

but that a foot-boy had gone out as it grew dark; that he followed him as

far as the Rue Saint Antoine, where this boy met another, to whom he only

spoke two or three words. This was sufficient to confirm my suspicions,

and make me resolve either to make one of the party, or to disconcert it.

[Marion de l'Orme, born at Chalons, in Champagne, was esteemed the

most beautiful woman of her times. It is believed that she was

secretly married to the unfortunate Monsieur Cinqmars. After his

death, she became the mistress of Cardinal Richelieu, and, at last,

of Monsieur d'Emery, superintendent of the finances.]

"As the bagnio where I lodged was at a great distance from the Marais, as

soon as the night set in I mounted my horse, without any attendant. When

I came to the Place-Royale, the servant, who was sentry there, assured me

that no person was yet gone into Mademoiselle de l'Orme's house: I rode

forward towards the Rue Saint Antoine; and, just as I was going out of

the Place-Royale, I saw a man on foot coming into it, who avoided me as

much as he possibly could; but his endeavour was all to no purpose; I

knew him to be the Duke de Brissac, and I no longer doubted but he was my

rival that night: I then approached towards him, seeming as if I feared I

mistook my man; and, alighting with a very busy air 'Brissac, my friend,'

said I, 'you must do me a service of the very greatest importance: I have

an appointment, for the first time, with a girl who lives very near this

place; and, as this visit is only to concert measures, I shall make but a

very short stay: be so kind, therefore, as to lend me your cloak, and

walk my horse about a little, until I return; but, above all, do not go

far from this place: you see that I use you freely like a friend; but you

know it is upon condition that you may take the same liberty with me.'

I took his cloak, without waiting for his answer, and he took my horse by

the bridle, and followed me with his eye; but he gained no intelligence

by this; for, after having pretended to go into a house opposite to him,

I slipped under the piazzas to Mademoiselle de l'Orme's, where the door

was opened as soon as I knocked. I was so much muffled up in Brissac's

cloak that I was taken for him: the door was immediately shut, not the

least question asked me; and having none to ask myself I went straight to

the lady's chamber. I found her upon a couch in the most agreeable and

genteelest deshabille imaginable: she never in her life looked so

handsome, nor was so greatly surprised; and, seeing her speechless and

confounded: 'What is the matter, my fair one?' said I, 'methinks this is

a headache very elegantly set off; but your headache, to all appearance,

is now gone?' 'Not in the least,' said she, 'I can scarce support it,

and you will oblige me in going away that I may go to bed.' 'As for your

going to bed, to that I have not the least objection,' said I, 'but as

for my going away, that cannot be, my little princess: the Chevalier de

Grammont is no fool; a woman does not dress herself with so much care for

nothing.' 'You will find, however,' said she, 'that it is for nothing;

for you may depend upon it that you shall be no gainer by it.' 'What!'

said I, 'after having made me an appointment!' 'Well,' replied she

hastily, 'though I had made you fifty, it still depends upon me, whether

I chose to keep them or not, and you must submit if I do not.' 'This

might do very well,' said I, 'if it was not to give it to another.'

Mademoiselle de l'Orme, as haughty as a woman of the greatest virtue,

and as passionate as one who has the least, was irritated at a suspicion

which gave her more concern than confusion; and seeing that she was

beginning to put herself in a passion: 'Madam,' said I, 'pray do not talk

in so high a strain; I know what perplexes you: you are afraid lest

Brissac should meet me here; but you may make yourself easy on that

account: I met him not far from this place, and God knows that I have so

managed the affair as to prevent his visiting you soon.' Having spoken

these words in a tone somewhat tragical, she appeared concerned at first,

and, looking upon me with surprise: 'What do you mean about the Duke de

Brissac?' said she. 'I mean,' replied I, 'that he is at the end of the

street, walking my horse about; but, if you will not believe me, send one

of your own servants thither, or look at his cloak which I left in your

ante-chamber.' Upon this she burst into a fit of laughter, in the midst

of her astonishment, and, throwing her arms around my neck, 'My dear

Chevalier,' said she, 'I can hold out no longer; you are too amiable and

too eccentric not to be pardoned.' I then told her the whole story: she

was ready to die with laughing; and, parting very good friends, she

assured me my rival might exercise horses as long as he pleased, but that

he should not set his foot within her doors that night.

"I found the duke exactly in the place where I had left him: I asked him

a thousand pardons for having made him wait so long, and thanked him a

thousand times for his complaisance. He told me I jested, that such

compliments were unusual among friends; and to convince me that he had

cordially rendered me this piece of service, he would, by all means, hold

my horse while I was mounting. I returned him his cloak, bade him good

night, and went back to my lodgings, equally satisfied with my mistress

and my rival. This," continued he, "proves that a little patience and

address are sufficient to disarm the anger of the fair, to turn even

their tricks to a man's advantage."

It was in vain that the Chevalier de Grammont diverted the court with his

stories, instructed by his example, and never appeared there but to

inspire universal joy; for a long time he was the only foreigner in

fashion. Fortune, jealous of the justice which is done to merit, and

desirous of seeing all human happiness depend on her caprice, raised up

against him two competitors for the pleasure he had long enjoyed of

entertaining the English court; and these competitors were so much the

more dangerous, as the reputation of their several merits had preceded

their arrival, in order to dispose the suffrages of the court in their

favour.

They came to display, in their own persons, whatever was the most

accomplished either among the men of the sword, or of the gown. The one

was the Marquis de Flamarens, the sad object of the sad elegies of the

Countess de la Suse, the other was the president Tambonneau, the most

humble and most obedient servant and admirer of the beauteous Luynes. As

they arrived together, they exerted every endeavour to shine in concert:

their talents were as different as their persons; Tambonneau, who was

tolerably ugly, founded his hopes upon a great store of wit, which,

however, no person in England could find out; and Flamarens, by his air

and mien, courted admiration, which was flatly denied him.

They had agreed mutually to assist each other, in order to succeed in

their intentions; and therefore, in their first visits, the one appeared

in state, and the other was the spokesman. But they found the ladies in

England of a far different taste from those who had rendered them famous

in France: the rhetoric of the one had no effect on the fair sex, and the

fine mien of the other distinguished him only in a minuet, which he first

introduced into England, and which he danced with tolerable success.

The English court had been too long accustomed to the solid wit of Saint

Evremond, and the natural and singular charms of his hero, to be seduced

by appearances; however, as the English have, in general, a sort of

predilection in favour of anything that has the appearance of bravery,

Flamarens was better received on account of a duel, which, obliging him

to leave his own country, was a recommendation to him in England.

Miss Hamilton had, at first, the honour of being distinguished by

Tambonneau, who thought she possessed a sufficient share of wit to

discover the delicacy of his; and, being delighted to find that nothing

was lost in her conversation, either as to the turn, the expression, or

beauty of the thought, he frequently did her the favour to converse with

her; and, perhaps, he would never have found out that he was tiresome,

if, contenting himself with the display of his eloquence, he had not

thought proper to attack her heart. This was carrying the matter a

little too far for Miss Hamilton's complaisance, who was of opinion

that she had already shown him too much for the tropes of his harangues:

he was therefore desired to try somewhere else the experiment of his

seducing tongue, and not to lose the merit of his former constancy

by an infidelity which would be of no advantage to him.

He followed this advice like a wise and tractable man; and some time

after, returning to his old mistress in France, he began to lay in a

store of politics for those important negotiations in which he has since

been employed.

It was not till after his departure that the Chevalier de Grammont heard

of the amorous declaration he had made: this was a confidence of no great

importance; it, however, saved Tambonneau from some ridicule which might

have fallen to his share before he went away. His colleague, Flamarens,

deprived of his support, soon perceived that he was not likely to meet in

England with the success he had expected, both from love and fortune: but

Lord Falmouth, ever attentive to the glory of his master, in the relief

of illustrious men in distress, provided for his subsistence, and Lady

Southesk for his pleasures: he obtained a pension from the king, and from

her everything he desired; and most happy was it for him that she had no

other present to bestow but that of her heart.

It was at this time that Talbot, whom we have before mentioned, and

who was afterwards created Duke of Tyrconnel, fell in love with Miss

Hamilton. There was not a more genteel man at court: he was indeed but

a younger brother, though of a very ancient family, which, however, was

not very considerable either for its renown or its riches; and though he

was naturally of a careless disposition, yet, being intent upon making

his fortune, and much in favour with the Duke of York, and fortune

likewise favouring him at play, he had improved both so well that he was

in possession of about forty thousand pounds a year in land. He offered

himself to Miss Hamilton, with this fortune, together with the almost

certain hopes of being made a peer of the realm, by his master's credit;

and, over-and-above all, as many sacrifices as she could desire of Lady

Shrewsbury's letters, pictures, and hair; curiosities which, indeed, are

reckoned for nothing in housekeeping, but which testify strongly in

favour of the sincerity and merit of a lover.

Such a rival was not to be despised; and the Chevalier de Grammont

thought him the more dangerous, as he perceived that Talbot was

desperately in love; that he was not a man to be discouraged by a first

repulse; that he had too much sense and good breeding to draw upon

himself either contempt or coldness by too great eagerness; and, besides

this, his brothers began to frequent the house. One of these brothers

was almoner to the queen, an intriguing Jesuit, and a great match-maker:

the other was what was called a lay-monk, who had nothing of his order

but the immorality and infamy of character which is ascribed to them; and

withal, frank and free, and sometimes entertaining, but ever ready to

speak bold and offensive truths, and to do good offices.

When the Chevalier de Grammont reflected upon all these things, there

certainly was strong ground for uneasiness: nor was the indifference

which Miss Hamilton showed for the addresses of his rival sufficient to

remove his fears; for being absolutely dependent on her father's will,

she could only answer for her own intentions: but Fortune, who seemed to

have taken him under her protection in England, now delivered him from

all his uneasiness.

Talbot had for many years stood forward as the patron of the distressed

Irish: this zeal for his countrymen was certainly very commendable in

itself; at the same time, however, it was not altogether free from

self-interest: for, out of all the estates he had, through his credit,

procured the restoration of to their primitive owners, he had always

obtained some small compensation for himself; but, as each owner found

his advantage in it, no complaint was made. Nevertheless, as it is very

difficult to use fortune and favour with moderation, and not to swell

with the gales of prosperity, some of his proceedings had an air of

haughtiness and independence, which offended the Duke of Ormond, then

Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, as injurious to his Grace's authority. The

Duke resented this behaviour with great spirit. As there certainly was

a great difference between them, both as to their birth and rank, and

to their credit, it had been prudent in Talbot to have had recourse to

apologies and submission; but such conduct appeared to him base, and

unworthy for a man of his importance to submit to: he accordingly acted

with haughtiness and insolence; but he was soon convinced of his error;

for, having inconsiderately launched out into some arrogant expressions,

which it neither became him to utter nor the Duke of Ormond to forgive,

he was sent prisoner to the Tower, from whence he could not be released

until he had made all necessary submissions to his Grace: he therefore

employed all his friends for that purpose, and was obliged to yield more

to get out of this scrape than would have been necessary to have avoided

it. By this imprudent conduct he lost all hopes of marrying into a

family, which, after such a proceeding, was not likely to listen to any

proposal from him.

[A very exact account of this transaction is given by Lord

Clarendon, by which it appears, that Talbot was committed to the

Tower for threatening to assassinate the Duke of Ormond.

--Continuation of Clarendon, p. 362.]

It was with great difficulty and mortification that he was obliged to

suppress a passion which had made far greater progress in his heart than

this quarrel had done good to his affairs. This being the case, he was

of opinion that his presence was necessary in Ireland, and that he was

better out of the way of Miss Hamilton, to remove those impressions which

still troubled his repose: his departure, therefore, soon followed this

resolution.

Talbot played deep, and was tolerably forgetful: the Chevalier de

Grammont won three or four hundred guineas of him the very evening on

which he was sent to the Tower. That accident had made him forget his

usual punctuality in paying the next morning whatever he had lost

over-night; and this debt had so far escaped his memory, that it never

once occurred to him after he was enlarged. The Chevalier de Grammont,

who saw him at his departure, without taking the least notice of the

money he owed him, wished him a good journey; and, having met him at

court, as he came to take his leave of the king: "Talbot," said he, "if

my services can be of any use to you during your absence, you have but to

command them: you know old Russell has left his nephew as his resident

with Miss Hamilton: if you please, I will act for you in the same

capacity. Adieu, God bless you: be sure not to fall sick upon the road;

but if you should, pray remember me in your will." Talbot, who, upon

this compliment, immediately recollected the money he owed the Chevalier,

burst out a-laughing, and embracing him: "My dear Chevalier," said he, "I

am so much obliged to you for your offer, that I resign you my mistress,

and will send you your money instantly." The Chevalier de Grammont

possessed a thousand of these genteel ways of refreshing the memories of

those persons who were apt to be forgetful in their payments. The

following is the method he used some years after with Lord Cornwallis:

this lord had married the daughter of Sir Stephen Fox,--treasurer of the

king's household, one of the richest and most regular men in England.

His son-in-law, on the contrary, was a young spendthrift, was very

extravagant, loved gaming, lost as much as any one would trust him, but

was not quite so ready at paying. His father-in-law disapproved of his

conduct, paid his debts, and gave him a lecture at the same time. The

Chevalier de Grammont had won of him a thousand or twelve hundred

guineas, which he heard no tidings of, although he was upon the eve of

his departure, and he had taken leave of Cornwallis in a more particular

manner than any other person. This obliged the Chevalier to write him a

billet, which was rather laconic. It was this:

"MY LORD,

"Pray remember the Count de Grammont, and do not forget Sir Stephen

Fox."

To return to Talbot: he went away more concerned than became a man who

had voluntarily resigned his mistress to another: neither his stay in

Ireland, nor his solicitude about his domestic affairs, perfectly cured

him; and if at his return he found himself disengaged from Miss

Hamilton's chains, it was only to exchange them for others. The

alteration that had taken place in the two courts occasioned this

change in him, as we shall see in the sequel.

We have hitherto only mentioned the queen's maids of honour, upon account

of Miss Stewart and Miss Warmestre the others were Miss Bellenden,

Mademoiselle de la Garde and Mademoiselle Bardou, all maids of honour,

as it pleased God.

Miss Bellenden was no beauty, but was a good-natured girl, whose chief

merit consisted in being plump and fresh-coloured; and who, not having a

sufficient stock of wit to be a coquette in form, used all her endeavours

to please every person by her complaisance. Mademoiselle de la Garde,

and Mademoiselle Bardou, both French, had been preferred to their places

by the queen dowager: the first was a little brunette, who was

continually meddling in the affairs of her companions; and the other by

all means claimed the rank of a maid of honour, though she only lodged

with the others, and both her title and services were constantly

contested.

It was hardly possible for a woman to be more ugly, with so fine a shape;

but as a recompense, her ugliness was set off with every art. The use

she was put to, was to dance with Flamarens, and sometimes, towards the

conclusion of a ball, possessed of castanets and effrontery, she would

dance some figured saraband or other, which amused the court. Let us now

see in what manner this ended.

As Miss Stewart was very seldom in waiting on the queen, she was scarcely

considered as a maid of honour: the others went off almost at the same

time, by different adventures; and this is the history of Miss Warmestre,

whom we have before mentioned, when speaking of the Chevalier de

Grammont.

Lord Taaffe, eldest son of the Earl of Carlingford, was supposed to be

in love with her; and Miss Warmestre not only imagined it was so, but

likewise persuaded herself that he would not fail to marry her the first

opportunity; and in the mean time she thought it her duty to entertain

him with all the civility imaginable. Taaffe had made the Duke of

Richmond his confidant: these two were particularly attached to each

other; but still more so to wine. The Duke of Richmond, notwithstanding

his birth, made but an indifferent figure at court; and the king

respected him still less than his courtiers did: and perhaps it was in

order to court his majesty's favour that he thought proper to fall in

love with Miss Stewart. The Duke and Lord Taaffe made each other the

confidants of their respective engagements; and these were the measures

they took to put their designs in execution. Little Mademoiselle de la

Gardet was charged to acquaint Miss Stewart that the Duke of Richmond

was dying of love for her, and that when he ogled her in public it was

a certain sign that he was ready to marry her, as soon as ever she would

consent.

Taaffe had no commission to give the little ambassadress for Miss

Warmestre; for there everything was already arranged; but she was charged

to settle and provide some conveniences which were still wanting for the

freedom of their commerce, such as to have free egress and regress to her

at all hours of the day or night: this appeared difficult to be obtained,

but it was, however, at length accomplished.

The governess of the maids of honour, who for the world would not have

connived at anything that was not fair and honourable, consented that

they should sup as often as they pleased in Miss Warmestre's apartments,

provided their intentions were honourable, and she one of the company.

The good old lady was particularly fond of green oysters, and had no

aversion to Spanish wine: she was certain of finding at every one of

these suppers two barrels of oysters; one to be eaten with the party, and

the other for her to carry away: as soon, therefore, as she had taken her

dose of wine, she took her leave of the company.

It was much about the time that the Chevalier de Grammont had cast his

eyes upon Miss Warmestre, that this kind of life was led in her chamber.

God knows how many ham pies, bottles of wine, and other products of his

lordship's liberality were there consumed!

In the midst of these nocturnal festivals, and of this innocent commerce,

a relation of Killegrew's came up to London about a lawsuit: he gained

his cause, but nearly lost his senses.

He was a country gentleman, who had been a widower about six months, and

was possessed of fifteen or sixteen thousand pounds a-year: the good man,

who had no business at court, went thither merely to see his cousin

Killegrew, who could have dispensed with his visits. He there saw Miss

Warmestre; and at first sight fell in love with her. His passion

increased to such a degree that, having no rest either by day or night,

he was obliged to have recourse to extraordinary remedies; he therefore

early one morning called upon his cousin Killegrew, told him his case,

and desired him to demand Miss Warmestre in marriage for him.

Killegrew was struck with wonder and astonishment when he heard his

design: nor could he cease wondering at what sort of creature, of all the

women in London, his cousin had resolved upon marrying. It was some time

before Killegrew could believe that he was in earnest; but when he was

convinced that he was, he began to enumerate the dangers and

inconveniences attending so rash an enterprise. He told him that a girl

educated at court, was a terrible piece of furniture for the country;

that to carry her thither against her inclination, would as effectually

rob him of his happiness and repose, as if he was transported to hell;

that if he consented to let her stay, he needed only to compute what it

would cost him in equipage, table, clothes, and gaming-money, to maintain

her in London according to her caprices; and then to cast up how long his

fifteen thousand a-year would last.