Count Antony Hamilton, soldier, courtier, and author, was born
at Roscrea, Tipperary, in 1646. His father was George
Hamilton, grandson of the Duke of Hamilton. At the death of
Charles I., the Hamilton family took refuge abroad until the
Restoration, and Antony's boyhood, until his fourteenth year,
was spent in France. Shortly after their return with the
Stuart dynasty, the illustrious Count de Grammont, exiled from
France in 1662, won the affections of Elizabeth, Antony's
sister, and then with characteristic inconstancy, chose to
forget her; but he was caught up at Dover by the brothers
Antony and George, and brought back to fulfil his engagement.
After James II. had retired from England, Antony Hamilton
frequented the court of the fallen monarch at Saint-Germain,
where he died on April 21, 1720. In the "Memoirs of the Count
de Grammont," first published anonymously in 1713, Hamilton,
though of British birth, wrote one of the great classics of
the French language. The spirited wit, the malicious and
graceful gaiety of these adventures, are perfectly French in
quality.
_I.--Soldier and Gamester_
Those who read only for their amusement seem to me more reasonable than
those who read only in order to discover errors; and I may say at once
that I write for the former, without troubling myself about the
erudition of the critics. What does chronological order matter, or an
exact narrative, if only this sketch succeeds in giving a perfect
impression of its original?
I write, with something of Plutarch's freedom, a life more amazing than
any which that author has left us; an inimitable character whose
radiance covers faults which it would be vain to dissemble; an
illustrious personality whose vices and virtues are inextricably
interwoven, and seem as rare in their perfect harmony as they are
brilliant in their contrast. In war, in love, at the gaming-table, and
in all the varied circumstances of a long career, Count de Grammont has
been the wonder of his age.
It is not for me to describe him as Bussy and Saint-Evremond have tried
to do; his own words shall tell the pleasant story of sieges and
battles, and of his not less glorious stratagems in love or at play.
Louis XIII. reigned, and Cardinal Richelieu governed the kingdom. Great
men were in command of little armies, and these little armies won great
achievements. The fortunes of powerful houses depended on the minister's
favour. His vast projects were establishing the formidable grandeur of
the France of to-day. But matters of police were a trifle neglected; the
highways were unsafe, and theft went unpunished. Youth, entering on
life, took what part it chose; everyone might be a knight; everyone who
could became a beneficed priest. The sacred and military callings were
not distinguished by their dress, and the Chevalier de Grammont adorned
them both at the siege of Trin.
Many deeds of daring marked this siege of Trin; there had been great
fatigues and many losses. But of boredom, after De Grammont's arrival,
there was never any throughout the army; no more weariness in the
trenches, no more dulness among the generals. Everywhere, this man
sought and carried joy.
Some vainly imitated him; others more wisely sought his friendship.
Among these was Matta, a fellow of infinite frankness, probity, and
naturalness, and of the finest discernment and delicacy. A friendship
was quickly established between the two; they agreed to live together,
sharing expenses, and began to give a series of sumptuous and elegant
banquets, at which they found the cards marvellously profitable. The
chevalier became the fashion, and it was considered bad form to
contravene his taste.
But the greatest prosperity is not always the most lasting. Lavish
expenditure such as theirs begins to be felt when the luck changes, and
the chevalier soon had to call his genius to aid him in maintaining his
honourable reputation. Rejecting Matta's suggestion of retrenchment and
reforms as contrary to the honour of France, Grammont laid before him
the better way. He proposed to invite Count de Caméran, a wealthy and
eager player, to supper on the following evening. Matta objected their
present straits.
"Have you not a grain of imagination?" continued the chevalier. "Order a
supper of the best. He will pay. But listen first to the simple
precautions which I mean to take. You command the Guards, don't you?
Well, have fifteen or twenty men, under your Sergeant Laplace, lying in
some quiet place between here and headquarters."
"Great heavens!" cried Matta. "An ambush? You mean to rob the unhappy
man? I cannot go so far as that!"
"Poor simpleton that you are!" was the reply. "Look fairly at the facts.
There is every appearance that we shall gain his money. The Piedmontese,
such as he is, are honest enough, but are by nature absurdly suspicious.
He commands the cavalry. Well, you are a man who cannot rule your
tongue, and it is ten to one that some of your jests will make him
anxious. If he were to take into his head that he was being cheated,
what might not happen? He usually has eight or ten mounted men attending
him, and we must guard against his natural resentment at losing."
"Give me your hand, dear chevalier," said Matta, "and forgive me for
having doubted you. How wonderful you are! It had never occurred to me
before that a player at the card-table should be backed by a detachment
of infantry outside."
The supper passed most agreeably, Matta drinking more than usual to
stifle some remaining scruples. The chevalier, brilliant as ever, kept
his guest in continual merriment, whom he was soon to make so serious;
and Caméran's ardour was divided between the good cheer on the table and
the play that was to follow. Meanwhile, the trusty Laplace drew up his
men in the darkness.
De Grammont, calling to mind the many deceits that had at various times
been practised upon him, steeled his heart against sentimental weakness;
and Matta, unwilling spectator of violated hospitality, went to sleep in
an easy-chair. Play began for small sums, but rose to higher stakes; and
presently Matta was awakened by the loud indignation of their
unfortunate guest to find the cards flying through the air.
"Play no more, my poor count!" cried Matta, laughing at his transports
of rage. "Don't hope for a change of luck!"
Caméran insisted, however, and Matta was again aroused by a more furious
storm. "Stop playing!" he shouted. "Don't I tell you it is impossible
that you should win? We are cheating you!"
The Chevalier de Grammont, all the more annoyed at this ill-placed jest
because it had a certain appearance of truth, rebuked Matta for his rude
gaiety; but the losing player, reassured by Matta's frankness, refused
to be offended by him, and turned again to deal the cards. Caméran lost
fifteen hundred pistoles and paid them the next morning. Matta, severely
reprimanded for his dangerous impertinence, confessed that a brush
between the opposing forces outside would have been a diverting
conclusion to the evening.
_II.--A Complete Education_
"Tell me the story of your education," said Matta one evening, as the
intimacy of the two friends advanced. "The most trifling particulars of
a life like yours must be well worth knowing. But don't begin with an
enumeration of your ancestors, for I know you are wholly ignorant of
their name and rank."
"What poor jest is that?" replied the count. "Not all the world is as
ignorant as you. It was owing to my father's own choice that he was not
son of King Henry IV. His majesty desired nothing more than to recognise
him, but my treacherous parent was obdurate to the end. Think how the De
Grammonts would have stood if he had only kept to the truth. I see you
laugh, but it's as true as the Gospel.
"But to come to facts. I was sent to college with a view to the Church,
but as I had other views, I profited little. I was so fond of gaming
that my teachers lost their Latin in trying to teach it to me. Old
Brinon, who accompanied me as servant and governor, threatened me with
my mother's anger, but I rarely listened. I left college very much as I
entered it, though they considered that I knew enough for the living
which my brother had procured for me.
"He had just married the niece of the great Richelieu, to whom he wished
to present me. I arrived in Paris, and after enjoying for a few days the
run of the town in order to lose my rusticity, I put on a cassock to
appear at court in a clerical character. But my hair was well powdered
and dressed, my white boots and gilt spurs showed below, and the
cardinal was offended at what he took to be a slight on the tonsure.
"The costume, a compromise between Rome and the army, delighted the
court, but my brother pointed out that the time had come to choose
between them. 'On the one hand,' he said, 'by declaring for the Church
you may have great possessions and a life of idleness; on the other
hand, a soldier's life offers you slender pay, broken arms and legs, the
court's ingratitude, and at length, perhaps, the rank of camp-marshal,
with a glass eye and a wooden leg. Choose.'
"'I very well know,' I replied, 'that these two careers cannot be
compared as regards the comfort and convenience of life; but since it is
our duty to seek salvation first of all, I will renounce the Church that
I may save my soul--always on the understanding that I may keep my
benefice.' Neither my brother's remonstrances nor his authority could
shake my resolution, and I had even to go without my benefice.
"My mother, who hoped that I should be a saint in the Church, but feared
that in the world I should become a devil, or be killed in battle, was
at first inconsolable. But after I had somewhat acquired the manners of
the court and of society she idolised me, and kept me with her as long
as possible. At last the time came for my departure to the war, and the
faithful Brinon undertook to be responsible for my morals and welfare,
as well as for my safety on the field.
"Brinon and I fell out very soon. He had been entrusted with four
hundred pistoles for my charges, and I naturally wanted to have them.
Brinon refused to part with the money, and I was compelled to take it by
force. He made such ado about it I might have been tearing the heart
from his breast. From this point my spirits rose exceedingly.
"At last we reached Lyons. Two soldiers stopped us at the gate to take
us to the governor, and I ordered one of them to guide me to the best
hotel, while the other should take Brinon before the governor to give an
account of my journey and purpose. There is as good entertainment in
Lyons as in Paris, but, as usual, my soldier led me to the house of one
of his friends, praising it as the haunt of the best company. We came
thither, and I was left in the hands of the landlord, who was Swiss by
race, poisoner by profession, and robber by custom.
"Presently Brinon arrived, angrier than an aged monkey, and, finding me
preparing to go down to the company below, assured me that there were
none in the house but a dozen noisy gamblers, playing cards and dice.
But I had become ungovernable since I had secured the money, and sent
him off to sup and sleep, ordering the horses for the hour before dawn.
My money began to tingle in my pocket from the moment when Brinon spoke
of the cards.
"The public room below was crowded with the most astonishing figures. I
had expected well-dressed folk, and here were German and Swiss chapmen
playing backgammon with the manners of cattle. One especially was
pointed out to me by my host as a horse-dealer from Basle, who was
willing to play high, and was always ready to pay his losses. This was
sufficient. I immediately proposed to ruin that horse-dealer. I stood
behind him and studied his play, which was inconceivably bad.
"We dined side by side, and when the worst meal I have ever taken was
finished, everyone disappeared, with the exception of my Swiss and the
landlord. After a little conversation I proposed a game, and,
apologising for the great liberty he was taking, the horse-dealer
consented. I won, and won again. Brinon entered to interrupt us, and I
turned him out of the room. The play continued in my favour until the
little Swiss, having passed over the stakes, apologised again, and would
have retired. That, however, was not what I wanted. I offered to stake
all my winnings in one throw. He made a good deal of difficulty over it,
but at last consented, and won. I was annoyed, and staked again. Again
he won. There was no more bad play now. Throw after throw, without
exception, went in his favour, until all my money was gone. Then he
rose, apologetic as ever, wished me good-night, and left the house. Thus
my education was completed."
"But what did you do then?" Matta inquired.
"Brinon hadn't given me all the money."
_III.--The Restoration Court_
The Chevalier de Grammont had visited England at the time when that
proud nation lay under Cromwell's yoke, and all was sad and serious in
the finest city of the world. But he found a very different scene the
next time he crossed the Channel. The joy of the Restoration was
everywhere. The very people who had solemnly abjured the Stuart line
were feasting and rejoicing on its return.
He arrived about two years after Charles II. had ascended the throne,
and his welcome at the English court mitigated his sorrows at leaving
France. It was indeed a happy retreat for an exile of his character.
Accustomed as he was to the grandeur of the French court, he was
surprised at the refinement and majesty of that of England. The king was
second to none in bodily or in mental graces, his temperament was
agreeable and familiar. Capable of everything when affairs of state were
urgent, he was unable to apply himself in times of ease; his heart was
often the dupe, and oftener still the slave, of his affections. The Duke
of York was of a different character. His courage was reputed
indomitable, his word inviolable, and his economy, pride, and industry
were praised by all.
The Duke of Ormonde enjoyed the confidence and esteem of his royal
master. The magnitude of his services, his high birth and personal
merit, and the sacrifices which he had made in following the fortunes of
Charles II. justified his elevation to be master of the king's
household, first gentleman of the chamber, and governor of Ireland. He
was, so to speak, the Marshal de Grammont of the English court. The Duke
of Buckingham and the Count of St. Albans were in England what they had
been in France; the former, spirited and fiery, dissipating ingloriously
his immense possessions; the other, without notable talent, having risen
from indigence to a considerable fortune, which his losses at play and
abundant hospitality seemed only to increase.
Lord Berkeley, who later became Lord Falmouth, was the king's confidant
and favourite, though a man of no great gifts, either physical or
intellectual; but the native nobility of his mind was shown in an
unprecedented disinterestedness, so that he cared for nothing but the
glory of his master. So true-hearted was he, that no one would have
taken him to be a courtier.
The eldest of the Hamiltons was the best-dressed man at court. He was
handsome, and had those happy talents which lead to fortune and to the
victories of love. He was the most assiduous and polished of courtiers;
no one danced or flirted more gracefully, and these are no small merits
in a court which lives on feasts and gallantry. The handsome Sydney,
less dangerous than he seemed, had too little vivacity to make good the
promise of his features.
Strangely enough, it was on the little Jermyn, nephew and adopted son of
the aged St. Albans, that all good fortunes showered. Backed by his
uncle's wealth, he had made a brave show at the court of the Princess of
Orange, and, as is so often the case, magnificent equipments had made a
way for love. True, he was a courageous and well-bred man, but his
personal attractions were slight; he was small, with a big head and
short legs, and though his features were not disagreeable, his gait and
manner were affected. His wit was limited to a few expressions, which he
used indiscriminately in raillery and in wooing; yet on these poor
advantages was founded a formidable success in gallantry. His reputation
was well established in England before ever he arrived. If a woman's
mind be prepared, the way is open to her heart, and Jermyn found the
ladies of the English court favourably disposed.
Such were the heroes of the court. As for the beauties, one could not
turn without seeing some of them. Those of greatest repute were Lady
Castlemaine (later Duchess of Cleveland), Lady Chesterfield, Lady
Shrewsbury, with a hundred other stars of this shining constellation;
but Miss Hamilton and Miss Stewart outshone them all. The new queen
added but little to its brilliancy, either personally or by the members
of her suite.
Into this society, then, the Chevalier de Grammont entered. He was
familiar with everyone, adapted himself readily to their customs,
enjoyed everything, praised everything, and was delighted to find the
manners of the court neither coarse nor barbarous. With his natural
complacency, instead of the impertinent fastidiousness of which other
foreigners had been guilty, he delighted the whole of England.
At first he paid court to the king, with whom he found favour. He played
high, and rarely lost. He was soon in so much request that his presence
at a dinner or reception had to be secured eight or ten days beforehand.
These unintermitted social duties wearied him, but he acceded to them as
inevitable, keeping himself free, however, for supper at home. The hour
of these exquisite little suppers was irregular, because it depended on
the course of play; the company was small, but well-chosen. The pick of
the courtiers accepted his invitations, and the celebrated
Saint-Evremond, a fellow exile, was always of the party. De Grammont was
his hero, and Saint-Evremond used to make prudent little lectures on his
friend's weakness.
"Here you are," he would say, "in the most agreeable and fortunate
circumstances which a man of your humour could find. You are the delight
of a youthful, lively and gallant court. The king makes you one of every
pleasant party. You play every night to morning, without knowing what it
is to lose. You spend lavishly, but your fortune is multiplying itself
beyond your wildest dreams. My dear Chevalier, leave well alone. Don't
renew your ancient follies. Keep to your gaming; amass money; do not
interfere with love." And De Grammont would laugh at his mentor as the
"Cato of Normandy."
_IV.--The Chevalier's Marriage_
The Hamilton family lived next to court, in a large house where the most
distinguished people in London, and among them the Chevalier de
Grammont, were to be found daily. Everyone agreed that Miss Hamilton
deserved a sincere and worthy attachment; her birth was of the highest
and her charms were universally acknowledged. Her figure was beautiful,
every movement was gracious, and the ladies of the court were led by her
taste in dress and in coiffure. Affecting neither vivacity nor
deliberation in speech, she said as much as was needed, and no more.
After seeing her, the Chevalier wasted no more time elsewhere.
The English court was at this time seething with amorous intrigues, and
the Chevalier and his friends were involved in many a risky adventure.
The days were spent in hunting, the nights in dancing and at play. One
of the most splendid masquerades was devised by the queen herself. In
this spectacle, each dancer was to represent a particular nation; and
you may imagine that the tailors and dressmakers were kept busy for many
days. During these preparations, Miss Hamilton took a fancy to ridicule
two very pushing ladies of the court.
Lady Muskerry, like most great heiresses, was without physical
endowments. She was short, stout, and lame, and her features were
disagreeable; but she was the victim of a passion for dress and for
dancing. The queen, in her kindness to the public, never omitted to make
Lady Muskerry dance at a court ball; but it was impossible to introduce
her into a superb pageant such as the projected masquerade.
To this lady, then, when the queen was sending her invitations, Miss
Hamilton addressed a fac-simile note, commanding her attendance in the
character of a Babylonian; and to another, a Miss Blague, who was
extremely blonde with a most insipid tint, she sent several yards of the
palest yellow ribbon, requesting her to wear it in her hair. The jest,
which succeeded admirably, was characteristic of Miss Hamilton's playful
disposition.
During a season at Tunbridge Wells, and another a Bath, the brilliant
Chevalier, admired by all and more successful than ever at play,
prosecuted his suit. Then, almost all the merry courtier-lovers fell at
once into the bonds of marriage. The beautiful Miss Stewart married the
Duke of Richmond; the invincible little Jermyn fell to a conceited lady
from the provinces; Lord Rochester took a melancholy heiress; George
Hamilton married the lovely Miss Jennings; and, lastly, the Chevalier de
Grammont, as the reward of a constancy which he had never shown before,
and which he has never practised since, became the possessor of the
charming Miss Hamilton.
* * * * *