Book: The Memoirs of Count Grammont, Volume 7
A >>
Anthony Hamilton >> The Memoirs of Count Grammont, Volume 7
MEMOIRS OF COUNT GRAMMONT, VOLUME 7.
By Anthony Hamilton
EDITED, WITH NOTES, BY SIR WALTER SCOTT
CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
RETURN OF THE CHEVALIER GRAMMONT TO FRANCE--HE IS SENT
BACK TO ENGLAND--VARIOUS LOVE INTRIGUES AT THIS COURT,
AND MARRIAGE OF MOST OF THE HEROES OF THESE MEMOIRS.
The nearer the Chevalier de Grammont approached the court of France, the
more did he regret his absence from that of England.
A thousand different thoughts occupied his mind upon the journey:
Sometimes he reflected upon the joy and satisfaction his friends and
relations would experience upon his return; sometimes upon the
congratulations and embraces of those who, being neither the one nor the
other, would, nevertheless, overwhelm him with impertinent compliments:
All these ideas passed quickly through his head; for a man deeply in love
makes it a scruple of conscience not to suffer any other thoughts to
dwell upon his mind than those of the object beloved. It was then the
tender, endearing remembrance of what he had left in London that diverted
his thoughts from Paris; and it was the torments of absence that
prevented his feeling those of the bad roads and the bad horses. His
heart protested to Miss Hamilton, between Montreuil and Abbeville that he
only tore himself from her with such haste, to return the sooner; after
which, by a short reflection, comparing the regret he had formerly felt
upon the same road, in quitting France for England, with that which he
now experienced, in quitting England for France, he found the last much
more insupportable than the former.
It is thus that a man in love entertains himself upon the road; or
rather, it is thus that a trifling writer abuses the patience of his
reader, either to display his own sentiments, or to lengthen out a
tedious story; but God forbid that this character should apply to
ourselves, since we profess to insert nothing in these memoirs, but what
we have heard from the mouth of him whose actions and sayings we transmit
to posterity.
Who, except Squire Feraulas, has ever been able to keep a register of all
the thoughts, sighs, and exclamations, of his illustrious master? For my
own part, I should never have thought that the attention of the Count de
Grammont, which is at present so sensible to inconveniences and dangers,
would have ever permitted him to entertain amorous thoughts upon the
road, if he did not himself dictate to me what I am now writing.
But let us speak of him at Abbeville. The postmaster was his old
acquaintance: His hotel was the best provided of any between Calais and
Paris; and the Chevalier de Grammont, alighting, told Termes he would
drink a glass of wine during the time they were changing horses. It was
about noon; and, since the preceding night, when they had landed at
Calais, until this instant, they had not eat a single mouthful. Termes,
praising the Lord, that natural feelings had for once prevailed over the
inhumanity of his usual impatience, confirmed him as much as possible in
such reasonable sentiments.
Upon their entering the kitchen, where the Chevalier generally paid his
first visit, they were surprised to see half a dozen spits loaded with
game at the fire, and every other preparation for a magnificent
entertainment. The heart of Termes leaped for joy: he gave private
orders to the hostler to pull the shoes off some of the horses, that he
might not be forced away from this place before he had satisfied his
craving appetite.
Soon after, a number of violins and hautboys, attended by all the mob of
the town, entered the court. The landlord, being asked the reason of
these great preparations, acquainted the Chevalier de Grammont that
they were for the wedding of one of the most wealthy gentlemen in the
neighbourhood with one of the handsomest girls in the whole province;
that the entertainment was to be at his house; and that, if his lordship
chose to stop, in a very short time he would see the new-married couple
arrive from the church, since the music was already come. He was right
in his conjectures; for these words were scarce out of his mouth, when
three uncommonly large coaches, loaded with lackeys, as tall as Swiss,
with most gaudy liveries, all covered with lace, appeared in the court,
and disembarked the whole wedding company. Never was country
magnificence more naturally displayed: Rusty tinsel, tarnished lace,
striped silks, little eyes, and full swelling breasts, appeared on every
side.
If the first sight of the procession surprised the Chevalier de Grammont,
faithful Termes was no less astonished at the second. The little that
was to be seen of the bride's face appeared not without beauty; but no
judgment could be formed of the remainder: Four dozen of patches, at
least, and ten ringlets of hair, on each side, most completely concealed
her from all human eyes; but it was the bridegroom who most particularly
attracted the Chevalier de Grammont's attention.
He was as ridiculously dressed as the rest of the company, except a coat
of the greatest magnificence, and of the most exquisite taste. The
Chevalier de Grammont, walking up to him to examine his dress, began to
commend the embroidery of his coat. The bridegroom thought himself much
honoured by this examination, and told him he bought it for one hundred
and fifty louis, at the time he was paying his addresses to his wife.
"Then you did not get it made here?" said the Chevalier de Grammont.
"No," replied the other; "I bought it of a London merchant, who had
ordered it for an English lord." The Chevalier de Grammont, who now
began to perceive in what manner the adventure would end, asked him if
he should recollect the merchant if he saw him again? "Recollect him!"
replied the other, "I surely ought; for I was obliged to sit up drinking
with him all night at Calais, as I was endeavouring to beat down the
price." Termes had vanished out of sight as soon as ever this coat
appeared, though he little supposed that the cursed bridegroom would
have any conversation concerning it with his master.
The Chevalier's thoughts were some time wavering between his inclination
to laugh, and a desire of hanging Master Termes; but the long habit of
suffering himself to be robbed by his domestics, together with the
vigilance of the criminal, whom his master could not reproach with having
slept in his service, inclined him to clemency; and yielding to the
importunities of the country gentleman, in order to confound his faithful
servant, he sat down to table, to make the thirty-seventh of the company.
A short time after, he desired one of the waiters to call for a gentleman
whose name was Termes. He immediately appeared; and as soon as the
master of the feast saw him, he rose from table, and offering him his
hand; "Welcome, my friend," said he; "you see that I have taken good care
of the coat which you sold me with so much reluctance, and that I have
kept it for a good purpose."
Termes, having put on a face of brass, pretended not to know him, and
pushed him back with some degree of rudeness. "No, no!" said the other;
"since I was obliged to sit up with you the whole night, in order to
strike the bargain, you shall pledge me in the bride's health."
The Chevalier de Grammont, who saw that Termes was disconcerted,
notwithstanding his impudence, said to him with a smile: "Come, come, my
good London merchant, sit down, as you are so civilly invited: we are not
so crowded at table but that there will be room enough for such an honest
gentleman as yourself." At these words five-and-thirty of the guests
were in motion to receive this new visitor: the bride alone, out of an
idea of decorum, remained seated; and the audacious Termes, having
swallowed the first shame of this adventure, began to lay about him at
such a rate, as if it had been his intention to swallow all the wine
provided for the wedding, if his master had not risen from the table as
they were taking off four-and-twenty soups, to serve up as many other
dishes in their stead.
The company were not so unreasonable as to desire a man who was in such
haste to remain to the end of a wedding dinner; but they all got up when
he arose from table, and all that he could obtain from the bridegroom was
that the company should not attend him to the gate of the inn. As for
Termes, he wished they had not quitted him till the end of their journey,
so much did he dread being left alone with his master.
They had advanced some distance from Abbeville, and were proceeding on in
the most profound silence, when Termes, who expected an end to it in a
short time, was only solicitous in what manner it might happen, whether
his master would attack him with a torrent of invectives, and certain
epithets which were most justly his due, or whether, in an insulting,
ironical manner, he might make use of such commendations as were most
likely to confound him; but finding, instead of either, that he remained
in sullen silence, he thought it prudent rather to prevent the speech the
Chevalier was meditating than to suffer him to think longer about it;
and, accordingly, arming himself with all his effrontery: "You seem to be
very angry, Sir," said he, "and I suppose you think you have reason for
being so; but the devil take me, if you are not mistaken in reality."
"How! traitor! in reality?" said the Chevalier de Grammont. "It is then
because I have not had thee well thrashed, as thou hast for a long time
merited." "Look ye, Sir," replied Termes, "you always run into a
passion, instead of listening to reason! Yes, Sir, I maintain that
what I did was for your benefit." "And was not the quicksand likewise
for my service?" said the Chevalier de Grammont. "Have patience,
if you please," pursued the other: "I know not how that simpleton of
a bridegroom happened to be at the custom-house when my portmanteau
was examined at Calais: but these silly cuckolds thrust in their noses
everywhere. As soon as ever he saw your coat, he fell in love with it.
I immediately perceived he was a fool; for he fell down upon his knees,
beseeching me to sell it him. Besides being greatly rumpled in the
portmanteau, it was all stained in front by the sweat of the horses.
I wonder how the devil he has managed to get it cleaned; but, faith,
I am the greatest scoundrel in the world, if you would ever have put it
on. In a word, it cost you one hundred and forty louis d'ors, and seeing
he offered me one hundred and fifty for it; 'My master,' said I, 'has no
occasion for this tinselled bauble to distinguish him at the ball; and,
although he was pretty full of cash when I left him, how know I in what
situation he may be upon my return? there is no certainty at play.'
To be brief, Sir, I got ten louis d'ors for it more than it cost you:
this you see is all clear profit: I will be accountable to you for it,
and you know that I am sufficiently substantial to make good such a sum.
Confess now, do you think you would have appeared to greater advantage at
the ball, if you had been dressed out in that damned coat, which would
have made you look just like the village bridegroom to whom we sold it?
and yet how you stormed at London when you thought it lost; what fine
stories you told the king about the quicksand; and how churlish you
looked, when you first began to suppose that this country booby wore it
at his wedding!"
What could the Chevalier reply to such uncommon impudence? If he
indulged his resentment, he must either have most severely bastinadoed
him, or he must have discarded him, as the easiest escape the rogue could
expect; but he had occasion for him during the remainder of his journey;
and, as soon as he was at Paris, he had occasion for him for his return.
The Marechal de Grammont had no sooner notice of his arrival than he went
to him at the hotel; and, the first embraces being over on both sides,
"Chevalier," said the Marechal, "how many days have you been in coming
from London hither? for God knows at what a rate you travel on such
occasions." The Chevalier told him he had been three days upon the road;
and, to excuse himself for making no more haste, he related to him his
Abbeville adventure. "It is a very entertaining one," said his brother;
"but what is yet more entertaining is, that it will be your fault if you
do not find your coat still at table; for the country gentry are not
accustomed to rise very soon from a wedding dinner." And then, in a
very serious tone, told him, "he knew not who had advised him to this
unexpected return, which might probably ruin all his affairs; but he had
orders from the king to bid him go back again without appearing at court.
He told him afterwards that he was very much astonished at his
impatience, as, till this time, he had conducted himself uncommonly well,
and was sufficiently acquainted with the king's temper to know that the
only way to merit his pardon was to wait until it freely came from his
clemency."
The Chevalier, in justification of his conduct, produced Madame de Saint
Chaumont's letter, and told the Marechal that he would very willingly
have spared her the trouble of writing him such kind of news, to occasion
him so useless a journey. "Still more indiscretion," replied his
brother; "for pray how long has our sister being either secretary of
state or minister, that she should be employed by the king to make
known his majesty's order? Do you wish to know the real state of the
case? Some time ago the king told Madame--[Henrietta]--how you had
refused the pension the King of England offered you.
["Henrietta, youngest daughter of Charles the First,--born at Exeter
16th June, 1644, from whence she was removed to London in 1646, and,
with her governess, Lady Dalkeith, soon afterwards conveyed to
France. On the restoration, she came over to England with her
mother, but returned to France in about six months, and was married
to Philip, Duke of Orleans, only brother of Louis XIV. In May,
1670, she came again to Dover, on a mission of a political nature,
it is supposed, from the French king to her brother, in which she
was successful. She died, soon after her return to France,
suddenly, not without suspicion of having been poisoned by her
husband. King James, in his Diary, says, 'On the 22d of June, the
news of the Duchess of Orleans' death arrived. It was suspected
that counter-poisons were given her; but when she was opened, in the
presence of the English ambassador, the Earl of Ailesbury, an
English physician and surgeon, there appeared no grounds of
suspicion of any foul play. Yet Bucks tallied openly that she was
poisoned; and was so violent as to propose to foreign ministers to
make war on France.'--Macpherson's Original Papers, vol i. At the
end of Lord Arlington's Letters are five very remarkable ones from a
person of quality, who is said to have been actually on the spot,
giving a particular relation of her death.]
"He appeared pleased with the manner in which Comminges had related to him
the circumstances attending it, and said he was pleased with you for it:
Madame interpreted this as an order for your recall; and Madame de Saint
Chaumont being very far from possessing that wonderful discretion she
imagines herself mistress of, she hastened to despatch to you this
consequential order in her own hand. To conclude, Madame said yesterday,
when the king was at dinner, that you would very soon be here; and the
king, as soon as dinner was over, commanded me to send you back as soon
as you arrived. Here you are; set off again immediately."
This order might have appeared severe to the Chevalier de Grammont at any
other time; but, in the present state of his heart, he soon resolved upon
obeying. Nothing gave him uneasiness but the officious advice which had
obliged him to leave the English court; and being entirely unconcerned
that he was not allowed to see the French court before his departure, he
only desired the Marechal to obtain leave for him to stay a few days to
collect in some play debts which were owing him. This request was
granted, on condition that he should not remain in Paris.
He chose Vaugirard for his retreat: it was there that he had several
adventures which he so often related in so humorous and diverting a
manner, that it would be tedious to repeat them; there it was that he
administered the sacrament in so solemn a manner, that, as there did not
remain a sufficient number of Swiss at Versailles to guard the chapel,
Vardes was obliged to acquaint the king that they were all gone to the
Chevalier de Grammont, who was administering the sacrament at Vaugirard:
there likewise happened that wonderful adventure which threw the first
slur upon the reputation of the great Saucourt, when, having a
tete-a-tete with the gardener's daughter, the horn, which was agreed upon
as the signal to prevent surprises, was sounded so often, that the
frequent alarms cooled the courage of the celebrated Saucourt, and
rendered useless the assignation that was procured for him with one of
the prettiest girls in the neighbourhood. It was, likewise, during his
stay at Vaugirard, that he paid a visit to Mademoiselle de l'Hopital at
Issy, to inquire into the truth of a report of an amour between her
and a man of the long robe; and it was there that, on his arriving
unexpectedly, the President de Maisons was forced to take refuge in a
closet, with so much precipitation, that half of his robe remained on the
outside when he shut the door; while the Chevalier de Grammont, who
observed it, made his visit excessively long, in order to keep the two
lovers upon the rack.
His business being settled, he set out for England on the wings of love.
Termes redoubled his vigilance upon the road. The post horses were ready
in an instant at every stage: the winds and tides favoured his
impatience; and he reached London with the highest satisfaction. The
court was both surprised and charmed at his sudden return. No person
condoled with him upon his late disappointment, which had occasioned him
to come back, as he testified no manner of uneasiness concerning it
himself: nor was Miss Hamilton in the least displeased at his readiness
in obeying the orders of the king his master.
Nothing new had happened in the English court during his short absence;
but it assumed a different aspect soon after his return: I mean with
respect to love and pleasure, which were the most serious concerns of the
court during the greatest part of this gay reign.
The Duke of Monmouth, natural son to Charles the Second, now made his
first appearance in his father's court.
[James Duke of Monmouth, was the son of Charles the II., by one Lucy
Walters. He was born at Rotterdam, April 9, 1649, and bore the name
of James Crofts until the restoration. His education was chiefly at
Paris, under the eye of the queen-mother, and the government of
Thomas Ross, Esq., who was afterwards secretary to Mr. Coventry
during his embassy in Sweden. At the restoration, he was brought to
England, and received with joy by his father, who heaped honours and
riches upon him, which were not sufficient to satisfy his ambitious
views. To exclude his uncle, the Duke of York, from the throne, he
was continually intriguing with the opposers of government, and was
frequently in disgrace with his sovereign. On the accession of
James II. he made an ineffectual attempt to raise a rebellion, was
taken prisoner, and beheaded on Tower-hill, 15th July, 1685. Mr.
Macpherson has drawn his character in the following terms:
"Monmouth, highly beloved by the populace, was a fit instrument to
carry forward his (i.e. Shaftesbury's) designs. To a gracefulness
which prejudiced mankind in his favour as soon as seen, he joined an
affability which gained their love. Constant in his friendships,
and just to his word, by nature tender, and an utter enemy to
severity and cruelty, active and vigorous in his constitution, he
excelled in the manly exercises of the field. He was personally
brave. He loved the pomp and the very dangers of war. But with
these splendid qualities, he was vain to a degree of folly,
versatile in his measures, weak in his understanding. He was
ambitious without dignity, busy without consequence, attempting ever
to be artful, but always a fool. Thus, taking the applause of the
multitude for a certain mark of merit, he was the dupe of his own
vanity, and owed all his misfortunes to that weakness."--History of
England, vol. i., chap. iii.]
His entrance upon the stage of the world was so brilliant, his ambition
had occasioned so many considerable events, and the particulars of his
tragical end are so recent, that it were needless to produce any other
traits to give a sketch of his character. By the whole tenor of his
life, he appeared to be rash in his undertakings, irresolute in the
execution, and dejected in his misfortunes, in which, at least, an
undaunted resolution ought to equal the greatness of the attempt.
His figure and the exterior graces of his person were such, that nature
perhaps never formed anything more complete: His face was extremely
handsome; and yet it was a manly face, neither inanimate nor effeminate;
each feature having its beauty and peculiar delicacy: He had a wonderful
genius for every sort of exercise, an engaging aspect, and an air of
grandeur: in a word, he possessed every personal advantage; but then he
was greatly deficient in mental accomplishments. He had no sentiments
but such as others inspired him with; and those who first insinuated
themselves into his friendship, took care to inspire him with none but
such as were pernicious. The astonishing beauty of his outward form
caused universal admiration: those who before were looked upon as
handsome were now entirely forgotten at court: and all the gay and
beautiful of the fair sex were at his devotion. He was particularly
beloved by the king; but the universal terror of husbands and lovers.
This, however, did not long continue; for nature not having endowed him
with qualifications to secure the possession of the heart, the fair sex
soon perceived the defect.
The Duchess of Cleveland was out of humour with the king, because the
children she had by his majesty were like so many little puppets,
compared to this new Adonis. She was the more particularly hurt, as she
might have boasted of being the queen of love, in comparison with the
duke's mother.
The king, however, laughed at her reproaches, as, for some time, she had
certainly no right to make any; and, as this piece of jealousy appeared
to be more ill-founded than any she had formerly affected, no person
approved of her ridiculous resentment. Not succeeding in this, she
formed another scheme to give the king uneasiness: Instead of opposing
his extreme tenderness for his son, she pretended to adopt him, in her
affection, by a thousand commendations and caresses, which she was daily
and continually increasing. As these endearments were public, she
imagined they could not be suspected; but she was too well known for
her real design to be mistaken. The king was no longer jealous of her;
but, as the Duke of Monmouth was of an age not to be insensible to the
attractions of a woman possessing so many charms, he thought it proper to
withdraw him from this pretended mother-in-law, to preserve his
innocence, or at least his fame, uncontaminated: it was for this reason,
therefore, that the king married him so young. An heiress of five
thousand pounds a-year in Scotland, offered very a-propos: her person was
full of charms, and her mind possessed all those perfections in which the
handsome Monmouth was deficient.
[This was Lady Anne Scott, daughter and sole heir of Francis, Earl
of Buccleugh, only son and heir of Walter, Lord Scott, created Earl
of Buccleugh in 1619. On their marriage the duke took the surname
of Scott, and he and his lady were created Duke and Duchess of
Buccleugh, Earl and Countess of Dalkeith, Baron and Baroness of
Whitchester and Ashdale in Scotland, by letters patent, dated April
20th, 1673. Also, two days after he was installed at Windsor, the
king and queen, the Duke of York, and most of the court being
present. The next day, being St. George's day, his majesty
solemnized it with a royal feast, and entertained the knights
companions in St. George's hall in the castle of Windsor. Though
there were several children of this marriage, it does not appear to
have been a happy one; the duke, without concealment attaching
himself to Lady Harriet Wentworth, whom, with his dying breath, he
declared he considered as his only wife in the sight of God. The
duchess, in May, 1688, took to her second husband Charles, Lord
Cornwallis. She died Feb. 6, 1731-32, in the 81st year of her age,
and was buried at Dalkeith in Scotland. Our author is not more
correct about figures than he avows himself to be in the arrangement
of facts and dates: the duchess's fortune was much greater than he
has stated it to have been.]