Produced by David Widger





         MEMOIRS OF COUNT GRAMMONT, VOLUME 4.

             By Anthony Hamilton

        EDITED, WITH NOTES, BY SIR WALTER SCOTT




               CHAPTER EIGHTH.

     FUNNY ADVENTURE OF THE CHAPLAIN POUSSATIN--THE STORY OF
     THE SIEGE OF LERIDA--MARRIAGE OF THE DUKE OF YORK, AND
     OTHER DETAILS ABOUT THE ENGLISH COURT.


"Sir," said the Chevalier de Grammont, "the Prince de Conde besieged
Lerida: the place in itself was nothing; but Don Gregorio Brice who
defended it, was something. He was one of those Spaniards of the old
stamp, as valiant as the Cid, as proud as all the Guzmans put together,
and more gallant than all the Abencerrages of Granada: he suffered us to
make our first approaches to the place without the least molestation.
The Marshal de Grammont, whose maxim it was, that a governor who at first
makes a great blustering, and burns his suburbs in order to make a noble
defence, generally makes a very bad one, looked upon Gregorio de Brice's
politeness as no good omen for us; but the prince, covered with glory,
and elated with the campaigns of Rocroy, Norlinguen, and Fribourg, to
insult both the place and the governor, ordered the trenches to be
mounted at noon-day by his own regiment, at the head of which marched
four-and-twenty fiddlers, as if it had been to a wedding.

"Night approaching, we were all in high spirits: our violins were playing
soft airs, and we were comfortably regaling ourselves: God knows how we
were joking about the poor governor and his fortifications, both of which
we promised ourselves to take in less than twenty-four hours. This was
going on in the trenches, when we heard an ominous cry from the ramparts,
repeated two or three times, of, 'Alerte on the walls!' This cry was
followed by a discharge of cannon and musketry, and this discharge by a
vigorous sally, which, after having filled up the trenches, pursued us as
far as our grand guard.

"The next day Gregorio Brice sent by a trumpet a present of ice and fruit
to the Prince de Conde, humbly beseeching his highness to excuse his not
returning the serenade which he was pleased to favour him with, as
unfortunately he had no violins; but that if the music of last night was
not disagreeable to him, he would endeavour to continue it as long as he
did him the honour to remain before the place. The Spaniard was as good
as his word; and as soon as we heard, 'Alerte on the walls,' we were sure
of a sally, that cleared our trenches, destroyed our works, and killed
the best of our officers and soldiers. The prince was so piqued at it,
that, contrary to the opinion of the general officers, he obstinately
persisted in carrying on a siege which was like to ruin his army, and
which he was at last forced to quit in a hurry.

"As our troops were retiring, Don Gregorio, far from giving himself those
airs which governors generally do on such occasions, made no other sally,
than sending a respectful compliment to the prince. Signor Brice set out
not long after for Madrid, to give an account of his conduct, and to
receive the recompense he had merited. Your majesty perhaps will be
desirous to know what reception poor Brice met with, after having
performed the most brilliant action the Spaniards could boast of in all
the war--he was confined by the inquisition."

"How!" said the Queen Dowager, "confined by the inquisition for his
services!" "Not altogether for his services," said the Chevalier; "but
without any regard to his services, he was treated in the manner I have
mentioned for a little affair of gallantry, which I shall relate to the
King presently.

"The campaign of Catalonia being thus ended, we were returning home, not
overloaded with laurels; but as the Prince de Conde had laid up a great
store on former occasions, and as he had still great projects in his
head, he soon forgot this trifling misfortune: we did nothing but joke
with one another during the march, and the prince was the first to
ridicule the siege. We made some of those rhymes on Lerida, which were
sung all over France, in order to prevent others more severe; however, we
gained nothing by it, for notwithstanding we treated ourselves freely in
our own ballads, others were composed in Paris in which we were ten times
more severely handled. At last we arrived at Perpignan upon a holy-day:
a company of Catalans, who were dancing in the middle of the street, out
of respect to the prince came to dance under his windows: Monsieur
Poussatin, in a little black jacket, danced in the middle of this
company, as if he was really mad. I immediately recognized him for my
countryman, from his manner of skipping and frisking about: the prince
was charmed with his humour and activity. After the dance, I sent for
him, and inquired who he was: 'A poor priest, at your service, my lord,'
said he: 'my name is Poussatin, and Bearn is my native country: I was
going into Catalonia to serve in the infantry, for, God be praised, I can
march very well on foot; but since the war is happily concluded, if your
lordship pleases to take me into your service, I would follow you
everywhere, and serve you faithfully.' 'Monsieur Poussatin,' said I, 'my
lordship has no great occasion for a chaplain; but since you are so well
disposed towards me, I will take you into my service.'

"The Prince de Conde, who was present at this conversation, was overjoyed
at my having a chaplain. As poor Poussatin was in a very tattered
condition, I had no time to provide him with a proper habit at Perpignan;
but giving him a spare livery of one of the Marshal de Grammont's
servants, I made him get up behind the prince's coach, who was like to
die with laughing every time he looked at poor Poussatin's uncanonical
mien in a yellow livery.

"As soon as we arrived in Paris, the story was told to the Queen, who at
first expressed some surprise at it: this, however, did not prevent her
from wishing to see my chaplain dance; for in Spain it is not altogether
so strange to see ecclesiastics dance, as to see them in livery.

"Poussatin performed wonders before the Queen; but as he danced with
great sprightliness, she could not bear the odour which his violent
motions diffused around her room the ladies likewise began to pray for
relief; for he had almost entirely got the better of all the perfumes and
essences with which they were fortified: Poussatin, nevertheless, retired
with a great deal of applause, and some louis d'or.

"Some time afterwards I procured a small benefice in the country for my
chaplain, and I have since been informed that Poussatin preached with the
same ease in his village as he danced at the wedding of his
parishioners."

The King was exceedingly diverted at Poussatin's history; and the Queen
was not much hurt at his having been put in livery: the treatment of
Gregorio Brice offended her far more; and being desirous to justify the
court of Spain, with respect to so cruel a proceeding: "Chevalier de
Grammont," said she, "what heresy did Governor Brice wish to introduce
into the state? What crime against religion was he charged with, that he
was confined in the inquisition?" "Madam," said he, "the history is not
very proper to be related before your majesty: it was a little amorous
frolic, ill-timed indeed; but poor Brice meant no harm: a school-boy
would not have been whipped for such a fault, in the most severe college
in France; as it was only for giving some proofs of his affection to a
young Spanish fair one, who had fixed her eyes upon him on a solemn
occasion."

The King desired to know the particulars of the adventure; and the
Chevalier gratified his curiosity, as soon as the Queen and the rest of
the court were out of hearing. It was very entertaining to hear him tell
a story; but it was very disagreeable to differ with him, either in
competition, or in raillery: it is true that at that time there were few
persons at the English court who had merited his indignation: Russell was
sometimes the subject of his ridicule, but he treated him far more
tenderly than he usually did a rival.

This Russell was one of the most furious dancers in all England, I mean,
for country dances: he had a collection of two or three hundred in print,
all of which he danced at sight; and to prove that he was not an old man,
he sometimes danced until he was almost exhausted: his mode of dancing
was like that of his clothes, for they both had been out of fashion full
twenty years.

The Chevalier de Grammont was very sensible that he was very much in
love; but though he saw very well that it only rendered him more
ridiculous, yet he felt some concern at the information he received,
of his intention of demanding Miss Hamilton in marriage; but his concern
did not last long. Russell, being upon the point of setting out on a
journey, thought it was proper to acquaint his mistress with his
intentions before his departure. The Chevalier de Grammont was a great
obstacle to the interview, he was desirous of obtaining of her; but being
one day sent for, to go and play at Lady Castlemaine's, Russell seized
the opportunity, and addressing himself to Miss Hamilton, with less
embarrassment than is usual on such occasions, he made his declaration to
her in the following manner: "I am brother to the Earl of Bedford: I
command the regiment of guards: I have three thousand pounds a year, and
fifteen thousand in ready money: all which, madam, I come to present to
you, along with my person. One present, I agree, is not worth much
without the other, and therefore I put them together. I am advised to go
to some of the watering places for something of an asthma, which, in all
probability, cannot continue much longer, as I have had it for these last
twenty years: if you look upon me as worthy of the happiness of belonging
to you, I shall propose it to your father, to whom I did not think it
right to apply before I was acquainted with your sentiments: my nephew
William is at present entirely ignorant of my intention; but I believe he
will not be sorry for it, though he will thereby see himself deprived of
a pretty considerable estate; for he has great affection for me, and
besides, he has a pleasure in paying his respects to you since he has
perceived my attachment. I am very much pleased that he should make his
court to me, by the attention he pays to you; for he did nothing but
squander his money upon that coquet Middleton, while at present he is at
no expense, though he frequents the best company in England."

Miss Hamilton had much difficulty to suppress her laughter during this
harangue: however, she told him that she thought herself much honoured by
his intentions towards her, and still more obliged to him for consulting
her, before he made any overtures to her relations: "It will be time
enough," said she, "to speak to them upon the subject at your return from
the waters; for I do not think it is at all probable that they will
dispose of me before that time, and in case they should be urgent in
their solicitations, your nephew William will take care to acquaint you;
therefore, you may set out whenever you think proper; but take care not
to injure your health by returning too soon."

The Chevalier de Grammont, having heard the particulars of this
conversation, endeavoured, as well as he could, to be entertained with
it; though there were certain circumstances in the declaration,
notwithstanding the absurdity of others, which did not fail to give him
some uneasiness. Upon the whole, he was not sorry for Russell's
departure; and, assuming an air of pleasantry, he went to relate to the
king how Heaven had favoured him by delivering him from so dangerous a
rival. "He is gone then, Chevalier," said the king. "Certainly, sir,"
said he; "I had the honour to see him embark in a coach, with his asthma,
and country equipage, his perruque a calotte, neatly tied with a yellow
riband, and his old-fashioned hat covered with oil skin, which becomes
him uncommonly well: therefore, I have only to contend with William
Russell, whom he leaves as his resident with Miss Hamilton; and as for
him, I neither fear him upon his own account, nor his uncle's; he is too
much in love himself to pay attention to the interests of another; and as
he has but one method of promoting his own, which is by sacrificing the
portrait, or some love-letters of Mrs. Middleton, I have it easily in my
power to counteract him in such kind of favours, though I confess I have
pretty well paid for them."

"Since your affairs proceed so prosperously with the Russells," said the
king, "I will acquaint you that you are delivered from another rival,
much more dangerous, if he were not already married: my brother has
lately fallen in love with Lady Chesterfield." "How many blessings at
once!" exclaimed the Chevalier de Grammont: "I have so many obligations
to him for this inconstancy, that I would willingly serve him in his new
amour, if Hamilton was not his rival: nor will your majesty take it ill,
if I promote the interests of my mistress's brother, rather than those of
your majesty's brother." "Hamilton, however," said the king, "does not
stand so much in need of assistance, in affairs of this nature, as the
Duke of York; but I know Lord Chesterfield is of such a disposition, that
he will not suffer men to quarrel about his wife, with the same patience
as the complaisant Shrewsbury; though he well deserves the same fate."
Here follows a true description of Lord Chesterfield.

   [Philip, the second Earl of Chesterfield. He was constituted, in
   1662, lord-chamberlain to the queen, and colonel of a regiment of
   foot, June 13, 1667. On November 29, 1679, he was appointed lord-
   warden and chief-justice of the king's forests on this side Trent,
   and sworn of the privy-council, January 26, 1680. On November 6,
   1682, he was made colonel of the third regiment of foot, which, with
   the rest of his preferments, he resigned on the accession of James
   IT. He lived to the age of upwards of 80, and died, January 28,
   1713, at his house, in Bloomsbury-square.]

He had a very agreeable face, a fine head of hair, an indifferent shape,
and a worse air; he was not, however, deficient in wit: a long residence
in Italy had made him ceremonious in his commerce with men, and jealous
in his connection with women: he had been much hated by the king; because
he had been much beloved by Lady Castlemaine: it was reported that he had
been in her good graces prior to her marriage; and as neither of them
denied it, it was the more generally believed.

He had paid his devoirs to the eldest daughter of the Duke of Ormond,
while his heart was still taken up with his former passion: the king's
love for Lady Castlemaine, and the advancement he expected from such an
alliance, made him press the match with as much ardour as if he had been
passionately in love: he had therefore married Lady Chesterfield without
loving her, and had lived some time with her in such coolness as to leave
her no room to doubt of his indifference. As she was endowed with great
sensibility and delicacy, she suffered at this contempt: she was at first
much affected with his behaviour, and afterwards enraged at it; and, when
he began to give her proofs of his affection, she had the pleasure of
convincing him of her indifference.

They were upon this footing, when she resolved to cure Hamilton, as she
had lately done her husband, of all his remaining tenderness for Lady
Castlemaine. For her it was no difficult undertaking: the conversation
of the one was disagreeable, from the unpolished state of her manners,
her ill-timed pride, her uneven temper, and extravagant humours Lady
Chesterfield, on the contrary, knew how to heighten her charms with all
the bewitching attractions in the power of a woman to invent who wishes
to make a conquest.

Besides all this, she had greater opportunities of making advances to him
than to any other: she lived at the Duke of Ormond's, at Whitehall, where
Hamilton, as was said before, had free admittance at all hours: her
extreme coldness, or rather the disgust which she showed for her
husband's returning affection, wakened his natural inclination to
jealousy: he suspected that she could not so very suddenly pass from
anxiety to indifference for him, without some secret object of a new
attachment; and, according to the maxim of all jealous husbands, he
immediately put in practice all his experience and industry, in order to
make a discovery, which was to destroy his own happiness.

Hamilton, who knew his disposition, was, on the other hand, upon his
guard, and the more he advanced in his intrigue, the more attentive was
he to remove every degree of suspicion from the Earl's mind: he pretended
to make him his confidant, in the most unguarded and open manner, of his
passion for Lady Castlemaine: he complained of her caprice, and most
earnestly desired his advice how to succeed with a person whose
affections he alone had entirely possessed.

Chesterfield, who was flattered with this discourse, promised him his
protection with greater sincerity than it had been demanded: Hamilton,
therefore, was no further embarrassed than to preserve Lady
Chesterfield's reputation, who, in his opinion, declared herself rather
too openly in his favour: but whilst he was diligently employed in
regulating, within the rules of discretion, the partiality she expressed
for him, and in conjuring her to restrain her glances within bounds, she
was receiving those of the Duke of York; and, what is more, made them
favourable returns.

He thought that he had perceived it, as well as every one besides; but he
thought likewise, that all the world was deceived as well as himself: how
could he trust his own eyes, as to what those of Lady Chesterfield
betrayed for this new rival? He could not think it probable, that a
woman of her disposition could relish a man, whose manners had a thousand
times been the subject of their private ridicule; but what he judged
still more improbable was, that she should begin another intrigue before
she had given the finishing stroke to that in which her own advances had
engaged her: however, he began to observe her with more circumspection,
when he found by his discoveries, that if she did not deceive him, at
least the desire of doing so was not wanting. This he took the liberty
of telling her of; but she answered him in so high a strain, and treated
what he said so much like a phantom of his own imagination, that he
appeared confused without being convinced: all the satisfaction he could
procure from her, was her telling him, in a haughty manner, that such
unjust reproaches as his ought to have had a better foundation.

Lord Chesterfield had taken the same alarm; and being convinced, from the
observations he had made, that he had found out the happy lover who had
gained possession of his lady's heart, he was satisfied; and without
teasing her with unnecessary reproaches, he only waited for an
opportunity to confound her, before he took his measures.

After all, how can we account for Lady Chesterfield's conduct, unless we
attribute it to the disease incident to most coquettes, who, charmed with
superiority, put in practice every art to rob another of her conquest,
and spare nothing to preserve it.

But before we enter into the particulars of this adventure, let us take a
retrospect of the amours of his Royal Highness, prior to the declaration
of his marriage, and particularly of what immediately preceded this
declaration. It is allowable sometimes to drop the thread of a
narrative, when real facts, not generally known, give such a variety upon
the digression as to render it excusable: let us see then how those
things happened.

The Duke of York's marriage, with the chancellor's daughter, was
deficient in none of those circumstances which render contracts of this
nature valid in the eye of heaven the mutual inclination, the formal
ceremony, witnesses, and every essential point of matrimony, had been
observed.

   [The material facts in this narrative are confirmed by Lord
   Clarendon.--'Continuation of his Life', p. 33. It is difficult to
   speak of the persons concerned in this infamous transaction without
   some degree of asperity, notwithstanding they are, by a strange
   perversion of language, styled, all men of honour.]

Though the bride was no perfect beauty, yet, as there were none at the
court of Holland who eclipsed her, the Duke, during the first endearments
of matrimony, was so far from repenting of it, that he seemed only to
wish for the King's restoration that he might have an opportunity of
declaring it with splendour; but when he saw himself enjoying a rank
which placed him so near the throne; when the possession of Miss Hyde
afforded him no new charms; when England, so abounding in beauties,
displayed all that was charming and lovely in the court of the King his
brother; and when he considered he was the only prince, who, from such
superior elevation, had descended so low, he began to reflect upon it.
On the one hand, his marriage appeared to him particularly ill suited in
every respect: he recollected that Jermyn had not engaged him in an
intimacy with Miss Hyde, until he had convinced him, by several different
circumstances, of the facility of succeeding: he looked upon his marriage
as an infringement of that duty and obedience he owed to the King; the
indignation with which the court, and even the whole kingdom, would
receive the account of his marriage presented itself to his imagination,
together with the impossibility of obtaining the King's consent to such
an act, which for a thousand reasons he would be obliged to refuse. On
the other hand, the tears and despair of poor Miss Hyde presented
themselves; and still more than that, he felt a remorse of conscience,
the scruples of which began from that time to rise up against him.

In the midst of this perplexity he opened his heart to Lord Falmouth,
and consulted with him what method he ought to pursue: He could not have
applied to a better man for his own interests, nor to a worse for Miss
Hyde's; for at first, Falmouth maintained not only that he was not
married, but that it was even impossible that he could ever have formed
such a thought; that any marriage was invalid for him, which was made
without the King's consent, even if the party was a suitable match:
but that it was a mere jest, even to think of the daughter of an
insignificant lawyer, whom the favour of his sovereign had lately made
a peer of the realm, without any noble blood, and chancellor, without any
capacity; that as for his scruples, he had only to give ear to some
gentlemen whom he could introduce, who would thoroughly inform him of
Miss Hyde's conduct before he became acquainted with her; and provided
he did not tell them that he really was married, he would soon have
sufficient grounds to come to a determination.

The Duke of York consented, and Lord Falmouth, having assembled both his
council and his witnesses, conducted them to his Royal Highness's
cabinet, after having instructed them how to act: these gentlemen were
the Earl of Arran, Jermyn, Talbot, and Killegrew, all men of honour; but
who infinitely preferred the Duke of York's interest to Miss Hyde's
reputation, and who, besides, were greatly dissatisfied, as well as the
whole court, at the insolent authority of the prime minister.

The Duke having told them, after a sort of preamble, that although they
could not be ignorant of his affection for Miss Hyde, yet they might be
unacquainted with the engagements his tenderness for her had induced him
to contract; that he thought himself obliged to perform all the promises
he had made her; but as the innocence of persons of her age was generally
exposed to court scandal, and as certain reports, whether false or true,
had been spread abroad on the subject of her conduct, he conjured them as
his friends, and charged them upon their duty, to tell him sincerely
everything they knew upon the subject, since he was resolved to make
their evidence the rule of his conduct towards her. They all appeared
rather reserved at first, and seemed not to dare to give their opinions
upon an affair of so serious and delicate a nature; but the Duke of York
having renewed his entreaties, each began to relate the particulars of
what he knew, and perhaps of more than he knew, of poor Miss Hyde; nor
did they omit any circumstance necessary to strengthen the evidence. For
instance the Earl of Arran, who spoke first, deposed, that in the gallery
at Honslaerdyk, where the Countess of Ossory, his sister-in-law, and
Jermyn, were playing at nine-pins, Miss Hyde, pretending to be sick,
retired to a chamber at the end of the gallery; that he, the deponent,
had followed her, and having cut her lace, to give a greater probability
to the pretence of the vapours, he had acquitted himself to the best of
his abilities, both to assist and to console her.

Talbot said, that she had made an appointment with him in the
chancellor's cabinet, while he was in council; and, that, not paying so
much attention to what was upon the table as to what they were engaged
in, they had spilled a bottle full of ink upon a despatch of four pages,
and that the King's monkey, which was blamed for this accident, had been
a long time in disgrace.

Jermyn mentioned many places where he had received long and favourable
audiences: however, all these articles of accusation amounted only to
some delicate familiarities, or at most, to what is generally denominated
the innocent part of an intrigue; but Killegrew, who wished to surpass
these trivial depositions, boldly declared that he had had the honour of
being upon the most intimate terms with her he was of a sprightly and
witty humour, and had the art of telling a story in the most entertaining
manner, by the graceful and natural turn he could give it: he affirmed
that he had found the critical minute in a certain closet built over the
water, for a purpose very different from that of giving ease to the pains
of love: that three or four swans had been witnesses to his happiness,
and might perhaps have been witnesses to the happiness of many others, as
the lady frequently repaired to that place, and was particularly
delighted with it.

The Duke of York found this last accusation greatly out of bounds, being
convinced he himself had sufficient proofs of the contrary: he therefore
returned thanks to these officious informers for their frankness, ordered
them to be silent for the future upon what they had been telling him, and
immediately passed into the King's apartment.

As soon as he had entered the cabinet, Lord Falmouth, who had followed
him, related what had passed to the Earl of Ossory, whom he met in the
presence chamber: they strongly suspected what was the subject of the
conversation of the two brothers, as it was long; and the Duke of York
appeared to be in such agitation when he came out, that they no longer
doubted that the result had been unfavourable for poor Miss Hyde. Lord
Falmouth began to be affected for her disgrace, and to relent that he had
been concerned in it, when the Duke of York told him and the Earl of
Ossory to meet him in about an hour's time at the chancellor's.

They were rather surprised that he should have the cruelty himself to
announce such a melancholy piece of news: they found his Royal Highness
at the appointed hour in Miss Hyde's chamber: a few tears trickled down
her cheeks, which she endeavoured to restrain. The chancellor, leaning
against the wall, appeared to them to be puffed up with some thing, which
they did not doubt was--rage and despair. The Duke of York said to them,
with that serene and pleasant countenance with which men generally
announce good news: "As you are the two men of the court whom I most
esteem, I am desirous you should first have the honour of paying your
compliments to the Duchess of York: there she is."

Surprise was of no use, and astonishment was unseasonable on the present
occasion: they were, however, so greatly possessed with both surprise and
astonishment, that in order to conceal it, they immediately fell on their
knees to kiss her hand, which she gave to them with as much majesty as if
she had been used to it all her life.

The next day the news was made public, and the whole court was eager to
pay her that respect, from a sense of duty, which in the end became very
sincere.

The petits-maitres who had spoken against her, seeing their intentions
disappointed, were not a little embarrassed. Women are seldom accustomed
to forgive injuries of this nature; and, if they promise themselves the
pleasure of revenge, when they gain the power they seldom forget it: in
the present case, however, the fears of these petits-maitres were their
only punishment.

The Duchess of York, being fully informed of all that was said in the
cabinet concerning her, instead of showing the least resentment, studied
to distinguish, by all manner of kindness and good offices, those who had
attacked her in so sensible a part; nor did she ever mention it to them,
but in order to praise their zeal, and to tell them that nothing was a
greater proof of the attachment of a man of honour, than his being more
solicitous for the interest of his friend or master, than for his own
reputation: a remarkable example of prudence and moderation, not only
for the fair sex, but even for those who value themselves most upon their
philosophy among the men.

The Duke of York, having quieted his conscience by the declaration of his
marriage, thought that he was entitled, by this generous effort, to give
way a little to his inconstancy: he therefore immediately seized upon
whatever he could first lay his hands upon: this was Lady Carnegy, who
had been in several other hands. She was still tolerably handsome, and
her disposition, naturally inclined to tenderness, did not oblige her new
lover long to languish. Everything coincided with their wishes for some
time: Lord Carnegy, her husband, was in Scotland; but his father dying
suddenly, he as suddenly returned with the title of Southesk, which his
wife detested; but which she took more patiently than she received the
news of his return. Some private intimation had been given him of the
honour that was done him in his absence: nevertheless, he did not show
his jealousy at first; but, as he was desirous to be satisfied of the
reality of the fact, he kept a strict watch over his wife's actions. The
Duke of York and her ladyship had, for some time, been upon such terms of
intimacy, as not to pass their time in frivolous amusements; however, the
husband's return obliged them to maintain some decorum: he therefore
never went to her house, but in form, that is to say, always accompanied
by some friend or other, to give his amours at least the appearance of a
visit.

About this time Talbot returned from Portugal: this connection had taken
place during his absence; and without knowing who Lady Southesk was, he
had been informed that his master was in love with her.

A few days after his arrival, he was carried, merely to keep up
appearances, to her house by the duke; and after being introduced, and
some compliments having been paid on both sides, he thought it his duty
to give his Royal Highness an opportunity to pay his compliments, and
accordingly retired into the ante-chamber, which looked into the street,
and placed himself at the window to view the people as they passed.

He was one of the best meaning men in the world on such occasions; but
was so subject to forgetfulness, and absence of mind, that he once
forgot, and left behind him at London, a complimentary letter which the
duke had given him for the Infanta of Portugal, and never recollected it
till he was going to his audience.

He stood sentry, as we have before said, very attentive to his
instructions, when he saw a coach stop at the door, without being in the
least concerned at it, and still less, at a man whom he saw get out of
it, and whom he immediately heard coming upstairs.

The devil, who ought to be civil upon such occasions, forgot himself in
the present instance, and brought up Lord Southesk 'in propria persona':
his Royal Highness's equipage had been sent home, because my lady had
assured him that her husband was gone to see a bear and a bull baiting,
an entertainment in which he took great delight, and from whence he
seldom returned until it was very late; so that Southesk, not seeing any
equipage at the door, little imagined that he had such good company in
his house; but if he was surprised to see Talbot carelessly lolling in
his wife's ante-chamber, his surprise was soon over. Talbot, who had not
seen him since they were in Flanders, and never supposing that he had
changed his name: "Welcome, Carnegy, welcome, my good fellow," said he,
giving him his hand, "where the devil have you been, that I have never
been able to set eyes on you since we were at Brussels? What business
brought you here? Do you likewise wish to see Lady Southesk? If this is
your intention, my poor friend, you may go away again; for I must inform
you, the Duke of York is in love with her, and I will tell you in
confidence, that, at this very time, he is in her chamber."

Southesk, confounded as one may suppose, had no time to answer all these
fine questions: Talbot, therefore, attended him downstairs as his friend;
and, as his humble servant, advised him to seek for a mistress elsewhere.
Southesk, not knowing what else to do at that time, returned to his
coach; and Talbot, overjoyed at the adventure, impatiently waited for the
duke's return, that he might acquaint him with it; but he was very much
surprised to find that the story afforded no pleasure to those who had
the principal share in it; and his greatest concern was, that Carnegy had
changed his name, as if only to draw him into such a confidence.

This accident broke off a commerce which the Duke of York did not much
regret; and indeed it was happy for him that he became indifferent; for
the traitor Southesk meditated a revenge, whereby, without using either
assassination or poison, he would have obtained some satisfaction upon
those who had injured him, if the connection had continued any longer.

He went to the most infamous places, to seek for the most infamous
disease, which he met with; but his revenge was only half completed; for
after he had gone through every remedy to get quit of his disease, his
lady did but return him his present, having no more connection with the
person for whom it was so industriously prepared.

   [Bishop Burnet, taking notice of the Duke of York's amours, says,
   "a story was set about, and generally believed, that the Earl of
   Southesk, that had married a daughter of the Duke of Hamilton's,
   suspecting some familiarities between the duke and his wife, had
   taken a sure method to procure a disease to himself, which he
   communicated to his wife, and was, by that means, sent round till it
   came to the duchess. Lord Southesk was, for some years, not ill
   pleased to have this believed. It looked like a peculiar strain of
   revenge, with which he seemed much delighted. But I know he has, to
   some of his friends, denied the whole of the story very solemnly."
   --history of His Own Times, vol. i., p. 319. It is worthy of notice
   that the passage in the text was omitted in most editions of
   Grammont, and retained in that of Strawberry-hill, in 1772.]

Lady Robarts was then in the zenith of her glory; her beauty was
striking; yet, notwithstanding the brightness of the finest complexion,
with all the bloom of youth, and with every requisite for inspiring
desire, she nevertheless was not attractive. The Duke of York, however,
would probably have been successful, if difficulties, almost
insurmountable, had not disappointed his good intentions: Lord Robarts,
her husband, was an old, snarling, troublesome, peevish fellow, in love
with her to distraction, and to complete her misery, a perpetual
attendant on her person.

She perceived his Royal Highness's attachment to her, and seemed as if
she was inclined to be grateful: this redoubled his eagerness, and every
outward mark of tenderness he could possibly show her; but the watchful
husband redoubling his zeal and assiduity, as he found the approaches
advance, every art was practised to render him tractable: several attacks
were made upon his avarice and his ambition. Those who possessed the
greatest share of his confidence, insinuated to him that it was his own
fault if Lady Robarts, who was so worthy of being at court, was not
received into some considerable post, either about the queen or the
duchess: he was offered to be made Lord Lieutenant of the county where
his estate was; or to have the management of the Duke of York's revenues
in Ireland, of which he should have the entire disposal, provided he
immediately set out to take possession of his charge; and having
accomplished it, he might return as soon as ever he thought proper.

He perfectly well understood the meaning of these proposals, and was
fully apprised of the advantages he might reap from them: in vain did
ambition and avarice hold out their allurements; he was deaf to all their
temptations, nor could ever the old fellow be persuaded to be made a
cuckold. It is not always an aversion to, or a dread of this
distinction, which preserves us from it: of this her husband was very
sensible; therefore, under the pretence of a pilgrimage to Saint
Winifred, the virgin and martyr, who was said to cure women of
barrenness, he did not rest, until the highest mountains in Wales were
between his wife and the person who had designed to perform this miracle
in London, after his departure.

The duke was for some time entirely taken up with the pleasures of the
chase, and only now and then engaged in those of love; but his taste
having undergone a change in this particular, and the remembrance of Lady
Robarts wearing off by degrees, his eyes and wishes were turned towards
Miss Brook; and it was in the height of this pursuit that Lady
Chesterfield threw herself into his arms, as we shall see by resuming the
sequel of her adventures.

The Earl of Bristol, ever restless and ambitious, had put in practice
every art, to possess himself of the king's favour. As this is the same
Digby whom Count Bussy mentions in his annals, it will be sufficient to
say that he was not at all changed: he knew that love and pleasure had
possession of a master, whom he himself governed, in defiance of the
chancellor; thus he was continually giving entertainments at his house;
and luxury and elegance seemed to rival each other in those nocturnal
feasts, which always lead to other enjoyments. The two Miss Brooks, his
relations, were always of those parties; they were both formed by nature
to excite love in others, as well as to be susceptible of it themselves;
they were just what the king wanted: the earl, from this commencement,
was beginning to entertain a good opinion of his project, when Lady
Castlemaine, who had lately gained entire possession of the king's heart,
was not in a humour, at that time, to share it with another, as she did
very indiscreetly afterwards, despising Miss Stewart. As soon,
therefore, as she received intimation of these secret practices, under
pretence of attending the king in his parties, she entirely disconcerted
them; so that the earl was obliged to lay aside his projects, and Miss
Brook to discontinue her advances. The king did not even dare to think
any more on this subject; but his brother was pleased to look after what
he neglected; and Miss Brook accepted the offer of his heart, until it
pleased heaven to dispose of her otherwise, which happened soon after in
the following manner.

Sir John Denham, loaded with wealth as well as years, had passed his
youth in the midst of those pleasures which people at that age indulge
in without restraint; he was one of the brightest geniuses England ever
produced, for wit and humour, and for brilliancy of composition:
satirical and free in his poems, he spared neither frigid writers, nor
jealous husbands, nor even their wives: every part abounded with the most
poignant wit, and the most entertaining stories; but his most delicate
and spirited raillery turned generally against matrimony; and, as if he
wished to confirm, by his own example, the truth of what he had written
in his youth, he married, at the age of seventy-nine, this Miss Brook of
whom we are speaking, who was only eighteen.

The Duke of York had rather neglected her for some time before; but the
circumstance of so unequal a match rekindled his ardour; and she, on her
part, suffered him to entertain hopes of an approaching bliss, which a
thousand considerations had opposed before her marriage: she wished to
belong to the court; and for the promise of being made lady of the
bedchamber to the duchess, she was upon the point of making him another
promise, or of immediately performing it, if required, when, in the
middle of this treaty, Lady Chesterfield was tempted, by her evil genius,
to rob her of her conquest, in order to disturb all the world.

However, as Lady Chesterfield could not see the Duke of York, except
in public assemblies, she was under the necessity of making the most
extravagant advances, in order to seduce him from his former connection;
and as he was the most unguarded ogler of his time, the whole court was
informed of the intrigue before it was well begun.

Those who appeared the most attentive to their conduct were not the least
interested in it. Hamilton and Lord Chesterfield watched them narrowly;
but Lady Denham, vexed that Lady Chesterfield should have stepped in
before her, took the liberty of railing against her rival with the
greatest bitterness. Hamilton had hitherto flattered himself that vanity
alone had engaged Lady Chesterfield in this adventure; but he was soon
undeceived, whatever her indifference might have been when she first
commenced this intrigue. We often proceed farther than we at first
intended, when we indulge ourselves in trifling liberties which we think
of no consequence; for though perhaps the heart takes no part at the
beginning, it seldom fails to be engaged in the end.

The court, as we have mentioned before, was an entire scene of gallantry
and amusements, with all the politeness and magnificence which the
inclinations of a prince naturally addicted to tenderness and pleasure,
could suggest: the beauties were desirous of charming, and the men
endeavoured to please: all studied to set themselves off to the best
advantage: some distinguished themselves by dancing; others by show and
magnificence; some by their wit, many by their amours, but few by their
constancy. There was a certain Italian at court, famous for the guitar:
he had a genius for music, and he was the only man who could make
anything of the guitar: his style of play was so full of grace and
tenderness, that he would have given harmony to the most discordant
instruments. The truth is, nothing was so difficult as to play like
this foreigner. The king's relish for his compositions had brought the
instrument so much into vogue, that every person played upon it, well or
ill; and you were as sure to see a guitar on a lady's toilet as rouge or
patches. The Duke of York played upon it tolerably well, and the Earl of
Arran like Francisco himself. This Francisco had composed a saraband,
which either charmed or infatuated every person; for the whole guitarery
at court were trying at it; and God knows what an universal strumming
there was. The Duke of York, pretending not to be perfect in it, desired
Lord Arran to play it to him. Lady Chesterfield had the best guitar in
England. The Earl of Arran, who was desirous of playing his best,
conducted his Royal Highness to his sister's apartments: she was lodged
at court, at her father's, the Duke of Ormond's; and this wonderful
guitar was lodged there too. Whether this visit had been preconcerted
or not, I do not pretend to say; but it is certain that they found both
the lady and the guitar at home: they likewise found there Lord
Chesterfield, so much surprised at this unexpected visit, that it was a
considerable time before he thought of rising from his seat to receive
them with due respect.

Jealousy, like a malignant vapour, now seized upon his brain: a thousand
suspicions, blacker than ink, took possession of his imagination, and
were continually increasing; for, whilst the brother played upon the
guitar to the duke, the sister ogled and accompanied him with her eyes,
as if the coast had been clear, and no enemy to observe them. This
saraband was at least repeated twenty times: the duke declared it was
played to perfection: Lady Chesterfield found fault with the composition;
but her husband, who clearly perceived that he was the person played
upon, thought it a most detestable piece. However, though he was in the
last agony at being obliged to curb his passion while others gave a free
scope to theirs, he was resolved to find out the drift of the visit; but
it was not in his power: for, having the honour to be chamberlain to the
queen, a messenger came to require his immediate attendance on her
majesty. His first thought was to pretend sickness: the second to
suspect that the queen, who sent for him at such an unseasonable time,
was in the plot; but at last, after all the extravagant ideas of a
suspicious man, and all the irresolutions of a jealous husband, he was
obliged to go.

We may easily imagine what his state of mind was when he arrived at the
palace. Alarms are to the jealous what disasters are to the unfortunate:
they seldom come alone, but form a series of persecution. He was
informed that he was sent for to attend the queen at an audience she gave
to seven or eight Muscovite ambassadors: he had scarce begun to curse the
Muscovites, when his brother-in-law appeared, and drew upon himself all
the imprecations he bestowed upon the embassy: he no longer doubted his
being in the plot with the two persons he had left together, and in his
heart sincerely wished him such recompense for his good offices as such
good offices deserved. It was with great difficulty that he restrained
himself from immediately acquainting him what was his opinion of such
conduct: he thought that what he had already seen was a sufficient proof
of his wife's infidelity; but before the end of the very same day, some
circumstances occurred which increased his suspicions, and persuaded him
that they had taken advantage of his absence, and of the honourable
officiousness of his brother-in-law. He passed, however, that night with
tranquillity; but the next morning, being reduced to the necessity either
of bursting or giving vent to his sorrows and conjectures, he did nothing
but think and walk about the room until Park-time. He went to court,
seemed very busy, as if seeking for some person or other, imagining that
people guessed at the subject of his uneasiness: he avoided everybody,
but at length meeting with Hamilton, he thought he was the very man that
he wanted; and, having desired him to take an airing with him in Hyde
Park, he took him up in his coach, and they arrived at the Ring, without
a word having passed between them.

Hamilton, who saw him as yellow as jealousy itself, and particularly
thoughtful, imagined that he had just discovered what all the world had
perceived long before; when Chesterfield, after a broken, insignificant
preamble, asked him how he succeeded with Lady Castlemaine. Hamilton,
who very well saw that he meant nothing by this question, nevertheless
thanked him; and as he was thinking of an answer: "Your cousin," said the
earl, "is extremely coquettish, and I have some reason to suppose she is
not so prudent as she ought to be." Hamilton thought the last charge a
little too severe; and as he was endeavouring to refute it: "Good God!"
said my lord, "you see, as well as the whole court, what airs she gives
herself: husbands are always the last people that are spoken to about
those affairs that corcern them the most; but they are not always the
last to perceive it themselves: though you have made me your confidant
in other matters, yet I am not at all surprised you have concealed this
from me; but as I flatter myself with having some share in your esteem,
I should be sorry you should think me such a fool as to be incapable of
seeing, though I am so complaisant as not to express my sentiments:
nevertheless, I find that affairs are now carried on with such barefaced
boldness, that at length I find I shall be forced to take some course or
other. God forbid that I should act the ridiculous part of a jealous
husband: the character is odious; but then I do not intend, through an
excess of patience, to be made the jest of the town. Judge, therefore,
from what I am going to tell you, whether I ought to sit down
unconcerned, or whether I ought to take measures for the preservation
of my honour.

"His royal highness honoured me yesterday by a visit to my wife."
Hamilton started at this beginning. "Yes," continued the other, "he did
give himself that trouble, and Lord Arran took upon himself that of
bringing him: do not you wonder, that a man of his birth should act such
a part? What advancement can he expect from one who employs him in such
base services? But we have long known him to be one of the silliest
creatures in England, with his guitar, and his other whims and follies."
Chesterfield, after this short sketch of his brother-in-law's merit,
began to relate the observations he had made during the visit, and asked
Hamilton what he thought of his cousin Arran, who had so obligingly left
them together. "This may appear surprising to you," continued he, "but
hear me out, and judge whether I have reason to think that the close of
this pretty visit passed in perfect innocence. Lady Chesterfield is
amiable, it must be acknowledged; but she is far from being such a
miracle of beauty as she supposes herself: you know she has ugly feet;
but perhaps you are not acquainted that she has still worse legs."
"Pardon me," said Hamilton, within himself: and the other continuing the
description: "Her legs," said his lordship, "are short and thick; and, to
remedy these defects as much as possible, she seldom wears any other than
green stockings."

Hamilton could not for his life imagine the drift of all this discourse,
and Chesterfield, guessing his thoughts: "Have a little patience," said
he: "I went yesterday to Miss Stewart's, after the audience of those
damned Muscovites: the king arrived there just before me; and as if the
duke had sworn to pursue me wherever I went that day, he came in just
after me. The conversation turned upon the extraordinary appearance of
the ambassadors. I know not where that fool Crofts had heard that all
these Muscovites had handsome wives; and that all their wives had
handsome legs. Upon this the king maintained that no woman ever had
such handsome legs as Miss Stewart; and she, to prove the truth of his
majesty's assertion, with the greatest imaginable ease, immediately
shewed her leg above the knee. Some were ready to prostrate themselves,
in order to adore its beauty; for indeed none can be handsomer; but the
duke alone began to criticise upon it. He contended that it was too
slender, and that as for himself he would give nothing for a leg that was
not thicker and shorter, and concluded by saying that no leg was worth
anything without green stockings. Now this, in my opinion, was a
sufficient demonstration that he had just seen green stockings, and had
them fresh in his remembrance."

Hamilton was at a loss what countenance to put on during a narrative
which raised in him nearly the same conjectures; he shrugged up his
shoulders, and faintly said that appearances were often deceitful; that
Lady Chesterfield had the foible of all beauties, who place their merit
on the number of their admirers; and whatever airs she might imprudently
have given herself, in order not to discourage his royal highness, there
was no ground to suppose that she would indulge him in any greater
liberties to engage him: but in vain was it that he endeavoured to give
that consolation to his friend which he did not feel himself.
Chesterfield plainly perceived he did not think of what he was saying;
however, he thought himself much obliged to him for the interest he
seemed to take in his concerns.

Hamilton was in haste to go home to vent his spleen and resentment in a
letter to his cousin. The style of this billet was very different from
those which he formerly was accustomed to write to her: reproaches,
bitter expostulations, tenderness, menaces, and all the effusions of a
lover who thinks he has reason to complain, composed this epistle; which,
for fear of accidents, he went to deliver himself.

Never did she before appear so lovely, and never did her eyes speak so
kindly to him as at this moment: his heart quite relented; but he was
determined not to lose all the fine things he had said in his letter.
In receiving it, she squeezed his hand: this action completely disarmed
him, and he would have given his life to have had his letter again. It
appeared to him at this instant that all the grievances he complained of
were visionary and groundless: he looked upon her husband as a madman and
an impostor, and quite the reverse of what he supposed him to be a few
minutes before; but this remorse came a little too late: he had delivered
his billet, and Lady Chesterfield had shewn such impatience and eagerness
to read it as soon as she had got it that all circumstances seemed to
conspire to justify her, and to confound him. She managed to get quit,
some way or other, of some troublesome visitors, to slip into her closet.
He thought himself so culpable that he had not the assurance to wait her
return: he withdrew with the rest of the company; but he did not dare to
appear before her the next day, to have an answer to his letter: however,
he met her at court; and this was the first time, since the commencement
of their amour, that he did not seek for her. He stood at a distance,
with downcast looks, and appeared in such terrible embarrassment that his
condition was sufficient to raise laughter or to cause pity, when Lady
Chesterfield approaching, thus accosted him: "Confess," said she, "that
you are in as foolish a situation as any man of sense can be: you wish
you had not written to me: you are desirous of an answer: you hope for
none: yet you equally wish for and dread it: I have, however, written you
one." She had not time to say more; but the few words she had spoken
were accompanied with such an air, and such a look, as to make him
believe that it was Venus with all her graces who had addressed him. He
was near her when she sat down to cards, and as he was puzzling himself
to devise by what means he should get this answer, she desired him to lay
her gloves and fan down somewhere: he took them, and with them the billet
in question; and as he had perceived nothing severe or angry in the
conversation he had with her, he hastened to open her letter, and read as
follows:

"Your transports are so ridiculous that it is doing you a favour to
attribute them to an excess of tenderness, which turns your head: a man,
without doubt, must have a great inclination to be jealous, to entertain
such an idea of the person you mention. Good God! what a lover to have
caused uneasiness to a man of genius, and what a genius to have got the
better of mine! Are not you ashamed to give any credit to the visions of
a jealous fellow who brought nothing else with him from Italy? Is it
possible that the story of the green stockings, upon which he has founded
his suspicions, should have imposed upon you, accompanied as it is with
such pitiful circumstances? Since he has made you his confidant, why did
not he boast of breaking in pieces my poor harmless guitar? This
exploit, perhaps, might have convinced you more than all the rest:
recollect yourself, and if you are really in love with me, thank fortune
for a groundless jealousy, which diverts to another quarter the attention
he might pay to my attachment for the most amiable and the most dangerous
man of the court."

Hamilton was ready to weep for joy at these endearing marks of kindness,
of which he thought himself so unworthy he was not satisfied with
kissing, in raptures, every part of this billet; he also kissed several
times her gloves and her fan. Play being over, Lady Chesterfield
received them from his hands, and read in his eyes the joy that her
billet had raised in his heart. Nor was he satisfied with expressing his
raptures, only by looks: he hastened home, and wrote to her at least four
times as much. How different was this letter from the other! Though
perhaps not so well written; for one does not show so much wit in suing
for pardon, as in venting reproaches, and it seldom happens that the soft
languishing style of a love-letter is so penetrating as that of
invective.

Be that as it may, his peace was made: their past quarrel gave new life
to their correspondence; and Lady Chesterfield, to make him as easy as he
had before been distrustful expressed on every occasion a feigned
contempt for his rival, and a sincere aversion for her husband.

So great was his confidence in her, that he consented she should show in
public some marks of attention to the duke, in order to conceal as much
as possible their private intelligence. Thus, at this time nothing
disturbed his peace of mind, but his impatience of finding a favourable
opportunity for the completion of his desires: he thought it was in her
power to command it; but she excused herself on account of several
difficulties which she enumerated to him, and which she was desirous he
should remove by his industry and attentions.

This silenced his complaints; but whilst he was endeavouring to surmount
these obstacles, still wondering how it was possible that two persons who
were so well disposed to each other, and who were agreed to make each
other happy, could not put their designs in execution, accident
discovered an unexpected adventure, which left him no room to doubt,
either of the happiness of his rival, or of the perfidy of his mistress.

Misfortunes often fall light when most feared; and frequently prove
heaviest when merited, and when least suspected. Hamilton was in the
middle of the most tender and passionate letter he had ever written to
Lady Chesterfield, when her husband came to announce to him the
particulars of this last discovery: he came so suddenly upon him, that he
had only just time to conceal his amorous epistle among his other papers.
His heart and mind were still so full of what he was writing to his
cousin, that her husband's complaints against her, at first, were scarce
attended to; besides, in his opinion, he had come in the most unfortunate
moment on all accounts.

He was, however, obliged to listen to him, and he soon entertained quite
different sentiments: he appeared almost petrified with astonishment,
while the earl was relating to him circumstances of such an extravagant
indiscretion, as seemed to him quite incredible, notwithstanding the
particulars of the fact. "You have reason to be surprised at it," said
my lord, concluding his story; "but if you doubt the truth of what I tell
you, it will be easy for you to find evidence that will convince you; for
the scene of their tender familiarities was no less public than the room
where the queen plays at cards, which while her majesty was at play, was,
God knows, pretty well crowded. Lady Denham was the first who discovered
what they thought would pass unperceived in the crowd; and you may very
well judge hew secret she would keep such a circumstance. The truth is,
she addressed herself to me first of all, as I entered the room, to tell
me that I should give my wife a little advice, as other people might take
notice of what I might see myself, if I pleased.

"Your cousin was at play, as I before told you: the duke was sitting next
to her: I know not what was become of his hand; but I am sure that no one
could see his arm below the elbow: I was standing behind them, just in
the place that Lady Denham had quitted: the duke turning round perceived
me, and was so much disturbed at my presence, that he almost undressed my
lady in pulling away his hand. I know not whether they perceived that
they were discovered; but of this I am convinced, that Lady Denham will
take care that everybody shall know it. I must confess to you, that my
embarrassment is so great, that I cannot find words to express what I now
feel: I should not hesitate one moment what course to take, if I might be
allowed to show my resentment against the person who has wronged me. As
for her, I could manage her well enough, if, unworthy as she is of any
consideration, I had not still some regard for an illustrious family,
that would be distracted were I to resent such an injury as it deserves.
In this particular you are interested yourself: you are my friend, and I
make you my confidant in an affair of the greatest imaginable delicacy:
let us then consult together what is proper to be done in so perplexing
and disagreeable a situation."

Hamilton, if possible, more astonished, and more confounded than himself,
was far from being in a proper state to afford him advice on the present
occasion: he listened to nothing but jealousy, and breathed nothing but
revenge; but these emotions being somewhat abated, in hopes that there
might be calumny, or at least exaggeration in the charges against Lady
Chesterfield, he desired her husband to suspend his resolutions, until he
was more fully informed of the fact; assuring him, however, that if he
found the circumstances such as he had related, he should regard and
consult no other interest than his.

Upon this they parted; and Hamilton found, on the first inquiry, that
almost the whole court was informed of the adventure, to which every one
added something in relating it. Vexation and resentment, inflamed his
heart, and by degrees extinguished every remnant of his former passion.

He might easily have seen her, and have made her such reproaches as a man
is generally inclined to do, on such occasions; but he was too much
enraged to enter into any detail which might have led to an explanation:
he considered himself as the only person essentially injured in this
affair; for he could never bring his mind to think that the injuries of
the husband could be placed in competition with those of the lover.

He hastened to Lord Chesterfield, in the transport of his passion, and
told him that he had heard enough to induce him to give such advice, as
he should follow himself in the same situation, and that if he wished to
save a woman so strongly prepossessed, and who perhaps had not yet lost
all her innocence, though she had totally lost her reason, he ought not
to delay one single instant, but immediately to carry her into the
country with the greatest possible expedition, without allowing her the
least time to recover her surprise.

Lord Chesterfield readily agreed to follow this advice, which he had
already considered as the only counsel a friend could give him; but his
lady who did not suspect he had made this last discovery of her conduct,
thought he was joking with her, when he told her to prepare for going
into the country in two days: she was the more induced to think so as it
was in the very middle of an extremely severe winter; but she soon
perceived that he was in earnest: she knew from the air and manner of her
husband that he thought he had sufficient reason to treat her in this
imperious style; and finding all her relations serious and cold to her
complaint, she had no hope left in this universally abandoned situation
but in the tenderness of Hamilton. She imagined she should hear from him
the cause of her misfortunes, of which she was still totally ignorant,
and that his love would invent some means or other to prevent a journey,
which she flattered herself would be even more affecting to him than to
herself; but she was expecting pity from a crocodile.

At last, when she saw the eve of her departure was come, that every
preparation was made for a long journey; that she was receiving farewell
visits in form, and that still she heard nothing from Hamilton, both her
hopes and her patience forsook her in this wretched situation. A few
tears perhaps might have afforded her some relief, but she chose rather
to deny herself that comfort, than to give her husband so much
satisfaction. Hamilton's conduct on this occasion appeared to her
unaccountable; and as he still never came near her, she found means
to convey to him the following billet.

"Is it possible that you should be one of those, who, without vouchsafing
to tell me for what crime I am treated like a slave, suffer me to be
dragged from society? What means your silence and indolence in a
juncture wherein your tenderness ought most particularly to appear, and
actively exert itself? I am upon the point of departing, and am ashamed
to think that you are the cause of my looking upon it with horror, as I
have reason to believe that you are less concerned at it than any other
person: do, at least, let me know to what place I am to be dragged; what
is to be done with me within a wilderness? and on what account you, like
all the rest of the world, appear changed in your behaviour towards a
person whom all the world could not oblige to change with regard to you,
if your weakness or your ingratitude did not render you unworthy of her
tenderness."

This billet did but harden his heart, and make him more proud of his
vengeance: he swallowed down full draughts of pleasure in beholding her
reduced to despair, being persuaded that her grief and regret for her
departure were on account of another person: he felt uncommon
satisfaction in having a share in tormenting her, and was particularly
pleased with the scheme he had contrived to separate her from a rival,
upon the very point perhaps of being made happy. Thus fortified as he
was against his natural tenderness, with all the severity of jealous
resentment, he saw her depart with an indifference which he did not even
endeavour to conceal from her: this unexpected treatment, joined to the
complication of her other misfortunes, had almost in reality plunged her
into despair.

The court was filled with the story of this adventure; nobody was
ignorant of the occasion of this sudden departure, but very few approved
of Lord Chesterfield's conduct. In England they looked with astonishment
upon a man who could be so uncivil as to be jealous of his wife; and in
the city of London it was a prodigy, till that time unknown, to see a
husband have recourse to violent means, to prevent what jealousy fears,
and what it always deserves. They endeavoured, however, to excuse poor
Lord Chesterfield, as far as they could safely do it, without incurring
the public odium, by laying all the blame on his bad education. This
made all the mothers vow to God that none of their sons should ever set a
foot in Italy, lest they should bring back with them that infamous custom
of laying restraint upon their wives.




ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

By a strange perversion of language, styled, all men of honour
Maxim of all jealous husbands
What jealousy fears, and what it always deserves