MEMOIRS OF COURT OF ENGLJ
IN 1675
BY
MARI1 BARONNK D'A
TRANSLATED FROM
MRS. WILL!
EDITED REVISED AND WITH AN INCLUDING AN ACCOUNT OF LI EVIDENCE
BY
GEORG*
LONDON : JO; > NEW YORK TORONTO
•
.
MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF ENGLAND
IN 1675
BY
MARIE CATHERINE BARONNE D'AULNOY
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH BY
MRS. WILLIAM HENRY ARTHUR
EDITED REVISED AND WITH ANNOTATIONS
INCLUDING AN ACCOUNT OF LUCY WALTER
EVIDENCE FOR A BRIEF FOR THE DEFENCE
BY
GEORGE DAVID GILBERT
LONDON : JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD NEW YORK : JOHN LANE COMPANY TORONTO : BELL AND COCKBURN MCMXIII ^\
-•*"* •• ***** ^^
_A
INTRODUCTION
MARIE CATHERINE LE JUMELLE DE BERNEVILLE was born, according to the Biographie Universelle and kindred publications, about 1655, which would make her twenty years old when the material was collected for the present work.1 She must have been older than this. These are not the observations of sweet and twenty, even when sweet and twenty is a French woman and married, and a daughter of the precocious seventeenth century to boot.
Although Marie Catherine's Autobiography exists, the difficulty of constructing an account of her life is so great as to render it an almost impossible task. Madame Carey, who edited a French edition of her Travels into Spain and her Memoirs of the Court of Spain, contented herself, in her footnotes, with com- menting on the work in hand, while Lady Ritchie, who apparently was not aware of the Memoires de la Cour cFAngleterre, is mainly occupied, in her interesting introduction to an arrangement of the Fairy Tales, by an appreciation of the Travels into Spain, a work with which she fell obviously in love.
There being no other source than the Autobio- graphy,— there are a few scrappy anecdotes about Marie Catherine's friends, and her husband, but
1 M. August Jal in his Dictionnaire Biographie (quoted further on) says she was born as early as 1650-1, but gives no authority for the statement.
vii
INTRODUCTION
nothing about herself, — I give a resume of it leaving it to the reader to estimate its value.
Though it has neither dates nor localities, nor references, and all the persons who figure in it must be under the disguise of alias, for not one have I been able to trace, — yet, judging from the writer's other work, it is quite possible the main text is absolute fact. Marie Catherine was well descended both on her father's and mother's side, she tells us. " But it was the first of my misfortunes that I was born too soon, for my mother was hardly arrived to sixteen years of age when she lay in with me, and because she was too young to let a daughter grow up with her at home, that would have kept the Hand of the Dyal standing long at sixteen," the child was sent to her grandmother in the country. It seems to us that Marie Catherine is rather unfair to her mother in this comment, for it was the almost universal custom of the era, and that particularly in France, for people of the smallest standing to send children out to nurse in the first years of their life.
For a decade Marie Catherine, who continued with her grandmother, held undisputed sway as the heiress of her family. Nor did her guardian fail, to make it " her business to infuse into me on the score of my birth and beauty, all the vanity and pride she had been guilty of herself. ... I learned I was fair, and destined to the most noble and elevated pretensions. With these fancies I was flattered all along, and when I had already attained eleven years my mother was brought to bed of a boy."
A great change immediately took place in the cir- cumstances and prospects of the erstwhile heiress. Her grandmother transferred all her interest and affection to the newcomer, while his sister learned with dismay that her parents had declared their intention viii
INTRODUCTION
of incarcerating her in a convent. Her father came to see her. She implored of him, " the only person for whom still I preserved some little affection," to save her from this fate, but he, though weeping over her misfortunes, could offer no better consolation than a counsel of surrender, promising that the confinement should be but temporary, and that he would do his utmost to find her a husband.
Despite her gloomy anticipations, little Marie Catherine was very happy in her convent life, though she accuses the good sisters of praising and flattering her, and asserts that their instruction was trivial and superficial. The pupils, she tells us, did much as they liked, and read what they chose, which is hardly the accepted idea of the training of youth in the young days of le roi soleil, for though the nuns may have been worldly and frivolous, it is usually thought their pupils were most strictly marshalled.
" The reading of romances," continues the Auto- biography, " brought me to reflect on things of which till then I had a confused and imperfect apprehension. By reading them I learnt there was a Passion that gave to women an absolute dominion over men."
The next step was to give these reflections practical form ; and this thirteen year old damsel, actually got into correspondence with a man whose acquaintance she had made while still living in the world. She calls him the Marquis de Blossac though no such title is to be found in any French peerage. Her method was to copy passionate love letters from the romances and novels to which she had access, and Blossac, as she frankly admits, at first amused at her precocity, came to see her. Other stolen meetings followed, and the cavalier, whose conduct was most reprehensible, was so piqued and interested by the novel combination of extreme youth and fervent passion, that he became, or
ix
INTRODUCTION
Marie Catherine thought he did, seriously engaged. She admits that at the time she was utterly ignorant, and had not the remotest conception of the meaning of the amorous phrases that she wrote, or that fell so glibly from her lips, it was merely a case of flattered vanity at the conquest. M. de Blossac, who no doubt considered the intrigue a capital joke, continued to be assiduous in his attentions, and Marie Catherine's emotions soon ripened into a severe attack of calf love. It must be remembered that a girl of thirteen of two hundred and fifty years ago was the equal in maturity of outlook to a girl of sixteen or even older of to-day.
The nuns were evidently less preoccupied than Marie Catherine gives them credit for. Before long everything was discovered, and, — worse, — some of the most fervent of her hopeful charge's letters reached the severe eye of the Mother Superior ! Her indignation was only rivalled by that of Marie Catherine's own mother. The climax of it all was that M. de Blossac, probably alarmed, broke off the acquaintance. The scandal and disgrace of the affair evidently pressed on Marie Catherine's mind, so much that, as she grew older, and realised better how unwisely she had behaved, she decided to take the veil, and at fifteen departed for another convent, there to enter on a novitiate and start life anew.
Almost immediately she was visited by her father, who had reasons of his own for endeavouring to persuade her to abandon her determination. Her mother, on the other hand, was just as eager as her father was unwilling that the girl should be kept sequestered from the world. M. de Berneville, who went in mortal dread of his wife, confided to his daughter, as a profound secret, that he had a husband ready to espouse her, but even this would not tempt
INTRODUCTION
Marie Catherine from her decision. She still possessed a lingering attachment for the errant Blossac ; and one of the motives influencing her was the sentimental hope that when he knew she was lost to him for ever, he might at last regret the foolish and romantic child he had so callously abandoned.
But Marie Catherine's father was a desperate man ; it was essential to him that his daughter should return to the world. Having one day obtained leave of the Mother Superior to walk for a while in the garden with the girl he led her to a secluded part and at a signal from him she found herself seized by three masked men who placed her in a coach, becomingly equipped with a duenna, the vehicle driving off at a gallop. One of these men was the husband designed by the father : Francois de le Mothe, Sieur d'Aulnoy,1 or Aunoy, the Biographic Universelle tells us. Marie Catherine adds the particulars that he was the son of a councillor of the Parliament of his Province and that the latter " not having any inclination to the law, had purchased a very great lordship with the intention of getting it erected into a marquisate." 2 This, by the influence of Marie Catherine's father, he had achieved, and the latter in turn had fallen deeply in his debt. The marriage between their children, which was forth- with celebrated, was to expunge this debt. From the first it was most unhappy. The young wife ran away, taking refuge in a convent. Her husband sent for her father, and together they went in pursuit, compelling her to return home. Undaunted by this, when near her first confinement, she declared to her husband that her mother had invited her to Paris for her expected
1 An ancient house of Il'le de France sprung from the nobles of Orville and of Chevre Ricardre. Lalanne's Dictionnaire historique de France, vol. 12, p. 148.
8 This is certainly a fiction.
XI
INTRODUCTION
where she concealed herself under a catafalque that had been erected for a funeral.
Madame d'Aulnoy's literary activities under the
pen-names of Dunnois and of Mme. D were very
great. In addition to the fairy stories by which she is best known, — The Blue Bird, The Hind in the Wood, and, dearest of all, The White Cat of our youth, — she was the author of a large number of semi- historical novels and tales, some of which deal with English history. At that period Sheridan's oft mis- applied phrase, " Scandal about Queen Elizabeth," was still in the womb of Time, but had it emerged to life, it is to be doubted if it would have restrained Marie Catherine's lively pen ! She was also the com- piler of certain chroniques scandaleuses dealing with people of her own time. It would be interesting to know if her " Memoirs of the Duke and Duchess of
O " 1 (Orleans), a work well known to Dumas,
are as accurate as her account of the Court of that ill-starred lady's brother, now presented.
A good deal of Madame d'Aulnoy's work, we regret to have to state it, first saw light in the Netherlands, the headquarters of the daring publisher of the time, both for books of an enduring form and for periodicals. In the later years of the reign of Louis XIV. the " Holland Gazettes " crystallised the scandal of Europe. It was while in voluntary exile at the Hague, with this press at her disposal, that the Duchess of Marlborough threatened Queen Anne with the publication of all her letters.2
1 We have only seen this work in the English translation.
2 Who can forget Prince Paul's pathetic plaint in the " Grand Duchess of Gerolstein " ?
"... Voila ce que 1'on dit de moi Voila ce que 1'on dit Dans la gazette de Hollande, oui." XIV
INTRODUCTION
Of modern reprints, the Fairy Tales retain their popularity, editions appearing at regular intervals, beside the inclusion of the biggest favourites in innumerable collections, and Madame Carey, as has been stated, edited with commendable industry, the Travels into Spain* This work, unlike the Memoires de la Cour cPAngleterre, is autobiographical in form. It has been reprinted many times, without notes or arrangement. About fifty years ago it was translated into Spanish.
In her Autobiography Madame d'Aulnoy mentions marriage with St. Albe, but this must be an euphemism. She appears to have only had one husband, though it is openly stated that her children were not all his. The last was born in 1676, the result of her mother's experience at the Court of Saint James, and possibly of the fascinations of the Duke of Buckingham which so completely impressed her. There is no record of either the English arrival, presence or departure of the ladies Aulnoy and Gudaigne. The date of the former's return to France is not known. M. Jal says she died in Paris on January 17, 1705, at her house in the Rue St. Benoit. He gives a list of her six children. One of her daughters also wrote fairy stories. According to the Autobiography, which breaks off abruptly some thirty-five years before, the brother of Madame d'Aulnoy did not live to grow up and after all she inherited the family wealth. The portrait now repro- duced is the frontispiece to the Memoirs of the Duke
and Duchess of O : it is younger and more pleasing
than the better-known likeness in the costume of the sixteen-nineties. There is a full-length woodcut in the Magasin Pittoresque, 1870, p. 68. It is described as from a contemporary print, but appears to be spurious.
1 La Cour et la ville de Madrid, Toms 2, Paris 1874-76.
XV
INTRODUCTION
To come to the present work. Familiar to students it has been described as an imitation of Anthony Hamilton's Memoirs of the Count de Grammont.1 If such a question is raised the situation is just the reverse, for Madame d'Aulnoy's Memoires appeared in 1694-95, and the first edition of " de Grammont " did not see the light till as late as 1713, nearly twenty years after. The long neglect of the present work in its entirety (it is frequently quoted from), can only be accounted for by the intense difficulty in identifying the principal people.
My enquiries into the career of Lucy Walter was the cause of my first introduction to Madame d'Aulnoy, and I subsequently commenced a translation, never completed, merely for the entertainment of a friend, also interested in Lucy. But I made no effort to identify the people, and jumped to the conclusion that Emilie indicated Henrietta Went- worth ! Sometime after I met the book again, and my mother, who assisted me in deciphering some of the more complicated passages, was, apart from her entertainment, as impressed as I was by the writer's gay treatment of the most hackneyed situation, — the work has something of the fresh sparkle of a favourite cham- pagne, something of the swing and gaiety of Mozart's operas. Eventually we decided together to put an English version on paper. The task provided us with delightful employment for the still evenings of a mid- Sussex winter. While my mother dictated, and I transcribed, the twentieth century was forgotten, and Whitehall in the Golden Days seemed to flicker before
1 The name originally Agramunt subsequently Agramont and Grammont, now Gramont, is spelled Grammont in the first (1713) edition of the famous Memoires so we retain it here. The etymology of the name is argued at length in the Vizetelly edition 1889, vol. i, p. 2, Note.
XVI
INTRODUCTION
our vision with the impalpable, transitory reality of pictures thrown upon a screen. No Restoration play is more vivid than this book. And what adds to its charm is that though the morals are of the time, the manners are irreproachable, and there is not one sen- tence that is indelicate. This is more than can be said of Hamilton's sprightly masterpiece. Again and again the thought was forced upon us : what a libretto for Mozart might have been constructed from this work ! Picture, for one instant, his treatment of the scene in the Duenna's chamber at Saint-James's, of Buckingham in the wood, of Miledy ... in the gallery, and reflect on what musical delight the world has lost.
The translation completed, revised, and divided into chapters, — in the original, the narrative is continuous, — the next step was to identify the four ladies, for which purpose a list of the clues was compiled.1 It was not until this stage was reached that I found there already existed an English version, published 1708. It is obviously the work of some hack writer, who was not in sympathy with his subject. The style is so col- loquial, as to be almost incomprehensible, owing to the use of so many obsolete terms and words. Few people care to wrestle with seventeenth century French if they can get any sort of translation, and no doubt the majority of English persons, consulting these " Memoires " at the British Museum, have chosen to obtain their knowledge in this rough and ready trans- lation of which it is impossible to make head or tail. The French original, while disguising the ladies, gives all the men's names in full, but in the English version this is not so, they are merely indicated by a dash.
The visit of the Prince of Neuburg in the summer
1 Mme. d'Aulnoy has a most undeserved reputation for inaccuracy. It will be seen that the notes corroborate every statement that she makes, even to tiny detail.
b xvii
INTRODUCTION
of 1675 fixes the period roughly. Our author, sacri- ficing fact to interest, takes a fiction-writer's privilege of compressing into two or three days, what were probably the actual observations of some months.1 At the request of Mr. Lane I have reluctantly deleted the delightful phonetic spelling of the proper names in the original French : Vitheal (Whitehall), Bouquinkam (Buckingham), Amtoncour (Hampton Court), d'Evin- chier (Devonshire), Scherosberry (Shrewsbury), Rich- mont (Richmond), and Nelle Cuin ; — though such spelling is retained in the translation of J. J. Jusserand's English Ambassador at the Court of Charles 11.
The original capitals and ampersands are preserved.
It remains for me to give the clues that led to the identification of the leading women of the work. I am quite open to correction in my conclusions.
EMILIE— MOLL KIRKE
ClueS page
She came to Court before the death of Arran's wife 68
She was in mourning in 1675 69
Generally : she was a frivolous, graceless, little pussy cat. She was in love with the Duke of Monmouth.
The character of Emilie exactly accords with that of Moll Kirke, who, we are told in the Memoirs of Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, was the cause of the preliminary estrangement between Monmouth and his uncle. The mourning clinches this, Moll Kirke's father having died April 6, 1675.
FILADELPHE— MARGARET BLAGGE
Clues
page
Was older by some years than " Emilie " 75
Was delicate 75
Was " prim " 284
Generally • was in love with the Duke of Monmouth.
1 Grammont's chronology is often inaccurate by years !
xv in
INTRODUCTION
This was not so easy as " Emilie," for, sad to relate, few young ladies attached to either the Queen or the Duchess had a reputation for propriety ! Had the Memoires concerned the Courts of the first George or his son, the character would fit the prudish Miss Meadows, whom Pope never wearied of assailing, like a glove. But they deal with a more attractive period.
As against this identification it is only fair to add that Margaret Blagge was married on May 15, 1675, and had left the York household upon the death of Anne Hyde. She had, however, temporarily returned to it the previous winter, and, the famous masque of Calisto, performed by ladies only, taking place at that time, she had enacted the role of Diana.1 There is no other lady amongst those in the service of the Duchess of York whose character so closely accords with Filadelphe as does that of Margaret Blagge.
DONA MARIA DE MENDOSA ( ? )
Of Dona Maria I have little to add to what is recorded in the notes on pp. 256 and 263. As given below, the ubiquitous Anthony Hamilton confirms unconsciously his fair contemporary. It may be objected that he places the incident some ten years earlier than she does but, as we have already noticed, his chronology is much more faulty than hers. The Comte de Grammont returned to France with his bride, la Belle Hamilton, in 1663, but they paid periodic visits to England, presumably to visit her people. M. de Grammont, resuming his acquaintance with the Restoration Court, confused what he subse- quently saw, with his initial experiences. Hence his allusions to Nell Gwyn, who did not come to White-
1 It is more than probable it was Mme. d'Aulnoy's thrice enviable privilege to witness that masque.
xix
INTRODUCTION
hall till 1667-68. In 1663 s^e was ^ut eleven years old.
" Amongst the men " (who accompanied Catherine of Braganga to England) was " one Taurauvedez, who called himself Don Pedro Francisco Correo de Silva, extremely handsome but a greater fool than all the Portuguese put together : he was more vain of his name than of his person ; but the Duke of Buckingham, a still greater fool than he, though more addicted to raillery, gave him the additional name of Peter of the Wood. He was so enraged at this that after many fruitless complaints and ineffectual menaces, poor Pedro de Silva was obliged to leave England, while the happy Duke kept possession of a Portuguese nymph more hideous than the Queen's maids of honour whom he had taken from him." 1 Later allusion is made to Buckingham forgetting his Portuguese mistress when endeavouring to ingratiate himself with Frances Stewart. It will be observed that it is distinctly stated above that the " Portuguese nymph " was not in the household of the Queen nor is anything said of her taking violent methods to rid herself of her earlier lover.
LA CONTESSE DE - JANE, DUCHESS OF NORFOLK (Countess of
Norwich)
Clues
page
She had such an unusual Christian name that her brother-in-law had the utmost difficulty in finding her patron saint 145
She was Arran's " good cousin " 140
She had a sister 33, 34, 143
Her title commenced with a consonant, she is not d*. She was in Tunbridge Wells with Mary, Duchess of Richmond in the autumn of 1672. Chs. xxiii and xxiv
1 Hamilton's Memoirs of the Comte de Grammont. XX
INTRODUCTION
page
She gambled 161
She could not have been Lady Chesterfield, as the Duke
of Ormonde, the latter's father, made love to her 146, 165, 166 Generally : she was Buckingham's mistress and she was
in love with the Duke of Monmouth
I identified this lady as follows : Observing her described as Arran's " good cousin," I made a list of his cousins who were countesses, but they all proved so nearly related, that it was impossible for his father to have made love to any of them. Noting that Arran called Buckingham " uncle " when he was only uncle to his wife, nee Lady Mary Stuart, I proceeded to investigate her countess cousins. The only one, whose dates at all fitted in, was Lady Norwich. This lady's title commenced with a consonant. Mary Duchess of Richmond, mother of Lady Arran, was Lady Norwich's husband's aunt by marriage, and was very likely to visit her at Tunbridge Wells (or elsewhere) though there is no record preserved, locally, of such visit. In 1672 there existed but one St. Jane, and she was but a minor saint. Further particulars are given in the notes.
MILEDY . . . ?— Probably Katherine Crofts
Clues page
She once had a love-affair with Henry Jermyn, Earl of St. Albans, but threw him over for the sake of Richard, Earl of Arran 83
She was very thin and ugly I54> X57
She had a nom seule. She may have been Lady , as Lady
Bellasys — the wife of a baronet or knight rather than of
OO
a peer
She had apartments at Whitehall 73
Generally : there is no mention of a husband, she was no
longer young, perhaps about thirty-five but witty and
interesting
XXI
INTRODUCTION
That St. Albans succumbed to the indiscretion of an amour after the Restoration we know from St. Evremond. On pages 308-310 of the 1728 translation of his works an epistle appears rebuking one who " could not endure that the Earl of St. Albans should be in love in his old age." To St. Albans himself St. Evremond — a little earlier — wrote as follows : 1 " I will say nothing to you of Mistress Crofts, since she has been Duchess of Chastellerault (sic) I can't tell how she will behave towards the Earl of St. Albans." To the name of the lady the translator (Pierre Des- maireaux) appends the following note. " Mistress Crofts, sister to the Lord Crofts, had been one of the maids of honour to the Queen. After she retired from Court her house became a Pleasurable Rendesvous where the Earl of St. Albans and two or three more persons of Quality used to sup almost every night. The Earl of Arran afterwards Duke of Hamilton paid assiduous court to this Lady whereupon the Earl of St. Albans withdrew. M. de St. Evremond in this place rallies the new intrigue calling Mistress Crofts Duchess of Chastellerault because the Earl of Arran had been in France to pursue an old claim of the House of Hamilton to the Duchy of Chastellerault." Everything points to confusion on the part of the writer of this note. It is extremely improbable that the Earl of Arran, subsequently Duke of Hamilton, was ever the rival of St. Albans, who was well over fifty years his senior, or that they ever frequented, intimately, the same society. James Hamilton, styled till 1698 Earl of Arran, was born on April n, 1658, and slain in a duel with Lord Mohun in 1712. He was the eldest son of Anne, niece and heiress of the second Duke of Hamilton, who died of wounds received at the Battle of Worcester. His father was William Douglas
1 Memoirs of the Comte de Grammont, p. 242. xxii
INTRODUCTION
Earl of Selkirk, who at the Restoration was on the petition of his wife, created Duke of Hamilton for life. After his death, in 1694, the Duchess resigned her titles in favour of their son, James, Earl of Arran. He was educated in Glasgow and did not come south till 1679 when he was appointed gentleman of the bedchamber. Lord Arran first visited France (as envoy) in 1683. It is next to impossible that two Earls of Arran should have been rival to St. Albans and everything supports Mme. d'Aulnoy's contention that it was the elder one, Richard Butler. Writing at a distance of fifty years St. Evremond's editor took the allusion to the Duchy of Chastellerhault literally. It was probably a con- temporary jest, for the two Earls of Arran existing at the same time must have given rise to many comments. James Hamilton was the only Duke of Hamilton to claim to be Due de Chastellerhault, but I believe he did not seriously advance this pretension till the reign of Queen Anne.
Though the major part of the clues as given above may be applied to Mistress Crofts, I do not consider her identity with Miledy ... so absolutely established as to admit of the insertion of the latter's name in the text. Katherine Crofts was b. 1637 anc* <*• unmarried in 1686. After the Restoration she re- ceived from Secret Service money the considerable income of ^1500, a sum worth four times that amount in modern currency.1 There is no record of her having acted as maid-of-honour to either Henrietta or Catherine,2 but she was high in the Royal confidence,
1 Camden Society, vol. Hi. Money's . . . Secret Service . . . Charles II. &c. 1851.
2 Katherine's eldest sister Elizabeth Lady CornwalHs, was in France in 1645, " probably in the service of the queen." The second sister Hester, Lady Poley, had a daughter Judith who in 1678 married St. Alban's nephew Henry Jermyn, afterwards Lord Dover. There were three half-sisters but even the youngest (and there is nothing to
xxiii
INTRODUCTION
her big annuity being apparently the reward for some part played in the early days of Monmouth. Accord- ing to the contemporary Memoirs of Thomas Earl of Ailesbury,1 a Mrs. Crofts had lodgings at White- hall u where the King used to go often and I take it she had been governess to the Duke." This authority states that it was in Mrs. Crofts' apartments that the King and his son were reconciled in the autumn of 1683. Fea identifies her with Katherine.2 Madame d'Aulnoy describes Miledy ... as a grand dame (see Note, p. 4), and although Mistress Crofts had not the title ascribed to Miledy ... it would seem she occupied an unique situation at Court. Two years the senior of Richard, Earl of Arran and associated in exile with St. Albans, in 1675 she was thirty-eight, just the age Miledy . . ., still attractive though " no longer young " might have been. If any reader cares to favour me with suggestions which may lead to the completion of these identifications I shall much appreciate such kindness.
Mr. Lane upon accepting the MS. of this work asked me to supply some further particulars of Lucy Walter. I told him of the paper I had pre- pared, as the result of my enquiry into her life and he has permitted me to include it as an Appendix.3
C^ T^ C~*
WENTWORTH HOUSE,
KEYMER, SUSSEX, August ^th, 1912.
show they were ever at Court) must have been a good ten years the senior of James Earl of Arran. The Rev. S. Hervey's Little Saxham, and West Stow.
1 Roxburgh Club, pp. 81-2, 1890.
2 King Monmouth , p. 179. There were two rooms off the Stone Gallery at Whitehall ascribed to Lord Crofts, and these may have been those occupied by his sister. He was a married man, and had a house in Spring Gardens. Sheppard's Old Royal Palace of Whitehall, Cunningham's Handbook of London.
8 The kind assistance I have received in this connection is acknow- ledged elsewhere.
xxiv
INTRODUCTION
We beg to offer our grateful thanks to His Grace the Duke of Portland, K.G., for having the miniature of the Earl of Arran especially photographed for this work ; to the Marquess of Bristol for so kindly sanc- tioning the reproduction of the portrait of Lady Betty Felton ; to the Marquess of Ormonde, K.P., for the interest he has taken in the annotator's prolonged endeavour to identify Miledy . . . ; to Lady Gilbert for authorising the dedication ; to the Rev. S. H. A. Hervey for an interesting correspondence on several points raised in the notes; to the Rev. J. Willcock, D.D., B.D., for the loan of the block of the Argyle portrait reproduced facing page 176 ; to Mr. S. M. Ellis for his innumerable kindnesses and constant interest. He has supplied several valuable notes ; they are indicated by the initial E. ; to Lieutenant-Colonel Prideaux, C.S.I., for a most valuable reference for the account of Madame d'Aulnoy. And to these must be added the names of the Marquis de Ruivigny et Raneval; Mr. A. R. Bailey ; the Rev. Dr. Callow, M.A. ; Mr. Frederick Chapman ; Mrs. Chichester ; Miss Lilias Campbell Davidson; the Rev. Canon Edgar Shepperd, D.D., C.V.O., Dean of the Chapels Royal ; Professor C. H. Firth, F.S.A. ; Miss Rose Frowd ; Mr. F. G. Grant, Rothesay Herald ; Mr. S. G. Hamilton ; Miss E. J. Hastings ; the Rev. E. G. Hutchinson ; Mr. T. W. Jackson, Keeper of the Sutherland Collection ; Mr. Andrew Lang ; Miss A. E. Mitchell ; Mr. L. R. M. Strachan ; Mrs. Townsend.
LUCRETIA ARTHUR.
G. D. GILBERT.
xxv
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION v
MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF ENGLAND i
APPENDIX A. LUCY WALTER 343
APPENDIX B. BRAWLING AT COURT 426 APPENDIX C. LORD OXFORD AND THE ACTRESS 428
BIBLIOGRAPHY 433
INDEX 434
XXVll
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
MARIE CATHERINE LE JUMELLE DE BERNEVILLE, BARONNE D'AULNOY
Frontispiece
RICHARD, EARL OF ARRAN 10
From a miniature by S. Cooper at Welbcck Abbey
ANNA, COUNTESS OF BUCCLEUGH, DUCHESS OF MONMOUTH AND
BUCCLEUCH 26
From a print in the British Museum
" EMILIE " MARY KIRKE 68
From a mezzotint after Lely in the possession of the Editor
HENRY, EARL OF ST. ALBANS 82
From an engraving by Striven after Fan Dyck in the possession of the Editor
GEORGE, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM (as a young man) 108
From a print after Van Dyck in the British Museum
MARY, DUCHESS OF RICHMOND AND LENOX 1 12
From an engraving by Hollar after Van Dyck in private hands
JAMES, DUKE OF MONMOUTH AND BUCCLEUCH 135
From a mezzotint painting by Wissing at Dalkeith
ARCHIBALD, EARL OF ARGYLE 176
From the miniature at Windsor Castle reproduced in A Scots Earl in Covenanting Times, by kind permission of Dr. Willcock
JANE, COUNTESS OF NORWICH 184
From a mezzotint by Collin after Lely
JANE LONG 234
From a mezzotint by Thomson after Lely (in private hands')
THE LADY ELIZABETH FELTON 284
From a miniature at Ickworth
xxix
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
" FlLADELPHE," MARGARET BLAGGE 296
From an engraving by Humphreys of the -painting at Wootton
WILLIAM DUKE OF NEWCASTLE, WITH HIS DUCHESS (MARGARET
LUCAS) 320
From a -print by A. Eenge in the British Museum
THEIR MAJESTIES KING CHARLES II AND QUEEN CATHERINE OF
BRAGANZA (receiving a presentation in 1676) 333
From an engraving by Hollar from Oglivy's Survey of London
" MlLEDY . . ." 342
From the " extra " -plate to Anthony a Wood's Antiquitates
Universitatis Oxoniensis
XXX
MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF ENGLAND
CHAPTER I
IT is true, my dear Cousin, that the sojourn that I made in London, & the friendship that was extended to me there by the Duchess of Richmond & Madam Hyde, enabled me to know, having learned the truth from them, — the secret and interesting history of the Court of England. One of these Ladies is married l to the Duke of Richmond & Lenox who hath the honour to be a near relation of the King ; she is the sister of the Duke of Buckingham and one may say that never hath there been a more beautiful person, or one whose appearance was grander or more noble.
Madam Hyde was sister in law through her husband
to the old Duchess of York, Daughter of the Chancellor
of England,2 an alliance which brought her many
distinctions. She was very worthy of them all.
My lord Hyde is at present3 Earl of Rochester4
1 It should be he " was formerly married to ." See Note, p.
in.
2 The ' old ' Duchess of York, the mother of Queens Anne and Mary, was but thirty-two years of age when she died !
Anne Hyde, eldest daughter of the famous Sir Edward Hyde first Earl of Clarendon, was secretly married to the Duke of York (1633-1701) at Breda, 24th of November 1659. '^ie marriage was publicly acknow- ledged some eleven months later. The duchess died March 31, 1671. Burke.
3 I.e., in 1695, when the book was published.
4 Laurence Hyde, second son of Clarendon, b. 1641, d. 171 1. Created Earl of Rochester 1681, m. 1665 Henrietta, daughter of Richard Boyle, first Earl of Burlington. She died April 12, 1687.
A I
MEMOIRS OF THE
You know the Duchesse de Mazarin 1 well enough to realise that she is one of the most amiable people in the world. Her House was ever the rendezvous of all that then was illustrious and notable in London. I went there frequently. Every one recited stories ; they played ; they made good cheer, and the days passed like moments.
Monsieur de Saint Evremond 2 had been the friend of my Father & it pleased him to become mine. I also knew the Dukes of Monmouth & of Buckingham, the Earls of Saint Albans & Cavendish whom I had often seen at my house in Paris. Our Ambassador, Monsieur de Barillon 3 was one of my friends ; Dom Pedro Ronquillo 4 Ambassador of Spain, & Comte Thun, Envoy of the Emperor, came to see me : — the intimacy that I had with so many people of birth & merit gave me an opportunity to hear a thousand interesting things of which I made note, and, as you ask me, I now put them in order.
It is true that I have not been able to name all the Ladies of whom I speak, being afraid to injure some of them ; but there are some I do name with the idea of the truths I tell in their favour recompensing) in part, for what their enemies have said against them'
1 Hortense de Mancini (1645-1708), m. 1661 the Marquis Milleirage afterwards Due de Mancini. This beautiful femme galante was the favourite niece, and principal heir of Cardinal Mazarin.
2 Charles de Margroetel de Saint Denis de Saint Evremond, soldier and poet, i6i3(?)-iyo3.
3 Paul Barillon d'Amoncourt, Marquis de Branges, Seigneur de Mancy, de Moranges et de Chatillon-sur-Marne, Conseiller d'Etat ordinaire, Ambassador Extraordinary to the Court of St. James 1677-1 688 ^ when the Prince of Orange on his arrival in London ordered him at twenty-four hours' notice to quit the country. d. July 23, 1691.
* Pedro de Ronquillo, Duke of Grainedo, Spanish Ambassador to the Court of St. James from March 1675 to Tuesday, July 20, 1691, when he expired.
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One could not have known the Duke of Mon- mouth : 1 and have refused to praise him. He was, of all men of fashion, the best made ; in his face was a character & grandeur such as was worthy of his Birth ; his bravery amounted to intrepidity, and when he served in France and other Foreign Countries, every one was agreed that the valour he displayed could not be surpassed.2 The care lavished on his education had
1 James, favourite son of King Charles II.,wai born, on the authority of his Heroick Life (1683) at Rotterdam in 1649 an^ executed without trial on Tower Hill on St. Swithin's Day, July 15, 1685. His creation as Baron Tyndale, Earl of Doncaster, and Duke of Monmouth. took place I4th February 1663. His dignities were attainted in 1685. His grandson obtained the restoration of the Barony and the Earldom in 1743. See Appendix A.
2 A characteristic illustration confirming this statement occurred at the Siege of Maastricht.
" In the month of April 1673 the Duke of Monmouth left England and on his arrival at the French Court was appointed Lieutenant-General. At the end of the same month he left Paris with the squadron of Life Guards. . . . The army marched towards Msestricht and on the seventh of June invested the town. . . . Lines of circumvallation were formed, with bridges of communication over the Maese, above and below the city. The King (of France) had his quarters at a place called Onwater ; the Duke of Orleans occupied the side of the Wick ; and the Duke of Monmouth, with eight thousand horse and foot, invested the lower side of the city. On the I7th of June the trenches were opened, and on the 24th the Duke of Monmouth led a detachment with such invincible courage against the counterscarp that he soon carried it, and advancing to the outward half -moon, which was before the Brussels gate, after a brisk dispute of about half an hour, he won that also, although the besieged during the time sprang two mines. On the follow- ing day another mine was sprung by the enemy, which blew a Captain, Ensign, and sixty soldiers into the air ; then making a furious sally on the troops who had relieved the men under his Grace's command, and who now occupied the outward half -moon and counterscarp, drove them back with great slaughter. Whereupon the undaunted Monmouth, unwilling to lose what he had but the day before purchased with so much hazard, and such unheard-of courage, drew his sword, and with Captain Churchill and twelve private gentlemen of the Life Guards, who volunteered to accompany him, leaped over the trenches ; then, regardless of a shower of bullets from the enemy, rushed through
3
MEMOIRS OF THE
found in him a subject that had already received from Nature all the most favourable graces ; he danced so marvellously that one could not witness it without regarding him in admiration.1 Never was a man more gallant, and his heart was ever divided between love and honour. But one must admit that he was too ambitious, and this passion eventually engaged him in a guilty enterprise for which an unhappy death was the just recompense.
It would have been strange had his heart not been susceptible to the most tender impressions, for he was the son of Charles II., King of England. Although that Prince had several Mistresses, he never had one who was so dearly loved as Mademoiselle Barlow,2 Mother of the Duke of Monmouth. Her beauty was so perfect that when the King saw her in Wales where she was, he was so charmed &, ravished & enamoured that in the misfortunes which ran through the first years of his Reign he knew no other sweetness or joy than to love her, & be loved by her.3 The surroundings
one of their sally-ports, and with incredible speed passed along the works, within twenty yards of their pallisades, until he met the soldiers flying before the enemy. The arrival of the Duke with his followers inspired the troops with fresh valour, and they now turned round upon their pursuers. The heroic Monmouth and Churchill, with the Life Guards, who cast aside their carbines and drew their swords, now led the troops they had rallied to the charge with such invincible courage, that they drove back the Dutch and regained the outward half -moon (his Grace being the first who entered it), to the admiration of all who beheld their gallant conduct. The horn-work and half- moon were taken on the 27th. His Majesty Louis XW. stood on a hill and viewed the whole action. The besieged afterwards beat a parley, and, on the 2d. of July surrendered the town." Historical Records of the British Army., The Life Guards, edited by R. Cannon. London, 1835, P- 42~43-
1 Monmouth's dancing was famous ; there are endless comments on it in contemporary literature.
2 Lucy Walter, 1632 (?)— 1658 (?). See Appendix A.
3 Oldmixon comments on the young King's regular life, p. 453.
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that he gave her ; the care that he took to please her ; the delight he displayed in her went so far that, as he was so very young, & this was his first passion, and as, when a heart is truly possessed there is no engage- ment which it is not capable of taking, the world thought that he had promised this beautiful Girl to marry her.
In later years the report that he had done so, flattered the vanity of the Duke of Monmouth to such a degree & seemed to him so attractive that, notwith- standing that he well knew there was no truth in the story, he acted as though it were beyond cavil. Many persons encouraged him ; & this rumour, joined to the extreme tenderness the King had for him, placed him in a position to sustain his rank with more pride and distinction than any of the other Lords whom the King of England had legitimised.1
The personal advantages of the Duke, and the influence that he had with the King, brought about him a Court so numerous that the heir presumptive to the Crown could not have been treated with more deference and respect. He enjoyed the most impor-
1 Madame d'Aulnoy here confuses the recognition and honours accorded by King Charles II. to the Duke of Monmouth and to his natural sons, with the legal status conferred by Louis XIV. on the Due du Maine &c. In 1694, a year before this work was first published, the French King gave precedence in the succession to the Due du Maine and the Comte de Toulouse, after the French princes of the blood, and before his legitimate heirs amongst foreign Royalty, — as his grandson the King of Spain. In 1714 he confirmed this edict, extending it to the sons of the Due du Maine. Lavisse, Histoire de France, vol. viii, p. 470.
It was the custom in England at this period, and at a later date, to accord a limited precedence to the children of the Sovereign born out of wedlock. " The natural or illegitimate sons and daughters of the king, after they are acknowledged by the king, take precedence of all the nobles under those of the Blood Royal." Anglia Notitia or the Present State of England together with Divers Reflections or the Antient State thereof., 1669, p. 178.
5
MEMOIRS OF THE
tant Appointments in the Kingdom ; 1 he was rich, young, gallant and (as I have already said,) he was of all men of fashion the most amiable and the best made.
After all this it is not difficult to guess that there were many Ladies who seriously devoted themselves to his conquest. He realised his good fortune thereupon, and knew how to profit by it ; though not always in a manner completely delicate, for his feelings were but little engaged. He brought more of flirtation and frivolity into his intrigues than love or deep sentiment ; & for these reasons he was incapable of sustaining an individual attachment and not a single day passed but he had a new Mistress.
The King thought it best to settle him and chose for his wife the daughter of the Duke of Buccleuch and
1 After his creation as Duke of Monmouth &c. in 1663 the following dignities were successively conferred on his Grace — they are given chronologically : M.A. Cambridge, March 16, 1663 ; K.G., April 23rd, 1663 J M.A. Oxford September 28, 1663 ; Member of the Inner Temple, September 21, 1665 ; Master of a troop of Horse, June 30, 1666 ; Captain Prince Rupert's Regiment, June 13, 1667 > Captain of the Horse Guards (i.e. Colonel of the Life Guards), September 1 6, 1668 ; P.C., April 29, 1670 ; General of the British Forces in France, April to July 1672 ; Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to the Court of France, June 22, 1672 ; Warden and Chief Justice in Eyre of the Royal Forests, Parks, Chases and Warrens South of the Trent, January 13, 1673 ; Great Chamberlain of Scotland, February I, 1673; Governor and Captain of Kingston-on-Hull, April 12, 1673; Lord-Lieutenant of East Riding (Yorkshire), April 1673 ; Lieut.- General in the French Army, 1673 ; Lord of the Admiralty, July 9, 1673 ; High Steward of Kingston-on-Hull, August 1673 ; Master of the Horse, April 14, 1674 J Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, July 14, 1674 5 Colonel of the " Royal English " Regiment of Foot in the French Army, 1675 > a Governor of the Charterhouse, January 20, '675 J J°int Registrar of the Court of Chancery, September 8, 1676 ; High Steward of Stafford, March 17, 1677, and Lord-Lieutenant of the County of Stafford, March 24, 1677 J General of the British Forces in Flanders, March 1678; Capt.-General of the Forces, April 30, 1678 ; Privy Councillor of Scotland, June 18, 1679. Doyle's Baronage, vol. ii, 1886.
6
COURT OF ENGLAND
the Countess of Wemyss.1 She was one of the richest heiresses in the Kingdom of Scotland ; all that could be wished for to make a person amiable met in her ; virtue, intelligence, great possessions, birth ; &, although she was not extraordinarily beautiful, & although she limped 2 a little, she was ever full of liveliness. Perhaps if the Duke had been obliged to exert himself to achieve this conquest & had found it difficult, & so to his glory to win, he might have thought himself but too happy to succeed in espousing her ; but he received her from the hands of the King ; she never cost him a tear or a sigh ; and thus, what should have been his happiness, proved but his embarrassment and his affliction.
He found, in addition, that his liberty was engaged ; that with a Wife, given him by the King, he was obliged to be guarded in his movements ; for, should it happen that she had any reason for complaint of his conduct, the King might be expected to constitute himself the Judge, and would not fail to favour her. In addition, he was disinclined to submit to the fetters Hymen imposes, & he obeyed but through submissive- ness, & from the fear of displeasing his Father the King.3 Marriages thus arranged are not always
1 There are some mistakes here. Anne Scott, Countess of Buccleuch in her own right, was the daughter of the second earl (1628-51), and succeeded her sister as fourth holder of the dignity in 1651. She was born February II, 1651, and married to the Duke of Monmouth April 20, 1663, upon which day they were jointly created Duke and Duchess of Buccleuch ; the date of the creation of the earldom was 1619. The Duchess married again in 1688, and died February 1732. Her mother, who was already a widow when she married the Earl of Buccleuch, took for her third husband the first Earl of Wemyss. She was a daughter of John, fifth Earl of Rothes.
2 This was the result of an accident. Pepys, May 8, 1668.
3 As the Duke and Duchess were wedded at such a tender age it is unlikely that Monmouth argued things in this manner at the time of the wedding. Madame d'Aulnoy probably alluded to his views when he
7
MEMOIRS OF THE
happy ; in fact it was the Duke's idea only to observe conventional decencies with his Wife, & as she was very proud it was easy for her to discover her husband's sentiments. Thus her own affections chilled ; & she contented herself on her side in performing her duty without making any display of tenderness.
The marriage once consummated, the Duke thought it might be allowed him to devote his heart to love, & he found one of the maids of honour of the Duchess of York whose beauty & youth charmed him equally. The name of the House being unnecessary here I will content myself with calling her " Emilie." 1 She had something in her spirit so appealing that the Duke would have been in despair had she chosen any other Master save himself to teach her the art of love. He never lost an opportunity of seeing or entertaining her, but these occasions were rare ; for the Mother of the
first went to live with his wife in the autumn of 1671 . Madame d'Aulnoy's imperfect grasp of the situation is accounted for by the fact that she was a foreigner.
1 Mary Kirke eldest (?) daughter by his second marriage of George Kirke, Master of the Robes to Charles I. (b. ?, d. April 6, 1675) by Mary (b. ?, d. 1725) daughter of Aurelian Townsend, the successor of Ben Jonson as the writer of Masques at Court ; Mrs. Kirke, who was a famous beauty in her day, was on her marriage, at Oxford February 26, 1646, given away by the Martyr King. Mary Kirke held her appoint- ment to Mary of Modena 1674-76 but does not appear to have taken any part in the famous masque of Calisto performed by the ladies of the York Household in the winter of 1674-75. She married Sir Thomas Vernon of Hodnet, Salop, third baronet (b. 1637 ?> d- February 5, 1684), by whom she had three children who survived : Richard, b. 1678, d. at the Court of Poknd (where he had been accredited Envoy Extra- ordinary by George I.), fourth and last baronet ; Diana and Henrietta, who both died unmarried in 1752. The Vernon family is now extinct, but is represented by the Hebers of Hodnet, Salop. Mary, Lady Vernon was buried at Greenwich August 17, 1711. The notorious Colonel Percy Kirke was her half-brother. For further particulars and the clues that led to identification ste Introduction, p. xviii. o
COURT OF ENGLAND
Maids,1 who knew him to be very dangerous, did not fail to interrupt all their meetings.
However it happened one day that the Duchess of York 2 went for a water excursion on the Thames & this exact spy was too ill to follow. The Duke of Monmouth took advantage of this to speak to Emilie, & when every one was settled in Her Highness's Barge he approached her & with an air intended to embarrass her he said : " Destiny, Madam, is very cruel to me ; for not only do you refuse me your smiles, but I hear you bestow them freely on My Lord Arran."
" Sir," she said, blushing the while, " those who have troubled themselves to inform you of my affairs have done so wrongly. My lord doth not care for me, and moreover he hath a Mistress in every way worthy of his attachment. I assure you were I capable of wishing more good to one man than another, you would have a great preference in my heart."
" What you say would only console me," replied the Duke, " if I could content myself with what is called a Compliment,3 but I need something truer if you would not cause my death."
" And what do you want ? " she continued playfully.
" I want all your tenderness," he replied gravely.
1 Mrs. Lucy Wise, b. ? , d. ? , was, in the first instance, Mother of the Maids to Anne Hyde and passed on to her successor, continuing to serve her until 1677 when she was succeeded by Lady Harrison. E. Chamberlain's Anglies Notitia, 1669-78.
2 Mary Beatrice Eleanora d'Este, eldest child of Alphonso III., Duke of Modena, b. October 5, 1658, married the Duke of York, second son of Charles I., November 21, 1673. She died in Paris, May 8, 1718.
3 A formal phrase lacking any deep sentiment. Sometimes called a * How do ye,' often conveyed third hand. People sent ' Compli- ments ' and ' How do ye's ' by a servant to any new arrival in the neighbourhood whose acquaintance they wished to make. This custom anticipated private calls and visiting cards. Ashton's Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne. Strickland's Queens.
9
MEMOIRS OF THE
" Do you consider that would be too much, to bestow in response to a passion as strong as mine ? ':
" Yes," she replied smiling, " I consider it would be too much ; you ought to be ashamed to ask me ; and I should be even more ashamed to accede to a prayer so indiscreet."
She spoke with so much grace, and gentleness that although the Duchess of Monmouth was in the same Barge, occupied with a game with her Highness, he could not prevent himself from taking Emilie's hands & kissing them with the utmost devotion. His wife was watching him, & although she did not love him enough to be jealous, she highly disapproved of this display of feeling for another. It is impossible to describe her secret vexation ; her eyes flamed with wrath until they were for the moment beautiful ; but the Duke was far too occupied with Emilie to pay any attention to his wife.
A second Barge followed in the wake of that of her Highness ; it was full of various members of the Court, amongst others My Lord Arran.1 Although this last made every effort to disguise his feelings he found it impossible to keep his eyes from where Emilie and the Duke of Monmouth sat together. For he loved her dearly and was obliged to keep the fact hidden on account of a secret liaison that he had with Miledy. . . .2 This Lady was of the first quality, & she was consumed so much by her love for him that,
1 Richard Butler, second son of James first Duke of Ormonde (1610-88), b. 1639, created May 1662, Earl of Arran in the Peerage of Ireland, and, in 1673, Lord Butler, in the Peerage of England. He married Lady Mary Stuart, only daughter of James, first Duke of Richmond and Duke of Lennox in Scotland, by his wife Lady Mary Villiers, only surviving daughter of the first Duke of Buckingham. She died without issue at Dublin, July 4, 1668. He died in 1685.
2 The word signifies a Great Lady. (Mme. d'Aulnoy's note.) See Introduction, p. xxi.
10
RICHARD, EARL OF ARRAN From a miniature by S. Cooper at Welbeck Abbey
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apart from her beauty & wit, her affection had attracted his tenderness. But alas ! when one's only hold upon a Lover is one's claim to his gratitude, he is soon lost !
My Lord Arran had for a long time been racking his brains for an excuse to interrupt the conversation between Emilie and the Duke. Beside him was his dog that all the Court knew, & and at last he took it up, and, in pretending to caress it, let it fall into the Thames. He then made a dreadful outcry to recover the animal from the water, whilst all the ladies in- terested themselves to save it : particularly Miledy . . ., who was on the other barge, & who could not regard with indifference anything that my lord loved.
When a waterman had saved the dog she advanced to the side of the Barge : " Come," said she to Lord Arran, " Come, my lord, and rejoice with us that your faithful Melampe is saved, her Royal Highness gives you permission."
The Cavalier, who desired nothing more than to enter the Barge of her Highness went with alacrity, & having respectfully saluted the company, he placed himself near to Miledy, but it was not his intention to stay there long & with a view to soothing her he made her a pretended confidence.
" Do you see the Duke of Monmouth ? " said he, " I am dying to play a trick on him."
" And what is the trick you would play on him ? " she asked.
" I would interrupt his conversation with Emilie," he replied. " You must admit that would be good sport."
" You are not very sensible of the pleasure of being near me," she said with a melancholy air, " if you already think of leaving me for such a vain thing."
" Ha ! Not useless, she is never that ! " Then he continued confusedly : " Have you forgotten, Madam,
ii
MEMOIRS OF THE
the many evil turns he played us upon that expedition to Hampton Court ? Nothing could punish him sufficiently for it."
" You are much more vindictive than I am," she said coldly, " or to speak more plainly I am more dis- cerning than you think. Go, my lord," she continued, " present yourself to Emilie. If you have any design to revenge yourself upon the Duke of Monmouth 'tis not on account of what happened at Hampton Court between him & us but rather is it on account of what is now passing between him & her. You regard him as a Rival, & as a dangerous Rival."
" What cruel doubts you have, Madam," interrupted her companion, forcing himself the while to regard her tenderly. "You put the most criminal construction on the most innocent things. But in truth there is no means of loving for ever, & rather than continue in this condition of embarrassing constraint it would be better that you should rely on my fidelity instead of trying to quarrel with me from sheer wantonness."
Miledy, who was herself extremely oppressed by anger & jealousy rose abruptly without making any reply, and as she could not restrain her tears, — which were covering her cheeks, — she concealed them with her handkerchief, pretending her nose was bleeding, so as to have occasion to take some water in her hand to bathe her face.
My Lord Arran was not sufficiently touched by the state in which he saw her to abandon his first intention.
Approaching Emilie he saluted her. "Am -I an inconvenient third, Mistress ? " said he. " Do you wish me all the bad fortune that Melampe has just experienced ? All the ladies have had the goodness to take a part in congratulating me. You are the only one who appears not to have been aware of my trouble."
" Here is a fine subject for complaint," said the Duke
12
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of Monmouth, piqued that he had been interrupted. " Your dog hath fallen into the water ; Emilie hath not uttered loud cries ! You ought to be content with those to which Miledy . . . hath given vent."
Had not Lord Arran been restrained by the very strongest considerations he would have replied to the Duke in such a manner as would have speedily have brought them into a field of mortal combat, but he remembered that he was on her Highness's Barge, and that he had to do with the son of the King, and the favourite of the King ; and nothing more was needed to make him moderate his first feelings of anger, and to ignore that he was himself the son of the Duke of Ormonde, Viceroy of Ireland ; who also held a very distinguished position at the Court.
<k You are very beholden to the Duke of Monmouth, Emilie," he said, " for taking the trouble to answer me for you, and to applaud the indifference you show me "
" You are trying to quarrel," interrupted Emilie, with a smile, " and it is rather for a whim than for a genuine reason."
" It is some consolation to me," he continued, " to know you deserve my anger in lieu of my moderation,
and " He was interrupted at this point by
Miledy. . . . She had awaited his return to her without result ; she had made him many signs to which he had not paid the slightest regard. At last, not being able to bear any longer that he should continue to speak to her Rival, she called him — to show him, — as she said — a bracelet she had bought.
He left Emilie unwillingly, nor would he have returned to Miledy . . . had he not feared that the rudeness of refusing to do so would be altogether too remarkable.
" You wished me every ill for coming at such a
13
MEMOIRS OF THE
time," she said, lowering her voice after she had shown him the bracelet — " because I separated you from an object that occupies you far more than I do."
" No one save yourself occupies me, Madam," responded he, with such a constrained air that the acute Miledy ... at once saw through it. " But I swear to you I do enjoy myself at the expense of the Duke of Monmouth."
" I greatly fear," she said curtly, " that your success is not very great. I gather this from the contented expression I observe in his eyes. But," she continued, " do you not remark anything in mine, my lord ? Have you absolutely lost the habit of reading what passes in my mind ? and if you realise it do you think that I can continue to suffer so much indifference and bad faith ? " She looked at him as she said these words, and as it is always difficult to endure the scrutiny of the reproaches of a person one hath — for no particular reason — ceased to love — (notwithstanding that one may not deserve the said reproaches) he blushed and remained disconcerted.
Miledy ... for her part, lowered her eyes & fell into a profound reverie, from which he made no effort to rouse her.
Whilst these two people were in such a cruel des- pondency the Duke of Monmouth on his part was teasing the young Emilie. " You can no longer deny the passion that My Lord Arran hath for you," he said. " One would have to be less interested than I am, not to have discovered all that is passing in your two hearts considering that you have not been able, despite your eagerness, to prevent my observing it. Do you think you can deceive me ? "
" I have never harboured such a design," said Emilie proudly, " I have neither occasion nor desire to inspire you with an interest in my concerns. You are taking \\
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a tone which I should like but little were I so foolish as to pay any attention to you, but I declare I am not sufficiently interested in you to take the trouble to deceive you ! J!
This reply appeared to the Duke so rude that he was overwhelmed. He hesitated if he should reply, but eventually his passion triumphed over his vexation. Swiftly assuming a sweet and affable manner he said : " I see well it is my place to ask your pardon ; beautiful people have the right to be unjust, but no one hath the right to complain of such injustice. And notwith- standing all this, I have a favour I would ask of you. Promise me that you will grant it."
" I will promise nothing," replied Emilie, smiling, " I prefer to leave you as uncertain in regard to me as you are jealous."
" Ha ! Madam, pray disabuse yourself of that error," cried the Duke, " I know it is common amongst Ladies but there is no foundation for it ; & for my part nothing could more turn me against an attachment than to find Rivals in my path."
" What reason have you, my lord to distrust your own worth ? " demanded Emilie. " It appears to me that when one hath as much as you one triumphs over one's rivals not fearing them at all."
" You endeavour to console me, beautiful Emilie," he said, " by such flattering terms that they cannot fail to reassure me. Convinced though I am that you are less of a coquette than any other, I am equally persuaded that you do not wish to lose either of your Lovers, & I am not sufficiently the Master of my passion to be satisfied thereupon."
The excursion was brought to an end sooner than was expected because the Duchess of York, who was enceinte, felt ill. As soon as they were returned to London, £ the Ladies, who were her guests, had
IS
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accompanied her to St. James's, where she lived, the Duchess of Monmouth quitted the Royal apartments to return to her own home. She found neither her Chair nor her People in attendance, for they had not expected her to require them so early. Too impatient to send to fetch them she proceeded into the Park that separated St. James's from Whitehall. Night had already fallen, and there was no other light save that which came from the Moon. The Duchess was absorbed in her troubles ; and in her anxiety to avoid those who promenaded in the Mall she chose to go by the darkest and most retired side paths. As she walked quickly on her way she meditated upon the complaints she was going to make to the King about her husband's behaviour.
1
CHAPTER II
Duchess of Monmouth was not the only one who was afflicted with jealousy at this moment. The Duchess of Buck- ingham1 suffered many worse torments. This Lady was the daughter of Fairfax, whose name had been only too well known during the troubles in England. He agitated in concert with Cromwell and was declared Generalissimo of the State 2 in the place of the Earl of Essex during the time that the people rose against their King, Charles I., refusing to obey him. George, Duke of Buckingham,3 Master of the Horse to the King, had espoused Mary Fairfax from political motives.4 They did not in the least accord with the grandeur and the liberty in which he gloried. Never had there been a man better made, nor more regularly beautiful ; and in his conversation there was something so engaging that he pleased even
1 Mary Fairfax only child and heiress of the third Lord Fairfax (b. January 17, 1612, d. November 12, 1671), b. 1638, d. October 20, 1704, married George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham, September 7, 1657. There was no issue.
2 In 1647.
3 George Villiers, second and last Duke of Buckingham, only surviving son of King James I. 's favourite, b. January 30, 1627-28, d. at the house of a tenant at Kirkby Moorside, Yorks, April 1687.
4 The motive was private rather than political ! General Fairfax had received a grant of the Villiers estates in the Strand (hence Villiers Street, Buckingham Street, Duke Street, &c.), from the Rebel Parlia- ment ; so Buckingham had the strongest personal motive in marrying the former's only child, viz., the regaining of his paternal estates. E.
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more by his intellect than by his person, & one would have found it difficult to say which of the two created the deepest impression. All his words went straight to the heart ; he was born for gallantry and magnifi- cence ; and he carried it further than any other lord in England.
The Duchess of Buckingham had worth and virtue. She was small, dark, and thin ; but even had she been beautiful and charming, the fact that she was his wife was sufficient to inspire him with repugnance. She had always loved him, and although she was sufficiently sensible not to worry him with her affection, — & also sufficiently complaisant to caress his Mistresses and to permit them to lodge in her house, she yet suffered very much because she loved her husband solely, & she very well knew that he did not love her at all. But there is a limit beyond which the most gentle patience refuses to go ; then comes a breaking point.
The Duchess of Buckingham, wearying of seeing her husband ever occupied by a new passion, resolved to make a to-do and to gain by awe what she could not acquire by humility.
She had remarked that day that the Duke was restless & that one of his valets-de-chambre repeatedly came and spoke to him in a low voice. Subsequently the Duke went out. He was lodged at Whitehall at the Cockpit.1 His Apartments were built at the foot of the galleries overlooking the Park. He had told the Duchess he was going to the King, but she did not take the change.2
1 The Cockpit at Whitehall, site of the present Privy Council Office. Eminent occupants : Villiers (second Duke of Buckingham) was living here in 1673. (Ludkw Memoirs, ii, 488.) Peter Cunningham's Handbook of 'London, London, 1849, vol. i, p. 222.
2 A contemporary slang term which occurs more than once. Original of " not taking any " and " you don't get any change out of me ? " E.
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She followed him, but kept sufficiently in the rear to avoid his perceiving her. She observed that instead of going toward the Lodging of the King he passed on into the Park. Advancing quietly by the side of the Menagerie 1 she was able to cover her own progress without any difficulty owing to the friendly aid of the trees andbushes.
The Duke entered on a bypath darker than the others. Barely had he done this when he saw ahead of him, a woman whose figure resembled that of his Mistress : — the fact that he was expecting her helped to deceive him. He advanced eagerly towards her, making so little effort to conceal himself that she immediately recognised him.
It was the Duchess of Monmouth.
The latter's vexation gave place to curiosity, & she experienced the keenest desire to know what he was doing there. She determined to penetrate the mystery & hid herself in her mask. Then cleverly disguising her voice that he did not recognise it, she said "What are you thinking of my lord Duke ? I have been awaiting you an hour."
" Madam," he replied, approaching her, " my wife prevented my coming as soon as I could have wished, she had some chimera in her head to-day, & would not leave me. Never before did I suffer so much."
" When one hath a tender impatience to see the one whom one loves," said the Duchess, " one easily finds the means to get rid of a wife ! "
The Duke, persuaded that his Mistress was annoyed, threw himself on his knees intent to pacify her, but the burst of laughter with which she greeted this
1 Bird Cage Walk. English Edition. There is no record of a menagerie at Whitehall, though why the Duchess of Monmouth in going thither from St, James's Palace should get into Bird Cage Walk we 9annot explain.
19
MEMOIRS OF THE
action instead of the salutation he had hoped for, awoke him to a sense of the error under which he laboured.
The Duchess of Buckingham, who watched them from a distance, was sufficiently near to see all that passed but was beyond earshot. Leaving the shrubbery where she had been in hiding she ran towards White- hall. She was assured of her Husband's infidelity and did not wish to know anything further.
It happened that the Duke of Monmouth in coming from her Highness's had noticed, notwithstanding the night, a woman, alone, who appeared well made, and who passed through another gate to avoid him. He was not so deeply in love with Emilie that a new adventure had no appeal to him, so he followed the unknown with the intention of accosting her as soon as they had gone a little further into the Park. Seeing a man coming towards her he did not doubt that he was about to witness a lovers' meeting ; nevertheless he continued to advance -quietly until suddenly he recognised the dress — (a very splendid one) — which she wore. It was his wife ! Whatever good opinion he had hitherto had of her was completely destroyed by what he saw. Knowing she was not ignorant of his own conduct, he never doubted that she was seeking to avenge herself by equal infidelity. He discovered that one can be jealous when one does not love; & his first feeling of anger would have resulted, had he been in any other place, in a violent outbreak.1 Listening to the conver- sation with all that attention that one hath for things which vitally concern one, he was presently rewarded by hearing her say in a louder tone : " See, my lord, your advice is not for me. I am resolved to complain to the King of the proceedings of the Duke of Mon- mouth. If you had only seen all that passed in Her
1 See Appendix B, 20
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Highness's Barge between Emilie and him ; the manner in which he kissed her hand, the length of their con- versation, you would quite realise that it is his intention to bully me,1 and that my patience is imputed to stupidity. 'Tis my intention to go at once and hold discourse with the King imploring him to keep order."
When the Duke of Buckingham replied, endeavour- ing to dissuade her from this intention, the Duke of Monmouth recognised simultaneously the voice and the generosity of his friend. This set his mind at rest to some extent on the one point ; but on the other he was not free from uneasiness ; for the King had exhorted him to guard his wife carefully from all the annoyances that his ordinary gallantries could not fail to cause her ; & he had promised to be so strictly observant in this respect, that she should never hear of them.
Suddenly he bethought him that his best remedy would be to inform his Majesty himself. Without stopping another moment to listen to the conversation of the Duchess & the Duke of Buckingham he went forthwith to the King's lodging.
Arrived there, he was informed that his Majesty was in his closet with the Duchess of Buckingham.
A moment later she came forth. His Grace noticed that her eyes were very red and very wet, for she had been crying.
The King 2 had followed her to the doorway, and perceived his son at the same moment that the Duchess retired.
1 Me veut braver.
2 His Majesty King Charles II., the second son of the Blessed Martyr and Queen Henrietta Maria, was born at St. James's Palace, May 29, 1630, crowned April 23, 1661 ; died at Whitehall, February 6, 1685, and is buried in Westminster Abbey.
21
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" There goes a very unhappy woman," he remarked to him. " Her husband most cruelly neglects her, lavishing all his tenderness on others. If you behaved in that way I would never forgive you."
" Things are the other way about with me, Sir," he replied ; "I have just left my wife in the Park at a nocturnal assignation with a man whom I do not know ! I own to your Majesty that I should have inquired the meaning of it if my respect for you, Sir, had not overcome my just resentment." The King, much astonished, mused for some moments ere speaking. " Is what you tell me really true ? " he asked at last.
"She could not have the hardihood to deny it supposing I were to relate to her, before your Majesty, the circumstances of her conversation ! " said the Duke.
He was still speaking when the Duke of Grafton 1 came & told the King, in a low voice, that the Duchess of Monmouth prayed to be accorded a private audience.
Though this messenger was only a child he had not failed to perceive, from certain words the lady had let fall, that she came to make complaints to the King about the conduct of her husband. The Duke of Grafton did not like the Duke of Monmouth at all, although they were brothers ; because the latter despised all the children of the King, pretending there was a great difference between himself and them. This reason was quite sufficient to pique them ; and
1 Then only Earl of Euston. Henry FitzRoy, second illegitimate son of King Charles II. by Barbara Villiers, Duchess of Cleveland. Born September 28, 1663 ; created, August 1 6, 1672, Baron Sudbury, Viscount Ipswich, and Earl of Euston; and on September n, 1675, Duke of Grafton, K.G. In 1672 he married Isabella Bennet, only child and heiress of Henry Earl of Arlington, and died October 9, 1690, leaving an only son.
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on all occasions they willingly declared themselves on the side opposed to him.1 This antagonism caused the young Duke of Grafton to urge the King to speak with the Duchess, & telling the Duke of Monmouth to await him, his Majesty passed into his great closet where she presently joined him.
The King's cold and disdainful manner caused her much surprise. It was so different from his usual affability & the civility which he had for all Ladies. In fact this hauteur combined with the annoyance which he made no effort to conceal and which was manifest in his face positively alarmed her.
" 'Tis to you alone, Sir, that I have recourse," said she, " in the trouble in which I find myself overwhelmed by the indifference & bad behaviour of the Duke of Monmouth. He tries my patience to the utmost limit "
" This is a very politic move," interrupted the King. " You come here & complain with every appearance of jealousy ; but your reproaches & suspicions of your husband are but a device to hide your own conduct. You should arrange things better. You should realise that the moment of quitting an assignation yourself is scarcely a befitting occasion upon which to come & accuse him of gallantry."
The Duchess was so astonished at what she heard that, notwithstanding her innocence, an onlooker would have thought her guilty. However, she soon recovered her equanimity sufficiently to make an effort to justify herself ; — for now she cared more to do this than to make complaint. She protested to the King that she had nothing to reproach herself with ; that it was the Duke of Buckingham 2 that she had met in the Park ; that she had simply stopped him to speak
1 The Duke of Grafton fought against him in 1685.
2 Who was some twenty-five years her senior.
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of her troubles ; & finally she supplicated his Majesty to send for the Duke to justify her.
The King had a sufficiently high opinion of the Duchess to believe willingly all she said to him ; but as he thought the Duke of Monmouth's doubts were reasonable, he was very pleased to be in a position to set them absolutely at rest ; & calling to the Earl of Norwich * he despatched him to the Duke of Buckingham with orders that he should come at once.
1 Henry Howard, second son of Henry Frederick, Earl of Arundel (1608-1652), and Lady Elizabeth Stuart (1626-1657), m. 1627. Born July 12, 1628. Died in London January 1684. Buried at Arundel. Created Baron Howard of Castle Rising 1669, Earl of Norwich and Hereditary Earl Marshal 1672. Succeeded his brother as sixth Duke of Norfolk 1677. For further particulars of identification see Introduction.
CHAPTER III
POOR Lord Norwich found the Duke of Buckingham all too soon but under the very last circumstances he expected ; for his Grace was kneeling at the feet of my lord's wife,1 — a very beautiful member of the Court, — who, up to then, had been so discreet that hardly anyone had known of the Duke's attachment for her. It will be easy to picture their mutual surprise. My Lord Norwich was far too politic to desire to insist on an explanation in the Park. There are scenes in public in which one objects to being an Actor ; so he mastered his wrath sufficiently to pretend to believe his wife when she said, in excusing herself for having been found at such an hour with a Man of the World so well made & so gallant, that Chance alone had conducted her to this place. Then, in an inconceivable embarrassment, she retired.
The Duke of Buckingham overcome with chagrin at the cruel mischance which had befallen him had hesitated to justify himself to the lady in the presence of her husband, and now, without stopping for any explanation he presented himself before the King & there corroborated all that the Duchess of Mon- mouth had said.
1 Jane, daughter of Robert Bickerton of Cash in Scotland, Clerk of the Wine Cellar to Charles II., son of Thomas Bickerton Lord of Cash. She was born 1644 and married Lord Norwich as his second wife 1668 having previously been his mistress. By him she had seven children, one posthumous. She died August zjth, 1693. See Intro- duction, p. xx.
25
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Quite satisfied, the King called the Duke of Mon- mouth, & also sent for the Duchess of Buckingham, who had returned home, for he wished to make known to her the mistake she had made. When presently she arrived, he first of all addressed his son : " You had reason to think," he said, " having seen your wife in the Park with a man, that appearances pointed to guilt ; but she is innocent. My lady of Buckingham had, on her side, causes for alarm ; — still, another time she would be well advised to be more moderate. As for the Duchess of Monmouth, this adventure should convince her that appearances cannot always be relied on. Believe me then, all of you, & hearken to what I say : Forgive these annoyances that you have equally suffered, & let this serve to cure you of jealousy; which may be called the supreme evil of Marriage."
The Duchess of Monmouth said nothing. What had happened had caused her so much surprise that she continued in a sullen silence which was more indicative of anger than of moderation. The Duchess of Buck- ingham, on her side, loved her husband to such a degree that she could not be other than transported with joy at having been so deceived ; she flattered herself that he was not so faithless as she had supposed, & she felt for him a reawakening of a love so sincere that nothing would have given her greater happiness than that he should have responded. But, the Duke being the victim of a secret uneasiness for the fate of My Lady Norwich found the pleasure he would have otherwise experienced at the termination of this affair poisoned. As for the Duke of Monmouth, he appeared to be more satisfied than at the bottom of his heart he really was. He had discovered in his spouse an overseer who would oblige him in future to guard his movements to a degree which would cause him grievous constraint. But like the rest he remained 26
NE DVTCHESS OF MOMMOVTHI
ANNA, DUCHESS OF MONMOUTH AM) BUCCLEUCH
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silent, & then the King, impatient to go to his Mistress, left them all ; passing into her Apartment.
The two Duchesses made the first move & went off together. Then their husbands proceeded to the Park ; it was the most glorious night that can be imagined.
" What is the matter ? " said the Duke of Mon- mouth to the Duke of Buckingham, " I find you in the depth of melancholy, a state of mind most unusual in your case."
" Alas ! in trying to save you I have lost myself. I had not come into the Park just now without a reason ; in fact I will own to you I was awaiting My Lady Norwich."
" You were awaiting her," cried the Duke of Mon- mouth ; " is what you tell me possible ? "
" You may believe me," continued the other, " nor must you think that the secret of my passion has been kept from you through any lack of confidence ; but she was so delicate & jealous of her reputation, she bound me by a thousand oaths never to confide in a third person, &. I have kept my word as long as it was in my power. She even said to me : ' I will be both your Confidante & your Mistress together. Never betray me to a friend : he would be certain to speak of the matter. As long as you follow this con- duct be certain I shall consider your interests before my own.' Alas, I did all that she wished ; & the first person, save ourselves, to know anything of the matter was — would you believe it ? — her husband ! "
" Her husband ! ';
" Himself ! The King had sent him to look for me & he found me at his wife's feet. Judge of our surprise, — or rather do not attempt to do so, for it is an impossibility. See then, my lord, what your gallantry has cost me."
27
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He sank into a silence which his companion made no attempt to break, but walked along with a disturbed expression, evidently reflecting profoundly.
" Is it possible ? " his Grace of Buckingham asked presently, " that my vexation touches you so deeply ? >:
" No," replied the younger Duke.
" It must not be," he continued, " that I have to reproach myself with being wanting in good faith to my best friend.1 Know therefore, my lord, that I can take no part in your trouble, — I am full of my own. Know too, my lord, that this lady, so jealous of her reputation, told me a precisely similar tale to that which she told you, & she appeared to me a woman so worthy of my attachment that, hitherto, I could not have believed it possible she could be capable of infidelity ! "
The Duke of Buckingham was extraordinarily surprised. " What ! are we Rivals then ? Has this woman had the address & duplicity to deceive us both ? "
" I am deeply moved," responded the other, " but at the bottom of my heart I am not very greatly surprised. As she must realise that we love others beside herself it is no wonder that she retaliates."
" Ha ! that is very different," said the Duke of Buckingham, " and your excuses for her are not altogether delicate. It seems that your love must be less than mine otherwise you would hardly regard with indifference what fills me with horror."
" In justice to myself," replied his Grace of Mon- mouth, " I cannot acknowledge that any Lady who
1 Friendship notwithstanding, Buckingham was the author of some very aggressive verses satirising Monmouth. Collected Works, vol. ii, p. 15. As the annotator comments : "Though our author was a leading light of the Duke of Monmouth's faction that would not exempt the Duke from the satire of his pen." Ibid. p. 33. 28
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was worthy of an honest man's heart, would consent to accept but a share of it."
" And yet," dissented Buckingham, " it often happens that, during the actual course of a long & a great passion, one would escape for the moment & take advantage of a favourable opportunity in another direction. But it is an assured fact that these little infidelities are rarely followed up ; for one returns with renewed ardour to the real object of one's affections, as if to one's only good. It is for this reason that no sensible woman takes offence "
" I find," said the Duke of Monmouth, " that the Laws that govern Woman & that govern us are equal, & that in assuming we possess the privilege of temporarily attaching ourselves to some chance Mistress from time to time, reserving the right to return to the old one, when and as we will, we are the victims of a totally erroneous conceit. Women adapt themselves but hardly to this rule, & take revenge is no measured manner the instant an opportunity arrives."
" You conclude then," interrupted the Duke of Buckingham, rather heatedly, " that My Lady Norwich hath done well to deceive us both, & that we ought to thank her for having taken the trouble."
" No," said his friend, " I do not come to that conclusion, for I am in despair at being the dupe of a person whom I esteemed even more than I loved ; — for my passion was not new. Yet with all this I cannot help believing that one of us two can make her come to a decision if he himself hath first done so."
" Hey, bon Dieu, was my mind not made up ? And I am still such a fool over the woman that, despite myself, I am worrying about her, — for the apparent moderation of her husband is more ominous to me than would be the most violent paroxysms of rage."
" Do not let us regard ourselves as Rivals," suggested
29
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his Grace of Monmouth, u let us rather combine in an endeavour to serve her."
" Alas, what is there to be done in an encounter of this nature ? " sighed the Duke of Buckingham. " We may never see her again."
They continued walking discussing the matter, when the Duke of Monmouth suddenly stopped, his eye arrested by the sight of something sparkling lying on the ground before him. He stooped to pick it up and found it to be a set of Tablets garnished with diamonds.
" Have you no curiosity," he asked, " to see what these Tablets contain ? "
" To have such a desire," replied his companion angrily, " one would need to be as dissipated & flirtatious as you are ! I have other thoughts to occupy me."
" I will take care of them then," said Monmouth amused at his friend's petulance, " and if I find anything likely to arouse your interest I will tell you "
" All I ask of you at the present," replied the Duke of Buckingham, " is the history of your loves with my Mistress."
" It is too late to begin them now," said his companion serenely. " I can tell you the day after to-morrow if you wish."
The Duke of Buckingham was constrained to thank him for even this limited mercy, and at this point each of them took his separate road to his lodging.
Although the Duke of Monmouth to all outward seeming, treated the matter but lightly, he was in reality extremely sore at the infidelity of My Lady Norwich. He had thought himself her only lover ; this very opinion had inspired him with an indolence in regard to her from which he had never expected to be aroused by such a singular adventure. He recalled to his mind all the charms of this beautiful person & 30
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never had he found her so fascinating as at this moment.
His reflections only served to make him feel the more fully what was involved in her loss.
All the same, his heart was not seriously enough affected for him to remain very long in such a melan- choly & affliction, &, arrived home, he hastened to search the Tablets which he had just found, in the hope of seeing something there which would distract & even divert him.
He read these words :
Do not worry yourself in the least at what you have made me suffer ! If you really had any preference for me you could not possibly encourage the Duke of Monmouth & encourage him before my eyes ! Do not advance, in making an apology :
But you have lived with Miledy ! You know that the
case is quite different ; but I am obliged to keep up appear- ances with her, & that for your sake Madam. This gives you no excuse to be tender to my R val.
If you do not wish for my death, find a moment when I can speak to you in private.
The Duke guessed immediately that these Tablets belonged to My Lord Arran, & that the letter was addressed to Emilie ; this was confirmed absolutely by the words that were written underneath those just quoted.
Pray cease troubling yourself, my lord, for there is no reason why you should doubt my heart. If I have appeared to pay any heed to the Duke it was from a politic motive, of which regard for you was the leading principle ; it was my desire
to divert the suspicions of the jealous Miledy by making
her think that I preferred another to you.
I cannot meet you before to-morrow evening in the Gallery at the end of the Queen's Apartments. Do not fail to be there.
The Duke of Monmouth was in despair at this bad faith on the part of Emilie. Was it not enough, he
31
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thought, to know that My Lady Norwich cared for the Duke of Buckingham ? Must he find out at the same time that the girl he loved was disposed to sacrifice him ? For although My Lord Arran had preceded him in her good graces, he had flattered himself that he had entirely obtained her preference.
He lay awake nearly all night unable to find any repose, revolving in his mind a thousand designs by which he might be avenged.
CHAPTER IV
i
was evidently destined to 'be one of trouble & unrest.
The Countess of Norwich upon her return home called immediately for one of her women in whom she had the greatest confidence. " My dear Esther, I am lost," she said. " The cruellest adventure that can possibly be imagined hath occurred to me this evening. My husband discovered me in the Park with the Duke of Buckingham. From the studied calm of his manner I augur the utmost misfortunes. O Dieu ! How can I escape them ? "
" You should go, Madam," said Esther, " without losing a moment, to Madam your sister, & stay there until you have recovered from this state of agitation ; otherwise you may say or do something you will repent of."
" Under what pretext ? " demanded the lady, " could I leave here so late ? Would it not be to confess that I have done wrong & so to cover myself for ever with shame ? ':
" When the peril is so near," said Esther, " I assure you, Madam, that you need not be so studied in your actions. Madam, your sister will give you good advice & hide your disgrace as she would her own."
" But what shall I say to the Duke of Monmouth ? ': cried her mistress. " If he guesses what is passing he will at once become my cruellest enemy "
" He hath never loved you enough, Madam, to hate
c 33
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you," replied Esther. " And if you continue to make these unnecessary reflections my lord will return & there will be no chance for you to escape."
My Lady Norwich thereupon hurried from her chamber to the stairs.
She was just about to enter her chair as her husband appeared. Far from being disconcerted she told him that her sister had sent to ask her to come at once as she was very ill.
Apparently he did not believe this ; if he did it gave him but little concern ; for, remarking that it was too late to run the streets, fy that a clever Doctor would be of more assistance to her sister than she could be, he obliged her to re-enter the house. His manner warned her that she might expect trouble.
As soon as they were in the Room he told her that the King had just given him orders to leave the next morning to go to the County of Pembrokeshire, where just then things were passing contrary to his Majesty's interests ; — & that she would accompany him on the journey.
Never was surprise equal to hers. She said she expected it would prove to be an insurrection & that she would find herself among rebels.
He assured her that he would pacify them all.
She objected that it was not then the time to go into the country, — that it was already too hot.
He told her that he would only take her into airy houses.
She replied that she would be certain to fall ill.
He said that there were good Doctors there.
She exclaimed that they would embarrass her.
He entreated her not to upset herself.
Thus all the reasons were useless. He signified to her that, without seeking so many obstacles, it was his
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desire, that she had best prepare with a good grace for they would leave at daybreak.
Whilst the Duke of Buckingham was ignorant of this bad news, he was not more tranquil at home. His wife had awaited his arrival ; he found her in his apartment ; she fell on his neck, & this was a new annoyance to him. She protested that she would not have slept at all if she had not seen him before retiring to make her excuses to him for what had passed before the King. She declared that she knew she had done wrong to murmur ; but that if he would only examine the sources of her complaints he would but find the cause to love her the more.
He entirely agreed with all she said, & then advised her to retire to her Chamber. He told her he con- sidered it was very bad for her that he should keep her up so late, & that he was far too interested about her health to countenance it ; & then he, notwithstanding her protests, conducted her to her room.
He had thought to be rid of her, & this caused him much joy, but she came back almost on his steps. It had so happened that one of the servants in opening a bottle of Imperial water x had let it fall beside the Duchess's bed. She said the odour was so strong, — perhaps she found the excuse so good, — that she had returned to ask her husband for the half of his bed, & this he could not decently refuse her however great was his secret desire to do so.
In yet another household Miledy . . . not being able to control her grief, on leaving the Barge of the Duchess of York, had pretended to be ill so as to have an excuse for returning immediately to her own apartment. There she gave free course to the tears which she had hitherto restrained with such difficulty. The shame &
1 A drink made of cream of tartar flavoured with lemon juice and sweetened. N. E. D.
35
MEMOIRS OF THE
misery that she felt at weeping over one so unworthy cruelly augmented her indignation. " Shall I never cure myself ? " said she to My Lady Feismouth1 who was her intimate friend, & for whom she had sent on her return. " I love this traitor who is utterly uncom- prehending of the value of my heart. He prefers Emilie to me, although she only mocks him, sacrificing him without scruple to the Duke of Monmouth. Yes, Madam ; My Lord Arran hath seen my sorrow with a disgraceful indifference ; he hath given me proof of his infidelity ; I realise that I persist in standing in my own light, & yet, — despite all the reasons that I have for hating him, — I love him & by this weakness make myself one of the unhappiest people in the world ! 5:
My Lady Feismouth was genuinely delighted at what her friend told her. " Now you realise," she said, " what 1 have seen for a long time. I begin to hope that your pride will come to the rescue of your heart. Is it not a pitiable thing that with so much sense & worth it is your sole desire to be ever the dupe of a man like Lord Arran ? "
" I would rather be his veriest plaything than nothing at all to him," cried Miledy . . . shedding a torrent of tears. " You speak like a woman who hath never loved, & who does not know anything of the most tyrannical of all passions."
My Lady Feismouth embraced her. " Do not then let us think anything more of what you ought to do to cure you," she said, " but at least my dear friend promise me that you will endeavour to profit by the lesson that he hath given you by his indifference."
" I am not likely to forget them," said Miledy . . .
" although I fear that there will be little peace for me.
However, if I am still too foolish to banish that
ingrate from my heart I will at least be sufficiently
1 We have not succeeded in identifying this lady.
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proud to keep my secret, & sufficiently vindictive to avenge myself on my Rival, & make her realise that one does not flout with impunity a woman of my birth or my character."
" I presume," said the other, " that you are going to exert yourself to the utmost to plague Emilie ? Ah, my dear Miledy . . . how far you are from the senti- ments I should like to see you have ! "
They would have continued much longer, but their conversation was interrupted by one coming to inform My Lady Feismouth that the Queen was asking for her.
Of all those that up till now I have mentioned Lord Arran was the only one whose mind was perfectly tranquil. The reply of Emilie, which he had found in his Tablets, had put him at peace with all the world, — for he did not yet know that he had lost them, any more than he remembered that the pleasures we think the nearest & the most sure, are often the most distant, or the most cruelly hindered. And at this very time the one care of the Duke of Monmouth in his jealous infatuation was to disorganise his Rival's pleasant assignation.
To succeed in this he found he must take Miledy . . . into his confidence.
He was with her at a very early hour. He found in her eyes a certain air of languor which made her altogether charming, & he would willingly have pro- posed that she should, forgetting My Lord Arran for ever, from that very moment, commence a liaison with him, had he not been afraid of displeasing her by so doing.
" Our interests should be in common, Madam," said he, on entering her room. " People who cease to merit our regard treat us as dupes."
37
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" I presume," said she, " you wish to speak to me, my lord, about the scene which took place yesterday on the Barge of her Highness ? I must confess that I have played a very culpable part ; it is with shame I hear it spoken of."
" Can it be possible ! " exclaimed the Duke, " that a man you esteem so particularly can display so much ingratitude & bad taste ! "
" He still endeavours to deceive me," she replied, " swearing a thousand oaths that have lost all their power. For example, what did he tell me only yesterday ? Why, that it appeared to him I did a very great wrong in accusing him of loving Emilie, — & that, despite the faithful witness of my own eyes. But," she continued smiling, " Jupiter is not a dupe." x
" Apart from what you have seen," said the Duke, " here are these Tablets which chance has thrown into my hands ; they confirm your just doubts & convict him."
" I have no need," said she, taking them in a manner which betokened great displeasure. " I have no need to be persuaded of Emilie's bad faith."
She read the two Notes alternately flushing & paling, and then returned the Tablets to the Duke. She lacked the strength to speak, but her eyes were eloquent.
" Do not let us miss the opportunity," said he, " of interrupting this agreeable rendezvous. You, Madam, must go to the Gallery where, passing for Emilie, you will from his own mouth obtain an avowal of his disloyalty. I, on my part, will take care of the rest."
She had a genuine struggle ere resolving to take this step. Knowing that she was neither waited for nor
1 We have not been able to trace the meaning of this expression ; the 1707 translation evades the difficulty by substituting " I am not easily deceived ! "
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desired by Lord Arran, she feared that some one would come & surprise her while with him, — a situation which would be most difficult to account for, — but she thought also of the joy that she would have in con- fronting him in his actual infidelity, of how, afterwards, she would have every right to break with him, if she wished, & anyhow to treat him with the greatest contempt. Finally, all her reasons gave way before the Duke's desires, & she promised him not to fail in keeping the rendezvous in the Gallery.
Once assured of this he proceeded to the King's Apartment to know what was the programme for the day. He learned that they were going to hunt, & that Lord Arran was one of those whom his Majesty had named to follow him. With this news the Duke returned to his lodging,1 & then imitating, as far as lay in his power, the calligraphy of Lord Arran, — of which he had several specimens, — he wrote the following words on the Tablets that he had found :
I cannot go into the Gallery without passing the Chamber of the Queen, I fear lest she might order me to remain for her amusement. It would be better, Madam, that we should meet in the little Salon of the Princess Anne ;— you can reach it without being noticed, & upon my return from the chase, I will go there with the greatest eagerness.
He then ordered one of his Valets de Chambre who was unknown to Emilie, to find a means of giving her the Tablets as though from My Lord Arran; after which he returned at once to the King.
1 It was in the Cockpit.
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CHAPTER V
A~ "IIVED at the King's, he was mounting the stairs when he saw the Duke of Buckingham descending them with all the precipitation of a man who hath important business. He at first hesitated whether or not to stop him, ..& eventually he turned & ran after him.
" What is it ? " he said, catching him by the arm, " you appear very busy."
" Ha ! My lord," said his Grace of Buckingham, " look at this Billet they have brought me on behalf of a certain lady, & judge of my indignation." The Duke of Monmouth read these words :
You will easily realise my unhappiness when I have told you that my husband, insensible alike to my tears & my prayers, is taking me into Pembrokeshire ! What can you do my lord to prevent a journey that will perhaps prove fatal to my life ? Consult your heart, it alone can suggest the means. Myself, I am not in a state to think of anything.
" Whatever reason I have to complain of her," said the Duke of Monmouth, returning the note, " her condition touches me sensibly. But I cannot serve her in a matter so delicate, & I also advise you to leave this affair to take its natural course."
" Heaven forfend ! " exclaimed the other, " it is sufficient that she asks succour for me to give it."
" You will place yourself, then, in the position of a Knight Errant ? "
" I am not sufficiently romantic for that," inter - 40
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r up ted the Duke of Buckingham. " All the same I cannot patiently endure that you should show so much indifference concerning a woman who, not twenty-four hours ago, you believed loved you."
" And if I were not so indifferent," interrupted Monmouth, " my imagination would so sensibly influence me in a matter so vital, as to effect my cure."
" I was equally mistaken with you, & perhaps more so," replied Buckingham, sighing, " and yet I feel an unconquerable weakness for her ; it may be charity, it may be passion, it may be the two combined ; — any- way, I am going to snatch her from the hands of her husband.
" You are going to make a terrible disturbance," exclaimed the Duke of Monmouth. " In the name of God let me think a moment what had best be done."
The Duke of Buckingham made no reply, & the Duke of Monmouth considered intently as to what was the most proper course to pursue.
" Of course ! One should not hesitate," he ex- claimed after a few moments. " Go, my lord, & implore succour of the King. You enter into his interests every day, & he is too gallant & too generous to refuse you."
The Duke of Buckingham snapped at this expedient & immediately mounting to the chamber of the King he asked for a moment's audience.
As soon as he was alone with his Majesty, he re- counted to him all that had happened at the rendez- vous in the Park, & his misfortune at being discovered by My Lord Norwich. He then showed him the lady's Note.
The King changed colour several times as he listened to the Duke's recital of his woes & the latter perceived it with the greatest emotion ; for it suddenly occurred
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to him that he had found yet another Rival, and one still more dangerous than the Duke of Monmouth.
" I am surprised," said the King, after he had spent some minutes in silence, " that My Lady Norwich did not address herself to me rather than to you in asking to be saved from the ill-humours of her husband. But no doubt she hath her reasons for keeping from me the knowledge of the conduct of her affairs."
The Duke of Buckingham had the honour to be brought up with the King.1 He had so fully entered into his confidence that he was able to speak to him with greater familiarity than any other man of the court.
" Do not hide from me your thoughts, Sir," he said. " Indeed I already guessed them, a fact which ma- terially increases my unhappiness. You love Lady Norwich ; you are displeased, & jealous at what took place in the Park. But the present moment is not the one to inquire if she be right or wrong. Stop her departure, Sir ; think only of that."
" Ingrate I " said the King, heaving a profound sigh.
After this he was silent, meditating some time before he again took up the thread.
" No, she merits neither my anger nor my protec- tion," he said, " I will abandon her. Do not speak of her again to me," he concluded, turning to the Duke. The latter remained silent and downcast. He fully realised that the King, possessed as he was just now
1 When the first Duke of Buckingham was murdered King Charles I. told his broken-hearted widow that he would be a father to her children, which promise he faithfully kept ; the two Villiers boys were brought up with and shared the same instructors as the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York. The beautiful Vandyke, still at Windsor, of the Duke of Buckingham and his brother in childhood silently, as Lady Burghclere says, " testifies to the fatherly affection of Charles I. for his orphan wards." George Villiers, Second, Duke of Buckingham, by the Lady Burghclere, London, 1903.
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with righteous anger, would not accord him anything for his Mistress.
Making a profound reverence he left the Closet. The Duke of Monmouth was awaiting him in the Ante-chamber ; he passed him by without one glance and descended the stairs. The Duke of Monmouth was surprised. He hastened after him, asking him how he had proceeded when with the King.
" I proceeded to be guilty of additional foolishness," he replied brusquely, " and it was by your counsel ; you seem fatal to my intrigue ! I inform the King of what passes, only to have revealed to me that he loves the lady ! See to what a degree of unhappiness I have come. Last night I discovered you were my Rival, this morning I find the King to be another one. I learn nothing of my Mistress save reprehensible infidelities, yet instead of my passion being weakened, by a fatality I cannot fathom I find that it is increased, and that it is my destiny to commit — without any assistance — some wild extravagance for a woman who merits only my hatred."
As the Duke was about to remark that one is never fortunate in love without running the risk of losing the object inspiring the emotion, they came to tell him that the King asked for him.
" Will you wait for me ? " he said to the Duke of Buckingham ; " it may be about your concerns."
u I shall lose too much time," responded the latter. " Her ladyship has already gone. She must be followed."
" What ! Do you intend to take her by force ? ': " I do not know what I intend ! But I am going to take some people & follow her."
" You are going to commit an outrageous folly," commented the other. " Do not refuse to wait for me, — I shall return in a moment."
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Reluctantly his Grace of Buckingham agreed, passing into a dark, low gallery which led to the chambers of several of the King's Officers. " You will find me here," he said.
The Duke of Monmouth hastened off to the King. He was told he was in his Closet. Entering quietly he saw that his Majesty had his head resting on his hands & that he was in a deep reverie. Hearing some noise he looked towards the door, discovering the Duke.
" Come hither, James (it was thus that he some- times addressed him), & let us speak without reserve about My Lady Norwich."
The Duke of Monmouth, at these words, did not doubt but that his father knew of his own passion for this Lady & that he was going to reproach him for it. He began to speak hastily. " You are asking me, Sir, to make the frank avowal of my attachment for her ? I owe too much respect to your Majesty to fail in sincerity. Yes, Sir, it is true that I have loved her, & perhaps she would not have hated me had I been able to pursue her more assiduously "
The King, amazed at these words stared at him. Sadly he said : " Complete what Buckingham hath begun"
But too late did the Duke realise how great an imprudence he had committed in replying to the King before he knew upon what subject his Majesty wished to interrogate him. The varied thoughts that chased through his mind put him into such a confusion that he had not the power to make any reply.
" I had chosen you to be the confidant of my unhappiness ! " cried the King, breaking the silence. " I wished to tell you that I loved to my shame, (hardly ever hath a Lover been more unhappy than I,) — that I loved My Lady Norwich ; loved her well, & with such a respectful passion that when she had occasion to
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remark, that she wished the matter kept an inviolable secret, I used all my application to conceal my senti- ments. Satisfied to discover them to her alone, I awaited the hour that would bring me the happiness, I should not owe to my importunities, but solely to her gratitude for my constancy. She carefully avoided showing me any favour, & whilst my heart was fretted with suffering, I did not cease to feel gratification at finding a woman could be so virtuous. My esteem augmented my desire, — & all the time I was but a tool ! Whilst you & Buckingham enjoyed her tender- ness / languished a submissive Lover, & sighed without complaining ! "
The Duke of Monmouth, who had by this time recovered himself, respectfully said that his own intrigue with her ladyship should certainly not add to his Majesty's vexation, for he would never see her again.
" When one hath begun to love the son," said the King, interrupting him, " it is rare that one returns to the Father. I should therefore make a great mistake if I flattered myself with any hopes. I swear I shall regard Buckingham as a Rival far less to be feared. We are nearly the same age,1 but with regard to you the thing is quite different."
" I hardly know what I might have promised myself in regard to Lady Norwich," said the Duke ; " but I do know most fortunately that for some time past I have neglected her."
" That is your doing rather than hers," said the King, "nor is she to my mind the more excusable thereby. She hath deceived me by a thousand artifices. . . . Still her husband is going to confine her in the depth of the country. ... I pity her
1 The King was two years the junior of Buckingham whilst his son was nineteen years younger than he.
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budding charms. . . . What will she do in the wilds of Wales ? It is very certain she will not find three lovers like those she leaves at Whitehall. . . . Go, James, go, and give the order in my name that some guards are to follow and bring her back. To make the husband return let him be told that he is required here for my service ! "
Delighted to be charged with such a Commission the Duke immediately left the King, going in search of the Duke of Buckingham in the little gallery where he expected to find him awaiting him. For some time he walked down it without seeing him, but at length he discovered him pressed against a door, listening attentively. Perceiving the Duke of Monmouth, he signed to him not to make a noise & to approach.
" I do not know if I am dreaming or if I am awake," said he as soon as the latter was near enough for him to be able to speak in a low tone, " but I swear to you that I hear the voice of our inamorata !"
" You are so occupied with her," replied the other, " that you are always thinking you hear her."
" I will give place to you," said Buckingham, motioning him to change places. " Just listen a little."
The Duke of Monmouth then heard a woman's voice.
" Alas, my lord ! " she was saying, " your skilful rescue of me is not enough for I now find myself in a more cruel position than ever. What will become of me ? What will the Court think of an experience so singular as mine ? "
" Do not disturb yourself, Madam," said the person she had addressed, " You are now in a place where you are Mistress. The Marquis de Blanquefort l is en- tirely ignorant of the reason for which I asked him for
1 Louis Duras, Earl of Feversham, Marquis de Blanquefort in the French Peerage, Lord of the Bedchamber to King Charles II, K.G., b. 1638, d. 1709.
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the loan of his apartment, nor will he come back until he returns from his attendance on the King. I am now going to find you a pleasant & secretly situated lodging whence you can make your arrangements, & dictate conditions to your husband at your con- venience.
" But, Madam," he continued in a passionate voice, " dare I ask of you that I shall share those arrange- ments ? Are you always going to treat me with rigour ? Is the service I have just rendered you of no worth ? "
" I am not in a state to reply to you, my lord," said My Lady Norwich (for it was really she). " And I beg you to observe you should not ask me such a question at a time when I cannot dispense with your services. It detracts from the generosity of your heart, & affronts the delicacy of mine."
" Ha ! Madam," said my lord, heaving a profound sigh. " The manner in which I have ever loved you is proof enough that I am neither wanting in respect or devotion. No, you do not regard me with favour. I realise that, notwithstanding the vehemence with which you endeavour to conceal your sentiments. Still, even if you are quite indifferent to me, I have the sad consolation of knowing that I have left nothing undone whereby I might serve you."
There then followed some words that the listeners did not catch, because, realising that the lady or her cavalier was on the point of coming out, they promptly retired into the doorway of a little secondary flight of stairs which led up to the apartments of the Countess of Fingal. It was easy for them to see from this place anyone who came from out of the room under observa- tion, &, an instant after, the door opened & there issued forth— My Lord Russell.1
1 William Russell, Lord Russell, b. September 29, 1639, was the eldest
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The Duke of Monmouth could not prevent himself from laughingly observing, " Here, then, is another of our Rivals ; but from his manner of speaking I do not think he is one of the most dangerous ! 5:
After this he told his companion about his conversa- tion with the King, & of the order that his Majesty had given him to send after the Countess & bring her back.
" My dear lord," said the Duke of Buckingham, embracing him, " no doubt you have the key of the Marquis de Blanquefort's room ; will you render me an inestimable service ? ':
" It is true that in my capacity of Captain of the Body Guard I have the key of the rooms of the two Lieutenants, so that if it should happen that there were night orders to be given I might enter the more promptly."
" Ha ! Of your mercy give it me & I will profit by it immediately to see My Lady Norwich."
" If the King knew of my doing so it would not take much more for me to lose his good graces."
" But who will tell him ? " interrupted the Duke of Buckingham. " It would not be I who would betray you at the very time I was indebted to you by such a precious obligation."
"No, it would not be you," said His Grace of Monmouth, "but it might be My Lord Russell."
"He is not a sorcerer," observed the other with a laugh, "& he would need be one, to divine that I am here in this particular spot with you who are disposed to lend me the key."
" One would have to be an even greater sorcerer,"
surviving son of the first Duke of Bedford, by Anne, daughter and heiress of Carr, Earl of Somerset and his Countess, Frances Howard, the divorced wife of Essex. Lord Russell, m. 1669, Lady Rachel Wriothesly, and was beheaded in Lincoln's Inn Fields, July 21, 1683.
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replied the Duke of Monmouth, " to divine that I should neglect my own interests, in lending you the key, at the time when I know you are my Rival."
" If you were not nearly recovered from this passion," interrupted his friend, " I would rather die than ask such a sacrifice of you, but from yourself I am aware of the state of your heart."
Upon this the younger Duke gave him the key, but fearing that some one might have seen her ladyship enter the Marquis de Blanquefort's room & have told the King, he in doing so extracted a promise from Buckingham that he would make no use of it until after his Majesty had started for the Chase.
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CHAPTER VI
A soon as the Duke of Buckingham had wit- nessed the King's departure he proceeded to the gallery in a state of supreme emotion & agitated by a thousand different feelings. He went in search of a woman he loved tenderly ; but he was so jealous, that when he recalled that she had such a number of adorers, and reflected that perhaps he had been sacrificed to them all he felt inclined to hate her.
Occupied by these varied reflections he advanced into the gallery, his step now precipitate, now laggard ; his mind was in a whirl, & he was unusually agitated.
The Duchess of Buckingham, having passed a part of the morning with My Lady Fingal,1 happened to be descending by the latter ?s little private stairs into the gallery when she saw her unfaithful husband coming towards her. She immediately assumed that as he had not followed the King to the Chase there were things afoot that were contrary to her interests. Waiting with the door that shut off the stairs ajar, she beheld the Duke open that of the Marquis de Blanquefort & enter his room. Emerging quietly from her hiding place, she hesitated for a moment debating with herself whether she should knock, when to her great delight
1 Margaret, daughter of Donogh, third Earl of Clancarty, and niece of the Duke of Ormonde (1639-84), b. ?, d. January I, 1703. She was in the household of the Queen whom she accompanied to Portugal after her Majesty's widowhood, as first lady-in-waiting.
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she perceived that the door was not shut fast. For the Duke, all occupied with his passion, had forgotten to take the key1 in with him. She pushed the door a little further open & glided in.
The shutters of this little apartment were closed, — it was a precaution that Lady Norwich had taken on entering, fearing she might otherwise be observed.
There was a closet leading out of the room.
Upon entering the room and not seeing anyone the Duke passed on into the closet, whilst his wife, not knowing where to hide, quietly crept on to the bed the curtains of which were drawn. To what chagrin, Grand Dieu ! did she not expose herself by her imprudent curiosity ; — she thought ere she left that room that she would have died of grief.
One saw a little more clearly in the closet than in the Chamber & recognising the Duke My Lady Norwich cried out loudly :
" What is it you, my lord ? Is it you who dare appear before me after having refused me the assistance I required of you, & asked with so much urgency ! By what indiscretion hath My Lord Russell discovered my retreat to you ? It was my desire to hide it as much from you as from my husband ! r
" If you were less unhappy or I less weak where you are concerned, Madam," replied the Duke of Bucking- ham, " I could make reproaches that were more subtle than yours. I have not neglected on this occasion to render you all necessary service, & I was on the point of mounting my horse to follow & to snatch you from your indignant spouse, — exposing myself thereby to the jealousy of my wife if not to greater troubles-— when chance discovered to me that you were in this room. I was overcome with joy. Yes, unfaithful
1 Handle catches are of comparatively modern introduction. In Paris latches were lifted by the key alone within living memory.
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one," continued he, " despite the Rivals that you give me, & the care you take to preserve them ; notwith- standing your infidelity and my just resentment I love you still. Love you with sufficient passion, that, having found you, I am filled with happiness "
" I did not think," interrupted the lady curtly, " that you would have added further offences to those which already vex me ! It is thanks to you alone, that I find myself in the deplorable state in which I am. Before that unhappy assignation, where I was dis- covered, was there a woman of this Court whose honour had more supporters or fewer detractors ? It is through you I suffer & you — insult me. Go, my lord, go ! I want neither your heart nor your pity, — your presence is the last misfortune."
The Duke was far too moved to enter into explana- tions. Throwing himself at her knees he embraced them with much passion. " I am not in a condition," said he, " to combat your anger by reasons ; they would only appear offensive to you. You would not like it if I reproached you for your attachment to the King, or to the Duke of Monmouth, or to My Lord Russell, — and all of this hath come to my knowledge, causing me mortal displeasure. No, Madam, I will say nothing that will annoy you, I will even avow that I too have failed, so that you grant me pardon."
My Lady Norwich had believed her intrigues secret, & when the Duke spoke with so much freedom her anger so increased as to be impossible to describe ! So far from pacifying her his words reduced her to a state of raging fury that was utterly beyond control.
" I never wish to see you again," she shrieked, escaping from his proximity. " Leave me immediately or I shall go myself. However great the danger be, I prefer to risk it rather than remain here with you." In saying these words she ran towards the
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door of the Chamber & finding it open, promptly went out.
The Duke had remained in the Closet, endeavouring to form in his mind some scheme of action whereby his Mistress might be appeased. As soon as he felt capable he passed into the Chamber where he expected to see her, & hearing some noise near the bed he approached, never doubting but that it was her. It was, however, his wife who had remained there all this time, & who was no less irritated than Lady Norwich. She rudely repulsed her husband when he would have thrown himself at her feet ; so taking her hands he kissed them many times with fervent passion, & the greater the devotion he exhibited, the greater was the Duchess's despondency.
" How much am I to be pitied," she thought, " that I cannot free myself from this traitor. How the marks of his tenderness, so dear to me at other times, do now but swell my misery & my anguish. I owe it all to my Rival, & such poisoned sweetnesses as these mortally hurt a heart so delicate as mine."
These reflections increased her ill-humour so much that snatching her hands away from the Duke she repulsed him, and utterly refused to listen any more.
Such rigour in a person one greatly loves so far from weakening passion materially strengthens it, & however submissive & respectful the Duke might be, he would never have abandoned his intention of coaxing his Mistress to a reconciliation, had he not perceived that the person with whom he was had little, thin arms & withered hands, which did not bear the least resem- blance to those of the Lady Norwich. He thought it was not possible that a few hours of trouble could have wrought this surprising change.
For a while he remained immovable, & then he thought of going towards the window in order to open
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the shutters but the remembrance of the chagrin which was certain to follow his enlightenment kept him lingering in front of his wife. Just then My Lord Russell returned to escort My Lady Norwich to a house of which he was the master. Much surprised to find the door open, he pushed it gently, & on perceiving a man there facing a woman he thought he would have had a fit.
Jealousy often blinds the eyes. Whatever difference there may have been between the Duchess of Bucking- ham & My Lady Norwich he never for one moment thought it other than the latter, who thus by infidelity rewarded the essential service he had rendered her. It so overcame him that he had not the strength to advance & discover himself.
The Duke on his part had now sufficient light from the door, My Lord Russell had just opened, to recognise her with whom he was. Barely had he cast his eyes on the face of his wife than he sank into the profoundest despair ; whilst the Duchess, more affected by the state to which he was reduced than by his proceedings, sought to throw herself upon his neck and embrace him.
At first the Duke was not master of his movements ; he repulsed her with a disdainful air. What a sight for My Lord Russell ! He had stopped near the door, & his mind possessed of My Lady Norwich ever saw her in her Grace of Buckingham, & if he had only consulted his resentment & his fury he would have been carried to the last extremity ; but he remembered that such a thing would make too great a to-do & would attract too many spectators. He had now had time to recognise the Duke, & upon making sure that it was he retired in the most violent displeasure imaginable, whilst the Duchess levelled a thousand reproaches at her husband.
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" What, hath all my faithfulness & all my tenderness merited no more than that another should reign in your heart ? That heart which, belonging to me alone, & the only pleasure of my life, yet never ceases to take fresh engagements. My unhappy fortune to- day conducted me hither, to make me a witness of your transports for another, & to disgrace me before you. And I love you so dearly, so blindly, that at the very moment you outraged me most, I was so weak as to enter into your interests. Your pain was more grievous to me than mine. . . . Ah ! once again I abandon my own feelings, let me share yours, & console me only with a word, a look — Ah, what am I saying ? " she cried as she realised his coldness. " Alas ! you refuse me everything ! "
Moved rather by gratitude than tenderness the Duke came to her side & replied to her reproaches in a manner so gentle & insinuating that her despair was a little calmed.
When he perceived that her mind was in a more tranquil state he left her that he might look for Lady Norwich. The manner in which she had retired caused him the cruellest misdoubts, surely never had a man found himself more unhappy.
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CHAPTER VII
ON leaving the chamber of the Marquis de Blanquefort the first person encountered by the Duke of Buckingham was the confi- dante of My Lady Norwich.
" Heaven hath sent thee l to my aid," said he, stopping her. " Thou must at once reveal to me, Esther, where thy Mistress is. I will not make any bad use of the knowledge ; I only ask so much of her secret to serve her ; — and — to prove the particular trust I have in thee, — here is a ring I wish thee to
receive."
At the sight of this Esther felt her fidelity waver. " I do not doubt, my lord," said she, " that your love for my Mistress is sufficient to impel you to endeavour to find means whereby she may be delivered from the embarrassment in which she finds herself. But this is not a place where I can speak to you without fear."
" Follow me at a distance," said the Duke finding that she spoke good sooth, " & conceal thyself * that thou mayst not be recognised." His impatience was too great for him to defer long a conversation, which could explain what he desired so much to know, &, as
1 Despite the sentimental employment of the second person singular by the historical novelists, its use was in the seventeenth century exclu- sively confined both in France and England to the upper classes who employed it when addressing menials and those much their inferiors. It was because the plural " you " signified respect George Fox forbade its use amongst the Quakers.
2 In her hood.
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they were passing before the apartment of the Earl of Clarendon,1 Great Chamberlain of the Queen, who, he knew, was not there just then, the Duke entered, motioning Esther to follow.
As soon as the door was carefully shut, this girl commenced to recite to him all the humiliations her Mistress had endured since her husband had found her in the Park.
She told him of the resolution that she had made to go to her sister ; in what manner her jaloux had prevented it, & his design to take her into the country ; how, not knowing any remedy for this last evil, she had written the note that had been delivered to him at the King's, but that being in fear lest his help should not come sufficiently promptly her Mistress had also written to My Lord Russell, intreating him to find some means to prevent her being taken into Pembroke- shire. She told him further that being so afflicted at the uncertainty of what might happen when her husband had made her leave at daybreak she had thrown herself in utter desolation at the bottom of the Carriage, wondering every moment if no one would come to her aid.
Continuing Esther said :
" My Lord Russell then came in a Carriage at full speed, approaching ours so closely that at the first impact he upset us. Next, descending from his own coach he dragged my Mistress out of our wrecked vehicle, telling her, in a low voice, to retire, & that at the entrance of the wood through which we were passing when the ruse was effected, she would find a Carriage and a Gentleman 2 who would conduct her
1 Henry Hyde (1638-1709) succeeded his father as second Earl of Clarendon December 9, 1674.
2 Many allusions to gentlemen in attendance occur in the course c the narrative. In the happy days before the telephone, the telegraph,
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to Whitehall. She did not hesitate, risking everything to obey, although my Master was even then endeavour- ing to leave his overturned carriage. To prevent this my Lord Russell adroitly occupied the doorway, making many compliments the while & asking pardon for the churlishness of his coachman. In this manner he continued to gain time while my Master despaired within where he was with one of his Gentlemen & myself. We were, all three, the one on the top of the other not even able to put a head outside, because of the long and continued civility of My Lord Russell, who he said could not find it in his heart to leave us. At last my Master in great anger cried to him : ' Hey, Is it not sufficient that you have upset my Carriage ? Have you resolved to suffocate me ? I have two of my people, on the top of me ! '
" ' If you desire it,' coolly replied My Lord Russell, ' I will chastise my Coachman and my Postilion. There is nothing that I will not do to preserve to me the honour of your friendship.' Having said these words, which caused my Master the greatest impatience, he returned to his carriage just as they raised up ours.
" In what a fury, bon Dieu, did our jaloux find himself when on looking on all sides he failed to dis- cover his wife, & could not obtain any explanation from any of his people to whom he addressed himself. He never doubted but that she had profited by the occasion to escape ; but still he would not break his resolution to make neither noise nor disturbance. So he feigned a tranquil air, saying aloud that no doubt
and the railway train it was the privilege of noblemen to advertise their dignity by the number of such retainers they could afford. The custom, in a limited degree,[is still active in royal establishments. The gentleman's duties were numerous. He ran confidential errands, he was the bearer of verbal messages, he acted as secretary to his employer and as escort to his employer's wife. He was rather like the marshal of a Judge on Circuit.
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her ladyship had returned to London. We also took that road and I am quite certain that his mind was in a whirl. The moment he arrived home he shut him- self up in his Closet. Subsequently he went out, whilst I continued in the greatest disquiet as to where my Mistress might have found a haven, until a Gentle- man came from My Lady Feismouth to tell me to go and join her there.
" I went immediately. I found my Mistress in this lady's room. She related to me a part of what I have just been telling you. She was in a state of surprise because My Lord Russell had not returned as he promised. She bade me go and find him ; I promptly obeyed. As I do not wish to conceal anything from you -I must tell you that I found him in the most violent temper that can be imagined.
" ' Go,' he cried, ' go and tell thy Mistress that she is unworthy of an honest man's attachment ; — tell her that what has passed to-day will live in my mind for ever ; — tell her that all I ask her is that of her goodness she will leave me in peace ! '
" I was returning to deliver this beautiful message when we met."
When the Duke of Buckingham had heard all this he heaved a profound sigh.
" What could My Lord Russell have thought ? " he asked. " Did he not explain himself ? "
" He pretends," replied she, " that when he opened the Marquis de Blanquefort's door, he saw, in spite of the darkness, my Mistress sitting on the bed & a Cavalier with her ; that the sight caused him to retire in a nearly frantic condition, being persuaded, as he was, that this companion could be no other than your- self.
" Helas ! it was indeed I," said the Duke, inter- rupting her, " but it was not my happy fortune to have
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your Mistress with me. Thou seest all my weakness,"
continued he, " for this inconstant^ creature What
other name, grand Dieu, can I give her ? The King, the Duke of Monmouth and My Lord Russell are her lovers ; she manages them, — she mystifies me, — for if she hath no thought of favouring them she would have told me herself what I found out afterwards."
" I have several times represented to her that she ought to tell you," said Esther, " but my lord, she feared to awaken in you a restless jealousy ; for I must most positively assure you that even if she encouraged the Duke of Monmouth more than the others, it was only because she desired to make you jealous and to cause you uneasiness.1 When after your quarrel at Tunbridge you were once more reconciled you ren- dered her attentions of which she fully knew the value, the Duke of Monmouth had also changed and only observed the usual politenesses, & so she decided not to trouble you with it. As for My Lord Russell she has ever treated him with complete indifference hardly giving him a thought ; — whilst the King, not- withstanding his grandeur & his rank, has, I assure, nothing more from her than subjects for com- plaint "
" How rightly thou knowest," said the Duke inter- rupting her, " the way to soften my pain & justify thy Mistress. Go now to her, offer her the service of all I have, & tell her that, if I were capable of loving her in the past, when I believed her unfaithful, that I am capable of everything now that I can flatter myself that I am not hated. Then return at once and let me know what measures she proposes to take."
1 The reader's attention is drawn to the manner in which Esther, in her eagerness to defend her mistress, contradicts herself in a most natural and life-like way. The whole scene is admirable. 60
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The Duke of Buckingham was still waiting in extreme impatience the return of Esther. He had endeavoured to while away the time by partaking of some refresh- ments in Lord Clarendon's apartment. But as it was now getting late, & he was thoroughly wearied he decided to go himself to My Lady Feismouth & learn the news he wished so much to know.
Upon his arrival he found her reclining on a couch, her handkerchief in her hand, her face covered with tears.
" Ah my lord," cried she, catching sight of him, " You come too late ! Poor Lady Norwich is no longer here ! "
The Duke was amazed ; he changed colour ; for the moment he could not speak.
" I will," continued she, " tell you the result of a chance more unhappy than could have possibly been imagined. You went with Esther to Lord Clarendon's. She then told you her Mistress's most vital secrets & all the time My Lord Norwich was in the next room only separated from the apartment in which you were by a partition ! Thinking that no one could overhear what passed you spoke so loudly that this jaloux did not miss one word of your conversation, — learning by this means many things of which he had hitherto been entirely ignorant. I may say that the fact of the King being a partizan of his wife was one of the reasons that made him abandon the design of asking his Majesty's aid in constraining her. Upon further discovering that in leaving the Marquis de Blanquefort's chamber she had taken shelter with me, he promptly came here & surprised us. A moment later Esther arrived, & he obliged her to confess before me all that she had been telling you ; then he turned to his wife and said in a tone full of anger :
" ' I am resolved, Madam, to take you away either
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willingly or by force. Do not doubt but that I mean it. Choose which you prefer, & which will the most preserve to you some remnant of reputation ; — at least keep the Comedy from the mob. I have up till now controlled myself, hiding alike my anger & my shame ; but if you make me proclaim it, know that you will be lost for ever. And if you now decline to come with me I will no longer acknowledge you.'
" Our pretty friend burst into tears. She looked at me mournfully & I regarded her the same way, being unable to give her, the jaloux being present, any useful counsel.
" At last, after many tears and prayers, equally useless, she told me that she had resolved to suffer, rather than to push things to an end by an open rupture with her husband, & accompanied by Esther, she followed him ; nor was I able to get from him anything to give me the least inkling as to the place for which they were bound."
The Duke of Buckingham who had preserved a profound silence, interrupted her at this point with the most afflicting outcries.
" Why did you not send to enquire for me, Madam ! " he cried. " Do you think, had I been here, that this unjust husband could have dared to carry away his wife against her wish ! Rather than have permitted this I would have sacrificed my life."
" I did not see," replied she, " my way to expose either of you to the risk of such a brawl. On your part, you are so little the master of your actions, you might have forgotten the place where we are, & however much the King may love you, he is adamant in insisting that his house shall be respected." *
" Ah Madam," interrupted the Duke with great impatience, " is it respecting it to allow this poor
1 See Appendix A. 62
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woman to be carried off by a furious husband ? She sought an asylum in your arms. You had neither the courage to retain her there, nor to inform me of her misfortune ! But I am trifling," he continued, " in making these useless reproaches. I must take steps for her ! I must follow her ! I must serve her ! ! "
Thereupon he went out & on descending found My Lord Russell below. This nobleman could not control his passion & however ill-used he considered himself by the continued coldness of the lady he loved & by the understanding which he thought he had observed between her and the Duke of Buckingham it was his wish to smother his anger & to prove his disinterested- ness. But the actual presence of the Duke troubled him sorely. Seeing him come from My Lady Feis- mouth he did not doubt but that My Lady Norwich had summoned him. He reproached himself at his continued weakness, was ashamed, & endeavouring to conquer himself, he turned on his heel.
"Wait a moment my lord," said the Duke, accosting him, " I know something of what is passing in your mind and I want to justify to you an innocent person who is very unhappy."
He then told him of all that I have just recounted. Continuing his discourse he said : " You know well, that looking on you as a Rival I should not trouble myself to set your mind at rest by telling you the truth about the conduct of this lady were it not necessary that for her service we should join hands and that so as to obtain her certain liberty to follow the desires of her heart, we must combine our interests for her as best we can. In order that we may be of effective use to her do not let us disagree."
While My Lord Russell had a strong repugnance for what the Duke of Buckingham wished, the latter was possessed of great powers of persuasion. These he
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now employed on behalf of my Lady Norwich until My Lord Russell was so struck with his suggestions that it seemed impossible to oppose them. Moreover he had not any plans of his own, so he united himself with this rival & they both swore to serve a Mistress whose jealous husband was at that very moment embarking in company with her for the Hague.
Let us leave them at present while we say something about the Duke of Monmouth.
CHAPTER VIII
THROUGHOUT the hunt on that day the Duke of Monmouth could not distract himself from the different thoughts which agitated him, he could not understand why the infidelity of either My Lady Norwich or of Emilie or of both should so afflict him ; — his attachment for them not appearing to him to be of a character to make him feel either anger or jealousy, — for such belong only to the great passions. But although he was still sufficiently indifferent to them both, to engage in new entanglements had any occasions arisen that offered enough attraction, he continued to suffer through the loss of these Ladies, though all the while he was quite capable of forgetting that they had the least hold on him. It was through this he had convincing proof that vanity sometimes produces the same effect as love.
He thought over all the evil he would do My Lady Norwich & all the reproaches with which he would overwhelm Emilie. Now it pleased him to think that his intrigue with this beautiful girl should have such a startling result that all the Court would be aware of it, thus furnishing him with revenge. Anon he desired that his rendezvous should be secret, & that his engaging & ardent demeanour towards her might make her enter into a serious amour with him.
In this way he communed with himself till the end of the hunt.
My Lord Arran had on his side an extreme im-
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patience to be with Emilie to speak with her freely, for the strictness of the Mistress of the Maids did not leave them much time. As this Lady was always highly suspicious she discovered the interview which was arranged between Emilie & my lord. Her first idea was to break up all the arrangements they had made ; nevertheless it occurred to her, that if she could surprise this charming maid she would be able to reprimand her the more severely. Thus the antici- pated pleasure of discovering her in her fault induced her to follow a more moderate course, & far from keeping her under her eye, which she did unceasingly as a general rule, she gave her unusual liberty. Emilie did not neglect to profit by this, & pretending to go to her room to write she descended by a private stair- way & proceeded to the apartment of the Princess Anne who for the time being was with her sister the Princess Mary.1
Emilie entered the little Salon unseen by any one ; she closed the shutters for fear that the light of the Moon might betray her, should any one come in ; for the same reason she placed herself in a corner secure from observation.
The Duke of Monmouth was too impatient to let her wait long. As soon as the hour for the rendezvous approached, he entered the Salon. Emilie, fearing
1 The two young daughters of the Duke of York, Queens Mary (b. at St. James's April 30, 1662, m. William, Prince of Orange (1650-1702) November 14, 1677: crowned conjointly with him April n, 1689, d. at Kensington, December 20, 1694) anc^ A11116 (b. St. James's February 6, 1665, m. Prince George of Denmark (1651-1708) July 20, 1683 : crowned April 23, 1702, d. August I, 1714), were familiar figures in the younger generation of the Court of King Charles II. Despite the laxity of the times the royal maidens were guarded with unremitting strictness and propriety ; banishment being the punishment meted out to one daring lover who presumed to declare his passion, by means of a love- letter, — ignominiously impounded — to the Lady Anne,
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that it was another than My Lord Arran remained concealed, — hoping that to find her he would unbar the window, when she would see him ; but the Duke, who had his reasons not to discover himself, remained in obscurity and only asked in a quiet tone :
" Are you there ? Answer me."
" I am here," replied Emilie, never doubting but that it was Lord Arran.
It is difficult to describe all that passed in the heart of the Duke. He was delighted to find a favourable occasion to converse with this beautiful girl, but he despaired when he remembered that he did not owe this chance to her choice. He recollected that it was not very creditable for him to usurp the place of his Rival in this manner. He thought twenty times of going away, but at last with a painful hesitation he approached her.
She spoke first.
" Well, my lord," said she, " doth not the risk I run in order to speak with you thus convince you that you alone possess the preference of my heart ? Will you continue to torment me on the subject of the Duke of Monmouth ? "
" Is it possible," said he disguising his voice, " that you would for my sake sacrifice him without a qualm as if you had no inclination at all for him ? "
" I would sacrifice him willingly," said she, " though, as I always desire to be candid, I must admit that he is agreeable "
" I have remarked," he interrupted, " that he loves you & that he takes great pleasure in telling you so. There is also a certain languishing expression in his eyes which one does not notice there when he is with others."
" I do not think he is indifferent to me," Emilie admitted.
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" He hath boasted," said the Duke, " that you have promised him a share of your tenderness, & if he con- tinues to give you his care you will abandon me."
" I am surprised," said she, " that he should dare to say a thing so far from the truth."
" You are surprised ! " said the Duke resuming his natural voice. " Ton are surprised ? And you come here to betray my passion and your vows."
Emilie recognised the voice with surprise and emotion. It was several minutes before she could recover herself. The Duke wished to leave her but she prevented him. " Ah, my lord, grant me one moment ; listen to me. I am going to avow to you a thing which will not displease you ; — it is you only that I love ; it is you only that I consider "
" It seems so, Mistress ! " replied he. " You would have to adopt more convincing methods to persuade me of it."
" What would you have me do ? " she cried, weeping bitterly, " I had scarcely arrived at the' Court when he professed a violent attachment for me and became unfaithful to Miledy ... by whom he was tenderly loved. My vanity was agreeably flattered to think myself preferred to a woman so amiable, and my heart, in its first innocence, listened with pleasure to the sighs of this new love. I thought he would marry me after his wife, — so long a helpless invalid, — had died,1 this hope made me the more ready to receive his letters and to write to him. Alas ! I am confessing things which are not to my advantage, in order that you may understand that, having so compromised myself with a man who has not any control when enraged, I have been obliged even against my will to follow the course whither my imprudence had led me. Would you have preferred, my lord, that he should speak ill of me ! — 1 Lady Arran died July 4, 1668.
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MARY KIRKE ('EMILIE') From a mezzotint after Lely in the possession of the Edit 01
Kocquet
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Would you consider me worthy of your regard if my fair fame suffered in the world ? "
Her tears succeeded in persuading the Duke that she had not done wrong. His love for her was more recent than that of Lord Arran & he was sufficiently conscious of his worth to believe easily that Emilie was not mistaken when she assured him that he held a greater place in her heart than his rival. Nor did he trouble to obtain further confirmation of the truth of this desirable state of affairs. And while they were making their arrangements that their love might not be interrupted, I will tell you what was passing in the gallery of the Queen, between Miledy ... & My Lord Arran.
Upon the return from the Chase, where he had followed the King, he changed his attire, & neglected nothing that would contribute to make him appear
fillant. Miledy ... on her part the better to imitate milie who was then in mourning,1 took a black robe trimmed with crespe.2 Her mask which was very large covered nearly all her face. She entered the gallery by a little door which communicated with a private stair & My Lord Arran came from the apart- ment of the Queen ; there was no other light than that of the moon, whose beams almost made a new day.
Miledy . . . was waiting in a corner, when my lord came to her. Taking her hands, which he kissed several times, he exclaimed: "At last! It is now, most charming Emilie, that you cause all my doubts to vanish. I should be ashamed to have been jealous if
1 For her father, see Preface, p. xv, and Note, p. 8.
2 Crespe (old French for crepe) was evidently unknown in England for mourning in 1708, the date of the first translation, for this sentence is rendered there ; " dressed herself in a black nightdress [dressing-gown in modern parlance] which nearly covered her face."
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it were not such a proof of my passion & my tenderness that you must credit it in my favour."
O Dieu,how great was Miledy's . . . resentment in the cruel moment when this man, for whom she had the greatest tenderness in the world, played her such a scurvy trick. She had not strength to reply to him but her silence did not surprise him as much as might have been expected.
" You fear, beautiful Emilie," continued he, " that the step that you have taken in my favour may be known ; you ar~e nervous and trembling ; — reassure yourself, & do not refuse me some proof of your love."
" What shall I say to you ? " asked Miledy ... in a tone of voice so changed by the state in which she was that it was quite unnecessary that she should try to disguise it. " What shall I say to you, my lord ? I am less agitated by the fear of being found with you (though it is a matter that is of vital concern to me) than by the fear that you still love Miledy ..."
" / love her ! " cried he. " Do you take me for a lunatic ? What comparison is there between your charms and hers ? Between a passion newly-born to one that is expiring, between a woman who quarrels with me continually, & a girl whom I adore ? >:
" But my lord," said she, interrupting him, " you owe her a thousand obligations. You have sworn eternal fidelity to her, & if you show so little gratitude to her, what treatment can I hope for from you ? "
" What favours she has given me," said he, " are more the effect of her caprice than of real affection. Chance so willed it that she found it worth while to take me into her reckoning ; but clever as she is she could not herself give a really good reason for it "
Miledy ... at these words lost all control.
" Of all men the most perfidious ! " she cried. " It 70
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is not then enough to fail in all you owe me, but you belittle that tenderness through which you won me ? You attribute it to a silly and ridiculous whim ! But you speak truly, for have I not been so foolish and extravagant as to listen to you or believe in you ? This is the outcome of tears more treacherous than a Crocodile's ! This is the result of vows so many times renewed ! Go impostor ! Go perjurer ! I resign you to your own remorse. I am sufficiently revenged, even as I have sufficient courage left — amply sufficient — to tear you from my heart ! >:
But she had not yet finished administering her well- merited reproofs. My lord, confused and dismayed, listened to her without having the courage to reply ; whilst she, finding a certain relief in the harsh truths with which she had bombarded him, was about to continue when she was interrupted in a manner which equally surprised and embarrassed her.
It was the gouvernante of the Maids of Her Royal Highness the Duchess of York and the sous-gouver- nante 1 who had placed themselves as sentinels at the little door of the gallery — who had seen her pass and taken her for Emilie.
They entered some while after, and now came & threw themselves upon her like a couple of furies. My Lord Arran troubled himself but little with what they did, or what was going on ; he retired promptly, — his heart full of regret at having had so disagreeable an adventure instead of what he had hoped for with Emilie, & in his chagrin he found some kind of consolation at the unexpected arrival of these two Ladies.
In the meantime they were exerting all their efforts to oblige Miledy ... to leave the corner in which she was
1 We have been unable to trace the identity of this assistant Mother of the Maids.
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entrenched ; but with the fear of being recognised she defended herself stubbornly, struggling with them for a long time. Her outraged feelings a ad anger at the attack of these two oldsters caused her, at length, to strike them with all her force & having found under her hand the cane of My Lord Arran which he in his mental confusion had forgotten she made several cuts at them which were received with little patience.
The duenna had her goloshes ; 1 (it is the fashion in England that ladies should wear them) & at first she used these as weapons of defence, but they soon became weapons of offence, & inflicted cruel wounds upon poor Miledy . . .
From that point the conflict not being equal she grew weary of the fight but it nevertheless continued until the Duke of Monmouth, who had a malicious wish to see how the nocturnal rendezvous had gone off, entered the Gallery with a Footman carrying a flambeau before him. Had it been the head of Medusa instead of a torch it could not have produced more surprising effects. The two duenne at the sight of Miledy . . . became as immovable as statues, whilst she on her side was so afflicted at being recognised by these two old dragons, — in addition to being already so overcome with grief, — that she did not know what to do. The cane fell from her hands ; the gouver- nante threw the goloshes at her, with an indignant air, mumbling the while through her teeth that her informer would repent of having given her such erroneous information. Then, without entering into any explanations, the couple retired.
As soon as they had departed Miledy . . . told the Footman to go away, and, falling into a chair looked at
1 Goloshes were in use in England from the fourteenth century. Mention of them is to be found from that time onward, in Shakespeare, Pepys, &c. They were not of course made of rubber until recently.
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the Duke with eyes, which though swimming with tears were ablaze with anger.
" Ha, my lord," she said, drawing a deep breath, " how much better is a tender doubt to a cruel cer- tainty. I know now, — I can no longer have the shadow of an excuse for questioning it, — that Lord Arran loves Emilie, and that he is a traitor. He hath treated me in a way I can never overlook ! "
" What, Madam ; you complain at having your eyes opened ! You should be glad. And if you must lament rather should you do so because you still retain any feeling for one so ungrateful."
" And who told you ? " she demanded shortly, " that I am sufficiently indifferent to banish this man from my heart at once, a man who ought indeed to appear to me odious, but whom, alas ! I still love. My reason counsels that I should hate him but my heart begs grace for him ; my heart is at war with my good sense, & far from entering into the interests of my reputation, it speaks in favour of a traitor who would grudge a sigh for my comfort. If you had seen," she continued, " with what haste he fled away when those implacable oldsters assailed me ! — O Dieu / you would have greater pity for me, in the faint & desolate condition in which you find me now ! "
Her tears, which she had only restrained with effort, ran with such an abundance at that moment as to cover all her face, & concealing it with her fan she rose to retire. The Duke gave her his hand to her apart- ment, nor did he leave her there without feeling much sympathy at the trouble to which he saw her reduced.
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CHAPTER IX
misfortunes which had overtaken My Lord Arran could hardly have been more cruel, & in the first flush of his anger he proceeded to St. James's Palace to endeavour to see Emilie & reproach her for what she had just done. He very strongly suspected that it was through her manoeuvres alone that he had found Miledy in the Gallery & it was his intention to display the utmost resentment of this treatment ; but they told him in the Ante-chamber that no one could be received, as Madame la Duchesse had miscarried.1
If in one way he was sorry not to speak with Emilie, he flattered himself in another it was owing to this accident happening to her Highness that this beautiful girl had been unable to get away. One is always glad to find an excuse that will justify the person one loves. He concluded that she knew nothing of his encounter with Miledy ... & through this his anger was partly abated.
As a matter of fact it was not through Emilie that the Mother of the Maids had her information, but through one of her companions who had privately discovered the assignation, and who could not refrain from betraying it to the duenna. To tell the truth she was less animated by a spirit of propriety than by a secret jealousy that she had conceived respecting
1 " S'etoit blessee." Cf. Noel Williams' A Rose of Savoy, p. 342, where this contemporary colloquialism is explained.
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Emilie. She was not less amiable than the latter, & she had more wit, in fact the only advantage that could be accredited to Emilie was a childish air touched with wilfulness which was very attractive. Fila- delphe * being older by some years was also more prudent, for she dissembled under an apparent languor, which she took care to attribute to her bad health, the inclination that she felt for the Duke of Monmouth. It was in regard to his relations with her Rival that Filadelphe more particularly studied his sentiments. When she found that the Duke was confident of his success in that direction she fell into a deplorable melancholy, & wished him mortal evil for loving any one save herself ; she habitually either scorned him or spoke slightingly to him ; though at the very time her heart secretly yearned over him, her repellent manner had so thoroughly alienated his sympathies that he hardly ever went near her. How this increased the misery of this proud high-spirited soul, who would not make any advance, & was yet consumed by a fire she could not quench ! All that was left her was to tease Emilie, giving her slaps the more dangerous because she did not realise whose was the hand that dealt them.
Filadelphe had passed all the evening in her chamber, where she had shut herself up for the express purpose of
1 Margaret Blagge, b. August 2, 1652, daughter of Colonel Thomas Blagge, Groom of the Bedchamber to Charles I. In 1666 she was appointed Maid of Honour to Anne Hyde Duchess of York. Upon the latter's death she was transferred to the service of the Queen. She appears to have temporarily returned to the York Household shortly before she quitted the Court upon her marriage in 1675, to Sydney Godolphin (b. 1645, d. 1712), subsequently Lord High Treasurer 1704, K.G. Created Earl of Godolphin &c. 1706. She died in childbed September 9, 1678, leaving an only son Francis (d. 1766). He married Henrietta Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough in her own right, by whom he had two daughters. Life by John Evelyn 1847. See Introduction, pp. xviii-xix.
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dreaming over the humiliation Emilie would experience on being surprised with Lord Arran. She was impatiently awaiting the return of the gouvernante & the sous- gouvernante when they knocked with all their might at the door, & obliged her to open it.
" I cannot inform you," said the gouvernante^ looking at her crossly, " that we have not any reward for those who have advised you with regard to the matter in which we have just been engaged. We have, through you, been led into a great folly and you shall certainly suffer for it."
Filadelphe was much astonished. She assured them that she had seen Emilie receive My Lord Arran's Tablets, and that when the latter opened them she had placed herself behind her at such a nice angle as to be able to read both the Billet and its reply.
" Yes, you read it very accurately," broke in the gouvernante. " No better proofs are wanted than that which has passed."
At the moment they were thus disputing Emilie came in. She had just parted from the Duke of Monmouth. He had told her how he had deceived My Lord Arran and they had rejoiced together at the young man's expense. Neither of them had looked for such activity in the gouvernante.
As soon as those now present perceived Emilie they advanced, & seizing her by the arm demanded three or four times in urgent tones " Where do you come from ? Where do you come from ? "
Emilie was confounded. She concluded they had been listening. She blushed. She lowered her eyes. Then after having considered for an instant what she should say, she told them that she came from the Princess Mary. They said she must at once tell them who was there, & what they were doing, and that they would forthwith proceed to verify it.
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Much exasperated by this searching examination Emilie replied rudely that, thanks to Heaven, there was no Inquisition in England, & that she declined to reply to questions only framed to perplex her ; that if they were in such an agony to know what had passed at the Princess's they could go and find out, for it was not her nature to be a tattler.
Such an arrogant answer from a young person who had been the cause of all the humiliation that the gouvernante had just suffered naturally drew a severe reproof. She threatened Emilie that she would inform her Highness of her conduct, but the latter, knowing that the Duchess was not in a condition to listen to such things would not in the least abate her dignity ; this was perhaps as well for her, & if she had proved more yielding her opponents might have gained greater advantages over her.
In the mean time Miledy . . . passed the most cruel night possible to a woman of pride and spirit who was betrayed by a man that she did not know how to hate & with whom she was well aware she must absolutely break, or resign herself to suffer new humiliations every day.
" Ah too intrusive curiosity ! " she said. " Why did I pretend to pass for Emilie ? Ought I not rather to have consulted my heart ere consenting to convict this traitor of his unfaithfulness ? I should then have taken cognizance of all my weakness, this knowledge would have prevented me from embarking in any proceeding that would certify his ingratitude to me. But now ! I have put him into such a state that he will have nothing further to do with me, for he will regard me as an irreconcilable enemy, — as a person over whom he has too much power to fear, & he will either shun me with utter indifference or see me but to insult me ! In what a cruel extremity has the
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Duke of Monmouth's advice landed me. Alas why- had I not sufficient insight to discover that by endea- vouring to pass me off as Emilie, he assured himself of a rendezvous with her ; & that these two lovers, happy at my expense, were profiting by the mauvais quart d'heure that they prepared for us ! "
This last idea caused her more anger than all the rest. She could not support the thought of having been the catspaw of the adventure, & she no longer cared for anything, save to make known to My Lord Arran the adroit manner in which he had been beguiled. " He is too tranquil," she said, " I will trouble his repose, — if not perhaps through feelings for which he is indebted to me, — it will at least be by jealousy, that he will suffer, because of the Duke of Mon- mouth."
Although the whole house was already asleep she aroused one of her women. When a light had been brought her she wrote these words :
To put it shortly my lord, you are served as you served me,— Emilie, your charming Emilie, is unfaithful to you ! At the very time that you were looking for her in the gallery she was with the Duke of Monmouth. Do you not deserve it ? You, say I, you who made me realise by your treatment of me that you were not worthy of any better treatment yourself. She scorns the conquest of you as she herself is to be scorned, and if she feigns to desire it it is only to enhance the value of the offering that she has to make to your Rival !
Adieu Ingrate ! It is only fitting that you should pass a night as unhappy as mine, & with this difference that I hope that I shall soon pass more tranquil ones than you.
(Return this Letter.)
As soon as she had sealed it she ordered one of her Valets de Chambre to go to My Lord Arran, to wake him, and give him the note.
My lord was not wrapt in so tranquil a slumber
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as the vindictive Miledy . . . had imagined. Re- viewing all that had happened he had grown still more doubtful of Emilie, — an impression the note did much to confirm. He was at first astonished that Miledy . . . should write to him at so late an hour but his astonishment deepened when he saw what the note contained. He read it more than once ; he pondered over it a long time, and he appeared so concerned that the valet of Miledy (who had been instructed to observe him) had reason to suppose that he had brought very bad news.
This boy asked several times if he was to take his Mistress an answer, ere my lord rousing himself wrote the following words at the end of her letter:
You are very charitable, Madam to inform me of the treachery that they are practising with regard to me. I should never have expected that you would become my confidante. Since you desire it I will also confide a secret to you, by assuring you that if it is true that Emilie has gulled me I shall find the means to punish her in so ruthless a manner that you will be amply avenged, and perhaps you will find in this proceeding reason to pardon me for that of which you complain.
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CHAPTER X
AFTER My Lord Arran had charged the Valet de Chambre to take this Billet to the lady, he abandoned himself to the saddest of reflections. Sometimes he would be inclined to doubt the accuracy of the intelligence ; — and the quarter from which it came might well be suspected ; — yet he ceased not to put faith in it, for one is ever impelled to credit the very thing one most fears. Even had the proof been less convincing he must have continued to believe in it. He loved Emilie truly ; — he had been loved ; — but all the sweetness he had tasted in this intercourse served now but to make him the more resent the bitterness of her faithlessness. He was by nature very proud, for he had worth, noble parentage, and, above all, that good opinion that all the English have of themselves (and for which there is certainly a reason), all these com- bined to inspire him with the greatest vexation against his Mistress. In another way it appeared that his shameful conduct to Miledy . . . was the reason of all his affliction. He reproached himself for having ceased to love one of the most beautiful members of the Court, who had been so kind to him, and given him the preference of so many rivals of advan- tageous distinction. In short after having believed himself loved by two ladies and after great embar- rassment as to which to choose, he now found himself without either. 80
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These reflections committed him to a thousand varied conflicts which kept him awake the remainder of the night. He fell asleep a little towards morning but not to rest ; — the troubled dreams which he experienced being the natural result of the oppression one experiences when one has been thus tormented.
It was already late when he heard one of his Valets de Chambre disputing with some one. Rousing himself he called out to know who it was. The Earl of Saint Albans entered.1
" I think my lord," said he, " that all your Servants have received orders to make me impatient. For more than an hour I have been trying to gain the door of your Chamber, and to persuade them to open it to me. I had just resolved to retire."
Asking pardon for his people's impertinence. My Lord Arran prayed to be informed if there was any service he could render.
Thus given permission My Lord Saint Albans proceeded with his errand. " I bring you back," said he, " a letter that you will be surprised to see in my hands." Thereupon he showed him the one that Miledy . . . had written to him the night before, with his own reply at the foot.
" What does this mean ? " exclaimed the younger man. " Pray explain. The enigma is beyond my penetration."
" I can tell you in two words," replied his friend. " Four days since the King was informed that certain people were plotting something contrary to his service,
1 Henry Jermyn, first Earl of St. Albans, date of. birth unknown, creation 1660, d. 1684. The Misses Strickland, Lives of the Queens of England, vol. v (1854), p. 272, state in a note that Jermyn was twenty-six years older than Henrietta Maria, in \vhich case he would have been born in 1583.
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therefore he endeavoured to discover it without any clamour. The watch was doubled, and received orders to stop, with no distinction of persons, all those they met in the night.
" The Valet de Chambre of Miledy ... had only gone a short way from your door when he was taken & searched ; the entreaties that he made to get them to return this letter, sealed and unsigned, caused them to conclude immediately that it concerned affairs of State. Without even listening to him they flung him into prison.
" This morning the letter was brought before the King. The Duke of Monmouth and I were in attend- ance. His Majesty ordered me to open the packet and to read aloud what it contained. Though not surprised at your understanding with Miledy ... he was exceedingly so at your change with regard to her, & most of all at the passion of the Duke of Monmouth for Emilie. However, he could not refrain from laughing at the hazard which had caused the letter to fall into his hands. Looking at My Lord of Monmouth he observed, with an air, in which there was more of gaiety than anger : c Pray how long is it that you have been unfaithful to your wife, & don't you think it is time you settled down ? *
" ' One takes light amusements, Sir,' said the Duke, 6 as a diversion from things more serious.'
" ' Then,' said the King, * of a certainty you have many serious things in your head, for your heart is ever looking for a distraction.'
" The Duke was so embarrassed and confused that he outwardly betrayed his vexation. Approaching me, he would have taken the letter from my hand, had I not (apprehending that in his anger against Miledy ... he might make a bad use of it), prayed him to let me keep it that I might return it to her. 82
HENRY, EARL OF ST. ALBANS
From a print after Van Dyck in the possession of the Editor
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" * She does not deserve the regard you have for her,' replied he, speaking sufficiently loud for the King to hear. ' Surely now you have a chance of avenging yourself, you should not lose the happy opportunity ? '
" The King began to laugh. ' I am certain,' he said, ' that My Lord Saint Albans hath already pardoned Miledy ... for the preference she ac- cords to My Lord Arran over himself, for he is indul- gent to all ladies, nor would he ever wish to vex any of them.'
" ' Your Majesty does me justice,' I said. ' It is true that I have greatly loved this lady, and had she wished she might have turned me round her little ringer. I did not know how to hate her & My Lord Arran is too intimately a friend of mine for me to decline to oblige him on this occasion.'
" The Duke of Monmouth did not relish my senti- ments. ' What exceptional generosity ! ' he observed. ' For my part, I who have also suffered from the lady's venom, after having placed such confidence in her, of which she has made so ill a use, — I am going forthwith to inform her that she is a most indiscreet and malicious woman.'
" The King having left his Closet," continued Lord Saint Albans, " I came at once to give you the letter & tell you all that had passed, and I think the Duke of Monmouth has gone to raise a hullabaloo 1 at that poor afflicted lady's."
" Here is a cruel situation ! " exclaimed My Lord Arran. " With the anger that she already entertains for me, I am certain she will accuse me. I am already so overcome by Emilie's unworthy conduct that I do not need to have my troubles increased. At the same time you can hardly realise, my lord, how extremely indebted I feel towards you for what you have done
1 Fair le Charivary ; 1707 translation, " he has gone to harangue."
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!iSr$»
for me in this transaction ; for you might well have taken advantage of this opportunity to cause me further humiliation. However, you have learned enough from this Letter to convince you that I am no longer your rival."
" It is a long time since I played any part in that direction," said the other, " and I am in a position to view what passes with a tranquil mind."
" Would to heaven," cried My Lord Arran, " would to heaven that I could feel the same with regard to Emilie ! "
Whilst they were holding this discourse the Valet de Chambre of Miledy . . . lay in prison. He could not think of any way to escape therefrom save to inform his Mistress of what had overtaken him. She had passed the time that intervened until she got this news from him in a state of hideous anxiety ; she knew of nothing to which to attribute the boy's delay. She sent repeatedly to Lord Arran's for news of him, but all her people could learn there was that he had left immediately after my lord had written the reply to her Letter.
She had not been able to rest a moment, a thousand different disquietudes came to trouble her. At last she received the Valet de Chambre's billet informing her of what had happened to him and how the com- munication had been taken from him. O Dieu ! how her pain and misery was increased ! To think that her Letter was a prey to the curious ; — perhaps in the hands of her enemies ! for a pretty woman never fails to have enemies.
She decided that the Duke of Monmouth was injured, Emilie disgraced, and as for Lord Arran — his fate was even worse ! For herself, she could not determine what would happen, and she was waiting
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to see in which direction the storm would burst when she was informed that the Duke of Monmouth was asking for her. As it was only on the previous evening he had parted from her with every evidence of friendship appearing so genuinely sympathetic in the humiliation she had undergone at the hands of Lord Arran and the Mother of the Maids of her Highness, there was nothing strange in his calling to enquire how she had passed the night.
But her heart misgave her and she foreboded that his visit meant something very much opposed to peace and tranquillity.
CHAPTER XI
MILEDY made no order for the Duke's admittance. She was pondering deeply upon what she should say to him should he know anything about the letter. At last, overcome with impatience he swiftly entered the room, and by the first glance he cast at her she guessed what was passing in his mind. He was commencing to speak when she interrupted him.
" Good, your Highness," she said, " complete my undoing. Come and reproach me for my weakness, come & charge me with ill-doing ; — I deserve all your anger. I have no other weapon wherewith to combat you save the sincere avowal of my fault."
" How impetuous you are," said he, " so to trifle with the happiness of a Demoiselle of rank, who has committed no other crime in regard to you than that of pleasing Lord Arran. What can you possibly expect from her friends ? ':
" I expect the greatest misfortunes," replied Miledy . . . " misfortunes which I shall endure without either complaining or seeking to retaliate. Yet, if the fault that I have made in revealing your secret can suffer any mitigation, put yourself in my place. Consider a woman consumed with rage and anger ; remember also that one does not preserve one's judgment when one hath lost all one loves, and that this was the only means whereby I might be avenged on him. And if with all 86
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this, my lord, you do not consider me sufficiently unhappy to satisfy you, add the cruellest reproaches
that you can ' She appeared so affected as she
said this, & she looked so beautiful that the Duke having an impulse to love her only curbed himself with difficulty and could not make up his mind to allow her any longer to continue in such distress.
" Your condition, Madam," he said, " amply avenges me. I should be very sorry to cause you any further annoyance ; but at least help me to repair the trouble that has been caused."
" If there be still time," replied she, " there is nothing that I will not do ; — but satisfy my legitimate curiosity and tell me in what manner you got to know all about my letter."
The Duke of Monmouth was surprised. " Hath not Saint Albans been here and related to you what has passed ? " he demanded.
" O Dieu ! " cried she, " What is that you say ? Is it possible that he has been informed of my frailty ? "
The Duke informed her of what had taken place at the King's and how My Lord Saint Albans had wished to take the letter back to her.
She was inconceivably afflicted. She recalled all the cruel treatment she had meted out to him, and she could not think that he would neglect his revenge.
" Is it possible," said she, looking sadly at the Duke of Monmouth; " that you have left my letter in his hands ? Is it thus you prove yourself to be one of my friends ? "
" Why Madam, should I prove myself one of your friends ? I swear to you that had I been the master, far from endeavouring to save you, I would have sacrificed you and published it to the world."
" How delightful for Emilie ! " she laughed sar-
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castically, and then prudently checked herself from saying anything more.
" I could not help that," replied the Duke. " I would have agreed to expose her if you had been ex- posed with her ; for when I think of the manner in which you betrayed me, in truth I cannot pardon you."
" Do not let us speak of it any more, my lord," said she, offering him her hand, which he took and kissed (with sentiments much opposed to those of an irreconcilable enemy).
" I must try," she continued meekly, " to make amends to you by doing you some good service."
" Alas, Madam," said he, gazing at her tenderly, " you need not look far for an opportunity, it is easy to find. I have loved you for a long time ; you have always appeared to me one of the most amiable women in the world, and if I have not obtruded my attach- ment, it was because I understood that My Lord Arran had made too great progress in your favours for me to supplant him. But now that he is unfaithful — Why, abandon him to his bad taste ! And let us swear a pact together."
Although Miledy . . . was not sufficiently severe to be angry at a declaration that placed her in a position to avenge herself on Emilie, still she did not put much faith in an avowal dictated by chance alone ; so turning into a pleasantry, what the Duke desired her to take seriously, and with a view to changing the subject, she asked him where he thought Lord Saint Albans and her Letter could be.
" He is no doubt with My Lord Arran," was the reply, " for they have been for some time intimate friends."
" I know the reason of that," she replied, " and if
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we had not any other matter in hand I could inform you why." l
The Duke made no comment on this and contented himself by asking her to go to her Royal Highness's and inform Emilie of what was passing.
" What an extraordinary commission ! " she ex- claimed. " Do you wish me to tell her myself that I wrote ? Think of her rage ? "
" I know of no other means of communicating with her privately," he said. " And is there not a sort of justice in it that after having done her all the evil possible, you should now do her a little good ? "
" But," she objected, " how can she place any confidence in anything that I say ? "
" I will write," said the Duke, " and then you can talk it over together."
" After having last evening been the recipient of a thousand blows from the goloshes of the duenna what is to be my attitude towards her ? " demanded the lady.
" Do not notice her at all," replied the Duke. " Your rank is such that you are not obliged to observe the ordinary civilities "
" Ha ! to show her any ! " interrupted Miledy with such anger that her face changed colour. " I do not think I need that advice and I think she is very lucky that I let her down so lightly."
The Duke at these words burst out laughing. She demanded to know for what reason he chose to laugh at a thing which reduced her patience to a minimum.
" To speak in good faith," replied he, " I cannot think of the combat in which I found you engaged
1 All our authoress's oblique allusions have a reason. In the majority of cases we have been able to explain them, but have been unsuccessful in our endeavours to penetrate this particular innuendo.
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last evening with those two oldsters, and your embarrassment, without laughing — ay, with all my heart ! "
" Truly," said she, much annoyed, " the thing was very amusing, and as a man who desires to persuade me that he entertains certain sentiments for me you are taking a very good line."
The Duke blushed at the reproof, excusing himself by the singularity of the occurrence, and expressing the wish that it had happened to anybody but herself. Then entering into her Closet he wrote to Emilie in these terms :
The feeling I entertain for you is not unduly Confident, I write to you by a Lady whom you will suspect, but she has given me her word to serve us,— which she should do after the cruel turn she has endeavoured to play us. You will learn from her what has passed : I am inconsolable over it, and if you increase my sorrow by some new unkindness you will be the cruellest person in the world.
He implored Miledy ... to hasten to Saint James's ; she consented and they separated very good friends.
Miledy . . . was very anxious to pass by My Lord Arran's house as she wished to see Lord Saint Albans and as it so happened the first thing she observed when she got to that street was his Carriage & his People. She sent to tell him that she desired to speak with him a moment & that he would find her in the Mall. It was a long time since their last interview, & he could not think what she wanted, for there was no indication that she already knew the adventure of the Letter. The King & the Duke of Monmouth were the only ones who could have informed her. As for the King, he was not — my lord thought — sufficiently interested in the affair, while, as for his son, well, he hated her too much to convey the news. 90
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Sending out word to say that he would not fail to be in the Mall he turned to Lord Arran remarking, " Do you not realise that this move is intended solely to arouse your jealousy ? ':
" She is not sufficiently concerned about me to take so much trouble," said he soberly. " My reading of it is that she has some other scheme afoot."
" Of a truth," returned his friend, " she is nothing to me, and if she were anxious to discard you, she must have cast her eyes on some one of such attractions as to throw yours quite in the shade. A poor old man such as I, is good for nothing, not even to scare the
crows." 1
" I'll warrant," interrupted the other, " that at this moment she is troubling about neither of us — it is that letter that occupies her. Doubtless the Duke of Monmouth in the despondency he is probably in, has been gossiping and has recounted the entire history to some one who in turn has told her all about it."
" If Emilie were not concerned," replied Lord Saint Albans, " I could believe what you say, but he will have wished to protect her."
" Ah how little you know him," exclaimed my Lord Arran. " He will have given no thought to anything save his fury,2 and you will see that he has done all the harm that he can do."
" Well, I shall soon be able to let you know for I am now going to look for Miledy ... in the Park."
At that moment Miledy . . . was at her Highness's, she had not seen the Duchess, contenting herself with enquiring as to the state of her health ; after which she passed into the reception room where the Maids received their friends. The first person that
1 According to Strickland's Lives, see p. 81, he was over ninety ! 3 A confirmation of the proverb " As waxy as a Welshman ! "
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she saw there was the sous-gouvernante, who made her a profound reverence. She did not even look at her. Proceeding a little further she beheld Emilie in converse with the gouvernante. The latter, concluding that Miledy . . . wished to speak to her, left Emilie & came with a decently embarrassed air to receive her. Miledy . . . did not deign to give her a glance, but approaching Emilie, & taking her by the hand said she wished to speak to her privately. The gouvernante who was not wanting in pride, & who had already sacrificed a great deal in making a civil advance to Miledy . . . was much offended at this treatment ; and as it was not for Miledy . . . that the blows of her goloshes had been intended but for Emilie, whom she had believed to be engaged in a nocturnal assignation, it appeared to her that Miledy . . . was wrong to be so displeased. In consequence she was delighted to see that her responsibility gave her an opportunity of immediately returning this rudeness. Taking Emilie's other hand she addressed Miledy ... as follows :
" 'lete-a-tetes are not our custom here, Madam," said she. " You will have no conversation with Emilie at which I am not present."
" Not speak to her ? I shall speak to her ! " replied Miledy . . . arrogantly. " And you will certainly not make a third."
" And I," replied the gouvernante^ " declare you will not say one word to her unless I am by," & so saying she pulled Emilie with all her strength.
Miledy . . . fearing Emilie might leave her, tugged on her part with the greatest vehemence.
" You are so meanly bred," said she to the gouvernante, " that I am astonished at your insolence, & if you were not beneath my anger I "
The Duenna interrupted her with an equally 92
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haughty response, and each of them dragged Emilie with so much force that it seemed that they were resolved to break her arms.
The noise that they made caused Filadelphe (who was in the adjoining Closet), to come in and endeavour to settle the brawl, but she was not a person of suffi- cient consequence for those who were quarrelling to pay the slightest heed to her entreaties.
My Lady Ossory,1 who had called to see the Duchess, passing near the Maids' Parlour thought some one was being choked. Entering, what was her astonishment to find Miledy . . . and the Mistress of the Maids engaged in battle.
" Ha, Madam ! " cried Emilie, " come & make peace between these ladies & rescue me from their hands, or I do not know what will happen ! "
1 The Lady Amelia de Nassau, eldest daughter of Henry de Nassau, Lord of Auverquerque (natural son of Prince Maurice of Nassau, third son of William the Silent), married Thomas, the gallant Earl of Ossory (July 8, 1 634- July 30, 1680), son of the first Duke of Ormonde, on November 17, 1659. Lord Ossory was, of course, the elder brother of " Monsieur le Comte d'Aran " ; he and his Countess are buried in the Abbey. Lady Ossory's younger sister, Isabella von Beerwaet, was the wife of Henry Benet, Earl of Arlington, and the sole issue of this union m. 1672 the King's son, Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Graf ton. See Note p. 22.
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CHAPTER XII
combatants' fury received a check when My Lady Ossory entered the room. But it was a long time before she was able to fathom the cause of their rage because they both would talk at the same time. However she had sufficient patience to let them work off the first uncontrollable paroxysm of rage, & then listened to them separately.
Being ignorant of the engagement of the previous night, £ it being a Secret Article from her that a Treaty of Peace would not be considered by either of the militant ladies she first reproached Miledy . . . for not having shown any courtesy to the gouvernante. She next blamed the gouvernante for carrying her circumspection to the point of preventing a person of the quality of Miledy . . . from having a confi- dential interview with one of her Highness's Maids, and concluded by saying that Miledy . . . must be permitted to speak with Emilie alone.
Upon this Emilie & Miledy . . . entered the closet from which Filadelphe had come. She had been so alarmed at the noise which had proceeded from the Room that she had run in there without