LOVE ROMANCES OF THE ARISTOCRACY

By

THORNTON HALL, F. S. A. 

BARRISTER-AT-LAW

AUTHOR OF "LOVE INTRIGUES OF ROYAL COURTS, " ETC. ETC. 

ILLUSTRATED

LONDON

T. WERNER LAURIE

CLIFFORD'S INN

[Illustration: ELIZABETH, DUCHESS OF HAMILTON]

_TO_

MRS TOM HESKETH

_L'amitié est l'amour sans ailes_

PREFACE

My object in writing this book has been to present as many phases aspossible of the strangely romantic story of the British Peerage, so thatthose who have not the time or facilities for exploring the library ofbooks over which these stories are scattered, may be able, within thecompass of a single volume, to review the panorama of our aristocracy, with its tragedy and comedy, its romance and pathos, its foibles and itsfollies, in a few hours of what I sincerely hope will prove agreeablereading. If my book gives to any reader a fraction of the pleasure Ihave derived from its writing, I shall be more than rewarded for alabour which has been to me a delight. 

THORNTON HALL. 

_As love plays a prominent part in at least twenty of these stones, andis only really absent from one or two of them, I venture to hope that mygood friends, the reviewers, who have been so kind to my previous books, will not find fault with my title, which, more accurately than any otherI can think of, describes the nature and scope of my book_. 

T. H. 

CONTENTS

 CHAP. PAGE I. A PRINCESS OF PRUDES 1 II. THE NIGHTINGALE OF BATH 21 III. THE ROMANCE OF THE VILLIERS 36 IV. THE STAIN ON THE SHIRLEY 'SCUTCHEON 51 V. A GHOSTLY VISITANT 62 VI. A MESSALINA OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY 74 VII. A PROFLIGATE PRINCE 87 VIII. THE GORGEOUS COUNTESS 96 IX. A QUEEN OF COQUETTES 110 X. THE ADVENTURES OF A VISCOUNT'S DAUGHTER 127 XI. A SIXTEENTH CENTURY ELOPEMENT 136 XII. TRAGEDIES OF THE TURF 148 XIII. THE WICKED BARON 165 XIV. A FAIR _INTRIGANTE_ 177 XV. THE MERRY DUCHESS 195 XVI. THE KING AND THE PRETTY HAYMAKER 207 XVII. THE COUNTESS WHO MARRIED HER GROOM 222 XVIII. A NOBLE VAGABOND 231 XIX. FOOTLIGHTS AND CORONETS 243 XX. A PEASANT COUNTESS 256 XXI. THE FAVOURITE OF A QUEEN 266 XXII. TWO IRISH BEAUTIES 282 XXIII. THE MYSTERIOUS TWINS 298 XXIV. THE MAYPOLE DUCHESS 316 XXV. THE ROMANCE OF FAMILY TREES 326

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

 ELIZABETH, DUCHESS OF HAMILTON _Frontispiece_ FRANCES, DUCHESS OF RICHMOND _to face page_ 18 MARGUERITE, COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON 98 SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH 110 LOUISE, DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH 184 HARRIET, DUCHESS OF ST ALBANS 252 ROBERT DUDLEY, EARL OF LEICESTER 266 MARIA, COUNTESS OF COVENTRY 288

LOVE ROMANCES OF THE ARISTOCRACY. 

CHAPTER I

A PRINCESS OF PRUDES

Among the many fair and frail women who fed the flames of the "MerrieMonarch's" passion from the first day of his restoration to that lastday, but one short week before his death, when Evelyn saw him "sittingand toying with his concubines, " there was, it is said, only one of themall who really captured his royal and wayward heart, that loveliest, simplest, and most designing of prudes, _La belle Stuart_. 

When Barbara Villiers was enslaving Charles by her opulent charms, thequeen of his many mistresses, Frances Stuart was growing to beautifulgirlhood, an exile at the French Court, with no dream or care of herfuture conquest of a king. Her father, a son of Lord Blantyre, hadcarried his death-dealing sword through many a fight for the firstCharles, a distant kinsman of his own; and, when the Stuart sun set inblood, had made good his escape to the friendly shores of France, wherehe had found a fresh field for his valour. 

Meanwhile his daughter was happy in the charge of the widowed QueenHenrietta Maria, who although, as Cardinal de Retz tells us, shefrequently "lacked a faggot to leave her bed in the Louvre, " and even acrust to stay the pangs of hunger, proved a tender foster-mother tobrave Walter Stuart's child, and watched her growth to beauty with amother's pride. 

Even before she emerged from short frocks, Frances Stuart hadestablished herself as the pet _par excellence_ of the Court of France. With Anne of Austria the little Scottish maiden was a prime favourite;every gallant, from "Monsieur" to the rakish Comte de Guise, loved toromp with her, and to join in her peals of childish laughter; and theKing himself, Louis XIV. , stole many a kiss, and was proud to be calledher "big sweetheart. " So devoted was His Majesty to _La belle Ecossaise_that, when her mother talked of taking her away to England, he beggedthat she would not remove so fair an ornament from his Court, and vowedthat he would provide the child with a splendid dower and a noblehusband if she would but allow her to remain. 

But Madame Stuart had other designs for her pretty daughter; and whenHenrietta Maria took boat to England to shine again at the Court ofWhitehall, under her son's reign, Frances Stuart joined her retinue, andfound herself transported from the schoolroom to the most brilliant anddangerous court in Europe. When this transformation came in her lifeWalter Stuart's daughter was just blossoming into as sweet and fragranta flower as ever bloomed in woman's guise. Fair and graceful as a lily, with luxuriant brown hair, eyes of violet, and a proud, dainty littlehead, she had a figure which, although yet not fully formed, wasfaultless in its modelling and its exquisite grace. And these physicalcharms were allied to an unspoiled freshness, which combined the artlessfascinations of the child with the allurements of the woman. 

Such was Frances Stuart when she made her appearance at the Court ofCharles II. As maid-of-honour, to his Queen, Catherine; and one canscarcely wonder that, even among the most beautiful women in England, the French "Mademoiselle, " as she was called, was hailed as a newrevelation of female fascination, especially as she brought with her thebubbling gaiety and passionate zest of life of the land of her exile. 

To the "Merrie Monarch's" senses, sated with riper beauties and morestolid charms, this unspoiled child of nature was as a wild rosecompared with exotic hot-house flowers. She was, he vowed, so "dainty, so fresh, so fragrant, " that none but the sourest of anchorites couldresist her--and he was no anchorite, as the world knew well. Almost atsight of her he fell madly in love with her, and brought to bear on herthe battery of all his fascinations. Was ever maid placed, on thethreshold of life, in so dangerous a predicament? For the King, who washer first lover, was also one of the most captivating men in England, apast-master in the conquest of woman. But, in response to all hisadvances, his honeyed words and oglings, the Stuart maid only laughed amerry childish laugh. She would romp with him, as she had done with thegallants at the French Court; to her he was only another "bigplayfellow" to tease and play with. She knew nothing of love, and didnot wish to know more. He might kiss her--_vraiment_--why not? and thatCharles made abundant use of this concession, we know, for we are toldthat "he would kiss her for half an hour at a time, " caring little wholooked on. 

And all her other Whitehall lovers--a legion of them, from the Duke ofBuckingham to the youngest page at Court, she treated in precisely thesame way. Was it innocence or artfulness, this assumption of childishprudery? "She was a child, " says Count Hamilton, "in all respects saveplaying with dolls"--a child who refused to grow into a woman, and yet, one shrewdly suspects that behind her childishness was a motive deeperthan is usually associated with so much simplicity. 

She infected the whole Court with her exuberant youthfulness. Basset-tables and boudoir intrigues were alike deserted to enjoy the newera of nursery games which she inaugurated. Jaded gallants and sedateLadies of the Bedchamber mingled their shrieks of laughter inblind-man's buff and hunt-the-slipper with the Stuart maid as Lady ofMisrule and arch-spirit of jollity. Pepys was shocked--or affected tobe--one day by seeing all the great and fair ones of the Court squattingon the floor in the Whitehall gallery playing at "I love my love with anA because he is Amorous"; "I hate him with a B because he is Boring, "and so on; and no doubt rocking with glee at some sally of wit, for, Pepys says, "some of them were very witty. "

The little madcap even carried her games and toys into the sacredenvironment of the Audience Chamber. Seated on the floor, innocentlyexposing the prettiest pair of ankles in England, and surrounded by herbig playfellows, she would challenge them to a competition incastle-building with cards; and when her carefully-reared edificetoppled to the ground she would break into a silvery peal of laughter, and clap her hands for the King to come and help her to rebuild it, forno less distinguished assistant would she allow to touch her cards. AndCharles never failed to respond to the summons, though he werehobnobbing with chancellor or archbishop, and would be sent away happy, with a kiss for his pains. No wonder poor Pepys was horrified at suchunseemly goings-on. 

And equally small wonder that the King's mistresses and the great ladiesof the Court cast many a jealous and vindictive glance on the child, whohad power to lure away their slaves to her nursery shrine. The Duke ofBuckingham, himself, was prouder to be her favourite playfellow than ofall his conquests in the field of love. He wrote songs, and sang themfor her pleasure; he kept her in a ripple of laughter for hours togetherby his stories and clever mimicry, and rushed to her side whenever shesummoned him to build card-castles or to join in a romp--until what was"play to the child" began to prove a serious matter to the man of theworld. He found that, while he was building castles or chasing theelusive fairy blindfolded, she had stolen his heart away; but when heventured to tell his love to her she boxed his ears, and told him to runaway and not be so naughty again. 

Was there ever so tantalising and inscrutable a maid? And as she hadtreated the King and his chief favourite, she treated all her otherplayfellows. The Earl of Arlington, a grave, dignified Lord of theBedchamber, so far unbended as to make love to the little witch, whostood so well in the favour of his Sovereign; and never did man exerthimself more to win the favour of a maid. 

 "Having provided himself, " says Hamilton, "with a great number of maxims and some historical anecdotes, he obtained an audience of Miss Stuart, in order to display them; at the same time offering her his most humble services in the situation to which it had pleased God and her virtue to raise her. But he was only in the preface of his speech, when he reminded her so ludicrously of Buckingham's mimicry of him that she burst into a peal of laughter in his very face, and rushed stifling from the room. Thus ignominiously was sounded the death-knell of Arlington's hopes!"

George Hamilton, one of the most handsome and fascinating men inEngland, fared better, but retired from the pursuit of so seductive andtantalising a maid. Still Hamilton was the most congenial playfellow ofthem all. He was a madcap like herself, always ripe for fun and frolic;and for a time she revelled in his comradeship. He first won her heartin the following fashion. One day old Lord Carlingford was delightingand convulsing her by placing a lighted candle in his mouth, andhobbling to and fro thus illuminated. "I can do better than that, "exclaimed the irrepressible Hamilton. "Give me two candles. " The candleswere produced. Hamilton lit them, and thrust the pair into his capaciousmouth, and minced three times round the room before they wereextinguished, while _La belle Stuart_ paraded after him, clapping herhands and laughing in her glee. 

Such a feat was an efficient passport to her favour. Rollicking Georgewas at once installed as playmate-in-chief to the spoiled child, and wasprivileged with a greater intimacy than any of her other favourites hadever enjoyed. 

 "Since the Court has been in the country, " he confessed, "I have had a hundred opportunities of seeing her. You know that the _déshabille_ of the bath is a great convenience for those ladies who, strictly adhering to their rules of decorum, are yet desirous to display all their charms and attractions. Miss Stuart is so fully acquainted with the advantages she possesses over all other women, that it is hardly possible to praise any lady at Court for a well-turned arm and a fine leg, but she is ever ready to dispute the point by demonstration. After all, a man must be very insensible to remain unconcerned and unmoved on such happy occasions. "

It is conceivable that Hamilton, stimulated by such, no doubt, artlessencouragement as he seems to have enjoyed, might have made a conquestwhere so many had failed, had not his future brother-in-law, Gramont, taken him seriously to task and warned him of the grave danger offlirting with the lady on whom the King had set eyes of love, andpersuaded him at the eleventh hour to beat a dignified retreat. 

Pepys draws a pretty picture of Miss Stuart at this time, as he saw herriding, among the Ladies of Honour, with the Queen in the Park. 

 "I followed them, " he says, "up into Whitehall, and into the Queen's presence, where all the ladies walked, talking and fiddling with their hats and feathers, and changing and trying one another's by one another's heads and laughing. But, above all, Mrs Stuart in this dresse, with her hat cocked and a red plume, with her sweet eyes, little Roman nose, and excellent _taille_, is now the greatest beauty I ever saw, I think, in my life; and, if ever woman can, do exceed my Lady Castlemaine, at least in this dress. Nor do I wonder if the King changes, which I verily believe is the reason of his coldness to my Lady Castlemaine. "

How many hearts Frances Stuart toyed with and broke in these days of hergirlish beauty and irresponsibility will never be known; but we knowthat at least one hopeless wooer committed suicide, and another, FrancisDigby, Lord Bristol's handsome son, after years of unrequited idolatry, in his despair rushed away to seek and find death in the Dutch war. 

And it was not only over men that Frances Stuart cast the spell of herwitchery. One of her earliest and most ardent admirers was none otherthan my Lady Castlemaine herself, who alone claimed to hold herSovereign's heart. So secure she thought herself of her supremacy thatshe not only took the French beauty into favour, but actually encouragedCharles in his pursuit of her, probably little realising how dangerous arival she was taking to her bosom. It is said that this was but anartifice to divert Charles's attention from an intrigue that she wascarrying on with that rakish beau, Henry Jermyn; but, whatever thecause, there is no doubt that for a time she lost no opportunity ofthrowing her Royal lover and the fair Stuart together. She even lookedon smilingly at a mock marriage, at one of her own entertainments, between the pair--"with ring and all other ceremonies of church serviceand ribands, and a sack-posset in bed, and flinging the stocking, evincing neither anger nor jealousy, but entering into the diversionwith great spirit. "

And not only did she thus trifle with fire; for some months she rarelysaw the King but in Miss Stuart's presence. 

 "The King, " to quote Hamilton again, "who seldom neglected to visit the Countess before she rose, seldom failed likewise to find Miss Stuart with her. The most indifferent objects have charms in a new attachment; however, the Countess was not jealous of this rival's appearing with her in such a situation, being confident that whenever she thought fit, she could triumph over all the advantages which these opportunities could afford Miss Stuart. "

As a matter of fact Charles's _maitresse en titre_ regarded the"Mademoiselle" as nothing more dangerous than a pretty, winsome child. "She is a lovely little thing, " she once said patronisingly, "but she isonly a spoiled child, fonder of her toys and games than of the finestlover in the world. " But she was not long left in this unsuspiciousParadise. There was soon no doubt that the "child" had made a conquestof the King, and that she, the mother of his children, no longer heldthe throne of his heart. 

Her first rude disillusionment came when Charles was presented byGramont with "the most elegant and magnificent carriage (called a'calash') that had ever been seen. " The Queen herself and LadyCastlemaine each decided that she and no other should be the first totake an airing in Hyde Park in this georgeous vehicle, which was sure tocreate an unparalleled sensation; and each exerted her utmost arts andeloquence to secure this concession from the King. 

 "Miss Stuart, however, had the same wish and requested to have the calash on the same occasion. The Queen retired in disdain from such a contest, while the King was driven to distraction between the cajoling and threats of the two rival beauties. "

It was Miss Stuart, however, who won the day, to Lady Castlemaine'sunrestrained rage and disgust. The child had scored the first point inthe duel, the prize of which was the King's favour. 

According to Hamilton, this victory was believed to have cost the"prude" her virtue; but Miss Stuart had proved again and again that shewas no such compliant maid. The only passport to her favours, though aKing sought them, was a wedding-ring; and amid all the temptations of adissolute Court, where virtue was as hard to seek as a needle in a abundle of hay, she adhered to this high resolve. Probably no maid everfound her way with such a sure step through the iniquitous mazes ofCharles II. 's Court to an honourable marriage as _La belle Stuart;_though at one time she so despaired of realising her ambition "to be aDuchess" that she declared she was "ready to marry any gentleman offifteen hundred a year that would have her in honour. "

And never, perhaps, have the designs of a dissolute King been socleverly and consistently baffled. Charles made no concealment of hispassion for the beautiful maid-of-honour, and the more coldly shetreated his advances, the more marked and ardent was his pursuit. 

 "Mr Pierce tells me, " Pepys writes, "that my Lady Castlemaine is not at all set by by the King, but that he do doat upon Mrs Stuart only, and that to the leaving of all business in the world, and to the open slighting of the Queen. That he values not who sees him, or stands by while he dallies with her openly; and then privately in her chamber below, while the very sentrys observe him going in and out; and that so commonly that the Duke, or any of the Nobles, when they would ask where the King is, they will ordinarily say, 'Is the King above or below?' meaning with Mrs Stuart; that the King do not openly disown my Lady Castlemaine, but that she comes to Court. "

Such was the spell which this enchantress cast over the King. Nor wereher conquests by any means confined to the circle of the Court in whichshe moved a splendid, but unassailable Queen, for every man who camewithin the magic of her presence seems to have lost both head and heart. One of the most infatuated of all her victims was Phillipe Rotier, theyoungest brother of the famous medallists whom Charles had invited toEngland, and whose first commission was to design a medal in celebrationof the Peace of Breda. For the purposes of this medal Miss Stuart wasasked by the King to pose as Britannia; and so captivated was PhillipeRotier, to whom she gave sittings, by the exquisite perfection and graceof her figure, and so entranced by her beauty, that he fell madly inlove with her, and narrowly escaped the loss of reason as well as ofhis heart. Since that day the figure of Britannia has appeared onmillions of coins and medals to perpetuate through the centuries thefaultless form of the woman who drove artist as well as King to theverge of despair by her beauty and her inaccessible prudery. 

It was destined, however, that a prize which had so long eluded thehandsomest gallants in England should fall at last to one of the mostinsignificant of all Charles's courtiers, a man who had neither goodlooks, intellect, nor character to commend him to a lady's favour. Sucha gilded nonentity was Charles Stuart, Duke of Richmond and of Lennox, who, having buried two wives, now began to cast envious eyes on themaid-of-honour whom his Sovereign could not win. 

Small in stature, deformed in figure--a caricature of a man, His Graceof Richmond was the last degenerate scion of the Stuarts ofRichmond-d'Aubigny, a man of depraved tastes and besotted brain, thebutt and the clown of Charles's Court. That this middle-aged buffoonshould aspire to the hand of the loveliest and most elusive woman inEngland was only less amazing than that she should smile on his suit. The Court was struck with consternation--and convulsed with laughter. Nothing so utterly astonishing and so ludicrous had come within itsexperience. But there could be no doubt about it. _La belle Stuart_, whohad so long resisted the King, and given the cold shoulder to suchgallants as the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Arlington, was not onlysmiling on her ill-favoured suitor, she was actually giving him midnightassignations in her own apartments, and risking for a clown thereputation a King had been powerless to sully. 

Here, at last, was a fine weapon placed in the hands of the outraged andvindictive Castlemaine. Here was a splendid opportunity of paying offold scores, of showing to her Royal lover the kind of woman for whom hehad supplanted her, and of reinstating herself in his good graces. Onenight, as he returned in an evil temper from a fruitless visit to MissStuart's apartments, from which he had been sent away on some frivolouspretext, he was accosted by my Lady Castlemaine, who, with ill-concealedtriumph, told him that at the moment _La belle Stuart_ turned him awayfrom her door, she was actually dallying with his new and contemptiblerival, the Duke of Richmond, at the other side of it. 

Charles was incredulous, furious at the suggestion. "Come with me, " LadyCastlemaine answered, "and I will prove that I am telling you the simpletruth;" and taking his hand she led him exultantly down the gallery fromhis apartments to the threshold of Miss Stuart's door, where, with asweeping curtsy and an invitation to enter, she left him. On throwingopen the door, to quote Hamilton, the King

 "found Miss Stuart in bed, but far from being asleep. The Duke of Richmond was seated at her pillow, and in all probability was less inclined to sleep than herself. The King, who of all men was usually one of the most mild and gentle, testified his resentment to the Duke of Richmond in such terms as he had never used before. The Duke was speechless and almost petrified; he saw his master and King justly irritated. The first transports which rage inspires on such occasions are dangerous. Miss Stuart's window was very convenient for a sudden revenge, the Thames flowing close beneath it. He cast his eyes upon it, and seeing those of the King more incensed and fired with indignation than he thought his nature capable of, he made a profound bow, and retired without replying a single word to the vast torrent of threats and menaces that were poured on him. "

But if the Duke proved thus a poltroon, Miss Stuart showed a verydifferent metal. She was furious at the indignity of the King'sintrusion on her privacy, and proceeded to read him such a lecture ashis Royal ears had never listened to. She was no slave, she said, withflashing eyes, to be treated in such a manner, not to be allowed toreceive visits from a man of the Duke of Richmond's rank, who came withhonourable intentions. She was perfectly free to dispose of her hand asshe thought proper; and if she could not do it in England, there was nopower on earth that could hinder her from going over to France, andthrowing herself into a convent to enjoy that tranquillity that wasdenied her in his Court! And the enraged beauty wound up her lecture bypointing imperiously to the door and bidding the King begone, "to leaveher in repose, at least for the remainder of the night. "

Charles went away baffled and cowed, but with a fierce rage in hisheart. He had been defied, browbeaten, insulted by the woman for whom hewould almost have bartered his crown; and he vowed that he would berevenged. On the following morning Miss Stuart, her anger now cooled, and awake to the enormity of her offence against Charles, sought anaudience with Queen Catherine, to whom she told the whole story, beggingher to appease the King, and to induce him to allow her to retire to aconvent. So affecting was this interview that, we are told, the Queenand the maid-of-honour mingled their tears together, and Catherinepromised to do her utmost to bring about a reconciliation. 

One final attempt Charles made to capture the prize before it was lostto him for ever. He offered to dismiss all his mistresses, from theCastlemaine herself to saucy Nell Gwynn, and to dower her with largerevenues and splendid titles if she would but consent to be his_maitresse en titre_; but to all his seductions and bribes theinflexible maid-of-honour turned a blind eye. No future, howeverdazzling, could compensate her for the loss of her dearest possession. "I hope, " said the King at last, "I may live to see you old andwilling, " as he walked away in high dudgeon. To the proposed match withthe Duke he point-blank refused his consent, and vowed that if hissovereign will were defied, the punishment would be in proportion to theoffence. 

But the fair Stuart had finally made up her mind. It had long been herambition--from childhood, it is said--to be a Duchess, and she was notgoing to let the opportunity slip for all the kings in the world. Whatmight come after was another matter. A Duchess's coronet and awedding-ring were her immediate goal. Thus it came to pass that one darknight she stole away from the Palace of Whitehall, and was rowed toLondon Bridge, where the Duke awaited her in his coach. Through thenight the runaway pair were driven to Cobham Hall, in Kent, where, longbefore morning dawned, an obliging parson had made them man and wife. Frances Stuart was a Duchess at last; and Charles's long intrigue hadended (or so it seemed) in final discomfiture. 

On hearing the news the King was beside himself with anger. He forbadethe runaways ever to show their faces near his Court--he even dismissedhis Chancellor Clarendon, whom he suspected of having a hand in theplot. 

But all his wrath fell impotently on the new Duchess, who returned hispresents and settled smilingly down to enjoy her new dignities and herhoneymoon. Within a year--so powerless is anger against love--Charlessummoned the truants back to favour, and the Duchess, as Lady of theBedchamber to the Queen, was installed once more at Whitehall, moresplendid and pre-eminent than ever. During her brief exile, she had helda rival court of her own as near Whitehall as Somerset House, where, says Pepys, "she was visited for her beauty's sake by people, as the Queen is at nights. And they say also she is likely to go to Court again, and there put my Lady Castlemaine's nose out of joint. God knows that would make a great turn. "

How far the Duke's bride succeeded in putting Lady Castlemaine's "noseout of joint" must remain a matter of speculation. There seems littledoubt that as a wife she proved more complaisant to Charles than as amaid. She had carried her virtue unstained to the altar and a Duchess'scoronet, and this seems to have been the main concern of the beautifulprude. That Charles was more infatuated even with the wife than with themaid-of-honour is incontestable. He not only made open love to her atCourt, but, especially after he had packed off her husband, the Duke, asAmbassador to Denmark, his pursuit took a clandestine and more dangerousshape. Pepys throws a light on what looks like a secret amour, when hetells us, on the authority of Mr Pierce, that Charles once "did take apair of oars or a sculler, and all alone, or but one with him, go toSomerset House (from Whitehall), and there, the garden-door not open, himself clamber over the wall to make a visit to the Duchess, which is ahorrid shame. "

[Illustration: FRANCES, DUCHESS OF RICHMOND]

But the Duchess's new reign of conquest was destined to be brief. To theconsternation of her Royal lover she was struck down with small-pox, "by which, " to quote Pepys again, "all do conclude she will be wholly spoiled, which is the greatest instance of the uncertainty of beauty that could be in this age; but then she hath had the benefit of it to be first married, and to have kept it so long, under the greatest temptations in the world from a King, and yet without the least imputation. "

That Pepys's fears were realised we know from Ruvigny's letters to LouisXIV. , in which he says that "her matchless beauty was impaired beyondrecognition, one of her brilliant eyes being nearly quenched for ever. "During this tragic illness Charles, who was consumed with anxiety, visited her more than once, thus proving, at a terrible risk, thesincerity of his devotion. And it is even said that his admiration ofher was not diminished by the loss of her beauty. 

With this loss of her beauty, however, the Duchess's reign may be saidto have come to an end. King Charles's eyes were soon to be dazzled bythe fresher charms of Louise de Querouaille, whom the "Sun-King" hadsent from France to turn his head and influence his foreign policy inLouis's favour; and _La belle Stuart_ was not slow to realise that atlast her sun had set. During the remainder of her long life, at leastuntil the Orange King came to the Throne, she retained her office ofLady of the Bedchamber to two Queens; but her appearances at Court, thescene of so many triumphs, were as few as she could make them. 

For the rest her days were spent in retirement, among her beloved booksand pictures and cats; until, after thirty years of widowhood, full ofyears and wearied of life's vanities, she was laid to rest in her ducalrobes in Westminster Abbey. The bulk of her enormous fortune went to hernephew, Lord Blantyre, with a direction that he should purchase withpart of it an estate, to be known as "Lennox's Love to Blantyre"; and tothis day "Lennox-Love" perpetuates, like the Britannia of our coins, thememory of one of the most beautiful and tantalising women who have everdriven men to distraction by their beauty. 

CHAPTER II

THE NIGHTINGALE OF BATH

A century and a half ago Bath had reached the zenith of her fame andallurement, not only as "Queen of the West, " but as Empress of all thehaunts of pleasure in England. She drew, as by an irresistible magnet, rank and beauty and wealth to her shrine. In her famous Assembly Rooms, statesmen rubbed shoulders with card-sharpers, Marquises with swellmobsmen, and Countesses with courtesans, all in eager quest of pleasureor conquest or gain. The Bath season was England's carnival, when caresand ceremonial alike were thrown to the winds, when the pleasure of themoment was the only ambition worth pursuing, and when even the prudishfound a fearful joy in playing hide-and-seek with vice. 

But although the fairest women in the land flocked to Bath, by commonconsent not one of them all was so beautiful and bewitching as ElizabethAnn Linley, the girl-nightingale, whose voice entranced the ear daily atthe Assembly Rooms concerts as her loveliness feasted the eye. She was, as all the world knew, only the daughter of Thomas Linley, singing-master and organiser of the concerts, a man who had pliedchisel and saw at the carpenter's bench before he found the music thatwas in him; but, obscure as was her birth, she reigned supreme by virtueof a loveliness and a gift of song which none of her sex could rival. 

It is thus little wonder that Elizabeth Linley's fame had travelled farbeyond the West Country town in which she was cradled. George III. Hadsummoned her to sing to him in his London palace, and had been soovercome by her gifts of beauty and melody that, with tears streamingdown his cheeks, he had stroked her hair and caressed her hands, anddeclared to the blushing girl that he had never seen any one sobeautiful or heard a voice so divinely sweet. 

Charles Dibdin tried to enshrine her in fitting verse, but abandoned theeffort in despair, vowing that she was indeed of that company describedby Milton:

 "Who, as they sang, would take the prisoned soul And lap it in Elysium. "

The Bishop of Meath, in his unepiscopal enthusiasm, declared that shewas "the link between an angel and a woman"; while Dr Charles Burney, supreme musician and father of the more famous Madame d'Arblay, wrotemore soberly of her:

 "The tone of her voice and expression were as enchanting as her countenance and conversation. With a mellifluous-toned voice, a perfect shake and intonation, she was possessed of the double power of delighting an audience equally in pathetic strains and songs of brilliant execution, which is allowed to very few singers. "

To her Horace Walpole also paid this curious tribute:

 "Miss Linley's beauty is in the superlative degree. The king admires and ogles her as much as he dares to do in so holy a place as oratorio. "

Such are a few of the tributes, of which contemporary records are full, paid to the fair "Nightingale of Bath, " whom Gainsborough and Reynoldsimmortalised in two of their inspired canvases--the latter asCecilia--her face almost superhuman in its beauty and the divine raptureof its expression--seated at a harpsichord and pouring out her soul insong. 

It was inevitable that a girl of such charms and gifts--"superior to allthe handsome things I have heard of her, " John Wilkes wrote, "and withalthe most modest, pleasing and delicate flower I have seen"--should havelovers by the score. Every gallant who came to Bath, sought to woo, ifnot to win, her. But Elizabeth Linley was no coquette; nor was she afoolish girl whose head could be turned by a handsome face or prettycompliments, or whose eyes could be dazzled by the glitter of wealth andrank. She was wedded to her music, and no lover, she vowed, should weanher from her allegiance. It was thus a shock to the world ofpleasure-seekers at Bath to learn that the beauty, who had turned a coldshoulder to so many high-placed gallants, had promised her hand to anelderly, unattractive wooer called Long, a man almost old enough to beher grandfather. 

That her heart had not gone with her hand we may be sure. We know thatit was only under the strong compulsion of her father that she had givenher consent; for Mr Long had a purse as elongated as his name, and tothe eyes of the poor singing-master his gold-bags were irresistible. Herelderly wooer loaded his bride-to-be with costly presents; he showeredjewels on her, bought her a trousseau fit for a Queen; and was on theeve of marrying her, when--without a word of warning, it was announcedthat the wedding, to which all Bath had been excitedly looking forward, would not take place!

Mr Linley was furious, and threatened the terrors of the law; but thebridegroom that failed was adamant. It was said that, in cancelling theengagement, Mr Long was acting a chivalrous part, in response to MissLinley's pleading that he would withdraw his suit, since her heart couldnever be his, and by withdrawing shield her from her father's anger. However this may have been, Mr Long steadily declined to go to thealtar, and ultimately appeased the singing-master by settling £3, 000 onhis daughter, and allowing her to keep the valuable jewels and otherpresents he had given her. 

It was at this crisis in the Nightingale's life, when all Bath wasringing with the fiasco of her engagement, and she herself was overcomeby humiliation, that another and more dangerous lover made hisappearance at Bath--a youth (for such he was) whose life was destinedto be dramatically linked with hers. This newcomer into the arena oflove was none other than Richard Brinsley Sheridan, grandson of DeanSwift's bosom friend, Dr Thomas Sheridan, one of the two sons of anotherThomas, who, after a roaming and profitless life, had come to Bath toearn a livelihood by teaching elocution. 

This younger Thomas Sheridan seems to have inherited none of the wit andcleverness of his father, Swift's boon companion. Dr Johnson consideredhim "dull, naturally dull. Such an excess of stupidity, " he added, "isnot in nature. " But, in spite of his dulness, "Sherry"--as he wascommonly called--had been clever enough to coax a pension of £200 a yearout of the Government, and was able to send his two boys to Harrow andOxford. 

The Sheridan boys had been but a few days in Bath when they both fellhead over heels in love with Elizabeth Linley, with whom their sisterhad been equally quick to strike up a friendship. But from the first, Charles, the elder son, was hopelessly outmatched. 

 "On our first acquaintance, " Miss Linley wrote in later years, "both professed to love me--but yet I preferred the youngest, as by far the most agreeable in person, beloved by every one. "

Indeed, from a boy, Richard Sheridan seemed born to win hearts. Hissister has confessed:

 "I admired--I almost adored him. He was handsome. His cheeks had the glow of health; his eyes--the finest in the world--the brilliancy of genius, and were soft as a tender and affectionate heart could render them. The same playful fancy, the same sterling and innoxious wit that was shown afterwards in his writings, cheered and delighted the family circle. "

Such was Richard Brinsley Sheridan, when, in the year 1769, he first seteyes on the girl, who, after many dramatic vicissitudes, was to bear hisname and share his glories. From the first sight of her he washopelessly in love, although none but his sister knew it. He was littlemore than a school-boy, and was content to "bide his time, " worshippingmutely at the shrine of the girl whom some day he meant to make his own. 

He gave no sign of jealousy when his elder brother made love to herbefore his eyes--only to retire quickly, chilled by a coldness which herealised he could never thaw; or even when his Oxford chum, Halhed, hisdearest friend and the colleague of his youthful pen, fell a victim toElizabeth's charms, and, in his innocence, begged Sheridan to plead hissuit with her. Halhed, too, had to retire from the hopeless suit; andRichard Sheridan, still silent, save, perhaps, for the eloquence oftell-tale eyes, held the field alone. 

It was at this stage of our story that a grave element of danger enteredElizabeth Linley's life, with the arrival at Bath of a Major Matthews, ahandsome _roué_, with a large rent-roll from Welsh acres, and adangerous reputation won in the lists of love. At sight of the fairNightingale in the Assembly Rooms this hero of many conquests washimself laid low. He was frantically in love, and before many days hadpassed vowed that he would shoot himself if his charmer refused to smileon him. Her coldness only fanned his ardour; and his persecution reachedsuch a pitch that in her alarm she appealed to young Sheridan for help. 

Nothing could have been more fortunate for the young lover than such anappeal and the necessity for it. It was a tribute to her esteem, and tohis budding manliness, which delighted him. Moreover, it gave him manyopportunities of meeting her, and talking over the situation with her. At any cost this persecution must end; and the result of the conferenceswas that an excellent plan was evolved. Richard was to worm himself intothe confidence of the Major, and, in the character of friend andwell-wisher, was to advise him, as a matter of diplomacy, to cease hisattentions to Miss Linley for a time. Meanwhile arrangements were to bemade for the Nightingale's escape to France, where she proposed to entera convent until she was of age--thus finding a refuge from thepersecution to which her beauty constantly subjected her, and also fromthe scandal which the Long fiasco had given rise to, and which was stilla great source of unhappiness to her. 

The plot was cunningly planned and worked smoothly. The Major wasinduced by subtle pleading to leave Miss Linley in peace for a time;and, to quote Miss Sheridan:

 "At length they fixed on an evening when Mr Linley, his eldest son and Miss Mary Linley were engaged at the concert (Miss Linley being excused on the plea of illness) to set out on their journey. Sheridan brought a sedan-chair to Mr Linley's house in the Crescent, in which he had Miss Linley conveyed to a post-chaise that was waiting for them on the London road. A woman was in the chaise who had been hired to accompany them on this extraordinary elopement. "

For elopement it really was, although ostensibly Sheridan was merelyplaying the part of a friendly escort to a distressed lady, whateverdeeper scheme, unknown to her, may have been in his mind. After a briefstay in London a boat was taken to Dunkirk, and the journey resumedtowards Lille. 

It was during this last stage of the journey that Sheridan disclosed hishand. With consummate, if questionable, cleverness he explained that hecould not, in honour, leave her in a convent except as his wife; that hehad loved her since first he met her more than anything else in life, and that he could not bear the thought of her fair name being sullied bythe scandal that would surely follow this journey taken in his company. 

To such plausible arguments, pleaded by one who confessed that he lovedher, and to whom she was (as she now realised) far from indifferent, Miss Linley could not remain deaf. And before the coach had travelledmany miles from Calais the runaways found an accommodating priest tomake them one. The would-be nun thus dramatically ended her journey tothe convent at the altar. 

 "It was not, " she wrote to him later, "your person that gained my affection. No, it was that delicacy, that tender interest which you seemed to take in my welfare, that were the motives which induced me to love you. "

The honeymoon that followed these strange nuptials was of shortduration; for, a few days later, Mr Linley arrived, in a high state ofanger, to reclaim and carry off his runaway daughter; and Sheridan wasleft to follow ignominiously in their wake. When he reached Bath it wasto find his hands full. During his absence the irate Major, quick todiscover his perfidy, had published the following notice in the local_Chronicle_:--

 "Mr Richard S. , having attempted, in a letter left behind him for that purpose, to account for his scandalous method of running away from this place, by insinuations derogating from my character and that of a young lady, innocent as far as relates to me or my knowledge, since which he has neither taken notice of my letters, nor even informed his own family of the place where he has hid himself, I cannot longer think he deserves the treatment of a gentleman, than in this public manner to post him as a Liar and a treacherous Scoundrel. --THOMAS MATTHEWS. "

Such a public insult could, of course, only have one issue. Sheridanpromptly challenged Matthews to a duel, the result of which was that theMajor was compelled to make an apology, as public as his insult. But, so far was he from penitence, that within a few weeks he demanded asecond meeting--and this proved a much more serious matter for Sheridan. 

The rivals met the following morning on Claverton Down; and after a fewfurious exchanges both swords were broken, and the opponents werestruggling together on the ground. Matthews, however, being much thestronger, was able to pin Sheridan down, and with a piece of the brokensword stabbed him repeatedly in the face. "Beg your life, and I willspare it, " he demanded of the prostrate and defenceless man. "I willneither beg it, nor receive it from such a villain, " was the unflinchinganswer. 

 "Matthews then renewed the attack, and, having picked up the point of one of the swords, ran it through the side of the throat and pinned him to the ground with it, exclaiming, 'I have done for him. ' He then left the field, accompanied by his second, and, getting into a carriage with four horses which had been waiting for him, drove off. "

Sheridan, unconscious and apparently dying, was driven from the Downs toa neighbouring inn, "The White Hart, " where for a time he hung betwixtlife and death. On hearing of his condition Miss Linley (who at the timewas singing at Cambridge) travelled post-haste to his bedside; and, tenderly nursed by his wife and his sister, the wounded man slowlyfought his way back to strength. 

One would have thought that, after such a tragic experience andobserving the mutual devotion of the young couple, their parents wouldhave relented and given their approval of the union, however improvidentand inexcusable it might appear to them. But, on both sides, they wereobdurate; and Mr Sheridan carried his opposition to the extent ofextracting from his son a promise that he would not even see his wife. 

But love laughs at parents' frowns and usually triumphs in the end. WhenElizabeth Linley went away to London to sing in oratorio, her husbandfollowed her; and, in the _rôle_ of hackney coachman, had the pleasureof driving not only his wife but her father, home nightly from theconcert-room, without either of them suspecting his identity. When atlast he revealed himself to his wife, her delight was so great as toleave no doubt of the sincere love she bore him. Many a secret meetingfollowed; a final joint appeal ultimately broke down the obduracy of theparents; and once again Sheridan led his bride to the altar, to make herfinally and securely his own. 

For a time Richard Sheridan and his Nightingale found a haven in aremote, rose-covered cottage at East Burnham. These were days ofunclouded happiness, when, the "world forgetting and by the worldforgot, " they lived only for love, caring nothing of the future. Theywere days of simple delights; for their entire income was the interestof Mr Long's £3000, which proved ample for their needs. Mrs Sheridan, now at the zenith of her fame, might have won thousands by hervoice--she actually refused offers of nearly £4000 for one shortseason--but her husband wished to keep the Nightingale's voice for hisown exclusive delight; and she was only too happy in thus turning herback on fame and fortune. 

But such halcyon days could not last long. Even Paradise might pall onsuch a restless temperament as that of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Hebegan to sigh for the outer world in which he felt that it was hisdestiny to shine, for an arena in which he could do justice to the giftswhich were clamouring for scope and exercise. And thus, to MrsSheridan's lasting regret, cottage and roses and simple delights of thecountry were left behind, and she found herself installed in a PortmanSquare house, in the heart of the world of fashion. 

Here Sheridan, always the most improvident of men, launched out intoextravagances more suited to an income of £5000 a year than the paltry£150 which was all he could command. He entertained on a lavish scale;and his wit and charm, supplemented by his wife's beauty and gift ofsong, soon surrounded them with a fashionable crowd eager to eat hisdinners and to attend his wife's _soirées_. Sheridan was in his elementin this environment of luxury and prodigality; but the Bath Nightingalewould gladly have changed it all for "a little quiet home that I canenjoy in comfort, " as she told her husband--above all, for the Burnhamcottage where she had been so idyllically happy. 

Perhaps if Sheridan had never left the cottage and the roses, his namewould never have been known to fame. His ambition needed some suchstimulus as this spasm of extravagance to wake it to activity. He mustnow make money or be submerged by debts; and under this impulse ofnecessity it was that he wooed fortune with _The Rivals_, and awoke tofind himself famous and potentially rich. Other comedies followedswiftly from his eager and inspired pen--_The School for Scandal_, _TheDuenna_, and _The Critic_--each greeted with enthusiasm by a world towhich such dramatic triumphs were a revelation and a delight. Sheridanwas not only the "talk of the town"; he was hailed universally as thebrightest dramatic star of the age. 

It is needless to say that Sheridan's fame was a delight to his wife. 

 "Not long ago, " she wrote to a friend, "he was known as 'Mrs Sheridan's husband. ' Now the tables are turned, and, henceforth, I expect I shall be just Mr Sheridan's wife. Nor could I wish any more exalted title. I am proud and thankful to be the wife of the cleverest man in England, and the best husband in the world!"

That Mrs Sheridan adored her husband is evident from every letter shewrote to him. She addresses him as "my dearest Love" and "my darlingDick, " and vows that she cannot be happy apart from him. "I cannot loveyou, " she declares, "and be perfectly satisfied at such a distance fromyou. I depended upon your coming to-night, and shall not recover myspirits till we meet. " But through her letters runs the same hankeringafter the old simple, peaceful days--the days of love in a cottage. "Icould draw, " she writes, "such a picture of happiness that it wouldalmost make me wish the overthrow of all our present schemes of futureaffluence and grandeur. "

But greatly as he loved his wife, Sheridan was now too much wedded tohis ambition to listen to such tempting. He had conquered fame with hispen; now he aspired to subdue it with his tongue. In 1780, while he wasstill in the twenties, he was sent to Parliament by Stafford suffrages;and from his first appearance at Westminster captivated his fellowlaw-makers by the magic of his eloquence. A new star had arisen in theoratorical firmament, and soon began to pale all other luminaries. Within two years he was a Minister of the Crown; and in another year hehad electrified the world by the most brilliant oratory that had everbeen heard in our tongue--notably by his historic speech in the trial ofWarren Hastings, to the preparation of which his wife had devotedherself body and soul. 

Fresh from listening to this latest sensational triumph of her husbandin Westminster Hall, she wrote:--

 "It is impossible to convey to you the delight, the astonishment, the admiration he has excited in the breasts of every class of people. Every party prejudice has been overcome by this display of genius, eloquence and goodness. .. . What my feelings must be, you can only imagine. To tell you the truth, it is with some difficulty that I can 'let down my mind, ' as Mr Burke said afterwards, to talk or think on any other subject. But pleasure too exquisite becomes pain; and I am at this moment suffering from the delightful anxieties of last week. "

But Mrs Sheridan's day of happiness and triumph was soon to draw nearto its close. She saw her husband climb to the dizziest pinnacle offame, and she watched with pain his brilliance dimmed, and hismarvellous intellect clouded by excessive drinking, before the fatalseeds of consumption, which had already carried off her dearly-lovedsister, began to show themselves in her. Her illness was as swift as itwas, happily, painless. She simply drooped and faded and died, tenderlywatched over to the last by her husband with a silent anguish that waspitiful to see. 

 "During her last days, " says Mrs Canning, her devoted friend, "she read sometimes to herself, and after dinner sat down to the piano. She taught Betty (her little niece) a little while, and played several slow movements out of her own head, with her usual expression, but with a very trembling hand. It was so like the last efforts of an expiring genius, and brought such a train of tender and melancholy ideas to my imagination, that I thought my poor heart would have burst in the conflict. "

And one June day, when the world she had loved so well was flooded witha glory of sunlight, her beautiful spirit sped silently away to join the"choir invisible. " Nine days later she was laid to rest in WellsCathedral, thousands flocking to pay farewell homage to the closest linkthe world has ever known "between an angel and a woman. " As for Sheridanhe survived his grief twenty-four years, to end his days in poverty, andto crown his life's drama with a stately funeral in Westminster Abbey. 

CHAPTER III

THE ROMANCE OF THE VILLIERS

The Villiers have had a liberal share of romance, ever since thefar-away days, three centuries and more ago, when the fourth son of SirGeorge opened his eyes at Brookesby, in Leicestershire. From being a"threadbare hanger-on" at Court this son of an obscure knight rose to bethe boon companion of two kings and the lover of a Queen of France. Honours and riches were showered on this spoiled child of fortune. Hewas created, in rapid succession, Viscount and Marquis, and finally Dukeof Buckingham; he won for bride an Earl's daughter, the richest heiressin the land; and for some years dazzled the world by his splendours andwealth as he alienated it by his arrogance. And just when his meteoriccareer had reached its zenith, his life was closed in tragedy by theassassin's knife. 

His mantle of romance, however, fell on his son and successor, thesecond Duke, who was brought up in a Palace nursery, and had forplaymates the children of Charles I. ; and who, after a career which inits dramatic adventure outstripped fiction, ended his turbulent life, ifnot, as Pope says, "In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung, "

at least in extreme poverty and suffering in a Yorkshire inn, at KirbyMoorside. Of all the vast estates he had inherited, his kinsman, LordArran, said: "There is not so much as one farthing towards defraying theexpense of his funeral. "

Nor have the men of Villiers' blood had any monopoly of adventure. Theirwives and daughters have seldom been content to lead the unromantic lifewhich happily contents so many of their sex. From Barbara Chaffinch, whose intrigues secured the Earldom of Jersey for her husband in WilliamIII. 's reign, to the Lady Adela Villiers who ran away with CaptainIbbetson, a handsome young officer of Hussars, to Gretna Green and thealtar, they have played many diverse and sensational _rôles_ on thestage of their time. 

It was but fitting that George Villiers, fifth Earl of Jersey, shouldmake a Countess of the Lady Sarah Sophia Fane, in whose veins was anadventurous strain as marked as in his own; for she was the fruit of oneof the most dramatic unions recorded in the annals of our Peerage. Ayear before she was cradled her mother was Anne Child, the richestheiress in England--the only daughter of Robert Child, head of the greatbanking firm at Temple Bar, and a descendant of Francis Child, theindustrious London apprentice who married the daughter of his master, William Wheeler, goldsmith, whose riches and business he inherited. 

"Old Child, " as Anne's father was familiarly known, had manyaristocratic clients who used his cheques and overdrew their accounts;but the most prodigal, as also the most ingratiating, of them all wasthe young Earl of Westmorland, who, not content with making largedemands on the banker's exchequer and patience, had the audacity toaspire to all his wealth through his daughter's hand. 

Anne was perhaps as naturally flattered by the attentions of a lord asshe was fascinated by his handsome face and figure and his courtlymanners; but the father had other designs for his heiress than marryingher to a prodigal young nobleman. "Your blood, my lord, is good, " heonce told him; "but money is better. "

Lord Westmorland was not, however, the man to be turned aside from thegilded goal on which he had set his heart. If he could not wed theheiress with her father's blessing, he would dispense with thebenediction. That he _would_ marry her he was determined; and Anne wasjust the girl to assist a bold lover in such an ambition. 

One day, so the story is told, Lord Westmorland decided to bring thematter to a crisis. He had been dining with Mr Child, and, after thewine had circulated freely, he said, "Now, sir, that we have discussedbusiness thoroughly, there is another matter on which I should begrateful for your opinion. " "What's that?" enquired the banker, beamingbenevolently on his guest, as a man who has dined well and is at peacewith the world. "Well, sir, suppose you were deeply in love with a girlwho returned your love, and that her father refused his consent. Whatwould you do?" "What should I do?" laughed the banker, "why, run awaywith her, of course, like many a better man has done!"

What more direct encouragement could an ardent lover want? It ispossible that the next morning the banker had completely forgotten theconversation, and his vinous approval of runaway matches; but, two dayslater, he was destined to have a rude awaking. In the middle of thenight he was aroused by the watchman to learn that his front door hadbeen found open; and a little later the alarming discovery was made thathis daughter had flown. His suspicions fell at once on that "rascallyyoung lord"; and they were confirmed when he found that the Earl, too, had disappeared, and that a chaise, with four galloping horses, had beenseen dashing northwards as fast as whip and spur could drive them. 

The banker was furious. He raged and stormed as he ordered his servantsto procure the fastest horses money could command; and with lavishpromises of reward to the postboys he set out in hot pursuit of thefugitives. Luckily they had no long start; and, with better horses, morefrequent changes, and a heavier purse, he had little doubt that he wouldsoon overtake them. But the chase was sterner and longer than he hadimagined. Cupid lends wings to runaway lovers. Fast as Mr Child'ssweating horses raced, they gained but little on the pursued. Throughthe long night, the next day, and the following night the desperate racecontinued--through sleeping villages and startled towns, over hill andmoor, until the borderland grew near. Then, between Penrith andCarlisle, the quarry was at last sighted. 

Mr Child's horses, urged to a final effort by the postboys, slowly butsurely reduced the interval; and now inch by inch they draw abreast ofthe runaway chaise. The moment of triumph has come. Mr Child, with bodyhalf protruding from the chaise, calls loudly on the fugitives to halt, shaking his fist at the smiling face of the Earl, who with one handwaves a graceful adieu, with the other presents a pistol at Mr Child'snear leader. A flash, a report, and the horse falls dead. A few minuteslater the Earl's chaise is a distant dark speck in a cloud of dust, atwhich the baffled banker impotently shakes his fist. 

Before the fallen horse could be removed and the chase resumed therunaways had got so long a start that they could laugh at furtherpursuit; and by the time Child's chaise rattled impotently through thestreet of Gretna village, his daughter had been a Countess a good hour. 

For three years the banker kept his vow that he would never forgive herand her shameless husband. The Earl, indeed, he never did forgive, buthis daughter won her way back into his heart, and to her he left thewhole of his colossal fortune, amounting, it is said, to little lessthan £100, 000 a year. 

It was from this romantic union that the Lady Sarah Sophia Fane came, who was to unite the 'prentice strain of Francis Child with the blood ofthe proud Villiers. As a young girl the Lady Sarah needed no such richdower as was hers to commend her to the eyes of wooers. From the Fanesshe inherited a full share of the beauty for which their women werenoted, and to it she added many charms of her own. She had a figure, tall, commanding, and of exquisite grace, eyes blue as violets, aluxuriant crown of dark hair, and a complexion pure and beautiful as alily. 

It is little wonder that a young lady so dowered with gold and goodlooks should attract lovers by the score, all anxious to win so fair aprize. But to one only of them all would she listen, Lord Villiers, heirto the Earldom of Jersey, a man of towering stature and handsome face, aristocrat and courtier to his finger-tips, a fearless and gracefulrider, and an expert in manly sports. Such a combination of attractionsthe daughter of Anne Child could not long, nor was she at all disposedto, resist. And one May day in 1804--almost twenty-two years to the dayafter her parents' dramatic flight to Gretna Green--the Lady Sarahbecame Vicountess Villiers. A year later she was Countess of Jersey. 

From her first entry into society the child-countess (for she was littlemore than a child) took the position of a Queen, to which her rank, wealth, and beauty entitled her, and which she held, supreme andunassailable, as long as life lasted. Her _salon_ was a second RoyalCourt to which flocked all the greatest in the land, proud to pay homageto the "Empress of Fashion. " She entertained kings with a regalsplendour. Their Majesties of Prussia and Belgium, Holland and Hanover, and the Tsar Nicholas I. Were all delighted to do honour to a hostess socaptivating and so queenly. 

At Middleton Park, her lord's Oxfordshire seat, she dispensed ahospitality which was the despair of her rivals. Her retinue of servantsseldom numbered less than a hundred, and many a week her guests, withtheir attendants, far exceeded a thousand. Money was squandered with aprodigal hand. The very servants, it is said, drank champagne and hocklike water; her housemaids had their riding horses, and dressed in silksand satins. Among her thousands of guests were such men as Wellingtonand Peel, Castlereagh and Canning, all humble worshippers at her shrine;and Lord Byron who, in his gloomy moods, would shut himself in hisbedroom for days, living on biscuits and water, and stealing out at deadof night to wander ghost-like through the neighbouring woods. Thesemoods of black despondency he varied by turbulent spirits, when he wouldbe the gayest of the gay, and would challenge his fellow-guests todrinking bouts, in which he always came off the victor. 

Lady Jersey had no more ardent admirer than Byron, whose muse wasinspired to many a flight in honour of

 "The grace of mien, The eye that gladdens and the brow serene; The glossy darkness of that clustering hair, Which shades, yet shows that forehead more than fair. "

And among her army of guests the Countess moved like a Queen, who couldstoop to frivolity without losing a shred of dignity. Surely never wassuch superabundant energy enshrined in a form so beautiful and stately. 

 "Shall I tell you what Lady Jersey is like?" wrote Creevey. "She is like one of her numerous gold and silver dicky-birds that are in all the showrooms of this house. She begins to sing at eleven o'clock, and, with the interval of the hour when she retires to her cage to rest, she sings till twelve at night without a moment's interruption. She changes her feathers for dinner, and her plumage both morning and evening is the most beautiful I ever saw. "

She seemed indeed incapable of fatigue. Tongue and body alike neverseemed to rest, from rising to going to bed. 

 "She is really wonderful, " says Lady Granville; "and how she can stand the life she leads is still more wonderful. She sees everybody in her own house, and calls on everybody in theirs. She is all over Paris, and at all the _campagnes_ within ten miles, and in all _petites soirées_. She begins the day with a dancing-master at nine o'clock, and never rests till midnight. .. . At ten o'clock yesterday morning she called for me, and we never stopped to take breath till eleven o'clock at night, when she set me down here more dead than alive, she going to end the day with the Hollands!"

A life that would have killed nine women out of ten seemed powerless totouch her. When far advanced in the sixties she was acknowledged to bestill one of the most beautiful women in England, retaining to anamazing degree the bloom and freshness of youth. And when she appearedat a fancy-dress ball arrayed as a Sultana, in a robe of sky-blue withcoral embroideries and a turban of gold and white, she was by universalconsent acclaimed as the most beautiful woman there. It may interest mylady readers to learn that she attributed her perpetual youth to the useof gruel as a substitute for soap and water. 

Although Lady Jersey had admirers by the hundred among the mostfascinating men in Europe, no breath of scandal ever touched her fairfame. Indeed, she carried her virtue to the verge of prudery, andrepelled with a freezing coldness the slightest approach to familiarity. So prudish was she that on one occasion she declined to share a carriagealone with Lord John Russell, one of the least physically attractive ofmen, and begged General Alava to accompany them. "Diable!" laughed theGeneral, "you must be very little sure of yourself if you are afraid tobe alone with little Lord John!"

She was merciless to any of her lady friends who lapsed from virtue, orin any way, however slight, offended the proprieties. But the vials ofher fiercest anger were reserved for her mother-in-law, theDowager-Countess, whose shameless intrigue with the Prince Regentscandalised the world in an age of lax morals; and the outraged PrincessCaroline had no more valiant champion. She not only declined to haveanything to say to her husband's mother, she carried her disapproval tothe extent of refusing point blank to appear at Court. So furious wasthe Regent at this slight that "the dotard with corrupted eye andwithered heart, " as Byron calls him, had her portrait removed from thePalace Gallery of Beauties, and returned to its owner. 

A few days later, however, the Countess had her revenge. At a party inCavendish Square she was walking along a corridor with Samuel Rogerswhen she saw the Regent coming towards them. As he approached he drewhimself to his full height, and passed with an insolent and disdainfulstare, which Lady Jersey returned with a look even more cold andcontemptuous. Then, with a toss of her proud head, she turned to Rogersand laughingly said, "I did that well, didn't I?"

It was, perhaps, as Queen and Autocrat of "Almack's" that Lady Jerseywon her chief fame--Almack's, that most exclusive and aristocratic clubin Berkeley Street, Piccadilly, the membership of which was the supremehall-mark of the world of fashion. No rank, however exalted, no riches, however great, were a passport to this innermost social circle, overwhich Lady Jersey reigned like a beautiful despot. 

Scores of the smartest officers of the Guards, men of rank and fashion, and pets of West End drawing-rooms, clamoured or cajoled for admissionto this jealously-guarded temple, but its doors only opened to receive, at the most, half a dozen of them. Even such social autocrats as HerGrace of Bedford and Lady Harrington were coldly turned away from thedoors by the male members of the club; while the ladies shut them in theface of Lord March and Brook Boothby, to the amazed disgust of these menof fashion and conquest--for, by the rules of the club, male memberswere selected by the ladies, and _vice versâ_. But beyond all doubt thedestinies of candidates were in the hands of the half dozen LadyPatronesses who formed the Committee of the club--Princess Esterhazy, Princess von Lieven, Ladies Jersey, Sefton and Cowper, and Mrs DrummondBurrell; and of these my Lady Jersey was the only one who reallycounted. 

 "Three-fourths even of the nobility, " says a writer in the _New Monthly Magazine_, "knock in vain for admission. Into this _sanctum sanctorum_, of course, the sons of commerce never think of intruding; and yet into the very 'blue chamber, ' in the absence of the six necromancers, have the votaries of trade contrived to intrude themselves. "

 "Many diplomatic arts, " writes Captain Gronow, "much _finesse_, and a host of intrigues were set in motion to get an invitation to Almack's. Very often persons whose rank and fortunes entitled them to the _entrée_ anywhere, were excluded by the cliqueism of the Lady patronesses; for the female government of Almack's was a despotism, and subject to all the caprice of despotic rule. It is needless to say that, like every other despotism, it was not innocent of abuses. "

The fair ladies who ruled supreme over this little dancing and gossipingworld issued a solemn proclamation that no gentleman should appear atthe assemblies without being dressed in knee-breeches, white cravat, and_chapeau bras. _ On one occasion, the Duke of Wellington was about toascend the staircase of the ballroom, dressed in black trousers, whenthe vigilant Mr Willis, the guardian of the establishment, steppedforward and said, "Your Grace cannot be admitted in trousers, " whereuponthe Duke, who had a great respect for orders and regulations, quietlywalked away. 

Another inflexible rule of the club was that no one should be admittedafter eleven o'clock; and it was a breach of this regulation that onceoverwhelmed the Duke of Wellington with humiliation. One evening, theDuke, who had promised to meet Lady Mornington at Almack's, presentedhimself for admission. "Lady Jersey, " announced an attendant, "the Dukeof Wellington is at the door, and desires to be admitted. " "What o'clockis it?" she asked. "Seven minutes after eleven, your Ladyship. " Shepaused for a moment, and then said with emphasis and distinctness, "Givemy compliments--Lady Jersey's compliments--to the Duke of Wellington, and say that she is very glad that the first enforcement of the rule ofexclusion is such that, hereafter, no one can complain of itsapplication. He cannot be admitted. " And the Duke, whom even Napoleonwith all his legions had been powerless to turn back, was compelled toretreat before the capricious will of a woman. 

Such an autocrat was this "Queen of Almack's. "

 "While her colleagues were debating, " says the author of the "Key to Almack's, " "she decided. Hers was the master-spirit that ruled the whole machine; hers the eloquent tongue that could both persuade and command. And she was never idle. Her restless eye pried into everything; she set the world to rights; her influence was resistless, her determination uncontrollable. "

"Treat people like fools, and they will worship you, " was her favouritemaxim. And as Bryon, her intimate friend, once said, "She was theveriest tyrant that ever governed Fashion's fools, and compelled them toshake their cap and bells as she willed. "

It was at Almack's, it is interesting to recall, that Lady Jersey firstintroduced the quadrille from Paris. 

 "I recollect, " says Captain Gronow, "the persons who formed the first quadrille that was ever danced there. They were Lady Jersey, Lady Harriet Buller, Lady Susan Ryder, and Miss Montgomery; the men being the Count St Aldegonde, Mr Montgomery, and Charles Standisti. "

It was at Almack's, too, that she introduced the waltz, which soshocked the proprieties even in that easy-going age. 

 "What scenes, " writes Mr T. Raikes, "have we witnessed in these days at Almack's! What fear and trembling in the _débutantes_ at the commencement of a waltz, what giddiness and confusion at the end! It was, perhaps, owing to the latter circumstance that so violent an opposition soon arose to the new recreation on the score of morality. The anti-waltzing party took the alarm, and cried it down; mothers forbade it, and every ballroom became a scene of feud and contention. "

But through it all Lady Jersey circled round and round the ballroomdivinely, with Prince Paul Esterhazy, Baron Tripp, St Aldegonde, andmany another graceful exponent of the new dance, for partners; and hervictory was complete when the world of fashion saw the arm of theEmperor Alexander, his uniform ablaze with decorations, round her waist, twirling ecstatically, if ungracefully, round in the intoxication of thewaltz. 

For fifty years, Lord Jersey's Countess reigned supreme in the socialworld, carrying her autocracy and her charms into old age. As wasinevitable to such a dominant personality she made enemies, who resentedher airs and scoffed at her graces. Lady Granville called her "atiresome, quarrelsome woman"; the Duke of Wellington, one of her mostabject slaves, once exclaimed, "What ---- nonsense Lady Jersey talks!"and Granville declared that she had "neither wit, nor imagination, norhumour. " But to the last day of her long life she retained the homageand admiration of hundreds, over whom she cast the spell of her beautyand personal charm. 

The evening of her life was clouded by a succession of tragedies, eachsufficient to break the spirit of a less indomitable woman. One by one, her children, the pride of her life, were taken from her; but she hidher breaking heart from the world, and in the intervals between herbereavements she showed as brave and bright a face as in the days of herunclouded youth. The death in 1858 of her daughter, Clementina, thedarling of her old age, was a terrible blow; but still the hand of theslayer of her hopes was not stayed. Her husband, whose devotion had solong sustained her, followed soon after; three weeks later her eldestson, the new Earl, died tragically in the zenith of his life; and thecrowning blow fell when, in 1862, her last surviving child was takenfrom her. 

For five more years she survived her triumphs and sorrows, until, oneJanuary day in 1867, she passed suddenly and painlessly away, and theworld was the poorer by the loss of one of the noblest women who haveever worn the crown of beauty or held the sceptre of power. 

CHAPTER IV

THE STAIN ON THE SHIRLEY 'SCUTCHEON

The Shirleys have been men of high honour and fair repute ever since thefar-away days when the conqueror found their ancestor, Sewallis, firmlyseated on his broad Warwickshire lands at Eatington; but their proud'scutcheon, otherwise unsullied, bears one black, or rather red, stain, and it was Laurence Shirley, fourth earl of his line, who put it there. 

Horace Walpole calls this degenerate Shirley "a low wretch, a madassassin, and a wild beast. " He was, as my story will show, all this. Hewas indeed an incarnate fiend. But was he to blame? He was possessed bydevils; but they were devils of insanity. The taint of madness was inhis blood before he uttered his first cry in the cradle. His uncle, whose coronet he was to wear, was an incurable madman. His aunt, theLady Barbara Shirley, spent years of her life shut up in an asylum. Andthis hereditary taint shadowed Laurence Shirley's life from his infancy, and ended it in tragedy. 

As a boy, he was subject to violent attacks of rage, when it was notsafe to approach him; and his madness grew with his years. Strange talesare told of him as a young man. We are told that he would spend hourspacing like a wild animal up and down his room, gnashing his teeth, clenching his fists, grinning diabolically, and uttering strangeincoherent cries. He would stand before a mirror, making horriblegrimaces at his reflection, and spitting upon it; he walked about armedwith pistols and dagger, ready at a moment to use both on any one whoannoyed or opposed him; and in his disordered brain he nursed suspicionand hatred of all around him. 

When he was little more than thirty, and some years after he had comeinto his earldom, he wooed and won the pretty daughter of Sir WilliamMeredith; but before the honeymoon was ended he had begun to treat herwith such gross brutality that, before she had long been a wife, shepetitioned Parliament for a divorce, which set her free. And as he wasobviously quite unfit to administer his estates, it became necessary toappoint some one to receive his rents and control his revenue. 

Such was the pitiful plight to which insanity had reduced Laurence, EarlFerrers, while still little over the threshold of manhood; and thesecalamities only, and perhaps naturally, accentuated his madness. Hebecame more and more the terror of the neighbourhood in which he lived, and few had the courage to meet him when he took his solitary walks. 

 "I still retain, " writes a Mr Cradock in his "Memoirs, " "a strong impression of the unfortunate Earl Ferrers, who, with the Ladies Shirley, his sisters, frequented Leicester races, and visited at my father's house. During the early part of the day his lordship preserved the character of a polite scholar and a courteous nobleman, but in the evening he became the terror of the inhabitants; and I distinctly remember running upstairs to hide myself when an alarm was given that Lord Ferrers was coming armed, with a great mob after him. He had behaved well at the ordinary; the races were then in the afternoon, and the ladies regularly attended the balls. My father's house was situated midway between Lord Ferrers's lodgings and the Town Hall, where the race assemblies were then held. He had, as was supposed, obtained liquor privately, and then became outrageous; for, from our house he suddenly escaped and proceeded to the Town Hall, and, after many violent acts, threw a silver tankard of scalding negus among the ladies. He was then secured for that evening. This was the last time of his appearing at Leicester, till brought from Ashby-de-la-Zouche to prison there. 

 "It has been much regretted by his friends that, as Lady Ferrers and some of his property had been taken from him, no greater precaution had been used with respect to his own safety as well as that of all around him. Whilst sober, my father, who had a real regard for him, always urged that he was quite manageable; and when his sisters ventured to come with him to the races, they had an absolute reliance on his good intentions and promises. "

Once he disappeared for a time, and made his way to London, where helodged obscurely in the neighbourhood of Muswell Hill. Here hesurrounded himself with grooms and ostlers, and other low company ofboth sexes, abandoning himself to orgies of debauchery. Among his mildereccentricities he would, we are told, mix mud with his beer, and draintankard after tankard of the nauseating mixture. He drank his coffeefrom the spout of the coffee-pot, and wandered about, a grotesquefigure, with one side of his face clean-shaven. 

But even then he had sane moments, when the raving madman of yesterdaybecame the courteous, polite, shrewd man of to-day, charming all by hiswit and high-bred geniality. It was, of course, inevitable that a careersuch as this, marked by a madness which grew daily, should lead sooneror later to tragedy. And tragedy was coming swiftly. It came early inthe year 1760, before Lord Ferrers had reached his fortieth birthday. And this is how it came. 

The Court of Chancery had ordered that his lordship's rents should bereceived and accounted for by a receiver, who, by way of concession tohis feelings, was to be appointed by himself. The Earl, who rarelylacked shrewdness, looked round for the most suitable person to fillthis delicate post--for a man who should be as clay in his hands; andsuch a "tool" he thought he had found in his steward, Mr John Johnson, who had known him since boyhood, and who had never thwarted him even inhis maddest caprices. Mr Johnson was duly appointed receiver; but theEarl's self-congratulation was short-lived. The steward proved that hewas possessed of a conscience, and that neither cajolery nor threatscould make him swerve from the straight path of honesty. 

In vain the Earl coaxed and blustered and bullied. The receiver wasadamant. He had a duty to perform, and at any cost he would dischargeit. His lordship's rage at such unlooked-for recalcitrancy wasunbounded. He began to hate the too honest steward with a murderoushatred; behind his back he loaded him with abuse, and vowed that, of allhis enemies, the steward was the most virulent and implicable. But whilethe Earl was nursing this diabolical hatred, he showed little sign of itto Johnson, who was so unsuspectingly walking to meet tragedy. 

One January day, in 1760, Lord Ferrers sent a polite message to hissteward to come to Staunton Harold on an urgent matter of business. Itwas on a Friday; and punctually at two o'clock, the hour appointed, MrJohnson made his appearance, and was ushered into his Lordship's study. Unknown to him, Lord Ferrers had sent away his housekeeper and hismenservants on various pretexts; and, apart from the Earl and thesteward (the spider and the fly), there was no one in all the greathouse but three maidservants, whose chief anxiety was to keep as faraway as possible from their mad master. 

With a courteous greeting Lord Ferrers invited Mr Johnson to take aseat; and then, placing before him a document, which proved to be aconfession of fraud and dishonesty in his office of receiver, hecommanded his steward to sign his name to it. 

On reading the confession which he was ordered to sign, Mr Johnsonindignantly refused to comply with such an outrageous demand. "Yourefuse to sign?" asked the Earl with ominous calmness. "I do, " was theemphatic reply. "Then, " continued his lordship, producing a pistol, "Icommand you to kneel. " Mr Johnson, now alarmed and awake to his danger, looked first at the stern, cold eyes bent on him, and then at the pistolpointed at his heart, and sank on one knee. "Both knees!" insisted theEarl. Mr Johnson subsided on the other knee, looking calmly at hiswould-be murderer, though beads of perspiration were standing on hisforehead. A moment later a shot rang out in the silent room, and thesteward fell to the floor mortally wounded. Laying down the smokingweapon, Lord Ferrers opened the door and called loudly for assistance. The horrified servants, who had heard the report, came, huddled andfearful, at his bidding. One he despatched for a doctor, and, with theassistance of the other two, he carried the fast-dying man to a bedroom. When the doctor arrived he found the Earl standing by the bedside, trying to stop the flow of blood which was ebbing from the steward'schest; but the victim was beyond all human aid. He had but a few hoursat the most to live. An hour later Lord Ferrers was lying dead drunk onthe floor of his bedroom, while Mr Johnson's life was ebbing out inagony at his house, a mile away. 

 "As soon as it became known, " to quote the account given by an eye-witness in the _Gentleman's Magazine_, "that Mr Johnson was really dead, the neighbours set about seizing the murderer. A few persons, armed, set out for Staunton, and as they entered the hall-yard they saw the Earl going towards the stable, as they imagined, to take horse. He appeared to be just out of bed, his stockings being down and his garters in his hand, having probably taken the alarm immediately on coming out of his room, and finding that Johnson had been removed. One Springthorpe, advancing towards his lordship, presented a pistol, and required him to surrender; but his lordship putting his hand to his pocket, Springthrope imagined he was feeling for a pistol, and stopped short, being probably intimidated. He thus suffered the Earl to escape back into the house, where he fastened the doors and stood on his defence. 

 "The crowd of people who had come to apprehend him beset the house, and their number increased very fast. In about two hours Lord Ferrers appeared at the garret window, and called out: 'How is Johnson?' Springthorpe answered: 'He is dead, ' upon which his lordship insulted him, and called him a liar, and swore he would not believe anybody but the surgeon, Kirkland. Upon being again assured that he was dead, he desired that the people might be dispersed, saying that he would surrender; yet, almost in the same breath, he desired that the people might be let in, and have some victuals and drink; but the issue was that he went away again from the window, swearing that he would not be taken. 

 "The people, however, still continued near the house, and two hours later he was seen on the bowling-green by one, Curtis, a collier. 'My lord' was then armed with a blunderbuss and a dagger and two or three pistols; but Curtis, so far from being intimidated, marched boldly up to him, and his lordship was so struck with the determinate resolution shown by this brave fellow, that he suffered him to seize him without making any resistance. Yet the moment that he was in custody he declared that he had killed a villain, and that he gloried in the deed. "

The tragedy is now hastening to its close. The assassin was kept incustody at Ashby until a coroner's jury brought in a verdict of "WilfulMurder" against him, when he was transferred to Leicester, and afortnight later to London, making the journey in his own splendidequipage with six horses, and "dressed like a jockey, in a closeriding-frock, jockey boots and cap, and a plain shirt. " He was lodged inthe Round Tower of the Tower of London, where, with a couple of wardersat his elbow night and day, with sentries posted outside his door, andanother on the drawbridge, he passed the last weeks of his doomed life. 

In mid-April he was duly tried by his Peers at the Bar of the House ofLords; and, although he tried with marvellous skill and ingenuity toprove that he was insane when he committed the murder, he was, without adissentient voice, pronounced "Guilty, " and sentenced to be "hanged bythe neck until he was dead, " when his body should be handed over to thesurgeons for dissection. One concession he claimed--pitiful salve to hispride--that he should be hanged by a cord of silk, the privilege due tohis rank as a Peer of the realm; and this was granted as a matter ofcourse. 

One day in early May the scaffold was reared at Tyburn, where so manyother malefactors had looked their last on the world; and at nineo'clock in the morning Lord Ferrers started on his last journey--themost splendid and most tragic of his chequered life. He was allowed, asa last favour, to travel to his death, not in the common hangman's cartas an ordinary criminal, but in his own landau, drawn by 'six beautifulhorses; and thus he made his stately progress to Tyburn. 

Probably no man ever journeyed to the scaffold under such circumstancesof pomp and splendour. It might well, indeed, have been the bridalprocession of a great nobleman that the black avenues of curiousspectators in London's streets had come to see, and not the last grimjourney of a malefactor to the hangman's rope. His very dress was thatof a bridegroom, consisting, as it did, to quote again from the_Gentleman's Magazine_, "of a suit of light-coloured clothes, embroidered with silver, said to have been his wedding-suit; and soon after the Sheriff entered the landau, he said, 'You may, perhaps, sir, think it strange to see me in this dress, but I have my particular reasons for it. ' The procession then began in the following order: A very large body of constables of the county of Middlesex, preceded by one of the high constables; a party of horse grenadiers, and a party of foot; Mr Sheriff Errington, in his chariot, accompanied by his under-Sheriff, Mr Jackson; the landau escorted by two other parties of horse grenadiers and foot; Mr Sheriff Vaillant's chariot, in which was Under-Sheriff Mr Nichols; a mourning-coach and six, with some of his lordship's friends; and, lastly, a hearse and six, provided for the conveyance of his lordship's corpse from the place of execution to Surgeons' Hall. 

 "The procession moved so slowly that Lord Ferrers was two hours and three-quarters in his landau but during the whole time he appeared perfectly easy and composed, though he often expressed his desire to have it over, saying that the apparatus of death and the passing through such crowds of people was ten times worse than death itself. He told the Sheriff that he had written to the King, begging that he might suffer where his ancestor, the Earl of Essex, had suffered--namely, on Tower Hill; that 'he had been in the greater hope of obtaining this favour as he had the honour of quartering part of the same arms and of being allied to his Majesty; and that he thought it hard that he should have to die at the place appointed for the execution of common felons. ' As to his crime, he declared that he did it 'under particular circumstances, having met with so many crosses and vexations that he scarcely knew what he did. "

At the top of Drury Lane he paused to drink his last glass of wine, handing a guinea to the man who presented it. On the scaffold not amuscle moved as he surveyed the black crowd of onlookers with a calm andamused eye. To the chaplain he confessed his belief in God; and heexchanged a few pleasant words with the executioner as he placed a goldcoin in his hand. 

Thus, cold, calm, without rancour or regret, perished Laurence, EarlFerrers, not even a struggle marking the moment when life left him. After hanging for an hour, his body was taken down and removed toSurgeons' Hall, where it was dissected; and, thus mutilated, it wasexposed to public derision and malediction before it found a finalresting-place, fourteen feet deep under the belfry of old St PancrasChurch. 

Such is the stain which burns red on the Shirley shield, and such wasthe man who placed it there. But, as we have seen, Laurence Shirley wasmad beyond all doubt, and "knew not what he did"; and in the eyes of allcharitable and right-thinking men the 'scutcheon of the Ferrers Earldomremains as virtually unsullied to-day as when it was virginally freshtwo centuries ago. 

CHAPTER V

A GHOSTLY VISITANT

There is scarcely a chapter in the story of the British Peerage moretragic and mysterious than that which chronicles the closing days ofThomas, second Lord Lyttelton, whose dissolute life had its fittingclimax of horror at the exact moment foretold to him by a ghostlyvisitor. Various and somewhat conflicting accounts are given of thissingular tragedy; but in them all the chief incidents stand out so clearand unassailable that even such a hard-headed sceptic as Dr Johnsondeclared, "I am so glad to have evidence of the spiritual world that Iam willing to believe it. "

Thomas, second Lord Lyttelton, son of the first Baron, the distinguishedpoet and historian, was the degenerate descendant of five centuries ofLyttelton ancestors, who had held their heads among the highest in thecounty of Worcester since the days of the third Henry. Unlike hisclean-living forefathers, he was famous as a debauchee in a dissoluteage. 

 "Of his morals, " Sir Bernard Burke says, "we may judge by the fact of his having died the victim of the coarsest debauchery, and leaving behind him a diary more disgustingly licentious than the pages of Aratine himself. "

William Coombe, who had been at Eton with Lyttelton, is said to have hadhis old schoolfellow in mind when he dedicated his _Diaboliad_ "to theworst man in His Majesty's Dominions, " and when he penned those terriblelines:--

 "Have I not tasted every villain's part? Have I not broke a noble parent's heart? Do I not daily boast how I betrayed The tender widow and the virtuous maid?"

From the days when he wore his Eton jacket the life of this perverselord seems to have been one long record of profligacy; at least, untilthat day, but six years before its end, when, to quote his own words, "Iawoke, and behold I was a lord!"

 "From the time when, " Mr Stanley Makower writes, "although no more than a youth of nineteen, his engagement to General Warburton's daughter had been broken off on the discovery of the vicious life he had led in his travels in France and Italy, he had been a source of shame and trouble to his family. .. . To measure the depths of Lyttelton's vices, it is necessary to read his own letters, in which the literary style is as perfect as the fearless admission of fault is bewildering. "

Indeed, even more remarkable than the viciousness of his life, was thebrazen openness with which he flaunted it in the face of the world. 

With this depravity were oddly allied gifts of mind and graces ofperson, which, but for the handicap of vice, should have made LordLyttelton one of the most eminent and useful men of his time. When hewas at Eton Dr Barnard, the headmaster, predicted a great future for theboy, whose talents he declared were superior to those of young Fox. Inliterature and art his natural endowment was such that he might easilyhave won a leading place in either profession; while his gifts ofstatemanship and his eloquent tongue might with equal ease have won fameand high position in the arena of politics. 

Shortly after he succeeded to his Barony he married the widow of JosephPeach, Governor of Calcutta, and for a time seems to have made an effortto reform his ways; but the vice in his blood was quick to reassertitself; he abandoned his wife under the spell of a barmaid's eyes, andplunged again into the morass of depravity, in which alone he could findthe pleasure he loved. 

Such was Lord Lyttelton at the time this story opens, when, althoughstill a young man (he was but thirty-five when he died), he was anervous and physical wreck, draining the last dregs of the cup ofpleasure. 

And yet, how little he seems to have realised that he was near the endof his tether the following story proves. One day in the last month ofhis life a cousin and boon companion, Mr Fortescue, called on him at hisLondon home. 

 "He found, " to quote the words of his lordship's stepmother, "Lord Lyttelton in bed, though not ill; and on his rallying him for it, Lord Lyttelton said: 'Well, cousin, if you will wait in the next room a little while, I will get up and go out with you. ' He did so, and the two young men walked out into the streets. In the course of their walk they crossed the churchyard of St James's, Piccadilly. Lord Lyttelton, pointing to the gravestones, said: 'Now, look at these vulgar fellows; they die in their youth at five-and-thirty. But you and I, who are gentlemen, shall live to a good old age!'"

How little could he have anticipated that within a few days he, too, would be lying among the "vulgar fellows" who die in their youth atfive-and-thirty!

And, indeed, there seemed little evidence of such a tragic possibility;for the very next day he was charming the House of Lords with a speechof singular eloquence and statesmanlike grasp--the speech of a man inthe prime of his powers. Such efforts as this, however, were but as thespasmodic flickerings of a candle that is burning to its end, and werefollowed by deeper plunges into the dissipations that were surelykilling him. 

It was towards the close of the month of November, in 1779, that LordLyttelton left London and its fatal allurements for a few days' peacefullife at his country seat, Pit Place, at Epsom (in those days afashionable health resort), where he had invited a house-party, including several ladies, to join him. And, it should be said, no hostcould possibly be more charming and gracious; for, in spite of hisdepraved tastes, Lord Lyttelton was a man of remarkable fascination--awit, a born raconteur, and a courtier to his finger-tips. 

During the first day of his residence at Epsom the followingincident--which may or may not have had a bearing on the strange eventsthat followed--took place. 

 "Lord Lyttelton, " to quote Sir Digby Neave, "had come to Pit Place in very precarious health, and was ordered not to take any but the gentlest exercise. As he was walking in the conservatory with Lady Affleck and the Misses Affleck, a robin perched on an orange-tree close to them. Lord Lyttelton attempted to catch it, but failing, and being laughed at by the ladies, he said he would catch it even if it was the death of him. He succeeded, but he put himself in a great heat by the exertion. He gave the bird to Lady Affleck, who walked about with it in her hand. "

On the following morning his lordship appeared at the breakfast-table sopale and haggard that his guests, alarmed at his appearance, asked whatwas the matter. For a time he evaded their enquiries, and then made thefollowing startling statement:--"Last night, " he said, "after I had beenlying in bed awake for some time, I heard what sounded like the tappingof a bird at my window, followed by a gentle fluttering of wings aboutmy chamber. I raised myself on my arm to learn the meaning of thesestrange sounds, and was amazed at seeing a lovely female, dressed inwhite, with a small bird perched like a falcon on her hand. Walkingtowards me, the vision spoke, commanding me to prepare for death, for Ihad but a short time to live. When I was able to command my speech, Ienquired how long I had to live. The vision then replied, 'Not threedays; and you will depart at the hour of twelve. '"

Such was the remarkable story with which Lord Lyttelton startled hisguests on the morning of 24th November 1779. In vain they tried to cheerhim, and to laugh away his fears. They could make no impression on thedespondency that had settled on him; they could not shake the convictionthat he was a doomed man. "You will see, " was all the answer he wouldvouchsafe, "I shall die at midnight on Saturday. "

But in spite of this alarming experience and the gloomy forebodings towhich, in his shattered state of nerves, it gave birth, Lord Lytteltondid not long allow it to interfere with the work he had in hand, thepreparation of a speech on the disturbed condition in Ireland which hewas to deliver in the House of Lords that very day--a speech whichshould enhance his great and rapidly growing reputation as an orator. Hespent some hours absorbed in polishing and repolishing his sentences, and in verifying his facts; and, when he rose in the House, he was asfull of confidence as of his subject. 

Never, it was the common verdict, had his lordship spoken with moreeloquence and lucidity or with more powerful grasp of his subject andhis hearers. 

 "Cast your eyes for a moment, " he declared, amid impressive silence, "on the state of the Empire. America, that vast Continent, with all its advantages to us as a commercial and maritime people--lost--for ever lost to us; the West Indies abandoned; Ireland ready to part from us. Ireland, my lords, is armed; and what is her language? 'Give us free trade and the free Constitution of England as it originally was, such as we hope it will remain, the best calculated of any in the world for the preservation of freedom. '"

It was the speech of a far-seeing statesman; and although it proved butthe "voice of one crying in the wilderness, " Lord Lyttelton felt that hehad done his duty and had crowned his growing political fame with thelaurels of the patriot and the orator. 

On the following morning Fortescue met his cousin sauntering in StJames's Park, as Mr Makower tells us, "with the idleness of one who hasnever known what occupation means. "

"Is it because Hillsborough, the stupidest of your brother peers, paidyou such fine compliments on your speech?" he asked. 

Lyttelton smiled faintly. "No, it was not of that I was thinking, " heanswered. "Those are things of yesterday. Hillsborough was wrong; themajority who voted with him were wrong; and I was right with myminority. They don't know Ireland as I do. But a Government which canlose America can do anything. I have done with politics. I was thinkingof something entirely different when you came upon me. I wasthinking--of death. "

Fortescue laughed. But, when he had heard the story of Lyttelton'sdream, something in the manner of the narrator conveyed to him a feelingof uneasiness. 

"No man has more thoroughly enjoyed doing wrong than I have, " continuedLyttelton. "But I should not have enjoyed it so much if I believed innothing. With me sin has been conscientious; and I enjoyed the wrongthing not only for itself but also because it was wrong. Suppose it betrue that I have not more than three days to live--"

"You take the thing too seriously, " interposed his cousin. 

"Join me at Pit Place to-morrow, " said Lyttelton. "Then you shall see ifI take it too seriously. "

During the intervening two days he fluctuated between profound gloom andboisterous hilarity. One hour he was plunged into the depths of despair, the next he was the soul of gaiety, laughing hysterically at his fears, and exclaiming, "I shall cheat the lady yet!"

During dinner on the third and fatal day he was the maddest and merriestat the table, convulsing all by his sallies of wit and his infectioushigh spirits; and, when the cloth was removed, he exclaimed jubilantly, "Ah, Richard is himself again!" But his gaiety was short-lived. As thehours wore on his spirits deserted him; he lapsed into gloom andsilence, from which all the efforts of his friends could not rouse him. 

As the night advanced he began to grow restless. He could not sit still, but paced to and fro, with terror-haunted eyes, muttering incoherentlyto himself, and taking out his watch every few moments to note thepassage of time. At last, when his watch pointed to half-past eleven, heretired, without a word of farewell to his guests, to his bedroom, notknowing that not only his own watch, but every clock and watch in thehouse had been put forward half-an-hour by his anxious friends, "todeceive him into comfort. "

Having undressed and gone to bed, he ordered his valet to draw thecurtains at the foot, as if to screen him from a second sight of themysterious lady, and, sitting up in bed, watch in hand, he awaited thefatal hour of midnight. As the minute hand slowly but surely drew nearto twelve he asked to see his valet's watch, and was relieved to findthat it marked the same time as his own. With beating heart andstraining eyes he watched the hand draw nearer and nearer. A minute moreto go--half a minute. Now it pointed to the fateful twelve--and nothinghappened. It crept slowly past. The crisis was over. He put down thewatch with a deep sigh of relief, and then broke into a peal oflaughter--discordant, jubilant, defiant. 

"This mysterious lady is not a true prophetess, I find, " he said to hisvalet, after spending a few minutes in further mirthful waiting. "Andnow give me my medicine; I will wait no longer. " The valet proceeded tomix his usual medicine, a dose of rhubarb, stirring it, as no spoon wasat hand, with a tooth-brush lying on the table. "You dirty fellow!" hislordship exclaimed. "Go down and fetch a spoon. "

When the servant returned a few minutes later he found, to his horror, his master lying back on the pillow, unconscious and breathing heavily. He ran downstairs again, shouting, "Help! Help! My lord is dying!" Thealarmed guests rushed frantically to the chamber, only to find theirhost almost at his last gasp. A few moments later he was dead, with thewatch still clutched in his hand, pointing to half-past twelve. He haddied at the very stroke of midnight, as foretold by his ghostly visitantof three nights previously. 

Thus strangely and dramatically died Thomas, second Lord Lyttelton, statesman, wit, and debauchee, precisely as he had been warned that hewould die in a dream or vision of the night. How far his death was dueto natural causes, to the effect of fear on a diseased heart, none cansay with certainty. That his heart was diseased, that he had had manyformer seizures, during which his life seemed in danger, is beyondquestion; but if it was merely coincidence, it was surely the mostremarkable coincidence on record, that his death should come at theexact moment foretold by the lady of his vision, as related by himselfthree days before the event. 

Such a happening was strange and weird enough in all conscience; but itwas no more inexplicable on natural grounds than what follows. AmongLord Lyttelton's boon companions was a Mr Andrews, with whom he hadoften discussed the possibilities of a future life. On one such occasionhis lordship had said: "Well, if I die first, and am allowed, I willcome and inform you. "

The words were probably spoken more in jest than in earnest, and MrAndrews no doubt little dreamt how the promise would be fulfilled. Onthe night of Lord Lyttelton's death Mr Andrews, who expected hislordship to pay him a visit on the following day, had retired to bed athis house at Dartford, in Kent. 

When in bed, to quote from Mr Plumer Ward's "Illustrations of HumanLife, " he fell into a sound sleep, but was waked between eleven andtwelve o'clock by somebody opening his curtains. It was Lord Lyttelton, in a nightgown and cap which Andrews recognised. He also spoke plainlyto him, saying that he was come to tell him all was over. It seems thatLord Lyttelton was fond of horseplay; and, as he had often made Andrewsthe subject of it, the latter had threatened his lordship with physicalchastisement the very next time that it should occur. On the presentoccasion, thinking that the annoyance was being renewed, he threw atLord Lyttelton's head the first thing that he could find--his slippers. The figure retreated towards a dressing-room, which had no ingress oregress except through the bed-chamber; and Andrews, very angry, leapedout of bed in order to follow it into the dressing-room. It was notthere, however. 

Surprised and amazed, he returned at once to the bedroom, which hestrictly searched. _The door was locked on the inside_, yet no LordLyttelton was to be found. In his perplexity, Mr Andrews rang for hisservant, and asked if Lord Lyttelton had not arrived. The man answered:"No, sir. " "You may depend upon it, " said Mr Andrews, thoroughlymystified and out of humour, "that he is somewhere in the house. He washere just now, and he is playing some trick or other. However, you cantell him that he won't get a bed here; he can sleep in the stable or atthe inn if he likes. "

After a further vain search of the bed-chamber and the dressing-room, MrAndrews returned to bed and to sleep, having no doubt whatever that histoo jocular friend was in hiding somewhere near. On the afternoon of thefollowing day news came to him that Lord Lyttelton had died the previousnight at the very time that he (Mr Andrews) was searching for hismidnight visitant, and abusing him roundly for what he considered hisill-timed practical joke. On hearing the news, we are told, Mr Andrewsswooned away, and such was its effect on him that, to use his own words, "he was not himself or a man again for three years. "

CHAPTER VI

A MESSALINA OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

There have been bad women in all ages, from Messalina, who wadedrecklessly through blood to the gratification of her passions, to thatRoyal mountebank, Queen Christina of Sweden, whose laughter rang outwhile her lover Monaldeschi was being foully done to death at herbidding by Count Sentinelli, his successor in her affections; and inthis baleful company the notorious Lady Shrewsbury won for herself adishonourable place by a lust for cruelty as great as that of Christinaor Messalina, and by a Judas-like treachery which even they, who atleast flaunted their crimes openly, would have blushed to practise. 

No woman could have had smaller excuse for straying from the path ofvirtue, much less for making foul crimes the minister to her lust thanAnna Maria, Countess of Shrewsbury. The descendant of a long line ofhonourable Brudenells, daughter of an Earl of Cardigan, there wasnothing in the history of her family to account for the taint in herblood. She had been dowered with beauty and charms which made conquesteasy, inevitable; and she was honourably wedded to a noble husband, theeleventh Earl of Shrewsbury, who, although a man of no great characteror attainments, was an indulgent and faithful husband. Nor does she, until she had reached the haven of married life, appear to have shownany trace of the wickedness that must have been slumbering in her. 

And yet, before she had worn her Countess's coronet a year, she had madeherself notorious, even in Charles II. 's abandoned Court, for passionswhich would ruthlessly crush any obstacle in the way of theirindulgence. Lover after lover, high-placed and base-born indifferently, succeeded one another in her fickle favour, as Catherine the Great'sfavourites trod one on the heels of the other, each in turn to be flungcontemptuously aside to make room for a more favoured rival. 

Even Gramont, seasoned man of the world and far removed from a saint ashe was, was frankly horrified at the carryings-on of this EnglishMessalina, compared with whom the most lax ladies of the English Courtwere veritable prudes. "I would lay a wager, " he says, "that if she hada man killed for her every day she would only carry her head the higher. I suppose she must have plenary indulgence for her conduct. " The onlyindulgence she had or needed was that of her own imperious will and herelastic conscience. 

As we glance down the list of her victims, we see some of the mosthonourable names, and also some of the most despicable characters inthe England of the Restoration. The Duke of Ormond's heir caught hercapricious fancy for awhile; but, though his love for her drove him tothe verge of suicide, she wearied of him and trampled him under foot toseek a fresh conquest. 

To my Lord Arran succeeded Captain Thomas Howard, brother of the Earl ofCarlisle, a shy, proud young man of irreproachable character, whose lovefor the fascinating Countess was as free from dishonour as a weaknessfor another man's wife could be. She caught him securely in the net ofher charms, ensnared him with her _beauté de diable_, and then, satisfied with her ignoble triumph, proceeded to make a fool of him. 

Nothing pleased this Countess more than to bring her lovers together, towatch with gloating eyes their rivalries, their jealousies, and theirquarrels, which frequently led to her crowning enjoyment--the sheddingof blood. And it was with this object that one day she induced Howard tojoin her at a _petit souper_ at Spring Gardens, a favouritepleasure-haunt of the day, near Charing Cross. The supper had scarcelycommenced when the _tête-à-tête_ was interrupted by the appearance ofnone other than the "invincible Jermyn, " one of the handsomest and mostnotorious _roués_ of the day, a famous duellist, and one of my lady'smost ardent lovers. 

Here was a prospect of amusement such as was dear to the heart of theCountess, who, needless to say, had arranged the plot. Jermyn needed noinvitation to make a third at the feast of love. That was preciselywhat he had come for; and although Howard played the host with admirabledignity to the unwelcome intruder, Jermyn ignored his courtesy andbrought all his skill to bear on fanning the flames of his jealousy. Heflirted outrageously with the Countess, kept her in peals of laughter byhis sallies of wit and scarcely-veiled gibes at her companion, untilHoward was roused to such a pitch of silent fury that only the presenceof a lady restrained him from running the insolent intruder through withhis sword. Nothing would have delighted her ladyship more than such aclimax to the little play she was enjoying so much; but Howard, withmarvellous self-restraint, kept his temper within bounds and his swordin its sheath. 

Such an outrage, however, could not be passed over with impunity; andbefore Jermyn had eaten his breakfast on the following morning, Howard'sfriend and second, Colonel Dillon, was announced with a demand forsatisfaction--a demand which met with a prompt acquiescence from Jermyn, who vowed he would "wipe the young puppy out. " The duel took place inthe "Long Alley near St James's, called Pall Mall, " and proved to be ofas sanguinary a nature as even the grossly-insulted Howard could havedesired. 

On the 19th of August 1662, Pepys writes:--

 "Mr Coventry did tell us of the duel between Mr Jermyn, nephew to my Lord of St Alban's, and Colonel Giles Rawlins, the latter of whom is killed, and the first mortally wounded as it is thought. They fought against Captain Thomas Howard, my Lord Carlisle's brother, and another unknown; who, they say, had armour on that they could not be hurt, so that one of their swords went up to the hilt against it. They had horses ready and are fled. But what is most strange, Howard sent one challenge before, but they could not meet till yesterday at the old Pall Mall at St James's; and he would not till the last tell Jermyn what the quarrel was; nor do anybody know. "

If no one else knew of the cause of the quarrel, certainly Jermyn did;and never did man pay a more deserved penalty for dastardly behaviour. Lady Shrewsbury's delight at thus ridding herself of two lovers, of bothof whom she seems to have grown weary, may be better imagined thandescribed. Although Jermyn was carried off the field of battle, to allappearance a dead man, he survived until 1708 when he died, full ofyears and wickedness, Baron Jermyn of Dover. 

The Court, as Pepys records, was "much concerned in this fray"; but itwas long before Lady Shrewsbury's part in it came to light, to add tothe infamy which she had by that time heaped on herself. Her waywardfancy next settled on a man of a different stamp to either Howard orJermyn. It seemed, indeed, to be her ambition to make her conquests asvaried as humanity itself. Her next victim was Harry Killigrew, one ofthe most notorious profligates in London, a man of low birth and lowertastes, a haunter of taverns, the terror of all decent women, and aroystering swashbuckler, with a sword as ready to leap at a word as hislips to snatch a kiss from a pretty mouth. 

Such was my Lady Shrewsbury's successor to the aristocratic, high-mindedbrother of Lord Carlisle. Killigrew's father was a well-known man of hisday, for he wore cap and bells at Charles's Court, and was privileged topractise his clowning on King and courtier and maid-of-honour with noheavier penalty than a box on the ears. The extreme licence he permittedhimself is proved by that joke at the expense of Louis XIV. , which mightwell have cost any other man his head. Louis, who always unbended to amerry jester, was showing his pictures to Killigrew, when they came to apainting of the Crucifixion, placed between portraits of the Pope andthe "Roi Soleil" himself. "Ah, Sire, " said the Jester, as he struck anattitude before the trio of canvases, "I knew that our Lord wascrucified between two thieves, but I never knew till now who they were. "

Such was Tom Killigrew who kept Charles's Court alive by his pranks andjests, and who is better remembered in our day as the man to whoseenterprise we owe Drury Lane Theatre and the Italian Opera; and it wouldhave been better for the world of his day if his son had been as decenta man as himself. His fun, at least, was harmless, and his life, so faras we know it, was reasonably clean. His son, however, was notorious asthe most foul-mouthed, evil-living man in London, whose very contactwas a pollution. Once Pepys, always eager for new experiences, wasinveigled into his company and that of the "jolly blades, " who were hisboon companions; "but Lord!" the diarist says ingenuously, "their talkdid make my heart ache!"

That my Lady Shrewsbury should stoop to such a _liaison_ astonished eventhose who knew how widely she cast her net, and how indiscriminating herpassion was in its quest for novelty. That such a man should boast ofhis conquest over the beautiful Countess was inevitable. He published itin every low tavern in London, gloating in his cups over "his lady'smost secret charms, concerning which more than half the Court knew quiteas much as he knew himself. "

Among those to whom Killigrew thus boasted was the dissolute second Dukeof Buckingham, whose curiosity was so stimulated by what he heard thathe entered the lists himself, and quickly succeeded in ousting Killigrewfrom his place in my lady's favour. To the tavern-sot thus succeeded themost splendid noble in England, a man who, in his record of gallantry, was no mean rival to the Countess herself. To be thus displaced by theman to whom he had boasted his conquest was a bitter blow to thelibertine's vanity; to be cut dead by Lady Shrewsbury, who had no longerany use for him, roused him to a frenzy of rage in which he assailed herwith the bitterest invectives; "painted a frightful picture of herconduct, and turned all her charms, which he had previously extolled, into defects. " The Duke's warnings were powerless to stop hisvindictive tongue; even a severe thrashing, which resulted in Killigrewbegging abjectly for his life from his successful rival, failed to teachhim prudence. His slanders grew more and more venomous until theybrought on him a punishment which nearly cost him his life. 

But before Killigrew's tongue was thus silenced, the wooing of the Dukeand the Countess was marred by a tragedy, to which our history happilyfurnishes no parallel. The Countess's husband had hitherto looked onwith seeming indifference, while lover after lover succeeded each otherin his wife's favour. But even the Earl's long forbearance had itslimits; and these were reached when he saw the insolent coxcomb, Buckingham, a man whom he had always detested, usurp his place. Hescrewed up his laggard manhood to the pitch of challenging the Duke to aduel, which took place one January morning in 1667, and of which Pepystells the following story:

"Much discourse of the duel yesterday between the Duke of Buckingham, Holmes and one Jenkins, on one side, and my Lord Shrewsbury, Sir JohnTalbot and one Bernard Howard, on the other side; and all about my LadyShrewsbury, who is at this time, and hath for a great while, been amistress to the Duke of Buckingham. And so her husband challenged him, and they met yesterday in a close near Barne-Elmes, and there fought;and my Lord Shrewsbury is run through the body, from the right breastthrough the shoulder; and Sir John Talbot all along up one of hisarmes; and Jenkins killed upon the place, and the rest all, in a littlemeasure, wounded. This will make the world think that the King hath goodCouncillors about him, when the Duke of Buckingham, the greatest manabout him, is a fellow of no more sobriety than to fight about amistress. "

It is said that the Countess, in the guise of a page, accompanied herlover to the scene of this bloodthirsty duel; held his horse as, withsparkling eyes, she saw her husband receive his death-blow; and, whenthe foul deed was done, flung her arms around the assassin's neck in atransport of gratitude and affection. Never surely since Judas sent hisMaster to his death with a kiss has the world witnessed such an infamousbetrayal. 

From the scene of this tragedy the Duke escorted the Countess-page tohis own home, where he installed her as his avowed mistress in the eyesof the world, at the same time ordering the carriage which was to takehis outraged wife back to her father's house. Even in such an abandonedand profligate Court as that of Charles II. , the news of this dastardlycrime and Lady Shrewsbury's callous treachery was received withexecration, while a thrill of horror and fierce indignation ran throughthe whole of England. But the Countess and her paramour smiled at thestorm they had brought on their heads, and with brazen insolenceflaunted their amour in the face of the world. 

Now that the Countess's husband had been removed from their path theshameless pair had time to attend to Killigrew, whose malicious tonguemust be silenced once for all. They hired bravos to track his footsteps, and at a convenient moment to remove him from their path. Theopportunity came one day when it was learnt that Killigrew, who seemedto know that his life was in danger and for a long time had evaded hisenemies successfully, intended to travel from town to his house atTurnham Green late at night. His chaise was followed at a discreetdistance by my Lady Shrewsbury, who arrived on the scene just in time towitness the prepared tragedy which was to crown her revenge. Killigrew, who was sleeping in his chaise, awoke, to quote a contemporary account, "by the thrust of a sword which pierced his neck and came out at the shoulder. Before he could cry out he was flung from the chaise, and stabbed in three other places by the Countess's assassins, while the lady herself looked on from her own coach and six, and cried out to the murderers, 'Kill the villain!' Nor did she drive off till he was thought dead. "

The man whose murder she thus witnessed and encouraged was not, however, Killigrew, as in the darkness she imagined, but his servant. Killigrewhimself, although severely wounded, was more fortunate in escaping withhis life. But the lesson he had received was so severe that for the restof his days he gave the Countess and her lover the widest of berths, andretired into the obscurity in which alone he could feel safe from sucha revengeful virago. This second crime, like its predecessor, wentunpunished, so powerful was Buckingham, and so deep in the King'sfavour; and he and the Countess were left in the undisturbed enjoymentof their lust and their triumphs. 

 "Gallant and gay, in Clieveden's proud alcove, The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love, "

the infamous pair defied the world, and crowned their ignominy bystanding together at the altar, where the Duke's chaplain made them one, almost before the body of the Countess's husband (who had survived hisduel two months) was cold, and while the Duchess of Buckingham was, ofcourse, still alive. The Countess was not long before her brazeneffrontery carried her back to Court, where she took the lead in therevels and at the gaming-tables, and made love to the "Merrie Monarch"himself. Evelyn tells us that, during a visit to Newmarket, he

 "found the jolly blades racing, dancing, feasting and revelling, more resembling a luxurious and abandoned rout than a Christian country. The Duke of Buckingham was in mighty favour, and had with him that impudent woman, the Countess of Shrewsbury, and his band of fiddlers. "

It was only with the downfall of the Stuarts that this shamelessalliance came to an end, when Buckingham's reign of power was over, andhe was haled before the House of Lords to answer for his crimes. He andthe partner of his guilt were ordered to separate; and for this purposeto enter into security to the King in the sum of £10, 000 apiece. Thusignominiously closed one of the most infamous intrigues in history. Buckingham, buffeted by fortune, rapidly fell, as the world knows, fromhis pinnacle of power to the lowest depths of poverty, to end his days, friendless and destitute, in a Yorkshire inn. 

 "No wit, to flatter, left of all his store! No fool to laugh at, which he valued more. There reft of health, of fortune, friends, And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends. "

To my Lady Shrewsbury, as to her paramour, the condemnation of the Lordsmarked the setting of her sun of splendour. The slumbering rage ofEngland against her long career of iniquity awoke to fresh life in thishour of her humiliation, and she was glad to escape from its fury to thehaven of a convent in France, where she spent some time in mockpenitence. 

But the Countess was, by no means, resigned to end her days in the odourof a tardy and insincere piety. As soon as the sky had cleared a littleacross the Channel, she returned to England, and tried to repair hershattered fame by giving her hand to a son of Sir Thomas Bridges, ofKeynsham, in Somerset, who was so enslaved by her charms that he wasproud to lead the tarnished beauty to the altar. And with this mockeryof wedding bells "Messalina's" history practically ended as far as theworld, outside the Somersetshire village, where the remainder of herlife was mostly spent, was concerned. The fires of her passion had nowdied out, and the restless and still ambitious woman exchanged love forpolitical intrigue. She became the most ardent of Jacobites, and plottedas unscrupulously for the restoration of the Stuarts, as in earlieryears she had planned the capture and ruin of her lovers. 

Not content with treading the shady and dangerous path of intrigueherself, she set to work to undermine the loyalty of her only son, theyoung Earl of Shrewsbury, one of the most trusted ministers and friendsof the Orange King; and such was her influence over the high-principled, if weak Earl that she infected him with her own treachery, until theman, whom William III. Had called "the soul of honour, " stood branded tothe world as a spy, leagued with the King's enemies, and was compelledto leave England for ten years of exile and disgrace. 

This corruption and ruin of her own son was the crowning infamy of oneof the worst women who ever enlisted their beauty, of their own freewill, in the service of the devil. 

CHAPTER VII

A PROFLIGATE PRINCE

Of the sons of the profligate Frederick, Prince of Wales, HenryFrederick, Duke of Cumberland, was, by universal consent, the mostabandoned, as his eldest brother, George III. , of "revered memory, " inspite of his intrigue with the fair Quakeress, was the least vicious. Each brother had his amours--many of them highly discreditable; but forunrestrained and indiscriminate profligacy Henry Frederick took theunenviable palm. 

Even the verdict of posterity is unable to credit this Princeling with asolitary virtue, unless a handsome face and a passion for music can beplaced to his credit. In his career of female conquest, which began assoon as he had emancipated himself from his mother's apron strings, heleft behind him a wake of ruined lives; not the least tragic of whichwas that of the lovely and foolish Henrietta Vernon, Countess Grosvenor, whom he dragged through the mire of the Divorce Court, only to fling heraside, a soiled and crushed flower of too pliant womanhood. 

And yet, when his passion was in full flame, no woman was ever wooedwith apparently more sincere ardour and devotion. 

 "My dear Angel, " he once wrote to her, "I got to bed about ten. I then prayed for you, my dearest love, kissed your dearest little hair, and lay down and dreamt of you, had you ten thousand times in my arms, kissing you and telling you how much I loved and adored you, and you seemed pleased. .. . I have your heart, and it is warm at my breast. I hope mine feels as easy to you. Thou joy of my life, adieu!"

In another letter he exclaims:

 "Oh, my dearest soul . .. Your dear heart is so safe with me and feels every motion mine does. How happy will that day be to me that brings you back! I shall be unable to speak for joy. My dearest soul, I send you ten thousand kisses. "

So irrepressible was his passion that it burst the bounds of prose, andgushed forth in verses such as this:

 "Hear, solemn Jove, and, conscious Venus, hear! And thou, bright maid, believe me while I swear, No time, no change, no future flame shall move The well-placed basis of my lasting love. "

When the fair and frail Countess, in a fit of alarm, took refuge atEaton Hall, her Royal lover followed her in disguise, installed himselfat a neighbouring inn, and continued his intrigue under the very nose ofher jealous husband, who at last was driven to sue for divorce. He wonan easy verdict, and with it £10, 000 damages--a bill which George III. Himself had ultimately to pay. Within a few months the incorrigible Dukehad another "dearest little angel" in his toils, and pursued hisgallantries without a thought of the Countess he had left to her shame. 

Such was this degenerate brother of the King when the most memorable ofhis victims crossed his blighting path one summer day in the year 1771, at Brighton--a radiantly beautiful young woman who had just discardedher widow's weeds, and was arrayed for fresh conquests. 

Anne Luttrell, as the widow had been known in her maiden days, was oneof the three lovely daughters of Lord Irnham, in later years Earl ofCarhampton, and a member of a family noted for the beauty of its women, and the wild, lawless living of its men. Her brother, Colonel Luttrell, was the most reckless swashbuckler and the deadliest duellist of histime--a man whose morals were as low as his temper and courage werehigh. 

At seventeen Anne had become the wife of Christopher Horton, ahard-drinking, fast-living Derbyshire squire, who left her a widow attwenty-two, in the prime of her beauty, and eager, as soon as decencypermitted, to enter the matrimonial lists again. 

About this time Horace Walpole, who had a keen eye for female charms, describes her as

 "extremely pretty, very well-made, with the most amorous eyes in the world, and eyelashes a yard long. Coquette beyond measure, artful as Cleopatra, and completely mistress of all her passions and projects. Indeed, eyelashes three-quarters of a yard shorter would have served to conquer such a head as she has turned. "

In another portrait Walpole says:

 "There was something so bewitching in her languishing eyes, which she could animate to enchantment if she pleased, and her coquetry was so active, so varied, and yet so habitual, that it was difficult not to see through it, and yet as difficult to resist it. She danced divinely, and had a great deal of wit, but of the satiric kind. "

Such were the charms and witchery of Mrs Horton when the lasciviousyoung Prince, who was still a boy, was first dazzled by her beauty atBrighton; and when, in fact, she was on the eve of smiling on the suitof one of the legion of lovers who swelled her retinue, one GeneralSmith, a handsome man with a seductive rent-roll to add to hisattractions. But the moment the Prince began to cast admiring eyes atthe young widow the General's fate was sealed. She had no fancy to go toher grave plain "Mrs Smith" when a duchess's coronet (and a Royal one toboot) was dangled so alluringly before her eyes. 

For from the first she had made up her mind that she would be thePrince's legal wife, and no light-o'-love to be petted and flung asidewhen he chose, butterfly-like, to flit to some other flower; and thisshe made abundantly clear to Henry Frederick. Her favours--after aperiod of coquetry and coy reluctance--were at his disposal; but theprice to be paid for them was a wedding-ring--nothing less. And such wasthe infatuation she had inspired that the Duke--flinging scruples andfears aside, consented. One October day they took boat to Calais, andwere there made man and wife. The widow had caught her Prince and meantthe world to know she was a Princess. 

For a few indecisive weeks the Duke put off the evil day of announcinghis marriage to his brother, the King, and to his mother, the DowagerPrincess of Wales, whose frowns he dreaded still more. But his Duchesswas inexorable. She declined to play any longer the _rôle_ of "virtuousmistress" in an obscure French town, when she ought, as a Princess ofthe Blood Royal, to be circling in splendour and state around thethrone. 

Between his wife's tears and tantrums on one side of the Channel and theRoyal anger on the other, the Duke was driven to the extremity of hisexiguous Royal wits; until finally, in sheer desperation, he decided tomake the plunge--to break the news to the King. Had he but known howinopportune the time was he would surely have taken the first boat backto Calais rather than face his brother's anger. George was distracted bytrouble at home and abroad. His mother was dying; across the Atlanticthe clouds of war were massing; the political atmosphere was chargedwith danger and unrest. And when the quaking Duke presented himselfbefore his brother as he was moodily walking in his palace garden, George was in no mood to accept quietly any addition to his burden ofworries. 

No sooner had the King read the ill-spelled, clumsily-worded note whichthe Duke shamefacedly placed in his hand than his anger blazed intoflame. "You idiot! You blockhead! You villain!" he shouted, purple inface and hoarse with passion. "I tell you that woman shall never be aRoyal Duchess--she shall never be anything. " "What must I do, then?"gasped the Duke, quailing before the Royal outburst. "Go abroad until Ican decide what to do, " thundered the King, waving his brotherimperiously away. 

It was a very crestfallen Duke who returned to Calais to face theupbraiding of Duchess Anne on his failure. But it took much more thanthis to cow a Luttrell. She at least was not afraid of any king. Shewould defy him to his face, and compel him to acknowledge her--beforeher child was born. And within a few weeks she was installed atCumberland House, with all the state and more than the airs of a RoyalPrincess. The days of concealment were over; she stood avowed to theworld, Duchess of Cumberland and sister-in-law to the King; and she onlysmiled when George, in his Royal wrath at such insolence, announcedthrough his Chamberlain that "there was no road between Cumberland Houseand Windsor Castle--that the Castle doors would be closed against anywho dared to visit his repudiated sister-in-law. "

There were some, however, who dared to brave George's displeasure bypaying court to the Duchess, whose beauty and grace surrounded her witha small body of admirers. The daughter of an Irish nobleman played toperfection her new and exalted _rôle_ of Princess. "No woman of hertime, " says Lord Hervey, "performed the honours of her drawing-room withsuch grace, affability, and dignity. " And, in spite of George's frowns, the only real thorn in her bed of roses was the knowledge that theDuchess of Gloucester, who, as the daughter of a Piccadilly sempstress, was infinitely her inferior by birth, and not even her superior inbeauty, was received with open arms at the Castle, and drew to her courtall the greatest in the land. 

She even made overtures to her rival and enemy, and proposed that theyshould appear together in the same box at the opera--an overture towhich the Duchess of Gloucester retorted contemptuously: "Never! I wouldnot smell at the same nosegay with her in public!"

By sheer effrontery Duchess Anne at last forced her way into the RoyalCourt and public recognition as a member of George's family; and thefact that both the King and the Queen snubbed her mercilessly for herpains, detracted little from her triumph and gratification. What herGrace of Gloucester had won by submission and ingratiating arts, she hadwon by brazen defiance and importunity. But the goal, though sodifferently reached, was the same. Her triumph was complete. 

To her last day, however, she never forgave the King and Queen. Whilethey had smiled on the sempstress's daughter, who had been guilty ofprecisely the same offence as herself--that of wedding a Royal Princewithout the King's sanction--they had scorned her, a Luttrell, thedaughter of a noble house; and terrible was the revenge she took. Shedeliberately set herself to debase the Prince of Wales--a youth whosenatural tendencies made him a pliant tool in her hands. She enmeshed himin the web of her beauty and charms; she pandered to his vanity and hispassions; while her husband initiated him into the vices of which hehimself was a past-master--drinking, gambling, and lust. Notoriousprofligate as George IV. Became, there is little doubt that he wouldhave been a much better man if he had not fallen thus early into thehands of a revengeful and unprincipled woman. Thus infamously theDuchess of Cumberland repaid George and his Consort for their slights;and her shameless reward was when she witnessed their grief at the moraldegradation of their eldest son. 

But even in the hour of her greatest triumph and splendour Anne Luttrellwas an unhappy woman. She had climbed to the dizziest heights of thesocial ladder; her pride was more than satisfied; but her heart wasempty and desolate. Her fickle husband soon wearied of her charms, andflaunted his fresh conquests before her face. In the royal familycircle, into which she had forced her way, she was an unwelcomestranger; and such homage as she received was conceded to her rank andnot to herself. "Of all princesses, " she once wrote to a friend, "Ireally think I am the most miserable. "

Her husband died at the age of forty-five, worn out with excesses, regretted by none, execrated by many. Of his father it had been writtenby way of epitaph:--

 "He was alive and is dead, And, as it is only Fred, Why, there's no more to be said. "

Henry Frederick's epitaph, if it had been written by the same hand, would have been much more scathing. His Duchess survived him a score ofyears--unhappy years of solitude and neglect, a Princess only inname--harassed and shamed by her eldest sister, Elizabeth, a woman ofcoarse tastes and language, a confirmed gambler and cheat, whosefailings, which she tried in vain to conceal, brought shame on theDuchess. 

The fate of Elizabeth--one of the "three beautiful Luttrells"--is amongthe most tragic stories of the British Peerage. When her Duchess-sisterdied she drifted into low companionships, was imprisoned for debt, andactually bribed a hairdresser to marry her, in order to recover herliberty. On the Continent, to which she escaped, she fell to still lowerdepths--was arrested for pocket-picking, and for a time cleaned thestreets of Augsburg chained to a wheelbarrow, until a dose of poison sether free from her fetters. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE GORGEOUS COUNTESS

If, a century ago, Edmund Power, of Knockbrit, in County Tipperary, hadbeen told that his second daughter, Marguerite, would one day blossominto a Countess, and live in history as one of the "most gorgeous"figures in the fashionable world of London under three kings, he wouldcertainly have considered his prophetic informant an escaped lunatic, and would probably have told him so, with the brutal frankness which wasone of his most amiable characteristics. 

The Irish squire was a proud man--proud of his pretty and shiftlesswife, with her eternal talk of her Desmond ancestors; proud of two ofhis three daughters, whose budding beauty was to win for them titledhusbands--one an English Viscount, the other a Comte de St Marsante; andproudest of all of his own handsome figure and his local dignities. Buthe was frankly ashamed to own himself father of his second daughter, Marguerite, the "ugly duckling" of a good-looking family, and with nogifts or promise to qualify her plainness. 

But the squireen was probably too full of his own self-importance towaste much thought or regret on an insignificant, unattractive girl, though she was his own child. He loved to strut about among his humbleneighbours in all the unprovincial glory of ruffles and lace, buck-skinsand top-boots, and snowy, wide-spreading cravat. He was the king ofTipperary dandies, known far beyond his own county as "Buck Power" and"Shiver-the-Frills"; and what pleased his vanity still more, he was aJustice of the Peace, with authority to scour the country at the head ofa company of dragoons, tracking down rebels and spreading terrorwherever he went. That he was laughed at for his coxcombry and hated forhis petty tyranny only seemed to add to the zest of his enjoyment oflife; and he saw, at least, a knighthood as the prospective recognitionof his importance, and his services to the King and the peace. 

Such was the father and such the home of Marguerite Power, who was oneday to dazzle the world as the "most gorgeous Lady Blessington. "

As with many another "ugly ducking" Marguerite Power's beauty was onlydormant in these days of childhood; and before she had graduated intolong frocks, the bud was opening which was to grow to so beautiful aflower. If her father was blind to the change, it was patent enough toother eyes; and she had scarcely passed her fourteenth birthday when shehad at least two lovers eager to pay homage to her girlishcharm--Captains Murray and Farmer, brother-officers of a regimentstationed at Clonmel. To the wooing of Captain Murray, young, handsome, and desperately in earnest, she lent a willing ear; but when thusencouraged, he asked her to be his wife, she blushingly declined theoffer, on the ground that she was yet much too young to think of awedding-ring. To the rival Captain, old enough to be her father, a man, moreover, whose evil living and Satanic temper were notorious, sheshowed the utmost aversion. "I hate him, " she protested in tears to herfather, who supported his suit; "and I would rather die a hundred timesthan marry him. "

But "Beau Power" was the last man to be moved from his purpose by achild's tears or pleadings. Captain Farmer was a man of wealth and goodfamily, and also one of his own boon companions. And thus, tearful, indignant, protesting to the last, the girl was led to the altar, by thebiggest scoundrel in Tipperary--a "maiden tribute" to a lover's lust anda father's ambition. 

[Illustration: MARGUERITE, COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON]

The child's fears were more than realised in the wedded life thatfollowed. Before the honeymoon had waned, the Captain began to treat hisyoung wife with all the brutality of which he was such a past-master. Blows and oaths were her daily lot; and when his cruelty wrung tearsfrom her, her husband would lock her in her room, and leave her fordays, without fire or food, until she condescended to beg for mercy. 

After three months of this inferno the Captain was ordered to a distantstation; and, as his wife refused point-blank to accompany him, was byno means reluctant to "be rid of the brat" by sending her back to herhome. Here, however, the child-wife found herself less welcome than, andalmost as unhappy as in her wedded life; and, driven to despair, sheleft the home in which she had been cradled, and fared forth alone intothe world, which could not be more unkind than those whose duty it wasto shield and care for her. 

How, or where, Beau Power's daughter lived during the next twelve yearsmust always remain largely a mystery. At one time she appears in Dublin;at another, in Cahir; but mostly she seems to have spent her time inEngland. Over this part of her adventurous life a curtain is drawn;though some have endeavoured to raise it, and have professed to discoverscandalous doings for which there seems to be no vestige of authority. We know that, by the time she was twenty, Sir Thomas Lawrence was sostruck by her beauty that he immortalised it on canvas; but it is onlyin 1816 that the curtain is actually raised, and we find her living withher brother in London, where, to quote her sister, "she received at her house only those whose age and character rendered them safe friends, and a very few others, on whose perfect respect and consideration she could wholly rely. Among the latter was the Earl of Blessington, then a widower. "

Whatever may have been her life during this obscure period, when hercharms were maturing into such exquisite beauty, it is thus certain thatat its close she was moving in a good circle, and was as irreproachableas she was lovely. Of her rascally husband she had happily seen nothingduring all those years of more or less lonely adventure; and the end ofthis tragic union was now near. One day in October 1817, the Captainended his misspent days in tragedy. He had drifted through dissipationand crime to the King's Bench prison; and in a fit of frenzy--or, assome say, in a drunken quarrel--had flung himself to his death through awindow of his gaol. 

Thus, at last, the nightmare that had clouded the young life of thesquireen's daughter was over, and she was free to plan her future as shewould. What this future was to be was soon placed beyond doubt. Thewidowed Earl of Blessington had long been among the most ardent admirersof the lovely Irishwoman; and before Farmer had been many months in hisprison-grave, he had won her consent to be his Countess. The "uglyduckling" had reached a coronet through such trials and vicissitudes ashappily seldom fall to the lot of woman; and her future was to be asradiant as her past had been ignoble and obscure. 

Seldom has a woman cradled in comparative poverty made such a splendidalliance. Lord Blessington was a veritable Croesus among Irishlandlords, with a rent-roll of £30, 000 a year; allied, it is true, to anextravagance more than commensurate with his revenue. He had a passionfor all things theatrical, and an almost barbaric taste in the gorgeousfurnishings with which he loved to surround himself; and this taste hiswife seems to have shared. 

When the Earl took his bride to his ancestral home, Mountjoy Forest, sherevelled in her boudoir, with its hangings of "crimson Genoasilk-velvet, trimmed with gold bullion fringe; and all the furniture ofequal richness. " But she had had enough of Irish life in the days of herchildhood, and soon sighed to return to London and to a wider sphere forher beauty and her social ambition; and before she had been a bride sixmonths we find her installed in St James's Square, drawing to her_salon_ all the greatest and most famous in the land, and moving amongher courtiers with the dignity and graciousness of a Queen. 

Royal Dukes kissed her hand; statesman basked in her smile; Moore sanghis sweetest songs for her delight; and all the arts and sciencesworshipped at her shrine, and raved about her beauty of face and gracesof mind. 

Sated at last with all this splendour and adulation, my Lady Blessingtonyearned for more worlds to conquer; and so, one August day in 1822, sheand her lord set out on a triumphal progress through Europe, with aretinue of attendants, and with luxurious equipages such as a king mighthave been proud to boast. In France they added to their train Countd'Orsay, who threw up his army-commission under the lure of theCountess's beautiful eyes; and seldom has fair lady had so devoted andcharming a cavalier as this "Admirable Crichton" of Georgian days. 

 "Count d'Orsay, " says Charles James Mathews, the famous comedian, who knew him well, "was the beau-ideal of manly dignity and grace. He was the model of all that could be conceived of noble demeanour and youthful candour; handsome beyond all question; accomplished to the last degree; highly educated, and of great literary acquirements; with a gaiety of heart and cheerfulness of mind that spread happiness on all around him. His conversation was brilliant and engaging, as well as instructive. He was, moreover, the best fencer, dancer, swimmer, runner, dresser, the best shot, the best horseman, the best draughtsman, of his age. "

Such was the Count, then a youth of nineteen, who thus entered LadyBlessington's life, in which he was to play such an intimate part untilits tragic close. 

From France the regal progress continued to Italy, everywhere greetedwith wonder at its magnificence and admiration of my lady's beauty. Twospring months in 1823 were passed at Genoa, where Lord Byron loved tosit at the Countess's feet and pay homage to her with eye and tongue. From Genoa the procession fared majestically to Rome, of which herladyship, in spite of the sensation she produced and the adulation shereceived, soon wearied; she sighed for Naples, where she was regallylodged in the Palazzo Belvidere, a Palace, as she declared, "fit for anyqueen. " And how the squire's daughter revelled in her newpleasure-house, with its courtyard and plashing fountain, its arcadeand its colonnade, "supporting a terrace covered with flowers"; itsmarvellous gardens, filled with the rarest trees, shrubs and plants; andlong gallery, "filled with pictures, statues, and bassi-relievi. "

 "On the top of the gallery, " she says, "is a terrace, at the extreme end of which is a pavilion, with open arcades and paved with marble. This pavilion commands a most charming prospect of the bay, the foreground filled up by gardens and vineyards. The odour of the flowers in the grounds around the pavilion, and the Spanish jasmine and tuberoses that cover the walls, render it one of the most delicious retreats in the world. The walls of all the rooms are literally covered with pictures; the architraves of the doors of the principal rooms are oriental alabaster and the rarest marbles; the tables and consoles are composed of the same costly materials; and the furniture bears the traces of its pristine splendour. "

Such was the Arabian palace of all delights of which her gorgeousladyship now found herself mistress; and yet nothing would please herindulgent lord but the spending of a few thousands in adding to itssplendours by new and costly furnishings. Here she spent two-and-a-halfyears of ideal happiness, sailing by moonlight on the lovely bay, withd'Orsay for companion; visiting all the sights, from Pompeii to thegalleries and museums, with a retinue of experts, such as Herschell andGell in her train, and entertaining with a queenly magnificence Italiannobles and all the great ones of Europe who passed through Naples. 

From Naples Lady Blessington took her train to Florence, where she casther spell over Walter Savage Landor, who spent every possible hour inher fascinating company; and where she was joined by her husband'sdaughter, the Lady Harriet Gardiner, a girl of fifteen, who, within afew weeks of reaching Italy, became the wife of my lady's handsomeprotege, d'Orsay. And it was not until 1828, six years after leavingLondon, that the stately procession turned its face homewards, haltingfor a few months of farewell magnificence in Paris, where LadyBlessington was installed in Marshal Ney's mansion, in an environmenteven more gorgeous than the Palazzo Belvidere of Naples could boast, thanks to the prodigality of her infatuated lord. 

The description which her Ladyship gives of her Paris palace reads, indeed, like a passage from the "Arabian Nights. "

 "The bed, " she says, "which is silvered instead of gilt, rests on the backs of two large silver swans, so exquisitely sculptured that every feather is in alto-relievo, and looks nearly as fleecy as those of a living bird. The recess in which it is placed, is lined with white fluted silk, bordered with blue embossed lace; and from the columns that support the frieze of the recess, pale blue silk curtains, lined with white, are hung. A silvered sofa has been made to fit the side of the room opposite the fireplace--pale blue carpets, silver lamps, ornaments silvered to correspond. "

Her bath was of white marble; her _salle de bain_ was draped with whitemuslin trimmed with lace, and its ceiling was beautiful with a paintedFlora scattering flowers and holding an elaborate lamp in the form of alotus. And all the rest of the equipment of this dream-palace was inkeeping with these splendours, from the carpets and curtains of crimsonto the gilt consoles, marble-topped _chiffonières_, and _fauteuils_"richly carved and gilt and covered with satin to correspond with thecurtains. "

This, although Lady Blessington little dreamt it, was to be the lastlavish evidence of her lord's devotion to his beautiful wife; for, before they had been many months back in England the Earl died suddenlyin the prime of his days. Large as his fortune had been, the last fewyears of extravagance had made such inroads in it that all that was leftof his £30, 000 a year was an annual income of £600, which went to hisillegitimate son. Fortunately the Countess's jointure of £2, 000 a yearwas secure; and on this income Lady Blessington was able to face thefuture with a heart as light as it could be after such a bereavement;for, eccentric as her husband had been, and in some ways almostcontemptible, she had loved him dearly for the great and touching lovewith which he had always surrounded her. 

It was during her early years of widowhood that her ladyship turned forsolace, and also for additional revenue to support the extravagancewhich had now become second nature, to her pen, in which she quicklyfound a small mine of welcome gold. Her "Books of Beauty" and "Gems ofBeauty" were an instantaneous success--they made a strong appeal to theflowery sentiment of the time, and sold in tens of thousands of copies. Her "Conversations with Byron, " a record of those halcyon days at Genoa, fed the curiosity which then invested the most romantic of poets with aglamour which survives to our day; and her novels and gossipy books oftravel were hailed in succession by an eager public of readers. 

In these years of prolific literary labour she was able to double herjointure, and to maintain much of the splendour to which she had becomeso accustomed. Even her literary children were cradled in luxury on a_fauteuil_ of yellow satin, in a library crowded with sumptuous couchesand ottomans, enamel tables and statutary. To her house in Seamore Placeher beauty and fame drew the most eminent men in England, from Lawrenceand Lyndhurst to Lytton and young Disraeli, gorgeous as his hostess, ingold-flowered waistcoat, gold rings and chains, white stick with blacktassel, and his shower of ringlets. 

But the Seamore Place house proved too cabined and too modest for mylady's exacting social ambition. She demanded a more spacious andmagnificent shrine for her beauty, which was still so remarkable thatshe was considered the loveliest woman at the Court of George III. Whenwell advanced in the forties--and this she found at Gore House, inKensington, a stately mansion in which Wilberforce had made his home, and which, surrounded by beautiful gardens and shut in with a girdle ofspreading trees, might have been in the heart of the country, instead ofwithin sight of the tide of fashion which flowed in Hyde Park. 

Here for thirteen years, with the handsome, gay, accomplished d'Orsay, who had separated from his wife, as major-domo, she dispensed a princelyhospitality. Her dinners and her entertainments were admittedly thefinest in London; and invitations to them were as eagerly sought ascommands to a Court-ball. 

"At Gore House, " said Brougham, "one is sure to meet some of the mostinteresting people in England, and equally sure not to have a dullmoment. " Brougham was himself a constant and a welcome guest, and themen he met there ranged from Prince Louis Napoleon, then an exilewithout a prospect of a crown, and the Duke of Wellington to AlbertSmith and Douglas Jerrold--so wide was the net of Lady Blessington'shospitality. And all paid the same glowing tribute, not only to theirhostess's loveliness but to the warmth of heart, which was one of hergreatest charms. And of all the great ones who sat at her dinner-tableor thronged her drawing-rooms not one was wittier or more fascinatingthan Count d'Orsay, who, in spite of envious and malicious tongues, never occupied to the Countess any other relation than that of adearly-loved and devoted son. 

Although Lady Blessington's income rarely fell below £4, 000 a year, itwas quite inadequate to her expenditure; and it was clear to her thatthis era of splendid hospitality could not last for ever. A day ofreckoning was sure to come; and it came sooner than she had anticipated. D'Orsay, who seems to have been even more careless of money than hismother-in-law, plunged deeper and deeper in debt--some of it, at least, incurred in helping to keep up the Gore House _ménage_--until he foundhimself at last face to face with liabilities far exceeding £100, 000, and besieged with duns and bailiffs. Once he was arrested at the suit ofa bootmaker, and was rescued from prison by Lady Blessington'srapidly-emptying purse. The climax came when a sheriff's officersmuggled himself into Gore House, and brought down on d'Orsay's head anavalanche of angry creditors, each resolute to have his "pound offlesh. " The Countess was powerless to stem the invasion; her ownresources were at an end, the Count himself was penniless. The onlysafety was in flight; and one day Gore House was found empty. The birdshad flown to Paris; and the mansion which had been the scene of so muchmagnificence was left to the mercy of a horde of clamorous creditors. 

A few weeks later, all "the costly and elegant effects of the RightHonourable, the Countess of Blessington, retiring to the Continent" wereput up to auction; and twenty thousand curious people were pouringthrough the rooms which her gorgeous ladyship had made so famous--amongthem Thackeray, who was moved to tears at the spectacle of so muchgoodness and greatness reduced to ruin. The sale, although many of theeffects brought absurdly low prices, realised £12, 000--a smaller sumprobably than would be paid to-day for half-a-dozen of the Countess'spictures. 

This crushing blow to her fortunes and her pride no doubt broke LadyBlessington's heart; for within a few months of the last fall of theauctioneer's hammer, she died suddenly in Paris, to the unspeakablegrief of d'Orsay, who declared to the Countess's physician, Madden, "Shewas to me a mother! a dear, dear mother--a true, loving mother to me. "Three years later this "paragon of all the perfections" followed theCountess behind the veil, and rests in a mausoleum, of his owndesigning, at Chamboury, with one of the most lovely women who have evergraced beauty with rare gifts of mind and with a warm and tender heart. 

CHAPTER IX

A QUEEN OF COQUETTES

The 29th of May in the year 1660 was indeed a red-letter day in thecalendar of jovial fox-hunting Squire Jennings, of Sandridge, inHertfordshire. It was the day on which his Royal idol, the secondCharles, set out from Canterbury on the last stage of the journey to hiscrown. Mounted on his horse, caparisoned in purple and gold, at the headof a gay cavalcade of retainers, he rode proudly through the Kentishlanes and villages: through avenues of wildly-cheering crowds, flingingsweet may-blossoms and flowers under his horse's feet, and waving greenboughs over their heads in a frenzy of welcome. 

[Illustration: SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH]

And it was on this very day, as the "Merrie Monarch" was riding underthe flowery arches and fluttering pennons of London streets, to theclanging of joy-bells and the thundering of cannon, with a processiontwenty thousand strong behind him, that Squire Jennings' daughter firstopened her eyes on the world in which, though her simple-minded fatherlittle dreamt it, she was destined to play so brilliant a part. Nobirthday could have been more auspicious than this which saw therestoration of a nation's hope; and the sun which flooded it withsplendour was typical of the good fortune that was to gild the life-pathof the Sandridge baby. 

If on that day Squire Richard had been told that his baby-girl wouldlive to wear a Duchess's coronet and to be the bosom-friend andcounsellor of a Queen of England, he would have laughed aloud; and yetFate had this and more in waiting for Sarah Jennings in the years tocome. The Squire himself professed to be no more than a plaincountry-gentleman, who knew as much as any man about horses and themanagement of acres, but knew no more of courts and coronets than of theman in the moon. 

His family, it is true, had been seated for generations on its broadHertfordshire lands, and his father had been dubbed a Knight of the Bathwhen the Prince of Wales, later Charles I. , himself received theaccolade. His mother, too, was a Thornhurst, of Agnes Court, Old Romney, a family of old lineage and high respectability; but, apart from SirJohn, no Jennings had ever aspired even as high as a mere knighthood, and certainly they were as far removed from coronets as from the NorthPole. 

Squire Jennings had another daughter, Frances, at this time a winsomelittle maid of eight summers, already showing promise of a rareloveliness. And she, too, was destined to a career, almost as brilliantas, and more adventurous than that of her baby-sister. Her story openedwhen one day she was transported, as maid-of-honour to the Duchess ofYork, from the modest home in Hertfordshire to the glamour andsplendours of the Royal Court, where her beauty dazzled all eyes. 

The Duke of York himself lost his heart at sight of her, and turned onher the battery of his sighs and smiles, his ogling and flatteringspeeches. When she met his advances with coldness, he bombarded her withnotes "containing the tenderest expressions and most magnificentpromises, " slipping them into her pocket or muff, as opportunity served;but the disdainful beauty dropped the _billets-doux_ on the floor forany one to read who chose to pick them up, until at last the Royal loverwas compelled to abandon the pursuit in despair. 

James's brother, the King, made violent love to her; and every Courtgallant, from the Duke of Buckingham to Henry Jermyn, the richest beauin England, fluttered round her beauty like moths around a candle. How, after many romantic vicissitudes, Frances Jennings gave her heart andhand to Dick Talbot, the handsomest man in the British Isles; how sheraised him to a Dukedom, and, as Duchess of Tyrconnel, queened it asVicereine of Ireland; and how, in later life, she sank from this dizzypinnacle to such depths of poverty that for a time she was thankful tosell tapes and ribbons in the New Exchange bazaar in the Strand, is oneof the most romantic stories in the annals of our Peerage. 

While Frances Jennings was coquetting with coronets and playing themadcap at the Court of Whitehall, Sarah was growing to girlhood in herrustic environment in Hertfordshire, more interested in her pony and hertoys than in all the baubles that made up the life of that very finelady her sister, and giving no thought to her beauty, to which each daywas adding its touch of grace. But she was not long to remain in suchinnocence; for one day when she was still but a child of twelve hersister came in a splendid Court carriage, and took her off to London, where a very different life awaited her. 

She was not, it is true, to move like Frances in the splendid circle ofthe Throne, though she was to be on its fringe and to catch many aglimpse of it. Her more modest _rôle_ was to be playfellow and companionof the Duke of York's younger daughter, Anne--a shy, backward child, afew years younger than herself, who suffered from an affection of theeyes, which practically closed books and the ordinary avenues ofeducation to her. 

To such a child cradled in a palace and hedged round by ceremonial, Sarah Jennings, with the superabundant health and vitality of acountry-bred girl, was an ideal playmate; and before many days hadpassed the timid, clinging Princess was the very slave of the vivacious, romping, strong-willed daughter of the squire. Thus was begun that unionbetween the strong and the weak, which in later years was to make Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, virtual Queen of England, while her childishplayfellow, Anne, wore the crown. 

It was under such conditions that Sarah Jennings blossomed rapidly intoyoung womanhood--little less lovely than her ravishing sister, butinfinitely more dowered with strength of mind and character--animperious young lady, with the cleverest brain and tongue, and the mostinflexible will within the circle of the Court. 

While Sarah was playing with her Royal charge in the Palace nursery, John Churchill, son of a West Country knight, whose life was to be soclosely linked with hers, had already climbed several rungs of theladder at the summit of which he was to find a Duke's coronet. He hadmade his first appearance at Court while she was still in the cradle atSandridge; and although, no doubt, she had caught many a glimpse of thehandsome young courtier and favourite of the King, in her eyes he movedin a world apart, as far removed by his splendid environment as by histen years' superiority in age. 

John Churchill was, at least, no better born than herself. He was son ofone Winston Churchill, of a stock of West Country gentry, who had flungaside his cap and gown at Oxford to wield a sword for King Charles; andwho, when Cromwell took the fallen reins of government into his ownhands, was made to pay a heavy price for his loyalty by the forfeitureof his lands and a fine of £4, 000. When Charles I. 's son came to hisown, Winston's star shone again; his acres were restored, he was dubbeda knight, and was rewarded with well-paid offices under the Crown. Moreover, a place at Court, as page-boy, was found for his young sonJohn; and another, as maid-of-honour to the Duchess of York, for hisdaughter Arabella. 

From the day young Churchill entered the service of James, Duke of York, Fortune smiled her sweetest on him. The Duke was captivated by the boy'shandsome face, his intelligence and charming manners, and took him atonce into favour. By the time he was sixteen he was a full-blown officerof the Guards, and the idol of the Court. His good looks, his graces ofperson, and powers of fascinating wrought sad havoc in the breast ofmany a Court-lady; and, boy though he was, there were few favours whichmight not have been his without the asking. 

Even Barbara Villiers, my Lady Castlemaine, who had for many years beenthe King's "light o' love, " and had borne him three sons, allDukes-to-be, cast amorous eyes on the handsome young Guardsman; and, what is more, succeeded where beauty failed, in drawing him within thenet of her coarse, middle-aged charms. Strange stories are told of thelove-making of this oddly-assorted pair, which had a ludicrousconclusion. One day King Charles was informed that if he would take thetrouble to go to Lady Castlemaine's rooms he would be rewarded by asingular spectacle--that of young Churchill dallying with his mistressand the mother of his children. And so it proved; for when the King madean unexpected appearance he was just in time to see thelieutenant-Lothario disappearing through an open window and hisinamorata on the verge of hysterics on a sofa. 

One cannot blame the "Merrie Monarch" for deciding that such activitieswere better fitted for another field of exercise. The young Lothario waspacked off to Tangier to cool his ardour by a little bloodshed; butbefore he went Lady Castlemaine handed him a farewell present of £5, 000with which, according to Lord Chesterfield, "he immediately bought anannuity of £500 a year of my grandfather Halifax, which was thefoundation of his subsequent fortune. "

A young man so enterprising and so gifted by nature could scarcely failto go far, when his energies were directed into a suitable channel. Heproved that he could serve under the banner of Mars as gallantly asunder the pennon of Cupid. He did such doughty deeds against the Dutch, under Monmouth, that he was made a Captain of Grenadiers. At the siegeof Nimeguen his reckless bravery won the unstinted praise of Turenne, who, when one of his own officers cowardly abandoned an importantoutpost, exclaimed, "I will bet a supper and a dozen of claret that myhandsome Englishman will recover the post with half the number of menthat the officer commanded who has lost it. " And the "handsomeEnglishman" promptly won the supper for the Marshal. Moreover, by an actof splendid daring, during the siege of Maestricht he saved the Duke ofMonmouth's life; and returned to England a hero and a colonel, havingthoroughly purged his indiscretion in Lady Castlemaine's boudoir. If hehad toyed dangerously with the King's mistress, he had at least savedthe life of his Sovereign's best-loved son. 

It was at this time that Churchill seems to have first set eyes on SarahJennings, now standing on the verge of womanhood, and as sweet a floweras the Court garden of fair girls could show. He saw her moving withqueenly grace and dainty freshness among a crowd of the loveliest womenat a Royal ball, her proud well-poised head rising above them as a lilytowers over meaner flowers. And--such are the strange ways of love--fromthat first glance he was fascinated by her as no other woman ever hadpower to fascinate him. When he sought an introduction to her, thebright spirit that shone in her eyes, her clever tongue, and hergraciousness quickly forged the chains which he was proud to wear to hislife's end. Seldom has a woman's spell worked such quick magic--neverhas the love it gave birth to proved more loyal and enduring. 

But Sarah Jennings was no maid to be easily won by any man--even by alover so dowered with physical graces and so invested with the halo ofromance as John Churchill. She knew all about his heroism onbattlefields; she knew also of that little incident in a palace boudoir, and of many another youthful peccadillo of the gallant young colonel. She was no flower to be worn and flung aside; and she meant that ColonelChurchill should know it. She could be gracious to him, as to any otherman; but she quickly made the limits of her indulgence clear. To all hisamorous advances she presented a smiling and inscrutable front; hisardour was as unwelcome as it was premature. 

Had she designed to make a conquest of her martial lover she could nothave set to work more diplomatically. Colonel Churchill had basked foryears in woman's smiles, often unsought and undesired; to coldness andindifference he was a stranger; but they only served, as becomes asoldier, to make him more resolute on victory. As a subtle tongue and ahandsome person made no impression on this frigid beauty, he hadrecourse to his pen (since his sword was useless for such a conquest)and inundated her with letters, breathing undying devotion, and cravingfor at least a smile or a look of kindness. 

 "Show me, " he writes, "that, at least, you are not quite indifferent to me, and I swear that I will never love anything but your dear self, which has made so sure a conquest of me that, had I the will, I had not the power ever to break my chains. Pray let me hear from you and know if I shall be so happy as to see you to-night. "

But to all his protestations and appeals she returns no response. If sheis deaf to the pleadings of love she must, he determined, at least givehim her pity. He writes to tell her that he is "extreme ill with theheadache, " and craves a word of sympathy, as a beggar craves a crust. Hevows, in his pain, "by all that is good I love you so well that I wish from my soul that if you cannot love me, I may die, for life could be to me one perpetual torment. If the Duchess, " he adds, "sees company I hope you will be there; but if she does not, I beg you will then let me see you in your chamber, if it be but for one hour. If you are not in the drawing-room you must then send me word at what hour I shall come. "

At last the iceberg thaws a little--though it is only to charge him withunkindness! She assumes the _rôle_ of virtue; and, with a woman'scapriciousness, charges her lover with the coldness and neglect whichshe herself has visited on him. 

 "Your not writing to me, " she says, "made me very uneasy, for I was afraid it was want of kindness in you, which I am sure I will never deserve by any action of mine. "

Was ever wayward woman so unjust? For weeks Churchill had been delugingher with ardent letters, to which she had not deigned to answer oneword. Now she assumes an air of injured innocence, and accuses _him_ ofunkindness! She even promises to see him, but cannot resist thetemptation to qualify the concession with a gibe. 

 "That would hinder you, " she says, with delicious, if cruel satire, "from seeing the play, which I fear would be a great affliction to you, and increase the pain in your head, which would be out of anybody's power to ease until the next new play. Therefore, pray consider; and, without any compliment to me, send me word if you can come to me without any prejudice to your health. "

At any rate, the Sphinx had spoken and shown that she had some feeling, if only that of pique and unreason; and the despairing lover was able totake a little heart. After all, coquetry, even if carried to the vergeof cruelty, holds more promise than Arctic coldness. 

But the course of love, which could scarcely be said to have even begun, was not to run at all smoothly. Sir Winston Churchill had set his hearton his son marrying a gilded bride, and he had discovered the very womanfor his ambitious purpose--one Catherine Sedley, daughter of his oldfriend Sir Charles Sedley, a lady, no longer quite young, angular andunattractive, but heiress to much gold and many broad acres. And he lostno time in impressing on his handsome boy the necessity of such analliance. Pretty maids-of-honour were all very well to practiselove-making on; but land and money-bags far outlast and outshinepenniless beauty. 

For a few undecided weeks the lure seemed to attract Churchill, coupledthough it was with the death of his romance. He dallied with thetemptation as far as the stage of marriage-settlements; and rumour hadit that the match was as good as made. Handsome Jack Churchill was tomarry an elderly and gilded spinster, and to mount on her money-bags togreatness!

No sooner had these rumours reached the ear of Sarah Jennings than sheflew into a towering rage. "Marry a shocking creature for money!" sheraved; "and this was what all his passionate protestations of loveamounted to!" Sitting down in her anger she poured out the vials of herwrath on her treacherous swain, bidding him wed his gold. 

 "As for seeing you, " she wrote, "I am resolved I never will in private or in public if I can help it; and, as for the last, I fear it will be some time before I can order so as to be out of your way of seeing me. But surely you must confess that you have been the falsest creature upon earth to me. I must own that I believe I shall suffer a great deal of trouble; but I will bear it, and give God thanks, though too late I see my error. "

Never had maid been so cruelly treated by man! After spurning Churchillfor months, returning nothing to his ardour and homage but a disdainfulshoulder or a gibe, the moment he dares to turn his eyes on any otherdivinity she is the most outraged woman who ever staked happiness on aman's constancy. But at least her anger served the purpose of bringingChurchill back to his allegiance more promptly than smiles could havedone. He, who had never yielded a foot to an enemy on the field ofbattle, quailed before the tornado of his lady's anger. He broke off thenegotiations for his marriage with Miss Sedley, who quickly found asolace in the Duke of York's arms in spite of her lack of beauty, andcame back to the feet of his outraged lady on bended knees. 

But if she was coy and cold before, she was unapproachable now. In vaindid he vow that he had never ceased to love her more than life--that headored her even more now in her anger than in her indifference. 

 "I vow to God, " he wrote, "you do so entirely possess my thoughts that I think of nothing else in this world but your dear self. I do not, by all that is good, say this that I think it will move you to pity me, for I do despair of your love, but it is to let you see how unjust you are, and that I must ever love you as long as I have breath, do what you will. I do not expect in return that you should either write or speak to me. I beg that you will give me leave to do what I cannot help, which is to adore you as long as I live; and in return I will study how I may deserve, though not have, your love. "

Was ever lover more abject, or ever maid so hard of heart, at least inseeming? To this pathetic effusion, which ought to have melted the heartof, and at least wrung forgiveness from, a sphinx, she retorted that hehad merely written it to amuse himself, and to "make her think that hehad an affection for her when she was assured he had none. " At last, however, importunity tells its tale. She consents to see him; but warnshim that

 "if it be only to repeat those things which you have said so often, I shall think you the worst of men and the most ungrateful; and 'tis to no purpose to imagine that I will be made ridiculous to the world. "

Still again she gave signs of thawing. To his next letter, in which hewrote:

 "I do love and adore you with all my heart and soul, so much that by all that is good, I do and ever will be better pleased with your happiness than my own, "

she answered:

 "If it were sure that you have that passion for me which you say you have, you would find out some way to make yourself happy--it is in your power. Therefore press me no more to see you, since it is what I cannot in honour approve of; and if I have done so much, be as good as to consider who was the cause of it. "

At last Churchill had received a crumb of real encouragement. Even theveriest poltroon in love must take heart at such words as these--"youwould find out some way to make yourself happy--_it is in your power_. "And it was with a light step and buoyant heart that he went thefollowing day to the Duchess's drawing-room to pursue in person theadvantage her letter suggested. But the very moment he entered the roomby one door his capricious mistress left it by the other; and when, inhis anger at such cavalier treatment, he wrote to ask the meaning of it, and if she did not think it impertinent, she left him in no doubt byanswering that she did it "that I may be freed from the trouble of everhearing from you more!"

Once more Churchill, just as he had begun to hope again, was relegatedto the shades of despair. She refused to speak to him, she avoided himin a manner so marked that it became the talk of the Court, and broughther lover into ridicule. To such extremity was he reduced that heactually wrote to her maid to beg her intercession. 

 "Your mistress's usage to me is so barbarous that sure she must be the worst woman in the world, or else she would not be thus ill-natured. I have sent her a letter which I desire you will give her. I do love her with all my soul, but will not torment her; but if I cannot have her love I shall despise her pity. For the sake of what she has already done, let her read my letter and answer it, and not use me thus like a footman. "

In her reply to this letter Sarah assumed again an air of woundedinnocence. She had done nothing, she declared, with tears in her pen, todeserve what he had written to her; and since he evidently had such apoor opinion of her she was angry that she had too good a one of him. 

 "If I had as little love as yourself, I have been told enough of you to make me hate you, and then I believe I should have been more happy than I am like to be now. However, " she continued, "if you can be so well contented never to see me, as I think you can by what you say, I will believe you, though I have not other people. "

No wonder the poor man was driven to his wits' end by such varied andcontradictory moods. After avoiding him for weeks in the most marked andmerciless manner she charges him with "being content never to see her. "Although she had never uttered or penned a syllable of love in returnfor his reams of passionate protestations, she taunts him with havingless love than herself! Was ever woman so hard to woo or to understand, or lover so patient under so much provocation?

She further accused him of laughing at her when he was "at the Duke'sside, " to which he retorted "I was so far from that, that had it notbeen for shame I could have cried. " She even swore that it was he whoavoided _her_; and he proves to her that he had followed her elusiveshadow everywhere, and had even "made his chair follow him, because Iwould see if there was any light in your chamber, but I saw none. "

But even this arch-coquette recognised that the most devoted lover'sforbearance has its bounds, and she was much too clever a woman tostrain them too far. When she had brought him to the verge of suicide byher moods and vapours she saw that the time of surrender had come; andwhen her lover's arm was at last around her waist and her head on hisshoulder, she vowed that she had never ceased to love him from thefirst, and that she had never meant to be unkind!

Thus it came to pass that one winter's day in 1677, at St James'sPalace, John Churchill led his bride to the altar, which proved theportal to one of the happiest wedded lives that have ever fallen to thelot of mortals. How little, at that crowning moment, Sarah Churchillcould have foreseen those distant days of the future, when she was leftto walk alone the last stage of life, in which she would read andre-read, with tear-dimmed eyes, the faded letters which her coldness hadwrung from her lover in the flood-tide of his passion and his despair. 

CHAPTER X

THE ADVENTURES OF A VISCOUNT'S DAUGHTER

When the Hon. Mary King first opened her eyes in Cork County late in theeighteenth century, her parents, who already had a "quiverful" ofoffspring, could little have foreseen the tragic chapter in the familyannals in which this infant was to play the leading part. Had they doneso, they might almost have been pardoned for wishing that she might diein her cradle, a blossom of innocence, before the blighting hand of Fatecould sully her. 

Her father, Robert, Viscount Kingsborough, was heir to the Earldom ofKingston, and member of a family which had held its head high, andpreserved an untarnished 'scutcheon since its founder, Sir John King, won Queen Elizabeth's favour by his zeal in suppressing the Irishrebellion. All its men had been honourable, all its women pure; and itwas not until Mary King came on the scene that this fair repute was everin danger. 

Not that there was anything vicious in Lord Kingsborough's youngdaughter. She was the victim of a weak nature and a lover asunscrupulous as he was handsome and clever. She grew up in theMitchelstown nursery--one of a dozen brothers and sisters--a wholesome, merry, mischievous girl, with no great pretensions to beauty, but withthe fresh charms, the dancing grey eyes, and brown hair (which, in itsluxuriant abundance, was her chief glory) of a daughter of Ireland. 

Among those whom her bright nature and winsome ways captivated was oneHenry Gerald Fitzgerald, the natural son of her mother's brother, andthus her cousin by blood, if not by law. Fitzgerald, who was many yearsMary's senior--indeed, at the time this story really opens, he was amarried man--had been brought up by Lady Kingsborough as one of herchildren. He had been the companion of Mary's elder brothers, and Mary's"big playfellow" when she was still nursing her dolls. He was, moreover, a young man of remarkable physical gifts--tall, of splendid figure, andstrikingly handsome. It is thus small wonder that the child made a heroof him long before she had emerged from short frocks. When she grew intoyoung womanhood Fitzgerald's attentions to her grew still more marked. He was her constant companion on walks and rides, her partner atdances--in fact, her shadow everywhere, until even her unsuspectingparents began to grow alarmed. 

One summer day in 1797, when the Kingsborough family were spending a fewweeks by the Thames-side, near Fitzgerald's home at Bishopsgate, theblow fell. Miss King disappeared, leaving behind her a note to theeffect that she intended to drown herself in the Thames. Her family andfriends were distracted. The river was dragged, but no trace of themissing girl was found. On the river bank, however, were discovered herbonnet and shawl, mute witnesses to the fate that seemed to haveovertaken her. Her father alone refused to believe that his daughter hadended her life tragically. He persisted in his search for her, and wassoon rewarded by a clue which threw a different and more ominous lighton her fate. 

From a postboy he learned that a young lady, answering exactly to thedescription of his daughter, had been driven, in the company of ahandsome man, to London, where they had walked off arm in arm together. In London they had vanished; and advertisements and placards offeringlarge rewards failed to discover a trace of them. Then it was that LordKingsborough's suspicions fixed themselves firmly on Fitzgerald. He andno other must have been the scoundrel who had done this dastardlydeed--a shameful return for all the kindness lavished on him by thefamily of the girl he had abducted. 

When his lordship sought Fitzgerald out, and charged him with hisinfamy, he was met with open surprise and honest indignation. So farfrom being the guilty man, Fitzgerald avowed the utmost disgust at thedeed, and declared that he would know no rest until the girl had beenrestored to her parents, and the miscreant properly punished. And fromthis time no one appeared to be more zealous in the search for therunaway than her abductor. 

For weeks all their efforts to trace the fugitive proved of no avail, until one day a girl of the lower-classes called on Lady Kingsborough, to whom she told the following strange tale. She was, she said, servantat a boarding-house in Kennington, to which, some weeks earlier (infact, at the very time of the disappearance), a gentleman had brought ayoung lady who answered to the advertised description of the missinggirl, especially in her profusion of beautiful hair, which fell belowthe knees. The gentleman, she continued, often visited the girl. 

"It must be my daughter!" exclaimed Lady Kingsborough. "But who is thegentleman? Pray describe him as fully as you can. " "He is tall andhandsome----" began the girl. At that moment the door opened, and inwalked Fitzgerald himself. "Why, " exclaimed the servant, as withstartled eyes she looked at the intruder, "that's the very gentleman whovisits the lady!"

For once Fitzgerald's coolness deserted him. At the damning words heturned and dashed out of the room, thus confirming the worst suspicionsagainst him. The rage and indignation of the injured family wereboundless. Such an outrage could only be wiped out with blood, andwithin an hour Colonel King, elder brother of the wronged girl, calledon Fitzgerald, with Major Wood as second, struck him on the cheek, anddemanded a meeting on the following morning. 

The next day at dawn the duellists met near the Magazine in Hyde Park, Colonel King bringing with him his second and a surgeon. Fitzgerald camealone. He had been unable to find a friend to accompany him. Even thesurgeon, when requested, point blank refused to undertake thedishonourable office of second to such a miscreant. The combatants wereplaced ten yards apart, and, at the signal, two shots rang out. Neitherman was touched. Again and again shots were exchanged, and both menremained uninjured. 

After the fourth ineffectual exchange Major Wood tried to make peacebetween the duellists. But Colonel King turned a deaf ear alike to hissecond and to Fitzgerald, to whom he said: "You are a ---- villain, andI will not hear a word you have to offer!" Once more the duellists tookup their positions, three more shots were exchanged without the leasteffect, and, as Fitzgerald's ammunition was now exhausted, thecombatants left the ground, after making another appointment for thenext day. The next day, however, both were placed temporarily under lockand key, to prevent a further breach of the peace. 

Meanwhile, the unhappy girl had been rescued from the Kenningtonlodging-house, and taken back to the family seat at Mitchelstown, whereat least she ought to be safe from further harm from the scoundrellyFitzgerald. The Kings, however, had not reckoned on the desperate, vindictive nature of the man, who was now more resolute than ever to getMary into his power. 

Disguising himself, he journeyed to Cork, carrying the fight into theenemy's camp. He took up his quarters at the Mitchelstown Inn to develophis plans for a second abduction. But in his scheming Fitzgerald hadliterally "bargained without his host, " who chanced to be an old trustedretainer of the King family, and who from the first was not a littlesuspicious of the strange guest, who kept so mysteriously indoors allday and walked abroad at night. 

No honest man would act in this secretive way, he thought. There hadbeen strange "goings-on" lately; and the least he could do was tocommunicate his fears to Lord Kingsborough, in case his guest should be"up to some mischief. " His lordship, who was away from home, hurriedback to Mitchelstown, convinced, from the description, that thesuspected man was none other than Fitzgerald himself, and arrived at theinn only to discover that the bird had already flown. 

Luckily, it was no difficult matter to trace the fugitive in the wildsof County Cork. The postboy who had driven him was easily found, andfrom him it was learnt that the stranger had been put down at theKilworth Hotel. There was no time to be lost. Jumping on to his horse, Lord Kingsborough accompanied by his son, the Colonel, raced as fast asspurs and whip could take him to Kilworth, and demanded to see thenewly-arrived guest at the hotel. A waiter, despatched to the guest'sroom, returned with the announcement that his door was locked, and thathe refused to see any one. But the pursuers had heard and recognised thevoice through the closed door. It was Fitzgerald himself. 

Bursting with rage and indignation, father and son rushed up the stairsand demanded that Fitzgerald should come out. When he refused withoaths, they broke in the door--and found themselves face to face with abrace of pistols. Before they could be used, however, Colonel King, stooping suddenly, made a dash at Fitzgerald, closed with him, and wasat once engaged in a life and death struggle. Backward and forward thecombatants swayed, straining every muscle to bring their pistols intoplay for the fatal shot. By an almost superhuman effort, Fitzgerald atlast wrested his right arm free. His pistol was pointed at the Colonel'shead. But before he could press the trigger, a shot rang out, and hefell back dead, shot through the heart. Lord Kingsborough had killed hisdaughter's betrayer to save his son's life. 

The news of the tragedy flew throughout the country, in all thedistorted forms that such news assumes on passing from mouth to mouth. But wherever it travelled--from the shebeens of Connemara to thecoffee-houses of Cheapside--it carried with it a wave of compassion forthe assassin and execration for his victim. As for Lord Kingsborough, heconfessed to a friend: "God knows, I don't know how I did it; but I wishit had been done by some other hand than mine!"

As was inevitable, the Viscount and his son were arrested on a charge ofmurder. Colonel King was tried at the Cork Assizes, and acquitted to asalvo of deafening cheers, as there was no prosecution. For LordKingsborough a different escape was reserved. Before he could bebrought to trial at Cork, his father, the Earl of Kingston, died, andthe Viscount became an Earl, with all the privileges of hisrank--including that of trial by his Peers. 

In May 1798, a month after his son's acquittal, Lord Kingston's trialtook place in the House of Lords, with all the state and ceremonyappropriate to this exalted tribunal. Preceded by the Masters inChancery, the judges in scarlet and ermine, by the minor lords and asmall army of eldest sons, the Peers filed in long and statelyprocession into the House, followed by the Lord High Steward, the Earlof Clare, walking alone in solitary dignity. 

Then began the trial, with all its quaint and dignified ceremonial; andRobert, Earl of Kingston, pleaded "Not Guilty, " and claimed to be tried"by God and my Peers. " But the trial, which drew thousands toWestminster, was of short duration. To the demand that "all manner ofpersons who will give evidence against the accused should come forth, "no response was given. Not a solitary witness for the Crown appeared. One by one the Peers pronounced their verdict, "Not Guilty, upon myhonour"; the Lord Steward broke his white staff; and amid a crowd ofcongratulating friends, the Earl walked out a free man. 

And what was the fate of Mary King, the cause, however innocent, of allthis tragedy? For her own sake, and for obvious reasons, it wasimportant that she should disappear for a time until the scandal hadsubsided; and with this object she was sent, under an assumed name, tojoin the family of a Welsh clergyman, not one of whom knew anything ofher story. Here, secluded from the world, and in a happy environment, she soon recovered her old health and gaiety. She was young; and youthis quick to find healing and forgetfulness. In the Welsh parsonage shemade herself beloved by her amiability and admired for her gifts ofmind. 

Among the latter was a talent for story-telling, with which she beguiledmany a long, winter evening. On one such evening she told the story ofher late tragic experiences, disguising it only by giving fictitiousnames to the characters. And she told the story with such power andpathos that, at its conclusion, her auditors were reduced to tears forthe maiden and execrations for her betrayer. 

Carried away by the excitement of the moment and the effect she hadproduced, she exclaimed: "I, myself, am the person for whom you expresssuch sorrow. " Then, horrified by her indiscretion, she added: "And now, I suppose, you will drive me from your home. " But such was not to beMary King's fate. The clergyman, who was a widower, had already almostlost his heart to her charms; and her sufferings made his conquestcomplete. A few weeks later the bells rang merrily out when Mary Kingbecame the wife of her kindly host; and for many a long year there wasno one more beloved or happy in all Wales than the parson's wife, whohad thus romantically come through the storm into a haven of peace. 

CHAPTER XI

A SIXTEENTH-CENTURY ELOPEMENT

In the latter days of Queen Elizabeth there was no merchant in Englandbetter known or held in higher repute than Sir John Spencer, theRothschild or Rockefeller of his day, whose shrewdness and industry hadraised him to the Chief Magistrateship of the City of London. 

From the day on which John Spencer fared from his country home to Londonin quest of gold, Fortune seems to have smiled sweetly and consistentlyon him. All his capital was robust health and a determination tosucceed; and so profitably did he turn it to account that within a fewyears of emerging from his 'prentice days he was a master of men, with abusiness of his own, and striding manfully towards his goal of wealth. Everything he touched seemed to "turn to gold"; before he had reachedmiddle-age he was known far beyond the city-walls as "Rich Spencer"; andby the time his Lord Mayoralty drew near he was able to instal himselfin a splendour more befitting a Prince than a citizen, in Crosby Hall, which a century earlier Stow had described as "very large andbeautiful, and the highest at that time in London. "

Indeed, Crosby Hall, ever since the worthy alderman, whose name it bore, had raised its walls late in the fifteenth century, had been the moststately mansion in the city, and had had a succession of famous tenants. When Sir John Crosby left it for his splendid tomb in the Church of StHelen's, it was for a time the palace of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, inwhich, to quote Sir Thomas More, "he lodged himself, and little bylittle all folks drew unto him, so that the Protector's Court wascrowded and King Henry's left desolate"; and it was in one of itsmagnificent rooms that Richard was offered, and was pleased to accept, the Crown of England. 

Shakespeare, who lived in St Helen's in 1598, knew Crosby Hall well, andhas immortalised it in "Richard III. "; Queen Elizabeth was feasted morethan once within its hospitable walls, and trod more than one measurethere with Raleigh. For seven years it was the home of Sir Thomas Morewhen he was Treasurer of the Exchequer; and, to his friend and successoras tenant, More sent that affecting farewell letter, written in theTower with a piece of charcoal, the night before his execution. Such wasthe historic and splendid home in which "Rich Spencer" dispensedhospitality as Lord Mayor of London in the year 1594. 

Not content with the lordliest mansion in London Sir John must also havehis house in the country, to which he could repair for periods ofleisure and rest from his money-making; and this he found in CanonburyTower, which he purchased, together with the manor, from Lord Wentworth. It is said that Sir John had a bargain in his purchase; but, in theevent, he narrowly escaped paying for it with his life. It seems thatthe news of "Rich Spencer's" wealth had travelled as far as theContinent, and there tempted the cupidity of a notorious Dunkirk pirate, who conceived the bold idea of kidnapping the merchant and holding himto a heavy ransom. How the attempt was made, and how providentially itfailed is told by Papillon. 

 "Rich men, " says this chronicler, "are commonly the prey of thieves; for where store of gold and silver is, there spirits never leave haunting, for wheresoever the carcass is, there will eagles be gathered together. In Queen Elizabeth's days, a pirate of Dunkirk laid a plot with twelve of his mates to carry away Sir John Spencer, which, if he had done, £50, 000 ransom had not redeemed him. He came over the sea in a shallop with twelve musketeers, and in the night came into Barking Creek, and left the shallop in the custody of six of his men; and with the other six came as far as Islington, and there hid themselves in ditches near the path in which Sir John came always to his house. But by the providence of God--I have this from a private record--Sir John, upon some extraordinary occasion, was forced to stay in London that night; otherwise they had taken him away; and they, fearing they should be discovered, in the night-time came to their shallop, and so came safe to Dunkirk again. This, " adds Papillon, "was a desperate attempt. "

But proud as Sir John Spencer was of his money-bags, he was prouderstill of his only child, Elizabeth, heiress to his vast wealth, who, asshe grew to womanhood, developed a beauty of face and figure and gracesof mind which pleased the merchant more than all his gold. So fair wasshe that Queen Elizabeth, on one of her many progressions through thecity, attracted by her sparkling eyes and beautiful face at a Cheapsidewindow, stopped her carriage, summoned her to her presence, and, pattingher blushing cheeks, vowed that she had "the sweetest face I have seenin my City of London. "

That a maiden so dowered with charms and riches should have an army ofsuitors in her train was inevitable. A lovely wife who would one dayinherit nearly a million of money was surely the most covetable prize inEngland; and, it is said, the bewitching heiress had more than onecoronet laid at her feet before she had well left her school-books. Butto all these offers, dazzling enough to a merchant's daughter, Elizabethturned a deaf, if dainty ear. "It is not me they want, " she wouldlaughingly say, "but my father's money. I shall live and die, like thegood Queen, my namesake, a maid. "

And so has many another much-sought maiden said in the pride of anuntouched heart; but to them as to her the "Prince Charming, " beforewhom all her defences crumble, comes at last. In Elizabeth Spencer'scase, the conquering prince was William, second Lord Compton, one of thehandsomest, most accomplished and fascinating young men in London. Inperson, as in position, he was alike unimpeachable--an ideal suitor towin even the richest heiress in England; and it is little wonder thatthe heart of the tradesman's daughter began to flutter, and her prettycheeks to flame when this gallant, whose conquests at the Royal Courtitself were notorious, began to pay marked homage to her charms. 

That his reputation in the field of love was none of the best, that hewas as prodigal as he was poor, mattered little to her--probably suchdefects made him all the more romantic in her eyes, and his attentionsall the more welcome. To Sir John, however, who was even more jealous ofhis treasure than of all his gold, the young lord's reputation and, above all, his poverty were fatal flaws in any would-be son-in-law ofhis. As soon as he realised the danger he put every obstacle in the wayof his daughter's silly romance, even to the extent, it is said, oflocking her in her room, and closing his door in the face of her lover. "If your reputation, my lord, were equal to your rank, " he told him inno ambiguous terms; "and if your fortune matched your family, I shouldhave naught to say against your suit. But as it is, I tell you frankly, I would rather see my girl dead than wedded to such as you. "

To his daughter's tears and pleading he was equally obdurate. She mightask anything else of him and he would grant it gladly, though it werehalf his wealth; but he would be unworthy to be her father if heencouraged such folly as this. But Spencer's daughter, when she foundconciliatory measures of no avail, proved that she had a will as strongas her father's; she told him to his face that with or without hissanction she meant to be my Lady Compton. "I will marry him, " shedeclared with flushed face and panting breast, "even if you make me abeggar. " "And that, madam, " the defied and furious father retorted, "Ican promise you I will do; for not a shilling of mine shall LordCompton's wife ever have. "

For a time the artful Elizabeth feigned submission to Sir John's anger;and he began to congratulate himself that this trouble at least, whatever others might follow, was at an end. But how little he knew hisdaughter, or her lover, the sequel proved. 

One day, a few weeks after Sir John's fierce ultimatum, a young baker, carrying a large flat-topped basket, called at his house, from which hesoon emerged, touching his cap to the merchant as he passed him in thegarden, and giving him a respectful "good day. " "A civil young man, " SirJohn said to himself, as he continued his promenade; "his face seemssomehow familiar to me. " And well might it be familiar; for the bakerwho gave him such a civil greeting was none other than the scapegrace, Compton; and inside the basket, which he carried so lightly, was themerchant's only daughter and heiress, whom her lover had taken thisdaring and unconventional way of abducting under the very nose of herparent. 

It was not long before Sir John's disillusionment came. His daughterwas nowhere to be seen; and none of his domestics knew of herwhereabouts. Alarm gave place to suspicion, and suspicion to furyagainst his child and against the young reprobate who, he felt sure, hadoutwitted him. Messengers were despatched in all directions in chase ofthe runaways; but the escapade had been much too cunningly planned tofail in execution. Before Sir John set eyes on his daughter again--nowbecomingly penitent--she had blossomed into the Baroness Compton, wifeof the last man her father would have desired to call his son-in-law. 

To "Rich Spencer" the blow was crushing, humiliating. It was bad enoughto be defied and outwitted, to be made a fool of by his own daughter;but to know that the treasure he had lost had fallen into suchundesirable hands was bitter beyond words. His home and his heart werealike desolate; and, in his despair and wrath, he vowed that he wouldnever own his daughter as his child, and that not one penny of hisshould ever go into the Compton coffers. 

In this mood of sullen, unforgiving anger Sir John remained for a fullyear; when to his surprise and delight he received a summons to attend, at Whitehall, on the Queen, whose graciousness during his mayoralty heremembered with pleasure and gratitude; and no man in England wasprouder or more pleased than he when, at the time appointed, he made hisbow to his Sovereign-Lady and kissed her hand. 

"I have summoned you, Sir John, " Her Majesty said, "to ask a greatfavour of you. I do not often stoop, as you know, to beg a favour ofany man; nor should I now, did I not know that I have no more dutifulsubject than yourself, and that to ask of you is to receive. I aminterested in two young people who have had the misfortune to marryagainst the wishes of the lady's father, and who have thus forfeited hisfavour. And I wish you to give me and the youthful couple pleasure bytaking his place and standing sponsor to their first child. "

To such a request made by his Sovereign Sir John could but give adelighted consent. He would do much more than this, he vowed, to giveher a moment's gratification; and he not only attended the baptismalceremony, but on the suggestion of the Queen, who was also present, allowed the child to bear his own Christian name. "More than this, yourMajesty, " he declared, "as I have now no child of my own, I will gladlyadopt this infant as my heir. "

"Your goodness of heart, Sir John, " Her Majesty answered, beaming withpleasure, "shall not go unrewarded; for the child you have now taken toyour heart and made inheritor of your wealth is indeed of your own fleshand blood--the first-born son of your daughter, and my friend, ElizabethCompton. "

Such was the dramatic plight into which "Rich Spencer's" loyalty andgenerosity had led him. He had innocently pledged himself to adopt ashis heir, the son of the daughter he had disowned for ever. "And now, Sir John, " continued the Queen, "that you have conceded so much to makeme happy, will you not go one step farther and take your wilful andpenitent daughter to your heart again?" What could the poor merchant doin such a predicament, when his Sovereign stooped to beg as a favourwhat his lonely heart yearned to grant? Before he was many minutes olderhe was clasping his child to his breast; and was even shaking hands withher graceless husband. 

 * * * * *

When, full of years, Sir John died in 1609, his obsequies were worthy ofhis wealth and fame. He was followed to his grave in St Helen's Churchby a thousand mourners, clad in black gowns; and three hundred andtwenty poor men, we are told, "had each a basket given them, containinga black gown, four pounds of beef, two loaves of bread, a little bottleof wine, a candlestick, a pound of candles, two saucers, two spoons, ablack pudding, a pair of gloves, a dozen points, two red herrings, fourwhite herrings, six sprats and two eggs"--a quaint and lavish symbol ofhis charity when alive. 

So enormous was the fortune he left, that it is said Lord Compton, onhearing its amount (£800, 000) "became distracted, and so continued for aconsiderable length of time, either through the vehement apprehension ofjoy for such a plentiful succession, or of carefulness how to take upand dispense of it. "

That my Lady Compton, who a few years after her father's death blossomedinto a Countess, proved a devoted and dutiful wife to her lord there isno reason to doubt; but that she had an adequate idea of her ownimportance and a determination to have her share of her father'smoney-bags is shown by the following letter, which is sufficientlyremarkable to bear quotation in full. 

 "My sweet life, --Now that I have declared to you my mind for the settling of your estate, I suppose that it were best for me to bethink what allowance were best for me; for, considering what care I have ever had of your estate, and how respectfully I dealt with those which both by the laws of God, nature, and civil policy, wit, religion, government, and honesty, you, my dear, are bound to, I pray and beseech you to grant to me, your most kind and loving wife, the sum of one thousand pounds per an. , quarterly to be paid. 

 "Also, I would, besides that allowance for my apparel, have six hundred pounds added yearly for the performance of charitable works; these I would not neither be accountable for. Also, I will have three horses for my own saddle, that none shall dare to lend or borrow; none lend but I, none borrow but you. Also, I would have two gentlewomen, lest one should be sick; also, believe that it would be an indecent thing for a gentlewoman to stand mumping alone, when God has blest their Lord and Lady with a great estate. Also, when I ride hunting or hawking, or travel from one house to another, I will have them attending, so for each of those said women I must have a horse. Also, I will have six or eight gentlemen, and will have two coaches; one lined with velvet to myself, with four very fair horses; and a coach for my women lined with sweet cloth, orelaid with gold; the other with scarlet, and laced with watchet lace and silver, with four good horses. Also, I will have two coachmen, one for myself, the other for my women. Also, whenever I travel, I will be allowed not only carroches and spare horses for me and my women, but such carriages as shall be fitting for all, orderly, not pestering my things with my women's, nor theirs with chambermaids, nor theirs with washmaids. 

 "Also, laundresses, when I travel; I will have them sent away with the carriages to see all safe, and the chambermaids shall go before with the grooms, that the chambers may be ready, sweet, and clean. 

 "Also, for that it is indecent for me to croud myself with my gentleman-usher in my coach, I will have him have a convenient horse to attend me either in city or country; and I must have four footmen; and my desire is that you will defray the charges for me. 

 "And for myself, besides my yerely allowance, I would have twenty gowns apparel, six of them excellent good ones, eight of them for the country, and six others of them excellent good ones. Also, I would have to put in my purse two thousand and two hundred pounds, and so you to pay my debts. Also, I would have eight thousand pounds to buy me jewels, and six thousand pounds for a pearl chain. 

 "Now seeing I have been, and am, so reasonable unto you, I pray you to find my children apparel, and their schooling, and all my servants, men and women, their wages. 

 "Also, I will have all my houses furnished, and all my lodging-chambers to be suited with all such furniture as is fit, as beds, stools, chairs, cushions, carpets, silver warming-pans, cupboards of plate, fair hangings, etc. ; and so for my drawing-chambers in all houses, I will have them delicately furnished with hangings, couch, canopy, cushions, carpets, etc. 

 "Also, my desire is that you would pay your debts, build up Ashby House and purchase lands and lend no money (as you love God) to the Lord Chamberlain, which would have all, perhaps your life from you; remember his son, my Lord Wildan, what entertainments he gave me when you were at the Tilt-yard. If you were dead, he said, he would be a husband, a father, a brother, and said he would marry me. I protest I grieve to see the poor man have so little wit and honesty to use his friend so vilely; also, he fed me with untruths concerning the Charter-House; but that is the least; he wished me much harm; you know how. God keep you and me from him, and such as he is. 

 "So now I have declared to you my mind, what I would have, and what I would not have; I pray you, when you be Earl, to allow a thousand pounds more than now I desire and double allowance. --Your loving wife, ELIZABETH COMPTON. "

CHAPTER XII

TRAGEDIES OF THE TURF

In the whole drama of the British Peerage there are few figures at onceso splendid in promise and opportunities, so pathetic in failure and sotragic in their exit as that of the fourth and last Marquess ofHastings. Seldom has man been born to a greater heritage; scarcely everhas he flung away more prodigally the choicest gifts of fortune. 

When Henry Weysford Charles Plantagenet was born one July day in 1842 itwas a very fair world on which he opened his eyes, a world in which rankand wealth and exceptional personal gifts should have ensured for him aleading _rôle_. He was still in the cradle when his father, the secondlord, died; and he was barely nine years old when the death of his elderbrother made the school-boy a full-blown Marquess, the inheritor of vastestates and a princely rent-roll. 

But Fate, which had showered such gifts on the young lord had, as sooften happens, marred them all by the curse of heredity. The taint ofgambling was in the boy's blood. His mother had won an unenviablereputation throughout Europe by her passion for gambling; indeed therewere few gaming-tables in Europe at which the "jolly fast Marchioness"was not a familiar and notorious figure. And his father, the Marquess, was as devoted to horses and turf-gambling as his wife to her cards androulette. That the child of such parents should inherit their depravedtastes is not to be marvelled at. And it was not long before theymanifested themselves in a dangerous form. 

While he was still an undergraduate at Oxford the young Marquess who, from childhood, could not bear the sight of a book when there was a dogor a horse to claim his attention, began that career on the turf whichwas to be as tragic in its end as it was dazzling in its zenith. Hebought from a Mr Henry Padwick for £13, 500 a horse called Kangaroo, which was not worth the cost of his keep. What a fraudulent animal hewas is proved by the fact that he never won a penny for his purchaser, and ended his career, as he ought to have begun it, between the shaftsof a hansom. 

But, so far from being disheartened by this initial experience, LordHastings had barely thrown aside his cap and gown before he was owner ofhalf a hundred race-horses, with John Day as trainer; and was fullyembarked on his turf-career. From the very first year of his enlargedventure success smiled on him. Ackworth won the Cambridgeshire for him, in 1864; the Duke captured the Goodwood Cup two years later; and theEarl carried off the Grand Prix de Paris. In the four years, 1864 to1867 the Marquess won over £60, 000 in stakes alone, while his winningsin bets were larger still. So excellent a judge of a horse was he thathe only spoke the truth when he boasted, "I could easily make £30, 000 ayear by backing other men's horses. " Indeed on one race, Lecturer'sCesarewitch, he cleared £75, 000. Such was the brilliant start of aracing-career which was to close so soon in failure and disgrace. 

In the world of the Turf the youthful Marquess was hailed as a newdeity. At Epsom, Newmarket, and a dozen other race-courses hisappearance created as much sensation as that of the Prince of Waleshimself; he was greeted everywhere with cheers and a salvo of doffedhats; and the way in which he scattered his smiles and his bets wasregal in its prodigality. 

 "As he canters on to the course, " we are told, "he slackens speed as he passes through the line of carriages, from which come shrill, plaintive cries, 'Dear Lord Hastings, do come here for one second, ' and others to like purpose. Conveniently deaf to the voice of the charmers, he rides straight into the horseman's circle, and takes up his position on the heavy-betting side. 'They're laying odds on yours, my lord, ' exclaims a bookmaker. 'What odds?' blandly asks the owner. 'Well, my lord, I'll take you six monkeys to four!' 'Put it down, ' is the brief response. 'And me, three hundred to two--and me--and me!' clamour a score of pencillers, who come clustering up. 'Done with you, and you, and you'--the bets are booked as freely as offered. 'And now, my lord, if you've a mind for a bit more, I'll take you thirty-five hundred to two thousand. ' 'And so you shall!' is the cheery answer, as the backer expands under the genial influence of the biggest bet of the day. Then, with their seventies to forties, and seven ponies to four, the smaller fry are duly enregistered, and the Marquess wheels his hack, his escort gathers round him, and away they dash. "

Such was the splendid, reckless fashion in which the Marquess wouldfling about his wagers until he frequently stood to win or lose £50, 000on a single race. If he had always kept his head under the intoxicationof this wild gambling he might perhaps have made another fortune equalto that he had inherited. But his wagering was as erratic as himself, and his gains were punctuated by heavy losses which began to makeinroads on even his enormous resources. 

The first crushing blow fell on that memorable day when Hermit struggledthrough a blinding snowstorm first past the post in the Derby of 1867, to the open-mouthed amazement of every looker on; for Mr Chaplin's colthad been considered so hopeless that odds of forty to one were freelylaid against him. 

Hermit's sensational victory was the climax of a singular and romanticstory. Three years earlier Lady Florence Paget, daughter of the secondMarquess of Anglesey, had been the affianced bride of Mr Henry Chaplin, who was passionately devoted to her, little dreaming that another hadstolen her heart from him. One day Lady Florence, with Mr Chaplin forescort, drove to Messrs Swan & Edgar's, ostensibly on shopping bent; butthe shopping was merely a cloak to another and treacherous design. Sheentered the shop, slipped out through the back entrance where LordHastings was awaiting her, jumped into his cab, and was whirled awaywhile her _fiancé_ patiently and unsuspectingly awaited her return atthe opposite side of the building. 

When Mr Chaplin realised the dastardly trick that had been played onhim, he bore the blow to his pride and affection right bravely. No traceof resentment was ever shown to the world; but he would have been lessthan a man if he had not cherished thoughts of retaliation. Hisopportunity came when Hermit was offered for sale by auction, and LordHastings was among the keenest bidders for the son of Newminster andEclipse. At any cost Mr Chaplin determined to baffle his betrayer foronce--and he succeeded; for, when the Marquess stopped short at 950guineas, Mr Chaplin secured the colt by a further bid of 50 guineas. 

At the time he little realised--nor did he much care--what a bargain hehad got; for Hermit not only sired two Derby winners in Shotover and StBlaise, before he died his sons and daughters had won among them£300, 000 in stake-money alone. Not much later came that ill-starredDerby, which none who saw it can ever forget. Lord Hastings, angry athaving lost the horse to his rival, laid the long odds against Hermitso recklessly that he stood to lose a large fortune by his success; andHermit's last few gallant strides cost him over £100, 000. 

It was a staggering blow, under which the most stoical man with thelongest purse might well have reeled; but the Marquess met it with asmile of indifference; and when, a few minutes later, he drove off thecourse, with his friends, in a barouche and four to dine at Richmond, heseemed the gayest of the company. A few days before his death, recallingthis tragic moment in his life, he said proudly, "Hermit fairly broke myheart. But I didn't show it, did I?"

That his smiling face must have masked a very heavy heart, it scarcelyneeded his own confession to prove. Rich as he still was, the loss ofmore than £100, 000 was a very serious matter. Indeed we know that he wasonly able to meet his liabilities by parting with his magnificent estateof Loudoun in Scotland, which realised £300, 000. When the doors ofTattersall's opened on the morning of settling-day, the first to presentthemselves were his agents, who handed over £103, 000 in settlement ofall claims against the Marquess. Mr Chaplin had scored, and scoredheavily; but at least it should never be said that his defeated rivalhad shrunk from paying the last ounce of the penalty the moment it wasdue. 

When next his lordship appeared on a race-course--it was at Ascot, a fewmonths later--he was greeted with thunders of cheers from thebookmakers, a tribute to his pluck and sportsmanship, which must havetaken away some of the sting of defeat. But fate which had dealt thismerciless blow to the Marquess was in no mood to spare him furtherdisaster. The second stroke fell within five months of the first--at theNewmarket second October Meeting. The favourite for the Middle ParkPlate was Lord Hastings' filly, Elizabeth, whose chances he fancied somuch that he backed her heavily, confident that he would recover a greatpart of his Derby losses. 

When Elizabeth, instead of running away from her rivals, passed thewinning-post a bad fifth, even his iron nerve failed him for once. Heuttered no word; but he grew pale as death, and staggered as if about tofall. A moment later, however, he had pulled himself together and washelping Lady Aylesbury to count her small losses. "Tell me how I stand, "asked her ladyship, as she placed her betting-book in his hand. TheMarquess made the necessary calculation; and with a smile of sympathy, answered: "You have lost £23. " And he, who could thus calmly calculateso trifling a loss, was £50, 000 poorer by his filly's failure to win thePlate!

He knew well that he was a ruined man--worse than this, unutterablygalling to his proud spirit--he knew that he was a disgraced man. Hisvast fortune had crumbled away until he had not £50, 000 in the world topay this last debt of honour. And yet he continued to smile in the faceof ruin, carrying through this crowning disaster the brave heart of anEnglish gentleman and a sportsman. 

He sold the last of his remaining acres, his hunters and hounds, andall his personal belongings; and all the money he could raise from thewreckage of his fortune was a pitiful £10, 000. His last sovereign wasgone, and he was £40, 000 in debt, without a hope of paying it. When henext appeared on a race-course the very men who had cheered him to theecho at Ascot greeted him with jeers and angry shouts at Epsom. The heroof the Turf, the idol of the Ring, was that blackest of black sheep, adefaulter!

And not only was he thus branded as a defaulter. Strange stories werebeing circulated to his further discredit as a sportsman. The running ofLady Elizabeth in one race was, it was said, more than open tosuspicion. The Earl, who was considered a certainty for the Derby, wasunaccountably scratched on the very evening before the race, though theMarquess stood to win £35, 000 by her, and did not hedge the stake-money. 

The public indignation at these discreditable incidents found a vent inthe columns of the _Times_; and although Lord Hastings denied that therewas "one single circumstance mentioned as regards the two horses, correctly stated, " and offered a frank explanation in both cases, thepublic refused to be appeased, and the stigma remained. 

So overwhelmed was he by this combination of assaults on his fortune andhis good name that his health--undermined no doubt by excesses--brokedown. He spent the summer months of 1868 in his yacht, cruising amongthe northern seas in search of health; but no sea-breezes could bringback colour to his cheeks or hope to his heart. He was a broken manbefore he had reached his prime, and he realised that his sun was nearits setting. When he returned to England no one who saw him could doubtthat the end was at hand. But his ruling passion remained strong to thelast. He was advised by his friends to stay away from the Doncasterraces; but he would go, though he could only with difficulty hobble oncrutches. 

The last pathetic glimpse the world caught of this former idol of theTurf was as, from a basket-carriage, with pale, haggard face andstraining eyes, he watched Athena, a beautiful mare which had once beenhis, win a race. As she was being led to the weighing-house he struggledfrom his carriage, hobbled on his crutches up to the beautiful animal, and lovingly patted her glossy neck. 

Such was the last appearance of the ill-fated Marquess on a scene of hisformer triumphs. For a few months longer he made a gallant fight forlife. He even contemplated another voyage, and a winter in Egypt; but, almost before winter had set in, on the 11th November 1868, he gave upthe struggle and drew his last breath--"leaving neither heir to hishonours nor the smallest vestige of his ruined fortune; but leaving, inspite of his final failure, the memory of a true sportsman, and of aperfect gentleman who was no man's enemy but his own. "

 * * * * *

Before the Marquess of Hastings had mounted his first pony anothermeteor of the Turf, equally dazzling, had flashed across the sky, andbeen merged in a darkness even more tragic than his own. 

Lord William George Frederick Cavendish Bentinck, commonly known andloved as "Lord George, " who was cradled at Welbeck in February 1802, wasthe second son of the fourth Duke of Portland, a keen sportsman who wonthe Derby of 1809 with Teresias. The boy thus had the love of sport inhis veins; and a passion for racing was the dominant note in his toobrief life from the day, in 1833, when he started a small stud of hisown, to that fatal day on which, piqued by his repeated failure to winthe coveted "blue riband, " he sold every horse in his stables at a word, and abandoned the Turf in despair. 

 "Lord George Bentinck, " wrote Thormanby, a few years ago, "was the idol of the sportsmen of his own day. The commanding personality of the man threw a spell over all with whom he was brought into contact; they were half-fascinated, half-awed--judgment and criticism surrendered to admiration. There are still veterans left, like old John Kent, who talk with bated breath of Lord George as a superior being, a god-like man, a king of men. "

From the day he joined the Army as a cornet of Hussars in 1819, to thetragic close of his life, Lord George always cut a conspicuous andbrilliant figure in the world. He was the spoilt child of Fortune; and, like all such spoilt children, was constantly getting into hotwater--and out of it again. As a subaltern, for instance, he showed suchlittle respect for his seniors that, one day on parade, a Captain Kerrexclaimed aloud: "If you don't make this young gentleman behave himself, Colonel, I will. " Whereupon the insubordinate sub. Retorted: "CaptainKerr ventures to say on parade that which he dares not repeat off. "

Such was the youth and such the man--gay, debonair, and popular to thehighest degree, but always uncontrollable and reckless. As a sportsmanhe was the chief of popular heroes, his appearance on a race-coursebeing the invariable signal for an ovation, such as the King might haveenvied. And, indeed, his Turf transactions were all conducted on a scaleof truly regal magnificence. Though he was never by any means rich, heoften had as many as sixty horses in training, while his racing studnumbered a hundred. He kept three stud farms going, and hisout-of-pocket expenses ran to £50, 000 and more a year. To provide themoney for such prodigality he wagered enormous sums. For the Derby of1843, for instance, he stood to win £150, 000 on his horse Gaper, andactually pocketed £30, 000, though Gaper was not even placed. In 1845 hisnet winnings on bets reached £100, 000; and he thought nothing of stakinghis entire year's private income on a single race. 

One by one all the great prizes of the Turf fell to him--some manytimes--but the only prize he ever cared a brass farthing for, the Derby, always eluded his grasp, though again and again it seemed a certainty. So deep at last became his disgust and mortification at the unkindnessof Fate in withholding the only boon he coveted that, in a moment ofpique, he decided to sell his stud and leave the turf for ever. 

"I'll sell you the lot, " he impulsively said to George Payne atGoodwood, "from Bay Middleton to little Kitchener (his famous jockey), for £100, 000. Yes or no?" Payne offered him £300 to have a few hours tothink the offer over, and handed the sum over at breakfast the nextmorning. No sooner had the forfeit been paid than Mr Mostyn, who wassitting at the same table, looked up quietly and said: "I'll take thelot, Bentinck, at £10, 000, and will give you a cheque before you go onthe course. " "If you please, " was Lord George's placid answer; and thusended one of the most brilliant Turf careers on record. 

And now for the irony of Fate! Among the stud thus sold, in a fit ofpique, for "an old song" was Surplice, the winner of the next year'sDerby and St Leger. Lord George had actually had the great prize in hishand and had let it go!

How keenly he felt the blow may be gathered from the following passagein Lord Beaconsfield's biography:

 "A few days before--it was the day after the Derby, May 25, 1848--the writer met Lord George Bentinck in the library of the House of Commons. He was standing before the bookshelves with a volume in his hand, and his countenance was greatly disturbed. His resolution in favour of the Colonial interest, after all his labours, had been negatived by the Committee on the 22nd; and on the 24th, his horse, Surplice, whom he had parted with among the rest of the stud, had won that paramount and Olympic stake, to gain which had been the object of his life. He had nothing to console him, and nothing to sustain him, except his pride. Even that deserted him before a heart, which he knew at least could yield him sympathy. He gave a sort of superb groan. 

 "'All my life I have been trying for this, and for what have I sacrificed it?' he murmured. It was in vain to offer solace. 

 "'You do not know what the Derby is, ' he moaned. 

 "'Yes, I do; it is the Blue Riband of the Turf. '

 "'It is the Blue Riband of the Turf, ' he slowly repeated to himself; and, sitting down at a table, buried himself in a folio of statistics. "

Just a few months later, on 21st September 1848, his body was foundlying, cold and stiff, in a meadow about a mile from Welbeck. That verymorning he had risen full of health and spirits, and at four o'clock inthe afternoon had set out to walk across country to Thoresby, LordManvers' seat, where he was to spend a couple of days. He had sent onhis valet by road in advance; but the night fell, and Lord George nevermade his appearance. A search with lanterns was instituted, and aboutmidnight his body was discovered lying face downwards close to one ofthe deer-park gates. He had been dead for some hours. 

What was the cause of his mysterious death? The coroner's jury appearto have found no difficulty in coming to a decision. Their verdict was, "Died by the visitation of God--to wit, a spasm of the heart. " Thusvanished from the world one of its most brilliant and picturesqueornaments, in the very prime of his life and his powers (he was onlyforty-six), and when he seemed assured of a political future even moredazzling than his Turf fame. 

But there were many, among the thousands who deplored the tragic eclipseof such a promising life, who were by no means satisfied with the vagueverdict of the inquest. Lord George had always been a man of remarkablevigour and health, and never more so than on the day of his death. Wasit at all likely that such a man would drop dead during a quiet andunexciting stroll across country? Later years, however, have brought newfacts to light which suggest a very different explanation of thistragedy. "The hand of God" it was, no doubt, which struck the fatalblow--it always must be; but was there no other agency, and that a humanone? Could it not be the hand of a brother? Some have said it was; andalthough the story is involved in obscurity and may be open to gravedoubt (indeed it has been more than once flatly contradicted) there can, perhaps, be no harm in including it in this volume. This is the story asit has been told. 

Though Lord George Bentinck was the handsomest man, and one of the mosteligible _partis_ of his day he never married; yet, no doubt, he hadmany an "affair of the heart. " But not one of all the high-born ladies, who would have turned their backs on coronets to become "Lady George, "could in his eyes compare with Annie May Berkelay, a lovely andpenniless girl, who could not even boast a "respectable" parentage. 

Miss Berkeley was, so it is said, a child of that most romantic unionbetween the Earl of Berkeley and pretty Mary Cole, the butcher'sdaughter. This girl he professed to have made his countess shortly afterin the parish church of Berkeley. That his lordship legally married hislow-born bride at Lambeth eleven years later is beyond doubt, but thatalleged first secret marriage was more than open to suspicion. Thereseems little doubt that the entry the in Berkeley church register was aforgery; and that, not until Mary Cole had borne several children to theEarl, did she become legally his wife by the valid knot tied at Lambeth. It was, in fact, decided by the House of Peers that the Berkeleymarriage was not proven, and thus seven of the children wereillegitimate. 

It was one of Lord Berkeley's children thus branded to the world who issaid to have won the heart and the homage of Lord George Bentinck. Andlittle wonder; for Annie May Berkeley had inherited more than hermother's beauty of face and of figure, with the patrician air andrefinement which came from generations of noble ancestors. 

But handsome Lord George was only one of many wooers whom her charms hadenslaved. There were others equally ardent, if less favoured; and amongthem none other than the Marquess of Titchfield, Lord George's elderbrother, and the future "eccentric Duke" of Portland, often referred toas "The Wizard of Welbeck. " The Marquess and his younger brother hadnever been on the best of terms. They had little in common; and whenthey found themselves rival suitors for the smiles of the same maidenthis incompatibility gave place to a bitter estrangement. 

It was not, however, until Lord George discovered that the Marquess wasmore intimate with his ladylove than he should be, that their mutualrelations became strained to a dangerous degree. It is said that thebrothers quarrelled fiercely whenever they met, and that Lord George, whose temper was violent, frequently struck his brother, who was nophysical match for him. One day, so the story goes, their constantsquabbles reached a climax. After a fiercer quarrel than usual LordGeorge struck his brother and rival repeatedly, until the latter, rousedto fury, struck back and landed a heavy blow on his brother's chest, over the heart. Lord George's heart was diseased, and the blow provedfatal. 

This, then, is said to be the true explanation of the tragedy of thatSeptember day in 1848; of that "spasm of the heart" which, according tothe verdict of the coroner's jury, was the cause of Lord GeorgeBentinck's death. If this story is true, much that has been so longmysterious becomes clear. Lord George's sudden and tragic death isexplained; as also the fact that it was from this period that the Dukeof Portland's moroseness and shunning of the world became so marked asto be scarcely distinguishable from insanity. If the death of a brother, however provoked and accidental, had been on his conscience, what couldbe more natural than that the fratricide should thus shut himself fromthe world in sorrow and remorse?

CHAPTER XIII

THE WICKED BARON

The British Peerage, like most other human flocks, has had many blacksheep within its fold; but few of them have been blacker than Charles, fifth Baron Mohun of Okehampton, who shocked the world by his violenceand licentiousness a couple of centuries ago. 

Charles Mohun had in his veins the blood of centuries of gallant men andfair women, from Sir William de Mohun, who fought so bravely for theConqueror on the field of Hastings, to his father, the fourth Lord ofOkehampton, who took to wife a daughter of the first Earl of Anglesey, aman who won fame in his day by his statesmanship and his pen. But therewas also in his veins a black strain which branded the Mohun 'scutcheonwith the stigma of eternal shame. 

From his early youth he exhibited an unbridled temper and a passion forlow pursuits. In an age when loose morals and violence were winked at, he soon won an unenviable notoriety by his excesses in both. Wine andwomen, gambling and duelling, were the breath of life to him, and ineach indulgence he was infamously supreme. He was twice arraigned formurder, and in the prime of life he died a murderer. 

Such was the fifth Lord Mohun when our story opens, towards the close ofhis shameless career; and in the first of the disgraceful episodes thatmarked its close, as in so many others of his career, a beautiful womanfigures prominently--none other than the celebrated Mrs Bracegirdle, themost fascinating actress of her day, whose witcheries made a lover ofevery man who came under the spell of her charms. 

Her army of lovers ranged from Congreve and Rowe, who wrote inspired andpassionate plays for her, to the Dukes of Dorset and Devonshire and LordLovelace (among a hundred other titled gallants), who were ready to shedtheir last drop of blood in defence of her fair fame; though each soughtin vain to besmirch it in his own person. But her virtue was reputed tobe "as impregnable as the rock of Gibraltar. " Dr Doran describes her as"that Diana of the stage, before whom Congreve and Lord Lovelace, at thehead of a troop of bodkined fops, worshipped in vain"; although, withall her unassailable propriety, she did not escape outspoken suspicionsof being Congreve's mistress all the time. 

Describing her charms, another chronicler says:

 "She was of a lovely height, with dark brown hair and eyebrows, black sparkling eyes, and a fresh blushing complexion; and, whenever she exerted herself, had an involuntary flushing in her breast, neck, and face. "

Such, in the cold medium of print, was Mrs Bracegirdle when she becamethe central figure of a great tragedy, the horrors of which have sent athrill down to our own time. 

Among Mrs Bracegirdle's many baffled wooers was Captain Richard Hill, aboon companion of Charles, Lord Mohun, and a man of unrestrainedpassion. To all the Captain's coarse advances the actress turned acontemptuous shoulder, until in his rage he swore that at any cost sheshould be his. There was, he was convinced, only one real obstacle tothe success of his suit, Jack Montford, the handsomest actor of his day, to whom Mrs Bracegirdle was said to be very kind; and the furiousCaptain vowed: "I am resolved to have the blood of Montford, and tocarry off his charmer by force if need be. "

Captain Hill made no concealment of his purpose. He mouthed his threatsaloud at his favourite tavern in Covent Garden and elsewhere; and hefound a willing helper in Lord Mohun, who was always ripe for anydastardly scheme; and, with Mohun's help, he carefully prepared hisplans for both murder and abduction, for on both his heart was set. 

By lavish bribes the two conspirators engaged half a dozen soldiers toassist in their scheme; they arranged that a coach with two horses, andfour others in reserve, should be in waiting at nine o'clock in DruryLane, close to the theatre at which Mrs Bracegirdle made her appearancenightly; and, equipped with a formidable armoury of swords, daggers, andpistols, they repaired at the appointed time to the scene of action. 

For a full hour they waited, watching with lynx eyes the door fromwhich the fair actress would emerge; but, as luck would have it, she wasnot playing that night. She was, in fact, at the moment supping at thehouse of a friend, Mrs Page, in Princes Street, close by; and they wereon the point of proceeding there when the lady made her appearance, withher mother as companion and Mr Page and her brother for escort, on herway home to her lodgings in Howard Street across the Strand. 

At sight of their fair prey two of the soldiers rushed forward, snatchedMrs Bracegirdle from her mother's arm and dragged her, screaming andresisting, towards the coach in which Lord Mohun was sitting by hiscases of pistols, and in which it was intended to carry her off toTotteridge. When her escort rushed to her rescue, Hill struck at the oldlady with his sword; but the cries and sounds of scuffling attractedsuch a crowd that a change of plans became necessary. 

With consummate cleverness the adroit Captain now took each of theladies by the arm and coolly conducted them himself out of the crowd totheir lodgings, Mohun and the soldiers following ignominiously behind. Upon reaching Howard Street, the ladies safely indoors, the soldierswere dismissed, and Mohun and his ally, with drawn swords, paced up anddown the street, vowing vengeance on the unhappy Montford, whom theyconsidered the cause of all their troubles, and who, sooner or later, must pass through Howard Street on his way to his house in NorfolkStreet adjoining. 

For two long hours they kept their bloodthirsty vigil, feeding theflames of hate with copious draughts of wine, which they procured froma neighbouring tavern. The lady had escaped them, but they would atleast make sure of her lover, the handsome actor, who on the stroke ofmidnight turned the corner into Howard Street. 

Montford had, it appears, already heard of the frustrated attempt tocarry off Mrs Bracegirdle, and that Mohun and Hill were keeping watchoutside her lodgings; so that he was not unprepared for an unpleasantscene. Picture his amazement then when Lord Mohun advanced smilingly tomeet him, and embraced him with a great show of affection. "I am notprepared for such cordiality, " the actor said coldly, as he disengagedhimself from the unwelcome embrace. "I should prefer to learn how youjustify Captain Hill's abominable rudeness to a lady, or keeping companywith such a scoundrel. "

At this moment the Captain, inflamed with drink, strolled insolently upto the pair, and, giving Montford a resounding box on the ear, exclaimed, "Here I am to justify myself. Draw, fellow!" But beforeMontford had time to recover from the blow and to unsheath his sword, Hill ran him through the body. Without a groan the wounded man sank tothe ground. A cry of "Murder" arose; the watchmen rushed to the scene. But before they arrived Hill had made his escape; while Mohun, who atleast had the courage of his race, submitted himself to arrest. Hisfirst question to the watchmen was, "Has Hill escaped?" And when he wasassured that he had, he added: "I am glad of it! I should not care if Iwere hanged for him. "

Such was the story which sent a thrill of horror through London on theday following the tragedy, and which aroused a fury of anger against thecowardly assassins; for not only was Jack Montford a popular idol whohad captured all hearts with his handsome face and figure, his cleveracting and his unaffected personal charm, but his wife, who had beenthus tragically widowed, was one of the most gifted and delightful womenwho ever adorned the stage. 

It was thus inevitable that Lord Mohun's trial by his Peers, which wasopened on the 31st of January 1693, in Westminster Hall, and which wasinvested with all the pomp and ceremonial befitting such an occasion, should attract crowds of excited spectators, curious to see theprincipal actors in this sensational drama, and burning to see justicedone to the noble instigator of the murder. The pent-up excitementculminated when Mrs Bracegirdle, looking more beautiful than ever inspite of her pallor and evidences of suffering, entered the witness-box;and every word of the story she told was listened to in a silence thatwas painful in its intensity. 

In answer to the Attorney-General's request that she should "give mylord an account of the whole of your knowledge of the attempt that wasmade upon you in Drury Lane, and what followed upon it, " she said:

 "'My lord, I was in Prince's Street at supper at Mr Page's, and at ten o'clock at night Mr Page went home with me; and, coming down Drury Lane there stood a coach by my Lord Craven's door, and the hood of the coach was drawn, and a great many men stood by it. Just as I came to the place where the coach stood, two soldiers came and pushed me from Mr Page, and four or five men came up to them, and they knocked my mother down almost, for my mother and my brother were with me. 

 "'My mother recovered and came and hung about my neck, so that they could not get me into the coach, and Mr Page went to call company to rescue me. Then Mr Hill came with his drawn sword and struck at Mr Page and my mother; and when they could not get me into the coach because company came up, he said he would see me home, and he had me by one hand and my mother by the other. And when we came home he pulled Mr Page by the sleeve and said, "Sir, I would speak with you. "'

 "ATTORNEY-GENERAL:--'Pray, Mrs Bracegirdle, did you see anybody in the coach when they pulled you to it?'

 "MRS BRACEGIRDLE:--'Yes, my Lord Mohun was in the coach; and when they pulled me to the coach I saw my Lord Mohun in it. As they led me along Drury Lane, my Lord Mohun came out of the coach and followed us, and all the soldiers followed them; but they were dismissed, and, as I said, when we came to our lodgings, Mr Hill pulled Mr Page by the sleeve and said he would speak with him. Saith Mr Page, "Mr Hill, another time will do; to-morrow will serve. " With that, when I was within doors, Mr Page was pulled into the house, and Mr Hill walked up and down the street with his sword drawn. He had his sword drawn when he came alone with me. '

 "ATTORNEY-GENERAL:--'Did you observe him to say anything whilst he was with you?'

 "MRS BRACEGIRDLE:--'As I was going down the hill he said, as he held me, that he would be revenged, but he did not say on whom. When I was in the house several persons went to the door, and afterwards Mrs Browne (my landlady), went to the door, and spoke to them, and asked them what they stayed and waited there for. At last they said they stayed to be revenged of Mr Montford; and then Mrs Browne came in to me and told me of it. '

 "ATTORNEY-GENERAL:--'Were my Lord Mohun and Mr Hill both together when that was said, that they stayed to be revenged of Mr Montford?'

 "MRS BRACEGIRDLE:--'Yes, they were. And when Mrs Browne came in and told me, I sent my brother and my maid and all the people we could out of the house to Mrs Montford to desire her to send, if she knew where her husband was, to tell him of it; and she did. And when they came indoors again I went to the door, and the doors were shut, and I listened to hear if they were there still; and my Lord Mohun and Mr Hill were walking up and down the street. By-and-bye the watch came up to them, and when the watch came they said, "Gentlemen, why do you walk with your swords drawn?" Says my Lord Mohun, "I am a peer of England--touch me if you dare!" Then the watch left them, and they went away; and a little after there was a cry of "murder. " And that is all I know, my lord. '

When at the close of the case Lord Mohun was asked if he had anything tosay in his defence, he answered:

 "My lords, I hope it will be no disadvantage to me my not summing up my evidence like a lawyer. I think I have made it plainly appear that there never was any formal quarrel or malice between Mr Montford and me. I have also made appear the reason why we stayed so long in the street, which was for Mr Hill to speak with Mrs Bracegirdle and ask her pardon, and I stayed with him as my friend. So plainly appeareth I had no hand in killing Mr Montford, and upon the confidence of my own innocency I surrendered myself to this honourable house, where I know I shall have all the justice in the world. "

The trial, which lasted five days, resulted in a verdict ofacquittal--sixty-nine peers voting Lord Mohun "Not Guilty, " and fourteenfinding him "Guilty. "

One would have thought that such a severe lesson and narrow escape wouldhave given Mohun pause in his career of vice and crime. On the contrary, it seems merely to have whetted his appetite for similar adventures. Heplunged into still deeper dissipation; one mad revel succeeded another;duel followed duel, all without provocation on any part but his own. Hekilled in cold blood two more men who had innocently provoked hisenmity, "as if increase of appetite did grow by that it fed on, " untilhe rightly became the most dreaded and hated man in all England, a manto whom a glance, a gesture, or a harmless word might mean death. 

But his evil days were drawing to their end; and appropriately he diedin a welter of innocent blood. When the Duke of Hamilton was appointedAmbassador to the French Court, the Whigs were so alarmed by his knownpartiality for the Pretender that the more unscrupulous of them decidedthat, at any cost, he must be got rid of. What simpler plan could therebe than by provoking him to a duel; what fitter tool than thefire-eating, bloodthirsty Mohun, the most skilled swordsman of his day?

Mohun jumped at the vile suggestion, and lost no time in seeking theDuke and insulting him in public. His Grace, however, who knew the man'sreputation only too well, treated the insult with the silence andcontempt it deserved; whereupon Mohun, roused to fury by this studiedslight, changed his _rôle_ to that of challenger. Thrice he sent hissecond, one Major-General Macartney, almost as big a scoundrel ashimself, to the Duke's house in St James's Square; the fourth time ameeting was arranged for the following morning at the Ring, in HydePark, a favourite duelling-ground of the time. The intervening nighthours Mohun and his satellite spent in debauchery in a low house ofpleasure. 

In the cold, grey dawn of the following morning--the morning of 15thNovember 1712--the principals and seconds appeared almost simultaneouslyat the Ring--in the daytime the haunt of beauty and fashion, in theearly morning hours a desolate part of the Park--and the preliminarieswere quickly arranged. Turning to Macartney, the Duke said: "I am wellassured, sir, that all this is by your contrivance, and therefore youshall have your share in the dance; my friend here, Colonel Hamilton, will entertain you. " "I wish for no better partner, " Macartney replied;"the Colonel may command me. "

A few moments later the double fight began with infinite fury. Swordsflashed and clattered; lunge and parry, parry and lunge followed inlightning succession; the laboured breaths went up in gusts of steam onthe morning air. There was murder in two pairs of eyes, a resolve asgrim as death itself in the stern set faces of their opponents. Soon theblood began to spurt and ooze from a dozen wounds; the Duke was woundedin both legs; his adversary in the groin and arm. Faces, swords, thevery ground, became crimson. Colonel Hamilton had at last disarmed hisopponent, but the others fought on--gasping, reeling, lunging, feinting, the strength ebbing with each thrust. 

At last each made a desperate lunge at the other; the Duke's swordpassed clean through his adversary up to the very hilt; Mohun, reelingforward, with a last effort shortened his sword and plunged it deep intothe Duke's breast. Colonel Hamilton rushed to his friend and raised himin his arms, when Macartney, snatching up his fallen sword, drove itinto the dying man's heart, then took to his heels and made his way asfast as horse and boat could carry him to Holland. 

Before the Duke could be raised from the ground to which he had fallen, he had drawn his last breath. A few moments later Mohun, too, succumbedto his wounds--the "Dog Mohun, " as Swift called him, lying in death buta few yards from his victim. 

 "I am infinitely concerned, " Swift wrote the same day, "for the poor Duke, who was an honest, good-natured man. I loved him very well, and I think he loved me better. "

Thus, steeped in innocent blood, perished Charles Lord Mohun, who wellearned his unenviable title, "The wicked Baron. "

CHAPTER XIV

A FAIR _INTRIGANTE_

The face of a baby, the heart of a courtesan, and the brain of adiplomatist. Such was Louise de Querouaille who, two centuries and ahalf ago, came to England to barter her charms for a King's dishonour, and, incidentally, to found a ducal house as a memorial to herallurements and her shame. 

If she had been taken at her own estimate Louise was at least the equalin lineage of any of the proud beauties whose claim she thus challengedto Charles II. 's favour. She had behind her, she said, centuries ofnoble ancestors, among the greatest in France; and she was kin, near orremote, to every great name in the land of her birth. All, however, thatis known of this Queen of _intrigantes_ is that she had for father aworthy, unassuming Breton merchant, who had made a sufficient fortune inthe wool-trade to take his ease, as a country gentleman, for the latterpart of his days, and whose only ambition was to bring up his son andtwo daughters respectably, and to dispense a modest hospitality amonghis neighbours. It was at Brest that Evelyn enjoyed this hospitalityfor a brief period; and the diarist has nothing but what is good to sayof the retired tradesman. 

But the worthy merchant had his hands full with one at least of his twodaughters, who was developing dangerous fascinations, and with them aprecocious knowledge of how to turn them to account. He was thankful topack Louise off to a boarding-school, where she seems to have led herteachers such a dance that it became necessary to place her in strongerhands; and with this view the foolish father sent her to Paris, the lastplace in the world for such a charming and designing minx, and to thecustody of a weak-willed aunt. 

Nothing could have suited Louise better than this change of arena forthe exercise of her wilfulness and witchery. Before she had been manydays in the French capital she was able to twist her aunt round herlittle finger--indeed her power of captivating was, to the end of herlife, her chief dower--and to obtain all the freedom she wanted. And itwas not long before her allurements won the admiration of the dissoluteDuc de Beaufort, High Admiral of France, a man skilled in all the artsof love. The girl's bourgeois head was completely turned by thesplendour of her first captive; and, to make him secure, she counted nosacrifice too great. Not, indeed, that she ever regarded her virtue asanything but the principal piece she intended to play on the chessboardof life. 

For a few years Louise revelled in the new life which the amorous Ducopened to her, and which only came to an end when the Admiral wasdespatched, in command of a fleet, against the Turks, an expedition fromwhich he was fated never to return. Before he said good-bye, however, Louise took care to make the next step on her ladder of world-conquestsecure. Through the Duc's influence she was appointed maid-of-honour toMadame, sister-in-law to Louis XIV. , and sister to the second Charles ofEngland, now restored to the throne of his fathers. 

We can well imagine that the wool merchant's daughter wasted no sighs onthe lover she had lost. She had now a much wider and more splendid fieldat the Court of France, for the exploiting of her dangerous gifts andthe indulgence of her ambition. That the new maid had no lack of loverswe may be sure; for though she was not richly dowered with beauty shealways seems to have had a magnetic power over the hearts of men. Weknow, too, that she singled out for special favour, the Comte de Sault, the handsomest noble in France, a man skilled above all his fellows inthe then moribund knightly exercises; and that her _liaison_ with theComte, in a court where such intimacies were the fashion, added to, rather than detracted from, her social prestige. 

Such was the life of Louise de Querouaille up to the time when she madeher first acquaintance with the land in which she was destined to crownher adventurous career, and to make herself at once the most dazzlingand the most hated figure in England. At this time Louis' designs onSpain and Holland had received a rude check by the signing of analliance between England, Sweden, and the United Provinces; and itbecame a matter of vital importance to detach England from a combinationso fatal to his schemes. With this object he decided to send Henrietta, Duchess of Orleans, on a visit, ostensibly of affection, to her brotherCharles II. , charged with a secret mission to induce him by everyartifice in her power to withdraw from the alliance. 

How Henrietta returned flushed with triumph from this iniquitousembassy, after ten days of high revelry at Dover, is well-known history. Charles, in response to his favourite sister's pleading and bribes, notonly consented to desert his allies, but, as soon as he decently could, to follow in the steps of his brother, the Duke of York, to Rome; and inreturn for these evidences of friendship, Louis was gracious enough topromise him substantial aid and protection; and, further, to grant him asubsidy of £1, 000, 000 a year if he would take up arms with Franceagainst Holland. 

It is more to our purpose to know that among the gay galaxy of courtierswho accompanied Madame to England was Louise de Querouaille, who thusfirst set eyes on the King, in whose life-drama she was to play sobrilliant and baleful a _rôle_; and that before Charles, with streamingeyes, said "good-bye" to his scheming sister, she had made excellent useof her opportunities to enslave this English "King of Hearts. " So muchat least was reported to Louis on the return of the embassy, when hewas assured by Madame that, of all the beautiful women in her train, theonly one to make any impression on her Royal brother was Louise deQuerouaille. 

This information, no doubt, was in Louis' mind when, later, it becamenecessary to cement Charles's allegiance to his compact. Gold was alwaysa potent lure to the "Merrie Monarch, " whose purse was never deep enoughfor the demands made on it by his extravagance; but a still moreseductive bait was a beautiful woman to add to his seraglio. The Duchessof Cleveland had now lost her youth and good looks; the incomparableStuart's beauty had been fatally marred by small-pox. Of all the fairand frail women who had held Charles in thrall there was none left todispute the palm with the French maid-of-honour except Nell Gwynn, theDrury Lane orange-girl, whose sauciness and vulgarity gave to the jadedSybarite a piquant relish to her charms. 

Here was a splendid opportunity for Louis to complete the conquest ofhis vacillating cousin whose allegiance was so vital to his plans ofaggrandisement. Louise should go to Whitehall to play the part ofbeautiful spy on Charles, and, by her favours, to make him a pliant toolin the hand of "le Roi Soleil. "

Charles, who was by no means loth to renew his Dover acquaintance withthe bewitching maid-of-honour, sent a yacht to Dieppe to bring her toEngland, and charged no less a personage than the Duke of Buckingham tobe her escort to Whitehall. The Duke, however, who was probably too muchoccupied with his own affairs of the heart, "totally forgot both thelady and his promise; and, leaving the disconsolate nymph at Dieppe, tomanage as best she could, passed over to England by way of Calais, "--aslight which the indignant Louise never forgave. 

Thus it was that the new favourite of the King made her journey acrossthe Channel under the escort of the English Ambassador, and was given byhim into the charge of Buckingham's political rival, Lord Arlington. "The Duke of Buckingham thus, " to quote Bishop Burnet, "lost all merithe might have pretended to, and brought over a mistress whom his strangeconduct threw into the hands of his enemies. "

The arrival of the "French spy, " whose mission was well understood, washailed by the English nation with execration, modified only by a fewstilted lines of greeting from Dryden, as laureate, and some indecentverses by St Evremond--efforts which the new beauty equally rewardedwith gracious smiles and thanks. That the English frankly hated herwithout having even seen her was a matter of small concern--she wasprepared for it. All she cared for was that Charles should give her acordial welcome; and this he did with effusiveness and open arms. Apartfrom her character as ambassadress to his "dear brother" of France, shewas a new and piquant stimulus to his sated appetite--a "dainty dish toset before a King. "

She was installed at Whitehall to the flourish of trumpets; wasappointed maid-of-honour to the Queen, who frankly disliked and dreadedthis new rival in her husband's accommodating affection; and at onceassumed her position as chief of those women the King delighted tohonour. And with such restraint and discretion did she conduct herselfduring these early days at Whitehall that she disarmed the jealousy ofthe Court ladies, while receiving the homage of their gallants. 

To Charles she was coyness itself--virtue personified. While smilinggraciously on him she kept him at arm's length, thus adding to herattractions the allurement of an unexpected virtue. So jealously did sheguard her favours that the French Ambassador began to show alarm. 

 "I believe, " he wrote at this time, "that she has so got round King Charles as to be of the greatest service to our Sovereign lord and master, _if_ she only does her duty. "

That Louise was fully conscious of her duty and meant to do it, wasnever really in question--but the time to unbend was not yet. It was nopart of her clever strategy to drop like a ripe plum into Charles'smouth. _Il faut reculer pour mieux sauter. _ She would be accounted allthe greater prize for proving difficult to win. 

The psychical moment, she decided, had come when Lord Arlington invitedCharles and his Court to his palatial country-seat, Euston, where, removed from censorious eyes and in the abandon of country-housefreedom, she could exhibit her true colours to full advantage. Over therevels of which Euston was 183 the scene during a few intoxicatingweeks, it is but decent to draw the curtain. With such guests as themerry and dissolute Charles, his boon-companions, experts in gallantry, and his ladies, with most of whom an acquaintance with virtue was but afaded memory, it is no difficult matter to raise a corner of the curtainin imagination. One typical scene Forneron records thus:

 "Lady Arlington, under the pretext of killing the tedium of October evenings in a country-house, got up a burlesque wedding, in which Louise de Querouaille was the bride and the King the bridegroom, with all the immodest ceremonies which marked, in the good old times, the retirement of the former into the nuptial chamber. "

It was precisely such a ceremony in which, a few years earlier, Charleshad figured with _La belle Stuart_, while Lady Castlemaine looked onwith laughter and applause. 

[Illustration: LOUISE, DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH]

Such was the revolution that resulted from this country visit thatLouise de Querouaille returned to Whitehall, the avowed _maitresse entitre_ to the King. The French maid-of-honour had justified theconfidence Louis reposed in her; and as reward she was appointed Lady ofthe Bedchamber to Catherine, and wore a coronet as Duchess ofPortsmouth. More than this, the delighted Louis raised the woolmerchant's daughter to the proud rank of Duchesse d'Aubigny, in exchangefor which dignity she pledged herself to induce Charles to go to warwith Holland; to avow himself a Catholic; and to persuade his brotherand successor, the Duke of York, to take to wife a Princess of France. 

Louise de Querouaille had now reached a dizzier height than, in thewildest dreams of her girlhood, she had ever hoped to climb. She was adouble-Duchess, of England and of France, the mistress and counsellor ofa puppet-King, and an arbiter of the destinies of nations. Well mighther humble father, when he paid his Duchess-daughter a visit in London, throw up his hands in amazement at the splendours with which his "petiteLouise" had surrounded herself! So high had she climbed that it seemedat one time that even the Crown of England was within her reach; forwhen Catherine was brought to the verge of death the Duchess wasprobably not alone in thinking that she might be her successor on thethrone. 

 "She has got the notion, " wrote the French Ambassador, "that it is possible she may yet be Queen of England. She talks from morning till night of the Queen's ailments as if they were mortal. "

But at least, if the crown was not to be hers, there was as much gold tobe had as she cared to garner. Not content with her allowance, which, nominally £10, 000 a year, in one year reached the enormous sum of£136, 000, she heaped fortune on fortune by trafficking in a wide rangeof commodities, from peerages and Court appointments to Royal pardonsand slaves. A few years of such rich harvesting made her incomparablythe richest woman in England, although she squandered her ill-gottengold with a prodigal hand. Her apartments at Whitehall were crowded withthe costliest furnishings and objects of art that money could buy. WhenEvelyn paid a visit to the Court he records:

 "But that which engaged my curiosity was the rich and splendid furniture of this woman's apartment, now twice or thrice pulled down to satisfy her prodigality and expensive pleasures; while her Majesty's does not exceed some gentlemen's wives in furniture and accommodation. 

 "Here I saw the new fabrics of French tapestry, for design, tenderness of work and incomparable imitation of the best paintings, beyond anything I ever beheld. Some pieces had Versailles, St Germain's, and other palaces of the French King, with huntings, figures, and landscapes, exotic flowers and all to the life, rarely done. Then for Japan cabinets, screens, pendule clocks, great vases of wrought plate, table-stands, sconces, branches, braseras, etc. , all of massive silver and out of number, besides some of his Majesty's best paintings!"

Probably at this time of her illicit queendom the only thorn in Louisede Querouaille's bed of roses was that vulgar, "gutter-rival" of hers, Nell Gwynn, with whom she suffered the indignity of sharing Charles'saffection. To the high-born, blue-blooded daughter of centuries ofFrench nobles (of whom her tradesman-father always affected adisconcerting ignorance) the very sight of her saucy and successfulrival, the ex-orange-wench, was a contamination. She pretended to stiflein breathing the same air, and with high-tossed head sailed past MadameNell (the mother of a duke), in the Court _salons_ and corridors, as ifshe were carrion. 

And to all these grand, disdainful airs Madame Nell only retorted with aDrury Lane peal of silvery laughter. She, who was accustomed to "chuckCharles's royal chin, " and to call him her "Charles the third, " inunflattering reference to his two predecessors of the name in herfavour, could afford to snap her fingers at the French madame who, afterall, was no better than herself. 

"The Duchess, " she would say, "pretends to be a person of quality. Shesays she is related to the best families in France; and when any greatperson dies she puts herself in mourning. If she be a lady of suchquality, why does she demean herself to be what she is? As for me, it'smy profession; I don't profess to be anything better. And the King isjust as fond of me as he is of his French miss. "

But while Her Grace of Portsmouth was revelling in her splendour and hergold, her mission as Louis's Ambassadress was making unsatisfactoryprogress. However disposed Charles may have been to change his faith tothe advantage of his pocket, he was not prepared to risk his crown, possibly his head, for any Pope who ever lived; nor did the project ofproviding a French bride for his successor, the Duke of York, promisemuch better. Louis proposed the Duchess of Guise, his own cousin; butJames had heard too much of this unamiable and unattractive Princessfrom his sister, Henrietta, to relish the venture. The Duchess herselfsuggested a Princess of Lorraine, as a suitable bride, but Louis, whohad no love for the d'Elboeuf ladies, nipped this project in the bud. 

After a long resistance, however, she had induced her Royal lover todeclare war on Holland; and Louis professed himself so pleased with thisconcession to his schemes, that he dazzled her eyes with splendidpromises if she would but carry out his programme to the full. It hadbecome her crowning ambition to win the right to a _tabouret_ at theCourt of Versailles--the highest privilege accorded to the old_noblesse_, that of sitting on a stool in the presence of the King; andthis proud distinction, which would raise her to the highest pinnacle inFrance, inferior only to the crown itself, could be hers if Louis wouldbut grant her the d'Aubigny lands to accompany her title, for the_tabouret_ went with the Duchy domains. Even this most coveted of allthe gifts in his power Louis promised to the little adventuress if shewould but carry out, not only all she had undertaken, but any futurecommands he might lay upon her. 

His immediate object now was to take advantage of the distraction causedby the war between England and Holland to annex the Palatinate and theFranche Comté, on which he had long set covetous eyes; but he quicklydiscovered that for once his vaulting ambition had overleaped itself. The whole of Europe took alarm; England to a man rose in angry protest, sworn enemies joining hands to resist such an outrageous aggression; andCharles, in a frenzy of fear for his crown, dismissed his hireling armypaid with Louis's gold. The proud edifice which the Duchess ofPortsmouth had so carefully reared was threatened with a cataclysm ofpopular rage against the "painted French spy" who was regarded, andperhaps rightly, as a prime instigator of the mischief, and the worstenemy of the country that had given her such generous hospitality. 

To add to the danger of her position she became seriously ill; sustainedheavy money losses; and even her supremacy with the King was gravelyimperilled by the arrival at Court of Mazarin's loveliest niece, Hortense de Mancini, with whom Charles had flirted in the days of hisexile, and who now came to England in the full bloom of her peerlessbeauty to complete her conquest of the amorous Sovereign--"the lastconquest of her conquering eyes, " as Waller wrote in his fulsomegreeting of the new divinity of the Whitehall seraglio. 

For once Louise's indomitable courage showed signs of yielding. Thewhole armoury of fate seemed arrayed against her at this crisis in herlife; even Louis, for whom she had striven so hard, began to distrusther powers and to show indifference to her. When Forneron paid her avisit at this time he found her in tears. "She opened her heart to him, in the presence of her two French maids, who stood by with downcasteyes. Tears rained down her cheeks; and her speech was broken with sobsand sighs. " Never had this designing beauty been so near the verge ofabsolute ruin. 

It is not necessary perhaps to follow the Duchess through the period ofher eclipse; to watch the weak-kneed Charles sink deeper and deeper intothe morass of his disloyalty until, in return for a subsidy of£4, 000, 000, he offered to dissolve parliament and to make England thebond-slave of Louis's designs on Europe; or to see Louise, the chiefinstrument of all this ignominy, reach the climax of her disgrace andher peril when mobs besieged Whitehall, and clamoured that the "Jezebel"should be sent to the scaffold. 

It is sufficient for our purpose to know that through all this terribletime she steered her way with almost superhuman skill back to thesunshine of success and favour. Her life-long ambition was crowned whenLouis gave her the d'Aubigny lands and, with them, the _tabouret_ whichhad so long dazzled her eyes and eluded her grasp. When the sky inEngland had at last cleared she paid a visit to her native land. Forfour ecstatic months the wool merchant's daughter made a triumphantprogress through France, acclaimed and fêted as a Queen. At her castleof d'Aubigny she held a splendid court and dispensed a regal hospitalityto the greatest in the land, who had scarcely deigned to notice her inher days as maid-of-honour. When, according to St Simon, she paid avisit to the Capucines in Paris her approach was heralded by aprocession of monks, scattering incense and bearing aloft the holycross. "She was received, " we are told, "as if she were a Queen, whichquite overwhelmed her, as she was not prepared for such an honour. " Tosuch a pitch indeed did this popular idolatry reach that she wasactually painted as a Madonna to grace the altar of the richest conventin France. 

On her return to England from this tour of conquest she found areception almost equally regal awaiting her. She was reinstated as chieffavourite of the King, all his other mistresses--even the Queen herselfbeing relegated to the background; and high statesmen and Ambassadorsdid their homage to her before they sought audience with Charleshimself. She was, in fact, as Louis's deputy, Vice-Queen ofEngland--_plus roi que le Roi_. 

Thus secure of her power the Duchess was not unwilling to indulge oncemore her old propensity for flirtation (to give it its mildest name). The handsome and graceless Duke of Monmonth, Charles's favourite son, Danby and many another gallant, succeeded one another in her favours, which she dispensed without any care for concealment. But the only oneof her lovers of this time who made any real impression on such heart asshe had was the rakish Philippe de Vendôme, grandson of Henri IV. Andnephew of her first lover, the Admiral, Duc de Beaufort, who, as we haveseen, gave her the first start on her career of infamy and conquest. Sheseems to have conducted an open and shameless intrigue with DeVendôme--a man who, according to St Simon, had never gone sober to bedfor a generation, who was a swindler, liar, and thief, and the mostdespicable and dangerous man living. When the Duchess, realising thather intrigue with this handsome scoundrel was going too far, sought towithdraw, he threatened to show certain incriminating letters she hadwritten to him, to the King; and it was only when Louis intervened and, by bribes and commands, induced her lover to return to France, that shewas able to breathe again. 

Not content with setting such a shameless example to the Court, she wasthe arch-priestess of the gaming-tables at which Charles and hiscourtiers spent their nights to the chink of glasses and gold. She madelight, we learn, of losing 5, 000 guineas at a sitting. No wonder Pepyswas shocked at such scenes. 

 "I was told to-night, " he writes, "that my Lady Castlemaine is so great a gamester as to have won £15, 400 in one night, and lost £25, 000 in another night at play, and has played £1000 and £1500 at a cast. "

The Duchesse de Mazarin, he tells us, "won at basset, of Nell Gwynne 1400 guineas in one night, and of the Duchess of Portsmouth above £8000, in doing which she exerted her utmost cunning and had the greatest satisfaction, because they were rivals in the Royal favour. "

But the end of these saturnalia was at hand. The last glimpse we have ofthem was on the night of 1st February 1685--the last Sunday Charles waspermitted to spend on earth. 

 "The great courtiers, " says Evelyn, "and other dissolute persons were playing at basset round a large table, with a bank of at least £2000 before them. The King, though not engaged in the game, was to the full as scandalously occupied, sitting in open dalliance with three of the shameless women of the Court, the Duchesses of Portsmouth, Morland, and Mazarin, and others of the same stamp, while a French boy was singing love-songs in that glorious gallery. Six days after, " he adds, "all was in the dust. "

As the end of that wasted Royal life drew near the Duchess's chiefconcern--for it was her last opportunity of redeeming one of her pledgesto Louis, her paymaster--was that Charles should at least die an avowedCatholic. 

 "I found her, " Barillon wrote to Louis, "overcome with grief. But, instead of bewailing her own unhappy and changed condition, she led me into an adjoining chamber and said: 'M. L'Ambassadeur, I want to confide a secret to you, although if it were publicly known my head would pay the forfeit. The King is a Catholic at heart, and yet there he lies surrounded by Protestant bishops. I dare not enter the room, and there is no one to talk to him of his end and of God. The Duke of York is too much occupied with his own affairs to trouble about his brother's conscience. Pray go to him and tell him that the end is near, and that it is his duty to lose no time in saving his brother's soul. '"

The remainder of the Duchess's life-story is soon told. The days of herqueendom and glory were at an end. She was glad to escape to Francebefore James's tempestuous reign ended in tragedy. Here trouble and losswere largely her portion. She lost favour with Louis to such an extentthat, at one time, he seriously thought of exiling her; her son desertedand disgraced her; her ill-gotten riches took wings, until only apension of £800, wrung from Louis, saved her from absolute destitution. True, she was still able to claim her _tabouret_ at the Court ofVersailles, and, for a few hours occasionally, to revive the glories ofthe past; but apart from these ironical spasms of splendour she spenther last years in loneliness and sadness, turning to a tardy piety as arefuge from the coldness of the world, and as a solace for its lostvanities. She saw all the great figures, among whom she had moved, passone by one behind the veil before she died, a wrinkled hag ofeighty-five, shorn of the last vestige of the charms which had wroughtsuch havoc in the world. 

CHAPTER XV

THE MERRY DUCHESS

When Elizabeth Chudleigh first opened her eyes on the world, nearly twocenturies ago, at the Royal Hospital, Chelsea, of which her father wasDeputy-Governor, we may be sure that her parents little anticipated theromantic and adventurous _rôle_ Fate had assigned to her on the stage oflife. A member of an ancient family, whose women had ever beendistinguished for their virtue as its men for their valour, the Chelseainfant was destined to shock Society by the laxity of her morals as shedazzled it by her beauty and charm, and to make herself conspicuous, inan age none too strait-laced, as an adventuress of rare skill anddaring, and as a profligate in petticoats. 

As a child she amused all who knew her by the airs she assumed. Beforeshe was long out of the nursery she vowed that "she would be a Duchess, "and a Duchess she was before she died. She was quick to learn the powerof beauty and of a clever tongue; and before she was emancipated fromshort frocks she was a finished coquette. 

Such was Elizabeth Chudleigh when, at fifteen, she blossomed intoprecocious womanhood. Her father, the Colonel, had long been dead, andhis widow had made her home in the neighbourhood of Leicester House, where the Prince and Princess of Wales held their Court. Here she madethe acquaintance of Mr Pulteney, later Earl of Bath, a great favouriteof the weak and dissolute Prince; and through his interest, Elizabeth, now a radiantly lovely and supremely fascinating young woman, wasappointed a maid-of-honour to the Princess. 

In the environment of a Court, surrounded by gallants, and with womenalmost as lovely as herself to pit her charms against, ColonelChudleigh's daughter, eager to drink the cup of pleasure and ofconquest, was in her element. She was the merriest madcap in a Courtwhere licence was unrestrained; and she soon had high-placed lovers ather dainty feet, including, so they say, none other than Frederickhimself. Coronets galore dazzled her eyes with their rival allurements;but while, with tantalising coquetry, she kept them all dangling, onealone tempted her--that which was laid at her feet by the Duke ofHamilton, a gallant whose high rank was rivalled by his handsome faceand figure, and his many courtly accomplishments. 

When the Duke asked her to be his wife she graciously consented, and herDuchess's coronet seemed assured thus early, with a prospect ofhappiness that does not always accompany it; for in this case she seemsto have given her heart where she gave her hand. For a time the courseof true love ran smoothly, and the maid-of-honour became a model ofdecorum as the affianced wife of the man she loved. 

But her dream of happiness was destined to be short-lived. An intriguingaunt, Mrs Hanmer, who had no love for the Hamiltons, set to work to dashthe cup of happiness from her niece's lips. She intercepted the Duke'sletters, poured into Elizabeth's ears poisonous stories of hisinfidelities and entanglements to account for his silence, and, when thepoison began to show signs of working, whisked her niece away on a visitto the country-house of her cousin, Mr Merrill, at Lainston, where amongher fellow-guests was a dashing young naval lieutenant, the Hon. Augustus Hervey, who was second heir to his father's Earldom of Bristol. 

The lieutenant, as was inevitable, perhaps, fell promptly under thespell of the maid-of-honour's charms, and made violent love to her, with, of course, Mrs Hanmer's whole-hearted connivance. The girl, blazing with resentment of the Duke's coldness, and his apparentindifference to her beauty and his vows, lent a willing ear to hispleadings, and within a few days had promised to be wife to a man whom, as she confessed later, she "almost hated. "

The wedding was, by mutual consent, to be secret, partly on account ofthe bridegroom's lack of means to support a wife, and partly from fearof giving offence to his family. In the dead of an August night, in1744, the bridal party stole out of Mr Merrill's house, and made itsway to the neighbouring church, where the ceremony was performed by thelight of a taper concealed in the best man's hat. Thus, romantically andmysteriously, Elizabeth Chudleigh took her first matrimonial step, whichwas to lead to such dramatic developments. 

Forty-eight hours later the bridegroom had joined his ship atPortsmouth; and his bride's greatest joy, as she confessed, was when hehad departed. Such a marriage, the fruit of pique and anger, boded illfor happiness. Frankly, the union was one long misery, broken by theintervals when the husband was away at sea, and accentuated during his, happily brief, visits to her. Two children were born to thisill-assorted pair, but both died young; and Elizabeth Hervey hadabundant opportunity to follow her natural bent, by seekingforgetfulness in dissipation. 

In the full glow of her beauty, a wife who was no wife, she resumed herbroken career of conquest. She made a tour of Europe, leaving a train ofbroken-hearted and languishing lovers behind her. At Berlin she broughtFrederick the Great to his knees, and made an abject slave of him; sheshocked the ladies of the Dresden Court by her laxity and the prodigaldisplay of her charms, and by the same arts bewitched the men. She led, we are told, a life of shameless dissipation, which only her beauty andintellectual gifts redeemed from vulgar depravity. She had lovers inevery capital she visited, and discarded them as lightly as so manyplaythings. 

On her return to England, so anxious was she to obliterate that fatalepisode in the dark church, she made a journey with certain friends toLainston, and, while the vicar's back was turned, tore the fatal pageout of the marriage register. 

Meanwhile, the naval lieutenant had blossomed into an Earl, on hisfather's death; and when the new Earl, her husband, showed signs offailing health, and there was an early prospect of graduating as awealthy dowager Countess, she saw the wisdom of making another journeyto Lainston to replace the record of her marriage. Alas, for herscheming; the moribund Earl took a new lease of life, and the gildeddowagerhood became nebulous and remote again. 

But Elizabeth Chudleigh was not to be long baulked in her ambitiousdesigns. Though her charms had grown too opulent and were faded--for shewas now near her fiftieth birthday--she was able to count among herslaves the aged Duke of Kingston, an amiable and weak old gentleman ofenormous wealth, and with one accommodating foot already "in the grave. "

Wife, or no wife, she now made up her mind to be a Duchess at last. Sheappealed to Lord Bristol, the husband from whom she had so long beenestranged, to divorce her, even going so far as to offer to qualify forthe divorce by an open and flagrant act of infidelity; but his lordshiponly shrugged a scornful shoulder. Still, not to be thwarted, shebrought a suit of jactitation of marriage, and, by a lavish use ofbribes and cajolery, got a sentence from the Ecclesiastical Court whichat last set her free. Within a month she had blossomed into "the mosthigh and _puissante_ Princess, the Duchess of Kingston, " thus realisingher childish ambition. 

For four and a half years the Duchess was a dignified pattern of all thevirtues. The passions of youth had lost their fires; the scenes ofrevelry and coarse dissipation to which they had given birth were only amemory. She would yet die in the odour of sanctity, however tardy. Butstorms were brewing, and the Duke's death, in 1746, precipitated them, though not before she had had another fling with the riches he left toher. 

Throwing aside her widow's weeds, she flung herself again--old, obese, and faded as she was--into a round of dissipation which shocked anddisgusted even London, accustomed as it was to the vagaries of the"quality, " until she was glad to escape from the storm of censure shehad brought on her head. 

She bought a magnificent yacht and sailed away to Rome, where Pope andCardinal alike conspired to do her honour; and was only saved fromeloping with a titled swindler by his arrest and later suicide inprison. It was while in Rome that news came to her that her latehusband's heirs were planning a charge of bigamy against her, with aview to setting aside his will in her favour. 

Her exchequer was empty for the time; but, presenting herself before herbanker, pistol in hand, she compelled him to provide her with funds toenable her to return to London--to find all arrangements already madefor her trial in Westminster Hall on a charge of bigamy. Public opinionwas arrayed against her; she was received with abuse, jeers, andlampoons. Foote made her the object of universal ridicule by a comedyentitled, "A Trip to Calais. " But the Duchess metaphorically snapped herfingers at them all. She was no woman to bow before the storm ofridicule and censure. She openly defied it to do its worst. Her splendidequipage was to be seen everywhere, with the autocratic Duchess, serene, smiling, contemptuous. 

It was of this period of her life that the following story is told. Oneday when driving in London her gorgeous carriage was brought to a haltby a coal-cart which was being unloaded in a narrow street. The Duchesswas furious at the delay, and protruding her head and shoulders from thecarriage and leaning her arms on the door, she cried out to theoffending carter: "How dare you, sirrah, to stop a woman of quality inthe street?" "Woman of quality!" sneered the man. "Yes, fellow, "rejoined her Grace, "don't you see my arms upon my carriage?" "Indeed Ido, " he answered, "and a pair of d---- coarse arms they are, too!"

Seldom has a trial excited such widespread excitement and interest. 

 "Everybody, " Horace Walpole wrote to his friend Sir Horace Mann, "is on the quest for tickets for her Grace of Kingston's trial. I am persuaded that her impudence will operate in some singular manner; probably she will appear in weeds, with a train to reach across Westminster Hall, with mourning maids-of-honour to support her when she swoons at the dear Duke's name, and in a black veil to conceal her blushing or not blushing. To this farce, novel and curious as it will be, I shall not go. I think cripples have no business in crowds, but at the Pool of Bethesda; and, to be sure, this is no angel that troubles the waters. "

But if Walpole resisted the temptation to witness a scene so piquant andremarkable, hundreds of the highest in the land, including QueenCharlotte herself, the Prince of Wales and many another Royal personage, ambassadors and statesmen, flocked to Westminster to see the notoriousDuchess on her trial on the charge of bigamy. And the vast Hall waspacked with a curious and expectant crowd when her Grace made herstately entry with a retinue of _femmes de chambre_, her doctor, apothecary, and secretary, and proceeded to her seat, in front of hersix bewigged Counsel, with the dignified step and haughty mien of anEmpress. 

Hannah More, who was present at the trial, says that hardly a trace ofher once enchanting beauty was visible; and that, had it not been forher white face, "she might easily have been taken for a bundle ofbombasin. "

The trial lasted several days, during the whole of which the Duchessconducted herself with remarkable dignity and composure, in face of thedamning array of evidence that was brought against her--the evidence ofa maid who had witnessed her midnight marriage in Lainston Church; ofthe widow of the parson who officiated at the nuptials; and of SerjeantHawkins, who authenticated the birth of her first child by AugustusHervey. 

 "The scene opened on Wednesday with all its pomp, " wrote Walpole, who although not present seems to have followed the trial with the keenest interest, "and the doubly-noble prisoner went through her part with universal admiration. Instead of her usual ostentatious folly and clumsy pretensions to cunning, all her conduct was decent, and even seemed natural. Her dress was entirely black and plain; her attendants not too numerous; her dismay at first perfectly unaffected. A few tears balanced cheerfulness enough, and her presence of mind and attention never deserted her. This rational behaviour and the pleadings of her Counsel, who contended for the finality of her Ecclesiastical Court's sentence against a second trial, carried her triumphantly through the first day, and turned the stream much in her favour. "

The following day proved a much more severe test to her Grace'scomposure; and no sooner had the Court risen than "she had to beblooded, and fell into a great passion of tears. " And each succeedingday added to the tension and anxieties which she struggled so bravely toconceal. 

On the third day of the trial Walpole says:

 "The plot thickens, or rather opens. Yesterday the judges were called on for their opinions, and _una voce_ dismantled the Ecclesiastical Court. The Attorney-General, Thurlow, then detailed the 'Life and Adventures of Elizabeth Chudleigh, _alias_ Hervey, _alias_ the most high and _puissante_ Princess, the Duchess of Kingston. ' Her Grace bore the narration with a front worthy of her exalted rank. Then was produced the first capital witness, the ancient damsel who was present at her first marriage. To this witness her Grace was benign, but had a transitory swoon at the mention of her dear Duke's name; and at intervals has been blooded enough to have supplied her execution if necessary. Two babes were likewise proved to have blessed her first nuptials, one of whom, for aught that appears, may exist and become Earl of Bristol. "

Three days later Horace Walpole concludes his narrative of the trial, which we are afraid his antipathy to the adventurous Duchess hascoloured a little too vividly:

 "The wisdom of the land, " he writes, "has been exerted for five days in turning a Duchess into a Countess, and yet does not think it a punishable crime for a Countess to convert herself into a Duchess. After a pretty defence, and a speech of fifty pages (which she herself had written and pronounced very well), the sages, in spite of the Attorney-General (who brandished a hot iron) dismissed her with the single injunction of paying the fees, all voting her guilty; but the Duke of Newcastle, her neighbour in the country, softening his vote by adding 'erroneously, not intentionally. ' So ends the solemn farce. The Earl of Bristol, they say, does not intend to leave her that title. .. . I am glad to have done with her. "

A few days later, in spite of a writ, _ne exeat regno_, which had beenissued against her, she was back in France, travelling in state as"Madame la Duchesse de Kingston. " From Calais she made her magnificentprogress to Rome, where Pope and Cardinals vied in doing honour to soexalted and charming a lady, and entertained her as regally as if shehad been a Queen. Returning to Calais she installed herself in apalatial house where she dispensed a lavish hospitality, and flung hergold about with prodigal hands. 

But Calais soon palled on her exacting taste. It was too dull, toocabined for her activities. So away she sailed in a splendid yacht to StPetersburg where Catherine received her as a sister-Empress, and gaveballs, banquets, and receptions in her honour. From St Petersburg shecontinued her journey to Poland, and made a conquest of PrinceRadzivill, who exhausted his purse and ingenuity in devisingentertainments for her, including the excitement of a bear-hunt bytorchlight. 

Back again in France, flushed with her triumphs, she purchased a Palacein Paris, and the château of Sainte Assize in the country, at whichalternately she held her Court, and moved among her courtiers an obeseQueen, alternately charming them with her graciousness and shocking themby her profanity and indelicacies. Here she made her will, leaving mostof her jewels to her "dear friend, " the Russian Empress; a large diamondto her equally good friend the Pope; and an extremely valuable pearlnecklace and earrings to my Lady Salisbury, for no other reason thanthat they had been originally worn some centuries earlier by a lady whobore the same title. 

But the career of the profligate and eccentric Duchess was nearing itsclose, and she died as she had lived, game and defiant. While she wassitting at dinner news came that a lawsuit had been decided against her. She broke out in a violent passion and burst a blood-vessel. But, evendying as she was, she refused to remain in bed. "At your peril, disobeyme!" she said to her protesting attendants. "I _will_ get up!" She gotup, dressed, and walked about the room. Then, calling for wine, shedrained glass after glass of Madeira. "I will lie down on the couch, "she then said. "I can sleep, and after that I shall be quite wellagain. "

From that sleep she never awoke. The maidservants who held her handsfelt them grow gradually cold. The Duchess was dead. After life's fitfulfever, she had found rest. Thus died, in the sixty-ninth year of herlife Elizabeth, Duchess of Kingston, who had drunk deep of life's cup ofpleasure; who had alternately shocked and dazzled the world; and who hadfound that the greatest triumphs of her beauty and the most prodigalindulgence of her appetites were "all vanity. "

CHAPTER XVI

THE KING AND THE PRETTY HAYMAKER

If ever woman was born to romance it was surely the Lady Sarah Lennox, whose beauty and witchery nearly won for her a crown as England's Queena a century and a half ago; and who, after ostracising herself fromSociety by a flagrant lapse from virtue, lived to become the mother ofheroes, and to end her days in blindness and a tragic loneliness. 

There was both passion and a love of adventure in the Lady Sarah'sblood; for had she not for great-grandfather that most fascinating andphilandering of monarchs, the second Charles; and for great-grandmother, the lovely and frail Louise Renée de Querouaille, Duchess of Portsmouth, the most seductive of the beautiful trio of women--the Duchesses ofPortsmouth, Morland, and Mazarin--who spent their days in "opendalliance" with the "Merrie Monarch, " and their nights at thebasset-table, winning or losing guineas by the thousand. 

As an infant, too, she drank in romance from her mother's breast--themother whose marriage is surely the most romantic in the annals of ourPeerage. One day, so the story runs, the Duke of Richmond, when playingcards with the first Earl of Cadogan, staked the hand and fortune of hisheir, the Earl of March, on the issue of the game, which was won by LordCadogan. On the following day the debt of honour was paid. The youthfulEarl was sent for from his school, Cadogan's daughter from the nursery;a clergyman was in attendance, and the two children were told they wereimmediately to be made husband and wife. 

At sight of the plain, awkward, shrinking girl who was to be his bridethe handsome school-boy exclaimed in disgust, "You are surely not goingto marry me to that dowdy!" But there was no escape; the demands of"honour" must be satisfied. The ceremony was quickly performed; andwithin an hour of first setting eyes on each other, the children wereseparated--Lord March being whisked back to his school-books, and hisbride to her nursery toys. 

Many years later Lord March returned to London after a prolonged tourround the world--a strikingly handsome, cultured young man, by no meanseager to renew his acquaintance with the "ugly duckling" who was hiswife. One evening when he was at the opera his eyes were drawn to avision of rare girlish loveliness in one of the boxes. He had seen nosight so fair in all his wide travels; it fascinated him as beauty neveryet had had power to do. 

Turning to a neighbour he asked who the lovely girl was. "You mustindeed be a stranger to London, " was the answer, "if you do not knowthe beautiful Lady March, the toast of the town!" Lady March! Could thatexquisite flower of young womanhood be the ugly, awkward girl he hadmarried so strangely as a boy? Impossible! He proceeded to the box, introduced himself, and found to his delight that the beautiful girl wasindeed none other than Lady March, whom he had every right to claim ashis wife. A few too brief years of happy wedded life followed; and whenthe Earl died in the prime of manhood his Countess, unable to livewithout him, began to droop and, within a few months, followed him tothe grave. 

Such was the singular romance to which Lady Sarah Lennox owed her being, a romance which was to have a parallel in her own life. As a child inthe nursery she gave promise of charms at least as great as those of hermother. And she was as merry and full of mischief as she was beautiful. 

One day (it is her son who tells the story) she was walking with hernurse and her aunt, Lady Louisa Conolly, in Kensington Gardens, whenGeorge II. Chanced to stroll by. Breaking away from her guardian thepretty little madcap ran up to the King and exclaimed in French: "How doyou do, Mr King? You have a beautiful house here, _n'est-ce pas_?"George was so delighted with the child's _naïveté_ that he took her upin his arms, gave her a hearty kiss, and would not release her until shehad promised to come and see him. 

And how the King and his "little sweetheart, " as he called her, enjoyedthese visits! and the merry romps they had together!

 "On one occasion, " says Captain Napier (Lady Sarah's son of much later days), "after a romp with my mother, the King suddenly snatched her up in his arms, and, after squeezing her in a large china jar, shut down the cover to prove her courage; but soon released her when he found that the only effect was to make her, with a merry voice, begin singing the French song of Malbruc, with which he was quite delighted. "

But these happy days of romping with a King came too soon to an end. Onher mother's death Lady Sarah, then only five years old, was carried offto Ireland, to the home of Lady Kildare. There she remained for eightyears, when she returned to England and the guardianship of her eldestsister, Lady Holland. As soon as George heard of the return of hislittle playmate he sent for her, hoping to resume the romps of earlyyears. But Lady Sarah, though prettier than ever, proved so shy and soembarrassed by the King's familiarities that at last he exclaimed indisgust: "Pooh! she has grown too stupid!"

But if Lady Sarah's shyness had cost her the King's favour, her beautyand girlish grace quickly won for her another Royal friend--none otherthan George's grandson and heir to the throne, then a handsome boylittle older than herself, and at least equally diffident. Every timethe young Prince saw her he became more and more her slave, until hisconquest was complete. He was only happy by her side; while she foundher dogs and squirrels more entertaining company than the King-to-be. 

Lady Sarah was now blossoming into young womanhood. Every year addedsome fresh touch of beauty and grace. She was the pet and idol of theCourt, captivating young and old alike by her charms and winsomeness. Horace Walpole raved about her. When she took part in a play at HollandHouse, of which he was a spectator, he wrote:

 "Lady Sarah was more beautiful than you can conceive. .. . When she was in white, with her hair about her ears and on the ground, no Magdalen by Correggio was half so lovely and so expressive. "

And Lord Holland, her brother-in-law, draws this alluring picture ofher:

 "Her beauty is not easily described otherwise than by saying she had the finest complexion, most beautiful hair, and prettiest person that was ever seen, with a sprightly and fine air, a pretty mouth, and remarkably fine teeth, and excess of bloom in her cheeks. "

Although the Prince's passion for her was patent to all the Court, sheseems either not to have seen it or to have been indifferent to it--anindifference which naturally only served to feed the flames of his love. One day shortly after he had succeeded to the throne, George, the shyestof Royal lovers, determined to unbosom himself to Lady Sarah's friend, Lady Susan Strangways, since he could not summon up courage to declarehis passion to the lady herself. After turning the conversation to theCoronation, "Ah!" he exclaimed with a sigh, "there will be no Coronationuntil there is a Queen. " "But why, sir?" asked Lady Susan in surprise. "They want me to have a foreign Queen, " George answered, "but I preferan English one; and I think your friend is the fittest person in theworld to be my Queen. Tell her so from me, will you?"

A few days later when the King met Lady Sarah, he asked: "Has yourfriend given you my message?" "Yes, sir. " "And what do you think of it?Pray tell me frankly; for on your answer all my happiness depends. Whatdo you think of it?" "Nothing, sir, " Lady Sarah answered demurely, withdowncast eyes. "Pooh!" exclaimed the King, as he turned away in dudgeon, "nothing comes of nothing. "

Thus foolishly Lady Sarah turned her back on a throne, which there issmall doubt might have been hers for a word. Why that word was notspoken will always remain a mystery. It was said that her heart hadalready been won by Lord Newbattle, a handsome young gallant of theCourt; but what was taken for a conquest seems to have been but apassing flirtation. How little Lord Newbattle's heart was involved wasshortly proved when, on learning that Lady Sarah had been thrown fromher horse and had broken her leg, he made the heartless remark, "Thatwill do no great harm, for her legs were ugly enough before!"

The news of this accident, however, had a very different effect on theyoung King, who was consumed with anxiety about the girl he still lovedpassionately, in spite of her coldness. He promptly sent the Courtsurgeon to attend to her; kept couriers constantly travelling to and froto bring the latest bulletins, and knew no peace until she was restoredto health again. When at last she was able to return to London he wasunremitting in his attentions to her. He was never happy apart from her;and, in fact, his intentions became so marked that his mother, thePrincess-Dowager, and the ministers were reduced to despair. 

Secret orders were given that the young people were never to be allowedto be together. The Princess, indeed, carried her interference to theextent of breaking in on their conferences, and rudely laughing in LadySarah's face as she led her son away. "I felt many a time, " the insultedgirl said in later years, "that I should have loved to box her ears. "But Lady Sarah, who seems at last to have awakened to the attractions ofthe alliance offered to her, was not the girl to sit down tamely undersuch interference with her liberty. Her spirit was aroused, and shebrought all her arts of coquetry to her aid. 

If she could not see the King at Court she would see him elsewhere. WhenGeorge took his daily ride he was sure to meet or overtake Lady Sarah, attired in some bewitching costume; or to see her daintily plying herrake among the haymakers in the meadows of Holland House, a picture ofrustic beauty well-calculated to make his conquest more complete. 

Once, it is said, when she had not seen her Royal lover for some daysshe even disguised herself as a servant and intercepted him in one ofthe corridors of the Palace. The coy and cold maiden who had told theKing that she "thought nothing" of his advances, had developed into theveriest coquette who ever set her heart on winning a man. Such is thestrange waywardness of woman; and by such revolutions she often courtsher own defeat. 

That King George still remained as infatuated as ever is quite probable. Had it been possible for him to have his own way, Lady Sarah Lennoxmight still have won a crown as Queen of England. But the forces arrayedagainst him were too strong for so pliant a monarch. In a weak moment, despairing of winning the girl he loved, he had placed his matrimonialfate unreservedly in the hands of the Privy Council; and from thissurrender of his liberty there was no escape. 

Colonel Graeme had been despatched to every Court on the Continent, inquest of a suitable bride for him; and his verdict had been given infavour of Charlotte Sophia, the unattractive daughter of the Duke ofMecklenburg Strelitz. The die was cast; and George, just when happinesswas within his reach, was obliged to bury the one romance of his younglife and to sacrifice himself to duty and his Royal word. To Lady Sarahthe news of the arranged marriage was no doubt a severe blow--to hervanity, if not to her heart. It was a "bolt from the blue, " for whichshe was not prepared. But she was too proud to show her wounds. 

 "I shall take care, " she wrote to her friend, Lady Susan, on the very day on which the blow fell, "I shall take care to show that I am not mortified to anybody; but if it is true that one can vex anybody with a reserved, cold manner, he shall have it, I promise him. Now as to what I wish about it myself, excepting this little message, I have almost forgiven him. Luckily for me I did not love him, and only liked, nor did the title weigh with me. So little, at least, that my disappointment did not affect my spirits more than an hour or two, I believe. I did not cry, I assure you, which I believe you will, as I know you were more set on it than I was. The thing I am most angry at is looking so like a fool, as I shall, for having gone so often for nothing, but I don't much care. If he was to change his mind again (which can't be, tho') and not give me a very good reason for his conduct, I would not have him; for if he is so weak as to be governed by everybody, I shall have but a bad time of it. "

A few days later, the Royal betrothal was made public. At the weddingLady Sarah tasted the first fruits of revenge, when she was by commonconsent, the most lovely of the ten beautiful bridesmaids who, in robesof white velvet and silver and with diamond-crowned heads, formed theretinue of George's homely little bride. During the ceremony George hadno eyes for any but the vision of peerless beauty he had lost, who, compared with his ill-favoured bride, was "as a queenly lily to adandelion. "

The ceremony was marked by a dramatic incident which crowned LadySarah's revenge, and of which her son tells the following story. Amongthe courtiers assembled to pay homage to the new Queen was thehalf-blind Lord Westmorland, one of the Pretender's most devotedadherents. 

 "Passing along the line of ladies, and seeing but dimly, he mistook my mother for the Queen, plumped down on his knees and took her hand to kiss. She drew back startled, and deeply colouring, exclaimed, 'I am not the Queen, sir. ' The incident created a laugh and a little gossip; and when George Selwyn heard of it he observed, 'Oh! you know he always loved Pretenders. '"

But if Lady Sarah had lost a crown there was still left a dazzling arrayof coronets, any one of which was hers for the taking. Her beauty whichwas now in full and exquisite flower drew noble wooers to her feet bythe score; but to one and all--including, as Walpole records, LordErrol--she turned a deaf ear. Picture then the amazement of the world offashion when, within a year of refusing a Queendom, she became the brideof a mere Baronet--Sir Thomas Bunbury, who had barely reached hismajority, and who, although he was already a full-blown Member ofParliament and of some note on the Turf, was scarcely known in thecircles in which Lady Sarah shone so brilliantly. 

More disconcerting still, Lady Sarah was avowedly happy with herbaronet-husband. 

 "And who the d----, " she wrote to her bosom-friend, Lady Susan, "would not be happy with a pretty place, a good house, good horses, greyhounds for hunting, so near Newmarket, what company we please in the house, and £2, 000 a year to spend? Pray now, where is the wretch who would not be happy?"

And no doubt she was happy, with her dogs and horses, her peacocks andsilver-pheasants, and her genial sport-loving husband who simplyidolised her. Even after five years of this rustic life she wrote toLady Susan, who was now also a wife:

 "Good husbands are not so common, at least I see none like my own and your description of yours, from which I reckon that we are the two luckiest women living. As for me, I should be a monster of ingratitude if I ever made a single complaint and did not thank God for making me the happiest of beings. "

It was fortunate that she had an idolatrous husband; for even in Arcadiashe could not, or would not, keep her coquetry within decent bounds. Sheflirted outrageously with the neighbouring squires and with such men ofrank as drifted her way; but the baronet saw no cause for alarm orresentment. He was frankly delighted that his wife had so many admirers. He basked genially in the reflected glory of his wife's conquests!

And Lady Sarah might have lived and died the baronet's adored wife hadnot Lord William Gordon crossed her path. Lord William was young, handsome, full of romance, a dangerous rival to the bucolic and stolidbaronet, under whose unobservant eyes he carried on an open flirtationwith his wife. Before Lady Sarah realised her danger, she had driftedinto a _liaison_ with the handsome Scot, which could only have onetermination. One morning in February 1769 Sir Thomas awoke to find hisnest empty. Lady Sarah had flown, and Lord William with her. 

Then followed for Lady Sarah a brief period of fearful joy, ofintoxicating passion. Far away near the Scottish border she and herlover spent halcyon days together. Their favourite walk by the banks ofthe Leader is known to-day as the "Lovers' Walk. " It was a foolishparadise in which they were living, and a rude awaking was inevitable. After three months of bliss Lord William's family brought such pressureto bear on him that the lovers were compelled to separate--he to travelabroad, she to find a refuge from her shame under the roof of herbrother, Charles, Duke of Richmond, at Goodwood, where, with her child(but not Sir Thomas Bunbury's), she spent a dozen years in penitence andisolation. 

The life which had dawned so fairly seemed to be finally merged innight. Her betrayed husband had procured a divorce; and although he waschivalry itself in his forgiveness of and kindness to her, she realisedthat there was no hope of reunion with him. Days of weeping, nights ofremorse, were her portion. But though she little dared to hope it, bright days were still in store for her--a happy and honourablewifehood, and the pride and blessing of children to rise up to do herhonour. 

It was the coming of the Hon. George Napier, an old Army friend of herbrother, that heralded the new dawn for her darkened life. There werefew handsomer men in England than this tall, stalwart son of the sixthLord Napier, who is described as "faultless in figure and features. "When he met Lady Sarah, under the roof of his old friend, her brother, he was still mourning the wife whom he had recently buried in New York;but the sight of such suffering and beauty allied touched a heart whichhe had thought dead to passion. That she was as poor as he was, and manyyears older mattered nothing to him. He soon realised that his only hopeof happiness lay in winning her. In vain the lady protested that she wasnot fit to be his wife. 

 "He knows, " she wrote to Lady Susan, "I _do_ love him; and being certain of that, he laughs at every objection that is started, for he says that, loving me to the degrees he does, he is quite sure never to repent marrying me. "

Lady Sarah's family put every possible obstacle in the way of theproposed union, but the masterful soldier had his way; and one Augustday in 1781 Captain Napier led his tarnished but loved and loving brideto the altar. For many years poverty was their lot; but they laughed attheir empty purse and found their reward in mutual devotion and thesight of their children growing in strength and beauty by their side. Oftheir five sons, three won laurels on many battlefields and diedgenerals; one of the trio was the famous conqueror of Scinde, anotherwas the historian of the Peninsular War. 

When, after twenty-three years of ideally happy life together, ColonelNapier (as he had become) died, his widow was disconsolate. 

 "How I wish I could go with him, " she wrote; "the gentlest, bravest man who ever brought sunshine and solace into a woman's darkened heart. "

But Lady Sarah was destined to walk life's path alone for nearly twentyyears longer, finding her only comfort in watching the careers of hergallant boys. 

To add to her misfortunes her last days were spent in darkness. The eyesthat had melted with love and sparkled with mischief, could no longereven look on the sons she loved. 

A pathetic story is told of these last clouded days of Lady Sarah'slife. In the year 1814, when, although an old woman she had still twelveyears to live, she was present at a sermon preached by the Dean ofCanterbury in aid of an Infirmary for the cure of diseases of the eye. As the preacher drew a pathetic picture of King George, a liberal patronof the Infirmary, spending his days in darkness among the splendours ofhis palace, tears were seen to stream down Lady Sarah's cheeks, until, overcome by emotion, she asked her attendant to lead her out of thechurch. 

Who shall say what sad and tender memories were evoked by this pictureof her lover of fifty years earlier, in his darkness and isolation, shutout like herself by a dark barrier from the joy and light of life. Amongthe mental pictures that thronged her brain was, probably, that of adainty maiden, rake in hand, glancing archly from under her bonnet at agallant young Prince, whose eyes spoke love to hers as he rodelingeringly by; and that other picture of the same maid, with downcasteyes, declaring that she "thought nothing" of her Royal lover's vows, though they carried a crown with them. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE COUNTESS WHO MARRIED HER GROOM

Life has seldom dawned for any daughter of a noble house more fair orfull of promise than for the infant Lady Susanna Cochrane, seconddaughter of John, fourth Earl of Dundonald. All that rank and wealth andbeauty could give were hers by birth. Her mother was an Earl's daughter, and had for grandfather the Duke of Atholl. Her paternal grandmother wasLady Susanna Hamilton, daughter of the Duke of Hamilton; and on bothsides she came from a line of fair women, many of whom, like her mother, had ranked among the most beautiful in all Scotland. 

Such was the splendid heritage of Lady Susanna when she opened her eyeson the world two centuries ago; and, during the earlier years of herlife, it seemed that Fortune, who had already dowered her so richly, could not smile too sweetly on her. She grew to girlhood and youngwomanhood more beautiful even than her mother or her two sisters, Anneand Catherine, of whom the former became a Duchess at sixteen; whileCatherine was not long out of the schoolroom before her hand was won bythe Earl of Galloway. 

As for Susanna, the loveliest of the "three Graces"--"Scotland'sfairest daughter, " to quote a chronicler of the time--she counted herhigh-placed lovers by the score almost before she had graduated intolong frocks; and Charles, sixth Earl of Strathmore, was accounted theluckiest man north of the Tweed when he won her for his bride. 

It was an ideal union, this of the beautiful Lady Susanna with thestalwart and handsome young Earl--"the fairest lass and bonniest lad" inall Scotland; and none who saw their radiant happiness on theirwedding-day could have dreamt how soon tragedy was to close so bright achapter of romance. 

For a few short years the young Earl and his Countess were ideallyhappy. 

 "I never thought, " Lady Strathmore wrote to a friend, "that life could be so sweet. The days are all too short to crowd my happiness into. "

Then, when the sky was fairest, the blow fell. 

One May day in the year 1728, the young Earl went to Forfar to attendthe funeral of a friend, and among his fellow-mourners were two men ofhis acquaintance, James Carnegie, of Finhaven, and a Mr Lyon, ofBrigton, the latter a distant relative of the Earl. 

After the funeral the three men sat drinking together, as was the customof the time, and then adjourned to a tavern in Forfar, where theycontinued their potations until all three were, beyond all doubt, in anadvanced state of intoxication, and ripe for any mischief. 

From the tavern they went, uproariously drunk, to call on a sister ofCarnegie, where Mr Lyon not only became quarrelsome, but with drunkenjocularity, had the audacity to pinch his hostess's arms. It was withthe utmost difficulty that Lord Strathmore induced his two companions toleave the house, in which one of them had so far forgotten what was duefrom him as a gentleman; and it was scarcely to be wondered at that anunseemly brawl began almost as soon as they were in the street. 

Mr Lyon began to conduct himself more outrageously than before, now thatthe modified restraint of a lady's presence was removed. With boisteroushorseplay, he pushed Carnegie into a deep gutter which ran by theroadside, and from which Carnegie emerged covered with mud and ragingwith fury. Such an insult could only be wiped out with blood; and, drawing his sword, Carnegie rushed at his tormentor. The Earl, in orderto avert a tragedy, imprudently threw himself between the twoantagonists, with the intention of diverting the blow. Carnegie's swordentered his body, passing clean through it; and he fell to the ground adying man. Two hours later the young Earl gasped his life out in thetavern, where he had drunk "not wisely, but too well. "

Thus a drunken brawl, following on a funeral, made a widow of thebeautiful Countess of Strathmore just when life was at its brightest andbest, and when the days seemed all too short to hold her happiness. 

As for James Carnegie of Finhaven, he was brought to trial on a chargeof murder, and every nerve was strained to bring him to the gallows. That this was not his fate, in spite of the terrible provocation he hadreceived, and the obviously accidental nature of the tragedy, he owedentirely to the skill and eloquence of his counsel, Robert Dundas ofArniston, who played so cleverly on the feelings and self-importance ofthe jury that they returned a verdict of acquittal. 

The widowed Countess mourned her lord deeply and sincerely. Morebeautiful than ever (she was barely twenty when this tragedy came tocloud her life), and richly dowered, many a wooer sought to console herwith a new prospect of wedded happiness. She had naught to say to any ofthem. She preferred to live alone with her memories, and to find solacein good works. And thus for seventeen years she lived, a model of allthat is beautiful in womanhood, captivating all hearts by her sweetnessand graciousness, and by a beauty which sorrow only served to refine andmake more lovely still. 

Thus we find her in 1745, a gracious and lovely woman, still young, dispensing her charities and hospitalities, and esteemed everywhere as amodel of all the proprieties. But she was still a woman. Romance andpassion were by no means dead in her; and to this "eternal feminine" wemust look for an explanation of the strange event which now follows inher story. 

Among the Countess's many servants was one George Forbes, a young andstrikingly handsome groom, who had been taken on as stable-boy by herlate husband. Forbes was a simple, manly fellow, a peasant's son, andwith no ambition beyond the state of life to which he had been born. Hewas proud of the fact that he had served his mistress well, and that sheliked him. That Lady Strathmore valued her groom was proved by the factthat she chose him as her escort whenever she went riding, and that shepromoted him to the charge of her stables--a proof of confidence whichno doubt he had earned. But that his high-placed mistress should regardhim otherwise than as a servant was an absurd idea which never enteredhis head. 

One day, however, the Countess summoned the groom to her presence, and, to his amazement and embarrassment, told him that she had long grown tolove him, and that she asked nothing better of life than to become hiswife. Overcome with surprise and confusion, Forbes protested--"But mylady, think of the difference between us. You are one of the greatestladies in the land, and I am no better than the earth you tread on. ""You must not say that, " the Countess replied. "You are more to me thanrank or riches. These I count as nothing, compared with the happinessyou have it in your power to bestow. "

In the face of such pleading, from one so beautiful and so reverenced, what could the poor groom do but consent, fearful though he was of theconsequences of such an ill-assorted union? And thus strangely andromantically it was that, one April day in 1745, the Countess ofStrathmore, the descendant of dukes and kings, gave her hand at thealtar to the ex-stable-lad and peasant's son. 

What followed this singular union was precisely what was to be expected. The Countess was disowned by her noble relatives; her friends with oneconsent gave her the cold shoulder; and, unable to bear any longer theconstant slights and her complete isolation, she was thankful to escapewith her low-born husband to the Continent. 

Here familiarity with the groom quickly, and naturally, perhaps, bredcontempt and disillusion. His coarseness offended every susceptibility;he was frankly impossible in such an intimate relation; and after shehad given birth to a daughter in Holland, she arranged a separation, forwhich the groom was, at least, as grateful as herself. The child--thevery sight of whom, reminding her as she did of the father, she couldnot bear--was placed in a convent at Rouen, where she was tenderly caredfor by the abbess and nuns. As for the mother, weary and disillusioned, she rambled aimlessly and miserably about the Continent until, afternine years of unhappiness, death came to her at Paris as a mercifulfriend. Such was the sordid close of a life that had opened as fairly asany that has fallen to the lot of woman. 

And what of the child who drew from her mother royal and ducal strains, and from her father the blood of stablemen and peasants? At the Rouenconvent she grew up to girlhood, perfectly happy, among the nuns shelearned to love. The sad and beautiful lady who had come once or twiceto see her, and who, she was told, was her mother, had become a dimmemory of early girlhood. Who the great lady was, and who was herfather, she did not know. This knowledge the nuns, in their wisdom, keptfrom her--if, indeed, they knew themselves. 

One day, in 1761, her days of childish happiness came to an abrupt andsensational end. A rough seafaring man called at the convent with aletter from her father demanding the return of his daughter. The bearerwas sent by the captain of a merchant-vessel, who had instructions toconvey the girl from Rouen to Leith; and, after an affecting farewell tothe abbess and nuns, who had been so kind to her, Susan Janet Emilia(for that was the girl's name) started with her strange escort on thelong journey to a parent whom she had never consciously seen. Thefather, released by the death of the Countess, had married a second wifeof his own station, and had settled as a livery-stable keeper at Leith, where, with his rapidly-growing family, he had now made his home forsome years. 

At last Emilia was handed over to the custody of her groom-father, whoconducted her to his home, which, as may be imagined, was a pitiful andsordid exchange for the peace and happiness of her convent life. Fromthe first day the new life was impossible. Emilia was treated by herstepmother with coarseness and brutality; she was daily taunted with herdependent position, and shown in a hundred ways that her presence wasunwelcome. 

Can one wonder that the proud spirit of the girl rebelled against suchignominy? It was better far to trust to the mercy of the world than tobear the brutal treatment of her low-born stepmother. And thus it cameto pass that, early one morning, before the household was awake, Emiliaslipped stealthily away with a few shillings, all her worldlypossessions, in her pocket. Walking a few miles along the shore, shetook the packet-boat, and crossed to the Fife coast, thus placing abroad arm of the sea between herself and the house of misery andoppression she had left for ever. 

For days this descendant of Scotland's proudest nobles tramped aimlesslythrough the country, sleeping in barns or craving the shelter of thehumblest cottage, and, when her money was exhausted, even begging herbread from door to door. 

At last human nature reached its limit. Late one night, footsore andfainting from exhaustion and hunger, she presented herself at a remotefarmhouse, and begged piteously for a meal and a night's rest. None butthe hardest heart could have resisted such a pathetic appeal, and FarmerLauder and his good wife had hearts as large as their bodies. At lastthe waif had fallen among good Samaritans. She was received with openarms; and instead of being sent away in the morning, was cordiallyinvited to make her home with them. 

The rest of Emilia's strange life-story can be told in few words. Aftera few years of peaceful and happy life in the hospitable farmhouse, shemarried the farmer's only son, an honest and worthy young fellow wholoved her dearly. She became the mother of many children, who in theirhumble life knew nothing of their high-placed cousins, the Dukes andEarls of another world than theirs. 

When, in process of time, her husband died--many of her children haddied young, the rest were far from prosperous--Mrs Lauder retired tospend her last days in a small cottage at St Ninian's, near Stirling, where for a time she lived in the utmost poverty. Then, when her lifewas almost flickering out in destitution, a few of her great relativescondescended to acknowledge her existence. The Earls of Galloway andDunmore, the Duke of Hamilton, and Mrs Stewart Mackenzie combined toprovide her with an annuity of £100; and, thus secure against want, theold lady contrived to spin out the thread of her days a few yearslonger. Thus died, at the advanced age of eighty-five, eating the breadof charity, the woman who had in her veins the blood of Scotland'sgreatest men and her fairest women. 

CHAPTER XVIII

A NOBLE VAGABOND

The circle of the British Peerage has included many "vagabonds, " some ofwhom have worn coronets in our own day; but it is doubtful whether anyone of them all has had the _wanderlust_ in his veins to the same degreeas Edward Wortley Montagu, whose adventurous life was ignominiouslyended by a partridge-bone more than a century and a quarter ago. 

It would have been strange if this blue-blooded "rolling-stone" had beena normal man, since he had for mother that most wayward and eccentricwoman, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, who dazzled England by her beauty andbrilliant intellect, and amused it by her oddities in the days of thefirst two Georges. This grandson of the Duke of Kingston, andgreat-grandson of the first Earl of Sandwich was "his mother'sboy"--with much of his mother's physical and mental charms, and morethan her eccentricities, as his story abundantly proves. 

As a child of three he accompanied his parents to Constantinople, wherehis father, the Hon. Sydney Montagu, was sent as our Ambassador; andthere he won a place in history at a very early age as the first Englishchild to be inoculated for the small-pox. Probably, too, it was hisboyish life in Turkey that inoculated him with the passion for allthings Eastern, that so largely influenced his later life. 

His adventures began when his parents returned to London, and the boywas sent as a pupil to Westminster. It was not long before he rebelledagainst the discipline and trammels of school-boy life; and one day hethrew down his Euclid and Cæsar and vanished as completely as if theearth had swallowed him. Every street, court, and alley was searched invain for the truant; advertisements and handbills offering a reward forhis recovery were equally futile. Not a trace of the runaway was to befound anywhere. 

One day, a good twelve months after his family had concluded that thelad was dead, or, at least, lost for ever, Mr Foster, a friend of hisfather, chanced to be in Blackwall when he heard a familiar voice cryingfish. "That is the voice of young Montagu, " he exclaimed, and promptlydespatched his servant to bring the boy to him. The fish-sellerinnocently came back, his basket of plaice and flounders on his head, and was at once recognised by Mr Foster as the truant son of Lady Mary. 

For a time he denied his identity with the utmost coolness; then, seeingthat denial was useless, he flung away his basket and took to his heels. It was not, however, difficult to trace him; he was tracked to hismaster's shop, where it was found that he had been a model apprenticeand fish-hawker for a year; and he was induced to return to his parentsand to school. Thus ignominiously ended Edward's first adventure, theprecursor of a hundred others. 

He had, however, only been back at his books a few months when hevanished again--this time as apprentice on a vessel bound to Oporto, thecaptain of which, a Quaker, treated the lad with all kindness andconsideration. Arrived at Portugal he ran away again, and, tramping intothe interior, begging food and shelter on the way, he found work in thevineyards, where for two years or more he shared the life of thepeasants. One day, as good or ill luck would have it, he was ordered todrive some asses to the nearest seaport, where he was recognised both bythe English Consul and his old friend, the Quaker; and once more theprodigal was induced to return to his father's roof. 

For a time he proved a model student, to the surprise and delight of hisparents; but once more "hope told a flattering tale. " For the third timehe disappeared, and was soon on his way to the Mediterranean as a sailorworking before the mast, and ideally happy in his vagabond life. Thistime his father's patience was quite exhausted. He refused to troubleany more about his prodigal son, declaring that "he had made his bed andmust lie on it. "

Mr Foster, however, the rescuer from the fish-basket, was of anothermind. He went in chase of the fugitive, ran him to earth, and broughthim again triumphantly home, submissive but unrepentant. It was quiteclear that the boy would never settle down to the humdrum life of homeand school, and, with his father's permission, Mr Foster took therestless youth for a long visit to the West Indies, where it seemed thatat last he was cured of his passion for straying. A few years later wefind him back in England, a model of stability, a student and a scholar, who, in 1747, blossomed into a knight of the shire for the County ofHuntingdon. The rolling-stone had come to rest at last, and had actuallydeveloped into a pillar of the State!

But this eminently respectable chapter in Montagu's chequered life wasdestined to be a short one. He soon found himself so uncomfortably deepin debt that he vanished again--this time to escape from his creditors. He turned up smiling in Paris, where the sedate legislator blossomedinto the gambler and _roué_, dividing his time between the seductivepoles of the gaming-table and fair women. 

His course of dissipation, however, received a sudden and severe checkone Sunday morning in the autumn of 1751, when he was rudely disturbedby the entry of a _posse_ of officials into his room, armed with awarrant for his imprisonment. 

 "On Sunday, the 31st of October 1751, " Mr Montagu records, "when it was near one in the morning, as I was undressed and going to bed, I heard a person enter my room; and upon turning round and seeing a man I did not know, I asked him calmly _what he wanted_? His answer was that _I must put on my clothes. _ I began to expostulate upon the motive of his apparition, when a commissary instantly entered the room with a pretty numerous attendance, and told me with great gravity that he was come, by virtue of a warrant for my imprisonment, to carry me to the Grand Chatelêt. I requested him again and again to inform me of the crime laid to my charge; but all his answer was, that _I must follow him_. I begged him to give me leave to write to Lord Albemarle, the English Ambassador, promising to obey the warrant if his Excellency was not pleased to answer for my forthcoming. But the Commissary refused me the use of pen and ink, though he consented that I should send a verbal message to his Excellency, telling me at the same time that he would not wait the return of the messenger, because his orders were to carry me instantly to prison. As resistance under such circumstances must have been unavailable, and might have been blameable, I obeyed the warrant by following the Commissary, after ordering one of my domestics to inform my Lord Albemarle of the treatment I underwent. 

 "I was carried to the Chatelêt, where the jailors, hardened by their profession, and brutal for their profit, fastened upon me as upon one of those guilty objects whom they lock up to be reserved for public punishment; and though neither my looks nor my behaviour betrayed the least symptom of guilt, yet I was treated as a condemned criminal. I was thrown into prison, and committed to a set of wretches who bore no character of humanity but its form. My residence--to speak in the jail dialect--was in the SECRET, which is no other than the dungeon of the prison, where all the furniture was a wretched mattress and a crazy chair. The weather was cold, and I called for a fire; but I was told I could have none. I was thirsty, and called for some wine and water, or even a draught of water by itself, but was denied it. All the favour I could obtain was a promise to be waited on in the morning; and then was left by myself under a hundred locks and bolts, with a bit of candle, after finding that the words of my jailors were few, their orders peremptory, and their favours unattainable. 

 "I continued in this dismal dungeon till the 2nd of November, entirely ignorant of the crime I was accused of; but at nine in the morning of that day, I was carried before a magistrate, where I underwent an examination by which I understood the heads of the charge against me, and which I answered in a manner that ought to have cleared my own innocence. "

The story of the charge and trial is a long one; but it can be brieflyoutlined as follows:--It seems that one, Abraham Paya, a Jew, who, disguised as "Mr Roberts, " was staying with a Miss Rose who was not hiswedded wife, accused Montagu and two of his friends, Mr Taafe and LordSouthwell, of making him drunk as a preliminary to inveigling him intoplay and winning 870 louis d'or from him. 

As the Jew, whom his losses had sobered, refused to pay, Montagu and hisassociates had compelled him by violence and threats to give them draftsfor the sums owing to them. Then, knowing that payment would be refused, "Roberts" shook the dust of Paris off his feet, turned his back on ladyand creditors alike, and ran away to Lyons. Whereupon, so said thecomplainant, Montagu and his fellow-thieves had ransacked his baggage(which he had foolishly left behind him), and appropriated all his moneyand jewels, to the value of many thousands of livres. 

To quote Mr Montagu again, the latter part of the charge was that MrTaafe

 "smashed all the trunks, portmanteaus and drawers belonging to the complainant, from whence he took out in one bag 400 louis d'or, and out of another, to the value of 300 louis d'or in French and Portuguese silver; from another bag, 1200 livres in crown pieces, a pair of brilliant diamond buckles, for which the complainant paid 8020 livres to the Sieur Piérre; his own picture set around with diamonds to the amount of 1200 livres . .. Laces to the amount of 3000 livres, seven or eight women's robes; two brilliant diamond rings, several gold snuff-boxes, a travelling-chest containing his plate and china, and divers other effects, all of which Mr Taafe (one of Montagu's co-defendants) packed up in one box, and, by the help of his footman, carried in a coach to his own apartment. That afterwards Mr Taafe carried Miss Rose and her sister in another coach to his lodgings, where they remained three days, and then sent them to London, under the care of one of his friends. "

Fortunately for Montagu, the verdict of the Court was in his favour;and, after such an unpleasant experience, he was glad to return toEngland, where, such an adept at quick-changing was he, that we soonfind him a full-blown Member of Parliament for Bossinery, lightening hislegislative labours by writing a learned treatise on the rise and fallof ancient Republics. Was there ever such a man? Duke's grandson, fish-hawker, common sailor, peasant, _roué_, gambler, Member ofParliament, scholar--all _rôles_ came equally easily to him; and manymore just as varied were to follow. It was while thus wearing the haloof learning and high respectability that his father died, leaving him asubstantial income, and a large estate in Yorkshire to his eldest son, if he should have one. And now we find him leaving his law-making andcultivating letters and science in Italy, further enriched by the guineawhich was all his mother, Lady Mary, condescended to leave her vagrantson. The rest--an enormous property--went to his sister, the Countess ofBute. 

From Italy he went on a long tour through the East, where he seems tohave played the _rôle_ of Lothario very effectually. At Alexandria (togive only one of his love adventures) he lost his fickle heart to thebeautiful wife of the Danish Ambassador, whom, under various pretences, he induced to leave the coast clear by getting him to go to Holland. Thehusband thus safely out of the way, Montagu proceeded to dispose of him. He showed the lady a letter from Holland giving sad details of hissudden death, and consoled the bereaved "widow" so well that sheconsented to reward him with her hand and to accompany him to Syria. 

By the time the dead husband had returned to life Montagu was alreadyweary of honeymooning, and was thankful to make his escape to Italy, free to woo, and, if necessary, to wed again. 

We next find this human chameleon at Venice, wearing a beard down to hiswaist, sleeping on the ground, eating rice and drinking water, andrecounting his adventures to all who cared to hear them. He was anArmenian, and played the part to perfection--until he wearied of it, andfound another to play. At this time he wrote:

 "I have been a labourer in the fields of Switzerland and Holland, and have not disdained the humble profession of postillion and ploughman. I was a _petit maitre_ at Paris, and an abbé at Rome. I put on, at Hamburg, the Lutheran ruff, and with a triple chin and a formal countenance I dealt about me the word of God so as to excite the envy of the clergy. My fate was similar to that of a guinea, which at one time is in the hands of a Queen, and at another is in the fob of a greasy Israelite. "

From land to land he wandered, assuming a fresh character in each, andthoroughly enjoying them all. During a two years' residence at Venice hewas visited by the Duke of Hamilton and a Dr Moore, the latter of whomgives the following entertaining account of the visit. 

 "He met us, " Dr Moore writes, "at the stairhead, and led us through some apartments furnished in the Venetian manner, into an inner room quite in a different style. There were no chairs, but he desired us to seat ourselves on a sofa, while he placed himself on a cushion on the floor, with his legs crossed, in the Turkish fashion. A young black slave sate by him; and a venerable old man with a long beard served us with coffee. After this collation, some aromatic gums were brought and burnt in a little silver vessel. Mr Montagu held his nose over the steam for some minutes, and snuffed up the perfume with peculiar satisfaction; he afterwards endeavoured to collect the smoke with his hands, spreading and rubbing it carefully along his beard, which hung in hoary ringlets to his girdle. This manner of perfuming the beard seems more cleanly, and rather an improvement upon that used by the Jews in ancient times. 

 "We had a great conversation with this venerable-looking person, who is, to the last degree, acute, communicative, and entertaining, and in whose discourse and manners are blended the vivacity of a Frenchman with the gravity of a Turk. We found him, however, wonderfully prejudiced in favour of the Turkish characters and manners, which he thinks infinitely preferable to the European, or those of any other nation. He describes the Turks in general as a people of great sense and integrity; the most hospitable, generous, and the happiest of mankind. He talks of returning as soon as possible to Egypt, which he paints as a perfect paradise. Though Mr Montagu hardly ever stirs abroad, he returned the Duke's visit, and as we were not provided with cushions, he sate, while he stayed, upon a sofa with his legs under him, as he had done at his own house. This posture, by long habit, has become the most agreeable to him, and he insists upon its being by far the most natural and convenient; but, indeed, he seems to cherish the same opinion with regard to all customs which prevail among the Turks. "

It was during this interview that Mr Montagu declared: "I have neveronce been guilty of a small folly in the whole course of mylife"--probably making the mental reservation that all his follies hadbeen great ones. Thus this singular sprig of nobility drifted throughhis kaleidoscopic life, changing his religion as lightly as he changedfrom priest to ploughman, or from debauchee to Armenian storyteller. 

Perhaps the most remarkable thing he ever did was the publication of thefollowing advertisement, the object of which was evidently to secure thelarge Yorkshire estate devised by his father to any son he might have:

 "MATRIMONY. --A gentleman who hath filled two succeeding seats in Parliament, is near sixty years of age, lives in great splendour and hospitality, and from whom a considerable estate must pass if he dies without issue, hath no objection to marry any lady, provided the party be of genteel birth, polished manners, and about to become a mother. Letters directed to ---- Brecknock, Esq. , at Wills's Coffeehouse, facing the Admiralty, will be honoured with due attention, secrecy, and every possible mark of respect. "

At this time Montagu was the father of three children--two sons (one ablack boy of thirteen, who was his favourite companion) and a daughter;but they all lacked the sanction of the altar. 

A lady answering these delicate requirements was actually found, andMontagu would probably have graduated as a respectable husband andfather of another man's child had not his vagabond career been cuttragically short. One day, when he was dining at Padua with Romney, thefamous artist, a partridge-bone lodged in the old man's throat, andrefused to budge. He was suffocating; his face grew purple--almostblack. In terrified haste a priest was summoned to administer the lastconsolations of religion; but the dying man would have none of him. Whenhe was asked in what faith he wished to leave the world, he gasped, "Agood Mussulman, I hope. " A few moments later Edward Wortley Montagu, whohad played more parts on the world's stage than almost any other man whoever lived, was a corpse. This grandson of a Duke had begun his life ofadventure as a fish-hawker, and ended it as "a good Mussulman. "

CHAPTER XIX

FOOTLIGHTS AND CORONETS

Ever since that tough old soldier Charles, first Earl of Monmouth andthird Earl of Peterborough, hauled down his flag before the battery ofAnastasia Robinson's charms, and made a Countess of his victor, acoronet has dazzled the eyes of many an actress with its rainbowallurement, and has proved the passport by which she has stepped fromthe stage to the gilded circle which environs the throne. 

The hero of the Peninsula and the terror of the French was an old man, with one foot in the grave, when the "nightingale" of the Londontheatres brought him to his gouty knees; but so resolute was he to giveher his name that, to make assurance doubly sure, he faced the altartwice with her, before starting on his honeymoon journey across theChannel. 

Pope, who was a friend of the amorous Earl, draws a pathetic picture ofhim in the latter unromantic days of his romance. During a visit toBevis Mount, near Southampton, the poet writes:

 "I found my Lord Peterborough on his couch, where he gave me an account of the excessive sufferings he had passed through, with a weak voice, but spirited. He next told me he had ended his domestic affairs through such difficulties from the law that gave him as much torment of mind as his distemper had done of body, to do right to the person to whom he had obligations beyond expression (Anastasia Robinson). That he had found it necessary not only to declare his marriage to all his relations, but since the person who married them was dead, to re-marry her in the church at Bristol, before witnesses. He talks of getting toward Lyons; but undoubtedly he can never travel but to the sea-shore. I pity the poor woman who has to share in all he suffers, and who can, in no one thing, persuade him to spare himself. "

Pope, however, understated the Earl's vigour or his indomitable spirit;for he not only succeeded in getting to the sea-shore, but as far asLisbon, where he died in the following October, but a few months afterhis second nuptials. My Lady Peterborough and Monmouth lived to see manymore years, and by her dignity and sweetness to win as much approval inthe Peerage as in the lowlier sphere of the stage. 

Anastasia Robinson was the first star of the stage to wear a coronet, but where she led the way, there were many dainty feet eager to follow;and, curiously enough, it was Gay's famous _Beggar's Opera_ that pointedthe way to three of them. 

Any one who chanced to drop in at a certain coffee-house at CharingCross, kept by a Mr Fenton, in the days when the first George was King, might--indeed, he could not have failed to--have made the acquaintanceof a "little witch" (as Swift called her) with a voice of gold, who wasdestined one day to be a Duchess. This little elf with the merry eyes, dancing feet, and the voice of an angel, was none other than MrsFenton's daughter by a former husband, a naval officer, and the primefavourite of all the wits and actors whom her fame drew to thecoffee-house. 

She sang for her stepfather's customers, danced for them, charmed themwith her ready wit, and sent them into fits of laughter by her childishdrolleries. Of course there was only one career possible for her, theyall declared. She must go on the stage, and then she could not fail totake London by storm. She had the best masters money could secure forher; and when she reached her eighteenth birthday Lavinia Fenton madeher first curtsy on the Haymarket stage as Monimia, in _The Orphan_. Her_début_ was electrifying, sensational. Such beauty, such grace, suchwonderful acting were a revelation, a fresh stimulus to jaded appetites. Within a few days she had London at her feet. She was the toast of thegallants, the envy and despair of great ladies. Titled wooers tumbledover each other in their eagerness to pay her homage; but Lavinialaughed at them all. She knew her value; and her freedom was more to herthan luxury which had not the sanction of the wedding-ring. 

Her real stage triumph, however, was yet to come. After appearing in the_Beaux's Stratagem_ with brilliant success she was offered the part ofPolly Peachum in Gay's Opera, which was about to make its first bow tothe public. The salary was but fifteen shillings a week (afterwardsdoubled); but the part was after Lavinia's own heart. For a fewintoxicating weeks she was the idol and rage of London; her picturefilled the windows of every print-shop; the greatest ladies had itpainted on their fans. Royalty smiled its sweetest on her. 

Then, at the very zenith of her triumph, the startling news wentforth--"The Duke of Bolton has run away with Polly Peachum. " And thenews was true. The popular idol, who had turned her back on so manytempting offers, had actually run away with Charles Paulet, third Dukeof Bolton and Constable of the Tower of London; and the stage knew herno more. For twenty-three years she was a Duchess in all but name, untilthe Duke, on the death of his legal wife, daughter of the Earl ofCarberry, was at last able to put Lavinia in her place. 

As Duchess, a title which she lived nine years to enjoy, she won goldenopinions by her modest dignity, her large-heartedness, and by thecleverness and charm of her conversation, which none admired more thanLord Bathurst and Lord Granville. 

Duchess Lavinia had been dead thirty years when Mary Catherine Bolton, who was to follow in her footsteps, was obscurely cradled in Long Acrein 1790. Like Lavinia Fenton, Mary Bolton was born for the stage. As achild the sweetness of her voice and the grace of her movements charmedall who knew her. The greatest teachers of the day taught her to sing, and when only sixteen she made a brilliant _début_ as Polly, recallingall the triumphs of her famous predecessor. 

But it was as Ariel that she made her real conquest of London. "Sopretty and winning in pouting wilfulness, so caressing, her voice havingthe flowing sweetness of music, she bounded along with so light a footthat it scarcely seemed to rest upon the stage. " It is little wonderthat Ariel danced her way into many hearts, and that even such a sedatepersonage as Edward, second Lord Thurlow, should so far succumb to herfascinations as to offer her marriage. Her wedded life was only toobrief, but she rewarded her lord with three sons; and a liberal share ofher blood flows in the veins of the Baron of to-day, her grandson. 

Not many years after Mary Bolton had danced her way into the PeerageLondon was losing its head over still another "Polly Peachum"--CatherineStephens, daughter of a carver and gilder in the West of London. MissStephens, who like her predecessors in the _rôle_, sang divinely even asa child, was but seventeen when she made her first stage curtsy, and wonfame at a bound, as Mandano in _Artaxerxes_. One triumph succeededanother until she reached the pinnacle of success as Polly of the_Beggar's Opera_. 

Catherine Stephens had no lack of gilded and titled lovers; but she wastoo much wedded to her art to listen to any vows or to be lured from iteven by a coronet. Although, however, she eluded her destiny until theverge of middle age she was fated to die a Countess; and a Countess shebecame when George Capel, fifth Earl of Essex, asked her to be his wife. The Earl had passed his eightieth birthday, and was nearly forty yearsher senior; but he made her his bride, though he left her a widow withina year of their nuptial-day. 

Since Catherine Stephens wore her coronet--and before--many an actresshas found in the stage-door a portal to the Peerage. Elizabeth Farren, who was cradled in the year before George III came to his Throne, wasthe daughter of a gifted and erratic Irishman, who abandoned pills andpotions to lead the life of a strolling actor, a career which came to apremature end while his daughter was still a child. Fortunately forElizabeth, her mother was a woman of capacity and character, who made agallant struggle to give her children as good a start in life as waspossible to her straitened means; and by the time she was fourteen thegirl, who had inherited her father's passion for the stage, was able tomake a most creditable first appearance at Liverpool, as Rosetta, inBickerstaff's _Love in a Village. _

So adept did she prove in her adopted art that within four years shemade her curtsy at the Haymarket as Miss Hardcastle, in _She Stoops toConquer_; and at once, by her grace and brilliant acting, won the heartsof theatre-going London; while her refinement, at that time by no meanscommon on the stage, and her social graces won for her a welcome in highcircles. Many a lover of title or eminence sought the hand of thesparkling and lovely Irishwoman, and none of them all was more ardent inhis wooing than Charles James Fox, then at the zenith of his career asstatesman; but she would have naught to say to any one of them all. Herfate, however, was not long in coming; and it came in the form of EdwardStanley, twelfth Earl of Derby, who, before his first wife, a daughterof the Duke of Hamilton, had been many months in the family-vault, wasat the knees of the beautiful actress. He had little difficulty inpersuading her to become his Countess; and one May day, in 1797, heplaced the wedding-ring on her finger in the drawing-room of hisGrosvenor Square house. 

For more than thirty years Lady Derby moved in her new circle, asplendid and gracious figure, received at Court with special favour byGeorge III and his Queen, before she died in 1829, transmitting herblood, through her daughter, Lady Mary Stanley, to the Earl of Wilton ofto-day. 

While my Lady Derby was still new to her dignities, Eliza O'Neill wasbeginning to prattle in the most charming brogue ever heard across theIrish Channel, and to grow through beautiful childhood to witchinggirlhood. The daughter of a strolling actor who led his company ofbuskers through every county in Ireland from Cork to Donegal, the loveof things theatrical was in her veins; and while she was still playingwith her dolls she was impersonating the Duke of York to her father'sRichard III. Everywhere the little witch, with the merry dancing eyes, won hearts and applause by her sprightly acting, until even so excellenta judge of histrionic art as John Kemble sought to carry her away toLondon and to a wider sphere of activity. 

From Dublin, he wrote to Harris, manager of Covent Garden Theatre:

 "There is a very pretty Irish girl here, with a touch of the brogue on her tongue; she has much talent and some genius. With a little expense and some trouble we might make her an object for John Bull's admiration in the juvenile tragedy. I have sounded the fair lady on the subject of a London engagement. She proposes to append a very long family, to which I have given a decided negative. If she accepts the offered terms I shall sign, seal and ship herself and clan off from Cork direct. She is very pretty, and so, in fact, is her brogue, which, by the way, she only uses in conversation. She totally forgets it when with Shakespeare and other illustrious companions. "

And thus it was that John O'Neill's daughter carried her charms andgifts to London town in the autumn of 1812, when she justified Kemble'sdiscernment by one of the most brilliant series of impersonations, ranging from Juliet to Belvidera, that had been seen up to that time onthe English stage. For seven years she shone a very bright star in thefirmament of the drama, winning as much popularity off as on the stage, before she consented to yield her hand to one of the many suitors whosought it--Mr William Wrixon Becher, a Member of Parliament of somedistinction. Eliza O'Neill lived to be addressed as "my Lady, " and tosee her eldest son a Baronet, and her second boy wedded to a daughter ofthe second Earl of Listowel. 

Five years before Miss O'Neill's Juliet came to captivate London, another idol of the stage was led to the altar by William, first Earl ofCraven. Louisa Brunton, for that was the name of Craven's Countess, wascradled, like her successor, on the stage; for her father was well knownat every town on the Norwich Circuit as manager of a popular company ofactors, as devoted to his family of eight children as to his art. WhenLouisa made her entry into the world she was the sixth of the clamorousflock who roamed the country in the wake of their strolling father; andit would have been odd indeed if she had not acquired a love of thetheatre to stimulate the acting strain in her blood. 

Such were the charms and talent that the child developed that, by thetime she came to her eighteenth birthday she was carried off to Londonto appear at Covent Garden Theatre as Lady Townley in _The ProvokedHusband_; and the general verdict was that no such clever acting hadbeen seen since Miss Farren was lured from the stage by a coronet. Andnot only did she create an immediate sensation by her acting; herbeauty, which a contemporary writer tells us, "combined the statelinessof Juno with the gentler and beauty of a Venus, " made her a Queen ofHearts as of actresses. So seductive a prize was not likely to be longleft to adorn the stage; and although Miss Brunton consistently turned ablind eye to many a seductive offer, she had to succumb when hisLordship of Craven joined the queue of her courtiers. Four years ofstage sovereignty and then the coronet of a Countess; such was therecord of this daughter of a strolling player, whose greatest ambitionhad been to provide food enough for his hungry family. Lady Craven livednearly sixty years to enjoy her dignities and splendours, surviving longenough to see her grandson take his place as third Earl of his line. 

[Illustration: HARRIET, DUCHESS OF ST ALBANS]

For twenty years the English stage had no star to compare in brilliancywith Harriet Mellon, whose life-story is one of the most romantic intheatrical annals. From the January day in 1795 when she made her bow onthe Drury Lane stage as Lydia in _The Rivals_, to her farewellappearance in February 1815, a month after she had become a wife, hercareer was one unbroken sequence of triumphs. To quote the words of achronicler, She shone supreme, splendid, unapproachable, not only by her brilliant genius, but by her beauty and social fascinations. 

That she revelled in her conquests is certain; for to not one of herarmy of wooers, many of them men of high rank, would she deign more thana smile, until old Thomas Coutts came, with all the impetus of hismoney-bags behind him, and literally swept her off her feet The lady whohad spurned coronets could not resist a million of money, qualifiedthough it was by the admiration of a senile lover. 

Nor did she ever have cause to regret her choice; for no husband couldhave been more devoted or more lavish than this shabby old banker whoused to chuckle when he was taken for a beggar, and alms were thrustinto his receptive hand. Wonderful stories are told of Mr Coutts'generosity to his beautiful wife, for whom nothing that money could buywas too good. 

One day--it is Captain Gronow who tells the tale--Mr Hamlet, a jeweller, came to his house, bringing for the banker's inspection a magnificentdiamond-cross which had been worn on the previous day (of George IV'sCoronation) by no less a personage than the Duke of York. At sight ofits rainbow fires Mrs Coutts exclaimed: "How happy I should be with sucha splendid piece of jewellery!" "What is it worth?" enquired herhusband. "I could not possibly part with it for less than £15, 000, " thejeweller replied. "Bring me a pen and ink, " was the only remark of thedoting banker who promptly wrote a cheque for the money, and beamed withdelight as he placed the jewel on his wife's bosom. 

 Upon her breast a sparkling cross she wore Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore. 

And this devotion--idolatry almost--lasted as long as life itself, reaching its climax in his will, in which he left his actress-wifeevery penny of his enormous fortune, amounting to £900, 000, "for hersole use and benefit, and at her absolute disposal, without thededuction of a single legacy to any other person. "

That a widow so richly dowered with beauty and gold should have a worldof lovers in her train is not to be wondered at. For five years sheretained her new freedom, and then yielded to the wooing of WilliamAubrey de Vere, ninth Duke of St Albans (whose remote ancestor was NellGwynn, the Drury Lane orange-girl and actress), who made a Duchess ofher one June day in 1827. 

For ten short years Harriet Mellon queened it as a Duchess, retainingher vast fortune in her own hands and dispensing it with a large-heartedcharity and regal hospitality, moving among Royalties and cottagersalike with equal dignity and graciousness. At her beautiful Highgatehome she played the hostess many a time to two English Kings and theirQueens. 

 "The inhabitants of Highgate still bear in memory, " Mr Howitt records, "her splendid fêtes to Royalty, in some of which, they say, she hired all the birds of the bird-dealers in London, and fixing their cages in the trees, made her grounds one great orchestra of Nature's music. "

When her Grace died, universally beloved and regretted, in 1837, sheproved her gratitude and loyalty to her banker-husband by leaving allshe possessed, a fortune now swollen to £1, 800, 000, to Miss AngelaCoutts (grand-daughter of Thomas Coutts and his first wife, Eliza Stark, a domestic servant) who, as the Baroness Burdett-Coutts of later years, proved by her large munificence a worthy trustee and dispenser of suchvast wealth. 

Such are but a few of the romantic alliances between the peerage and thestage, of which, during the last score of years, since Miss ConnieGilchrist blossomed into the Countess of Orkney and Miss Belle Biltoninto my Lady Clancarty, there has been such an epidemic. 

CHAPTER XX

A PEASANT COUNTESS

In the dusk of a July evening in the year 1791 a dust-covered footsoretraveller entered the pretty little Shropshire village of Bolas Magna, which nestles, in its setting of green fields and orchards, almost inthe shadow of the Wrekin. The traveller had tramped many a long leagueunder a burning sun, and was too weary to fare farther. Moreover, nightwas closing in fast, and a few hissing raindrops and the distant rumbleof thunder warned him that a storm was about to break. 

He must find some sort of shelter for the night; and among the fewthatch-covered cottages in whose windows lights were beginning totwinkle, his steps led him to a modest farmhouse behind the smallvillage church. In answer to his knock, the door was opened by a burly, pleasant-faced farmer, of whom the stranger craved a refuge from thestorm until the morning, and a little food for which he offered to payhandsomely. "I shall be grateful for even a chair to sit on, " added theweary traveller, when the farmer protested that he had no accommodationto offer him. 

"Very well, " said the farmer, relenting. "Come in, and we'll do thebest we can for you. It's going to be a bad night, not fit to turn a dogout in, much less a gentleman; and I can see you're that. " And a fewminutes later the grateful stranger was seated in Farmer Hoggins's cosykitchen before a steaming plate of stew, while the thunder crashedoverhead and the rain dashed in a deluge against the window-panes. 

Thus dramatically opened one of the most romantic chapters in the storyof the British Peerage. As Farmer Hoggins shrewdly concluded, histravel-stained guest was at least a gentleman. His voice and bearingproclaimed that fact. But the farmer little suspected the true rank ofthe man he was thus "entertaining unawares, " or all that was to comefrom his good-hearted hospitality to a stranger who was so affable andso entertaining. 

Although he was known in his own world as plain Mr Henry Cecil, he was aman of ancient lineage, and closely allied to some of the greatest inthe land. Long centuries earlier, when William Rufus was King, one ofhis ancestors had done doughty deeds in the conquest of Glamorganshire;and from that distant day all his forefathers had been men who had heldtheir heads among the highest. One of them was none other than thefamous Lord Burleigh, one of England's greatest statesmen, favouriteMinister and friend of Henry VIII. And his two Queen-daughters. So greatwas my Lord Burleigh's wealth that, as Sir Bernard Burke tells us, "he had four places of residence--his lodgings at Court, his house in the Strand, his family seat at Burleigh, and his own favourite seat of Theobalds, near Waltham Cross, to which he loved to retire from harness. At his house in London he supported a family of fourscore persons, without counting those who attended him in public. 

 "He kept a standing table for gentlemen, and two other tables for those of a meaner condition; and these were always served alike, whether he was in or out of town. Twelve times he entertained Elizabeth at his house, on more than one occasion for some weeks together; and, as royal visits are rather expensive luxuries, and Elizabeth's formed no exception to the rule (for they cost between £1, 000 and £2, 000), the only wonder is that his purse was not exhausted, and that he was able to leave his son £25, 000 in money and valuable effects, besides £4, 000 a year in landed estates. "

Such was the splendour of this early Cecil, whose two sons were bothraised to Earldoms--of Exeter and Salisbury--on the same day. 

Henry himself was heir to one of these family Earldoms--that ofExeter--and some day would wear a coronet and be lord of vast estates, although the knowledge gave him little pleasure. His parents had died inhis boyhood; and as his uncle, the Earl, took no interest in his heir, the lad was left to his own devices. In good time he had wooed andmarried the pretty daughter of a West of England squire, a Miss Vernon, who proved as wayward as she was winsome. His wedded life was indeed sofar from being a bed of roses that he was thankful to recover hisliberty by divorcing his wife; and at the age of thirty-seven, but a fewmonths before this story opens, he was a free man once more. 

Courts and coronets had no attractions for him. His marriage had proveda bitter draught. He was a disappointed and disillusioned man, and hedetermined that if ever he took another wife she should be "a plain, homely, and truly virtuous maiden, in whatever sphere of life I findher. Then I swear with King Cophetua, 'This beggar-maid shall be myQueen. '"

Full of this romantic, if quixotic, resolve, Henry Cecil strapped aknapsack on his back, and, staff in hand, tramped off in search of the"beggar-maid" who was to bring him happiness at last; or, if he couldnot discover her, at least to find some place of retirement where hecould lead a simple life, remote from the empty splendours and vanitiesof the world to which he was born, and in which he had sought happinessin vain. 

And thus it was that in his wanderings his steps led him to the littlevillage in Shropshire, and to the hospitable roof of Farmer Hoggins andhis good wife, whose hearts he had won before the humble supper-tablewas cleared on that stormy July night. No doubt the stranger's enjoymentof the farmer's hospitality was enhanced by the glimpses he had caughtof his host's daughter, Sarah, a rustic beauty of seventeen summers, with a complexion of "cream and roses, " with a wealth of brown hair, andlovely blue eyes which from time to time glanced shyly at thegood-looking stranger. 

No doubt, too, it was the wish to see more of pretty Miss Sarah that wasresponsible for the stranger's reluctance to resume his journey on thefollowing morning, which dawned bright and beautiful. So far fromshowing any anxiety to continue his tramping, Cecil begged his host'sand hostess's permission to spend a few days with them. He was, he said, a painter by profession; it would give him the greatest pleasure tospend a few days sketching in such a beautiful district; and he wouldpay well for the hospitality. 

The farmer and his wife, who had already grown attached to theirpleasant guest, were by no means unwilling to accept the offer; nor didthey raise any protest when the days grew into weeks and months. Thesewere halcyon days for the world-weary man--delightful days of sketchingin the open air in an environment of natural beauty; peaceful eveningsspent with his simple-minded hosts and friends; and, happiest of all, the hours in which he basked in the smiles and blushes of pretty SarahHoggins, carrying home her pails of milk, helping her to churn thebutter, or telling to her wondering ears stories of the great worldoutside her ken, while the sunset steeped the orchard trees above theirheads in glory. 

To Sarah he was known as "Mr Jones"; and to her innocent mind it neveroccurred that he could be other than the painter he professed to be. The villagers, however, were sceptical. True, the stranger was apleasant man who always gave them a cheery "good-day, " and gossiped withthem in the friendliest manner. But that there was some mysteryconnected with him, all agreed. "Painter chaps" were notoriously poor, and this man always seemed to have plenty of money to fling about. Then, he would disappear periodically, and always returned with more money. Where did he go, and how did he get his gold? There could be littledoubt about it. This handsome, mysterious, pleasant-tongued strangermust be a highwayman; for it was a fact that every time he was absent, acoach or a chaise was held up in the neighbourhood and its occupantsrelieved of their valuables. 

Suspicion became certainty when Mr Jones bought a piece of land in theirvillage and began to build the finest house in the whole district, ahouse which must cost, in their bucolic view, a "mint o' money. " But MrJones simply smiled at their suspicions, and made himself more agreeablethan ever. He loved the farmer's daughter, and she made no concealmentof her love for him, and nothing else mattered. He had won his"beggar-maid, " and happiness was at last within his grasp. 

When he asked his hosts for the hand of their daughter in marriage, thegood lady was indignant. "Marry Sarah!" she exclaimed. "What, to a finegentleman? No, indeed; no happiness can come from such a marriage!"

But the farmer for once put his foot down. "Yes, " he said, "he shallmarry her. The lass loves him dearly; and has he not house and land, too, and plenty of money to keep her?" And thus it came to pass that oneOctober day the church-bells of Bolas rang a merry peal; the villagersput on their gala clothes; and, amid general rejoicing, qualified by nota few dark hints and forebodings, Sarah Hoggins was led to the rusticaltar by her "highwayman" bridegroom. 

For two ideally happy years Mr Jones lived with his humble bride in thefine new house which he had built for her, and which he called BurleighVilla. He had lived down his character of highwayman, and was regarded, and respected, as the most important man in the village. He was evenappointed to the honourable offices of churchwarden and overseer; whileunder his tuition his peasant-wife was becoming, in the words of thevillage gossips, "quite the lady. "

One day towards the end of December, 1793, after two years of thisidyllic life, Mr Jones chanced to read in a country paper news which hehad dreaded, for it meant a revolution in his life, the return to theworld he had so gladly forsaken. His dream of the simple life, ofpeaceful days, was at an end. His uncle, the old Earl, was dead, and thecoronet and large estates had devolved on him. Should he refuse to takethem, and end his days in this idyllic obscurity, or should he claim the"baubles, " and return to the hollow splendour of a life on which he hadturned his back?

The struggle between duty and inclination was long and bitter; but inthe end duty carried the day. He would go to "Burghley House by StamfordTown, " and fill his place on the roll of the Earls of Exeter. To hiswife he merely said: "To-morrow we must start on a journey toLincolnshire. Business calls me there, and we will go together, " aproposal to which she gladly consented, for it meant that she would seesomething of the great outside world with the husband she loved. 

At daybreak next morning "Mr Jones" said good-bye to his kind hosts andrelatives and to the scene of so much peaceful happiness, and, mountinghis wife behind him on a pillion, started on the journey to distantLincolnshire. Through Cannock Chase, by Lichfield and Leicester, theyrode, finding hospitality at many a great house on the way, rather tothe dismay of Sarah, who would have preferred the accommodation of somemodest inn, and who marvelled not a little that her husband, the obscureartist, should be known to and welcomed by such great folk. But was henot her hero, one of "Nature's gentlemen, " and as such the equal of anyman in the land?

At last, after days of happy journeying through the cold December days, they came within view of a stately mansion placed in a lordly park, atsight of which Sarah exclaimed, with sparkling eyes, "Oh, what abeautiful house!" "Yes, " answered her husband, reining in his horse toenjoy the view; "it is a lovely place. How would you like, my dearSally, to be its mistress?" Sally broke into a merry peal of laughter. "Only fancy _me_, " she said, "mistress of such a noble house! It's toofunny for words. But how I should love it if we were only rich enough tolive in it!" "I am so glad you like it, darling, " answered her husband, as he turned in the saddle and placed an arm around her waist; "for itis yours. I am the Earl of Exeter, its owner, and you--well, you are myCountess--and my Queen. "

 "'Now welcome, Lady!' exclaimed the Earl-- 'This Castle is thine, and these dark woods all. ' She believed him wild, but his words were truth, For Ellen is Lady of Rosenthal. "

He did not, like the hero of Moore's ballad, "blow his horn with alordly air"; but with his Countess he presented himself at the door ofBurleigh to receive the homage and welcome due to its lord. 

 "Many a gallant gay domestic Bow before him at the door; And they speak in gentle murmur When they answer to his call, While he treads with footsteps firmer Leading on from hall to hall. And while now she wanders blindly, Nor the meaning can divine, Proudly turns he round and kindly, 'All of that is mine and thine. '"

Thus did Sarah Hoggins, the peasant-girl, blossom into a Countess, chatelaine of three lordly pleasure-houses, and Lady Bountiful to anarmy of dependents. The news of the romantic story flashed through thecounty, indeed through the whole of England; and great lords and ladiesby the score flocked to Burleigh to welcome and pay homage to itsheroine. 

For a few too brief years Countess Sarah was happy in her new andsplendid environment, though it is said she often sighed for the deardead days when her husband was a landscape painter, and she his humblebride in their village home. The modest primrose did not bear well thetransplanting to the lordly hot-house. Her cheeks began to lose theirroses. She bore to her husband three children; and then, "like a lilydrooping, she bowed down her head and died, " tenderly and lovinglynursed to the last breath by the husband whose heart, it is said, diedwith her. 

Of her two sons, the elder succeeded to his father's Earldom, and waspromoted to a Marquisate. The younger, Lord Thomas Cecil, married adaughter of the fourth Duke of Richmond--thus mingling the peasant bloodof Hoggins with the Royal strain of the "Merrie Monarch, "--and surviveduntil the year 1873. Her daughter had for husband the Right HonourableHenry Manvers Pierrepoint, and became grandmother to the present Duke ofWellington, who thus has for great-grandmother Sarah Hoggins, the rusticbeauty who milked cows and was wooed in the Shropshire orchard by "MrJones, the highwayman, " when George the Third was King. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE FAVOURITE OF A QUEEN

When Robert Dudley was cradled in the year 1532 the ball of Fortune wasalready at his feet, awaiting the necessary vigour and enterprise tokick it. He had, it is true, no great lineage to boast of. Cecil spokecontemptuously of him in later and envious years as grandson of a meresquire and son of a knight; but the so-called squire was none other thanEdmond Dudley, the shrewd financier and crafty-tongued minion of HenryVII. , who, with Empson for ally, filled his sovereign's purse withill-gotten gold, and paid for his enterprise with his head when theeighth Henry set himself to the paying off of old scores. His father, the knight, was that John Dudley, King Henry's trusted friend andexecutor of his will, Admiral and Earl Marshal of England, whosesplendid gifts and boundless ambition won a dukedom for him, and madehim for a time more powerful than his King. 

[Illustration: ROBERT DUDLEY, EARL OF LEICESTER]

Such was the parentage of Robert Dudley, the Duke of Northumberland'sfifth son, who inherited, with his grandfather's scheming brain andplausible tongue, the ambition and love of splendour which made hisfather the most brilliant subject of two kings. And this great, ifdangerous heritage was not long in manifesting itself in the younglordling, who was destined to add to his family's story a chapter moreromantic and dazzling than that of which his father was the hero. 

As a boy in the schoolroom he was quick to show gifts of mind almostphenomenal in one so young. Latin and Italian, mathematics and abstrusesciences came as easily to this scion of the Dudleys as reading andarithmetic to less-dowered boys. And with this precocity of mind hedeveloped physical graces and skill no less remarkable until, by thetime he was well in his 'teens, few grown men could ride a horse, coucha lance, or speed an arrow with such skill as he. 

At the Royal Court, where his ducal father was autocrat, the handsomeboy of all the accomplishments found immediate favour and rapidpromotion. He was dubbed a knight when most youths of his years werestill wrestling with their Latin Grammar; he was appointed for lifeMaster of the Buckhounds; and was chosen one of the six gilded youthswho ministered to the King in the Privy Chamber. And in love he was asprecocious as at the Royal Court and in mental and manlyaccomplishments, for at eighteen we find him standing at the altar inthe King's Palace at Sheen, near Richmond, with his youthful Sovereignas best man. 

Whether it was really a love-match or not is open to doubt, perhaps;for Robert Dudley seems to have had little voice in the choice of hisbride. For his elder brother, Guildford, the Duke chose a wife ofexalted rank, none other than the Lady Jane Grey, grand-daughter of LouisXII. 's Queen and Henry VIII. 's sister. But for his boy, Robert, a plainknight's daughter seems to have been good enough in his eyes; and shewas Amy, child of Sir John Robsart, of Siderstern, a lady whose fate wasto be as full of pathos and tragedy as that of his brother Guildford'swife. 

For a time, however, Fortune seemed to smile on this union of the Duke'sson and the Knight's daughter, who was as fair as she was to beunfortunate, and who was not without a goodly dower of Norfolk lands, onwhich her youthful husband settled for a few years of peaceful life. Hesoon became a man of mark in the county of his adoption, taking the leadin local affairs, administering his estates with skill, and finallyblossoming into a Member of Parliament to represent his neighbours atWestminster. But the call of Court life was always in his ears; and manya long spell he stole from his wife and his rural duties to spend amongthe gaieties of Whitehall or the splendours of Henri II. 's French_entourage_. 

With the death of the boy-king, Edward VI. , a change tragic andunexpected came in the young knight's life. His ambitious father coveteda crown for his daughter-in-law, the Lady Jane Grey, whom he had inducedEdward, on his death-bed, to nominate as his successor; andNorthumberland, thus armed with Royal authority and spurred by hisinsatiable ambition, sought by force of arms to give effect to hisscheme almost before the breath had left the late Sovereign's body. Howhis daring project failed is well-known history--how the Princess Maryon her way southward to her throne eluded Robert Dudley, who was sent tointercept her; how she equally outwitted Northumberland and his army, and made her triumphant entry into London as Queen; and how hervengeance fell on those who had sought to snatch the crown from her. 

From the Duke and Lady Jane to Robert Dudley, all the traitors who hadconspired to do this dastardly deed were sent to cool their misguidedardour in the Tower, from which Northumberland, Jane and her husbandwere led to the headsman's block; while Robert Dudley was among thosewho were left to languish in durance, and to while away the tedioushours of captivity by carving their emblems and names on the walls oftheir cells, where they may be seen to this day, or to strolldisconsolately on the Tower leads by way of melancholy exercise. 

Robert, it is said, found many of these hours of duress far fromunpleasant; for among the prisoners in the Tower was none other than thePrincess Elizabeth, sister to the Queen (and her successor on thethrone); and we are told, on what authority does not appear, that therewere many sweet and stolen meetings between the fair young Princess andthe captive knight, when bribed warders turned a blind eye on theirdallying. And rumour even goes so far as to speak of secret nuptials, the fruits of which were, in late years, to bear such high names as myLord of Essex and Francis Bacon. 

"Fairy tales, " no doubt; but, stripped of such ornamental embellishment, there can be little doubt that it was within the Tower's grim walls thatDudley first learnt to love the lady who was to be his Queen, and inwhose life he was destined to play such a romantic part, when she shouldwear her crown, and he should be her avowed lover and aspirant to herhand. 

A year of such pleasantly-qualified captivity, and Robert Dudley was afree man again, sent to purge his treason, by a Queen, indulgent to hisyouth and it may be to his good looks, by wielding a sword in the warthen raging between Spain and France; and here he acquitted himself sovaliantly for Mary's Spanish allies that, on his return in 1558, coveredwith glory, the ban on the Dudleys was removed; and Robert and hisbrothers and sisters were restored to all the rank and rights theirfather's treason had forfeited. 

A few months later Queen Mary died; and when Elizabeth ascended thethrone, Dudley's sun burst into splendour. The romance which had beencradled amidst the fearful joys of prison-meetings, was now to flourishunder vastly-changed conditions. That the new Queen had lost her heartto the handsome and accomplished cavalier, whose prowess in war had setthe seal on the favour won by his graces of person and mind and hisingratiating charm, there can be small doubt; and as little that Dudley, forgetful of the wife left to pine in solitude in her Norfolk home, returned the devotion of the lady, now his Sovereign, who had made hisTower prison a palace of delight. 

Nor did Elizabeth make any concealment of her passion. She was a Queen;and none should question her right to smile on any man, be he subject orking. Before she had been a year on the Throne, Dudley was proudlywearing the coveted Garter; was a Privy Councillor and Master of HerMajesty's horse. She gave him fat lands and monasteries to add to thelarge possessions with which her brother Edward had endowed hisfavourite; and wherever she went on her Royal progresses, Robert Dudleyrode gallantly at her right hand, a King in all but name. And no Queenever had more splendid escort. 

He was, indeed, a man after her own heart, the _beau ideal_ of acavalier; a lover, like herself, of pomp and splendour, a past-master ofthe arts of pageantry and pleasure, and the owner of a tongue as skilledin the language of adroit flattery as in the use of honeyed words. Suchwas Robert Dudley who loved his Queen; and such the Queen who returnedundisguised admiration for flattery, and love for love. 

That the greatest Kings and Princes of Europe sought the young Queen'shand; that ambassadors tumbled over each other in their eagerness topress on her this splendid alliance and that, mattered nothing to her. Her hand was her own as much as her Crown--she would dispose of it asshe wished, and none should say her nay. To the fears and anger of herpeople at the prospect of her alliance with a subject she was asindifferent as to the jealousies of Dudley's Court rivals. She couldafford to smile at them all--and she did. 

And, while Dudley was thus basking in the smiles of his Sovereign, theLady Amy was eating her heart out in loneliness and a futile jealousy inNorfolk. Her husband, it is true, paid her a duty visit now and then, and kept her purse well supplied for dresses she had not the heart towear. She knew she had lost his love, if, indeed, she had ever had it;and she spent her days, as was known too late, in tears and prayers fordeliverance from a burden she was too weary to bear longer. 

One day, in September 1560, an ominous rumour began to take voice. Dudley's wife had been poisoned--by her husband, it was said with batedbreath. The Queen herself heard, and repeated the report to the SpanishAmbassador; varying it on the following day by the statement that "LordRobert's wife had broken her neck. It appears that she fell down astaircase. " And this amended version proved to be tragically true. WhileDudley was dallying with his Queen amid the splendours of the Court, hisdevoted wife was found, with her neck broken, lying at the foot of astaircase in the house of a Norfolk neighbour, whose guest she was. 

How had this tragedy happened? and had Dudley any hand in it? were thequestions that passed fear-fully from mouth to mouth, from end to endof England. The story, as told at the inquest, throws little light onwhat must always remain more or less a mystery. 

This story was as simple as it was tragic. It seems that Amy Robsart(for by her maiden name she will always live in memory and in pity) roseearly on Sunday morning, the 8th of September, the day of her death, andsuggested that the entire household at Cumnor Place, at which she wasstaying, should leave her alone and spend the day at a neighbouring fairat Abingdon. "As for me, " she said, "I shall be quite happy alone. Ihave no taste for pleasure; but I always like to know that others areenjoying themselves, even if I cannot. " Eagerly responsive to such awelcome suggestion the entire household repaired to the fair, except thehostess (Mrs Owen) and a lady guest; and with them as companions AmyRobsart spent a quiet and peaceful day. During the evening she rosesuddenly from the card-table, at which the three ladies were playing, and left the room; and nothing more was seen of her until the servantsreturning from the fair found her dead body at the stair-foot. 

Was it suicide or a brutal murder? The bucolic jury shrank from eitherconclusion, and gave as their verdict "accidental death. " That AmyRobsart ended her own life is far from improbable; for it was no secretto her friends that she was weary of it, and would welcome the releasedeath alone could bring. But the general opinion, so far from supportingthis plausible theory, turned to thoughts of murder, and branded Dudleyas slayer of his wife. It was even commonly whispered that he had bribedone of his minions, Anthony Foster, to hurl her down the stairs to herdeath. 

Whatever may be the truth, none could prove it then; and who shallsucceed now? It is more generous and certainly more probable to supposethat Amy Robsart by her own act--wilful, at the dictate of a braindisordered by grief, or accidental--removed the barrier to her husband'spassion for his Queen. Certain it is that Dudley affected, if he did notactually feel, deep sorrow at his wife's death, and that he spared nopains to solve the mystery that surrounded it. 

His grief, however, seems to have been short-lived; for before theunhappy Amy had been many months in her grave we find him more ardentthan ever in his devotion to Elizabeth, whose hand he was now free toclaim. But the Queen, who was nothing if not an arrant coquette, was inno mood to be caught even by the man she loved. She drove him todistraction by her caprices. One moment she would "rap him on theknuckles, " only to smile her sweetest on him the next. One day she wouldflaunt in his face a patent of peerage, as evidence of her affection;the next she would cut the parchment to pieces under his nose, laughingthe while. She roused him to frenzies of jealousy by dallying with oneRoyal offer of marriage after another--now it was Philip, the SpanishKing, now His Majesty of Sweden--canvassing their respective merits andcharms in his presence, and flaring into angry retorts when he venturedto ridicule his august rivals. 

She carried her tortures even to the extent of seeming to encourage amatch between her favourite and Mary Queen of Scots; and, to make him aworthy suitor for a Royal hand, granted him the peerage she had so longdangled before him. Robert Dudley as Baron Denbigh and Earl of Leicesterwas no unfit husband for her "Royal sister"; certainly a much morepossible personage than "Sir Robert" could have been. But she neverintended thus to lose her most acceptable admirer, and wasrelieved--though she affected to be angry--when news came that Mary hadchosen Darnley for her husband. Thus was Leicester's loss Elizabeth'sgain; and his reward was that he took still a higher place in herfavour. 

If he was not now King Consort in name, he was, at least, in place andpower. When the Queen fancied she was dying of small-pox she announcedher wish that he should be appointed Protector of the Realm at aprincely salary; and, when she recovered, he was empowered to act as herdeputy--to receive ambassadors, to interview ministers, and to sit inher seat at the deliberations of her council. To such an eminence hadthe favour of a Queen raised the grandson of the "country squire. "

No wonder it was commonly rumoured either that she was actually Dudley'swife or that her relations with him were open to grave suspicion. "I amspoken of, " she once bitterly said to the Spanish Ambassador, "as if Iwere an immodest woman. I ought not to wonder at it. I have favoured himbecause of his excellent disposition and his many merits. But I amyoung, and he is young, and therefore we have been slandered. God knows, they do us grievous wrong, and the time will come when the world knowsit also. I do not live in a corner; a thousand eyes see all I do, andcalumny will not fasten on me for ever. "

But neither Elizabeth nor Dudley (or Leicester, as we must now call him)allowed these rumours and suspicions to affect even their familiarities, which were proclaimed to all on many a public occasion; as when the Earlonce, during a heated game of tennis, snatched the Queen's handkerchieffrom her hand and proceeded to wipe his perspiring forehead with it. 

To Elizabeth's passion for pomp and pageantry Leicester wasindispensable. It was he who arranged to the smallest detail hergorgeous progresses and receptions, culminating in that historic visitto Kenilworth in 1575, every hour of which was crowded withcunningly-devised entertainments--from the splendid pageantry of herwelcome, through banquets and masquerades, to hunting andbear-baiting--all on a scale of lavish prodigality such as even thatmost gorgeous of Queens had never known. 

Thus for thirty long years Leicester held his paramount place in theaffections of his Sovereign--a pre-eminence which was never seriouslyendangered even when he seemed most disloyal, and transferred to otherwomen attentions of which she claimed a monopoly. When he flirtedoutrageously with my Lady Hereford, one of the loveliest women at Court, she responded by coquetting openly with Sir Christopher Hatton, LordOrmonde, or Sir Thomas Heneage; and only laughed at the jealousy shearoused. "If a man may flirt, " she would mockingly say, "why not awoman, especially when that woman is a Queen?" And, of course, to thisquestion there was no other answer for my lord than to "kiss and befriends, " and to promise to be more discreet in the future. 

But the Earl was ever weak in the presence of beauty; and in spite ofall his vows could not long be true even to his Queen. He lost his heartto the lovely wife of Lord Sheffield; and when her husband diedconveniently and mysteriously (it was said that Leicester, with hisdoctor's help, removed him by a dose of poison) it was not long beforehe wedded her in secret, only just in time to make her child, whosename, "Robert Dudley, " made no concealment of his parentage, legitimate. Before the child was many months old, however, the father was caught inthe toils of another charmer, my Lady Essex, and after deserting hiswife and, it is said, unsuccessfully trying to poison her, he made LadyEssex his Countess, in defiance of that secret wedding with Sheffield'swidow. 

When news of this double treachery, with the ugly suspicions thatattended it, reached the Queen's ears, her rage knew no bounds. Shevowed that she would send her faithless lover to the Tower, that hishead should pay forfeit for his false heart; and it was only when heranger had had time to cool that more moderate counsels prevailed, andshe was content to banish him to a virtual prison at Greenwich. 

It was not long, however, before her heart, always weak where her "sweetRobin" was concerned, relented; and he was summoned back to Court toresume his place at her side. In fact his very falseness and his folliesseemed to make him even dearer to the infatuated woman than his loyaltyand his love-making had ever done. 

These days of silken ease were, however, soon to be changed. When, in1585, Elizabeth wished to send her soldiers to help Holland in thestruggle with Spain, her choice fell on Leicester to take command of theexpedition, though his only experience of war had been more than aquarter of a century earlier, when young Dudley had left the Tower andhis fellow Princess-captive's side to give his sword its baptism ofblood in Picardy. At Flushing and Leyden, Utrecht and Rotterdam, thegreat English Earl and friend of England's Queen was received with therapturous homage due to a Sovereign deliverer rather than to a subject. All Holland abandoned herself to a delirium of joy and festivity, andbefore he had been many weeks in the Netherlands a heroic statue rose atRotterdam in his honour; and he was invited with one clamorous andinsistent voice to take his place as governor and dictator of the landhe had come to save. 

Such a splendid lure was too potent for Leicester's ambition to resist. Without troubling to consult his Sovereign at home he accepted the"throne" that was offered to him; and it was only after ten days hadelapsed that he deigned to despatch a messenger to Elizabeth with newsof his promotion. Meanwhile, and long before his envoy, who was delayedby storms on his journey, could reach the English Court, Elizabeth hadheard news of her favourite's presumption, and her Royal anger blazedinto flame at his insolence in daring to accept such honours withoutconsulting her pleasure. 

She promptly despatched Sir Thomas Heneage, his whilom rival, to theNetherlands armed with a scathing letter in which the Queen poured outthe vials of her wrath on Leicester's head. 

 "How contemptuously we conceive ourselves to have been used, " she wrote, "you shall by the bearer understand. We could never have imagined, had we not seen it fall out in experience, that a man raised up by ourself, and extraordinarily favoured by us above any other subject of this land, would have in so contemptible a sort broken our commandment in a cause that so greatly toucheth us in honour . .. And therefore, our express pleasure and commandment is that, all delays and excuses laid apart, you do presently, upon the duty of your allegiance, obey and fulfil whatsoever the bearer hereof shall direct you to do in our name. Whereof fail you not, as you will answer the contrary at your uttermost peril. "

One can imagine Leicester's feelings on reading such words of Royalanger and reproach from the woman who had always shown such indulgenceto him. His impulse was to resign his governorship forthwith, and tohasten back to London to beg forgiveness on his knees; but before hecould give effect to this decision he had learned that Burghley hadinterceded for him with the Queen to such effect that, supported by apetition from the States-General, he was to be allowed to retain hisoffice with Elizabeth's reluctant consent. 

A few months of rule, however, were sufficient to disillusionise theDutchmen. Leicester proved as incapable to govern a country, as to leadan army. His arrogance, his outspoken contempt for his subjects, hisincompetence and his capricious temper, so thoroughly disgusted thenation that had welcomed him with open arms, that he was asked to resignhis office as unanimously as he had been invited to accept it; and inNovember of 1587, the Earl returned ignominiously to England, eager torepair his damaged credit by at least making peace with his Queen. 

To his delight he was received with as much cordiality as if he had donenaught at all to earn his Lady's displeasure. Elizabeth had undoubtedlymissed her favourite, her right-hand man. She had in fact become soaccustomed to him that she could not be long happy unless he was at herside; and it was by her side that he rode and shared the acclamationswith which her soldiers greeted her when she paid that historic visit tothe camp at Tilbury on the eve of the Armada. 

But Leicester's adventurous life was now drifting to its close. Hishealth had for some time given him cause for alarm, and in August 1588, he left his Kenilworth home to seek relief by taking baths and drinkinghealing waters; and from Rycott he wrote the last of his many letters tothe Queen. 

 "I most humbly beseech your Majesty, " he wrote, "to pardon your poor old servant to be thus bold in sending to know how my gracious Lady doth and what ease of her late pain she finds, being the chiefest thing in this world I do pray for is for her to have good health and long life. For my own poor case I continue still your medicine, and find it amend much better than with any other thing that hath been given me. Thus hoping to find perfect cure at the bath, with the continuance of my wonted prayer for your Majesty's most happy preservation, I humbly kiss your foot. From your old lodging at Rycott this Thursday morning ready to take on my journey. By your Majesty's most faithful and obedient servant, -- R. LEYCESTER. "

But the Earl was not destined to reach the baths. His course was run. Hegot as far on his journey as Coventry; and there, on the 4th ofSeptember, he drew his last breath. Some said that his end was hastenedby a dose of poison administered by his Countess, eager to pursueunchecked her intrigue with Christopher Blount; others that sheaccidentally gave him a draught from a bottle of poison which he haddesigned for her. But neither suspicion seems to have any evidence tosupport it. 

Thus perished, little past the prime of life, a man who more than anyother of his day drained the cup of pride and pleasure, to find itsdregs exceeding bitter to the taste. 

CHAPTER XXII

TWO IRISH BEAUTIES

In the winter of 1745 the city of Dublin was thrown into a state of highexcitement by the appearance of a couple of girls from the wilds ofConnaught, whose almost unearthly beauty won the instant homage of everyman, from His Excellency the Earl of Harrington, then Lord Lieutenant, to the sourest jarvey who cracked a whip in her streets. To quote thepardonably extravagant language of a chronicler of the time, "They swam into the social firmament of the Irish capital like twin planets of dazzling splendour, eclipsing all other constellations, as if the pall of night had been drawn over them. "

They had grown to girlhood, so the story ran from mouth to mouth, in aruinous thatched house, in the shadow of Castle Coote, in CountyRoscommon, and were the daughters of John Gunning, a roystering, happy-go-lucky, dram-drinking squireen, whose most serious occupation inlife was keeping the brokers' men on the right side of his door. And atthe time this story opens they were living in a cottage, rented for amodest eight pounds a year, on the outskirts of Dublin, with theirmother, who was a daughter of Lord Mayo. 

To say that all Dublin was at the feet of the Gunning sisters, at thefirst sight of their lovely faces and dainty figures, is an unadornedstatement of fact. The young "bloods" of the capital were their slavesto a man, ready to spill the last drop of blood for them; and everygallant of the Viceregal Court drank toasts to their beauty, and viedwith his rivals to win a smile or a word from them. Peg Woffington, itis said, threw up her arms in wonder at the sight of them, and, as shehugged each in turn, declared that she "had never seen anything half sosweet"; and Tom Sheridan went down on his knees in involuntary homage tothe majesty of their beauty. 

It was Tom Sheridan who placed his stage wardrobe at their disposal whenthey were invited to the great Viceregal ball in honour of King George'sbirthday; and, attired as Lady Macbeth and Juliet respectively, theydanced the stately minuet and rollicking country dances with such graceand abandon that lords and ladies stopped in their dances, and mountedon chairs and tables to feast their eyes on so rare and ravishing asight. 

 "With Betty as with Maria, " says Mr Frankfort Moore, "the art of the dance had become part of her nature. Her languorous eyes were in sympathy with the voluptuous movements of her feet and lithe body, and the curves made by her arms formed an invisible chain that held everyone entranced. The caresses of her fingers, the coyness of her curtsies, the allurements of her movements--all the graces and charms inwoven that make up the poem of the minuet--became visible by the art of that exquisite girl, until all other dancers became common-place by comparison. "

Such was the fascination of their beauty that, it is said, the sisterswere one day drugged by a party of licentious admirers, whose gueststhey had innocently consented to be, and were actually being carriedaway by their ravishers when Sheridan, who had got wind of the plot, appeared on the scene with a number of stout-armed friends, and effectedtheir rescue. 

But even Dublin was no suitable market for such peerless beauties, MrsGunning decided. Through her they had the blood of the Plantagenets intheir veins; and no man less than a Duke or an Earl--certainly not anIrish squire or impoverished lord--was a fitting match for herdaughters. And so to England and London they were carried, flushed withtheir conquests, leaving broken hearts behind them, and heralded acrossthe Channel by many a sonnet singing their beauty. 

But, although each was equally fair, the sisters were by no means alikein their charms. Maria, all gladness and mirth, was a sprightlybrunette, in whose laughing glances shone the fires of apleasure-seeking soul; while Elizabeth, the younger, with soft blue eyesand dark golden hair, although infinitely more placid, was no lessradiant than her dashing sister. 

 "Each was, " to quote another description, "divinely tall, with a figure of perfect symmetry, and a grace of dignity enhanced by the proud poise of the small Grecian head. Faultless also were the rounded arms and the hands, with their long, slender tapering fingers. "

All the portraits of Elizabeth reveal the same dainty disdainful lips inthe shape of a Cupid's bow, the long, slender nose, the half-droopinglids and lashes. In colouring there was the same delicacy. A soft, ivorypallor shone in her face, a flush of pink warmed her cheeks, there was agleam of gold as the sunbeams touched her light brown hair. 

Such, in the cold medium of type, were the two Irish sisters who tookLondon by storm, and who "made more noise than any of their predecessorssince the days of Helen, " in the summer of 1751. Their conquest wasimmediate, electrifying. London raved about the new beauties; they werethe theme of every tongue, from the Court to the meanest coffee-house. Even Grub Street rubbed its eyes in amazement at the wonderful vision, and ransacked its dictionaries for superlatives; and the poets, with oneaccord, struck their lyres to a new inspiration. 

Whenever the sisters took their walks abroad "they were beset by acurious multitude, the press being once so great that one of the sistersfainted away and had to be carried home in her chair; while on anotheroccasion their beaux were compelled to draw swords to rescue them fromthe mob. " When, too, they once went to Vauxhall Gardens, they foundthemselves the centre of a mob of eight thousand spectators, strugglingto catch a glimpse of their lovely faces or to touch the "hem of theirgarments. "

When, in alarm, they sought refuge in a neighbouring box, the door wasat once besieged by jostling, clamorous thousands, who were only kept atbay by the sword-points of their escort. And when, one day, they visitedHampton Court, the housekeeper showed the company who were "lionising"the place into the room where they were sitting, instead of into theapartment known as the "Beauty Room, " with the significant remark, "_These_ are the beauties, gentlemen. "

With such universal and embarrassing homage, it is no wonder that allthe gallants in town, from the rakish Duke of Cumberland downwards, wereat the feet of the fair sisters, or that they had the refusal of many acoronet before they had been many weeks in London. Each sister countedher noble lovers by the score, and each soon capitulated to a favouredwooer. 

Among Maria's most ardent suitors was the Earl of Coventry, "a graveyoung lord" of handsome person and courtly graces, who had singledhimself out from them all by the ardour of his wooing; and to him Mariagave her hand. One March day in 1752, the world of fashion was throwninto a high state of excitement by reading the following announcement:--

 "On Thursday evening the Earl of Coventry was married to Miss Maria Gunning, a lady possessed of that exquisite beauty and of those accomplishments which will add Grace and Dignity to the highest station. As soon as the ceremony was over they set out for Lord Ashburnham's seat at Charlton, in Kent, to consummate their nuptials. "

Of Lady Coventry, who seems to have been as vain and foolish as she wasbeautiful, many amusing stories are told. So annoyed was her ladyship bythe crowds that still followed her when she took the air in St James'sPark that she appealed to the King for an escort of soldiers, a favourwhich was readily granted to "the most beautiful woman in England, "Thus, on one occasion, we are told, "from eight to ten o'clock in the evening, a strange procession paraded the crowded avenues, obliging everyone to make way and exciting universal laughter. In front marched two sergeants with their halberds, then tripped the self-conscious Lady Coventry, attended by her husband and an ardent admirer, the amorous Earl of Pembroke, while twelve soldiers of the guard followed in the rear!"

One day, so runs another story which illustrates her ladyship's lack ofdiscretion, she was talking to King George II. , who in spite of his age, was a great admirer of beauty, and especially of my Lady Coventry. "Areyou not sorry, " His Majesty enquired, "that there are to be no moremasquerades?" "Indeed, no, " was the answer. "I am quite weary of themand of all London sights. There is only one left that I am reallyanxious to see, and that is a _coronation_!" This unflattering wish shewas not destined to realise; for King George survived the foolishbeauty by a fortnight. 

Lady Coventry had no greater admirer of her own charms than herself. Shespent her days worshipping at the shrine of her loveliness, andembellished nature with every device of art. She squandered fortunes inadorning it with the most costly jewellery and dresses, of one of whichthe following story is told. One day she exhibited to George Selwyn awonderful costume which she was going to wear at an approaching fête. The dress was a miracle of blue silk, richly brocaded with silver spotsof the size of a shilling. "And how do you think I shall look in it, MrSelwyn?" she archly asked. "Why, " he replied, "you will look like changefor a guinea. "

[Illustration: MARIA, COUNTESS OF COVENTRY]

Mrs Delany draws a remarkable picture of my lady at this culminatingperiod of her vanity. 

 "Yesterday after chapel, " she writes, "the Duchess brought home Lady Coventry to feast me--and a feast she was! She is a fine figure and vastly handsome, notwithstanding a silly look sometimes about the month; she has a thousand airs, but with a sort of innocence that diverts one! Her dress was a black silk sack, made for a large hoop, which she wore without any, and it trailed a yard on the ground. She had on a cobweb-laced handkerchief, a pink satin long cloak, lined with ermine mixed with squirrel-skins. On her head a French cap that just covered the top of her head, of blond, and stood in the form of a butterfly with wings not quite extended; frilled sort of lappets crossed under her chin, and tied with pink and green ribbon--a head-dress that would have charmed a shepherd! She had a thousand dimples and prettinesses in her cheeks, her eyes a little drooping at the corners, but fine for all that. "

Such vanities may be pardoned in a woman so lovely and so spoiled byFortune, especially as her reign was fated to be as brief as it wassplendid. She was, perhaps, too fair a flower to be allowed to bloomlong in the garden of this world. Before she had been long a brideconsumption sowed its deadly seeds in her; and she drained the cup ofpleasure with the fatal sword hanging over her head. She knew she wasdoomed, that all the medical skill in the world could not save her; and, with characteristic courage, she determined to enjoy life to its lastdregs. 

She saw her beauty fade daily, and pathetically tried to conceal itsdecay by powders and paints. She grew daily weaker; but, with a bravesmile, held her place in the vortex of gaiety. Even when the inevitableend was near she insisted on attending the trial of Lord Ferrers for themurder of his steward. As Horace Walpole says, "The seats of the Peeresses were not nearly full, and most of the beauties were absent; but, to the amazement of everybody, Lady Coventry was there, and, what surprised me more, looked as well as ever. I sat next but one to her, and should not have asked her if she had been ill, yet they are positive she has few weeks to live. She was observed to be 'acting over all the old comedy of eyes' with her former flame, Lord Bolingbroke, an unscrupulous rake, who seems to have striven for years to make her the victim of his passion. "

Her conduct, indeed, seems never to have been very discreet. 

 "Her levities, " says a chronicler of the time, "were very publicly talked of, and some gallantries were ascribed to her which were greatly believed. However, they were never brought home to her; and, if she were guilty, she escaped with only a little private scandal, which generally falls to the lot of every woman of uncommon beauty who is envied by the rest of her sex. "

During the summer of 1760 the unhappy lady lay at the point of death, inher stately home at Croome Court, bravely awaiting the end. 

 "Until the last few days, " says Mr Horace Bleackley, "the pretty Countess lay upon a sofa, with a mirror in her hand, gazing with yearning eyes upon the reflection of her fading charms. To the end her ruling passion was unchanged; for when she perceived that her beauty had vanished she asked to be carried to bed, and called for the room to be darkened and the curtains drawn, permitting none to look upon her pallid face and sunken cheeks. "

Thus, robbed of all that had made life worth living, and bitterlyrealising the vanity of beauty, Lady Coventry drew her last breath onOctober 1st 1760. Ten days later, ten thousand persons paid their lasthomage to her in Pirton churchyard. 

 * * * * *

Three weeks before Maria Gunning blossomed into a Countess her youngersister Betty had been led to the altar under much more romanticconditions, after one of the most rapid and impetuous wooings in theannals of Love. A few weeks before she wore her wedding-ring, the manwho was to win her was not even known to her by sight; and what she hadheard of him was by no means calculated to impress her in his favour. The Duke of Hamilton, while still young, had won for himself a veryunenviable notoriety as a debauchee in an age of profligacy. He haddrunk deep of every cup of questionable pleasure; and at an age when heshould have been in the very prime of his manhood, he was a physicalwreck, his vitality drained almost to its last drop by shamefulexcesses. 

Such was the man who entered the lists against a legion of formidablerivals for the guerdon of Betty Gunning's hand. It was at a masqueradethat he first seems to have set eyes on her; and at sight of her thisjaded, worn devotee of pleasure fell headlong in love. Within an hour ofbeing introduced he was, Walpole says, "making violent love to her at one end of the room, in my Lord Chesterfield's house, while he was playing at pharaoh at the other; that is, he neither saw the bank nor his own cards, which were of £300 each. He soon lost a thousand. "

Such was the first meeting of the lovely Irish girl, and the man whomshe was to marry--a man who, even in the thraldom of a violent love, could not refrain from indulging his passion for gambling. So inflamedwas he by this new beauty who had crossed his path that, to quote ourentertaining gossip again, "two nights afterwards, being left alone with her, while her mother and sister were at Bedford House, he found himself so infatuated that he sent for a parson. The doctor refused to perform the ceremony without licence or ring--the Duke swore he would send for the Archbishop. At last they were married with the ring of the bed-curtain, at half an hour after twelve at night, at Mayfair Chapel. The Scotch are enraged, the women mad that so much beauty has had its effect. "

If the wooing be happy that is not long in doing, the new Duchess shouldhave been a very enviable woman; as no doubt she was, for she hadachieved a splendid match; the daughter of the penniless Irish squireenhad won, in a few days, rank and riches, which many an Earl's daughterwould have been proud to capture; and, although her Ducal husband was"debauched, and damaged in his fortune and his person, " he was her veryslave, and, as far as possible to such a man, did his best to make herhappy. 

Translated to a new world of splendour the Irish girl seems to haveborne herself with astonishing dignity and modesty. She might, indeed, have been cradled in a Duke's palace, instead of in a "dilapidatedfarmhouse in the wilds of Ireland, " so naturally did she take to hernew _rôle_. When Her Grace, wearing her Duchess's coronet, made hercurtsy to the King one March day in 1752, "the crowd was so great, that even the noble mob in the drawing-room clambered upon tables and chairs to look at her. There are mobs at the doors to see her get into her chair; and people go early to get places at the theatre when it is known that she will be there. "

A few weeks after the marriage, the Duke of Hamilton conducted his brideto the home of his ancestors; and never perhaps has any but a Royalbride made such a splendid progress to her future home. Along the entireroute from London to Scotland she was greeted with cheering crowdsstruggling to catch a glimpse of the famous beauty, whose romantic storyhad stirred even the least sentimental to sympathy and curiosity. Whenthey stopped one night at a Yorkshire inn, "seven hundred people, " weare told, "sat up all night in and about the house merely to see theDuchess get into her post-chaise the next morning. "

Arrived at her husband's Highland Castle she was received with honoursthat might almost have embarrassed a Queen, and which must have seemedstrange indeed to the woman whose memories of sordid life in that smallcottage on the outskirts of Dublin were still so vivid. Indeed no Queencould have led a more stately life than was now opened to her. 

 "The Duke of Hamilton, " says Walpole, to whom the world is indebted for so much that it knows of the Gunning sisters, "is the abstract of Scotch pride. He and the Duchess, at their own house, walk into dinner before their company, sit together at the upper end of their own table, eat off the same plate, and drink to nobody under the rank of an Earl. Would not indeed, " the genial old chatterbox adds, "one wonder how they could get anybody, either above or below that rank, to dine with them at all? It is, indeed, a marvel how such a host could find guests of any degree sufficiently wanting in self-respect to sit at his table and endure his pompous insolence--the insolence of an innately vulgar mind, which, unhappily, is sometimes to be met even in the most exalted rank of life. "

Perhaps the proudest period in Duchess Betty's romantic life was when, with her husband, the Duke, she paid a visit, in 1755, to Dublin, the"dear, dirty" city she had known in the days of her poverty andobscurity, when her greatest dread was the sight of a bailiff in thehouse, and her highest ambition to procure a dress to display herbudding charms at a dance. Her stay in Dublin was one long, intoxicatingtriumph. "No Queen, " she said, "could have been more handsomelytreated. " Wherever she went she was followed by mobs, fighting to get aglimpse of her, or to touch the hem of her gown, and blissful if theycould win a smile from the "darlint Duchess" who had brought so muchglory to old Ireland. 

Her wedded life, however, was destined to be brief. Her husband had onefoot in his premature grave when he put the curtain-ring on her finger;but, beyond all doubt, his marriage gave him a new if short lease oflife. She became a widow in 1758; and before she had worn her weedsthree months she had a swarm of suitors buzzing round her. The Duke ofBridgewater was among the first to fall on his knees before thefascinating widow, who, everybody now vowed, was lovelier than ever; buthe proved too exacting in his demands to please Her Grace. In fact, theonly one of all her new wooers on whom she could smile was Colonel JohnCampbell, who, although a commoner, would one day blossom into a Duke ofArgyll; and she gave her hand to "handsome Jack" within twelve months ofweeping over the grave of her first husband. 

 "It was a match, " Walpole says, "that would not disgrace Arcadia. Her beauty had made enough sensation, and in some people's eyes is even improved. She has a most pleasing person, countenance and manner; and if they could but carry to Scotland some of our sultry English weather, they might restore the ancient pastoral life, when fair kings and queens reigned at once over their subjects and their sheep. "

It was under such Arcadian conditions that Betty Gunning began hersecond venture in matrimony, which proved as happy as its promise. Probably the eleven years which the Dowager-Duchess had to wait for hernext coronet were the happiest of her life; and when at last ColonelJack became fifth Duke of Argyll she was able to resume the life ofstately splendour which had been hers with her first Duke. By this timeher beauty had begun to show signs of fading. 

 "As she is not quite so charming as she was, " says Walpole, "I do not know whether it is not better to change her title than to retain that which puts one in mind of her beauty. "

But what she may have lost in physical charms she had gained in socialprestige. She was appointed Lady of the Bedchamber to Queen Charlotte;and was one of the three ladies who acted as escort to the PrincessCharlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz to the arms of her reluctant husband, George III. It is said that when the young German bride came in sight ofthe palace of her future husband, she turned pale and showed such signsof terror as to force a smile from the Duchess who sat by her side. Uponwhich the frightened young Princess remarked, "My dear Duchess, you maylaugh, for you have been married twice; but it is no joke for me. " Herlife as Lady of the Bedchamber appears to have been by no means a bed ofroses, for Charlotte proved so jealous of the attentions paid to thebeautiful Duchess by her husband, the King, that at one time shecontemplated resigning her post. The letter of resignation was actuallywritten and despatched; but Her Grace, who did not approve altogether ofits language, added this naive postscript before sending it, "Though _I_wrote the letter, it was the Duke who dictated it. "

Boswell, when describing a visit he paid to Inverary Castle, inJohnson's company, gives us no very favourable impression of theDuchess's courtesy as hostess. When the Duke conducted him to thedrawing-room and announced his name, "the Duchess, " he says, "who was sitting with her daughter and some other ladies, took not the least notice of me. I should have been mortified at being thus coldly received by a lady of whom I, with the rest of the world, have always entertained a very high admiration, had I not been consoled by the obliging attention of the Duke. "

During dinner, when Boswell ventured to drink Her Grace's good health, she seems equally to have ignored him. And while paying the utmostdeference and attention to Johnson, the only remark she deigned to maketo his fellow-guest was a contemptuous "I fancy you must be aMethodist. " In fairness to the Duchess it should be said that Boswellhad incurred her grave displeasure by taking part against her in thefamous Douglas Case in which she was deeply interested; and this was nodoubt the reason why for once she forgot the elementary demands ofhospitality as well as the courtesy due to her rank; and why, whenJohnson mentioned his companion by name, she answered coldly, "I knownothing of Mr Boswell. "

The Duchess saw her daughter, Lady Betty Hamilton, wedded to LordStanley, the future Earl of Derby, a union in which she paid by a lifeof misery for her mother's scheming ambition; and died in 1790, thirtyyears after her sister Maria drew the last breath of her short lifebehind drawn bed-curtains in her darkened room. 

To Betty Gunning, the squireen's daughter, fell the unique distinctionof marrying two dukes, refusing a third, and becoming the mother of fourothers, two of whom were successive Dukes of Hamilton, and two ofArgyll. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE MYSTERIOUS TWINS

A century and a half ago the "Douglas cause" was a subject of hot debatefrom John o' Groats to Land's End. It was discussed in Court and castleand cottage, and was wrangled over at the street corner. It dividedfamilies and estranged friends, so fierce was the partisanship itgenerated; and so full was it of complexity and mystery that it puzzledthe heads of the wisest lawyers. England and Scotland alike were dividedinto two hostile camps, one declaring that Archibald Douglas was son ofLady Jean Douglas, and thus the rightful heir to the estates of hisducal uncle; the other, protesting with equal warmth and conviction thathe was nothing of the sort. 

Dr Johnson was a stalwart in one camp; Boswell in the other. "Sir, sir, "Johnson said to his friend and biographer, "don't be too severe upon thegentleman; don't accuse him of a want of filial piety! Lady Jane Douglaswas _not_ his mother. " "Whereupon, " Boswell says, "he roused my zeal somuch that I took the liberty to tell him that he knew nothing of thecause, which I most seriously do believe was the case. " For seven yearsthe suit dragged its weary length through the Courts; the evidence forand against the young man's claim covers ten thousand closely-printedpages; but although Archibald won the Douglas lands, his paternityremains to-day as profound a mystery as when George III. Was new to histhrone. 

Forty years before the curtain rose on this dramatic trial which, Boswell declares, "shook the security of birthright in Scotland to itsfoundation, " the Lady Jean, only daughter of James, second Marquess ofDouglas, was one of the fairest maids north of the Tweed--a girl whocombined beauty and a singular charm of manner with such aboundingvitality and strength of character that she did not require her highrank and royal descent to make her desirable in the eyes of suitors. Shewas, moreover, the only sister of the head of her family, the Duke ofDouglas, who seemed little disposed to provide an heir to his vastestates; and these there seemed more than a fair prospect that she wouldone day inherit. 

It was thus but natural that many a wooer sought Lady Jean's hand; andhad she cared for coronets she might have had her pick of them. On theevidence of the man who ultimately became her husband she refused thoseof the Dukes of Hamilton, Buccleuch and Atholl, the Earls of Hopetoun, Aberdeen and Panrnure, _cum multis aliis. _ However this may be, we knowthat she had several love romances; and that one at least nearly led tothe altar while Jean was still a "wee bit lassie. " The favoured suitorwas the young Earl of Dalkeith, heir to the Buccleuch Dukedom, a youngman who may have been, as Lady Louisa Stuart described him, "of meanunderstanding and meaner habits, " but who was at least devoted to herladyship, and in many ways a desirable _parti_. The Duchess of Buccleuchwas frankly delighted with the projected marriage of her son with LadyJean Douglas, "a young lady whom she had heard much commended before shesaw her, and who since had lost no ground with her"; and, no doubt, thefair Douglas would have become Dalkeith's Countess had it not been forthe treacherous intervention of Her Grace of Queensberry, whose heartwas set on the Earl marrying her sister-in-law. 

The marriage day had actually been fixed when a letter was placed inLady Jean's hand, when on her way to the Court--a letter in which theEarl claimed his release as he no longer loved her. That the letter wasa clever forgery never occurred to Lady Jean, who was so crushed by itthat it is said she fled in disguise to France to hide her shame and herhumiliation. Such was the tragic ending to Lady Jean's first romance, which gave her such a distrust of man and such a distaste for matrimonythat for thirty years she vowed she would listen to no avowal of love, however tempting. 

During the long period, while youth was slipping from her, Lady Jeanappears to have lived alone at Drumsheugh House, near Edinburgh, whereshe made herself highly popular by her affability, admired for her giftsand graces of mind, and courted for her rank and her lavishhospitality--paying occasional visits to her brother, the Duke ofDouglas, whose devotion to her was only equalled by the alarm hiseccentric behaviour and his mad fits of jealousy and temper inspired inher. That the Duke, who is described as "a person of the most wretchedintellect, proud, ignorant, and silly, passionate, spiteful andunforgiving, " was scarcely sane is proved by many a story, one alone ofwhich is sufficient to prove that his mind must have been unbalanced. Once when Captain Ker, a distant cousin, was a guest at the castle, heventured to remonstrate with his host on allowing his servants, especially one called Stockbrigg, to rule over him; whereupon

 "the poor Duke, " to quote Woodrow, "who for many years had been crazed in his brain, told this familiar, who persuaded him that such an insult could only be wiped out in blood. On which the Duke proceeded to Ker's room and stabbed him as he was sleeping. "

It is little wonder that Lady Jean declined to live with a brother whowas thus a slave to his own servants and to a temper so insane; butalthough their lives were led apart, and although, among many other maddelusions, the Duke was convinced that his sister had applied for awarrant to "confine him as a madman and she to sit down on the estateand take possession of it, " he was generous enough to make her aliberal allowance, and to promise that, if she married and had children, "they would heir his estate. "

Such was the state of affairs at the time this story really opens. LadyJean had carried her aversion to men and matrimony to middle-age, happyenough in her independence and extravagance; while the Duke, stillunwed, remained a prey to his jealousies, his morbid fancies and hisinsensate rages; and it is at this time that Colonel Stewart, the"villain of the play, " makes his appearance on the stage. 

Ten years earlier, it is true, John Stewart, of Grandtully, had tried torepair his shattered fortunes by making love to Lady Jean, who, althoughthen a woman of nearly forty, was still handsome enough, as he confessedlater, to "captivate my heart at the first sight of her. " She was, moreover (and this was much more to the point), a considerable heiress, with the vast Douglas estates as good as assured to her. But to thehandsome adventurer Lady Jean turned a deaf ear, as to all her othersuitors; and the "Colonel, " who had never won any army rank higher thanthat of a subaltern, had to return ignominiously to the Continent, wherefor another ten years he picked up a precarious living at thegaming-tables, by borrowing or by any other low expedient thatopportunity provided to his scheming brain. The Duke of Douglas, whocordially detested this down-at-heels cousin, called him "one of theworst of men--a papist, a Jacobite, a gamester, a villain"--and hiscareer certainly seems to justify this sweeping and scathingdescription. 

Such was the man who now reappeared to put his fate again to thetest--and this time with such success that, to quote his own words, "very soon after I had an obliging message from Lady Jean telling me that, very soon after my leaving Scotland, she came to know she had done me an injustice, but she would acknowledge it publicly if I chose. _Enfin_, I was allowed to visit her as formerly, and in about three months after she honoured me with her hand. "

Was ever wooing and winning so strange, so inexplicable? After refusingsome of the greatest alliances in the land, after turning her back on atleast half-a-dozen coronets, this wilful and wayward woman gives herhand to the least desirable of all her legion of suitors--a man brokenin fortune and of notorious ill-fame: swashbuckler, gambler anddefaulter; a man, moreover, who was on the verge of old-age, for hewould never see his sixtieth birthday again. The Colonel's motive ismanifest. He had much to gain and nothing to lose by this incongruousunion. But what could have been Lady Jean's motive; and does the sequelfurnish a clue to it? She was deeply in debt, thanks to her long careerof extravagance; and, to crown her misfortune, her brother threatened towithdraw her annuity. But on the other hand she was still, althoughnearly fifty, a good-looking woman, "appearing, " we are told, "at leastfifteen years younger than she really was"; and thus might well havelooked for a eligible suitor; while her marriage to a pauper could butadd to her financial embarrassment. There remained the prospect of herbrother's estates, which would almost surely fall to her children if shehad any, if only to keep them out of the hands of the Hamiltons, whomthe Duke detested. And this consideration may have determined her infavour of this eleventh hour marriage, with its possibilities, howeversmall, of thus qualifying for a great inheritance. 

Thus it was, whatever may be the solution of the mystery, that, oneAugust day in 1746, Lady Jean was led to the altar by her aged pauperlover, and a few days later the happy pair landed at Rotterdam, with aretinue consisting of a Mrs Hewit (Lady Jean's maid) and a couple offemale servants, leaving her ladyship's creditors to wrangle over thebelongings she had left behind at Edinburgh. 

From Rheims, to which town the wedding party journeyed, Lady Jean wroteto her man of business, Mr Haldane:--

 "It is mighty certain that my anticipations were never in the marrying way; and had I not at last been absolutely certain that my brother was resolved never to marry, I never should have once thought of doing it; but since this was his determined, unalterable resolution, I judged it fit to overcome a natural disinclination and backwardness, and to put myself in the way of doing something for a family not the worst in Scotland; and, therefore, gave my hand to Mr Stewart, the consequence of which has proved more happy than I could well have expected. "

Such was the unenthusiastic letter Lady Jean wrote on her honeymoon, assigning as her motive for the marriage a wish "to do something for herfamily, " which could scarcely be other than to provide heirs to theDouglas lands--an ambition which to the most sanguine lady of her agemust have seemed sufficiently doubtful of realisation. 

Then began a wandering life for the grotesque pair. Rheims, Utrecht, Geneva, Aix-la-Chapelle, Liège, and many another Continental town appearin turn on their erratic itinerary, the Colonel travelling as LadyJean's _maitre d'hotel_, and never avowed by her as her husband; and atevery place of halting my lady finds fresh victims for her clever tongueand ingratiating charm of manner, who, in return for her smiles andflatteries, keep her purse supplied. Now it is young Lord Blantyre whosuccumbs to her wiles, and follows her from place to place like ashadow, drawing large sums from his mother to "lend to my Lady Jean, whois at a loss by not receiving letters which were to bring herremittances. " Now it is Mr Hay, Mr Dalrymple, or some other susceptibleadmirer who obliges her by a temporary loan, and is amply rewarded bylearning from her lips that he is "the man alive I would choose to bemost obliged by. " Thus, by a system of adroit flatteries, Lady Jeankeeps the family exchequer so well replenished that she is able to takeabout with her a retinue consisting of two maids and a man-cook, inaddition to the indispensable Mrs Hewit; and to ride in her carriage, while her husband stakes his golden louis on the green cloth anddrinks costly wines. 

Even such an astute man of the world as Lord Crawford she makes herdevoted slave, ready at any moment to place his purse and services ather disposal, to the extent of breaking the news of her marriage to theDuke, her brother, and begging for his approval and favour; a task whichmust have gone considerably against the grain with the proud Scotsman. 

 "I can assure your Grace, " his lordship writes, "she does great honour to the family wherever she appears, and is respected and beloved by all that have the honour of her acquaintance. She certainly merits all the affectionate marks of an only brother to an only sister. "

This appeal, eloquent as it was, only seemed to fan the anger of theDuke, who, as he read it, declared to the Parish minister who waspresent: "Why, the woman is mad. .. . I once thought, if there was avirtuous woman in the world, my sister Jeanie was one; but now I amgoing to say a thing that I should not say of my own sister--I believeshe is no better than . .. ; and that I believe there is not a virtuouswoman in the world. "

At the very time--so inconsistent was this singular woman--that LordCrawford, at her request, was breaking the news of her marriage to herbrother, she was repudiating it indignantly to every person she met. ToLady Wigton, she declared with tears that it was an "infamous storyraised by Miss Molly Kerr, her cousin, in order to prejudice her brotheragainst her, and that it had been so effectual that he had stopped herpension"; and she begged Lady Wigton "when she went to England tocontradict it. "

But this nomadic, hand-to-mouth life could not go on indefinitely. Thesupply of dupes began to show signs of failing, and in her extremity shewrote urgent letters to friends in England and Scotland for supplies;she even borrowed from a poor Scottish minister almost the last penny hehad. A crisis was rapidly approaching which there was no way ofescaping--_unless_ the birth of a child might soften her brother'sheart, and, perchance, re-open the vista of a great inheritance in theyears to come. Such speculations must have occurred to Lady Jean at thiscritical stage of her fortunes; but whether what quickly followed was acoincidence, or, as so many asserted, a fraudulent plot to give effectto her ambition, it would need a much cleverer and more confident manthan I to say. At any rate, from this failure of her purse and of herhopes of propitiating the Duke began all those mysterious suggestionsand circumstances, of which so much was made in the trial of futureyears, and which heralded the birth of the desired heir--or "to makeassurance doubly sure, " in Lady Jean's case--heirs. 

As the expected event drew near it became important to go to Paris inorder to have the advantage of the best medical assistance, especiallysince Lady Jean was assured that the doctors of Rheims, where she wasthen living, were "as ignorant as brutes. " And so to the French capitalshe journeyed with her retinue, through three sultry July days, in apublic diligence devoid of springs. How trying such a journey must havebeen to a lady in her condition is evidenced by the fact that, duringthe three days, she spent forty-one hours on the road, reaching Paris onthe 4th of July. Just six days later her ladyship, to quote a letterwritten by Mrs Hewit, "produced two lovely boys, " one of whom was soweak and puny that the doctor "begged it might be sent to the country assoon as possible. "

So far the story seems clear and plausible, assuming that a lady, insuch a delicate state of health, could bear the fatigues of so long andtrying a journey as that from Rheims to Paris. But from this stage themystery, which it took so many wise heads to penetrate in future years, begins to thicken. Although the children were said to have been born onthe 10th of July it was not until eleven days later that Mrs Hewitimparted the news to the two maids who had been left behind at Rheims, in the letter from which I have quoted. Further, although the Colonelwrote to six different people on the 10th not one of his letterscontains any reference to such an interesting event, which should, onewould think, have excluded all other topics from a father's pen. 

Moreover, although the Colonel and his wife were, as the house-booksproved, staying on the 10th of July at the hotel of a M. Godefroi, neither the landlord nor his wife had any knowledge that a birth hadtaken place, or was even expected; and it was beyond question that thelady left the house on the 13th, three days after the alleged event, without exciting any suspicion as to what had so mysteriously takenplace. 

On the 13th, the Colonel and his lady, accompanied by Mrs Hewit, declared that they went for a few days to the house of a Madame laBrune, a nurse--but no child, M. And Mme. Godefroi swore, accompaniedthem; and on the 18th of July, eight days after the accouchement, theymade their appearance at Michele's Hotel (still without a solitaryinfant to show), where Madame was already so far recovered that shespent the days in jaunting about Paris and making trips to Versailles. 

At Michele's the story they told was that the infants were so delicatethat they had been sent into the country to nurse; and yet none had seenthem go. But before the parents had been a day in their new quarters theColonel, after hours of absence, appeared with a child--a puny infant, but still unmistakably genuine. Thus one of the twins was accounted for. The other, they declared, was still more delicate and must be left inthe country. 

It was quite certain that the children had not been born either atGodefroi's or Michele's Hotel. As for the intermediate place of lodging, the most diligent later enquiries failed to discover either Madame laBrune or the house in which she was supposed to live in the Faubourg StGermain. Moreover, was it a coincidence that on the very day on whichthe Colonel at Michele's with one of the alleged children, it wasproved that a "foreign gentleman, " exactly answering his description, had purchased, for three gold louis, a fortnight-old baby from itspeasant-parents, called Mignon, in a Paris slum?

To add further to the confusion, both Colonel Stewart and Mrs Hewit, inlater years, declared in the most positive manner, first that thechildren had been born at Michele's, and secondly at Madame la Brune's, in defiance of the facts that on the 10th of July, the alleged date ofbirth, the mother was beyond any doubt staying at Godefroi's hotel, thatno such person as Madame la Brune apparently existed, and that the onlyvisible child at Michele's was a fortnight old. 

On the 7th of August Lady Jean wrote to inform her brother, the Duke, that she had been blessed with "two boys, " one of which she begged hispermission to call by his name--a letter which only had the effect ofrousing His Grace's "high passion and displeasure, " with a threat tostop her annuity. For sixteen months the second and more delicate infantwas left with his country nurse, the mother never once taking thetrouble to visit it; and then the Colonel and his wife made a mysteriousjourney to Paris, returning with another child, who, they alleged, wasthe weakling of the twins. Was it again a coincidence that, at the verytime when the second child made his appearance, another infant waspurchased from its parents in Paris by a "strange monsieur" who, if notthe Colonel, was at least his double? And was it not strange that thislate arrival should appear to be several months older than his morerobust brother, as the purchased child was?

At last, provided with two children, and having exhausted their crediton the Continent, Lady Jean and her husband turned their faces homeward, prepared to carry the war into the enemy's camp. Arrived in London theyset to work to win as many influential friends and supporters aspossible; and this Lady Jean, with her plausible tongue, succeeded indoing. Ladies Shaw and Eglinton, the Duke of Queensberry, Lord Lindores, Solicitor-General Murray (later, Lord Mansfield), and many anotherhigh-placed personage vowed that they believed her story and pledgedtheir support. Mr Pelham proved such a good friend to her that heprocured from the King a pension of £300 a year, which she sorelyneeded; for, at the time, her husband was a prisoner for debt "withinthe Rules" of the King's Bench. 

Even Lady Jean's enemies could not resist a tribute of admiration forthe courage with which, during this time, she fought her uphill fightagainst poverty and opposition. Her affection for her children and herloyalty to her good-for-nothing husband were touching in the extreme;and, if not quite sincere, were most cleverly simulated. 

To all her appeals the Duke still remained obdurate, vowing he wouldhave nothing to do either with his sister or the two "nunnery children"which she wanted to impose on him. In spite of her Royal pension LadyJean only succeeded in getting deeper and deeper involved in debt, until it became clear that some decisive step must be taken to repairher fortunes. Then it was that, at last, she screwed up her courage topay the dreaded visit to her brother, in the hope that the sight of herchildren and the pathos of her personal pleading might soften his heart. 

One January day in 1753, one of the Duke's servants says, "she looked in at the little gate as I was passing through the court. She called and I went to her, when she told me she was come to wait on the Duke with her children. I proposed to open the gate and carry in her Ladyship; but she said she would not go in till I acquainted his Grace. "

The Duke, however, after consulting with his minion Stockbrigg, whostill ruled the castle and its lord alike, sent word that he refused tosee his sister; and the broken-hearted woman walked sadly away. To aletter in which she begged "to speak but a few moments to your Grace, and if I don't, to your own conviction, clear up my injured innocence, inflict what punishment you please upon me, " he returned no answer. 

Trouble now began to fall thickly on Lady Jean. Her delicate child, Sholto, died after a brief illness. She was distracted with grief, andcried out in her deep distress: "O Sholto! Sholto! my son Sholto! if Icould but have died for you!" This last blow of fate seems to havecompletely crushed her. A few months later, she gave up her gallant andhopeless struggle, but only with her life. Calling her remaining son toher bedside she said, with streaming eyes: "May God bless you, my dearson; and, above all, make you a worthy and honest man; for riches, Idespise them. Take a sword, and you may one day become as great a heroas some of your ancestors. " Then, but a few moments before drawing herlast breath, she said to those around her: "As one who is soon to appearin the presence of Almighty God, to whom I must answer, I declare thatthe two children were born of my body. " Thus passed "beyond thesevoices" a woman, who, whatever her faults, carried a brave heart throughsorrows and trials which might well have crushed the proudest spirit. 

Lady Jean's death probably did more to advance her son's cause than allher scheming and courage during life. Influential friends flocked to themotherless boy, whose misfortunes made such an appeal to sympathy andprotection. His father succeeded to the family baronetcy and became aman of some substance. His uncle, the Duke, took to wife, at sixty-two, his cousin, "Peggy Douglas, of Mains, " a lady of strong character whohad long vowed that "she would be Duchess of Douglas or never marry";and in Duchess "Peggy" Archibald found his most stalwart champion, whogave her husband no peace until the Duke, after long vacillation, andmany maudlin moods, in which he would consign the "brat" to perditionone day and shed tears over his pathetic plight the next, was won overto her side. To such good purpose did the Duchess use her influencethat when her husband the Duke died, in 1761, Colonel (now Sir John)Stewart was able to write to his elder son by his first marriage:

 "DEAR JACK, --I have not had time till now to acquaint you of the Duke of Douglas's death, and that he has left your brother Archie his whole estate. "

Thus did Lady Jean triumph eight years after her scheming brain wasstilled in death. 

The rest of this singular story must be told in few words, although itshistory covers many years, and would require a volume to do adequatejustice to it. Within a few months of the Duke's death the curtain wasrung up on the great Douglas Case, which for seven long years was to bethe chief topic of discussion and dispute throughout Great Britain. Archibald's title to the Douglas lands was contested by the Duke ofHamilton and the Earl of Selkirk, the former claiming as heir-male, thelatter under settlements made by the Duke's father. Clever brains wereset to work to solve the tangle in which the birth of the mysterioustwins was involved. Emissaries were sent to France to collect evidenceon one side and the other; notably Andrew Stewart, tutor to the youngDuke of Hamilton, who seems to have been a perfect sleuth-hound ofdetective skill; and it was not until 1768 that the Scottish Court ofSession gave its verdict, by the Lord-President's casting-vote (sevenjudges voting for and seven against) against Lady Jean's son. 

 "The judges, " we are told, "took up no less than eight days in delivering their opinions upon the cause; and at last, by the President's casting-vote, they pronounced solemn judgment in favour of the plaintiffs. "

Meanwhile (four years earlier) Sir John Stewart had followed his wife tothe grave, declaring, just before his death:

 "I do solemnly swear before God, as stepping into Eternity, that Lady Jean Douglas, my lawful spouse, did in the year 1748, bring into the world two sons, Archibald and Sholto; and I firmly believe the children were mine, as I am sure they were hers. Of the two sons, Archibald is the only one in life now. "

But Archibald Douglas was not long to remain out of his estates. Onappeal to the House of Lords, the decree of the Scottish Court wasreversed, and the victory of Lady Jean's son was final and complete. 

Of his later career it remains only to say that he entered Parliamentand was created a Peer; and that he conducted himself in his exaltedposition with a dignity worthy of the parentage he had established. But, although he became the father of eight sons, four of whom succeeded himin the title, no grandson came to inherit his honours and estates; andto-day the Douglas lands, for which Lady Jean schemed and fought andlaid down her life, have the Earl of Home for lord. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE MAYPOLE DUCHESS

For many a century, ever since her history emerged from the mists ofantiquity, Germany never lacked a Schulenburg to grace her Courts, tolead her armies, or to wear the mitre in her churches. They held theirhaughty heads high among the greatest subjects of her emperors; theirfamily-tree bristled with marshals and generals, bishops andambassadors; and they waxed so strong and so numerous that they came tobe distinguished as "Black Schulenburgs" and "White Schulenburgs, " asour own Douglases were "black" and "red. "

But not one of all the glittering array of its dignitaries raised thefamily name to such an eminence--a bad eminence--as one of its plainestdaughters, Ehrengard Melusina von der Schulenburg (to give her full, imposing name), who lived not only to wear the coronet of a Duchess ofEngland, but to be "as much a Queen as ever there was in England. "

Fräulein Ehrengard and her brother, who, as Count Mathias von derSchulenburg, was to win fame as the finest general in Europe of his day, were cradled and reared at the ancestral castle of Emden, in Saxony. The Schulenburg women were never famed for beauty; but Ehrengard was, bycommon consent, the "ugly duckling" of the family--abnormally tall, angular, awkward, and plain-featured, one of the last girls in Germanyequipped for conquest in the field of love. 

When she reached her sixteenth birthday, Ehrengard's parents were gladto pack her off to the Court of Herrenhausen, where the family influenceprocured for her the post of maid-of-honour to the Electress Sophia ofHanover. At any rate she was provided for--an important matter, for theSchulenburgs were as poor as they were proud--and she was toounattractive to get into mischief. But it is the unexpected that oftenhappens; and no sooner had the Elector's son and heir, George, set eyeson the ungainly maid-of-honour than he promptly fell head over ears inlove with her, to the amazement of the entire Court, and to the disgustof his mother, and of his newly-made bride, Sophia Dorothea of Zell. ToGeorge--an awkward, sullen young man of loutish manners and loosemorals--the gaunt girl, with her plain, sallow face, was a vision ofbeauty. She appealed in some curious way to the animal in him; andbefore she had been many weeks at Herrenhausen she was his avowedmistress--one of many. 

"Just look at that mawkin, " the Electress Sophia once exclaimed to LadySuffolk, who was a guest at the Hanoverian Court, "and think of herbeing my son's mistress!" But to any other than his mother, George'staste in women had long ceased to cause surprise. The ugly and grossappealed to a taste which such beauty and refinement as his young wifepossessed left untouched. He had markedly demonstrated this perversenessof fancy already by showering his favours on the Baroness vonKielmansegg--who was reputed to be his natural sister, by the way--alady so ugly that, as a child, Horace Walpole shrieked at sight of her. 

She had, he recalls, "two fierce black eyes, large and rolling, beneath two lofty arched eyesbrows; two acres of cheeks spread with crimson; an ocean of neck that overflowed and was not distingushed from the lower part of her body, and no part of it restrained by stays. No wonder, " he adds, "that a child dreaded such an ogress!"

Such were the two chief favourites of this unnatural heir to the throneof Hanover, who, by a curious turn of Fortune's wheel, was to wear theEnglish crown as the first of the Georges. In the company of theseogresses and of a brace of Turkish attendants, George loved to pass histime in beer-guzzling and debauchery, while his beautiful and insultedwife sought solace in that ill-starred intrigue with Königsmarck, whichwas to lead to his tragic death and her own thirty years' imprisonmentin the Schloss Ahlden, where she, who ought to have been England'sQueen, ate her heart out in loneliness and sorrow. 

To George his wife's intrigue was a welcome excuse for getting rid ofher--a licence for unfettered indulgence in his low tastes; and thetragedy of her eclipse but added zest and emphasis to his unfetteredenjoyment of life. In the hands of Von der Schulenburg the weak-minded, self-indulgent Prince was as clay in the hands of the potter. Shemoulded him as she willed, for she was as crafty and diplomatic as shewas ill-favoured. Madame Kielmansegg was relegated to the shade, whileshe stood in the full limelight. She bore two daughters to her Royallover--daughters who were called her "nieces, " although the fictiondeceived nobody--and as the years passed, each adding, if possible, toher unattractiveness, her hold on the Prince became still stronger. 

Thirty years passed thus at the Herrenhausen Court, when the death ofQueen Anne made "the high and mighty Prince George, Elector of Hanover, rightful King of Great Britain, France and Ireland. " The sluggishsensual life of the Hanoverian Court was at an end. George was summonedto a great throne, and no King ever accepted a crown with suchreluctance and ill-grace. He would, and he would not. For three weeksthe English envoys tried every artifice to induce him to accept his newand exalted _rôle_--and finally they succeeded. 

But even then he had not counted on the "fair" Ehrengard. She refusedpoint-blank to go with him to that "odious England, " where chopping offheads seemed to be a favourite pastime. She was quite happy in Hanover, and there she meant to stay. She fumed and raged, ran about the Palacegardens, embracing her dearly-loved trees and clinging hysterically tothe marble statues, declaring that she could not and would not desertthem. And thus George left her, to start on his unwelcome pilgrimage toEngland. 

Madame von Kielmansegg, however, was of another mind. If her great rivalwould not go, she would; and after giving the Elector a day's start, sheraced after him, caught him up, and, to her delight, was welcomed withopen arms. The moment Von der Schulenburg heard of the trick "thatKielmansegg woman" had played on her, she, too, packed her trunks, and, taking her "nieces" with her, also set out in hot pursuit of her Royallover and tool, and overtook him just as he was on the point ofembarking for England. 

George was now happy and reconciled to his fate, for his retinue wascomplete. And what a retinue! When the King landed at Greenwich with hisgrotesque assortment of Ministers, his hideous Turks, his twomistresses--one a gaunt giant, the other rolling in billows of fat--andhis "nieces, " the crowds thronging the landing-place and streets greetedthe "menagerie" with jeers and shouts of laughter. They nicknamedSchulenburg the "Maypole, " and Kielmansegg the "Elephant, " and pursuedthe cavalcade with strident mockeries and insults. 

"Goot peoples, vy you abuse us?" asked the Maypole, protruding her gaunthead and shoulders through the carriage window. "Ve only gom for allyour goots. " "And for all our chattels, too, ---- you!" came thestinging retort from a wag in the crowd. 

But Schulenburg soon realised that she could afford to smile and shrugher scraggy shoulders at the insolence of those "horrid Engleesh. " Shefound herself in a land of Goshen, where there were many rich plums tobe gathered by far-reaching and unscrupulous hands such as hers. If shecould not love the enemy, she could at least plunder them; and this sheset to work to do with a good will, while the plastic George looked onand smiled encouragement. There were pensions, appointments, patents--boons of all kinds to be trafficked in; and who had a greaterright to act as intermediary than herself, the King's _chère amie_ andright hand?

She sold everything that was saleable. As Walpole says, "She would havesold the King's honour at a shilling advance to the best bidder. " FromBolingbroke's family she took £20, 000 in three sums--one for a Peerage, another for a pardon, and the third for a fat post in the Customs. Goldpoured in a ceaseless and glittering stream into her coffers. Sherefused no bribe--if it was big enough--and was ready to sell anything, from a Dukedom to a Bishopric, if her price was forthcoming. She madeGeorge procure her a pension of £7, 500 a year (ten times as much as hadlong contented her well in Hanover); and when valuable posts fell vacantshe induced him to leave them vacant and to give her the revenues. 

Not content with filling her capacious pockets, she sighed forcoronets--and got them in showers. Four Irish Peerages, from Baroness ofDundalk to Duchess of Munster, were flung into her lap. And yet she wasnot happy. She must have English coronets, and the best of them. SoGeorge made her Baroness of Glastonbury, Countess of Feversham, andDuchess of Kendal. And, to crown her ambition for such baubles, heinduced the pliant German Emperor to make her a Princess--of Eberstein. Thus, with coffers overflowing with ill-gotten gold, her towering headgraced with a dazzling variety of coronets, this grim idol of a King, who at sixty was as much her slave as in the twenties, was the proudestwoman in England, patronising our own Duchesses, and snubbing Peeressesof less degree. She might be a "maypole"--hated and unattractive--but atleast she towered high above all the fairest and most blue-bloodedbeauties of her "Consort's" Court. 

When the South Sea Bubble rose to dazzle all eyes with its iridescentsplendours, it was she more than any other who blew it. She was thewitch behind the scenes of the South Sea and many another bubbleCompany, whether its object was to "carry on a thing that will turn tothe advantage of the concerned, " "the breeding and providing for naturalchildren, " or "for planting mulberries in Chelsea Park to breedsilk-worms. "

Every day of this wild, insane gamble, which wrecked thousands of homes, and filled hundreds of suicides' graves, brought its stream of gold toher exchequer; and when the bubbles burst in havoc and ruin she smiledand counted her gains, turning a deaf ear to the storm of execrationthat raged against her outside the palace walls. She knew that she hadplayed her cards so skilfully that all the popular rage was impotent toharm her. Only one of her many puppets--Knight, the Treasurer of theSouth Sea Company--could be the means of doing her harm. If he werearrested and told all he knew, impeachment would probably follow, with asentence of imprisonment and banishment. But the crafty German was muchtoo old a bird to be caught in that way. She packed Knight off toAntwerp; and, through the influence of her friend, the German Empress, the States of Brabant refused to give him up to his fate. 

The Duchess of Kendal was now at the zenith of her power and splendour. While Sophia Dorothea, the true Queen of England, was pining away insolitude in distant Ahlden, the German "Maypole" was Queen in all butname, ruling alike her senile paramour and the nation with a tactful, ifiron hand. It is said that she was actually the morganatic wife ofGeorge, that the ceremony had been performed by no less a dignitary thanthe Archbishop of York; but, whether this was so or not, it is certainthat this "old and forbidding skeleton of a giantess" was more England'sQueen than any other Consort of the Georges. 

She was present at every consultation between the King and hisMinisters--indeed the conferences were invariably held in her ownapartments, every day from five till eight. She understood and humouredevery whim of her Royal partner with infinite tactfulness, to the extenteven of encouraging his amours with young and attractive women, whileshe herself, to emphasise her platonic relations with him, affected anextravagant piety, attending as many as seven Lutheran services everySunday. The only rival she had ever feared--and hated--MadameKielmansegg, had long passed out of power, and as Countess of Darlingtonwas too much absorbed in pandering to her mountain of flesh, and fillingher pockets, to spare a regret for the Royal lover she had lost. 

When George, on hearing of the death of his unhappy wife, SophiaDorothea, set out on his last journey to Hanover, his only companion wasthe Duchess of Kendal, the woman to whose grim fascinations he had beenloyal for more than forty years; and it was she who closed his eyes inthe Palace of Osnabrück, in which he had drawn his first breathsixty-seven years earlier. 

A French fortune-teller had warned him that "he would not survive hiswife a year"; and, as he neared Osnabrück, the home of his brother, thePrince Bishop, his fatal illness overtook him. 

 "When he arrived at Ippenburen, he was quite lethargic; his hand fell down as if lifeless, and his tongue hung out of his mouth. He gave, however, signs enough of life by continually crying out, as well as he could articulate, 'Osnabrück!' 'Osnabrück!'"

As night fell the sweating horses galloped into Osnabrück; an hourlater George died in his brother's arms, less than twelve months afterhis wife had drawn her last breath in her fortress-prison of Ahlden. 

The Duchess of Kendal was disconsolate. 

 "She beat her breasts and tore her hair, and, separating herself from the English ladies in her train, took the road to Brunswick, where she remained in close seclusion about three months. "

Returning to England, to the only solace left to her--hermoney-bags--she spent the last seventeen years of her life alternatingbetween her villas at Twickenham and Isleworth. George had promised herthat if she survived him, and if it were possible, he would revisit herfrom the spirit world. 

 "When, " to quote Walpole again, "one day a large raven flew into one of the windows of her villa at Isleworth, she was persuaded that it was the soul of the departed monarch, and received and treated it with all the respect and tenderness of duty, till the Royal bird or she took their last flight. "

Thus, shorn of all her powers and splendour, in obscurity, and hoardingher ill-gotten gold, died the most remarkable woman who has ever figuredin the British Peerage. Her vast fortune was divided between her two"nieces, " one of whom, created by her father, George, Countess ofWalsingham, became the wife of that polished courtier and heartless manof the world, Philip, fourth Earl of Chesterfield. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE ROMANCE OF FAMILY TREES

Such are a few of the scenes which arrest the eyes as the panorama ofour aristocracy passes before them; but it would require a library ofvolumes to do anything like adequate justice to the infinite variety ofthe dramas it presents. There is for instance a whole realm of romancein the origins of our noble families whose proud palaces are oftenreared on the most ignoble of foundations; and whose family treesflaunt, with questionable pride, many a spurious branch, while buryingfrom view the humble roots from which they derive their lordly growth. 

Although Cobden's assertion that "the British aristocracy was cradledbehind city counters" errs on the side of exaggeration, there is nodoubt that in the veins of scores of the proudest English peers runs theblood of ancestors who served customers in City shops. 

When, a couple of centuries ago, John Baring, son of the Bremen Lutheranparson, Dr Franz Baring, opened his small cloth manufactory on theoutskirts of Exeter, his most extravagant ambition was to build up abusiness which he could hand over to his sons, and to provide a fewcomforts for his old age; if any one had told him that he was laying thefoundations of four families which should hold their heads proudly amongthe highest in the land he would no doubt have laughed aloud. 

Yet John Baring lived to see his only daughter wedded to John Dunning, who made a Baroness of her. Of his four sons, Francis was created aBaronet by William Pitt, and found a wife in the cousin and co-heir ofhis Grace of Canterbury. The second son of this union, Alexander, wasraised to the Peerage as Baron Ashburton, won a millionaire bride in thedaughter of Senator Bingham, of Philadelphia, and, from the immensescale of his financial operations, was ranked by the Duc de Richelieu as"one of the six great powers of Europe"--England, France, Russia, Austria, and Prussia being the other five. Sir Francis's eldestgrandson, after serving in the exalted offices of Chancellor of theExchequer and First Lord of the Admiralty, was created Baron Northbrook, a peerage which his son raised to an earldom; a second grandsonqualified for a coronet as Baron Revelstoke; and a third is known to-dayas Earl Cromer, the maker of modern Egypt, with half an alphabet of highdignities after his name. 

At least three dukes (Northumberland, Leeds, and Bedford) count amongtheir forefathers many a humble tradesman. Glancing down the pedigree ofhis Grace of Northumberland, we find among his direct ancestors suchnames as these, William le Smythesonne, of Thornton Watlous, husbandman;William Smitheson, of Newsham, husbandman; Ralph Smithson, tenantfarmer; and Anthony Smithson, yeoman. It was this Anthony whose son, Hugh, left the paternal farm to serve behind the counter of Ralph andWilliam Robinson, London haberdashers, and thus to take the first stepof that successful career which made him a Baronet and a man of wealth. From Hugh, the London 'prentice sprang in the fourth generation, thatother Hugh who won the hand of Lady Elizabeth Seymour, and with it thevast estates and historic name of Percy. 

Some years before Hugh Smithson, the farmer's son, set foot in Londonstreets, Edward Osborne left the modest family roof at Ashford, in Kent, to serve his apprenticeship to, and sit at the board of, William Hewitt, a merchant of Philpot Lane, who shortly after moved his belongings to amore fashionable home on London Bridge. One day it chanced that whilehis only daughter, the fair "Mistress Anne, " was hanging her favouritebird outside the parlour window she lost her balance and fell into theriver, then racing in high tide under the arches of the bridge. Fortunately for Mistress Anne the young apprentice saw the accident;quick as thought he threw off his shoes and surcoat, and, plunging intothe swollen waters, caught the maiden by her hair as she was being sweptaway, and with difficulty dragged her to a passing barge, on which bothfound safety. 

There was only one proper sequence to this romantic incident; MistressAnne lost her heart to her gallant rescuer, the grateful parents smiledon his wooing, and one fine August morning, not many months later, thewedding-bells of St Magnus Church were spreading far and wide the newsthat young Osborne had found a bride in one of the fairest and richestheiresses of London town. In due time Osborne became, as hisfather-in-law had been before him, Lord Mayor of London; the son of thisromantic alliance was knighted for prowess in battle; Edward Osborne'sgrandson was made a Baronet; and his great-grandson, Sir Thomas, addedto the family dignities by becoming in turn, Baron, Viscount, Earl andMarquis, and, finally, Duke of Leeds. Thus only two generationsseparated the 'prentice lad of Philpot Lane from his descendant of thestrawberry-leaves, the first of a long and still unbroken line ofEnglish dukes, whose blood has mingled with that of many noble families. 

The noble house of Ripon has its origin in Yorkshire tradesmen whocarried on business in York, some of whom were Lord Mayors of that citytwo or three centuries ago. These early Robinsons added to their fortuneand enriched their blood by alliances with some of the oldest familiesin the north of England--such as the Metcalfes of Nappa and theRedmaynes of Fulford--and slowly but surely laid the foundation of oneof the wealthiest and most distinguished of great English houses. Forfour generations the head of the family was a Cabinet Minister, whileone of them was Prime Minister of England. 

The Marquises of Bath derive descent from one John o' th' Inne, whowas, probably, a worthy publican of Church Stretton, and who wasdescended in the seventh generation from William de Bottefeld, anunder-forester of Shropshire in the thirteenth century; while, throughhis mother, the late Marquis of Salisbury derived a strain of 'prenticeblood from Sir Christopher Gascoigne, the first Lord Mayor of London tolive in the Mansion House. 

Until a few years ago there might be seen in the main street of thevillage of Appletrewick, in Yorkshire, a single-storey cottage, littlebetter than a hovel, which was the cradle of the noble family of Craven. It was from this humble home that William Craven, the young son of ahusbandman, fared forth one day in the carrier's cart to seek fortune infar-away London town. Like many another boy who has taken a stout heartand an empty pocket to the Metropolis as his sole capital, he fought hisway to wealth; and before he died he was addressed as "My lord, " in hischaracter of London's chief magistrate. The eldest son of this peasantboy won fame as a soldier, became the confidential friend of hisSovereign, and was created in turn a Baron, a Viscount, and Earl ofCraven. He died unwed, and all his wealth and dignities passed to akinsman who, like himself, traced his descent from the peasant stock ofAppletrewick. 

The Earls of Denbigh have for ancestor one Godfrey Fielding, who servedhis apprenticeship in London city, made a fortune as a Milk Streetmercer, and was Lord Mayor when Henry VI. Was King. Five years later, we may note in passing, London had for chief magistrate Godfrey Boleyn, whose great-grand-daughter wore the crown of England as Queen Elizabeth. 

The present Earl of Warwick, whose title was once associated with suchnames as Plantagenet, Neville, Newburgh, and Beauchamp, has in his veinsa liberal strain of 'prentice blood. The founder of the family fortuneswas William Greville, citizen and woolstapler of London, who died fivecenturies ago, after amassing considerable wealth; while anotherancestor was Sir Samuel Dashwood, vintner, who as Lord Mayor entertainedQueen Anne at the Guildhall in 1702, and found a husband for hisdaughter in the fifth Lord Broke. 

The father of the noble house of Dudley was William Ward, the son ofpoor Staffordshire parents, who was apprenticed to a goldsmith and madea fortune as a London jeweller. 

In the latter half of the seventeenth century Nottingham had among itscitizens a respectable draper named John Smith, who, it is said, madehimself useful to his farmer customers, in the intervals of sellingtapes and dress materials to their wives, by helping them with theiraccounts. John lived and died an honest draper, and never aspired to beanything else; but his descendants were more ambitious. From drapersthey blossomed into bankers and Members of Parliament; and in 1796George III. Departed for once from his rule never to raise a man ofbusiness to the Peerage, by converting Robert Smith into BaronCarrington. His successor abandoned the patronymic Smith for histitle-name; and the present-day representative of John Smith, theNottingham draper is Charles Robert Wynn Carrington, first EarlCarrington, P. C. , G. C. M. G. , and joint Hereditary Lord Chamberlain ofEngland. 

When William Capel left the humble paternal roof at Stoke Nayland, inSuffolk, to see what fortune and a brave heart could do for him inLondon, it certainly never occurred to him that his name would be handeddown through the centuries by a line of Earls, Viscounts, and Barons. Fortune had indeed strange experiences in store for the Suffolk youth;for, while she made a Knight and Lord Mayor of him, she consigned him ona life sentence to the Tower for resisting the extortions of themercenary Henry VII. Sir William's son won his knightly spurs on Frenchbattlefields, wedded a daughter of the ancient house of Roos of Belvoir, and became the ancester of the Barons Capel, Viscounts Malden, and Earlsof Essex. 

The Earls of Radnor owe their rank and wealth to the enterprise whichled young Laurence des Bouveries from his native Flanders to acommercial life at Canterbury in the days of Queen Bess. From thishumble Flemish apprentice sprang a line of Turkey merchants, each ofwhom in turn added his contribution to the family dignities and riches, until Sir Jacob, the third Baronet, blossomed into a double-barrelledpeer as Lord Longford and Viscount Folkestone. Not the least, by anymeans, of the descendants of Laurence des Bouveries was Canon Pusey, the great theologian, who was grandson of the first Lord Folkestone. 

Lord Harewood springs from a stock of merchants who accumulated greatwealth in the eighteenth century; and Lord Jersey owes much of hisriches to Francis Child, the industrious apprentice who, in Stuart days, married the daughter of his master, William Wheeler, the goldsmith, wholived one door west of Temple Bar. 

Other peers who count London apprentices among their ancestors are LordAveland and Viscount Downe, both descendants of Gilbert Heathcote, whosecommercial success was crowned by the Lord Mayoralty in 1711; theMarquis of Bath, a descendant of Lord Mayor Heyward, whose sixteenchildren are all portrayed in his monument in St Alphege Church, LondonWall; and also of Richard Gresham, mercer, who waxed rich from thespoils of the monasteries, and whose son was founder of the RoyalExchange. The Earl of Eldon owes his existence to that runaway exploitwhich linked the lives of John Scott, the Newcastle tradesman's son, andMiss Surtees, the banker's daughter. 

If George III. During his lengthy reign only raised one business man tothe Peerage, later years have provided a very liberal crop of coronetedmen of commerce. To mention but a few of them, banking has beenhonoured--and the Peerage also--by the baronies granted to LordsAldenham and Avebury; Lords Hindlip, Burton, Iveagh, and Ardilaun owetheir wealth and rank to successful brewing; Baron Overtoun wasproprietor of large chemical works; Lord Allerton's riches have beendrawn from his tan-pits; Lord Armstrong's millions come from thefar-famed Elswick engine-works at Newcastle; and Lord Masham's from hismills at Manningham. The Viscounty of Hambleden has sprung from a modestnews-shop in the Strand; the Barony of Burnham was cradled in anewspaper office; and Lords Mount-Stephen and Strathcona were shepherdboys seventy years or more ago, before they found their way throughcommerce to the Roll of Peers. 

Although these lowly origins are as firmly established as Holy Writ, andare in most cases as well known to the noble families who trace rank andriches from them as to the expert in genealogy, they are often ascarefully excluded from the family tree as the poor and undesirablerelation from the doors of their palaces. Not content with a lineageextending over long centuries, and with a score of strains of undoubtedblue blood, many of our greatest nobles and oldest gentle familiesstrain after an ancestry which is not theirs, and throw overboard someobscure forefather to find room for a mythical Norman marauder, who inmany cases exists nowhere but in the place of honour on their ownpedigrees. 

"What are pedigrees worth?" asks Professor Freeman. "I turn over a'Peerage' or other book of genealogy, and I find that, when a pedigreeprofesses to be traced back to the times of which I know most in detail, it is all but invariably false. As a rule it is not only false, butimpossible. The historical circumstances, when any are introduced, arefor the most part not merely fictions, but exactly that kind of fictionwhich is, in its beginning, deliberate and interested falsehood. "

This scathing criticism refers to pedigrees which profess to be based onexisting records; what shall we say, then, of those family trees whichhave their ambitious roots in the dark centuries which no ray ofgenealogical light can possibly pierce? Take, for instance, that amazingpedigree of the Lyte family of Lytes Cary, at the head of which is"Leitus (one of the five captains of Beotia that went to Troye), " whoseancestors came to England first with Brute, "the most noble founder ofthe Britons. " (It is only fair to say that the present representative ofthis really ancient family, Sir H. Maxwell-Lyte, an expert genealogist, turns his back resolutely on the Beotian captain, and even on Brutehimself, and generally lops his family tree in a merciless but mostsalutary fashion. )

The College of Arms, among many amazing pedigrees, treasures one of afamily "whose present representative is sixty-seventh in descent in anunbroken male line from Belinus the Great (Beli Mawr), King of Britain, "which actually exhibits the arms of Beli, who, poor man, died longcenturies before heraldry was even cradled. 

Of families who derive descent from Charlemagne the name is legion; buteven such elongated pedigrees are quite contemptible in their brevitycompared with others which have at their head no other progenitor thanAdam, the father of us all. At Mostyn Hall, we learn, there is a vellumroll, twenty-one feet long, of pedigrees, some of which "are traced backto 'Adam, Son of God, ' without any conscious sense of the incongruous";and these records, we must remember, are in the hand of "a manthoroughly trustworthy as to the matters of his own time. " There is inthe College of Arms a similar family tree which commences boldly withAdam and the Garden of Eden; and an authority on Welsh pedigreesdeclares, "A Welshman whose family was in any position in the sixteenth century can, as a rule, without much trouble find a pedigree thence to Adam; an Englishman who is unable to do the same has a natural tendency to regard all Welsh pedigrees with distrust, not to say contempt. "

Mr Horace Round gives some startling examples of flagrant dishonesty, where forgery is only one of the implements used. Take, for example, that shameful story of the "Shipway frauds, " which is thus referred toby a clergyman of the parish. 

 "In the fall of 1896, by an elaborate system of impudent frauds, an unscrupulous attempt was made to claim these monuments for one who was an entire stranger to the parish. An agent from London was employed in a search for a pedigree. He, by fraudulent means, concocted a very plausible story. Genealogies were manufactured, tombs were desecrated, registers were falsified, wills were forged--in a word, various outrages were committed, with many sacred things in this parish and elsewhere. These two figures, as part of the pedigree, were deposited in a niche in the chantry; on either side were huge brass tablets on which were engraven various untruthful and unfounded statements. "

In another case Hughenden Church was desecrated to gratify the vanity ofa family of Wellesbourne, anxious to trace their descent from theMontforts. 

 "They caused a monumental effigy of an imaginary ancestor to be carved in the style of the thirteenth century . .. They adapted the plate-armour effigy to their purpose by cutting similar arms on the skirts, and they had three rude effigies fabricated by way of filling up the gaps between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. "

To give but two more out of many cases of similar imposture, theDeardens, many years ago, actually had a family chapel constructed inRochdale Church with sham effigies, slabs, and brasses to the memory ofwholly fictitious ancestors; while in two Scottish churches altar-tombswere placed to the memory of successive apocryphal lairds of Coulthart. Such are the lengths to which a craze for ancestry has carried someunprincipled persons; and there is no doubt that the arts of the forgerare still enlisted in the service of people who crave long descent anddo not scruple as to the methods by which they attain it. 

Happily, however, the mania for ancestors does not often take suchextreme and reprehensible forms; its manifestations are usually ratheramusing than criminal. A common weakness is, however plebeian andobvious in its origin a surname may be, to dignify it with a Norman orat least French cradle. Thus we are solemnly assured that the Smithsons(a name which bluntly proclaims its own derivation) are "a branch of thebaronial family of Scalers, or De Scallariis, which flourished inAquitaine as long ago as the eighth century. " The first Cooper was not, as the unlearned might imagine, a modest if respectable tradesman ofthat name--no, he was a member of the great house of De Columbers, oneof whom was "Le Cupere, being probably Cup-bearer to the King"; Pindar, the patronymic of the Earls Beauchamp, is, of course, a translation ofthe Norman Le Bailli, and its bearers are "probably descended fromWilliam, a Norman of distinction"; while at least one family of Brownessprings lineally from "Turulph, a companion of Rollo, " founder of theDucal House of Normandy. After this, one learns with meek resignationthat the honourable cognomen Smith is derived from _Smeeth_, "a levelplain"; and that some, at least, of the Parker family had for ancestorscertain De Lions, who flourished bravely under William the Conqueror. 

Another favourite vanity is to glorify a name by the prefix De:

 "a particle which has been all but unknown in England since the first half of the fifteenth century, and which has never possessed in Great Britain that nobiliary character which the French nation have chosen to assign to it. De Bathe, De Trafford, and the rest are restorations in the modern Gothic manner. "

It is, we fear, a similar vanity which has displaced such modestsurnames as Bear, Hunt, Wilkins, Mullins, Green, and Gossip in favour ofDe Beauchamp, De Vere, De Winton, De Moleyns, De Freville, and De Rodes. 

This ludicrous yearning for a Norman ancestry is responsible for many ofthe absurdities in the pedigrees of even our most exalted families. Thusit is that we find such statements as this widely circulated, andaccepted with a quite childlike credence:

 "This noble family (Grosvenor) is descended from a long train in the male line of illustrious ancestors, who flourished in Normandy with great dignity and grandeur from the time of its first erection into a sovereign Dukedom, A. D. 912, to the Conquest of England. The patriarch of this ancestral house was an uncle of Rollo, the famous Dane. .. . "

And again:

 "The blood of the great Hugh Lupus, Duke (_sic_) of Chester, flows in the Grosvenor veins. "

This pleasing fiction still rears its head unabashed in spite of allattempts to destroy it; in its honour the late Duke of Westminster wasactually named "Hugh Lupus" at the baptismal font, while his youngerbrother was labelled Richard "de Aquila"; and yet it is an indisputablefact that the Grosvenor ancestors cannot be carried beyond a Robert deGrosvenor, of Budworth, who lived a good century after the Conquest, andwho has no more traceable connection with Rollo than with the Man inthe Moon. 

The Ducal House of Fife, we are told, "derives from Fyfe Macduff, achief of great wealth and power, who lived about the year 834, andafforded to Kenneth II. , King of Scotland, strong aid against hisenemies, the Picts. " The present Duke, however, has the good sense todisclaim any hereditary connection with the old Earls of Fife, and toplace at the top of his family tree one Adam Duff, who laid thefoundation of the family prosperity in the seventeenth century. TheSpencers, it is claimed, spring lineally from the old baronialDespencers, "being a branche issueing from the ancient family andchieffe of the Spencers, of which sometymes were the Earles ofWinchester and Glocester, and Barons of Glamorgan and Morgannocke. "This, no doubt, is a very distinguished origin; but, alas! the earliestprovable ancestors of this "noble" family were respectable andwell-to-do Warwickshire graziers, and the first authentic title on thetrue pedigree is the knighthood conferred on John Spencer in 1519, lessthan four centuries ago. Similarly the Russells, Dukes of Bedford, aresaid to be derived from one Hugh de Russell, or Rossel (who took thatname from his estate in Normandy), one of the Conqueror's attendantbarons on his invasion of England. Here, again, facts fail lamentably tosupport the descent claimed, since the earliest known progenitor of this"great house" was that Henry Russell who was sent to Parliament torepresent Weymouth in the fifteenth century, and whose great-grandsonblossomed into the first Earl of Bedford. (It may, perhaps, be well tostate that, although the pedigrees here criticised are those that havebeen or are widely accepted, they are not necessarily approved by thefamilies whose descent they profess to give. )

Another Norman ancestor who must go overboard is the alleged founder ofthe "noble" house of Bolingbroke--that "William de St John who came toEngland with the Conqueror as grand master of the artillery andsupervisor of the wagons and carriages, " since it can be positivelyshewn that the St John family first set foot in England a good manyyears after William I. Was safely underground; and with this mythicalWilliam must also go that equally nebulous progenitor of the Fortescuefamily, "who" according to the venerable and almost uniform tradition, "landed in England with his master in the year 1066, and, protecting himwith his shield from the blows of an assailant, was graciously dubbed'Fortescu, ' the man of the stout shield. " The Stourtons, so the"Peerages" say, were "of considerable rank before the Conquest, anddictated their own terms to the Conqueror"; but, as Canon Jackson, thelearned antiquary, truly points out, "of this there is no evidence. Thename is found, apparently for the first time, among Wiltshirelandowners, in the reign of Edward I. , when a Nicholas Stourton held oneknight's fee under the Lovells of Castle Cary. "

The Duke of Norfolk has a family tree of very stately growth, and canwell afford to repudiate a good many of the ancestors provided for himby "Peerage" editors. Certainly, if he ever read the following statementhe must have smiled aloud:

 "The Duke's proudest boast is that his name of Howard is merely that of an ancestor, Hereward the Wake, whose representative, Sir Hereward Wake, is still in Northamptonshire. "

As a matter of fact, his Grace's earliest known ancestor was Sir WilliamHoward, "who was a grown man and on the bench in 1293, whose realpedigree is very obscure"; and who, no doubt, would have laughed asheartily as his descendant of to-day at his imaginary derivation fromthe Conqueror's stubborn foe of the fens, Hereward the Wake. 

In the Fitzwilliam pedigree we encounter another nebulous knight of theConqueror. "The Fitzwilliams, " we are informed, "date so far back thattheir record is lost, but Sir William, a knight of the Conqueror's day, married the daughter of Sir John Elmley, " and so on; and further, thatat Milton Hall, Peterborough, one may actually look on an antique scarfwhich "was presented to a direct ancestor of the Fitzwilliams by Williamthe Conqueror. " The most skilled of our genealogists have sought in vainfor an authentic trace of this gallant knight of Conquest days; andProfessor Freeman does not hesitate to dismiss the story of hisexistence as "pure fable. " But if Sir William of Normandy must fall fromthe family tree, his place is most creditably taken by Godric, a SaxonThane, who, as a forefather, is at least as respectable as any Normanwarrior in William's train. 

The house of Fitzgerald is credited with an ancestor, one Dominus Otho, "who is supposed to have been of the family of the Gherardini ofFlorence. This noble passed over into Normandy, and thence, in 1057, into England, where he became so great a favourite with Edward theConfessor that he excited the jealousy of the Saxon Thanes. " DominusOtho must too pass, with many another treasured ancestor, into thecrowded genealogical land of the rejected; for the real founder of theFitzgerald house was Walter, son of "Other, " whose name is first metwith in Domesday Book in 1086. The Otho story is shown to be "absolutefiction. "

In view of such examples of misplaced ingenuity exhibited by the makersof pedigrees for our noble families, one can almost read without a smilethat

 "there were Heneages at Hainton in the time of King Edwy; they doubtless took part in the revolt which brought Edgar to the throne, and it is not impossible that some of them were in the train of Wulfhere, King of Mercia;"

or that

 "Lord Alington comes of a family of ancient lineage, one of his ancestors being Sir Hildebrand de Alington, who was marshal to William the Conqueror at the battle of Hastings, "

though we may know full well that the Sturt pedigree really begins inthe seventeenth century, and that the earliest known Heneage lived anddied some three centuries before. 

But "noble" families have no monopoly of misguided genealogy. "Theimmense majority of the pedigrees of the landed gentry, " says awell-known officer of arms, "cannot, I fear, be characterised asotherwise than utterly worthless. The errors of the 'peerage' are asnothing to the fables which we encounter everywhere;" and the same maybe said of many another collection of pedigrees which is a treasuredpossession in countless British homes. 

Some even justly famous men have not been proof against this insidiousform of vanity and pretence. Edmund Spenser was ungenerous enough to"dismiss his known ancestry of small Lancashire gentry and plant himselfmodestly in the shadow of the newly discovered shield of arms of thenoble house of Spencer, 'of which I meanest boast myself to be. '" AndLord Tennyson, whose ultimate ascertainable forefather was an eighteenthcentury Lincolnshire apothecary, was provided with a slightlydifferenced cadet's version of the arms of Archbishop Tenison, with whomhe had no connection whatever. 

INDEX

 Aberdeen, Earl of, 299 Affleck, Lady, 66 ----, Misses, 66 Alava, General, 44 Albemarle, Lord, 235 Aldenham, Lord, 333 Alexander, Emperor, 49 Alington, Lord, 343 ----, Sir Hildebrand, 343 Allerton, Lord, 334 Almack's, 45-49 Andrews, Mr, 71-73 Anglesey, Earl of, 165 Anne, of Austria, 2 ----, Princess, 113 ----, Queen, 331 Ardilaun, Lord, 333 Argyll, Duke of, 295 Arlington, Lady, 184 ----, Lord, 6, 182, 183 Armstrong, Lord, 334 Arran, Lord, 76 Ashburton, Lord, 327 Atholl, Duke of, 299 Avebury, Lord, 333 Aveland, Lord, 333 Aylesbury, Lady, 154

 Bacon, Francis, 270 Barillon, 193 Baring, Alexander, 327 ----, Francis, Sir, 327 ----, Franz (Dr), 326 ----, John, 326-327 Barnard, Dr, 64 Bath, Marquess of, 330, 333 Beaconsfield, Lord, 159, 160 Beauchamp, Earl, 338 Beaufort, Duc de, 178, 179, 191 Becher, Sir William W. , 251 Bedford, Duchess of, 46 ----, Dukes of, 340 Bentinck, Lord George, 156-164 Berkeley, Annie May, 162, 163 ----, Earl of, 162 Bilton, Miss Belle, 255 Bingham, Senator, 327 Blantyre, Lord, 1, 20, 305 Blessington, Countess of, 97, 100-109 ----, Earl of, 99-105 Blount, Christopher, 281 Boleyn, Godfrey, 330 Bolingbroke, Lord, 290, 321 Bolton, Duke of, 246 ----, Duchess of, 246 ----, Mary Catherine, 246, 247 Boothby, Brook, 46 Boswell, 296, 297, 298 Bottefeld, William de, 330 Bouveries, Laurence des, 332, 333 Bracegirdle, Mrs, 166-173 Bridges, Sir Thomas, 85 Bridgewater, Duke of, 295 Bristol, Earl of, 199, 204 Broke, Lord, 331 Brougham, Lord, 107 Browne, family, 338 Brunton, Louisa, 251, 252 Buccleuch, Duchess of, 300 ----, Duke of, 299 Buckingham, Duke of, 4-6, 36, 37, 80-85, 112, 181, 182 Buller, Lady Harriet, 48 Bunbury, Sir Thomas, 216-218 Burke, Sir Bernard, 62-63 Burleigh, Lord, 257, 258 Burney, Dr Charles, 22 Burnham, Barony, 334 Burrell, Mrs Drummond, 46 Burton, Lord, 333 Bute, Countess of, 238 Byron, Lord, 42-43, 45, 48, 102

 Cadogan, Earl of, 208 Campbell, Colonel John, 295 Canning, 42 ----, Mrs, 35 Capel, William, 332 Cardigan, Earl of, 74 Carhampton, Earl of, 89 Carlingford, Lord, 7 Carnegie, James, 223-225 Caroline, Princess, 45 Carrington, Lords, 332 Castlemaine, Lady, 8-12, 14, 18, 115, 116, 184, 192 Castlereagh, Lady, 42 Catherine, Empress, 205 ----, Queen, 3, 10-12, 16 ----, the Great, 75 Cecil, Henry, (Earl of Exeter), 256-265 ----, Lord Thomas, 265 Chaffinch, Barbara (Countess of Jersey), 37 Charles I. , 1 Charles II. , 1-20, 75-84, 110, 112, 115, 116, 177-194, 207 Charlotte, Queen, 202, 214, 296 Chesterfield, Lord, 116, 291, 325 Child, Anne, 37-41 ----, Francis, 37 ----, Robert, 37-41 Christina, Queen of Sweden, 74 Chudleigh, Colonel, 195, 196 ----, Elizabeth, 195-206 Churchill, Arabella, 115 ----, John, 114-126 ----, Winston, 114, 120 Clarendon, Chancellor, 17 Cobden, 326 Cochrane, Lady Susanna, 222-227 Compton, Lady, 142-147 ----, Lord, 139-147 Congreve, 166 Conolly, Lady Louisa, 209 Coombe, William, 63 Cooper family, 338 Coutts, Thomas, 252-255 Coventry, Countess of, 287-290 ----, Earl of, 286 Cowper, Lady, 46 Cradock, Mr, 52 Craven, Earl of, 252, 330 ----, William, 330 Crawford, Lord, 306 Creevey, 43 Cromer, Earl, 327 Crosby, Sir John, 137 Cumberland, Duchess of, 91-95 ----, Duke of, 87-95, 286

 Dalkeith, Earl of, 300 Dalrymple, Mr, 305 D'Arblay, Madame, 22 Darlington, Countess of, 324 Darnley, Lord, 275 Dashwood, Sir Samuel, 331 D'Aubigny, Duchesse, 184-194 Dearden family, 337 De Bathe, 338 De Beauchamp, 339 De Freville, 339 Delany, Mrs, 288 De Moleyns, 339 Denbigh, Earls of, 330 Derby, Earl of, 249 De Reti, Cardinal, 2 De Rodes, 339 De Trafford, 338 De Vere, 339 Devonshire, Duke of, 166 De Winton, 339 Dibdin, Charles, 22 Digby, Francis, 9 Dillon, Colonel, 77 Disraeli, 106, 159, 160 Doran, Dr, 166 D'Orsay, Count, 101-109 Dorset, Duke of, 166 Douglas, Archibald, 298-315 ----, Duke of, 299, 301, 302, 306, 307, 310, 311, 312 ----, James, Marquess of, 299 ----, Jean (Lady), 298-315 ----, Sholto, 312 Downe, Viscount, 333 Dryden, 182 Dudley, Earls of, 331 ----, Edmond, 266 ----, Guildford, 268, 269 ----, Robert (Earl of Leicester), 266-281 Duff, Adam, 340 Dundalk, Baroness of, 322 Dundonald, Earl of, 222

 Eberstein, Princess von, 322 Edward VI. , 268 Eglinton, Lady, 311 Eldon, Earl of, 333 Elizabeth, Queen, 137, 139, 142-144, 258, 269-281, 331 Errington, Mr Sheriff, 59 Errol, Lord, 216 Essex, Countess of, 277 ----, Earl of, 60, 248, 270, 332 Esterhazy, Princess, 46 ----, Prince Paul, 49 Evelyn, 84, 177, 193 Exeter, Earl of, 264

 Fane, Lady Sarah Sophia, 37, 41 Farmer, Captain, 97-100 Farren, Elizabeth, 248, 249 Fenton, Lavinia, 245-246 Ferrers, Earl of, 51-61, 289 Feversham, Countess of, 322 Fielding, Sir Godfrey, 330 Fife, Dukes of, 340 Fitzgerald, Henry Gerald, 128-133 ---- family, 343 Fitzwilliam family, 342-343 Folkestone, Viscount, 332-333 Foote, 201 Forbes, George, 220-228 ----, Susan Janet, 227-230 Forneron, 189 Fortescue, Mr, 64-65, 68-69 ---- family, 341 Fox, Charles James, 62, 249 Frederick, The Great, 198 Freeman, Professor, 334, 342

 Gainsborough, 3 Galloway, Earl of, 222 Gardiner, Lady Harriet, 104 Gascoigne, Sir Christopher, 330 George I. , 317-325 ---- II. , 209, 210, 287, 293 ---- III. , 22, 87, 91-93, 210-221, 296 ---- IV. , 45, 94 Gilchrist, Miss Constance, 255 Glastonbury, Baroness of, 322 Gloucester, Duchess of, 93 ----, Duke of (Richard), 137 Godefroi, M. , 308-310 Godric, 343 Gordon, Lord William, 217-218 Graeme, Colonel, 214 Gramont, 10, 75 Granville, Lady, 43, 49 Gresham, Sir Richard, 333 Greville, William, 331 Grey, Lady Jane, 268, 269 Gronow, Captain, 46, 47, 48, 253 Grosvenor, Countess, 87-89 ---- family, 339, 340 Guise, Comte de, 2 ----, Duchesse de, 188 Gunning, Elizabeth, 282-297 ----, John, 282 ----, Maria, 282-297 ----, Mrs, 284 Gwynn, Nell, 186, 187, 192

 Haldane, Mr, 304 Halhed, 26 Hambleden, Viscounty of, 334 Hamilton, Betty (Lady), 297 ----, Colonel, 174, 175 ----, Count, 4, 6, 10, 14 ----, Duke of, 173-176, 196, 197, 239, 249, 291-294, 299, 314 ----, George, 7, 8 ----, Susanna (Lady), 222 Hanmer, Mrs, 197 Harewood, Lord, 333 Harrington, Earl of, 282 ----, Lady, 46 Hastings, Marquess of, 148-156 Hatton, Sir Christopher, 277 Hay, Mr, 305 Heathcote, Gilbert, 333 Heneage family, 343 ----, Sir Thomas, 277-279 Henri IV. , 191 Henrietta Maria, Queen, 2 Hereford, Lady, 277 Hereward, the Wake, 342 Hervey, Hon. Augustus, 197-199 ----, Lord, 93 Hewit, Mrs, 304, 308-310 Hewitt, Anne, 328, 329 ----, William, 328, 329 Heyward, Lord Mayor, 333 Hill, Captain Richard, 167-173 Hillsborough, Lord, 68 Hindlip, Lord, 333 Hoggins, Sarah (Countess of Exeter), 259-265 Holland, Lady, 210 ----, Lord, 211 Home, Earl of, 315 Hopetoun, Earl of, 299 Horton, Christopher, 89 ----, Mrs, 89-91 Howard, Bernard, 81 ----, Captain Thomas, 76-78 ----, Sir William, 342

 Ibbetson, Captain, 37 Irnham, Lord, 81 Iveagh, Lord, 333

 Jackson, Canon, 341 Jennings, Frances, 111, 112 ----, John (Sir), 111, 112 ----, Sarah, 110-126 ----, Squire, 110, 111 Jermyn, Henry, 9, 76-78, 112 Jerrold, Douglas, 107 Jersey, Earl of, 37, 41, 50, 333 ----, Countess of (Sarah), 41-50 Johnson, Dr, 25, 62, 296-298 ----, Mr John, 54-57

 Kemble, John, 250 Kendal, Duchess of, 322-325 Kent, John, 157 Ker, Captain, 301 Kerr, Captain, 158 Kielmansegg, Baroness von, 318-320, 324 Kildare, Lady, 210 Killigrew, Harry, 78-81, 83 ----, Tom, 79 King, Colonel, 130-133 ----, Sir John, 127 ----, Mary (Hon. ), 127-135 Kingsborough, Lady, 128, 130 ----, Viscount, 127, 129, 132, 133 Kingston, Earl of, 134 ----, Duchess of, 200-206 ----, Duke of, 199, 231 Königsmarck, 318

 La Brune, Madame, 309, 310 Landor, Walter Savage, 104 Lauder, Farmer, 229 ----, Mrs, 230 Lawrence, Sir Thomas, 99, 106 Leeds, Duke of, 329 Leicester, Earl of, 275-281 ----, Countess of, 281 Lennox, Lady Sarah, 207-230 Lieven, Princess of, 46 Lindores, Lord, 311 Linley, Elizabeth Ann, 21-35 ----, Mary, 28, 35 ----, Thomas, 21, 22, 24, 28 Long, Mr, 24, 31 Louis XIV. , 2, 19, 79, 179-194 ----, Napoleon (Prince), 107 Lovelace, Lord, 166 Luttrell, Anne, 89-95 ----, Colonel, 89 ----, Elizabeth, 95 Lyndhurst, Lord, 106 Lyon of Brigton, 223, 224 Lyte, Sir H. Maxwell, 335 ---- family, 335 Lyttelton, Thomas, Lord, 62-73

 Macartney, Major-General, 174-175 Madden, Dr, 109 Mancini, Hortense de, 189 Mann, Sir Horace, 201 Mansfield, Lord, 311 Manvers, Lord, 160 March, Lord, 46, 208, 209 Marsante, Comte de, 96 Mary, Queen, 269, 270 ----, ---- of Scots, 275 Masham, Lord, 334 Matthews, Major, 26-30 Mazarin, Duchesse de, 192, 193 Meath, Bishop of, 22 Mellon, Harriet, 252-254 Meredith, Sir William, 52 Merrill, Mr, 197 Messalina, 74 Metcalfes, of Nappa, 329 Michele, 309, 310 Mohun, Charles Lord, 165-176 ----, Sir William de, 165 Monaldeschi, Count, 74 Monmouth, Duke of, 116, 191 ----, Earl of, 243, 244 Montagu, Edward Wortley, 231-242 ----, Lady Mary Wortley, 231, 238 Montford, Jack, 167-173 Montgomery, Mr, 48 ----, Miss, 48 Moore, Dr, 239 ----, Thomas, 101 More, Hannah, 202 ----, Sir Thomas, 137 Morland, Duchess of, 193 Mornington, Lady, 47 Mount Stephen, Lord, 334 Munster, Duchess of, 322 Murray, Captain, 97, 98

 Napier, Hon. George, 218-220 Napier, Lord, 219 Neave, Sir Digby, 66 Newbattle, Lord, 212 Newcastle, Duke of, 204 Ney, Marshal, 104 Norfolk, Duke of, 342 Northbrook, Lord, 327 Northumberland, Duke of, 266, 268, 269, 327

 O'Neill, Eliza, 249-251 Orleans, Duchess of, 179-181 Ormond, Duke of, 76 Ormonde, Lord, 277 Osborne, Edward, 328, 329 ----, Sir Thomas, 329 Osnabrück, Bishop of, 324 "Other, " 343 Otho, Dominus, 343 Overtoun, Lord, 334

 Page, Mr, 170, 171 ----, Mrs, 168 Paget, Lady Florence, 151 Panmure, Earl of, 299 Parker family, 338 Payne, George, 159 Peach, Joseph, 64 Pelham, Mr, 311 Pepys, 5, 8, 12, 17, 18, 78, 80, 192 Peterborough, Earl of, 243, 244 Pierce, Mr, 12, 18 Pierrepoint, Hon. H. M. , 265 Pindar, 338 Pope, 243 Portland, Duke of, 157, 163, 164 Portsmouth, Duchess of, 184-194, 207 Power, Edmund, 96-99 ----, Marguerite, 96-109 Pulteney, Mr, 196 Pusey, Canon, 333

 Queensbury, Duchess of, 300 ----, Duke of, 311, Querouaille, Louise de, 19, 177-194

 Radnor, Earls of, 332-333 Radzivill, Prince, 205 Raikes, Mr T. , 49 Raleigh, Sir Walter, 137 Rawlins, Colonel Giles, 77 Redmaynes (of Fulford), 329 Revelstoke, Baron, 327 Reynolds, 23 Richelieu, Duc de, 327 Richmond, Duchess of, 17-20 ----, Duke of, 13-18, 208, 218, 265 Ripon, Marquesses of, 329 Robinson, Anastasia, 243, 244 Robinsons, 328, 329 Robsart, Amy, 268-274 Rogers, Samuel, 45 Rollo, Duke of Normandy, 339 Rotier, Phillipe, 12 Round, Mr Horace, 336 Rowe, 166 Russell, Lord John, 44 ---- family, 340, 341 Ruvigny, 19 Ryder, Lady Susanna, 48

 St Albans, Duke of, 254 St Aldegonde, Count, 48, 49 St Evremond, 182 St John family, 341 St Simon, 190 Salisbury, Marquess of, 330 Sandwich, Earl of, 231 Sault, Comte de, 179 Schulenburg, Ehrengard von der, 316-325 ----, Mathias (Count), 316 Scott, John, 333 Sedley, Catherine, 120-121 ----, Sir Charles, 120 Sefton, Lady, 46 Selkirk, Earl of, 314 Selwyn, George, 216, 288 Sentinelli, Count, 74 Seymour, Lady Elizabeth, 328 Shaw, Lady, 311 Sheffield, Lord, 277 Sheridan, Charles, 25 ----, Mrs (E. Linley), 31-35 ----, Richard Brinsley, 25-35 ----, Thomas (Dr), 25 ----, Thomas, 25, 283, 284 Shipway frauds, 336 Shirley, Lady Barbara, 51 ---- Laurence, (Earl of Ferrers), 51-61 Shrewsbury, Anna Maria, Countess of, 74-86 ----, Earl of, 75, 81, 82, 84, 86 Smith, Albert, 107 ----, General, 90 ----, John, 331 ----, Robert, 333 ---- family, 338 Smithson, Hugh, 328 Smythesonne, Smitheson, etc. , 327, 328, 338 Sophia, Electress of Hanover, 317 ---- Dorothea of Zell, 317, 323, 324 Southwell, Lord, 236 Spencer, Elizabeth, 139-147 ----, Sir John, 136-144, 340 ---- family, 340 Spenser, Edmund, 344 Standish, Charles, 48 Stanley, Lord, 297 Stephens, Catherine, 247-248 Stewart, Andrew, 314 ---- Colonel John, 302-315 Stourton, family, 341 Stow, 136 Strangways, Lady Susan, 211, 212, 215, 216 Strathcona, Lord, 334 Strathmore, Earl of, 223-224 Stuart, La belle, 1-20 ----, Lady Louisa, 300 ----, Madame, 2 ----, Walter, 2, 3 Sturt pedigree, 343, 344 Suffolk, Lady, 317 Surtees, Miss, 333

 Taafe, Mr, 236, 237 Talbot, Sir John, 81 ----, Richard, 112 Tenison, Archbishop, 344 Tennyson, Lord, 344 Thackeray, 108 Thormanby, 157 Thurlow, 204 ----, Edward, Lord, 247 Tripp, Baron, 49 Turenne, Marshal, 116 Tyrconnel, Duchess of, 112

 Vaillant, Sheriff, 59 Vendôme, Philippe de, 191, 192 Vernon, Miss, 259 Villiers, Adela, Lady, 37 ----, Barbara, 1, 115 ----, Clementina, 50 ----, Sir George, 36 ----, George, Earl of, 37, 41

 Wake, Sir Hereward, 342 Wales, Prince of (Henry Frederick), 95 Walpole, Horace, 23, 51, 89, 190, 201-204, 211, 289, 291, 295, 318, 321, 325 Walsingham, Countess of, 325 Warburton, General, 63 Ward, Mr Plumer, 72 ----, William, 331 Warwick, Earl of, 331 Wellesbourne family, 337 Wellington, Duke of, 42, 47, 48, 49, 107, 265 Wentworth, Lord, 138 Westmorland, Earl of, 38-40, 216 Wigton, Lady, 306, 307 Wilberforce, William, 106 Wilkes, John, 23 William III. , 86 Willis, Mr, 47 Wilton, Earl of, 249 Wood, Major, 130, 131 Woodrow, 301

 York, Duke of (James), 112, 115, 185, 193