University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.
THE CHEVALIER DE GRAMMONT; THE FRENCH KING'S EXCOURTIER.

It was some five or six days after the occurrences near the
Italian House, a space during which Rosamond had been more
seriously annoyed than ever by the importunities of the count,
and the scarcely equivocal allusions of Charles to what he was
pleased to call her penchant for the illustrious Frenchman, that
a gay group of courtiers had, at an early hour of the morning,
accompanied the king and his train of spaniels into St. James's
Park; where he amused himself, as was his wont, feeding his
tame water-fowl in the canal, playing with his dogs, and chatting
in his easy unkingly manner, which rendered him so popular,

despite all his ill-government, with such promenaders or
chance-passengers as he chanced to know by sight.

Among the party, who accompanied him rather as equal
associates than as subjects, were De Grammont, Sir George
Etherege, the accomplished Buckhurst afterwards Duke of
Dorset, and wild William Crofts, groom of the stole; with all
of whom, making no distinction of rank, he gossipped and
jested in his loose, idle way, and allowed them to pass their
jokes on himself in return.

In the course of their wild and licentious talk, De Grammont
alluded jestingly, but with a visibly earnest intention, to the
want of progress which he made with the beautiful Bellarmyne,
adding pointedly, “if your majesty were half as energetic
a wooer for others as you are for yourself, and came as briskly
to the point, she would not remain long so perdurably en
garde.”

The king laughed, not less, perhaps, at the effrontery of the
count's jeu des mots on his own kinswoman's dishonor, than on
the coolness with which he seemed to rely on his good offices
in a matter so dishonest; and replied—“Faith! when I do
such things by proxy, I use my good friend Chiffinch; you had
better apply to him, count, and if he do not bring the affair to
a prosperous event, by my honor, I see nothing for it but you
must carry her off vi et armis, as Rochester would have done
fair Mistress Mallet. I dare say, you have many another petite
maison besides the Italian House.”

“But I have heard say, your majesty was very angry with
Rochester; I could not survive my king's anger.”

“Rochester failed, chevalier, and the lady was neither pacified
nor placable. I never heard the name of De Grammont
coupled with the word failure.”

“Not at Basset, sire, nor Lansquenet, nor yet at Ombre,” replied

Etherege, with a mock reverence to De Grammont; “but
fame is more mendacious even than her own ill-report goes, if
fortune be as kind to the chevalier in the affairs of Venus, as
she has shown herself in those of Mars and Plutus. Crofts,
here, has told us some funny tales about his devotion to Mademoiselle
St. Germain.”

“Odds fish!” exclaimed the king, breaking off abruptly, and
looking earnestly towards the Bird-cage Walk, from which direction
two persons were advancing—one an old gentleman of
seventy years of age or upwards, dressed in a suit of plain brown
velvet, with a gold chain about his neck, and a gold-headed
crutch-cane in his hand, in lieu of the sword at his side, without
which gentlemen then rarely went abroad; the other a youth
of a military deportment, in half military attire, whom Charles,
with his usual quickness, recognised at once as his timely assistant
in the lane near Chelsea—“Odds fish! whom have we
here? That should be our worthy friend of the city, good
Master Nicholas Bellarmyne; but who is the stout gallant on
whose arm he leans?—a likely looking lad, with an arm and
leg that might have won favor in bluff King Harry's sight, who
loved, they say, to look upon the thews and sinews of a man!
Who is he? Do none of you know, gentlemen? Then, faith!
I must e'en ask myself.”

Then as the old merchant and his son were passing by, as
was the etiquette, at a respectful distance, merely uncovering
as they went their way, he called after them in his ordinary
blunt manner, “Why, how now, Master Nicholas Bellarmyne,
are we out of favor with our good friends in the city, that one
of their best men gives us the go-by so cavalierly?”

Thus summoned, the persons who had provoked the royal
attention drew near, the father keeping his head erect, though
uncovered, and looking his majesty full in the face, with an eye

as clear and calm as his own; but his son drooping his brow
a little, and having his eyes downcast, as if he were either bashful
or reluctant, and falling back a pace or two as they approached
the presence.

“Not so, your majesty,” replied the merchant, seeing that
the king waited a reply, “you are, as ever, our very good lord
and gracious master, and we desire but to know wherein we
may pleasure your grace, in order to do so. But, seeing that
you were private, we did not dare intrude until commanded.”

“One would think, Master Bellarmyne,” replied the king,
langhing, “that you had attained the years to know that there
is no intrusion, nowadays, possible by men with money-bags
like yours, if fame o'errate them not, especially on kings and
courtiers, who, however much of gold they may bear on their
backs, carry none, on a point of honor, in their purses. But
who is this gentleman you have with you? I have not, I think,
seen his face at court, yet I remember something of the trick of
it. Who is he, that I know him, but cannot call a name to
him?”

“My son, your majesty. Armytage Bellarmyne; he has returned
but of late from Germany, where, and in the Low Countries,
he has had the honor to serve the king and emperor in
twelve campaigns.”

“Twelve campaigns!” replied the king. “He must have begun
betimes. And did he win that medal there, which he
wears on his breast? And wherefore hath he not been presented
to us, his lawful native sovereign, for whom, I presume,
his sword will be drawn hereafter?”

“Whenever need shall be, your grace. But you have indulged
us so long with the blessings of peace that England had
no need of it; and youth is rash, as your majesty knows, and
perilous, and will have its vent in mischief somewhere. Touching

his presentment, he tarried only for the arrival of my lord
of Craven, to whom he had the good fortune to be known
abroad, and who was gracious to promise that he would stand
his sponsor to your majesty.”

“Ha! Craven!” said the king; “gallant and loyal Craven!
Well, we will accept Craven absent, as his sponsor, and elect
you, sir, present, as his proxy. Present him to us. We would
know where we have seen his face before.”

Armytage, on hearing these words, exceeding gracious as
they were, advanced uncovered; and, as his father named him,
knelt gracefully on one knee, and kissed the hand which was
extended to him with a smile, thinking, as he did so, with how
much less ceremony he had grasped it only a few nights previously.
Then, rising to his feet, he stood, respectfully, but
perfectly unembarrassed, before Charles, who, with a twinkling
eye and suppressed smile, pursued the subject, determined evidently
to try his new ally's spirit and discretion.

“How is it, sir,” he said, “that your face is so familiar to
me? It is not your likeness to your father, for you are not like
him. I have seen yourself before—where have we met?”

“So please your majesty,” replied Armytage, himself unable
to refrain from smiling, “once, many years since, I had the
honor to see you ride through the streets of Breda; and, I believe,
your majesty's eye might have fallen on my features. But
I had thought it too small a matter to rest in your memory.”

“More things rest in my memory,” said the king, significantly,
“than men think for. It must have been in Breda,
then. Well, sir, you see I have not forgotten; and you shall
see I will not forget you. I hear you have served, sir—where
and under whom? And where did you win that medal which
you wear? I see it is imperial.”

“I have served, sire,” replied the young man, modestly, “both

in the Low Countries and in Transylvania; besides one campaign
in Denmark. I have fought under Turenne and Montecuculi,
and had the good fortune to be at the foreing of the
Prince of Condé's lines at Arras, at the defeat of Ragotsky's
Transylvanians before Cracow, and at the relief of Copenhagen.
It was before Cracow, where I served as the general's aide-de-camp,
that I had the honor to receive this decoration.”

“You have, indeed, been fortunate, sir,” answered the king,
graciously. “Whether to have fought under such heroes as
Montecuculi, or against such heroes as Condé and Gustavus
Adolphus, were enough to satisfy the most ambitious of glory.
And what propose you to do now, sir?”

“To lay my sword at your majesty's feet, if it can serve you.
I should have done so earlier, could I have quitted the emperor's
service with honor, before peace was declared. If not, and
these rumors of war between the empire and the Turks prove
true, I may have your license, sire, to take a turn against the
Ottomans, under my old commander.”

“No, no, sir. For the present, you have had fighting enough,
methinks, without getting your ears cut off by some janizary,
and sent up in salt to the Sublime Porte. We shall try to find
something for you to do here in England. Meantime, her
majesty holds court to-morrow night; we shall command your
attendance, desiring to know how our English ladies compare
with the fair Austrians, and the Polish beauties, of whom we
have heard wonders.”

And a slight bow indicating that the interview was finished,
Armytage and his father retired with due reverence, the latter
marvelling much to what they could owe so unusual a reception
from the king.

As they withdrew, Charles sauntered away towards the palace
playing with his dogs; and, reverting to the matter uppermost

in his mind, asked De Grammont carelessly, “Well, chevalier,
what think you of our new-found subject?”

“A bold youth!” answered De Grammont, shortly—for he
had observed the community of names between the young imperialist
and his charmer, and foreboded no good from his
arrival. Moreover, he foresaw a rival favorite near the throne,
and his vanity could brook nil simile aut secundum.

“Odds fish!” cried the king hastily, “a brave one, rather,
and a modest, and a discreet! I should like to see one of you,
gentlemen, who—” he checked himself abruptly, and added
with a low bow to De Grammont, “but I forget that I speak
to the comrade and sharer of the great Condé's glory at Sens,
Norlinguen, and Fribourg, and of the no less great Turenne's,
at the foreing of those same lines at Arras.”

The chevalier could but bow low to the gracefully turned
compliment of the king, though he half suspected some latent
meaning in the king's reticence. He remained, however,
silent, and something discomposed during the remainder of the
promenade.

The king was also, contrary to his wont, absorbed in thought,
grave, and taciturn.

“What's a-foot now, Buckhurst?” whispered Etherege to his
friend, as they lagged a step or two behind the party. “And
who's the new Bellarmyne?”

“Some one,” replied Buckhurst, profanely, “whom either the
good Lord or the foul fiend has sent to spoil the Frenchman's
game with the other Bellarmyne.”

“The good Lord, then,” replied Etherege, laughing, “the
good Lord, for a rouleau! The foul fiend would have helped
the Frenchman. I don't like this selling or swapping of English
ladies' honors—not being over nice myself, or squeamish.”

“Nor I—an English king being salesman,” said Buckhurst.

Yet these were two of the wildest and most licentious gallants
of that unscrupulous time; but there are things so foul as must
needs make the most corrupt gorge rise against them, if the
heart thrill to any latent sense of honor.

The queen's court, on the following night, was more superb
than usual; more decked with flowers of female loveliness, than
usual, it could not be; for probably no such assemblage of
beauty and grace—alas! that modesty and virtue may not be
added—was ever brought together.

There was the superb Barbara of Castlemaine, radiant in
almost incomparable beauty, but dressed, or undressed rather,
to a degree calculated to excite disgust, rather than any warmer
feeling, and brazen with more than cynical effrontery; yet the
poor, broken-spirited queen smiled on her, and exchanged compliments
with her, in the face of all the sneering court.

There was Frances Stuart, for whose love it was rumored that
Charles would fain have been divorced from Catharine of Braganza,
“the greatest beauty,” as quaint old Pepys says, “I did
ever see in all my life, with her cocked-hat and red plume, with
her sweet little Roman nose, and excellent taille.”

There was the fair and languid Middleton, with her soft insipid
smile and love-lorn look askance. There was the beauteous
and virtuous Miss Hamilton, with her commanding form, and
swan-like neck, her open, smooth, white forehead, and her
round arms, the loveliest in the world. There was little Miss
Jennings, with her complexion the fairest and brightest that
was ever seen; her abundant flaxen hair, her exquisite mouth,
with that nez retroússé, and that animated arch expression, that
redeemed her from the charge of insipidity—reproach of blonde
beauties; Miss Bagot, with her regular, calm features, her
“brown complexion, of that sort so unusual in England, and the
continual blush which she had ever on her cheek, without having

anything to blush for;”[1] Miss Temple, with her fine and languishing
eyes, wreathed smile, and lively air; and, though the
last, the most lovely, the best, the purest of them all, innocent
Rosamond Bellarmyne, with her clear blue eyes revealing every
sentiment of her frank and candid soul, her cheek pale from
annoyance and agitation, yet sweeter from the purity of its very
pallor, and her rich brown hair flowing, as it were, in mingled
masses of chestnut silk and gold, over her marble shoulders.

That night the king did not tease her, nor did his face once
wear that malicious smile, or his lip once syllable the Count De
Grammont's name. On the contrary, his countenance was
grave, and his voice calm and kind, when he told her that he
had found her a new cousin, whom he would present to her
that evening. And when she started, and blushed crimson,
and looked fluttered and frightened, he answered her look by a
reassuring smile, and said, “A very honorable one, Mistress
Rosamond.”

No man in England knew the family histories of all his subjects
better than Charles, long as he had resided in a foreign
land; nor was the name of Bellarmyne so common of occurence
but that so soon as he knew the name of the emperor's
young soldier, he knew also his relationship to the queen's maid-of-honor.
To day he had thought—not a common thing for
Charles to do—he had thought of all that those Bellarmynes,
of old race, had done and suffered for his unlucky house, and,
as he thought, his conscience smote him—for he had a conscience,
at times, when anything pierced deep enough to wake
it into life—and he paused and repented.

He did present Captain Bellarmyne to Rosamond, after he
had presented him, with much distinction, to the queen, and

took care that he should be her partner; which then implied
association not for a single dance, but for the whole ball, and
the banquets that followed it; and once or twice during the
evening, as he went round among his guests, joking and drinking
with them like anything rather than a king, he found time
to say a passing word or two good-naturedly, and winked most
unroyally at Armytage, and clinked his glass of champagne
with Rosamond, as he drank to her “with his eyes.”

Grammont was furious. Finding himself balked of Rosamond,
he had attached himself to Miss Hamilton, to whom he
was always very attentive, and whom he afterwards married—
being brought back from Calais for that purpose by dislike to
her brother's pistols—but he was abstracted and rude, and tore
her enamelled fan to pieces in his fretful mood; and when Miss
Jennings quizzed him on his discomposure, he answered her so
sneeringly and shortly, that the saucy gipsy turned her back full
in his face, and did not speak to him again for a month.

Once he attacked the king, bantering, but evidently sore.

“Odds fish! chevalier,” Charles answered testily, “win her
yourself, and wear her. If you can't win her yourself, send
Chiffinch, or your man Termes, who lost your fine coat in the
quicksand at Calais. But for your reputation's sake, chevalier,
don't lisp to them at Paris what dirty work you asked a king
to do for you!”

“Or did for a king,” said Etherege, in a low voice, as he
chanced to stand near him.

“Sir!” cried De Grammont, turning on him furiously.

“Sir,” replied Etherege, quietly. “I call you so, because it
is the English for chevalier”—and, with a low bow, he turned
his back, and walking away, asked some one to present him to
Captain Bellarmyne.

So incensed was De Grammont, now, that he lost all command

of himself; and though he felt it was impossible to quarrel
in the very banqueting hall of the palace, he still could not refrain,
when the ball was ended, and his self-constituted rival was
looking for his hat and cloak in the ante-chamber, from walking
up and addressing him, in a manner anywhere haughty and
unbecoming, but surpassingly so in a royal apartment.

“Captain Bellarmyne, I believe?”

“At your service, Chevalier de Grammont.”

“Will you permit me, then, to inquire the meaning of your
attentions to Mistress Rosamond Bellarmyne?”

“Certainly, count, to inquire anything you please; and,
being myself the lady's poor cousin, on learning your superior
pretensions, I shall gladly answer you.”

“Then, sir, I have another question,” De Grammont began
fiercely; when Bellarmyne as calmly interrupted him, “Which
I shall also gladly answer, sir, anywhere but within the precincts
of my sovereign's palace.”

“Good-night, Count de Grammont!” said a deep voice
behind them. Both turned; it was the king, with a mien of
unwonted dignity, if severity were not the better word. The
proud Frenchman could but bow and retire.

The face of Charles relaxed, as he asked, “Where did you
learn to be so discreet, so young, Captain Bellarmyne?”

“Under General Montecuculi, sire. He made me once stand
on guard, all steel from my teeth to my toes, from the rise to
the set of a July sun, for saluting my superior officer when he
wished to be incognito.”

“He did very right, sir,” answered Charles, laughing; “and
he seems to have made you a pretty good soldier. Now, if you
will wait on Major-General Craven, at eight o'clock to-morrow
morning, he will be very glad to see Major Bellarmyne of the
Coldstream Guards. Pleasant dreams to you, major.”