The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Very true,” rejoined Buckingham. “But then, I sold my mithridate and galbanum to the Roundheads. Bellegarde, I fear, will only make money at the gaming-tables.”

  “I won’t allow you to calumniate him any longer,” said the duchess. “Come forward, Achille, and confront your accuser.”

  On this, the masquerader threw off his domino and vizard, and prostrated himself before the king.

  Charles bade him rise, in a good-humored tone.

  “Like Talbot Harland, you have not waited for my forgiveness before coming back, count,” he said. “Luckily, you have each a good friend at court.”

  “I do not owe many thanks to the Duke of Buckingham, sire,” said Bellegarde. “I did not think his grace capable of such perfidy.”

  “Bah!” cried the king. “Buckingham was only jesting. We both knew you were present.”

  “To be sure we did,” cried the duke, laughing. “I will now make amends, and retract all I have just uttered. You are the most honorable player I know — lose your money without losing your temper, and win without being elated. No one gets out of a scrape more adroitly; no one boasts less of his gallantries; no one tells a story more agreeably. Will this satisfy you?”

  “Perfectly,” replied Bellegarde.

  “Let me add that all the courtiers will be enchanted to have you back.”

  At this juncture, Chiffinch entered, and ushered in Dorinda, who was followed by Talbot Harland.

  The latter, however, did not venture beyond a step into the room, until encouraged by a gracious look from his majesty. He then threw himself at the king’s feet.

  “Mr. Harland did not dare to present himself without me, sire,” said Dorinda.

  “You did quite right to accompany him,” observed Charles. “It is entirely to your intercession that he owes my forgiveness. You must take care he does not offend in like manner again.”

  “He shall not fight another duel on my account, if I can help it, sire,” said Dorinda.

  CHAPTER VI

  ARCHIGENE, THE FORTUNE-TELLER

  While this was passing, the Duchess of Portsmouth had retired into an inner room to finish her toilette; and when she reappeared, it was in the most charming costume imaginable, which had just arrived from Paris.

  Lely was in raptures, and began a fresh sketch.

  During her grace’s absence, chocolate was served by two valets in the royal livery.

  It was quite evident, from the king’s manner to Bellegarde, that the count was completely restored to the royal favor. While sipping his chocolate, Charles questioned him about his recent adventures.

  “There is some little truth in what the Duke of Buckingham has been saying about me, I must own,” said the count. “Since I have been banished from your majesty’s presence, I have been obliged to amuse myself in the best way I could, and have played several strange parts; among others, that of a fortune-teller.

  “I took some lodgings near Spring Gardens; and announcing myself as the renowned Archigène de Luxembourg, Diseur de bonne Aventure à Madame de Montespan, acquired immediate celebrity.

  “Visits were paid me by most of the court ladies. And as I was connected with many curious circumstances connected with them, I was able to tell their fortunes in a manner that convinced them that Archigene must be a veritable wizard.

  “They all came to me in disguise; but I soon found them out, while not one of them recognized me in my flowing robe — adorned with mystical characters, tall, steeple-crowned hat, and huge green spectacles.

  “I will betray no confidences; but I told a very distinguished lady, who visited me, that the highest honors would soon be bestowed upon her, and methinks my prediction has come to pass.”

  “Impossible you could have been the fortune-teller, Achille!” cried the Duchess of Portsmouth, laughing. “Why, he looked as old as Nostradamus.”

  “He was your grace’s humble servant, nevertheless,” replied the count.

  “I may as well confess that I paid Archigène a visit,” said Dorinda.

  “You?” exclaimed Talbot.

  “Yes. I went with my aunt, Lady Muskerry. We were both completely disguised—”

  “I defy Lady Muskerry to disguise herself,” cried Buckingham.

  “Well, we were both dressed in close hoods and bands, like Puritan dames,” replied Dorinda, “and were received by a pretty, dark-eyed page, who looked very much like a damsel in male attire, and were ushered into an inner room, where we found Archigène. His bent figure and his accents seemed to proclaim great age. My aunt first consulted him, and, after looking at her hand for a few minutes, he said, “ladyship, I can see, is a widow; but you will have two more husbands, and will be married again before the year is out.’”

  “Her ladyship ought to have paid well for that prediction,” observed the king, laughing.

  “A green silk purse full of gold was Archigène’s reward, sire,” said Bellegarde.

  “Your fortune was told, of course?” cried Talbot.

  “Certainly,” rejoined Dorinda; “and a very nice fortune it will be, if it only comes true; but I am not going to reveal it, especially to you.”

  “And my lips are sealed,” observed Bellegarde.

  “Enough of this fortune-teller,” said the duchess. “Are you aware, Mr. Harland, that we are going to Newmarket? I am looking forward to it with delight. I have never seen an English horse-race.”

  ““the finest sight in the world, and Newmarket is the best race-course in England,” cried Talbot.

  “I promise your grace excellent sport,” said the king. “I mean to run some of my own horses, and so does the Duke of York.”

  “Let us make a match, sire,” cried Buckingham. “Talbot Harland is fond of racing, and rides well. Bellegarde is a first-rate jockey, as you know. I will back my Barbary mare, Mab, against your famous black horse, Bosco. The race to be for a gold cup, to be given between us, and to belong to the rider of the winning horse. Bellegarde shall ride Bosco, and Talbot Harland shall ride Mab. Is it a match?”

  ““a match,” replied Charles. “How say you, messieurs? Will you ride the race?”

  Both expressed their readiness.

  “What shall be the value of the cup, sire?” said Buckingham.

  “It must be worth a struggle,” rejoined the king. “I will give three hundred guineas, if you will add the like sum.”

  “Agreed!” cried the duke.

  “Bravo!” exclaimed Bellegarde, enchanted. “A six-hundred-guinea cup will be well worth a struggle!”

  “Oh, how I should like to see the race!” cried Dorinda.

  “You will see it,” replied the king. “Her majesty is going to Newmarket.”

  “I am delighted to hear it, sire,” she rejoined.

  “And this will be a race worth seeing, for the horses are well matched,” observed Buckingham.

  The discourse was proceeding very merrily, when a noise was heard in the ante-chamber, and the last person expected, and the least desired, the Duchess of Cleveland, burst into the room.

  Chiffinch vainly attempted to oppose her entrance.

  CHAPTER VII

  THE RIVAL DUCHESSES

  Dismay was painted on every countenance except that of the Duchess of Portsmouth, who didn’t seem at all embarrassed by the unlooked-for appearance of her rival.

  Anticipating a scene, at which she did not choose to assist, Dorinda made her escape as quickly as she could, and flew to her own apartments.

  Though disliking nothing so much as these scenes, to which he was not unfrequently subjected by the violence of the Duchess of Cleveland’s temper, the king was powerless to prevent them.

  He uttered an exclamation of annoyance, and shrugged his shoulders, but did not attempt to interfere. Bellegarde made a droll grimace, and exchanged a glance with Buckingham. Both were secretly amused by the incident.

  The Duchess of Cleveland stood still, and after scornfully surveying the beautiful objects in the boudoir, exclaimed
, in a sarcastic tone, “Mighty fine, upon my word! I have no room to compare to it.”

  “I am glad your grace admires my boudoir,” rejoined the Duchess of Portsmouth, who had advanced to meet her. “It is his majesty’s taste — not mine.”

  “The French king’s taste, you mean,” rejoined the other, rudely. “His English majesty has wretched taste in furniture — as in everything else.”

  “Not in everything,” said the Duchess of Portsmouth. “Surely, in one particular instance, he may be complimented on his taste.”

  “If he ever possessed any, he has lost it,” rejoined the Duchess of Cleveland.

  How handsome they looked, those two imperious women, as they gazed at each other with flashing eyes and flushed cheeks.

  But the Duchess of Portsmouth, though highly incensed, possessed most command over herself.

  “I will not for a moment suppose that your grace has come here to insult me,” she said, with dignity, “though your manner might lead to such a construction.”

  “Insult you! no! I have come to offer you my congratulations, as in duty bound.”

  “You do me too much honor,” rejoined the other, haughtily.

  “Your grace seems to forget that I am present,” said the king, stepping forward, and addressing the Duchess of Cleveland.

  “No wonder I should have overlooked your majesty,” she rejoined, without making him any reverence. “You are lost amid so many objects of attraction. I do not envy the Duchess of Portsmouth her charming boudoir, because I know she cannot enjoy it, since she has to tolerate the society of a royal master whom she dislikes — and deceives.”

  And she broke into a mocking laugh.

  “Your grace imagines that all women are made upon your own model,” observed the Duchess of Portsmouth.

  Her rival was about to make a sharp rejoinder, but the king interposed, exclaiming authoritatively to the Duchess of Cleveland:

  “No more of this, madam. Comport yourself properly, or retire. You owe an apology to the Duchess of Portsmouth for this unwarrantable intrusion.”

  “I will make her none,” cried the enraged dame, stamping her foot upon the floor. “And she may think herself fortunate that I do not dash in pieces some of her costly trinkets. Artful wretch! I should like to tear her eyes out.”

  “Protect me from this fury, sire,” cried the Duchess of Portsmouth, with affected terror.

  “Will you go, madam?” cried Charles.

  “No!” replied the angry dame. “I have a great deal more to say to her; and may not have another opportunity. Not only has she rendered your majesty supremely ridiculous to all your court, but to your subjects. That a monarch who piques himself on his wit and cleverness, should become the dupe of a French intrigante, without any personal charms to recommend her, shows how well her plans have been laid.”

  “Oddsfish! one would think I had never been duped before,” remarked Charles. “At least, I have thrown off your fetters.”

  “To put on others far heavier,” retorted the duchess. “I dare say your new favorite will obtain you plenary indulgence from Rome for your numerous peccadilloes. She can do it, if she will.”

  “My Lord of Buckingham,” said Charles, “be pleased to conduct the Duchess of Cleveland to her room. And let a guard be placed at the door.”

  “Am I to be made a prisoner in the palace?” she cried.

  “Ay, till you come to your senses, and can bridle your tongue,” rejoined the king.

  “I am the most injured woman in the kingdom, and all the world shall know it,” she cried.

  “All the world knows it already,” said Buckingham, advancing to take her hand.

  But she motioned him off with a proud gesture.

  “I will put an end to this scene, if your majesty will permit me,” whispered Bellegarde to the king.

  “For heaven’s sake, do so!” replied Charles. “You will earn my eternal gratitude.”

  Upon this, the count stepped towards the impracticable duchess, and said to her, in a significant tone, “Your grace will remember paying a visit to Archigène, the French fortune-teller—”

  Chap. WII] NEWMARKET IN CHARLES’S TIME

  “I remember nothing about it,” she interrupted, haughtily.

  “On that occasion,” pursued the count, calmly, “you dropped a letter, which came into my possession. Behold it. “from Jacob Hall, the rope-dancer. Shall I read it to his majesty? It cannot fail to divert him. The rope-dancer writes a charming letter.”

  “Read it — read it!” cried Charles.

  “Shall I, or will you go?” said Bellegarde, to the duchess, who was thrown into great confusion.

  With an exclamation of rage, she snatched the letter from him, and rushed out of the boudoir.

  “It was not from Jacob Hall,” said Bellegarde to the king; “but it answered the purpose.”

  “A capital ruse!” cried Charles, laughing.

  CHAPTER VIII

  NEWMARKET IN CHARLES THE SECOND’S TIME

  Both Charles the Second and the Duke of York delighted in racing, and gave great encouragement to the sport. Charles built a palace at Newmarket, to which he repaired, with a portion of his court, whenever a meeting took place, and there were several during the year.

  The architect of the palace at Newmarket was the famous Sir Christopher Wren; but the edifice was never entirely completed during the monarch’s lifetime — probably, from want of funds.

  Sir Christopher Wren, though so great a man, and so lofty in his designs, was short in stature. The king liked the palace very much, but found the rooms too low, and complained of the fault to the architect. “The rooms are high enough for me, sire,” said Wren.

  “Possibly, Sir Christopher,” replied the king. “But they are too low for me.”

  We are apt to imagine that we have attained the perfection of racing now-a-days, and that the sport was very imperfectly understood two centuries ago. No mistake could be greater. The racing then was excellent. The disreputable tricks that have brought the turf into deserved disgrace were unknown. There was no systematic betting. No “books” were made. Blacklegs there might be, though not such a fraternity as now exists; and there was no noisy “ring.” The jockeys rode to win; and owners did not bet against their horses. Racing, though in its infancy, was conducted as it ought to be, and was consequently a noble sport.

  Nor has the breed of horses improved. In Charles’s days, there were Arabs of unmixed blood, of wonderful swiftness and endurance, and incomparable jennets.

  The Duke of York had a splendid stud, even better than the king.

  His majesty had arrived at his palace at Newmarket, with the queen, her ladies, and a portion of his court, and was favored, as royal persons generally seem to be, with magnificent weather. Nothing could be in better order than the turf, and nowhere is there such turf as on the Newmarket race-course.

  The first day’s racing was excellent, and the Duchess of Portsmouth was delighted. The sight more than realized her expectations.

  After the racing, which occupied the whole of the afternoon, there were the usual festivities at the palace.

  The match between the king and the Duke of Buckingham formed the great event of the second day, and as it had been much talked about, a considerable concourse was gathered together to witness it.

  Country gentlemen rode over from their seats in the neighboring counties of Suffolk and Norfolk. Others had come from Cambridge, Huntingdon, and Ely, and twenty other places.

  The farmers and hinds flocked to Newmarket from the surrounding districts, with their wives and daughters, quite as much to stare at the king and the court ladies as to see the race for the gold cup.

  With most of the assemblage, high or low, the Duchess of Portsmouth was the chief object of attraction; and when she appeared by the side of Charles, mounted on a sprightly jennet, and attired in a superb blue velvet riding-dress, laced with silver, she was generally admired, though she did not escape censure.

&
nbsp; But here, as elsewhere, Dorinda Neville eclipsed all others.

  The splendid train of court dames and gallants, by which the king was attended, formed a charming picture — such as can never be seen again at Newmarket. The magnificent heath is still the same, but where are the lovely equestrians that graced it then? Where is the throng of handsome gallants, rustling in silk and velvet, that rode beside those fair dames, and diverted them with their jests? Where is the good-humored monarch who headed them?

  But hark! the bell rings. The race is about to be run.

  No occasion to clear the course, for the crowd is not so great, after all. Many usages, now deemed indispensable, have not as yet been introduced, and when the horses make their appearance, their riders are on their backs.

  Do not imagine for a moment that the riders are habited like jockeys of our own day. They wear Montero caps, and are attired in light and graceful riding-coats of velvet, differing, of course, in hue; Bellegarde’s color being green, and Talbot’s blue.

  Both horsemen look remarkably well, and ride up together to salute the king, and bow to the queen, who is seated in a splendid caleche.

  During this interval, the eyes of all the spectators are fixed upon them, and the capabilities of their horses eagerly canvassed.

  Bosco, for many reasons, is the favorite, and, indeed, he deserves to be, for he is a splendid animal, in superb condition, with a coat shining like satin; but there are some who think the Barbary mare, who looks full of fire, has not a bad chance.

  Badges are next bestowed on the riders. A green silk scarf, edged with gold, is placed over Bellegarde’s shoulders by the Duchess of Portsmouth; while a scarf of white silk is bestowed on Talbot by Dorinda, who tells him to win.

  Great is the excitement of the crowd during this performance.

  Accompanied by the king and the Duke of York, Bellegarde now rides slowly along the course towards the starting-place, which is four miles off, while Talbot follows, accompanied by Buckingham.