Daniel Defoe is, perhaps, best known to us as the author of Robinson Crusoe, a book which has been the delight of generations of boys and girls ever since the beginning of the eighteenth century. For it was then that Defoe lived and wrote, being one of the new school of prose writers which grew up at that time and which gave England new forms of literature almost unknown to an earlier age. Defoe was a vigorous pamphleteer, writing first on the Whig side and later for the Tories in the reigns of William III and Anne. He did much to foster the growth of the newspaper, a form of literature which henceforth became popular. He also did much towards the development of the modern novel, though he did not write novels in our sense of the word. His books were more simple than is the modern novel. What he really wrote were long stories told, as is Robinson Crusoe, in the first person and with so much detail that it is hard to believe that they are works of imagination and not true stories. "The little art he is truly master of, is of forging a story and imposing it upon the world as truth." So wrote one of his contemporaries. Charles Lamb, in criticizing Defoe, notices this minuteness of detail and remarks that he is, therefore, an author suited only for "servants" (meaning that this method can appeal only to comparatively uneducated minds). Really as every boy and girl knows, a good story ought to have this quality of seeming true, and the fact that Defoe can so deceive us makes his work the more excellent reading.
The Memoirs of a Cavalier resembles Robinson Crusoe in so far as it is a tale told by a man of his own experiences and adventures. It has just the same air of truth and for a long time after its first publication in 1720 people were divided in opinion as to whether it was a book of real memoirs or not. A critical examination has shown that it is Defoe's own work and not, as he declares, the contents of a manuscript which he found "by great accident, among other valuable papers" belonging to one of King William's secretaries of state. Although his gifts of imagination enabled him to throw himself into the position of the Cavalier he lapses occasionally into his own characteristic prose and the style is often that of the eighteenth rather than the seventeenth century, more eloquent than quaint. Again, he is not careful to hide inconsistencies between his preface and the text. Thus, he says in his preface that he discovered the manuscript in 1651; yet we find in the Memoirs a reference to the Restoration, which shows that it must have been written after 1660 at least. There is abundant proof that the book is really a work of fiction and that the Cavalier is an imaginary character; but, in one sense, it is a true history, inasmuch as the author has studied the events and spirit of the time in which his scene is laid and, though he makes many mistakes of detail, he gives us a very true picture of one of the most interesting periods in English and European history. The Memoirs thus represent the English historical novel in its beginnings, a much simpler thing than it was to become in the hands of Scott and later writers.
The period in which the scene is laid is that of the English Civil War, in which the Cavalier fought on the side of King Charles I against the Puritans. But his adventures in this war belong to the second part of the book. In the first part, he tells of his birth and parentage, the foreign travel which was the fashionable completion of the education of a gentleman in the seventeenth century, and his adventures as a volunteer officer in the Swedish army, where he gained the experience which was to serve him well in the Civil War at home. Many a real Cavalier must have had just such a career as Defoe's hero describes as his own. After a short time at Oxford, "long enough for a gentleman," he embarked on a period of travel, going to Italy by way of France. The Cavalier, however, devotes but little space to description, vivid enough as far as it goes, of his adventures in these two countries for a space of over two years. Italy, especially, attracted the attention of gentlemen and scholars in those days, but the Cavalier was more bent on soldiering than sightseeing and he hurries on to tell of his adventures in Germany, where he first really took part in warfare, becoming a volunteer officer in the army of Gustavus Adolphus, the hero King of Sweden, and where he met with those adventures the story of which forms the bulk of the first part of the Memoirs.
To appreciate the tale, it will be necessary to have a clear idea of the state of affairs in Europe at the time. The war which was convulsing Germany, and in which almost every other European power interfered at some time, was the Thirty Years' War (1618—1648), a struggle having a special character of its own as the last of the religious wars which had torn Europe asunder for a century and the first of a long series of wars in which the new and purely political principle of the Balance of Power can be seen at work. The struggle was, nominally, between Protestant and Catholic Germany for, during the Reformation period, Germany, which consisted of numerous states under the headship of the Emperor, had split into two great camps. The Northern states had become Protestant under their Protestant princes. The Southern states had remained, for the most part, Catholic or had been won back to Catholicism in the religious reaction known as the Counter-Reformation. As the Catholic movement spread, under a Catholic Emperor like Ferdinand of Styria, who was elected in 1619, it was inevitable that the privileges granted to Protestants should be curtailed. They determined to resist and, as the Emperor had the support of Spain, the Protestant Union found it necessary to call in help from outside. Thus it was that the other European powers came to interfere in German affairs. Some helped the Protestants from motives of religion, more still from considerations of policy, and the long struggle of thirty years may be divided into marked periods in which one power after another, Denmark, Sweden, France, allied themselves with the Protestants against the Emperor. The Memoirs are concerned with the first two years of the Swedish period of the war (1630—1634), during which Gustavus Adolphus almost won victory for the Protestants who were, however, to lose the advantage of his brilliant generalship through his death at the battle of Lützen in 1632. Through the death of "this conquering king," the Swedes lost the fruits of their victory and the battle of Lützen marks the end of what may be termed the heroic period of the war. Gustavus Adolphus stands out among the men of his day for the loftiness of his character as well as for the genius of his generalship. It is, therefore, fitting enough that Defoe should make his Cavalier withdraw from the Swedish service after the death of the "glorious king" whom he "could never mention without some remark of his extraordinary merit." For two years longer, he wanders through Germany still watching the course of the war and then returns to England, soon to take part in another war at home, namely the Civil War, in which the English people were divided into two great parties according as they supported King Charles I or the members of the Long Parliament who opposed him. According to the Memoirs, the Cavalier "went into arms" without troubling himself "to examine sides." Defoe probably considered this attitude as typical of many of the Cavalier party, and, of course, loyalty to the king's person was one of their strongest motives. The Cavalier does not enter largely into the causes of the war. What he gives us is a picture of army life in that troubled period. It will be well, however, to bear in mind the chief facts in the history of the times.
From the beginning of his reign, Charles had had trouble with his parliaments, which had already become very restless under James I. Charles's parliaments disapproved of his foreign policy and their unwillingness to grant subsidies led him to fall back on questionable methods of raising money, especially during the eleven years (1629—1640) in which he ruled without a parliament. Charles had no great scheme of tyranny, but avoided parliaments because of their criticism of his policy. At first the opposition had been purely political, but the parliament of 1629 had attacked also Charles's religious policy. He favoured the schemes of Laud (archbishop of Canterbury 1633—1649) and the Arminian school among the clergy, who wished to revive many of the old Catholic practices and some of the beliefs which had been swept away by the Reformation. Many people in England objected not only to these but even to the wearing of the surplice, the simplest of the old vestments, on the use of which Laud tried to insist. This party came to be known as Puritans and they formed the chief strength of the opposition to the King in the Long Parliament which met in 1640. For their attack on the Church led many who had at first opposed the King's arbitrary methods to go over to his side. Thus, the moderate men as well as the loyalists formed a king's party and the opposition was almost confined to men who hated the Church as much as the King. The Puritans who loved simplicity of dress and severity of manners and despised the flowing locks and worldly vanities which the Cavaliers loved were, by these, nicknamed Roundheads on account of their short hair. Defoe, in the Memoirs, gives us less of this side of the history of the times than might have been expected. The war actually began in August, 1642, and what Defoe gives us is military history, correct in essentials and full of detail, which is, however, far from accurate. For instance, in his account of the battle of Marston Moor, he makes prince Rupert command the left wing, whereas he really commanded the right wing, the left being led by Lord Goring who, according to Defoe's account, commanded the main battle. He conveys to us, however, the true spirit of the war, emphasizing the ability and the mistakes on both sides, showing how the king's miscalculations or Rupert's rashness deprived the Royalist party of the advantages of the superior generalship and fighting power which were theirs in the first part of the war and how gradually the Roundheads got the better of the Cavaliers. The detailed narrative comes to an end with the delivery of the King to the Parliament by the Scots, to whom he had given himself up in his extremity. A few lines tell of his trial and execution and the Memoirs end with some pages of "remarks and observations" on the war and a list of coincidences which had been noted in its course. The latter, savouring somewhat of superstition, appear natural in what purports to be a seventeenth century text, but the summing up of conclusions about the war is rather such as might be made by a more or less impartial observer at a later date than by one who had taken an active part in the struggle. In reading the Memoirs this mixture of what belongs to the seventeenth century with the reflections of Defoe, in many ways a typical eighteenth century figure, must be borne in mind. The inaccuracies are pointed out in the notes, but these need not prevent us from entering with zest into the spirit of the story.
4 March 1908.
As an evidence that 'tis very probable these Memorials were written many years ago, the persons now concerned in the publication assure the reader that they have had them in their possession finished, as they now appear, above twenty years; that they were so long ago found by great accident, among other valuable papers, in the closet of an eminent public minister, of no less figure than one of King William's secretaries of state.
As it is not proper to trace them any farther, so neither is there any need to trace them at all, to give reputation to the story related, seeing the actions here mentioned have a sufficient sanction from all the histories of the times to which they relate, with this addition, that the admirable manner of relating them and the wonderful variety of incidents with which they are beautified in the course of a private gentleman's story, add such delight in the reading, and give such a lustre, as well to the accounts themselves as to the person who was the actor, that no story, we believe, extant in the world ever came abroad with such advantage.
It must naturally give some concern in the reading that the name of a person of so much gallantry and honour, and so many ways valuable to the world, should be lost to the readers. We assure them no small labour has been thrown away upon the inquiry, and all we have been able to arrive to of discovery in this affair is, that a memorandum was found with this manuscript, in these words, but not signed by any name, only the two letters of a name, which gives us no light into the matter, which memoir was as follows:—
Memorandum.
"I found this manuscript among my father's writings, and I understand that he got them as plunder, at, or after, the fight at Worcester, where he served as major of ——'s regiment of horse on the side of the Parliament. I.K."
As this has been of no use but to terminate the inquiry after the person, so, however, it seems most naturally to give an authority to the original of the work, viz., that it was born of a soldier; and indeed it is through every part related with so soldierly a style, and in the very language of the field, that it seems impossible anything but the very person who was present in every action here related, could be the relater of them.
The accounts of battles, the sieges, and the several actions of which this work is so full, are all recorded in the histories of those times; such as the great battle of Leipsic, the sacking of Magdeburg, the siege of Nuremburg, the passing the river Lech in Bavaria; such also as the battle of Kineton, or Edgehill, the battles of Newbury, Marston Moor, and Naseby, and the like: they are all, we say, recorded in other histories, and written by those who lived in those times, and perhaps had good authority for what they wrote. But do those relations give any of the beautiful ideas of things formed in this account? Have they one half of the circumstances and incidents of the actions themselves that this man's eyes were witness to, and which his memory has thus preserved? He that has read the best accounts of those battles will be surprised to see the particulars of the story so preserved, so nicely and so agreeably described, and will confess what we allege, that the story is inimitably told; and even the great actions of the glorious King GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS receive a lustre from this man's relations which the world was never made sensible of before, and which the present age has much wanted of late, in order to give their affections a turn in favour of his late glorious successor.
In the story of our own country's unnatural wars, he carries on the same spirit. How effectually does he record the virtues and glorious actions of King Charles the First, at the same time that he frequently enters upon the mistakes of his Majesty's conduct, and of his friends, which gave his enemies all those fatal advantages against him, which ended in the overthrow of his armies, the loss of his crown and life, and the ruin of the constitution!
In all his accounts he does justice to his enemies, and honours the merit of those whose cause he fought against; and many accounts recorded in his story, are not to be found even in the best histories of those times.
What applause does he give to gallantry of Sir Thomas Fairfax, to his modesty, to his conduct, under which he himself was subdued, and to the justice he did the king's troops when they laid down their arms!
His description of the Scots troops in the beginning of the war, and the behaviour of the party under the Earl of Holland, who went over against them, are admirable; and his censure of their conduct, who pushed the king upon the quarrel, and then would not let him fight, is no more than what many of the king's friends (though less knowing as soldiers) have often complained of.
In a word, this work is a confutation of many errors in all the writers upon the subject of our wars in England, and even in that extraordinary history written by the Earl of Clarendon; but the editors were so just that when, near twenty years ago, a person who had written a whole volume in folio, by way of answer to and confutation of Clarendon's "History of the Rebellion," would have borrowed the clauses in this account, which clash with that history, and confront it,—we say the editors were so just as to refuse them.
There can be nothing objected against the general credit of this work, seeing its truth is established upon universal history; and almost all the facts, especially those of moment, are confirmed for their general part by all the writers of those times. If they are here embellished with particulars, which are nowhere else to be found, that is the beauty we boast of; and that it is that much recommend this work to all the men of sense and judgment that read it.
The only objection we find possible to make against this work is, that it is not carried on farther, or, as we may say finished, with the finishing the war of the time; and this we complain of also. But then we complain of it as a misfortune to the world, not as a fault in the author; for how do we know but that this author might carry it on, and have another part finished which might not fall into the same hands, or may still remain with some of his family, and which they cannot indeed publish, to make it seem anything perfect, for want of the other parts which we have, and which we have now made public? Nor is it very improbable but that if any such farther part is in being, the publishing these two parts may occasion the proprietors of the third to let the world see it, and that by such a discovery the name of the person may also come to be known, which would, no doubt, be a great satisfaction to the reader as well as us.
This, however, must be said, that if the same author should have written another part of this work, and carried it on to the end of those times, yet as the residue of those melancholy days, to the Restoration, were filled with the intrigues of government, the political management of illegal power, and the dissensions and factions of a people who were then even in themselves but a faction, and that there was very little action in the field, it is more than probable that our author, who was a man of arms, had little share in those things, and might not care to trouble himself with looking at them.
But besides all this, it might happen that he might go abroad again at that time, as most of the gentlemen of quality, and who had an abhorrence for the power that then governed here, did. Nor are we certain that he might live to the end of that time, so we can give no account whether he had any share in the subsequent actions of that time.
'Tis enough that we have the authorities above to recommend this part to us that is now published. The relation, we are persuaded, will recommend itself, and nothing more can be needful, because nothing more can invite than the story itself, which, when the reader enters into, he will find it very hard to get out of till he has gone through it.
It may suffice the reader, without being very inquisitive after my name, that I was born in the county of Salop, in the year 1608, under the government of what star I was never astrologer enough to examine; but the consequences of my life may allow me to suppose some extraordinary influence affected my birth.
My father was a gentleman of a very plentiful fortune, having an estate of above £5000 per annum, of a family nearly allied to several of the principal nobility, and lived about six miles from the town; and my mother being at —— on some particular occasion, was surprised there at a friend's house, and brought me very safe into the world.
I was my father's second son, and therefore was not altogether so much slighted as younger sons of good families generally are. But my father saw something in my genius also which particularly pleased him, and so made him take extraordinary care of my education.
I was taught, therefore, by the best masters that could be had, everything that was needful to accomplish a young gentleman for the world; and at seventeen years old my tutor told my father an academic education was very proper for a person of quality, and he thought me very fit for it: so my father entered me of —— College in Oxford, where I continued three years.
A collegiate life did not suit me at all, though I loved books well enough. It was never designed that I should be either a lawyer, physician, or divine; and I wrote to my father that I thought I had stayed there long enough for a gentleman, and with his leave I desired to give him a visit.
During my stay at Oxford, though I passed through the proper exercises of the house, yet my chief reading was upon history and geography, as that which pleased my mind best, and supplied me with ideas most suitable to my genius; by one I understood what great actions had been done in the world, and by the other I understood where they had been done.
My father readily complied with my desire of coming home; for besides that he thought, as I did, that three years' time at the university was enough, he also most passionately loved me, and began to think of my settling near him.
At my arrival I found myself extraordinarily caressed by my father, and he seemed to take a particular delight in my conversation. My mother, who lived in perfect union with him both in desires and affection, received me very passionately. Apartments were provided for me by myself, and horses and servants allowed me in particular.
My father never went a-hunting, an exercise he was exceeding fond of, but he would have me with him; and it pleased him when he found me like the sport. I lived thus, in all the pleasures 'twas possible for me to enjoy, for about a year more, when going out one morning with my father to hunt a stag, and having had a very hard chase, and gotten a great way off from home, we had leisure enough to ride gently back; and as we returned my father took occasion to enter into a serious discourse with me concerning the manner of my settling in the world.
He told me, with a great deal of passion, that he loved me above all the rest of his children, and that therefore he intended to do very well for me; and that my eldest brother being already married and settled, he had designed the same for me, and proposed a very advantageous match for me, with a young lady of very extraordinary fortune and merit, and offered to make a settlement of £2000 per annum on me, which he said he would purchase for me without diminishing his paternal estate.
There was too much tenderness in this discourse not to affect me exceedingly. I told him I would perfectly resign myself unto his disposal. But as my father had, together with his love for me, a very nice judgment in his discourse, he fixed his eyes very attentively on me, and though my answer was without the least reserve, yet he thought he saw some uneasiness in me at the proposal, and from thence concluded that my compliance was rather an act of discretion than inclination; and that, however I seemed so absolutely given up to what he had proposed, yet my answer was really an effect of my obedience rather than my choice.
So he returned very quick upon me: "Look you, son, though I give you my own thoughts in the matter, yet I would have you be very plain with me; for if your own choice does not agree with mine, I will be your adviser, but will never impose upon you, and therefore let me know your mind freely." "I don't reckon myself capable, sir," said I, with a great deal of respect, "to make so good a choice for myself as you can for me; and though my opinion differed from yours, its being your opinion would reform mine, and my judgment would as readily comply as my duty." "I gather at least from thence," said my father, "that your designs lay another way before, however they may comply with mine; and therefore I would know what it was you would have asked of me if I had not offered this to you; and you must not deny me your obedience in this, if you expect I should believe your readiness in the other."
"Sir," said I, "'twas impossible I should lay out for myself just what you have proposed; but if my inclinations were never so contrary, though at your command you shall know them, yet I declare them to be wholly subjected to your order. I confess my thoughts did not tend towards marriage or a settlement; for, though I had no reason to question your care of me, yet I thought a gentleman ought always to see something of the world before he confined himself to any part of it. And if I had been to ask your consent to anything, it should have been to give me leave to travel for a short time, in order to qualify myself to appear at home like a son to so good a father."
"In what capacity would you travel?" replied my father. "You must go abroad either as a private gentleman, as a scholar, or as a soldier." "If it were in the latter capacity, sir," said I, returning pretty quick, "I hope I should not misbehave myself; but I am not so determined as not to be ruled by your judgment." "Truly," replied my father, "I see no war abroad at this time worth while for a man to appear in, whether we talk of the cause or the encouragement; and indeed, son, I am afraid you need not go far for adventures of that nature, for times seem to look as if this part of Europe would find us work enough." My father spake then relating to the quarrel likely to happen between the King of England and the Spaniard,' for I believe he had no notions of a civil war in his head.
In short, my father, perceiving my inclinations very forward to go abroad, gave me leave to travel, upon condition I would promise to return in two years at farthest, or sooner, if he sent for me.
While I was at Oxford I happened into the society of a young gentleman, of a good family, but of a low fortune, being a younger brother, and who had indeed instilled into me the first desires of going abroad, and who, I knew, passionately longed to travel, but had not sufficient allowance to defray his expenses as a gentleman. We had contracted a very close friendship, and our humours being very agreeable to one another, we daily enjoyed the conversation of letters. He was of a generous free temper, without the least affectation or deceit, a handsome proper person, a strong body, very good mien, and brave to the last degree. His name was Fielding and we called him Captain, though it be a very unusual title in a college; but fate had some hand in the title, for he had certainly the lines of a soldier drawn in his countenance. I imparted to him the resolutions I had taken, and how I had my father's consent to go abroad, and would know his mind whether he would go with me. He sent me word he would go with all his heart.
My father, when he saw him, for I sent for him immediately to come to me, mightily approved my choice; so we got our equipage ready, and came away for London.
'Twas on the 22nd of April 1630, when we embarked at Dover, landed in a few hours at Calais, and immediately took post for Paris. I shall not trouble the reader with a journal of my travels, nor with the description of places, which every geographer can do better than I; but these Memoirs being only a relation of what happened either to ourselves, or in our own knowledge, I shall confine myself to that part of it.
We had indeed some diverting passages in our journey to Paris, as first, the horse my comrade was upon fell so very lame with a slip that he could not go, and hardly stand, and the fellow that rid with us express, pretended to ride away to a town five miles off to get a fresh horse, and so left us on the road with one horse between two of us. We followed as well as we could, but being strangers, missed the way, and wandered a great way out the road. Whether the man performed in reasonable time or not we could not be sure, but if it had not been for an old priest, we had never found him. We met this man, by a very good accident, near a little village whereof he was curate. We spoke Latin enough just to make him understand us, and he did not speak it much better himself; but he carried us into the village to his house, gave us wine and bread, and entertained us with wonderful courtesy. After this he sent into the village, hired a peasant, and a horse for my captain, and sent him to guide us into the road. At parting he made a great many compliments to us in French, which we could just understand; but the sum was, to excuse him for a question he had a mind to ask us. After leave to ask what he pleased, it was if we wanted any money for our journey, and pulled out two pistoles, which he offered either to give or lend us.
I mention this exceeding courtesy of the curate because, though civility is very much in use in France, and especially to strangers, yet 'tis a very unusual thing to have them part with their money.
We let the priest know, first, that we did not want money, and next that we were very sensible of the obligation he had put upon us; and I told him in particular, if I lived to see him again, I would acknowledge it.
This accident of our horse was, as we afterwards found, of some use to us. We had left our two servants behind us at Calais to bring our baggage after us, by reason of some dispute between the captain of the packet and the custom-house officer, which could not be adjusted, and we were willing to be at Paris. The fellows followed as fast as they could, and, as near as we could learn, in the time we lost our way, were robbed, and our portmanteaus opened. They took what they pleased; but as there was no money there, but linen and necessaries, the loss was not great.
Our guide carried us to Amiens, where we found the express and our two servants, who the express meeting on the road with a spare horse, had brought back with him thither.
We took this for a good omen of our successful journey, having escaped a danger which might have been greater to us than it was to our servants; for the highwaymen in France do not always give a traveller the civility of bidding him stand and deliver his money, but frequently fire on him first, and then take his money.
We stayed one day at Amiens, to adjust this little disorder, and walked about the town, and into the great church, but saw nothing very remarkable there; but going across a broad street near the great church, we saw a crowd of people gazing at a mountebank doctor, who made a long harangue to them with a thousand antic postures, and gave out bills this way, and boxes of physic that way, and had a great trade, when on a sudden the people raised a cry, "Larron, Larron!" (in English, "Thief, thief"), on the other side the street, and all the auditors ran away, from Mr Doctor to see what the matter was. Among the rest we went to see, and the case was plain and short enough. Two English gentlemen and a Scotchman, travellers as we were, were standing gazing at this prating doctor, and one of them catched a fellow picking his pocket. The fellow had got some of his money, for he dropped two or three pieces just by him, and had got hold of his watch, but being surprised let it slip again. But the reason of telling this story is for the management of it. This thief had his seconds so ready, that as soon as the Englishman had seized him they fell in, pretended to be mighty zealous for the stranger, takes the fellow by the throat, and makes a great bustle; the gentleman not doubting but the man was secured let go his own hold of him, and left him to them. The hubbub was great, and 'twas these fellows cried, "Larron, larron!" but with a dexterity peculiar to themselves had let the right fellow go, and pretended to be all upon one of their own gang. At last they bring the man to the gentleman to ask him what the fellow had done, who, when he saw the person they seized on, presently told them that was not the man. Then they seemed to be in more consternation than before, and spread themselves all over the street, crying, "Larron, larron!" pretending to search for the fellow; and so one one way, one another, they were all gone, the noise went over, the gentlemen stood looking one at another, and the bawling doctor began to have the crowd about him again. This was the first French trick I had the opportunity of seeing, but I was told they have a great many more as dexterous as this.
We soon got acquaintance with these gentlemen, who were going to Paris, as well as we; so the next day we made up our company with them, and were a pretty troop of five gentlemen and four servants.
As we had really no design to stay long at Paris, so indeed, excepting the city itself, there was not much to be seen there. Cardinal Richelieu, who was not only a supreme minister in the Church, but Prime Minister in the State, was now made also General of the King's Forces, with a title never known in France before nor since, viz., Lieutenant-General "au place du Roi," in the king's stead, or, as some have since translated it, representing the person of the king.
Under this character he pretended to execute all the royal powers in the army without appeal to the king, or without waiting for orders; and having parted from Paris the winter before had now actually begun the war against the Duke of Savoy, in the process of which he restored the Duke of Mantua, and having taken Pignerol from the duke, put it into such a state of defence as the duke could never force it out of his hands, and reduced the duke, rather by manage and conduct than by force, to make peace without it; so as annexing it to the crown of France it has ever since been a thorn in his foot that has always made the peace of Savoy lame and precarious, and France has since made Pignerol one of the strongest fortresses in the world.
As the cardinal, with all the military part of the court, was in the field, so the king, to be near him, was gone with the queen and all the court, just before I reached Paris, to reside at Lyons. All these considered, there was nothing to do at Paris; the court looked like a citizen's house when the family was all gone into the country, and I thought the whole city looked very melancholy, compared to all the fine things I had heard of it.
The queen-mother and her party were chagrined at the cardinal, who, though he owed his grandeur to her immediate favour, was now grown too great any longer to be at the command of her Majesty, or indeed in her interest; and therefore the queen was under dissatisfaction and her party looked very much down.
The Protestants were everywhere disconsolate, for the losses they had received at Rochelle, Nimes, and Montpelier had reduced them to an absolute dependence on the king's will, without all possible hopes of ever recovering themselves, or being so much as in a condition to take arms for their religion, and therefore the wisest of them plainly foresaw their own entire reduction, as it since came to pass. And I remember very well that a Protestant gentleman told me once, as we were passing from Orleans to Lyons, that the English had ruined them; and therefore, says he, "I think the next occasion the king takes to use us ill, as I know 'twill not be long before he does, we must all fly over to England, where you are bound to maintain us for having helped to turn us out of our own country." I asked him what he meant by saying the English had done it? He returned short upon me: "I do not mean," says he, "by not relieving Rochelle, but by helping to ruin Rochelle, when you and the Dutch lent ships to beat our fleet, which all the ships in France could not have done without you."
I was too young in the world to be very sensible of this before, and therefore was something startled at the charge; but when I came to discourse with this gentleman, I soon saw the truth of what he said was undeniable, and have since reflected on it with regret, that the naval power of the Protestants, which was then superior to the royal, would certainly have been the recovery of all their fortunes, had it not been unhappily broke by their brethren of England and Holland, the former lending seven men-of-war, and the latter twenty, for the destruction of the Rochellers' fleet; and by these very ships the Rochellers' fleet were actually beaten and destroyed, and they never afterwards recovered their force at sea, and by consequence sunk under the siege, which the English afterwards in vain attempted to prevent.
These things made the Protestants look very dull, and expected the ruin of all their party, which had certainly happened had the cardinal lived a few years longer.
We stayed in Paris, about three weeks, as well to see the court and what rarities the place afforded, as by an occasion which had like to have put a short period to our ramble.
Walking one morning before the gate of the Louvre, with a design to see the Swiss drawn up, which they always did, and exercised just before they relieved the guards, a page came up to me, and speaking English to me, "Sir," says he, "the captain must needs have your immediate assistance." I, that had not the knowledge of any person in Paris but my own companion, whom I called captain, had no room to question, but it was he that sent for me; and crying out hastily to him, "Where?" followed the fellow as fast as 'twas possible. He led me through several passages which I knew not, and at last through a tennis-court and into a large room, where three men, like gentlemen, were engaged very briskly two against one. The room was very dark, so that I could not easily know them asunder, but being fully possessed with an opinion before of my captain's danger, I ran into the room with my sword in my hand. I had not particularly engaged any of them, nor so much as made a pass at any, when I received a very dangerous thrust in my thigh, rather occasioned by my too hasty running in, than a real design of the person; but enraged at the hurt, without examining who it was hurt me, I threw myself upon him, and run my sword quite through his body.
The novelty of the adventure, and the unexpected fall of the man by a stranger come in nobody knew how, had becalmed the other two, that they really stood gazing at me. By this time I had discovered that my captain was not there, and that 'twas some strange accident brought me thither. I could speak but little French, and supposed they could speak no English, so I stepped to the door to see for the page that brought me thither, but seeing nobody there and the passage clear, I made off as fast as I could, without speaking a word; nor did the other two gentlemen offer to stop me.
But I was in a strange confusion when, coming into those entries and passages which the page led me through, I could by no means find my way out. At last seeing a door open that looked through a house into the street, I went in, and out at the other door; but then I was at as great a loss to know where I was, and which was the way to my lodgings. The wound in my thigh bled apace, and I could feel the blood in my breeches. In this interval came by a chair; I called, and went into it, and bid them, as well as I could, go to the Louvre; for though I knew not the name of the street where I lodged, I knew I could find the way to it when I was at the Bastille. The chairmen went on their own way, and being stopped by a company of the guards as they went, set me down till the soldiers were marched by; when looking out I found I was just at my own lodging, and the captain was standing at the door looking for me. I beckoned him to me, and, whispering, told him I was very much hurt, but bid him pay the chairmen, and ask no questions but come to me.
I made the best of my way upstairs, but had lost so much blood, that I had hardly spirits enough to keep me from swooning till he came in. He was equally concerned with me to see me in such a bloody condition, and presently called up our landlord, and he as quickly called in his neighbours, that I had a room full of people about me in a quarter of an hour. But this had like to have been of worse consequence to me than the other, for by this time there was great inquiring after the person who killed a man at the tennis-court. My landlord was then sensible of his mistake, and came to me and told me the danger I was in, and very honestly offered to convey me to a friend's of his, where I should be very secure; I thanked him, and suffered myself to be carried at midnight whither he pleased. He visited me very often, till I was well enough to walk about, which was not in less than ten days, and then we thought fit to be gone, so we took post for Orleans. But when I came upon the road I found myself in a new error, for my wound opened again with riding, and I was in a worse condition than before, being forced to take up at a little village on the road, called ——, about —— miles from Orleans, where there was no surgeon to be had, but a sorry country barber, who nevertheless dressed me as well as he could, and in about a week more I was able to walk to Orleans at three times. Here I stayed till I was quite well, and took coach for Lyons and so through Savoy into Italy.
I spent nearly two years' time after this bad beginning in travelling through Italy, and to the several courts of Rome, Naples, Venice, and Vienna.
When I came to Lyons the king was gone from thence to Grenoble to meet the cardinal, but the queens were both at Lyons.
The French affairs seemed at this time to have but an indifferent aspect. There was no life in anything but where the cardinal was: he pushed on everything with extraordinary conduct, and generally with success; he had taken Susa and Pignerol from the Duke of Savoy, and was preparing to push the duke even out of all his dominions.
But in the meantime everywhere else things looked ill; the troops were ill-paid, the magazines empty, the people mutinous, and a general disorder seized the minds of the court; and the cardinal, who was the soul of everything, desired this interview at Grenoble, in order to put things into some better method.
This politic minister always ordered matters so, that if there was success in anything the glory was his, but if things miscarried it was all laid upon the king. This conduct was so much the more nice, as it is the direct contrary to the custom in like cases, where kings assume the glory of all the success in an action, and when a thing miscarries make themselves easy by sacrificing their ministers and favourites to the complaints and resentments of the people; but this accurate refined statesman got over this point.
While we were at Lyons, and as I remember, the third day after our coming thither, we had like to have been involved in a state broil, without knowing where we were. It was of a Sunday in the evening, the people of Lyons, who had been sorely oppressed in taxes, and the war in Italy pinching their trade, began to be very tumultuous. We found the day before the mob got together in great crowds, and talked oddly; the king was everywhere reviled, and spoken disrespectfully of, and the magistrates of the city either winked at, or durst not attempt to meddle, lest they should provoke the people.
But on Sunday night, about midnight, we were waked by a prodigious noise in the street. I jumped out of bed, and running to the window, I saw the street as full of mob as it could hold, some armed with muskets and halberds, marched in very good order; others in disorderly crowds, all shouting and crying out, "Du paix le roi," and the like. One that led a great party of this rabble carried a loaf of bread upon the top of a pike, and other lesser loaves, signifying the smallness of their bread, occasioned by dearness.
By morning this crowd was gathered to a great height; they ran roving over the whole city, shut up all the shops, and forced all the people to join with them from thence. They went up to the castle, and renewing the clamour, a strange consternation seized all the princes.
They broke open the doors of the officers, collectors of the new taxes, and plundered their houses, and had not the persons themselves fled in time they had been very ill-treated.
The queen-mother, as she was very much displeased to see such consequences of the government, in whose management she had no share, so I suppose she had the less concern upon her. However, she came into the court of the castle and showed herself to the people, gave money amongst them, and spoke gently to them; and by a way peculiar to herself, and which obliged all she talked with, she pacified the mob gradually, sent them home with promises of redress and the like; and so appeased this tumult in two days by her prudence, which the guards in the castle had small mind to meddle with, and if they had, would in all probability have made the better side the worse.
There had been several seditions of the like nature in sundry other parts of France, and the very army began to murmur, though not to mutiny, for want of provisions.
This sedition at Lyons was not quite over when we left the place, for, finding the city all in a broil, we considered we had no business there, and what the consequence of a popular tumult might be we did not see, so we prepared to be gone. We had not rid above three miles out of the city but we were brought as prisoners of war, by a party of mutineers, who had been abroad upon the scout, and were charged with being messengers sent to the cardinal for forces to reduce the citizens. With these pretences they brought us back in triumph, and the queen-mother, being by this time grown something familiar to them, they carried us before her.
When they inquired of us who we were, we called ourselves Scots; for as the English were very much out of favour in France at this time, the peace having been made not many months, and not supposed to be very durable, because particularly displeasing to the people of England, so the Scots were on the other extreme with the French. Nothing was so much caressed as the Scots, and a man had no more to do in France, if he would be well received there, than to say he was a Scotchman.
When we came before the queen-mother she seemed to receive us with some stiffness at first, and caused her guards to take us into custody; but as she was a lady of most exquisite politics, she did this to amuse the mob, and we were immediately after dismissed; and the queen herself made a handsome excuse to us for the rudeness we had suffered, alleging the troubles of the times; and the next morning we had three dragoons of the guards to convoy us out of the jurisdiction of Lyons.
I confess this little adventure gave me an aversion to popular tumults all my life after, and if nothing else had been in the cause, would have biassed me to espouse the king's party in England when our popular heats carried all before it at home.
But I must say, that when I called to mind since, the address, the management, the compliance in show, and in general the whole conduct of the queen-mother with the mutinous people of Lyons, and compared it with the conduct of my unhappy master the King of England, I could not but see that the queen understood much better than King Charles the management of politics and the clamours of the people.
Had this princess been at the helm in England, she would have prevented all the calamities of the Civil War here, and yet not have parted with what that good prince yielded in order to peace neither. She would have yielded gradually, and then gained upon them gradually; she would have managed them to the point she had designed them, as she did all parties in France; and none could effectually subject her but the very man she had raised to be her principal support—I mean the cardinal.
We went from hence to Grenoble, and arrived there the same day that the king and the cardinal with the whole court went out to view a body of 6000 Swiss foot, which the cardinal had wheedled the cantons to grant to the king to help to ruin their neighbour the Duke of Savoy.
The troops were exceeding fine, well-accoutred, brave, clean-limbed, stout fellows indeed. Here I saw the cardinal; there was an air of church gravity in his habit, but all the vigour of a general, and the sprightliness of a vast genius in his face. He affected a little stiffness in his behaviour, but managed all his affairs with such clearness, such steadiness, and such application, that it was no wonder he had such success in every undertaking.
Here I saw the king, whose figure was mean, his countenance hollow, and always seemed dejected, and every way discovering that weakness in his countenance that appeared in his actions.
If he was ever sprightly and vigorous it was when the cardinal was with him, for he depended so much on everything he did, he that was at the utmost dilemma when he was absent, always timorous, jealous, and irresolute.
After the review the cardinal was absent some days, having been to wait on the queen-mother at Lyons, where, as it was discoursed, they were at least seemingly reconciled.