Memoirs of Count Grammont | Page 6

the oblivion which would now have for ever concealed them.
The Count de Grammont died in 1707. Some years after the publication
of his Memoirs, Hamilton was engaged in a very different work: he
translated Pope's Essay on Criticism into French, and, as it should seem,
so much to that great poet's satisfaction, that he wrote a very polite
letter of thanks to him, which is inserted in Pope's Correspondence.
Hamilton's Essay was, I believe, never printed, though Pope warmly
requested to have that permission: the reign of Louis XIV. had now
ceased; and, for several years before his death, the character of the old
court of that prince had ceased also: profligacy and gaiety had given
way to devotion and austerity. Of Hamilton's friends and literary
acquaintance few were left: the Duke of Berwick was employed in the
field, or at Versailles: some of the ladies, however, continued at St.
Germain; and in their society, particularly that of his niece, the
Countess of Stafford (in whose name he carried on a lively
correspondence with Lady Mary Wortley Montague), he passed much
of his time. He occasionally indulged in poetical compositions, of a
style suited to his age and character; and when he was past seventy, he
wrote that excellent copy of verses, 'Sur l' Usage de la Vie dans la
Vieillesse'; which, for grace of style, justness, and purity of sentiment,
does honour to his memory.

Hamilton died at St. Germain, in April, 1720, aged about seventy-four.
His death was pious and resigned. From his poem, entitled Reflections,
he appears, like some other authors, to have turned his mind, in old age,
entirely to those objects of sacred regard, which, sooner or later, must
engage the attention of every rational mind. To poetry he bids an
eternal adieu, in language which breathes no diminution of genius, at
the moment that he for ever recedes from the poetical character. But he
aspired to a better.
Whatever were Hamilton's errors, his general character was respectable.
He has been represented as grave, and even dull, in society; the very
reverse, in short, of what he appears in his Memoirs: but this is
probably exaggerated. Unquestionably, he had not the unequalled
vivacity of the Count de Grammont in conversation; as Grammont was,
on the other hand, inferior, in all respects, to Hamilton when the pen
was in his hand; the latter was, however, though reserved in a large
society, particularly agreeable in a more select one. Some of his letters
remain, in which he alludes to his want of that facility at impromptu
which gave such brilliancy to the conversation of some of his brother
wits and contemporaries. But, while we admit the truth of this, let it be
remembered, at the same time, that when he wrote this, he was by no
means young; that he criticised his own defects with severity; that he
was poor, and living in a court which itself subsisted on the alms of
another. Amidst such circumstances, extemporary gaiety cannot always
be found. I can suppose, that the Duchess of Maine, who laid claim to
the character of a patroness of wit, and, like many who assert such
claims, was very troublesome, very self-sufficient, and very 'exigeante',
might not always have found that general superiority, or even transient
lustre, which she expected in Hamilton's society: yet, considering the
great difference of their age and situation, this circumstance will not
greatly impeach his talents for conversation. But the work of real
genius must for ever remain; and of Hamilton's genius, the Grammont
Memoirs will always continue a beauteous and graceful monument. To
that monument may also be added, the candour, integrity, and
unassuming virtues of the amiable author.
CHAPTER FIRST.

INTRODUCTION
As those who read only for amusement are, in my opinion, more
worthy of attention than those who open a book merely to find fault, to
the former I address myself, and for their entertainment commit the
following pages to press, without being in the least concerned about the
severe criticisms of the latter. I further declare, that the order of time
and disposition of the facts, which give more trouble to the writer than
pleasure to the reader, shall not much embarrass me in these Memoirs.
It being my design to convey a just idea of my hero, those
circumstances which most tend to illustrate and distinguish his
character shall find a place in these fragments just as they present
themselves to my imagination, without paying any particular attention
to their arrangement. For, after all, what does it signify where the
portrait is begun, provided the assemblage of the parts forms a whole
which perfectly expresses the original? The celebrated Plutarch, who
treats his heroes as he does his readers, commences the life of the one
just as