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Stray Pearls

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Stray Pearls




As to poor Madame de Bouillon, her baby was born on that very day of
the arrest. Her sister-in-law and her eldest daughter remained with
her, and Madame Carnavalet; the captain of the guards had to watch
over them all. He was of course a gentleman whom they already knew,
and he lived with them as a guest. As soon as Madame de Bouillon had
recovered, they began to play at a sort of hide-and-seek, daring him
to find them in the hiding-places they devised, till at last he was
not at all alarmed at missing them. Then M. de Boutteville and her
daughter escaped through a cellar-window, and they would have got
safely off, if the daughter had not caught the smallbox. Her mother,
who was already on the way to Boxdeaux, came back to nurse her, and
was taken by the bedside, and shut up in the Bastille.

The two Princesses were at Chantilly, and rumours reached us that the
younger lady was about to attempt something for the deliverance of he
husband, and thereupon M. d'Aubepine became frantic to join them, and
to share in their councils. We tried to convince her that she could
be of no use, but no--suppose they were going to raise their vassals,
she could do the same by those of d'Aubepine, and she, who had
hitherto been the most timid and helpless of beings, now rose into
strong resolution and even daring. It was in vain that I represented
to her that to raise one's vassals to make war on the King was rank
rebellion. To her there was only one king--the husband who deserved
so little from her. She had given him her whole devotion, soul and
body, and was utterly incapable of seeing anything else. And Madame
Croquelebois, being equally devoted to M. le Comte, was thus more in
her confidence than we were. She told us at last with a thousand
thanks that she had resolved on offering her services to the
Princesses, and that she should send the children with Madame
Croquelebois into Anjou; where she thought they would be safer than
at Paris. We were sorry, but there was a determination now in our
little Cecile that made her quite an altered woman. So she repaired
to Montroud, where the younger Princess of Conde had retired, and was
acting by the advice of M. Lenet, the Prince's chief confidant.

The next thing we heard of her was astonishing enough. The Princess,
a delicate sickly woman, together with our little Countess, had left
Montroud in the night with fifty horses. The Princess rode on a
pillion behind M. de Coligny, Cecile in the same way, and the little
Duke of Enghien was on a little saddle in front of Vialas, his
equerry. On they went, day and night, avoiding towns and villages,
and seldom halting except in the fields. Happily it was the month of
May, or those two delicate beings never could have lived through it,
but Cecile afterwards told us that she had never felt so well in her
life.

Near the town of Saint Cere they met the Dukes of Bouillon and La
Rochefoucauld, with eight hundred men, mostly gentlemen, who were
ready to take up their cause. The Princess, hitherto so shy,
gracefully and eagerly greeted and thanked them, and the little Duke
made his little speech. 'Indeed I am not afraid of Mazarin any more,
since I see you here with so may brave men. I only expect the
liberty of my good papa through their valour and yours.'

There were great acclamations at this pretty little address, and then
the boy rode with his mother through the eight squadrons in which the
troop was drawn up, saluting the officers like a true little Prince,
with his hat in his hand, while there were loud shouts of 'Vive le
Roi! Vivent les Prince!' and such a yell of 'Down with Mazarin!' as
made Cecile tremble.

She was expecting her own share in the matter all along, and
presently she had the delight of seeing twenty more men coming with
Croquelebois at their head, and by his side, on a little pony, her
own little Maurice, the Chevalier d'Aubepine. Was not Cecile a proud
woman then? I have a letter of hers in which she says (poor dear
thing!) that he was a perfect little Prince Charmant; and he really
was a pretty little fellow, and very well trained and good, adoring
her as she deserved.

I will go on with her story, though only at second hand, before I
proceed with my own, which for a time took me from the scene of my
friend's troubles. This is written for her grandchildren as much as
my own and my sister's, and it is well they should know what a woman
she truly was, and how love gave her strength in her weakness.

The Prince of Conde, whose history and whose troubles were only too
like her own, already loved her extremely, and welcomed her little
son as a companion to the Duke of Enghien. The Duke of Bouillon took
them to his own fortress-town of Turenne, where they remained, while
the little bourg of Brive la Gaillarde was taken from the royal
troops by the Dukes. The regiment sent by the Cardinal to occupy the
place was Prince Thomas of Savoy's gendarmes, and as of course they
loved such generals as Turenne and Conde better than any one else,
the loyalty of most of them gave way, and they joined the Princess's
little army.

The Duke of Bouillon entertained his guests splendidly, though his
poor Duchess was absent in the Bastille. The ladies had to dine
every day in the great hall with all the officers, and it was a
regular banquet, always beginning and ending with Conde's health.
Great German goblets were served out to everybody, servants and all,
and the Duke of Bouillon began by unsheathing his sword, and taking
off his hat, while he vowed to die in the service of the Princes, and
never to return his sword to the scabbard--in metaphor, I suppose--
till it was over. Everybody shouted in unison, waved the sword,
flourished the hat, and then drank, sometimes standing, sometimes on
their knees. The two little boys, with their tiny swords, were
delighted to do the same, though their mothers took care that there
should be more water than wine in their great goblets.

I afterwards asked Cecile, who was wont to shudder at the very sight
of a sword, how she endured all these naked weapons flourishing round
her. 'Oh,' she said, 'did not I see my husband's liberty through
them?'

The ladies were then escorted, partly on horseback, partly by boat,
to Limeuil, and that same day their Dukes gained a victory over the
royal troops, and captured all their baggage, treasure, and plate, so
that Cecile actually heard the sounds of battle, and her husband
might say, as the Prince did at Vincennes: 'A fine state of things
that my wife should be leading armies while I am watering pinks.'

The wives had their pinks too, for the whole road to Bordeaux was
scattered with flowers, and every one trooped out to bless the
Princess and her son. As she entered the city the 400 vessels in the
port fired all their guns three times over, and 30,000 men, escorting
a splendid carriage, in which she went along at a foot's pace, came
forth to welcome her. Her son was dressed in white taffety turned up
with black and white feathers. He was held in a gentleman's arms at
the window, and continually bowed, and held out his little hands to
be kissed, saying that his father and grandfather had been quite
right to love people who had such an affection for their house as
these seemed to have. Maurice d'Aubepine, at the opposite window,
was nodding away with a good-will at the people who were obliged to
put up with him instead of the little Duke.

They came to a handsome house, which had been appointed for the
Prince's gentleman, took great care of them, though the two Dukes
remained outside with their little army. The next day the Princess,
attended of course by Madame d'Aubepine, and a whole train of
noblesse and influential people, went to the Parliament of Bordeaux
with her petition for aid. She personally addressed each counsellor
in the passage to the great hall, and represented to them the cruelty
and ingratitude of Mazarin towards her husband, while her little son
kissed and embraced and begged them for his father's liberty.

When all had assembled in the great chamber, and they had begun to
deliberate, the Princess burst in on them, threw herself on her
knees, and began a speech. When she broke off, choked by tears, her
little son fell on his knees and exclaimed: 'Gentlemen, be instead
of a father to me; Cardinal Mazarin has taken away mine!'

Then there was a general weeping, and the Parliament promised the
Princess their protection. There was more hesitation about admitting
the two Dukes, but at last it was done. There were the headquarters
of the army that resisted the Crown. At least this was the principle
on which the Duke of Bouillon acted. His family had from the first
tried to maintain the privileges which the old feudal vassals
attributed to themselves, and he was following up their traditions,
as well as fighting for the deliverance of his wife from her
captivity.

The Duke of Rochefoucauld was throughout more the lover of Madame de
Longueville then anything else, and the Princess of Conde simply
thought of obtaining her husband's release, and nothing else. She had
no notions of State policy nor anything else of the kind, any more
than had Madame d'Aubepine, who assisted daily at her little agitated
court. They were the two gentlest, simplest, weakest conspirators
who ever rebelled against the Crown, and it was all out of pure
loyalty to the two husbands who had never shown a spark of affection,
scarcely of courtesy, to either of them.

Well, the Queen herself and her son and all the Court came to reduce
Bordeaux, Mademoiselle and all, for she had been for the time
detached from the adoration of the Prince, by, of all things in the
world, hopes given her of marrying her little cousin, the King,
though he was only twelve and she was double that age. So Bordeaux
was besieged, and held out against the royal troops for some days,
being encouraged by the resolute demeanour of the Princess; but at
last, when on the faubourgs had been taken, the Parliament, uneasy in
conscience at resisting the Crown, decided on capitulating, and, to
the bitter disappointment and indignation of the ladies, made no
stipulations as to the liberty of the husband.

No attempt was made on the liberty of the lady herself, and she was
ordered to depart to Chantilly. Though unwell, she had visited every
counsellor in his own house, and done her utmost to prepare for the
renewal of the resistance in case her husband was not released; and
she was almost exhausted with fatigue when she went on board a vessel
which was to take her to Larmont, whence she meant to go to Coutras,
where she was to be permitted to stay for three days.

Many nobles and people of condition, and half the population of
Bordeaux, came down to the port with her, uttering lamentations,
benedictions on her and her boy, and curses on Mazarin.

While about to embark she met Marshal de la Meilleraye, who advised
her to go and see the Queen at Bourg, and she accordingly put herself
under his direction, Cecile of course accompanying her as her
attendant. The Duke of Damville came to fetch them in a carriage,
and after alighting at Marshal de la Meilleraye's quarters, kind
messages of inquiry were sent them by the Court, even by the King and
Queen. By every one indeed except Mademoiselle, who kept up her
dislike.

My son, who was present, described all to me, and how his blood
boiled at the scornful airs of Mademoiselle and the stiffness of the
Queen. He said, however, that his aunt looked quite like a changed
woman as she entered, leading Maurice in the rear of the other mother
and son.

The poor Princess had been bled the day before, and had her arm in a
scarf, and Mademoiselle actually tittered at the manner in which it
was put on, when this devoted wife was presented to the Queen,
leading her little son.

Falling on her knees before the Queen she made her a really touching
speech, begging her to excuse the attempts of a lady who had the
honour of being married to the first Prince of the blood, when she
strove to break his fetters. 'You see us on our knees, Madame, to
beg for the liberty of what is dearest to us. Grant it to the great
actions the Monsieur mon mari has performed for the glory of your
Majesty, and the life he has ventured so often in the service of the
State, and do not refuse our tears and humble prayers.'

The Queen answered coldly enough. Cecile told me afterwards that it
was like ice, dashing all her hopes, to see the stern, haughty
dignity of Anne of Austria unmoved by the tender, tearful, imploring
form of Claire Clemence de Breze, trembling all over with agitation,
and worn down with all she had attempted. 'I am glad, cousin,' said
the Queen, 'that you know your fault. You see you have taken a bed
method of obtaining what you ask. Now your conduct is to be
different, I will see whether I can give you what you desire.'

In spite of her fright and the Queen's chilly pride, Cecile, feeling
that this was her only chance, fell almost on her face before the
Queen, with Maurice by her side, and cried: 'Grace, grace, great
Queen, for my husband.'

My little Marquis, as he told me, could not bear to see them thus
alone, so he ran forward, and knelt on her other side, holding her
hand. And he heard a horrid little laugh, something about a new
edition and an imitation; but the Queen, who had forgotten all about
her, asked who she was and what her husband was.

Then, when it was explained that the Count d'Aubepine had drawn his
sword and tried to aid Boutteville, there was another smile. Perhaps
it was that the contrast might mortify the poor Princess, but the
Queen said:

'There! stand up, Madame la Comtesse! We will send orders that the
Count shall be released. He has expiated his own zeal, and will know
better another time.'

Can any one conceive our Cecile's joy? She rose up and embraced both
the boys passionately, and Gaspard could not refrain from
congratulating her with the words, scarcely complimentary: 'My aunt,
is it not indeed the lion and the mouse? Now my uncle must love you,
as my papa loved my mama.'

The Princess, always too sweet and gentle for envy, kissed and
congratulated Madame d'Aubepine, and left her on retiring to Milly.
Nor did Cecile quit the Court till she actually was the bearer of an
order for the release of her husband.




CHAPTER XXIV

FAMILY HONOUR



I have gone on with the d'Aubepine side of the story, but while these
two devoted wives were making exertions at Bordeaux so foreign to
their whole nature, which seemed changed for their husband's sake, I
was far away at the time, even from my son.

It was in March that we received a letter from my brother, Lord
Walwyn, bidding us adieu, being, when we received it, already on the
high seas with the Marquis of Montrose, to strike another blow for
the King. He said he could endure inaction no longer, and that his
health had improved so much that he should not be a drag on the
expedition. Moreover, it was highly necessary that the Marquis
should be accompanied by gentlemen of rank, birth, and experience,
who could be entrusted with commands, and when so many hung back it
was the more needful for some to go. It was a great stroke to us,
for besides that Sir Andrew Macniven went on reiterating that it was
mere madness, and there was not a hope of success--the idea of
Eustace going to face the winds of spring in the islands of Scotland
was shocking enough.

'The hyperborean Orcades,' as the Abbe called them, made us think of
nothing but frost and ice and savages, and we could not believe Sir
Andrew when he told us that the Hebrides and all the west coast of
Scotland were warmer than Paris in the winter.

After this we heard nothing--nothing but the terrible tidings that
the Great Marquis, as the Cavaliers called him, had been defeated,
taken by treachery, and executed by hanging--yes, by hanging at
Edinburgh! His followers were said to be all dispersed and
destroyed, and our hearts died within us; but Annora said she neither
would nor could believe that all was over till she had more positive
news, and put my mother in mind how many times before they had heard
of the deaths of men who appeared alive and well immediately after.
She declared that she daily expected to see Eustace walk into the
room, and she looked round for him whenever the door was opened.

The door did open at last to let in tidings from the Hague, but not
brought by Eustace. It was Mr. Probyn, one of the King's gentlemen,
however, who told me he had been charged to put into my hands the
following letter from His Majesty himself:--


'Madame--If you were still my subject I should command you, as you are ever
my old playfellow. Meg, I entreat you to come without delay to a true
subject and old playfellow of mine, who, having already sorely imperiled his
neck and his health, and escaped, as they say, by the skin of his teeth,
would fain follow me into the same jeopardy again did I not commit him to
such safe warship as that of Madame de Bellaise. Probyn will tell you
further. He also bears a letter that will secure you letters and passports
from the Queen-Regent. When next you hear of me it will be with one of my
crowns on my head.
CHARLES R.'


Therewith was a brief note from Eustace himself:--


'Sweet Meg--Be not terrified at what they tell you of me. I have been
preserved by a miracle in the miserable destruction of our armament and our
noble leader. Would that my life could have gone for his! They take such a
passing ailment as I have often before shaken off for more than it is worth,
but I will write more from shipboard. Time presses at present. With my
loving and dutiful greetings to my mother, and all love to my sister,
'Thine,
'E. WALWYN AND RIBAUMONT.'


Mr. Probyn told us more, and very sad it was, though still we had
cause for joy. When Montrose's little troop was defeated and broken
up at the Pass of Invercharron my brother had fled with the Marquis,
and had shared his wanderings in Ross-shire for some days; but, as
might only too surely have been expected, the exposure brought back
his former illness, and he was obliged to take shelter in the cabin
of a poor old Scotchwoman. She--blessings be on her head!--was
faithful and compassionate, and would not deliver him up to his
enemies, and thus his sickness preserved him from being taken with
his leader by the wretched Macleod of Assynt.

Just as he grew a little better her son, who was a pedlar, arrived at
the hut. He too was a merciful man, and, moreover, was loyal in
heart to the King, and had fought in Montrose's first rising; and he
undertook to guide my brother safely across Scotland and obtain his
passage in one of the vessels that traded between Leith and
Amsterdam. Happily Eustace always had a tongue that could readily
catch the trick of dialects, and this excellent pedlar guarded him
like his own brother, and took care to help him through all pressing
and perplexing circumstances. Providentially, it was the height of
summer, and the days were at their longest and warmest, or I know not
how he could have gone through it at all; but at last he safely
reached Leith, passing through Edinburgh with a pack on his back the
very day that the Marquis of Huntly was executed. He was safely
embarked on board at Dutch lugger, making large engagement of
payment, which were accepted when he was known to have estates in
France as well as in England; and thus he landed at Amsterdam, and
made his way to the Hague, where all was in full preparation for the
King's expedition to Scotland on the invitation of the nation.

So undaunted was my dear brother's spirit that, though he was
manifestly very ill from the effects of exposure and fatigue, and of
a rough voyage in a wretched vessel, he insisted that he should
recover in a few days, and would have embarked at once with the King
had not absolute orders to the contrary, on his duty as a subject,
been laid upon him. Mr. probyn did not conceal from us that the
learned Dutch physician, Doctor Dirkius, though his condition very
serious, and that only great care could save his life.

Of course I made up my mind at once to set forth and travel as
quickly as I could--the King had kindly secured my permission--and to
take Tryphena with me, as she knew better than any one what to do for
Eustace. Annora besought permission to accompany me, and, to my
surprise, my mother consented, saying to me in confidence that she
did not like leaving her in Lady Ommaney's care while she herself was
with the Queen of England. Lady Ommaney was not of sufficient rank,
and had ideas. In effect, I believe my mother had begun to have her
suspicions about Clement Darpent, though separation a good thing,
never guessing, as I did, that one part of Nan's eagerness to be with
her brother was in order to confide in him, and to persuade him as
she had never been able to do by letter. There remained my son to be
disposed of, but I had full confidence in the Abbe, who had bred up
his father so well, and my boy would, I knew, always look up to him
and obey him, so that I could leave him in his care when not in
waiting, and they were even to spend the summer together in a little
expedition to Nid de Merle. I wanted to see my son love his country
home as English gentlemen lover theirs; but I fear that can never be,
since what forms affection is the habit of conferring benefits, and
we are permitted to do so little for our peasants.

Thus, then, it was settled. I went to Mademoiselle, who was always
good-natured where her vanity was not concerned, and who freely-
granted me permission to absent myself. The Queen-Regent had been
prepared by her nephew, and she made no difficulties, and thus my
great traveling carriage came again into requisition; but as an
escort was necessary, we asked Sir Andrew Macniven to accompany us,
knowing that he would be glad to be at the Hague in case it should be
expedient to follow His English Majesty to Scotland. We sent a
courier to find my brother Solivet at Amiens, that he might meet and
come part of the way with us. As to M. de Lamont, I was no longer in
dread of him, as he had gone off to join the troops which the Duke of
Bouillon and Rochefoucauld were collecting to compel the deliverance
of the Princes; but the whole time was a dangerous one, for disbanded
soldiers and robbers might lurk anywhere, and we were obliged to take
six outriders armed to the teeth, besides the servants upon the
carriage, of all of whom Sir Andrew took the command, for he could
speak French perfectly, having studied in his youth in the University
of Leyden.

Thus we took leave of Paris and of my mother, many of our friends
coming out with us the first stage as far as St. Denys, where we all
dined together. I could have excused them, as I would fain have had
my son all to myself, and no doubt my sister felt the same, for
Clement Darpent had also come. for the Frondeurs, or those supposed
to be Frondeurs, were at this time courted by both parties, by the
friends of the Prince in order to gain their aid in his release, and
by the Court in order to be strengthened against the Prince's
supporters; and thus the lawyers were treated with a studied courtesy
that for the time made it appear as if they were to be henceforth, as
in England, received as gentlemen, and treated on terms more like
equality; and thus Clement joined with those who escorted us, and had
a few minutes, though very few, of conversation with my sister, in
which he gave her a packet for my brother.

I was not obliged to be cautious about knowing anything now that I
should be out of reach of my mother, and all was to be laid before my
brother. I could say nothing on the road, for our women were in the
coach with us. the posts were not to be so much relied on as they
are at present, and we had to send relays of horses forward to await
us at each stage in order to have no delay, and he, who had made the
journey before, managed all this excellently for us.

At night we two sisters shared the same room, and then it was that I
asked Nan to tell me what was in her heart.

'What is the use?' she said; 'you have become one of these proud
French nobility who cannot see worth or manhood unless a man can
count a lineage of a hundred ancestors, half-ape, half-tiger.'

However, the poor child was glad enough to tell me all, even though I
argued with her that, deeply English as she was in faith and in
habits and modes of thought, it would hardly result in happiness even
if she did extort permission to wed one of a different nation and
religion, on whom, moreover, she would be entirely dependent for
companionship; since, though nothing could break the bonds of
sisterly affection between her and me, all the rest of the persons of
her own rank would throw her over, since even if M. Darpent could be
ennobled, or would purchase an estate bringing a title, hers would
still be esteemed a mesalliance, unworthy the daughter of Anselme de
Ribaumont the Crusader, and of the 'Bravest of Knights,' who gained
the chaplet of pearls before Calais.

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