(Margaret’s Narrative)
I was summoned to the Luxembourg Palace on the Tuesday in Holy Week,
the 25th of March. My dear brother was then apparently much better, and
gaining ground after the attack of hemorrhage caused by his exertions to
save M. Darpent from the violence of his assailants.
He did not appear to need me, since he could not venture to talk more
than a few words at a time; and, besides, my year’s absence had left
me in such arrears of waiting that I could not ask for leave of absence
without weighty grounds. My mother was greatly displeased with me for
not having cut short the interview between Darpent and Annora, although
it seemed to have served her purpose by embroiling them effectually; but
she could not overlook so great an impropriety; and I confess that I
was not sorry to avoid her continual entreaties to me to give up all
intercourse alike with the Darpents and Ommneys, and all our English
friends. I had satisfied myself that M. Darpent was in no danger, and
I was willing to let the matter blow over, since Lady Ommaney, though
imprudent, had only done a good-natured thing from the English point of
view.
I found my Princess in great excitement. Cardinal Mazarin had rejoined
the King and Queen, and they were at the head of one army, the Prince of
Conde was at the head of another. The Parliament view both Cardinal and
Prince as rebels, and had set a price upon the Cardinal’s head. On the
whole, the Prince was the less hated of the two, yet there were scruples
on being in direct opposition to the King. The Cardinal de Retz was
trying to stir the Duke of Orleans to take what was really his proper
place as the young King’s uncle, and at the head of the Parliament,
to mediate between the parties, stop the civil war, convoke the
States-General, and redress grievances. But to move Monsieur was a mere
impossibility; he liked to hear of his own power, but whenever anything
was to be done that alarmed him, he always was bled, or took physic, so
as to have an excuse for not interfering.
And now the royal army was approaching Orleans, and Monsieur could not
brook that the city, his own appanage, should be taken from him. Yet
not only was he unwilling to risk himself, but the Coadjutor and he were
alike of opinion that he ought not to leave Paris and the Parliament.
So he had made up his mind to send is daughter, who was only too much
charmed to be going anywhere or doing anything exciting, especially if
it could be made to turn to the advantage of the Prince of Conde, whom
she still dreamt of marrying.
I found her in a state of great importance and delight, exclaiming: ‘My
dear Gildippe, I could not do without you! We shall be in your element.
His Royal Highness and M. le Cardinal de Retz have both been breaking
my head with instructions, but I remember none of them! I trust to my
native wit on the occasion.’
We all got into our carriages, a long train of them, at the Luxembourg,
with Monsieur looking from the window and waving his farewell to his
daughter, and the people called down benedictions on her, though I
hardly know what benefit they expected from her enterprise. We had only
two officers, six guards, and six Swiss to escort us; but Mademoiselle
was always popular, and we were quite safe.
We slept at Chartres, and there met the Duke of Beaufort, who rode by
the carriage-window; and by and by, at Etampes, we found 500 light horse
of Monsieur’s regiment, who all saluted. Mademoiselle was in ecstasies;
she insisted on leaving her carriage, and riding at their head, with all
the ladies who could sit on horseback; and thus we came to Toury, where
were the Duke de Nemours and others of the Prince’s party.
My heart was heavy, I hardly knew why, with fore-bodings about what
might be passing at home, or I should have enjoyed the comedy of
Mademoiselle’s extreme delight in her own importance, and the councils
of war held before her, while the Dukes flattered her to the top of her
bent, laughed in their sleeve, and went their own way. She made us all
get up at break of day to throw ourselves into Orleans, and we actually
set out, but we had to move at a foot’s pace, because M. de Beaufort
had, by accident or design, forgotten to command the escort to be in
attendance.
By and by a message was brought by some gentlemen, who told Mademoiselle
that the citizens of Orleans had closed their gates and were resolved
to admit nobody; that the Keeper of the Seals was on the farther side,
demanding entrance for the royal troops; and they were afraid of the
disorderly behaviour of any soldiers. They were in a strait between the
King and their Duke’s daughter, and they proposed to her to go to some
neighbouring house and pretend illness until the royal forces should
have passed by, when they would gladly admit her.
Mademoiselle was not at all charmed by this proposal, and she answered
with spirit: ‘I shall go straight to Orleans. If they shut the gates I
shall not be discouraged. Perseverance will gain the day. If I enter the
town my presence will restore the courage of all who are well affected
to His Royal Highness. When persons of my rank expose themselves, the
people are terribly animated, and they will not yield to people of small
resolution.’
So into the carriage she got, taking me with her, and laughing at all
who showed any alarm. Message upon message met us, supplicating her not
to come on, as she would not be admitted; but her head only went higher
and higher, all the more when she heard that the Keeper of the Seals was
actually at the gates, demanding entrance in the name of the King.
About eleven o’clock we reached the Porte Banniere, and found it closed
and barricaded. The guards were called on to open to Mademoiselle
d’Orleans Montpensier, the daughter of their lord; but all in vain,
though she had not a soldier with her, and promised not to bring in
either of the Dukes of Nemours or Beaufort.
We waited three hours. Mademoiselle became tired of sitting in the
carriage, and we went to a little inn, where we had something to eat,
and, to our great amusement, the poor, perplexed Governor of the town
sent her some sweetmeats, by way, I suppose, of showing his helpless
good-will. We then began to walk about the suburbs, and I though of the
Battle of the Herrings and the Maid of Orleans, and wondered which
was the gate by which she entered. One of the gentlemen immediately
complimented Mademoiselle on being a second Maid of Orleans, and pointed
out the gate, called Le Port de Salut, as connected with the rescue of
the place. We saw the Marquis d’Allins looking out at the window of the
guardroom, and Mademoiselle made signs to him to bring her the keys,
and let her in, but he replied by his gestures that he could not. The
situation was a very strange one. Mademoiselle, with her little suite
of ladies, parading along the edge of the moat, vainly trying to obtain
admission, while the women, children, and idlers of Orleans were peeping
over the ramparts at us, shouting:
‘Vive le Roi! Vivent les Princes! Point de Mazarin!’ and Mademoiselle
was calling back: ‘Go to the town hall, call the magistrates, and fetch
the keys!’ Nobody stirred, and at last we came to another gate, when the
guard presented arms, and again Mademoiselle called to the captain to
open. With a low bow and a shrug, he replied: ‘I have no keys.’
‘Break it down, then,’ she cried. ‘You owe more obedience to your
master’s daughter than to the magistrates.’
He bowed.
The scene became more and more absurd; Mademoiselle began to threaten
the poor man with arrest.
He bowed.
He should be degraded.
He bowed.
He should be drummed out of the service.
He bowed.
He should be shot.
He bowed.
We were choking with laughter, and trying to persuade her that threats
were unworthy; but she said that kindness had no effect, and that she
must now use threats, and that she knew she should succeed, for an
astrologer had told her that everything she did between this Wednesday
and Friday should prosper--she had the prediction in her pocket. By this
time we had coasted along the moat till we came to the Loire, where a
whole swarm of boatmen, honest fellows in red caps and striped shirts,
came up, shouting, ‘Vive Monsieur!’ ‘Vive Mademoiselle!’ and declaring
that it was a shame to lock her out of her fathers own town.
She asked them to row her to the water-gate of La Faux, but they
answered that there was an old wooden door close by which they could
more easily break down. She gave them money and bade them do so, and
to encourage them climbed up a steep mound of earth close by all over
bushes and briars, while poor Madame de Breaute stood shrieking below,
and I scrambled after.
The door was nearly burst in, but it was on the other side of the moat.
The water was very low, so two boats were dragged up to serve as a
bridge, but they were so much below the top of the ditch that a ladder
was put down into one, up which Mademoiselle dauntlessly mounted,
unheeding that one step was broken, and I came after her. This was our
escalade of Orleans.
She ordered her guards to return to the place where the carriages had
been left, that she might show how fearless she was. The boatmen managed
at last to cut out two boards from the lower part of the door. There
were two great iron bars above them, but the hole was just big enough to
squeeze through, and Mademoiselle was dragged between the splinters by
M. de Grammont and a footman. As soon as her head appeared inside the
gate the drums beat, there were loud vivats, a wooden arm-chair was
brought, and Mademoiselle was hoisted on the men’s shoulders in it
and carried along the street; but she soon had enough of this, caused
herself to be set down, and we all joined her, very dirty, rather
frightened, and very merry. Drums beat before us, and we arrived at the
Hotel de Ville, where the police bows and the embarrassed faces of the
Governor and the magistrates were a sight worth seeing.
However, Mademoiselle took the command, and they all made their excuses
and applied themselves to entertaining her and her suit, as carriages
were not admitted, for we were in a manner besieged by the Keeper of the
Seals; and in the early morning, at seven o’clock, Mademoiselle had to
rise and go through the streets encouraging the magistrates to keep him
out.
She was a sort of queen at Orleans, and we formed a little Court. I
really think this was the happiest time in her life, while she had a
correspondence with the Prince of Conde on the one hand, and her father
on the other; and assisted at councils of war outside the gates, as she
kept her promise, and admitted none of the leaders of the belligerent
parties into the city.
They were stormy councils. At one of these the Duke of Beaufort and
Nemours had a dispute, drew their swords, and were going to attack one
another, when Mademoiselle, by entreaties and commands, forced them to
lay down their arms.
All this time I had no news from my family. We were in a strange
condition. Here was I following Mademoiselle, who represented her father
and the neutral party, but was really devoted to the Prince; my son was
in attendance on the King, whom we were keeping out of his own city;
my mother, brother, and sister were in Paris, which held for the
Parliament. My half-brother, Solivet, had repaired to M. de Turenne’s
army, which was fighting for the King, and my brother-in-law,
d’Aubepine, was on the staff of the Prince.
There was scarcely any family that was not divided and broken up in the
same way, and it was hard to say why there was all this war and misery,
except that there was irreconcilable hatred between the Prince and the
Cardinal, and the Queen was determined to cling to the latter.
I knew nothing of what was passing at home till a day or two after
Easter Sunday, when one of the gentlemen of the household of the Duke of
Orleans, who had come with letters for Mademoiselle, seemed surprised to
see me, and on my pressing him for intelligence, he told me that my dear
brother was at the point of death. He was quite sure of it, for he had
spoken with M. de Poligny, who told him that M. de Ribaumont was daily
visited by the Abbe Montagu, was in the best possible dispositions, and
would receive the last sacraments of our Church.
I knew not what to believe. All I was sure of was that I must be wanted,
and that it would break my heart not to see my dearest brother again.
Mademoiselle was a kind mistress, and she consented to my leaving her,
and there was no danger in ladies traveling, though a good deal of
difficulty in getting horses.
At last, however, I found myself at my own door, and in one moment
satisfied myself that my brother was living, and better. My mother
was in the salon, in conversation with M. de Poligny, who had the good
judgment to withdraw.
‘Ah! my dear,’ she said, ‘we have had frightful scenes! I had almost
gained my dear son’s soul, but alas! it might have been at the cost
of his life, and I could not but be weak enough to rejoice when your
sister’s obstinacy snatched him from me. After all one is a mother!
and the good Abbe says a pure life and invincible ignorance will merit
acceptance! Besides, the Duke of Gloucester did him the honour to sit an
hour by him every day.’
I asked for my sister, and heard that she was with him. For, though my
mother said poor Annora’s ungovernable impetuosity had done him so much
harm, nay, nearly killed him, he was now never so tranquil as when she
was in his sight, and the English physician, who had been sent by the
King himself, declared that his life still depended on his being kept
free from all agitation.
‘Otherwise,’ said my mother, ‘I could bring about the marriage with the
little Chevalier. Annora has renounced her disobedient folly, and would
make no more resistance; but M. de Poligny, of course, cannot proceed
further till your brother is in condition to settle the property on
her.’
I asked in wonder whether my sister had consented, but my mother seemed
to think that the break with Darpent had settled that matter for ever.
And when I saw my poor Annora, she was altered indeed. The bright colour
had left her cheeks, her eyes looked dim and colourless, her voice had
lost its fresh defiant ring; she was gentle, submissive, listless, as if
all she cared for in life had gone from her except the power of watching
Eustace.
He looked less ill than I had dreaded to see him. I think he felt at
rest after the struggle he had undergone to preserve the faith he really
loved. He had never relaxed his guard for a single moment till the Duke
of Gloucester had come, fearing that if he ceased his vigilance, that
might be done which we felt to be mercy, but which he could not submit
to. He always had a calmly resolute will, and he knew now that he must
avoid all agitation until he was able to bear it; so he would not ask
any questions. He only showed me that he was glad of my return, pointed
to Nan, saying: ‘She has been sorely tried, take care of her,’ and asked
me if I could find out how it fared with Darpent.
It was too late to do anything that evening, and I went to mass as early
as I could in the morning, that the streets might be quiet; and when
I rose from my knees I was accosted by a Sister of Charity who told me
that there was terrible need at the Hotel Dieu. Men were continually
brought in, shockingly injured in the street frays that were constantly
taking place, and by the violences of the band of robbers and bravoes
with whom the Duke of Orleans surrounded his carriage, and there was
exceedingly little help and nursing for them, owing to the absence of
the Queen, and of so many of the great ladies who sometimes lavished
provisions, comforts, and attendance on the patients.
I had three hours to spare before any one would be up, so I went home,
got together all the old linen and provisions I could muster, told my
sister where I was going, and caused my chairmen to carry me to the
hospital. The streets were perfectly quiet then, only the bakers’ boys
running about with their ells of bread, the water-carriers and the
faggot-men astir, and round the churches a few women hurrying to their
prayers, looking about as if half dreading a tumult.
Poor people! I had never seen the hospital so full, or in so sad a
condition. The Sisters and the priests of St. Lazare were doing their
utmost, and with them a very few ladies. I had staid long enough to fear
that I must be needed at home when I saw another lady coming to take my
place, and recognized Madame Darpent. We met with more eagerness than
the good old devout dame usually allowed herself to show, for each
accepted the appearance of the other as a token of the improvement of
out patients at home. She said her son was nearly well in health, but
that his arm was still unserviceable, having been cruelly twisted by the
miscreants who had attacked him; and when I told her that my brother was
likewise recovering, she exclaimed:
‘Ah! Madame, I dare not ask it; but if Madame la Vicomtesse could kindly
leave word of the good news as she passes our house, it would be a true
charity to my poor son. We have heard sad accounts of the illness of M.
de Ribaumont. The servants at the Hotel de Nidemerle confirmed them,
and my son, knowing that M. le Baron was hurt in his behalf, has been
devoured with misery. If Madame could let him know at once it would
spare him four or five hours of distress, ere I can leave these poor
creatures.’
‘Perhaps he would like to see me,’ I said; and the old lady was ready
to embrace me. She would not have dared to ask it; but I knew how glad
Eustace would be to have a personal account of him.
It was still early, and I met with no obstruction. My message was taken
in to ask whether M. Darpent would see me, and he came down himself to
lead me upstairs, looking very pale and worn, and giving me his left
hand, as in a broken voice he made polite speeches on the honour I had
done him.
‘At least, Madame,’ he said, trembling, so that he was obliged to lean
on the chair he was setting for me, ‘let me hear that you are come to
tell me no bad news.’
I assured him of the contrary, and made him sit down, while I told him
of my brother’s improvement, and anxiety respecting himself.
‘I may tell him that you are a convalescent, and able to employ yourself
in deep studies,’ I said, glancing at a big black book open on the table
beside the arm-chair where he had been sitting.
‘It is St. Augustine,’ he said. ‘I have been profiting by my leisure. I
have almost come to the conclusion that there is nothing to be done for
this unhappy France of ours but to pray for her. I had some hopes of the
young King; but did Madame hear what he did when our deputies presented
their petition to the States-General? He simply tore the paper, and
said: ‘Retire, Messieur.’ He deems despotism his right and duty, and
will crush all resistance. Men, like the Garde des Sceaux, have done
their best, but we have no strength without the nobility, who simply use
us as tools to gratify their animosity against one another.’
‘Only too true!’ I said. ‘There is not even permission given to us
nobles to do good among our own peasants.’
‘There is permission for nothing but to be vicious sycophants,’ cried he
bitterly. ‘At least save for the soldier, who thinks only of the enemies
of France. Ah! my mother is right! All we can do to keep our hands
unstained is to retire from the world, and pray, study, and toil like
the recluses of Port Royal.’
‘Are you thinking of becoming one of them?’ I exclaimed.
‘I know not. Not while aught remains to be done for my country. Even
that seems closed to me,’ he answered sadly. ‘I am unfortunate man,
Madame,’ he added; ‘I have convictions, and I cannot crush them as I
see others, better than I, can do--by appealing to simple authority and
custom.’
‘They kept you from your Counsellor’s seat, I know,’ said I.--‘And
made every one, except M. le Premier President, mistrust me for a
conceited fellow. Well, and now they must keep me from casting in my lot
with the recluses who labour and pray at Port Royal aux Champs, unless
I can satisfy myself on scruples that perhaps my Huguenot breeding,
perhaps my conversations with M. votre frere, have awakened in me.
And--and--though I have the leisure, I know my head and heart are far
from being cool enough to decide on points of theology,’ he added,
covering his face for a moment with his hand.
‘You a recluse of Port Royal! I cannot believe in it,’ I said. ‘Tell me,
Monsieur, is your motive despair? For I know what your hopes have been.’
‘Ah, Madame, then you also know what their overthrown has been, though
you can never know what it has cost me. Those eyes, as clear-sighted as
they are beautiful, saw only too plainly the folly of expecting anything
in the service I was ready to adopt, and scorned my hopes of thus
satisfying her family. I deserved it. May she find happiness in the
connection she has accepted.’
‘Stay, sir,’ I said. ‘What has she accepted? What have you heard?’
He answered with a paler look and strange smile that his clerk had been
desired by M. de Poligny’s notary to let him see the parchments of the
Ribaumont estate, preparatory to drawing up the contract of marriage, to
be ready to be signed in a week’s time.’
‘Ah, sir,’ I said, ‘you are a lawyer, and should know how to trust to
such evidence. The contract is impossible without my brother, who is
too ill to hear of it, and my sister has uttered no word of consent, nor
will she, even though she should remain unmarried for life.’
‘Will she forgive me?’ he exclaimed, as though ready to throw himself at
my feet.
I told him that he must find out for himself, and he returned that I was
an angel from heaven. On the whole I felt more like a weak and talkative
woman, a traitress to my mother; but then, as I looked at him, there was
such depth of wounded affection, such worth and superiority to all the
men I was in the habit of seeing, that it was impossible not to feel
that if Annora had any right to choose at all she had chosen worthily.
But I thought of my mother, and would not commit myself further, and I
rose to leave him; I had, however, waited too long. The mob were surging
along the streets, as they always did when the magistrates came home
from the Parliament, howling, bellowing, and yelling round the unpopular
ones.
‘Death to the Big Beard!’ was the cry, by which they meant good old
Mathieu Mole, who had incurred their hatred for his loyalty, and then
they halted opposite to the Maison Darpent to shout: ‘Death to the Big
Beard and his jackal!’
‘Do not fear, Madame, it will soon be over,’ said Darpent. ‘It is a
little amusement in which they daily indulge. The torrent will soon pass
by, and then I will do myself the honour of escorting you home.’
I thought I was much safer than he, and would have forbidden him, but he
smiled, and said I must not deny him the pleasure of walking as far as
the door of the Hotel de Nidemerle.
‘But why do they thus assail you and the Garde des Sceaux?’ I asked.
‘Because so few in this unfortunate country can distinguish between
persons and causes,’ he said. ‘Hatred to Mazarin and to the Queen as his
supporter is the only motive that sways them. If he can only be kept out
they are willing to throw themselves under the feet of the Prince that
he may trample them to dust. Once, as you know, we hoped that there was
public spirit enough in the noblesse and clergy, led by the Coadjutor,
to join with us in procuring the assembling of the States-General, and
thus constitutionally have taken the old safeguards of the people. They
deceived us, and only made use of us for their own ends. The Duke of
Orleans, who might have stood by us, is a broken reed, and now, in the
furious clash of parties, we stand by, waiting till the conqueror shall
complete our destruction and oppression, and in the meantime holding
to the only duty that is clear to us--of loyalty to the King, let that
involve what it may.’
‘And because it involves the Cardinal you are vituperated,’ I said. ‘The
Court ought to reward your faithfulness.’
‘So I thought once, but it is more likely to reward our resistance
in its own fashion if its triumph be once secured,’ he answered. ‘Ah,
Madame, are visions of hope for one’s country mere madness?’
And certainly I felt that even when peace was made between him and my
sister, as it certainly soon would be, the future looked very black
before them, unless he were too obscure for the royal thunderbolts to
reach.
However, the mob had passed by, to shriek round the Hotel de Ville.
Food and wine were dealt out to them by those who used them as their
tools, and they were in a frightful state of demoralization, but the
way was clear for the present, and Clement Darpent would not be denied
walking by my chair, though he could hardly have guarded me, but he took
me through some by-streets, which avoided the haunts of the mob; and
though he came no further than our door, the few words I ventured to
bring home reassured Eustace, and made Annora look like another being.