"AN OUTSTAYED WELCOME."
It was the night of Monday, the 10th of December, 1748, and once again
all Paris lay under the snow--snow that hung in great masses over the
eaves of the houses, threatening, when the next thaw should come, to
fall and envelop the passers-by; that was caked and hardened on the
_chaussées_ of all the streets by the recent hard frost; that, out on
the quays, was of the consistency of iron almost from the same cause;
while, so severe had that frost been, that on the river the snow had
been frozen into huge solid blocks, which swirled round and round in
vast masses as, under the stars, they floated slowly down towards the
open country and the sea.
There were but few abroad on this cold night, certainly few
pedestrians; yet, as the clocks from Nôtre Dame and all the other
churches round struck eleven, there was one who, swiftly making his
way along the Quai des Théatins, directly opposite the Louvre, seemed
neither to heed the cold nor the snow beneath his feet. Wrapped in a
long cloak, or roquelaure, held up sufficiently, however, not to
impede his limbs in their stride, and with his three-cornered hat
pressed down closely over his head, this man, without turning round to
regard even the few casual passers-by, went onward until, as he neared
the edge of the quay, on which stood a large, imposing hotel, from the
windows of which issued a blaze of lights, he suddenly stopped in
amazement; for outside this great mansion there was what he least
would have expected to see--a large concourse of people assembled
together, indiscriminately mixed with whom were exempts, other
officers of police, and a considerable body of soldiers, as well as
several sergeants of the grenadiers clad in their cuirasses and
skullcaps. Also he saw a number of musketeers (or horse guards)
standing by their horses ready to mount them, as well as several of
the _guets_, or street watchmen, near them; while, to make this
concourse more astonishing to those who did not know what might be its
object, in the road were half a dozen scaling ladders, with, by them,
several of the _guets_, with axes and hammers in their hands.
But that which was more astonishing for him to behold than aught else
was that between the ordinary people or onlookers in the streets and
the officials, civil and military, who stood in front of the mansion,
was stretched as a barrier a thick, handsome, crimson silk cord
fringed with gold. This cord, attached to gilt poles or staves about
four feet high, served with the hotel itself to form an exact square,
the house making the fourth side; and inside that square itself it was
that the musketeers, sergeants of the grenadiers, and superior
officers of the police were standing, as well as several other
officers of high rank, as testified by their gorgeous uniforms and
trappings.
"It is the Prince's house," Bertie whispered to himself, for he was
the man who had been making his way swiftly along the Quai des
Théatins but a few moments ago--"the Prince's house! What can be
intended towards him? He should be safe here in Paris, if anywhere.
And Kate is within--a lady of his suite--ill, and, my mother said,
sick almost to death. Heaven! I may not be able to see her even now,
after so long! What a fate is mine! On the first night that I am able
to approach her after so long and cruel a separation, to find the way
barred thus!"
He was about to ask a man in the crowd which he had now joined what
the strange scene meant, when a murmur arose amongst those collected
there, and at the same moment the order was given to the musketeers to
mount their horses and the sergeants of grenadiers to form their men
into double line. And at that instant the tramp of other animals'
hoofs was heard and the roll of wheels. Then, a moment later, a
handsome and much-gilded coach drawn by four horses came swiftly along
the quay until it reached the crowd, and the astonished coachman,
seeing the gilt-embroidered crimson cord with the military behind it,
pulled his animals up sharply.
From the interior of the coach a voice, clear, crisp, and distinct,
was heard exclaiming in French:
"What is the meaning of this assembly? Why am I prevented from
entering my house?" and directly afterwards a gloved hand was put out
from the open window, while a tall young man of about thirty years of
age stepped from the coach.
He was clad, perhaps because of the wintry weather, in a thick
rose-coloured velvet suit embroidered with silver and lined with
peach-coloured satin and silver tissue, and his waistcoat was a rich
gold brocade with a spangled fringe set on in scallops; his silk
stockings were also peach-coloured; in his lace cravat there sparkled
a magnificent diamond solitaire. Over his shoulders he wore the
insignia of the Garter of England and the order of St. Andrew, and on
his breast there hung a gold medal by a blue satin ribbon, on which,
if it could have been inspected, would have been seen the words,
"Carolus, Walliæ Princeps, Amor et Spes Britanniæ." As to his
appearance, his face was oval and of a good complexion, though now he
seemed somewhat pallid in the torchlight, and his eyes, which were
very prominent and full, were blue.
"God bless your Royal Highness!" cried Bertie loudly, in which he was
imitated by many, while all the officers and soldiers saluted him, and
the richly clad civilians in the inclosure uncovered their hats.
The Prince glanced at the spot where Elphinston's voice came from, and
gave a look of recognition at his tall, stalwart form; then, turning
to two of the gentlemen who surrounded him, he said, while he threw
over his shoulders a small fleecy cape of ermine he had brought in his
hand from the carriage: "Monseigneur le Duc de Biron, and you,
Monsieur de Vaudreville, you are friends of mine--friends ever, as I
have thought--explain to me, therefore, I beg you, why my way is
barred to my abode, and why I see you amongst those who so bar it?
And, Monsieur le Duc and gentlemen, the night is more than cold; be
covered, I beseech you," and he put on his own hat, in the lace of
which there sparkled another superb diamond as an aigrette, while the
white cockade was visible.
But the others remained uncovered, while the Duc de Biron said:
"May it please you, monseigneur----"
"Monseigneur!" interrupted Charles Edward. "I am the Prince of Wales!
Either that, or nothing! Now, if you please, the reason of this
_guet-apens_. Do I owe it to my cousin Louis?"
The duke shrugged his shoulders, as though deprecating the Prince's
wrath, then he said:
"His Majesty regrets that your Highness would not conform to his
desire that you should leave France, according to the terms of the
recent peace made at Aix-la-Chapelle, as conveyed to you by the Duc de
Gesvres----"
"Neither my royal father nor I had part in that peace," again
interrupted the Prince.
"Therefore," went on the Duc de Biron, "his Majesty has thought it
well that you shall be conducted, with all respect and reverence, to
the frontier. Yet some forms must be observed, which I pray your
Highness to pardon." Then, turning to Monsieur de Vaudreville, he
said:
"Your duty."
"Monseigneur," said De Vaudreville, "I arrest you in the name of the
King, my master."
"Then," exclaimed Bertie, as with a bound he rushed under the crimson
cord, "arrest me also! This is the Prince of Wales, my master; we
fought near to one another in the Scotch campaign; where he goes I go
too!"
"Captain Elphinston," said Charles Edward, who had recognised him when
first he spoke, "I am, indeed, rejoiced to see you by my side again.
There could be no truer friend. Yet it must not be. Your services have
already been too many; I can never requite them. Henceforth live for
yourself and those who love you." And turning to the duke and De
Vaudreville, who with the soldiers and the crowd had been
astounded--indeed, touched--with this proof of devotion to the
unfortunate Prince, he said: "I shall not dispute his Majesty's
orders. Yet, I think the manner is a little too violent."
"I hope not, monseigneur," De Biron said. "I should be _au desespoir_
if such were the case. But since there are other formalities to be
gone through and your Highness does not contest his Majesty's decree,
will you please to enter your house, and to permit of our accompanying
you?"
"As you please," replied the Prince. "But," he said, pointing to
Bertie, "here is a gallant gentleman of the family of my Lord
Balmerino, who was done to death on Tower Hill in my cause. He is a
devoted adherent of our house, though I have lost sight of him for
some time. Gentlemen, I am alone, save for my grooms. I beg of you to
allow him to enter also."
The Duc de Biron and De Vaudreville bowed at his words, and bowed
again to Elphinston, after which the order was given for the soldiers
to stand out of the way while his Highness entered the house. Then,
with another bow, the duke begged the Prince to precede them,
motioning also to Bertie to accompany them.
"I am glad to see you, Captain Elphinston," Charles Edward said as
they approached the hall. "I have thought often of you and of your
poor friend, and mine, Mr. Sholto. And--you will find in my house one
to whom your coming may be a new life. You understand?"
"I understand, your Royal Highness. I should have been here long
before, but that I have been a prisoner in the Bastille."
"In the Bastille! You! So that is where you have been hidden from all
human knowledge. But stay--we cannot talk now. What do they intend to
me? Do you know? I do not, though I have long known that my presence
in Paris is unwelcome."
Bertie shook his head mournfully, and then they entered the hall of
the mansion which the Prince had hired from a French nobleman. A huge
fire burned in the grate at one end of it, and to this Charles Edward
advanced, and, holding out his hands to the blaze, warmed them.
"Your Highness," said the Duc de Biron, who by no means appeared to
relish the task before him, "again I beg you to believe that in what
we have now to do no disrespect is intended. Yet, it must be done. I
have to ask you for your sword and any other weapons you may have
about you."
The Prince started and coloured at these words, then, with a calmness
which he never lost until the end of his life--when despair and, alas!
drink had done their worst with him--he said:
"I shall never deliver my sword to you, nor any man. But, since I am
helpless---- No, Captain Elphinston," seeing a movement on the
latter's part, "do not interfere, I beg you. Since I am helpless, you
may take them, and what else I have of arms."
At a sign from the duke, De Vaudreville undid the sash of his dress
sword--he had been that night to a gala performance at the opera in
the Palais Royal--and took the weapon from him, and then, seeing a
melancholy smile upon his face, the other, with many profusions of
apology and regret, gently felt in his pockets and removed from them
two small ivory-handled and silver-inlaid pistols and a little knife
with two blades.
"Do not be surprised," the Prince said, "at seeing the pistols. Since
I was hunted like a wild beast in Scotland--ay, hunted even by
dogs--I, a king's son--I have carried them ever. And here in Paris
also my life has been sought."
"I have to ask your Highness to give a promise that you will make no
attempt on your own life nor that of any other person," De Vaudreville
said.
The Prince shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the pistols and knife
in the other's hands; then he said, "I promise. What more?"
"Your Highness," said the duke, "will be conducted to Vincennes
to-night. De Chatelet has received orders to prepare a room for you.
To-morrow you will set out upon your journey. But, for the present,
again I ask your Highness to pardon me," and he faltered as he
continued, "it is necessary for the greater security that you should
be bound."
"Bound!" the Prince exclaimed, and now he turned white as death.
"Bound! I! The Prince of Wales!"
"Alas! sire," said the duke, "it is the King's orders. Yet, I pledge
you my word as a peer of France, such orders are issued solely out of
regard to your Highness's person, and to prevent you making any
attempt on that person."
"I shall make no attempt," Charles Edward replied. "But I am unused to
such proceedings as these. And I do not even say whether they are
justifiable or not; the disgrace does not affect me, but your master
alone."
While he was speaking, De Vaudreville continued to bind him, using
crimson cord of a similar nature to that which formed the barrier
outside, and at last both his legs and arms were securely tied, when
the unhappy Prince lost his calmness, and, looking down on De
Vaudreville with a glance that has been described as "menacing and
terrible," exclaimed:
"Have you not enough now?"
"Not yet," replied the other, "though it is nearly ended."
It was, indeed, nearly ended, since the Prince's body was now so
swathed with the cords that it would have been impossible for more to
be placed round it or his limbs, and, looking at the duke with still
his sad smile upon his face, he said:
"I hope, monsieur, no other Englishman will ever be treated thus. They
are not made for such a purpose;" after which he asked what was to be
done next.
"To Vincennes next," replied De Biron, with a low bow.
"My horses are fatigued," the Prince said; "they cannot travel so far
and back to-night."
"Have no fear," the duke answered. "A coach has been secured."
And now they prepared to lift the unhappy descendant of a family of
kings, the last descendant who ever made a bid or struck a blow for
all that his ancestors had lost--since his brother the cardinal,
Henry, Duke of York, was a mere shadow of a Stuart--and to carry him
to the hired coach that waited without. But Bertie, who had been a
furious witness of this insult to him whom, rightly or wrongly, he
deemed--in agreement with three fourths of his country people and
perhaps one half of the English--to be the rightful heir to the
English throne, could not part thus from him. As he saw him tied and
bound, there arose before him once more the memory of the bright young
chieftain with whom he had embarked at Port St. Lazare, with whom he
had landed in Lochaber, and before whom the old Marquis of
Tullibardine had unfurled at Glenfinnan his white, blue, and red silk
standard, with, on it, the proud and happy motto, "_Tandem
Triumphans_."
Also before his eyes there rose the progress through Scotland, the
joyous welcome at Edinburgh, the victory at Prestonpans, the surrender
at Carlisle, the glorious march to and arrival at Derby, with the news
which succeeded that arrival, to the effect that the German King was
trembling for fear at St. James's, and all London mad with terror. And
then Culloden!--that bitter day, when, as Cumberland's butchers hacked
and shot the wounded and the dying, Charles urged on the living to
avenge their comrades, and was at last forced off the field against
his will, his face bespattered with the dirt thrown up by the cannon
balls that fell around him.
And now to see him thus!
"Oh, sir," he cried, flinging himself at the Prince's feet, "let me go
with you wherever the King of France may see fit to send you. Give me
but leave to see her I love, to tell her that once more I have
returned to her, and then let me follow you, as is my duty and desire,
wherever you go!"
It was not only Charles Edward who was affected by this manly speech;
even De Biron, who understood English well, and De Vaudreville, who
did not, but evidently guessed accurately what he had said, were
touched by it.
"No, Elphinston, no," the Prince replied. "As I said but now, the day
is past for services to be rendered to me or my cause. That cause is
lost; this is the last blow. When France joins hands with England, how
can a Stuart hope? Farewell, Captain Elphinston; she whom you love--I
know all!--will recover yet, ill as she is, I hope. I pray to God that
He may bless you both. Farewell! we shall never meet again--never
again! Yet, remember, I beseech you, when you hear my name mentioned,
that we fought side by side once--that we were comrades--and--and--so,
try to think well of me."
They bore him away after this, scarce giving Bertie time to kiss his
hand, and from that night they never did meet again. To the Prince
there were still to be forty years of life accorded; what that life
became, with every hope shattered and every desire unaccomplished, the
world well knows.
Between them the grenadiers and De Vaudreville carried him to the hired
coach--for owing to his silken fetters he was unable to walk--and put
him into it at the spot where it waited, behind the kitchens. And
Bertie, following like a faithful dog who perceives its master
departing, thus saw the last of him and received his last look. De
Vaudreville, he observed, sat by him; two captains of the musketeers
entered the coach and sat opposite to him; two other officers rode on
each side of the vehicle, with a hand upon the door; six grenadiers
with fixed bayonets mounted behind like footmen, and the rest of the
soldiers accompanied them on foot.[Note E]
Thus the last but one of the Stuarts left Paris; thus the last
hospitality and favour of France were withdrawn from the
representative of the unhappy family whose cause France had so long
espoused.
"And now," said Bertie to himself, as with a final courteous bow the
Duc de Biron entered his own gorgeous carriage and departed to give an
account of the proceedings to Louis--"and now for her whom I have
pined for so long! God grant that the report of her ill-health may be
exaggerated! If I lose her, I have nothing more to live for!"