"LOVE STRONG AS DEATH!"
Neither the Duc de Biron nor De Vaudreville had thought it necessary
to place any of their soldiery or police within the mansion--perhaps
because the person they required was himself outside it--and,
consequently, there was nothing to prevent Bertie from making his way
from the hall to the upper regions where he naturally supposed Kate
would be--nothing, that is to say, beyond a few terrified-looking
menservants, who, on perceiving him mount the stairs, retreated before
him, probably imagining that he had been left in possession of the
place by those who had taken away their master. They were quickly,
however, undeceived by the stranger calling to them to ask who was now
in charge of the establishment, and to whom he should address himself
with a view to finding Lady Fordingbridge.
"Lady Fordingbridge," one of the footmen replied, answering him in
French, as he had spoken, though his accent showed plainly enough that
he was a Scotchman--"Lady Fordingbridge! She sees no one; she is very
ill. She is, indeed----"
"What!" interrupted Bertie, in so sad a voice that even the man
refrained from concluding his speech, which he had intended to do with
the words, "dying, they say."
But here a lady who had been descending the stairs from above, and now
reached the corridor on the first floor at the same time that
Elphinston did, came forward and said, as she motioned the servants
back:
"It is indeed Captain Elphinston! Oh, why not have come sooner, and
why, of all nights, be so unhappy as to select this one? Captain
Elphinston, your disappearance has very nearly brought Lady
Fordingbridge to her grave--that, and the tragic death of her
husband."
"She knows that, then?" he asked, as he recognised the lady who spoke
to him, she being the wife of Lord Ogilvie, whose title at that time
was forfeited in England, though afterward restored--"she knows that,
then?"
"Yes, she knows it," Lady Ogilvie replied.
"Does she also know the reason of it--of why he was led forth to
execution on the Place de Grève?" Bertie next demanded. He himself
knew it now; his mother, whom he found still alive and well, though
terribly prostrated by the two years and more of anxiety which she had
endured since his disappearance, having told him all.
"No," her ladyship replied, "that she does not know. We have never
told her. Rather we have let her suppose that he was about to be
executed for some political crime. We could not tell her how base he
was. Yet," she went on, "it seems that you and he met in prison--that
you forgave him. Did you forgive him _that?_"
"Nay," replied Bertie, "I knew not what he had done, and only saw that
his mind was gone. And, not knowing, I forgave. Now, Lady Ogilvie, I
beseech you let me go to her!"
"First," she replied, "I must warn her that you are here. She is very
ill; she cannot bear a shock."
"Is she as ill as that?"
"She is very weak and feeble. Perhaps now you have appeared again,
come back almost from the very jaws of death, she may recover. Let us
pray she will!"
Then she left him alone, saying she would soon return.
Agonizing as had been the long hours, weeks, months that he had spent
alone in the chapel-room of the Bastille, and nearly as much alone in
the _calotte_ with De Chevagny, when, both heartbroken, they had
sometimes scarcely exchanged a word for days, none had seemed more
bitter, more unendurable, than the few minutes during which Lady
Ogilvie was absent. For everything that he had gathered as to the
state of Kate's health, since he had emerged into the world once more,
pointed only too plainly to the fact that he had but found her again
to again lose her, and to lose her this time beyond all hopes of
recovery.
"Come," said Lady Ogilvie, returning to him--"come; she is now
expecting you. I have prepared her. Come."
He followed her up the great stairs to the second floor, and there his
companion opened the door and ushered him into a large, well-warmed
and lighted room, and then left them.
Seated before the great fire, yet with her face turned eagerly towards
the door as though watching for him, he saw her once again--saw the
woman he had loved so long, the woman whom Fate had parted him from.
She was thin, now, almost to attenuation--she, whose supple, graceful
figure had once been one of her greatest charms--so thin that she
looked more like a child that was unwell than a grown woman, and on
her face there were no roses now.
"Kate," he exclaimed, advancing swiftly to her as she held out her
thin worn arms to him, and falling on his knee beside her--"Kate, my
darling, I have come back at last; am free once more! Kate, nothing
can part us now."
For answer she let her head droop to his shoulder and lie there. It
seemed to her that at last perfect peace had come, that all the black
and dreadful past was gone and done with for ever; then she whispered:
"Nothing part us! Oh, my dear, my love, there is one parting more only
to be made; then--then--we shall meet to never part again. Bertie, you
have come in time, yet too late--too late for this world."
"No, no," he said, "it shall not be! Kate, do not leave me now. Think,
think, my darling, of how long we have waited, of all that has
separated us so long, and that now there is no longer any barrier
between us. Think of the dreary months in prison, months that I
counted day by day, hoping, praying ever to get free and come back to
you; think how brave you have been, always waiting for me. O Kate, my
sweet, do not go and leave me now alone!" and as he spoke he wept, and
buried his head upon her lap.
"Nay," she said, stroking his head and noticing how grey and grizzled
it was now, though he was still so young a man--"nay, do not weep,
Bertie. You are too strong to shed tears, too strong and brave. It was
your strength and manhood I loved so much, was so proud of. Do not
weep now; for it is best, Bertie, best so."
"Best!" he answered almost fiercely, and raising his head as he did
so, while she with one wan hand put back softly from his forehead the
brown locks flecked with grey. "Best! How can it be best; how, how? O
Kate, think, think of all our hopes formed so long ago, the hopes of
happy years to come to be passed together!--the hopes that we should
grow old together, and then, together at the end, share one calm and
peaceful grave. My darling, those years are still before us; I cannot
lose you now. Stay, stay with me! Remember all our plans formed in the
days of the Rue Trousse Vache, the days when we wandered forth hand in
hand together. Oh, stay with me, my darling, stay!"
It appeared as if the rose-blush came back into her cheeks at his
whispered prayer, as if a new life was dawning for her again. Then she
murmured:
"Oh, my dear, it seems as though I must not leave you now. Bertie, I
will stay with you, if I may--if God will let me!"
APPENDIX.
NOTE A. _The Reward offered by Charles Edward_.
"Whereas we have seen a certain scandalous and malicious paper,
published in the stile and form of a proclamation, bearing date the
1st instant, wherein, under pretence of bringing us to justice, like
our royal ancestor King Charles I of blessed memory, there is a reward
of thirty thousand pounds sterling, promised to those who shall
deliver us into the hands of our enemies, we could not but be moved
with a just indignation at so insolent an attempt. And though from our
nature and principles we abhor and detest a practice so unusual among
Christian princes, we cannot but out of a just regard to the dignity
of our person, promise the like reward of thirty thousand pounds
sterling, to him or those who shall seize and secure, till our further
orders, the person of the Elector of Hanover, whether landed, or
attempting to land, in any part of his Majesty's dominions. Should any
fatal accident happen from hence, let the blame lie entirely at the
door of those who first set the infamous example. CHARLES, P. R.
"Given in our camp at Kinlocheill, August the 22nd, 1745.
"By His Highness's command. Jo MURRAY."
_Headed_.--Charles, Prince of Wales, etc., Regent of the Kingdom of
Scotland, England, France, and Ireland, and the dominions thereunto
belonging.
NOTE B. _Jesuit Priests in England_.
A long proclamation was issued, headed "George R.," and dated December
6, 1745, which, after threatening all kinds of penalties against those
who knew of Jesuit priests being in England, or those who harboured
them, continued:
"We, for the better discovering and apprehending of such Jesuit and
Popish priests, do by this our royal proclamation, by and with the
advice of our Privy Council, strictly charge and command all our
judges, justices of the peace, magistrates, officers, and other our
loyal subjects, that they do use their utmost care and endeavour to
discover, apprehend, and bring to trial, all Jesuit and Popish
priests, except such Popish priests, not being our natural born
subjects, as, by the law of this our realm, are permitted to attend
foreign ministers." A reward of one hundred pounds for every such
priest was offered.
NOTE C. _The Duke of Cumberland's Vengeance after Culloden_.
Extract from a letter written by an officer in the King's army:
"The moor was covered with blood, and our men, what with killing the
enemy, dabbling their feet in the blood, and splashing it about one
another, looked like so many butchers."
A gentleman named George Charles, who wrote an accurate history of the
rebellion, also says: "Vast numbers of the common people's houses or
huts were likewise laid in ashes; all the cattle, sheep, and goats
were carried off; and several poor people, especially women and
children, were found dead on the hills, supposed to be starved. Even
places of worship were not exempt from the ravages of the unprincipled
soldiery; several mass-houses about Strathbogie were pulled down by
them; some non-jurant Episcopal meetinghouses were likewise burnt and
destroyed, and they were generally shut up all over the kingdom. The
commander-in-chief was at this time amusing himself and his staff with
foot and horse races."
NOTE D. _The Bastille_.
In presenting the Bastille to the readers of these pages exactly as it
was according to every authority on the subject--although in
considerable opposition to the usually accepted and melodramatic and
transpontine ideas on the fortress--I do not feel that I have robbed
Romance of any of her charms. The true Bastille offers the fictionist
quite as much opportunity for his powers as the fusty, tawdry thing
which, under its name, has heretofore done duty in its place.
The Bastille was never the place of indescribable horrors which
fictionists and dramatists have contrived--"out of their own heads,"
as the children say--to represent it; indeed, I may truthfully assert
that I have never read a description yet of the place in fiction, nor
seen a representation of the place in drama, which could by any
possibility have approached very near accuracy. And this is the more
extraordinary, because there are something like forty authorities who
may be referred to on the subject, including among them such men as
the Duc de Richelieu and Voltaire, both of whom had in their time been
prisoners in it.
In truth, the Bastille was more a house of detention than anything
else, and in many cases was regarded as a shelter or harbour of refuge
from outside storms. Instances are frequent of men petitioning to be
sent there to escape their enemies, and of others refusing to come out
and be forced to meet their enemies. Moreover, if a young man of
fashion contracted debts or low amours, or gambled, or was too
intimate with undesirable women--as was the case with the Duc
d'Estrées, the Duc de Mortemart, the Comte d'Harcourt, and
others--nothing was more common than for his father to pack him off to
the Bastille, accompanied by his tutor and his valet. Also, the
Bastille was often regarded by the Parisians as a suitable object for
poking fun at. Voltaire, after having been incarcerated there for
objecting to being thrashed by the Chevalier de Rohan for being a
poet, told Louis XV, when he promised to provide for him, that "he
trusted his Majesty's provision would not again include board and
lodging." Another poet, referring to the moat round the fortress,
delivered himself of the lines:
Que vois-je dans ce marécage
Digne de curiosité,
Se tenir sur sa gravité
En citadel de village?
A quoi sert ce vieux mur dans l'eau?
Est-ce un aqueduc, un caveau?
Est-ce un reservoir de grenouilles?
And Langlet du Frosnoy (an abbé and a most prolific writer, who passed
half his life in various prisons, and died at eighty by tumbling into
the fire while reading a book) used to take his papers, his snuff, and
his nightgown off to the Bastille when rearrested, and calmly go on
with his work there on being once more locked up. As regards the
surrender of the Bastille (for, as Marmontel truthfully says, it was
only threatened with siege and never really besieged) in 1789, and the
release of the "unhappy prisoners," it may be mentioned that there
were but seven of them there, and that one was an imbecile Englishman
named Whyte, whose friends had had him shut up to keep him out of
harm's way. Four of the others were common forgers awaiting trial;
the sixth was the Comte de Solages, detained at the request of his
family and on their paying his expenses; and the seventh was
Tavernier, a man who had conspired against the late King. No record of
torture being practised in the Bastille--after the middle ages--can be
found; while, as for food, the Kings allowed so fair a sum to each
prisoner--generally one hundred sols, or five francs, a day--that
often the latter petitioned that, instead of so many meals, they might
be allowed some of the money for other things. In the case of a prince
of the blood, fifty livres a day were allowed; for the Cardinal de
Rohan one hundred and twenty were granted. Discipline had, however, to
be maintained, and where the "guests" were too obstreperous they were
sometimes confined alone in dark, solitary cells, instead of being in
rooms with others for companions. Latude, who has been regarded as a
martyr, was frequently punished for swearing, roaring so that people
outside could hear him, and "playing the devil," to use the words of
the officials; yet he was allowed tobacco, seeds for the birds he was
permitted to keep, new clothes when he asked for them, fur gloves to
keep his hands warm, and almost whatever food he desired. Allègre, who
escaped from the Bastille with him and was retaken, was also a
troublesome man; he broke all the windows, china, and pottery in his
room daily, and tore up his mattresses and shirts, "which cost the
King twenty francs each," and his pocket-handkerchiefs. He died mad at
last at Charenton, did not know Latude, who went to see him, and told
everyone that he was God.
The instrument of torture found in the Bastille on its fall turned
out, when regarded by intelligent people, to be a small printing press
left behind by one François Lenormand, who had been permitted to have
it in his room for occupation; also a billiard table was discovered
which was provided, the year before the Bastille surrendered, for the
amusement of the "prisoners"! The "awful cells" which have furnished
so much matter for powerful writing, were "the ice houses" in which
wine, meat, and fish were stored. In truth, the "King's furnished
apartments" seem to have been far from unpleasant abode to many, as
the Abbé de Mehégan acknowledged when his mother implored the King to
keep him there as long as possible, because he was so dissolute and
extravagant and such a terror to all the girls in his parish.
Of course, in the days of Louis XIV and Louis XV some prisoners were
detained for long periods, and one there was who was detained the same
length of time--forty-four years--as I have accorded to De Chevagny.
Falmy's case was also possible in Louis XV's reign. But in Louis XVI's
first year the Bastille was cleared of all but Tavernier and some
others whose trial was close at hand, and even the revolutionists
acknowledged that no "court" victim had been incarcerated during that
unhappy King's reign. The last man to enter the Bastille was one
Reveillon, a furniture dealer, and he did so at his own request, and
with a demand for the rights of "sanctuary," as his fellow-workmen
were destroying his house in the Faubourg St. Antoine because he had
used defamatory language against _them!_ and he was afraid for his
life.
Terrible, therefore, as the Bastille was, as a place in which one
might be detained for an indefinite period, it was not what it has
hitherto been represented; yet, as I have said, it formed a
sufficiently gloomy abode in which to secrete such characters as
Bertie Elphinston and Fordingbridge when such secretion was rendered
necessary in the interests of my narrative.
The descriptions of the Bastille have been gathered by me from the
accounts of the spy, Constantin de Renneville, who was a prisoner for
eleven years, and who, when released, went to London, and was there
assassinated by an unknown hand; of the adventurer, Jean Louis Carra,
who, after writing odes of praise upon the fall of the Bastille,
perished at the hands of the republicans; of the Duc de Richelieu,
who, when a very old man of ninety, could not resist visiting the
place where he had been three times confined when a very young one;
and of Voltaire, who had had considerable experience of its
hospitality, having been sent there twice; and of many other authors
of the past and present.
NOTE E. _Arrest of Charles Edward_.
The arrest of Charles Edward took place under precisely similar
circumstances to those which I have described, with one exception,
namely, that it was carried out on his quitting the opera house in the
Palais Royal instead of outside his own house on the Quai des
Théatins, and it was from behind the _kitchen_ of the Palais Royal
that he was taken away in a hired cab. I have transposed the arrest to
the latter spot to suit the requirements of the story. The Duc de
Biron took part in it, against his will, in the capacity of
colonel-in-chief of the guards. He was the least celebrated of the
many Ducs de Biron, of whom a French writer said "all were celebrated
and some notorious."
FOOTNOTES
[Footnote 1: "_Tandem triumphans_" was the motto emblazoned on Charles
Edward's banner during the march into England. "_Nunquam triumphans_"
was afterwards a password between Jacobites.]
[Footnote 2: The remarkable name of one of the royal yachts of George
II.]
[Footnote 3: Inaugurated 1724.]
[Footnote 4: At this period most of the houses in Kensington-square
had large gardens at the back. Those on the west side, where I
Fordingbridge's is supposed to be situated, covered what known as
Scarsdale-place.]
[Footnote 5: A tipstaff, or executor of warrants for the Government.]
[Footnote 6: Governor of the Bastille from 1718 to 1749, and father of
the last governor of that prison, Le Marquis Bernard Réné Jourdan de
Launey, who was brutally murdered by the populace on the fall of the
Bastille in 1789.]
[Footnote 7: Latude's successful escape was made some years after the
date of this narrative--viz., in 1750.]
[Footnote 8: As happened the next year, by the Treaty of
Aix-la-Chapelle.]
[Footnote 9: The ballets in which the French kings, and Louis XIV in
particular, frequently danced, were more in the style of a minuet than
anything else. There is a picture in the Luxembourg of one being
performed, with Louis taking part in it and representing _Le
Printemps_.]
[Footnote 10: A derisive name sometimes applied to the Bastille,
especially by the lower classes in Paris.]
THE END.