Stray Pearls

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  However, I knew my sister well enough to be aware that to contradict her was the surest mode of making her resolute, and I thought it wiser that there should be no appearance of neglect or ingratitude to rouse her on behalf of the Darpents. So I agreed with Lady Ommaney that we would seem to take no notice, but only be upon our guard. We did not propose Annora's accompanying us on our visit of condolence, but she was prepared when the carriage came round, and we made our way, falling into a long line of plain but well-appointed equipages of the ladies of the robe, who were all come on the same errand, and we were marshalled into the house, and up the stairs by lackeys in mourning.

  At the top of the great staircase, receiving everybody, stood Clement Darpent, looking rather pale, and his advocate's black dress decorated with heavy weepers of crape. When he saw us his face lighted up, and he came down to the landing to meet us, an attention of course due to our rank; but it was scarcely the honour done to the family that made his voice so fervent in his exclamation, 'Ah! this is true goodness,' though it was only addressed to me, and of course it was my hand that he held as he conducted us upstairs, and to the great chamber where his mother sat up in her bed, not, as you may imagine, in the cloud of lace and cambric which had coquettishly shrouded the widowhood of poor little Madame de Chatillon. All was plain and severe, though scrupulously neat. There was not an ornament in the room, only a crucifix and a holy-water stoup by the side of the bed, and a priest standing by, of the grave and severe aspect which distinguished those connected with Port Royal aux Champs. Madame Darpent's face looked white and shrunken, but there was a beautiful peace and calmness on it, as if she dwelt in a region far above and beyond the trifling world around her, and only submitted, like one in a dream, to these outward formalities. I felt quite ashamed to disturb her with my dull commonplace compliment of condolence, and I do not think she in the least saw or knew who we were as her lips moved in the formula of thanks. Then Clement led us away in the stream to the buffet, where was the cake and wine of which it was etiquette for every one to partake, though we only drank out of clear glass, not out of silver, as when the mourners are noble. Monsieur Verdon and some familiars of the house, whether friends or relations I do not know, were attending to this, and there was a hum of conversation around; but there was no acquaintance of ours present, and nobody ventured to speak to us, except that Clement said: 'She will be gratified, when she has time to understand.' And then he asked whether I had heard anything of my brother.

  As the streets were tolerably clear, I thought we had better drive at once to the Louvre, to see my poor god-mother Queen and my mother.

  Certainly it was a contrast. Queen Henrietta had been in agonies of grief at first, and I believe no day passed without her weeping for her husband. Her eyes were red, and she looked ill; but she was quite as ready as ever to take interest in things around her; and she, as only English were present, made me come and sit on a stool at her feet and describe all the straits we had endured at St. Germain, laughing her clear ringing laugh at the notion of her solemn, punctilious Spanish sister-in-law living, as she said, en bergere in the middle of the winter, and especially amusing herself over her niece Mademoiselle's little fiction that her equipage had secured respect.

  'That young Darpent is a useful and honest man,' she said. 'It is well if your beaux yeux have secured him as a protector in these times, my goddaughter.'

  'It is for my brother's sake that he has been our friend,' I said stiffly, and my mother added that he had been engaged in our cause in the Ribaumont suit, as if that naturally bound him to our service, while the indignant colour flushed into Annora's cheek at thus dispensing with gratitude. However, we were soon interrupted, for now that the way into the city was opened, and the widowed Queen had left her first solitude, every one was coming to pay their respects to her; and the first we saw arrive was Mademoiselle, who had no sooner exchanged her compliments with her royal aunt, than, profiting by another arrival, she drew me into a window and began: 'But, my good Gildippe, this is serious. You have left a distracted lover, and he is moving heaven and earth to gain you. Have you considered? You would gain a position. He has great influence with M. le Prince, who can do anything here.'

  'Ah! Mademoiselle! Your Royal Highness too!' was all I could say, but I could not silence her. M. de Lamont had interested the Prince of Conde in his cause, and Mademoiselle, with her insane idea of marrying the hero, in case the poor young Princess should die (and some people declared that she was in a decline), would have thought me a small sacrifice to please him. So I was beset on all sides. I think the man was really enough in love to affect to be distracted. Though far less good-looking in my early youth than my sister, I was so tall and blonde as to have a distinguished air, and my indifference piqued my admirer into a resolution to conquer me.

  Mademoiselle harangued me on the absurdity of affecting to be a disconsolate widow, on the step in rank that I should obtain, and the antiquity of M. de Lamont's pedigree, also upon all the ladies of antiquity she could recollect who had married again; and when I called Artemisia and Cornelia to the front in my defence, she betrayed her secret, like poor Cecile, and declared that it was very obstinate and disobedient in me not to consent to do what would recommend HER to the Prince.

  Next came M. d'Aubepine, poor young man, with the air of reckless dissipation that sat so ill on a face still so youthful, and a still more ridiculous affectation of worldly wisdom. He tried to argue me into it by assuring me that the Prince would henceforth be all-powerful in France, and that M. de Lamont was his protege, and that I was not consulting my own interest, those of my son, or of my family, by my refusal. When he found this ineffectual, he assured me peremptorily that it was the Prince's will, to which I replied, 'That may be, Monsieur, but it is not mine,' to which he replied that I was Mademoiselle, but that I should repent it. I said M. le Prince was not King of France, and I trusted that he never would be, so that I did not see why I should be bound to obey his will and pleasure. At which he looked so much as if I were uttering blasphemy that I could not help laughing. I really believe, poor fellow, that M. le Prince was more than a king to him, the god of his idolatry, and that all his faults might be traced to his blind worship and imitation.

  I was not even exempt from the persuasions or commands of the great man himself, who was at that time dominating the councils of France, and who apparently could not endure that one poor woman should resist him. But he, being a Bourbon and a great captain to boot, set about the thing with a better grace than did the rest. It was in this manner. When peace, such as it was, was agreed upon, the Princes came in to Paris, and of course they came to pay their visit of ceremony to Queen Henrietta. It was when I happened to be present, and before leaving her apartment, the Prince came to me, and bending his curled head and eagle face, said, with a look and gesture clearly unaccustomed to opposition: 'Madame, I understand that you persist in cruelty to my friend, M. de Lamont. Permit me to beg of you to reconsider your decision. On the word of a Prince, you will not have reason to repent. He is under my protection.'

  I thanked His Highness for his condescension, but I assured him that I had made up my mind not to marry again.

  This made him frown, and his face, always harsh, and only redeemed from ugliness by the fire of his eyes, became almost frightful, so that it might have terrified a weak person into yielding; but of course all he could then do was to make a sign to M. de Lamont to approach, present him to me, and say, 'I have requested Madame to reconsider her decision,' with which he bowed and left us tete-a-tete in the throng.

  Then I tried to cut short M. de Lamont's transports by telling him that he must not take the Prince's requesting as the same thing as my doing it. Moreover, I did what my mother said was brutal and unbecoming; I informed him that he was mistaken if he thought he should obtain any claim over my son's estate, for I had nothing but my husband's portion, and there were other guardians besides myself, who would not suffer a stranger to have any share in the
administration. Therewith he vehemently exclaimed that I did him injustice, but I still believe that his intention was, if his Prince had remained all-powerful, to get the disposition of my son's property thrown into his hands. My brother Solivet was away with the army, Eustace in Holland, whence I longed to recall him.

  Meantime, Sir Francis Ommaney had had become intimate with the Darpents, and so too had our good Abbe Bouchamp, who had assisted at the funeral ceremonies, and from whom the widow derived much consolation. From them we heard that she would fain have retired into the convent at Port Royal, only she would not leave her son. There were those who held that it was her duty not to let him stand between her and a vocation, especially as he was full grown, and already in the world; but she retained enough of her old training among the Huguenots to make her insist that since God had given her children, it was plain that He meant her to serve Him through her duty to them, and that if, through her desertion of him, Clement were tempted to any evil courses, she should never forgive herself. And our Abbe was the more inclined to encourage her in this resolve that he did not love the Jansenists, and had a mind sufficiently imbued with theology to understand their errors.

  Certainly Clement showed no inclination to evil courses. In fact, he was so grave and studious that his mother cherished the hope of taking him with her to Port Royal to become one of the solitaries who transformed the desert into a garden. She said that with patience she should see him come to this, but in the meantime youth was sanguine, and he had not renounced the hope of transforming the world. I think she also foresaw that the unavowed love for Annora could scarcely lead to anything but disappointment, and she thought that, in the rebound, he would be willing to devote himself as one of those hermits.

  He was certainly acting in a manner to astonish the world. He was not yet of sufficient age or standing to succeed to his father's chair as the President of one of the Chambers of the Parliament, but his promotion as one of the gens du roi (crown lawyers) had been secured by annual fees almost ever since he was born, and the robe of the Consellor who was promoted to the Presidency in the elder Darpent's room was awaiting him, when he declared his intention of accepting nothing that had been bought for him, but of continuing a simple advocate, and only obtaining what he could earn by his merits, not what was purchased. To this no doubt the feelings imbibed from my brother and sister had brought him. The younger men, and all the party who were still secret frondeurs, applauded him loudly, and he was quietly approved by the Chief President Mole who had still hopes that the domineering of the Prince of Conde and the unpopularity of Cardinal Mazarin would lead to changes in which ardent and self-devoted souls, like Clement's, could come to front and bring about improvements. The Coadjutor de Gondi, who was bent on making himself the head of a party, likewise displayed much admiration for one so disinterested, but I am afraid it was full of satire; and most people spoke of young Darpent as a fool, or else as a dangerous character.

  And it might very possibly be that if he fell under suspicion, his solitude might not be that of Port Royal but of the Bastille. Yet I am not sure that his mother did not dread the patronage of the Coadjutor most of all.

  CHAPTER XXI. ST. MARGARET AND THE DRAGON

  I was day after day worried and harassed by my suitor, so that I was very glad when, in the autumn, Madame de Rambouillet invited my sister and me to come and pass a few days with her, and see her vintage. We left my son under the care of the Abbe and of Sir Francis and Lady Ommaney, and set forth together in our coach with my women, and, as usual, mounted servants enough to guard us from any of the thieves or straggling soldiers who infested the roads.

  For about a league all went well and quietly, but just at the cross-road leading to Chevreuse, a troop of horsemen sprang out upon us. There was a clashing of swords, a pistol-shot or two; I found myself torn from the arms in which my sister was trying to hold me fast, dragged out in spite of all our resistance, and carried into another carriage, at the door of which I was received by two strong arms; a handkerchief was thrown over my mouth to stop my screams, and though the inside of the coach was already darkened, my hands were tied and my eyes blinded as I was placed on the seat far in the corner; the door banged fast, and we drove swiftly away.

  At first I was exhausted with my struggles, and in an agony of suffocation with the gag, which hindered me from getting my breath. I fancy I must have made some sound which showed my captors that unless they relieved me, I should perish in their hands. So the handkerchief was removed, and while I was panting, a voice said:

  'It shall not be put on again, if Madame will give her word not to cry out.'

  'It is of no use at present,' I gasped out, and they let me alone. I thought I knew that threats and entreaties could avail me little in the existing circumstances, and I thought it wiser to rally my forces for the struggle that no doubt was impending; so I sat as still as I could, and was rewarded by finding my hands unbound, when I tried to raise one to my face, and again the voice said:

  'Believe us, Madame, you are with friends who would not hurt you for the universe.'

  I made no answer. Perhaps it was in the same mood in which, when I was a child at home and was in a bad temper, I might be whipped and shut up in a dark room, but nothing would make me speak. Only now I said my prayers, and I am sure I never did so in those old days. We went on and on, and I think I must have dozed at last, for I actually thought myself wearied out with kicking, scratching, and screaming on the floor of the lumber-room at Walwyn, and that I heard the dear grandmother's voice saying:

  'Eh! quoi! she is asleep; the sullen had stopped, and with the words, 'Pardon me, Madame,' I was lifted out, and set upon my feet; but my two hands were taken, and I was led along what seemed to be endless passages, until at length my hands were released, and the same voice said:

  'Madame will be glad of a few moments to arrange her dress. She will find the bandage over her eyes easy to remove.'

  Before, however, I could pull it away, my enemy had shut the door from the outside, and I heard the key turn in it. I looked about me; I was in a narrow paved chamber, with one small window very high up, through which the sunbeams came, chequered by a tall tree, so high that I knew it was late in the day, and that we must have driven far. There was the frame of a narrow bedstead in one corner, a straw chair, a crucifix, and an empty cell in a deserted convent; but there was a stone table projecting from the wall, on which had been placed a few toilette necessaries, and a pitcher of water stood on the floor.

  I was glad to drink a long draught, and then, as I saw there was no exit, I could not but make myself more fit to be seen, for my hair had been pulled down and hung on my shoulders, and my face-ah! it had never looked anything like that, save on the one day when Eustace and I had the great battle, and our grand-mother punished us both by bread and water for a week.

  After I had made myself look a little more like a respectable widow, I knelt down before the crucifix to implore that I might be defended, and not be wanting to my son or myself. I had scarcely done so, however, when the door was opened, and as I rose to my feet I beheld my brother-in-law, d'Aubepine.

  'Armand, brother,' I cried joyfully, 'are you come to my rescue? Did you meet my sister?'

  For I really thought she had sent him, and I readily placed my hand in his as he said: 'It depends only on yourself to be free.' Even then I did not take alarm, till I found myself in a little bare dilapidated chapel, but with the altar hastily decked, a priest before it in his stole, whom I knew for the Abbe de St. Leu, one of the dissipated young clergy about Court, a familiar of the Conde clique, and, prepared to receive me, Monsieur de Lamont, in a satin suit, lace collar and cuffs, and deep lace round his boots.

  I wrenched my hand from M. d'Aubepine, and would have gone back, but three or four of the soldiers came between me and the door. They were dragoons of the Conde regiment; I knew their uniform. Then I turned round and reproached d'Aubepine with his wicked treachery to the memory of the man he had once love
d.

  Alas! this moved him no longer. He swore fiercely that this should not be hurled at his head again, and throughout the scene, he was worse to me than even M. de Lamont, working himself into a rage in order to prevent himself from being either shamed or touched.

  They acted by the will and consent of the Prince, they told me, and it was of no use to resist it. The Abbe, whom I hated most of all, for he had a loathsome face, took out a billet, and showed it to me. I clearly read in the large straggling characters-'You are welcome to a corporal's party, if you can by no other means reduce the pride of the little droll.--L. DE B.'

  'Your Prince should be ashamed of himself,' I said. 'I shall take care to publish his infamy as well as yours.'

  The gentlemen laughed, the Abbe the loudest, and told me I was quite welcome; such victories were esteemed honourable.

  'Yes,' I said, 'for a short time, among cowards and rogues.'

  Armand howled at the word cowards.

  'Cowards, yes,' I said, 'who must needs get a company of soldiers to overcome one woman.'

  I saw a good long scratch on Lamont's face just then, and I flattered myself that it was due to Nan's nails. They all beset me, Lamont at my feet, pleading the force of his passion, entreating with all the exaggeration of the current language; the Abbe arguing about the splendid position I should secure for my son and myself, and the way I should be overthrown if I held out against the Prince; d'Aubepine raging and threatening. I had lost myself already, by my absence and goings on, the estate; the Prince had but to speak the word, and I should be in the Bastille.