That settled one point for him, although for the past week or more he had had little doubt upon it. A little breathlessly he said: “Isabella, my beloved, I am so overcome at the joy and honour you propose for me that I can no longer find words to express my feelings. But what of your family? Are you indeed prepared to sacrifice all that they must mean to you for my sake? For I fear your father and mother will never forgive your making so poor a match.”
“Is it not said that a woman should leave all and cleave to the man she loves?”
“And what of the difference in our religions?”
“I will not pretend that I am not reluctant to place myself outside the rites of the Church. But as I told you on Saturday, I do not believe that the way to Heaven lies in the observance of rituals. If you are unwilling to be received into the Church of Rome I will marry you by a Protestant ceremony.”
Roger felt shamed and humbled in the presence of such a love, but he knew it to be his clear duty to point out to her the worst aspects of the marriage she contemplated, so he forced himself to say:
“Money is a sordid thing, yet happiness often hinges upon the possession of at least a near sufficiency of it by each person in accordance with their upbringing. From your childhood you have lived in great luxury, and I am far from rich. It would break my heart to see you pining for things to which you have been accustomed, and be unable to procure them for you.”
“I have no fear of that. I hate ostentation and my personal tastes are simple. From what you have told me you are in receipt of a regular allowance, and that, though small, should suffice to keep us from actual starvation. Then, seeing that you are an only son, and your father is a man of some substance, there seems good reason to suppose that he will increase it on your marriage. But, whether he does or no, however angry my own father may be at my marrying without his consent he is much too fond of me to allow me to want for the means to live respectably.”
“Think you then that after a time your parents will forgive you?” Roger asked in some surprise.
“My mother will not. She is deeply religious and so under the thumb of her confessor that I doubt her ever forgiving my marriage to a heretic. But my father is of a different mould. He is too old now and in his life has climbed too high to be any longer a slave to his ambitions. Naturally, for the sake of our house, he would like me to make a suitable alliance, but I am sure that my happiness means more to him than such second-hand aggrandisement. He will have no cause for shame in my marriage to an honourable gentleman who is an English Admiral’s son, and he is too broadminded to allow the religious question to dominate his affections.”
From all she said it seemed that their prospects were far better than Roger would ever have imagined they could be in such circumstances. Every instinct urged him to have no further scruples about taking this lovely, rich, sweet-natured bride; yet the words of the dying Señora Poeblar persisted in ringing in his ears. True, it was no longer any question of making Isabella his mistress, so that if she remained with him for any length of time their relationship must inevitably bring shame and unhappiness upon her; but the Señora had so clearly felt that if given time the fires of Isabella’s passion would die down. Ought he not to ensure a fair margin of time for that possibility to take effect, before allowing her to commit herself irrevocably to this drastic step which would revolutionise her whole life? With that in mind he said:
“Since there seems some prospect of your father eventually becoming reconciled to you, it would perhaps considerably increase it if you wrote first explaining our circumstances and asking his consent to our marriage; albeit making plain that in any case you could not be dissuaded from it. He would then have less cause for umbrage and might, at a pinch, become a willing party to the design.”
“Nay,” she cried swiftly. “That I will not do. I have too many relatives and he too many powerful friends for me to risk it. Some of them would surely get wind of our whereabouts and seek to take me from you. They would even use force if all else failed.”
He brought himself to adopt another line. “All the same I am against any hole-in-the-corner marriage, as unworthy of you. Would you be willing to trust yourself to me until I can take you back to my mother in England? I vouch for it she could not fail to love you, and there we could be married with the solemnity and happy rejoicings which are beyond hope of attainment for a couple situated as we are, here in France.”
“My trust in you is absolute,” she smiled. “And now that we are pledged to one another I am not wild to marry you on the instant. I will gladly do so tomorrow if you wish; but if you prefer to wait a month or two the joyous anticipation I shall feel will amply compensate me for exercising patience.”
“Damme! I do not prefer to wait!” he blurted out. “How I will find the patience to support so long a delay in making you truly my own I cannot think. Yet my sense of fitness tells me there are good reasons for it.”
“I think you right. And the admirable restraint you put upon yourself makes me love you all the more. Yet the sooner we can get to England and be man and wife the better I will be pleased.”
“I fear I am committed to deliver Her Majesty’s letter first,” he said with a genuine sigh.
She nodded. “I had not forgot it. And on account of your wound its delivery has been overlong delayed already. Let us set out for Florence tomorrow then, and as soon as you have completed your mission seek a ship in Leghorn which will carry us to England. But while we are in Florence we must have a care. The Grand Duchess is the daughter of the late King Carlos III of Spain. When she married she took an aunt of mine with her to Florence as one of her ladies-in-waiting. A year or two later my aunt married a Florentine nobleman named Count Frescobaldi, and still lives there. Should she get wind of my presence in the city she will wonder why I have not sought the hospitality of her palazzo; and if she learnt that I am lying at an inn in the company of a handsome Englishman instead of a duenna we might be hard put to it to get away.”
After pondering a moment, Roger said: “Perhaps then it would be safest if I left you in Marseilles while I deliver the letter to His Highness; although I would be very loath to do so, particularly seeing the unsettled state of France.”
“Nay!” she cried, grasping his hand in sudden panic. “I beg you never leave me from now on. I could not bear it. In spirit I am married to you already, and for the rest I am content to wait. But if I were parted from you even for a week I would die of anxiety that some frightful thing might prevent your returning to me. No! To Florence you must go, but I will go with you.”
“Then it had best be under an assumed name; and we will make all possible haste to be through with the business.”
“You are right on both counts,” she agreed swiftly. “And I shall not rest easy until we are on a ship bound for England. But tell me more now about the country that holds so sweet a future for me. I am anxious to hear every detail you can give me of it.”
He laughed. “ ’Tis the custom there that immediately upon a couple pledging their troth they should kiss. We have not done so yet and can scarce do so here in the open. Let us drive back to the hotel, in order that I may pay the tribute that I am so eager to give to my beautiful fiancée.”
When they got back he produced the fine ring that Madame Marie Antoinette had given him. It was a little large for Isabella’s engagement-finger but she was enchanted with it; and it made him very happy to think that fortune had provided him with a jewel for her of much greater value than he could ever have afforded to buy.
That evening after supper she asked him to haul out from under her bed two heavy brass-bound coffers. He knew them well by sight, as when the coach was on the road they travelled concealed in a secret compartment under a false bottom to the coachman’s box, but each evening they were carried up to her room, and it was for their protection as much as her own that either Hernando or Pedro slept rolled in a rug outside her door every night.
Kneeling down she selected three keys
from the bunch at her girdle and opened the larger chest. Roger had naturally assumed that it contained money, but he was positively staggered by the amount and value of the coin in it. Apart from a few rouleaux of silver écus for immediate needs, it was three-quarters full of Spanish gold. Nearly all the coins were the equivalent of £5 pieces, as large as a crown and weighing an ounce. Most of them had been minted in America and bore the head of King Carlos III with the individual markings of Mexico or Peru. He had never before seen so much gold in his life and could not even form a rough estimate of its value.
But Isabella laughed up at him and said: “This is the residue of the allowance that my father made me these last few years. As I lived at Court and mainly at Her Majesty’s expense it was far more than I needed. There must be all of a thousand doubloons here, so you see we have ample funds to support us for some time to come.”
Turning to the smaller chest she picked out another group of keys and unlocked that. It contained her jewels; ropes of pearls, gem-encrusted crosses, rings by the score, ornaments for hair, neck, wrists and corsage. As she opened case after case the diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires flashed and scintillated in the candlelight. Laughing up at him again she said:
“These are all mine. Most of them were left to me by my great-aunt, who was a Duchess of Alva. Were they sold they would fetch at least a hundred thousand écus; so I do not come to you as quite a pauper. If need be we will sell some of them from time to time to provide ourselves with little luxuries.”
Roger was neither avaricious nor a spendthrift, and although he was normally generous by nature he had inherited from his Scottish mother’s family a very sound appreciation of the value of money. So, soon afterwards, when he was undressing in his own room, he could not help it flitting through his mind that Isabella’s fortune in gold and jewels gave them a much better prospect of living in happiness and contentment than they would otherwise have had.
Some £30,000 was no mean sum on which to start married life, and it relieved his mind of the only real anxiety that he had felt on accepting Isabella’s proposal. He realised that in that he had had little choice, as without loss of honour he could have done nothing else; but for her character and beauty alone he had been fully willing to make her his wife, and now, as a fine bonus to all else, she was bringing him a handsome fortune. By postponing their actual marriage for a month or so he felt that he had observed more than fairly with the Señora Poeblar’s dying concern for her charge. But he considered it most unlikely that Isabella would now change her mind. So before he dropped off to sleep he decided that he was a monstrous lucky fellow.
Now that they were nearing the end of their journey by road there was no longer the same need to spare the horses, so on the Thursday and Friday they made two long stages, sleeping at Salon the night and arriving at Marseilles late on the evening of May the 22nd.
The following morning Roger went early to the harbour to find out about sailings to Leghorn, and learned that no ship was leaving for the Tuscan port until the 28th. However, the ship concerned was a fine four-masted barque, which had been for some time in port undergoing repairs, and on learning that its Captain frequented the Café d’ Acajon, Roger repaired there for breakfast in the hope of meeting him.
At the café he was informed that the Captain rarely came in before ten o’clock, so while waiting for him he seized the opportunity to acquaint himself with the latest news. Unlike most of the small towns in which he had stayed the night on his way from Paris an abundance of news-sheets and pamphlets was available, and as he ate he scanned a number of them.
The three Estates had got little further and were still bickering on the question of separate or joint verification. Le Chapelier, a Breton deputy to the Third Estate, had proposed to cut short the controversy by declaring that they would recognise as lawful representatives only those whose powers had been verified in a joint assembly. But more moderate councils had prevailed and on the 18th of May commissioners had been appointed to confer with representatives of the nobles, while nominees of the clergy attended the debate acting as friendly neutrals.
After Roger had eaten he got in conversation with a man of fairly affluent appearance who introduced himself as a shipowner named Golard.
On Roger’s remarking that he was pleasantly surprised to find the city so quiet after the ill-reports he had heard of it, Monsieur Golard shook his head gloomily.
“The sans-culottes are quiet enough for the moment. Now that the Estates have met they are expecting their representatives to secure the earth for them; but since no one can do that they will soon be raging the streets again. You should have been here in April.”
It was the first time that Roger had heard the expression “lacking trousers” applied to the mob, but it was certainly descriptive enough of the miserable, ill-clad rabble that swarmed in the poorer quarters of France’s great cities. Offering his snuff-box, he said: “The disturbances were, then, of a really serious nature?”
“There were times when many of us feared that the whole city would be burnt about our ears,” replied Monsieur Golard, after appreciatively sniffing up Roger’s rappee. “The trouble started when the nobles met to elect their deputies for the States General. The mob surrounded their Assembly Rooms and became tumultuous past all hope of pacification. The meeting was broken up and the nobles, compelled to escape by the back doors, sought to regain their homes as privily as possible. But far from being appeased the sans-culottes then hunted out those most obnoxious to them, broke into their houses and pillaged everything. Among others the Bishop of Toulon was a marked object of their fury. He was fortunate to get away with his life disguised as a fishwife, but they entirely despoiled his palace and threw his horses and carriages into the sea.”
“And what were the military about all this time?” Roger enquired.
“They were mustered at various points, but the riots soon assumed such formidable proportions that it was judged unwise to disperse them further. The Mayor ordered one party of soldiers to fire upon the crowd, with the result that he was dragged from their protection and most brutally butchered. The Comte de Caraman was in command of the garrison and he did what he could, but the numbers opposed to him were so great that his men were swiftly overwhelmed. He succeeded in disengaging the remnant and taking refuge with them in the citadel. As many of the rioters were armed they proceeded to besiege him there, and he and his men would inevitably have perished had he not sent to Monsieur de Mirabeau and begged his intervention.”
“It is true, then,” said Roger, “that the Comte de Mirabeau succeeded in quelling the revolt solely by the use of his golden tongue?”
“Had it not been for him the citadel would certainly have been burnt and many human beings have suffered a horrible death within it. He was similarly successful in putting a check on the rioting at Aix when it had proved beyond the power of the troops to do so. But here, even his eloquence could not prevent a continuance of more general anarchy and outrage. For days afterwards groups of sans-culottes went about burning houses, and robbing, maltreating, and even killing people whom they judged to be opposed to their horrid travesty of liberty; and it was highly dangerous for any well-dressed person to appear in the streets, or even show themselves at a window.’
“What think you of Monsieur de Mirabeau?” Roger asked.
“He is undoubtedly a politician of great ability and, while the idol of the mob, not, I think, himself an extremist. But the general opinion here is that he is not to be trusted. I think he owed his election to the fact that we Marseillais are ever hot for action, so most of us would rather be represented by an able rogue than an honest man of no talent.”
“Should the Third Estate succeed in their demand for one combined assembly, there seems a good chance of his becoming the new leader of the nation.”
“Let us pray that they do not,” said Monsier Golard firmly. “Did that occur all moderate opinion would be overborne and the extremists gain control of the State wit
h some semblance of legality. Within a year the mobs would rule the cities and the peasants the countryside, so the remedy for our ills would be infinitely worse than the disease.”
“What then is your own solution to the problem?”
“No man of sense can deny that sweeping reforms are necessary if the country is to be made healthy again. But ’tis an ill thing to let a starving man gorge himself with red meat. His hunger should be appeased gradually, and so with the nation. To my mind there should be neither one Chamber nor three, but two, as they have in England. Then, however drastic the measures proposed in the Lower, they will have their dangerous edges taken off and be rendered practical by the Upper, before they actually become law.”
It was by no means the first time that Roger had heard this solution propounded, as nearly all the leading French political reformers expressed a great admiration for the English system; and a very high proportion of the French middle classes were entirely with Monsieur Golard in being anxious for sweeping reforms, but at the same time desirous that they should be carried out in carefully considered stages so as not to unbalance the economy of the nation.
As the shipowner ceased speaking a big black-bearded man came into the café and he proved to be the Captain of the barque. It then transpired that Roger’s meeting with Monsieur Golard had been particularly fortunate, as he was the barque’s owner. In consequence a fair bargain for the transport of Isabella’s party and her coach and horses to Leghorn was soon struck, and Roger returned to his hotel to report to his fiancée.
During the days they had to wait until the ship was ready to sail they explored the city and enjoyed many pleasant excursions. Isabella, who had come from Spain via Bordeaux, declared that its buildings, theatres and harbour were all much superior to those of Marseilles, but that the country round about offered more distraction.
The Rising Storm Page 19