Stray Pearls Part 6

CHAPTER XIII. - MADEMOISELLE'S TOILETTE.

We were to go to Madame de Choisy's a.s.sembly. She was the wife of the Chanceller of the Duke of Orleans, and gave a fete every year, to which all the court went; and, by way of disarming suspicion, all the cavaliers who were in the great world were to attend to order that their plans might not be suspected.

Our kind Queen Henrietta insisted on inspecting Nan and me before we went. She was delighted with the way in which my mother had dressed our hair, made her show how it was done, and declared it was exactly what was suited to her niece, Mademoiselle, none of whose women had the least notion of hair-dressing. She was going herself to the Luxembourg to put the finis.h.i.+ng touches, and Nan and I must come with her. I privately thought my mother would have been more to the purpose, but the Queen wanted to show the effect of the handi-work. However, Nan disliked the notion very much, and showed it so plainly in her face that the Queen exclaimed: 'You are no courtier, Mademoiselle de Ribaumont. Why did you not marry her to her Roundhead cousin, and leave her in England, Madame? Come, my G.o.d-daughter, you at least have learnt the art of commanding your looks.'

Poor Annora must have had a sad time of it with my mother when we were gone. She was a good girl, but she had grown up in rough times, and had a proud independent nature that chafed and checked at trifles, and could not brood being treated like a hairdresser's block, even by Queens or Princesses. She was likewise very young, and she would have been angered instead of amused at the scene which followed, which makes me laugh whenever I think of it.

The Queen sent messages to know whether the Prince of Wales were ready, and presently he came down in a black velvet suits slashed with white and carnation ribbons, and a little enameled jewel on his gold chain, representing a goose of these three colours. His mother turned him all round, smoothed his hair, fresh buckled his plume, and admonished him with earnest entreaties to do himself credit.

'I will, Madame,' he said. 'I will do my very utmost to be worthy of my badge.'

'Now, Charles, if you play the fool and lose her, I will never forgive you.'

I understood it soon. The Queen was bent on winning for her son the hand of Mademoiselle, a granddaughter of France, and the greatest heiress there. If all were indeed lost in England, he would thus be far from a landless Prince, and her wealth might become a great a.s.sistance to the royal cause in England. But Mademoiselle was several years older than the Prince, and was besides stiff, haughty, conceited, and not much to his taste, so he answered rather sullenly that he could not speak French.

'So much the better,' said his mother; 'you would only be uttering follies. When I am not there, Rupert must speak for you.'

'Rupert is too High-Dutch to be much of a courtier,' said the Prince.

'Rupert is old enough to know what is for your good, and not sacrifice all to a jest,' returned his mother.

By this time the carriage had reached the Palais Royal. We were told that Mademoiselle was still at her toilette, and up we all went, through ranks of Swiss and lackeys, to her apartments, to a splendid dressing-room, where the Princess sat in a carnation dress, richly ornamented with black and white, all complete except the fastening the feather in her hair. The friseur was engaged in this critical operation, and whole ranks of ladies stood round, one of them reading aloud one of Plutarch's Lives. The Queen came forward, with the most perfect grace, crying: 'Oh, it is ravis.h.i.+ng! What a coincidence!' and pointing to her son, as if the similarity in colours had been a mere chance instead of a contrivance of hers.

Then, with the most gracious deference in the world, so as not to hurt the hairdresser's feelings, she showed my head, and begged permission to touch up her niece's, kissing her as she did so. Then she signed to the Prince to hold her little hand-mirror, and he obeyed, kneeling on one knee before Mademoiselle; while the Queen, with hands that really were more dexterous than those of any one I ever saw, excepting my mother, dealt with her niece's hair, paying compliments in her son's name all the time, and keeping him in check with her eye. She contrived to work in some of her own jewels, rubies and diamonds, to match the scarlet, black and white. I have since found the scene mentioned in Mademoiselle's own memoirs, but she did not see a quarter of the humour of it. She was serene in the certainty that her aunt was paying court to her, and the a.s.surance that her cousin was doing the same, though she explains that, having hopes of the Emperor, and thinking the Prince a mere landless exile, she only pitied him. Little did she guess how he laughed at her, his mother, and himself, most of all at her airs, while his mother, scolding him all the time, joined in the laugh, though she always maintained that Mademoiselle, in spite of her overweening conceit and vanity, would become an excellent and faithful wife, and make her husband's interests her own.

'Rather too much so,' said the Prince, shrugging his shoulders; 'we know what the Margaret of Anjou style of wife can do for a King of England.'

However, as he always did what any one teased him about, if it were not too unpleasant, and as he was pa.s.sionately fond of his mother, and as amused by playing on the vanity of la grande Mademoiselle, he acted his part capitally. It was all in dumb show, for he really could not speak French at that time, though he could understand what was said to him. He, like a good many other Englishmen, held that the less they a.s.similated themselves to their French hosts, the more they showed their hopes of returning home, and it was not till after his expedition to Scotland that he set himself to learn the language.

Queen Henrietta's skill in the toilette was noted. She laughingly said that if everything else failed her she should go into business as a hairdresser, and she had hardly completed her work, before a message was brought from Queen Anne to desire to see Mademoiselle in her full dress.

I do not know what would have become of me, if my good-natured royal G.o.dmother, who never forgot anybody, had not packed me into a carriage with some of the ladies who were accompanying Mademoiselle. That lady had a suit of her own, and went about quite independently of her father and her stepmother, who, though a Princess of Lorraine, was greatly contemned and slighted by the proud heiress.

I was put au courant with all this by the chatter of the ladies in the coach. I did no know them, and in the dark they hardly knew who was there. Men with flambeaux ran by the side of the carriage, and now and then the glare fell across a smiling face, glanced on a satin dress, or gleamed back from some jewels; and then we had a long halt in the court of the Tuileries, while Mademoiselle went to the Queen-Regent to be inspected. We waited a long time, and I heard a great deal of gossip before we were again set in motion, and when once off we soon found ourselves in the court of the Hotel de Choisy, where we mounted the stairs in the rear of Mademoiselle, pausing on the way through the anteroom, in order to give a final adjustment to her head-dress before a large mirror, the Prince of Wales standing obediently beside her, waiting to hand her into the room, so that the two black, white, and carnation figures were reflected side by side, which was, I verily believe, the true reason of her stopping there, for Queen Henrietta's handiwork was too skilful to require retouching. Prince Rupert was close by, to act as interpreter, his tall, powerful figure towering above them both, and his dark eyes looking as if his thoughts were far off, yet keeping in control the young Prince's great inclination to grimace and otherwise make game of Mademoiselle's magnificent affectations and condescensions.

I was rather at a loss, for the grand salon was one sea of feathers, bright satins and velvets, and curled heads, and though I tried to come in with Mademoiselle's suite I did not properly belong to it, and my own party were entirely lost to me. I knew hardly any one, and was quite unaccustomed to the great world, so that, though the Prince's dame de compagnie was very kind, I seemed to belong to no one in that great room, where the ladies were sitting in long rows, and the gentlemen parading before them, paying their court to one after another, while the s.p.a.ce in the middle was left free for some distinguished pair to dance the menuet de la cour.

The first person I saw, whom I knew, was the d.u.c.h.ess of Longueville, more beautiful than when I had met her before as Mademoiselle de Bourbon, perfectly dazzling, indeed, with her majestic bearing and exquisite complexion, but the face had entirely lost that innocent, wistful expression that had so much enchanted me before. Half a dozen gentlemen were buzzing round her, and though I once caught her eye she did not know me, and no wonder, for I was much more changed than she was. However, there I stood forlorn, in an access of English shyness, not daring to take a chair near any of the strangers, and looking in vain for my mother or one of my brothers.

'Will not Madame take a seat beside me?' said a kind voice. 'I think I have had the honour of making her acquaintance,' she added, as our eyes met; 'it is the Gildippe of happier times.'

Then I knew her for Mademoiselle d'Argennes, now d.u.c.h.ess of Montausieur, the same who had been so kind to me at the Hotel de Rambouillet on my first arrival at Paris. Most gladly did I take my seat by her as an old friend, and I learned from her that her mother was not present, and she engaged me to go and see her at the Hotel de Rambouillet the next morning, telling me that M. de Solivet had spoken of me, and that Madame de Rambouillet much wished to see me. Then she kindly told me the names of many of the persons present, among whom were more gens de la robe than it was usual for us of the old n.o.bility to meet. They were indeed enn.o.bled, and thus had no imposts to pay, but that did not put them on a level with the children of crusaders. So said my mother and her friends, but I could not but be struck with the fine countenance and grave collected air of the President Matthieu de Mole, who was making his how to the hostess.

Presently, in the violet robes of a Bishop, for which he looked much too young, there strolled up a keen-faced man with satirical eyes, whom Madame de Montausieur presented as 'Monseigneur le Coadjuteur.' This was the Archbishop of Corinth, Paul de Gondi, Coadjutor to his uncle, the Archbishop of Paris. I think he was the most amusing talker I ever heard, only there was a great spice of malice in all that he said-or did not say; and Madame de Montausier kept him in check, as she well knew how to do.

At last, to my great joy, I saw my brother walking with a young man in the black dress of an advocate. He came up to me and the d.u.c.h.ess bade me present him, declaring herself delighted to make the acquaintance of a brave English cavalier, and at the same time greeting his companion as Monsieur Darpent. Eustace presently said that my mother had sent him in quest of me, and he conducted me through the salon to another apartment, where the ladies, as before, sat with their backs to the wall, excepting those who were at card-tables, a party having been made up for Monsieur. On my way I was struck both with the good mien and good sense of the young lawyer, who still stood conversing with my brother after I had been restored to my mother. The cloud cleared up from Annora's face as she listened, making her look as lovely and as animated as when she was in English company. The conversation was not by any means equally pleasing to my mother, who, on the first opportunity, broke in with 'My son,' and sent my brother off in search of some distinguished person to whom she wished to speak, and she most expressingly frowned off his former companion, who would have continued the conversation with my sister and me, where upon Nan's face, which was always far too like a window, became once more gloomy.

When we went home, it appeared that my mother was will satisfied that I should be invited to the Hotel de Rambouillet. It was a distinguished thing to have the entree there, though for her part she thought it very wearisome to have to listen to declamations about she knew not what; and there was no proper distinction of ranks kept up, any more than at the Hotel de Choisy, where one expected it. And, after all, neither Monsieur nor Madame de Rambouillet were of the old n.o.blesse. The Argennes, like the Rambouillets, only dated from the time of the League, when they had in private confirmed the sentence of death on the Duke of Guise, which had been carried out by his a.s.sa.s.sination. Strange to look at the beautiful and gentle Julie, and know her to be sprung from such a stem!

Then my mother censured Eustace for bad taste in talking over his case with his lawyer in public. He laughed, and a.s.sured her that he had never even thought of his suit, but had been discussing one of the pictures on the walls, a fine Veronese-appealing to me if it were not so; but she was not satisfied; she said he should not have encouraged the presumption of that little advocate by presenting him to his sisters.

Eustace never attempted argument with her, but went his own way; and when Annora broke out with something about Mr. Hyde and other lawyers, such as Harry Merrycourt, being company for any one in London, she was instantly silenced or presuming to argue with her elders.

I had a happy morning with Mesdames de Rambouillet and De Montausier, who showed the perfect union of mother and daughter.

In the little cabinet where Madame de Rambouillet read and studied so much in order to be able to fill her eminent position, she drew out from me all my story and all my perplexities, giving me advice as a wise woman of my own church alone could do, and showing me how much I might still do in my life at Paris. She advised me, as I had been put under Father Vincent's guidance, to seek him at the Church of St. Sulpice, where, on certain days of the week, he was accessible to ladies wis.h.i.+ng to undertake pious works. For the rest, she said that a little resolution on my part would enable me to reserve the early part of the day for study and the education of my son; and she fully approved of my giving the evenings to society, and gave me at once the entree to her circle. She insisted that I should remain on that day and dine with her, and Madame de Montausier indited two charming billets, which were sent to invite our family to join us there in the evening.

'It will not be a full circle,' she said; 'but I think your brother treats as a friend a young man who is there to make his first essai.'

'M. Darpent?' I asked; and I was told that I was right, and that the young advocate had been writing a discourse upon Cicero which he was to read aloud to the fair critics and their friends. Madame de Montausier added that his father was a counselor in the Parliament, who had originally been a Huguenot, but had converted himself with all his family, and had since held several good appointments. She thought the young man, Clement Darpent, likely to become a man of mark, and she did not like him the less for having retained something of the Huguenot gravity.

The dinner was extremely pleasant; we followed it up by a walk in the beautifully laid out gardens; and after we had rested, the reception began, but only in the little green cabinet, as it was merely a select few who were to be admitted to hear the young aspirant. I watched anxiously for the appearance of my family, and presently in came Eustace and Annora. My mother had the migraine, and my brother had taken upon him, without asking leave, to carry off my sister!

I had never seen her look so well as she did, with that little spirit of mischief upon her, lighting her beautiful eyes and colouring her cheeks. Madame de Rambouillet whispered to me that she was a perfect nymph, with her look of health and freshness. Then M. Darpent came in, and his grave face blushed with satisfaction as he saw his friend, my Lord Walwyn, present.

His was a fine face, though too serious for so young a man. It was a complete oval, the hair growing back on the forehead, and the beard being dark and pointed, the complexion a clear pale brown, the eyes with something of Italian softness in them, rather than of French vivacity, the brows almost as if drawn with a pencil, the mouth very grave and thoughtful except when lighted by a smile of unusual sweetness. As a lawyer, his dress was of plain black with a little white collar fastened by two silken ta.s.sels (such as I remember my Lord Falkland used to wear). It became him better than the gay coats of some of our n.o.bles.

The circle being complete by this time, the young orator was placed in the midst, and began to read aloud his ma.n.u.script, or rather to recite it, for after the fire of his subject began to animate him, he seldom looked at the paper.

It was altogether grand and eloquent discourse upon the loyalty and n.o.bility of holding with unswerving faith to the old laws and const.i.tutions of one's country against all fraud, oppression, and wrong, tracing how Cicero's weak and vain character grew stronger at the call of patriotism, and how eagerly and bravely the once timid man finally held out his throat for the knife. It might be taken as the very highest witness to the manner in which he had used his divine gift of rhetoric, that Fulvia's first thought was to show her bitter hatred by piercing his eloquent tongue! 'Yes, my friends,' he concluded, with his eyes glancing round, 'that insult to the dead was the tribute of tyranny to virtue!'

Annora's hands were clasped, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glanced with the dew of admiration, and there were others who were carried along by the charm of the young orator's voice and enthusiasm; but there were also anxious glances pa.s.sing, especially between the divine Arthenice and her son-in-law, M. de Montausier, and when there had been time for the compliments the discourse merited to be freely given, Madame de Rambouillet said: 'My dear friend, the tribute may be indeed the highest, but it can scarcely be the most appreciable either by the fortunate individual or his friends. I therefore entreat that the most eloquent discourse of our youthful Cicero of admires who have listened to it.'

Everybody bowed a.s.sent, but the young man himself began, with some impetuosity: 'Madame will believe me that I had not the slightest political intention. I spoke simply as a matter of history.'

'I am perfectly aware of it, Monsieur,' returned the Marquise; 'but all the world does not understand as well as I do how one may be carried away by the fervour of imagination to identify oneself and one's surroundings with those of which one speaks.'

'Madame is very severe on the absent,' said M. Darpent.

'Monsieur thinks I have inferred more treason than he has spoken,' said Madame de Rambouillet gaily. 'Well, be it so; I am an old woman, and you, my friend, have your career yet to come, and I would have you remember that though the great Cesar be dead, yet the bodkin was not in his time.'

'I understand, Madame, after the lion comes the fox. I thank you for your warning until the time-'

'Come, come, we do not intend to be all undone in the meantime,' exclaimed Madame de Rambouillet. 'Come, who will give us a vaudeville or something joyous to put out the grand serious, and send us home gay. My dear Countess,' and she turned to a bright-looking young lady, 'relate to us, I entreat of you, one of your charming fairy tales.'

And the Countess d'Aulnoy, at her request, seated herself in a large arm-chair, and told us with infinite grace the story I have so often told you, my grandchildren, of the White Cat and the three princes.

CHAPTER XIV. - COURT APPOINTMENT

The expected descent on the Isle of Wight did not take place, for though Prince Rupert was High Admiral, so large a portion of the fleet was disaffected that it was not possible to effect anything. Before long, he went back to the s.h.i.+ps he had at Helvoetsluys, taking the Prince of Wales with him. My brother Walwyn yielded to an earnest entreaty that he would let us take care of him at Paris till there was some undertaking really in hand. Besides, he was awaiting the issue of his cause respecting the Ribaumont property in Picardy, to which the Count de Poligny set up a claim in right of a grant by King Henry III. in the time of the League. It must be confessed that the suit lingered a good deal, in spite of the zeal of the young advocate, M. Clement Darpent,-nay, my mother ad my brother De Solivet sometimes declared, because of his zeal; for the Darpent family were well known as inclined to the Fronde party.

They had been Huguenots, but had joined the Church some twenty years before, as it was said, because of the increased disabilities of Huguenots in the legal profession, and it was averred that much of the factious Calvinist leaven still hung about them. At this time I never saw the parents, but Eustace had contracted a warm friends.h.i.+p with the son, and often went to their house. My mother fretted over this friends.h.i.+p far more, as Annora used to declare, than if he had been intimate with the wildest of the roistering cavaliers, or the most dissipated of the pet.i.ts maitres of Paris. But Eustace was a man now, made older than his twenty-five years by what he had undergone, and though always most respectful to my mother, he could not but follow his own judgment and form his own friends.h.i.+ps. And my mother's dislike to having Clement Darpent at the Hotel de Nidemerle only led to Walwyn's frequenting the Maison Darpent more than he might have done if he could have seen his friend at home without vexing her.

I do not think that he much liked the old Counsellor, but he used to say that Madame Darpent was one of the most saintly beings he had ever seen. She had one married daughter, and two more, nuns at Port Royal, and she was with them in heart, the element of Augustinianism in the Jansenist teaching having found a responsive chord in her soul from her Calvinist education. She spent her whole time, even while living in the world, in prayers, pious exercises, and works of charity, and she would fain have induced her son to quit secular life and become one of those recluses who inhabited the environs of Port Royal, and gave themselves to labour of mind and of hand, producing works of devotion and sacred research, and likewise making a paradise of the dreary unwholesome swamp in which stood Port Royal des Champs. Clement Darpent had, however, no vocation for such a life, or rather he was not convinced in his own mind that it was expedient for him. He was eight or nine years old when the conversion of his family had taken place, and his mother had taught him carefully her original faith. Her conversation had been, no one could doubt, most hearty and sincere, and her children had gone with her in all simplicity; but the seeds she had previously sown in her son's mind sprang up as he grew older, and when Eustace became his friend, he was, though outwardly conforming, restless and dissatisfied, by no means disposed to return to Calvinism, and yet with too much of the old leaven in him to remain contented in the Church. He was in danger of throwing off all thought of faith and of Divine things in his perplexity, and I know many of our advisers would say this was best, provided he died at last in the bosom of the Catholic Church; but I can never think so, and, as things stood, Eustace's advice aided him in remaining at that time where he was, a member of the Church. My brother himself was, my mother ardently hoped, likely to join our communion. The Abbe Walter Montagu who had himself been a convert, strove hard to win him over, trying to prove to him that the English Church was extinct, stifled by her own rebellious heretic children, so soon as the grace that was left in her began to work so as to bring her back to Catholic doctrine and practice. His argument was effectual with many of our fugitives, but not with my brother. He continued still to declare that he believed that his Church was in the course of being purified, and would raised up again at last; and his heart was too loyal to desert her, any more than his King, because of her misfortunes. No one shall ever make me believe that he was wrong. As to Annora, I believe she would rather have been a Huguenot outright than one of us, and she only half trusted me for a long time.

We had begun to settle down into regular habits; indeed, except for the evenings, our days were almost more alike than when in the country. I had gone, as Madame de Rambouillet had advised me, to Father Vincent, and he introduced me to the excellent Madame Goussault, who had the sweetest old face I ever saw. She made me a member of the society for attending the poor in the Hotel Dieu, and my regular days were set apart, twice a week, for waiting on the sick. We all wore a uniform dress of dark stuff, with a white ap.r.o.n and tight white cap, and, unless we were very intimate, were not supposed to recognize one another.

There was good reason for this. At the next bed to that of my patient there was a lady most tenderly, if a little awkwardly, bathing a poor man's face with essences. Her plump form, beautiful hands, and slightly Spanish accent, could only belong to one person, I thought, but I could hardly believe it, and I turned my eyes away, and tried the more diligently to teach my poor ignorant patient the meaning of his Pater and Ave, when suddenly there was a burst of scolding and imprecation from the other bed. The essence had gone into the man's eye, and he, a great rough bucheron, was reviling the awkwardness and meddling of ladies in no measured terms, while his nurse stood helplessly wringing her white hands, imploring his pardon, but quite unaware of what was to be done. Happily, I had a sponge and some warm water near, and I ran up with it and washed the man's eyes, while the lady thanked me fervently, but the man growled out: 'That is better; if women will come fussing over us with what they don't understand-You are the right sort; but for her-'

'Do not stop him,' hastily said the lady, with her hand on my arm. 'I love it! I rejoice in it! Do not deprive me, for the love of Heaven!'

I knew who she was then, and Madame de Montausier told me I was right; but that I must keep the secret; and so I did, till after Queen Anne of Austria was dead. She would not let her rank deprive her of the privilege of waiting on the poor, unknown and unthanked; and many hours, when those who blamed her for indolence supposed her to be in bed, she was attending the hospital.

Cecile was never strong enough to give her attendance there, but she made clothes which were given to the patients when they came out. We spent our mornings much as of old; the two elder children generally went to ma.s.s with me at St. Germain l'Auxerrois, and if the day were fine, I would take them for a few turns in the Tuileries Gardens afterwards before I taught them their little lessons, and gave my orders to the servants.

Then all the family met a breakfast, after which Gaspard had half an hour more of study with the Abbe, for he was beginning Latin, and was a very promising scholar. He prepared his tasks with me before breakfast, and got on admirably.

Then, unless I had to be at the hospital, we sat together at our embroidery-Cecile, Annora, and I-while the Abbe read to us. It was very hard to poor Nan to sit still, work, and listen. She had been used to such an active unsettled life during the war, and had been put to so many s.h.i.+fts, having at times for months together to do servant's work, that she knew not how to be quiet. Embroidery seemed to her useless, when she had cooked and washed, and made broths, and sc.r.a.ped lint for the wounded, and she could not care for the history of the Romans, even when Eustace had given her his word they were not Roman Catholics.

She used to say she had the cramp, or that her foot was asleep, and rush off to play with the children, or to see if my mother wanted her. My mother did not care for the reading, but she did want Nan to learn to sit in her chair and embroider, like a demoiselle bien elevee, instead of a wild maiden of the civil wars. However, my mother spent most of her day in waiting on the Queen of England, who was very fond of her, and liked to have her at her levee, so that we really saw very little of her.

My brother, when not needed by his Queen, nor in consultation with the cavaliers, or with his lawyers, would often join in our morning's employment. He was not strong, and he liked to recline in a lager chair that I kept ready for him, and listen while the Abbe read, or sometimes discuss with him questions that arose in the reading, and this was a great relief to Nan, who seldom declared that her feet tingled when he was there.

After our dinner we either walked in the garden where the children played, or went out to make visits. In the evening there were receptions. We had one evening to which, as I said, came our poor exiled countrymen, and there were other a.s.semblies, to some of which we went by invitation; but at the Hotel de Rambouillet, and one or two others we knew we were always welcome. There we heard M. Corneille read the Cid, on of his finest pieces, before it was put on the stage. I cannot describe how those n.o.ble verses thrilled in our ears and heart, how tears were shed and hands clasped, and how even Annora let herself be carried along by the tide. Clement Darpent was often there, and once or twice recited again, but Madame de Rambouillet always took care first to know what he was going to say. A poem upon St. Monica was the work of his that I liked bets, but it was not so much admired as verses more concerned with the present.

The Prince of Conde came back to Paris for a few weeks, and my poor Cecile was greatly disappointed that her husband remained in garrison and did not come with him. 'But then,' as she said to console herself, 'every month made the children prettier, and she was trying to be a little more nice and agreeable.'

Two appointments were made for which I was less grateful than was my mother. My little son was made one of the King's gentlemen of the bedchamber, and Mademoiselle requested me to be one of her ladies-in-waiting. She was very good-natured, provided she thought herself obeyed, and she promised that my turn should always come at the same time as my son's, so that I might be at home with him. I was a little laughed at, and my former name of Gildippe was made to alternate with that of Cornelia; but French mothers have always been devoted to their sons, and there was some sympathy with me among the ladies.

I owned that my presence was required at home, for Gaspard generally came back a much naughtier boy than he went, and with a collection of bad words that I had to proscribe. Before the Queen-Regent, the little King and the Duke of Anjou were the best boys in the world, and as stately and well-mannered as become the first gentlemen of France; but when once out of her sight they were the most riotous and mischievous children in the world, since n.o.body durst restrain, far less punish them. They made attacks on the departments of the stewards and cooks, kicking and biting any one who tried to stop them, and devouring fruit and sweetmeats till their fine clothes were all bedaubed, and they themselves indisposed, and then their poor valets suffered for it. The first time this happened my poor Gaspard was so much shocked that he actually told the King that it was dishonourable to let another suffer for his fault.

'I would have you to know, Monsieur le Marquis,' said Louis XIV., drawing himself up, 'that the King of France is never in fault.'

However, I will say for His Majesty that it was the Duke of Anjou who told the Queen that the little Nidemerle had been disrespectful, and thus caused the poor child to be sent home, severely beaten, and with a reprimand to me for not bringing him up better.

I leave you to guess how furious I was, and how I raged about the house till I frightened my mother, Annora backing me up with all her might. We were almost ready to take Gaspard in our hands and escape at once to England. Even in its present sad state I should at least be able to bring up my boy without having him punished for honourable sentiments and brave speeches. Of course it was the Abbe on the one hand, and Eustace on the other, who moderated me, and tried to show me, as well as my son, that though the little Louis might be a naughty boy, the kingly dignity was to be respected in him.

'Thou wouldst not blame thy mother even if she were in fault,' argued Eustace.

'But my mother never is in fault,' said Gaspard, throwing himself into my arms.

'Ah, there spoke thy loyal heart, and a Frenchman should have the same spirit towards his King.'

'Yes,' broke out Annora; 'that is what you are all trying to force on your children, setting up an idol to fall down and crush yourselves! For shame, Walwyn, that you, an Englishman, should preach such a doctrine to the poor child!'

'Nay, you little Frondeuse, there is right and safety in making a child's tongue pay respect to dignities. He must separate the office from the man, or the child.'

All that could be done was that I should write a humble apology for my son. Otherwise they told me he would certainly be taken from so dangerous a person, and such a dread always made me submissive to the bondage in which we were all held.

Was it not strange that a Queen who would with her own hands minister to the suffered in the hospital should be so utterly ignorant of her duties in bringing up the heir of the great kingdom? Gaspard, who was much younger, could read well, write, and knew a little Latin and English, while the King and his brother were as untaught as peasants in the fields. They could make the sign of the cross and say their prayers, and their manners COULD be perfect, but that was all. They had no instruction, and their education was not begun. I have the less hesitation in recording this, as the King has evidently regretted it, and has given first his son, then his grandsons, the most admirable masters, besides having taken great pains with himself.

I suppose the Spanish dislike to instruction dominated the Queen, and made her slow to inflict on her sons what she so much disliked, and she was of course perfectly ignorant of their misbehaviour.

I am sorry to say that Gaspard soon ceased to be shocked. His aunt declared that he was becoming a loyal Frenchman who he showed off his Louvre manners by kicking the lackeys, pinching Armantine, and utterly refusing to learn his lessons for the Abbe, declaring that he was Monsieur le Marquis, and no one should interfere with him. Once when he came home a day or two before me, he made himself quite intolerable to the whole house, by insisting on making Armantine and her little brother defend a fortress on the top of the stairs, which he attacked with the hard b.a.l.l.s of silk and wool out of our work-baskets. Annora tried to stop him, but only was kicked for her pains. It was his HOTEL he said, and he was master there, and so he went on, though he had given poor Armantine a black eye, and broken two panes of gla.s.s, till his uncle came home, and came upon him with a stern 'Gaspard.' The boy began again with his being the Marquis and the master, but Eustace put him down at once.

'Thou mayst be Marquis, but thou art not master of this house, nor of thyself. Thou art not even a gentleman while thou actest thus. Go to thy room. We will see what thy mother says to this.'

Gaspard durst not struggle with his uncle, and went off silent and sulky; but Eustace had subdued him into penitence before I came home. And I can hardly tell how, but from that time the principle of loyalty to the sovereign, without imitation of the person, seemed to have been instilled into the child, so that I feel, and I am sure he will agree with me, that I owe my son, and he owes himself, to the influence of my dear brother.

Had it not been for leaving him, my service to Mademoiselle would have been altogether amusing. True, she was marvelously egotistical and conceited, but she was very good-natured, and liked to make those about her happy. Even to her stepmother and little sisters, whom she did not love, she was never unkind, though she lived entirely apart, and kept her own little court separately at the Louvre, and very odd things we did there.

Sometimes we were all dressed up as the G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses, she being always Minerva-unless as Diana she conducted us as her nymphs to the chase in the park at Versailles. Sometimes we were Mademoiselle Scudery's heroines, and we wrote descriptions of each other by these feigned names, some of which appear in her memoirs. And all the time she was hoping to marry the Emperor, and despising the suit of Queen Henrietta for our Prince of Wales, who, for his part, never laughed so much in secret as when he attended this wonderful and cla.s.sical Court.

CHAPTER XV. - A STRANGER THANKSGIVING DAY.

There was a curious scene in our salon the day after the news had come of the great victory of Lens. Clement Darpent had been brought in by my brother, who wished him to hear some English songs which my sister and I had been practicing. He had been trying to learn English, and perhaps understood it better than he could speak it, but he was somewhat perplexed by those two gallant lines- 'I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.'

Annora's eyes flashed with disappointed anger as she said, 'You enter not into the sentiment, Monsieur. I should have hoped that if any Frenchman could, it would be you!'

'For my part,' observed my mother, 'I am not surprised at the question not being appreciated by the gens de la robe.'

I saw Eustace look infinitely annoyed at this insult to his friend's profession, and to make it worse, Gaspard, who had come home that morning from the palace, exclaimed, having merely caught the word 'honour'- 'Yes, the gens de la robe hate our honour. That is why the King said, when news of our great victory came, 'Oh, how sorry the Parliament will be!'

'Did he?' exclaimed my mother. 'Is it true, my grandson?'

'True; yes indeed, Madame ma Grandmere,' replied Gaspard. 'And you should have seen how all the world applauded him.'

'I would not have applauded him,' said Eustace sadly. 'I would have tried to teach him that nothing can be of more sad omen for a king than to regard his Parliament as his enemy.'

'My son,' returned my mother, 'if you must utter such absurdities, let it not be before this child. Imagine the consequence of his repeating them!'