Books: A Modern Telemachus
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> A Modern Telemachus
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The Count had, however, just been appointed Ambassador to Sweden, and
was anxious to be joined by his family on the way thither.
The tidings had created great commotion. Madame de Varennes looked on
Sweden as an Ultima Thule of frost and snow, but knew that a lady's
presence was essential to the display required of an ambassador. She
strove, however, to have the children left with her; but her daughter
declared that she could not part with Estelle, who was already a
companion and friend, and that Ulysse must be with his father, who
longed for his eldest son, so that only little Jacques, a delicate
child, was to be left to console his grandmother.
CHAPTER II--A JACOBITE WAIF
'Sac now he's o'er the floods sae gray,
And Lord Maxwell has ta'en his good-night.'
LORD MAXWELL'S Good-night.
Madame La Comtesse de Bourke was by no means a helpless fine lady. She
had several times accompanied her husband on his expeditions, and had
only not gone with him to Madrid because he did not expect to be long
absent, and she sorely rued the separation.
She was very busy in her own room, superintending the packing, and
assisting in it, when her own clever fingers were more effective than
those of her maids. She was in her robe de chambre, a dark blue
wrapper, embroidered with white, and put on more neatly than was always
the case with French ladies in deshabille. The hoop, long stiff stays,
rich brocade robe, and fabric of powdered hair were equally unsuitable
to ease or exertion, and consequently were seldom assumed till late in
the day, when the toilette was often made in public.
So Madame de Bourke's hair was simply rolled out of her way, and she
appeared in her true colours, as a little brisk, bonny woman, with no
actual beauty, but very expressive light gray eyes, furnished with
intensely long black lashes, and a sweet, mobile, lively countenance.
Estelle was trying to amuse little Jacques, and prevent him from
trotting between the boxes, putting all sorts of undesirable goods into
them; and Ulysse had collected his toys, and was pleading earnestly
that a headless wooden horse and a kite, twice as tall as himself, of
Lanty's manufacture, might go with them.
He was told that another cerf-volant should be made for him at the
journey's end; but was only partially consoled, and his mother was fain
to compound for a box of woolly lambs. Estelle winked away a tear when
her doll was rejected, a wooden, highly painted lady, bedizened in
brocade, and so dear to her soul that it was hard to be told that she
was too old for such toys, and that the Swedes would be shocked to see
the Ambassador's daughter embracing a doll. She had, however, to
preserve her character of a reasonable child, and tried to derive
consolation from the permission to bestow 'Mademoiselle' upon the
concierge's little sick daughter, who would be sure to cherish her
duly.
'But, oh mamma, I pray you to let me take my book!'
'Assuredly, my child. Let us see! What? Telemaque? Not "Prince
Percinet and Princess Gracieuse?"'
'I am tired of them, mamma.'
'Nor Madame d'Aulnoy's Fairy Tales?'
'Oh no, thank you, mamma; I love nothing so well as Telemaque.'
'Thou art a droll child!' said her mother.
'Ah, but we are going to be like Telemaque.'
'Heaven forfend!' said the poor lady.
'Yes, dear mamma, I am glad you are going with us instead of staying at
home to weave and unweave webs. If Penelope had been like you, she
would have gone!'
'Take care, is not Jacques acting Penelope?' said Madame de Bourke,
unable to help smiling at her little daughter's glib mythology, while
going to the rescue of the embroidery silks, in which her youngest son
was entangling himself.
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a message was brought
that the Countess of Nithsdale begged the favour of a few minutes'
conversation in private with Madame. The Scottish title fared better
on the lips of La Jeunesse than it would have done on those of his
predecessor. There was considerable intimacy among all the Jacobite
exiles in and about Paris; and Winifred, Countess of Nithsdale, though
living a very quiet and secluded life, was held in high estimation
among all who recollected the act of wifely heroism by which she had
rescued her husband from the block.
Madame de Bourke bade the maids carry off the little Jacques, and
Ulysse followed; but Estelle, who had often listened with rapt
attention to the story of the escape, and longed to feast her eyes on
the heroine, remained in her corner, usefully employed in disentangling
the embroilment of silks, and with the illustrations to her beloved
Telemaque as a resource in case the conversation should be tedious.
Children who have hundreds of picture-books to rustle through can
little guess how their predecessors could once dream over one.
Estelle made her low reverence unnoticed, and watched with eager eyes
as the slight figure entered, clad in the stately costume that was
regarded as proper respect to her hostess; but the long loose sacque of
blue silk was faded, the feuille-morte velvet petticoat frayed, the
lace on the neck and sleeves washed and mended; there were no jewels on
the sleeves, though the long gloves fitted exquisitely, no gems in the
buckles of the high-heeled shoes, and the only ornament in the
carefully rolled and powdered hair, a white rose. Her face was thin
and worn, with pleasant brown eyes. Estelle could not think her as
beautiful as Calypso inconsolable for Ulysses, or Antiope receiving the
boar's a head. 'I know she is better than either,' thought the little
maid; 'but I wish she was more like Minerva.'
The Countesses met with the lowest of curtseys, and apologies on the
one side for intrusion, on the other for deshabille, so they concluded
with an embrace really affectionate, though consideration for powder
made it necessarily somewhat theatrical in appearance.
These were the stiffest of days, just before formality had become
unbearable, and the reaction of simplicity had set in; and Estelle had
undone two desperate knots in the green and yellow silks before the
preliminary compliments were over, and Lady Nithsdale arrived at the
point.
'Madame is about to rejoin Monsieur son Mari.'
'I am about to have that happiness.'
'That is the reason I have been bold enough to derange her.'
'Do not mention it. It is always a delight to see Madame la Comtesse'
'Ah! what will Madame say when she hears that it is to ask a great
favour of her.'
'Madame may reckon on me for whatever she would command.'
'If you can grant it--oh! Madame,' cried the Scottish Countess,
beginning to drop her formality in her eagerness, 'we shall be for ever
beholden to you, and you will make a wounded heart to sing, besides
perhaps saving a noble young spirit.'
'Madame makes me impatient to hear what she would have of me,' said the
French Countess, becoming a little on her guard, as the wife of a
diplomatist, recollecting, too, that peace with George I. might mean
war with the Jacobites.
'I know not whether a young kinsman of my Lord's has ever been
presented to Madame. His name is Arthur Maxwell Hope; but we call him
usually by his Christian name.'
'A tall, dark, handsome youth, almost like a Spaniard, or a picture by
Vandyke? It seems to me that I have seen him with M. le Comte.'
(Madame de Bourke could not venture on such a word as Nithsdale.)
'Madame is right. The mother of the boy is a Maxwell, a cousin not far
removed from my Lord, but he could not hinder her from being given in
marriage as second wife to Sir David Hope, already an old man. He was
good to her, but when he died, the sons by the first wife were harsh
and unkind to her and to her son, of whom they had always been jealous.
The eldest was a creature of my Lord Stair, and altogether a Whig;
indeed, he now holds an office at the Court of the Elector of Hanover,
and has been created one of HIS peers. (The scorn with which the
gentle Winifred uttered those words was worth seeing, and the other
noble lady gave a little derisive laugh.) 'These half-brothers
declared that Lady Hope was nurturing the young Arthur in Toryism and
disaffection, and they made it a plea for separating him from her, and
sending him to an old minister, who kept a school, and who was very
severe and even cruel to the poor boy. But I am wearying Madame.'
'Oh no, I listen with the deepest interest.'
'Finally, when the King was expected in Scotland, and men's minds were
full of anger and bitterness, as well as hope and spirit, the boy--he
was then only fourteen years of age--boasted of his grandfather's
having fought at Killiecrankie, and used language which the tutor
pronounced treasonable. He was punished and confined to his room; but
in the night he made his escape and joined the royal army. My husband
was grieved to see him, told him he had no right to political opinions,
and tried to send him home in time to make his peace before all was
lost. Alas! no. The little fellow did, indeed, pass out safely from
Preston, but only to join my Lord Mar. He was among the gentlemen who
embarked at Banff; and when my Lord, by Heaven's mercy, had escaped
from the Tower of London, and we arrived at Paris, almost the first
person we saw was little Arthur, whom we thought to have been safe at
home. We have kept him with us, and I contrived to let his mother know
that he is living, for she had mourned him as among the slain.'
'Poor mother.'
'You may well pity her, Madame. She writes to me that if Arthur had
returned at once from Preston, as my Lord advised, all would have been
passed over as a schoolboy frolic; and, indeed, he has never been
attainted; but there is nothing that his eldest brother, Lord Burnside
as they call him, dreads so much as that it should be known that one of
his family was engaged in the campaign, or that he is keeping such ill
company as we are. Therefore, at her request, we have never called him
Hope, but let him go by our name of Maxwell, which is his by baptism;
and now she tells me that if he could make his way to Scotland, not as
if coming from Paris or Bar-le-Duc, but merely as if travelling on the
Continent, his brother would consent to his return.'
'Would she be willing that he should live under the usurper?'
'Madame, to tell you the truth,' said Lady Nithsdale, 'the Lady Hope is
not one to heed the question of usurpers, so long as her son is safe
and a good lad. Nay, for my part, we all lived peaceably and happily
enough under Queen Anne; and by all I hear, so they still do at home
under the Elector of Hanover.'
'The Regent has acknowledged him,' put in the French lady.
'Well,' said the poor exile, 'I know my Lord felt that it was his duty
to obey the summons of his lawful sovereign, and that, as he said when
he took up arms, one can only do one's duty and take the consequences;
but oh! when I look at the misery and desolation that has come of it,
when I think of the wives not so happy as I am, when I see my dear Lord
wearing out his life in banishment, and think of our dear home and our
poor people, I am tempted to wonder whether it were indeed a duty, or
whether there were any right to call on brave men without a more
steadfast purpose not to abandon them!'
'It would have been very different if the Duke of Berwick had led the
way,' observed Madame de Bourke. 'Then my husband would have gone,
but, being French subjects, honour stayed both him and the Duke as long
as the Regent made no move.' The good lady, of course, thought that
the Marshal Duke and her own Count must secure victory; but Lady
Nithsdale was intent on her own branch of the subject, and did not
pursue 'what might have been.'
'After all,' she said, 'poor Arthur, at fourteen, could have no true
political convictions. He merely fled because he was harshly treated,
heard his grandfather branded as a traitor, and had an enthusiasm for
my husband, who had been kind to him. It was a mere boy's escapade,
and if he had returned home when my Lord bade him, it would only have
been remembered as such. He knows it now, and I frankly tell you,
Madame, that what he has seen of our exiled court has not increased his
ardour in the cause.'
'Alas, no,' said Madame de Bourke. 'If the Chevalier de St. George
were other than he is, it would be easier to act in his behalf.'
'And you agree with me, Madame,' continued the visitor, 'that nothing
can be worse or more hopeless for a youth than the life to which we are
constrained here, with our whole shadow of hope in intrigue; and for
our men, no occupation worthy of their sex. We women are not so ill
off, with our children and domestic affairs; but it breaks my heart to
see brave gentlemen's lives thus wasted. We have done our best for
Arthur. He has studied with one of our good clergy, and my Lord
himself has taught him to fence; but we cannot treat him any longer as
a boy, and I know not what is to be his future, unless we can return
him to his own country.'
'Our army,' suggested Madame de Bourke.
'Ah! but he is Protestant.'
'A heretic!' exclaimed the lady, drawing herself up. 'But--'
'Oh, do not refuse me on that account. He is a good lad, and has lived
enough among Catholics to keep his opinions in the background. But you
understand that it is another reason for wishing to convey him, if not
to Scotland, to some land like Sweden or Prussia, where his faith would
not be a bar to his promotion.'
'What is it you would have me do?' said Madame de Bourke, more coldly.
'If Madame would permit him to be included in her passport, as about to
join the Ambassador's suite, and thus conduct him to Sweden; Lady Hope
would find means to communicate with him from thence, the poor young
man would be saved from a ruined career, and the heart of the widow and
mother would bless you for ever.
Madame de Bourke was touched, but she was a prudent woman, and paused
to ask whether the youth had shown any tendency to run into temptation,
from which Lady Nithsdale wished to remove him.
'Oh no,' she answered; 'he was a perfectly good docile lad, though
high-spirited, submissive to the Earl, and a kind playfellow to her
little girls; it was his very excellence that made it so unfortunate
that he should thus be stranded in early youth in consequence of one
boyish folly.'
The Countess began to yield. She thought he might go as secretary to
her Lord, and she owned that if he was a brave young man, he would be
an addition to her little escort, which only numbered two men besides
her brother-in-law, the Abbe, who was of almost as little account as
his young nephew. 'But I should warn you, Madame,' added Madame de
Bourke, 'that it may be a very dangerous journey. I own to you, though
I would not tell my poor mother, that my heart fails me when I think of
it, and were it not for the express commands of their father, I would
not risk my poor children on it.'
'I do not think you will find Sweden otherwise than a cheerful and
pleasant abode,' said Lady Nithsdale.
'Ah! if we were only in Sweden, or with my husband, all would be well!'
replied the other lady; 'but we have to pass through the mountains, and
the Catalans are always ill-affected to us French.'
'Nay; but you are a party of women, and belong to an ambassador!' was
the answer.
'What do those robbers care for that? We are all the better prey for
them! I have heard histories of Spanish cruelty and lawlessness that
would make you shudder! You cannot guess at the dreadful presentiments
that have haunted me ever since I had my husband's letter.'
'There is danger everywhere, dear friend,' said Lady Nithsdale kindly;
'but God finds a way for us through all.'
'Ah! you have experienced it,' said Madame de Bourke. 'Let us proceed
to the affairs. I only thought I should tell you the truth.'
Lady Nithsdale answered for the courage of her protege, and it was
further determined that he should be presented to her that evening by
the Earl, at the farewell reception which Madame de Varennes was to
hold on her daughter's behalf, when it could be determined in what
capacity he should be named in the passport.
Estelle, who had been listening with all her ears, and trying to find a
character in Fenelon's romance to be represented by Arthur Hope, now
further heard it explained that the party were to go southward to meet
her father at one of the Mediterranean ports, as the English Government
were so suspicious of Jacobites that he did not venture on taking the
direct route by sea, but meant to travel through Germany. Madame de
Bourke expected to meet her brother at Avignon, and to obtain his
advice as to her further route.
Estelle heard this with great satisfaction. 'We shall go to the
Mediterranean Sea and be in danger,' she said to herself, unfolding the
map at the beginning of her Telemaque; 'that is quite right! Perhaps
we shall see Calypso's island.'
She begged hard to be allowed to sit up that evening to see the hero of
the escape from the Tower of London, as well as the travelling
companion destined for her, and she prevailed, for mamma pronounced
that she had been very sage and reasonable all day, and the grandmamma,
who was so soon to part with her, could refuse her nothing. So she was
full dressed, with hair curled, and permitted to stand by the tall
high-backed chair where the old lady sat to receive her visitors.
The Marquise de Varennes was a small withered woman, with keen eyes,
and a sort of sparkle of manner, and power of setting people at ease,
that made her the more charming the older she grew. An experienced eye
could detect that she retained the costume of the prime of Louis XIV.,
when headdresses were less high than that which her daughter was
obliged to wear. For the two last mortal hours of that busy day had
poor Madame de Bourke been compelled to sit under the hands of the
hairdresser, who was building up, with paste and powder and the like,
an original conception of his, namely, a northern landscape, with snow-
laden trees, drifts of snow, diamond icicles, and even a cottage beside
an ice-bound stream. She could ill spare the time, and longed to be
excused; but the artist had begged so hard to be allowed to carry out
his brilliant and unique idea, this last time of attending on Madame
l'Ambassadrice, that there was no resisting him, and perhaps her
strange forebodings made her less willing to inflict a disappointment
on the poor man. It would have been strange to contrast the fabric of
vanity building up outside her head, with the melancholy bodings within
it, as she sat motionless under the hairdresser's fingers; but at the
end she roused herself to smile gratefully, and give the admiration
that was felt to be due to the monstrosity that crowned her.
Forbearance and Christian patience may be exercised even on a toilette
a la Louis XV. Long practice enabled her to walk about, seat herself,
rise and curtsey without detriment to the edifice, or bestowing the
powder either on her neighbours or on the richly-flowered white brocade
she wore; while she received the compliments, one after another, of
ladies in even more gorgeous array, and gentlemen in velvet coats,
adorned with gold lace, cravats of exquisite fabric, and diamond shoe
buckles.
Phelim Burke, otherwise l'Abbe de St. Eudoce, stood near her. He was a
thin, yellow, and freckled youth, with sandy hair and typical Irish
features, but without their drollery, and his face was what might have
been expected in a half-starved, half-clad gossoon in a cabin, rather
than surmounting a silken soutane in a Parisian salon; but he had a
pleasant smile when kindly addressed by his friends.
Presently Lady Nithsdale drew near, accompanied by a tall, grave
gentleman, and bringing with them a still taller youth, with the
stiffest of backs and the longest of legs, who, when presented, made a
bow apparently from the end of his spine, like Estelle's lamented
Dutch-jointed doll when made to sit down. Moreover, he was more
shabbily dressed than any other gentleman present, with a general
outgrown look about his coat, and darns in his silk stockings; and
though they were made by the hand of a Countess, that did not add to
their elegance. And as he stood as stiff as a ramrod or as a sentinel,
Estelle's good breeding was all called into play, and her mother's
heart quailed as she said to herself, 'A great raw Scot! What can be
done with him?
Lord Nithsdale spoke for him, thinking he had better go as secretary,
and showing some handwriting of good quality. 'Did he know any
languages?' 'French, English, Latin, and some Greek.' 'And, Madame,'
added Lord Nithsdale, 'not only is his French much better than mine, as
you would hear if the boy durst open his mouth, but our broad Scotch is
so like Swedish that he will almost be an interpreter there.'
However hopeless Madame de Bourke felt, she smiled and professed
herself rejoiced to hear it, and it was further decided that Arthur
Maxwell Hope, aged eighteen, Scot by birth, should be mentioned among
those of the Ambassador's household for whom she demanded passports.
Her position rendered this no matter of difficulty, and it was wiser to
give the full truth to the home authorities; but as it was desirable
that it should not be reported to the English Government that Lord
Burnside's brother was in the suite of the Jacobite Comte de Bourke, he
was only to be known to the public by his first name, which was not
much harder to French lips than Maxwell or Hope.
'Tall and black and awkward,' said Estelle, describing him to her
brother. 'I shall not like him--I shall call him Phalante instead of
Arthur.'
'Arthur,' said Ulysse; 'King Arthur was turned into a crow!'
'Well, this Arthur is like a crow--a great black skinny crow with torn
feathers.'
CHAPTER III--ON THE RHONE
'Fairer scenes the opening eye
Of the day can scarce descry,
Fairer sight he looks not on
Than the pleasant banks of Rhone.'
ARCHBISHOP TRENCH.
Long legs may be in the abstract an advantage, but scarcely so in what
was called in France une grande Berline. This was the favourite
travelling carriage of the eighteenth century, and consisted of a close
carriage or coach proper, with arrangements on the top for luggage, and
behind it another seat open, but provided with a large leathern hood,
and in front another place for the coachman and his companions. Each
seat was wide enough to hold three persons, and thus within sat Madame
de Bourke, her brother-in-law, the two children, Arthur Hope, and
Mademoiselle Julienne, an elderly woman of the artisan class, femme de
chambre to the Countess. Victorine, who was attendant on the children,
would travel under the hood with two more maids; and the front seat
would be occupied by the coachman, Laurence Callaghan--otherwise La
Jeunesse, and Maitre Hebert, the maitre d'hotel. Fain would Arthur
have shared their elevation, so far as ease and comfort of mind and
body went, and the Countess's wishes may have gone the same way; but
besides that it would have been an insult to class him with the
servants, the horses of the home establishment, driven by their own
coachman, took the party the first stage out of Paris; and though
afterwards the post-horses or mules, six in number, would be ridden by
their own postilions, there was such an amount of luggage as to leave
little or no space for a third person outside.
It had been a perfect sight to see the carriage packed; when Arthur,
convoyed by Lord Nithsdale, arrived in the courtyard of the Hotel de
Varennes. Madame de Bourke was taking with her all the paraphernalia
of an ambassador--a service of plate, in a huge chest stowed under the
seat, a portrait of Philip V., in a gold frame set with diamonds, being
included among her jewellery--and Lord Nithsdale, standing by, could
not but drily remark, 'Yonder is more than we brought with us, Arthur.'
The two walked up and down the court together, unwilling to intrude on
the parting which, as they well knew, would be made in floods of tears.
Sad enough indeed it was, for Madame de Varennes was advanced in years,
and her daughter had not only to part with her, but with the baby
Jacques, for an unknown space of time; but the self-command and
restraint of grief for the sake of each other was absolutely unknown.
It was a point of honour and sentiment to weep as much as possible, and
it would have been regarded as frigid and unnatural not to go on crying
too much to eat or speak for a whole day beforehand, and at least two
afterwards.
So when the travellers descended the steps to take their seats, each
face was enveloped in a handkerchief, and there were passionate
embraces, literal pressings to the breast, and violent sobs, as each
victim, one after the other, ascended the carriage steps and fell back
on the seat; while in the background, Honor Callaghan was uttering
Irish wails over the Abbe and Laurence, and the lamentable sound set
the little lap-dog and the big watch-dog howling in chorus. Arthur
Hope, probably as miserable as any of them in parting with his friend
and hero, was only standing like a stake, and an embarrassed stake (if
that be possible), and Lord Nithsdale, though anxious for him, heartily
pitying all, was nevertheless haunted by a queer recollection of Lance
and his dog, and thinking that French dogs were not devoid of sympathy,
and that the part of Crab was left for Arthur.
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