Books: A Modern Telemachus
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> A Modern Telemachus
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However, the last embrace was given, and the ladies were all packed in,
while the Abbe with his breast heaving with sobs, his big hat in one
hand, and a huge silk pocket-handkerchief in the other, did not forget
his manners, but waved to Arthur to ascend the steps first.
'Secretary, not guest. You must remember that another time,' said Lord
Nithsdale. 'God bless you, my dear lad, and bring you safe back to
bonny Scotland, a true and leal heart.'
Arthur wrung his friend's hand once more, and disappeared into the
vehicle; Nurse Honor made one more rush, and uttered another 'Ohone'
over Abbe Phelim, who followed into the carriage; the door was shut;
there was a last wail over 'Lanty, the sunbeam of me heart,' as he
climbed to the box seat; the harness jingled; coachman and postilions
cracked their whips, the impatient horses dashed out at the porte
cochere; and Arthur, after endeavouring to dispose of his legs, looked
about him, and saw, opposite to him, Madame de Bourke lying back in the
corner in a transport of grief, one arm round her daughter, and her
little son lying across her lap, both sobbing and crying; and on one
side of him the Abbe, sunk in his corner, his yellow silk handkerchief
over his face; on the other, Mademoiselle Julienne, who was crying too,
but with more moderation, perhaps more out of propriety or from
infection than from actual grief: at any rate she had more of her
senses about her than any one else, and managed to dispose of the
various loose articles that had been thrown after the travellers, in
pockets and under cushions. Arthur would have assisted, but only
succeeded in treading on various toes and eliciting some small shrieks,
which disconcerted him all the more, and made Mademoiselle Julienne
look daggers at him, as she relieved her lady of little Ulysse, lifting
him to her own knee, where, as he was absolutely exhausted with crying,
he fell asleep.
Arthur hoped the others would do the same, and perhaps there was more
dozing than they would have confessed; but whenever there was a
movement, and some familiar object in the streets of Paris struck the
eye of Madame, the Abbe, or Estelle, there was a little cry, and they
went off on a fresh score.
'Poor wretched weak creatures!' he said to himself, as he thought the
traditions of Scottish heroic women in whose heroism he had gloated.
And yet he was wrong: Madame de Bourke was capable of as much resolute
self-devotion as any of the ladies on the other side of the Channel,
but tears were a tribute required by the times. So she gave way to
them--just as no doubt the women of former days saw nothing absurd in
bottling them.
Arthur's position among all these weeping figures was extremely
awkward, all the more so that he carried his sword upright between his
legs, not daring to disturb the lachrymose company enough to dispose of
it in the sword case appropriated to weapons. He longed to take out
the little pocket Virgil, which Lord Nithsdale had given him, so as to
have some occupation for his eyes, but he durst not, lest he should be
thought rude, till, at a halt at a cabaret to water the horses, the
striking of a clock reminded the Abbe that it was the time for reading
the Hours, and when the breviary was taken out, Arthur thought his book
might follow it.
By and by there was a halt at Corbeil, where was the nunnery of Alice
Bourke, of whom her brother and sister-in-law were to take leave.
They, with the children, were set down there, while Arthur went on with
the carriage and servants to the inn to dine.
It was the first visit of Ulysse to the convent, and he was much amazed
at peeping at his aunt's hooded face through a grating. However, the
family were admitted to dine in the refectory; but poor Madame de
Bourke was fit for nothing but to lie on a bed, attended affectionately
by her sister-in-law, Soeur Ste. Madeleine.
'O sister, sister,' was her cry, 'I must say it to you--I would not to
my poor mother--that I have the most horrible presentiments I shall
never see her again, nor my poor child. No, nor my husband; I knew it
when he took leave of me for that terrible Spain.'
'Yet you see he is safe, and you will be with him, sister,' returned
the nun.
'Ah! that I knew I should! But think of those fearful Pyrenees, and
the bandits that infest them--and all the valuables we carry with us!'
'Surely I heard that Marshal Berwick had offered you an escort.'
'That will only attract the attention of the brigands and bring them in
greater force. O sister, sister, my heart sinks at the thought of my
poor children in the hands of those savages! I dream of them every
night.'
'The suite of an ambassador is sacred.'
'Ah! but what do they care for that, the robbers? I know destruction
lies that way!'
'Nay, sister, this is not like you. You always were brave, and trusted
heaven, when you had to follow Ulick.'
'Alas! never had I this sinking of heart, which tells me I shall be
torn from my poor children and never rejoin him.'
Sister Ste. Madeleine caressed and prayed with the poor lady, and did
her utmost to reassure and comfort her, promising a neuvaine for her
safe journey and meeting with her husband.
'For the children,' said the poor Countess. 'I know I never shall see
him more.'
However, the cheerfulness of the bright Irish-woman had done her some
good, and she was better by the time she rose to pursue her journey.
Estelle and Ulysse had been much petted by the nuns, and when all met
again, to the great relief of Arthur, he found continuous weeping was
not de rigueur. When they got in again, he was able to get rid of his
sword, and only trod on two pair of toes, and got his legs twice
tumbled over.
Moreover, Madame de Bourke had recovered the faculty of making pretty
speeches, and when the weapon was put into the sword case, she observed
with a sad little smile, 'Ah, Monsieur! we look to you as our
defender!'
'And me too!' cried little Ulysse, making a violent demonstration with
his tiny blade, and so nearly poking out his uncle's eye that the
article was relegated to the same hiding-place as 'Monsieur Arture's,'
and the boy was assured that this was a proof of his manliness.
He had quite recovered his spirits, and as his mother and sister were
still exhausted with weeping, he was not easy to manage, till Arthur
took heart of grace, and offering him a perch on his knee, let him look
out at the window, explaining the objects on the way, which were all
quite new to the little Parisian boy. Fortunately he spoke French
well, with scarcely any foreign accent, and his answers to the little
fellow's eager questions interspersed with observations on 'What they
do in my country,' not only kept Ulysse occupied, but gained Estelle's
attention, though she was too weary and languid, and perhaps, child as
she was, too much bound by the requirements of sympathy to manifest her
interest, otherwise than by moving near enough to listen.
That evening the party reached the banks of one of the canals which
connected the rivers of France, and which was to convey them to the
Loire and thence to the Rhone, in a huge flat-bottomed barge, called a
coche d'eau, a sort of ark, with cabins, where travellers could be
fairly comfortable, space where the berlin could be stowed away in the
rear, and a deck with an awning where the passengers could disport
themselves. From the days of Sully to those of the Revolution, this
was by far the most convenient and secure mode of transport, especially
in the south of France. It was very convenient to the Bourke party;
who were soon established on the deck. The lady's dress was better
adapted to travelling than the full costume of Paris. It was what she
called en Amazone--namely, a clothe riding-habit faced with blue, with
a short skirt, with open coat and waistcoat, like a man's, hair
unpowdered and tied behind, and a large shady feathered hat. Estelle
wore a miniature of the same, and rejoiced in her freedom from the
whalebone stiffness of her Paris life, skipping about the deck with her
brother, like fairies, Lanty said, or, as she preferred to make it,
'like a nymph.'
The water coach moved only by day, and was already arrived before the
land one brought the weary party to the meeting-place--a picturesque
water-side inn with a high roof, and a trellised passage down to the
landing-place, covered by a vine, hung with clusters of ripe grapes.
Here the travellers supped on omelettes and vin ordinaire, and went off
to bed--Madame and her child in one bed, with the maids on the floor,
and in another room the Abbe and secretary, each in a grabat, the two
men-servants in like manner, on the floor. Such was the privacy of the
eighteenth century, and Arthur, used to waiting on himself, looked on
with wonder to see the Abbe like a baby in the hands of his faithful
foster-brother, who talked away in a queer mixture of Irish-English and
French all the time until they knelt down and said their prayers
together in Latin, to which Arthur diligently closed his Protestant
ears.
Early the next morning the family embarked, the carriage having been
already put on board; and the journey became very agreeable as they
glided slowly, almost dreamily along, borne chiefly by the current,
although a couple of horses towed the barge by a rope on the bank, in
case of need, in places where the water was more sluggish, but nothing
more was wanting in the descent towards the Mediterranean.
The accommodation was not of a high order, but whenever there was a
halt near a good inn, Madame de Bourke and the children landed for the
night. And in the fine days of early autumn the deck was delightful,
and to dine there on the provisions brought on board was a perpetual
feast to Estelle and Ulysse.
The weather was beautiful, and there was a constant panorama of fair
sights and scenes. Harvest first, a perfectly new spectacle to the
children and then, as they went farther south, the vintage. The beauty
was great as they glided along the pleasant banks of Rhone.
Tiers of vines on the hillsides were mostly cut and trimmed like
currant bushes, and disappointed Arthur, who had expected festoons on
trellises. But this was the special time for beauty. The whole
population, in picturesque costumes, were filling huge baskets with the
clusters, and snatches of their merry songs came pealing down to the
coche d'eau, as it quietly crept along. Towards evening groups were
seen with piled baskets on their heads, or borne between them, youths
and maidens crowned with vines, half-naked children dancing like little
Bacchanalians, which awoke classical recollections in Arthur and
delighted the children.
Poor Madame de Bourke was still much depressed, and would sit dreaming
half the day, except when roused by some need of her children, some
question, or some appeal for her admiration. Otherwise, the lovely
heights, surmounted with tall towers, extinguisher-capped, of castle,
convent, or church, the clear reaches of river, the beautiful turns,
the little villages and towns gleaming white among the trees, seemed to
pass unseen before her eyes, and she might be seen to shudder when the
children pressed her to say how many days it would be before they saw
their father.
An observer with a mind at ease might have been much entertained with
the airs and graces that the two maids, Rosette and Babette, lavished
upon Laurence, their only squire; for Maitre Hebert was far too distant
and elderly a person for their little coquetries. Rosette dealt in
little terrors, and, if he was at hand, durst not step across a plank
without his hand, was sure she heard wolves howling in the woods, and
that every peasant was 'ce barbare;' while Babette, who in conjunction
with Maitre Hebert acted cook in case of need, plied him with dainty
morsels, which he was only too apt to bestow on the beggars, or the
lean and hungry lad who attended on the horses. Victorine, on the
other hand, by far the prettiest and most sprightly of the three,
affected the most supreme indifference to him and his attentions, and
hardly deigned to give him a civil word, or to accept the cornflowers
and late roses he brought her from time to time. 'Mere weeds,' she
said. And the grapes and Queen Claude plums he brought her were always
sour. Yet a something deep blue might often be seen peeping above her
trim little apron.
Not that Lanty had much time to disport himself in this fashion, for
the Abbe was his care, and was perfectly happy with a rod of his
arranging, with which to fish over the side. Little Ulysse was of
course fired with the same emulation, and dangled his line for an hour
together. Estelle would have liked to do the same, but her mother and
Mademoiselle Julienne considered the sport not convenable for a
demoiselle. Arthur was once or twice induced to try the Abbe's rod,
but he found it as mere a toy as that of the boy; and the mere action
of throwing it made his heart so sick with the contrast with the
'paidling in the burns' of his childhood, that he had no inclination to
continue the attempt, either in the slow canal or the broadening river.
He was still very shy with the Countess, who was not in spirits to set
him at ease; and the Abbe puzzled him, as is often the case when
inexperienced strangers encounter unacknowledged deficiency. The
perpetual coaxing chatter, and undisguised familiarity of La Jeunesse
with the young ecclesiastic did not seem to the somewhat haughty cast
of his young Scotch mind quite becoming, and he held aloof; but with
the two children he was quite at ease, and was in truth their great
resource.
He made Ulysse's fishing-rod, baited it, and held the boy when he used
it--nay, he once even captured a tiny fish with it, to the ecstatic
pity of both children. He played quiet games with them, and told them
stories--conversed on Telemaque with Estelle, or read to her from his
one book, which was Robinson Crusoe--a little black copy in pale print,
with the margins almost thumbed away, which he had carried in his
pocket when he ran away from school, and nearly knew by heart.
Estelle was deeply interested in it, and varied in opinion whether she
should prefer Calypso's island or Crusoe's, which she took for as much
matter of fact as did, a century later, Madame Talleyrand, when, out of
civility to Mr. Robinson, she inquired after 'ce bon Vendredi.'
She inclined to think she should prefer Friday to the nymphs.
'A whole quantity of troublesome womenfolk to fash one,' said Arthur,
who had not arrived at the age of gallantry.
'You would never stay there!' said Estelle; 'you would push us over the
rock like Mentor. I think you are our Mentor, for I am sure you tell
us a great deal, and you don't scold.'
'Mentor was a cross old man,' said Ulysse.
To which Estelle replied that he was a goddess; and Arthur very
decidedly disclaimed either character, especially the pushing over
rocks. And thus they glided on, spending a night in the great, busy,
bewildering city of Lyon, already the centre of silk industry; but more
interesting to the travellers as the shrine of the martyrdoms. All
went to pray at the Cathedral except Arthur. The time was not come for
heeding church architecture or primitive history; and he only wandered
about the narrow crooked streets, gazing at the toy piles of market
produce, and looking at the stalls of merchandise, but as one unable to
purchase. His mother had indeed contrived to send him twenty guineas,
but he knew that he must husband them well in case of emergencies, and
Lady Nithsdale had sewn them all up, except one, in a belt which he
wore under his clothes.
He had arrived at the front of the Cathedral when the party came out.
Madame de Bourke had been weeping, but looked more peaceful than he had
yet seen her, and Estelle was much excited. She had bought a little
book, which she insisted on her Mentor's reading with her, though his
Protestant feelings recoiled.
'Ah!' said Estelle, 'but you are not Christian.'
'Yes, truly, Mademoiselle.'
'And these died for the Christian faith. Do you know mamma said it
comforted her to pray there; for she was sure that whatever happened,
the good God can make us strong, as He made the young girl who sat in
the red-hot chair. We saw her picture, and it was dreadful. Do read
about her, Monsieur Arture.'
They read, and Arthur had candour enough to perceive that this was the
simple primitive narrative of the death of martyrs struggling for
Christian truth, long ere the days of superstition and division.
Estelle's face lighted with enthusiasm.
'Is it not noble to be a martyr?' she asked.
'Oh!' cried Ulysse; 'to sit in a red-hot chair! It would be worse than
to be thrown off a rock! But there are no martyrs in these days,
sister?' he added, pressing up to Arthur as if for protection.
'There are those who die for the right,' said Arthur, thinking of Lord
Derwentwater, who in Jacobite eyes was a martyr.
'And the good God makes them strong,' said Estelle, in a low voice.
'Mamma told me no one could tell how soon we might be tried, and that I
was to pray that He would make us as brave as St. Blandina! What do
you think could harm us, Monsieur, when we are going to my dear papa?'
It was Lanty who answered, from behind the Abbe, on whose angling
endeavours he was attending. 'Arrah then, nothing at all,
Mademoiselle. Nothing in the four corners of the world shall hurt one
curl of your blessed little head, while Lanty Callaghan is to the
fore.'
'Ah! but you are not God, Lanty,' said Estelle gravely; 'you cannot
keep things from happening.'
'The Powers forbid that I should spake such blasphemy!' said Lanty,
taking off his hat. ''Twas not that I meant, but only that poor Lanty
would die ten thousand deaths--worse than them as was thrown to the
beasts--before one of them should harm the tip of that little finger of
yours!'
Perhaps the same vow was in Arthur's heart, though not spoken in such
strong terms.
Thus they drifted on till the old city of Avignon rose on the eyes of
the travellers, a dark pile of buildings where the massive houses,
built round courts, with few external windows, recalled that these had
once been the palaces of cardinals accustomed to the Italian city
feuds, which made every house become a fortress.
On the wharf stood a gentleman in a resplendent uniform of blue and
gold, whom the children hailed with cries of joy and outstretched arms,
as their uncle. The Marquis de Varennes was soon on board, embracing
his sister and her children, and conducting them to one of the great
palaces, where he had rooms, being then in garrison. Arthur followed,
at a sign from the lady, who presented him to her brother as 'Monsieur
Arture'--a young Scottish gentleman who will do my husband the favour
of acting as his secretary.
She used the word gentilhomme, which conveyed the sense of nobility of
blood, and the Marquis acknowledged the introduction with one of those
graceful bows that Arthur hated, because they made him doubly feel the
stiffness of his own limitation. He was glad to linger with Lanty, who
was looking in wonder at the grim buildings.
'And did the holy Father live here?' said he. 'Faith, and 'twas a
quare taste he must have had; I wonder now if there would be vartue in
a bit of a stone from his palace. It would mightily please my old
mother if there were.'
'I thought it was the wrong popes that lived here,' suggested Arthur.
Lanty looked at him a moment as if in doubt whether to accept a heretic
suggestion, but the education received through the Abbe came to mind,
and he exclaimed -
'May be you are in the right of it, sir; and I'd best let the stones
alone till I can tell which is the true and which is the false. By the
same token, little is the difference it would make to her, unless she
knew it; and if she did, she'd as soon I brought her a hair of the old
dragon's bristles.'
Lanty found another day or two's journey bring him very nearly in
contact with the old dragon, for at Tarascon was the cave in which St.
Martha was said to have demolished the great dragon of Provence with
the sign of the cross. Madame de Bourke and her children made a devout
pilgrimage thereto; but when Arthur found that it was the actual Martha
of Bethany to whom the legend was appended, he grew indignant, and
would not accompany the party. 'It was a very different thing from the
martyrs of Lyon and Vienne! Their history was credible, but this--'
'Speak not so loud, my friend,' said M. de Varennes. 'Their shrines
are equally good to console women and children.'
Arthur did not quite understand the tone, nor know whether to be
gratified at being treated as a man, or to be shocked at the Marquis's
defection from his own faith.
The Marquis, who was able to accompany his sister as far as Montpelier,
was amused at her two followers, Scotch and Irish, both fine young men-
-almost too fine, he averred.
'You will have to keep a careful watch on them when you enter Germany,
sister,' he said, 'or the King of Prussia will certainly kidnap them
for his tall regiment of grenadiers.'
'O brother, do not speak of any more dangers: I see quite enough
before me ere I can even rejoin my dear husband.'
A very serious council was held between the brother and sister. The
French army under Marshal Berwick had marched across on the south side
on the Pyrenees, and was probably by this time in the county of
Rousillon, intending to besiege Rosas. Once with them all would be
well, but between lay the mountain roads, and the very quarter of Spain
that had been most unwilling to accept French rule.
The Marquis had been authorised to place an escort at his sister's
service, but though the numbers might guard her against mere mountain
banditti, they would not be sufficient to protect her from hostile
troops, such as might only too possibly be on the way to encounter
Berwick. The expense and difficulty of the journey on the mountain
roads would likewise be great, and it seemed advisable to avoid these
dangers by going by sea. Madame de Bourke eagerly acceded to this
plan, her terror of the wild Pyrenean passes and wilder inhabitants had
always been such that she was glad to catch at any means of avoiding
them, and she had made more than one voyage before.
Estelle was gratified to find they were to go by sea, since Telemachus
did so in a Phoenician ship, and, in that odd dreamy way in which
children blend fiction and reality, wondered if they should come on
Calypso's island; and Arthur, who had read the Odyssey, delighted her
and terrified Ulysse with the cave of Polyphemus. M. de Varennes could
only go with his sister as far as Montpelier. Then he took leave of
her, and the party proceeded along the shores of the lagoons, in the
carriage to the seaport of Cette, one of the old Greek towns of the
Gulf of Lyon, and with a fine harbour full of ships. Maitre Hebert was
sent to take a passage on board of one, while his lady and her party
repaired to an inn, and waited all the afternoon before he returned
with tidings that he could find no French vessel about to sail for
Spain, but that there was a Genoese tartane, bound for Barcelona, on
which Madame la Comtesse could secure a passage for herself and her
suite, and which would take her thither in twenty-four hours.
The town was full of troops, waiting a summons to join Marshal
Berwick's army. Several resplendent officers had already paid their
respects to Madame l'Ambassadrice, and they concurred in the advice,
unless she would prefer waiting for the arrival of one of the French
transports which were to take men and provisions to the army in Spain.
This, however, she declined, and only accepted the services of the
gentlemen so far as to have her passports renewed, as was needful,
since they were to be conveyed by the vessel of an independent power,
though always an ally of France.
The tartane was a beautiful object, a one-decked, single-masted vessel,
with a long bowsprit, and a huge lateen sail like a wing, and the
children fell in love with her at first sight. Estelle was quite sure
that she was just such a ship as Mentor borrowed for Telemachus; but
the poor maids were horribly frightened, and Babette might be heard
declaring she had never engaged herself to be at the mercy of the
waves, like a bit of lemon peel in a glass of eau sucree.
'You may return,' said Madame de Bourke. 'I compel no one to share our
dangers and hardships.'
But Babette threw herself on her knees, and declared that nothing
should ever separate her from Madame! She was a good creature, but she
could not deny herself the luxury of the sobs and tears that showed to
all beholders the extent of her sacrifice.
Madame de Bourke knew that there would be considerable discomfort in a
vessel so little adapted for passengers, and with only one small cabin,
which the captain, who spoke French, resigned to her use. It would
only, however, be for a short time, and though it was near the end of
October, the blue expanse of sea was calm as only the Mediterranean can
be, so that she trusted that no harm would result to those who would
have to spend the night on dock.
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