CHAPTER XXXI
"AN OUTSTAYED WELCOME."
It was the night of Monday, the 10th of December, 1748, and once again all Paris lay under the snow-snow that hung in great masses over the eaves of the houses, threatening, when the next thaw should come, to fall and envelop the passers-by; that was caked and hardened on the chaussées of all the streets by the recent hard frost; that, out on the quays, was of the consistency of iron almost from the same cause; while, so severe had that frost been, that on the river the snow had been frozen into huge solid blocks, which swirled round and round in vast masses as, under the stars, they floated slowly down towards the open country and the sea.
There were but few abroad on this cold night, certainly few pedestrians; yet, as the clocks from Nôtre Dame and all the other churches round struck eleven, there was one who, swiftly making his way along the Quai des Théatins, directly opposite the Louvre, seemed neither to heed the cold nor the snow beneath his feet. Wrapped in a long cloak, or roquelaure, held up sufficiently, however, not to impede his limbs in their stride, and with his three-cornered hat pressed down closely over his head, this man, without turning round to regard even the few casual passers-by, went onward until, as he neared the edge of the quay, on which stood a large, imposing hotel, from the windows of which issued a blaze of lights, he suddenly stopped in amazement; for outside this great mansion there was what he least would have expected to see-a large concourse of people assembled together, indiscriminately mixed with whom were exempts, other officers of police, and a considerable body of soldiers, as well as several sergeants of the grenadiers clad in their cuirasses and skullcaps. Also he saw a number of musketeers (or horse guards) standing by their horses ready to mount them, as well as several of the guets, or street watchmen, near them; while, to make this concourse more astonishing to those who did not know what might be its object, in the road were half a dozen scaling ladders, with, by them, several of the guets, with axes and hammers in their hands.
But that which was more astonishing for him to behold than aught else was that between the ordinary people or onlookers in the streets and the officials, civil and military, who stood in front of the mansion, was stretched as a barrier a thick, handsome, crimson silk cord fringed with gold. This cord, attached to gilt poles or staves about four feet high, served with the hotel itself to form an exact square, the house making the fourth side; and inside that square itself it was that the musketeers, sergeants of the grenadiers, and superior officers of the police were standing, as well as several other officers of high rank, as testified by their gorgeous uniforms and trappings.
"It is the Prince's house," Bertie whispered to himself, for he was the man who had been making his way swiftly along the Quai des Théatins but a few moments ago-"the Prince's house! What can be intended towards him? He should be safe here in Paris, if anywhere. And Kate is within-a lady of his suite-ill, and, my mother said, sick almost to death. Heaven! I may not be able to see her even now, after so long! What a fate is mine! On the first night that I am able to approach her after so long and cruel a separation, to find the way barred thus!"
He was about to ask a man in the crowd which he had now joined what the strange scene meant, when a murmur arose amongst those collected there, and at the same moment the order was given to the musketeers to mount their horses and the sergeants of grenadiers to form their men into double line. And at that instant the tramp of other animals' hoofs was heard and the roll of wheels. Then, a moment later, a handsome and much-gilded coach drawn by four horses came swiftly along the quay until it reached the crowd, and the astonished coachman, seeing the gilt-embroidered crimson cord with the military behind it, pulled his animals up sharply.
From the interior of the coach a voice, clear, crisp, and distinct, was heard exclaiming in French:
"What is the meaning of this assembly? Why am I prevented from entering my house?" and directly afterwards a gloved hand was put out from the open window, while a tall young man of about thirty years of age stepped from the coach.
He was clad, perhaps because of the wintry weather, in a thick rose-coloured velvet suit embroidered with silver and lined with peach-coloured satin and silver tissue, and his waistcoat was a rich gold brocade with a spangled fringe set on in scallops; his silk stockings were also peach-coloured; in his lace cravat there sparkled a magnificent diamond solitaire. Over his shoulders he wore the insignia of the Garter of England and the order of St. Andrew, and on his breast there hung a gold medal by a blue satin ribbon, on which, if it could have been inspected, would have been seen the words, "Carolus, Walliæ Princeps, Amor et Spes Britanniæ." As to his appearance, his face was oval and of a good complexion, though now he seemed somewhat pallid in the torchlight, and his eyes, which were very prominent and full, were blue.
"God bless your Royal Highness!" cried Bertie loudly, in which he was imitated by many, while all the officers and soldiers saluted him, and the richly clad civilians in the inclosure uncovered their hats.
The Prince glanced at the spot where Elphinston's voice came from, and gave a look of recognition at his tall, stalwart form; then, turning to two of the gentlemen who surrounded him, he said, while he threw over his shoulders a small fleecy cape of ermine he had brought in his hand from the carriage: "Monseigneur le Duc de Biron, and you, Monsieur de Vaudreville, you are friends of mine-friends ever, as I have thought-explain to me, therefore, I beg you, why my way is barred to my abode, and why I see you amongst those who so bar it? And, Monsieur le Duc and gentlemen, the night is more than cold; be covered, I beseech you," and he put on his own hat, in the lace of which there sparkled another superb diamond as an aigrette, while the white cockade was visible.
But the others remained uncovered, while the Duc de Biron said:
"May it please you, monseigneur-"
"Monseigneur!" interrupted Charles Edward. "I am the Prince of Wales! Either that, or nothing! Now, if you please, the reason of this guet-apens. Do I owe it to my cousin Louis?"
The duke shrugged his shoulders, as though deprecating the Prince's wrath, then he said:
"His Majesty regrets that your Highness would not conform to his desire that you should leave France, according to the terms of the recent peace made at Aix-la-Chapelle, as conveyed to you by the Duc de Gesvres-"
"Neither my royal father nor I had part in that peace," again interrupted the Prince.
"Therefore," went on the Duc de Biron, "his Majesty has thought it well that you shall be conducted, with all respect and reverence, to the frontier. Yet some forms must be observed, which I pray your Highness to pardon." Then, turning to Monsieur de Vaudreville, he said:
"Your duty."
"Monseigneur," said De Vaudreville, "I arrest you in the name of the King, my master."
"Then," exclaimed Bertie, as with a bound he rushed under the crimson cord, "arrest me also! This is the Prince of Wales, my master; we fought near to one another in the Scotch campaign; where he goes I go too!"
"Captain Elphinston," said Charles Edward, who had recognised him when first he spoke, "I am, indeed, rejoiced to see you by my side again. There could be no truer friend. Yet it must not be. Your services have already been too many; I can never requite them. Henceforth live for yourself and those who love you." And turning to the duke and De Vaudreville, who with the soldiers and the crowd had been astounded-indeed, touched-with this proof of devotion to the unfortunate Prince, he said: "I shall not dispute his Majesty's orders. Yet, I think the manner is a little too violent."
"I hope not, monseigneur," De Biron said. "I should be au desespoir if such were the case. But since there are other formalities to be gone through and your Highness does not contest his Majesty's decree, will you please to enter your house, and to permit of our accompanying you?"
"As you please," replied the Prince. "But," he said, pointing to Bertie, "here is a gallant gentleman of the family of my Lord Balmerino, who was done to death on Tower Hill in my cause. He is a devoted adherent of our house, though I have lost sight of him for some time. Gentlemen, I am alone, save for my grooms. I beg of you to allow him to enter also."
The Duc de Biron and De Vaudreville bowed at his words, and bowed again to Elphinston, after which the order was given for the soldiers to stand out of the way while his Highness entered the house. Then, with another bow, the duke begged the Prince to precede them, motioning also to Bertie to accompany them.
"I am glad to see you, Captain Elphinston," Charles Edward said as they approached the hall. "I have thought often of you and of your poor friend, and mine, Mr. Sholto. And-you will find in my house one to whom your coming may be a new life. You understand?"
"I understand, your Royal Highness. I should have been here long before, but that I have been a prisoner in the Bastille."
"In the Bastille! You! So that is where you have been hidden from all human knowledge. But stay-we cannot talk now. What do they intend to me? Do you know? I do not, though I have long known that my presence in Paris is unwelcome."
Bertie shook his head mournfully, and then they entered the hall of the mansion which the Prince had hired from a French nobleman. A huge fire burned in the grate at one end of it, and to this Charles Edward advanced, and, holding out his hands to the blaze, warmed them.
"Your Highness," said the Duc de Biron, who by no means appeared to relish the task before him, "again I beg you to believe that in what we have now to do no disrespect is intended. Yet, it must be done. I have to ask you for your sword and any other weapons you may have about you."
The Prince started and coloured at these words, then, with a calmness which he never lost until the end of his life-when despair and, alas! drink had done their worst with him-he said:
"I shall never deliver my sword to you, nor any man. But, since I am helpless- No, Captain Elphinston," seeing a movement on the latter's part, "do not interfere, I beg you. Since I am helpless, you may take them, and what else I have of arms."
At a sign from the duke, De Vaudreville undid the sash of his dress sword-he had been that night to a gala performance at the opera in the Palais Royal-and took the weapon from him, and then, seeing a melancholy smile upon his face, the other, with many profusions of apology and regret, gently felt in his pockets and removed from them two small ivory-handled and silver-inlaid pistols and a little knife with two blades.
"Do not be surprised," the Prince said, "at seeing the pistols. Since I was hunted like a wild beast in Scotland-ay, hunted even by dogs-I, a king's son-I have carried them ever. And here in Paris also my life has been sought."
"I have to ask your Highness to give a promise that you will make no attempt on your own life nor that of any other person," De Vaudreville said.
The Prince shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the pistols and knife in the other's hands; then he said, "I promise. What more?"
"Your Highness," said the duke, "will be conducted to Vincennes to-night. De Chatelet has received orders to prepare a room for you. To-morrow you will set out upon your journey. But, for the present, again I ask your Highness to pardon me," and he faltered as he continued, "it is necessary for the greater security that you should be bound."
"Bound!" the Prince exclaimed, and now he turned white as death. "Bound! I! The Prince of Wales!"
"Alas! sire," said the duke, "it is the King's orders. Yet, I pledge you my word as a peer of France, such orders are issued solely out of regard to your Highness's person, and to prevent you making any attempt on that person."
"I shall make no attempt," Charles Edward replied. "But I am unused to such proceedings as these. And I do not even say whether they are justifiable or not; the disgrace does not affect me, but your master alone."
While he was speaking, De Vaudreville continued to bind him, using crimson cord of a similar nature to that which formed the barrier outside, and at last both his legs and arms were securely tied, when the unhappy Prince lost his calmness, and, looking down on De Vaudreville with a glance that has been described as "menacing and terrible," exclaimed:
"Have you not enough now?"
"Not yet," replied the other, "though it is nearly ended."
It was, indeed, nearly ended, since the Prince's body was now so swathed with the cords that it would have been impossible for more to be placed round it or his limbs, and, looking at the duke with still his sad smile upon his face, he said:
"I hope, monsieur, no other Englishman will ever be treated thus. They are not made for such a purpose;" after which he asked what was to be done next.
"To Vincennes next," replied De Biron, with a low bow.
"My horses are fatigued," the Prince said; "they cannot travel so far and back to-night."
"Have no fear," the duke answered. "A coach has been secured."
And now they prepared to lift the unhappy descendant of a family of kings, the last descendant who ever made a bid or struck a blow for all that his ancestors had lost-since his brother the cardinal, Henry, Duke of York, was a mere shadow of a Stuart-and to carry him to the hired coach that waited without. But Bertie, who had been a furious witness of this insult to him whom, rightly or wrongly, he deemed-in agreement with three fourths of his country people and perhaps one half of the English-to be the rightful heir to the English throne, could not part thus from him. As he saw him tied and bound, there arose before him once more the memory of the bright young chieftain with whom he had embarked at Port St. Lazare, with whom he had landed in Lochaber, and before whom the old Marquis of Tullibardine had unfurled at Glenfinnan his white, blue, and red silk standard, with, on it, the proud and happy motto, "Tandem Triumphans."
Also before his eyes there rose the progress through Scotland, the joyous welcome at Edinburgh, the victory at Prestonpans, the surrender at Carlisle, the glorious march to and arrival at Derby, with the news which succeeded that arrival, to the effect that the German King was trembling for fear at St. James's, and all London mad with terror. And then Culloden! – that bitter day, when, as Cumberland's butchers hacked and shot the wounded and the dying, Charles urged on the living to avenge their comrades, and was at last forced off the field against his will, his face bespattered with the dirt thrown up by the cannon balls that fell around him.
And now to see him thus!
"Oh, sir," he cried, flinging himself at the Prince's feet, "let me go with you wherever the King of France may see fit to send you. Give me but leave to see her I love, to tell her that once more I have returned to her, and then let me follow you, as is my duty and desire, wherever you go!"
It was not only Charles Edward who was affected by this manly speech; even De Biron, who understood English well, and De Vaudreville, who did not, but evidently guessed accurately what he had said, were touched by it.
"No, Elphinston, no," the Prince replied. "As I said but now, the day is past for services to be rendered to me or my cause. That cause is lost; this is the last blow. When France joins hands with England, how can a Stuart hope? Farewell, Captain Elphinston; she whom you love-I know all! – will recover yet, ill as she is, I hope. I pray to God that He may bless you both. Farewell! we shall never meet again-never again! Yet, remember, I beseech you, when you hear my name mentioned, that we fought side by side once-that we were comrades-and-and-so, try to think well of me."
They bore him away after this, scarce giving Bertie time to kiss his hand, and from that night they never did meet again. To the Prince there were still to be forty years of life accorded; what that life became, with every hope shattered and every desire unaccomplished, the world well knows.
Between them the grenadiers and De Vaudreville carried him to the hired coach-for owing to his silken fetters he was unable to walk-and put him into it at the spot where it waited, behind the kitchens. And Bertie, following like a faithful dog who perceives its master departing, thus saw the last of him and received his last look. De Vaudreville, he observed, sat by him; two captains of the musketeers entered the coach and sat opposite to him; two other officers rode on each side of the vehicle, with a hand upon the door; six grenadiers with fixed bayonets mounted behind like footmen, and the rest of the soldiers accompanied them on foot.[Note E]
Thus the last but one of the Stuarts left Paris; thus the last hospitality and favour of France were withdrawn from the representative of the unhappy family whose cause France had so long espoused.
"And now," said Bertie to himself, as with a final courteous bow the Duc de Biron entered his own gorgeous carriage and departed to give an account of the proceedings to Louis-"and now for her whom I have pined for so long! God grant that the report of her ill-health may be exaggerated! If I lose her, I have nothing more to live for!"
CHAPTER XXXII
"LOVE STRONG AS DEATH!"
Neither the Duc de Biron nor De Vaudreville had thought it necessary to place any of their soldiery or police within the mansion-perhaps because the person they required was himself outside it-and, consequently, there was nothing to prevent Bertie from making his way from the hall to the upper regions where he naturally supposed Kate would be-nothing, that is to say, beyond a few terrified-looking menservants, who, on perceiving him mount the stairs, retreated before him, probably imagining that he had been left in possession of the place by those who had taken away their master. They were quickly, however, undeceived by the stranger calling to them to ask who was now in charge of the establishment, and to whom he should address himself with a view to finding Lady Fordingbridge.
"Lady Fordingbridge," one of the footmen replied, answering him in French, as he had spoken, though his accent showed plainly enough that he was a Scotchman-"Lady Fordingbridge! She sees no one; she is very ill. She is, indeed-"
"What!" interrupted Bertie, in so sad a voice that even the man refrained from concluding his speech, which he had intended to do with the words, "dying, they say."
But here a lady who had been descending the stairs from above, and now reached the corridor on the first floor at the same time that Elphinston did, came forward and said, as she motioned the servants back:
"It is indeed Captain Elphinston! Oh, why not have come sooner, and why, of all nights, be so unhappy as to select this one? Captain Elphinston, your disappearance has very nearly brought Lady Fordingbridge to her grave-that, and the tragic death of her husband."
"She knows that, then?" he asked, as he recognised the lady who spoke to him, she being the wife of Lord Ogilvie, whose title at that time was forfeited in England, though afterward restored-"she knows that, then?"
"Yes, she knows it," Lady Ogilvie replied.
"Does she also know the reason of it-of why he was led forth to execution on the Place de Grève?" Bertie next demanded. He himself knew it now; his mother, whom he found still alive and well, though terribly prostrated by the two years and more of anxiety which she had endured since his disappearance, having told him all.
"No," her ladyship replied, "that she does not know. We have never told her. Rather we have let her suppose that he was about to be executed for some political crime. We could not tell her how base he was. Yet," she went on, "it seems that you and he met in prison-that you forgave him. Did you forgive him that?"
"Nay," replied Bertie, "I knew not what he had done, and only saw that his mind was gone. And, not knowing, I forgave. Now, Lady Ogilvie, I beseech you let me go to her!"
"First," she replied, "I must warn her that you are here. She is very ill; she cannot bear a shock."
"Is she as ill as that?"
"She is very weak and feeble. Perhaps now you have appeared again, come back almost from the very jaws of death, she may recover. Let us pray she will!"
Then she left him alone, saying she would soon return.
Agonizing as had been the long hours, weeks, months that he had spent alone in the chapel-room of the Bastille, and nearly as much alone in the calotte with De Chevagny, when, both heartbroken, they had sometimes scarcely exchanged a word for days, none had seemed more bitter, more unendurable, than the few minutes during which Lady Ogilvie was absent. For everything that he had gathered as to the state of Kate's health, since he had emerged into the world once more, pointed only too plainly to the fact that he had but found her again to again lose her, and to lose her this time beyond all hopes of recovery.
"Come," said Lady Ogilvie, returning to him-"come; she is now expecting you. I have prepared her. Come."
He followed her up the great stairs to the second floor, and there his companion opened the door and ushered him into a large, well-warmed and lighted room, and then left them.
Seated before the great fire, yet with her face turned eagerly towards the door as though watching for him, he saw her once again-saw the woman he had loved so long, the woman whom Fate had parted him from. She was thin, now, almost to attenuation-she, whose supple, graceful figure had once been one of her greatest charms-so thin that she looked more like a child that was unwell than a grown woman, and on her face there were no roses now.
"Kate," he exclaimed, advancing swiftly to her as she held out her thin worn arms to him, and falling on his knee beside her-"Kate, my darling, I have come back at last; am free once more! Kate, nothing can part us now."
For answer she let her head droop to his shoulder and lie there. It seemed to her that at last perfect peace had come, that all the black and dreadful past was gone and done with for ever; then she whispered: "Nothing part us! Oh, my dear, my love, there is one parting more only to be made; then-then-we shall meet to never part again. Bertie, you have come in time, yet too late-too late for this world."
"No, no," he said, "it shall not be! Kate, do not leave me now. Think, think, my darling, of how long we have waited, of all that has separated us so long, and that now there is no longer any barrier between us. Think of the dreary months in prison, months that I counted day by day, hoping, praying ever to get free and come back to you; think how brave you have been, always waiting for me. O Kate, my sweet, do not go and leave me now alone!" and as he spoke he wept, and buried his head upon her lap.
"Nay," she said, stroking his head and noticing how grey and grizzled it was now, though he was still so young a man-"nay, do not weep, Bertie. You are too strong to shed tears, too strong and brave. It was your strength and manhood I loved so much, was so proud of. Do not weep now; for it is best, Bertie, best so."
"Best!" he answered almost fiercely, and raising his head as he did so, while she with one wan hand put back softly from his forehead the brown locks flecked with grey. "Best! How can it be best; how, how? O Kate, think, think of all our hopes formed so long ago, the hopes of happy years to come to be passed together! – the hopes that we should grow old together, and then, together at the end, share one calm and peaceful grave. My darling, those years are still before us; I cannot lose you now. Stay, stay with me! Remember all our plans formed in the days of the Rue Trousse Vache, the days when we wandered forth hand in hand together. Oh, stay with me, my darling, stay!"
It appeared as if the rose-blush came back into her cheeks at his whispered prayer, as if a new life was dawning for her again. Then she murmured:
"Oh, my dear, it seems as though I must not leave you now. Bertie, I will stay with you, if I may-if God will let me!"