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_ "In the hurry of the moment I scarce knew what I did. I bade the
housekeeper put up every delicacy she had, in order to tempt the
invalid, whom yet I hoped to bring back with me to our house. When
the carriage was ready I took the good woman with me to show us the
exact way, which my coachman professed not to know; for, indeed, they
were staying at but a poor kind of place at the back of Leicester
Square, of which they had heard, as Clement told me afterwards, from
one of the fishermen who had carried them across from the Dutch coast
in their disguises as a Friesland peasant and his mother. They had
some jewels of value concealed round their persons; but their ready
money was all spent before I saw them, and Clement had been unwilling
to leave his mother, even for the time necessary to ascertain the
best mode of disposing of the diamonds. For, overcome with distress
of mind and bodily fatigue, she had reached London only to take to
her bed in a sort of low, nervous fever, in which her chief and only
idea seemed to be that Clement was about to be taken from her to some
prison or other; and if he were out of her sight, though but for a
minute, she cried like a child, and could not be pacified or
comforted. The landlady was a kind, good woman, and though she but
half understood the case, she was truly sorry for them, as
foreigners, and the mother sick in a strange land.
"I sent her forwards to request permission for my entrance. In a
moment I saw Clement--a tall, elegant young man, in a curious dress
of coarse cloth, standing at the open door of a room, and evidently--
even before he accosted me--striving to soothe the terrors of his
mother inside. I went towards him, and would have taken his hand,
but he bent down and kissed mine.
"'May I come in, madame?' I asked, looking at the poor sick lady,
lying in the dark, dingy bed, her head propped up on coarse and dirty
pillows, and gazing with affrighted eyes at all that was going on.
"'Clement! Clement! come to me!' she cried; and when he went to the
bedside she turned on one side, and took his hand in both of hers,
and began stroking it, and looking up in his face. I could scarce
keep back my tears.
"He stood there quite still, except that from time to time he spoke
to her in a low tone. At last I advanced into the room, so that I
could talk to him, without renewing her alarm. I asked for the
doctor's address; for I had heard that they had called in some one,
at their landlady's recommendation: but I could hardly understand
Clement's broken English, and mispronunciation of our proper names,
and was obliged to apply to the woman herself. I could not say much
to Clement, for his attention was perpetually needed by his mother,
who never seemed to perceive that I was there. But I told him not to
fear, however long I might be away, for that I would return before
night; and, bidding the woman take charge of all the heterogeneous
things the housekeeper had put up, and leaving one of my men in the
house, who could understand a few words of French, with directions
that he was to hold himself at Madame de Crequy's orders until I sent
or gave him fresh commands, I drove off to the doctor's. What I
wanted was his permission to remove Madame de Crequy to my own house,
and to learn how it best could be done; for I saw that every movement
in the room, every sound except Clement's voice, brought on a fresh
access of trembling and nervous agitation.
"The doctor was, I should think, a clever man; but he had that kind
of abrupt manner which people get who have much to do with the lower
orders.
"I told him the story of his patient, the interest I had in her, and
the wish I entertained of removing her to my own house.
"'It can't be done,' said he. 'Any change will kill her.'
"'But it must be done,' I replied. 'And it shall not kill her.'
"'Then I have nothing more to say,' said he, turning away from the
carriage door, and making as though he would go back into the house.
"'Stop a moment. You must help me; and, if you do, you shall have
reason to be glad, for I will give you fifty pounds down with
pleasure. If you won't do it, another shall.'
"He looked at me, then (furtively) at the carriage, hesitated, and
then said: 'You do not mind expense, apparently. I suppose you are
a rich lady of quality. Such folks will not stick at such trifles as
the life or death of a sick woman to get their own way. I suppose I
must e'en help you, for if I don't, another will.'
"I did not mind what he said, so that he would assist me. I was
pretty sure that she was in a state to require opiates; and I had not
forgotten Christopher Sly, you may be sure, so I told him what I had
in my head. That in the dead of night--the quiet time in the
streets,--she should be carried in a hospital litter, softly and
warmly covered over, from the Leicester Square lodging-house to rooms
that I would have in perfect readiness for her. As I planned, so it
was done. I let Clement know, by a note, of my design. I had all
prepared at home, and we walked about my house as though shod with
velvet, while the porter watched at the open door. At last, through
the darkness, I saw the lanterns carried by my men, who were leading
the little procession. The litter looked like a hearse; on one side
walked the doctor, on the other Clement; they came softly and swiftly
along. I could not try any farther experiment; we dared not change
her clothes; she was laid in the bed in the landlady's coarse night-
gear, and covered over warmly, and left in the shaded, scented room,
with a nurse and the doctor watching by her, while I led Clement to
the dressing-room adjoining, in which I had had a bed placed for him.
Farther than that he would not go; and there I had refreshments
brought. Meanwhile, he had shown his gratitude by every possible
action (for we none of us dared to speak): he had kneeled at my
feet, and kissed my hand, and left it wet with his tears. He had
thrown up his arms to Heaven, and prayed earnestly, as I could see by
the movement of his lips. I allowed him to relieve himself by these
dumb expressions, if I may so call them,--and then I left him, and
went to my own rooms to sit up for my lord, and tell him what I had
done.
"Of course, it was all right; and neither my lord nor I could sleep
for wondering how Madame de Crequy would bear her awakening. I had
engaged the doctor, to whose face and voice she was accustomed, to
remain with her all night: the nurse was experienced, and Clement
was within call. But it was with the greatest relief that I heard
from my own woman, when she brought me my chocolate, that Madame de
Crequy (Monsieur had said) had awakened more tranquil than she had
been for many days. To be sure, the whole aspect of the bed-chamber
must have been more familiar to her than the miserable place where I
had found her, and she must have intuitively felt herself among
friends.
"My lord was scandalized at Clement's dress, which, after the first
moment of seeing him I had forgotten, in thinking of other things,
and for which I had not prepared Lord Ludlow. He sent for his own
tailor, and bade him bring patterns of stuffs, and engage his men to
work night and day till Clement could appear as became his rank. In
short, in a few days so much of the traces of their flight were
removed, that we had almost forgotten the terrible causes of it, and
rather felt as if they had come on a visit to us than that they had
been compelled to fly their country. Their diamonds, too, were sold
well by my lord's agents, though the London shops were stocked with
jewellery, and such portable valuables, some of rare and curious
fashion, which were sold for half their real value by emigrants who
could not afford to wait. Madame de Crequy was recovering her
health, although her strength was sadly gone, and she would never be
equal to such another flight, as the perilous one which she had gone
through, and to which she could not bear the slightest reference.
For some time things continued in this state--the De Crequys still
our honoured visitors,--many houses besides our own, even among our
own friends, open to receive the poor flying nobility of France,
driven from their country by the brutal republicans, and every
freshly-arrived emigrant bringing new tales of horror, as if these
revolutionists were drunk with blood, and mad to devise new
atrocities. One day Clement--I should tell you he had been presented
to our good King George and the sweet Queen, and they had accosted
him most graciously, and his beauty and elegance, and some of the
circumstances attendant on his flight, made him be received in the
world quite like a hero of romance; he might have been on intimate
terms in many a distinguished house, had he cared to visit much; but
he accompanied my lord and me with an air of indifference and
languor, which I sometimes fancied made him be all the more sought
after: Monkshaven (that was the title my eldest son bore) tried in
vain to interest him in all young men's sports. But no! it was the
same through all. His mother took far more interest in the on-dits
of the London world, into which she was far too great an invalid to
venture, than he did in the absolute events themselves, in which he
might have been an actor. One day, as I was saying, an old Frenchman
of a humble class presented himself to our servants, several of them,
understood French; and through Medlicott, I learnt that he was in
some way connected with the De Crequys; not with their Paris-life;
but I fancy he had been intendant of their estates in the country;
estates which were more useful as hunting-grounds than as adding to
their income. However, there was the old man and with him, wrapped
round his person, he had brought the long parchment rolls, and deeds
relating to their property. These he would deliver up to none but
Monsieur de Crequy, the rightful owner; and Clement was out with
Monkshaven, so the old man waited; and when Clement came in, I told
him of the steward's arrival, and how he had been cared for by my
people. Clement went directly to see him. He was a long time away,
and I was waiting for him to drive out with me, for some purpose or
another, I scarce know what, but I remember I was tired of waiting,
and was just in the act of ringing the bell to desire that he might
be reminded of his engagement with me, when he came in, his face as
white as the powder in his hair, his beautiful eyes dilated with
horror. I saw that he had heard something that touched him even more
closely than the usual tales which every fresh emigrant brought.
"'What is it, Clement?' I asked.
"He clasped his hands, and looked as though he tried to speak, but
could not bring out the words.
"'They have guillotined my uncle!' said he at last. Now, I knew that
there was a Count de Crequy; but I had always understood that the
elder branch held very little communication with him; in fact, that
he was a vaurien of some kind, and rather a disgrace than otherwise
to the family. So, perhaps, I was hard-hearted but I was a little
surprised at this excess of emotion, till I saw that peculiar look in
his eyes that many people have when there is more terror in their
hearts than they dare put into words. He wanted me to understand
something without his saying it; but how could I? I had never heard
of a Mademoiselle de Crequy.
"'Virginie!' at last he uttered. In an instant I understood it all,
and remembered that, if Urian had lived, he too might have been in
love.
"'Your uncle's daughter?' I inquired.
"'My cousin,' he replied.
"I did not say, 'your betrothed,' but I had no doubt of it. I was
mistaken, however.
"'O madame!' he continued, 'her mother died long ago--her father now-
-and she is in daily fear,--alone, deserted--'
"'Is she in the Abbaye?' asked I.
"'No! she is in hiding with the widow of her father's old concierge.
Any day they may search the house for aristocrats. They are seeking
them everywhere. Then, not her life alone, but that of the old
woman, her hostess, is sacrificed. The old woman knows this, and
trembles with fear. Even if she is brave enough to be faithful, her
fears would betray her, should the house be searched. Yet, there is
no one to help Virginie to escape. She is alone in Paris.'
"I saw what was in his mind. He was fretting and chafing to go to
his cousin's assistance; but the thought of his mother restrained
him. I would not have kept back Urian from such on errand at such a
time. How should I restrain him? And yet, perhaps, I did wrong in
not urging the chances of danger more. Still, if it was danger to
him, was it not the same or even greater danger to her?--for the
French spared neither age nor sex in those wicked days of terror. So
I rather fell in with his wish, and encouraged him to think how best
and most prudently it might be fulfilled; never doubting, as I have
said, that he and his cousin were troth-plighted.
"But when I went to Madame de Crequy--after he had imparted his, or
rather our plan to her--I found out my mistake. She, who was in
general too feeble to walk across the room save slowly, and with a
stick, was going from end to end with quick, tottering steps; and, if
now and then she sank upon a chair, it seemed as if she could not
rest, for she was up again in a moment, pacing along, wringing her
hands, and speaking rapidly to herself. When she saw me, she
stopped: 'Madame,' she said, 'you have lost your own boy. You might
have left me mine.'
"I was so astonished--I hardly knew what to say. I had spoken to
Clement as if his mother's consent were secure (as I had felt my own
would have been if Urian had been alive to ask it). Of coarse, both
he and I knew that his mother's consent must be asked and obtained,
before he could leave her to go on such an undertaking; but, somehow,
my blood always rose at the sight or sound of danger; perhaps,
because my life had been so peaceful. Poor Madame de Crequy! it was
otherwise with her; she despaired while I hoped, and Clement trusted.
"'Dear Madame de Crequy,' said I, 'he will return safely to us; every
precaution shall be taken, that either he or you, or my lord, or
Monkshaven can think of; but he cannot leave a girl--his nearest
relation save you--his betrothed, is she not?'
"'His betrothed!' cried she, now at the utmost pitch of her
excitement. 'Virginie betrothed to Clement?--no! thank heaven, not
so bad as that! Yet it might have been. But mademoiselle scorned my
son! She would have nothing to do with him. Now is the time for him
to have nothing to do with her!"
"Clement had entered at the door behind his mother as she thus spoke.
His face was set and pale, till it looked as gray and immovable as if
it had been carved in stone. He came forward and stood before his
mother. She stopped her walk, threw back her haughty head, and the
two looked each other steadily in the face. After a minute or two in
this attitude, her proud and resolute gaze never flinching or
wavering, he went down upon one knee, and, taking her hand--her hard,
stony hand, which never closed on his, but remained straight and
stiff:
"'Mother,' he pleaded, 'withdraw your prohibition. Let me go!'
"'What were her words?' Madame de Crequy replied, slowly, as if
forcing her memory to the extreme of accuracy. 'My cousin,' she
said, 'when I marry, I marry a man, not a petit-maitre. I marry a
man who, whatever his rank may be will add dignity to the human race
by his virtues, and not be content to live in an effeminate court on
the traditions of past grandeur.' She borrowed her words from the
infamous Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the friend of her scarce less
infamous father--nay! I will say it,--if not her words, she borrowed
her principles. And my son to request her to marry him!'
"'It was my father's written wish,' said Clement.
"'But did you not love her? You plead your father's words,--words
written twelve years before,--and as if that were your reason for
being indifferent to my dislike to the alliance. But you requested
her to marry you,--and she refused you with insolent contempt; and
now you are ready to leave me,--leave me desolate in a foreign land--
'
"'Desolate! my mother! and the Countess Ludlow stands there!'
"'Pardon, madame! But all the earth, though it were full of kind
hearts, is but a desolation and a desert place to a mother when her
only child is absent. And you, Clement, would leave me for this
Virginie,--this degenerate De Crequy, tainted with the atheism of the
Encyclopedistes! She is only reaping some of the fruit of the
harvest whereof her friends have sown the seed. Let her alone!
Doubtless she has friends--it may be lovers--among these demons, who,
under the cry of liberty, commit every licence. Let her alone,
Clement! She refused you with scorn: be too proud to notice her
new.'
"'Mother, I cannot think of myself; only of her.'
"'Think of me, then! I, your mother, forbid you to go.'
"Clement bowed low, and went out of the room instantly, as one
blinded. She saw his groping movement, and, for an instant, I think
her heart was touched. But she turned to me, and tried to exculpate
her past violence by dilating upon her wrongs, and they certainly
were many. The Count, her husband's younger brother, had invariably
tried to make mischief between husband and wife. He had been the
cleverer man of the two, and had possessed extraordinary influence
over her husband. She suspected him of having instigated that clause
in her husband's will, by which the Marquis expressed his wish for
the marriage of the cousins. The Count had had some interest in the
management of the De Crequy property during her son's minority.
Indeed, I remembered then, that it was through Count de Crequy that
Lord Ludlow had first heard of the apartment which we afterwards took
in the Hotel de Crequy; and then the recollection of a past feeling
came distinctly out of the mist, as it were; and I called to mind
how, when we first took up our abode in the Hotel de Crequy, both
Lord Ludlow and I imagined that the arrangement was displeasing to
our hostess; and how it had taken us a considerable time before we
had been able to establish relations of friendship with her. Years
after our visit, she began to suspect that Clement (whom she could
not forbid to visit at his uncle's house, considering the terms on
which his father had been with his brother; though she herself never
set foot over the Count de Crequy's threshold) was attaching himself
to mademoiselle, his cousin; and she made cautious inquiries as to
the appearance, character, and disposition of the young lady.
Mademoiselle was not handsome, they said; but of a fine figure, and
generally considered as having a very noble and attractive presence.
In character she was daring and wilful (said one set); original and
independent (said another). She was much indulged by her father, who
had given her something of a man's education, and selected for her
intimate friend a young lady below her in rank, one of the
Bureaucracie, a Mademoiselle Necker, daughter of the Minister of
Finance. Mademoiselle de Crequy was thus introduced into all the
free-thinking salons of Paris; among people who were always full of
plans for subverting society. 'And did Clement affect such people?'
Madame de Crequy had asked with some anxiety. No! Monsieur de
Crequy had neither eyes nor ears, nor thought for anything but his
cousin, while she was by. And she? She hardly took notice of his
devotion, so evident to every one else. The proud creature! But
perhaps that was her haughty way of concealing what she felt. And so
Madame de Crequy listened, and questioned, and learnt nothing
decided, until one day she surprised Clement with the note in his
hand, of which she remembered the stinging words so well, in which
Virginie had said, in reply to a proposal Clement had sent her
through her father, that 'When she married she married a man, not a
petit-maitre.'
"Clement was justly indignant at the insulting nature of the answer
Virginie had sent to a proposal, respectful in its tone, and which
was, after all, but the cool, hardened lava over a burning heart. He
acquiesced in his mother's desire, that he should not again present
himself in his uncle's salons; but he did not forget Virginie, though
he never mentioned her name.
"Madame de Crequy and her son were among the earliest proscrits, as
they were of the strongest possible royalists, and aristocrats, as it
was the custom of the horrid Sansculottes to term those who adhered
to the habits of expression and action in which it was their pride to
have been educated. They had left Paris some weeks before they had
arrived in England, and Clement's belief at the time of quitting the
Hotel de Crequy had certainly been, that his uncle was not merely
safe, but rather a popular man with the party in power. And, as all
communication having relation to private individuals of a reliable
kind was intercepted, Monsieur de Crequy had felt but little anxiety
for his uncle and cousin, in comparison with what he did for many
other friends of very different opinions in politics, until the day
when he was stunned by the fatal information that even his
progressive uncle was guillotined, and learnt that his cousin was
imprisoned by the licence of the mob, whose rights (as she called
them) she was always advocating.
"When I had heard all this story, I confess I lost in sympathy for
Clement what I gained for his mother. Virginie's life did not seem
to me worth the risk that Clement's would run. But when I saw him--
sad, depressed, nay, hopeless--going about like one oppressed by a
heavy dream which he cannot shake off; caring neither to eat, drink,
nor sleep, yet bearing all with silent dignity, and even trying to
force a poor, faint smile when he caught my anxious eyes; I turned
round again, and wondered how Madame de Crequy could resist this mute
pleading of her son's altered appearance. As for my Lord Ludlow and
Monkshaven, as soon as they understood the case, they were indignant
that any mother should attempt to keep a son out of honourable
danger; and it was honourable, and a clear duty (according to them)
to try to save the life of a helpless orphan girl, his next of kin.
None but a Frenchman, said my lord, would hold himself bound by an
old woman's whimsies and fears, even though she were his mother. As
it was, he was chafing himself to death under the restraint. If he
went, to be sure, the wretches might make an end of him, as they had
done of many a fine fellow: but my lord would take heavy odds, that,
instead of being guillotined, he would save the girl, and bring her
safe to England, just desperately in love with her preserver, and
then we would have a jolly wedding down at Monkshaven. My lord
repeated his opinion so often that it became a certain prophecy in
his mind of what was to take place; and, one day seeing Clement look
even paler and thinner than he had ever done before, he sent a
message to Madame de Crequy, requesting permission to speak to her in
private.
"'For, by George!' said he, 'she shall hear my opinion, and not let
that lad of hers kill himself by fretting. He's too good for that,
if he had been an English lad, he would have been off to his
sweetheart long before this, without saying with your leave or by
your leave; but being a Frenchman, he is all for AEneas and filial
piety,--filial fiddle-sticks!' (My lord had run away to sea, when a
boy, against his father's consent, I am sorry to say; and, as all had
ended well, and he had come back to find both his parents alive, I do
not think he was ever as much aware of his fault as he might have
been under other circumstances.) 'No, my lady,' he went on, 'don't
come with me. A woman can manage a man best when he has a fit of
obstinacy, and a man can persuade a woman out of her tantrums, when
all her own sex, the whole army of them, would fail. Allow me to go
alone to my tete-a-tete with madame."
"What he said, what passed, he never could repeat; but he came back
graver than he went. However, the point was gained; Madame de Crequy
withdrew her prohibition, and had given him leave to tell Clement as
much.
"'But she is an old Cassandra,' said he. 'Don't let the lad be much
with her; her talk would destroy the courage of the bravest man; she
is so given over to superstition.' Something that she had said had
touched a chord in my lord's nature which he inherited from his
Scotch ancestors. Long afterwards, I heard what this was. Medlicott
told me.
"However, my lord shook off all fancies that told against the
fulfilment of Clement's wishes. All that afternoon we three sat
together, planning; and Monkshaven passed in and out, executing our
commissions, and preparing everything. Towards nightfall all was
ready for Clement's start on his journey towards the coast.
"Madame had declined seeing any of us since my lord's stormy
interview with her. She sent word that she was fatigued, and desired
repose. But, of course, before Clement set off, he was bound to wish
her farewell, and to ask for her blessing. In order to avoid an
agitating conversation between mother and son, my lord and I resolved
to be present at the interview. Clement was already in his
travelling-dress, that of a Norman fisherman, which Monkshaven had,
with infinite trouble, discovered in the possession of one of the
emigres who thronged London, and who had made his escape from the
shores of France in this disguise. Clement's plan was, to go down to
the coast of Sussex, and get some of the fishing or smuggling boats
to take him across to the French coast near Dieppe. There again he
would have to change his dress. Oh, it was so well planned! His
mother was startled by his disguise (of which we had not thought to
forewarn her) as he entered her apartment. And either that, or the
being suddenly roused from the heavy slumber into which she was apt
to fall when she was left alone, gave her manner an air of wildness
that was almost like insanity.
"'Go, go!' she said to him, almost pushing him away as he knelt to
kiss her hand. 'Virginie is beckoning to you, but you don't see what
kind of a bed it is--'
"'Clement, make haste!' said my lord, in a hurried manner, as if to
interrupt madame. 'The time is later than I thought, and you must
not miss the morning's tide. Bid your mother good-bye at once, and
let us be off.' For my lord and Monkshaven were to ride with him to
an inn near the shore, from whence he was to walk to his destination.
My lord almost took him by the arm to pull him away; and they were
gone, and I was left alone with Madame de Crequy. When she heard the
horses' feet, she seemed to find out the truth, as if for the first
time. She set her teeth together. 'He has left me for her!' she
almost screamed. 'Left me for her!' she kept muttering; and then, as
the wild look came back into her eyes, she said, almost with
exultation, 'But I did not give him my blessing!'" _
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