Stray Pearls: Memoirs of Margaret De Ribaumont, Viscountess of Bellaise

However, Mademoiselle took the command, and they all made their excuses and applied themselves to entertaining her and her suit, as carriages were not admitted, for we were in a manner besieged by the Keeper of the Seals; and in the early morning, at seven o’clock, Mademoiselle had to rise and go through the streets encouraging the magistrates to keep him out.

She was a sort of queen at Orleans, and we formed a little Court. I really think this was the happiest time in her life, while she had a correspondence with the Prince of Conde on the one hand, and her father on the other; and assisted at councils of war outside the gates, as she kept her promise, and admitted none of the leaders of the belligerent parties into the city.

They were stormy councils. At one of these the Duke of Beaufort and Nemours had a dispute, drew their swords, and were going to attack one another, when Mademoiselle, by entreaties and commands, forced them to lay down their arms.

All this time I had no news from my family. We were in a strange condition. Here was I following Mademoiselle, who represented her father and the neutral party, but was really devoted to the Prince; my son was in attendance on the King, whom we were keeping out of his own city; my mother, brother, and sister were in Paris, which held for the Parliament. My half-brother, Solivet, had repaired to M. de Turenne’s army, which was fighting for the King, and my brother-in-law, d’Aubepine, was on the staff of the Prince.

There was scarcely any family that was not divided and broken up in the same way, and it was hard to say why there was all this war and misery, except that there was irreconcilable hatred between the Prince and the Cardinal, and the Queen was determined to cling to the latter.

I knew nothing of what was passing at home till a day or two after Easter Sunday, when one of the gentlemen of the household of the Duke of Orleans, who had come with letters for Mademoiselle, seemed surprised to see me, and on my pressing him for intelligence, he told me that my dear brother was at the point of death. He was quite sure of it, for he had spoken with M. de Poligny, who told him that M. de Ribaumont was daily visited by the Abbe Montagu, was in the best possible dispositions, and would receive the last sacraments of our Church.

I knew not what to believe. All I was sure of was that I must be wanted, and that it would break my heart not to see my dearest brother again. Mademoiselle was a kind mistress, and she consented to my leaving her, and there was no danger in ladies traveling, though a good deal of difficulty in getting horses.

At last, however, I found myself at my own door, and in one moment satisfied myself that my brother was living, and better. My mother was in the salon, in conversation with M. de Poligny, who had the good judgment to withdraw.

‘Ah! my dear,’ she said, ‘we have had frightful scenes! I had almost gained my dear son’s soul, but alas! it might have been at the cost of his life, and I could not but be weak enough to rejoice when your sister’s obstinacy snatched him from me. After all one is a mother! and the good Abbe says a pure life and invincible ignorance will merit acceptance! Besides, the Duke of Gloucester did him the honour to sit an hour by him every day.’

I asked for my sister, and heard that she was with him. For, though my mother said poor Annora’s ungovernable impetuosity had done him so much harm, nay, nearly killed him, he was now never so tranquil as when she was in his sight, and the English physician, who had been sent by the King himself, declared that his life still depended on his being kept free from all agitation.

‘Otherwise,’ said my mother, ‘I could bring about the marriage with the little Chevalier. Annora has renounced her disobedient folly, and would make no more resistance; but M. de Poligny, of course, cannot proceed further till your brother is in condition to settle the property on her.’

I asked in wonder whether my sister had consented, but my mother seemed to think that the break with Darpent had settled that matter for ever.

And when I saw my poor Annora, she was altered indeed. The bright colour had left her cheeks, her eyes looked dim and colourless, her voice had lost its fresh defiant ring; she was gentle, submissive, listless, as if all she cared for in life had gone from her except the power of watching Eustace.

He looked less ill than I had dreaded to see him. I think he felt at rest after the struggle he had undergone to preserve the faith he really loved. He had never relaxed his guard for a single moment till the Duke of Gloucester had come, fearing that if he ceased his vigilance, that might be done which we felt to be mercy, but which he could not submit to. He always had a calmly resolute will, and he knew now that he must avoid all agitation until he was able to bear it; so he would not ask any questions. He only showed me that he was glad of my return, pointed to Nan, saying: ‘She has been sorely tried, take care of her,’ and asked me if I could find out how it fared with Darpent.

It was too late to do anything that evening, and I went to mass as early as I could in the morning, that the streets might be quiet; and when I rose from my knees I was accosted by a Sister of Charity who told me that there was terrible need at the Hotel Dieu. Men were continually brought in, shockingly injured in the street frays that were constantly taking place, and by the violences of the band of robbers and bravoes with whom the Duke of Orleans surrounded his carriage, and there was exceedingly little help and nursing for them, owing to the absence of the Queen, and of so many of the great ladies who sometimes lavished provisions, comforts, and attendance on the patients.

I had three hours to spare before any one would be up, so I went home, got together all the old linen and provisions I could muster, told my sister where I was going, and caused my chairmen to carry me to the hospital. The streets were perfectly quiet then, only the bakers’ boys running about with their ells of bread, the water-carriers and the faggot-men astir, and round the churches a few women hurrying to their prayers, looking about as if half dreading a tumult.

Poor people! I had never seen the hospital so full, or in so sad a condition. The Sisters and the priests of St. Lazare were doing their utmost, and with them a very few ladies. I had staid long enough to fear that I must be needed at home when I saw another lady coming to take my place, and recognized Madame Darpent. We met with more eagerness than the good old devout dame usually allowed herself to show, for each accepted the appearance of the other as a token of the improvement of out patients at home. She said her son was nearly well in health, but that his arm was still unserviceable, having been cruelly twisted by the miscreants who had attacked him; and when I told her that my brother was likewise recovering, she exclaimed:

‘Ah! Madame, I dare not ask it; but if Madame la Vicomtesse could kindly leave word of the good news as she passes our house, it would be a true charity to my poor son. We have heard sad accounts of the illness of M. de Ribaumont. The servants at the Hotel de Nidemerle confirmed them, and my son, knowing that M. le Baron was hurt in his behalf, has been devoured with misery. If Madame could let him know at once it would spare him four or five hours of distress, ere I can leave these poor creatures.’

‘Perhaps he would like to see me,’ I said; and the old lady was ready to embrace me. She would not have dared to ask it; but I knew how glad Eustace would be to have a personal account of him.

It was still early, and I met with no obstruction. My message was taken in to ask whether M. Darpent would see me, and he came down himself to lead me upstairs, looking very pale and worn, and giving me his left hand, as in a broken voice he made polite speeches on the honour I had done him.

‘At least, Madame,’ he said, trembling, so that he was obliged to lean on the chair he was setting for me, ‘let me hear that you are come to tell me no bad news.’

I assured him of the contrary, and made him sit down, while I told him of my brother’s improvement, and anxiety respecting himself.

‘I may tell him that you are a convalescent, and able to employ yourself in deep studies,’ I said, glancing at a big black book open on the table beside the arm-chair where he had been sitting.

‘It is St. Augustine,’ he said. ‘I have been profiting by my leisure. I have almost come to the conclusion that there is nothing to be done for this unhappy France of ours but to pray for her. I had some hopes of the young King; but did Madame hear what he did when our deputies presented their petition to the States-General? He simply tore the paper, and said: ‘Retire, Messieur.’ He deems despotism his right and duty, and will crush all resistance. Men, like the Garde des Sceaux, have done their best, but we have no strength without the nobility, who simply use us as tools to gratify their animosity against one another.’

‘Only too true!’ I said. ‘There is not even permission given to us nobles to do good among our own peasants.’

‘There is permission for nothing but to be vicious sycophants,’ cried he bitterly. ‘At least save for the soldier, who thinks only of the enemies of France. Ah! my mother is right! All we can do to keep our hands unstained is to retire from the world, and pray, study, and toil like the recluses of Port Royal.’

‘Are you thinking of becoming one of them?’ I exclaimed.

‘I know not. Not while aught remains to be done for my country. Even that seems closed to me,’ he answered sadly. ‘I am unfortunate man, Madame,’ he added; ‘I have convictions, and I cannot crush them as I see others, better than I, can do—by appealing to simple authority and custom.’

‘They kept you from your Counsellor’s seat, I know,’ said I.—‘And made every one, except M. le Premier President, mistrust me for a conceited fellow. Well, and now they must keep me from casting in my lot with the recluses who labour and pray at Port Royal aux Champs, unless I can satisfy myself on scruples that perhaps my Huguenot breeding, perhaps my conversations with M. votre frere, have awakened in me. And—and—though I have the leisure, I know my head and heart are far from being cool enough to decide on points of theology,’ he added, covering his face for a moment with his hand.

‘You a recluse of Port Royal! I cannot believe in it,’ I said. ‘Tell me, Monsieur, is your motive despair? For I know what your hopes have been.’

‘Ah, Madame, then you also know what their overthrown has been, though you can never know what it has cost me. Those eyes, as clear-sighted as they are beautiful, saw only too plainly the folly of expecting anything in the service I was ready to adopt, and scorned my hopes of thus satisfying her family. I deserved it. May she find happiness in the connection she has accepted.’

‘Stay, sir,’ I said. ‘What has she accepted? What have you heard?’

He answered with a paler look and strange smile that his clerk had been desired by M. de Poligny’s notary to let him see the parchments of the Ribaumont estate, preparatory to drawing up the contract of marriage, to be ready to be signed in a week’s time.’

‘Ah, sir,’ I said, ‘you are a lawyer, and should know how to trust to such evidence. The contract is impossible without my brother, who is too ill to hear of it, and my sister has uttered no word of consent, nor will she, even though she should remain unmarried for life.’

‘Will she forgive me?’ he exclaimed, as though ready to throw himself at my feet.

I told him that he must find out for himself, and he returned that I was an angel from heaven. On the whole I felt more like a weak and talkative woman, a traitress to my mother; but then, as I looked at him, there was such depth of wounded affection, such worth and superiority to all the men I was in the habit of seeing, that it was impossible not to feel that if Annora had any right to choose at all she had chosen worthily.

But I thought of my mother, and would not commit myself further, and I rose to leave him; I had, however, waited too long. The mob were surging along the streets, as they always did when the magistrates came home from the Parliament, howling, bellowing, and yelling round the unpopular ones.

‘Death to the Big Beard!’ was the cry, by which they meant good old Mathieu Mole, who had incurred their hatred for his loyalty, and then they halted opposite to the Maison Darpent to shout: ‘Death to the Big Beard and his jackal!’

‘Do not fear, Madame, it will soon be over,’ said Darpent. ‘It is a little amusement in which they daily indulge. The torrent will soon pass by, and then I will do myself the honour of escorting you home.’

I thought I was much safer than he, and would have forbidden him, but he smiled, and said I must not deny him the pleasure of walking as far as the door of the Hotel de Nidemerle.

‘But why do they thus assail you and the Garde des Sceaux?’ I asked.

‘Because so few in this unfortunate country can distinguish between persons and causes,’ he said. ‘Hatred to Mazarin and to the Queen as his supporter is the only motive that sways them. If he can only be kept out they are willing to throw themselves under the feet of the Prince that he may trample them to dust. Once, as you know, we hoped that there was public spirit enough in the noblesse and clergy, led by the Coadjutor, to join with us in procuring the assembling of the States-General, and thus constitutionally have taken the old safeguards of the people. They deceived us, and only made use of us for their own ends. The Duke of Orleans, who might have stood by us, is a broken reed, and now, in the furious clash of parties, we stand by, waiting till the conqueror shall complete our destruction and oppression, and in the meantime holding to the only duty that is clear to us—of loyalty to the King, let that involve what it may.’

‘And because it involves the Cardinal you are vituperated,’ I said. ‘The Court ought to reward your faithfulness.’

‘So I thought once, but it is more likely to reward our resistance in its own fashion if its triumph be once secured,’ he answered. ‘Ah, Madame, are visions of hope for one’s country mere madness?’

And certainly I felt that even when peace was made between him and my sister, as it certainly soon would be, the future looked very black before them, unless he were too obscure for the royal thunderbolts to reach.

However, the mob had passed by, to shriek round the Hotel de Ville.

Food and wine were dealt out to them by those who used them as their tools, and they were in a frightful state of demoralization, but the way was clear for the present, and Clement Darpent would not be denied walking by my chair, though he could hardly have guarded me, but he took me through some by-streets, which avoided the haunts of the mob; and though he came no further than our door, the few words I ventured to bring home reassured Eustace, and made Annora look like another being.

CHAPTER XXXI. – PORTE ST. ANTOINE

(Margaret’s Narrative)

When I try to look back on the time that followed, all is confusion. I cannot unravel the threat of events clearly in my own mind, and can only describe a few scenes that detach themselves, as it were, from a back-ground of reports, true and false, of alarms, of messages to and fro, and a horrible mob surging backwards and forwards, so that when Mademoiselle returned to Paris and recalled me, I could only pass backwards and forwards between the Louvre and the Hotel de Nidemerle after the servants had carefully reconnoitred to see that the streets were safe, and this although I belonged to the Orleans’ establishment, which was in favour with the mob. Their white scarves were as much respected as the tawny colours of Conde, which every one else wore who wished to be secured from insult.