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

In fact she had the greatest desire to disobey, only she did not quite venture, and we her ladies had no notion what we were to do, whether to stay or go, while I was in great anxiety as to what they might have done with my boy.

Somehow or other we all found ourselves in the court of the Louvre, strongly lighted by flambeaux, and by the windows of the building. There stood a row of carriages; Mademoiselle called for hers, but it was not forthcoming, and M. de Comminges, bowing low, offered her his own; but another gentleman came up and handed her into the royal one, where already were the King and Queen, the two Princesses of Conde, the Prince of Conti, and a lady.

I heard Mademoiselle asserting her right to one of the best seats, and then declaring that she yielded ‘as the young must give place to the old,’ a little cut at the Princess Dowager of Conde. She bade M. de Fiesque follow with her carriage and properties, and we were left in the most wonderful confusion in that dark court, the carriages moving away one after another, the mounted servants carrying torches, and the guards trampling and clinking behind them; servants, gentlemen, and ladies running about wildly, some of the women crying and wringing their hands. Among these was Madame de Fiesque, who was of a timid nature, and was frightened out of her wits at the notion of having to follow, whither she did not even know, while I was equally wild, though I hope I did not make quite so much noise, about my son.

One of the gentlemen at last came and spoke to us, and told us that the King and Queen were gone to St. Germain. It had all been determined upon for some time past (as soon in fact as the Queen knew that the Prince of Conde would support her, and that the troops were near enough to be of use), and this night had been chosen because she could get off more easily in a time of revelry. Monsieur had known it all the evening, but had been afraid to tell his daughter because of ‘her ideas,’ which meant that he was by no means sure that she might choose to obey, unless she were taken by surprise, but might want to represent the House of Orleans at Paris. The Queen of England was not gone; and, as to M. le Marquis de Nidemerle—

That question was answered by a sound of bare, pattering feet, and a cry of ‘Mamma, mamma!’ and my little Marquis himself, with nothing on but his little white shirt and black velvet breeches, his long hair streaming behind him, came and threw himself on me, followed by two or three more little fellows in the same state of dishabille. ‘Oh, mamma!’ he cried, ‘we thought they were all gone, and had left us to be murdered by the cruel Parliament; and then I saw you from the window in the court.’ So there they all were, except one little Count from Burgundy, who slept serenely through the tumult.

By this time we could recollect that it was a January night, and that we had better retreat into the great hall, where the fire was not out. I had a great mind, since we were thus deserted, to return home with my son, but my poor Princess could not be left without a single attendant, or any clothes save what had been huddled on in haste, nor perhaps even a bed, for we knew that St. Germain was dismantled of furniture, and that no preparations had been made for fear of giving alarm.

M. de Fiesque declared that she should die if she tried to pass the streets of Paris, where we began to hear loud cries. The maids seemed to have all run away, and she implored me to go, with all that was most necessary, to Mademoiselle.

‘You are English! You are a very Gildippe. You have been in the wars—you fear nothing,’ said the poor woman. ‘I implore you to go!’

And as I had my son with me, and it seemed to be a duty or even a charity that no one else would undertake, though it was not likely that any harm could come to us, I sent Gaspard to dress himself, with my faithful Nicolas, who had come to light. The gentlemen undertook to find us Mademoiselle’s coach, and we hurried back to get together what we could for our mistress. I laugh now to think of M. de Fiesque and myself trying with our inexperienced hands to roll up a mattress and some bedding, and to find the linen and the toilet requisites, in which we had but small success, for the femmes de chamber kept everything, and had all either run away or slept too far off to hear us. We managed at last to fasten up the mattress with the other things in it, tied by a long scarf at each end, and dragging it to the top of the stairs we rolled it down each flight. At the second it upset at unfortunate lackey, who began to yell, firmly persuaded that it was a corpse, and that the Frondeurs had got in and were beginning a general slaughter.

How we recovered from the confusion I do not know, but Gaspard joined me at the top of the stairs, bringing with him a page of his own age, the little Chevalier de Mericour, whom he entreated me to take with us. All the other boys had relations close at hand; but this child’s mother was dead, and his father and brothers with the army. Being really a cousin of Harry Merrycourt’s, he had always seemed like a relation, and he was Gaspard’s chief friend, so I was very willing to give him a seat in the carriage, which came from somewhere, and into which the mattress was squeezed by some means or other. Off we set, but no woman of any rank would accompany me, for they said I had the courage of an Amazon to attempt to make my way through the mob that was howling in the streets.

It certainly was somewhat terrible when we came out into the street thronged with people carrying lanterns and torches, and tried to make our way step by step. We had not gone far before a big man, a butcher I should think, held up a torch to the window, and seeing my son’s long fair hair, shouted, ‘The King! the King! Here is the Queen carrying the King and the Duke of Anjou!’

The whole mob seemed to surge round us, shrieking, screaming, and yelling; some trying to turn the horses, others insisting that we should alight. No one heard my assurances that we were no such personages, that this was Mademoiselle’s carriage, and that the Queen was gone long ago; and, what was more fortunate, their ears did not catch young Mericour’s denunciations of them as vile canaille. A market woman mounted on the step, and perceiving the mattress, screeched out, ‘The Cardinal—they are carrying off the Cardinal rolled up in a mattress!’

Their fury was redoubled. I began to unite it to show them there was nothing, but we had drawn the knots too tight, and Gaspard’s little sword would not of course cut, nay, the gleam of it only added to the general fury. I really think if the Cardinal had been there they would have torn him to pieces. They were trying to drag open the doors, and would have done so much sooner but for the crowds who were pushed against them and kept them shut. At last there seemed to be some one among them with a more authoritative tone. The pressure on the door lessened, and it was to my dismay torn open; but at that moment my son called out, ‘M. Darpent! Oh, M. Darpent, come to my mother!’ Immediately M. Clement Darpent, unarmed and in his usual dress, with only a little came in his hand, made his way forward. Before I saw him I heard his welcome voice calling, ‘Madame de Bellaise here! I am coming, M. le Marquis! The Queen! Betise! I tell you it is a lady of my acquaintance.’

‘The Cardinal! She is carrying off the Italian rolled up in a mattress! Down with the fox!’ came another terrible outcry; but by this time M. Darpent had been hustled up to the door, and put himself between us and the throng. He could hear me now when I told him it was merely Mademoiselle’s bedding which we were carrying out to her. He shouted out this intelligence, and it made a lull; but one horrid fellow in a fur cap sneered, ‘We know better than that, Monsieur! Away with traitors! And those who would smuggle them away!’

‘Oh! show it to them!’ I cried; and then I saw a face that I had known in the hospital, and called him by name. ‘Jean Marie, my good friend, have you your knife to cut these cords and show there is nothing inside?’

The man’s honest face lighted up. ‘Hein! The good tall lady who brought me bouillons! I warrant there is no harm in her, brothers! She’s a good Frondeuse, and has nothing to do with foreign traitors.’

He ranged himself beside Clement Darpent, offering a big knife, wherewith in a moment the bands were cut and the mattress help up to view, with a few clothes inside.

I made my two defenders understand that they were Mademoiselle’s garments, and when this was repeated there was a general shout: ‘Vive la bonne dame! Vive Mademoiselle! Vive Monsieur! Vive la Fronde!’

Jean Marie, who had worked in a furniture shop, would have rolled up the bed in a trice much better than before, but M. Darpent observed that as we were not yet out of Paris is might bring us into trouble, and, inconvenient as it was, he advised us to keep it open till we were beyond the gates. He asked permission to accompany me to prevent any further annoyance, and Jean Marie, to the extreme disgust of the servants, mounted the box, to serve as an additional guard.

No one could be kinder than M. Darpent. He was very sad about this flight of the Court. He said he feared it was the beginning of a civil war, and that he had thought better of the blood royal and noblesse of France than to suppose they would assist a Spanish woman and an Italian priest to trample down and starve their fellow-countrymen in the name of a minor king. He expected that there would be a siege, for he was sure that the temper of the people was averse to yielding, and the bourgeois put their trust in the archers.

I asked if he thought there would be any danger, thinking that I would either join my mother and sister or endeavour to fetch them away; but he assured me that they would be safe. Was not the Queen of England left, as I assured him, and the Duchess of Longueville? M. le Prince would allow no harm to touch the place where lived the sister he so passionately loved. I might be secure that the Hotel de Nid de Merle was perfectly safe, and he would himself watch to see that they were not annoyed or terrified. He gave me the means of writing a billet to my mother from his little Advocate’s portfolio, and he promised himself to convey it to her and assure her of our safety, a message which I thought would make him welcome even to her. He was most kind in every way, and when we came near the gate bethought him that the two little boys looked pale and hungry, as well they might. He stopped the carriage near a baker’s shop, which was already open, and going in himself, returned with not only bread, but a jug and cup of milk. I think we never enjoyed anything so much; and in the meantime the excellent Jean Marie rolled up our mattress so close that, as Gaspard said, it could hardly have been supposed to contain in puppy dog.

They saw us safely through the barriers. M. Darpent gave his word for us, and out we went into the country while scarcely the dawn was yet seen. At a turn in the road we saw only the morning star hanging like a great lamp in the east, and I showed it to the little boys, and told them of the three kings led by the Star to the Cradle. I heard afterwards that the little Chevalier thought we saw the real Star in the East sent to guide us to St. Germain, forgetting that it was the wrong direction; but he had been very little taught, and this was the first he had ever heard of the Gospel, which was familiar to my boy. They both fell asleep presently on the cushions, and I think I did so likewise, for I was surprised to find myself at St. Germain in broad daylight. Everybody was gone to mass for the festival, and we crept in after them.

Mademoiselle was delighted to see me, and always believed we had made our passage so safely in consequence of the respect paid to her and her carriage. It was a strange day; no one did anything but run about and hear or tell news of how the people in Paris were taking the departure of the Court, and wonder when the troops would come up to begin the siege, or, what was more pressing, what was to be done for food and for bedding? We ate as we could. Eggs and fowls were brought in from the farms, but plates and dishes, knives and forks, were very scarce. Some of us were happy when we could roast an egg in the embers for ourselves, and then eat it when it was hard enough, and I thought how useful Annora would have been, who had done all sorts of household work during the troubles at home. But we were very merry over these devices.

The night was a greater difficulty. Most of the windows had no frames nor glass in them, and hardly any one had a bed. Mademoiselle slept in a long gallery, splendidly painted and gilt, but with the wind blowing at every crevice through the shutters, no curtains; only a few marble tables against the wall by way of furniture, and the mattress spread upon the floor for her and her youngest sister, who would not sleep unless she sang, and who woke continually.

I rolled up my two little boys in my great fur cloak, which I had happily brought with me, for no one seemed disposed to take any charge of poor little Mericour, and Nicolas fetches me the cushions from the carriage, so that they were tolerably comfortable.

As to us ladies and gentlemen, we rejoiced that at least faggots could be had. We made up a great fire, and sat round it, some playing at cards, other playing at games, telling stories, or reciting poetry, interspersed with the sillier pastime of love-making. Every one nodded off to sleep, but soon to wake again,—and, oh, how still we were, and how our bones ached after two such nights!

And the saddest and most provoking thing, at least to many of us, was the high spirits of the Queen-Regent.

To be sure, she had not been without a bed in an unglazed room all night, and had a few maids and a charge of clothes, but she had probably never been so much out of reach of state in her life, and she evidently found it most amusing. She did not seem to have an idea that it was a fearful thing to begin a civil war, but thought the astonishment and disappointment of the Parisians an excellent joke. Grave and stately as she was by nature, she seemed quite transformed, and laughed like a girl when no gold spoon could be found for her chocolate and she had to use a silver one. Yes, and she laughed still more at the ill-arranged limp curls and tumbled lace of us poor creatures who had sat up all night, and tried to dress one another, with one pocket-comb amongst us all!

All that day and all the text, however, parts of different people’s equipages kept coming from Paris. Mademoiselle’s were escorted by M. de Fiesque, who had been so civilly treated that Mademoiselle gave passports for the Queen’s wagons to come through Paris; and it was considered to be a great joke that one of the bourgeois, examining a large box of new Spanish gloves, was reported to have been quite overcome by the perfume, and to have sneezed violently when he came to examine them.

We were in a strange state up there on the heights of St. Germain. Some of the Court had no hangings for their great draughty rooms, others had no clothes, and those who had clothes had no bedding. Very few of us had any money to supply our wants, and those who had soon lent it all to the more distressed. The Queen herself was obliged to borrow from the Princess Dowager, even to provide food, and the keeping up of separate tables was impossible. We all dined together, King and Queen, Monsieur, Madame, and all, and the first day there was nothing but a great pot au feu and the bouilli out of it; for the cooks had not arrived. Even the spoons and knives were so few that we had to wash them and use them in turn. However, it was all gaiety on those first days, the Queen was so merry that it was every one’s cue to be the same; and as to the King and the Duke of Anjou, they were full of mischief; it was nothing but holiday to them to have no Court receptions.

At eight o’clock in the evening there came a deputation from Paris. They were kept waiting outside in the snow while the Queen considered whether to receive them; and she could hardly be persuaded to allow them to sleep under shelter at St. Germain, though on the road at that time of night they were in danger from brigands, traveling soldiers, and I know not what!

They were at last admitted to the ranger’s lodgings, and had an interview with the Chancellor, who was harsh and peremptory, perhaps feeling himself avenged for his troubles and fright on the day of the barricades.

When I heard that the President Darpent was among the deputation I sent Nicolas to find out whether his son were there; and by and by I received a little billet, which excited much more attention than I wished. Some told me I was a Frondeuse, and M. le Baron de Lamont pretended to be consumed with jealousy. I had to explain publicly that it was only from my sister, and then they pretended not to believe me. It was in English, a tongue of which nobody knew a single word, except that scandal declared that the Duke of Buckingham had taught the Queen to say ‘Ee lofe ou;’ but it said only: ‘We are quite well, and not alarmed, since we know you are safe. We had heard such strange rumors that my mother welcomed our friend as an angel of consolation.’

I translated this to all whom it concerned; but M. de Lamont annoyed me much with his curiosity and incredulity. However, when I found that the unfortunate deputies were permitted to spend the night in the guard-room I sent Nicolas to see whether he could be of any use to the Darpents. Truly it was a night when, as the English say, one would not turn out one’s enemy’s dog, and the road to Paris was far from safe; but the ranger’s house was a wretched place for elderly men more used to comfort than even the noblesse, whose castles are often bare enough, and who are crowded and ill accommodated when in waiting at the palaces.

At that moment a bed was to ourselves a delightful luxury, which M. de Fiesque and I were to share, so Nicolas could not do much for poor old Darpent, whom he found wet through from having waited so long in the snow, melting as it fell; but he did lend him his own dry cloak, and got some hot drink for him. Clemet professed himself eternally grateful for this poor attention when in the morning I sent my son with another note in return to be sent to my mother and sister; and he promised to watch over them as his own life.

This was the last communication I had with my family for two months. The Queen had declared that her absence would be only ‘a little expedition of a week;’ but week after week passed on, and there we still were on the hill. The troops could not entirely surround Paris, but no such thing. I think we were, on the whole, more hungry than those whom we blockaded.

As each set of officials finished their time of waiting they retired, and nobody came to replace them, so our party became smaller from day to day, which was the less to be regretted as our Lent was Lent indeed. Nobody had any money, and provisions ran very short; everybody grumbled but the Queen and Cardinal, and Mademoiselle, who enjoyed the situation and laughed at everybody.

In the intervals of grumbling every one was making love. M. de Juvizy actually was presumptuous enough to make love to the Queen, or to boast that he did. Mademoiselle, I am sorry to say, was in love, or, more truly, in ambition with the Prince of Conde; M. de S. Maigrin was said to be in love with the Princess, M. de Chatillon with Mademoiselle de Guerchy, and so on.

Even I, who had always declared that it was a woman’s own fault if she had a lover, did not escape. I had not my mother to shield me, and nobody had anything to do, so it was the universal fashion; and M. de Lamont thought proper to pursue me. I knew he was dissipated and good-for-nothing, and I showed the coldest indifference; but that only gave him the opportunity of talking of my cruelty, and he even persuaded Mademoiselle to assure me that he was in earnest.

‘No doubt,’ said I, ‘he would like to meddle with the administration of Nid de Merle. I have no doubt he is in earnest about that!’

But there was no escape, as we lived, from being beset. We had all to attend the Queen to the Litanies at the chapel. She used to remain in her little orator praying long after they were finished, Mademoiselle with her, and, by her own account, generally asleep. I am ashamed to say how much chatter, and how many petits soins, went on among those waiting outside. I used to kneel, as I heard people say, like a grim statue over my chair, with my rosary hanging from my hands, for if I did but hear a rustle and turn my head, there stood M. de Lamont with a bonbonniere, or an offer to shield me from the draught, and I could hear a tittering behind me.

Yet there was enough to make us grave. In a fight with the Frondeurs for Charenton, M. de Chatillon, one of the handsomest and gayest of our cavaliers, was killed. He was the grandson of the Admiral de Coligny, and was said to have been converted to the Church by the miracle of the ducks returning regularly to the pond where the saint had bound them to come. I think he must have made up his mind beforehand. But it was a great shock to have that fine young man thus cut down the day after he had been laughing and dancing in our gallery. Yet all people seemed to think of, when everybody went to condole with his young widow in her bed, was that she had set herself off to the best advantage to captivate M. de Nemours!

And then came the great thunderbolt—the tidings of the death of the King of England! I knew it would almost kill Eustace; I thought of my poor godmother, Queen Henrietta, and there I was among people who did not really care in the least! It was to them merely a great piece of news, that enabled them to say, ‘Yield an inch to the Parliament and see what it will come to.’

That kind, dignified, melancholy countenance as I last saw it was constantly before me. The babble of the people around seemed to me detestable. I answered at haphazard, and begged permission of Mademoiselle to keep my room for a day, as I thought I should be distracted if I could not get out of reach of M. de Lamont.

She gave permission, but she said it was an affectation of mine, for how could I care for a somber old prince whom I had not seen for ten years?

CHAPTER XIX. – INSIDE PARIS

Annora’s narrative

My sister has asked me to fill up the account of the days of the Fronde with what I saw within the city. She must permit me to do so in English, for I have taken care to forget my French; and if I write perilous stuff for French folk to read she need not translate it.

I will begin with that Twelfth-day morning when we were wakened by more noise and racket than even Paris could generally produce. There had been a little tumult about once a week for the last six months, so we could endure a great deal, but this was plainly a much larger one. Some of the servants who went out brought word that the Queen had carried off the King in order to be revenged on Paris, and that the people, in a rage, were breaking the carriages of her suite to pieces, plundering the wagons, and beating, if not killing, every one in them. We were of course mightily troubled for my sister, and being only two women we could not go out in quest of her, while each rumour we heard was more terrible than the last. Some even said that the Louvre had been asked and plundered; but old Sir Andrew Macniven, who had made his way through the mob like a brave old Scottish knight, brought us word that he could assure us that our own Queen was safe in her own apartments, and that there had been no attack on the palace.

Still he had himself seen carriages plundered and broken to pieces by the mob, and the gates were closely guarded. Seeing our distress, he was about to go with Abbe to the Louvre, to learn whether my sister and her son were there, when one of the servants came up to tell us that M. Clement Darpent requested to see my mother, having brought us tidings of Madame la Vicomtesse.

My poor mother never could endure the name of M. Darpent, because she did not like my brother’s friendship with any one not noble, but she was as glad to see him then as if he had been a Montmorency or a Coucy.

I always like his manners, for they were even then more English than French. Though going through all due form, he always seemed to respect himself too much to let any one be supercilious with him; and however she might begin at a vast distance, she always ended by talking to him just as if he were, as she called it, our equal. As if he were not infinitely the superior of the hundreds of trumpery little apes of nobles who strutted about the galleries of the Louvre, with nothing to do but mayhap to carry the Queen’s fan, or curl her poodle’s tail!