Denounced

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!"

APPENDIX

"Whereas we have seen a certain scandalous and malicious paper, published in the stile and form of a proclamation, bearing date the 1st instant, wherein, under pretence of bringing us to justice, like our royal ancestor King Charles I of blessed memory, there is a reward of thirty thousand pounds sterling, promised to those who shall deliver us into the hands of our enemies, we could not but be moved with a just indignation at so insolent an attempt. And though from our nature and principles we abhor and detest a practice so unusual among Christian princes, we cannot but out of a just regard to the dignity of our person, promise the like reward of thirty thousand pounds sterling, to him or those who shall seize and secure, till our further orders, the person of the Elector of Hanover, whether landed, or attempting to land, in any part of his Majesty's dominions. Should any fatal accident happen from hence, let the blame lie entirely at the door of those who first set the infamous example.

Headed. – Charles, Prince of Wales, etc., Regent of the Kingdom of Scotland, England, France, and Ireland, and the dominions thereunto belonging.

A long proclamation was issued, headed "George R.," and dated December 6, 1745, which, after threatening all kinds of penalties against those who knew of Jesuit priests being in England, or those who harboured them, continued:

"We, for the better discovering and apprehending of such Jesuit and Popish priests, do by this our royal proclamation, by and with the advice of our Privy Council, strictly charge and command all our judges, justices of the peace, magistrates, officers, and other our loyal subjects, that they do use their utmost care and endeavour to discover, apprehend, and bring to trial, all Jesuit and Popish priests, except such Popish priests, not being our natural born subjects, as, by the law of this our realm, are permitted to attend foreign ministers." A reward of one hundred pounds for every such priest was offered.

Extract from a letter written by an officer in the King's army:

"The moor was covered with blood, and our men, what with killing the enemy, dabbling their feet in the blood, and splashing it about one another, looked like so many butchers."

A gentleman named George Charles, who wrote an accurate history of the rebellion, also says: "Vast numbers of the common people's houses or huts were likewise laid in ashes; all the cattle, sheep, and goats were carried off; and several poor people, especially women and children, were found dead on the hills, supposed to be starved. Even places of worship were not exempt from the ravages of the unprincipled soldiery; several mass-houses about Strathbogie were pulled down by them; some non-jurant Episcopal meetinghouses were likewise burnt and destroyed, and they were generally shut up all over the kingdom. The commander-in-chief was at this time amusing himself and his staff with foot and horse races."

In presenting the Bastille to the readers of these pages exactly as it was according to every authority on the subject-although in considerable opposition to the usually accepted and melodramatic and transpontine ideas on the fortress-I do not feel that I have robbed Romance of any of her charms. The true Bastille offers the fictionist quite as much opportunity for his powers as the fusty, tawdry thing which, under its name, has heretofore done duty in its place.

The Bastille was never the place of indescribable horrors which fictionists and dramatists have contrived-"out of their own heads," as the children say-to represent it; indeed, I may truthfully assert that I have never read a description yet of the place in fiction, nor seen a representation of the place in drama, which could by any possibility have approached very near accuracy. And this is the more extraordinary, because there are something like forty authorities who may be referred to on the subject, including among them such men as the Duc de Richelieu and Voltaire, both of whom had in their time been prisoners in it.

In truth, the Bastille was more a house of detention than anything else, and in many cases was regarded as a shelter or harbour of refuge from outside storms. Instances are frequent of men petitioning to be sent there to escape their enemies, and of others refusing to come out and be forced to meet their enemies. Moreover, if a young man of fashion contracted debts or low amours, or gambled, or was too intimate with undesirable women-as was the case with the Duc d'Estrées, the Duc de Mortemart, the Comte d'Harcourt, and others-nothing was more common than for his father to pack him off to the Bastille, accompanied by his tutor and his valet. Also, the Bastille was often regarded by the Parisians as a suitable object for poking fun at. Voltaire, after having been incarcerated there for objecting to being thrashed by the Chevalier de Rohan for being a poet, told Louis XV, when he promised to provide for him, that "he trusted his Majesty's provision would not again include board and lodging." Another poet, referring to the moat round the fortress, delivered himself of the lines:

And Langlet du Frosnoy (an abbé and a most prolific writer, who passed half his life in various prisons, and died at eighty by tumbling into the fire while reading a book) used to take his papers, his snuff, and his nightgown off to the Bastille when rearrested, and calmly go on with his work there on being once more locked up. As regards the surrender of the Bastille (for, as Marmontel truthfully says, it was only threatened with siege and never really besieged) in 1789, and the release of the "unhappy prisoners," it may be mentioned that there were but seven of them there, and that one was an imbecile Englishman named Whyte, whose friends had had him shut up to keep him out of harm's way. Four of the others were common forgers awaiting trial; the sixth was the Comte de Solages, detained at the request of his family and on their paying his expenses; and the seventh was Tavernier, a man who had conspired against the late King. No record of torture being practised in the Bastille-after the middle ages-can be found; while, as for food, the Kings allowed so fair a sum to each prisoner-generally one hundred sols, or five francs, a day-that often the latter petitioned that, instead of so many meals, they might be allowed some of the money for other things. In the case of a prince of the blood, fifty livres a day were allowed; for the Cardinal de Rohan one hundred and twenty were granted. Discipline had, however, to be maintained, and where the "guests" were too obstreperous they were sometimes confined alone in dark, solitary cells, instead of being in rooms with others for companions. Latude, who has been regarded as a martyr, was frequently punished for swearing, roaring so that people outside could hear him, and "playing the devil," to use the words of the officials; yet he was allowed tobacco, seeds for the birds he was permitted to keep, new clothes when he asked for them, fur gloves to keep his hands warm, and almost whatever food he desired. Allègre, who escaped from the Bastille with him and was retaken, was also a troublesome man; he broke all the windows, china, and pottery in his room daily, and tore up his mattresses and shirts, "which cost the King twenty francs each," and his pocket-handkerchiefs. He died mad at last at Charenton, did not know Latude, who went to see him, and told everyone that he was God.

The instrument of torture found in the Bastille on its fall turned out, when regarded by intelligent people, to be a small printing press left behind by one François Lenormand, who had been permitted to have it in his room for occupation; also a billiard table was discovered which was provided, the year before the Bastille surrendered, for the amusement of the "prisoners"! The "awful cells" which have furnished so much matter for powerful writing, were "the ice houses" in which wine, meat, and fish were stored. In truth, the "King's furnished apartments" seem to have been far from unpleasant abode to many, as the Abbé de Mehégan acknowledged when his mother implored the King to keep him there as long as possible, because he was so dissolute and extravagant and such a terror to all the girls in his parish.

Of course, in the days of Louis XIV and Louis XV some prisoners were detained for long periods, and one there was who was detained the same length of time-forty-four years-as I have accorded to De Chevagny. Falmy's case was also possible in Louis XV's reign. But in Louis XVI's first year the Bastille was cleared of all but Tavernier and some others whose trial was close at hand, and even the revolutionists acknowledged that no "court" victim had been incarcerated during that unhappy King's reign. The last man to enter the Bastille was one Reveillon, a furniture dealer, and he did so at his own request, and with a demand for the rights of "sanctuary," as his fellow-workmen were destroying his house in the Faubourg St. Antoine because he had used defamatory language against them! and he was afraid for his life.

Terrible, therefore, as the Bastille was, as a place in which one might be detained for an indefinite period, it was not what it has hitherto been represented; yet, as I have said, it formed a sufficiently gloomy abode in which to secrete such characters as Bertie Elphinston and Fordingbridge when such secretion was rendered necessary in the interests of my narrative.

The descriptions of the Bastille have been gathered by me from the accounts of the spy, Constantin de Renneville, who was a prisoner for eleven years, and who, when released, went to London, and was there assassinated by an unknown hand; of the adventurer, Jean Louis Carra, who, after writing odes of praise upon the fall of the Bastille, perished at the hands of the republicans; of the Duc de Richelieu, who, when a very old man of ninety, could not resist visiting the place where he had been three times confined when a very young one; and of Voltaire, who had had considerable experience of its hospitality, having been sent there twice; and of many other authors of the past and present.

The arrest of Charles Edward took place under precisely similar circumstances to those which I have described, with one exception, namely, that it was carried out on his quitting the opera house in the Palais Royal instead of outside his own house on the Quai des Théatins, and it was from behind the kitchen of the Palais Royal that he was taken away in a hired cab. I have transposed the arrest to the latter spot to suit the requirements of the story. The Duc de Biron took part in it, against his will, in the capacity of colonel-in-chief of the guards. He was the least celebrated of the many Ducs de Biron, of whom a French writer said "all were celebrated and some notorious."

1

"Tandem triumphans" was the motto emblazoned on Charles Edward's banner during the march into England. "Nunquam triumphans" was afterwards a password between Jacobites.

2

The remarkable name of one of the royal yachts of George II.

3

Inaugurated 1724.

4

At this period most of the houses in Kensington-square had large gardens at the back. Those on the west side, where I Fordingbridge's is supposed to be situated, covered what known as Scarsdale-place.

5

A tipstaff, or executor of warrants for the Government.

6

Governor of the Bastille from 1718 to 1749, and father of the last governor of that prison, Le Marquis Bernard Réné Jourdan de Launey, who was brutally murdered by the populace on the fall of the Bastille in 1789.

7

Latude's successful escape was made some years after the date of this narrative-viz., in 1750.

8

As happened the next year, by the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle.

9

The ballets in which the French kings, and Louis XIV in particular, frequently danced, were more in the style of a minuet than anything else. There is a picture in the Luxembourg of one being performed, with Louis taking part in it and representing Le Printemps.

10

A derisive name sometimes applied to the Bastille, especially by the lower classes in Paris.