three minutes together in Madame de Florac's salon, she sees that Clive
is in love with Ethel Newcome. She takes the boy's hand and says, "J'ai
votre secret, mon ami;" and her eyes regard him for a moment as fondly,
as tenderly, as ever they looked at his father. Oh, what tears have they
shed, gentle eyes! Oh, what faith has it kept, tender heart! If love
lives through all life; and survives through all sorrow; and remains
steadfast with us through all changes; and in all darkness of spirit
burns brightly; and, if we die, deplores us for ever, and loves still
equally; and exists with the very last gasp and throb of the faithful
bosom--whence it passes with the pure soul, beyond death; surely it shall
be immortal? Though we who remain are separated from it, is it not ours
in Heaven? If we love still those we lose, can we altogether lose those
we love? Forty years have passed away. Youth and dearest memories revisit
her, and Hope almost wakes up again out of its grave, as the constant
lady holds the young man's hand, and looks at the son of Thomas Newcome.
CHAPTER XLVI
The Hotel de Florac
Since the death of the Duc d'Ivry, the husband of Mary Queen of Scots,
the Comte de Florac, who is now the legitimate owner of the ducal title,
does not choose to bear it, but continues to be known in the world by his
old name. The old Count's world is very small. His doctor, and his
director, who comes daily to play his game of piquet; his daughter's
children, who amuse him by their laughter, and play round his chair in
the garden of his hotel; his faithful wife, and one or two friends as old
as himself, form his society. His son the Abbe is with them but seldom.
The austerity of his manners frightens his old father, who can little
comprehend the religionism of the new school. After going to hear his son
preach through Lent at Notre-Dame, where the Abbe de Florac gathered a
great congregation, the old Count came away quite puzzled at his son's
declamations. "I do not understand your new priests," he says; "I knew my
son had become a Cordelier; I went to hear him, and found he was a
Jacobin. Let me make my salut in quiet, my good Leonore. My director
answers for me, and plays a game at trictrac into the bargain with me."
Our history has but little to do with this venerable nobleman. He has his
chamber looking out into the garden of his hotel; his faithful old
domestic to wait upon him; his House of Peers to attend when he is well
enough, his few acquaintances to help him to pass the evening. The rest
of the hotel he gives up to his son, the Vicomte de Florac, and Madame la
Princesse de Moncontour, his daughter-in-law.
When Florac has told his friends of the Club why it is he has assumed a
new title--as a means of reconciliation (a reconciliation all
philosophical, my friends) with his wife nee Higg of Manchester, who
adores titles like all Anglaises, and has recently made a great
succession, everybody allows that the measure was dictated by prudence,
and there is no more laughter at his change of name. The Princess takes
the first floor of the hotel at the price paid for it by the American
General, who has returned to his original pigs at Cincinnati. Had not
Cincinnatus himself pigs on his farm, and was he not a general and member
of Congress too? The honest Princess has a bedchamber, which, to her
terror, she is obliged to open of reception-evenings, when gentlemen and
ladies play cards there. It is fitted up in the style of Louis XVI. In
her bed is an immense looking-glass, surmounted by stucco cupids: it is
an alcove which some powdered Venus, before the Revolution, might have
reposed in. Opposite that looking-glass, between the tall windows, at
some forty feet distance, is another huge mirror, so that when the poor
Princess is in bed, in her prim old curl-papers, she sees a vista of
elderly princesses twinkling away into the dark perspective; and is so
frightened that she and Betsy, her Lancashire maid, pin up the jonquil
silk curtains over the bed-mirror after the first night; though the
Princess never can get it out of her head that her image is still there,
behind the jonquil hangings, turning as she turns, waking as she wakes,
etc. The chamber is so vast and lonely that she has a bed made for Betsy
in the room. It is, of course, whisked away into a closet on
reception-evenings. A boudoir, rose-tendre, with more cupids and nymphs
by Boucher, sporting over door-panels--nymphs who may well shock old
Betsy and her old mistress--is the Pricess's morning-room. "Ah, mum, what
would Mr. Humper at Manchester, Mr. Jowls of Newcome" (the minister whom,
in early days, Miss Higg used to sit under) "say if they was browt into
this room?" But there is no question of Jowls and Mr. Humper, excellent
dissenting divines, who preached to Miss Higg, being brought into the
Princesse de Moncontour's boudoir.
That paragraph, respecting a conversion in high life, which F. B. in his
enthusiasm inserted in the Pall Mall Gazette, caused no small excitement
in the Florac family. The Florac family read the Pall Mall Gazette,
knowing that Clive's friends were engaged in that periodical. When Madame
de Florac, who did not often read newspapers, happened to cast her eye
upon that poetic paragraph of F. B.'s, you may fancy, with what a panic
it filled the good and pious lady. Her son become a Protestant! After all
the grief and trouble his wildness had occasioned to her, Paul forsake
his religion! But that her husband was so ill and aged as not to be able
to bear her absence, she would have hastened to London to rescue her son
out of that perdition. She sent for her younger son, who undertook the
embassy; and the Prince and Princesse de Moncontour, in their hotel at
London, were one day surprised by the visit of the Abbe de Florac.
As Paul was quite innocent of any intention of abandoning his religion,
the mother's kind heart was very speedily set at rest by her envoy. Far
from Paul's conversion to Protestantism, the Abbe wrote home the most
encouraging accounts of his sister-in-law's precious dispositions. He had
communications with Madame de Moncontour's Anglican director, a man of
not powerful mind, wrote M. l'Abbe, though of considerable repute for
eloquence in his Sect. The good dispositions of his sister-in-law were
improved by the French clergyman, who could be most captivating and
agreeable when a work of conversion was in hand. The visit reconciled the
family to their English relative, in whom good-nature and many other good
qualities were to be seen now that there were hopes of reclaiming her. It
was agreed that Madame de Moncontour should come and inhabit the Hotel de
Florac at Paris: perhaps the Abbe tempted the worthy lady by pictures of
the many pleasures and advantages she would enjoy in that capital. She
was presented at her own court by the French ambassadress of that day:
and was received at the Tuileries with a cordiality which flattered and
pleased her.
Having been presented herself, Madame la Princesse in turn presented to
her august sovereign Mrs. T.
Higg and Miss Higg, of Manchester, Mrs.
Samuel Higg, of Newcome; the husbands of those ladies (the Princess's
brothers) also sporting a court-dress for the first time. Sam Higg's
neighbour, the member for Newcome; Sir Brian Newcome, Bart., was too ill
to act as Higg's sponsor before majesty; but Barnes Newcome was
uncommonly civil to the two Lancashire gentlemen; though their politics
were different to his, and Sam had voted against Sir Brian at his last
election. Barnes took them to dine at a club--recommended his tailor--and
sent Lady Clara Pulleyn to call on Mrs. Higg--who pronounced her to be a
pretty young woman and most haffable. The Countess of Dorking would have
been delighted to present these ladies had the Princess not luckily been
in London to do that office. The Hobson Newcomes were very civil to the
Lancashire party, and entertained them splendidly at dinner. I believe
Mrs. and Mr. Hobson themselves went to court this year, the latter in a
deputy-lieutenant's uniform.
If Barnes Newcome was so very civil to the Higg family we may suppose he
had good reason. The Higgs were very strong in Newcome, and it was
advisable to conciliate them. They were very rich, and their account
would not be disagreeable at the bank. Madame de Moncontour's--a large
easy private account--would be more pleasant still. And, Hobson Brothers
having entered largely into the Anglo-Continental Railway, whereof
mention has been made, it was a bright thought of Barnes to place the
Prince of Moncontour, etc. etc., on the French Direction of the Railway;
and to take the princely prodigal down to Newcome with his new title, and
reconcile him to his wife and the Higg family. Barnes we may say invented
the principality: rescued the Vicomte de Florac out of his dirty lodgings
in Leicester Square, and sent the Prince of Moncontour back to his worthy
middle-aged wife again. The disagreeable dissenting days were over. A
brilliant young curate of Doctor Bulders, who also wore long hair,
straight waistcoats, and no shirt-collars, had already reconciled the
Vicomtesse de Florac to the persuasion, whereof the ministers are clad in
that queer uniform. The landlord of their hotel at St. James's got his
wine from Sherrick, and sent his families to Lady Whittlesea's Chapel.
The Rev. Charles Honeyman's eloquence and amiability were appreciated by
his new disciple--thus the historian has traced here step by step how all
these people became acquainted.
Sam Higg, whose name was very good on 'Change in Manchester and London,
joined the direction of the Anglo-Continental. A brother had died lately,
leaving his money amongst them, and his wealth had added considerably to
Madame de Florac's means; his sister invested a portion of her capital in
the railway in her husband's name. The shares were at a premium, and gave
a good dividend. The Prince de Moncontour took his place with great
gravity at the Paris board, whither Barnes made frequent flying visits.
The sense of capitalism sobered and dignified Paul de Florac: at the age
of five-and-forty he was actually giving up being a young man, and was
not ill pleased at having to enlarge his waistcoats, and to show a little
grey in his moustache. His errors were forgotten: he was bien vu by the
Government. He might have had the Embassy Extraordinary to Queen Pomare;
but the health of Madame la Princesse was delicate. He paid his wife
visits every morning: appeared at her parties and her opera box, and was
seen constantly with her in public. He gave quiet little dinners still,
at which Clive was present sometimes: and had a private door and key to
his apartments, which were separated by all the dreary length of the
reception-rooms from the mirrored chamber and jonquil couch where the
Princess and Betsy reposed. When some of his London friends visited Paris
he showed us these rooms and introduced us duly to Madame la Princesse.
He was as simple and as much at home in the midst of these splendours, as
in the dirty little lodgings in Leicester Square, where he painted his
own boots, and cooked his herring over the tongs. As for Clive, he was
the infant of the house: Madame la Princesse could not resist his kind
face; and Paul was as fond of him in his way as Paul's mother in hers.
Would he live at the Hotel de Florac? There was an excellent atelier in
the pavilion, with a chamber for his servant. "No! you will be most at
ease in apartments of your own. You will have here but the society of
women. I do not rise till late: and my affairs, my board, call me away
for the greater part of the day. Thou wilt but be ennuyd to play trictrac
with my old father. My mother waits on him. My sister au second is given
up entirely to her children, who always have the pituite. Madame la
Princesse is not amusing for a young man. Come and go when thou wilt,
Clive, my garcon, my son: thy cover is laid. Wilt thou take the portraits
of all the family? Hast thou want of money? I had at thy age and almost
ever since, mon ami: but now we swim in gold, and when there is a louis
in my purse, there are ten francs for thee." To show his mother that he
did not think of the Reformed Religion, Paul did not miss going to mass
with her on Sunday. Sometimes Madame Paul went too, between whom and her
mother-in-law there could not be any liking, but there was now great
civility. They saw each other once a day: Madame Paul always paid her
visit to the Comte de Florac: and Betsy, her maid, made the old gentleman
laugh by her briskness and talk. She brought back to her mistress the
most wonderful stories which the old man told her about his doings during
the emigration--before he married Madame la Comtesse--when he gave
lessons in dancing, parbleu! There was his fiddle still, a trophy of
those old times. He chirped, and coughed, and sang, in his cracked old
voice, as he talked about them. "Lor! bless you, mum," says Betsy, "he
must have been a terrible old man!" He remembered the times well enough,
but the stories he sometimes told over twice or thrice in an hour. I am
afraid he had not repented sufficiently of those wicked old times: else
why did he laugh and giggle so when he recalled them? He would laugh and
giggle till he was choked with his old cough: and old S. Jean, his man,
came and beat M. le Comte on the back, and made M. le Comte take a
spoonful of his syrup.
Between two such women as Madame de Florac and Lady Kew, of course there
could be little liking or sympathy. Religion, love, duty, the family,
were the French lady's constant occupation,--duty and the family,
perhaps, Lady Kew's aim too,--only the notions of duty were different in
either person. Lady Kew's idea of duty to her relatives being to push
them on in the world: Madame de Florac's to soothe, to pray, to attend
them with constant watchfulness, to strive to mend them with pious
counsel. I don't know that one lady was happier than the other. Madame de
Florac's eldest son was a kindly prodigal: her second had given his whole
heart to the Church: her daughter had centred hers on her own children,
and was jealous if thei
r grandmother laid a finger on them. So Leonore de
Florac was quite alone. It seemed as if Heaven had turned away all her
children's hearts from her. Her daily business in life was to nurse a
selfish old man, into whose service she had been forced in early youth,
by a paternal decree which she never questioned; giving him obedience,
striving to give him respect,--everything but her heart, which had gone
out of her keeping. Many a good woman's life is no more cheerful; a
spring of beauty, a little warmth and sunshine of love, a bitter
disappointment, followed by pangs and frantic tears, then a long
monotonous story of submission. "Not here, my daughter, is to be your
happiness," says the priest; "whom Heaven loves it afflicts." And he
points out to her the agonies of suffering saints of her sex; assures her
of their present beatitudes and glories; exhorts her to bear her pains
with a faith like theirs; and is empowered to promise her a like reward.
The other matron is not less alone. Her husband and son are dead, without
a tear for either,--to weep was not in Lady Kew's nature. Her grandson,
whom she had loved perhaps more than any human being, is rebellious and
estranged from her; her children, separated from her, save one whose
sickness and bodily infirmity the mother resents as disgraces to herself.
Her darling schemes fail somehow. She moves from town to town, and ball
to ball, and hall to castle, for ever uneasy and always alone. She sees
people scared at her coming; is received by sufferance and fear rather
than by welcome; likes perhaps the terror which she inspires, and to
enter over the breach rather than through the hospitable gate. She will
try and command wherever she goes; and trample over dependants and
society, with a grim consciousness that it dislikes her, a rage at its
cowardice, and an unbending will to domineer. To be old, proud, lonely,
and not have a friend in the world--that is her lot in it. As the French
lady may be said to resemble the bird which the fables say feeds her
young with her blood; this one, if she has a little natural liking for
her brood, goes hunting hither and thither and robs meat for them; And
so, I suppose, to make the simile good, we must compare the Marquis of
Farintosh to a lamb for the nonce, and Miss Ethel Newcome to a young
eaglet. Is it not a rare provision of nature (or fiction of poets, who
have their own natural history) that the strong-winged bird can soar to
the sun and gaze at it, and then come down from heaven and pounce on a
piece of carrion?
After she became acquainted with certain circumstances, Madame de Florac
was very interested about Ethel Newcome, and strove in her modest way to
become intimate with her. Miss Newcome and Lady Kew attended Madame de
Moncontour's Wednesday evenings. "It is as well, my dear, for the
interests of the family that we should be particularly civil to these
people," Lady Kew said; and accordingly she came to the Hotel de Florac,
and was perfectly insolent to Madame la Princesse every Thursday evening.
Towards Madame de Florac, even Lady Kew could not be rude. She was so
gentle as to give no excuse for assault: Lady Kew vouchsafed you to
pronounce that Madame de Florac was "tres grande dame;"--"of the sort
which is almost impossible to find nowadays," Lady Kew said, who thought
she possessed this dignity in her own person. When Madame de Florac,
blushing, asked Ethel to come and see her, Ethel's grandmother consented
with the utmost willingness. "She is very devote, I have heard, and will
try and convert you. Of course you will hold your own about that sort of
thing; and have the good sense to keep off theology. There is no Roman
Catholic parti in England or Scotland that is to be thought for a moment.
You will see they will marry young Lord Derwenwater to an Italian
princess; but he is only seventeen, and his directors never lose sight of
him. Sir Bartholomew Bawkes will have a fine property when Lord Campion