In the Day of Adversity. A romance

Preface

Those who are acquainted with the delightful Mdmoires Secrets de M. Le Comte de Bussy - Rabutin (particularly the supplements to them), and with Rousset's Histotre de Louvois, will, perhaps, recognise the inspiration of this story. Those who are not so acquainted with these works will still, I trust, be able to take some interest in the adventures of Georges St Georges. J. B.-B. CONTENTS THE FIRST PERIOD CHAP. PAGE I. The King's Command ... 3 II. Hospitality ..... 14 III. It is the Man ..... 24 IV. Her Like stands in the Path of Others' Greed ..... 35 V. The Graveyard .... 43 VI. A Little Light .... 56 VII. A Reason ..... 66 VIII. Drawing near .... 77 IX. Louis ...... 88 X. Madame la Marquise ... 99 XI. The Marquise tells a Story . . no XII. Lost . . . . . . 119 XIII. De Roquemaure's Work . . . 129 XIV.

I must speak ..... 140 XV. The Minister of War . . . 151 XVI. Pasquedieu !..... 162 XVII. 'Kill Him Dead, Raoul' . . CONTENTS THE SECOND PERIOD CHAP. PAGE XVIII. La Galore Grande Reale . • iSs XIX. A New Life 196 XX. Hurry ! Hurry ! Hurry ! . . . 206 XXI. May 1692 ..... 217 XXII. La Hogue ..... 227 XXIII. The Bitterness of Death ... 237 XXIV. On the Road .... 246 XXV. 'I know Your Face' . . . 256 XXVI. In the Snare .... 266 XXVII. Another Escape .... 276 XXVIII. The Fleur-de-Lis .... 285 XXIX. Farewell Hope .... 296 XXX. ' It is True ' . . . . . 306 XXXI. Doomed . . . . . 316 XXXII. The Last Chance .... 327 XXXIII. The Day of Execution . . . 337 XXXIV. ' I will never forgive Her ' . . 348 XXXV. Face to Face at Last ... THE FIRST PERIOD A

Chapter I The King's Command All

over Franche Comt6 the snow had fallen for three days unceasingly, yet through it for those three days a man — a soldier — had ridden, heading his course north, for Paris. Wrapped in his cloak, it being prevented from falling by his bridle-arm, he bore a little child — a girl some three years old — on whom, as that cloak would sometimes become disarranged, he gazed down fondly, his firm, grave features relaxing into a sad smile as the blue eyes of the little creature looked upwards and she herself smiled into his face. Then he would whisper a word of love to it, press it closer to his breast, and again ride on. For three days the snow had fallen, was fall ing when he left the garrison of Pontarlier and threaded his way through the pine woods on the Jura slopes ; fell still as, with the wintry night at hand, he approached the city of Dijon.

Yet, except to sleep at nights, to rest himself, the child, and the horse, he had gone on and on, unstopping — or only stopping to shoot once a wolf that, maddened with hunger, had sprung out at him and endeavoured to leap to his saddle ; and once to cut down two foot pads — perhaps, poor wretches ! also maddened with hunger — who had striven to stop his way. On and on and on through the unceasing snow he had gone with the child still held fast to his bosom, resting the first night at Poligny, since the snow was so heavy on the ground that his horse could go no further, and another at Dole for the same reason, until now he drew near to Dijon. ' A short distance to travel in three days,' he muttered to himself as, afar off, his eye caught the gleam of a great beacon flaring surlily through the snow-laden air — the beacon on the southern watch tower of the city walls — ' a short distance.

Yet I have done my best — have obeyed orders ! Now let me see for further instructions.' There was still sufficient light left in the wintry gloom to read by, whereon, shifting the child a little as he drew rein — it needed not much drawing since the horse beneath him could hardly progress beyond the slowest walk, owing to the accumulated snow — he took from his holster a letter, and, passing over the beginning of it, turned to the last leaf and read : — ' At Dijon you will stay at the Chateau of my good friend and subject, the Marquis Phelypeaux, avoiding all inns; at Troyes at the Manoir of THE KING'S COMMAND Madame la Marquise de Roquemaure ; at Melun, if you have to halt there, at the Chateau of Monsieur de Riverac. Between these, if forced to rest, you are to select the auberges which offer, but at these three towns you are to repose yourself as stated.

Above all, fail not to present yourself at the Manoir of Roquemaure. The Marquise will deliver to your keeping a message for me. There fore be sure you travel by the route indicated, and not by that which passes by Semur, Tonnerre, and Sens. On this, I pray God to have you, M. Georges St Georges, in His holy keeping. Written at Paris, the 19th of December 1687. ' Signe, Louis. ' Soussigne, LOUVOIS.' ' So,' said M. Georges St Georges to himself, as he replaced the letter in his holster, ' it is to the Marquis Phelypeaux that I am to go. Very well. It may be better for the child than at an inn. And I cannot gossip, or, if I do, only to my host, who will doubtless retail it all to the King.' Then, addressing himself to the watchman on the southern gate, he cried : ' Open there, and let me in.' ' 'Tis too late,' the man replied, looking down at him through the fast - gathering night. ' None enter Dijon now after four of the evening.

Ten thousand devils ! why could you not have come half-an-hour earlier ? Yet there is a good auberge outside the walls, and — ' ' Open, I say,' called up the horseman. ' I ride by the King's orders, and have to present myself to the Marquis Phelypeaux. Open.' ' Tiens ! ' exclaimed the watchman, peering down at him through the grey snow and rime, with which was now mixed the blackness of the on coming night. ' You ride in the King's name and would see the Marquis ? Cest autre chose ! Yet I must be careful. Wait ; I will descend. Draw up to the grille of the gate.' The horseman did as the watchman bid him, looking down once at the child in his arms, whose face had become uncovered for a moment, and smiling again into its eyes, while he muttered, ' Sweet, ere long you shall have a softer couch ; ' then, as the grille opened and the watchman's muddy face, all blotched with the consumption of frequent pigeolets of Macon and other wines, appeared at the grating, he bent down towards him, as though to submit his own face to observation. ' Your name and following ? ' grunted the man. ' Georges St Georges, lieutenant in the ckevaux legers of the Nivernois.

In garrison at the Fort de Joux, between Verrie>es and Pontarlier. Re called to Paris by order of the King. Ordered to visit the Marquis Phelypeaux. Are you answered, friend ? ' 'What do you carry in your arms? It seems precious by the way you clasp it to you.' ' It is precious. It is a child — my child.' ' Tiens ! A strange burden for a soldier en route from the frontier to Paris. Where is the mother ? ' THE KING'S COMMAND ' In her grave. Now, open the gate.' For answer the bolts and bars were heard creak ing, and presently one half of the great door swung back to admit the rider, and he, dismounting, led his horse through it by one hand, while with the other he clasped his child to his breast beneath the cloak. Standing in the warder's lodge was a woman — doubtless his wife — who had heard the conversation, for as St Georges entered she came forward and exclaimed, gently, ' A cold, long ride, monsieur, for such as that,' and she touched with her finger the rounded back of the child as it lay curled up on his arm beneath the cloak.

Then, still femininely, she went on : ' Ah ! let me see the pauvrette', and without resistance from him she drew back the cloak and gazed at it. ' Mon Dieu ! ' she exclaimed, ' a pretty little thing. Poor little bebe ! And the mother dead, monsieur ? ' her eyes filling with tears as she spoke. ' Dead,' he replied — ' dead, in giving birth to her. I am father and mother both. God help her ! ' The woman stooped down and kissed the little thing, whose soft blue eyes gazed up at her; then she said, ' The Marquis Phelypeaux is a solitary, dwelling alone. There is little provision for children there. What will monsieur do ? ' ' As I have done for three years — attend to all its wants myself. There is none other. It had a nurse in the fort, but I could not leave it nor bring her with me. In Paris I may find another.

Now as that of the watchman of the southern gate. Instead, a scowling face, as of a man on whom good liquor had no improving effect, but rather soured and embittered him. ' What want you ? ' he asked, staring out moodily at the soldier before him and at his horse, and observing the great sword, hat and cloak of the man, with — beneath the latter — the burden, and also the military trappings of the steed. ' What want you ? ' ' An audience of the Marquis, by order of the King ; also food and lodging by the same authority. Faith ! if I had my way I should not demand it. There is a good auberge over there, to all appear ances,' nodding his head towards the white-walled inn on the other side of the place, before which hung a bush, and on which was painted, the whole length of the house, ' L' Ours de Bourgog?ie.

Loge ment d pied et d cheval.' ' Doubtless I could be well accommodated.' ' Take your horse there, at anyrate,' said the sour-faced man ; ' there is no accommodation for it. Then come back. We will see later about you.' And turning to the boy, he cried, gesticulat ing with his hands, ' Va ten. Be off.' The lad did not wait to be bidden a second time to depart, but scampered across the open place, while St Georges, regarding the morose looking man in front of him, said, ' My friend, neither your courtesy nor your hospitality is of the best. Does your master bid you treat all who come to visit him in this manner ? ' THE KING'S COMMAND ' I am obeying my master,' the other replied — ' the only one I acknowledge when I parley with you. Show me your warrant, however, for coming to this house.' ' There it is,' replied St Georges. ' Take it to the bishop, bid him read it, and then bring me whatever message he may send me.

Perhaps,' regarding the servitor through the wicket as he gave him the paper, ' if the master is like the man I had best wait until he has read the King's letter ere I seek shelter for my horse. It may be that I shall have to demand it for myself also at the inn.' Then, to his amazement, he saw that the other had opened the leaves of the King's letter and was calmly reading them. ' Vagabond ! ' he ex claimed, ' how dare you make so bold ? You read a letter from the King to me — to be shown to the Marquis ! ' ' Pish ! ' replied the other, testily. ' Be silent. I am Phelypeaux.' ' You ! ' exclaimed the soldier, stepping back. ' You ! ' — and his eye fell on the rusty brown cloth ing of the man, half in, half out, the wicket — ' you ! ' ' Yes, I. Now go and put your horse up at the inn. Then come back.

But stay ; what have you beneath your arm ? ' ' A child.' ' A child ! Does Louis think I keep a nursery ! What are we to do with it while you stay here ? ' ' I will attend to that. If you give me a bed the child will share it, and if you have some white bread and milk it is enough for its food.' ' Best get that at the " Ours," ' replied he who said he was Phelypeaux. ' Bread I have, but no milk. There is no babes' food here. Now, I counsel you, go seek the inn. Your horse may take a chill. Then come back. And,' as the soldier turned to lead his animal across the snow-covered, deserted place, ' leave the child there. The patronne is a motherly creature, with half-a-dozen of her own brood. 'Twill be better there than here. Ring loudly when you return ; I am somewhat deaf,' and he banged the wicket to in St Georges' face. ' Humph ! ' muttered the latter, as he crossed to the inn, 'the counsel is good.

That seems no place for a child. Yet, how to leave it ? Still, it is best. It has slept often with its nurse, maybe will sleep well at the inn. Well, let me see what the patronne is like.' He entered the yard of the ' Ours ' as he meditated thus, engaged a stall for the animal, saw it fed and rubbed down, and then, taking his pistols and the King's letter from the holsters and putting them in his belt, entered the hostelry and called for a cup of wine. And seeing that the woman who served him — evidently the mistress from the manner in which she joked with one or two customers and gave directions to a servant — was a motherly-looking creature, he asked her if the child he carried would be safe there for the night. ' A child ! ' she exclaimed, ' a child, and in the THE KING'S COMMAND arms of a soldier !

Why, sir, whence come you with a child ? Mon Dieu ! Of all burdens soldiers rarely carry such as that.' ' Nevertheless, I carry such a one. I am on the road from Pontarlier to Paris with my child, and I sleep to-night across the way at the Marquis Phdlypeaux's. It seems there is no accommodation there for infants.' 'Heinl' screamed the woman, turning to the customers in the place ; ' you hear that ? ' Then, addressing herself to St Georges, she continued : 'You speak well, monsieur; that is no place for children. The old scelerat would be as like to eat it.'

Chapter II Hospitality Who

then, is Phelypeaux?' asked St Georges, as he sat himself down in front of the great kitchen fire — the kitchen serving always in a Burgundian inn as the general place of assembly and serving-room. ' Who is Phelypeaux ? ' ' Monsieur does not, in truth, know? ' she replied, with a glance at the customers, one a Mousque taire, himself on the road to Bar to join his regi ment, and the other evidently a shopkeeper of the place. The former had risen and saluted St Georges as he entered, seeing by his accoutrements and lace * that he was an officer ; and now he joined deferentially in the conversation. ' In truth, monsieur, he is a rarity, an oddity. He is priest and bishop both — ' ' I know,' interrupted St Georges, ' he is the Bishop of Lodeve. I have heard of him. He has brother, I think, comrade, who follows our pro fession? ' * The various chevaux-ttgers had not as yet been put by Louisjnto uniform, as was the case a few years before with most of the French regiments.

HOSPITALITY ' That is true, monsieur — one who will go far. 'Twas but last year the King sent him ambassa dor to Cologne ; now they say he goes to Turin.' ' So, so. But this one here — this bishop ? And, if Bishop of Lodeve, what does he do in Burgundy?' ' Villainies, sc/l/ratesses,' interrupted the hostess, turning away from the fowl she was basting on the spit, and emphasizing her remarks with the great wooden spoon. ' Oh ! figure to yourself, he is a villain. Ma foi, oui! A bishop! Ha! A true one. Boasts he believes not in a God, yet rules Languedoc with a rod of iron since Cardinal Bonzi fell off his perch ; entertains the wickedest mondaines of Louis's Court as they pass through Lodeve, has boys to sing to him while he dines, and — and — But there,' she concluded, as she turned to the fowl again, ' he is a Phelypeaux.

That tells all. They are sacred with the King.' ' But why ? ' asked St Georges, as he rose from his seat — ' but why ? What does he here if he rules Languedoc, and why should Phelypeaux be a charmed name ? Tell me before I go.' He had made arrangements with the good woman to leave his child there for the night, she swearing by many saints that it should sleep with her own, and be as carefully guarded and as precious as they were. So he had left it in her care, saying, ' Remember, 'tis motherless, and, besides, is all I have in the world, all I have left to me of my dead wife. Remember that, I beseech you, as you are a mother yourself; ' and she, being IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY a mother, and a true one, promised. Therefore, it was now sleeping peacefully upstairs, its little arms around the neck of one of her own children. ' Why, monsieur, why is he here, and why does he bear a charmed name?' repeated the other customer, the bon bourgeois, joining in the conver sation for the first time. ' I will tell you.

First he comes regularly to take his rights of seignor age — his rents, his taxes, his fourths of all the produce of his vineyards and arable lands on our Cote D'or. They are rich, these Phelypeaux — have been ever since the days of Charles the Bold — and they are greedy and grasping. Also, they are great and powerful — they are of the Pontchar train blood, and are of the Court. One was minister to the late king under the Cardinal. And as for being bishop, tiens! he was priest under Mazarin, who had been a cavalry man as monsieur is himself. It was Barberini who told him the gown was better than the sword, and it was Mazarin who made Phelypeaux bishop — to silence him, you understand, monsieur, to silence him. He knew too much.' ' What did he know ? ' asked the soldier, lifting his cup to his lips for the last time, though with his eyes fixed on the bourgeois as he spoke. ' Ha ! he knew much ; the King's first love for La Beauvais— his first love! — then for Marie de Mancini, and for La Mothe Houdancourt.

Also he knew Turenne and Cond£, and much more than the world knew, or will ever know.' ' Turenne and Conde ! ' St Georges echoed. HOSPITALITY ' Two great captains — two great friends and rivals ! So ! Perhaps he will tell me something of them to night. They are names for a soldier to respect. Bon soir, la compagnie! and he made towards the door. They wished him good-night, the hostess telling him to have no fear, the child should be well attended to, and the Mousquetaire saluting him ; then the latter said, — ' Monsieur rides north again to-morrow, as I heard him say. I, too, go forward to Bar. If monsieur permits, and since the roads are bad and often infested with vile characters, I will ride part way with him.' St Georges looked at the young man ; observed his stalwart frame, as big as his own ; his honest face and clear grey eyes, the former ruddy with many a march and much exposure ; then he said, — ' Good !

We will ride together. Bar is more than twenty leagues of the journey I have to make. We must part before it is reached. Still, let us set out together. At what hour do you leave ? ' ' As soon after daybreak as possible, monsieur, if that is convenient' ' It shall be. I will quit Phelypeaux at the dawn.' Then St Georges added aside, — ' Comrade, I leave here in the inn the two things dearest to me in the world — my child and horse. I con fide them to you. Will you accept the trust until the morning?' ' With the greatest will, monsieur. Trust me. Ere I sleep to-night I will see that all is well with both. You may depend on me.' So be it,' replied St Georges. " I do depend on you. Farewell till dawn,' and he strode across the great gaunt place, on which the snow still fell and lay. ' " Ring loud !

" the old man said,' he muttered. ' Well, here's for it,' and he pulled a peal on the bell-chain hanging by the side of the door that might have waked the dead. Then, as he stood there musing on why the King should have given him orders to put up at such a place as Phely peaux's instead of letting him enjoy the solid, if rough, comfort of a Burgundian inn, the wicket opened again and the old man's sour face appeared once more at it. ' So ! ' he said, ' you have come back ; and, I perceive, you have left the child behind you. 'Tis well. We have no room for children here. Come in, come in,' he added, snappishly. Obeying an invitation given in none too warm a tone, St Georges stepped through the wicket into the courtyard of the house — a place filled with snow that had lain there and increased since the first flake had fallen until now, and through which a thin path, or track, had been trodden from the great doorway to a smaller one that admitted to the house itself. ' You perceive,' remarked Phelypeaux, ' this is not a luxurious halting for you, monsieur.

Still, the chevaux-l/gers are doubtless used to an absence of luxury.' ' The chevaux-le'gers can make shift with any thing,' replied the soldier. And, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke, he said, — HOSPITALITY ' Monseigneur VEveque, why do you imagine his Majesty has instructed me to become your guest for a night ? ' He spoke without any of that respect usually shown to exalted members of the Church in the days of Louis XIV. — a monarch who considered himself a religious man, and demanded that the most scrupulous reverence should be paid to all things ecclesiastical. But, in truth, the Bishop of Lodeve was known to be a scandal to the sacred calling he belonged to, and now that Georges St Georges was aware that he was face to face with the man himself, he refused to testify a respect for him that he could not feel. ' Humph !

" Monseigneur l'Eveque ! " Ha ! So you know me ? ' St Georges nodded, whereon the other went on : ' Why the King has sent you to me, eh ? Perhaps because he thinks I am a good host, and because he loves his troops to be well treated. So I am a good host — only it is when I am in Languedoc. Here, unhappily, I must be, perforce, a bad one. I have no servants but those I have brought with me, and one or two women who look after the chateau during my absence.' He had by this time opened the door into the house and escorted his visitor into a large, desolate looking saloon, on the walls of which the damp hung in huge beads and drops, and in which there was a fireplace of vast dimensions that gave the appearance of never having had a fire lit in it for years. Yet before this fireplace there stood two great arm-chairs, as though to suggest that here was a comfortable, cosy spot in which to sit. ' We'll soon have a fire,' said this strange creature; whereon he went to a corner of the room in which hung some arras, and, thrusting it aside, brought forth a handful of kindling wood, two or three green, newly-cut logs of different sizes, and some shavings, to which he applied the tinder after he had thrown them all pell-mell into the grate to gether.

Then, when the smoke which arose from the damp green wood had thoroughly permeated the whole of the room, he looked round at St Georges and said : ' You were gone some while to the " Ours." Did you sup there ? ' ' Nay,' replied the other, glancing at him through the smoke, and by aid of the single candle by which the room was illuminated, for it was now night, ' Nay, monseigneur ; I thought to sup with you.' ' And so you shall,' exclaimed Phelypeaux, with an assumed air of hilarity — ' and so you shall. Only — I cannot entertain you as in Languedoc. Now, if we were there — ' ' Well,' said the soldier, ' we are not. We are in Burgundy, the land of good cheer. We must take what Burgundy offers." ' Hilas ! it offers little— at least, in this house. However, I will see.' Saying which he opened a door at the other end of the room, and calling ' Pierre, Pierre,' loudly, he cried out, after a harsh voice had answered him from some distant room, ' bring some supper for Monsieur St Georges and HOSPITALITY myself.

For Monsieur St Georges and myself. You understand ? For Monsieur St Georges and myself.' ' Why emphasize " Monsieur St Georges " so strongly, monseigneur?' the other demanded. ' The respected servitor can hardly care much whether he brings supper for you and Monsieur St Georges or for you and Monsieur the dev — I beg your pardon, monseigneur.' The Bishop of Lodeve laughed a kind of grim, uncanny laugh as St Georges said this ; then he remarked : ' Surely you don't believe in — in — the gentleman you were about to mention ? Let me see, there is a musty proverb that he who sups with that personage needs a long spoon. Well, I would not sup with him — if he exists. Our supper will be none too profuse as it is,' and again he laughed. So, indeed, it seemed, judging by what Pierre brought in later.

The soup, served in a handsome silver tureen whose antique form and chasings must have dated back to the days of Henri de Navarre at latest, was so thin that it was nothing but boiling water with a greasy flavour ; and St Georges twisted his long moustaches with dismay as he gazed into the stuff before him. Moreover, the bread with which he endeavoured to fortify this meagre commencement was half baked, so that it was of the consistency of dough. Next, the meat which was brought to table must have been unkilled at the time he rode into Dijon, so tough and tasteless was it ; and the wine was a disgrace to France, let alone to Burgundy, where every peasant can obtain a drink that is palatable, if weak. And, to add to the other miseries of this regal, the table-cloth and napkins were so damp that — affected by the tureen and plates, which were hot if they possessed no other virtues — such as eatable food upon them ! — they smoked so much that the guest could scarcely see his host across the table. ' Not the fare of Languedoc,' this worthy divine muttered once or twice, ' not the fare of Languedoc.

Ah, Monsieur St Georges, you must come and see me in my bishopric if you want to live well. I can give you a good supper there.' ' So I have heard, monseigneur, with many other things as well. Music, I hear, accompanies your feasts — the voices of silver-tongued lads.' ' Ha ! ' chuckled the other, ' you have heard that ? Well, why not ? The choir is lazy and — since it costs me nothing — may as well sing at my table. Now, since I cannot persuade you to eat more ' — St Georges having pushed his plate away from him with an action of disgust—' let us have a little talk. Pierre, go away; we wish to be alone. Though, stay ; first of all bring a bottle of the old Clos from the buffet— the old Clos, you understand, the '79 bottling.' The cavalry man wondered if the ' old Clos ' was likely to be any better than the vinaigrous stuff he had just been treated to, and sat waiting its arrival with curiosity if not impatience.