Ian Roy

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IAN ROY IAN E 0 Y EY UEQUHART FORBES, Author of " Otterstone Hall." LONDON : LONDON LITERAEY SOCIETY, 376, STRAND, W.C. CONTENTS. 'HAP. PAGE i. The Count and Countess De Vougny . . 1 ii. In which the Countess Prefers to Remain at Home 13 in. A Midnight Adventure 20 it. An Affair of Honour 32 v. A Friend at Court 47 vi. Bon Voyage 58 vi*. Elspeth Drummond 67 vii. Amantium Iræ est Redintegrat.o Amoris . 86 vm. The Cummer's Feast 100 ix. " Christin ! Is She Safe V . . . . 108 x. Captain Manuel Gonqalvo . . . .117 xi. A Brush with the Enemy .... 132 xn. "All's Well that Ends Well " . . . 144 xm. At Villa Teira 153 xiv. In which Hannibal leaves Capua . . 163 xv. The Battle of Villa Velha . . .179 xvi. The Irony of Fate 191 xvii. Ajter War's Alarms 203 Appendix IAN EOY.

Chapter I. The Count And Countess De Vougny

In the year 1762 there stood, in the neighbourhood of Versailles, an old house, which, under its former name of " La Maison Noir," had undergone many sieges in the old wars, but which, in the reign of Louis XIV. had beeu considerably added to, embellished by beautiful gardens, laid out in the fashion of the time, and re-christened by its owner the " Chateau de Vougny." It was towards the close of the Seven Tears' War, and France, by means of the celebrated Family Compact with Spain, had just succeeded in placing Great Britain in an extremely perilous position by forcing her to engage in a war with the whole House of Bourbon, at a time when she had also to support the declining cause of her ally, the King of Prussia, against Austria, the Empress of Russia, and the Germanic Body. In addition to this, as B IAN ROY. 2 both France and Spain had been compelled to acknowledge that her victorious navy was undeniably superior to their own combined fleets, they had determined to exhaust her resources, and divert her attention from naval enterprises, by attacking the neutral kingdom of Portugal, which — though its intercourse with France had been considerably increased by the success of its Indian and Brazilian enter prises — was in a measure indebted to England for its independence, an event that had resulted in a close friend ship between them, very advantageous to both nations.

France, the throne of which Louis XV. had now occupied for nearly fifty years, had been defeated at all points by her hereditary enemy, and the conquest of Portugal, almost defenceless and brought to the verge of anarchy and national bankruptcy by a long period of misgovernment, seemed to offer her an easy means of successfully retaliating on Great Britain. Mons. Capefigne, in one of his descriptions of the state of French society at this period, aptly applies to it the simile of Belshazzar's feast. Louis XV., at the head of the most brilliant court in Europe, had abandoned himself solely to pleasure, and the country was virtually governed by his mis tresses, and such ministers as their favour promoted to power. The doctrines of what is known as the " school of the eighteenth century," of which llosseau aud Voltaire were the leading representatives, were permeating the whole nation, and preparing the way for the terrible Revolution that was before long to overwhelm France, and fill all Europe with horror and consternation.

Courtiers, attired in the garb of JAN EOT 3 Brutus, recited republican verses ; abbes strove to make their sermons piquant by the embellishment of polite blasphemies ; and the praises of Freedom, and of Atheism, were continually on the lips of the most aristocratic and courtly society in Christendom, the members of which were soon to be butchered in hecatombs in the cause of the Goddess of Liberty and Reason. Art, learning, wit, refinement, luxury, and magnificence, that have never been surpassed, adorned the age with a brilliancy made all the more striking by the horrors with which it was destined to close. Never has the " banquet of life " been set forth with more tempting splendour than when Louis the XV. presided at it as the absolute ruler of France ; never were revellers gayer than the courtly circle whom he had gathered round him to partake of it ; while, all unheeded, their fierce and hungry enemies, goaded to fury by the tyranny and selfishness of class rule, were slowly gathering at the palace gates to fall upon and destroy them.

No seer arose, as in the sacred story of old, to interpret the dread inscription on the walls of the banquet-hall ; and, in happy unconsciousness that " their kingdom was numbered and finished," the doomed feasters were draining the cup of pleasure to the very dregs, and recording an era of splendour and profligacy, of intellectual culture and heartless levity, which can never fail to attract the wonder and pity of succeeding generations. Every rule, however, has its exceptions, and, at the time we are writing of, the Chateau de Vougny was inhabited by a Breton gentleman, who, though equal to any of them iu IAN ROY. lineage and breeding, formed a marked contrast in character and tastes to the majority of the aristocracy of his day. Raymond, Count de Vougny, had been born and brought up in Brittany, and though he had served frequently, and always with distinction, in the Eoyal armies, had seen plenty of the world, and, if he chose, had the entree to the best society in France, he still at forty-three preferred the sports and pleasures of country life to those of the Court and Capital.

Without being at all straight-laced he had a contempt for the luxurious sensuality which distinguished the majority of his class, and being a devout Catholic regarded the wordly ecclesiastics, who trifled with infidelity because it was the fashion, with the same horror that he felt for the uncompromising Freethinkers who attacked religion. A thoughtful and practical man, and a sincere lover of his country, he foresaw many of the evils to which the spirit of the age was leading the nation, and therefore regarded its apostles with distrust and dislike. Being awakened to the bad effects which the tyranny and absenteeism of the seigneurs were having on the farmers and peasantry, he steadily fulfilled his duty of residing periodically among his tenantry, and, though imbued with much of the pride of his class, endeavoured to treat them with generosity and humanity.

In short, he was one of those unfortunate beings, who, being conservative by birth right and training, are liberal by force of reason and natural temperament, and are therefore both behind and in advance of their age. Had he continued to lead the IAN ROY. 5 healthy, useful life, on his ancestral estate, in which he had passed most of the first forty years of his existence, he might have done good service to his generation, and ended his days in peace and honour in his old home. Destiny, however, in the shape of the Countess de Vougny, crossed his path on his forty-first birthday, and straightway shaped for him a career of a totally different and far less pleasant character. Both the Count's parents were dead, he had no brothers or sisters, and his sole surviving relative was a sister of his mother's, the Baroness de Bolbec, a good-natured, pleasureloving woman of the world, who lived chiefly in Paris.

The aunt and nephew were very fond of each other, and the latter, as methodical in this as in everything else, was in the habit of paying periodical visits to the Baroness, who never sailed on such occasions to rally him on the subject of his country tastes, his sober life, and his " indifference to the fair sex," faults which, she was fond of telling her friends, she would have regarded as unpardonable in any other man, but forgave in Raymond de Vougny, partly because he was her sister's son, and partly because she could not help loving him for his many excellent qualities of heart and head. She compensated herself for this toleration by teasing him into seeing as much gaiety as she could put in his way while he was with her ; aud during one of these visits she persuaded him by dint of mingled raiilery and entreaties to accompany her to a reception given by one of her numerous friends in Paris.

It so happened that the entertainment took place on the Count's IAN ROY. birthday, and when he awoke in the morning:, and almost simultaneously recalled the facts, first that he was now forty-one, and secondly that he had before him, what was to him, the prospect of a most wearisome evening, he came very swiftly to the conclusion that he had now reached an age when it was unfair, even for the best of aunts, to ask him to submit to be bored in this way, and he mentally registered an oath that he would yield to her blandishments no more. Alas ! for the weakness of human resolutions ! When he returned home that night, he was in the best of numours. He spoke in the highest terms of his hostess and her guests, told the Baroness that he felt that a little gaiety did him great good now and then, and ended by expressing a warm desire to escort her to a certain fete at Versailles, which he had the day before begged to be excused from attending on the plea that it was absolutely necessary for him to return to his estate in Brittany.

The old lady replied with great gravity, that she would be delighted to have him for a companion as long as he chose to stay with her. "When he had made his adieu, however, she laughed heartily to herself, for she knew that his sudden change of plan was owing to the impression evidently made upon him by two Portuguese young ladies — the Donna Inez and the Donna Isabel, daughters of the Marquis Lafoens de Melho — to whom he had been introduced that evening ; and she immediately set to work to consider which of the two had attracted him the most. The Marquis Lafoens de Melho had been banished from Portugal some four years before the commencement of this IAN ROY. 7 story, on account of the supposed complicity of his kins man, the Duke of Aveiro, in what is known in history as the " Conspiracy of the Tavoras."

The reader will remember how, on the failure of that attempt to assassinate the King of Portugal on his return one night from visiting one of his mistresses, the minister Pombal discovered that the plot had been originated, at the instigation of the Jesuits, by the heads of the great families of Aveiro and Tavora, who were incensed at their sovereign, because the wife of the younger Marquis of Tavora, was popularly supposed to enjoy the dishonourable distinction of being the royal favourite. It is said by some that it was the king's valet — who was also the pander of his pleasures — who had grossly insulted him, and who was seated in the carriage at the time of the attempt, and not his royal master, who was the object of the Duke of Aveiro's vengeance. It is also asserted that enmity of the Jesuits and ofthe great nobility was the mainspring of Pombal's con duct in this affair, and that his victims suffered unjustly.

Be this, however, as it may, the vengeance of the great minister was complete and unsparing, and while the Order of Jesus was expelled from Portugal, the Duke of Aveiro, the Marquis and Marchioness of Tavora, with their son, their son-in-law, and other members of their family, were cruelly executed, and many of their relatives, amongst whom was the Marquis Lafoens de Melho, were sent into exile. The close and frequent intercourse between France and Portugal, which was increased by the fact that the king of the latter country prided himself on copying all the IAN ROY. 8 vices, as well as the pomp and luxury of Louis XV., made Paris the natural refuge of the banished ; and the Marquis, who was of a very easy-going disposition, and whose rank and breeding at once secured him an entree into the best French society, had been quite content to settle himself there with his family.

His two daughters, whose charms had so strongly affected the Count de Vougny, were both very handsome, with the broad, low forehead and level eyebrows — said to be inherited from the Moors — so common in Spain and Portugal, and both therefore soon had plenty of admirers. They were, however, so different, both in appearance and character, that the Baroness might well feel doubtful as to which of them her nephew preferred. Inez, the elder, who was calm and self-possessed in manner, and whose face had a slight expression of melancholy that made her rare smiles peculiarly attractive, was undoubtedly the handsomer of the two. Her aquiline features were beautifully regular, her complexion of creamy whiteness, and her wistful black eyes, which very seldom reflected her inward feelings, were in brilliant contrast to her wavy, silken hair, which was of the colour which the French term chataine.

Isabel's hair, on the contrary, was almost black, and her dark hazel eyes were constantly lighting up and changing with her ever varying moods ; her cheeks were rosy with health, while her transparent complexion was somewhat bronzed with exposure from the open-air life she delighted to lead, and her mouth was perhaps a trifle too large, and her nose a little too short to satisfy the strictest cannons of beauty. IAN ROY. 9 She was full of animation, was constantly laughing and displaying her beautifully white, regular teeth, and while she was taller and more strongly built, had larger hands and feet than her sister, whose slight figure was perfectly formed. She was honesty itself, spoke what she thought, with a sometimes alarming boldness, and possessed a resolution and courage which Inez altogether wanted ; but, on the other hand, Inez was decidedly the cleverer, and more accomplished of the two, and had a tact and penetration, which, in the opinion of the shrewd old Baroness, were a great deal more valuable than honesty.

On the whole she would, she thought, make much the more desirable Countess de Vougny ; but then there was every reason to fear that her nephew, with his remarkable opinions, aDd with the perversity natural to his sex, would think just the reverse. "Whatever he thought, however, he was sure, as she said to herself with a sigh, to do exactly as he pleased, and so she gave up her speculations and calmly awaited the issue of events, feeling that she could acquiesce in his choice, whatever it was, so long as it ended in matrimony. The result was an agreeable surprise to her. The Count had fallen deeply in love with Inez, and set himself to win her with all the determination of his solid, affectionate nature. His devotion, handsome person, and sterling character commended him to the lady, his high birth and rich patrimony to her father the Marquis.

After a short courtship the pair were married, and Raymond de Fougny, thoroughly happy, carried off his wife to Brittany, IAN ROY. while the wits began to speculate as to how long it would be before the Countess had a lover, and the Count, tired of matrimonial bliss, would return to Paris and live like other people. It must be owned with regret that, although the Countess sincerely returned her husband's affection, and did her best to enter into his tastes, these ill-omened predictions were in part verified. She was naturally formed for society, and, in spite of all her gallant efforts to resist it, the simple life of a great seigneur, ruling patriarchally over his tenants, which was the Count's beau ideal of existence, filled her with ennui. In vain did she try to imbue herself with the spirit of her sister Isabel, who, on the contrary, thoroughly enjoyed it, and who, being her dearest and indeed only female friend, lived almost entirely with her.

Do what she would, the talk, and pursuits, and amusements of the country gentry, her neighbours, bored her unspeakably. She pined in secret for the brilliant life of Paris and Versailles, and was only stirred into gaiety when she was talking or hearing about its details. If she turned for relief to books to music, or to painting, she only ended by yawning over her pursuits. Her husband cared nothing at all for art, and only for very solid reading, and her sister, who fully shared his love for open-air sports, cared for neither. Poor Inez had not a soul to sympathise with her tastes, and had no real home interests ; and her position, which might otherwise have been more endurable, was rendered harder to bear by the fact that she had no children to devote herself to. Nevertheless she might have con- IAN ROY. 11 tinued to bear her lot uncomplainingly had not the love of her husband led him at last to sacrifice his own tastes to hers.

His affection for her was so deep and unselfish that to see her suffering from weariness aud despondency was unendurable to him. Unknown to her, he had watched all her thoughts, and studied all her wishes, with the keenest anxiety, and had made it the first object of his life to see that nothing should be wanting to make her happy. For two and a half years he observed, with silent pain, her vain struggles to interest herself in the thoughts and pursuits that he loved, hoping against hope, that in time she might grow to love them as he did, and find her happiness in them. Then at last he owned to himself sorrowfully that it could never be. The only time when his wife really brightened up and took pleasure in life was when they were away from home. He could not blame her, he knew that she did her utmost to conquer her natural tastes for his sake, and loved her all the more for it, but he felt now that she could never succeed.

Heaven had formed her for one life and him for another. She should no longer suffer on his account, and he would try and find his pleasure in suffering for her. He hated the life of the town, and he felt that his intense love for his beautiful wife made him horribly jealous regarding her, and that he should have to undergo a perfect purgatory in seeing her mix in the fascinating, profligate society of the Court. But he proudly said to himself that he could always trust her, of that he was sure, and that his absurd jealousy should be no bar to her happiness. Perhaps in time she might get IAN ROY. 12 tired of this gay life, and return more eagerly to the more sober one he longed for her to prefer. His marriage had hitherto been blest by no offspring, but should that blessing be granted him he might hope that the old home in Brittany, so dear to him, might then become dear to her too.

So, to the intense joy and surprise of his wife, he one day told her that he had come to the conclusion that it was his duty, as a noble, to attend the Court of his Sovereign more fre quently; that it would give him pleasure to see her take the place in society for which he felt nature had fitted her ; and that, with this object, he had caused the old Chateau at Versailles to be prepared for their reception, and had, through his aunt, the Baroness, secured her a small post of honour about the Queen. The Countess thanked him for his though tfulness with her usual quiet grace, aud then suddenly gave way to an irrepressible burst of tears, more eloquent, and more grati fying to her husband than any words. He felt that he at once realised the conflict of feelings that had caused them, and knew even before she told him — as she did when she was calmer — that, though in part due to a sense of relief from the tension of a struggle which she felt to be hopeless, they were chiefly the result of happiness and gratitude at this token of his love for her, mingled with bitter grief for the failure of her efforts to share his tastes, and for the sacrifice she felt he was making for her sake.

Never, probably, either before or after during their lives, did the pair feel for each other such sincere love and esteem as in these few brief moments, the recollection of which, in IAN ROY. 13 spite of all subsequent trials and sorrows, remained for ever indelibly impressed on the minds of both. The Countess felt constrained for very shame, to make a feeble effort to dissuade her husband from his purpose, but he smilingly over-ruled all her half-hearted opposition. In two months from this time they had bidden adieu to the rugged scenery of Brittany, and, when this story commences, had been living for more than a year in the Chateau de Vougny at Versailles, where, as in the country, Donna Isabel de Melho, as a matter of course, formed one of the family party.

Chapter II. In Which The Countess Peefebs To Bemain At Home

One fine evening in April the Countess de Vougny and her sister were seated together in the boudoir of the former. The room looked on to the garden, and from the windows they could see the Count in the distance, pacing up and down a broad walk, shaded by a row of elm-trees on the side nearest the house, and skirting a piece of ornamental water at the far end of the grounds. "Really, Inez, you shouldnot yield to his absurd jealousy like this ? " said Donna Isabel. " You only encourage it by this perpetual submission. Once more, do come." "Once for all, my dear child, no," replied the Countess, rather impatiently, " I tell you that I prefer to remain at IAN ROY. home quietly this evening. The Baroness de Bolbec will take you to the masked ball, and Raymond aud I will have a quiet tete-a-tete.

You will enjoy it quite as much with out me." " I shall do no such thing, Inez ! " "Nonsense! You know you will. You will have all your admirers, with Mons. de la Faye at their head, to console you. Your Scotch friend, Mons. Gordon — whom I am so curious to see, and seem fated never to meet — will no doubt be there, and make himself very agreeable, and also make Mons. de la Faye very jealous. "What more do you want ? Please leave me in peace, and let us talk of some thing else." " I have no patience with Raymond," cried her sister, rising, and looking out of the window. " There he is still tramping up and down ! He only encourages this mania of jealousy by brooding over it. Why can't he go to the opera, or lose his money at play, or behave like other people ! " •' Isabel, you talk like a child !

Raymond at the opera indeed ! You know he cares as little about music as you do yourself." " He is brooding over it now," continued her sister, quite disregarding this sarcasm. " I tell you it is very bad for him. Really of late he has taken to glaring at you sometimes in a way that makes me wonder if he is quite in his senses, and almost frightens me.'' li How you exaggerate, Isabel ! Glared at me! Raymond has been out of sorts the last few weeks, that is all. You IAN ROY. 15 know Paris never suits him. Aud if I am not frightened, I am sure you need not be," aud the Countess laughed rather unnaturally. " I know that he has been as sulky as a bear the last few days," replied Isabel. " And he has been marching up and down that walk for the last three hours and more. I say you should not encourage him, that is all.

You are both fond of each other, and you make each other miserable." Her sister sighed, and then blushed. " Of course I am fond of Raymond ! " said she, rather inconsequently. " My dear Isabel, do give me credit for as much observation as yourself. Do you suppose I don't notice all these things, as much as you do ? " "I daresay you do. I only say you encourage his jealousy by yielding to it." "And I say that I don't do any such thing. Do be just to him, Isabel. Remember how he hates the life of the Court, aud that he goes through it solely to please me. Poor fellow ! He feels it all so, that I often long to give up everything and go home again to Brittany. And, please God, I will make him return there before very long if only " and the Countess, who had been speaking very earnestly, here suddenly checked herself with a start.

" If you can only make up your own mind to give it up, my dear ! " cried the other, with a laugh. " I know you too well ! It is impossible. You could never do it.'' "What do you mean, Isabel 1 " cried the Countess, angrily. " Never do it 1 " " Come, come, don't let us quarrel," said Isabel, still IAN ROY. laughing, and kissing her. " Believe me, I give Raymond every credit for his numerous good qualities, and you know I am really fond of him. But I know also only too well how much you endured in the way of ennui for his sake. I think it is very good of you to give up the ball, and, as you are really determined on it, I won't say any more. It is getting dusk, and time for me to think of getting ready. Come, and help me to dress." " Poor Raymond ! " said the Countess rising, with a sigh. " Well, it will certainly be more interesting to see you adorn yourself than to squabble with you, so come along ; " and the two went together to Donna Isabel's apartments.

Meanwhile the Count was continuing his solitary promenade, and, judging from the stern, sad expression on his usually good-humoured face, his mind was full of very serious and painful thoughts. " So it has come to this at last ! " he cried aloud, stopping suddenly in his walk. "All my evil presentiments are fulfilled. Fool that I was to drag her into such an atmosphere of temptation ! Thrice accursed fool ! Oh, to be at home again once more ! " He stood with folded arms gazing absently at the water, in which the foliage of the elms, the blue sky and the towers of the chateau were reflected ; and a shoal of carp sunning themselves in a corner on which the last rays of the sunset fell, swam up to him in anticipation of their customary feast. But the Count saw neither his pets nor the picture in the water.

His thoughts had travelled far away, to a rough moorland country, brightened with gorse IAN ROY. 17 and heather, stretching away to a wild rocky coast, washed by the tossing Atlantic ; to a low battlemented grey house ; and to a small room in it, with deep-embrasured windows.. looking out across the heath towards the sea, in which he had first told his wife of his resolution to come and live at Versailles. " I will never believe it ! " he cried at last. " No, no ! It cannot be ! It must be false. Oh, may God grant it ! Ha ! — " He paused, startled by what sounded to him at first like the notes of a bird in the ivy on the wall that enclosed the gardens of the chateau. They were peculiarly rich and sweet, but strangely unfamiliar to the Count, whose country life had given him a large experience in such matters.

He listened intently, and in a few moments he felt convinced that they proceeded from uo bird, but were a very clever, whistling imitation of a bird's, song. — They suddenly ceased, and then, after a brief pause, there came from the corner of a yew hedge, some twenty paces from him, three or four single notes, slightly resembling the former ones, as if in answer to their call. The hedge was a long double one, skirting on each side a path, leading from one corner of the piece of water to the servants' offices. Writh a muttered oath, the Count drew back farther into the shadow of the elm beneath which he was standing, and watched eagerly for what would follow. Presently the notes in the ivy began to sound again. This time, however, after a minute, they became softer, and then distinctly took the form of two bars of an air then popular in Paris, after which they ceased abruptly as before. c IAN ROY.

There was the same pause, then came the same answering notes from the yew hedge, and presently the Count saw a woman, whom he at once recognised as his wife's maid, issue from the walk, pass round one side of the water, and go straight to the spot in the wall from which the whistling had seemed to proceed. She looked stealthily around, and theD, raising a loose stone in the wall, took something from under it, and hurried back to the house by the same way she had come. The Count watched her in silence till she had disappeared. Then, with an expression of fierce anger, he stepped a pace forward as if about to follow her. But his limbs suddenly seemed to fail him ; he staggered like a drunken man, and, falling back against the tree, he covered his face, contorted with mingled grief and rage, with his hands, and fairly sobbed with emotion.