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 THE COUNTESS DE BOMEYAL: 
 
 HER LIFE AND LETTERS. 
 
 BY 
 
 LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON. 
 
 ' On veut des romans, que ne regarde-t-on de prfes h, I'histoire ? " 
 M. GuizoT, Revue des Deux-Mondes. 
 
 m TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1858. 
 
 The right of Translation is reserved.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 K. BORN, PRINTER, GLOUCESTER STREET, PARK STREET, 
 
 CAMDEN TOWN.
 
 
 'S^ 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 The lady whose history forms the ground- 
 work of the following sketchy and whose 
 letters are for the first time published in 
 English, was connected by birth and mar- 
 riage with a number of persons who 
 played a conspicuous part in the courts 
 ?* and camps of Europe during the earlier 
 ^ portion of the eighteenth century ; that is, 
 ^ at a period when Paris was universally con-
 
 11 PREFACE. 
 
 sidered as the capital ol the civilised 
 world. 
 
 The age in which her lot was cast, and 
 the names which present themselves in 
 connection with that of the Countess de 
 Bonneval lend a peculiar interest to the 
 brief notices of her fate, which are to be 
 met with in the writers of that period. 
 
 By a careful examination of the memoirs 
 of the time, through isolated facts casually 
 recorded by contemporary historians, but 
 chiefly by means of her own letters, acci- 
 dentally preserved and transmitted to 
 posterity, an attempt has been made to 
 study the character, to reproduce the 
 features, to present, as it were, to the 
 readers the picture of a person whom M. 
 Sainte-Beuve, in his "Causeries du Lundi,^' 
 introduces to our notice as ^' one of the 
 most pure and, at the time of the Regency,
 
 PREFACE. Ul 
 
 one of the most rare examples of female 
 virtue; a graceful exception to the general 
 profligacy of that era/' 
 
 This work is not a biography, and still 
 less a novel; but rather a sketch, in which 
 imagination has ventured to fill up the 
 scanty outlines of history, following step by 
 step the indications it affords, and seeking 
 rather to guess than to invent, to interpret 
 than to originate. 
 
 Everybody is probably acquainted with 
 the name of the Comte de Bonneval, 
 whose follies and crimes, whose exploits 
 and misfortunes, gave occasion even during 
 his lifetime to the publication of spurious 
 memoirs, which he designates in his let- 
 ters as "an ill- written romance, full of 
 gross inventions and glaring falsehoods." 
 His numerous adventures and his military 
 prowess were in reality sufficiently remark-
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 able to attach to his name a certain 
 . celebrity. 
 
 In the notes which accompany this story 
 extracts are given from the Memoirs of 
 the Prince de Ligne, those of St. Simon, 
 and M. Sainte-Beuve's Essay, which will 
 serve to put the reader in possession, 
 should his memory not recall them, of 
 the principal historical features of M. de 
 Bonneval's extraordinary career. In order 
 justly to appreciate the character of his wife, 
 it is necessary to be acquainted with the 
 history of the extraordinary man on whom 
 she bestowed a heart that never faltered 
 in its allegiance. Her letters are fuU of 
 beauties of thought and expression, and 
 marked by touches of deep feeling, which 
 would have deserved an abler translator, 
 and a more skilful interpreter. 
 
 It only remains to be added that this
 
 PREFACE. V 
 
 work was originally written in French, and 
 published in Paris. Several alterations 
 have been made in this English Edition. 
 Passages have been remodelled in order to 
 adapt them to the genius of the language, 
 and considerable additions have been intro- 
 duced into the narrative.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BOMEVAL, 
 
 Jfirst C^agto. 
 
 KoMANTic, tender, visionary, mild, 
 
 Affectionate, reflecting, when a child, 
 
 With fear instinctive she from harshness fled, 
 
 And gentle tears for all who suffered shed. 
 
 Tales of misfortune touched her generous heart, 
 
 Of maidens left, or lovers forced to part. 
 
 Arabian nights' and Persian tales she read. 
 
 With long romances, with adventures fed 
 
 Her stirring thoughts, and dreamed of warlike fights 
 
 Of captive heroes, and victorious knights." — Crabbe. 
 
 ' The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows ; 
 They are polluted offerings." — Shakespeabe. 
 
 ' A fool with more of wit than half mankind ; 
 
 m * * * * * 
 
 Blest with each gift of nature and of art, 
 
 And wanting nothing but an honest heart." — Drydek. 
 
 In the bosom of a brilliant, refined, but li- 
 centious society, in one of the aristocratic 
 mansions of that Paris of the eighteenth cen- 
 
 YOL. I. B
 
 2 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 tury, which, thanks to the memoirs and letters 
 of the time, we feel so intimately acquainted 
 with, a few years before the death of Lewis 
 the Fourteenth, was born Judithe Charlotte 
 de Gontaut, third daughter of the Marquis de 
 Biron, and of Marie Antoinette de Nogent, 
 niece of the eccentric Due de Lauzun. 
 Fenelon was related to her family, and the Due 
 de St. Simon was her father's dearest friend. 
 The noblest houses of France were connected 
 by birth or by marriage with that of the 
 Gontaut Birons, itself one of the most illus- 
 trious in the kingdom. Almost all the cele- 
 brities of that period, old marshals, worn out 
 by the campaigns of the grand monarque, 
 statesmen in the full flush of courtly favour, 
 literary men of every grade, from the author 
 of '^ Athalie " down to the writer of the latest 
 lampoon, the loveliest women of the day, the 
 professed wit, and the incipient poet, congre- 
 gated in the salons, and formed the society of 
 the Hotel de Biron.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 3 
 
 A little girl was often to be seen there whose 
 countenance, even at a very early age, gave to- 
 ken of that quicknessof intelligence and depth of 
 feeling which characterised her in after life. In 
 the pensive expression of her eyes, and the 
 general cast of her features, there was something 
 of the charm which we associate with the name of 
 Louise de la Yalliere, and a resemblance to Carlo 
 Dolci's Magdalen in the Gallery of Florence. 
 If not the most beautiful, she was the most 
 engaging of children. Tears were wont to 
 stand in her dark blue eyes, to tremble on her 
 long eye-lashes, when an heroic action was 
 mentioned in her hearing. Those soul-stirring 
 words, valour, fame and glory, had a magical 
 influence on her young spirit. 
 
 It is as strange as it is true, that amongst wo- 
 men, it is usually the gentlest and the most loving 
 who are the most enthusiastic about military 
 prowess, the most easily dazzled by the pomp 
 and circumstance of war, the readiest to sym- 
 pathise, not with its victims but with its heroes, 
 
 b2
 
 4 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 the most influenced by the prestige which 
 throws a veil over its horrors. A timid girl 
 who shudders at the sight of a wound, weeps 
 over a dying bird, and shrinks from destroying 
 an insect, will listen with eager delight to tales 
 of danger and of death, will read with flushed 
 cheeks, and sparkling eyes, of armies swept 
 away, or rivers running with blood ; of bat- 
 teries scaled in the face of a thousand foes ; 
 of one man standing alone where hundreds 
 have perished around him. Her woman's 
 spirit responds to the theme, it kindles at the 
 thought, and the gentler the spirit, the quicker 
 will be that sympathy. If, at the age when 
 the soul awakens to new impressions, and the 
 countenance reveals every feeling as it arises, 
 five or six young girls were to be assembled 
 together to witness some pageant of mimic 
 warfare, to hsten to the strains of martial 
 music, or to the words of a poet when those 
 words have become the battle-cry of a nation, 
 which of them would be the first to undergo
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 5 
 
 that spell, and to breathe the deep-drawn sigh 
 of suppressed emotion ? Not the laughing girl 
 who bends forward with eager gestures, not 
 the stately beauty who coldly smiles and turns 
 away, but she, the timid maiden who hides 
 behind her companions, who shrinks from 
 notice, who blushes when addressed ; she it is 
 who hangs on the lips from which flow the 
 poet's words, who strains her eyes to catch 
 the first sight of the banners floating in the 
 wind, her ears to retain the faint sound of 
 the warlike melody as it dies away in the 
 distance. 
 
 Amongst the maids of honour of Madame 
 Henriette d'Angleterre it would have been 
 Louise de la Valliere, amongst the daughters 
 of the Marquis de Biron the little Judithe. 
 She was very tender-hearted, and full of com- 
 passion for the poor, this little Parisian 
 maiden, but to an old soldier she would have 
 gladly given the last coin in her purse, or, if 
 that was empty, the ring off" her finger.
 
 6 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 The chivalrous virtues of her ancestors 
 seemed to live again in this young descendant of 
 the Crusaders ; the love of God and of the poor 
 was blended in her heart with a childish enthu- 
 siasm for military glory. She was ever asking 
 her nurse for stories out of the Bible, and es- 
 pecially for those that told how David con- 
 quered Goliath, how the valiant Macchabees 
 defended their country, how the Archangel St. 
 Michael drove Satan out of Heaven. 
 
 ^^To night, nurse," she would say, "you 
 must promise to tell me one of my cousin's 
 favorite stories?" 
 
 " If you behave yourself very well all day, 
 Mademoiselle Judithe, we shall see about it 
 to-night," was Madame Dupuis' customary 
 reply. 
 
 One day Judithe enquired in return — 
 
 "Was my cousin then such a very good 
 boy that you were always telling him 
 stories?" 
 
 " Claude Alexandre a good boy ! ! no
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 7 
 
 indeed, my dear ; there never was such a bold 
 and troublesome young gentleman. He was 
 enough to drive a poor woman out of her wits. 
 I can see him now standing before me, just in 
 the way he used to do, with his hands behind his 
 back, and his dark eyes fixed upon me. ^ Now 
 madame, my nurse,' he would say, ^ please to 
 tell me this very minute the story of the 
 giant and the shepherd, or I will pull down 
 the house about your ears; but mind, that 
 this time the giant must kill the shepherd ; 
 I like giants much better than shepherds.' 
 And then he would go into a passion, and 
 storm and stamp about the room, because, 
 heaven forgive me, I would not alter the 
 Scriptures just to suit his fancy. Ah, dear 
 me, he was as handsome as an angel, but if 
 any one thwarted him, there was the very 
 devil to pay. No tutor could manage my 
 young master, and indeed when M. de Seig- 
 nelay tried to bully him, he found that he 
 had caught a tartar."
 
 8 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 "Was that the father of Charles Colbert, 
 who calls Marie his little wife?'' ^ 
 
 " Exactly so, my dear. The late Minister 
 of the Admiralty. Your cousin had been 
 wearing for two years the uniform of a naval 
 officer, and was just turned twelve.^ Well, 
 one fine day my lord comes on board my 
 young master's ship in the harbour of Toulon, 
 and proceeds to inspect the crew. When your 
 cousin is presented to him, * Why, how now ! ' 
 exclaims my lord, ^upon my honour you 
 are not old enough or tall enough, my 
 young gentleman, for his majesty's service.' 
 ' I am twelve years old,' quoth the young 
 
 ^ Marie Renee de Gontaut, the sixth daughter of 
 the Due de Biron, married in 1726, Charles Colbert 
 Comte de Seignelay, grandson of the great Colbert, 
 and son of the Marquis de Seignelaj, who was after 
 his father Minister of the Admiralty under Lewis the 
 Fourteenth. — Dictionaire de la Noblesse. 
 
 ^ " His relative the Marechal de Tourville, the Tur- 
 renne of the navy, made M. de Bonneval enter that 
 profession at the early age of eleven." — Memoirs of the 
 Prince de Ligne.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. ^ 
 
 count, drawing himself up to his Ml height. 
 * That will not do/ rejoins my lord. * We 
 shall be obliged to cashier you, my young 
 friend.' ^ That is impossible,' replies the boy. 
 ^ And why so ? ' says the minister. ' Because 
 men of my name are never cashiered.' M. 
 de Seignelay could not choose but laugh at 
 this retort. ^ Never mind, monsieur le 
 comte,' he cried, ^ the king breaks the midship- 
 man, and makes M. de Bonneval a lieutenant.' ^ 
 A fine stroke of fortune that for the young 
 sailor ! and mightily pleased, too, he was with 
 his promotion. Aye ! it was a goodly sight 
 
 ^ The Marquis de Seignelay, Minister of the Ad- 
 miralty, as he was visiting the sea-ports in 1688, 
 passed the midshipmen in review. He proposed to 
 cashier the Compte de Bonneval, who was only twelve 
 years old ; the boy replied that a man of his name was 
 never cashiered f" ou ne casse pas uns homme de mon 
 nom") The minister was so pleased with this answer 
 that he said : " Never mind, Monsieur le Comte, the 
 king breaks the midshipman, and makes M. de 
 Bonneval a lieutenant." — Memoirs of the Prince de 
 Ligne.
 
 10 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 to see him, tossing his head back like a horse 
 that sniffs the wind, and looking as if the 
 ground was hardly good enough for him to 
 tread upon. Ah ! well-a-day, well-a-day ! my 
 poor eyes will never look upon his like again. 
 I shall never see him storm or smile any 
 more." 
 
 " Is my cousin dead, dear nurse, that you 
 say such sad things ? If he had died we 
 should have put on our black dresses. Oh ! 
 I hope my cousin is not dead ! " 
 
 ^^ Better, perhaps, my sweet one, that he 
 had died." 
 
 " Oh, what do you mean ? Tell me what 
 you mean, nurse." 
 
 " I mean that we might have wept over him 
 then, without being obliged to conceal our 
 tears. As it is we must take care never to 
 mention his dear name." 
 
 "And why not mention his name ? " persisted 
 the little girl, looking up with wistful eyes into 
 her nurse's face.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 11 
 
 " Never mind, mademoiselle. It is no 
 concern of yours. Come, take your doll, and 
 amuse yourself, my dear." 
 
 *^ It is so tiresome to amuse oneself," said 
 the child, with a sigh, and nestling up to 
 Madame Dupuis, she threw her arms round 
 her neck, and whispered, "Tell me why we 
 must not mention my cousin's name, and why 
 was his picture taken out of my father's 
 room?" 
 
 " What ! has it been removed from mon- 
 sieur le marquis's room ? And what, then, 
 has been done with my dear boy's portrait ? " 
 
 " I know where they have put it. I often 
 go and look at my cousin's picture. He has 
 such beautiful eyes, and he stands so proudly 
 by his charger. It is in the lumber-room, 
 near the window. I get upon a stool, and 
 wipe his face with my pocket-handkerchief; 
 I wiU not have it spoiled with dust. I will 
 not let the spiders cover it with their ugly 
 cobwebs."
 
 12 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 '^ Well ! I declare ! " exclaimed Madame 
 Dupuis. *^And pray who has given you 
 leave, mademoiselle, to go up alone into the 
 lumber-room ? I do not at all approve of it.'' 
 
 ^^ Come along with me, nurse, and I will 
 show you my cousin's picture. It will please 
 you to see it." 
 
 " No, indeed, my dear ; I don't choose that 
 you should go poking about that old dusty 
 lumber-room, and with your new silk dress 
 on too!" 
 
 The little girl looked at her flowered petti- 
 coat and her lace sleeves, and said in a low 
 voice : 
 
 ^' My new dress went there this morning, 
 and is not one whit the worse for it." Then, 
 taking hold of Madame Dupuis' hand, who 
 always ended by yielding to her fancies, and 
 sweet, harmless fancies they always were, she 
 led her along several passages, and up two or 
 three flights of stairs, till they reached the 
 attic to which the portrait of the brave but
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 13 
 
 guilty Comte de Bonne val had been consigned 
 by the outraged feelings of his indignant 
 family. Out of breath with her rapid ascent, 
 her cheeks flushed with excitement, lovely as 
 one of Greuse's pictures, Judithe stood before 
 that speaking canvass, which she had so often 
 in secret stolen there to gaze at. The aged 
 woman at her side, with clasped hands and 
 streaming eyes, kept exclaiming, in broken 
 accents : 
 
 " My boy ! my foster child ! my beautiful 
 one!" 
 
 '' I am sure he is not naughty," whispered 
 the little girl, with an appealing look at her 
 nurse. 
 
 ^^ They ought to have understood him 
 better," murmured Madame Dupuis. '^ They 
 did not take into account his high spirit. He 
 could never brook control, or submit to an 
 insult." 
 
 " If we had had to manage him, nurse, we 
 should have done it much better. We should
 
 14 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 have coaxed him, and kissed him, and begged 
 of him to be good. Where is he now, my 
 poor cousin?" 
 
 *^ God only knows ! Since the day that 
 monsieur le marquis said before us all, ^ Let 
 the Comte de Bonneval never be named in 
 this house,' I have not ventured to ask any 
 questions about him. Oh ! that terrible news ! 
 It came upon me like a thunder-bolt, and then 
 when I was told that in the Place de Greve, 
 one terrible day — but, oh dear ! what am I 
 talking about ; it is Jiot fitting, my dear, that 
 you should hear of such things. Come away, 
 come away. Mademoiselle Judithe. I hardly 
 know what I am saying. Ah! M. de Chamillart, 
 you will have to answer for the soul of that 
 dear boy/' 
 
 The little girl turned pale, and said : 
 
 " What happened to my cousin ? What 
 did that wicked man do to him ? Tell me all 
 about it, nurse." 
 
 " Not to-day ; not here, my dear ; I could
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 15 
 
 not speak for crying. Some other time, per- 
 haps, when we are sitting in the garden, on 
 your favourite bench under the horse-chesnut- 
 tree ; but hark ! there are your sisters calling 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, let us go away, then. They are not 
 to see this picture. Only you and I, nurse, 
 are to come here," and turning once more to 
 the portrait, little Judithe kissed her hand as 
 if to take leave of it. The dark eyes of the 
 picture seemed to follow the fair child, as with 
 lingering footsteps she slowly withdrew. 
 
 It was true what old Madame Dupuis had 
 hinted at. There had, indeed, been a sad and 
 terrible day for those who loved the Comte de 
 Bonneval; a day when his widowed mother 
 had shed some of those tears which stamp on 
 a woman's face what time cannot obliterate. 
 Her idolised son had abandoned his country, 
 and gone over to its enemies. His name was 
 stigmatised as that of a traitor and a de- 
 serter. He was proclaimed as such on the
 
 16 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 scaffold of the Place de Greve, and in accord- 
 ance with the usages of the time, hung in 
 effigy by the hands of the executioner.* 
 
 The Marquise de Bonneval was one of those 
 persons in whom violent passions lie concealed 
 under the appearance of a cold and haughty 
 indifference. She shrunk from the pity of 
 others even more than from the very sufferings 
 which called it forth. On the evening of her 
 son's simulated execution, she went as was her 
 habit to the Hotel de Biron, and took her seat 
 at the card-table, which was always made 
 ready for her at one end of the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Her cousin the Marquis de Biron, his 
 nephew, M. de Eiom, and the lovely Marquise 
 de Simiane, Madame de Sevigne's grand- 
 daughter, made up her party. ]S[either her 
 countenance or her manner gave outward 
 
 ^ The King instituted proceedings against Bonneval 
 and Langallerie, and both figured in eflfigy in the Place 
 de Greve, — St. SimorCs Memoirs.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 17 
 
 token of the storm which was raging within 
 her breast, but every time that a new comer 
 was announced, at every respectful sahitation 
 which was addressed to her, and in which she 
 discerned, or fancied she discerned, the slightest 
 shade of sympathy, or of compassion — to her 
 more galling than the bitterest insult — the 
 paleness of her cheeks became visible, even 
 under the thick coating of rouge with which 
 she had sought to disguise it. With the 
 stoical courage of pride she went through that 
 fiery ordeal, her hands busy with the cards, a 
 smile on her parched lips, and the while from 
 her heart a secret prayer arising, if that can 
 be called a prayer, which was nothing less than 
 a fierce appeal to Heaven for vengeance on 
 those who had wrought her son's overthrow, an 
 impassioned cry for retribution on the heads of 
 those by whom she deemed he had been 
 wronged. Heaven, in mercy, is often deaf to 
 such prayers ; for, if in an evil hour for the 
 suppliant, they reach the Eternal ears, the 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 answer falls back like a curse on the heart 
 that has framed them. 
 
 When Madame de Simiane left the card- 
 table, she seated herself on a sofa in one of 
 the recesses of the window, and the Due de 
 St. Simon, who had been watching the game, 
 or rather the players, with that keen curiosity 
 which he has himself so well described, im- 
 mediately hastened to her side, and entered 
 into conversation with her. She pointed 
 with an almost imperceptible motion of her 
 fan towards the part of the room which she 
 had left, and said to him in a low voice : 
 
 " Have you ever witnessed, my lord duke, 
 a more remarkable display of insensibiUty, or 
 a more striking example of courage. Which 
 of the two shall we deem it to be?" 
 
 ^^ Madame," replied the duke, in his cold and 
 formal manner, and with his somewhat male- 
 volent smile, " I have never met with an in- 
 stance of greater sensibility to grief and 
 shame, and at the same time of a more obsti-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 19 
 
 nate determination to hide that grief, and to 
 brave that disgrace." 
 
 ^^ Who could have ever foreseen such a 
 catastrophe?" ejaculated Madame de Simiane, 
 with an expressive gesture of her hand. ^^ I 
 am truly concerned for that unfortunate lady. 
 She was so proud of her son, and in truth that 
 poor Comte de Bonne val was as brave as a 
 knight of old, and as witty as young Arouet. 
 I assure you, my lord duke, that this event sug- 
 gests to me a thousand melancholy reflections." 
 
 '' I cannot choose but wonder, madame, 
 and not without some indignation I confess, that 
 women should be so apt to bestow their sympathy 
 on persons whose characters so little deserve it." 
 
 " 'Tis but natural to compassionate the 
 misfortunes of others." 
 
 ^^ And do you call that a misfortune, madame, 
 which men have hitherto agreed upon to con- 
 sider a crime?'' 
 
 " He always expected that overtures of 
 reconciliation would have been made to him. 
 
 c2
 
 20 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 And they should not have dealt so hardly with 
 a man of his rank and of his spirit. Pride and 
 poverty combined to hurry him to that fatal 
 step.^ Really, the ministers ought to show 
 more consideration for persons of quality. Do 
 you remember that neatly-turned sentence with 
 which he ended his famous letter to M. de Chamil- 
 lart : ^ I shall offer my services to the Emperor, 
 whose ministers are noblemen, and in conse- 
 quence know how to behave to noblemen.' "^ 
 
 ^ Poverty and wounded vanity led him to make his 
 bargain vfiih. the Emperor. — St. Simon's Memoirs. 
 
 2 My Lord, — I received the letter which you took 
 the trouble to write to me, and where you tell me that 
 I object to Civilians only because they are too accurate 
 in their accounts. I must inform you in return that 
 the great nobility of the kingdom willingly sacrifice 
 their lives and their fortunes in his majesty's service, 
 but that we are not bound to act in any way against our 
 honour. If therefore I do not receive within three 
 mouths a reasonable apology for the insult I have 
 received from you, I shall enter the Emperor's service, 
 where the ministers are all noblemen, and know 
 how to behave to noblemen." — Memoirs of the Prince 
 de Ligne.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 21 
 
 " Aye, he had always a marvellous facility 
 for giving an ingenious turn to a sentence — a 
 ready tongue, indeed, and a smooth one to 
 boot. He is one of those plausible crimi- 
 nals, one of those witty fools, who scare 
 away the common sense of the public, and 
 force an acquittal at the hands of virtue her- 
 self" 
 
 " Indeed, my lord, you are mistaken in 
 your suppositions. The world which you 
 accuse is not half so indulgent as you imagine, 
 and as to virtue herself! why Madame de 
 31aintenon has been heard to say something 
 severe of the poor count." 
 
 ^' That wicked fairy!" ejaculated the 
 duke. 
 
 " Hush ! I pray you, my lord. Do not, I 
 beseech you, be so violent, or you will drive 
 me into the opposite camp. It is just because 
 people speak so harshly of M. de Bonneval 
 that I feel inclined to take his part, if it 
 was only for the sake of contradicting them. I
 
 22 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 get SO weary of listening to the same 
 phrases.'' 
 
 " Alas ! madame. At Athens you would 
 have voted, I see, for the banishment of 
 Aristides ! " 
 
 " Have you taken that Grecian worthy for 
 your model, my lord? Methinks you have 
 misgivings lest we poor Parisians should 
 weary of your virtues, but, my dear lord, 
 be not afraid, I, for one, will stand up for 
 you, and protest that I have known you 
 sometimes to be extremely unjust." 
 
 *^How so, madame la marquise?" 
 
 << Why, for instance, when you com- 
 plained just now of my compassion for a 
 poor exile." 
 
 " Compassion is often a dangerous stum- 
 bling-block ; it stands in the way of justice 
 and truth, and fosters a morbid sensibility 
 that tends to obliterate the landmarks be- 
 tween virtue and vice." 
 
 "M. de Bonneval is said to be in great
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 23 
 
 favour with Prince Eugene/ who has, I 
 have been informed, a very high opinion of 
 his talents." 
 
 " He was always reckoned a man of parts f 
 but the versatility of his genius serves only 
 
 ^ His (Bonneval's) talents had made him a great 
 favourite with Prince Eugene. He was lodged in hig 
 palace at Vienna, and did the honours of it. His ex- 
 pences all paid by his host. He became a lieu- 
 tenant-general in the Emperor's army. — St Simon's 
 Memoirs. 
 
 2 The Comte de Bonne val was much given to read- 
 ing. He was well acquainted with the best classical 
 authors, and by means of a prodigiously good memory 
 he had acquired a thorough knowledge of history. If 
 he had had a little more moderation he might have 
 been a great man in almost every line. — Memoire of 
 the Prince de Ligne. 
 
 The Chevalier de B^rneval was a younger son of 
 very good family, with great talents for war, and a re- 
 markable gift of eloquence. He was full of wit and 
 cleverness, his mind was well stored with reading ; he 
 had a pleasing manner of expressing himself; some- 
 thing graceful and ingenious in his turn of thought ; at 
 the same time he was extravagant, profligate, an unbe- 
 liever, a man without honour or conscience. — St. 
 Simon's Memoirs.
 
 24 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 to bewilder him, and his prodigious quickness 
 discovers to him so many openings that he 
 easily loses his way." 
 
 " Can it be possible to get over such a 
 calamity?" Madame de Simianesaid, glancing 
 at the same time at the Marquise de Bonneval, 
 who had left the card-table, and was conver- 
 sing with Madame d'Urfe, one of M. de Biron's 
 sisters. 
 
 " By degrees," the duke replied, '^ a per- 
 son becomes accustomed to the irreparable 
 side of such a catastrophe, its accompanying 
 disgrace, and labours to remedy that which 
 is remediable, the temporal disadvantages 
 that attend it. I am much mistaken if an 
 indomitable resolution to overcome fortune 
 does not lie at the bottom of that apparent 
 indifference. When, to a person endowed 
 with a strong will, there still remains some- 
 thing to do and something to hope for, her 
 misery is not overwhelming."
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 25 
 
 ^^Alas!" exclaimed Madame de Simiane, 
 ^^ it is not invariably the greatest misfortunes 
 that cause the greatest amount of suffering. 
 I agree with you there, my lord duke. Every- 
 thing that I see going on around me, serves to 
 confii'm my distaste for the world. How 
 fortunate are those hare-hunting, simple- 
 minded country gentlemen, who have no 
 ambition beyond the bounds of their little 
 squirearchies J and who live amongst people 
 who may be a little rough and unpolished 
 sometimes, but who speak the truth, and are 
 honest in their friendships," ^ 
 
 ^^What has awakened in you, madame, 
 this misanthropical spirit ? I have never 
 known anyone who had less reason for indulg- 
 ing it, surrounded as you are by so many 
 persons who love and esteem you." 
 
 ^^ Ah ! my lord, there are in the world so 
 many affectionate persons without affection ! 
 ^ From Madame de Simiane's Letters.
 
 26 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 SO many professors of virtue without virtue ! 
 and then, as you were saying just now, so 
 many charming persons that we must not be 
 charmed with, that it puts one out of conceit 
 with humanity. Depend upon it, my lord, 
 the world and its spirit are far more dangerous 
 guides than that compassionate disposition 
 which you so severely condemned just now. 
 It may lead us to the brink of a precipice, but 
 it does not drive us over it as the world 
 too often does." 
 
 " The world and its followers know what 
 they are about, madame la marquise, 
 whereas compassion, like love, wears a band- 
 age over its eyes," replied the duke, with a 
 smile. ^^ The errors which spring from a 
 good heart are the most difficult to cure." 
 
 " Your wisdom is so severe, my lord, that 
 my folly quails before it. I am often so 
 afraid of opposing my nonsense to your 
 sense, that, like cowards who play the
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 27 
 
 bully, I provoke you to a quarrel just for 
 the sake of bringing the argument to a 
 conclusion. Do pray be a little angry with 
 me, or I shall have to own myself de- 
 feated." 
 
 As she said these words, Madame de 
 Simiane gave him one of those incomparable 
 smiles, which she had inherited from her 
 grandmother, and which made her so irre- 
 sistibly attractive. The duke bowed low and 
 answered : 
 
 ^^ There are very few people, madame la 
 marquise, who would not obtain that favour 
 from me more easily than yourself. Do 
 think of something else wherein I may 
 oblige you without so much belying my 
 inclinations. 
 
 " Well, then, my lord duke, I have a few 
 friends to dinner on Thurslay next. May 
 I hope that you will give them and me 
 the pleasure of your company?"
 
 28 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 The duke bowed assent, and Madame 
 de Simiane joined a group of ladies who 
 were conversing with that brilliant vivacity 
 for which the Parisian society of that day 
 was so eminently conspicuous.
 
 29 
 
 Sttoit^ CJiipftr. 
 
 " There is a public mischief in your mirth, 
 It plagues your country ; folly such as your's 
 Has made, which enemies could ne'er have done, 
 An arch of empire, steadfast but for you, 
 A mutilated structure soon to fall." — Cowpek. 
 
 " He has been cunning in his overthrow. 
 The careful pilot of his proper woe. 
 
 His whole life was a contest since the day 
 
 That gave him being, gave him that which marred 
 
 The gift, a fate, a will that walked astray." — Byron. 
 
 A REAL talent for conversation is becoming 
 every day more rare. Few are to be found 
 in our time who excel in that line. To most 
 of us it is easier to write. We can take up a 
 pen, and with an aching heart or a weary 
 spirit pour forth upon paper feelings and
 
 30 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 thoughts which are struggling for utterance, 
 and which can be better imparted to that 
 mute and irresponsive auditor " the reader " 
 than to the cold or hostile listeners who so 
 often surround us. This silent intercourse 
 with the minds of others, this secret sympathy 
 with unknown friends is precisely what we 
 require in an age where questions of the 
 deepest interest are continually mooted 
 around us, where, for those who are in 
 earnest, nothing can be indifferent that 
 touches, however remotely or accidentally, 
 on the faith, the welfare, and the destinies of 
 mankind, where theories are speedily con- 
 verted into systems, and new ideas quickly 
 assume the importance of events ; where re- 
 ligion and science, politics and arts are linked 
 together by so many ties, that a subject of 
 apparently trifling import turns easily into a 
 matter of the most intense interest. Under 
 the self-same sky, breathing the self-same air, 
 nurtured by the very same soil, not seldom
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 31 
 
 under the same roof, wishes are formed, fears 
 excited, and hopes awakened, which we often 
 dare not impart even to those we love best, 
 but which cross the ocean stamped on the 
 page that receives our passing thoughts, or 
 rise to Heaven on the wings of silent prayer. 
 
 The time is gone by when matters of 
 opinion only furnished food for conversation, 
 when men used words, as a fencing-master 
 does his sword, simply to display their dex- 
 terity and skill. As well might the hand of 
 man attempt by its unaided strength to arrest 
 the course of an express-train, or to catch 
 hold of the spark that flies along the electric- 
 wire. ^^ My dear aunt, in this country every- 
 thing is turned into a jest," was the remark 
 that the young Duchesse de Bourgogne 
 addressed to Madame de Maintenon. This is 
 not the case in our days. We do not hide our 
 faith in the secret recesses of our hearts ; and 
 thrust God out of sight. We have learnt not 
 to smile at the scoffs of impiety. The conflict
 
 32 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 is engaged, and the combatants are in earnest, 
 but on the side of religion, the forces are too 
 much scattered, the watchword overlooked. 
 We hardly recognise our friends from our foes, 
 when the sufferings and the struggles of 
 mankind are calling upon us to act, "to be 
 heroes in the fight." 
 
 Then it is easier to write than to speak. 
 Somebody may hear, somebody may accept 
 what is addressed to none in particular. Men 
 do not resist appeals which have no authority 
 but that which they themselves choose to 
 assign to them, which chance alone has brought 
 before their eyes, and which they are at ftdl 
 liberty to reject, that is, if a secret voice does 
 not whisper in their ear what was said by one 
 of the cleverest women of our own day, that 
 though each man has a right to follow in the 
 journey of life a track of his own choosing, 
 none should insist on forcing it upon others 
 as the high road. 
 
 The period we are considering, that is, the
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 33 
 
 end of Louis the Fourteenth's reign, and the 
 minority of his ' successor was about the most 
 brilliant era of conversation in France. The 
 stirring interests of political existence, or of 
 literary achievements, were restricted to a 
 chosen few. 
 
 " And wit, that sprite 
 Whose quivers bright 
 A thousand arrows squandered," 
 
 and whose native soil, if, indeed, he owns 
 any such special allegiance, is surely that of 
 France, had to seek a vent for its effervescence 
 in those conversational arenas where the art 
 of talking well, ^^ le Men dire," as the Due de 
 St. Simon expresses it, was carried to a per- 
 fection never reached before or since. The 
 sap was working its way through the worn-out 
 stem ; the new wine of free discussion was 
 about to burst the old bottles of conventional 
 forms. The dawn of that so-called philosophy 
 which was so soon to upset the whole fabric of 
 society, was breaking upon the world. It 
 VOL. 1. D
 
 34 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 breeded a sort of intellectual recklessness, 
 which handled every subject with audacious 
 levity, and measured with its gauge what had 
 hitherto been gazed at from a respectful dis- 
 tance. 
 
 Safe behind the ramparts which the faith 
 of other days had erected about them, men 
 cared not how they loosened the foundations 
 on which they rested. In Madame de Lam- 
 bert's salon, for instance, it was reckoned in 
 better taste to speak of virtue than of faith ; 
 of the Supreme Being than of Almighty God. 
 Rousseau was forestalled by the admirers of 
 Fenelon, and St. Francois de Sales was gone 
 quite out of fashion. 
 
 Madame de Lambert's counsels to her son 
 were, no doubt, very improving, but not alto- 
 gether in the spirit of that pithy sentence 
 which Blanche of CastHle addressed to the 
 royal saint of France : ^^ My child, I would 
 rather see you die than commit a mortal 
 sin."
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 35 
 
 The weapons which had been used in the cause 
 of religion were too richly adorned. The or- 
 naments of the scabbard had injured the 
 metal within. Careless of that faith which 
 had hitherto been their safeguard, men gazed 
 upon the billows and waxed giddy as they 
 gazed. Feebler and feebler grew that guiding 
 light, and when at last the storm arose, when 
 the winds blew, and the rain fell, it flickered 
 in the socket, it threatened to expire. 
 But— 
 
 " Though doomed to death, *twas fated not to die." 
 Bright and beautiful like the beacon in the 
 night, resplendent as the star that shines 
 through the dark clouds, it rose again trium- 
 phant amidst the desolating tempest, raised 
 its standard once more, and stood the 
 connecting-link between the ancient glories 
 and the new destinies of France. 
 
 Conversation such as has been described was 
 going on with unflagging animation amongst 
 the habitues of the Hotel de Biron on the night 
 
 d2
 
 36 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 of M. de BonnevaFs exhibition in effigy " en 
 Place de Grever With incomparable felicity of 
 expression, neatness of language, and humourous 
 turn of thought were discussed in rapid suc- 
 cession, the latest news from the seat of war, 
 the gossip of the court, the banishment of a 
 minister, the success of a tragedy, a recently- 
 discovered intrigue, or an edifying conversion. 
 The sayings of Mesdames de Coulange and de 
 Cornuel were quoted and applauded. The 
 witty remark of one speaker elicited a brilliant 
 repartee from another; a skirmishing warfare 
 of words was carried on with that exquisite 
 grace of manner which softens the edge of a 
 dispute, and to which the French language, 
 with its wonderful pliability, so perfectly 
 adapts itself. 
 
 In the recess of a window, at the furthest 
 end of the room, several men were engaged 
 in discussing the strange ceremony that had 
 taken place that morning at the Place de 
 Greve. There were those amongst them who
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 37 
 
 had been personal friends of Messieurs de 
 Bonneval and Langallerie, and yet who 
 scrupled not to turn into a jest, and describe 
 in playful terms, the painful exhibition they 
 had that day witnessed. None but the near 
 relations of the outlawed gentlemen seemed to 
 think the occasion too serious for a witticism, 
 or too sad for a sneer. Many a hon mot was 
 uttered that day, many a jest was put forth, 
 which travelled from Paris to Versailles, and 
 from Versailles to the various courts of Europe 
 by means of those illegibly-written, incor- 
 rectly-spelt, but incomparably agreeable 
 letters, which were wont to catch on the 
 wing, and to disseminate abroad, the 
 sparkling emanations of Parisian wit and 
 levity. 
 
 It was reported at the time that M. de 
 Bonneval was in the habit of entertaining 
 Prince Eugene with the witticisms which his 
 desertion had given rise to in Paris. The 
 great general was right royally amused at
 
 38 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 these jests, but it was said that on one occasion, 
 when he happened to be in a sarcastic mood, 
 he had been heard to answer : 
 
 ^^ If French people think it glorious to 
 defend their fatherland, they also seem to con- 
 sider it vastly entertaining to betray it/' 
 
 From the moment of her son's trial, Madame 
 de Bonneval applied herself anxiously to watch 
 each fluctuating shade of opinion in regard to 
 him, and to detect in the judgments passed 
 upon his conduct the delicate line of distinc- 
 tion that separates blame from contempt. 
 
 Since the day of his birth her exiled son 
 had been the idol of her heart. An impas- 
 sioned affection, even when directed in a 
 legitimate channel, is often a dangerous 
 tyrant, apt to exact costly and sometimes un- 
 hallowed sacrifices. Love can be, in certain 
 cases, more merciless than hatred. If virtue 
 and religion do not stand as restraining angels 
 by its side, it wiU offer up the peace, the 
 happiness, nay, the lives of others, at the
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 39 
 
 feet of that divinity for which it has built up 
 a throne, and idolatrously bowed down to 
 worship. There is an astonishing power in 
 singleness of purpose. ^' One faith, one lord, 
 one baptism,'' St. Paul exclaimed of yore, and 
 the strength of Christianity was in those 
 words. If a man can take himself to witness 
 that in his heart there is but one desire, and 
 in his life but one object, he can almost make 
 sure that that object will be attained. The 
 Marquise de Bonneval had that confidence in 
 herself, and in her own singleness of purpose. 
 She never for an instant faltered in her efforts, 
 or ceased to have faith in her ultimate success. 
 In the same spirit, she made it her study to 
 harden her heart, in order to brace it for the 
 task which she never for a single instant lost 
 sight of 
 
 Her son's successfiil career had been the 
 subject of her solicitude at all times, and not 
 less after his disgrace than when his prospects 
 in life were most promising. Praise, homage.
 
 40 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 and distinction were to be his at any price;, 
 and in the very depths of her humiliation sh^ 
 consoled herself with visions of eventual 
 triumph and revenge. To crush his enemies, 
 and tread them under foot, was the aim towards 
 which every power of her soul was directed, 
 with a tenacity of purpose conscious of its 
 own strength, and having no misgivings as to 
 the result. 
 
 Claude de Bonneval was thirty-two years of 
 age when he deserted. Up to that time, the 
 love, the hopes, the fears of that proud and 
 sensitive woman had kept pace, as it were, 
 with his adventurous career. From his very 
 childhood he had been at strife with every 
 species of authority, and always set at defi- 
 ance every attempt to control him ; and at 
 the same time by the charm of his manners 
 and the brilliancy of his talents he had often 
 succeeded in fascinating the very persons he 
 had most ofiended. As a boy he had been 
 remarkable for his courage, his daring insub-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 41 
 
 ordination towards his superiors, and his un- 
 bounded generosity to his inferiors. He 
 would have risked his life twenty times over to 
 save that of a comrade, but at the slightest pro- 
 vocation, and with the same indifference, would 
 have called him out, and run his sword through 
 his body. Always at the breach, always in 
 fancy or reality leading a forlorn hope, his 
 successes, reverses, triumphs, and mis- 
 fortunes succeeded each other with such 
 bewildering rapidity, that the eye was 
 strained to follow the various phases of his 
 life. 
 
 His mother's moments of joy were so brief 
 that she had scarcely time to relish their sweet- 
 ness. As a man running a race can only just 
 snatch at the cup which is proffered to him, 
 so her fevered thirst for happiness could never 
 wholly assuage itself. Especially since the 
 outset of the War of Succession she had been' 
 perpetually haunted by apprehensions of ap- 
 proaching calamities. The praises of her son's
 
 42 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 valour and ability which reached her from 
 every side, were only gleams of sunshine 
 flashing across a darkening sky. Her pride 
 in the present and her fears for the future 
 were alike buried in the deepest recesses of 
 her heart. 
 
 Until the fatal moment that he deserted, 
 there had been something brilliant and even 
 chivalrous in M. de Bonneval's very failings. 
 At twelve years old an audacious repartee 
 had won for him the good graces of M. de 
 Seignelay, the able minister of Louis the 
 Fourteenth, and secured his promotion. At 
 an age when the generality of boys are still 
 playing at being soldiers, the young count had 
 already distinguished himself in various en- 
 gagements, and was treading fast in the foot- 
 steps of his relative M. de Tourville, when a 
 superior officer happened to offend the fiery 
 lieutenant by treating him as a youth bound to 
 respect his authority, and straightway the in- 
 dignant subaltern challenged the Count de
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 43 
 
 Beaumont, and wounded him in the arm. 
 Compelled in consequence to give up his pro- 
 fession/ he complied with that necessity 
 with more exultation at the occasion of his 
 retirement than regret at having provoked 
 it. 
 
 He then entered the French Guards, and at 
 Paris and at Versailles, at the court and in 
 the camp, he continued to make himself 
 generally popular, and to display his wonted 
 aptitude for making friends and enemies. 
 He passed through that period of life, when the 
 character and reputation of a man assume 
 
 ^ The Comte de Beaumont, a naval lieutenant, cliose 
 to treat Bonneval as a child. He found out his mis- 
 take. The child was hot tempered, called him out, and 
 wounded him in three places. He did not die of these 
 wounds, and the affair was hushed up, but the relatives of 
 this M. de Beaumont were stupid enough to resent it, and 
 as they were very intimate with M. de Pontchartrain, 
 then Secretary of State for the Navy, Bonneval saw 
 that he would not have a fair chance in that career. 
 He bought, in 1698, a commission in the French 
 Guards." — Memoirs of the Prince de Ligne,
 
 44 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 a definite position, with the same careless 
 indifference for consequences, the same reckless 
 defiance of everything like opinion or authority, 
 which had always characterised him. His rare 
 personal advantages, the singular beauty of 
 his features, his commanding stature, symme- 
 trical figure, and prodigious strength, which 
 made Jean Baptiste Rousseau bestow upon 
 him the epithet of '^ Modern Hercules," joined 
 to his wit and talents, and to that sort 
 of good nature, which is not unfrequently 
 allied with a total absence of principle, 
 had inspired him with such a confidence in 
 his powers of captivation, that he blindly 
 trusted to their influence. By a smile, a jest, 
 a playful confession of his own waywardness, 
 a few affectionate words, or a witty repartee, 
 he always reckoned upon making his way out 
 of every difficulty. Few could withstand the 
 power of that fascination. Some of the most 
 respectable men, and of the most virtuous
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 45 
 
 women in Paris, had to reproach themselves 
 with an involuntary partiality for the most 
 attractive mauvais sujet in the world ; one of 
 whom it was often said, with an indulgent 
 smile : 
 
 '^ He is certainly very wild, but he has such 
 a good heart ! "^ 
 
 Alas ! how many hearts have been broken, 
 how many destinies blighted, how much affec- 
 tion trodden under foot by good hearts of this 
 fatal description ! by men who know how to 
 combine the charm of sensibility with the most 
 degrading vices and the most withering self- 
 ishness ! 
 
 During the campaigns of Italy clouds began 
 to gather around the path of the Comte de 
 
 ^ The Comte de Bonneval had more heart than pru- 
 dence. In his style of" writing it is easy to recognise a 
 man full of feeling, of wit, of fire, at bottom a really 
 good-hearted fellow, with a very keen sense of honour. 
 It was impossible not to love Bonneval." — Memoirs vf 
 the Prince de Ligne.
 
 46 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 Bonneval. Complaints were heard on various 
 sides of his mal-administration of the provinces 
 committed to his military government, and 
 stories were continually circulated to his dis- 
 credit. At last a serious accusation was pro- 
 duced against him, and neither his high birth 
 nor his powerful connections, nor the protec- 
 tion of his patron, the Due de Yendome, nor 
 even his previous services were sufficient to 
 suppress it. 
 
 M. de Louvois had no indulgence for a tur- 
 bulent and haughty nobility, and M. de 
 Chamillart, though a roturier, had the inso- 
 lence to insist on a nobleman's rendering an 
 account of the public money. The most 
 heroic valour, the most brilliant wit, the most 
 attractive manners, were powerless in a ques- 
 tion of pounds shillings and pence, and the 
 descendant of Charlemagne was summoned to 
 disprove the charge of having levied irregular 
 contributions in the conquered districts, aud
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 47 
 
 illegally appropriated them to his own 
 use. ^ 
 
 In vain Bonneval displayed all the resources 
 of his genius, overwhelmed the prosaic Chamil- 
 lart with his rounded sentences, and endea- 
 voured to wound him with the sharpest arrows 
 of his satire. The minister held his ground, 
 and the keen-sighted Marquise de Bonneval 
 trembled for the result. Her hatred of 
 Chamillart was all the more intense, because at 
 the bottom of her heart something whispered to 
 her that he was right, that not the king alone, but 
 justice also was on his side in this conflict with 
 the worthy scion of the nobility of the League 
 and of the Fronde. Clear-sightedness is often 
 the greatest of sufferings, especially when it 
 
 ' Bonneval had roughly used those little Italian 
 Princes, whom, without any good reason, we were 
 bent on sparing. He had drawn from them a great 
 deal of money. The remonstrances of these princes 
 and of the treasurers brought upon him letters from 
 Chamillart, who insisted on his disgorging his gains. — 
 St. Simons Memoirs.
 
 48 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 does not serve to guide a person's conduct, 
 but only to point their fears. When the un- 
 happy mother read the letter in which her son 
 threatened to desert, a deadly faintness came 
 over her. It was what she had most feared, 
 and long expected ! In vain she had written, 
 remonstrated, entreated. She threatened to 
 curse a son who could abandon his country's 
 service, and then with all the waywardness of 
 passionate affection, on the very day when the 
 news reached her that the fatal act was accom- 
 plished, it was on his enemies, and not on 
 him, that she called down the vengeance of 
 Heaven. From that moment, as has been 
 already said, she had but one end in view, 
 the return of her son, not as a pardoned 
 criminal, but as the object of universal 
 admiration and envy. She laboured at it 
 by day, she dreamt of it by night. She 
 was doomed to accomplish it at last. There 
 is an awful chapter in the book of Heaven's 
 decrees. It records the self-willed wishes
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 49 
 
 which have met with their fulfilment, and 
 upon many of its pages are inscribed those 
 impressive words of Scripture : ^^ Thou hast 
 sown the whirlwind, and shalt reap the 
 storm." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 50 
 
 Cljirir CJapttr. 
 
 "I BLESS thee, vision as thou art, 
 I bless thee with a human heart, 
 God shield thee to thy latest years!" — Wordsworth. 
 
 " As dissolute, as desperate ; yet though both 
 I see some sparkles of a better hope 
 Which older days, may happily bring forth." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 It is often interesting to examine into the 
 origin of certain sympathies, certain friend- 
 ships, which are observed to exist between 
 persons whose principles, characters, and 
 tastes are strikingly dissimilar. It can gen- 
 erally be traced to a secret coincidence of 
 feeling on one particular point, which serves 
 as a connecting-link between two opposite
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 51 
 
 natures, and influences the destiny of both. 
 The Marquise de Bonneval was not fond of 
 children, and had never taken any notice of 
 the daughters of her cousin, M. de Biron. 
 Night after night she used to see them 
 seated round a table at one end of their 
 mother's drawing-room, occupied with some 
 fancy-work, and pursuing their labours with 
 the downcast eyes and demure deportment 
 which were considered essential to the man- 
 ners of young ladies under the ancient 
 regime, and which in many cases did not 
 preclude a very premature knowledge of the 
 world and of its ways. When the clock 
 struck the appointed hour they used to rise 
 in silence and relmquish their work, made 
 a profound curtsey to their mother and to the 
 assembled company, and retired, accompanied 
 by their governesses. 
 
 On one of these occasions Madame de Bon- 
 neval, engrossed by her own thoughts, and heed- 
 less of the conversation aroimd her, accidentally 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 happened to fix her eyes on the little Judithe, 
 the thh'd of these young girls. Something 
 in the child's countenance awakened her at- 
 tention, and she watched her for a few mo- 
 ments with a certain degree of interest. This 
 circumstance would have probably led to no 
 results had it not been for an incident which 
 took place a few days afterwards, and which left 
 an indelible impression upon her mind. She 
 was sitting one evening by Madame de Biron's 
 side, when the door was thrown open, and M. 
 de Chamillart was announced.^ 
 
 * Chamillart was a good and honest man, with per- 
 fectly clean hands and the best intentions. Civil, 
 patient, obliging ; a good friend, and a moderate 
 enemy ; attached to the State, but still more to the King. 
 lie had a very limited understanding, and, like most 
 stupid people, Avas very obstinate ; he laughed with a 
 gentle compassion at those who tried to argue with him, 
 and w^as totally unable to understand reason. He 
 had no ability at all, and thought himself equal to 
 everything, and this was the more hopeless that it was 
 in consequence of the position in which he was placed, 
 so that it was owing rather to folly than to presump- 
 tion, for he had no vanity. — St. Simoji's Memoirs.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 53 
 
 It was the first time that she had seen tlie 
 minister since her son's disgrace, and a deadly 
 paleness spread over her face, as she caught 
 sight of him. She rose from the sofa, and 
 hurried to the other end of the room, where 
 the children were sitting. Sinking down on a 
 chair which one of the governesses placed for 
 her, and taking a piece of embroidery in her 
 hand, she seemed to examine it attentively. 
 
 The voice of the man she hated was sound- 
 ing in her ears, and caused her the most pain- 
 ful sensat'ons. In a few minutes he came u]) 
 to the children's table, without noticing her 
 presence. A folding-screen partly concealed her, 
 and her head was bent down over th 3 work she 
 held in her hands. He addressed a few play- 
 ful words to the children, and Marguerite and 
 Franqoise, the two eldest, answered him in the 
 same tone. 
 
 "And you, Mademoiselle Judithe," he con- 
 tinued, turning to the youngest, " will you not 
 allow me to kiss your hand ? "
 
 54 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 One of the governesses whispered : 
 
 ^' Make a curtsey, mademoiselle, and give 
 your hand to his lordship." 
 
 The little girl turned as red as a pome- 
 granate, and shook her head without speak- 
 ing. 
 
 "Don't be shy, you foolish little thing," 
 said her eldest sister, and taking hold of her 
 hand, she tried to put it into M. de Chamillart's. 
 Judithe pulled it violently away, and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, my dear," 
 exclaimed at the same moment the governesses 
 and the sisters. 
 
 " I hate him," said the little girl ; and they 
 all laughed, all but the Marquise de Bonneval. 
 She did not laugh, but catching up the child 
 in her arms, she carried her into another room, 
 clasped her to her breast, and whispered in 
 her ear : 
 
 " And how came you to hate him, Ju- 
 dithe?"
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 55 
 
 " Because my nurse has told me, ma- 
 dame, that he is a wicked man who sent 
 away from us my cousin whom we love so 
 dearly." 
 
 These simple words fell like balm on the 
 sore and bruised heart of that proud sufferer. 
 The dull cold stone in her bosom seemed for a 
 moment to melt, and overwhelming the child 
 with kisses and with blessings, she kept mur- 
 muring in broken, hesitating accents, and 
 with the deepest emotion words such as 
 these : 
 
 ^' God reward thee, my blessed little angel. 
 My sweet bird of peace. Thy heart has already 
 taught thee what thy understanding cannot as 
 yet fathom. Judithe, my fair child, the fixture 
 is no longer without a ray to enlighten its 
 gloom." 
 
 The little girl could not guess at the feel- 
 ings which dictated these rapidly-uttered and 
 impassioned exclamations, but she could sym- 
 pathise with the sorrow which found vent in
 
 56 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 
 
 these outpourings. Throwing her arms 
 round Madame de Bonneval's neck, she 
 said : 
 
 " You are very unhappy. I will ask God 
 to comfort you." 
 
 ^^ I seek but one blessing, my child, I ask 
 but one favour at His hands. There is but 
 one supplication with which I weary the 
 Eternal ears. Let your innocent prayers 
 obtain for me that boon. Pray that 
 my son may return and triumph over his 
 enemies." 
 
 The little girl was fetched away to bed, and 
 sorrowfully withdrew. When she was ending 
 her prayers that night she asked leave to say 
 an additional "Our Father " and " Hail, 
 Mary." 
 
 Madame Dupuis begged to know for what 
 object, upon which she said : 
 
 " To ask Almighty God to bring my cousin 
 home again, and to punish the wicked men 
 who sent him away."
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 57 
 
 "My dear,'' replied her nurse, "we must 
 never pray that anyone may be punished. Do 
 you not recollect that the Gospel teaches us to 
 pray for our enemies ? " 
 
 " So it does," answered Judithe, with a look 
 of deep thought in her innocent eyes ; and 
 the next day, and the next, and for a long 
 time afterwards, she never failed at the end of 
 her prayers for her parents, her brothers, and 
 her sisters to add, " and please G-od also 
 bless M. de Chamillart my enemy." 
 
 From that time forward Madame de Bonne- 
 val never ceased to take an interest in the 
 child that had learnt to love her son and to 
 dislike his enemies. She often requested 
 Madame de Biron to permit her daughter 
 to spend whole days at her house ; and, 
 in the society of this little girl, she found 
 an unlooked-for consolation. Her character, 
 as she advanced in years, did not belie 
 the promise of her childhood. Nothmg 
 could be morj attractive or more amiable
 
 58 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 than her disposition. It was marked by an 
 absence of all selfishness, and a calm, concen- 
 trated enthusiasm which showed itself less in 
 words than by an intensity of feeling, and 
 a tenacity of purpose, peculiar in one so 
 gentle and refined. 
 
 In the world, or even to her friends, 
 Madame de Bonneval scarcely ever spoke of 
 her son, but when alone with Judithe, the 
 passion of her grief broke thi'ough the 
 stern reserve of her nature. She would pour 
 forth her sorrows in the ear of her young 
 companion, who, out of the depths of her pure 
 heart, gave back the rich boon of a fervent and 
 genuine sympathy, in return for the troubled 
 outpoimngs of that blighted, sufiering, and 
 unsubdued spirit. 
 
 Judithe's sisters were as difierent as possible 
 from herself Before they had grown out of 
 childhood, their minds had been engrossed by 
 the anticipation, at least, if not by the actual 
 enjoyment of the pleasures of the world.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 59 
 
 The natural levity of their dispositions, joined 
 to the worldliness of the society they lived in, 
 inspired them with indifference for everything 
 but dress and amusement. 
 
 In order to rise above the atmosphere of 
 frivolity which pervades society at certain 
 epochs, it is in general necessary to be either 
 very religious or very intellectual. Common- 
 place characters and common-place minds 
 follow the course of the stream, and it requires 
 no ordinary amount of merit and distinction 
 successfully to stem the current. The elder 
 daughters of the Marquise de Biron did not 
 dream of any such opposition to the prevailing 
 spirit of the times. But there are natures 
 which the world seems unable to lay hold of. It 
 knows not how to deal with them, nor do they 
 seem to understand how to deal with it. Like 
 the children in the fiery-furnace, they pass un- 
 scathed by its withering breath. Judithe, who 
 at seven years old, had delighted in tales of 
 chivalry, and stories of martyrs, at fifteen was
 
 60 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 devoted to books, and particularly to poetry. 
 She sought in the writings of men of genius 
 that food of the soul which nothing in the world 
 she lived in seemed capable of affording. She 
 was, even then, somewhat of a stranger in her 
 own family. Such as her life was to be, so 
 was her early youth ; solitary, silent, full of 
 deep musings and communings with her own 
 heart. She was day by day nursing a fancy 
 which was one day to grow into a passion. 
 Weary of the world's noise ever sounding in 
 her ears, she retired into herself to listen for 
 voices from an imaginary world. Always 
 hearing of titles, of pensions, of places and 
 of benefices, she sat dreaming in silence of 
 glory and of heroism, of virtue and of greatness. 
 The men and the women of her time were 
 very unlike those she read of in her beloved 
 books, and the Marquise de . Bonneval, with 
 her deep-seated grief, her outward coldness, 
 and her impassioned feelings was a far more 
 interesting personage in her eyes than the
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 61 
 
 courtiers and fine ladies who turned everything 
 into ridicule ; even the very objects for which 
 they strove with such feverish activity. 
 
 The confidence reposed in her by a person 
 whom in her childhood she had at one time 
 looked upon with awe and something of fear, 
 as a being far too stern to bestow or to in- 
 spire afiection, excited in her the liveliest 
 gratitude, and deeply touched her heart. It 
 was a source of intense interest to a young 
 and inexperienced girl to witness, and in a 
 certain sense to share, the struggles, the 
 agitations, the emotions which were con- 
 cealed under that smooth and frozen surface ; 
 to knoio what the rest of the world did not 
 even suspect. Madame de Bonneval used 
 to impart to her some of those circumstances 
 in her past life which had given a color 
 and a direction to her whole existence, and 
 described and analysed the feelings which had 
 accompanied those vicissitudes. 
 
 Married at the age of fifteen to a man
 
 62 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 much older than herself, and whom she could 
 neither love nor esteem, she had secretly re- 
 pined at her fate ; but a mixture of pride and 
 timidity had always prevented her from seek- 
 ing in the society of others unlawful distrac- 
 tions on the one hand, or on the other such 
 innocent friendships and interests as in a cer- 
 tain measure supply the want of domestic 
 happiness. 
 
 Her first child seemed to bear the stamp of 
 the profound ennui which had attended the 
 first years of her married life. Plain in per- 
 son, and inferior in understanding, he had 
 been from his birth an object of indifierence, 
 if not of aversion to his mother ; but when 
 Claude Alexandre was born, then she had 
 learnt for the first time what a passion ma- 
 ternal love can become, how on one object can 
 be concentrated feelings which till that mo- 
 ment may have slumbered unawakened in a 
 human heart. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Judithe," she one day ex-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 63 
 
 claimed, "if I am not much mistaken, the time 
 may come when you will know by experience 
 the joy and the torment of an engrossing 
 affection ; you will then understand how one 
 single feeling can take possession of the heart, 
 and become the main-spring of our existence." 
 " Indeed," Judithe replied, " I can scarcely 
 conceive a stronger attachment than mine for 
 my father. Since his return from his last 
 campaign especially, I cannot describe the 
 affection that I feel for him. When I think of 
 the loss of his arm it affects me so deeply that 
 1 can hardly restrain my tears. The very 
 name of Landau fills me with emotion.* The 
 other day I stole gently to his side, and pressed 
 my lips on his shoulder. He smiled and said 
 to my mother, * This child has such a fancy for 
 shattered limbs, that we must make haste and 
 marry her to some old invalided marechal.' " 
 
 ^ The Marquis de Biron was severely wounded in 
 the arm, in mounting the trench at the Siege of Landau, 
 on the 2nd of July, 1713. — Dictionnaire de la Noblesse.
 
 64 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 "Ah! they are looking out for a husband 
 for you, my love.'' 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed, madame la marquise. It 
 is my sister Franqoise^ who is going to marry 
 M. de Bonac,^ the nephew of our dear M. 
 de Bonrepos."^ 
 
 ^ Frangoise Madeleine de Gontaut man-ied the Mar- 
 quis de Bonac, a diplomate. — Dictionnaire de la Nohlesse. 
 
 2 Biron, who had but little fortune and a great num- 
 ber of children, managed to dispose of his eldest 
 daughter by marrying her to B n;ic, the nephew of 
 Bonrepos, with a portion of only 6000 francs. — >S'^ 
 Simon's Memoirs. 
 
 ^ Bonrepos was never married. T'e was a long time 
 in the Admiralty-office under Colbert and Seignelay. 
 After the death of the latter, he resigned his place. 
 It had served to gain him friends at Court, and 
 admission into the best and highest society. The 
 King treated him with kindness, and Madame de 
 Maintenon also. He was much esteemed, and on a 
 footing of great consideration in the world. He was 
 honourable, upright, and not without talent. Bonac, 
 Biron's son-in-law, was the heir of Bonrepos, who 
 had a pension of 30,000 livrcs from the king, whereas 
 Biron had no portions to give to his daughters. — 
 St. Simon's Memoirs.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 65 
 
 '^ You would not have been sorry to have 
 married him yourself, I suppose. Few young 
 ladies would object to being called, ^Madame 
 r Ambassadrice . " 
 
 '' Oh, for my part I have always wished to 
 marry a hero, or to become a nun." 
 
 " A hero ! what sort of a hero do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " One like Bayard or Duguesclin. One 
 whose praise is in every mouth, whose name 
 is famous all over the world; whose sword 
 none can withstand. I cannot imagine- any- 
 thing more enchanting than to be the wife 
 of such a man. To be proud of him she 
 loves ! What a charming destiny for a 
 woman. It does not often fall to her lot, but 
 I own that I should not willingly renounce all 
 hope of so brilliant a fate." 
 
 '' You are a very extraordinary girl, my 
 dear Judithe. Instead of the hero you 
 describe I have little doubt that you will 
 be married to some dignitary of the law, some 
 
 VOL. I. • F
 
 Q6 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 parliamentary counsellor perhaps, or else some 
 hanger-on of the Court, whose campaigns are 
 made at Versailles, and who besieges the 
 King's ante-room with more zeal than the 
 frontier towns." 
 
 ^^ I do not care, madame, to be married at 
 all, and I am certain that my father would 
 permit me to take the veil if I wished it, 
 instead of my sister Marguerite, who does not 
 feel much inclination for the religious 
 life." 
 
 /^ Judithe, I have heard this morning from 
 my son. Can you understand that his letters 
 are at once the only consolation, and the 
 greatest torment of my life. I suffer at being 
 parted from him, I live in contmual fear of 
 some new catastrophe ; he refuses to listen to 
 my suggestions, he is always causing me some 
 fresh anxiety or some fresh disappointment. 
 In fine, the sight of his handwiiting throws 
 me into the strangest agitations." 
 
 " Whether I quite understand your feelings
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 67 
 
 or not, dearest lady," Judithe replied, ^^I 
 know that I feel for you from the bottom of 
 my heart f and she laid her soft little hand 
 on the dry and burning one of her agitated 
 companion, who, after a moment's pause, con- 
 tinued : 
 
 '^ He has been fighting a duel with a 
 Frenchman who did not approve of his assur- 
 ing my Lord Stafford that His Majesty Louis 
 le Grand aims at universal dominion, and 
 only a fortnight ago he challenged a Prussian 
 officer who had ventured to assert it. ^ There 
 never was such a fiery, restless nature. As 
 well might one sit down to rest on the summit 
 of Vesuvius when an irruption is hourly ex- 
 
 * It was at the time of the Peace of Utrecht that the 
 Comte de Bonneval declared to Lord Stafford that 
 Lewis the Fourteenth aspired to universal dominion, 
 and that he fought with a Frenchman who contradicted 
 his assertion. Some days afterwards he challenged a 
 Prussian General who had said the same thing, and 
 who spoke disrespectfully of that King. — Memoirs of 
 the Prince de Ligne, 
 
 f2
 
 68 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 pected, as hope for a moment's tranquillity 
 when one loves the Comle de Bonneval. He 
 is at once the pride, the joy, and the curse of 
 my life !'^ 
 
 Judithe took the marquise's hand within 
 her own, and said in a soothing manner : 
 
 "Do not say anything against him, dear 
 lady. A few hours hence you would wish 
 the words unsaid. Oh, how I heard him 
 praised last night at my Aunt d'Urfe's." 
 
 "You heard him praised Judithe? Make 
 haste and tell me who praised my son. Let 
 me know the name of the person who set 
 at defiance the stupid prejudices of national 
 pride, and dared to praise the man whose arm 
 France has learned to fear." 
 
 " It was M. de Eothelin, who, when my 
 cousin was mentioned, exclaimed : * What a fine 
 generous nature that man has shown himself 
 possessed of! I vow that I have never met 
 with one more noble-hearted. When I was 
 so severely wounded that my best friend would
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 69 
 
 scarcely have recognised me, the Comte de 
 Bonneval came to my assistance, and carried 
 me off on his shoulders to his own tent. If 
 I had been his brother he could not have 
 tended me with more tenderness and care ;' ^ 
 and then he went on to tell us of all the good- 
 ness my cousin had shown to the French 
 prisoners, especially to the sick and the 
 wounded. Do you know, madame, that M. 
 de Cambray has written to him repeatedly to 
 thank him for his kindness to the Chevalier 
 de Fenelon.^ Such thanks are worth having, 
 
 ^ At the Siege of Aire, the Marquis de Rothelin, 
 both of whose legs had been broken, and who was 
 taken prisoner, owed in a great measure his recovery 
 to the devoted care of his friend the Comte de 
 Bonneval, who received him into his house. He 
 likewise gave hospitality to the Chevalier de Fenelon, 
 to whom he was related, and to many other French 
 prisoners of distinction. — Memoirs of the Prince de 
 Ligne. 
 
 2 It was during these campaigns that Bonneval had 
 the honour of corresponding with Fenelon, whose 
 nephew had been made prisoner. There existed not
 
 70 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 worth deserving. There is something very- 
 grand in that way of requiting the injuries 
 he has received. It is indeed heaping coals of 
 fire on the heads of his enemies. Let them 
 slander him as much as they please. Such 
 actions speak for themselves." 
 
 " There is no end to their slanders. They 
 are always inventing new calumnies against 
 him. His brother, his own brother — " 
 
 Madame de Bonneval paused a few 
 seconds, and then went on in an agitated 
 manner. 
 
 " Yes, you shall hear of a sad instance of 
 the power of prejudice and envy, of the way 
 in which they distort the feelings of those 
 who yield to their influence. You shall know 
 what I have had to suffer through my two 
 sons ; through the recklessness of the one and 
 
 less than fifty letters from the Archbishop of Cambray 
 to the Comte de Bonneval. They were only destroyed 
 at the time of the Revolution. — M. Sainte Beuve's 
 Causerles Literaires.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 71 
 
 the meanness of the other. Listen to me, my 
 dear child. To you alone can I disclose the 
 anguish I endure when I think of the scene 
 that took place at the battle of the lines at 
 Turin. Picture to yourself for a moment the 
 fierce encounter of the two armies ; the wild 
 confusion of the melee, the clash of arms, the 
 cries of the combatants ; and then call to 
 mind the dreadful fact that two brothers, the 
 two sons of the unhappy mother who is 
 speaking to you, were fighting there that 
 day, on opposite sides. ^ The eldest — you 
 
 ^ The Comte de Bonneval had attained the rank of 
 Major-General at the time of the attack of the lines of 
 Turin. The Marquis de Bonneval, the elder brother 
 of the count, was taken in that battle. An old officer 
 who was present at it, and who gave me the account 
 of it when I was very young, told me that the Marquis 
 was on the point of being cut down by the Hungarian 
 Grenadiers, who were then called Heyducks, when 
 our Bonneval arrived just in time to save him. In the 
 correspondence that took place several years after be- 
 tween the brothers it will be seen that this circum- 
 stance is alluded to. — Memoirs of the Prince de Ligne,
 
 72 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 have seen him I believe ? — a being de- 
 ficient in strength of body and of mind, 
 a poor creature in the full sense of the 
 term, found himself at one moment sur- 
 rounded by a troop of Germans, who pointed 
 their bayonets at his breast. Death stared 
 him in the face, and he gave himself up 
 for lost ; when all of a sudden a victorious 
 sword flashed before his eyes, a well-known 
 voice resounded in his ears ; and the weapons 
 of his enemies were turned away from his 
 bosom. Did he hail his deliverer? Did 
 he welcome his brother, who had rushed 
 to his rescue ? No, he faltered out in 
 trembling accents, ' Save me from my 
 brother. My brother wants to kill me.' 
 He said it then, he has said it since, he 
 will say it to his dying day.^ How can 
 
 ^ I have remarked in the fourth article of the letter 
 which you have done me the honour to write to me, a 
 specimen of that old spirit of injustice and harshness 
 towards me, which would grieve me much more if I
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 73 
 
 you listen so composedly Judithe, to such 
 a disgraceful calumny. Does it not excite 
 you to indignation ? " 
 
 ^^To own the truth, dearest lady/' 
 Judithe replied, ^' it rather moves me to 
 scorn than to anger." 
 
 ^^You have ever a ready answer, and an 
 apt one too," the marquise said, and gently 
 
 had not been long accustomed to your calumnies, so that 
 they do not now distress me more than the story of 
 " Peau d'Ane." This is what you say : ' When 
 you write an account of the Battle of Turin and of the 
 posts which you attacked, I recommend you not to 
 mention the resolution you had taken to put me out of 
 the world on that occasion. It would not sound well.' 
 I really should like to know, sir, how you came to de- 
 vise so great an impossibility, so perfect an absurdity. 
 The Austrians, who, as a nation, are remarkable for 
 their spirit of honour and generosity, would have looked 
 with horror on the author of so infamous a fratricide. 
 Indeed, sir, you ought to die of shame at having har- 
 boured so vile an opinion of me. — From the Comte de 
 BonnevaVs Letters to his Brother. 
 
 It is evident that this brother was a fool, and a 
 mean and selfish egotist. — Memoirs of the Prince de 
 Ligne.
 
 74 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 stroking the young girl's cheek, she added, 
 " The vivacity of your feelings and the com- 
 posure of your manners scarcely agree to- 
 gether my love." 
 
 ^^ I believe that outward tranquillity keeps 
 in check the over-quick impulses of my 
 heart." 
 
 ^^ Ah ! is it even so ! " exclaimed the 
 marquise, with a faint approach at a smile. 
 There is something at work, then, in that 
 young heart of yours. Something that needs 
 to be kept down." 
 
 ^' To be kept in order at least," Judithe 
 answered, with a slight blush. ^^ If I was 
 ever to allow that something to assume the 
 upper hand it might end some day by getting 
 the better of me." 
 
 Madame de Bonneval fixed her eyes with 
 an anxious scrutinising glance on that 
 thoughtful but serene countenance, which 
 presented a striking contrast to the expres-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 75 
 
 sion of her own haggard and careworn 
 face. 
 
 Unlike as they were in age, in mind, and 
 in disposition, there was to each of them a 
 great interest in the other's society. 
 Madame de Bonneval found in her young 
 companion a sympathy wholly unmixed with 
 common-place compassion, the thing she 
 most dreaded and abhorred ; and to Judithe 
 the struggles and the emotions of her aged 
 friend were full of that sort of excitement 
 which the romance of real life awakens in 
 those who for the first time are thrown in 
 contact with it. Her good sense and pre- 
 cocious intelligence fitted her for this un- 
 equal companionship. 
 
 The women of that period, when not 
 educated in convents, were in most in- 
 stances old of their age ; at fifteen or six- 
 teen they were already well versed in the 
 world's ways; had yielded to its influence.
 
 76 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 
 
 or learned to withstand its contagion at an 
 age when in other times and countries 
 they would only have been considered as 
 emerging from childhood.
 
 77 
 
 JjOartlj Chapter. 
 
 " A varied scene 
 So richly spreads that scarce the eye can know 
 Where most to rest admiring, 
 For hills and hills of every form and shape 
 Rise o'er each other, till among the skies 
 In rocky peaks their tops from sight escape, 
 Gathering around them every cloud that flies. 
 To some the purple Thyme their tint supplies, 
 Some glow in yellow broom." — Lady Northampton. 
 
 ' Lucy loved all that grew upon the ground, 
 And loveliness in all things living found, 
 The gilded fly, the fern upon the wall, 
 Were Nature's work, and admirable all." — Crabbe. 
 
 ' Quiet altars ; Jesus there, 
 Mary's image, meek and fair. 
 Silent whispering, twilight round 
 These make consecrated ground ! 
 Better still with holy poor 
 Scattered on the wide church floor, 
 With the tinkling beads they tell, 
 And whispers scarcely audible." — F. W. Faber. 
 
 When Mademoiselle de Gontaut was enter- 
 ing on her seventeenth year, and her intimacy
 
 78 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 with Madame de Bonneval was at its height, 
 her health suddenly became very delicate ; 
 her parents grew alarmed at her daily 
 increasing languor and paleness, and con- 
 sulted the physicians. They were unani- 
 mously of opinion that she required change 
 of air and of scene ; that study and late 
 hours should he given up ; and a some- 
 what lengthened residence in the country 
 resorted to. Pure air, fresh milk, walking 
 and riding would alone restore her strength, 
 and bring back then* wonted bloom to 
 Mademoiselle Judithe's pale cheeks. Such 
 was the decision that the faculty arrived at, 
 and Madame de Biron, who for some time 
 past had observed that her daughter never 
 returned from Madame de BonnevaFs house 
 without a feverish flush, or a look of lan- 
 guid exhaustion, was delighted to find a 
 pretext for breaking off her intercourse with 
 a person whose highly-wrought feelings, and 
 gloomy turn of mind exercised an unhealthy
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 79 
 
 influence over one who, in the ardour of her 
 grateful sympathy, learned to brood over the 
 wrongs, and to suffer from the griefs so un- 
 reservedly imparted to her. It was accord- 
 ingly decided that Judithe, accompanied by 
 Madame Dupuis, should forthwith proceed 
 to the ancestral residence of the family, an 
 ancient chateau in Gascony, where her 
 brother, the Yicomte de Gontaut, had been 
 shooting hares and kiUing time for the last 
 two years, in expiation for the sin of hav- 
 ing made up to a lady to whom the 
 Eegent was also paying his court. ^ Not 
 all the favor his family enjoyed with 
 His Eoyal Highness had hitherto sufficed 
 to procure his pardon and recall from banish- 
 ment. 
 
 On a fine spring day, in a huge family 
 
 * Gontaut had paid his court in a certain quarter 
 where the Regent was his rival. He had been neither 
 discreet nor modest, and was in consequence banished. 
 
 — St. SimorCs Memoirs.
 
 80 THE COUNTESS DE BOXNEVAL. 
 
 coach, together with her nurse and her 
 waiting-women, who were loudly deploring 
 theu' cruel fate in having to exchange the 
 civilisation of Paris for the rui^alities of 
 Biron, Mademoiselle de Gontaut took her 
 departure from the old Hotel of the Faubourg 
 St. Germain, and for several days and nights 
 travelled along those interminable paved high 
 roads bordered with rows of trees, which 
 seem to have been planted on purpose to keep 
 from the weary traveller's sight the least glimpse 
 of the lovely scenery of France, which so often 
 exists in close vicinity to these merciless 
 highways, and through the heart of which 
 the railways have lately forced their passage 
 with such picturesque success. 
 
 The journey from Paris to Gascony, now 
 so swiftly acomplished, was at that time 
 long and tedious. Though the travellers 
 seldom stopped at night, many days elapsed 
 before they reached their destination. The 
 roads were bad, the jolts incessant ; Madame
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 81 
 
 Dupuis sleepy and depressed; the waiting- 
 women frightened and out of temper. As to 
 Judithe, her eyes were busy with the clouds, 
 the waving trees, the flights of birds, the 
 blue expanse of the noon-day sky, the gor- 
 geous bed of the setting sun; her ears 
 with the rustle of the wind in the tall elm 
 branches, the twitter of the birds, the cawing 
 of the rooks. A furrowed field, a boy swinging 
 on a gate, the distant whistle of the plough- 
 man, or the bark of the shepherd dog, country 
 sights and sounds, brought repose to her over- 
 wrought mind and refreshment to her languid 
 frame. And as they advanced towards the 
 south of France, and a wilder scene broke on 
 her sight, the Landes of Gascony, with their 
 purple and orange hues, the brighter green of 
 the enamelled meadows ; the distant Pyrrenees, 
 with their Alpine grandeur, and their own 
 peculiar softness of outline and colouring, 
 she marvelled at the emotion which swelled 
 in her bosom, and brought tears into her eyes. 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 The love of Nature, in its simplest or 
 its wildest aspects, did not generally exist 
 in the age in which she lived. Books had 
 not yet analysed, or poetry revealed it. 
 Stately gardens, verdant slopes, majestic 
 trees, were duly appreciated. The divines, 
 the philosophers, the authors of that day 
 would read and meditate in the shady 
 bowers of St. Cloud, or the avenues of 
 Versailles. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne and her children 
 would wander in the fair woods of Les 
 Rochers, and praise the peaceful beauties of 
 some smiling hamlet or fertile valley. The 
 rose, the nightingale and the moon received 
 their meed of poetic praise ; but the wild- 
 fiower growing on a ruined wall ; the fox- 
 glove and the heath on the barren moor; 
 the solitary beach and the storm-beaten 
 rock had but few admu'ers in those days, 
 when wit was more highly esteemed than 
 genius ; fancy more in favour than imagina-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 83 
 
 tion ; and beauty's conventional types claimed 
 
 the exclusive homage of the artist and the 
 
 poet. Some few individuals even then had 
 
 doubtless an instinctive perception of the 
 
 charm which lies in Nature's severer moods, 
 
 in her secret haunts, and her untutored 
 
 children. That nameless sense which, like 
 
 the diviner's rod detects the springs that 
 
 lie beneath the surface of this hard world's 
 
 ways, may have served here and there to 
 
 gild some lone and joyless existence. It is 
 
 generally the pilgrims of hfe, Kilmeny, 
 
 " Whose eye was as still as the Emerald lea, 
 Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea," 
 
 or the bearer of the strange banner on 
 which Excelsior is written, who can see a 
 story in the pale face of a child, a creed in 
 a rough-hewn cross on the way-side, a poem 
 in a poor flower treasured up in a dingy 
 attic ; aye, such stories, such faith, and such 
 poems as lie very deep in men's hearts, un- 
 discerned by the thoughtless, unrecked of 
 
 g2
 
 84 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 by the worldly. Music which man has 
 never composed echoes in their ears ; poetry 
 which man has never written thrills through 
 their souls ; pictures unpainted by man's 
 hand pass before their eyes. The sea, 
 with its deep voice; the human face, 
 with its strange pathos; the blue sky over 
 their heads ; the green sward beneath their 
 feet, speak a language they understand. 
 Toil and pain do not stifle the accents 
 of that language. Sin and pleasure ignore 
 it. 
 
 The eighteenth century was a bad listener. 
 It heard neither the still small voice at its 
 side, nor the distant thunder of the coming 
 storm; but at all times there are some 
 who hearken to Nature's whispers, and Judithe 
 was one of them. 
 
 "Yes, it is indeed your little sister who 
 has the honour of saluting you, M. de Gon- 
 taut." 
 
 These words were accompanied by a half-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 85 
 
 formal, half-smiling curtsey, and the Yicomte, 
 who had uttered an exclamation of surprise 
 as he handed out of the carriage a slim 
 and graceful young girl when he had ex- 
 pected to see a mere child, kissed his sister 
 on both cheeks, and, taking hold of her 
 hand, led her into the drawing-room. 
 
 Francois Armand de Gontaut was a hand- 
 some-looking man of about thirty years of 
 age, as brave, as lively, as frivolous, and 
 as unprincipled as might have been expected 
 from one who belonged to an aristocracy 
 remarkable for its valor and its agreeable 
 qualities, and to a Court as abandoned as 
 that of the Eegent of France, with whom 
 he had stood in the highest favour till the 
 moment that he had crossed the fancies and 
 offended the vanity of that worthless Prince. 
 Two years of banishment had given him 
 time to repent at leisure of so uncourtier- 
 like an imprudence. He was heartily tired 
 of field-sports, which had been his principal
 
 86 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 resource against eiiiiui during his compulsory 
 residence in his ancestral domains ; he had 
 read and re-read the books which composed 
 the scanty library of the chateau ; the pub- 
 lications of the day were slow in reaching 
 him, and letters from Paris, his chief 
 amusement, did not arrive more than once 
 a week. He was, therefore, inclined to wel- 
 come anybody or anything that held out the 
 least prospect of amusement, or even of 
 novelty in his monotonous existence. 
 
 The arrival of Judithe, whom at the 
 Hotel de Biron he would probably not have 
 noticed, was quite an event in the country. 
 She looked, too, as if with some encourage- 
 ment she might be induced to converse. 
 There was a certain expression in her eyes 
 and a smile lurking in the corners of her 
 mouth, that announced a degree of vivacity 
 which might possibly turn out to be enter- 
 taining. He was quite agreeably surprised 
 to find her so much less of a child than
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 87 
 
 he had imagined her to be ; and having 
 led her to a high-backed sofa, and placed 
 a foot-stool for her small feet to rest on, 
 which, otherwise would not have reached 
 the ground, he seated himself in an arm- 
 chair opposite to her, and said, with a 
 smile : 
 
 "Allow me, my charming little sister, to 
 welcome you to this most ancient, noble, 
 most penitential abode. I feel a sort of 
 malicious satisfaction in seeing you arrive 
 with pale cheeks from that wicked town of 
 Paris. It is but fair that we poor country 
 folk should have something to boast of as 
 regards health at least. You must admit 
 that I do credit to the regime which His 
 Eoyal Highness so kindly prescribed for 
 me." 
 
 " Indeed I rejoice, sir, that my cheeks 
 have not hitherto belied me. I have 
 such a foolish trick of blushing when any- 
 thing gives me pleasure that I feared
 
 88 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 you would disbelieve the report of my 
 illness." 
 
 " And pray, my sweet sister, is that same 
 trick of blushing the fashion now in 
 Paris?" 
 
 ^^ Artificial blushes, I have been assured, 
 are thought in the best taste at Court." 
 
 M. de Gontaut, much amused with this 
 reply, exclaimed: 
 
 '^ Upon my word, my dear child, you 
 have not been brought up at Paris for no- 
 thing. It is quite refreshing to talk to 
 you. I suspect that you will tui'n out to 
 be a very entertaining little person." 
 
 ^^ By no means, my dear brother. I 
 would not for the world attempt anything 
 of the kind." 
 
 ^' What, not even to amuse your friends ?" 
 
 " No, not since I heard the fable of the 
 ass and the lap-dog." 
 
 '^ And what was the lesson you drew from 
 it then, my charming little moralist ? "
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 89 
 
 " That the graver sort of persons should 
 never attempt to be frolicsome." 
 
 ^^I am vastly partial to the graver soit 
 of persons, especially when they happen to 
 be about your age, my dear ; we shall get 
 on exceedingly well together, I see. You 
 will help me to get through the day." 
 
 " Have you happened to lose your little 
 dog, sir?'^ asked Judithe, with an innocent 
 expression of countenance, that greatly di- 
 verted M. de Gontaut. 
 
 '' I understand the hint, mademoiselle ; 
 you are not to be treated like a plaything. 
 Well, we will be as wise as judges, espe- 
 cially of an evening ; but you must not then 
 be scandalised if I sometimes fall asleep on 
 the sofa. Come, I will show you over this 
 dungeon of ours ; and to-morrow you shall 
 mount my quiet mare ; we will scoui' the 
 country, and stir up M. de Bonrepos in his 
 old tumble-down castle, where his affairs, 
 and, as he pretends, his friendship for me,
 
 90 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 have brought him down for a few weeks. 
 By to-morrow I hope you will have quite 
 left off blushing when I talk nonsense to 
 you. Confess you were a little afraid of 
 me at first.'' 
 
 ^* I am always a little afraid of those I 
 love, so you must not expect that I shall 
 quite get over my fear of you," Judithe 
 said, with such an engaging smile, that her 
 brother from that moment took a great 
 fancy to her. 
 
 They spent some months together, and 
 though no two persons could have been 
 found more unlike each other, in character, 
 in tastes, or in tone of mind, yet they got on 
 together extremely well. 
 
 A thorough man of the world, M. de 
 Gontaut had arrived at the age of thirty 
 without having once looked upon life in a 
 serious point of view. His existence had 
 been one course of incessant dissipation 
 up to the moment of his banishment to
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 91 
 
 Biron, and the intense ennui of that se- 
 clusion had wearied and disgusted him, 
 but in no respect altered his views, or 
 modified his character. Hunting and shoot- 
 ing were but sorry resources to a man ac- 
 customed to the life of a capital and of a 
 Court, and of such a capital and such a 
 Court as those of France at that epoch. 
 His mind was well cultivated, but the books 
 which he delighted in were those which, as 
 a gentleman and a man of honour, he could 
 not place in his sister's way. 
 
 Judithe, such as we have described her, 
 with her deep and tender feelings, her 
 high-minded character, and her fervent en- 
 thusiasm, could hardly expect to find a 
 congenial companion in the light-hearted 
 and dissipated Yicomte de Gontaut. He 
 could neither win her confidence nor inspire 
 her with esteem, but she could not but feel 
 grateful for his kindness, or fail to be cap- 
 tivated by the charm of his manners, and
 
 92 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 the entertaining playfulness of his conversa- 
 tion. Her habitual reserve concealed from 
 his notice the deeper traits of her character, 
 but he appreciated the piquancy and origin- 
 ality of her mind, and encouraged to the 
 utmost her conversational powers ; and so 
 they talked, laughed, rode, and played 
 at cards, and whiled away the time in 
 a manner highly, if not equally, satis- 
 factory to both. A constant subject of con- 
 versation between them was his approaching 
 marriage with the beautiful Adelaide de 
 Gramont,^ that auspicious event which was 
 to be the means of bringing his banish- 
 ment to an end, and the occasion of his 
 
 ' Biron, about the same time, married his son Gon- 
 taut to the eldest daughter of the Due de Guiche, a tall 
 and singularly beautiful person, with a perfect figure, 
 and a vast deal of wit, to whom her father gave 20,000 
 francs a-year. This marriage, wliich promised 
 so well, turned out as ill as possible. — St. SiniOTi's 
 Memoirs.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 93 
 
 return to Paris, the sole object of his 
 desires. 
 
 Judithe was well acquainted with her 
 brother's betrothed, and would now and 
 then indulge in enthusiastic descriptions 
 of her beauty, wit, and vivacity; but 
 to these expressions of admiration M. 
 de Gontaut listened very coldly. The 
 amount of her fortune, the interest her 
 family possessed at Court, were themes 
 of far more interest to him. This did not 
 cause Judithe any surprise. She was too 
 much accustomed to this mode of view- 
 ing the affairs of life to be astonished at 
 any manifestation of it. It seemed perfectly 
 natural, at least it was quite in harmony 
 with the tone of mind habitual to those 
 amongst whom she lived, that her brother 
 should care much more for the prospect of 
 returning to Paris, or for his future chances 
 of Court favour, than for the beauty and 
 accomplishments of his intended bride.
 
 94 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 She had seen her own sister enchanted to 
 marry M. de Bonac, a plain and elderly 
 diplomate, whose principal merit in her 
 eyes consisted in the diamonds which he 
 presented to her, and the title of ambassa- 
 dress which, as his wife, she was to 
 bear. 
 
 One of her brothers had become a priest 
 without the shadow of a vocation, in order 
 to enjoy some rich ecclesiastical benefice ; 
 and her father, whom she loved and 
 respected, and who was a good sort of 
 man upon the whole, swam with the 
 tide, paid assiduous court to the Eegent, 
 and was not ashamed to swell the num- 
 bers of those who, as his friend M. de 
 St. Simon informs us, enlivened the ^^to 
 soupirs of the Palais Koyal by their licen- 
 tious hon mots} It was not strange 
 
 ^ Biron who, as well as his son, is now rolling in 
 wealth, and with no end of places, was at that time 
 very poor, and burthened with a numerous family. A
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 95 
 
 then, that his daughter should consider 
 it as a matter of course that men of 
 the world should place the interests of 
 ambition and of fortune above those of 
 feeling or of conscience. Her own senti- 
 ments and inclinations were far more a 
 subject of astonishment to herself She 
 could hardly account for the peculiarity 
 of taste which led her to feel more ad- 
 miration for a half-blown rose bathed in 
 the morning dew, than for the finest 
 diamonds that ever sparkled at Ver- 
 sailles ; to prefer a walk over a common 
 perfumed with the fi*agrance of the wild 
 thyme to a rehearsal of Lully's newest 
 opera; to be more pleased with one of 
 those words that touch a secret spring 
 in the heart than with the most brilliant 
 
 man's necessities drive him sometimes to strange ex- 
 pedients. He enrolled himself amongst the roues, and 
 supped almost every night at the Palais Royal, 
 where, in order to please, he talked as freely as any of 
 them. — St. Simon's Memoirs.
 
 96 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 witticism uttered by Parisian lips ; to find 
 herself inspired with more fervent devo- 
 tion in the simple village church, when the 
 rosary was said at night by the assembled 
 peasantry, or the holy sacrifice was offered 
 up at daybreak by their venerable pastor, 
 than when listening to the sermons of 
 Massillon and Bossuet, assisting at the 
 King's High Mass, or at the famous vespers 
 of St. Cyr. It must be acknowledged 
 in extenuation of this last-mentioned pecu- 
 liarity, that the aged priest whose sim- 
 ple homilies went straight to her heart, 
 was one of those angels upon earth whose 
 life is one long prayer, who deny every- 
 thing to themselves and nothing to others, 
 who never ask anything of the rich but an 
 alms for the poor, and if it is refused 
 give in return for that refusal their 
 prayers for those unhappy ones who 
 neglect for themselves the only royal 
 road to Heaven. Judithe felt to her verv
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 97 
 
 heart's core the perfection of such a cha- 
 racter, just as she had instinctively discerned 
 the poetry of the solitary flower, the beauty 
 of the sunset clouds. The words which 
 fell from the lips of this poor and ob- 
 scure priest were treasured up in her 
 memory. When he spake of suiFering, of 
 strength sought and found at the foot of 
 the Cross, of the painful ways which God's 
 chosen ones are sometimes called upon to 
 tread, for the sake of their own souls, or 1 
 to win mercy for those of others, of the 
 might of certain sacrifices once oiFered, 
 and at once accepted when earth's happi- 
 ness is renounced, and in exchange a 
 blessing obtained which we have scarcely 
 ventured to pray for, but which God 
 grants at the eleventh hour, she listened, 
 she pondered, she received the hard saying, 
 scarcely conscious as yet of its full mean- 
 ing, but with a presentiment of its truth 
 and force. The seed had been sown ; it 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 was hereafter to bear fruit. It is by slow 
 degrees that the grain expands in the 
 well-seasoned soil. Many a wave breaks 
 on the shore before the tide reaches its 
 height.
 
 99 
 
 Jjiftlj Cljapto. 
 
 " Sous les drapeaux d'une M^re cherie 
 Tous deux jadis nous avons combattus; 
 Je ra'en souviens ! " . . . . — Beranger. 
 
 * Why came I so untimely forth 
 Into a world, which wanting thee, 
 Could entertain us with no worth 
 Or shadow of felicity ? 
 That time should me so far remove 
 From that which I was born to love. 
 Yet fairest blossom ! do not slight 
 That age which you may know so soon. 
 The rosy morn resigns her light 
 And milder glory to the noon, 
 And then what wonders shall you do, 
 Whose dawning beauty warms us so ? " — Waller. 
 
 JuDiTHE had always loved the poor, and 
 in the village of Biron she soon formed ac- 
 quaintances. Old people greeted her with 
 blessings, and children followed her with 
 smiles. 
 
 h2
 
 100 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 In one of the cottages, at the outskirt of 
 the neighbouring forest, there lived a man 
 who had l^een a soldier, and whose legs 
 ^ad been shot off in the Italian campaign. 
 He managed to support himself and his 
 mother on his small and dearly-bought 
 pension, eking it out by the sale of baskets 
 made with the twigs of the willow. He 
 had a good open countenance, and a fund 
 of French gaiety, which neither poverty 
 nor infirmity could suppress. While plying 
 his trade he whiled away the time by sing- 
 ing sometimes hymns, and sometimes 
 warlike ditties. Judithe, in her walks with 
 Madame Dupuis, had often lingered near 
 this cottage, and listened to the simple 
 songs of the crippled soldier. One day, 
 that she was leaning against the gate of 
 the little garden, Lafond, which was the 
 man's name, perceived her, and suddenly 
 broke off his singing. 
 
 '* Oh, do go on, my good friend," she
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 101 
 
 exclaimed. "We delight in your songs. 
 Pray do not deprive me of the pleasure of 
 hearing you." and gliding to his side, she 
 sat down by him on his wooden bench, 
 and listened to several couplets of a very 
 long ballad. When it was ended she bought 
 of Lafond the basket he had been weaving, 
 and began to fill it with the heaths and 
 the wild orchises which she had gathered 
 on the common. While her hands were 
 thus employed, she managed to engage the 
 soldier in conversation, and to draw from 
 him the history of his campaigns. Pleased 
 with his listeners, he grew eager in his 
 descriptions of the fights he had seen, and 
 the hardships he had undergone in that 
 fair land, bright and sunny as his own 
 Gascony, but not so dear to his eyes or 
 to his heart. He happened to mention in a 
 casual manner that he had served in that 
 campaign under the Comte de Bonneval. 
 Judithe glanced with a smile at Madame
 
 102 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 Dupuis, and pressed her hand when Lafond 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Ah ! that was as gallant a fellow as 
 ever buckled on a sword in a good cause. 
 I warrant you that there were not many to 
 match him in the tilt-yard or on the field of 
 battle. His heart went always with his 
 hand, whether he dealt a blow at the foe, 
 or chucked a crown-piece to a beggar. No- 
 thing ever came amiss to him ; he thought 
 no more of charging single-handed a troop 
 of Heyducks than of leading out a lady 
 to dance a saraband. Ah ! he was a 
 trump if ever there was one." 
 
 Judithe whispered to her companion : 
 
 " I suppose you recognise your foster 
 child in this description, nurse?" 
 
 " Look here, mademoiselle," continued 
 Lafond, and as he spoke he drew from 
 his pocket a small and richly-ornamented 
 vinaigrette. " Our colonel made me a
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 103 
 
 present of this toy on the very day 
 when both my legs were taken off, what 
 was left of them I should say, for that 
 deuced cannon-ball saved the surgeons more 
 than half the trouble. Well, I fainted 
 away like a sick girl after the operation, 
 more shame for me, and our colonel held 
 this little concern to my nose, as I 
 was afterwards informed, and when I 
 came to myself he said : ' There's a keep- 
 sake for you, Lafond. Take care of it 
 against the next time that you find your- 
 self in these gentlemen's hands.' 'Thank 
 you kindly, colonel,' I said, 'but as to 
 the next time I hope I shall stand ex- 
 cused. Enough is as good as a feast, as 
 the proverb has it.' WeU, I have kept 
 this bauble ever since, and every time I 
 set eyes on it I seem to see before 
 me our colonel's handsome face, and that 
 look of his which said as plain as looks
 
 104 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 
 
 can speak: 'Ah! my good friends the 
 Austrians, have a care how you meddle 
 with me!''' 
 
 Madame Dupuis drew a deep sigh, 
 and seemed about to make some observa- 
 tion. Judithe put her finger on her lips; 
 she could not endure that the soldier should 
 hear those words which had so often made her 
 heart ache : " He has gone over to the enemy." 
 
 "You were, then, very much attached to 
 your colonel, Lafond?" she said. 
 
 " I should think so indeed, mademoiselle. 
 I should be an ungrateful fellow if I was 
 not, and that you see is not exactly my 
 disposition. Every year I get our good 
 cure to say a mass for him, and the ten 
 sous I give him, he always makes over to 
 the poorest person in the parish. That 
 must draw down a blessing on my colonel; 
 don't you think so, mademoiselle?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed I do, Lafond, and I should 
 very much like to hear that mass."
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 105 
 
 " Well, and why not then, if you are so 
 minded ? Thursday next M. le Cure has 
 promised to say it." 
 
 "We shall certainly come," Judithe 
 eagerly exclaimed. " Shall we not, dear 
 nurse ? " and then, taking a kind leave of 
 Lafond, she departed, promising to visit him 
 again. She kept her word. There were few 
 days that she and Madame Dupuis did not 
 direct their steps towards the forest cottage, 
 generally bringing with them some little 
 gift for the crippled soldier and his mother ; 
 fruit from the garden of the chateau, or a 
 parcel of snuff, or some article of clothing, 
 or a rosary which Judithe put into his hand 
 with a whispered recommendation to say it 
 often for his colonel. Sometimes she offered 
 to teach him new songs which she had 
 learnt in Paris or from her brother. The 
 famous elegy of " Monsieur Malbroucke " 
 had just been composed, and Lafond, in 
 spite of his dislike of the great duke, was
 
 106 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 almost moved to tears at the description 
 of the funeral, and of the grief of the lady 
 "dressed all in black." 
 
 One day that Judithe had walked as 
 usual to the cottage, she found her crip- 
 pled friend sitting on the bench in his 
 garden, with his eyes gloomily fixed on the 
 ground. His manner was completely altered, 
 he hardly took any notice of her, and when, 
 to put him in a good humour, she pro- 
 posed to sing him one of his favourite 
 songs, he gruffly answered : 
 
 " I don't want to hear it. I don't care 
 about songs. Oh dear me ! Oh dear 
 me!" 
 
 "What can be the matter with you, 
 Lafond?" 
 
 " Aye ! it is time, indeed, to ask what is 
 the matter with me ! Come, mademoiselle, 
 let me now just hear the truth from you. 
 Come, out with it at once, and no shilly- 
 shallying. Is it, can it be true I say
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 107 
 
 what your servant told me yesterday, that 
 my colonel — Lord ! how hard it is to get 
 the words out — that my colonel has deserted ; 
 that he has gone over to the enemy ?" 
 
 Judithe hung down her head in silence, 
 and a deep blush suffused her cheeks. 
 The soldier looked at her steadily for a 
 moment, and then exclaimed, with bitterness : 
 
 ^^And why, then, did not you look 
 ashamed when I named him before ; when, 
 fool that I was, I sung out his praises. 
 What business had you to smile and to 
 ask with your pretty winning manner 
 whether my colonel was not much be- 
 loved in the regiment, whether your cousin 
 was not very brave, very generous. In 
 the name of patience why did you deceive 
 me so ? Gone over to the enemy. He ! 
 the Comte de Bonneval ! The wretch ! I 
 hate and despise him !" 
 
 As he said these words, he drew from 
 his pocket the smelling-bottle which the
 
 108 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 count had given him, and dashed it 
 with violence beyond the garden -gate. 
 Judithe started up from her seat with 
 flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. 
 
 "You wrong him, Lafond. You are 
 unjust. He was illused, unfairly treated. 
 No man of spirit could have brooked such 
 usage. They drove him to that fatal 
 step. And now he saves the lives of 
 Frenchmen, he receives them into his house, 
 he tends the sick prisoners as if they 
 were his own brothers. Believe me, Lafond, 
 he is still as good and as kind as when 
 you knew him." 
 
 " Stop, stop, mademoiselle. That will not 
 do. People are not to be taken in in that 
 fashion. We are not to call good evil or 
 evil good. A traitor is a traitor all the 
 world over. Ah ! that I should have lived 
 to call him by that name. Well, well! no 
 more of this. I will never think of him again." 
 
 " Oh, but indeed, you will, Lafond ;
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 109 
 
 morning and evening when you say your 
 prayers ; and then the cure's mass, you will 
 get him to say it still; why Lafond," she 
 continued, as the soldier preserved a dogged 
 silence, '' why Lafond, did not our Lord 
 pray for His soldiers when they went over 
 to the enemy?" 
 
 " Aye ! for St. Peter, the general of his 
 church too ! Well, we will go on praying 
 for my — for your cousin, mademoiselle. But 
 to think of his serving on the wrong side ; 
 with those confounded Austrians too. Who 
 would have ever dreamed of such a thing? 
 But you are just as white as a sheet, my 
 dear young lady. You are very fond of 
 your cousin I suppose?" 
 
 "I have never seen him, Lafond." 
 
 " Never seen the Comte de Bonneval. 
 You have not seen, then, the handsomest 
 man in France. Hey, nurse ? " 
 
 Madame Dupuis nodded assent, but at 
 the same time drew a deep sigh.
 
 110 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 As they were leaving the cottage Judithe 
 saw the gold and enamelled vinaigrette 
 lying on the road. She hastened to pick it 
 up, and, retracing her steps, she held it out 
 to the soldier with an expressive gesture of 
 entreaty. He sorrowfully shook his head, 
 and said: 
 
 " Keep it, mademoiselle. I cannot look at 
 it now without a heartache. Besides, that 
 bauble is better suited to a lady's table 
 than to a soldier's waistcoat pocket. Do 
 pray keep it, mademoiselle." Judithe yielded 
 to his request without further resistance, 
 and carried off with secret pleasui^e the 
 Comte de Bonneval's rejected keepsake. 
 She gave Lafond in return a reliquary 
 which she had brought with her from 
 Paris. 
 
 Poor child! the exchange boded no good 
 to her. The new possession which she 
 so joyfully placed amongst her treasures 
 was, alas, no hallowed relic. Nothing
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. Ill 
 
 sacred had touched it, no blessing rested 
 upon it. 
 
 When Judithe entered the gallery of the 
 Castle, laden with her basket of wild 
 flowers, her broad green fan in her hand 
 and her straw hat hanging on her arm, 
 M. de Gontaut exclaimed: 
 
 " Now what have you been about charm- 
 ing shepherdess ! Here is M. de Bonrepos 
 quite pining for your society. He has 
 been sitting before the chess-board like 
 patience, or rather mpatience, on a monu- 
 ment, as some barbarous English poet has 
 it. He vows that you neglect us for a 
 certain legless favourite, on whom you 
 lavish your attentions." 
 
 At these words an elderly sharp-featured 
 gentleman rose, and made a profound obei- 
 sance to Judithe, who acknowledged it by 
 a no less profound curtsey. Then sitting down 
 at the chess-table, upon which her antagonist 
 had already ranged the pieces, she said :
 
 112 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 ^^ You must give me the queen, M. 
 de Bonrepos, and a bishop into the bar- 
 gain/' 
 
 ^^ Indeed, Mademoiselle Judithe, your 
 request is too unreasonable. If I agree to 
 forego the support of the fair sex, can you 
 in conscience expect that I should give up 
 that of the church also ? " 
 
 ^^But will not your devotion to the fair 
 sex induce you to risk a defeat at its 
 hands," Judithe retorted with a smile. 
 '' Surely you will not refuse to give me 
 for once a chance of victory." 
 
 ^' I humbly throw myself at your feet. 
 Mademoiselle Judithe, to entreat you not 
 to carry so far the tyranny which you exer- 
 cise over your devoted servant as to force 
 him to surrender one of his bishops into 
 your hands.'' 
 
 ^^ I must have a castle then," Judithe ex- 
 claimed, sweeping away from the board the 
 condemned piece.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 113 
 
 "So be it then/' M. de Bonrepos ejacu- 
 lated, with an affected sigh. " I perceive 
 that my fair enemy is as much bent upon 
 my destruction as ever was her name- 
 sake on that of the doomed Holofer- 
 nes/' 
 
 "Your ideas, M. de Bonrepos, are emi- 
 nently poetical," observed M. de Gontaut, 
 who was pacing up and down the gallery, 
 alternately watching the game and the ap- 
 proach of the courier from Paris, who had 
 just come in sight at the opposite end 
 of the avenue. 
 
 "Mademoiselle de Gontaut has been, I 
 confess it, the means of awakening my 
 slumbering muse. It is the same with 
 poetry and with love. Age covers with 
 its ashes both those divine flames, but 
 under those ashes the fire still smoul- 
 ders." 
 
 "Upon my word, M. de Bonrepos, I 
 do not know which to admire most, your 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 
 
 gallantry or your wit. I am exceedingly 
 flattered at the homage you pay to this 
 demure little sister of mine, and I con- 
 gratulate her that in this remote corner 
 of the world she has met with so dis- 
 tinguished an admirer/' 
 
 ^^My admiration, my passion, I may 
 call it for Mademoiselle Judithe, is of far 
 more ancient standing than you suppose, 
 monsieur le vicomte. This mortal wound 
 was long ago inflicted on my too sensitive 
 heart, and the daily sight of the object of 
 my admiration only serves to increase my 
 idolatry." 
 
 " And are you really then of opinion that 
 this little face is worth looking at ? " and, 
 as he spoke, M. de Gontaut drew back 
 the curls that hung on each side of his 
 sister's face, exhibiting its perfect oval 
 and the dimples in her cheeks. ^'But, 
 perhaps, you are not aware what a little 
 philosopher she is; what deep books she
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 115 
 
 reads. The Fathers of the Church at one 
 moment, M. de la Rochefoucauld's maxims 
 at another. I assure you that she was 
 born just fifty years too late. The Hotel 
 de Rambouillet would have had in her 
 quite a charming little blue-stocking. You 
 should hear her converse with M. le Cure. 
 Morality, history, politics ; nothing comes 
 amiss to her. She is never at a loss, 
 this little girl. You are not angry. Made- 
 moiselle de Gontaut ? " 
 
 " Not angry, sir, that you laugh at me ; 
 but not at all pleased that you make known 
 to others what I tell you in confidence." 
 
 "But it is very fortunate, my dear 
 child, that I am here to talk nonsense to 
 you. If left to yourself you would really 
 grow so wise that your hair would be in 
 danger of turning grey. Don't I tell you 
 very amusing stories, my dear ? " 
 
 "Not so amusing as Monsieur de Bonre- 
 pos, my dear brother." 
 
 i2
 
 116 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 ^^ That is all gross flattery, given in ex- 
 change for his compliments. His head will 
 be quite turned, and when you go away 
 he will never put up with my society or 
 with his solitary home." 
 
 "You will be the cause, sir, of my losing 
 the game. Don't you see that while I am 
 listening to you, my adversary is thinking 
 of nothing but his moves.'' 
 
 "I stand rebuked, mademoiselle. You 
 are quite right, and I the more willingly 
 promise to be silent that I hear Lafleur 
 on the stairs, bringing up the Paris let- 
 ters." 
 
 M. de Gontaut seized on the packet 
 which the servant presented to him, and 
 was soon absorbed in its contents. Mean- 
 while the game at chess proceeded. 
 
 M. de Bonrepos was a man of large 
 fortune, considerable ability, and a great deal 
 of eccentricity. He was a very old friend 
 of the Biron family and Judithe had
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 117 
 
 always been a particular favourite with 
 him. He had directed her studies, taken 
 pleasure in conversing with her, in teach- 
 ing her to play at chess, in lavishing upon 
 her extravagant enconiums, and paying her 
 compliments which made her laugh, and 
 put her in mind she would say of Made- 
 moiselle de Scudery's novels, which he was, 
 by the way, always strenuously recommend- 
 ing her to read. His thoughts were always 
 running upon her, and he was constantly 
 forming plans for her future destiny. He 
 never mentioned her but as the prettiest 
 and cleverest little person in France, and 
 emphatically designated the man she would 
 marry as the happy man par excellence. 
 He had wished at one time to unite her 
 to his nephew; but her extreme youth, and 
 M. de Bonac's appointment to the embassy 
 of Spain proved obstacles to this scheme, 
 and the handsome Franqoise, her sister, be- 
 came the diplomate's bride. At the bot-
 
 118 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 torn of his heart too, and in confidence to 
 his friends, M. de Bonrepos would admit 
 that, despite his qualities as a negotiator 
 and his merits as an accomplished gentle- 
 man, he did not consider his nephew alto- 
 gether deserving so incomparable a wife. 
 He was not much displeased, the excellent 
 old man, when his friends hinted that, like 
 old Absolute, he meant ^Ho marry the 
 girl himself," and he doubtless put on 
 a mysterious and sentimental expression 
 of countenance when bantered on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 ^^Well! at all events, Saintes is nearer 
 Paris than Biron," ejaculated M. de Gon- 
 taut, as he folded up one of the letters 
 he had been reading, and advanced to- 
 wards the chess-table. ^'What do you 
 say to the suggestion, my dear? I am 
 advised to pay my respects to our vener- 
 able great aunt, the lady abbess of that
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 119 
 
 convent/ and to give you at the same 
 time the opportunity of visiting your sister 
 the new coadjutress.^ This is by way of afford- 
 ing us a little change of scene, as they kindly 
 observe. Keally they have hit upon a some- 
 what peculiar mode of raising our spirits. 
 The choice might have been happier, but it 
 is no doubt a step in the right direction. 
 The late King used to say to Madame de 
 Maintenon, when he was bored to death with 
 the lady in waiting : ^ De grdce, madame^ 
 changeons cT ennui ; '^ and so hurrah for the 
 
 * Tired of shooting hares at Biron, in the re- 
 motest part of Gascony, Gontaut went to the 
 A-bbey of Saintes, of which his great aunt, M. 
 de Lauzun's sister, was superioress. He remained 
 there some time, and at last received permission 
 to return to Paris, in order to be married to 
 Mademoiselle de Gramont. — St. Simon's Memoirs. 
 
 '^ Marguerite Bathilde, the eldest daughter of 
 the Due de Biron, was coadjutress of the Abbey 
 of Our Lady, at Saintes. — Dictionnaire de la No- 
 blesse. 
 
 ^ Historical.
 
 120 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 convent. For Saintes versus Biron. Are 
 you prepared to start to-morrow, Made- 
 moiselle de Gontaut ? ^' 
 
 ^^ I am at your orders, sir, but, oh, 
 how sorry I shall be to leave Biron.'^ 
 
 ^^You don't say so, my dear! I really 
 begin to doubt your sanity. It seems to 
 me a symptom of absolute derangement to 
 take a fancy to this gloomy old pile of 
 brick and mortar.'' 
 
 '^ But does it not occur to you, my dear 
 brother, that I shall be in danger of losing 
 much of the pleasure of your society, not 
 to speak of that of M. de Bonrepos." 
 
 '^ You under estimate my devotion, 
 Mademoiselle Judithe, if you suppose that 
 as long as I am allowed to pay my re- 
 spects to you in the parlour of Saintes, 
 and I presume that you do not intend to 
 retire behind the grate, I shall omit 
 to take up my residence in that time- 
 honoured city, and keep up in your
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 121 
 
 mind by frequent visits the recollection — " 
 
 '^ Of having had the honour of beating 
 you at chess, M. de Bonrepos, which I 
 flatter myself that I am about to do. 
 Check to the king and checkmate I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 "Oh, by all the muses, the graces, 
 the nymphs ! " exclaimed M. de Bonre- 
 pos. " Give me back that last move." 
 
 "By no means, my dear sir. I am 
 quite elated at this unexpected triumph, 
 and I wish you good night with a most 
 benignant feeling of complacency." 
 
 " Indeed, I cannot allow you thus to 
 depart, most cruel Judithe. It is but fair 
 to give me a chance of revenge. Do not 
 be inexorable, most lovely of tyrants. 
 Holofernes is at your feet." 
 
 "I never like to play after the sun 
 is set. I feel as if my wits declined 
 with the daylight." 
 
 "But at any rate sit down a moment
 
 122 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 longer,'^ said M. de Gontaut, detaining 
 her with gentle force beside him on the 
 sofa. ^^ Give yourself leisure to enjoy your 
 success, and listen at the same time to 
 the news from Paris ;" and he read out 
 of the letters before him as follows : 
 '' ' They are all in good health at the 
 Hotel de Biron. They are vastly enter- 
 tained with our letters/ They are easily 
 pleased, worthy people, or we must be 
 very clever to write amusing letters from 
 this ancestral dungeon. Well, let us see 
 now what news they favour us with. 
 ' The weather is very sultry ; something 
 close and heavy in the air.' Ah, me ! 
 I should like to feel the weight of a 
 little Parisian air at this moment. ^ The 
 King of Spain is ailing. Alberoni is not 
 to have the hat. The Cardinal de Poli- 
 gnac does not pay his debts. (I hope 
 that is getting to be the fashion.) Made-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 123 
 
 moiselle de Clermont is handsomer than 
 ever. Her Royal Highness the Duchesse 
 de Berry' — ahem, what next I wonder. 
 ^The little king drew his own portrait the 
 other day, scribbled his name under it, 
 and ordered it to be sent to Madame de 
 Maintenon.^ The story of the ball is 
 quite true. I shall tell you all about 
 that another time, M. de Bonrepos; but 
 listen to this, it is really curious. No- 
 thing is talked of now in Paris but the 
 Battle of Peterwaradin,^ and the wonder- 
 
 ^ This anecdote is alluded to in Madame de 
 Maintenon's correspondence. 
 
 2 Bonneval covered himself with glory during the 
 war between Austria and Turkey. His conduct at 
 the Battle of Peterwaradin made him famous. At 
 the head of a handful of men he kept at bay for a 
 whole hour an immense force of Jannissaries. At 
 last he fell, wounded by a lance, and was carried 
 off to the victorious army by the only ten men who 
 remained of his regiment The
 
 124 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 M exploits of our cousin de Bonneval. 
 The Emperor has written to him in the 
 most flattering terms, and Prince Eugene 
 
 Parisian society received with enthusiasm the ac- 
 counts of the French general's successes, and of hia 
 chivalrous exploits in this sort of crusade. It was 
 then that he conceived the idea of returning to his 
 country by means of letters of pardon, which he 
 accordingly solicited. — M. Sainte Beuve's Causeries 
 du Lundu 
 
 Prince Eugene commanded the Imperial Army 
 in Hungary, and Bonneval served under him. He 
 distinguished himself greatly at the Battle of Peter- 
 waradin, where he was severely wounded. Prince 
 Eugene wrote on this occasion to the Marquise de 
 Bonneval to give her news of her son, and said 
 that his conduct had proved him to be a truly 
 great captain. The Emperor himself wrote to Bon- 
 neval in the most flattering terms. After this 
 glorious campaign he returned to Vienna, and ap- 
 peared there with great eclat. The Comte de Lue, 
 his relation, who was French ambassador at that 
 Court, consulted the Abbe Dubois as to the 
 means of facilitating his return to France. This 
 abbe, who was from the same province as Bon-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 125 
 
 to his mother to congratulate her on his 
 safety, and to compliment her on his 
 valour and talents. It appears that this 
 wild, extravagant, reckless cousin of ours 
 fought like a lion, was wounded in the 
 melee, displayed extraordinary skill in the 
 way that he manoeuvred his troops; in 
 short, turns out to be a great military 
 genius, and a hero into the bargain. The 
 Emperor compliments him ; the great cap- 
 tain extols him, and what is still more 
 wonderful, in Paris itself his praises are 
 in everybody's mouth; the past is for- 
 gotten; and, wonder of wonders, his return 
 is talked of, indeed, considered probable. 
 We live, it must be confessed, in some- 
 
 neval, eagerly took up the question, and sug- 
 gested that Prince Eugene should be requested to 
 interest himself in the matter, which he did. The 
 Court was at that time by way of seeking in 
 every possible way to conciliate the Prince. — 
 Memoirs of the Prince de Ligiie.
 
 126 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 what strange times ! M. de St. Simon's 
 hair actually stood on end, I am told, 
 when the matter was first broached in 
 the Council of Kegency. He looked al- 
 most as aghast, they say, as when M. du 
 Maine was made " Due et pair.^ " It is, 
 upon my word, a very amusing change of 
 scene," exclaimed M. de Gontaut, as he 
 put down the letter. "We really shall 
 arrive at feeling proud of the relationship. 
 How now, my little sister, what is the 
 meaning of that deep blush?" 
 
 "I am not blushing, sir." 
 
 "In that case, my dear, the pride of 
 conquest must have flushed your cheeks. 
 But, by the immortal gods, I will con- 
 sent never to see Paris again if tears are not 
 making their way down those glowing 
 cheeks ! Dew-drops on a damask-rose, M. 
 de Bonrepos would say. Ah ! I remember 
 now, you are the devoted ally of the old
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 125 
 
 marchioness. You must know," he con- 
 tinued, turning to M. de Bonrepos, "that 
 that modern Cornelia, the Marquise de 
 Bonne val, has made this young lady believe 
 that her son is the very pink of chivalry, 
 quite a knight of the round-table, a per- 
 fect Amadis de Gaul. Is it not so, Made- 
 moiselle de Gontaut ? " 
 
 " I always have felt inclined to take 
 the part of those I hear violently attacked ; 
 and I have so sincere a regard for Madame 
 de Bonneval that I cannot feel in- 
 different to an event that interests her 
 so deeply. I am sure her son does not 
 deserve all the harsh things you have 
 said of him." 
 
 " Ah ! mademoiselle," observed M. de 
 Bonrepos, "that tendency to defend those 
 whom the world visits with its blame, 
 is a dangerous disposition in one of 
 your sex and age. In such cases Chris-
 
 128 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 tian charity often degenerates into Quix- 
 otism." 
 
 ^^What would you say, M. de Bonre- 
 pos, if I were to plead guilty to a cer- 
 tain sympathy with the Knight of La 
 Mancha?" 
 
 " Ah ! did I not, then, hit the mark, 
 most peerless Judithe, when I detected 
 the only weak point in that little strong- 
 hold of perfection which I deem your fair 
 self to be." 
 
 M. de Gontaut laughed and said : 
 
 "What I admire in this little girl 
 is the firm manner in which she main- 
 tains her ground. There is no driving 
 her from her position. Her replies have 
 a sort of quiet decision about them which 
 my light artillery cannot withstand. We 
 had better wish her good night now with 
 the best grace we can affect. I assure 
 you that we are not at all in her good 
 books. I don't know when she will for-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 129 
 
 give me for my sneers at the hero of 
 Peterwaradin." 
 
 "You would care very little for my 
 resentment, sir, but I would not willingly 
 deprive myself of the pleasure of giving you 
 a parting kiss, — ^the pledge of our reconcil- 
 iation. And now farewell M. de Bonrepos 
 till we meet in the parlo'r at Saintes. I 
 shall expect from you a whole budget of 
 new stories about the civil wars and the 
 Court of the late King." 
 
 When Judithe found herself that night 
 alone with Madame Dupuis, and the good 
 old lady had unfastened her dress, and 
 taken the comb out of her hair, she 
 abruptly turned round, and with a bright 
 smile, said : 
 
 "What do you think my brother has 
 heard to-day from Paris ? " 
 
 " That he may return there for his mar- 
 riage ? " 
 
 " No ; guess again." 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 *' That you are to be married before 
 long?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! something much plea- 
 santer than that. Give another guess." 
 
 "How can I tell? That the little 
 King has had a finger-ache, I dare 
 say?" ^ 
 
 " Nonsense ! How can you be so 
 foolish. Now open your ears wide, nurse, 
 as wide as you can, for I have great news 
 to tell you. What should you say, I won- 
 der, if my cousin de Bonneval was about 
 to come home ? " 
 
 '^ Oh ! that is not possible, my dear 
 child. It is too good to be true." 
 
 "Well, whether it is possible or not, 
 it is quite true that there is every like- 
 hhood of his return. Are you not over- 
 joyed to hear it?" 
 
 " Ah ! but a likelihood is not a certainty." 
 
 " Nay, but it is the first step towards 
 it. The first step, nurse;" and Judithe,
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 131 
 
 who did not often laugh, and very seldom 
 danced, put out her tiny foot, and pet- 
 formed the first steps of the court-minuet 
 with a child-like joy and grace, which went 
 straight to the heart of her fond, faithful, and 
 foolish old nurse. 
 
 K2
 
 132 
 
 «t^ Chapter. 
 
 "Not till the rushing winds forget to rave 
 Is Heaven's sweet smile reflected in the wave. " 
 
 ROGBBS. 
 
 " Lovely lasting peace of mind, 
 Sweet delight of human mind, 
 Heavenly born and bred on high, 
 To crown the favourites of the sky, 
 With more of happiness below, 
 Than victors in a triumph know. " — Parnell. 
 
 " And whose the lovely form that shares, 
 A sister's cell, a sister's prayers ? 
 No votary she of convent shade. 
 So say those locks in lengthened braid. 
 So say the blushes and the sighs, 
 The tremors that unbidden rise. " 
 
 Sib Walter Scott. 
 
 The French convents before the Revolu- 
 tion must often have presented startling 
 contrasts, and harboured within their walls
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 133 
 
 a strange variety of minds and of charac- 
 ters; individuals whose feelings and whose 
 destinies were as widely different as any 
 that history records, or imagination conceives. 
 Now that no human interest, no earthly 
 inducements point to the cloister, that 
 parents and relatives can have no object 
 in compelling a young person to enter 
 upon a life, the holiest, the highest, the 
 most exquisitely blest to those whose voca- 
 tion it is to tread that narrow path, but at 
 the same time the hardest to flesh and 
 blood that the mind can conceive, it 
 would be difficult to find an instance of 
 its being embraced from any other motive 
 but the love of God, and the desire to 
 follow the evangelical coimsels, proposed to 
 all mdeed, but which, in the words of 
 Scripture, it is not given to all to receive. 
 But it was not always thus. At the time 
 of the aristocratic Galilean France of the 
 eighteenth century, the monasteries and
 
 134 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 religious-houses received within their walls 
 many, indeed, whose choice of that destiny- 
 was as free, whose piety was as ardent 
 as at this day ; but many were also con- 
 signed to them by the tacit undisputed 
 influence of their families. 
 
 Later in life, repentance sometimes brought 
 or society drove to the same shelter some 
 whose passions or whose weakness had led 
 them astray ; and side by side, reciting 
 the same prayers, and wearing the same 
 habit, may have been seen the young 
 girl who had grown up from childhood in 
 the shade of the sanctuary, and the wo- 
 man who, after draining the cup of earthly 
 pleasure, had been forced into retirement 
 by remorse or despair. The same black 
 veil concealed a face beaming with that 
 peculiar joy which belongs to the true 
 nun, and the careworn features of one of 
 earth's weary children. 
 
 Many causes combined at that time to
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 135 
 
 point to the cloister as, generally speaking, 
 the only resource for women of rank, to 
 whom society allowed no alternative be- 
 tween marriage and religious vows, and 
 whose worldly circumstances precluded 
 them from forming suital)le alliances. 
 Doubtless in a few cases, when fiery and 
 impassioned natures were forced into a life 
 repugnant to their incHnations, deplorable 
 consequences may have ensued. In many 
 others it produced only a tranquil acquies- 
 cence in an inevitable destiny, a regular 
 performance of stated duties, a freedom 
 from the exciting joys, but at the same 
 time from the keen sorrows of life; and 
 not seldom the bright examples of piety 
 and holiness, which were never wholly 
 wanting even in the least fervent com- 
 munities, worked great changes in worldly 
 or indifferent hearts. Many who had 
 taken the veil as a matter of course felt 
 with glad surprise the love of God
 
 136 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 awakened in their souls, and looked up 
 with gratitude to Him who, by the work- 
 ings of His Providence, had withdrawn them 
 from a dangerous world. And, oh, if the 
 cloister had its victims in those days of 
 domestic and regal despotism, who "* shall 
 number those whom society ruined. If 
 the younger sister was sometimes con- 
 strained to take the veil in order to for- 
 ward the interests of the elder, was the 
 latter on that account the more favoured 
 of the two ? Was the vow of marriage 
 extorted from the one, too often against 
 every feeling of the heart, less fearful than 
 that which bound the other to the sanctuary. 
 
 Read the lives of the women of the 
 eighteenth century in France, the feverish 
 tales of passion and of sorrow which lie above 
 and under the surface of history, and then 
 venture to say that the child consigned by a 
 weeping mother to some sacred asylum, there 
 to live and there to die in ignorance of the
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 137 
 
 world's ways, was not more safe and more 
 blest, than those cast into the fiery furnace 
 of the aristocratic society of that day. 
 Many no doubt passed unscathed through 
 the ordeal ; holy, virtuous, noble-hearted 
 women as ever lived. Witness those rare 
 models of excellence the wife, the sisters, 
 the daughters of Louis the Fifteenth, but 
 at what a cost of struggle and of suffering, 
 by what an extraordinary amount of 
 grace supported, the Day of Judgment alone 
 will reveal. 
 
 While we wish, while we pray, while we 
 hope, that none may ever again enter a 
 convent or a monastery, but out of their 
 own deliberate choice and desire; while we 
 rejoice that the tempest, which God per- 
 mitted to rage for a while, has dispersed 
 the chaff and sifted the wheat, let us not 
 forget that innocence was sheltered, guilt 
 expiated, holiness of the highest order to 
 be found in the ancient abbeys of France,
 
 138 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 and never rashly cast a stone at those 
 venerable walls where Louise de la Yalliere 
 repented, and Louise de France died in the 
 odour of sanctity. 
 
 " Where trembling penitents their guilt confess'd, 
 Where want had succour, and contrition rest, 
 Where weary hearts from trouble found relief. 
 Where men in sorrow found repose from grief, 
 To scenes like these the fainting soul retired, 
 Revenge and anger in these cells expired, 
 By pity soothed, remorse lost half her fears, 
 And softened pride dropp'd penitential tears.' 
 
 On a beautiful autumnal evening, at the 
 hour when the setting sun was throwing a 
 refulgent light on the muUioned windows 
 of the Abbey of Saintes, two sisters were 
 walking arm-in-arm along the wide alley 
 of the convent-garden. The same light 
 which was reflected in the church-win- 
 dows gilded the foliage of the horse- 
 chesnuts, already turned to a bright yel- 
 low by the early frosts, and illuminated 
 
 » Crabbe.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 139 
 
 with its rays the faces of those young 
 girls, one of whom was dressed in the re- 
 ligious garb, the other in the somewhat 
 showy secular costume of ths per'od. Two 
 years had elapsed since they had met, and 
 this was the first time that they had been 
 alone together. 
 
 Marguerite Bathilde was the eldest daugh- 
 ter of the Marquis de Biron, who, at the 
 time we are speaking of, had a great many 
 children, and very little fortune. Thanks 
 to the friendship of M. de Bonrepos, and 
 to the dowry which, small as it was, came 
 from the liberality of the Due de Lauzun, 
 he had contrived to marry his second daugh- 
 ter Franqoise to the Marquis de Bonac. 
 The somewhat remarkable beauty of this 
 young lady had been taken into account 
 by the newly-appointed ambassador, who 
 duly estimatad the advantage of having so 
 handsome a wife to do the honours of his 
 house at Madrid. But Marguerite, on the
 
 140 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 contrary, was decidedly plain, and it seemed 
 at that time an almost inevitable conse- 
 quence that a nobly-born, portionless, and 
 unattractive young girl should enter a con- 
 vent. In spite of her apparent thoughtless- 
 ness. Mademoiselle de Biron was not slow 
 to perceive that this idea naturally presented 
 itself to the minds of her relations. She 
 had that sort of good sense which makes a 
 person see a subject in its true light with- 
 out exaggeration one way or the other. In 
 the first place it was evident to her at 
 the time when M. de Bonac made his 
 proposals to her father for the hand of one 
 of his daughters, that Franqoise and not 
 herself had been the one immediately 
 thought of; the fine eyes and graceful 
 figure of the bride doubtless making up in 
 some degree for the absence of a good dowry. 
 After that affair had been brought to 
 a successful termination, it was often 
 mentioned in her presence that considerable
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 141 
 
 sacrifices had been required and great exer- 
 tions made in order to establish one daugh- 
 ter in the world according to the 
 exigencies of her rank ; that the transac- 
 tion would have been unsuccessful if 
 several friends of the family had not 
 combined to facilitate matters by offering 
 certain advantages to M. de Bonac, which 
 made up to him for the actual paucity 
 of the dowry which he received with the 
 beautiful Franqoise ; that it would not be 
 possible for a long time to come to enter 
 upon any similar negotiations. She made 
 no audible comment upon all this, but 
 perfectly understood what it was intended to 
 convey. Some members of her family were 
 then commissioned gently to sound her re- 
 garding her vocation. She did not feel, as it 
 happened, the least inclination to the religious 
 life, but her quickness made her instantly 
 perceive that, notwithstanding the extreme 
 mildness of these hints, there existed in
 
 142 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 her parents' minds a very fixed resolu- 
 tion that the desired result should ensue, 
 and that to offer any opposition to their will 
 would only be to provoke and carry on an 
 unpleasant, and in the end a useless dis- 
 cussion. There was something philosophical 
 in the very levity of her temper, and she 
 resigned herself to her inevitable fate with- 
 out enthusiasm on the one hand, or any 
 great dejection on the other. She had 
 seen her sister shed many tears at the pro- 
 spect of exchanging the gaieties of Paris 
 for the dull pomposities of the Spanish 
 Court; several of her friends had died that 
 year of the small-pox, which was making 
 fearful ravages in France, and she acquiesced 
 in the proposal of entering a convent for 
 life, in something of the same spuit with 
 which her brother had submitted to a resi- 
 dence of a few weeks at the Abbey of 
 Saintes. " Well, the convent for a month 
 or two, and then Paris," he had exclaimed.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 143 
 
 " Well, the convent for thirty or forty years 
 at most, and then eternity," she had ejacu- 
 lated, and her mind was made up. She 
 wrote as follows to her favourite sister 
 Judithe, on the day when she arrived at 
 this decision : 
 
 "I am come to the conclusion, my 
 dearest, that the only important business 
 in life is to prepare for death. It is not 
 very easy to accomplish this in the world, 
 especially if, like me, one happens to 
 possess a head which would easily drive 
 one's heart into every possible scrape; just 
 enough folly to mislead, and enough 
 sense to perceive danger when too 
 late. There are special graces attached, 
 we are assured, to every line in life. No 
 doubt but that I shall have great need of 
 them; Heaven will see to it I hope. 
 The small-pox and various other modes of 
 transit to the next world are greatly in 
 fashion just now ; we have had occasion to
 
 144 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 remark it amongst our friends and acquaint- 
 ance, and upon the whole, my dear, I be- 
 lieve a convent to be a better place in which 
 to wait for my own summons than the 
 Court or the gay world." 
 
 It was accordingly with a strange mix- 
 ture of resignation, levity, and good sense 
 that Marguerite de Biron entered upon her 
 novitiate, and subsequently made her pro- 
 fession at the Abbaye of CheUes, from whence 
 she was, after a short time, removed to the 
 monastery of Saintes, of which her great 
 aunt, Madame de Lauzun, was the abbess. 
 Her high spirits, her unconquerable gaiety, 
 supported her at first under the inevitable 
 trials of her new mode of existence. She 
 took everything lightly, was easily 
 amused ; flowers, birds, fancy-work, and 
 a variety of other occupations, together 
 with long and frequent conversations 
 with visitors in the parloir, served 
 to occupy and while away the time
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 145 
 
 and at no one moment of her conventual 
 existence did she feel herself absolutely 
 unhappy. By degrees, the influence of 
 her aunt, who was as wise as she was de- 
 vout, and as kind to others as she was 
 severe to herself, the sight of the intense 
 happiness which piety can give to those 
 who entirely yield themselves up to its in- 
 fluence, the grace of God working in a heart 
 not ill-disposed, and now removed from the 
 baleful atmosphere of a corrupt society, 
 effected a great change in the young nun. 
 She grew, day by day, more reconciled to 
 that retirement which had at first seemed 
 a banishment, and when Judithe arrived at 
 Saintes, she found her sister in a state of 
 mind which, though it admitted of occa- 
 sional regrets, distant echoes as it were 
 from the world she had left, was in general 
 one of contented acquiescence in the des- 
 tiny which Providence had assigned to her. 
 *^Well, my dear girl," she observed, as 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 they sat down together on the bench at 
 the end of the gravel-walk which faced 
 the church. ^^Well, you would have 
 hardly expected to find me so cheerful I 
 think, just two years after that terrible day 
 when we parted with so many tears at 
 the Hotel de Biron." 
 
 ^^ You are really glad then to be a 
 nun, sister ? " Judithe said, affectionately 
 pressing Marguerite's hand. 
 
 "Contented rather than glad, I believe, 
 as Madame de la Yalliere said in answer 
 to a similar question.^ W^hy, really, my 
 little Judithe, the truth is that if one 
 once believes in earnest in a future world, 
 this life seems marvellously short, and 
 eternity marvellously long. It does not 
 then seem of much importance whether we 
 get more or less enjoyment in the mean- 
 time. After all, there is Fran^oise pining 
 away at Madrid, half dying of home, or 
 * Historical.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 147 
 
 rather Paris sickness. Truly, it was hardly 
 worth while to marry and be an ambassa- 
 dress, in order to spend her youth in 
 that way. Only hear what she says to me 
 in her last letter : ^ I am sure that if you 
 all knew what a wearisome existence I lead 
 here, you would, if it was only out of 
 compassion, write to me more frequently. 
 I really need to be consoled for living in 
 such a place. Whilst I read your letters 
 I seem to forget all my troubles. I can 
 fancy that we are sitting together in our 
 dear room in Paris; but you may safely 
 reckon that here, out of the twenty-four 
 hours, I am bored to death for ten or 
 twelve at least. M. de Bonac is always 
 busy, and indeed were it not so, you know 
 how grave he is, and how little disposed 
 to converse. I pass my whole days alone 
 in my room. If you were acquainted with 
 the Spanish ladies you would be able to 
 judge how little amusement can be derived 
 
 l2
 
 148 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 from their conversation, or be surprised 
 that solitude should be preferable to their 
 society/ When I think of Paris, Versailles, 
 and Marly, and of all the gaieties and en- 
 joyments which I had a glimpse of before 
 my departure, I cannot help crying like a 
 child, and fancying myself the most unhappy 
 creature in the world/ Well ! " observed 
 Marguerite, as she folded up the letter, 
 ^^ certainly there is not much use in marry- 
 ing for the purpose of arriving at that con- 
 clusion. Better to be a nun, even though 
 without a vocation." 
 
 *^ Well, I hardly should say so," Judiths 
 replied, with a doubtful accent. " It can 
 hardly be right to enter the special service 
 of God with only half a heart; or else — " 
 
 " Or else ? what do you mean by or 
 else?" 
 
 " Or else, I should be very much 
 
 ^ The Princesse des Ursin's opinion of the 
 Spanish ladies of that day.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 149 
 
 tempted to throw myself at the feet of 
 our good lady abbess, and entreat her to 
 receive me as a postulant." 
 
 "You don't mean to say that you wish 
 to be a nun ? " 
 
 " No, no, dear sister, I do not really wish 
 it. I do not think I could be a nun." 
 
 " Our wishes are not always consulted 
 on that subject." There was a shade ot 
 bitterness in Marguerite's tone as she made 
 this remark. 
 
 " Aye, but in that case," answered Judithe, 
 who had a quick sense of the feelings of 
 others, and the keenest sympathy with 
 them, "in that case submission takes the 
 place of vocation, and has a blessing of its 
 own attached to it." 
 
 " The very words my good aunt used 
 when she saw me with a few lingering re- 
 grets for all those dear little worldly plea- 
 sures which Franqoise and myself so much 
 delighted in. Ah ! Judithe, I should have
 
 150 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 proved rather an unsatisfactory sort of 
 Cliristian had I remained in Paris. As to 
 you, your steadiness, I suspect, is proof 
 against all its fascinations/' 
 
 "Not at all proof against anything but 
 what happens not to he a temptation to 
 me, nor ever will he if I know myself. All 
 those amusements which cause such poig- 
 nant regrets to our dear ambassadress do 
 not seem to me worth a thought." 
 
 " But in that case I do not see why 
 you should not become a nun.'' 
 
 "I have abeady told you my objection. 
 I would not, unless compelled to do so, 
 enter a convent with a divided heart." 
 
 "And that portion of your heart which 
 you presume would remain behind, in what 
 way is it to be disposed of may I ask, 
 since it appears that the world lays no 
 claim to it ? " 
 
 "I am too young to know much as 
 yet about my heart," answered Judithe,
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 151 
 
 with a slight blush. Strange effect of the 
 imagination which can invest a mere dream, 
 a childish fancy, with the power of excit- 
 ing emotions only called forth in general by 
 sentiment or passion. 
 
 Marguerite observed the deepening colour 
 on her young sister's cheek, and playfully 
 and kindly whispered, as she gently pinched 
 her ear: 
 
 "Take care, my little Judithe. When 
 we begin to find out that we possess a 
 heart, it is high time to examine into its 
 secrets." 
 
 " I assure you. Marguerite, that I have 
 not the slightest wish to marry." 
 
 " Indeed ! that is somewhat unfortunate, 
 as from what they write to me from Paris, 
 there is some reason to infer that our 
 parents have been thinking about it." 
 
 "Thinking of my marriage!" exclaimed 
 Judithe, with such a look of alann that 
 her sister could not help laughing.
 
 152 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 "There has certainly been some ques- 
 tion of it, my dear child. Something sug- 
 gested and discussed, but I would not ad- 
 vise you to build upon it." 
 
 " Build upon it/' repeated Judithe, 
 somewhat indignantly, and, rising at the 
 same time, she walked towards the house ; 
 stopping, however, occasionally to pull a 
 leaf from the bay-trees, or to smell at the 
 sweetbriar that grew with profusion in the 
 enclosure. At last, stopping short as they 
 approached the door, and apparently en- 
 gaged in counting the berries of a branch 
 of mountain-ash, she said, in a low voice : 
 
 "Marguerite, to whom was it that our 
 parents were thinking of marrying me ? " 
 
 " I don't suppose you would ever guess. 
 What if it were M. de Bonrepos. What 
 would you say to that ? " 
 
 Judithe made a little impatient move- 
 ment with her shoulder, and Marguerite 
 went on in the same strain.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 153 
 
 " He has a beautiful house. He gives 
 excellent dinners. He is quite a patriarch 
 for hospitality.^ Upon my word, my dear 
 child, you might go further and fare 
 worse. But come, you need not frown so 
 desperately. He was not the bridegroom 
 in question." 
 
 " And who was it then ? " Judithe 
 asked, with downcast eyes. 
 
 " Somebody that you have never seen ; 
 that very possibly you will never see. 
 What does it signify to you to know his 
 name ? " 
 
 " Why, in spite of the praises you were 
 so kind as to bestow upon me just now, 
 I must plead guilty to a slight amount 
 of feminine cimosity." 
 
 "Well then, my dear child, be it 
 known to you that in the family councils 
 
 ^ "Monsieur de Bonrepos est un vrai patriarche 
 pour I'hospitalite." — Madatne de MaintenorCs Let- 
 ters.
 
 154 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 in which the destinies of the very noble, 
 and high-born damsels of the house of 
 Gontaut Biron are decided upon, it was pro- 
 posed, considered, discussed whether Made- 
 moiselle Judithe Charlotte of the said house, 
 should or should not be given in mar- 
 riage to — come now try once more to 
 guess. I wiU allow you a hundred, nay, 
 a thousand guesses, as the late Madame 
 de Sevigne said when she announced to 
 her daughter our great uncle's marriage 
 to his grande mademoiselle. You will not 
 commit yourself? Nay? then I suppose 
 you must be told. It was suggested that 
 your fair hand should be bestowed, they 
 never think of our hearts, you know, on 
 our very illustrious and truly respected 
 cousin the Comte Claude Alexandre de 
 Bonneval, deceased in the Place de Greve 
 in the year 1706, and at this present mo- 
 ment lieutenant-general in his Imperial 
 Majesty's service."
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 155 
 
 Judithe turned very pale, and made a 
 faint exclamation. She found it difficult 
 to speak, her heart was beating so fast. 
 It was not joy, or fear, or even surprise 
 that she felt, but a strange sort of con- 
 sciousness that her whole life had been 
 possessed by a secret presentiment; that 
 her childish fancy had foreshadowed her 
 future destiny. She almost involuntarily 
 ejaculated the words : 
 
 "I knew it would be so." 
 
 "What, you knew it then, you sly little 
 puss? Then why did you keep it so care- 
 fully to yourself? " 
 
 "It is so very strange. Marguerite." 
 
 "It is you that are strange, my dear 
 girl; but I see how it has been. Your 
 friend the Marquise de Bonneval must have 
 given you a hint, I suppose." 
 
 " No, indeed ; she never did. I had 
 never heard a single word about it; and 
 yet — and yet. Marguerite, do you know that
 
 156 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 I feel quite certain that it will be as you 
 said/' 
 
 ^^Have you had a dream on the subject, 
 you superstitious little thing ? " 
 
 ^^ A dream ! why, yes, I think I have 
 dreamed about it.'' 
 
 "And should you not be afraid of being, 
 married to a man so wild, so reckless, 
 so—" 
 
 "Hush, hush, dear Marguerite; forgive 
 me for interrupting you, but bear with me 
 when I say that firmly persuaded as I now 
 am that I shall one day be the Comte de 
 Bonneval's wife, I would fain that neither 
 you or anyone else should speak ill of 
 him. You know as well as I do that my 
 wishes will not be consulted on the question. 
 That I shall be desired to accept my 
 cousin as a husband, just as you were re- 
 commended to turn your thoughts to the 
 cloister. I shall not be told to weigh his 
 merits, or discuss his faults. I know he
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 157 
 
 has fine qualities. I know the world has 
 hardly judged him. Excuse my folly, 
 dearest sister, if folly it be, and do not, to 
 me at least, say anything against one whom 
 I feel convinced I shall be one day called 
 upon to honour and to love." 
 
 "Just as you please, my dear child. 
 You are one of the most peculiar little 
 beings that it has ever been my lot to meet 
 with, but Heaven forbid that I should do 
 or say anything to vex you. Come along 
 with me now to the chapel. The bell is 
 ringing for vespers. Give me a kiss, my 
 sweet sister. Do not forget to pray for me, 
 and I will pray for you, that you may have 
 strength to meet what I foresee will be the 
 trials of your lot. Believe me, darling, the 
 cloister has its advantages even as regards 
 the present life. Peace is not dearly 
 bought even at the price of a few fleeting 
 enjoyments, and none but the wicked 
 could help feeling peaceful lierey
 
 158 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 As she spoke Marguerite lifted the cur- 
 tain of the chapel door, and with her sister 
 glided into the quiet sanctuary, where the 
 nuns were assembling for vespers. She knelt 
 amongst them in the choii' ; Judithe with the 
 strangers in the nave. 
 
 The darkness was increasing, save where 
 the lights on the altar threw a soft radiance 
 on the pictures and images that adorned 
 the sanctuary ; the sweet voices of the nuns 
 chaunting the office, the profound tran- 
 quillity within and without spoke of rest, 
 and felt like peace. But Judithe's heart 
 was not as calm as her outward attitude 
 betokened. Motionless, with her head 
 resting on her hands, she prayed that 
 the Divine Will might be done, but 
 she pictured to herself that Will in accord- 
 ance with her own. She did not ask 
 for happiness, but with a strange kind of 
 enthusiasm accepted future suffering, if only 
 sent in the shape which her imagination
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 159 
 
 had drawn. That day a change had come 
 over the spirit of her dream. The fancy 
 of her childhood had^ grown into the vision 
 of her youth.
 
 160 
 
 kknt\ Cljapttr. 
 
 " Many a time has banished Norfolk fought 
 For Jesus Christ, in glorious Christian field, 
 Streaming the Ensign of the Christian Cross 
 Against black Pagans, Turks and Infidels. " 
 
 Shakesfeabe. 
 
 " Thy lot was hard ! Thou would'st have pitched 
 thy tent. 
 Where some lone streamlet wells from out its urn 
 Of moss-clad rock, there gladly listening 
 The quiet music of the Mountain winds ; 
 And tuning thy full soul to such high themes, 
 As most befit an ardent worshipper 
 
 At Nature's inmost shrines 
 
 Thy lot was hard ! Within the City pent. 
 
 That huge and troublous City, thou did'st walk. " 
 
 F. W. Faber. 
 
 It was indeed true that the strange 
 marriage which Marguerite de Biron had 
 hinted at in her conversation with her 
 sister was actually under discussion. Ne-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 161 
 
 gociations to that effect were going on be- 
 tween the parents of Judithe and the Mar- 
 quise de Bonneval. The difficulty of 
 finding suitable alliances for his almost 
 portionless daughters had induced the Mar- 
 quis de Biron to use his interest with 
 the Eegent, in whose good graces he held 
 a distinguished place, in favour of M. de 
 Bonneval, on condition that in the event 
 of the count's return to France, he should 
 marry his daughter Judithe, thus se- 
 curing to her a title and a position in 
 the world suitable to her rank and birth.* 
 The Marquise de Bonneval, in the hopes 
 
 ^ Whether from a yearning after his native 
 country or the wish to be whitewashed from what 
 stood in the light of a stain on his character, 
 or some idea of playing the spy, and thus 
 paying his court to the Emperor, he (Bonneval) 
 sought to obtain letters of abolition, that should 
 enable him to appear again in France. Biron 
 offered to employ his credit with the Regent in 
 his behalf, on condition that he should marry one 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 that a marriage with so pretty and ac- 
 complished a person, would be an induce- 
 ment to her son to remain in France, 
 eagerly accepted the offer, and pledged 
 herself on the subject without very parti- 
 cularly consulting him, or at least without 
 waiting for his reply. 
 
 It was certainly an extraordinary favour 
 that the friends of M. de Bonneval were 
 asking at the hands of the Kegent ; viz., 
 that a man who had deserted from the 
 French army, and who had chiefly gained 
 his reputation by serving the enemies of his 
 country, should be at once reinstated in all 
 his civil rights, and whitewashed from a 
 crime always considered as the most un- 
 pardonable that a soldier and a citizen 
 can commit. The thing would have been 
 impossible during the preceding reign, but 
 
 of his portionless daughters. The letters of abo- 
 lition were promised, and the marriage resolved 
 upon. — Memoirs of St. Simon.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 163 
 
 several circumstances had now combined to 
 pave the way for such a conclusion. 
 
 The Marquis de Biron and one of his 
 sons were amongst the Duke of Orleans' 
 especial favourites. The Abbe Dubois, that 
 prince's wily and unprincipled confidant, 
 was one of Bonneval's most intimate friends, 
 and ready to lend a helping hand to any" 
 scheme in his behalf. At the same time 
 the Comte de Luc, French ambassador at 
 Vienna, won over by the charm of his 
 manners and the agreeableness of his con- 
 versation, exerted himself to the utmost 
 to forward his return to Paris. He lost 
 no opportunity, whether by means of let- 
 ters, or in conversation with French tra- 
 vellers, to extol the count's valour, his 
 abilities and his talents ; the affection he 
 had always preserved for his country, the 
 chivalrous defence of the late King when 
 slandered by his enemies; and the gal- 
 lantry of his exploits against the Turks ; 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 adverting at the same time to the high 
 esteem in which he was held by Prince 
 Eugene, who was himself at that time in 
 great favour with the French Court, where 
 every effort was made to conciliate him. 
 
 Bonneval's recent exploits at the Battle 
 of Peterwaradin had thrown a certain 
 prestige around his name. There existed 
 a strong feeling of curiosity in the public 
 mind regarding a man once so decried 
 and now so lauded. 
 
 In the Council of Regency, where the 
 question of his return was brought under 
 consideration, no very delicate sense of 
 honour prevailed; and those who, in the 
 name of justice and morality, protested 
 against so fatal a precedent, were in 
 general met by open sneers, and on the 
 whole experienced very little sympathy.^ 
 
 1 The Regent submitted the question of Bonne- 
 val's letters of pardon to the Council of Regency, 
 and wished its members to signify their approval.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 165 
 
 The Marquise de Bonneval, who had 
 discerned from afar the threatening cloud, 
 at first small as a man's hand, which was one 
 day to overcast the whole of her idolised 
 son's destiny, was likewise not slow, when 
 the storm had set in, and the dark, heavy 
 clouds of shame and disgrace had gathered 
 round his head, in detecting the quarter 
 from whence light might one day arise. 
 Her quick-sighted perception was never at 
 fault. It had suggested to her the means 
 of enlisting in his favour the all-powerfiil 
 interest of the Birons. She had fixed her 
 attention on her cousin's favourite child, 
 the little girl he so fondly loved, and 
 whom he could not endure the idea of 
 
 I could not be so accommodating, and voted 
 against the proposal, speaking strongly and at 
 length of all the objections that exist to granting 
 them in the case of a crime of this description. 
 I was not quite the only one, but very few in- 
 deed made any opposition, and they spoke but 
 feebly against it. — Memoirs of St. Simon.
 
 166 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 consigning, whether with or against her 
 will, to the cloister. When she discovered, 
 to her surprise, that the young Judithe 
 had conceived a romantic admiration for her 
 son, she neglected no means of fostering 
 and exciting this childish predilection, 
 which she conjectured might throw some 
 little weight in the scale, when her projects 
 came to be matured. With a hard, but 
 at the same time impassioned perspicuity, 
 she had watched the progress of events, do- 
 mestic, mihtary, and political, the fluctua- 
 tions of court favour and court intrigue, the 
 feelings of a father's heart, and the workings 
 of a young imagination. When the news 
 of M. de Chamillart's disgrace reached her 
 ears, she betrayed no extravagant exulta- 
 tion, but her light, piercing eyes sparkled 
 with unwonted animation, she said to her- 
 self: "So far so good," and then resumed 
 the attitude of patient but keen watchful- 
 ness, which had become habitual to her.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 167 
 
 She took notice in the same manner of 
 the tears of the Marquise de Biron when 
 her eldest daughter took the veil, and of the 
 fond look of love which her husband turned 
 upon their third daughter, as she stood by 
 her sister's side. When the first rumours 
 of her son's exploits resounded throughout 
 Europe, her bosom heaved with emotion, 
 but no sign of joy escaped her. When the 
 aged King expired, and Massillon broke the 
 silence of that awful death-scene by those 
 six solemn words, pronounced before the 
 corpse of Louis le Grand, " God alone is 
 great, my brethren," when Judithe wept 
 in sympathy with her maternal griefs, 
 blushed at the name of the Comte de Bon- 
 neval, or turned pale at the recital of the 
 dangers he was running, still the same 
 deep, silent self-gratulation rose in that 
 mother's heart. Cold in its passion, stern 
 in its intensity, reckless in its devotion to 
 one single object, she saw every obsta-
 
 168 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 cle giving way before the fearful resolute- 
 ness of her will, and pursued her end 
 utterly regardless of the sujfferings of others, 
 even as the Car of Juggernaut, bearing 
 onward the idol to whom all mankind, if ne- 
 cessary, is to be offered up in sacrifice. There 
 is, indeed, a fearful strength in passionate 
 affection when it rules supreme in a heart 
 unsoffcened by religion, unhallowed by duty. 
 Judithe remained for some time at 
 Saintes ; peaceful and even happy were the 
 days that she spent in that tranquil abode. 
 The life that she led there was congenial 
 to her tastes and her inclinations. Her 
 brother often took her out driving and 
 riding with him, and they visited together 
 the various picturesque spots of the adjoin- 
 ing country. His banishment was drawing to 
 a close. In a few weeks he was to return 
 to Paris, to be married to Mademoiselle 
 de Gramont. He had taken a great fancy to 
 his young sister. The finesse and originality
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 169 
 
 of her remarks were very much to his 
 taste, and she had tact enough never to 
 force upon him reflections which would 
 have been uncongenial to his thoroughly- 
 worldly tone of mind. Judithe was very 
 sensible on all such points as did not 
 relate to her affections, and like those in- 
 sane persons who seem to be perfectly 
 reasonable on all subjects save the particu- 
 lar one regarding which their minds are at 
 fault, she never betrayed in the presence 
 of the worldly-wise that keen sensibility 
 and somewhat romantic disposition which 
 was likely to affect her own peace, but 
 which was never suffered to be trouble- 
 some to others. 
 
 M. de Bonrepos was faithful to his 
 promise, and took up his abode for some 
 days at the Hostelry of Saintes, but he 
 did not find the little lady of his thoughts 
 as often at the receipt of custom as he 
 had expected, and got tired of asking for
 
 170 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 her in vain at the parloir of the convent. 
 She Hked to wander in the garden, to sit 
 reading in the shade of the old horse- 
 chesnut trees, whose trembhng and gilded 
 leaves were falling down in yellow showers 
 at the bidding of the autumnal winds. 
 At stated hours she would repair to the 
 cell of the venerable Madame de Lauzun, 
 on whose meek countenance was stamped 
 that holy, happy expression peculiar to 
 those who belong to earth through all its 
 charities, to Heaven through all its graces; 
 that combines the woman's with the angel's 
 tenderness. A sunset-sky, an evening hour 
 in summer, a mist on the waveless-sea, 
 all that this earth can shadow forth of 
 beauty and of peace, does but faintly 
 typify the divine serenity of those who sit 
 at their Lord's feet, and in whose joys a 
 stranger intermeddles not. No wonder then 
 that the remembrance of Madame de 
 Lauzun's cell, of her face, of her gentle
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 171 
 
 words remained as a vision of peace in the 
 mind of the young girl, if in the course 
 of her future life she often reverted to the 
 lessons she had then received. So many 
 impressions are made upon the soul in 
 early youth, at the time with so little 
 result that they seem scarcely to sink 
 below the surface, but the lapse of years, 
 and sorrow, and memory deepen the stamp 
 and bring into relief what seemed all but 
 efiaced. Tell the young then, and weary 
 not of telling them, that this life as an 
 end is darker and sadder yet than philoso- 
 phers have said, or than poets have sung; 
 that it is empty as a dream, and weari- 
 some as an often-told tale; but that as a 
 means to an end, it is great and glorious, 
 ftill of meaning and of hope ; great in its 
 trials, glorious in its conquests, hopeful in 
 its strife. For a while they will not listen ; 
 they may refuse to believe, or to heed the 
 voice of the charmer, charm he never so
 
 172 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 wisely. The seed will fall on the road-side 
 and lie there, it may be for years, un- 
 watered by the dews of Heaven ; but when 
 the torrents are let loose, and the rain 
 falls on the hard soil, that seed may grow 
 at last, those words may bring forth fruit. 
 The bread cast upon the waters may once 
 feed the hungry soul, cheated of the hap- 
 piness it had looked for at the world^s 
 hands. The village-church of Biron, the 
 cell of the Abbess of Saintes, were land- 
 marks in Judithe^s life, to which she often 
 reverted in hours of bitter trial. It is 
 good for the memory to have such resting- 
 places in the past. Such thoughts have 
 often stood between a human soul and despair. 
 On her return to Paris, in the autumn 
 of the year 1716, Judithe found herself 
 in some respects in a new position with re- 
 gard to her family. Of her two elder 
 sisters, the one was married, and the other 
 had become a nun. She took in conse-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 173 
 
 quence an elder daughter's place in the 
 home of her childhood. Her father, who had 
 always been very fond of his little Judithe, 
 made much of her now that M. de Gon- 
 taut had pronounced her to be clever, 
 and that M. de Bonrepos went about say- 
 ing that she promised to be as wise as 
 Madame de Maintenon and as charming 
 as Madame de Caylus. The Marquise de 
 Biron, who was not used to show much 
 tenderness to her children, treated her at 
 this time with unwonted indulgence, and 
 introduced her into the society in which 
 she had hitherto appeared only as a child. 
 Madame d'Urfe and her intimate friend 
 Madame de St. Simon were much struck 
 with the quiet self-possession of her manner, 
 the originality of her thoughts, and the 
 facility with which she expressed herself; 
 they took a great deal of notice of her, and 
 the Due de St. Simon sometimes vouchsafed to 
 address a few words to the young lady whom
 
 174 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 his incomparable wife so highly esteemed. 
 
 Judithe was not at all shy; a very 
 modest person, unless constitutionally subject 
 to that infirmity, is seldom much troubled 
 with an excess of timidity. Never wish- 
 ing to show off, or caring about what would 
 be thought or said of her, she never felt 
 anxious to please except where her affec- 
 tions were concerned. 
 
 M. de Lauzun, whose bitter and satirical 
 temper kept his whole family in fear of 
 his sharp sayings, and who, at the same 
 time that he conferred many substantial 
 benefits on his niece Madame de Biron, 
 invariably aimed at her the arrows of his 
 most cutting sarcasms,^ softened to the 
 little de Gontaut, as he always called Judithe. ^ 
 
 ^ M. de Lauzun, at the same time that he was 
 perpetually conferring benefits on his niece, Madame 
 de Biron, always showed a particular dislike to 
 her. — Memoirs of St. Simon. 
 
 2 Lauzun, was rather fond of Biron, but not at 
 all of his wife, who was, however, his niece and
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 175 
 
 This great uncle of hers was a perpetual 
 subject of wonderment to his enthusiastic 
 and inexperienced niece. She could in no 
 wise identify in her own mind the harsh 
 and irritable old man, whose domestic life 
 was painfully unheroic, with her idea of 
 him when he was the gallant Lauzun, 
 the object of so many romantic passions, 
 the hero of so many romantic adventures. 
 The numerous portraits of the grande 
 mademoiselle, which were ostentatiously 
 displayed in his apartments, often set her 
 dreaming about that impassioned and im- 
 prudent woman whose existence was so 
 cruelly embittered by her own follies and 
 the sins of others. It was such a strange 
 page in the book of life, the history of 
 that eccentric old uncle of hers, whose 
 savage pride and ill-humour made him a 
 
 his priDcipal heir. He thought her very mercen- 
 ary, and her manners were insupportable to him. 
 — Memoirs of St. Simon.
 
 176 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 sort of bugbear to his relations and ac- 
 quaintances, while at the same time the 
 goodness and generosity of his character 
 led him to do all sorts of kind things 
 for the very persons whom in his angry 
 moods he was wont to browbeat and insult. 
 She would turn her eyes from the picture 
 of his fair-haired, stately and all but royal 
 wife, to the weazened features and bent 
 figure of the old duke, and marvel at the 
 passion which had wrought such wild work 
 in the heart and the destiny of Gaston's^ 
 princely daughter. She would picture 
 to herself also those long years of capti- 
 vity spent in the fortress of Pignerol, and 
 the tragi-comical interviews between Lauzun, 
 the recently discarded favourite, and 
 Fouquet, the long-banished minister, who, 
 ignorant of the events that had occured 
 since his imprisonment, and of the extra- 
 
 ^ Gaston, Duke of Orleans, brother of Louis the 
 Thirteenth.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 177 
 
 ^ ordinary romance of his new companion's 
 life, listened to his reminiscences as to the 
 ravings of a maniac, and at last petitioned 
 the authorities that he might no longer 
 be obliged to associate with a madman.' 
 Then, again, a later page in his eventful 
 history had a peculiar charm in her eyes ; 
 the share he took in the escape to France 
 of England's Queen; the beautiful, the 
 courageous, the noble-hearted Mary Beatrice. 
 How often Judithe longed to speak to 
 him of that night of gallant daring, and 
 of breathless suspense.^ Sometimes she 
 would venture on a timid allusion to the 
 
 ^ Historical. 
 
 2 M. de Lauzun, then an exile in England in 
 consequence of his marriage with the grande made- 
 moiselle, undertook to convey Mary Beatrice, the 
 wife of James the Second, and her infant son to 
 France, when it was no longer considered safe for 
 them to remain in England. He conducted this 
 perilous escape with so much courage and presence 
 of mind that the English Queen always remem- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 subject, but her heart sank within her at 
 the light, jeering tone in which he 
 spoke of those moments, fraught to her 
 with so thrilling an interest. She could 
 not bear the satirical remarks which he 
 always blended with his recollections of 
 the past. With her somewhat Quixotic 
 love of glory, she did so long to admire 
 one nearly allied to her by blood, and 
 who to her had always been kind; but 
 there was nothing in him that gave any 
 pretext for enthusiasm. His habit of 
 sneering at the feelings of others and at 
 his own, chiUed every emotion, and stung 
 her to the heart. 
 
 One day at a great dinner, where he 
 was entertaining, as was his wont, the 
 most distinguished personages of the Court, 
 
 bered with gratitude the service he had rendered 
 her. Through her intercession he was restored to 
 Louis the Fourteenth's good gi'aces, and to the 
 enjoyment of his forfeited possessions and dignities.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 179 
 
 he gave a ridiculous account of that me- 
 morable journey from London to Calais, 
 and turned the whole thing into a joke. 
 Happening at that instant to look at 
 Judithe, he saw her tearing to pieces, leaf 
 by leaf, the finest rose of the nosegay which 
 he had just presented to her. 
 
 ^^ How now, mademoiselle de Gontaut ! " 
 he cried out in his sharp voice. " What 
 are you doing with those flowers ? Are you 
 so wealthy or such a spendthrift that you 
 can afford to destroy in that way the presents 
 that are made to you. I protest that you 
 are not your mother's own daughter ; 
 Madame la Marquise de Biron would have 
 sold that bouquet sooner than have torn it 
 to pieces.'^ 
 
 ^^ I beg you ten thousand pardons, my 
 dear uncle," Judithe answered with a deep 
 blush, ^^but I fancied I was only follow- 
 ing the example you had just given 
 
 me." 
 
 n2
 
 180 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 ^^ In what respect, I should like to know, 
 my most dutiful niece ? " 
 
 ^^ Only that you seemed to me just now 
 to be wantonly spoiling by a jest the fairest 
 liower of your life." 
 
 The old duke shrugged his shoulders, but 
 the answer did not seem altogether to dis- 
 please him.
 
 181 
 
 ^igljtlj Cljapttr. 
 
 ** And in thy love I'll live, and in thy love I'll die. — Irene. 
 
 ^' Yet was there light around her brow, 
 A holiness in those dark eyes, 
 Which showed though wand'ring earthward now, 
 Her spirit's home was in the skies. " — Moore. 
 
 There is a sort of instinct which binds 
 together by a secret sympathy those in 
 whos€ characters certain points of resem- 
 blance exist, even though in other respects, 
 age for instance, or refinement, or ability, 
 they may be as dissimilar as possible. That 
 very dissimilarity is sometimes an element 
 of attachment. We do not often see per- 
 sons equals or nearly so in excellence, and 
 in powers of mind, devoted to each other
 
 182 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 in the same degree as those who are 
 united by an affectionate reverence on 
 the one side, and a protecting tender- 
 ness on the other. Friendships founded 
 on intellectual sympathy and similarity of 
 tastes easily subside, and sometimes in a 
 rapid manner ; whereas such as are based on 
 congeniality of feeling, if it be but on one 
 essential point, survive separations, apparent 
 estrangement, and maintain their ground 
 against the most adverse circumstances. 
 
 When Mademoiselle de Gontaut first en- 
 tered into society she had occasion to see 
 a variety of persons with whom she would 
 converse with interest, and associate with 
 pleasure, but there was one quality which 
 she seldom met with in others, which she 
 eminently possessed herself, for which there 
 is no name in the French language, and 
 that is earnestness. Can it be that it 
 rarely exists amongst French people ? 
 It may be so. If earnest at all they
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 183 
 
 are in general more than earnest ; they 
 are heroic. The noble hearts, the devoted 
 spirits that form in our day a glorious 
 phalanx of combatants in the cause of 
 religion and virtue in that extraordi- 
 nary country, that live and die at their 
 posts, whether in the home-struggle with 
 vice and impiety, or on the distant 
 shores where hundreds and thousands of 
 its children are daily carrying on their 
 ceaseless labours for the propagation of 
 the Faith, they live with a glorious reck- 
 lessness, they die with a sublime indiffer- 
 ence. A recklessness of all human hopes, 
 fears, and interests, an indifference which 
 none but the pure in heart can feel on 
 the confines of eternity. A Frenchman can 
 hardly be earnest unless he is holy. Eng- 
 lishmen are earnest about everything. 
 Nobly earnest about the public good ; pro- 
 fitably earnest about money; tiresomely 
 earnest about trifles. Be that as it may
 
 184 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 earnestness is no doubt a quality which 
 those who are endowed with miss pain- 
 fully in others. Its absence is felt even 
 where other merits exist and are acknow- 
 ledged, and sympathy in this respect 
 forms the link of many an unequal friend- 
 ship, of many a life-long intimacy. It was 
 not in the world to which she was now 
 introduced that Judithe was likely to meet 
 examples of those heroic and exalted vir- 
 tues which were exhibited here and there 
 even at that corrupt and frivolous epoch. 
 What met her eyes, what pained her ears, 
 was the universal sneer, the unceasing 
 jest which blighted with its delicate but 
 fatal touch every subject, human and 
 divine. This was the great trial of earnest 
 hearts. This it was that made the young 
 Duehesse de Bourgogne exclaim in innocent 
 astonishment : 
 
 " In this country they laugh at every- 
 thing ! "
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 185 
 
 This it was that roused the indignation 
 of the mother of the Eegent, tlie fierce, 
 honest, true-hearted German, whose brutality 
 was almost refreshing by dint of being 
 genuine. No wonder then that a sensitive, 
 enthusiastic girl, whose soul was tuned to a 
 different key, should have felt pained at the 
 discordance between her own feelings and 
 the sentiments of the majority of those she 
 lived with; that she should have felt 
 powerfully attracted towards any indivi- 
 duals, however different from herself in age 
 or in mind, in whose hearts there were 
 chords which made them vibrate at times 
 in unison with her own. Why does she 
 meet, for instance, with a cordial embrace 
 that middle-aged, homely Madame de 
 Cavois, in whose face there is no beauty, 
 in whose step no grace, in whose manner 
 no dignity, in whose conversation no point. 
 She is absent when spoken to ; her eyes 
 wander round the room like those ot
 
 186 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 an enamoured girl watching for her 
 lover's approach ; and soon her face is 
 iDcaming with joy, for the handsome stout 
 •captain of the King's Guard has arrived, 
 and smiled as he passed her, and she 
 worships him now, after fifteen years of 
 marriage, with the same ardent, impas- 
 sioned, simple-minded adoration with which 
 she has loved him since the day that 
 from her old paternal castle in Brittany, 
 she came to the French Court to be the 
 Queen's maid-of-honour. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Coetlogon's passion had 
 been the jest, the amusement, the pastime of 
 the Court. It was undisguised, unreserved, 
 unrequited ! but in its sincerity, simplicity, 
 and purity too touching to be derided even 
 there. The princes laughed, the princesses 
 sympathised, the King himself took an in- 
 terest in the success of that true love 
 which did not bid fair to run smooth, 
 for nothing could be more indifferent than
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 187 
 
 M. de Cavois, more insensible to the affec- 
 tion he had inspired, and he was rash and 
 thoughtless withal, and fell into disgrace 
 with the Sovereign, and it so happened, 
 one day, that he was sent to the Bas- 
 tille. Then an extraordinary event 
 took place at Court, so strange, so unpre- 
 cedented that the very walls of the 
 royal Palace must have quivered at the 
 sight. 
 
 The Grand Monarque was at dinner, 
 and the household were waiting upon him ; 
 it was Mademoiselle de Coetlogon's business 
 to take part in the ceremonial, but, lo 
 and behold! the incensed maid-of-honour 
 absolutely refused to wait on his Majesty, 
 and exclaimed in an indignant voice : 
 "He does not deserve that I should!" 
 And, moreover, when the King sought 
 to appease her, she burst into tears, and 
 threatened to scratch his face ! No apo- 
 logies could soothe her, no remonstrances
 
 188 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 avail. Nothing would induce her to speak 
 to him during the whole time of M. de 
 Cavois' imprisonment. It did not prove a 
 long one, he was soon restored to the 
 Court, and Louis le Grand to the maid- 
 of-honour's good graces. 
 
 A few months later the Queen announced 
 at her circle Mademoiselle de Coetlogon's 
 marriage to M. de Cavois. Great was the 
 satisfaction caused by this event, many- 
 sincere congratulations addressed to the 
 bride. She had been so patient and hum- 
 ble in ^ her love, she was so humble and 
 so grateful in her happiness. A more 
 devoted wife was never seen ; her husband 
 was content to be adored, and treated 
 her with kindness.^ 
 
 To certain natures certain sights are 
 refreshing. Years afterwards Judithe would 
 watch with emotion the look of love that 
 
 ^ These details are strictly historical. St. Simon 
 relates the anecdote at length.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 189 
 
 beamed on Madame de Cavois' face, and if 
 she smiled at the stories which others told 
 of her simple affection and unshaken con- 
 stancy, a tear was sometimes brushed away 
 under cover of that smile. Madame de 
 Caylus or Madame de Simiane's lovely faces 
 did not possess the same charm in her 
 eyes ; and yet in both the grace of sensi- 
 bility was not wanting. True, but to the 
 earnest there is no attraction like earnest- 
 ness, and no strong and lifelong feeling can 
 exist in natures wholly devoid of it. 
 
 One day that with a party of her rela- 
 tions and of their friends Mademoiselle de 
 Gontaut was walking through the Gardens 
 of Versailles, the Marechal d'Uxelles, one 
 of the ministers, conversing with her brother 
 the vicomte, on whose arm she was leaning, 
 they met in the broad alley which faces 
 the Bath of Neptune a large society, 
 amongst whom were several persons of M. 
 de Gontaut's acquaintance. As it had been
 
 190 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 with his books at Biron, so it was with 
 his friends at Paris. There were many 
 amongst them whom he did not care to 
 introduce to his sister, but on this occasion 
 he could not avoid stopping to exchange 
 civilities with the ladies of that gay com- 
 pany. Madame de Parabere was there in 
 all her loveliness and her folly. The 
 youthful Madame du Deffand, whose wit 
 was even more remarkable than her beauty. 
 By her side was M. Arouet de Yoltau-e, 
 who divided his time and his flatteries 
 between the Parisian society, over which 
 he was beginning to preside, and the 
 princely salons of Sceaux and of Anet, 
 where the Duchesse du Maine was gather- 
 ing around her poets, wits, and artists, to 
 swell the train of her admirers, and 
 minister to her passion for powerful dis- 
 play and literary amusements.^ 
 
 The individuals who composed this little court 
 shared their days between intellectual pursuits and
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 191 
 
 M. d'Argental, M. Pont de Veyle, the 
 young d'Alembert, and many others, were 
 carrying into those stately scenes, which 
 seemed to bear the stamp of another era, 
 the light, free, audacious spirit of the day. 
 It rung in thek voices, it flashed in their 
 eyes, it seemed to hang about them like 
 a noxious vapour. Oh! how dreadful it 
 was, that moral pestilence which was in- 
 vading that society with a rapid and fatal 
 force, first getting into their heads, and 
 then turning their hearts to stone. 
 
 luxurious indolence. The madrigals of M. de Saint 
 Aulaire, or the epistles of Chaulieu, the Phillipics 
 of Lagrange Chancel, fragments of Arouet's QEdipe, 
 that bitter satire of the Regent's profligacy; M. 
 du Maine's translation of the Cardinal de Polig- 
 nac's anti Lucrece; and other productions since 
 buried in oblivion, ministered to their daily amuse- 
 ment. The evenings were devoted to the card- 
 table, to dancing, theatrical performances, and 
 fetes in the open air of the duchesse's fantastical 
 order of the Honey Bee. — Woman in France in 
 the Eighteenth Century.
 
 192 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 Judithe de Gontaut, between her dissipated 
 brother, and the profligate d'Uxelles, 
 amidst her fortune-seeking parents and her 
 pleasure-hunting relatives, seemed indeed 
 a pure flower standing amongst rank 
 weeds ; but in the party just described 
 there was to be seen a perhaps still more 
 striking contrast ; a being whose heart 
 bore, if possible, a still wider dissimilarity 
 to those of her companions ; if, indeed, the 
 individuals who composed Madame du 
 Defiand's society (who sixty years later, on 
 the verge of the grave, acknowledged to 
 Madame de Genlis, that she had never 
 had the least affection for anyone) could be 
 said to have hearts at all. 
 
 In the withering atmosphere of that infi- 
 del coterie, at the outset of the eighteenth 
 century, a child was brought up who had 
 first seen the light under an Eastern sky, 
 in a Circassian Palace. Her father was a 
 prince, and in one of those sudden revolu-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 193 
 
 tions SO common in Asia, he and his whole 
 family had been massacred, except the in- 
 fant Ajesha or Aisse, as the French pro- 
 nounced her name. 
 
 The helpless little child, beautiful as a 
 poet's dream, was exposed for sale in the 
 slave-market, at Constantinople, and many 
 of those who passed to-and-fro that day 
 remarked her loveliness, and wondered what 
 her fate would be. It was a strange one ; 
 strange as if: 
 
 "The stormy winds which do the Lord's bidding," 
 
 had borne away from some Indian forest 
 the wildest and fairest of its blossoms, 
 and had set it down in a hot-bed, 
 in the midst of a noisy and tumultuous 
 city. 
 
 A Frenchman saw the little Ayesha, and 
 bought her at her master's price. She was 
 conveyed to Paris, and entrusted to the 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 care of M. de Ferriors sister-in-law, a lady 
 who held at that time a distinguished, 
 but neither honourable nor enviable position 
 in society. 
 
 The little Circassian grew up amidst 
 the roues of the Regent's Court, the wits 
 of that profane and lawless epoch. She 
 heard every tongue employed in blasphem- 
 ing, every hand raised against its Maker. 
 Every effort was made to pervert that fair 
 creature. Around her were women with- 
 out virtue and without shame ; men with- 
 out honour or feeling. Her own protectress 
 sought to drive her into sin; almost every 
 friend she had, to laugh her out of virtue. 
 She was the most beautiful woman in 
 Paris. The light of her Eastern eyes 
 was : 
 
 " Wondrous strong, but lovely in its strength.'* 
 
 And the melancholy sweetness of her
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 195 
 
 smile was such as had never been seen 
 in the laughing ^^ Pays de France,'^ 
 
 Her benefactor, if such he could be 
 called, nobles, princes, wits, and the 
 Eegent himself, were at her feet, but 
 they pleaded, and argued, and persecuted 
 her in vain. Untaught, as far as religion 
 and virtue were concerned, she had an 
 instinctive sense of both. She loathed 
 vice, she abhorred deceit, and never did 
 her eyes or her lips belie her feelings. 
 
 When Mademoiselle de Gontaut saw the 
 young Ayesha walking by the side of 
 Madame du Defiand, she guessed that that 
 was the Circassian girl of whom her 
 brothers were so often talking. She had 
 heard her story, and had felt an interest in 
 her fate, and now a kind of sympathy, 
 which she could hardly have defined, sprung 
 up in her heart, as her eyes met those 
 dark, soft, mournful ones, so different 
 
 o2
 
 196 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 in their expression from any she had ever 
 seen. 
 
 They stood next each other for a few 
 moments, while their respective companions 
 were conversing. Judithe had in her hand 
 a large nosegay of violets. She timidly 
 offered it to the beautiful girl, who in 
 return gave her a white rose which she 
 took out of her bosom. 
 
 "The sweetest of flowers," Ayesha said, 
 as she bent her lovely head over the 
 violets. 
 
 " The purest of flowers," Judithe mur- 
 mured, as she fastened the white rose in 
 her dress. 
 
 Such was their brief colloquy, and they 
 parted, seldom to meet again, and that 
 only by some casual occurrence. But 
 long after those violets had lost their per- 
 fume, and that white rose had shed its 
 petals, the interest which had been
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 197 
 
 awakened in both their hearts continued 
 to exist. Their destinies were widely dif- 
 ferent. 
 
 Over Ayesha's life a dark cloud passed. 
 She had scorned the homage of princes, 
 the allurements of fortune ; there was 
 that in her soul which revolted from the 
 meaner and coarser forms of guilt. She 
 was good and pure from instinct, not 
 from principle, for none had been im- 
 parted to her. She had been baptised 
 in her childhood, but never instructed in 
 religion. She had not realised that sin 
 was an offence against God. She stood 
 like a fair lily on the surface of a dark 
 and stagnant pool, at the mercy of the 
 winds and the treacherous waters beneath ; 
 and when one who loved her devotedly 
 and whose feelings and character were of 
 a far nobler stamp than those she had 
 hitherto known, came in her way, she had
 
 198 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 
 
 no power wherewith to resist the weak- 
 ness of her own heart. She fell like 
 Louise de la Yalliere ; like her she re- 
 pented, but her fall was more excusable, 
 her sacrifice more generous. There are 
 tears that can wash away the deepest 
 stains ; efforts that can redeem such falls, 
 and her's were of that nature. 
 
 One friend she had in that great city, 
 where her lot had been cast amidst 
 the vicious and the impious. One who 
 feared God and loved virtue. This wo- 
 man,^ with unwearied perseverance, and 
 noble courage, spoke the truth to Ayesha ; 
 and disturbed her false happiness with 
 impressive warnings. She spoke to her 
 of sin, as Christians speak ; she spoke to 
 her of God, as Christians feel. She 
 taught her what life is, — its blessing and 
 
 ^ Madame Calandrini.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 199 
 
 its curse; awakened faith in that not 
 utterly-perverted heart, which had sinned 
 through ignorance, and which sighed after 
 truth; pleaded with her the cause of her 
 own soul, nor did she plead in vain. 
 The sacrifice was made, the victory was 
 won. 
 
 Secure of the attachment of her lover, 
 for the Chevalier d'Aydie worshipped the 
 very ground she trod upon, the tender- 
 hearted Circassian girl, after struggles 
 which laid the seeds of the illness which 
 brought her to the grave, renounced that 
 love which was dearer to her than life, 
 and oiFered up her anguish at the feet of 
 Him whom she had been taught to defy, 
 but whom in her secret heart she had 
 ever adored. 
 
 So touching was her repentance, so fer- 
 vent her piety, that her lover, to his 
 honour be it recorded, never sought to
 
 200 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 overcome her resolution, when he had 
 once ascertained on what grounds it was 
 founded. He offered to marry her; im- 
 plored her to consent to their union, but 
 Ayesha steadfastly refused. It would have 
 been the ruin of his earthly prospects, 
 and if her love could have made up to 
 him for the loss of all else, it would not, 
 she felt, have blest him long. Her 
 health had always been delicate, and the 
 sufferings she had gone through had has- 
 tened its decline. 
 
 When too ill and weak to go to a 
 church she ardently desired to see a 
 priest, but Madame de Ferriol absolutely 
 refused to admit one into her house. 
 It is one of those curious facts with 
 which history and biography abound, 
 that the persons who contrived to elude 
 her impious orders, and to procure for 
 the dying girl the blessing of absolu-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 201 
 
 tion, were Madame de Parabere and Ma- 
 dame du Deffand. 
 
 Such was the life of Ayesha, the 
 Circassian slave. ^ Was it strange that, 
 in its various phases, it excited the in- 
 terest of one who had seen her, as Judithe 
 had done, in the bloom of her youth, 
 and been struck with the artless inno- 
 cence of her face and the noble expres- 
 sion of her countenance; that she 
 breathed a sigh when Ayesha erred ; 
 that her eyes were raised to hea- 
 ven with gratitude when she repented ; 
 that they were filled with tears when 
 she died; and that, often, when mus- 
 ing over that singular destiny, she 
 felt the deep meaning of the words 
 
 ^ This short sketch of Mademoiselle Aisse's life, 
 as this Circassian girl was called in Paris, is 
 drawn from Miss Kavanagh's work, "Woman in 
 France during the Eighteenth Century."
 
 202 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 that : '^ There is more joy in heaven over 
 one sinner that does penance, than 
 over ninety and nine just persons who 
 do not need repentance.
 
 203 
 
 Bintlj Cljapttr. 
 
 " Kept pure till then from other ties, 
 My heart e'en ere it saw those eyes, 
 Seemed doomed to thee. — Moore. 
 
 " Careful hours with time-deforming hand, 
 Have written strange defeatures in her face." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 "Congenial Hope ! Thy passion-kindling power 
 How bright, how strong in youth's untroubled hour ! 
 
 Rogers. 
 
 Two or three months after her return 
 to Paris, Judithe was invited by the Due 
 and Duchesse de Lauzun to spend a few 
 days with them at their pretty country- 
 house at Passy, where, as the Due de St. 
 Simon informs us, the most agreeable and
 
 204 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 refined portion of the Parisian society al- 
 most daily assembled. 
 
 For some time past the Marquise de 
 Bonneval had been in the country, and 
 not a word had been said to Judithe of 
 the projected marriage. Her cousin was, 
 however, often mentioned in the course of 
 conversation, and the probability of his re- 
 turn to Paris discussed with more or less 
 satisfaction, according to the views or the 
 sentiments of the speakers. 
 
 She never could hear his name without 
 emotion, nor did she ever prove for an 
 instant unfaithful to her secret worship of 
 the ideal hero, with which her imagina- 
 tion had identified him. Gay, attractive, 
 light-hearted, fall of confidence in a happy 
 future (for what young girl of eighteen 
 ever doubted that her life was to 
 be a happy one), endowed with beauty 
 and with wit, Judithe never felt the least 
 desire for admiration, or anything but the
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 205 
 
 most perfect indifference for worldly success. 
 To await in silence the moment which she 
 felt certain would arrive, when her hand 
 would be placed in that long-dreamed of 
 stranger's hand; to prepare herself for a 
 destiny which her young enthusiasm deemed 
 to be the brightest that earth could offer 
 to her, was her sole thought in the midst 
 of a society where feeling and romance 
 were strangely at discount. Pure as the 
 virgin snow on the mountain crest, appa- 
 rently as cold as the sheet of ice that 
 covers the deep waters of a lake, which the 
 sun will one day shine upon, and the 
 breeze stir up to its very depths, there 
 was no outward token of the impassioned 
 feelings, the ardent impulses, and the strong 
 faith which were lying buried in the inmost 
 recesses of her soul. 
 
 In one of those fanciful distributions of 
 names, which was a common pastime in 
 those days, the guests of the Due and
 
 206 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 Duchesse de Lauzun, unanimously be- 
 stowed on Mademoiselle de Gontaut the 
 appellation of "Silence," and there must 
 have been some instinctive sense of the 
 peculiarity we speak of, which alone could 
 explain the choice of that designation for 
 one who conversed more readily and more 
 agreeably than most young persons of her age. 
 When Madame de Nogaret presented 
 her niece to her intimate friend Madame 
 de Caylus, and told her laughing that 
 it was " their little Silence '^ that she was 
 introducing to her notice, the beautiful 
 eyes of that lady fixed themselves on 
 the countenance of the young girl, she 
 gazed upon it for an instant and then 
 said, with her peculiar and most winning 
 smile : 
 
 *^A most expressive Silence indeed.'^ 
 Upon hearing her mention the great 
 desire that she felt to see Madame de 
 Maintenon, who was then living in the strict-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 207 
 
 est retirement, seldom admitting to her 
 presence even her greatest friends, she pro- 
 posed, with a kindness that surprised and 
 enchanted Judithe, to carry her with her 
 to St. Cyr the first time she went there. 
 
 .The widow of Louis the Fourteenth 
 graciously received Mademoiselle de Gon- 
 taut, whom her old friend, M. de Bon- 
 repos, had often named to her as the 
 most sensible young person he was ac- 
 quainted with, and observing, probably 
 without displeasure, the timid but eager 
 look of interest with which she listened 
 to every word that dropped from her lips, 
 she patted her on the cheek, and said, 
 with a smile ; 
 
 " My dear child, you are as curious 
 about the old woman as the Czar of all the 
 Russias ; " and then she related with that 
 graceful choice of words, and that charm 
 of manner which so particularly belonged 
 to her, the particulars of Peter the Great's
 
 208 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 visit to St. Cyr, and the mute astonish- 
 ment which his face expressed, when hav- 
 ing pulled aside the curtains of her bed, 
 he stood gazing upon the faded features 
 which he had insisted upon seeing as one 
 out of the many curiosities he was re- 
 solved to visit. ^ 
 
 " Is not my aunt adorable ? " exclaimed 
 Madame de Caylus, as they were driving 
 back from St. Cyr to Paris. 
 
 " More admirable than adorable, I should 
 say/^ was Judithe's reply. ^^ Idolatry is 
 an unreasonable worship; how then could 
 Madame de Maintenon, the very perfec- 
 tion of reason, be the object of it?" 
 
 Madame de Caylus smiled and said: 
 
 " Fifteen years ago I should not have 
 been so willing to make you acquainted 
 with her. Such an answer would have 
 raised you to the highest point in her 
 
 ^ Madame de Maintenon's Letters.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 209 
 
 esteem, and I was exceedingly jealous of 
 those who were in favour with my aunt. 
 The Duchesse de Noailles, Mademoiselle 
 d'Aumale and myself were always disputing 
 as to the rank we held in her affection, and 
 Her Royal Highness the Duchesse de Bour- 
 gogne would playfully join in those contesta- 
 tions. How well I remember the childish, 
 winning grace with which she exclaimed, one 
 day when my aunt would not employ her 
 as she did us, to write letters for her, 
 " Is not Adelaide de Savoie good gentle- 
 woman enough to serve you?"' She 
 was the beloved one of her heart that 
 charming young duchess, and she has never 
 recovered her loss.* As to me, I have 
 
 * Adelaide de Savoie n'est elle pas assez bonne 
 demoiselle pour vous servir?" 
 
 2 Madame Elizabeth Charlotte de Baviere gives 
 the following account of the deaths of the Due 
 and Duchesse de Bourgogne : 
 
 "The Dauphine had had her fortune told in 
 Italy when she was quite a child (she was only 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 loved my aunt with what you truly called 
 an unreasonable worship. I see her but 
 very seldom now. St. Cyr absorbs all her 
 thoughts and affections. Still, if she was 
 
 eleven years old when she was made over to the 
 French Court), and amongst other things it was 
 predicted to her that she would die at the age 
 of twenty-seven. She used often to speak of this 
 prophecy. One day she said to the Dauphin, 
 *The time is drawing near ; I shall soon die. As 
 you will be obliged in your position to marry 
 again, do tell me who you will choose for your 
 wife.' He replied, 'I trust that God will not 
 punish me so severely as to make you die 
 before me, but if such a misfortune was to befall 
 me, I should certainly not marry again, for I 
 could never live under such a loss, and before 
 the end of eight days I should follow you to the 
 grave.' It happened as he said. He died seven- 
 teen days after his wife, and from no other cause 
 but grief. What I tell you is a matter of fact. 
 As to the Dauphine, while she was still in good 
 health, she used to say, 'I must make the most 
 of my happiness. I shall not enjoy it long. I 
 shall die this year.' The King, Louis the Four- 
 teenth, loved that little Dauphine better than any- 
 thing in the world."
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 211 
 
 to die before me there would be a sad blank 
 in my life." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Judithe, "life can 
 scarcely be a blank, I should think, when 
 the book of memory is closely written." 
 
 " You are but just entering upon life, 
 my dear child, and can know nothing as 
 yet of the sufferings which memory can 
 inflict." 
 
 "Nothing through experience,'' replied 
 the young girl, "and yet I feel persuaded 
 that it must be better to have known 
 happiness for ever so short a time, and 
 then to live upon that remembrance, than 
 to go through a life with a vague yearn- 
 ing for what the unsatisfied heart has 
 never obtained." 
 
 "I am not so sure of that, my dear 
 Judithe. The unwritten page is still open 
 to fresh impressions, but when once it 
 has been used — " 
 
 " Then we can commit the writing 
 
 p2
 
 212 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 to memory, and leave the paper to its 
 fate." 
 
 Madame de Caylus gently stroked her 
 young companion's cheek, and said : 
 
 " Believe me, sweet one, write in pencil 
 the first pages of your life. Let the marks 
 be such as can easily be rubbed out. It 
 is often better to obliterate the first sketch 
 and to begin afresh, than to have such 
 deep characters stamped upon our hearts, 
 that we must needs carry them with. us to 
 the grave." 
 
 ^^Do you indeed think so?" Judithe 
 thoughtfully ejaculated, trying the while to 
 read on Madame de Caylus's lovely but faded 
 face whether the advice she was giving her, 
 and which she felt no inclination to follow, 
 was the result of a natural levity of cha- 
 racter, or of a deeply-wounded sensibility. 
 Her anxious gaze was met only by one of 
 those enchanting smiles which had made
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 213 
 
 Madame de Maintenon write nearly forty 
 years before, " The little de Murray is really 
 quite charming," and which now illuminated 
 her face with a light which set at defiance 
 the traces of age and of sorrow. 
 
 At last the Marquise de Bonneval re- 
 turned from the country. Judithe was 
 anxious to call upon her, and entreated 
 Madame de Lauzun, at whose villa, at Passy, 
 she was still staying, to take her for that 
 purpose in her carriage to Paris, where she 
 was going to spend a few hours. 
 
 It was in the early days of November, 
 a heavy mist, which the sun was vainly 
 striving to dissipate, hung over the Bois de 
 Boulogne, and gave a melancholy aspect to 
 the straight long alleys, through which they 
 were passing. Madame de Lauzun pointed 
 to the trees, which were fast losing their 
 leaves, and said with a sigh : 
 
 " How fast time slips away ! Another
 
 214 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 year almost gone by. You are quite old 
 enough, my dear, to be married. Don't 
 you think so yourself?" 
 
 '^ Ah ! that concerns my parents, not me,'' 
 Judithe answered, with a somewhat melan- 
 choly smile; and in a certain sense what 
 she said was true. 
 
 ^^If I am not mistaken they have some- 
 thing of that kind in view," Madame de 
 Lauzun said. 
 
 ^^ Indeed ! madame," Judithe answered, 
 with a slight blush. 
 
 " By the way, my dear Judithe, you 
 will have to congratulate Madame de 
 Bonneval on the approaching return of her 
 son. A message from Prince Eugene to 
 the Eegent seems to have settled the 
 matter. The Due de St. Simon and con- 
 sequently my good sister are in a state of 
 patriotic indignation on the subject ; but 
 M. de Lauzun views it in quite a different 
 light. He looks forward with great satis-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 215 
 
 faction to M. de Bonneval's arrival, and 
 was almost as angry last night with those 
 who grumbled at it as on the unlucky day 
 of the review." ^ 
 
 " Oh, do tell me, my dear aunt, what 
 happened on that occasion. I was obliged 
 to devote myself to the entertainment of 
 Mesdemoiselles de Grramont and de Colbert, 
 and though I could see that a storm 
 was getting up at the other end of the 
 salon, the cause of it has remained a 
 mystery to me. Only 1 saw that 
 Madame de Poitiers was weeping; that 
 you looked kind and gracious as ever, 
 but anxious and perturbed, and that my 
 good uncle was in such a passion that 
 I hardly ventured to look in his direc- 
 tion. As to M. de St. Simon he seemed 
 to be as usual employing one of his eyes 
 in watching and the other in judging the 
 
 * All that follows is described in St. Simon's 
 Memoirs.
 
 216 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 
 
 unhappy objects of his scrutiny. Pray ex- 
 cuse me, my dear aunt, I have really a 
 great respect for M. le Due de St. Simon, 
 but you must allow me not to love him 
 as much as his charming wife." 
 
 ^^You are a very saucy young lady, and 
 quite equal to taking a leaf out of my 
 brother-in-law's book, and making as active 
 a use of your two young eyes as he 
 does of his two old ones. Well, then, 
 my dear child, if you must know the 
 truth, it was all my fault, my very great 
 fault. Madame de Poitiers, poor little 
 woman, who has never been anywhere or 
 seen anything, was dying to go to the 
 review of the Body Guard, but did not 
 quite venture to show herself abroad in 
 her deep mourning. Well, we discussed 
 that important question, and it was unani- 
 mously agreed that there would be no 
 harm in her going with me, provided 
 she kept herself concealed in the back
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 217 
 
 of my coach. As we were talking and 
 laughing over this matter your uncle 
 arrived from Paris. We broached the 
 subject to him, but no sooner was the 
 review mentioned, than he looked as 
 black as thunder, and I saw at once 
 that we were in a dreadful scrape. You 
 must know that he was at one time 
 captain of the Body Guard, and has never 
 got over the loss of that command. It 
 was thoughtless of me not to have re- 
 collected how sore he is on the point. 
 I had the mortification of feeling that I 
 had given pain to one whose happiness is 
 the sole study of my life." 
 
 ^' Aye, and then my good uncle said 
 the crudest, harshest things to you, 
 made a scene that frightened us all out 
 of our wits, and brought the tears into 
 your eyes 1 and all the time you tried to 
 soothe and appease him, never showing 
 yourself the least irritation."
 
 218 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 ^^ It is SO easy, my dear girl, not to be 
 provoked when one is not really in the 
 wrong. When it is the passion of the mo- 
 ment, not the deliberate injustice of those 
 we love, which puts harsh words into their 
 mouths. And then I felt so much for him, 
 and grieved that he should suffer." 
 
 " What a dismal supper we went through, 
 nobody venturing to speak, and my uncle 
 darting such angry glances round the 
 table. But how ingeniously you contrived, 
 when we rose from table, to set us all 
 down to cards, without giving time for any 
 remarks to be made. How I did admire 
 you, my dear aunt, more than ever that 
 day." 
 
 " He was so very kind to me the next 
 morning, kissing my hand, and declaring 
 that he ought to worship the ground I tread 
 on. He is so good, your uncle ; in spite 
 of his little occasional outbreaks of temper.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL, 219 
 
 It would be difficult to find more happi- 
 ness in marriage than I have done." 
 
 Judithe affectionately pressed the hand 
 of her young great-aunt, and secretly mar- 
 velled over the peculiarity of disposition, 
 or the height of virtue, that could find such 
 happiness in a fate that so often called forth 
 the pity of the world. 
 
 "Never again," she said to herself, "will 
 I envy or too easily compassionate the fate 
 of my neighbours. If my aunt de Lauzun 
 considers herself one of the most fortunate 
 of human beings, where in the world shall 
 we reckon on finding, or despair of finding, 
 that strange thing called happiness." 
 
 It was certainly not in the heart of the 
 friend she was about to visit that it had 
 taken up its abode. The Marquise de Bon- 
 neval's anxieties increased instead of dimin- 
 ishing as she drew near to the fulfilment of 
 her most ardent wishes. As the race-horse
 
 220 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 strains every muscle as he approaches the 
 goal, so did the tension of her nerves 
 augment as the realisation of her wishes 
 became more certain. Her health was be- 
 ginning to give way under the perpetual 
 wear and tear of feverish expectation. She 
 was a prey to all the pains of that malady 
 which in those days went by the name of 
 vapours, whereas it is now described under 
 the general term of nervous disease. Her 
 temper had become so strangely irritable, 
 that most of her acquaintances were be- 
 ginning to avoid her society. 
 
 Judithe was struck with the alteration 
 which a year had brought about in her face 
 and in her figure. Her hair had turned 
 white, and her eyes had lost their bright- 
 ness. When, with all the warmth of her 
 young heart, she threw herself into the 
 marquise's arms, her embrace Avas returned 
 in a hurried and all but impatient manner.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 221 
 
 She was motioned to a chair opposite to the 
 writing-table, before which that lady was 
 sitting, surrounded by letters and papers of 
 various sorts. She then said, in a husky 
 and broken tone of voice : 
 
 " The Abbe Dubois has just been with me. 
 He says that my son's presence is absolutely 
 necessary for the registration of his letters 
 of pardon, which are already drawn up 
 under the seal of state. He must spend a 
 few hours at the Conciergerie. No distinc- 
 tion of rank or of favour can do away with 
 that formality. He requests me to hasten 
 his journey by every means in my power. 
 He must needs come to Paris, and within 
 a short time, I shall see him again. I 
 shall once more clasp him to my heart. 
 I could not have imagined that joy 
 could have been so like sorrow. I feel 
 almost as much overwhelmed by the one 
 as by the other, or rather I believe
 
 222 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 that by dint of suffering the weary spirit 
 loses the power of rejoicing." 
 
 "Joy will force its way into your heart, 
 dear lady, after a while ; but it has so long 
 been a stranger that you require to get ac- 
 customed to its presence." 
 
 "It is not possible that he could refuse 
 after all that has been done in his behalf; 
 and indeed I have pledged my word on the 
 subject. It has been a part of the stipula- 
 tion throughout." 
 
 Madame de Bonneval kept her eyes fixed 
 on Judithe as she murmured these words, 
 although they were not apparently addressed 
 to her. Somewhat embarrassed, and wishing 
 to break through an awkward silence, the 
 latter said, with a slight blush : 
 
 "Forgive me, madame, if I venture to 
 make an indiscreet request, but might I so 
 far trespass on your habitual goodness to 
 me, as to ask for a sight of the letter
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 223 
 
 which Prince Eugene wrote to you after 
 the Battle of Peterwaradin, where M. le 
 Comte de Bonneval covered himself with so 
 much glory ! " 
 
 The marquise opened one of the drawers 
 of her bureau, and taking out of it a bundle 
 of letters, she selected two or three, which 
 she placed before Judithe. 
 
 "Yes, read all that," she said. "See 
 how they speak of him now. A hero ! a 
 genius ! an honour to his country ! They 
 rave of his exploits ; they laud him to the 
 skies. What do I care for their empty 
 praises. They congratulate me on his suc- 
 cesses, but it is his presence I pine for. 
 It is his society I want. See, here is the 
 Emperor's letter, and that is the Prince's. 
 Read these verses also. Read them aloud," 
 she added, putting at the same time a 
 paper in Judithe's hand. "Let me hear 
 them from your lips."
 
 224 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 It was the ode of Jean Baptiste Rousseau 
 on the Battle of Peter war adin. It contained 
 the following passage : 
 
 " Quel est ce nouvel Alcide, 
 Qui seul, erxtoure de morts, 
 De cette foule homicide 
 Arrete tous les efforts? 
 A peine, un fer detestable 
 Ouvre sou flanc redoutable, 
 Sou sang est deja paye." ^ 
 
 The paper dropt from the reader's hands 
 when she came to this stanza, and she 
 covered her face with them, then, in a mo- 
 ment, looking up with a brilliant smile, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 ^^ Oh, how happy you must be ! Such a 
 
 ' "Who is this new Hercules, 
 Who single handed, 
 Surrounded by the fallen, 
 Of that murderous crowd ? 
 Stems all the efforts ? 
 No sooner has the dreadful steel 
 Pierced his awful side 
 Than his blood is instantly avenged."
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 225 
 
 glorious triumph. Your son, the defender 
 of Christendom, the terror of the infidels! 
 France hastening to recall him with joy 
 and pride to her bosom, and you — you, 
 his mother ! " 
 
 She was too much affected to finish 
 her sentence. Judithe stopped short, and 
 tears of delight rolled down her flushed 
 cheeks. 
 
 Softened by the sight of that genuine 
 emotion, Madame de Bonneval drew her 
 to her side, called her several times her 
 dear child, her darling gM, but taking 
 her hand, and placing it on her heart, 
 she said : 
 
 "The spring is broken here, my love. 
 To see him, only to see him, is what I 
 pine for. I have ceased to care for any- 
 thing else." 
 
 Judithe felt saddened and disappointed. 
 Sympathy could no longer exist between 
 a person whose feelings were worn out 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 by a long course of suffering and one 
 whose young enthusiasm was awakened by 
 everything connected with heroism and 
 fame. She consoled herself by devouring 
 with eager interest the letters entrusted to 
 her, by carrying away in her memory 
 the luies of the poet; and as she paced 
 up and down the garden alleys of the 
 Hotel de Biron, often startled the spar- 
 rows and the rooks by the repetition of 
 that empathic inquiry: 
 
 " Quel est ce nouvel Alcide." 
 
 A few months elapsed, and the year 
 1716 drew to a close. The succeeding 
 one was destined to witness a still wilder 
 amount of dissipation, of luxury, and of 
 debauchery than had marked any of the 
 preceding years. The most unbridled licen- 
 tiousness ■ was daily gaining ground. The 
 manners and the language of the higher 
 classes were visibly deteriorating, and the
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 227 
 
 misery of the poor was, as always, keep- 
 ing pace with the prodigality of the 
 rich. 
 
 Belonging by birth to the highest no- 
 bility in France, and by the politics of 
 her family connected with the Eegent's 
 Court, Mademoiselle de Gontaut was thrown 
 into the vortex of a world with which she 
 felt no sympathy. 
 
 Her father was master-of-the-horse to 
 the Duke of Orleans, her brother one of 
 his intimate associates ; her new sister-in-law, 
 whose attractive qualities and kindness to 
 herself had won her affections, the charm- 
 ing Adelaide de Gramont Yicomtesse de 
 Gontaut was already numbered amongst the 
 most reckless of the reckless women of that 
 day. 
 
 There are persons who seem made to 
 contradict the proverb, and to touch pitch 
 without defilement. Eare instances they 
 are, but doubtless such are to be found. 
 
 q2
 
 228 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 They live in an atmospliere of vice and 
 immorality, and remain uncontaminated by 
 the corruption around them. Their lot is 
 cast amidst scenes of guilt and depravity; 
 their education seems hardly to have fur- 
 nished them with what we should deem 
 sufficient antidotes against the poison, and 
 yet, through God's boundless mercy, a 
 shield has been thrown over their helpless- 
 ness, an unseen angel has clothed them 
 with a garment of purity and simpli- 
 city that sets at defiance the foul influ- 
 ences of sin and worldliness, and that has 
 borne them safely through the pestilential 
 miasma they are compelled to breathe. 
 Well may such bow the knee in trembUng 
 adoration, when they look back and mea- 
 sure the peril they have escaped, borne 
 through it, or rather lifted above it, by 
 a power they knew not of. 
 
 Judithe was a silent but indifierent
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 229 
 
 spectator of that torrent of iniquity which 
 was surging up around her. Religion had 
 not yet laid hold with a firm grasp of her 
 soul, but He whose will it was to make 
 her His own through the regenerating 
 effects of a life-long trial, was even now 
 guarding her from contamination by means 
 apparently slight, and in ways such as man 
 would not have dreamed of The romantic 
 fancy which had taken possession of her 
 young mind and which, under certain cir- 
 cumstances, might have become a fatal 
 temptation, served at this time to isolate 
 her from the vain and hard world in which 
 she lived. 
 
 Nothing marked the course of those 
 winter months. Her visits to Madame de 
 Bonneval were the most interesting events 
 in her existence. That lady received her 
 at times with all her usual affection, at 
 others with a strange coldness, which she
 
 230 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 could only ascribe to the deplorable state 
 of health into which she had fallen. One 
 day she positively announced to her her 
 son's arrival. 
 
 '^ In a fortnight," she said, " he will 
 be in Paris ; so M. le Comte de Luc informs 
 me. He gives me his word of honour 
 that he will leave Vienna in the first days 
 of February." 
 
 "What charming news for you madame," 
 Judithe hastened to add. 
 
 "Will his return then give pleasure to 
 no one but his dying mother? Does no 
 other welcome await him ? " 
 
 " Pardon me, madame. I know that the 
 Due and Duchesse de Lauzun, and my 
 father and mother also will rejoice with 
 you over this happy event." 
 
 " They are interested enough in it," 
 murmured the marquise, between her teeth. 
 After a short pause she said, in an abrupt 
 and somewhat querulous manner: " It would
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 231 
 
 add greatly to your attractions, Judithe, 
 if you were to take more pains to 
 please. You do not think enough of your 
 looks." 
 
 "I assure you, madame, that I devote a 
 very reasonable length of time to my 
 toilette, and that my attendants are quite 
 satisfied with my patience in that respect. '* 
 
 "I am not speaking of your dress," 
 Madame de Bonneval answered, in the same 
 impatient tone. " What I mean is this ; you 
 have regular features, a pretty expression 
 of countenance, a pale, clear complexion, 
 which some people very much admire, but 
 all that, is not enough to make a woman 
 attractive. If persons do not make the 
 most of then' advantages they cannot expect 
 to please. You might be the most beauti- 
 ful, the most accomplished, the cleverest 
 woman in France, and yet fail to inspire a 
 single real passion, all for want of that 
 feminine skill which knows how to obtain,
 
 232 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 and above all to retain, possession of a man's 
 heart." 
 
 "I have never given a thought to the 
 subject/^ Judithe coldly replied, "never 
 having felt the desire of making any such 
 conquests, I confess that I have not taken 
 pains to learn the means to that end." 
 
 " What might hitherto have been unneces- 
 sary may before long become a duty," 
 Madame de Bonneval pointedly replied. 
 
 Judithe blushed and remained silent. 
 Her friend's dry and sharp manner did not 
 invite confidence, and so she concealed her 
 embarrassment under an apparent obtuse- 
 ness; and, feigning not to understand her 
 hints, she availed herself of the first oppor- 
 tunity of taking leave. 
 
 The following day she was summoned at 
 an unusually early hour to her mother's 
 apartments. Madame de Biron was in 
 bed, and her coverlet strewed with various 
 papers which she had been perusing. A
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 233 
 
 letter from the Dae de Lauzun was lying open 
 before her, and one from Madame de Bon- 
 neval was in her hand. She tied them all 
 together with a ribbon, and then graciously 
 desired her daughter to be seated. With a 
 more affectionate manner than usual she said : 
 
 "I have always had occasion to congra- 
 tulate myself, my dear, on the docility 
 of your disposition, and your readiness to 
 comply with any of your father's wishes and 
 mine.'' 
 
 Judithe took her mother's hand, and 
 pressed it respectfully to her lips. She felt 
 very dutifully inclined at that moment. 
 There might have been, perhaps, something 
 passing in her mind tantamount to the 
 phrase quoted by Madame de Sevigne : 
 '' J^epouserai qui votes voudrez pourou 
 que ce soit, Mademoiselle Hortensef but 
 without venturing on any answer beyond 
 that mute caress, she anxiously looked for 
 her mother's next words.
 
 234 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 "What I am about to impart to you, 
 my love, will be a fresh proof, if such were 
 needed, of the solicitude with which we 
 study your interests, and I have not the 
 least doubt that in this instance also, you 
 will yield a ready submission to our wishes. 
 The Marquise de Bonneval has asked of us 
 your hand for her son, and we have ac- 
 cepted the proposal. It is suitable as to 
 fortune, and advantageous too when we con- 
 sider the high position which the Comte de 
 Bonneval holds in the army and at the 
 Court of His Imperial Majesty. His recent 
 successes, and the favour with which he is 
 regarded by so many eminent personages, 
 have efiaced the impressions produced by 
 certain passages in his past life. The 
 Council of Regency has just abolished his 
 sentence of outlawry, and he is about to 
 arrive in Paris for the double purpose of 
 registering his letters of pardon, and of 
 celebrating his marriage with you."
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 235 
 
 Judithe knelt down by her mother's bed- 
 side, and for an instant hid her face in her 
 hands. In a tone of voice, which con- 
 trasted by its emotion with the formal 
 nature of her reply, she then said : 
 
 " It belongs to you, madame, and to my 
 father to dispose of my hand as you may 
 think best. You have condescended to take 
 my future happiness into consideration. I 
 have only to express my deep sense of 
 your kindness, and cheerfully to submit to 
 your commands." 
 
 Madame de Biron drew her daughter to- 
 wards her, and gave her an affectionate em- 
 brace. Then selecting from the bundle of 
 papers in her hand the Due de Lauzun's 
 letter, she glanced over it once more and 
 said, in a tone of marked satisfac- 
 tion : 
 
 "It is my uncle who will undertake all 
 the expences of the wedding."^ 
 
 ' St. Simon's Memoirs.
 
 236 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 Then she read half aloud the Marquise 
 de Bonneval's letter, and some others which 
 had reference to the same subject. While 
 perusing one of these she exclaimed : 
 
 "M. le Due de St. Simon has had the 
 goodness, it is just like him, to speak in 
 the Council of Eegency against M. de 
 Bonneval's return. He was almost the only 
 one to do so ! I really cannot understand 
 your father's infatuation about that egotis- 
 tical coxcomb. It is just the same on the 
 subject of the ducal peerage. Everybody 
 knows that M. de Biron's right to it is 
 evident, and the Due de St. Simon ven- 
 tures to term his claim an arrogant pre- 
 tension.^ If your aunts were not so ab- 
 surdly partial to him, I should long ago 
 have insisted on declinmg his visits. But 
 your father's blindness on that point passes 
 all belief. And what, I should like to 
 know, has M. de St. Simon ever done to 
 ^ Historical.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 237 
 
 deserve his friendship? Introduced him to 
 the Duo de Beauvilliers ! a mighty great 
 service indeed ! " 
 
 Madame de Biron was talking on in this 
 manner when a servant came in and an- 
 nounced that the Abbe Dubois was in the 
 drawing-room, and was asking to see her. 
 
 ^'It is about M. de Bonneval's affairs," 
 she said. ^^ Show him in directly," and she 
 hastily made a sign to her daughter to 
 withdraw. As the Regent's favourite^ turned 
 his small, piercing eyes on the young girl, 
 who was hurrying away, a smile hovered 
 on his thin lips. He had received that 
 morning a letter from his friend M. de 
 Bonneval, which made mention of his mar- 
 
 * If the Abbe Dubois had as much honesty and 
 religion as he has wit, he would be a valuable 
 person, but he believes in nothing, and respects 
 neither morality or truth. He is very learned, 
 and has made my son well-informed also ; I wish,^ 
 however, with all my heart that he had never 
 seen him." — Lettres de Madame de Baviere.
 
 238 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 riage with Mademoiselle de Gontaut in 
 terms which the sight of the bride recalled 
 to his mind. An honest, or even a kind- 
 hearted man would have sighed at what 
 made the Abbe Dubois smile.
 
 239 
 
 SJenljj CJapter. 
 
 'Thus with delight we linger to survey 
 The promised joys of life's unmeasured way, 
 Thus from afar each dim-discovered scene 
 More pleasing seems than all the past has heen." 
 
 KOGERS. 
 
 ' Ceremony was but desired at first 
 To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Slowly, and with a look of deep 
 thought in her face, Judithe ascended the 
 steps of the little back-staircase which led 
 to the entresol occupied by Madame 
 Dupuis, hei good old nurse, who, since 
 her return to Paris, had been confined to 
 her room by a long illness, which was 
 gradually turning to a decline. She was
 
 240 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 seated in a high-backed chair close by a 
 window which looked upon the spacious 
 court of the Hotel de Biron. Her feet 
 were resting on a stool, her head propped 
 up by pillows, and her hands helplessly 
 folded on her knees, seemed to be repos- 
 ing from the trials of a long life. She 
 was very dim-sighted now, and one of 
 her principal amusements was to watch 
 the carriages as they rolled from the en- 
 trance-door to the foot of the stone steps. 
 She used to boast that she could dis- 
 tinguish by the sound of the wheels, or 
 the more or less speed with which they 
 moved, the various equipages which in past 
 days she had known by sight. 
 
 " Ah ! " she would exclaim, ^' there is 
 Madame de Simiane, I am certain, her 
 grey horses treading as briskly as ever. 
 Hark, that must be the Marquis de 
 Seignelay's coach; I know the sound of 
 its heavy wheels. Now I hear, I am sure
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 241 
 
 of it, M. de Chamillart's equipage. His 
 horses creep along like their master, who 
 never knew how to hold up his head, or 
 walk gracefully into a drawing-room. Ah ! 
 there is M. le marquis coming home. I 
 know the sound of his carriage just as 
 I did that of his footsteps at the time 
 when you were a baby, and my daughter 
 was nursing you at our cottage at Biron. 
 But who is that in such a desperate 
 hurry I wonder, jumping out of the car- 
 riage before it has fairly stopped. It 
 must be monsieur le vicomte, or monsieur 
 r abbe ; your brothers are made of quick- 
 silver I think." 
 
 And the good old woman would try to 
 get a glimpse of the faces of some of 
 those restless comers and goers, whose 
 names and faces were connected with all 
 the recollections of her past life, but who 
 never came near the narrow little apart- 
 ment where her existence was dwindling 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 away. But her own dear child never 
 failed to console her by her sweet pre- 
 sence, and her loving cheerful words. 
 
 On the particular day in question, she 
 entered her nurse's room with a sort of 
 timidity, and seated herself on the stool 
 beside her knee. Then taking both her 
 hands in hers, she said in a low voice : 
 
 *^ I have a piece of news for you 
 nurse, or rather two great pieces of news." 
 
 '^ What can they be about. Do tell 
 me at once, my dear. At my age one 
 is almost afraid of news." 
 
 " Oh, there is nothing in mine but what 
 is pleasant, nurse. In the first place my 
 cousin de Bonne val will be really and truly 
 in Paris in a fortnight." 
 
 " Oh my good Lord ! " exclaimed Madame 
 Dupuis, clasping her hands and raising her 
 eyes to Heaven, whilst two tears were 
 slowly rolling down her aged cheeks. 
 
 " You must not cry, nurse ; come, look
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 243 
 
 at me and smile. Are you not very 
 happy ? '' 
 
 *^ He will come back, my dear child, 
 and I shall not see him. Six months ago 
 I could still have crawled down stairs, 
 and hid myself somewhere just to see 
 him pass, just to see once more that 
 beloved face of his, but now that I am 
 nailed to my chair, how shall I ever set 
 eyes upon him ? '' 
 
 " You shall see him, dear nurse ; I 
 promise you that you shall see him." 
 
 "You are always so kind, my darling, 
 but how can you get me a sight of him? 
 My eyes are so weak that unless I was 
 close to him — " 
 
 "But I tell you, my dear, obstinate 
 old nurse, that you shall see him here ; 
 yes, here in this very room. Do not shake 
 your head and look incredulous. Have I not 
 another piece of news to tell you? 
 Such a great bit of news that I 
 
 r2
 
 244 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 hardly know how to give utterance to it. 
 Put your ear close to my mouth, please." 
 
 Madame Dupuis having complied, and laid 
 her wrinkled face against the blushing cheek 
 of the young girl, the latter whispered 
 in her ear : 
 
 " I have the honour to announce to 
 you the marriage of Mademoiselle Judithe 
 Charlotte de Gontaut with the Comte 
 Claude Alexandre de Bonneval!" 
 
 "Heaven protect us!" exclaimed Madame 
 Dupuis. "Is it possible?" 
 
 "Make haste to wish me joy, nurse. 
 My parents have decided that I am to 
 be married to him, so now you see it 
 will be my duty to love him. Yes, from 
 -this very moment to love him," she re- 
 peated,' with a beaming look of joy in her 
 soft eyes. 
 
 "But you have never seen him, my 
 dear?" 
 
 " No ; but you have told me, nurse,
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 245 
 
 and I have thought so much about him ; 
 so often pictured him to myself that I 
 am sure that I know him better than 
 many persons I see every day. And now 
 you understand, nurse, how it is that I 
 can promise to bring him to see you. 
 I suppose that a bride has a right 
 to order about her betrothed husband. 
 Don't you think so, Madame Dupuis ? " 
 
 " Oh, without doubt, my dear. But 
 then such a great general as the Comte 
 de Bonneval, he will not be, perhaps, just 
 like any other husband." 
 
 " True ! " exclaimed Judithe, with emo- 
 tion, ^^nor will my marriage be like all 
 other marriages. Only think of bearing 
 a name already so famous ! of being the 
 wife of a man so feared and so admired. 
 Is it not a glorious destiny. A fate such 
 as I had always dreamed of And yet 
 what am I, a poor little helpless girl, 
 to have deserved such an honour ? "
 
 246 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 Madame Dupiiis took her hand in both 
 her hands, and looking earnestly into her 
 eyes, she said, with overflowing tenderness ; 
 
 " Oh, who could help loving you, the 
 best, the sweetest, the most perfect of 
 human beings ! God grant that this noble 
 count may prove a good husband to you, 
 my dearest, that he may make you as 
 happy as you deserve/' 
 
 ^^ I do not care about being happy," 
 rephed the young girl, with a joyous ex- 
 pression of countenance that strangely 
 belied her words ; then after affectionately 
 embracing Madame Dupuis, she went off 
 to the school-room of her little sisters 
 Charlotte and Marie, and while she held 
 them on her knees, with one hand play- 
 ing with their fair cuiis, and the other 
 employed in turning over the leaves of a 
 picture-book, many a brilliant day-dream 
 floated in her mind, and visions of the 
 future unfolded themselves in quick sue-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 247 
 
 cession on the glowing canvass of her 
 imagination. 
 
 A few days later, after a long conver- 
 sation with M. and Madame de Biron, the 
 Marquise de Bonneval begged to see their 
 daughter, and Jndithe was summoned to 
 the drawing-room, where several members 
 of her family were assembled. When she 
 entered the room Madame de Bonneval 
 seemed strangely agitated. She embraced 
 her future daughter-in-law, but her manner 
 was embarrassed, and her voice shook 
 when she spoke of her son and of his 
 return. 
 
 ^^The Comte de Bonneval," she said, 
 "was to arrive in a very few days, and, 
 after spending twenty-four hours at the 
 Conciergerie and appearing before the tribu- 
 nal which was to release him from all legal 
 penalties, he would hasten to pay his re- 
 spects to his beloved relatives, his bride, 
 and her parents.
 
 248 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 The Marquis de Biron expressed the 
 satisfaction it would give him to carry his 
 intended son-in-law to visit the Regent and 
 the princes, and to present him to the 
 most distinguished personages of the 
 Court. 
 
 The day and the hour for this first 
 interview were agreed upon, and mutual 
 congratulations passed between the mar- 
 quise and the various members of the bride's 
 family. 
 
 M. de Lauzun and his wife, Madame 
 d'Urfe, Madame de Nogaret, as well as the 
 Marquis and Marquise de Biron, were elo- 
 quent in their praises of M. de Bonneval, 
 and expressed themselves highly flattered at 
 an alliance that was to unite them more 
 closely* with a man of such extraordinary 
 merit. High-sounding compliments and 
 neatly-turned phrases were exchanged in 
 abundance between the contracting parties. 
 It would have been quite an affecting
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 249 
 
 scene had these demonstrations been in the 
 least degree genuine. 
 
 Two of the persons present suffered from 
 a sense of unreality in what was going on 
 around them. Both Madame de Bonneval 
 and Judithe felt ill at ease, their feelings 
 were too deeply engaged to enable them to 
 utter in a careless manner the phrases 
 which ran so glibly from the tongues of 
 most of those who were present that day. 
 
 Judithe was continually striving to meet 
 the eyes of her friend, but they were turned 
 away as if purposely to avoid hers. She 
 could not understand that after having so 
 long treated her as a daughter, now, 
 when she was about to acquire a right 
 to that name, her manner should all at 
 once have become so formal and cold. 
 True it was that for some time past there 
 had been something constrained in their 
 intercourse, but surely noiv all embarrass- 
 ment must vanish, all estrangement cease.
 
 250 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 Anxious to struggle with her somewhat 
 wounded feelings, she went up to Madame 
 de Bonneval, who was preparing to take 
 leave, and respectfully kissing her hands, she 
 said: 
 
 ^^And when shall I have the happiness 
 of seeing you alone, madame?" 
 
 ^^ To-morrow, if you please," was the 
 answer, rather hesitatingly given. 
 
 The next day, accordingly, Judithe was 
 shown into Madame de Bonneval's dress- 
 ing-room, and by her affectionate caresses 
 succeeded in dispelling for a while the 
 gloom that seemed to hang over her 
 spirits. After returning her embrace with 
 something of her former warmth of man- 
 ner, the marquise still holding her hand 
 in her -own, gazed intently on her face, 
 as if trying to read her thoughts, and then 
 said : 
 
 "Promise me, my dearest Judithe, to 
 second my views in every possible manner.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 251 
 
 and to use whatever influence you may 
 gain over my son's mind, to obtain 
 from him a promise that he will re- 
 main in France, and give up altogether 
 that foreign service, which keeps him 
 away from me, which exposes him to 
 incessant dangers, and which if he per- 
 sists in it will soon bring me to the 
 grave. Give me your word, my dear 
 child, that you will leave nothing untried 
 for this purpose ; that your love, your 
 prayers, your tears — " 
 
 ^' You forget, madame," Judithe inter- 
 rupted, and there was something of in- 
 dignation in her manner, " that I do 
 not as yet know the Comte de Bon- 
 neval, not even by sight." 
 
 The marquise went on without taking 
 any notice of her remark. 
 
 ^^Eemember that I rely upon your 
 co-operation on this subject, that I have a 
 right to expect it. My son must give
 
 252 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 up the Emperor's service ; he must get 
 the better of that absurd and romantic 
 passion for war, which is always thrust- 
 ing him into unnecessary dangers. Why 
 cannot he now serve his own country 
 like other people, or occupy himself 
 with the re-establishment of his affairs, 
 which are in sad disorder? Have I 
 not devoted the best years of my life 
 to the furtherance of his interests? Is 
 it not fair that he should, in his 
 turn, sacrifice something to my wishes, 
 to my need of his support and society? 
 I have wept, suffered, and toiled long 
 enough. My life is a burthen to me 
 if it is to be spent away from him, 
 for whom alone I exist. You pledge 
 yourself, do you not, that with 
 heart and soul, you will join your 
 efforts with mine to detain him in 
 France?" 
 
 With a deep blush and a voice that
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 253 
 
 she vainly endeavoured to render steady, 
 Judithe answered : 
 
 " I have no doubt, madame, that the 
 ties which are about to unite me to 
 M. de Bonneval, as well as my de- 
 voted attachment to you, will not fail 
 to inspire me with a sincere affec- 
 tion for my cousin. Ever since I can 
 remember I have had such, a high 
 opinion of his merits, that it will take 
 but a short time, I am sure, to 
 awaken in my heart a still warmer 
 feeling. My wishes will, of course, be 
 in exact accordance with yours, and 
 my secret prayers continually offered up 
 for the same object, but it would not 
 accord either with my principles or 
 my inclinations to seek to influence his 
 decision on a point which must touch 
 very closely his interests or his glory, 
 if he does not concede it at once to 
 a mother to whom he owes so mucli.
 
 254 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 Believe me, madame, to detain him in 
 France, or to accompany him where- 
 ever he might go, would be the 
 dearest desire of my heart. Without 
 seeing him, I have learnt to care for 
 him. His reputation and his interests 
 have long been dear to me. How then 
 could I venture to ask him to give 
 up his glorious career, the honour of 
 defending the frontiers of Christendom 
 against the infidels, the companionship 
 of heroes, the friendship of a great 
 warrior, for a life of idleness and 
 ease? To you, madame, I acknowledge 
 it his duty, his affection, his gratitude 
 are due. You have a right to de- 
 mand such sacrifices at his hands, and 
 should you succeed in your efforts 
 and obtain them from him I confess 
 that my weak woman's heart will re- 
 joice; but for my part, if the voice 
 of honour, and his ardent love of
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 255 
 
 glory, should call him away from my 
 side, my grief will be silent, and 
 never rise up as an obstacle between 
 him and what to him is dearer than 
 life." 
 
 " And so you deliberately purpose to 
 place yourself in direct opposition to 
 my wishes ? " angrily exclaimed the mar- 
 quise, "for that is in reality the mean- 
 ing of all those fine phrases about 
 glory and honour. You decline alto- 
 gether to comply with my request ! 
 It is, I doubt not, a very agreeable 
 prospect for a young married woman 
 to remain in Paris in the full enjoy- 
 ment of her liberty, free to lead a 
 life of gaiety and pleasure. I can 
 easily imagine that it would cost 
 you an effort to renounce so agree- 
 able a vision of independence in order 
 to further a mother's less disinterested 
 anxiety not to part again with her son."
 
 256 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 Judithe remained silent. This bitter 
 sarcasm did not draw from her an in- 
 dignant repartee, nor did it even ex- 
 cite in her any inward feelings of irri- 
 tation. It gave her pain, but chiefly 
 for the sake of the person who had 
 uttered it, and whose injustice and 
 anger were evidently attributable to 
 bodily as well as mental sufiering. By 
 dint of soothing expressions and gentle 
 caresses, she gradually succeeded in 
 pacifying the marquise, and recalling her 
 to more reasonable sentiments. 
 
 They conversed together for some 
 time, and parted with mutual tender- 
 ness, but the charm and the freedom 
 of ^ their intercourse was at an end. 
 Both were aware of it ; both lamented 
 it, but there are certain conditions of 
 mind and of feeling, which, when they 
 have once gone by, can never be re- 
 newed. It would be as easy to summon
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 257 
 
 back a dream when the waking hour has 
 dissolved it, as to re-establish sympathy 
 between two persons who, having once 
 been intimate, have ceased to understand 
 each other. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 258 
 
 OBIeknt| CjHpto. 
 
 "Fame runs before him as the morning star, 
 And shouts of joy salute him from afar, 
 
 ****** 
 
 The admiring crowds are dazzled with surprise, 
 And on his goodly person feed their eyes." 
 
 Dkyden. 
 
 "Se godessi a tuo volere 
 Ogni rama, ogni piacere 
 Alia morte che sara? 
 Ogni cosa e vanity. 
 
 E se in feste, giuochi, e canti 
 Passi i giorni tutti quanti 
 Alia morte che sara? 
 Ogni cosa e vanita. 
 
 Se vivessi in questo mondo 
 Siempre lieto, ognor giocondo. 
 Alia morte che sar^ 
 Ogni cosa e vanity. 
 
 St. Philip Nbei. 
 
 A DAY or two previous to the one on 
 which it had been expected that M. de
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 259 
 
 Bonneval would return to Paris, Judithe 
 went to the theatre with Madame de 
 Gontaut. They were accompanied by the 
 Abbe de Moissac, her brother, and M. de 
 Riom, one of her cousins. Their box was 
 now filled by a number of young men of 
 fashion, who were the devoted admirers of 
 the beautiful vicomtesse. 
 
 Mademoiselle Sainval was acting that 
 evening the part of Hermione, in the 
 tragedy of "Andromache.'' Her gestures, 
 her glances, her thrilling intonations, ex- 
 pressed with wonderful power all those 
 passsions of love, hatred, and jealousy 
 which raged in the bosom of the rejected 
 bride. The audience in the pit was deeply 
 moved and excited, but in the boxes and 
 amongst the loungers on the scenes and at 
 the back of the stage there was appar- 
 ently little emotion. It is not easy to 
 elicit anything like a manifestation of feel- 
 ing or of admiration on the part of those 
 
 s2
 
 260 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 who have always lived in the chilling at- 
 mosphere of fashionable society. However, 
 when the incomparable actress pro- 
 nounced, with the deepest pathos, the 
 following lines : 
 
 "Je leur ai commande de cacher mon injure; 
 J'attendais en secret le retour d'un parjure : 
 J'ai cru que tot ou tard, a tou devoir rendu, 
 Tu me rapporterais iin coeur qui m'etait dii; 
 Je t'aimais inconstant! Qu'aurais-je fait fidele ?" ^ 
 
 A burst of applause rang through every 
 corner of the house. Judithe raised her 
 eyes, which were full of tears, and looked 
 to see from what part of the theatre 
 issued the repeated '' hravos" uttered in a 
 loud and sonorous voice, which were 
 
 ^ " I bid them conceal my wrongs, 
 
 I awaited in silence the return of the perjured one, 
 1 thought that sooner or later, obedient to duty. 
 Thou wouldst restore to me the heart which is my due. 
 I loved thee faithless ! What then, hadst thou been 
 true?"
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 261 
 
 clearly distinguishable amidst the cliorus 
 of general acclamation. They proceeded 
 from the Austrian Ambassador's box, and 
 there, leaning over the side, was an 
 officer in the imperial uniform, whom 
 she instantly recognised as her cousin, 
 her betrothed husband. She turned as 
 pale as death, and for a moment the 
 stage, the pit, and the boxes seemed to 
 swim before her eyes, as she slowly 
 murmured to herself: 
 
 "There he is. There he is." 
 
 A strange, unaccountable depression stole 
 over her spirits. It seemed as if she was 
 passing from the land of youthful dreams 
 to the awful region of life's realities. 
 The amusement of her fancy was at an 
 end. The romance so busily woven 
 through many a past year, was now to 
 give place to what a secret presentiment 
 told her would be no child's play, no 
 girlish sport, but the beginning of a long
 
 262 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 course of hopes, fears, and struggles, which 
 for one moment she instinctively shrank 
 from. 
 
 There he stands before her, the object 
 of her childish enthusiasm ! The hero of 
 so many imaginary scenes ; he whose name 
 has called such deep blushes to her 
 cheek, and made her innocent heart beat 
 with such yaried emotions ! He who is 
 henceforward to be the sole master of 
 her fate. 
 
 There are moments when we stand 
 trembling on the brink of some new 
 phase in our life, not fearmg, nor 
 grieving, nor rejoicing at the approach- 
 ing change, but struck with the irre- 
 sistible consciousness that the old things 
 of our youth have passed away, and the 
 new things of an unfathomed futurity 
 are at hand. 
 
 Silent, abstracted, motionless, she kept 
 watching that form, that face, which so
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 263 
 
 perfectly answered to the picture which 
 her imagination had so often conjured up. 
 Not a single look or gesture escaped 
 her. She heard every word of the 
 tragedy as it went on, but though the 
 sound reached her ears, their meaning did 
 not seem to reach her mind. She was 
 absent in the full sense of the expres- 
 sion. 
 
 When between the acts M. de Eiom, 
 who was sitting next to her, attempted 
 to engage her in conversation she only 
 answered by monosyllables. He turned 
 into ridicule the unhappy passion of 
 Orestes, and exclaimed, as he threw him- 
 self languishingly back in his seat : 
 
 "Would not such fidelity be reckoned 
 the height of absurdity in our days ? " 
 
 Judithe smiled, and shrugged her 
 shoulders in an evasive manner. She 
 often was obliged, in the society in which 
 she lived, to have recourse to these little
 
 264 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 subterfuges, in order to avoid expressing 
 her own opinions, generally so much at 
 variance with the tone of thought of those 
 about her. 
 
 Madame de Gontaut laughed and 
 said : 
 
 ^^ Gallant Knight of Gascony,* do not 
 
 ^ M. de Riom, one of the plainest and most un- 
 attractive persons imaginable, had inspired the 
 Duchesse de Berry with the most violent, and as 
 it proved, the most lasting passion. M. de Lauzun, 
 his uncle, used always to call him, " Ce Cadet, de 
 Gascogne." St. Simon describes him thus: "Riom 
 was a younger son of the house of Aidie; his 
 mother was Madame de Biron's sister. He was 
 neither handsome or witty; a fat, short fellow, 
 with pale, puffy cheeks. Gentle, civil, and natu- 
 rally courteous. A good, well-meaning creature." 
 
 Madame Elizabeth Charlotte de Baviere, the 
 Duchesse de Berry's grandmother, writes as follows 
 to one of her German correspondents : " I cannot 
 understand how anybody can have been in love 
 with that Riom. He has an ugly face and an 
 ugly figure, and resembles a ghost, with a Chinese
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 265 
 
 run a tilt at the god of love. It 
 would really be a piece of base ingrati- 
 tude." 
 
 The little man she thus addressed 
 laughed heartily also, and the curtain 
 
 nose and eyes. He looks more like a walking 
 pagoda than the Gascon he is. It is but too 
 true that the Duchesse de Berry was secretly 
 married to him. It is the only thing that could 
 console me for her death. Not but that he is of 
 a good family ; the Due de Lauzun is his uncle, 
 and M. de Biron his first cousin. But that of 
 course did not entitle him to so great an honour." 
 This mesalliance must have indeed shocked Madame, 
 who, as St. Simon relates, boxed her son's ears 
 before the assembled court, after he had consented, 
 reluctantly enough too, to marry Mademoiselle de 
 Blais, and who, as she herself records in her 
 correspondence, literally scolded to death an unfor- 
 tunate German young lady who had assumed the 
 title of Countess Palatine. The King, Louis the 
 Fourteenth, said to her on that occasion : " To in- 
 terfere with your family titles is, it appears, a 
 matter of life and death." She coolly replied, "I 
 hate lies and liars."
 
 266 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 
 
 drew up for the fourth act of the 
 tragedy. Before its conclusion the door 
 of one of the opposite boxes was thrown 
 open, and the Due de Lauzun took his 
 accustomed place on the side nearest the 
 stage. He was soon joined by the Due de 
 St. Simon, whose opera-glass was immediately 
 directed in succession to every part of 
 the theatre. As he turned it towards 
 the Austrian Ambassador's box he gave a 
 start, which did not escape Judithe's at- 
 tention, and then stretching across the 
 young de Gevres, who was sitting be- 
 tween them, he hastily whispered some- 
 thing to M. de Lauzun. 
 
 The duke half rose from his chair, 
 and in an excited manner despatched his 
 grandson on some errand, the result of 
 which he seemed impatiently to await. 
 In the meantime the Due de St. Simon 
 disappeared, and a moment afterwards en-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 267 
 
 tered Madame de Gontaut's box. She re- 
 ceived him with her most gracious smiles, 
 but not so Judithe, who coldly bowed her 
 head and turned away. She had a very 
 great dislike to this eminent man, a dis- 
 like that almost amounted to aversion. It 
 will be acknowledged, perhaps, even by 
 his warmest admirers, that great as were 
 his merits and virtues, especially as con- 
 trasted with the general immorality of 
 the age in which he lived, there was 
 that also in his character and tone of 
 mind which must have been peculiarly 
 trying to the generous and the tender- 
 hearted. Something that accounted for, if it 
 did not justify, the feelings with which 
 Mademoiselle de Gontaut, for instance, re- 
 garded him, even before any private rea- 
 sons had added to her dislike. The 
 bitterness of his animosities, the cool in- 
 solence of his pride, varnished over by a
 
 268 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 studied politeness and a rigorous adher- 
 ence to etiquette, had always aroused 
 her indignation, and now that to the cata- 
 logue of his offences was added the 
 heinous one in her eyes, of having in the 
 Council of Eegency, almost single-handed, 
 opposed M. de BonnevaFs return, she 
 found it difficult to feel in charity with 
 him. 
 
 ^^ Never," observed the duke, as he sat 
 down by Madame de Gontaut, '' never 
 have I had occasion to witness so joyful 
 a surprise as M. de Lauzun's at the sight 
 of a nephew so long in disgrace, and now 
 so strangely whitewashed. His transports 
 were so great that I could not choose but 
 see his grace in a new character. I protest 
 that he reminded me of the father of the 
 prodigal son. Indeed the parallel will be 
 complete ; the welcome, the feast, the 
 ring/' he added, with a marked emphasis
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 269 
 
 and a glance at Mademoiselle de Gon- 
 taut's averted face. 
 
 She whispered to her brother, but loud 
 enough for the duke to hear : 
 
 '^ I had always supposed that the 
 Jansenists prided themselves on their pe- 
 culiar respect for the Scriptures," 
 
 "You do not mean to say that M. de 
 Bonneval is here ? " cried Madame de 
 Gontaut, with vivacity. 
 
 "I have just given up to him my 
 place in M. de Lauzun's box, madame,'' 
 the duke replied, " and he is, as you may 
 see yourself, at this moment receiving the 
 duke's embraces. He is, upon my word, 
 a very fortunate person to find himself 
 thus welcomed in a place where to see 
 a Frenchman in an Austrian uniform is 
 a prodigious novelty, and in my humble 
 opinion one not in over good taste." 
 
 A fortnight before Judithe would per-
 
 270 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 have ventured to break a lance 
 with the old duke in her cousin's be- 
 half, but now she felt quite unable to ven- 
 ture upon his defence, her eyes, however, 
 with mute eloquence entreated Madame 
 de Gontaut to take up his case in her 
 stead, and the beautiful Adelaide, smiling 
 behind the fan with which she half 
 covered her face, looked at M. de St. 
 Simon in a half-mischievous, half-deprecat- 
 ing manner, which seemed at once to pave 
 the way for and to apologise for any 
 little gentle impertinence she might be 
 about to utter, and said : 
 
 "Why are you so severe on our cousin 
 de Bonneval, my lord duke? Has he 
 by any chance laid claim to the remotest 
 reversion of a ducal peerage, or may we 
 suppose you by the strangest accident in 
 the world, to be a little out of temper 
 to-night ? " 
 
 The duke bowed and replied :
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 271 
 
 " You attack me, charming vicomtesse, 
 on a subject with regard to which my 
 respect for your family compels me to be 
 silent. I should be far more concerned at 
 the accusation you bring against me if I 
 were not ready to plead guilty to the 
 charge. There are certain persons whom I 
 feel it difficult to speak of with becoming 
 moderation, and my spleen is strangely 
 moved by what I have witnessed this 
 evening. I own myself subject to strong 
 likings and dislikings, nor would I care 
 for the friendship of a man whom nothing 
 could rouse to hatred." 
 
 ^^ I am quite of your opinion, my lord," 
 Judithe exclaimed, for she fancied in her 
 simplicity that her gentle antipathies and 
 childish animosities were of the same 
 nature with the bitter and sometimes 
 savage malignity of the man who, as in 
 the instance of the Due du Maine, could 
 insult misfortune in the name of virtue.
 
 272 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 Madame de Gontaut and all those 
 about her kept thek eyes fixed on the 
 opposite box, full of curiosity to see the 
 person who was at that moment exciting 
 such general interest. For several months 
 past he had been a subject of discussion in 
 the salons and the public promenades of Paris, 
 and now that his striking and preposses- 
 sing appearance so well answered to the 
 reputation which he had acquired there 
 was a sudden and nearly universal impres- 
 sion in his favour. 
 
 "I have been told/' M. de Eiom said, 
 '' that the formalities M. de Bonneval 
 had to go through to-day were turned 
 almost into an ovation, so great was the 
 crowd assembled on the occasion and the 
 cheers of the mob when he came out. 
 Even the judges treated him with marked 
 civility, and ordered a velvet cushion to 
 be placed on the criminal's bench where he 
 had to take his seat for a few instants."
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 273 
 
 " Ah ! that is just like those con- 
 ceited and cringing lawyers," observed M. 
 de St. Simon. ^Turse-proud as they may 
 be, we always see them fawning upon a 
 title, and licking the shoes of a noble- 
 man." 
 
 Again the curtain drew up for the last 
 act of the tragedy, and the conversation 
 was interrupted. Once Judithe fancied 
 that the Due de Lauzun was directing 
 towards her M. de Bonneval's attention, 
 and her heart beat almost to suffocation. 
 Once more she heard the sound of his 
 voice as a fresh trait of genius in the 
 gifted actress drew from him an admiring 
 exclamation. And then the piece came to 
 an end, and M. de Eiom offered her his 
 arm to descend the great staircase of the 
 theatre. Her eyes timidly wandered 
 in search of her uncle, but he was 
 standing at some distance behind her, and 
 she could not see him. He had pointed 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 her out to M. de Bonne val, who was look- 
 ing at her with more curiosity than in- 
 terest. 
 
 When they were seated in the carriage 
 Madame de Gontaut threw her arm 
 round Judithe's neck, and half-playfully, 
 half-earnestly, said : 
 
 "My dear child you will be married 
 to the handsomest and most captivating 
 man in France. As you value your 
 happiness do not fall in love with him, 
 for if you do, take my word for it, 
 you will be the most wretched creature 
 in the world." 
 
 " And if I do not love him, dear sister, 
 shall I be the happier for it ? '' 
 
 " Of course you will, my dear. Are 
 there not a thousand fascinating little en- 
 joyments in life, far preferable to a huge 
 unwieldy happiness, questionable while it 
 lasts, and which leaves nothing behind it 
 but tears and regrets. Believe me, little
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 275 
 
 sister, a very reasonable, unimpassioned 
 sort of regard is the best material to 
 begin married life upon. Ah ! me ! if 
 I had been so foolish as to fall in love 
 with M. de Gontaut, what would have 
 become of me by this time? I should 
 be crying my eyes out, dying of 
 jealousy — " 
 
 " And as it is ? " Judithe sorrowfully 
 said. 
 
 " Oh ! as it is I am as happy as 
 a queen ; I amuse myself excellently 
 well. I spend my time just as I 
 please. To be sure I have sometimes 
 to endure the sharp remarks of M. le 
 Due de Lauzun, which would be twice 
 as severe if I did not happen to be 
 my grandfather's granddaughter.* Have 
 
 * Lauzun was always falling upon everybody 
 with the most keen and overwhelming sarcasms, 
 and all the time maintaining an appearance of 
 gentleness. The ministers, the generals, the people 
 
 t2
 
 276 THE COUNTESS DE BONNE VAL. 
 
 you not heard that I am called one 
 of the wild ones of the Court. I 
 assure you that I quite glory in the 
 name." 
 
 '^ Well, but later — what is it all to end 
 in?" 
 
 ^^What do you mean, my dear? I do 
 not understand you." 
 
 " I was thinking," Judithe said, " of a 
 story which M. de Cambray was relat- 
 ing to us the other day at the Duchesse 
 de Beauvilliers. It was about a saint 
 who brought about a conversion simply 
 
 in favour at Court and their families he unmercifully- 
 assailed. He had usurped a sort of privilege to 
 say and to do anything he pleased, without allow- 
 ing others the right to resent it, the Gramonts 
 alone excepted. He never forgot the hospitality 
 they had shown him at the outset of his life. 
 He loved them, interested himself about their 
 affairs, and never treated them disrespectfully. — St, 
 Simon^s Memoirs.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 277 
 
 by the repetition of those two words, 
 'and then/''^ 
 
 **Are you intending to effect mine, my 
 dear?" 
 
 "I only meant that a little meditation 
 on those two words might carry you very 
 far towards it perhaps." 
 
 " Why, in the name of fortune, what 
 next, my dear Judithe ? You visit at 
 the Duchesse de Beauvilliers ! You con- 
 verse with M. de Cambray ! He tells 
 you little edifying stories. I see it all at 
 a glance. You are actually going to 
 turn out a saint ! Really you have chosen 
 a peculiar time for your conversion. You 
 had better consult your intended husband 
 on that subject. It will be quite in his 
 line ! " 
 
 *^ Laugh as much as you please, my 
 dear sister ; you know very well that I 
 
 ^ E poU—St. Philip Neri.
 
 278 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 am not given to preaching, that I leave 
 everyone to act as their conscience sug- 
 gests. But do not be displeased with me 
 for quoting M. de Cambray's story. It 
 struck me very much at the time, and 
 I could not help reverting to it just 
 now." 
 
 ^^ My dear little Judithe/' exclaimed 
 her sister-in-law, '^ you are the dearest 
 and most sensible girl in the world, and 
 I know that your patience with the 
 foolish and with the wicked is inexhaus- 
 tible. I reckon myself amongst the first; 
 not, I trust, amongst the last. Not at 
 present, at least ; and who knows ? 
 perhaps the day may come when I 
 shall call to mind your saint and his 
 two words." 
 
 Judithe affectionately embraced her sis- 
 ter-in-law, and took leave of her at the 
 door of her apartments. Then retiring 
 to her own room, she sat up for a long
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 279 
 
 time, engrossed by her thoughts ; living 
 over the past ; picturing to herself the 
 future. It was a satisfaction to her to 
 feel that the past, the present, and the 
 future were henceforward connected to- 
 gether by one single interest, which 
 had unconsciously sprung up in her 
 heart in the days of her infancy, 
 and which she now foresaw would 
 only cease with her life. She had a 
 dim presentiment that suffering was 
 awaiting her, but sufferings foreseen in 
 such moments have not much power 
 to alarm ; they present nothing very 
 terrible to the imagination. Past sor- 
 rows, and sorrows to come, especially 
 if connected with the object which is 
 dearest to our hearts, have a sort 
 of sweetness when viewed from afar. 
 They are seen in a softened light. 
 The thorns that so cruelly wound us 
 at the time do not show at a dis-
 
 280 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 tance. They hare been trodden down 
 in the one case, in the other they 
 are concealed from our sight by a pro- 
 vidential haze.
 
 281 
 
 Cfoelftlj Cljapttr. 
 
 " He that's famous 
 Tor honourable actions in the Avar 
 As you are, Antonius, a proved soldier, 
 Is fellow to a king." 
 
 Massikgbb. 
 
 How some men creep in skittish fortune's halls, 
 While others play the idiots in her eyes." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 " Men, like butterflies, 
 Show not their mealy wings but to the summer." 
 
 Shakespearb. 
 
 On tlie eth of February, 1716, Made- 
 moiselle de Gontaut was with her mother
 
 282 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 in her private sitting-room, awaiting the 
 moment when the Marquis de Biron was 
 to present to her as her future husband 
 that stranger whose name and image 
 had been so long familiar to her thoughts, 
 the master whose sway her heart had from 
 infancy acknowledged. 
 
 When her father entered, accompanied 
 by M. de Bonneval, it seemed so 
 strange to her to feel the dream of 
 her life thus accomplished, that she 
 could hardly believe in the reality of 
 the scene she was going through. 
 
 ^' Here is your cousin," M. de Biron 
 said, as he introduced the Comte de 
 Bonneval, ^^ here is your cousin, whose 
 return fills us with joy. He wishes to 
 be permitted to kiss your hand, and 
 you will I know be happy to welcome 
 him to this . house as a friend for whom 
 we feel the sincerest regard, and whose
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 283 
 
 extraordinary merit reflects honour upon 
 us all." 
 
 The joy that the marquis thus ex- 
 pressed was no copy of his countenance. 
 He was truly delighted at the way in 
 which M. de Bonneval had been received 
 in Paris/ Nothing could have gratified 
 him more than to marry his daughter to 
 a man so much the fashion, and so well 
 qualified to succeed in the world, now 
 that, as he trusted, he had sown his 
 wild oats. 
 
 As to Judithe, she was perfectly com- 
 posed, only a shade paler than usual. 
 When the Comte de Bonneval bent down 
 to kiss her hand a little tremulous sigh 
 escaped her, but she said, in her usual 
 clear voice : 
 
 " God be praised, my dear cousin, that 
 
 ^ Bonneval saw the King, the Regent, everybody. 
 — St. Simon's Memoirs.
 
 284 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 you have returned in safety, and that 
 your mother has lived to see this joyful 
 event." 
 
 "It is very kind of you, my 
 cousin," M. de Bonneval answered, with 
 a frank and winning smile, " to call my 
 return a happy event. At my advanced 
 age and after so long an absence, I cannot 
 expect to be welcomed by any but a few 
 old friends." 
 
 " Ah ! my cousin," Judithe exclaimed, 
 with a deep blush, " when a man's 
 fame has kept pace with his years, he 
 cannot be said to grow old. He has 
 at least nothing to regret in the lapse 
 of time." 
 
 The count acknowledged the compli- 
 ment by a graceful inclination of the 
 head, and went on to speak, in an 
 agreeable manner, of his feelings of 
 astonishment and satisfaction in finding
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 285 
 
 himself once more in the midst of his 
 relatives and friends. 
 
 " I had so entirely renounced every 
 hope of a return to France that I 
 am often tempted to cry out like the 
 Doge of Genoa when my friends are 
 urging me to admire the great changes 
 that have taken place during my absence, 
 * To me the most wonderful thing in Paris 
 is to find myself in it.' " 
 
 There was a singular charm in M. 
 de Bonneval's open and animated coun- 
 tenance, something cordial and winning 
 in his manners, and in his conversa- 
 tion a pleasing originality, a gift of 
 humour, which did not consist so much 
 in a series of hon motSj nor exactly 
 in repartee or witty observations, but 
 in a certain playfulness of mind and 
 felicity of language, which was irre- 
 sistibly amusing, and pecuhar to him-
 
 286 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 self. On no subject, grave or gay, 
 would it have occurred to others to 
 say the sort of things which he did, 
 and yet there was never anything 
 forced or out of the way in his re- 
 marks. 
 
 Not one of his looks, not one 
 of his words, on that first day 
 of their acquaintance, was lost upon 
 Judithe. She kept note of his every 
 gesture, ^^ she catalogued his smiles.'^ 
 Like Helen, ^'she drew on the tablet 
 of her heart every line and trick of 
 that sweet favour " which her idola- 
 trous fancy was henceforward to feed 
 on. There were the arched brows, 
 the eagle eye, the well-formed mouth, 
 which she had so often gazed at 
 in that banished picture, which had 
 now been restored to an honourable 
 position in the principal salon of
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 287 
 
 the Hotel de Biron. The bright 
 smile that suddenly lighted up those 
 stern and slightly bronzed features ; 
 the sound of a voice which, though 
 loud, was melodious, were in keep- 
 ing with her expectations, and realised 
 her previsions. The bewitching gaiety 
 of M. de Bonneval's manner was 
 irresistible; and his young cousin felt 
 its influence. She was doubtless happy 
 on that day ; it was inscribed in 
 bright characters in her book of 
 memory. Few of its subsequent pages 
 bore so fair a record. When the 
 visit was over, and her mother and 
 she were left together, Judithe seized 
 her hand and kissed it. 
 
 '^ You think your cousin pleasing, I 
 see," Madame de Biron said, with a 
 smile. She had understood the mean- 
 ing of that little spontaneous burst of
 
 288 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEYAL. 
 
 feeling in lier quiet and reserved 
 daughter. 
 
 Judithe answered only by a similar 
 smile, and bent her head down on a 
 large nosegay of violets, which M. de 
 Bonrepos had sent her that morning, 
 for the 7th of February happened to 
 be her birthday. Some rather pretty 
 verses accompanied these flowers. Love 
 and jealousy were playfully hinted at in 
 terms which revealed perhaps a deeper 
 feeling than at first sight seemed in- 
 tended. On the whole Judithe was 
 gratified with the delicate homage of 
 her old and faithful admirer. It was 
 easy enough for her to feel pleased at 
 that moment. Her betrothed husband 
 had smiled upon her, and all the 
 world was gay. 
 
 '^Perhaps M. de Bonneval may one 
 day see these lines," she said to herself, as
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 289 
 
 she folded the paper and put it up in her desk. 
 
 All her vanity, all her ambition, are cen- 
 tered in that thought. To attract his atten- 
 tion for one instant, to win from him some 
 slight token of notice and of kindness, is 
 henceforward to be her only object, her only 
 study, her coveted reward. Alas ! it is a 
 mournful sight to see the pure incense of a 
 young and genuine affection offered up to a 
 worthless idol ; the homage of a noble heart 
 paid at the shrine of a false divinity ! 
 
 In looks, in character, and in manners, 
 M. de Bonne val was singularly well fitted 
 to shine in that society which had hailed 
 with acclamation his return to Paris, and 
 which now made him the object of its hero- 
 worship. ^ The new Hercules, as Jean 
 
 ^ The tide of public opinion was running high 
 in his favour. There was a unanimous burst of 
 popular enthusiasm. Tall, handsome, with an 
 open and soldier-like countenance, an eye of fire, 
 a majestic bearing, his hair dressed in a peculiar 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 Baptiste Eousseau had named him, the 
 handsome Hercules, as the Parisian ladies 
 now called him, was followed in the 
 streets by admiring crowds, surrounded 
 in the places of public amusement, 
 invited to the most brilliant parties at 
 Court and in town. His presence was 
 everywhere sought after with the most 
 flattering empressement. His former 
 enemies, men who at one time had 
 heaped upon him the most opprobrious 
 epithets, now followed in the wake of 
 his triumph, and were foremost in proffer- 
 ing to him what they called their friend- 
 ship. The ready pens of the poets of 
 the day, the haunters of salons, the 
 
 manner, like King Charles the Twelfth, wherever 
 he went every eye was fixed upon him. When, 
 in addition, we consider that he was eloquent, 
 winning in manner, free and witty in conversa- 
 tion, there is enough to account for his having 
 been the favourite and the hero of Parisian 
 society in 1717. — Sainte Beuve's Causeries du Lundi.
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 291 
 
 geniuses of the ruelles,^ wrote verses in honour 
 of the hero of Peterwaradin. The Regent was 
 charmed with his witticisms, his convivial 
 improvisations, his continual flow of 
 unchastened humour. At the orgies of 
 the Palais Eoyal, or at the literary soirees 
 of Madame de Lambert, at Sceaux, or at 
 the Luxembourg, he was an equally welcome 
 guest. He carried everything before him by 
 means of that powerful influence which wit can 
 obtain, audacity secure, and fashion consecrate 
 It was not very often that he found time 
 to visit his betrothed ; when he did pay her 
 any attentions the fascination that he exercised 
 on all those who approached him could not 
 fail of its effect on one whose every 
 feeling was biassed in his favour, who now 
 had learnt to love not his name only as 
 heretofore, but who, under the plea of 
 
 ^ A ruelle was the narrow space between the bed and 
 the walls in the old-fashioned alcoves, in which the 
 French ladies used to receive their friends. 
 
 u2
 
 292 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 duty, had yielded up to him, without re- 
 serve, the full affections of her young heart. 
 
 She was now beginning to experience all 
 those vicissitudes of hope and fear which 
 belong to a timid attachment uncertain of 
 a return. 
 
 The April sky is not more liable to 
 alternations of cloud and sunshine than the 
 frame of mind of one who, like Judithe, 
 has staked all her happiness on the love 
 of a man who owns no guide but his fancy, 
 no rule but his passions. 
 
 Carried along by the full tide of fashionable 
 life, M. de Bonneval did not always bear in 
 mind that he was engaged to be married. 
 Indeed at times he began to question whether 
 he was actually bound to fulfil the engagement 
 which had been entered upon in his name. 
 It was not that he thought his young bride 
 otherwise than pleasing and attractive. If 
 compelled to go through such a tiresome 
 ceremony he was quite as willing to marry
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 293 
 
 Mademoiselle de Gontaut as any other 
 young lady he had ever seen, except 
 in so much that he perhaps felt at 
 the bottom of his heart that it would 
 be easier to dispense with all pretence 
 of conjugal duty and affection with 
 regard to a person endowed with less 
 beauty and merit, or who would have 
 appeared less favourably disposed towards 
 himself. He assured his mother that 
 there could not be a greater piece of 
 folly than to burthen him with a wife. ^ 
 Sometimes he threatened to set off for 
 Vienna at once, and leave the whole 
 matter in abeyance, trusting to the chap- 
 
 * He (Bonneval) was so little inclined to marry 
 that he said to his brother and to his sister-in- 
 law when he paid them a visit in the country : 
 " It is my mother's hobby to see me married. 
 If she persists in it I really think I shall dis- 
 pense with farewells and take myself oflf to Ger- 
 many previously to the appointed day." — Memoirs 
 of the Prince de Ligne.
 
 294 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 ter of accidents, and more especially to 
 his prolonged absence to bring it to 
 an end. The marquise objected that her 
 word had been pledged in his behalf, 
 and that his marriage with Mademoiselle 
 de Gontaut having been made one of 
 the conditions of his return to Paris, 
 he could not possibly, as a man of 
 honour, withdraw from that engagement. 
 When thus urged on the subject, he quietly 
 shrugged his shoulders and uttered a "So 
 be it then," with a kind of mock resignation 
 which struck a chill into her heart. 
 
 She anxiously inquired if he did not like 
 Mademoiselle de Gontaut. If he had any fault 
 to find with her looks or her manners. 
 
 " On the contrary," he replied ; " she 
 seems to be a very charming person, 
 but marriage is not in my line, and 
 I pity the poor young lady, especially 
 if she should be so unlucky as to take 
 a fancy to me."
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 295 
 
 The marquise with difficulty restrained 
 the expression of her anger. She 
 scarcely knew how to meet this cool 
 way of viewing the matter, and she 
 trembled for the success of her deep 
 laid scheme. A secret dread came over 
 her lest what she had so ardently desired 
 should prove a stumbling block to her 
 wishes, rather than an assistance in carry- 
 ing them out. When she thought of 
 the fatal facility with which he could 
 break through every tie, and dis- 
 pense with every duty, she foresaw 
 how weak would be the chain with 
 which she had sought to bind him. 
 Vainly she tried to win or force 
 from him a promise to give up 
 foreign service, and to remain in 
 France during the rest of her life. 
 He always evaded the question, amused 
 her with fair words, or, wearied with 
 her importunities, gave a point-blank
 
 296 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 refusal. His visits to her grew shorter, 
 and were paid at longer intervals. She 
 sank again into her accustomed solitary- 
 mode of life. She was again alone with 
 her sorrow, and the hope of other days 
 had grown flickering and dim. There was 
 as much to fear as heretofore, and less to 
 look forward to. 
 
 When M. de Bonneval paid his 
 respects at the Hotel de Biron, and, 
 as in duty bound, occasionally ad- 
 dressed his conversation to his bride, 
 the manner with which she received 
 his attentions gracefully combined the 
 homage which she paid to him as a 
 hero, and the flattering interest which 
 she betrayed in everything that con- 
 cerned him. He had been worshipped 
 by women, flattered by men, but 
 never had so pure a heart throbbed 
 at his apJDroach, or such innocent 
 blushes been called forth by his pre-
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 297 
 
 sence. Never had he before been 
 esteemed by one whom he could not 
 but esteem himself; and though he 
 felt that it was a mistake on her 
 part to respect him as she did, it 
 nevertheless gratified him to be an 
 object of admiration to a high-minded 
 and warm-hearted woman. It led 
 
 him, unconsciously perhaps, to display 
 before her qualities which served to 
 keep up her illusions, and to be to 
 all appearance the true hero she 
 deemed him. The cynical spirit, the 
 daring impiety, which too often marked 
 his conversation, were never evinced 
 in her company. When, with all the 
 ardent sympathy of her nature, she 
 listened to his descriptions of the stir- 
 ring scenes in which he had been 
 engaged, the chivalrous element which 
 doubtless existed in that extraordinary 
 man's character was awakened by the
 
 298 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 contagious influence of her enthusiasm, 
 ingenuously revealed by a starting 
 tear, or a flushing smile. It was 
 quite a new amusement to him, by 
 the power of his eloquence and the 
 charm of his picturesque language, to 
 work upon the quick feelings, to excite 
 the interest, and rouse the emotions of a 
 heart whose deep sensibility responded 
 to the least touch, and was far too 
 pure, too good, and too tender for 
 the common intercourse of worldly 
 society. He was pleased, almost in 
 spite of himself, at her intense ap- 
 preciation of military glory, and would 
 laughingly exclaim that his bride was 
 quite a little Bayard in petticoats. 
 His mother, on the contrary, was indig- 
 nant that Judithe so ill seconded, as 
 she supposed, her earnest desire that 
 her son should abandon his present 
 position in the Emperor's army, and
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 299 
 
 by her ridiculous flatteries, as she 
 termed the poor girFs involuntary sym- 
 pathy with his successes and wishes, 
 encourage his absurd mania for knight- 
 errantry, which would only end in 
 his ruin and in her despair. Her 
 temper grew every day more bitter, 
 and she could never see her son or 
 Judithe without addressing to them 
 the most cutting reproaches. Her 
 
 health too was rapidly impaired by 
 this perpetual conflict with others and 
 with herself. 
 
 The epoch fixed for the marriage 
 was not now far distant. M. de 
 Bonneval was often absent from Paris, 
 and paid visits of several days to his 
 brother and other friends in the 
 country. On these occasions the mar- 
 quise vented her displeasure by harsh and 
 scornful words purposely dropped in Judithe's 
 hearing; sometimes plainly hinting to
 
 300 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 her that she had made no way 
 in her son's affections, that she had 
 failed in obtaining, and probably 
 would never obtain, any influence 
 over him ; that her own hopes and 
 expectations were in consequence dis- 
 appointed. Judithe, though cut to 
 the heart by these remarks, always 
 answered them with gentleness. 
 
 "Did you ever suppose," she one 
 day said, " that he would at once 
 become attached to me? Surely it 
 requires both time and patience to 
 win a heart already possessed by a 
 love of pleasure and a passion for 
 glory. Alas ! I see it but too plainly ! 
 I must needs love him long and well 
 before I can expect that he will love me 
 in return. And then I am not, perhaps, 
 acquainted with the arts that subdue at 
 once a man's heart. ^ I have not cun- 
 ning to be strange,' as the English Juliet
 
 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 301 
 
 says, ^ but surely a wife's patient and devoted 
 affection is, in the end, the surest means 
 of winning a noble-hearted husband's love." 
 
 This angelic sweetness would have dis- 
 armed a sterner spirit than that of the 
 Marquise de Bonneval, who, when not agitated 
 by passion, easily did justice to the virtues 
 of her son's intended bride. She would fold 
 her in her arms, weep bitterly, and exclaim : 
 
 ^^But how can you endure the thoughts 
 of his going back to Hungary? That 
 is what I cannot understand." 
 
 ^^ I wish him to feel," Judithe re- 
 plied, ^^ that I have never voluntarily 
 stood in the way of his interest, his 
 reputation, or his happiness. If I 
 could flatter myself that the sight of 
 my grief would give him pain I would 
 part with him without shedding a tear, 
 
 '"But trust rae gentleman, I'll prove more true 
 Than those who have more cunning to be strange.'* 
 
 Romeo and Juliet.
 
 302 THE COUNTESS DE BONNEVAL. 
 
 even though my heart should break 
 the next moment. There are persons 
 in the world that do not seem made 
 to suffer, and others whose vocation 
 it is to stand between them and sor- 
 row. I really believe that I would 
 willingly cut off my hand if it was 
 to make him happy, or to save him 
 from suffering. '^ 
 
 ^^That is sheer idolatry/' Madame de 
 Bonneval impatiently exclaimed. 
 
 And she was right; nevertheless 
 there was something more touching in 
 that self-sacrificing love, misplaced and 
 mistaken as it was, than in her own 
 morbid and selfish affection. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 R. BORN, PRINTER, GLOUCESTER STREET, CAMDEN TOWN.
 
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 LODGE'S PEERAGE AND BARONETAGE 
 
 LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS. 
 
 Historical "View of the Peerage. 
 Parliamentary Roll of the House of 
 
 Lords. 
 English, Scotch, and Irish Peers, in 
 
 their orders of Precedence. 
 Alphabetical List of Peers of Great 
 
 Britain and the United Kingdom, 
 
 holding superior rank in the Scotch 
 
 or Irish Peerage. 
 Alphabetical List of Scotch and Irish 
 
 Peers, holding superior titles in the 
 
 Peerage of Great Britain and the 
 
 United Kingdom. 
 A Collective List of Peers, in their 
 
 order of Precedence. 
 Table of Precedency among Men. 
 Table of Precedency among Women. 
 The Queen and Royal Family. 
 The House of Saxe Coburg-Gotha. 
 Peers of the Blood Royal. 
 The Peerage, alphabetically arranged. 
 Families of such Extinct Peers as have 
 
 left Widows or Issue. 
 Alphabetical List of the Surnames of 
 
 all the Peers. 
 
 Account of the Archbishops and 
 Bishops of England, Ireland, and 
 the Colonies. 
 
 The Baronetage, alphabetically ar- 
 ranged. 
 
 Alphabetical List of Surnames as- 
 sumed by members of Noble 
 Families. 
 
 Alphabetical List of the Second 
 Titles of Peers, usually borne by 
 their Eldest Sons. 
 
 Alphabetical Index to the Daughters 
 of Dukes, Marquises, and Earls, 
 who, having married Commoners, 
 retain the title of Lady before their 
 own Christian and their Husbands' 
 Surnames. 
 
 Alphabetical Index to the Daugh- 
 ters of Viscounts and Barons, who, 
 having married Commoners, are 
 styled Honourable Mrs ; and, in case 
 of the husband being a Baronet or 
 Knight, Honourable Lady. 
 
 Mottoes alphabetically arranged and 
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