So we two to our coach, the landlord bowing us out very officiously, and as soon as we were there, my wife fell a-weeping, to my much surprise. And I asking her what ailed her, she told me ’twas for Madam Heliodora that she wept.
“She is an angel,” says Dorothy, drying her eyes, though uselessly, “and she should by rights be dwelling in a palace, with all conveniences and luxuries secured to her. But she must needs wear a sorry camlet gown, and the lace of her ruffles all mended and darned. Yes, Ned, I saw ’em, though it han’t caught your eye. And she hath suffered such a quantity of misfortunes, with my lord in prison and sick, and near all their goods confiscate! And then, her babe died in Paris, so as she can’t even weep over its grave—think of that, Ned. Think if it had been our little Hal or Bob. Poor, poor lady!”
I did my best to comfort her, though indeed my own eyes wan’t free from tears, and asked her what it was that had brought so much sorrow upon our friends. But this she could not tell me particularly, and we resolved therefore to ask a full relation from their servant that was to be sent to fetch the cordial water. And he coming when we were gat home, we had him up, and found him a very honest fellow and a Hugonot, Andrew by name, and asked him of his master’s history since I had last beheld him.
“Sir and madam,” saith he in answer, “I’ll tell your honours what I can. You must know that when that evil deed was done of revoking the Edict, there was a permission granted to the Reformed to remain unmolested until they might convert, provided only that they did not exercise their worship in public, and my lord, confiding in the king’s honour, thought well to avail himself of this delay, at any rate until the spring. My lord’s estate is situate in a very remote part of the province, and we were left in peace all the winter. In the month of March was born the young lord, the heir that my lord and lady had so long desired, and it so chanced that just at that time my lord did give shelter in the castle to one of our pastors that was fleeing from the persecutors. This he did not tell to my lady, fearing to trouble her; but he had been wiser to do’t, for she suspected certain spies among the Popish servants, and would have warned him against ’em. But he suspected naught until there come a warning from one in authority that was friendly to my lord, bidding him beware, for that a troop of dragoons was about to be despatched against him. Now when my lady learned this she was very urgent with him to start immediately for the Swiss border. And she being so instant, the coach was had round and loaded with luggage, but my lord going into the village to bid farewell to his old nurse (that was of the Religion, like ourselves), the dragoons came upon us while he was away. And my lady receiving ’em with great civility (they not caring to hurt her, who was commonly reported to be yet a strong Papist), sent a boy into the village to bid my lord take a horse thence, and ride at once to the frontier. But my lady having no time to choose her messenger, she lit upon one that was scarce better than a fool, and he finding my lord, cried out to him in a prodigious terror that the castle was in the hands of the dragoons, and that my lady was keeping ’em in talk until he should escape. But he, not knowing that the commandant of the troop was an ancient comrade of his, and the one that had sent him warning of their coming (as afterwards appeared), would not hear of leaving my lady to their mercy, but returned at once, and was took prisoner.”
“Ah, noble heart!” cried I. “But prythee continue, Andrew.”
“My lady was permitted,” said Andrew, “to bear him company as far as to Thoulouse, and she was present through his trial, engaging in his defence the best advocates that might be obtained, and instructing ’em herself in their pleadings. But ’twas of no avail, as indeed it must in any case have been, unless some chance quibble in the law had turned to my lord’s advantage, as was little like to happen, and my lady, standing in the court, heard him sentenced to the galleys for his life, his preparations to escape being made much of against him, since they had found the coach ready loaded for to carry him to the Swiss border. My lady remained very firm and steadfast through it all, but their parting was so pitiful that even the officer that saw’t was moved at the sight, and Mary the nurse, that was suffered to bring the babe for his father to see, could never speak on’t without tears. But when my lord was carried to the city of Toulon, whither they would not suffer my lady to accompany him, she did set out at once for Paris, travelling almost night and day, and there besieged the king for at least a mitigation of his sentence. So instant was she in her entreaties as at last King Lewis was moved to cry out, Remove from me this Mad. de Galampré! She wearies my sight; and one of his councillors, whether impelled by kindness, or by the remembering that parable touching the Unjust Judge, advised that my lord’s sentence should be changed into imprisonment for life in one of the king’s fortresses. And this they did, so as my lady returned from Paris with that small grace, but leaving behind her her babe, that had fell sick and died in the city.”
“Alas, poor soul!” cried Dorothy. “Sure now she was desolate indeed, to have lost this also.”
“My lady turned her steps to Toulon,” went on Andrew, “and coming thither, was granted the favour to inform my lord her own self of the change in his sentence, when it fell to me to attend her to the dock-gates, that we might see pass us the galley-slaves on their return from a voyage. I won’t shock your ears, sir and madam, with the recital of the horrors we beheld that day, when we saw file after file of grey-clad slaves pass us, with here and there among ’em one of those scarlet doublets that proclaim the wearer to be, as we call it, a felon for the faith’s sake.[140] I could never have recognised my lord again, but my lady knew him the instant he came near, and thrust aside the soldiers, and threw herself upon him with tears of joy, knowing him in spite of his mean dress and his close-cropped hair, and the changes that his imprisonment had wrought. For you must know that the felons for the faith’s sake are worse entreated than any of their fellows, and their foul and heavy durance made harder than it need be, so as they die faster than the rest, but so many are the condemned that suffer for the Religion that the numbers are never too few. Then they took my lord out of that living death, where he had found the blasphemings and wickedness of the malefactors he was chained withal worse than any of the rest, but had supported it with meekness as his Master did, for his Master’s sake.”
“And sure his Master will reward him for’t!” cried Dorothy, the tears standing in her eyes.
“And before they took my lord to that fortress where he should be kept,” says Andrew, “they did tempt him with great promises to recant his faith (for the king, knowing his skill and training, desired much to confer upon him a place in his army, such as had made him rich and great at once), but he refused to listen to ’em, and even had he been otherwise minded, my lady had kept him firm. Act as your conscience bids you, sir (says she): if you can endure the sufferings that must follow, sure I can endure ’em for you, and so upheld him until their parting with such nobleness and constancy as made the Papists ’emselves wonder. And even when he departed to his imprisonment, she would not consent to yield him up altogether, but followed him, and hired a lodging for herself in a high house, whence she might enjoy a view of a certain gallery in the prison. Here, by the kindness of the commandant of the place, my lord was allowed to walk for a few minutes in every day, and thus he and my lady exchanged signals, and had a distant sight one of the other. But they in the fortress had received orders to use my lord with great severity, to the intent that they might the more easily bring him to recant, and by reason of his late and present sufferings he soon fell sick, for his sojourn in the Indies hath caused him to be extreme sensible to cold. And through this sickness ’twas thought that he must die, so desponding was he through the not beholding my lady daily any longer. But she found means to send him a message by the hand of an ancient priest that visited the prison (a very kindly person, that was said by those that were unfriendly to him to be one of the people called Jansenists), and it was this, Live for your God and for the Faith, my friend, and also for your wife, for they all need you. And upon the receiving this, my lord took heart again, and grew better. Then all became as before until this last month, when King Lewis, finding that he had no success among those of the Reformed that he had shut up in his fortresses (these heroic confessors being chiefly persons of great birth and riches, or noted for their distinguished parts), gave ’em a general releasement, banishing ’em all from his kingdom for their lives. And among these my lady also did receive back her lord, as though indeed, as Holy Scripture saith, he had been raised to life from the dead. Then they did take ship as soon as they could come to Bourdeaux, this being a nearer way than through Roan[141] and Dieppe, and came into England by way of the city of Bristow. And upon their landing there, my lady says very suddenly to my lord, Call me no more a Catholic, for I have seen too much their works. I am henceforth as thou art, thy people mine, and thy faith my faith. And this, says my lord, was a sufficient comfort to him for all his pains, to know that my lady was at one with him in their religion.”