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stopping place the most unbounded hospitality. At Leith they were met by a grand procession, headed by the Earl of Linlithgow, colonel of his majesty's guards, and a regiment of soldiers, besides nobility and gentry on horseback, and a long train of coaches filled with councillors and noble ladies and gentlemen. As they advanced guns fired, bells rang, bonfires were lighted, and crowds assembled with shouts of welcome. The city authorities of Edinburgh met their royal highnesses at the gate of Holy-rood Palace, and the lord provost on his knees presented the silver keys of the city to the duke, at the same time offering a welcome in the name of all the citizens.
Holyrood Palace had been repaired and the royal apartments refitted for the accommodation of the duke and duchess, with their retinue; so their home was by no means as comfortless as it had been on their former sojourn there.
The portrait of Mary Beatrice had been painted by Lely just before her departure from London; and it was the last work of that great artist, who died before the end of the year.
The duchess was not quite twenty, and at the height of her beauty. She is represented with her hair falling around her head in luxuriant curls; her dress is scarlet velvet, embroidered and fringed with gold, cut low at the neck and filled in with soft cambric, of which material the flowing sleeves are also made. A full rich scarf, of royal blue fringed with gold and pearls, crosses one shoulder, and falls in graceful folds over the lap to the ground. The lady is sitting in a garden, and a tree in the background is entwined with honey-suckles and roses; her left hand rests on the neck of a beautiful white Italian greyhound.
A brilliant court was established at Holyrood, and Mary Beatrice succeeded in winning all hearts by her kind andgracious manners. Her religion was unpopular, but she intruded it upon no one, and her conduct was admirable.
Behind the Abbey of Holyrood there was along avenue shaded with stately oaks, where James was in the habit of taking his daily exercise. The green strip at the foot of the hill is called "the duke's walk" to this very day, though all the beautiful trees have been removed.
Mary Beatrice introduced tea-drinking among the Scotch ladies, and the fashion soon became general, for she was so much admired that it became a pleasure to imitate her. She was loved because she tried to please, and the duke was not behind-hand in this respect. His royal highness established a bond of good fellowship between the nobles and the mechanics which added greatly to his popularity. It was done in this way: Tennis and golf, both games played with clubs and balls, were the favorite amusements among the gentry of Scotland in those days. The duke enjoyed them also, and always selected a mechanic or tradesman for his partner. Of course this example was imitated by the courtiers, and thus high and low were brought into pleasant contact. His royal highness generally played against the Duke of Lauderdale, who was an excellent golfer as well as himself. One day they agreed to stake an unusually large sum of money on the game. James called a shoemaker named John Paterson to assist him, and after a very hard contest defeated his opponent. When Lauderdale paid the three or four hundred gold pieces that he had forfeited, his royal highness handed them to Paterson, saying: "Through your skill I have won the game, and you are, therefore, entitled to the reward of the victory." The bonnie Scot was more pleased with the delicate compliment than with the gold. It was many such acts that endeared James to the people amongst whom his lot was cast. When Lochiel, a brave Highlander, waspresented at court, the duke received him with marked courtesy, and questioned him about his adventures. During the conversation he asked to see the chieftain's sword, which was delivered into his hands without hesitation. The duke tried to draw it from the scabbard, but as it was merely a dress-sword, not meant for use, it had become rusty. After a second attempt he handed it back to the owner, saying: "That his sword was never so difficult to draw when the crown wanted its service." Lochiel was so embarrassed that he did not know what reply to make, but drew the sword and handed it to his royal highness, who turning to the courtiers present, said: "You see, my lords, Lochiel's sword gives obedience to no hand but his own!" and thereupon knighted the Highlander on the spot.
The duke arrived in Scotland just after an insurrection, when many people lost their lives and property; but he exerted such an excellent influence that peace was soon restored, and prisoners liberated whenever they promised to cry "God save the King!" He governed Scotland well for his brother, and won the love of the populace by always resorting to the mildest of punishments in opposition to the barbarities practiced by Lauderdale.
During the winter the duchess met with an accident that nearly cost her life. She was thrown from her horse, and her long riding-habit becoming entangled in the saddle, she was dragged some distance and received several kicks from the terrified animal before she could be rescued. Fortunately this occurred on a sandy plain, otherwise she must have been killed. As it was, she was taken up covered with blood and perfectly insensible. She recovered in time, having received no serious injury, but was obliged to give up her favorite amusement; for her husband, who always considered horseback riding dangerous for women, exacted a promise that she would never so imperil her life again.
[A.D. 1681.]The spring brought bad news, for King Charles sent a messenger to inform his brother and sister that their little daughter, Isabel, had died at St. James's Palace. This cruel blow only made the banishment and persecution of the duke and duchess harder to bear, and James wrote to his brother for permission to take his wife to some watering-place in England, saying that she needed the change, and that the climate of Scotland did not agree with her.
Charles could not grant the request, because he feared that the duke's return would be the signal for rebellion; but after three or four months' deliberation the favor of Princess Anne's company was granted to her parents, and she went to Scotland to join them.
Shortly after her arrival the Duke of York rode in state from Holyrood, and opened parliament as lord high commissioner from his brother, the king. The duchess, Princess Anne, and all their ladies were present on that occasion, and this was such an unusual sight that some of the old fogies considered it highly indecorous. The Scottish lords and chieftains had always settled their debates with dagger and sword, and it was in order to avoid such stormy scenes that the Duke of York introduced the refining influence of women's presence, and the effect was highly satisfactory. After the meeting James gave a banquet to the whole parliament, separate tables being laid for the lords and commons.
The city of Edinburgh returned the compliment with an entertainment to the Court of Scotland that cost more than fourteen hundred pounds sterling.
After their royal highnesses recovered from the shock occasioned by the death of their little daughter, life at Holyrood became one long scene of gayety and brilliancy. There were balls, plays, and masquerades night after night,
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and musical dramas, similar to the opera of the present day, in which the Princess Anne and other ladies of quality took part. So long as the plays were moral, Mary Beatrice honored them with her presence; for she believed that the stage ought to be a medium for giving wholesome instruction to the public, but she would countenance nothing coarse or vulgar.
A.D. 1682.Affairs took such a favorable turn for James enuring the following year that he was recalled to England. He arrived with the Duchess and Princess Anne at Whitehall on the twenty-sixth of May, having been escorted up the river by a procession of barges, among which was the one containing the king and queen, who had gone to welcome them. In the evening the city of London was illuminated, and the rejoicing on account of the banished duke's return was universal.
A.D. 1684.St. James's Palace again became the home of the royal pair, where they had a little daughter born in August, but it died within a few weeks. Two years later, so firm had the duke's position become, that he was once more offered the post of lord admiral, which he eagerly accepted. During the period of peace and national prosperity that preceded the death of Charles II., Princess Anne married Prince George of Denmark, but remained with her parents for awhile.
A.D. 1685.A plan to banish the Duke of York once more had just been set on foot when King Charles died, and made way for him to mount the throne as James II. Mary Beatrice felt so grieved at the death of her brother-in-law that she could not rejoice at her own advancement; for Charles had been uniformly kind and amiable towards her, and she knew that she had lost a friend when he died.
Compliments and congratulations were showered uponthe new king from all sides, and on the first Sunday after his accession he was prayed for from every pulpit in the metropolis. King James began his reign with some very necessary reforms; he forbade drinking and swearing among others, and expressed his entire disapprobation of duelling, which he declared was no mark of courage.
The queen's health was not good at this time, and she became so pale that in spite of her religious scruples her husband advised her to rouge, as other court ladies did, and she complied. The first time Father Seraphin, a monk, saw her so disfigured he expressed his surprise, and she explained that she had resorted to paint to conceal her palor, whereupon the monk replied, bluntly: "Madame, I would rather see your majesty yellow or even green than rouged."
The twenty-third of April, St. George's day, was appointed for the coronation of the king and queen. The crown jewels had all been stolen by the Roundheads during the civil wars, so everything had to be supplied for the new queen, and the crown that was made specially for her was valued at one hundred and eleven thousand nine hundred pounds.
On the Thursday previous to the coronation, the king washed the feet of fifty-two poor men, that number corresponding with his age. On the appointed day the queen, who had slept at St. James's Palace, performed her devotions as usual, and was then attired by her women in a royal robe of purple velvet, bordered with ermine, and looped with cords and tassels of pearls. Her tight-fitting frock underneath was of rich white and silver brocade, ornamented with pearls and precious stones. On her head was a cap of purple velvet, turned up with ermine and edged with a band of gold, set with large diamonds. As soon as her toilet was completed, the queen was carried in her chairto Westminster, where she rested in a private room until the king and all those who were to take part in the ceremony had assembled.
When everything was ready, her majesty entered Westminster Hall, attended by her lord chamberlain, her other officers and ladies; the king entered at the same time by another door with his attendants, and the royal pair took their seats under separate canopies at the upper end of the hall.
After the king's regalia had been delivered to him with the usual formalities, each article was placed on a table covered with rich tapestry. Then the queen received the crown, sceptre, and ivory rod with the dove, which were likewise deposited on the table, and subsequently distributed by the lord great chamberlain to the noblemen appointed to carry them. These noblemen walked first in the procession, then followed the queen, between the Bishops of London and Winchester, under a rich canopy, supported by sixteen barons. Four noble ladies carried her majesty's train, and eight bed-chamber women followed. The king's procession came next, and all proceeded in solemn state through a passage made by a double line of horse and foot guards to the abbey. The path was thickly strewn with fresh flowers by six young ladies, dressed in pointed bodices, with full brocaded skirts, looped back over rich petticoats. They wore hoods, gloves, and deep ruffles falling from the elbow. Trumpets were blown, drums beat a march, and the choir sang the well-known anthem, "O Lord, grant the king a long life!" etc., all the way to the church.
It required several hours for all the ceremonies of the coronation to be performed, and the devotion of the queen in following the prayers and making the responses was observed by all present. King James had bestowed a greatdeal of pains on his wife's regalia, but none on his own, so the crown that had been made for Charles II. was used for him, though it did not fit at all. The heads of the two brothers were as different as their characters, and it was regarded as an ominous sign that the crown could not be made to stay on James's head.
The queen performed a noble deed of charity on that day that brought the blessings of thousands upon her head. She released all prisoners who were in jail for small debts, and herself paid every sum not exceeding five pounds. No wonder that the air rang with cries of "Long live Queen Mary!"
When the ceremonies at the abbey were concluded, the procession returned to Westminster Hall, and their majesties rested in private rooms until all the company had taken their places at seven long tables which were laid for the banquet. Then the king, preceded by his great state officers, entered with the crown on his head, and the sceptre and orb in either hand, and seated himself in his chair of state at the head of the royal table. The queen did the same, her place being at the king's left hand. Most of the ancient ceremonies of coronation banquets were revived that day, and some of them are so curious that they will bear recounting. Certain lords went to the kitchen to receive the dishes and present them to their majesties, which was done in this way: The master of the horse called for a dish of meat, wiped the cover and the dish carefully, tasted the contents, and then ordered it to be conveyed to the royal table, he preceding the first course on horseback the full length of the hall, followed by a train of the principal officers of the household. Thirty-two dishes were brought up by the Knights of the Bath, and a number of others by private gentlemen. When the dinner was placed on the table, the lord chamberlain, carvers, cupbearers, andassistants went to the king's cupboard and washed; then the great basin was brought for the king to wash his hands. Before doing so he delivered his sceptre to a nobleman appointed to hold it, and the orb to the Bishop of Bath. The queen washed also, but she used only a wet napkin presented by the Earl of Devonshire on his knees. Grace was said, and their majesties sat down to the dinner, which consisted of a thousand dishes; among them were many Scotch dainties which reminded the king and queen of the hospitalities they had received in the North.
Before the second course Sir Charles Dymoke rode into the hall on a splendid white horse, preceded by trumpeters, and attended by two gentlemen, one bearing his lance, the other his target. He was dressed in white armor, and wore a red, white, and blue plume in his helmet. He was brought up to the royal table, where the herald proclaimed his challenge, and the champion threw down the gauntlet. This was repeated three times, when the king drank from a gold cup which he presented to his champion, who then rode out of the hall. Several lords presented wine to the king on their knees, each one receiving the silver or gold cup his majesty drank out of for a present.
When the dinner was ended grace was said, the washing of hands was repeated with the same ceremony as before, and their majesties withdrew. In the retiring-room they delivered their regalia to the Dean of Westminster, whose duty it was to keep such valuables under lock and key.
One of King James's first acts after he ascended the throne was to release several thousand Roman Catholics and members of other churches who had been imprisoned for refusing to worship according to the prescribed laws of England. He also put a stop to the practice that had been permitted for many years of people informing against one another about their religious beliefs. As this was oftenresorted to merely to gratify some personal spite, and had been the means of bringing many an innocent person to the stake, King James did well to abolish it; but he was fighting the prejudices of the people, and could more easily have taken an impregnable fortress, as he soon found to his cost. Many of his subjects were offended at the display James made of his own religion, particularly when he opened a Catholic chapel at Whitehall, and insisted on going there in state with his wife, attended by the high officers of their household, to receive the sacrament. His lord treasurer, the Earl of Rochester, pretended to be ill as an excuse for absenting himself. The Dukes of Norfolk and Somerset openly refused to attend. It was the duty of Lord Godolphin, the queen's chamberlain, to lead her majesty by the hand to her place in the chapel, and to the altar when she chose to receive the sacrament. Although a Protestant, the chamberlain was so charmed with her majesty's beauty and graceful manners that he would not forego his privilege.
King James summoned parliament in June because the Duke of Argyle raised a rebellion in Scotland, while Monmouth did the same in England, and funds were required to suppress both. Monmouth had always been one of James's bitterest and most dangerous enemies, because he thought he had a claim to the throne; he therefore issued a proclamation, denouncing the king "as a usurper, a murderer, a traitor, and a tyrant." He accused James of burning the city of London, of murdering Godfrey,—both events are treated of in the last reign,—of cutting the throat of Essex, and of poisoning his brother, Charles II. He raised an army of ten thousand men, and received so much encouragement at Taunton that he proclaimed himself king, and set a price on the head of "the usurper, James, Duke of York."
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Such prompt and active measures were taken by the royal party that both Argyle and Monmouth were defeated and captured. The latter implored the king for mercy, and succeeded in obtaining a private interview. James had forgiven this bold man for many personal offences when he was Duke of York, but now his position was altered. He was King of England, and could not find it in his conscience to pardon an offender who had plunged his realm into civil war, and sacrificed the lives of three thousand of his subjects. Story, the orator, was taken prisoner for assisting Monmouth with his exciting speeches, that went far towards raising the popular indignation against the sovereign.
When summoned to appear before the council he looked so haggard, neglected, and dirty that King James exclaimed, "Is that a man, or what is it?" On being informed that it was the rebel Story, his majesty replied: "Oh, Story; I remember him—a rare fellow, indeed." Then turning towards him, the king asked: "Pray, Story, you were in Monmouth's army in the west, were you not?"
"Yes, an't please your majesty."
"Pray, you were a commissary there, were you not?" asked the king.
"Yes, an't please your majesty."
"And you made a speech before great crowds of people, did you not?" was the next question,
"Yes, an't please your majesty," answered Story.
"Pray, if you have not forgot what you said, let us have a taste of your fine speech, some specimen of the flowers of your rhetoric."
"I told them, an't please your majesty, that it was you who fired the city of London," boldly answered Story.
"A rare rogue, upon my word," exclaimed James; "and, pray, what else did you tell them?"
"I told them, an't please your majesty, that you poisoned your brother."
"Impudence in the utmost height of it!" said the king. "Pray, let us have something further, if your memory serves you."
"I further told them," continued Story, "that your majesty appeared to be fully determined to make the nation both papists and slaves."
The king had heard enough, and no doubt wondered at the audacity of a man who dared to accuse him to his face of crimes that his very soul would have revolted at. But with remarkable clemency his majesty added: "To all this I doubt not but a thousand other villanous things were added. But what would you say, Story, if after all this I were to grant your life?"
He answered, "That he would pray for his majesty as long as he lived."
Thereupon he was freely pardoned, but Monmouth and Argyle were executed.
This victory of King James's would have increased his popularity and made him extremely powerful, had it not been for the cruel deeds that resulted from it. But Colonel Kirke and Chief-Justice Jeffreys were two barbarians, who caused the execution of thousands, whether innocent or guilty; going from one town to another whence Monmouth had gathered his forces, and committing most unheard-of cruelties.
Such deeds, added to the mistake James made in attempting to have everything his own way, regardless of the will of parliament, led to his ruin and downfall. Popular indignation was aroused against all Roman Catholics, King James included, when Louis XIV. revoked the edict of Nantes. This was a law that had been made by Henry IV., granting the free exercise of religion to all Protestants, andwhen it was withdrawn, of course, persecutions followed. The result was that nearly fifty thousand Protestants sought refuge in England, and King James treated them with a great deal of consideration.
A.D. 1687.The queen spent part of the spring of 1687 at Richmond Palace, while James visited his camp at Hounslow; but her health was so poor that she was ordered by her physicians to take a course of treatment at Bath, and while there news of her mother's death reached her. This was a sad bereavement, and one from which Mary Beatrice did not soon recover. It opened a correspondence between her and the Prince of Orange, who, while expressing affectionate sympathy, was secretly plotting for the overthrow of his royal father-in-law. The king was very much under the influence of Sunderland, and of the Jesuit, Father Petre, both bad advisers; but he was also on terms of intimacy with William Penn, the founder of the State of Pennsylvania. This high-minded Quaker entered the king's presence one day, shortly after he ascended the throne, with his hat on his head. James immediately removed his, whereupon Penn said: "Friend James, why dost thou uncover thy head?" The king replied with a smile: "Because it is the fashion here for only one man to wear his hat.".
Penn was sent to Holland to persuade William, Prince of Orange, to concur with the king in trying to do away with those laws that interfered with religious privileges in England, but met with no success, either with him or his wife, Mary.
A.D. 1688.Queen Mary Beatrice had a little son born at St. James's Palace in 1688, and there was great rejoicing among the king's friends when the infant prince appeared, which was echoed in Edinburgh.
The royal father felt so happy at the birth of his son that,in an evil hour, he granted forgiveness to Nathaniel Hook, who had been the Duke of Monmouth's chaplain. This man became one of the tools of William of Orange, and acted as a spy on the actions of the sovereign who had shown him such mercy.
A grand display of fireworks took place in honor of the prince's birth when he was a few weeks old, and the royal couple were present at the palace window to witness it. Mary Beatrice was gratified by a letter of congratulation sent by the pope on the birth of her son, because his holiness had never been friendly since she married without his consent, nor was he now, as we shall see.
The persons who were anything but pleased at the little fellow's appearance in the world were William of Orange and his wife, because both felt that he was in their way as heir to the crown.
One of William's agents was discovered at Rome in secret correspondence with the pope's secretary, Count Cassoni. He was disguised as a peddler of artificial fruit, which, on being opened, were found to contain slips of paper, written in cypher, that disclosed a plan for the destruction of the king and the little prince. William of Orange was at the bottom of the conspiracy, and intended to carry out his purpose in this way: The pope was to supply funds to be used by the Prince of Orange for the invasion of England, which coming from such a source would not be suspected. All this was disclosed by the slips of paper contained in the fruit, and reached the ears of King James himself.
The royal infant was so very ill when he was about two months old that it was thought each moment would be his last; however, he was provided with a good healthy nurse and got well, much to the delight of his parents, and the disgust of those whose interest it was to wish him out of theway. Then the king and queen with their household removed to Whitehall, and soon after her majesty's birthday was observed with the usual ceremonies and rejoicings.
Mary Beatrice kept up a regular correspondence with the Prince of Orange, with whom she had always been on the most loving terms, and did not know what to make of the news that came to her about this time. It was that the Dutch fleet was hovering off the coast of England, ready at a moment's notice to make an attack. The queen could not believe such horrible tidings, and wrote her daughter: "That it was reported the Prince of Orange was coming over with an army, and that her highness would accompany him; but she never would believe her capable of turning against a good father, who, she believed, had always loved her the best of all his children." It was, nevertheless, true, and the storm that was to drive King James from the throne was gathering darkly and surely. James had committed some grave mistakes as a ruler, as a politician, as a theologian, and gladly would he have made amends, but it was too late. The King of France offered assistance, but with all his faults James loved his country too well to allow a foreign army to come to his rescue. He preferred other measures, whereby he hoped and fondly expected to avert the horrors of civil war. But his enemies were in his very household, and treachery surrounded him on all sides. The men who breakfasted with him in the morning, and pretended to be most loyal, deserted him before night. When he ought to have gone in person to repel the attacks of the Dutch fleet, he was persuaded by traitors to stay and defend the metropolis. When at last he did go he was so ill, so broken down, both in mind and body as to be utterly unfit for exertion of any kind. His confidential councillors went over to the enemy, and as the Prince of Orange advanced with his forces, James retreated towards London,paralyzed by the treachery that was daily brought to light. But the most heartrending blow of all awaited him on his return to the metropolis, for the first news he heard was that Princess Anne had deserted him. "God help me!" he exclaimed, bursting into tears, "My own children have forsaken me in my distress." When he entered the palace he added in the bitterness of his grief, "Oh, if mine enemies only had cursed me, I could have borne it!"
Now, the unfortunate king's anxiety was for the faithful wife who had awaited his return in fear and trembling, and the innocent baby whose life the fond father feared was in danger. The valiant James Stuart of former years no longer existed; for he would not have submitted to the advance of a foe without offering desperate resistance, nor would he have abandoned his country at a moment when she needed his services.
The heart-broken King James summoned his council, asked their advice, and appealed to their loyalty. They told him "he had no one to blame but himself," but offered no comfort or assistance. Indignation at the base treatment of those who ought to have stood by him in his adversity and grief, at the thought of the strait to which his own bad management had brought himself and his dear ones, had turned poor King James's mind; he could no longer protect his realm, for he was not in a condition to decide clearly on any subject. His entire attention was now turned towards the only two beings who were left him in the world,—his wife and baby; and those he was determined to save though he should forfeit his own life.
It so happened that two Frenchmen, named Count de Lauzun and his friend St. Victor, had become so interested in King James and the state of affairs in England that they had offered their services to the distressed sovereign. To these two gentlemen James resolved to intrust the care ofhis wife and child, and they eagerly consented to undertake the dangerous task of conveying them to France. They met the king and decided upon a plan so secretly that it was not suspected by any one. St. Victor went to Gravesend and hired two yachts,—one in the name of an Italian lady about to return to her own country, the other in that of Count Lauzun.
December 9 was the day appointed for the queen to leave London. It was Sunday, but some of the advanced troops of the prince's army, who had dispersed in different parts of the city, began the day by burning Catholic houses and chapels, and creating a tumult that terrified the peaceful citizens, while tidings of other dreadful occurrences came from all parts of the kingdom. When night approached the queen implored her husband to allow her to remain and share his peril, but he assured her that he would follow her within twenty-four hours, and that it was necessary for the safety of their child that she should precede him. At ten o'clock their majesties went to bed, and when all was dark and quiet in the palace they got up and began preparations for departure. Shortly after midnight St. Victor ascended a secret staircase to the king's apartment. He was dressed like a common sailor, though he was well-armed underneath his coarse attire, and brought a disguise for the queen. Lady Strickland was in waiting that night, and assisted her majesty until two o'clock, when all who were to share the journey met in the apartment of Madame Labadie, where the prince had been carried secretly some time before.
Turning to the count, King James said: "I confide my queen and son to your care; all must be hazarded to convey them with the utmost speed to France." Reserving a silence that was more eloquent than words, the queen gave her husband a parting look, then crossed the grand hall,and stole softly down the back-stairs with St. Victor, who had possessed himself of the keys. The two nurses followed close behind with the sleeping infant. A coach that St. Victor had borrowed from an Italian friend, without telling him to what use it was to be employed, stood at the gate. The queen, Count de Lauzun, and the two nurses with the baby entered, while St. Victor took his seat beside the coachman, and Mary Beatrice left Whitehall never to return. The coach had to pass six sentinels, who called out, "Who goes there?" Each time St. Victor replied boldly, "A friend," and, showing the keys, was permitted to pass without opposition. At Westminster the fugitives entered a boat in which St. Victor had crossed on several previous nights with his gun and a basket of cold provisions to make believe that he was a sportsman and thus avoid suspicion. But this particular night was so stormy, and the rain poured in such torrents, that the boatman must have known no unimportant errand would tempt a woman with an infant six months old to make so dangerous a trip, for the river had swollen, and the wind was blowing violently. When the travellers reached the opposite bank, which was at last accomplished after a great deal of difficulty, St. Victor looked anxiously around for the carriage that ought to have stood in waiting as he had arranged; but Monsieur Dusions, one of her majesty's pages, appeared promptly at a call, and said that it was still at the inn. St. Victor ran to fetch it, leaving De Lauzun to protect the queen, who stood for shelter under the walls of the old church at Lambeth, with her infant clasped close to her breast, dreading lest he should wake and betray her presence by his cries. But the little prince behaved well throughout the journey, happily unconscious of the danger to which he was exposed. Meanwhile St. Victor, at the inn-yard had excited some curiosity by his agitated manner, and his foreignaccent, which prompted a man on watch to start out with his lantern to reconnoitre. Seeing that he directed his steps straight to where the queen was waiting, St. Victor hastened with all speed to the other side of the way, and then put himself in the man's path as though by accident, awkwardly pretended to be trying to clear the road, when the two came in contact and went rolling over in the mud together. The Frenchman was profuse in his apologies, which mollified the other man, who returned to the inn to relight his lantern and wash off the mud. This gave the queen and her party time to proceed, and before they had cleared three miles they were met by one of her majesty's equerries, who, by the king's thoughtfulness, had been sent with a fresh horse and a pair of boots for St. Victor, of which he was sorely in need by that time. When the queen reached Gravesend a little boat conveyed her to the yacht, that was filled with friends who had preceded her from London, and were determined to share her exile. Among them were Lord and Lady Powis, Anna Montecuculi, who had gone to England with Mary Beatrice when she married; Father Giverlai, the queen's confessor; William Walgrave, her physician; Marquis Montecuculi, Lord and Lady O'Brien Clare, Mesdames Labadie and Strickland, and two pages. These had gone down the Thames, consequently had made the passage in less time than the royal party had required.
The captain of the yacht had not the-slightest suspicion of the rank of the Italian washerwoman, so anxiously awaited, who embarked with a bundle of clothes under her arm, in which her little prince was safely ensconced. The queen was always ill at sea, but heretofore she had been provided with all the comforts her husband could devise, as well as the pleasure of his presence. It was very different now, when not daring to encounter the Dutch men-of-war, she was forced to cross the channel in an ordinarypacket, deprived of common necessaries; for none of the functionaries thought it necessary to pay attention to a poor washerwoman.
As soon as she boarded the vessel the queen went below to avoid observation, while Madame Labadie, who knew Grey, the captain, engaged him in conversation until the sails were hoisted and the yacht well under way. King James had ordered De Lauzun, in case the captain discovered the fugitives or betrayed any intention to put his wife and son into the hands of the Dutch, to shoot him dead. The count stationed himself in a position to keep strict watch over every motion of the captain's, determined to act promptly in case of need; but that officer steered his course safely through a fleet of fifty Dutch ships, and landed his passengers at Calais, as ignorant of the queen's presence as when he left the English coast.
Sixteen years before Mary of Modena had embarked on a royal yacht attended by her mother and a train of noblemen desirous of doing her honor; now she landed at the same port, a forlorn fugitive, disguised as a peasant, to seek refuge from the storm that had driven her from a throne. It would be hard to decide at which period' she was more an object of sympathy, if we recall the reluctance with which she left her convent home to unite her destinies with those of a man whom she had never seen, and behold her now, deprived of her regal state, it is true, but possessing a husband who has won her heart, and a dear little baby, who is her idol and his.
The governor of Calais wished to show Mary Beatrice the honors due a queen of Great Britain, but she declined, and took up her residence at a private house to await the arrival of her husband, whom she expected to follow her in a few hours. But the governor sent everything to her house that the queen needed for comfort, and fired a royal salute at her departure.Soon after landing at Calais, Mary Beatrice wrote a pathetic letter to Louis XIV., asking his protection for herself and son. He replied by sending his first equerry with the royal carriages to attend the queen and her suite to Paris, and ordered that every honor due her rank should be shown the royal ladyen route.
The king did not join his wife as he had promised, and she could receive no reliable intelligence as to his fate. Her heart was torn with conflicting rumors, and she spent her days in tears at a convent at Boulogne, to which place she had removed.
A.D. 1689.It was not until the nineteenth of January that the queen knew the sad truth. Then she heard from the vice-admiral of England, who had arrived at Calais, that the king had set out on his journey, when he was arrested by order of the Prince of Orange and taken back under strict guard. Overcome with despair, the queen decided to send her son on to Paris, and return to London to share her husband's peril. But her faithful attendants dissuaded her from a course that could only have increased the king's trouble without rendering him the least service, and urged her to be guided by the directions he had given her at parting. That very day King Louis's equerry arrived with letters and messages from his majesty and a noble escort to convey the queen, with her attendants, to the Castle of St. Germain, which had been put in readiness for their reception. So anxious were the faithful followers of Mary Beatrice to remove her from the coast, where she might at any moment be tempted by some favorable opportunity to return to England, that they entreated her to accept the invitation of the King of France at once.
She yielded, and left Boulogne the next day. On arriving at Montrieul a report reached the royal party that King James was still at Whitehall.Now we must go back and see what really happened to James after his wife's departure. He wandered about in a state of nervous agitation until St. Victor returned from Gravesend with the announcement that the queen had embarked safely, and he had seen the yacht well on her course. Then his majesty brightened up, although there was not an hour but news reached him of the advance of his enemy's troops. Having summoned his council to meet at ten the next morning, the king went to bed as usual, without any intention of being present.
At midnight he arose, disguised himself in a black wig, and shabby, plain clothes, and attended by Sir Edward Hales, descended by a private staircase to the garden and proceeded as the queen had done two nights before. He crossed the Thames in a little row-boat to Vauxhall, and when in the middle of the river threw in the great seal that he had taken from Whitehall. This is an unaccountable proceeding, because he evidently meant to make use of the seal after he got to France, and he must have changed his mind very suddenly. On arriving at Fever-sham after travelling all night, Sir Edward Hales sent his servant to the post-office, and as his residence was in that neighborhood, his livery was immediately known. A gang of ruffians who had formed themselves into an association to prevent the flight of Roman Catholics to France, dogged the man's footsteps to the river side, where they discovered that Sir Edward had taken refuge on a custom-house boat. At eleven o'clock that night fifty of the gang, armed with swords and pistols, boarded the boat, rushed into the cabin? seized the king and his companion. Perceiving that his majesty was not recognized, Sir Edward took Ames, the leader of the ruffians aside, put fifty guineas in his hand and promised a hundred more if he would allow them to escape. The man took the money and said he would goashore to make arrangements for them, but advised them to hand over all their valuables to his keeping, because he could not answer for the conduct of his men while he was gone. The king gave him three hundred guineas and his watch, but contrived to conceal his coronation ring and three diamond pins that belonged to the queen. As soon as the tide rose in the morning the gang, who had mistaken James for Father Petre, rowed the boat to shore, and putting their two prisoners in a carriage, drove them to an inn amidst the shouts and yells of a mob that had assembled there. Suddenly a seaman in the crowd who had served under James recognized him, and bursting out into tears, knelt and begged to kiss his hand. The king was touched at this proof of devotion and wept, while the ruffians who had robbed and insulted him fell on their knees and sued for pardon. Then returning his majesty's sword and jewels, the seamen who were present declared "that not a hair of his head should be touched." Even then, had the king been in a proper state of mind, something might have been done for his cause, surrounded as he was at that instant by a band of loyal subjects; but he was mentally exhausted, and he began to talk in a wild, incoherent manner, until an alarming fit of nose-bleed left him in a helpless condition. For two whole days nobody in London knew of King James's whereabouts, until a Kentish peasant presented himself at the council chamber with a letter from his, majesty, stating his condition and demanding assistance. Some of the lords were for treating the letter with silent contempt, but they were overruled, and an escort was despatched to bring his majesty back to Whitehall. He was received with every demonstration of loyalty, and might have raised a powerful army to repel his foes, but his day had gone by; he could only weep and bemoan his sad fate, constantly repeating: "God help me, whom can I trust? My own children have forsaken me!"The king had been in London less than a week when he was rudely awakened at two o'clock one cold, stormy morning by three lords, who had openly avowed themselves his enemies. They came with an order from the Prince of Orange for him to leave Whitehall before ten o'clock and proceed to Rochester. He made the journey attended by a Dutch guard, who had orders from their prince to give their prisoner a chance to escape.
Accordingly the back door of the house at Rochester was purposely left unguarded, and between twelve and one on the morning of December 23, the king attended by two faithful companions, made his way to the river and was rowed down to Sheerness, where, boarding a fishing-boat, he was landed on Christmas day at a village near Boulogne.
The queen was at Beauvais when she heard of her husband's arrival on French soil, and forgetting all her misfortunes in this welcome news she raised her eyes to Heaven and exclaimed: "Then I am happy," and prayed aloud in the fulness of her heart.
It was on the twenty-eighth of December that Mary Beatrice approached St. Germain. King Louis XIV. had advanced with his son and brother to a village at the foot of the hill on which stood the castle to await his royal guests. His cavalcade consisted of a hundred coaches, and all the noble ladies and gentlemen who attended him were dressed in magnificent attire. When the queen drew near with her party, Louis left his coach and went forward to greet her. His officers stopped the first carriage, supposing it to contain her majesty, but the occupants proved to be the little prince with his governess and his nurses. All alighted out of respect to the king, who took the baby in his arms, hugged and kissed him tenderly, and promised to cherish and protect the unconscious child.