class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[Pg 36]"/> D'Audriffet makes merry over this. But in France things were no better. The Court of Versailles, we know, was always behindhand in its payments to Queen Mary. Mrs Strickland makes this a matter of reproach to Desmarets, as if purely the result of his negligence. But the Court had not got the money. In 1715 we have D'Audriffet himself sending in his little account, which shows five years' salary to be owing, in addition to 24,800 livres of disbursements, the whole debt amounting to 84,800 livres.

Even more brilliant than the fêtes given at Lunéville, were those to which James was invited at the Château of Commercy, the seat of the Prince de Vaudémont. Vaudémont was rich and generous. He had occupied high positions in the army and the administrative services both of Austria and of Spain. He was a man pre-eminently prudent in council. Our William III. had discovered that, and had frequently sought his opinion, more particularly while the Treaty of Ryswick was under consideration. To James the Prince became a most valuable friend and confidant—more especially at that critical juncture when the Pretender's great aim was to get away unobserved form Lorraine. In his splendid castle of Commercy, set off by magnificent cent gardens and sheets of water throwing Versailles into the shade, the "Damoiseau" of Commercy gave fêtes the description of which baffled Court chroniclers of the period, and after which, in the words of the "Gazette de Hollande," James found himself constrained to go back to Bar in self-defence, "pour s'y delasser, pour ainsi dire, de la fatigue des plaisirs continuels." There was such a fête in June, 1713, arranged on a peculiarly lordly scale, in which a chorus of Pèlerins de Saint Jacques were brought in—appropriately hailing from "L'Isle de Cythère," and provided with passports from the goddess Venus—whose special object seems to be to say pretty things to James:—

"Vous gagnez tous les cœurs, tout le monde gémit
De voir un Roy d'une bonté si rare,
Et brillant de l'éclat de toutes les vertus
Loin des Etats qui lui sont dûs
Mais nous verrons un jour cette triple couronne
Qu'ont porté si longtems vos Illustres Ayeux,
Sur votre chef tomber des Cieux.
Le mérite, le sang, les Loix, tout vous la donne;
Laissez le soin de soûtenir ces droits
Au Dieu qui dans ses mains porte les cœurs des Rois."

Then a curious supper was given. The twenty-four most illustrious guests present sat down at two tables, the ladies at one, the gentlemen at the other. Each person was served with an equal portion, "tous en vaisselle de fayance, jusqu'aux manches des couteaux."

"Et dans ce sobre repas
Chacun n'eut que vingt-sept plats."

In all, to these twenty-four people 648 plats were served. The great joke of the meal was, that strict silence was enjoined. "Mais on avoit oublié d'en bannir les Ris." So people soon began to laugh, and then the men accused the ladies of breaking the rule, and the ladies retorted, and that put an end to Trappism. On another occasion, in July, 1714, when James spent a fortnight at Commercy—while his sister was slowly dying—the Prince, in the course of an even more brilliant fête, entertained his guests with sham-fights, the siege of a castle, and other incidents of military operations, for which the services of a French army-corps stationed in the neighbourhood, at Troussay, under the command of M. de Ruffey, were impressed.

Mary of Modena must have felt the removal of her only son—her only child, since the Princess Louise, "la Consolatrice," was dead—very keenly. She declared that she had no one left to open her heart to. This was not to be understood quite literally, for we find the Queen-Dowager pouring out her confidences very effusively to her chère mère and the sisters at Chaillot, whose journals, in fact, supply the main records of Mary's doings. But, no doubt, she missed James much. Once after his banishment, in July, 1714—when James rushed secretly to Paris, to consult with the king about the steps to be taken in view of Queen Anne's impending death, and was sent away "fort peu satisfait"—she had seen him for an hour or two in the night. Very naturally, she wished to visit him at Bar, more particularly as her doctors had advised her to try the waters of Plombières. It is not altogether impossible, also, although the Queen was kept in rather tight leading-strings by Dr. Beaulieu, that, plagued as she was with cancer in the breast, she may have wished to take the advice of a specialist at Bar with whose fame at the time the world was ringing. Bar-le-Duc had become strangely identified with cures for cancer. In 1663 Pierre Alliot first discovered the value of cauterising as a corrective treatment. And early in 1714 M. le sieur Moat, another Bar doctor, astonished the world with quite a novel method, which was probably humbug, since it is said to have effected perfectly incredible recoveries. Some months later we find Queen Mary preparing to set out for Bar and also for Plombières. Her bad health and an abnormally wet summer put a stop to the project. This was just about the time of the death of Queen Anne, when Leopold felt as if he were politically walking on eggs. He had given so much umbrage in England already, that every further offence was to be carefully avoided. If the Queen, as was to be anticipated, in going to Plombières, were also to visit Lunéville, that must of a certainty give rise to misunderstandings. So he sends officers and messengers to inquire and dissuade, as diplomatically as he can. The Queen had been so ill as to be given up, and he did not wish to pain her. But above all things he had to think of himself.

On very different grounds the tidings of the Queen's impending visit also fluttered the good people of Bar not a little. They had never entertained a queen. So on the 13th of July we find the heads of the town council carefully inquiring of the Marquis de Gerbévillers, the governor of the district, what is the proper ceremonial to be observed. Thereupon a deputation is named, and a present of 16 lb. of dragées and forty-eight pots de confitures is voted, besides a feuillade of wine for distribution, and a special vin d'honneur, to be presented to the royal visitor by the Marquis de Bassompierre, on behalf of the town. The Barisiens are very proud both of their confitures and of their wine. Both may be had now, presumably, in the same quality in which they were tendered to Queen Mary. The confitures consist of currants, red and white, preserved whole, in a syrup made sweet to excess. But the flavour is good. The vins de Bar have long been reckoned a delicacy, more particularly the clairet—a variety having a colour half-way between red and white. The wine is highly praised by patriotic writers as being "excellent, délicat, léger, et bien-faisant," and more than any other "ami de l'homme." And if you only stick to that wine alone, and take care not to mix, you can drink, they protest, absolutely whatever quantity you like, without feeling one whit the worse next day. To an English palate, I am bound to say, the wine is apt to present itself as intolerably sour.

After all, the Queen's visit did not come off till spring, 1715. That was, again, a most inconvenient time for the Duke of Lorraine, on much the same grounds as before. He had just made up that nasty tiff with the English Court, arising out of the publication of the Pretender's manifesto. King George was at length going to receive his envoy, M. de Lambertye. At such a juncture the classical "pig among roses" would have been ten times more welcome to nervous Leopold than Mary of Modena and her son at his Court. So he writes to Louis, begging him for heaven's sake to stop the Queen from coming, and despatches Baron Förstner post-haste to Bar to remonstrate with the Pretender. Neither attempt proved successful—but the Queen's visit did not do much harm. Her ill-health again came in as a special providence, detaining her till after Whitsuntide. She set out incognita with what is represented as a very modest train—namely, four coaches-and-six, one littière, and quelques chaises. The Duke had the good grace to receive her with a most hearty welcome. He sent the Marquis de Bassompierre, her son's great friend, to meet her at Châlons. Her son met her at Moutiers, on the border of the Barrois. For safety the forests were once more stocked with soldiers. On the 22d of June, Mary made her entry into Bar, putting up in James's house in the Rue des Tanneurs. The local grandees and the town council turned out in force to receive her, the Marquis de Bassompierre presenting the dragées and the vin d'honneur, while the bailli, M. de Gerbévillers, did the honours on behalf of the Duke, whose Great Chamberlain he was. On the 25th Mary and James proceed to Commercy, where everybody expresses himself and herself delighted with cette sainte Reine. On the 18th of July the Queen arrives at Nancy, where the Duke and Duchess are staying. James was at that time in the midst of plotting. "Milord Drummond" had come from England to confer with him. Ferrari put in one of his suspicious appearances, to the bewilderment and annoyance of the French envoy. An Irish priest who talked indiscreetly about a grand coup à faire was seized and kept under arrest. Couriers were rushing frantically to and fro. Something was "up." And Lord Stair, at Paris, we find, knew of it. But the Queen did not seemingly take a very hopeful view of things. She thanked the Duke very pathetically for his kindness to James. It needed generosity, she avowed, to interest one's self on behalf of a Prince "forsaken by all the world." Her gratitude would be "eternal." The Duchess was most attentive. Both days that the Queen was at Nancy she forestalled her in calling, surprising her at her toilet. At Lunéville, the Duchess had offered to make the Chevalier's bed with her own hands. From Nancy Mary Beatrice proceeded to Plombières viâ Bar, returning to St Germains on the 22d of August. The waters had not done her much good.

A brief space is due to those rather curious negotiations which were carried on while James was at Bar, to find the Pretender a suitable wife. According to Mrs Strickland this was rather a romantic affair. James was dying to marry his cousin, the Princess d'Este, while, on the other hand, the Princess Sobieska and Mademoiselle de Valois were both dying to marry him. In truth, there was no dying on either side, and the wooing originated, not in James's feeble affections—which were probably occupied to the full extent of their capacity with that young lady on the hill—but in the fertile brain of his scheming and restless host. Mrs Strickland, I ought to say, rather overrates the position of the Princess Sobieska, who eventually did marry the Chevalier; and if there was any romance in her affection, she lived to be cured of it. Being the daughter only of an elective king, a parvenu among royal personages, she was looked upon as a princess rather by courtesy than of right. Even to James, down in the world as he was, Leopold—in a manner her kinsman—did not dare to propose her except as a pis aller, when all hopes elsewhere were extinguished. His first proposal was an Austrian archduchess. He evidently thought the suggestion one which would do him credit. It would be a downright good "Catholic" match. It was bound to help the Pretender, and it might be agreeable to the Emperor, and so secure him, Leopold, very much on the look-out for favours as he was, gratitude in two influential quarters. The mere moral effect, he says, of an alliance entered into by the premier dynasty of Europe with the outcast Stuart prince must prove immensely to James's advantage. But there was money, too—which James particularly wanted—much money, heaped up in the Hofburg. James assented—though with nothing seemingly of eagerness; for it took him some months to grasp the full meaning of the idea. The proposal was made in March, 1714—long before the Princess Sobieska was thought of; and, as Leopold reports with unmistakable satisfaction, it was assez gouté at Vienna. Only, the Princess asked for—the younger daughter of the late Emperor—was very young, in fact, a child in the nursery, and the marriage could not possibly take place for some considerable time. So, the Emperor thought, the matter had best be kept quiet. Nothing daunted, rather encouraged, Leopold, with James's approval, returned to the charge in June. If the younger archduchess was too young—very well, let it be the elder, Elizabeth, who was at that time heir-presumptive to the crown. (For Maria Theresa, the reigning Emperor's daughter, was not yet born.) Vienna took time to consider. James's appetite grew keen, and in July we find him plying the Emperor with two memorials, drawn up with the help of Nairne. So elated did he grow over his supposed brilliant prospects, that he returned very cold answers indeed to Cardinal Gualterio's well-meant representations in favour of a union with another lady—was it the Princess d'Este, Gualterio's own countrywoman? There was no money in that quarter. Accordingly James haughtily pronounces the marriage "pas faisable." But he pushes his suit at Vienna. It must be, he urges in his first memorial, altogether to the Emperor's interest that the Archduchess Elizabeth should be married to "une personne qui ait assés de naissance et d'autres bonnes qualités personelles pour estre choisi après lui à remplir sa place." Such a person James considers himself to be. And he puts his case in this way. Either the English crown will fall to him or it will not. If it does, well, then, there he is, a most desirable, wealthy, and influential nephew-in-law. If it does not, there he is, again, the fittest person in the world to succeed to the Imperial crown. In the second memorial, issued shortly after, he presses some further points. Hanover must not be allowed to grow too powerful. Indeed, as a Protestant Power, it is too "formidable" already, and the "Duc d'Hannovre" is "un redoutable Rival." But, "il est certain qu'il (l'empereur) a moins à apprehender de l'Angleterre sans le Duc d'Hannovre que de le Duc d'Hannovre sans l'Angleterre." Therefore—the reasoning does not seem quite clear—James ought to be supported; or else, certainly, the Duc d'Hannovre should be made to forego one of the two crowns—either Hanover or England, a proposal which James pronounces perfectly "juste et nullement impracticable." The proposal does not, however, "fetch" the Emperor, who goes on procrastinating. But, on the other hand, Louis XIV, gets wind of it, though he was not meant to, through D'Audriffet, and grows uneasy, throwing all the cold water that he can upon the scheme. Meanwhile in England things go against the Pretender. Queen Anne dies, King George succeeds, and, in spite of James's solemn protest, addressed to the Powers in English, French, and Latin, England seems perfectly content. After this it is not surprising to find Leopold, when James returns to the subject of his marriage, shaking his head discouragingly, and pointing out that the Pretender's matrimonial value has fallen