THE 
 
 HOFJLAD 
 LIBRMY. 
 
 1*1- 
 
 li 
 
 %
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 Ex Lihris 
 
 SIR MICHAEL SADLER 
 
 ACQUIRED 1948 
 
 WITH THE HELP OF ALUMNI OF THE 
 
 SCHOOL OF EDUCATION
 
 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 The writer of the following story has pur- 
 sued the same plan she adoi^ted in that of 
 Theodore, by interweaving the imaginary 
 history of a young person living in those dis- 
 astrous times, with the important and inter- 
 esting detail of historic facts, which are 
 never altered or perverted, either in time, 
 place, or circumstance. Her intention is, 
 by this means, to excite a laudable curiosity 
 for works of History and Biography, which, 
 it is presumed, will be read with more dili- 
 gence, and recollected to better effect, when 
 they are combined with that species of indi- 
 vidual attachment awakened in a sensible 
 
 62^&53
 
 IV TO THE READER. 
 
 child towards a person of his own age, ac- 
 tuated by his own motives and affections. 
 The author may also add, that she was de- 
 sirous of impressing on the ardent and duc- 
 tile mind of youth the value of that religious 
 liberty, that peace and plenty, enjoyed in 
 this favoured country, and thereby awaken- 
 ing a spirit of thankfulness to God and good- 
 will to man. It will be found that her 
 scenes of distress are by no means exag- 
 gerated (since it was impossible to increase 
 the horrors of the times depicted) ; and it 
 will be evident to all parents, that she has 
 ceased to relate the memoirs of Henry IV. at 
 the happiest period.
 
 TO MARY, 
 
 DAUGHTER OF GENERAL CHARLES AMADEE DE HARCOURT 
 
 MARQUIS DE HARCOURT, 
 
 &C. &C. 
 
 MY DEAR YOUNG LADY, 
 
 With the permission of your excellent 
 parents, I present to you the story of a 
 young person supposed to live in times 
 of great historical importance, and whose 
 personal sufferings and virtues may add in- 
 terest, in the affectionate minds of early 
 youth, to those events which ought to be 
 deeply impressed on the mind and the me- 
 mory. I solicit your especial attention to 
 this story, because my little heroine in many
 
 vi DEDICATION. 
 
 respects resembles yourself; — like you, she is 
 the daughter of a French nobleman and an 
 English lady — her parents, like yours, have 
 suffered from those political tempests which 
 were permitted, at a later period, again to 
 desolate France ; and your happiness, like 
 hers, arises, in a considerable degree, from 
 the restoration of peace to your paternal 
 countries. 
 
 Beyond this the comparison ceases ; for 
 the misfortunes which fell upon your father's 
 house have not affected you, and the cou- 
 rage, heroism, and patience practised by 
 Adelaide, are, happily, not demanded in 
 your situation. But, more nobly descended 
 than her, living in times far more enlightened, 
 and daily receiving from the best of parents 
 those lessons which unite the precepts of 
 Christianity with the accomplishments be- 
 fitting your rank, you will readily perceive
 
 DEDICATION VU 
 
 that the virtues and attainments called for 
 in your situation, are in fact more impor- 
 tant than those she practised. You will be 
 aware, that active benevolence, self-control, 
 the dignity of a generous mind, the humility 
 of a religious spirit, the gentle demeanour 
 of courteous manners, the cheerfulness of a 
 placid temper, are more endearing, as well 
 as more feminine qualities, than the exertions 
 of courage, or the endurances of fortitude, 
 which yet, when called for, are perfectly 
 compatible with them. In considering these 
 subjects, you will turn your eyes upon that 
 admirable mother, whose daily path through 
 life exhibits them all ; and you will be sen- 
 sible of a love more pure, and an esteem 
 more perfect, towards both your parents, 
 than my poor Adelaide could possibly feel 
 for those from whom she had been so long 
 separated. You will look round on your
 
 viii DEDICATION. 
 
 noble and amiable brothers — on the illus- 
 trious connections with which you are so 
 eminently blessed (connections whose rank is 
 dignified by their virtues), — and you will feel 
 the full value of their example, and the 
 sweetness and strength of those ties which 
 incite you to follow it — and, above all, you 
 will be especially grateful to your Heavenly 
 Father for these rare and numerous bless- 
 ings. 
 
 With sincere hopes and ardent desires 
 that the promise of your early days may be 
 realized in virtue and happiness, 
 
 I remain, 
 My dear young Lady, 
 
 Your very faithful servant, 
 
 B. HOFLAND. 
 
 November 28th, 1822.
 
 ADELAIDE 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 You have long sowed in a field of flint, whicli could 
 "bring nothing forth but a crop of cares, and affliction of 
 spirit. 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH'S REMAINS. 
 
 In the evening of the 24th of August, 
 1572, a young couple, whom the duties of 
 a military life had separated for a consider- 
 able time, were glad to escape from the 
 merriment and gaiety which reigned through 
 the palace of the Louvre, where they were 
 lodged, to a small apartment, where they 
 could talk freely of their own affairs and 
 those of the kingdom of France, and wor- 
 ship God in the manner their own religion 
 dictated, as they were both of the Protestant, 
 
 B
 
 2 ADELAIDE. 
 
 or, as it was then called, the Huguenot 
 persuasion. 
 
 Charles de Soubise was an officer in the 
 service of the young King of Navarre, after- 
 wards the celebrated Henry IV. : he was 
 of a noble family, elegant person, and excel- 
 lent disposition : and had been, from his 
 infancy, distinguished by the Queen of Na- 
 varre, who had caused her son to bestow 
 upon him every mark of favour in his power. 
 He had married very early in life a young 
 English girl, who, with an aged imcle, had 
 taken refuge on the Continent during the 
 persecution of the Protestants under Queen 
 Mary of bloody memory : her father having 
 suffered at the stake, and her mother died 
 heart-broken for his cruel fate, poor little 
 Maria Shirley was happy in having a rela- 
 tive, who, in providing for his own safety, 
 did not forget the infant of his martyred 
 nephew, although her age and her sex ren- 
 dered her an inconvenient companion in his 
 flight. 
 
 Maria could not remember her parents,
 
 ADELAIDE. 3 
 
 but their sad fate made a deep inipression 
 on her mind ; and, together with the sincere 
 and sacred veneration she felt for the reli- 
 gion in which she was educated, tended to 
 render her uncomfortable in her present situ- 
 ation at Paris, since, amidst all its gaieties, 
 she felt aware that she was in a land of 
 enemies. The King of Navarre and his 
 mother had a short time before arrived in 
 Paris, for the purpose of celebrating the 
 marriage of the former with Margaret of 
 Valois, the sister of the King of France, 
 Charles IX. The match v^as made by Ca- 
 therine of Medicis, the Queen-mother, a 
 woman who united all the graces of a Court 
 to profound dissimulation and inherent cru- 
 elty ; and our young couple justly feared 
 that their amiable, generous, and gallant 
 young Prince, who had not yet completed 
 his nineteenth year, would be in some man- 
 ner rendered the dupe of her artifices, or tlie 
 victim to her designs, especially as her sons 
 were all of delicate health, and, after them, 
 he was the heir to the crown of France ; and
 
 4 ADELAIDE. 
 
 she was aware, that, although she now go- 
 verned in the name of her son, Henry would 
 never submit to her empire. 
 
 These surmises were strengthened by the 
 painful circumstances of the death of the 
 Queen of Navarre, which happened after a 
 short illness, said to be occasioned by the 
 fatigue she had undergone in preparing for 
 her son's nuptials ; but Madame de Soubise, 
 who was constant in her attendance on the 
 person of her royal mistress, was convinced 
 that her death was occasioned by the use of 
 a poisoned pair of gloves*, which had been 
 presented to her by a French nobleman. 
 The Court was at this time wearing mourning 
 for this melancholy circumstance ; and such 
 were the apparent testimonies of respect for 
 her memory, that the young King and most 
 of his followers believed Catherine and her 
 son to be sincere in their demonstrations of 
 grief, and among the rest De Soubise; but 
 he vainly persuaded his yourg wife to that 
 purpose. She had witnessed tne sufferings, 
 and received the last breath of her beloved 
 * See Sully, Brantome, and other historians.
 
 ADELAIDE. O 
 
 Queen, and her heart still dwelt on its sor- 
 rows. 
 
 The conversation was interrupted at a late 
 hour by the arrival of their only child, Ade- 
 laide de Soubise, who entered with such an 
 air of joy in her features, such a fulness of 
 gaiety and beauty in her countenance, that 
 it was scarcely possible to look at her with- 
 out sharing in that pleasure w-hich animated 
 all her gestures. The child was at this time 
 in her seventh year, and united in her person 
 and manners all the most striking charac- 
 teristics of the two countries to which she 
 owed her birth. She had the delicate fair- 
 ness and soft smile of her mother, with the 
 dark brilliant eye, and vivacity of expression 
 possessed by her father. As she had till 
 now lived entirely in the country, and been 
 educated by her mother with great care, she 
 spoke the English tongue with a purity sel- 
 dom met with ; and as she was too young 
 to share the troubles, or understand the 
 cares, which agitated those by whom she was 
 surrounded, her natural archness, wit, and 
 hilarity, displayed itself in the most engaging 
 
 b3
 
 b ADELAIDE. 
 
 manner ; and as she had been introduced by 
 the deceased Queen, and was beloved by the 
 young bride, it was no wonder that the great 
 Catherine patronized her, and that she be- 
 came, of course, the darling and plaything 
 of the Court. 
 
 She returned at this time from shariner 
 the caresses of royalty, loaded with its fa- 
 vours : — a splendid aigrette glistened in her 
 hair, the gift of the Queen-mother ; a golden 
 bracelet, taken from the arm of the Duchess 
 of Guise, encircled her neck ; and the young 
 Queen of Navarre had taken a small cross 
 from her bosom to tie it round the waist of 
 Adelaide ; on which the King of France 
 had observed — " That is your best present, 
 my little heretic ; be sure you take care of 
 that /" 
 
 " And so, because it is the best, I will 
 give it mamma," said the child, repeating the 
 words ; but in another moment she added, 
 " Oh, no ! mamma shall have my aigi-ette, 
 to make her look like the Queen, and I will 
 tie this round the neck of dear papa !" 
 
 De Soubise was too much delighted with
 
 ADELAIDE. 7 
 
 a child on whom he doated, and from whom 
 the long wars and various campaigns, in 
 which he had been engaged, had separated 
 him so long, to deny her any thing; and 
 kneeling on his lap, she was allowed the 
 satisfaction of tying the cross around her 
 father's neck, asking, at the time she did it, 
 " What the King could mean by calling her 
 a little heretic, and looking so odd — that 
 although he smiled, yet there was something 
 that terrified her in his looks ?" 
 
 " You are too young, my little maid," 
 said De Soubise, " to understand any ex- 
 planation I could give you to either the one 
 question or the other ; at a proper time I 
 will tell you more : say your prayers, and 
 for the present forget both."
 
 S ADELAIDE. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Not find the Ijody, say'st thou ? 
 
 No, Sir ; yet, by the large eflFusion of his blood, 
 
 Had a too sad assurance of the fact, 
 
 An argument of no less ill than death. 
 
 CHAMBERLAYNE. 
 
 When the child was asleep, its parents 
 could not forbear to comment on the malig- 
 nant countenance of the King of France, 
 and contrast it with that of their own be- 
 loved monarch ; and Maria was again led to 
 expatiate on her fears and suspicions. Her 
 husband not being harassed with the same 
 doubts, and gratified by the attentions paid 
 to his child, proposed retiring, and was soon 
 sunk into that profound sleep which refused 
 to visit the eyes of his anxious and mourn- 
 ing partner. 
 
 About two o'clock on the following morn- 
 ing, just as she was sinking into repose, Ma-
 
 ADELAIDE. 9 
 
 (lame de Soubise was startled by sounds 
 which proceeded from a distant part of the 
 palace, of a mournful and discordant kind, 
 and which every moment increased, and ap- 
 peared to draw nearer to the part where they 
 lodged. She arose in much alarm, and on 
 going to her window, which looked upon the 
 city of Paris, perceived many bands of sol- 
 diers running about the streets with lighted 
 torches and naked swords. They entered 
 various houses, and were seen to return in a 
 few moments, dragging the sleeping and ter- 
 rified inhabitants into the streets in some in- 
 stances, and with bloody swords in others ; 
 and, amidst the various cries which now in- 
 creased every moment, she heard distinctly 
 the horrible words, spoken in a voice of au- 
 thority which proved that these assaults were 
 no private murder, *' Kill them all: — -spare 
 not : — kill all the Huguenots !" 
 
 This was, indeed, that awful night which 
 remains an eternal blot on the page of his- 
 tory — the massacre of St. Bartholomew, when 
 the wicked Catherine de Medicis and her 
 cruel son Charles IX. and their Catholic
 
 10 ADELAIDE. 
 
 nobles, resolved to extirpate, by one vast 
 slaughter, all their Protestant subjects, toge- 
 ther with the young King of Navarre,) their 
 visitant and the husband of the Queen's 
 daughter,) and his faithful attendants. Yet 
 no other fault was ever pretended, than a 
 desire to restore Christianity to its original 
 purity, and to worship God according to the 
 dictates of his word. 
 
 The first assassination was that of the 
 brave and venerable Admiral Coligny, into 
 whose apartment they burst with the fury 
 of fiends, and on whose body, even after life 
 was extinct, they committed every barbarous 
 insult by order of Charles, who caused it to 
 be hung on a gibbet, that he might glut his 
 eyes with the horrid spectacle. Margaret, 
 the wife of the young King of Navarre, was 
 the only one of her family who was innocent 
 of this crime ; and it is said they durst not 
 let her into the secret*, lest the humanity 
 of her disposition should induce her to reveal 
 it ; but when her mother bade her good 
 night, the wicked woman, conscious that she 
 
 * See Brnntome and other historians.
 
 ADELAIDE. 11 
 
 intended to have her young husband mur- 
 dered by her side, kissed her with an air of 
 pity which awoke the suspicion of Margaret, 
 who, feeling uneasy, was the sooner roused to 
 a sense of what was passing in the palace. 
 
 It is certain that the young Queen saved 
 the life of her husband by directing him how 
 to escape through a door in her apartment 
 covered by tapestry ; that she also preserved 
 a gentleman who fled to her room for suc- 
 cour, by putting him under the bed ; but a 
 third was murdered even as he clung round 
 her feet. The terrible shrieks of the young 
 Queen, while this scene took place in her 
 apartment, now pierced the ear of Madame 
 de Soubise ; and believing that the King of 
 Navarre was murdered, she awoke her hus- 
 band, and revealed the horrible surmise she 
 feared, and the terrible situation of every 
 thing around them. 
 
 The chamber in which they were lodged 
 was at the extremity of the palace, and the 
 door was so small and so situated, as to ren- 
 der it probable that, in the confusion of the 
 scene which surrounded them, it might not
 
 \2 ADELAIDE. 
 
 attract attention ; but so soon as poor De 
 Soubise became sensible, from tbe cries of 
 the young Queen, that the life of his royal 
 master was in danger, he insisted upon flying 
 to his relief, and taking his sword in his 
 hand, but without putting on his shoes, he 
 set out cautiously towards the place from 
 whence the cries proceeded. Soon the first 
 shrieks were interrupted by others, and 
 being by no means acquainted with the in- 
 tricacies of the gallery on which he had en- 
 tered, he met with perpetual interruptions. 
 Several times two and three of the mur- 
 derers, hot in pursuit, passed him with bloody 
 swords in one hand and flambeaux in the 
 other ; but seeing him with a drawn sword 
 they mistook him for one of their own party, 
 and suffered him to hurry forward on his 
 errand of mercy. Sensible of this advan- 
 tage, he turned into the first open door from 
 whence the cry of distress proceeded, and 
 there perceived the Viscount de Chartres, 
 an aged nobleman, kneeling before two ruf- 
 fians, whose poniards were even then pierc- 
 ing his throat and his breast. In an instant
 
 ADELAIDE. 13 
 
 he plunged his sword into the body of the 
 assassin nearest to him ; but ere he could re- 
 gain it, the chamber was filled with more of 
 the murderous party, and by one he was re- 
 collected, and mentioned " as a Huguenot, 
 who must suffer with his wife." 
 
 At the mention of her name, inspired with 
 horror, and urged by despair, he endeavour- 
 ed to push his way through the assailants, 
 and being a remarkably good swordsman, he 
 was enabled to regain the narrow staircase 
 from whence he had descended, and where 
 he perceived his wife, who, with outstretch- 
 ed arms, stood ready to shroud him in the 
 dark silk counterpane which she had snatch- 
 ed from the bed, and justly conceived might 
 somewhat conceal him from a pursuit which 
 the deep shadows and glaring lights render- 
 ed difficult ; but just at the moment when 
 she had reached him, he received a deep 
 wound in the side with a poniard, and fell 
 at her feet with a groan which pierced her 
 soul, and seemed to strike her with a phren- 
 zy so terrible as to make her rush into the 
 arms of the murderers. 
 
 c
 
 14 ADELAIDE. 
 
 The shrill, well-kiio\Yn voice of the dis- 
 tracted mother first awoke the child from 
 the sound slumbers of infancy, and starting 
 out of bed, she rushed to that of her parents : 
 neither of them was there, yet their clothes 
 were left : noises, lights, and words cf ter- 
 rible execration met her ear, and in great 
 terror she cried aloud for her usual attend- 
 ant ; but, alas ! poor Madeline, her kind and 
 faithful Madeline, could make no answer! 
 
 The poor child went forward on the stairs, 
 but the lights were gone, and the sounds 
 which had appalled her seemed retiring to a 
 distant part of the palace. She stepped for- 
 ward, and stumbled over something, and at 
 the same time was sensible that her feet 
 were very wet : her cries were redoubled, 
 and in a short time she saw a female servant 
 approach with a light, followed by two men. 
 They appeared to be hastening on some im- 
 portant mission to the apartments of the 
 Queen ; but the woman, arrested by the voice 
 of infancy, checked her steps, and in the 
 sight which now presented itself, felt that 
 return of humanity which seemed suspended
 
 ADELAIDE. 15 
 
 in all around. The steps of little Adelaide 
 were stopped by a murdered corpse ; her 
 feet were bathed by the warm blood still 
 ebbing from its wound, and when the light 
 approached, the child exclaimed — " It was 
 papa! her own dear, dear papa!" 
 
 The men stooped to remove the body, and 
 perceiving the cross tied round the neck, 
 concluded that he had been murdered by 
 mistake, which had occurred in many other 
 instances ; they therefore rolled the counter- 
 pane, which still lay near, around the corpse, 
 and removed it to a place of security, the 
 woman at the same time taking off the child's 
 head-gear, which she thrust into the wound 
 to prevent a farther effusion of blood. They 
 passed on, and the child, whose sorrows had 
 now in a manner subdued her fears, follow- 
 ed them, determined to stay with him she 
 still considered her father : but the men 
 would not suffer her to enter the closet 
 where the body was deposited ; she was 
 thrust from one place to another, her cries 
 disregarded, her person not recollected; and 
 with her hair floating, her garment streaming
 
 16 ADELAIDE. 
 
 with blood, and her voice stifled with emo- 
 tion, at last found herself in the open street, 
 in the midst of horrors still greater than 
 those from which she had escaped. 
 
 On one side might be seen the wretched 
 Huguenots in the hands of the brutal sol- 
 diery, and not less brutal mob, suffering 
 under every form which licensed cruelty and 
 unbridled ferocity could adopt : some were 
 poniarded, others were suspended, and the 
 flying were shot from the balconies of the 
 Louvre by the King himself and his brother. 
 The body of Admiral Coligny, though be- 
 headed, was suspended on a gibbet ; and the 
 indignities on every hand offered to the dead, 
 rendered the living the more hideous spec- 
 tacle. Among this scene of fiends and victims, 
 the poor innocent, who but a few hours be- 
 fore had been so differently circumstanced, 
 wandered about, not knowing whither to di- 
 rect her steps, conscious only that her father 
 was taken from her for ever, and that it was 
 but too probable that the next victim she 
 gazed upon might be the mother, who alone 
 was dearer than him.
 
 ADELAIDE. 17 
 
 The day grew bright — the evening suc- 
 ceeded ; but the work of slaughter still con- 
 tinued. The poor child sought only how 
 to escape the horrible sights which every 
 where surrounded her, and in doing that, 
 had insensibly removed to the road of St. 
 Benis, when, exhausted with hunger, sor- 
 row, and fatigue, she sat down at a little 
 distance from the road, and sunk into a sleep 
 so profound, that it resembled death : in- 
 quiry had been made for her in the palace, 
 but in vain ; and the still, small voice of 
 humanity was soon lost in the stronger ap- 
 petite for blood, which for seven successive 
 days demanded its victims, not only in Paris 
 but the provinces. 
 
 When Adelaide awoke from her long sleep, 
 she found herself in a very small room, laid 
 on a mattress, and carefully covered ; a per- 
 son in a priest's habit was sitting near her, 
 reading ; and when he perceived her eyes 
 open, he spoke to her in a low, but soothing 
 voice, and offered her some bread and soup, 
 which she ate with that eagerness natural to 
 her situation ; and having heard her sad and 
 
 c 3
 
 18 ADELAIDE. 
 
 artless account, he told her to lie down again, 
 to remain perfectly quiet, and then left her, 
 as if with an intention to inquire what was 
 become of her mother. 
 
 In the evening the good priest (for such 
 he certainly was) returned again, but he 
 could give her no account of her parents, and 
 he seldom stayed with her longer than was 
 necessary. In two or three days, finding, that 
 either from grief, fear, or the natural good- 
 ness of her disposition, she always paid the 
 strictest attention to his injunctions, he ven- 
 tured one day to allow her to go out with 
 him ; but she found it was onlv to take her 
 to see another prisoner like herself, in the 
 person of the young M. Rosny*, to whom 
 he had afforded similar protection with 
 herself, as he had flown to him on the first 
 night of the massacre, and was yet closely 
 preserved by him, to the hazard of his own 
 life. 
 
 Every change of scene, however trifling, 
 
 * The second son of Baron de Rosny, who afterwards 
 became the celebrated Duke of Sully, minister of Henry the 
 Fourth,
 
 ADELAIDE. 19 
 
 was a relief to poor Adelaide, whose great 
 anxiety for the fate of her mother was in- 
 cessant, and who would at any time have 
 gone out into the city to seek her, if her pro- 
 tector had not repeatedly assured her, that 
 in doing it she would expose him to the fury 
 of the assassins ; and, young as she was, she 
 could not bear to expose her benefactor to 
 these wretches. Every good sentiment in 
 her mind was strengthened by every inter- 
 view she held with young Rosny, whose un- 
 derstanding and prudence were far beyond 
 his years, and who took delight in impress- 
 ing on her ductile mind all those maxims of 
 wisdom and virtue, which even now, in his 
 fourteenth year, he laid down for himself. 
 About ten days after they were thus driven 
 by distress to find an asylum with one who 
 was their enemy only in his faith, the Baron 
 de Rosny was enabled to remove his son, and 
 send him out of the reach of danger, and 
 from that time the captivity of Adelaide 
 seemed more cruel than ever. 
 
 One night as she lay in bed, weeping over 
 her forlorn situation, the good priest sud-
 
 ^0 ADELAIDE. 
 
 denly entered her chamber.—" Rise^ liiy 
 chikl/' said he ; " I have obtained the means 
 of thy deliverance : put on the clothes which 
 I have brought for thee, and take care never 
 to mention thy name, connections, or sex, 
 till thou art placed beyond the reach of dan- 
 ger, by being landed in England." 
 
 ** England !" exclaimed Adelaide, " Alas 1 
 what can I do in England ? I had better die 
 than be banished." 
 
 ** Say not so, my child ; it is the land of 
 thy mother, the land where her religion is 
 professed, and where, doubtless, many will 
 be found to protect thee ; at all events, it 
 hath cost thy young friend Rosny no little 
 trouble to procure thy enlargement and pro- 
 tection for thee, and doubtless it is thy duty 
 to accept it." 
 
 Adelaide sprang from the bed, and arrayed 
 herself speedily in the dress of a page, which 
 was prepared for her ; and though she could 
 not help weeping bitterly at the thoughts of 
 leaving her mother behind her, yet she tried 
 to console herself, and appear even grateful 
 for the kindness shown to her. She reflect-
 
 ADELAIDE. 21 
 
 ed, that if her mother had escaped the hor- 
 rors of that dreadful night, and was aware 
 that her father had perished, she would very 
 likely endeavour to return to her native coun- 
 try, in which case she should most probably 
 meet her. 
 
 With many tears and thanks, she bade 
 adieu to the good man, who, in an age of 
 fanaticism and cruelty, had shown himself so 
 superior to the rest of his brethren, and join- 
 ed the party who were taking the advantage 
 of a short respite in their persecutors, to steal 
 to that land of freedom where only they 
 could enjoy the exercise of their religion in 
 peace. 
 
 This party consisted of a father and two 
 daughters, obliged like herself to submit to 
 the necessity the times imposed, and travel 
 in disguise. Various were the stratagems 
 they adopted, and the difficulties they en- 
 countered, ere they could reach the sea- 
 side ; and when they arrived at length in 
 the neighbourhood of Boulogne, it took all 
 the money they could raise, and nearly all 
 the luggage they carried also, to procure
 
 22 ADELAIDE. 
 
 secretly a boat, in which they ventured to 
 take their passage for England. Here they 
 arrived, friendless and pennyless, strangers 
 alike to the customs and the language of the 
 country, with the exception of the little or- 
 phan, whom they had consented to take ex- 
 pressly for the value of her knowledge of 
 the English tongue, since through her means 
 alone could they hope to gain any settlement 
 in the country to which severe misfortunes 
 had driven them. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 The prosperous miirtherer that hath clothed his guilt 
 In royal ermines, all those furs of state 
 Cannot preserve from trembling. 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 M. Crebillon and his daughters were 
 people who had moved in the upper rank of 
 citizens, but were strangers to the refinement 
 of manners, and cultivation of mind, to which 
 Adelaide had been accustomed ; and young 
 as she was, the child was fully aware of the
 
 ADELAIDE. QS 
 
 difference between her past and present situ- 
 ation, and led thence to look upon her loss 
 of parents and country with increased an- 
 guish. She soon learned, however, to esteem, 
 though she could not admire them ; for they 
 were truly upright in all their conduct, and 
 pious in their dispositions. Willing to avoid 
 being seen by any of their countrymen, they 
 left the sea-shore as soon as they were able, 
 and by degrees made their way to the me- 
 tropolis, where they endeavoured to obtain 
 employment in embroidery, for which they 
 were well qualified. 
 
 It was the first care of Annette and Louise 
 Crebillon to exchange their clothes for those 
 which were proper, and as Adelaide desired 
 the same comfort, they indulged her in it as 
 soon as they were able ; and they then first 
 remarked the costly ornament which she had 
 worn round her neck, ever since the remark- 
 able night on which she received it. On its 
 being taken off*, the child desired that they 
 would pay for the clothes with it, for she 
 was well aware of the poverty in which they 
 were all placed ; but this M. Crebillon de-
 
 24 ADf:LAIDE. 
 
 clared he would not do, so long as he could 
 avoid it ; and he put the bracelet with great 
 care in his own portmanteau, saying, " That 
 it might sometime be the means of leading 
 to some knowledge of the final fate of her 
 unhappy mother, should she survive." 
 
 By degrees, the daughters obtained such 
 a degree of employment, as enabled them, 
 though in a scanty manner, to provide for 
 their household. As poor Adelaide was on 
 all occasions their interpreter, it became her 
 duty to buy every thing they wanted, and 
 accompany them to the houses of their em- 
 ployers, by which means she became ac- 
 quainted with the manner of living in Eng- 
 land, and with the reserved but inherently 
 generous character of the natives ; and her 
 young and affectionate heart expanded to- 
 wards them as the countrywomen of her dear 
 mamma, and those to whom she could dedi- 
 cate her future life. The beauty of her per- 
 son, the superiority of her manners, and the 
 singular circumstance of a child apparently 
 English, and educated in a court, being re- 
 duced to such a situation, by degrees .at-
 
 ADELAIDE. 25 
 
 tracted attention amongst ladies of the first 
 quality, and the Crebillons obtained the 
 finest and most profitable employment, and 
 were even enabled to engage several people 
 under them. 
 
 Adelaide was ever willing to engage in 
 every service in her power to aid the family, 
 but they never would allow her to be em- 
 ployed in any menial office; and as she early 
 displayed great taste, she was usually occu- 
 pied with drawing or contriving patterns ; 
 and in the amusement this afforded to her 
 mind, added to the natural vivacity of her 
 temper, the poor child appeared to recover 
 from the shock of her early misfortunes, and 
 regain the cheerfulness which belongs to 
 early life, and since the elegance of rank, 
 and the endearments of consanguinity were 
 denied, to find a happy refuge in the kind- 
 ness of humble friendship and active duty. 
 
 But Adelaide did not long enjoy this tran- 
 quil state of mind, and as she increased in 
 stature and advanced to maturity, many ten- 
 der remembrances and deep reflections awoke 
 her sensibility, and destroyed her repose. 
 
 D
 
 26 ADELAIDE. 
 
 The thoughts of her parents, the desire she 
 felt to know more of her mother's connections, 
 and the earnest wish she had for finding some 
 of her maternal relations in the country 
 where it was most likely she would spend 
 her days, all tended to render her anxious, 
 melancholy, and restless. 
 
 Perhaps this solicitude was increased from 
 the part which M. Crebillon always took in 
 her cogitations. He had left his country 
 from dire necessity, at a period of life when 
 habits are fixed ; and although he was grate- 
 ful to that which afforded him an asylum, 
 his heart still lingered after his own, and the 
 climate, the manners, the cookery, the build- 
 ings, and even the best as well as the worst 
 things he met with, afforded him some mo- 
 tive for desiring to revisit his native country, 
 although the loss of liis property, the assas- 
 sination of his sons, and the restrictions on 
 his religious liberty, were all, he confessed, 
 " sufficient reasons to oblige him to remain 
 where he was." 
 
 On the contrary, his daughters found no- 
 thing to regret; having left thwr country
 
 ADELAIDE. 27 
 
 under an impression of horror they could 
 never forget, and having found in England 
 great kindness and encouragement — enjoy- 
 ing the prospect of redeeming all their 
 past losses, and being in general much too 
 busy for spending their time in useless la- 
 mentations, they seldom attended to his dis- 
 course on these subjects, and were really 
 glad that Adelaide would listen to him. 
 When, however, they perceived that their 
 only parent grew pale and thin, that Ade- 
 laide was little better, and that it was the 
 opinion of a skilful leech that the country 
 air would be good for both, with the greatest 
 kindness they agreed to remove to some place 
 which should furnish them with a purer air 
 and more enlivening scenes. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth at this time kept her 
 court at Richmond, and there were ladies 
 around her who were likely to recommend 
 the sisters to the royal favour, a circum- 
 stance of much importance, as it was well 
 known that this great princess united with 
 the weighty concerns of her kingdom a pas- 
 sion for dress, which induced her, in despite
 
 28 ADELAIDE. 
 
 of her general economy, to reward munifi- 
 cently every person who invented, or per- 
 fected the adornments of her person. In 
 the hope of obtaining this royal patronage, 
 the Crebillon family removed to a lodging 
 in this beautiful village; and poor Adelaide 
 soon found her health revive, and her spirits 
 resume their energy, under circumstances 
 which were calculated to give a new spring 
 to her feelings, and elicit the powers of a 
 mind oppressed and rendered dormant by 
 peculiar circumstances. 
 
 As there were no newspapers, or general 
 means of circulating the occurrences of 
 foreign countries among the lower orders of 
 society in those times, many circumstances 
 of great interest and importance to their na- 
 tive country now first reached this family of 
 emigrants. In their days of poverty and ob- 
 scurity, and conversing only through the 
 medium of a female child, no person had 
 said any thing to them beyond the orders 
 they gave, or the faults they found ; but 
 now that, by prudence and industry, they 
 were enabled to cut a respectable figure, and
 
 » ADELAIDE. ^9 
 
 by constant practice had attained great power 
 in the beautiful art they practised, and their 
 little interpretress had grown up as elegant 
 and intelligent as she was formerly lovely 
 and artless, ladies of rank and fashion did 
 not hesitate to communicate circumstances 
 of interest and importance to her, on the 
 subjects connected with her native country. 
 
 Adelaide now learned that the King of 
 Navarre, to whom, from her earliest recol- 
 lection, she had attached every idea of loy- 
 alty and admiration of which she was cap- 
 able, had indeed escaped in the dreadful night 
 which had been so fatal to his friends and 
 followers ; but that he had been ever since 
 engaged in perpetual warfare with the united 
 powers of France, Spain, and the Princes 
 who composed what was called " the League," 
 at the head of which was the Duke of Guise ; 
 but he being assassinated, the Duke of May- 
 enne took his place. That Charles, the 
 bloody king, had himself become a terrific 
 object of Divine retribution, having fallen 
 into a state of both mental and bodily sulFcr- 
 ing, the most singular and excruciating, 
 
 D 3
 
 30 ADELAIDE. 
 
 during which it appeared as if he constantly 
 heard the groans and shrieks of those victims 
 whom his cruelty had immolated. No art 
 could comprehend the nature of his com- 
 plaint, no medicine relieve it ; and it wasted 
 him by such slow degrees, that for a long time 
 death itself seemed to refuse him aid; all the 
 blood in his body issued through the pores 
 of his* skin ; and although the most singu- 
 lar, and even horrible means were adopted 
 to su^ly this waste of nature, yet every 
 effort failed, and Charles expired in the 
 flower of his youth — a terrible proof of the 
 fury to which unbridled passions may trans- 
 port the human mind, and a monument of 
 that Divine justice which even in this world 
 punishes the guilty. 
 
 Henry III. the brother of Charles, suc- 
 ceeded him, and for some years carried on 
 the war against his brother-in-law the King 
 of Navarre, though he was secretly inclined 
 
 * It has been asserted by some historians, that a bath 
 made of the blood of new-born infants was used by this 
 monster.
 
 ADELAIDE. 31 
 
 to favour Lim : like the otlier princes of his 
 house, he was swayed hy his mother, whose 
 boundless ambition, detestable dissimulation, 
 and horrible cruelty, led them all into innu- 
 merable sins, so that France continued to bleed 
 in every vein, her fairest provinces were the 
 seat of warfare, the rich were drained of their 
 resources, the poor oppressed with famine, 
 the laws trampled upon by the powerful with 
 impunity, and pursued with unrelenting se- 
 verity against others ; and thus a country, 
 formed by its natural fertility and happy 
 climate to be the happiest abode of man, 
 w^as rendered, by the wickedness and weak- 
 ness of its rulers, a scene of desolation — a 
 field of blood ! 
 
 Catherine died, and Eenry 111., oppressed 
 by the very people who affected to defend 
 him, forsook the League, and formed a con- 
 federacy with tlie King of Navarre ; but 
 scarcely had he done so, when the enemies 
 his former misconduct had made, contrived 
 his destruction. A young man, named Jaques 
 Clement, was fixed upon for this atrocious
 
 32 ADEJ.AIDE. 
 
 purpose : he was introduced to the royal 
 presence, and presented Henry with a forged 
 credential, and while the monarch was en- 
 gaged in perusing it, he drew a knife from 
 his sleeve, and plunged it in his body. Henry 
 withdrew the knife, and struck the monster 
 in the face ; and the guards, alarmed with 
 the noise, rushed in and killed the assassin 
 on the spot. The wound Henry received 
 was slight, but the knife had been poisoned 
 — it was therefore mortal : he had merely 
 time to confess, to send for the King of 
 Navarre, and declare him his successor — 
 being indeed the lawful heir; and he thence- 
 forth assumed the title of Henry IV. of 
 France. 
 
 This circumstance had but just taken place; 
 and this sovereign, surrounded by enemies 
 and all the power of the League, appeared 
 rather to have increased his troubles, than 
 added to his honours, and Adelaide saw, in 
 all this detail, no circumstance that promis- 
 ed any change of her affairs. Yet often 
 would she wander on the banks of the 
 Thames, and muse on the possibility of re-
 
 ADELAIDE. 3 
 
 n 
 
 turning to her country, claiming the protec- 
 tion of her sovereign, the restoration of her 
 father's property, and that situation and rank 
 in society which she felt she had a right to 
 claim . 
 
 These ideas were more naturally awakened 
 in the place around her, than they had ever 
 been before ; for the whole of the populous 
 village of Richmond was peopled with the 
 court of Elizabeth and its dependants. The 
 Queen's palace, standing on a beautiful little 
 plain, called " the Greene," extended in its 
 offices down to the river, across which there 
 was an easy ferry to Twickenham Park, 
 where the Lord Keeper Bacon tlien resided. 
 Lower down, on that side of the river, was 
 the stately palace of Sion, which had been 
 the ruin and death of its noble founder, the 
 Duke of Somerset. Higher on the river, 
 were many fine seats of the nobility, crowned 
 by the princely, and unequalled mansion of 
 Hampton Court, built by Cardinal Wolsey, 
 and presented to Henry VHL to appease his 
 resentment for delaying his divorce from his 
 first Queen. The Green itself was almost
 
 34 ADELAIDE. 
 
 surrounded by houses, where the ladies* of 
 her Majesty's household resided ; and even 
 on the hill itself many dwellings were built, 
 contrary to the former custom of the Eng- 
 lish, who were wont to show a predilection 
 for low and covered situations. Thus on 
 every side objects of grandeur and elegance 
 were presented, which, aided by splendid 
 shows of barges, filled with gay parties on 
 the river, processions of gallant courtiers 
 attending the Queen on horseback in the 
 neighbouring parks of Sheen and Ham, with 
 morris-dancers, mummers, and baitings on 
 the green, all tended to restore to her mind 
 the varied scenes of grandeur and sorrow, of 
 affecting and intense interest, which had 
 marked the first years of her existence. 
 
 With hopes and wishes naturally drawn 
 to these subjects of meditation, the tender 
 and noble heart of Adelaide ever reverted 
 most strongly to the fate of her beloved 
 parents, and she would many a time, with 
 clasped hands and streaming eyes, exclaim, 
 
 ■* The best row ©f k«ii^e« still ret^iai it» name, riz. " Maid 
 «t Honour"'! Row.'^
 
 ADELAIDE. 35 
 
 " Ah ! vrhj was I not a boy ? then would 
 1 have flown to my king, and beneath his 
 standard have secured to my father's name 
 that glory his premature death denied ; then 
 would I, at least, have had the satisfaction 
 of weeping over his tomb, and gone from 
 thence to seek the ashes of my murdered 
 mother. — But is it not possible that my 
 mother may still live ?" This question was 
 every hour rising to her mind ; and as youth 
 is ever full of hope, and Adelaide had found 
 her hopes fed by the circumstance of ascer- 
 taining that several Huguenots, besides her 
 own party, had actually escaped the general 
 massacre, it was no wonder that she dwelt 
 on a subject so captivating to an affectionate 
 daughter, and that at length it produced in 
 her a resolution to devote her life to seeking 
 this beloved and long-lost parent. 
 
 This idea she nourished in secret, know- 
 ing that the sisters Crebillon would deem it 
 alike romantic and impracticable, and that 
 even the old man, although he would enter 
 into her feelings, and probably propose to 
 accompany her to France, was by no means
 
 S6 ADELAIDE. 
 
 a person on whose courage or capacity she 
 could place reliance on an occasion so mo- 
 mentous. To pray for direction from her 
 Almighty Protector, to determine on losing 
 no opportunity to increase her own know- 
 ledge on all points connected with the enter- 
 prise she meditated, and to make herself so 
 useful to the Crebillons, that they might 
 reward her with a small sum of money at 
 the time when she should need it, was all 
 she could do at present ; and on this line of 
 conduct she firmlv determined. 
 
 Whilst these thoughts were agitating the 
 })reast of poor Adelaide, the good fortune 
 her protectors so earnestly desired actually 
 befell them. They had embroidered an apron* 
 for the Countess of Nottingham upon her 
 marriage, which had attracted the attention 
 of the Queen, and she had not only honour- 
 ed the bride by accepting it, but inquired 
 after the persons who had wrought it. The 
 apron was formed of a square piece of white 
 
 * Ihis apron is still in existence, and appears to be the 
 same jii which she sate for her picture now in Hardwicke 
 
 Hall.
 
 ADELAIDE. 37 
 
 silk, in the middle of which lay a lobster, 
 worked with such ingenuity that it appeared 
 really alive ; the four corners represented 
 snails creeping out of their shells, and the 
 rest was ornamented with small insects and 
 other appropriate designs. However strange 
 such decorations may appear to us now, their 
 performance merits admiration ; — it is cer- 
 tain, at least, such was the opinion of this 
 great Queen, since in a few days she con- 
 descended to send for Annette Crebillon to 
 give her orders in person. 
 
 Poor Annette had never possessed much 
 of that air of ease and politeness which cha- 
 racterize her countrywomen in general ; for 
 the constraint in which the unhappy Hu- 
 guenots lived prevented their cultivating 
 general society, and the constant labour re- 
 quired in her situation had hindered her 
 from attaining more of the English language 
 than was necessary for common intercourse : 
 therefore she eagerly besought the lady in 
 waiting to accept of Adelaide as her substi- 
 tute, and represent her as unable to compre- 
 hend her Majesty's commands with the in- 
 
 E
 
 38 ADELAIDE. 
 
 teiligence she felt to be due to their impor- 
 tance. 
 
 The apology was accepted, for the Queen 
 had no desire to waste her words in expla- 
 nations ill understood, and Adelaide, in trem- 
 bling expectation, and an indefinite hope 
 that some future good might arise to her 
 from this interview, was hastily ushered into 
 the royal presence, and beheld that woman 
 whom she had ever considered, justly, the 
 most powerful and the wisest of her sex — 
 the one who had rescued England from those 
 evils under which France still groaned, and 
 extended the same blessings to every country 
 within her influence. 
 
 Elizabeth was at this time nearly fifty 
 years of age, but the clearness of her com- 
 plexion, and the fire of her small but bril- 
 liant grey eye, induced a stranger to con- 
 sider her much younger ; she was not per- 
 fectly straight, but her agility and the dig- 
 nity of her manners tended to conceal the 
 defect, and the general impression she gave, 
 v/as that of a handsome, active woman, at 
 once commanding and affable, and everv way
 
 ADELAIDE. S9 
 
 a queen ; she wore a round coif formed upon 
 wire, which was terminated with scallops, 
 which was so far unbecoming as it left the 
 ears exposed, which never look well in ad- 
 vanced life. This deficiency was compen- 
 sated in a great measure by her ruff, which 
 was of Flanders lace, curiously placed also 
 on light wires ; the lower part of her throat 
 and chest, which were very white, were un- 
 covered, and her manteau of cut Genoa vel- 
 vet was well contrived to fill up the deficien- 
 cies, or add to the graces of her form. She 
 sat upon a large chair stuffed and ornament- 
 ed, and near her stood two young ladies who 
 held extended before her a rich robe of white 
 satin. 
 
 Turning her eyes from the dress to Ade- 
 laide, who stood in meek, but not downcast 
 humility, at due distance, " So," said the 
 Queen, " this is the damsel of whom ye, my 
 Lady of Conynghame, spoke ; truly it seem- 
 eth a weak vessel to carry so weighty a mat- 
 ter ; natheless we will try its abilities." 
 
 A motion of the Queen's quick eye showed 
 to Adelaide it was her Majesty's pleasure
 
 40 ADELAIDE. 
 
 that she should advance, which she did with 
 graceful obedience, and a self-possession alike 
 removed from confidence and embarrassment; 
 and the regards of the sovereign seemed to 
 assure some of the younger part of her at- 
 tendants that she wished they would observe 
 her, for she condescended to address her 
 with that subdued voice which indicated en- 
 couragement and affability. "We will that 
 ye embroider this dress all over with eyes 
 and ears alternately — moreover, that ye use 
 your utmost skill in skilfully causing a green 
 serpent to entwine around the arms in such 
 wise as that the head, with a forked tongue, 
 shall appear beneath the shoulder ; and look 
 that it be done with great despatch." 
 
 Sensible that the commands of her Majesty 
 could be fully complied with, and grateful 
 for the manners she had so graciously adopt- 
 ed, Adelaide, with deep blushes and low 
 courtesies, promised her utmost diligence, and 
 retired in a suitable manner from the royal 
 presence ; but ere she had left the room the 
 Queen recalled her, and inquired " If she 
 l\ad ever before sooken with a Queen ?"
 
 adelaidp:. 41 
 
 adding to her nearest lady, '* It strikes us, 
 that this. little maid hath seen one who re- 
 sembles our person." 
 
 " When I was very young, please your 
 Majesty, the Queen of Navarre " 
 
 " Ay, there it is," said Elizabeth, motion- 
 ing to Adelaide to depart, and by no means 
 sorry to suppose herself compared to Marga- 
 ret of Valois, one of the loveliest princesses 
 who graced a Court remarkable for beautiful 
 women : such being, unhappily, the weak- 
 ness which pervaded a mind in many points 
 so powerful. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 grief, thou blessing and thou curse ! how fair, 
 How charming art thou, sitting thus in state 
 Upon the eyelids of ingenuous youth, 
 
 *» 
 
 Watering the roses of a healthful cheek 
 With dews of silver ! 
 
 VILLAGE CURATE. 
 
 Elated with the parting smile of her sove- 
 reign, from which, like many with more 
 years and experience, she drew the most 
 
 E 3
 
 4^ ADELAIDE. 
 
 flattering omens, Adelaide added her utmost 
 endeavours to the perfecting of the Queen's 
 orders with those of the sisters Crebilion, 
 and by the accuracy of her drawing greatly 
 facilitated their labours. All the time this 
 tedious work was in course, her mind, at 
 variance with her hands, continually ran 
 upoii the possibility of obtaining help from 
 her Mcijesty in the prosecution of her design 
 to return to France ; and by every oppor- 
 tunity Vvhich presented itself, from the ladies 
 of the Court, who came to inquire after the 
 progress of the work, she failed not to in- 
 quire after the state of public affairs in her 
 unhappy country. 
 
 Alas ! all she learned continued but to 
 present subjects of melancholy foreboding, 
 especially on the part of the King, who, 
 still harassed by the League, and ill obeyed 
 by his alienated subjects, was little likely to 
 succour any new objects of distress, or give 
 the time to past investigation her case de- 
 manded ; and she was obliged to confess even 
 to herself, that it was better to suppress her 
 feelings, and submit to her situation, than
 
 ADELAIDE. 48 
 
 rush on dangers which could answer no end, 
 and sufferings which appeared inevitable. 
 
 Such were her feelings when she again 
 had the honour to approach Majesty, and 
 present to that discriminating eye the labours 
 wliich had interested her so much, and which 
 Elizabeth had declared " she would examine 
 herself." 
 
 The Queen was now seated in a long nar- 
 row room, in one end of which was a small 
 bay-window looking down the Thames, and 
 another which looked into the irregular 
 court of the palace ; in the former a table 
 was placed, on which the attendants spread 
 the dress for her Majesty to view. The ex- 
 amination was one of the most satisfactory 
 nature, and every particular in the work was 
 approved, more especially the serpents, on 
 which Adelaide herself had been employed, 
 a circumstance which the Queen learned from 
 the heightened colour and happy expression 
 of her countenance. 
 
 " And we will," said her Majesty, " that 
 thou shalt complete this work by placing 
 precious stones in the eyes of these serpents;
 
 44 ADELAIDE. 
 
 but we will not that our garment shall be 
 again removed : take thy needle, and do it 
 here in our presence*." 
 
 With some trepidation Adelaide prepared 
 to obey, when a lord of the bed-chamber en- 
 tering, spoke some words in a low voice to 
 the Queen, which appeared to affect her con- 
 siderably. She answered by saying, " she 
 would meet him in the presence-chamber ; 
 and after that took two or three turns in the 
 room, as if revolving some important point 
 in her mind, and at length left the place, 
 saying, as she went out, to Adelaide, '' Look 
 thou dost not leave that business for a mo* 
 ment till it is finished." 
 
 When the Queen and her ladies were de- 
 parted, poor Adelaide, finding herself much 
 more at her ease, sat down in the window, 
 and perceiving that the work on which she 
 was engaged would indeed give a great 
 beauty and a perfect finish to the whole, 
 was beginning to be perfectly absorbed in it, 
 
 * There is a picture of Elizabeth in a gown of this descrip- 
 tion, which has been beautifully enamelled by J. Bone, Esq. 
 R. A., and is in his Gallery of Portraits.
 
 ADELAIDE. 45 
 
 when she was interrupted by the re-entrance 
 of the Queen, followed by a strange gentle- 
 man, who, at the Queen's command, closed 
 the door, and began to speak to her in 
 French on business of importance ; conclud- 
 ing an address which displayed the situation 
 of Henry IV., his poverty, and the jeopardy 
 in which he was placed, with earnestly en- 
 treating her Majesty's assistance in troops 
 and money. 
 
 The distress in which Adelaide was now 
 placed may be easily conceived : it was evi- 
 dent that the Queen had, in the trouble this 
 affair gave her, entirely forgotten the com- 
 mand so lately issued ; and Adelaide was 
 herself sensible that, to p-ain the advantage 
 of the light, she had so far put herself out 
 of sight that the circumstance might be con- 
 strued to lier disadvantage ; she was well 
 aware that in the court of Catherine such a 
 misfortune would be punished, with instant 
 death; and although not apprehensive of 
 this in the country whose equal laws and 
 mild administration forbade such tyrannical 
 proceedings, she yet felt assured that she had,
 
 46 ADELAIDE. 
 
 however innocently, offended the Queen be- 
 yond forgiveness, and all she had ever heard 
 on the subject of her severity, and the un- 
 relenting firmness of her character, rushed 
 suddenly to her mind ; but amidst the beat- 
 ings of her heart, and the confusion of her 
 thoughts, she was yet compelled to hear the 
 answer of the Queen and to rejoice in it. 
 
 " We would have ye hasten back with all 
 speed, and tell our brother, your king, that 
 he shall have succour from us with all con- 
 venience ; and for as much as some delay is 
 unavoidable, we will give ye assistance from 
 our privy -purse — look ye are discreet in this 
 matter, young man, for it is not our custom 
 to offer aid of this description : for the rest, 
 tell him that Robert d'Evreux, Earl of Essex, 
 a soldier of whose fame ye are not ignorant, 
 will shortly appear before Rouen." 
 
 The stranger, with few but well-chosen 
 words, returned thanks to the Queen, and 
 took his leave, but not until she had, in 
 an approving voice, inquired his name and 
 familv.
 
 ADELAIDE. 47 
 
 *' Maximilian Bethune, Baron de Rosny." 
 
 *' Ye are of ancient and right honourable 
 blood, young gentleman, and if the Queen 
 of England has the gift of vaticination, you 
 will exalt it yet higher." 
 
 The Baron departed ; the Queen was left 
 alone, and Adelaide felt as if every moment 
 must' decide her fate for ever ; but the name 
 of De Rosny had brought so vividly back 
 the horrors of her early infancy, and the 
 remembrances which were attached to him 
 who shared her sorrows and her protection, 
 that every other trouble was forgotten, and 
 her uncontrollable emotion first told the 
 Queen what she had indeed forgotten, that 
 her embroidress was in the room, and had 
 been left there by her own command. 
 
 " We have certainly forgotten our usual 
 prudence," said Elizabeth to herself, in that 
 tone of discontentedness which augured ill for 
 Adelaide ; but yet the Queen's vexation was 
 not sufficient to overcome that calmness and 
 self-satisfaction which a sense of having re- 
 centlv acted well never fails to throw over
 
 48 ADELAIDE. 
 
 the mind ; and Elizabeth advanced towards 
 our innocent delinquent, in a state of temper 
 neither absolutely good, nor bad. 
 
 " So ! thou hast remained during our late 
 conference, and I suppose thou understandest 
 the tongue in which we spake ? — What part 
 of our conversation reached thee ?" 
 
 " All, all, most gracious Queen," said 
 Adelaide, falling at the feet of Elizabeth, 
 "^ for it was spoken in my mother-tongue, 
 and by one who had soothed my first and 
 great affliction." 
 
 " Well ! thou art honest, be prudent also 
 — arise !" — " Pardon me, great Queen," cried 
 Adelaide, prostrating herself still lower at 
 the sovereign's feet ; ^' I cannot arise till 
 your Majesty has heard my petition also. 
 My father was. murdered before my sight in 
 the massacre of St. Bartholomew, my friends 
 were scattered, my patrimony lost — but it 
 is possible that my mother, my dear un- 
 happy mother, still survives — permit me to 
 seek her ?" 
 
 " I have no means to aid thee in finding 
 her," said the Queen, in a voice of pity.
 
 ADELAIDE. 49 
 
 " Oh ! yes — your — Majesty promised 
 troops to aid my native king : if I were con- 
 veyed to him by any means, or under any 
 disguise, he would assist my search, and, 
 should it prove fruitless, would restore me 
 to my grandfather or his representative, the 
 Count de Soubise." 
 
 " So," said Elizabeth, a shade gathering 
 on her brow, " thou wouldst persuade us to 
 make thee a drummer in our army, or pre- 
 sent thee as a stray lamb to our cousin 
 Harry, who, with many great qualities, pos- 
 sesseth not the virtues suitable for receiving 
 such a gift — no, no, thou art better at home ; 
 we will devise thee employment more suited 
 to thy birth — be content." 
 
 *' Oh 1 my liege, I wuU be content to lose 
 my birthright, to pass my life in the hum- 
 blest obscurity, so your Majesty suffers me 
 but to convince myself that I have no longer 
 a mother — for her sake I know myself ca- 
 pable of high achievement and severe endur- 
 ance, and I long to encounter even the hard- 
 ship which may prove me worthy of her : 
 when I cease to hope, tlien only can I sub- 
 
 F
 
 50 ADELAIDE. 
 
 mit to the fate which separates us. Alas ! 
 we have been parted by blood, but every 
 drop she has shed binds her still nearer to 
 my heart — I can never rest again, if I lose 
 the power of seeking her, perchance of sav- 
 ing her." 
 
 The agony of sorrow, the rapid eloquence 
 of heart, which was beyond the reach of lan- 
 guage, and even the words of Adelaide, deep- 
 ly affected the Queen, and she murmured in- 
 wardly — " The child was parted from her 
 mother by hloodf' in a manner that proved 
 she was reflecting on the early loss she had 
 herself sustained from the hand of violence : 
 she raised Adelaide from her feet, granted 
 the pardon she now earnestly implored, and 
 finally concluded with saying, " That if she 
 would so dye her skin and her hair, as to 
 prove an effectual disguise, and promise that 
 she would not (under any emergency) apply 
 to the general*, she would procure her some 
 escort in the inferior department of the army, 
 which should enable her to reach Rouen in 
 
 * The Earl of Essex was appointed to this command, but 
 did not eventually take it.
 
 ADELAIDE. 51 
 
 safety ; after which it would probably be in 
 her power to get to Paris, and prosecute the 
 inquiries of which she spake." 
 
 Gratified and grateful, Adelaide retired, 
 calling a thousand blessings on the head of 
 her benefactress, and scarcely able to per- 
 suade herself that the whole was not a dream. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ■ The storm begins — poor wretch, 
 
 That for thy Mother's fate art thus exposed 
 To loss, and what may follow : fare thee well ! 
 
 SilAKESPEAUK. 
 
 When Adelaide, under the seal of se- 
 crecy, revealed her intentions and expecta- 
 tions to the family with whom she had so 
 long resided, their grief at the thoughts of 
 parting with her was alike bitter and sin- 
 cere ; and they confessed themselves asto- 
 nished beyond measure, to find that a girl 
 so gentle and timid, so tender and liumane, 
 as Adelaide, should think of encountering
 
 02 ADELAIDE. 
 
 danger and difficulty in pursuit of an object 
 tliere was little hope of obtaining, and cer- 
 tain difficulty in pursuing. They knew not 
 the sensibility, the devotedness of a heart 
 whose affections were exalted by a vivid 
 imagination and a retentive memory, ope- 
 rating upon deeply-impressed lessons of no- 
 ble and chivalric sentiments ; but, happily 
 for Adelaide, the suffrage of Majesty ope- 
 rated so much on their opinions, that they 
 were willing to conduce so far as they were 
 able to the end she proposed, with the only 
 proviso, " that she should not acquaint their 
 father with her intention." 
 
 The flowing locks of Adelaide were cut 
 close, and left to curl naturally thick and 
 clustering on her forehead, her eyebrows 
 darkened, and her face, neck, and hands, 
 washed with walnut-juice, by which she gain- 
 ed the colour of the wandering gipsies — a 
 kind of half-military dress was provided for 
 her, and she went in the character of a ser- 
 vant to an old officer, named Captain Lati- 
 mer, whose young wife he obliged to accom- 
 pany him across the water, although he did
 
 ADELAIDE. 53 
 
 not intend her to go with him to the scene of 
 warfare. Thus equipped, Adelaide bade adieu 
 to her royal mistress, who expressed herself 
 satisfied with the completeness of her dis- 
 guise ; and as she was naturally inclined to be 
 romantic, it is probable that she experienced 
 some pleasure in aiding the adventurous de- 
 signs of a young girl, whose purity of motive 
 she could not doubt, and whose affectionate 
 anxiety and warmth of heart alone led her 
 to renounce for a time the appearance and 
 the habits of her sex, and to subdue, not 
 only the selfish indulgences, but the natural 
 vanity her youth and beauty were so well 
 calculated to awaken. 
 
 When Adelaide landed on the shores of 
 France, she could not help feeling a degree 
 of terror which she had never experienced 
 during her long stay in England ; and she 
 was obliged to compose her spirits with the 
 reiterated assertion, " that she would return 
 as soon as she had accomplished her object," 
 and *' that if it pleased God to spare her, 
 unquestionably she would end her days in 
 England :" — she wondered at her own teme- 
 
 F 3
 
 54 ADELAIDE. 
 
 rity, and became sensible of a thousand dif- 
 ficulties she had not foreseen, and peculiar- 
 ities of situation for which she was wholly 
 unprepared. 
 
 Captain Latimer, with whom she travelled, 
 knew her only as a French boy, the son of 
 Huguenot parents, named Jaques Francia, 
 one who, being in delicate health, and accus- 
 tomed to the society of women, was recom- 
 mended not less to the kindness of his wife 
 than himself; for the Queen, with true fe- 
 minine consideration, although she earnestly 
 recommended Adelaide to persist in the dis- 
 guise she was compelled to adopt, yet pur- 
 posely placed her under protection, which, 
 in case of sickness or other emergency, would 
 enable her to procure the comfort of female 
 society. Captain Latimer was a staunch 
 Protestant, a good soldier, and a man of un- 
 blemished honour ; but he the more consi- 
 dered it his duty by every means in his 
 power to promote the end the youth had in 
 view, and especially to wean him from effe- 
 minate pursuits, and, what he termed^ " make 
 a man of him."
 
 !»• »► 
 
 ADELAIDE. OO 
 
 For this purpose he insisted on taking- him 
 along with his regiment to Rouen, whither 
 indeed poor Adelaide desired to go, in the 
 hope that she should by some fortunate cir- 
 cumstance obtain the notice of the King, 
 and thence find some clue to her relations, 
 but from which she yet shrank, as being 
 likely to present scenes of bloodshed and 
 terror, to which her spirits were unequal. 
 By a desperate effort of self-conquest, and 
 through the higher aid bestowed in answer 
 to her ardent though silent prayer, she was 
 enabled to enter on this awful scene without 
 betraying the fears which agitated her heart, 
 or regretting that she had engaged in her 
 arduous undertaking. 
 
 From this time we must occasionally adopt 
 the name by which our heroine was known, 
 and depict her to our imagination, in ap- 
 pearance a youth of fifteen, arrayed in a 
 military garb, a cap and feather on her head, 
 a spear in her hand, and riding a Flemish 
 pony with that grace and ease, which the 
 habit of early life had enabled her to attain, 
 as in her country the females rode in the
 
 56 ADELAIDE. 
 
 same manner as the men ; thus equipped, the 
 stripling appeared before the walls of Rouen, 
 where a part of Henry's army lay, but the 
 King himself had not joined them yet, hav- 
 ing, with a blameable delay, suffered his 
 allies to be there before him. 
 
 The besieging army soon made a desperate 
 attempt on the city, and the horrid front of 
 war again called on our young adventurer 
 to look on blood. The English bore the 
 brunt of the action, and behaved with their 
 wonted valour ; but they were repulsed with 
 considerable loss, and Captain Latimer was 
 severely wounded. " Jaques," said he, " if 
 it be possible, bind up my shoulder with thy 
 scarf." Jaques obeyed, but in a manner 
 that indicated the tremor he was in ; yet the 
 wound received by his friend evidently awoke 
 in him a desire of vengeance, as he immedi- 
 ately drew his sword and ran forward with 
 an impetuosity which indicated either cou- 
 rage or despair. In a few moments he was 
 again divided from his friend ; a party of 
 the besiegers rushed out, and confusion and 
 carnage reigned on every side. To think
 
 ADELAIDE. 57 
 
 and to fly were alike impossible, and death 
 every moment manaced our young adven- 
 turer ; when the appearance of a French 
 officer bravely struggling and nearly over- 
 powered by his enemies, arrested the atten- 
 tion of Jaques, and, urged more by huma- 
 nity and valour, he flew to his assistance, 
 and by the rapidity and agility, rather than 
 the force of his weapon, succeeded in rescu- 
 ing him from the destruction which menaced 
 him ; and those who were not compelled to 
 abandon their prey from their wounds, slunk 
 from it from shame nt being foiled by such 
 an opponent. 
 
 " You have rescued me, brave boy," said 
 the gentleman, " and you will find me not 
 ungrateful for the preservation of an exist- 
 ence I have little reason to value ; teli me 
 your name and your regiment." 
 
 Jaques had scarcely time to reply, when 
 he was hurried away to the tent of Captain 
 Latimer, who had been again wounded des- 
 perately, and carried from the field. The 
 night was now closing ; the sortie, vigor- 
 ously repulsed, were retiring within the
 
 58 ADELAIDE. 
 
 gates, and every step was marked by proofs 
 of the violence of the late conflict — dead 
 bodies gashed w^ith horrid v^^ounds, sufferers 
 in the very act of dying, dissevered limbs, 
 bleeding trunks, and mangled horses, met 
 the eye ; and the ear was not less appalled 
 by the loud groans, or the faint cries, which 
 were heard on every side, mingled with dis- 
 tant shouts, the instruments which sounded 
 retreat, and the lamentations which those 
 within the walls uttered for their lost com- 
 panions. 
 
 Adelaide saw, not only with sincere com- 
 passion, but great fear for the probable con- 
 sequences, that the only friend she possessed 
 in this awful situation, was indeed in a state 
 of tlie utmost jeopardy ; and her pity was 
 soon abundantly increased, by observing that 
 this man, usually rough even to severity in 
 his manners, and now suffering under acute 
 pain, addressed her with the utmost kind- 
 ness, and, forgetful of himself, seemed only 
 anxious for others. " Jaques, my good lad," 
 said he, " we have made no great hand of it 
 to-day, though our men fought like lions,
 
 ADELAIDE. 59 
 
 and many a brave fellow now lies gasping 
 his last, to whom a draught of cold water or 
 a bit of lint would be invaluable — pr'ythee 
 try to help them ; I am thankful thou art 
 safe ; I was wrong to expose thee so much." 
 He spoke with great pain, and Adelaide's first 
 care was to procure him every comfort and 
 ease his sad situation admitted ; after which 
 she applied her utmost diligence to soothing 
 and alleviating the miseries of those around 
 her. Regardless of all that annoyed or dis- 
 tressed her, she seemed inspired with the 
 power to endure and sustain far beyond what 
 so fragile a form could promise, to relieve and 
 help her suffering brethren : the last voice 
 of the dying whispered thanks for the hea- 
 venly consolation her words bestowed, and 
 the mangled blessed her aloud, for the ten- 
 derness with which she bathed his wounds, 
 and the facility with which she fled to admi- 
 nister the cup of relief; yet, during the 
 whole night in which Adelaide was thus em- 
 ployed, she could not for a moment forget 
 the officer for whom she had made her first 
 essav in arms, and in whom she felt even
 
 60 ADELAIDE. 
 
 more interest than any one around her. He 
 was a man, pale, aged, and woe-worn in ap- 
 pearance ; but his person was dignified, his 
 voice full and sweet, and there was some- 
 thing in his manners which reminded her of 
 the court in which she had first been nur- 
 tured ; she could not forbear to believe that 
 he was a man high in ofiice ; and as she had 
 had it in her power to oblige him, thought, 
 if she could see him again, he might prove 
 the medium of introducing her to the King, 
 and thus procuring her the recognition of 
 some of her relations. Of these relations 
 she had, indeed, but very confused ideas : 
 she remembered only that her grandfather, 
 the Count de Soubise, was an old man, and 
 must be dead ere now ; that she had once an 
 aunt, the Marchioness de Melun, but was 
 not aware that she had any uncles ; and the 
 different situation in life of the Crebillons 
 had not enabled them to assist her recollec- 
 tion. In the midst of these reflections, poor 
 Adelaide, stretched on the ground beside 
 her commander, fell into that deep repose 
 her fatigues demanded ; and the good cap-
 
 ADELAIDE. 61 
 
 tain, to whom her kind attentions had al- 
 ready proved of the utmost importance, 
 gladly suffered lier to remain many hours in 
 the enjoyment of a blessing her exhausted 
 frame and agitated mind alike required. 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 " Nothiiip; noble can be performed without danger." 
 
 MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Adelaide was awakened by the voice of 
 the Captain, when the sun was rising to- 
 wards the meridian. " Come, Jaques, my 
 boy, I pr'ythee rise, and help me to dress, 
 for, in spite of my wounds, I am determined 
 to go on duty* ; — a hundred brave English- 
 men have volunteered to regain the ditch we 
 lost yesterday, and by God's grace I will be 
 one of them." 
 
 Adelaide started up, and, knowing it was 
 in vain to dissuade him from a purpose dic- 
 tated by unquenchable valour, instantly be- 
 
 * See Sully and other historians.
 
 62 ADELAIDE. 
 
 gan to apply new dressings to his wounds : — 
 while she did so, he informed her, " that 
 during her sleep he had happily found the 
 means of forwarding her to Paris, in the dis- 
 guise of a peasant ; and, as that city as well 
 as Rouen were in a state of siege, it was one 
 that must not be neglected, as it would 
 afford the means of inquiring about the 
 friends she sought much better than at a 
 later period, when, probably, the city would 
 be taken, the inhabitants slain, and in the 
 distress and confusion that must inevitably 
 prevail, all chance of attaining her object 
 would be lost." 
 
 " But then. Sir, I must leave you, and I 
 shall not have a single friend to whom I can 
 speak." 
 
 " True, boy — but thou art a Frenchman, 
 in thy own country, and wilt make thy 
 way; — besides, it is but leaving me Jirst — 
 I have no hopes of quitting the trench alive, 
 and it will be a consolation to me to know 
 that I have in my last moments fulfilled the 
 commands of my Queen ; — and Jaques, my 
 dear boy "
 
 ADELAIDE. 63 
 
 Adelaide, her eyes swimming in tears, look- 
 ed wistfully in his face, unable to speak. 
 
 *^ Thou art surrounded with dangers, yet 
 under the eye of Providence, and I trust 
 thou wilt escape — if thou shouldst live, and 
 get forward in life, or if thou shouldst re- 
 turn in poverty and exile, in any wise, I 
 pr'ythee, remember I leave a widow, and a 
 fatherless boy, to whom thy example, at 
 least, may be a beneiit." 
 
 Adelaide seized his hand, and, dropping 
 on her knees, solemnly assured him, " that 
 if it pleased God to help her, she would help 
 them also." Whilst she spoke, a discharge 
 of artillery shook the air, the trumpets 
 sounded, and a loud shout was heard of 
 " The King ! the King !" 
 
 Disabled as he was, the gallant soldier 
 sprang forward, and Adelaide with strained 
 eyes and beating heart, beheld that gallant 
 sovereign, whose name she had been taught 
 to lisp with that of her own parents, and to 
 whom she still looked as a friend and father. 
 The King, mounted on a beautiful charger, 
 was arrayed in light armour ; a scarlet cloak
 
 64 ADELAIDE. 
 
 hung gracefully from his shoulders, and a 
 large plume of milk-white feathers surmount- 
 ed his helmet* ; his countenance, open and 
 commanding, indicated at once the natural 
 sweetness of his temper ; and the habitual ex- 
 ercise of his martial firmness, and the rapid 
 glances of his piercing eye, showed how much 
 his power of vision aided that promptitude of 
 action which rendered him so great a ge- 
 neralf ; — he was attended by the princes, 
 
 * This dress, by which he was always known, subjected 
 him to great danger, particularly once, when he was about 
 to besiege a city, where, the gates being open, he rode in 
 with only about thirty followers, being in advance of his 
 army. About two hundred of the enemy's soldiers being 
 in the streets, they recognised him, and an order was in- 
 stantly given, " to fire only on him with the scarlet cloak 
 and snowy plume:" — the gates were at this moment closed 
 behind the little troop, and their destruction seemed in- 
 evitable ; but the King backed his horse to the gates, and 
 met the assailants with invincible courage, at the same 
 time giving a signal to some of his attendants to climb on 
 the gates and make a signal to his troops : this was ef- 
 fected, the gates were forced, and the King and his party 
 rescued with the loss of one man only. — See Sully^s Me- 
 moirs. 
 
 t This eagle-eye is also possessed in itn extruoidinary de- 
 gree Ijy the Duke of Wellington.
 
 ADELAIDE. 65 
 
 dukes, and other great men, who had at- 
 tached themselves to his standard ; but De 
 Rosny, who was nearer to his heart than any 
 of them, and who was not only his most 
 attached but his most useful servant, was at 
 a great distance, and by no means honoured 
 with that open countenance he merited : such 
 were the difficulties and dangers which sur- 
 rounded a monarch whilst alive, whose me- 
 mory is now held in such high estimation. 
 
 The day was beautiful, the sun shone 
 without a cloud ; the terrible witnesses of 
 yesterday's warfare were now removed ; the 
 Seine flowed sweetly through the green plain, 
 and the city looked proudly from her bat- 
 tlements, her streaming pennons answered 
 in haughty defiance from the army on the 
 plain, who, inspired by the presence of the 
 King, and the reinforcement of troops fresh 
 from victory, forgot their recent suffering, 
 and longed to return to the charge. At 
 this soul-enlivening spectacle the heart of 
 Adelaide swelled in her bosom, and, in defi- 
 ance of danger, she felt as if she could again 
 enter on the glorious toils of war ; — she 
 
 G a
 
 66 ADELAIDE. 
 
 longed to press forward, and throw herself at 
 the feet of her own sovereign, as she had done 
 at those of Elizabeth, and there repeat her 
 sorrows, avow her name and sex, and peti- 
 tion for the fortune, or the knowledge she so 
 anxiously sought ; but the modesty of her 
 nature, the repugnance she felt at being re- 
 cognised in man's apparel, and the remem- 
 brance of the Queen's counsel and com- 
 mands, alike prevented her in the first mo- 
 ments of his appearance ; and immediately 
 after, the crowd of officers which surround- 
 ed him, eager to receive his commands, or 
 submit themselves to his recognition, ren- 
 dered it impossible. 
 
 Yet, at the moment when the possibility 
 of thus assisting her fallen fortunes was 
 gone by, Adelaide (like many others) sought 
 vainly to redeem it, and climbing on an 
 eminence, cast up by the besieging troops 
 for the purpose of reconnoitring, she gazed 
 again intently on the King, who had now 
 dismounted, and was surrounded by his 
 generals. She perceived from this situation, 
 that the French officer whom she had assist-
 
 ADELAIDE. 67 
 
 ed the day before, pressed forward from the 
 lines to speak to his sovereign, and was re- 
 ceived by him with the most gracious cour- 
 tesy, and even personal regard, since it was 
 evident that the King not only inquired 
 after his wounds, but even commanded that 
 he should resign the situation which pre- 
 vented him from taking due care of them. 
 The sovereign's orders in this particular 
 seemed reluctantly obeyed, even by one who 
 was evidently a severe sufferer; and as he 
 withdrew, his eyes caught the figure of 
 Adelaide thus conspicuously situated ; — he 
 stepped back and pointed her out to the 
 sovereign, who instantly despatched a mes- 
 senger to her, bearing his commission and a 
 standard, which she received in breathless 
 alarm, and again felt that her fate was in 
 her hands, that she might approach the King 
 and claim his ])rotection. 
 
 A terrible discharge of cannon from the 
 city at this moment became the signal for 
 rallying to the besiegers, and Adelaide, 
 hastily desccjuling witii her new honours in 
 her hand, stund^led and fell ;— iii n'nothti
 
 68 ADELAIDE. 
 
 moment she found herself raised by Captain 
 Latimer, who told her that the people with 
 whom he had concerted for her removal were 
 at a little distance, and would convey her in 
 a cart for about twenty miles, after which 
 she might fall down the Seine to Paris. 
 
 " But I cannot now go," exclaimed she ; 
 *' behold the honour I have received from 
 his Majesty." — " I see it," said Latimer, 
 smiling, " and see also, that you have not 
 strength to carry it, and that you tremble 
 in every limb :— you are a brave boy, Jaques, 
 and a generous one ; but take my word you 
 were not born for a soldier, and I wish the 
 Count de Soubise had not taken this method 
 of rewarding you." 
 
 At this very moment the brave old soldier 
 was stretched breathless at her feet — the 
 shock of the circumstance, the astonishment 
 in which the mention of her own name had 
 involved her, united to the extreme anxiety 
 and excitement she had previously felt, al- 
 together overcame her, and she sank down 
 upon the body of her late friend, as pale 
 and senseless as the corpse.
 
 ADELAIDK. 69 
 
 Tlie dill of slaiigliUn" coutiniietl : but the 
 terror of this well-disputed field, the short 
 lamentations of those wlio, in their rapid 
 flight and sanguinary action, cast an eye on 
 old Latimer and his protegee, were all un- 
 known to Adelaide, whose senses first re- 
 turned to her under a sense of an uneasy 
 pitching motion ; and at length she became 
 sensible that slie was placed in some vehicle 
 making a slow way over a bad road, and she 
 raised her head that she might respire more 
 freely, and perceive her companions. 
 
 Several people of both sexes began to 
 surround her, and, in a dialect which ren- 
 dered them difficult to understand, informe^ 
 her that one of them had ventured to seek 
 her on the plain, and, finding her without 
 wound on the body of her friend, liad taken 
 her oil his shoulders, conceiving " that as he 
 was paid for her removal, whether she turn- 
 ed out dead or alive, he should have done 
 the honest thing." — Tliey then offered her 
 some refreshment, and drawiim tooetlu-r 
 some mats, endeavoured to place her com- 
 modiously.
 
 70 ADELAIDE. 
 
 Adelaide endeavoured to recal her scat- 
 tered senses, and consider what was the best 
 plan for her to pursue. Shocked as she was 
 with the death of her protector, she yet well 
 remembered the last words he had uttered, 
 and the knowledge that there really existed 
 a Count de Souhise, and that he was evident- 
 ly a favourite with the King, was to her a 
 source of the greatest comfort. Yet no 
 power of memory could enable her to con- 
 jecture in what degree of relationship he 
 stood to her : — he was too young for her 
 grandfather, yet older than her father would 
 have been — of course he could not be a 
 younger brother ; — there seemed little doubt 
 but he was some collateral branch, who, in 
 the absence of the heir, had innocently step- 
 ped into those possessions which of right be- 
 longed to her. 
 
 Adelaide had heard stories of cruel uncles 
 who had seized the possessions of orphan 
 relations, and she felt fully aware of her own 
 inability to prove identity, by any thing save 
 the golden bracelet which Henry's Queen 
 had placed round her small neck, on a night
 
 ADELAIDE. 71 
 
 too memorable to be forgotten. But she 
 could not reflect on the countenance or the 
 manners of the Count de Soubise, and be- 
 lieve that he would dispute the point — 
 especially at a period when he had not only 
 received obligation from her, but acknow- 
 ledged it, as appeared from the boon he had 
 solicited from the King. To this she added 
 her remembrance of the melancholy that 
 reigned in his countenance, the little desire 
 he expressed for life ; and she thence drew 
 the conclusion, that he had lost all his rela- 
 tions by the same stroke which took her own 
 father, and would, like her, be grateful for 
 receiving a relation and friend. 
 
 The more Adelaide thought on this sub- 
 ject, the more she became convinced that 
 her poor mother had perished as well as her 
 father, in which case it would be a folly for 
 her to proceed to Paris ; — at all events, the 
 Count, as the representative of his family, 
 was the most likely person to assist her 
 search for the widow of his relative, if she 
 lived, or assure her of the certainty of her 
 death ; every circumstance, therefore, com-
 
 t 
 
 ^ ADELAIDE. 
 
 hined to deternune her on returning, and 
 seeking an immediate interview with the 
 Count. 
 
 Whilst these cogitations had been passing 
 in the anxious mind of Adelaide, every 
 movement of the uneasy vehicle had remov- 
 ed her farther from the place where she now 
 earnestly desired to be, and rendered her 
 also insensible to the conversation of those 
 around her, which, if attended to, would 
 have informed her that they also were placed, 
 from different causes, in a state of doubt and 
 extreme uneasiness. These people, at the 
 risk of their lives, were engaged in procur- 
 ing provisions for Rouen, and they were 
 connected with others who supplied Paris 
 likewise in a state of siege) with the neces- 
 saries of life also. 
 
 Henry, attached to his people, and sincere- 
 ly desirous to reduce the rebellious cities for 
 the general good of his kingdom, rather than 
 big own aggrandizement, by no means car- 
 ried on the war in the spirit of conquest, 
 and therefore might be said to wink at the 
 supplies whidi from time to time were thus
 
 ADELAIDE. 73 
 
 conveyed to the suffering inhabitants ; and it 
 was from a knowledge of the monarch's sen- 
 timents that the English officer had been 
 led (even for a desirable purpose) to hold 
 any communication with these contraband 
 dealers. It was, however, well known, that 
 many of Henry's generals, less scrupulous 
 than himself, would not have had any hesita- 
 tion in practising the custom of the times 
 upon them, and hanging immediately any 
 who fell into their hands : hence every move- 
 ment was one of danger, and the power of 
 forwarding the stranger with safety had fur- 
 nished them with fears, by no means tending 
 to the safe conduct of Adelaide. 
 
 When, therefore, Adelaide offered them a 
 noble reward to take her back again, the 
 whole party were struck with the idea that 
 she sought to inveigle them into the hands 
 of the soldiery, and they were unanimous in 
 their invectives against her ; and in a short 
 time their council of war had determined 
 that their only safety lay in her destruction. 
 Alas ! in a country distracted by civil broils, 
 inured to bloodshed, even murder loses its 
 
 H
 
 74 ADELAIDE. 
 
 terrific character, and, when referred to as a 
 measure of self-defence, appears light in the 
 eyes of the ignorant and ferocious. With 
 horror it is impossible for words to convey, 
 Adelaide, in a few words, whose meaning 
 was rather conveyed than uttered, learned 
 their determination ; and that instead of em- 
 barking her on the Seine, according to agree- 
 ment, they meant to plunge her under its 
 waves. 
 
 The human being most assailed with the 
 sorrows of life, or worn down with its cares, 
 shrinks from a violent death ; and the young, 
 whose sorrows, when most violent, are ever 
 relieved by hope, feel it peculiarly hard to 
 be seized on the threshold of existence. 
 Thus Adelaide, who had begun to hope for 
 the revival of early ties and increased enjoy- 
 ments only a few hours before, deemed the 
 very fate she had tempted the preceding 
 day, one of unparalleled hardship now. In 
 agony she intreated them to accept all she 
 could offer them ; and her purse, brooch, 
 and even her precious bracelet, were instant- 
 ly placed in the hands of him who appeared 
 
 S
 
 ADELAIDE. 75 
 
 their leader, and whom she hoped the more 
 readily to propitiate, because he was the man 
 who, at much personal hazard, had carried 
 her from the field of war. 
 
 " But wilt thou swear by the Holy Virgin 
 not to return to Rouen ?" 
 
 Adelaide hesitated — she could not swear 
 to a falsity, and she well knew that the first 
 object of her life would be to return : — 
 alarmed, but indignant, she replied, " that 
 she would not swear," and at the same mo- 
 ment she felt for her sword. 
 
 That instrument of defence had been taken 
 from her before she was laid in the cart, and 
 in another moment it was pointed at her 
 breast ; but most happily, in the act of feel- 
 ing for it, her hand pressed on the pistols, 
 which were stuck in her belt, and had escap- 
 ed the eye of her plunderer, from the cir- 
 cumstance, arising from feminine delicacy, 
 whicli led her to wrap her military cloak 
 closely around her person, so as to form a 
 kind of hanging drapery. 
 
 Nerved by the exigency of the case, and 
 remembering with pride her exertions the
 
 76 ADELAIDE. 
 
 preceding day, in behalf of him whom she 
 might yet live to bless, she instantly drew 
 out a pistol with either hand, and resolutely 
 presenting them, exclaimed, " You may 
 murder me if you please, but, depend on it, 
 the first who touches me shall, at least, pay 
 for his treachery dearly." For a space, all 
 stood gazing upon her in silence, and in a 
 few moments the paddling of oars was heard. 
 " Wilt thou go to Paris?" said one of the 
 women. " I will," answered Adelaide. 
 " Then go," said the man ; and hallooing to 
 the boat, it drew to the side as well as it was 
 able, being heavily laden. 
 
 So fully was the poor wanderer persuaded 
 that these wretches were bent on murder, 
 that she was glad to plunge into the water 
 and be taken on any terms into the closely- 
 stowed vessel ; but when there, being aware 
 they had no fire-arms, she ventured to insist 
 on their returning her bracelet, at least, and 
 menaced them in case of refusal. In another 
 moment something whizzed through the air, 
 but to her infinite mortification did not reach 
 the boat, but fell close beside her, into the
 
 ADELAIDE. 77 
 
 Seine. This was worst of all, as it seemed 
 to destroy the very chance of obtaining re- 
 stitution ; and, her spirit exhausted beyond 
 endurance, she sat down and wept long and 
 bitterly. 
 
 The sun had been long below the horizon 
 when she left the cart, and it became nearly 
 dark during the altercation with the peasants ; 
 but a pale crescent now began to spread its 
 cheering light, and discover to the disconso- 
 late traveller the forms of objects on the 
 banks of this celebrated river. Ah ! how 
 different were they from the banks of the 
 Thames, which she had forsaken for them ! 
 Uncultivated fields, dismantled villages, wan- 
 dering hordes of wretched inhabitants, gar- 
 risoned castles, frowning in feudal tyranny 
 in some places — in others marked by recent 
 devastation, their smoking ruins rose in awful 
 grandeur ! The beauties of nature, the 
 blessings of Providence, and the attainments 
 of art, were alike lost to this unhappy coun- 
 try, whose children, like vampires, preyed 
 on each other's blood. 
 
 By slow degrees they approached that 
 
 H 3
 
 78 ADELAIDE. 
 
 city Adelaide had so long desired to see, but 
 which she now dreaded to approach, friend- 
 less, moneyless, and even hopeless as she now 
 was ; for the more her desires were drawn 
 towards the Count de Soubise, the less dared 
 she to expect that her mother survived, 
 though it was certainly not less possible than 
 it had been hitherto. Her only consolation 
 arose from knowing that the kind Crebiilons 
 had quilted in the doublet which she wore 
 under her military clothing, various billets 
 to such of their old acquaintances and reli- 
 gious friends as might yet survive, and she 
 trusted that some of them might provide her 
 a place of refuge : she thouglit, too, it was 
 possible that the good Father La Faye, her 
 former friend, might be found, and she could 
 not doubt his kindness. 
 
 On their approaching near to Paris, but 
 yet, from the windings of the river, wanting 
 a considerable period to complete their voy- 
 age, two of the passengers desired to be 
 landed, saying, " they could either procure 
 some kind of conveyance, or manage to pur- 
 sue their journey on foot ;" since it was
 
 ADELAIDE. 79 
 
 agreed on all hands that they could not enter 
 Paris till nightfall. The impatience of 
 Adelaide to obtain the use of the coins which 
 were also secured in her clothing, the fear 
 she felt of a part of the crew, and also the 
 belief she had adopted that a man and his 
 wife, who were about to alight, were decent 
 cind respectable people, altogether induced 
 her to request that she also might disem- 
 bark, which was not objected to, as the 
 master of the vessel was aware that she had 
 no means of payment for her accommodation 
 beyond the only one of her pistols which 
 she had shewn, and which he agreed to ac- 
 cept, perceiving its value ;. and he also gave 
 her a portion of bread, observing, " there 
 were vineyards enow on the way, whose 
 owners were at the wars." 
 
 Happily, Adelaide was not deceived in 
 her present fellow-travellers, notwithstand- 
 ing the predatory life they led, which, by 
 subjecting them to daily punishment, had 
 a tendency to give the desperate character 
 which had already alarmed her. Although 
 these people, as dealers in provisions, exact-
 
 80 ADELAIDE. 
 
 ed already an exorbitant price for their com- 
 modity, yet they preserved a spark of hu- 
 manity in their hearts, and seemed to feel 
 for a poor boy going, as they apprehended, to 
 seek certain destruction in the devoted city, 
 from a principle of natural affection ; and 
 from time to time allowed him to ride on 
 the mules, with which it appeared they were 
 supplied by contract. They reached the 
 suburbs of Paris in the dusk ; and, having 
 persuaded themselves that they might con- 
 fide in the good intentions of poor Jaques, 
 they ventured to show him a subterraneous 
 road beneath the wall, by which he entered 
 the city through a ruinous building. The 
 hole through which he was directed to 
 emerge was so small that it inight easily escape 
 the most vigilant eye, but it had a commu- 
 nication with an excavation, in which were 
 seen various packages of wheat and salted 
 provisions ; and at parting he was told, 
 *' that if it should happen hereafter that he 
 became the servant of a rich family, and the 
 distress of the town should increase, he 
 might depend upon geiining relief in pro-
 
 ADELAIDE. 81 
 
 portion to the value of the property he 
 should deposit," and he was shown the exact 
 spot in which he might lay the money or 
 goods with which he was intrusted ; but, at 
 the same time, an oath of secrecy was ex- 
 acted from him, and an assurance was given 
 that, in case of failure, " escape from the 
 vengeance of the associated body concerned 
 in this traffic was impossible ;" — then recom- 
 mending him to a poor lodging at a con- 
 siderable distance, the grate through which 
 he had been thrust was closed, and Adelaide, 
 weary, hungry, and dejected, was left to her 
 fate. 
 
 The dread of encountering such cliaracters 
 as the peasant carriers, made our unhappy 
 wanderer long hesitate as to the course she 
 ought to pursue ; and the idea that in her 
 sleep she should be murdered for the value 
 of her doublet, at length induced her to feel 
 about for a place in which to lay her weary 
 head, and climbing into a kind of upper 
 chamber, she disposed herself to seek repose ; 
 but the novelty of her situation entirely 
 forbade it, although the place was quiet to
 
 82 ADELAIDE. 
 
 desolation, and possessed, to her conception, 
 rather the character of a ruined chateau, in 
 a country province, than a portion of a great 
 metropolis. As soon as it was daylight she 
 rose from her hard couch, which had con- 
 sisted of fallen timbers (the place having been 
 burnt), and with trembling eagerness ap- 
 plied herself to unripping the dress where 
 the kind sisters had contrived to secrete what 
 was now her only treasure. 
 
 The first thing she found was, perhaps, 
 the most welcome, being a store of small 
 comfits, which were medical restoratives, but 
 now eagerly seized as common food ; then 
 followed the letters of introduction, in num- 
 ber five ; but, alas ! there was little money, 
 for her providers had conceived that her 
 supply of that article would be abundant : 
 many useful things of light weight followed 
 — as preservatives for the feet, needles and 
 silks for embroidery, and various leaves con- 
 taining portions of the New Testament, in 
 the new English translation ; but there was 
 no more coin to be found, it being, in fact.
 
 ADELAIDE. 83 
 
 all they possessed of the country in which 
 she was, and English money, at the present 
 moment, would have subjected her to sus- 
 picion. 
 
 Replacing her clothes, and concealing her 
 pistol, at length Adelaide ventured forth — 
 her first object being bread. The alarming 
 price at which she purchased it, rendered 
 her late disappointment double, and she no 
 longer wondered at the air of unnatural 
 tranquillity which pervaded the city, and the 
 whispering anxious tone in which every one 
 seemed to address his neighbour : vivacity 
 was already quelled ; but manly daring and 
 enduring resolution, mixed with looks of 
 defiance, might be read on the brows of the 
 passengers, and every one seemed preparing 
 for a conflict, or suflering one : this was but 
 the prelude of the storm, yet was it awful 
 and appalling. 
 
 By dint of inquiry, Adelaide, after many 
 a weary step, at length found the abode of 
 that good man, who, in despite of the errors 
 of his creed, and the example of all around
 
 84 ADELAIDE. 
 
 him, had sheltered her in the hour of adver- 
 sity. — Alas ! the place which knew him then, 
 knew him no more — he slept in death. 
 
 She then, taking out her first epistle, be- 
 gan cautiously to address her steps towards 
 a family whom, as Huguenots, it was neces- 
 sary to approach in the most guarded man- 
 ner, lest she should draw evil on them from 
 whom she sought benefit : — after a long 
 search, she succeeded in finding their graves ; 
 the aged domestic who showed them, con- 
 gratulated herself " that they only died 
 heart-broken and impoverished — they were 
 not, like their relations, murdered." 
 
 Through this person she obtained know- 
 ledge that her second letter was addressed to 
 a family long since banished. Of the third 
 there was but one member left : he was a 
 man whom sorrow had rendered churlish, 
 and he repelled her with severity ; but she 
 learned that the two remaining letters were 
 addressed to people who now constituted one 
 family, who, he assured her, were too poor 
 to take in wandering Jews, if they were sent 
 by angels, instead of Crebillons."
 
 ADELAIDE. 85 
 
 It was again night ; Adelaide was again 
 hungry, and the house she souglit was far 
 distant — could she attain it, her reception 
 might not be more kind ; and, indeed, how 
 could she expect hospitality in a besieged 
 city ? Suffering under extreme privation, 
 and threatened by famine, again and again 
 she lamented the sad circumstance which 
 had brought her hither, and vainly wished 
 for the plains of Rouen, and the Count de 
 Soubise. 
 
 Adelaide had only one single subject of 
 hope left — it lay in remembering that her 
 next appeal was to her own sex, and she 
 trusted that their hearts would be more ten- 
 der. She was aware that the family to whom 
 her weary steps were directed, constituted 
 the remains of a little community of single 
 women, who had lived together as a sister- 
 hood of Protestant nuns, but unbound by 
 vows, and avoiding all particular profession. 
 M. Crebillon had married his wife from this 
 house ; his daughters had been educated 
 there, and learned that art which had been 
 unexpectedly their means of life, when, dri- 
 
 I
 
 86 ADELAIDE. 
 
 ven from his lucrative business of a silver- 
 smith, he had fled to the land of liberty and 
 mercy, but lately under similar thraldom. 
 
 So much depended on the reception Ade- 
 laide might meet w^ith in this her last house 
 of refuge, that the agitation of her spirits 
 subdued even her sense of weariness and 
 suffering, and she found herself in the street 
 to which she had been directed before she 
 was aware ; but when she saw the house it- 
 self, which she had often heard described as 
 in a retired corner, with a small garden, and 
 porched entrance, the beatings of her heart 
 became almost audible ; her trembling knees 
 refused to support her, and she sank down 
 with a faint groan at the threshold of the 
 door, eagerly grasping the letter which was 
 to be the herald of admission. 
 
 The aged sisterhood within had just taken 
 their last frugal meal, when they were alarm- 
 ed by a sound, which several observed " they 
 must expect to hear more frequently ;" and 
 one of them partly opening the door, and 
 perceiving male attire, was on the point of 
 closing it, when another observed, " it was
 
 ADELAIDE. 87 
 
 but a boy, and he was fainting." In a few 
 moments Adelaide found herself seated with- 
 in the house — a cup of water was held to 
 her lips, and a piece of coarse bread offered 
 to her hand. She took it eagerly, at the 
 same time offering the letter. 
 
 She who, as the oldest, was deemed the 
 superior, took the letter in her hand, hold- 
 ing it as a kind of petition, which she grieved 
 it was not in her power to grant ; but one 
 of the younger casting her eye on it, was 
 struck with the hand, and eagerly inquired 
 of the messenger " whence it came ?" 
 
 ** From M. Crebillon and his daughters." 
 In a moment three out of the five crowded 
 around the stranger, and overwhelmed him 
 with questions, all indicating the sincerity of 
 their affection, the simplicity and goodness 
 of their hearts ; and in a few moments a 
 glass of wine and a morsel of cheese were 
 presented to one who was already received 
 as a guest, although there appeared much 
 difficulty in assigning him an apartment. 
 The moment Adelaide comprehended this, 
 she referred them to the letter, in which they
 
 88 ADELAIDE. 
 
 would learn, " that a female, the daughter 
 of a martyred member of their own church 
 besought their protection." 
 
 Of all other ties, religion is ever found the 
 strongest bond in the human bosom : travel- 
 lers to the same heavenly country, by the 
 same medium, under the same circumstances 
 of constraint and suffering, cheered by the 
 same hopes, upheld by the same resolution, 
 find themselves knit together by pure and 
 indissoluble attachment, as members of a 
 family destined to live together for ever, and 
 united by circumstances over which neither 
 time nor nature holds control. The warm 
 and affectionate hearts of this little sister- 
 hood, already tenderly awakened, were now 
 led to receive our wanderer as a branch of 
 their family in a more holy and awful sense — 
 " as a member of Christ," as the offspring 
 of martyred parents ; and when she had 
 taken the sustenance she so much needed, 
 all embraced and blessed her by turns ; after 
 which, the eldest of the family took a light, 
 and followed by the rest, one of whom led
 
 ADELAIDE. 89 
 
 Adelaide, she opened a trap door, and began 
 to descend a narrow staircase. 
 
 After going through what appeared a long 
 passage, they entered a square cellar, the 
 floor of which was matted, and a few seats 
 distributed, but the air was damp and un- 
 wholesome, indicating that it had little or 
 no outlet. It was, however, evident that 
 tliis was the oratory, or chapel of the little 
 proscribed church, which now assembled for 
 the purpose of evening worship. Here, in 
 simplicity and godly sincerity, prayers and 
 thanksgivings were offered ; and the stran- 
 ger was received as a gift from God, whom, 
 even in these days of affliction, it was their 
 duty to accept, and their privilege to re- 
 lieve. After this address to Heaven was 
 concluded, the sisters joined in singing a 
 hymn, the weak and broken voices in which 
 it was uttered, the humble scene of their 
 devotions, affording, in the ey^ of Ade- 
 laide, a strong contrast with the sweet and 
 even heavenly expression, which, in despite 
 of time and sorrow, illumined their counte- 
 nances. 
 
 I 3
 
 90 ADELAIDE. 
 
 A cleanly bed, a deep sense of Almighty 
 goodness in the kindness and protection thus 
 afforded, enabled our weary and anxious tra- 
 veller to sink into the sweetest sleep she had 
 ever experienced ; and when she arose, the 
 female habiliments, which were laid by the 
 side of her mattress, were a source of the 
 highest gratification to her, and for the first 
 time since her arrival in France, she felt as 
 if she had the right of claiming the good- 
 will and assistance of those who could re- 
 spect her intentions, and feel regard for her 
 person, 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 And then a thousand deaths at once advanced, 
 And every dart took place— ^all was so sudden, 
 That scarce a first man fell : one but began 
 To wonder, and straight fell a wonder too ; 
 A third, who stoop'd to raise his dying friend, 
 Dropt in the pious act. Heard yon that groan ? 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 When Adelaide descended, she found all 
 the party engaged in deciphering the letter of
 
 ADELAIDE. 91 
 
 Annette Crebillon, which had been purposely 
 rendered mysterious — -a considerable portion 
 of it being written in bad English, which she 
 alone could explain. The letter proved of 
 great importance, particularly in the present 
 season of scarcity, since it informed the sis- 
 ters " that much treasure, consisting of plate 
 and other valuables, was hidden in the house 
 formerly inhabited by M. Crebillon, being 
 his stock in trade, which he had neither in 
 his power to sell, nor even to give to his 
 friends, at the time when the murder of his 
 sons, and the consciousness that his own life 
 was sought for, obliged him to fly." This 
 j^^operty was undoubtedly the principal cause 
 of his continual anxiety to revisit Paris ; but 
 as his affectionate children regarded the idea 
 with horror, they had at length persuaded 
 him to renounce it, and with them to give 
 up whatever could be regained to these sis- 
 ters, as the only persons left, in their own 
 country, to whom they were tenderly at- 
 tached, and from whom, in return, they in- 
 treated protection for their beloved protegee. 
 It so happened, that the dwelling of
 
 92 ADELAIDE. 
 
 M. Crebillon, like that of many other houses 
 which had been stained with innocent blood 
 at the massacre of St. Bartholomew, had re- 
 mained untenanted till it had fallen to decay, 
 and became only the casual residence of beg- 
 gars and thieves, who prowled about the 
 city the greatest part of their time ; and this 
 family, whom the present distress had re- 
 duced from affluence to poverty, immedi- 
 ately conceived that the stranger could, in 
 the boy's apparel, readily obtain the help 
 they needed so much, and they now hailed 
 her visit as the immediate gift of Heaven, 
 with tears of gratitude and pious joy. 
 
 When, after many discussions, they at 
 length sat down to a scanty meal, which had 
 been purchased by some valuable moveables, 
 the stranger was regularly introduced to the 
 members of the community. Madame d'Au- 
 mont, called " the Mother," was a venerable 
 woman, nearly eighty, but in full possession 
 of her faculties, and, until within a short 
 time, of her senses; but at this time had 
 nearly lost her sight. Her eldest daughter
 
 ADELAIDE. 93 
 
 was a single woman, named Matilda. — The 
 widow of a son, who perished with the Ad- 
 miral Coligny, was the next person in point 
 of importance, and though about fifty, was 
 still called " Young Madame." — Two sisters, 
 distant relations of the Crebillons, named 
 Agatha and Louise Duchesne, who had lived 
 in monastic retirement from infancy, com- 
 pleted the little circle, which had formerly 
 consisted of twelve. 
 
 " And what is your name, my dear child ? — 
 in this letter you are only termed Jaques." 
 
 '' It is Adelaide." 
 
 " Adelaide ! how strano-e !" observed the 
 sisters, looking at each other ; and soon after 
 it appeared that this was the name of her 
 who was the general mother ; and Adelaide 
 had already found that the solitude in which 
 these sisters lived, rendered even the com- 
 monest occurrences strange in their eyes. 
 She was diverted from the circumstance by 
 observing one of them leave the room with a 
 portion of food in her hand, with which she 
 departed to a distant part of the house,
 
 94 ADELAIDE. 
 
 which was a large irregular old building, ca- 
 pable of containing many more than its pre- 
 sent inhabitants. 
 
 This day and the next were given to con- 
 versing on the escape, the difficulties, the 
 suiferings, and finally, the success of the Cre- 
 billons, together with the still more interest- 
 ing subject of the English church, and the 
 privileges of the Protestants : the leaves of 
 the Holy Scriptures rescued from Adelaide's 
 dress became a treasure of inestimable value ; 
 and to gain from her a translation of their 
 contents, was an employment so interesting 
 as to suspend all otlier, and render them 
 almost forgetful of the wants of nature ; and 
 it was not till the pale features of Adelaide 
 reminded them, that for her sake they ad- 
 di'cssed themselves to the pressing considera- 
 tion of their wants. 
 
 Even in this short period, the evils under 
 which the city groaned had increased most 
 alarmingly ; and Henry IV. foiled in his 
 attempt to reduce Rouen to obedience, was 
 now on his way to besiege Paris, by all the 
 united means of destruction usually employ-
 
 ADELAIDE. 9o 
 
 eel for this purpose ; but yet anxiously de- 
 sirous of conciliating, rather than subduing 
 his people, and deploring the distress their 
 obstinacy compelled him to inflict. 
 
 The Duke de Nemours, within the city, 
 supported by all the strength of Spain, pre- 
 pared the means of resistance, and aware 
 that famine would be eventually that kind 
 of siege most likely to subdue the city, ap- 
 portioned the food to be purchased in the 
 smallest rations possible for sustaining so 
 extensive a population, and of course the 
 price was fearfully enhanced by all the re- 
 tailers ; and our little family, exhausted of 
 property wherewith to purchase, became 
 eager to avail themselves of the hidden gifts 
 of the Crebillons. 
 
 In such deep retirement had the sisters 
 lived for many years, being regularly accus- 
 tomed to purchase their provisions at their 
 garden-gate, and receive the profits of their 
 labours in the same way, that nothing less 
 than absolute want could have driven them 
 again into the world. It was, however, ne- 
 cessary that they should show Adelaide the
 
 96 ADELAIDE. 
 
 way ; and having done so, she found, to her 
 great satisfaction, that the house where the 
 treasure was concealed was a part of that 
 line of buildings by which she had entered 
 the city, and therefore, if her guide was in- 
 deed true to his promise, she would be en- 
 abled to gain food and the means of payment 
 within an easy distance of each other. 
 
 As soon as she had reconnoitred the build- 
 ing, which was at no great length from her 
 home, the sister, who had been her guide, 
 returned thither, and Adelaide ventured to 
 explore the ruined buildings, where she 
 feared every moment to meet the marks of 
 former violence or of existing ferocity. She 
 had taken with her the means of striking a 
 light ; and as soon as she had ascertained, 
 from the perfect silence of the place, that 
 she was indeed alone in this desolate scene, 
 she ventured to light the little torch with 
 which she was furnished, and to proceed on 
 her search. 
 
 So accurate had been the description of 
 the place by Annette Crebillon, that when 
 she arrived at the kitchen where the dry
 
 ADELAIDE. 97 
 
 weli was, into wliich the things Imd been 
 thrown, she found no other difficulty, save 
 what arose from an accumulation of dust 
 and rubbish, which proved satisfactorily that 
 this part of the building had been unex- 
 plored. But long and severe was the la- 
 bour to the delicate frame of Adelaide, who 
 was frequently obliged to sit down on the heap 
 of rubbish and moveables which obstructed 
 her progress, and often would she think that 
 were it not for the hope, though distant, of 
 finding a relation and friend in the Count de 
 Soubise, it would be folly for her to strug- 
 gle for prolonged existence ; for the more 
 she thought on the subject, the more she 
 was convinced that her mother, if she sur- 
 vived the massacre, had fallen a victim to 
 the sorrows or the hardships of later years. 
 
 The sense of compassion, and of duty 
 also, urged her to do her utmost for those 
 who had so kindly received and tenderly 
 cherished her ; and under this invigorating 
 principle, after long toil, she succeeded in 
 uncovering the well, and then descending a 
 few steps, by the means of the rugged sides, 
 
 K
 
 98 ADELAIDE. 
 
 she soon found property far beyond her ex- 
 pectation, and, to her inexperienced concep- 
 tion, far more than she could ever need ; — 
 feeling, however, in her own exhausted state, 
 the full value of riches as the means of 
 bread, she fell on her knees in the midst of 
 this singular and deplorable scene, and most 
 devoutly thanked the x\.lmighty Father, who 
 had thus spread her table in the wilderness 
 of life. 
 
 Adelaide now rose, and taking a piece of 
 platCj which though heavy, was portable and 
 easily concealed, she covered the rest as well 
 as she was able, and proceeded with cautious 
 and lagging steps to deposit it in the place 
 agreed upon, conscious that she could gain 
 no advantage till the following day, and 
 that even her account of her success, to the 
 sisters, must be burdened with the secret of 
 " how she had disposed of her plate!" and 
 secrets are ever painful to the ingenuous 
 confiding minds of youth ; and she returned 
 home faint, weary, and unhappy, to those 
 who were now almost without the means
 
 ADELAIDE. 99 
 
 of giving even the coarsest sustenance to 
 nature. 
 
 Happily for their present feelings, as well 
 as for their higher hopes, these pious sisters 
 received the affliction as one sent from Hea- 
 ven ; and although they deprecated the folly 
 and ohstinacy of their present rulers, and 
 would have rejoiced to see the King enter 
 the city, yet they considered that all afflic- 
 tions are trials permitted by God for the 
 chastisement of his creatures, to which they 
 are bound to submit. In this pious spirit, 
 pale and resigned, their scanty morsel was 
 equally divided into eight portions, two of 
 which they insisted on Adelaide accepting, 
 on accovmt of her youth and her labour — 
 one was again taken to the unknown guest ; 
 and though unable to sing, they yet joined 
 in prayer and thanksgiving. 
 
 Adelaide could not sleep, and she crej^t 
 out early to learn the fate of her deposit, 
 and with joy the famishing alone can con- 
 ceive, found a package of dried corn and a 
 bit of salted flesh, and with this she soon
 
 100 ADELAIDE. 
 
 gladdened the hearts of the sisterhood, 
 whom she observed to be speaking with an 
 air of satisfaction, on some subject, when 
 she entered, but which the more welcome 
 sight she now offered induced them to relin- 
 quish. 
 
 For many days, in silence and secrecy, 
 Adelaide continued to extract, from this re- 
 pository, certain articles by which she gain- 
 ed scanty, coarse, and sometimes even loath- 
 some provisions, but which were thankfully 
 eaten in the present scarcity — a scarcity, 
 which every day and hour served to increase. 
 During her melancholy perambulation, she 
 saw, with equal compassion and horror, the 
 progress of famine in this populous city. 
 All sounds of gaiety, all steps indicative of 
 pleasure, or of business, ceased ; then came 
 funeral trains, followed by living corpses, 
 who could with difficulty drag their weaken- 
 ed limbs after the bodies of their dearest con- 
 nections. In a short time followed spectacles 
 far more appalling ; the dead, or dying, were 
 no longer reverenced; the ties of nature were 
 dissolved ; and insatiate hunger arose to mad-
 
 ADELAIDE. 101 
 
 ness : the living first envied the dead, and 
 then preyed upon them. 
 
 At length, to such a horrid degree of fero- 
 city did want compel the people, that this 
 most revolting of all expedients became or- 
 ganized, and, by the advice of the Spanish 
 Ambassador, the bones of the dead were 
 pounded into a kind of paste, with wdiich 
 tlie living were fed ; but of all the wretches 
 who partook this detestable food, not one 
 survived ; dreadful retchings, excruciating 
 pains, succeeded the short relief, and a ter- 
 rible vengeance, in a few hours, reduced 
 them to that state they had thus horridly 
 endeavoured to elude. In one short month 
 thirty thousand of the inhabitants of Paris 
 died from want of food, or its immediate 
 consequences, although, like the Jews of old, 
 every means of help was resorted to, and even 
 mothers preyed on their own children. 
 
 Day by day tlie food obtained by Ade- 
 laide grew less and less, and at length ceas- 
 ed altogether, although there was still coii- 
 siderable property with which to purchase 
 more ; but riches were useless — every blade 
 
 K 3
 
 10^ ADELAIDE. 
 
 of grass, every leaf on the trees of their 
 little garden, had been long since stripped ; 
 and the smaller twigs afforded all the sus- 
 tenance they now had. On the first day it 
 was prepared, the good old mother died, and 
 on the following morning the youngest per- 
 son in the house, except Adelaide, departed 
 also ; it became the great object of the sur- 
 vivors to guard their remains, and they re- 
 solved to inter them both in their own gar- 
 den, when the hour of darkness enabled 
 them to do it unobserved. 
 
 For this purpose Adelaide and Madame 
 d'Aumont employed themselves, in the dusk 
 of the evening, in digging a grave, which, in 
 the weak state to which they were reduced, 
 was a work of great labour, and which they 
 wished to make deep enough to conceal both 
 the bodies effectually. When they had 
 penetrated a considerable way, they were 
 sensible of refreshment from the smell of the 
 moist earth, and they both almost involun- 
 tarily put it into their mouths*, and soon 
 
 * It is a fact, that persons perishing of hunger have been 
 thus supported for many days.
 
 ADELAIDE. 
 
 103 
 
 found that by sucking it they obtained con- 
 siderable nourishment. This discovery they 
 immediately communicated to the two sisters 
 in the house, who availed themselves of it ; 
 for although prepared to die, and willing to 
 follow the friends they mourned, yet nature 
 prompted them to allay the torment occa- 
 sioned by insatiate cravings. 
 
 As soon as this distressing labour was 
 completed by the weak hands to which the 
 task was assigned, Matilda and Louisa hav- 
 ing decently sewn up each corpse in wrap- 
 pers, they proceeded to carry amongst them 
 the beloved remains to the last awful home. 
 When they returned to bring the latter 
 body, which was that of the general mother, 
 another female appeared leaning in a me- 
 lancholy attitude over it ; and Adelaide felt 
 assured this could be no other than the per- 
 son to whom a portion of their food had 
 been so regularly carried. 
 
 Her figure, though miserably wasted, was 
 yet elegant, and there was evidently an air 
 of superiority about her, which even the 
 grand equalizer of the times had not been
 
 104 ADELAIDE. 
 
 able to subdue, and at any other time she 
 would have been an object of the highest 
 interest ; but Adelaide's mind was no longer 
 affected by objects of common curiosity, 
 and her strength was so nearly subdued, 
 that all she wished was to share the envied 
 repose of the pious woman, on whom she 
 was now closing the grave. More alive to 
 what was passing around than the rest, she 
 was aware that bands of soldiers were hurry- 
 ing to and fro in the city, that the sjjectral 
 forms of the inhabitants were gliding about 
 with more than usual solicitude, and that 
 there was reason to expect an attack on the 
 city, which would probably decide its fate. 
 
 When, on their return within, she com- 
 municated her observations to the family, 
 they agreed to go down into the chapel 
 cellar we have formerly mentioned, and there 
 in prayer and meditation await the change 
 that might ensue ; and the stranger lady at 
 this time accompanied them. They had re- 
 mained but a short time, and had remarked 
 the tolling of the midnight hour, when a 
 loud discharge of artillery verilied their con-
 
 ADELAIDE. 105 
 
 jecture that the city was stormed, and Ade- 
 laide, starting up, declared her intention of 
 going upon the roof of the house and wit- 
 nessing the success of the assault, which, as 
 it was seated on rising ground, it was possi- 
 ble to do. 
 
 Madame d'Aumont said, " she would ac- 
 company her," and the stranger rose for the 
 same purpose ; but the other two laying 
 hands upon her, by a kind of gentle force 
 detained her, saying, " Sister, you must not 
 — a terrible sight (and every sight is now 
 terrible) will overcome you." 
 
 *' Alas !" said she, " I have borne the 
 worst : you know not, friends, the sights 
 I have seen ! — I have now nothing left to 
 fear." 
 
 " True, sister," said Matilda, with a spark 
 of that curiosity which even suffering cannot 
 extinguish, " we know nothing of your his- 
 tory, save what old Louisa told us, that you 
 were ruined, and lost your senses, at the 
 great massacre — that for two years she had 
 kept you in her little cot, and then finding 
 hers'jlf dying, she consigned you to us. —
 
 106 ADELAIDE. 
 
 Alas! it is now ten years since, and in all 
 that time, though you have been patient 
 and silent, yet you never spoke a sensible 
 word till within the last month, when it 
 seemed the will of God that the poverty and 
 misery which afflicted us should prove the 
 means of restoring your senses." 
 
 Again, loud peals of artillery were heard 
 — the ground seemed to rock beneath their 
 feet ; but Adelaide, gazing on the stranger, 
 seemed incapable of moving, ere she had 
 heard the reply of one so deeply interesting. 
 The unhappy lady appeared in act to speak, 
 but so inwardly agitated, that all the little 
 circle gazed upon her, as fearing that life 
 itself would escape her fragile form, before 
 she had the power of revealing that infor- 
 mation she desired to give; — at length 
 throwing back her hood from a still lovely 
 face, and swallowing a little water, she thus 
 replied : 
 
 " The long period of which you speak is 
 indeed, to me, as a disturbed vision, nor 
 have I any other recollection of it, than that 
 I wrought at the bead-work, which in my
 
 ADELAIDE. 107 
 
 infancy was taught me by the beautiful 
 Mary Stuart, Q-ueen of Scotland, when she 
 came over to marry the king, and some- 
 times sung to my child. 
 
 " But," added she, with energy, and in a 
 voice indicative of the deepest anguish, " I 
 now remember all but too well ; and. lest 
 memory should again fail, or reason be again 
 driven from her seat, listen to me, whilst I 
 have the power to speak. 
 
 " I am English by birth — my family is 
 of rank ; I married the Count de Soubise, 
 who was murdered before my eyes ; whilst 
 my child — my only child '* 
 
 " Mother ! mother I — my own mother !" 
 exclaimed Adelaide, falling at her feet, and 
 clasping her hands round the knees. 
 
 Madame de Soubise clapped her hands in 
 agony to her forehead, fearful that her ma- 
 lady had returned, and unconsciously was 
 leading her into error ; but the sisters united 
 to assure her that the poor boy was indeed 
 Adelaide, whom for her satisfaction they 
 began to array as a girl, in the hope that the 
 joy such a meeting promised might have its
 
 108 ADELAIDE. 
 
 proper effect on the heart of the long child- 
 less mother. 
 
 But again the horrid sounds of war broke 
 on their ears, accompanied by a shock so 
 severe, followed by the sound of falling 
 chimneys, that every one, by a simultaneous 
 movement, pressed to the place of egress ; 
 and Adelaide, as the most alert, sprang for- 
 ward, raised the trap-door, and perceiving 
 fire above them, eagerly besought them to 
 lose not a moment in escaping. 
 
 They rushed into the garden, and there 
 perceived that the whole of that quarter of 
 the town was on fire — that a mine had 
 opened from below, from which sprang the 
 devouring element, now blazing in proud 
 destruction on every side ; peals of artillery 
 pouring on the suburbs from ten different 
 bodies, shook the very heavens ; shrieks of 
 the burning and the dying rent the air ; and 
 the terrified people, menaced with destruc- 
 tion above, beneath, around, knew not whi- 
 ther to fly, and increased their danger and 
 difficulty, by the terror and perplexity which 
 possessed them.
 
 ADELAIDE. 109 
 
 " My mother! my mother!" cried Ade- 
 laide, " in what a moment have I found 
 you !" 
 
 " Ah, my child ! if thou art indeed miney 
 even this is less terrible than that in which 
 I lost thee." 
 
 As Adelaide spoke, she dragged forward 
 her new-found parent, with a strength which 
 appeared, in her weakened frame, almost 
 supernatural, and, by her example and in- 
 treaties, all had got down into the open 
 street ; but the two females, who had that 
 evening each laid her last relative in the 
 garden, turned, ere they fled, to gaze on a 
 spot they expected to see no more. At that 
 moment another terrible crash succeeded — 
 the ground trembled — the surrounding 
 buildings, the house itself they had just 
 quitted, fell — they were both buried beneath 
 the falling ruins. 
 
 Impelled by instinct, or directed by the 
 numbers that rushed around (and whose 
 meager forms, frantic gestures, and dishe- 
 velled garments, as they emerged from the 
 blazing ruins, presented a lively picture of 
 
 L
 
 110 ADELAIDE. 
 
 all the iinagiiiation can pourtray of souls in 
 a state of punishment), the remains of the 
 family at length attained an open square, at 
 a distance from the conflagration, and there, 
 from the observations made from the towers 
 of a church, learned the actual situation of 
 the besieging army. At this time ten of the 
 suburbs were in the hands of the King, and 
 the troops by attack and mine were storming 
 the city ; on every side terrible firing was 
 directed against the city, which yet repelled 
 the invaders with spirit and ability ; and the 
 thick clouds of smoke, the bright sparkles of 
 fire from either army, rose in terrible array 
 on every side, threatening to render the 
 whole of this mighty capital the grave of its 
 inhabitants. 
 
 Henry, from the heights of Montmartre, 
 beheld the devastation, and, rmable to en- 
 dure a sight repugnant to his wishes as de- 
 structive to his subjects, commanded the 
 thunder of the artillery to cease, and deter- 
 mined to trust to time and other means for 
 the accomplishment of his wishes; he even 
 gave orders that provisions should be secretly
 
 ADELAIDE. Ill 
 
 conveyed into the city, and a respite granted 
 to the suffering inhabitants. 
 
 Far from considering this mercy as indi- 
 cative of good disposition in the King, the 
 governors of Paris deemed it a proof of 
 weakness, and determined on prolonging 
 their resistance. For this purpose, the Duke 
 of Nemours commanded, " that all useless 
 mouths should be immediately turned out of 
 the city," and the wretches, whom the suf- 
 ferings of the night had spared, were con- 
 demned to new horrors in the morning. The 
 Prince of Parma was now expected daily in 
 the vicinity of Paris ; and in the hope that 
 he would give Henry battle, and pour relief 
 into the city, the governors risked the total 
 ruin of its inhabitants, and beheld, unmoved, 
 those horrors, which unnerved the hand and 
 melted the heart of their generous assail- 
 ants.
 
 112 
 
 ADELAIDE. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Trust a boy's word, Sir, if you please, and take 
 My innocence for wisdom. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 We now return from the contemplation of 
 leading historical facts, to attend the particu- 
 lar fate of poor Adelaide, her mother, and 
 Madame d'Aumont, who, all three, spent 
 the rest of this terrible night huddled with 
 numerous other wretches, many of whom 
 were expiring of famine, aided by wounds, 
 which th^ night air rendered more intole- 
 rable, and whose groans and dying convul- 
 sions gave new horror to their situation. As 
 soon as the proclamation of the governor 
 was known, many of these wretches crawled 
 away, and endeavoured to return to their 
 own houses, or those of their relations ; and 
 so strong is the love of hoyyie, that even those 
 most bereft of hope, yet felt the command
 
 ADELAIDE. II 
 
 o 
 
 which drove them to pevisli on the outside 
 of the gates, as an act of the severest punish- 
 ment. Our three helj)less females, house- 
 less, friendless, and almost expiring with 
 hunger, were not of the number, and they 
 willingly went forward, as fast as their feeble 
 limbs allowed, towards the place where they 
 expected indeed to die, but to die in peace, 
 which, in this scene of useless clamour, invec- 
 tive, and complaint, was impossible. 
 
 Though our friends were among the first 
 who passed the gates, yet, when they had gone 
 a short way beyond the barrier, they gave 
 way, and suffered the long line of miserable 
 females, wretched infants, and infirm old 
 men, who constituted the " useless mouths" 
 of Paris, to pass forward ; and at the first 
 spot where they could sit down on the fresh 
 earth, and avail themselves of their yesterday's 
 expedient, they did not fail to use it, and 
 with that, and a little water scooped in their 
 hands, obtained at least the power of con- 
 soling each other — a power long denied to 
 their parched lips and enfeebled frames. 
 
 Adelaide, as soon as she was able, began 
 
 L 3
 
 114 ADELAIDE. 
 
 to prove her own right to the endearing ap- 
 pellation she had used, and lamented that 
 she had never been able to recollect her 
 mother's family name of Shirley, which, in- 
 deed, it was probable she had seldom heard, 
 as her grand-uncle died the year after his 
 niece's marriage. She observed, " that an old 
 gentleman of that name lived at Isleworth, 
 whom she had frequently seen with my Lord 
 Bacon," and her mother was soon assured 
 that this gentleman was doubtless her uncle ; 
 and she expressed, as well as her weak state 
 would permit, a wish that she could return 
 to her native country, and enjoy his protec- 
 tion, as the only relation she had left. 
 
 " But there is yet a Count de Soubise, 
 mother ! Is he an uncle of mine ?" 
 
 " There is no such person ; your father 
 was an only son, and his father must ere 
 now have paid the debt of nature, even if 
 sorrow for the loss he experienced did not 
 facilitate his end." 
 
 "But yet there is such a person, for I 
 have seen him. I have even received kind- 
 ness at his hands ; he is a man advanced in
 
 ADELAIDE. 115 
 
 years, but of a good countenance : would I 
 could see him again !" 
 
 " He is, doubtless, one whom the King 
 hath rewarded with the estate and title of 
 my dear husband," said Madame de Soubise ; 
 " but it signifies not now, the hand of death 
 is upon us : we perish, my child." 
 
 As the poor lady spake these words, she 
 cast on her daughter a look so full of tender- 
 ness, so indicative of her belief that she was 
 indeed her child, and at the same time so 
 full of melancholy, that poor Adelaide felt 
 inspired by love and sorrow, to risk every 
 thing for her relief. — " Do not, do not die, 
 dear mother ; bear up your spirits a little 
 longer, and I will go directly to the King's 
 camp and demand an interview with this new 
 Count : I will tell " 
 
 " Alas, my child ! thou wilt fall by the 
 hands of the soldiers ; thy wretched appear- 
 ance will not entitle thee to an interview with 
 a superior officer." 
 
 " Oh, no! they will not injure mc'^: tlic 
 
 * Historical fact. Henry forbade thcni to bo touclicil : lie 
 observed, " thev had suffered too much already."
 
 116 ADELAIDE. 
 
 whole sad train with whom we set out, have 
 passed the barrier in perfect safety, as you 
 may perceive, mother ; besides, I have ano- 
 ther friend in the army, the young Baron de 
 Rosny, and all the English in the camp are 
 as my countrymen." 
 
 ^' Then go, in God's name," said the feeble 
 woman, imprinting a kiss on her wasted 
 cheek ; and Adelaide rising, endeavoured by 
 the energy of her spirit to supply the little 
 strength which remained to her. The road 
 towards that part of the encampment occu- 
 pied by the King was entirely rising, a cir- 
 cumstance which greatly increased her diffi- 
 culty, and she had not proceeded far before 
 she became sensible that she should never 
 reach it. 
 
 On every side she beheld the terrible con- 
 sequences of the last night's engagement, in 
 the suburb through which she was passing, 
 and which was now in the hands of the be- 
 siegers ; but she also saw various proofs of 
 humanity offering from the soldiers to their 
 suffering countrymen ; and on perceiving one 
 of the latter, whom, from his garb, she knew
 
 ADELAIDE. 117 
 
 to be English, pour out a little wine from a 
 flask to give a dying man, she cried out with 
 a last effort, and in his own language, " Oh, 
 comrade ! friend ! countryman ! spare me a 
 little also : in mercy give me a drop." 
 
 " That I will, my poor lad," said the sol- 
 dier, flying to her relief, moved less with her 
 sorrows, perhaps, than the accents of his 
 native tongue. 
 
 Adelaide had sunk on the ground, and the 
 man had poured the last drop of his nearly- 
 empty flask down her throat ere she had 
 power to speak again ; the few words she 
 uttered moved him to new exertions, and 
 leaving her, he sought, at the risk of punish- 
 ment, for farther relief among his compa- 
 nions, several of whom accompanied him, 
 bringing with them such portions of food 
 as happened to be spared from their rations. 
 One of these had been " orderly" to Cap- 
 tain Latimer, and he eagerly cried out, that 
 " This could be no other than poor Master 
 Jaques, who was bleached fair with being 
 starved to deatli, but whom lie had believed 
 to be murdered long since."
 
 118 ADELAIDE. 
 
 Adelaide, with a ghastly smile, held out 
 her withered hand to the Serjeant, and told 
 him " he was right," as well as she was 
 able. 
 
 " Well, to be sure ! here's a sight !" said 
 the poor fellow, as the tears gushed into his 
 eyes — " to think that a bonny boy, used 
 to English manchets and beer, should be 
 reduced to this ! But cheer up, my boy, I 
 will carry you on my back to our general : 
 and see here, I have got a fine thing in my 
 pocket, which once belonged to you, I 
 take it, and will serve to buy you many a 
 dinner." 
 
 To the astonishment of Adelaide, he drew 
 her long-lost bracelet from his vest. The 
 joy she experienced at the sight of it, con- 
 sidered as the means of establishing her 
 identity in the eyes of the King, added to 
 the good she had received from her slight, 
 but great refreshment, enabled her to arise; 
 and her eager inquiry of " Where did you 
 find it ?" was uttered with a voice of 
 pleasure. 
 
 " As to find it, I came by it this how ; a
 
 ADELAIDE. 119 
 
 party of ours caught a fellow in the very fact 
 of sending provisions into Paris, and were 
 about tuckhig him up, but I interfered, and 
 saved him for that bout ; so he just gave 
 me this'n by way of reward, and said, to tell 
 the truth, he had cheated a youth out of it 
 that he took to be English." 
 
 " Keep it," said Adelaide, " till I redeem 
 it with English guineas. But I pray ye, in 
 the first place, seek tw^o women that are 
 dying on the road below, and give them a 
 morsel of sustenance ; one of them is my 
 mother — your countrywoman." 
 
 " There are hundreds of women dying 
 for hunger, we have nothing to give them 
 here ; and besides, we may be summoned 
 to our duty." 
 
 Adelaide briefly described those whom she 
 meant, and the man, aware that she was, in 
 his own phrase, " somebody," dispatched 
 the first soldier, whose humanity had been 
 already shown, on this errand of mercy, 
 though with very inadequate means for its 
 fulfilment ; and then, with the aid of another, 
 he began to carry the weary, famished wan-
 
 1^0 ADELAIDE. 
 
 derer to the tent of his own general, who, 
 like the rest of his brave countrymen, had 
 done signal service to the French King, and 
 was of course a likely person to obtain im- 
 mediate assistance from the court, for any 
 person in whose affairs he was willing to in- 
 terest himself. 
 
 At the present moment, this officer, with 
 many others, was holding a council of war, 
 in consequence of the success of the preced- 
 ing night in their attack on the suburbs, and 
 the increased distress which evidently pre- 
 vailed in the city from the multitude of 
 starving wretches who had been thrust out 
 of it, and who were crawling forth to die in 
 houseless misery. 
 
 The King declared again, that he could 
 not endure the miseries under which the 
 city of Paris groaned. " I am," said he*, 
 " their Father and their King, and I cannot 
 hear the recital of their calamities without 
 being pierced to my inmost soul, and ardent- 
 ly desiring to bring them relief." But these 
 generous sentiments were opposed by some, 
 
 * See Sully's Memoirs.
 
 ADELAIDE. 121 
 
 who, knowing that Henry was the lawful 
 sovereign, and one w ho would not fail great- 
 ly to benefit his people, felt enraged at the 
 obstinacy of the Parisians, and desirous of 
 compelling them to receive their King. 
 
 Wearied with debate, and harassed by the 
 difficulties of his situation, Henry walked 
 out of his tent, followed by his principal 
 officers, as if to contemplate better the pro- 
 gress of their arms against the mighty city, 
 which lay stretched beneath them as one 
 prostrate in her wretchedness, yet not humble 
 in her adversity. On his right hand stood 
 the Baron de Rosny*, not as Adelaide had 
 beheld him a few months before, on his em- 
 bassy to England, but pale from loss of 
 blood, bandaged, and supported on crutches, 
 though still bearing that firm, composed 
 countenance, which bespoke a mind capable 
 of deep consideration, and at once alive to 
 the claims of humanity and the dictates of 
 policy. Conscious that her recollection of 
 his conversation with the Queen would en- 
 able her to prove to him that she had at 
 
 * See Villeroy's **■ Memoirs of State." 
 M
 
 122 ADELAIDE. 
 
 least the claims of a British su])jectin favour 
 with her own court, Adelaide now requested 
 that she might be set down, and then asking 
 the Serjeant to lend her the bracelet, she 
 determined on presenting herself immediately 
 to the attention of him from whom aid could 
 be most speedily attained. 
 
 Adelaide was by nature modest even to 
 timidity, and, unless compelled to action by 
 circumstance, had ever found it difficult 
 even to speak to strangers ; and from such 
 a presence as this, composed of the majesty 
 and nobility of France, without the counte- 
 nance of a single female, she would in hap- 
 pier days have shrunk abashed. But now, 
 reduced to a state of weakness, which made 
 life hang on a thread so feeble that a breath 
 might dissolve it, and conscious that her 
 mother, so long sought, so lately found, was 
 similarly situated, she felt that not a moment 
 must be lost — for her parent's sake she 
 sought only to expend her fleeting breath, 
 and offer up her last entreaties. 
 
 A wide circle, formed by the guards, 
 under the direction of the subaltern officers,
 
 ADELAIDE. 123 
 
 inclosed the ground on which the King ap- 
 peared, whose form and dress were well re- 
 membered by Adelaide ; she would have 
 been glad to have avoided the royal eye, 
 but, as the Baron de Rosny w^as close to his 
 ever gracious master, it was impossible. The 
 beathig of Adelaide's heart, the increased 
 trembling of her limbs, induced her to fear 
 she should die ere she reached the spot. — 
 " Ah," said she to herself, " this must sure- 
 ly be death ; for why should I be thus agitat- 
 ed in appearing before an earthly monarch, 
 who may so soon be called to appear before 
 the King of kings ?" 
 
 Turning her dazzled eyes around, and 
 sensible that every person was regarding 
 wdth wonder an object so mean and misera- 
 ble, she endeavoured to end the overpower- 
 ing solicitude of the moment by quickening 
 her steps ; but this her feebleness forbade, 
 and stretching out her arms, she could only 
 call out to the Baron de Rosny ere she sank 
 upon the ground. 
 
 That great man, suspecting some harm 
 meditated against his royal master, hastened
 
 124 ADELAIDE. 
 
 towards her as well as he was able, and 
 eagerly inquired — " Whence art thou ? — 
 what is thy request ?" 
 
 " I am from England^ and the Queen, my 
 mistress, will be thankful for my protec- 
 tion." 
 
 " Art thou not from the besieged city ?" 
 
 " Yes ! I sought my mother there— and 
 — I have found her : we are driven thence, 
 to our joy." 
 
 The King advanced, and pointing to the 
 wasted form, the skinny lips, the pallid face 
 of Adelaide, as she lay on the ground before 
 him, adverted to the state of the city whence 
 she came, and the tears of deep compassion 
 for a creature so young, and of late so beau- 
 tiful, rolled down his cheeks : he eagerly 
 commanded food to be given to her. But 
 the cautious statesman continued to interro- 
 gate her until she had convinced him that 
 she was, indeed, in the confidence of the 
 Queen of England, by repeating some of his 
 own words, on which he gladly suffered 
 refreshment to be administered to her, and
 
 ADELAIDE. 125 
 
 directed that she should be raised, and pre- 
 sented to the sovereign. 
 
 " Oh, sir," said Adelaide, " in memory 
 of our early sorrows and early friendship, 
 commend me to his Majesty yourself." 
 
 " I know not to what you allude, my 
 boy," said the Baron ; " but I will speak to 
 the King in your behalf most willingly, if it 
 be needful." 
 
 " When in that dreadful massacre you 
 fled to the good Father la Faye, who pro- 
 tected you, there was a little girl also saved 
 from destruction." 
 
 " There was — I remember her well." 
 " I am that unfortunate child," said Ade- 
 laide, the little blood which remained in her 
 extenuated form rushing to her pale cheeks. 
 The King and his nobles now crowded 
 around her, and Henry, in a tone of tender 
 compassion, and with that air of frank af- 
 fability which endeared him to all his sub- 
 jects, inquired — "And whose child art thou, 
 that hast already drunk so largely of the cup 
 of sorrow ?" 
 
 M 3
 
 126 ADELAIDE. 
 
 " I am, my liege, the only child of Charles 
 Count de Soubise ! Perchance your Ma- 
 jesty may remember me from this circum- 
 stance, that, on the evening of St. Bartho- 
 lomew, your royal consort clasped with her 
 own hands this ornament, the gift of the 
 Duchess of Guise, around my neck." 
 
 " By St. George !" exclaimed the King, 
 " we remember it well ; no share of that 
 night's occupation can be forgotten, when 
 the gay wassailing of a luxurious court 
 crowned its festival by draughts of blood — 
 when we ourselves*, after escaping from the 
 assassin's poniard, were led up through long 
 files of soldiers whose pointed spears mena- 
 ced instant death, and compelled to witness 
 siofhts more horrible than death — the suffer- 
 ings — the extermination of those we loved 
 and reverenced." 
 
 The sovereign ceased, but the deep sigh 
 of sympathy ran from breast to breast, and 
 a long pause ensued, from which Henry 
 starting, as one that must not recollect, as if 
 to relieve his mind from the agonizing me- 
 * An historical fact — See De Thou, Sully, &c.
 
 ADELAIDE. 127 
 
 iiiory of the hour, eagerly raised tlie trem- 
 bling suppliant at his feet, ordered a litter 
 to be prepared for her removal to the 
 suburbs, and comfortable lodging to be pro- 
 vided ; then turning, he inquired ^' how she 
 had left England, and whether she had ever 
 heard of her parents ?" 
 
 Adelaide in a few words informed him of 
 her destination to Rouen, and the death of 
 Captain Latimer. 
 
 '* Merciful Providence !" exclaimed the 
 King, " then it was for you, unknown, save 
 by the help that weak arm administered, 
 that De Soubise begged from me the standard 
 so soon deserted : know, my little runagate, 
 that you were sought, with no small anxiety, 
 all over the plain on that ill-fated day : to 
 this moment you are considered an object of 
 interest to De Soubise, who regrets the boy 
 that Heaven placed in his way, to heal the 
 wounds of a long-widowed heart." 
 
 " I thank his compassion. Pardon me, 
 sire, if I entreat to know who it is on whom 
 your Majesty has bestowed the title ? 
 and "
 
 1)^8 ADELAIDE. 
 
 " It is," said the King, " Charles de Sou- 
 bise,the man who at the sound of our consort's 
 voice sprang from his bed, and received a 
 deep dagger-wound in his side, which bathed 
 him in blood, and left him apparently dead ; 
 but being afterwards found with a crucifix 
 round his neck (hung there by the playful 
 hands of his child) be was considered a Catho- 
 lic, and given in charge to some monks, who 
 succeeded, after a long interval, in curing 
 him — it is, Adelaide, my faithful friend — 
 your father." 
 
 Adelaide heard no more — her senses were 
 overpowered, and it was with difficulty that 
 life was revived ; but as during her state of 
 insensibility the Baron had declared " that 
 she asserted that she had found her mother," 
 and the sergeant who carried her confirmed 
 the report, messengers were dispatched to 
 succour the long-lost Countess, whose re- 
 covery (should she be indeed saved) was 
 earnestly desired by the King, who, from all 
 he witnessed in the deplorable state of his 
 suffering subjects, now determined to act on 
 the suggestions of his pity, and to raise the
 
 ADELAIDE. 129 
 
 Siege. Under tlie active care of tlie many 
 who loved the long-suffering Count de Sou- 
 bise, (whose wounds still confined him in 
 the neighbourhood of Rouen), his wife and 
 daughter were soon placed in comfortable 
 apartments ; a physician constantly attended 
 on them, and administered to them portions 
 of food and restorative medicines proper for 
 their debilitated state. 
 
 As soon as poor Adelaide's senses return- 
 ed, and she began, though slowly, to com- 
 prehend the miraculous change which had 
 taken place in her affairs, it was her first 
 care to mention the dreadful privation of 
 reason under which her unhappy mother had 
 laboured so many years, and which had oc- 
 casioned the total loss of her society to her 
 bereaved husband, and her own ignorance of 
 his restoration. This was a point of the 
 last importance to attend to, as there was 
 but too much reason to believe that a sudden 
 transition of feeling might again endanger 
 the awful visitation under which she had 
 suffered so long. Happily, from ihe kind 
 consideration and ceaseless cares of Adelaide,
 
 loO ADELAIDE. 
 
 this effect was prevented, and she slowly 
 gained health and powers of mind together, 
 the strength of her affection for her child 
 partaking the same gradual and happy pro- 
 gress. 
 
 Madame d'Aumont had, during her long 
 sequestration from the world, ever been her 
 favourite attendant among the sisters ; it was 
 therefore a happy circumstance for her that 
 she still beheld her near, and that in the 
 anxious gratitude she experienced towards 
 one whose family had nourished her in pure 
 Christian charity for so many years, she 
 found a new motive for self-exertion, as 
 well as a nurse to whose gentle authority 
 she had been long accustomed to submit. 
 Adelaide, blessed with youth and native 
 energy, full of gratitude to God and man, 
 was much sooner restored to the blessings 
 of health than either of her companions, 
 and every vestige of returning strength in 
 them was to her a source of unspeakable 
 delight ; but yet her heart was often heavy, 
 for the distresses of the country every hour 
 pressed on her sight ; and her desire to see
 
 ADELAIDE. 131 
 
 and be recognised by her father, and to 
 make his existence known to her mother, 
 continually burdened her heart, and occupied 
 her thoughts unceasingly. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Oh ! if thou art the same Egeoii, speak, 
 And speak again unto the same Emilia. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 At this eventful period, the Great Henry 
 gave the most decisive proofs of that wisdom, 
 which was in him no less remarkable than 
 that wonderful courage and persevering re- 
 solution, which in all his historians have 
 formed the chief subject of eulogy. Having 
 determined to give battle to the Prince of 
 Parma, a great and skilful general, advan- 
 cing against him with all the power of Spain, 
 he gave secret orders that every soldier in 
 his army, and every person connected with 
 them, should hold themselves in readiness 
 to leave the suburbs in which they were now
 
 132 ADELAIDE* 
 
 placed, at a moment's warning, fearful lest 
 any small portion of them might, after his 
 removal, hecome the prey of the populace. 
 Grieved for the continuance of a civil war 
 fraught with so many miseries, he hoped by 
 a decisive victory over the Prince, to prove 
 to those cities in open rebellion that it would 
 be their wisdom to submit; and thus the 
 effusion of blood would be spared, and the 
 country return to that state of legal sub- 
 mission and civilized manners it had lost so 
 long. 
 
 Taking in at once the most important con- 
 cerns of a mighty empire, and the minute 
 circumstances of private life and individual 
 good, his capacious mind, aided by his wise 
 young minister, the profound De E.osny, di- 
 rected in all its movements the machine of a 
 government disorganized in all its parts, and 
 suffering in all its members. Agreeably to 
 the commands so necessary for their own 
 safety, our little family were compelled to 
 leave their present abode as soon as it was 
 possible ; and Adelaide by that means ob- 
 tained her wish of being removed at least
 
 ADELAIDE. 133 
 
 into the immediate neighbourhood of her 
 fatlier, and being so placed that she could 
 learn the progress of his health, and perhaps 
 administer to it. Although the high regard 
 and gratitude they all felt towards the King, 
 rendered them deeply solicitous for his wel- 
 fare, and even desirous of being near the 
 royal person, yet they were all sensible of 
 much relief to their spirits, in proportion as 
 they removed farther from the scene of their 
 past sufferings, and were relieved from the 
 sight of persons and circumstances which re- 
 minded them of the sorrows thev had shared ; 
 yet tears, bitter tears, trickled down every 
 cheek as the last view of the towers of Paris 
 faded from their eyes — tears due to the 
 memory of those dear and virtuous friends 
 so lately entombed in its walls ; and it was 
 long before they regained that tranquillity, 
 which each endeavoured to display for the 
 sake of the rest. 
 
 As they travelled by slow degrees, and 
 rested at those towns only which were se- 
 cured to the King, the governors of which 
 paid them the respect to which they were 
 
 N
 
 134 ADELAIDE. 
 
 entitled by the escort with which their royal 
 protector furnished them), several days had 
 passed before Adelaide found herself in the 
 place she so earnestly desired to reach. This 
 delay was, however, one by no means to be 
 legretted, as it tended fully to establish her 
 confidence in the state of her mother's mind ; 
 and she had the sweet satisfaction of finding 
 that change of scene, and even the variety of 
 persons with whom they were occasionally 
 associated, had always the most beneficial 
 influence upon Madame de Soubise. She 
 was now enabled to inquire with the most 
 affectionate interest into the past concerns of 
 her daughter's life, and never failed to ex- 
 press the most lively gratitude towards all 
 those who had been instrumental to her good. 
 She spoke also of her own intention to pro- 
 ceed to England, as the only place where 
 she could now feel that she had a certain 
 home ; and observed one day, that if she 
 should not be so happy as to find her uncle 
 alive, she should be satisfied to live with the 
 Crebillons. — " If," said she, " even in those 
 days when my reason was alienated, and my
 
 ADELAIDE. 135 
 
 mind harassed with the image of my hus- 
 band murdered before my eyes, and my 
 poor child for ever lost, I yet could occa- 
 sionally employ my hands to good purpose, 
 how much more shall I be enabled to per- 
 form under the restoration of so many bless- 
 ings ! 
 
 " Oh yes ! my mother," said Adelaide 
 cheerfully, yet with great trepidation, " we 
 shall do very well, even if the King should 
 forget us, or be unable to remit us the assist- 
 ance to which his noble nature will prompt 
 him. I doubt not but the Queen herself 
 will purchase the product of our labours, 
 and assist us till our country is restored to 
 peace ; in fact, I am certain, dear mother, 
 we could not only do this, but even support 
 my dear father if we had him with us." 
 
 " Support liim /" cried Madame de Soubise, 
 with enthusiasm, " ah, yes! for him I could 
 work, beg — nay, starve again. Oh ! Adelaide, 
 poor girl, never can I convey to thee an idea 
 of the excellence of the father tliou hast lost ; 
 the sweetness of his temper, the kindness of 
 his heart, admit no parallel ; I speak not of
 
 136 ADELAIDE. 
 
 his courage, his honour, for those qualities 
 he shares with many." 
 
 " Well, I trust I shall see him, and know 
 him yet. You, dear mother, were restored 
 to me by miracle ; for what less can I deem 
 the circumstance of our being brought under 
 the same roof, living there unknown to each 
 otlier for weeks, yet never meeting till that 
 precise moment when the knowledge of each 
 other was necessary to give each a stimulant 
 for preserving life ? Besides, there have been 
 many wonderful escapes from that scene of 
 slaughter." 
 
 " There have," said Madame d'Aumont, 
 " for I have witnessed them ; and I have also 
 heard of one person, who, after appearing 
 dead many hours, crept out from under a heap 
 of slain, wdth seven severe wounds, and now 
 lives ; of another, who owed his safety to 
 the circumstance of his wife having thrown 
 a counterpane around him, by which the 
 vital spark was preserved, notwithstanding 
 he lost such a profusion of blood, that he 
 from that time looked pale and wrinkled as 
 if with age."
 
 ADELAIDE. 137 
 
 " Did you, indeed, hear of such a thing ?'* 
 said the anxious wife, ** and are you sure 
 the person lives ?" 
 
 " I am certain he lived a little while ago, 
 but was a sufferer from wounds gained in 
 service." 
 
 " Then I will seek him all over France — 
 no place shall be left unvisited, though I 
 crawl upon my knees to find him. Adelaide, 
 my child, that sufferer was undoubtedly 
 your father ; the circumstance is fresh in 
 my memory of rushing forward to screen 
 him from his pursuers by that very means : 
 my child, my friend, promise me never, 
 never to -abandon the search." 
 
 " We will not," said Adelaide, trembling 
 at the wild eagerness which rose in her eye ; 
 " and we will prepare to enter on this im- 
 portant duty by humiliation and prayer." 
 
 The next day, finding the spirits of her 
 mother much more composed, and her whole 
 mind bent on this pursuit, Adelaide left her 
 under the care of Madame d'Aumont, say- 
 ing, she w^ould visit the neighbouring cha- 
 teau, where a wounded officer then lay, to 
 
 N 3
 
 138 ADELAIDE. 
 
 prosecute the inquiry. She was well aware 
 that her anxious father, informed by the 
 King of her existence, was then in daily ex- 
 pectation of seeing her ; but as he was yet 
 a stranger to her mother's existence, and a 
 deep mourner for her loss, she felt that the 
 same affecting duty remained to be perform- 
 ed, which was to prepare him for a re-union 
 so singular, unexpected, and delightful. The 
 Count de Soubise, recovered from his wounds, 
 but still weak from their effects, was slowly 
 pacing the long avenue which led to the 
 Chateau des Boix, where he had remained 
 since the siege of Rouen, continually on the 
 watch for the arrival of the interesting stran- 
 ger, whom he still held in his eye as the 
 dark handsome boy, who had rescued him 
 from destruction, although he longed to find 
 ill him the daughter to whom his widowed 
 life would owe its only solace. When the 
 litter which conveyed Adelaide arrived with- 
 in the avenue, and she perceived the Count, 
 whom she instantly recognised, she caused 
 herself to be set down, and sprang forward 
 to throw herself at her father's feet, and en-
 
 ADELAIDE. 
 
 139 
 
 treat his blessing, fully persuaded that he 
 was expecting her. The Count perceiving 
 an elegant fair young woman, looking older 
 than the boy he w^as watching for, in the 
 first moment started back with an air of dis- 
 appointment; but the moment he heard her 
 voice, he approached, gazed with eager, de- 
 lighted, yet somewhat mournful looks upon 
 her countenance, then clasped her in his 
 arms, and wept upon her neck, crying — 
 " Thou art indeed my child — my own Maria's 
 child ; and it was her dear voice, from thy 
 lips, that touclied me even in the field of bat- 
 tle. Oh God ! I thank thee for this hour !" 
 x\delaide wept also, but they were the 
 sweetest tears that she had ever shed ; for 
 far different was this meeting to that of the 
 awful hour which restored her mother. She 
 went with lier father into the chateau ; and 
 having taken some refreshment, consented, 
 at his earnest request, to tell him the sad 
 story of her short existence, from the dread- 
 ful hour which divided tliem, to the present 
 moment. When she arrived at tlie time 
 when she discovered her mothci", she spoke
 
 il 
 
 140 ADELAIDE. 
 
 of her, " as an unhappy woman, whom the 
 shock of seeing her husband murdered on 
 the horrible night of St. Bartholomew, had 
 
 deprived of her senses, and whom " 
 
 Ah !" cried the Count in great emotion, 
 
 I should not wonder, Adelaide, if thy own 
 angel mother had been all these years in 
 some such situation ; for even at this mo- 
 ment her terrific shriek, as that of sudden 
 distraction, rings in my ears : and when, 
 after my long confinement, I was at length 
 enabled to creep out in disguise, and make 
 inquiry, I could never learn that a person 
 answering her description had been actually 
 found amongst the murdered. Alas ! I was 
 compelled to quit Paris, and having at last 
 rejoined my King, it has never been in my 
 power to renew the search ; it is possible 
 that she still lives and sufiers — a thought so 
 terrible, my child, that even thy presence 
 cannot render it endurable." 
 
 The Count arose, and in great agitation 
 traversed the apartment. Adelaide could 
 not bear to see him suffer, and she was thank- 
 ful that the same extreme precaution was
 
 ADELAIDE. 141 
 
 not in this case necessary. Rusliing to his 
 arms, she cried — " Oh ! my father, cahn your 
 fears, my mother does indeed live — her 
 senses are restored — she suffers no longer !" 
 
 But Adelaide had reckoned too much on 
 the strength of her father's mind, manly and 
 lofty as it was ; the sudden revulsion of feel- 
 ing, the excess of joy, the relief from a per- 
 petual pressure of many years, was too m.uch 
 for him : in his convulsive gaspings and vio- 
 lent agitations, the terrified girl beheld her 
 error, and she eagerly summoned all the as- 
 sistance in the chateau, crying out in agony, 
 *' that she had killed her father!"' The phy- 
 sician ordered the Count to be conveyed to 
 his couch, and to lose a little blood ; but in 
 a short time he was relieved bv tears, and 
 that outpouring of vehement praise to Hea- 
 ven, which at once bespoke the fulness of 
 his happiness, and gave vent to the ovcr- 
 posAcring emotions of his swollen heart. 
 
 Under the violence of these transports, it 
 became of use to the Count to learn the ne- 
 cessity of curbing his emotions, and the deli- 
 cate state in wliich his beloved Maria was
 
 142 ADELAIDE. 
 
 still placed. He also reflected on the state 
 from which his daughter was so lately res- 
 cued, and saw with pain how much she still 
 suffered from her sympathy with him ; and 
 his pleasure was controlled, by learning that 
 Madame d'Aumont had dispatched a mes- 
 senger to bring her back, who said, " her 
 mother could not bear so long an absence." 
 They eagerly concerted together a little plan, 
 whereby he could once more embrace his 
 long-lost wife ; and the Count then, though 
 with great reluctance, agreed to Adelaide's 
 departure for the night ; but ere she went, 
 he read a letter from the Baron de Rosny, 
 which she had been charged to give him, 
 only in case she found him in tolerable 
 health and capable of removing. 
 
 This letter contained not only the permis- 
 sion, but the commands of his sovereign 
 (most graciously expressed), that he would 
 remove to England with his wife and daugh- 
 ter, as the only medium of obtaining restora- 
 tion of health to the former, and preserving 
 or regaining her maternal rights of fortune 
 to the latter. A letter was inclosed from
 
 ADELAIDE. 143 
 
 the King, whereby it was not doubted that 
 the property confiscated by Queen Mary, 
 which of right belonged to Madame de Sou- 
 bise, would be restored by Queen Elizabeth, 
 who had appointed commissioners to inquire 
 into all such matters some years ago. 
 
 The Count immediately gave his most un- 
 qualified assent to this command, adding 
 only, that " if ever his health and strength 
 were restored, it would be at the service of 
 his beloved Monarch ;" and he told Adelaide 
 that " he would immediately order all his 
 affairs so as to enable him to proceed on his 
 journey," whilst she on her part as eagerly 
 asserted, that " she would prepare her mo- 
 ther for the hajopiness which awaited her ;" 
 and she departed, most thankful that the 
 poverty which, in despite of her hopes, she 
 had often dreaded for the sake of her pa- 
 rents, was thus happily obviated. 
 
 " Have you received any tidings, my Ade- 
 laide ?" were the first words of Madame de 
 Soubise. 
 
 " Yes, mother, and they are most favour- 
 able to our hopes."
 
 144 ADELAIDE. 
 
 " The servants told me that the Count de 
 Soubise was at the chateau : as he must be 
 an usurper, I feared you were in danger, 
 and sent for you." 
 
 *' But he is not, dear mother ; on the 
 contrary, he is our friend, and willing to 
 share his future fortunes with us, and ac- 
 company us to England, where his presence 
 may greatly aid us in regaining your father's 
 forfeited estates." 
 
 " Heaven bless and reward him !" said 
 the sufferer, as she piously clasped her hands 
 upon her heart. " But, Adelaide, will he 
 first help us to seek your father ? for, now 
 that I really conceive it is possible to be so 
 . blessed as to find him, be assured that I 
 shall never rest till I have seen him." 
 
 " Mother, the Count is still more anxious 
 than you ; he will not sleep the whole night, 
 I will answer for it, for thinking on the sub- 
 ject ; and though he is still very weak, 
 having been much wounded at the siege of 
 Rouen, I should not wonder if we saw him 
 here to-morrow,"
 
 ADELAIDE. 145 
 
 " We will go to him : whoever he may be, 
 he bears a name so honourable, so dear, that 
 he cannot disgrace it by refusing me his ut- 
 most assistance." 
 
 ** Be assured he will give it ; I know that 
 he loves me already as a daughter, and it 
 will not be his fault if I do not see my father 
 before to-morrow night.'* 
 
 " To-morrow night ! — what a thought ! 
 but I will try to be calm ; do not alarm your- 
 self, Adelaide ; I know to what your fears 
 naturally point ; but I trust myself that the 
 Almighty guardian, who has preserved me 
 through so much, will not forsake me in this 
 most awful hour." 
 
 " Have you any recollection of your father, 
 my love ?" she continued. 
 
 " An image of a tall, handsome man, with 
 dark eyes like my own, floats in my me- 
 mory : I remember that he used to sing to 
 me ; that he was graceful, active, full of fire 
 and spirit; — the Count assures me, that my 
 father, at present, is just such a man as 
 himself; so he is of course much altered, for 
 
 o
 
 146 ADELAIDE. 
 
 the Count is pale and old, walks a little 
 lame, and is altogether feeble, but yet very 
 prepossessing." 
 
 " I am impatient to see him, and to se- 
 cure his friendship. — To-morrow ! to-morrow 
 night !" 
 
 During the whole night these emphatic 
 words were on the lips of Madame de Sou- 
 bise continually, and she could neither sleep 
 herself, nor suffer her companions to obtain 
 repose ; but in the morning she willingly 
 took the nourishment which they assured 
 her was necessary, and even submitted to 
 those improvements in her dress which they 
 deemed proper; after which she peremptorily 
 insisted on bemg carried immediately to the 
 chateau, and introduced by Adelaide to the 
 Count. 
 
 Their little journey was soon made ; but 
 when arrived at the mansion, so great was 
 Adelaide's dread of the interview, so lively 
 her remembrance of the Count's emotion the 
 preceding day, that, as she looked at the 
 worn frame and transparent skin of her 
 jii other, she felt as if her long-suffering spirit
 
 ADELAIDE. 117 
 
 would take its everlasting llight at the siglit of 
 her husband, and leave him more wretched 
 than before ; and in the distress she felt she 
 burst into tears, crying — " Alas ! alas ! what 
 have I done ?" and sank on a seat oppressed 
 almost to fainting. 
 
 The Count had indeed never slept, and, as 
 soon as she was announced, he hastened to 
 her, and entered the room at the moment his 
 long-afllicted partner was in her turn con- 
 soling poor Adelaide, by beseeching her to 
 compose her spirits, saying, " My love, you 
 will not see your father till night." 
 
 " Yes ! she will see him this moment," 
 cried the Count. 
 
 " Where ? where ?" exclaimed the mother, 
 as she turned towards him, revealing her 
 fine, but pallid countenance, and the still 
 graceful air of her slight attenuated form. — 
 '^ Oh, sir ! tell me, for God's sake tell me, 
 where is her father, my own Charles ? — 
 
 sav 
 
 She sank upon her knees — her liands clasp- 
 c<l, her eyes fixed upon liim, in tliat intense- 
 ncss of in(juiiy which amounts to agony, and
 
 148 ADELAIDE. 
 
 which proved that more than hfe hung upon 
 his answer. 
 
 The distress of the affectionate husband 
 was at this moment terrible : he beheld his 
 long-loved and deeply-lamented wife still the 
 same tender and faithful being he had ever 
 known her ; and whilst he ardently desired 
 to hold her to his heart, to mingle his tears 
 and his thanksgivings to Heaven with hers, 
 he yet feared to speak a word which might in- 
 jure her, and tend to destroy his new-found 
 hopes of happiness — he dared not even to 
 speak again, lest she should recognize his 
 voice too suddenly ; — in his embarrassment 
 and trouble, he turned away his face and 
 wept. 
 
 Adelaide, alike trembling for both, eager- 
 ly tried to raise her mother, and soothe her 
 father's feelings. " See," said she, " my 
 dear mother, how much the Count feels for 
 you: do not distress him by this posture; he 
 will bring us to my father, as soon as he sees 
 that you are able to bear the interview." 
 
 Madame de Soubise turned her eyes to 
 Heaven, and in silence and deep devotion
 
 (( 
 (( 
 
 ADELAIDE. 11-9 
 
 preferred her suj^plication to Him who read- 
 eth the heart : — in a short time she arose, 
 and advancing to the Count, said, in a low 
 but calm voice, " I am prepared to see my 
 husband." 
 
 But," answered he, in a faltering tone, 
 
 are you prepared, Maria, to see him aged, 
 broken down ?" 
 
 " 'Tis Charles ! my own Charles ! — yes ! 
 yes ! I see him — I understand it all — and 
 yet I live !" 
 
 Our little party, thus happily and won- 
 derfully restored to each other, remained for 
 a few days at the chateau, to enable them to 
 tranquillize their spirits, and prepare them 
 to adjourn to another country ; and poor 
 Adelaide might be now first said to realize 
 the happiness she had so singularly acquired, 
 and to feel a sweet certainty that she had a 
 right to expect the bliss for which she liad 
 suffered so much. During their stay, they 
 had the satisfaction of learning that the 
 King, although he had not yet come to any 
 decisive engagement with the Prince of Par- 
 ma, was every day gaining ground ; that iii 
 
 o 3
 
 150 ADELAIDE. 
 
 several engagements with the opposite faction 
 he had been constantly successful, and had 
 given such eminent proofs of personal cou- 
 rage and heroic daring, as to render him 
 more than ever the darling of the soldiers 
 and the admiration of his subjects. From 
 all they could now learn, his progress in 
 conquests was more than doubled in that 
 which he made in the affections of the coun- 
 try ; and they quitted France under the 
 full and happy conviction, that in a short 
 time all the troubles of that long-suffering 
 country would be ended, under the paternal 
 sway of a King whose character they honour- 
 ed, and whose person they loved and re- 
 vered. 
 
 Their voyage was stormy, and their land- 
 ing of course uncheered by welcome ; but the 
 spirits of all the party soon rose : thankful 
 as they were for their safe arrival, and feel- 
 ing too rich in each other to want any ad- 
 ditional blessing, save that competence which 
 they trusted the equal laws of the British 
 government, aided by the personal good 
 oiRces of the Queen, would soon accord
 
 ADELAIDE. 151 
 
 them. Every step which brought them 
 nearer to the metropolis — a journey which 
 they prosecuted by the means of 2:)ack-horses, 
 which they hired at Canterbury — showed 
 them that spirit of improvement, and air of 
 wealth, which could not fail to awaken sen- 
 sations of pleasure in philanthropic bosoms. 
 The Count and Madame d'Aumont could 
 not forbear to dilate on the blessings of re- 
 ligious liberty, which, by giving energy to 
 every spring of human action, converted an 
 apparently cold, unfruitful land, into one vast 
 garden, rendered the havens forests of ships, 
 the towns marts of merchandize, and the 
 people important, wealthy, generous, and 
 happy ; whilst their own lovely country, de- 
 prived of this great blessing, suffered unna- 
 tural barrenness, poverty, anarchy, and ruin. 
 But Adelaide, and her mother more especi- 
 ally, felt too happy to join in conversation ; 
 they were full of thought, but also full of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 When at length they arrived in London, 
 they took up their abode for a few days at 
 the Globe Tavern, in Fleet Street, to rest
 
 152 ADELAIDE. 
 
 and refit. It was the first care of the Count 
 de Soubise, to get his letters presented at 
 court ; and as t-lie Queen was again at Ricli- 
 mond, and all the females were impatient to 
 proceed thither also, it was judged meet to 
 hire a vessel at London Bridge, to transport 
 them thither. All the way up the Thames, 
 Adelaide pointed out to the strangers those 
 objects most worthy of attention, viz. the 
 Custom-House of this the greatest commer- 
 cial city on earth ; — the extensive courts of 
 the Knights Templar, with their beautiful 
 gardens and fine church, now inhabited by 
 lawyers and private gentlemen ; — the mag- 
 nificent palace of the late Duke of Somerset, 
 in the Strand ; — the Savoy, where dwelt the 
 Queen's favourite. Beyond these they saw, 
 with reverence, the ancient towers of West- 
 minster Abbey, and the great Hall, where 
 the Sovereigns of England hold their coro- 
 nation feasts ; — then came Lambeth Palace ; 
 and a few miles onward, the Palace at Fulham, 
 no longer mourning for the fall of its up- 
 right Bishop*, nor degraded by the bigot 
 
 * Ridley, Bishop of London, burnt to death at Oxford, 
 along with Latimer, Bishop of Worcester.
 
 ADELAIDE. 153 
 
 who rose on his ruin. Splendid mansions, 
 populous villages, wide parks, and fruitful 
 gardens, adorned the banks on either side of 
 the noble stream, which, in its calm majestic 
 course, flowed, to an imaginative mind, in 
 the quiet grandeur of one conscious of its 
 surrounding greatness, and proud to bear on 
 its glittering surface the riches and beauty 
 of a ti'ibutary world. 
 
 "Whatever was the pleasure with which 
 the scene was beheld in the neighbourliood 
 of London, it was greatly increased on their 
 approaching immediately to Richmond ; al- 
 though the warm heart of Adelaide, anxious 
 to reach the dear friends of her infancy, 
 could ill brook the hindrance arising from 
 the multitude of gay vessels of every descrip- 
 tion which covered the Thames from the 
 ferry of Sion to that of Richmond, and 
 which, as the river became more confined in 
 its banks, prevented them from making way. 
 This delay was soon compensated by learn- 
 ing that the present show on the river was 
 a gala given by the City of London in com- 
 pliment to the Queen, and consisted of a
 
 154 ADELAIDE. 
 
 boat-race, a miniature naval fight, and otlier 
 divertisements on the liquid element. The 
 boats were all filled with gay company, from 
 the first ladies of the court to the spouses of 
 the citizens and the damsels of the country, 
 all arrayed in their holiday clothes, and ex- 
 hibiting an example of comfort, and even 
 wealth, down to the very peasantry, which 
 could not be rivalled in any country in 
 Europe. The vessels of the nobility, for the 
 most part, were of a light form, resembling 
 the Venetian gondola, and were generally 
 covered with awnings and ornamented with 
 silk curtains, or in some cases tapestried with 
 Genoa velvet : but those which belonged to 
 the different companies in the city were of 
 a heavier construction, richly gilt, and paint- 
 ed in gorgeous colours, resembling those 
 introduced by Claude and other painters as 
 antique ships. Others were built to repre- 
 sent animals, and worked on the water in 
 offensive or defensive warfare, to the infinite 
 amusement of the crowd on the banks, and 
 the people who filled the heavy barges or 
 common wherries, which swelled and oc-
 
 ADELAIDE. 155 
 
 casionally interfered in the scene. Numbers 
 of the boats were ornamented with branches 
 of trees, on which hung garlands of flowers, 
 gay streamers of silk and ribands : bands of 
 music were stationed on every side, and 
 morris-dancers with bells were interspersed, 
 who danced on stages suspended between 
 two vessels : every thing, as far as the eye 
 could see, was full of gaiety and motion ; 
 the welcome of friends, the loud laugh of 
 rustic enjoyment, the trolling of a mirthful 
 song, the martial music of military bands, 
 succeeded each other ; while the soft perfume 
 that was wafted from the lime-trees on the 
 banks and the flowers in the vessels, aided 
 to prolong the charm wliich everywhere 
 feasted the senses. 
 
 The Queen was seen now to descend from 
 her palace and approach her boat, on the 
 middle of which an ornamented seat was 
 raised, over which was a beautiful crimson 
 canopy ; from the edge silken curtains were 
 suspended, which were looped up with 
 wreaths of natural flowers, and on the top 
 was a beautiful crown, made also of the
 
 156 ADELAIDE. 
 
 garden's loveliest productions. The ladies in 
 attendance stood around, splendidly attired; 
 and the whole formed a beautiful object, 
 which was hailed with delight by all who 
 beheld it. As the vessel moved slowly for- 
 ward, every eye was strained to snatch a look 
 of their beloved sovereign ; and Adelaide 
 felt as if she could scarcely refrain from cry- 
 ing out aloud, to thank and bless the royal 
 hand which had led her through so much 
 sorrow to so much happiness. 
 
 When the royal pageant was passed, our 
 travellers had no difficulty in reaching the 
 abode of the sisters Crebillon, who, with tears 
 of delight welcomed home her whom they 
 called their " wandering child." Their joy 
 at seeing Madame d'Aumont, the friend of 
 their infancy, was not less great; and the 
 pleasure they experienced in using their own 
 language in unrestrained freedom, seemed to 
 make them amends for all the sorrowful 
 news of which she was the bearer : but the 
 presence of the Count de Soubise, and his 
 still delicate wife, recalled them to recol- 
 lection.
 
 ADELAIDE. 157 
 
 When this excellent couple had somewhat 
 relieved their grateful hearts, by pouring 
 out their thanks to this worthy family, they 
 removed to lodgings, not choosing to be any 
 restraint upon them ; but Adelaide stayed 
 a few hours to talk, as she was wont, to the 
 old man, and relate how she had disposed 
 of his goods in the day of her distress. He 
 now sincerely rejoiced that he had not left his 
 kind daughters, and was truly glad that he 
 had in any way contributed to assist his 
 aged friends in Paris, of whose sufferings 
 they all heard with sincere commiseration. 
 Adelaide next inquired after poor Captain 
 Latimer's widow, and learnt that she had 
 retired with her infant son to a distance, 
 after returning from Calais, her income 
 being very narrow. It was the first wish 
 of Adelaide's heart to contribute to her as- 
 sistance. 
 
 In the delight of her present situation, the 
 poor girl now forgot that there could be any 
 more trouble in the world. She found her- 
 slef in the land of liberty and plenty, in the 
 possession of the dearest ties of existence —
 
 158 ADELAIDE. 
 
 with friends who loved her, and, as slie 
 trusted, that royal patronage which could not 
 fail to procure her every future blessing ; 
 and with all the sanguine expectation of 
 youth, she ran from place to place, as if to 
 call on every object, animate or inanimate, 
 to partake her sensations. 
 
 The feelings of the Count de Soubise and 
 his tender partner, though less openly ex- 
 pressed, were little short of those expe- 
 rienced by their beloved daughter; for so long, 
 so severe, had been their sorrows, so com- 
 pletely had life been lost to the one and ren- 
 dered wretched to the other, that they each 
 felt like persons entering on a new state of 
 existence, and prepared to consider that all 
 was heaven around them. These emotions 
 were felt most sweetly and sublimely, when, 
 kneeling in the house of God, surrounded 
 with a congregation whom they considered 
 as their brethren, their full hearts poured 
 out the tide of pious gratitude, and glorified 
 the God whom they worshipped in simplicity 
 and truth. 
 
 In a short time, however, they found the
 
 ADELAIDE. 159 
 
 necessity of looking into their worldly cir- 
 cumstances, and endeavouring to regain the 
 property of Madame de Soubise's father. 
 Unfortunately for them, the Queen was 
 removing to London at the time when they 
 arrived, and her return was delayed by some 
 unpleasant affairs in Ireland ; and as the 
 Count spoke English indifferently, and was 
 entirely new to the manners of the country, 
 and the timidity and remaining delicacy of 
 her health prevented his lady from any ex- 
 ertion, this important business again de- 
 volved upon poor Adelaide, who, although 
 yet little better than a shadow, felt equal 
 to every exertion, when the welfare of her 
 parents was concerned.
 
 160 ADELAIDE. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Behold the Avays 
 
 Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man ! 
 For ever just, benevolent, and wise. 
 
 AKENSIDE. 
 
 It was the first care of Adelaide to inquire 
 after Mr. Shirley, whom she remembered 
 as living in the neighbourhood, and being 
 the friend of Lord Bacon, with whom she 
 had seen him frequently walk on the opposite 
 banks of the river, planting trees, and form- 
 ing walks in Twickenham Park. She found 
 that the old gentleman had left that abode, 
 for he was said to be " of a restless anxious 
 frame of mind," and that he was then re- 
 moved to Kingston ; for her informer added, 
 that " although he frequently flitted, yet he 
 was too aged to go to any great distance." 
 
 It was not long before Adelaide obtained 
 permission to visit him ; and although he
 
 ADELAIDE. IGl 
 
 was very infirm, and a little deaf, yet as she 
 proceeded in the sad story of her unhappy 
 mother's suffering's, he gave abundant proof 
 that age had neither impaired his faculties, 
 nor blunted his affections. He recalled all 
 the early history of his brothers, the martyr- 
 dom of one, the exile of the other, and the 
 long, long remembered flight of his little 
 niece, whose loss he had never ceased to la- 
 ment, as the sole survivor of a brother whom 
 he had tenderly loved, and whose cruel death 
 had yet more endeared him. 
 
 With such dispositions towards our wan- 
 derers, it was no wonder that the old gentle- 
 man soon received his niece, and offered in 
 his house a welcome asylum to them all, 
 until the settlement of their affairs. lie had 
 long felt himself a cheerless unconnected 
 man, and contracted many of those pecu- 
 liarities, which those who live much alone 
 are subject to ; but he was a person of great 
 worth and generous temper ; and he soon 
 became so fond of Adelaide, and so j)leased 
 with her attentions to him, as an aged man
 
 162 ADELAIDE. 
 
 and an invalid, that he could scarcely bear 
 to be parted from her a moment. 
 
 Assisted by his counsel, his friends, and 
 his purse, Madame de Soubise, under the 
 just and merciful dispensations of Elizabeth's 
 government, in the course of the following 
 year recovered the property of her father, 
 which had been confiscated at the time of his 
 execution under the blood-stained reign of 
 Mary. This property was more than equal 
 to all the wants and wishes of the emigrant 
 family ; and by the time it was secured, the 
 Count de Soubise had become so pleased 
 with England, that he willingly acceded to 
 the request of his wife and daughter, that 
 he would purchase an estate in England, and 
 live there for the remainder of his days. In 
 doing this, the Count by no means renounced 
 the country in which he was born, and the 
 King he loved, for he hoped to revisit both ; 
 but he justly felt that the liberty of exer- 
 cising his own religion, and living amongst 
 those who professed a pure faith, was itself 
 a blessing beyond all other, and the only one
 
 ADELAIDE. 1G3 
 
 which could atone to him for the sufferings 
 he had endured from the Catholics. 
 
 Desirous of contributing by every atten- 
 tion in their power to the comforts of their 
 declining relative, it was a particular object 
 with them to find some spot in this neighbour- 
 hood in which to reside ; and Adelaide went 
 with her father, in short rambles, through 
 Twickenliam, Hampton, East-Sheen, and 
 Isleworth, for tliat purpose — all villages on 
 the banks of the Thames, remarkable for 
 their beauty and salubrity, and principally 
 inhabited by nobility, officers, and those con- 
 nected with the court. Often would she re- 
 flect on the great change which had taken 
 place in her situation, since she used to wan- 
 der alone in anxious musing in these paths ; 
 and then she would press the hand of her 
 beloved father to her heart, and casting her 
 glistening eyes to heaven, breathe out her 
 thanksgivings to the Father on high. 
 
 At length they removed to a large man- 
 sion, which had formerly been a convent, in 
 East-Sheen, and which, in its extensive offices
 
 164 ADELAIDE. 
 
 and chapel, afforded a comfortable and sepa- 
 rate abode for Mr. Shirley also, and a plea- 
 sant parlour and bed-room for their good 
 friend Madame d'Aumont, who had been so 
 long used to female society only, that she had 
 hitherto chosen to reside with the Crebillons, 
 in preference to mixing with an English 
 establishment. It was the first care of Ade- 
 laide, on the accession of fortune, to fulfil 
 her promise of assistance to Mrs. Latimer 
 and her son, for whose future education her 
 uncle had already undertaken ; and it was 
 her peculiar business, and pleasure also, to 
 fit up these rooms with every little conveni- 
 ence and elegance, which would render tliem 
 agreeable to the good widow, and afford the 
 kind Crebillons a pleasant visiting-place, 
 where they might find united the best cha- 
 racteristics of the land they had left, and the 
 country they had found. For this purpose 
 Adelaide rendered the place, as far as she 
 was able, like the house which Madame 
 d'Aumont had so long lived in at Paris, and 
 caused a porch to be built in the same man- 
 ner, near which she planted the most beau-
 
 ADELAIDE. 165 
 
 tiful flowers, training them to cover and en- 
 circle it, 
 
 Madame d'Aumont was delighted with 
 this proof of kind attention to her comforts, 
 and eagerly expressed her satisfaction ; say- 
 ing, " Ah, ma'mselle, every time I enter or 
 quit my pretty home, I w^ill think of you, 
 and pray to God to bless you!" 
 
 " And every time," said Adelaide, " that 
 I visit you, I will remember that wretched 
 night, when I entered your porch, and sat 
 down weary, hungry, poor, and houseless, 
 ready to expire with famine and sorrow ; and 
 remember that not ovit of your abundance, 
 but your scarcity, you fed me, clothed me, 
 nourished me as a child, and confided in me 
 as a sister ; nor will 1 ever come out w ith- 
 out recollecting that more wretched night 
 still, when we were pursued by fire and 
 sword — when the earth shook under our 
 feet, and the heavens blazed above our heads 
 — for that night gave me my mother." 
 
 So much did that mother feel while this 
 conversation was passing, that the Count de 
 Soubise, to give a little change to her
 
 166 ADELAIDE. 
 
 thoughts, and direct them all to the best 
 tranquillizer, took her hand, and proceeded 
 to the chapel, which was now divested of all 
 its superstitious ornaments, and neatly fitted 
 up as a room for family prayer, '* Here," 
 said he, " can we, my excellent Madame 
 d'Aumont, perform our devotions in our own 
 language ; and any of our countrymen will- 
 ing to join us, shall have a double welcome, 
 as Frenchmen and Protestants ; — we shall not 
 need to stifle the warm breathings of our 
 hearts heref nor sing the praises of our God 
 in a cellar." 
 
 The party were called from this interest- 
 ing conversation by a mandate from the 
 Queen, who was again fixing her summer 
 abode at Richmond, and now graciously 
 offered an audience to the Count and his 
 family, including Adelaide by name. The 
 grateful girl had long wished for this oppor- 
 tunity of thanking the Queen, and some- 
 times grieved that circumstances had hither- 
 to prevented her from enjoying, or even 
 soliciting that honour ; but she now sin- 
 cerely rejoiced that it had not taken place,
 
 ADELAIDE. 167 
 
 till such time as the restoration of her mo- 
 ther's fortune had enabled the Count to ap- 
 pear in the presence of Elizabeth somewhat 
 in the style suitable to his rank, and that 
 she should be able to thank the Queen for 
 past favours, without being compelled to so- 
 licit neiv ones. Young as she was, Adelaide 
 was yet aware, that her Majesty would pre- 
 fer spending that money which she consider- 
 ed the property of the nation, upon her own 
 people, rather than those of another country, 
 although, as a great Queen, she was ever 
 willing to extend munificent aid on moment- 
 ous occasions. 
 
 Once more, therefore, our young heroine 
 appeared before this great princess, and had 
 the unexampled gratification of presenting, 
 not only the mother she had so intrepidly 
 sought, but the noble father she had lost, to 
 her whose subjects they were all become. 
 The Queen received them all most benig- 
 nantly ; and, after giving warm praise to the 
 blushing Adelaide, and congratulating lier 
 parents on the possession of sucli a child, she 
 proceeded to gladden the heart of the loyal
 
 168 ADELAIDE. 
 
 De Soubise by informing him, " that since 
 he had left France, success had invariably 
 followed the arms of Henry IV. who had 
 entered Paris, been received by his subjects 
 with the warmest welcome, and might now 
 be considered as established on the throne 
 he merited so highly." 
 
 Future accounts confirmed the important 
 news thus condescendingly communicated ; 
 and in a short time afterwards the Count de 
 Soubise visited his country, and had the 
 proud satisfaction of being received by his 
 own sovereign with the most gracious distinc- 
 tion, and being quietly put in possession of his 
 own estates, together with royal rewards for 
 his former services. The great Henry made 
 the most obliging inquiries after Madame de 
 Soubise and Adelaide, hoping that they had 
 recovered their good looks, and did not re- 
 tain the memory of their starving days in 
 Paris, which he hoped they would one day 
 visit, to witness happier scenes. With that 
 gaiety of spirit, and condescending affability 
 of manners, which endeared him to all who 
 beheld him, he jested a little on poor Ade^
 
 ADELAIDE. 169 
 
 laide's desertion of her colours, and said, 
 ** when she visited his court, it would be his 
 duty to make an example of her* ;" adding, 
 in a graver tone, " I have ever observed, 
 that the firmest temper and the gentlest spi- 
 rit are perfectly compatible ; that sensibility 
 and fortitude go hand in hand — I therefore 
 doubt not, that Adelaide will henceforward 
 be as much an affectionate and obedient, as 
 she was once an enterprising and intrepid 
 daughter." 
 
 * When Henry IV. was wounded by Chatelct, an assassin, 
 who thrust a lance into his mouth with such violence as to 
 dislodge one of his teeth, he pushed the wretch violently from 
 him ; who, finding his design discovered, fell on his knees, 
 and confessed that he was employed by the Jesuits to murder 
 the King. — " Ah I" said Henry, " I have heard the wicked- 
 ness of the Jesuits from many mouths, but now I know it 
 from my own." Six different conspiracies were det^'ctod 
 against the life of this excellent King ; and he was at last 
 stabbed in his coach by one Francis Ravaillac. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Darling and Son, Printers, Lcadenhall Street, London, 
 
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 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
 HETD boo:: 
 
 •DEC 2 2 1962 
 
 
 Mi 
 
 ^ ij 
 
 ^vJUi 
 
 -8,'49(B5572)470 
 
 
 FORNlt
 
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