Robert Orange
Forget me, and never judge other women by me. I have been
exceptionally foolish.
Your wretched friend,
AGNES CARILLON.
His lordship's emotion on reading this letter was one of relief for
himself--but pity and terror for the girl. He was sincerely fond of
Agnes, and the defiant misery of her words filled him with forebodings.
But the sense of his own restored liberty soon dominated every other
feeling; and his anxiety about Miss Carillon's future found complete
assuagement in the thought that character, under suffering, came out
with an energy and intensity which made, indisputably, for progress.
When the news, after twenty-four hours, became known, Agnes's wish to
place herself in the wrong, beyond sympathy, or hope of pardon, was
freely gratified. No criticism seemed too harsh for her conduct. No
voice was lifted in mitigation of her offence. Rennes was excused,
because he was an artist, erratic and passionate, and she was
unfortunately beautiful. The poor old Bishop, however, rallied under the
shock, preached more vigorously than ever, and showed a proud
countenance to his daughter's adversaries. When he was able to announce
to his friends--after a painful fortnight of suspense--that the young
couple had travelled to Rome with Mrs. Rennes, and been married at the
English Embassy there, he gave way to a little illness and indulged his
grief. One could surrender to legalised folly; one could name it. But
sin and scandal could only be faced by an implacable reserve. "I may die
of dismay," said he to his wife, "but I will not die of disgrace."
CHAPTER XVII
Scandal, meanwhile, was collecting her eager forces for a great campaign
against the Orange marriage. It was unanimously decided that the affair
could not be hushed up. Sympathy--within wise limits--was on the side of
the lovers, but sympathy, nevertheless, expressed a desire to hear
fuller particulars. Society journalism was, at that time, just coming
into vogue, and the weekly papers contained several references to the
strange rumour of an approaching divorce. Hartley Penborough and the
members of the Capitol Club were wondering what line they ought to take.
They intended to stand by Robert, but they did not wish to advertise
their loyalty. The Carlton set were divided into two camps--those who
thought Orange unlucky, and those who thought him an alien adventurer.
So far as these opinions touched his career, both were damaging. The
friends of Lord Wight and Lady Fitz Rewes had always been jealous of the
young man. They discussed him now with ferocious pity, announcing his
ruin in every circle. Sara de Treverell's associates were mostly of the
Diplomatic Corps. These, well informed about Alberian affairs and
Parflete's history, feared much mischief. The old Catholics were
dismayed at the new convert's entanglement--especially as he had
recently been elected to Parliament. The more timorous among them--in a
panic--entertained unfounded doubts about his orthodoxy, and the rest
deplored the injudicious attention bestowed on mere recruits to the
Ancient Faith. Converts then were looked upon, in England, with a
certain suspicion. At that period the magnificent services of Dr. Newman
and Cardinal Manning were far more appreciated at Rome than they were in
the drawing-rooms of English Catholic society. Orange, following his own
instincts and the advice of Newman, avoided rather than sought the small
group which attempted to make the Eternal Church a Select Committee of
the Uncommonly Good. To one who had spent his youth in a great Catholic
nation, and came himself from one of the princely families of France,
the servitude necessarily involved by the fact of joining any
_coterie_--no matter how agreeable--could possess no sort of attraction.
His Catholic friends were chiefly among the Jesuits, an order which, by
devotion, genius, and courage, has excited that fear from all men which
is the highest homage this world can offer to integrity. His personal
sorrow, therefore, was not degraded by any foolish additional worry
about the tittle-tattle of this, that, or the other personage. Tongues
might wag; for himself, he could but do his duty and keep his account
straight with God. He hoped that a public law-suit would be avoided.
Baron Zeuill was using his influence, so he declared, to arrive at some
settlement with Parflete. Parflete's agent was now in communication with
Robert's solicitors; he himself was known to be in London, and he had
even been seen dining with foreigners at one of the small private hotels
near the Strand. The Alberian Ambassador informed Mr. Disraeli that
there was nothing to fear because Parflete was not ambitious. "The
corruption of egoism and the insatiable love of pleasure" had done its
worst to a character never striking for its energy. He would "desert"
his wife again if she would give him a sufficient sum. Mrs. Parflete,
Disraeli pointed out, was the last woman on earth to agree to such
terms. She was also perfectly well aware, he added, that she was the
legitimate daughter of the late Archduke Charles.
"But," said the Ambassador, "surely she will love the glory of her
country and the respect due to her Imperial father's memory far better
than her own legal rights?"
"You can't narrow the question to a mere sentimental issue," said
Disraeli. "It is no such thing. She has to defend her character. Orange
must clear his reputation."
Disraeli had formed the opinion that Alberia--as represented by His
Excellency--was by no means anxious to see Mrs. Parflete's innocence
established; that, in fact, the whole disaster had been planned and
executed in the sole design of compromising her status. All that had
occurred, all that he had observed led him to this conviction more and
more. It was decided that Brigit should be summoned at once from Paris
to take up her residence at the Convent, where she had been well
protected during the earlier part of the year.
"There is to be no appeal _ad misericordiam_," wrote Disraeli to
Orange: "what you have done, you have done in good faith and
perfect honesty. Parflete, beyond a doubt, will take some action.
His conscience provides him, in this difficulty, with the best
means of self-advertisement he has yet found. He has consulted
several Bishops, the Lord Chief Justice, all the ambassadors, and
most of the intelligent Peers. He wanders from one confessional to
another: St. Philip, St. Teresa, St. Benedict, and St. Dominic are
invoked perpetually for the disarmament of his scruples. Vanity
blinds him to the danger of assassination. Alberia is in a red
mood. _Carissime_, the dark, inevitable hour will come. Be prepared
for it. Depend entirely now on the might of your religious belief.
Men cannot assist you. I have helped many, but no one has ever
helped me. Political life must be taken as you find it, and it is
neither in my disposition, nor, I am sure, in yours, to indulge in
complaints of unkindness. I have reached a point now when I should
like to quote Dante. Consider him quoted, and believe me,
"Ever yours,
"D."
The course of the intrigue may be followed most conveniently at this
point in the document known as Mudara's Confession.
Mudara, it will be remembered, was in the Alberian Secret
Service.[Footnote: See The School for Saints, p. 395.] He it was who
confirmed the false news of Parflete's suicide, and did so much to
hasten Orange's marriage. He says in his narrative:--
The death of the Archduke Charles--which occurred some weeks before
it was anticipated--put the Alberian Government to very grave
embarrassment.
1. It was impossible to deny the legitimacy of the Archduchess
Marie-Brigitte-Henriette (known as Mrs. Parflete). The rumour was
officially denied, and every proper measure was taken for the
suppression of a fact dangerous at all times and especially so
during a national crisis. Had the Archduchess been so ill-advised
as to stand upon her legal rights, the case would have been very
awkward for the Government. They intended, in any event, to plead
ignorance, and had prepared every proof of their good faith in
withstanding the claim.
2. It was clear, beyond a doubt, on the highest ecclesiastical
authority, that, if application were made, the marriage between the
Archduchess and Parflete would be annulled at Rome. Parflete was
regarded with great suspicion. He was capable of any treachery. He
could not hold his tongue, and we know what that means at Court.
The one person he feared was the Archduke Charles, and now that
death had removed His Imperial Highness, we understood what to
expect from the disgraced Equerry.
3. The Government's Agents had formed a very high opinion of M. de
Hausee (known as Robert Orange). It was considered by the
Government's advisers that this gentleman would use all his
influence to crush any foolish ambition on the part of the
Archduchess Marie-Brigitte. M. de Hausee was himself of too noble a
family to care in the least for high-sounding titles or empty
rights. M. de Hausee (whose mother was Scotch) had become a British
subject, and had been elected to the English Parliament. He was
under the protection of Mr. Disraeli, had every prospect of a
brilliant political career as a Commoner, and he had too much good
sense--in view of the very large fortune settled upon the
Archduchess--to diminish it by any imprudent insistence on a claim
which, extremely valuable as a ground for some advantageous
compromise, could only prove ruinous if pressed to any exact
recognition. The Government's advisers, therefore, approved most
highly of the marriage between M. de Hausee and the Archduchess
Marie-Brigitte-Henriette, and were disposed to hasten it on by
every means. On the news, _properly authenticated_, of Parflete's
suicide on Lord Soham's yacht, I visited England and had interviews
with the Archduchess herself, with M. de Hausee at Catesby, and
with Baron Zeuill at Claridge's Hotel. The _proofs_ of Parflete's
death were in perfect order, and the marriage between M. de Hausee
and H.I.H. took place in the Chapel of the Alberian Embassy.
As I had made all the arrangements, I engaged the servants for the
reception of the bride and groom at the Villa Miraflores. I was
able to retain a small room at the back of the house for my own
use. On the day of their arrival, I concealed myself, without
difficulty, in the apartment where Mr. Orange and the Archduchess
had their _dejeuner_. It was an unfortunate circumstance that I did
not destroy the telegram which I saw on the mantel-piece. But I
supposed it contained some ordinary congratulations. A more vulgar
prudence than mine would have read and burnt it in any case. My
fault is, unquestionably, a most inopportune delicacy of feeling. I
witnessed the whole scene between Mr. Orange and Her Imperial
Highness. It brought tears to my eyes, but as evidence it was
valueless for my purpose. She wept, stormed, and showed much
feeling. I was reminded in many ways of her mother, Madame Duboc.
M. de Hausee, of purer blood, is like those players who, in spite
of an air of indifference at great losses, feel them none the less.
I consider it my duty as a gentleman to say that his bearing
through the ordeal did credit to his noble family and his personal