CHAPTER XXXI.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume III, Issue 150, 17 March 1876, Page 6

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE KING'S PLEDGE BEDEEMED— ST. GEBMAINS. Uttebiy prostrated, and quite overpowered by her grief, the qreeu tob led to a carriage, which was to convey her to the Convent of Chaillot, in the retirement of which place she designed to pass the first days of her widowhood, and one hour after her husband's death attended by four ladies only, she left St. Germains. ' The church of the convent was hung with black, and as soon as ehe neored the edifice the bells tolled, and the abbess and the community received her at the convent gate. In silence, Mary Beatrice entered the courtyard, her hood drawn over her face, followed by hei ladies, and overwhelmed with grief. The nuns gathered round her the abbess kissed the hem of her lobe, and come of the sisteis kissed her hand, but no one uttered a single word j their tears expressed their aflhctioD, * Without a sigh, or a tear, the queen walked into the choir and continued in this stupefaction of grief until one of the sisters approached, and kissing her hand said, in a tone of admonition, ib the words of the royal psalmist, " My soul, will you not be subject to God ?" • •■ "*}£ voluntas tua," repl.ed the queen, in a voice broken by signs. Ihen advancing towards the choir she saidi "Help me, my sisters, to thank my God for His mercies to that blessed spirit who is, I believe, rejoicing in His beatitude. Yes, I feel certain or. it, m the depth of my grief." She then knelt before the altar, and remained a long while in prayer

The poor queen had taken no food since the previous night and the abbess, apprehending she would faint, begged her to be carried in a chair, but she chose to walk, saying : "My blessed Saviour was not "carried up the painful ascent to Mount Calvary, but walked to the consummation of His adorable saenfapo, bearing the burden of His cross for our sins, and shall I not imitate His holy example ? " The abbess and two or three of the nuns followed her to her chamber and begged her to suffer herself to be undressed and go to bed ; but she insisted on listening to more prayers. She could ween deniedheV. ° f teal ' 8 W&8 dl " ied Up ' and ifcs ao]ace She sighed often, writes the nun of Chaillot who preserved the record of this visit of Mary Beatrice, and was seized with fits of dying famtness, but listened with great devotion to the abbess, who knelt at her teot, and read to her appropriate passages from the Holy SSPJ 111 ?!, \ er ce cc ™ 8 ? l&t 'r- Th «» ■!» the community to pray for the soul of her husband, saying : '" A so "} ought to be very pure that has to appear in the presence ot tfod.and we, alas, sometimes fancy that persons are in heaven> when they are suffering the pains of purgatory." At this thought the sealed up fountain of her grief was opened, and she shed floods of tears. Much she vrept, and imich she prayed, but was at last prevailed on to take a little nourishment and go to bed, while the nuns returned to the choir and sung the Vespers for the Dead. Then the prayers for the Dead were repeated in her chamber, in which she joined, repeating the verses of every psalm, for she knew them all by heart ; ana begged that a prayer for the conversion of England might be added, observing that for the last twelve years she had been at St. Cxermains she had never omitted that petition in her devotions. The iWs record goes on to say that, without pomp or noise, for fear of agitating the royal widow, the king's heart was brought to the convent. When the king's will was opened it was found that he had directed his body to be buried in Westminster Abbey. It was to await the Eestoration of his son in the Church of the Benedictines at Paris., whither it was conveyed the Saturday after his death in a hearse, followed by two coaches, in which were the officers of the king a household, his chaplains, and the prior of St. Germains : and the king s obsequies being duly performed, the body was left under the hearse, covered with a pall, in one of the chapels. One after another the hopes of his race faded away, and still the bones of James 11. awaited burial. On the third day the queen put on the habit of a widow, and while they were thus arraying her, her Majesty observed that for the rest ot her life she should never wear anything but black ; she had long since renounced all vanities, and worn nothing but what was absolutely necessary j " and God knows," she added, " I never put on decorations except when obliged to do so, or in early youth." When her melancholy toilet was ended the nuns were permitted to enter to offer their homoge, but not a word was spoken ; she sat still and motionless her eyes fixed on vacancy. After a quarter of an hour she was told her carriage had come. She rose, and said, "I have a visit to make before I go j" and bursting into a passion of tears, she said, < I will go and pay my duty to it. I feel it is here, and nothing shall keep me from going to it. It is a relic I have given you, and I must be allowed to venerate it." Covered with her veil, and preceded by the nuns, singing the De Profundis, she approached the tribune where the heart of her beloved was enshrined in a gold and vermeil vase. She clasped her hands, knelt and kissed the urn across the black crape that covered it. After a silent prayer she rose, sprinkled it with holy water, and turned as if about to retire, but before she had made four steps she fell into a fainting fit, which caused us some fears of her life. She returned to St. Germains that evening. We have seen this with our own eyes, adds the nun. Our Mother and all the community judged it proper that an exact and faithful narrative of the whole should be made, to the end that it might be kept as a perpetual memorial in our archives, and for those who may come after us. J A little distance from the palace of St. Germains stood a chateau : it was embosomed in a flowery dell j the grounds which extended around it were cultivated with great care and taste, and the elegance ot its interior was such as to betoken the possession of vast wealth m its owners. A lady in the prime of woman's beauty, and dressed in the deepest mourning is wending her way through the valley to the chateau, lira lovely children— a boy six years old, and a little golden-haired girl ol three— hasten to meet her, accompanied by a person of middle age, who from love of those children, has made herself their nurse She is plum, very ; not a Boft line is there in her rugged features • and yet in the eyes of thoee little ones, she is endowed with every perfection. •' Now the beautiful lady has reached the chateau, and she wendi her way, followed by l.er little ones, to a pleasant room, the windows ■ or which overlook the palace of St. Germains, gilded by the beams of the setting sun. A gentleman is standing at the window, buried in thought, and. touching him on the arm, she says : "We have just brought her home 5 oh, she is very wretched," and her own tears fall fast as she speaks of the Queen'a visit to Chaillot. Haider, the owner of the chateau is Sir Beginald, Marshal St. John ; the lady is Florence his wife. The children listen, and their eyes are full of tears. Ah, the good old king loved little children. They leave our old friend Grace, and run to their parents. "When lama man I will fight for our young king," said the boy, J as you did, papa, for good King James." 41 1" *,c, cs ,' m y b °y»" replied the marshal, proudly patting the boy on the head, and may God grant the eon aiay be more fortunate than hie father. '

" And I, mamma, will bo like you," liepcri tl.c tiny Mary Beatrice, clinging to Lcr mother's robe, "I will be niuid of honor to his wife!" And if our tale of Florence please our readers, hereafter we may tell of the fortunes of her descendants under the last of the Stuart race, gallant Prince Charlie.