explanation. We looked at each other. I do not think that she will refuse me.’
‘Pamela,’ said Madame de Sillery, rather pale, and biting the end of her quill pen, ‘has nothing. The Orléans family are ruined. Do you understand that — ruined!’ Her face became hard, and sharp lines showed round her mouth and nose. ‘I have nothing, either. Whether one goes against or follows the revolution it comes out the same.’
‘But that does not matter to me at all, Madame. I have sufficient. My brother, should I choose to ask him, would see I was placed very high, so would my uncle, the Duke of Richmond.’
‘But you,’ said Madame de Sillery, looking at him with shrewd, lively eyes, ‘are a revolutionary, too? You are bitten by this fashionable fever of the times, are you not? What is to become of Pamela if you are proscribed? She will have nothing.’
Fitzgerald, even in his present exalted mood, was startled by this.
‘But I have no intention, Madame, of taking any active hand against the English government. God forbid. My brother, my mother, my uncle, my friends, are all intimates of the English court. I hope that affairs in Ireland will be accomplished in moderate fashion. We have men like Mr. John Fitzgibbon, Mr. Robert Stewart and Mr. Grattan, who speak for reform.’
‘Bah!’ Madame de Sillery swept aside all this. ‘You make a show of prudence, but you are not prudent. You are wild, hot-headed, and on the first excuse will fly to extremes.’
Her restless glance strayed to the papers under her nervous hands.
‘But it is an emergency,’ she muttered. ‘One must take what chance one can! This marriage will be better for Pamela than anything else that offers.’
‘I only want your leave to ask her. Pamela and I will surely quite soon understand each other.’
‘You must not think to live in Paris or in France, Monsieur. You must take her away to Ireland. You must promise me to keep out of your Irish politics and brawls.’
‘I believe I shall not have any temptation to enter into those matters, Madame. I intend to live very quietly, for a while at least, retired in the country.’
‘Ah, that would suit Pamela very well. She is quite a little savage in her tastes. All for peace and birds and flowers…so she was brought up, you know, with the Orléans children, a simple natural creature.’
‘So I was bred myself, Madame. I have had near ten years of war, of wandering, and I wish to be quiet for a while.’
Madame de Sillery considered him closely, appraising his elegance, his air of candour and good humour, the look of refined intelligence… She held out her hand with an air of impulsiveness.
‘Very well, you shall have your Pamela. But do not surprise her like you did me. While we are in Paris — I do not know how long that may be — wait on her, be with her constantly, learn her tastes, her mind, and give her a chance to learn yours. And, Monsieur, since you are going to burden yourself with a wife, and a young, penniless, wilful wife at that, be a little careful how you conduct yourself. I speak from a bitter experience.’
Fitzgerald wanted no more than this; as he kissed the lady’s extended hand he asked:
‘Where is she now?’
‘With Mlle. d’Orléans. They try to distract one another by playing on the harp and drawing.’
Madame de Sillery pulled the bell. When Pierre entered: ‘Ask Mlle. Sims to come at once.’
And when Pamela came into the room, Madame de Sillery said:
‘This gentleman wishes to make himself agreeable to you.’
Pamela answered without embarrassment.
‘I was expecting him.’
CHAPTER 9
From Lord Edward Fitzgerald to his mother, the Dowager Duchess of Leinster, from Paris, the first year of the Republic, 1792.
‘ Dearest Mother, — I know you will be surprised to hear from me here — do not be uneasy, this town is as quiet as possible and, for me, a most interesting scene. I would not have missed seeing it at this period
‘Pamela,’ said Madame de Sillery, rather pale, and biting the end of her quill pen, ‘has nothing. The Orléans family are ruined. Do you understand that — ruined!’ Her face became hard, and sharp lines showed round her mouth and nose. ‘I have nothing, either. Whether one goes against or follows the revolution it comes out the same.’
‘But that does not matter to me at all, Madame. I have sufficient. My brother, should I choose to ask him, would see I was placed very high, so would my uncle, the Duke of Richmond.’
‘But you,’ said Madame de Sillery, looking at him with shrewd, lively eyes, ‘are a revolutionary, too? You are bitten by this fashionable fever of the times, are you not? What is to become of Pamela if you are proscribed? She will have nothing.’
Fitzgerald, even in his present exalted mood, was startled by this.
‘But I have no intention, Madame, of taking any active hand against the English government. God forbid. My brother, my mother, my uncle, my friends, are all intimates of the English court. I hope that affairs in Ireland will be accomplished in moderate fashion. We have men like Mr. John Fitzgibbon, Mr. Robert Stewart and Mr. Grattan, who speak for reform.’
‘Bah!’ Madame de Sillery swept aside all this. ‘You make a show of prudence, but you are not prudent. You are wild, hot-headed, and on the first excuse will fly to extremes.’
Her restless glance strayed to the papers under her nervous hands.
‘But it is an emergency,’ she muttered. ‘One must take what chance one can! This marriage will be better for Pamela than anything else that offers.’
‘I only want your leave to ask her. Pamela and I will surely quite soon understand each other.’
‘You must not think to live in Paris or in France, Monsieur. You must take her away to Ireland. You must promise me to keep out of your Irish politics and brawls.’
‘I believe I shall not have any temptation to enter into those matters, Madame. I intend to live very quietly, for a while at least, retired in the country.’
‘Ah, that would suit Pamela very well. She is quite a little savage in her tastes. All for peace and birds and flowers…so she was brought up, you know, with the Orléans children, a simple natural creature.’
‘So I was bred myself, Madame. I have had near ten years of war, of wandering, and I wish to be quiet for a while.’
Madame de Sillery considered him closely, appraising his elegance, his air of candour and good humour, the look of refined intelligence… She held out her hand with an air of impulsiveness.
‘Very well, you shall have your Pamela. But do not surprise her like you did me. While we are in Paris — I do not know how long that may be — wait on her, be with her constantly, learn her tastes, her mind, and give her a chance to learn yours. And, Monsieur, since you are going to burden yourself with a wife, and a young, penniless, wilful wife at that, be a little careful how you conduct yourself. I speak from a bitter experience.’
Fitzgerald wanted no more than this; as he kissed the lady’s extended hand he asked:
‘Where is she now?’
‘With Mlle. d’Orléans. They try to distract one another by playing on the harp and drawing.’
Madame de Sillery pulled the bell. When Pierre entered: ‘Ask Mlle. Sims to come at once.’
And when Pamela came into the room, Madame de Sillery said:
‘This gentleman wishes to make himself agreeable to you.’
Pamela answered without embarrassment.
‘I was expecting him.’
CHAPTER 9
From Lord Edward Fitzgerald to his mother, the Dowager Duchess of Leinster, from Paris, the first year of the Republic, 1792.
‘ Dearest Mother, — I know you will be surprised to hear from me here — do not be uneasy, this town is as quiet as possible and, for me, a most interesting scene. I would not have missed seeing it at this period
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