Want you a man
Experienced in the world and its affairs?
Here he is for your purpose.--He's a monk.
He hath forsworn the world and all its work--
The rather that he knows it passing well,
Special the worst of it, for he's a monk.
_Old Play._
While the dawn of the morning was yet grey, Arthur was awakened by a
loud ringing at the gate of the monastery, and presently afterwards
the porter entered the cell which had been allotted to him for his
lodgings, to tell him that, if his name was Arthur Philipson, a
brother of their order had brought him despatches from his father. The
youth started up, hastily attired himself, and was introduced, in the
parlour, to a Carmelite monk, being of the same order with the
community of St. Victoire.
"I have ridden many a mile, young man, to present you with this
letter," said the monk, "having undertaken to your father that it
should be delivered without delay. I came to Aix last night during the
storm, and, learning at the palace that you had ridden hither, I
mounted as soon as the tempest abated, and here I am."
"I am beholden to you, father," said the youth, "and if I could repay
your pains with a small donative to your convent"----
"By no means," answered the good father; "I took my personal trouble
out of friendship to your father, and mine own errand led me this way.
The expenses of my long journey have been amply provided for. But open
your packet, I can answer your questions at leisure."
The young man accordingly stepped into an embrasure of the window, and
read as follows:--
"SON ARTHUR,--Touching the state of the country, in so far
as concerns the safety of travelling, know that the same
is precarious. The Duke hath taken the towns of Brie and
Granson, and put to death five hundred men, whom he made
prisoners in garrison there. But the Confederates are
approaching with a large force, and God will judge for the
right. Howsoever the game may go, these are sharp wars, in
which little quarter is spoken of on either side, and
therefore there is no safety for men of our profession,
till something decisive shall happen. In the meantime, you
may assure the widowed lady, that our correspondent
continues well disposed to purchase the property which she
has in hand; but will scarce be able to pay the price till
his present pressing affairs shall be settled, which I
hope will be in time to permit us to embark the funds in
the profitable adventure I told our friend of. I have
employed a friar, travelling to Provence, to carry this
letter, which I trust will come safe. The bearer may be
trusted.
"Your affectionate father,
"JOHN PHILIPSON."
Arthur easily comprehended the latter part of the epistle, and
rejoiced he had received it at so critical a moment. He questioned the
Carmelite on the amount of the Duke's army, which the monk stated to
amount to sixty thousand men, while he said the Confederates, though
making every exertion, had not yet been able to assemble the third
part of that number. The young Ferrand de Vaudemont was with their
army, and had received, it was thought, some secret assistance from
France; but as he was little known in arms, and had few followers, the
empty title of General which he bore added little to the strength of
the Confederates. Upon the whole, he reported that every chance
appeared to be in favour of Charles, and Arthur, who looked upon his
success as presenting the only chance in favour of his father's
enterprise, was not a little pleased to find it insured, as far as
depended on a great superiority of force. He had no leisure to make
further inquiries, for the Queen at that moment entered the apartment,
and the Carmelite, learning her quality, withdrew from her presence in
deep reverence.
The paleness of her complexion still bespoke the fatigues of the day
preceding; but, as she graciously bestowed on Arthur the greetings of
the morning, her voice was firm, her eye clear, and her countenance
steady. "I meet you," she said, "not as I left you, but determined in
my purpose. I am satisfied that if René does not voluntarily yield up
his throne of Provence by some step like that which we propose, he
will be hurled from it by violence, in which, it may be, his life will
not be spared. We will, therefore, to work with all speed--the worst
is, that I cannot leave this convent till I have made the necessary
penances for having visited the Garagoule, without performing which I
were no Christian woman. When you return to Aix, inquire at the palace
for my secretary, with whom this line will give you credence. I have,
even before this door of hope opened to me, endeavoured to form an
estimate of King René's situation, and collected the documents for
that purpose. Tell him to send me, duly sealed, and under fitting
charge, the small cabinet hooped with silver. Hours of penance for
past errors may be employed to prevent others; and from the contents
of that cabinet I shall learn whether I am, in this weighty matter,
sacrificing my father's interests to my own half-desperate hopes. But
of this I have little or no doubt. I can cause the deeds of
resignation and transference to be drawn up here under my own
direction, and arrange the execution of them when I return to Aix,
which shall be the first moment after my penance is concluded."
"And this letter, gracious madam," said Arthur, "will inform you what
events are approaching, and of what importance it may be to take time
by the forelock. Place me but in possession of these momentous deeds,
and I will travel night and day till I reach the Duke's camp. I shall
find him most likely in the moment of victory, and with his heart too
much open to refuse a boon to the royal kinswoman who is surrendering
to him all. We will--we must--in such an hour, obtain princely
succours; and we shall soon see if the licentious Edward of York, the
savage Richard, the treacherous and perjured Clarence, are hereafter
to be lords of merry England, or whether they must give place to a
more rightful sovereign and better man. But oh! royal madam, all
depends on haste."
"True--yet a few days may--nay, must--cast the die between Charles and
his opponents; and, ere making so great a surrender, it were as well
to be assured that he whom we would propitiate is in capacity to
assist us. All the events of a tragic and varied life have led me to
see there is no such thing as an inconsiderable enemy. I will make
haste, however, trusting in the interim we may have good news from the
banks of the lake at Neufchatel."
"But who shall be employed to draw these most important deeds?" said
the young man.
Margaret mused ere she replied,--"The Father Guardian is complaisant,
and I think faithful; but I would not willingly repose confidence in
one of the Provençal monks. Stay, let me think--your father says the
Carmelite who brought the letter may be trusted--he shall do the turn.
He is a stranger, and will be silent for a piece of money. Farewell,
Arthur de Vere.--You will be treated with all hospitality by my
father. If thou dost receive further tidings, thou wilt let me know
them; or, should I have instructions to send, thou wilt hear from
me.--So, benedicite."
Arthur proceeded to wind down the mountain at a much quicker pace than
he had ascended on the day before. The weather was now gloriously
serene, and the beauties of vegetation, in a country where it never
totally slumbers, were at once delicious and refreshing. His thoughts
wandered from the crags of Mont St. Victoire to the cliff of the
canton of Unterwalden, and fancy recalled the moments when his walks
through such scenery were not solitary, but when there was a form by
his side whose simple beauty was engraved on his memory. Such thoughts
were of a preoccupying nature; and I grieve to say that they entirely
drowned the recollection of the mysterious caution given him by his
father, intimating that Arthur might not be able to comprehend such
letters as he should receive from him, till they were warmed before a
fire.
The first thing which reminded him of this singular caution was the
seeing a chafing-dish of charcoal in the kitchen of the hostelry at
the bottom of the mountain, where he found Thiebault and his horses.
This was the first fire which he had seen since receiving his father's
letter, and it reminded him not unnaturally of what the Earl had
recommended. Great was his surprise to see that, after exposing the
paper to the fire as if to dry it, a word emerged in an important
passage of the letter, and the concluding words now read,--"The bearer
may _not_ be trusted." Well-nigh choked with shame and vexation,
Arthur could think of no other remedy than instantly to return to the
convent, and acquaint the Queen with this discovery, which he hoped
still to convey to her in time to prevent any risk being incurred by
the Carmelite's treachery.
Incensed at himself, and eager to redeem his fault, he bent his manly
breast against the steep hill, which was probably never scaled in so
short time as by the young heir of De Vere; for, within forty minutes
from his commencing the ascent, he stood breathless and panting in the
presence of Queen Margaret, who was alike surprised at his appearance
and his exhausted condition.
"Trust not the Carmelite!" he exclaimed--"You are betrayed, noble
Queen, and it is by my negligence. Here is my dagger--bid me strike it
into my heart!"
Margaret demanded and obtained a more special explanation, and when it
was given she said, "It is an unhappy chance; but your father's
instructions ought to have been more distinct. I have told yonder
Carmelite the purpose of the contracts, and engaged with him to draw
them. He has but now left me to serve at the choir. There is no
withdrawing the confidence I have unhappily placed; but I can easily
prevail with the Father Guardian to prevent the monk from leaving the
convent till we are indifferent to his secrecy. It is our best chance
to secure it, and we will take care that what inconvenience he
sustains by his detention shall be well recompensed. Meanwhile, rest
thou, good Arthur, and undo the throat of thy mantle. Poor youth, thou
art well-nigh exhausted with thy haste."
Arthur obeyed, and sat down on a seat in the parlour; for the speed
which he had exerted rendered him almost incapable of standing.
"If I could but see," he said, "the false monk, I would find a way to
charm him to secrecy!"
"Better leave him to me," said the Queen; "and, in a word, I forbid
you to meddle with him. The coif can treat better with the cowl than
the casque can do. Say no more of him. I joy to see you wear around
your neck the holy relic I bestowed on you;--but what Moorish charmlet
is that you wear beside it? Alas! I need not ask. Your heightened
colour, almost as deep as when you entered a quarter of an hour hence,
confesses a true-love token. Alas! poor boy, hast thou not only such a
share of thy country's woes to bear, but also thine own load of
affliction, not the less poignant now that future time will show thee
how fantastic it is! Margaret of Anjou could once have aided wherever
thy affections were placed; but now she can only contribute to the
misery of her friends, not to their happiness. But this lady of the
charm, Arthur, is she fair--is she wise and virtuous--is she of noble
birth--and does she love?"--She perused his countenance with the
glance of an eagle, and continued, "To all, thou wouldst answer Yes,
if shamefacedness permitted thee. Love her then in turn, my gallant
boy, for love is the parent of brave actions. Go, my noble
youth--high-born and loyal, valorous and virtuous, enamoured and
youthful, to what mayst thou not rise? The chivalry of ancient Europe
only lives in a bosom like thine. Go, and let the praises of a Queen
fire thy bosom with the love of honour and achievement. In three days
we meet at Aix."
Arthur, highly gratified with the Queen's condescension, once more
left her presence.
Returning down the mountain with a speed very different from that
which he had used in the ascent, he again found his Provençal squire,
who had remained in much surprise at witnessing the confusion in which
his master had left the inn, almost immediately after he had entered
it without any apparent haste or agitation. Arthur explained his hasty
return by alleging he had forgot his purse at the convent. "Nay, in
that case," said Thiebault, "considering what you left and where you
left it, I do not wonder at your speed, though, Our Lady save me, as I
never saw living creature, save a goat with a wolf at his heels, make
his way over crag and briers with half such rapidity as you did."
They reached Aix after about an hour's riding, and Arthur lost no time
in waiting upon the good King René, who gave him a kind reception,
both in respect of the letter from the Duke of Burgundy, and in
consideration of his being an Englishman, the avowed subject of the
unfortunate Margaret. The placable monarch soon forgave his young
guest the want of complaisance with which he had eschewed to listen to
his compositions; and Arthur speedily found that to apologise for his
want of breeding in that particular was likely to lead to a great deal
more rehearsing than he could find patience to tolerate. He could only
avoid the old King's extreme desire to recite his own poems, and
perform his own music, by engaging him in speaking of his daughter
Margaret. Arthur had been sometimes induced to doubt the influence
which the Queen boasted herself to possess over her aged father; but,
on being acquainted with him personally, he became convinced that her
powerful understanding and violent passions inspired the feeble-minded
and passive King with a mixture of pride, affection, and fear, which
united to give her the most ample authority over him.
Although she had parted with him but a day or two since, and in a
manner so ungracious on her side, René was as much overjoyed at
hearing of the probability of her speedy return, as the fondest father
could have been at the prospect of being reunited to the most dutiful
child, whom he had not seen for years. The old King was impatient as a
boy for the day of her arrival, and, still strangely unenlightened on
the difference of her taste from his own, he was with difficulty
induced to lay aside a project of meeting her in the character of old
Palemon,--
The prince of shepherds, and their pride,
at the head of an Arcadian procession of nymphs and swains, to inspire
whose choral dances and songs every pipe and tambourine in the country
was to be placed in requisition. Even the old seneschal, however,
intimated his disapprobation of this species of _joyeuse entrée_; so
that René suffered himself at length to be persuaded that the Queen
was too much occupied by the religious impressions to which she had
been of late exposed, to receive any agreeable sensation from sights
or sounds of levity. The King gave way to reasons which he could not
sympathise with; and thus Margaret escaped the shock of welcome, which
would perhaps have driven her in her impatience back to the mountain
of St. Victoire, and the sable cavern of Lou Garagoule.
During the time of her absence, the days of the court of Provence were
employed in sports and rejoicings of every description; tilting at the
barrier with blunted spears, riding at the ring, parties for
hare-hunting and falconry, frequented by the youth of both sexes, in
the company of whom the King delighted, while the evenings were
consumed in dancing and music.
Arthur could not but be sensible that not long since all this would
have made him perfectly happy; but the last months of his existence
had developed his understanding and passions. He was now initiated in
the actual business of human life, and looked on its amusements with
an air of something like contempt; so that among the young and gay
noblesse who composed this merry court he acquired the title of the
youthful philosopher, which was not bestowed upon him, it may be
supposed, as inferring anything of peculiar compliment.
On the fourth day news was received, by an express messenger, that
Queen Margaret would enter Aix before the hour of noon, to resume her
residence in her father's palace. The good King René seemed, as it
drew nigh, to fear the interview with his daughter as much as he had
previously desired it, and contrived to make all around him partake of
his fidgety anxiety. He tormented his steward and cooks to recollect
what dishes they had ever observed her to taste of with
approbation--he pressed the musicians to remember the tunes which she
approved; and when one of them boldly replied he had never known her
Majesty endure any strain with patience, the old monarch threatened to
turn him out of his service for slandering the taste of his daughter.
The banquet was ordered to be served at half past eleven, as if
accelerating it would have had the least effect upon hurrying the
arrival of the expected guests; and the old King, with his napkin over
his arm, traversed the hall from window to window, wearying every one
with questions, whether they saw anything of the Queen of England.
Exactly as the bells tolled noon, the Queen, with a very small
retinue, chiefly English, and in mourning habits like herself, rode
into the town of Aix. King René, at the head of his court, failed not
to descend from the front of his stately palace, and move along the
street to meet his daughter. Lofty, proud, and jealous of incurring
ridicule, Margaret was not pleased with this public greeting in the
market-place. But she was desirous at present to make amends for her
late petulance, and therefore she descended from her palfrey; and,
although something shocked at seeing René equipped with a napkin, she
humbled herself to bend the knee to him, asking at once his blessing
and forgiveness.
"Thou hast--thou hast my blessing, my suffering dove," said the simple
King to the proudest and most impatient princess that ever wept for a
lost crown.--"And for thy pardon, how canst thou ask it, who never
didst me an offence since God made me father to so gracious a
child?--Rise, I say rise--nay, it is for me to ask thy pardon--True, I
said in my ignorance, and thought within myself, that my heart had
indited a goodly thing--but it vexed thee. It is therefore for me to
crave pardon."--And down sank good King René upon both knees; and the
people, who are usually captivated with anything resembling the trick
of the scene, applauded with much noise, and some smothered laughter,
a situation in which the royal daughter and her parent seemed about to
rehearse the scene of the Roman Charity.
Margaret, sensitively alive to shame, and fully aware that her present
position was sufficiently ludicrous in its publicity at least, signed
sharply to Arthur, whom she saw in the King's suite, to come to her;
and, using his arm to rise, she muttered to him aside, and in
English,--"To what saint shall I vow myself, that I may preserve
patience when I so much need it!"
"For pity's sake, royal madam, recall your firmness of mind and
composure," whispered her esquire, who felt at the moment more
embarrassed than honoured by his distinguished office, for he could
feel that the Queen actually trembled with vexation and impatience.
They at length resumed their route to the palace, the father and
daughter arm in arm--a posture most agreeable to Margaret, who could
bring herself to endure her father's effusions of tenderness, and the
general tone of his conversation, so that he was not overheard by
others. In the same manner, she bore with laudable patience the
teasing attentions which he addressed to her at table, noticed some of
his particular courtiers, inquired after others, led the way to his
favourite subjects of conversation on poetry, painting, and music,
till the good King was as much delighted with the unwonted civilities
of his daughter as ever was lover with the favourable confessions of
his mistress, when, after years of warm courtship, the ice of her
bosom is at length thawed. It cost the haughty Margaret an effort to
bend herself to play this part--her pride rebuked her for stooping to
flatter her father's foibles, in order to bring him over to the
resignation of his dominions--yet having undertaken to do so, and so
much having been already hazarded upon this sole remaining chance of
success in an attack upon England, she saw, or was willing to see, no
alternative.
Betwixt the banquet and the ball by which it was to be followed, the
Queen sought an opportunity of speaking to Arthur.
"Bad news, my sage counsellor," she said. "The Carmelite never
returned to the convent after the service was over. Having learned
that you had come back in great haste, he had, I suppose, concluded he
might stand in suspicion, so he left the convent of Mont St.
Victoire."
"We must hasten the measures which your Majesty has resolved to
adopt," answered Arthur.
"I will speak with my father to-morrow. Meanwhile, you must enjoy the
pleasures of the evening, for to you they may be pleasures.--Young
lady of Boisgelin, I give you this cavalier to be your partner for the
evening."
The black-eyed and pretty Provençale curtseyed with due decorum, and
glanced at the handsome young Englishman with an eye of approbation;
but whether afraid of his character as a philosopher, or his doubtful
rank, added the saving clause,--"If my mother approves."
"Your mother, damsel, will scarce, I think, disapprove of any partner
whom you receive from the hands of Margaret of Anjou. Happy privilege
of youth," she added with a sigh, as the youthful couple went off to
take their place in the _bransle_,[10] "which can snatch a flower even
on the roughest road!"
Arthur acquitted himself so well during the evening, that perhaps the
young Countess was only sorry that so gay and handsome a gallant
limited his compliments and attentions within the cold bounds of that
courtesy enjoined by the rules of ceremony.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] Bransle, in English, brawl--a species of dance.