The Bishop's Palace.
The second matin bell sounded from the abbey before the eyes of Wallace
opened from the deep sleep which had sealed them. A bath refreshed him
from every toil, then renewing the stain on his face and hands with the
juice of a nut which he carried about him, and once more covering his
martial figure and golden hair with the minstrel's cassock and cowl, he
rejoined his friend.
Bruce had previously affected to consider the senachie as still
disordered by his last night's excess, and ordering him from his
presence for at least a day, commanded that the traveling minstrel
should be summoned to supply his place.
The table was spread when Wallace entered, and several servants were in
attendance. Bruce hastily rose and would have embraced him, so did his
comforted heart spring to meet his friend; but before these people it
would have been more than imprudent, and hailing him with only one of
his love-beaming looks, he made a sign to him to take his place at a
board near his own. To prevent suspicioin in the attendants (some of
whom might be spies of Edward's), during the repast he discoursed with
Wallace on subjects relative to northern literature, repeating many
passages apposite to his own heroic sentiments, from Ossian and other
Scottish bards.
The meal finished, Wallace, to maintain his assumed character while the
servants were removing the table, was tuning his harp when the Earl of
Gloucester entered the room. The earl told Bruce the king had required
the attendance of the border minstrel, and that after searching over
the castle, the royal seneschal had at last discovered he was in the
keep with him. On this being intimated to Gloucester, he chose rather
to come himself to demand the harper from his friend, than to subject
him to the insolence of the royal servants. The king desired to hear
"The Triumph," with which the minstrel had so much pleased the queen.
Bruce turned pale at this message; and was opening his mouth to utter a
denial, when Wallace, who read in his countenance what he was going to
say, and aware of the consequences, immediately spoke:
"If my lord Bruce will grant permission, I should wish to comply with
the King of England's request."
"Minstrel!" replied Bruce, casting on him a powerful expression of what
was passing in his mind, "you know not, perhaps that the King of
England is at enmity with me, and cannot mean well to any one who has
been my guest, or servant! The Earl of Gloucester will excuse your
attendance in the presence."
"Not for my life or the minstrel's!" replied the earl; "the king would
suspect some mystery, and this innocent man might fall into peril. But
as it is, his majesty merely wishes to hear him play and sing, and I
pledge myself he shall return in safety."
Further opposition would only have courted danger, and with as good a
grace as he could assume, Bruce gave his consent. A page who followed
Gloucester took up the harp, and with a glance at his friend, which
spoke the fearless mind with which he ventured into the power of his
enemy, Wallace accompanied Gloucester out of the room.
The earl moved swiftly forward, and leading him through a double line
of guards, the folding-doors of the royal apartment were thrown open by
two knights in waiting, and Wallace found himself in the royal
presence. Perforated with wounds which the chief's own hand had given
him, the king lay upon a couch overhung with a crimson-velvet canopy,
with long golden fringes which swept the floor. His crown stood on a
cushion at his head, and his queen, the blooming Margaret of France,
sat full of smiles at his feet. The young Countess of Gloucester
occupied a seat by her side.
The countess, who from indisposition had not been at court the
preceding day, fixed her eyes on the minstrel as he advanced into the
middle of the room, where the page, by Gloucester's orders, planted the
harp. She observed the manner of his obeisance to the king and queen,
and to herself, and the queen whispering her with a smile, said, while
he was taking his station at the harp, "Have your British troubadours
usually such an air as that? Am I right, or am I wrong?"
"Quite right," replied the countess in as low a voice; "I suppose he
has sung of kings and heroes till he cannot help assuming their step
and demeanor!"
"But how did he come by those eyes?" answered the queen. "If singing
of Reuther's 'beamy gaze' have so richly endowed his own, by getting
him to teach me his art, I may warble myself into a complexion as fair
as any northern beauty!"
"But then his must not be the subject of your song," whispered the
countess with a laugh, "for methinks it is rather of the Ethiop hue!"
During this short dialogue, which was heard by none but the two ladies,
Edward was speaking with Gloucester, and Wallace leaned upon his harp.
"That is enough," said the king to his son-in-law; "now let me hear him
play."
The earl gave the word, and Wallace, striking the chords with the
master hand of genius, called forth such strains and uttered such tones
from his full and richly-modulated voice, that the king listened with
wonder, and the queen and countess scarcely allowed themselves to
breathe. He sung the parting of Reuther and his bride, and their souls
seemed to pant upon his notes; he changed his measure, and their bosoms
heaved with the enthusiasm which spoke from his lips and hand, for he
urged the hero to battle, he described the conflict, he mourned the
slain, he sung the glorious triumph; as the last sweep of the harp
rolled its lofty diapason on the ear of the king, the monarch deigned
to pronounce him unequaled in his art. Excess of delight so agitated
the more delicate frames of the ladies, that while they poured their
encomiums on the minstrel, they wiped the glistening tears form their
cheeks. The queen approached him, laid her hand upon the harp, and
touching the strings with a light finger, said with a sweet smile, "You
must remain with the king's musicians, and teach me how to charm as you
do!" Wallace replied to this innocent speech with a smile sweet as her
own, and bowed.
The countess drew near. Though not much older than the youthful queen,
she had been married twice, and being therefore more acquainted with
the proprieties of life, her compliments were uttered in a form more
befitting her rank, and the supposed quality of the man to whom the
queen continued to pour forth her less considerate praises.
Edward desired Gloucester to bring the minstrel closer to him. Wallace
approached the royal couch. Edward looked at him from head to foot
before he spoke. Wallace bore his eagle gaze with an undisturbed
countenance; he neither withdrew his eye from the king, nor did he
allow a conqueror's fire to emit from its glance.
"Who are you?" at length demanded Edward, who, surprised at the noble
mien and unabashed carriage of the minstrel, conceived some suspicions
of his quality.
Wallace saw what was passing in the king's mind, and determining by a
frank reply to uproot his doubts, mildly but fearlessly answered:
"A Scot."
"Indeed!" said the king, satisfied that no incendiary would dare thus
to proclaim himself. "And how durst you, being of that outlawed
nation, venture into my court? Feared you not to fall a sacrifice to
my indignation against the mad leader of your rebellious countrymen?"
"I fear nothing on earth," replied Wallace. "This garb is privileged,
none who respect that sacred law dare commit violence on a minstrel,
and against them who regard no law but that of their own wills, I have
this weapon to defend me." As Wallace spoke he pointed to a dirk stuck
in his girdle.
"You are a bold man, and an honest man, I believe," replied the king;
"and as my queen desires it, I order your enrollment in my traveling
train of musicians. You may leave the presence."
"Then follow me to my apartment," cried the queen; "countess, you will
accompany me, to see me take my first lesson."
A page took up the harp; and Wallace, bowing his head to the king, was
conducted by Gloucester to the anteroom of the queen's apartments. The
earl there told him, that when dismissed by the queen, a page he would
leave would show him the way back to Lord Carrick.
The royal Margaret herself opened the door, so eager was she to admit
her teacher; and placing herself at the harp, she attempted a passage
of "The Triumph," which had particularly struck her, but she played
wrong. Wallace was asked to set her right; he obeyed. She was
quick--he clear in his explanations; and in less than half an hour he
made her execute the whole movement in a manner that delighted her.
"Why, minstrel," cried she, looking up in his face, "either your harp
is enchanted, or you are a magician. I have studied three long years
to play the lute, and could never bring forth any tone that did not
make me ready to stop my own ears. And now, countess," cried she,
again touching a few chords, "did you ever hear anything so enchanting?"
"I suppose," returned the countess, "all your former instructors have
been novices, and this Scot alone knows the art to which they
pretended."
"Do you hear what the countess says?" exclaimed the queen, affecting to
whisper to him; "she will not allow of any spiritual agency in my
wonderfully-awakened talent. If you can contradict her, do; for I want
very much to believe in fairies, magicians, and all the enchanting
world!"
Wallace, with a respectful smile, answered, "I know of now spirit that
has interposed in your majesty's favor but that of your own genius; and
it is more efficient than the agency of all fairy-land."
The queen looked at him very gravely, and said, "If you really think
there are no such things as fairies and enchantments, for so your words
would imply, then everybody in your country must have genius, for they
seem to be excellent in everything. Your warriors are so peerlessly
brave--all, excepting these Scottish lords who are such favorites with
the king! I wonder what he can see in their uncouth faces, or find in
their rough indelicate conversation to admire. If it had not been for
their besetting my gracious Edward, I am sure he never would have
suspected ill of the noble Bruce!"
"Queen Margaret!" cried the Countess of Gloucester, giving her a look
of respectful reprehension; "had not the minstrel better retire?"
The queen blushed, and recollected that she was giving too free a vent
to her sentiments; but she could not suffer Wallace to withdraw.
"I have yet to ask you," resumed she--"the warriors of Scotland being
so resistless, and their minstrels so perfect in their art--whether all
the ladies can be so beautiful as the Lady Helen Mar?"
The eagerness with which Wallace grasped at any tidings of her who was
so prime an object of his enterprise at once disturbed the composure of
his air, and had the penetrating eyes of the countess been then
directed toward him, she might have drawn some dangerous conclusions
from the start he gave at the mention of her name, and from the
heightened color which, in spite of his exertions to suppress all
evident emotion, maintained its station on his cheek.
"But, perhaps you have never seen her?" added the queen.
Wallace replied, neither denying nor affirming her question: "I have
heard many praise her beauty, but more her virtues."
"Well, I am sorry," continued her majesty, "since you sing so sweetly
of female charms, that you have not seen this wonder of Scottish
ladies. You have now little chance of that good fortune, for Earl de
Valence has taken her abroad, intending to marry her amidst all the
state with which my lord has invested him."
"Is it to Guienne he has taken her?" inquired Wallace.
"Yes," replied the queen, rather pleased than offended at the
minstrel's ignorance of court ceremony in thus familiarly presuming to
put a question to her. She continued to answer: "While so near
Scotland he could not win her to forget her native country and her
father's danger, who it seems was dying when De Valence carried her
away. And, to prevent bloodshed between the earl and Soulis, who is
also madly in love with her, my ever-gracious Edward gave the English
lord a high post in Guienne, and thither they are gone."
Before Wallace could reply to some remark which the queen laughingly
added to her information, the countess thought it proper to give her
gay mother-in-law a more decisive reminder of decorum, and, rising, she
whispered something which covered the youthful Margaret in blushes.
Her majesty rose directly, and pushing away the harp, hurryingly said:
"You may leave the room;" and turning her back to Wallace, walked away
through an opposite door.