Normandy.
Wallace, having separated from the Prince Royal of France, pursued his
solitary way toward the capital of Normandy, till night overtook him
ere he was aware. Clouds so obscured the sky, that not a star was
visible; and his horse, terrified at the impenetrable darkness, and the
difficulties of the path, which lay over a barren and stony moor,
suddenly stopped. This aroused Wallace from a long fit of musing to
look around him; but on which side lay the road to Rouen, he could form
no guess. To pass the night in so exposed a spot might be dangerous,
and spurring the animal, he determined to push onward.
He had ridden nearly another hour, when the dead silence of the scene
was broken by the roll of distant thunder. Then forked lightning
shooting from the horizon showed a line of country unmarked by any
vestige of human habitation. Still he proceeded. The storm
approached, till, breaking in peals over his head, it discharged such
sheets of livid fire at his feet that the horse reared, and plunging
amidst the blaze, flashed the light of his rider's armor on the eyes of
a troop of horsemen, who also stood under the tempest, gazing with
affright at the scene. Wallace, by the same transitory illumination,
saw the travelers, as they seemed to start back at his appearance; and,
mistaking their apprehension, he called to them, that his well-managed,
though terrified steed, would do theirs no harm. One of them advanced
and respectfully inquired of him the way to Rouen. Wallace replied
that he was a stranger in this part of the country, and was also
seeking that city. While he was yet speaking the thunder became more
tremendous, and the lightning rolled in volumes along the ground, the
horses of the troop became restive, and one of them threw its rider.
Cries of lamentation, mingling with the groans of the fallen person,
excited the compassion of Wallace. He rode toward the spot from when
the latter proceeded, and asked the nearest bystander (for several had
alighted) whether the unfortunate man was much hurt. The answer
returned was full of alarm for the sufferer, and anxiety to obtain some
place of shelter, for rain began to fall. In a few minutes it
increased to torrents, and the lightning ceasing, deepened the horrors
of the scene by preventing the likelihood of discovering any human
abode. The men gathered round their fallen companion bewailing the
prospect of his perishing under these inclemencies; but Wallace cheered
them by saying he would seek a shelter for their friend, and blow his
bugle when he had found one. With the word he turned his horse, and as
he galloped along, called aloud on any Christian man who might live
near, to open his doors to a dying traveler! After riding about in all
directions, he saw a glimmering light for a moment, and then all was
darkness; but again he called aloud for charity! and a shrill female
voice answered, "I am a lone woman, with already one poor traveler in
my house; but, for the Virgin's sake, I will open my door to you,
whatever you may be." The good woman relighted her lamp, which the
rain had extinguished; and, on her unlatching the door, Wallace briefly
related what had happened, entreating her permission to bring the
unfortunate person into the cottage. She readily consented; and giving
him a lantern to guide his way, he blew his bugle, which was instantly
answered by so glad and loud a shout that it assured him his companions
could not be far distant, and that he must have made many a useless
circuit before he had stopped at this charitable door.
The men directed him through the darkness by their voices, for the
lantern threw its beams but a very little way, and, arriving at their
side, by his assistance the bruised traveler was brought to the
cottage. It was a poor hovel; but the good woman had spread a clean
wooden coverlet over her own bed, in the inner chamber, and thither
Wallace carried the invalid. He seemed in great pain, but his kind
conductor answered their hostess' inquiries respecting him, with a
belief that no bones were broken.
"But yet," cried she, "sad may be the effects of internal bruises on so
emaciated a frame. I will venture to disturb my other guest, who
sleeps in the loft, and bring down a decoction that I keep there. It
is made from simple herbs, and I am sure will be of service."
The old woman having shown to the attendants where they might put their
horses under shelter of a shed which projected from the cottage,
ascended a few steps to the chamber above. Meanwhile, the Scottish
chief, assisted by one of the men, disengaged the sufferer from his wet
garments, and covered him with the blankets of the bed. Recovered to
recollection by the comparative comfort of his bodily feelings, the
stranger opened his eyes. He fixed them on Wallace, then looked
around, and turned to Wallace again.
"Generous knight!" cried he, "I have nothing but thanks to offer for
this kindness. You seem to be of the highest rank, and yet have
succored one who the world abjures!"
The knight returned a courteous answer, and the invalid, in a paroxysm
of emotion, added:
"Can it be possible that a prince of France has dared to act contrary
to his peers?"
Wallace, not apprehending what had given rise to this question,
supposed the stranger's wits were disordered, and looked with that
inquiry toward the attendant. Just at that moment a step, more active
than that of their aged hostess, sounded above, and an exclamation of
surprise followed it, in a voice that startled Wallace. He turned
hastily round, and a young man sprung from the cottage stairs into the
apartment--joy danced in every feature, and the ejaculation,
"Wallace!"--"Bruce!" burst at once from the hearts of the two friends
as they rushed into each other's arms. All else present was lost to
them in the delight of meeting after so perilous a separation--a
delight not confined for its object to their individual selves, each
saw in the other the hope of Scotland; and when they embraced, it was
not merely with the ardor of friendship, but with that of patriotism,
rejoicing in the preservation of its chief dependence.
While the chiefs spoke freely in their native tongue, before a people
who could not be supposed to understand them, the aged stranger on the
bed reiterated his moans. Wallace, in a few words, telling Bruce the
manner of his reencounter with the sick man, and his belief that he was
disordered in his mind, drew toward the bed, and offered him some of
the decoction which the woman now brought. The invalid drank it, and
gazed earnestly, first on Wallace and then on Bruce. "Pierre,
withdraw," cried he to his personal attendant. The man obeyed. "Sit
down by me, noble friends," said he to the Scottish chiefs, "and read a
lesson, which I pray ye lay to your hearts!" Bruce glanced a look at
Wallace that declared he was of his opinion. Wallace drew a stool,
while his friend seated himself on the bed. The old woman, perceiving
something extraordinary in the countenance of the bruised stranger,
thought he was going to reveal some secret heavy on his mind, and also
withdrew.
"You think my intellects are injured," returned he, turning to Wallace,
"because I addressed you as one of the house of Philip! Those jeweled
lilies round your helmet led me into the error; I never before saw them
granted to other than a prince of the blood. But think not, brave man,
I respect you less, since I have discovered that you are not of the
race of Philip--that you are other than a prince! Look on me--at this
emaciated form--and behold the reverses of all earthly grandeur! This
palsied hand once held a scepter--these hollow temples were once bound
with a crown! He that used to be followed as the source of honor, as
the fountain of prosperity--with suppliants at his feet, and flatterers
at his side--would now be left to solitude were it not for these few
faithful servants, who, in spite of all changes, have preserved their
allegiance to the end. Look on me, chiefs, and behold him who was the
King of Scots!"
At this declaration, both Wallace and Bruce, struck with surprise and
compassion at meeting their ancient enemy reduced to such abject
misery, with one impulse bowed their heads to him with an air of
reverence. The action penetrated the heart of Baliol. For when at the
meeting and mutual exclamation of the two friends, he recognized in
whose presence he lay, he fearfully remembered that, by his base
submissions, turning the scale of judgment in his favor, he had
defrauded the grandsire of the very Bruce now before him of a fair
decision on his rights to the crown! And when he looked on Wallace,
who had preserved him from the effects of his accident, and brought him
to a shelter from the raging terrors of the night, his conscience
doubly smote him! for, from the hour of his elevation to that of his
downfall, he had ever persecuted the family of Wallace; and, at the
hour which was the crisis of her fate, had denied them the right of
drawing their swords in defense of Scotland. He, her king, had
resigned her into the hands of an usurper; but Wallace, the injured
Wallace, had arisen, like a star of light on the deep darkness of her
captivity, and Scotland was once more free. In the tempest, the exiled
monarch had started at the blaze of the unknown knight's jeweled
panoply; at the declaration of his name he shrunk before the brightness
of his glory! and, falling back on the bed, he groaned aloud. To these
young men, so strangely brought before him, and both of whom he had
wronged, he determined immediately to reveal himself, and see whether
they were equally resentful of injuries as those he had served had
proved ungrateful for benefits received. He spoke; and when, instead
of seeing the pair rise in indignation on his pronouncing his name,
they bowed their heads and sat in respectful silence, his desolate
heart expanded at once to admit the long-estranged emotion, and he
burst into tears. He caught the hand of Bruce, who sat nearest to him,
and, stretching out the other to Wallace, exclaimed, "I have not
deserved this goodness from either of you. Perhaps you two are the
only men now living whom I ever greatly injured; and you, excepting my
four poor attendants, are, perhaps, the only men living who would
compassionate my misfortunes!"
"These are lessons, king," returned Wallace, with reverence, "to fit
you for a better crown. And never in my eyes did the descendant of
Alexander seem so worthy of his blood!"
The grateful monarch pressed his hand. Bruce continued to gaze on him
with a thousand awful thoughts occupying his mind. Baliol read in his
expressive countenance the reflections which chained his tongue.
"Behold, how low is laid the proud rival of your grandfather!"
exclaimed he, turning to Bruce. "I compassed a throne I could not
fill. I mistook the robes, the homage, for the kingly dignity. I
bartered the liberties of my country for a crown I knew not how to
wear, and the insidious trafficker not only reclaimed it, but repaid me
with a prison. There I expiated my crime against the upright Bruce!
Not one of all the Scottish lords who crowded Edward's court came to
beguile a moment of sorrow from their captive monarch. Lonely I lived,
for the tyrant even deprived me of the comfort of seeing my
fellow-prisoner, Lord Douglas--he whom attachment to my true interests
had betrayed to an English prison. I never saw him after the day of
his being put into the Tower until that of his death." Wallace
interrupted the afflicted Baliol with an exclamation of surprise.
"Yes," added he, "I myself closed his eyes. At that awful hour he had
petitioned to see me, and the boon was granted. I went to him, and
then, with his dying breath, he spoke truths to me, which were indeed
messengers from Heaven! They taught me what I was, and what I might
be. He died. Edward was then in Flanders, and you, brave Wallace,
being triumphant in Scotland, and laying such a stress in your
negotiations for the return of Douglas, the Southron cabinet agreed to
conceal his death, and, by making his name an instrument to excite your
hopes and fears, turn your anxiety for him to their own advantage."
A deep scarlet kindled over the face of Bruce. "With what a race have
I been so long connected! What mean subterfuges, what dastardly
deceits, for the leaders of a great nation to adopt! Oh, king!"
exclaimed he, turning to Baliol, "if you have errors to atone for, what
then must be the penalty of my sin, for holding so long with an enemy
as vile as he is ambitious! Scotland! Scotland! I must weep tears of
blood for this!" He rose in agitation. Baliol followed him with his
eyes.
"Amiable Bruce! you too severely arraign a fault that was venial in
you. Your father gave himself to Edward, and his son accompanied the
tribute."
Bruce vehemently answered, "If King Edward ever said that, he uttered a
falsehood. My father loved him, confided in him, and the ingrate
betrayed him! His fidelity was no gift of himself, in acknowledgment
of inferiority; it was the pledge of a friendship exchanged on equal
terms on the fields of Palestine. And well did King Edward know that
he had no right over either my father or me; for in the moment he
doubted our attachment, he was aware of having forfeited it. He knew
he had no legal claim on us; and forgetting every law, human and
divine, he made us prisoners. But my father found liberty in the
grave, and I am ready to take a sure revenge in--" he would have added
"Scotland," but he forbore to give the last blow to the unhappy Baliol,
by showing him that his kingdom had indeed passed from him, and that
the man was before him who might be destined to wield his scepter.
Bruce paused, and sat down in generous confusion.
"Hesitate not," said Baliol, "to say where you will take your revenge!
I know that the brave Wallace has laid open the way. Had I possessed
such a leader of my troops, I should not now be a mendicant in this
hovel; I should not be a creature to be pitied and despised. Wear him,
Bruce--wear him in your heart's core. He gives the throne he might
have filled."
"Make not that a subject of praise," cried Wallace, "which if I had
left undone, would have stamped me a traitor. I have only performed my
duty; and may the Holy Anointer of the hearts of kings guide Bruce to
his kingdom, and keep him there in peace and honor!"
Baliol rose in his bed at these words: "Bruce," said he, "approach me
near." He obeyed. The feeble monarch turned to Wallace: "You have
supported what was my kingdom through its last struggles for liberty;
put forth your hand and support its exiled sovereign in his last legal
act." Wallace raised the king, so as to enable him to assume a
kneeling posture. Dizzy with the exertion, for a moment he rested on
the shoulder of the chief; and then looking up, he met the eyes of
Bruce gazing on him with compassionate interest. The unhappy monarch
stretched out his arms to Heaven: "May God pardon the injuries which my
fatal ambition did to you and yours--the miseries I brought upon my
country; and let your reign redeem my errors! May the spirit of wisdom
bless you, my son!" His hands were now laid, with pious fervor, on the
head of Bruce, who sunk on his knees before him. "Whatever rights I
had to the crown of Scotland, by the worthlessness of my reign they are
forfeited; and I resign all unto you, even to the participation of the
mere title of king. It has been as the ghost of my former self, as an
accusing spirit to me, but, I trust, an angel of light to you, it will
conduct your people into all happiness!" Exhausted by his feelings, he
sunk back into the arms of Wallace. Bruce, rising from his knees,
poured a little of the herb-balsam into the king's mouth, and he
revived. As Wallace laid him back on his pillows, he gazed wistfully
at him, and grasping his hand, said in a low voice: "How did I throw a
blessing from me! But in those days, when I rejected your services at
Dunbar, I knew not the Almighty arm which brought the boy of Ellerslie
to save his country! I scorned the patriot flame that spoke your
mission, and the mercy of Heaven departed from me!"**
**This renunciation of Baliol's in favor of Bruce is an historical
fact, and it was made in France.
Memory was now busy with the thoughts of Bruce. He remembered his
father's weak, if not criminal devotion at that time to the interests
of Edward; he remembered his heart-wrung death; and looking at the
desolate old age of another of Edward's victims, his brave soul melted
to pity and regret, and he retired into a distant part of the room, to
shed, unobserved, the tears he could not restrain. Wallace soon after
saw the eyes of the exhausted king close in sleep; and cautious of
awakening him, he did not stir; but leaning against the thick oaken
frame of the bed, was soon lost in as deep a repose.
After some time of complete stillness (for the old dame and the
attendants were at rest in the outer chamber), Bruce, whose low sighs
were echoed by the wind alone, which swept in gusts by the little
casement, looked toward the abdicated monarch's couch. He slept
profoundly, yet frequently started, as if disturbed by troubled dreams.
Wallace moved not on his hard pillow; and the serenity of perfect
peace rested upon all his features.
"How tranquil is the sleep of the virtuous!" thought Bruce, as he
contemplated the difference between his state and that of Baliol;
"there lies an accusing conscience; here rests one of the most
faultless of created beings. It is, it is the sleep of innocence!
Come, ye slanderers," continued he, mentally calling on those he had
left at Edward's court, "and tell me if an adulterer could look thus
when he sleeps! Is there one trace of irregular passion about that
placid mouth? Does one of those heavenly-composed features bear
testimony to emotions which leave marks even when subdued? No, virtue
has set up her throne in that breast, and well may kings come to bow to
it!"