The Widow's Cell.
The entrance of the old woman, about an hour after sunrise, awakened
Wallace; but Baliol continued to sleep. On the chief's opening his
eyes, Bruce with a smile, stretched out his hand to him. Wallace rose;
and whispering the widow to abide by her guest till they should return,
the twain went forth to enjoy the mutual confidence of friendship. A
wood opened its umbrageous arms at a little distance; and thither, over
the dew-bespangled grass, they bent their way. The birds sung from
tree to tree; and Wallace, seating himself under an overhanging beech,
which canopied a narrow winding of the River Seine, listened with
mingled pain and satisfaction, to the communications which Bruce had to
impart relative to the recent scenes at Durham.
"So rapid had been the events," observed the Scottish prince, when he
concluded his narrative, "that all appears to me a troubled vision; and
blessed, indeed, was the awaking of last night, when your voice,
sounding from the room below that in which I slept, called me to
embrace my best friend, as became the son of my ancestors--free, and
ready to renew the brightness of their name!"
The discourse next turned to their future plans. Wallace, narrating
his adventure with the Red Reaver, proposed that the favor he should
ask in return (the King of France being earnest to bestow on him some
especial mark of gratitude), should be his interference with Edward to
grant the Scots a peaceable retention of their rights.
"In that case, my prince," said he, "you will take possession of your
kingdom with the olive-branch in your hand."
Bruce smiled, but shook his head.
"And what then will Robert Bruce be? A king to be sure!--but a king
without a name! Who won me my kingdom? Who accomplished this peace?
Was it not William Wallace? Can I then consent to mount the throne of
my ancestors--so poor, so inconsiderable a creature? I am not jealous
of your fame, Wallace; I glory in it; for you are more to me than the
light to my eyes; but I would prove my right to the crown by deeds
worthy of a sovereign. Till I have shown myself in the field against
Scotland's enemies, I cannot consent to be restored to my inheritance,
even by you."
"And is it in war alone," returned Wallace, "that you can show deeds
worthy of a sovereign? Think a moment, my honored prince, and then
scorn your objection. Look on the annals of history, nay, on the daily
occurrences of the world, and see how many are brave and complete
generals; how few wise legislators; how few such efficient rulers as to
procure obedience to the laws, and so give happiness to their people.
This is the commission of a king--to be the representative on earth of
the Father who is in heaven. Here is exercise for courage, for
enterprise, for fortitude, for every virtue which elevates the
character of a man, this is the godlike jurisdiction of a sovereign.
TO go to the field, to lead his people to scenes of carnage, is often a
duty in kings; but it is one of those necessities, which, more than the
trifling circumstances of sustaining nature by sleep and food, reminds
the conqueror of the degraded state of mortality.** The one shows the
weakness of the body, the other, the corruption of the soul. For, how
far must man have fallen beneath his former heavenly nature before he
can delight in the destruction of his fellow-men! Lament not, then,
brave and virtuous prince, that I have kept your hands from the stains
of blood. Show yourself beyond the vulgar apprehension of what is
fame; and, conscious of the powers with which the Creator has endowed
you, assume your throne with the dignity that is their due. Whether it
be to the cabinet or to the field that He calls you to act, obey; and
rely on it, a name greater than that of the hero of Macedon will await
Robert, King of Scots!"
**Alexander the Great one day said to his friend Hephaestion, that "the
business of eating and drinking compelled him to remember, and with a
sense of abasement, his mortal nature, although he was the son of
Ammon."
"You almost persuade me," returned Bruce; "but let us see Philip, and
then I will decide."
As morning was now advanced, the friends turned toward the cottage,
intending to see Baliol safe, and then proceed together to Guienne to
the rescue of Lady Helen. That accomplished, they would visit Paris
and hear its monarch's determination.
On entering the humble mansion they found Baliol awake, and anxiously
inquiring of the widow what was become of the two knights. At sight of
them he stretched out his hands to both, and said he should be able to
travel in a few hours. Wallace proposed sending to Rouen for a litter
to carry him the more easily thither. "No," cried Baliol with a frown;
"Rouen shall never see me again within its walls. It was coming from
thence that I lost my way last night; and though my poor servants would
gladly have returned with me sooner than see me perish in the storm;
yet rather would I have been found dead on the road, a reproach to the
kings who have betrayed me, than have taken an hour's shelter in that
inhospitable city."
While the friends took the simple breakfast prepared for them by the
widow, Baliol related, that in consequence of the interference of
Philip le Bel with Edward, he had been released from the Tower of
London and sent to France, but under an oath never to leave that
country. Philip gave the exiled king the castle of Galliard for a
residence; where for some time he enjoyed the shadow of royalty, having
still a sort of court composed of his own noble followers, some of whom
were now with him, and the barons of the neighborhood. Philip allowed
him guards and a splendid table. But on the peace being signed between
France and England, in order that Edward might give up his ally the
Earl of Flanders to his offended liege lord, the French monarch
consented to relinquish the cause of Baliol, and though he should
continue to grant him a shelter in his dominions, he removed from him
all the appendages of a king.
"Accordingly," continued Baliol, "the guard was taken from my gates, my
establishment reduced to that of a private nobleman, and no longer
having it in my power to gratify the avidity or to flatter the ambition
of those who came about me, I was soon left nearly alone. All but the
poor old lieges whom you see, and who had been faithful to me through
every change of my life, instantly deserted the forlorn Baliol. In
vain I remonstrated with Philip. Either my letters never reached him,
or he disdained to answer the man whose claims he had abandoned.
Things were in this state when, the other day, and English lord found
it convenient to bring his suit to my castle. I received him with
hospitality, but soon found that what I gave in courtesy he seized as a
right. In the true spirit of his master Edward he treated me more like
the keeper of an hostel than a generous host. And on my attempting to
plead with him for a Scottish lady whom his turbulent passions have
forced from her country and reduced to a pitiable state of illness, he
derided my arguments, sarcastically telling me that had I taken care of
my kingdom, the door would not have been left open for him to steal its
fairest prize--"
Wallace interrupted him: "Heaven grant you may be speaking of Lord de
Valence and Lady Helen Mar."
"I am," replied Baliol. "They are now at Galliard, and as her illness
seems a lingering one, De Valence declared to me his intentions of
continuing there. He seized upon the best apartments, and carried
himself with so much haughtiness that, provoked beyond endurance, I
ordered my horse and, accompanied by my honest courtiers, rode to Rouen
to obtain redress from the governor. But the unworthy Frenchman
advised me to go back, and by flattering De Valence try to regain the
favor of Edward. I retired in indignation, determined to assert my own
rights in my own castle, but the storm overtook me, and being forsaken
by false friends, I am saved by generous enemies."
Wallace explained his errand respecting Lady Helen, and anxiously
inquired of Baliol whether he meant to return to Galliard?
"Immediately," replied he; "go with me, and if the lady consents (which
I do not doubt, for she scorns his prayers for her hand, and passes
night and day in tears), I engage to assist in her escape."
Baliol then advised they should not all return to the castle together,
the sight of two knights of their appearance accompanying his host
being likely to alarm De Valence.
"The quietest way," continued the deposed king, "is the surest. Follow
me at a short distance, and toward the shadows of evening, knock at the
gates and request a night's entertainment. I will grant it, and then
your happy destiny, ever fortunate Wallace, must do the rest."
This scheme being approved, a litter of hurdles was formed for the
invalid monarch, and the old woman's pallet spread upon it.
"I will return it to you, my good widow," said Baliol, "and with proofs
of my gratitude."
The two friends assisted the king to rise. When he set his food on the
floor, he felt so surprisingly better that he though he could ride the
journey. Wallace overruled this wish, and with Bruce supported his
emaciated figure toward the door. The widow stood to see her guests
depart. As Baliol mounted the litter, he slid a piece of gold into her
hand. Wallace saw not what the king had given and gave a purse as his
reward. Bruce had naught to bestow. He had left Durham with little,
and that little was expended.
"My good widow," said he, "I am poor in everything but gratitude. In
lieu of gold you must accept my prayers."
"May they, sweet youth," replied she, "return on your own head, giving
you bread from the barren land and water out of sterile rock!"
"And have you no blessing for me, mother?" asked Wallace, turning round
and regarding her with an impressive look; "some spirit you wist not
of, speaks in your words."
"Then it must be a good spirit," answered she; "for all around me
betokens gladness. The Scripture saith, 'Be kind to the wayfaring man,
for many have so entertained angels unawares!' Yesterday at this time
I was the poorest of all the daughters of charity.
"Last night I opened my doors in the storm, you enter and give me
riches; he follows and endows me with his prayers! Am I not then
greatly favored by Him who dispenseth to all who trust in Him. His
mercy and your goodness shall not be hidden; for from this day forth I
will light a fire each night in a part of my house whence it may be
seen on every side from a great distance. Like you, princely knight,
whose gold will make it burn, it shall shine afar, and give light and
comfort to all who approach it."
"And when you look on it," said Wallace, "tell your beads for me. I am
a son of war, and it may blaze when my vital spark is expiring."
The widow paused, gazed on him steadily, and then burst into tears.
"Is it possible," cried she, "that beautiful face may be laid in dust,
that youthful form lay cold in clay, and these aged limbs survive to
light a beacon to your memory!--and it shall arise! it shall burn like
a holy flame, an incense to Heaven for the soul of him who has succored
the feeble, and made the widow's heart to sing for joy!"
Wallace pressed the old woman's withered hand; Bruce did the same. She
saw them mount their horses, and when they disappeared from her eyes,
she returned into her cottage and wept.