Leaving the worthy burgher and his companions in the forest, we must
change the scene for a while, and bring the reader into the interior
of one of the feudal mansions of the period. The room into which we
intend to introduce him was small in size; and, being placed in a
high, square tower, attached to the castle of Hannut, it took the
exact form of the building, except inasmuch as a portion was taken off
the western side, for the purpose of admitting a staircase, on which,
indeed, no great space was thrown away. The furniture of the room was
small in quantity, and consisted of a few large chairs of dark black
oak, (whose upright backs of almost gigantic height were carved in a
thousand quaint devices) together with two or three settles or stools,
without any backs at all, a silver lamp, hanging by a thick brass
chain from the centre of a roof, formed into the shape of a tent by
the meeting of a number of grooved arches, and a small black cabinet,
or closet, one of the doors of which stood open, displaying within, in
splendid bindings of crimson velvet, what might in that day have been
considered a most precious library, comprising about forty tomes of
manuscript.
Besides being decorated by these articles of furniture, the room was
adorned with fine hangings of old tapestry; but the principal object
in the whole chamber was a table and reading-desk of some dark
coloured wood, on which were displayed, wide open, the broad vellum
leaves of a richly illuminated book. The table, and its burden, were
placed exactly beneath the silver lamp already mentioned, which threw
a strong but flickering light upon the pages of the work; and a chair
which stood near seemed to show that somebody had recently been
reading.
The person who had been so employed, however, had by this time ceased;
and having risen from his seat, was standing beside an open casement,
pierced through the thick walls at such a height from the floor, as
just to enable him to lean his arm upon the sill of the window, and
gaze out upon the scene beyond.
Through this open casement, at the time I speak of, the bright stars
of a clear autumn night might be seen twinkling like diamonds in the
unclouded sky; the sweet, warm westerly wind, breathing of peace and
harvest from the plains beyond, sighed over the tops of the tall
forest trees, and poured into the window just raised above them; and
some faint streaks of light to the west told that day had not long
departed. The person who gazed over the wide expanse commanded by the
tower, was a tall, strong man, of perhaps a little more than forty
years of age, with a forehead somewhat bald, and hair which had once
been black, but which was now mingled thickly with grey; while his
beard, which was short and neatly trimmed, had become almost white.
His complexion was of a pale, clear brown, without a tinge of red in
any part except his lips; and, as he gazed out upon the sky, there was
a still calm spread over every feature, which, together with the
bloodless hue of his skin, would have made his countenance look like
that of the dead, had not the light of his large deep brown eye told
of a bright and living soul within. We must take leave to look for a
moment into his bosom as he stood in his lonely study, gazing forth
upon the sky.
"And are those clear orbs," he thought, as with his glance fixed upon
the heavens he saw star after star shine forth, "and are those bright
orbs really the mystic prophets of our future fate? Is yon the book on
which the Almighty hand has written in characters of light the
foreseen history of the world he has created? It may be so: nay,
probably it is; and yet how little do we know of this earth that we
inhabit, and of yon deep blue vault that circles us around. The
peasant, when he hears of my lonely studies, endues my mind, in his
rude fancy, with power over the invisible world, and all the troops of
spirits that possibly throng the very air we breathe; and kings and
princes themselves send to seek knowledge and advice from my lips,
while I could answer to peasant and to king, that all my powers do not
suffice to lay the spirit of past happiness from rising before my
eyes, and all my knowledge does not reach to find that sovereign
elixir--consolation for the fate of man. All that I have learned
teaches me but to know that I have learned nothing; to feel that
science, and philosophy, and wisdom are in vain; and that, hidden
mysteriously within the bosom of this mortal clay, is some fine
essence, some distinct being, which, while it participates in the
pleasures and affections of the earthly thing in which it lies
concealed, thirsts for knowledge beyond the knowledge of this world,
and yearns for joys more pure, and loves more unperishable than the
loves and joys of this earth can ever be. Oh! thou dear spirit, that
in the years past I have seen look forth upon me from the eyes of her
new gone; surely, if ever the immortal being came back to visit the
earth on which it once moved, thou wouldst not have left me so long to
solitude. No, no," he added aloud, "it is all a dream!
"And yet," he thought, after a pause, "the powers with which the
vulgar mind invests me are not all in vain: they give me at least
corporeal peace; repose from all the turbulent follies; the wild
whirling nothings, which men call pleasure, or business, or policy;
more empty, more unimportant, in relation to the grand universe, than
the dancing of the myriad motes in the sunshine of a summer's day.
They give me peace--repose. I am no longer called upon, with an ash
staff, or bar of sharpened iron, to smite the breast of my fellow-men,
in some mad prince's quarrel. I am no longer called upon to take
counsel with a crowd of grey-beard fools, in order to steal a few
roods of dull heavy soil from the dominions of some neighbouring king.
No, no; the very superstitious dread in which they hold me gives me
peace; ay, and even power; that phantom folly of which they are all so
fond; and be it far from me to undeceive them."
Thus thought the Lord of Hannut; and, like most men, in some degree he
cheated himself in regard to his own motives. Doubtless, the
predominating feelings of his heart were such as he believed them to
be. But, besides those motives on which he suffered his mind to rest,
there mingled with the causes of his conduct small portions of the
more ordinary desires and passions which minds of a very elevated tone
are anxious to conceal even from themselves. Learned beyond any one,
perhaps, of his age and country, the Lord of Hannut was not a little
proud of his knowledge; but when we remember the darkness of the times
in which he lived, we shall not wonder that such learning tended but
little to enlighten his mind upon the deep and mysterious subjects,
which the height of human knowledge has but discovered to be beyond
its ken. Judicial astrology, in that day, was held as a science, of
the accuracy of which, ignorance alone could be permitted to doubt;
and the belief that a superhuman agency was not only continually but
visibly at work in the general affairs of this world, was both a point
of faith with the vulgar, and a point admitted by many of the most
scientific. Magic and necromancy were looked upon as sciences. In vain
Friar Bacon had written an elaborate treatise to prove their nullity:
he himself was cited as an instance of their existence; and many of
the most learned were only deterred from following them openly, by the
fear of those consequences which rendered their private pursuit more
interesting from the degree of danger that accompanied it.
Although magic, properly so called, formed no part of his studies, the
reputation of dabbling in that imaginary science was not disagreeable
to the Lord of Hannut; nor was it alone the desire of obtaining peace
and repose, which rendered the awe not unpleasing, wherewith both the
peasantry of the neighbourhood, and his fellow nobles throughout the
land regarded him; but, mingling imperceptibly with the current of
other feelings, gratified vanity had its share also. Nor, indeed,
though he affected to despise the world and the world's power, did the
influence that he exercised upon that world displease him. Perhaps,
too, that influence might be the more gratifying, because it was of an
uncommon kind; and though, doubtless, true philosophy, and a just
estimate of the emptiness of this earth's pleasures and desires, might
have a considerable share in the distant solitude which he maintained,
the pride of superior knowledge had its portion, too, of the contempt
with which he looked upon the generality of beings like himself. Much
true benevolence of heart and susceptibility of feeling, with a
considerable degree of imaginative enthusiasm, were, in fact, the
principal features of his character; yet his reasoning powers also
were strong and clear, and very superior to those of most men in the
age in which he lived; but as we sometimes see, these various
qualities of his mind and heart rather contended against than balanced
each other.
In his early youth, the enthusiasm and the susceptibility had ruled
almost alone. The din of arms, the tumult of conflicting hosts, the
pomp and pageant of the listed field, all had charms for him. The
natural strength of his frame, and the skill and dexterity given by
early education, had made many of the best knights in Europe go down
before his lance, and had obtained for him that degree of glory and
applause which in those days was sure to follow and encourage feats of
arms, and which might have kept him for life one of the rude but
gallant champions of the day. But then came love--love of that deep,
powerful, engrossing nature, which a heart such as his was alone
capable of feeling. The cup of happiness was given to his lip but for
a moment; he was suffered to drink, one deep, short draught; and, when
he had tasted all its sweetness, it was dashed from his hand, never to
be filled again. From that moment his life had passed in solitude, and
his days and nights had been occupied by study: nor had he above once,
for more than twelve years, passed the limits of that forest, over
which his eyes were now cast.
As he leaned upon the window-sill, and gazed out upon the sky,
pondering over the strange mystery of man's being, and the lot which
fate had cast him, the last faint lingering rays of twilight were
withdrawn from the air, and night fell upon one half of the world; but
it was one of those bright, clear, splendid nights, which often come
in the beginning of autumn, as if the heavens loved to look, with all
their thousand eyes, upon the rich harvest and the glowing fruit.
After he had gazed for some time, the eastern edge of the heavens
began to grow lighter, and the clear yellow moon, waxing near her
full, rose up, and poured a tide of golden light over the immense
extent of green leaves and waving boughs spread out beneath his eyes.
All was still, and solemn, and silent, and full of calm splendour, and
tranquil brightness. There there was not a sound, there was not a
motion, except the slow gliding of the beautiful planet up the arch of
heaven, and the whispering of the light wind, as it breathed through
the boughs of the trees.
Suddenly, however, a dull, faint noise was heard at some distance;
which went on increasing slowly, till the sound of horses' feet could
be distinguished, broken occasionally by the tones of a human voice,
speaking a few words of order or inquiry. The Lord of Hannut listened,
and when the horsemen came nearer, he gathered, from an occasional
sentence, spoken as they wound round the foot of the tower in which he
was standing, that the party were directing their course to the gates
of his own dwelling. His brow became slightly clouded; and though
hospitality was a duty at that time never neglected, yet so rarely was
he visited by strangers, and so little did he court society, that he
paused somewhat anxiously to think of how he might best receive them.
To throw the gates of a castle open to all comers, was not, indeed, at
all safe in those days; and though the Lord of Hannut was, at that
time, at feud with no one, and though his personal character, the
strength of his castle, and the number of his retainers, secured him
against the free companions and plunderers of the times, it was not,
of course, without pause and examination, that any large body of men
were to be admitted within the walls at such an hour of the night. He
remained, however, musing somewhat abstractedly, till the horsemen,
whom he had heard below, had wound along the road, which, following
the various sinuosities of the walls and defences of the castle,
skirted the brow of the hill on which it stood, and was only
interrupted by the gate of the barbacan on the northern side of the
building.
Before it the travellers paused; and the sound of a horn winded long
and clearly, gave notice to denizens of the castle that admittance was
demanded by some one without. Still the master of the mansion remained
in thought, leaving to the prudence and discretion of his seneschal
the task of receiving and answering the travellers; and the sound of a
falling drawbridge, with the creaking of its beams, and the clanging
and clash of its rusty chains, followed by the clatter of horses' feet
in the court-yard, soon announced that a considerable number of
cavaliers had obtained admission. Many voices speaking were next
heard, and then, after a pause of comparative silence, a slow step
echoed up the long hollow staircase, which led to the chamber we have
already described. At that sound the Lord of Hannut withdrew from the
window, and seating himself before the book in which he had been
lately reading, fixed his eyes upon the door. There might be a slight
touch of stage effect in it--but no matter--what is there on this
earth without its quackery?
Scarcely had he done so, when some one knocked without, and, on
being desired to come in, presented, at the half-opened door, the
weather-beaten face of an old soldier, who acted the part of
seneschal, bearing a look of apprehension, which sat ill upon features
that seemed originally destined to express anything but fear.
"Come in, Roger, come in!" cried the Lord of Hannut. "Art thou fool
enough, too, to think that I deal with evil spirits?"
"God forbid, my lord!" replied the man. "But ill should I like to see
a spirit of any kind, good or evil; and, therefore, I always like to
have the room clear before I intrude."
"Well, what would you now?" demanded his lord, with somewhat of
impatience in his manner. "Wherefore do you disturb me?"
"So please you, sir," replied the seneschal, "a noble traveller just
alighted in the court below, with a small but gallant train,
consisting of----"
"On with thy tale, good Roger!" interrupted his master. "What of the
traveller? Leave his train to speak for themselves hereafter."
"So please you, my lord," continued the other, "he bade me tell you
that an old tried friend, Thibalt of Neufchatel, craved your
hospitality for a single night."
"Thibalt of Neufchatel!" exclaimed the other, his face brightening for
a moment with a transitory expression of pleasure, and then turning
deadly pale, as the magic of memory, by the spell of that single name,
called up the scenes of the painful past with which that name was
connected. "Thibalt of Neufchatel! an old tried friend, indeed! though
sad was the day of our last meeting. Where is he? Lead the way!"
Thus saying, the Lord of Hannut, without waiting for the guidance of
his seneschal, proceeded, with a rapid step, towards the great hall of
the castle, concluding, as was really the case, that into that place
of general reception the travellers had been shown on their arrival.
It was an immense gloomy apartment, paved with stone, occupying the
whole interior space at the bottom of the chief tower. At one end was
the great door, which opened at once into the court; and at the other
was a high pointed window, not unlike that of a cathedral. Arms, of
every kind then in use, decorated the walls in profusion. On the right
side, as you entered from the court, was the wide open hearth, with
stools and benches round about; and so wide and cool was the chamber,
that at the time I speak of--though a night in the early part of
September--an immense pile of blazing logs sparkled and hissed in the
midst, casting a red and flickering glare around, which, catching on
many a lance, and shield, and suit of armour on the opposite wall,
lost itself in the gloom at either end of the hall, and in the deep
hollow of the vault above.
A cresset--hung by a chain from the centre of the roof--added a degree
of light, which, however, was confined to the part of the hall in the
immediate vicinity of the lamp; and, within its influence,
disencumbering themselves of some of the habiliments of the road, were
seated the party of travellers just arrived, at the moment that the
Lord of Hannut entered. He came in by a small door behind one of the
massy pillars which supported the vault, and advanced at once towards
his guests. The sound of his footstep caused them all to rise, but the
Marshal of Burgundy immediately advanced before the rest to meet his
friend. When within a few steps of each other, both stopped, and
looked with a countenance of doubt and surprise on the face of the
other. Each had forgotten that many years had passed since they last
met, and each had pictured to himself the image of his friend as he
had before seen him, in the pride of youth and health; but, when the
reality was presented to them, both paused in astonishment to gaze
upon the effects of Time's tremendous power, which they mutually
presented to each other. Nor was their surprise at first unmingled
with some degree of doubt as to the identity of the person before them
with the friend from whom they had so long been separated.
"Good God!" exclaimed the Lord of Hannut, "Thibault of Neufchatel!"
"Even so, Maurice of Hannut!" replied the Marshal. "Good faith, old
friend, I scarcely should have known thee. But more of this
hereafter," he added, hastily. "See, here is a mighty prince, the Lord
Louis of Valois, who demands thy care and hospitality for this night,
as under my safe conduct, he journeys to visit his noble cousin, our
sovereign, the Duke of Burgundy."
The Lord of Hannut bowed low at this intimation of the high quality of
one of his guests, and proceeded to welcome the son of the reigning
monarch of France, with that grave and stately dignity which the early
habits of the court and camp had given to his demeanour. The forms and
ceremonies of that day, which would be found dull enough even to
practise at present, would appear still duller in writing than they
would be in act; and, therefore, passing over all the points of
etiquette which were observed in the reception and entertainment of
the Dauphin, the supper that was laid before him, and the spiced wines
that were offered him at his bedside, we will continue for a moment in
the great hall, which, after he retired to rest, remained occupied by
the few attendants who had accompanied himself and the Marshal of
Burgundy thither, and by the usual servants and officers of the Lord
of Hannut.
The presence of their superiors had restrained for a time all free
communication amongst these worthy personages; but, between the squire
of the body to the Marshal of Burgundy, and the seneschal of the Lord
of Hannut, had passed many a glance of recognition, and a friendly,
though silent, pinch of the arm during supper; and no sooner was Louis
of Valois safely housed in his chamber, and his companion, the Lord of
Neufchatel, closeted with the master of the mansion, than a
conversation commenced between two of the followers, a part of which
must be here put down as illustrative of those past events, which, in
some degree, however slight, affect the course of this true history.
"What, Roger de Lorens!" cried the squire of the Marshal, "still
hanging to the skirts of thy old lord? Do I find thee here at the end
of twelve long years?"
"And where could I be better, Regnault of Gand?" replied the other.
"But thou thyself, old friend, art thou not at the same skirts too as
when last I saw thee? How is it, that after such long service thou art
not yet a knight?"
"Why, in good faith, then," replied the squire, "it is that I am too
poor to do honour to knighthood, and too wise to covet a state that I
have not the means to hold. I have made money in the wars on an
occasion too, like my neighbours; but, alack, friend Roger, no sooner
does the right hand put the money in, than the left hand filches it
out again. And is it, then, really twelve long years since we met?
Lord, Lord! it looks but yesterday, when I think of those times; and
yet when I count up all the things I have done since, and make old
Memory notch them down on her tally, it seems like the score of a
hundred years more than twelve. I remember the last day we ever saw
each other; do you?"
"Do you think I could ever forget it?" said the other. "Was it not
that day when the pleasure-house of Lindenmar was burned to the
ground, and our good lord's infant was consumed in the flames?"
"I remember it well," replied the other, musing over the circumstances
of the past; "and I remember that my lord and Adolph of Gueldres, and
all the rest of the nobles that were marching to join the duke, saw
the flames from the road; and all came willingly to help your gallant
young lord. He was gallant and young then. But Adolph of Gueldres
cried to let them all burn, so that the lands of Hannut might come to
him. He said it laughing, indeed; but it was a bitter jest at such a
minute."
"My lord heard of that soon enough," answered the seneschal, "and he
never forgave it."
"Oh, but we heeded him not," exclaimed the other: "we all gave what
aid we could. Mind you not, how my lord rushed in and brought out your
lady in his arms, and how she wept for her child? It was but a
fortnight old, they say!"
"No more, no more!" answered the other: "and I will tell you what, she
never ceased to weep till death dried up her tears: poor thing! But,
hark thee, Regnault," he added, taking the other by the arm, and
drawing him a few paces aside, not only out of earshot of the rest of
the persons who tenanted the hall, but also out of the broad glare of
the lamp, as if what he was about to say were not matter for the open
light:--"but, hark thee, Regnault de Gand! they do say that the
spirits of that lady and her child visit our lord each night in his
chamber at a certain hour."
"Didst thou ever see them, good Roger?" demanded his companion, with a
smile of self-satisfied incredulity. "Didst thou ever set eyes upon
them, thyself?"
"God forbid!" ejaculated the seneschal, fervently; "God forbid! I
would not see them for all the gold of Egypt."
"Well, then, good Roger, fear not," replied Regnault de Gand, "thou
shalt never see them! I have heard a mighty deal of spirits, and
ghosts, and apparitions, and devils; but though I have served in the
countries where they are most plenty, I never could meet with one in
the whole course of my life; and between us two, good Roger, I believe
in none of them; except, indeed, all that the church believes, and the
fourteen thousand virgin martyrs."
"Why that is believing enough in all conscience," replied Roger de
Lorens; "but if you believe in no such things, I will put you to sleep
in the small room at the stairs' foot, just beneath my lord's private
chamber."
Whither this proposal was relished much or little by the worthy
squire, he had made too open a profession of his incredulity to shrink
from the test; and he was fain to take up his abode for the night in a
low-roofed, but not inconvenient chamber, at the foot of the staircase
in the square tower. He looked somewhat pale as his old companion bade
him good-night; but he looked a vast deal paler the next day when they
wished each other good-morning. Not one word, however, did he say,
either of objection at first, or of comment at last; and no one ever
exactly knew how he sped during the night he passed in that chamber,
though, when some months after he married a buxom dame of Ghent, a
report got about amongst the gossips, that though he had not actually
encountered a spirit, he had heard many strange noises, and seen many
a strange beam of light wandering about the apartment, coming he knew
not whence, and disappearing he knew not whither.
He himself told nothing openly; and when the fair dame whom he had
taken to his bosom, and who was supposed to be deeply learned in all
the secrets thereof, was spoken to on the subject, she, too, affected
a tone of mystery, only assuring the ingenious gossip, who tried to
ferret out the details, with a solemn shake of the head, "that those
might disbelieve the apparition of spirits who liked. As for her
husband, Regnault, he had good cause to know better; though he had
once been a scoffer, like all the rest of your swaggering, gallant,
dare-devil men-at-arms."
Having now violated, in some degree, the venerable art of chronology,
and, in favour of the worthy squire, run somewhat forward before the
events of my tale, I must beg the reader to pause on his advance for a
single instant; and, while the Dauphin, the Marshal, and their
respective trains, sleep sound in the massy walls of the castle of
Hannut, to return with me to the party we lately left assembled round
a fire in the heart of the forest.