'Lady, fairest lady! Ah, suffer your slave to fall at your feet with his
thanks!'
'No thanks are due, Sir. I knew not who had fallen.'
'Cruel coyness! Take not away the joy that has fed a hungry heart.'
'Lord Glenuskie's heart was wont to hunger for better joys.'
'Lady, I have ceased to be a foolish boy.'
'Such foolishness was better than some men's wisdom.'
'Listen, belle demoiselle. I have been forth into the world, and have
learnt to see that monasteries have become mere haunts for the sluggard,
who will not face the world; and that honour, glory, and all that is
worth living for, lie beyond. Ah, lady! those eyes first taught me what
life could give.'
'Hush, Sir!' said Esclairmonde. 'I can believe that as a child you
mistook your vocation, and the secular life may be blest to you; but with
me it can never be so; and if any friendship were shown to you on my
part, it was when I deemed that we were brother and sister in our vows.
If I unwittingly inspired any false hopes, I must do penance for the
evil.'
'Call it not evil, lady,' entreated Malcolm. 'It cannot be evil to have
wakened me to life and hope and glory.'
'What should you call it in him who should endeavour to render Lady Joan
Beaufort faithless to your king, Lord Malcolm? What then must it be to
tempt another to break troth-plight to the King of Heaven?'
'Nay, madame,' faltered Malcolm; 'but if such troth were forbidden and
impossible?'
'None has the right or power to cancel mine,' replied the lady.
'Yet,' he still entreated, 'your kindred are mighty.'
'But my Bridegroom is mightier,' she said.
'O lady, yet--Say, at least,' cried Malcolm, eagerly, 'that were you free
in your own mind to wed, at least you would less turn from me than from
the others proposed to you.'
'That were saying little for you,' said Esclairmonde, half smiling. 'But,
Sir,' she added gravely, 'you have no right to put the question; and I
will say nothing on which you can presume.'
'You were kinder to me in England,' sighed Malcolm, with tears in his
eyes.
'Then you seemed as one like-minded,' she answered.
'And,' he cried, gathering fresh ardour, 'I would be like-minded again.
You would render me so, sweetest lady. I would kiss your every step,
pray with you, bestow alms with you, found churches, endow your Beguines,
and render our change from our childish purpose a blessing to the whole
world; become your very slave, to do your slightest bidding. O lady,
could I but give you my eyes to see what it might be!'
'It could not be, if we began with a burthened conscience,' said
Esclairmonde. 'We have had enough of this, Sieur de Glenuskie. You know
that with me it is no matter of likes or dislikes, but that I am under a
vow, which I will never break! Make way, Sir.'
He could but obey: she was far too majestic and authoritative to be
gainsaid. And Malcolm, in an access of misery, stood lost to all the
world, kneeling in the window-seat, where she had left him resting his
head against the glass, when suddenly a white plump hand was laid on his
shoulder, and a gay voice cried:
'All _a la mort_, my young damoiseau! What, has our saint been
unpropitious? Never mind, you shall have her yet. We will see her like
the rest of the world, ere we have done within her!'
And Malcolm found himself face to face with the free-spoken Jaqueline of
Hainault.
'You are very good, madame,' he stammered.
'You shall think me very good yet! I have no notion of being opposed by
a little vassal of mine; and we'll succeed, if it were but for the fun of
the thing! Monseigneur de Therouenne is on your side, or would be, if he
were sure of the Duke of Burgundy. You see, these prelates hate nothing
so much as the religious orders; and all the pride of the Luxemburgs is
in arms against Clairette's fancy for those beggarly nursing Sisters; so
it drives him mad to hear her say she only succoured you for charity. He
thinks it a family disgrace, that can only be wiped off by marrying her
to you; and he would do it _bon gre, mal gre_, but that he waits to hear
what Burgundy will say. You have only to hold out, and she shall be
yours, if I hold her finger while you put on the ring. Only let us be
sure of Burgundy.'
This was not a very flattering way of obtaining a bride; but Malcolm was
convinced that when once married to Esclairmonde, his devotion would
atone to her for all that was unpleasant in obtaining her. At least, she
loved no one else; she had even allowed that she had once thought him
like-minded; she had formerly distinguished him; and nothing lay between
them but her scruples; and when they were overcome, by whatever means,
his idol would be his, to adore, to propitiate, to win by the most
intense devotion. All now must, however, turn upon the Duke of Burgundy,
without whose sanction Madame of Hainault would be afraid to act openly.
The Duke was expected at Paris for the Whitsuntide festival, which was to
be held with great state. The custom was for the Kings of France to
feast absolutely with all Paris, with interminable banquet tables, open
to the whole world without question. And to this Henry had conformed on
his first visit to the city; but he had learnt that the costly and lavish
feast had been of very little benefit to the really distressed, who had
been thrust aside by loud-voiced miscreants and sturdy beggars, such as
had no shame in driving the feeble back with blows, and receiving their
own share again and again.
By the advice of Dr. Bennet, his almoner, he was resolved that this
should not happen again; that the feast should be limited to the official
guests, and that the cost of the promiscuous banquet should be
distributed to those who really needed it, and who should be reached
through their parish priests and the friars known to be most charitable.
Dr. Bennet, as almoner, with the other chaplains, was to arrange the
matter; and horrible was the distress that he discovered in the city,
that had for five-and-twenty years been devastated by civil fury, as well
as by foreign wars; and famines, pestilences, murders, and tyrannies had
held sway, so as to form an absolute succession of reigns of terror. The
poor perished like flies in a frost; the homeless orphans of the parents
murdered by either faction roamed the streets, and herded in the corners
like the vagrant dogs of Eastern cities; and meantime, the nobles and
their partisans revelled in wasteful pomp.
Scholar as he was, Dr. Bennet was not familiar enough with Parisian ways
not to be very grateful for aid from Esclairmonde in some of his
conferences, and for her explanations of the different tastes and needs
of French and English poor.
What she saw and heard, on the other hand, gave form and purpose to her
aspirations. The Dutch Sisters of St. Bega, the English Bedeswomen of
St. Katharine, were sorely needed at Paris. They would gather up the
sufferers, collect the outcast children, feed the hungry, follow with
balm wherever a wound had been. To found a Beguinage at Paris seemed to
her the most befitting mode of devoting her wealth; and her little
admirer, Alice, gave up her longing desire that the foundation should be
in England, when she learned that, as the wife of Nevil, her abode was
likely to be in France as long as that country required English
garrisons.
To the young heiress of Salisbury, her own marriage, though close at
hand, seemed a mere ordinary matter compared with Esclairmonde's
Beguinage, to her the real romance. Never did she see a beggar crouching
at the church door, without a whisper to herself that there was a subject
for the Beguines; and, tender-hearted as she was, she looked quite
gratified at any lamentable tale which told the need.
If Esclairmonde had a climax to her visions of her brown-robed messengers
of mercy, it was that the holy Canon of St. Agnes should be induced to
come and act the part of master to her bedeswomen, as did Master Kedbesby
at home.
She had even dared to murmur her design to Dr. Bennet; and when he, under
strict seal of secrecy, had sounded King Henry, the present real master
of Paris, he reported that the tears had stood in the King's eyes for a
moment, as he said, 'Blessings on the maiden! Should she be able to do
this for this city, I shall know that Heaven hath indeed sent a blessing
by my arms!'
For one brief week, Esclairmonde and Alice were very happy in this secret
hope; but at the end of that time the Bishop of Therouenne appeared.
Esclairmonde had ventured to hope that the King's influence, and likewise
the fact that her intention was not to enrich one of the regular monastic
orders, might lead him to lend a favourable ear to her scheme; but she
was by no means prepared to find him already informed of the affair of
the Dance of Death, and putting his own construction on it.
'So, my fair cousin, this is the end of your waywardness. The tokens
were certainly somewhat strong; but the young gentleman's birth being
equal to yours, after the spectacle you have presented, your uncle of St.
Pol, and I myself, must do our utmost to obtain the consent of the Duke
of Burgundy.'
'Monseigneur is mistaken,' said Esclairmonde.
'Child, we will have no more folly. You have flown after this young Scot
in a manner fitted only for the foolish name your father culled for you
out of his books of chivalry. You have given a lesson to the whole Court
and city on the consequences of a damsel judging for herself, and running
a mad course over the world, instead of submitting to her guardians.'
'The Court understands my purpose as well as you do, Monseigneur.'
'Silence, Mademoiselle. Your convent obstinacy is ended for ever now,
since to send you to one would be to appear to hide a scandal.'
'I do not wish to enter a convent,' said Esclairmonde. 'My desire is to
dedicate my labour and my substance to the foundation of a house here at
Paris, such as are the Beguinages of our Netherlands,'
The Bishop held up his hands. He had never heard of such lunacy and it
angered him, as such purposes are wont to anger worldly-hearted men. That
a lady of Luxemburg should have such vulgar tastes as to wish to be a
Beguine was bad enough; but that Netherlandish wealth should be devoted
to support the factious poor of Paris was preposterous. Neither the Duke
of Burgundy, nor her uncle of St. Pol, would allow a sou to pass out of
their grasp for so absurd a purpose; the Pope would give no license--above
all to a vain girl, who had helped a wife to run away from her
husband--for new religious houses; and, unless Esclairmonde was prepared
to be landless, penniless, and the scorn of every one, for her wild
behaviour, she must submit, _bon gre, mal gre_, to become the wife of the
Scottish prince.
'Landless and penniless then will I be, Monseigneur,' said Esclairmonde.
'Was not poverty the bride of St. Francis?'
The Bishop made a growl of contempt; but recollecting himself, and his
respect for the saint, began to argue that what was possible for a man, a
mere merchant's son, an inspired saint besides, was not possible to a
damsel of high degree, and that it was mere presumption, vanity, and
obstinacy in her to appeal to such a precedent.
There was something in this that struck Esclairmonde, for she was
conscious of a certain satisfaction in her plan of being the first to
introduce a Beguinage at Paris, and that she was to a certain degree
proud of her years of constancy to her high purpose; and she looked just
so far abashed that the uncle saw his advantage, and discoursed on the
danger of attempting to be better than other people, and of trying to
vapour in spiritual heights, to all of which she attempted no reply; till
at last he broke up the interview by saying, 'There, then, child; all
will be well. I see you are coming to a better mind.'
'I hope I am, Monseigneur,' she replied, with lofty meekness; 'but
scarcely such as you mean.'
Alice Montagu's indignation knew no bounds. What! was this noble
votaress to be forced, not only to resign the glory of being the
foundress of a new order of beneficence, but to be married, just like
everybody else, and to that wretched little coward? Boemond of Burgundy
was better than that, for he at least was a man!
'No, no, Alice,' said Esclairmonde, with a shudder; 'any one rather than
the Burgundian! It is shame even to compare the Scot!'
'He may not be so evil in himself,' said Alice; 'but with a brave man you
have only his own sins, while a coward has all those other people may
frighten him into.'
'He bore himself manfully in battle,' said the fair Fleming in reproof.
But Alice answered with the scorn that sits so quaintly on the gentle
daughter of a bold race: 'Ay, where he would have been more afraid to run
than to stand.'
'You are hard on the Scot,' said Esclairmonde. 'Maybe it is because the
Nevils of Raby are Borderers,' she added, smiling; and, as Alice likewise
smiled and blushed, 'Now, if it were not for this madness, I could like
the youth. I would fain have had him for a brother that I could take
care of.'
'But what will you do, Esclairmonde?'
'Trust,' said she, sighing. 'Maybe, my pride ought to be broken; and I
may have to lay aside all my hopes and plans, and become a mere serving
sister, to learn true humility. Anyhow, I verily trust to my Heavenly
Spouse to guard me for himself. If the Duke of Burgundy still maintains
Boemond's suit, then in the dissension I see an escape.
'And my father will defend you; and so will Sir Richard,' said Alice,
with complacent certainty in their full efficiency. 'And King Harry will
interfere; and we _will_ have your hospital; ay, we _will_. How can you
talk so lightly of abandoning it?'
'I only would know what is human pride, and what God's will,' sighed
Esclairmonde.
The Duke arrived with his two sisters, his wife being left at home in bad
health, and took up his abode at the Hotel de Bourgogne, whence he came
at once to pay his respects to the King of England; the poor King of
France, at the Hotel de St. Pol, being quite neglected.
Esclairmonde and Alice stood at a window, and watched the arrival of the
magnificent cavalcade, attended by a multitude, ecstatically shouting,
'Noel Noel! Long live Philippe le Bon! Blessings on the mighty Duke!'
While seated on a tall charger, whose great dappled head, jewelled and
beplumed, could alone be seen amid his sweeping housings, bowing right
and left, waving his embroidered gloved hand in courtesy, was seen the
stately Duke, in the prime of life, handsome-faced, brilliantly coloured,
dazzlingly arrayed in gemmed robes, so that Alice drew a long breath of
wonder and exclaimed, 'This Duke is a goodly man; he looks like the
emperor of us all!'
But when he had entered the hall, conducted by John of Bedford and Edmund
of March, had made his obeisance to Henry, and had been presented by him
to King James, Alice, standing close behind her queen, recollected that
she had once heard Esclairmonde say, 'Till I came to England I deemed
chivalry a mere gaudy illusion.'
Duke Philippe would not bear close inspection; the striking features and
full red lips, that had made so effective an appearance in the gay
procession seen from a distance, seemed harsh, haughty, and sensual near
at hand, and when brought into close contact with the strange bright
stern purity, now refined into hectic transparency, of King Henry's face,
the grand and melancholy majesty of the royal Stewart's, or even the
spare, keen, irregular visage of John of Bedford. And while his robes
were infinitely more costly than--and his ornaments tenfold
outnumbered--all that the three island princes wore, yet no critical eye
could take him for their superior, even though his tone in addressing an
inferior was elaborately affable and condescending, and theirs was always
the frankness of an equal. Where they gave the sense of pure gold, he
seemed like some ruder metal gilt and decorated; as if theirs were
reality, his the imitation; theirs the truth, his the display.
But in reality his birth was as princely as theirs; and no monarch in
Europe, not even Henry, equalled him in material resources; he was
idolized by the Parisians; and Henry was aware that France had been made
over to England more by his revenge for his father's murder at Montereau
than by the victory at Agincourt. Therefore the King endured his grand
talk about _our_ arms and _our_ intentions; and for Malcolm's sake, James
submitted to a sort of patronage, as if meant to imply that if Philippe
the Magnificent chose to espouse the cause of a captive king, his ransom
would be the merest trifle.
When Henry bade him to the Pentecostal banquet, 'when kings keep state,'
he graciously accepted the invitation for himself and his two sisters,
Marguerite, widow of the second short-lived Dauphin, and Anne, still
unmarried; but when Henry further explained his plan of feasting merely
with the orderly, and apportioning the food in real alms, the Duke by no
means approved.
'Feed those miserables!' he said. 'One gains nothing thereby! They make
no noise; whereas if you affront the others, who know how to cry out,
they will revile you like dogs!
'I will not be a slave to the rascaille,' said Henry.
'Ah, my fair lord, you, a victor, may dispense with these cares; but for
a poor little prince like me, it is better to reign in men's hearts than
on their necks.'
'In the hearts of honest men--on the necks of knaves,' said Henry.
Philippe shrugged his shoulders. He was wise in his own generation; for
he had all the audible voices in Paris on his side, while the cavils at
Henry's economy have descended to the present time.
'Do you see your rival, Sir?' said the voice of the Bishop of Therouenne
in Malcolm's ear, just as the Duke had begun to rise to take leave; and
he pointed out a knight of some thirty years, glittering with gay devices
from head to foot, and showing a bold proud visage, exaggerating the
harshness of the Burgundian lineaments.
Malcolm shuddered, and murmured, 'Such a pearl to such a hog!'
And meanwhile, King James, stepping forward, intimated to the Duke that
he would be glad of an interview with him.
Philippe made some ostentation of his numerous engagements with men of
Church and State; but ended by inviting the King of Scotland to sup with
him that evening, if his Grace would forgive travellers' fare and a
simple reception.
Thither accordingly James repaired on foot, attended only by Sir Nigel
and Malcolm, with a few archers of the royal guard, in case torches
should be wanted on the way home.
How magnificent were the surroundings of the great Duke, it would be
wearisome to tell. The retainers in the court of the hotel looked, as
James said, as if honest steel and good cloth were reckoned as churls,
and as if this were the very land of Cockaigne, as Sir Richard
Whittington had dreamt it. Neither he nor St. Andrew himself would know
their own saltire made in cloth of silver, 'the very metal to tarnish!'
Sir Nigel had to tell their rank, ere the porters admitted the small
company: but the seneschal marshalled them forward in full state. And
James never looked more the king than when, in simple crimson robe, the
pure white cross on his breast, his auburn hair parted back from his
noble brow, he stood towering above all heads, passively receiving the
Duke of Burgundy's elaborate courtesies and greetings, nor seeming to
note the lavish display of gold and silver, meant to amaze the poorest
king in Europe.
Exceeding was the politeness shown to him--even to the omission of the
seneschal's tasting each dish presented to the Duke, a recognition of the
presence of a sovereign that the two Scots scarcely understood enough for
gratitude.
Malcolm was the best off of the two at the supper; for James had of
course to be cavalier to the sickly fretful-looking Dauphiness, while
Malcolm fell to the lot of the Lady Anne, who, though not beautiful, had
a kindly hearty countenance and manner, and won his heart by asking
whether the Demoiselle de Luxemburg were still in the suite of Madame of
Hainault; and then it appeared that she had been her convent mate and
warmest friend and admirer in their girlish days at Dijon, and was now
longing to see her. Was she as much set as ever on being a nun?
Meantime, the Duke was pompously making way for the King of Scots to
enter his cabinet, where--with a gold cup before each, a dish of comfits
and a stoup of wine between them--their interview was to take place.
'These dainties accord with a matter of ladies' love,' said James, as the
Duke handed him a sugar heart transfixed by an arrow.
'Good, good,' said Philippe. 'The alliance is noble and our crowns and
influence might be a good check in the north to your mighty neighbour;
nor would I be hard as to her dowry. Send me five score yearly of such
knaves as came with Buchan, and I could fight the devil himself. A
morning gift might be specified for the name of the thing--but we
understand one another.'
'I am not certain of that, Sir,' said James, smiling; 'though I see you
mean me kindly.'
'Nay, now,' continued Philippe, 'I know how to honour royalty, even in
durance; nor will I even press Madame la Dauphine on you instead of Anne,
though it were better for us all if she could have her wish and become a
queen, and you would have her jointure--if you or any one else can get
it.'
'Stay, my Lord Duke,' said James, with dignity, 'I spake not of myself,
deeming that it was well known that my troth is plighted.'
'How?' said Burgundy, amazed, but not offended. 'Methought the House of
Somerset was a mere bastard slip, with which even King Henry with all his
insolence could not expect you to wed in earnest. However, we may keep
our intentions secret awhile; and then, with your lances and my
resources, English displeasure need concern you little.'
James, who had learned self-control in captivity, began politely to
express himself highly honoured and obliged.
'Do not mention it. Royal blood, thus shamefully oppressed, must command
the aid of all that is chivalrous. Speak, and your ransom is at your
service.'
The hot blood rushed into James's cheek at this tone of condescension;
but he answered, with courteous haughtiness: 'Of myself, Sir Duke, there
is no question. My ransom waits England's willingness to accept it; and
my hand is not free, even for the prize you have the goodness to offer. I
came not to speak of myself.'
'Not to make suit for my sister, nor my intercession!' exclaimed
Philippe.
'I make suit to no man,' said James; then, recollecting himself, 'if I
did so, no readier friend than the Duke of Burgundy could be found. I
did in effect come to propose an alliance between one of my own house and
a fair vassal of yours.'
'Ha! the runaway jade of Luxemburg!' cried Burgundy; 'the most headstrong
girl who lives! She dared to plead her foolish vows against my brother
Boemond, fled with that other hoyden of Hainault, and now defies me by
coming here. I'll have her, and make her over to Boemond to tame her
pride, were she in the great Satan's camp instead of King Henry's.'
And this is the mirror of chivalry! thought James. But he persevered in
his explanation of his arrangement for permitting the estates of
Esclairmonde de Luxemburg to be purchased from her and her husband,
should that husband be Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie; and he soon found
that these terms would be as acceptable to the Duke as they had already
proved to her guardian, Monseigneur de Therouenne. Money was nothing to
Philippe; but his policy was to absorb the little seignoralties that lay
so thick in these border lands of the Empire; and what he desired above
all, was to keep them from either passing into the hands of the Church,
or from consolidating into some powerful principality, as would have been
the case had Esclairmonde either entered a convent or married young
Waleran de Luxemburg, her cousin. Therefore he had striven to force on
her his half-brother, who would certainly never unite any inheritance to
hers; but he much preferred the purchase of her Hainault lands; and had
no compunction in throwing over Boemond, except for a certain lurking
desire that the lady's contumacy should be chastised by a lord who would
beat her well into subjection. He would willingly have made a great show
of generosity, and have laid James under an obligation; and yet by the
King's dignified tone of courtesy he was always reduced to the air of one
soliciting rather than conferring a favour.
Finally, Malcolm was called in, and presented to the Duke, making his own
promise on his word of honour as a prince, and giving a written bond,
that so soon as he obtained the hand of the Demoiselle de Luxemburg he
would resign her Hainault estates to the Duke of Burgundy for a sum of
money, to be fixed by persons chosen for the purpose.
This was more like earnest than anything Malcolm had yet obtained; and he
went home exulting and exalted, his doubts as to Esclairmonde's consent
almost silenced, when he counted up the forces that were about to bear
upon her.
And they did descend upon her. Countess Jaqueline had been joined by
other and more congenial Flemish dames, and was weary of her grave
monitress; and she continually scolded at Esclairmonde for perverseness
and obstinacy in not accepting the only male thing she had ever favoured.
The Bishop of Therouenne threatened and argued; and the Duke of Burgundy
himself came to enforce his commands to his refractory vassal, and on
finding her still unsubmissive, flew into a rage, and rated her as few
_could_ have done, save Philippe, called the Good.
All she attempted to answer was, that they were welcome to her lands, so
they would leave her person free; her vows were not to man, but to God,
and God would protect her.
It was an answer that seemed specially to enrage her persecutors, who
retorted by telling her that such protection was only extended to those
who obeyed lawful authority; and hints were thrown out that, if she did
not submit willingly, she might find herself married forcibly, for a
bishop could afford to disregard the resistance of a bride.
Would Malcolm--would his king--consent to her being thus treated?
As to Malcolm, he seemed to her too munch changed for her to reckon on
what remnant of good feeling there might be to appeal to in him. And
James, though he was certain not to permit palpable coercion in his
presence, or even if he were aware that it was contemplated, seemed to
have left the whole management of the affair to Esclairmonde's own
guardians; and they would probably avoid driving matters to extremities
that would revolt him, while he was near enough for an appeal. And
Esclairmonde was too uncertain whether her guardians would resort to such
lengths, or whether it were not a vain threat of the giddy Countess, to
compromise her dignity by crying out before she was hurt; and she had no
security, save that she was certain that in the English household of King
Henry such violence would not be attempted; and out of reach of that
protection she never ventured.
Once she said to Henry, 'My only hope is in God and in you, my lord.'
And Henry bent his head, saying, 'Noble lady, I cannot interfere; but
while you are in my house, nothing can be done with you against your
will.'
Yet even Henry was scarcely what he had been in all-pervading vigilance
and readiness. Like all real kings of men, he had been his own prime
minister, commander-in-chief, and private secretary, transacting a
marvellous amount of business with prompt completeness; and when, in the
midst of shattered health which he would not avow, the cares of two
kingdoms, and the generalship of an army, with all its garrisons, rested
on him, his work would hardly have been accomplished but for his
brother's aid. It was never acknowledged, often angrily disdained. But
when John of Bedford had watched the terrible lassitude and lethargy that
weighed on the King at times in the midst of his cabinet work, he was
constantly on the watch to relieve him; and his hand and style so closely
resembled Henry's that the difference could scarce be detected, and he
could do what none other durst attempt. Many a time would Henry, whose
temper had grown most uncertain, fiercely rate him for intermeddling; but
John knew and loved him too well to heed; and his tact and
unobtrusiveness made Henry rely on him more and more.
If the illness had only been confessed, those who watched the King
anxiously would have had more hope; but he was hotly angered at any hint
of his needing care; and though he sometimes relieved oppression by
causing himself to be bled by a servant, he never allowed that anything
ailed him; it was always the hot weather, the anxious tidings, the long
pageant that wearied him--things that were wont to be like gnats on a
lion's mane.
Those solemn banquets and festivals--lasting from forenoon till eventide,
with their endless relays of allegorical subtleties, their long-winded
harangues, noisy music, interludes of giants, sylvan men, distressed
damsels, knights-errant on horseback, ships and forests coming in upon
wheels, and fulsome compliments that must be answered--had been always
his aversion, and were now so heavy an oppression that Bedford would have
persuaded the Queen to curtail them. But to the fair Catherine this
appeared an unkind endeavour of her disagreeable brother-in-law, to
prevent her from shining in her native city, and eclipsing the Burgundian
pomp; and she opened her soft brown eyes in dignified displeasure,
answering that she saw nothing amiss with the King; and she likewise
complained to her husband of his brother's jealousy of her welcome from
her own people, bringing on him one of Henry's most bitter sentences.
Henry would only have had her abate somewhat of the splendour that
gratified her, because he did not think it becoming to outshine her
parents; but Catherine scorned the notion. Her old father would know
nothing, or would smile in his foolish way to see her so brave; and for
her mother, she recked not so long as she had a larded capon before her:
nor was it possible to make the young queen understand that this fatuity
and feebleness were the very reasons for deferring to them.
The ordering of the feast fell to Catherine and her train; and its
splendours on successive days had their full development, greatly to the
constraint and weariness, among others, of Esclairmonde, who was always
assigned to Malcolm Stewart, and throughout these long days had to be
constantly repressing him; not that he often durst make her any direct
compliment, for he was usually quelled into anxious wistful silence, and
merely eyed her earnestly, paying her every attention in his power. And
such a silent tedious meal was sure to be remarked, either with laughing
rudeness by Countess Jaqueline, or with severe reproof by the Bishop of
Therouenne, both of whom assured her that she had better lay aside her
airs, and resign herself in good part, for there was no escape for her.
One day, however, when the feast was at the Hotel de Bourgogne, and there
were some slight differences in the order of the guests, the Duke of
Bedford put himself forward as the Lady Esclairmonde's cavalier, so much
to her relief, that her countenance, usually so guarded, relaxed into the
bright, sweet smile of cheerfulness that was most natural to her.
Isolated as the pairs at the table were, and with music braying in a
gallery just above, there was plenty of scope for conversation; and once
again Esclairmonde was talking freely of the matters regarding the
distress in Paris, that Bedford had consulted her upon before he became
so engrossed with his brother's affairs, or she so beset by her
persecutors.
Towards the evening, when the feast had still some mortal hours to last,
there fell a silence on the Duke; and at length, when the music was at
the loudest, he said 'Lady, I have watched for this moment. You are
persecuted. Look not on me as one of your persecutors; but if no other
refuge be open to you, here is one who might know better how to esteem
you than that malapert young Scot.'
'How, Sir?' exclaimed Esclairmonde, amazed at these words from the woman-
hating Bedford.
'Make no sudden reply,' said John. 'I had never thought of you save as
one consecrate, till, when I see you like to be hunted down into the
hands of yon silly lad, I cannot but thrust between. My brother would
willingly consent; and, if I may but win your leave to love you, lady, it
will be with a heart that has yearned to no other woman.'
He spoke low and steadily, looking straight before him, with no visible
emotion, save a little quiver in the last sentence, a slight dilating of
the delicately cut nostril; and then he was silent, until, having
recovered the self-restraint that had been failing him, he prevented the
words she was trying to form by saying, 'Not in haste, lady. There is
time yet before you to bethink yourself whether you can be free in will
and conscience. If so, I will bear you through all.'
How invitingly the words fell on the lonely heart, so long left to fight
its own battles! There came for the first time the full sense of what
life might be, the shielding tenderness, the sure reliance, the pure
affection, such as she saw Henry lavish on the shallow Queen, but which
she could meet and requite in John. The brutal Boemond, the childish
Malcolm, had aroused no feeling in her but dislike or pity, and to them a
convent was infinitely preferable; but Bedford--the religious, manly,
brave, unselfish Bedford--opened to her the view of all that could
content a high-souled woman's heart, backed, moreover, by the wonder of
having been the first to touch such a spirit.
It would not have been a _mesalliance_. Her family was one of the
grandest of the Netherlands; the saintly Emperor, Henry of Luxemburg, was
her ancestor; and Bedford's proposal was not a condescension such as to
rouse her sense of dignity. His rank did not strike her as did his lofty
stainless character; the like of which she had never known to exist in
the world of active life till she saw the brothers of England, who came
more near to the armed saints and holy warriors of Church legend than her
fancy had thought mortal man could do, bred as she had been in the
sensual, violent, and glittering Burgundy of the fifteenth century. In
truth, as Malcolm had thought the cloister the only refuge from the
harshness and barbarism of Scotland, so Esclairmonde had thought piety
and purity to be found nowhere else; and both had found the Court of
Henry V. an infinitely better world than they had supposed possible; but,
until the present moment, Esclairmonde had never felt the slightest call
to take a permanent place there. Now however the cloister, even if it
were open to her, presented a gloomy, cheerless life of austerity, in
comparison with human affection and matronly duty. And most vivid of all
at the moment was the desire to awaken the tender sweetness that slept in
those steady gray eyes, to see the grave, wise visage gleam with smiling
affection, and to rest in having one to take thought for her, and finish
this long term of tossing about and self-defence. Was not the patience
with which he kept his eyes away from her already a proof of his
consideration and delicate kindness?
But deep in Esclairmonde's soul lay the sense that her dedication was
sacred, and her power over herself gone. She had always felt a wife's
allegiance due to Him whom she received as her spiritual Spouse; and
though the sense at this moment only brought her disappointment and self-
reproach, her will was loyal. The bond was cutting into her very flesh,
but she never even thought of breaking it; and all she waited for was the
power of restraining her grateful tears.
In this she was assisted by observing that Bedford's attention had been
attracted towards his brother, who was looking wan and weary, scarcely
tasting what was set before him; and, after fitfully trying to converse
with Marguerite of Burgundy, at last had taken advantage of an endless
harangue from all the Virtues, and had dropped asleep. The Lady Anne was
seen making a sign to her sister not to disturb him; and Bedford
murmured, with a sigh, 'There is, for once, a discreet woman.' Then, as
if recalled to a sense of what was passing, he turned on Esclairmonde his
full earnest look, saying, 'You will teach the Queen how _he_ should be
cared for. You will help me.'
'Sir,' said Esclairmonde, feeling it most difficult not to falter, 'this
is a great grace, but it cannot be.'
'Cannot!' said Bedford, slowly. 'You have taken thought?'
'Sir, it is not the part of a betrothed spouse to take thought. My vows
were renewed of my own free will and it were sacrilege to try to recall
them for the first real temptation.'
She spoke steadily, but the effort ached through her whole frame,
especially when the last word illumined John Plantagenet's face with
strange sweet light, quenched as his lip trembled, his nostril quivered,
his eye even moistened, as he said, 'It is enough, lady; I will no more
vex one who is vexed enough already; and you will so far trust me as to
regard me as your protector, if you should be in need?'
'Indeed I will,' said Esclairmonde, hardly restraining her tears.
'That is well,' said Bedford. And he neither looked at her nor spoke to
her again, till, as he led her away in the procession from the hall, he
held her hand fast, and murmured: 'There then it rests, sweet lady
unless, having taken counsel with your own heart, you should change your
decree, and consult some holy priest. If so, make but a sign of the
hand, and I am yours; for verily you are the only maiden I could ever
have loved.'
She was still in utter confusion, in the chamber where the ladies were
cloaking for their return, when her hands were grasped on either side by
the two Burgundian princesses.
'Sweet runaway, we have caught you at last! Here, into Anne's chamber.
See you we must! How is it with you? Like you the limping Scot better
than Boemond?' laughed the Dauphiness, her company dignity laid aside for
school-girl chatter.
'If you cannot hold out,' said Anne, 'the Scot seems a gentle youth; and,
at least, you are quit of Boemond.'
'Yes,' said Marguerite, 'his last prank was too strong for the Duke:
quartering a dozen men-at-arms on a sulky Cambrai weaver till he paid him
2000 crowns. Besides, it would be well to get the Scottish king for an
ally. Do you know what we two are here for, Clairette? We are both to
be betrothed: one to the handsome captive with the gold locks; the other
to your hawk-nosed neighbour, who seemed to have not a word to say.'
'But,' said Esclairmonde, replying to the easiest part of the disclosure,
'the King of Scots is in love with the Demoiselle of Somerset.'
'What matters that, silly maid?' said Marguerite 'he does not displease
me; and Anne is welcome to that melancholy duke.'
'Oh, Lady Anne!' exclaimed Esclairmonde, 'if such be your lot, it would
be well indeed.'
'What, the surly brother, of whom Catherine tells such tales!' continued
Marguerite.
'Credit them not,' said Esclairmonde. 'He never crosses her but when he
would open her eyes to his brother's failing health.'
'Yes,' interrupted Marguerite; 'my lord brother swears that this king
will not live a year; and if Catherine have no better luck with her child
than poor Michelle, then there will be another good Queen Anne in
England.'
'If so,' said Esclairmonde, looking at her friend with swimming eyes,
'she will have the best of husbands--as good as even she deserves!'
Anne held her hand fast, and would have said many tender words on
Esclairmonde's own troubles; but the other ladies were arrayed, and
Esclairmonde would not for worlds have been left behind in the Hotel de
Bourgogne.
Privacy was not an attainable luxury, and Esclairmonde could not commune
with her throbbing heart, or find peace for her aching head, till night.
This must be a matter unconfided to any, even Alice Montagu. And while
the maiden lay smiling in her quiet sleep, after having fondly told her
friend that Sir Richard Nevil had really noticed her new silken kirtle,
she knelt on beneath the crucifix, mechanically reciting her prayers,
and, as the beads dropped from her fingers, fighting out the fight with
her own heart.
Her mind was made up; but her sense of the loss, her craving for the
worthy affection which lay within her grasp--these dismayed her. The
life she had sighed for had become a blank; and she passionately detested
the obligation that held her back from affection, usefulness, joy, and
excellence--not ambition, for the greatest help to her lay in Bedford's
position, his exalted rank, and nearness to the crown. Indeed, she
really dreaded and loathed worldly pomp so much that the temptation would
have been greater had he not been a prince.
It was this sense of renunciation that came to her aid. She had at least
a _real_ sacrifice to offer; till now, as she became aware, she had made
none. She folded her hands, and laid her offering to be hallowed by the
One all-sufficient Sacrifice. She offered all those capacities for love
that had been newly revealed to her; she offered up the bliss, whose
golden dawn she had seen; she tried to tear out the earthliness of her
heart and affections by the roots, and lay them on the altar, entreating
that, come what might, her spirit might never stray from the Heavenly
Spouse of her betrothal.
Therewith came a sense of His perfect sufficiency--of rest, peace,
support, ineffable love, that kept her kneeling in a calm, almost
ecstatic state, in which common hopes, fears, and affections had melted
away.