 CHAPTER XI of Anne of Geyerstein, Volume II, by Sir Walter Scott. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. A mirthful man he was, the snows of age, fell, but they did not chill him. Lady, even in life's closing, touched his teeming brain with such wild visions as the setting sun raises in front of some whore glacier, painting the bleak eyes with a thousand hues. Old play. Leaving the Earl of Oxford in attendance on the stubborn Duke of Burgundy during an expedition, which the one represented as a brief excursion, more resembling a hunting party than a campaign, and which the other considered in a much graver and more perilous light, we return to Arthur Devere, or the younger Philipson, as he continued to be called, who was conducted by his guide with fidelity and success, but certainly very slowly, upon his journey into province. The state of Lorraine overrun by the Duke of Burgundy's army and infested at the same time by different scattered bands who took the field, or held out the castles as they alleged, for the interest of Count Ferrand de Vautamont rendered journeying so dangerous that it was often necessary to leave the main road and to take circuitous tracks in order to avoid such unfriendly encounters as travelers might otherwise have met with. Arthur, taught by sad experience, to distrust strange guides, found himself, nevertheless, in this eventful and perilous journey, disposed to rest considerable confidence in his present conductor, Tybalt, a proven call by birth, intimately acquainted with the roads which they took, and as far as he could judge, disposed to discharge his office with fidelity, prudence alike, and the habits which he had acquired in traveling, as well as the character of a merchant, which he still sustained, induced him to wave the morgue, or hoddy superiority of a knight and noble towards an inferior personage, especially as he rightly conjectured that free intercourse with this man, whose acquirements seemed of a superior caste, was likely to render him a judge of his opinions and disposition towards him. In return for his condescension, he obtained a good deal of information concerning the province which he was approaching. As they drew near the boundaries of province, the communications of Tybalt became more fluent and interesting, he could not only tell the name and history of each romantic castle which they passed in their devious and doubtful route, but had at his command the chivalrous history of the noble knights and barons to whom they now pertained, or had belonged in earlier days, and could recount their exploits against the seresans by repelling their attacks upon Christendom, or their efforts to recover the holy sepulcher from pagan hands. In the course of such narrations, Tybalt was led to speak of the troubadours, a race of native poets of Provencal origin, differing widely from the minstrels of Normandy and the adjacent provinces of France, with whose tales of chivalry, as well as the numerous translations of their works into Norman French and English, Arthur, like most of the noble youth of his country, was intimately acquainted and deeply imbued. Tybalt boasted that his grand sire of humble birth indeed, but of distinguished talent, was one of this gifted race whose compositions produced so great an effect on the temper and manners of their age and country. It was, however, to be regretted that, inculcating as the prime duty of life a fantastic spirit of gallantry, which sometimes crossed the platonic bound prescribed to it, the poetry of the troubadours was too frequently used to soften and seduce the heart and corrupt the principles. Arthur's attention was called to this peculiarity by Tybalt singing, which he could do with good skill, the history of a troubadour named William Cabestani, who loved Par Amour's a noble and beautiful lady, Margaret, the wife of a baron called Raymond de Roussillon. The jealous husband obtained proof of his dishonour, and, having put Cabestani to death by assassination, he took his heart from his bosom, and, causing it to be dressed like that of an animal, ordered it to be served up to his lady, and when she had eaten of the horrible mass, told her of what her banquet was composed, the lady replied that since she had been made to partake of food so precious, no coarser morsel should ever after cross her lips. She persisted in her resolution, and thus starved herself to death. The troubadour who celebrated this tragic history had displayed in his composition a good deal of poetic art, glossing over the error of the lovers as the fault of their destiny, dwelling on their tragical fate with considerable pathos, and finally, execrating the blind fury of the husband with the full fervour of poetical indignation, he recorded with vindictive pleasure how every bold night and true lover in the south of France assembled to besiege the Baron's castle, stormed it by main force, left not one stone upon another, and put the tyrant himself to an ignominious death. Arthur was interested in the melancholy tale, which even beguiled him of a few tears, but as he thought further on its purport, he dried his eyes and said with some sternness, Tybalt, sing me no such more laze, I have heard my father say that the readiest mode to corrupt a Christian man is to bestow upon vice the pity and the praise which are due only to virtue. Your baron of Rusalon is a monster of cruelty, but your unfortunate lovers were not the less guilty. It is by giving fair names to foul actions that those who would start at real vice are led to practice its lessons under the disguise of virtue. I would, you new signor, answered Tybalt, that this lay of Cobbestani and the Lady Margaret of Rusalon is reckoned a masterpiece of the joyous science. Fie, sir, you are too young to be so strict a censor of morals. What will you do when your head is gray if you are thus severe when it is scarcely brown? A head which listens to folly in youth will hardly be honorable in old age, answered Arthur. Tybalt had no mind to carry the dispute further. It is not for me to contend with your worship, I only think, with every true son of chivalry and song, that a night without a mistress is like a sky without a star. Do I not know that, answered Arthur, but yet better remain in darkness than be guided by such false lights as shower down vice and pestilence. Nay, it may be your signore is right, answered the guide. It is certain that even in province here we have lost much of our keen judgment on matters of love, its difficulties, its intricacies, and its errors, since the troubadours are no longer regarded as usual, and since the high and noble parliament of love has ceased to hold its sittings. But in these latter days continued the proven call. Kings, dukes, and sovereigns, instead of being the foremost and most faithful vassals of the court of Cupid, are themselves the slaves of selfishness and love of gain. Instead of winning hearts by breaking lances in the lists, they are breaking the hearts of their impoverished vassals by the most cruel executions. Instead of attempting to deserve the smile and favours of their lady loves, they are meditating how to steal castles, towns, and provinces from their neighbours. But long life to the good and venerable King René, while he has an acre of land left, his residence will be the resort of valiant knights whose only aim is praise in arms of true lovers who are persecuted by fortune and of high-toned harpers who know how to celebrate faith and valor. Arthur, interested in learning something more precise than common fame, had taught him, on the subject of this prince, easily induced the talkative proven call to enlarge upon the virtues of his old sovereign's character as just, joyous, and debonair, a friend to the most noble exercises of the chase and the tiltyard, and still more so to the joyous science of poetry and music, who gave away more revenue than he received in largesies to knight's errant and itinerant musicians with whom his petty court was crowded, as one of the very few in which the ancient hospitality was still maintained. Such was the picture which Tybalt drew of the last minstrel monarch. And though the eulogium was exaggerated, perhaps the facts were not overcharged. Born of royal parentage and with high pretensions, Rene had at no period of his life been able to match his fortunes to his claims of the kingdoms to which he asserted right, nothing remained in his possession but the county of Provence itself, a fair and friendly principality, but diminished by the many claims which France had acquired upon portions of it by advances of money to supply the personal expenses of its master, and by other portions which Burgundy, to whom Rene had been a prisoner, held in pledge for his ransom. In his youth, he engaged in more than one military enterprise in the hope of attaining some part of the territory of which he was styled sovereign. His courage is not impeached, but fortune did not smile on his military adventures, and he seems at last to have become sensible that the power of admiring and celebrating war-like merit is very different from possessing that quality. In fact, Rene was a prince of very moderate parts, endowed with a love of the fine arts which he carried to extremity, and a degree of good humor which never permitted him to repine at fortune, but rendered its possessor happy when a prince of keener feelings would have died of despair. This insouciant, light-tempered, gay, and thoughtless disposition conducted Rene free from all the passions which embitter life and often shorten it to a hail and mirthful old age. Even domestic losses, which often affect those who are proof against mere reverses of fortune, made no deep impression on the feelings of this cheerful old monarch. Most of his children had died young. Rene took it not to heart. His daughter, Margaret's marriage with the powerful Henry of England, was considered a connection much above the fortunes of the king of the troubadours. But in the issue, instead of Rene deriving any splendor from the match, he was involved in the misfortunes of his daughter and repeatedly obliged to impoverish himself to supply her ransom. Perhaps in his private soul the old king did not think these losses so mortifying as the necessity of receiving Margaret into his court and family. On fire, when reflecting on the losses she had sustained, mourning over friends slain and kingdoms lost, the proudest and most passionate of princesses was ill-suited to dwell with the gayest and best humored of sovereigns whose pursuits she contempt and whose lightness of temper for finding comfort in such trifles she could not forgive. The discomfort attached to her presence and vindictive recollections embarrassed the good, humored old monarch, though it was unable to drive him beyond his equanimity. Another distress pressed him more sorely. Yolanda, a daughter of his first wife, Isabella, had succeeded to his claims upon the Duchy of Lorraine and transmitted them to her son, Ferrand Count of Audemont, a young man of courage and spirit engaged at this time in the apparently desperate undertaking of making his title good against the Duke of Burgundy, who with little right but great power was seizing upon and overrunning this rich Duchy which he laid claim to as a male thief, and to conclude, while the aged king on one side beheld his dethroned daughter in hopeless despair, and on the other his disinherited grandson in vain attempting to recover part of their rights, he had the additional misfortune to know that his nephew, Louis of France, and his cousin, the Duke of Burgundy, were secretly contending which should succeed him in that portion of province which he still continued to possess, and that it was only jealousy of each other which prevented his being despoiled of his last remnant of his territory. Yet amid all this distress Brene feasted and received guests, danced, sang, composed poetry, used the pencil or brush with no small skill, devised and conducted festivals and processions, and studying to promote as far as possible the immediate mirth and good humor of his subjects, if he could not materially enlarge their more permanent prosperity, was never mentioned by them, accepting as Laban Roy-René a distinction conferred on him down to the present day, and due to him certainly by the qualities of his heart, if not by those of his head. Whilst Arthur was receiving from his guide a full account of the peculiarities of King René, they entered the territories of that merry monarch. It was late in the autumn, and about the period when the southeastern counties of France rather showed to least advantage, the foliage of the olive tree is then decayed and withered, and as it predominates in the landscape and resembles the scorched complexion of the soil itself, an ashen and arid hue is given to the whole. Still, however, there were scenes in the hilly and pastoral parts of the country where the quantity of evergreens relieved the eye even in this dead season. The appearance of the country in general had much in it that was peculiar. The travelers perceived at every turn some marks of the king's singular character. Provence as the part of Gaul, which first received Roman civilization, and as having been still longer the residence of the Grecian colony who founded Marseille, is more full of the splendid relics of ancient architecture than any other country in Europe, Italy, and Greece accepted. The good taste of the king René had dictated some attempts to clear out and to restore these memorials of antiquity. Was there a triumphal arch or an ancient temple? Huts and hovels were cleared away from its vicinity, and means were used, at least, to retard the approach of ruin. Was there a marble fountain, which superstition had dedicated to some sequestered naïd? It was surrounded by olives, almond, and orange trees. Its cistern was repaired and taught once more to retain its crystal treasures. The huge amphitheaters and gigantic colonnades experienced the same anxious care, attesting that the noblest specimens of the fine arts found one admirer and preserver in King René, even during the course of those which are termed the dark and barbarous ages. A change of manners could also be observed in passing from Burgundy and Lorraine, where society relished of German bluntness into the pastoral country of Provence, where the influence of a fine climate and melodious language joined to the pursuits of the romantic old monarch with the universal taste for music and poetry had introduced a civilization of manners which approached to affectation. The shepherd literally marched abroad in the morning, piping his flocks forth to the pasture with some love sonnet, the composition of an amorous troubadour, and his fleecy care seemed actually to be under the influence of his music, instead of being ungraciously insensible to its melody, as is the case in colder climates. Arthur observed, too, that the Provencal sheep, instead of being driven before the shepherd, regularly followed him, and did not disperse to feed until the swain by turning his face round to them, remaining stationary, and executing variations on the air which he was playing, seemed to remind them that it was proper to do so, while in motion his huge dog of a species which is trained to face the wolf and who is respected by the sheep as their guardian, and not feared as their tyrant, followed his master with his ears pricked, like the chief critic and prime judge of the performance at some tones of which he seldom failed to intimate disapprobation, while the flock, like the generality of an audience, followed in unanimous, though silent applause. At the hour of noon the shepherd had sometimes acquired an augmentation to his audience in some comely matron or blooming maiden, with whom he had rendezvoused by such a fountain as we have described, and who listened to the husband's or lover's shalamo, or mingled her voice with his in the duets of which the songs of the troubadours have left so many examples. In the cool of the evening the dance on the village green, or the concert before the hamlet door, the little repast of fruits, cheese, and bread, which the traveller was readily invited to share, gave new charms to the illusion, and seemed in earnest to point out province as the Arcadia of France. But the greatest singularity was, in the eyes of Arthur, the total absence of armed men and soldiers in this peaceful country. In England no man stirred without his long bow, sword, and buckler. In France the hind wore armour even when he was betwixt the stilts of his plough. In Germany you could not look along a mile of highway, but the eye was encountered by clouds of dust, out of which were seen by fits, waving feathers, and flashing armour. Even in Switzerland the peasant, if he had a journey to make, though but of a mile or two, cared not to travel without his hullbird and two-handed sword. But in province all seemed quiet and peaceful, as if the music of the land had lulled to sleep all its wrathful passions. Now and then a mounted cavalier might pass them. The harp at whose saddle-bow, or carried by one of his attendants, attested the character of a troubadour, which was affected by men of all ranks, and then only a short sword on his left thigh, borne for show rather than use, was a necessary and appropriate part of his equipment. Peace, said Arthur, as he looked around him, is an inestimable jewel, but it will be soon snatched from those who are not prepared with heart and hand to defend it. The sight of the ancient and interesting town of Eix, where King René held his court, dispelled reflections of a general character and recalled to the young Englishman the peculiar mission on which he was engaged. He then required to know from the province call Tybalt whether his instructions were to leave him, now that he had successfully attained the end of his journey. My instructions, answered Tybalt, are to remain in Eix while there is any chance of your signories continuing there to be of such use to you as you may require, either as a guide or an attendant, and to keep these men in readiness to wait upon you when you have occasion for messengers or guards. With your approbation I will see them disposed of in fitting quarters and receive my further instructions from your signory wherever you please to appoint me. I propose this separation because I understand it is your present pleasure to be private. I must go to court, answered Arthur, without any delay. Wait for me in half an hour by that fountain in the street which projects into the air such a magnificent pillar of water, surrounded I would almost swear by a vapor like steam serving as a shroud to the jet which it envelops. The jet is so surrounded, answered the province call, because it is supplied by a hot spring rising from the bowels of the earth and the touch of frost on this autumn morning makes the vapors more distinguishable than usual. But if it is good king Rene whom you seek, you will find him at this time walking in his chimney. Do not be afraid of approaching him, for there never was a monarch so easy of access, especially to good-looking strangers like you, signory. But his ushers said Arthur will not admit me into his hall. His hall, repeated Tybalt, whose hall? White King Rene's, I apprehend. If he is walking in a chimney, it can only be in that of his hall and a stately one it must be to give him room for such exercise. You mistake my meaning, said the guide laughing. What we call King Rene's chimney is the narrow parapet yonder. It extends between those two towers, has an exposure to the south, and is sheltered in every other direction. Yonder it is his pleasure to walk and enjoy the beams of the sun on such cool mornings as the present. It nurses, he says, his poetical vein. If you approach his promenade, he will readily speak to you, unless, indeed, he is in the very act of a poetical composition. Arthur could not forbear smiling at the thoughts of a king, eighty years of age, broken down with misfortunes, and beset with dangers, who yet amused himself with walking in an open parapet and composing poetry in presence of all such of his loving subjects as chose to look on. If you will walk a few steps this way, said Tybalt, you may see the good king, and judge whether or not you will accost him at present. I will dispose of the people, and await your orders at the fountain in the corso. Arthur saw no objection to the proposal of his guide, and was not unwilling to have an opportunity of seeing something of the good king Rene, before he was introduced to his presence. I, this is he who wears the wreath of bays, wove by Apollo, and the sister's nine, which Jove's dread lightning scathes not, he hath doft the cumbrous helm of steel, and flung aside the yet more galling diadem of gold, while with a leafy circlet round his brows he reigns the king of lovers and of poets. A cautious approach to the chimney, that is the favorite walk of the king, who is described by Shakespeare as bearing the style of king of Naples, of both the Sicilies and Jerusalem, yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman, gave Arthur the perfect survey of his majesty in person. He saw an old man with locks and beard, which in amplitude and whiteness nearly rivaled those of the envoy from Schwitz, but with a fresh and ruddy color in his cheek, and an eye of great vivacity. His dress was showy to a degree almost inconsistent with his years, and his step not only firm, but full of alertness and vivacity, while occupied in traversing the short and sheltered walk, which he had chosen rather for comfort than for privacy, showed juvenile vigor, still animating an aged frame. The old king carried his tablets and a pencil in his hand, seeming totally abstracted in his own thoughts, and indifferent to being observed by several persons from the public street beneath his elevated promenade. Of these some from their dress and manner seemed themselves troubadours, for they held in their hands rebacks, rots, small portable harps, and other indications of their profession. Such appeared to be stationary as if engaged in observing and recording their remarks on the meditations of their prince. Other passengers, bent on their own more serious affairs, looked up to the king as to someone whom they were accustomed to see daily, but never passed without doffing their bonnets, and expressing by a suitable obeisance a respect and affection towards his person, which appeared to make up in cordiality of feeling what it wanted in deep and solemn deference. René in the meanwhile was apparently unconscious, both of the gaze of such as stood still, or the greeting of those who passed on, his mind seeming altogether engrossed with the apparent labour of some arduous task in poetry or music. He walked fast or slow as best suited the progress of composition. At times he stopped to mark hastily down on his tablets something which seemed to occur to him as deserving of preservation. At other times he dashed out what he had written and flung down the pencil as if in a sort of despair. On these occasions the sibiline leaf was carefully picked up by a beautiful page, his only attendant, who reverently observed the first suitable opportunity of restoring it again to his royal hand. The same youth bore a vial on which at a signal from his master he occasionally struck a few musical notes to which the old king listened, now with a soothed and satisfied air, now with a discontented and anxious brow. At times his enthusiasm rose so high that he even hopped and skipped with an activity which his years did not promise. At other times his motions were extremely slow and occasionally he stood still, like one wrapped in the deepest and most anxious meditation. When he chanced to look on the group which seemed to watch his motions and who ventured even to salute him with a murmur of applause, it was only to distinguish them with a friendly and good-humored nod, a salutation with which likewise he failed not to reply to the greeting of the occasional passengers when his earnest attention to his task, whatever it might be, permitted him to observe them. At length the royal eye lighted upon Arthur, whose attitude of silent observation and the distinction of his figure pointed him out as a stranger. René beckoned to his page who, receiving his master's commands in a whisper, descended from the royal chimney to the broader platform beneath which was open to general resort. The youth addressing Arthur with much courtesy informed him the king desired to speak with him. The young Englishman had no alternative but that of approaching, though pondering much in his own mind how he ought to comport himself towards such a singular specimen of royalty. When he drew near, King René addressed him in a tone of courtesy not unmingled with dignity, and Arthur's awe in his immediate presence was greater than he himself could have anticipated from his previous conception of the royal character. You are, from your appearance, fair sir, said King René, a stranger in this country. By what name must we call you, and to what business are we to ascribe the happiness of seeing you at our court? Arthur remained a moment silent, and the good old man, imputing it to awe and timidity, proceeded in an encouraging tone. Modesty in youth is ever commendable. You are doubtless and acolyte in the noble and joyous science of minstrelsy and music, drawn hither by the willing welcome which we afford to the professors of those arts, in which, praise be to our Lady and the Saints, we have ourselves been deemed a proficient. I do not aspire to the honors of a troubadour, answered Arthur. I believe you, answered the King, for your speech smacks of the northern, or Norman French, as is spoken in England and other unrefined nations, but you are a minstrel perhaps from these ultra-montane parts. Be assured we despise not their efforts, for we have listened, not without pleasure and instruction, to many of their bold and wild romance, which the rude in device and language, and therefore far inferior to the regulated poetry of our troubadours, have yet something in their powerful and rough measure which occasionally rouses the heart, like the sound of a trumpet. I have felt the truth of your grace's observation, when I have heard the songs of my country, said Arthur, but I have neither skill nor audacity to imitate what I admire. My latest residence has been in Italy. You are perhaps then a proficient in painting, said Rene, an art which applies itself to the eye as poetry and music due to the ear, and is scarcely less in esteem with us. If you are skillful in the art, you have come to a monarch who loves it, and the fair country in which it is practiced. In simple truth, Sire, I am an Englishman, and my hand has been too much welked and hardened by practice of the bow, the lance, and the sword to touch the harp, or even the pencil. An Englishman, said Rene, obviously relaxing in the warmth of his welcome. And what brings you here? England and I have long had little friendship together. It is even on that account that I am here, said Arthur. I come to pay my homage to your grace's daughter, the Princess Margaret of Anjou, whom I, and many true Englishmen, regard still as our Queen, though traitors have usurped her title. Alas, good youth, said Rene, I must grieve for you, while I respect your loyalty and faith, had my daughter Margaret, Ben of my mind, she had long since abandoned pretensions which have drowned in seas of blood the noblest and bravest of her adherents. The King seemed about to say more, but checked himself. Go to my palace, he said, inquire for the seneschal Hugh de Saint Sire. He will give thee the means of seeing Margaret, that is, if it be her will to see thee. If not good English youth, return to my palace, and thou shalt have hospitable entertainment. For a King who loves minstrelsy, music, and painting, is ever most sensible to the claims of honor, virtue, and loyalty, and I read in thy looks thou art possessed of these qualities, and willingly believe thou mayest, in more quiet times, aspire to share the honors of the joyous science. But if thou hast a heart to be touched by the sense of beauty and fair proportion, it will leap within thee at the first sight of my palace, the stately grace of which may be compared to the faultless form of some high-bred dame, or the artful yet seemingly simple modulations of such a tune as we have been now composing. The King seemed disposed to take his instrument and indulge the youth with a rehearsal of the strain he had just arranged, but Arthur at that moment experienced the painful internal feeling of that peculiar species of shame which well-constructed minds feel when they see others express a great assumption of importance with a confidence that they are exciting admiration when, in fact, they are only exposing themselves to ridicule. Arthur in short took leave in very shame of the King of Naples, both the Sicilies and Jerusalem, in a manner somewhat more abrupt than ceremony demanded. The King looked after him, with some wonder at this want of breeding, which, however, he imputed to his visitors' insular education, and then again began to twangle his vial. The old fool said Arthur, his daughter is dethroned, his dominions crumbling to pieces, his family on the eve of becoming extinct, his grandson driven from one lurking place to another, and expelled from his mother's inheritance, and he can find amusement in these properties. I thought him with his long white beard, like Nicholas Bonsteaden, but the old Swiss is a Solomon compared with him. As these and other reflections, highly disparaging to King Brené, passed through Arthur's mind, he reached the place of Rendezvous, and found Tybalt, beneath the steaming fountain, forced from one of those hot springs, which had been the delight of the Romans from an early period. Tybalt, having assured his master that his retinue, horse, and man were so disposed as to be ready on an instant's call, readily undertook to guide him to King Brené's palace, which from its singularity, and indeed its beauty of architecture, deserved the eulogium which the old monarch had bestowed upon it. The front consisted of three towers of Roman architecture, two of them being placed on the angles of the palace, and the third, which served the purpose of a mausoleum, forming a part of the group, though somewhat detached from the other buildings. This last was a structure of beautiful proportions. The lower part of the edifice was square, serving as a sort of pedestal to the upper part, which was circular, and surrounded by columns of massive granite. The other two towers at the angles of the palace were round, and also ornamented with pillars, and with a double row of windows. In front of and connected with these Roman remains, to which a date has been assigned as early as the fifth or sixth century, arose the ancient palace of the counts of province built a century or two later, but where a rich Gothic or Moorish front contrasted and yet harmonized with the more regular and massive architecture of the lords of the world, it is not more than thirty or forty years since this very curious remnant of antique art was destroyed to make room for new public buildings which have never yet been erected. Arthur really experienced some sensation of the kind which the old king had prophesied, and stood looking with wonder at the ever-open gate of the palace into which men of all kinds seemed to enter freely. After looking around for a few minutes, the young Englishman ascended the steps of a noble portico, and asked of a porter, as old and as lazy, as a great man's domestic ought to be, for the seneschal named to him by the king. The corpulent janitor, with great politeness, put the stranger under the charge of a page who ushered him to a chamber in which he found another aged functionary of higher rank, with a comely face, a clear composed eye, and a brow which, having never been knit into gravity, intimated that the seneschal of X was a proficient in the philosophy of his royal master. He recognized Arthur the moment he addressed him. You speak northern French, fair sir, you have lighter hair, and a fairer complexion than the natives of this country. You ask after Queen Margaret, by all these marks I read you English. Her grace of England is at this moment paying avow at the monastery of Mont Saint-Victor, and if your name be Arthur Philipson, I have commission to forward you to her presence immediately, that is, as soon as you have tasted of the royal provision. The young man would have remonstrated, but the seneschal left him no leisure. Meat and mass, he said, never hindered work. It is perilous to youth to journey too far on an empty stomach. He himself would take a mouthful with the Queen's guest and pledge him to boot in a flask of old hermitage. The board was covered with an alacrity which showed that hospitality was familiarly exercised in King Renee's dominions, pasties, dishes of game. The gallant boar's head and other delicacies were placed on the table, and the seneschal played the merry host, frequently apologizing unnecessarily, for showing an indifferent example, as it was his duty to carve before King Renee, and the good king was never pleased unless he saw him feed lustily as well as carve feely. But for you, sir Gast, eat freely, since you may not see food again till sunset, for the good queen takes her misfortunes so to heart that sighs are her food, and her tears a bottle of drink as the psalmist hath it. But I bethink me you will need steeds for yourself and your equipage to reach Mont Saint-Victor, which is seven miles from X. Arthur intimated that he had a guide and horses in attendance, and begged permission to take his adieu. The worthy seneschal, his fair round belly graced with a gold chain, accompanied him to the gate, with a step which a gentle fit of the gout had rendered uncertain, but which he assured Arthur would vanish before three days' use of the hot springs. Tybalt appeared before the gate, not with the tired steeds from which they had dismounted an hour since, but with fresh pilferies from the stable of the king. They are yours from the moment you have put foot in stirrup, said the seneschal. The good king Rene never received back, as his property, a horse which he had lent to a guest, and that is perhaps one reason why his highness and we of his household must walk often afoot. Here the seneschal exchanged greetings with his young visitor, who rode forth to seek Queen Margaret's place of temporary retirement at the celebrated monastery of Saint-Victor. He demanded of his guide, in which direction it lay, who pointed, with an air of triumph, to a mountain three thousand feet and upwards in height, which arose at five or six miles' distance from the town, and which its bold and rocky summit rendered the most distinguished object of the landscape. Tybalt spoke of it with unusual glee and energy so much so as to lead Arthur to conceive that his trusty squire had not neglected to avail himself of the lavish hospitality of Laban Roy Rene. Tybalt, however, continued to expatiate on the fame of the mountain and monastery. They derived their name, he said, from a great victory which was gained by a Roman general, named Chow Mario, against two large armies of Saracens, with ultra-montane names. The Tutans probably, and Cymbry, in gratitude to heaven for which victory, Chow Mario, vowed to build a monastery on the mountain for the service of the Virgin Mary, in honor of whom he had been baptized. With all the importance of a local connoisseur, Tybalt proceeded to prove his general assertion by specific facts. Yonder, he said, was the camp of the Saracens, from which, when the battle was apparently decided, their wives and women rushed with horrible screams, disheveled hair, and the gestures of furies, and for a time prevailed in stopping the flight of the men. He pointed out to the river for access to which, cut off by the superior generalship of the Romans, the barbarians whom he called Saracens, hazarded the action, and whose streams they imperpled with their blood. In short, he mentioned many circumstances which showed how accurately tradition will preserve the particulars of ancient events, even whilst forgetting, misdating, and confounding dates and persons. Perceiving that Arthur lent him a not unwilling ear, for it may be supposed that the education of a youth bred up in the heat of civil wars was not well qualified to criticize his account of the wars of a distant period. The Provencal, when he had exhausted this topic, drew up close to his master's side and asked in a suppressed tone whether he knew or was desirous of being made acquainted with the cause of Margaret's having left Aix to establish herself in the monastery of Saint Victor. For the accomplishment of a vow answered Arthur, all the world knows it, all Aix knows the contrary, said Tybalt, and I can tell you the truth, so I were sure it would not offend your signary. The truth can offend no reasonable man, so it be expressed in the terms of which Queen Margaret must be spoken in the presence of an Englishman. Thus replied Arthur, willing to receive what information he could gather and desirous at the same time to check the petulance of his attendant, I have nothing replied his follower to state in disparagement of the gracious Queen, whose only misfortune is that, like her royal father, she has more titles than towns. Besides, I know well that you Englishmen, though you speak wildly of your sovereign yourselves, will not permit others to fail in respect to them. Say on then, answered Arthur, your signary must know then, said Tybalt, that the good King Renée has been much disturbed by the deep melancholy which afflicted Queen Margaret, and has bent himself with all his power to change it into a gayer humor. He made entertainments in public and in private. He assembled minstrels and troubadours, whose music and poetry might have drawn smiles from one on his deathbed. The whole country resounded with mirth and glee, and the gracious Queen could not stir abroad in the most private manner. But before she had gone a hundred paces, she lighted on an ambush consisting of some pretty pageant or festivus murmury composed often by the good King himself, which interrupted her solitude in purpose of relieving her heavy thoughts with some pleasant pastime. But the Queen's deep melancholy rejected all these modes of dispelling it, and at length she confined herself to her own apartments, and absolutely refused to see even her royal father, because he generally brought into her presence those whose productions he thought likely to soothe her sorrow. Indeed she seemed to hear the harpers with loathing, and accepting one wandering Englishman, who sung a rude and melancholy ballad, which threw her into a flood of tears, and to whom she gave a chain of price, she never seemed to look at or be conscious of the presence of anyone. And at length, as I have had the honor to tell your signatory, she refused to see even her royal father, unless he came alone, and that he found no heart to do. I wonder not at it, said the young man, by the white swan, I am rather surprised his murmury drove her not to frenzy. Something like it indeed took place, said Tybalt, and I will tell your signatory how it chanced. You must know that good King Rene, unwilling to abandon his daughter to the foul fiend of melancholy, bethought him of making a grand effort. You must know further that the King, powerful in all the craft of troubadours and jonglers, is held in peculiar esteem for conducting mysteries, and other gamesome and delightful sports and processions with which our holy church permits her graver ceremonies to be relieved and diversified to the cheering of the hearts of all true children of religion. It is admitted that no one has ever been able to approach his excellence in the arrangement of the fate due, and the tune to which the devil's cudgel King Herod, to the great edification of all Christian spectators, is of our good King's royal composition. He hath danced at Terescone in the ballet of Saint Martha and the Dragon, and was accounted in his own person the only actor competent to present the Terescay. His highness introduced also a new ritual into the consecration of the boy bishop, and composed an entire set of grotesque music for the festival of asses. In short, his grace's strength lies in those pleasing and becoming festivities which strew the path of edification with flowers and send man dancing and singing on their way to heaven. Now the good King, Rene, feeling his own genius for such recreative compositions, resolved to exert it to the utmost in the hope that he might thereby relieve the melancholy in which his daughter was plunged, and which infected all that approached her. It chanced, some short time since, that the Queen was absent for certain days, I know not where, or on what business, but it gave the good King time to make his preparations, so when his daughter returned, he with much importunity prevailed on her to make part of a religious procession to Saint Savere, the principal church in Aix. The Queen innocent of what was intended decked herself with solemnity to witness and partake of what she expected would prove a work of grave piety. But no sooner had she appeared on the esplanade in front of the palace than more than a hundred masks dressed up like Turks, Jews, Saracens, Moors, and I know not whom, besides, crowded around to offer her their homage in the character of the Queen of Sheba, and a grotesque piece of music called them to arrange themselves for a ludicrous ballet, in which they addressed the Queen in the most entertaining manner and with the most extravagant gestures. The Queen stunned with the noise and affronted with the petulance of this unexpected onset would have gone back into the palace, but the doors had been shut by the King's order so soon as she set forth, and her retreat in that direction was cut off, finding herself excluded from the palace, the Queen advanced to the front of the façade and endeavored by signs and words to appease the hubbub. But the maskers, who had their instructions, only answered with songs, music, and shouts. I would, said Arthur, there had been a score of English yeoman in presence with their quarter-staves to teach the bawling villains respect for one that has worn the crown of England. All the noise that was made before was silence and soft music, continued Tybalt, till that, when the good King himself appeared, grotesquely dressed in the character of King Solomon. To whom, of all princes, he has the least resemblance, said Arthur, with such capers and gesticulations of welcome to the Queen of Sheba, as I am assured by those who saw it, would have brought a dead man alive again, or killed a living man with laughing. Among other properties he had in his hand a truncheon somewhat formed like a fool's bubble. A most fit scepter, for such a sovereign, said Arthur, which was headed, continued Tybalt, by a model of the Jewish temple, finely gilded and curiously cut in pasteboard. He managed this with the utmost grace and delighted every spectator by his gaiety and activity accepting the Queen, who, the more he skipped and capered, seemed to be the more incensed, until, on his approaching her to conduct her to the procession, she seemed roused to a sort of frenzy, struck the truncheon out of his hand, and breaking through the crowd, who felt as if a Tigris had leapt amongst them from a shulman's cart, rushed into the royal courtyard. Air the order of this scenic representation, which her violence had interrupted, could be restored, the Queen again issued forth, mounted and attended by two or three English cavaliers of her majesty's suite. She forced her way through the crowd, without regarding either their safety or her own, flew like a hailstorm along the streets, and never drew bridle till she was as far up this same Mont Saint-Victor as the road would permit. She was then received into the convent, and has since remained there, and a vow of penance is the pretext to cover over the quarrel betwixt her and her father. How long may it be, said Arthur, since these things chanced. It is but three days since Queen Margaret left X in the manner I have told you, but we are come as far up the mountain as men usually ride. See, yonder is the monastery rising betwixt to huge rocks, which form the very top of Mont Saint-Victor. There is no more open ground than is afforded by the cleft into which the convent of Saint Mary a victory is, as it were, niched. And the excess is guarded by the most dangerous precipices. To ascend the mountain, you must keep that narrow path, which winding and turning among the cliffs leads at length to the summit of the hill and the gate of the monastery. And what becomes of you and the horses, said Arthur, we will rest, said Tybalt, in the hospital maintained by the good fathers at the bottom of the mountain, for the accommodation of those who attend on pilgrims. For I promise you, the shrine is visited by many who come from afar, and are attended both by man and horse. Care not for me, I shall be first under cover. But there muster yonder in the west some threatening clouds, from which your signori may suffer inconvenience, unless you reach the convent I will give you an hour to do the feat, and will say you are as active as a shammy hunter if you reach it within the time. Arthur looked around him, and did indeed remark a mustering of clouds in the distant west, which threatened soon to change the character of the day, which had hitherto been brilliantly clear, and so serene that the falling of a leaf might have been heard. He therefore turned him to the steep and rocky path, which ascended the mountain, sometimes by scaling almost precipitous rocks, and sometimes by reaching their tops by a more circuitous process. It winded through thickets of wild boxwood and other low aromatic shrubs, which afforded some pasture for the mountain goats, but were a bitter annoyance to the traveler who had to press through them. Such obstacles were so frequent that the full hour allowed by Tybalt had elapsed before he stood on the summit of Mont Saint-Victor, and in front of the singular convent of the same name. We have already said that the crest of the mountain, consisting entirely of one bare and solid rock, was divided by a cleft or opening into two heads or peaks between which the convent was built, occupying all the space between them. The front of the building was of the most ancient and somber cast of the old Gothic, or rather, as it has been termed, the Saxon, and in that respect corresponded with the savage exterior of the naked cliffs, of which the structure seemed to make a part, and by which it was entirely surrounded, accepting a small open space of more level ground, where at the expense of much toil, and by carrying earth up the hill from different spots where they could collect it in small quantities, the goodfathers had been able to arrange the accommodations of a garden. Abel summoned a lay brother, the porter of this singularly situated monastery, to whom Arthur announced himself as an English merchant, Phillipson by name, who came to pay his duty to Queen Margaret. The porter, with much respect, showed the stranger into the convent, and ushered him into a parlor, which, looking towards Aix, commanded an extensive and splendid prospect over the southern and western parts of province. This was the direction in which Arthur had approached the mountain from Aix, but the circuitous path by which he had ascended had completely carried him around the hill. The western side of the monastery, to which the parlor looked, commanded the noble view we have mentioned, and a species of balcony, which, connecting the two twin crags at this place, not above four or five yards asunder, ran along the front of the building, and appeared to be constructed for the purpose of enjoying it. But on stepping from one of the windows of the parlor upon this battle-mented bartizan, Arthur became aware that the wall on which the parapet rested stretched along the edge of a precipice, which sank sheer down five hundred feet, at least from the foundations of the convent, surprised and startled at finding himself on so giddy a verge, Arthur turned his eyes from the gulf beneath him to admire the distant landscape, partly illumined with ominous luster by the now westerly sun. The setting beams showed in dark red splendor a vast variety of hill and dale, champagne, and cultivated ground, with towns, churches, and castles, some of which rose from among trees, while others seem founded on rocky eminences, others again lurked by the side of streams or lakes, to which the heat and drought of the climate naturally attracted them. The rest of the landscape presented similar objects when the weather was serene, but they were now rendered indistinct, or altogether obliterated by the sullen shade of the approaching clouds, which gradually spread over great part of the horizon, and threatened altogether to eclipse the sun, though the lord of the horizon still struggled to maintain his influence, and like a dying hero seemed most glorious even in the moment of defeat. Wild sounds like groans and howls formed by the wind in the numerous caverns of the rocky mountain added to the terrors of the scene, and seemed to foretell the fury of some distant storm, though the air in general was even unnaturally calm and breathless. Engazing on this extraordinary scene, Arthur did justice to the monks who had chosen this wild and grotesque situation from which they could witness nature in her wildest and grandest demonstrations, and compare the nothingness of humanity with her awful convulsions. So much was Arthur awed by the scene before him that he had almost forgotten, while gazing from the partisan, the important business which had brought him to this place, when it was suddenly recalled by finding himself in the presence of Margaret of Anjou, who not seeing him in the parlor of reception had stepped upon the balcony that she might meet with him the sooner. The queen's dress was black without any ornament except a gold coronal of an inch in breadth, restraining her long black tresses of which advancing years and misfortunes had partly altered the hue. There was placed within the circlet a black plume with a red rose the last of the season which the good father who kept the garden had presented to her that morning as the badge of her husband's house. Care, fatigue, and sorrow seemed to dwell on her brow and her features. To another messenger she would in all probability have administered a sharp rebuke for not being alert in his duty to receive her as she entered. But Arthur's age and appearance corresponded with that of her loved and lost son. He was the son of a lady whom Margaret had loved with almost sisterly affection, and the presence of Arthur continued to excite in the dethroned queen the same feelings of maternal tenderness which had been awakened on their first meeting in the cathedral of Strasbourg. She raised him, as he kneeled at her feet, spoke to him with much kindness, and encouraged him to detail at full length his father's message, and such other news as his brief residence at Dijon had made him acquainted with. She demanded which way Duke Charles had moved with his army. As I was given to understand by the master of his artillery, said Arthur, towards the lake of Neufchâtel, on which side he proposes his first attack on the Swiss. The headstrong fool, said Queen Margaret, he resembles the poor lunatic who went to the summit of the mountain that he might meet the rain halfway. Does thy father then, continued Margaret, advise me to give up the last remains of the extensive territories once the dominions of our royal house, and for some thousand crowns and the paltry aid of a few hundred lances, to relinquish what is left of our patrimony to our proud and selfish kinsmen of Burgundy, who extends his claim to our all, and affords so little help, or even promise of help, in return. I should have ill discharged my father's commission, said Arthur, if I had left your highness to think that he recommends so great a sacrifice, he feels most deeply the Duke of Burgundy's grasping desire of dominion. Nevertheless, he thinks that Provence must, on King Renee's death, or sooner, fall either to the share of Duke Charles or to Louis of France, whatever opposition your highness may make to such a destination. And it may be that my father, as a knight and a soldier, hopes much from obtaining the means to make another attempt on Britain. But the decision must rest with your highness. Young man, said the queen, the contemplation of a question so doubtful, almost deprives me of reason. As she spoke, she sank down, as one who needs rest, on a stone seat placed on the very verge of the balcony, regardless of the storm, which now began to rise with dreadful gusts of wind, the course of which being intermittent and altered by the crags round which they howled, it seemed as if in very deed Boreus and Eurus and Chorus unchaining the winds from every quarter of heaven, were contending for mastery around the convent of Our Lady of Victory. Amid this tumult, and amid billows of mist, which concealed the bottom of the precipice, and masses of clouds which wracked fearfully over their heads, the roar of the descending waters rather resembled the fall of cataracts than the rushing of torrents of rain. The seat on which Margaret had placed herself was in a considerable degree sheltered from the storm, but its eddies varying in every direction often tossed aloft her disheveled hair, and we cannot describe the appearance of her noble and beautiful, yet ghastly and wasted features agitated strongly by anxious hesitation and conflicting thoughts, unless to those of our readers who have had the advantage of having seen our inimitable sit-ins in such a character as this. Arthur, confounded by anxiety and terror, could only beseech her majesty to retire before the fury of the approaching storm into the interior of the convent. No, she replied with firmness, roofs and walls have ears and monks, though they have foresworn the world, are not the less curious to know what passes beyond their selves. It is in this place you must hear what I have to say. As a soldier you should scorn a blast of wind or a shower of rain, and to me, who have often held counsel amidst the sound of trumpets and clash of arms, prompt for instant flight, the war of elements is an unnoticed trifle. I tell thee, young Arthur Ver, as I would to your father, as I would to my son, if indeed heaven had left such a blessing to a wretch forlorn. She paused and then proceeded, I tell thee, as I would have told my beloved Edward, that Margaret, whose resolutions were once firm and immovable as these rocks among which we are placed, is now doubtful and variable as the clouds which are drifting around us. I told your father, in the joy of meeting once more a subject of such inappreciable loyalty of the sacrifices I would make to assure the assistance of Charles of Burgundy to so gallant and undertaking as that proposed to him by the faithful Oxford. But since I saw him I have had cause of deep reflection. I met my aged father only to offend, and I say it with shame to insult the old man in presence of his people. Our tempers are as opposed as the sunshine, which a short space since gilded a serene and beautiful landscape differs from the tempest which are now wasting it. I spurned with open scorn and contempt what he, in his mistaken affection, had devised for means of consolation, and disgusted with the idle follies which he had devised for curing the melancholy of a dethroned queen, a widowed spouse, and alas a childless mother, I retired hither from the noisy and idle mirth which was the bitterest aggravation of my sorrows. Such and so gentle is Renee's temper that even my unfilial conduct will not diminish my influence over him. And if your father had announced that the Duke of Burgundy, like a knight and a sovereign, had cordially and nobly entered into the plan of the faithful Oxford, I could have found it in my heart to obtain the session of territory his cold and ambitious policy requires in order to ensure the assistance which he now postpones to afford till he has gratified his own haughty humor by settling needless quarrels with his unoffending neighbors. Since I have been here, and calmness and solitude have given me time to reflect, I have thought on the offenses I have given the old man, and on the wrongs I was about to do him. My father, let me do him justice, is also the father of his people. They have dwelt under their vines and fig trees in ignoble ease, perhaps, but free from oppression and exaction, and their happiness has been that of their good king. Must I change all this? Must I aid in turning over these contented people to a fierce, headlong, arbitrary prince? May I not break even the easy and thoughtless heart of my poor old father? Should I succeed in urging him to do so? These are questions which I shudder even to ask myself, on the other hand, to disappoint the toils, the venturous hopes of your father, to forgo the only opportunity which may ever again offer itself of revenge on the bloody traitors of York and restoration of the house of Lancaster. Arthur, the scene around us is not so convulsed by the fearful tempest and the driving clouds as my mind is by doubt and uncertainty. Alas, replied Arthur, I am too young and inexperienced to be your Majesty's advisor in a case so arduous I would my father had been in presence himself. I know what he would have said, replied the Queen, but knowing all, I despair of aid from human counsellors. I have sought others, but they also are deaf to my entreaties. Yes, Arthur, Margaret's misfortunes have rendered her superstitious. Know that beneath these rocks and under the foundation of this convent, there runs a cavern, entering by a secret and defended passage, a little to the westward of the summit, and running through the mountain, having an opening to the south, from which, as from this partisan, you can view the landscape so lately seen from this balcony, or the strife of winds and confusion of clouds, which we now behold. In the middle of this cavernous thoroughfare is a natural pit, or perforation, of great but unknown depth, a stone dropped into it is heard to dash from side to side, until the noise of its descent thundering from cliff to cliff dies away in distant and faint tinkling, less loud than that of a sheep-spell at a miles distance. The common people, in their jargon, call this fearful gulf Lou Garagoyle, and the traditions of the monastery annex wild and fearful recollections to a place in itself sufficiently terrible. Oracles, it is said, spoke from fence in pagan days by subterranean voices arising from the abyss, and from these the Roman general is said to have heard in strange and uncouth rhymes promises of the victory which gives name to this mountain. These oracles, it is avirred, may be yet consulted after performance of strange rites in which heathen ceremonies are mixed with Christian acts of devotion. The abbots of Mont Saint-Victor have denounced the consultation of Lou Garagoyle and the spirits who reside there to be criminal, but as the sin may be expiated by presence to the church by masses and penances, the door is sometimes opened by the complacent fathers to those whose daring curiosity leads them at all risks and by whatever means to search into futurity. Arthur, I have made the experiment and am even now returned from the gloomy cavern in which, according to the traditional ritual, I have spent six hours by the margin of the gulf, a place so dismal that after its horrors, even this tempestuous scene is refreshing. The queen stopped and Arthur, the more struck with the wild tale that it reminded him of his place of imprisonment at La Fourette, asked anxiously if her inquiries had obtained any answer. None whatever replied the unhappy princess, the demons of Garagoyle, if there be such, are deaf to the suit of an unfortunate wretch like me, to whom neither friends nor fiends will afford counsel or assistance. It is my father's circumstances, which prevent my instant and strong resolution. Were my own claims on this piping and paltry nation of troubadours alone interested, I could, for the chance of once more setting my foot in merry England as easily and willingly resigned them and their paltry coronet as I commit to the storm this idle emblem of the royal rank which I have lost. As Margaret spoke, she tore from her hair the sable feather and rose which the tempest had detached from the circlet in which they were placed and tossed them from the battlement with a gesture of wild energy. They were instantly whirled off in a bickering eddy of the agitated clouds which swept the feather far distant into empty space through which the eye could not pursue it. But while that of Arthur involuntarily strove to follow its course, a contrary gust of wind caught the red rose and drove it back against his breast so that it was easy for him to catch hold of and retain it. Joy, joy, and good fortune, royal mistress, he said, returning to her the emblematic flower, the tempest brings back the badge of Lancaster to its proper owner. I accept the omen, said Margaret, but it concerns yourself, noble youth, and not me, the feather which is borne away to waste and desolation is Margaret's emblem. My eyes will never see the restoration of the line of Lancaster, but you will live to behold it and to aid to achieve it and to dye our red rose deeper yet in the blood of tyrants and traitors. My thoughts are so strangely poised that a feather or a flower may turn the scale. But my head is still giddy and my heart sick. Tomorrow you shall see another Margaret, and till then adieu. It was time to retire, for the tempest began to be mingled with fiercer showers of rain. When they re-entered the parlor, the queen clapped her hands and two female attendants entered. Let the father Abbot know, she said, that it is our desire that this young gentleman receive for this night such hospitality as befits an esteemed friend of ours, till tomorrow, young sir, farewell. With accountants which betrayed not the late emotion of her mind and with a stately courtesy that would have become her when she graced the halls of Windsor, she extended her hand, which the youth saluted respectfully. After her leaving the parlor, the Abbot entered, and in his attention to Arthur's entertainment and accommodation for the evening, showed his anxiety to meet and obey Queen Margaret's wishes. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of Anne of Geyerstein, Volume 2 by Sir Walter Scott. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Dionne Jines, Salt Lake City, Utah. Want you a man experienced in the world and its affairs? Here he is for your purpose. He's a monk. He hath foresworn the world and all its work, the rather that he knows it passing well, special the worst of it, for he's a monk, old play. While the dawn of the morning was yet gray, Arthur was awakened by a loud ringing at the gate of the monastery, and presently afterwards the porter entered the cell which had been allotted to him for his lodgings, to tell him that if his name was Arthur Philipson, a brother of their order had brought him dispatches from his father. The youth started up, hastily attired himself, and was introduced, in the parlor, to a Carmelite monk, being of this same order with the community of St. Victor. I have written many a mile, young man, to present you with this letter, said the monk, having undertaken to your father that it should be delivered without delay. I came to eggs last night, during the storm, and learning at the palace that you had written hither, I mounted as soon as the tempest abated, and here I am. I am beholden to you, father, said the youth, and if I could repay your pains with a small donative to your convent. By no means answered the good father I took my personal trouble out of friendship to your father, and mine own errand led me this way. The expenses of my long journey have been amply provided for, but open your packet, and I can answer your questions at leisure. The young man accordingly stepped into an embrasure of the window, and read as follows, Son Arthur, touching the state of the country in so far as concerns the safety of traveling, know that the same is precarious. The duke hath taken the towns of Brie and Granson, and put to death five hundred men whom he made prisoners in garrison there. But the Confederates are approaching with a large force, and God will judge for the right. Howsoever the game may go, these are sharp wars in which little quarter is spoken of on either side, and therefore there is no safety for men of our profession, till something decisive shall happen. In the meantime you may assure the widowed lady that our correspondent continues well disposed to purchase the property which she has in hand, but will scarce be able to pay the price till his present pressing affairs shall be settled, which I hope will be in time to permit us to embark the funds in the profitable adventure I told our friend of. I have employed a friar traveling to province to carry this letter, which I trust will come safe. The bearer may be trusted. Your affectionate father, John Phillipson. Arthur easily comprehended the latter part of the epistle, and rejoiced he had received it at so critical a moment. He questioned the Carmelite on the amount of the duke's army, which the monk stated to amount to sixty thousand men, while he said the Confederates, though making every exertion, had not yet been able to assemble the third part of that number. The young Ferrand de Vautamont was with their army, and had received, it was thought, some secret assistance from France, but as he was little known in arms, and had few followers, the empty title of general, which he bore, added little to the strength of the Confederates, upon the whole, he reported that every chance appeared to be in favor of Charles, and Arthur, who looked upon his success as presenting the only chance in favor of his father's enterprise, was not a little pleased to find it insured, as far as depended on a great superiority of force. He had no leisure to make further inquiries for the queen at the moment entered the apartment, and the Carmelite, learning her quality, withdrew from her presence in deep reverence. The paleness of her complexion still bespoke the fatigues of the day preceding, but as she graciously bestowed on Arthur the greetings of the morning, her voice was firm, her eye clear, and her countenance steady. I meet you, she said, not as I left you, but determined in my purpose. I am satisfied that if Rene does not voluntarily yield up his throne of province, by some step, like that which we propose, he will be hurled from it by violence, in which, it may be, his life will not be spared. We will, therefore, to work with all speed. The worst is that I cannot leave this convent till I have made the necessary penances for having visited the garagoyle without performing which I were no Christian woman. When you return to Aix, inquire at the palace for my secretary, with whom this line will give you credence. I have, even before this door of hope opened to me, endeavored to form an estimate of King Rene's situation, and collected the documents for that purpose. Tell him to send me, duly sealed, and under fitting charge, the small cabinet hooped with silver. Hours of penance for past errors may be employed to prevent others, and from the contents of that cabinet I shall learn whether I am, in this weighty matter, sacrificing my father's interests to my own half-desperate hopes. But of this I have little or no doubt I can cause the deeds of resignation and transference to be drawn up here under my own direction, and arrange the execution of them when I return to Aix, which shall be the first moment after my penance is concluded. And this letter, gracious madam, said Arthur, will inform you what events are approaching, and of what importance it may be to take time by the forelock. Place me but in possession of these momentous deeds, and I will travel night and day till I reach the duke's camp. I shall find him most likely in the moment of victory, and with his heart too much open to refuse a boon to the royal kinswoman who is surrendering to him all. We will, we must, in such an hour, obtain princely soccers, and we shall soon see if the licentious Edward of York, the savage Richard, the treacherous and perjured Clarence, are hereafter to be lords of merry England, or whether they must give place to a more rightful sovereign and better man. But, oh, royal madam, all depends on haste. True, yet a few days may, nay, must cast the die between Charles and his opponents, and ere making so great a surrender. It were, as well, to be assured that he whom we would propitiate is in capacity to assist us. All the events of a tragic and varied life have led me to see there is no such thing as an inconsiderable enemy. I will make haste, however, trusting in the interim we may have good news from the banks of the lake at Neufchâtel. But who shall be employed to draw these most important deeds? said the young man. Margaret mused ere she replied, The father guardian is complacent, and I think faithful, but I would not willingly repose confidence in one of the proven call monks. Stay, let me think. Your father says the Carmelite, who brought the letter, may be trusted. He shall do the turn. He is a stranger, and will be silent for a piece of money. Farewell, Arthur Devere, you will be treated with all hospitality by my father. If thou dost receive further tidings, thou wilt let me know them. Or should I have instructions to send, thou wilt hear from me. So, benet decide. Arthur proceeded to wind down the mountain at a much quicker pace than he had ascended on the day before. The weather was now gloriously serene, and the beauties of vegetation in a country where it never totally slumbers were at once delicious and refreshing. His thoughts wandered from the crags of Mont St. Victor to the cliff of the canton of Unterwalden, and fancy recalled the moments when his walks through such scenery were not solitary, but when there was a form by his side whose simple beauty was engraved on his memory. Such thoughts were of a preoccupying nature, and I grieve to say that they entirely drowned the recollection of the mysterious caution given him by his father, intimating that Arthur might not be able to comprehend such letters as he should receive from him till they were warmed before a fire. The first thing which reminded him of this singular caution was the seeing of a chafing dish of charcoal in the kitchen of the hostelry at the bottom of the mountain, where he found Tybalt and his horses. This was the first fire which he had seen since receiving his father's letter, and it reminded him not unnaturally of what the Earl had recommended. Great was his surprise to see that, after exposing the paper to the fire, as if to dry it, a word emerged in an important passage of the letter, and the concluding words now read, the bearer may not be trusted. While night choked with shame and vexation, Arthur could think of no other remedy than instantly to return to the convent and acquaint the queen with this discovery, which he hoped still to convey to her in time to prevent any risk being incurred by the Carmelite's treachery. Incensed at himself and eager to redeem his fault, he bent his manly breast against the steep hill, which was probably never scaled in so short time as by the young heir of Devere. For within forty minutes from his commencing the ascent, he stood breathless and panting in the presence of Queen Margaret, who was alike surprised at his appearance and his exhausted condition. Trust not the Carmelite, he exclaimed, you are betrayed, noble queen, and it is by my negligence. Here is my dagger, bid me strike it into my heart. Margaret demanded and obtained a more special explanation, and when it was given, she said, it is an unhappy chance, but your father's instructions ought to have been more distinct. I have told Yonder Carmelite the purpose of the contracts, and engaged with him to draw them. He has but now left me to serve at the choir. There is no withdrawing the confidence I have unhappily placed, but I can easily prevail with the Father Guardian to prevent the monk from leaving the convent till we are indifferent to his secrecy. It is our best chance to secure it, and we will take care that what inconvenience he sustains by his detention shall be well recompensed. Meanwhile rest thou, good Arthur, and undo the throat of thy mantle. Poor youth, thou art well nigh exhausted, with thy haste. Arthur obeyed and sat down on a seat in the parlor, for the speed which he had exerted rendered him almost incapable of standing. If I could but see, he said, the false monk, I would find a way to charm him to secrecy. Better leave him to me, said the queen, and in a word I forbid you to meddle with him. The coiff can treat better with the cowl than the cask can do. Say no more of him. I joy to see you wear around your neck the holy relic I bestowed on you. But what moreish charmlet is that you wear beside it? Alas, I need not ask. Your heightened color, almost as deep as when you entered a quarter of an hour hence, confesses a true love token. Alas, poor boy, hast thou not only such a share of thy country's woes to bear, but also thine own load of affliction, not the less poignant now, that future time will show thee how fantastic it is. Margaret of Anjou could once have aided wherever thy affections were placed, but now she can only contribute to the misery of her friends, not to their happiness. But this lady of the charm, Arthur, is she fair, is she wise and virtuous, is she of noble birth, and does she love? She perused his countenance with the glance of an eagle, and continued, to all thou wouldst answer yes, if shame-facedness permitted thee. Love her then, in turn, my gallant boy, for love is the parent of brave actions. Go, my noble youth, highborn and loyal, valorous and virtuous, enamored and youthful, to what mayest thou not rise, the chivalry of ancient Europe only lives in a bosom like thine. Go and let the praises of a queen fire thy bosom with the love of honor and achievement. In three days we meet at X. Arthur, highly gratified with the queen's condescension, once more left her presence. Returning down the mountain, with a speed very different from that which he had used in the ascent, he again found his proven call squire, who had remained in much surprise at witnessing the confusion in which his master had left the inn almost immediately after he had entered it, without any apparent haste or agitation. Arthur explained his hasty return by alleging he had forgot his purse at the convent. Nay, in that case, said Tybalt, considering what you left and where you left it, I do not wonder at your speed, though our ladies save me, as I never saw living creature save a goat with a wolf at his heels make his way over crag and briars with half such rapidity as you did. They reached X after about an hour's writing, and Arthur lost no time in waiting upon the good king Rene, who gave him a kind reception, both in respect of the letter from the Duke of Burgundy, and in consideration of his being an Englishman, the avowed subject of the unfortunate Margaret. The placable monarch soon forgave his young guest the want of complacence with which he had eschewed to listen to his compositions, and Arthur speedily found that to apologize for his want of breeding in that particular was likely to lead to a great deal more rehearsing than he could find patience to tolerate. He could only avoid the old king's extreme desire to recite his own poems and perform his own music by engaging him in speaking of his daughter Margaret. Arthur had been sometimes induced to doubt the influence which the queen boasted herself to possess over her aged father, but on being acquainted with him personally he became convinced that her powerful understanding and violent passions inspired the feeble-minded and passive king with a mixture of pride, affection, and fear which united to give her the most ample authority over him. Although she had parted with him but a day or two since, and in a manner so ungracious on her side, Rene was as much overjoyed at hearing of the probability of her speedy return as the fondest father could have been at the prospect of being reunited to the most dutiful child whom he had not seen for years. The old king was impatient as a boy for the day of her arrival and still strangely unenlightened on the difference of her taste from his own. He was with difficulty induced to lay aside a project of meeting her in the character of old Polymon, the prince of shepherds, and their pride at the head of an arcadian procession of nymphs and swans to inspire whose choral dances and songs every pipe and tambourine in the country was to be placed in requisition. Even the old Seneschal, however, intimated his disapprobation of this species of joyous entree so that Rene suffered himself at length to be persuaded that the queen was too much occupied by the religious impressions to which she had been of late exposed to receive any agreeable sensation from sights or sounds of levity. The king gave way to reasons which he could not sympathize with and thus Margaret escaped the shock of welcome which would perhaps have driven her in her impatience back to the mountain of St. Victor and the sable cavern of Lou Garagoyle. During the time of her absence the days of the court of province were employed in sports and rejoicings of every description, tilting at the barrier with blunted spears, riding at the ring, parties for hair hunting and falconry frequented by the youth of both sexes in the company of whom the king delighted while the evenings were consumed in dancing and music. Arthur could not but be sensible that not long since all this would have made him perfectly happy, but the last months of his existence had developed his understanding and passions. He was now initiated in the actual business of human life and looked on its amusements with an air of something like contempt so that among the young and gay noblesse who composed this merry court he acquired the title of the youthful philosopher which was not bestowed upon him it may be supposed as inferring anything of peculiar compliment. On the fourth day news was received by an express messenger that Queen Margaret would enter eggs before the hour of noon to resume her residence in her father's palace. The good king Renee seemed as it drew nigh to fear the interview with his daughter as much as he had previously desired it and contrived to make all around him partake of his fidgety anxiety. He tormented his steward and cooks to recollect what dishes they had ever observed her to taste of with approbation. He pressed the musicians to remember the tunes which she approved and when one of them boldly replied he had never known her majesty endure any strain with patience the old monarch threatened to turn him out of his service for slandering the taste of his daughter. The banquet was ordered to be served at half past eleven as if accelerating it would have had the least effect upon hurrying the arrival of the expected guests and the old king with his napkin over his arm traversed the hall from window to window wearing everyone with questions whether they saw anything of the Queen of England exactly as the bells told noon the Queen with a very small retinue chiefly English and in mourning habits like herself rode into the town of eggs King Renee at the head of his court failed not to descend from the front of his stately palace and move along the street to meet his daughter lofty proud and jealous of incurring ridicule Margaret was not pleased with this public greeting in the marketplace but she was desirous at present to make amends for her late petulance and therefore she descended from her palfry and although something shocked at seeing Renee equipped with a napkin she humbled herself to bend the knee to him asking at once his blessing and forgiveness thou hast thou hast my blessing my suffering dove said the simple king to the proudest and most impatient princess that ever wept for a lost crown and for thy pardon how canst thou ask it who never ditched me an offense since God made me father to so gracious a child rise I say rise nay it is for me to ask thy pardon true I said in my ignorance and thought within myself that my heart had indicted a goodly thing but it vexed thee it is therefore for me to crave pardon and down sank good King Renee upon both knees and the people who are usually captivated with anything resembling the trick of the scene applauded with much noise and some smothered laughter a situation in which the royal daughter and her parent seemed about to rehearse the scene of the roman charity margaret sensitively alive to shame and fully aware that her present position was sufficiently ludicrous in its publicity at least signed sharply to arthur whom she saw in the king's suite to come to her and using his arm to rise she muttered to him aside and in english to what saint shall I vow myself that I may preserve patience when I so much need it for pity's sake royal madam recall your firmness of mind and composure whispered her asguire who felt at the moment more embarrassed than honored by his distinguished office for he could feel that the queen actually trembled with vexation and impatience they at length resumed their route to the palace the father and daughter arm in arm a posture most agreeable to margaret who could bring herself to endure her father's effusions of tenderness and the general tone of his conversation so that he was not overheard by others in the same manner she bore with laudable patience the teasing attentions which he addressed to her at table noticed some of his particular courtiers inquired after others led the way to his favorite subjects of conversation on poetry painting and music till the good king was as much delighted with the unwanted civilities of his daughter as ever was lover with the favorable confessions of his mistress when after years of warm courtship the ice of her bosom is at length thought it cost the haughty margaret an effort to bend herself to play this part her pride rebuked her for stooping to flatter her father's foibles in order to bring him over to the resignation of his dominions yet having undertaken to do so and so much having been already hazarded upon this so remaining chance of success in an attack upon england she saw or was willing to see no alternative betwixt the banquet and the ball by which it was to be followed the queen sought an opportunity of speaking to arthur bad news my sage counselor she said the carmelite never returned to the convent after the service was over having learned that you had come back in great haste he had i suppose concluded he might stand in suspicion so he loved the convent of mont saint victor we must hasten the measures which your majesty has resolved to adopt answered arthur i will speak with my father tomorrow meanwhile you must enjoy the pleasures of the evening for to you they may be pleasures young lady of boys galin i give you this cavalier to be your partner for the evening the black eyed and pretty proven call curtsied with due decorum and glanced at the handsome young englishman with an eye of approbation but whether afraid of his character as a philosopher or his doubtful rank added the saving clause if my mother approves your mother damsel will scarce i think disapprove of any partner whom you receive from the hands of margaret of anju happy privilege of youth she added with a sigh as the youthful couple went off to take their place in the brancel which can snatch a flower even on the roughest road arthur acquitted himself so well during the evening that perhaps the young countess was only sorry that so gay and handsome a gallant limited his compliments and attentions within the cold bounds of that courtesy enjoined by the rules of ceremony end of chapter 13