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