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WALLACE, having separated from the Prince
Royal of France, pursued his solitary way towards the capital of Normandy,
till night overtook him ere he was aware. Clouds so obscured the sky, that
not a star was visible; and his horse, terrified at the impenetrable
darkness, and the difficulties of the path, which lay over a barren and
stony moor, suddenly stopped. This aroused Wallace from a long fit of
musing, to look around him. But on which side lay the road to Rouen, he
could form no guess. To pass the night
in so exposed a spot, might be dangerous; and spurring the animal, he
determined to push onward.
He had ridden nearly
another hour, when the dead silence of the scene was broken by the roll of
distant thunder. Then forked lightning shooting from the horizon, showed a
line of country unmarked by any vestige of human habitation. Still be
proceeded. The storm approached; till breaking in peals over his head, it
discharged such sheets of livid fire at his feet, that the horse reared ;
and plunging amidst the blaze, flashed the light of his rider’s armour,
on the eyes of a troop of horsemen, who also stood under the tempest,
gazing with afright at the scene. Wallace, by the same transitory
illumination, saw the travellers, as they seemed to start back at his
appearance; and, mistaking their apprehension, he called to them, that his
well-managed, though terrified steed, would do theirs no harm. One of them
advanced, and respectfully inquired of him the way to Rouen. Wallace
replied, that he was a stranger in this part of the country; and was also
seeking that city. While he was yet speaking, the thunder became more
tremendous; and the lightning rolling in volumes along the ground, the
horses of the troop became restive; and one of them threw its rider. Cries
of lamentation, mingling with the groans of the fallen persons excited the
compassion of Wallace. He rode towards the spot whence the latter
proceeded, and asked the nearest bystander (for several had alighted)
whether the unfortunate man were much hurt? The answer returned was full
of alarm for the sufferer, and anxiety to obtain some place of shelter;
for rain began to fall. In a few minutes it increased to torrents; and the
lightning ceasing, deepened the horrors of the scene, by preventing the
likelihood of discovering any human abode. The men gathered round their
fallen companion, bewailing the prospect of his perishing under these
inclemencies; but Wallace cheered them, by saying he would seek a shelter for
their friend, and blow his bugle when he had found one. With the word, he
turned, his horse, and as he galloped along, called aloud on any Christian
man who might live near, to open his doors to a dying traveller! After
riding about in all directions, he saw a glimmering light for a moment,
and then all was darkness; but again he cried aloud for charity! and a
shrill female voice answered, "I am a lone woman, with already one
poor traveller in my house; but, for the Virgin’s sake, I will open my
door to you, whatever you may be." The good woman relit her lamp,
which the rain had extinguished; and on her unlatching her door, Wallace
briefly related what had happened; entreating her permission to bring the
unfortunate person into the cottage. She readily consented; and giving him
a lantern to guide his way, he blew his bugle; which was instantly
answered by so glad, and loud a shout, that it assured him his companions
could not be far distant; and that he must have made many a useless
circuit, before he had stopped at this charitable door.
The men directed him
through the darkness by their voices; for the lantern threw its beams but
a very little way; and arriving at their side, by his assistance the
bruised traveller was brought to the cottage. It was a poor hovel: but the
good woman had spread a clean woollen coverlet over her own bed, in the
inner chamber; and thither Wallace carried the invalid. He seemed in great
pain; but his kind conductor answered their hostess’s inquiries
respecting him, with a belief that no bones were broken. "But
yet," cried she, "sad may be the effects of internal bruises, on
so emaciated a frame. I will venture to disturb my other guest, who sleeps
in the loft, and bring down a decoction that I keep there. It is made from
simple herbs, and I am sure will be of service."
The old woman having showed
to the attendants, where they might put their
horses under shelter of a shed which projected from the cottage, ascended
a few steps to the chamber above. Meanwhile the Scottish chief, assisted
by one of the men, disengaged the sufferer from his wet garments, and
covered him with the blankets of the bed. Recovered to recollection, by
the comparative comfort of his bodily feelings, the stranger opened his
eyes. He fixed them on Wallace, then looked around, and turned to Wallace
again. "Generous knight!" cried he, "I have nothing but
thanks to offer, for this kindness. You seem to be of the highest rank,
and yet have succoured one whom the world abjures!" The knight
returned a courteous answer, and the invalid in a paroxysm of emotion
added, "Can it be possible, that a prince of France has dared to act
thus contrary to his peers?"
Wallace not apprehending what had
given rise to this question, supposed the stranger’s wits were
disordered; and looked with that inquiry towards the attendant. Just at
that moment a step, more active than that of their aged hostess, sounded
above; and an exclamation of surprise followed it, in a voice that
startled Wallace. He turned hastily round, and a young man sprang from the
cottage stairs into the apartment; joy danced in every feature; and the
ejaculation, "Wallace !"—"Bruce!" burst at once from
the hearts of the two friends as they rushed into each other’s arms. All
else present were lost to them, in the delight of meeting after so
perilous a separation; a delight not confined for its object to their
individual selves; each saw in the other the hope of Scotland; and when
they embraced, it was not merely with the ardour of friendship, but with
that of patriotism, rejoicing in the preservation of its chief dependence.
While the chiefs freely spoke in their native tongue, before a people who
could not be supposed to understand them, the aged stranger on the bed
reterated his moans. Wallace, in a few words telling Bruce the
manner of his rencontre with the sick man, and his belief, that he was
disordered in his mind, drew towards the bed, and offered him some of the
decoction which the woman now brought. The invalid drank it, and gazed
earnestly first on Wallace, and then on Bruce. "Pierre,
withdraw," cried he to his personal attendant.—The man obeyed.
"Sit down by me, noble friends," said he to the Scottish
chiefs," and read a lesson, which I pray ye lay to your hearts!"
Bruce glanced a look at Wallace, that declared he was of his opinion.
Wallace drew a stool, while his friend seated himself on the bed. The old
woman perceiving something extraordinary in the countenance of the bruised
stranger, thought he was going to reveal some secret heavy on his mind,
and also withdrew.
"You think my
intellects are injured," resumed he, turning to Wallace,
"because I addressed you as one of the house of Philip! Those
jewelled lilies round your helmet, led me into the error: I never before
saw them granted to other than a prince of the blood. But think not, brave
man, I respect you less, since I have discovered that you are not of the
race of Philip, that you are other than a prince !—-Look on me,—at
this emaciated form, and behold She reverses of all earthly grandeur! This
palsied hand once held a sceptre; these hollow temples, were once bound
with a crown !—He that used to be followed as the source of honour, as
the fountain of prosperity; with suppliants at his feet, and flatterers at
his side, would now be left to solitude, were it not for these few
faithful servants, who, in spite of all changes, have preserved their
allegiance to the end. Look on me, chiefs, and behold him who was the King
of Scots."
At this declaration, both
Wallace and Bruce, struck with surprise and compassion at meeting their
ancient enemy reduced to such abject misery, with one impulse bowed their
heads to him with an air of reverence. The action penetrated the beart of
Baliol. For when, at the meeting and mutual exclamation of the two
friends, he recognised in whose presence he lay, he fearfully remembered
that by his base submissions turning the scale of judgment in his favour,
he had defrauded the grandsire of the very Bruce now before him, of a fair
decision on his rights to the crown! and when he looked on Wallace, who
had preserved him from the effects of his accident, and brought him to a
shelter from the raging tenors of the night, his conscience doubly smote
him! for from the hour of his elevation, to that of his downfall, he had
ever persecuted the family of Wallace; and, at the hour which was the
crisis of her fate, had denied them the right of drawing their swords in
the defence of Scotland. He, her king, had resigned her into the hands of
an usurper; but Wallace, the injured Wallace, had arisen, like a star of
light on the deep darkness of her captivity, and Scotland was once more
free. In the tempest, the exiled monarch had started at the blaze of the
unknown knight’s jewelled panoply! at the declaration of his name, he
shrunk before the brightness of his glory !—and falling back on the bed,
had groaned aloud. To these young men, so strangely brought before him,
and both of whom he had wronged, he determined immediately to reveal
himself; and see, whether they were equally resentful of injuries; as
those he had served, had proved ungrateful for benefits received. He
spoke: and when, instead of seeing the pair rise in indignation on his
pronouncing his name, they bowed their heads, and sat in respectful
silence; his desolate heart expanded at once, to admit the long-estranged
emotion, and he burst into tears. He caught the hand of Bruce, who sat
nearest to him, and stretching out the other to Wallace, exclaimed,
"I have not deserved this goodness from either of you. Perhaps, you
two are the only men now living, whom I ever greatly injured; and you,
excepting my four poor attendants, are perhaps the only men living, who
would compassionate my misfortunes?"
"These are lessons,
King," returned Wallace with reverence, "to fit you for a better
crown. And never in my eyes, did the descendant of Alexander seem so
worthy of his blood !" The grateful monarch pressed his hand.—
Bruce continued to gaze on him, with a thousand awful thoughts occupying
his mind. Baliol read in his expressive countenance, the reflections which
chained his tongue. "Behold, how low is laid the proud rival of your
grandfather!" exclaimed he, turning to Bruce. "I compassed a
throne, I could not fill. I mistook the robes, the homage, for the kingly
dignity. I bartered the liberties of my country, for a crown I knew not
how to wear; and the insidious trafficker, not only reclaimed it, but
repaid me with a prison. There, I expiated my crime against the upright
Bruce! Not one of all the Scottish lords, who crowded Edward’s court,
came to beguile a moment of sorrow, from their captive monarch—Lonely I
lived; for the tyrant even deprived me of the comfort of seeing my
fellow-prisoner, Lord Douglas; he, whom attachment to my true interests,
had betrayed to an English prison. I never saw him after the day of his
being put into the Tower, until that of his death."—Wallace
interrupted the afflicted Baliol, with an exclamation of surprise.
"Yes;" added he, "I myself closed his eyes. At that awful
hour, he had petitioned to see me, and the boon was granted. I went to
him; and then, with his dying breath, he spoke truths to me, which were
indeed messengers from heaven! they taught me what I was, and what I might
be. He died. Edward was then in Flanders; and you, brave Wallace, being
triumphant in Scotland, and laying such a stress in your negotiations for
the retain of Douglas, the Southron cabinet agreed to conceal his death;
and by making his name an instrument to excite your hopes and fears, turn
your anxiety for him, to their own advantage."
A deep scarlet kindled over
the face of Bruce :—"With what a race have I been so long
connected! —what new subterfuges, what dastardly deceits, for the
leaders of a great nation to adopt!—Oh, king !" exclaimed he,
turning to Baliol, if you have errors to atone for, what then must be the
penalty of my sin, for holding so long with an enemy, as vile as he is
ambitious !—Scotland! Scotland! I must weep tears of blood for
this!" He rose in agitation.— Baliol followed him with his eyes:—"Amiable
Bruce! you too severely arraign a fault, that was venial in you. Your
father gave himself to Edward, and his son accompanied the tribute."
Bruce vehemently answered, "If King Edward ever said that, he uttered
a falsehood. My father loved him, confided in him, and the ingrate
betrayed him! His fidelity was no gift of himself, in acknowledgment of
inferiority; it was the pledge of a friendship exchanged on equal terms on
the fields of Palestine. And well did King Edward know, that he had no
right over either my father or me; for in the moment he doubted our
attachment, he was aware of having forfeited it; he knew he had no legal
claim on us; and forgetting every law human and divine, he made us
prisoners. But my father found liberty in the grave; and I am ready to
take a sure revenge in —"he would have added "Scotland;"
but he forbore to give the last blow to the unhappy Baliol, by showing him
that his kingdom had indeed passed from him; and that the man was before
him, who might be destined to wield his sceptre. Brute paused, and sat
down in generous confusion.
"Hesitate not:"
said Baliol, "to say, where you will take your revenge! I know that
the brave Wallace has laid open the way. Had I possessed such a leader of
my troops, I should not now be a mendicant in this hovel; I should not be
a creature, to be pitied and despised.—Wear him, Bruce, wear him in your
heart’s core. He gives the throne he might have filled."—"Make
not that a subject of praise" cried Wallace, "which, if I had
left undone, would have stampt me a traitor. I have only performed my
duty; and may the Holy Anointer of the hearth of kings, guide Bruce to his
kingdom, and keep him there in peace and honour !"
Baliol rose in his bed at these words:
"Bruce," said he, "approach me near." He obeyed. The
feeble monarch turned to Wallace: "You have supported what was my
kingdom, through its last struggle for liberty: put forth your hand, and
support its exiled sovereign, in his last regal act." Wallace raised
the King, so as to enable him to assume a kneeling posture. Dizzy with the
exertion, for a moment he rested on the shoulder of the chief; and then
looking up, he met the eye of Bruce, gazing on him with compassionate
interest. The unhappy monarch stretched out his arms to heaven :—"May
God pardon the injuries, which my fatal ambition did to you and yours; the
miseries I brought upon my country; —and let your reign redeem my
errors! May the spirit of wisdom bless you, my son !" His hands were
now laid, with pious fervour, on the head of Bruce, who sunk on his knees
before him. "Whatever rights I had to the crown of Scotland, by the
worthlessness of my reign they are forfeited; and I resign all unto you,
even to the participation of the mere title of king. It has been as the
ghost of my former self, as an accusing spirit to me; but, I trust, an
angel of light to you, it will conduct your people into all happiness
!"— Exhausted by his feelings, he sunk back into the arms of
Wallace.—Bruce, rising from his knees, poured a little of the
herb-balsam into the King’s mouth, and he revived. As Wallace laid him
back on his pillow, he gazed wistfully at him, and grasping his hand, said
in a low voice, "How did I throw a blessing from me! But in those
days, when I rejected your services at Dunbar, I knew not the Almighty arm
which brought the boy of Ellerslie to save his country! -—I
scorned the patriot flame, that spoke your mission, and the mercy of
Heaven departed from me !"
[This renunciation of Baliol's in favour of Bruce,
is an historical fact; and it was made in France. Buchanan relates it in
these words:-
"Baliol, being surrounded with
the miseries of old age, ingenuously confessed that his peccant
exorbitance was justly restrained; and that he was deservedly driven out
of the kingdom, as unworthy to reign. And, therefore, he was very willing
that his kinsman Robert should enjoy the crown, by whose high valour,
singular felicity, and great pains-taking, ‘twas vindicated into its
ancient splendour. In one thing he rejoiced, that they, by whom he was
deceived, did not enjoy the reward of their perfidiousness."—(1809.)]
Memory was now busy with
the thoughts of Bruce. He remembered his father’s weak, if not criminal
devotion at that time to the interests of Edward; he remembered his
heart-wrung death; and looking at the desolate old age of another of
Edward’s victims, his brave soul melted to pity and regret; and he
retired into a distant part of the room, to shed, unobserved, the tears he
could not restrain. Wallace soon after saw the eyes of the exhausted king
close in sleep: and cautious of awakening him, he did not stir; but
leaning against the thick oaken frame of the bed, was soon lost in as deep
a repose.
After some time of complete
stillness, (for the old dame, and the attendants, were at rest in the
outward chamber,) Bruce, whose low sighs were echoed by the wind alone,
which swept in gusts by the little casement, looked towards the abdicated
monarch’s couch. He slept profoundly, yet frequently started, as if
disturbed by troubled dreams. Wallace moved not on his hard pillow; and
the serenity of perfect peace rested upon all his features :—."How
tranquil is the sleep of the virtuous!" thought Bruce, as he
contemplated the difference between his state and that of Baliol’s:
"there lies an accusing conscience; here rests one of the most
faultless of created beings. It is, it is, the sleep
of innocence !—Come, ye slanderers," continued he, mentally calling
on those he had left at Edward’s court, "and tell me, if an
adulterer could look thus when he sleeps!—Is there one trace of
irregular passion, about that placid mouth? Does one of those
heavenly-composed features, bear testimony to emotions, which leave marks,
even when subdued ?—No; virtue has set up her throne in that breast, and
well may kings come to bow to it!"
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