The Old English Baron: a Gothic Story

  THE OLD ENGLISH BARON: A GOTHIC STORY.

  In the minority of Henry the Sixth, King of England, when the renownedJohn, Duke of Bedford was Regent of France, and Humphrey, the good Dukeof Gloucester, was Protector of England, a worthy knight, calledSir Philip Harclay, returned from his travels to England, his nativecountry. He had served under the glorious King Henry the Fifth withdistinguished valour, had acquired an honourable fame, and was no lessesteemed for Christian virtues than for deeds of chivalry. After thedeath of his prince, he entered into the service of the Greek emperor,and distinguished his courage against the encroachments of the Saracens.In a battle there, he took prisoner a certain gentleman, by name M.Zadisky, of Greek extraction, but brought up by a Saracen officer; thisman he converted to the Christian faith; after which he bound him tohimself by the ties of friendship and gratitude, and he resolved tocontinue with his benefactor. After thirty years travel and warlikeservice, he determined to return to his native land, and to spend theremainder of his life in peace; and, by devoting himself to works ofpiety and charity, prepare for a better state hereafter.

  This noble knight had, in his early youth, contracted a strictfriendship with the only son of the Lord Lovel, a gentleman of eminentvirtues and accomplishments. During Sir Philip's residence in foreigncountries, he had frequently written to his friend, and had for a timereceived answers; the last informed him of the death of old Lord Lovel,and the marriage of the young one; but from that time he had heard nomore from him. Sir Philip imputed it not to neglect or forgetfulness,but to the difficulties of intercourse, common at that time to alltravellers and adventurers. When he was returning home, he resolved,after looking into his family affairs, to visit the Castle of Lovel, andenquire into the situation of his friend. He landed in Kent, attended byhis Greek friend and two faithful servants, one of which was maimed bythe wounds he had received in the defence of his master.

  Sir Philip went to his family seat in Yorkshire. He found his motherand sister were dead, and his estates sequestered in the hands ofcommissioners appointed by the Protector. He was obliged to prove thereality of his claim, and the identity of his person (by the testimonyof some of the old servants of his family), after which every thing wasrestored to him. He took possession of his own house, established hishousehold, settled the old servants in their former stations, and placedthose he brought home in the upper offices of his family. He then lefthis friend to superintend his domestic affairs; and, attended by onlyone of his old servants, he set out for the Castle of Lovel, in the westof England. They travelled by easy journeys; but, towards the eveningof the second day, the servant was so ill and fatigued he could go nofurther; he stopped at an inn where he grew worse every hour, and thenext day expired. Sir Philip was under great concern for the loss of hisservant, and some for himself, being alone in a strange place; howeverhe took courage, ordered his servant's funeral, attended it himself,and, having shed a tear of humanity over his grave, proceeded alone onhis journey.

  As he drew near the estate of his friend, he began to enquire of everyone he met, whether the Lord Lovel resided at the seat of his ancestors?He was answered by one, he did not know; by another, he could not tell;by a third, that he never heard of such a person. Sir Philip thought itstrange that a man of Lord Lovel's consequence should be unknown inhis own neighbourhood, and where his ancestors had usually resided. Heruminated on the uncertainty of human happiness. "This world," saidhe, "has nothing for a wise man to depend upon. I have lost all myrelations, and most of my friends; and am even uncertain whether anyare remaining. I will, however, be thankful for the blessings that arespared to me; and I will endeavour to replace those that I have lost. Ifmy friend lives, he shall share my fortune with me; his children shallhave the reversion of it; and I will share his comforts in return.But perhaps my friend may have met with troubles that have made himdisgusted with the world; perhaps he has buried his amiable wife, orhis promising children; and, tired of public life, he is retired into amonastery. At least, I will know what all this silence means."

  When he came within a mile of the Castle of Lovel, he stopped at acottage and asked for a draught of water; a peasant, master of thehouse, brought it, and asked if his honour would alight and take amoment's refreshment. Sir Philip accepted his offer, being resolved tomake farther enquiry before he approached the castle. He asked the samequestions of him, that he had before of others.

  "Which Lord Lovel," said the man, "does your honour enquire after?"

  "The man whom I knew was called Arthur," said Sir Philip.

  "Ay," said the Peasant, "he was the only surviving son of Richard, LordLovel, as I think?"

  "Very true, friend, he was so."

  "Alas, sir," said the man, "he is dead! he survived his father but ashort time."

  "Dead! say you? how long since?"

  "About fifteen years, to the best of my remembrance."

  Sir Philip sighed deeply.

  "Alas!" said he, "what do we, by living long, but survive all ourfriends! But pray tell me how he died?"

  "I will, sir, to the best of my knowledge. An't please your honour,I heard say, that he attended the King when he went against the Welchrebels, and he left his lady big with child; and so there was a battlefought, and the king got the better of the rebels. There came first areport that none of the officers were killed; but a few days afterthere came a messenger with an account very different, that several werewounded, and that the Lord Lovel was slain; which sad news overset usall with sorrow, for he was a noble gentleman, a bountiful master, andthe delight of all the neighbourhood."

  "He was indeed," said Sir Philip, "all that is amiable and good; he wasmy dear and noble friend, and I am inconsolable for his loss. But theunfortunate lady, what became of her?"

  "Why, a'nt please your honour, they said she died of grief for the lossof her husband; but her death was kept private for a time, and we didnot know it for certain till some weeks afterwards."

  "The will of Heaven be obeyed!" said Sir Philip; "but who succeeded tothe title and estate?"

  "The next heir," said the peasant, "a kinsman of the deceased, SirWalter Lovel by name."

  "I have seen him," said Sir Philip, "formerly; but where was he whenthese events happened?"

  "At the Castle of Lovel, sir; he came there on a visit to the lady, andwaited there to receive my Lord, at his return from Wales; when the newsof his death arrived, Sir Walter did every thing in his power to comforther, and some said he was to marry her; but she refused to be comforted,and took it so to heart that she died."

  "And does the present Lord Lovel reside at the castle?"

  "No, sir."

  "Who then?"

  "The Lord Baron Fitz-Owen."

  "And how came Sir Walter to leave the seat of his ancestors?"

  "Why, sir, he married his sister to this said Lord; and so he sold theCastle to him, and went away, and built himself a house in the northcountry, as far as Northumberland, I think they call it."

  "That is very strange!" said Sir Philip.

  "So it is, please your honour; but this is all I know about it."

  "I thank you, friend, for your intelligence; I have taken a long journeyto no purpose, and have met with nothing but cross accidents. This lifeis, indeed, a pilgrimage! Pray direct me the nearest way to the nextmonastery."

  "Noble sir," said the peasant, "it is full five miles off, the nightis coming on, and the ways are bad; I am but a poor man, and cannotentertain your honour as you are used to; but if you will enter my poorcottage, that, and every thing in it, are at your service."

  "My honest friend, I thank you heartily," said Sir Philip; "yourkindness and hospitality might shame many of higher birth and breeding;I will accept your kind offer;--but pray let me know the name of myhost?"

  "John Wyatt, sir; an honest man though a poor one, and a Christian man,though a sinful one."

  "Whose cottage is this?"

  "It belongs to the Lord Fitz-Owen."

  "What family have you?"

/>   "A wife, two sons and a daughter, who will all be proud to wait uponyour honour; let me hold your honour's stirrup whilst you alight."

  He seconded these words by the proper action, and having assisted hisguest to dismount, he conducted him into his house, called his wife toattend him, and then led his horse under a poor shed, that served himas a stable. Sir Philip was fatigued in body and mind, and was glad torepose himself anywhere. The courtesy of his host engaged his attention,and satisfied his wishes. He soon after returned, followed by a youth ofabout eighteen years.

  "Make haste, John," said the father, "and be sure you say neither morenor less than what I have told you."

  "I will, father," said the lad; and immediately set off, ran like a buckacross the fields, and was out of sight in an instant.

  "I hope, friend," said Sir Philip, "you have not sent your son toprovide for my entertainment; I am a soldier, used to lodge and farehard; and, if it were otherwise, your courtesy and kindness would give arelish to the most ordinary food."

  "I wish heartily," said Wyatt, "it was in my power to entertain yourhonour as you ought to be; but, as I cannot do so, I will, when my sonreturns, acquaint you with the errand I sent him on."

  After this they conversed together on common subjects, likefellow-creatures of the same natural form and endowments, thoughdifferent kinds of education had given a conscious superiority to theone, a conscious inferiority to the other; and the due respect was paidby the latter, without being exacted by the former. In about half anhour young John returned.

  "Thou hast made haste," said the father.

  "Not more than good speed," quoth the son.

  "Tell us, then, how you speed?"

  "Shall I tell all that passed?" said John.

  "All," said the father; "I don't want to hide any thing."

  John stood with his cap in his hand, and thus told his tale--

  "I went straight to the castle as fast as I could run; it was my hap tolight on young Master Edmund first, so I told him just as you had me,that a noble gentleman was come a long journey from foreign parts to seethe Lord Lovel, his friend; and, having lived abroad many years, he didnot know that he was dead, and that the castle was fallen intoother hands; that upon hearing these tidings he was much grieved anddisappointed, and wanting a night's lodging, to rest himself beforehe returned to his own home, he was fain to take up with one at ourcottage; that my father thought my Lord would be angry with him, if hewere not told of the stranger's journey and intentions, especially tolet such a man lie at our cottage, where he could neither be lodged norentertained according to his quality."

  Here John stopped, and his father exclaimed--

  "A good lad! you did your errand very well; and tell us the answer."

  John proceeded--

  "Master Edmund ordered me some beer, and went to acquaint my Lord of themessage; he stayed a while, and then came back to me.--'John,' said he,'tell the noble stranger that the Baron Fitz-Owen greets him well, anddesires him to rest assured, that though Lord Lovel is dead, and thecastle fallen into other hands, his friends will always find a welcomethere; and my lord desires that he will accept of a lodging there, whilehe remains in this country.'--So I came away directly, and made haste todeliver my errand."

  Sir Philip expressed some dissatisfaction at this mark of old Wyatt'srespect.

  "I wish," said he, "that you had acquainted me with your intentionbefore you sent to inform the Baron I was here. I choose rather to lodgewith you; and I propose to make amends for the trouble I shall giveyou."

  "Pray, sir, don't mention it," said the peasant, "you are as welcome asmyself; I hope no offence; the only reason of my sending was, because Iam both unable and unworthy to entertain your honour."

  "I am sorry," said Sir Philip, "you should think me so dainty; I ama Christian soldier; and him I acknowledge for my Prince and Master,accepted the invitations of the poor, and washed the feet of hisdisciples. Let us say no more on this head; I am resolved to stay thisnight in your cottage, tomorrow I will wait on the Baron, and thank himfor his hospitable invitation."

  "That shall be as your honour pleases, since you will condescend to stayhere. John, do you run back and acquaint my Lord of it."

  "Not so," said Sir Philip; "it is now almost dark."

  "'Tis no matter," said John, "I can go it blindfold."

  Sir Philip then gave him a message to the Baron in his own name,acquainting him that he would pay his respects to him in the morning.John flew back the second time, and soon returned with new commendationsfrom the Baron, and that he would expect him on the morrow. Sir Philipgave him an angel of gold, and praised his speed and abilities.

  He supped with Wyatt and his family upon new-laid eggs and rashers ofbacon, with the highest relish. They praised the Creator for His gifts,and acknowledged they were unworthy of the least of His blessings.They gave the best of their two lofts up to Sir Philip, the rest of thefamily slept in the other, the old woman and her daughter in the bed,the father and his two sons upon clean straw. Sir Philip's bed was ofa better kind, and yet much inferior to his usual accommodations;nevertheless the good knight slept as well in Wyatt's cottage, as hecould have done in a palace.

  During his sleep, many strange and incoherent dreams arose to hisimagination. He thought he received a message from his friend LordLovel, to come to him at the castle; that he stood at the gate andreceived him, that he strove to embrace him, but could not; but that hespoke to this effect:--"Though I have been dead these fifteen years,I still command here, and none can enter these gates without mypermission; know that it is I that invite, and bid you welcome; thehopes of my house rest upon you." Upon this he bid Sir Philip followhim; he led him through many rooms, till at last he sunk down, andSir Philip thought he still followed him, till he came into a darkand frightful cave, where he disappeared, and in his stead he behelda complete suit of armour stained with blood, which belonged to hisfriend, and he thought he heard dismal groans from beneath. Presentlyafter, he thought he was hurried away by an invisible hand, and led intoa wild heath, where the people were inclosing the ground, and makingpreparations for two combatants; the trumpet sounded, and a voice calledout still louder, "Forbear! It is not permitted to be revealed tillthe time is ripe for the event; wait with patience on the decrees ofheaven." He was then transported to his own house, where, going into anunfrequented room, he was again met by his friend, who was living, andin all the bloom of youth, as when he first knew him: He started at thesight, and awoke. The sun shone upon his curtains, and, perceivingit was day, he sat up, and recollected where he was. The images thatimpressed his sleeping fancy remained strongly on his mind waking; buthis reason strove to disperse them; it was natural that the story hehad heard should create these ideas, that they should wait on him in hissleep, and that every dream should bear some relation to his deceasedfriend. The sun dazzled his eyes, the birds serenaded him and divertedhis attention, and a woodbine forced its way through the window, andregaled his sense of smelling with its fragrance. He arose, paid hisdevotions to Heaven, and then carefully descended the narrow stairs, andwent out at the door of the cottage. There he saw the industrious wifeand daughter of old Wyatt at their morning work, the one milking hercow, the other feeding her poultry. He asked for a draught of milk,which, with a slice of rye bread, served to break his fast. He walkedabout the fields alone; for old Wyatt and his two sons were gone out totheir daily labour. He was soon called back by the good woman, who toldhim that a servant from the Baron waited to conduct him to the Castle.He took leave of Wyatt's wife, telling her he would see her again beforehe left the country. The daughter fetched his horse, which he mounted,and set forward with the servant, of whom he asked many questionsconcerning his master's family.

  "How long have you lived with the Baron?"

  "Ten years."

  "Is he a good master?"

  "Yes, Sir, and also a good husband and father."

  "What family has he?"

  "Three sons and a daughter."
br />   "What age are they of?"

  "The eldest son is in his seventeenth year, the second in his sixteenth,the others several years younger; but beside these my Lord has severalyoung gentlemen brought up with his own sons, two of which are hisnephews; he keeps in his house a learned clerk to teach them languages;and as for all bodily exercises, none come near them; there is afletcher to teach them the use of the cross-bow; a master to teach themto ride; another the use of the sword; another learns them to dance; andthen they wrestle and run, and have such activity in all their motions,that it does one good to see them; and my Lord thinks nothing too muchto bestow on their education."

  "Truly," says Sir Philip, "he does the part of a good parent, and Ihonour him greatly for it; but are the young gentlemen of a promisingdisposition?"

  "Yes indeed, Sir," answered the servant; "the young gentlemen, my Lord'ssons, are hopeful youths; but yet there is one who is thought to exceedthem all, though he is the son of a poor labourer."

  "And who is he?" said the knight.

  "One Edmund Twyford, the son of a cottager in our village; he is tobe sure as fine a youth as ever the sun shone upon, and of so sweet adisposition that nobody envies his good fortune."

  "What good fortune does he enjoy?"

  "Why, Sir, about two years ago, my lord, at his