CHAPTER VI.
I was, I must confess, Great Albion's queen in former golden days; But now mischance hath trod my title down, And with dishonour laid me on the ground; Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, And to my humble seat conform myself. _Henry VI. Part III._
The hostelry of the Flying Stag, in Strasburg, was, like every inn inthe empire at the period, conducted much with the same discourteousinattention to the wants and accommodation of the guests as that ofJohn Mengs. But the youth and good looks of Arthur Philipson,circumstances which seldom or never fail to produce some effect wherethe fair are concerned, prevailed upon a short, plump, dimpled,blue-eyed, fair-skinned yungfrau, the daughter of the landlord of theFlying Stag (himself a fat old man, pinned to the oaken chair in the_stube_), to carry herself to the young Englishman with a degree ofcondescension which, in the privileged race to which she belonged, waslittle short of degradation. She not only put her light buskins andher pretty ankles in danger of being soiled by tripping across theyard to point out an unoccupied stable, but, on Arthur's inquiry afterhis father, condescended to recollect that such a guest as hedescribed had lodged in the house last night, and had said he expectedto meet there a young person, his fellow-traveller.
"I will send him out to you, fair sir," said the little yungfrau witha smile, which, if things of the kind are to be valued by their rareoccurrence, must have been reckoned inestimable.
She was as good as her word. In a few instants the elder Philipsonentered the stable, and folded his son in his arms.
"My son--my dear son!" said the Englishman, his usual stoicism brokendown and melted by natural feeling and parental tenderness,--"Welcometo me at all times--welcome, in a period of doubt and danger--and mostwelcome of all, in a moment which forms the very crisis of our fate.In a few hours I shall know what we may expect from the Duke ofBurgundy.--Hast thou the token?"
Arthur's hand first sought that which was nearest to his heart, bothin the literal and allegorical sense--the small parcel, namely, whichAnne had given him at parting. But he recollected himself in theinstant, and presented to his father the packet which had been sostrangely lost and recovered at La Ferette.
"It hath run its own risk since you saw it," he observed to hisfather, "and so have I mine. I received hospitality at a castle lastnight, and behold a body of lanzknechts in the neighbourhood began inthe morning to mutiny for their pay. The inhabitants fled from thecastle to escape their violence, and, as we passed their leaguer inthe grey of the morning, a drunken Baaren-hauter shot my poor horse,and I was forced, in the way of exchange, to take up with his heavyFlemish animal, with its steel saddle, and its clumsy chaffron."
"Our road is beset with perils," said his father. "I too have had myshare, having been in great danger [he told not its precise nature] atan inn where I rested last night. But I left it in the morning, andproceeded hither in safety. I have at length, however, obtained a safeescort to conduct me to the Duke's camp near Dijon; and I trust tohave an audience of him this evening. Then, if our last hope shouldfail, we will seek the seaport of Marseilles, hoist sail for Candia orfor Rhodes, and spend our lives in defence of Christendom, since wemay no longer fight for England."
Arthur heard these ominous words without reply; but they did not theless sink upon his heart, deadly as the doom of the judge whichsecludes the criminal from society and all its joys, and condemns himto an eternal prison-house. The bells from the cathedral began to tollat this instant, and reminded the elder Philipson of the duty ofhearing mass, which was said at all hours in some one or other of theseparate chapels which are contained in that magnificent pile. His sonfollowed, on an intimation of his pleasure.
In approaching the access to this superb cathedral, the travellersfound it obstructed, as is usual in Catholic countries, by the numberof mendicants of both sexes, who crowded round the entrance to givethe worshippers an opportunity of discharging the duty of alms-giving,so positively enjoined as a chief observance of their Church. TheEnglishmen extricated themselves from their importunity by bestowing,as is usual on such occasions, a donative of small coin upon those whoappeared most needy, or most deserving of their charity. One tallwoman stood on the steps close to the door, and extended her hand tothe elder Philipson, who, struck with her appearance, exchanged for apiece of silver the copper coins which he had been distributingamongst others.
"A marvel!" she said, in the English language, but in a tonecalculated only to be heard by him alone, although his son also caughtthe sound and sense of what she said,--"Ay, a miracle!--An Englishmanstill possesses a silver piece, and can afford to bestow it on thepoor!"
Arthur was sensible that his father started somewhat at the voice orwords, which bore, even in his ear, something of deeper import thanthe observation of an ordinary mendicant. But after a glance at thefemale who thus addressed him, his father passed onwards into the bodyof the church, and was soon engaged in attending to the solemnceremony of the mass, as it was performed by a priest at the altar ofa chapel divided from the main body of the splendid edifice, anddedicated, as it appeared from the image over the altar, to St.George; that military saint, whose real history is so obscure, thoughhis popular legend rendered him an object of peculiar venerationduring the feudal ages. The ceremony was begun and finished with allcustomary forms. The officiating priest, with his attendants,withdrew, and though some of the few worshippers who had assisted atthe solemnity remained telling their beads, and occupied with theperformance of their private devotions, far the greater part left thechapel, to visit other shrines, or to return to the prosecution oftheir secular affairs.
But Arthur Philipson remarked that, whilst they dropped off one afteranother, the tall woman who had received his father's alms continuedto kneel near the altar; and he was yet more surprised to see that hisfather himself, who, he had many reasons to know, was desirous tospend in the church no more time than the duties of devotionabsolutely claimed, remained also on his knees, with his eyes restingon the form of the veiled devotee (such she seemed from her dress), asif his own motions were to be guided by hers. By no idea whichoccurred to him was Arthur able to form the least conjecture as to hisfather's motives--he only knew that he was engaged in a critical anddangerous negotiation, liable to influence or interruption fromvarious quarters; and that political suspicion was so generally awake,both in France, Italy, and Flanders, that the most important agentswere often obliged to assume the most impenetrable disguises, in orderto insinuate themselves without suspicion into the countries wheretheir services were required. Louis XI., in particular, whose singularpolicy seemed in some degree to give a character to the age in whichhe lived, was well known to have disguised his principal emissariesand envoys in the fictitious garbs of mendicant monks, minstrels,gypsies, and other privileged wanderers of the meanest description.
Arthur concluded, therefore, that it was not improbable that thisfemale might, like themselves, be something more than her dressimported; and he resolved to observe his father's deportment towardsher, and regulate his own actions accordingly. A bell at lastannounced that mass, upon a more splendid scale, was about to becelebrated before the high altar of the cathedral itself, and itssound withdrew from the sequestered chapel of St. George the few whohad remained at the shrine of the military saint, excepting the fatherand son, and the female penitent who kneeled opposite to them. Whenthe last of the worshippers had retired, the female arose and advancedtowards the elder Philipson, who, folding his arms on his bosom, andstooping his head, in an attitude of obeisance which his son had neverbefore seen him assume, appeared rather to wait what she had to say,than to propose addressing her.
There was a pause. Four lamps, lighted before the shrine of the saint,cast a dim radiance on his armour and steed, represented as he was inthe act of transfixing with his lance the prostrate dragon, whoseoutstretched wings and writhing neck were in part touched by theirbeams. The rest of the chapel was dimly illuminated by the
autumnalsun, which could scarce find its way through the stained panes of thesmall lanceolated window, which was its only aperture to the open air.The light fell doubtful and gloomy, tinged with the various huesthrough which it passed, upon the stately yet somewhat broken anddejected form of the female, and on those of the melancholy andanxious father, and his son, who, with all the eager interest ofyouth, suspected and anticipated extraordinary consequences from sosingular an interview.
At length the female approached to the same side of the shrine withArthur and his father, as if to be more distinctly heard, withoutbeing obliged to raise the slow solemn voice in which she had spoken.
"Do you here worship," she said, "the St. George of Burgundy, or theSt. George of merry England, the flower of chivalry?"
"I serve," said Philipson, folding his hands humbly on his bosom, "thesaint to whom this chapel is dedicated, and the Deity with whom I hopefor his holy intercession, whether here or in my native country."
"Ay--you," said the female, "even you can forget--you, even you, whohave been numbered among the mirror of knighthood--can forget that youhave worshipped in the royal fane of Windsor--that you have there benta _gartered_ knee, where kings and princes kneeled around you--you canforget this, and make your orisons at a foreign shrine, with a heartundisturbed with the thoughts of what you have been,--praying, likesome poor peasant, for bread and life during the day that passes overyou."
"Lady," replied Philipson, "in my proudest hours, I was, before theBeing to whom I preferred my prayers, but as a worm in the dust--InHis eyes I am now neither less nor more, degraded as I may be in theopinion of my fellow-reptiles."
"How canst thou think thus?" said the devotee; "and yet it is wellwith thee that thou canst. But what have thy losses been, compared tomine!"
She put her hand to her brow, and seemed for a moment overpowered byagonising recollections.
Arthur pressed to his father's side, and inquired, in a tone ofinterest which could not be repressed, "Father, who is this lady?--Isit my mother?"
"No, my son," answered Philipson;--"peace, for the sake of all youhold dear or holy!"
The singular female, however, heard both the question and answer,though expressed in a whisper.
"Yes," she said, "young man--I am--I should say I was--your mother;the mother, the protectress, of all that was noble in England--I amMargaret of Anjou."
Arthur sank on his knees before the dauntless widow of Henry theSixth, who so long, and in such desperate circumstances, upheld, byunyielding courage and deep policy, the sinking cause of her feeblehusband; and who, if she occasionally abused victory by cruelty andrevenge, had made some atonement by the indomitable resolution withwhich she had supported the fiercest storms of adversity. Arthur hadbeen bred in devoted adherence to the now dethroned line of Lancaster,of which his father was one of the most distinguished supporters; andhis earliest deeds of arms, which, though unfortunate, were neitherobscure nor ignoble, had been done in their cause. With an enthusiasmbelonging to his age and education, he in the same instant flung hisbonnet on the pavement, and knelt at the feet of his ill-fatedsovereign.
Margaret threw back the veil which concealed those noble and majesticfeatures, which even yet,--though rivers of tears had furrowed hercheek,--though care, disappointment, domestic grief, and humbled pridehad quenched the fire of her eye, and wasted the smooth dignity of herforehead,--even yet showed the remains of that beauty which once washeld unequalled in Europe. The apathy with which a succession ofmisfortunes and disappointed hopes had chilled the feelings of theunfortunate Princess was for a moment melted by the sight of the fairyouth's enthusiasm. She abandoned one hand to him, which he coveredwith tears and kisses, and with the other stroked with maternaltenderness his curled locks, as she endeavoured to raise him from theposture he had assumed. His father, in the meanwhile, shut the door ofthe chapel, and placed his back against it, withdrawing himself thusfrom the group, as if for the purpose of preventing any stranger fromentering, during a scene so extraordinary.
"And thou, then," said Margaret, in a voice where female tendernesscombated strangely with her natural pride of rank, and with the calm,stoical indifference induced by the intensity of her personalmisfortunes; "thou, fair youth, art the last scion of the noble stem,so many fair boughs of which have fallen in our hapless cause. Alas,alas! what can I do for thee? Margaret has not even a blessing tobestow. So wayward is her fate, that her benedictions are curses, andshe has but to look on you and wish you well, to insure your speedyand utter ruin. I--I have been the fatal poison-tree, whose influencehas blighted and destroyed all the fair plants that arose beside andaround me, and brought death upon every one, yet am myself unable tofind it!"
"Noble and royal mistress," said the elder Englishman, "let not yourprincely courage, which has borne such extremities, be dismayed, nowthat they are passed over, and that a chance at least of happier timesis approaching to you and to England."
"To England, to _me_, noble Oxford!" said the forlorn and widowedQueen.--"If to-morrow's sun could place me once more on the throne ofEngland, could it give back to me what I have lost? I speak not ofwealth or power--they are as nothing in the balance--I speak not ofthe hosts of noble friends who have fallen in defence of me andmine--Somersets, Percys, Staffords, Cliffords--they have found theirplace in fame, in the annals of their country--I speak not of myhusband, he has exchanged the state of a suffering saint upon earthfor that of a glorified saint in heaven--But oh, Oxford! my son--myEdward!--Is it possible for me to look on this youth, and not rememberthat thy countess and I on the same night gave birth to two fair boys?How oft we endeavoured to prophesy their future fortunes, and topersuade ourselves that the same constellation which shone on theirbirth would influence their succeeding life, and hold a friendly andequal bias till they reached some destined goal of happiness andhonour! Thy Arthur lives; but, alas! my Edward, born under the sameauspices, fills a bloody grave!"
She wrapped her head in her mantle, as if to stifle the complaints andgroans which maternal affection poured forth at these cruelrecollections. Philipson, or the exiled Earl of Oxford as we may nowterm him, distinguished in those changeful times by the steadinesswith which he had always maintained his loyalty to the line ofLancaster, saw the imprudence of indulging his sovereign in herweakness.
ARTHUR BEFORE THE QUEEN. Drawn and Etched by R. de los Rios.]
"Royal mistress," he said, "life's journey is that of a brief winter'sday, and its course will run on, whether we avail ourselves of itsprogress or no. My sovereign is, I trust, too much mistressof herself to suffer lamentation for what is passed to depriveher of the power of using the present time. I am here in obedience toyour command; I am to see Burgundy forthwith, and if I find him pliantto the purpose to which we would turn him, events may follow whichwill change into gladness our present mourning. But we must use ouropportunity with speed as well as zeal. Let me know then, madam, forwhat reason your Majesty hath come hither, disguised and in danger?Surely it was not merely to weep over this young man that thehigh-minded Queen Margaret left her father's court, disguised herselfin mean attire, and came from a place of safety to one of doubt atleast, if not of danger?"
"You mock me, Oxford," said the unfortunate Queen, "or you deceiveyourself, if you think you still serve that Margaret whose word wasnever spoken without a reason, and whose slightest action wasinfluenced by a motive. Alas! I am no longer the same firm andrational being. The feverish character of grief, while it makes oneplace hateful to me, drives me to another in very impotence andimpatience of spirit. My father's residence, thou say'st, is safe; butis it tolerable for such a soul as mine? Can one who has been deprivedof the noblest and richest kingdom of Europe--one who has lost hostsof noble friends--one who is a widowed consort, a childlessmother--one upon whose head Heaven hath poured forth its last vial ofunmitigated wrath,--can she stoop to be the companion of a weak oldman, who, in sonnets and in music, in mummery and folly, in harpingand rhyming, finds a comfort for all that poverty
has that isdistressing; and, what is still worse, even a solace in all that isridiculous and contemptible?"
"Nay, with your leave, madam," said her counsellor, "blame not thegood King Rene (_a_),[5] because, persecuted by fortune, he has beenable to find out for himself humbler sources of solace, which yourprouder spirit is disposed to disdain. A contention among hisminstrels has for him the animation of a knightly combat; and a crownof flowers, twined by his troubadours and graced by their sonnets, heaccounts a valuable compensation for the diadems of Jerusalem, ofNaples, and of both Sicilies, of which he only possesses the emptytitles."
"Speak not to me of the pitiable old man," said Margaret; "sunk beloweven the hatred of his worst enemies, and never thought worthy ofanything more than contempt. I tell thee, noble Oxford, I have beendriven nearly mad with my forced residence at Aix, in the paltrycircle which he calls his court. My ears, tuned as they now are onlyto sounds of affliction, are not so weary of the eternal tinkling ofharps, and squeaking of rebecks, and snapping of castanets;--my eyesare not so tired of the beggarly affectation of court ceremonial,which is only respectable when it implies wealth and expressespower,--as my very soul is sick of the paltry ambition which can findpleasure in spangles, tassels, and trumpery, when the reality of allthat is great and noble hath passed away. No, Oxford. If I am doomedto lose the last cast which fickle fortune seems to offer me, I willretreat into the meanest convent in the Pyrenean hills, and at leastescape the insult of the idiot gaiety of my father.--Let him pass fromour memory as from the page of history, in which his name will neverbe recorded. I have much of more importance both to hear and totell.--And now, my Oxford, what news from Italy? Will the Duke ofMilan afford us assistance with his counsels, or with his treasures?"
"With his counsels willingly, madam; but how you will relish them Iknow not, since he recommends to us submission to our hapless fate,and resignation to the will of Providence."
"The wily Italian! Will not, then, Galeasso advance any part of hishoards, or assist a friend, to whom he hath in his time full oftensworn faith?"
"Not even the diamonds which I offered to deposit in his hands,"answered the Earl, "could make him unlock his treasury to supply uswith ducats for our enterprise. Yet he said, if Charles of Burgundyshould think seriously of an exertion in our favour, such was hisregard for that great prince, and his deep sense of your Majesty'smisfortunes, that he would consider what the state of his exchequer,though much exhausted, and the condition of his subjects, thoughimpoverished by taxes and talliages, would permit him to advance inyour behalf."
"The double-faced hypocrite!" said Margaret. "If the assistance of theprincely Burgundy lends us a chance of regaining what is our own, thenhe will give us some paltry parcel of crowns, that our restoredprosperity may forget his indifference to our adversity!--But what ofBurgundy? I have ventured hither to tell you what I have learned, andto hear report of your proceedings--a trusty watch provides for thesecrecy of our interview. My impatience to see you brought me hitherin this mean disguise. I have a small retinue at a convent a milebeyond the town--I have had your arrival watched by the faithfulLambert--and now I come to know your hopes or your fears, and to tellyou my own."
"Royal lady," said the Earl, "I have not seen the Duke. You know histemper to be wilful, sudden, haughty, and unpersuadable. If he canadopt the calm and sustained policy which the times require, I littledoubt his obtaining full amends of Louis, his sworn enemy, and even ofEdward, his ambitious brother-in-law. But if he continues to yield toextravagant fits of passion, with or without provocation, he may hurryinto a quarrel with the poor but hardy Helvetians, and is likely toengage in a perilous contest, in which he cannot be expected to gainanything, while he undergoes a chance of the most serious losses."
"Surely," replied the Queen, "he will not trust the usurper Edward,even in the very moment when he is giving the greatest proof oftreachery to his alliance?"
"In what respect, madam?" replied Oxford. "The news you allude to hasnot reached me."
"How, my lord? Am I then the first to tell you that Edward of York hascrossed the sea (_b_) with such an army as scarce even the renownedHenry V., my father-in-law, ever transported from France to Italy?"
"So much I have indeed heard was expected," said Oxford; "and Ianticipated the effect as fatal to our cause."
"Edward is arrived," said Margaret, "and the traitor and usurper hathsent defiance to Louis of France, and demanded of him the crown ofthat kingdom as his own right--that crown which was placed on the headof my unhappy husband, when he was yet a child in the cradle."
"It is then decided--the English are in France!" answered Oxford, in atone expressive of the deepest anxiety.--"And whom brings Edward withhim on this expedition?"
"All--all the bitterest enemies of our house and cause--The false, thetraitorous, the dishonoured George, whom he calls Duke of Clarence--theblood-drinker, Richard--the licentious Hastings--Howard--Stanley--in aword, the leaders of all those traitors whom I would not name, unlessby doing so my curses could sweep them from the face of the earth."
"And--I tremble to ask," said the Earl--"Does Burgundy prepare to jointhem as a brother of the war, and make common cause with this Yorkishhost against King Louis of France?"
"By my advices," replied the Queen, "and they are both private andsure, besides that they are confirmed by the bruit of common fame--No,my good Oxford, no!"
"For that may the Saints be praised!" answered Oxford. "Edward ofYork--I will not malign even an enemy--is a bold and fearlessleader--But he is neither Edward the Third, nor the heroic BlackPrince--nor is he that fifth Henry of Lancaster, under whom I won myspurs, and to whose lineage the thoughts of his glorious memory wouldhave made me faithful, had my plighted vows of allegiance everpermitted me to entertain a thought of varying, or of defection. LetEdward engage in war with Louis without the aid of Burgundy, on whichhe has reckoned. Louis is indeed no hero, but he is a cautious andskilful general, more to be dreaded, perhaps, in these politic days,than if Charlemagne could again raise the Oriflamme, surrounded byRoland and all his paladins. Louis will not hazard such fields asthose of Cressy, of Poictiers, or of Agincourt. With a thousand lancesfrom Hainault, and twenty thousand crowns from Burgundy, Edward shallrisk the loss of England, while he is engaged in a protracted strugglefor the recovery of Normandy and Guienne. But what are the movementsof Burgundy?"
"He has menaced Germany," said Margaret, "and his troops are nowemployed in overrunning Lorraine, of which he has seized the principaltowns and castles."
"Where is Ferrand de Vaudemont--a youth, it is said, of courage andenterprise, and claiming Lorraine in right of his mother, Yolande ofAnjou, the sister of your Grace?"
"Fled," replied the Queen, "into Germany or Helvetia."
"Let Burgundy beware of him," said the experienced Earl; "for shouldthe disinherited youth obtain confederates in Germany, and alliesamong the hardy Swiss, Charles of Burgundy may find him a far moreformidable enemy than he expects. We are strong for the present, onlyin the Duke's strength, and if it is wasted in idle and desultoryefforts, our hopes, alas! vanish with his power, even if he should befound to have the decided will to assist us. My friends in Englandare resolute not to stir without men and money from Burgundy."
"It is a fear," said Margaret, "but not our worst fear. I dread morethe policy of Louis, who, unless my espials have grossly deceived me,has even already proposed a secret peace to Edward, offering withlarge sums of money to purchase England to the Yorkists, and a truceof seven years."
"It cannot be," said Oxford. "No Englishman, commanding such an armyas Edward must now lead, dares for very shame to retire from Francewithout a manly attempt to recover his lost provinces."
"Such would have been the thoughts of a rightful prince," saidMargaret, "who left behind him an obedient and faithful kingdom. Suchmay not be the thoughts of this Edward, misnamed Plantagenet, baseperhaps in mind as in blood, since they say his real father was oneBlackburn, an archer of Middleham--usurper, at leas
t, if notbastard--such will not be his thoughts.[6] Every breeze that blowsfrom England will bring with it apprehensions of defection amongstthose over whom he has usurped authority. He will not sleep in peacetill he returns to England with those cut-throats, whom he relies uponfor the defence of his stolen crown. He will engage in no war withLouis, for Louis will not hesitate to soothe his pride byhumiliation--to gorge his avarice and pamper his voluptuousprodigality by sums of gold--and I fear much we shall soon hear ofthe English army retiring from France with the idle boast, that theyhave displayed their banners once more, for a week or two, in theprovinces which were formerly their own."
"It the more becomes us to be speedy in moving Burgundy to decision,"replied Oxford; "and for that purpose I post to Dijon. Such an army asEdward's cannot be transported over the narrow seas in several weeks.The probability is, that they must winter in France, even if theyshould have truce with King Louis. With a thousand Hainault lancesfrom the eastern part of Flanders, I can be soon in the North, wherewe have many friends, besides the assurance of help from Scotland. Thefaithful West will rise at a signal--a Clifford can be found, thoughthe mountain mists have hid him from Richard's researches--the Welshwill assemble at the rallying word of Tudor--the Red Rose raises itshead once more--and so, God save King Henry!"
"Alas!" said the Queen--"But no husband--no friend of mine--the sonbut of my mother-in-law by a Welsh chieftain--cold, they say, andcrafty--But be it so--let me only see Lancaster triumph, and obtainrevenge upon York, and I will die contented!"
"It is then your pleasure that I should make the proffers expressed byyour Grace's former mandates, to induce Burgundy to stir himself inour cause? If he learns the proposal of a truce betwixt France andEngland, it will sting sharper than aught I can say."
"Promise all, however," said the Queen. "I know his inmost soul--it isset upon extending the dominions of his House in every direction. Forthis he has seized Gueldres--for this he now overruns and occupiesLorraine--for this he covets such poor remnants of Provence as myfather still calls his own. With such augmented territories, heproposes to exchange his ducal diadem for an arched crown ofindependent sovereignty. Tell the Duke, Margaret can assist hisviews--tell him, that my father Rene shall disown the opposition madeto the Duke's seizure of Lorraine--He shall do more--he shall declareCharles his heir in Provence, with my ample consent--tell him, the oldman shall cede his dominions to him upon the instant that hisHainaulters embark for England, some small pension deducted tomaintain a concert of fiddlers, and a troop of morrice-dancers. Theseare Rene's only earthly wants. Mine are still fewer--Revenge uponYork, and a speedy grave!--For the paltry gold which we may need, thouhast jewels to pledge--For the other conditions, security ifrequired."
"For these, madam, I can pledge my knightly word, in addition to yourroyal faith; and if more is required, my son shall be a hostage withBurgundy."
"Oh, no--no!" exclaimed the dethroned Queen, touched by perhaps theonly tender feeling, which repeated and extraordinary misfortunes hadnot chilled into insensibility,--"Hazard not the life of the nobleyouth--he that is the last of the loyal and faithful House of Vere--hethat should have been the brother in arms of my beloved Edward--hethat had so nearly been his companion in a bloody and untimely grave!Do not involve this poor child in these fatal intrigues, which havebeen so baneful to his family. Let him go with me. Him at least Iwill shelter from danger whilst I live, and provide for when I am nomore."
"Forgive me, madam," said Oxford, with the firmness whichdistinguished him. "My son, as you deign to recollect, is a De Vere,destined, perhaps, to be the last of his name. Fall, he may, but itmust not be without honour. To whatever dangers his duty andallegiance call him, be it from sword or lance, axe or gibbet, tothese he must expose himself frankly, when his doing so can mark hisallegiance. His ancestors have shown him how to brave them all."
"True, true," exclaimed the unfortunate Queen, raising her armswildly,--"All must perish--all that have honoured Lancaster--all thathave loved Margaret, or whom she has loved! The destruction must beuniversal--the young must fall with the old--not a lamb of thescattered flock shall escape!"
"For God's sake, gracious madam," said Oxford, "compose yourself!--Ihear them knock on the chapel door."
"It is the signal of parting," said the exiled Queen, collectingherself. "Do not fear, noble Oxford, I am not often thus; but howseldom do I see those friends, whose faces and voices can disturb thecomposure of my despair! Let me tie this relic about thy neck, goodyouth, and fear not its evil influence, though you receive it from anill-omened hand. It was my husband's, blessed by many a prayer, andsanctified by many a holy tear; even my unhappy hands cannot polluteit. I should have bound it on my Edward's bosom on the dreadfulmorning of Tewkesbury fight; but he armed early--went to the fieldwithout seeing me, and all my purpose was vain."
She passed a golden chain round Arthur's neck as she spoke, whichcontained a small gold crucifix of rich but barbarous manufacture. Ithad belonged, said tradition, to Edward the Confessor. The knock atthe door of the chapel was repeated.
"We must not tarry," said Margaret; "let us part here--you for Dijon,I to Aix, my abode of unrest in Provence. Farewell--we may meet in abetter hour--yet how can I hope it? Thus I said on the morning beforethe fight of St. Albans--thus on the dark dawning of Towton--thus onthe yet more bloody field of Tewkesbury--and what was the event? Yethope is a plant which cannot be rooted out of a noble breast, till thelast heart-string crack as it is pulled away."
So saying, she passed through the chapel door, and mingled in themiscellaneous assemblage of personages who worshipped or indulgedtheir curiosity, or consumed their idle hours amongst the aisles ofthe cathedral.
Philipson and his son, both deeply impressed with the singularinterview which had just taken place, returned to their inn, wherethey found a pursuivant, with the Duke of Burgundy's badge and livery,who informed them, that if they were the English merchants who werecarrying wares of value to the court of the Duke, he had orders toafford them the countenance of his escort and inviolable character.Under his protection they set out from Strasburg; but such was theuncertainty of the Duke of Burgundy's motions, and such the numerousobstacles which occurred to interrupt their journey, in a countrydisturbed by the constant passage of troops and preparation for war,that it was evening on the second day ere they reached the plain nearDijon, on which the whole, or great part of his power, lay encamped.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] See Editor's Notes at the end of the Volume. Wherever a similarreference occurs, the reader will understand that the same directionapplies.
[6] The Lancastrian party threw the imputation of bastardy (which wastotally unfounded) upon Edward IV.