Heroines of the Crusades Part 11

"Reproach not thyself," said Maude, tenderly.

The countess heeded not her interruption. "Thou and I," said she, "have wrought for different ends, and the results for which I toiled have come to thee unsought."

Maude would have replied, but the pa.s.sionate woman proceeded. "Nay, let me speak; for since my great grief has fallen upon me, I have unburdened my heart to no one. As a captive thou didst bring a blessing to the household of the Conqueror; thy sweet spirit moulded the rude Simon into a benefactor of his dependents, and I know well that it was thy benevolent wisdom which instructed Matilda to secure the liberty of England, and the stability of Henry's throne. Thy silent sacrifices have made the rich current of thy life one stream of beneficence, while my erring spirit has converted the bounties of heaven into fountains of misery. My wicked pride found occasion in the imbecility of my first-born William for ceaseless repining, and sowed the seeds of sorrow in the hearts of my other n.o.ble beautiful children. Thibaut is in arms against his sovereign, Stephen a pensioner on the fickle humors of a king, Henry seeks preferment through the church, and my lovely Lucy, the darling of her father, lies entombed in the sea. Oh! Maude! Maude! my best and truest friend, pity her whose only occupation through long years has been 'to write bitter things against herself!' But I might have known it all," continued she impetuously, "for heaven through thy intercession deigned to warn me of my fate, and I would not tell thee lest thy gentle love should win me from it."

She drew aside the curtain of the oratory, and led the princess within the shadow. Through the oriel windows the mellow light of the autumnal sun fell softly upon the altar, where stood beside the crucifix the crystal urn containing the hallowed dust of Palestine. The scarf of Stephen, with its golden embroidery rusted, and its bright pearls dimmed with his blood, was wound round the precious love-gift, and fastened with the thorn obtained from Ingulfus.

"It seems but yesterday," said she, tenderly detaching the baldric, "since I held this up before thee with pride and pleasure, and in careless wonder saw thee wreathe it in the canopy of my couch. But that dream, now that my whole life looks a dream, seems the one reality of my existence. I shall tell it thee, for my spirit already feels the balm of thy gentle sympathy.

"My slumbers were at first broken and disturbed. I seemed with Stephen and Robert in an eastern land, hurrying over rocks and sands, a tiresome, weary way, in pursuit of a crown which constantly tempted, but eluded the grasp. First I missed Stephen from my side, then Robert disappeared, and at last I sank down among myriads of wretches peris.h.i.+ng of thirst. I woke in terror, and it was long ere I could compose myself again to rest.

Whether I slept again I know not, but as I lay gazing into the depths of the heavens, my vision seemed to pierce beyond the stars; and from the uttermost distance came one winging his way past the bright orbs, till he stood within the cas.e.m.e.nt, the impersonation of my lover.

"My scarf lay upon his breast, and his right hand held out to me an urn, pure as though formed of consolidated light, upon whose amethystine entablature was engraven _Human Love_. As I extended my hand, and clasped the precious treasure, the shattered inscription fell to dust in the vase.

I raised my eyes,--he threw a pitying smile upon me, and immediately there sprang up from the ashes a celestial flower, and as each living petal unfolded, there floated off a radiant line of light bearing the sacred words _Divine Love_, till the whole air was filled with redolence and beauty.

"The ringing of the matin chimes recalled me to consciousness, and my bright vision was absorbed by the flood of glory which the morning sun poured into the apartment.

"Thou saidst truth!" exclaimed Maude. "Thy dream is a reality; for in the ashes of _Human Love_, the _Divine_ plants the sweetest hopes of existence."

The long sealed fountain of Adela's tears began to flow, and as the gracious drops distilled from her surcharged heart, and her paralyzed sensibilities felt once more the bliss of emotion, the strong, proud woman, became gentle and humble as a child.

"Maude," said she, clasping her hands in grat.i.tude, "there was ever a mystery about thee. I had thought to wear out my life in sad penance, and thou hast opened to me a source of happy contemplation: henceforth my desert future, fertilized by the sweet waters that have gushed from the rock at thy magic touch, shall blossom with the flowers of Paradise."

The abbess Cicely here entered, and summoned them to the hall of general reception, where Maude embraced her son and received the amba.s.sadors sent by her husband to conduct her to Stirling, the place appointed for her coronation, as Queen of Scotland.

"Go," said Adela, with affectionate joy, as she saw her depart. "Go to thy bright destiny. Thou art a living ill.u.s.tration of the truth of scripture, 'Be thou faithful over a few things, and I will make thee ruler over many things.'"

ELEANOR.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Eleanor of Aquitaine.]

CHAPTER I.

"In the midst was seen A lady of a more majestic mien, By stature and by beauty marked their sovereign Queen."

The southern provinces of France, Poitou, Saintogne, Auvergne, Perigord, Limousin, Angoumois and Guienne, received of the Romans the cla.s.sic appellation of Aquitaine. This beautiful land, watered by the Garonne and Loire, whose clear and sparkling streams, flowing from vine-clad hills, stretched their silvery arms to irrigate the fairest fields and to enclose the finest harbors in the world, was in the twelfth century, inhabited by the most civilized and polished people on the face of the earth. The arts, and the idealities, and the refinements of life, like the native flowers of its sunny vales, seemed wakened and nourished by the genial airs of a climate, softened by the proximity of the sea, and rendered bracing by the mountain breeze. The numerous and independent sovereigns, whose feudal sway extended over this fair territory, imbibed the spirit of chivalry, and caught the enthusiasm that precipitated the armies of Europe upon Asia. Count Raimond of Toulouse, was one of the first who took the cross, at the council of Clermont. He was styled _par excellence_ the Moses of the expedition. Before leaving for Palestine, on his returnless voyage, he ceded his dominions to his daughter, wife of William IX. of Poitou. The grand-children of William IX. were Eleanor and Petronilla. The father of these fair sisters, William X., left Aquitaine in 1132, with their uncle Raimond, who was chosen prince of Antioch.

The poetical taste of Eleanor was early cultivated and developed by the unrestrained freedom she enjoyed in the queenless court of her minstrel grandfather in Gay Guienne. The language that prevailed all over the south of France, was called Provencal. It was the mother-tongue of Duke William, the grandfather of Eleanor, who was one of the most liberal patrons and earliest professors of that style of composition in which the Troubadours celebrated the feats of love and arms. The matchless charms of Eleanor were enhanced by all the accomplishments of the south. Her fine genius found ample exercise in composing the sirvantes and chansons of Provencal poetry, and her delicate fingers wiled the spirit of music from the echoing harp to accompany her voice adown the tide of song. She inherited from her grandfather the political sovereignty of her native dominions not only, but the brilliant talents and ancestral superiority that made her Empress in the realm of Taste, and Queen of the courts of Love.

When the gay and licentious Duke William felt the infirmities of age coming upon him, he determined to seek the readiest means to rid himself of the burden of his sins. Accordingly, he resolved to resign the most potent sceptre in Europe to the unpractised hand of his youthful granddaughter, and devote the rest of his days to prayer and penitence in a hermitage of the rocky wilderness of St. James de Compostella. Eleanor had not attained her fifteenth year when her grandfather commenced his career of self-denial, by summoning the baronage of Aquitaine to transfer their allegiance to herself; and the child-sovereign exercised the royal functions of her new dignities while the duke visited the court of Louis le Gros and offered her hand to the young prince. The wise lawgiver of France readily accepted the proposal--for the rich provinces which const.i.tuted the dower of Eleanor, held allegiance to the crown, only by feudal tenure; and the son, equally impatient for the possession of his fair prize, set off with a n.o.ble train for Bordeaux. The light heart of Eleanor was easily won by the unrivalled attractions of Louis le Jeune, whose courtly graces were illuminated by the prospect of the crown of Charlemagne; while the damsels that composed her court, exercised their blandishments with cruel skill upon the too susceptible hearts of the cavaliers that came in the train of the bridegroom. The parliament of Love deliberated day by day in mock solemnity upon the pretensions of the fair rivals, and the discreet decisions of Eleanor, the presiding genius of the conclave, inspired the songs of Trouveres and Troubadours, who vied with each other in celebrating her charms.

A succession of long, bright days, closed the month of July, and on the last evening the court of Love continued its session till the brilliant twilight had faded from the western sky, and the mellow harvest-moon poured a silver flood upon fountains that sprang as if instinct with life to catch and fling the s.h.i.+ning radiance upon the gay company that still lingered in the Rose Pavilion. The Queen of the court, attired like Venus, sat upon a throne, canopied with Acaeia, through whose trembling leaves the light fell playfully contending with the envious shadows that seemed striving to hide her smiles. At her feet sat her favorite page, with wings framed of gauze attached to his shoulders, holding a lyre, fas.h.i.+oned to resemble the bow of Cupid, upon which he occasionally struck a few notes to announce a change in the evening's entertainment. Lovely maidens arrayed as Nymphs and Graces reclined upon verdant couches around the fair arbitress of these amorous debates. Groups of light-hearted girls, representing heathen G.o.ddesses, listened encouragingly to their favorite minstrels, and strove, by various subtle arts, to win the meed of praise to the verse that celebrated their charms. Sirventes and Chansons had been recited and sung, still the a.s.sembly listened with an air of impatience, as if antic.i.p.ating matters of more general interest. With a smile that at once excited and baffled curiosity, the Queen touched the cheek of her page with her flowery sceptre, saying, "Why slumbers the harp of my pretty Peyrol? Has he no song for the ear of his lady?"

"Peyrol cannot sing in the Romance Walloon," said the youth, casting down his eyes with jealous pique.

"Proud one," replied the queen, "thou knowest that though the lord of _oui_ and _non_ delights our eye, his language charms not our ear. We would hear a pretty faibleaux of Grenada, or wilt thou give us a fitting apostrophe to the court, where Gaiety and Innocence preside."

"Nay, honored lady," said the page, "since Gaiety and Innocence parted company on the plains of Pleasure, harmony hath forsaken the lyre, and not even the G.o.ddess of Love can heal the discord."

"Thou pratest, pert boy," replied the queen, with a stolen glance at Petronilla.

Perceiving from her tone, that he had presumed too far, the page bent over his harp and rapidly swept his fingers across the strings, saying apologetically,

"If my lady will accept a lay of Bretagne, Peyrol is ready to do her bidding."

"The sweet tones of the langue d'oc little befit the rugged legends of the northern clime," said the queen, "but tune thy lyre without further parley." The page needed no second command, but sang:--

1. In a province fair of sunny France, Beside a winding river, Over whose waves in joyous dance, The sunbeams gleam and quiver, Stood a castle tall, a goodly sight, With its broad and rich domain, And therein dwelt a n.o.ble knight; I ween he had a lady bright And three sweet babes withouten stain.

2. A generous heart, an open hand, To courtlie companie, And eke as any in the land For beggars of low degree.

So gentle his mien in lady's bower, So full of courtesie, Yet valiant was he in tournament, And a good bow in the greenwood bent, I wot right dextrously.

3. He had been blest in his earthly state With such fair prosperity, That his heart beat high with pride elate, Forgot he the giver good and great And christian humility.

Whereat to punish his arrogance, Our Lady sent him sore mischance, And dire adversity.

4. Sir Isumbras to the hunt has gone, Riding so gallantly, With hawk and hound in the dewy morn, When a vision bright above him born, Appeared in the clear blue sky.

He saw a maiden meek and fair, An angel I wist was she, A messenger sent to bid him prepare For chill calamity.

5. A woful man was the knight that day, He turned him home in sore dismay, When his good steed fell and died, And hawk and hound of life bereft, Sir Isumbras in the forest left, With no living thing beside.

When to him there came his little foot page, As fast as he might hie.

My n.o.ble master, a sad message, It is that I bear to thee.

"Thy proud castell lies in ruins low, Thy lady and children escaped the blow, But and with jeopardy."

6. The knight bowed meekly to heaven's decree; A wiser and sadder man was he, And with his lady and children, three, Sir Isumbras boune him o'er the sea-- A penitent pilgrim he would be To holy Palestine.

Through seven weary lands they went-- The strength of the babes was wellnigh spent, For charity, cold was their nourishment.

They came to a wood, with flowers besprent-- To a rapid river of broad extent, Where never the sunbeams s.h.i.+ne.

7. His eldest born, Sir Isumbras bore With tenderest care to the farther sh.o.r.e; But ere he returned again, A lion fierce from the thicket sprang-- The little one tore from that cruel strand, Nor him might they regain.

8. He found his lady weeping, full lorn, For in his absence a leopard strong, With a fell and b.l.o.o.d.y unicorn, The others from her arms had torn.

9. The lady wished that she might die, Or ever this sore calamity, She should have been preserved to see; But the knight with meek humility, To Mary mother a prayer 'gan say, That his penance might soon have end-- When wandering through the weary land, The Sultan's captives they were ta'en Before his face to bend.

10. I trow the Sultan had rarely seen A lady so lovely, in form or mien, Or a knight so bold and true.

"Sir knight, I will give thee gold and fee, As much as thou might wish to see, If thou wilt renounce Christianity, And fight for the banners of Paynimrie, And sell thy lady bright to me;"

His form to its height he drew.

11. "Our Lady forefend that I should e'er In infidel ranks a standard bear, Or the holy cross betray; And for weal or woe my lady fair, I wed in the face of day; A recreant knight I be when e'er This right I shall gainsay."

12. They have putten off his scarlet mantell Within the goldis shred; They drove him from that land of Baal, And left him as he were dead.

The lady was sent to a far countrie, The bride of the Sultan she should be, When from the wars of Chrisendie In triumph he returned.

13. Asleep in the forest the good knight lay And when he awoke at dawn of day He saw his treasure borne away, By an eagle strong in search of prey-- No longer he there sojourned.