CHAPTER XVII.
The sight of the approaching party was very acceptable to every one of the persons in the cave, who were not a little tired of their situation, after having waited for nearly two hours, watching the dying away of a thunder-storm, which, even then, left no better prospect than that the hard leaden clouds which had poured forth the lightning would soften into the showery haze of an unsettled autumn night.
The troop, however, seemed to approach but slowly; every now and then pausing and looking round the valley, as if doubtful of the exact place to which their steps should be directed. At length, Alice took an impatient step out into the shower, and was followed by one of the falconers; who soon attracted the notice of the horsemen by one of the long and peculiar whoops practised in his vocation. The moment after, a young cavalier, habited in the furs and embroideries which designated a man of noble rank in the county of Flanders, dashed forward from the rest; and the next instant Hugh de Mortmar was by the side of his fair Alice.
A few words of explanation sufficed. A strange horseman, he said, whom the warder described as bearing the appearance of one of the free companions who infested the country, had given notice at the barbacan of the castle, that the Princess Mary and her train were storm-stayed in that valley which in the forest bore the name of "The Valley of the Marsh;" and that, of course, he had instantly set out to render service and assistance.
The young gentleman then, with deep respect, tendered his aid to the princess. Mary and her attendants were soon placed in the litters, or mounted on the spare horses; and, as it was too late to think of returning to Tirlemont, the whole party wound onward towards the castle of Hannut. At the earnest request of the chief groom, however, as the road by the chapel was not longer than that by which the young noble had come, it was preferred in returning to the castle, in order to relieve the horses which had been left tied in the neighbourhood; and, choosing a longer but easier ascent than that which had been trod so rapidly by the Vert Gallant some hours before, the princess was soon once more on the spot from which she had been carried in the thunder-storm.
The scene that she there beheld was not a little awful. Three of the walls of the chapel, indeed, remained, but that was all; and the time-dried wood-work which had supported the tall conical roof, now lay on what had once been the floor, still blackened and smouldering, though the fire which had been kindled by the lightning was well nigh extinguished by the subsequent rain. The chapel itself, however, though it showed how terrible her own fate might have been, was not, perhaps, the most fearful object that the spot presented. The tall, majestic tree which had stood alone, a few yards in advance of the building, was rent to the very ground; and, amidst the shivered boughs and the yellow leaves with which they were covered, lay motionless the beautiful horse that had been tied there, with its strong and energetic limbs, but a few hours before full of wild life and noble fire, now cold and stiff; the wide expansive nostril, small and collapsed, the clear eye, dim and leaden, and the proud head cast powerless down the bank. There are few things show so substantially the mighty and awful power of death as to see a noble horse killed by some sudden accident. The moment before, it stands at the sublimest point of animal existence--as if the living principle were yielded to it in a greater share than to any other thing--and the next it is shapeless carrion.
"Alas, the poor horse!" cried Mary, when her eyes fell upon the gallant beast lying stretched out beneath the tree: "alas, the poor horse!" But, running along the chain of association, her mind speedily reverted to herself, and the fate she had so narrowly escaped; and, closing her eyes, while the litter was borne on, she spent a few moments in thankful prayer.
The other horses, which had been tied at a little distance to the east of the chapel, appeared to have broken their bridles from fear, and escaped. The trees under which they had been fastened remained uninjured by the storm, but no trace could be discovered of the animals themselves.
After the lapse of a few minutes spent in the search, the cavalcade moved on at a quicker pace; and Mary of Burgundy soon observed, with a smile, that Hugh de Mortmar, though often at the side of the litter in which she herself was placed, offering all those formal attentions which her rank and station required, was still more frequently in the neighbourhood of the one which followed, and which contained her fair attendant, Alice, alone. The young waiting-woman, who shared the princess's conveyance, remarked the particular attentions of the young lord also, and commented on it with some acerbity; but her jealous anger was soon repressed by Mary's sweet smile; and ere long the whole cavalcade wound through the barbacan and the manifold gates of the castle of Hannut.
The retainers of the lord of the mansion, drawn up in the court-yards, received the heiress of Burgundy and Flanders with feudal reverence; and the old lord himself waited bareheaded to hand her from the vehicle which had conveyed her thither. She was instantly conducted to the apartments which Alice of Imbercourt had inhabited during her stay; and a part of the wardrobe which the fair girl had left behind, in the hope of a speedy return, now served to replace the damp garments of the princess.
On returning from the chamber where she had made this change of dress to the little sitting-room or bower--as it was called, in the castles of the nobility of that time--the princess found that supper had been laid out for her there, rather than in the hall; but at the same time she perceived, by the solitary cover which graced the table, while the Lord of Hannut and Hugh de Mortmar stood by to attend upon her, that she was to be served with all the formal state and ceremony of a sovereign princess.
"Nay, nay, my lord," she said, as she remarked the fact; "I must not suffer all this. While I am here, I must have you consider me as a wandering demoiselle, whom you have delivered from danger and distress, and with whose rank or station you are unacquainted. All, therefore, of noble blood, must sit and partake with me of my supper, or I partake not myself."
The old Lord of Hannut, well knowing the formal ceremony maintained at the court of Burgundy, especially during the previous reign, would fain have remonstrated; but Mary cut him short, laying her hand kindly and gently on the old man's arm, and saying, in a soft and somewhat playful tone, "Must Mary of Burgundy command? Well, then, be it so: we command you, my lord, to forget from this moment that there is any one beneath your roof but a dear friend of your sweet niece, Alice. Believe me," she added, more seriously, "that I know no greater enjoyment than to cast aside the trammels of state, and the cold weight of ceremony, and let my heart play free. To me, it is like what you, my lords, must have felt in unbuckling your armour after a long day's tournament."
Although the politeness of that day was of the stately and rigid kind, which might have required the Lord of Hannut to press further the ceremonious respect he had been about to show, he had too much of the truer politeness of the heart not to yield at once to the princess's wishes thus expressed. More covers were instantly laid upon the table; and, assuming easily the station of host, in place of that of feudal subject, he treated his fair guests during supper with easy courtesy, mingled, indeed, but not loaded, with respect.
The time passed pleasantly, and many a varied strain of conversation, regarding all those matters which were interesting in that age, whiled the minutes insensibly away. The common subjects, indeed, connected with the state of society as it then existed, arms, and love, and the hunting-field, the news of the day, and the gossip of the town, were the first things spoken of, as matters on which all could converse. But speedily, as each tried the other's powers, and found that there were less ordinary topics on which they might communicate, the conversation turned to arts, to letters, and to the human mind. Hugh de Mortmar, whose travels through many lands had made him acquainted with things but scantily known even at the luxurious court of Burgundy, told of the efforts that Italy was then beginning to make to cast off the darkness which had so long hung over her states, described many a beautiful object which he had seen in the land of ancient arts, and rose into enthusiasm as he spoke of Medici, and of all that his magnificent efforts were likely to restore to Italy.
The newly-discovered art of printing, too, was mentioned and discussed, and surmises of what it might one time accomplish were ventured on that occasion which would astonish those who see them only partly realized even in the present day. But it was, perhaps, one of the weaknesses of that age to attribute great and mysterious powers to everything that was new and unusual; and, though clear and philosophical reasoning guided the Lord of Hannut to some of his anticipations in regard to printing, a vague degree of superstition, or perhaps it might better be called mysticism, added not a little. It was an easy transition from considering what the mind could do, to consider what the mind of man even then did; and Mary, half fearful of offending, yet with her curiosity not a little excited, led the conversation to those dark and mysterious arts, in the study of which the Lord of Hannut was supposed to pass the greater part of his time. Upon that branch of what were then called the dark sciences, which referred to the communication of mortal beings with the spiritual world, the old lord was profoundly silent; but in the accuracy and reality of the art by which man was then supposed to read his future fate, from the bright and mysterious orbs of heaven, he expressed his most deep and sincere conviction.
"Many a long and weary night, many a deep and anxious thought, have I given," he said, "to the subject; and, after the study of nearly forty years--after searching philosophy and Scripture--after consulting the learned and the wise--I cannot doubt, madam, that the science which the Chaldee shepherds studied and acquired in the plains of the East has come down to us, though not in the degree of clear accuracy to which they had brought it. Our calculations are sometimes slightly wrong; a day--a month--a year sometimes, too early or too late--but, on examination, I have always found that the error was in the imperfection of my own knowledge, not in a deceitful prognostication of the stars."
The mind of woman is naturally more bent toward superstition than that of man. Mary of Burgundy had heard her father rave against astrologers as quacks and impostors, especially whenever their predictions did not accord with his own designs; but she had heard him also express, on many an occasion, a desire for their counsel; and even the abuse which he showered upon them, had shown her how much importance he attached to their predictions. Her belief, indeed, in their skill was not untinged with doubt--more, indeed, than was usual in that age--but nevertheless it was still belief; and the calm and serious assurances of a man so famous for his wisdom and his skill as the Lord of Hannut, raised that belief, for the time, to certainty.
"I wish," she replied, with a smile, in answer to what he had last said, "I wish that I had here noted down the exact day, and hour, and minute of my birth, that I might ask you, my lord, to give me some insight into my future fate."
"Were such really your wishes, lady," answered the old nobleman, "your desire might soon be gratified. Too much interest have I ever felt in the house of Burgundy, not to obtain every particle of information necessary to discover exactly, as far as human science can reach, the destinies and fate of each child of that race."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mary; "and can you, then, calculate for me, with any degree of accuracy, the lot that is likely to befal me in life?" and her eyes, as she spoke, turned with a glance of inquiring interest towards Alice of Imbercourt, as if for confirmation of her belief in the old lord's skill.
"I can do more, lady," said the Lord of Hannut: "I can show you a page where the whole is already written. While you were yet in the cradle, the interest which every one takes in those who are destined to rule nations, led me to draw the scheme of your nativity, and to learn everything concerning your part in the future, which human science could discover. At the same time, the famous Anthony of Palermo separately undertook the same task; and, after mature deliberation, though at the distance of many hundred miles, each sent to the other a transcript of the result. The difference between our calculations was so slight as scarcely to merit the name; and I can now place before your eyes the two combined. I pledge my word to you, that more than eighteen years have elapsed since those calculations were made; and from the past, which you cannot doubt, you shall learn to judge of the future. Do you desire to see it?"
Mary turned somewhat pale, and paused ere she replied; but at length she answered, "I do; and thank you, sir."
"The book in which that eventful page is written," said the Lord of Hannut, "must never leave the chamber where it has been so long preserved; and I can but suffer one person to accompany you to its perusal. Choose, then, lady! who shall it be?"
"Alice," said the princess, "will you go with me?"
"Willingly, willingly," replied the lively girl, "if my uncle promises beforehand to call up no spirits to terrify us out of our senses."
"Let me beseech you not to go, madam," exclaimed the old cavalier who had accompanied them thither: "I never yet did know any one who attempted to pry into the hidden secrets of fate, who did not bitterly repent it."
"Madam," said the Lord of Hannut, "follow, I entreat, your own judgment alone. I urge you not to read or to forbear; yet, as far as my memory serves me, you may read without much apprehension; for though you may have many a painful scene yet to go through--as who in life has not?--still there will be bright days, and many, before the end."
"I will go, my lord," replied Mary. "Come, Alice, lend me your arm. My lord, I will follow you."
"Ho, without, there! a light! a light!" exclaimed the Lord of Hannut. "Pause yet a moment, lady. The sun is down, and the dim and narrow passages of this building are not to be trod by a stranger without more light than yon twilight sky will now afford. Bear a torch to the end of the gallery, Roger," he added, speaking to a tall old man, who appeared at his summons. "Now, madam, permit me to lead you on."
Thus speaking, he took the hand of the princess reverently in his own, and led her from the chamber, followed by Alice of Imbercourt. The next moment, Mary found herself in a long gallery, pierced by many windows turned to the westward, through which might be seen the fiery streaks left by the setting sun upon the verge of the stormy sky. Manifold doors opened opposite to these windows, and between the apertures the effigies of many a warrior frowned in steel, while the red glare of the sunset flashed upon the polished armour, as each suit stood supported by its wooden figure, giving to all the prominent points a bloody hue, akin to the associations that the sight of those implements of war called up. At the end of this long corridor was a wide archway, at which, ere Mary had paced half the length of the gallery, a figure took its place, bearing a lighted torch; and though the whole arrangement of the building was, in that age, more common, and consequently appeared less gloomy, than it would seem at present, still there was an aspect of solemn grandeur about it, that raised, and yet saddened, the feelings of Mary of Burgundy, as she advanced in the firm belief that she was about to see the scheme of her future life laid open before her eyes.
Passing through the archway, with the torch-bearer preceding them, the old lord and his two fair companions wound round the greater part of the building, in order to reach the apartment in which he pursued his studies, without passing through the common hall; and as they swept along the dark and narrow passages, with the torch-light flashing on the rude and mouldered stone, the sense of awe and expectation increased in the bosom of the princess almost to the height of pain. Alice, too, felt it, and was profoundly silent; and when at length they entered the chamber, in which the lonely hours of a long life had been spent in solitary and mysterious study, she gazed around her with a glance of curiosity and apprehension, which clearly showed that she herself had never set her foot within its walls before. The silver lamp hung lighted from the roof; and the attendant with his torch drew back to let them pass, carefully avoiding, however, to set his foot across the threshold.
Mary's heart beat quick; and she now began to ask herself whether she had any right to unveil that awful future over which the Almighty has cast so profound a shadow. What was she about to do? To learn her fate, without the possibility of changing it; to acquire the knowledge of each event that was to happen, without the power of avoiding or ruling it as it arose; to mark every danger while yet it lay in the womb of the future; to foreknow every pang while yet it was far distant; to sip the cup of agony and fear, drop by drop, long before fate compelled her to the draught; and to make each day miserable with the certainty of the morrow's sorrow.
While such thoughts passed through her mind, the old noble took down one of the large volumes from the cabinet, and unfastening the golden clasps with which it was bound, he laid it on the desk beneath the lamp. "Madam," he said, "you wished to know the fate of your future years; it is now before you. Event by event I have marked the current of the past, and I have found no error yet in what is there written. Read, then, if you will, and with full confidence; for as sure as that we all live, and that we all must die, every turn of your coming existence is there, written down."
Mary took a step or two towards the book, laid her fair hand upon the yellow leaves, then paused, and gazed upwards for a moment. "No!" she exclaimed at length, "no, it is wiser, it is better as it is! Most merciful was the decree of the Most High, that veiled the future in uncertainty. Forgive me, God, that I have sought to pry beyond the limits that thou thyself hast set! No, no! I will not read!" So saying, she drew hastily back, as if afraid of her own determination, cast open the door, and quitted the apartment.
The Lord of Hannut followed, in some surprise. "Madam," he said, as he offered his hand to guide the princess through the passages which the want of the torch now rendered totally dark, "I will not say you have done wrong; but you have, I own, surprised me."
"My lord," replied the princess, "I feel that I have done right, and have not suffered curiosity to triumph over reason. At least," she added, with a smile, "you can say there is one woman in the world, who, when the book of destiny was laid open before her, refused to read!"
"It is, indeed, a wonder which may well be noted down," replied the old nobleman; "but, I believe, we have left another behind who may not have the same prudence, Alice." He added aloud, "Alice! beware! Close the door, fair niece," he added, as the young lady followed; and having seen that it was fastened, he led the way back to the apartments which the princess was to occupy for the night.
The party they now rejoined were, as may be naturally supposed, full of curiosity, which, however much restrained by respect, was sufficiently apparent; and Mary, whose spirits had risen since her determination had been formed, told them at once, with gay good humour, that she had been afraid to read; "and therefore," she said, "I can tell you nothing of the future; for, thank God! I know nothing."
"I am happy then, madam," said Hugh de Mortmar, "that I can tell you something of the present, which may make up for the disappointment; and what I can tell you is good. A messenger has arrived during your brief absence, bringing news from Lorraine. My lord your father is, as you doubtless know, in the field, and notwithstanding the checks of Granson and Morat, has an army in better condition than ever. Of all this you are aware: but now you will be glad to hear that Regnier of Lorraine, and all his Switzers, have fled before the Duke, across the Moselle; that Dieulewart, Pont a Mouchon, and Pont, have surrendered to Burgundy; and that the general of the enemy has left his army, and retired to Germany."
Such tidings in regard to the present banished the thoughts of the future, which the preceding events had called up; and the messenger, being summoned to the presence of the princess, repeated the joyful news he had brought, in a more circumstantial manner; and added the still more important information, in Mary's eyes, that her father was in good health, and had totally shaken off the lethargy of grief into which the defeat at Morat had thrown him for many weeks.
Thus passed the evening of the princess's stay in the castle of Hannut; and early the next morning, escorted by Hugh de Mortmar and a large body of armed retainers, as well as a party of her own attendants, who had arrived from Tirlemont, she passed through the forest, and proceeded on the visitation which she was making to various cities in the county of Flanders.
In each and all she was received with loud and joyful acclamations; for as both Philip of Commines and good John Molinet observed of their countrymen, the Flemings, they always adored the heirs of the county till they were invested with real authority: but from the moment they succeeded to the sovereignty, they became objects of as much detestation and abuse, as they before were of love and applause. Thus, as she progressed through the land, Mary fondly fancied that the Flemings had been a people greatly traduced, and believed that their hearts and best wishes would surely follow a mild and just government. That such, under all circumstances and in every time, should be the character of her own sway, she firmly resolved; and she returned to Ghent, convinced that peace, good will, and union of purpose, would ever reign between her and the honest commons of Flanders.