CHAPTER XIII.
Black and gloomy silence reigned through the old château of Compiègne, during the two days that followed the queen's determination to depart. All Philip's military operations were neglected--all the affairs of his immediate government were forgotten, and his hours passed in wandering alone in the forest, or in pacing his chamber with agitated and uncertain steps.
The thoughts and feelings that filled those hours, however, though all painful, were of a mixed and irregular character. Sometimes, it was the indignant swelling of a proud and imperious heart against the usurped power that snatched from it its brightest hopes. Sometimes, it was the thrilling agony of parting from all he loved. Sometimes, it was the burning thirst for vengeance, both on the head of him who had caused the misery, and of those who, by their falling off in time of need, had left him to bear it alone; and, sometimes, it was the shadowy doubts and suspicions of awakened jealousy, throwing all into darkness and gloom. Still, however, the deep, the passionate love remained; and to it clung the faint hope of rewinning the treasure he sacrificed for a time.
Thus, as he strode along the paths of the forest, with his arms crossed upon his broad chest, he sketched out the stern but vast plan of crushing his rebellious barons piecemeal, as soon as ever the interdict--that fatal bond of union amongst them--should be broken. He carried his glance, too, still farther into the future; and saw many a rising coalition against him in Europe, fomented and supported by the church of Rome; and firm in his own vigorous talent, it was with a sort of joy that he contemplated their coming, as the means whereby he would avenge the indignity he had suffered from the Roman see, crush his enemies, punish his disobedient vassals, and, extending his dominion to the infinite of hope, would hold Agnes once more to his heart, and dare the whole world to snatch her thence again.
Such were the thoughts of Philip Augustus, so mingled of many passions--ambition--love--revenge. Each in its turn using as its servant a great and powerful mind, and all bringing about--for with such opposite agents does Heaven still work its high will--all bringing about great changes to the world at large; revolutions in thoughts, in feelings, and in manners; the fall of systems, and the advance of the human mind.
Were we of those who love to view agony with a microscope, we would try equally to display the feelings of Agnes de Meranie, while, with crushed joys, blighted hopes, and a broken heart, she prepared for the journey that was to separate her for ever from him she loved best on earth.
It would be too painful a picture, however, either to draw or to examine. Suffice it, then, that, recovered from the sort of stupor into which she had fallen after the efforts which had been called forth by Philip's presence, she sat in calm dejected silence; while her women, informed of her decision, made the necessary arrangements for her departure. If she spoke at all, it was but to direct care to be taken of each particular object, which might recall to her afterwards the few bright hours she had so deeply enjoyed. 'Twas now an ornament,--'twas now some piece of her dress, either given her by her husband, or worn on some day of peculiar happiness, which called her notice; and, as a traveller, forced to leave some bright land that he may never see again, carries away with him a thousand views and charts, to aid remembrance in after-years, poor Agnes was anxious to secure, alone, all that could lead memory back to the joys that she was quitting for ever. To each little trinket there was some memory affixed; and to her heart they were relics, as holy as ever lay upon shrine or altar.
It was on the second morning after her resolution had been taken, and with a sad haste, springing from the consciousness of failing powers, she was hurrying on her preparations, when she was informed that the chancellor, Guerin, desired a few minutes' audience. She would fain have shrunk from it; for, though she revered the minister for his undoubted integrity, and his devotion to her husband, yet, it had so happened that Guerin had almost always been called on to speak with her for the purpose of communicating some painful news, or urging some bitter duty. The impression he had left on her mind, therefore, was aught but pleasant; and, though she esteemed him much, she loved not his society. She was of too gentle a nature, however, to permit a feeling so painful to its object to be seen for a moment, even now that the minister's good word or bad could serve her nothing; and she desired him to be admitted immediately.
The havoc that a few hours had worked on a face which was once the perfection of earthly beauty struck even the minister, unobservant as he was in general of things so foreign to his calling. As he remarked it, he made a sudden pause in his advance; and looking up with a faint smile, more sad, more melancholy than even tears, Agnes shook her head, saving mildly, as a comment on his surprise--
"It cannot be, lord bishop, that any one should suffer as I have suffered, and not let the traces shine out. But you are welcome, my lord. How fares it with my noble lord--my husband, the king? He has not come to me since yester-morning; and yet, methinks, we might have better borne these wretched two days together than apart. We might have fortified each other's resolution with strong words. We might have shown each other, that what it was right to do, it was right to do firmly."
"The king, madam," replied Guerin, "has scarcely been in a state to see any one. I have been thrice refused admittance, though my plea was urgent business of the state. He has been totally alone, till within the last few minutes."
"Poor Philip!" exclaimed Agnes, the tears, in spite of every effort, swelling in her eyes, and rolling over her fair pale cheek. "Poor Philip! And did he think his Agnes would have tried to shake the resolution which cost him such pangs to maintain? Oh, no! She would have aided him to fix it, and to bear it."
"He feared not your constancy, lady," replied the bishop of Senlis. "He feared his own. I have heard that fortitude is a woman's virtue; and, in truth, I now believe it. But I must do my errand; for, in faith, lady, I cannot see you weep:"--and the good minister wiped a bright drop from his own clear, cold eye. "Having at last seen the king," he proceeded, "he has commanded me to take strict care that all the attendants you please to name should accompany you; that your household expenses should be charged upon his domains, as that of the queen of France; and having, from all things, good hope that the pope, satisfied with this submission to his authority, will proceed immediately to verify the divorce pronounced by the bishops, so that your separation may be short--"
"Ha! What?" exclaimed Agnes, starting up, and catching the bishop's arm with both her hands, while she gazed in his face with a look of thunderstruck, incredulous astonishment--"What is it you say? Is there a chance--is there a hope--is there a possibility that I may see him again--that I may clasp his hand--that I may rest on his bosom once more? O God! O God! blessed be thy holy name!" and falling on her knees, she turned her beautiful eyes to heaven; while, clasping her fair hands, and raising them also, trembling with emotion, towards the sky, her lips moved silently, but rapidly, in grateful, enthusiastic thanksgiving.
"But, oh!" she cried, starting up, and fixing her eager glance upon the minister, "as you are a churchman, as you are a knight, as you are a man! do not deceive me! Is there a hope--is there even a remote hope? Does Philip think there is a hope?
"It appears to me, lady," replied the minister,--"and for no earthly consideration would I deceive you,--that there is every cause to hope. Our holy father the pope would not take the matter of the king's divorce even into consideration, till the monarch submitted to the decision of the church of Rome, which, he declared, was alone competent to decide upon the question,--a right which the bishops of France, he said, had arrogated unjustly to themselves."
"And did he," exclaimed Agnes solemnly--"did he cast his curse upon this whole country--spread misery, desolation, and sorrow over the nation--stir up civil war and rebellion, and tear two hearts asunder that loved each other so devotedly, for the empty right to judge a cause that had been already judged, and do away a sentence which he knew not whether it was right or wrong?--and is this the representative of Christ's apostle?"
"'Tis even as you say, lady, I am afraid," replied the minister. "But even suppose his conduct to proceed from pride and arrogance,--which Heaven forbid that I should insinuate!--our hope would be but strengthened by such an opinion. For, contented with having established his right and enforced his will, he will of course commission a council to inquire into the cause, and decide according to their good judgment. What that decision will be, is only known on high; but as many prelates of France will of course sit in that council, it is not likely that they will consent to reverse their own judgment."
"And what thinks the king?" demanded Agnes thoughtfully.
"No stronger proof, lady, can be given, that he thinks as I do," replied Guerin, "than his determination that you should never be far from him; so that, as soon as the papal decision shall be announced in his favour, he may fly to reunite himself to her he will ever look upon as his lawful wife. He begs, madam, that you would name that royal château which you would desire for your residence--"
"Then I am not to quit France!" cried Agnes, hope and joy once more beaming up in her eyes. "I am not to put wide, foreign lands between us, and the journey of many a weary day! Oh! 'tis too much! 'tis too much!" and sinking back into the chair where she had been sitting before the minister's entrance, she covered her eyes with her hands, and let the struggle between joy and sorrow flow gently away in tears.
Guerin made a movement as if to withdraw; but the queen raised her hand, and stopped him. "Stay, my lord bishop, stay!" she said--"These are tears such as I have not shed for long; and there is in them a balmy quality that will soothe many of the wounds in my heart. Before you go, I must render some reply to my dear lord's message. Tell him, as my whole joy in life has been to be with him, so my only earthly hope is to rejoin him soon. Thank him for all the blessed comfort he has sent me by your lips; and say to him that it has snatched his Agnes from the brink of despair. Say, moreover, that I would fain, fain see him, if it will not pain him too deeply, before I take my departure from the halls where I have known so much happiness. But bid him not, on that account, to give his heart one pang to solace mine. And now, my lord, I will choose my residence. Let me see. I will not say Compiègne! for, though I love it well, and have here many a dear memory, yet, I know, Philip loves it too; and I would that he should often inhabit some place that is full of remembrances of me. But there is a castle on the woody hill above Mantes where once, in the earliest days of our marriage, we spent a pleasant month. It shall be my widow's portion, till I see my lord again. Oh! why, why, why must we part at all? But no!" she added more firmly, "it is doubtless right that it should be so: and, if we may thus buy for our fate the blessed certainty of never parting again, I will not think--I will try not to think--the price too dear."
"Perhaps, madam, if I might venture to advise," said the minister, "the interview you desire with the king would take place the last thing before your departure."
Agnes drooped her head. "My departure!" said she mournfullyeg. "True! 'twill be but one pain for all. I have ordered my departure for this evening, because I thought that the sooner I were gone, the sooner would the pain be over for Philip; but oh, lord bishop, you know not what it is to take such a resolution of departure--to cut short, even by one brief minute, that fond lingering with which we cling to all the loved objects that have surrounded us in happiness. But it is right to do it, and it shall be done: my litter shall be here an hour before supper; what guards you and the king think necessary to escort me, I will beg you to command at the hour of three. But I hope," she added, in an almost imploring tone,--"I hope I shall see my husband before I go?"
"Doubt it not, madam," said Guerin: "I have but to express your desire. Could I but serve you farther?"
"In nothing, my good lord," replied the queen, "but in watching over the king like a father. Soothe his ruffled mood; calm his hurt mind; teach him not to forget Agnes, but to bear her absence with more fortitude than she can bear his. And now, my lord," she added, wiping the tears once more from her eyes, "I will go and pray, against that dreadful hour. I have need of help, but Heaven will give it me; and if ever woman's heart broke in silence, it shall be mine this night."
Guerin took his leave and withdrew; and, proceeding to the cabinet of Philip Augustus, gave him such an account of his conversation with the queen, as he thought might soothe and console him, without shaking his resolution of parting from her, at least for a time. Philip listened, at first, in gloomy silence; but, as every now and then, through the dry account given by his plain minister, shone out some touch of the deep affection borne him by his wife, a shade passed away from his brow, and he would exclaim, "Ha! said she so? Angel! Oh, Guerin, she is an angel!" Then starting up, struck by some sudden impulse, he paced the room with hasty and irregular steps.
"A villain!" cried he at length--"a villain!--Thibalt d'Auvergne, beware thy head!--By the blessed rood! Guerin, If I lay my hands upon him, I will cut his false heart from his mischief-devising breast! Fiend! fiend! to strive to rob me of an angel's love like that! He has fled me, Guerin!--he has fled me for the time. You have doubtless heard, within five minutes, he and his train had left the town behind him. 'Twas the consciousness of villany drove him to flight. But I will find him, if I seek him in the heart of Africa! The world shall not hold us two."
Guerin strove to calm the mind of the king, but it was in vain; and, till the hour approached for the departure of Agnes from the castle, Philip spent the time either in breathing vows of vengeance against his adversaries, or in pacing up and down, and thinking, with a wrung and agonised heart, over the dreadful moment before him. At length he could bear it no longer; and, throwing open the door of his cabinet, he walked hastily towards the queen's apartments. Guerin followed, for a few paces, knowing that the critical moment was arrived when France was to be saved or lost--doubting the resolution of both Agnes and Philip, and himself uncertain how to act.
But before Philip had passed through the corridor, he turned to the minister, and, holding up his hand, with an air of stern majesty he said, "Alone, Guerin! I must be alone! At three, warn me!" and he pursued his way to the queen's apartment.
The next hour we must pass over in silence; for no one was witness to a scene that required almost more than mortal fortitude to support. At three, the queen's litter was in the castle court, the serjeants of arms mounted to attend her, and the horses of her ladies held ready to set out. With a heart beating with stronger emotions than had ever agitated it in the face of adverse hosts, Guerin approached the apartments of Agnes de Meranie. He opened the door, but paused without pushing aside the tapestry, saying, "My lord!"
"Come in," replied Philip, in a voice of thunder; and Guerin, entering, beheld him standing in the midst of the floor with Agnes clinging to him, fair, frail, and faint, with her arms twined round his powerful frame, like the ivy clinging round some tall oak agitated by a storm. The kings face was heated, his eyes were red, and the veins of his temples were swelled almost to bursting. "She shall not go!" cried he, as Guerin entered, in a voice both raised and shaken by the extremity of his feelings--"By the Lord of heaven! she shall not go!"
There was energy in his tone, almost to madness; and Guerin stood silent, seeing all that he had laboured to bring about swept away in that moment. But Agnes slowly withdrew her arms from the king, raised her weeping face from his bosom, clasped her hands together, and gazed on him for a moment with a glance of deep and agonised feeling--then said, in a low but resolute voice, "Philip, it must be done! Farewell, beloved! farewell!" and, running forward towards the door, she took the arm of one of her women, to support her from the chamber.
Before she could go, however, Philip caught her again in his arms, and pressed kiss after kiss upon her lips and cheek. "Help me! help me!" said Agnes, and two of her women, gently disengaging her from the king's embrace, half bore, half carried her down the stairs, and, raising her into the litter, drew its curtains round, and veiled her farther sorrows from all other eyes.
When she was gone, Philip stood for a moment gazing, as it were, on vacancy--twice raised his hand to his head--made a step or two towards the door--reeled--staggered--and fell heavily on the floor, with the blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils.