Agnes Sorel: A Novel

by G. P. R. James

"Charles the Sixth is dead," answered De Brecy. "But Charles the Seventh lives to deliver France."

"Stay--stay," said Agnes Sorel, seating herself again, and putting her hand thoughtfully to her brow. "Poor king--poor man! May the grave give him peace! Oh, what a life was his, De Brecy! Full of high qualities and kindly feelings, born to the throne of the finest realm in all the world, adored by his people, how bright were once his prospects! and who would ever have thought that the life thus begun would be passed in misery, madness, sickness, and neglect--that his power should be used for his own destruction--his name lead his enemies to battle against his son--his wife contemn, despise, and ill treat him, and his daughter wed his bitterest foe--that he should only wake from his insane trances to see his kinsmen murder and be murdered before his face, all his sons but one passing to the tomb before him--perchance by poison--and that he himself should follow before he reached old age, without that tendance in his lingering sickness that a common mechanic receives from tenderness, the beggar from charity? Oh, what a destiny!"

"We might well weep for his life," said De Brecy; "but we can not mourn his death. To him it was a blessing; to France it may be deliverance. This news, however, you have now to carry to the king."

"True, true," cried Agnes; but then she paused a moment, and repeated his last words with a thoughtful and anxious look. "To the king!" she said; "to the king! No, I will take it to the queen, De Brecy. Come you with me, in case of question, and to receive those honors and rewards which are meet for him who brings such tidings. Ay, let us speak it plainly--such good tidings. For on these few words, 'Charles the Sixth is dead,' depends, I do believe, the salvation of our France."

As she spoke, she rose and moved toward the door, and De Brecy followed her down the stair-case, and through the long passage which connected the tower with the donjon. The yellow autumn moon peeped up above the hills, and poured its light upon them through the tall windows as they went. There was a solemn feeling in their hearts which prevented them from uttering a word. The way was somewhat lengthy, but at last Agnes stopped before a door and knocked. The sweet voice of Marie of Anjou bade them come in, and Agnes opened the door.

"Ah, my Agnes," cried the princess, "have you come to cheer me? I know not how it is, but I have felt very sad to-night. I have been moralizing, dear girl, and thinking how much happier I should have been had we possessed nothing but this castle and the demesne around, mere lords of a little patrimony, instead of seeing kingdoms called our own, but to be snatched away from us. France seems going the way of Sicily, my Agnes. But who is this you have with you? His face seems known to me."

"You have seen him once before, madam," said Agnes. "He is the bringer of great tidings; but no lips but mine must give them to my queen;" and, advancing gracefully, she knelt at the feet of Marie of Anjou, and kissed her hand, saying, "Madam, you are Queen of France. His majesty, Charles the Sixth, has departed."

The queen stood as one stupefied; for so often had the unfortunate king been reported ill, and then recovered, so little was known of his real state beyond the walls of the Hôtel St. Pol, and so slow was the progress of information in that part of France, that not a suspicion of the impending event had been entertained in the château of Espaly. After gazing in the face of Agnes for a moment, she cast down her eyes to the ground, remained for a brief space in deep thought, and then exclaimed, "But, after all, what is he? A king almost without provisions, a general without an army, a ruler without power or means. Rise, rise, dear Agnes;" and, casting her arms round her neck, Marie of Anjou shed tears. They were certainly not tears of sorrow for the departed, for she knew little of the late king; we do not even know from history that she had ever seen him; but all sudden emotions must have voice, generally in laughter, or in tears. It has been very generally remarked that joy has its tears as well as sorrow; but few have ever scanned deeply the fountain-source from which those drops arise. Is it not that, like those of a sealed fountain unconsciously opened, they burst forth at once, to sparkle, perhaps, in the sunshine of the hour, but yet bear with them a certain chilliness from the depths out of which they arise?

Marie of Anjou recovered herself speedily, and Agnes Sorel, rising from her knee, held out her hand to Jean Charost, and presented him to the queen, saying, "He brings you happier tidings, madam--tidings which, I trust, may give power to the sceptre just fallen into his majesty's hand; ay, and edge his sword to smite his enemies when they least expect it. By the skill and by the zeal of one I may venture to call your friend as well as mine--noble Jacques Cœur--the means which have been so long wanting to make at least one generous effort on behalf of France, are now secured. Speak, De Brecy--speak, and tell her majesty the joyful news you bear."

The young gentleman told his tale simply and well; and when he had concluded, the queen, with all traces of sorrow passed away, exclaimed, "Let us hasten quick, dear Agnes, and carry the news to my husband! There be some men fitted for prosperity, and he is one. Misfortune depresses him; but this news will restore him all his energies. Oh, this castle of Espaly! It has seemed to me a dungeon of the spirit, where chains were cast around the soul, and the fair daylight of hope came but as a ray through the loophole of a cell. Come with me--come with me, my friends! I need no attendants but you two."