Philip Augustus; or, The Brothers in Arms

by G. P. R. James

Bernard the hermit gave no thought to what, in our eyes, may appear a strange commission for a parent like the duke of Istria to confide to so young a man as the Count d'Auvergne. But in those days, we must remember, such things were nothing strange; for knightly honour had as yet been so rarely violated, that to doubt it for an instant, under such a mark of confidence, would have then been considered as a proof of a base and dishonourable heart. The hermit's mind, therefore, turned alone to the conduct of the priest.

"I understand," replied he, drawing his brows together, even more sternly than he had heretofore done. "The reverend canon of St. Berthe's claims kindred in an equal degree with the fox and the wolf. He has taken care that the count's secrets, first communicated to him in confession, should be afterwards repeated to him without such a seal. Thinks he, I wonder, to juggle Heaven, as well as man, with the letter instead of the spirit? And doubtless, now, he would gladly give the Count d'Auvergne all easy access to persuade this unhappy girl to return; so that he, the canon of St. Berthe's, may but save his diocesan from the unwieldly burden of the interdict, at the expense of a civil war between the powerful Count d'Auvergne and his liege lord Philip. 'Tis a goodly scheme, good father bishop; but 'twill not succeed. Agnes loves Philip--looks on him as her husband--refuses to part from him--has the spirit of a hero in a woman's bosom, and may as soon be moved by such futile plans, as the north star by the singing of the nightingale."

"See what it is to be a wise man!" said the bishop, unable to restrain a little triumphant chuckle, at having got the hermit at fault.--"See what it is to be a wise man, and not hear a simple story out! Besides, good brother Bernard, you speak but uncharitably of the reverend canon of St. Berthe's, who is a holy and religious man; though, like you yourself, somewhat too proud of worldly wisdom--a-hem!"

"A-hem!" echoed something near; at least, so it seemed to the quick and timorous ears of the worthy prelate, who started up and listened. "Did you not hear something, brother Bernard?" demanded he in a low voice. "Did you not hear a noise? Cursed be it upon the earth! and--God forgive me----"

"I heard the roaring of the wind, and the creaking of the wood, but nothing else," replied the hermit calmly, "But what wert thou about to say, father bishop? If I have taken thee up wrongly, I am ready to acknowledge my folly. All men are but as fools, and I not amongst the least. If I have wronged the canon of St. Berthe's, I am ready to acknowledge the fault. All men are sinners, and I not amongst the least. But how have I been mistaken at present?

"Why, altogether!" replied the prelate, after having re-assured himself by listening several moments without hearing any farther sound,--"altogether, brother Bernard, the canon of St. Berthe's aims at nothing you have mentioned. No one knows better than he the queen's mind as he is her confessor; and he sees well, that till the king shows some sign of willingness to part with her, she will remain fixed to him, as if she were part of himself: but he knows, too, that if Philip does but evince the least coldness--the least slackening of the bonds that bind him to her, she will think he wearies of his constancy, or fears the consequences of his opposition to the holy church; and will herself demand to quit him. His scheme therefore is, to let the king grow jealous of the Count d'Auvergne to such a point, as to show some chilliness to the queen. Agnes herself will think that he repents of his opposition to our blessed father the pope, and will propose to depart. Philip's jealousy will prevent him from saying nay; and the reverend canon himself, as her confessor, will conduct her with a sufficient escort to the court of Istria: where, please God! he may be rewarded as he deserves, for the signal service he renders France!"

"Hoo! hoo! hoo!" cried a voice from without; which sounded through the unglazed window, as if it was in the very hut.

"Miserere mei, Domine, secundum multitudinem miserationem tuarum!" exclaimed the bishop; the rosy hue of his cheek, which had returned, in the security of the hermit's cell, to much the colour of the field pimpernel, now fading away to the hue of the same flower in an ancient herbal.

"'Tis but an owl!--'tis but an owl!" cried the hermit; and, fixing his eyes on the ground, he meditated deeply for several minutes, regardless of the still unsubdued terror of the bishop, who, drawing a chaplet from beneath his robe, filled up the pause with paters and aves, strangely mixed with various ungodly curses from the never-forgotten anathema, which in his fright, like prisoners in a popular tumult, rushed forth against his will the moment fear unbarred the door of his lips.

"It is a cruel scheme!" said the hermit at length, "and the man who framed it is a cruel man; who, for his own base ambition of gaining bishoprics in Germany and credit at Rome, scruples not to tear asunder the dearest ties of the heart;--but for you or me, father bishop," he added, turning more immediately to the prelate, "for you and me, who have no other interest in this thing, than the general welfare of our country, to prevent civil war and general rebellion of the king's vassals, which will inevitably ensue if the interdict lasts, especially while he bears so hard a hand upon them,--for us, I say, it is to consider whether by the sorrow inflicted in this instance, infinite, infinite misery may not be spared through the whole nation. If you come then, father bishop, to ask me my opinion, I think the scheme which this canon of St. Berthe's proposed may be made use of--as an evil indeed--but as the least, infinitely the least, of two great ones. I think, then, that it may conscientiously be made use of; but, at the same time, I think the worse of the man that framed it--ay! and he knew I should think the worse of him.