University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER II.

Fastrade had, to quote the language of Father
Bernard, made the Lady Blanche her "shrine of expiation;"
and like many others who render a forced homage,
she had loaded the altar with gifts, while she neglected
the spirit of the giver. A saloon and contiguous
bedehamber were assigned to the beautiful orphan,
arranged according to her own taste, and luxuriously
furnished by the queen. At one extremity of the saloon
was a deep recess, lighted by a window that extended
from the ceiling to the floor, and filled with rare plants

arranged on semicircular steps. Before these was a
silver fountain which was supplied by an aqueduct, and
could be made to play at pleasure into a marble basin,
over which a statue of one of Flora's nymphs was bending,
apparently in the act of filling a watering-pot. Suspended
from the ceiling by silver chains, and half hidden
by the flowers, were cages, whose little prisoners
sent forth such a wild harmonious chorus, that it seemed
as if their gentle warder must, by the artful position in
which she had placed them, have beguiled them into
the belief that they were in their own sweet woods.
Opposite this sylvan scene, and reflecting it almost as
distinctly as the more perfect reflectors of our own
time, was a polished silver mirror, hung on each side
with embossed sconces of the same precious metal.
Instead of the ottomans and sofas of a modern drawing-room,
piles, or couches of cushion were placed at
convenient distances, covered with silk "from farthest
Ind," richly embroidered with flowers and imitations,
and fantastic caricatures of animals. Beneath the silver
mirror was a marble slab, supported by sea-nymphs,
and covered with the choicest shells; and in the centre
of the apartment was a small ivory table inlaid with
silver, with an oriental lamp in the centre constantly
burning, and diffusing sweet odours; beside it an hourglass,
in which the sands of time were literally golden;
and dispersed around, a few manuscript books beautifully
illuminated.

Our readers must imagine the apartment we have
described occupied by a single tenant, Ermen, the faithful
nurse and serving-woman of the Lady Blanche, a
hardy, frank, good-humoured looking person of the certain
age of forty. "Nothing more uncertain than the
certain age;" but not with those of low degree. Time
had notched its revolutions on Ermen's honest face, and
with less agreeable records of its progress, had impressed
there acute sense and kind dispositions.

"I marvel that my lady does not return," thus she
soliloquized—"it takes but short space to say yes—
but heaven help us! still shorter to say no. He will
not say that word to her—bless his great heart—he
never yet spoke it to aught of womankind—after all,
if worst come to worst, it would not be so bad if my
poor lady would make the best of it—but it's only little
folk, and not great ones, that have the skill to make the
best of a bad bargain. If all that our minstrels report
is true, this renowned caliph is of a right noble temper
—but then he is a paynim—and our royal queen is a
Christian! Truly, there is much virtue in a name!"
Here Ermen's cogitations were broken by the opening
of the door, and her mistress entered, her person
enveloped in a veil, which having cast aside, she threw
herself on a couch, pressed her hands to her temples,
throbbing with repressed emotion, which now burst forth
without control. "It was in vain then, my lady?" said
Ermen.

"Oh, utterly in vain, Ermen!"

"You were not admitted to the private audience
room?"

"Yes."

"But the queen was there?"

"No."

"You were faint and faltering then, and did not press
your suit?"

"Nay, I poured out my very soul—I entreated—I
knelt—but it is of no use, Ermen. The emperor is
resolved—his word is pledged. The cries of the victim
for succour, who is already delivered to the executioner,
are bootless."

"St. Genevieve aid us! It passeth my comprehension
that the emperor should deny you, my lady—you
whom no one can deny—not even the queen; so that it
is currently said in court that you wear a talisman

that can unfiend the fiends. But the devil, that has
ruled her in all things else, has now got the upper
hand in this too. Our good lord emperor deny you,
indeed! Nay, it is the queen. There is no mischief
abroad but she brews it. Why were the fifty cottages
burnt at Mens, but because a poor churl refused to
the queen the hawks she had trained for my Lady Bertha!
And the artisans of our city must all be thrown
into dungeons, forsooth, because one of their number
had offended my lady queen. I marvel at our great
sovereign! Though I am a woman that says it, no
good or honour ever came to a man, high or low, by
being ruled by a woman. Has not he suffered the
noblest in the land to have their eyes plucked out at
the queen's order, and now my Lord Pepin has offended
her, and that is to be wrested from him that is far dearer
than eyes or soul either. Think you the prince is acquainted
with this journey of ours, my lady?"

"I believe not, Ermen—it is yet a secret."

"I believe not, too, or we should have heard from him
before this. He has a bold heart and a quick hand.
Beshrew me! if he submits without striking a blow."

Blanche rose for the first time from her disconsolate
position; "You do not mean, Ermen," she exclaimed,
"that he would attempt resistance—he cannot be so
foolish—so frantic!"

"I do not know what you count foolishness, my lady,
but my Lord Pepin is not of a spirit to sit down and
weigh his strength before he resists attack."

"But, Ermen, his father's power is as irresistible as
the tides of the ocean."

"It may be; but do you think my Lord Pepin would
let the waves of the ocean overwhelm him without buffeting
them. He never quietly submitted to any injustice.
He is lion-hearted, and, as they say of that royal
beast, kind and fostering to every thing weak and powerless.
Ah, he is noble and gentle, and save in that small

matter of the rising on his back, perfect, soul and body;
and there, I verily believe, he was smitten of a demon,
who could not bear the world should have the pattern
of a perfect man."

Ermen's praises were fallen on an ear attuned to
them, and though the keys were struck by an unskilful
hand, Blanche had gradually subsided into the silence
of a greedy listener. Ermen, like a careful nurse,
who has tried the admission of a little light upon an
afflicted vision, and found it to solace rather than irritate,
ventured a little more. "Cheer up, my blessed
young lady," she said; "it seems pretty dark now, but
I, that have lived to more than twice your age, have
seen many a cloudy morning turn into a bright day,—
Ah, I remember that time your father's beautiful house
was burned, and all his pleasant places laid waste. I
thought life would be one wail and sad lament, but
we have had many a bright hour since. Now, my
lady, I must leave you, and I pray you to take my
counsel,—hope for the best—nay, expect it—that will
keep down the black vapours."

Poor Blanche, when left alone, found it (as others
have) far easier to approve advice than to be governed
by it. She rose from her seat and went to the window
—the night was shutting in dark and threatening. As
she turned her eyes towards the heavens she saw one
planet shining through the parted clouds with undimmed
lustre. To a thoughtful mind it is natural to
perceive a relation between the outward and the inward
world. "The clouds have hidden all but this one
beaming light from me," she said. "Beautiful image
of the love of God, that penetrates the thick darkness
around me, and will sustain me in my utmost need."
She might have been mistaken, at this moment, for a
saint holding communion with Heaven, or rather for a
spirit of heaven, that had just touched upon the sorrows,
but never known the sins of humanity. Her rich tresses,

wreathed in curls, and infolded by many a braid, were
fastened by a cross of pearls, so as to define perfectly
the Grecian outline of her brow and head. Her white
muslin dress, fastened by a girdle of the same pure
gems, harmonized with a celestial character, and gave
to her figure, relieved as it was against the deep crimson
window-hanging, a spiritual aspect. Her thoughts
were soon brought back from their heavenward flight,
and weighed down by the cares of earth. "But for
the dismal memory of his loneliness, she said, I might
endure it—who shall console him when I am gone?
who shall sooth his irritated spirit? who shall watch
against the demons that torment him?—it was my
mission?—"

"It is not finished, Blanche," said a voice that responded
to her low but audible tones, and turning round
she saw, by the light of the little lamp, that the prince
had entered without rousing her from her abstraction.

"Oh, my lord, it is," she replied, in a voice almost
choked with emotion—"and you have yet to learn
the cruel decree—and to endure it."

"Nay, my love, not yet to learn it, nor would I endure
it, if all the fiends of hell, instead of one, had
decreed it. What! suffer you to be driven out of
Christendom, and delivered up to be the minion of the
infidel caliph. Did you deem that my soul had been
trampled out of me, Blanche?"

"My lord, you know I never had one evil or demeaning
thought of you; but who has dared to inform you
of what I have been so sternly commanded to keep a
secret?"

"It signifies not who—be tranquil on that head, and
Blanche, my love, keep down your womanish spirit,
and listen to what I have to tell you—that she-wolf
has well stirred the stream, but she will yet find herself
foiled of her victim."

"Ah me! my lord, do not raise hopes that must be

crushed. The darkness will only be more terrible
after the flash of light has passed—but hark—some
one knocks—it is not safe for you to be seen here."

The knocking was repeated, and proved to proceed
from the faithful Ermen, who being in nothing excluded
from her mistress' confidence, was immediately admitted.

She whispered to her lady, "I have a private message
to you from the emperor."

"Speak it aloud, Ermen, my lord Pepin knows
all."

"Blessings on the free tongue that told him. I fear
not now to tell you the emperor's behest. My heart
did sorely misgive me, for I know it the nature of
the timid deer to fly to the covert. But my lord will
counsel bolder measures."

"I know, my good Ermen, you would fain have a
stouter spirit than your poor mistress, to rely on," said
Blanche, with a faint smile. "But tell us quickly,
what message do you bring from the emperor?"

"As I left you, my lady, I was met by a page from
the emperor, who commanded my presence. As we
went along the gallery I fished from him, that since
you left the audience-chamber no person had been admitted—the
queen herself had been put off, and the
emperor had been heard walking up and down, as I, or
any of the commons would, with a worried mind; so I
thought to myself this augured well for my dear lady,
for when the emperor gets in a ferment, and is left to
himself, he works off pure, like good liquor."

"Proceed to the message, honest Ermen," said the
prince.

"He bade me tell you, my lady,—Heaven grant I
may not forget the words—he tried to write them, but
everybody knows that, for all his getting up o' nights
to practise, and Master Aleuin's teaching, he is yet not
the clerk to do it."

"The message, Ermen," repeated the prince, impatiently—"the
message."

"My lord, I crave your patience: I must tell a story
my own way,—if I drop a stitch the whole ravels out.
Where was I? ah! at the writing. Well, he scrawled
and scribbled, and spoiled parchment enough for one of
my lady's heartfull criss-crossed letters to you, my
lord. I had a great mind to snatch it from the floor
and smuggle it into my pocket against a time of need.
Now I have got to the right place, and I'll make even
work of the rest of it. The emperor bade me tell you
there is still one—oh skies above! I have forgotten the
word—alterative—no, that is not it. I'll leave it out.
If the great people would leave out half their words,
we simple folk could understand them far better."

Patience was like to have her perfect work; but
Blanche, who well understood her woman's infirmities,
cast a deprecating look at the prince, and she was permitted
to proceed without interruption.

"The upshot of it is, my lady, that the emperor says
he will take back his royal word to the ambassador,
provided you will profess yourself a nun"—

"Now the blessing of our holy mother Mary be upon
him!" exclaimed Blanche.

"Nay—nay, Blanche"—

"My lord, and you, my lady, hear me out. There
is something far harder for you to do than to drop the
but half-lifted veil between you and the world: you are
to persuade my Lord Pepin to retire to the monastery
of Pruim, of which the emperor will make him Abbe.
You are allowed to-morrow to make your decision
whether you will be the bride of Heaven—or of the
caliph."

"My decision is already made. My lord—my dear
lord—hear me. Away from you, it is all exile—desolation,
but not all degradation. In leaving the world I
leave only you—for you are the world to me. We but

end this brief life a little sooner: at the best it would
have been a few more hopes—blighted, it may be; a
few more years—a past and useless dream when they
are ended—Nay, if you will not hear me out," she concluded,
covering her face with her hands, "think from
what I escape!"

"Blanche, this is idle; your vows are plighted to
me, and I swear by all the saints in heaven, that Omnipotence
alone shall wrest you from me! Leave us,
Ermen."

"I'll come again for your answer, my lady, shall I
not?" inquired Ermen, while she indicated by a slight
compression of her under lip her secret and very satisfactory
conjecture as to which of the lovers was like to
obtain the victory in the pending controversy. Her
mistress bowed assent, and she withdrew.

"Think you, my beloved," said the prince, passionately
pressing Blanche's hand to his lips, "that I will
supinely yield this, after it has been promised to me
again and again, in smiles and in tears? Never!"

"Oh, I well know, never voluntarily; but our fate"—

"Pardon me, dearest, for cutting off the words from
your sweet lips,—but I read far differently the book
of our fate. I see inscribed there banded friends, trusty
followers, a crushed enemy, victory and empire, and
my peerless Blanche sharing with me the throne of the
West."

There was a fearful ecstasy in her lover's eye, that
shot terror through Blanche's gentle soul. "My dear
lord!" she said, in a voice of such deprecating tenderness
that the prince saw he had alarmed her.

"Pardon me, dearest Blanche," he replied; "I should
more cautiously have disclosed to your timid spirit the
bright future that is opening upon us; you are confounded
by the sudden light."

"I do not comprehend you, my lord."

"My gentle girl, you could not comprehend the

means, were I to detail them, by which your freedom
and safety are to be secured till you permit your lover
to put the bridal ring on your finger, and Heaven and a
good cause shall enable him to place a crown on your
head."

"A crown, my lord! Has insult and wrong vanquished
your virtue?—do you purpose rebellion against
your sovereign—your father?"

"My ties to my sovereign, Blanche, have become
weak as my obligations have diminished. My father
severed for ever the bond that united us when he saw
me suffer the touch of that fiend's foot, and was silent."

"Ah, my lord, human imperfection should be borne
with and forgiven. Your father is blinded and perverted
from his noble nature by the queen."

"But he is perverted, Blanche, and he, or you and I
and others, must suffer the consequences. On whom
should they fall,—the guilty or the innocent?"

"Leave that to Heaven's judgment. But be assured,
that nothing God reckons evil can fall on him who is
shielded by innocence. Do not part with that defence,
my lord."

"Oh innocence! it is only for the sucking babe and
you, sweet saint, who live at the gate of heaven. As to
right and wrong, how can we, who are groping in the
dark and tangled passages of life, say what is right and
what is wrong? We can only discriminate colours
accurately, Blanche, in full light."

"My lord, we are only perplexed when we look
without, where men impose false colours to confound
our enslaved senses. Within is God's own light—
always clear and bright unless we sacrilegiously dim
it with our evil passions."

"This is useless, my love. He who is driven to the
brink of a precipice, must not be over-nice in discussing
the only mode of escape. What would you have me
do?—quietly submit to see you the proffered bride of

the caliph? I am not yet the poor slave to suffer
that!"

"But remember, we have an alternative—the peace
and sanctity of the cloister. Oh, my lord, it is both sin
and folly to reject it."

"Blanche! Blanche!" replied the prince in a tone
that betrayed the irritated pride of the lover. "It seems
right easy for you to transfer your heart to the cloister.
But thus it ever is with your sex: your affections are
so soft and fusible, that they can be recast at any
moment; religion offers the mould, and the change is
at once perfected: the lover of this hour is the devotee
of the next."

"My lord, you do us much injustice. The disappointments,
the reverses, the struggles, the anguish of a
woman's love must be pent up in her own heart—no
human eye may see it—no human ear may hear it.
Man proclaims his, and it escapes in its publication,—
and he follows some new idol: it may be wealth, or
fame, or power, or glory. But she who truly loves,
never loves but once; and it is because her affection is
pure, disinterested, and self-devoting, that it may be—
not transferred, my lord, but succeeded by a sentiment
holy, illimitable, and eternal."

"My dear Blanche, on my bended knees I pray your
forgiveness for my slander. But do you think, while
you are convincing me of the value of my treasure, you
are preparing me to acquiesce in being rifled of it?
What do they offer us? My peerless Blanche, the
most beauteous flower that ever opened to the eye of
the sun, may be permitted to wither in the cloister's
tomb—perchance to wear out vigils in prayers and
penances for my Lady Fastrade! And I, who have
led hosts to victory, and will again—so help me, God—
I am to be promoted to the abbacy of Pruim! Or, if I
would play the saint, I may, perhaps, like my meek
uncle Carloman, tend the sheep of the monks of Mont

Cassin, dress the food for their pampered palates, hide
my royal birth, and be scourged by every valet in the
monastery. Nay, by the mass! I will rather follow in
the footsteps of Charles Martel, and snatch the crown
destined for my legitimate brother's brows, though,
after I have won, deserved, and enjoyed it, the kind
priests shall say of me, as they say of him, that my soul
is doomed to eternal torments, not only as the recompense
of my own sins, but that I may burn for the good
of others, who step to heaven over my head! But my
dear Blanche," added the prince, changing his voice to
a mild and affectionate tone as he caught the sad and
half-reproachful expression of her face, "I should not
cloud these last moments—this is our last parting—our
last separation: to-morrow you shall be apprized of the
means by which your safety is to be secured till He
who has willed that our hearts should grow together
in adversity, shall reunite us in prosperity. Then,
dearest, you shall see him swaying multitudes who has
hitherto been the slave of another's will. Oh, Blanche,
will it not be sweet to share together wealth, power, and
honour?"

"Ah, my lord! your love was enough for me; other
wealth, power, or honour I never coveted, nor do I now.
Alas! that little stream that flowed so freshly and so
quietly, giving forth no sound to others, but making
such music in our ears, and nurturing flowers always
blooming and always sweet—that little stream will soon
be forgotten—my lord hath launched on the ocean of
ambition. Man may wile away his unripe youth on
that pure stream; but once embarked on that tempest-tossed
ocean, he never returns. Alcuin has read me of
such things in the old poets: now I believe it, for I
feel it." Blanche laid her head on her lover's bosom,
overpowered by feelings that silence and tears only
could adequately express; and he, for a few moments
at least, felt that a love like hers, that disdained all

accessories, was sufficient for him, and he told her so.
"My dearest Blanche," he said, "if there were a spot
in the wide world whither we could fly and remain unmolested,
not a thought or desire of mine would stray
beyond it. But there is no such haven for us: nothing
remains for me but resistance, or submission to have my
sole light extinguished. Then what would life be to
me?—the bitter draught it was before you made me
love it. I felt myself degraded below the standard of a
man: you have raised me above my fellows—you
have made Le Bossu the envy of the handsomest and
noblest paladins of our court." Never, in all the tenderness
of their confidence, had the prince before
alluded to his deformity. Blanche perceived that his
frame thrilled at the word. "You wrong me, Blanche,"
he continued, "to doubt my exclusive devotion to you.
I have enlisted in this very enterprise you so deprecate
for your sake."

"For mine, my lord? Oh, then abandon it, for no
good can come of it. If, as the heathen priests of Odin
hold, the temple is desecrated in which a lance has been
permitted to enter, is not the filial bosom polluted in
which one disobedient thought has risen? In sooth,
it is far better to yield to evil than to inflict it—to embrace
the cross than to be crushed by it."

"These are a woman's timid thoughts: dismiss them,
Blanche. Our affairs are complicated with others—I
have embarked, and cannot turn back if I would. But
the victory achieved, and my Blanche shall be to me
what the image of the goddess Bertha is to the Saxon—
no evil passion shall confront you—hate and revenge
shall vanish before you—and spears and shields fall to
the ground!"

It is not in the nature of a tender, devoted woman
to oppose long the bold decision of a resolved man.
Her power must be reserved for his hours of happiness
or suffering. Blanche ceased to resist her lover's determination,

even by her meek persuasion, and their conversation
soon subsided into those interchanges of
expressions of deep and eternal love, beautiful to them,
but untranslatable into the vulgar tongue.

While they were imprudently protracting their interview,
Ermen was killing the time in walking up and
down a gallery that communicated with various apartments
of the palace. There she met her gossips, managed
the easy key to their confidence, heard all their
mistress's secrets (and, in the licensed court of Charlemagne
there was as abundant materials for scandal,
as in the French courts of a later date), but never
indulged them with a hint of her lady's affairs. As it
is difficult to decide which is most agreeable to a real
scandal-monger, hearing, or telling tales—there is no
reason to suppose Ermen's companions were dissatisfied,
though one after another dropped off and left her,
wishing that lovers would bethink them that there were
more than two people in the universe. Suddenly her
attention was arrested by hearing her mistress' name
pronounced by a voice that issued from a guard-room,
at the extremity of the gallery. No one, Ermen
thought, had a right to speak aught of her mistress,
that she had not a right to hear; and she instantly
placed herself in a convenient position for her car to
do its duty.

"I doubt the queen mistakes," said one of the
parties, "in supposing the prince to be in the Lady
Blanche's saloon, but for all that we must maintain our
watch."

"Ah, Valdrad and Hardouin!" thought Ermen, "well-chosen
men for spies."

"You have a snug warm birth here, Valdrad," continued
the first speaker. "I am chilled through in the
court. There is a snow-storm without—a pretty time
of year to begin winter, truly. Come, change posts
with me for a little while."

"With all my heart, though on my faith, Hardouin, I
like not this trust of our gracious lady. I had rather
make love than mar it. I had rather the prince would
escape than be caught in a net of my spreading."

"Curse on that cowardly fashion of yours, Valdrad,
as if you could lighten a sin by lamenting it, when you
have not the virtue to eschew it. Now I take quite
another way to hush my conscience. There must be
a certain amount of sin enacted on this mortal stage,
and he is the boldest fellow who cheerfully bears his
part of the burden. For example, somebody must do
this villanous duty for the queen. The prince cannot
escape her. She has stirred up the emperor's heart,
which is of itself as clear as this cup of Rhenish, against
him; and without our means, and even if she does not
now detect the prince in this violation of the emperor's
commands, she will contrive some mode to provoke
him to resistance—his ruin follows of course."

"I am not sure of that. There is nothing that, if left
to himself, the emperor will not remit to Le Bossu.
But come, Hardouin, lend me your watch-coat, and I'll
to the outer post." Accordingly he sallied forth, but
immediately returned, saying, "It's as dark as Erebus.
How am I to depose to the emperor that I have seen
the prince issue from the Lady Blanche's saloon, when
I cannot see my hand before my face? Stay, a lucky
thought strikes me. This damp snow—as clever a material
to take the measure of a man's foot as can well
be contrived—covers the court two inches deep. Not
an impress will be made upon it till morning, unless it
be by the prince. He shall betray himself. The emperor
is the lark of the palace. The queen has nothing
to do but to point to the footsteps from her window,—
a hint to her is enough."

"Bravo, Valdrad! They say the devil deserts his
followers at their utmost need, but our lady queen finds
him as true as steel. Here is a fall of snow to befriend

her, and a witty-pated fellow to teach her how to profit
by it."

Ermen had heard enough. She left the friends to
quaff their Rhenish, and hastened to her lady's apartment,
where she immediately communicated the amount
of her information. The prince perceived his danger,
and saw no way of escaping it. An arrest, at this stage
of his affairs, would be fatal. Blanche, habituated to
depend on the fidelity and experience of her serving-woman,
appealed to her. "Dear, good Ermen," she
said, "can you devise no way to save my lord from
this peril?"

"Indeed, my lady, I cannot. Would that he had that
winged horse our minstrels sing of, that touches never
a hoof to the ground, but posts through the welkin
like an eagle—stay, let me think."—Ermen paused,
tasked her wits, and a bright gleam shot through her
little gray eye, as she exclaimed, "Yes, there is a way."
She opened a door that led into a vestibule, and an
outer door. "It is still as dark as Egypt," she said,
and then, after a moment's awkward hesitation, she
added, "you must pardon me, my lord. The manliest
and noblest must condescend to their necessity. The
royal lion was helped out of the net by the mouse. Say
your parting words, my lord, and come hither; but you,
my lady, stay there." The parting of the lovers seemed
to Ermen needlessly protracted—to them, fraught as
the future was with uncertainty and danger, it was most
brief, and such as seems to "press the life from out
young hearts."

Blanche, in spite of Ermen's counsel, which had a
woman's wit in it, would have followed her lover to the
threshold; but Ermen hastily closed the inner door, and
left her mistress to guess at the modus operandi by
which her lover's safety was to be effected.

Effected it was, and the prince kept his appointment
in the chapel, and was animated by the zeal and harmony

of his confederates. Father Bernard, who still
maintained his incognito, was the soul of the conspiracy.
All deferred to his superior knowledge, and
agreed to be governed by his bold, yet prudent counsels.
The plan of the conspirators was, not to attempt to
overthrow the power of the emperor—this did not
enter into the hope, perhaps not the wish, of the boldest
among them; but to elevate a standard under which
the wronged and disaffected might rally. To establish,
under the prince, their favourite leader, a rival and independent
government, and to secure to him wholly, or in
part, the succession of the empire.