University of Virginia Library

5. V.
EIKON BASILIKE.

So woefully had ended the hopeful design of bearing
his majesty beyond the reach of danger. Once beyond
the walls of Hampton Court, he had been free. He
might have taken refuge in the western shires, still
faithful to him, and perchance have once more found
an army flock to his standard; or he might have embarked
for France, escaped the hostile cruisers, and
rejoined his beloved queen. All this was possible on
the day of his departure from Hampton Court. Now
it was a dream: the prey was in the clutch of the furious
huntsmen.

The outward signs of respect from Colonel Hammond

and the garrison only added to the bitterness of the
king's imprisonment. A cautious game was evidently
going on. This human being might some day be the
master again. He never appeared, accordingly, upon
the battlements but the sentinel saluted; Colonel Hammond
ever doffed his hat and inclined profoundly upon
entering his majesty's presence. I, in common with the
other members of the king's party, was treated as a guest
rather than a prisoner. The future was too doubtful to
render harshness prudent.

Nevertheless, the king's health and spirits rapidly
failed him. Day by day life seemed dying out from
the worn frame, as hope disappeared. He grew thin
and gray. His face was covered with an unsightly
beard. He neglected his dress, grew older and sadder
hour by hour, and would wander to and fro with his
eyes fixed upon the ground, or, sighing, would gaze
towards France.

One day I saw him standing on the battlements,
looking in the direction of the French coast, and holding
in his hand a half-folded paper. He turned his
head, and, seeing me, motioned to me to approach.

“Would I had followed your advice, my friend,”
he said, “and sought refuge in France. I could have
done so, perchance. 'Tis impossible now.”

His head sank, and he remained silent for a moment.

“This letter is from—”

His voice died away, and his lips trembled.

“She has begged the people in London, she writes
me, to accord her permission to come to me. She went
only at my bidding; she would return now, like a good
wife, when the dark hour has come upon her husband.”

“And they have refused, your majesty?”

“They have refused!”

A deep groan issued from the king's lips. He turned
his face towards France again; his thin hands were
clasped for a moment; and then, turning away, he
slowly went to his chamber.

When I attended him there, an hour afterwards,—for
I shared with his grace the Duke of Richmond the
duties of groom of the chamber,—I found him writing.

“See,” he said, raising the sheet, “I am writing my
last will and testament, friend. I strive herein to show
my subjects my inmost heart. In this `Eikon Basilike,'
as I call it, naught is concealed.”

He sighed, and added,—

“Shall I read you the words I have just written?
`I am content to be tossed, weather-beaten, and shipwrecked,
so that she be safe in harbor. I enjoy this
comfort in her safety, in the midst of my personal
dangers. I can perish but half if she be preserved.
In her memory, and in her children, I may yet survive
the malice of my enemies, although they should at last
be satiate with my blood.”'

The king replaced the paper upon the table, clasped
his hands and leaned them upon it; and upon the hands
thus clasped his forehead drooped slowly, his long
gray hair falling around the emaciated cheeks and
concealing them.

In presence of this immense sorrow I could say
nothing and offer no condolence. There was something
terrible as well as heart-rending in this royal
despair; and, without speaking, I turned to leave the
apartment.

As I approached the door, I saw a man standing
without and gazing at the king. This was one Osborne,
appointed by Colonel Hammond to attend the king.

As I came out, he made me a sign that I should follow
him; and I did so.