How frequently in real life, as upon the mimic stage, the most opposite scenes that it is possible to conceive follow each other in quick succession. Often, indeed, are they placed side by side, or only veiled from the eye of the spectator by a thin partition, which falls with a touch, and all is changed. While revelry haunts the saloons of life, anguish writhes in the garret, and misery tenants the cellar. Pomp, and pageantry, and splendour occupy the one day; sorrow, destitution, and despair the next; and, as in some of our old tragedies, the laughter and merriment of the buffoon, appear alternately with tears and agony.
If it be so with human life--if, in this fitful spring-day of our being, the storms and the sunshine tread upon the heels of each other, so must it be with everything that would truly represent existence--even with a tale like this.
We must change the scene, then, and convey the reader far away from the sad field of Evesham--without pausing to detail some of the barbarous horrors there committed on the bodies of the dead--at once to the splendid court of England, now triumphant over its enemies, and revelling in uncontrolled power.
We may, indeed, stay for an instant to remark, that while joy and satisfaction spread through the various partisans of the court, while the foreign favourites of Henry III. displayed their rejoicing with indecent ostentation, and even the calmer and wiser adherents of his high-minded son could not refrain from triumphant exultation, consternation, dismay, and mourning spread throughout the middle and lower classes of the people, through the clergy of the real Anglican church, and through the greater part of the barons who claimed a genuine English descent. The barrier was thrown down which had protected their rights and liberties; and most of those whose swords had been so long unsheathed in the popular cause, now lay weltering in their gore upon the field of Evesham, leaving none but outlaws, and fugitives to mourn for them in secrecy and concealment, and poets and minstrels to sing the deeds of the gone.
It was at the court of England,--not in the capital of the kingdom, but in the palace of Eltham, then one of the most beautiful, if not most splendid of the residences of our kings--in a small chamber in the left wing of the building, rather more than a month after the scenes which we have lately commemorated, that there lay upon a couch, covered with a leopard\'s skin, a young knight, busily engaged in reading a manuscript written in a somewhat cramped and difficult hand. He was clad altogether in the garments of peace, but a deep gash upon his brow, a scarf bound tight round his arm, and a certain uneasy expression of countenance when he turned from side to side, showed that it was not long since he had been engaged in the fierce and bloody pursuits of war.
Hugh de Monthermer had not passed through the battle of Evesham unwounded; and though, as a point of chivalrous, courage, he had scorned to suffer the slightest sign of anguish to appear, yet the injuries he had received were long in being healed, and even for some days his life had been held in danger.
Asa prisoner taken by the Prince\'s own hand, he had been brought in the train of the Court to London, and then to Eltham; and although no one word had been spoken of his future fate--no proposal made in regard to terms of liberation at the period when many other nobles were allowed to submit and receive letters of remission, yet he had been treated with constant care and kindness. Scarcely a day had passed without his being visited by Edward himself; but the subject of his actual situation had been studiously avoided by the Prince; and Hugh, impatient of farther restraint, now lay in his chamber waiting his coming, and resolved to make such inquiries as must lead to some definite reply.
About half an hour later than his usual time, the firm step of Edward was heard in the ante-room, and his voice bidding the page who followed stop at the door. The next instant the Prince entered, bowing his lofty head as he passed through the low arched doorway. His countenance was somewhat grave; but his tone was full of kindness towards Hugh de Monthermer, and he took him by the hand inquiring after his health.
"I am nearly well, my dear lord," replied Hugh; "and, like your Grace, when I found you in the castle of Hereford, I only sigh for fresh air and liberty to use my cramped limbs."
"But why do you not take exercise?" demanded the Prince. "You should ride forth every day."
"I did not know I had permission," answered Hugh. "I fancied your Grace might think that the lesson you gave upon the banks of the Wye might not be lost upon your humble prisoner."
"Not after you had surrendered, rescue or no rescue, Monthermer," said the Prince. "I put no fetters upon you, my friend, but the fetters of your word. The great gates are as free to you as to myself; and, though I give you not your liberty, it is for your sake, not my own. My father\'s anger burns fierce against your house, Monthermer. It is the only spark which I have not been able to quench. You, he will pardon, after a time; but I fear towards your uncle we shall never soften him.--He says that it was by his advice De Montfort acted."
Edward put the last words in the tone of a question, or, perhaps, as an assertion which he wished to hear refuted; but Hugh replied, gravely--"His majesty says true, my lord; it was by my uncle\'s advice. But your Grace\'s words give relief to my mind. I have had no tidings of my uncle since that fatal field; and though I had hopes that he had escaped, yet those hopes were faint. I do beseech you, my good lord, tell me what you know for never son loved father more than I love him, under whose sword I have been brought up from youth."
"I know little more than yourself," answered the Prince; "all I can say, is, neither his body nor his arms were found amongst the dead; and so far is my father convinced of his having escaped, that he, with seven others, who have not yet made submission, have had sentence of outlawry proclaimed against them."
Hugh de Monthermer mused with feelings very much divided between pleasure and pain; but the Prince laid his hand kindly on his shoulder, saying--"Come, old playfellow, prepare yourself for a ride, and join me in a minute in the court below. There are guests coming to the palace to-day, and perchance we may meet them."
There was no slight delight to Hugh de Monthermer, as the reader may very well imagine, in the thought of using his limbs in wholesome exercise, and tasting again the free outward air; and dressing himself hastily for the expedition, he was soon by the Prince\'s side. It often happens, however, that when we have looked forward with bright anticipations towards enjoyments from which we have been long debarred, and have thought that nothing but pleasure and refreshment can await us therein, a degree of melancholy falls upon us even in the very fruition of our wishes--a memory, a regret, is poured out from the heart to dilute the inebriating cup of joy.
It was so with Hugh de Monthermer. The first breath of the free air felt to him like new life and the promises of hope; but, almost instantly, the thought of the many high and noble, good and wise companions, with whom not long before he had enjoyed the same gentle breeze, the same warm sunshine, and who could now taste them no more--the thought of his just and chivalrous uncle, wandering wounded and alone, an exile or an outlaw--the thought of the gallant and the brave who strewed the field of Evesham, came across his mind, and dimmed all the happiness of the hour.
He was gloomy, then, as he rode forth from the palace gates, and the merriment of many a young knight and gay esquire, who followed in Edward\'s train, sounded harsh and unpleasant to his ear. They were absent for some two hours; but, as they returned, the look of Hugh de Monthermer was brightened, and his smile as cheerful as the rest.
If the reader would know why, it is easy to tell. Riding beside Prince Edward, were the Earls of Gloucester and Ashby, and not far distant, a train of fair ladies and attendants, amongst whom was one whose soft dark eyes seemed rea............