Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER III.

  Illusive dreams in mystic forms expressed.--Blackmore.

  That which is out of the common course of nature, and for which we cansee neither cause nor object, requires of course a much greater bodyof evidence to render it historically credible than is necessary toauthenticate any event within the ordinary operation of visibleagents. Were it not so, the many extraordinary tales respecting theastrologers, and even the magicians of the middle ages, would now restas recorded truth, instead of idle fiction, being supported by muchmore witness than we have to prove many received facts of greaterimportance.

  Till the last century, the existence of what is called the secondsight, amongst the Scots, was not doubted: even in the present day itis not disproved; and we can hardly wonder at our ancestors havinggiven credence to the more ancient, more probable, more reasonablesuperstition of the fates of men being influenced by the stars, or attheir believing that the learned and wise could see into futurity,when many in this more enlightened age imagine that some of the rudeand illiterate possess the same faculty.

  It is not, however, my object here to defend long-gone superstitions,or to show that the predictions of the astrologers were ever reallyverified, except by those extraordinary coincidences for which wecannot account, and some of which every man must have observed in thecourse of his own life. That they were so verified on severaloccasions is nevertheless beyond doubt; for it is _not_ the case that,in the most striking instances of this kind, as many writers haveasserted, the prediction, if it may be so called, was fabricated afterits fulfilment. On the contrary, any one who chooses to investigatemay convince himself that the prophecy was, in many instances,enounced, and is still to be found recorded by contemporary writers,before its accomplishment took place. As examples might be cited theprognostication made by an astrologer to Henry the Second of France,that he should be slain in single combat; a thing so unlikely that itbecame the jest of his whole court, but which was afterwardssingularly verified, by his being accidentally killed at a tournamentby Montgomery, captain of the Scottish guards. Also the prediction bywhich the famous, or rather infamous, Catherine de Medicis was warnedthat St. Germains should be the place of her death. The queen, fullyconvinced of its truth, never from that moment set foot in town orpalace which bore the fatal name; but in her last moments, herconfessor being absent, a priest was called to her assistance, by mereaccident, whose name was St. Germains, and actually held her in hisarms during the dying struggle.

  These two instances took place about fifty years after the period towhich this history refers, and may serve to show how strongly rootedin the minds of the higher classes was this sort of superstition, wheneven the revival of letters, and the diffusion of mental light, forvery long did not seem at all to affect them. The habits and mannersof the astrologers, however, underwent great changes; and it is,perhaps, at the particular epoch of which we are now writing, namely,the reigns of Henry the Eighth of England and Francis the First ofFrance, that this singular race of beings was in its highestprosperity.

  Before that time, they had in general affected strange and retiredhabits, and, whether as magicians or merely astrologers, were bothfeared and avoided. Some exceptions, however, must be made to this, asinstances are on record where, even in years long before, such studieswere pursued by persons of the highest class, and won them both loveand admiration; the most brilliant example of which was in the personof Tiphaine Raguenel, wife of the famous Constable du Guesclin, whosecounsels so much guided her husband through his splendid career.

  The magicians and astrologers, however, who were scattered throughEurope towards the end of the fifteenth century, and the beginning ofthat which succeeded, though few in number, from many circumstances,bore a much higher rank in the opinion of the world than any who hadpreceded them. This must be attributed to their being in generalpersons of some station in society, of profound erudition, of courtlyand polished manners, and also to their making but little pretensionon the score of their supposed powers, and never any display thereof,except they were earnestly solicited to do so.

  There was likewise always to be observed in them a degree ofeccentricity, if a habitual difference from their fellow-beings mightbe so called, which, being singular, but not obtrusive, gave them aninterest in the eyes of the higher, and a dignity in the estimation ofthe lower classes, as a sort of beings separated by distinct knowledgeand feeling from the rest of mankind. In those ages, a thousandbranches of useful knowledge lay hid, like diamonds in an undiscoveredmine; and many minds, of extraordinary keenness and activity, wantinglegitimate objects of research, after diving deep in ancient lore, andexhausting all the treasures of antiquity, still unsated, devotedthemselves to those dark and mysterious sciences that gratified theirimagination with all the wild and the sublime, and gained for them areverence amongst their fellow-creatures approaching even to awe.

  As we have said before, whatever was the reality of their powers, orhowever they contrived to deceive themselves, as well as others, theycertainly received not only the respect of the weak and vulgar; but ifthey used their general abilities for the benefit of mankind, theywere sure to meet with the admiration and the friendship of the great,the noble, and the wise. Thus, the famous Earl of Surrey, the poet,the courtier, the most accomplished gentleman and bravest cavalier ofthat very age, is known to have lived on terms of intimacy withCornelius Agrippa, the celebrated Italian sorcerer, to whose renownthe fame of Sir Cesar of England is hardly second; though earlysorrows, of the most acute kind, had given a much higher degree ofwildness and eccentricity to the character of the extraordinary oldman of whom we speak, than the accomplished Italian ever suffered toappear.

  In many circumstances there was still a great degree of similaritybetween them: both were deeply versed in classical literature, andwere endowed with every elegant attainment; and both possessed thatwild and vivid imagination which taught them to combine in one strangeand heterogeneous system the pure doctrines of Christianity, thetheories of the Pagan philosophers, and the strange, mysteriousnotions of the dark sciences they pursued. Amongst many fanciesderived from the Greeks, it seems certain that both Sir Cesar andCornelius Agrippa received, as an undoubted fact, the Pythagoreandoctrine of the transmission of the souls through the various humanbodies for a long period of existence: the spirit retaining, more orless, in different men, the recollection of events which had occurredto them at other periods of being.

  One striking difference, however, existed between these two celebratedmen. Cornelius Agrippa was all mildness, gentleness, and suavity;while Sir Cesar, irritated by the memory of much sorrow, was wild,vehement, and impetuous; ever striving to do good, it is true, buthasty and impatient under contradiction. The same sort of mentalexcitement hurried him on to move from land to land and place toplace, without seeming ever to pause for any length of time; and as hestood not upon the ceremony of introduction, but made himself known towhomsoever the fancy of the moment might lead him, he was celebratedin almost every part of the world.

  So much as we have said seemed necessary, in order to give our readerssome insight into the character of the extraordinary man whose historyis strongly interwoven with the web of the present narrative, and toprevent its being supposed that he was an imaginary being devised forthe nonce; but we shall now proceed with him in his proper person.

  "Let us reason," said Sir Cesar, breaking form abruptly, after he hadridden on with the young knight some way in silence; "let us reason ofnature and philosophy; of things that are, and of things that may be;for I would fain expel from my brain a crowd of sad thoughts and darkimaginings, that haunt the caverns of memory."

  "I should prove but a slow reasoner," replied the young knight, "whencompared with one whose mind, if report speak truth, has long exploredthe deepest paths of science, and discovered the full wealth ofnature."

  "Nay, nay, my friend," answered the old man; "something I havestudied, it is true; but nature's full wealth who shall ever discover?Look through the bou
ndless universe, and you shall find that were thelife of man extended a thousand fold, and all his senses refined tothe most exquisite perfection, and had his mind infinite faculty tocomprehend, yet the portion he could truly know would be to the greatwhole as one grain of sand to the vast foundation of the sea. As itis, man not only contemplates but few of nature's works, but also onlysees a little part of each. Thus, when he speaks of life, he means butthat which inspires animals, and never dreams that everything haslife; and yet it is so. Is it not reasonable to suppose thateverything that moves feels? and we cannot but conclude thateverything that feels has life. The Indian tree that raises itsbranches when any living creature approaches must feel, must havesensation; the loadstone that flies to its fellow must know, mustperceive that that fellow is near. Motion is life; and if viewed near,everything would be found to have motion, to have life, to havesensation."

  Sir Osborne smiled. "Then do you suppose," demanded he, "that allvegetables and plants feel?"

  "Nay, more, much more!" answered the old man. "I doubt not thateverything in nature feels in its degree, from the rude stone that themason cuts, to man, the most sensitive of substantial beings."

  "It is a bold doctrine," said the young knight, who, willing to gainwhat insight he could into his companion's character, pressed him fora still further exposition of his opinions, though at the same time hehimself felt not a little carried away by the energy of manner andrich modulation of tone with which the old man communicated hissingular ideas. "It is a bold doctrine, and would seem to animate thewhole of nature. Could it be proved, the world would acquire a glow oflife, and activity of existence, where it now appears cold andsilent."

  "The whole of nature _is_ animated," replied Sir Cesar. "Life combinedwith matter is but a thousandth part of life existent. The world teemswith spirits: the very air is thick with them. They dance in thesunshine, they ride upon the beams of the stars, they float about inthe melodies of music, they nestle in the cups of the flowers; and Iam forced to believe that never a flower fades, or a beam passes away,without some being mourning the brief date of loveliness on earth.Doubt not, for this is true; and though no one can prove that matteris sensitive, yet it _can_ be _proved_ that such spirits do exist, andthat they may be compelled to clothe themselves with a visible form.It can be proved, I say, and I have proved it."

  "I have heard the same reported of you," replied Sir Osborne, "whenyou, with the renowned Cornelius Agrippa, called up a spirit toascertain what would be the issue of the battle of Ravenna. Was it notso?"

  "Speak not of it!" cried the old man, "speak not of it! In that battlefell the bright, the gallant, the amiable Nemours. Though warned bycounsel, by prophecy, and by portent, he would venture his life onthat fatal battle, and fell. Speak not of it! But now to you andyours. Whither go you?"

  "My first care," replied Sir Osborne, "must be to seek my father, atwhose wish I have now returned to England. To you, who know far moreof me and mine than I ever dreamed that mortal here had heard, I neednot say where my father dwells." As he spoke, Sir Osborne drew up hishorse, following the example of his companion, whose palfrey hadstopped at a point where the road, separating into two branches, gavethe traveller the option of proceeding either towards Canterbury orDover, as his business or pleasure might impel. At the same time theyoung knight fixed his eye upon the other's face, as if to ascertainwhat was passing in his mind, seeking, probably, thence to learn howfar the old man's knowledge really extended in respect to himself andhis concerns.

  "It is a long journey," said Sir Cesar, thoughtfully, "and 'twill takeyou near three weeks to travel thither and back. Much may be lost orwon in three weeks. You must not go. Hie on to Dover, and thence toLondon: wait there till I give you farther news, and be sure that mynews shall be of some avail."

  "It cannot be," answered Sir Osborne Maurice. "Before I take any stepwhatever I must see my father; and though I doubt not that your advicebe good, and your knowledge more than natural, I cannot quit my road,nor wait in any place, till I have done the journey to which duty andaffection call me."

  "Your own will then be your guide, though it be a bad one," answeredSir Cesar. "But mark, I tell you, if you pursue the road you are onyou will meet with danger, and will lose opportunity. My words are notwont to fall idly."

  "Whatever danger may occur," replied Sir Osborne, "my road liestowards London, and it shall not be easy to impede me on my way."

  "Ho, ho! so headstrong!" cried the old knight. "I' God's name, then,on! My palfrey goes too slow for your young blood. Put spurs to yoursteed, sir, and get quick into the perils from which you will need myhand to help you out. Spur, spur, sir knight; and good speed attendyou!"

  "By your leave, then," replied Sir Osborne, taking the old man at hisword, and giving his horse the spur. "Sir Cesar, I thank you for yourkindness: we shall meet again, when I hope to thank you better; tillthen, farewell!"

  "Farewell, farewell!" muttered the old knight; "just the same as ever!If I remember right he was killed in the first Punic war, for nottaking the advice of Valerius the soothsayer; and though now his soulhas passed through fifty different bodies, he is just as headstrong asever." And with these sage reflections Sir Cesar pursued his way.

  Leaving him, however, to his own meditations, we must now, for sometime, follow the track of Sir Osborne Maurice, whose horse bore himquickly along that same little tortuous road in the midst of which wefirst encountered him. To say sooth, some speed was necessary; forwhatever might be the cause that induced the young knight to linger atthe cottage of old Richard Heartley, and whatever might have been theideas that had occupied him during so long a reverie, he had wasted nosmall portion of the day, between listening to the garrulity of theold man, thinking over the circumstances which that garrulity calledup to memory, and conversing with the singular being from whom he hadjust parted; and yet, within a mile of the spot where he had left theastrologer, Sir Osborne drew in his bridle, and standing in thestirrup, looked round him on both sides over the high bank of earthwhich in that place flanked the road on either hand.

  After gazing round for a moment, and marking every trifling objectwith an attention which was far more than the scenery merited from anyapparent worth or picturesque beauty, he turned his horse into a smallbridle-path, and riding on for about a mile, came in front of amansion, which, even in that day, bore many a mark of venerableantiquity.

  A small eminence, at about five hundred yards' distance from it, gavehim a full view of the building, as it rose upon another slightelevation, somewhat higher than that on which he stood. Through thetrees which filled up the intermediate space was seen gliding a smallriver, that, meandering amongst the copses, now shone glittering inthe sun, now hid itself in the shades, with that soothing variety, gayyet tranquil, placid but not insipid, which is the peculiarcharacteristic of the course of an English stream. The wind hadfallen, the clouds had dispersed, and the evening sun was shining out,as if seducing the early buds to come forth and yield themselves tohis treacherous smile, and all the choir of nature was hymning itssong of joy and hope in the prospect of delightful summer. Above thebranches, which were yet scarcely green with the first downy promiseof the spring, was seen rising high the dark octagon keep of ChilhamCastle. It was a building of the old irregular Norman construction;and the architect, who probably had forgot that a staircase wasrequisite till he had completed the tower, had remedied the defect bythrowing out from the east side a sort of square buttress, whichcontained the means of ascending to the various stories of which itwas composed. On the west side of the keep appeared a long mass ofbuilding of a still more ancient date, surrounded by strong stonewalls overgrown with ivy, forming a broken but picturesque line ofarchitecture, stretching just above the tops of the trees, andconsiderably lower than the tower, while a small detached turret wasseen here and there, completing the castellated appearance of thewhole.

  Sir Osborne paused and gazed at it for five or ten minutes in silence,while a variety of very opposite expressions too
k possession of hiscountenance. Now it seemed that the calm beauty of the scene filledhim with thoughts of tranquillity and delight; now that the viewrecalled some poignant sorrow, for something very bright rose andglistened in his eye. At last his brow knit into a frown, and angerseemed predominant, as, grasping the pommel of his sword with his lefthand, he shook his clenched fist towards the antique battlements ofthe castle, and then, as if ashamed of such vehemence of passion, heturned his horse and galloped back on the road he came.

  The moment after he had again entered upon the road to Canterbury, asudden change took place in the pace of his horse, and perceiving thathe had cast a shoe, the young knight was forced, although the sun wasnow getting far west, to slacken his pace; for the lady who walkedover the burning ploughshares would have found it a different story,had she tried to gallop over that road without shoes. Proceeding,therefore, but slowly, it was nearly dark when he reached the littlevillage of Northbourne, where, riding up to the smithy, he calledloudly for the farrier. No farrier, however, made his appearance. Allwas silent, and as black as his trade; and the only answer whichOsborne could procure was at length elicited from one of a score ofboys, who, with open eyes and gaping mouths, stood round, listeningunmoved for a quarter of an hour, while the knight adjured theblacksmith to come forth and show himself.

  "Can I have my horse shod here or not, little varlet?" cried he atlength to one of the most incorrigible starers.

  "Ye moy, if ye loyke," answered the boy, with that air of impenetrablestupidity which an English peasant boy can sometimes get up when he ishalf frightened and half sullen.

  "He means ye moy if ye can," answered another urchin, with somewhat ofa more intellectual face: "for Jenkin Thumpum is up at the hostelshoeing the merchant's beast, and Dame Winny, his wife, is gone tohold the lantern. He! he! he!"

  "Ha! ha! ha!" roared his companions, to whose mind Dame Winny holdingthe lantern was a very good joke. "Ha! ha! ha! wherever Jenkin Thumpumis, there goes Dame Winny to hold the lantern. Ha! ha! ha!"

  "But how far is it to the inn, my good boy?" demanded Sir Osborne.

  "Oh! it's for half an hour up the road, ye see," replied the boy, whostill chuckled at his own joke, and wanted fain to repeat it.

  "But are you sure the blacksmith is there?" demanded Sir Osborne.

  "Oy, oy!" replied the boy; "as sure as eggs are bacon, if he's notcoming back again. So, if ye go straight up along, you'll meet Jenkincoming, and Dame Winny holding the lantern. Ha! ha! ha!"