Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times
Various and curious were the dishes set upon the table; the wine was of
the choicest vintages of France and Spain: and one may conceive how
recklessly it was suffered to flow in those times, when we know that
the consumption of a private nobleman's house was upon one occasion,
three hundred and seventy pipes in the year, besides ale, metheglin,
and hypocras.
The banquet was somewhat strangely ordered, according to our present
notions, for there was but one large silver plate assigned to each two
persons; but as, with scrupulous exactness, the male and female guests
had been restricted to an equal number, this arrangement permitted a
display of the courteous gallantry of the times, each gentleman carving
for his fair companion, and taking care that she was supplied with all
she wished for before himself.
Opportunity was also thus offered for all those little signs and tokens
of chivalrous love which but too often, it must be confessed, deviated
into vice and folly. But of all the hearts at that table--and there
were some which fluttered with gaiety and excitement, some that beat
with calm satisfaction, some that palpitated with eager and not
over-holy joy,--none throbbed with higher and purer delight than those
of Hugh de Monthermer and Lucy de Ashby, as, sitting by side, they bent
together over the same board and drank from the same cup. Many a
sweet-whispered word was there, while all was laughter and merriment
around, and many an avowal of unchanged attachment, many a promise of
future affection was spoken by the eyes when any pause in the general
conversation might have betrayed the secret had it been intrusted to
the lips.
Happy indeed was the young lover, happy indeed was she whom he loved,
thus to commune with each other after so long a separation. But if
anything could have added to Lucy's joy in thus meeting Hugh again, and
sitting by his side, it would have been the terms with which Edward had
that night brought him forward to the king.
"Let me beseech you, sire," he had said, "for your favour towards the
friend of my youth, who, though for some time separated from me by
unhappy feuds, now at an end for ever, forgot not, in a time of need,
our early regard."
"His house have shown no great love for our throne," replied the King,
looking coldly upon him; "but we welcome him for your sake, Edward."
"Do so, my lord," answered the Prince, "for while I was in prison he
ever advocated my release, and when I was escaping, and he might have
stayed me, he bade God speed me on my way."
"Then we welcome him for his own," replied the King, more warmly, and
holding out his hand.
Hugh bent his head over it in silence, and retired.
The merriment had somewhat waned, the lights had grown rather dim, the
tapers were burning low, when, taking advantage of a momentary rise in
the sounds around, Lucy said, in a low voice, "I have still much to
tell, Hugh, of great importance."
"Can you not do so now?" demanded her lover, in the same tone.
"I dare not, I dare not," whispered Lucy, "and yet I would fain that it
were soon."
Hugh looked around. "This revel cannot last long," he said, "at least
you fair ladies will not stay much longer, Lucy; I can find an excuse
too, in my late wounds, to quit the board earlier than the rest, if we
could but meet."
Lucy looked down and blushed, for though those were days of liberty,
nay, of licence, when every lady held it little less than a duty to
hear each tale of passion that was addressed to her,--ay, and to afford
full opportunity for its being told,--yet still there was an inherent
modesty in her nature, which made the warm blood rise into her cheek at
the thought of meeting in secret the man which she loved best.
"I would tell the Princess," she replied, "and ask her advice and
assistance, for she is as kind and as wise as ever woman was. But what
I have to say no one must hear but you."
"There is a row of cloisters," answered Hugh, "just under the
Princess's apartments; I will go thither, Lucy, as soon as I can steal
away, and wait till all hope of seeing you be gone. Come if you can, my
beloved,--come if you can! You know you can trust to me."
"Oh, yes," replied Lucy, in the same low voice; "I will come, Hugh, I
will, for it is better."
The evil custom of men prolonging the song, the wine cup, and the
revel, after the table has been quitted by those whose presence softens
and refines our coarser nature is of a very old date in this our land
of England, and though certainly more honoured in the breach than the
observance, has only been abandoned by fits and starts from the period
of the Saxons till the present day.
At the early meal, which was called dinner in those times, such was not
often the case, for every one started up quickly to pursue his business
or his rude sports in the light; but after supper, when no occupation
called them from the table, the baronage of England would frequently
indulge in long revels, ending usually, especially under the monarchs
of the pure Norman line, in scenes of the most frightful excess and
disgusting licentiousness.
Henry I., though he did something to refine the people, and to
soften the manners of his nobles, still tolerated every sort of vice in
his court, and it was only with the sovereigns of The house of
Plantagenet--though they themselves were often corrupt enough--that a
certain degree of decency and courteous refinement was introduced which
put a stop to the coarse debaucheries of the Norman race. Under Henry
II., Richard, and John, amidst civil and foreign wars, a gradual
improvement might be perceived, and even during the reign of the weak
Henry III.--at least, by the time of which we speak--the high, pure
character of his chivalrous son worked a vast change in the general
tone of society.
Thus, though drinking and song, after the ladies of the court had
withdrawn, generally succeeded to the evening banquet, yet the night
never now terminated in those fearful orgies, to hide which altogether
from the eyes of men, the second William had commanded that all lights
should be suddenly extinguished in his palace at a certain hour.
On the evening in question, not long after the few words which we have
mentioned had passed between Hugh and Lucy, the Princess Eleanor, with
the rest of the ladies present, rose and left the hall, taking their
way under the high gallery and through the small door which
communicated with the royal apartments. As the Princess passed out she
placed her hand gently upon Lucy's arm, saying--"Come with me, sweet
cousin, I would fain speak with you;" and led the way towards her own
chamber.
All her own attendants were dismissed one by one; and then, seating
herself in a large chair, Eleanor beckoned her fair companion to take a
place beside her. But Lucy quietly, and with that exquisite grace which
is beauty's crowning charm, and she pre-eminently possessed, sunk
slowly down upon the stool at the Princess's feet; and looked up in her
face with a glance from which she strove hard to banish every trace of
that impatience which was strong in her heart.
Eleanor gazed down upon her in return with a kindly and yet a
thoughtful smile, keeping silence for nearly a minute, and then
saying--"So you are very much in love, dear Lucy de Ashby?--Nay, do not
blush and cast down your eyes, as if you thought I could doubt it,
after your telling me and every body else that it is so, some five
times during supper."
"Nay--nay," cried Lucy, turning round quickly with a look of
alarm--"not so plainly as that!"
"Plainly enough for me to understand," replied the Princess, "and that
is all that is necessary to talk of now. Edward told me something of
this before, and I promised to ask if you knew what you were doing."
Lucy looked up again, but it was now with an arch smile; and she
answered--"Right well, dear lady."
"I hope it is so," rejoined Eleanor; "for methinks I see difficulties
before you--thorns in your path; which I fear may wound those tender
feet more than you dream of. You love and are beloved, that is clear,
and that were simple enough to deal with, as most loves in this world
go, for very often the wild god's dart gives but a scratch as it
passes, and wounds not one heart deeply in a thousand. But for those
who love as you two seem to do, there is a world of anxieties and cares
upon the way. In our state of life, Lucy, we cannot, like the happy
country maid, give our hand at once where our heart is given, and
seldom--seldom through ages, is it the lot of woman to find so happy a
fate as mine, where the first lot I drew was the chief prize of the
whole world--he whom alone my heart could ever love, and he who was
destined to return it well.--He loves you, Lucy, I think,--this young
captive lord?"
"I am sure of it, lady," replied Lucy, earnestly.
"Indeed!" said the Princess. "Then doubtless you have spoken on this
theme--are plighted and promised to each other!"
Lucy turned somewhat pale, but it was with indecision, and doubt, and
the Princess, marking her changing colour, added--"Nay, let me not
force your confidence from you. I would fain help you, if I could; but
trust, like bounty, must be free, Lucy, not extorted; and though your
secret were as safe with me as in your own breast, yet let not the bird
take wing if you fear its flight."
Her fair companion, turning round, sunk somewhat farther at the
Princess's feet, and hid her eyes upon her knee, saying--"My confidence
shall be free!--We are plighted by every promise that can bind heart to
heart but the last one at the altar; and now that I have told you so
much, I will tell you all," she continued,--"even now, I fear he is
waiting for my coming in the cloisters down below."
"Nay!" exclaimed Eleanor, with a look of some surprise and
disapprobation.
Lucy read her thoughts by the tone in which she spoke, and raising her
head somewhat proudly, she replied--"You mistake me, I fear, dear lady;
and do not know the purpose for which I go."
"To fly with him, perhaps," said Eleanor.
"Oh no!" answered Lucy, "while my father lives I will never wed man
without his blessing. No, lady--no! Neither must you think--although I
hold there might be circumstances in which, but for the sake of
cheering and soothing him I love in captivity and sorrow, I might well
grant him a poor hour of my company alone--neither must you think, I
say, that I go to him now either to please my ear with hearing his dear
voice, or to comfort him with aught I can say in return. I know I may
trust you, lady--I know I may tell you why I go, and that you will
neither repeat it, nor ask me any farther question. I have a message to
him from one he loves and sorrows for. I have news from those he has
wept as dead; and though there be no treason in it, lady," she added,
with a smile, "I dare not give it to any other lips to deliver than my
own."
Eleanor bent down her head and kissed her brow--"Go--go, sweet Lucy,"
she said, "I give you leave. Ay, and even when your message is given,
if you do linger out the hour, or, perhaps, even see him again by
another clear moon like that, I will forgive and trust you both. The
man that could sully such a thing as thou art, by prompting one
wish--one act--one thought for which the pure heart would burn with
grief hereafter, were somewhat worse than a fiend; and methinks," she
added, laughing, "your lover does not look like one."
"Oh, no--no!" cried Lucy, "like anything but that; but I fear he may be
waiting for me."
"Some women would tell you to make him wait," replied the Princess,
"but I will not say so. I have heard my husband quote some Latin words,
which mean that he gives twice who quickly gives; and a frank favour to