Ruins and Old Trees, Associated with Memorable Events in English History Part 5

Ah! thou dost not heed my plaintive strain, For thus the fair bird sang; I have flown in my haste o'er the stormy main, From groves where my music rang.

Where my music rang, when the glow-worm's light Glimmer'd oft in the darkling glen, And no sounds were heard 'mid the stilly night, From the homes, or the haunts of men.

Save from one, who fear'd not the dew nor the damp, Who told me his true love tale, As he linger'd alone, by the glow-worm's lamp, In the depth of the hawthorn dale.

Methinks e'en now, o'er the dewy gra.s.s, All alone on the moonlit plain, Will his constant step, 'mid the dim light pa.s.s, To list for my answering strain.

And that answering strain the young knight heard, As he stole from his castle hall, For the lady breathed low to the faithful bird, Words of love from her distant thrall.

Thus sung the troubadour, and the maiden longed to see again the wide downs on which her young eyes had gazed, for she knew not the thraldom that awaited a rich heiress in those days of feudal tyranny. The book of Lac.o.c.k is silent with regard to the means by which the troubadour contrived to bear her off, concerning her perils by sea or land, or her joyous meeting with her widowed mother. The book tells merely, that King Richard bestowed her hand on his brother Longespe, and with it the vast possessions and the t.i.tle of the Earl of Salisbury. Longespe was then a youth, just rising into manhood,[10] and happy was it for the orphan heiress that King Richard gave her to one whom she could love. For it happened not unfrequently that great heiresses were married to stern men, either that their lands might enrich the younger sons of royalty, or else to repay services that had been rendered the crown. It is generally conjectured, that Richard designed the Lady Ela for his brother from the period of his father's death, when the hostile conduct of her uncle occasioned the young child to be sent away. His faithful Talbot sought and found her, most probably by the desire of the king, for he was loyal and experienced, and in none of the minstrel knights whom he admitted as companions to the festive board, did King Richard more unreservedly confide. He was proud, also, to be numbered among the devoted friends of the youthful Longespe, and in after years his name occurs among the witnesses to several charters given by the earl.[11] Whether, therefore, he was a friend of Longespe from his days of boyhood, or whether he had earned that friends.h.i.+p by his services in recovering the lovely Ela, certain it is, that neither his friends.h.i.+p nor his services were forgotten, and that when Longespe obtained the honours and possessions of the house of Salisbury, Talbot became an inmate of his castle.[12]

Ela returned to her father's hall, to the old castle of Sarum, from which she had looked in her childhood on the feats of arms that were exhibited in the tournament arena. But those days had pa.s.sed, for King John, who now filled the throne, cared little for jousts or minstrelsy. His thoughts brooded in sullen mood on the discontents that were abroad, and on the distracted condition of the country. Meanwhile the chivalrous and devoted Longespe accompanied King John, who went from place to place like the wild Arab, staying nowhere, ever restless and inconstant. The Lady Ela occasionally accompanied her husband in his expeditions, but she preferred the order and dignity of her own well-regulated household to the migrations of the court. The earl, too, was often weary of his mode of life, but his affection to his brother made him willing to relinquish his home comforts, and if the king was ever sincerely attached to any human being, it was to the gallant Longespe. There is little doubt but that his affection for the earl induced him to erect a tomb to the memory of his unhappy mother, whose remains had been removed from the place of their interment; it was tastefully embossed with fine bra.s.s, and had an inscription around the edge.[13] When the differences that existed between the monarch and his barons arose to a fearful height, and the month of June witnessed the proud triumph of the rebel chiefs, and the acquisition of Magna Charta, on the field of Runnimede, the brother stood unshaken in his fidelity. Many had transferred their allegiance from the king to the prevailing party, and John was reduced by an imperious necessity to a reluctant and insincere concession; but the banners of the Earl of Salisbury[14] floated in the camp of his royal kinsman, together with those of the Earls of Pembroke, Arundel, and Warren. The country was quiet for a season, but at length disturbances broke out again. It was no longer safe to venture unattended, by an armed force, beyond the precincts of the castle, and the "most dear friend and brother" of the wayward monarch, shared in the disasters of his reign. At one time a prisoner,[15]

at another deputed to place garrisons in the castles of Windsor, Hertford, and Berkhampstead, and to cut off supplies from the city of London, where the insurgents had fixed themselves. At length, hardened by the scenes of misery to which he had been accustomed, his kindlier feelings seemed to be totally obscured. Marching at the head of troops, with the fierce Falcasius de Breant, the earl imbibed his spirit, and shared in his enormities. Before them was often a smiling and well-peopled country, behind them a desolate wilderness,[16] and while the earl and Falcasius were thus mercilessly occupied, the king's arms spread equal desolation in other parts, till at length the castles of Mountsorrel, in Leicesters.h.i.+re, and that of Robert de Ros, in Yorks.h.i.+re, alone remained to the insurgent barons. To this succeeded the coming over of the French king, in order to a.s.sist the barons, the seeming defection of the earl, the death of John, and the coronation of young Henry. The country was again at peace, and Longespe returned to his home and family. With the pa.s.sing away of battle scenes, seemed to have pa.s.sed also the fierce spirit of the earl. We hear of him as a kind husband and indulgent father, as a bounteous master, and one who loved to promote good works. The gentle influence of Lady Ela apparently recalled him to the mood of better days, as the a.s.sociating with De Breant had urged him to deeds of rapine and injustice. The beautiful cathedral of Salisbury was founded by him, and thither came, at his request, the bishop of the diocese, with a few earls and barons, and a vast concourse of people from all parts, on the day appointed for laying the first stone. Divine service having been performed in the ancient edifice, the bishop put off his shoes, and walked in procession with his clergy to the site of the new foundation, singing the litany as they went.

The bishop then addressed the people, and taking a stone in his hand, he placed it in the name of Pope Honorius, and afterwards another, for the Archbishop of Canterbury. The fourth was laid by the Earl of Salisbury, the fifth by the Countess Ela, "a truly praise-worthy woman," as wrote William de Wanda, afterwards Dean of Sarum, "because she was filled with the fear of the Lord." Other stones were added by a few n.o.blemen, archdeacons, and canons of the church of Sarum, amidst the acclamations of the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude, many of whom wept for joy, and gladly contributed according to their ability. A negociation was then pending with the Welch at Tewkesbury, or the company would have been much larger, but most of the n.o.bility who pa.s.sed that way on their return, requested leave to add each a stone, and some bound themselves to make contributions for the next seven years.[17]

To this succeeded the stern and stirring incidents of war, for King Henry's brother, having recently received the honour of knighthood, with the earldoms of Cornwall and Poictou, it was resolved that he should commence his military career on the plains of Gascony, under the guidance of his uncle, the Earl of Salisbury, and Philip de Albeney.[18] Forth, then, they went, with sixty knights and their attendants, and an army of French and English, and again were homes despoiled, and castles set on fire, and fields and vineyards trodden down by hostile steps, till, having achieved the purpose of their predatory warfare, the earl and his companions embarked for England. But the nights were dark, and October winds, gathering strength and fierceness from the early setting in of a long winter, tost their unwieldy s.h.i.+ps like c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.ls on the face of the deep waters. The chieftains despaired of life, as did the bravest of the seamen, and the earl resolved to throw overboard whatever he possessed, either of rings, or gold, or silver, rich vestments, or scutcheoned banners, that as he had entered life unprovided with them, so he might pa.s.s in like manner to his eternal home. But a waxen light, of large size and brilliancy, was seen by all on board, suddenly appearing on the summit of the mast, and near it stood a female of surpa.s.sing beauty, who preserved that warning light, s.h.i.+ning in the midnight darkness, from being extinguished by the wind or rain. Seeing this, the mariners took courage, and when the day began to dawn, the violence of the storm abated, a fresh gale sprung up, and urged the s.h.i.+p onward to the isle of Rhe, about three miles distant from Roch.e.l.le. As they neared the coast, an old abbey came in sight, and thither the earl sent messengers on landing, requesting favour and protection, and that he might remain concealed from his enemies till a fair wind should admit of his returning home. To this the abbot gave consent, and received both the earl and his companions with kindness and hospitality. But the island was in charge of Savaric de Maloleone, who served the French king, and kept watch over the adjoining coast, and great peril would have accrued to Earl William, had not two of Maloleone's retainers gone secretly to the abbey and warned him to remain no longer, telling him, that unless he left the island before the following morning, he would be captured by their comrades, who guarded the island and the straits. Upon this the earl, after presenting them with twenty pounds sterling, hastened to the sh.o.r.e, from which the whole company embarked on a raging sea. They trusted, as the distance was but short, that they should speedily gain the English coast, but in this they were mistaken, and, for three long wintry months, did those ill-fated men struggle with the raging elements, before they arrived within sight of land.[19]

Meanwhile, the Lady Ela hoped from day to day that the earl might yet return, but, still as weeks past on, and the storms of winter gathered strength, she began to fear that his s.h.i.+ps had been lost at sea. There were also other wives and mothers, who suffered as intensely as the countess, for among the knights and soldiers that accompanied him on his perilous undertaking, many had families at home, who looked wistfully for their return. But the Lady Ela had trials that especially attended her high rank and large possessions, for although a matron, whose age and dignity might have commanded more respect, she became an object of pursuit to the fortune-hunters of the court. Hubert de Burgh, who stood high in favour with Henry III., sought for his nephew the hand of the widowed countess, and the youth, entering with a kindred spirit into the interested views of his ambitious kinsman, prepared for the undertaking.

De Burgh had been twice at Salisbury in attendance on the king during the earl's perilous voyage,[20] and it is therefore not surprising that the future disposal of the honours and broad lands of the Lady Ela should have become an object of his speculations. Henry III. was said to be much afflicted by the supposed death of the earl, but when De Burgh pet.i.tioned that he would permit his inheritance to pa.s.s with the Lady Ela into his own family, the king readily gave leave, on condition that the countess could be induced to consent. The justiciary, for such was the office of De Burgh, accordingly dispatched his nephew, on a courser richly caparisoned, with knights and squires sumptuously arrayed, that he might present himself in a distinguished manner before the countess. But the lady scorned his suit; she heeded neither his flattering speeches nor large promises, and she told him, with becoming dignity, that messengers had arrived from her absent husband, bringing the welcome news that he was both safe and well. She added, further, that if indeed the earl was dead, she would in no wise receive the nephew of the Justiciary De Burgh as a second husband. "Therefore," said she, "you may seek a marriage elsewhere, because you find that you have come hither in vain." On hearing this, Reimund de Burgh became exceedingly crest-fallen, and, having remounted his gaily trapped courser, he hurried from the castle with his train.[21]

The earl returned to his home on the fourth of the ides of January, and went the following day to see the king, who was then ill at Marlborough.

He made a heavy complaint to his royal nephew, that base men had been allowed to insult his countess with proffers unworthy of her. He had been abroad, he said, and suffered much in the king's service, and it seemed hard that advantage should be taken of his protracted absence by the Justiciary de Burgh, to send a certain low-bred man, who was not even a knight, into the presence of his wife, with the intention of constraining her to an unlawful marriage, had she not most n.o.bly repelled him. He added, moreover, that unless the king caused full reparation to be made by the justiciary, for so great an outrage, he would himself seek redress, though it should involve a serious disturbance of the country. The king, who was greatly rejoiced to see his uncle, well knowing that he was both powerful and valorous, did not attempt to excuse himself, and the Justiciary de Burg being present at the interview, wisely resolved to atone for his misconduct, by confessing that the fault rested with him. He besought the earl to pa.s.s the matter over, and to accept, as a proof of his forgiveness, some fine horses, and other costly gifts. He next invited the earl to dine with him, who went accordingly on the day appointed, but being taken ill immediately after dinner, he was obliged to return home. Rumours went abroad that poison had been administered, but the character of De Burgh does not warrant any suspicion of the kind.[22]

The hards.h.i.+ps which the earl sustained while abroad, with his subsequent agitation, occasioned by the insult offered to his countess, were sufficient to account for his sudden illness. Finding himself dying, he sent for the Bishop of Salisbury, that he might receive in the confession and viatic.u.m, such blessings as were needful to one in his condition. The bishop came immediately, and, when he entered the apartment, bearing with him the sacred elements, the earl sprung from his bed, and hastily tying a rough noose about his neck, he threw himself weeping upon the floor. He was, he said, a traitor to the Most High, and could not rise till he had confessed his past sins, and received the communion of the life-giving sacrament, that he might testify himself to be the servant of his Creator.

He afterwards continued for some days in prayer, and such acts of penitence as his faith enjoined, and he then peaceably yielded up his soul to his Redeemer;[23] to Him "who willeth not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn from his wickedness and live."

The earl died on the seventh of March, 1226, and his corpse, according to the fas.h.i.+on of the age, was immediately removed to the cathedral of New Sarum. The day was stormy, and loud gusts of wind, accompanied with heavy rain, swept over the open downs, but still the funeral train went on, with its long, long line of torches, for it might not be that the corpse of one who had been so great on earth, should remain from out the sacred walls of the cathedral which he had founded. It was about a mile from the castle to the church, and a mult.i.tude of people followed; some were loud in their lamentations, others wept silently as they went; for the earl had been a kind master, and it seemed hard that he should so soon be taken from them, who had but just returned to his home. They remembered, too, that only eight weeks before, and at the same hour of the day, he had pa.s.sed through the wide portals of the magnificent cathedral to offer praises and thanksgivings for his preservation and safe return; that on the very spot where he was then received in procession by the clergy, with great demonstrations of joy,[24] the same company was coming forth to meet him, who was now being borne a corpse before them; for the bier was met at the western door by the bishop and the neighbouring chieftains, with the cathedral clergy, choristers, and precentor, chanting in Latin as they pa.s.sed up the nave, the same funeral service which is now chanted in English, on occasions of public funerals within the walls of cathedrals.

His martial figure of grey marble still reposes on his tomb, sleeping, as it were, from century to century with his sword and s.h.i.+eld. The features of this son, and brother, and uncle of kings, are only partially exposed, through a small aperture in the hood of mail, which covers his mouth and chin, the eyebrows betoken somewhat of a lofty and impetuous feeling, but the eyes seem gentle and intelligent.[25]

The day of death is light, in comparison of its bitterness, with that of the interment. In the former case, the spirit indeed has pa.s.sed away, yet the form remains. The wife, or child, or parent can sit beside the couch, and gaze on the still unchanged features. But when the grave has once closed upon the loved one, what words can tell the utter desolation that presses on the heart! Thus felt the Lady Ela, when the last words of the solemn service ceased, when the sound of footsteps neared to the grave's edge, and somewhat heavy seemed to be letting down into the darkness and the depth,--when her half-averted eye looked for the last time on the narrow coffin, resting now within the grave, but soon to be concealed for ever. Lady Ela heeded not the words of comfort which the pale priest spoke, nor yet the solemn chanting that burst forth again, as if to bear her spirit up with holy hopes from out the wretchedness of her sad lot.

But the Lord, in whom she trusted, did not forsake her, and when she returned to her home, it was with a firm resolve to devote herself to the service of her Maker, by cheris.h.i.+ng the memory of her husband, and taking care of her large family.

It was happy for the Lady Ela that she was suffered to remain in free widowhood; that even the powerful Justiciary de Burgh and his aspiring nephew dared not molest her. This was an especial favour, and as such the countess ever regarded it, for ladies of large estates were rarely permitted to continue single; their lands and dignities pa.s.sed by right of inheritance to persons whom they were often constrained to marry.[26]

Thus, at the same period of English history, the rich heiress of Albemarle conferred the t.i.tle of earl successively on her three husbands, William Mandeville, William de Fortibus, and Baldwin de Betun. The countess, therefore, being priviliged to continue in a widowed state, exercised the office of Sheriff of Wilts.h.i.+re, and that of Castellan of Old Sarum, even when her son became of age, and claimed, by his mother's wish, the invest.i.ture of the earldom; the king his cousin refused it, not in displeasure, but according to the principles of feudal law; and hence it happened, that in consequence of the Lady Ela's protracted life, the earldom of Salisbury continued dormant, and as she survived both her son and grandson, it was never renewed in the house of Longespe. The great seal with which the countess ratified the many legal instruments that were required in the administration of her feudal rights is still extant. We may not perhaps regard it as presenting a portrait of the Countess Ela, like the effigy of her husband in Salisbury cathedral, but it affords, no doubt, a faithful resemblance of her n.o.ble and dignified bearing, and of her graceful, though simple costume. Her right hand is on her breast, her left supports a hawk, the usual symbol of n.o.bility, her head is covered with a singularly small cap, possibly, the precursor of the more recent coronet; her long hair flows negligently upon her neck, and on either side the royal lions of Salisbury appear to gaze on her, like the lions of Spenser's "Fairy Queen," on the desolate lady Una.[27]

Seven years had now elapsed from the time of the earl's death, during which the countess sedulously fulfilled the duties of her high condition.

Her eldest son, who was then a minor, married the rich heiress of two baronies, the daughter of Richard de Camville, and the Lady Eustachia.[28]

Richard, Stephen, and Nicholas were gone forth into the world, and her daughters Isabella, Petronilla, Ela, and Sola being either married or of age, the countess thought herself at liberty to relinquish the arduous duties in which she had hitherto been engaged, and to devote herself to a secluded life. Yielding, therefore, to the natural desire of withdrawing from the busy world, she proceeded to undertake a task that was calculated as much for a season to add to her employments, as it afterwards contributed to her repose.

River scenery has ever been a pa.s.sion with me. I can gaze unwearied on the tranquil flowing of deep, clear waters, now shaded with old trees, that droop their branches to the water's edge, and now by rock and underwood, where roses and wild honeysuckles, harebells, and primroses mingle their beauty and their fragrance. Such is the tranquil Avon, pa.s.sing in gloom and depth, dark, silent, and unruffled, among rocks and trees; or murmuring in its onward course, with that calm sound of moving waters which seems to tell of peace and solitude. It is flowing now, through a s.p.a.cious and level meadow, with tall elms, and cattle feeding on its margin, and in the distance, high spiral chimneys appear at intervals among the trees. They belong to the ancient nunnery of Lac.o.c.k, which the Lady Ela founded; not standing as many stand, with smokeless chimneys, lone and tenantless, over which the creeping ivy and wild wall-flower seek to hide the rents of ruin, but dwelt in still; a place where the living may think of those who are resting in the cells beneath, who have neither heard the winds of winter, nor felt the cheering sunbeams for more than six hundred years.

This s.p.a.cious and level meadow, with its tall elms and cattle, was once a glade; this bright river, now journeying in shade and suns.h.i.+ne along peopled districts, flowed once in silence and in loneliness through the ancient forests of Chippenham and Melksham. Yonder, and at a distance over the wide wood, rises the high and lonely arch of Malmesbury Abbey, the "august, but melancholy mother," as the poet Bowles has well observed, with a poet's feeling, of many a cell or monastery beside the Avon.

Battlements and b.u.t.tresses, seen far off in the bright suns.h.i.+ne, point out the remains of Bradenstoke Abbey, rising among old trees, and seeming to overlook the river as it winds through the vale and pastures of Somerford and Christian Malford. Scarcely a vestige remains of Stanley priory; its walls are low and roofless, but the bright blue "forget-me-not," nestling itself among ferns and foxgloves in the fissures of the walls, seems to call upon the pa.s.senger to remember that men once thought, and felt, and suffered, where all now is silent and deserted--an emblem-flower, a living motto, inscribed on the wrecks of ruin. But Lac.o.c.k Abbey, standing on the verge of the s.p.a.cious and level meadow, is still inhabited, and its cloisters are fresh, as if they were just completed, although the arches are hung with ivy. More than six centuries have pa.s.sed since the Countess of Salisbury came, in the year 1232, accompanied by such persons as she loved to consort with, to this remote part of her hereditary domain. The woods around were bursting into leaf, and the "one word spoken" of the contented cuckoo was heard at intervals.

It was early in the month of April,[29] and as yet the winds were chill, but April was in unison with her past life, one of storm and suns.h.i.+ne, and now about to close, as respected this world's turmoils, amid the beautiful scenes of woodland and of river. Two monasteries were founded by the countess on that memorable day; Lac.o.c.k, which she designed for her own abode, in which holy canonesses might dwell, continually and devoutly serving the Most High; the other, the priory of Henton, of the Carthusian order.[30] It was believed that the countess in thus founding these religious establishments, desired to perform the vows of her husband, which he made during his great perils, when returning from Gascony to England. A few years more, and the bright sun which beamed on the day of the foundation of Lac.o.c.k nunnery, looked down on a dark marble stone, which men placed, with heavy hearts, over the remains of its n.o.ble foundress. "As I stood, in a moody day of the declining year," wrote one,[31] who has recorded with deep feeling the long-forgotten history of the Lady Ela, "and thought of her youthful romantic history, a gleam of pale suns.h.i.+ne struggled through the dark drapery of ivy, and fell upon the spot. At the same moment a wintry bird, which had taken shelter among the branches, piped one small note; no other sound was heard amid the profound silence of the place, and as the short note ceased, the gleam faded also."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Dunmow Priory.]

Dunmow Priory.

The old tree, the old tree, Has fallen long ago; But I shall tell of thee, old tree, As if thou wert standing now.

How thy ample branches spread, In the days of ruthless John; How they waved o'er the silent dead, When the last dread deed was done.--M. R.

Dancing lights and shadows are playing on the tomb of Lady Marian.[32]

They are cast by the old tree whose waving branches, seen through the lofty window, with its tracery and mullions, grey and time-worn, recall to my mind the day in which it stood with its brotherhood beside the little church of Dunmow, when bold Robinhood, the outlawed Earl of Huntingdon, pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed with his lady and their archers through the green recesses of Sherwood forest. The contiguous priory was standing then, but this memorial of the olden time, the present church of Dunmow, formed merely the south aisle of a magnificent collegiate church, and of a religious house founded many years before the days of Robinhood, by the sister of Raef Baynard, who held the manor in the time of Domesday survey.

Far and near extended a wild forest with its glens and dingles, but farmhouses are standing now where the wolf used to range, and a public road pa.s.ses within sight of the ancient building, from which it is divided by a corn-field, and burying-ground, with head-stones worn and lichen-dotted, and crumbling from long exposure to the weather. How still and solemn is this place! Here knees have bent in prayer for successive generations, and here successive generations have been laid to rest; the poor beside the church--a few of n.o.ble birth within the walls. Sir Walter Bohun is one of these. His plate armour and leathern s.h.i.+rt indicate that his days were pa.s.sed in warlike deeds, and beside him rests his lady, dame Matilda, who wears the insignia of her courtly rank; her tiara and lace, her earrings and her necklace. Their heads repose on cus.h.i.+ons, and their hands are raised in the att.i.tude of prayer. The effigies of both have suffered; the legs of Sir Walter are broken at the knees, and the delicate fret-work of the lace which adorns his lady has been rudely handled. Other steps than those which used to tread softly, as befits a house of prayer, were heard here when this deed was done. Men, with peaked beards and round hats, halted beneath the Oak of Dunmow, and they thought they did good service to their Maker when they despoiled the old effigies; they, too, have pa.s.sed from among the living, and though their sojourn occasioned great distress and terror in the neighbourhood, no trace of them remains at Dunmow, excepting in the mischief which they did. Sir James Hallet rests here also, and a few mural monuments remain upon the walls, but the one tomb, which of all others is most dear, upon which the quivering lights and shadows play, and sunbeams shed a softened radiance, is that of the Lady Marian. s.h.i.+elded by a beautiful screen of dark old oak, coeval with the building, and which separates the nave from the chancel; it stands forth in bold relief, a relic of the olden time, which the convulsions of ages--foreign wars and civil feuds, have yet spared. The head is covered with a woollen coif, the neck encircled with a collar, and a string of pendants falls upon an embroidered cape; a rich girdle and long robe, with sleeves close to the wrists, and hands covered with rings further indicate her rank. Angels were stationed beside the head, and a dog crouched on either side her feet. But rough hands marred this tomb also, the angels, who seemed to watch over the sleeping effigy, were rudely broken, though the effigy itself was spared. Perhaps the lady who lay within the tomb was a.s.sociated with the fondest recollections of the rebel leader. It may be, that he had gathered nuts amid the open s.p.a.ces of the forest where she dwelt; before years of crime and peril had hardened his young heart, or, perhaps, when sick and restless upon his bed, his mother might have told him concerning the Lady Marian's woes and wanderings; how she fled from her father's castle, when that castle was in flames, and how bold Robinhood and Little John s.h.i.+elded her from harm.

More than six hundred years have pa.s.sed away since a company of monks from the adjacent priory brought hither the corpse of Lady Marian to inter it within the church; since the boughs of the old tree, waving in the cold night air, cast their uncertain shadows on the long train of veiled nuns, as they entered by torch-light the low arched door-way of the church.

Marian had pa.s.sed her young days in Baynard castle, on the borders of Sherwood Forest. Her father, Richard Fitz Walter, gave a tournament when his daughter attained her eighteenth year; knights and squires a.s.sembled from all parts; ladies came attired in robes of costly silk; and during three whole days, jousts and sports continued without intermission; but on the fourth, a stranger, clad in burnished mail, entered the lists and vanquished the bravest of his compet.i.tors. No one knew whence he came, but his gallant bearing and handsome countenance, won the heart of the young queen of that high festival, and she trembled when she hung the golden chain around his neck. It was said, too, by those who looked on, that the mysterious victor was observed to turn pale; but he departed as he entered, suddenly and in haste, and the tramp of his stately steed was heard afar in the still forest.

Prince John was at the banquet, yet he liked not the n.o.ble owner of the castle; he had no thoughts in common with those of a true and loyal knight, and having been reproved for some evil expressions he went away in anger, and vowed revenge. A few short months and the brother of Fitz Walter departed for the Holy Land, taking with him a considerable number of his brother's men-at-arms, when John, watching his opportunity, led on an armed band against the castle, and slew its owner. Marian fled to the green forest, where she wandered all the day, and concealed herself at night among the underwood. The next day, she met the stranger knight, whom she had crowned a short time before, when Baynard castle was in all its pride, and her father presided there. His burnished coat of mail was laid aside, and a simple suit of Lincoln green betokened his mode of life.

Soothly did he greet the lady, and told her not to fear, for though he was Robinhood, the outlawed Earl of Huntingdon, at the mention of whose name stern warriors trembled in their halls, and ecclesiastics turned pale, his good men should s.h.i.+eld her well.

Lady Marian laid aside her whimple and her veil, and the better to conceal herself, put on a light kind of armour, such as young men wore on days of festival, for she had not strength to bear the heavy casque and buckler.

In this garb she encountered King John, who called upon her to surrender; but he who stood before her was the murderer of her father, and what will not the recollection of such a deed produce in even the gentlest bosom; in one, too, who, perhaps, had not been taught the blessed precept which teaches to forgive. "Yield," said the prince, for he knew not the damsel in her strange attire; he thought, most probably, that the youth before him was in the service of the outlaw, and that his command would be sufficient to enforce obedience. The stranger was not thus to be subdued, and so firmly did she maintain her a.s.sumed character, that the prince was obliged to withdraw. John heard that his antagonist was no other than the young flower of Baynard castle, Marian, whose father he had slain, and he resolved to be avenged on her also.

Maid Marian became the wife of Robinhood, and when King Richard restored to him his earldom and estates, she presided in his baronial hall with equal courtesy and magnificence. John succeeded to the throne on his brother's death, and then the vengeance which had long brooded in his sullen breast fell heavy on the earl; he was again outlawed, and for many long and weary years did his fair young wife follow his fortunes. Time, and the hards.h.i.+ps which he endured, had at length weakened the strength of the bold outlaw. He tried his shafts one morning, and finding that they neither flew so far, nor so fast as his strong arm was wont to send them, he resolved to repair to Kirkley nunnery, where his cousin presided as prioress. He had heard much of her skill in medicine, and hoped that she might stay the fever that raged in his veins. "Thrice welcome, cousin Robert," she said, but treachery was in her heart, for she bore no good-will to him who plundered both the church and churchmen. Robert pa.s.sed through the strong oaken door, but he returned not again, save as a corpse borne by his tall bowmen wearily along, to bury beneath some fine trees near Kirkley.

At this sad period of her life the countess took refuge in Dunmow Priory.

It stood in a wild and secluded spot on the borders of Sherwood Forest; that great forest to which she had fled for refuge in her young days, and where her married life had pa.s.sed. John heard that she was there, and he rejoiced in the thought of vengeance, for he remembered their rencounter in years gone by, and how she had worsted him on that memorable day.

Summoning, therefore, a gallant knight, Robert de Medeive, common ancestor of the present Earl Manvers, and of one, to whom we owe this biographic memoranda of the Lady Marian, he bade him go with all speed to the Priory of Dunmow, and present to the Countess of Huntingdon a valuable bracelet, as a token of amity and reconciliation. Years chequered with much of sorrow had pa.s.sed since the fall of Baynard castle; since the encounter of Marian and the prince in Sherwood Forest; perhaps she had learned in her cell, the blessedness and the duty of forgiveness. Walter had heard concerning the n.o.ble lady who thus cordially received him as an herald from the king--of the sufferings of her young days, and how the brave Earl Huntingdon had given her a home when her own fair patrimony was in the hands of strangers. Her bloom, indeed, had faded, together with the sprightliness which rendered her the darling of her father's house; but her n.o.ble bearing and matron beauty which time still spared, caused the rough warrior to gaze on her with mingled love and admiration. But he wished not to be thus entangled, and, therefore, bidding her adieu, he hastened on his way. The way was long and lonely, now over a wide common; now through the depth of a dark forest, beside a rapid streamlet, or through a valley where high trees drooped on either side, in all the majesty and luxuriance of uncultivated nature. The knight looked not on these, however beautiful; he cared not for the grandeur or sublimity of the mighty landscape, which extended at times before him, or the sylvan beauty of woodland scenery; he thought only of the high-minded dame to whom he had borne the pledge of amity; till at length her image rose before him with an intensity of feeling that caused him to turn his horse's head, and to retrace the way which he had come. The day had closed in before he reached the priory, but the light of many tapers streamed through the windows of the adjoining church on the weary knight, and the dirge of death sounded solemnly through the stillness of the forest. The priory seemed deserted; there was no one to answer his impatient questions; all were either within the church or around the door, and thither he too hastened with trembling steps, for his heart sunk within him. The chancel was lighted up, and before the curiously carved screen of dark old oak lay the corpse of the Lady Marian; it was covered with flowers according to the fas.h.i.+on of the age, for as yet this custom of the olden time was not laid aside. The bracelet was on her wrist; its fiery poison had dried her life's blood, and cankered the flesh it touched. Her face was ghastly pale, but a heavenly smile irradiated her fine countenance; it told that all within was peace--that even the last dire deed had not disturbed her thought of heaven. The veiled nuns stood around--their loud sobs were heard, even the officiating priests and brothers wept bitterly; and the "dies irae" died away on their quivering lips as the warrior entered. He flung himself upon the bier, and uttered, in the wildness of his anguish, a thousand maledictions on his wretched head. It was long before he could be removed, and then he returned neither to the camp nor court. He relinquished his mail and helmet for the cowl and gown, and became a faithful brother of the order of St. Augustine.

Peace be with thee, n.o.ble lady; a quiet waiting in the place of rest, whither thy spirit is departed, for the summons of thy Lord. This earth has changed greatly since thy young feet trod the precincts of Sherwood Forest; the contiguous priory has fallen down, thy father's castle is still in ruins; all thy companions in the hall and cloister have pa.s.sed from the earth; and here, within this venerable relic of the olden time, in the midst of a field of corn, reposes thy mortal frame. Lady Marian--Peace be with thee. Rest in hope, till the hour of His coming, who shall awake all those who sleep in him, and when, to borrow the beautiful language of inspiration, the groaning creation "shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of G.o.d."[33]

"When the Holy One, the Glorious One, returns in might and power, And the long-oppressed world emerges, from out her darksome hour; Her darksome hour of grief, and death, and bitter pain, When the Holy One, the Blessed One, returns to earth again.

Where the hosts of Satan trod, bright angels shall descend, And loved ones, and vanished ones, their steps shall hither wend.

They come from the silent land, where they have waited long, And sweet as mortals never heard shall be their choral song.

We too shall sing with them, for the curse shall pa.s.s away, And earth look brighter far than on her natal day, When the Lord for whom we waited in glory comes to reign, And many whom we dearly loved do follow in his train."--M. R.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE GOSPEL TREE.]

The Gospel-Tree.