Читать книгу Heroines of the Crusades - Celestia Angenette Bloss - Страница 15
ELEANOR
CHAPTER I
Оглавление“In the midst was seen
A lady of a more majestic mien,
By stature and by beauty marked their sovereign Queen.”
The southern provinces of France, Poitou, Saintogne, Auvergne, Perigord, Limousin, Angoumois and Guienne, received of the Romans the classic appellation of Aquitaine. This beautiful land, watered by the Garonne and Loire, whose clear and sparkling streams, flowing from vine-clad hills, stretched their silvery arms to irrigate the fairest fields and to enclose the finest harbors in the world, was in the twelfth century, inhabited by the most civilized and polished people on the face of the earth. The arts, and the idealities, and the refinements of life, like the native flowers of its sunny vales, seemed wakened and nourished by the genial airs of a climate, softened by the proximity of the sea, and rendered bracing by the mountain breeze. The numerous and independent sovereigns, whose feudal sway extended over this fair territory, imbibed the spirit of chivalry, and caught the enthusiasm that precipitated the armies of Europe upon Asia. Count Raimond of Toulouse, was one of the first who took the cross, at the council of Clermont. He was styled par excellence the Moses of the expedition. Before leaving for Palestine, on his returnless voyage, he ceded his dominions to his daughter, wife of William IX. of Poitou. The grand-children of William IX. were Eleanor and Petronilla. The father of these fair sisters, William X., left Aquitaine in 1132, with their uncle Raimond, who was chosen prince of Antioch.
The poetical taste of Eleanor was early cultivated and developed by the unrestrained freedom she enjoyed in the queenless court of her minstrel grandfather in Gay Guienne. The language that prevailed all over the south of France, was called Provençal. It was the mother-tongue of Duke William, the grandfather of Eleanor, who was one of the most liberal patrons and earliest professors of that style of composition in which the Troubadours celebrated the feats of love and arms. The matchless charms of Eleanor were enhanced by all the accomplishments of the south. Her fine genius found ample exercise in composing the sirvantes and chansons of Provençal poetry, and her delicate fingers wiled the spirit of music from the echoing harp to accompany her voice adown the tide of song. She inherited from her grandfather the political sovereignty of her native dominions not only, but the brilliant talents and ancestral superiority that made her Empress in the realm of Taste, and Queen of the courts of Love.
When the gay and licentious Duke William felt the infirmities of age coming upon him, he determined to seek the readiest means to rid himself of the burden of his sins. Accordingly, he resolved to resign the most potent sceptre in Europe to the unpractised hand of his youthful granddaughter, and devote the rest of his days to prayer and penitence in a hermitage of the rocky wilderness of St. James de Compostella. Eleanor had not attained her fifteenth year when her grandfather commenced his career of self-denial, by summoning the baronage of Aquitaine to transfer their allegiance to herself; and the child-sovereign exercised the royal functions of her new dignities while the duke visited the court of Louis le Gros and offered her hand to the young prince. The wise lawgiver of France readily accepted the proposal – for the rich provinces which constituted the dower of Eleanor, held allegiance to the crown, only by feudal tenure; and the son, equally impatient for the possession of his fair prize, set off with a noble train for Bordeaux. The light heart of Eleanor was easily won by the unrivalled attractions of Louis le Jeune, whose courtly graces were illuminated by the prospect of the crown of Charlemagne; while the damsels that composed her court, exercised their blandishments with cruel skill upon the too susceptible hearts of the cavaliers that came in the train of the bridegroom. The parliament of Love deliberated day by day in mock solemnity upon the pretensions of the fair rivals, and the discreet decisions of Eleanor, the presiding genius of the conclave, inspired the songs of Trouveres and Troubadours, who vied with each other in celebrating her charms.
A succession of long, bright days, closed the month of July, and on the last evening the court of Love continued its session till the brilliant twilight had faded from the western sky, and the mellow harvest-moon poured a silver flood upon fountains that sprang as if instinct with life to catch and fling the shining radiance upon the gay company that still lingered in the Rose Pavilion. The Queen of the court, attired like Venus, sat upon a throne, canopied with Acaeia, through whose trembling leaves the light fell playfully contending with the envious shadows that seemed striving to hide her smiles. At her feet sat her favorite page, with wings framed of gauze attached to his shoulders, holding a lyre, fashioned to resemble the bow of Cupid, upon which he occasionally struck a few notes to announce a change in the evening’s entertainment. Lovely maidens arrayed as Nymphs and Graces reclined upon verdant couches around the fair arbitress of these amorous debates. Groups of light-hearted girls, representing heathen goddesses, listened encouragingly to their favorite minstrels, and strove, by various subtle arts, to win the meed of praise to the verse that celebrated their charms. Sirventes and Chansons had been recited and sung, still the assembly listened with an air of impatience, as if anticipating matters of more general interest. With a smile that at once excited and baffled curiosity, the Queen touched the cheek of her page with her flowery sceptre, saying, “Why slumbers the harp of my pretty Peyrol? Has he no song for the ear of his lady?”
“Peyrol cannot sing in the Romance Walloon,” said the youth, casting down his eyes with jealous pique.
“Proud one,” replied the queen, “thou knowest that though the lord of oui and non delights our eye, his language charms not our ear. We would hear a pretty faibleaux of Grenada, or wilt thou give us a fitting apostrophe to the court, where Gaiety and Innocence preside.”
“Nay, honored lady,” said the page, “since Gaiety and Innocence parted company on the plains of Pleasure, harmony hath forsaken the lyre, and not even the goddess of Love can heal the discord.”
“Thou pratest, pert boy,” replied the queen, with a stolen glance at Petronilla.
Perceiving from her tone, that he had presumed too far, the page bent over his harp and rapidly swept his fingers across the strings, saying apologetically,
“If my lady will accept a lay of Bretagne, Peyrol is ready to do her bidding.”
“The sweet tones of the langue d’oc little befit the rugged legends of the northern clime,” said the queen, “but tune thy lyre without further parley.” The page needed no second command, but sang: —
1. In a province fair of sunny France,
Beside a winding river,
Over whose waves in joyous dance,
The sunbeams gleam and quiver,
Stood a castle tall, a goodly sight,
With its broad and rich domain,
And therein dwelt a noble knight;
I ween he had a lady bright
And three sweet babes withouten stain.
2. A generous heart, an open hand,
To courtlie companie,
And eke as any in the land
For beggars of low degree.
So gentle his mien in lady’s bower,
So full of courtesie,
Yet valiant was he in tournament,
And a good bow in the greenwood bent,
I wot right dextrously.
3. He had been blest in his earthly state
With such fair prosperity,
That his heart beat high with pride elate,
Forgot he the giver good and great
And christian humility.
Whereat to punish his arrogance,
Our Lady sent him sore mischance,
And dire adversity.
4. Sir Isumbras to the hunt has gone,
Riding so gallantly,
With hawk and hound in the dewy morn,
When a vision bright above him born,
Appeared in the clear blue sky.
He saw a maiden meek and fair,
An angel I wist was she,
A messenger sent to bid him prepare
For chill calamity.
5. A woful man was the knight that day,
He turned him home in sore dismay,
When his good steed fell and died,
And hawk and hound of life bereft,
Sir Isumbras in the forest left,
With no living thing beside.
When to him there came his little foot page,
As fast as he might hie.
My noble master, a sad message,
It is that I bear to thee.
“Thy proud castell lies in ruins low,
Thy lady and children escaped the blow,
But and with jeopardy.”
6. The knight bowed meekly to heaven’s decree;
A wiser and sadder man was he,
And with his lady and children, three,
Sir Isumbras boune him o’er the sea —
A penitent pilgrim he would be
To holy Palestine.
Through seven weary lands they went —
The strength of the babes was wellnigh spent,
For charity, cold was their nourishment.
They came to a wood, with flowers besprent —
To a rapid river of broad extent,
Where never the sunbeams shine.
7. His eldest born, Sir Isumbras bore
With tenderest care to the farther shore;
But ere he returned again,
A lion fierce from the thicket sprang —
The little one tore from that cruel strand,
Nor him might they regain.
8. He found his lady weeping, full lorn,
For in his absence a leopard strong,
With a fell and bloody unicorn,
The others from her arms had torn.
9. The lady wished that she might die,
Or ever this sore calamity,
She should have been preserved to see;
But the knight with meek humility,
To Mary mother a prayer ’gan say,
That his penance might soon have end —
When wandering through the weary land,
The Sultan’s captives they were ta’en
Before his face to bend.
10. I trow the Sultan had rarely seen
A lady so lovely, in form or mien,
Or a knight so bold and true.
“Sir knight, I will give thee gold and fee,
As much as thou might wish to see,
If thou wilt renounce Christianity,
And fight for the banners of Paynimrie,
And sell thy lady bright to me;”
His form to its height he drew.
11. “Our Lady forefend that I should e’er
In infidel ranks a standard bear,
Or the holy cross betray;
And for weal or woe my lady fair,
I wed in the face of day;
A recreant knight I be when e’er
This right I shall gainsay.”
12. They have putten off his scarlet mantell
Within the goldis shred;
They drove him from that land of Baal,
And left him as he were dead.
The lady was sent to a far countrie,
The bride of the Sultan she should be,
When from the wars of Chrisendie
In triumph he returned.
13. Asleep in the forest the good knight lay
And when he awoke at dawn of day
He saw his treasure borne away,
By an eagle strong in search of prey —
No longer he there sojourned.
To the Virgin he made a fervent prayer
Invoking for aye her watchful care.
Then to Palestine he turned.
14. Through ten long years the knight pursued
His weary pilgrimage;
Then buckled he on his armor bright,
With heart beating free and light,
He hath boune him for the fight,
A gallant and unknown knight
Withouten heritage.
15. Much they marvelled then to see
A warrior, unknown as he,
Such deeds of valor do.
They wist he was no mortal wight,
But some weird magician sprite,
When in the thickest of the fight
The Sultan dread he slew.
16. They have broughten him to the christian king
With gladness and great welcoming,
And honor and praise had he;
But his object fell he did obtain,
For his mighty enemy he hath slain.
He donned his pilgrim weeds again,
And his wanderings pursued.
17. The scorching sun, with a feverish glare,
On the burning sands cast radiance clear;
When weary and faint the knight drew near,
Where stately and tall a castle fair
From a green oasis rose.
The cool palms waving in golden light,
With music of murmuring fountains bright,
Beckoning called the fainting knight
To bowers of repose.
18. He passed the portals of the hall,
And stood ’mong squires and good knights tall,
Holding it seemed high festival.
19. A lady beautiful to see,
Sat ’neath a gorgeous canopy.
She was queen of that countrie,
Lady of generous chivalry,
And eke of lowly charity.
The holy Palmers with reverence,
Welcomed she to her residence;
Gentle and kind was she.
20. But the knight would not be comforted,
For restless recollection shed
A sadness over all.
In silent mood he wandered
Through tower and lofty hall.
21. It fell on a day the Queen with her guest
Were seated at the mid-day feast,
When entered her favorite page in haste.
In the early morning he went in quest
Of eaglets’ eyries, and on the crest
Of a lofty mountain he found a nest,
With golden treasure hid in its breast,
Wrapped in a scarlet mantel.
22. No sooner beheld she the page’s prize,
Than the tears o’erflowed the ladie’s eyes.
My true and loyal knight she cries,
(The palmer looked on with mute surprise.)
Hast thou Sir Isumbras seen?
One moment they gazed in silent survey,
The mists of memory rolled away;
And locked within his arms she lay —
The lost one found again.
And there was feast and festival;
Resounded then through bower and hall,
The lute and joyous madrigal;
And joustings there were in tournament,
And breaking of lances in compliment,
To the beauty of ladies bright;
Then over the Sultan’s fair domain,
In peace the knight and lady reign;
Till the king in all sincerity,
Strove with pious zeal to free
From the bonds of Infidelity,
His Paynim lieges hight.
23. But no one there his cause upheld,
Save God and the Queen, I trow;
And were they e’er so valorous,
Never could they withstand
An armament so numerous,
As the unbelievers’ band.
24. Then by a chance miraculous,
The tide of war was turned.
As they might be sent in our Lady’s name,
Three knights came pricking o’er the plain,
As if the ground they spurned.
Came the first on a lion strong;
On a leopard the second was borne —
The third bestrode a unicorn.
Tall men and brave were they;
The hosts of the Saracens fled in dismay,
And repenting of their disloyalty,
Returned they then to their fealty;
And the knight and lady peacefully
Together with their children, three
Restored to them so happily,
Reigned in tranquillity,
Prosperously and long.
25. They lived and died in good intent;
Unto Heaven their souls went.
When that they dead were,
Jesus Christ, Heaven’s king,
Give us aye his blessing,
And shield us aye from care.
Rousing herself from the abstraction that had prevented her hearing the song of her page, the queen remarked, “Thy story is somewhat long, and for ourself we would have preferred that the husband had won the holy estate of martyrdom ’neath the sword of the Soldan. But thou hast rhymed it right dextrously, and we opine that the moral of thy lay accords well with the ascetic manners of the north.” She extended her wand. The herald then stood forth, and sounding a few notes on a chalumeaux, cried,
“Comes there no cause of Arrets d’amour,
Our gracious liege and sovereign before,
From lady, knight, or troubadour?”
The flute-like call was thrice repeated, and then a low response to the challenge issued from a mimic grotto, curiously roofed with overhanging vines.
“The minstrel of our sister Petronilla has leave to present her cause before our court,” said the queen encouragingly, as the troop of the young princess advanced from the shadow into the clear light, and knelt at the footstool of justice.
“The lady Petronilla,” began the Troubadour, “arraigns before the court her recreant knight, Count Rudolph of Vermandois. Cold greeting gives he for her fair looks, scant courtesy for her warm smiles; his ungloved hand returns not the pressure of her slight fingers, and the banderol she sent him flutters not from his gleaming lance.” A slight pause followed this accusation, and the herald again stood forth and demanded if any minstrel or Troubadour could say aught in extenuation of the offence of the accused. Not a voice answered, not a harp string stirred. At the third call the page of Eleanor arose, and with a graceful obeisance begged to be heard.
“Rudolph of Vermandois,” said he, “witnesseth by me, that since he set lance in rest to do his devoir for the fair Adelais of Champaigne, his eye and smile, and heart and hand, as loyal husband and true knight, are due and devote to her alone.”
A general murmur attested the disapprobation of the assembly at this new and strange defence; for it had already become a proverb in Guienne, that “True love cannot exist between married persons.” The importance of the action, however, elicited a brilliant contest among the rival Troubadours, and never was a case more warmly argued, more skilfully enveloped with the subtleties of logic, or more thoroughly transpierced with the sallies of wit, than that which arose from the efforts of the wily granddaughter of Philippa of Toulouse, to fascinate the husband of the granddaughter of Adela, Countess of Blois. The fair jurors finally, like their successors in modern days, rendered their verdict in accordance with preconceived opinions, independent of justice or argument. The defence being thus found invalid, the culprit was put under ban of the court, and all true ladies were forbidden to smile upon him, except by the grace of his slighted lady-love. The fairy camp then adjourned its sitting to receive the royal guests, who were already on the way to meet them. As Eleanor accepted the assistance of her lover to climb the terraced pathway leading to the castle, she said with her most bewitching smile, “We consign our young sister, Petronilla, to the care of our noble cousin of Vermandois.” The count dissembling his reluctance bowed and offered his hand to the sprightly sorceress, and the queen whispered her sister, “The hawk is hooded, it must be thine to bind his jessies.”
