The Little Duke: Richard the Fearless. Yonge Charlotte Mary

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СКАЧАТЬ was then considered a duty to be paid to the deceased, that their relatives and friends should visit them as they lay in state, and sprinkle them with drops of holy water, and Richard was now to pay this token of respect.  He trembled a little, and yet it did not seem quite so dreary, since he should once more look on his father’s face, and he accordingly rode towards the Cathedral.  It was then very unlike what it is now; the walls were very thick, the windows small and almost buried in heavy carved arches, the columns within were low, clumsy, and circular, and it was usually so dark that the vaulting of the roof could scarcely be seen.

      Now, however, a whole flood of light poured forth from every window, and when Richard came to the door, he saw not only the two tall thick candles that always burnt on each side of the Altar, but in the Chancel stood a double row ranged in a square, shedding a pure, quiet brilliancy throughout the building, and chiefly on the silver and gold ornaments of the Altar.  Outside these lights knelt a row of priests in dark garments, their heads bowed over their clasped hands, and their chanted psalms sounding sweet, and full of soothing music.  Within that guarded space was a bier, and a form lay on it.

      Richard trembled still more with awe, and would have paused, but he was obliged to proceed.  He dipped his hand in the water of the font, crossed his brow, and came slowly on, sprinkled the remaining drops on the lifeless figure, and then stood still.  There was an oppression on his breast as if he could neither breathe nor move.

      There lay William of the Long Sword, like a good and true Christian warrior, arrayed in his shining armour, his sword by his side, his shield on his arm, and a cross between his hands, clasped upon his breast.  His ducal mantle of crimson velvet, lined with ermine, was round his shoulders, and, instead of a helmet, his coronet was on his head; but, in contrast with this rich array, over the collar of the hauberk, was folded the edge of a rough hair shirt, which the Duke had worn beneath his robes, unknown to all, until his corpse was disrobed of his blood-stained garments.  His face looked full of calm, solemn peace, as if he had gently fallen asleep, and was only awaiting the great call to awaken.  There was not a single token of violence visible about him, save that one side of his forehead bore a deep purple mark, where he had first been struck by the blow of the oar which had deprived him of sense.

      “See you that, my Lord?” said Count Bernard, first breaking the silence, in a low, deep, stern voice.

      Richard had heard little for many hours past save counsels against the Flemings, and plans of bitter enmity against them; and the sight of his murdered father, with that look and tone of the old Dane, fired his spirit, and breaking from his trance of silent awe and grief, he exclaimed, “I see it, and dearly shall the traitor Fleming abye it!”  Then, encouraged by the applauding looks of the nobles, he proceeded, feeling like one of the young champions of Fru Astrida’s songs.  His cheek was coloured, his eye lighted up, and he lifted his head, so that the hair fell back from his forehead; he laid his hand on the hilt of his father’s sword, and spoke on in words, perhaps, suggested by some sage.  “Yes, Arnulf of Flanders, know that Duke William of Normandy shall not rest unavenged!  On this good sword I vow, that, as soon as my arm shall have strength—”

      The rest was left unspoken, for a hand was laid on his arm.  A priest, who had hitherto been kneeling near the head of the corpse, had risen, and stood tall and dark over him, and, looking up, he recognized the pale, grave countenance of Martin, Abbot of Jumièges, his father’s chief friend and councillor.

      “Richard of Normandy, what sayest thou?” said he, sternly.  “Yes, hang thy head, and reply not, rather than repeat those words.  Dost thou come here to disturb the peace of the dead with clamours for vengeance?  Dost thou vow strife and anger on that sword which was never drawn, save in the cause of the poor and distressed?  Wouldst thou rob Him, to whose service thy life has been pledged, and devote thyself to that of His foe?  Is this what thou hast learnt from thy blessed father?”

      Richard made no answer, but he covered his face with his hands, to hide the tears which were fast streaming.

      “Lord Abbot, Lord Abbot, this passes!” exclaimed Bernard the Dane.  “Our young Lord is no monk, and we will not see each spark of noble and knightly spirit quenched as soon as it shows itself.”

      “Count of Harcourt,” said Abbot Martin, “are these the words of a savage Pagan, or of one who has been washed in yonder blessed font?  Never, while I have power, shalt thou darken the child’s soul with thy foul thirst of revenge, insult the presence of thy master with the crime he so abhorred, nor the temple of Him who came to pardon, with thy hatred.  Well do I know, ye Barons of Normandy, that each drop of your blood would willingly be given, could it bring back our departed Duke, or guard his orphan child; but, if ye have loved the father, do his bidding—lay aside that accursed spirit of hatred and vengeance; if ye love the child, seek not to injure his soul more deeply than even his bitterest foe, were it Arnulf himself, hath power to hurt him.”

      The Barons were silenced, whatever their thoughts might be, and Abbot Martin turned to Richard, whose tears were still dropping fast through his fingers, as the thought of those last words of his father returned more clearly upon him.  The Abbot laid his hand on his head, and spoke gently to him.  “These are tears of a softened heart, I trust,” said he.  “I well believe that thou didst scarce know what thou wert saying.”

      “Forgive me!” said Richard, as well as he could speak.

      “See there,” said the priest, pointing to the large Cross over the Altar, “thou knowest the meaning of that sacred sign?”

      Richard bowed his head in assent and reverence.

      “It speaks of forgiveness,” continued the Abbot.  “And knowest thou who gave that pardon?  The Son forgave His murderers; the Father them who slew His Son.  And shalt thou call for vengeance?”

      “But oh!” said Richard, looking up, “must that cruel, murderous traitor glory unpunished in his crime, while there lies—” and again his voice was cut off by tears.

      “Vengeance shall surely overtake the sinner,” said Martin, “the vengeance of the Lord, and in His own good time, but it must not be of thy seeking.  Nay, Richard, thou art of all men the most bound to show love and mercy to Arnulf of Flanders.  Yes, when the hand of the Lord hath touched him, and bowed him down in punishment for his crime, it is then, that thou, whom he hath most deeply injured, shouldst stretch out thine hand to aid him, and receive him with pardon and peace.  If thou dost vow aught on the sword of thy blessed father, in the sanctuary of thy Redeemer, let it be a Christian vow.”

      Richard wept too bitterly to speak, and Bernard de Harcourt, taking his hand, led him away from the Church.

      CHAPTER III

      Duke William of the Long Sword was buried the next morning in high pomp and state, with many a prayer and psalm chanted over his grave.

      When this was over, little Richard, who had all the time stood or knelt nearest the corpse, in one dull heavy dream of wonder and sorrow, was led back to the palace, and there his long, heavy, black garments were taken off, and he was dressed in his short scarlet tunic, his hair was carefully arranged, and then he came down again into the hall, where there was a great assembly of Barons, some in armour, some in long furred gowns, who had all been attending his father’s burial.  Richard, as he was desired by Sir Eric de Centeville, took off his cap, and bowed low in reply to the reverences with which they all greeted his entrance, and he then slowly crossed the hall, and descended the steps from the door, while they formed into a procession behind him, according to their ranks—the Duke of Brittany first, and then all the rest, down to the poorest knight who held his manor immediately from the Duke of Normandy.

      Thus, they proceeded, in slow and solemn order, till they came to the church of our Lady.  The clergy СКАЧАТЬ