Part 34 (1/2)
”Treason had done its worst,”
and Blanche had breathed her last in the Tour de Moncade.
A magnificent funeral was prepared--much lamentation and mourning ensued--and the body of the royal victim was pompously interred with her ancestors, the Princes of Bearn, in the cathedral of Lescar.[35]
[Footnote 35: Some historians say that Blanche was confined at the castle of Lescar, but there is no foundation for the a.s.sertion: no castle but that of Pau or Orthez would have been sufficiently strong to retain a prisoner of so much importance. Moret, and other Spanish authors, relate the event as above.]
Five years after this tragedy, the vengeance of Heaven--still called for by the shades of the brother and sister--overtook Dona Juana, their cruel step-mother. She died in the agonies of a lingering disease, and in her torments betrayed, by her ravings, her crimes to all. Her constant exclamation was, ”Hijo! que me caro cuestas!” _Oh, my son! you have cost me dear!_ alluding to her own son, for whose sake she had sacrificed the former children of her husband. She died, deserted by all; for that husband, equally guilty, on hearing that her words had betrayed her, thought it policy to feign indignation at her wickedness, and refused to visit her in her dying moments. The memory of the unnatural father is still preserved in a Spanish proverb, which alludes only to his sole good quality--liberality--in which he was extreme: in application to courtiers--who look for presents which are long coming--it is usual to say, ”Ya se muri rey Don Juan.”
There is no end to the stories which may be told of the castle of Orthez, and those in its neighbourhood; the knights and squires of Gaston de Foix's court, when not engaged in jousts and tournaments, or in fighting in earnest, seemed never weary of telling histories which their guest, Froissart, listened to with eager attention; amongst them, the following is characteristic of his ready belief, and the credulity of the time:
The Great Bear of Bearn.
Messire Pierre de Bearn, natural brother of Gaston Phoebus, was the victim of a strange malady, which rendered him an object both of fear and pity: there was a mystery attached to his sufferings which no one of the learned or inquisitive attendants who surrounded him could explain; and when Froissart inquired why it was that he was not married, being so handsome and so valiant a knight, his question was met with ”the shrug, the hum, the ha,” that denoted some secret. At length, as he was not easily to be satisfied when anything romantic was on the _tapis_, he found a person to explain to him how things stood with respect to the brother of the count.
”He is, in fact, married,” said the squire who undertook to resolve his doubts; ”but neither his wife nor children live with him, and the cause is as follows.” He then went on to relate his story:
The young Countess Florence, of Biscay, was left an heiress by her father, who had died suddenly in a somewhat singular manner; his cousin, Don Pedro the Cruel, of Castile, being the only person who could tell the reason of his having been put to death. His daughter, who feared that the friends.h.i.+p of such a relation might be as dangerous to herself, being warned to avoid him, as she had fallen under his displeasure in consequence of having hinted that she knew how his wife, the sister of the Duke of Bourbon, and the Queen of France, met her end, thought it better to escape as quickly as she could from Biscay, leaving her estates in his power; and she came to the Basque country a fugitive, with a small retinue, glad to have saved her life, though all besides was his prey. This distressed damsel, knowing that all honour was shown to ladies at the court of Gaston de Foix, lost no time in directing her steps to the Castle of Orthez, where, throwing herself at the feet of the gallant count, she related her wrongs, and implored his a.s.sistance.
Gaston entreated her to be comforted, and a.s.sured her that he was ready to do all in his power to a.s.sist her: he consigned her to the care of the Lady of Coarraze, his relation, a high baroness of the country. With all his generosity, Gaston Phoebus never seems to have lost sight of his own interest, and it struck him immediately that the heiress was exactly the match he desired for his brother, Pierre de Bearn. Accordingly, he so arranged matters that the young Countess of Biscay and her domains should remain in his family; he married her to Pierre, and re-conquered her lands from the cruel King of Castile.
A son and a daughter were the fruits of this union, which appeared a happy one; but the fates or the fairies did not allow it to remain so.
In Bearn, as in other parts of the world, although hunting is a very agreeable amus.e.m.e.nt, it sometimes brings with it unpleasant consequences, though Count Gaston may say nay. The woods, forests, and mountains, it is well known, belong exclusively to beings who are tenacious of their reign being disturbed, and who generally contrive to revenge themselves on the hardy hunter who ventures to invade their secret retreats. Nevertheless, at all periods, men are found incautious enough to tempt them, and seldom does it happen that they do not suffer for their temerity.
Pierre de Bearn, like his brother, Gaston, was remarkably fond of the chase. The Countess Florence, on the contrary, held the pastime in the utmost abhorrence, and to please her he abstained from the sport he loved during the early period of their union; but at length he became weary of this self-denial, and, in an evil hour, he set forth on an expedition into the forests of Biscay to hunt the bear. He had not been fortunate at first in his search, and had climbed some of the highest parts of the mountain in hopes to meet with game worthy of him, when he suddenly came upon the track of a tremendous animal, such as he had never before beheld in his experience.
He followed it for some time over plains of ice, his gallant hounds in full chase; at length, the mighty beast--apparently, indignant at their perseverance, just as they had arrived at a gorge of the rocks, beneath which a precipice descended on either side--turned round on his pursuers, and presented a front sufficient to daunt the courage of the boldest. The dogs, however, rushed on him, but, with one blow of his enormous paw, he stretched them dead at his feet; four of the finest met the same fate, and several, disabled and wounded, shrunk howling back to their master, who stood firm, his spear poised, waiting the proper moment of attack. Pierre saw that no time was to be lost, for he was alone, having, in his eagerness, outstripped his companions; his dogs were of no further use, and he must trust now to his own strength and skill.
The spear went flying through the air, and struck the monster in the breast; furious with pain, he uttered a hideous howl, and rushed forward, catching, in his long claws, the left arm of the knight, whose right hand was armed with his hunting-knife, which he had hastily drawn from his belt; with this, in spite of the pain he felt, he continued to strike the monster, whose roaring echoed through the caverns of the rock like thunder at every stroke.
At this instant, and just as the knight's strength was nearly exhausted, he beheld, with joy, his friends advancing to his aid; two of them sprang forward and discharged their spears; but still, though desperately wounded, the bear would not release the arm he continued to gripe, and, as he turned upon them, dragged his first foe with him. As, however, his head was directed towards the new comers, Pierre, with a strong effort, made another plunge in his neck, which instantly had the effect of making him release his hold; he then drew his dagger--for his knife remained in the animal's body--and, with the a.s.sistance of his friends, the bear was despatched. As the body lay on the ground, a pause of astonishment ensued after the shouts of the victors; for never was so gigantic a beast beheld in the Pyrenees, and it seemed a miracle that Pierre had escaped: his arm was fearfully injured, and he was faint with exertion; but his triumph was so great that he hardly permitted his wound to be bound up. They placed the carcase of the bear on their shoulders, and with great difficulty carried it from the spot where it fell; it was then consigned to their attendants, and the whole train returned in great delight to the castle. As they entered the court, they were met by the Countess Florence and her ladies, who had been uneasy at the long absence of her lord. No sooner had she cast her eyes on the huge beast they were carrying, than she turned deadly pale, uttered a loud shriek, and fainted on the ground.
The lady was borne to her chamber, and for two days and two nights she uttered not a word; but was in great pain and tribulation, sighing and moaning piteously: at the end of that time she said to her husband, ”My lord, I shall never be better till I have been on a pilgrimage to St.
James; give me leave to go, and to take with me Pierre, my son, and Adriana, my daughter. I beg it as a boon.” Messire Pierre, distressed to see her situation, granted her request too readily.
The countess then ordered a great train to be prepared, and set forth on her journey, taking with her treasure and jewels of great value, which was not much remarked at the time; but she knew well that she did not intend to return. Her journey and her pilgrimage accomplished, she announced her intention to pay a visit to her cousins, the King and Queen of Castile; and to their Court she went, and was received with joy. And there the Countess Florence is still, and will not return, nor send back her children. The very night on which he had killed the great bear, Messire Pierre was seized with the malady which has ever since taken possession of him. ”He rises,” said the squire, ”in the night, arms himself, draws his sword, and, with loud and furious cries and gestures, like a man possessed, flies at every one near him, and makes such a terrific noise and confusion that it would seem fiends were in his chamber. His squires and valets awake him, and he is quite unconscious of what has happened, and will not believe those who relate to him what he has done in his sleep. Now, it is said,” continued the squire, ”that the lady knew well what would happen the moment she saw the great bear; for her father had hunted that very animal, and when he came up to it, he heard a voice which said, 'Why do you persecute me thus? I never did you any ill: you shall die of an untimely death.' And so, indeed, did he, being beheaded by King Pedro the Cruel, without cause. This was the reason she fainted and was in such tribulation; and for this cause she never loved her husband after, for she always feared he would do her a bodily injury; and that harm would happen to her or hers, while she stayed with him.”
The squire and the historian's comments on this strange story are more amusing than wise. ”We know well,” said Froissart, ”by ancient writings, that G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses were in the habit of changing into birds and beasts men and women who offended them. It might well, therefore, happen that this great bear was in his time a knight accustomed to hunt in the forests of Biscay; he probably did something to anger some deity of the woods, and consequently lost his human shape, and got changed into a bear, to do penance for his offence.”
Whether Froissart really believed what he was saying, or whether the opinion was merely advanced to afford him an opportunity to display his cla.s.sical learning, is not clear; but he forthwith inflicts upon his hearer the story of the ”_Joli Chevalier Acteon_;” at which the other is marvellously pleased.
They continue to speculate upon the reasons of the Countess Florence for quitting her husband, and conclude that she knew more than she chose to tell. It has been thought that the lady, when very young, was one day in the forest, having strayed from the castle, within whose garden walls she was weary of being kept. She was delighted when she found herself at liberty, and kept wandering on, up one alley and down another, wherever she saw flowers, and the sun streamed through the leaves; till, at last, the evening began to close, and she turned her steps to return; but there was such a labyrinth of trees, and every path was so like another, that she knew not which to choose, and became alarmed lest she should not reach home before night, and her absence would be discovered. She hurried forward in great uncertainty, and her fears increased every moment; for she seemed to be getting further and further in the depths of the forest; suddenly she came upon a great rock in which was a cavern, and at its mouth she paused a moment to look round her, when a sound issued from it which almost paralysed her with terror, and presently forth rushed a huge black bear, who seized her in his paws.
She shrieked loudly, for she expected her hour was come, when, to her amazement, she heard a voice from the monster, and these words: ”You have intruded on my privacy; I did not seek you; remain and be my companion, or at once I put you to death.” She was so amazed that she had scarcely power to answer; but summoning her courage, she replied, ”I am a great lady, and the daughter of the lord of Biscay: release me, and it shall be the better for you; kill me, and my father will take a signal revenge.” ”You shall not quit this forest,” replied the monster, ”till you promise what I demand. I will then transport you to your father's castle, when you shall make him swear never to hunt in my domains again. If he should do so, he shall die a violent death; and all with whom you shall in future be in connexion shall be under the same promise, or I will cause them to die badly. If any, after this vow, hunt me, and it should happen that I am killed, misfortune shall come on you and your race for my sake.”
The lady promised, as indeed she had no choice but to do; and the great bear then ordered her to follow him; she did so, and in a few moments she saw the castle in view. ”Now,” said he, ”give me another promise. If I should be killed by any one belonging to you, swear that you will go to the shrine of St. James, of Compostella, and pray for my soul, for I am not a bear, as I appear, but a knight, transformed for my sins.” As he spoke, and while Florence made the vow he required, she saw his skin changing by degrees, and his form taking another appearance, till he stood before her, in the misty light, a fair young knight, the handsomest her eyes had ever beheld; he looked mournfully upon her, and disappeared, and she found herself suddenly in her own turret, in her chamber, on her bed, and no one had perceived her absence. She related this adventure to her father, who, much amazed thereat, refused to credit her tale; nor would he give up his accustomed pastime of hunting for all her entreaties, by which stubborn conduct his fate came upon him as has been related.