.7


A  -"








































THE     SHOULDER-KNOT;
OR, SKETCHES (OF
THE    THREE-FOLD          LIFE OF      MAN.
J Itarq nf tbt P'nfaent at nt4rg.
BY   B. F. TEFFT.
" I think of thee, sweet lady, as of one
Too pure to mix with others-like some star
Shining in pensive beauty all alone,
Kindred with all around, yet brighter far."
WELnY.
NEW   YORK:
1HARPE R & BROTHERS, PUJBLISHIERS,
FRANKLIN SQUALE
1857.





Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand
eight hundred and fifty, by
IARPER & BROTHERS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District
of New York.





TO HIS FRIEND.
REV. THOMAS A. MORRIS, D.D.,
THIS WORK
SnffBtinYlq   ITS AUTHOR
BY ITS AUTHOR.










PIt EFAC E.
THE following work proposes to convey certain
opinions to the public through the medium of an
authentic story.   Whether the story is correctly
told, or whether the opinions are philosophical, are
questions left entirely with the reader.  The author
will say only, that he is willing to see the manner
of his production lost sight of, in comparison with
its meaning.                             B. F. T.
CINCINNATI, 1850










CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE SUNNY SIDE OF ROYALTY.
The Magnificence of a King-A gay City at different Periods-A Royal
Family-Marriage Associations-Happiness as well as Splendor 25
CHAPTER II.
A CLOUD UPON THE SUN.
Kings not always Happy-A wretched Monarch-A cruel MotherAn unprincipled Opponent-Proposals and Repulses-Separation
between Friends-A Plot against Innocence ---.----....---.. 31
CHAPTER III.
A MASQUERADE.
Use of Masks-How in vogue among certain Princes-Object of themA Mask meaning much more than appears on the Face of it. 36
CHAPTER IV.
A CHANGE OF SCENES.
A Miracle of Art-A Small World representing a Greater One-1. The
Physical Age introduced by the Establishment of the oldest Institu
tion of Society-A Sketch of History from the first Wedding to Iho





xv';i


CONTENTS.


Flood-A singular Cargo let forth-2. The Intellectual Age triumphant in the Ascendency of the Greeks-3. The Romans, by
conquering the World, prepare the Way for the Birth of Him, who
is the Alpha and Omega of the Spiritual Period in the Progressive
History of the Race-The New World the Theater, spoken of by the
Prophets, when the highest Developments of the Three Periods, of
the three-fold Life, are to be united into one glorious Life-But
European Jealousy retards the Fulfillment of this Destiny for some
Years............-----......--................................. 42
CHAPTER V.
A MISTAKE AND A MYSTERY.
A Queen's Wretchedness-A singular Accident-A Song from the
Heart-It is overheard-Discoveries and yet no Discoveries-All is
Mystery...............................................   52
CHAPTER VI.
FEAR AND FLIGHT.
Monkey on horseback-Opinions of Beauty-A Pursuit and a Flight-A
good Rider is thrown-The Monks good Horsemen-Nobody is hurt,
though an Honest Man is caught........................... 58
CHAPTER VII.
MONKS MEET MONKS.
A veritable Convent-Outside and inside Salutations-Good Impressions are made-A Religious Household met for pious PurposesFanaticism can soothe the Conscience and make even an old Man
happy-Another old Man so given up to Fancy, that he can see
Angels when he wishes to-Sincerity of Fanaticism evinced often by
personal Sacrifices-But it is plain even to the Dreams of the most
Ignorant and Fanatical, that the World is not always to remain in
Error, but that Light will ultimately conquer Darkness........ 64





CONTENTS.


xix


CHAPTER VIII.
CONFESSIONS.
A Monk turns Philosopher--He attempts to figure the past, present,
and future Condition of a wicked Man on the Basis of a sound Philosophy-He presents himself as the Types, successively, of the entire
Life, here and hereafter, of such a mortal-1. The Past represented
by symbolic Stories-2. The Present given in Fac-similes and characteristic Shadows-3. The Future Life of a bad Man shown to be miserable, not from direct penal Interpositions of the Eternal, but because
the defrauded Mind, and Heart, and Soul of such a Man carry with
them the most terrible of Torments........................ 74
CHAPTER IX.
A KNOWING WITNESS.
Deceivers are sometimes themselves deceived-A Court sits-A Witness is examined-The Witnes; is somewhat embarrassed-Questions but not Answers-A Golden Idea-A Small Gold Mine-The
Mystery thickens........................................  96
CHAPTER X.
REAL APPARITIONS.
Truths are spoken in Jest-A Reverie on the three-fold Life-The Spiritual World not far from us, could we see it-A Ghost is seen-A
Dialogue with the Apparition-A strange Feat of Legerdemain-A
premature Departure..................................... 103
CHAPTER XI.
MORE WITNESSES.
The Plot against Innocence is carried forward-A King and his Minister in secret Council-The Devil in white Garments-Messengers
are introduced-The Mystery is examined-It is partly unraveledBut the Remainder of it becomes more mysterious........... 1 3





NX


CONTENTS.


CHAPTER XII.
PLOTS AND PLANS.
A Soliloquy-Enemies are made Friends-The Friends know each other
too well to be deceived-A proud Man kneels-The Question of Jeal
ousy and Love discussed-A Man profoundly versed in Human Na
ture-A Woman too impetuous to profit by what she knows of itFarther Development of the Plot............--.............. 119
CHAPTER XIII.
A PHILOSOPHER'S OPINION.
A Ride through a French Forest-One Rider is quite merry-He falls
into a philosophical State of Mind and discourses largely of the Manner in which we may establish a Belief of the Spiritual Life... 128
CHAPTER XIV.
PRECIPITANCY AND CAUTION.
A King's Apartment-He is yet jealous-Visitors come in without a
formal Introduction-The jealous King finds Comfort in his chief
Servant-A Woman's Heart, when steeled to Gentleness, is very bitter-Real Bitterness can be caused by assumed Gentleness-A Man
can sometimes further a Project best by seeming to oppose it.. 141
CHAPTER XV.
A FLYING VISIT.
The Forest-ride completed-A great City is entered in the Night-A
singular Introduction-A Man thinks he sees several Ghosts-Further
Introductions under mysterious Circumstances-A great Excitement
-Spanish Etiquette-This Etiquette is disregarded in a very striking Manner-A Lover's Heart is damped-A Retreat is provided for
-Oaths are taken by those who do not intend to honor them-A
brilliant Capital alive with all Sorts of Joy and Merriment..... 51





CONTENTS.


xxi


CONTENTS.                  xxi


CHAPTER XVI.
ALL FOR MONEY.
The Character of a Monarch-His Habits in times of Trouble-How a
royal hunting Party is made up-Royal Superciliousness-Game is
started-A hunting Scene-A Monarch is very petulant-Makes a Fool
of himself-Talks very broken English to his Dogs-An Argument and
a Victory on both Sides-A singular Specimen of Irreverence.. 160
CHAPTER XVII.
THE LETTERS ARE OPENED.
Royal Marriages are troublesome-A Treaty is to be examined-A
Difference of Opinion-A Messenger at the Nick of Time-A Lion
rampant-A Series of Epistles is read-The last of the Series causes
great Agitation in a Monarch-Money is valued far above Honor 172
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE TEMPTATION.
Another Serpent in a Garden-The Serpent meets with another Woman
open to Temptation-Great Skill in Conversation-Promises of Reward are profusely lavished-An artful Array of CircumstancesRemarkable Decision of Character in a Lady-A Cardinal is the second time repulsed-A terrible Alternative-A Woman is capable of
bearing Torture rather than yield her Principles-Triumphant Resolution ------------------..----...-..  -.............. 182
CHAPTER XIX.
A VOYAGE AT SEA.
Adventurers on their Return homeward-Several Days given up to
Eating and Drinking-A parting Scene between Relatives-There
is no great Sincerity in it-Good Spirits not always founded on a
good Conscience-A Fool among Wise Men-The Politics of a Fool
occasionally sounder than those of graver Persons-A good Story
anay be so told as to carry as much Weight with it as a poor Sermon-An Effect is produced...........................    19c





xxii


CONTENTS.


CHAPTER XX.
THE INVALID.
An excellent Lady is very sick-The Uneasiness of a Minister-The
People sympathize with the Invalid-She is insane and raves
madly-A Queen watches over her Pillow-Royal Visitors-A characteristic Dialogue-The sick Lady becomes sane again-A Notary
is sent for-Another Dialogue-The Joys of real Friendship... 217
CHAPTER XXI.
THE TOWER OF LONDON.
A Philosopher in Prison-Is visited by a warm Admirer-Preliminary
Conversation-The Universe the Home of the Human Spirit-A
Glance at the Future State-A large Company is invited-Conversation reopened-Narrow Views of the Heavenly Life-The great
Pattern of that Life-This Life admits of a Three-fold Division in
reference to the Future State-1. The Future State physically considered; 2. The Future State intellectually considered; 3. The
Future State in its spiritual aspects-All of which, with their Relations to Human Progress, must be included in our Views and Hopes
of Heaven......--..-----..---......-----------................. 230
CHAPTER XXII.
GUILT AND INNOCENCE.
Another Council is convened-A new Treaty is to be considered-A
Minister is commissioned to a foreign Court-The Jealousy of a King
is somewhat abated-A Convalescent seeking Recreation in a Garden
-She is waited on by a Queen in Person-An Incident of unlawful
Love-Resistance upon sound Principle-A fatal Shriek....... 257
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE BALLET.
A Treaty is at last concluded-But a greedy and avaricious Monarch
dies before getting Possession of the Gains for which he had sold
'i!self--A iv. K      lh o i  be -1'u.ved-A Bal. or anyv Entettaiti





CONTENTS.


xxili


ment, in a licentious Age, deemed of higher consequence than Duty,
either to the Living or the Dead-A symbolic Dance-A Discussion of
its Meaning-Sage Conclusions are reached by the Disputants.. 266
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE FATAL ERROR.
The most Innocent are unsafe if they parley with suspicious Circumstances-An exchange of Gifts-The Parties are watched-Strange
Conduct for a jealous Husband-A presumptuous Step toward the
Completion of a bold and deep-laid Plot-A welcome Fact statedThe Influence of that Fact-The Lion bearded in his Den-Inborn
Passions not always cooled by Age-A spirited Dialogue-A Liar
tells a Truth, but is not credited-The Eyes of a jealous Husband
opened-His Agony..-...................-........ -..... -74
CHAPTER XXV.
DEFEAT OR VICTORY.
A dark Day with a bright Beginning-An amiable Wife in great Peril
-Her Husband is inconsolable-The Conspirators are quite merryThe Plot revealed to the Public-A royal Wedding Scene-Matrimony not always the most important Question-Parties are hastily
formed and are as hastily dissolved-The Hour of Trial approaches
-A great Room crowded with Spectators-They are intensely excited-The final Moment comes-Innocence passes through the
Fire-Which Party is victorious-What Effects upon the defeated
-What Uses. can be made of Victories-A whole Kingdom echoing
with the peals of a memorable Triumph ---......-......-...  286
CHAPTER XXVI.
CONCLUSION.
The most important Questions are now settled-A Mysterious Event is
at last explained-Punishments and Rewards, even in this Life, have
some Proportion to the Deserts of those receiving them-Minor Characters are disposed of-A Lesson for all Climes and Countries.. 300










THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
CHAPTER I.
THE SUNNY SIDE OF ROYALTY.
"But such a sacred and homefelt delight,
Such sober certainty of waking bliss,
I never felt till now."
MILTON.
The Magnificence of a King-A gay City at different Periods-A Royal
Family-Marriage Associations-Happiness as well as Splendor.
IF, as has been written, " they that wear soft clothing are
in kings' houses," the maxim was more than commonly applicable to the royal household of Louis the Thirteenth of
France. His father, Henry the Great, from a patriotic
desire to succor the manufacturing interests of his country,
had encouraged an unprecedented expensiveness of dress;
and his mother, Mary de Medicis, during the long minority
of her son, had signalized her regency by pursuing the
same false policy to the utmost excess.  Louis himself,
governed by the authority of his father's minister, the great
Duke de Sully, saw with pride the silk-trade of Lyons and
the jewelry establishments of Paris rising up and flourishing
under the influence of this hot-bed economy; and every
member of his court, together with every courtier of the
B





26              THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
kingdom, was doubly glad to earn the favor of the monarch by gratifying his own love of show.
But this politic magnificence did not stop with dress.
The royal dwellings, and the palaces of the nobles and
gentry, were built and furnished in the most gorgeous
manner. Carpets, tapestry and bed-hangings were introduced. The walls of the better class of houses were hung
with crimson velvet embroidered with a fiinge of pearls.
Tables were spread in the most sumptuous style.  The
wooden and coarse metal dishes, considered good enough
by the most wealthy but a short time before, had been
displaced by the discovery of America, whose rich mines
had turned every thing capable of the transmutation into
gold.
The streets of the gay capital had begun to put on that
splendor for which they have ever since been renowned.
Paris, at the time of the Roman conquest under Julius
Caesar, was a collection of rude huts, made of wood and
clay, not at all superior for style or comfort to our wildwood cabins of the present day. Now, however, at the
beginning of the seventeenth century, those huts have become huge and high blocks of buildings; the foot-paths
running between the huts have spread out into broad and
beautiful pavements; the vacant places, which once were
wet pits and rugged steeps, covered with brushwood and
brambles, have been smoothed and transformed into green
fields and rich gardens. The stone-henges of the Druids,
which used to encumber the wild oaken forests, have been
transformed, by the successors of the converted and zealous Clovis, to the grandest parts of the great city, where
they stand, not in their original misshapen circles, but
in temples of almost Roman magnificence and Grecian
beauty.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


97


Louis the Thirteenth had other apologies for that secret
pride with which he always contemplated his kingdom and
his crown. Through his father he could look back to that
early period, when his royal predecessors established themselves on the banks of the Rhine, with the daring purpose
of setting up their throne by conquering or expelling both
the Romans and the Gauls. From that bold beginning he
could trace them, in the glowing pages of the French historians, through three powerful dynasties to his own dynasty more powerful than all. With a thoughtful but
heart-felt pleasure, he reviewed the obscure annals of the
Merovingian or long-haired kings, who, twenty-five in number, successively held the Frank scepter for about three
hundred and fifty years, all the while advancing the authority of the Frank nation from the eastern valley of the Rhine
to the western borders of the Seine. With a still deeper
satisfaction he passed his mind's eye over the exploits of
the second or Carlovingian race of monarchs, twenty-four
in all, whose deeds cover the space of nearly two centuries
and a half, and whose valor had made France the second
power among the nations of the earth. But it was along
the line of the third or Capetian family of princes that his
soul caught the fire of his real pride. To that family he
himself belonged. The first branch of it, which began
with Hugh Capet and terminated with Charles the Fair,
numbered fifteen kings, flourished for three hundred and
forty-one years, and included five monarchs-Louis the
Seventh, Philip the Second, Queen Blanche, Louis the
Ninth, and Philip the Third-whose virtues have never
been surpassed in any age or clime. The second branch,
the house of Valois, extended through a period of two
hundred and sixty-one years, and embraced thirteen kings,
nearly every one of whom was celebrated for his magnifi




23


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


cence, for his power, and for his patronage of learning
and the fine arts; and among their great deeds were recorded the expulsion of the English, and the annexation of
Dauphiny, of Burgundy, of Bretagne, and of Provence to
the territories of France.  The third branch, known as
the house of Bourbon, and worthy of being acknowledged
as a dynasty of itself, was founded by his own father,
Henry the Fourth, the ablest statesman, the mightiest general, and the most illustrious monarch of his times; and the
erown handed down to himself from so long a line of royal
predecessors was never more potent, or more honorable,
than on the day it was laid upon his youthful brows.
Some disasters, it is true, were to be acknowledged by the
elated prince, as he looked back upon the fortunes of his
ancestors. The first race of sovereigns was cut off by the
mayors of the palace; the second by the nobility of the
realm; but the third, by the uninterrupted successes of its
three branches, had wholly retrieved these damages upon
the royal authority, and carried it to the highest'pitch of
power.
But Louis the Thirteenth was almost as proud of his
maternal ancestry, as of his predecessors in the paternal
line. Mary de Medicis was of that wonderful family,
which, from an humble and dependent station, had risen to
the command of Florence, of northern Italy, and, I might
almost say, of the commercial interests of the world. Some
members of it had been generals; some, statesmen; some,
scholars; all of them, in their several stations, citizens of a
world-wide renown. The names of Cosmo de Medicis, and
of Lorenzo the Magnificent, had rung all over Europe;
Leo the Tenth, who had been known as John de Medicis,
had wielded the papal scepter at the most important crisis
in the history of the modern world; and the power of the





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


29


entire family, in every land and on every sea, had been
rivaled only by the splendor of their fame.
If any thing was wanting to complete the glory of the
young king's position, that, it would seem, was more than
supplied by his matrimonial alliance. His wife, Anne of
Austria, connected him to that royal line, which, from the
days of Otho to his own, had been regarded as the most
powerful of modern times. Beginning with the command
of a single province, the princes of Austria had extended
their scepter over the larger and better part of Germany,
acquired the virtual sovereignty of northern and southern
Italy, taken possession of the Spanish throne, and put on
the crown of the imperial Cesars. In the hands of the
reigning prince were the destinies of all Europe. The
New World beyond the Atlantic, with all its untold importance, was largely the property of his family. The
islands of many seas were his. His will was like a law in
the cabinets of European monarchs; and the Church itself,
notwithstanding its pride and show of independence, was
but little less than a fief of his dominions. To this personage Anne was closely related by the ties of blood; but the
chords of affection, which bound her to him and to his house,
were still stronger than the bonds of family relationship.
From her childhood she was always the fondling of her
friends. The beauty of her person, the brilliancy of her
intellect, the sweetness of her disposition, the amenity of
her manners, and the openness and kindness of her heart,
made her a universal favorite. In all her life, she had
never been known to manifest an unkind feeling, or to utter
an unpleasant word. Wherever she might be, there were
always love, peace, purity, and joy. By the attractiveness
of her intellectual qualities, she was the cynosure of the
royal circle; by the gentleness and sincerity of her heart,





30             THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
added to the spotless piety of her life, she commanded the
confidence of the citizens; and, on the day of her union to
the young king of France, her virtues, to say nothing of
her connections, rendered her almost as powerful as himself. But she never seemed to value the supremacy given
her by these virtues; or, if she esteemed it at all, it was
only for her husband's sake. From the moment of her
marriage, she deposited all the influences of her birth and
beauty, of her mind and manners, of her hold upon the love
and admiration of her fellow-beings, at his feet. At that
moment, Louis nearly doubled his consequence as a
monarch; and he had a right to consider himself at the
same time, the happiest of husbands and the most fortunate
of men.





CHAPTER II.
A CLOUD UPON THE SUN.
"Princes have but their titles for their glories,
An outward honor for an inward toil,
And for unfelt imaginations,
They often feel a world of restless cares."
SHAKSPEARE.
Kings not always Happy-A wretched Monarch-A cruel MotherAn unprincipled Opponent-Proposals and Repulses-Separation
between Friends-A Plot against Innocence.
BUT the unhappiness of kings has become a proverb.
One of this class of men, well known in classic history,
represented his situation to his friend by seating him beneath
a sharp sword suspended by a hair; and another assured
the humble matron, who congratulated him upon the grandeur of his position, that, could she realize the evils of which
his crown was full, she would not take it as a waif from a
heap of dirt.
These serious lessons, in spite of the power and outward
glory of his high office, in spite of the uncommon strength
and splendor of his alliances, were soon laid to heart by the
young King of France. The full bloom of manhood had
scarcely ripened upon his cheeks, before he found himself,
with all these sources of enjoyment around him, the most
wretched of his race.
The most active cause of unhappiness was in himself.
With many sterling qualities he combined the greatest
weaknesses both of head and heart. At nine years of age
he had become the nominal king of a great country; but





32


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


his mother, seeing the shallowness of his abilities, and
impelled by an unprincipled ambition of her own, had
entirely neglected his education, hoping, in this way, to
retain her old influence in the government after his minority
should have closed. Under the management of such a
mother, he grew up like a neglected weed, or an uncultivated plant. What there was of good in his constitution
had never been properly developed, while every bad quality,
as usual in such cases, had obtained a rank growth. Small
of stature, nervous in temperament, no one could behold
his countenance without seeing the fitfulness of his mind
and the irascibility of his heart. The next leading feature
of his disposition was jealousy. This was visible in him at
every time and place. It was clearly represented in his
cautious step and downcast eye. There were seasons,
when this characteristic became a malady, during the
paroxysms of which he could scarcely look his meanest
subject in the face. In fact, he had much reason to think,
as he generally did, that, if his own mother could prove
such a traitor to his interests, he had no good to hope from
the common mass of a cold and calculating world. It was
easy to work upon such a character. The least slight of a
great relative, the smallest negligence of a servant, would
touch him to the quick. There were times when his own
wife, whom he loved to adoration, could not entirely please
him. The very goodness of her heart, which beamed out
from every part of her lovely countenance, and the buoyancy of her manners, by which she roused every other
member of his household to a joyous life, sometimes seemed
to render her husband more uncomfortable and sad. It
was, in truth, but adding fuel to his passion, to see any one
more happy than himself; and he could not fail to perceive,
that he was but a dark and unwelcome shadow amid the





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


3?


general sunshine every where surrounding the footsteps and
presence of his wife.
Mary, the unprincipled queen-mother, was glad to be
hold these tokens of discord between Anne and Louis,
expecting to reap her own harvest at no distant day. Noi
did she stop with this passive state of expectancy, but diligently fanned the flame, which she saw rising up in the
heart of her weak-minded son. Almost immediately after
the marriage, she began to throw out spiteful remarks
about the reception of a foreigner into the family, forgetting that she was a foreigner herself. She would sometimes taunt the queen to her face, and that about her personal attractions, as if Anne was purposely lavishing her
charms upon the courtiers in order to the accomplishment
of some ambitious end.  With this argument she zealously plied the king, not hesitating to add, that the freedom
of the queen's manners, by which she had become a favorite. with every count and lord, promised no good to him.
In this way she wrought upon her son's constitutional
infirmities, resolved to prosecute the design, until Anne's
influence at court should be utterly annihilated, and her
own rendered paramount to every other about the throne.
For a considerable time, however, the passionate queenmother had an opponent to meet, which the most gifted
tacticians found it difficult to encounter with success. The
celebrated Cardinal Duke de Richelieu, a man of the most
consummate genius, was at that period the prime-minister
of France; and, from the first moment in which he had set
his eyes on Anne, he seemed to be carried away with the
beauty of her person and the accomplishments of her mind.
The queen was, also, delighted with the conversational
talents of the minister, and felt permitted to show more
than a common interest in the chosen and chief servant of





34


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


her lord. The intimacy thus originated could not escape
the observation of the watchful Mary; and it must be confessed, that, in relation to one of the high parties, it was
not entirely free from fault. Richelieu, born in a comparatively humble station, with many circumstances about
him to dishearten a common man, had risen by the force
of his own abilities to a position next below the throne;
and his natural ambition was such, that he never shrunk
from the most daring enterprises, whether they regarded
the kingdom or himself. Few men, however, would have
had the boldness, whatever might be their elevation, to
make unworthy proposals, as did Richelieu, to the wife of
such a personage as the King of France; anrid such a proposal would be doubly bold, if made to a woman, who, with
all the blandness and freedom of her general intercourse,
had never shown one solitary token of any indelicacy or
infirmity of heart. The repulsed cardinal soon learned,
indeed, that it is one thing to enjoy the warm friendship
of a virtuous woman, and quite another to induce that
woman to take one step beyond where virtue and innocency can go.
The separation thus produced between these personages
left Anne but a single friend. Soon after her arrival at
the palace of her husband, she had formed an agreeable
acquaintance with the beautiful Duchess de Chevreuse,
the most accomplished and captivating lady of all France.
The duchess was soon elevated to be maid of honor to the
queen; and from that moment, by virtue of a striking
resemblance of character, and of that sympathy arising
from such similarity, Anne and the duchess were bound to
each other by the strongest ties. The queen was too high
in position to excite the envy, or jealousy, of her servant,
whatever troubles might otherwise have been engendered





THE SHOULDER-KNOT


35


by the doubtful rivalry of their charms; and she was also
too noble of heart, too kind and condescending in her disposition, to take any advantage to herself of what nature
and fortune had conferred. What the queen most wanted
was a friend; and in the Duchess de Chevreuse she found
a friend, a friend of such temper too, as she little dreamed.
Not a year had passed, after their first acquaintance, before these two ladies, so similar in beauty, in mental
sprightliness, and in the balmier virtues of the heart, were
like twin-sisters, linked to each other by something dearer
and stronger than the ties of blood.
But what can these friends do to oppose the malice of
the queen-mother, and the hot resentment of such a man as
the cardinal, cut to the heart by his first and most mortifying repulse 1 What can they do, though they join hand in
hand, against a king in his rage? Watched by such a
mother, suspected by a jealous husband, and marked out
for ruin by the profoundest and most unscrupulous tactician of modern times, how shall a young beauty, perhaps
a little too careless of her smiles and blandishments, though
pure at heart, parry the attacks of her adversaries, again
conquer the affections of her fickle consort, re-establish the
happiness of his household, and preserve her own feet from
the many snares that will be laid for them?
0 Thou, who art the Guardian of innocence, let thy
boundless skill baffle the schemes of human wickedness,
and send ultimate deliverance to an unfortunate but wellmeaning mortal, in her day of peril made perfect by persecution!





CHAPTER III.


A MASQUERADE.
" What we hear
With weaker passion will affect the heart,
Than when the faithful eye beholds the part."
HORACE.
Use of Masks-How in vogue among certain Princes-Object of themA Mask meaning much more than appears on the Face of it.
BEFORE the age of Puritanism, when society was floating loosely and carelessly along on the tide of feudal chivalry, unrestrained by the pliant religion of the Roman See,
masks, or masquerades, a kind of mixed dramatic show,
where princes and courtiers played the most conspicuous
parts, were much in vogue. John Milton himself, Puritan
and republican as he was, wrote his Comus for one of
these royal entertainments; and Ben Jonson devoted his
genius to them during the greater part of his busy life.
Shakspeare, also, as well as Beaumont, Fletcher, and other
inferior dramatists, used to introduce masks into their plays
for the gratification of the prevailing taste.
The age, however, of which I am now speaking, carried
these grotesque exhibitions to their height. James the
First of England, and Louis the Thirteenth of France,
spent vast sums in this way, to furnish amusement for their
respective courts.
Nor was amusement always the chief end of these royal
sports. Each invited or uninvited guest went to the great
hall of the palace, where these exhibitions generally took
place, with his person so perfectly disguised by some





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


37


strange and fantastic dress, and with his visor so tightly
drawn down upon his face, that his nearest friend, his most
familiar acquaintance, could seldom recognize him by any
outward mark. The most perfect latitude, therefore, was
given and taken without fear. Opportunities would, consequently, very frequently occur, for discovering hidden
characters and plots, which entirely escaped the ordinary
surveillance of a court. Behind the scenes, when most
were engaged in the shifting pageant of the hour, private
discoveries could be made, secret affections could be
breathed, and mutual passions could be pledged, without
arresting the attention of the crowd.
At the period whose history I am now relating, such an
entertainment was given at the court of France. The
night of the exhibition was one of the gayest ever known
in Paris. At about midnight, the great hall of the old
Palais Royale was splendidly lighted up, and gorgeously
furnished for the f6te. In the center of it towered a vast
mountain, covered with a heavy growth of trees, with numberless grottoes and caverns in its rocky sides. At each
angle of the spacious room were vast hermit-cells, and deep
caves covered up in gloom, and wide avenues of forest
oaks or pines bordered by wild shrubbery and flowers, and
many a dark recess, rough and rude, where a bearded lion
might choose to make his lair.
On all sides of this great central scene, as that immense
pile of architecture gave ample room, were collateral views,
some of which stretched to an extent that almost baffled
the clearest eye. Here, for example, would start a low
chain of mountains, with occasional peaks of pale granite,
like the hills of Arcadia in the heart of Greece. There
rolled the gentle ripples of an embowered lake, with its
winding shores and rugged steeps. Turning another way,





38


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


you would behold an open street of some market town,
with its parallel rows of houses, and shops, and country
stores, with many a side scene of orchard, or garden, or
quiet park. In some directions even larger parks, and hunting grounds, with all the charmed variety of leafy hill and
dell, and old moss-covered mounds, and shady woods, and
sunlit glades, with here and there a sly fox stealing beside
a hedge, or a hare hopping over a meadow, or a timid deer
scenting the fearful air, holding up his wide-branching
horns.
Wonderful, indeed, was the pageant of that night, on
which Louis had showered the wealth hoarded by his father
and the great Sully with far other purposes in view.
Hark! the voice of instruments, wafted from afar, or
smothered by being pent too close, steals upon the listening
ear. It is rich, mellow, delicate music, such as should flow
from
"Flutes and soft recorders,"
sustained by a symphony of reeds and rebecks, such as
ancient shepherds used; and as it comes floating on the air,
echoing over the hill-tops and winding along the vales, it
spreads a serene, soothing, pensive, pleasing melancholy
over all the wondrous scene. Then it ceases; and its last
echo dies; and now, as the memory still lingers on it, a
sudden blast from a bugle's sharp throat breaks the silence,
when, lo! a band of trumpeters bursts upon the sight,
which, as it quickly moves along in its tortuous course, calls
up from every rock, and cave, and frowning precipice, and
secluded nook, and secret shade, and overhanging brink, a
wild, strange, fantastic troop, that fall into procession behind
the bugles.
The first battalion, leaping from the craggy summits of
the mountains, are dancing satyrs, with short crescent horns,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


39


with the feet of goats, and bodies covered with coarse hair.
Behind them is a band of bacchanals, dressed in long loose
robes and tight bonnets, after the Asiatic fashion, their
heads being wreathed with the leaves of the vine and ivy,
with fawn-skins thrown upon their shoulders, each one
carrying in the hand a short blunt spear twined with vine
leaves. Next in order, or disorder, is a long troop of
hermits, poorly clad, with pale thin faces and well-combed
gray beards, walking with a quick hysteric step. These
came issuing in such numbers, from the roots of the hills,
from the rocky caverns, and from the brown thickets, that
the whole scene, lately so desolate and lonely, seemed to
be over-populous. Now a train of vailed virgins, clad in
black, with mourning head-gear, and with the demeanor of
so many Egyptian captives, in close connection with the
gray-beards, throw a solemn interest into the procession.
Last of all, a rabble-rout of kings with crown and scepter,
knights in ribbon-lace and short-clothes, pilgrims with
their walking-sticks, shepherds and shepherdesses, matrons, maidens, gipsies, poets, troubadours, minstrels, and a
nameless variety of every thing antique, middle, or modern
in conception.
Seven times with well-ordered footsteps for such a disjointed mob of characters, they make the entire circuit of
the great hall, notwithstanding the obstructions, here
elbowing around the projecting angle of some rocky grot
or cavern, there leaping the spurs of the big central mountain, now crouching under some shelving precipice, then
crowding through a pass more narrow than that at Thermopylae, ever maintaining a kind of regular though heterogeneous movement at the command of the authoritative
trumpets.
When the instruments had ceased, the procession kept





40


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


still winding along around the mountain, through thicket,
glade, and glen, singing a wild symbolic song, each stanza
closing up with a chorus of all manner of voices held together and harmonized by the sharp notes of the bugles:
All that was, and all that is,
And all that e'er shall be,
We shadow forth in harmonies,
All singing merrily,
Merrily, merrily,
All singing merrily.
We gather from the ancient wise,
We gather from the free,
We are a band of oddities,
All singing merrily,
Merrily, merrily,
All singing merrily.
Religions here we symbolize,
And here philosophy,
And all that dwells below the skies,
All singing merrily,
Merrily, merrily,
All singing merrily.
Here wisdoms all, of every creed,
Are joined in harmony,
And show we forth what mortals need,
All singing merrily,
Merrily, merrily,
All singing merrily.
Now fathers, brothers, sisters, all,
Let's turn away and flee,
For, lo! the pageant 'gins to fall,
Let's watch it merrily,
Merrily, merrily,
Let's watch it merrily.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.                41
All voices are now hushed. The bugles sound no more
Suddenly, as if inspired with an agility not their own, the
procession breaks into innumerable fragments, and is scattered and silenced in a moment. The hermits fall into their
cells; the satyrs leap to their high places; the captive
virgins vanish into the surrounding thickets; the bacchanals
tumble into the most convenient nooks and niches; the
gipsies, and poets, and minstrels, and other bards, fly to
the woods, and the more common characters-princes,
knights, and citizens-mount upon high seats and thrones
planted on the adjacent summits.





CHAPTER IV.
A CHANGE OF SCENES.
" How charming is divine Philosophy!
Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo's lute,
And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns."
MILTON.
A Miracle of Art-A Small World representing a Greater One-]. The
Physical Age introduced by the Establishment of the oldest Institution of Society-A Sketch of History from the first Wedding to the
Flood-A singular Cargo let forth-2. The Intellectual Age triumphant in the Ascendency of the Greeks-3. The Romans, by
conquering the World, prepare the Way for the Birth of Him, who
is the Alpha and Omega of the Spiritual Period in the Progressive
History of the Race-The New World the Theater, spoken of by the
Prophets, when the highest Developments of the Three Periods, of
the three-fold Life, are to be united into one glorious Life-But
European Jealousy retards the Fulfillment of this Destiny for some
Years.
HERE a strange miracle begins. The great mountain,
hitherto apparently as solid as an Alp, labors, swells out,
cracks, and tumbles down, the fragments falling into a
chaotic state, like a real chaos as represented by the poets
of olden time. From the center of the vast heap, there rises
up a phantasmagoria of no common mold-a world entirea world outstretched on one continuous and mighty plain,
such as the ancient geographers describe. That world, too,
was nll our own, and all eyes recognized it instantly as it
rose.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


43


There, far on the east, was a vast continent, ridged with
the loftiest mountains, variegated by many a fertile vale,
and watered by noble rivers rolling their golden sands into
eastern or southern seas. Farther west, separated from the
first by a narrow gulf, was another continent, with its winding rivers, rich valleys, and sandy deserts dappled with
green islands, and lofty summits nodding to the moon. On
the north and west of these, another vast area of land,
divided fiom them by a broad midland sea, fed by a narrow
strait and emptying into a wide ocean between two neighboring shores, spread far out toward the regions of polar
snows. All else was water-a wild waste of water-blue,
billowy, and profound-though spotted here and there by
sea-girt isles-forever heaving a hoarse rushing sound,
vexed, as it was, by rough tempests, or an ever-blowing
breeze.
No sooner had the vision become settled, and all eyes
were on it, than a strange, unearthly voice, the place of
which no one could tell, seemed to say, " Now witness, ye
living mortals, the first age of man."
Suddenly, at a place where was a fountain, whence four
rivers branched in as many opposite directions, a fine garden
scene was laid. First, seemingly from the ground, a single
man appeared, majestic, beautiful, but alone. Opening his
eyes upon the trees, and fruits, and flowers, and laughing
scenery around, he smiled, and sighed, and closed his eyes
again, and laid him down once more to sleep. Soon, sooner
than I can tell it, another seeming man, but more beautiful,
more perfect than the first-of other sex it seemed-with
light, happy, bouyant step, came tripping, as if by instinct
drawn, and roused the sleeper fiom his dreams. The man
arose, and looked upon his image, which seemed to him his
shadow; and he loved it and claimed it for his own.





44


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


Clasping it in his arms, and, when finding it substantial,
pressing it with fervor to his bosom, he says, or seems to
say, " The void is now filled, my nature is complete, and
there remains no longer for the heart a wish, or for the
breast a sigh." The birds of the garden caroled a sweet
song, their free-will epithalamium, and the leaping waters
laughed, and the very flowers were lit with a newly-risen
joy. It was the first wedding scene of time.
Here the strange voice, now coming, apparently, like a
revelation, from an overhanging cloud, exclaimed, " Behold
ye the first period of the second age of man."
The garden scene was gone. The race of man, branched
out into many families, had spread itself over the greater
part of the first continent. But of all these families one
only seemed to be actuated by the law of love. All the
remainder were at war, raging with bitter hatred, shedding
each the other's blood, alternately building up and tearing
down, filling the whole land with violence and alarm. The
scene was, also, constantly undergoing change. The inhabitants were incessantly disappearing, one set after
another, like the successive generations of the world; and
each new population, as it rose, was more and more violent,
ravaged and raged with greater fury, and banished peace,
and friendship, and order from their abodes. Now, far
down in a certain level tract, great turmoil began to grow.
The people, ceasing a moment from their lawless courses,
ran together, as if something remarkable was expected to
be shown. Soon, a venerable man, looking like a philosopher, steps upon a small eminence and waves his hand.
He seems to be addressing the multitude; but the scene is
so distant from the spectators, and the figures of the pageant
are so small, not a word is audible to the lookers-on. The
rabble, however, appear to catch every syllable. Every





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


45


sentence of the sage makes its impression; but an impression very different from what he apparently desires. When
the address is concluded, the vast throng throw up their
hands, and even their caps and robes, not in honor, but in
derision of the speaker and his theme. They return to
their riots, and seem to wax worse and worse.
Hist! did you see that flash of lightning? Hark! do
you hear that rolling thunder? Alas! what a tempest
The heavens seem to bend downward! The very earth
quakes to its foundations, and whole rivers break out from
every chink of the fractured world! Lightning leaps upon
lightning! Thunder answers to thunder, jarring the very
mountains where they stand; and a cloud, wide as the
heavens, black as night, rolls up in vast billows of darkness,
and shuts in the scene!
But years, in such a pantomime, are minutes, and days
are but so many seconds. Soon, a mighty wind blows from
the east. The dense storm-cloud is broken. The huge
fragments, mad though submissive, sullenly retire from the
contest, and settle, like parted combatants, on the edge of
the horizon, as if determined to see the last of it. The sun
pours a bright beam from heaven, and lights up a world
covered, from one side to the other, with a wide sea of deep
blue water. Far on the high crest of this vast ocean, there
lies a strange but majestic vessel, without mast, or sail, or
shroud, and probably without chart or compass, floating in
safety on the bosom of the deep, trusting to some unseen
Power to guide it. It was a glorious view!
" Lo!" says the voice, now as if issuing from mortal mouth,
"the second period of the second age of man."
On the summit of a lofty mountain, that Heaven-directed
bark is lodged, and its occupants come pouring out from
its opening sides. First, an old man-ay, the same we





46


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


have seen before with staff in hand-leads the way. He
is followed by a small family of sons and daughters; all of
whom seek a secure spot, at a little distance, on which to
rest. The sons now return to lead out a far different train.
Animals of every kind, from solemn elephants to the longeared rabbit, hopping as he comes; the bearded lion, and
the prowling panther, and the spotted leopard; the black
powerful bear, and the barking wolf, and the hissing catamount, and the yelling hyena, and an unnamable multitude
of all that might inhabit a cave, or a rocky crag, or a forest,
or a desert plain; behind them the horse, and the patient
ox, and the fleecy sheep, and the horned goat, and the ibis,
and the camel, and all those submissive to the ordinary use
of man, not forgetting the faithful watch-dog, that, like his
master, keeps his eye ruminating over all, walk forth in a
more governable band. The windows are now thrown
open, and forth fly an innumerable host of the feathered
tribes, and perch on the gray rocks around. In the midst
of this assemblage of beings stands up the man, whose voice
had given law, for so many days, to this motley crowd.
Holding them, as an orator would bind his rapt auditory
by his spell, he makes many signs to them, which, with
mute attention, they mark. Then, with one waving motion
of his hand, he dismisses them to their several spheres of
activity and of life. What a bustling scene! The birds, as
if first learning fear, rise up on clapping wings, and mount
the air and fly away. The lighter animals spring to their
feet, and, with many a yelp and hiss and angry growl, leap
down the mountain's side, eager for their native woods.
The domestic animals, still trusting in their ancient friend,
abide by the side of man; and even the slow-footed elephant, with many a frisk of his huge trunk, disdains not to
be led by his benefactors to the level plain.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


47


With quicker motion, now, the shifting pageant passes
on. The race of men multiplies and spreads on every side.
Each minute is a century. First, these mimic beings are
seen bowing down to the great world around-to the stars
that shine above-to the rivers running by their side-to
the ocean swelling and heaving through its boundless realm
-to every thing, in short, as portions of one great Being
formed of so many parts into one stupendous whole.
Next, the parts themselves, as independent beings, are
worshiped; and many an altar rises, and a thousand temples
spring up, where the voice of mystic adoration and of
praise is heard. It is the closing period of the physical life
of man.
"Behold," says the monitory voice again, " the third age
in the progress of the race."
Now, as quick as magic, a succession of wonderful
pictures rises upon the scene. Here, on the rocky shores
of the northern continent, a new family or tribe comes to
view. In physical qualities more perfect than their predecessors, their intellectual character is astonishingly acute,
active, brilliant, and refined. On a narrow neck of land,
almost surrounded by the sea, a glorious city comes up apparently from the very ground. Temples of exquisite architecture; statues of unequaled workmanship and beauty; and
various artificial structures of the most perfect order, all
embowered among groves of surpassing loveliness, adorn
the high places on every side. The people, met in general
assembly, are listening to one addressing them, who, holding
up before them an image of the goddess of liberty, is pour
ing out a tide of the most superhuman eloquence. The
orator stands in an attitude of triumph, now planting himself with great firmness on the native rock he speaks from
-now turning the finger of his outstretched hand to a





48


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


proud navy riding carelessly by their shore-now rolling his
eyes along the horizon of the wide-spread world-now
pointing, with prodigious emphasis and effect, to the image
he holds before them; and then, with one mighty stamp of
his firm right foot, with a most determined action of his
entire person, he seems to say, "By this the world is
yours!"  Ay, the world is theirs. Instantly, ships are seen
coming from every point. Kings, princes, statesmen, land
upon the shores, and hasten to the spot. The keys of all
foreign ports are laid down at the speaker's feet. The
eyes of all men, and the affairs of every land, seem to be
turned toward this magic center, which now rules to the
remotest corners of the earth. A new spirit reigns over all
the nations. It is the spirit of the intellectual life.
" The fourth age," exclaims the voice, "now dawns."
A new people, on a new soil, now rise to view. Borrowing from all the past, they seem to be preparing for the
advent of a future not aimed at or comprehended by themselves. Their trade is war; but they know not for what
they fight. It is not for liberty; it is evidently for power;
but they have no conception of the event, or age, which
that power is destined to introduce. One nation after
another falls before them, until the great world is theirs.
They give to all men their language, their manners, and
their laws; but nothing farther than this blind egotism appears to break upon their mind. But, lo! in a more eastern
land a rising tumult now rivets the attention of the rapt
spectators. A man-a man of serene but earnest look and
sorrowing brow-is borne in triumph by a crowd. A gibbet
is erected; the sorrowing man is fastened to it; the serenely
earnest and sorrowing man, surrounded by a wicked throng,
bows his submissive head and dies. The dying man has
friends. They band together, but are persecuted and





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


49


scattered to all lands. Wherever they find a resting-place,
midst dangers and deaths of every form, they speak boldly
in honor of that man, arraigning his enemies as murderers,
and presenting his life as a pattern for the world. But that
world now conspires against them. Each champion of the
departed man becomes a hero and defies the rage and
malice of mankind. The sword is drawn upon them; but
they quail not before the sword. Dungeons are opened;
but the dungeon gives no alarm. Fires are lighted for their
bodies; but they are not afraid to burn. The anger of this
world's god, whose scepter sways the iron monarchy of the
times, is bent upon them; but they stand up with unflinching valor against his frown. The scene soon changes.
Such fearless constancy, in a cause of no selfish import,
makes an impression. The pillars of the great empire are
shaken to their bases. All things are ripening for a change.
A strong man, who holds a scepter and carries on his head
a crown, descends from a high eminence, kneels at the feet
of one of these unconquered champions, receives from his
hand a white banner, mounts again to his lofty seat, then
waves the ensign in triumph over a prostrate world.
Wonderful! for as the eye gazes on it, while it unfolds
itself on the rolling breeze, what is there seen but an
image of that very gibbet on which the man of sorrows
bowed in death, which has now become the emblem of the
last and best era in the onward progress of the race! It is
the emblem of the spiritual life of man.
"Magician! it is enough," shouts some one from behind
a high crag, where he had been sitting while all this strange
symbolizing had been going forward.
" Not so," replied the voice; "a new world must be
brought to light, and a new order of civilization and human
l]orv mrust be revealed."





50              THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
" The new world! the new world!" exclaimed a score
from behind the scenes.
No sooner said than executed. Three small ships, fitted
for service, are loosely riding at anchor in a western bay.
The crews board them, weigh anchors, and put to sea.
The sea, visible enough where the ships ride, before their
prows is covered by a cloud of impenetrable shade. The
cloud, as the vessels advance, rolls back, momently clearing
a wider area for the eye. Long, and dangerous, and stormy,
are the wanderings of these adventurous keels; but now
their last storm has passed, the last danger has been braved,
and, from the top-mast of the leader of the three, the shout
goes down, " Land! land ahead!"
True, indeed; for as the gallant ships draw near the
shore, a long line of coast is revealed to the spectators' eyes.
From the farthest north, where the Arctic Bear keeps vigil
about the pole, to the opposing axle of the world, two new
continents fresh from the womb of ocean, stretch their continuous lengths along. Their mighty forests, luxuriant valleys, and wide savannas, rich with the spontaneous bloom
and beauty of a virgin soil, proclaim at once the fertility and
genial climate of the earth so newly risen from the sea. It
is watered by grander rivers, ridged by loftier mountains,
and marked by sublimer natural wonders, than had ever
been beheld by the eye of man. All things are on the
mightiest scale. Innumerable harbors, of the greatest capacity and security, and countless cataracts and waterfalls,
added to the strength and vigor of the soil, are ready to give
unbounded scope to the physical life of man. There, too,
in the shade of those venerable forests, in the presence of
those sublime wonders, surrounded by every thing vast beyond all parallel in other climes, the intellectual life of the
race may receive a new impulse, a larger development, a





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


51


wider, a profounder, a loftier exhibition of its unmeasured
powers. And there, also-could the standard of the spiritual life be transplanted to those shores-could the banner
of our faith unroll itself, without let or hinderance, to the
free zephyrs of that unfettered realm-there, in coming
days, may be seen the most perfect monument of its influence on the true happiness of man.
Such were the visions, and such the anticipations of the
spectators, while looking on this latter scene; but, as the
magic work, in a series of prophetic movements, was about
to realize them to the eye, and was beginning to transport
to the new world the best race of men, and the highest
civilization of the past, and all that was good, and beautiful,
and true, leaving the rotten shell of error on its native
shores, a monarch's voice was heard in stern command,
" Hold! magician, hold! Dishonor not thy country and
thy king. Let France arise and enjoy her glory while it
stays!'"
Suddenly, as when a vast assembly, for hours held by
some enchanting spell, or by business of deep concern, uprises at a given signal, so this grotesque auditory, so long
rapt into profound silence, by the witcheries of that night,
are on their feet again. The same magic hand, that had
reared and conducted the foregoing pageant, in a moment,
as it seemed, brushed it all away, and the great hall was
cleared. The court bands took their positions; the courtiers, with their masks still on, led out their partners to the
floor; and the balance of the night was spent, as the nights
of the gay and frivolous are too often spent, in threading the
mazy dance, in wild games, and in every known expedient
to increase merriment, or add to the general joy.





CHAPTER V.


A MISTAKE AND A MYSTERY.
"Talk not of comfort-'tis for lighter ills;
I will indulge my sorrow."
ADDISON.
A Queen's Wretchedness-A singular Accident-A Song from the
Heart-It is overheard-Discoveries and yet no Discoveries-All is
Mystery.
DURING the progress of all this magic exhibition, there
were two strange persons snugly secreted behind the
scenes, or mixing in disguise with the motley crowd,
whose presence, if known, would have occasioned great
excitement at the court of France. Away in a secluded
corner of one of those far-reaching halls, where the mimic
mountains towered the highest, and where there was the
least passing of the gay company, they hid themselves beneath an overhanging crag, among the loose rocks and
brambles thrown in to carry out the scenic deception more
perfectly.
So long as the pageant was going forward, the eyes of
all the courtiers were fixed intently on it; and there was
but one person, of all assembled there that night, whose
heart was too heavy to enjoy the entertainment. This, the
reader well knows, was Anne of Austria, the Queen of
France, whose position was so critical, that she found no
charm in all the gayeties and conceits lavished upon the
festival. Her mind was busy with her cares. Nearly
every where she looked, she found an enemy. She was
regarded, she knew, as a foreigner, whose conduct must be
narrowly inspected. Her husband, her mother, her very





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


53


servants, with one exception, made it the business of their
lives to ruin her. Without harboring the slightest resentment toward her persecutors, her only aim was to live with
such circumspection as to baffle all their malice; and yet,
though strong in her consciousness of injured innocence, her
heart would sometimes break forth, in spite of herself, into
momentary lamentations. No one, who has not experienced the insupportable torment of a continual dropping of
weak or malicious jealousy, will be able to commiserate her
situation properly; but those who have, will readily understand the reason why, on this brilliant night, she can find no
solace for her afflicted spirit, except in solitude and silence.
Stealing from the company, while all are lost in admiration of the passing wonders, she wanders away from the
great central hall into one of the vast avenues, before described, leading fiom it. The reader will certainly not hold
her accountable, if the place of her retreat happens to be
the same as that occupied by the two strange intruders, of
whose presence she has not the slightest notice. Nor can
the prudent act, here in this secret place, of laying off her
visor for a moment, in order to adjust her fallen tresses,
which, seen by the courtiers, might expose her real character and thus break the order of such ceremonies, be condemned by the jealousy of the king himself. Should that
face, when thus exposed, beaming with almost an unearthly
beauty, dazzle the eyes of the two unseen strangers, surely
she is not at fault.
Nor will a candid critic, I think, condemn the strangers
themselves for keeping their snug places, and holding their
astonished eyes wide open, though this extraordinary exhibition of female loveliness is being made with a careless indifference before them. An effort at removal, or the slightest stir to avoid looking, may cause more serious conse




54


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


quences than can come from the most perfect quiet. It is
not in fact, strictly necessary, that they even breathe as audibly as common; and a little effort, though it may be somewhat painful and protracted, will be far better than their
own exposure, as they are here without even the knowledge
of their entertainer. The royal master, too, the proud and
supercilious monarch of a rival country, who has sent them
on a far different mission, is entirely ignorant of this breach
of his instructions. It would not be safe to have their
transgression transmitted to him, till they see it issue favorably, or return to tell their own story. What can they do,
then, but sit there in absolute silence, without stirring a
single leaf or limb, and wait the expiration of their danger?
I am not certain but I have now gone as far as charity
itself would dictate in excusing this unexpected meeting;
for I feel inclined, from a sense of propriety, which I will
not stifle for any purpose whatever, to pass a slight censure
on the subsequent conduct of Anne of Austria, and of the
two ravished witnesses of her beauty. For the Queen of
France, watched as she knows she is, it is a dangerous
though a very natural step, after having renewed her toilet,
to remain a full half hour apart from the company, ruminating upon her troubles, however much these melancholy
reveries may minister to her comfort. Still more hazardous is it to yield so far to her situation, as to draw such
deep sighs, which may be heard, though they may, also,
give vent to her sorrows, and thus assuage them. We
should always remember, even when most in private, that
it is the business of Chance to surprise mortals for the exposure of their secrets; and the very birds of heaven sometimes visit our silent chambers, that they may spy out our
liberties, and then utter their ambiguous voices from every
tree-top. But these sighs, after all, are nothing to her tears;





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


55


and the tears are little to those plaintive strains, which, as
if doubly forgetful of her danger, she warbles forth in a
musing but melodious whisper:
'Tis not the world can give me joy,
With all its wealth and show;
A crown is but a heavy toy,
That weighs the head full low.
The diamonds sparkling on the brow,
The pearls that clasp the hair,
Could please me once, but pain me now,
So false while yet so fair.
O for a cot in humble life,
Beside some winding stream,
Far from the din of royal strife,
Where things are what they seem.
No more for me this glittering pride,
This tinsel, and this show;
Fain would I lay all these aside,
One loving heart to know.
Watched by the one I'm bound to love,
But loved not in return,
0, for the wings of any dove,
To fly away and mourn!
There is a rest, they tell me so,
For weary nature given,
Where stricken hearts have no more woeThat rest, they say, is heaven.
Then lay me down in soft repose,
Till called again to rise,
I spurn a crown so full of woesMy crown's in yonder skies.
Anne of Austria, having thus unburdened her soul in
song, seemed to be much relieved of the sorrows that





56G


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


oppressed her. She quietly rose and left her place, but
lingered in the adjacent scenery. Her two auditors, supposing she had returned to the sports of the company, and
fearing a repetition of their danger, deemed it prudent to
leave their hiding-place, and mix also in the entertainments.
But, alas! as they were stealing their way along, they were
discovered in turn by that fair minstrel, who had just exposed to them her own character and troubles. Beholding
them issue from beneath the same crag that had given her
shelter, she saw at once her new calamity. Disguised so
perfectly by their masks, they were entirely unknown to
her. She could not tell whether they were friends or foes.
They could hardly be friends, or, in some way, they would
have assured her of her safety. If they were enemies, they
would certainly report her sentiments to the courtiers, perhaps to the king, or, worse still, to the jealous queenmother. They might be, in fact, the king himself and his
favorite minister, Richelieu, hid there to discuss some state
matter, while the guests were enjoying the entertainment.
If so, the green eye of Louis would be still greener, and the
malice of Richelieu would be sated in her speedy overthrow.
For the remainder of that night, there was no more gayety for the queen. She had no farther joy in the festivities
of the occasion. Fear, that shook her frame, that palsied
her heart, settled on her. But for a single circumstance,
altogether accidental, her emotions might have betrayed
her to the company, and thus led the way to a most certain and sudden ruin. It had been agreed between the
Duchess de Chevreuse and her royal mistress, that they
should each wear a mark, by which they might be mutually distinguished.  The duchess, happening to cast her
eye toward the spot, where Anne was now seated, beheld





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.                57
her trepidation and immediately passed over in that direction. Giving the queen a signal, she proceeded to wander,
first among the neighboring scenery, then more and more
remotely, till she was lost in the windings of a mimic river,
which was skirted by a growth of water-loving shrubbery.
The queen, perceiving the token, arose and followed her.
Retiring through a side-door in the wall into a small secret
chamber, scarcely known to the remainder of the king's
household, the two friends met and affectionately embraced
each other. The queen, with her usual frankness, related
every item of her late adventure, and foretold the new
calamities expected to come from it. The duchess, on her
part, though well enough convinced of the propriety of all
the sad forebodings of her mistress, felt bound to try every
effort to quiet the fears, which she pronounced almost entirely groundless. Eagerly gathering, however, from the
trembling queen every particle of information, respecting
the dress, size, form, and general bearing of the two personages, by which they could be pointed out and afterward
possibly distinguished, she advised her to return and join
in the festivities of the occasion; but, heartily a friend to
Anne, and really alarmed at this new circumstance, she
resolved to spare no pains in penetrating the depths of this
dangerous and perplexing mystery.
c*





CHAPTER VI.
FEAR AND FLIGHT.
"And though he posted e'er so fast,
His fear was greater than his haste;
For fear, though fleeter than the wind,
Believes 'tis always left behind."
BUTLER.
Monkey on horseback-Opinions of Beauty-A Pursuit and a Flight-A
good Rider is thrown-The Monks good Horsemen-Nobody is hurt,
though an Honest Man is caught.
LATE on the morning of the succeeding day, when the
streets of Paris were densely crowded, two horsemen,
habited like traveling monks, were seen issuing from the
city on the great road, that then formed the thoroughfare to
Madrid. While passing through the throng, they conducted themselves with the outward sobriety demanded of their
order; but no sooner had they escaped from the gaze of
the multitude, and lost themselves in a long thicket, which
skirted the sides of the road at that early period, than they
suddenly threw off all precision of demeanor. They were
here joined by another horseman, clad in half-worn equestrial habit, who seemed to have been waiting the arrival
of the two companions.
"Well, John," said the elder of the monks, "how do
you enjoy your new profession?"
"Nothing, Thomas," replied the other, "could have
succeeded better than every enterprise we have undertaken; but a single mishap now would throw us into sad
confusion."





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


59


" But you are well mounted, I trust," rejoined the former.
"As to that, sir, our groom here, who looks like an honest
fellow, can best inform us. I scarcely know one mark of
either speed or bottom in these animals."
" What have you to say, then, honest Sampson." said
the monk Thomas, to the servant by the side of him:
" what can you pronounce touching the mettle of our three
horses?"
" France, sir," replied Sampson, in characteristic style,
taking off his French cap, "can boast of nothing better,
sir. You see, sir, I was groom, sir, to a great man, sir, in
a former reign, sir. That great man, sir, was the Duke de
Sully, sir, who kept the best horses, sir, in the French
dominions, sir. During the duke's life, sir, I was employed
in scouring the kingdom, sir, in search of rare horse-flesh,
sir; and since his death, his mantle having fallen on me,
as you might say, sir, my whole life and being have been
given up to this business, sir. I know every animal in
France, sir, and can assure you, sir, that there is not that
speed north of Africa, or you might say, Araby, sir, that
would not lag behind us on a fair trial, sir."
" And whom do you serve now, in your quality of groom,
good Sampson?" inquired Thomas; for he was too deep a
manager of intrigues, as the reader will discover by and by,
not to know, as soon as possible, every circumstance that
could affect the ultimate success of them.
"As to that, sir, I am now, as you might say, sir, almost
my own man, sir. I sometimes, in fact, do a favor to his
majesty, the king, sir-long may he live, sir, to bless France
and the world, sir-and I am not so engaged to any, but I
can lend a hand, now and then, to such worthy persons as
ye seem to be, sir."
"Your king, Sampson," interposed the younger of the





60              THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
two monks, "is a gracious monarch, I am told. He is said
to have a splendid household, to give brilliant entertainments, and to live sumptuously.  He must be a happy
man at home, as he is formidable abroad, good Sampson."
" My life, sir," rejoined the honest groom, " which is
now far gone, as you might say, sir, has been spent in the
company of kings, sir. The great Henry was king, sir,
when I first entered the royal service. I stood by his side,
sir, at his assassination, sir, and saw the blood, the royal
blood, spouting from his pierced body, sir. When his son
Louis, then but nine years of age, was hailed king of
France, I guided the chariot, sir, that bore him in triumph
among the crowds of his loving subjects, that worshiped
the very sight of him, sir. His mother, the great Mary de
Medicis, who has half the royal blood of Europe in her veins,
sir, assumed the reins of government during the boyhood,
or the minority, you might say, sir, of little Louis. But
Louis is now a man, sir, and a great king, sir, monarch of
the greatest nation on earth, sir, and his subjects are all
thrice happy under his reign, sir."
" Thrice happy?" ejaculated the monk Thomas; for his
ear was always open to every thing that might furnish the
slightest tinge to the most trivial piece of information.
" Indeed, sir, thrice happy, sir," promptly replied the
groom. " Once happy, for his being a great king, sirtwice happy in his being heir to the qualities of his mother,
sir-thrice happy, as his royal queen, sir, Anne of Austria,
though a foreigner, and hence jealous of French prosperity, sir, as they say, sir, is utterly under the curb and bit
of her royal master, sir, who has the queen-mother, sir, and
his eminence, the Cardinal de Richelieu, to aid him in
guarding against her machinations, as you might say, sir."
" Has not the king a sister 3" inquired John.





TH~E SHOULD>ER-KNOT.


61


" It is the black-eyed Henrietta Maria, sir-the incomparable Maria, as they call her, sir," replied the master of
the horses.
"Is she as beautifil as the young queen, Sampson? if
you will favor us with your opinion of female beauty," interposed Thomas, in a half-sarcastic manner, the more
effectually to cover the real object of his interrogation.
Honest Sampson was too simple to perceive the incompatibility of such questions with the characters of his em
ployers, but proceeded, in all candor, and not a little to
their amusement, to expatiate on the charms of the really
beautiful Henrietta.
" She is, sir, for all the world, sir, a perfect specimen, or
you might say, sir, a pattern, or a paragon, or a nonpareil,
of all the female graces, sir. She has the head, sir, of an
angel, the neck of an angel, and the whole form of an
angel, sir. Her skin is a peach color, sir, with the soft
down of her southern birth upon it. Her hair, sir, calls for
no dressing; for it falls of itself, sir, into ringlets, as you
would say, sir. Her speech is like the voice of a turtle,
sir-like the voice of a turtle-the flash of her dark eyes
throwing fire to light up its gentleness. Her movement,
sir-her movement-ah me! so incomprehensible; it is
like the tramp of an Arabian courser, with the ambition
and mettle of his whole life rising up at once within
him!"
At this last similitude, so professional to the speaker,
the two monks burst into a loud peal of laughter, which
the forest echoed through all its silent recesses. One of
the echoes, coming back to the laughers in that half-natural half-counterfeit style, which has often been the wonder,
I will venture, of my philosophic reader, roused the unsleeping vigilance of the elder monk, who, turning his head





62


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


behind him, stopped short a moment, as if scanning something in the distance. He saw a cloud of dust; then the
black form of a swift rider; next moment it was a courier
of state, flying with the speed and directness of an arrow.
There was little doubt of the nature of his errand. There
was no time to be lost. To be caught and carried back to
the French court, there to be examined as foreign spies, or
something worse, would compel them to reveal their real
characters, and the object of their adventures. This would
have been a peril, perhaps a ruin.
Fear, it is said, adds wings to flight. Whether the
steeds, so praised by honest Sampson, had the inspiration
of terror to assist them, I know not; but it was certainly
a matter of great importance to the riders, that the animals now make good the boast of their garrulous old
keeper.
Under the first prick of the spur, the steeds reared and
flounced, as if indignant at this menial mode of being admonished of their duty.  The two monks were nearly
thrown from their saddles; but they managed, at length,
to regain their positions, and to secure themselves firmly
in the stirrups. With a second thrust of the galling steel,
they gave a loose reign to the horses, which, with a leap
and a bound, now started off in earnest. The courier had
gained on the fugitives, during these preliminary movements, and was only a few rods behind them. The race
was one of great struggle. Several times the minister of
justice, who was practiced in his business, was almost
within an arm's length of his victims, when they, with
another stab of the cold mettle, would easily leap firom
him. The farther they rode, the more furious their spedd,
while neither party seemed to get much advantage. It
was a sight to see these monks, bending over the necks of





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


63


their horses, pricking their sides, and pelting their shoulders, with the skirts of their long robes streaming in the
wind behind them. The old groom was either the best
rider, or had cunningly provided himself with the fleetest
animal; for, in a few seconds after the chase began, he
was flying over the highway before his employers, who
soon lost sight of him altogether. But the monks proved
themselves to be good horsemen also, and, though nearly
apprehended more than once, ultimately gained more and
more upon their pursuer, until the contest ceased to be any
longer doubtful. Sorrowful to relate, however, as the fugitives were making their last efforts to distance the persevering courier, their horses leaped over the body of the
faithful hostler, whose steed, a little too mettlesome for his
purpose, had cast him. Throwing him a purse of gold, as
he passed over him, the elder monk, who was prudently
behind his younger brother, admonished the fallen groom
to tell no secrets. The next moment he was far away, but
just near enough to perceive that the courier, either discouraged with his prospects, or satisfied with catching the
renegade of the royal stables, had given up the pursuit, and
was dismounting by the side of honest Sampson.
The last thing heard by the refugees was the voice of
the unfortunate old stabler, who, before he had fairly recovered his breath, began to expostulate against his being
carried back to Paris under a lettre de cachet. "You see,
sir, you do, sir, that I was only, sir"-and here his words
became entirely inaudible to the fugitives, who were still
encouraging, with much vigor, the speed of their fleet
horses.





CHAPTER VII.
MONKS MEET MONKS.
"Sir, you are very welcome to my house;
It must appear in other ways than words,
Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy."
SHAKSPEARE.
A veritable Convent-Outside and inside Salutations-Good Impressions are made-A Religious Household met for pious PurposesFanaticism can soothe the Conscience and make even an old Man
happy-Another old Man so given up to Fancy, that he can see
Angels when he wishes to-Sincerity of Fanaticism evinced often by
personal Sacrifices-But it is plain even to the Dreams of the most
Ignorant and Fanatical, that the World is not always to remain hi
Error, but that Light will ultimately conquer Darkness.
ALL that night the monks pursued their journey without
stopping. The next day, just as the sun was setting, and
the cold of winter was glazing the pools and crisping the
ground beneath the feet of their weary horses, they approached a cleared spot in the midst of an ancient forest,
where towered the gray walls of a venerable convent. Both
riders seemed much exhausted. Their two noble steeds,
blowing clouds of vapor from their wide nostrils, and reeking with perspiration, had apparently lost nothing of their
ardor; but a third one, still more proud and tireless, champing his bits and curveting this side and that, as the monk
Thomas held him by the bridle, should be at once recognized as the chosen carrier of honest Sampson. The monks
had found him, many French leagues on the road, with his
feet snared in his own harness; and, having witnessed his
powers, they prudently took him up, fearing in their cir





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


65


cumstances to leave the fleetest animal "this side of Araby,
sir," as Sampson had said, behind them.
The reader must have perceived, a long time since, that
John and Thomas were no monks at all; but, clothed in
monkish habits, and approaching a veritable establishment
of the order, they must either carry out their deception, or
be discovered and molested in their progress. This would
have been impossible for ordinary tacticians, especially in
the company of real monks, who are themselves practiced
deceivers; but no arts, or artifices, or tricks of any sort,
were beyond the arch subtilty of the elder of these travelers.
The only risk they ran would come from their marked superiority, in all respects, to those shortly to be their entertainers.
" Good evening to you, my brother," said Thomas, as
he accosted an old cripple at the gateway, who sat there
as a most trusty janitor, for the good reason that he could
scarcely have left his post to save his neck from the halter.
"Ay," replied the gate-keeper, " thanks to the blessed
Virgin, the winter has not given us a better, though it makes
an old man's bones clatter a little to sit here and tell thee
of it."
" We are a couple of weary brothers, on a long journey,
far from home, who are making our way into Spain on an
errand of painful interest to our household in a distant
country. We were three at the first; but, mournful to tell,
we have left our companion, the victim of a rapid fever, by
the roadside. His poor nag we are leading, as the last
memorial of him, for the benefit of his relatives, whom we
expect to see at Madrid."
" Come in, brothers, come in. The convent of St. Louis
opens a wide welcome to all distressed travelers, and especially to those of holy orders."





66


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


"A thousand blessings on the pious tenants of this sacred
house; and never may they be called on to give succor to
two mortals in greater need of their heavenly charities!"
The old man, ringing a little bell, called the factotum of
the convent, who took the horse of Thomas by the bits and
waited for the two others to be put into his custody.
" No, no," said the other traveler, " our animals, though
weary, have not the best of dispositions. I will aid you in
leading them to the stables." This was a happy thought
in John; for, as the reader has seen, and as he will see
more clearly in the sequel, Thomas was the man, who
could more easily and triumphantly pass through the ordeal
of the introduction, and pave the way for his brother to
come in without the risk of much scrutiny.
As the day was now fairly done, and no more company
was to be expected, the old monk, by the aid of his new
acquaintance, pulled the massive gates together, and locked
them for the night; then, hobbling along on his crutches,
still assisted by the obsequious Thomas, he reached the
great door of the convent, to which he soon called a keeper
from within by another jingle of his little bell. Thomas
was led forward and introduced to each monk they chanced
to meet, as a poor traveling brother in distress. When the
prior of the convent came in, the same ceremony was repeated, only with more gravity and precision. Thomas
was now all meekness, all submission, all piety and worship. He bent his head downward, as if bowed by age, or
conquered by misfortune. His speech was drawn out into
the longest kind of words. The tones of his voice were
those of a man, whose spirit was greatly humbled by religious self-abasement, or broken by the severities of a selfdenying life. Holding the skirts of his robes gently to his
waist, by the thumb and finger of each hand, he stood in





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


67


the presence of a superior, whom, it seemed evident to all,
he profoundly and solemnly revered.
The venerable old father was satisfied without a word;
but, to make the deception doubly sure, Thomas began a
tale of such melancholy interest, that, before he concluded
it, the whole convent was in tears.
" Cheer thee up, brother," said the old prior with a benevolent smile and a tremulous voice, " the convent of St.
Louis has many comforts to drown the sorrows of the unfortunate. When the world, by its wickedness, banished
the virtues fiom the abodes of mortals, Pity, the divinest of
them all, fled for refuge to these hallowed walls."
The art was perfect, the audience was prepared, and
the case, without the failure of a single point, was gained.
Supper was now ordered for the strangers. All the comforts, and even the luxuries of the house, were produced.
John did not return firom the stables, until called to sit
down by the side of his companion, to taste the hospitalities
of the place.
The night of these occurrences was a peculiarly interesting one in the calendar of the convent of St. Louis. It was
a night set apart for a general conference of the inmates,
wherein each was expected to be ready, as time might
serve, to relate his yearly religious experience, especially
his conflicts with the EVIL ONE. Though all of them had
told their experiences before, and some of them for the
fiftieth time, they were still expected to tell them annually,
as the day and the night came round. They were not
compelled to tell all they had experienced, but might
select some chosen event, which should characterize their
spiritual progress for the year.
Around the huge fire-place of the great conference-room,
piled to the very arch with solid logs on fire, which threw





683


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


a warm an&, cheerful radiance through the apartment, the
whole family of the St. Louis monks were ranged. Since
the going down of the sun, the weather had become intensely cold; and a rough wind was raging through the
woods and whistling mournfully about the corners and
turrets of the convent. The night, too, was dark, as well
as dismal. There was no house, or habitation, within
many miles; the nearest inhabitants were the fierce fourfooted denizens of the forest; and the blackness of the
night, the severity of the weather, the howling of the winds,
the constant cracking of limbs, and the occasional crash of
a falling tree, made the solemn monks hover more devoutly
about the blazing fire.
The religious services were opened by a short chant
followed by a prayer. The prior of the convent sat in the
center of the arch, that spanned the great fire-place from
wall to wall; and the two opposite ends of it were supported by Thomas and the crippled gate-keeper. The
monk John was seated not far from his traveling companion,
but in a less conspicuous position.
" My life has been a life of pleasure, brethren," said the
venerable prior, leaning his head a little forward. "For
the year past, I have had no particular trials, having been
favored with great peace of soul. My labors have been
healthful; my sleep has seldom been disturbed; the books
I have read have given me satisfaction; and the whole tenor
of my life has been like the quiet but progressive current
of a river, whose channel offers no obstacle to its course.
I have lived, not so much -an inhabitant of earth, as of
the spiritual world. Angels have been my companions by
day and by night, and the lost ones of other years, the holy
and the good, have attended upon my steps. Many a
bright messenger has been sent to me from the happy





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


69


land; and they have fed me with ambrosial delights. 0,
brethren, did we live as we should, crucifying the flesh,
rooting out the wicked instincts of our nature, reducing the
power of the body over the upward workings of the spirit,
and exalting that spirit by lofty contemplations of the things
seen by the spirit's vision, we might dwell, even while here
below, in the very atmosphere of heaven, waiting only the
complete annihilation or removal of our physical existence,
to enter at once into the perfect state. Think not, brethren,
that heaven is far from any one of us. The spiritual world
is all around and within us, had we only the eyes to see it;
and the people of that world, angels and men, though invisible to the natural sight, mix with us in all our walks,
witnessing our movements, guarding us against evil, and
leading us to the pure and good by their soft but soultouching ministrations. If you are thirsty, they will carry
you to fountains of cool water; if hungry, they will bring
you bread; when naked and destitute, they will supply you
with clothing and other comforts; or, should you be prostrated by burning fevers, they will bend over your bedside
and fan you with their wings. To one, whose spiritual
vision has been opened, all nature is full of these angelic
beings; and the universe becomes animated with the higher
forms of life, when we look out upon it with the eye of
faith. This vision, this faith, this life, have been to me,
brethren, the source of my highest raptures; and I commend them to your exclusive meditation and effort, as the
end and consummation of true spiritual bliss."
At the close of this mystic speech, the old cripple in the
corner winked and moved his crutch with evident satisfaction; and after a long and solemn pause, the next most
aged man took up the subject where the prior had laid it
down




70


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


" I am an old man, brethren, trembling on the verge of
the other world. So feeble is the hand of time upon me
that eternity is ever in my view. I seldom look back to
see what I have been, being lost in the visions that rise up
before me. My senses, which were once vigorous, binding me to earth by the most powerful of ties, are daily letting go their hold; and I am sliding, by imperceptible degrees, from the bodily to the spiritual state. Sometimes,
like the holy apostle, I can hardly tell whether I am an
inhabitant of the earth, or not; for my soul then passes, in
its sense of heavenly pleasures, beyond all consciousness of
the slender influences of the material life. Once, while
lying on my humble pallet of straw, mourning because I
was too feeble to hold converse with my brethren, and too
strong to give up all desire of intercourse with such as
could do me good, my spirit was suddenly hushed by the
sweet voice of a messenger from the world of light. He
sat near my pillow, with his radiant head gently reclining
on his transparent hands, and eyes bent downward with
a warm look of love. 'Peace, complaining mortal,' said
the angel; 'for why shouldst thou grieve and mourn? Is
banishment a thing so sweet to man, that he must grieve
as he travels homeward; or is heaven so unworthy of his
wishes, that he may wisely cling to the phantoms of his
earthly residence? 0, man, couldst thou see what I have
seen, and hear what I have heard, and mingle with the
company I live among, never wouldst thou hold to thy
worldly state one moment longer than the Arbiter of life
ordains. Behold, thou art a child of immortality, a candidate for glory, a pilgrim to a better land. Shut, then, thy
eyes to all material things, and open them to beatific scenes,
which are enacted all around. See! thou art now surrounded by myriads of holy ones. Hark! thou mayest





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


71


hear the music of the heavenly harpers harping upon their
harps. Rise! in the vigor of thy faith arise! and thou shalt
enter soon into the full fruition of thy immortal powers,
which shall be poised on the sole principle of love, and expand through a universe of unmeasured depths, where thy
youth, and health, and beauty, and innocence, and vigor,
and heart-felt joy shall be restored, never to be lessened,
never to be lost.' More than once," continued the venerable monk, " has this visitor repeated his consolations; and
I now feel to be almost an actual resident of that bright
land of immortal and ethereal delight."
As the old man ceased to speak, the cripple again moved
his crutch, accompanying the motion with a wild roll of his
eyeballs, and a sigh that seemed to come from the bottom
of his heart.
Now, another ecclesiastic, of about forty years, but pale
and pensive in his look, as if reduced by the austerities of
his faith, rose slowly to his feet.
" Fathers and brethren," said the monk, " you all know
the deep troubles of my spirit, how the enemy of mankind
has been torturing me for these many years. I live in a
state of constant agitation. I have no rest, nor peace, by
day or by night. Wherever I go, I am pursued by an evil
genius, who suggests wicked thoughts, lays out artful
temptations, and does me every injury in his power.
Knowing that his malice works chiefly through my physical constitution, which is most vile indeed, my resort has
been to deny myself of all bodily enjoyments-food, fire,
and friendly intercourse-shutting myself up to silence,
secret mortifications, and self-annihilating thought. For
forty days and nights, in imitation of my Lord, I tasted
neither drink nor food. Near the close of this wasting
period, I was so far freed from the vulgar shackles of the





72


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


flesh, that I began to see things as they are seen, and know
them as they are known. One day, as I was lying supinely
on the floor, with my eyes fixed to the head of a large nail
driven in the wall, the cell became gradually very dark.
As I had resolved to fasten my sight upon that spot for
twelve hours without intermission, in order to get some
control over the wanderings of my mind, all at once the
nail began to burn with an intense brilliancy, casting
through the apartment a most dazzling light. From the
opposite walls of the room, next to the end where was the
burning nail, two figures suddenly started out, this one
holding a sword, that brandishing a dart. On the brow of
the one, which was shaded by a most haggard kind of
darkness, I saw an iron crown. He stood in a most defying attitude, his eyes rolling outwardly like two fire-balls,
his nostrils distended with anger, his lips drawn up in
scorn, and his feet planted with a firmness indicative of his
rage. The other, with a mild but determined look, regarded his adversary with a sort of pity mingled with dislike.
Around his head went a fillet of green laurel, set with living
flowers, and fastened in front by a clasp of diamonds imbedded in transparent pearl. His long light hair dropped
in ringlets upon his shoulders, whence a pure white robe
descended to his feet. No sooner had he lifted his sword,
with an authoritative motion to his antagonist to retire,
than the monster hurled a myriad of arrows on him, which
fell about him in a harmless but perpetual shower. When
the quiver of his mad adversary was spent, he of the laureled
brow lifted up his sword again, whose point became suddenly so luminous, that the former brilliancy of my apartment was turned to shade. Whirling his fiery weapon
about his head, then making one prodigious pass at his antagonist, he sent a ray of light from the tip of his sword





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


73


into the dark forehead of the monster, which soon proved
itself to have given a most mortal wound. The virus
spread rapidly through his head, like a coruscation, then
downward through his trunk and members, till he was all
luminous. His form and features instantly changed to the
likeness of his opponent, the same band encircling his head,
the same soft curls falling upon his shoulders, and exactly
the same white robe dropping in gentle beauty to his feet.
The two enemies, by the fortunes of war made friends, now
locked arms in token of eternal amity, and retired from my
apartment at the sound of a choral strain, which seemed
to be sung by angelic voices:
Light, immortal at its birth,
Forever lives to shine;
Darkness, frailest child of earth,
Falls by one ray divine.
I now rose to my feet refreshed; and have been, ever since,
strong in the belief, that error will ultimately give way to
truth. The body will by and by be conquered; and the
soul will shine with its own luster, increased by a still intenser radiance added fiom above."
At the conclusion of this experience, the maimed old monk
in the corner laid down his crutch, then took it up again,
in token of a double satisfaction from his brother's speech.
But the monk Thomas, forgetting himself for a moment,
had made a sad mistake. Neglecting to hold his ecclesiastic robe, as he had done at first, the folds of it had carelessly
dropped aside, revealing a figured tunic, studded with precious stones, which argued poorly for the character he had
assumed. The danger of detection was now imminent, as
his concealed habit had been discovered by many eyes;
but the issue of a new artifice, suddenly suggested to his
quick and fertile genius, will demand a chapter by itself
"n





CHAPTER VIII.
CONFESSIONS.
"Divines and dying men may talk of hell.
But in my heart her several torments dwell."
SHAKSPEARE.
A Monk turns Philosopher--He attempts to figure the past, present,
and future Condition of a wicked Man on the Basis of a sound Philosophy-He presents himself as the Types, successively, of the entire
Life, here and hereafter, of such a mortal-1. The Past represented
by symbolic Stories-2. The Present given in Fac-similes and characteristic Shadows-3. The Future Life of a bad Man shown to be miserable, not from direct penal Interpositions of the Eternal, but because
the defrauded Mind, and Heart, and Soul of such a Man carry with
them the most terrible of Torments.
"WILL yOU suffer a poor, unworthy brother," said
Thomas, rising up in token of his deep humility, "to relate
an experience scarcely paralleled in the annals of the world?
Much to my confusion do I utter the proof of my own
wickedness; but truth and sincerity require it at my hands.
You know not what a wretch you have admitted to the hospitality of these walls. As I hear the winds of winter roaring
through the forest, I can but feel, that, did you award me
my deserts, you would turn me out to wander, as a wild
beast, through the darkness and dangers of these boundless
woods.
" I am the child of honest parents; was born in the upper
ranks of life; received my education under the care of diligent instructors; and obtained a fortune, at the decease of
my sainted father, which unsettled my character at the very
outset of life.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


75


" Wishing to spend my money, I plunged into the most
extravagant excesses, never quitting an indulgence till I had
drained it to the dregs. My health soon failed me; my
fortune next followed my health; and I was thrown upon a
cold world without a virtue, or a friend. Ten years I
spent in fruitless regrets over my past crimes; another ten
I wandered, like a vagrant, from land to land; and, at the
expiration of a third period of equal duration, which I de
voted to a deep-seated bitterness against the order of divine
Providence, I entered a convent to mourn over the follies
of my youth.
" Here I underwent, by way of penance, excessive fastings, protracted vigils, severe flagellations, and all the modes
of self-crucifixion prescribed by the holy order. I stood,
like a pillar-saint, for four weeks together, on a chair in my
cell, and about half of every day on one foot. Four hours
a day, for exactly three months, I stood on my head, supporting my position partly by my hands, and partly by resting my feet against the wall. Seven months I lived without seeing a ray of light, regarding myself too great a sinner
to look at heaven's pure beams, and denying myself, as a
superogatory duty, the use of artificial illumination. Food
I refused altogether, excepting what nourishment there is
in roots; and, to quench my parching thirst, I would stand
out in a shower of rain, or a heavy fall of dew, and hold
my mouth upward to catch moisture, like a mere base vegetable as I was. If I found my straw pallet too warm and
comfortable for such a wretch, I immediately arose and
slept standing against the cold walls, in the corner of my
cell, or left the convent altogether, to make my bed on wet
leaves, or in a bank of snow. All the clothing I suffered
myself to wear was scarcely what decency demanded; and
I made it a settled point always to show such rents in my





76


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


garments, or filth upon my person, as would be sure to
mortify my pride.
" Having become, by the instruction of my teachers, and
the discipline of the house, a firm believer in the 'spiritual
state,' I longed to be visited by some of those ministering
beings, who are sent on errands of mercy to mankind.
Many weeks were spent in supplicating the Virgin to favor
me with such a helper, who might aid me in my struggling
out of darkness into light. Again I would make my requests of different saints-Peter, John, Paul-or of whomsoever I thought, at the moment, took greatest interest in
these suits. Going thus through the whole calendar, as
well as I understood it, and receiving no answer to my petitions, I became discouraged, and nearly gave up the effort;
but, reminding myself, that, through ignorance, I might have
omitted some powerful personage in the list, who, if included, would deign to listen more favorably to my wishes, I
fell down upon my face one night, and prayed to all the
saints at once, presuming that the hitherto neglected ones
would be able to recognize themselves. Nor did I limit
them, this time, to sending a friendly spirit-any messenger,
I said, whose character and services may be equal to my
deserts.
" I rose from my prostrate condition, and, taking a chair,
sat down to read. The book I laid hold of was the Legends of the Saints. Being exhausted by the previous exercise, added to the wasting habits of my life, I nodded and
fell asleep. When I awoke, I found myself sitting in an
elegantly-furnished room, by the side of a blazing fire.
Looking up in amazement to discover who or where I was,
I saw another person, a perfect fac-simile of myself, sitting
in the opposite corner by the fire. When I looked up, he
looked up; when my eyes fell to the floor, his fell to the





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


77


floor likewise; and whatsoever I did, he copied more exactly than I could have repeated it myself. I drew a deep
heavy breath; and he drew a deep heavy breath, as if it had
been the echo of my own. At length I screamed for help;
he screamed for help, also, with the same tone and power
of voice. I was now stupefied with fear, the cold sweat
starting from my face; and he, too, seemed suddenly frozen
to his seat, except that a flood of pespiration began to pour
down in torrents from his haggard cheeks. I fastened my
astonished eyes upon him; he fixed his astonished eyes on
me; and there we sat, I know not how long, bending toward each other in motionless horror, as if each was waiting
for the other to break the spell, while neither seemed able to
stir a muscle. ' 0, ye heavens,' I cried, as soon as I could
gather strength, ' save me, or I perish!' and fell senseless
to the floor. When I came to myself, I was in the cold
cell of the convent again, sitting exactly as I did at first;
but the Legends of the Saints had fallen upon the stone
pavement at my feet.
" At another time, I was lying on my cot of straw, in
deep distress of body, as I had tasted of neither food nor
drink for many days. Hunger was gnawing at my vitals;
and I was fevered with a burning thirst. All at once I fell
into a strange condition impossible to be described.
Whether it was a dream, a reverie, or a trance, I shall
never know. My hunger and thirst exceeded all bounds.
There was a stream of deep crystal water flowing near me;
and on its hither bank were long tables loaded with every
luxury that heart could wish. I rose up to satisfy my appetite, when a young man, hale, intelligent, and beautiful,
but apparently in a frenzy, till then concealed, started from
the river's bank, and intercepted my approach. Thrusting
his hands into his pockets, he began to throw gold coin in






78


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


to the water, until le had utterly emptied them of a vast
store of wealth. This done, he turned to the loaded tables,
and commenced hurling the loaves and dishes also into the
river, till the boards were entirely cleared. He then sat
down to grieve; then roamed like a wild man over the
barren fields; then he raised his puny fists, as if making
war upon the overhanging clouds; last of all he came, all
pale and poor, the very image of myself, and took me by
the hand. As he looked like a most wretched and fearful
thing, I struggled hard to break his grasp; he strove as
earnestly to get free from me; but, strange to tell, neither
could quit the other, till I swooned again, from which time
I never saw him more.
" Not long afterward, however, I was sleeping profoundly in a bank of snow, where I had made my bed as a
penance for a then recent sin. A single blanket, above
and below, poorly protected my shivering sides and limbs
from cold. The winds were howling through the woods
and over my snowy bed. I dreamed that I died by freezing, and that I was conscious of every step in the progress
of this awful death. First my toes and fingers stung, as if
burned by fire, and then became comfortable again. Next,
my legs underwent the same process, stinging and becoming insensible by degrees. At last my blood grew hot, my
vitals seemed to be on fire, till they, too, burnt out and
ceased to feel. Last of all, when driven from every other
point, the soul clung for a moment with a mortal struggle
to the brain; then, giving up one division of it after another,
as the fire and frost of death followed on, all was soon lost
but that single particle, to which adheres the Love of Life,
where the spirit hung tremblingly, but with all its might.
No words can tell the strange sensations of the soul thus
holding to the last atom of its mortal life. How the facul




THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


79


ties, those noble powers, had vanished, as the work of
death had steadily progressed! Sensation, perception, and
reflection, had passed away. Memory, reason, imagination, were firever gone. The emotions, love, hope, fear,
and all the rest, had disappeared. All was gone but volition and the desire to be. The simple formula-Iwill live
-fully expressed all that remained of the glorious and
godlike soul; and when the mortal atom to which it clung
gave up, the spirit yielded not to death, but quivered an instant on this pivot of its former existence, then, strong in
the resolution not to die, passed at once into the immortal
state.
"Entering, now, into the spiritual world, I was greatly
disappointed in many things. I had expected to leap at
once into the highest ecstasies of delight; but I found myself a mere child, a spiritual child, just born. My life was
to be begun anew. All the powers of my soul immediately
returned to me, it is true; but, though mature in the former
state, they seemed but childlike, compared with the breadth
of this higher sphere. My recollection of past evenlts was
perfect; for I could not only distinctly recall each passage
of my mortal life, but every trace of it seemed to be alive
in me in a moment. My reason, too, was cleared of every
mist; so that I could collate facts, compare propositions,
and draw conclusions, with a wonderful precision and certainty of result. Nothing, however, was more free from its
former shackles than the imagination, which now soared
through the whole compass of possibilities, calling up
shapes and images from the great deep of nonentity, and
basking in the gorgeous light of its own creations. All the
natural desires and appetites rose up within me with more
than tenfold strength; the artificial were but habits of my
body, which I had left behind. My sensibilities were





80


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


strangely acute; the affections possessed an unknown buoy
ancy and ardor; and the will, that center of all life, whethe
bodily or spiritual, towered up with colossal strength.
" Here I was, then, an inhabitant of another world, yet
entirely alone; for he that is born again by the act of death,
though an infant in experience, needs no maternal help.
The soul is left to its own resources, as much as in the
mortal life; and it must be the cause of its own condition,
even in that world of unchangeable effects. Having lost
all sense of time, I know not how long I stood on the brink
of the future state, without making the slightest effort of
any kind; but, at length, becoming pained with my loneliness, and every principle of my being calling out for society,
I uttered a wish to see some being of like nature with myself. I even definitely desired that a certain female friend
of mine, a pattern of every virtue, who had died many
years before, might come to my relief  In an instant, she
stood before me, the most beautiful and lovely creature I
ever saw. We met each other with a cordial salutation.
At first, her company gave me pleasure; but afterward I
began to grow uneasy in her presence, as her conversation,
her manners, her spirit, were so entirely above my own.
Never before had I seen my own moral deformity, as I
saw it then; and gradually I fell into such a distaste of the
silent reproof, which her exalted purity and loveliness cast
upon me, that I secretly wished myself alone. The wish
was creator to the fact; for, in a moment, she vanished
from my sight.
" Supposing, however, that the fault might be in the inexperience of my visitor, who might never have been called
to such a task before, I concluded that my best resort would
be to demand one of the most perfect of the heavenly host,
whose very perfection would fit him to bend to my low





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.                81
estate. I called for the archangel Michael, and he came.
Though his form was molded into absolute beauty, and his
manners were as graceful and as winning as a child's, there
was withal such a majesty in his look of innocence, that I
dared not touch even the border of his robe. The rays of
his exalted character streamed from his head with such a
brilliance, that, though he seemed all love and condescension, he had scarcely appeared to me, before I internally
desired him to be gone. Perceiving instantly my wishes,
he smiled most benevolently, and receded from my view.
" Discouraged by these attempts to associate with beings
so far above my level, I began to feel a strong curiosity to
know whether heaven contained any inmates suited to my
state. To discover this, however, by calling one after another to my aid, would certainly be a tedious, and might
be a fruitless, work. The only alternative was to go in
person, could I be permitted, and make general observations; and a sense of this alternative so fastened itself upon
me, that I soon resolved, if possible, to go. No sooner determined than I began to rise, and soar-up, up, away,
away-through the ethereal space, until at last the gleams
of celestial light dawned upon my rapt vision. The nearer
I approached, the more intense was the radiance. Strains
of choral music, faint at first, then louder and louder, burst
upon my hearing. Soaring upward and onward, each moment adding strength and harmony to the voices, and power
of effulgence to the light, the music became at last so ravishingly sweet as to be painful to me, and the brilliance so
dazzling that I could not endure it. Shutting my eyes, to
save them from being utterly extinguished, and my ears, to
stop up the avenues of insufferable emotions, I gave one
loud shriek, and, in a moment, found myself once more
alone on the verge of that existence, which I knew not how





82              THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
to occupy. One thing, however, I had learned. Heaven
was no place for me; nor were its inhabitants to be my
companions; as the presence of these, and the sight of the
other, were too much for my sinful and degraded nature.
The farthest I could get from both was the place I now
most covered.
" The first effort I put forth, after these sad adventures,
was to annihilate myself, by willing death to each of my
faculties successively; for I began to loathe the very thought
of being compelled to live eternally such a life. Every
thing, as before, seemed to obey my volition. I began
with the sensibilities, and soon put, them all to rest; then
the intellectual powers sank beneath my resistless fiat; and
thus I progressed in the awful business of spiritual suicide,
stabbing one faculty after another, till I was reduced again,
just as in the process of physical death, to the very threshold
of non-existence. Seeing myself, however, suspended from
so small a point, over the black and bottomless depths of
annihilation, my nature shrank from the terrific work and reasserted itself with prodigious emphasis. My soul, gathered
into a single formula, as before, once more exclaimed-I
will live; and, glad to escape the ruin it had sought,
though at the expense of any amount of suffering, was itself
again.
" While sitting, in absolute despair of finding any thing
good for me in the higher regions of the spiritual state, and
beginning to think that they had been entirely overrated
by living men, I heard a light step behind me, and turned
to behold what might be there. I saw nothing; but, still
hearing gentle footsteps, I made a deliberate effort to know
the cause of them. Instantly, my vision was cleared, and I
saw perfectly. It was a spirit, of a delicate and feminine
appearance, who had just entered upon the immortal state;





THE SHOULD FER-KNOT.


83


and its form and bearing were truly celestial, reminding
me of my two heavenly visitors. I perceived, in a moment, that her mortal life had been far different from my
own. I accosted her; but she seemed not to hear my
words. She had no desire, I saw, to have intercourse with
such a one as I, though, like myself, she appeared to long
for company. She looked upward with a desiderative
aspect; and, immediately, she was met by a manly spirit
of great personal beauty and noble countenance, into
whose arms she at once fell with rapture. Presently a
group of little spirits, like cherubs, bearing her likeness
and resembling him, sprang up around her. Catching
them up, one after the other, she hugged them to her
bosom, and showered them with kisses, and shed tears of
joy upon their angelic little faces, till I wept bitterly to
behold the contrast of my own condition. Once embracing
did not satisfy her; but I can not tell how long, nor how
ravishingly, she clasped him and them by turns, till she was
perfectly overcome with her happiness. The manly spirit
then turned his eyes upward; and, lo! other spirits, aged,
and youthful, and of middling age, but all beautiful, and
bearing a common likeness to the new inhabitant, or to her
manlike visitor, appeared to them. They all met her with
the same warm smiles and cordial embraces. Angels, too,
and among them Michael, soon joined their company. 0,
such welcomes, such greetings, such words of triumph,
such songs of victory! Down through the ethereal regions
came a bright seraph, bearing in his hands a crown, a robe,
and a golden girdle. I at once perceived for whom they
were designed; and, burning with inward pain, I wished
myself as far fiom the scene as might be possible. My
prayer was again granted; and I found myself once more
alone with a sense of my desolation weighing heavily upon me.





84


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


"What, then, should I do?  To associate with beings
above me was torture; to be alone was a lingering pain.
Society I was forced to have. Therefore, after much deliberation, I resolved to call for comrades, for persons
entirely like myself. In a moment, they came trooping all
around me. But how shall I describe my wonder, when I
saw my own likeness copied in such a multitude of spirits!
A kind of fellow-feeling immediately sprang up within me;
for I saw, for the first time, characters within my own
range of association. I was no longer oppressed by celestial radiances, though some of my new guests were far
from being ugly. Two or three of them were even beautiful, as living men judge of beauty; and all of them were
endurable for looks, so long as their conduct should continue grateful. This band, I must acknowledge, was exactly to my liking; for all reserve was instantly thrown
aside; and they gave me one long, loud, hearty welcome.
Instantly, I felt entirely at home among them; and I was
glad to learn, that, before my calling for them, they were
just starting to an entertainment. I desired them, by all
means, not to forego their pleasures on my account, as I
would be delighted to join their company.
"We commenced our excursion with all kinds of merriment, each one endeavoring to outdo the rest in exciting
laughter, or in out-laughing the others at a sally or jet of
wit. Wit and humor, in fact, far beyond any thing known
among men, seemed to constitute their natural employment; and their sensitiveness was so great as to render
them exceedingly alive to every display of this sort of
genius. Dry sarcasm, keen satire, grave but most ridiculous irony, together with every species of windy or elaborate burlesque, flashed like coruscations firom countenance
to countenance. Jokes, puns, riddles, and even rhymes,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


85


containing some obscure but quaint significance, passed
from lip to lip without intermission. One of the company,
whom they called Oracle, caused great amusement by whal
he called his 'responses;' and he was also constantly
making expositions, most ludicrously contrived, of the profound mysteries of metaphysics. But their wit was nol
entirely spent in such generalities. They were occasionally
most satirical toward each other; and I observed, that,
whenever a poor fellow received a deeper thrust than he
could well endure, he struggled severely to overtask his
assailant, and that with anger, in the use of the same, or
superior weapons. All tbis I enjoyed, at first, with a keen
relish; for it exactly suited my disposition; and the whole
company paid me those marks of deference customarily
given to a new associate.
" The first shade of uneasiness that passed over me, was
a sense of my great inferiority to them in every thing,
which seemed to constitute their pleasure or employment.
To be entirely silent gave too much proof of incapacity to
satisfy my ambition; and yet every attempt I made to show
off my parts, only drew down upon me a look of commiseration, or a burst of laughter. After repeated discomfitures,
I resolved to keep perfect silence, for fear I should break
down entirely in the good opinion of my betters, knowing,
too, that one can sometimes maintain a tolerable position
in the graces of ambitious talkers, by acquiring the reputation of a good listener. But I soon fell into the torment
of all such characters-absence of mind; and so much so,
that I would absolutely rivet my eyes on the face of any
one chancing to speak, as though I swallowed every syllable, while, in truth, I was only lost in a withering sense of
my utter nothingness. Long after a speaker had concluded, and the conversation had been taken up by another. I





86


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


would still hold my eyes where I had at first fixed them,
staring like the very image of inanity.
" This conduct could not fail to call the attention of such
keen observers; and I was soon the conscious object of the
sly and searching inquisition of the party. A side glance
would, now and then, be bestowed upon me, followed by
indistinguishable whispers; and these were occasionally
succeeded by a sort of half-stifled laughter. When fully
roused to a sense of my situation, I found that I was becoming, more and more, the butt of their wit in ambush.
To be openly and manfully attacked by such skillful archers
would have been sufficiently painful; but to stand a galling fire from secret quarters, was most fatal. My spirit
absolutely sank within me. I had tried to find fit associates
from heaven, and had been disappointed. I had essayed
heaven itself, which, in return for my ambition, had nearly
extinguished my faculties by its intolerable effulgence.
Last of all, I had called for companions, come from whence
they might; and finding these so perfectly my superiors, I
discovered that their contemptuous conduct was quite natural, and that their society would be the source of unending
mortification and agony to my feelings. But solitudeunqualified, unbroken, eternal solitude-I had learned to
dread worse than any punishment. Annihilation, too, was
impossible. Though I could reduce my existence to a
single proposition, yet that proposition-I will live-would
always assert itself in the last extremity, and damn me with
a being which I had found to be not only comfortless but
horrible. Eternity, above, below, and around, was one
wide, desolate, barren region. I saw no ray of hope or
beauty in it. With a shudder and a shriek, I cried aloud,
'Begone, begone from me;' and, in an instant, my companions all left me, excepting that one just alluded to under





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


87


the nick-name of Oracle. It was the first time my wishes
had not been fully granted.
"' If there is any thing,' said this spirit, 'in which I can
serve you, be free to command. I am anxious to execute
your wishes.'
"' Leave me, then,' I replied with emphasis, ' for this is
all I ask of you.'
"'Every thing but that,' he answered gravely; 'your
wishes can not all be gratified any longer, as you have
deliberately, and after repeated trials of experience, chosen
to pass over the line that divides the regions of liberty from
the territories of necessity and bondage. There is now no
return for you. A choice once made, in your present state,
has no alternative, but to go on to its last consequences.'
"' But the choice,' I retorted, 'was not a free one, feeling, as I did, a necessity to make it, or be forever miserable.'
"' 'And that necessity,' said the spirit, 'you brought with
you. It was your character. Heaven would have been,
as you found, the deepest hell to such a being as you are.
You sighed for beings of your own order, having proved
yourself unfit for better company. Those beings came;
and, true to their occupation, they have led you into a
deeper insight of your eternal wretchedness. You could
not enjoy them; nor can they ever enjoy you. In fact,
they enjoy not each other; for, as you saw, not a word of
love, or comfort, or fellowship, dropped from the lips of
any one of them. Each, miserable in himself, seeks to
bring others to his own level, and crowds them as much
lower as he finds it possible. They associate only because,
like yourself, they have found solitude worse than any
amount of torture.'
"' I certainly found it so,' said I to my instructor; 'and





88              THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
now, since I am to live under the necessity of existence,
bound to society by yearnings irrepressible, and yet having
no joy friom that society, I would like to know, at once,
what ray of happiness, if any, is left to me.'
"' It is not possible,' replied the spirit,' for you to learn
much here except by personal experience; but, having
devoted myself to difficult and abstruse investigations, I
have discovered a way by which one's experience can be
greatly accelerated.  Much knowledge can be crowded
into a little compass. If you desire it, I can aid you in
this particular; but I warn you, that, unlike the world
firom which you came, even knowledge, in these regions, is
a fountain of bitter agony.'
" ' But ignorance,' I answered, ' even here, must be more
painful; for not to know is to dread the worst, when, perchance, a milder fate lies before, than fancy pictures to us.
Doubt, unresolved, is worse than death.'
"'Be it, then,' rejoined the spirit, 'according to thy
request.  Here, but a few steps away, stands a brazen
gate. I have the power to open it.'
"Back on their grating hinges rolled the ponderous
doors; and we entered, by a downward flight of steps,
into a stupendous hall, the roof of which, that seemed to
be a canopy, blue as ether and high as heaven, was supported by two lines of pillars. A strange, glimmering, unearthly light struggled through it. In the center of the
hall stood a chair, to which I was immediately conducted,
my guide desiring me to sit. Having made a few passes
about my temples, he laid his thumbs upon my eyelids;
and I fell at once into a sort of waking slumber, in which
I was conscious of every thing, and yet seemed to sleep.
Touching a certain point on my head with his first finger,
he wished me to tell him what effect it had upon me.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.                89
"' I am all memory,' I replied, 'every vestige of my
former life-my birth-place, the haunts of my youth, the
scenes of early manhood, my father's pious family, and, O,
among them, my angelic mother-these are all before me.
I see, too, the slippery paths, which I once trod in pursuit
of pleasure-the follies, sins, and crimes, of all my lifethe means provided for my restoration to virtue and happiness-my scorn and neglect to them; and, finally, the ruin
brought upon myself by this mad course of conduct. 0,
let me look no more on what I have been!'
"'Nay,' said the speaker, changing the style of his address, 'thy memory is immortal; and thou art to look forever on thy miserable past! Come! let us descend.'
" I then followed him to another hall, down another flight
of steps, where every thing was still more dismal. There,
too, was another chair in the center of the hall, on which
he seated me. Touching me in another point of the head,
he repeated his interrogation.
"' I am nothing, now,' I answered,' but reason.  The
boundless world of facts and principles is before me. I
perceive the relations of all bodies. I understand the connection of effects and causes perfectly.  Physical, and
mental, and moral fitness, is as plain as light to me; and,
O, what pains me deeply, I see how strangely, wildly,
mortally, I have broken every law of my noble being! I
have utterly perverted the designs of my Creator, running
counter to the order of nature, and doing violence to every
capacity within me. O, let me be mad again, that I enduire
no more the insufferable revelations of insulted reason!'
"'But this faculty, too,' he replied,' is undying; and
eternally art thou to suffer its reproaches. Descend!'
"Again I followed him to a yet lower, and darker, and
drearier hall, where another chair stood ready for me.





90


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


Putting his two first fingers on the sides of my head,
behind the temples, he bade me go on and tell him what
I saw.
"' Wonderful! I am'a being of exclusive imagination,'
said I, 'soaring up to the heights of a world of fancy. But,
alas! the creations of my mind are all terrible. I am surrounded by sights of pain and horror. Dreams of wickedness, reveries of revenge and malice, emotions and schemes
of licentiousness, rise up in spite of me.  The torments
actually experienced are nothing to those my fancy makes
for me. 0, cruel invention! merciless genius! most torturing spirit, leave me!'
"' This spirit,' retorted my instructor, ' is a part of that
very nature, which thou hast perverted; and, like thyself,
it will live forever.'
" Conducting me down again, into a lower place, and
seating me as before, he said,' Go on; tell me faithfully.'
"'I am now all love.'
" ' Love!'
"' Yes, all love.'
" What lovest thou '
"' I love evil-all evil-the essence of all evil. It stabs
me, a rational creature, to say so; but I love naught but
evil.'
"Again we groped our dark way downward; and, when
I was seated, my guide exclaimed, 'What next? Art now
swallowed up in love?'
'l Nay,' said I, ' I am not. My whole soul is summed
up in one word; and that word is anger.'
" What hatest thou?' inquired the spirit.
"'I hate all good,' I answered, 'physical, intellectual,
moral-individual and social-temporal and spiritual; and
I hate Him supremely, who is the source and center of it





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


91


a1'  1 am angry with him. His goodness is to me but
evil. Evil is far better than his good. Nay, if thou canst
understand, I rationally admire, though my heart burns
with malice toward him. I could tear him from his throne;
and yet that throne commands my reverence. How am I
divided! My soul is in a state of mutiny! Who, O who,
shall free me from this distraction?'
"' This is but another portion of thy curse,' said he again,
'which thou must drink eternally! Go down to a deeper
insight of thyself.'
" I obeyed, and walked down another flight of steps, into
a most doleful place, the whole aspect of which was frightful.
"' What now?' said the spirit, touching me as before.
"'I am swallowed up in a single passion. I am one
mass of trembling, -quaking fear. I fear not evil; for that
is consonant to me; but good seems terrible; and yet I see
nothing but good around me. The omnipotent Author of
all good, whose presence comforts me every where, is the
sumpeme object of my dread. He, whom others love and
worship, is my enemy because I am evil and he is good.
His arm is almighty; and I must sink forever in a struggle,
which I must make, though knowing that all is lost!'
"'Nay,' interposed my guide, 'but there are other depths
of self-knowledge below thee still. Let us seek them.'
"We here clambered our way down a much longer
flight than ever, into an exceedingly gloomy hall.  No
sooner was I seated, in a chair similar to the others, than
my leader whispered into my ear, in a most terrific breath
of voice, his customary interrogation; and then started
back, as if to witness and enjoy my pain.
"' Ah me!' I exclaimed. 'Painful indeed to feel compunctions of duty in such a state as this! To hate, and to
nurse anger and revenge, and to raise rebellion against all





92


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


good, and to mutiny toward heaven, and fire the universe
with rage, is nothing when unvisited by a sense of right;
but to err, to feel a fault, in thy presence, 0 meek-eyed
Conscience, is more than heart can hold. 0 leave meforever leave me; and let me be entirely lost-to feel that
treason against right is right. Stay not to be a canker, a
worm, a disease gnawing at my heart. Let me call for
the birds of prey, for the vultures of hell, to pick at my
vitals-for the dogs of the Tartarean gulf to tear and
devour my flesh-for floods of fire to roll over and swallow
me up forever, rather than to suffer thy tortures-to be
oppressed, weighed down, with a sense of obligation to the
right, when all the rest of my being makes me its unyielding, eternal foe! Die, perish, holy but ungrateful monitor,
that I may live of thee unmolested, in the depth and madness of all other woe!'
"' ( No, no,' exclaimed my guide, with a malicious smile,
'thou hast turned coward too soon. Come, at the bottom
of the soul there is a ray of brightness often, when all else
are fled. Descend we to another deep of wisdom. For
this time, it shall be thy last.'
"Following him, as before, down, down, down, I entered
into another vast apartment, lighted by a most flattering
but dubious and unsatisfying gloom. Taking my seat, as
usual, I felt the pressure of his two fingers again on the
opposite sides of my head.
"' What now V' he inquired.
"' Ay, I know not what,' said I. 'It is not hope-nay,
it is hope; but how strange! It does not resemble such
hope as mortals have, and yet carries its features well. It
is a hope in doing wrong. It is centered in whatever may
oppose itself to good. Sin, rebellion, mutiny, treason to
heaven, and rage, and fierce revenge, and plots of deep





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


93


and subtile purpose, such as may, perchance, succeed against
the Almighty and hurl him from his seat-these are now
my hope; and yet this hope, stabbed by reason, maddened
by fear, condemned by conscience, is pushed on to powerful despair. Despair is powerful. It is the insanity of
hope; and insanity is often stronger than sanity. It sometimes breathes resistless valor into timid breasts. It raises
the fearful fawn to turn upon its pursuer, and makes a
vulture of the dove. Come, then, fell despair, be thou my
hope; and heaven may yet tremble, when thou shalt marshal all thy rage! Nay, but he is almighty, I can not; he
all good, I ought not; every power and passion of my
nature wars, by turns, upon my purpose; and that purpose
is nothing but the loss of every expectation but of eternal
woe! Come woe, come ruin, come whatever lies next
above annihilation, which I covet but can not have, and
bury me in deep oblivion, where no thought of life, no ray
of light, no beam of goodness, no hope of unwished mercy,
no look of hateful love, may ever reach me more! Nay,
O God-" I will live"-this last, deepest, deathless element
survives to torture me forever; and forever I am doomed
to live the black death of unchangeable despair!'
"' Now thou hast pricked the worm, which coils eternally
about thy heart, to sting thy soul forever, and pierce thee
with undying pangs. This, without thy other tortures,
would alone be hell. That hell thou carriest in thee. It
is thyself, from whom thou canst never make one brief
remove. Always to be thyself is hell. Fire, and all physical tortures, would be harmless here. Depraved by sin,
with thy memory harrowing up thy recollection of better
days, with thy reason condemning all thy former course,
with thy imagination filling thee with the most fearful
shapes, with thy best affections centered in the love of sin,





94


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


with thy anger raging against the essence of all good, and,
worst of all, with thy deathless conscience for ever damning
thee with its intolerable rebukes-this, lost one, is hell.
This is the hell we feel; and thou shalt sink deeper and
deeper in it, while the cycles of eternal ages roll!'
"' Is there, then, no retrieve V'
"' None.'
" 'Is there no speculation, no tradition handed down, of
some period, however far away in the depths of revolving
ages, when some change for the better may arrive?'
" ' None whatever.'
"' Is there no hope, that the soul, worn out with pain,
will sink beneath its load and die?'
"' No, never! every moment gives it new capacity to
suffer woe. There will come a time, when thy grown
heart shall hold more torment, than all the suffering sons
of cursed Adam ever knew by poverty, disease, misfortune,
flood, or fire! Thou shalt afterward carry more pain than
all hell itself now knows. Thy being's law is growth.
Hadst thou come here with a heaven-formed character,
heaven itself could not now furnish thee a measure of thy
future joy; but, with a mind bred to sin, there is naught
before thee but the deeper and deeper depths of insufferable agony and despair!  Look thou upon those awful
deeps, where shapes of misery thicken and blacken as thy
vision travels down! Behold them, descending, descending, descending toward the bottomless abyss of woe! Mark
the dial face of that massive clock above thee, whose pendulum ticks ages instead of seconds; and every time the
hammer of it hits the doleful bell, the word forever-forever-forever-rolls and reverberates through the deep
caves of hell! As I lay this crown upon thy head, which
shall touch thy faculties into tenfold life, harrowing them





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


95


all up to their horrid work, I leave thee, as thou didst first
desire, to wander thy way down alone!'
" No sooner had the crown fairly settled upon my head,
than every power and propensity of my perverted nature
rose into a rage of activity, which I had never known before.
If the excitement of a single faculty, under the successive
touches of my instructor, could cause me such insufferable
agonies, what words shall express the repeated hells of their
combined and concentrated action! Like one on fire with
delirium, I ran down the rapid descent, from hall to hall,
flight after flight, determined, as soon as possible, to reach
the lowest level of the strange edifice, and thence plunge at
once into the last abyss of ruin; but, when the awful verge
was gained, and the plunge made, and I found myself descending through regions of thick darkness to an unknown
and perhaps unexisting bottom, a cringing horror took such
possession of me, that I awoke from the frightful vision,
which, in spite of the cold snow on which I was lying, had
caused great drops of perspiration to stand upon my forehead. On fully awaking, I started up, and discovered a
richly-figured tunic reposing upon the bank beside me.
Regarding it instantly as a signal of Providence that my
penances had now reached the needful limit, I joyfully
seized the token; and, arraying myself in it, I have ever
since worn it, both as a memorial and a talisman. The
only remaining affliction left to humble me in my latter
years, is, that, though now far gone in the sear and decrepitude of age, I am doomed to the appearance of the vigor,
the beauty, and the buoyancy of youth."
At the conclusion of this terrific speech, the old cripple
in the corner sat motionless, with his eyes glassy with horror, his countenance pale and ghastly, the very image of
amazement lost in fearful meditation.





CHAPTER IX.


A KNOWING WITNESS.
"Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer."
SHAKSPEARE.
Deceivers are sometimes themselves deceived-A Court sits-A Wit.
ness is examined-The Witness is somewhat embarrassed-Questions but not Answers-A Golden Idea-A Small Gold Mine-The
Mystery thickens.
AT the conclusion of this long speech, gathering his robe
about him with thumb and finger as at first, the monk very
meekly sat down amid the astonishment and admiration he
had raised. All eyes were staring upon him, as if he had
just dropped from the upper world. Like Saul of Tarsus,
he had been, it was true, a great sinner; but his subsequent career had been crowned with a penitence equal,
also, to that of the great apostle. His strange and severe
penances had particularly excited their wonder and approbation; and they looked upon his dream as a real ascent
into the spiritual state, whence he had been permitted to
bring down revelations concerning the final issues of earthly
vice and virtue. Such a holy reverence for his character
stole into them, as he was passing through the details of his
experience, that, when he had ceased speaking, they scarcely knew whether to regard him as a mortal living on the
verge of heaven, or as an immortal just risen from the dead.
One thing, however, is very certain. With all the wildness
and occasional extravagance of that narrative, there was
more philosophy, more sound sense, more religion in it





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


97


than had ever before been listened to within those walls;
and the reader may think it strange that Thomas, whoever
he might be, unless he was a philosopher, or a genius of
the highest mold, could thus hastily conjure up a fiction
so characterized by external attractiveness and intrinsic
truth. The mystery will be solved, when we come to know
who this Thomas was; and a discussion of this question,
at this very time, is the chief excitement at the court of
Paris.
Sampson had been duly apprehended by the courier, and
carried back to the capital, where a court council was convened by Richelieu to listen to the testimony of the honest
groom. The king, queen, queen-mother, the Duchess de
Chevreuse, Henrietta Maria, and several household ministers, were admitted as spectators. Richelieu stood as prosecutor; for he was the man never to commission others
with what he could do himself; and the present case, he
had the sagacity to see, augured him no good.
Sampson, feeling more like a criminal than a witness, was
conducted to the stand, where he took off his French cap,
and bowed like a perfect specimen of a Frenchman, as he
was. There was no little dignity mingled with his fear and
obsequiousness; for he was conscious of the magnitude of
his crime, and probably looked forward to the Bastile, or
the guillotine, with a genuine French pride.
" Do you know," said the cardinal-duke, rising up with
that carelessness, which he always assumed when engaged
in matters at all bearing upon himself--" do you know,
good Sampson, the age, language, manners, personal appearance, names, character, or country, of the persons you
lately served in the line of your profession? We desire
you to be minute in your description; for the sticking of a
pin will sometimes reveal a treason or a murder."
E





98


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


"Ay, sir," ejaculated Sampson, "there was no murder,
sir, at all, sir; only I, sir, your poor servant, sir, came near
dying by the fall, or, as you would say, the fault of my
horse, sir. There was, sir, no-"
" No, no," interrupted the cardinal, " I presume not;
but will you tell us what you saw, or heard, or suspected,
or drew by inferences, touching the age, language, manners, habits, dress, voice, appearance, size, height, weight,
names, appellations, disposition, character, destination, or
country of these strangers 1 Deal in circumstances, if you
will, honest man."
" Circumstances!" exclaimed Sampson. " There were
no circumstances, sir. It was just a plain, straight-forward,
fair, honorable transaction, sir. You see, sir, I was only,
sir-"
" Hold!" interrupted Richelieu, while the court were
beginning to smile at the groom's embarrassment and the
minister's impatience. "Tell me only what I have commanded you. What were the ages, think you, of the travelers?"
" Of the one, sir, that came to speak the horses and my
help, sir, at the break of dawn, or, as you might say, sir,
the opening of heaven's gate, sir?"
"Yes, yes, of either," growled the cardinal, " only tell
us something quickly."
" He might be thirty, sir. Were he just from Scotland,
sir, and wished to pawn himself for my oldest daughter,
sir, I should add five years more to make her safe, sir."
"Say nothing more of your daughter, Sampson," said
Richelieu, " but give an account of that person's general
and particular appearance, when he came to you."
"He appeared, sir, both generally and particularly, sir,
inside and outside, for all the world, sir, exactly like-like-"





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


99


"Like what?"
"Why, sir, exactly like a monk, sir."
" Gave he no signs of being any thing but a monk I"
" None."
"What language, or dialect, or brogue, did he speak."
"He spoke like a French monk, sir."
" Was there no hesitation, no repetition, no loss of accent, no drowning of a syllable, no timidity of utterance, by
which a foreign birth could be conjectured?"
" Ay, sir, as to that, sir, you see, sir, I am not a graduate
of the Sorbonne, sir. I live principally among horses, sir;
and they, sir, are sorry grammarians indeed, sir. But you
see, sir, the one I rode off, sir-"
"But the monk's language?"
"Was exactly the language of a monk, sir."
"What were his manners I"
"Rustic, but not rude, with a mingling of ease and pious
gentleness-the manners of his order, sir."
"Did he give you his name, Sampson?"
" He did not, sir, may it please you, sir."
"Did you hear his companion speak to him 1"
" That I did, sir, your grace. They had much conversation on the road, sir. They discoursed, first and chiefly, sir,
of the noble steeds, sir, which-"
" That is enough of the conversation; but by what name
did his companion address him?"
" By the holy name of Thomas, sir. He called him
Thomas, sir, like a true monk, sir, and nothing more, sir,
may it favor your highness, sir."
" Under what name, or title, or appellation, did Thomas
recognize his fellow-traveler?"
"Under the yet holier name of John, sir, the name of
that disciple, sir-"





100


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


" Never mind the disciples, Sampson. We are investigating, perchance, the characters and designs of masters.
What know, judge, infer, or suspect you, Sampson, inii relation to the subject of character?"
"Nothing, sir, not ever a word, sir."
"Had they no airs, no stately walk, no tossings of the
head, no inalienable habits, which, properly interpreted,
would act the traitor to their purpose?"
"Their airs, sir, were meek and holy, sir. I know not, sir,
whether they tossed their heads, sir, or were tossed by the
mettle of their horses' heels, sir. Their habits, sir-ah!
there is too deep philosophy for a stabler, sir; and as to
their walk, sir, they did not walk at all, sir. They were
both mounted, sir."
The cardinal was really puzzled, or rather vexed, by
the answers of honest Sampson. After repeating several
of the above questions, and putting some of them over and
over to the courier, he dismissed them both from the court,
and sat down with his head leaning doubtfully upon his
hands. A thought struck him. Up he started as if inspired, and ordered Sampson to be recalled. The poor groom
came trembling ten times worse than at first; for he now
thought, sure enough, that his time was come.
"Did you serve these gentlemen gratis?" inquired Richelieu with spirit.
" Counting the loss of my three horses, sir, I nearly did,
sir; or, as you would say, was poorly paid for my trouble,
sir."
" What did the monks pay you?" sternly asked the cardinal.
This was a searching question. It could not be evaded.
Sampson, seeing his situation with true French instinct, and
wishing to show no reluctance in giving information to the





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


101


cardinal, honestly stepped forward and handed the minister the purse thrown him by the flying Thomas. The reader should have seen the eagerness with which Richelieu
seized it; for it is impossible to paint the subdued ardor of
that deep man's countenance, when any of his measures
seemed to be ripening to a successful issue. He saw, at
once, that the purse had been the property of no less a
character than a prince, or a nobleman. Untying carefully the ribbon that bound it, he turned it up to pour out its
contents upon his table. Down dropped the gold coin like
a shower, tumbling from the table, and rolling upon the
floor in rich profusion. Seizing one of the pieces, the cardinal held it up in triumph. It was an English guinea.
When gathered up, they all were found to be of the same
mint and metal. The giver of them was an English prince,
or lord, or nobleman, traveling in disguise, perhaps as a
spy, through the French territories. But see! the cardinal holds up the purse again, which he fingers and shakes
by turns, as if bent on getting another harvest of gold from
its capacious little bosom; when, lo! down falls a paper,
a billet, upon the table. It was not sealed. The cardinal
snatched it up, at the same time begging the court to listen
to its contents. He read as follows:
" To the one who can understand--He who saw thee was
a friend. Trust him; he will not betray thee. Sympathy
for thy misfortunes prompts this communication. More,
should we ever meet again.
"T THE WITNESS."
As the cardinal read this paper, he sent his eye round
the company. All but two countenances were calm, though
eager. On those two the crimson mounted up in spite of





102            THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
effort. 'They were the faces of the queen and the youthful
duchess. Fixing his eye upon them, he increased their
embarrassment, by thus drawing the attention of the whole
court and company upon them. The deed was now done.
Suspicion was at once fixed. The hound was fairly set;
the track was open; and there was a determination that
never missed its game.





CHAPTER X.
REAL APPARITIONS.
"A horrid specter rises to my sight,
Close by my side, and plain and palpable,
In all good seeming and close circumstance,
As man meets man."
JOANNA BAILLIE,
"And not in vain he listened: Hush! what's that?
I see-I see-Ah no! 'tis not-yet'tisYe Powers! it is the-the-the-pooh!--the catI!"
BYRON.
Truths are spoken in Jest-A Reverie on the three-fold Life-The Spiritual World not far from us, could we see it-A Ghost is seen-A
Dialogue with the Apparition-A strange Feat of Legerdemain-A
premature Departure.
I HAVE known men to say in mirth what they afterward
experienced to their sorrow. It was somewhat so with
Thomas during his night at the convent of St. Louis. Little
did he think, when inventing those strange accounts of
spiritual visitors, that he was preparing his own mind, however steeled by his knowledge of their speculative character,
for real alarm at the first shadow, or circumstance, which
he might not be able to unravel.
In the middle of the night, when the convent was
entirely still, and the sleep of the sleepers was rendered
doubly profound by the continued roaring of the wind,
Thomas lay upon his comfortable pallet wide awake.
The inventions of his fancy were still running through his
head.
"There is," said he, "a spiritual world without doubt.





104


THE SHOULDER-KNOT


Man, in part physical, in part mental, is also spiritual in his
composition. By virtue of the physical, he becomes acquainted with the physical universe, and lives a physical
life. As a mental being, he rises up to the comprehension
of those ideas, which, in such a boufidless variety of forms,
float through the intellectual world.  In his spiritual
capacity, then, why may he not soar yet higher, and enter
into some actual communion, while here below, with those
immaterial natures, which dwell all around us in the world
of spirits? The physical man sees nothing in a landscape,
or in the heavens above him, but the fertility of the soil and
the means of supporting and developing this material
quality. Touch, now, his soul with the finger of intellectuality, and, added to this mere productiveness of the earth
and skies, he beholds forms of knowledge, rays of intelligence, and lines of beauty. Why, then, if he is touched
again with the touch of spirituality, may he not mount to a
still higher style of being, and make every thing in nature
an object-glass to carry his vision into the spiritual universe
about him?
"As the intellectual world none the less exists, and
that within and around each one of us, however the mere
physical man may grope his way along, without ever
getting a solitary glimpse of it, so an intellectual man,
though also physical, who has risen only to the second
sphere of his capability, may be stark blind to the spiritual
existences that stand thick on every side of him; and it is
probable that we are daily, hourly, constantly, living in the
midst of myriads of unseen beings, who are invisible only
because we open not, as we might, the organs of our highei
vision.
"Three natures, three lives, three visions, three worlds,
the humblest man carries, at all times, within him. Most





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


105


men are contented with the first; a select minority rise
into the second; and only here and there a seer, a prophet,
a complete man, attains to the fullest and highest development of his whole essence in the third. What a world is
this, where the millions live only the physical life-the life
of brutes; where only the hundreds seek dignity and pleasure from the intellectual life; and where an age must strive
and labor, and often fruitlessly, to show us one, who, without neglect or disrelish of these two, exhibits the proportions and perfections of this third and last apocalypse of
our mysterious being! But, hush! what is that I"
He heard the creak of a door opening slowly and
stealthily. A glimmering light next breaks in; and, in a
moment more, he sees the form of an English knight, as
familiar as his own face, creeping toward his bedside, with
a burning taper in his hand. The figure was completely
dressed, in full knightly uniform, even to his boots and spurs.
Drawing his feet up, and then setting them down again
with special caution, as if bent on walking like a noiseless
ghost, as he seemed to be, he gradually approached the
pillow of the monk Thomas, who was lying in breathless
horror of the apparition. Rising up, with an air of boldness, the monk accosted the spirit in a tone of authority,
though his stiffening hair, and his chill cheeks, and the ague
creeping through him, stifled his voice a little in its utterance:
"Hold! whatsoever, or whosoever, thou art! Approach
not a step nearer till I know thee!"
" Nay, duke, fear not thy trusty servant," rejoined the
spirit.
"Of what make a servant? Thy mold is good enough."
"Of true flesh and blood. Let not thy imagination
trouble thee. Hear me, noble duke; listen to my voice
rile





106


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


See! am I not natural? Dost thou not know thy faithful
slave, thy master of the stables?"
"If thou art, in truth, what thy features argue thee, Sir
Richard Graham, my well-affected master of the horse, say
it; and I will trust, against reason, that it is so."
" I am thy Richard, truly; and my life is to demonstrate
the truthfulness of my affection."
"But, if so, how comest thou hither?  Speak, ghost! for
I shall not believe thee fully, till thou prove thyself."
" Thy gracious sovereign, the great James, fearing for
thy safety, sent me in quest, charged to lose my life to save
a hair of thee. I come post firom London. At Boulogne
I was known; but I bought my way along with useful
guineas. At Paris my toes nearly touched thy heels; and
I pursued thee with what metal thou didst leave behind
thee. Despairing to overtake thy speed, I sought a nearer
path, and found it. By the killing of a noble steed, I was
two hours thy senior in the convent of St. Louis; but,
coming under cover of a common trader, with a huge overcoat disguising my knightly trappings, and being admitted
as a layman to sit only at a side-door during the evening's
entertainment, my tongue was of no service to me. My
ears, though good my lord, gave august reports of thy
philosophy. My lord of Verulam must take thee, on our
return, for a partner. Thou wouldst well counterpoise the
material bearings of his method. But of this, no more.
Where lies the prince?"
"As my stable-boy, my hostler, my drudge, he sleeps with
the menials of the convent. Poor fellow! When he lies
softly, some night hence, on the downy pillows of his bridal
bed, lost amid the showers of damask curtains and richly
gilt tassels, with a fire of rose-wood at once lighting and
scenting his apartment, he will remember this night's





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


107


lodging. But, sir, the prince is a great dissembler. He
can play a trick better than is becoming a royal person;
and I can tell thee truly, this suit of his at Madrid is, from
this time, nothing but a traveler's curiosity mixed rankly
with dissimulation. He has left his heart at Paris in the
unconscious keeping of the black-eyed Henrietta, whom he
saw, by accident, at a court festival. We both beheld, too,
Anne of Austria, the young queen of Louis."
" Fame speaks of her as very beautiful."
" As charming as a Venus!"
"But chaste 1"
"As Lucretia."
"Her eyes are black, methinks?"
"As black, as brilliant, as polished ebony. The very
stars are not more lustrous. Her hair falls in loose ringlets upon her white neck and shoulders. Her face is mild
and soft. Her form, the perfection of grace and symmetry.
When she walks, it is the movement of the ideal of majesty
incarnate. But the weak, jealous, cruel king loves her not.
He can not love her."
" Can not?"
"No, he can not. She is too far above him; for,
Richard, love is the fruit of sympathy. There must be a
unison of nature between true lovers. All other loves are
spurious, counterfeit, fictitious. The religious precept' Be ye not unequally yoked together'-is enough to prove
the divinity of the Scriptures. Neglect of this sacred
maxim has filled the world with conjugal unhappiness. No,
sir, Louis loves her not; and she loves not, with all her
meek submission and gentleness, the jealous, perjured,
fickle monarch."
" Pity that marriages, as goes the proverb, are not truly
made in heaven!"





108


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


"Pity that heaven, in decreeing marriage, had not
revealed a mode by which unhappy wedlocks could be
safely and innocently unfastened! Then should the rent
heart of Anne be quieted!"
"Enough!"
" Nay, 'tis not enough, Sir Richard, till I tell thee plainly,
that I feel commissioned, by the force of circumstances, to
aid that wretched woman out of the depth of her distresses.
Louis, I say again, she does not, her he can not, love. Him
she would gladly fly. I know it. From her own lips I
know it; and if God so choose, the wings she prays for
shall molt and plume from this passing moment. Seal that,
good Sir Richard, and lend me what skill thou hast in such
business."
"As the needle to the pole, and as the pole to the
heaven's center, so turn my purposes to thine. Speak, and
I am with thee!"
"So. But what news bringest thou from England?"
" All Britain is astir at thy departure. James, to fly all
questioning, has retreated to the country, where he passes
his time in his favorite sport of the field and forest. The
Catholics have a jubilee of hope from this Spanish match.
The Protestants are in wrath at the prospect of the dangerous connection. Thou wert pursued, and nearly taken, by
the messengers of the Parliament. At Calais thou wert
discovered. Nor was thy stay at Paris so much a secret.
My Lord Herbert, our embassador, running to the French
Secretary's before day-dawn, on the day of thy departure
from that capital, would needs drag him from his bed to
tell him a great mystery, and solicit his connivance. The
Secretary, sending by his maid that he knew his lordship's
errand and his own duty, slept on again. But Richelieu
never sleeps. No sooner did he learn the circumstance,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


109


that two strange Englishmen in disguise were traveling
through France, than the fleetest courier of Paris must make
after. The rest thou knowest; only that I know better
than thou the necessity of dispatch at this instant. An
hour's delay may lose us all. France is roused and will
pursue. But still! we are now discovered. I'll blow my
light."
"Nay, good Richard, kill not so good a friend, till
necessity compels thee. Cover it till we see."
"No, my chapeau shall so cover it that we can not see."
The same door, through which Sir Richard had entered,
now creaked again upon its rusty hinges.
" WVho's there?" cried he, who should have been the
sleeper.
" The monk John," replied the voice; for there was
nothing visible.
" To prove that thou art John, and not a night-thief, or
a walking spirit, tell me whom thou most lovest. That
shall be thy watch-word."
"That would be a question for the Donna Maria; but,
I am come to tell thee, what my heart can no longer hold,
that my wife shall never be a Spaniard."
"What country, then, most worthy Prince, should have
the glory of giving birth to her?"
" Were that country Egypt, or Tartarus, her first name
shall be Henrietta, and her second Maria, speak who will
counter to my purpose."
" Thou art certainly free from parables. There can be
no debate upon thy meaning."
"' The sense of a determined, not to say an honest, man,
is ever plain and pointed."
" But what of the first Maria? If she is to be abandoned,
thus openly, why post to MadridI"





110


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


" Have not I a father?  Has not he made pledges?
Does not the King of Spain hold that father's oath of
espousal? Has not mine been plighted with it? Must
not the Catholics of our realm be appeased by at least
appearances of honor? Will the holy father, the Pope,
give us no hinderance, if we keep not up a fair beseeming? Look, did the stream of matrimony ever run on a
plummet rule? Or winds it not, this way and that, according to the obstructions offered?"
" Nay, your highness knows, as the great philosopher of
Verulam has taught us both, that the motions of all fluids
are governed by a single law. They are all drawn toward
the earth's center by the force of gravity."
" Most true, my lord, and the center to which the currents of a man's heart do run, is the one he loves. She is
the pole-star of his existence; and the boreal beauties, that
stream up and dance upon his darkest midnight's horizon,
are but the changeful hues in the robe of her high potency.
I have told thee where the star of my destiny has arisen."
" Good your highness, see how dark it is! This outward blackness well betokens the inner midnight of our
condition. Royal persons marry not but as the victims of
kingly intrigues, parliamentary interferences, and popular
captiousness. Well may the proudest prince envy the
easy liberty of his meanest subject. Thou hast, thou sayest, but one star to shine upon thy pathway; but how
many clouds may tower up to blot it fiom thy vision! I,
too, shall I tell thee plainly, have seen, in imagination, the
unvailed face of my night's royal queen, throwing her mild
sweet light over all my future; but who shall foreshadow
the tempests that may spring up to cover me forever with
felt darkness!"
" No, my lord, say not in imagination. Tell me truly,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


111


as I have been true with thee. Was it not face to face
that thou didst see her? Come, play no monkery upon me
Thomas!"
" So, John, but only a little witchery. Another time
will better befit such conversation. By the magic of this
ringed-finger, by the power of a secret talisman, by the
virtues of this caballa-resurgo, resurgere, resurrectus-I
command thee, Sir Richard, master of my princely stables,
to cross water, scale mountains, travel forests, fly all enemies,
and, with a lighted taper, rise up before me!"
" What wouldst thou, noble duke, with thy familiar servant?" exclaimed Sir Richard, starting up from his concealment, uncovering his taper, and holding it out before
him; "for thy word is ever the eleventh commandment to
my most Christian duty."
The prince would have been appalled at this sudden
apparition, had he not before had a thousand proofs of the
depth of the duke's genius, the fertility of his invention,
and the art by which he always made the most of every
event, or minute circumstance. Still, he was not a little
astonished at the spectacle, and stood back regarding it
with wonder. As there was small time left for explanations, so they were brief and satisfactory. The three friends
saw the necessity of dispatch. By the light of Sir Richard's
taper the duke dressed himself; when they crept softly
down into the great audience-room, where the duke had
been, but an hour or two before, the paragon of all piety.
Their labors were now divided. The prince was to show
Sir Richard the stalls where stood the horses; Sir Richard
was to prepare them for the journey; and the holy monk,
Thomas, was to creep through the convent, like a midnight
ghost and steal the key of the great gate, and have it open
ready for their departure. The monks, sleeping soundly, or





11iI


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


wandering widely in their dreams through hell, earth, and
heaven-verifying, it may be, the wonderful narrative of
their strange guest-could scarcely have been recalled to the
actualities about them, by the noise of thunder, or the confusion of a battle. Disguised as at first, and mounted as
they came, with Sir Richard, seated on the flaming steed of
honest Sampson, acting as a faithful pilot, the two monks
left the gate of the convent, two or three hours before daybreak, with their horses' heads pointing toward the walls
of Madrid.
When the brethren of the order rose next morning, they
could find no trace of their mysterious visitors, excepting a
small silk purse lying upon the hall table; but they ever
afterward, as the years rolled round, celebrated that evening by sitting about the same fire, and telling the same
experiences, and, above all, listening to some brother
appointed to represent the form, and to repeat, word
for word, the marvelous revelations of their second " St.
Thomas." Their legends still refer to it, as the most indubitable evidence of their doctrine of spiritual visitations.





CHAPTER XI.
MORE WITNESSES.
"Search not to find what lies too deeply hid,
Nor to know things whose knowledge is forbid."
DENHAM.
The Plot against Innocence is carried forward-A King and his Minister in secret Council-The Devil in white Garments-Messengers
are introduced-The Mystery is examined-It is partly unraveledBut the Remainder of it becomes more mysterious.
THE court of Paris was in great commotion. An uncertain, undefined, yet all-absorbing suspicion of the character
of Anne of Austria had newly risen up in the mind of
Louis, from the recent events of the French capital. The
artful Mary was plying all her powers to rouse the vengeance
of her weak-minded and jealous son. Richelieu, with a fertility of plan and a depth of malice never surpassed, was
still encompassing earth and heaven to revenge himself on
the too virtuous queen. The king himself, always open
to jealousy, too prejudiced to understand the true bearing
of events, and ever ready to find fault with his meek and
submissive wife, gave himself up to the representations and
designs of the cardinal with a willingness never paralleled
before. It seemed as if the day of her destruction had
now dawned.
Late on the second night after the examination of honest
Sampson, when the king had retired to his sleeping-room,
to brood over the evil suspicions of his heart, Richelieu
glided into the apartment, with scarcely a signal to notify
his coming. Louis, however, was accustomed to this famil




114


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


iarity in his favorite, and welcomed him with a complacent
smile; but the smile on the lips of the minister was one of
triumph, mingled with a look of malice, which he strove to
cover under the aspect of concern.
"You are late to-night, your grace," said Louis, rising
to embrace the cardinal; "your duties have been onerous
and important. You have my gratitude for your care.
Louis would make but a sorry monarch without such a
tireless friend."
" May it please your majesty," replied Richelieu, dissembling what he felt at heart, " Caesar himself were not
fit to be a minister to such a gracious king. My life should
be but the echo of your own; and when that echo ceases to
render true responses, may it dissipate and die in the thin
air!"
" Nay, if such a thing be possible, it shall be an immortal echo, repeating itself forever, when the voice that you
say created it has perished from the world. But tell me,
your grace, how the strict inquisition has found a close."
" Paris, sire," said the minister, taking a low seat by the
expiring fagots on the royal hearth, " Paris has been
searched as with a lighted candle for the twenty-four hours
last gone. Our Secretary qualifies himself that they were
Englishmen. Lord Herbert, the English embassador, has
been adroitly sounded, and, by his negatives, and periods,
and positive slips of the tongue, doubly assures us of the
same. Garrulous old men, and even women, who would
pry secrets from a dead man, have been sent out upon the
highways to idle and gossip with the multitude, and thus
draw this mystery to a head. Couriers, dispatched to
Calais and other points on the hither coast, are this moment ferreting out those who have taken bribes, or flying
back to Paris with the fruits of their energy and speed.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


115


Not a leaf, sire, in all this capital, lies where it did. The
very pebbles under foot have been taken up and questioned
of this thing. The secret must come out; for monarchs are
never safe, when riddles are left lurking about them unresolved."
" Thank you, most profoundly, good my lord cardinal,
for your unwearied love. But how do your suspicions
shadow forth the conclusion of all this search?"
" Nay, may it please your most noble majesty, let us
have no suspicions to outrun and falsify the evidence of
facts. Justice to the innocent, or innocence in the work of
justice-if it come to that-requires all openness, and candor, and impartiality at our hands. If she be guiltlesswhich may Heaven grant!-let her have all the sweet advantage of our charities. If she be proved faulty-which
may that same Heaven forbid!-let us yield not our beliefs,
till honor and patriotism demand it of us as a duty. This,
sire, is at least the answer of my heart, whatever the
head might dictate, if left to the cold calculations of uncharitable prudence."
"How   often has your grace admonished me of my
duty! Guilt and innocence are equally safe with him who
spares no effort to demonstrate and punish the one, or to
prove and protect the other! Every thing, henceforth,
shall follow your counsels. How, then, shall Louis bear
himself in these calamities?"
1" Like himself-a noble, magnanimous, impartial monarch! Let him wait to hear the reports of our several
messengers; and if they solve not this difficulty to his perfect satisfaction, there is one other measure, which can
scarcely fail to meet our purposes."
"But when shall we see these messengers?"
6" To-night."





116


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


" We will wait for them, and gather wisdom from their
responses."
"May it please you, sire, I must walk- to the palace
gate. The guard may have forgotten my strict orders to
admit the returned couriers, however contrary to law and
custom, at whatsoever time they may make their arrival.
I will go and return promptly."
The cardinal, having thus fully prepared, for the thousandth time, the weak and shallow mind of Louis to throw
itself implicitly into the hands of the artful minister, left
him for a season to his own reflections, which, he knew,
would be sure to rouse his jealousies to their full life. This
was the real motive of his retiring; though his restless
spirit could never get a moment's quiet, when threading
the intricate mazes of his many intrigues of malice or ambition. Between one step and another, until his work was
done, he could never suffer the intermission of an instant.
In a few moments, however, the cardinal, followed by a
courier, returned to the royal bedchamber, where he found
the king bending over the hearth, and stirring the dying
embers with profound thoughtfulness.
"Ha! they have come," said Louis, pushing his chair
back suddenly.
"Only one of them, sire. He comes from Calais."
" What news does he offer us?"
" That two Englishmen, dressed like traveling monks,
landed there but five nights since, whom an old woman,
who had been a linen draper in London, in other years,
saw and recognized."
"As whom?"
"As noblemen whom she had seen at the English
capital."
"Could she say aught more of them?"





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


117


"Nothing farther."
" Then this man's labor adds nothing to our information."
"But much to our certainty."
"True-but who comes there? Ay, it is another of
our trusty messengers. What news, my man V"
" Two noble Englishmen, may it favor your gracious majesty," replied the courier, "have landed at Calais, made
their way safely to this capital, spent two days and a night
at court, and are now speeding their way westward. This
is all that the winds, or the waves, or the sands those intruders walked upon, have responded to our importunities."
" Have been at court?"
"At court, sire, for thus far has our hard diligence
plainly tracked them."
"In what character came they to our royal mansion?"
"I can say nothing. My knowledge has nothing more
concerning them."
" But mark that, your most Christian majesty," said
Richelieu interposing, "they were at court. So far have
we now proceeded. They were at court, sire, two days
and a night. Listen, now, to this paper, just given me at
the gate. It will tell its own tale:
"' To the Cardinal-Duke de Richelieu, Premier, etc.In compliance with my duty, and with your gracious request, made known to me by your messenger this evening,
I have the honor to state, that two monks, strangers, foreigners I thought, though their French was nearly perfect,
with a little fullness of pronunciation like the English, on
the morning of the great court festival, called at my stall,
situated in an obscure part of the Rue de St. Honore, and
purchased two suits of mask apparel, without dropping any
hints as to their purposes. The suits were those of a Ger




118


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


man troubadour, or minnesinger, of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. I have nothing more.
" In submission, etc., most obediently your servant,
t 1 M. DELASSIER. "
"Mark, now," continued the cardinal, "the steps thus
far proven. They are Englishmen; they have been traced
from the sea-shore to Paris; they purchased masks at a
clothier's; in the disguise of German minstrels they attended
our late festival. We have only to learn with what intrigues, either of love, or war, they came hither, and whose
heart, unfriendly to the weal of France, they may have
fathomed and corrupted. Such is the fruit of this day's
business; and here we will let all drop, if you, sire, think
yourself safe in such a mesh of treasonable appearances.
Perhaps we would do well to halt, ere some foot is seen
to be ensnared, which we would feel but ill-inclined to
implicate."
" Nay, cardinal, your heart must not now give too much
scope to its deepest instinct-mercy. Your nature is all
too gentle. This business must be carried through, though
the king himself be called to spill his blood for it. If your
generous spirit lacks the gift of sternness, to qualify you for
this rough business, take it fiom my positive injunctions. I
command you to complete this scrutiny; and this ring, which
I now put upon your finger, shall, like a talisman, open
all doors, locks, bolts, bars, throughout my dominions, and
make you Louis, till your work is over. Go and hasten!"
Richelieu bowed a meek submission, and retired from
the royal presence, quite satisfied with the success of his
messengers, and elated with the new ascendency he had
gained by his dissimulation over the feeble monarch. He
now felt that the humiliation of the queen was certain.





CHAPTER XII.
PLOTS AND PLANS.
"Oh, lost to honor's voice! oh, doomed to shame!
Thou fiend accursed! thou murderer of fame!"
POPE.
A Soliloquy-Enemies are made Friends-The Friends know each other
too well to be deceived-A proud Man kneels-The Question of Jealousy and Love discussed-A Man profoundly versed in Human Nature-A Woman too impetuous to profit by what she knows of itFarther Development of the Plot.
THERE were only two things lacking to complete the
purposes of the cardinal. He had discovered the nationality of the'strangers; he had tracked them into the French
capital, and even into the royal palace; he had obtained
evidence of their departure and their destination. It only
remained to inquire who they were, and on what errand
they had visited the residence of his master. If, in any
way, he could connect their coming, or stay, with Anne of
Austria, and thus ruin her in the eyes of Louis and of all
Frenchmen, his dark heart would be fully satisfied; and
this he confidently expected, after his good beginning, he
would be able to accomplish; for he had not forgotten the
blushes, that mounted upon the cheeks of Anne and of the
beautiful duchess, when the billet was read on the examination of honest Sampson.
"Yes," said the cardinal, soliloquizing, as he walked
from the king's bedchamber to his own apartment, "yes,
I see the end, and the way to it. They were here. They
mixed in our masquerade at the festival. They wore the





120             THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
apparel of German song-singers. This is an unusual habit,
even for such occasions, and must have arrested some one's
attention. Who would be as likely to notice peculiarities
of dress as a woman; and what woman as much alive to
strange appearances, as the keen-eyed, jealous, watchful
queen-mother? Ay, if they were marked at all, it was by
the restless and penetrating glance of Mary. This night,
nay, this moment, I must see her; and thou, Anne, sleep
on in quiet, so long as thy peace remaineth, while the
tempest gathers that shall break with sudden fury on
thee!"
The cardinal entered his private parlor with a quick,
resolute step, where, to his amazement, he beheld the
queen-mother, the sleepless Mary, with a single attendant,
waiting for him. Having pried into the operations of
Richelieu, and, in spite of his duplicity, caught the drift of
his real purposes, she could not sleep till she slould know
them from his own lips more perfectly; and the time had
also come, as we have seen, when he, too, wished to make
her the confident and counselor of his intentions. He had
not before given her a glimpse of his foul undertaking;
for, though entirely with him in her hatred of the queen,
he could not trust so fiery a spirit in the incipient stages
of a deep and intricate movement.
" Ha! is it possible, my dear madam, that I have the
pleasure, so unexpected, of greeting thee at so unnatural a
season? What has disturbed thy slumbers, madam?"
"Such a thing as slumber, Mr. Cardinal, I have not seen
to-night; and I have come to seek an opiate to my troubled
bosom."
" Most willingly, gracious madam, would I pluck the
thorns from out thy nightly pillow, had I the hand to do it.
Sleep, gentle goddess, that seals the eyes of vulgar toil in





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


121


deep oblivious slumber, flies, like a fearful thing, the couch
of majesty.  Pale Thought, all tremulous with nervous
action, with his head hot from books or business, and with
a restless fancy, flitting, like the boreal rays, through the
whole hemisphere of existence, lies ruminating; while lusty
Ignorance, lost as soon as ever he drops upon his pillow,
instantly forgets a world, in which he has no great stake,
and sounds a sonorous requiem to his shallow or unheeded
sorrows. But tell me, madam, why sleepest thou not?"
"For the same that thou, good cardinal, art not now
buried in the down of cygnets."
"What reason, may it please thee, madam? for I am
dull to-night, in the loss of needed rest."
"Dull enough, cardinal, if thou thinkest to hide from
the mother of my Louis what most concerns her. Am I
a parrot, or a vulgar jackdaw, Mr. Cardinal, that thou
shouldst fear to share with me this mystery? Am I not
Mary, the wife, the mother, the sister, and the daughter of
kings? Am I to be trampled under foot, like a broken
vessel, by him who once breathed only because I deigned
to look upon him? Mark me, Richelieu, I am the offspring
of the Medicis, the widow of the great Henry; and remember that thou didst from my hand lap, like a small dog, the
nourishment that made thee the huge monster thou hast
grown. Remember, I repeat, that my name is Mary!"
" Nay, good madam, gracious and gentle mother of my
lord, deal not so sternly with thy true servant. Here I
kneel before thee, and, with this uplifted hand, do assever,
that, according to the hasty nature of this business, it did
not, till this moment, admit of counsel, when, as I do live,
I was on the point of sending to thee, soliciting thy attendance. Had those walls a tongue, madam, they would tell
thee so,"





122


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


"Make them vocal, then, and I will believe it. Mary
knows thee, Mr. Cardinal, and thou knowest Mary. But,
hush! rise and tell me all, without reserve, so thou dost
wish forgiveness."
The wily cardinal arose with meekness. He had not
knelt out of any fear of the queen-mother; for the king
was entirely at his own disposal; but Mary, the proudest,
haughtiest, and most passionate woman of her age, must be
in some way pacified; and Richelieu, as we have seen so
often, could soar or sink to any thing, which might further
his ambitious purposes. The queen-mother, satisfied with
his show of submissiveness, relaxed speedily into her softest mood, and turned a pleased ear to the tale which he
began to unfold to her. With the utmost minuteness he
told her every circumstance from the commencement, but
garnished the whole narrative with those colors which, he
knew, would make the picture more agreeable to the revengeful heart of his fair auditor. When the cardinal had
concluded, Mary, raising and letting fall her hand with
emphasis, gave characteristic utterance to her opinion.
" Now," said she, "now is the time to crush her!"
" True enough, madam, it is a fit opportunity to lessen
the evil of her influence over the king, and in these his
royal dominions; but there is an unscaled barrier between
our purpose and its completion."
" Lessen! say not lessen, but annihilate, good Mr. Cardinal. Thou art lost in too much mildness; but what is
that mountain which is so discouragingly mentioned?"
" We have not shown, by trusty evidence, what connection there was between the strangers and the queen, at the
late festival; nor do I yet see how the proof is to be wrung
from the few circumstances I have given thee."
" Thou art dull enough, good cardinal, as thou sayest.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


123


Did not these eyes, which had no rest that night, till they
spied out her identity-did not these eyes, I say, behold
her issue from beneath a mimic mountain crag, whence,
the next moment, the two German minstrels hastily and
stealthily followed her? Was Mary asleep, good sir, in
the full blaze of that night's opportunities? I am not the
sloth, perchance, thou thinkest me."
"Is it possible?"
"Quite possible, Mr. Cardinal."
"Yet, madam, I have a thought here. Thou wouldst
not be willing, methinks, to attaint thy son's wife with
treason, upon thy single evidence. It would seem most
unwomanly."
" Tell me not, sir, what seems. I know the seems of
mortals, and the seams, too, of this world, as well as thou,
and how the affairs of life are stitched together by the cunning needle and thread of custom. Yet, tell me nothing,
sir, that stands between this hand, and the deep, utter, and
everlasting humiliation of that Austrian-beauty!"
"Nay, madam, suffer me to suggest, that moderation is
the strength of counsel."
"Moderation! And is this the moderation thou advisest,
that I, so long the butt of her mirth and arrogance, must
now be as tame as a slave, when the time has come to
thrust these talons into her? Talk not of moderation to
me, sir!"
" But we must not run rashly upon the prerogative and
passion.of the king, madam. Anne is the wife of Louis,
we must constantly remember."
"His prerogatives I understand, which, unless thou art
false, thou hast now in thy possession; but what thou meanest by his passion needs comment to make it intelligible.
Louis has no passion but hatred toward this Austrian."





124


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


" Is he not jealous of her? Does not that hatred, as
thou callest it, take the form of jealousy?"
" And so it favors mightily our purpose."
" Ah, madam, thy haste doth blind thee, the keenest
critic of human passions. Is not jealousy ever the fruit of
love? Is a man jealous of her concerning whom he is indifferent?  Do we not barely loathe whom we can not
love? Mark me, madam. There is love, however smothered, where there is jealousy; and that which metes the one is
the measure of the other. At the bottom of the young king's
heart, though he may not believe it, there lies a substratum of affection for this southern lady, or he would throw
her from his remembrance as a piece of worthless copper;
and if we are to prosper in this deep business, and run no
risk of rousing that choked and suffocated passion, we
must show that slowness that shall argue sound aversion
to our work, and commend us, whether successful or unsuccessful, to his confidence."
" All as thou sayest, profound man; but I, as his mother,
have a right to add, that he is weak in natural disposition,
and will give us no great trouble in the final management
of this undertaking."
"Again hast thou, madam, forgotten the lessons of human
nature. Weakness is another name for fickleness; and
should the wind so blow as to change the direction of his
views and purposes, we might be doomed to rue the consequences. Weakness, too, when set in its own confidence,
is obstinacy; and all the world can not move a weak man,
when the pride of personal importance is once up in him.
A strong man, madam, is much easier for a stronger man
to manage, than a weak one."
" Thou art as deep as ever, Richelieu."
"In nothing deep, good madam. These are shallow





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


125


things in our philosophy; but there is an art, which we
must use in the sequel of these proceedings, which lies
somewhat below the surface of common practice."
" Speak, for thou knowest the soul, as I know my prayer
book."
" The art, madam, of all government is submission. If
a maid wishes to lead her lover, she must court his preju
dices and fancies. If a wife would rule her husband, she
must worship his opinion, and ingraft every twig of her
desire on some branch of his ambition. If a king would
sway his subjects, he must openly bow to their smaller
whims, that they may learn to applaud his larger undertakings. Or, mark me, if a subject would control a king,
events must be so contrived, and so laid upon his heart,
that he may dream himself to be no less a master, when
he is but the servant of another's will. A king is the incarnation of sovereignty, the representative of dominion,
the personality of law; and he who so mistreats him, as to
wound that conscious personality, in which all his glory
lies, wherein he feels himself to be himself, commits a suicide upon his own dearest aims. He, though, who lives to
please and serve his sovereign, or can make him think he
does, will soon find that sovereign ruling only in his pleasures, while he leaves the work of royalty to his minister.
Stroke a lion on his head, not pluck his beard, if thou
wouldst have him lie, like a purring kitten, at thy feet.
What thinkest thou, madam?"
"Thinkest?-that thou art the deepest, cunningest plottingest man in France, governing the monarch of it by
making him believe that thou art his slave. But how am
I to apply all this to the work in hand V"
" Has not the queen a servant?"
" The Duchess de Chevreuse."





126


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


" Is she not the confidante of her mistress?"
" Too faithful, I fear, to serve our wishes."
"But she is ambitious, and loves promotion and display."
" Or, as I presume thou thinkest, she would not be a
woman."
"If gold, or station, will not buy her, why, then, force
can be employed, as a last resort."
" Why not as the first? I thirst for a most speedy vengeance on this pretty wench of Austria."
" But, by over-haste, the classic herald lost his breath,
and could not tell his errand, when he had gained the
race. Moderation, madam, I must repeat, is oftentimes the
quickest speed; and we must vote what the king will willingly decree; for, if he needeth urging, our urgency will
betray our interest in the stake, and so defeat us. We must
work through the jealousy of Louis. He must be roused
to a betrayed lover's madness. We must then seem to
reason against his furiousness; but the arguments must be
such as will the more enrage him. Then, if the deed prosper, we shall have the credit of being the ministers of the
king's justice; but if it fail, and he, in his weakness, afterward relent, then we may each turn round and say,' Did I
not tell thee so ' "
"O thou! wert thou not a priest, a cardinal, the pope's
holy vicar, I should call thee, devil; for the Prince of
Tartarus could never prove himself more like an angel in
his foul plots and purposes. But tell me, if the duchess
reject all bribes, what compulsions dost thou meditate?"
"First, those of honor."
"What after honor?"
"Those of fear."
" Then what V"





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


127


" There is nothing, madam, but pain."
" Would it were the first! But what pain? Of mind or
body, cardinal?"
" Honor and fear are the mental motives; when I speak
of pain, I mean of body."
" Thou art a blessed cardinal. Let it be pain of body.
Put her to the torture. Screw her thumbs. Tie her wrists.
Pinch and probe her flesh. Let her have full-Spanish treatment for her ardor to her half-Spanish mistress."
" The steel, madam, shall go to her soul, if she keep that
a secret, of which our aims require a revelation. That I
tell thee!"
"O good cardinal, worshipful Duke de Richelieu, most
noble man and minister! How my whole heart goes after
thee in the utterance of that great intention! How could
I now set this foot upon these beauties, and crush them, like
noxious worms, into the dust beneath me! But I leave
them to thy better skill and judgment."
"Trust me, madam-but, hark! I hear the cock's shrill
signal-note of morning; and, see! through this open casement breaks the first faint blush of daylight. Aurora comes
tripping over the distant hill-tops, scattering her pearls and
dewy flowers upon the primrose paths of early risers; and
the world, waking from its quiet slumbers, refreshed by
balmy sleep, goes forth to honest labor. But go thou,
madam, to thy short rest, and leave me to my tasks and
undertakings."
" But when do we meet again?"
" This night at ten."
" Where."
"In the king's apartment, where, so it please thee, we
will ply his heart with skillful practice, till he command us
to do at once his bidding and our wishes."





CHAPTER XIII.
A PHILOSOPHER'S OPINION.
"The soul on earth is an immortal guest,
Compelled to starve at an unreal feast;
A spark which upward tends by nature's force;
A stream, divided from its parent source;
A drop, dissevered from the boundless sea;
A moment, parted from eternity;
A pilgrim, panting for the rest to come;
An exile, anxious for his native home."
HANNAH MORE.
A Ride through a French Forest-One Rider is quite merry-He falls
into a philosophical State of Mind and discourses largely of the Manner in which we may establish a Belief of the Spiritual Life.
THE three horsemen continued their progress toward the
Spanish capital. The roads were difficult, and, in places,
almost impassable; but the riders, mounted on steeds of
great agility and power, made light of every obstacle, leaping a ditch, or a bog, or a fallen forest-tree, as a huntsman
would a hedge. Meeting with little or no travel, and
guarded by the unfathomed depths of primeval forests,
they threw themselves aloose upon their wit and humor, and
made the wild woods, and the very roof of heaven, echo to
their mirthfulness.
The duke was particularly merry over his night at the
convent, and roundly remarked, that it was the most
romantic and interesting one he had ever known. He
averred that he never should forget the scene about that
high-blazing fire; the speech of the old prior, so serene
and good, hlie said, was written on his memory, word for





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


129


word; the old cripple, with his staring at each speaker in
succession, and his picking up and laying down his crutch,
at the conclusion of each experience, he added, was worthy
of being put on canvas, or printed in a book; and when
he came to his own part in the meeting, he burst into a fit
of laughter, that made the leafless arches of the old forest
ring.
" And yet," added the duke, in a graver tone, " I am far
from discrediting the details or doctrines of that frightful
dream. The truth is, it is not entirely my own; for the
elements of it I received, years ago, from the lips of my
old friend, Lord Bacon, whose philosophy is so little understood. He told me, that his interpreters were all much at
fault; that he never intended to give succor to the material
party among philosophers; that his opposition to the
Aristotelians was on the very ground of their being too
material and skeptical in their tendencies; and that the
views of Plato were equally compatible with his New
Organ of human knowledge, as those of the Stagyrites, with
whom he had been falsely classed.
" He went on to say, the sum of his new method of
speculation, which he had entitled Observation and Induction, might be reduced to the simple formula-Reasoning
from Facts; and now, said he, all that you have to do to
establish the doctrine of spiritual intercourse before death,
is, to collect numerous clearly attested cases, supported by
the testimony of credible and competent witnesses, showing
that such intercourse has actually taken place.
"All the examples of the Old and New Testaments,
continued the philosopher, from Adam to Moses, from Moses
to Malachi, fiom Malachi to Jesus, and from Jesus to that
loved disciple, who, in vision, saw heaven opened, and beheld the glory and excellency of the heavenly life, may be
F~





130


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


taken to prove the possibility of such experiences to men in
this mortal state; nor is it at all certain, or even admissible,
that that possibility is less now, than it was in those earlier
ages; for the whole philosophy of the Christian system,
when examined to the bottom, is found to be based, not on
the possibility merely, but on the absolute certainty of pure
spiritual intercourse.between the soul of a living man and
the world above him. ' God is a spirit,' says the Great
Teacher, ' and they that worship him must worship him'not physically, materially, empirically, but-' in spirit and
in truth.'
"I say the world above him, added the sage, because God's
universal presence is the world which spiritual men inhabit;
they live, move, and have their being in him; and worship
is the recognition and acknowledgment, on their part, of the
universality and supremacy of that divine presence, which
the ubiquity of the glorious God constitutes. Every act of
prayer, too, even in the humblest mortal, implies the fact,
that the spirit of man can talk with God, and that God can
give answers to the spirit, and both without the intervention
of the senses, even in this embodied state. All the cardinal
doctrines of our religion, such as hope of an unseen heaven,
faith in an unseen atonement, love of an unseen God, the
consciousness of our adoption into the unseen family of the
Great Father, by the unseen exercise of the witnessing of
the Spirit to our spirits, that we are his spiritual children
-in a word, the entire life of faith-all are one solid argument in proof of spiritual intercourse with the spiritual
world, while we are living in these forms of flesh.
" It is impossible, therefore, continued Bacon, to limit
such exercises to the age of miracles, as it is called, without
rejecting the very foundations of our religious faith; but
now, precisely how far these experiences may go, what are





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


131


their bounds and limits, are questions to be determined, as
we determine all other things, by well-accredited facts.
Men must not say that all such supposed exercises are
contrary to experience; for that is only saying, that this
spiritual experience is contrary to experience; and that
would signify either that it is contrary to physical experience, namely, the common experience of the senses, which
is true of course, or that it is contrary to spiritual experience, which is assuming the very question in debate. If
the prophets and apostles could converse with God, and
even with angels and departed spirits, then the possibility
of such intercourse is already proved; if there is any meaning in worship, prayer, the witness of the Spirit, hope, faith,
and love, then this spiritual intercourse, between heaven
and earth, is yet kept up'; nor is true philosophy competent
to say how far the visions of the dying, and the religious
ecstasies of living Christians, may or may not partake of the
same kind of experience, or how it might be perfected and
enlarged, were the spirit, and soul, and body of every
believer fully developed and wholly sanctified to the service
of the living God."
"Bacon's arguments," replied the monk John, " are
sound, and produce a conviction in me, that good men,
while here below, can hold converse with the upper and
better world; but tell me, did he furnish you with any
proofs, that either good or bad men have intercourse,
while living here, with the inhabitants of the lower
sphere?"
"t Most ample were his proofs of this," rejoined the duke.
"He recited, with his wonderful skill, the entire history of
the past. He gave me the example of our first parents,
who, in Paradise, conversed with the serpent, as well as
with the angels, face to face. Passing through the antedi




332


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


luvian age, with great minuteness and depth of critical
remark, he came, at length, to the case of the magicians,
who withstood Moses, and, by compact with evil powers,
repeated nearly every wonder he performed. The sage
also averred, that the oracles of the classic fanes of Greece
and Rome, were not all deceptive; for such a supposition,
he said, would charge the wisest men of all antiquity, including the best of the philosophers, with either base ignorance, or baser duplicity, neither of which charges could
be historically maintained; but they were exhibitions, he
presumed, of the powers of evil spirits, invoked and worshiped by the subtle and crafty priesthood of that early day.
He made large discourse, also, of the prophets of Baal, who,
in the times of Elijah and Elisha, were empowered by their
God to work seeming miracles, to suspend or pervert the
forces of nature, and to foreshadow events not yet revealed.
The temptation of our Saviour, by the WICIcED ONE, was
another case, he thought, in point, which he added, was but
the type of every man's trial, who is striving to live the life
of faith. Not only are such diabolical influences possible
to us, in this our mortal state, but the soul is every where
warned in Scripture against the wiles of that unseen spirit,
whose secret whisperings impart so many evil counsels to
the mind; and the lives of all worldly men, the philosopher
remarked in conclusion, are as really under the guidance
of the prince of the infernal world, as is the blest experience
of the good and holy under the direct conduct of the Spirit
of the eternal God."
"Did the great philosopher," inquired the monk, "give
you knowledge of the means, by which the soul can rise
into that spiritual state l"
" Most certainly would he not leave unnoticed so material
a point. The spirit of man, he said, perceived either





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


133


mediately or immediately- mediately, when it looked
through the senses-immediately, when all the senses are
suspended; and yet the spirit has perceptions without using
them. But sensation, he observed, can be suspended either
for a long period, as between death and the resurrection, or
for shorter times, as in sleep, in fainting, in partial drowning and suffocation, and in those fits or trances, wherein
men have been known to lie for hours and even days, without the first sign of life, while their souls were in a state of
the highest possible activity and enjoyment.
" But it is not only a complete suspension of our senses,
continued the reasoner, to which we are to look for this
freedom of the spirit firom the physical chains that bind it;
for whatever loosens their hold upon us, in any degree, so
far tends to render us more cognizant of the spiritual world
about us. Deep mental abstraction, even for a moment,
which withdraws the soul from the influence of the senses,
partially releases us from these material shackles; and then
this exercise, often repeated and protracted, so as to constitute that habit of abstraction, which we call contemplation,
renders this spiritual experience more natural and common
to us.
" The mind, said Bacon, has a wonderful power over the
body. It even imparts life and animation to our bodies;
gives motion and employment to our physical machinery;
suspends, at times, every action of the most powerful forces
in our systems; repels the invasions of disease, and sometimes conquers it; and seems, in a word, with what little
trial of its strength thus far made, to exercise a high mastery
over the animal constitution. Man would be debased indeed, were he the slave, instead of the master of his own
body; if he were a mere servant in a mansion, where there
is no other resident; if he were the solitary captive in a





134


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


kingdom, of which he seems intended to be the imperial
lord.
"Nay, sir, added the sage with becoming emphasis, the
mind is master of the body; it has a depth and breadth of
power over its sensual faculties far beyond its present experience; but how far, precisely, it can go in the voluntary
and habitual suspension of the physical influence of the
senses, so as to give itself freer scope in pure spiritual
activity, has never been determined, because we have had
few spiritual men to put this question to the proof.
" For myself, however, said the philosopher, I am bound
to believe, that, in this respect, the race of man has scarcely
passed the period of its infancy. When we come to know
more of the spiritual life of Jesus, the great Pattern of what
man should strive to be-of the patriarchs and prophets,
whose daily condition seems to have been that of spiritual
vision-of such apostles as St. Paul, who could see the
presence and hear the voice of the risen and spiritual Jesus,
though his worldly attendants heard or saw nothing, we
shall then be prepared to understand the experiences of
modern good men, who, under the sanctity of an oath, not
only in life, but at the hour and article of death, have declared, that they have seen and heard things invisible and
inaudible to physical sensation."
"But did the philosopher think," interposed the prince,
"that we are to take the testimony of such men?"
" Nothing could be plainer, he said," rejoined the duke,
"than our duty in such a case. Human testimony, observed the philosopher, is the basis of nine tenths of all we
know. Not only all the sciences, but even philosophy itself,
together with every species of speculation, rest on the same
foundation. To reject this sort of proof, whenever its
tendencies do not quite accord, as we may think, with





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


135


what was formerly believed, would be the death-blow to
all progress of the human race. We are always to believe
a witness till we prove him false; and his statements, till
that is done, must go for facts. I asked him whether it
would not be enough to deny his competency; and he replied, that, in the case before us, such a denial would be
an assumption of the very question in dispute. It would
be saying, that the witness had no such spiritual experiences,
because there can be none, which is the very point to be
established by the facts."
"But is not such experience," inquired the prince,
" contrary to the laws of nature, and hence impossible?
Did you present this difficulty to the philosopherl?"
"Most certainly I did; and he answered me briefly and
conclusively, that a law is nothing but a general inference
drawn from a comparison of facts; and every new fact, or
class of facts, added to the ones from which the generalization or law was drawn, must and will modify that generalization, so called a law, till we get it right. Facts, you
must remember, said the sage, are not made by laws, but
laws by facts; and facts can be established only by observation; which observation, when reported to us from
the observers, becomes human testimony; and this testimony
we must either receive, or give up every item and branch
of knowledge, which we have not seen and handled for
ourselves. That is, concluded Bacon, we must become
infidels at once."
"But, if we are not allowed to assume the incompetency
of a witness, may we not prove it  Did the great logician
speak of this point?"
"He did, with his usual perspicuity and force. He said,
that, where human testimony is disputed, it must not be on
the ground of any supposed impossibility that the witness





136


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


could have observed what he reports, because that is begging the question; but, in all such cases, he said, facts
must be opposed to facts. For example, said he, you may
show, if you can, 1st. That the witness has been, in other
matters, an impostor, and, therefore, may be in this, which
would impeach his moral qualifications; or, 2d. That he
is not in the use of his ordinary mind, or is habitually insane, or plainly and widely eccentric, which would impeach his intellectual qualifications; or, 3d. That, though
generally honest and of a true mind, he is under the influence of a powerful temptation to deceive, which would invalidate his circumstantial qualifications. But if, on the
contrary, added the philosopher, it is clear that the witness is of good repute for honesty and integrity-that he is
a man of clear and correct mental habits-that, at the time
of giving his testimony, his circumstances do not argue an
interest to deceive, as in the example of upright and soundheaded men in the hour of death, then it would be a violation of every principle of justice and common sense, to reject, under the assumed pretext of impossibility, the evidence he may give."
"The philosopher spake like himself," said the prince;
"but did he furnish you with any facts, observed by him
personally, or reported to him by others on whom he could
implicitly rely."
"On that subject," rejoined the duke, "the sage discoursed with great eloquence and truth. He said that we
were to look for spiritual experience only among spiritual
men; and he thought that these were to be found chiefly
within the pale of the true Christian Church. From all
Pagan antiquity, he said, he could not gather the names of
more than six or eight, who could lay any just claim to
having lived a spiritual life, while, on the other hand, this





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


137


is the glory, the boast, the great characteristic profession,
of the Church of Christ. But then, he added, we must
employ a few figures in order to account for the parvity of
the number of those, even among Christians, whose life
would argue any special intercourse with the spiritual
world. In the first place, said he, ninety-nine hundredths
of the people of every Christian nation, though nominally
Christians, must be stricken off, as they make no profession
of striving after the spiritual life. Then ninety-nine hundredths of all those, who profess spirituality, live very
much like other people, immersed in the cares and confusion of the physical and intellectual life. Of the remainder,
which is only one in ten thousand, not more than one in a
hundred consecrates all the powers of his being to the
attainment of the highest form of the spiritual state. This
leaves us one in a million, who does all he can to reach a
condition, where true spiritual experience would, if at all,
be possible; and certainly not more than one in ten of these
i- so free from physical and mental disabilities, which the
best of men inherit from the sins and follies of other ages,
as to render him a fit candidate for the utmost success in
that life which is according to the spirit. This spiritual
experience requires not only soundness and health of body,
but the even balance of all the bodily temperaments, the
equal development of every intellectual faculty, the full
vigor of the moral nature, and, last of all, an exact subordination of the lower to the higher elements of our beingof the physical to the intellectual, and of the intellectual to
the moral, with the precision instituted by the Creatorbefore the spirit within can have free scope into the spiritual world without us. It can not be a marvel, then, concluded the sage, that so few testimonies to our capacity
have been given either in the former, or in the latter ages.





138


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


That we have any, seems to be more the result of happy
accident, than of wise and active foresight.
" The following narrative, however, continued the philosopher, is taken from the memoranda of an old English
clergyman, whose character for integrity, for clearness of
mind, for freedom from all motive or temptation to impose,
is evident beyond the shadow of a doubt. The clergyman,
said Bacon, relates the story in the following words:
"' The brother of my wife, a young gentleman of superior mind, of a philosophic temper, of a cool and calculating
spirit, and remarkable for conscientiousness and modesty of
disposition, was sick of a slow pulmonary consumption.
From his youth he had been religiously educated; and his
advantages for intellectual improvement had been of the
highest order.
"'During his whole life, but particularly through the
period of his sickness, he had devoted his entire mind to
spiritual exercises; and he had been for years, while his
health was perfect, a noted example of the full development
of the threefold life of man. The physical, the intellectual,
and the spiritual, had been in him most beautifully blended;
and now, when he was making his last preparation for his
entrance into the spirit world, he seemed to be rather an
actual inhabitant of that than of this state of being.
"'He would lie upon his bed, and hold audible intercourse with Heaven; and what was prayer in other religious
people, with him was a kind of devout conversation. He
would talk with his Maker, as if he recognized his immediate and conscious presence. He not only asked questions,
but made answers; and his replies were so natural, both in
tone and temper, that the by-standers could not doubt, that
he considered himself as being engaged in an actual colloquy with the Deity. At another time his room would be





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


139


filled with angels; and he would talk with them, asking
and answering questions, with every appearance of genuine
intercourse.
"' One day, when his father and mother were present
with him, he told them, that, in answer to his special request
of God, his departed sister (who had died several years before) had fiequently appeared to him; or, rather, that he
had been enabled to behold her; for she assured him that
she had been the constant household guest of her father's
family since the day of her departure. When his father
asked him if he had ever seen God, the young man, with
his usual clearness, reminded his parent, that God was
without limits, and hence could have no form to be made
visible, but that his presence was just as much the object
of spiritual sense, as is the presence of our bodily companions to the material sense. But, since the angels and
human spirits were limited beings, they must necessarily
have outlines, and, therefore, shape, and so could be rendered visible; and he had seen them, as Abraham and Lot
and all the patriarchs, saw the heavenly visitants sent to
minister to their necessities.
"' At the very time of making these profound observations, the young man would, now and then, interrupt the
conversation to call the attention of his company to some
new spiritual guest, who might have just then entered into
his presence. He would point out the places in his room
occupied by the angels. Some were standing by his bedside; some were gathered in little groups in different localities of the apartment; some were hovering directly over
him, poised upon their wings, with their long white arms
entwined affectionately about each other; while others,
who seemed to have a more special charge over his welfare, stood bending with watchful interest over his pillow,





A40


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


and pouring a warm look of sympathy and affection on
him.
"'All these scenes he described minutely, mixing with
his descriptions the most sage reflections on the philosophy
of spiritual vision, on the nature of angels, on the universality of the spiritual world and its inhabitants, and on the
means by which men are to rise above the mere animal
and intellectual into the equally real and ever-present
world of spirits; and, by these remarks, carried conviction
to every listener, and to myself, that he was entirely sound
in mind, during all the period that he was thus gradually
freeing himself from the shackles of the body.'
The prince confessed, at the conclusion of this narrative,
that the arguments of Bacon were unanswerable; and that
the example given him from the old clergyman must be received as a fact by every man, who intends to be governed,
in his judgments, by the laws of human testimony.
But, as the horsemen were now approaching the Spanish
frontier, it was expedient for them to ride with some caution; and so, at sight of the first signal of the dividing line
between the two countries, the conversation was dropped
with some abruptness. Enough had been said, however,
to satisfy the two auditors that the duke had made better
use of the instructions of his philosophic teacher than was
generally suspected; and that the great sage of Verulam,
so far from being skeptical in his modes of belief, as he had
been accused by the unlettered Puritans, was an actual
supporter of that high philosophy, which, in addition to the
physical and intellectual departments of our nature, asserts
the existence of a yet loftier capacity, by which we may be
carried into communion with that spiritual state, of which
the all-encompassing and all-pervading God is the constituent essence.





CHAPTER XIV.


PRECIPITANCY AND CAUTION.
"Foul jealousy! thou turnest love divine
To joyless dread, and makest the loving heart
With hateful thoughts to languish and to pine,
And feed itself with self-consuming smart:
Of all the passions of the mind, thou vilest art."
SPENSER.
A King's Apartment-He is yet jealous-Visitors come in without a
formal Introduction-The jealous King finds Comfort in his chief
Servant-A Woman's Heart, when steeled to Gentleness, is very bitter-Real Bitterness can be caused by assumed Gentleness-A Man
can sometimes further a Project best by seeming to oppose it.
AT ten o'clock precisely, according to appointment, the
Duke de Richelieu and the queen-mother met in the king's
apartment without the king's notice of them. Louis was
pale with conflicting passions-jealousy and the thoughts
of revenge, however, having the ascendency. He walked
the floor with unusual vigor, pausing, now and then, as if lost
in the fathomless depths of his emotion.  His visitors read
his countenance as they would have read a hand-bill; and
translated the dumb movements of his body into the plainest language. They understood his feelings perfectly. They
knew, also, especially the cardinal, how to touch them.
"Is it possible," ejaculated Louis, after a long and somewhat oppressive silence, "is it possible that it has come to
this! [Another pause.]   No, it must not be so! It shall
not be so!  [A third pause, longer than the second.]  Am
I to be a king, and yet the most arrant slave in my dominions? Must I be a caged bird, with the treacherous
partner, whom I have invited to a downy nest, forever





142


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


picking at my heart, or betraying me to every passing
fowler? [He stamps his foot with emphasis.] No, it shall
not be so-I say it. Death, death, to me, to her, now, this
instant-Ho! where is Richelieu 1"
" May thy servant be ever as ready at thy call," said the
cardinal, advancing and kneeling at the feet of Louis, "as
he chanceth to be this moment! Speak, great master,
noble king, and give utterance to my duty!"
" O, thou art a comfort to me, Richelieu! Thou art the
only balm to my wounded spirit! My mother-"
Lodis now, for the first, discovered his mother near the
entrance to the apartment, leaning upon a sideboard and
listening to the words of the jealous king and of his wily
minister. Without doubt he had commenced a eulogy
upon his mother, whom he respected, if he did not love
her; and, such was his passion, he proceeded to finish his
sentence, at the same time advancing to embrace her
according to his custom: " My mother, who gave me
being, should call thee her most dutiful son, for the brotherly love thou bearest me! O, my mother, thou hast borne
a most unhappy son!"
"Unhappy? Art thou not a king."
" O, I am a man! Would that I were only king!"
"A man! Truly, and be thankful thou art not a
woman!"
" But to be the sport and victim of a woman-"
"Is the fault of any man who is."
"Fault!"
"Ay, as thou art a man, and hence the master of thy own
house-as thou art a king, and so the imperial lord of thy
own realm-in both it is a fault, a deep fault, a fault that
punishes itself, to be the victim when thou shouldst be the
executioner, to cower and tremble at an altar, where, with





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


143


a trenchant sword, thou art by authority high priest. Nay,
my Louis, if thou art born a man, be a man, and let us see
thy manhood in thy manly works!"
" What wouldst thou have me do, good mother?"
"Do? Ask me not. The word has been upon thy
lips."
" What word, gentle mother?"
" Death," ejaculated Mary, with a fiendish flash of her
eyes and a prodigious emphasis of voice.
"Tome? To whom?"
"To her! Lift but thy man's foot, and one resolute
stamp will crush the foul Austrian butterfly to death!
Were that thy mother's foot, Louis, this moment that
winged caterpillar, that blooming worm, should feel its
annihilating weight!"
" But, good mother, is she not my wife 1"
"Nay, Louis, she is the French king's queen, not his
wife. As her royal master, she is bound to obey thee like
any subject, shouldst thou banish her from France; and, if
thou canst banish her from one country, thou canst from
all, and so send her down to hell. As a man, thou didst
never marry her; and so, as a man, thou art fastened to
her by no moral or legal ties. It was a mere state match,
and must, therefore, be governed by state reasons; so, if
now thou seest any damage coming to thy kingdom from
her treacheries, I charge thee, thou art bound as king to
free thy country of her, be it even against thy wishes as a
man."
It would not do for this conversation to proceed. The
violence of Mary was rapidly bringing on a reaction in the
mind of Louis, by rousing up his smothered affection for
the queen. That was, by no means, the way to effect the
object which the two conspirators had in view; and one of





144


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


them saw it plainly; but with all the alarm it occasioned
him he had a secret satisfaction in witnessing the result
of it upon Mary's mind. Richelieu had forewarned her
against such rashness, as the reader will remember; and
she had even, for the time, acknowledged the soundness of
his reasoning; but her spirit was so fiery, so full of Italian
zeal, that she forgot the wisdom of his lessons in the hour
of need. The error must be now redeemed; there was not
a moment to be lost; and the cardinal, feeling his responsibility, and catching the exact humor of the king, undertook his task with a master's skill.
"( God is love," said the artful minister, taking a low
seat between the high chairs on which the king and queenmother had respectively settled down-" God is love; and
the spirit of his religion is gentleness; and the strength of
man is meekness; and justice itself is nothing but the
rougher side of love. God's goodness to the whole, it is
true, sometimes requires him to be severe to the few, who
raise rebellion upon his government; but punishment,
though awful when inflicted, sparing not the dearest object
of his favor, comes not till love is all exhausted, and then
only through the minister of that love. The old world was
a long time borne with, until the farther exercise of clemency would have been itself a wrong; Jerusalem was wept
over, till forgiveness became a foe to good; but, when
compassion was baffled and worn out, the judgments of
God were called for even by the voice of love. To assert
his purity, to maintain his government, to bless and preserve his subjects, that God whose nature and whose name
are love spares nothing. Man must sink before him; angels
must fall to ruin; his own Son, the darling of his throne,
must be severed from his side, to maintain the righteousness of his law. So, human governments should be but





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


145


copies of the divine. Mercy, kindness, forgiveness, love,
should be all exhausted, ere the hard hand of justice grasps
the sword; but, when exhausted, it is weakness, it is wickedness, it is cruelty to the good, it is treason to the state,
to suffer the incorrigible to go free. The old barbarian
monarch who, innocent himself, divided the torture of punishment with his guilty son, is a pattern of love and justice
in a king; and that Roman, who saw the execution of his
two boys, rather than compromise his duty to his country,
has filled the world with the glory of his name."
Nothing could have been said more directly consonant
to the condition of the youthful king; and the crafty cardinal, by thus falling into the current of his feelings, gained such increased ascendency over them, that, from that
moment, he could guide and govern them at his will.
Both Louis and his mother sat regarding the minister in
silence, but with very different emotions. The one was
lost in admiration of his wisdom; the other was absorbed
in the contemplation of his subtlety; but both considered
him, as he truly was, the deepest and most fertile genius
of his age. Mary, having seen her own mistake, was now
willing to surrender the whole business into the hands of
the cardinal; and the cardinal was more than ever determined to ply every power he had to work the ruin of the
queen."
" Thy silence," interposed the minister, addressing Louis
after quite a pause, with his face bent downward to the
floor, "convinces me that I have spoken foolishly; and
thou hast only to say the word, and this melancholy topic, in
spite of what danger we have heretofore presumed to see in
it, shall never be so much as named again. Command me,
great Louis, to utter concerning it never another word."
" Thou hast mistaken me, good cardinal," said the king





146


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


warmly; "never didst thou speak so perfectly. It is a
melancholy topic; and there is danger in it. That danger
is the measure of my duty; and my duty devolves entirely
upon thee. Speak, and Louis shall be glad to second thy
advice. What are we first to do V"
" Let us be merciful."
"But mercy can not be exercised till a wrong, a crime,
a sin is done, and then lawfully determined."
" Is it not sometimes better to wink upon a sin, than to
risk fixing it where it might give us pain to see it "
" But shall the monarch of a Christian nation be less pure,
less a friend to justice, less unselfish, than a poor barbarian
king, or a blind Roman?"
"But it is your wife, Louis, our royal queen."
"Is then a sin to be more grateful, because it fastens
itself upon a king's pillow, and wounds the heart of a king?
Thou wouldst not connive at wickedness in other cases so.
Why, then, is Louis to be more negligently defended than
a common man?"
" Far be it from the representative of him, who is the
head and representative of the religion of universal love,
to plead the cause of iniquity; but, as such representative,
I must quote the example of that mercy, which, when the
sin was fully proved, dismissed the sinner with the words,
'Neither do I condemn thee. Go and sin no more."
" Ay, Richelieu, but the sin was proven first. So be it
now; and then, if there be a chance for mercy, let it have
its way.  But Louis can not brook unrighteousness so
near his heart. Go on, and lay the foul spot bare!' "
"But we lack witnesses."
" We have already established much against her."
"Nay, good Louis, but very little."
"What! is it little that they were Englishmen! that





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


147


they visited this palace in disguise! that they mingled in
our royal ceremonies, and held converse with whom they
would! that they fled hastily from our dominions! that
one of them swears to keep some one's secret! that that
secret was a privacy, possibly a betrayal, or something
worse, which would not bear to be repeated! that the
promise, when read in the royal audience, brought red
blushes to the cheeks of those, whom just suspicion has
handled rudely for other fears! Nay, cardinal, deny me
not.! Steel thy too soft heart to the work of justice! It
probes me, but it must be so. If the farmer must harden
his heart to shed the blood of his pet lamb, how many irons
must chain the soul, when the partner of our life is to be
offered up! But to live in constant fear, where one must
listen to every passing breeze, give scrutiny to every falling leaf, watch the motions of every moment as it flies, lest
some treason be bred, or some betrayal be on foot, or a
darker deed of home-cursing womanly infidelity be done,
is worse than death. I tell thee, sweet minister, it must
not be so. It shall not be so. The insect that sits thus
upon the germ of our blooming heart, concealed to do its
deathly work by the very leaves that beautify and adorn its
nest, must be brought out, if, by the act, every leaf and
petal be stript fiom the withering stem. Go on. It must
not be so!"
"What more, great master, shall thy poor servant do?
None but Louis is fit to lead in such a work as this!"
" Thou has but one thing more to do."
"So little am I worth in such a piece of business, I
know not what thou meanest. But speak; for thy word to
Richelieu is the highest law."
"Prove the smallest connection between the three foreigners, and thy work is done "





148


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


" The three foreigners?"
" The two Englishmen, and our Austrian wife. Show
me, that they saw each other for five seconds-that their
eyes met but for once-that the same prating air encompassed them but for the shortest time-and it shall be
enough. Who can testify to this shall wear honors never
worn before."
The eyes of Richelieu and of Mary met. She saw permission given her in his; and she therefore rose up erect,
lifted her hand according to her manner, and, making a
most penetrating gesture with her long white finger pointed
like a javelin at the breast of Louis, emphatically said, " I
am the witness. I saw them together. I can swear to it
upon the book."
The king sat utterly astonished. His countenance suddenly turned pale; his eyes sunk deep into their sockets;
his lips quivered slightly with emotion; and his whole
aspect showed plainly, that he understood the decisive
nature of that testimony. So far as he was concerned, the
deed was now over; and Mary, still swelling with the
gush of victory, kept her commanding attitude, as if, at the
moment of finishing her last sentence, she had become a
marble statue.  Richelieu, on the contrary, drooped his
head, though his face was flushed with excitement; but
that excitement must have been of sorrow, of pity, of gentle compassion for the queen, whose fate was now sealed
forever; for from each eye there rolled out a single tear,
which stood glistening upon either cheek, till the heat of
his burning countenance dried them. Tears of pity! Let
the weak king believe it, as he did; but Mary, who knew
Richelieu too well to be deceived even by the first honest
and natural tears he ever shed, knew them to be but glad
offerings in honor of his triumph.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


149


The parties were now wrapped in perfect silence. The
guilt of Anne had been fully discovered to the king. The
king was perfectly convinced. Recovering gradually from
the stupefaction, into which he had been thrown by the
language of his mother, he demanded that the queen
should be arrested and brought to trial that very night.
But such a thing was impossible; and Richelieu, who knew
how to turn a necessity into a virtue, without hinting the
impossibility of convoking the highest French tribunal of
justice after midnight, seemed to dissuade the king from
the deed itself, by showing the danger to the king's household and government, of proceeding to convict the queen
on the sole testimony of his mother. He justly told Louis,
that such an act would create much scandal-that his enemies would look upon it as a piece of mere family intrigue
-that humanity itself, in every nation, would rise up
against the unnatural act of a mother's condemning to
death, or to eternal banishment, her own daughter-that
the world would acuse him of incontinence, his mother of
jealousy, and himself of ambition, in the removal of a
common obstacle by a joint conspiracy. Such a thing was
not to be thought of; as it would be far better to suffer
any ills, than to throw themselves into certain infamy andruin. But as this counsel would seem, on his part, a little
selfish, he pledged himself to show, by his future energy in
bringing the whole matter to a safe and proper termination, that he was yet more a friend to his beloved monarch
than to his own welfare. He thought he saw a way of
consummating the king's wishes, without compromitting
his royal honor, or doing damage to his servants.
The king wished to know the way alluded to by the
cardinal. Richelieu explained it to him. It was the same
as that related to Mary on the previous night. The Duch




150            THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
ess de Chevreuse, who always knew every thing passing
in the daily experience of Queen Anne,.and who was supposed to be fond of gold and glory, was to be largely
bribed to betray her mistress; but, if she should be intractable, the king gave Richelieu permission to go to any
degree of severity, which the exigency of the case demanded. The next day was to be the day of trial to the duchess; and it dawned before Richelieu, alone in his secret
chamber, had arranged all the preliminaries of the temptation.





CHAPTER XV.


A FLYING VISIT.
" WVhy, I can smile and murder while I smile,
And cry content to that which grieves my heart,
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions."
SHAKSPEARE.
The Forest-ride completed-A great City is entered in the Night-A
singular Introduction-A Man thinks he sees several Ghosts-Further
Introductions under mysterious Circumstances-A great Excitement
-Spanish Etiquette-This Etiquette is disregarded in a very striking Manner-A Lover's Heart is damped-A Retreat is provided for
-Oaths are taken by those who do not intend to honor them-A
brilliant Capital alive with all Sorts of Joy and Merriment.
LATE in the night, near the close of March, 1622, the
two monks, John and Thomas, mounted on two mules,
rode through the principal gate of Madrid. At Bayonne,
near the Spanish frontier, they had been stopped by the
officers of the crown, as unknown persons traveling in disguise; but, with the loss of their horses only, they had
made their escape on foot, and, procuring for each rider
one of the slow but sure-footed animals they then rode,
they had made a safe journey to the Spanish capital.
Sir Richard Graham had outridden them a trifle, that he
might inquire out the resideirce of the English embassador,
Lord Bristol, who had received no intimations of the bustle
he was about to admit into his quiet palace. The groom
met the two muleteer monks, as they passed the gate, prepared to conduct them directly to Lord Bristol's; and,





152


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


after a long and devious circuit through that ancient city,
the three riders, weary and worn with travel, alighted at
the door of the sleeping minister. Thomas and Sir Richard undertook to rouse the slumbering house, while John
concealed himself on the opposite and darker side of the
street; but his Lordship of Bristol, a stanch Protestant, was
in no haste to admit two or three vagrant monks, who
clamored for admission at so unpromising an hour of the
night. To harbor a monk at all, even in open daylight,
might procure him the ill-will or suspicion of King James,
his royal master, and the hatred of the English people.
But the monk Thomas was not to be beaten off by a mere
porter, who interchanged -the messages of the two parties
to this nocturnal combat; and his lordship himself was
obliged at last to make his appearance, and defend his own
premises. He came down in no pleasant mood; but no
sooner had he cast his eyes upon Thomas and Sir Richard,
than he started back as if he had seen two spirits. He
questioned them, though not without a shudder; but they
gave no answers.  Sir Richard, running to the opposite
side of the street, came back in a moment with the monk
John, whom he gravely introduced to his lordship. Bristol
could not believe his own vision; and one historian states,
that he did not believe it, but ran to his bed-chamber in a
fright. Another, however, who is probably more correct,
asserts, that the embassador, after staring at the apparition to his satisfaction, salutes Thomas and Sir Richard
with great humility of manner, kneels at the feet of John,
kissing his hand with affection, and then folds him to his
heart in a transport of fondness. The palace of Bristol,
lately so dark and silent, blazes every where with a sudden
illumination, and resounds with the voice of gladness. A
herald is dispatched at once to the court of St. James to





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


153


acquaint the English king with the safe arrival of the
travelers.
Next morning two couriers, Sir Frances Cottington and
Mr. Endymion Porter, arrive from  England. Thomas
sends to Count Gondomar, the master spirit of the court of
Madrid, soliciting a private audience. The count comes
with haste, and pays the highest honors to the strangers.
He reports their arrival to Philip, the Spanish monarch,
who is delighted with the circumstance. The Conde of
Olivares sends for Thomas, and introduces him privately to
the king; and then follows him to Bristol's palace to take
the hand of the monk John.
The next day the two strangers were conducted to the
royal palace, to receive a private introduction to the king,
queen, Don Carlos, the Infanta Donna Maria, and the
Spanish cardinal; but the ceremony could not be kept a secret, however essential it was so to keep it, to maintain the
etiquette of that punctilious capital. The streets, through
which the monks had to pass, were filled with carriages.
The Pope's nuncio, the embassadors of the surrounding
nations, and many of the grandees resident at Madrid, were
out in their respective characters; and the flat roofs of the
houses were crowded with wondering spectators. The
rumor had spread, that some great foreigners had come to
pay a visit to the Spanish monarch; but who these foreigners might be, no one could tell; nor indeed could the witnesses of this very spectacle give half so good a conjecture
as my attentive reader.
During all that week Madrid was alive with excitement.
Balls, feasts, tournaments, bull-fights, and all the modes of
amusement known to that age and country, followed each
other in rapid and brilliant succession. On the afternoon
of the Sabbath, by secret concert between the king and
G*





154


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


the strangers, as there had been as yet no public and official
acknowledgment of the latter, both parties drove in their
coaches to the Prado; and it was ordered that Donna,
Maria, who, as the reader has been told, was the object of
this princely visit, was to sit in the boot of the king's carriage, with a blue ribbon tied about her arm, that the monk
John might be able to distinguish the lady, whom he had
come to woo, if not to marry. She was in the bloom of
youth, very beautiful, according to the reigning sentiments
of female beauty, and polished by southern etiquette and a
princely education. A contemporary describes her, as "a
very comely lady, fair-haired, rather of a Flemish than Spanish complexion, and carrying a most pure mixture of red
and white in her countenance." In the flush of excitement,
dressed expressly for the occasion, with the breezes of the
season fanning and enlivening her expression, and sitting on
the outside of the royal coach on purpose to be looked at,
she must have appeared charming to all spectators; and it
is said, that when the carriage of her suitor passed her,
though she was not permitted to notice it, the color rose in
her face, in consequence of which she seemed tenfold more
beautifil than ever. But no color came upon the cheeks
of John; and, from that moment, it was evident to all close
observers, but especially to his companions, that, notwithstanding this show of courtship, his heart was entirely with
another. The art of dissembling, however, was the art of
which he was rapidly becoming a perfect master.
For another week the strangers were entertained by
hunting and hawking matches, got up expressly for their
amusement. They rode frequently, also, in parties of pleasure, to the Casa de Campo, where chariot races, in emulation of the classic customs, were instituted to add variety to
the occasion. But all was insufficient to impart any real





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.              155
satisfaction to a lover, whose affections were constantly hovering about another object, however exquisitely he played
his part of an impatient wooer.
On the Sunday following, the great day in all Catholic
countries, John was conducted by state officers to the ancient convent of St. Jerome, accompanied by Thomas, who,
arrayed in all the splendor of his high station, could not repress a smile of recollection on looking through the apartments. He remembered his evening at the convent of St.
Louis. At a given moment the carriage of the king drove
to the outer gate, where, surrounded by eight ministers of
state, his two brothers, and the pride of the Spanish nobility, Philip publicly received that personage, who has thus
far passed himself for a poor monk in misery, and carried
him in triumph to his palace. He sat next to the king, on
his right hand, the other monk occupying the left. They
rode through all the great streets of Madrid under a silken
canopy, contrived to keep the sun from falling too rudely
upon their faces; though, but a few days before, they considered it mere sport to ride through wind and storm, in a
dense forest, watched by the menials of one government,
and pursued as criminals by the low officers of another.
From his apartment in the royal palace, John-for I still
adhere to his chosen title-proceeded to visit, by invitation,
the king's household, where he expected to get the first
fair view of her whose graces he had come to witness.
Four great chairs of state, of exactly equal size and furnishings, were placed under a broad canopy. The king, the
queen, and Donna Maria, the beautiful Infanta, had taken
their seats when John entered the royal presence. He was
now attired in the most gorgeous of princely trappings; he
could scarcely walk for the weight of jewels he had upon
his gay suits of clothing; and when he took his seat oppo




156


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


site to the Infanta, who was herself arrayed in all the glory
and magnificence of that proud and wealthy monarchy, he
bowed gracefully to his entertainers, and then more gracefully to Donna Maria, who answered his courtesies with
her blushes. They were the crimson of real love, which
had taken her at the first glance of her royal lover; but the
face of that lover, if he may be called one, was as usual
entirely without color.
" The conversation," says a chronicler of those times,
" was undertaken by the queen, which was kept up for
half an hour with great spirit and animation by the whole
party." The wooer was not allowed to hold any private
audiences with the wooed; but when he retired to his
apartment, he found upon his dressing-table several costly presents, which the queen and Infanta had presented
him.
This courtly restraint was in no way pleasing to such a
reckless spirit as the counterfeit monk, John. He resolved
to watch his opportunity, and obtain a better interview,
perhaps a tete-a-tete, with the beautiful Infanta. Hearing
that she rode, every fair morning, to the king's summerhouse at the Casa de Campo, to gather May-dew, he rose
one day very early and repaired to the Casa, where he was
admitted into the house, then into the garden, but Maria
and her attendants were in the orchard. " There being
a high partition wall between," says Howell, who tells the
story, " and the door doubly bolted, the prince (the monk
John) got on the top of the wall, and sprung down a great
height, and so made toward her; but she, spying him first
of all the rest, gave a shriek and ran back. The old marquis, that was then her guardian, came toward the prince,
egard he hazarded his head, if he admitted any to her
iegard he hazarded his head, if he admitted any to her





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


157


company. So, the door was opened_; and he came out under that wall, over which he had got in."
This was a damper on the heart of the monk, if there
was ever any thing in it, in relation to the Donna, to be
damped by any circumstance. From this moment he was
more cold and distant in his feelings, but warmer than ever
in his manners at court, and in his addresses to the Infanta.
No man was ever so deceitful, unless his companion, Thomas, could claim to be his rival. These two friends, while
lavishing their compliments and caresses upon the Spanish
court, and especially upon Maria, were now laying out all
their ingenuity to hunt up pretexts to break off this matrimonial connection. Oaths were taken, words and honors
were plighted, the most solemn and sacred engagements
were entered into, at the same time that the two visitors,
who were the suitors in all these covenants, were plotting
a mode of secretly escaping from the Spanish dominions, as
a first step to the fufillment of their insincere and dishonest
purposes. The monk John actually proposed to his fellowtraveler privately to order horses, and make their exit as
they had made their entrance; but Thomas, more far-seeing
than his adviser, so insisted upon the danger of such an
effort, that it was given over.
The two friends finally sought a private interview with
Philip. They told him that the commands of their king, and
the affairs of the courit at home, demanded their immediate
return; that they were ready to sign any treaty of marriage,
by which the Donna could be secured to her romantic lover,
and to give their joint oath as security for its fulfillment;
that, when ratified by the Pope of Rome, according to custom in all Spanish matches, the marriage could be celebrated by proxy, as was lawful for royal persons; and that a
fleet should be immediately sent over from England, filled





158


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


with embassadors to take charge of the Infanta, and carry
her in safety to her husband. These statements seemed
very natural to the Spanish monarch; and the promises
were, certainly, quite ample; but they who made them
never intended to see one of them completed. The heart
of John had been, firom the beginning, in another quarter;
and his repulse at the Casa had added to his disaffection.
But the king was satisfied; and arrangements were accordingly put in preparation for the departure of the two foreigners. A full court was summoned. The Patriarch of the
Indies was called upon to officiate for the parties. The
two adventurers, in the presence of the royal household,
and with the mSst solemn assurances of sincerity, laid their
hands upon the Scriptures, and bound themselves by oath
to carry out every item of this agreement.
The visitors now hastened their departure. Presents of
the most costly character were exchanged, in token of the
mutual affection of the contracting parties. To illustrate
the arts and manners of the times, I will cite the language
of a British historian, who enumerates the gifts with no little detail: "Philip presented the prince," says the writer,
" with some fine Spanish and Barbary horses, a diamondhilted sword and dagger, some muskets and cross bows
richly ornamented, various pictures by the great Titian, a
master-piece of Correggio's, and various other articles indicative of his taste, as well as of his liberality. The young
Queen of Spain gave a great many bags of amber, with
some dressed kid-skins and linen. Olivares (the Pope's
nuncio) gave a few choice Italian pictures, three sedan
chairs of curious workmanship, and some costly articles of
furniture. And the chief grandees all gave something, as
horses, fine mules with trappings, &c. In return, the prince
gave to the king," continues the historian, "an enameled





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


159


hilt for a sword, and a dagger studded with precious stones,
to the queen a pair of curious ear-rings, and to the Infanta,
(the bride whom he was about to betray,) a string of pearls,
and a diamond anchor, as the emblem of his constancy."
But as several days must transpire before the actual departure of the prince and his company, the reader may as
well pass over to the English capital, and prepare himself
more intelligibly to receive them on their arrival. In the
meantime, Madrid must be given up to bonfires, to the
ringing of bells, to court balls, to general illuminations, and
to the favorite sports of the ring and circus, in honor of the
expected nuptials. The nobles of the realm flocked in from
every region. The citizens arose en masse to enjoy the festivities of the occasion. Coffers were opened, and purses
were untied, and money so freely expended, that gold became as plenty as the pebbles in the pavements. The
streets ran down with wine; the houses were filled with
music and dancing; the palace was one constant blaze of
merriment and rejoicing; and the whole country, for many
leagues around, was alive with the general excitement.





CHAPTER XVI.
ALL FOR MONEY.
"Shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,
And sell the mighty space of our large honors,
For so much trash as may be grasped thus?
I'd rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
Than such a Roman!"
SHAKSPEARE.
The Character of a Monarch-His Habits in times of Trouble-How a
royal hunting Party is made up-Royal Superciliousness-Game is
started-A hunting Scene-A Monarch is very petulant-Makes a Fool
of himself-Talks very broken English to his Dogs-An Argument and
a Victory on both Sides-A singular Specimen of Irreverence.
KING JAMES the First, as every reader knows, was a man
of few virtues and of many faults. His virtues were also
unsuited to his rank; while his vices were equally degrading to the monarch and the man. Fickle in every thing
but what was wrong, energetic in nothing that was right;
faithful to those only who were unworthy of any trust,
trusting no one who had the slightest character for keeping faith; disgusted with what was worthy of his ambition,
and ambitious of all things that excited general disgust, he
was justly hated at home, and despised universally abroad.
In theology, boasting of more knowledge than all the prelates of his kingdom; in the true business of his office,
more ignorant than the meanest constable in his employ,
he was always settling controversies in religion, and as constantly raising disturbances in Parliament, that shook every
corner of his realm.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


161


His character for falsehood was such, that it was almost
impossible for him to be false; for the most solemn promises he could make excited so little confidence, that, in
dishonoring his engagements, he could hardly be said to
have deceived. To-day he pledges his word to his Protestant subjects, his only friends, never to give the smallest
comfort to the Catholics; to-morrow he invites the Catholics,
who hate him with an intense hatred, to the most liberal
and invidious honors of his reign. To-day he bows to his
Parliament, swearing to them, as on the sacred Gospels,
that he will act in all things in conformity with their desires;
to-morrow he dissolves the Parliament, with a stamp of his
foot, and tells them that he can govern a great deal better
without their aid. To-day he insults his subjects by assuring them that he wishes none of their money, as his wants
are both few and small; to-morrow he offers his son Charles,
as a husband for any princess, whose court can settle on her
the richest dower. In these matrimonial auctions, in spite
of all his Protestantism and promises, he rather seeks than
avoids a Catholic connection, because the Catholic market
happened, in his day, to be the most flush with gold. If
in bidding for his son, any Catholic sovereign demanded
special favors to the Papal subjects of King James, the
favors were always doubled in the way of solemn pledges,
because the English monarch knew his insincerity to be
fully equal to any emergency that could arise. His single
merit of encouraging the translation of the Holy Scriptures
is balanced by the manifold demerit of having broken nearly
every law and precept they contain.
It was the custom of James, whenever any troubles arose
in his affairs, instead of meeting them manfully at home,
to proceed into the country and dissipate his anxiety in the
exhilarating sports of the chase. It was not necessary to





162


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


go far from London for this purpose; for, in that day, game
was every where to be seen in plenty, as soon as one had
lost sight of the smoke of town. Even at a much later
period, according to a living historian, "the red deer were
as common in Gloucestershire and Hampshire, as they now
are among the Grampian hills. On one occasion, Queen
Anne, on her way to Portsmouth, saw a herd of no less
than five hundred. The wild bull, with his white mane,
was still to be found wandering in a few of the southern
forests. The badger made his dark and tortuous hole on
the side of every hill, where the copse wood grew thick.
The wild-cats were frequently heard by night, wailing
round the lodges of the rangers of Whittlebury and Needwood. The yellow-breasted marten was still pursued in
Cranbourne Chase for his fur, reputed inferior only to that
of the sable. Fen eagles, measuring more than nine feet
between the extremities of the wings, preyed on fish along
the coast of Norfolk. On all the downs from the British
Channel to Yorkshire, huge bustards strayed in troops of
fifty or sixty, and were often hunted with gray-hounds.
The marshes of Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire were
covered, during some months of every year, by immense
clouds of cranes. Some of these races the progress of cultivation has extirpated. Of others, the numbers are so
much diminished, that men crowd to gaze at a specimen,
as at a Bengal tiger or a polar bear."
Two generations before the period, which the historian
here alludes to, at the time of which I speak, London itself
was surrounded by a wilderness filled with all kinds of
game. There was an area of about sixty miles in circumference, of which London was the center, cut into equal
hemispheres by the river Thames, over which field and
forest were intermingled in the true rural style.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


163


To hunt, in such a chase, required no great skill. Hunting, in fact, had not then become an art. A rabble-rout of
horsemen, dressed in blue coats and pants, with colored
caps and a short feather nodding in the wind, would proceed from St. James's Park at sunrise, led by a hunter with
his bugle, and followed by a troop of dogs-pointers, spaniels, talbots, beagles, lurchers, fox and blood hounds, all
trained to their business-and, in a couple of hours, would
lose themselves in the thick forest. Advancing half a
league or so into the woods, they formed their circle,
which crossed the Thames and completed itself on the
other side. The sport consisted in gradually contracting
this circle, crowding the inclosed game nearer and nearer
to the outskirts of the city, until, almost within sight of
the houses, the deer, and foxes, and sullen bears, and whatever else was included, would begin a wild race on that
narrow rim of country lying between the hunters and
the town. When they came to the river, the more timid
would turn and run the semi-circle round again to the
other point of intersection with the Thames, and so continue
till they had made their escape, or were shot; but the
bolder animals, and those more closely pursued, would
leap into the water from the high bank at a single bound,
either to perish in the stream, or to emerge into similar
dangers on the farther side.
On all these occasions, James, who was a most clumsy
rider, generally stationed himself at the bank of the river,
that he might enjoy the alarm and perplexity of the poor
brutes, as they rushed there to effect their escape. If little
or no game was started, as would sometimes happen, he
spent his time in gossiping with a knot of nobles, who
always attended him in his sports. The more shallow they
were in intellect, the more he enjoyed their company, as





164


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


his enormous vanity was then less likely to be put to the
blush. Buckingham was his favorite, a person of great
vivacity and beauty, but whose chief talent lay in his unexampled powers of intrigue. Sir Walter Raleigh he had
beheaded in Old Palace Yard as an offering to Spain. Sir
Edward Coke he had disgraced, and sent to his country
seat, because the honesty of the Chief Justice was troublesome to the court. Lord Bacon he had committed to the
tower, who, though stained by a single fault himself, was,
in general, far too sage a man for so despicable a king.
Selden, Pym, Mallory, and scores of similar noble-hearted
men, he had distributed to nearly every prison of his realm.
A few men of name, and among them Abbot, Archbishop
of Canterbury, and Bishop Williams, the new Lord Keeper,
Lords Arundel, Arlington, and Doncaster, and a few more
such minions, remained to add disgrace to the weak king's
reign. They were always with him, at home and abroad;
fearing to leave him a day entirely to himself, lest his humor
might take some turn to the prejudice of themselves and
their friends. In particular, they never failed to accompany him on his hunting excursions, as it was by the excitement thus given his effeminate spirit, that his mind
would occasionally make some little flight from the narrow
compass of his ordinary thoughts and purposes.
At the period to which our narrative has come, the King
of Great Britain with his corps of lordly serfs, was out
on one of these sporting expeditions. He had been waiting, and watching, and gabbling with his favorites, from
early morning till nearly evening, without being favored
with so much as a single hare, or badger, to break the
monotony of the conversation. He had become impatient;
and, like all weak men, he began to wreak his resentment
on those around him. One he abused for his heresy, an




THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


165


other for his orthodoxy, and all for their ignorance and infidelity. The absent next shared his maledictions. Coke,
be said, was not so much of a lawyer as a well-bred spaniel;
Bacon was nothing but an alchemist and a dreamer; all
the good Raleigh had done was to introduce the use of
tobacco into England; but he himself had counter-blasted
that noxious weed, besides sending the " Captain," as he
called the illustrious mariner, where he might light his pipe
without the use of tinder.
There is no telling to what length his petulance would
have carried him, against the dead and the living, and particularly against every man of any honor to his reign and
country, had he not, just at the moment, heard the shout of
the hunters not far from him. They had started a small
herd of deer, which were running for their life toward the
bank, where James and his party were then standing. A
fine buck, and a doe followed by a half-grown fawn,
especially attracted his attention. Up he leaped, contrary
to all the laws of hunting, calling for his dogs and clapping
his hands in an ecstasy of excitement. The deer, perceiving their new enemies, broke their course, ran back upon
their pursuers, wheeled again on being met by them, and
bounded in another direction for the river. The dogs were
now close upon them. Several horsemen had got between
the fugitives and the city, and were heading them toward
the spot which the king occupied. The old buck, on
reaching the bank of the river, turned and faced the howling pack, goring them effectually with his horns, and even
stamping them with his feet, to give the young fawn and
its dam a chance of rushing into the stream for safety. No
sooner did he see them fairly in, than, lifting up his woody
head in triumph, with a single bound, he leaped from the
high bluff where he stood into the deep water. He sank





166


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


very low, so that only the tips of his horns were visible;
but he soon came up again, shaking his head, and blowing
the water from his nostrils. By this time the horsemen had
all gathered upon the spot from which the noble animal had
just bounded. A pack of spaniels rushed in after him.
Though the ablest swimmer of the three, the old buck, who
seemed to feel his responsibility for his little family, swam
behind them, and kept the dogs at bay by striking at them
with his fore-feet, till the mother and her fawn were landed.
Mounting the bank, in pursuit of his charge, who by his
fidelity had gained a few rods upon him, he there found
them both weltering in the dust before him. A couple of
the hunters on that side, lying in ambush, had shot them as
they ascended from the river. As he came up, they were
loading their pieces, with much haste, to give him the same
reception; but the art of using fire-arms was then in its
infancy; and to load a gun was the work of several minutes. The buck had time for pause. He sprang to his
fallen partner and youthful progeny, and smelt of them with
deliberate affection; and then, as if he felt that he had no
longer any object for which to live, resigned himself to his
fate without a struggle. The heartless hunters soon laid
him by the side of his dead companions.
The king, without the first touch of pity for the noble
buck, whose disinterested exertions for the safety of his
charge might have been a fit study for a monarch, took all
the merit of the action to himself. If he shared it with any
one, that one was his favorite dog, Jowler, who, understanding his business much better than his master, instead
of heading the deer, as James wished, had turned their
rear and( joined the pursuing pack. Being friesh, he outran
the rest, was the last to jump back from the horns of the
infuriated beast, and the first to grapple him, when dead,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


167.


on the other bank. Plunging again into the river, he swam
to the spot where James was standing with his men, and
came to him dripping wet. The king was in a transport
of joy at the prowess of his hound. He patted him on
his head, calling him the most faithful servant he had at
court, and promising to make him Archbishop of Canterbury, so soon as he could dispose of Abbott, who was then
proprietor of the cross and cap.
Abbott, the archbishop, was obliged to pocket this compliment without a word; for James, who thought himself
the best theologian in England, and who had actually given
lessons in the Latin language to several of his courtiers,
that they might become theological tutors to his Parliament,
claimed the right of insulting the profession at his pleasure.
He would, also, repeat an insult whenever he fell on one
that suited him. turning it up, this side and that, as a naturalist does a rare stone, that he might be sure to make
the best show of it in his power. It was so in the case
before us.
"Thou art a bra' beagle," said the monarch, patting the
wet hound again and again, " my bra' gude beagle. I'll
mak' thee my prime min'ster. When thou art auld, and
fit for na thing else, thou maun be my archbishop, gude
Jowler, thou bra' hoon."
"He will lack his Latin, sire," interposed Abbott at a
venture. "He might bay for thee; but a bishop should
beseech as well as bark. And do we not pray best in Latin,
sire?"
" For a' the world, mon," ejaculated the king sharply,
"thou art but a poor Papistic beastie. Ha' I not mad'
thee know, that a' our Latin praying, in our closet service,
be but to gie my bishops a wee bit o' schooling o' the
books? The folk pray beest in their mithers' tongue, and





168


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


thou, mon, maun gie mair heed to my teaching, or thou'lt
ha' na cap or crosier when thou art auld. Beneficio nihil
veri ignorantia utitur."
" Nay, sire, I'll need no cap, lapping the bounty of thy
royal will. So long as thou art king, not only I, thy poorest
dog, but all this wide realm, shall draw fatness from the
throne. It needs not sb base a creature as myself to tell
thee, sire, that thou art the great center, the all-ruling sun,
fiom whose face all life and light do come to this wide
circuit and circumference of thy power."
"But when I'm gone, Abbott? We bide not here for
aye; and the sun, as thou spak', ha' his gaeing down."
"Nay, but the fountain, so plentiful and full, flows onward in a direct and chosen course. Thou hast one dear
boy alive."
" And that it is, bishop," said James, still stroking and
patting Jowler on the head, "that ga's my foot. Thou
knowest the young King o' Spain, and what princely
treasures the Infanta, Donna Maria, should bring my baby,
Charles. But procul dependet galea-wha' kens the day
they'll come?"
" The sea hath many fish; and thou canst angle like a
king."
"Ay, mon, but they carry not a' in their red gills the
yellow gowd."
"But the Lord's chief apostle shall know where to cast
his hook.  Thou art my preceptor; but was not Peter
instructed where to fish?"
"Hast na' rad thy Bible, mon? ' Vade ad mare, et mitte
hamum, et eum piscem, QUI PRIMUS ASCENDERIT, tolle.' Was
he not to tak' the first that should come up, whose mouth
was to be full o' gowd?"
" Thy poor priest," replied Abbott, feeling himself to be





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


169


outwitted in the argument, by which he had tried to dissuade the king from that Spanish match--" thy poor priest
should have learned his Bible out of thee. But shall the
King of Spain," continued the archbishop, recovering himself, as usual with James's courtiers, by falling in directly
with his aims, " shall the King of Spain be lacking wit, that
he will delay an alliance so much to strengthen his youthful
throne?  And is Philip's sister, the beautiful Castilian
pearl, too rich a gem to deck our fair prince's brow? Did
not the Spanish armada founder upon our shores? Have
we not humbled the navy of Holland, and sent it creeping
for safety up all her canals and creeks? Art thou not now
the captain of all the seas? Art thou not now the pillar of
the Triple Alliance, by which the three great Protestant
powers make head against the Papal world? Will Philip
despise a match, by which his Catholic sister becomes the
Queen of England, and, it may be, the champion of all the
Catholics in the land? Besides, my Lord of Bristol possesses the confidence of the young king; and thy son,
Charles, is attended by a man, whose depth of genius, and
fertility of resource, and wit at diplomatic sparring, have
no equals in our age. Believe me, sire, thou knowest more
law, more religion, more Latin than all the doctors of thy
great realm; but Buckingham knows how women's hearts
are won!"
That appeal touched the monarch's heart exactly in the
right place. It is true the crafty archbishop had woven
into his speech a plain caution against the Spanish connection; but he had praised England, flattered the king,
lauded Charles, complimented his Spanish bride, and
glorified the Duke of Buckingham, in James's estimation,
to the very skies. The king, in fact, could always brook
any thing, from any of his creatures, which closed up with
H





170            THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
flattery to himself and to his favorite, whom he held in
higher esteem than he did his son. The allusion to the
Spanish marriage, also, was rather opportune to the mood
and purposes of the king. It broached a topic, which, for
a long time, he had himself sought his opportunity to disclose. Pulling a scroll of parchment from his belt, he unrolled it rather hesitatingly to the light, and then began to
read it to his great servants who stood around. It was a
treaty between Spain and England. The chief heads of it
were, that King Philip was to bestow upon Charles Donna
Maria, his beautiful sister, with a pension of two millions
of ducats; that the King of England was to give toleration
to his Catholic subjects, making no difference between them
and the other inhabitants of the kingdom; that the prisons
of Great Britain were to be opened and emptied of their
Catholic inmates, who had been committed for their
opinions; that the children of this marriage should be
educated by their mother till they should be ten years of
age; and that no hinderance should be offered to them, by
their becoming Catholics, should they live to inherit the
British throne.
Having read the paper, and perceiving servility plainly
written in every face, he caused the carcass of the faithful
old buck, which his hunters had, by this time, brought over
the river and laid as a trophy at his feet, to be cut in two,
according to the ancient patriarchal custom, when a grave
covenant was about to be ratified. Causing the halves to
be separated by a few feet, the king, having before set his
own name to the instrument, which was seconded by that
of Cecil, his chief secretary, he compelled all his other
ministers, then present, both temporal and spiritual, to
write their signatures beneath his own. Then, with a
mockery of sacred things, which no other than a vain old





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.               171
theological pedant would have dared, he caused them all
to follow him in a solemn procession between the separated
parts of the fallen victim, and even sprinkled the stag's
blood upon their robes. With such blasphemy did he, who
was the head of the English Church, and monarch of the
English realm, sell himself, his country, and his faith, to a
Catholic sovereign for a little gold!





CHAPTER XVII.
THE LETTERS ARE OPENED.
"The love of gold, that meanest rage,
And latest folly of man's sinking age,
Which, rarely venturing in the van of life,
While nobler passions wage their heated strife,
Comes skulking-last, with selfishness and fear,
And dies collecting lumber in the rear."
MOORE.
Royal Marriages are troublesome-A Treaty is to be examined-A
Difference of Opinion-A Messenger at the Nick of Time-A Lion
rampant-A Series of Epistles is read-The last of the Series causes
great Agitation in a Monarch-Money is valued far above Honor.
KING JAMES had no sooner reached the palace, than he
summoned Cecil, and two or three more of his most confidential ministers, to attend him in his private chamber.
The business was soon laid before them. The question
was, how this new treaty with Spain, so hateful to the English people, could be most judiciously given to the public.
It was no private bargain, between royal persons; but it
bound the governments and subjects of two great countries.
The people, therefore, must know it. The inhabitants of
Spain, gaining much and losing nothing, would be likely to
applaud it; but nearly the whole population of Great
Britain, Cavaliers and Puritans, Roundheads and Independents, would fly to arms to oppose it.
The royal council was in great perplexity. After a long
and elaborate discussion, in which the king, as usual, was
not only judge but chief debater, the numerous courses
proposed finally settled down into the three following:





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


173


1. To dissolve the Parliament without giving them the secret, thereby allowing the king to execute the treaty in his
own right, without interference from the representatives of
the people; or, 2. To continue the sessions of Parliament,
but execute the treaty by royal proclamations, made successively as the public were found ripe to receive them; or,
3. To let both people and Parliament alone, and to give
themselves no concern about the treaty, so soon as the bride
and her two millions of ducats should be safely landed upon
the British shores. All these propositions were largely
argued, pro and con, the king taking both sides of each
successively, and bringing his whole cabinet to his opinions
at every change. Not satisfied with his last conquest, he
was about to break up the sitting without coming to any
point, when, as chance would have it, a courier of state
rode up and dismounted at the gate. The king was the
first to spy him, and, ringing for a footman, exclaimed,
"More news, gentlemen, more news from our two sweet
boys!"
The footman, however, was not needed. The courier,
knowing the importance of his message, and the easy
accessibility of the king, who considered all ceremony as
nothing but a relic of Popery, proceeded directly to the
monarch's private apartment. He entered with a package
in his hand. Delivering the package to James, and receiving a small purse of gold for his service, he bowed with
reverence and retired.
Opening the seal with eagerness, the king was soon lost
in its contents, forgetting entirely, no doubt, that there was
a solitary person with him in the room. At the very first
line his countenance flashed and burned as if with rage.
In a moment more, his whole person quivered with emotion,
but of what kind no one could tell. At last, when his eye





174


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


reached the bottom, and he had learned the whole, he gave
such a stamp of his powerful Scotch foot, that it made the
aisles and arches of his old palace ring. But he spoke not
a single word, which, considering his present passion and
his ordinary temper, was a mystery that no one there could
solve.
The only man who could soothe or even approach the
lion, when thus rampant, was not there. The ministers
stood aghast, trembling like so many sheep in the presence
of the infuriated monarch of the wood. The king raged
from side to side of his ample room, scattering dismay
among his counselors at every look. As if totally unconscious of what he was about, he began to pull papers from
his coat pockets, until he held no less than four different
documents in his hands. Passing the table, where he and
his servants had been seated, he threw down the papers,
ordering Cecil to read them aloud; and then threw himself
into a huge chair, in a transport of excitement, covering
his face with his handkerchief probably to hide some tears.
Cecil hesitated, being constitutionally a timid man.
"Read!" exclaimed the monarch, "read them a', first,
second, third, fourth. Thou wilt ken them by their dates.
They'll gie thee the history o' it a'."
The minister now opened the first paper, which proved
to be an epistle fi-om the Duke of Buckingham, the great
and all-powerful favorite of James. Buckingham, whose
original name was George Villiers, was the son of Catholic
parents in low circumstances of life; yet, under favor of his
personal beauty, which was unparalleled in his day, and of
his base servility to James, which was really disgusting
both in nature and degree, he had risen above the heads of
such men as Coke, Raleigh, and Bacon, and was at last the
master more than the servant of the king. The scriptural





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


175


monarch had nick-named his favorite, " Steenie," the Scotch
abbreviation for Stephen, who was supposed to have been a
personage of great comeliness; and Steenie, to return the
compliment, had conferred upon the haughty James the
elevated soubriquets of "Dad" and "Gossip," by which
titles he always honored him, even to his face. There was
always a contemptible fondness in his communications to
his sovereign, which confirmed all the effeminate meanness
of character universally attributed to them both; and the
letters now in the hands of Cecil, which he was about to
read, were equal for their peculiar trait to any thing he
had ever penned. They must have been a rich treat to
that council, who, till that moment, jealous as they were
of Buckingham's popularity, had never had a fair view
of the vulgar familiarity kept up by the monarch and his
man.
The first letter was dated and couched as follows:
" PARIS, February 19, 1622.
" DEAR GossIP-The earliest opportunity that cometh to
us of writing to our beloved is consecrate to his enlighten.
ment of our fortunes. We are presently at the French
capital. The last night we attended upon a court mask at
the Palais Royale. Our poor speech can not do it justice.
I can say this much that the dressings were elegant, the
choruses good, and the ostentation of the play wonderful.
It undertook to set forth a brief picture of the past, present,
and future history of earth. The philosophy of it was
profound, carrying in its deep idea an outline historical and
graphical of the physical, intellectual, and spiritual life of
the race. How chop-fallen was your poor English dog, to
sit there and spy out the unmeasured superiority of the
French artists to our own! But I must hasten. We of





176             THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
course waited upon the festival in disguise; but what importeth most, we got a full view of the unvailed beauty of
the nonpareiled Austrian Anne; and thy dear Baby Charles,
as chance had ordered, had a fair sight of the beautifulest
of princesses, Henrietta Maria, sister to the king; and he
laudeth her aspect as we both do that of the gay young
queen. We are undiscovered. The court of Paris may
never be the wiser for our coming. If they discover us, it
will be too late to impede our journey, as we are now
mounting to depart for Spain; and you will know, in any
event of our surprisal, how to show a fair face of it to young
Louis and his cabinet. All is well. We pray and beseech
you to receive ten million times a greater number of our
chiefest blessings, than you can enumerate till our return.
" From your poor slave,           STEENIE."
The second epistle, written by snatches on the road, had
been dispatched by Lord Bristol, on the arrival of the
travelers:
" Between Paris and Madrid, en route.
" MY DEAR OLD GOSSIP-The intent of this epistolary is
to advertise you of our safe passage out of Paris, though it
must needs be a matter of confession, that we had some
merry sport in securing our escape. The roads are much
at fault in the dominions of the Thirteenth Louis, who, it is
said, is not the happiest of monarchs. His beautifulest of
queens is equally unhappy. But I was giving you opinion
of the roads, which, I repeat, must grow better, or we shall
be a long season in making our progress to the Spanish
capital. We shall have a laugh, Dad, when I come home,
as I long to do, to tell you of a night spent at a Popish
convent on the way. We left there in some haste. The





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.               177
lessons of my poor Lord of Verulam stood me in good turn
that night. Had it not been for their service, we might
have been betrayed, captured, insulted, and I know not
what; but as it was, never did a time pass more smoothly.
Sir Richard has overtaken us. We made a narrow passage
at Bayonne, but time serveth me not for particulars. Safe
at last in Madrid. Our meeting with Bristol would do
honor to a romance. We have seen the court privately.
All is as we could desire. May the stars shed their mildest,
softest, sweetest, selectest, heavenliest light upon our lord
and master; and pray you ever, good Gossip, for our
healthful stay and safe return to our better likings.
" From your humble dog,         STEENIE."
The third communication was composed at Madrid in
the midst of the revels and rejoicings of the introduction.
It is very short; but, though penned after the writer of it
and Charles had sworn to each other to break off the whole
negotiation for Maria, on the first opportunity, it contains
a compliment of a high order to that lady, besides expressly declaring the ardor of the prince's affection for
her. The whole of it is so base in villainy, and so low in
language, that were it not given, word for word, in the
celebrated collection of Mr. Howell, as well as in the
Hardwicke state papers, no modern reader would credit
its authenticity. But we give it exactly as history has
recorded it:
"MADRID, March 16, 1623.
" DEAR DAD AND GossIP-The chiefest advertisement
of all we omitted in our other letter, which was to let you
know how we like your daughter, his wife, and my lady
mistress. Without flattery I think there is not a sweeter
I I*





178


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


creature in the world. Baby Charles himself is so touched
at the heart, that he confesses all he ever yet saw is nothing to her, and that, if he want her, there shall be blows.
I shall lose no time in hastening their conjunction, in
which I shall please him, you, and myself most of all, in
thereby getting liberty to make the speedier haste to lay
myself at your feet-for never none more longed to be in
the arms-(the pen refuses to complete this sentence). So,
craving your blessing, I end,
" Your humble slave and dog,     STEENIE."
The fourth letter was the one brought to the king by
the courier, who had just retired from the royal presence.
It was the one which had so enraged the monarch; and it
was, consequently, listened to by the courtiers with an
eager relish. But James, in spite of his attachment to his
favorite " Steenie," was too much in love with the two
million of ducats, of which the letter prophesied the losing,
to hear the epistle read with his former patience; and he
interrupted Cecil at the close of nearly every sentence. I
shall endeavor to represent the interesting scene as accurately as possible. The epistle was dated
"MADRID, March 20, 1623.
"DEAREST AND LOVINGEST DAD-Our times are being
spent in great rejoicings over the expected conjunction of
your Baby Charles and the incomparable Infanta."
" And my jewels, mon, are pawned to pay the piper for
thee, without hope o' recompense o' the ducats."
"All Madrid is in a blaze of merriment. The bells are
kept, constantly on duty. The king, the queen, the whole
court, above all Baby Charles and the Donna, are in ecstasies of rapture."





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.              179
"But na thing about the ducats."
" The marriage has gone so far bravely. The treaty is
signed and privately agreed to by court and council. Olivares, the Pope's nuncio, and Count Gondomar, who calls
himself an Englishman, out of his pure love for us, are
much in favor toward it."
" What! but never a word o' the ducats."
"Baby Charles has written a letter to the Pope with
his own hand, styling him, for reverence and good success
in the application, 'Holy Father.' The Pope has answered
our loving prince's gentle billet, calling him a dear sweet
prince, and worthy of his pious ancestors. He prays the
prince most affectionately to be reconciled to his Holy
Mother, of which the Pope hath great expectation from the
friendliness of Baby Charles' present mood and temper."
" Hoot, mon, and what ha' the puir auld priest to do
wi' the payment o' the twa million ducats!"
" But, dearest Gossip, I fear nothing but the hinderance
we may have from the Roman bishop. His nuncio, Olivares, will not consummate this match, till we have not only
promised liberation to our English Catholics, now in prison
for their treasons, but proclaimed toleration to all Papists
in your dominions. But this is impossible. It would bring
the Parliament and people down upon us. Our only hope
has been, to make the treaty, give the pledges, swear to
them, and so forth, all of which is mere talking, but to find
future means to satisfy the young King of Spain, who will
be your son-in-law, that the execution of the covenant is
impracticable. But Olivares, and Gondomar, and even
Philip, all stick for the proclamations, as if your royal
word, and our solemn oaths, are not to be credited in such
sacred business!  For myself, Dad, who am but your
mouthpiece and poor echo, I have no great mind to advise





180


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


you to be thus insulted on a point, where a king's honor
chiefly lieth. Baby Charles is of this opinion; and I fear,
lest they yield this hard point to his high spirit of conscious
integrity, the marriage may be much endangered, if not
abandoned. Spain, dear Gossip, must never dictate terms of
honor to the court of England. Still, as my duty is, I shall
spare no pains to bring this quarrel to a peaceful end, and
speed the glory of my king and country. It is certain,
though, that the money will not be paid at present; and
this, so contrary to their pledges, is but the shadow, I fear,
of their coming obstinacy and impertinence."
"Ah! there ye see it! ye need na boring through that
mill-stane. The match is a' over. I ha' beggared my
jewel-case to gie them conduct to the gowd mountain, and
they ha' spent my savings, and gie'n me back na thing but
the dross o' their rejoicings."
"In the meantime, as it becometh our bounden duties,
we shall make all speed to hasten our departures and lay
all these obstacles and obstructions before your superior
wisdom. Most humbly do I crave to receive the blessings
of him, whose slave and dog I am.
" STEENIE."
Thus read the letter; thus interrupted the king its reading; and when Cecil laid it down, his majesty fell into
another fit of passion. He raged exceedingly. He accused
Buckingham and Charles of every thing but their duty.
He forgot, that, to carry out the match, his whole cabinet
had been puzzled. He could not see that the fulfillment
of his engagements would bring a civil war upon him,
while a betrayal of them would be perjury. He had not
the sight to recognize a saving providence to himself and
family in this disappointment. He saw not the meanness





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.               181
and villainy of his son and favorite, as clearly exposed in
their fourth letter to him. He saw nothing. The wants
of his coffers, which he had emptied to gratify his own
lusts, and to enrich his base and unworthy minions, he
felt most keenly. The promise of two millions of golden
ducats, which would fill those coffers again to overflowing,
had entirely blinded him to reason, to conscience, and to
duty.





CHAPTER XVIII.


THE TEMPTATION.
"I am constant as the northern star,
Of whose true, fixed, and resting quality
There is no fellow in the firmament."
SHAKSPEARE.
Another Serpent in a Garden-The Serpent meets with another Woman
open to Temptation-Great Skill in Conversation-TPomises of Reward are profusely lavished-An artful Array of CircumstancesRemarkable Decision of Character in a Lady-A Cardinal is the second time repulsed-A terrible Alternative-A Woman is capable of
bearing Torture rather than yield her Principles-Triumphant Resolution.
To the reader the true characters of John and Thomas,
the two monks traveling in disguise, have been amply revealed; but he must remember that the revelation is still a
secret, and a puzzling secret, at the court of France. Who
these monks could be, what their business at Paris, why
come to the palace, with whom they had intercourse among
the French king's household, whether they were not spies
tampering with Anne of Austria, and what could be their
errand to the Spanish capital, were still the questions that
absorbed every other interest at the Palais Royale. We
left Richelieu, in fact, just after his conference with the
king and the queen-mother, in his private chamber plotting
the mode of bribing or forcing the heart of the beautiful
Duchess de Chevreuse, the hitherto faithful servant of
Queen Anne. The question is now to be decided, whether,
between the double motives of ambition and fear, under





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.              183
the twofold pressure of pleasure and of pain, she will
abandon her mistress to her ruin, or abide fast by the fortunes of her former friend.
Before the cardinal had left his room, on the morning
after the above-named conference, the arrangements were
all settled of swaying, in one way or the other, this lady's
mind. First, large offers of preferment and honor were to
be made her, but not in a way to excite suspicion of design;
if these should prove ineffectual, she was to be summoned
as a state's witness, and compelled to give her testimony
against Anne.
It was planned that Richelieu should meet her, as if
accidentally, in the king's garden, where the duchess was
known to spend a little time each day, in fair weather, in
attendance upon a few favorite shrubs, which, for her
amusement, she had planted and cultivated with her own
hands. Watching his opportunity, the cardinal, in the
warm of the day, sallied out to take a ramble, very unusual
for him, among the trees, and vines, and shrubbery of the
royal garden. He wandered a long time down its avenues
and aisles, threading its numerous paths, which, according
to the early French style, so tangled and perplexed themselves with each other, as to produce almost an inexplicable maze. Though, at that season, there were no leaves
upon the bushes, the bushes themselves, intertwined with
vines and brambles, were so densely matted, that, in many
places, it was difficult for the inexperienced cardinal to
make his way.
Issuing from one of these thickets, where he had been
entangled, he tramped on the dry sticks and leaves, which
crackled beneath his feet; and when he parted the last
vail of wicker-work, that hung between him and an open
space beyond, he emerged from the mesh very much as a





184            THE SHOULDER-KOT.
panther or a lion would show himself, when coming into a
cleared spot from his wild and leaf-hid lair. In that open
space the duchess was busily at work; and when she heard
the noise of the cardinal's feet, she was suddenly alarmed,
and turned to see what might be the cause.
As soon as she beheld the face of a man peering through
the bushes, and the man himself struggling to push his way
along, she became petrified with fear. But it was too late
to make good her flight; and, to say truth, as soon as she
recognized the countenance of the minister, though she
could not divine the object of so singular an adventure,
she felt that, whatever might be her danger, it would be
of a very different character from what she had supposed.
It may be, in fact, that the duchess feared nothing at all,
so soon as she knew her visitor; for the cardinal, she remembered, had been very gracious and kind to her for
several days. He had bowed condescendingly and even
affectionately to her as he had passed her in the palace;
once or twice he had spoken some very soft and pretty
words to her as they had met; and now, though he seemed
a little out of place, she knew that he had once been fond
of rural life. She, therefore, picked up her pruning-knife,
which had at first fallen from her hand, and resumed her
favorite task of trimming the bush on which she happened,
at the moment, to be at work.
Richelieu nearly passed her, as if he knew nothing of
her presence, until, turning half round to examine a little
dwarfish tree, which, in a very curious manner, had been
stunted in its growth, his eyes met those of the beautiful duchess apparently by surprise. Never was there the
man who could act a part better than the cardinal. IIe
stood, for a single moment, regarding the duchess in an
attitude of doubt; then, as if he had satisfied himself of





THE SHOULDER-KINOT.


185


her identity, he approached her with a thousand merry
looks and merrier words, asking scores of pardons for intruding, so unintentionally and unacceptably, upon her
retirement.
" But, then," added Richelieu, smiling profusely, " there
is really nothing in this work of yours that calls for secrecy; for the tasks of horticulture are among the most innocent, and healthful, and agreeable in the world. The truth
is, madam, I am fond of these pursuits myself, but can find
no time for them; but I rejoice to see that the king has
one member in his household, who takes a delight in such
peaceful and harmless pleasures. But what trees have you
here, madam?" The cardinal stepped still farther forward,
and bent over to examine the one, which the duchess was
then pruning.
" This," said the lady, not a little confused and blushing
deeply, "is a Chinese pear-tree; that is an apple of our
own climate; and I am trying to rear them according to
the custom of their respective countries, to make a comparison of the two theories of cultivation. But your grace
will laugh at such a conceit, I am certain."
" Not at all, madam," replied the gallant minister, " I
think it is very fine indeed. Nothing could be more commendable or ingenious. I shall take a deep interest in the
results of your beautiful speculation. You have even now,
I presume, made some discoveries in which those results
may be foreshadowed?"
"As to that, Mr. Cardinal, the trees are yet too young
to give any certain promise of what they will be; but I
think I can see a difference between them."
"No doubt that difference is on the side of the exotic;
for it is said they flourish wonderfully in our soil, if attended
with sufficient assiduity."





186


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


" Why, sir, it is hard to decide between them, as each
has its superiority and inferiority.  The French tree is
more native, and makes a more constant and even growth,
being less embarrassed by the changes of our climate.
The other is more soft, more delicate, and, as you see,
more beautiful; but for two seasons it has bloomed luxuriantly without bearing fruit, while every blossom of the
French shrub, though few in all, brought an apple."
"I am surprised at this, madam," said the cardinal,
stepping to the pear and looking at it carefully, "as it is
thought these China pears do particularly well in our
country. Besides, good duchess, you must excuse my
singular interest in these foreign trees; for you know I am
myself a foreigner; and, by the way, madam, it is a lucky
thought in me, who am dull of wit, that there is a reason
why you should share my partiality for this beautiful
exotic."
" I confess, Mr. Cardinal," replied the duchess, acknowledging the compliment with more blushes, "that I
have a very decided partiality for the pear; but I can not
see how that gives me the honor of being at all associated
with your Grace, only as we both happen to admire the
same object."
" Precisely so, madam," rejoined the artful Richelieu,
" and because we may happen to admire it for the same
reason; for, if I mistake not, sweet duchess," added the
cardinal, smiling gayly at his wit, "you also have some
partiality for foreigners. It has given me great pleasure,
too, to see your fidelity in so disinterested an attachment."
" Your comparisons, your Grace," replied the duchess,
coloring more deeply as she spoke, " are truly abstruse and
delicate this morning; but I am bound to nod assent to
your conclusion, that, in the respect you mention, if you





TIHE SHOULDER-KNOT.


187


are pleased to reckon on any similarities, there is some
ground for your classic figure. But, in reality, Mr. Cardinal, I am deeply sensible of my inferiority to the minister
of the all-powerful Louis."
" All that is nothing, madam," replied Richelieu, banishing the homage paid him with a motion of his hand, indicative of his disbelief or indifference--" all that is nothing,
when you consider how easy it is for a lady of your
character to rise, by a single bound, far above the most
powerful."
"You are jesting with me, Mr. Cardinal," said the
duchess, " but, to carry out the joke, I would be glad to
know how one like me could perform such a wonder."
"c Truly, madam, I feel in high spirits this morning, having been refreshed by a full night's sleep, and much by my
rambles, but more by this opportunity with your ladyship;
but, believe me, in that last remark I was really serious,
however too lively my expression might have been to fit
the purpose. I was serious, madam; and I repeat, that
you may mount to the very side of the throne at your
quickest pleasure."
Y our promises are very abundant, certainly, but I must
insist that you are making merry with me." She said this
with some thoughtfulness of manner.
" Madam," said the minister, becoming himself more
serious, but retaining all his suavity of expression, " madam,
behold in these two shrubs my meaning. You have served
them both, though your peculiar affection for the exotic
has rendered you more attentive to it, than to its native
rival. The latter has given you some fruit, nay, all the
fruit you have received thus far for your anxiety and labor;
the other has repaid you with fair promises, with a world
of bloom and beauty, but with no substantial recompense.





188


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


Suppose, now, you transfer your partialities, for a time of
experiment at least, to the indigenous plant, and see
whether it will not yield you a greater satisfaction than
you can reasonably anticipate from the other. From my
own experience, which, trust me, has not been small, I can
assure you of much sudden profit."
" But you have applauded the service to foreigners, Mr.
Cardinal," replied the duchess with a flushed countenance; for she saw at once through the ingenuity of the
minister's allusion, without scarcely knowing what answer
she ought to make.
" Indeed, and you may gain this ascent through a foreigner, madam, who tenders his services to you in this high
business."
The duchess understood his meaning; she dropped her
eyes to the ground in deep contemplation; she saw, no
doubt, a phantasmagoria of wealth, and honors, and splendor, rising up around her; but she appeared to hesitate
from an ignorance of the true nature of the proposition.
So, at least, thought the cardinal; and he interposed accordingly.
"You know, good duchess," said he, in his blandest and
softest manner, "that there is a slight variance between the
parties. You serve the weaker part. All the promotion
you have ever had has come from his royal pleasure, as she,
by the Salic law, has no legal powers in the government.
You, in other words, are her attache, and must inevitably
share her fortunes. The king is jealous of her. The queenmother seeks an opportunity to ruin her. The ministers of
the crown, who are characteristically time-servers, naturally
fall in with the stronger side. The queen is not only low
in the esteem of the court, but I fear, madam, near her
downfall. I have struggled hard with the king to save





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


189


her. He is my witness. But all in vain. Her end is
near. Now, madam, in token of the high respect I hold
toward you, I have sought the privilege of his majesty of
offering to you any place you may ask in the king's household, which overture I now have the honor of laying at
your feet. Accept his bounty, madam, I beseech you, if
you have a care to your own well-being."
"I tender my profoundest reverence to his majesty,
through you, Mr. Cardinal," replied the duchess, " but I
do not yet see how I can serve him better than I am serving him at present."
"Will you suffer me, then, madam," added the ministei,
considering her last remark as a delicate request to be enlightened on the real nature of his business-" will you
suffer me to touch upon this unpleasant matter more directly? The queen has been already tried and condemned.
The best witnesses in the realm have sworn against her.
The king demands an immediate execution of the sentence.
That sentence is either death or perpetual banishment.
But, madam, I had the honor of suggesting to the king,
that you, as privy to all her secrets, must perish with her,
unless opportunity be granted you to clear youself of partnership by becoming evidence to the crown of what you
know, which, remember, will in no way affect her fortunes, but only save your own."
"But of what offense does the queen stand charged?':
inquired the duchess with some hesitation; for she could
not dream, as well as she knew the cardinal's capacity of
ferreting out secrets, that he had obtained knowledge of
the accidental meeting between Anne and the two foreigners, on the night of the late festival.
"You are now jesting with me, madam," replied the
crafty Cardinal de Richelieu; "for do you think that the





190            THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
king would attaint his wife with treason, with meeting and
conspiring with foreigners, with parleying with them in
disguise for the accomplishment of foul purposes, unless he
had substantial testimony to sustain, nay, to enforce him?
And do you think, that such an intrigue can be practiced,
though with all the skill of a Faust, or Mephistophiles, in the
midst of a palace full of courtiers, without observation? Be
assured, madam, every thing is known; the queen is condemned; she must fall without remedy; and, now, it is for
you to say, whether you will accept the king's strange
clemency, or perish with her."
The duchess stood transfixed with astonishment. She
was convinced that the sleepless minister, from whom no
secrets could be kept, had discovered every item of the late
adventure, which Anne had so confidentially and so carefully narrated to her. She saw her own danger also. She
saw herself standing on a narrow brink, with death, or
banishment, or other ruin on the one side, and with honors,
elevation, wealth, and glory on the other. She was a
Frenchwoman; her mistress was a foreigner. By adhering to the queen, she could do her majesty no favor; but,
by telling what she knew, she could save herself, without
adding to Anne's disasters. It was her right, too, to prefer
to remain at ease in her native country, rather than be
banished or murdered without profit to any person. Besides, she would be telling only what was well known already, and that without her agency. Who, then, will blame
the duchess, if, while standing there, lost in deep meditation, the thought passes through her mind of declaring the
whole, and accepting life and happiness in the place of
death or misery? It was evident enough to Richelieu,
who stood regarding every movement and expression of
her countenance with a sagacity and penetration seldom





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


191


equaled, that her vigorous and rapid mind was powerfully
at work on the topic he had suggested. He saw, in a
moment more, that the crisis was fast arriving; next moment, that it had come; and then that the time was at hand
when victory or defeat would declare itself.
" On whose testimony is the queen convicted?" inquired
the duchess with a gentle and thoughtful manner of expression.
Richelieu perceived that it would not do to prevaricate
at this conjuncture; nor, in truth, did he see any great motive for so doing. He, therefore, answered her directly,
presuming on her selfishness in so plain a matter, that the
queen stood condemned on the testimony of the queenmother, who saw the parties issuing from beneath the same
mimic crag, on the night of the entertainment.
"And what," continued the duchess, " do you desire me
to testify?"
" You are only to confirm the evidence of the queenmother," said the minister very plausibly.
"But the word of Mary, good Mr. Cardinal, can not
need the confirmation of so humble a personage as I am."
"Indeed, madam, for you must know, that Mary would
find it an unpleasant task to carry impeachment and death
against her own daughter-in-law, against the wife of her
only son, on her single evidence."
The cause was now fully pleaded. The duchess, by telling what she knew, could not only save herself, but gratify
the cardinal, please the king, and propitiate the passionate
queen-mother, who could not fail to appreciate and reward
so great a service. What, then, shall a youthful, beautiful,
hopeful, pleasure-loving woman do in such a crisis? This
is the question with the reader. It was the question with
Richelieu, who, looking fixedly upon her, saw that every





192


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


thing was suspended upon her answer. As she opened
her lips to speak, he advanced her a thousand smiles as an
earnest of all he had promised her.
"I am to confirm the word of the queen-mother."
"Nothing more."
"All depends on this confirmation 1"
"Every thing."
"You are empowered by the king to offer me life and
all these honors in return for my services I"
"1 This paper, with the king's hand and seal, will satisfy
you."
The duchess took the parchment, and, seeing that all was
right, proceeded:
" Listen, then, Mr. Cardinal, to my answer."
That was exactly what the cardinal wished to listen to;
and he would gladly have exchanged his eyes and his nose,
and his tongue, and every one of his fingers respectively
for a pair of ears, had it been possible.
"Do you see these goodly trees, Mr. Cardinal?"
"Plainly, madam."
" Do you see that stately pile of architecture, where the
king holds his residence l"
"I do."
" Do you behold these overhanging clouds, that, floating
so gayly over us, hold showers of rain within their capacious bosoms l"
"I behold them."
"Do you observe yon glorious river, the pride of France,
winding in beauty along its way, and pouring its ample
floods into the all-embracing sea?"
" Certainly, madam, I see all these things."
" Well, then, Richelieu, hear my answer. Let these
trees now begin to bear fruit of gold, and drop their full





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


193


harvests at my feet; let that gorgeous palace be my dwelling, with its lords and ladies for my servants; let these gay
clouds gather and shower down their countless drops, each
single drop being a pearl, or a diamond, or some rich
honor; let yonder noble stream be changed to a river of
worldly glory, rolling its swelling tides all around me; nay,
Richelieu, bring me the treasures hid in the caves of earth,
on the ocean's bottom, in the deep mountain's side, ay, from
every chink of the great world between its center and its
ribbed circumference, between that circumference and the
star-spangled canopy of heaven, and I can not, will not, betray the innocent, who has confided her life to me! That,
Mr. Cardinal, is my answer!"
Such an answer would have confounded any man but
Richelieu; but he, though rocking and heaving internally with
passion, had the consummate art of maintaining a smooth
outside appearance. Nothing could ruffle his countenance,
when it was his interest or pleasure to preserve a placidity
of expression; and he could also, on occasion, assume any
amount of bitterness, of anger, or of any other passion,
when his heart was as calm as it ever was. Now, under a
disappointment which must have cut him to his heart, he
continued to smile very graciously upon the duchess, encouraging her to maintain her constancy, applauding this
virtue with great fervor, but suggesting that he had farther
business with her, and would be glad to see her for a few
minutes in his audience-chamber. "These two gentlemen,"
said the cardinal, pointing to a couple of officers, who, till
that moment, had been concealed behind a thick hedge,
"will conduct you in safety to my apartment."
Richelieu retired rather hastily to the palace to get all
things in readiness. The duchess, supported right and left
by the civil officers, followed on firmly but more slowly.
I





194


THE SHOULDER-KNOT


By the time she made her appearance at the door of the
audience-chamber, the cardinal was prepared to give her a
suitable reception, and, coming himself at the first signal,
welcomed her to his apartment with as much politeness and
cordiality, as if she had been his bride.
" I fear, madam," said he, bowing and smiling, " you
may not find my quarters in very good keeping; but if you
will be kind enough to occupy this easy chair, which it has
been my happiness to provide expressly for you, I will endeavor to make amends for my slack housekeeping. Here,
madam, is a pair of shoulder-braces, of a very curious construction, designed to support a person in an erect position.
No, no, madam, not on your wrists, but on your shoulders.
There-so-that is right. Now, Decker, be kind enough
to attach these two ends to that little windlass. Yes-yes
-that is the place; tie them fast. Please now to turn the
windlass a few times over, so as to draw her shoulders back
a little. The chair is solid, madam, it will not tip over.
Be careful, sir, and do not hurt the lady. Just straighten
the ends. There-once more-not too fast-again, but
more slowly-now, but be very slow this time, the lady's
shoulders will not bear wrenching like Jouffioy's, the old
pirate-there, there, twist it up one quarter more, if you
think you can, and then lock it. There, hold, that will do,
Mr. Decker."
The cardinal now stepped back a pace or two to take a
glimpse of his fair victim. The blood had rushed to her
face. Every vein in it was swollen to twice its natural size
The eyes were starting from their sockets. Large drops
of perspiration were rolling down the channels made by the
contortions of her countenance. A couple of tears, one from
each eye, were just escaping over the inferior eyelids. In
every feature, she was the image of agony.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


195


" This exercise may not be entirely agreeable to you,
madam," said the cardinal in his blandest manner, " and
you must give us directions how far to carry it. Have you
any directions to make in reference to it, madam."
" I have nothing to say, sir," replied the duchess, giving
utterance to her words with great difficulty, and evincing
that she clearly comprehended the meaning of the minister.
"It may be, Mr. Decker," rejoined the cardinal, in his
gayest style, " that the good lady's position might be improved a little by a turn or two more, but undertake the
business gently, sir. Yes-so-so-gently-gently-gently-ver-y g-e-n-t-l-y, s-i-r. There, hold, sir!"
The instrument had gone once and a half around; and
it seemed impossible for the duchess to endure another atom
of this torture. The cardinal took another look at his writhing victim. The expression of her countenance was still
more agonized. The veins and arteries of the face seemed
ready to burst. The skin was turning purple. But he saw
a knitting of the eyebrows, which, it is said, is always indicative of an unconquered will, and is the last expression to
yield to pain of body. It was a disagreeable token to the
minister; for he began to fear she would die in his hands,
rather than change her purpose; and he dared hardly
venture to such an extremity. The country might not
bear it.
"Is every thing perfectly satisfactory to you now, madam?" said that wicked man, approaching the duchess
again with a subdued but still lively utterance. "I should
be happy to make any alterations you may\mention. Have
you any thing to suggest upon the subject, madam?"
The duchess was in no condition to make such answer.
As her strength was failing, she could hardly give due expression to her resolution. Collecting what energy she





196


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


had, and knitting her brows with all her remaining vigor,
she threw her whole soul into the single word-" Nothing!"
The cardinal was now in trouble. This trial could not
be safely carried any farther. There was but a moment
left. He commanded the inquisitor to turn the instrument
once more, or as far as he could and not wrench the shoulders from their sockets; and he stepped back again to watch
his opportunity. So soon as the brow should relax, then
would be his time, then would come the victory. Wicked
man! Before the cylinder had turned half round, the eyes
of the duchess grew dim, her face became pale, her head
dropped to one side, and she ceased to breathe.
"Hold, Decker, hold! Turn back-back-back! Cut
the cords-cut the straps-cut her waist! Water, Decker, water! Sprinkle-pour-dash it on! Up-the windows-throw them all up! Who would have thought it,
Decker! Is she dead? Do you think she is dead, Mr.
Decker? Here, lay her upon this sedan. Sprinkle more
water. Fan her temples. Blow into her nostrils, Decker.
Inflate her lungs, and, if she have life in her, she will
revive."
Decker, though he performed every order punctually
and with professional tact, cared nothing whether the lady
died or recovered; but the minister, for the first time during all the progress of our story, showed signs of uneasiness
and discomposure. The death of the duchess would bring
all the calamities upon him, upon the king, and upon the
entire court, which he had prophesied to Louis as the probable result of summary execution upon Anne; because
Anne and her favorite servant were so identified by their
known attachments to each other, that they were regarded
umniversally almost as one person. He walked his apartment with some emotion, which, however, he concealed





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


197


effectually from the inquisitor. Decker was plying all his
art to resuscitate the duchess, provided she were not dead.
He had but little hope of her recovery for a long time; but
at length he thought he discovered a slight return of pulsation. Next he saw the least possible swelling of the bosom.
The color then began to mount slowly and faintly to her
cheeks. Last of all her eyelids trembled, quivered, struggled, then with difficulty opened. Her eyes wandered and
stared a moment, but became settled and calm the next
moment. Life, with reason and consciousness, after this
battle for existence, returned to her. Her countenance
was now mild, and serene, and amiable. The cardinal approached her with a counterfeit of kindness in his aspect
and expression.
" Have you any thing now, madam, to say touching the
business of which we were discoursing in the garden "
The duchess, regarding the minister full in the face, and
collecting all the power of look and language, which remained to her from her recent torture, replied in nearly the
words following:
" Richelieu, you have me in your power. You can put
me to any pains which your disposition or purposes may
point out to you. You can wrench the very life of my body
out of me. But know, sir, that not one word to the prejudice of the innocent and persecuted Anne of Austria will
ever pass my lips, till they are sealed in that eternal sleep
that has no waking."





CHAPTER XIX.
A VOYAGE AT SEA.
"Sooner shall the blue ocean melt to air,
Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea,
Than I resign thine image, O my fair!
Or think of any thing, excepting thee."
Adventurers on their Return homeward-Several Days given up to
Eating and Drinking-A parting Scene between Relatives-There
is no great Sincerity in it-Good Spirits not always founded on a
good Conscience-A Fool among Wise Men-The Politics of a Fool
occasionally sounder than those of graver Persons-A good Story
may be so told as to carry as much Weight with it as a poor Sermon-An Effect is produced.
THE Duke of Buckingham and Prince Charles had, by
this time, made every preparation to depart. The king's
carriages were ordered to convey them to the coast; and
not only the highest nobles of the country, but Philip himself, undertook to conduct them in safety to their ship.
On parting with the Spanish nobility, as they were about
taking coach, Buckingham and Charles passed through the
formalities of the farewell with great warmth; but when
they came to give the parting hand to the queen and to
Donna Maria, the minister's voice trembled with emotion,
and the eyes of the prince were filled with tears. The
Donna, on her part, was so sincerely affected, that, in spite
of the severity of her education, and the general punctiliousness of her manners, she fell upon the neck of Charles,
who pressed her with seeming rapture to his bosom. Recovering partly her self-possession in a few moments, and
being conscious of her breachbf court discipline, she disen




THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


199


gaged herself suddenly from the embrace of her lover, and,
covering her face in the folds of her silk robe, ran with
some precipitation from the room. But she had no sooner
passed the threshold of the door, than she burst into a flood
of emotion; and the last thing that the prince could hear
was the voice of Maria sobbing and sighing as if her heart
would break.
The journey was made by easy stages, the king insisting
upon a slow progress, that he might have opportunity of
manifesting his deep affection for his new brother-in-law.
On reaching the Escurial, Philip detained the whole company for several days, where he feasted them with every
luxury that his vast wealth could furnish. At Campillo, he
constrained them to tarry again, that he might make
amends for all his past neglect; and now the whole world
was put under tribute, both land and sea, to provide entertainments for his royal guest. But the king would not
leave them here. His sister, the beautiful Infanta, had
given Charles a letter for the celebrated nun of Carrion,
who had filled all lands with the fame of her beatitude and
piety; and Philip had himself a strong desire to see that
personage, and especially to witness the effect which her
character might have upon the heart of the princely young
Protestant. Arriving at Segovia, where the nun's cell was,
and perceiving a marked impression upon the mind of
Charles, as he delivered the letter of Maria to the recluse
in person, the young king felt a still deeper affection for his
kinsman, and resolved not to part from him till he had seen
him safe on ship. In nine or ten days after their departure
from Madrid, they arrived at the little seaport of St. Andrew, where the English fleet was anchored; and now the
time had come for the two youthful brothers-in-law to separate. It is said to have been an affecting ceremony, in spite





200            THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
of the known duplicity of Charles; for the ardor of Philip
was genuine. His heart was warm and even passionate; and
the very stiffness of his etiquette, yielding every now and then
to his feelings, added much to the interest of the spectacle.
"When the king and Charles parted," says Howell, "there
passed wonderful great endearments and embraces, in
divers postures, between them a long time; and in that
place there was a pillar to be erected as a monument to
posterityd' And the Spanish historians, among whom
Mendoza holds high rank, maintain, that the prince acted
his part to perfection, hugging the young king to his heart,
weeping profusely, and showering his person, and character, and court, and reign, with myriads of blessings.
They parted. The prince, with his white handkerchief
to his face, probably to hide his laughter, walked quickly
to the beach, and took seat in the skiff that was to bear him
to the admiral's ship. After a short pull, the mariners
brought him along side; and Charles, not waiting to be
hoisted on deck in the usual manner, commanded the
sailors to let down a rope. Catching the line, he soon
drew himself up, and, leaping on board, burst into a prodigious laugh, at the same time exclaiming, " Now let
Philip and the Donna sob over me till their eyes are red!"
Turning to Buckingham, as the duke came up, Charles
met him with another outbreak of merriment, and averred
that he owed all the success and enjoyment of their late
adventures to the masterly instruction and example of his
companion.  The duke received the compliment with
laughter, mingled with no little pride of feeling; for he had
actually discovered great improvement, in this particular,
in the conduct of his gratified disciple. The whole company of courtiers, catching the spirits of their masters, rejoiced, and laughed, and joked, as if it had been their trade





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


201


to imitate the whims and dissimulation of their superiors.
As they put to sea, the very crew took the passi 'n of their
betters; and, as they unfurled the flag of their country to
the Spanish breezes, and saw those breezes hugging into
the shoulder of their sails, they affirmed, with many a rough
word, that " the red lips of the Donna had left no print, as
they could see, on the fair cheek of Charles."
There was in the retinue of the adventurers one Archibald Armstrong, a celebrated court buffoon, the delight of
the palace and a favorite with the people. Archy was a
stanch Protestant, and more than once had had the good
fortune to overrule the Catholic inclinations of King James.
Fool as he was by profession, he was no fool in fact; for,
with a sagacity far beyond that of his party in England, he
perceived that this Spanish match, so far from auguring any
danger to the Protestants, would probably be the source
of their relief. Charles, as the husband of a Spanish
princess, would, on his coming to his impoverished crown,
be swayed by the Spanish monarch, whose wealth was
drawn from nearly every rich mine then discovered in the
world. This Spanish influence in English politics would
not fail to bring on a revolt of the English people; and, so
soon as the Anglo-Saxons could be brought to this, not only
the reign of the half-Popish Stuarts, but every thing Papal
in the realm, would come to a speedy end. Such, at least,
was the reasoning of Archibald; and he consequently
sought his opportunity to do something, or say something,
by which he could make some impression on the mind of
Charles.
The opportunity at length arrived. The morning subsequent to the embarkation dawned clear and calm; and
the entire day, till toward evening, remained equally serene.
As the ship was making but little progress, it became necesI*





202


THE SHOULDERE-KNOT.


sary, according to immemorial custom, to invent some
method of killing time; and, as there could be no feats, no
racing, no tournament, or similar sport, according to immemorial custom, also, they agreed to go on deck and draw
out their longest tales. But, no sooner were they fairly
or unfairly seated, some on one thing and some on another,
as they could find a bench, or a box, or a bunch of rope, a
difficulty sprang up. Though they had arranged for each
man to tell his story, no one would volunteer to begin; and
when they undertook to settle the question by rank, a lively
dispute arose respecting the superiority of the two chief
personages of the group. Buckingham had insisted that he
was excusable, having told his story-he urged this with a
sly wink to Charles-at another time and place; but now
he maintained that the prince was his superior as being
heir-apparent to the crown. Charles, on the other hand,
argued that he was inferior in fact to the duke, whatever
might be his future hopes; for, as prime minister of the
reigning king, Buckingham was actually king himself in
every thing where the king's authority was not interposed.
All this, though not very sound logic, would pass very well
on board a ship; but it convinced no one but those most
eager to listen, who expected to have but little or no opportunity to speak. As the contest was getting a little
tedious, without bringing any thing to pass, a lucky thought
hit some one at the nick of time. It was to call for
Archy, and hear as long a story as he could tell. This
was a popular suggestion; and the buffoon was called for
by every voice.
"A story is it that you want?" said the sly-looking and
witty Archibald, as some great courtier led him by the
collar into the center of the ring. " A story is it? And
what genus of a story would your grave Superissimusses





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


203


have me tell? It takes a prince, or a nobleman, to tell
stories; a fool has nothing to do but to speak the honest
truth."
This introductory sally raised the laugh against Buckingham and Charles; and Charles undertook the dangerous
experiment of a retort.
"What sort of a s-tory, Archy? Why, give us a history."
" Treason, gentlemen! The prince of Tories has become
fond of hiss-Tories! I am no hiss-Tory, sir!"
Another laugh at the expense of Charles, who, to cover
up his ill-luck, immediately responds, "No, no, Archy; if
you do not like history, give us one of your love stories."
" Loves Tories! Worse and worse, good gentlemen!
Do we hiss those we love? The prince has had his head
turned, gentlemen, but [aside] not his heart i"
"What kind of a Tory are you, Archy, if not a hiss.
Tory 1" inquired Charles, fearing to do more than ask a
question.
"Kind of a Tory? Why, sir, I am no kind of a Tory;
in other words, a no-Tory, and that I intend to make more
and more no-tori-ous!"
" Why, that's a fine conceit, Archy. Notorious in being
a no- Tory."
" Nay, my lord, no-tori-ous in my no- Tory-ousness. That's
the conceit, sir, may it please your loftiness."
"Marry, you are witty this morning, Archy."
"Marry, and you will be more witty than I fear, my
lord."
" Better and better, Archy. You are the very prince of
Punches."
" Yes, sir, and I'll sweat but I'll be the Punch of princes,
unless they marry."





204


THE SHOULDER-KNLOT.


" But, prince of wits, you are yourself unmarried. You
must not preach what you do not practice."
" I will not, as soon as you will practice what you preach.
And now, sir, I will give you a story."
The company put themselves into their best attitudes
for listening, anticipating no little fun from the fulfillment
of Archy's promise; and Charles was gratified to escape
thus easily from the shafts of his favorite comedian.
"My friend Frank," began the wit, leaning back at the
same time against the mizzen-mast, " was born in F., was
bred principally in W. V., sojourned a short time in G.,
commenced his education at C., graduated with high honors
from the university of M., taught for years at K. H., took
holy orders at H., and began his sacerdotal life at B. After
a brilliant career in the pulpit, he accepted the head-mastership in our great school at E. G., was called thence to
the metropolitan pulpit of B., there by the excess of labor
lost his health, was at once summoned to a professorship at
G. C., and from that high post was soon transferred to one
of the most responsible and dignified positions in the gift
of the Church. He remained long in that last position,
wielding an immense weight of influence from the center
to the circumference of this our great country. That,
gentlemen, is my first story. How do your good gravities
like it I"
"Though short," said Charles, "it could hardly have
proceeded farther, without jumping off the lower end of
the king's alphabet; but I think the wit of it needs some
spelling to make it intelligible to country gentlemen."
"Well, then," replied the buffoon, "if that story is too
deep for your penetrativenesses, I will tell you another. My
other friend's name, sweet maid, was Fanny. Her early
history is somewhat uncertain. Her father and mother





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


205


both died, while she was too young to appreciate her irreparable misfortune; but she learned to appreciate it afterward. A young gentleman first saw her in G., loved her
in G., wooed her in G., gained her young heart in G.,
pledged his soul to her in G., parted from her in G., promised faithfully to come back to her and to marry her in G.,
but never did return to G., nor marry her in G., nor see
her again any where, till he had been many years settled
in life, and his heart had relented of its cruelty. That, your
superlative lordships, is my second story. I beg it may
give you superior satisfaction."
"It is something more illiterate than the other," retorted
the prince, " having but a single letter in the whole of it.
However, it will all pass on shipboard, honest Archy, so
you have had a care to keep within the alphabet."
" Well, then, master Charles, I have told you and these
court-ears [courtiers] three stories; and now I will relate
the fourth."
"No, no, Archy, you have told us but two. Don't outrun your reckoning, Archy."
" No, but Archy will run out his reckoning for you thus:
for the first story we will say one; for the second, two; add
two and one together, and you have three, my lord, as I
told you. But I shall now make these three into one.
There's more divinity in my arithmetic, gentlemen, than
you have studied in the universities."
They all agreed that that was very probable, and so
encouraged Archy to proceed.
"With all this seeming coldness of disposition," said
Archibald, " Frank's was a noble heart. In early life he
was ambitious. His father was a man of station, of wealth,
of influence; and he reared his youngest son with great
carefulness. He gave him early advantages for education;





206


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


and devoted much of his own time and talents to his mental
culture. The best masters in the land were always employed to give him instruction; the best books were always
given him for reading and study; and he repaid all this outlay
by a progress in knowledge, and in mental character, which
secured the universal observation of his acquaintances.
" At an early age, Frank was left fatherless. His father,
belonging to the rank of cavaliers, and moving freely in the
highest circles, had contracted the habits of his order. Wit
and wine soon became to him the necessaries of existence.
Having neglected his affairs for several years, at his death
they were so entangled, that it was impossible for his heirs
to realize any thing from his property, without more litigation and expenditure than their means would warrant.
After a long family consultation, all hope of the inheritance
was abandoned; and our young hero was thrown upon the
world without a guinea. But he had an ambition which
poverty only stimulated; and he resolved to rise in spite
of his misfortunes. He commenced his career in a back
county; taught in a country school; with a few pieces in
his pocket, thus earned, he went on foot to the seat of the
church academy at C., to begin his studies on bread and
water; there, rising to preferment before his academical
course was completed, he worked his way to the university; and so, gentlemen hearers, my friend Frank pushed
his passage upward to the highest honors.
"While at G. he fell heartily in love, as I have said,
with the youthful, beautiful, amiable Fanny. She was the
beauty, but not the belle, of all that country. Though an
orphan, her education had not been neglected; her mind
was of that order, which drew instruction from every leaf
that fell at her feet, and from every passing circumstance;
and her heart, her kind and gentle disposition, her modesty





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


207


mingled with the highest self-respect, her high aims and
noble spirit, were the admiration and talk of all her neighborhood. As she was also dependent upon her own exertions, and an orphan like her lover, she seemed to take a
pride in emulating his high exertions. She also encouraged
him to persevere by her own example. Providence smiled
benignantly upon her efforts, raised her up friends to shelter
and protect her, and gave her a home in the heart of every
one that knew her. Anticipation, that angel artist, painted
her so sweet a prospect, where she was to be united inseparably to the object of her heart's worship, go with him
along the flowery paths of a bright future then dawning,
and walk down in all outward quiet and tranquillity to
their final rest, that she only smiled upon the afflictions by
which she was then embarrassed.
" It has been said by a classic poet, that Venus never
becomes lustrous till Mercury has set; and it is equally
true in science, that, when Mercury is in full brilliance,
Venus is almost always in the shade. It was so, certainly,
with my fiiend Frank. No sooner had he become immersed in deep and various study, than his young passion
began to subside, until, at length, he was no longer in the
list of lovers. He had the generosity to inform his friend
of his change of feeling. He wrote her a brief letter,
which she answered; and her answer gave him one deep
thrust at the heart, the deeper for being perfectly uncomplaining, forgiving, kind, then all was over. He took his
bed for an hour, on the receipt of her tender and touching
letter, where he rolled in agony and tears; but the next
hour called him to his tasks; the arrow was soon extracted
or broken off; and the wound of his young heart healed.
In a few days he was as busy, as ambitious, as forgetful of
his friend as ever.





208


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


"Years rolled on, bringing fortune and fame to the successful student, but adding bitter to bitter in the cup of the
rejected Fanny. She toiled, but with no courage; she
struggled, but for no end; the object of her life was gone,
and existence was a torment. But she was a devoted
Christian. She thought it unbecoming her to spend her
days in fruitless repinings. Nobly did she bear up under
her misfortune.  Though, in her humble place, she had
kept her eye continually upon.the rising meteor, once
the star to her own flowery pathway, she never called
from heaven one curse to light upon the head of her
unfaithful lover. No, from the very bottom of her soul,
such was the sincerity of her love, she begged of that
heaven to forgive him, and to crown all his days with
blessings.
'" Stifling the feelings of her unchanged heart, as well as
she could, she at length mingled more and more in company; and, years afterward, receiving the offer of a promising young merchant's hand, who was then in a prosperous business, she gravely considered it her duty no
longer to pine in wretchedness, when Providence had been
so good as once more to smile upon her loneliness. She
accepted the proposal of the merchant and married him.
Years rolled on again. The merchant, after a short run
of prosperity, made a few mistakes in business, failed,
became discouraged, and settled down in embarrassed circumstances.
"In the mean time her lover had loved again and married. His choice fell on a lady of good family, kind and
affectionate in disposition, unwearied in her devotion to
him, and well calculated to make him a useful and agreeable companion. A fine little family sprang up around him.
Though heaven took one or two of them, he left others





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


209


equally promising-equally interesting. Years and years
rolled on again. Frank and his wife, with their sweet
children, enjoyed every thing that fame, fortune, and friends
could bestow upon them. The husband, it is true, had
had time to be cooled a little in the ardor of his ambition.
He had looked about with a clear eye; and even turned
his regards, at length, to days till then almost buried in
oblivion. He thought over his young days-his days of
orphanage and poverty-his days of struggle and embarrassment. It is not strange, that, even at so late a period,
he should cast a single thought, now and then, upon the
once beautiful and lovely but lonely being, whom his own
fault had left not less lovely but a thousand times more
lonely than he had found her. It is not strange that he
should think of those days, when her sweet smile was the
light of heaven to him, and wander in imagination along
the paths, in field and forest, where he had wandered with
her in times over which Memory had long since thrown
her mantle of pleasing melancholy. It is not strange that
he should fall into the habit, as these reminiscences repeated themselves upon him, of getting as often as convenient
by himself, of sitting at the pensive hour of sunset by his
window, and of meditating on by-gone hours till the tears
should steal down his cheeks unnoticed. -It is not strange,
however sincerely he may have loved his present partner,
or however fondly he may have doted upon his children,
that, in a moment of sorrowful regret at his past misconduct, he should resolve, if the thing were found possible,
to seek out the residence of that long-neglected but unforgotten angel-to look upon her face again-to ask and
receive her pardon. Such a resolution, for a man of sober
years, may seem almost too romantic for reality; but it is
difficult to say, to what lengths of enthusiasm a naturally





210


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


warm and generous heart will impel a man under extraordinary excitement.
" Whatever may be thought of it, my friend did leave
his home, and family, and friends, at the soberest period
of his life, in search of that long-forgotten one, whose
place of abode, or condition in life, or whether she were
living or dead, he could not tell. He first made his pilgrimage to G., where he had seen her for the first and for
the last time, and where he had plighted his heart to her
in other days. Finding the very spot where his young
vows were made, he sat down upon it, and wrote a confession of his great fault in the following words: [And here
the buffoon pulled a paper from his pocket, and pretended
to read from it.]
" 'G., October 12, 1618.
"'To THE ABSENT-Be not surprised that you receive
a hasty scrawl from one once familiar with this place.
Know that I am now sitting exactly where, many long
years ago, I saw for the last time the dearest friend I then
had on earth. It is the spot, too, where, less than a year
before, two hearts were pledged to be forever one heart,
and where the seal of the covenant was impressed on soft
and smiling lips. Has Death separated those hearts? No.
Has he despoiled those honeyed lips? No. And yet there
is something in it all that resembles death. It is worse
than real death. A living torture is less tolerable than
buried hopes. And who was the destroyer?    He who
now writes this disavowal of himself. For years it has
been the intention, whenever Providence should so order,
of him now addressing you, to visit this place, to seek out
the very spot where the star of a bright future first
arose upon him, and there solemnly to renounce the unnatural act, by which that star was paled forever. Here,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


211


therefore, I sit, just where I once did-but where is she
who sat beside me? From me, (0, must I say it)? she is
gone forever! The place that knew her knows her no
longer. The heart then beating in her, beats not as it did,
but must ever carry a poisoned arrow. What, now, can
that unthinking hand, which threw the shaft, do iri atonement, but, in this consecrated place, to set down, in plain
though self-torturing terms, an unqualified disavowal, renunciation, and burning condemnation of the only really
unfaithful act of a much checkered life? Here then, on
the very spot where my early vow was made, in the very
position and sitting posture I then took, with the very same
hand then pledging my heart to the one so injured, I write
out this recantation of my after self-this testimony of my
unchanged soul-this first and only revelation of a longburied but still living sorrow. Keep this, my early friend
-friend of my early days-in memory of an honor and an
honesty that never swerved but once, and that now so
freely inflicts this painful penalty on itself. 0, that repentance could restore as readily as it may regret! 0, that
the tears this day shed, on the memory of the past, could
bring that past again, and make it once more our present!
0, that my voice, my speech, my words, uttered as I wander over once familiar scenes-the orchard, the winding
brook, the hillside where the trees once grew-could call
back the light-hearted, pure, and radiant one, whose pierced
heart unconsciously lies buried in my heart of hearts! 0,
that I could pluck the arrow from that heart, and with it,
as I deserve, doubly transfix my own! 0, could I get
forgiveness, pronounced by the same lips that once sealed
her affection fast to mine, I could go on through the remainder of life with an easier load, hoping and asking
only, that, should I first die, the tears of that forgiving love





212


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


might drop upon my ashes, and tell me thus that we should
not be disunited in the better world!
"' I can write no more. Farewell.
"1' Your long-forgotten           FRANK.'
" This lengthy epistle seemed short to the writer of it,
as he wished to pour through it the feelings of many painful years. Laying it carefully into his portfolio, for he
knew not where to send it, he started upon his pilgrimage
again. After wandering far and wide, every where making
diligent search for his early friend, inquiring of every aged
man and matron in the land, he at last obtained some
tidings.  It is impossible to follow him through all his
windings, or to portray the rising ardor of his emotions,
as he approached the hamlet where the object of his search
resided. Suffice it to say, that he found the spot; that he
inquired out the dwelling; that he walked twenty times
past it without the resolution to seek an entrance; that, foi
an hour or more, he felt as if his breaking heart would
compel him to leave the place without seeing her; that,
when he rapped at the door, his very knees smote together;
and that, in answer to his call, not the servant, not the
obliging husband, but the lady of the house herself came
to give the stranger welcome-when, lo! the moment their
eyes met, a sudden recognition flashed from countenance
to countenance, the lady turned pale as death, and the
traveler was speechless from agitation. Time passed. Several interviews were held. The days of memory were
talked over.  Tears of contrition and regret were shed.
Repentance and forgiveness were exchanged. The treachery was buried. Friendships were revived. Conversation was again pleasant.  The wrecks of youthful joys
were welcomed.    Twenty-four hours had not passed,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


213


before a deep work was done in those hearts which
had loved too truly to make this dalliance with impunity.
Time passed.  The traveler's hour arrived.  He must
return to his home again. Dropping the foregoing letter
into the hands of his friend, he crossed her threshold with
a heart full of indescribable emotions. As his last request,
he begged her to commit to his address some written
memorial of her forgiveness, which he wished to preserve
as ocular proof of her generosity. She would not promise
him. They parted, he to return in sorrow, she to weep in
secret, but both with an arrow in their hearts, which no
hand was able to extract ever afterward. On reaching
home, he took from the post the following epistle, which,
it seems, had anticipated his coming: [Here the wit pulled
another scrap of paper from his pocket.]
" 'B., December 9, 1618.
"' MY FRIEND-my never-forgotten friend, though we
have been long and widely separated. We were severed
-why I need not tell you. The past, my friend, has been
long forgiven, as I hope to be forgiven by my Father in
heaven. I have been thinking of late of other days, of
scenes long since passed, when 'life with us was young.'
I was then almost an isolated being. They who would
have shielded me from sorrow had long been in the grave.
I was lonely. Much I wished for something to cheer me,
when you, Frank, came like a sunbeam across my hitherto
dark pathway. You were then the light of life to me-the
star I worshiped; and I forgot my grief. But soon, too
soon, I found that my'heart's wealth had been poured
on dust'-that the words of him whom my young heart
trusted, were lighter than the summer wind! They told
me you loved another-that she had friends, and wealth,





214


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


and station, while I had nothing but my heart to give. I
never blamed you. Your choice, 1 knew, was naturalwas best for you; and, besides, how could I impute blame
to one so dear?  They told me you were married-that
fortune smiled; and the thought that you were happy was
my only solace. It is known only to Him, who seeth in
secret, how long I wept and prayed to forget one whom I
had loved so vainly. But this with the past. Years have
sped away.  Time has laid his finger on my brow, yet
could not change this heart. And you have been hereyou, whom I had so long wished to meet. But I found
you only to give you up again! We met only to part forever! No, it may not be forever; for shall we not ' o'ersweep the grave' to meet where we shall be sundered no
more? This letter, I know, will be unlooked for. When
I saw you last, I little thought it would ever be written;
but why should I deprive myself of this the only solace that
is left me? I have said much, perhaps, that were better
unsaid; but, my friend, you know this letter is intended for
no eye but yours. Your picture was welcome, although
that image was early engraven on'my soul; and, as I look
upon it, how oft I wish ' those lips had language!' So,
my early friend, if we meet not again, farewell.
" ' FANNY.'
"Who will not say," continued Archy, holding the two
papers out before him, in the manner of a declaimer" who will not say, great gentlemen, that my two friends
were greatly to be pitied? The one, in spite of his early
and only fault, in spite of his fame and fortunet i. syit ot
his subsequent marriage to another, discovered, after many
years of forgetfulness, that his first love was the strongerthat the shaft that first pierced his heart had been broken





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


215


off, not extracted-that the wound, opened afresh, must
now continue to rankle in that heart forever! The other,
who 'had so long wept and prayed to forget' her only friend,
had found it impossible to forget him-had ' so long wished
to meet him'-had, with an undying'fondness, cherished the
thought, that they should ' o'ersweep the grave,' and unite
again in the world of immortality! This had an affection
which ambition itself could not wither-that a love, which
injuries had failed to stifle-both an attachment, which
time, and distance, and separation had only ripened! But
they were each submissive to the dictates of Christian principle. Not the shadow of an improper license, by virtue
of their early friendship, passed between them. Not a
word uttered, not a sentence written, unless these letters
are to be excepted, which could wound the feelings of others
interested. The two papers above quoted closed even their
correspondence up forever. Their griefs were deep heartgriefs; and they preyed upon their grieved hearts deeply.
The world was no longer bright to either of them. Autumn
after autumn scattered its seared leaves upon their desolate
pathways. Winter after winter drifted the bleak snows
around their cheerless dwellings. Spring after spring revived and bloomed, bringing in the pong of birds, the music
of the waters, and the boon pledges of bright summer; but
no flower, no laughing rivulet, no bud of promise, brought
light to their eyes, or health to their cheeks, or relief to
their unwasting sorrows. A wearing melancholy settled
on them. They mourned, and pined, and drooped, in the
very bosoms of their homes, while no one could tell the
cause of their decay. Years came and fled, but left them
no consolations. Life was gay around them, their own
children laughed and were merry in their presence, but not
a ray of comfort reached them; or, if they had a glimmer





216


THIE  SH~OULDER-KNOT.OT


of hope, it came from the silent tomb, to which they now
both looked as their place of meeting. To that tomb they
each went down prematurely. They died-as they had
lived-broken-hearted.
" That is my story, gentlemen, my last story," said Archibald, looking round upon his auditors, all of whom were
mute with interest, while a single tear was creeping down
the flushed face of Charles, who keenly felt the significance
of what he had been hearing-" that is my story, gentlemen;
and now be so kind as to listen to the moral of it. It
teaches you"-his finger is now pointed, spear-like, to the
breast of Charles-" never to play and tamper with the
thing called love-that it is dangerous to do so-that the
ghost of a once living and murdered vow will not fail, some
day, to rise up from its place of burial to haunt the murderer, and to bring down his head to his own last restingplace in sorrow! Remember-remember-remember!"
The buffoon, having fulfilled his task, vanished from the
company. He left them lost in oppressive and silent meditation. Charles was cut to the quick. The courtiers could
say nothing. One after another, they rose up and departed,
till the deck was cleared. Their rising was opportune. A
cloud was towering in the west. It rolled up blacker and
blacker every moment. Soon it burst upon them in great
fury. The wind blew a tempest. The waves rolled in mount ins. The ships tossed like feathers upon the raging billows. The sun was blotted from the firmament. The beating of the breakers, the dashing of the spray, and the roar of
the winds were terrible. All on board looked for nothing but
watery graves; but, at length, when the fury of the gale was
spent, the clouds broke away, the sky appeared in spots, the
sun shone benignly through, and the fleet, having passed all
its dangers, anchored in safety at the nearest British port.





CHAPTER XX.
THE INVALID.
"The joys of friendshipThe trust, security, and mutual tenderness,
The double joys, when both are glad for both;
Our only wealth, our last retreat and strength,
Secure against all fortune and the world."
RowE.
An excellent Lady is very sick-The Uneasiness of a Minister-The
People sympathize with the Invalid-She is insane and raves
madly-A Queen watches over her Pillow-Royal Visitors-A characteristic Dialogue-The sick Lady becomes sane again-A Notary
is sent for-Another Dialogue-The Joys of real Friendship.
THE duchess had been carried from the place of torture
to an inner apartment of the palace. Her room was in a
rear wing of the royal dwelling, where every thing was
most silent, and from which an occupant looked out upon
the king's garden. A fever had followed the agonies of
the " question," and for a long time there was but little hope
of her recovery. Her nervous system was so shattered,
that she could not endure the smallest noise. A step on the
stair-case, a creak of the door, the fall of any thing however
light, even the tones of the human voice, caused her great
misery. The light of heaven, too, had to be excluded.
The curtains were all drawn; the stairs, and doors, and
every thing opening and shutting, were all muffled; and
those who attended upon her were forbidden to speak above
the lowest and softest whisper.
Richelieu expected she would die. This expectation
gave him great uneasiness. He knew that her death would
K





218


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


be charged on him. A strong party might thus be raised
against him. Of that party Anne of Austria, the very
woman he wished to humble, would be the virtual head.
The king, rather than confront so much opposition, might
consent to dismiss or even disgrace his minister. Besides,
if the duchess died, her evidence would die with her, and
so would be surely frustrated. If she lived, he might possibly hit upon some method, as yet unthought of, of getting
from her the secret.
"Nay," said the cardinal to himself, as he was walking
his room on the very evening after the temptation of the
duchess, "every thing must be done to save her. I will
send her the best nurses and the best physicians in the kingdom. While they are healing her body, they shall be
charged to watch the motions of her spirit. If any delirium
succeeds this torture, as is common, she may let out her
knowledge to her attendants, who will keep it safely for
my benefit. Thus, she may yet contribute to the destruction of the queen, in spite of her own singular fidelity.
The queen shall have free access to her; but her words
shall be recorded; her private interviews with her friend
shall be listened to and reported; the whole scheme shall
yet flourish. Anne shall fall, and Richelieu shall be thanked
by the king for his love, and rewarded for his diligence."
Richelieu was right. There was great sympathy among
the people for the sufferings of the duchess.  The circumstances of her temptation, much exaggerated of course, had
got wind. A party was forming, not in her favor only, but
in favor of her royal mistress. It was now necessary for
the enemies of the queen to proceed with more caution.
Still, the queen well knew, that the affections of such a populace as then filled Paris were no great reliance. She must
herself act with prudence. She was too innocent at heart,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.               219
however, too childlike in her disposition, too confiding in
the general honesty of mankind, too trustful of an overruling
Providence, which, she thought, stood pledged for the succor and protection of the unoffending, to bind herself to any
base servility of behavior. She resolved to conduct herself with her usual propriety and freedom; to perform every
duty pertaining to her station with alacrity if she could not
with pleasure; but to make no concessions to her enemies
by seeming to notice their machinations, or organizing any
opposition to the schemes dictated by their malice. Truth
and innocence, she thought, would at length prevail; if they
did not, she was willing to fall with them.
Every morning, regularly, the cardinal presented himself at the door of the sick chamber, to inquire after the
health of the duchess. The answers given him were various. At one time, she had been worse; then, a little better; next, considerably worse again. During all the time,
or nearly all of it, she had been delirious. Her attendants,
of course, she could not recognize, as they were strangers
to her; but she was equally insensible of the presence and
attention of her dearest friends.
All were attentive, but only one was kind to her. That
one had been with her from the beginning, flying to her
with quick affection the moment her condition had been
reported. By night and by day that friend had watched
over her. Foregoing all sleep and rest, assuming the entire responsibility of the sick room, and devoting her whole
soul to this one business, she had bent over the bedside of
the suffering patient with tireless vigilance. Others performed their services from professional principle; she from
the impulses of her nature. They were punctiliously exact
in the just division of their duties, in times, and seasons, and
sacrifices; she was punctilious in nothing, but to concen




220


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


trate her whole time, and strength, and energies into one individual sacrifice to the poor sufferer. They watched by
turns, each relieving the other with due promptitude. She
watched at all hours, catching little scraps of sleep as she sat
by the sick couch, always ready for the first call upon her
services. It is true, this unusual toil and care wore upon her
health, wasted her frame, blanched her cheeks, bedimmed
her bright eyes, and made sad inroads upon her constitution; but she was almost the only person who seemed to be
entirely unconscious, or regardless, of the great hazard she
was running. No hint was appreciated, no suggestion was
taken, no entreaty was heeded, no authority was regarded
by her, who seemed bent on pouring out her life upon the
altar of her affection. Does the reader ask, who this sleepless, tireless, selfless being is, who, like a ministering spirit
from the other world, hangs and hovers around this bed of
suffering? Certainly, he must know already. It could be
no other than that constant, true, and grateful friend, for
whom the duchess had just periled every thing.
Very early one morning, when all was quiet in the palace, and the watchers were asleep, the patient made a
heavy groan, struggled, and awoke. She had been disturbed by some dream or vision. Anne of Austria, who had
been catching a moment's slumber by laying her wearied
head upon the bedside, roused up and bent over the pillow
of the duchess. At the first glance it was evident that the
poor woman was more than usually delirious. Her eyes
seemed much larger than commonly; and, with a glassy
expression, they rolled round the apartment with a peculiar
restlessness.
"See! see! there he comes! It is he! I know him
by his soft look, his pleasant, smiling face, a villain's mask!
Stay, villain, stay! Approach me not! 0, he is coming!





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


2"21


See him where he comes! Touch me not-touch me not
-away, foul fiend! Will you smile, and smile, and smile
upon me 1? Thy frowns are smiles, thy smiles are frowns
most terrible! I know thee, spirit! Thou comest to torture
me! Keep him off-keep him off-he will, he will, he will
torture me! I see his face all smiling! That signifies he
is about to torture me! 0, keep him, keep him off! Ay,
look you, here is his minister by my very pillow! See! is
it not a woman? Nay, it is a woman. I see her woman's
face, her woman's eyes, her woman's hair, her woman's0, avaunt! come not, Decker, in the shape of woman! It
is Decker turned to a pestilent woman! Ah! how lean
her countenance! how haggard her look! how worn her
spirit! Her works of horror have taken the flesh from her
bones, the color from her face, the brightness from her eyes,
and covered her all up in foul wrinkles! See! she weeps!
Does Decker weep 1 Come here, Decker, and let me feel
of your eyes, and see if they are hot enough to boil a tear,
that shall scald the one it falls on! Nay, good Decker, do
not weep so much. Your tears will drown your eyes, and
put their fire out! How strange is every thing! One
smiles, and the other weeps; and whether to weep or to
smile augurs more mischief, I know not! Say, did you
not question me? Avaunt, villain! Nay, come now and
torture me; for she is dead, and buried, and gone to heaven.
I just now saw her in heaven. She is far beyond the cardinal's deep malice! She is safe, safe, 0, safe in heaven!
Now come and question me, Decker! Come, Richelieu,
put me to the torture! Strain the instrument! Turn it
over, once, twice; again, once more; there! Blessed be
God! my shoulders will soon yield! They are now cracking! I feel my blood bursting through every artery! My
heart, 0, thank Heaven, my heart breaks, and the pent-up





222             THE SHOULDER-KIFNOT.
life within it spreads and dissipates! I faint! I die! Ah,
sir, with the secret locked within my soul, where mortal instruments can not reach it, I die! I carry it to her who
gave it to me! I die, Decker, I die-am dying-O, I am
now, sweet spirit, virtuous, meek, loving mistress, gentle
Anne, coming to thee! Decker, friend, demon, since I
have no friend living, lay me out, for, taking the advantage
of a moment, I am dead. I am dead with the secret in me,
sir, which none but my faithful queen, now in heaven, shall
have! These are my last words, Decker; so do your
work! 0 me, me!"
The distracted woman had, by this time, so spent her
strength, that she might well imagine herself to be dying,
She sank back upon her pillow, closed her eyes, and fell
into a fitful slumber, while small drops of perspiration, cold
as death, started from her forehead, but which the heat of
her face soon dried off again. Anne stood over her, weeping as she had from the beginning of this fit of madness,
and wiping the face of her patient with the carefulness of
affection. She wept to think that her friend would probably die without coming to her reason; that she herself
would never have the high pleasure of declaring to her
servant the gratitude she felt for her wonderful fidelity;
that, even now, while standing apart from all the world,
repulsed by her own household, the only friend she had
was able no longer to commune with her, but actually
mistook her for one of the wicked beings, who had put her
to the torture. This was too much for her gentle, loving,
broken spirit. She stood and wiped the brow of the sleeping duchess, then fanned her heated temples, but all the
time shedding tears of heart-felt sorrow. But bending
down to wet her parched lips with the dripping pulp of a
sweet orange, she discovered the signs of a change going





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


223


on in the countenance of the duchess. The very violence
of her madness was working a reaction. The face was
becoming more calm; the lines in the forehead, and the
knitting of the brow, were getting smoother; and the everrestless eye-balls, almost visible through their thin covering, were gradually settling into the steadiness and repose
of reason. Slowly she fell into a soft sweet slumber. It
was the first natural sleep she had taken since the commencement of her sickness.
" Thank Heaven!" exclaimed the queen, smiling her
gratitude through her tears, like a gleam of sunshine
through a shower-" thank Heaven, this is a blessed token.
The duchess, my faithful, my only friend, may survive!"
She could say no more. Overcome by her emotions, by
her thankfulness and hope, after so much anxiety, and
watchfulness, and fear, at the time when most persons
make their appearance in a sick chamber, the queen retired to an adjoining apartment, which opened from the
patient's room, to be grateful, to weep, and to pray in
silence.
An hour or more, it may be, passed without bringing
any recordable occurrence. The duchess slept on quietly
and sweetly. The nurses had risen from their stupid sleep,
and were putting the sick room in proper order. The cardinal, who had always been very punctual to his time of
calling, had not yet made his morning's visit. It was now
getting late; and the attendants were about resigning all
hope of seeing him that day, or of getting his customary
largess. But their hopes soon revived again. They heard
footsteps on the stairway. More than one individual, however, was coming; for the steps were of several persons.
It was perceived, too, that they approached more slowly
and deliberately than was the cardinal's custom; but, in





.24


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


a moment more, the same light rap, with which they were
so familiar, announced the presence of their benefactor.
The cardinal entered, followed by the king and queenmother, who had come by appointment, to take their last
look of the failing duchess. On the night previous, the
report had spread through the palace, that, worn out with
her fever, which was aggravated by the worst form of delirium she was rapidly declining; and it was no longer possibie for his majesty, or his mother, to mantain their indifference, without giving umbrage to their opponents.
Louis and Mary approached the bedside, and looked
down upon the sleeping duchess. Richelieu had taken a
seat at a little distance. Neither of the party knew that
Anne was in the next room, within hearing of their voices,
with the dividing door standing a quarter open.
"She is very low," said Louis to his mother.
"She is very feeble," replied Mary.
"In spite of the rack she has suffered, she is yet very
beautiful. I wonder if any bones were broken."
"Not in the least, sire," said Richelieu, starting hastily
from his seat-" not in the least, sire. You do not think,
I trust, that we would put her to such extremities. She
was treated very cautiously; but then I must add, that the
duchess has rather a stubborn resolution, and an affection
for your royal queen which actually surprised us."
"No doubt you may say she is very stubborn, Mr. Cardinal," rejoined the queen-mother with great bitterness.
" She has been under proper tutorage to make one stubborn. That fair brow of hers has an iron will beneath it;
but she who gives law to her resolution, by precept and
example, has doubtless strained her point in this instance.
This woman will repent a friendship that costs her such
trials; and you may expect, Louis, and you, Mr. Cardinal,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


225


that when she awakes to reason, if she ever wakes again,
her first words will regret so perilous an attachment. Mark
me, you will find it so."
" That would well suit our purposes," said Richelieu,
"and work the end we aim at; but I fear me, madam,
you underrate her obstinacy. I know of nothing bright
that has not been promised, of nothing dark and terrible
that has not been threatened her."
" But these she saw only in promise and in threatening.
She hoped, perchance, to get the one, or escape the other,
without submitting to what seemed to her unnecessary.
Now, having had experience of our sincerity, she will be
inclined to greater carefulness. I tell you, Mr. Cardinal,
this bed of suffering will be a cooler to her affection!"
"I will trust so," replied the cardinal, not wishing to
risk his reputation for sagacity on a question of so much
uncertainty; and the king, as usual, agreed with his minister in opinion. Mary was beginning to make some cutting
allusion to the queen, when Louis, without recognizing
what she was about to say, interposed and stopped her.
"Hush, good mother," said the king; "the duchess is
waking! Let us stand here in silence, and see whether
she will know us. They say she has known no one in all
her sickness. If she does distinguish our features fi-om
those of her attendants, it will be a sign of her recovery."
The duchess did not wake directly; but it was evident
that she was gradually, though very slowly, rousing, like a
drowsy morning sleeper, whom the previous day or night
had overtasked, who makes many unsuccessful attempts to
get his senses before they will fully come to him. The
certainty of her awaking, however, had become so great,
and the probability of her returning sanity so considerable,
and the hope of her repentance, of :v submission, of her





226


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


willingness to reveal her too well-kept secret so plausible,
that Richelieu sent in great haste for a notary to come and
take down her words in writing. The notary arrived in a
few minutes. The cardinal gave him a chair and a table
at the foot of the bed behind the curtains. Pens, ink, and
paper were before the writer. All things were ready for
any revelation which the repentant woman might make to
them.
Richelieu had taken his seat beside the secretary, to
prompt his hearing or recollection; but the king and
queen-mother remained standing by the bedside. The
duchess began to breathe more lightly. The long inspirations had become shorter, and seemed to be passing from
under the control of careless instinct to that of consciousness. The lines in the face twitched slightly. Her eyelids trembled, as if the will was taking possession of the
muscles that govern them. In a moment more, those lids
calmly and slowly opened. The poor, pallid, but beautiful
duchess was awake; and it was evident enough that she
had her reason.
"You are very sick, madam," said the king, looking
down with real interest, but not having enough delicacy of
sense to know, that that was an improper remark to be
made to a sick person.
"Yes, sire, I am very sick," replied the duchess, in an
accent just audible to the notary; but the scribe had her
words in writing as soon as they were fairly uttered.
"You have been a long time sick, madam."
"Have I? I was not aware of that."
" True enough, they tell me you have not been at all
times conscious of your situation. But you have been sick
for several weeks; and we now are hoping for your recovery."





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.              297
"May it please your majesty, I hope not. I have notlhing more to live for; and I wait only for the day of my
departure."
" Nay, madam, you have much to live for. The world
is a goodly mansion, and has many comforts in it. This
royal house, too, is at your service; and you know the conditions of the property are very simple. We are all eager
to load you with royal blessings."
" May it not displease you, sire, but let me die with or
without a blessing. A palace is a toy, a cheat, without a
friend in it!"
"We are all your friends, good madam."
"May the good Lord then bless my enemies!"
" But where would you go?" interposed Mary, with her
accustomed bitterness.
" To heaven," replied the duchess, looking round upon
the queen-mother, whom she had not till then discovered.
"To heaven! Have you friends in heaven, madam?"
"I have one friend in heaven. May I soon behold her!"
"Her! Is your friend, your only friend, a lady?"
" She is-nay, she was, a lady-a pure, spotless, immaculate, innocent, but persecuted lady. She is now a spirit
-a sweet spirit-a seraph in the choir of heaven!. O, let
me die and see her! I never did, I never will, for glory
or for gold, betray her! No-no-no-never! You, sire,
and you, queen-mother, I freely pardon. Were the cardinal here, I would as freely grant him my forgiveness.
But I can not love you. You have suspected, pursued,
murdered, a generous queen, a virtuous wife, and a noble
woman! Let me go and join her!"
At these last words all were struck with new astonishment. The duchess, they saw at once, had been referring
Anne in her reproaches. She evidently considered the





228


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


queen to be dead. This was strong proof, almost a demonstration, that, in spite of her calm appearance, she was
yet delirious.  The queen-mother, cruel woman, was bad
enough to taunt her.
"Yes, lady, you had better die. Your mistress is no
doubt dead enough; and you had better go and find her!"
" Ah, madam, show me the quickest path that innocence
can walk in, and I go instantly! Come, Richelieu, come,
Decker, put me to the question now, wrench my shoulders,
twist the wheel, till my veins swell again, and my heart
bursts, and my broken body lets out the life that struggles
for its freedom! 0, good friends, as you say you are, let
me die, that I may go and see her!"
The king was amazed. He had the penetration to perceive, that much of this ardor was the effect of physical
weakness; some of it he attributed to her sex; but there
was enough left, he thought, to prove an unparalleled
amount of sound and unshaken friendship. The sight of
his eyes made a deep impression on him. He checked his
mother, and inquired of the d"chess if the queen had not
visited her.
"Visited me! How can a heavenly spirit appear to a
living mortal? She has not been here during my sickness.
I have seen none here but Richelieu and Decker. They
have been here constantly. They drove me mad, sir, and
I shall be mad again if I see them."
Louis, not quite satisfied with the testimony of so incompetent a witness, for the first time thought to ask of the attendants whether his wife had ever waited upon the duchess.
"Waited upon her? Waited upon her ever? Why,
sire, she has never been from this room, or from this bedside, but once since the sickness of the duchess. She has
bent over her day and night. She has taken our toil from





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.               229
us. She eats not, nor drinks, nor sleeps, but wastes her
life upon this lady. She is not far away, I will warrant
you, this moment."
The king looked about him. The queen-mother turned
her eyes round the room. Richelieu and the notary instinctively and very foolishly turned up the curtains. The
duchess herself, who had listened to this disclosure with
rapt attention, marshaled her strength and rose upon her
elbow. But the nurse proceeded to the next apartment,
and soon appeared with the emaciated queen, to whom
concealment was no longer possible. Springing to the
bed, Anne clasped the duchess in her arms, and, as if
taking advantage of her first lucid interval, she thanked
her for her affection a thousand times in a single minute,
shedding tears of gratitude upon her face and bosom.
The duchess, winding her arms about the neck of her royal
mistress, sank back upon her pillow, exclaiming, in a
feeble but happy voice, "0, now I will not die-I will
live-for this heaven!"





CHAPTER XXI.
THE TOWER OF LONDON.
"Heaven's the perfection of all that can
Be said or thought, riches, delight, or harmony,
Health, or beauty; and all these not subject to
The waste of time, but in their height eternal."
SHIRLEY.
A Philosopher in Prison-Is visited by a warm Admirer-Preliminary
Conversation-The Universe the Home of the Human Spirit-A
Glance at the Future State-A large Company is invited-Conversation reopened-Narrow Views of the Heavenly Life-The great
Pattern of that Life-This Life admits of a Three-fold Division in
reference to the Future State-1. The Future State physically considered; 2. The Future State intellectually considered; 3. The
Future State in its spiritual aspects-All of which, with their Relations to Human Progress, must be included in our Views and Hopes
of Heaven.
THE party of travelers had returned to the court of James.
They had told their story in their own words and way.
The king, though deeply grieved at the loss of his ducats,
had been reconciled to the arrest of the match by the
combined duplicity and art of Buckingham     and Charles.
Charles had also openly avowed his passion for the sister
of Louis the Thirteenth, the black-eyed Henrietta, whom
he had seen at the French festival on his way to Spain.
James, though sensible of the levity of his son, was base
enough to be pleased with this new proposal, because he
saw another vintage of ducats hanging in rich clusters on
every vine of France. The story of Archy, which had
made a powerful impression for the moment on the mind





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.               231
of Charles, had been forgotten amid the excitements and
follies of the English court; and the whole party of noblemen, who had listened to the affecting tale so earnestly, and
with such apparent sincerity, had taken up, as usual, the
temper and spirit of the royal household.
All eyes are now turned to France. An embassador is
sent to Paris to treat for the hand of Henrietta; but, as the
negotiations may be protracted, and as we have already
seen the manner of such proceedings between royal persons, the reader will be permitted to spend the time on
British soil.
I have before informed my reader, that the king of England had committed the great philosopher, Lord Bacon,
to the Tower; that between him and Buckingham there
had been a friendship as singular as it was ardent; and that
the duke had, more than once, availed himself of the
wisdom of his master at the most critical and important
times. Buckingham had not seen the philosopher since his
return from Spain; for his first business was to make sure
his reception with those who were at liberty, and who
could do him either good or harm. Now, however, when
all was clear, when the king had been satisfied, when
the mind of every one was busy with the new match, and
while the minister was at Paris making the treaty for the
marriage of the prince, Buckingham steals away from the
palace, from the doting old monarch, from the fondness of
Charles, and, what is much more, from his own pleasures
and vices, to devote a few hours to conversation with the
greatest and wisest of his age.
The duke found the philosopher in an ample dungeon,
with a cheerful fire of coal burning in a grate, with lights
blazing above his head, with a wide table spread out and
covered with maps, charts, diagrams, and manuscripts, and





232


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


with huge volumes of black-letter English, of paler Latin,
and of jet-black Greek, lying in a rich confusion upon the
floor. The prisoner was dressed in his gayest mode, with
a philosopher's gown thrown over him, and with a fillet of
oak leaves passing around his head. When the duke
entered, the sage was so immersed in study, that he did
not at once notice his visitor; but, as soon as he had been
roused by the keeper of the prison, he arose with a peculiar
dignity, saluted the officer, and, recognizing the familiar
countenance of his friend, greeted Buckingham with a
mingled ease and warmth, which only a great mind knows
how to do without effort.
" Thou art surrounded by the richest furniture of earth,
my lord."
" And I no longer envy the world's wealth and pride;
and, to say truth, noble duke, I am happier in this prison
than I ever was in the palace of King James. With the
cares of state upon my mind, I had but little opportunity
for more genial pursuits; but now, more careless how the
common world goes on, I have nothing to withdraw my
attention from the great intellectual problems that lie scattered through the wide universe of God. This universe,
sir, I now look upon as the residence of my spirit, the
heaven-domed and star-lit palace of my mind. Here I
dwell, and here I shall forever dwell, only changing my
condition, from age to age, as the caterpillar changes his,
when the winged butterfly mounts upward from the low
dwelling of the worm!"
"Thou thinkest, then, my lord, that the future state will
be very similar to this, and that whatever difference is experienced will be chiefly or wholly in our position."
" Nothing, it seems to me, can be more probable. The
universe may be regarded as an immense hollow sphere, as





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


233


one single and glorious building, in which all beings, from
the glow-worm to the archangel, dwell; but, in this great
house there are numerous apartments, each apartment
being fitted up for the special accommodation of a particular section of the great family of God. As the fish occupy
the ocean, quadrupeds the land, and the fowls of heaven the
circumambient air, so the various orders of intelligences,
ranging between this planet and the throne of the Eternal,
have their respective chambers particularly adapted to their
wants; but, as the badger is the same being both when he
burrows in the earth and when he basks in the sun, and as
the frog is the same, whether he lives in the pool or leaps
in the open air, so man changes not his essence, his personality, his character, but only his circumstances, in passing
from one room or division of God's mansion to another.
How does it seem, my noble friend, to thee 1"
"Not otherwise than thou hast said; only I have never
been able to divest myself of the apprehension that death
is to be the agent, or the harbinger, of a wonderful but
unknown and mysterious change."
"A change, certainly, not of nature, but of circumstances.
The little tenant of the cradle, whose eyes have but just
opened upon the sun's broad light, has passed, as I may
say, from one world to another, but without changing his
character as a living being. An hour or more since, and
his whole existence was dependent upon the existence of
another. From that other he derived the life-currents, that
leaped through his arteries, and supported his young being.
Through that other came to his triply-vailed spirit every
impression from the greater world of material nature, by
which the less was magnificently surrounded. Now he has
come, by a kind of death, to live an independent and higher
life, by more direct experience within the second and larger





234


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


sphere of his existence. But the nature of that existence
is not altered. So, when death lays off the mortal coil that
inwraps us all, we go into a yet wider theater of life, but
without alteration of the essential constitution of our real
being. Death, whether in the former or latter case, neither
creates nor destroys, but only, like a faithful messenger,
leads us from one apartment to another of God's glorious
dwelling, till we have ascended into his immediate presence. So, my lord it seems to me. Do I offend thy judgment in these opinions 1"
" Thou hast spoken admirably, my lord; but I would
hear thee more specifically on this high topic."
"Man, my friend, is that which we call our self. This
self is a spirit dwelling within a body. Around this body,
in its first estate, a second organism draws its dark curtain;
and beyond this latter envelope, material nature spreads out
another between this young immortal and the face of Deity.
From this remote point, at the lowest center of the material
universe, thus wrapped within the inmost inner of three
concentric worlds, man begins his existence, his work of
development, his progress from the darkly mortal to the
free light of the outer and eternal. The history of a spirit
is the history of this progress. The spirit itself, however,
changes not in all these changes. Expanding, as it does,
from first to last, it expands only, its essence remaining unalterable. Death, like birth, is the act of passing from one
state of existence to another, giving us nothing but a change
of situation. Here are two moments of time. Now, there
is the spirit of a man still tremblingly dwelling within an
expiring body. Next moment, the same spirit lives without
the body. The little words, in and out, contain the only
difference. All that the soul is at death, it will be after
death, nothing less, nothing more. It carries nothing. It





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.              235
leaves nothing of itself. It only goes. As thou, my friend,
wilt be the same man thou art, when thou hast passed from
this confined prison inLO the outward light about us, so,
when the prison-house of thy mortal body shall open and
let thee forh, thou wilt be not otherwise than what thou
art, the identical Duke of Buckingham which thy inner
consciousness showeth thee to be."
"This is a pleasing doctrine, that our identity is not
changed or lost in death."
"Pleasing?"
"Ay, my lord; for I have never seen the beggar so
miserable, that he would willingly lay off the consciousness
of being what he is, of remaining in his identity, to be a
king."
" Nay, but to go into the eternal world with a character,
which, in its natural working, shall give us only pain, were
an identity most ardently to be shunned."
"As thou, my lord, didst show me at a former time."
"But, my friend, as pleasing as thou sayest, more delightful, indeed, than the speech of angels could declare, or
the rapt fancy of heaven-taught prophecy reveal, the life
of him who goeth there prepared to live. But of such a
topic we should not speak unheard by those who most need
to hear. If my lord lieutenant objects not"-the philosopher now addressed that officer, who had been attentively
listening to the previous dialogue-" some pearls might be
strewn along the path of those prisoners, whose fate it is
soon to die, that should rouse them to greater alacrity
in their rugged but heaven-bound way. Do I speak lawfully, my lord!"
" It is a most lawful and Christian-like request, and shall
be granted," replied the lieutenant, bowing to the philosopher, as he retired.





236


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


Soon, the sound of bars and of bolts was heard, as if
every cell were bursting. Loud words of command were
spoken. In a few moments, chains clanked upon the solid
pavement. The iron door of the philosopher's ample cell
next swung open, admitting a mournful procession of
emaciated and haggard-looking criminals, whose treasons
had reduced them to this misery. They had all been men
of consequence, and some of them peers and nobles of the
realm. They were now manacled and chained, broken in
spirits, diseased in body, and expecting soon to swing from
the scaffold, or lie down upon the murderous block. As
they ranged themselves around the cell, upon the temporary
seats provided for the philosopher's numerous visitors, they
looked up in amazement upon the man whom they had all
known while he flourished in other circumstances. They
had known the great prisoner as the highest officer in the
cabinet of King James. To some he had been an enemy;
to others, a friend; but he was now about to become a
memorable benefactor to them all. They all saw, indeed,
at the first glance, that he was altogether another man.
His passions had been subdued, his heart had been softened,
by his calamities; sober reflection, such as few others could
institute, had restored his innate integrity of soul; while his
wonderful mind, always the marvel and glory of his countrymen, cleared of the mists that had obscured it, now burned
and dazzled as if lit up by the splendors of the other world.
The brilliancy of his great intellect seemed to show itself
even upon his countenance. Leaning backward with easy
dignity, his eyes slightly elevated with a most thoughtful
and expressive look, while the smiles of heaven and of hope
were playing upon his features, he appeared to have lost
every earthly element of his character, and already to have
risen to a higher and holier sphere. Not only the prisoners,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


237


but the lieutenant, whose occupation naturally hardened
him, and Buckingham, who was noted for the ease and
self-possession of his carriage in the highest.company, were
evidently awe-struck and embarrassed, as they gazed upon
this illustrious man.
" Dost thou think, then, my friend," said the philosopher
to his guest, bending his regards upon the duke with a most
benignant and animated expression-" dost thou not think
that heaven will be a happy place?"
"Most certainly, my lord."
" Is it not the home of every possible delight?"
"It is."
SWhy, then, is the common mass of even Christian men
so slack in stretching forward to that place? Why shut
their eyes upon the greater, regretting the speed of every
hour that bears them forward, eagerly clinging to the less?
Nay, my lord, how long, thinkest thou, would the best
of Churchmen choose to live, could they make theii
choice?"
"As many years as there are stars in the sky? as many
ages as there are sands on the ocean shore; as many cycles
of ages as there are spires of grass on earth's wide surface,
if I'judge the majority by myself."
"And when these rounds were run, what then?"
"They would wish to run them over again, as many
times as there are leaves in all the forests of this wooded
world."
" Thou meanest, then, that they would live here forever,
relinquishing their untried right to heaven for the known
amenities of earth?"
"Evidently; but they are greatly to be blamed."
"Nay, wouldst thou rather live in a prison, or in the
o1pen world?"





238             THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
"In the open world, my lord."
" Wouldst thou rather live in the exercise of all thy
faculties, or in the use of a certain set of them?"
" I would employ them all."
"Canst thou, then, blame such beings as we are for preferring this broad bright world, where we dwell on the
outside of it, sending our free vision and our freer fancies
into the immeasurable and star-lit depths about us, to a
walled inclosure, where we must sit or stand in certain
attitudes, run through a given and unvaried round of
ceremonies, and leave unemployed the greater part of
our acknowledged powers forever?"
"But heaven, you do not say, will thus confine and
cramp us 1"
" Nay, my lord, I say it not, but others say it. It is the
current faith. The common fancy paints us not a fairer
picture. The very best of mortals, when made immortal,
inherit nothing better, if this Christian age sees all. Men,
called of God to assure us of a higher lot, so perform their
task, that we choose to hold the heavy loads we bear, than
go to what they promise us. Their loftiest thoughts of
heaven would make a hell, only more tolerable than the
real one they tell us of, to a soul fully conscious of its
faculties; for, when their highest words are uttered, when
their most elaborate scenes are drawn, we learn that an
eternity of sluggish rest, or an endless and changeless
monotony of worship, is all that awaits a redeemed spirit,
gifted with an infinity of powers. As well might the
angel-chorister of heaven snatch the harp of David from
his hand, and, to perfect the instrument, strip from its
keys their several chords, leaving it but a single string."
" But take they not their text from John, who, on Patmos' isle, saw the door of heaven opened, and the people





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


239


if that world crying naught but 'holy, holy, holy,' day and
night?"
"Nay, not the people, but the winged beasts that were
full of eyes. Not a word, my lord, is uttered by the Revelator of the occupation of heaven's inhabitants. That
was not the topic of his high prophecy. The fate of earth
not the life of heaven, is the burden of that figurative
vision."
"Is God's book silent, then, my lord, on this glorious
theme?"
"Most eloquent, noble duke, bringing life and immortality to light."
" Where, on what page, in what incident, shines that
light?"
"In the life of Jesus."
"How?"
" That life is given us in several parts. We behold Jesus, as portrayed by the hand of inspiration, before death,
in death, and after death; and yet he is but the first-fruits,
the exemplar, of those that sleep in him. What he is,
what he was when newly-risen from his rocky grave, we
may be."
"In degree?"
" In kind. This is the sum total of revelation; and the
great act, by which we grasp and comprehend that revelation, is, to look to Jesus as a tempted, dying, but divine and
all-conquering Man. If thou wouldst know the life thou
livest, the death thou diest, and the nature of thy future
being, be thou by faith or fancy but a conquering man,
and thou shalt understand."
"By faith or fancy?"
"Yes, be thou a conqueror in fact, or fancy thyself
such a conqueror, and thou shalt behold, with greater or





24(y


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


less clearness, within thyself, what life thou mayest live
hereafter."
"I have neither the one nor the other faculty, my lord.
Thou must be my teacher."
" It is not difficult, my friend. The germ thou hast
already. Tell me what thou art?"
" Alas! I know not what to answer, unless to say that I
am now a man."
" Most fitly said; and, shouldst thou ever dwell in heaven, then wilt thou be nothing but a man. It is enough, indeed, that thou wilt be a man. But tell me, what is a man."
" Thou hast thyself defined him to be a human soul
living within a human body."
"Living?"
"So thou saidst."
"In the body I"
" Yes."
"And with the body V"
"Certainly, if the body lives."
"And does the body live?"
" It does."
"By what power I"
" By the power of the indwelling soul."
"And how lives the soul?"
"By the power of the indwelling God."
"Here, then, my lord, is a threefold life. The body
lives a life derived immediatelyfrom the soul; it lives a life
in unison with the soul; and the soul lives a pure and independent life within and yet above the body it inhabits.
The first or lowest life may be styled the bodily; the second
is the mental; the third is emphatically the spiritual. And
yet this triple life is one life; and so it will ever be."
" In heaven?"





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.               241
" Certainly, my lord; for Jesus, our great pattern, was
of flesh and blood as much after as before his death and
resurrection; nor need I say, that his soul dwelt, as before,
within that risen body; and now, at this moment, he is in
heaven what he was at his ascension. In him, therefore,
though now inhabiting the spiritual world, we behold the
threefold life of heaven portrayed."
"It seems strange, my lord, to speak of a physical or
bodily life in heaven, savoring much, it would appear, of
Mohammed's paradise; but I sit only as a poor disciple at
thy feet."
"Speak not, my friend, of the Arab prophet's elysium.
His is a sinful paradise-a place where the unh:;y appetites of our fallen nature are to be gratified; but the heaven
of revelation is to be the theater of a pure sensitive life,
wherein every organ of the redeemed and spiritualized
body will find only its innocent and appropriate action.
Look, my lord. Shall we go to heaven with real eyes, but
find no real light to gratify and employ them  - Shall we
go with real ears, and yet meet with no actual harmonies
to salute them  Are we to carry the senses of smell, of
taste, of touch, which are the inherent properties of our
bodies, where the odor of no flowers, the fragrance of no
sweet fruit, and the forms and fashions of no real objects,
will ever greet us? Nay, my lord, let not the substance
of thy hopes evanish into this vain idealism. Heaven is a
real world; we, do we ever get there, shall be real men;
and the realities of an actual, substantial, glorious life will
there surround and occupy us. This, my lord, or man will
not be man."
".I can not see it otherwise."
"But the mental life, my noble friend, is equally guarantecd in the nature of our beinge  So long S~ thS spirit
L





242             THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
dwells within a body, whether here or hereafter, it must
hold converse with outward things through the bodily fac
ulties; and this joint action of the soul and body, then as
now, will constitute the mental life. We shall, therefore,
not only see, and hear, and receive other sensitive impressions from the world about us, but think, and reason, and
fancy, and feel, and resolve in reference to these impressions. We can not, it seems to me, conceive of the soul's
dwelling within the body, and being saluted thus through
the bodily organs, without drawing the conclusion, that it
must, more or less, be thus occupied with such salutations."
"No inference could be more natural, my lord."
"And yet, it will not be then, as it is not now, exclusively
thus occupied. There is a life above and beyond the mental. If, in our present low estate, darkened and depressed
within the walls of our material prison-house, we find it
possible to lift the spirit above the senses, above mere intellect, above every thing with which the body has connection, and look out upon the eternal forms of truth, and
commune with everlasting principles, and even hold direct
audience with the Almighty, how much more easily shall
we be able to ascend into this supersensual, spiritual, and
radiant world, the special dwelling-place of Deity, when
the heaven-aspiring soul shall inhabit a spiritualized body,
and both shall be free from the weights that here draw us
downward! This casting off of sense, and of all sensethought, which we here find possible in prayer, in faith, in
hope, in all pure worship, will, in the future state, evidently
constitute our highest and holiest life. Indeed, sense itself,
being spiritualized, and thought, based on this spiritualization, will both spontaneously assume this upward tendency,
and, like a pair of wings, waft the soul to higher and higher
regions ever. Do I talk idly, my lord, in these opinions."





THE SHOUL;DER-KNOT.


243


" Most excellently; for heaven begins to open up with
more reality to my vision."
" Perhaps, my friend, because it is the want of this reality
in the current view of our future life, that makes heaven
seem so empty and unpromising. It lies like a land of
dreams and shadows in the distance. If a rapt saint, or a
bard-prophet, speaks of it as a substantial world, where
grass, and fruit, and flowers grow, where mountains rise
and rivers roll, their language is set down to the license of
poetry, or of devotion. But mark me, my noble friend, as
certainly as the man Jesus is now in heaven, as truly as
other men are raised from death to follow him, so surely
will that be an actual, substantial, sense-seen world, where
such beings go to dwell. Believe me, there will be a solid
foothold to walk on; a heavenly air to feed our inspirations; light to break in beauty upon our eyelids; sounds,
as soft as symphonies, to warble upon our hearing; odors,
sweeter than the scent of roses, fruits more fragrant than
the growth of earthly paradise, and a universe of tangible
objects of the fairest forms and qualities, to gratify and delight us. Grass will grow, flowers will bloom, fruits will
ripen, forests will wave, rivers and rivulets will roll, high
hills will tower, valleys will wind and vales expand, and,
beyond them all, far as the eye can reach, vast blue oceans
will forever heave, and sigh, and swell, where such as we
shall go to enjoy the faculties we carry with us."
" A glorious theater for the physical life of the future
man!"
"Indeed, but the physical, as here, will feed the mental
life. Amid all these heavenly scenes, as we wander from
vale to vale, or climb the flowery mountain, or wind along
on the banks of peaceful rivers, or stand musing on the
wide ocean's shore, thought will be busy all the time, and





244


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


such high thought as we never had before. Not only the
qualities, but the essence of all things will be plain. The
close connections, the nice dependencies, the several links
in the august chain of beings, as well as of causes and
events, will stand out revealed. Questions discussed here
for ages, and without success, will there be settled at a
glance. The riddles of hoary speculation will amuse by
their obviousness and simplicity. Memory, reason, imagination, every intellectual faculty, will there be fully occupied;
the work of expanding these several powers, with every
other susceptibility of our nature, will be our ceaseless
employment; and this self-education, by those means of
which heaven is full, will every hour bring us to behold,
in creation's thousand objects, more and more of God."
" That, my lord, should be the result, the end, the aim
of all we study here; but tell me by what means, whether
of books and other instruments of science, or in some
way else, this high work of education shall be carried
forward."
" Not by books, my friend; for what are they but the
poor receptacles of what their authors better knew than
they could write? No man, not even Plato, ever penned
a syllable equal to his thought. Why, then, shall heaven
obscurely toil with books, when they who made them, or
might have better made, are there to tell us all they know?
The thoughtless scholar would vainly take his classics to
the skies. But, tell me, what shall Herodotus, what shall
Livy, what shall the imperfect pages of any historic writer
do, where men coeval with every event in time, and eager
to pour out their stores, shall crowd the soil? Who will
regret his Aristotle, or the world's proudest reasoners,
when the reason's first hour in heaven will resolve for
itself, and by the help of heaven's living philosophers,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.               245
more than all, earth's sages ever dreamed? Nay, even of
Fancy's fairy throng, who will ever shed a tear for his
loved poets left behind, his bards of ancient or of modern
fame, when the first trial-flight which his new-born imagination there may make, shall higher mount and more widely
soar, than any earth-clad genius, poised on most ambitious
pinion, ever hoped to do? Besides, the common speech of
heaven, the rustic talk of her obscurest sons, shall be more
beautiful and warble with a softer melody, than the fall
and swell of LEolia's wind-swept lyre, or the Ionian sweetness that entranced the world from Scio's sea-girt isle.
With conversation carried on in heaven's dialect, while
wandering at will among the fairest works of God, those
seeking information, having made choice of their instructors, will spend their time at large. Here, beneath some
spreading trees of heavenly foliage, will sit a group, listening to the old patriarchs, the fathers of history, while they
recount the incidents of time ere books were known.
There, on the summit of yon towering hill, the sage of
Zion, who 'spake' of all things, whose unstudied lore
eclipsed the wisdom of the schools, will stand, pointing out
the separate glories of the wide-spread world, fiom its
rocky center to the overhanging stars. Every where, in the
shaded dells, on the grass-green lawns, within the leafy
thickets, along the high and airy glades, the sons and
daughters of poesy and song-Miriams with their timbrels
and Davids with their hymns and harps-will sit, drawing
up visions of their eventful future, or rouse from every
cavern the sleeping echo, filling the atmosphere of heaven
with a melody heard only by celestial ears. Why, then,
my friend, shall they require the aid of books? The universe, in its length and breadth, like an outrolled parchment, will lie out before them as the first, last, best book."





246             THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
" Wonderful indeed is heaven, if such a place; but, as
books are needless, what of instruments of science, such as
the savans of earth now use 1"
" Nay, let me return the query, noble friend. What are
these instruments but the helps of our imperfect senses?
Suppose, now, the senses themselves are rendered perfect,
then why employ these helps?"
" I can not comprehend this."
" Do we not wear glasses, or employ telescopes, for impaired or imperfect vision? Does not the dull ear seek a
trumpet? Let, now, our eyes, our ears, all our sensual
organs, be perfected, and these instruments will be laid
aside, as a recovered invalid throws away his crutches.
Man, in his present state, is an invalid. If, before his fall,
though using the faculties of a material but undamaged
body, he could, on looking at God's creatures, behold at
once their several natures, and give them names accordingly, how much more acute will our sense-perceptions be,
when raised to inhabit our future, spiritual, celestial bodies?
If the mortal eyes of the loved disciple, or those of Israel's
seer, could be quickened to behold the door of heaven opened, or the chariots of the angels rushing down the Syrian
mountains; if the ears of Cilician Saul, or of the sleeping child-prophet, could be so touched as to hear words
uttered from heavenly regions; what greater feats of sight
and sound will they be prepared to do, who, in the transparent world above, shall look through eyes, and list through
ears, such as bodies fashioned after the Lord's glorious
body must surely have? Who, indeed, can tell me, that
the constituent properties of all beings will not be at once
discoverable to the touch? that the esculent and remedial
qualities of every plant and herb will not reveal themselves
to the joint scrutiny of the smell and taste? that the most





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


247


diminutive and distant sounds, the working of the invisible
insects, the rush of vegetation's uprising and circulating sap,
the motions of the electric currents, all the operations of
secret nature-the very rattling of the rays of light, as they
come, like hail-showers, falling upon the upturned roofs of
the rolling worlds-will not be listened to by immortal ears?
that to the powerful eye of the celestials, ranging with more
than telescopic vision through the depths of space, orbs
unseen by astronomic glasses, regions unvisited by mortal
sight; nay, the whole, glorious, dazzling universe, from the
heavenly center on every side to the starry covering that
surrounds and canopies it all, will not stand forth revealed?
Such is my faith, my lord. What thinkest thou?"
" It is all wonderful! Such a heaven will be worthy of
the Almighty, giving glorious exercise to our faculties,
which, perfected and employed as thou hast said, will
banish all monotony, and grant us seeming occupancy of
the universe."
"Say not seeming occupancy, my lord; for, in such a
state, with spiritual instead of material bodies, to which the
law of gravity applies not, what shall hinder travel? Nor
is there any argument for restraint. Heaven, speaking
strictly, is not a place. Heaven is all places-the universe
-wherever God's felt presence goes. That universe, as I
said before, is the home, the eternal dwelling-house, of man.
It is the temple of the living God. Within that temple, it
is true, there are several courts; within its most sacred
adytum the glorious Shechinah shines, where, in peculiar
luster, the Deity reveals himself; but the whole gorgeous
edifice is divine, and sanctified, and ordained for use. No
chain binds heaven's inhabitant to any spot. Free as the
mountain bird, with pinions such as thought employs, he
may rise and soar away to the most distant twinkling lumin




248             THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
ary, roam through the ethereal fields, bathe his immortal
brow in the blue regions far beyond where optic glasses go,
walk upon the solid pavement of worlds unknown to fame,
poise his adventurous foot upon creation's beetling ver.-e,
lookivn out into the void above, around, below, and oather
up fiom every object visited, and from every region t,veled over, the jewels of truth that lie sparkling on every hand.
This, my friend, will employ much of our time in heaven.
To the physical powers, this heaven will be a paradise; to
the intellectual, a school, a university, where every con
ceivable subject shall be successively the theme of study.
Through every object the mind of God will find contact
with the mind of man. Through every leaf and flower,
thei. gh every stone and star, the light of the All-brilliant
will coir streaming to our several faculties. This constant
intercommunication with the Deity, this thinking of his
thoughts as we meet them in their sensible manifestations
throughout all his works, will give wonderful vitality, and
growth, and comprehensiveness to our intellectual capacities; and that growth, that expansiveness, carried forward
by these world-wide studies, is to be perpetual and eternal."
" Wonderful, more and more wonderful, seems heav. A
But say, my lord, will joy attend on knowledge? Or,,s
here, will knowledge but increase our sorrow."
"Human science, such as men get here, augmcxl. our
sorrow by showing us our infirmities-our distance fEom
thb.e2?-:t state. But there, where our imperfections r:-e
made ul j where all knowledge is but acquaintance with the
Deity, what room for grief? Nay, my friend, know  dge
and joy will there be one; and joy will be in proportion to
our strength of faculty; and the strength of our faculties
will be forever growing while the ages roll. There will





THE SHOUJLDAR-KNOT.


249


come a time, 'indeed, in the revolving cycles of eternity,
when the feeblest intelligence that ever reaches heaven
shall have higher thoughts, and deeper penetration, and a
greater breadth of being, and, consequently, a larger degree of happiness, than are now possessed by the tallest of
the sons of light. Think thou, my lord, a moment. Behold
the progress of a living man during his brief stay in this
world of gloom. Here he lies, to-day, a sleeping, thoughtless, helpless infant, scarcely conscious of existence. Tomorrow, that same weak child, in spite of his sluggish nature, in spite of his erring sense-organs, roused by the little
heaven-light that glimmers through the chinks of his material body, has risen up to be a God-like being, has measured the earth, has weighed the planets, has fathomed the
depths of his own being, has comprehended earth's past
history, has grasped and interpreted the prophetic shadows
of events yet future, and now proposes to grapple with
things necessary, absolute, eternal, thus daring to set his
foot within the precincts of the omniscient! All this, my
lord, the half of one brief century has done, under circumstances the most discouraging! What, then, shall be the
progress of a soul in heaven, employing the organs of a ce
lestial body, instructed by patriarchs, angels, and archangels,
with the universe as the theatre, and eternity as the scope,
of its exertions [ And yet, mark it, this.progress is to be
the rising index of our felicity! The prospect, it seems to
me, my friend, is enough to raise us quite to a state of
ecstasy!"
"It is truly, my lord, and sublimely overwhelming. I
am lost in admiration, and know not what to inqure of
farther."
"But hast thou no interests lodged there 1"
" But little treasure, I fear me, my lord (the duke shed a
TL





250


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


tear as lie said this); but I have a sainted mother, of whom
it gives me joy to think, though death hath dissolved our
relationship, she may be the subject of such happiness."
"What, my lord?"
"My mother is now, I trust, in heaven."
"And thou, her son, hast ceased to be her son, because
she has gone from one apartment of your common dwelling
to another!"
"Is not marriage, my lord, the root of all earthly relationships I"
"Nothing is more certain."
"Unless it is, perchance, that marriage is unknown in
heaven, and, consequently, all the relations, ties, affinities,
predilections, and heart-feelings coming from it. Doth not
the Scripture say so?"
SNo."
" What doth it say?"
" That there is no marrying in heaven."
" Is not that the same 1"
"Nay, it is the contrary; for, were there marriage-making there, it were the place for the beginning of new connections, for the erasure of all old records, for-the laying of
the foundation of new families, to the eternal abrogation, in
many instances perhaps, of tivs formed here. But now,
there being no new matrimony there, nothing is plainer
than that the fruits of old relationships are to survive and
flourish. The fruits, my lord, the affections springing from
these earthly affinities, and not the affinities themselves;
for when, on the plains of glory, amid the company of
heaven, thou meetest her who bore thee, thou wilt not
feel to say, as thou foldest thy arms about her, thou art,
but thou wast, my mother! And she, as she presses thee
to her heart with a mother's fervency, or holds thee





THE. SHOULDER-KNOT.


251


out to those about her, will not say, this is, but this was, my
son!"
" And she will still love me as her son?"
" Love thee? With a purer, stronger, higher love, than
earth-dwelling mother ever knew."
"0 blessed! This, my lord, toucheth me in a tender
part. But tell me, thou wise, how shall I know her, and
how shall she know me 1"
" By looking each with your eyes upon the other's features, which, though glorified, are not altered, but are as a
finished picture is to the first rough outlines."
"Other friends, my lord, will then be recognizable."
"Nay, all; for who could, who would, conceal himself.?"
"Each retaining the recollection of old acquaintanceships?"
"Unless memory, in the perfect state, be more imperfect than now it is."
" And we may choose them as our companions, when so
it pleaseth us V"
"Heaven has no restraint from these socialities; but,
with his choice friend, his mother, brother, sister, wife, child,
or with all together, each mtan may wander forth over the
flowery hills and plains of glory, drawing delight from every
object, discoursing of things past and present, and weighing
their former sorrows against their itew happiness. There,
the lover and his loved shall meet, who, separated by death
ere reaching the consummation of their wishes, went down
to their graves with this single hope shining like a star upon
them. Then, those here known as opponents-opponents
by misunderstanding, but whose lives were pure-will meet
to explain and confess their foibles, and to smile over their
little differences. There, the Davids and Jonathans of all
ages, as faithful to God as to each other, will rise up to find





their lov.js immortal. There, the patriot, whxvios Christian
blood was poured out as an offering for his country, will be
called forth to receive the gratitude and greetings of his
cou..r: on. There, the philanthropist, from whose wide
charities whole nations were made happy, will be brought
forward into the midst of approving multitudes. There, the
martyr-minister, who, at the peril of life, defended his confiding flock against the heresies and threatenings of intrenched power, will hear the thanks of all heaven given him.
All men will stand there according to their characters.
All the relations between man and man, which the Creator
has ordained and revelation has sanctified, will there be
recognized forever. All the joys of earth, social as well as
personal, will be treasured there, because we can not:o to
heaven without carrying our natures and our recollections
with us."
" 0, this will be a still higher glory; but there is one
thorn left in the rosy picture. Will not that faithful memory, which recalls so perfectly our joys and pleasures, bring
up, also, the long catalogue of our follies, vices, crimes, to
torture us V"
-'The lord-lieutenant here looked about him upon the prisoners, I hom the duke did not think of, butwhose haggard
faces had long been flushed by the conversation of the great
philosopher. No words can fitly tell the interest they manifested in this final question. A sudden pallor struck them;
and not a foot, not a hand, not a muscle moved, as they
bent forward, all unconsciously, to catch the first and last
syllable of the coming answer.
" They who reach heaven, my lord," replied the sage,
" will go there on the ground of a free and full pardon, unmerited by them, but covering every one of their transgressions. Whence, then, this torture? Will it not be vrather





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.               253
joy? As they hold the double-columned roll of their spiritual debt and credit up before them-a horrid list!-and
ponder upon each several entry, a glorious spectacle will
be exhibited! On the one side they might well blush to
find the record, minute by minute, of every deed, act, word,
passion, feeling, thought, great and small, open and secret,
from their cradle to their grave; but on the other, with unspeakable rapture, will they read the inscription with which
the hand of Mercy has confronted this black scroll: ' By
virtue of the shed blood of the Redeemer, through the personal faith of the within-named immortal, for the glory of
the great God and the diffusion of his own beatitude, the
fore-entered thoughts, feelings, passions, words, acts, deeds,
not one of which was purely good, but of which every one
is proved deficient or most damnable, are all, by authority
of Him who ruleth and is blessed,' (the eye now runs down
the roll, still reading,) 'pardoned, pardoned, pardoned,' to
the very bottom! 0 the transport of that victorious moment! Their very crimes and sins, so far from bringing
farther pain, being ' taken away' by the great Sacrifice, will
stand forever as indices of sovereign mercy! Their blackness will give expression to its brightness; their number,
so countless, will furnish some exponent, however faint, of
its infinity; the very length of the awful list will serve as a
sounding-line to: test, though vainly, the unsearchable and
unfathomable depths of God's mysterious love! To this
love, on the instant of entering heaven, every heart will
turn! ' Show me,' will each one cry, as he sets foot upon
that green and flowery shore-' show me, ye holy ones, ye
messengers of light, where I may find Him by whose death
I live V?' As they move up in their rapid search, nothing in
all around them, however captivating, can draw them from
their pursuit. ' Meet me not, ye winds, with such a soft





254


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


and soul-like touch; tempt not my thirst, ye sparkling waters
pure, nor yet my taste, ye fruits so clustering fair; strike
not my sense with such delicious sweetness, robbing me of
power to move, ye living flowers so gay; ye choristers of
glory, warbling with such a ravishment in this world of joy,
roll not these heavenly strains around to give me pause;
ye fields of paradise, with hills, and vales, and rocks, and
rolling streams, and shaded river-banks, and leafy woods,
and falling floods, and oceans spreading to the far horizon's
verge, stay not my steps; and you, ye lustrous orbs of light,
that down upon this radiant scene do look so lovingly, let
not one single ray allure or hold my sight, but send me,
from your glittering hosts, one solitary star, like that which
led the inquiring sages up through Bethlehem's rocky vales,
that I, like them, may haste and find where my Redeemer
dwells!' The loftiest intellects, as well as they of humbler
powers, will join the general voice: 'Let sense be hushed,
and memory fail, and curious reason cease, and fancy's
magic work lie still, till conscience bows in worship to her
high Original; till passion falls before her Purifier; till the
soul may satisfy herself, if but for one brief hour at first, in
adoration to her Redeemer and Creator, holding fast by
faith, and hope, and charity, to the bosom of her God!'
Such, my lord, will be the opening scene of paradise; and
often, at stated intervals-for heaven also has her Sabbaths
-while the eternal ages roll, will every occupation cease,
while angel, and archangel, and patriarch, and prophet, and
apostle, and every order, class, grade, and tribe of heaven's
busy multitudes will come from every region, thronging to
the Mount of Worship, where the throne is set-where the
martyrs stand--where the elders sit-where the harpers
harp-where the company of the singers shout-where
the lightnings and thunders are mingled with the sound of





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.              255
trumpets-where the voice of ' every creature that is in
heaven, and on the earth, and under the earth, and of
such as are in the sea, and of all that are in them, are
heard, saying, Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power,
be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the
Lamb, for ever and ever!' This, my lord, is the spiritual
life! It will occupy us much in the future state; and -ever,
so long as man is man, so long as God remains unchangeable, will the two lower forms of life be but tributary to
this, and this employ and expand our highest faculties,
thus opening in each breast a personal and inextinguishable heaven, while all shall be rising to that transcendent
beatitude and glory for which every man was made!"
The philosopher ceased speaking.  His countenance
was flushed. His eyes sparkled with unearthly radiance.
His audience sat mutely gazing on him. Never, perhaps,
since Moses descended from Sinai with shining face, were
the features of a man so changed, so elevated, so transfigured, by the inspiration of his thoughts. The lieutenant
was as pale as death; Buckingham, with his lips still working, as if busy with a thought too deep for words, was yet
silent, until, looking round upon the prisoners, he was
touched to the quick by what he saw, and broke forth into
a flood of passion. The convicts were shedding hot tears,
that fell like showers upon their chains. The lieutenant,
turning his eyes and catching the infection too, fell to
weeping with the rest. The duke, recovering himself, and
feeling within his own heart what all the others felt, became again their representative, and, with a trembling but
impassioned tone, exclaimed:
" Tell me, then, 0 thou sage, if such be heaven, how
can a mortal man most quickly fit himself to go and make
it his V





256             THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
The philosopher, roused by the magnitude of the question, stood upon his feet.  Seizing a little volume of the
king's new version of the Scriptures as he rose, and lifting
his right hand in the most emphatic manner, he spoke:
"Live, sir, according to this book.  Let faith take the
place of sight. Let love come in and purify thy heart.
Then, sir, thou carriest a heaven within. Wherever thou
art, sir, there will be a heaven. Thy first heaven will be
here on earth; thy second, between death and the resurrection; and the third, when the glorified soul shall take possession of the spiritual, wonderful, immortal body, to dwell
in that upper, gorgeous, universal world of love, and truth,
and beauty, of which we have been discoursing. But remember, sir, nay, lay it to thy heart, whatever thou art at
death thou wilt be forever, whether in hell or heaven; since
heaven itself would be a hell, and hell a heaven, according
to the character a man shall carry with him!"





CHAPTER XXII.


GUILT AND INNOCENCE.
"Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt,
Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled;
Yet even that, which mischief meant most harm,
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory."
MILTON.
Another Council is convened-A new Treaty is to be considered-A
Minister is commissioned to a foreign Court-The Jealousy of a King
is somewhat abated-A Convalescent seeking Recreation in a Garden
-She is waited on by a Queen in Person-An Incident of unlawful
Love-Resistance upon sound Principle-A fatal Shriek.
THE embassadors had returned from France. They had
brought with them the most joyful news. Louis the Thirteenth had been delighted with the proposal, by which his
sister was to become Queen of England on the death of
James, and by which his own influence in the British island,
and the influence of his religion, would be immeasurably
advanced. The queen-mother could see no objection to
the match; and Richelieu saw in it, he thought, a prospect
of adding something to his personal popularity with the
changeful inhabitants of France. Henrietta herself, who,
as the reader will remember, had had a glimpse of the
prince as he was on his way to the Spanish capital, was in
ecstasies of rapture; for she not only loved Charles, but
admired his enthusiastic spirit, which accorded not a little
with her own.
James called a council of his ministers to listen to the
treaty, which the embassadors had received from the car




258


THE SH~OULDER-KNOT.


dinal, and which would become a law on the signature of
the British king. It was a lengthy and perplexed document; and it was apparent that the monarch cared but
little for any thing in it preceding the promise of the
dower. He fell sound asleep in his big chair almost as
soon as the secretary began to read; but at the word
pistoles he started up, as if he had been endeavoring to
hear all the while, exclaiming, "Gude Cecil, gae back, gae
back; rede not so dull, mon!"
The experienced secretary commenced again with the
sentence where the dower was set down in figures. It
was a rich sum, enough to make the eyes of any poor old
king like James glisten with animation; but it was less
than had been promised with the Infanta; and, consequently, the greedy monarch was far from being satisfied.
Rising up, with a stamp of his foot, according to his custom, he dissolved the council, saying, that a more potent
embassador must be immediately sent over to Paris, not
only to complete the arrangements for the marriage, but
by all means to add six or seven figures to the right hand
of those in the treaty.
All eyes turned immediately on Buckingham. Charles
himself, who was present, looked in the same direction.
The duke was confessedly the best tactician at the court.
He was the favorite of James, who would submit to any
conditions which that favorite might report as indispensable. He was equally the favorite of the prince, who had
imparted to him the secrets of his heart, as no one could
doubt. Himself a Protestant by profession, his appointment would be agreeable to the English people; but, as
his mother was a Papist, it was presumed that his influence
would be thereby enhanced at the French court. The
king, sensible of all these qualities in his minister, named





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.              259
him his special representative in every thing pertaining to
the marriage, desiring him to make all speed to fill the
royal coffers by hastening his suit.
There was only one difficulty before Buckingham, which
all his ingenuity could not entirely obviate. He had been
at Paris in disguise. He had been suspected of holding
improper conference with Queen Anne. Though, as the
reader knows, that conference was perfectly accidental
and innocent on both sides, especially on the side of Anne,
it was not so understood by the jealous husband, or the
virulent enemies, of the queen. King James had sent an
apology to Louis for the incognito of the travelers; and
Louis had returned a laugh for what he called the "princely
joke." But, though dissembling his jealousy, jealousy was
in his heart; and nothing but the constancy of the duchess,
who, in sickness and in health, in sanity and in insanity,
declared the innocence of Anne, had shaken his suspicions
of the queen. This 'constancy, it must be confessed, had
made a deep and powerful impression on his mind. His
position was almost entirely changed. His jealousy had
dwindled down to mere caution mixed with hope. He resolved to watch the conduct of Anne, not more to punish
her guilt, than to restore to her his full affection at the
moment her innocence should be clearly proved. Richelieu, however, remained her implacable enemy, but disguised his animosity under the cloak of ardent devotedness
to his master's weal. Buckingham, who knew nothing of
these domestic changes, and but little of the previous agitations at the court of France, entered Paris with his usual
openness of manners, which he had resolved to render more
than commonly frank, the better to clear himself and the
queen of all suspicions of intrigue. He well knew, that
even an excess of freedom, when flowing apparently from





260


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


the native impulses of the heart, is less suspicious than that
cautious spirit, which proceeds too often from a consciousness of wrong.
All was hilarity again at the Palais Royale. The English
minister was waited upon in person by the king and queen.
Richelieu paid him all manner of regard. The whole court
sought his acquaintance and his smiles; and even Mary,
whose daughter was the object of this new mission, laid
aside her severity, and wore a bunch of early roses in her
hair.
The beautiful Duchess de Chevreuse, whose life had
been despaired of for many months, had passed the crisis
of her sickness some tinm before; but she was still feeble,
pale, and emaciated, like one trembling on the narrow
verge that divides existence from the grave. Her only
friend, the queen, had remairn.A with her to the last; and
now, when invited to the opLn air by the warm breath of
spring, Anne waited upon her motions, as if the relations
of mistress and servant had been reversed.
It was a lovely morning in the month of April, when a
small hand-coach, made at the order of the queen, and
drawn by two of her trusty servants, proceeded to the
royal gardens down the wide avenue, that wound hither
and thither from the palace backward'between borders of
shrubbery and high branching trees. A soft shower on
the previous night had purified the atmosphere, and rendered the paths of the garden all cool and clean. The
leaves were new and green; the smaller and earlier plants
were in bloom; the birds of the season sang amid the
branches, hopping delightedly from spray to spray; and the
mild southwest, redolent with the sweet scent of flowers,
fanned gently the glowing cheeks of Spring.  The duchess, cushioned by downy pillows, sat nearly erect in the





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.              261
beautiful little vehicle; -and her mistress, giving the proper
orders to the servants, expatiated upon the opening beauties of the season, walking quietly by her side.
They passed under sevenr~l arches, which the gardeners
had decked with vines and creepers in a most artistic and
yet natural way. Fountains of crystal water spouted their
thousand jets into the clear warm air. The invalid inhaled
the aroma with which the atmosphere was charged, drawing in health and vigor at every inspiration; and Anne,
rejoicing in the recovery of one so faithful, and bounding
with that animation derived from the bland influence of the
morning* of the year, enjoyed a measure of happiness which
she had scarcely ever known before. Ah! little did either
dream of the new danger that then lurked in that very
garden, like the original tempter around the flowery path
of Eve!
Buckingham, since his arrival in Paris, had been invited
by Louis to take up his residence at the court; and every
dweller in the palace, even the king, cardinal, and queenmother, had welcomed him with open arms. He could no
longer think he was the object of suspicion; for he perceived that, instead of being secluded from him, the queen
was indulged with every liberty to meet him when she
pleased. He did not dream that this freedom was only
the same as that which the fowler grants the bird, when,
spreading out his net upon.'le field, he retires, apparently
without concern, but really to watch the motions of his
prey. The king had resolved to give her every possible
opportunity with the duke, whom Richelieu and himself
had so long suspected, presuming that, if there were any
political treasons, or treasons of a softer character, they
would not fail to show themselves. The cardinal was determined; orn his part, to make the utmost of every circum




262


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


stance, not having discovered the change wrought by the
conduct of the duchess on the kifg; and Mary, who knew
Buckingham's amorous character better than she did the
rigid virtue of her son's wife, seemed to have that wife, by
an easy anticipation, writhing beneath the tramp of her
own right foot.
The carriage of the duchess was quietly moving on amid
the bloom and beauty of that lovely morning. On reaching
a retired spot far in the rear, near the remains of an old
tower which had never been taken down, the queen ordered
the servants to make a right angle to their present path,
that the eyes of the duchess might not fall upon a few
objects there, which would not fail to move her heart. The
effort was successful; the sick lady did not see what her
mistress wished to conceal from her; and the little coach
went on again. But Anne could not pass the place so
negligently. It was the spot where the two shrubs, celebrated in another chapter, once grew. They were now
withered almost away. The queen, looking upon their decay as another monument of her friend's affection, stopped
to shed a tear in memory of a love unsurpassed in the
annals of mankind. After paying this brief tribute, she
sat down upon a green mound at a little distance from the
tower, to await the reappearance of the carriage, which, by
this time, had lost itself amid the towering shrubbery of the
garden. Her attention had been arrested by the twittering
and fluttering of a swarm of martins, which were building
their nests high up in the niches of the stone fabric at whose
base she sat.
This was the fit time for the tempter. It was the time
of times, the long-expected, long-wished-for time. It was
the time for which all previous times had been contrived.
The heart must not now quail; the foot must not falter; the





'TIu; SIIOULDIhR-KNOT.


263


tongue of the artfil must not hesitate. No, no. lie stands
behind the tower. lHe walks to the nearest corner. He
appears!
" It can not be a wonder, madam, that youro majesty
should gazo so steadily upon the workings of these, little
flutterers. They are beings of indescribable interest to the
admirers of that blooming youth called Spring. Their
habits have been celebrated by the pastoral poets fiom the
remotest days. They are regarded as the early messengers
of'that love, which, in all hearts, burns the most fervently
at tthis opening season of the year. In jEngland they make
their arrival latter, but perform for us the same offices when
they come. We have a poet in our native isle, who calls
them ' guests of summer:'
' This gteS of sunmmer,
The temple.haunting martlet, does approve,
By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's brcath
Smolls wooingly here.'
And never, it seems to me, madam, was a truth more finely
spoken; for every thing in nature now, the beautiful flowers,
the fresh green leaves, the soft and bland air, and the caroling of these birds, do approve that this is a wooing time.
Nor is it within my power, madam, longer to withhold the
secret, that the influence of the season has been generously
seconded by your charms."
"My lord," said the queen to Buckingham with a firm and
yet affectionate tone of voice, " it is not fit that we should
meet in such a place. Will you be generous enough to
show your love by leaving me without another word?"
" Nothing would be easier, madam," replied the duke,
regarding the repulse as a worthy specimen of a woman's
art; " but I have made a vow, as I have told you so often
since I came to court, that I will never leave this kingdom





264


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


without seeing you released from the terrible jealousies and
hostilities to which you have been so long and so innocently
exposed. You know that I know your heart. Why not
suffer me to be the harbinger of that liberty, of that happiness, for which you pine l Trust yourself to me, madam,
and the happiness and freedom of the world are yours."
"Nay, my lord, though I thank you for your kindnesses,
let me trust in my own innocence and in the good providence of God. He will send me deliverance at his chosen
time."
" And how know you that this is not his time? that 1
am not his instrument? that this is not the chosen method
of escape from tyranny, from oppression, perhaps from
death?"
" No time, my lord, nor agency, nor mode of procedure,
involving the smallest impropriety, can come from God."
"But your majesty has, doubtless, a keen recollection for
the poets. ~Shall I quote you a single stanza?
' Watched by the one I'm bound to love,
But loved not in return,
0, for the wings of any dove,
To fly away and mourn!' "
" But the dove," replied the queen, coloring, "is not more
the bird of love, as you ingeniously intimate by this proposal,
than the emblem of innocence; and, withal, that old ballad
which so thoughtlessly escaped from my lips, but poorly
uttered the genuine feelings of my heart. It declared my
calamities, but not my purpose. That purpose is, and ever
has been, my lord, to live and die in all innocence, reposing
confidence in Him who will not suffer us to be afflicted
beyond our ability of endurance. The king, my husband,
set on by evil counselors, has been, it is too true, disposed
to treat me with personal unkindness; but in my heart I





TuB1141 81IOILI)1At-{NIO11.


forgive hnim; and 11 aim resolved to be as unswerving iII Imy
duty to him, as the needle, is obedient to the imagrnet. Will
yout now, good (lttake, with my warmiest thanks for your
generous intentions, retire and leave me?"
"SO s8oon, madtam:' replied iBuckuniham, still. unconvinced
by the queen's appeal-1" so soon, madaim, as you.will grant
Tile 0110 sincrIC Sweet tokenl, which I may ever tafter carry
upon my lips, that my interest in you has not given you
offense; for," continued lie, approaching Anne, and essayingf to lay his btnid upon her shoulder-but lie hiadI not tieic
to complete his sentence. The queen shricked andI left Iiim
in an inistant. Unfortuniate shrick  Proof as it -was- of
er uinapproacihable innocence, it at once became a swift
witness for her condemnattion. At the moment it was give)n,
the cardinal was not twenty paces firom the l arties; the
flying Anne met two of the minister 's trusty officers; anid
the duke was soon visitedl by time king's keeper of the gjarden, with a. reques t that his lordship would leave. it to the
occupancy of those whose privilege it was to visit it, In
ten minutes the adveniture had been relportel throuighout
the paltace; it had becomeo the topic of a hundred whlispored conversations; and it had gonie, doubtless, like a
poisolned arrow, to the only htalf-hiealed heart of the jealous
monmarch.
14I





CHAPTER XXIII.
THE BALLET.
"Methought it was the sound
Of riot and ill-managed merriment,
Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe
Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds."
MILTON.
A Treaty is at last concluded-But a greedy and avaricious Monarch
dies before getting Possession of the Gains for which he had sold
himself-A-new King is to be crowned-A Ball, or any Entertainment, in a licentious Age, deemed of higher consequence than Duty,
eidter to the Living or the Dead-A symbolic Dance-A Discussion of
its Meaning--Sage Conclusions are reached by the Disputants.
ALL the points of the treaty, for which Buckingham
had been charged to make particular exertion, had been carried in spite of his ill-starred adventures and the obstinate
parsimony of the cardinal. The dower had been raised to
eight hundred thousand crowns. The great objects of
James's heart, the obtaining of a wife for his son, and the
procurement of a heavy portion with the bride, for which
he had sold his conscience, his religion, and his country,
and for which he had risked a revolution and a crown, had
been achieved. But how vain is the ambition of mankind!
We toil and labor, through disasters and dangers, to get
possession of some glittering prize, which we trust to enjoy
for a long course of years; but, alas! too often, the very
moment when the bauble drops at our feet, the eyes that
sought it and the hand that struggled for it are both cold
in death! It was so with James. On the twenty-seventh
of March, old style, or the eighth of April as we new





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


267


reckon time, the messenger dispatched by the duke to acquaint his majesty of the happy fulfillment of all his wishes,
found him lying in state, in Westminister Abbey, a lifeless
corpse!
Buckingham, on the morning of the fifth of April, had
received intelligence of James's illness, accompanied by a
request for his return; but as Louis had appointed a grand
festival, including a ride, a dinner, and a ballet, for that
very day and night, in commemoration of the treaty of
marriage between his sister and Prince Charles, Buckingham felt at liberty to remain till the following morning.
The ride was a grand display of carriages, of horses,
of footmen, and of all the paraphernalia of such occasions,
when royalty goes forth to take the air. The dinner, or
rather supper, for it was served after nightfall, was a feast
indeed. But the concluding entertainment, the ballet, in
which the guests danced to the sound of music, but accompanied their movements of foot with all those pantomimic
efforts, by which the various passions are expressed, was
one of the most wonderful of its kind. It consisted of a
dramatic poem-a poem of which the argument and embellishments were all carried out, not by language, but
by the motions of the body and the emotional expressions
of the face. The fable was the courtship and marriage of
a peasant girl, the only daughter of poor but honest parents,
with a foreigner, whose addresses were rejected by the
father and mother, but warmly welcomed by the sagacious
girl. The scene was laid in Italy at the time of the capture of Constantinople by the Turks.
First, the old couple themselves, dressed in their plainest
and coarsest garb, with all the signs of rustic simplicity in
their manners, but in quite vigorous spirits, advanced upon
the floor, performing such grave evolutions as were emblem




268


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


atic of their relations, their circumstances, and their age.
Next, as soon as the former had taken their positions, a
light-footed and lighter-hearted girl, attired according to her
station, wearing a country gown, with a wreath of flowers
upon her head, bounded upon the arena in all the buoyancy and beauty of her youth. Finding her place of rest,
when her own initiatory part was played, between her natural protectors, she stood there the most lovely of daughters, like a young rose between the two decaying branches
of a parental stock. In a moment more, various suitors
for her hand appeared, some keeping time with the instruments by the rapid pulsations of their feet, others by many
a low genuflexion before the heroine of the play. Such
were the damsel's charms, that noblemen and princes condescended to seek her favor, by the payment of all that
species of flattery and attention capable of being represented by the combined poetry of motion and of song.
Several of these became favorites with the parents, who
repaid the attentions bestowed upon their daughter by
many a low courtesy indicative of their zeal; but the
beautiful object of these addresses, notwithstanding the
humbleness of her birth, stood motionless and unconcerned.
At length, when the skill and, dexterity of all these had
been exhausted, another applicant for favor, the foreigner
alluded to above, advanced from a distant and concealed
corner of the apartment in the habit of a stranger in distress. The music instantly changed from a bold major to
a soft and plaintive minor; and, as it passed through all
the varieties of that melting harmony, which the best artists know how to draw from this pathetic key, the newcomer passed forward with such movements, such gesticulations, such subdued and tender expressions of his countenance, that he at once gained the sympathies of every





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


269


spectator, who gave him silent but raptuous applause. On
reaching the presence of the young damsel, he immediately
arrested her attention; and she, who had slighted the most
distinguished native-born suitors, at once acknowledged
and honored his appeal. But the parents, who saw not
the real character of that stranger, but only his forlorn condition, did every thing to intercept his addresses to their
daughter, and to cut off her acknowledgments of them,
which was possible by the most ingenious and intricate
movements of a dance. Watching her opportunity, however, she at length found a passage for escape. Making a
most brilliant pirouette, as my authorities style it, so as to
dazzle and deceive her guardians, she sprang with a sudden saltation to the presence of her lover, who received her
upon his bended knee. Taking his hands, and raising him
to his feet in triumph, she seemed to catch a new and
loftier spirit from her victory; and his manner, too, in obedience to her example and the quick transition of the music
from the slow and solemn to the most rapid and animated
execution, as promptly and completely changed. Never
were feet so nimble, bodies so light, or motions so ethereal,
as now astonished all eyes. Beginning with a few sober
passages, as if carefully laying the foundation of their acquaintance, they rapidly proceeded to the more complicated and daring feats. With their hands united and held out
above and about them, they went through all the evolutions
of the calisthenic art, tied knots and then untied them,
formed arches and circles, passed semicircular rainbows
from shoulder to shoulder, marked out the horizon with
their bended arms, above which their beaming eyes represented the luster of the starry firmament, and executed a
thousand similar parabolic figures, all the while winging their
way along with flying feet, towering now and then with a





270


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


most wonderful agility and ease, and, at last, closing up
their courtship by some of the boldest flights ever attempted by the masters of this mimic art. This concluded, and
the first suitors still retaining their positions on the opposite sides of the floor, the father and mother of the maid,
now reconciled to her choice by what they had seen of his
transcendent powers, advanced down the middle, each with
a gift in token of their consent. The mother bore a wreath
of white roses, set with violets and pinks, which she intended for the brows of her son-in-law, whose brilliant
movements had raised her admiration to the highest pitch.
The father carried a more precious gift. It was nothing
less than that beautiful and costly ornament, which the
French call an aguillette, but which is known in the English language as the SHOULDER-KNOT.
It consisted of a tie of ribbon of gold, sparkling with
diamonds and pearls, with golden tassels dropping from the
sides. According to the etiquette of the age, it was the
highest mark of favor, or affection, that any one could
bestow. With these offerings, the old couple proceeded,
with more than an ordinary animation, even eliciting much
hearty praise for the perfection of their movements, to the
spot where the youthful and happy pair had knelt to
receive these emblems of parental willingness and love.
Curveting with no little brilliancy about the kneeling suppliants, they deposited their gifts in the most graceful and
feeling manner; at the conclusion of which ceremony, the
plighted pair arose, with their arms still entwined and interlocked, and struck off toward the opposite end of the
apartment in a waltz. The father and mother followed
them in the same measure; the rejected suitors joined in
next; after these the whole company of spectators, lords
and ladies, went in suit; and so, in the highest spirits, the





THE SHOUL;DER-KNOT.


271


drama was concluded by the waltzing of the whole party
from the room. They were seen no more that night.
The royal party having thus retired, there remained in
the great hall only a small knot of servants, whose usefulness had admitted them as humble spectators of the scene.
They fell at once, according to their custom, into a loud and
rambling discussion of what they had witnessed. A great
variety of opinion was entertained. One thought it was the
most admirable performance he had ever seen. Another
liked the dancing, but all that kneeling, and bowing, and
scraping, he said, was without sense to him. A third had
scarcely regarded the feats of the dancers, but had given
his whole attention to the music, which, he affirmed, was
the very perfection of melody and harmony combined. A
fourth, addressing himself to a single individual, delivered
his criticisms in a style which the reader may possibly
remember:
"You see, sir, you do, sir, that is not a mere dance at
all, sir. It is the work of the young poet, Corneille, sir,
from whom I brought the copy of it, sir, at the command
of that fair peasant girl, sir, my royal mistress, sir. Yes,
sir, you need not stare, sir. That blooming maid, sir, was
no less than the beautiful Queen Anne, sir; for no one
could be so beautiful but herself, sir. Her old father and
mother, sir, were their royal majesties, Louis and Mary,
sir, who were willing to behold the queen render such distinctions upon the suit of my lord Buckingham, the wonderful stranger, in honor of the match just concluded by his
agency between the great Prince Charles and our incomparable lady Henrietta Maria. That, sir, is my opinioi of
the sense of this night's entertainment, sir."
" You are a very wise and profound critic, and worthy
to be my father-in-law," replied the person addressed by





272


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


honest Sampson, which person, in fact, had been paying
ominous attentions to the old stabler's eldest daughter"You are a very wise and subtle critic, but you have not
cracked the shell of this night's business. True enough,
the outside of this performance is sufficiently emblematic
of the royal match; but your youthful poet, who has lighted his lamp at the blazing torch of our Stratford bard, the
immortal Shakspeare, has herein shadowed forth the most
glorious of all earthly marriages. Now stand up here,
father Sampson, and answer me a few questions, so I may
lead you into the heart and center of this great argument."
Sampson, who had had enough of this questioning process on a former occasion, began to tremble with diffidence
at the first mention of such a procedure; but, as he could
hardly afford to lose the favor of Archibald Armstrong, the
friend as much as the buffoon of Buckingham, he could not
refuse compliance.
" Well, then," said Archy, " was not the scene laid in
Italy?"
"Perhaps, sir, it was, sir."
" And were not the dress and manner of the old couple
of a piece with those of that period in which the Turks took
Constantinople?"
" Nothing is more probable, sir, as you might say, sir."
" Were not the parents of the girl very rustic in their
bearing?"
"If you say so, sir."
"Was not the maid herself, on her first entrance, a character of great promise?"
"Positively, sir, she was, sir."
"Were not the first suitors native-born Italians; and did
they not all fail to get her favor, or to excite the slightest
movement in her?"





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


273


"If, sir, I have such a thing as a pair of eyes, sir."
"Was not that stranger a foreigner, a stranger in distress, an Oriental by birth and bearing, whose first appearance was rejected by the prejudiced parents, but who at
once engaged the young maid's more sagacious notice, won
her heart, and imparted to her the most wonderful animation, when both rose into the loftiest exhibitions of art and
genius?"
" Nothing was plainer, sir."
" Did not the parents, as soon as convinced of the high
character of the stranger, and of his remarkable influence
upon their daughter, come forward with evident satisfaction, and crown them with rich tokens of their approbation?"
"Exactly, sir, as you say, sir."
"And then did not even the rejected suitors, and the
entire company, falling in behind the young married couple,
waltz with great animation, till they were entirely lost
from vision?"
" Ay, sir, that is as you say, sir."
"Well then," continued the shrewd and penetrating
Archy, "I am no dancer. I am a rank Puritan. I condemn all such amusements altogether; but, if you wish to
understand the full signification of this almost magical performance, know that the great poet has accomplished two
works at once in this high drama, which represents, not
merely the match just concluded, but the loftier marriage
of eastern learning with western genius, which took place
in Italy on the advent of the Greek refugees at the capture
and fall of Constantinople."





CHAPTER XXIV.
THE FATAL ERROR.
" Alas! what stay is there in human state,
Or who can shun inevitable fate?
The doom was written the decree was past,
Ere the foundations of the world were cast."
DRYDEN.
The most Innocent are unsafe if they parley with suspicious Circum
stances-An exchange of Gifts-The Parties are watched-Strange
Conduct for a jealous Husband-A presumptuous Step toward the
Completion of a bold and deep-laid Plot-A welcome Fact statedThe Influence of that Fact-The Lion bearded in his Den-Inborn
Passions not always cooled by Age-A spirited Dialogue-A Liar
tells a Truth, but is not credited-The Eyes of a jealous Husband
opened-His Agony.
WE must now hasten toward the close of our historic
narrative. There are a few particulars, recorded by several historians, though the French writers are here my
chief authorities, which must be thrown together in this
chapter.
The Duke of Buckingham, with his faithful attache,
Archibald Armstrong, left Paris the morning after the
ballet. He had a brief interview with Anne a few minutes
prior to his departure. His heart, his whole bearing, were
entirely changed toward her. The same firmness of principle, which had long before made Richelieu her mortal
enemy, had won the admiration of a man, whose character
was naturally of a noble and generous stamp, but weakened
and blackened by the most debasing vices. He had mistaken the disposition of the queen from the moment he first





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


275


saw her; her openness and confiding simplicity of manner
had misrepresented her to him as to many others; but,
whatever were the feelings of others, Buckingham was now
convinced of her exalted purity. That purity had wought
a change, a perfect change, in his relations to her. So far
from presuming, as he had done, upon her weakness, she
was now, in his mind, the very image of a womanly perfection. His freedom of address was now altered to the
highest degree of reverence. He almost worshiped her.
So true it is, that virtue is respected by the most vile, while
vice, in itself considered, is alike hateful to every character.
The queen, on the other hand, who, ever since the adventure of the garden, had treated the duke with merited
coldness, except when compelled to acknowledge him in
his official capacity, relented on the first appearance or
confession of his repentance. Her heart was too gentle to
hold resentment, when the object of it sought forgiveness.
Neither did her unsophisticated heart dream of the necessity of politic tardiness in the bestowal of her pardon. All
she wanted was to know, that he who had injured her
was sorrowful for his conduct, and, regardless of all con.
sequences, or forgetful of them, she banished all animosity
forever. She had gained a victory over one perhaps never
before baffled; but she was not the person to make a needless display of her laurels. The only reward she asked
was the testimony of a good conscience.
In bidding her farewell, the duke besought the queen to
accept, as the readiest mark of his admiration, the wreath
of flowers, which, the night before, the old peasant woman,
namely, the queen-mother, had laid upon his head. She,
taken by surprise, but not to be outdone in magnanimity,
presented him with the only trinket upon her person, the
golden-tasseled Shoulder-Knot, which she had continued to





276


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


wear in honor of the giver. Fatal act!-an act destined to
cause her more pain of mind, more torture, more exquisite
suffering, than she had ever before experienced! It is
strange that she did not see the peril of this step; but the
impulse under which she acted was as sudden as it was
generous; and the circumstance itself is only another proof,
that the consciousness of innocence may sometimes give us
a boldness bordering apparently upon guilt.
It could not be otherwise than that Richelieu and Mary
should be in close watch of the queen at so important a
crisis. Her words were all numbered and written as in a
book. Her very looks and gestures were registered; and
the parting ceremony, including the exchange of gifts, was
recorded with the minuteness of a diplomatic paper. All,
too, was instantly reported to the king, with all that accompaniment of glosses and embellishments, which the spies
knew how to use.
But there had begun to be a strangeness of conduct in
Louis, for which neither the cardinal nor the queen-mother
could account. He eagerly listened to their new accusations; he assented to every thing they had to say; he even
had the appearance of a man enraged; but it was not difficult for such keen critics to perceive, that his anger was
not of the same stamp it had been before. The two conspirators, however, took different but characteristic views
of the same case. The queen-mother argued that the king
had become impatient of delay, and perhaps wearied with
the needless cautions imposed by her accomplice. Richelieu, perplexed in his reasoning by his ignorance of a single
but fundamental fact, maintained, that it was only the levity of his disposition, excited by his misfortune, now rocking between the opposite passions of jealousy and love.
They cordially agreed, however, that no farther delays





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


277


were needed; that every circumstance now called for
speed; and that the gift of the Shoulder-Knot furnished
them with the means of bringing instant and utter ruin upon
the queen.
Richelieu, with his characteristic readiness in such foul
work, drew up the plan of operations on the instant of beholding that exchange of presents. Having seen in Louis
evident tokens of affection for the queen, the most indubitable of which was his overwrought readiness to receive
any sort of accusations against her, and yet without emotion, which argued heart-felt distrust of the testimony rendered by the queen-mother and himself, he resolved to
approach the king in a new character, to press him, to
chafe him if he could, and bring the whole plot to a speedy
issue. He felt certain of the destruction of the queen. If,
now, he could involve Louis, in any way, in her downfall,
he would himself become virtually king. This could be
done, not by flattering and fawning as he had done, but by
attacking the monarch's badly-concealed apathy.  Thus
met, Louis must either humble himself before his minister,
and, at the same time, decree a more speedy condemnation
of the queen, or, leaning toward his wife's defense, he must
link his own reputation with one now fairly doomed. Never
was a bolder step taken by mortal man; but, before detailing its fortunes, it is essential to give the reader to
understand the true cause of the king's apathy, against
which the cardinal is about to make his presumptuous but
artful attack.
The scene of Buckingham and the queen in the royal
garden is not forgotten. The duke's approach from behind
the old stone tower, his words of guile, Anne's opposition
and victory, her retreat, and the surprisal effected by the
wily cardinal, are all remembered. That scene, it will be





278


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


also recollected, was reported to the king, with such additions and subtractions as would not fail to make it worse.
In other words, though the event was a truth, the report
of it, taken as a whole, was false; and could Louis only
have known the discrepancy between the facts and the
representation given of them, in this single instance, he
would see a whole revelation at a glance, He would see,
from one strong example, the characteristic ambition, cunning, and mendacity of the man whom he most trusted.
He would see the plot now working for the ruin of his
wife, and the diminution of his own power. He would see
the innocence, the meekness, the unflinching fidelity of one
of the purest and loveliest of her sex. He would see the
beginning and the aim of the darkest scheme ever concocted in a traitor's brain.
Now, reader, listen to a fact, which, I am certain, will
make you glad. At the very moment of the queen's temptation and victory, while in the very act of making that
memorable declaration of fidelity to a husband, who had
slighted, repulsed, wronged, and injured her so long, that
husband witnessed every gesture and listened to every
word. By accident, he was in the garden, and within ten
paces of the parties, when his wife so positively refused to
take the least step, which should compromise her conscience, though in self-defense. He heard her swear eternal
fealty to himself, to duty, and to God. That was enough.
The spell, by which the cardinal had so long bound him,
was broken at a stroke. His jealousy, his anger, perished
in a moment. His first love, nay, a love tenfold more intense than the first, rose up like a vestal flame within his
heart. More than once, while standing there, he was on
the point of rushing from his concealment, to fall upon his
knees before his injured wife, or to clasp her in a warm





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


279


embrace.  But this would not do. The man, who had
so long served and deceived him, he plainly saw, must
be dealt with at greater leisure; and, before leaving the
ground, he resolved to let the whole scheme go on till he
should fall upon an opportunity of effectually humbling the
wretch who had given him so much pain.
It was in this frame of mind that he had listened to the
rehearsal or falsification of the event, when reported to him
by his mother and his minister. It was in this frame, that
he had received them in all their subsequpnt visits, while
engaged in the completion of their infernal work. It was
in this frame, too, that Mary and Richelieu found him, when
they came to lay out their last and deepest plot for his approval. He read them as a scholar would read a book;
but the time for revelation and punishment was not yet.
When Richelieu told the king that his wife had again
betrayed him; that she had even bestowed his late gift-a
gift not to be thus violated-on her paramour; and that
the consummation of his royal wish was now as certain as
the law of cause and effect, or the demonstrations of
mathematics, Louis did not seem to be roused just as the
cardinal could have wished. He did look dark and moody.
He did wrinkle his forehead in a threatening manner.
He did say something of the wickedness, corruption, and
malice of human nature. He ventured even to remark
that all would soon be apparent.
" Yes," interposed the cardinal, gathering excitement
from the king's apathy-" yes, it will be apparent; and,
as I have gone thus far by your orders into this unpleasant
business, I trust you will see that my trouble has not been
without cause and purpose."
" Besides," added Mary, who had lost nothing of her
impetuosity, " I am astonished, Louis, that you can hear





280


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


of your disgrace, of your wretchedness, of your infamy, in
so calm a temper; for the wickedness of a wife is the husband's sin, until he spurns her from his presence. Her
guilt must be as plain as noonday. The items in the indictment are numerous and of the blackest character. Is
it possible that you have forgotten any one of them? Let
me teach you your catechism. Did she not meet the
duke privately, probably by compact, on the night of his
first visit? Did she not spend a long time in secret with
him? Did she not receive letters? At least a letter was
dispatched to her from her accomplice. Has she not played, sung, walked, rode, danced, and dallied with him ever
since he took up his residence in the palace? Did she
not, sir, meet him in the king's garden? Nay, Louis, to
complete her infamy, has she not now transferred to him a
royal present, an undeserved token of affection, a mark of
special favor, to one whom it is not a virtue in a woman
to regard with the slightest complacency?  Would she
not engage to wear that jewel, should you command it, on
any occasion you might mention, expecting to procure a
counterfeit from some of her base instruments in Paris, and
thus play the serpent with a husband whom she has so
long abused, betrayed, abandoned? Come, Louis, let the
blood of your fathers rise up within you. Nay, let your
mother's beating heart send one pulsation into yours, and
let this foul wench sink beneath your foot like a crushed
viper! Trust her no longer! She is the very image,
emblem, symbol, ensign, exponent, paragon, and pattern of
a deceiver!"
"True enough, madam," replied Louis gravely, "she
has been a great deceiver; and I am just beginning to
learn her real character."
" But you have been too slow in learning it."





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


281


" Ay, madam, and I hope God will forgive me for it."
" But God forgives none who work not, and that promptly and speedily, according to their knowledge."
" The set time will soon be here, madam!"
"Yes, thank God! when that wretch shall receive her
due, and this goodly palace will be clear of conspirators
against our peace and happiness."
"Most heartily, madam, do I hope it may be so."
"Hope? Nay, Louis, the decrees of heaven are not
more certain. We have the evidence of her guilt now in
our possession, which, were it not for your too great slowness, would be proof enough to behead her before morning.
Would God you might see it so! How gladly would I
behold her false face grinning from the point of a soldier's
pike, as he should show her wicked features to the populace!"
"I too have satisfactory evidence; and, moreover, let
me assure you, madam, and you, Mr. Cardinal, that I am
ready to bring her to any test, ordeal, or proof, which you
may mention."
"Let her produce the Shoulder-Knot," ejaculated Mary,
with an air of triumph. " That is all the proof I will ask
of her. If she fail to do it, let her guilt be acknowledged
and published to the winds of heaven."
" That, madam," replied Louis, not believing a word of
this recent story about the exchange of presents--" that is
a very moderate ordeal. Nothing could be more reasonable, or more decisive."
" Shall we, then," said the cardinal, " understand that to
be the test agreed on? Shall the queen's guilt or innocence depend on her producing, or failing to produce, the
Shoulder-Knot 1"
"Yes," answered the king promptly.





282


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


" But, if you give her time," said Richelieu, "she will
send to England and procure it of her princely lover."
" The time shall be too brief," rejoined the monarch.
"It shall be to-morrow, to-day, nay, this moment, if you
say it. Let this trial have a speedy issue. My heart calls
for haste in this business."
" Nay, may it please your majesty," answered the cardinal with a pleased expression; for he was blind again,
and mistook the reason of the king's promptness-" may it
please your majesty, let her have more time and a more
ample theater to display her conjugal fidelity! A thought
now strikes me. The wedding is fixed for the first of May.
There are only three days intervening. This will give her
no opportunity to seek from Buckingham the return of her
gift. Send the queen a royal order to wear that jewel at the
festival which succeeds, on the same night, the marriage.
There will then be a grand array of witnesses to take
knowledge ot her virtue! They will spread it to all the
provinces of France, to England, and to every clime around
us!"
" It shall be so," said Louis, " though this instant would
suit me better.
" What shall be her punishment?" asked Mary, too impatient to wait for condemnation. "Is there any thing
enough cruel, wrenching, torturing, to meet her deservings? Tell me, Louis, about her punishment. Punishment is a sweet word in our conversation about such a
miscreant!"
" Eternal banishment from her husband, madam, ought
to be punishment sufficiently dreadful for a woman. That
shall be her punishment."
" Nothing worse than banishment? Why, Louis, that is a
mere whip of straw to frighten a school-girl! Banishment!"





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


283


"Yes, madam, unchangeable, irrevocable, eternal banishment-banishment from her home and kindred-banishment from her wealth and honors-banishment from the
walks of civilized society-banishment into outer and perpetual oblivion-this were a thousand deaths, madam."
" Well, Louis, if banishment be all, then let the sentence
now begin to take effect."
" You would not punish, madam, before trial and conviction?"
"You can not begin too soon, Louis. I grudge her
every moment of hope that now lies between this instant
and her everlasting ruin. Do, in some form, my good son,
banish her. Banish her from the palace, from your presence, from your recollection, from your fancy, from every
chamber of your being. Spurn her, as a vile thing, from
you. Let the memory of her perish. Be to her as if she
had only been the bauble of an impure dream, which your
own purity would require you to forget as soon as possible.
Nay, crush her, this moment crush her!"
" Madam, I wish to please you. You and Richelieu are
to hold your ways freely in the queen's trial; and I now
decree, that Anne shall not see my face, till her innocence
is demonstrated by the test you have suggested."
"She shall produce the Shoulder-Knot?"
"Or never behold my face again."
"On the night following the wedding 1"
"When she enters the grand assembly."
"She shall wear it "
"By my order."
"Or perish?"
"Or be banished."
"We have your royal word for it?"
" My solemn oath; and now go, madam, and you, Rich




284


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


elieu, and implore Heaven to speed the hour when this
high business shall reach its consummation!"
" May it please your majesty," interposed the cardinal,
who had enjoyed this spirited dialogue between Louis and
his mother with a fiendlike relish, " one word before we
part. Would you know the genuine firom any counterfeit
of your royal gift, which the queen might procure from her
jewelers?"
" My mark is on it. It is the mark of a cross, made by
two imperfect threads of the golden tissue, which might
never occur again in the manufacture of a thousand. I
should know it instantly."
" Well, then," said Richelieu, leisurely unrolling a little
package, and holding out three small trinkets to the monarch, while he but partially suppressed a bitter smile that
began to play upon his lips, " these are three of the tassels
whkic once adorned the gewiue atticle. Tley will furnvisX
us with a most ample security against imposture. If she
wear a counterfeit, you will know it by the mark you
speak of, I by comparing these with the tassels of the one
her jewelers may manufacture. Deception is doubly impossible!"
The king started back with emotion, at the same time
wishing to know whence the cardinal had obtained the
tassels.
" From the Duke of Buckingham's own shoulder, the
night after his arrival in London, when, it being coronation
night, he was ambitious to display his amorous successes at
the court of France before his English vassals. They were
cut from their places by a trusty servant, who followed him
to London for this purpose. They are genuine, sire, a
most genuine proof of the queen's guilt, and an infallible
guarantee of her ruin."





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


285


Louis turned pale with passion. The deed was done,
and he saw it. The cardinal had fairly trapped him. The
queen's reputation was now in the hands of her sworn enemies. Her very husband, though king, could not interfere to save her, without violating his oath, and periling his
own standing. Nor dared he, with all his new affection
for his queen, lean too much in her favor, while there was
such strong proof of her unfortunate, if not criminal, situation. With all his power, he could do nothing; and so,
with an oppressive appreciation of his utter helplessness, he
sank back upon his seat, lost in the battling tumult of his
emotions. The cardinal and queen-mother, full of spirits at
the completion of their infernal plot, glided from the room
and left him. How long he remained in that state of
agony, history nowhere informs us; bft his first words
after rousing himself from it have been recorded--" That
man of guile has overmatched me.  He has slowly pursued his game, while I have been too hasty. Like the
child that touched the spring, and thus started a piece of
machinery, which resisted all his puny efforts to stop it,
so I have set powers at work, which all the might of my
throne and scepter can not now forbid moving forward to
their most fearful issues. I must bide the consequences.
The angel of my heart must run the peril. May God,
whose wisdom is unfathomable, interpose to save her!"





CHAPTER XXV.
DEFEAT OR VICTORY.
", such a day,
So fought, so followed, and so fairly won,
Came not till now, to dignify the times,
Since Caesar's fortunes!"
SHAKSPEARE.
A dark Day with a bright Beginning-An amiable Wife in great Peril
-Her Husband is inconsolable-The Conspirators are quite merryThe Plot revealed to the Public-A royal Wedding Scene-Matrimony not always the most important Question-Parties are hastily
formed and are as hastily dissolved-The Hour of Trial approaches
-A great Room crowded with Spectators-They are intensely excited-The final Moment comes-Innocence passes through the
Fire-Which Party is victorious-What Effects upon the defeated
-What Uses can be made of Victories-A whole Kingdom echoing
with the peals of a memorable Triumph!
THE first of May, 1625, the day set for the making of one
queen and the marring of another, the most memorable in
the historical calendar of France, dawned clear, and calm,
and beautiful. Only forty-eight hours before had Anne of
Austria received the king's order, by the hands of Richelieu, to see his face no more, till she had declared her innocence by appearing in the great assembly, on the night of
the marriage, wearing his royal gift upon her person. Otherwise, she was given plainly to understand, her fate was sealed without farther trial. The mandate came upon her like
a thunderbolt. She saw her error and her danger in a moment. It was absolutely impossible to comply with the requisition; she never dreamed of such a thing as a counterfeit, or of any other method of deception; nothing was left
her, she thought, but to fall humbly at her Maker's feet, to





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


287


implore his forgiveness of every impropriety, then to resign
herself to her fate and prepare to meet it. The Duchess
de Chevreuse, now almost entirely recovered from her illness, devoted her whole being more than ever to her mistress; and both the friends, on the morning of the marriage, remained in private, linked together in indissoluble
affection, but equally confounded by the new and terrible
calamity which had so suddenly broke upon them.
The king was not less inconsolable. There was at least
a sense of innocence to allay the bitterness of Anne's condition; but Louis mourned and wept over a stroke of rashness, by which he had staked the reputation and happiness
of his wife, and that on a trifling test which was now certain to go against her. His anguish was the greater because he had sworn not to see her again before her innocence should be thus vindicated, which, he perceived, was
not only about the same as a decree of banishment taking
effect from that moment, but it utterly precluded him from
the last sweet privilege of a wrong-doer, of going to the
injured and confessing a fault when seen and felt, though
inevitable. Nothing was left to the king but weeping,
and remorse, and lamentation.
Henrietta Maria, on the morning of her wedding-day,
could not be otherwise than happy. She cared nothing for
the plots going forward in a palace which she was about
to leave for another; and her young fancy was full of those
pictures of future felicity, which crowd the brains of more
common brides on such occasions.
The queen-mother, too, the fiery-tempered Mary, who
was giving her daughter a royal husband, and, at the same
moment, restoring herself to her former ascendency in the
king's cabinet, saw nothing in the day but joy and animation.
She hurried from one apartment of the palace to another,





288             THE SHOULDER-KNOT.
as if already its mistress by a little reasonable anticipation;
and her words gave motion to a score of lords, who, with
the base levity of courtiers, were ready to secure her
patronage by an advance of the most mercenary service.
There was a severity in her heart, however, which all the
gayety of her dress and carriage could not entirely cover.
Her hot temper would now and then burst forth, like a
half-smothered volcano, throwing up the burning lava of a
most fearful disposition.
Richelieu, on the contrary, the great tactician, the artful
dissembler, was himself fully. He moved through the
throng, which pressed into the Palais Royale, with an air
of the most perfect obsequiousness, as if he regarded himself the most insignificant character at court, while he really aimed at a power nothing less than imperial. He had
a bow, a smile, or a laugh, or some agreeable repartee, for
every one he met, taking care, however, that the point of
every little sally should flatter rather than wound the vanity
of his company.
At two o'clock the marriage was to take place in the
great cathedral, where the parties were to be represented
by their proxies; but long before that time of the day, the
palace was jammed with noble visitors, the yards and parks
were overflowing, and the streets of the city were alive
with every conceivable demonstration. The whole metropolis was in motion. Vehicles of every description were
hurrying in all directions. The marching and music of the
military were noticeable in every quarter. Land and
naval commanders, in their richest trappings, marshals on
horseback, and municipal officers with their white-pointed
batons, mingled with the multitude, or rode round to watch
the progress of all necessary preparations. The populace
were out in their gayest-colors, the banker, the merchant,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


289


the mechanic, the artist, the common laborer, all in the highest spirits. Nothing but smiles, and bows, and courtesies,
and loud laughter, together with every possible token of
hilarity and good-nature, was either audible or visible. It
was a great day for France; and the light-hearted citizens
of the gay capital knew how to enjoy it.
Neither the cardinal nor the queen-mother considered it
necessary longer to conceal the fact and circumstances of
the coming trial. Both, also, wished their personal friends
to be in the secret, to add a greater zest and interest to the
occasion; and Mary, had no reasons existed for the development, could not have restrained her tongue, especially
as every thing was now regarded as safe and certain beyond a question. The secret spread with the rapidity of
lightning; the palace was immediately on a hum with the
startling rumor; and, long before the hour fixed for the
wedding ceremony, that rumor had taken wing among the
populace, and was flying to the remotest of the French provinces. From that moment the pageant of the day, on which
the wealth of the nation had been freely lavished, in order
to make the marriage, which was but the introductory scene
of the queen's ruin, the more memorable and striking, sank
in comparison with the tragic interest connected with the
closing solemnities of the coming evening.
The marriage ceremony, however, went on, of course.
An immense procession of military, of citizens, of public
officers, of noblemen, of invited princes from neighboring
countries, closed up by a long train of royal carriages, proceeded at the set time to the cathedral. Every part of that
immense pile of architecture was crowded to suffocation.
The rite was performed by the venerable archbishop, in
the presence of the king's household, who sat within the
chancel. The services were conducted with all the pomp
N





290


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


imaginable. There was, however, such an amount of bowing, and praying, and reading, and chanting-of chanting,
and reading, and praying, and bowing-that the vast throng
of spectators, though accustomed to the tedious ritual of
the mass-book, were thoroughly tired of it before it was
half concluded. No possible ceremony, however, could
have entertained them. Their thoughts were not there. A
new and overwhelming passion had risen up within them.
Even while the prayers, and praises, and genuflections, and
re-genuflections were going forward, the two great parties,
into which the populace and the palace were instantly divided, were broken into little knots, discussing the question
of the queen's guilt or innocence with genuine French animation. When the herald arose in the assembly and pronounced Henrietta Maria, according to the royal treaties
and by the rite of holy matrimony, the lawful wife of
Charles, and Queen of England, the busy multitude within
the church could scarcely spare time from their debates to
raise the shouts customary on such occasions; and the
more numerous multitude of the streets, who should have
rent the very heavens with their acclamations, gave a few
scattering echoes of the noise within, and then resigned the
topic for another of far greater moment.
After the conclusion of the pageant, as the royal household were passing out, all eyes sought for the beautiful
queen, who was so shortly to fall a sacrifice to her folly
or misfortune; but neither she, nor Louis, could be discovered. Anne had been prohibited, as the reader knows,
from appearing where she might see her husband; and the
king was glad to cover his absence behind the practice of
his ancestors. But the queen-mother, followed by Richelieu and other officers, passed through the throng which
opened to give them passage; and they were received with





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


291


a general silence so rarely interrupted by any vociferations,
that they could scarcely tell whether they were the objects
of speechless awe, or of diminishing admiration. It was
the beginning of a suspense, which, every succeeding hour,
grew more and more intense, until, just before the moment
of decision, it must have been absolutely painful.
It is a fact worthy of careful record, that the parties,
into which all Paris was now divided, were made up of the
most opposite characters. All the good, virtuous, generous,
and gentle spirits, were on the side of Anne, and advocated
her cause with spirit. The base, the ungenerous, the narrow, the vulgar, and the vile, which constituted the great
majority, were the friends of Richelieu and Mary. It is
doubtful whether, even among the latter class, there were
five persons outside the palace, who desired the utter prostration of the queen. As she was a foreigner, and as there
had been a good deal of gossip about her foreign influence,
many of them were willing enough to see that influence
somewhat diminished; but there were only two persons in
all Paris, who were sufficiently wicked to desire her overthrow. Nor did the people understand, at first, the depth
and extent of the cardinal's foul purposes against her. But
it was impossible long to conceal these purposes from a
mass of beings so thoroughly excited; and it was very natural, that, as the direful malignity of the plot became more
and more developed, the popular opposition should begin
to pass over gradually to the side of pity. It was even so.
When the sun went down at the close of that eventful day,
the shades of night gathered round a vast population, among
whom there was scarcely a heart, beyond the precincts of
the court, that did not beat with a degree of indignation
against the conspirators, or with some strokes of compassion
for the innocent and injured.





292


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


But the hour of her trial is now fast approaching. It is
the hour, reader, for which all the previous hours, and days,
and weeks, and years of this narrative have been preparing.
It is an hour so fraught with consequences to her, upon
whom every feeling of my heart has become centered, by
the very act of writing out her history, and to those wicked
conspirators, whom I have learned to detest by the same
process, that my pen trembles in my hand as I approach it.
We are now to see whether there is any reality in the protection of an overruling Providence; whether God can look
down with carelessness on the accomplishment of the blackest of villainies against the most amiable, and innocent, and
confiding, and yet helpless of mortals; whether the rewarding of the good, and the punishment of the wicked, especially when the good look to him as their only safety in
trouble, forms a chief part of his moral government over the
world we inhabit. But my interest is too intense to admit
of wasting time in needless verbiage. The reader must be
content with the principal facts, that lead on toward that
crowning event, which is to decide great questions, the fate
of many persons, and even the destinies of several nations.
Before eight o'clock, the palace is densely crowded. At
nine every alley, and hall, and corridor, is filled to overflowing. At ten, there is a general inquiry respecting the precise time when the queen is to make her entry. At eleven,
it is whispered from the mouth of Richelieu to some noble
lord, and from that lord to another, and so on throughout
the great hall of the palace, that Anne will make her appearance, through the great door, which never opens but on the
greatest of occasions, at twelve o'clock precisely. She and
the duchess, it is said, will come in together, as if resolved
to fall-for fall they must-into one common sepulcher.
The next hour is one of awful interest. The conversation,





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


293


which had been loud and even boisterous, gradually dies
away into myriads of whispers. At half past eleven the whole
company of nobles, as if by instinct, range themselves on
the sides of the royal hall, to give the queen a wider theater
for her entrance. At a quarter to twelve, the king passes,
with as little ado as possible, to the end of the spacious
room opposite to that at which Anne and the duchess are to
enter. His face is as pale as death; and he trembles from
head to foot with pent-up emotions. Thinking himself concealed from observation, merely because he is lost to himself within the depths of his troubled heart,he stands there
in the crowd, which gives way a little to make room for his
royal person, the object of almost universal pity. His wife
is about to sink, in his very presence, into a deep and everlasting ruin; and the whole company of spectators, to
whom this expected calamity had already become a reality,
though in doubt respecting the actual feelings of the monarch toward his queen, feel that there is reason enough,
whether he loves or hates her, for their sympathy and compassion. About midway of the right hand side stands the
cardinal, biting his finger nails, but trying to hold an easy
conversation with those about him. Mary takes her position very near the great door, through which the entrance
is to be effecte'd, with the demon-like ambition of being the
first to witness and enjoy the queen's eternal humiliation.
The lords and ladies of the court, and among them several
Spanish and English notables, whose names have figured
in former chapters, occupy the remaining places. All are
breathless with expectation. At ten minutes before midnight, a small bell, like those used in the Catholic cathedral
service, rings at some little distance behind the great door
of entrance. It is the note of preparation to remind the
doomed wife of Louis of the king's commandment; and





294


TIHE SHOULDER-KNOT.


every heart palpitates as its sweet little music penetrates
and travels through the great apartment. In five minutes
more it rings again, at the sound of which even those palpitating hearts are still; and the king, who sees but the
brief span of five other minutes between his long-misunderstood, unappreciated, abused, but now tried, loved, nay,
almost worshiped consort, and that utter annihilation prepared for her by the disappointed lust of one enemy and
the unnatural ambition and violence of another, stands there
the very image of distraction spell-bound by despair. The
moments are now counted. Next, the very seconds are
distinguished. But, now, when the great hall is as profoundly silent as an unvisited grave-yard-now, when every
countenance is either pallid with the chill of fear, or flushed
with the fever of hope-now, when all eyes are fastened to
the spot of expectation, the musical little bell rings out its
final signal, when, lo! the massive doors are thrown wide
open! Two ladies, incomparably beautiful, arrayed in the
most perfect but simple splendor, pass over the threshold!
Lo! reader, why fall they not, as soon as their guilty
feet touch the same level where their last tribunal has
been erected, beneath the weight of their iniquities? Why,
whether iniquitous or not, sink they not, like coward slaves,
to fawn, and flatter, and make dolorous prayers, at the feet
of those who have them in their power? Q, ye sons and
daughters of innocence, robed in smiles amid the dark
world's darkest frownings, ye know full well what a heart
of strength, what a step of boldness, what a sense of safety,
what a charm of sweet serenity, a conscious righteousness
of act and purpose imparts to mortals in the very face and
front of danger! Nor does the Omnipotent, whose eye
beholds every method, whose hand holds every instrument,
whose heart prompts to every exercise of providential in




THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


295


terposition, in behalf of those whose life has swung upon
the sancity and certainty of his promise, ever fail to work
out a redemption for his confidants in the hour of peril!
Such is the lesson we are now to impress upon our memories. These two ladies, who have no reason to regard
one of that throng as a friend, who have every reason to
dread the effect of malicious intrigue upon every one of
them, and who know the power and hatred of their chief
enemies, advance without a tremor, without a fear, without
a blush, into the presence of their judges, before the face
of their prosecutors, within the grasp of their executioners,
to the very steps of that garlanded altar, on which they are
expected soon to lie a double sacrifice! Nay, more, they
walk with a light, buoyant, happy step, like twin sisters to a
bridal festival! They greet every personage they pass in
their brilliant progress; and no sooner do they turn from
their opening salutations, than a smile of joy rises upon the
countenances of those first met, whence it passes, like a
flash of electric light, with but slight exceptions, around the
entire circle of spectators!
One of these exceptions is soon encountered. As they
proceed, Anne is noticed making an unusually low and
submissive courtesy; but the person to whom it is so
meekly and sincerely offered, shrinks back with scorn and
indignation. Rash woman! her hour is come, a clear conviction of which immediately falls upon her like a stroke of
thunder; for, as the queen turns and leaves her, the impetuous Mary, to whom this humble submission had been
tendered, bending forward fixes one sharp, searching, ay,
astonished look upon Anne's shoulder, and from that moment stands like a lifeless statue! Thank Heaven! instead of triumphing, as she had trusted, over the "viper"
against whom she had been so long plotting, she might be





296


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


more fitly taken, in that motionless attitude of overwhelming disappointment, as a kind of living, conscious, but
marble-looking monument, erected to the triumph of her
expected victim!
Meeting Richelieu on their way forward, they offer him
a free and frank obeisance, which he returns with a humility
for once real, but with a face covered with confusion.
Stammering out something about his " profound happiness
at seeing her majesty in so good spirits, and hoping that
this [something which the queen could not hear] might be
the end of her unmerited troubles," for the first time in his
long life, he finds it impossible to keep his wily tongue in
motion. Never, since life was given him, would death have
been more welcome. Now, he could have sought it as a
blessing, if for no other reason, than that it would hide him
from the presence of his lovely victor.
The king, who, till this moment, had covered his emotion by hiding himself among the dense crowd of his noble
guests, can conceal himself no longer. He has read the
evidence of his wife's triumph in the faces of her enemies.
He has seen, too, with his own astonished eyes, what their
eyes had beheld to their eternal sorrow, the genuine
Shoulder-Knot, shining like a constellation of diamonds,
as it was, on the queen's shoulder.  Without asking
whence she had obtained it, or whether it had ever been
out of her possession, but thoroughly convinced of the purity
of her life, whatever explanations of her conduct remained
to be made and listened to, he rushes to the spot where the
queen is standing. Their eyes meet as he clasps her to
his heart with rapture. The scene is now truly touching.
Anne, who had not dreamed of the change in the king's
feelings, at first scarcely knows how to receive such greetings, but soon catches the secret with a woman's quickness.





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


297


Louis, monarch as he is, weeps like a child on the bosom
of his injured but faithful wife; and that wife, repaid by
this one moment ofjoy for months and years of injury and
of anguish, weeps as freely on the bosom of her repenting
husband.   The infection spreads to the spectators; and
there is scarcely one, excepting the two conspirators, both
of whom still stand as if frozen by horror to their first positions, who does not, from one passion or another, shed tears
while gazing on this affecting spectacle!
The queen has now triumphed over the last of her enemies. All their machinations have proved harmless against
her; the Being in whom she trusted has overruled them all
to her advantage; and the last of them, by which the conspirators felt confident of at once " crushing" her, has now
become a terrible witness for their own condemnation.
The three tags, or tassels, which Richelieu had shown the
king, declaring them to have been cut from the ShoulderKnot when worn by the Duke of Buckingham, are in the
king's possession. The cardinal must now, in his turn, defend himself against the charge of counterfeiting, falsehood,
and deception. Treason itself is likely to be a count in the
fearful declaration. If he sets up the plea that the tassels are genuine, he has no witness but the despised menial,
who, as he will say, took them from the duke's shoulder.
One word from Anne, however, will have more weight now
than the oaths of a.hundred servants and confidants of
the fallen minister. He is, at last, in her power entirely.
We shall see how effectually she employs her fortune.
The king is almost beside himself. To perpetuate the
memory of that night, he calls from the crowd half a score
of Anne's most faithful friends, and repays their fidelity
with the honors of knighthood. He takes off all his own
jewels, and fastens them upon her person. He sends an
N*





298


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


order to have all the bells of the city ring out a joyful
signal. Upon the queen's speaking to him in an undertone, but with marked earnestness, he exclaims, " True
enough! true enough! where is she." They look'-others
look-all look-but no one can find her; for the beautiful
duchess, who had been the chief instrument in the achievement of this victory, could not endure, in company, the
weight of joy that had broken so suddenly upon her. She
had fled, during the confusion of the royal embraces, into
a small recess, mentioned in the previous chapter, to shed
in secret the tears of gratitude and gladness. But the king
will not be baffled. He sends Richelieu-yes, Richelieu
-to find her. Her very joy betrays her to those nearest
the place of her seclusion; and, in a moment more, the
cardinal comes forward, leading this friend and martyr to
innocence by the hand. Louis, looking down upon her
with an indescribable admiration, gives expression to the
common feeling: " Most wonderful and faithful of women!
this lady, your friend, wishes me to say, that she owes her
life, her happiness, her all, to your faithfulness. She expects me, no doubt, to reward you according to your merit
and my estimate of your services. King as I am, I have
not the power to do it. Take, then, as a token from an
insolvent debtor, this ring." But the king had forgotten
himself. He approaches Richelieu, and commands him to
restore the one he had given him, when the queen-mother
steps forward and relieves the cardinal by delivering the
potent jewel to the monarch--" Take this ring. My royal
mother shall hand it you. Whenever the friend of Anne
shall know a want, let her show this check upon my possessions. It shall never be dishonored."
Louis was again all animation, and would have given
himself up to his happiness; but the queen again whispers





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


299


something in his ear, upon which he turns and regards her
with a look of wonder, replying, in a moment or two, with
emphasis: "Certainly! certainly! forgiveness is a godlike
virtue; but how is it possible, thou paragon and miracle
of all goodness, that thou canst ask a pardon for those who
have pursued thee to the very brink of ruin! Ay, angelic
woman, by virtue of that same combination of heavenly
perfections, by which, after having saved thyself and me
from destruction, and gained a complete triumph over the
last of thy enemies, thou givest all the merit of the salvation
to another, thou wilt doubtless continue to pray for and
bless thy persecutors; but let all here remember, that the
conspirators against the darling of my heart must show
theii penitence by many good works, before they can obtain the king's pardon. And now, ye witnesses of this
wonder, let us all here learn, that there is a God in heaven,
who suffers the wicked to prosper till they ensnare themselves in their own vices, and as often rescues the innocent
and confiding, by means beyond the reach of human foresight or calculation!"
By this time the bells of the capital had caught the infectious spirit of the palace; and the same winds, which
Richelieu had invoked to bear abroad the news of the
queen's ruin, were now heralding, from steeple to steeple,
the glory of her triumph to the remotest of the French
provinces.





CHAPTER XXVI.


CONCLUSION.
"0, all-preparing Providence divine!
In thy large book what secrets are enrolled!
What sundry helps doth thy great power assign
To prop the course which thou intend'st to hold!"
DRYDEN.
The most important Questions are now settled-A Mysterious Event is
at last explained-Punishments and Rewards, even in this Life, have
some Proportion to the Deserts of those receiving them-Minor
Characters are disposed of-A Lesson for all Climes and Countries.
THE reader, as he lays this narrative aside, will wish to
know by what means Anne of Austria became repossessed
of her gift to Buckingham, and what became, in the final
issue, of the principal characters, who have played such
conspicuous parts in the preceding pages.
The first question I will relate in the words of a recent
historian: "On his return from the state ball (on coronation
night), at which he appeared with the Shoulder-Knot of
Anne of Austria, Buckingham; who would confide to no
one the care of this precious ornament, was about to restore it to its casket, when he perceived the subtraction
which had taken place, and for a moment abandoned himself to a fit of anger, believing he had been made the victim
of a common theft; an instant's reflection, however, convinced him that such was not likely to be the case, as he
had upon h;s person jewels o greater value, which it would
have been equally easy to purloin, and these all remained
intact. A light broke upon him-he suspected the agency
of his old enemy and rival the cardinal-duke; and his im




THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


s0t


mediate measure was to place an embargo upon the English ports, and to prohibit all masters of vessels from putting to sea, under pain of death. During the operation of
this edict, which created universal astonishment throughout the country, the jeweler of Buckingham was employed,
day and night, in completing the number of diamond tags;
and it was still in force, when a light fishing-smack, which
had been exempted from the general disability, was scudding across the channel on its way to Calais, under the
command of one of the duke's confidential servants, and
having on board, for its full freight, the Shoulder-Knot of
Anne of Austria. In the course of the ensuing day, the
ports were again opened; and the thousand and one rumors,
which had been propagated by the people, died gradually
away, as no explanation of the incomprehensible and rigorous measure ever transpired. Thus, the apparent tranquillity of Anne of Austria, which had been, for the first few
hours, the apathetic calmness of despair, ultimately grew
out of the certainty of security; and the ready wit and
chivalric devotion of Buckingham, which had so frequently
threatened her destruction, for once supplied her regis."
It may be added, that the queen never felt bound to reveal
this secret even to her husband, maintaining, that, as she
had innocently committed an error, she might as innocently
keep her providential escape from it to herself, when a disclosure might subject her to fresh trials, without doing any
one the smallest good.
The second inquiry brings after it a great moral lesson
There is a wide difference, such a difference as should
prove a warning to evil-doers, between the subsequent fortunes of the principal personages of our story. King James,
as we have seen, was cut off in the midst of his vile and
mercenary struggles for that coveted gold, that never came





302


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


to his impoverished coffers. The false Charles, as every
body knows, went on with the duplicity so abundantly
illustrated in these pages, till all England was roused to
the bloody work of a revolution, and he was indignantly
beheaded by his own subjects. Henrietta Maria, as a reward for her indifference, when her friendship might have
been highly serviceable to the injured, soon loses the husband for whom she had forgotten her duty, and returns to
France with an infant son, to live on the compassion of the
one she had neglected. The Duke of Buckingham, after
running a race of great infamy, interrupted by occasional
acts of magnanimity and honor, fell by the hand of an assassin in a foreign country. Mary de Medicis, the passionate
queen-mother, lived to acquire the settled hatred of her
son, of her own servants, of all Paris, and of the French
people; and with all her pride and ambition, she sank to
her grave in banishment-the very punishment she thought
too good for Anne-receiving her daily bread as a charity
from one of her natural enemies. Richelieu, who never.gained his former standing with his master, was suffered to
serve that master, under a close surveillance, for several
years afterward; but, by one intrigue following another,
he ultimately reduced himself to absolute misery, and finally died, in the very year which recorded the death of his
accomplice, wept by none, but spurned, hated, despised
universally. Such, reader, was the terrible retribution of
divine Providence upon these wicked characters.
Louis the Thirteenth, though naturally weak and jealous, was not a bad man in purpose. With the benefit,
however, of every apology that can be made for him, he
was clearly unworthy of the woman, whom his good fortune had given him; and so, as we learn from his future
history, did the Bestower of all fortunes decree in the strict




THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


303


ness of his justice. From the magnanimous conduct of the
king, after his eyes were opened, and from his subsequent
bearing, he acquired the honorable title of The Just; and
he was permitted to live several years in peace and happiness with his noble queen, and then die with a good degree
of reputation. But his death, which happened so many
years before the demise of Anne, carried a lesson which
God undoubtedly intended to impress upon all men, and
especially upon the recollection of future princes.
Anne of Austria, on the other hand, whose whole life
was one unbroken act of feality to truth and righteousness,
lived to see every one of her enemies, not only humbled,
but buried and forgotten. For eighteen years after the
death of her husband, she was loved, and honored, and
idolized as the regent Queen of France. Her only fault
as sovereign was the excess of those very virtues which
adorned her private character. During all this long period
of her power and happiness, there was but one event,
which could throw even a momentary shade over her bright
pathway. It was the death and burial of the duchess.
When that friend died, the world was no longer bright to
Anne, who wept the tears of real grief upon her nightly
pillow. But her own hour came at last; and when the
French people made her grave, it was a day of universal
sorrow. Prince and peasant, all ranks and classes, mourned with a genuine feeling; and from that day to this, whenever the French matrons relate the story of her triumphs
to their children, they always speak of her as "the good
Queen Anne whom God befriended."
And now, reader, if, after drawing these serious and salutary lessons,.you are still farther curious to know what
fate befell the minor characters of this history I will add,
that the individual who brought the Shoulder-Knot from





304


THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


England to Anne, on the day of her last triumph, was no
less a personage than Archibald Armstrong, who, in his
capacity of buffoon, could travel any where without causing
suspicion; that, after his errand was done, and done to the
satisfaction of those most concerned, he considered it his
right to have his own time of getting married; and that,
consequently, on the day subsequent to the royal wedding,
he led to Hymen's altar the " eldest daughter" of honest
Sampson, with which damsel the reader has heard of the
wit's holding some intimacies on a former occasion.
There was a peculiarity in this concluding ceremony
worth recording.  The happy father-in-law, who had
amassed from the perquisites of his long-held office no
little fortune, was bent on emulating the expensive and
foolish display of his betters; but Archibald, who had
received a religious education, not only stoutly opposed
all such extravagances, but suggested to the honest old
gentleman a worthier mode of disbursing his surplus of
money. He told him plainly, that it would be a more Christian act to take the amount which he had designed to expend on the marriage, and, after dividing it into a suitable
number of smaller sums, to scatter them around among
his poor relatives and neighbors. The good man followed
this counsel, and probably slept the more soundly for it
every night of his life afterward; but if the inquisitive
reader wishes to know any thing more about him, from
my resolution to go no farther in my story than history
assures me, I shall be bound to answer in language somewhat characteristic of the personage inquired of, "You
see, sir, you do, sir, that I can not tell, sir."
But nations derive consequences from the virtues and
vices of individuals; and the story now told is an illustrious
example of the fact. Anne became, after the rescue here





THE SHOULDER-KNOT.


305


recorded, the mother of Louis the Fourteenth, who lived
to carry the glory of France, in every thing that can adorn
a people, to the highest pitch of splendor; but the country
of the perfidious Charles was soon rent by factions, shaken
by revolutions, and hurled to the very brink of beggary and
dissolution. The same God, however, who causes evil
counsels to work the benefit of persons, compels, also, the
most untoward events to help in the cause of empires. Our
own country, it will be remembered, was settled during the
progress of these English troubles; and we trace our independence, and the glorious institutions of this land of freedom, to that national perfidy, which, beginning with the
first Charles, ruled in England till reproved, if not banished,
by the American Revolution. The great incident of our
story, therefore, has a world-wide bearing and significance;
the period it covers is the germinating period of modern
history; for if France, without her Anne, would never have
seen that Louis, who so multiplied her power, her wealth,
her magnificence, so, without their Charles, the American
colonies would never have had their Washington. England, also, since her correction, has become a great and
mighty nation; at this moment, the three governments of
France, America, and England, are the ruling empires of
earth; while our narrative proves, in its worldly aspects,
how much of all their importance they are bound to refer
to the triumphant virtue of that noble woman, whose glory
is to be immortal.


THE END.