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English Literature For Boys And Girls

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Then began a long struggle between two gallant men, Robert of
Scotland and Edward of England. At first things went ill with
the Bruce. He lost many men in battle, others forsook him, and
for a time he lived a hunted outlaw among the hills.

"He durst not to the plains y-go
For all the commons went him fro,
That for their lives were full fain
To pass to the English peace again."

But in all his struggles Bruce kept a good heart and comforted
his men.

"'For discomfort,' as then said he,
'Is the worst thing that may be;
For through mickle discomforting
Men fall oft into despairing.
And if a man despairing be,
Then truly vanquished is he.'"

Yet even while Bruce comforted his men he bade them be brave, and
said:--

"And if that them were set a choice,
To die, or to live cowardly,
They should ever die chivalrously."

He told them stories, too, of the heroes of olden times who,
after much suffering, had in the end won the victory over their
enemies. Thus the days passed, and winter settled down on the
bleak mountains. Then the case of Robert and his men grew worse
and worse, and they almost lost hope. But at length, with many
adventures, the winter came to an end. Spring returned again,
and with spring hope.







Chapter XXVII BARBOUR--"THE BRUCE," THE END OF THE STRUGGLE

"'Twas in spring, when winter tide
With his blasts, terrible to bide
Was overcome; and birdies small,
As throstle and the nightingale,
Began right merrily to sing,
And to make in their singing
Sundrie notes, and varied sounds,
And melody pleasant to hear,
And the trees began to blow
With buds, and bright blossom also,
To win the covering of their heads
Which wicked winter had them riven,
And every grove began to spring."

It was in spring that Bruce and his men gathered to the island of
Arran, off the west coast of Scotland, and there Bruce made up
his mind to make another fight for the crown. A messenger was
therefore sent over to the mainland, and it was arranged that if
he found friends there, if he thought it was safe for the King to
come, he should, at a certain place, light a great fire as a
signal. Anxiously Bruce watched for the light, and at last he
saw it. Then joyfully the men launched their boat, and the King
and his few faithful followers set out.

"They rowéd fast with all their might,
Till that upon them fell the night,
That it wox mirk* in great manner
So that they wist not where they were,
For they no needle had, nor stone,
But rowéd always in one way,
Steering always upon the fire
That they saw burning bright and clear.
It was but adventure that them led,
And they in short time so them sped
That at the fire arrived they,
And went to land but** mair delay."

*Dark.
**Without.

On shore the messenger was eagerly and anxiously awaiting them,
and with a "sare hert" he told the King that the fire was none of
his. Far from there being friends around, the English, he said,
swarmed in all the land.

"Were in the castle there beside,
Full filléd of despite and pride."

There was no hope of success.

"Then said the King in full great ire,
'Traitor, why made thou on the fire?'
'Ah sire,' he said, 'so God me see
That fire was never made on for me.
No ere this night I wist it not
But when I wist it weel* I thoecht
That you and all your company
In haste would put you to the sea.
For this I come to meet you here,
To tell the perils that may appear.'"

*Well.

The King, vexed and disappointed, turned to his followers for
advice. What was best to do, he asked. Edward Bruce, the King's
brave brother, was the first to answer.

"And said, 'I say you sickerly,
There shall no perils that may be
Drive me eftsoons into the sea;
Mine adventure here take will I
Whether it be easeful or angry.'
'Brother,' he said, 'since you will so
It is good that we together take
Disease and ease, or pain or play
After as God will us purvey.'"

And so, taking courage, they set out in the darkness, and
attacked the town, and took it with great slaughter.

"In such afray they bode that night
Till in the morn, that day was bright,
And then ceaséd partly
The noise, the slaughter, and the cry."

Thus once again the fierce struggle was begun. But this time the
Bruce was successful. From town after town, from castle after
castle the enemy was driven out, till only Stirling was left to
the English. It was near this town, on the field of Bannockburn,
that the last great struggle took place. Brave King Edward I was
dead by this time, but his son, Edward II, led the army. It was
the greatest army that had ever entered Scotland, but the Scots
won the day and won freedom at the same time. I cannot tell you
of this great battle, nor of all the adventures which led up to
it. These you must read in other books, one day, I hope, in
Barbour's Bruce itself.

From the day of Bannockburn, Barbour tells us, Robert the Bruce
grew great.

"His men were rich, and his country
Abounded well with corn and cattle,
And of all kind other richness;
Mirth, solace, and eke blithness
Was in the land all commonly,
For ilk man blith was and jolly."

And here Barbour ends the first part of his poem. In the second
part he goes on to tell us of how the Bruces carried war into
Ireland, of how they overran Northumberland, and of how at length
true peace was made. Then King Robert's little son David, who
was but five, was married to Joan, the seven-year-old sister of
King Edward III. Thus, after war, came rest and ease to both
countries.

But King Robert did not live long to enjoy his well-earned rest.
He died, and all the land was filled with mourning and sorrow.

"'All our defense,' they said, 'alas!
And he that all our comfort was,
Our wit and all our governing,
Is brought, alas, here to ending;
. . . . .
Alas! what shall we do or say?
For in life while he lasted, aye
By all our foes dred were we,
And in many a far country
Of our worship ran the renown,
And that was all for his person.'"

Barbour ends his book by telling of how the Douglas set out to
carry the heart of the Bruce to Palestine, and of how he fell
fighting in Spain, and of how his dead body and the King's heart
were brought back to Scotland.

Barbour was born about six years after the battle of Bannockburn.
As a boy he must have heard many stories of these stirring times
from those who had taken part in them. He must have known many a
woman who had lost husband or father in the great struggle. He
may even have met King Robert himself. And as a boy he must have
shared in the sorrow that fell upon the land when its hero died.
He must have remembered, when he grew up, how the people mourned
when the dead body of the Douglas and the heart of the gallant
Bruce were brought home from Spain. But in spite of Barbour's
prayer to be kept from saying "ought but soothfast thing," we
must not take The Bruce too seriously. If King Robert was a true
King he was also a true hero of romance. We must not take all
The Bruce as serious history, but while allowing for the truth of
much, we must also allow something for the poet's worship of his
hero, a hero, too, who lived so near the time in which he wrote.
We must allow something for the feelings of a poet who so
passionately loved the freedom for which that hero fought.

BOOKS TO READ

There is, so far as I know, no modernized version of The Bruce,
but there are many books illustrative of the text. In this
connection may be read Robert the Bruce (Children's heroes
Series), by Jeannie Lang; Chapters XXIV to XLIV. Scotland's
Story, by H. E. Marshall; The Lord of the Isles, by Sir Walter
Scott; Castle Dangerous, by Sir Walter Scott; "The Heart of the
Bruce" in Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers, by Aytoun. The most
available version of The Bruce in old "Inglis," edited by W. M.
Mackenzie.







Chapter XXVIII A POET KING

The Bruce is a book which is the outcome of the history of the
times. It is the outcome of the quarrels between England and
Scotland, and of Scotland's struggle for freedom. Now we come to
another poet, and another poem which was the outcome of the
quarrels between England and Scotland. For although Scotland's
freedom was never again in danger, the quarrels between the two
countries were, unhappily, not over.

In 1399, as we know, Henry IV wrested the crown of England from
Richard II. The new King proved no friend to Scotland, for he
desired, as those before him had desired, to rule both countries.
Henry lost no chance, therefore, by which he might gain his end.
So when in 1405 the King of Scotland sent his little son James to
be educated in France, the English attacked the ship in which he
sailed and took him prisoner. Instead, then, of going as a guest
to the court of France, the Prince was carried as a prisoner to
the court of England. When the old King heard the sad news he
died, and James, captive though he was, became King of Scotland.

Those were again troublous times in Scotland. The captive King's
uncle was chosen as Regent to rule in his absence. But he,
wishing to rule himself, had no desire that his nephew should be
set free. So through the reigns of Henry IV and of Henry V James
remained a prisoner. But although a prisoner he was not harshly
treated, and the Kings of England took care that he should
receive an education worthy of a prince. James was taught to
read and write English, French, and Latin. He was taught to
fence and wrestle, and indeed to do everything as a knight
should. Prince James was a willing pupil; he loved his books,
and looked forward to the coming of his teachers, who lightened
the loneliness of his prison.

"But," says a Frenchman who has written a beautiful little book
about this captive King, "'stone walls do not a prison make, nor
iron bars a cage': the soul of the child, who grew to be a youth,
was never a prisoner. Behind the thick walls of the Tower, built
long ago by the Conqueror, he studied. Guards watched over him,
but his spirit was far away voyaging in the realms of poetry.
And in these thought journeys, sitting at his little window, with
a big book upon his knee, he visited the famous places which the
Gesta Romanorum unrolled before him. . . . The 'noble senator'
Boece taught him resignation. William de Lorris took him by the
hand and led him to the garden of the Rose. The illustrious
Chaucer invited him to follow the gay troop of pilgrims along the
highroad to Canterbury. The grave Gower, announcing in advance a
sermon of several hours, begged him to be seated, and to the
murmur of his wise talk, his head leaning on the window frame,
the child slept peacefully.

"Thus passed the years, and the chief change that they brought
was a change of prison. After the Tower it was the Castle of
Nottingham, another citadel of the Norman time, then Evesham,
then again the Tower when Henry V came to the throne; and at
last, and this was by contrast almost liberty, the Castle of
Windsor."*

*J. J. Jusserand, Le Roman d'un Roi d'Ecosse
And thus for eighteen years the Prince lived a life half-real,
half-dream. The gray days followed each other without change,
without adventure. But the brilliant throng of kings and queens,
of knights and ladies, of pilgrims and lovers, and all the make-
believe people of storyland stood out all the brighter for the
grayness of the background. And perhaps to the Prince in his
quiet tower the storied people were more real than the living,
who only now and again came to visit him. For the storied people
were with him always, while the living came and went again and
were lost to him in the great world without, of which he knew
scarce anything. But at last across this twilight life, which
was more than half a dream, there struck one day a flash of
sunshine. Then to the patient, studious prisoner all was
changed. Life was no longer a twilight dream, but real. He knew
how deep joy might be, how sharp sorrow. Life was worth living,
he learned, freedom worth having, and at length freedom came, and
the Prince returned to his country a free King and a happy lover.

How all this happened King James has told us himself in a book
called The King's Quair, which means the King's little book,
which he wrote while he was still a prisoner in England.

King James tells us how one night he could not sleep, try as he
might. He lay tossing and tumbling, "but sleep for craft on
earth might I no more." So at last, "knowing no better wile," he
took a book hoping "to borrow a sleep" by reading. But instead
of bringing sleep, the book only made him more and more wide
awake. At length he says:--

"Mine eyen gan to smart for studying,
My book I shut, and at my head it laid,
And down I lay but* any tarrying."

*Without.

Again he lay thinking and tossing upon his bed until he was
weary.

"Then I listened suddenly,
And soon I heard the bell to matins ring,
And up I rose, no longer would I lie.
But now, how trow ye? such a fantasy
Fell me to mind, that aye methought the bell
Said to me, 'Tell on man what thee befell.'

Thought I tho' to myself, 'What may this be?
This is mine own imagining,
It is no life* that speaketh unto me;
It is a bell, or that impression
Of my thought causeth this illusion,
That maketh me think so nicely in this wise';
And so befell as I shall you devise."

*Living person.

Prince James says he had already wasted much ink and paper on
writing, yet at the bidding of the bell he decided to write some
new thing. So up he rose,

"And forth-with-all my pen in hand I took,
And made a + and thus began my book."

Prince James then tells of his past life, of how, when he was a
lad, his father sent him across the sea in a ship, and of how he
was taken prisoner and found himself in "Straight ward and strong
prison" "without comfort in sorrow." And there full often he
bemoaned his fate, asking what crime was his that he should be
shut up within four walls when other men were free.

"Bewailing in my chamber thus alone,
Despairing of all joy and remedy,
Out wearied with my thought and woe begone,
Unto the window gan I walk in haste,
To see the world and folk that went forbye,
As for the time though I of mirths food
Might have no more, to look it did me good."

Beneath the tower in which the Prince was imprisoned lay a
beautiful garden. It was set about with hawthorn hedges and
juniper bushes, and on the small, green branches sat a little
nightingale, which sang so loud and clear "that all the garden
and the walls rang right with the song." Prince James leaned
from his window listening to the song of the birds, and watching
them as they hopped from branch to branch, preening themselves in
the early sunshine and twittering to their mates. And as he
watched he envied the birds, and wondered why he should be a
thrall while they were free.

"And therewith cast I down mine eyes again,
Whereas I saw, walking under the tower
Full secretly, new coming her to play,
The fairest and the freshest young flower
That ever I saw methought, before that hour,
For which sudden abate, anon astart,
The blood of all my body to my heart."

A lovely lady was walking in the garden, a lady more lovely than
he had dreamed any one might be. Her hair was golden, and
wreathed with flowers. Her dress was rich, and jewels sparkled
on her white throat. Spellbound, he stood a while watching the
lovely lady. He could do nothing but gaze.

"No wonder was; for why my wits all
Were so overcome with pleasance and delight,
Only through letting of mine eyes down fall,
That suddenly my heart became her thrall,
For ever of free will."

Thus, from the first moment in which he saw her, James loved the
beautiful lady. After a few minutes he drew in his head lest she
might see him and be angry with him for watching her. But soon
he leaned out again, for while she was in the garden he felt he
must watch and see her walk "so womanly."

So he stood still at the window, and although the lady was far
off in the garden, and could not hear him, he whispered to her,
telling of his love. "O sweet," he said, "are you an earthly
creature, or are you a goddess? How shall I do reverence to you
enough, for I love you? And you, if you will not love me too,
why, then have you come? Have you but come to add to the misery
of a poor prisoner?"

Prince James looked, and longed, and sighed, and envied the
little dog with which the lovely lady played. Then he scolded
the little birds because they sang no more. "Where are the songs
you chanted this morning?" he asked. "Why do you not sing now?
Do you not see that the most beautiful lady in all the world is
come into your garden?" Then to the nightingale he cried, "Lift
up thine heart and sing with good intent. If thou would sing
well ever in thy life, here is i-faith the time--here is the time
or else never."

Then it seemed to the Prince as if, in answer to his words, all
the birds sang more sweetly than ever before. And what they sang
was a love-song to his lady. And she, walking under the tender
green of the May trees, looked upward, and listened to their
sweet songs, while James watched her and loved her more and more.

"And when she walkéd had a little while
Under the sweet green boughs bent,
Her fair fresh face as white as any snow,
She turnéd has, and forth her ways went;
But then began my sickness and torment
To see her go, and follow I not might,
Methought the day was turnéd into night."

Then, indeed, the day was dark for the Prince. The beautiful
lady in going had left him more lonely than before. Now he truly
knew what it was to be a prisoner. All day long he knelt at the
window, watching, and longing, and not knowing by what means he
might see his lady again. At last night came, and worn out in
heart and mind he leaned his head #against the cold rough stone
and slept.







Chapter XXIX THE DEATH OF THE POET KING

AS Prince James slept he dreamed that a sudden great light shone
into his prison, making bright all the room. A voice cried, "I
bring thee comfort and healing, be not afraid." Then the light
passed as suddenly as it had come and the Prince went forth from
his prison, no man saying him nay.

"And hastily by both the arms twain
I was araiséd up into the air,
Caught in a cloud of crystal clear and fair."

And so through "air and water and hot fire" he was carried,
seeing and hearing many wonders, till he awoke to find himself
still kneeling by his window.

Was it all a dream, Prince James asked himself, even the vision
of the lovely lady in the garden? At that thought his heart grew
heavy. Then, as if to comfort him, a dove flew in at his window
carrying in her mouth a sprig of gilliflowers. Upon the stalk in
golden letters were written the words, "Awake! Awake! lover, I
bring thee glad news."

And so the story had a happy ending, for Prince James knew that
the lovely lady of the garden loved him. "And if you think," he
says, "that I have written a great deal about a very little
thing, I say this to you:--

"Who that from hell hath creepéd once to heaven
Would after one thank for joy not make six or seven,
And every wight his own sweet or sore
Has most in mind: I can say you no more."

Then, in an outburst of joy, he thanks and blesses everything
that has led up to this happy day, which has brought him under
"Love's yoke which easy is and sure." Even his exile and his
prison he thanks.

"And thankéd be the fair castle wall
Whereas I whilcome looked forth and leant."

The King's Quair reminds us very much of Chaucer's work. All
through it there are lines which might have been written by
Chaucer, and in the last verse James speaks of Gower and Chaucer
as his "masters dear." Of Gower I have said nothing in this
book, because there is not room to tell of every one, and he is
not so important as some or so interesting as others. So I leave
you to learn about him later. It is to Chaucer, too, much more
than to Gower that James owes his music. And if he is grave like
Gower rather than merry like Chaucer, we must remember that for
nineteen years he had lived a captive, so that it was natural his
verse should be somber as his life had been. And though there is
no laughter in this poem, it shows a power of feeling joy as well
as sorrow, which makes us sad when we remember how long the poet
was shut away from common human life.
The King's Quair is written in verses of seven lines. Chaucer
used this kind of verse, but because King James used it too, and
used it so well, it came to be called the Rhyme Royal.

King James's story had a happy ending. A story with a happy
ending must end of course with a wedding, and so did this one.
The King of England, now Henry VI, was only a child. But those
who ruled for him were quite pleased when they heard that Prince
James had fallen in love with the beautiful lady of the garden,
for she was the King's cousin, Lady Jane Beaufort. They set
James free and willingly consented that he should marry his lady,
for in this way they hoped to bind England and Scotland together,
and put an end to wars between the two countries. So there was a
very grand wedding in London when the lovely lady of the garden
became Queen of Scotland. And then these two, a King and Queen,
yet happy as any simple lovers journeyed northward to their
kingdom.

They were received with great rejoicing and crowned at Scone.
But the new King soon found, that during the long years he had
been kept a prisoner in England his kingdom had fallen into wild
disorder. Sternly he set himself to bring order out of disorder,
and the wilfull, lawless nobles soon found to their surprise that
the gentle poet had a will of iron and a hand of steel, and that
he could wield a sword and scepter as skillfully as his pen.

James I righted much that was wrong. In doing it he made for
himself many enemies. But of all that he did or tried to do in
the twelve years that he ruled you will read in history books.
Here I will only tell you of his sad death.

In 1436 James decided to spend Christmas at Perth, a town he
loved. As he neared the river Forth, which he had to cross on
his way, an aged woman came to him crying in a loud voice, "My
Lord King, if ye cross this water ye shall never return again in
life."

Now the King had read a prophecy in which it was said that a King
of Scotland should be slain that same year. So wondering what
this woman might mean, he sent a knight to speak with the woman.
But the knight could make nothing of her, and returning to the
King he said, "Sir, take no heed of yon woman's words, for she is
old and foolish, and wots not what she sayeth." So the King rode
on.

Christmas went by quietly and peacefully, and the New Year came,
and still the King lingered in Perth. The winter days passed
pleasantly in reading, walking, and tennis-playing; the evenings
in chess-playing, music, and story-telling.

But one night, as James was chatting and laughing with the Queen
and her ladies before going to bed, a great noise was heard. The
sound of many feet, the clatter of armor mingled with wild cries
was borne to the quiet room, and through the high windows flashed
the light of many torches.

At once the King guessed that he was betrayed. The Queen and her
ladies ran hastily to the door to shut it. But the locks had
been broken and the bolts carried away, so that it could not be
fastened.

In vain James looked round. Way of escape there was none.
Alone, unarmed, he could neither guard the ladies nor save
himself. Crying to them to keep fast the door as best they
might, he sprang to the window, hoping by his great strength to
wrench the iron bars from their places and escape that way. But,
alas, they were so strongly set in the stone that he could not
move them, "for which cause the King was ugly astonied."*

*The Dethe of the Kynge of Scottis.

Then turning to the fire James seized the tongs, "and under his
feet he mightily brast up a blank of the chamber,"* and leaping
down into the vault beneath he let the plank fall again into its
place. By this vault the King might have escaped, for until
three days before there had been a hole leading from it to the
open air. But as he played tennis his balls often rolled into
this hole and were lost. So he had ordered it to be built up.

*The same.

There was nothing, then, for the King to do but wait. Meanwhile
the noise grew louder and louder, the traitors came nearer and
nearer. One brave lady named Catherine Douglas, hoping to keep
them out, and so save the King, thrust her arm through the iron
loops on the door where the great bolt should have been. But
against the savage force without, her frail, white arm was
useless. The door was burst open. Wounded and bleeding,
Catherine Douglas was thrown aside and the wild horde stormed
into the room.

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