“the bark that held a prince went down, the sweeping waves rolled on, and what was england’s glorious crown to him who wept a son?”—hemans.
the earliest dawning of a december’s morning had not yet tinged the eastern sky, when in the port of barfleur the stirring bustle which precedes an embarkation broke loudly on the ear of all who were on foot at that unseemly hour; nor were these few in number, for all the population of that town—far more considerable than it appears at present, when mightier cities, some rendered so by the gigantic march of commerce, some by the puissant and creative hands of military despotism, have sprung on every side into existence, and overshadowed its antique renown—were hastening through the narrow streets toward the water’s edge. the many-paned, stone-latticed casements gleamed with a thousand lights, casting a cheerful glare over the motley multitude which swarmed before them with all the frolic merriment of an unwonted holyday. all classes and all ranks might there be seen, of every age and sex: barons and lords of high degree, clad in the rich attires of a half-barbarous74 yet gorgeous age, mounted on splendid horses, and attended by long retinues of armed and liveried vassals; ladies and demoiselles of birth and beauty curbing their spanish jennets, and casting sidelong looks of love toward the favored knights curveting in the conscious state of proud humility beside their bridle-reins—as clearly visible as at high noon, in the broad radiance of the torches that accompanied their progress; while all around them and behind crowded the humbler throng of mariners and artisans, with here a solemn burgher, proud in his velvet pourpoint and his golden chain, and there a barefoot monk, far prouder in his frock of sackcloth and his knotted girdle; and ever and anon a group of merry maidens, with their high norman caps and short jupons of parti-colored serge, crowding around the jongleurc with his ape and gittern—or pressing on to hear the loftier professord of the gai-science, girded with sword and dagger in token of his gentle blood, and followed by his boy bearing the harp, which then had power to win, not with the low-born and vulgar throng, but with the noble and the fair, high favor for its wandering master!
b the title given by the chroniclers to this ill-fated vessel is “the blanche nef,” the latter word being the old french for the modern term, which we have substituted. singularly enough, the ancient word survives as the name of a piece of antique gold plate modelled like a ship, in which the napkins of the royal table are served in the high ceremonials of the court of france.
c the juggler of the middle ages, who, like the street-musicians of the present time, were mostly savoyards by birth, generally carried with them the ape or marmoset, even to this day their companion, and added to their feats of strength and sleight of hand both minstrelsey and music.
d the gai-science, so early as the commencement of the century of which we write, had its degrees, its colleges, and its professors, who, though itinerants, and dependent for their subsistence on their instrument and voice, considered war no less their trade than song, esteeming themselves, and moreover admitted by others to be, in the fullest sense, gentlemen.
the courts and thoroughfares of the old town—for it was old even then—by slow degrees grew silent and deserted; and, ere the sun was well above the wave, the multitudes which thronged them had rolled downward to the port, and stood in dense ranks gazing on its calm and sheltered basin. glorious indeed and lovely was the sight when the first yellow rays streamed over the still waters: they waked the distant summits75 of the hills behind the town into a sudden life; they kissed the crest of every curling ripple that dimpled with its “innumerable laughter” the azure face of ocean; but, more than all, they seemed to dwell upon two noble barks, which lay, each riding at a single anchor, at a short arrow-shot from the white sands that girt as with a silver frame the liquid mirror of the harbor.
fashioned by the best skill of that early day, and ornamented with the most lavish splendor, though widely different from the floating castles of modern times, those vessels—the picked cruisers of the british navy—were in their structure no less picturesque than in their decoration royally magnificent. long, low, and buoyant, they floated lightly as birds upon the surface; their open waists already bristling with the long oars by which, after the fashion of the roman galley, they were propelled in serene weather; their masts clothed with the wings which seemed in vain to woo the breeze; their elevated sterns and forecastles blazing with tapestries of gold and silver, reflected in long lines of light, scarcely broken by the dancing ripples. the larger of the two bore on her foresail, blazoned in gorgeous heraldry, the arms of england. the second, somewhat smaller, but if anything more elegant in her proportions, and fitted with a nicer taste, although less sumptuous, was painted white from stem to stern; her oars, fifty in number, of the same spotless hue, were barred upon the blades with silver; and on her foresail of white canvass, overlaid with figured damask, were wrought, among a glittering profusion of devices, in characters of silver, the words “la blanche navire.” beyond them, in the outer bay, a dozen ships or more were dimly seen through the mist-wreaths which the wintry sun was gradually scattering—their canvass hanging in festoons from their long yard-arms, and their decks crowded, not with mariners alone, but with the steel-clad forms of men-at-arms and archers, the gallant train of the third norman who had swayed the destinies76 of england.
the youngest son of the sagacious conqueror, after the death of the “red king,” by a rare union of audacity and cunning, henry, had seized the sceptre of the fair island—the hereditary right of his romantic, generous, and gallant brother, who with the feudatories of his norman duchy was waging war upon the saracen, neglectful of his own and of his subjects’ interests alike, beneath the burning sun of syria. already firmly seated in his usurped dominion ere robert returned homeward, nor yet contented with his ill-gained supremacy, he had wrung from the bold crusader, partly by force but more by fraud, his continental realms; and adding cruelty which scarcely can be conceived to violence and fraud, deprived him of heaven’s choicest blessing, sight, and cast him—of late the most renowned and glorious knight in christendom—a miserable, eyeless captive into the towers of cardiff, his dungeon while he lived, and after death his tomb!
no retributive justice had discharged its thunders upon the guilty one; no gloom sat on his smooth and lordly brow, no thorns had lurked beneath the circle of henry’s blood-bought diadem. fortune had smiled on every effort; had granted every wish, however wild; had sanctioned every enterprise, however dubious or desperate: he never had known sorrow; and from his restless, energetic soul, remorse and penitence were banished by the incessant turmoil of ambition and the perpetual excitement of success. and now his dearest wish had been accomplished—the most especial aim and object of his life perfected with such absolute security, that his insatiate soul was satisfied. absolute lord of england, and undisputed ruler of the fair cotentin, he had of late disarmed the league which for a time had threatened his security; detaching from the cause of france the powerful count of anjou, whose daughter—the most lovely lady and the most splendid heiress of the time—he77 had seen wedded to his first-born and his favorite, william. the previous day he had beheld the haughty barons tender the kiss of homage and swear eternal loyalty to the young heir of england, normandy, and anjou; the previous night he had sat glad and glorious at the festive board, encompassed by all that was fair, and noble, and high-born, in the great realms he governed, and among all that proud and graceful circle his eye had looked on none so brave and beautiful as that young, guiltless pair for whom he had imbrued, not his hands only, but his very soul, in blood! he sat on the high dais, beneath the gilded canopy; and as he quaffed the health of those who had alone a kindly tenure of his cold and callous heart, a noble knight approached with bended knee, and placing in his hand a mark of gold—“fair sir,” he said, “i, a good knight and loyal—thomas fitz-stephen—claim of your grace a boon. my father, stephen fitz-evrard, served faithfully and well, as long as he did live, your father william—served him by sea, and steered the ship with his own hand which bore him to that glorious crown which he right nobly won at hastings. i pray you, then, fair king, that you do sell to me, for this gold mark, the fief i crave of you: that, as fitz-evrard served the first king william, so may fitz-stephen serve the first king henry. i have right nobly fitted—ay, on mine honor, as beseems a mighty monarch—here, in the bay of barfleur, ‘the blanche navire.’ receive it at my hands, great sir, and suffer me to steer you homeward; and so may the blessed virgin and her son send us the winds which we would have!”
“good knight and loyal,” answered the prince, as he received the proffered coin, “grieved am i, of a truth, and sorrowful, that altogether i may not confer on you the fief which of good right you claim: for lo! the bark is chosen—nay, more, apparelled for my service—which must to-morrow, by heaven’s mercy, bear me to that land whither your sire so fortunately guided78 mine. but since it may not be that i may sail myself, as would i could do so, in your good bark, to your true care will i intrust what i hold dearer than my very soul—my sons, my daughters—mine and my country’s hope; and as your father steered the first, so shall you steer the third king william, that shall be, to the white cliffs of england!”
“well said, my liege!” cried foulke, the count of anjou, a noble-looking baron of tall and stately presence, although far past the noon of manhood, the father of the lovely bride; “to better mariner or braver ship than stout fitz-stephen and la blanche navire, was never freight intrusted! quaff we a full carouse to their blithe voyage! how sayest thou, daughter mine,” he added, turning to the blushing girl, who sat attired in all the pomp of newly-wedded royalty beside her youthful lover—“how sayest thou? wouldst desire a trustier pilot, or a fleeter galley?”
“why,” she replied, with a smile half-sweet, half-sorrowful, while a bright tear-drop glittered in her eye—“why should i seek for fleetness, when that same speed will but the sooner bear me from the sight of our fair france, and of thee, too, my father?”
“dost thou, then, rue thy choice?” whispered the ardent voice of william in her ear; “and wouldst thou tarry here, when fate and duty summon me hence for england?”
her full blue eye met his, radiant with true affection, and her slight fingers trembled in the clasp of her young husband with a quick thrill of agitation, and her lips parted, but the words were heard by none save him to whom they were addressed; for, with the clang of beakers, and the loud swell of joyous music, and the glad merriment of all the courtly revellers, the toast of the bride’s father passed round the gleaming board: “a blithe and prosperous voyage—speed to the blanche navire, and joy to all who sail in her!”
79 thus closed the festive evening, and thus the seal of destiny was set upon a hundred youthful brows, foredoomed, alas! to an untimely grave beneath the ruthless billows.
the wintry day wore onward; and, wintry though it was, save for a touch of keenness in the frosty air, and for the leafless aspect of the country, it might have passed for a more lightsome season; the sky was pure and cloudless as were the prospects and the hopes of the gay throng who now embarked secure and confident beneath its favorable omens. the sun shone gayly as in the height of summer, and the blue waves lay sleeping in its lustre as quietly as though they ne’er had howled despair into the ears of drowning wretches! there was no thought of peril or of fear—how should there be? the ships were trustworthy; the seamen skilful, numerous, and hardy; the breezes fair, though faint; the voyage brief; the time propitious.
the day wore onward; and it was high noon before the happy king—his every wish accomplished, secure as he conceived himself, and firm in the fruition of his blood-bought majesty—rowed with his glittering train on board the royal galley. loud pealed the cheering clamors of his norman subjects, bidding their sovereign hail; but louder yet they pealed, when, with its freight of ladies, the second barge shot forth—william and his fair sister, and yet fairer bride, and all the loveliest of the dames that graced the broad cotentin.
not yet, however, were the anchors weighed—not yet were the sails sheeted home; for on the deck of the king’s vessel, beneath an awning of pure cloth-of-gold, a gorgeous board was spread. not in the regal hall of westminster could more of luxury have been brought together than was displayed upon that galley’s poop. spread with the softest ermine—meet carpet for the gentle feet that trod it—cushioned with seats of velvet, steaming with perfumes the most costly, it was a scene resembling more some fairy palace than the wave-beaten fabric80 that had braved many a gale, and borne the flag of england through many a storm in triumph. and there they sat and feasted, and the red wine-cup circled freely, and the song went round: their hearts were high and happy, and they forgot the lapse of hours; and still the reveller’s shout was frequent on the breeze, and still the melody of female tones, blent with the clang of instrumental music, rang in the ears of those who loitered on the shore, after the sun had bathed his lower limb in the serene and peaceful waters.
then, as it were, awaking from their trance of luxury, the banqueters broke off. skiff after skiff turned shoreward, till none remained on board the royal ship except the monarch and his train, and that loved son with his bright consort, whom, parting from them there, he never was to look upon again! the courses were unfurled, topsails were spread, and pennants floated seaward; and, as the good ship gathered way, the father bade adieu—adieu, as he believed it, but for one little night—to all he loved on earth; and their barge, manned by a score of powerful and active rowers, wafted the bridal party to the blanche navire, which, as her precious freight drew nigh, luffed gracefully and swiftly up to meet them, as though she were a thing of life, conscious and proud of the high honor she enjoyed in carrying the united hopes of normandy and england.
delay—there was yet more delay! the night had settled down upon the deep before the harbor of barfleur was fairly left behind; and yet so lovely was the night—with the moon, near her full, soaring superbly through the cloudless sky, and myriads on myriads of clear stars weaving their mystic dance around her—that the young voyagers walked to and fro the deck, rejoicing in the happy chance that had secured to them so fair time for their excursion: and william sat aloof, with his sweet wife beside him, indulging in those bright anticipations,81 those golden dreams of happiness, which indeed make futurity a paradise to those who have not learned, by the sad schoolings of experience, that human life is but another name for human sorrow.
fairer—the breeze blew fairer; and every sail was set and drawing, and the light ripples burst with a gurgling sound like laughter about the snow-white stem; and, still to waft them the more swiftly to their home, fifty long oars, pulled well and strongly by as many nervous arms, glanced in the liquid swell. the bubbles on the surface were scarcely seen as they flashed by, so rapid was their course; and a long wake of boiling foam glanced in the moonshine, till it was lost to sight in the far distance. the port was far behind them; and the king’s ship, seen faintly on the glimmering horizon, loomed like a pile of vapor far on their starboard bow. and still the music rang upon the favorable wind, and still the rowers sang amid their toil, and still the captain sent the deep bowl round. the helmsman dozed upon the tiller—the watch upon the forecastle had long since stretched themselves upon the deck—in the deep slumbers of exhaustion and satiety.
“give way! my merry men, give way!” such was the jovial captain’s cry; “pull for the pride of normandy—pull for your country’s fame, men of the fair cotentin. what! will ye let yon island-lubbers outstrip ye in the race? more way! more way!”
and with unrivalled speed the blanche navire sped on. a long black line stretches before her bow, dotting the silvery surface with ragged and fantastic shades; but not one eye has marked it! on she goes, swifter yet and swifter, and still the fatal shout is ringing from her decks: “give way, men of cotentin! give more way!” now they are close upon it, and now the dashing of the surf about the broken ledges—for that black line is the dread raz de gatteville, the most tremendous82 reef of all that bar the iron coast of normandy! the hoarse and hollow roar must reach the ears even of those who sleep. but no! the clangor of the exulting trumpets, and the deep booming of the norman nakir, and that ill-omened shout, “give way—yet more—more way!” has drowned even the all-pervading roar of the wild breakers. on, on she goes, fleet as the gazehound darting upon its antlered prey; and now her bows are bathed by the upflashing spray; and now—hark to that hollow shock, that long and grinding crash!—hark to that wild and agonizing yell sent upward by two hundred youthful voices, up to the glorious stars that smiled as if in mockery of their ruin. there rang the voice of the strong, fearless men; the knight who had spurred oft his destrier amid the shivering of lances and the rending clash of blades, without a thought unless of high excitement and fierce joy; the mariner who, undismayed, had reefed his sail, and steered his bark aright, amid the wildest storm that ever lashed the sea to fury—now utterly unnerved and paralyzed by the appalling change from mirth and revelry to imminent and instant death.
so furious was the rate at which the galley was propelled, that, when she struck upon the sharp and jagged rocks, her prow was utterly stove inward, and the strong tide rushed in, foaming and roaring like a mill-stream! ten seconds’ space she hung upon the perilous ledge, while the waves made a clear breach over her, sweeping not only every living being, but every fixture—spars, bulwarks, shrouds, and the tall masts themselves—from her devoted decks. at the first shock, with the instinctive readiness that characterizes, in whatever peril, the true mariner, fitz-stephen, rallying to his aid a dozen of the bravest of his men, had cleared away and launched a boat; and, even as the fated bark went down, bodily sucked into the whirling surf, had seized the prince and dragged him with a stalwart arm into the little skiff, which had put off at once, to83 shun the drowning hundreds who must have crowded in and sunk her on the instant.
“pull back!—god’s death!—pull back!” cried the impetuous youth, as he looked round and saw that he alone of all his race was there; “pull back, ye dastard slaves, or by the lord and maker of us all, though ye escape the waves, ye ’scape not my revenge!”—and, as he spoke, he whirled his weapon from the scabbard and pressed the point so closely to fitz-stephen’s throat, that its keen temper razed the skin; and, terrified by his fierce menaces, and yet more by the resolute expression that glanced forth from his whole countenance, they turned her head once more toward the reef, and shot into the vortex, agitated yet and boiling, wherein the hapless galley had been swallowed. a female head, with long, fair hair, rose close beside the shallop’s stern, above the turbulent foam. william bent forward: he had already clutched those golden tresses—a moment, and she would have been enfolded in his arms—another head rose suddenly! another—and another—and another! twenty strong hands grappled the gunwale of the skiff with the tenacity of desperation. there was a struggle, a loud shout, a heavy plunge, and the last remnant of the blanche navire went down, actually dragged from beneath the few survivors by the despairing hands of those whom she could not have saved or succored had she been of ten times her burden.
all, all went down! there was a long and awful pause, and then a slight splash broke the silence, a faint and gurgling sigh, and a strong swimmer rose and shook the brine from his dark locks; and lo, he was alone upon the deep! something he saw at a brief distance, distinct and dark, floating upon the surface, and with a vigorous stroke he neared it—a fragment of a broken spar. hope quickened at his heart, and love of life, almost forgotten in the immediate agony and terror, returned in all its natural strength. he seized a rope, and by its aid84 reared himself out of the abyss; and now he sat, securely as he deemed it, upon a floating fragment on which, one little hour before, he would not have embarked for all the wealth of india. scarcely had he reached his temporary place of safety, before another of the sufferers swam feebly up and joined him, and then a third, the last of the survivors. the first who reached the spar—it was no other than fitz-stephen—had perused with an anxiety the most sickening and painful the faces of the new-comers: he knew them, but they were not the features he would have given his own life to see in safety—berault, a butcher of rouen, and godfrey, a renowned and gallant youth, the son of gilbert, count de l’aigle. “the prince—where is the prince?” fitz-stephen cried to each, as he arrived; “hast thou not seen the prince?” and each, in turn, replied: “he never rose again—he, nor his brothers, nor his sister, nor his bride, nor one of all their company!”—“wo be to me!” fitz-stephen cried, and letting go his hold, deliberately sank into the whirling waters; and, though a strong man and an active swimmer, chose to die with the victims whom his rashness had destroyed, rather than meet the indignation of their bereaved father, and bear the agonies of his own lifelong remorse.
three days elapsed before the tidings reached king henry, who in the fearful misery of hope deferred had lingered on the beach, trusting to hear that, from some unknown cause, the galley of his son might have put back to barfleur. on the third day, berault, the sole survivor of that night of misery, was brought in by a fishing-boat which had preserved him; and, when he had concluded his narration, robert of normandy had been revenged, although his wrongs had been a hundred-fold more flagrant than they were. henry, though he lived years, never smiled again!
