Read Ebook: Ashcliffe Hall: A tale of the last century by Holt Emily Sarah

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Ebook has 2271 lines and 103678 words, and 46 pages

Os resultados das invas?es e conquistas, que de continuo arabes e christ?os faziam mutuamente nos territorios dos seus a adversarios, eram tambem diversos. Ainda rebaixando no que dizem os escriptores arabes sobre a excessiva povoa??o das Hespanhas, ? indubitavel que nas provincias dominadas pelos serracenos ella foi muito mais numerosa do que hoje ?. Esta povoa??o, por?m, era em grande parte romano-gothica ou mosarabe, e, como j? disse, para ella as invas?es feitas pelos homens da mesma cren?a n?o podiam ser consideradas como destinadas a subjuga-la mas a quebrar-lhe o jugo dos infieis. Esta circumstancia tornava-se tanto mais importante, quanto ? certo que os wisigodos que acceitaram o dominio arabe, ficaram na mesma situa??o civil em que se achavam no momento da conquista, e por consequencia possuidores de riquezas, senhores de servos, superiores por isso for?osamente a uma parte da popula??o arabe, e iguaes da mais abastada. Assim n?o s? eram um poderoso auxilio para os christ?os no meio dos inimigos, mas por muitas vezes bastaram por si s?s para expulsar d'algumas povoa??es os conquistadores sarracenos.

Desde os meados do undecimo seculo apparece na Hespanha um systema regular d'organisa??o. O concilio, ou c?rtes, de Le?o convocado em 1020 por Affonso V constitue uma data importante na historia social da Peninsula. N'este concilio, ou c?rtes, se estabeleceram leis politicas e civis geraes para todas as provincias do reino leonez, que eram Le?o, Galliza, Asturias e Castella. Fernando I celebrou igualmente c?rtes em 1046, 1050, e 1058.

Para as suas guerras brilhantes muitos nobres cavalleiros francezes atravessaram os Pyreneus. Foi entre estes que Henrique de Borgonha veio ? Hespanha, para ser o fundador da independencia dos portuguezes.

Seria este acto insolito uma imita??o de costumes francezes? Fica dicto foi no reinado de Affonso VI, principalmente, que as id?as e institui??es francezas se introduziram na Peninsula. Nas suas vastas empresas contra os arabes, este rei ajudou-se grandemente de cavalleiros francezes, a quem enriquecia e honrava, ao mesmo passo que enchia as cadeiras episcopaes de bispos d'aquella na??o.

A predilec??o que elle sempre mostrou pelas cousas de Fran?a, e que tanto contribuiu para alterar os costumes wisigodos, podiam t?-lo movido a seguir, casando suas filhas com os principes borgonhezes Raimundo e Henrique, e outra com o conde de Tolosa, os costumes d'aquelle paiz, se elles n'esta parte fossem contrarios aos das Hespanhas.

A difficuldade de acceitar a tradi??o de um facto incomprehensivel para os individuos por quem se diz praticado seria bastante para o tornar mais que suspeito. Mas ainda occorrem contra elle outras considera??es.

Al?m d'isso, D. Elvira, irm? de D. Theresa e casada com o conde de Tolosa, n?o recebeu em dote terras algumas: diz-se que f?ra a causa d'isto o possuir Raimundo de S. Gil estados em Fran?a. Mas que lei ou costume d'Hespanha obstava a que elle possuisse um condado em outro paiz, conjunctamente com os estados que tivesse em Le?o? E se n?o havia legisla??o ou uso em contrario, porque consentiu este principe, mais poderoso que os outros dois, que fossem para elles estas liberalidades, ao passo que ficava sem quinh?o na monarchia hespanhola, que assim se faz retalhar loucamente pelo habil Affonso VI?.

Ajunte-se a isso que d'esta historia apenas restavam copias incorrectas e incompletas quando, depois de Berganza, a publicou Flores, e que ella passou pelas m?os do celebre falsario, consocio de Fr. Bernardo de Brito, o padre Higuera. Ser? portanto bastante por si s? para dissolver as d?vidas apontadas? Aconselha-lo-ha a boa critica? Parece-me que n?o.

Mas o conde Henrique governou Portugal em quanto viveu. D. Theresa o governou igualmente depois da morte d'elle, em 1112, at? seu filho a desapossar da suprema auctoridade em 1128. Este, finalmente, tomando o titulo de rei, firmou para sempre a separa??o e independencia de Portugal dos reinos de Le?o e Castella. Como se consummou similhante facto? Qual foi a historia d'este successo, verdadeira ou pelo menos provavel?

Foi no meio d'estas perturba??es que o conde Henrique p?de assegurar, sen?o de direito ao menos de facto, a independencia das terras que governava. Ora mostrando-se favoravel ao mo?o Affonso Raimundez contra a m?e e padrasto, que se tinham temporariamente congra?ado, e incitando Pedro Froylaz, conde de Trava, aio do infante, a sustentar animosamente a causa do seu pupillo, quando o veio sobre isso consultar; ora colligando-se com o rei d'Arag?o contra D. Urraca, divorciada de novo do marido no anno seguinte de 1111. Henrique evidentemente procurava aproveitar nas dissens?es civis a occasi?o de constituir independente o seu condado, e, com effeito, procrastinadas as perturba??es da Hespanha quasi at? 1126, elle falleceu em 1112, deixando o governo a sua mulher D. Theresa, sem nunca submetter o collo ao jugo de D. Urraca.

"Very well, Mother."

"And, Celia, can you get some flowers and bits of green from the evergreens? They will look better than nothing in the jars. That great laurel at the other end of the park can spare some, and as you take long walks, I leave that to you."

"O Mother!" suddenly cried Celia, in a voice which showed that her thoughts were on anything but evergreens, "I want to tell you something. Yesterday I was sitting by that great laurel, when a man begged of me through the hedge. I gave him a trifle, and he asked me if I were Squire Passmore's daughter. I told him yes, my name was Celia Passmore; and he told me in answer not to be too certain of it. Was it not droll? But the thing yet more strange was, that when I told Cicely of it, she said I had better tell you--no, she said I had better not tell you--but that you could tell me what it meant if I asked you. So very strange! What did it mean, Mother?"

Madam Passmore was silent for a few moments. When she spoke, it was to say, in quite another tone, softer and tenderer than her previous one, "Thou art nineteen, Celia, my dear."

"Yes, Mother," answered Celia, rather surprised at the information. "I was nineteen on the third of June."

"Ay, born the same year as Bell," said Madam Passmore, gravely, and Celia thought a little sadly. "Well, I will tell thee, my dear, for thou oughtest to know, and thou art now a woman grown. Ay, I will tell thee, but wait until Tuesday. After the assembly will be better."

Squire Passmore was riding leisurely home, after having himself carried the invitation to his old friends Mr. and Mrs. Harvey of Ellersley. He had nearly reached his own gates, when he suddenly pulled up to avoid running over a pedestrian. The latter met him as he turned a corner, and was apparently too deeply engaged in his occupation--that of searching into a portfolio in his hand--to see any one coming. He was a young man of some six-and-twenty years, and the brightness of his dark, penetrating eyes struck the Squire as he looked up and hastily drew to one side with an apology.

"Your servant, Sir! I beg your pardon for my carelessness."

"Another time," said the Squire, in his hearty voice, "I should advise you to delay looking into your portfolio till you are round the corner."

"Thank you for your advice, which I shall certainly take," returned the young man. "Might I ask--can I be mistaken in thinking that I am addressing Squire Passmore, of Ashcliffe Hall?"

"My name is John Passmore," said the Squire, "and I live at Ashcliffe. Do you want anything with me?"

"I thought I could not be mistaken," answered the young man, with a very deferential bow. "My object in addressing you, Sir, is to request the very great favor of your permission to take a few sketches of your fine old Hall. I am sketching in this neighborhood in the employ of Sir Godfrey Kneller, the great London painter--you have surely heard of him--and if"--

"A good sensible Whig," interrupted the Squire. "If you want to sketch the Hall for him, you shall have leave to draw all the four sides; if you like. You are a painter, are you? I thought you must be some sort of a moonstruck fellow--painter, author, or what not--that you did not see me coming."

"Permit me to express my very great obligations," said the artist. "Might I venture so far as to ask your leave to take one sketch inside? I have been told there is a fine carved oak staircase"--

"Stevens, Sir--Cuthbert Stevens, at your service--and very much"--

"Ah! odd name, Cuthbert, but an old name--yes, a good old name. To-morrow at twelve, Mr. Stevens--very glad to see you."

And away rode the hospitable and unsuspicious man, leaving on the face of Cuthbert Stevens a look of amused contempt.

"'Moonstruck!'" he whispered to himself. "We shall see which is the cleverer, John Passmore, Esquire--we shall see."

"Lucy, my dear," said the Squire to his wife when he came in, "I have asked a gentleman to dinner to-morrow;--a painter--making sketches for Sir Godfrey Kneller--monstrous clever fellow!--take your portrait in no time--wants to draw the Hall."

When the Squire conveyed his information in this abrupt and detached style, Madam Passmore knew from experience that he was not altogether satisfied with his own act, and desired to justify himself in his own eyes. He was, in truth, beginning to feel rather uneasy. Though he called the artist a "monstrous clever fellow," he had not seen a single sketch; he had taken the man on his own word, and at his own valuation; he had yielded to the charm of his voice and manner; and now that this was withdrawn, he began to doubt whether he had done well in introducing a complete stranger into the bosom of his family. So Madam Passmore, seeing this, and also acting on her favorite maxim of "what must be, must," quietly said, "Very well, John," and left her husband to his own devices.

"Well, Sir, if you will remain no longer," said Madam Passmore, her kind heart compassionating his probably precarious circumstances, "you will put one of these raised pies in your pocket for your journey? I think you liked them at dinner."

The artist gratefully accepted the offer. With a very respectful bow he took leave, Charley volunteering to accompany him to the gate. There was a good deal of conversation on the way through the park, chiefly on Charley's side, the stranger contenting himself with an occasional simple and careless query. At the gate they parted--Charley to run home at the top of his speed, and Mr. Stevens to walk rather quickly for half a mile in the direction of Exeter. Having so done, he turned aside into a coppice bordering on the road, and, slackening his pace, commenced whistling a lively air. The verse was still unfinished, when an answering whistle of the same tune was heard, and the man who had accosted Celia over the hedge came in view, advancing to meet him.

"Well, Gilbert!" was the artist's greeting, "any good news?"

"The same that I left you with, Father," said the elder man in reply; "and if you call it good news, you have the heart of a stone. I am all but famished, and sick-tired of being cooped up in that miserable hole."

"And the inquiries, Gilbert? You told me all that before, you know."

"And much you cared about it!" answered Gilbert, ill-humoredly, kicking some dead sticks out of his way. "Inquiries! no, of course nothing has come of them, except what we knew before: that she passes as the third daughter, and she is short and dark."

Stevens sat down on a green knoll. "What a surpassing clever man you are, Gilbert Irvine!" he observed.

"Well, Father Cuthbert, you are uncommon complimentary," remonstrated Gilbert, leaning back against a tree. "Seven mortal weeks have I been cooped up in that dog-hole, with as much to eat as a sparrow, and wearing myself out, dodging about to get a glimpse of this girl--all to please my Lady and you; never slept in a bed except just these four nights we have been at Exeter--and the only reward of my labors which I have seen anything of yet, is to be told I am an ass for my pains: because, of course, that is what you mean."

"My excellent Gilbert, your temper is a little below perfection. You shall see what a mistake you have made. Look at me. I have just been dining with Squire Passmore."

Gilbert's mouth opened for an exclamation, but shut again without one, as if his astonishment passed the power of words to express.

"Now why could not you have done the same? Seven weeks you have been here, as you say, and caught one glimpse of the girl; and I, who have not been here as many days, have already seen and spoken to her, and found out more about her than you have. And I have dined like a prince in addition, while you are pretty near starving, Gilbert."

"Nice consolation that is to give to a famished wretch!" snarled Gilbert. "Father Cuthbert, you have a heart of stone."

"Not quite so hard as that, my friend," answered Stevens, feeling in his pocket, and bringing out of it the pie. "I only wished to show you what a very ingenious fellow you were. Eat that."

"Where did you get it?" was all the thanks Gilbert vouchsafed.

"It was offered me, and I accepted it," said Stevens. "I never say 'No, thank you!' to anything good. Always take all you can get, Gilbert."

Gilbert was too busy with the pie to answer.

"Now listen, Gilbert. I was wise enough to take no notice of the girl that any could see: but I studied her quietly, and I sounded the youngest brother well. I am satisfied that none of them know who she is, and I imagine only the parents know any thing at all. She seems very comfortable, and well taken care of, and will probably be in no haste to leave; at least so I judge from what I can see of her disposition, which is quiet and timid. Then"--

"Father Cuthbert, I wish you would wait a minute. ''Tis ill talking between a full man and a fasting.' Do let me finish this pie in peace."

"Finish it, Gilbert, and much good may it do you."

"But how did you get in?" was the question that followed the last mouthful of the pie.

"I represented myself as an artist, in the employ of Sir Godfrey Kneller "--

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