Stories after Nature/Christian and his Companions; or, Patriotism and Liberty
CHRISTIAN AND HIS COMPANIONS;
or, Patriotism and Liberty.
HERE was an old king of Norway, who, though he came to the throne late in life, brought with him none of that discretion which should belong to maturity of age; but only great tyranny, and a violent will.
There were three young noblemen of his kingdom, of great fortunes and independence, named Christian, Gustavus, and Frederick; who often conversed together in private of the disgusting practices of the old king, and of his unwholesome government.
It happened, that after having reigned two years his extravagancies became so great, that he levied a heavy and burthensome tax upon his people; insomuch that they murmured, and were out of heart, saying, "Why should we sweat thus in our affairs? The more we get, the more is taken away from us; they let us live only that we may surfeit them." All confidence in dealing, all energy and industry were gone.
These three noblemen were walking in a garden, talking on the hated subject of the king's tyranny and the people's sufferings, when Christian, the greatest of them, proposed that they should risk their lives and become the champions of the liberties of the people; that they should sell their vast estates and lands, and convert them into money to obtain arms, etc., for the sustenance of troops. So they departed to consider of the matter, agreeing to meet each other on the following day in that place, and swear an oath. Having thought of the thing, and being fully resolved, feeling enthusiastically the virtue of the cause, they met before the appointed time in the garden, and there swore never to desert each other, or the cause of liberty which they had espoused; nor take any steps without the full consent of all three. Having knelt down and taken this oath on their swords, they parted to gather their fortunes into a heap, and strengthen themselves amongst those who hated, but feared the government. They all found the love of the people was equal to the hatred of the monarch, for the same cause had produced both. They had for a long time provided their families with bread, and fed the rapacity of power by paying its burthensome demands upon them; the time however was now come when they were to effect a change.
They retreated from the city to the mountains; and there, suddenly hoisting a standard, gave hopes to all who would come to them. At the first their numbers were many; though not one third of what they should have been; for the poor-hearted, having no faith in their cause (though knowing it honest), would not join them, for fear of the king. They, wisely seeing that something must be done, came down from the mountains and gave the king battle; after a bloody fight they won it, beating the king unto his very gates.
It was now that the true dispositions of men appeared; for no sooner had they gained this victory, than those who were before tame, became as wild as wolves; and those who were afraid, were mad with valour in their cause.
The tyrant, fearing they would besiege him within his walls, hastened to try once again his fortune in the field. A second battle was fought, but with doubtful success, for night had closed upon the scene of action, and forced a retreat.
It happened that Gustavus, who with a chosen number had penetrated to the gates of the city, determined upon entering it; and, having cut their way through, they flew to the senate house, supposing the council would be sitting to advise in their exigencies. In this they were not mistaken: there they found the old retainers of the king—the feed bloodsuckers of their country—the seals to tyranny—the vouchers and abettors of all wrongs; and there without mercy they hacked them to death, so that the blood poured through the crevices into the street. Having done this, they broke through into the great garden, past the palace, into the plain; thus avoiding any further encounter. Gustavus, however, did not return as he had come—it had been well for him if he had. In passing the palace he made prize of the youngest daughter of the king, and carried her off with two of her women; marching through the vallies till they had gained the main army. Both parties being sufferers thought it wise to retreat for some time.
The lady whom Gustavus had taken, though young, was artful in the extreme; and she, wishing well to the government, and ill to the faction, pretended to fall violently in love with him, and yielded to his pleasure; seeking every means to loosen the firmness of his mind, and to make herself the sole object of his thoughts. This she accomplished, like a true woman; so that Gustavus began to show marks of despondence and strangeness of manners before his two friends. The princess was suddenly missed, and it was rumoured that she and her maids had escaped. The truth, however, soon appeared; which was, that Gustavus had turned traitor, and had sent her to her father with a promise to join him. Gustavus at first thought of persuading his comrades to a peace, but a little reflection soon convinced him of the impracticability of such a scheme. It came at length to this point; whether he would sacrifice the cause of liberty or his affection for this woman; the trifle prevailed, and the great weight rose in the scale.
Soon after her flight, the king's party showed signs of active preparation for battle, for the eagerness of which none could account but Gustavus. Measures were taken to meet them; and when both parties had fronted each other, and paused for the word of attack, Gustavus drew off his troops, and making a circuit round a hill fell suddenly into the king's ranks, and faced upon his friends. Christian and Frederick looked on each other amazed, and Christian said sorrowfully, "We are no longer the crescent three." Frederick turned furiously round, and made an attack upon the part where Gustavus was stationed; and having left the main battle to Christian, he with an hundred chosen men chased Gustavus up and down the ranks, cleaving his way through every opposition, till he had secured him and taken him prisoner. Christian, seeing a favourable opportunity, found it prudent to sound a retreat; having sustained but little loss, and disabled the king's troops too much to follow him. In the morning they assembled and sat in judgment upon their prisoner; who, by this time, had come to a full sense of his dishonour, and desired nothing so much as to die, and end at once his misery, and the mean opinion he had of himself. When he was brought before them, he stood with much humility and unaffected sorrow; never lifting his eyes from the ground, or shifting his melancholy position. Christian spoke, saying, "What are we to do with thee? Thou hast deserved the death for sacrificing thine honour to thine inclination; for abandoning the sacred cause of liberty and the people; and (worst of all) abetting their fast enemy. Thy fault is great; but thou hast been so long my brother and fellow counsellor in the ways of honesty, that I cannot stop thy breath. What you have done in our affairs has been done with a full heart; and what you now feel, I am well assured, is felt with a full heart—that is, that you have lost your honour, and the blessed hope of bestowing liberty to your fellow men. What you did was through the infatuation of that bad woman: it was weak, and we cannot again trust you in our great cause. What are we to do with you?" Frederick immediately answered, saying, "There is but one thing to be done. We swore an oath, which oath was to be our judgment; and it sentences this traitor to death. Is it not merited? But for the aid of heaven, we had, through his treachery, been sacrificed to our enemies; and, for our blind confidence in his hollow faith, have died a death most beastly, under the steeds of our enemies. His life is forfeited to every soldier here—chiefly to you and me—and I demand it in all justice of you." Christian replied, "You have spoken the truth; but there is one thing greater than revenge, and hand-friend to our cause—it is mercy. Let him live: we can spare him and all who are traitors. His cause (which was his armour) and his power being gone, he is become weak as a naked sworder. If you will be revenged, let him be sent forth in a burnished car, decked in a purple vest and garlanded, with chains upon his wrists, to his new master the great king; and let his dishonourable wife take him to her arms, and pay him for his loss of peace and honour with a kiss: then he may work for the king. I fear no harm that he can do us; once known, the faith is broke. This is enough for all thy great revenge, and better than his blood. Seek not his life; I pray thee, let him live." But Frederick was boisterous, and demanded his life, and would by no means listen to the feelings of Christian; saying, he would act no farther in the cause if every article was not obeyed; so that Christian, finding he was not to be pacified, agreed to draw lots with him, which should have the disposal of the prisoner. Humanity was repulsed; for Frederick won it, and condemned him to death, swearing an oath that he should die. Christian, finding nothing would prevail upon him to relinquish his design, came down, and folding his arms about Gustavus, embraced him, saying, "Care not, we are parted but for a little time. I will be always anxious to do more than I have done, as being mindful of the sorrow you feel at having left undone so much. You see I cannot help your fate, but I am sorry. I now embrace you for the last time—you have been, and might be noble, what you are I shall ever forget." After a pause he added, "Will nothing save his life?" Frederick sternly answered, "No, nothing." So they parted, both shedding tears. When Gustavus had recovered his voice, he said firmly, and in a manly tone, "Ye neither of you know me. That I am so mean in the opinions of my honourable companions is much, very much: but that I am so mean in my own is more. I am mad to think of what I have lost: I am glad that I am overtaken in my crime. Be it known to you, lord Frederick, that in some senses you are the poorest of the two; for you are proud to wrench from humanity that which I loathe, and shall throw by. I know not why, but I feel you are out of my memory. I regret not to leave you, and hardly seem to have done you an offence. But to the greater and gentle Christian what can I say? Never enough—never half. I feel my heart aches, and thus will I be peevishly revenged upon it—I will whisper thy name, and it shall usher me to heaven." So saying, he stabbed himself to the heart, and fell on his back, dead. When Christian saw this he ordered his soldiers to take him away, and he buried him, and mourned for him sincerely.
The king, finding he had gained nothing by this move (by which he had expected to gain everything), became more wary and cautious; and endeavoured to recruit himself by ceasing to provoke hostilities. The patriot captains finding this, began to plan some measure for assaulting the city and carrying it by storm; in consequence of which, Frederick undertook with a body of chosen men to go out, with an intention to discover the state and power of the enemy's outposts. This adventure he performed successfully the first time; but on the second, other fortune awaited him. The king's scouts having discovered his first attempt, alarmed the captain of the guard; but he was then too weak to attack men, whom he knew would fight desperately; and moreover he judged, that by keeping close in the bushes and the fern, where they were in ambush, and suffering them to return unalarmed, they would make an excursion of the same nature, when he would be better provided to repulse them. In this he was right; and having set a spy upon a hill, he waited patiently for the signal of their approach; which, when he saw, he ordered his men to fall flat upon their faces amongst the heath. As soon as Frederick and his men were passed in silence and supposed security, they rose up quietly, with a staunch arrow in each bow, and discharged upon them with a horrid shout; and many a brave fellow fell, wounded in the back. They turned, however, as savage as wolves, and fought a bloody battle with their enemies, who were ten times their number; but the valour of Frederick was a host in itself, and he ever cheered on his men with enthusiastic shouts of liberty. Although his numbers were so great, the captain of the guard began to doubt the issue of the fight; and to put more spirit in his men, promised them each a piece of gold if they were conquerors. This did much, but Frederick and his fellows fought till every man lay stretched amongst the grass; most of them hacked to death, and but a few wounded. Frederick had received three wounds, and having fainted from loss of blood, they took him prisoner, and carried him into the city with the poor remnant of his men, and there cast him in prison, till he should be cured or die.
Christian waited in his fastness with painful impatience for the return of his friend and colleague, and at last summoned a troop of horse and went in search of him. When he came upon the field of battle the cause of this delay was fully explained. There the condition of each man spoke for their valour, insomuch that Christian muttered, "They have fallen as we would trim a tree, joint by joint. Dost thou behold, thou placid heaven? Their cause was liberty. If any be thy children, these are they—large-hearted, noble fellows." The glorious zeal he felt burning in his bosom gave way to wonder and amazement at the number of the enemy that lay dead. Soon, however, he thought upon Frederick, and hoping yet to find some life in him, went anxiously searching but could not find him; still thinking that he never would be taken by the enemy alive, he was about to order a second search, when one who was wounded told what had happened to Frederick. Christian said, "They must know that he cannot be spared." And having collected all the wounded of friends and enemies, they retreated to his camp.
Christian now began to think industriously, and to study with all diligence, desire, and patience, what was to be done; strengthening his heart to do for the best, having lost his two friends, and determining to fight it out till his last breath. After mature thinking, having taken the sense of the wisest men of his army, he determined to raise all the power he could, attack the city at all its gates with fire and sword, and thus burn out the tyrant and his horde: moreover he had a secret cause in his heart, which was to gain (if possible) the liberty of his fellow in arms. This measure took some time to execute, but when his army was formed, judiciously disposed, and the plan of attack nearly completed, he received news, that Frederick had accepted a title and station under the king. This he could hardly credit, especially when he thought upon the death of Gustavus.
The fact was this: when Frederick had recovered from his wounds, he had nothing to expect but present death, all ransom being refused. The king, who judged (and in some measure rightly), that the love of liberty in those out of office is another name for the love of power, thought it prudent to tempt Frederick, and if possible to win him to his interest. Not that he would benefit himself much by it, but that it would eat into the heart of Christian, and shake the confidence of his troops. Restless ambition, joined to a severe and ferocious disposition, with the love of power (not the love of honour), were the prevailing features of Frederick's mind; so that, not having the courage to die, he renounced his faith, and took his seat by the king's chair.
Christian credited this for truth; but thought secretly, that Frederick had done it through craft, and to win time, that he might by some means escape and again join him. There appearing, however, great mystery, he was perplexed how to proceed; but at length determined to alter his plan, and delay the time of attack till he had been himself into the city, and found the truth of the matter. Disguising himself, therefore, in the habit of a slave, and providing for his absence as well as he could, he left the camp under the best direction in his power, and made for the city. There he offered himself to serve in the king's army, took their cloak and habit, and by this means gained admission. This was no sooner done, than he gathered the truth respecting Frederick; still thinking that he waited only for some chance to join him. When he arrived at his palace his joy was great. Here again taking the habit of a slave, he engaged himself as a servant. But his confidence was a little shaken when he saw with what heartless happiness he lived, and that he behaved to the king with smiling indifference, and not with a smothered hate. He brooded over the apparent truth continually, thinking on the death of Gustavus, and sweating with great wrath.
It was the custom of Frederick to walk in his garden secretly at noon. After three days, Christian, in full conviction, gave way to his vengeance; and watching Frederick till he was at the end of the avenue of the garden (where his guard could not hear him, and where he was free from interruption), came up to him and said, "I have long looked for this opportunity—know thou that thy happiness is complete. I am no slave, but a messenger disguised from the soldier Christian, to give thee hopes of deliverance, and afford means for thy flight secretly." Frederick bit his lips, and, folding his garment round him, said, "Slave, you mistake me; I am not of your faction." Christian struck him a violent blow on the mouth with the back of his hand, casting at him a look of loathing and disdain. They both drew their swords, and fought; Frederick smote madly, as if to justify his treachery; but Christian followed him on, blow for blow, with a most potent eye, and a secure confidence that doomed him to death. Having wounded Frederick in the throat, he struck him on the head and knocked him down; and, striding over him, waited to see if he was yet dead. When he was revived a little, Christian said to him, "Thou devil (or worse), be it known to thee, that the great cause thou hast betrayed is its own avenger. Though thou hast deserted it, liberty, sweet liberty, shall be its own champion. It is a word to melt the crowns of tyrants yet: and for such petty worms as you, that eat their way into our human hearts, and take the life-blood smiling, her foot is on thee—her arm of vengeance can reach thee on thrones, or in palaces. Know me for Christian!" And he raised his arm to strike him; but Frederick called for mercy and pardon. Christian said, "Pardon thou hast, but mercy none—and yet a little—as much as thou didst give Gustavus. Art thou so mean a beast as to wish to live in thine own filth, a tyrant's engine of unholy wrath?—O fool! O fool! how worse than mad. What hast thou lost? Where are the shouts up from a thousand hearts made happy by shaking the dull leaves from overblown oppression? Where is the echo that high heaven would send in answer to that peal? Where is thy banner in the victory—thine oath—thine honour—and thy name in heaven? All gone. Would you yet wish to live? Where is thine hatred to a tyrant king? All turned to love—nay, worse, to callous nothing. Thyself remembering, but all else forgot that makes thee worth remembrance. I forget thee not. Poor worm, dost struggle? This for the cause of liberty: this for the nobler Gustavus; myself and heaven come last. So, now my sword hath supped, it shall to bed. Thou bloody picture!—amen to thee!—henceforth I do forget thee." So saying, he turned his back on him, and left him lying under the tree, dead. Returning to his army, he bethought him how he might best atone to his great cause for the falling off of another of its sworn leaders. As his difficulties increased, his love to the cause of the people became greater, and he grew more firm in its defence: determined on this one thing, setting his life at nothing. And all this was indeed needful.
He returned to his camp, full of anxiety, hope, and firmness; and sending for his officers, he unfolded his mantle, and discovered himself. They no sooner saw him than they fell upon him, bound him, and gave him over to certain of his enemies who were at hand, and left him at their mercy. In vain he threatened and called for his guard, none answered; they bore him, full of doubt and perplexity, back into the city, and cast him into a dungeon. Still his firm heart was not shaken at this mutiny of his captains; and, rendering his cause into the hands of Heaven, he bethought him, vigilantly, by what means he could once more gain his liberty to espouse it. On looking round the prison, he saw three of his soldiers bound, and standing at his back; and he said, "My fellows, how are you in this misfortune? Tell me (if you know), how came we thus?" They neither of them answered; but, casting their eyes upon the ground, hung their heads in silence. When Christian pressed them further, one said to the other, "Do you tell the captain—my throat aches." And he, who was an old veteran, said, "My lord, you have heard my voice often thunder in the war; but I have to tell a childish tale, unfit for a man's breast to send forth, or a man's ear to hear; so I will suit it to the story. My eyes are wet, too, and fretted, for I spy nothing but ruin where I have seen honour. But enough of this. Oh, yet any thing rather than come to the matter; but, as well as I may, with powers impaired with grief and shame, I'll tell it. Ope thine ears, and brace thy heart, for I will tell this tale but once, and to you only; and, sooth, none will believe it. We four, here, are the greatest sacrifice that honour and a great cause ever registered: we are not man's soldiers now, but God's; for man deserts us. I take the praise that is due to us, for it fills our hearts, without the help of the world. Captain, there is one thing called gold, and another honour: when they go together, they are Heaven's champions; when not, they are enemies, and fight. The arch-fiend found his way into the camp, and, for a little, plucked the true hearts to his side; bought honour in, and the great seal upon the sweet bond of liberty stickled no longer for the point. Nay, less than coy, gave up at once, like a hot maid. Come, come, I will be plain. Thy officers (the devil burn them!) said to thy men (fierce fire consume them!), 'The king hath sent us gold, would fain be friends, and bring us to peace; hath sent us laws, signed by his proper hand, grants of land, and measures of corn in the hard season. Show this camp your shoulders; go, break your swords, or bend them into hooks; fall on your knees, and when our captain comes, I'll give him to the king to make you friends.' By heaven! these tall fellows all gave up at a wink, a nod, and murdered precious liberty down in the dirt. But why do you weep? All piping? Captain, where's your tough heart now?—I'll lend my handkerchief; be quick, for 'tis in use. Aye, the devil, gold, and want of honour did it.—Damned be they all!" After a long pause, Christian said, "World! world! O world!"—and, looking on his fellows, asked why they were there: He who had spoken, replied, laughing, "Fate will have his joke—I came to die." The second said, "The same. I have strained for one cause, and will crack in the losing on't. It was a good one; I will be out of breath in it." The third said, "Ask me not, for we four brothers can understand by signs." Christian folded them each in his arms, and blessed them in the great name of liberty, saying, "This is all I can." When his mind was a little calmed, he fell to deliberation, hoping to find some means by which to lift his standard once more. In the evening he was carried before the king, who, having great judgment, was fully aware of the nobleness of Christian's nature, and designed to sport with him. He kept him standing like a groom, often looking upon him, without noticing him, and trifling with his courtiers in jest. At last he said, "Christian, as a rebel to your anointed king, you are doomed to death; but, as I know thee, thou rare bird, I will save thee on one condition. Barely say that thou wilt live at peace with me, and no longer choke with thy valour my free way; and I will come down, and with my own hands undo those chains." Christian replied (smiling with contempt), "Thou dost not know me, thou fool, or thou hadst not made so idle a request. Nay, no more talk; despatch me in thy wrath. I tell thee, if I had thee thus, I would cut thy throat." And the king said, "For what dost thou despise my grace?" "For a word, merely." "I must hear it." "Thou darest not." "The word." "Liberty!" And they four cried out "Liberty!" till the king in anger delivered them to the guard, when they went out shouting, so that all the assembly feared, and wondered at them. When they were gone, the king retired to feast, and caroused in joy at the end of the war.
Soon after the prisoners had got to their cell, a messenger came with the warrant of death sealed in his hand, and commanded the three others to leave Christian in his cell; so that these brave fellows were forced to part. They went away as if they had been going on a party of hawking, or some graceful pleasure, but with hearts puffed up to their ribs. As Christian heard the last whispers of their footfall pass the vault, tears started involuntarily to his eyes; yet he knew not despair, but was full of excessive feeling. He thought over all his battles, and felt proud at heart for having done greatly, and for the best, in all things: a happiness greater than any but himself could know. He, though the butt of all mischance, was great enough, in his own honour, to stride over fate; and thinking once more on the blessed cause he had upheld, he grew fond (as is the way of people in distress); and, being full of poor thoughts for this world, played tricks in his imagination, fancying that he and his three comrades were dead, and wandering amongst the fields of Heaven, with the same honest faces, but free from care; and, so musing, he fell into a placid sleep.
If it is a joy to find a good man happy in this world, listen, and rejoice with me.
When midnight came he was awoke by low and melancholy singing in his ear, and raising his eyes he beheld a figure and face of heavenly beauty leaning over him. So strongly did this blend with his dream, that he was some time entranced, between sleep and wake, certainty and doubt; but when the hand of this beautiful woman fell upon his head, the vision of his dream was gone. She, sitting herself beside him, began, with actions full of grace, to comfort him, and bade him hope that he might live after sun-rise, for all the warrant of the king; while he, struck with the strangeness of the thing, sat looking and adoring by turns. Thus the time passed in pleasant converse; he ever desiring his liberty, and she giving him hopes. When the morning came, the lady left his prison by the same pass she had entered, the secret of which yielded only to her knowledge. Christian's mind was filled with wonder at this circumstance, and his heart yearned with affection towards one (whoever she might be) that could visit him in his distress, and enter so ardently into the virtues of his cause. Above all, her face and manner were so pleasing to him, that the whole dwelt in his mind as a vision; but in the middle of his heart he nourished the hopes of escape, once more to try his fortune with the tyrant.
Now this lady who had visited him was the eldest daughter of the king, and heiress to the throne. Neither she nor Christian had ever seen each other; but being of a different nature to her father, she had long had a great affection for his nobleness and virtues, desiring nothing so much as to behold him. She was a woman of deep sensibility, sympathized with his cause of liberty, and would have espoused it, but for some lurking of natural feeling towards her father. Since Christian was fallen into this misfortune, she determined to succour him, and went into his prison for that purpose. But after she had seen him, her life, as well as his, was at stake; for she fell deeply in love with him, and saw nothing beyond this hope. When she had retired to her chamber, and was ruminating on the best means to save his life, her women came running to her in great distress, crying that the king was dead. She flew to his chamber, and found him in the arms of his attendants, a hideous spectacle. Having gloried greatly at Christian's distress, he ate and drank so freely as to cause a surfeit; and being left in bed by his attendants, he had shifted his head from the pillow, so that it hung down by the bed, and so beastly insensible was he that he could not release himself. The blood flowed into his head, that his eyes were black, and starting from their sockets; his cheeks blue and puffed up; and his tongue swollen from beyond his teeth, and as black as ink. In vain they bled him, and applied baths; he was dead: like the violent beast he had lived, the victim of his own grossness. His daughter, seeing this, felt shocked, and was very miserable.
Having buried him, she bethought herself of the anxiety of Christian, and went to him, not telling him of these things. His penetrating eye soon discovered some sorrow at her heart, which he was too delicate to ask the cause of, but did all in his power to comfort her. She, feeling this, was melted to tenderness, and said, "Christian, I have an offer to make to thee. There is nothing on earth thou desirest so much as thy liberty, and there is nothing on earth I desire so much as to be thy servant. If thou wilt take me for thy wife, thou art free; if not, thou art still free, only thou dost owe me thy love; which, if thou art long in paying, my heart will be bankrupt and broken." Here she paused anxiously. Christian replied, "Dear lady, I am neither blind, nor ungrateful; for I see thy beauty, and feel thy love and affection for me. I take thee at thy word, and will be dutiful to thy delicate affection. I ask not who thou art, for I feel full well thou art honourable." After a short time they parted affectionately, and she went sorrowfully to her council.
Three of the richest men in the king's dominions, and who were of his friendship, had conspired together to deprive the young queen of her rights, and had already taken measures for such proceedings. She, hearing of this, took a priest, and went to Christian's prison and married him. Afterwards, she told him who she was, and of the conspiracy against her crown, saying, "Thy cause is once more in thine own hands: besides, thou art to struggle for a crown, and for me, thy wife. Therefore, by the loves of those people whom thou hast so long served, I conjure thee to be vigilant." She then led him out, and with his three comrades passed him out of the city. Having gathered arms, and secured all the money in the treasury; she retreated, and joined her husband. The rebels, knowing their power to be great, soon came out to meet Christian; and he, having disposed the strong posts in the hands of his three friends, joined battle with them. It was desperate and bloody; but Christian, being able to rely upon his leaders, fought it so ably as to slaughter most of his enemies; amongst whom were the rebel leaders. Thus he gained the reward of his merit; the long hoped-for cause, a lovely woman, and a crown.
