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A ROMANCE
BY THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY, IVANHOE, &c. &c
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. L
PHILADELPHIA:
H. C. CAREY AND I. LEA CHESNUT STREET,
••••••• •••••••••••••••••
1823.
INTRODUCTION.
And one .ho hath had W^» jj^, jy^;
When honest Dogberry sums up and re-
cites all the claims which he had to respect
ability and which, as he opined, ought to
have exempted him from the injurious ap-
PelaUoi conferred on him by Master Gen
tleman Conrade, it is remarkable that he
ayTnot more emphasis even upon his dou-
ble sown, (a matter of some importance m a
certfui ci devant capital which I wot of ) or
upon his being « a pretty piece of flesh as
"K in Messina," or even upon the con lu-
sWe argument of bis being « a rich .fellow
enough^" thau upon his being one that hath
had losses. . ;1
Indeed, I have always observed >«»'€*»•
dreu of prosperity, whether by way of hiding
heir t\\ glow of splendour from Lose whom
ortune has treate'd more harshly, or who-
ther that to have risen in spite of calamity
s as honourable to their fortune as it is to
a fortress to have u» oer S on %* ? le f CT'T/
ever this be, 1 have observed that such per-
ii INTRODUCTION.
sons never fail to entertain yon with an ac-
count of l he damage (hey sustain by the hard-
ness of the times. Yon seldom dine at a well-
supplied table, but what the intervals be-
tween the Champagne, the Burgundy, and
the Hock, are filled, if your entertainer be
a monied man, with the fall of interest and
the difficulty of finding investments for cash,
which is therefore lying idle on his hands ;
or, if he be a landed proprietor, with a woe-
ful detail of arrears and diminished rents.
This hath its effects. The guests sigh and
shake their heads in cadence with their
landlord, look on the sideboard loaded with
plate, sip ouce more the rich wines which
flow around them in quirk circulation, and
think of the genuine benevolence, which,
thus stinted of its means, still lavishes all
that it yetpossesses on hospitality; and, what
is yet more flattering, on the wealth, which,
undiminished by these losses, still continues,
like the inexhaustible hoard of the generous
Aboulcasem, to sustain, without impoverish-
ment, such copious evacuations.
This querulous humour, however, hath its
limits, like to the conning of grievances,
which all valetudinarians know is a most
facinating pastime, so long as there is no-
thing to complain of but chronic complaints.
But I never heard a man whose credit was
actually verging to decay talk of the diminu-
tion of his funds ; and my kind and intelli-
gent physician assures me, that it is a rare
INTRODUCTION. iii
thing with those afflicted with a good sound
fever, or any such active disorder, which
With mntal crisis doth portend
His life to approirinque an end,
to make his agonies the subject of amusing
conversation.
Having deeply considered all these things,
1 am no longer able to disguise from my
readers, that I am neither so unpopular nor
so low in fortune, as not to have my share
in the distresses which at present afflict the
monied and landed interest of these realms.
Your authors who live upon a mutton chop
may rejoice that it has fallen to three-pence
per pound, and, if they have children, gra-
tulate themselves that the peck-loaf may be
had for sixpence ; but we who belong to the
tribe which are ruined by peace and plenty
— we who have lands and beeves, and sell
what these poor gleaners must buy— we are
driven to despair by the veiy events which
would make all Grub-street flluminate all its
attics, if Grub-street could spare candle-ends
for the purpose. I therefore put in my proud
claim to share in the distresses which only
affect the wealthy ; and write myself down,
with Dogberry, "a rich fellow enough,"
but still " one who hath had losses."
With the same generous spirit of emu-
lation, I have had lately recourse to the
universal remedy for the impecuniosity of
which I complain — a brief residence in a
southern climate, by which 1 have not only
iv INTRODUCTION.
saved many cart-loads of coals, but have also
had the pleasure to excite general sympathy
for my decayed circumstances among those,
who, if my revenue had continued to he spent
among them, would have cared little if I had
been hanged. Thus, while I driuk my vin
ordinaire* my brewer fiuds the sale of his
small-beer diminished — while I discuss my
flask of cinque francs, my modicum of port
hangs on my wine-merchant's hands — while
my coutelet a-la Maintenon is smoking on
my plate, the mighty surloin hangs on its
peg in the shop of my blue aproned friend
in the village. Whatever, in short, I spend
here, is missed at home; and the few sous
gained by the gargon perruquier, nay, the
very crust I give to his little bare-bottomed,
red-eyed poodle, are autant \ierdu to my old
friend the barber, and honest Trusty, the
mastiff-dog in the yard. So that I have the
happiness of knowing at every turn, that
my absence is both missed aud moaned by
those, who would care little were I in my
coffin were they sure of the custom of my
executors. From this charge of self-seeking
and indifference, however, I solemnly ex-
cept Trusty, the yard dog, whose courtesies
towards me, I have reason to think, were of
a more disinterested character than those of
any other person who assisted me to con-
sume the bounty of the Public.
Alas ! the advantage of exciting such ge-
neral sympathies at home cannot be secured
without incurring considerable personal in-
1NTR0DUCTI0X. v
couveuience. '* If thou wishest me to weep,
thou must first shed tears thyself," says
Horace ; and, truly, I could sometimes cry
myself at the exchange 1 have made of the
domestic comforts which custom had ren-
dered necessaries, for the foreign substitutes
which caprice and love of change have ren-
dered fashionable. E cannot hut confess with
shame, that my borne- bred stomach longs
for the genuine steak, after the fashion of
Dolly's, hot from the gridiron, brown with-
out, and scarlet when the knife is applied ;
and all the delicacies of Vere's carte f with his
thousand various orthographies of Biffsticks
deJtfouton, do not supply the vacancy. Then
my toother's son cannot delight in thin po-
tations; and, in these days when malt is had
for nothing, I am convinced that a double
straick of John Barleycorn must have con-
verted " the poor domestic creature, small-
beer," into a liquor twenty times more ge-
nerous than the acid unsubstantial tipple,
which here bears the honoured name of wine,
though, in substance and qualities, much si-
milar to your Seine water. Their higher
wines, indeed, are well enough — there is
nothing to except against in their Chateau
My rgo ut, or Sillery;yet 1 cannot hut re-
member the generous qualities of my sound
old Oporto. Nay, down to the gargon and
his poodle, though they are both amusing
animals, and play ten thousand monkey
tricks which are diverting enough, yet there
was more sound humour in the wink with
a f
v i INTRODUCTION.
which our old village Pack wood used to
communicate -(he news of the morning, than
all Antoine's gambols could have expressed
in a week, and more of human and dog-like
sympathy in the wag of old Trusty's tail,
than if his rival, Toutou, had stood on his
hind legs for a twelvemonth.
These signs of repentance come perhaps
a little late, and I own (for I must he en-
tirely candid with my dear friend the Pub-
lic,) that they have been somewhat matured,
by the perversion of my niece Christy to the
ancient Popish faith by a certain whackiug
priest in our neighbourhood, and the mar-
riage of my aunt Dorothy to a demi-solde
captain of horse, a ci-devant member of the
Legion of Honour, and who would, he as-
sures us, have been a Field-Marshal by this
time, had our old friend Buonaparte conti-
nued to live and to triumph. For the mat-
ter of Christy, I must own her head had
been so fairly turned at Edinburgh with five
routes a-night, that, though 1 somewhat
distrusted the means and medium of her
conversion, 1 was at the same time glad to
see that she took a serious thought of any
kind ; — besides, there was little loss in the
matter, for the Convent took her off my
hands for a very reasonable pension. But
aunt Dorothy's marriage on earth was a
very different matter from Christian's celes-
tial espousals. In tiie first place, there was
two thousand three-per-cents as much lost
to my family as if the sponge had been drawn
INTRODUCTION. vii
over the national slate — for who the deuce
could have thought aunt Dorothy would
have married? Above all, who would have
thought a woman of fifty years' experience
would have married a French anatomy, his
lower branch of limbs corresponding with
the upper branch, as if one pair of half-ex-
tended compasses had been placed perpen-
dicularly upon the top of another, while the
space on which the hinges revolved quite
sufficed to represent the body ? All the rest
was moustache, pelisse, and calico trowser.
She might have commanded a Polk of real
Cossacks in 1815, for half the wealth which
she surrendered to this military scarecrow.
However, there is no more to be said upon
the matter, especially as she had come the
length of quoting Rousseau for sentiment —
and so let that pass.
Having thus expectorated my bile against
a laud, which is, notwithstanding, a very
merry land, aud which J cannot blame, be-
cause I sought it, and it did not seek me,
I come to the more immediate purpose of
this Introduction, and which, my dearest
Public, if I do not reckon too much on the
continuance of your favour, (though, to say
truth, consistency and uniformity of taste
are scarce to be reckoned upon by those who
court your good graces,) may perhaps go
far to make me amends for the loss and da-
mage I have sustained by bringing aunt
Dorothy to the country of thick calves,
slender ancles, black moustaches, bodiless
V1 ii INTRODUCTION'.
linibs, (I assure you the fellow is, as my
friend Lord L said, a complete giblet-
pie, all legs and wings,) and fine sentiments.
If she had taken from the half -pay list a
ranting Highlaudman, ay, or a dashing son
of green Erin, I would never have mention-
ed the subject : but as the affair has hap-
pened, it is scarce possible not to resent such
a gratuitous plundering of her own lawful
heirs and executors. But " be hushed my
dark spirit," and let us invite our dear Pub-
lic to a more pleasing theme to us, a more
interesting one to others.
By dint of drinking acid tiff, as above
mentioned, and smoking segars, in which I
am no novice, my Public are to be inform-
ed, that I gradually drank and smoked my-
self into a certain degree of acquaintance
with un homme comme il faut, one of the
few fine old specimens of nobility who are
still to be found in France; who, like mu-
tilated statutes of an antiquated and obso-
lete worship, still command a certain portion
of awe and estimation in the eyes even of
those by whom neither one nor other were
voluntarily rendered.
On visiting the coffee-house of the village,
I was, at first struck with the singular dig-
nity and gravity of this gentleman's man-
ners, his sedulous attachment to shoes and
stockings, in contempt of half-boots and
pantaloons, the croix de Saint Louis at his
button-hole, and a small white cockade in
the loop of his old-fashioned schaker. There
INTRODUCTION. ix
was something interesting in his whole ap-
pearance ; and besides, his gravity among
the lively groupe around him, seemed, like
the shade of a tree in the glare of a sunny
landscape, more interesting from its rarity.
I made such advances towards acquaintance
as the circumstances of the place, and the
manners of the country, authorised — that is
to say, I drew near him, smoked my segar
by calm and intermitted puffs, which were
scarcely visible, and asked him those few
questions which good breeding every where,
but more especially in France, permits stran-
gers to put, without hazarding the imputa-
tion of impertinence. The Marquis de
Hautlieu, for such was his rank, was as short
and sententious as French politeness per-
mitted — he answered every question, but
proposed nothing, and encouraged no farther
inquiry.
The truth was, that, not very accessible
to foreigners of any nation, or even to stran-
gers among his own countrymen, the Mar-
quis was peculiarly shy towards the English.
A remnant of ancient national prejudice
might dictate this feeling ; or it might arise
from his idea that they are a haughty, purse-
proud people, to whom rank, united with
straitened circumstances, affords as much
a subject for scorn as for pity ; or, finally,
when he reflected on certain recent events,
he might per haps feel mortified, a* » French
man, even for those successes which had re-
stored his master to the throne, and himself
S INTRODUCTION'.
to a diminished property and dilapidated
chateau. His dislike, however, ne-er as-
sumed a more active form, than that of alien-
ation from English society. When the af-
fairs of strangers required the interposition
of his influence in their behalf, it was uni-
formly granted with the courtesy of a French
gentleman, who knew what is due to himself
and to national hospitality.
At length, by some chance, the Marquis
made the discovery, that the new frequenter
of his ordinary was a native of Scotland, a
circumstance which told mightily in my fa-
vour. Some of his own ancestors, he informed
me, had been of Scottish origin, and he be-
lieved his house had still some relations in
what he was pleased to call the province of
Hanguisse, in that country. The connec-
tion had been acknowledged early in the
last century on both sides, and he had once
almost determined, during his exile, (for it
may be supposed that the marquis had
joined the ranks of Conde, and shared all
the misfortunes and distresses of emigra-
tion,) to claim the acquaintance and protec-
tion of his Scottish friends. But after all,
he said, he cared not to present himself be-
fore them in circumstances which could do
them but small credit, and which they might
think entailed some little burthen, perhaps
even some little disgrace; so that he thought
it beet to trust in Providence, and do the
best he could for his own support. What
that was I never could learu; but 1 am sure it
INTRODUCTION. % \
inferred nothing which could be discredit-
able to the excellent old man, who held fast
his opinions and his loyalty through good
and bad repute, till time restored him,
aged, indigent, and broken-spirited, to the
country, which he had left in the prime of
youth and health, and in a tone of high re-
sentment, which promised speedy vengeance
upon those who expelled him. I might
have laughed at some points of the Mar-
quis's character, at his prejudices, particu-
larly, both of birth and politics, if I had
known him under more prosperous circum-
stances ; but, situated as he was, even if
they had not been fair and honest prejudi-
ces, turning on no base or interested motive,
one must have respected him as we respect
the confessor or the martyr of a religion,
which is not entirely our own.
By degrees we became good friends, drank
our coffee, smoked our segar, and took our
bavarois together, for more than six weeks,
with little interruption from avocations on
either side. Having, with some difficulty,
got the key-note of his inquiries concerning
Scotland, by a fortunate conjecture that the
province of Hauguisse could only be our
shire of Angus, I was enabled to answer the
most of his queries concerning his allies there
in a manner more or less satisfactory, and
was much surprised to find the Marquis
much better acquainted with the genealogy
of some of the distinguished families in that
county than I could possibly have expected.
xii INTRODUCTION.
On his part, bis satisfaction at our inter^
course was so great, that he at length wound
himself to such a pitch of resolution, as to
invite me to dine at the Chateau de Haut-
lieu, well deserving the name, as occupying
a commanding eminence on the banks of the
Loire. This building lay about three miles
from the town at which I had settled my
temporary establishment ; and when I first
beheld it, 1 could easily forgive the morti-
fied feelings which the owner testified, at re-
ceiving a guest in the asylum which he had
formed out of the ruins of the palace of his
fathers. He gradually, with much gaiety,
whichyet evidently covered a deeper feeling,
prepared me for the sort of place 1 was about
to visit; and for this he had full opportu-
nity whilst he drove me in his little cabrio-
let, drawn by a large heavy Norman horse,
towards the ancient building.
Its remains run along a beautiful terrace
overhanging the river Loire, which had
been formerly laid out with a succession
of flights of steps, highly ornamented with
statues, rock-work, and other artificial em-
bellishments, descending from one terrace
to another, until the very verge of the rive*
was attained. All this architectural de-
coration, with its accompanying parterres
of rich flowers and exotic shrubs, had many
years since given place to the more profit-
able scene of the vine dresser's labours; yet
the remains, too massive to be destroyed,
are still visible, and, with the various ar-
INTRODUCTION". Xlil
titicial slopes and levels of the high bank,
hear perfect evidence how completely Art
had been here employed to decorate Nature.
Fen of these scenes are now left in perfec-
tion, for the fickleness of fashion has accom-
plished in England the total change which
devastation and popular fury have produced
in the French pleasure grounds. For my
part. I am contented to subscribe to the opi-
nion of the best qualified judge of our time.*
who thinks we have carried to an extreme
our taste for simplicity, and that the neigh-
bourhood of a stately mansion requires some
more ornate embellishments than can be
derived from the meagre accompaniments
of giass and gravel. A highly romantic si-
tuation may be degraded perhaps by an at-
tempt at such artificial ornaments : but then,
in by far the greater number of sites, the
intervention of more architeetoral decoration
than is now in use, seems necessary to re-
deem the naked lameness of a large house
placed by itself in the midst of a lawn, where
illooksasmu<-h unconnected with all around,
as if it had walked out oi 'town upon an airing.
How the thS'e came tq change so sud-
denly and absolutely, is ra'h* r a singular
circumstance, unless we explain it on the
same principle on which I lie three friends of
the Father in Moliere's comedy recommend
a cure for the melancholy of his Dang- ;< r —
that he should furuish her apartments, viz.
* Ser Prie 's t&ssa) on the Pirturesque, in roan) paswgea ; but
I would particularism in- li-.un;t >l and highly |»o ticsU ceonnt
which h^ »'i v s >i hi-. )v\n feelings 0:1 destroying at the d et*ie of
an improver, an ancient sequestered garden, with its jew hedges,
orname'ii- d iron gates, and st-cludei! wilderness.
Vol. I.— b
x iv INTRODUCTION',
with paintings, with tapestry, of with eh ma,
according to the different commodities in
which each of them was a dealer. Tried hv
this scale, we may perhaps discover, thai, of
old, the architect laid out the garden and the
pleasure grounds in the neighbourhood of
the mansion, and naturally enough, display-
ed his own art there in statues and vases,
and paved terraces and flights of steps, with
ornamented balustrades; while the garden-
er, subordinate in rank, endeavoured to make
the vegetable kingdom correspond to ihe
prevailing taste, and cut his ever-greens into
verdant walls, with towers and battlements,
and his detatclied trees into a resemblance
of statuary. Rut the wheel has since re-
volved, so as to place the landscape garden-
er, as he is called, upon almost a level with
(lie architect ; and hence a liberal and some-
what violent use is made of spade and pick-
axe, and a converting the ostentatious la-
hours of the architect into a fevme ornee,
as little different from the simplicity of Na-
ture, as displayed in the surrounding coun-
try, as the comforts of convenient and clean,
ly walks, imperiously demanded in the vici-
nage of a gentleman's residence, can possi
bly admit.
To return from this digression, which has
given the Marquis's cabriolet (its activity
greatly retarded by the downward propen-
sities of Jean-Roast beef, which I suppose
the Norman horse cursed as heartily as his
countrymen of old time execrated the stolid
obaesityof a Saxon slave,) time to ascend the
hill by a winding causeway, now much
INTRODUCTION. XY
broken, we came in sight of a long range
of roofless buildings, connected with the
western extremity of the castle, which was
totally ruinous. •' I should apologise," he
said, " to you, as an Englishman, for the
taste of my ancestors in connecting that row
of stables with the architecture of the cha-
teau. I know in your country it is usual
to remove them to some distance; but my
family had a hereditary pride in horses, and
were fond of visitiug them more frequently
than would have been convenient if they had
been kept at a greater distance. Before the
Revolution, I had thirty fine horses in that
ruinous line of buildings."
This recollection of past magnificence
escaped from him accidentally, for he was
generally sparing in alluding to his former
opulence. It was quietly said, without any
affectation either of the importance attach-
ed to early wealth, or as demanding sympa-
thy for its having past away. It awaken-
ed unpleasing reflections, however, and we
were both silent, till, from a partially re-
paired corner of what had been a porter's
lodge, a lively French jjaysan ne* with eyes
as black as jet, and as brilliant as diamonds,
came out with a smile, which shewed a set
of teeth that duchesses might have envied,
and took the reins of the little carriage.
" Madelon must be groom to-day," said
the Marquis, after graciously nodding in re-
turn for her deep reverence to Monseigneur,
•'< for her husband is gone to market ; and
for La Jeunesse, he is almost distracted with
his various occupations. Madelon," he con-
xv j kXTRODUCTlOX.
ttnued, as we walked forward under the en-
trance arch, now tied with the mutilated ar-
morial hearings of former lords, now half-
obscured hy moss and rye-grass, not to men-
tion the vagrant branches of some unpruned
shrubs, — *« Mad el no," he continued, " was
my wife s god -daughter, and was educated
to be fiile-de-chambre to my daughter.*'
This little passing intimation, that he was
a widowed husband and childless father, in-
creased my respect for the unfortunate gen-
tleman, to whom every particular attached
to his present situation brought doubtless
its owu share of food for melancholy reflec-
tion. He proceeded, after the pause of an
instant, with something of a gayer tone. —
"You will be entertained with my poor
La Jeunesse," he said, " who, by the way,
is ten years older than I am — (the Marquis
is above sixty) — he reminds me of the player
in the Roman Comique, who acted a whole
play in his own proper person — he insists on
being maitre dhotel, maitre de cuisine, va-
let-de chambre, a whole suite of attendants
in his own poor individuality. He sometimes
reminds me of a character in the Bridle of
Lammermore, Which you must have read, as
it is the work of one of your gens de lettres,
quon ajjpellent.je crois, le Chevalier Scutt.''
(6 1 presume you mean Sir Walter?''
"Yes — the same — the same," said the
Marquis; "I always forget names which
commence avec cette lettres impossible."
We were now led away from more pain-
ful recollections ; for I had to put my French
"^end right in two particulars. In the first
INTRODUCTION. Xvii
I prevailed with difficulty ; for the Marquis,
though he disliked the English, yet having
been three months in London, piqued him-
self in understanding the most intricate dif-
ficulties of our language, and appealed to
every dictionary, from Florio downwards,
that la Bride must raeau the Bridle. Nay,
so sceptical was he on this point of philolo-
gy, when I ventured to hint that there was
nothing about a bridle iu the whole story,
he, with great composure, and little know-
ing to whom he spoke, laid the whole blame
of that inconsistency on the unfortunate au-
thor. I had next the common candour to
inform my friend, upon grounds which no
one could know so well as myself, that my
distinguished literary countryman, of whom
I will always speak with the respect his ta-
lents deserve, was not responsible for the
slight works which the humour of the pub-
lic had too generously, as well as too rashly.
ascribed to him. Surprised by the impulse
of the moment, I might even have gone fur-
ther, and clenched the negative by positive
evidence, owning to my entertainer that
no one else could possibly have written these
works, since I myself was the author, when
I was saved from so rash a commitment of
myself by the calm reply of the Marquis
that he was glad to hear these sort of trifles
were not written by a person of condition.
" We read them,*' he said, " as we listen to
the pleasantries of a comedian, or our ances-
tors tothoseofa professed family jester, with
a good deal of amusement, which, however,
M
xviii INTRODUCTION.
we should be sorry to derive from the mouth
of one who has better claims to our society. "
I was completely recalled to my constitu-
tional caution by this declaration ; and be-
came so much afraid of committing myself,
that I did not even venture to explain to my
aristrocratic friend, that the gentleman whom
he had named owed his advancement, for
aught I had ever heard, to certain works of
his, which may, without injury, be compared
to romances in rhyme.
The truth is, that, amongst some other
unjust prejudices, at which I have already
hinted, the Marquis had contracted a horror,
mingled with contempt, for almost every spe-
cies of author-craft, slighter than that which
compounds a folio volume of law or of divin-
ity, and looked upon the author of a romance,
novel, fugitive poem, or periodical piece of
criticism, as men do on a venemous reptile,
with fear at once and with loathing. The
abuse of the press, he contended, especially
in its lighter departments, had poisoned the
whole morality of Europe, and was gradually
once more regaining an influence which had
been silenced amidst the voice of war. All
writers, except those of the largest and hea-
viest calibre, he conceived to be devoted to
this evil cause, from Rosseau and Voltaire
down to Pigault le Brun and the author of
the Scotch novels; and although he admit-
ted he read them pour passer le temps, yet,
like Pistol eating his leek, it was not with-
out execrating the tendency, as he devoured
the story, of the work with which he was
engaged.
INTRODUCTION. ^ x
Observing this peculiarity, I backed out
of the candid confession which my vanity
had meditated, and engaged the Marquis in
farther remarks on the mansion of his ances-
tors. "There," he said, « was the theatre
where my father used to procure an order
for the special attendance of some of the prin-
cipal actors of the ConiedieFraugoise, when
the King and Madame Pompadour more than
once visited him at this place; — yonder, more
to the centre, was the Baron's hall, where
his feudal jurisdiction was exercised when
criminals were to be tried by the Seigneur
or his bailif: for we had, like your old Scotch
nobles, the right of pit and gallows, or fossa
cum f urea, as the civilians term it; — beneath
that lies the Question-chamber, or apartment
for torture : and, truly, I am sorry a right
so liable to abuse should have been lodged
in the hands of any living creature. But,"
lie added, with a feeling of dignity derived
even from the atrocities which his ancestors
had committed beneath the grated windows
to which Ire pointed, "such is the effect of
superstition, that to this day, the peasants
dare not approach the dungeons, in which,
it is said, the wrath of my ancestors had per-
petrated, in former time, much cruelty.''
As we approached the window, while I
expressed some curiosity to see this abode
of terror, there rose from its subterranean
abyss a shrill shout of laughter, which we
easily detected as produced by a groupe of
playful children, who had made the neglet-
ed vaults a theatre, for a joyous romp at
Collin Maillard.
XX INTRODUCTION.
The Marquis was somewhat disappointed,
and had recourse to his tabatiere ; but, re-
covering in a moment, observed these were
Madelon's children, and familiar with the
supposed terrors of the subterranean recesses.
" Besides, 7 ' he added, " to speak the truth,
these poor children have been boru after
the period of supposed illumination, which
dispelled our superstition and our religion
at onee ; and this bids me to remind you,
that it is a jour maigre. The Cure of the
parish is my only guest, besides yourself,
and I would not voluntarily offend his opi-
nions. Besides," he continued, more man-
fully, and throwing off his restraiut, ••ad-
versity has taught me other thoughts on
these subjects than those which prosperity
dictated ; and I thank God 1 am not asha-
med to avow, that I follow the observances
of my church."
I hastened to answer, that, though they
might differ from those of my own, 1 hail
every possible re-pect for the religious rules
of every Chritian community, sensible that
we adu*res^d the same Deity, on the same
grand principle of salvation, though with dif-
ferent forms; which variety of worship, had
it plea>ed the Almighty not to permit, our
observances would have been as distinctly
prescribed to us as they are laid down un-
der the Mosaic law.
The Marquis was no shaker of hands,
but upon the p esent occasion he grasped
mine, and shook it kindly — the only mode
of a( quiescence in my sentiments which per-
haps a zealous Catholic could, or ought,
INTRODUCTION. xxi
consistently to have given upon such an
occasion.
This circumstance of explanation and re-
mark, with others which arose out of the
view of the extensive ruins, occupied us du-
ring two or three turns upou the long ter-
race, and a seat of about a quarter of an
hour's endurance in a vaulted pavilion of
freestone, decorated with the Marquis's ar-
morial bearings, the roof of which, though
disjointed in some of its groind-arches, was
still solid and entire. " Here," said he, re-
suming the tone of a former part of his con-
versation, " I love to sit either at noon, when
the alcove affords me shelter from the heat,
or in the evening, when the sun's beams are
dying on the broad face of the Loire — here,
in the words of your great poet, whom,
Frenchman as I am, I am more intimately
acquainted with than most Englishmen, I
love to rest myself,
Shewing the code of sweet and bitter fancy."
Against this various reading of a well-
known passage in Shakespeare I took care
to offer no protest; for I suspect Shake-
speare would have suffered in the opinion of
so delicate a judge as the Marquis, had I
proved his having written "chewing the
cud," according to all other authorities. Be-
sides I had had enough of our former dispute,
having been long convinced (though not till
ten years after I left Edinburgh College,)
that the pith of conversation does not con^
sist in exhibiting your own superior know-
ledge on matters of small consequence, but
xxii INTRODUCTION.
in enlarging, improving, and correcting tlie
information you possess, by the authority of
others. I therefore let the Marquis shew
his code at his pleasure, and was rewarded by
hi* entering into a learned and well-inform-
ed disquisition on the florid style of archi-
tecture introduced into France during the
seventeenth century. He pointed out its
merits and its defects with considerable taste;
and having touched on topics similar to those
which I have formerly digressed upon, he
made an appeal of a different kind in their
favour, founded upon the associations with
which they were combined. " Who," he
said, "would willingly destroy the terraces
of the Chateau of Sully, since we cannot
tread them without recalling the image of
that statesman, alike distinguished for se-
vere integrity and for strong and unerring
sagacity of mind ? Were they an inch less
broad, a ton's weight less massive, or were
they deprived of their formality by the
slightest inflexions, could we suppose them
to remain the scene of his patriotic musings?
Would an ordinary root-house be a fit scene
for the Duke occupying an arm-chair, and
his Duchess a tabouret — teaching from
thence lessons of courage and fidelity to his
sons, — of modesty and submission to his
daughters, — of rigid morality to both ; while
the circle of young noblesse listened with
ears attentive, and eyes modestly fixed on
the ground, in a standing posture, neither
replying nor sitting down, without the ex-
press command of their prince and parent?
— No, Monsieur," he said, with enthusiasm)
INTRODUCTION -s^ii
" destroy the princely pavilion in which this
edifying family-scene was represented, and
you remove from the mind the vraisemblance,
the veracity of the whole representation. Or
can your mind suppose this distinguised peer
and patriot walking in a jardin AngloiseP
Why you might as well fancy him dressed
with a blue froc and white waistcoat', instead
of his Henri Quatre coat and chape au a-
plumes — Consider how he could have moved
in the tortuous maze of what you have call-
ed a. ferine or nee, with his usual attendants
of two files of Swiss guards preceding, and
the same number following him. To recal
his figure, with his beard — haut-des-chaus-
ses a canon, united to his doublet by ten
thousand aiguilettes and knots of riband,
you could not, supposing him in a modern
jardin Angloise, distinguish the picture in
your imagination, from the sketch of some
mad old man, who has adopted the humour
of dressing like his great-great grandfather,
and whom a party of gens -d -amies was con-
ducting to the Mai son des Fous. But look
on the long and magnificent terrace, if it yet
exists, which the loyal and exalted Sully was
wont to make the scene of his solitary walk
twice a-day, while he pondered over the pa-
triotic schemes which he nourished for ad-
vancing the glory of France ; or, at a later,
and more sorrowful period of life, brooded
over the memory of his murdered master,
and the fate of his distracted country:— throw
into that noble back-ground of arcades, va-
ses, images, urns, and whatever could ex-
press the vicinity of a ducal palace, and the
xx iv INTRODUCTION
landscape becomes consistent at once. The
factionaires. with their harquehusses ported,
placed at the extremities of the long and le-
vel walk, intimate the presence of the fen-
dal prince; while the same is more clearly
shewn by the guard of honour which pre-
cede and follow him, their halberts carried
upright, their mien martial and stately, as
if in the presence of an enemy, yet moved,
as i( were, with the same soul as their prince-
ly superior — teaching their steps to attend
upon his, marching as he marches, halting
as he halts, accommodating their pace even
to the slight irregularities of pause and ad-
vance dictated by the fluctuations of his re-
verie, and wheeling with military precision
before and behind him, who seems the cen-
tre and animating principle of Iheir armed
files, as the heart gives life and energy to
the human bod}'. Or, if you smile," added
the Marquis, looking doubtfully on my coun-
tenance, " at a promenade so inconsistent
With the light freedom of modern manners,
could you bring your mind to demolish that
other terrace, trode by the fascinating Mar-
chioness de Sevigne, with which are united
so many recollections connected with passa-
ges in her enchanting letters?"
A little tired of this disquisition, which
the Marquis certainly dwelt upon to exalt
the natural beauties of his own terrace which,
dilapidated as it was, required no such for-
mal recommendation, I informed my friend,
that I had just received from England a
journal of a tour made in the south of France
by a young Oxonian friend of mine, a poet,
INTRODUCTION. xsv
a draughtsman, and a scholar, — in which he
gives such an animated and interesting de-
scription of the Chateau-Grignan, the dwell-
ing of Madame de Sevigne's beloved daugh-
ter, and frequently the place of her own resi-
dence, that no one wlid ever read the hook
would be within forty miles of the same,
without going a pilgrimage to the spot. The
Marquis smiled, seemed very much pleased,
and asked the title at length of the work in
question; and writing down to my dictation,
• ; An Itinerary of Provence and the Rhone,
made during the year 1819; by John Hughes,
A. M.. of Oriel College, Oxford," — observ-
ed, he could now purchase no books for the
chateau, hut would recommend that the Iti-
neraire should be commissioned for ilie li-
brary to which he was abotine in the neigh-
bouring town. " And here/' he said, *' comes
the Cure, to save us farther disquisition ;
and I see La Jeunesse gliding round the
old portico ou the terrace, with the purpose
of ringing the dinner bell — a most unneces-
sary ceremony for assembling three persons,
but which it would break the old man's heart
to forego. Take no notice of him at present,
as he wishes to perform the duties of the in-
ferior departments incognito -when the bell
has ceased to sound, lie will blaze forth on
us in the character of major-domo."
As the Marquis spoke, we were advauced
towards the eastern extremity of theJpha-
teau, which was the only part of the euitice
that remained still habitable.
" The Bande JV'oire," s^id the Marquis,
<•' when they pulled the rest of the house to
Vol. I c
xxv i INTRODUCTION.
pieces, for the sake of the lead, timber, and
other materials, have, in (heir ravages, done
me the undesigned favour to reduce it to di-
mensions better fitting the circumstances of
the owner. There is enough of the leaf left
for the caterpillar to coil up his chrysalis in,
and what needs he care what reptiles have
devoured the rest of the bush ?"
As he spoke thus, we reached the door, at-
which La Jeuuesse appeared, with an air at
once of prompt service and deep respect, and-
a countenance, which, though puckered by a
thousand wrinkles, was ready to answer the
first good-natured word of his master with
a smile, which shewed his white set of teeth
firm and fair, in despite of age and suffer-
ing. His clean silk stockings, washed till
their tint had become yellowish — his cue
tied with a rosette — the thin grey curl on
either side of his lank cheek— the pearl-
coloured coat, without a collar — the soli-
taire, the jabot, the ruffles at the wrist,
and the chapeau-bras — all announced that
La Jeunesse considered the arrival of a
guest at the Chateau as an unusual event,
which was to he met with a corresponding
display of magnificence and parade on tiis
part.
As I looked at the faithful though fan-
tastic follow er of his master, who doubtless
inherited his prejudices as well as his cast-
clothes, I could not hut own, in my own
mind; the resemblance pointed out by the
Marquis betwixt him and my own Caleb,
the trusty squire of the Master of Ravens-
wood. But a Frenchman, a Jack-of-all-
INTRODUCTION. xxvii
trades by nature, can, with much more
ease and supleness, address himself to a
variety of services, and suffice in his own
person to discharge them all, than is possi-
ble for the formality and slowness of a
Scotchman. Superior to Caleb in dexterity,
though not in zeal, La Jeunesse seemed to
multiply himself with the necessities of the
occasion, and discharged his several tasks
with such promptitude and assiduity, that
farther attendance than his was neither miss-
ed nor wished for.
The dinner, in particular^ was exquisite.
The soup, although bearing the term of
maigre, which Englishmen use in scorn,
was most delicately flavoured, and the ma-
telot of pike and eels reconciled me, though
a Scotchman, to the latter. There was even
a petit plat of bouilli for the heretic, so ex-
quisitely dressed as to retain all the juices,
and at the same time, rendered so tho-
roughly tender, that nothing eould be more
delicate. The potage, with another small
dish or two, were equally well arranged.
But what the old maitre d'hotel valued
himself upon as something superb, smiling
with self-satisfaction, and in enjoyment of
ray surprise, as he placed it on the table,
was an immense assiette of spinage, not
smoothed into a uniform surface as by our
uninaugurated cooks upon your side of the
water, but swelling into hills, and declining
into vales, over which swept a galla^J stag,
pursued by a pack of hounds in full cry, and
a noble field of horsemen with bugle horns,
and whips held upright, and brandished
xxviii INTRODUCTION.
after the manner of broadswords — -hounds,
huntsman, and stag, being all very artifi-
cially cut out of toasted bread. Enjoying
the praises which T failed not to bestow
on this chef d'ceuvre, the old man acknow-
ledged it had cost the best part of two days
to bring it to perfection ; and added, giving
honour where honour was due, that an idea
so brilliant was not entirely his own, but
that Monseigneur himself had taken the
trouble to give him several valuable hints,
and even condescended to assist in the exe-
cution of some of the most capital figures.
The Marquis blushed a little at this eclair-
cissement, which lie might probably have
wished to suppress, but acknowledged he
had wished to surprise rae with a scene from
the popular poem of my country, Miladi
Lac. I answered, that so splendid a cortege
much more resembled a grand chasse of Louis
Quartorze than of a poor King of Scotland,
and that the paysage was rather like Fon-
tainbleau than the wilds of Callender. He
bowed graciously in answer to this compli-
ment, and acknowledged that recollections
of } he costume of the old French court,
when in its splendour, might have misled
his imagination — and so the conversation
passed on to other matters.
Our dessert was exquisite — the cheese,
the fruits, the sallad, the olives, the cer-
naux, and the delicious white wine, each in
their ygpy were inrpayable& ; and the good
Marquis, with an air of great satisfaction,
observed, that his guest did sincere homage
to their merits. " After all," he said, " and
INTRODUCTION. XX1X
yet it is but confessing a foolish weakness —
but, after all, I cannot but rejoice in feeling
myself equal to offering a stranger a sort of
hospitality which seems pleasing to him.
Believe me, it is not entirely out of pride
that w^jpauvrcs revenants live so very retir-
ed, and avoid the duties of hospitality. It is
true, that too many of us wander about the
halls of our fathers, rather like ghosts of
their deceased proprietors, than like living
men restored to their own possessions — yet
it is rather on your account, than to spare
our own feelings, that we do not cultivate
the society of our foreign visitors. We have
an idea that your opulent nation is parti-
cularly attached to faste, and to grande
chere — to your ease and enjoyment of every
kind ; and the means of entertainment left
to us are, in most cases, so limited, that we
feel ourselves totally precluded from such
expense and ostentation. No one wishes to
offer his best where he has reason to think
it will not give pleasure; and, as many of
you publish your journals, Monsieur le Mar-
quis would not probably be much gratified,
by seeing the poor dinner which he was able
to present to Milord Anglois put upon per-
manent record."
1 -interrupted the Marquis, that were I
to wish an account of my entertainment
published, it would be only in order to pre-
serve the memory of the very best dinuer I
ever had eaten in my life. He bowed in
return, and presumed " that I either differ-
ed much from the national taste, or the ae-
c t
\xx INTRODUCTION.
counts of it were greatly exaggerated. He
was particularly obliged to me for shewing
the value of the possessions which remain-
ed to him. The useful," he said, " had no
doubt survived the sumptuous at Hautlieu
as elsewhere. Grottos, statues, curious con-
servatories of exotics, temple and tower, had
gone to the ground ; but the vineyard, the
potager, the on hard, the etang. still existed;
and once more he expressed himself happy
to find, that their combined productions
could make what even a Briton accepted as
a tolerable meal. I only hope," he con-
tinued, "that you will convince me your
compliments are sincere, by accepting the
hospitality of the Chateau de Hautlieu as
often as better engagements will permit du-
ring your stay in this neighbourhood."
1 readiljr promised to accept an invitation
offered with such grace, as to make the guest
appear the person conferring the obligation.
The conversation then changed to the
history of the chateau and its vicinity — a
subject which was strong ground to the
, Marquis, though he was no great antiquary,
-and even no very profound historian, where
these topics were out of question. The
Cure, however, chanced to be both, and
withal a very conversible pleasing man, with
an air of prevenance* and ready civility of
communication, which I have found a lead-
ing characteristic of the Catholic clergy,
whenever they are well-informed or other-
wise. It was from him that I learned there
still existed the remnant of a fine library in
the Chateau de Hautlieu. The Marquis
INTRODUCTION. xxx:
■
shrugged his shoulders as the Cure gave me
this intimation, talked to the one side and
the other, and displayed the same sort of
petty embarrassment which he had been un-
ahle to suppress when La Jeunesse hlahbed
something of his interference with the ar-
rangements of the cuisine. 4 «I should he hap-
py to shew the books," he said, •• but they
are in such a wild condition, so dismantled
that I am ashamed to shew them to any one.* 7
"Forgive me, my deaf sir," said the Cure,
"y r ou know you permitted the great English
Bibliomaniac, Dr. Dibdin, to consult your
curious reliques,and you know how highly
lie spoke of them."
M What could I do, my dear friend," said
the Marquis ; f« the good Doctor had heard
some exaggerated account of these remnants
of what \\a« once a library — hejliad station-
ed himself in the auherge below, determined
to carry his point or die under the walls. I
even heard of his taking the altitude of the
turret, in order to provide scaling-ladders.
You would not have had me reduce a re-
spectable divine, though of another church,
to such an act of desperation ? 1 could not
have answered it in conscience."
" But you know, besides, Monsieur le
Marquis," continued the Curt, 4 « that Dr.
Dibdin was so much grieved at the dilapi-
dation your library had sustained, that he
avowedly envied the powers of our church,
so much did he long to launch an anathema
at the heads of the perpetrators."
" His resentment was in proportion to
his disappointment, I suppose," said our en-
tertainer.
X.XXU INTRODUCTION.
" Not so," said the Cure ; « for he was
so enthusiastic on the value of what remains,
that I am convinced that nothing but your
positive request to the contrary prevented
the Chateau of Hautlieu occupying at least
twenty pages in that splendid work of which
he sent us a copy, and which will remain a
lasting monumeut of his zeal and erudition."
"Dr. Dibdin is extremely polite," said
the Marquis ; " and, when we have had our
coffee — here it comes — we will go to the
turret ; and I hope, as Monsieur has not
despised my poor fare, so he will pardon the
state of my confused library, while I shall
be equally happy if it can afford any thing
which cart give him amusement. Indeed,"
he added, " were it otherwise, you, my good
father, have every right over books, which,
without your intervention, would never have
returned to the owner."
Although this additional act of courtesy
was evidently wrested by the importunity
of the Cure from his reluctant friend, whose
desire to conceal, the nakedness of the land,
and the extent of his losses, seemed always
to struggle with his disposition to be obli-
ging, I could not help accepting an offer,
which, in strict politeness, I ought perhaps
to have refused. But then, the remains of
a collection of such curiosity as had given
to our bibliomaniacal Doctor the desire of
leading the forlorn hope in an escalade — it
would have been a desperate act of self-
denial to have declined an opportunity of
seeing it. La Jeunesse brought coffee, such
as we only taste on the continent, upon a
INTRODUCTION. xxxiii
salver, covered with a napkin, that it might
he cense for silver; and chasse-caffe from
Martinique on a small waiter, which was
certainly so. Our repast thus finished, the
Marquis led me, up an escalier derobe,
into a very large and well-proportioned sa-
loon, of nearly one hundred feet in length ;
but so waste and dilapidated, that I kept
my eyes on the ground, lest my kind enter-
tainer should feel himself called upon to apo-
logize for tattered pictures and torn tapes-
try ; and, worse than hoth, for casements
that had yielded, in one or two instauces, to
the boisterous blast.
11 We have contrived to make the turret
something more habitable." said the Mar-
quis, as he moved hastily through this cham-
ber of desolation. " This," he said, " was
the picture gallery in former times, and in
the boudoir beyond, which we now occupy
as a book closet, were preserved some curi-
ous cabinet paintings, whose small size re-
quired that they should be viewed nearly."
As he spoke, he held aside a portion of
the tapestry I have meutioned, and we en-
tered the room of which he spoke.
It was octangular, corresponding to the
external shape of the turrent whose interior
it occupied. Four of the sides had latticed
window's, commanding each, from a differ-
ent point, the most beautiful prospect over
the majestic Loire, and the adjacent coun-
try through. which it winded ; and the case-
ments were filled with stained glas«, through
two of which streamed the lustre of the set-
ting sun, showing a brilliant assemblage of
xxxi\ INTRODUCTION.
religious emblems and armorial bearings,
Which it was scarce possible to look at. with
an undazzled eye j bat the other two win-
dows, from which the sunbeams had passed
away, could be closely examined, and plain-
ly shewed that the lattices were glazed with
stained glass, which did not belong to them
originally, but, as I afterwards learned, to
the profaned and desecrated chapel of the
castle, it had been the amusement of the
Marquis, for several months, to accomplish
this rifacciamento, with the assistance of the
Curate and the all-capable La Jeunesse ;
and though they had only patched together
iragiiieiits, which were in many places very
minute, yet the stained glass, till examined
very closely, and with the eye of an anti-
quary, produced, on the whole, a very plea-
sing effect.
The sides of the apartment, not occupied
by the lattices, were (excepting the space for
the small door.) fitted up with presses and
shelves, some of walnut tree, curiouslycarved,
and brought to a dark colour by time, near-
ly resembling that of a ripe chesnut, and
partly of common deal, employed to repair
and supply the deficiencies occasioned by
violence and devastation. On these shelves
were deposited the wrecks, or rather the pre-
cious reliques of a most splendid library.
The Marquis's father had been a man of
information, and his grandfather was famous,
even in the court of Louis XIV., where li-
terature was in some degree considered as
the fashion, for the extent of his acquire-
ments. Those two proprietors, opulent in
INTRODUCTION. xxxv
their fortunes, and liberal in the indulgence
of their taste had made such additions to
a curious old Goihic library, which had de-
scended from their ancestors, that there were
few collections in France which could be
compared to that of Hautlieu. It had been
completely dispersed in consequence of an
ill-judged attempt of the present Marquis in
1790. to defend his Chateau against a revo-
lutionary mob. Luckily, the Cure, who. by
his charitable and moderate conduct, and his
evangelical virtues possessed much interest
among the neighbouring peasantry, prevail-
ed on many of them to buy, for the petty
sura of a few sous, and sometimes at the
vulgar rate of a glass of brandy, volumes
which had cost large sums, but which were
carried off in mere spite by the ruffians who
pillaged the castle. He himself also had
purchased as many of the books as his Funds
could possibly reach, and to his care it was
owing that they were restored to the turret
in which 1 found them. It was no wonder,
therefore, that the good Cure had some pride
and pleasure in shewing the collection to
strangers.
In spite of odd volumes, imperfections,
and all the other mortifications which an
amateur encounters in looking through an
ill-kept library, there were many articles in
that of Hautlieu, calculated, as Bayes says,
" to elevate and surprise" the Bibliomaniac.
There were,
"The small rare volume, dark with tarnish 'd gold,"
as Dr. Ferriar feelingly sings — curious and
richly painted missals, manuscripts of 1380,
XXXV1 INTRODUCTION.
1320, and even earlier, and works in Gothic
type, printed in the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries. But of these I intend to give a
more detailed account, should the Marquis
grant his permission.
In the meantime, it is sufficient to say,
that, delighted ivith the day 1 had spent at
Hautiieu, I frequently repeated my visit,
and that the key of the octangular tower
was always at my command. In those hours
I became deeply enamoured of a part of
French history, which although most im-
portant to that of Europe at large, and il-
lustrated by an inimitable old historian, I
had never sufficiently studied. At the
same time, to gratify the feelings of my ex-
cellent host, L occupied myself occasionally
with some family memorials, which had for-
tunately been preserved, and which contain-
ed some curious particulars respecting the
connection with Scotland, which first found
me favour in the eyes of the Marquis de
Hautiieu.
1 pondered on these things, more meo,
until my return to Britain to beef and sea-
coal fires a change of residence which took
place since I drew up these Gallic reminis-
cences. At length, the result of my me-
ditations took (lie form of which my read-
ers if not startled by this preface, will pre-
sently be enabled to judge. Should the
Public receive it with favour I will not re
gret having been for a short time an Ab-
sentee.
CHAPTER I,
THE CONTRAST.
Look here upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
Hamlet.
The latter part of the fifteenth century pre-
pared a train of future events, that ended by rais-
ing France to that state of formidable power
which has ever since been, from time to time,
the principal object of jealousy to the other Eu-
ropean nations. Before that period, she had to
struggle for her very existence with the English,
already possessed of her fairest provinces ; while
the utmost exertions of her King, and the gal-
lantry of her natives, could scarce protect the re-
mainder from a foreign yoke. Neither was this
her sole danger. The Princes who possessed the
grand fiefs of the crown, and, in particular, the
Dukes of Burgundy and Bretagne, had come to
wear their feudal bonds so lightly, that they had
no scruple i;i lifting the standard against their
liege and sovereign lord, the King of France,
on the slightest pretences. When at peace, they
Vol. I.— t.
THE CONTRAST
reigned as absolute princes in their own provin-
ces ; and the House of Burgundy, possessed of
the district so called, together with the fairest
and richest part of Flanders, was of itself so
wealthy, and so powerful, as to yield nothing to
the crown, either in splendour or in strength.
In imitation of thfe grand feudatories, each in-
ferior vassal of the crown assumed as much in-
dependence as his distance from the sovereign
power, the extent of his fief, or the strength of
his residence, enabled him to maintain ; and
these petty tyrants, no longer amenable, to the
exercise of the law, perpetrated, with impunity,
the wildest excesses of fantastic oppression and
cruelty. In Auvergne alone, a report was made
of more than three hundred of these independent
nobles, to whom incest, murder, and rapine, were
the most ordinary and familiar actions.
Besides these evils, another, sprung out of the
long-continued wars betwixt the French and
English, added no small misery to this distract-
ed kingdom. Numerous bodies of soldiers col-
lected into bands, under officers chosen by them-
selves among the bravest and most successful
adventures, had been formed in various parts of
France out of the refuse of all other countries.
These hireling combatants sold their swords for
a time to the best bidder ; and, where such offer
was wanting, they made war on their own ac-
count, seizing castles and towers, which they
used as the places of their retreat, — making pri-
soners, and ransoming them, — exacting tribute
from the open villages and the country around
them ; and acquiring, by every species of rapine,
the appropriate epithets of Tondeurs and Ecor-
cheurs, that is Clippers and Flayers.
In the midst of the horrors and miseries aris-
ing from so distracted a state of public affairs,
THE CONTRAST. ~
reckless and profuse expense distinguished the
courts of the lesser nobles as well as of the supe-
rior princes ; and their dependents, in imitation,
expended in rude, but magnificent display, the
wealth which they extorted from the people. A
tone of romantic and chivalrous gallantry (which,
however, was often disgraced by unbounded li-
cense,) characterised the intercourse between
the sexes ; and the language of knight-errantry
was yet used, and its observances followed,
though the pure spirit of honourable love, and
benevolent enterprise, which it inculcates, had
ceased to qualify and atone for its extravagan-
cies. The jousts and tournaments, the enter-
tainments and revels, which each petty court dis-
played, invited to France every wandering ad-
venturer j and it was seldom that, when arrived
there, he failed to employ his rash courage, and
headlong spirit of enterprise, in actions for
which his happier native country afforded no
free stage.
At this period, and as if to save this fair realm
from the various woes with which it was me-
naced, the tottering throne was ascended by
Louis XI., whose character, evil as it was in it-
self, met, combated, and in a great degree, neu-
tralised the mischiefs of the time — as poisons of
opposing qualities are said, in ancient books of
medicine, to have the power of counteracting
each other.
Brave enough for every useful and political
purpose, Louis had not a spark of that roman-
tic valour, or of the pride connected with, and
arising out of it, which fought on for the point of
honour, when the point of utility had been long
gained. Calm, crafty, and profoundly attentive
to his own interest, he made every sacrifice, both
of pride and passion, which could interfere with
4 THE CONTRAST.
it. He was careful in disguising his real senti-
ments and purposes from all who approached
him ; and frequently used the expressions, " that
the king knew not how to reign, who knew not
how to disse : ble ; and that, for himself, if he
thought his very cap knew his secrets, he would
throw it into the fire." No man of his own, or
of any other time, better understood how to avail
himself of the frailties of others, and when to
avoid giving any advantage by the untimely in-
dulgence of his own.
He was by nature vindictive and cruel, even to
the extent of finding pleasure in the frequent exe-
cutions which he commanded. But, as no touch
of mercy ever induced him to spare, when he
could with safety condemn, so no sentiment of
vengeance ever stimulated him to a premature
violence. He seldom sprung on his prey till it
was fairly within his grasp, and till all chance of
rescue was in vain, and his movements were so
studiously disguised, that his success was gene-
rally what first announced to the world what ob-
ject he had been manoeuvring to attain.
In like manner, the avarice of Louis gave way
to apparent profusion, when it was necessary to
bribe the favourite or minister of a rival prince
for averting any impending attack, or to break
up any alliance confederated against him. He
was fond of license and pleasure ; but neither
beauty nor the chase, though both were ruling
passions, ever withdrew him from the most re-
gular attendance to public business and the af-
fairs of his kingdom. His knowledge of man-
kind was profound, and he had sought it in the
private walks of life, in which he often personal-
ly mingled ; and, though personally proud and
haughty, he hesitated not, with an inattention to
the arbitrary divisions of society, which was then
THE CONTRAST. 5
thought something portentously unnatural, to
raise from the lowest rank men whom he em-
ployed on the most important duties, and knew
so well how to choose them, that he was rarely
disappointed in their qualities.
Yet there were contradictions in the nature of
this artful and able monarch ; for humanity is
never uniform. Himself the most false and in-
sincere of mankind, some of the greatest errors of
his life arose from too rash a confidence in the
honour and integrity of others. When these er-
rors took place, they seem to have arisen from an
over-refined system of policy, which induced
Louis to assume the appearance of undoubting
confidence in those whom it was his object to
overreach ; for, in his general conduct, he was
as jealous and suspicious as any tyrant who ever
lived.
Two other points may be noticed, to complete
the sketch of this formidable character, who rose
among the rude chivalrous sovereigns of the pe-
riod to the rank of a keeper among wild beasts,
who, by superior wisdom and policy, by distribu-
tion of food, and some discipline by blows, comes
finally to predominate over those who, if unsub-
jected by his arts, would, by means of strength,
have torn him to pieces.
The first of these attributes was Louis's exces-
sive superstition, a plague with which Heaven
often afflicts those who refuse to listen to the dic-
tates of religion. The remorse arising from his evil
actions, Louis never endeavoured to appease by
any relaxation in his Machiavellian stratagems,
but laboured, in vain, to soothe and silence that
painful feeling by superstitious observances, se-
vere penance, and profuse gifts to the ecclesias-
tics. The second property, with which the first
is sometimes found strangely united, was a dis-
it
6* THE CONTRA.Si.
position to low pleasures and obscure debauch-
ery. The wisest, or, at least, the most crafty so-
vereign of his time, was fond of ordinary life,
and, being himself a man of wit, enjoyed the jests
and repartees of social conversation more than
could have been expected from other points of
his character. He even mingled in the comic ad-
ventures of obscure intrigue, with a freedom
scarce consistent with the habitual and guarded
jealousy of his character ; and was so fond of this
species of humble gallantry, that he caused a
number of its gay and licentious anecdotes to be
enrolled in a collection well known to book-col-
lectors, in whose eyes, (and the work is unfit for
any other,) the right edition is very precious.
By means of this monarch's powerful and pru-
dent, though most unamiable character, it pleased
Heaven, who works by the tempest as well as by
the soft small rain, to restore to the great French
nation the benefits of civil government, which, at
the time of his accession, they had nearly lost all
together.
Ere he succeeded to the crown, Louis had
given evidence of his vices rather than of his ta-
lents. His first wife, Margaret of Scotland, was
w done to death by slanderous tongues," in her
husband's court, where, without his encourage-
ment, no word had been breathed against that
amiable and injured Princess. He had been an
ungrateful and a rebellious son, at one time con-
spiring to seize his father's person, and, at ano-
ther, levying open war against him. For the first
offence, he was banished to his appanage of Dau-
phine, which he governed with much sagacity —
for the second, he was driven into absolute exile,
and forced to throw himself on the mercy, and
almost the charity of the Duke of Burgundy and
his son, where he enjoyed hospitality, afterwards
THE CONTRAST. 7
indifferently requited, until the death of his fa-
ther in 1461.
In the very outset of his reign, Louis was al-
most overpowered by a league formed against
him by the great vassals of France, with the
Duke of Burgundy, or rather his son, the Count
de Charolois, at its head. They levied a power-
ful army, blockaded Paris, fought a battle of
doubtful event under its very walls, and put the
French Monarchy on the brink of actual destruc-
tion. It usually happens, in such cases, that the
most sagacious general of the two gains the real
fruit, though perhaps not the martial fame, of the
disputed field. Louis, who had shewn great per-
sonal bravery during the battle of Montlehery,
was able, by his prudence, to avail himseif of its
undecided event, as if it had been a victory on his
side. He temporised until the enemy had broken
up their leaguer, and shewed so much dexterity
in sowing jealousies among those great powers,
that their alliance " for the public weal,' 1 as they
termed it, but, in reality, for the overthrow of all
but the external appearance of the French mon-
archy, broke to pieces, and was never again re-
newed in a manner so formidable. From this
period, for several years, Louis, relieved of all
danger from England, by the Civil Wars of York
and Lancaster, was engaged, like an unfeeling
but able physician, in curing the wounds of the
body politic, or rather in stopping, now by gentle
remedies, now by the use of fire and steel, the
progress of those mortal gangrenes with which
it was then infected. The brigandage of the Free
Companies, and the unpunished oppressions of
the nobility, he laboured to lessen, since he could
not actually stop them ; and gradually, by dint
of unrelaxed attention, he gained some addition
to his own regal authority, or effected some di-
S THE CONTRAST.
minution of those by which it was counterba-
lanced.
Still the King of France was surrounded by
doubt and danger. The members of the league
"for the public weal," though not in unison,
were in existence, and that scotched snake might
re-unite and become dangerous again. But a
worse danger was the increasing power of the
Duke of Burgundy, then one of the greatest
Princes of Europe, and little diminished in rank
by the very precarious dependence of his duchy
upon the crown of France.
Charles, surnamed the Bold, or rather the Au-
dacious, for his courage, was allied to rashness
and frenzy, then wore the ducal coronet of Bur-
gundy, which he burned to convert into a royal
and independent regal crown. This Duke was,
in every respect, the direct contrast to that of
Louis XI.
The latter was calm, deliberate, and crafty, ne-
ver prosecuting a desperate enterprise, and never
abandoning a probable one, however distant the
prospect of success. The genius of the Duke was
entirely different. He rushed on danger because
he loved it, and on difficulties because he despised
them. As Louis never sacrificed his interest to
his passion, so Charles, on the other hand, never
sacrificed his passion, or even his humour, to any
other considerations. Notwithstanding the near
relationship that existed between them, and the
support which the Duke and his father had af-
forded to Louis in his exile, when Dauphin,
there was mutual contempt and hatred betwixt
them. The Duke of Burgundy despised the
cautious policy of the King, and imputed to the
faintness of his courage, that he sought by leagues,
purchases, and other indirect means, those ad-
vantages, which, in his place, he would have
1HE CONTRAST. 9
snatched with an armed hand ; and he hated him,
not only for the ingratitude he had manifested
lor former kindnesses, and for personal injuries
and imputations which the ambassadors of Louis
had cast upon him, when his father was yet alive,
but also, and especially, because of the support
which he afforded in secret to the discontented
citizens of Ghent, Liege, and other great towns
in Flanders. These turbulent cities, jealous of
their privileges, and proud of their wealth, fre-
quently were in a state of insurrection against
their liege lords the Dukes of Burgundy, and
never failed to find under-hand countenance at
the Court of Louis, who embraced every oppor-
tunity of fomenting disturbance within the domi-
nions of his overgrown vassal.
The contempt and hatred of the Duke were re-
taliated by Louis with equal energy, though he
used a thicker veil to conceal his sentiments. It
was impossible for a man of his profound saga-
city not to despise the stubborn obstinacy which
never resigned its purpose, however fatal perse-
verance might prove, and the headlong impetu-
osity, which commenced its career without al-
lowing a moment's consideration for the obsta-
cles to be encountered. Yet the King hated
Charles even more than he contemned him, and
his scorn and hatred were the more intense, that
they were mingled with fear, for he knew that
the onset of the mad bull, to whom he likened
the Duke of Burgundy, must ever be formidable,
though the animal makes it with shut eyes. It
was not alone the wealth of the Burgundian pro-
vinces, the discipline of the warlike inhabitants,
and the mass of their crowded population, which
the King dreaded, for the personal qualities of
their leader had also much in them that was dan-
gerous. The very soul of bravery, which he
;U THE CONTRAST.
pushed to the verge of rashness, and beyond it —
profuse in expenditure — splendid in his court,
his person and his retinue, in all which he dis-
played the hereditary magnificence of the house
of Burgundy, Charles the Bold> drew into his
service almost all the fiery spirits of the age,
whose temper was congenial • and Louis saw too
clearh* what might be attempted and executed by
such a train of desperate resolutes, following a
leader of a character as ungovernable as their
own.
There was yet another circumstance which in-
creased the animosity of Louis towards his over-
grown vassal ; for he owed him favours which
he never meant to repay, and was under the fre-
quent necessity of temporising with him, and
even of enduring bursts of petulent insolence, in-
jurious to the regal dignity, without being able
to treat him as other than his " fair cousin of
Burgundy."
It was about the year 1468, when their feuds
were at the highest, though a dubious and hollow
truce, as frequently happened, existed for the
time betwixt them, that the present narrative
opens. The person first introduced on the stage
will be found indeed to be of a rank and circum-
stance, which one would have thought scarce
needed illustration from a dissertation on the re-
lative position of two great princes ; but the pas-
sions of the great, their quarrels, and their recon-
ciliations, involve the fortunes of all who approach
them • and it will be found, on proceeding fur-
ther in our story, that this preliminary Chapter
is necessary for comprehending the adventures
of the individual whom we are about to describe.
rirE WAXDERe^ 11
CHAPTER. II
THE WANDERER.
Why then the world is my oyster, which I with sword will qpen.
Ancient Pistol.
It was upon a delicious summer morning, be-
fore the sun had assumed its scorching power,
and while the dews yet cooled and perfumed the
air, that a youth, coming from the north east-
ward, approached the ford of a small river, or
rather a large brook, tributary to the Cher, near
to the royal castle of Plessis, whose dark and
multiplied battlements rose in the back ground
over the extensive forest with which they were
surrounded. These woodlands comprised a no-
ble chase, or royal park, fenced by an enclosure,
termed, in the Latin of the middle ages, Plex-
itium, which gives the name of Plessis to so many
villages in France. The castle and village of
which we particularly speak, was called Plessis-
les-Tours, to distinguish it from others of the
same name, and was built about two miles to
the southward of the fair town of that name,
the capital of ancient Touraine, whose rich plain
has been termed the garden of France.
On the bank of the above mentioned brook,
opposite to that which the traveller was ap-
proaching, two men, who appeared in deep con-
versation, seemtd, from time to time, to watch
his motions ; for, as their station was much more
elevated, they could remark him at considerable
distance.
The age of the young traveller might be about
nineteen, or betwixt that and twenty, and his
12 THE WANDERER.
face and person, which were very prepossessing,
did not, however belong to the country in which
he was now a sojourner. His short grey cloak
and hose were rather of Flemish than of French
fashion, while the smart blue bonnet, with a sin-
gle sprig of holly and an eagle's feather, was al-
ready recognised as the Scottish head-gear. His
dress was very neat, and arranged with the pre-
cision of a youth conscious of possessing a fine
person. He had at his back a satchell, which
seemed to contain a few necessaries, a hawking
gauntlet on his left hand, though he carried no
bird, and in his right a stout hunter's pole.
Over his left shoulder hung an embroidered
scarf which sustained a small pouch of scarlet
velvet, such as was then used by fowlers of dis-
tinction to carry their hawks' food, and other
matters belonging to that much admired sport.
This was crossed by another shoulder-belt, which
sustained a hunting knife, or couteau de chasse.
Instead of the boots of the period, he wore bus-
kins of half dressed deerVskin.
Although his form had not yet attained its
full strength, he was tall and active, and the light-
ness of the step with which he advanced shewed
that his pedestrian mode of travelling was plea-
sure rather than pain to him. His complexion
was fair, in spite of a general shade of darker
hue, with which the foreign sun or perhaps
constant exposure to the atmosphere in his own
country, had in some degree embrowned it.
His features, without being quite regular,
were frank, open, and pleasing. A half smile,
which seemed to arise from a happy exuberance
of animal spirits, shewed, now and then, that
his teeth were well set, and as pure as ivory ;
whilst his bright blue eye, with a corresponding
gaiety, had an appropriate glance for every ob-
THE WA1 13
ject which it encountered, expressing good hu-
mour, lightness of heart, and determined reso-
lution.
He received and returned the salutation of the
few travellers who frequented the road in these
dangerous times, with the action which suited each.
The strolling spear-man, half-soldier, half-bri-
gand, measured the youth with his eye, as if ba-
lancing the prospect of booty with the chance of
desperate resistance ; and read such a prospect
of the latter in the fearless glance of the passen-
ger, that he changed his ruffian purpose for a
surly "good morrow, comrade/' which the young
Scot answered with as martial, though a less sul-
len tone. The wandering pilgrim, or the beg-
ging friar, answered his reverend greeting with
a paternal benedicite ; and the dark-eyed peasant
girl looked after him for many a step when they
had passed each other, and interchanged a laugh-
ing good-morrow. In short, there was some
attraction about his whole appearance not easily
escaping attention, and which it derived from the
combination of fearless frankness and good hu-
mour, with sprightly looks, and a handsome face
and person. It seemed, too, as if his whole ap-
pearance bespoke one who was entering on liie with
no apprehension of the evils with which it is beset,
and not much means of struggling with its hard-
ships, excepting a lively spirit and a courageous
disposition : and it is with such tempers that
vouth most readily sympathises, and for whom
age and experience feel affectionate and pitying
interest.
The youth whom we have described, had been
long visible to the two persons who loitered on
the opposite side of the small river which divi-
ded him from the park and the castle ; but as he
Vol. I.—2
14 THE WANDERE*.
descended ihe rugged bark to the water's edge,
with the light step of a roe which visits the foun-
tain, the younger of the two said to the other,
" It is our man — it is the Bohemian ! If he at-
tempts to cross the ford, he is a lost man— the
water is up, and the ford impassable.'"
" Let him make that discovery himself, gos-
sip," said the elder personage ;" it may, per-
chance, save a rope, and break a proverb."
«\ judge him by the blue cap," said the other,
M for I cannot see his face. — Hark, sir — he hal-
loos to know whether the water be deep."
u Nothing like experience in this world," an-
swered the other — u let him try."
The young man, in the meanwhile, receiving
no hint to the contrary, and taking the silence of
those to whom he applied as an encouragement
to proceed, entered the stream without further
hesitation than the delay necessary to take off his
buskins. The elder person, at the same moment,
hallooed to him to beware, adding, in a lower
tone, to his companion, «* Mortdteu — gossip —
you have made another mistake — this is not the
Bohemian chatterer.''
But the intimation to the vouth came too late.
He either did not hear or could not profit by it,
being already in the deep stream. To one less
alert, and practised in the exercise of swimming,
death had been certain, for the brook was both
deep and strong.
m By Saint Anne ! but he is a proper youth,"
said the elder man — < l Run, gossip, and help
your blunder by giving him aid, if thou canst.
He belongs to thine own troop — if old saws speak
truth, water will not drown him."
Indeed the young traveller swam so strongly,
and buffeted the waves so well, that, notwith-
THE WANDERER. - 15
standing the strength of the current, he was car-
ried but a little way down from the ordinary
landing place.
By this time the younger of the two strangers
was hurrying down to the shore to render assist-
ance, while the other followed him at a graver
pace, saying to himself as he approached, " I
knew water would never drown that young fel-
low. — By my haiidome, he is ashore, and grasps
his pole — If I make not the more haste, he will
beat my gossip for the only charitable action
which I ever saw him perform in his life."
There was some reason to augur such a con-
clusion of the adventure, for the bonny Scot had
already accosted the younger Samaritan, who
was hastening to his assistance, with these ireful
words — " Discourteous dog ! why did you not
answer when I called to know if the passage was
fit to be attempted ? May the foul fiend catch
me, but I will teach you the respect due to
strangers on the next occasion."
This was accompanied with that significant
flourish with his pole which is called le moulinet,
because the artist, holding it in the middle, bran-
dishes the two ends in every direction, like the
sails of a wind-mill in motion. His opponent,
seeing himself thus menaced, laid hand upon his
sword, for he was one of those who on all occa-
sions are more ready for action than for speech ;
but his more considerate comrade, who came up,
commanded him to forbear, and, turning to the
young man, accused him in turn of precipitation
in plunging into the swollen ford, and of intem-
perate violence in quarrelling with a man who
was hastening to his assistance.
The young man, on hearing himself thus re-
proved by a man of advanced age and respecta-
16 THE WANDERER.
ble appearance, immediately lowered his weapon,
and said he would be sorry if he had done them
injustice ; but, in reality, it appeared to him as
if they had suffered him to put his life in peril
for want of a word of timely warning, which
could be the part neither of honest men nor of
good Christians, far less of respectable burgesses,
such as they seemed to be.
" Fair son," said the elder person, U you seem,
from your accent and complexion, a stranger ;
and you should recollect your dialect is not so
easily comprehended by us, as perhaps it may
be uttered by you."
" Well, father," answered the youth, " I do
not care much about the ducking I have had,
and I will readily forgive your being partly the
cause, providing you will direct me to some p
where I can have my clothes dried ; for it is my
only suit, and I must keep it somewhat decent."
" For whom do you take us, fair sen V said the
elder stranger, in answer to this ques'tion.
"For substantial burgesses, unquestionably,"
said the youth ; " or, hold — you, master, may be
•a money-broker, or a corn-merchant ; and this
man a butcher, or grazier."
< l You have hit our capacities rarely," said the
elder, smiling. « c My business is indeed to deal
in as much money as I can ; and my gossip's
dealings are somewhat of kin to the butcher's.
As to your accommodation, we will try to serve
you ; but I must first know who you are, and
whither you are going; for, in these times, the
roads are filled with travellers on foot and horse-
back, who have any thing in their head but ho-
nesty and the fear of God."
The young man cast another keen and pene-
trating glance on him who spoke, and on his silent
THE WANDERER. \%
companion, as if doubtful whether they, on their
part, merited the confidence they demanded ; and
the result of his observation was as follows.
The eldest and most remarkable of these men
in dress and appearance, resembled the merchant
or shopkeeper of the period. His jerkin, hose,
and cloak, were of a dark uniform colour, but
worn so threadbare, that the acute young Scot
conceived, that the wearer must be either very
rich or very poor, probably the former. The
fashion of the dress was close and short — a kind
of garments, which were not then held decorous
among gentry, or even the superior class of citi-
zens, who generally wore loose gowns which
descended below the middle of the leg.
The expression of this man's countenance was
partly attractive, and partly forbidding. His
strong features, sunk cheeks, and hollow eyes,
had, nevertheless, an expression of shrewdness
and humour congenial to the character of the
young adventurer. But then, those same sunken
eyes, from under the shroud of thick black eye-
brows, had something that was at once command-
ing and sinister. Perhaps this effect was increas-
ed by the low fur cap, much depressed on the
forehead, and adding to the shade from under
which those eyes peered out; but it is certain
that the young stranger had some difficulty to
reconcile his looks with the meanness of his ap-
pearance in other respects. His cap, in particular,
in which all men of any quality displayed either
a brooch of gold or of silver, was ornamented
with a paltry image of the virgin, in lead, such
as the poorer sort of pilgrims bring from Loretto.
His comrade was a scout formed, middle sized
man, more than ten years younger than his com-
panion, with a down-looking visage and a very
ominous smile, when by chance he gave way to
18 THE WANDERER.
that impulse, which was never except in reply
to certain secret signs that seemed to pass be-
tween him and the elder stranger. This man
was armed with a sword and dagger j and, un-
derneath his plain habit, the Scotsman observed
that he concealed a jazeran, or flexible shirt of
linked mail, which, as being often worn by those,
even of peaceful professions, who were called
upon at this perilous period to be frequently
abroad, confirmed the young man in his conjec-
ture, that the wearer was by profession a butcher,
grazier, or something of that description.
The young stranger, comprehending in one
glance the result of the observation which has
taken us some time to express, answered, after a
moment's pause, " I do not know whom I may
have the honour to address," making a slight
reverence at the same time, " but I am indifferent
who know's that I am a cadet of Scotland ; and
that I come to seek my fortune in France or
elsewhere, after the custom of my countrymen."
" Pasques-dieu ! and a gallant custom it is,"
said the elder stranger. 4t You seem a fine young
springald, and at the right age to prosper, whe-
thtr among men or women. What say you ? I
am a merchant, and want a lad to assist in my
traffic — I suppose you are too much a gentleman
to assist in such mechanical drudgery?"
" Fair sir," said the youth, u if your offer be
seriously made — of which I have my doubts — I
am bound to thank you for it, and I thank you
accordingly ; but I fear I should be altogether
unfit for your service."
" What, I warrant thou knowest better how to
draw the bow than how to draw a bill ot charges,
— canst handle a broadsword better than a pen
—ha !"
n I am, master," answered the young Scot, " a
THE WANDERER. 19
braeman, and therefore, as we say, a bowman.
But I have been in a convent, where the good
fathers taught me to read and write, and even to
cypher."
l < Pasques-dieu ! that is too magnificent," said
the merchant. <* By our lady of Embrun, thou
art a prodigy, man !"
" Rest you merry, fair master" said the youth,
who was not much pleased with his new acquaint-
ance's jocularity, " I must go dry myself, instead
of standing dripping here answering questions."
The merchant only laughed louder as he spoke,
and answered, " Pasques-dieu ! the proverb never
fails — -Jier cotnme un Ecossois — but come, young-
ster, you are of a country I have a regard for,
having traded in Scotland in my time — an honest
poor set of folks they are ; and, if you will come
with us to the village, I will bestow on you a cup
of burnt sack aud a warm breakfast, to atone for
your drenching. — But, tite-bleau ! what do you
with a hunting glove on your hand ? Know you
not there is no hawking permitted in the royal
chase ?"
« I was taught that by a rascally forester of
the Duke of Burgundy. I did but fly the falcon
I had brought with me from Scotland, and that
I reckoned on for bringing me into some note, at
a heron near Peronne, and the rascally schelm
shot my bird with an arrow."
" What did you do," said the merchant.
" Beat him," said the youngster, brandishing
his staff, < c as near to death as a Christian man
should belabour another ; for I wanted not to
have his blood to answer/'
k Know you, that had you fallen into the Duke
of Burgundy's hands, he would have hung you
up like a chesnutr"
" Ay, 1 am told he is as prompt as the King
20 THE WANDERER.
of France for that sort of work. But, as this
happened near Peronne, I made a leap over the
frontier, and laughed at him. If he had not been
so hasty, I might perhaps have taken service
with him."
« He will have a heavy miss of such a paladin
as you are, if the truce should break off," said
the merchant, and threw a look at his companion,
who answered him with one of the downcast
lowering smiles, which gleamed along his coun-
tenance, enlivening it as a passing meteor enlivens
a winter sky.
The young Scot suddenly stopped, pulled his
bonnet over his right eyebrow, as one that would
not be ridiculed, and said firmly, " My masters,
and especially you, sir, the elder, and who should
be the wiser, you will find, I presume, no wise
or safe jesting at my expense. I do not alto-
gether like the tone of your conversation. I can
take a jest with any man, and a rebuke too, from
my elder, and say thank you, sir, if I know it to
be deserved ; but I do not like being borne in
hand as if I were a child, when, God wot, I find
myself man enough to belabour you both, if you
provoke me too far."
The eldest man seemed like to choke with
laughter at thelad's demeanour — his companion's
hand stole to his sword-hilt, which the youth ob-
serving, dealt him a blow across the wrist, which
made him incapable of grasping it ; while his
companion's mirth was onh- increased bv the in-
cident. " Hold, hold," he cried, " most doughty
Scotchman, even for thine own dear country's
sake ; and you, gossip, forbear your menacing
look. Pasques-dieu! let us be just traders, and
set off the wetting against the knock on the wrist,
which was given with so much grace and alacrity.
— And hark ye, friend," he said to the young
THE WANDERER. 21
man, with a grave sternness, which, spite of all
the youth could do, damped and overawed him,
v <no more violence. I am no fit object for it,
and my gossip, as you may see, has had enough
of it. Let me know your name."
" I can answer a civil question civilly," said
the vouth ; (i and will pay fitting respect to your
age, if you do not urge my patience with mock-
ery. Since I have been her? in France and Flan-
ders, men have called me, in their fantasy, the
Varlet with the Velvet Pouch, because of this
hawk-purse which I carry by my bide ; but my
true name, when at home, is Quentin Durward."
fct Durward !" said the querist, « is it a gen-
tleman s Dame ?"
" By fifteen descents in our family," said the
young man ; " and that makes me reluctant to
follow any other trade than arms."
" A true Scot ! Plenty of blood, plenty of
pride, and right great scarcity of ducats, I war-
rant thee. — Well gossip," he said to his compa-
nion, " go before us, and tell them to have some
breakfast ready yonder at the Mulberry-grove ;
for this youth will do as much honour to it as a
starved mouse to a housewife's cheese. And for
the Bohemian — hark in thy ear — n
His comrade answered by a gloomy, but intel-
ligent smile, and set forward at a round pace,
while the elder man continued, addressing young
Durward, — " You and I will push forward toge-
ther, and we may take a mass at Saint Hubert's
Chapel in our way through the forest; for it is
not good to think of our fleshly before our spi-
ritual wants."
Durward, as a good Catholic, had nothing to
object against this proposal, although he would
probably have been desirous, in the first place,
to have dried his clothes and refreshed himself-
22 THE WANDERER.
Meanwhile, they soon lost sight of their down-
ward-looking companion, but continued to follow
the same path which he had taken, until it led
them into a wood of tall trees, mixed with thick-
ets and brush wood, traversed by long avenues,
through which were seen, as through a vista, the
deer trotting in little herds, with a degree of se-
curity which argued their consciousness of being
completely protected.
" You asked me if I were a good bowman,"
said the young Scot — « Give me a bow and a
brace of shafts, and you shall have a piece of
venison."
" Pasques-dieu I my young friend," said his
companion, " take care of that ; my gossip yon-
der hath a special eye to the deer ; they are un-
der his charge, and he is a strict keeper."
"He hath more the air of a butcher, than of a
gay forester," answered Durwarcl. '< I cannot
think yon hang-dog leok of his belongs to any
one who knows the gentle rules of woodcraft."
" Ah, my young friend," answered his com-
panion, Tmy gossip hath somewhat an ugly fa-
vour to look upon at the first, but those who be-
come acquainted with him, never are known to
complain of him."
Quentin Durward found something singularly
and disagreeably significant in the tone with which
this was spoken : and, looking suddenly at the
speaker, thought he saw in his countenance, in
the slight smile that curled his upper lip, and
the accompanying twinkle of his keen dark eye,
something to justify his unpleasing surprise. u I
have heard of robbers," he thought to himself,
" and of wily cheats and cut-throats — what if yon-
der fellow be a murderer, and this old rascal his
decoy-duck ? I will be on my guard — they will
get little by me but good Scottish knocks."
THE WANDERER. 23
While he was thus reflecting, they came to a
glade, where the large forest trees were more
widely separated from each other, and where the
ground beneath, cleared of underwood and bush-
es, was clothed with a carpet of the softest and
most lovely verdure, which, screened from the
scorching heat of the sun, was here more beauti-
fully tender than it is usually to be seen in France.
The trees in this secluded spot were chiefly
beeches and elms of huge magnitude, which rose
like great hills of leaves into the air. Amidst
these magnificent sons of the earth, there peeped
out, in the most open spot of the glade, a lowly
chapel, near which trickled a small rivulet. Its
architecture was of the rudest and most simple
kind ; and there was a very small lodge beside
it, for the accommodation of a hermit or solitary
priest, who remained there for regularly dis-
charging the duty of the altar. In a small niche,
over the arched door-way, stood a stone image
of Saint Hubert, with the bugle-horn around his
neck, and a leash of greyhounds at his feet. The
situation of the chapel in the midst of a park or
chase, so richly stocked with game, made the de-
dication to the Sainted Huntsman peculiarly ap-
propriate.
Towards this little devotional structure the
old man directed his steps, followed by young
Durward ; and, as they approached, the priest,
dressed in his sacerdotal garments, made his ap-
pearance, in the act of proceeding from his cell
to the chapel, for the discharge doubtless of his
holy oifice. Durward bowed his body reverently
to the priest, as the respect due to his sacred of-
fice demanded ; whilst his companion, with an
appearance of still more deep devotion, kneeled
on one knee to receive the holy man's blessing,
and then followed him into church, with a step
24 THE WANDERER.
and manner expressive of the most heartfelt con-
trition and humility.
The inside of the chapel was adorned in a man-
ner adapted to the occupation of the patron-saint
while on earth. The richest furs of animals which
are made the objects of the chase in different
countries, supplied the place of tapestry and hang-
ings around the altar and elsewhere, and the cha-
racteristic emblazonments of bugles, bows, qui-
vers, and other emblems of hunting, surrounded
the walls, and were mingled with the heads of
deer, wolves, and other animals considered beasts
of sport. The whole adornments took a sylvan
character ; and the mass itself, being considera-
bly shortened, proved to be of that sort which is
called a hunti Jig-mass, because in use before the
noble and powerful, who, while assisting at the
solemnity, are usually impatient to commence
their favourite sport.
Yet, during this brief ceremony, Durward's
companion seemed to pay the most rigid and scru-
pulous attention ; while his younger companion,
not quite so much occupied with religious
thoughts, could not forbear blaming himself in
his own mind, for having entertained suspicions
derogatory to the character of so good and so
humble a man. Far from now holding him as a
companion and accomplice of robbers, he had
much to do to forbear regarding him as a saint-
like personage.
When mass was ended, they retired together
from the chapel, and the elder said to his young
comrade, <<■ It is but a short walk from hence to
the village — you may now break your fast with
an unprejudiced conscience — follow me."
Turning to the right, and proceeding along a
path which seemed gradually to ascend, he desi-
red his companion by no means to quit the track,
THE WANDERER. 25
but, on the contrary, to keep the middle of it as
nearly as he could. Durward could not help ask-
ing the cause of this precaution.
il You are now near the court, young man,"
answered his guide ; u and, Pasques-dieu ! there
is some difference betwixt walking in this region
and on your own heathy hills. Every yard of
this ground, excepting the path which we now
occupy, is rendered dangerous, and well nigh
impracticable, by snares and traps, armed with
scythe-blades, which shred off trie unwary pas-
senger's limb as sheerly as a hedge-bill lops a
hawthorn-sprig — and cakhrops that would pierce
your foot through, and pit-falls deep enough to
bury you in for ever ; for you are now within
the precincts of the royal demesne, and we shall
presently see the front of the Chateau."
" Were I the King of France," said the young
man, " I would not take so much trouble with
traps and gins, but would try instead to govern
so weli, that no one should dare to come near my
dwelling with a bad intent ; and for those who
came there in peace and good will, why, the more
of them the merrier we should be."
His companion "looked round with an alarmed
gaze, and said, M Hush, hush, Sir Varlet with
the Velvet Pouch ! for I forgot to tell you, that
one great danger of these precincts is, that the
very leaves of the trees are like so many ears,
which carry all which is spoken to the King's own
cabinet."
«* I care little for that,* 1 answered Quentin Dur-
ward ; «* I bear a Scottish tongue in my head,
bold enough to speak my mind to King Louis's
face, God bless him — and, for the ears you talk
of, if I could see them growing on a human head,
I would crop [hem out of it with my wood -knife."
Vol. I.— 3
26 THE CASTLt.
CHAPTER III.
THE CASTLE.
Full in the midst a mighty pile arose,
Where iron-grated gates their strength oppose
To each invading step —and, strong and steep,
The battled walls arose, the fosse sunk deep.
Slow round the fortress roll'd the sluggish stream,
And high in middle air the warder's turrets gleam.
Anonymous.
While Durvvard and his new acquaintance
thus spoke, they came in sight of the whole front
of the Castle of Plessis-les-Tours, which, even
in those dangerous times, when the great found
themselves obliged to reside within places of for-
tified strength, was distinguished for the extreme
and jealous care with which it was watched and
defended.
From the verge of the wood where young
Durward halted with his companion, in order to
take a view of this royal residence, extended, or
rather arose, though by a very gentle elevation,
an open esplanade, clear of trees and bushes of
every description, excepting one gigantic and
half-withered old oak. This space was left open,
according to the rules of fortification in all ages,
in order that an enemy might not approach the
walls under cover, or unobserved from the bat-
tlements, and beyond it arose the Castle itself.
There were three external walls, battlemented
and turretted from space to space, and at each
angle, the second inclosure rising higher than
the first, and being built so as to command it
THE CASTLE. 27
in case it was won by the enemy ; and being
again, in the same manner, commanded by the
third and innermost barrier. Around the exter-
nal wall, as the Frenchman informed his young
companion, (for as they stood lower than the
foundation of the wall, he could not see it,) was
sunk a ditch of about twenty feet in depth, sup-
plied with water by a dam-head on the river
Cher, or rather on one of its tributary branches.
In front of the second inclosure, he said, there
ran another fosse, and a third, both of the same
unusual dimensions, was led between the second
and the innermost inclosure. The verge, both
of the outer and inner circuit of this triple moat,
was strongly fenced with palisades of iron, serv-
ing the purpose of what are called chevaux de-
frise in modern fortification, the top of each pale
being divided into a cluster of sharp spikes,
which seemed to render any attempt to climb
over an act of self-destruction.
From within the innermost inclosure arose the
castle itself, containing buildings of different pe-
riods, crowded around, and united with the an-
cient and grim-looking donjon-keep, which was
older than any of them, and which rose, like a
black Ethiopian giant, high into the air, while
the absence of any windows larger than shot-
holes, irregularly disposed for defence, gave the
spectator the same unpleasant feeling which we
experience on looking on a blind man. The
other buildings seemed scarcely better adapted
for the purposes of comfort, for what windows
they had opened to an internal court-yard ; so
that the whole external front koked much more
like that of a prison than of a palace. The reign
ing King had even increased this effect ; for, de
sirous that the additions which he himself made
to the fortifications should be of a character not
28 THE CASTLE.
easily distinguished from the original building,
(for, like many jealous persons, he loved not that
his suspicions should be observed,) the darkest
coloured brick and free-stone were employed,
and soot mingled with the lime, so as to give the
whole Castle the same uniform tinge of extreme
and rude antiquity.
This formidable place had but one entrance,
at least Durward saw none along the spacious
front, except where, in the centre of the first and
outward boundary, arose two strong towers, the
usual defences of a gateway ; and they could ob-
serve their ordinary accompaniments, portcullis
and draw-bridge — of which the first was lowered,
and the last raised. Similar entrance-towers
were visible on the second and third bounding
wall, but not in the same line with those on the
outward circuit ; because the passage did not cut
right through the whole three inclosures at the
same point, but, on the contrary, those who en-
tered had to proceed nearly thirty yards betwixt
the first and second wall, exposed, if their pur-
pose were hostile, to missiles from both ; and
again, when the second boundary was passed,
they must make a second digression from the
straight line, in order to attain the portal of the
third and innermost inclosure ; so that before
gaining the outer court, which ran along the front
of the building, two narrow and dangerous de-
files were to be traversed, under a flanking dis-
charge of artillery, and three gates, defended in
the strongest manner known to the age, were to
be successively forced.
Coming from a country alike desolated by
foreign war and internal feuds, — a country, too,
whose unequal and mountainous surface, abound-
ing in precipices and torrents, affords so many
situations of strength, — young Durward was suf-
THE CASTLE. 29
ficiently acquainted with all the various contri-
vances by which men, in that stern age, endea-
voured to secure their dwellings ; but he frankly
owned to his companion, that he did not think
it had been in the power of art to do so much
for defence, where nature had done so little ; for
the situation, as we have hinted, was merely the
summit of a gentle elevation, ascending upwards
from the place where they were standing.
To enhance his surprise, his companion told
him that the environs of the Gastle, except the
single winding path by which the portal might be
safely approached, were like the thickets through
which they had passed, surrounded with every
species of hidden pit-fall, snare, and gin, to en-
trap the wretch who should venture thither with-
out a guide ; that upon the walls were construc-
ted certain cradles of iron, called swallows 9 nests ,
from which the sentinels, who were regularly
posted there, could take deliberate aim at any
who should attempt to enter without the proper
signal or pass-word of the day ; and that the Ar-
chers of the Royal Guard performed that duty
day and night, for which they received high pay,
rich clothing, and much honour and profit, at the
hands of King Louis. " And now tell me, young
man," he continued, u did you ever see so strong
a fortress, and do you think there are men bold
enough to storm it ?"
The young man looked long and fixedly on
the place, the sight of which interested him so
much, that he had forgotten, in the eagerness of
youthful curiosity, the wetness of his dress. His
eye glanced, and his colour mounted to his cheek
like that of a daring man who meditates an hon-
ourable action, as he replied, " It is a strong cas-
tle, and strongly guarded; but there is no im-
possibility to brave men."
3f
50 IHE CASTLE.
" Are there any in your country who could do
such a feat ?" said the elder, rather scornfully.
" I will n.»t affirm that," answered the youth ;
6i but there are thousands that, in a good cause,
Would attempt as bold a deed/'
" Umph !" — said the senior, " perhaps you are
yourself such a gallant ?"
" I should sin if I were to boast where there
is no danger," answered young Durward ; " but
but my father has done as bold an act, and I trust
I am no bastard."
" Well," said his companion, smiling, (i you
might meet your match, and your kindred withal
in the attempt ; for the Scottish Archers of King
Louis's Life-guards stand sentinels on yonder
walls — three hundred gentlemen of the best blood
in your country."
" And were I King Louis," said the youth in
reply, < l I would trust myself to the three hun-
dred Scottish gentlemen, throw down my bound-
ing walls to fill up the moat, call in my noble
peers and paladins, and live as became me, amid
breaking of lances in gallant tournaments, and
feasting of days with nobles, and dancing of
knights with ladies, and have no more fear of a
foe than I have of a fly."
His companion again smiled, and turning his
back on the castle, which, he observed, they had
approached a little too nearly, he led the way
again into the wood, by a more broad and beaten
path than they had yet trodden. "This," he
said, " leads us to the village of Plessis, as it is
called, where you, as a stranger, will find reason-
able and honest accommodation. About two
miles onward lies the fine city of Tours, which
gives name to this rich and beautiful earldom.
But the village Plessis, or Plessis of the Park,
as it is sometimes called, from its vicinity to the
THE CASTLE. 31
royal residence, and the chase with which it is
encircled, will yield you nearer, and as conve-
nient hospitality."
* I thank you, kind master, for your informa-
tion," said the Scot ; " but my stay will be so
short here, that so I fail not in a morsel of meat,
and a drink of something better than water, my
necessities in Plessis, be it of the park or the
pool, will be amply satisfied."
" Nay," answered his companion, " I thought
you had some friend to see in this quarter."
" And so I have — my mother's own brother,"
answered Durward ; u and as pretty a man, be-
fore he left the braes of Angus, as ever planted
brogue on heather."
u What is his name?" said the senior; "we
will inquire him out for you ; for it is not safe
for you to go up to the Castle, where you might
be taken for a spy."
*• Now, by my father's hand !" said the youth,
I taken for a spy ! — By heaven, he shall brook
cold iron that brands me with such a charge ! —
But for my uncle's name, I care not who knows
it — it is Lesly. Lesly — an honest and noble
name."
" And so it is, I doubt not," said the old man;
" but there are three ot the name in the Scottish
Guard."
" My uncle's name is Ludovic Leslie," said
the young man.
"Of the three Leslies," answered the mer-
chant, " two are called Ludovic."
" They call my kinsman Ludovic with the
Scar," said Quentin. — " Our family names are
so common in a Scottish house, that, where there
is no land in the case, we always give a to-name.*''
« A nomme de guerre, I suppose you to mean,"
answered his companion ; u and the man you
32 THE CASTLE.
speak of, we, I think, call Le Balafre, from that
scar on his face — a proper man, and a good sol-
dier. I wish I may be able to help you to an in-
terview with him, for he belongs to a set of gen*
tlemen whose duty is strict, and who do not often
come out of garrison, unless in the immediate at-
tendance on the King's person. — And now, young
man, answer me one question. I will wager you
are desirous to take service with your uncle in the
Scottish Guard. It is a great thing, if you pro-
pose so ; especially as you are very young, and
some years experience is necessary for the high
office which you aim at."
" Perhaps I may have thought on some such
thing,' 1 said Durward, carelessly j " but if I did,
the fancy is off.''
4 < How so, young man?" said the Frenchman,
something sternly — <«• Do you speak thus of a
charge which the most noble of your countrymen
feel themselves emulous to be admitted to?"
" I wish them joy of it," said Quentin, com-
posedly. — < l To speak plain, I should have liked
the service of the French King full well ; only,
dress me as fine, and feed me as high as you
will, I love the open air better than being shut
ap in a cage or a swallow's nest yonder, as you
call these same grated pepper-boxes. Besides,"
he added, in a lower voice, " to speak truth, I
love not the Castle when the covin-tree bears
such acorns as I see yonder."
l < I guess what you mean," said the French-
man ; " but speak yet more plainly."
" To speak more plainly, then," said the youth,
•* there grows a fair oak some flight-shot or so
from yonder castle — and on that oak hangs a
man in a grey jerkin, such as this which I wear."
'f Ay and indeed !" said the man of France —
u Pasques-dieu 1 see what it is to have youthful
THE CASTLE. oo
eyes ! Why, I did see something, but only took ,
it for a raven among the branches. But the
sight is no way strange, young man ; when the
summer fades into autumn, and moon light nights
are long, and roads became unsafe, you will see
a cluster of ten, ay of twenty such acorns, hang-
ing on that old doddered oak. — But what then ?
— they are so many banners displayed to scare
knaves ; and for each rogue that hangs there, an
honest man may reckon that there is a thief, a
traitor, a robber on the highway, a pillour and
oppressor of the people, the fewer in France.
These, young man, are signs of our Sovereign's
justice."
" I would have hung them farther from my
palace though were I King Louis," said the
youth. — " In my country we hang up dead cor-
bies where living corbies haunt, but not in our
gardens or pigeon-houses. The very scent of
the carrion — fough — reached my nostrils at the
distance where we stood."
M If you live to be an honest and loyal servant
of your Prince, my good youth," answered the
Frenchman, "you will know there is no perfume
to match the scent of a dead traitor."
" I shall never wish to live till I lose, the scent
of my nostrils or the sight of my eyes," said the
Scot. — " Shew me a living traitor, and here are
my hand and my weapon ; but when life is out,
hatred should not live longer. — But here, I fancy,
we come upon the village ; where I hope to shew
you that neither ducking nor disgust have spoiled
mine appetite for my breakfast. So, my good
friend, to the hostelrie, with all the speed you
may .-^ Yet, ere I accept of your hospitality, let
me know by what name to call you."
u Men call me Maitre Pierre," answered his
companion. — .«« I deal in no titles. A plain
34 THE CASTLE.
man, that can live on mine own good — that is
my designation."
" So be it, Maitre Pierre," said Quentin,
"and I am happy my good chance has thrown
us together ; for I want a word of seasonable ad-
vice, and can be thankful for it."
While they spoke thus, the tower of the church,
and a tall wooden crucifix, rising above the trees,
shewed that they were at the entrance of the vil-
lage.
But Maitre Pierre, deflecting a little from the
road, which had now joined an open and public
causeway, said to his companion, that the inn to
which he intended to introduce him stood some-
what secluded, and received only the better sort
of travellers.
'< If you mean those who travel with the better-
filled purses," answered the Scot, u I am none
of the number, and will rather stand my chance
of your flayers on the highway than of your flay-
ers in the hostelrie."
M Pasques-dieu /" said his guide, u how cau-
tious your countrymen of Scotland are ! An
Englishman, now, throws himself headlong into
a tavern, eats and drinks of the best and never
thinks of the reckoning till his belly is full. But
you forget, Master Quentin, since Quentin is
your name, you forget 1 owe you a breakfast for
the wetting which my mistake procured you —
It is the penance of my offence towards you."
u In truth," said the light-hearted young man,
" I had forgot wetting, offence, and penance and
all. I have walked my clothes dry, or nearly so,
and I will not refuse your offer in kindness, for
my dinner yesterday was a light one, and supper
I had none. You seem an old and respectable
burgess, and I see no reason why I should not
accept your courtesy."
THE CASTLE. 35
The Frenchman smiled aside, for he saw plain-
ly that the youth, while he was probably half-
famished, had yet some difficulty to reconcile
himself to the thoughts of feeding upon a stran-
ger's cost, and was endeavouring to subdue his
inward pride by the reflection, that in such slight
obligations, the acceptor performed as complai-
sant a part as he by whom the courtesy was of-
fered.
In the meanwhile, they descended a narrow
lane, overshadowed by tall elms, at the bottom
of which a gate-way admitted them into the
court-yard of an inn of unusual magnitude, cal-
culated for the accommodation of the nobles and
suitors who had business at the neighbouring
castle, where very seldom, and only when such
hospitality was altogether unavoidable, did Louis
XI. permit any of his court to have apartments.
A scutcheon, bearing ihejteur-de-ly}, hung over
the principal door of the large irregular building ;
but there was about the yard and the offices little
or none of the bustle which in those days, when
attendants were maintained both in public and
private houses, marked that business was alive,
and custom plenty. It seemed as if the stern
and unsocial character of the royal mansion in
the neighbourhood had communicated a portion
of its solemn and terrific gloom even to a place
designed for the temple of social indulgence,
merry society, and good cheer.
Maitre Pierre, without calling any one, and
even without approaching the principal entrance,
lifted the latch of a side door, and led the way
into a large room, where a faggot was blazing
on the hearth, and arrangements made for a sub-
stantial breakfast.
" My gossip has been careful," said the French-
man to the Scot — " You must be cold, and I
36 THE DEJEUNEK.
have comtnancled a fire ; you must be hungry,
and you shall have breakfast presently."
He whistled, and the landlord entered, — an-
swered his bon jour with a reverence — but in no
respect shewed any part of the prating humour
properly belonging to a French publican of all
ages.
u I expected a gentleman," said Maitre Pierre,
" to order breakfast — Hath he done so ?"
In answer, the landlord only bowed j and while
he continued to bring, and arrange upon the
table the various articles of a comfortable meal,
omitted to extol their merits by a single word.—.
And yet the breakfast merited such eulogiums
as French hosts are wont to confer upon their
regales, as the reader will be informed in the
next chapter.
CHAPTER IV.
THE DEJEUNER,
Sacred heaven ! what masticators! what bread !
Yorick's Travels.
We left our young stranger in France, situated
more comfortably than he had found himself
since entering the territories of the ancient Gauls.
The breakfast, as we hinted in the conclusion of
the last chapter, was admirable. There was a
pate de Perigord, over which a gastronome
would have wished to live and die, like Homer's
lotus-eaters, forgetful of kin, native country, and
all social obligations whatsoever. Its vast walls
THE DEJEUNER. 3 #•
of magnificent crust seemed raised like the bul-
warks of some rich metropolitan city, anemblem
of the wealth which they are designed to protect.
There was a delicate ragout, with just that petit
point de Fail which Gascons love, and Scotchmen
do not hate. There was, besides, a delicate ham,
which had once supported a noble wild boar in
the neighbouring wood of Montrichart. There
was the most delicate white bread, made into
little round loaves called bottles, (whence the ba-
kers took their French name of boulangers,} of
which the crust was so inviting, that, even with
water alone it would have been a delicacy. But
the water was not alone, for there was a flask of
leather called bottrine, which contained about a
quart of exquisite Vin de B ermine. So many good
things might have created appetite under the
ribs of death. What effect then, must they have
produced upon a younster of scarce twenty, who
(for the truth must be told) had eaten little for
the two last days, save the scarcely ripe fruit
which chance afforded him an opportunity of
plucking, and a very moderate portion of barley?
bread. He threw himself upon the ragout, and
the plate was presently vacant — he attacked the
mighty pasty, marched deep into the bowels of
the land, and, seasoning his enormous meal with
an occasional cup of wine, returned to the charge
again and again, to the astonishment of mine
host, and the amusement of Maitre Pierre.
The latter, indeed, probably because he found
himself the author of a kinder action than he had
thought of, seemed delighted with the appetite
of the young Scot ; and when, at length, he ob-
served that his exertions began to languish, en-
deavoured to stimulate him to new efforts, by
ordering confections, darioles, and any other light
dainties he could think of, to entice the youth to
Vol. I.— 4
38 THE DEJEUNER.
continue his meal. While thus engaged, Maitre
Pierre's countenance expressed a kind of good
humour almost amounting to benevolence, which
appeared remote from its ordinary sharp, caus-
tic, and severe character. The aged almost al-
ways sympathise with the enjoyments of youth,
and with its exertions of every kind, when the
mind of the spectator rests on its natural poise,
and is not disturbed by inward envy or idle emu-
lation.
Quentin Durward also, while thus agreeably
employed, could do no otherwise than discover
that the countenance of his entertainer, which
he had at first found so unprepossessing, mended
when it was seen under the influence of the Fin
de Beaulne* and there was kindness in the tone
with which he reproached Maitre Pierre, that
he amused himself with laughing at his appetite,
without eating any thing himself.
'< I am doing penance," said Maitre Pierre,
44 and may not eat any thing before noon, save
some comfiture and a cup of water. Bid yonder
lady," he added, turning to the inn-keeper,
" bring them hither to me."
The inn-keeper left the room, and Maitre
Pierre proceeded, — *f Well, have I kept faith
witli you concerning the breakfast I promised
you r"
" The best meal I have eaten," said the youth,
" since I left Glen-houlakin."
"Glen — what?" demanded Maitre Pierre;
" are you going to raise the devil that you use
such long-tailed words ?"
« 4 Glen-houlakin, which is to say the Glen of
the Midges, is the name of our ancient patrimony,
my good sir. You have bought the right to
laugh at the sound, if you please."
li I have not the least intention to offend," said
THE DEJEUNER. 39
the old man ; " but I was about to say, since you
like your present meal so well, that the Scottish
archers of the guard eat as good a one, or a bet-
ter, every day."
" No wonder," said Durward, " for if they
are shut up in the swalloxvs'' nests all night, they
must needs have a curious appetite in the morn-
ing."
« And plenty to gratify it upon," said Maitre
Pierre. u They need not, like the Burgundians,
choose a bare back, that they may have a full
belly — thev dress like counts, and feast like ab-
bots. 1 '
" It is well for them," said Durward.
" And wherefore will you not take service
here, young man ? Your uncle might, I dare
say, have you placed on the file when there should
a vacancy occur. And, hark in your ear, I my-
self have some little interest, and might be ot
sorfie use to you. You can ride, I presume, as
well as draw the bow r' 1
" Our race are as good horsemen as ever put
a plated shoe into a steel stirrup ; and I know not
but I might accept of your kind offer. Yet, look
you, food and raiment are needful things, but, in
my case, men think of honour, and advancement,
and brave deeds of arms. Your King Louis —
God bless him, I say, for he is friend and ally of
Scotland — but he lies here in his castle, or onlv
rides about from one fortified town to another ;
and gains cities and provinces by politic embas-
sies, and not in fair fighting. Now, for me, I
am of the Douglasses' mind, who always kept
the fields, because they loved better to hear the
lark sing than the mouse squeak."
u4 Young man," said Maitre Pierre, " do not
judge too rashly of the actions of sovereigns.
JLouis seeks to spare the blood of his subjects,
40 THE DEJEUNER.
and cares not for his own. He shewed himsejf
a man of courage at Montlhery."
" Ay, but that was some dozen years ago or
more," answered the youth. -— " I should like to
follow a master that would keep his honour as
bright as his shield, and always venture foremost
in the very throng of the battle/'
'< Why did you not tarry at Brussels, then, with
ihe duke of Burgundy? He would put you in
the way to have your bones broken every day ;
and, rather than fail, would do the job for you
himself — especially if he heard that you had
beaten his forester."
'« Very true," said Quentin ; « My unhappy
chance has shut that door against me."
"Nay, there are plenty of dare devils abroad
with whom mad youngsters may find service,"
said his adviser. '• What think you, for example,
of William de la Mark ?"
" What" exclaimed Durward, " serve Him
with the Beard — serve the wild boar of Ardennes
— a captain of pillagers and murderers, who would
take a man's life for the value of his gaberdine,
and who slays priests and pilgrims as if they
were so many lance knights and men-at-arms?
It would be a blot on my father's scutcheon for
ever.
".Well my young hot-blood," replied Maitre
Pierre, " if you hold the Sanglier too unscru-
pulous, wherefore not follow the young duke of
Gueldres ?"
« Follow the foul fiend a soon," said Quentin.
Hark in your ear — he is a burthen too heavy
for earth to carry-— hell gapes for him ! Men say
that he keeps his own father imprisoned, and that
he has even struck him — Can you believe it ?
Maitre Pierre seemed somewhat disconcerted
with the naive horror with which the young
THE DEJELNER. 41
Scotchman spoke of filial ingratitude, and he an-
swered, * k You know not, young man, how short
a while the relations of blood subsist amongst
those of elevated rank ;" then changed the tone
of feeling in which he had begun to speak, and
added, gaily, u besides, if the Duke has beaten
his father, I warrant you, his father hath beaten
him of old, so it is but a clearing of scores.' 5
" I marvel to hear you speak thus," said the
Scotchman, colouring with indignation, l < gray
hairs such as yours ought to have fitter subjects
for jesting. If the old Duke did beat his son in
childhood, he beat him not enough ; for better he
had died under the rod, than have lived to make
the christian world ashamed that such a mon-
ster had been ever baptised.'"
" At this rate,*' said Maitre Pierre, " as you
weigh the characters of each prince and leader,
I think you had better become a captain your-
self; for where will one so wise find a chieftain
fit to command him ?.**
u You laugh at me, Maitre Pierre," said the
youth, good humouredly < l and perhaps you are
right : but you have not named a man who is a
gallant leader, and keeps a brave party up here,
under whom a man might seek service well
enough."
" I cannot guess whom you mean."
«< Why he that hangs like Mahomet's coffin (a
curse be upon him !) between the two loadstones
— he that no man can call either French or Bur-
gundian, but who knows to hold the balance be-
tween them both, and makes both of them fear
and serve him, for as great princes as they be."
" I cannot guess whom you mean," said Maitre
Pierre; thoughtfully.
4 * § Why, whom should I mean but the noble
42 THE DEJEUNER.
Louis de Luxemburg, Count of Saint Paul, the
High Constable of France ? Yonder he makes
his place good, with his gallant little army, hold-
ing his head as high as either King Louis or
Duke Charles, and balancing between them, like
the boy who stands on the midst of a plank, while
two others are swinging on the opposite ends."
<c He is in danger of the worst fall of the
three," said Maitre Pierre. «* And hark ye, my
young friend, you who hold pillaging such a
crime, do you know that your politic Count of
Saint Paul was the first who set the example of
burning the country during the time of war . ? and
that before the shameful devastation which he
committed, open towns and villages, which made
no resistance, were spared on all sides ?"
« Nay faith," said Durward, "if that be the
case, I shall begin to think no one of these great
men is much better than another, and that a choice
among them is but like choosing a tree to be hung
upon. But this Count de Saint Paul, this Con-
stable, hath possessed himself by clean convey-
ance of the town which takes its name from my
honoured saint and patron, Saint Quentin, (here
he crossed himself,) and methinks, were I dwel-
ling there, my holy patron would keep some look-
out for me — he has not so many named after him
as your more popular saints — and yet he must
have forgotten me, poor Quentin Durward, his
spiritual god-son, since he lets me go one day
without food, and leaves me the next morning
to the harbourage of Saint Julian, and the chance
courtesy of a stranger, purchased by a ducking
in the renowned river Cher, or one of its tribu-
taries.
«' Blaspheme not the saints, my young friend,"
said Maitre Pierre. «« Saint Julian is the faithful
THE DEJEUNER. 43
patron of travellers ; and, peradventure, the bless-
ed Saint Quentin hath done more and better for
thee than thou art aware of."
As he spoke, the door opened, and a girl, ra-
ther above than under fifteen years old, entered
with a platter, covered with damask, on which
was placed a small saucer of the dried plums
which have always added to the reputation of
Tours, and a cup of the curiously chased plate
which the goldsmiths of that city were anciently
famous for executing, with a delicacy of work-
manship that distinguished them from the other
cities in France, and even excelled the skill of the
metropolis. The form of the goblet was so ele-
gant, that Durward thought not of observing
closely whether the material was of silver, or, like
what had been placed before himself, of a baser
metal, but so well burnished as to resemble the
richer ore.
But the sight of the young person by whom
this service was executed, attracted Durward's
attention fat more than the petty particulars of
the duty which she performed.
He speedily made the discovery, that a quan-
tity of long black tresses, which, in the maiden
fashion of his own country, were unadorned by
any ornament, excepting a single chapiet lightly
woven out of ivy leaves, formed a veil around a
countenance, which, in its regular features, dark
eyes, and pensive expression, resembled that of
Melpomene, though there was a faint glow on the
cheek, and an intelligence on the lips and in the
eye, which made it seem that gaiety was not for-
eign to a countenance so expressive, although
it might not be its most habitual expression.
Quentin even thought he could discern that de-
pressing circumstances were the cause why a
countenance so young and so lovely was graver
44 THE DEJEUNER.
than belongs to early beauty ; and as the ro-
mantic imagination of youth is rapid in drawing
conclusions from slight premises, he was plea-
sed to infer from what follows, that the fate of
this beautiful vision was wrapped in silence and
mystery.
" How now, Jacqueline !" said Maitre Pierre,
when she entered the apartment — u Wherefore
this ? Did I not desire that Dame Perette
should bring what I wanted ? — Pasquts-dieu /—
Is she, or does she think herself, too good to
serve me ?"
" My mother is ill at ease," answered Jacque-
line, in a hurried yet a humble tone ; ill at ease,
and keeps her chamber."
"She keeps it alone, I hope? replied Maitre
Pierre, with some emphasis ; I am vieux routier,
and none of those upon whom feigned disorders
pass for apologies."
Jacqueline turned pale, and even tottered at
the answer of Maitre Pierre; for it must be
owned, that his voice and looks, at all times harsh,
caustic and unpleasing, had, when he expressed
anger or suspicion, an effect both sinister and
alarming.
The mountain chivalry of Quentin Fur ward
was instantly awakened, and he hastened to ap-
proach Jacqueline, and relieve her of the burthen
she bore, and which she passively resigned to him,
while, with a timid and anxious look, she watch-
ed the countenance of the angry burgess. It was
not in nature to resist the piercing and pity-
craving expression of her looks, and Maitre
Pierre proceeded, not merely with an air of di-
minished displeasure, but with as much gentle-
ness as he could assume in countenance and man-
ner, " I blame not thee, Jacqueline, and thou
art too young to be, what it is pity to think thou
THE DEJEUNER. 45
must be one day — a false and treacherous thing,
like the rest of thy giddy sex. No man ever
lived to man's estate, but he had the opportunity
to know you all. Here is a Scottish cavalier
will tell you the same.
Jacqueline looked for an instant on the young
stranger, as if to obey Maitre Pierre, but the
glance, momentary as it was, appeared to Dur-
ward a pathetic appeal to him for support and
sympathy ; and with the promptitude dictated
by the feelings of youth, and the romantic vene-
ration for the female sex inspired by his edu-
cation, he answered hastily, k « That he would
throw down his gage to any antagonist, of equal
rank and equal age, who should presume to say
such a countenance, as that which he now looked
upon, could be animated by other than the purest
and the truest mind."
The young woman grew deadly pale, and cast
an apprehensive glance upon Maitre Pierre, in
whom the bravado of the young gallant seemed
only to excite laughter, more scornful than ap-
plausive. Quentin, whose second thoughts ge-
nerally corrected the first, though sometimes after
they had found utterance, blushed deeply at
having uttered what might be construed into an
empty boast, in presence of an old man of a
peaceful profession ; and, as a sort of just and
appropriate penance, resolved patiently to submit
to the ridicule which he had incurred. He of-
fered the cup and trencher to Maitre Pierre
with a blush on his cheek, and a humiliation of
countenance, which endeavoured to disguise it-
self under an embarrassed smile.
u You are a foolish young man," said Maitre
Pierre, " and know as little of women as of prin-
ces, — whose hearts," he said, crossing himself
devoutly, « God keeps in his right hand."
46 THE DEJEUNER.
"And who keeps those of the women, then l"
said Qutntin, resolved, as if he could help it, not
to be borne down by the assumed superiority of
this extraordinary old man, whose lofty and care-
less manner possessed an influence over him of
which he felt ashamed.
" I am afraid you must ask of them in ano-
ther quarter," said Maitre Pierre, composedly.
Quentin was again rebuffed, but not utterly dis=
concerted. "Surely," he said to himself, u I do not
pay this same burgess of Tours all the deference
which I yield him, on account of the miserable
obligation of a breakfast, though it was a right
good and substantial meal. Dogs and hawks are
attached by feeding only — man must have kind-
ness, if you would bind him with the cords of
affection and obligation. But he is an extraor-
dinary person ; and that beautiful emanation that
is even now vanishing — surely a thing so fair be-
longs not to this mean place, belongs not even to
the money-gathering merchant himself, though
he seems to exert authority over her, as doubt-
less he does over all whom chance brings within
his little circle. It is wonderful what ideas of
consequence these Flemings and Frenchmen at-
tach to wealth — so much more than wealth de-
serves, that I suppose this old merchant thinks
the civility I pay to his age is given to his money
— -I, a Scottish gentleman of blood and coat-ar-
mour, and he a mechanic of Tours !"
Such were the thoughts which hastily traversed
the mind of young Durward ; while Maitre Pi-
erre said, with a smile, and at the same time pat-
ting Jacqueline's head, from which hung down
her long tresses, " This young man will serve me,
Jacqueline — thou mayest withdraw. I will tell
thy negligent mother she does ill to expose thee
to be gazed on unnecessarih."
THE DEJEUNER. 4-T '
< ; It was only to wait on you," said the maiden.
if I trust you will not be displeased with your
kinswoman, since "
'« Pasques-dieu /" said the merchant, inter-
rupting her, but not harshly, " do you bandy
words with me, you brat, or stay you to gaze
upon the youngster here ? — Begone — he is noble,
and his services will suffice me."
Jacqueline vanished ; and so much was Quen-
tin Durward'interested in her sudden disappear-
ance, that it broke his previous thread of reflec-
tion, and he complied mechanically, when Maitre
Pierre said, in the tone of one accustomed to be
obeyed, as he threw himself carelessly upon a
large easy-chair, " Place that tray besides me.''
The merchant then let his dark eye-brows
sink over his keen eyes, so that the last became
scarce visible, or but shot forth occasionally a
quick and vivid ray, like those of the sun set-
ting behind a dark cloud, through which its beams
are occasionally darted, but singly, and for an
instant.
a That is a beautiful creature,''' said the old
man at last, raising his head, and looking steady
and firmly at Quentin, when he put the question
— < l a lovely girl to be the servant of an auberge f
— she might grace the board of an honest burgess:
but 'tis a vile education, a base origin,"
It sometimes happens that a chance-shot will
demolish a noble castle in the air. and the archi-
tect on such occasions entertains little good will
towards him who fires it, although the damage
on the offender's part may be wholly unintentional.
Quentin was disconcerted, and was disposed to
be angrv — he himself knew not why — with this
old man, for acquainting him that this beautiful
creature was neither more nor less than what her
48 THE DEJEUNEK.
occupation announcer! — -the servant of this au-
bei-ge — an upper servant, indeed, and probablv
a niece of the landlord, or such like ; but still
a domestic, and obliged to comply with the hu-
mour of the customers, and particularly of Mai-
tre Pierre, who probably had sufficiency of
whims, and was rich enough to insure their being
attended to.
The thought, the lingering thought again re-
turned on him, that he ought to make the old
gentleman understand the difference betwixt their
conditions, and call on him to mark, that, how
rich soever he might be, his wealth put him on
no level with a Durward of Glen-houlakin. Yet,
whenever he looked on Maitre Pierre's counte-
nance with such a purpose, there was, notwith-
standing the downcast look, pinched features,
and mean and miserly dress, something which
prevented the young man from asserting the su-
periority over the merchant, which he conceiv-
ed himself to possess. On the contrary, the
oftener and more fixedly Quentin looked at him,
the stronger became his curiosity to know who,
or what, this man actually was ; and he set him
down internally for at least a Syndic or high ma-
gistrate of Tours, or one who was, in some way
or other, in the full habit of exacting and receiv-
ing deference.
Meantime, the merchant seemed again sunk
into the reverie, from which he raised himself
only to make the sign of the cross devoutly, and
to eat some of the dried fruit, with a morsel of
biscuit. He then signed to Quentin to give him
the cup, adding, however, as he presented it — •
c < You are noble."
" I surely am," replied the Scot, " if fifteen
descents can make me so — So I told you before,
HIE DEJEUNER. 49
But do not constrain yourself on that account,
Maitre Pierre — I have always been taught it is
the duty of the young to assist the more aged."
* c An excellent maxim," said the merchant,
availing himself of the youth's assistance in
handing the cup, and filling it from a ewer which
seemed of the same materials with the goblet,
without any of those scruples in point of pro-
priety which perhaps Quentin had expected to
excite.
"The devil take the ease and familiarity of
this old mechanical burgher," said Durward once
more to himself; < c he uses the attendance of a
noble Scottish gentleman with as little ceremony
as I would that of a gillie from Glen-isla."
The merchant, in the meanwhile, having
finished his cup of water, said to his companion,
" From the zeal with which you seemed to relish
the Vin de Baulne, I fancy you would not care
much to pledge me in this elemental liquor. But
I have an elixir about me which can convert even
the rock water into the richest wines of France."
As he spoke, he took a large purse from his
bosom, made of the fur of the sea-otter, and
streamed a shower of small silver pieces into the
goblet, until the cup, which was but a small one,
was more than half full.
" You have reason to be more thankful, young
man,'* said Maitre Pierre, " both to your patron
Saint Quentin, and to Saint Julian, than you
seemed to be but now. I would advise you to
bestow alms in their name. Remain in this host-
elry until you see your kinsman, Le Balafre, who
will be relieved from guard in the afternoon. I
will cause him to be acquainted that he may find
you here, for I have business in the Castle."
Quentin Durward would have said something
to have excused himself from accepting the pro-
Vol. I.— 5.
50 THE DEJEUNJEIU
fuse liberality of his new friend ; but Maitrc
Pierre, bending his dark brows, and erecting his
stooping figure into an attitude of more dignity
than he had yet seen him assume, said, in a tone
of authority, "No reply, young man, but do
what you are commanded."
With these words, he left the apartment, ma-
king a sign as he departed, that Quentin must
not follow him.
The young Scotchman stood astounded, and
knew not what to think of the matter. His first
most natural, though perhaps not most dignified
impulse, drove him to peep into the silver goblet,
which assuredly was more than half full of silver
pieces, to the number of several scores, of which
perhaps Quentin had never called twenty his own
at one time during the course of his whole life.
But could he reconcile it to his dignity as a
gentleman, to accept the money of this wealthy
plebeian ? — this was a trying question ; for,
though he had secured a good breakfast, it was
no great reserve upon which to travel either back
to Dijon, in case he chose to hazard the wrath,
and enter the service, of the Duke of Burgundy,
or to Saint Quentin, if he fixed on that of the
Constable Saint Paul ; for to one of those pow-
ers, if not to the King of France, he was deter-
mined to offer his services. He perhaps took
the wisest resolution in the circumstances, in re-
solving to be guided by the advice of his uncle ;
and, in the meantime, he put the money into his
velvet hawking-pouch, and called for the land-
lord of the house, in order to restore the silver
cup — resolving, at the same time, to ask him
some questions about this liberal and authorita-
tive merchant.
The man of the house appeared presently ; and,
if not more communicative, was at least more lo-
THE DEJEUNER. 51
quacious, than he had formerly appeared. He
positively declined to take back the silver cup.
It was none of his, he said, but Maitre Pierre's,
who had bestowed it on his guest. He had, in-
deed, four silver hanaps of his own, which had
been left him by his grandmother of happy me-
mory, but no more like the beautiful carving of
that in his guest's hand than a peach was like a
turnip, — that was one of the famous cups of
Tours, wrought by Martin Dominique, an artist
who might brag all Paris.
'« And pray who is this Maitre Pierre," said
Durward, interrupting him, "who confers such
valuable gifts on strangers ?"
" Who is Maitre Pierre ?" said the host,
dropping the words as slowly from his mouth as
if he had been distilling them.
"Ay," said, Durward, hastily and perempto-
rily, " who is this Maitre Pierre, and why does
he throw about his bounties in this fashion ? And
who is the butcherly-looking fellow whom he
sent forward to order breakfast ?"
** Why, fair sir, as to who Maitre Pierre is,
you should have asked the question at himself;
and for the gentleman who ordered breakfast to
be made ready, may God keep us from his closer
acquaintance !"
. *« There is something mysterious in all this,"
said the young Scot. "This Maitre Pierre tells
me he is a merchant."
" And if he told you so/' said the innkeeper,
"surely he is a merchant."
" What commodities does he deal in?"
" O, many a fair matter of traffic," said the
host; l < and specially he has set up silk manu-
factories here, which match those rich bales
that the Venetians bring from India and Cathay.
You might see the rows of mulberry trees as you
52 THE DEJEUNER.
came hither, all planted by Maitre Pierre's com-
mands, to feed the silk-worms."
*< And that young person who brought in the
confections, who is she, my good friend ?" said
the guest.
" My lodger, sir, with her guardian, some sort
of aunt or kinswoman, as I think," replied the
inn-keeper.
" And do you usually employ your guests in
waiting on each other?" said Durward ; " for I
observed that Maitre Pierre would take nothing
from your hand, or that of your attendant."
" Rich men may have their fancies, for they
can pay for them," said the landlord ; " this is
not the first time that Maitre Pierre has found
the true way to make gentlefolks serve at his
beck.''
The young Scotchman felt somewhat offended
at the insinuation ; but, disguising his resent-
ment, he asked whether he could be accommo-
dated with an apartment at this place for a day,
and perhaps longer.
" Certainly," the innkeeper replied ; " for
whatever time he was pleased to command it."
*< Could he be permitted," he asked, < ; to pay
his respects to the ladies, whose fellow-lodger he
was about to become ?
The innkeeper was uncertain. < c They went
not abroad," he said, "and received no one at
home."
'< With the exception, I presume, of Maitre
Pierre ?" said Durward.
" I am not at liberty to name any exceptions,"
answered the man, firmly, but respectfully.
Quentin, who carried the notions of his own
importance pretty high, considering how desti-
tute he was of means to support them, being
somewhat mortified by the innkeeper's reply, did
THE DEJEUNER, 5L
not hesitate to avail himself of a practice com-
mon enough in that age ; " Carrv to the ladies/'
he said, "a flask of vernat, with mv humble
duty; and say, that Quentin Durward, of the
house of Glen-houlakin, a Scottish cavalier of
honour, and now their fellow-lodger, desires the
permission to dedicate his homage to them in a
personal interview."
The messenger departed, and returned almost
instantly with the thanks of the ladies, who de-
clined the proffered refreshment, and, returning
their thanks to the Scottish cavalier, regretted
that, residing there in privacy, they could not
receive his visit.
Quentin bit his lip, took a cup of the rejected
verndt, which the host had placed on the table.
u By the mass but this is a strange country,"
said he to himself, < l where merchants and me-
chanics exercise the manners and munificence of
nobles, and little travelling damsels, who hold
their court in a cabaret, keep their state like dis-
guised princesses ! I will see that black-browed
maiden again or it will go hard, however ;*' and
having formed this prudent resolution, he de-
manded to be conducted to the apartment which
he was to call his own.
The landlord presently ushered him up a tur-
ret staircase, and from thence along a gallery,
with many doors opening from it, like those of
cells in a convent; a resemblance which our
young hero, who recollected with much ennui
an early specimen of a monastic life, was far from
admiring. The host paused at the very end of
the gallery, selected a key from the large bunch
which he carried at his girdle, opened the door,
and shewed his guest the interior of a turret-
chamber, small indeed, but which, being clean
and solitary, and having the pallet bed^ and the
54 THE DEJEUNER.
few articles of furniture, in unusually good order,
seemed, on the whole, a little palace.
" I hope you will find your dwelling agreeable
here, fair sir," said the landlord.—" I am bound
to pleasure every friend of Maitre Pierre."
" O happy ducking !»' exclaimed Quentin Dur-
ward, cutting a caper on the floor, so soon as his
host had retired : u Never came good luck in a
better or a wetter form. I have been fairly de-
luged by my good fortune. r
As he spoke thus, he stepped towards the little
window, which, as the turret projected conside-
rably from the principle line of the building, not
only commanded a very pretty garden of some
extent belonging to the inn, but overlooked, be-
yond its boundary^ a pleasant grove of those very
mulberry trees which Maitre Pierre was said to
have planted for the support of the silk-worm.
Besides, turning the eye from these more remote
objects, and looking straight along the wall, the
turret of Quentin was opposite to another turret,
and the little window at which he stood com-
manded a similar little window, in a correspond-
ing projection of the building. Now it would
be difficult for a man twenty years older than
Quentin, to say why this locality interested him
more than either the pleasant garden or the grove
of mulberry trees ; for alas ! eyes which have
been used for forty years and upwards, look with
indifference on little turret-windows, though the
lattice be half open to admit the air, while the
shutter is half closed to exclude the sun, or per-
haps too curious eye — nay, even though there
hang on the one side of the casement a lute,
partly mantled by a light veil of sea-green silk.
But at Durward's happy age such accidents,
as a painter would call them, form sufficient foun-
dation for a hundred airy visions and mysterious
THE DEJEUNER. 55
conjectures, at recollection of which the full-
grown man smiles while he sighs, and sighs
while he smiles.
As it may be supposed that our friend Quentin
wished to learn a little more of his fair neighbour,
the owner of the lute and veil, — as it may be
supposed he was at least interested to know whe-
ther she might not prove the same whom he had
seen in humble attendance on Maitre Pierre, it
must of course be understood, that he did not
produce a broad, flat, staring visage and person
in full front of his own casement. Durward
knew r better the art of bird-catching ; and it was
to his keeping his person skilfully withdrawn on
one side of his window, while he peeped through
the lattice, that he owed the pleasure of seeing a
white, round, beautiful arm take down the in-
strument, and that his ears had presently after
their share in the reward of his dexterous ma-
nagement.
The maid of the little turret, of the veil and
of the lute, sung exactly such a little air as we
are accustomed to suppose flowed from the lips
of the high-born dames of chivalry, when knights
and troubadours listened and languished. The
words had neither so much sense, wit, or fancy
as to withdraw the attention from the music, nor
the music so much of art, as to drown all feeling
of the words. The one seemed fitted to the
other ; and if the song had been recited without
the notes, or the air played without the words,
neither would have been worth noting. It is,
therefore, scarce fair to put upon record lines in-
tended not to be said or read, but only to be
sung. But such scraps of old poetry have always
had a sort of fascination for us ; and as the tune
is lost for ever — unless Bishop happens to find
the notes, or some lark teaches Stephens to war-
56 THE DEJEUNER.
ble the air— we will risk our credit, and the taste
of the lady of the late, by preserving the verses,
simple and even rude as they are.
" Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower pei-fumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.
The lark his lay who thrill'd all day,
Sits hush'd his partner nigh ;
Breeze, bird, and flower, they know the hour,
But where is County Guy ?
The village maid steals through the shade,
Her shepherd's suit to hear ;
To beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high-born Cavalier.
The star of Love, all stars above,
Now reigns o'er earth and sky ;
And high and low the influence know —
But where is County Guy?"
Whatever the reader may think of this simple
ditty, it had a powerful effect on Quentin, when
married to heavenly airs, and sung by a sweet
and melting voice, the notes mingling with the
gentle breezes which wafted perfumes from the
garden, and the figure of the songstress being so
partially and obscurely visible, as threw a veil of
mysterious fascination over the whole.
At the close of the air, the listener could not
help shewing himself more boldly than he had
yet done, in a rash attempt to see more than he
had yet been able to discover. The music in-
stantly ceased — the casement was closed, and a
dark curtain, dropped on the inside, put a stop to
all further observation on the part of the neigh-
bour in the next turret.
Durward was mortified and surprised at the
consequence of his precipitance, but comforted
himself with the hope, that the lady of the lute
could neither easily forego the practice of an in-
strument which seemed so familiar to her, nor
THE MAN-AT-ARMS. 57
u-uelly resolve to renounce the pleasures of fresh
air and an open window, for the churlish purpose
of preserving for her own exclusive ear the sweet
sounds which she created. There came, perhaps,
a little feeling of personal vanity to mingle with
these consolatory reflections. If, as he shrewdly
suspected, there was a beautiful dark-tressed
damsel inhabitant of the one turret, he could not
but be conscious that a handsome, young, roving
bright-locked gallant, a cavalier of fortune, was
the tenant of the other ; and romances, those pru-
dent instructors, had taught his youth, that if
damsels were shy, they were yet neither void of
interest nor of curiosity in their neighbours' af-
fairs.
Whilst Quentin was engaged in these sage re-
flections, a sort of attendant or chamberlain of
the inn informed him that a cavalier desired to
speak with him below.
CHAPTER V.
THE MAX-AT-ARMS.
— — Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Seeking the bubble reputation even in the cannon's mouth.
As You Like it.
The cavalier who awaited Quentin Durward's
descent into the apartment where he had break-
fasted, was one of those of whom Louis XI. had
long since said, that they held in their hands the
fortune of France, as to them were entrusted the
direct custody and protection of the royal person.
Charles the Sixth had instituted this celebrated
body, the Archers, as they were called, of the
58 THE MAN-AT-ARMS.
Scottish Body-guard, with better reason than
can generally be alleged for establishing round
the throne a guard of foreign and mercenary
troops. The divisions which tore from his side
more than half of France, together with the wa-
vering and uncertain faith of the nobility who
yet acknowledged his cause, rendered it impo-
litic and unsafe to commit his personal safety to
their keeping. The Scottish nation was the he-
reditary enemy of the English, and the ancient,
and, as it seemed, the natural allies of France.
They were poor, courageous, faithful — their
ranks were sure to be supplied from the super-
abundant population of their own country, than
which none in Europe sent forth more or bolder
adventurers. Their high claims of descent, too,
gave them a good title to approach the person of
a monarch more closely than other troops, while
the smallness of their numbers prevented the
possibility of their mutinying, and becoming
masters where they ought to be servants.
On the other hand the French monarchs made
it their policy to conciliate the affections of this
selected band of foreigners, by allowing them ho-
norary privileges and ample pay, which last most
of them disposed of with military profusion in
supporting their supposed rank. Each of them
ranked as a gentleman in place and honour ; and
their near approach to the King's person gave
them dignity in their own eyes, as well as in those
of the nation of France. They were sumptuously
armed, equipped, and mounted ; and each was
entitled to allowance for a squire, a valet, a page,
and two yeoman, one of whom was termed cou-
telier, from the large knife which he wore to dis-
patch those whom in the melee his master had
thrown to the ground. With these followers, and
a corresponding equipage, an Archer of the Scot-
THE MAN-AT-ARMS. 59
tish guard was a* person of quality and import-
ance ; and vacancies being generally filled up by
those who had been trained in the service as pa-
ges or valets, the cadets of the best Scottish fa-
milies were often sent to serve under some friend
and relation in those capacities, until a chance of
preferment should occur.
The coutelier and his companion, not being
noble or capable of this promotion, were recruit-
ed from persons of inferior quality ; but as their
pay and appointments were excellent, their mas-
ters were easily able to select from among their
wandering countrymen the strongest and most
courageous to wait upon them in that capacity.
Ludovic Leslie, or, as we shall more frequently
call him, Le Balafre, by which name he was ge-
nerally known in France, was upwards of six feet
high, robust, strongly compacted in person, and
hard-favoured in countenance, which latter attri-
bute was much increased by a large and ghastly
scar, which, beginning on his forehead, and nar-
rowly missing his right eye, had laid bare the
cheek-bone, and descended from thence almost to
the tip of his ear, exhibiting a deep seam, which
was sometimes scarlet, sometimes purple, some-
times blue, and sometimes approaching to black;
but always hideous, because at variance with the
complexion of the face in whatever state it chanc-
ed to be, whether agitated or still, flushed with
unusual passion, or in its ordinary state of wea-
ther-beaten and sun-burnt swarthiness.
His dress and arms were splendid. He wore
his national bonnet, crested with a tuft of fea-
thers, and with a Virgin Mary of massive silver
for a brooch. These had been presented to the
Scottish Guard, in consequence of the King, in
one of his fits of superstitious piety, having de-
voted the swords of his guard to the service of
60 THE MAN-AT-ARMS.
the Holy Virgin, and, as some say, carried the
matter so far as to draw out a commission to Our
Lady as their Captain General. The Archer's
gorget, arm-pieces, and gauntlets, were of the
finest steel, curiously inlaid with silver, and his
hauberk, or shirt of mail, was as clear and bright
as the frost work of a winter morning upon fern
or briar. He wore a loose surcoat, or cassock,
of rich blue velvet, open at the sides like that of
a herald, with a large white cross of embroidered
silver bisecting it both before and behind — his
knees and legs were protected by hose of mail
and shoes of steel — a broad strong poniard (called
the Mercy of God) hung by his right side — the
bauldrick for his two-handed sword, richly em-
broidered, hung upon his left shoulder ; but, for
convenience, he at present carried in his hand that
unwieldy weapon, which the rules of his service
forbade him to lay aside.
Quentin Durward, though, like the Scottish
youth of the period, he had been early taught
to look upon arms and war, thought he had ne-
ver seen a more martial-looking, or more com-
pletely equipped and accomplished man-at-arms,
than now saluted him in the person of his mo-
ther's brother, called Ludovic with the Scar, or
Le Balafre ; yet he could not but shrink a little
from the grim expression of his countenance,
while, with its rough moustachios, he brushed
first the one and then the other cheek of his
kinsman, welcomed his fair nephew to France,
and, in the same breath, asked what news from
Scotland.
" Little good, dear uncle," replied young Dur-
ward ; a but I am glad that you know me so rea-
dily."
" I would have known thee, boy, in the landes
of Bourdeaux, had I met thee marching there
THE MAN-AT-ARMS. 61
like a crane on a pair of stilts. But sit thee down
— sit thee down — if there is sorrow to hear of, we
will have wine to make us bear it. — Ho ! old
Pinch- Measure, our good host, bring us of thy
best, and that in an instant."
The well-known sound of the Scottish-French
was as familiar in the taverns near Plessis, as
that of the Swiss-French in the modern gin-
guettes of Paris ; and promptly — ay, with the
promptitude of fear and precipitation, was it
heard and obeyed. A flagon of Champagne soon
stood before them, of which the elder took a
draught, while the nephew helped himself only
to a moderate sip, to acknowlege his uncle's cour-
tesy, saying in excuse, that he had already drank
wine that morning.
44 That had been a rare apology in the mouth
of thy sister, fair nephew," said J,e Balafre ;
44 you must fear the wine-pot less, if you would
wear beard on your face, and write yourself sol-
dier. But, come — come — unbuckle your Scot-
tish mail-bag — give us the news from Glen-hou-
lakin — how doth my sister?"
« Dead, fair uncle," answered Quentin, sor-
rowfully.
44 Dead l" echoed his uncle, with a tone rather
marked by wonder than sympathy — «*■ why, she
was five years younger than I, and I was never
better in my life. Dead ! the thing is impossi-
ble. I have never had so much as a head-ache*
unless after revelling out my two or three days'
furlow with the brethren of the joyous science —
and my poor sister is dead ! — And your father,
fair nephew, hath he married again r"
And, ere the youth could reply, he read the
answer in his surprise at the question, and said,
44 What, no? — I would have sworn that Allan
Durward was no man to live without a wife. He
Vol. I— 6
62 THE MAN-AT-ARMS.
loved to have his house in order — loved to look
on a pretty woman too ; and was somewhat strict
in life withal — matrimony did all this for him.
Now, I care little about these comforts ; and I
can look on a pretty woman without thinking on
the sacrament of wedlock — I am scarce holy
enough for that."
« l Alas ! dear uncle, my mother was left a wi-
dow a year since, when Glen-houlakin was har-
ried by the Ogilgives. My father, and my two
uncles, and my two elder brothers, and seven
of my kinsmen, and the harper, and the tasker,
and some six more of our people, were killed
in defending the castle: and there is not a bur-
ning hearth or a standing stone in all Glen-hou-
lakin."
'« Cross of Saint Andrew !" said Le Balafre ;
«■< that is what I call an onslaught. Ay, these
Ogilvies were ever but sorry neighbours to Glen-
houlakin — an evil chance it was ; but fate of war
— fate of war. — When did this mishap befall, fair
nephew?" With that he took a deep draught of
wine in lieu, and shook his head with much so-
lemnity, when his kinsman replied, that his family
had been destroyed on the festival of Saint Jude
last bye-past.
" Look ye there," said the soldier ; " I said it
was all chance — on that very day I and twenty of
my comrades carried the Castle of Roche-noir by
storm, from Amaury Bras-dt-fer, a captain of
free lances, whom you must have heard of. I
killed him on his own threshold, and gained as
much gold as made this fair chain, which was
once twice as long as it now is — and that minds
me to send part of it on an holy errand. Here,
Andrew — Andrew ?"
Andrew, his yeoman, entered, dressed like the
Archer himself in the general equipment, but
THE MAN-AT-ARMS. 63
without the armour for the limbs, — that of the
body more coarsely manufactured — his cap with-
out a plume, and his cassock made of serge, or
coarse cloth, instead of rich velvet. Untwining
his gold chain from his neck, Balafre* twisted off,
with his firm and strong set-teeth, about four in-
ches from the one end of it, and said to his atten-
dant, *« Here Andrew, carry this to my gossip,
jolly Father Boniface, the monk of Saint Mar-
tin's — greet him well from me, by the same to-
ken that he could not say God save ye when we
last parted at midnight — Tell my gossip that my
brother and sister, and some others of my house,
are all dead and gone, and I pray him to say mas-
ses for their souls as far as the value of these
links will carry him, and to do on trust what else
may be necessary to free them from purgatory.
And hark ye, as they were just living people, and
free from all heresy, it may be that they are well
nigh out of limbo already, so that a little matter
may have them free of the fetlocks ; and in that
case, look ye, ye will say I desire to take out the
gold in curses upon a generation called the
Ogilvies, in what way soever the church may
best come at them. You understand all this,
Andrew ?"
The coutelier nodded.
" Then look that none of the links find their
way to the wine house ere the monk touches
them ; for if it so chance, thou shall taste of sad-
dle girth and stirrup-leather, till thou art as raw
as Saint Bartholomew Yet hold, I see thy eye
has fixed on the wine measure, and thou shalt
not go without tanting."
So saying, he filled him a brimful cup, which
the coutelier drank off, and retired to do his pa-
tron's commission,
64 THE MAN-AT-ARMS.
'« And now fair nephew, let us hear what was
your own fortune in this unhappy matter. "
u I fought it out among those who were ol-
der and stouter than I was, till we were all
brought down," said Durward, " and I received
a cruel wound."
<* Not a worse slash than I received ten years
since myself," said Le Balafre. — " Look at
this now, my fair nephew," tracing the dark
crimson gash which was imprinted on his face —
»* An Ogilvy's sword never ploughed so deep a
furrow."
u They ploughed deeply enough," answered
Quentin, sadly ; " but they were tired at last,
and my mother's entreaties procured mercy for
me, when I was found to retain some spark of
life ; but although a learned monk of Aberbro-
thock, who chanced to be our guest at the fatal
time, and narrowly escaped being killed in the
fray, was permitted to bind my wounds and finally
to remove me to a place of safety, it was only on
promise, given both by my mother and him, that
I should become a monk."
" A monk !" exclaimed the uncle — " Holy
Saint Andrew ! that is what never befel me. No
one, from my childhood upwards, ever so much
as dreamed of making me a monk — And yet I
wonder when I think of it ; for you will allow
that, bating the reading and writing, which I
could never learn, and the psalmody, which I
could never endure, and the dress, which is that
of a mad beggar — our Lady forgive me ! — (here
he crossed himself) — and their fasts, which do
not Suit my appetite, I would have made every
whit as good a monk as my little gossip at Saint
Martin's yonder. But I know not why, none
ever proposed the station to me. — O so, fair
THE MAN-AT-ARMS. 65
nephew, you were to be a monk then — :md
wherefore, I pray you:"
" That my father's house might be ended,
either in the cloister or in the tomb," answered
Quentin, with deep fceiing.
4 « I see," answered his uncle — u I comprehend.
Cunning rogues — very cunning ! — They might
have been cheated though - s for look ye, fair
nephew, I myself remember the canon Kobersart
who had taken the vows, and afterwards broke
out of cloister, and became a captain of Free
Companions. He had a mistress, the prettiest
wench i ever saw, and three as beautiful chil-
dren — There is no trusting monks, fair nephew,
— no trusting them — they may become soldiers
and fathers when you least expect it — but on
with your tale/'
*< I have little more to tell," said Durward,
kl except that, considering my poor mother in
some degree a pledge for me, I took the dress of
a novice, and conformed to the cloister rules,
and even learned to read and write."
" To read and write !'* exclaimed Le Balafre,
who was one of those sort of people who think
all knowledge is miraculous which chances to ex-
ceed their own — « l To write, sayst thou, and to
read ! I cannot believe it — never Durward could
write his name that ever I heard of, nor Lesly
either. I can answer for one of them — -I can
no more write than I can fly. Now, in Saint
Louis's name, how did they teach it you ?"
u It was troublesome at first," said Durward,
« l but became more easy by use ; and I was weak
with my wounds and loss of blood, and desirous
to gratify my preserver, Father Peter, and so I
was the more easily kept to my task. But after
several months' languishing, my good kind mo-
6f
66 THE MAN-AT-ARMS.
ther died, and as my health was now fully re-
stored, I communicated to my benefactor, who
was also Sub-Prior of the Convent, my reluc-
tance to take the vows ; and it was agreed be-
tween us, since my vocation lay not to the clois-
ter, that I should be sent out into the world to
seek my fortune, and that, to save the Sub-Prior
from the anger of the Ogilvies, my departure
should have the appearance of flight ; and to co-
lour it, I brought off the Abbot's hawk with
me. But I was regularly dismissed, as will ap-
pear from the hand and seal of the Abbot him-
self."
"That is right — that is well," said his uncle.
<< Our King cares little what theft thou may'st
have made, but hath a horror at any thing like a
breach of the cloister. And, 1 warrant thee,
thou hadst no great treasure*to bear thy charges ?"
*« Only a few pieces of silver," said the youth ;
" for to you, fair uncle, I must make a free con-
fession."
" Alas !" replied Le Balafre, l < that is hard.
Now, though I am never a hoarder of my pay,
because it doth ill to bear a charge about one in
these perilous times, yet I always have (and I
would advise you to follow my example) some
odd gold chain or bracelet, or carcanet, that
serves for the ornament of my person, and can
at need spare a superfluous link or two for any
immediate purpose. — But you may ask, fair kins-
man, how you are to come by such toys at this?
-^(he shook his chain with complacent triumph)
— They hang not on every bush — they grow not
in the fields like the daffodils, with whose stalks
children make knights' collars. What then ?— .
you may get such were I got this, in the ser-
vice of the good King of France, where there is
THE MAN-AT-ARMS. 67
always wealth to be found, if a man has but the
heart to seek it, at the risk of a little life or so.'*
l < I understood," said Quentin, evading a de-
cision to which he felt himself as yet scarce com-
petently informed, "that the Duke of Burgundy
keeps a more noble state than the King of France,
and that there is more honour to be won under
his banners — that good blows are struck there,
and deeds of arms done ; while the Most Chris-
tian King, they say, gains his victories by his
ambassador's tongues."
" You speak like a foolish boy, fair nephew,"
answered he with the Scar ; " and yet, I bethink
me, when I came hither I was nearly as simple :
I could never think of a King but what I sup-
posed him sitting under the high deas, and feast-
ing amid his high vassals and Paladins, eating
blanc-manger, with a great gold crown upon his
head, or else charging at the head of his troops
like Charlemagne in the romaunts, or like Robert
Bruce or William Wallace in our own true his-
tories. Hark in thine ear, man — it is all moon-
shine in the water. Policy — policy does it all.
It is an art our King has found out, to fight
with other men's swords, and to wage his soldiers
out of other men's purses. Ah ! it is the wisest
Prince that ever put purple on his back — and yet
he wearetti not much of that neither — I see him
often go plainer than I would think befitted me
to do."
" But you meet not my exception, fair uncle,"
answered young Durward ; « 4 I would serve,
since serve I must in a foreign land, somewhere
where a brave deed, were it my hap to do one,
might work me a name."
4 « I understand you, my fair nephew," said the
royal man-at-arms, " I understand you passing
well y but you are unripe in these matters. The
68 THE MAN-AT-ARMS.
Duke of Burgundy is a hot-headed, impetuous,
pudden-headed, iron-ribbed dare all. He charges
at the head of his nobles and native knights,
his liegemen of Artois and Hainault ; think you,
if you were there, or if I were there myself, that
we could be much farther forward than the Duke
and all his brave nobles of his own land ? if we
were not up with them, we had a chance to be
turned on the Provost Marshall's hands for being
slow in making to ; if we were abreast of them,
all would be called well, and we might be
thought to have deserved our pay ; and grant
that I was a spears-length or so in the front,
which is both difficult and dangerous in such a
melee, where all do their best, why, my lord
duke says, in his Flemish, when he sees a good
blow struck, « Ha ! gut getrojfen ! a good lance
— a brave Scot — give him a florin to drink our
health ;' but neither rank, nor lands, nor treasures,
come to the stranger in such a service — all goes
to the children of the soil.
* c And where should it go, in heaven's name,
fair uncle V 9 demanded young Durward.
<< To him that protects the children of the
soil" said Balafre, drawing up his gigantic
height. "Thus says King Louis: — My good
French peasant— -mine honest Jacques Bon-
homme — get you to your tools, your plough and
your harrow, your pruning knife and your hoe
— here is my gallant Scot that will fight for you,
and you shall only have the trouble to pay him —
And you, my most serene duke, my illustrious
count, and my most mighty marquis, even rein
up your fiery courage till it is wanted, for it is
apt to start out of the course, and to hurt its
master; here are my companies of ordonance —
here are my French Guards — here are, above
all, my Scottish Archers, and mine honest Lu-
THE MAN-AT-ARMS. 69
dovic with the Scar, who will fight as well or
better than you, with all that undisciplined va-
lour which, in your father's time, lost Cressy and
Azincour.' Now, see you not in which of these
states a cavalier of fortune holds the highest rank,
and must come to the highest honour V
" I think I understand you, fair uncle," an-
swered the nephew ; but, in my mind, honour
cannot be won where there is no risk. Sure, this
is — I pray you pardon me — an easy and almost
slothful life, to mount guard round an elderly
man whom no one thinks of harming, to spend
summer-day and winter-night up in yonder bat-
tlements, and shut up all the while in iron cages,
for fear you should desert your posts — uncle,
uncle, it is but the hawk upon his perch, who is
never carried out to the fields !"
" Now, by Saint Martin of Tours, the boy
has some spirit! a right touch of the Lesly in
him ; much like myself, though always with a
little more folly in it. Hark ye, youth' — Long
live the King of France ! — scarce a day but there
is some commission in hand, by which some of
his followers may win both coin and credit. Think
not that the bravest and most dangerous deeds
are done by daylight. I could tell you of some,
as scaling castles, making prisoners, and the like,
where one who shall be nameless hath run higher
risk, and gained greater favour than any des-
perado in the train of desperate Charles of Bur-
gundy. And if it please his Majesty to remain
behind, and in the back-ground, while such things
are doing, he hath the more leisure of spirit to
admire, ana tne more liberality of hand to re-
ward the adventurers, whose dangers perhaps,
and whose feats of arms, he can better judge of
than if he had personally shared them. O, 'tis
a sagacious and most politic monarch \"
70 THE MAN-AT-ARMS.
His nephew paused, and then said, in a low
but impressive tone of voice, u The good father
Peter used often to teach me there might be
much danger in deeds by which little glory was
acquired. I need not say to you, fair uncle, that
I do in course suppose that these secret commis-
sions must needs be honourable."
" For whom or for what take you me, fair
nephew ?" said Baiafre, somewhat sternly ; " I
have not been trained, indeed in the cloister,
neither can I write or read. But I am your mo-
ther's brother ; I am a loyal Lesly. Think you
that I am like to recommend to you any thing
unworthy? The best knight in France, De
Guesclin himself, if he were alive again, might
be proud to number my deeds among his achieve-
ments.
" I cannot doubt your warranty, fair uncle,"
said the youth j " you are the only adviser my
mishap has left me. But is it true, as fame says,
that this king keeps a meagre court here at his
Castle of Plessis? No repair of nobles or courtiers,
none of his grand feudatories in attendance, none
of the high officers of the crown ; half solitary
sports, shared only with the menials of his house-
hold ; secret councils, to which only low and
obscure men are invited ; rank and nobility de-
pressed, and men raised from the lowest origin
to the kingly favour — -all this seems unregulated,
resembles not the manners of his father, the noble
Charles, who tore from the fangs of the English
lion this more than half-conquered kingdom of
France."
" You speak like a giddy child," saia JL,e &a-
lafre, " and even as a child you harp over the
same notes on a new string. Look you : if the
King employs Oliver Dain, his barber, to do
what Oliver can do better than any peer of them
THE MAN-AT-ARMS. 71
all, is not the kingdom the gainer? If he bids
his stout Provost-Marshal Tristan, arrest such
or such a seditious burgher, take off such or
such a turbulent noble, the deed is done, and
no more of it ; when, were the commission given
to a duke or peer of France, he might perchance
send the King back a defiance in exchange. If,
again, the King pleases to give to plain Ludovic
le Balafre a commission which he will execute,
instead of employing the high constable, who
would perhaps betray it, doth it not shew wis-
dom ? Above all, doth not a monarch of such
conditions best suit cavaliers of fortune, who
must go where their services are most highly
prised, and most frequently in demand? — No,
no, child, I tell thee Louis knows how to choose
his confidants, and what to charge them with ;
suiting, as they say, the burthen to each man's
back. He is not like the King of Castile, who
choked of thirst, because the great butler was
not beside to hand his cup. — But hark to the bell
of Saint Martins ! I must hasten back to the
castle. — Farewel — make much of yourself, and
at eight to-morrow morning present yourself be-
fore the drawbridge, and ask for me at the centi-
nel. Take heed ye step not off the straight and
beaten path in approaching the portal ! it may
cost you a limb, which you will sorely miss. You
shall see the king, and learn to judge him for
yourself — farewel."
So saying, Balafre hastily departed, forgetting
in his hurry, to pay for the wine he had called
for, a shortness of memory incidental to persons
of his description, and which his host, overawed,
perhaps, by the nodding bonnet and ponderous
two-handed sword, did not presume to use any
efforts for correcting.
It might have been expected that, when left
72 THE BOHEMIANS.
alone, Durward would have again betaken him-
self to his turret, in order to watch for the repe-
tition of those delicious sounds which had soothed
his morning reverie. But that was a chapter of
romance, and his uncle's conversation had opened
to him a page of the real history of life. It was
no pleasing one, and for the present the recollec-
tions and reflections which it excited, were quali-
fied to overpower other thoughts, and especially-
all of a light and soothing nature.
Quentin resorted to a solitary walk along the
banks of the rapid Cher, having previously in-
quired of his landlord for one which he might
traverse without fear of disagreeable interruption
from snares and pitfalls, and there endeavoured
to compose his turmoiled and scattered thoughts,
and consider his future motions, upon whicji his
meeting with his uncle had thrown some dubiety.
CHAPTER VI.
THE BOHEMIANS.
Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dantonly gaed he,
He play '(I a spring, and danced a round
Beneaih the gallows tree.
Old Song.
The manner in which Quentin Durward had
been educated, was not of a kind to soften the
heart, or perhaps to improve the moral feeling.
He, with the rest of his family, had been trained
to the chase as an amusement, and taught to con-
sider war as their only serious occupation, and
THE BOHEMIAN'S. 73
that it was the great duty of their lives stubbornly
to endure, and fiercely to retaliate, the attacks of
their feudal enemies, by whom their race had
been at last almost annihilated. And yet there
mixed with these feuds a spirit of rude chivalry,
and even courtesy, which softened their rigour ;
so that revenge, their only justice, was still pro-
secuted with some regard to humanity and ge-
nerosity. The lessons of the worthy old monk,
better attended to, perhaps, during a long illness
and adversity? than they might have been in
health and success, had given young Durward
still farther insight into the duties of humanity
towards others ; and, considering the ignorance
of the period, the general prejudices entertained
in favour of a military life, and the manner in
which he himself had been bred, the youth was
^disposed to feel more accurately the moral duties
Encumbent on his station than was usual at the
time.
He reflected on his interview with his uncle
with a sense of embarrassment and disappoint-
ment. His hopes had been high ; for although
intercourse by letters was out of the question,
yet a pilgrim, or an adventurous trafficker, or a
crippled soldier, sometimes brought Lesly's name
to Glen-houlakin, and all united in praising his
undaunted courage, and his success in many
petty enterprises which his master had entrusted
to him. Quentin's imagination had filled up the
sketch in his own way, and assimilated his suc-
cessful and adventurous uncle (whose exploits
probably lost nothing in the telling) to some of
the champions and knight-errants of whom min-
strels sang, and who won crowns and kings'
daughters by dint of sword and lance. He was
now compelled to rank his kinsman much lower
in the scale of chivalry j though blinded by the
Vol. I.— 7
74 THE BOHEMIANS.
high respect paid to parents, and those who aj>
proach that character — moved by every early
prejudice in his favour — inexperienced besides,
and passionately attached to his mother's me-
mory, he saw not, in the only brother of that
dear relation, the character which he truly held,
which was that of an ordinary mercenary soldier,
neither much worse nor greatly better than the
numbers of the same profession whose presence
added to the distracted state of France.
Without being wantonly cruel, Balafre was,
from habit, indifferent to human life and human
suffering ; he was profoundly ignorant, greedy
of booty, unscrupulous how he acquired it, and
profuse in expending it on the gratification of
his own passions. The habit of attending ex-
clusively to his own wants and interests, had
converted him into one of the most selfish ani-
mals in the world ; so that he was seldom able, as
the reader may have remarked to proceed far in
any subject without considering how it applied
to himself, or, as it is called, making the case
his own, though not upon feelings connected
with the golden rule, but such as were very dif-
ferent. To this must be added, that the narrow
round of his duties and his pleasures had gra-
dually circumscribed his thoughts, hopes, and
wishes, and quenched in a great measure the
wild spirit of honour, and desire of distinction
in arms, by which he had been once animated.
Balafre was, in short, a keen soldier, hardened,
selfish, and narrow minded ; active and bold in
the discharge of his duty, but acknowledging few
objects beyond it, excepting the formal obser-
vance of a careless devotion, relieved by an oc-
casional debauch with brother Boniface, his com-
rade and confessor. Had his genius been of a
more extended character, he would probably
THE BOHEMIANS. 75
have been promoted to some important command,
for the King, who knew every soldier of his body-
guard personally, reposed much confidence in
Balafre's courage and fidelity ; and besides, the
Scot had either wisdom or cunning enough per-
fectly to understand, and ably to humour, the pe-
culiarities of that sovereign. Still, however, his
capacity was too much limited to admit of his
rising to higher rank, and though smiled on and
favoured by Louis on many occasions, Balafre
continued a mere life-guards-man.
Without seeing the full scope of his uncle's
character, Quentin felt shocked at his indifference
to the disastrous extirpation of his brother-in-
law's whole family, and could not help being sur-
prised, moreover, that so near a relative had not
offered him the assistance of his purse, which, but
for the generosity of Maitre Pierre, he would
have been under the necessity of directly craving
from him. He wronged his uncle, however, in
supposing that this want of attention to his pro-
bable necessities was owing to actual avarice.
Not precisely needing money himself at that mo-
ment, it had not occurred to Balafre that his ne-
phew might be in exigencies; otherwise, he held
a near kinsman so much a part of himself, that he
would have provided for the weal of the living
nephew, as he endeavoured to do for that of his de-
ceased sister and her husband. But whatever was
the motive, the neglect was very unsatisfactory to
young Durward, and he wished more than once
he had taken service with the Duke of Bur-
gundy before he quarrelled with his forester.
*« Whatever had then become of me," he thought
to himself, " I would always have been able to
keep up my spirits with the reflection, that I had,
in case of the worst, a stout back-friend in this
uncle of mine. But now I have seen him, and,
76 THE BOHEMIANS.
woe worth him, there has been more help in a
mere mechanical stranger than I have found in
my own mother's brother, my countryman and a
cavalier. One would think the slash, that has car-
ved all comeliness out of his face, had let at the
same time every drop of gentle blood out of his
body."
Durward now regretted he had not had an op-
portunity to mention Maitre Pierre to Balafre,
in he pes of obtaining some farther account of that
personage ; but his uncle's questions had been
huddl-d fast on each other, and the summons
of the j/reat bell of Saint Martin of Tours had
broken off their conference rather suddenly. That
old man, he recollected, was crabbed and dogged
in appearance, sharp and scornful in language,
but generous anu liberal in his actions ; and such
a stranger is worth a cold kinsman — < l What
says our old Scottish proverb ? — * Better kind
fremit, than fremit kindred.* I will find out
that man, which, methinks, should be no difficult
task, since he is so wealthy as mine host bespeaks
him. He will give me good advice for my go-
vernance, at least ; and if he goes to strange
countries, as many such do, I know not but his
may be as adventurous a service as that of those
Guards of Louis."
As Quentin framed this thought, a whisper
from those recesses of the heart in which lies
much that the owner does not know of, or will
not acknowledge willingly, suggested that, per-
chance, the lady of the turret, she of the veil
and the lute, might share that adventurous jour-
ney.
As the Scottish youth made these reflections,
he met two grave-looking men, apparently citi-
zens of Tours, whom doffing his cap with the
reverence due from youth to age, he respect-
THE BOHEMIANS. 77
fully asked to direct him to the house of Maitre
Pierre.
u The house of whom, my fair son V 9 said one
of the passengers.
'<Of Maitre Pierre, the great silk merchant,
who planted all the mulberry trees in the park
yonder," said Durward.
" Young man,* 7 said one of them who was
nearest to him, < 4 you have taken up an idle trade
a little too early. '* •
4t And have chosen wrong subjects to practise
your fooleries upon," said the farther one, still
more gruffly. "The Syndic of Tours is not ac-
customed to be thus talked to by strolling jes-
ters from foreign parts.'*
Quentin was so much surprised at the cause-
less offence which these two decent-looking per-
sons had taken at a very simple and civil ques-
tion, that he forgot to be angry at the rudeness
of their reply, and stood staring after them as
they walked on with amended pace, often looking
back at him, as if they were desirous to get as
soon as possible out of his reach.
He next met a party of vine-dressers, and ad-
dressed to them the same question ? and in re-
ply, they demanded to know whether'he wanted
Maitre Pierre, the schoolmaster? or Maitre Pi-
erre, the carpenter ? or Maitre Pierre, the bea-
dle ? or half-a-dozen Maitre Pierres besides.
When none of these corresponded with the de-
scription of the person after whom he inquired,
the peasants accused him of jesting with them
impertinently, and threatened to fall upon him
and beat him, in guerdon of his raillery. The
oldest among them, who had some influence
over the rest, prevailed on them to desist from
violence.
M You see by his speech and his fool's cap, 1 '
n
78 THE BOHEMIANS.
said he, "that he is one of the foreign mounte-
banks who are come into the country, and whom
some call magicians and soothsayers, and some
jugglers and the like, and there is no knowing
what tricks they have amongst them. I have
heard of such a one paying a hard to eat his belly
full of grapes in a poor man's vineyard ; and he
eat as many as would have loaded a wain, and
never undid a button of his jerkin-— and so let
him pass quietly, and keep his way, as we will
keep ours : And you, friend, if you would shun
worse, walk quietly on, in the name of God, our
Lady of Marmonthier, and Saint Martin of
Tours, and trouble us no more about your Mai-
tre Pierre, which may be another name for the
devil for aught we know."
The Scot, finding himself much the weaker
party, judged it his wisest course to walk on
without reply j but the peasants, who at first
shrunk from him in horror, at his sup'posed ta-
lents for sorcery and grape devouring, took heart
of grace as he got to a distance, and having ut-
tered a few cries and curses, finally gave them
emphasis with a shower of stones, although at
such a distance as to do little or no harm to
the object of their displeasure. Quentin, as he
pursued his walk, began to think, in his turn,
either that he himself lay under a spell, or that
the people of Touraine were the most stupid,
brutal, aud inhospitable of the French peasants.
The next incident which came under his obser-
vation did not tend to diminish this opinion.
On a slight eminence, rising above the rapid
and beautiful Cher, in the direct line of his path,
two or three large chesnut trees were so hap-
pily placed as to form a distinguished and re-
markable groupe ; and beside them stood three
nr four peasants, motionless, with their eyes turn-
THE BOHEMIANS. 79
ed upwards, and fixed apparently, upon some
object amongst the branches of the tree next to
them. The meditations of youth are seldom so
profound as not to yield to the slightest impulse
of curiosity, as easily as the lightest pebble,
dropped casually from the hand, breaks the sur-
face of a limpid pool. Quentin hastened his
pace, and ran lightly up the rising ground, time
enough to witness the ghastly spectacle which
attracted the notice of these gazers — which was
nothing less than the body of a man convulsed
by the last agony, suspended on one of the bran-
ches.
" Why do you not cut him down ?" said the
young Scot, whose hand was as ready to assist
affliction, as to maintain his own honour when he
deemed it assailed.
One of the peasants, turning on him an eye
from which fear had banished all expressions but
its own, and a face as pale as clay, pointed to a
mark cut upon the bark of the tree, bearing the
same rude resemblance to a fleur-de-lys which
certain talismanic scratches, well known to our
revenue officers, bear to a broad arrow. Neither
understanding nor heeding the import of this
symbol, young Durward sprung lightly as the
ounce up into the tree, drew from his pouch that
most necessary implement of a Highlander or
woodsman, the trusty skene dhu, and calling to
those below to receive the body on their hands,
cut the rope asunder in less than a minute after
he had perceived the exigency.
But his humanity was ill seconded by the by-
standers. So far from rendering Durward any
assistance, they seemed terrified at the audacity
of his action, and took to flight with one consent,
as if they feared their merely looking on might
have been construed into accession to his daring
80 THE BOHEMIANS.
deed. The body unsupported from beneath,
fell heavily to earth, in such a manner, that
Quentin, who presently afterwards jumped down
had the mortification to see that the last sparks
of life were extinguished. He gave not up his
charitable purpose, however, without farther ef-
forts. He freed the wretched man's neck from
the fatal noose, undid the doublet, threw water
on the face, and practised the other ordinary re-
medies resorted to for recalling suspended ani-
mation.
While he was thus humanely engaged, a wild
clamour of tongues, speaking a language which
he knew not, arose around him ; and he had
scarcely time to observe that he was surrounded
by several men and women of a singular and fo-
reign appearance, when he found himself roughly
seized by both arms, while a naked knife, at the
same moment, was offered to his throat.
4 < Pale slave of Eblis ! said a man, in imperfect
French, « are you robbing him you have mur-
dered ? — But we have you — and you shall abuy
it."
There were knifes drawn on every side of him
as these words were spoken, and the grim and
distorted countenances which glared on him,
were like those of wolves rushing on their pre,y.
Still the young Scot's courage and presence of
mind bore him out. « What mean ye my mas-
ters?" he said ; w if that be your friend's body, I
have just now cut him down, in pure charity, and
you will do better to try to recover his life, than
to misuse an innocent stranger to whom he owes
his chance of escape."
The women had by this time taken possession
of the dead body, and continued the attempts to
recover animation which Durward had been
making use of, though with the like bad success ;
THE BOHEMIANS. 81
so that, desisting from their fruitless efforts, they
seemed to abandon themselves to all the oriental
expressions of grief; the women making a pite-
ous wailing, and tearing their long black hair,
while the men seemed to rend their garments,
and to sprinkle dust upon their heads. They
gradually became so much engaged in their
mourning rites, that they bestowed no longer any
attention on Durward, of whose innocence they
were probably satisfied from circumstances. It
would certainly have been his wisest course to
have left these wild people to their own courses,
but he had been bred in almost a reekless con-
tempt of danger, and felt all the eagerness of
youthful curiosity.
The singular assemblage, both male and fe-
male, wore turbans and caps, more similar, in
general appearance, to his own bonnet than to
those generally worn in France. Several of the
men had curled black beards, and the complexion
of all was nearly as dark as that of Africans.
One or two, who seemed their chiefs, had some
tawdry ornaments of silver about their necks and
in their ears, with showy scarfs of yellow, or
scarlet, or light green j but their legs and arms
were bare, and the whole troop seemed wretched
and squalid in appearance. There were no wea-
pons among them that Durward saw, excepting
the long knives with which they had lately me-
naced him, and one short crooked sabre, or Moor-
ish sword, which was worn by an active looking
young man, who often laid his hand upon the hilt,
while he surpassed the rest of the party in his
extravagant expressions of grief, and seemed to
mingle with them threats of vengeance.
The disordered and yelling group were so dif-
ferent in appearance from any beings whom
Quentin had yet seen, that he was on the point
85 THE BOHEMIANS.
of concluding them to be a party of Saracens, of
those " heathen hounds," who were the oppo-
nents of gentle knights and Christian monarchs,
in all the romances which he had heard or read,
and was about to withdraw himself from a neigh-
bourhood so perilous, when a galloping of horse
was heard, and the supposed Saracens, who had
raised by this time the body of their comrade
upon their shoulders, were at once charged by a
party of French soldiers.
This sudden apparition changed the measured
wailing of the mourners into irregular shrieks of
terror. The body was thrown to the ground in
an instant, and those who were around it shewed
the utmost and most dexterous activity in es-
caping, under the bellies as it were of the horses,
and from the point of the lances which were
IcVcllcd at them, with exclamations of " Down
with the accursed heathen thieves — take and kill
; bind them like beasts— spear them like wolves!"
These cries were accompanied with corres-
ponding acts of violence ? but such was the alert-
ness of the fugitives, the ground being rendered
unfavourable to the horsemen by thickets and
bushes, that only two were struck down and
made prisoners, one of whom was the young fel-
low with the sword, who had previously offered
some resistance. Quentin, whom fortune seemed
at this period to have chosen for the butt of her
shafts, was at this time seized by the soldiers,
and his arms, in spite of his remonstrances,
bound down with a cord ; those who apprehended
him showing a readiness and dispatch in the
operation, which proved them to be no novices
in matters of police.
Looking anxiously to the leader of the horse-
men, from whom he hoped to obtain liberty,
Quentin knew not exactly whether to be pleased
THE BOHEMIANS. 83
or alarmed upon recognising in him the down-
looking and silent companion of Maitre Pierre.
True, whatever crime these strangers might be
accused of, this officer might know, from the
history of the morning, that he, Durward, had
no connection with them whatsoever ; but it was
a more difficult question, whether this sullen
man would be either a favourable judge or a
willing witness in his behalf, and he felt doubtful
whether he would mend his condition by making
any direct application to him.
But there was little leisure for hesitation.
" Trois-Eschelles and Petit-Andre," said the
down-looking officer to two of his band, " these
same trees stand here quite convenient. I will
teach these misbelieving, thieving sorcerers to
interfere with the King's justice, when it has
visited any of their accursed race. Dismount,
my children, and do your office briskly."
Trois-Eschelles and Petit-Andre were in an
instant on foot, and Quentin observed that they
had each, at the crupper and pommel of his sad-
dle, a coil or two of ropes, which they hastily
undid, and shewed that, in fact, each coil formed
a halter, with the fatal noose adjusted, ready for
execution. The blood ran cold in Quentin's
veins, when he saw three cords selected, and per-
ceived that it was purposed to put one around
his own neck. He called on the officer loudly,
reminded him of their meeting that morning^
claimed the right of a free-born Scotchman, in
a friendly and allied country, and denied any
knowledge of the persons along with whom he
was seized, or of their misdeeds.
The officer whom Durward thus addressed,
scarce deigned to look at him while he was
speaking, and took no notice whatsoever of the
84 THE BOHEMIANS.
claim he preferred to prior acquaintance. He
barely turned to one or two of the peasants who
were now come forward, either to volunteer their
evidence against the prisoners, or out of curiosity,
and said gruffly, «' Was yonder young fellow with
the vagabonds V\
" That he was, sir, and it please your noble
Provost-ship," answered one of the clowns; " he
was the very first blasphemously to cut down the
rascal whom his majesty's justice most deservedly
hung up, as we told your worship."
« I'll swear by God, and Saint Martin of
Tours, to have seen him with their gang," said
another, when they pillaged our metairie*'*
« Nay, but, father," said a boy, " yonder hea-
then was black, and this youth is fair ; yonder
one had short curled hair, and this hath long
fair locks."
" Ay, child," said the peasant, < c and yonder
one had a green coat and this a grey jerkin. But
his worship, the Provost, knows that they can
change their complexions as easily as their jer-
kins, so that I am still minded he was the same."
" It is enough that you have seen him inter-
meddle with the course of the King's justice, by
attempting to recover an executed traitor," said
the officer, — w Trois-Eschelles and Petit- Andre,
dispatch."
« c Stay, signior officer!" exclaimed the youth,
in mortal agony — l * hear me speak — let me not
die guiltlessly — my blood will be required of
you by my countrymen in this world, and by
heaven's justice in that which is to follow."
u I will answer my actions in both," said the
Provost, coldly ; and made a sign with his left
hand to the executioners; then, with a smile of
triumphant malice, touched with his fore-finger
1HE BOHEMIANS. H5
his right arm, which hung suspended in a scarf,
disabled probably by the blow which Durward
had dealt him that morning.
4 « Miserable vindictive wretch I' 1 — answered
Quentin, persuaded by that action that private
revenge was the sole motive of this man's rigour,
and that no mercy whatever was to be expected
from him.
" The poor youth raves," said the function-
ary; "speak a word of comfort to him ere he
make his transit, Trois-Eschelles ; thou art a
comfortable man in such cases, when a confessor
is not to be had. Give him one minute of ghost-
ly advice, and dispatch matters in the next. I
must proceed on the rounds. — Soldiers, follow
me I"
The Provost rode on, followed by his guard,
excepting two or three who were left to assist
in the execution. The unhappy youth cast
after him an eye almost darkened by despair,
and thought he heard, in every tramp of his
horse's retreating hoofs, the last slight chance of
his safety vanish. He looked around him in
agony, and was surprised, even in that moment,
to see the stoical indifference of his fellow-pri-
soners. They had previously testified every sign
of fear, and made every effort to escape ; but
now, when secured, and destined apparently to
inevitable death, they awaited its arrival with
the most stoical indifference. The scene of fate
before them gave, perhaps, a more yellow tinge
to their swarthy cheeks ; but it neither agitated
their features, nor quenched the stubborn haugh-
tiness of their eye. They seemed like foxes,
which, after all their wiles and artful attempts at
escape are exhausted, die with a silent and sul-
len fortitude, which wolves and bears, the fiercer
objects of the chase, do not exhibit
Vol. I.— 8
86 THE BOHEMIANS.
They were undaunted by the conduct of the
fatal executioners, who went about their work
with more deliberation than their master had
recommended, and which probably arose from
their having acquired by habit a kind of pleasure
in the discharge of their horrid office. We pause
an instant to describe them, because, under a
tyranny, whether despotic or popular the cha-
racter of the hangman becomes a subject of grave
importance.
These functionaries were essentially different
in their appearance and manners. Louis used to
call them Democritus and Heraclitus, and their
master, the Provost, termed them, Jean-qui-
pieure y and Jean-qui-rht.
Trois-Eschelles was a tall, thin, ghastly man,
with a peculiar gravity of visage, and a large ro-
sary round his neck, the use of which he was ac-
customed piously to offer to those sufferers on
whom he did his duty. He had one or two
Latin texts continually in his mouth on the noth-
ingness and vanity of human life ; and, had it
been regular to have enjoyed such a plurality, he
might have held the office of confessor to the
jail in commendam with that of executioner.
Petit- Andre, on the contrary, was a joyous-look-
ing, round, active, little fellow, who roiled about
in execution of his duty as if it was the most di-
verting occupation in the world. He seemed to
have a sort of fond affection for his victims, and
always spoke of them in kindly and affectionate
terms. They were his poor honest follows, his
pretty dears, his gossips, his good old fathers, as
their .<ge or sex might be ; and as Trois-Eschei-
les endeavoured to inspire them with a philoso-
phical or religious regard to futurity, Petit-An-
dre seldom failed to refresh them with a jest or
two, to make them pass from life as something
THE BOHEMIANS. 8(
that was ludicrous, contemptible, and not wor-
thy of serious consideration.
I cannot tell why or wherefore it was, but
these two excellent persons, notwithstanding the
variety of their talents, and the rare occurrence
of such among persons of their profession, were
both more utterly detested than, perhaps, any
creatures of their kind, whether before or since ;
and the only doubt of those who knew aught of
them was, whether the grave and pathetic Trois-
Eschelles, or the frisky, comic, alert Petit-Andre,
was the object of the greatest fear or of the deep-
est execration. It is certain they bore the palm
in both particulars over every hangman in France,
unless it were perhaps their master, Tristan
THermite, the renowned Provost-Marshal, or
his master, Louis XI.
It must not be supposed that these reflections
were of Quentin Durward's making. Life, death,
time, and eternity, were swimming before his
eyes— a stunning and overwhelming prospect,
from which human nature recoiled in its weak-
ness, though human pride Would fain have borne
up. He addressed himself to the God of his
fathers ; and when he did so, the little rude, and
unroofed chapel, which now held almost all his
race but himself, rushed on his recollection.
" Our feudal enemies gave us graves in our own
land,'* he thought, " but I must feed the ravens
and kites of a foreign land, like an excommuni-
cated felon." The tears gushed involuntarily
from his eyes. Trois-Eschelles, touching one
shoulder, gravely congratulated him on his hea-
venly disposition for death, and pathetically ex-
claiming, Bead qui in Domino moriuntur, re-
marked the soul was happy that left the body
while the tear was in the eye. Petit-Andre,
slapping the other shoulder, called out, «* Cou-
S8 THE BOHEMIANS.
rage, my fair son ! since you must begin the
dance, let the ball open gaily, for all the rebecs
are in tune," twitching the halter at the same
time, to give point to his joke. As the youth
turned his dismayed looks, first on one and then
on the other, they made their meaning plainer by
gently urging him forward to the fatal tree, and
bidding him be of good courage, for it would be
over in a moment.
In this fatal predicament, the youth cast a dis-
tracted look around him. " Is there any good
Christian who hears me," he said, " that will tell
J,udovic Leslie of the Scottish Guard, called in
this country Le Balafre, that his nephew is here
basely murthered V 9
The words were spoken in good time, for an
Archer of the Scottish Guard, attracted by the
preparations for the execution, was standing by,
with one or two other chance-passengers, to wit-
ness what was passing.
" Take heed what you do," he said to the exe-
cutioners ; "if this young man be of Scottish
birth, I will not permk him to have foul play."
«< Heaven forbid, Sir Cavalier," said Trois-
Eschelles ; u but we must obey our orders,"
drawing Durward forward by one arm.
« The shortest play is ever the fairest," said
Petit-Andre, pulling him onward by the other.
But Quentin had heard words of comfort, and,
exerting his strength, he suddenly shook off both
the finishers of the law, and, with his arms still
bound, ran to the Scottish Archer. «* Stand by
me," he said in his own language, < l countryman,
for the love of Scotland and Saint Andrew ! I
am innocent — I am your own native landsman.
Stand by me, as you shall answer at the last day !"
THE BOHEMIANb, 89
u By Saint Andrew ! they shall make at you
through me," said the Archer, and unsheathed
his sword.
u Cut my bonds, countryman,'' said Quentin,
"and I will do something for myself."
This was done with a touch of the Archer's
weapon ; and the liberated captive, springing
suddenly on one of the Provost's guard, wrested
from him a halberd with which he was armed ;
" And now," he said, " come on if you dare."
The two officer whimpered together.
"Ride thou after the Provost-Marhal," said
Trois-Eschelles, "and I will detain them here,
if I can. — Soldiers of the Provost's guard, stand
to your arms."
Petit Andre mounted his horse and left the
field, and the other marshalls-men in attendance
drew together so hastily at the command of
Trois-Eschelles, that they suffered the other two
prisoners to make their escape during the confu-
sion. Perhaps they were not very anxious to
detain them ; for they had of late been sated with
the blood of such wretches, and, like other fero-
cious animals, were, through long slaughter,
become tired of carnage. But the pretext was,
that they thought themselves immediately called
upon to attend to the safety of Trois-Eschelles ;
for there was a jealousy, which occasionally led
to open quarrels betwixt the Scottish Archers
and the Marshal-guards, who executed the orders
of their Provost.
'« We are strong enough to beat the proud
Scots twice over, if it be your pleasure,'' said
one of these soldiers to Trois-Eschelles.
But that cautious official made a sign to him
to remain quieV a na * addressed the Scottish
Archer with great civility. " Surely, sir, this is
a great insult to the Provost-Marshal, that you
8f
90 THE BOHEMIANS.
should presume to interfere with the course of
the King's justice, duly and lawfully committed
to his charge ; and it is no act of justice to me,
who am in lawful possession of my criminal.
Neither is it a well-meant kindness to the youth
himself, seeing that fifty opportunities of hang-
ing him may occur, without his being found in
so happy a state of preparation as he was before
your ill-advised interference."
" If my young countryman," said the Scot,
smiling, " be of opinion I have done him an in-
jury, I will return him to your charge without a
word more dispute."
" No, no ! — for the love of Heaven, no !" ex-
claimed Quentin. u I would rather you swept
my head off with your long sword — it would bet-
ter become my birth, than to die by the hands of
such a foul churl."
•' Hear how he revileth," said the finisher of
the law. " Alas ! how soon our best resolutions
pass away — he was in a blessed frame for depar-
ture but now, and in two minutes he has become
a contemner of authorities."
" Tell me at once/' said the Archer, " what
has this young man done l"
" Interfered to take down the dead body of a
criminal when \hejleur-de-lys was marked on the
tree where he was hung with my own proper
hand," said the executioner.
"How is this, young man?" said the Archer;
"how come you to have committed such an of-
fence ?"
*• As I desire your protection," answered Dur-
ward, " I will tell you the truth as if I were at
confession. I saw a man struggling on the tree,
and I went to cut him down out of mere human-
ity. I thought neither of fleur-de-lys nor of
clove-gilliflower, and had no more idea of of-
THE BOHEMIANS. 91
fending the King of France than our Father the
Pope."
* What a murrain had you to do with the
dead body, then ? You'll see them hanging, in
the rear of this gentleman, like grapes on every
tree, and you will have enough to do in this coun-
try if you go a gleaning after the hangman.
However, I will not quit a countryman's cause
if I can help it. — Hark yr, Master Marshals-man,
you see this is entirely a mistake. You should
have some compassion on so young a traveller.
In our country at home he has not been accus-
tomed to see such active proceedings as yours
and your master's."
"Not for want of need of them, Signior Ar-
cher/' said Petit-Andre, who returned at this
moment. "Stand fast, Trois-Eschelles, for here
comes the Provost-Marshal ; we shall presently
see how he will relish having his work taken out
of his hand before it is finished."
"And in good time," said the Archer, "here
come some of my comrades."
Accordingly, as the Provost Triston rode up
with his patrole on one side of the little hill
which was the scene of the altercation, four or
five Archers came as hastily up on the other,
and at their head the Balafre himself.
Upon this urgency, Leslie shewed none of
that indifference towards his nephew of which
Quentin had in his heart accused him ; for he
no sooner saw his comrade and Durward stand-
ing upon their defence, than he exclaimed, " Cun-
ningham, I thank thee. Gentlemen — comrades,
lend me your aid — It is a young Scottish gen-
tleman — my nephew — Lindesay— 7 Guthrie — Ty-
rie, draw, and strike in."
There was now every prospect of a desperate
scuffle between the parties, who were not so dis-
92 THE BOHEMIAN..
proportioned in numbers, but that the better
arms of the Scottish cavaliers gave them an equal
chance of victory. But the Provost-Marshal,
either doubting the issue of the conflict, or aware
that it would be disagreeable to the King, made
a sign to his followers to forbear from violence,
while he demanded of Balafre, who now put
himself forward as the head of the other party,
" what he, a cavalier of the King's Body-Guard,
purposed by opposing the execution of a crimi-
nal l»
"I deny that I do so," answered the Balafre.
" Saint Martin ! there is, I think, some difference
between the execution of a criminal, and the
slaughter of my own nephew."
" Your nephew may be a criminal as well as
another, Signor," said the Provost- Marshal ;
♦ 4 and every stranger in France is amenable to
the laws of France."
«■ Yes, but we have privileges, we Scottish
Archers," said Balafre ; " have we not com-
rades?"
" Yes, yes," they all exclaimed together.
44 Privileges — privileges ! Long live King Louis
— long live the bold Balafre — long live the Scot-
tish Guard — and death to all who would infringe
our privileges !"
"Take reason with you, gentlemen cavaliers,"
said the Provost-Marshal ; " consider my com-
mission."
" We will have no reason at your hand," said
Cunningham ; "our own officers shall do us rea-
son. We will be judged by the King's grace,
or by our own Captain, now that the Lord High
Constable is not in presence.' 1
" And we will be hanged by none," said
Lindesay, "but Sandie Wilson, the auld Mar-
shalsman of our ain body."
THE BOHEMIANS. 93
" It would be a positive cheating of Sandie,
who is as honest a man as ever tied noose upon
hemp, did we give way to any other proceed-
ing," said the Balafre. " Were I to be hanged
myself, no other should tie tippet about my
craig."
"But hear ye," said the Provost-Marshal,
" this young fellow belongs not to you, and can-
not share what you call your privileges."
" VVhat we call our privileges, all shall admit
to be such,*' said Cunningham.
M We will not hear them questioned !" was
the universal cry of the Archers.
* l Ye are mad, my masters," said Tristan
PHermite — * 4 No one disputes your privileges j
but this youth is not one of you."
«■ He is my nephew," said the Balafre, with a
triumphant air.
" But no Archer of the Guard, I think," re-
torted Tristan PHermite.
The Archers looked on each other in some
uncertainty.
" Stand to yet, cousin," whispered Cunning-
ham to Balafre — « 4 Say he is engaged with us."
"Saint Martin! you say well, fair kinsman,"
answered JLesly ; and, raising his voice, swore
that he had that day enrolled his kinsman as one
of his own retinue.
This declaration was a decisive argument.
" It is well, gentlemen," said the Provost
Tristan, who was aware of the King's nervous
apprehension of disaffection creeping in among
his Guards — u You know, as you say, your pri-
vileges, and it is not my duty to have brawls
with the King's Guards, if it is to be avoided.
But I will report this matter for the King's own
decision; and I would have vou to be aware,
94 THE BOHEMIANS.
that, in doing so, I act more mildly than perhaps
my duty warrants me."
So saying, he put his troop into motion, while
the Archers remaining on the spot, held a hasty
consultation what was next to be done.
44 We must report the matter to Lord Craw-
ford, our Captain, in the first place, and have the
young fellow's name put on the roll.' 1
« 4 But, gentlemen, and my worthy friends and
preservers," said Quentin, with some hesitation,
44 1 have not yet determined whether to take ser-
vice with you or no."
4 <Then settle in your own mind," said his
uncle, 44 whether you choose to do so, or be
hanged — for I promise you that, nephew of mine
as you are, I see no other chance of your 'scaping
the gallows."
This was an unanswerable argument, and re-
duced Quentin at once to acquiesce in what he
might have otherwise considered as no very agree-
able proposal ; but the recent escape from the
halter, which had been actually around his neck,
would probably have reconciled him to a worse
alternative than was proposed.
44 He must go home with us to our Caserne,"
said Cunningham ; « 4 there is no safety for him
out of our bounds whilst these man-hunters are
prowling about."
4 < May I not then abide for this night at the
hostelrie where I breakfasted, fair unclej" said
the youth — thinking, perhaps, like many a new
recruit, that even a single night of freedom was
something gained.
* 4 Yes, fair nephew," answered his uncle, iron-
ically, 44 that we may have the pleasure of fish-
ing you out of some canal or moat, or perhaps
out of a loop of the Loire, knit up in a sack, for
the greater convenience of swimming — for that
THE BOHEMIANS. 95
is like to be the end on't. — The Provost- Mar-
shal smiled on us when we parted," continued he,
addressing Cunningham, " and that is a sign his
thoughts were dangerous."
" I care not for his danger/' said Cunning-
ham ; "such game as we are is beyond his bird-
bolts. But I would have thee tell the whole to
the Devil's Oliver, who is always a good friend
to the Scottish Guard, and will see Father Louis
before the Provost can, for he is to shave him
to-morrow."
" But hark you,*' said Balafre, «* it is ill going
to Oliver empty-handed, and I am. as bare as the
birch in December."
"So are we all," said Cunningham — <« Oliver
must not scruple to take our Scottish words for
once. We will make up something handsome
among us against the next pay-day ; and if he
expects to share, let me tell you, the pay-day will
come about all the sooner."
** And now for the Chateau," said Balafre ;
"and my nephew shall tell us by the way how
he brought the Provost-Marshal on his shoul-
ders, that we may know how to shape our re-
port both to Crawford and Oliver."
96 THE ENROLMENT
CHAPTER VII.
THE ENROLMENT.
Justice of Peace. — Here, hand me down the Statute — read the
articles —
Swear, kiss the hook — suhscrihe, and be a hero ;
Drawing a portion from the public stock,
For deeds of valour to be done hereafter —
Sixpence ptr day, subsistence and arrears.
The Recruiting Officer.
An attendant upon the Archers having been
dismounted, .Quentin Durvvard was accommoda-
ted with his horse, and, in company of his mar-
tial countrymen, rode at a round pace towards
the Castle of Piessis, about to become, although
on his own part involuntarily, an inhabitant of
that gloomy fortress, the outside of which had,
that morning, struck him with so much surprise.
In the meanwhile, in answer to his uncle's re-
peated interrogations, he gave him an exact ac-
count of the accident which had that morning
brought him into so much danger. Although he
himself saw nothing in his narrative save what
was affecting, he fotind it was received with
much laughter by his escort.
" And yet it is no good jest either," said his
uncle, u for what, in the devil's name, could lead
the senseless boy to meddle with the body of a
cursed misbelieving Jewish Moorish pagan?"
"Had he quarrelled with the Marshals-men
about a pretty wench, as Michael of Moffat did,
there had been more sense in it," said Cunning-
ham.
4W But I think it touches our honour, that
Tristan and his people pretend to confound our
Scottish bonnets with these pilfering vagabonds'
tocques and tur bands, as they call them," said
THE ENROLMENT. 9T
Lindesay — 1 < If they have not eyes to see the
difference, they must be taught by rule of hand.
But it's my belief, Tristan but pretends to mis-
take, that he may snap up the kindly Scots that
come over to see their kinsfolks."
4 « May I ask, kinsman," said Quentin, <■< what
sort of people these are of whom you speak?"
'« In troth you may ask," said his uncle, but
I know not, fair nephew, who is able to answer
you. Not I, I am sure, although I know, it may
be, as much as other people ; but they have ap-
peared in this land within a year or two. just as
a flight of locusts might do."
44 Ay," said Lindesay, " and Jacques Bon-
horame, (that is our name for the peasant, young
man, — you will learn our way of talk by times)
— honest Jacques, I say, cares little what wind
either brings them or the locusts, so he but know
any gale that would carry them away again."
« Do they do so much evil ? said the young
man.
4 « Evil ? — why, boy, they are heathens, or
Jews, or Mahomedans at the lease, and neither
worship our Lady nor the Saint5 — (crossing him-
self) — and steal what they can lay hands on, and
sing, and tell fortunes," added Cunningham.
11 And they say there are some goodly wench-
es amongst these women," said Guthrie; " but
Cunningham knows that best."
44 How, brother !" said Cunningham ; 4< I trust
ye mean me no reproach ?"
*' I am sure I said ye none," answered Guth-
rie.
44 I will be judged by the company." said Cun-
ningham. — ' 4 Ye said as much as that I, a Scot-
tish gentleman, and living within pale of holy
church, had a fair friend amongst these off-scour-
ings of Heathenesse."
Vol. I.— 9
98 THE ENR0LM£N1.
" Nay, nay," said Balafre, " he did but jest
— -We will have no quarrels among comrades."
"We must have no such jesting then," said
Cunningham, murmuring as if he had been speak-
ing to his own beard.
" Be there such vagabonds in other lands than
France ?" said Lindesay.
" Ay in good sooth, are there — tribes of them
have appeared in Germany, and in Spain, and in
England," answered Balafre. *« By the blessing
of good Saint Andrew, Scotland is free of them
yet."
" Scotland," said Cunningham, "is too cold a
country for locusts, and too poor a country for
thieves."
" Or perhaps John Highlander will suffer no
thieves to thrive there but his own," said Gu-
thrie.
" I let you all know," said Balafre, " that I
come from the braes of Angus, and have gentle
Highland kin in Glen-isla, and I will not have
the Highlanders slandered."
" You will not deny that they are cattle lift-
ers ?" said Guthrie.
« To drive a spreagh, or so, is no thievery ,»'
said Balafre, < c and that I will maintain when and
how you dare."
" For shame, comrade," sa'id Cunningham ;
'« who quarrels now ? the young man should not
see such mad misconstruction. — Come, here we
are at the chateau. I will bestow a runlet of wine
to have a rouse in friendship, and drink to Scot-
land, Highland and Lowland both, if you will
meet me at dinner at my quarters."
<' Agreed — agreed," said Balafre ; (i and I
will bestow another, to wash away unkindness,
and to drink a health to my nephew on his first
entrance to our corps. 1 '
THE ENROLMENT. 99
At their approach, the wicket was opened, and
the draw-bridge fell. One by one they entered ;
but when Quentin appeared, the sentinels crossed
their pikes, and commanded him to stand, while
bows were bent and harquebusses aimed at him
from the walls — a rigour of vigilance used, not-
withstanding that the young stranger came in
company or a party of the garrison, nay, of the
very body which furnished the sentinels who
were then on duty.
Balafre, who had remained by his nephew's
side on purpose, gave the necessary explanations,
and, after some considerable hesitation and de-
lay, the youth was conveyed under a strong guard
to the Lord Crawford's apartment.
This Scottish nobleman was one of the last
reliques of the gallant band of Scottish lords and
knights who had so long and so truly served
Charles VI. in those bloody wars which decided
the independence of the French crown, and the
expulsion of the English. He had fought, when
a boy abreast with Douglas and with Buchan,
had ridden beneath the banner of the Maid of
Arc, and was perhaps one of the last of those as-
sociates of Scottish chivalry who had so willingly
drawn their swords for the fleur-de-lys, against
the "auld enemies of England." Changes which
had taken place in the Scottish kingdom, and
perhaps his having become habituated to French
climate and manners, had induced the old Baron
to resign all thoughts of returning to his native
country, the rather that the high office which he
held in the household of Louis, and his own frank
and loyal character, had gained a considerable
ascendency over the King, who, though in gene-
ral no ready believer in human virtue or honour,
-rusted and confided in those of the Lord Craw-
100 THK ENROLMENT.
ford, and allowed him the greater influence, be=
cause he was nevci known to interfere excepting
in matters which cone- rued his charge.
JBalafre and Cunningham followed Durward
and the guard to the apartment of their officer,
by whose dignified appearance as well as with
the respect paid to him by these proud soldiers,
who seemed to respect no one else, the young
man was much and strongly impressed.
Lord Crawford was tall, and through advanced
age had become gaunt and thin ; yet retaining
in his sinews the strength at least, if not the elas-
ticity, of youth, he was able to endure the weight
of his armour during a march as well as the
youngest man who rode in his band. He was
hard-favoured, with a scarred and weather-bea-
ten countenance, and an eye that had looked upon
death as his play fellow in thirty pitched battles,
but which nevertheless expressed a good-humour-
ed contempt of danger, rather than the ferocious
courage of a mercenary soldier. His tall erect
figure was at present wrapped in a loose cham-
ber-gown, secured around him by his buff belt,
in which was suspended his richlv-hilted poniard.
He had round his neck the collar and badge of
the order of Saint Michael. He sat upon a couch
covered with deer's hide and with spectacles on
his nose, (then a recent invention,) was labour-
ing to read a huge manuscript called the Rosier
de la guerre, a code of military and civil policy
which Louis had compiled for the benefit of his
son the Dauphin, and upon which he was desi-
rous to have the opinion of the experienced Scot-
tish warrior.
Lord Crawford laid his book somewhat pee-
vishly aside upon the entrance of these unexpec-
ted visitors, and demanded, in his broad national
THE ENROLMENT. 101
dialect, < l what in the foul fiend's name, they lack-
ed now ?'»
Balafre, with more respect than perhaps 'r.
would have shewn to Louis himself* statt
full length the circumstances in which his nephew
was placed, and humbly requested his Lord-
ship's protection. Lord Crawford listened very
attentively. He could not but smile at the sim-
plicity with which the youth had interfered in
behalf of the hanged criminal, but he shook his
head at the account which he received of the
ruffle betwixt the Scottish Archers and the Pro-
vost-Marshal's guard.
" How often," he said, " will you bring me such
ill-winded pirns to ravel out ? How often must I
tell you, and especially both you, Ludovie Lesly,
and you, Archie Cunningham, that the foreign
soldier should bare himself modestly and deco-
rously towards the people of the country, if you
would not have the whole dogs of the town at
your heels ! However, if you must have a bar-
gain, I would rather it were with that loon of a
Provost than any one else ; and I blame you
less for this onslaught than for other frays that
you have made, Ludovie, for it was but natural
and kindlike to help your young kinsman. The
simple bairn must come to no sketh neither ; so
give me the roll of the company yonder down
from the shelf and we will even add his name
to the troop, that he may enjoy the privileges."
•* May it please your Lordship — "said Dur-
ward
«« Is the lad crazed 1" exclaimed his uncle —
" Would you speak to his Lordship, without a
question asked V 9
" Patience, Ludovie'' said Lord Crawford,
*< and let us hear what the bairn has to sa; .'
'« Onlv this, if it may please your Lordship,"
9+
102 THE ENROLMENT
replied Quentin, " that I told my uncle formerly
I had some doubts about entering this service. I
have now to say that they are entirely removed,
since I have seen the noble and experienced com-
mander under whom I am to serve j for there is
authority in your look."
" Weel said, my bairn," said the old Lord, not
insensible to the compliment ; '< we have had
some experience, had God sent us grace to im-
prove by it, both in service and in command.
There you stand, Quentin, in our honourable
corps of Scottish Body-Guards, as esquire to
your uncle, and serving under his lance. I trust
you will do well, for you should be a right man-
at-arms, if all be good that is up-come, and you
are come of a gentle kindred. — Ludovic, you will
see that your kinsman follows his exercise dili-
gently, for we will have spears breaking one of
these days.'*
"By my hilts, and I am glad of it, my Lord
— this peace makes cowards of us all. I myself
feel a sort of decay of spirit, closed up in this
cursed dungeon of a Castle."
" Well, a bird whistled in my ear," continued
Lord Crawford, " that the old banner will be
soon dancing in the field again."
" I will drink a cup the deeper this evening to
that very tune," said Balafre.
" Thou wilt drink to any tune," said Lord
Crawford ; " and I fear me, Ludovic, you will
drink a bitter browst of your own brewing one
day."
Leslie, a little abashed, replied, " that it had
not being his wont for many a day : but his Lord-
ship knew the use of the company, to have a ca-
rouse to the health of a new comrade.''
" True" said the old leader, " I had forgot the
occasion. I will send a few stoups of wine to as-
THE ENROLMENT. 103
sist your carouse ; but let it be over by sunset.
And, hark ye — let the soldiers for duty be care-
fully pricked off; and see that none of them be
more or less partakers of your debauch."
" Your Lordship shall be lawfully obeyed/'
said Ludovick, and your health duly remem-
bered."
u Perhaps," said Lord Crawford, " I may look
in myself upon your mirth — just to see that all
is carried decently." w
" Your Lordship shall be most dearly wel-
come," said Ludovic ; and the whole party re-
treated in high spirits to prepare for their mili-
tary banquet, to which Leslie invited about a
score of his comrades, who were pretty much in
the habit of making their mess together.
A soldier's festival is generally a very extem-
pore affair, providing there is enough of meat and
drink to be had ; but on the. present occasion,
Ludovic bustled about to procure some better
wine than ordinary; observing that the '< old
Lord was the surest gear in their aught, and that,
while he preached sobriety to them, he himself,
after drinking at the royal table as much wine as
he could honestly come by, never omitted any
creditable opportunity to fill up the evening over
the wine-pot ; so you must prepare comrades,*' he
said, " to hear the old histories of the battles of
Vernoil and Beauge.
The Gothic apartment in which they generally
met was, therefore, hastily put into the best or-
der ; their grooms were dispatched to collect
green rushes to spread upon the floor ; and ban-
ners, under which the Scottish Guard had march-
ed to battle, or which they had taken from the
enemies' ranks, were displayed, by way of tapes-
try, over the table, and around the walls of the
chamber.
104 THE ENROLMENT.
The next point was, to invest the young re^
cruit as hastily as possible with the dress and
appropriate arms of the Guard, that he might
appear in every respect the sharer of its import-
ant privileges, in virtue of which, and by the sup-
port of his countrymen, he might freely brave
the power and the displeasure of the Provost-
Marshal — although the one was known to be as
formidable, as the other was unrelenting.
The banquet was joyous in the highest de-
gree ; and the guests gave vent to the whole cur-
rent of their national partiality on receiving into
their ranks a recruit from their beloved father-
land. Old Scottish songs were sung, old tales
of Scottish heroes told — the achievements of
their fathers, and the scenes in which they were
wrought, were recalled to mind ; and, for a time,
the rich plains of Touraine seemed converted
into the mountainous and sterile regions of Cale-
donia.
When their enthusiasm was at high flood, and
each was endeavouring to say something to en-
hance the dear remembrance of Scotland, it re-
ceived a new impulse from the arrival of Lord
Crawford, who, as Balafre had well prophesied,
sat as it were on thorns at the royal board, until
an opportunity occurred of making his escape to
the revelry of his own countrymen. A chair of
state had been reserved for him at the upper end
of the table ; for, according to the manners of
the age, and the constitution of thatbody, although
their leader and commander under the King and
High Constable, the members of the corps, (as
we should now say the privates,) being all rank-
ed as noble by birth, their Captain sat with them
at the same table without impropriety, and might
mingle when he chose in their festivity, without
derogation from his dignity as commander.
THE ENROLMENT. 105
At present, however, Lord Crawford declined
oecup\ ing the seat prepared for him, and bidding
them M hold themselves merry," stood looking
on the revel with a countenance which seemed
greatly to enjoy it.
"Let him alone," whispered Cunningham to
Lindesay, as the latter offered the wine to their
noble Captain, "let him alone — hurry no man ? s
cattle — let him take it of his own accord."
In fact, the old Lord, who a* first smiled,
shook his head, and placed the untasted wine-
cup before him, began presently, as if it were in-
abscner of mind, to sip a little of the contents,
and in doing so, fortunately recollected that it
would be ill luck did he not drink a draught to
the health of the gallant lad who had joined them
this day. The pledge was filled, and answered,
as may be well supposed, with many a joyous
shout, when the old leader proceeded to acquaint
them that he had possessed Master Oliver with
an account of what had passed that day : " And
as he said, "the scraper of chins hath no great
love for the stretcher of throats, he has joined
me in obtaining from the King an order, com-
manding the Provost to suspend all proceedings,
under whatsoever pretence, against Quentin Dur-
ward ; and to respect, on all occasions, the privi-
leges of the Scottish Guard.*'
Annther shout broke forth, the cups were
again filled, till the wine sparkled on the brim,
and there was an acclaim to the health of the
noble Lord Crawford, the brave conservator of
the privileges and rights of his countrymen. The
good old Lord could not but in courtesy do rea-
son to this pledge also, and gliding into the ready
chair as it were, without reflecting what he was
doing, he caused Quentin to come up beside
:;im, and assailed him with many more questions
106 THE ENROLMENT.
concerning the state of Scotland, and the great
families there, than he was well able to answer ;
while ever and anon, in the course of his queries,
the good Lord kissed the wine-cup by way of
parenthesis, remarking, that sociality became
Scottish gentlemen, but that young men, like
Quentin, ought to practice it cautiously, lest it
might degenerate into excess ; upon which oc-
casion he uttered many excellent things, until his
own tongue, although employed in the praises of
temperance, began to articulate something thicker
than usual. It was now that, while the military
ardour of the company augmented with each
flagon which they emptied, Cunningham called
on them to drink the speedy hoisting of the Ori-
fiamme (the royal banner of France).
" And a breeze of Burgundy to fan it !" echo-
ed Lindesay.
*' With all the soul that is left in this worn
body do I accept the pledge, bairns," echoed
Lord Crawford ; "and as old as I am, I trust I
may see it flutter yet. Hark ye, my mates, (for
wine had made him something communicative,)
ye are all true servants to the French crown, and
wherefore should ye not know there is an envoy
come from Duke Charles of Burgundy, with a
message of an angry favour."
'* I saw the Count of Crevecceur's equipage,
horses, and retinue," said another of the guests,
••down at the inn yonder, at the Mulberry
Grove. They say the King will not admit him
into the Castle.
"Now, heaven send him an ungracious au-
swer!" says Guthrie; "but what is it he com-
plains of?"
" A world of grievances upon the frontier,"
said Lord Crawford ; " and latterly, that the
King hath received under his protection a lady
THE ENROLMENT. iU)
of his land, a young Countess, who hath fled
from Dijon, because, being a ward of the Duke,
he would have her marry his favourite, Campo-
basso."
"And hath she actually come hither alone,
my Lord ?" said Lindesay.
"Nay, not altogether alone, but with the old
Countess, her kinswoman, who hath yielded to
her cousin's wishes in this matter."
l * And will the King," said Cunningham, " he
being the Duke's feudal sovereign, interfere be-
tween the Duke and his ward, over whom Charles
hath the same right, which, were he himself
dead, the King would have over the heiress of
Burgundy ?"
" The King will be ruled, as he is wont, by
rules of policy ; and you know," continued Craw-
ford, "that he hath not publicly received these
ladies, nor p:aced them under the protection of
his daughter, the Lady of Beaujeu, or the Prin-
cess Joan, so, doubtless, he will be guided by
circumstances. He is our master — but it is no
treason to say, he shall chase wiih the hounds,
and run with the hare, with any Prince in Chris-
tendom."
" But the Duke of Burgundy understands no
such doubling," said Cunningham.
" No," answered the old Lord ; "and, there-
fore, it is like to make work between them."
" Well — Saint Andrew further the fray," said
Balafre. '< I had it foretold me ten, ay, twenty
years since, that I was to make the fortune of my
house by marriage. Who knows what may hap-
pen, if once we come to fight for honour and la-
dies' love, as they do in the old romaunts ?"
" Thou name ladies' love, with such a trench
in thy visage!" said Gutherie.
108 THE ENROLMENT.
" As well not love at all, as love a Bohemian
woman of Heathenesse," answered Balafre.
" Hold there, comrades," said Lord Crawford;
"no tilting with sharp weapons, no jesting with
keen scoffs — friends all. And for the lady, she
is too wealthy to fall to a poor Scotch lord, or I
would put in my own claim, fourscore years and
all, or not very far from it. But here is her
health, nevertheless, for they say she is a lamp of
beauty."
u I think I saw her," said another soldier,
" when I was upon guard this morning at the in-
ner barrier ; but she was more like a dark lantern
than a lamp, for she and another were brought
into the Chateau in close litters. "
•* Shame ! shame ! Arnot !" said Lord Craw-
ford ; " a soldier on duty should say nought of
what he sees. Besides," he added, after a pause,
his own curiosity prevailing over the shew of dis- j
cipline which he had thought it necessary to ex- "
ert, " why should these litters contain this very
same Countess Isabelle de Croye V
" Nay, my Lord," replied Arnot, " I know
nothing of it save this, that my coutelier was air-
ing my horses in the road to the village, and fell
in with Doguin the muleteer, who brought back
the litters to the inn, for they belong to the fel-
low of the mulberry-grove yonder — he of the -
Fleur-de-Lys, I mean — and so Doguin asked
Saunders Steed to take a cup of wine, as they
were acquainted, which he was no doubt willing
enough to do "
l < No doubt — no doubt," said the old Lord ;
»'< it is a thing I wish were corrected among you,
gentlemen ; but all your grooms and couteliers, J
and jackmen, as we should call them in Scotland, '
are but too ready to take a cup of wine with any
*THE ENROLMENT. 109
one-^-It is a thing perilous in war, and must be
amended. But, Andrew Arnot, this is a long
tale of yours, and we will cut it with a drink ; as
the Highlander says, Skeoch dock nan skial, and
that's good Gaelic. — Here is to the Countess Isa-
belle of Croye, and a better husband to her than
Campo-basso, who is a base Italian cullion ! And
now, Andrew Arnot, what said the muleteer to
this yeoman of thine V*
< l Why he told him in secrecy, if it please your
Lordship," continued Arnot, " that these two
ladies whom he had presently before conveyed
up to the Castle in the close litters, were great
ladies, who had been living in secret at his mas-
ter's house for some days, and that the King had
visited them more than once very privately, and
had done them great honour ; and that they had
fled up to the castle, as he believed, for fear of
the Count de Creveoeur, the Duke of Burgun-
dy's ambassador, whose approach was just an-
nounced by an advanced courier."
" Ay, Andrew, come you there to me V 9 said
Guthrie ; «' then I will be sworn it was the Coun-
tess whose voice I heard singing to the lute as
I came even pow through the inner Court — the
sound came from the bay windows of the Dau-
phin's TVwer ; and such melody was there as
no one <^ver heard before in the Castle of Plessis
of the Park. By my faith, I thought it was mu-
sic of the Fairy Melusina's making. There I
stood — though I knew your board was covered,
and that you were all impatient — there I stood,
like "
'< Like an ass, Johny Guthrie," said his com-
mander ; " thy long nose smelling the dinner, thy
long ears hearing the music, and thy short dis-
cretion not enabling thee to tell which of them
thou didst prefer.— Hark ! is not that the Cathe-
Vol. I.— 10
I 10 THE ENROLMENT.
dral bell tolling to vespers ? — Sure it cannot be
that time yet? — The mad old sexton has toll'd
even-song an hour too soon."
u In faith, the bell rings but too justly the
hour," said Cunningham ; " yonder thes un is
sinking on the west side of the fair plain."
"Ay," said the Lord Crawford, * is it even
so ? — Well, lads, we must live within compass —
Fair and soft goes far — slow fire makes sweet
malt — to be merry and wise is a sound proverb. —
One other rouse to the weal of old Scotland, and
then each man to his duty."
The parting-cup was emptied, and the guests
dismissed — the stately old Baron taking the Ba-
lafre's arm, under pretence of giving him some
instructions concerning his nephew, but, perhaps,
in reality lest his own lofty pace should seem in
the public eye less steady than became his rank
and high command. A solemn countenance did
he bear as he passed through the two courts which
separated his lodging from the festal chamber,
and solemn as the gravity of a hogshead was the
farewel caution, with which he prayed Ludovic
to attend his nephew's motions, especially in the
matters of wenches and wine cups.
Me an while, not a word that was spoken con-
cerning the beautiful Countess Isabels had es-
caped the young Durward, who, conducted into a
small cabin, which he was to share with hu un-
cle's page, made his new and lowly abode the
scene of much high musing. The reader will ea-
sily imagine that the young soldier should build
a fine romance on such a foundation as the sup-
posed, or rather the assumed, identification of the
Maiden of the turret, to whose lay he had lis-
tened with so much interest, and the fair cup-
bearer of iVlaitre Pierre, with a fugitive Coun-
tess, of rank and wealth, flying the pursuit of a
THE ENVOY. Ill
hated lover, the favourite of an oppressive guar-
dian, who abused his feudal power. There was
an interlude in Quentin's vision concerning Mai-
tre Pierre, who seemed to exercise such autho-
rity even over the formidable officer from whose
hands he had that day, with much difficulty made
his escape. At length the youth's reveries, which
had been respected by little Will Harper, the
companion of his cell, were broken in upon by
the return of his uncle, who commanded Quen-
tin to bed, that he might arise by times in the
morning, and attend him to his Majesty's anti-
chamber, to which he was called by his hour of
duty, along with five of his comrades.
CHAPTER VIIL
THE ENVOY.
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
For ere thou canst report I will be there,
Tlie thunder ot my cnnnon shall be heard —
So, hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath.
King John,
Had sloth been a temptation by which Dur-
ward was easily beset, the noise with which the
caserne of the guards resounded after the first
toll of Primes, had certainly banished the syren
from his couch ; but the discipline of his father's
tower, and of the convent of Aberbrothick, had
taught him to start with the dawn, and he did on
his clothes gaily amid the sounding of bugles and
the Hash of armour, which announced the change
112 THE ENVOY.
of the vigilant guards — some of whom were re-
turning to barracks after their nightly duty, whilst
others were marching out to that of the morning
— and others, again, amongst whom was his un-
cle, were arming for immediate attendance up-
on the person of Louis. Quentin Durward soon
put on, with the feelings of so young a man on
such an occasion, the splendid dress and arms ap-
pertaining to his new situation ; and his uncle,
who looked with great accuracy and interest to
see that he was completely fitted out in every re-
spect, did not conceal his satisfaction at the im
provement which had thus been made in his ne-
phew's appearance. " If thou doest prove as
faithful and bold as thou art well-favoured, I
shall have in thee one of the handsomest and best
esquires in the Guard, which cannot but be an
honour to thy mother's family. Follow me to
the presence-chamber ; and see thou keep close
at my shoulder."
So saying, he took up a partisan, large, weigh-
ty, and beautifully inlaid and ornamented, and di-
recting his nephew to assume a lighter weapon
of a similar description, they proceeded to the
inner court of the palace, where their comrades,
who were to form the guard of the interior apart-
ments, were already drawn up, and underarms —
the squires each standing behind their masters,
to whom they thus formed a second rank. Here
were also in attendance many yeomen-prickers,
with gallant horses and noble dogs, on which
Quentin looked with such inquisitive delight,
that his uncle was obliged more than once to re-
mind him that they were not there for his pri-
vate amusement, but for the King's, who had a
strong passion for the chase, one of the few incli-
nations which he indulged, even when coming
into competition with his course of policy ; be-
THE ENVOY. 113
ing so strict a protector of the game in the royal
forests, that it was currently said, you might kill
a man with greater impunity than a stag.
On a signal given, the guards were put into
motion by the command of Balafre, who acted as
officer upon the occasion ; and, after some minu-
tiae of word and signal, which all went to shew
the extreme and punctilious jealousy with which
their duty was performed, they marched into the
hall of audience, where the King was immedi-
ately expected.
New as Quentin was to scenes of splendour,
the effect of that which was now before him ra-
ther disappointed the expectations which he had
formed of the brilliancy of a court. There were
household officers indeed, richly attired ; there
were guards gallantly armed, and there were do-
mestics of various degrees : But he saw none of
the ancient counsellors of the kingdom, none of
the high officers of the crown, heard none of the
names which in those days sounded an alarum
to chivalry ; saw none either of those generals
or leaders, who possessed of full prime of man-
hood, were the strength of France, or of the more
youthful and fiery nobles, those early aspirants af-
ter honour, who were her pride. The jealous ha-
bits — the reserved manners^—the deep and art-
ful policy of the King, had estranged this splen-
did circle from the throne, and they were only
called around it upon certain stated and formal
occasions, when they went reluctantly and re-
turned joyfully, as the animals in the fable are
supposed to have approached and left the den of
the lion.
The very few persons who seemed to be there
in the character of counsellors, were mean-look-
ing men, whose countenances sometimes ex-
pressed sagacity, but whose manners shewed they
10f
114 THE ENVOY.
were called into a sphere for which their pre-
vious education and habits had qualified them
but indifferently. One or two persons, however,
did appear to Durward to possess a more noble
mien, and the strictness of the present duty was
not such as to prevent his uncle from commu-
nicating the names of those whom he thus distin-
guished.
With the Lord Crawford, who was in attend-
ance, dressed in the rich habit of his office, and
•holding a leading staff of silver in his hand,
Quentin as well as the reader, was already ac-
quainted. Among others who seemed of quality,
the most remarkable was the Count de Dunois,
the son of that celebrated Dunois, known by the
name of the Bastard of Orleans, who, fighting
under the banner of Jeanne d'Arc, acted such a
distinguished part in liberating France from the
English yoke. His son well supported the high
renown which had descended to him from such
an honoured source ; and notwithstanding his
connection with the royal family, and his heredi-
tary popularity both with the nobles and the peo-
ple, Dunois had, upon all occasions, manifested
such an open, frank loyalty of character, that he
seemed to have escaped all suspicion, even on the
part of the jealous Louis, who loved to see him
near his person, and sometimes even called him
to his councils. Although accounted complete in
all the exercises of chivalry, and possessed of
much of the character of what was then termed a
perfect knight, the person of the Count was far
from being a model of romantic beauty. He was
under the common size, though very strongly
built, and his legs rather curved outwards, into
that make which is more convenient for horse-
back, than elegant for a pedestrian. His shoul-
ders were broad, his hair black, his complexion
THE ENVOY. 115
swarthy, his arms remarkably long and nervous.
The features of his countenance were irregular,
even to ugliness; yet, afer all, there was an air
of conscious worth and nobility about the Count
de Dunois, which stamped at the first glance,
the character of the high-born nobleman, and the
undaunted soldier. His mien was bold and up-
right, his step free and manly, and the harshness
of his countenance was dignified by a glance
like an eagle, and a frown like a lion. His dress
was a hunting suit, rather sumptuous than gay,
and he acted on most occasions as Grand Hunts-
man, though we are not inclined to believe that
he actually held the office.
Upon the arm of Dunois, walking with a step
so slow and melancholy, that he seemed to rest
on his kinsman and supporter, came Louis Duke
of Orleans, the first prince of the blood royal,
and to whom the guards and attendants rendered
their homage as such. The jealously-watched ob-
ject of Louis's suspicions, this Prince, who, fail-
ing the king's offspring, was heir to the kingdom,
was not suffered to absent himself from court,
and, while residing there, was denied alike em-
ployment and countenance. The dejection which
his degraded and almost captive state naturally
impressed on the deportment of this unfortunate
prince, was at this moment greatly increased,
by his consciousness that the king meditated,
with respect to him, one of the most cruel and
unjust actions which a tyrant could commit, by
compelling him to give his hand to the princess
Joan of France, the younger daughter of Louis,
to whom he had been contracted in infancy, but
whose deformed person rendered the insisting
upon such an agreement an act of abominable
rigour.
The exterior of this unhappy prince was in
116 THE ENVOY.
no respect distinguished by personal advantages ;
and in mind he was of a gentle, mild, and bene-'
ficent disposition, qualities which were even vi-
sible through the veil of extreme dejection, with
which his natural character was at present ob-
scured. Quentin observed that he studiously
avoided even looking at the Royal Guards, and
when he returned their salute, that the Duke
kept his eyes bent on the ground, as if he feared
the king's jealousy might have construed that
gesture of ordinary courtesy, as arising from the
purpose of establishing a separate and personal
interest among them.
Very different was the conduct of the proud
cardinal and prelate, John of fialue/the favourite
minister of Louis for the time, whose rise and
character bore as close a resemblance to that of
Wolsey, as the difference betwixt the crafty and
politic Louis, and the headlong and rash Henry
VIII. of England, would permit. The former
had raised his minister from the lowest rank to
the dignity, or at least to the emoluments, of
Grand Almoner of France, loaded him with be-
nefices, and obtained for him the hat of a cardi-
nal ; and although he was too cautious to repose
in the ambitious Balue the unbounded power and
trust which Henry placed in Wolsey, yet he was
more influenced by him than by any other of his
avowed counsellors. The cardinal, accordingly,
had not escaped the error incidental to those
who are suddenly raised to power from an ob-
scure situation, for he entertained a strong per-
suasion, dazzled doubtless by the suddenness of
his elevation, that his capacity was equal to in-
termeddling with affairs of every kind, even
those most foreign to his profession and studies.
Tali and ungainly in his person, he affected gal-
lantry and admiration of the fair sex, although
THE ENVOY. 117
his manners rendered his pretensions absurd, and
his profession marked them as indecorous. Some
male or female flatterer had, in evil hour, pos-
sessed him with the idea that there was much
beauty of contour in a pair of huge substantial
legs, which he had derived from his father, a
ear-man of Limoges ; and with this idea he had
become so infatuated, that he always had his
cardinal's robes a little looped up on one side,
that the sturdy proportion of his limbs might
not escape observation. As he swept through
the stately apartment in his crimson dress and
rich cope, he stopped repeatedly to look at the
arms and appointments of the cavaliers on guard,
asked them several questions in an authoritative
tone, and took upon him to censure some of
them for what he termed irregularities of disci-
pline, in language to which these experienced
soldiers dared no reply, although it was plain
they listened to it with impatience and with con-
tempt.
lw Is the king aware," said Dunois to the car-
dinal, " that the Burgundian Envoy is peremptory
in demanding an audience?"
I* He is,' 1 answered the cardinal; ** and here,
as I think, comes the all-sufficient Oliver Dain,
to let us know his royal pleasure."
As he spoke, a remarkable person, who then
divided the favour of Louis with the proud Car-
dinal himself, entered from the inner apartment,
but without any of that important and consequen-
tial demeanour which marked the full-blown
dignity of the churchman. On the contrary,
this was a little, pale, meagre man, whose black
silk jerkin and hose, without either coat, cloak,
or cassock, were ill qualified to set off to advan-
tage a very ordinary person. He carried a silver
basin in his hand, and a napkin flung over his
118 THE ENVOY.
arm indicated his menial capacity. His visage
was penetrating and quick, although he endea-
voured to banish such expression from his fea-
tures, by keeping his eyes fixed on the ground,
as, with the stealthy and quiet pace of a cat, he
seemed modestly rather to glide than to walk
through the apartment. But though modesty
may easily disguise worth, it cannot hide court-
favour ; and all attempts to steal unperceived
through the presence-chamber were vain, on the
part of one known to have such possession of the
King's ear, as had been attained by his celebrated
barber and grcom of the chamber, Oliver le Dain,
called sometimes Oliver le Mauvais, and some-
times Oliver le Diable, epithets derived from the
unscrupulous cunning with which he assisted the
execution of the schemes of his master's tortuous
policy. At present he spoke earnestly for a few
moments with the Count de Dunois, who in-
stantly left the chamber, while the tonsor glided
quietly back towards the royal apartment whence
he had issued, every one giving place to him ;
which civility he only acknowledged by the most
humble inclination of the body, excepting in a
very few instances, where he made one or two
persons the subject of envy to all the other cour-
tiers by whispering a single word in their ear;
and at the same time muttering something of the
duties of his place, he escaped from their replies,
as well as from the eager solicitations of those
who wished to attract his notice. Ludovic Lesly
had the good fortune to be one of the individuals
who, on the present occasion, was favoured by
Oliver with a single word, to assure him that
his matter was fortunately terminated.
Presently afterwards, he had another proof of
the same agreeable tidings, for Tristan I'Hermite,
the Provost-Marshal of the Roval Household,
THE ENVOY. 119
entered the apartment, and came straight to the
place where Le Balafre was posttd. This for-
midable officer's dress, which was very rich, had
only the effect of making his sinister countenance
and bad mien more strikingly remarkable, and
the tone which he meant for conciliatory, was
like nothing so much as the growling of a bear.
The import of his words, however, was more
amicable than the voice in which they were pro-
nounced. He regretted the mistake which had
fallen between them on the preceding day, and
observed it was owing to the Sieur Le Balafre's
nephew not wearing the uniform of his corps, or
announcing himself as belonging to it, which had
led him into the error for which he now asked
forgiveness.
Ludovic Lesly made the necessary reply, and
as soon as Tristan had turned away, observed to
his nephew, that they had now the distinction of
having a mortal enem) from henceforward in the
person of this dreaded officer. « But a soldier,"
said he, " who docs his duty may laugh at the
Provost- Marshal."
Quentin could not help being of his uncle's
opinion, for, as Tr'stan parted from them, it was
wift the look of angry defiance which the bear
casts upon the hunter whose spear has wounded
him. Indeed, even when less strongly moved,
"^ sulle« eye expressed a malevolence of pur-
pose which made men shudder to meet his
glance; and 'he thrill of the young Scot was the
deeper *t.d tfcore abhorrent, that he seemed to
Kim self stJl to Seel on nis shoulders the grasp
m "' ~ K two ae ath-doing functionaries of this faial
offi er. °
^fff*, Oliver, after he had prowled
arouwi the . , m jr . thc Sltalthy manner Nvh ich
we have endeav. urtd to describe ,_ a li, even the
120 THE ENVOY.
highest officers, making way for him, and loading
him with their ceremonious attentions, which his
modesty seemed desirous to avoid, — again enter-
ed the inner apartment, the doors of which were
presently thrown open, and King Louis entered
the presence-chamber.
Quentin, like all others, turned his eyes upon
him ; and started so suddenly, that he almost
dropped his weapon, when he recognised in the
King of France that silk-merchant, JVlaitre Pierre,
who had been the companion of his morning
walk. Singular suspicions respecting the real
rank of this person had at different times crossed
his thoughts ; but this, the proved reality, was
wilder than his wildest conjecture.
The stern look of his uncle, offended at this
breach of the decorum of his office, recalled him
to himself; but not a little was he astonished
when the King, whose quick eye had at once
discovered him, walked straight to the place
where he was posted, without taking notice of
any one else.— ." So," he said, " young man, I am
told you have been brawling on your first arrival
in Touraine ; but I pardon you, as it was chiefH
the fault of a foolish old merchant, who thought
your Caledonian blood required to be heated in
the morning with Vin de Beaulne. If I can find
him, I will make him an example to these who
debauch my Guards. — Balafre," he addfd, speak-
ing to Lesly, '< your kinsman is a &ir yo».;th,
though a fiery. We love to cherish such spirits,
and mean to make more than ever we dM of the
brave men who are around us Let the yea»»
day, hour, and minute of his birth be wr ; * ten
down, and given to Oliver Dain."
Balafre bowed to the ground, and --assumed
his erect military position,as one w^° would shew
by his demeanour his prompti*-» de to act in ™
THE ENVOY. 121
King's quarrel or defence. Quentin, in the
meantime, recovered from his first surprise, stu-
died the King's appearance more attentively, and
was surprised to find how differently he construed
his deportment and features.
Thrse were not much changed in exterior^ for
Louis, always a scorner of outward show, wore,
on the present occasion, an old dark-blue hunt-
ing-dress, not much better than the plain burgher
suit of the preceding day, and garnished with a
huge rosary of ebony, which had been sent to
him by no less a personage than the Grand Seig-
nior, with an attestation that it had been used
by a Coptic hermit on Mount Lebanon, a per-
sonage of profound sanctity. And for his cap
with a single image, he now wore a hat, the band
of which was garnished with at least a dozen of
little paltry figures of saints stamped in lead.
But those eyes, which according to Quentin's
former impression, only twinkled with the love
of gain, had, now that they were known to be
the property of an able and powerful monarch, a
piercing and majestic glance ; and those wrinkles
on the brow, which he had supposed were form-
ed during a long series of petty schemes of com-
merce, seemed now the furrows which sagacity
had worn while toiling in meditation upon the
fate of nations.
Presently after the King's appearance, the
Princesses of France, with the ladies of their
suite, entered the apartment. With the eldest,
afterwards married to Peter of Bourbon, and
known in French history by the name of the
Lady of Beaujeu, our story has but little to do.
She was tail, and rather handsome, possessed elo-
quence, talent, and much of her father's sagacity,
who reposed much confidence in her, and loved
her as much perhaps as he loved any one.
Vol. I.— 11
122 THE ENVOY.
The younger sister, the unfortunate Joan, the
destined bride of the Duke of Orleans, advanced
timidly by the side of her sister, conscious of a
total want of those external qualities which wo-
men are most desirous of possessing, or being
thought to possess. She was pale, thin, and
sickly in her complexion, her shape visibly bent
to one side, and her gait so unequal that she
might be called lame. A fine set of teeth, and
eyes which were expressive of melancholy, soft-
ness, and resignation, with a quantity of light
brown locks, were the only redeeming points
which flattery itself could have dared to number,
to counteract the general homeliness of her face
and figure. To complete the picture, it was
easy to remark, from the Princess's negligence in
dress, and the timidity of her manner, that she
had an unusual and distressing consciousness of
her own plainness of appearance, and did not
dare to make any of those attempts to mend by
manners or by art what nature had left amiss, or
in any other way to exert a power of pleasing.
The King (who loved her not) stepped hastil\ to
her as she entered. — «' How now !'' he said, " our
world-contemning daughter — Are you robed for
a hunting-party, or for the convent, this morn-
ing ? Speak — answer."
'« For which your highness pleases, sire," said
the Princess, scarce raising her voice above her
breath.
44 Ay, doubtless, you would persuade me it is
your desire to quit the court, Joan, and renounce
the world and its vanities. — Ha! maiden, wouldst
thou have it thought that we, the first-born of
Holy Church, would refuse our daughter to
Heaven? — Our Lady and Saint Martin forbid
we should refuse the offering, were it worthy of
THE ENVOY. 123
the altar, or were thy vocation in truth thither-
ward."
So saying, the King crossed himself devoutly,
looking, in the mean time, as appeared to Quen-
tin, very like a cunning vassal, who was depre-
ciating the merit of something which he was de-
sirous to keep to himself, in order that he might
stand excused for not offering it to his chief or
superior. " Dares he thus play the hypocrite
with Heaven, * thought Durward, l « and sport
with God and the Saints, as he may safely do
with men, who dare not search his nature too
closely ;"
Louis meantime resumed, after a moment's
mental devotion — " No, fair daughter, I and
another know your real mind better — Ha ! fair
cousin of Orleans, do we not? Approach, fair
sir, and lead this devoted vestal of our's to her
horse.'-'
Orleans started when the King spoke, and
hastened to obey him ; but with such precipita-
tion of step, and confusion, that Louis called out,
" Nay, Cousin, rein your gallantry, and look be
fore you. — Why, what a headlong matter a gal-
lant's haste is on some occasions ! — Y«>u had well
nigh taken Anne's hand instead of her sister's.
—Sir, must I give Joan's to you myself:"'
The unhappy Prince looked up, and shudder-
ed like a child, when forced to touch something
at which it has instinctive horror — then making
an effort, took the hand which the Princess nei-
ther gave not yet withheld. As they stood, her
cold damp fingers enclosed in his trembling hand,
with their eyes looking on the ground, it would
have been difficult to say which of these two
youthful beings was rendered most utterly mi-
serable — the Duke, who felt himself fettered to
t24 THE ENVOY.
the object of his aversion by bonds which he durst
not tear asunder, or the unfortunate young wo-
man, who too plainly saw that she was an object
of abhorrence to him, to gain whose kindness she
would willingly have died.
u And now to horse, gentlemen and ladies —
We will ourselves lead forth our daughter of
Beaujeu," said the King; "and God's blessing
and Saint Hubert's be on our morning sport."
" I am, I fear, doomed to interrupt it, sire,"
said the Compte de Dunois— " The Burgundian
Envoy is before the gates of the Castle, and de-
mands an audience."
" Demands an audience, Dunois ?'" replied the
King — «« Did you not answer him, as we sent you
word by Oliver, that we were not at leisure to
see him to-day, — and that to-morrow was the
festival of Saint Martin, which, please Heaven,
we would disturb by no earthly thoughts, — and
that on the succeeding day we were designed for
Amboise — but that we would not fail to appoint
him as early an audience, when we returned, as
our pressing affairs would permit?"
"All this I said," answered Dunois; "but
yet, sire "
" Pasques-dieu / man, what is it that thus
sticks in thy throat ?" said the King. "This
Burgundian's terms must have been hard of di-
gestion."
"Had not my duty, your Grace's commands,
and his character as an Envoy restrained me,"
said Dunois, ♦' he should have tried to digest
them himself; for, by our Lady of Orleans, I
had more mind to have made him eat his own
words, than to have brought them to your Ma-
jesty."
< 4 Body of me, Dunois," said the King, i{ it is
strange that thou, one of the most impatient fel-
THE ENVOY, 125
lows alive, should'st have so little sympathy with
the like infirmity in our blunt and fiery cousin,
Charles of Burgundy. — Why, man, I mind his
blustering messages no more than the towers of
this Castle regard the whistling of the north-east
wind, which comes from Flanders, as well as
this brawling Envoy."
* k Know then sire," replied Dunois, " that the
Count of Crevecceur tarries below with his reti-
nue of pursuivants and trumpets, and says, that
since your Majesty refuses him the audience
which his master has instructed him to demand,
upon matters of most pressing concern, he will
remain there till midnight, and accost your Ma-
jesty at whatever hour you are pleased to issue
from your Castle, whether for business, exercise,
or devotion ; and that no consideration, except
the use of absolute force, shall compel him to
desist from this resolution."
4< He is a fool," said the King, with much
composure. " Does the hot-headed Hainaulter
think it any penance for a man of sense to re-
main for twenty-four hours quiet within the walls
of his Castle, when he hath the affairs of a king-
dom to occupy him ? These impatient coxcombs
think that all men, like themselves, are misera-
ble, save when in saddle and stirrup. Let the
dogs be put up, and well looked to, gentle Du-
nois — We will hold council to-day, instead of
hunting."
"My Liege," answered Dunois, l 'you will
not thus rid yourself of Crevecceur ; for his mas-
ter's instructions are, that if he hath not this au-
dience which he demands, he shali nail his gaunt-
let to the palisades before the Casde, in token of
mortal defiance on the part of his master, shall
renounce the Duke's fealty to France, and de-
clare instant war."
THE ENVOY.
" Ay," said Louis, without any perceptible al-
teration of voice, but frowning until his piercing
dark eyes became almost invisible under his
shaggy eye-brows, «« is it even so ? — will our an-
cient vassal prove so masterful — our dear cousin
treat us thus unkindly ? — Nay then, Dunois, we
must unfold the Oriflamme, and cry Dennis
MontjoyeP*
" Marry and amen, and in a most happy hour!"
said the martial Dunois ; and the guards in the
hall, unable to resist the same impulse, stirred
each upon his post, so as to produce a low but
distinct sound of clashing arms. The King cast
his eye proudly round, and, for a moment,
thought and looked like his heroic father.
But the excitement of the moment presently
gave way to the host of political considerations*
which, at that conjuncture, rendered an open
breach with Burgundy so peculiarly perilous.
Edward IV., a brave and victorious King, who
had in his own person fought thirty battles,
was now established on the throne of England,
was brother to the Duchess of Burgundy, and,
it might well be supposed, waited but a rupture
between his near connection and Louis, to carry
into France, through the ever-open gate of Ca-
lais, those arms which had been triumphant in
the civil wars, and to obliterate the recollection
of civil dissentions by that most popular of all
occupations amongst the English, an invasion of
France. To this consideration was added the
uncertain faith of the Duke of Bretagne, and
other weighty subjects of reflection. So that
after a deep pause, when Louis again spoke,
although in the same tone, it was with an altered
spirit. " But God forbid," he said, " that aught
less than necessity should make us, the Most
Christian King, give cause to the effusion of
THE ENVOY. 127
Christian blood, if any thing short of dishonour
may avert such a calamity. We tender our sub-
jects' safety dearer than the ruffle which our own
dignity may receive from the rude breath of a
malapert ambassador, who hath perhaps exceed-
ed the errand with which he was charged —
Admit the Envoy of Burgundy to our presence."
" Beatie pacifici" said the Cardinal Balue.
«'True ; and your eminence knoweth that they
who humble themselves shall be exalted," added
the King.
The Cardinal spoke an Amen, to which h\v
assented ; for even the pale cheek of Orleans kin-
dled with shame, and Balafre suppressed his
feelings so little as to let the butt-end of his par-
tisan fall heavily on the floor,— a movement of
impatience for which he underwent a bitter re-
proof from the Cardinal, with a lecture on the
mode of handling his arms when in presence of
the Sovereign. The King himself seemed unu-
sually embarrassed at the silence around him.
" You are pensive, Dunois," he said — tk You dis-
approve of our giving way to this hot-headed
Envoy."
"By no means," said Dunois; i( I meddle
not with matters beyond my sphere. I was but
thinking of asking a boon of your Majesty."
" A boon, Dunois — what is it? — You are ?n
unfrequent suitor, and may count on our favour."
" I would, then, your Majesty would send me
to Evreux, to regulate the clergy," said Dunois,
with military frankness.
" That were indeed beyond thy sphere," re-
plied the King, smiling.
" I might order priests as well," replied the
Count, "as my Lord Bishop of Evreux, or my-
Lord Cardinal, if he likes the title better, can ex-
ercise the soldiers of your Majesty's guard."
128 THE ENVOY.
The King smiled again, and more mysterious-
ly, while he whispered Dunois, 4 « The time may
come when you and I will regulate the priests
together — But this is for the present a good con-
ceited animal of a Bishop. Ah ! Dunois — Rome,
Rome puts him and other burthens upon us —
But patience, cousin, and shuffle the cards, till
our hand is a stronger one.*'*
The flourish of" the trumpets in the court-yard
now announced the arrival of the Burgundian
nobleman. All in the presence-chamber made
haste to arrange themselves according to their
proper places of precedence, the King and his
daughters remaining in the centre of the assem-
bly.
The Count of Crevecceur, a renowned and un-
daunted warrior, entered the apartment ; and
contrary to the usage among the envoys of friend-
ly powers, he appeared all armed, excepting his
head, in a gorgeous suit of the most superb Mi-
lan armour, made of steel, inlaid and embossed
with gold, which was wrought into the fantastic
taste called the Arabesque. Around his neck,
and over his polished cuirass, hung his master's
order of the Golden Fleece, one of the most ho-
noured associations of chivalry then known in
Christendom. A handsome page bore his hel-
met behind him, a herald preceded him, bearing
his letters of credence, which he offered on his
knee to the King j while the ambassador him-
self paused in the midst of the hall, as if to give
present time to admire his lofty look, command-
* Dr. Dryasdust here remarks, that cards, said to have been in-
vented hi a preceding reign, for the amusement of Charles V. dur-
ing the intervals of his mental lisorder, seem speedily to h-ive be-
come common among the courtiers, since they already furnished
Louis XI. with a metaphor. The same proverb was quoted by
Darandarte, in the enchanted cave of Montesiuos.
THE ENVOY. 129
ing stature, and undaunted composure of coun-
tenance and manner. The rest of his attendants
waited in the anti-chamber or court-yard.
""Approach, Seignior Count de Crevecceur,"
said Louis, after a moment's glance at his com-
mission ; «« We need not our Cousin's letters of
credence, either to introduce to us a warrior so
well known, or to assure us of your highly de-
served credit with your master. We trust that
your fair partner, who shares some of our ances-
tral blood, is in good health. Had you brought
her in your hand, Seignior Count, we might
have thought you wore your armour, on this un-
wonted occasion, to maintain the superiority of
her charms against the amorous chivalry of
France. As it is we cannot guess the reason of
this complete panoply."
" Sire," replied the ambassador, "the Count
of Crevecceur must lament his misfortune, and
entreat your forgiveness, that he cannot, on this
occasion, reply with such humble deference as is
due to the royal courtesy with which your ma-
jesty has honoured him. But although it is only
the voice of Philip de Crevecceur de Cordes
which speaks, the words which he utters must
be those of his gracious Lord and Sovereign the
Duke of Burgundy."
'« And what has Crevecceur to say in the words
of Burgundy :" said Louis, with an assumption
of sufficient dignity. " Yet hold — remember,
that in this presence, Philip Crevecceur de Cor-
des speaks to him whom he calls his Sovereign's
Sovereign."
Crevecceur bowed, and then spoke aloud: —
l <King of France, the mighty duke of Bur-
gundy once more sends you a written schedule of
the wrongs and oppressions committed on his
frontiers by your Majesty's garrisons and officers:
130 THE ENVOY.
and the first point of inquiry is, whether it is
your Majesty's purpose to make him amends for
these injuries ?"
The King, looking slightly at the memorial
which the herald delivered to him upon his knee,
said, " these matters have been already long be-
fore our Council. Of the injuries complained of,
some are in requital of those sustained by my
subjects, some are affirmed without any proof,
some have been retaliated by the Duke's garri-
sons and soldiers ; and if there remain any which
fall under none of those predicaments, we are
not as a Christian prince, averse to make satis-
faction for wrongs actually sustained by our
neighbour, though committed not only without
our countenance, but against our express order. 5 '
" I will convey your Majesty's answer," said
the ambassador, " to my most gracious master ;
yet, let me say, that as it is in no degree differ-
ent from the evasive replies which have already
been returned to his just complaints, I cannot
hope that it will afford the means of re-establish-
ing peace and Friendship betwixt France and
Burgundy."
« 4 Be that at God's pleasure," said the King.
"It is not for dread of thy Master's arms, but
for the sake of peace only that I return so tem-
perate an answer to his injurious reproaches.
Proceed with thine errand."
" My master's next demand," said the Am-
bassador, " is, that your Majesty will cease your
secret and underhand dealings with his towns of
Ghent, l.iege, and Malines. He requests that
your Majesty will recall the secret agents, by
whose means the discontents of his good citizens
of Flanders are inflamed ; and dismiss from your
Majesty's dominions, or rather deliver up to the
condign punishment of their liege lord, those trai-
THE ENVOY. I31
torous fugitives, who, having fled from the scene
of their machinations, have found too ready a
refuge in Paris, Orleans, Tours, and other French
cities."
" Say to the Duke of Burgundy„ ,v replied the
King, " that I know of no such indirect practices
as those with which he injuriously charges me ;
that my subjects of France have frequent inter-
course with the good cities of Flanders, for the
purpose of mutual benefit by free traffic, which
it would be as much contrary to the Duke's in-
terest as to mine to interrupt ; and that many
Flemings have residence in my kingdom, and en-
joy the protection of my laws, for the same pur-
pose ; but none, to our knowledge, for those of
treason or mutiny against the Duke. Proceed
with your message — you have heard my an-
swer."
" As formerly, Sire, with pain," replied the
Count of Crevecceur ; *< it not being of that di-
rect or explicit nature which the Duke, my mas-
ter, will accept, in atonement for a long train of
secret machinations, not the less certain, though
now disavowed by your Majesty. But I proceed
with my message. The Duke of Burgundy fur-
ther repuires the King of France to send back to
his dominions without delay, and under a secure
safe-guard, the persons of Isabelle Countess of
Croye, and of her relation and guardian the
Countess Hameline, of the same family, in res-
pect the said Countess Isabelle, being by the law
of the country, and the feudal tenure of her es-
tates, the ward of the said Duke of Burgundy,
hath fled from his dominions, and from the charge
which he, as a careful Prince, was willing to ex-
tend over her, and is here maintained in secret
by the King of France, and by him fortified in
132 THE ENVOY -
her contumacy to the Duke, her natural lord and
guardian, contrary to the laws of God and man,
as they ever have been acknowledged in civilised
Europe. — Once more I pause for your Majesty's
repiv."
"You did well, Count de Crevecceur," said
Louis, scornfully, "to btgin your embassy at an
early hour ; for, if it be your purpose to call on
me to account for the flight of every vassal whom
your master's heady pasbion may have driven
from his dominions, the bead-roll may last till
sun-set. Who can affirm that these ladies are
in my dominions? who can presume to sa\ , if
it be so, that I have either countenanced their
flight hither, or have received them with offers
of protection ?"
u Sire," said Crevecceur, «< may it please your
Majesty, I was provided with a witness on this
subject — one who beheld these fugitives ladies
in the inn called the Fleur-de-Lys, not far from
this Castle — one who saw your Majesty in their
company, though under the unworthy disguise
of a Burgess of Tours — one who received from
them, in your royal presence, messages and let-
ters to their friends in Flanders — all which he
conveyed to the hand and ear of the Duke of Bur-
gundy."
" Bring him forward," said the King ; "place
the man before my face who dares maintain these
palpable falsehoods."
'• You speak in triumph, my Lord ; for you
are well aware that this witness exists no longer.
When he livtd,he was called Zamet Magraubin,
by birth one of those Bohemian wanderers. He
was yesterday, as I have learned, executed by a
party of your Majesty's Provost-Martial, to pre-
vent, doubtless, his standing here, to verify what
THE ENVO'f. 133
he said of this matter to the Duke of Burgundy,
in presence of his Council, and of me, Philip
Crevecoeur de Cordes."
"Now, by our Lady of Embrun !" said the
King, " so gross are these accusations, and so free
of consciousness am I of aught that approaches
them, that, by the honour of a King, I laugh,
rather than am wroth at them. My Provost-
guard put to death, as is their duty, thieves and
vagabonds ; and my crown is to be slandered
with whatsoever these thieves and vagabonds
may have said to our hot cousin of Burgundy and
his wise counsellors ! I pray you tell my kind
cousin, if he loves such companions, he had best
keep them in his own estates ; for here they are
like to meet short shrift and a tight cord."
ft My master needs no such subjects, Sir
King," answered the Count, in a tone more dis-
respectful than he had yet permitted himself to
make use of; " for the noble Duke uses not to in-
quire of witches, wandering Egyptians, or others
upon the destiny and fate of his neighbours and
allies."
" We have had patience enough and to spare,"
said the King, interrupting him ; "and since thy
sole errand here seems to be for the purpose of
insult, we will send some one in our name to the
Duke of Burgundy — convinced, in thus demean-
ing thyself towards us, thou hast exceeded thy
commission, whatever that may have been."
" On the contrary," said Crevecoeur, " I have
not yet acquitted myself of it. Hearken, Louis
of Valois, King of France — Hearken, nobles and
gentlemen, who may be present— Hearken all
good and true men — And thou, Toison d'Or,"
addressing the herald, 4 < make proclamation after
me. — I, Philip Crevecoeur of Cordes, Count of
the Empire, and Knight of the honourable and
Vol. I 12
134 THE ENVOY.
princely Order of the Golden Fleece, in the name
of the most puissant Lord and Prince, Charles
by the Grace of God, Duke of Burgundy and
Lothairingia, of Brabant and Limbourg, of Lux-
embourg and of Gueldres ; Earl of Flanders and
of Artois ; Count Palatine of Hainault, of Hol-
land, Zealand, Namur, and Zutphen : Marquis
of the Holy Empire ; Lord of Friezeland, Sa-
lines, and JV1 alines, do give you, Louis, King of
France, openly to know, that you having refused
to remedy the various griefs, wrongs, and offen-
ces, done and wrought by you, or by and through
your aid, suggestion and instigation, against the
said Duke and his loving subjects, he, by my
mouth renounces all allegiance and fealty towards
your crown and dignity — pronounces you false
and faithless ; and defies you as a prince and as
a man. There lies my gage, in evidence of what
I have said."
So saying, he plucked the gauntlet off his
right hand, and flung it down on the floor of the
hall.
Until this last climax of audacity, there had
been a deep silence in the royal apartment during
the extraordinary scene ; but no sooner had the
clash of the gauntlet, when cast down, been echoed
by the deep voice of Toison d'Or, the Burgun-
dian herald, with the ejaculation, « Vive Bour-
gogne !" then there was a general tumult. While
Dunois, Orleans, old Lord Crawford, and one
or two others, whose rank authorised their in-
terference, contended which should lift up the
gauntlet, the others in the hail exclaimed, "Strike
him down ! Cut him to pieces ! Comes he here
to insult the King of France in his own palace!"
But the King appeased the tumult by ex-
claiming, in a voice like thunder, which over-
awed and silenced every other sound, " Silence,
THE ENVOY. 135
my lieges ! lay not a hand on the man, not a
finger on the gage ! — And you, Sir Count, of
what is your life composed, or how is it war-
ranted, that you thus place it on the cast of a
die so perilous ? Or is vour Duke made of a
different metal from other princes, since he thus
asserts his pretended quarrel in a manner so un-
usual ?"
« l He is indeed framed of a different and more
noble metal than the other princes of Europe,"
said the undaunted Count of Crevecoeur ; " for,
when not one of them dared to give shelter to you
— to you, I say, King Louis — when you were
an exile from France, and pursued by the whole
bitterness of your father's revenge, and all the
power of his kingdom, you were received and
protected like a brother by my noble master,
whose generosity cf disposition you have so
grossly misused. Farewell, Sire, my mission is
discharged."
So saying, the Count de Crevecoeur left the
apartment abruptly, and without further leave-
taking.
" After him — after him — take up the gaunt-
let and after him !" said the King. «' — I fliean
not vou, Dunois, nor you my Lord of Crawford,
who, methinks, may be too old for such hot
frays ; nor you. Cousin of Orleans, who are too
voung for them. — My Lord Cardinal — my Lord
Bishop of Auxerre — it is your holy office to make
peace among princes ; do you lift the gauntlet,
and remonstrate with Count Crevecoeur on the
sin he has committed, in thus insulting a great
Monarch in his own Court, and forcing us to
bring the miseries of war upon his kingdom and
that of his neighbour.''
Upon this direct personal appeal, the Cardinal
Balue proceeded to lift the gauntlet, with such
136 THE ENVOY.
precaution as one would touch an adder, — so
great was apparently his aversion to this symbol
of war, — and presently left the royal apartment
to hasten after the challenger.
Louis paused and looked round the circle of
his courtiers, most of whom, except such as we
have already distinguished, being men of low
birth, and raised to their rank in the King's
household for other gifts than courage or feats
of arms, looked pale on each other, and had ob-
viously received an unpleasant impression from
the scene which had been just acted. Louis gaz-
ed on them with contempt, and then said aloud,
if Although the Count of Crevecoeur be pre-
sumptuous and overweening, it must be con-
fessed that in him the Duke of Burgundy hath as
bold a servant as ever bore message for a prince.
I would I knew where to find as faithful an En-
voy to carry back my answer."
"You do your French nobles injustice, Sire,"
said Dunois ; u not one of them but would carry
a defiance to Burgundy on the point of his
sword."
"And, Sire," said old Crawford, "you wrong
also the Scottish gentlemen who serve you. I,
or any of my followers, being of meet rank,
would not hesitate a moment to call yonder proud
Count to a reckoning ; my own arm is yet strong
enough for the purpose, if I have but your Ma-
jesty's permission."
" But your Majesty," continued Dunois, " will
employ us in no service, through which we may
win honour to ourselves, to your Majesty, or to
France."
"Say rather," said the King, "that I will not
give way, Dunois, to the headlong impetuosity,
which, on some knight-errant punctilio, would
wreck yourselves, the throne, France, and all,
THE ENVOY. 137
There is not one of you who knows not how
precious every hour of peace is at this moment,
when so necessary to heal the wounds of a dis-
tracted country : yet there is not one of you who
would not rush into war on account of the tale
of a wandering gipsey, or of some errant demosel
whose reputation, perhaps, is scarce higher. —
Here comes the Cardinal, and we trust with
more pacific tidings : — How now, my Lord —
have you brought the Count to reason and to
temper?"
"Sire" said Balue, "my task hath been dif-
ficult. I put it to yonder proud Count, how he
dared to use towards your Majesty, the presump-
tuous reproach with which his audience had bro-
ken up, and which must be understood as pro-
ceeding, not from his master, but from his own
insolence, and as placing hkn therefore in your
Majesty's discretion, for what penalty you might
think proper."
'« You said right," replied the King; "and
what was his answer ?"
"The Count" continued the Cardinal, "had
at that moment his foot in the stirrup, ready to
mount ; and on hearing my expostulation, he
turned his head without altering his position.
'Had I,' said he ' been fifty leagues distant, and
had heard by report that a question vitupera-
tive of my Prince had been asked by the King
of France, I had, even at that distance, instantly
mounted, and returned to disburthen my mind
of the answer which I gave him but now/ 5 '
11 I said, sirs," said the King, turning around,
without any shew of angry emotion, '« that in the
Count Philip of Crevecceur, our cousin the Duke
possesses as worthy a servant as ever rode at a
prince's right hand. — But you prevailed with him
to stay ?"
12f
138 THE ENVOY.
" To stay for twenty-four hours ; and in the
meanwhile to receive again his gage of defiance,'
said the Cardinal : " he has dismounted at the
Fleur-de-Lys."
'* See that he be nobly attended and cared for,
at our charges," said the King ; " such a ser-
vant is a jewel in a prince's crown. — Twenty-
four hours ?" he added, muttering to himself, and
looking as if he were stretching his eyes to see
into futurity ; " twenty-four hours ? 'tis of the
shortest. Yet twenty-four hours, ably and skil-
fully employed, may be worth a year in the hand
of indolent or incapable agents. — Well. — To the
forest — to the forest, my gallant lords ! — Orleans,
my fair kinsman, lay aside that modesty, though
it becomes you ; mind not my Joans's coyness.
The Loire may as soon avoid mingling with the
Cher, as she from favouring your suit, or you
from preferring it," he added, as the unhappy
prince moved slowly on after his betrothed bride.
" And now for your boar spears, gentlemen :
for Allegre, my pricker, hath harboured one that
will try both dog and man.— Dunois, lend me
your spear, — take mine, it is too weighty for me;
but when did you complain of such a fault in
your lance ? — To horse — to horse gentlemen."
And all the chase rode on.
THE BOAR-HUNT. 139
CHAPTER IX.
THE BOAR-HUNT.
I will converse with unre9pective boys
And iron-witted fools. None are for me
That look into me with suspicious eves.
King Richard.
All the experience which the Cardinal had
been able to collect of his master's disposition,
did not, upon the present occasion, prevent his
falling into a great error of policy. His vanity in-
duced him to think that he had been more success-
ful in prevailing upon the Count of Crevecoeur
to remain at Tours, than any other moderator
whom the King might have employed, would, in
all probability, have been. And as he was well
aware of the importance which Louis attached
to the postponement of a war with the Duke of
Burgundy, he could not help shewing that he
conceived himself to have rendered the King
great and acceptable service. He pressed nearer
to the King's person than he was wont to do, and
endeavoured to engage him in conversation on
the events of the morning.
This was injudicious in more respects than
one, for princes love not to see their subjects ap-
proach them with an air conscious of deserving,
and thereby seeming desirous to extort acknow-
ledgment and recompense of their services ; and
Louis, the most jealous monarch that ever lived,
was peculiarly averse and inaccessible to any one
140 THE BOAR-HUNT.
who seemed either to presume upon service ren-
dered, or to pry into his secrets.
Yet, hurried away, as the most cautious some-
times are, by the self-satisfied humour of the
moment, the Cardinal continued to ride on the
King's right hand, turning the discourse, when-
ever it was possible, upon Crevecceur and his
embassy; which, although it might be the matter
at that moment most in the King's thoughts, was
nevertheless precisely that which he was least
willing to converse on. At length Louis, who
had listened to him with attention, yet without
having returned any answer which could tend to
prolong the conversation, signed to Dunois, who
rode at no great distance, to come up on the
other side of his horse.
" We came hither for sport and exercise,"
said he, "but the reverend father here would
have us hold a council of state."
<« I hope your Highness will excuse my assist-
ance," said unois ; " I am born to fight the bat-
tles of France, and have heart and hand for that,
but I have no head for her councils."
" My Lord Cardinal hath a head turned for
nothing else, Dunois ; he hath confessed Creve-
cceur at the Castle-gate, and he hath communi-
cated to us his whole shrift — Said you not the
iv/iote?" he continued, with an emphasis on the
word, and a glance at the Cardinal, which shot
from betwixt his long dark eye-lashes, as a dag-
ger gleams when it leaves the scabbard.
The Cardinal trembled, as, endeavouring to
reply to the King's jest, he said, «■ That though
his order was obliged to conceal the secrets of
their penitents in general, there was no sigillum
confessionis, which could not be melted at his
Majesty's breath."
4 < And as his Eminence," said the King, " is
THE BOAR-HUNT. 141
ready to communicate the secrets of others to us,
he naturally expects that we should be equally
communicative to him ; and, in order to get
upon this reciprocal footing, he is very reason-
ably desirous to know if these two ladies of Croye
be actually in our territories. We are sorry we
cannot indulge his curiosity, not ourselves know-
ing in what precise place errant damsels, dis-
guised princesses, distressed countesses, may lie
leaguer within our dominions, which are, we
thank God and our Lady of Embrun, rather too
extensive for us to answer easily his Eminence's
most reasonable enquiries. — But supposing they
were with us, what say you, Dunois, to our cou-
sin's peremptory demand ?"
M I will answer you, my Lord, if you will tell
me in sincerity, whether you want war or peace,"
replied Dunois, with a frankness which, while it
arose out of his own native openness and intre-
pidity of character made him from time to time
a considerable favourite with Louis, who, like all
astucious persons, was as desirous of looking into
the hearts of others as of concealing his own.
u By my halidome," said he, " I should be as
well contented as thyself, Dunois, to tell thee my
purpose, did I myself but know it exactly. But
say I declared for war, what should I do with
this beautiful and wealthy young heiress, suppos-
ing her to be in my dominions ?"
l < Bestow her in marriage on one of your own
gallant followers, who has a heart to love and an
arm to protect her," said Dunois.
" Upon thyself, ha !" said the King. "Pasques-
dieu! thou art more politic than I took thee for,
with all thy bluntness."
" Nay, Sire, I am aught except politic. By
our Lady of Orleans, I come to the point at once,
as I ride my horse at the ring. Your Majestv
142 THE BOAR-HUNT.
owes the house of Orleans at least one happy
marriage."
'< And I will pay it, Count. Posques-dieu, I
will pay it \ — See you not yonder fair couple ?"
The King pointed to the unhappy Duke of
Orleans and the Princess, who, neither during to
remain at a greater distance from the King, nor
in his sight appear separate from each other,
were riding side by side, yet with an interval of
two or three yards betwixt them, a space which
timidity on the one side, and aversion on the
other, prevented them from diminishing, while
neither dared to increase it.
Dunois looked in the direction of the King's
signal, and as the situation of his unfortunate re-
lative and the destined bride reminded him of
nothing so much as of two dogs, which, forcibly
linked together, remain nevertheless as widely
separated as the length of their collars will permit,
he could not help shaking his head, though he
ventured not on any other reply to the hypocriti-
cal tyrant. Louis seemed to guess his thoughts.
" It will be a peaceful and quiet household
they will keep — not much disturbed with children,
I should augur. But these are not always a
blessing."
It was, perhaps, the recollection of his own
filial ingratitude that made the King pause as
he made the last reflection, and which converted
the sneer which trt-mbled on his lip into some-
thing resembling an expression of contrition.
But he instantly proceeded in another tone.
" Frankly, my Dunois, much as I revere the
holy sacrament of matrimony, (here he crossed
himself,) I would rather the house of Orleans
raised for me such gallant soldiers as thy father
and thyself, who share the blood-royal of France
without claiming its rights, than that the country
THE BOAR- HUNT. 143
should be rent to pieces, as England, by wars
by the rivalry of legitimate candidates for the
crown. The lion should never have more than
one cub."
Dunois sighed and was silent, conscious that
contradicting his arbitrary sovereign might well
hurt his kinsman's interests, but could do him
no service ; yet he could not forbear adding, in
the next moment,
u Since your Majesty has alluded to the birth
of my father, I must needs own, that, setting the
frailty of his parents on one side, he might be
termed happier, and more fortunate, as the son
of lawless love, than of conjugal hatred."
" Thou art a scandalous fellow, Dunois, to
speak thus of holy wedlock. But to the devil
with the discourse, for the boar is unharboured.
—Lay on the dogs, in the name of the holy Saint
Hubert! -Ha! ha! tra-la-la-lira-la !"_ And the
King's horn rung merrily through the woods as
he pushed forward on the chase, followed by
two or three of his guards, amongst whom was
our friend Quentin Durward. And here it was
remarkable that, even in the keen prosecution of
his favourite sport, the King, in indulgence of
his caustic disposition, found leisure to amuse
himself by tormenting Cardinal Balue.
It was one of that able statesman's weaknesses,
as we have elsewhere hinted, to suppose himself
though of low rank and limited education, quali-
fied to play the courtier and the man of gallantry.
He cTd not, indeed, actuailv enter the lists like
Becket, or levy soldiers like Wolsev. But gal-
lantry, in which they also were proficients, was
his professed pursuit ; and he likewise affected
great fondness for the martial amusement of the
chase. But, however well he might succeed
with certain ladies, to whom his power, his
144 THE BOAR-HUNT.
wealth, and his influence as a statesman, might
atone for deficiencies in appearance and manners,
the gallant horses, which he purchased at almost
any price, were totally insensible to the dignity
of carrying a cardinal, and paid no more respect
to him than they would have done to his father
the tailor, whom he rivalled in horsemanship.
The King knew this, and, by alternately exciting
and checking his own horse, he brought that of
the Cardinal, whom he kept close by his side,
into such a state of mutinv against his rider,
that it became apparent they must soon part com-
pany ; and then, in the midst of its starting, bolt-
ing, rearing, and lashing out, alternately, the
royal tormentor rendered the rider miserable, by
questioning him upon many affairs of importance,
and hinting his purpose to take that opportunity
of communicating to him some of those secrets
of state, which the Cardinal had but a little while
before seemed so anxious to learn.
A more awkward situation could hardly be
imagined, than that of a privy-councillor forced
to listen to and reply to his Sovereign, while
each fresh gambade of his unmanageable horse
placed him in a new and more precarious atti-
tude — his violet robe flying loose in every direc-
tion, and nothing securing him from an instant
and perilous fall, save the depth of the saddle,
and its height before and behind. Dunois laugh-
ed without restraint; while the King, who had
a private mode of enjoying his jest inwardly,
without laughing aloud, mildly rebuked his mi-
mister on his eager passion for the chase, which
would not permit him to dedicate a few moments
to business. < l I will no longer be your hin-
derance,*' continued he, addressing the terrified
Cardinal, and giving his own horse the rein at
the same time.
THL BOAR-HUNT. 143
Before Balue could utter a word by way of
answer or apology, his horse, seizing the bit with
his teeth, went forth at an uncontroulable gallop,
soon leaving behind the King and Dunois, who
followed at a more regulated pace, enjoying the
statesman's distressed predicament. If any of
our readers has chanced to be run away with in
his time, (as we ourselves have in ours,) he will
have a full sense at once of the pain, peril, and
absurdity of the situation. These four legs of
the quadruped, which no way under the rider's
controul, nor sometimes under that of the crea-
ture they more properly belong to, fly at such a
rate as if the hindermost meant to overtake the
foremost — those clinging legs of the biped which
we so often wish safely planted on the green
sward, but which now only augment our distress
by pressing the animal's sides — the hands which
have forsaken the bridle for the mane — the body
which, instead of sitting upright on the centre of
gravity, as old Angelo used to recommend, or
stooping forward like a jockey at Newmarket,
lies, rather than hangs, crouched upon the back
of the animal, with no better chance of saving
itself than a sack of corn, — combine to make a
picture more than sufficiently ludicrous to specta-
tors, however uncomfortable to the exhibiter.
But add to this some singularity of dress or ap-
pearance on the part of the unhappy cavalier — a
robe of office, a splendid uniform, or any other
peculiarity of costume, — and let the scene of ac-
tion be a race-course, a review, a procession, or
any other place of concourse and public display,
and if the poor wight would escape being the ob-
ject of a shout of inextinguishable laughter, he
must contrive to break a limb or two, or, which
will be more effectual, to be killed on the spot; for
on no slighter condition will his fall excite anv
Vol. I.— 13
146 THE BOAR-HUNT.
thing like serious sympathy. On the present oc
casion, the short violet-coloured gown of the
Cardinal, which he used as a riding dress, (hav-
ing changed his long robes before he left the
Castle,) his scarlet stockings, and scarlet hat,
with the long strings hanging down, together
with his utter helplessness, gave infinite zest to
his exhibition of horsemanship.
The horse, having taken matters entirely into
his own hand, flew rather than galloped up a long
green avenue, overtook the pack in hard pursuit
of the boar, and then, having overturned one or
two yeomen prickers, who little expected to be
charged in the rear, — having ridden down seve-
ral dogs, and greatly confused the chase, — ani-
mated by the clamours and threats of the hunts-
man, carried the terrified Cardinal * ast the for-
midable animal itself, which was n shing on at
a speedy trot, furious and embossed with the
foam which he churned around his tusks. Ba-
lue, on beholding himself so near the boar, set
up a dreadful cry for help, which, or perhaps
the sight of the boar, produced such an effect on
his horse, that the animal interrupted its head-
long career by suddenly springing to one side ;
so that the Cardinal, who had long only kept his
seat because the motion was straight forward,
now fell heavily to the ground. The conclusion -
of Baiue's chase took place so near the boar,
that, had not the animal been at that moment ,
too much engaged about his own affairs, the vici-
nity might have proved as fatal to the Cardinal,
as it is said to have done to Favila, King of the
Visigoths, in Spain. He got off, however, for
the fright, and crawling as hastily as he could
out of the way of hounds and huntsmen, saw the
whole chase sweep by him without affording him
assistance j for hunters in those days were as lit-
THE BOAR-HUNT. 14,7
tie moved by sympathy for such misfortunes as
they are in our own.
The King, as he passed, said to Dunois,
< l Yonder lies his Eminence low enough— -he is
no great huntsman, though for a fisher (when a
secret is to be caught,) he may match Saint
Peter himself. He has, however, for once, I
think, met with his match."
The Cardinal did not hear the words, but the
scornful look with which they were spoken led
him to suspect their general import. The devil
is said to seize such opportunities of temptation
as was now afforded by the passions of Balue,
bitterly moved as they had been by the scorn of
the King. The momentary fright was over so
soon as he had assured himself that his fall was
harmless ; but mortified vanity, and resentment
against his Sovereign, had a much longer influ-
ence on his feelings.
After all the chase had passed him, a single
cavalier, who seemed rather to be a spectator
than a partaker of the sport, rode up with one
or two attendants, and expressed no small 'sur-
prise to find the Cardinal there upon foot, with-
out a horse or attendants, and in such a plight
as plainly shewed the nature of the accident
which had there placed him. To dismount, and
offer his assistance in this predicament, — to cause
one of his attendants resign a staid and quiet
palfrey for the Cardinal's use — to express his sur-
prise at the customs of the French Court, which
thus permitted them to abandon to the dangers
of the chase, and forsake in his need, their wisest
statesman, were the natural modes of assistance
and consolation which so strange a rencontre
supplied to Crevecceur ; for it was the Burgun-
dian ambassador who came to the assistance of
the fallen Cardinal.
148 THE BOAR-HUNT.
He found him in a lucky time and humour for
essaying some of those practices on his fidelity,
to which it is well known that Balue had the
criminal weaknebs to listen. Already in the
morning, as the jealous temper of Louis had
suggested, more had passed betwixt them than
the Cardinal durst have reported to his master.
But although he had listened with gratified ears
to the high value, which, he was assured by Cre-
vecceur, the Duke of Burgundy placed upon his
person and talents, and noc without a feeling of
temptation, when the Count hinted at the muni-
ficence of his master's disposition, and the rich
benefices of Flanders, it was not until the ac-
cident, as we have related, had highly irritated
him, that, stung with wounded vanity, he re-
solved in a fatal hour, to shew, that no enemy
can be so dangerous as an offended friend and
confidant.
On the present occasion, he hastily requested
Crevecceur to separate from him, lest they should
be observed, but appointed him a meeting for
the evening in the Abbey of Saint Martin's at
Tours, after vesper service ; and that in a tone
which assured the Burgundian that his master
had obtained an advantage hardly to have been
hoped for.
In the meanwhile, Louis, who though the most
politic Prince of his time, upon this, as on other
occasions, suffered his passions to interfere with
his art, followed contentedly the chase of the
wild boar, which was now come to an interest-
ing point. It had so happened that a sounder
(i. e. in the language of the period, a boar of only
two years old) had crossed the track of the pro-
per object of the chase, and withdrawn in pur-
suit of him all the dogs, (saving two or three
couple of old staunch hounds,) and the greater
THE BOAR-HUNT. 149
part of the huntsmen. The King saw, with in-
ternal glee, Dunois as well as others, follow
upon this false scent, and enjoyed in secret the
thought of triumphing over that accomplished
knight, in the art of venerie, which was then
thought almost as glorious as war. Louis was
well mounted, and followed close on the hounds;
so that, when the boar turned to bay in a mar-
shy piece of ground, there was no one near him
but the King himself.
Louis shewed all the bravery and expertness
of an experienced huntsman ; for, unheeding the
danger, he rode up to the tremendous animal,
which was defending itself with fury against the
dogs, and struck him with his boar-spear; yet
as the horse shyed from the boar, the blow was
not so effectual as either to kill or disable him.
No effort could prevail on the horse to charge a
second time ; so that the King, dismounting, ad-
vanced on foot against the furious animal, hold-
ing naked in his hand one of those short, sharp,
straight, and pointed swords, which huntsmen
used for such encounters. The boar instantly
quitted the dogs to rush on his human enemy,
while the King, taking his station, and posting
himself firmly, presented the sword, with the pur-
pose of aiming it at the boar's throat, or rather
chest, within the collar-bone ; in which case, the
weight of the beast, and the impetuosity of his
career, would have served to accelerate his own
destruction. But, owing to the wetness of the
ground, the King's foot slipped, just as this de-
licate and perilous manoeuvre ought to have been
accomplished, and the point of the sword en-
countering the cuirass of bristles on the outside
of the creature's shoulders, glanced off without
making any impression, and Louis fell flat on the
13f
150 THE BOAR-HUNT.
ground. This was so far fortunate for the Mo-
narch, because the animal owing to the King's
fall, missed his blow in his turn, and only rent
with his tusk the King's short hunting-cloak, in-
stead of ripping up his thigh. But as, after
running a little a-head in the fury of his course,
the boar turned to repeat his attack on the
King in the moment when he was rising, the
life of Louis was in imminent danger, when
Quentin Durward, who had been thrown out in
the chase by the slowness of his horse, but, who
nevertheless, had luckily distinguished and fol-
lowed the blast of the King's horn, rode up, and
transfixed the animal with his spear.
The King, who had by this time recovered
his feet, came in turn to Durward's assistance,
and cut the animal's throat with his sword. Be-
fore speaking a word to Quentin, he measured
the huge creature not only by paces, but even by
feet — then wiped the sweat from his brow, and
the blood from his hands — then took off his
hunting cap, hung it on a bush, and devoutly
made his orisons to the little leaden images which
it contained — and then looking upon Durward,
said to him, " Is it thou, my young Scot? — thou
hast begun thy woodcraft well, and Maitre
Pierre owes thee as good entertainment as he gave
thee at the Fleur-de-Lys yonder.- — Why dost
thou not speak ; Thou hast lost thy forwardness
and fire, methinks, at the Court, where others
find both."
Quentin, as shrewd a youth as ever Scottish
breeze breathed caution into, was far too wise to
embrace the perilous permission of familiarity
which he seemed thus invited to use. He an-
swered in very few and well-chosen words, that
if he ventured to address his majesty at all, it
THE BOAR-HITNT. 151
could be but to crave pardon for the rustic bold-
ness with which he had conducted himself when
ignorant of his high rank.
" Tush ! man," said the King ; « I forgive thy
sauciness for thy spirit and shrewdness. I ad-
mired how near thou didst hit upon my gossip
Tristan's occupation. You have nearly tasted of
his handy-work since, as I am given to under-
stand. I bid thee beware of him ; he is a mer-
chant who deals in rough bracelets and tight
necklaces. Help me to my horse — I love thee,
and will do thee good. Build on no man's fa-
vour but mine — not even on thine uncle's or Lord
Crawford's— *and say nothing of thy timely aid
in this matter of the boar ; for if a man makes
boast that he has served a King in such a pinch,
he must take the braggart humour for its own
recompense."
The King then winded his horn, which brought
up Dunois and several attendants, whose compli-
ments he received on the slaughter of such a no-
ble animal, without scrupling to appropriate a
much greater share of merit than actually be-
longed to him ; for he mentioned Durward's as-
sistance as slightly as a sportsman, who, in boast-
ing of the number of birds which he has bagged,
does not always dilate upon the presence and
assistance of the game keeper. He then ordered
Dunois to see that the boar's carcase was sent to
the brotherhood of Saint Martin, at Tours, to
mend their fare upon holidays, and that they
might remember the King in their private de-
votions.
« And," said Louis, " who hath seen his Emi-
nence my Lord Cardinal? Methinks it were but
poor courtesy, and cold regard to Holy Church,
to leave him afoot here in the forest."
" May it please you, sire," said Quentin, when
152 THE BOAR-HUNT.
he saw that all were silent, " I saw his Lordship
the Cardinal accommodated with a horse, on
which he left the forest."
" Heaven cares for its own," replied the King.
" Set forward, my lords ; we'll hunt no more this
morning. — You, Sir Squire," addressing Quen-
tin, " reach me my wood-knife — it has dropped
from the sheath beside the quarry there. Ride
in, Dunois — I follow instantly."
Louis, whose lightest motions were often con-
ducted like stratagems, thus gained an opportu-
nity to ask Quentin privately, < l My bonny Scot,
thou hast an eye, I see — Can'st thou tell me who
helped the Cardinal to a palfrey? — Some stranger
I should suppose; for as /passed without stop-
ping, the courtiers would likely be loath to do
him such a turn."
'« I saw those who aided his Eminence but an
instant, sire," said Quentin ; " for I had been
unluckily thrown out, and was riding fast, to be
in my place ; but I think it was the ambassador
of Burgundy and his people"
" Ha!" said Louis—" Well, be it so— France
will match them yet."
There was nothing more remarkable happened,
and the King and his retinue returned to the
Castle.
THE SENTINEL. 153
CHAPTER X.
THE SENTINEL.
Where should this music be ; i' the air, or the earth ?
The Tempest,
——I was all ear,
And took in strains that might create a soul
Under the ribs of death.
Comus.
Quentin had hardly reached his little cabin,
in order to make some necessary changes in his
dress, when his worthy relative required to know
from him the full particulars which had befallen
him at the hunt.
The youth, who could not help thinking that
his uncle's hand was probably more powerful than
his understanding, took care, in his reply, to leave
the King in full possession of the victory which
he had seemed desirous to appropriate. The Ba-
lafre's reply was an account of how much better
he himself would have behaved in the like cir-
cumstances, and it was mixed with a gentle cen-
sure of his nephew's slackness, in not making in
to the King's assistance, when he might be in im-
minent peril. The youth had prudence, in an-
swer, to abstain from all further vindication of
his own conduct, excepting, that, according to the
rules of woodcraft, he held it ungentle to inter-
fere with the game attacked by another hunter,
unless he was specially called upon for his assis-
tance. This discussion was scarce ended, when
occasion was afforded Quentin to congratulate
himself for observing some reserve towards his
154 THE SENTINEL.
kinsman. A low tap at the door announced a
visitor — it was presently opened, and Oliver
Dain, or Mauvais, or Diable, for by all these
names he was known, entered the apartment.
This able but most unprincipled man has been
already described, in so far as his exterior is
concerned. The aptest resemblance of his mo-
tions and manners might perhaps be to those of
the domestic cat, which, while couching in seem-
ing slumber, or gliding through the apartment
with slow, stealthy, and timid steps, is now en-
gaged in watching the hole of some unfortunate
mouse, now in rubbing herself with apparent
confidence and fondness against those by whom
she desires to be caressed, and, presently after,
is flying upon her prey, or scratching, perhaps,
the very object of her former cajolements.
He entered with stooping shoulders, a humble
and modest look, and threw such a degree of
civility into his address to the Seignor Balafre,
that no one who saw the interview could have
avoided concluding that he came to ask a boon
of the Scottish Archer. He congratulated Lesly
on the excellent conduct of his young kinsman in
the chase that day, which, he observed, had at-
tracted the King's particular attention. He here
paused for a reply; and with his eyes fixed on
the ground, save just when once or twice they
stole upwards to take a side glance at Quentin,
he heard Balafre observe, " That his Majesty
had been unlucky in not having himself by his
side instead of his nephew, as he would question-
less have made in and speared the brute, a matter
which he understood Quentin had left upon his
Majesty's royal hands, so far as he could learn
the story. But it will be a lesson to his Majes-
ty," he said, " while he lives, to mount a man
of my inches on a better horse j for how could
THE SENTINEL. 155
my great hill of a Flemish dray-horse keep up
with his Majesty's Norman runner? I am sure
I spurred till his sides were furrowed. It is ill
considered, Master Oliver, and you must repre-
sent it to his Majesty."
Master Oliver only replied to this observation
by turning towards the bold bluff speaker one of
those slow, dubious glances, which, accompanied
by a slight motion of the hand, and a gentle de-
pression of the head to one side, may be either
interpreted as a mute assent to what is said, or
as a cautious deprecation of farther prosecution
of the subject. It was a keener, more scrutinis-
ing glance which he bent on the youth, as he
said, with an ambiguous smile, " So, young man,
is it the wont of Scotland to. suffer your princes
to be endangered for the lack of aid, ^n such
emergencies as this of to-day?"
" It is our custom,'' answered Quentin, deter-
mined to throw no farther light on the subject,
"not to encumber them with assistance in ho-
nourable pastimes, when they can aid themselves
without it. We hold that a prince in a hunting
fied must take his chance with others, and that
he comes there for the very purpose. — What
were wood-craft without fatigue and without
danger?"
< l You hear the silly boy," said his uncle ;
u that is always the way with him, he hath an
answer or a reason ready to be rendered for every
one. I wonder whence he hath caught the gift ;
I never could give a reason for any thing I have
ever done in my life, except for eating when I
was a-hungry, calling the muster-roll, and such
points of duty as the like. ,,
" And pray, worth) Seignor," said the royal
tonsor, looking at him from under his eye-lids,
3 56 THE SENTINEL.
**• what might your reason be for calling the mus-
ter-roll on such occasions?"
" Because the Captain commanded me," said
Balatre. « By Saint Giles, I know no other
reason ! If he had commanded Tyrie or Cun-
ningham, they must have done the same."
" A most military final 'cause !" said Oliver.
«* But, Seignor Balafre, you will be glad, doubt-
less, to leatn that his Majesty is so far from be-
ing displeased with your nephew's conduct that
he hath selected him to execute a piece of duty
this afternoon."
•'Selected him!" said Balafre, in great sur-
prise ; — " Selected me, I suppose you mean."
i( I mean precisely as I speak,*' replied the
barber, in a mild but decided tone ; " the King
hath a commission with which to entrust your
nephevv."
<« Why, wherefore, and for what reason ?"
said Balafre ; < c why doth he choose the boy, and
not me
?■>■>
" I can go no farther back than your own ulti-
mate cause, Seignor Balafre j such are his Ma-
jesty's commands. But," said he, " if I might
use the presumption to form a conjecture, it may
be his Majesty hath work to do, fitter for a youth
like your nephew, than for an experienced war-
rior like yourself, Seignor Balafre. — Wherefore,
young gentleman, get your weapons and follow
me. Bring with you a harquebuss, for you are
to mount sentinel."
" Sentinel !" said the uncle — " Are you sure
you are right, Master Oliver? The inner guards
have ever been mounted by those only who have
(like me) served twelve years in our honourable
body."
" I am quite certain of his Majesty's pleasure,"
THE SENTINEL. 157
said Oliver, " and must no longer delay execut-
ing it. — Have the goodness to assist to put your
nephew in order for the service."
JJalafre, who had no ill nature, or even much
jealousy in his disposition, hastily set about ad-
justing his nephew's dress, and giving him di-
rections for his conduct under arms, but was
unable to refrain from larding them with inter-
jections of surprise at such luck chancing to fall
upon the young man so early.
" It had never taken place before in the Scot-
tish Guard," he said, " not even in his own in-
stance. But doubtless his service must be to
mount guard over the popinjays and Indian pea-
cocks, which the Venetian ambassador had lately
presented to the King— it could be nothing else,
and such duty being only fit for a beardless boy,
(here he twirled his own grim moustaches,) he
was glad the lot had fallen on his fair nephew.''
Quick, and sharp of wit, as well as ardent in
fancy, Quentin saw visions of higher importance
in this early summons to the royal presence, and
his heart beat high at the anticipation of rising
into speedy distinction. He determined carefully
to watch the manners and language of his con-
ductor, which he suspected must, in some cases
at least, be interpreted by contraries, as sooth-
sayers are said to discover the interpretation of
dreams. He could not but hug himself on having
observed strict secrecy on the events of the chace r
and then formed a resolution, which, for so young
a person, had much prudence in it, that while
he breathed the air of this secluded and myste-
rious court, he would keep his thoughts' locked
in his bosom, and his tongue under the most
careful regulation.
His equipment was soon complete, and, with
his harquebuss on his shoulder, (for though they
Vol. I— 14
158 THE SENTINEL.
retained the name of Archers, the Scottish Guard
very early substituted fire-arms for the long-bow,
in the use of which their nation never excelled,)
he followed Master Oliver out of the barrack.
His uncle looked long after him, with a coun-
tenance in which wonder was blended with cu-
riosity; and though neither envy nor the malig-
nant feelings which it engenders, entered into his
honest meditations, there was yet a sense of
wounded or diminished self-importance, which
mingled with the pleasure excited by his ne-
phew's favourable commencement of service.
He shook his head gravely, opened a privy
cupboard, took out a large bottrine of stout old
wine, shook it to examine how low the contents
had ebbed, filled and drank a hearty cup ; then
took his seat, half reclining, on the great oaken
settle, and having once again slowly shaken his
head, received so much", apparent benefit from
the oscillation, that, like the toy called a manda-
rin, he continued the motion until he dropped
into a slumber, from which he was first roused
by the signal to dinner.
When Quentin Durward left his uncle to these
sublime meditations, he followed his conductor,
Master Oliver, who, without crossing any of the
principal courts, led him partly through private
passages exposed to the open air, but chiefly
through a maze of stairs, vaults and galleries,
communicating with each other by secret doors,
and at unexpected points, into a large and spa-
cious latticed gallery, which, from its breadth,
might have been almost termed a hall, hung with
tapestry more ancient than beautiful, and with a
very few of the hard, cold, ghastly-looking pic-
tures, belonging to the first dawn ©f the arts,
which preceded their splendid sunrise. These
were designed to represent the Paladins of Char-
THE SENTINEL. 159
lemagne, who made such a distinguished figure
in the romantic history of France ; and as the
gigantic form of the celebrated Orlando consti-
tuted the most prominent figure, the apartment
acquired from him the title of Roland's Hall, or
Roland's Gallery.
t( You will keep watch here," said Oliver, in
a low whisper, as if the hard delineations of mo-
narchs and warriors around could have been of-
fended at the elevation of his voice, or as if he
had feared to awaken the echoes that lurked
among the groined-vaults and Gothic drop-work
of this huge and dreary apartment.
'< What are the orders and signs of my watch?"
answered Quentin in the same suppressed tone.
< c Is your harquebuss loaded ?" replied Oliver,
without answering his query.
<c That," answered Quentin, u is soon done;"
and proceeded to charge his weapon, and to light
the slow-match, (by which when necessary it was
discharged,) at the embers of a wood-fire, which
was expiring in the huge hall chimney — a chim-
ney itself so large, that it might have been called
a Gothic closet or chapel appertaining to the hall.
When this was performed, Oliver told him
that he was ignorant of one of the high privileges
of his own corps, which only received orders
from the King in person, or the High Constable
of France, in lieu of their own officers. '< You
are placed here by his Majesty's command,
young man," added Oliver, " and you will not
be long here without knowing wherefore you are
summoned. Meantime your walk extends along
this gallery. You are permitted to stand still
while you list, but on no account to sit down, or
quit your weapon. You are not to sing aloud, or
whistle upon any account ; but you may, if you
list, mutter some of the church's prayers, or what
160 THE SENTINEL.
you list that has no offence in it, in a low voice*
Farewel, and keep good watch."
'« Good watch !*' thought the youthful soldier
as his guide stole away from him with that noise-
less gliding step which was peculiar to him, and
vanished through a side-door behind the arras —
k * Good watch ! but upon whom, and against
whom ? — for what, save bats or rats, are there
here to contend with, unless these grim old re-
presentatives of humanity should start into life
for the disturbance of my guard ? Well, it is
my duty, I suppose, and I must perform it."
With the vigorous purpose of discharging his
duty, even to the very rigour, he tried to while
away the time with some of the pious hymns
which he had learned in the convent in which
he had found shelter after the. death of his father
•—allowing in his own mind, that, but for the
. hange of a novice's frock for the rich military
dress which he now wore, his soldierly walk in
the royal gallery of France resembled greatly
those of which he had tired excessively in the
cloistered seclusion of Aberbrothock.
Presently, as if to convince himself he now be-
longed not to the cell but to the world, he chaunt-
ed to himself, but in such tone as not to exceed
the license given to him, some of the ancient
rude ballads which the old family harper had
taught him, of the defeat of the Danes at Abcr-
lemno and Forres, the murther of King DuflTus
at Forfar, and other pithy sonnets and lays,
which appertained to the history of his distant
native country, and particularly of the district to
which he belonged. This wore away a consider-
able space of time, and it was now more than
two hours past noon, when Quentin was remind-
ed by his appetite, that the good fathers of Aber-
brothock, however strict in demanding his alien-
THE SENTINEL. 161
dance upon the hours of devotion, were no less
pointed in summoning him to those of refection ;
whereas here, in the interior of a royal palace,
after a morning spent in exercise, and a noon
exhausted in duty, no man seemed to consider
it as a natural consequence that he must be im-
patient for his dinner.
There are, however, charms in sweet sounds
which can lull to rest even the natural feelings of
impatience,- by which Qaentin was now visited.
At the opposite extremities of the long hall or
gallery, were two large doors ornamentecf with
heavy architraves, probably opening into differ-
ent suites of apartments, to which the gallery-
served as a medium of mutual communication.
As the sentinel directed his solitary walk betwixt
these two entrances, which formed the boundary
of his duty, he was startled by a strain of music,
which was suddenly waked near one of those
doors, and which, at least in his imagination,
was a combination of the same lute and voice by
which he had beeri enchanted upon the preceding
day. All the dreams of yesterday morning, so
much weakened by the agitating circumstances
which he had since undergone, again arose more
vivid from their slumber, and, planted on the
spot where his ear could most conveniently drink
in the sounds, Quentin remained, with his har-
quebuss shouldered, his mouth half open, ear,
eye, and soul directed to the spot, rather the pic-
ture of a sentinel than a living form,— without
any other idea, than that of catching, if possible,
each passing sound of the dulcet melody.
These delightful sounds were but partially
heard — they languished, lingered, ceased totally,
and were from time to time renewed after uncer-
tain intervals. But, besides that music, like
beauty, is often most delightful, or at least most
14 f
162 THE SENTINEL.
interesting to the imagination, when its charms
are but partially displayed, and the imagination
is left to fill up what is from distance but imper-
fectly detailed, Quentin had matter enough to
fill up his reverie during the intervals of fascina-
tion. He could not doubt, from the report of
his uncle's comrades, and the scene which had
passed in the presence-chamber that morning,
that the syren who thus delighted his ears, was
not, as he had profanely supposed, the daughter
or kinswoman of a base Cabaretier, but the dis-
guised and distressed Countess, for whose cause
Kings and Princes were now about to buckle on
armour, and put lance in rest. A hundred wild
dreams, such as romantic and adventurous youth
readilv nourished in a romantic and adventurous
age, chased from his eyes the bodily presentment
of the actual scene, and substituted their own be-
wildering delusions, when at once, and rudely,
they were banished by a rough grasp laid upon
his weapon, and a harsh voice which exclaimed,
close to his ear, u Ha ! Pasque$-dzeu 9 Sir Squire,
methinks you keep sleepy ward here !"
The voice was the tuneless, yet impressive
and ironical tone of Maitre Pierre, and Quentin,
suddenly recalled to himself, saw, with shame
and fear, that he had, in his reverie, permitted
Louis himself — entering probably by some secret
door, and gliding along by the wall, or behind
the tapestry — to approach him so nearly, as al-
most to master his weapon.
The first impulse of his surprise was to free
his harquebuss by a violent exertion, which made
the King stagger backward into the hall. His
next apprehension was, that, in obeying the ani-
»al instinct, as it may be termed, which prompts
a brave man to resist an attempt to disarm him,
he had aggravated, by a personal struggle with
THE SENTINEL. 163
the King, the displeasure produced by the negli-
gence with which he had performed his duty
upon guard ; and, under this impression, he re-
covered his harquebuss without almost knowing
what he did, and having again shouldered it,
stood motionless before the Monarch, whom he
had reason to conclude he had mortally offended.
Louis, whose tyrannical disposition was less
founded on natural ferocity or cruelty of temper,
than on cold-blooded policy and jealous suspi-
cion, had, nevertheless, a share of that caustic
severity which would have made him a despot in
private conversation, and always seemed to enjoy
the pain which he inflicted on occasions like the
present. But he did not push his triumph far,
and contented himself with saying, — c « Thy ser-
vice of the morning hath already overpaid some
negligence in so young a soldier — Hast thou
dined?"
Quentin, who rather looked to be sent to the
Provost-Marshal than greeted with such a com-
pliment, answered humbly in the negative.
" Poor lad," said Louis, in a softer tone than
he usually spoke in, u hunger hath made him
drowsy. — I know thine appetite is a wolf," he
continued ; ** and I will save thee from one wild
beast as thou didst me from another ; thou hast
been prudent too in that matter, and I thank thee
for it. Canst thou yet hold out an hour without
food V 9
" Four-and-twenty, Sire," replied Durward,
<* or I were no true Scot."
« 4 1 would not for another kingdom be the
pasty to encounter thee after such a vigil," said
the King; " but the question now is, not of thy
dinner, but of my own. I admit to my table
his day, and in strict privacy, the Cardinal
Ulue and this Burgundian — this Count de Cre-
164 THE SENTINEL.
vecceur, and something may chance — the devil
is most busy when foes meet on terms of truce. °
He stopped, and remained silent, with a deep
and gloomy look. As the King was in no haste
to proceed, Quentin at length ventured to ask
what his duty was to be in these circumstances.
l < To keep watch at the beauffet, with thy
loaded weapon,*' said Louis ; " and if there is
treason, to shoot the traitor dead."
41 Treason, Sire ! and in this guarded Castle !"
exclaimed Durward.
" You think it impossible,'' said the King, not
offended, it would seem, by his frankness ; " but
our history has shewn that treason can creep
into an augre-hole Treason excluded by
guards ! O thou silly boy ! — quis costodiat ipsos
custodes — who shall exclude the treason of those
very warders ?"
*• Their Scottish honour," answered Durward,
boldly.
" True ; most right — thou pleasest me," said
the King, cheerfully ; '< the Scottish honour was
ever true, and I trust it accordingly. But
Treason !" — Here he relapsed into his former
gloomy mood, and traversed the apartment with
unequal steps — " She sits at our feasts, she
sparkles in our bowls, she wears the beard of our
counsellors, the smiles of our courtiers, the crazy
laugh of our jesters'— above all, she lies hid under
the friendly air of a reconciled enemy. Louis
of Orleans trusted John of Burgundy— he was
murdered in the Rue Barbette. John of Bur-
gundy trusted the faction of Orleans — he was
murdered on the bridge of Montereau. I will
trust no one — no one. Hark ye ; I will keep
my eye on that insolent Count ; ay, and on the
Churchman too, whom I hold not too faithful.
THE SENTINEL. 1G5
When I say, Ecosse, en avant, shoot Crevecceur
dead on the spot."
" It is my duty," said Quentin, " your Ma-
jesty's life being endangered."
" Certainly — I mean it no otherwise," said the
King — «« What should I get by slaving this in-
solent soldier ? — Were it the Constable Saint
Paul indeed' 1 — Here he paused, as if he thought
he had said a word too much, but resumed,
laughing, " There's our brother-in-law, James of
Scotland — your own James, Quemin — poniard-
ed the Douglas when on a hospitable visit, with-
in his own royal castle of Skirling."
l < Of Stirling," said Quentin, " and so please
your highness. — It was a deed of which came
little good."
"Stirling call you the castle ?'> said the King,
overlooking the latter part of Quentin's speech —
"Well, let it be Stirling — the name is nothing
to the purpose. But I meditate no injurv to
these men — none — It would serve me nothing.
They may not purpose equally fair by me. — I
rely on thy harquebuss.*
" I shall be prompt at the signal," said Quen-
tin ; »' but yet "
'< You hesitate," said the King. " Speak out
— I give thee full leave. From such as thee
hints may be caught that are right valuable."
" I would only presume to say," replied Quen-
tin, "that your Majesty having occasion to
distrust this Burgundian, I marvel that you suf-
' fer him to approach so near your person, and
that in privacy."
«* O content you, Sir Squire," said the King.
"There are some dangers, which, when they are
braved, disappear, and which vet, when there
is an obvious and apparent dread of them dis*
166 THE SENTINEL.
played, become certain and inevitable. When I
walk boldly up to a surly mastiff, and caress him,
it is ten to one I sooth him to good temper ; if I
shew fear of him, he flies on me and rends me.
I will be thus far frank with thee — It concerns
me nearly that this man returns not to his head-
long master in a resentful humour. I run my
risk, therefore. I have never shunned io expose
my life for the weal of my kingdom. — Follow
me."
Louis led his young Life-guardsman, for
whom he seemed to have taken a special favour,
through the side-door by which he had himself
entered, saying, as he shewed it him, " He who
would thrive at court must know the private
wickets and concealed stair-cases — ay, and the
traps and pitfalls of the palace, as well as the
principal entrances, folding-doors, and portals."
After several turns and passages, the King en-
tered a small vaulted room, where a table was
prepared for dinner with three covers. The
whole furniture and arrangements of the room
were plain almost to meanness. A beauffet, or
folding and moveable cup-board, held a few
pieces of gold and silver plate, and was the only
article in the chamber which had, in the slight-
est degree, the appearance of royalty. Behind
this cupboard, and completely hidden by it, was
the post which Louis assigned to Quentin Dur-
ward ; and after having ascertained, by going to
different parts of the room, that he was invisible
on all quarters, he gave him his last charge—-
(i Remember the word, Ecosse, en avant ; and so
soon as ever I utter these sounds, throw down
the screen — spare not for cup or goblet, and be
sure thou take good aim at Crevecceur — If thy
piece fail, cling to him, and use thy knife— Oli-
ver and I can deal with the Cardinal."
THE SENTINEL. 167
Having thus spoken, he whistled aloud, and
summoned into the apartment Oliver, who was
premier-valet of the chamber as well as barber,
and who, in fact, performed all offices immedi-
ately connected with the King's person, and who
now appeared, attended by two old men, who
were the only assistants or waiters at the royal
table. So soon as the King had taken his place,
the visitors were admitted ; and Quentin, though
himself unseen, was so situated as to remark all
the particular of the interview.
The King welcomed his visitors with a degree
of cordiality, which Quentin had the utmost dif-
ficulty to reconcile with the directions which he
had previously received, and the purpose for
which he stood behind the beauffet with his dead-
ly weapon in readiness. Not only did Louis ap-
pear totally free from apprehension of any kind,
but one would have supposed that those guests
whom he had done the high honour to admit to
his table, were the very persons in whom he
could most unreservedly confide, and whom he
was most willing to honour. Nothing could be
more dignified, and, at the same time, more cour-
teous, than his demeanour. While all around
him, including even his own dress, was far be-
neath what the petty princes of the kingdom dis-
played in their festivities, his own language and
manners were those of a mighty Sovereign in his
most condescending mood. Quentin was tempt-
ed to suppose, either that the whole of his pre-
vious conversation with Louis had been a dream
or that the dutiful demeanour of the Cardinal,'
and the frank, open, and gallant bearing of the
Burgundian noble, had entirely erased the King's
suspicions.
But whilst the guests, in obedience to the
King, were in the act of placing themselves at
168 THE SENTINEL.
the table, his Majesty darted one keen glance on
them and then instantly directed his look to
Quentin's post. This was done in an instant ;
but the glance conveyed so much doubt and ha-
tred towards his guests, such a peremptory in-
junction on Quentin to be watchful in atten-
dance, and prompt in execution, that no room
was left for doubting that the sentiments of Louis
continued unaltered, and his apprehensions un-
abated. He was therefore, more than ever as-
tonished at the deep veil under which that Mo-
narch was able to conceal the movements of his
jealous disposition.
Appearing to have entirely forgotten the lan-
guage which Crevecoeur had held towards him in
the face of his court, the King conversed with him
of old times, of events which had occurred during
his own exile in the territories of Burgundy, and
inquired respecting all the nobles with whom he
had been then familiar, as if that period had indeed
been the happiest of his life, and as if he retained
towards all who had contributed to soften the
term of his exile the kindest and most grateful
sentiments.
" To an ambassador of another nation," he
said. 4< I would have thrown something of state
into our reception ; but to an old friend, who
shared my board at the Castle of Genappes, I
wished to shew myself, as I love best to live,
old Louis of Valois, as simple and plain as any
of his Parisian badauds. But I directed them i
to make seme better cheer for you, Sir Count, J
for I know your Burgundian proverb, < Mieux
vault bon repas que be/ habit,' and I bid them
have some care of our table. For our wine, you \
know well it is the subject of an old emulation .
betwixt France and Burgundy, which we will
presently reconcile ; for I will drink to you in
THE SENTINEL. 169
Burgundy, and you, Sir Count shall pledge me
m Champagne.— Here, Oliver, let me have a cup
of Fin d* Auxerre ;*' and he humbed gaily a song
then well known —
" Auxerre est le boisson des Rois."
" Here, Sir Count, I drink to the health of the
noble Duke of Burgundy, our kind and loving
cousin. — Oliver, replenish yon golden cup with
Fin de Rheims, and give it to the Count on your
knee — he represents our loving brother. — My
Lord Cardinal, we will ourself fill your cup."
" You have already, Sire, even to overflow-
ing," said the Cardinal, with the lowly mien of
a favourite towards an indulgent master.
u Because we know that your Eminence can car-
ry it with a steady hand," said Louis. " But which
side do you espouse in the great controversy —
Sillery or Auxerre — France or Burgundy."
« I will stand neutral, Sire," said the Cardinal,
u and replenish my cup with Auvernat."
4 < A neutral has a perilous part to sustain,"
said the King ; but as he observed the Cardinal
colour somewhat, he glided from the subject, and
added, " But you prefer the Auvernat, because it
is so noble it suffers not water. — You, Sir Count,
hesitate to fill your cup. I trust you have found
no national bitterness at the bottom."
u I would, Sir,'' said the Count de Crevecceur,
•'• that all national quarrels could be as pleasantly
ended as the rivalry betwixt our vineyards."
M With time, Sir Count — with time — such time
as you have taken to your draught of Cham-
pagne. — And now that it is finished, favour me by
, putting the goblet in your bosom, and keeping it
I as a pledge of our regard. It is not to every one
. that we would part with it. It belonged of yore
to that terror of France, Henry V. of England,
and was taken when Rouen was reduced, and
those islanders expelled from Normandy by the
Vol. I.— 15
170 THE SENTINEL.
joint arms of France and Burgundy. It cannot
be better bestowed than on a noble and valiant
Burgundian, who well knows that in the union of
these two nations depends the continuance of the
freedom of the continent from the English yoke."
The Count made a suitable answer, and Louis
gave unrestrained way to the satirical gaiety of
disposition which sometimes enlivened the darker
shades of his character. Leading, of course, the
conversation, his remarks, always shrewd and
caustic, and often actually witty, were seldom
good-natured, and the anecdotes with which he
illustrated them were often more humorous than
delicate ; but in no one word, syllable, Or letter,
did he betray the state of mind of one who, ap-
prehensive of assassination, hath in his apartment
an -armed soldier, with his piece loaded, in order
to prevent or anticipate the deed.
The Count of Crevecceur gave frankly into
the King's humour ; while the smooth church-
man laughed at every jest, and enhanced every
ludicrous idea, without expressing any shame at
expressions which made the rustic young Scot
blush even in his place of concealment. In about
an hour and a half the tables were drawn : and
the King, taking courteous leave of his guests,
gave the signal that it was his desire to be alone.
So soon as all, even Oliver had retired, he
called Quentin from his place of concealment ;
but with a voice so faint, that the youth could
scarce believe it to be the same which had so
lately given animation to the jest, and zest to
the tale. As he approached he saw an equal
change in his countenance. The light of as-
sumed vivacity had left his eyes, the smile had
deserted his face, and he exhibited all the fatigue
of a celebrated actor, when he has finished the
exhausting representation of some favourite cha-
racter.
" Thy watch is not yet over," he said to Quen-
THE HALL OF ROLAND. 171
tin — M refresh thyself for an instant — yonder dor-
mant table affords the means — I will then instruct
thee in thy farther duty. Meanwhile, it is ill
talking, between a full man and a fasting."
He threw himself back on his seat, covered
his brow with his hand, and was silent,
CHAPTER XL
THE HALL OF ROLAND.
Painters shew Cupid blind — Hath Hymen eyesf
Or is his sight warp'd by those spectacles
Which parents, guardians, and advisers lend him.
That he may look through them on lands and mansions,
On jewels, gold, and all such rich dotations,
An I see their value ten times magnified,
Me thinks 'twill bi-ook a question.
The Miseries of enforced Marriage .
Louis the Xlth of France, though the Sove-
reign in Europe who was fondest and most jea-
lous of potter, desired only its substantial enjoy-
ment, and though he knew well enough, and at
timrs exacted strictly the observances due to his
rank, was in general singularly careless of show,
In a prince of better qualities, the familiarity
with which he invited subjects to his board —
nay, occasionally sat at theirs, — must have been
highly popular ; and even such as he was, the
Kind's homeliness of manners atoned for many
of his vices with that class of his subjects who
were not particularly exposed to their conse-
quences. The tiers etat, or commons of France,
who rose to more opulence and consequence un-
der the reign of this sagacious prince, respected
his person, though they loved him not ; and it
was resting on their support that he was enabled
to make his parry good against the hatred of the
nobles, who conceived that he diminished the
172 THE HALL OF ROLAND.
honour of the French crown, and obscured their
own splendid privileges by the very neglect of
form which gratified the citizens and commons.
With patience, which most other princes would
have considered as degrading, and not without
a sense of amusement, the Monarch of France
waited till his Life-guard's-man had satisfied the
keenness of a youthful appetite. It may be sup-
posed, however, that Quentin had too much sense
and prudence to put the royal patience to a long
or tedious proof j and indeed he was repeatedly
desirous to break off his repast ere Louis would
permit him. u I see it in thine eye," he said,
« that thy courage is not half abated. Go on
—God and Saint Dennis ! — charge again. I tell
thee that meat and mass (crossing himself) never
hindered the work of a good Christian man.
Take a cup of wine ; but mind thou be cautious
of the wine-pot — it is the vice of thy country-
men as well as of the English, who, lacking that
folly, are the choicest soldiers ever wore armour.
And now wash speedily — forget not thy benedi-
cite, and -follow me."
Quentin Durward obeyed, and, conducted by
a different, but as maze-like an approach, as he
had formerlv passed, he followed Louis into the
Hall of Roland.
« 4 Take notice," said the King, imperatively,
< 4 thou hast never left this post — let that be thine
answer to thine kinsman and comrades — and,
hark thee, to bind the recollection on thy memory,
I give thee this gold chain, (flinging'on his arm
one of considerable value,) if I go not brave my-
self, those whom I trust have ever the means to
ruffle it with the best. But when such chains as
these bind not the tongue from wagging too free-
ly, my gossip, LTIermite, hath an amulet for the
throat, which never fails to work a certain cure.
And now attend — no man, save Oliver or I my-
self, enter here this evening; but Indies will come
THE HALL OF ROLAND. 173
hither, perhaps from the one extremity of the
hall, perhaps from the other, perhaps from both.
You may answer if they address you, but, being
on your duty, your answer must be brief; and
you must neither address them in your turn, nor
engage in any prolonged discourse. But hearken
to what they say. — Thine ears, as well as thy
hands, are mine — I have bought thee body and
soul — therefore, if thou hearest aught of their
conversation, thou must retain it in memory until
it is communicated to me, and then forget it. —
And, now I think better on it, it will be best that
thou pass for a Scottish recruit, who hath come
straight down from his mountains, and hath not
yet acquired our most Christian language — right
— so, if they speak to thee, thou wilt not answer
— this will free you from embarrassment, and
lead them to converse without regard to your
presence. You understand me- — Farewel. Be
wary, and thou hast a friend."
The king had scarce spoken these words ere
he disappeared behind the arras, leaving Quentin
to meditate on what he had seen and heard. The
youth was in one of those situations from which
it is pleasanter to look forwards than to look back;
for the reflection that he had been planted like a
marksman in a thicket who watches for a stag, to
take the life of the noble Count of Crevecosur,
had in it nothing ennobling. It was very true
that the King's measures seemed on this occasion
merely cautionary and defensive; but how did
he know but he might be soon commanded on
some offensive operation of the same kind? This
would be an unpleasant crisis, since it was plain,
from the character of his master, that there would
be destruction in refusing, while his honour told
him there wo .Id be disgrace in complying. He
turned his thoughts from this subject of reflec-
tion, with the sage consolation so often adopted
by youth when prospective dangers intrude them=
15 f
174 THE HALL OF ROLAIs'b.
selves on their mind, that it was time enough to
think what was to be done when the emergence
actually arrived, and that sufficient for the day
was the evil thereof.
Quentin made use of this sedative reflection
the more easily that the last commands of the
King had given him something more agreeable
to think of than his own condition. The Lady
of the Lute was certainly one of those ladies to
whom his attention was to be dedicated ; and
well in his mind did he promise to obey one part
of the King's mandate, and listen with diligence
to every word that might drop from her lips, that
he might know if the magic of her conversation
equalled that of her music. But with as much
sincerity did he swear to himself, that no part of
her discourse should be reported by him to the
King which might affect the fair speaker other-
wise than favourably.
Meantime, there was no fear of his again
slumbering on his post. Each passing breath of
wind, which, finding its way through the open
lattice, waved the old arras, sounded like the ap-
proach of the fair object of his expectation. He
felt, in short, all that mysterious anxiety, and
eagerness of expectation, which is always the
companion of love, and sometimes hath a consi-
derable share in creating it.
At length, a door actually creaked and jingled,
([for the doors even of palaces did not in the fif-
teenth century turn on their hinges so noiseless
as ours;) but alas J it was not at that end of the
hall from which the lute had been heard. It
opened, however, and a female figure entered,
followed by two others, whom she directed by
a sign to remain without while she herself came
forward into the hall. By her imperfect and un-
equal gait, which shewed to peculiar disadvan-
tage as she walked along this long gallery, Quen-
tin at once recognised the Princess Joan, and,
with the respect which became his situation,
THE HALL OF ROLAND. ITS
drew himself up in a fitting attitude of silent vi-
gilance, and lowered his weapon to her as she
passed. She acknowledged the courtesy by a
gracious inclination of her head, and he had an
opportunity of seeing her countenance more dis-
tinctly than he had in the morning.
There was little in the features of this ill-fated
Princess to atone for the misfortune of h^r shape
and gait. Her face was, indeed, by no means
disagreeable in itself, though destitute of beauty;
and there was a meek expression of suffering pa-
tience in her large blue eyes, which were com-
monly fixed upon the ground. But besides that
she was extremely pallid in complexion, her skin
had the yellowish discoloured tinge which ac-
companies habitual bad health ; and though her
teeth were white and regular, her lips were thin
and pale. The Princess had a profusion of flaxen
hair, but it was so light-coloured as to be almost
of a bluish tinge ; and her tire-woman, who doubt-
less considered the luxuriance of her mistress's
tresses as a beauty, had not greatly improved
matters on the whole, by arranging them in curls
around her pale countenance, to which they gave
an expression almost unearthly. To make mat-
ters still worse, she had chosen a vest or cymar
of a pale green silk, which gave her, on the whole,
a ghastly and even spectral appearance.
While Quentin followed this singular appari-
tion with eyes in which curiosity was blended
with compassion, for every look and motion of
the Princess seamed to call for the latter feeling,
two ladies entered trom the upper end of the
apartment.
One of these was the toung person, who, upon
Louis's summons, had served him with truit,
while Quen/in made his me morahle breakfast at
the Fleur-de-Lvs. Investe^now with all the
mysterious dignity belonging to the nymph of
the veil and lute, and proved, besides, (at least in
Quentin's estimation,) to be the high-born heiress
176 THE HALL OF ROLAND.
of a rich earldom, her beauty made ten times the
impression upon him which it had done when he
beheld in her one whom he deemed the daughter
of a paltry innkeeper, in attendance upon a rich
and humorous old burgher. He now wondered
what fascination could ever have concealed from
him her real character. Yet her dress was nearly
as simple as before, being a suit of deep mourn-
ing, without any ornaments. Her head-dress was
only a veil of crape, which was entirely thrown
back, so as to leave her face discovered ; and it
was only Quentin^s knowledge of her actual rank
which gave in his estimation new elegance to her
beautiful shape, a dignity to her step, which had
before remained unnoticed, and to her regular
features, brilliant complexion, and dazzling eyes,
an air of conscious nobleness, that enhanced their
beauty.
Had death been the penalty, Durward must
needs have rendered to this beauty and her com-
panion the same homage which he had just paid
to the royalty of the Princess. They received it
as those who were accustomed to the deference
of inferiors, and returned it with courtesy ; but
he thought — perhaps it was but a youthful vision
-—that the young lady coloured slightly, kept he*r
eyes on the ground, and seemed embarrassed,
though in a trifling degree, as she returned his
military salutation. This must have been owing
to her recollection of the audacious stranger in
the neighbouring turret at the Fleur-de-Lvs :
but did that discomposure express displeasure ?
This question he had no means to determine.
The companion of the youthful Countess, dress-
ed like herself, simply, and in deep mourning,
was at the age when women are apt to cling most
closely to that reputation for beauty which has
for years been dimyjishing. She had still remains
enough to shew what the power of her charms
must once have been, and, remembering past tri-
umphs, it was evident from her manner that she
THE HALL OF ROLAND. 1 77
•
had not relinquished the pretensions to future
conquests. She was tall and graceful, though
somewhat haughty in her deportment, and re-
turned the salute of Quentin with a smile of gra-
cious condescension, whispering, the next instant,
something into her companion's ear, who turned
towards the soldier, as if to comply with some
hint from the elder lady, but answered, neverthe-
less, without raising her eyes. Quentin could not
help suspecting that the observation called on the
young lady to notice his own good mien ; and he
was (I do not know why) pleased with the idea,
that the party referred to did not choose to look
at him, in order to verify with her own eyes the
truth of the observation. Probably he thought
there was already a sort of mysterious connection
beginning to exist between them, which gave im-
portance to the slightest trifle.
This reflexion was momentary, for he was in-
stantly wrapped up in attention to the meeting
of the Princess with these stranger ladies. She
had stood still upon their entrance, in order to
receive them, conscious, perhaps, that motion did
not become her well ; and as she was somewhat em-
barrassed in receiving and repaying their compli-
ments, the elder stranger,ignorant of the rank of the
party whom she addressed, was led to pay her sa-
lutation in a manner rather as if she conferred
than received an honour through the interview.
< l I rejoice, madam," she said, with a smile %
which was meant to express condescension at
once and encouragement, " that we are at length
permitted the society of such a respectable per-
son of our own sex as you appear to be. I must
say, that my niece and I have had but little for
which to thank the hospitality of King Louis.
Nav, niece, never pluck my sleeve—.! am sure I
read in the looks of this young lady, sympathy
for our situation. Since we came hither, fair
madam, we have been used little better than
178 ^HE HALL OF ROLAND.
mere prisoners ; and after a thousand invitations
to throw our cause and our persons under the
protection of Fratice, the most Christian King
has afforded us but a base inn for our residence,
and now a corner of this moth-eaten palace, out
of which we are only permitted to creep towards
sunset, as if we were bats or owls, whose appear-
ance in the sunshine is to be held matter of ill omen."
u I am sorry," said the Princess, faltering with
the awkward embarrassment of the interview,
« that we have been unable, hitherto, to receive
you according to your deserts. — Your niece, I
trust, is better satified."
•* Much — much better than I can express," an-
swered the youthful Countess. — « I sought but
safety and I have found solitude, and secresy
besides. The seclusion of our former residence,
and the still greater solitude of that now assigned
to us, augment, in my eyes, the favour which the
King vouchsafed to us unfortunate fugitives."
"Silence, my silly cousin," said the elderly
lady, *« and let us speak according to our con-
science, since at last we are alone with one of our
own sex. I say alone, for that handsome young
soldier is a mere statue, since he seems not to
have the use of limbs, and I am given to under-
stand he wants that of his tongue, at least in ci-
vilised language. I say, since no one but this
lady can understand us, I must own there is no-
thing I have regretted equal to taking this
French journey. I looked for a splendid recep-
tion, tournaments, carousals, pageants, and fes-
tivals, and instead of which, all has been seclu-
sion and obscurity ; and the best society whom
the King introduced to us was a Bohemian va-
gabond, by whom he directed us to correspond
with our friends in Flanders. — Perhaps," said
the Lady, " it is his politic intention to mew us
up here until our lives' end, that he may seize on
our estates, on the extinction of the ancient house
THE KALL ©F ROLAND. 17"9
«f Croye. The Duke of Burgundy was not so
cruel; he offered my niece a husband, though he
was a bad one.'*
'« I should have thought the veil preferable
to an evil husband," said the Princess, with
difficulty finding opportunity to interpose a word.
« One would at least wish to have the choice.
Madam," replied the voluble dame ; " it is Hea-
ven knows, on account of my neice that I speak
for myself: I have long laid aside thoughts of
changing my condition. I see you smile, but by
my halidome, it is true — yet that is no excuse
for the King, whose conduct, like his person,
hath more resemblance to that of old Michaud,
the money-changer of Ghent, than to the suc-
cessor of Charlemagne."
<* Hold !" said the Princess ; " remember you
speak of my father."
" Of your father !" replied the Burgundian
lady in surprise.
M Of my father," repeated the Princess, with
dignity. " I am Joan of France. — But fear not,
madam," she continued in the gentle tone which
was natural to her, " you designed no offence,
and I have taken none. Command my influence
to render your exile, and that of this interesting
voung person, more supportable. Alas ! it is but
little I have in my power ; but it is willingly of-
fered."
Deep and submissive was the re\erence with
which the Countess Hameline de Croye, so was
the elder lady called, received the obliging offer
of the Princess's protection. She had been long
the inhabitant of courts, was mistress of the man-
ners which are there acquired, and held firmly
the established rule of courtiers of all ages, who,
although their usual private conversation turns
upon the vices and follies of their patrons, and
on the injuries and neglSct which thev them-
selves have sustained, never sufi.-r sucn hints
to drop from them in presence of the Sovereign
180 THE HALL OF ROLAND.
•
or those of his family. The lady was, therefore,
scandalised to the last degree at the mistake which
had induced her to speak so indecorously in pre-
sence of the daughter of Louis. She would have
exhausted herself in expressing regret and ma-
king apologies, had she not been put to silence
and restored to equanimity by the Princess, who
requested, in the most gentle manner, yet which,
from a daughter of France, had the weight of a
command, that no more might be said in the way
either of excuse or of explanation.
The princess Joan then took her own chair
with a dignity which became her, and compelled
the two strangers to sit, one on either hand, to
which the younger consented with unfeigned and
respectful diffidence, and the elder with an af-
fectation of deep humility and respect, which
was intended for such. They spoke together,
but in such a low tone, that the sentinel could
not overhear their discourse, and only remarked,
that the Princess seemed to bestow much of her
regard on the younger and more interesting lady;
and that the Countess Hameline, though speaking
a great deal more, attracted less of the Princess's
attention by her full flow of conversation and com-
pliment, than did her kinswoman by her brief and
modest replies to what was addressed to her.
The conversation of the ladies had not lasted
a quarter of an hour, when the door at the lower
end of the hall opened, and a man entered shroud-
ed in a riding cloak. Mindful of the King's in-
junction, and determined not to be a second time
caught slumbering, Quentin instantly moved to-
wards the intruder, and, interposing between him
and the ladies, requested him to retire instantly.
l « By whose command ?" said the stranger, in
a tone of contemptuous surprise.
" By that of the King.'' said Quentin, firmly,
"which I am placed here to enforce.''
" Not against Louis of Orleans," said the
Duke, dropping his cloak.
THE HALL OF ROLAND. 181
The young man hesitated a moment ; but how
enforce his orders against the first Prince of the
blood, about to be allied, as the report now gene-
rally went, with the King's own family ?
" Your Highness's pleasure," he said, « c is too
great to be withstood by me. I trust your High-
ness will bear me witness that I have done the
duty of my post, so far as your will permitted. 1 '
" Go to — you shall have no blame, young sol-
dier," said Orleans ; and passing forwards, paid
his compliments to the Princess, with that air of
constraint which always marked his courtesy
when addressing her.
" He had been dining," he said, «* with Du-
nois, and understanding there was society in Ro-
land's Gallery, he had ventured on the freedom
of adding one to the number."
The colour which mounted into the pale cheek
of the unfortunate Joan, and which for the mo-
ment spread something of beauty over her fea-
tures, evinced that this addition to the company
was any thing but indifferent to her. She hastened
to present the Prince to the two ladies of Croye,
who received him with the respect due to his emi-
nent rank, and the Princess, pointing to a chair,
requested him to join their conversation party.
The Duke declined the freedom of assuming
a seat in such society ; but taking a cushion from
one of the settles, he laid it at the feet of the
beautiful young Countess of Croye, and so stat-
ed himself, that, without appearing to neglect the
Princess, he was enabled to bestow the greater
share of his attention on her beautiful neighbour.
At first, it seemed as if this arrangement rather
pleased than offended his destined bride. She
encouraged the Duke in his gallantries towards
the fair stranger, and seemed to regard them as
complimentarv to herself. But the Duke of Or-
leans, though accustomed to subject his mind to
the stern yoke of his uncle when in the King's
Vol. I— 16
182 THE HALL Oi ROLAND.
presence, had enough of princely nature to in-
duce him to follow his own inclinations when-
ever that restraint was withdrawn ; and his high
rank giving him a right to overstep the ordinary
ceremonies, and advance at once to familiarity,
his praises of the Countess Isabelle's beauty be-
came so energetic, and flowed with such unre-
strained freedom, owing perhaps to his having
drunk a little more wine than usual — for Dunois
was no enemy to the worship of Bacchus — that at
length he seemed almost impassioned, and the pre-
sence of the Princess appeared well nigh forgotten.
The tone of compliment which he indulged
was grateful only to one individual in the circle ;
for the Countess Hameline already anticipated
the dignity of an alliance with the first Prince
of the blood, by means of her whose birth, beau-
ty, and large possessions, rendered such an am-
bitious consummation by no means impossible,
even in the eyes of a less sanguine projector,
could the views of Louis XL have been left out
of the calculation of chances. The younger
Countess listened to the Duke's gallantries with
anxiety and embarrassment, and ever and anon
turned an entreating look towards the Princess,
as if requesting her to come to her relief. But
the wounded feelings, and the timidity, of Joan
of France, rendered her incapable of an efTort to
make the conversation more general; and at length,
excepting a few interjectionai civilities of the
Lady Hameline, it was maintained almost exclu-
sively by the Duke himself, though at the expense
of the younger Countess of Croye, whose beauty
formed the theme of his high-flown eloquence.
Nor must I forget that there was a third per-
son, the unregarded sentinel, who saw his fair
visions melt away like wax before the sun, as
the Duke persevered in the warm tenor of his
passionate discourse. At length the Countess
Isabelle de Croye made a determined effort to
rHF, HALL OF ROLAND. 18J
..ut short what was becoming intolerably dis-
agreeable to her, especially from the pain to
which the conduct of the Duke was apparently
subjecting the Princess.
Addressing the latter, she said, modestly, but
with some firmness, that the first boon she had
to claim from her promised protection was,
" that her Highness would undertake to con-
vince the Duke of Orleans, that the ladies of
Burgundy, though inferior in wit and manners
to those of France, were not such absolute fools,
as to be pleased with no other conversation than
that of extravagant compliment."
" I grieve, lady," said the Duke, preventing
the Princess's answer, "that you will satirize,
in the same sentence, the beauty of the dames of
Burgundy, and the sincerity of the knights ot
France. If we are hasty and extravagant in
the expression of our admiration, it is because
we love as we fight, without letting cold deli-
beration come into our bosoms, and surrender
to the fair with the same rapidity with which
we defeat the valiant. 1 '
"The beautv of our countrywomen, '> said the
voung Countess, with more of reproof than she
had vet ventured to use towards the high-born
suitor, " is as unfit to claim such triumphs, as
the valour of the men of Burgundy is incapable
of yielding them."
'• I respect your patriotism, Countess," said
the Duke; " and the last branch of your theme
shall not be impugned by me, till a Burgundian
knight shall offer to sustain it with lance in rest.
But lor the injustice which \ ou have done to the
charms which your land produces, I appeal from
yourself to yourself. — Look there," he ^aid,
pointing to a large mirror, the gift of the Vene-
tian republic, and then of the highest rarity and
\alue, l «and tell me, as you look, what is the heart
that can resist the charms there represent-
.184 THE POLITICIAN.
The Princess, unable to sustain any longer
the neglect of her lover, here sunk backwards on
her chair, with a sigh, which at once recalled
the Duke from the land of romance, and induced
the Lady Hameline to ask whether her High-
ness found herself ill.
< 4 A sudden pain shot through my forehead,"
said the Princess, attempting to smile; u but I
will be presently better."
Her increasing paleness contradicted her
words, and induced the Lady Hameline to call
for assistance, as the Princess was about to faint.
The Duke, biting his lip, and cursing the
folly which could not keep guard over his tongue,
ran to summon the Princess's attendants, who
were in the next chamber, and when they came
hastily, with the usual remedies, he could not
but, as a cavalier and gentleman, give assistance
to support and to recover her. His voice, ren-
dered almost tender by pity and self-reproach,
was the most powerful means of recalling her to
herself, and just as the swoon was passing away,
the King himself entered the apartment.
CHAPTER XII.
THE POLITICIAN.
This is a lecturer so skill'd in policy,
That (no disparagement to Satan's cunning,)
He well might read a lesson to the devil,
And teach the old seducer new temptations.
Old Play.
As Louis entered the Gallery, he bent his
brows in the manner we have formerly described
as peculiar to him, and sent from under his ga-
thered and gloomy eye-brows, a keen look on all
around ; in darting which, as Quentin afterwards
THE POLITICIAN. 18:-
declared, his eyes seemed to turn so small, so
fierce, and so piercing, as to resemble those of
an aroused adder looking through the bush of
heath in which he lies coiled.
When, by this momentary and sharpened
glance, the King had reconnoitred the cause of the
bustle which was in the apartment, his first ad-
dress was to the Duke of Orleans.
"You here, my fair cousin :" he said ;— and
turning to Quentin, added, sternly, " Had you
not charge ?**
« Forgive the young man, Sire," said the
Duke ; « 4 he did not neglect his duty ; but I was
informed that the Princess was in this gallery.' 7
" And I warrant you would not be withstood
when you came hither to pay your court,' 1 said
the King, whose detestable hypocrisy persisted
in representing the Duke as participating in a
passion which was felt only on the side of his un-
happy daughter ; " and it is thus you debauch
the sentinels of my guard, young man ? — But
what cannot be pardoned to a gallant who lives
par amours /"
The Duke of Orleans raised his head, as if
about to reply, in some manner which might
correct the opinion conveyed in the King's ob-
servation ; but the instinctive reverence, not to
say fear, of Louis, in which he had been bred
from childhood, chained up his voice.
"And Joan hath been ill?" said the King;
" but do not be grieved, Louis ; it will soon pass
away; lend her your arm to her apartment, while
I will conduct these strange ladies to theirs."
The order was given in a tone which amounted
to a command, and Orleans accordingly made
his exit with the Princess at one extremity of the
gallery, while the King, ungloving his right hand,
courteously handed the Countess Isabelle and
her kinswoman to their apartment, which opened
from the other. He bowed profoundlv as they
16+
186 THE POLITICIAN.
entered, and remained standing on the threshold
for a minute after they had disappeared ; then,
with great composure, shut the door by which
they had retired, and turning the huge key, took
it from the lock, and put it into his girdle, — an
appendage which gave him still more perfectly
the air of some old miser, who cannot journey
in comfort unless he bear with him the key of
his treasure-chest.
With slow and pensive pace, and eyes fixed on
the ground, Louis now paced toward QuentinDur-
ward,who,expecting his share of the royal displea-
sure, viewed his approach with no little anxiety.
u Thou hast done wrong," said the King, rais-
ing his eyes, and fixing them firmly on him when
he had come within a yard of him, — " thou hast
done foul wrong, and deservest to die. — Speak
not a word in defence ! — What hadst thou to do
with Dukes or Princesses ? — what with any thing
but my order ?"
" So please your Majesty," said the young
soldier, " what could I do V
" What couldst thou do when thy post was
forcibly passed ?" answered the King, scornfully.
— « What is the use of that weapon on thy
shoulder ?•— .Thou shouldst have levelled thy
piece, and if the presumptuous rebel did not re-
tire on the instant, he should have died within
this very hall! Go— pass into these farther
apartments. In the first thou wilt find a large
staircase, which leads to the inner Bailley; there
thou wilt find Oliver Dain. — Send him to me —
do thou begone to thy quarters — As thou dost
value thy life, be not so loose of thy tongue as
thou hast been this day slack of thy hand."
Well pleased to escape so easily, yet with a
soul which revolted at the cold-blooded cruelty
which the King seemed to require from him in
the execution of his duty, Durward took the road
indicated, hastened down stairs, and communi-
THE POLITICIAN. I8f
cated the royal pleasure to Oliver, who was wait-
ing in the court beneath. The wily tonsor bowed,
sighed, and smiled, as, with a voice even softer
than ordinary, he wished the youth a good even-
ing ; and they parted, Quentin to his quarters,
and Oliver to attend the King.
In this place, the Memoirs which we have
chiefly followed in compiling this true history,
were unhappily defective ; for, founded chiefly
on information supplied by Quentin, they con-
veyed no information concerning the dialogue
which, in his absence, took place between the
King and his secret counsellor. Fortunately, the
Library of Hautlieu contained a manuscript copy
of the Chronique Scandaleuse of Jean de Troyes,
much more full than that which has been printed;
to which are added several curious memoranda,
which we incline to think were written down by
Oliver himself after the death of his master, and
before he had the happiness to be rewarded with
the halter which he had so long merited. From
this we have been able to extract a very full ac-
count of his conversation with Louis upon the
present occasion, which throws a light upon the
policy of that prince, which we might otherwise
have sought for in vain.
When the favourite attendant entered the
Gallery of Roland, he found the King pensively
seated upon the chair which his daughter had
left some minutes before. Well acquainted with
his temper, he glided on with his noiseless step
until he had just crossed the line of the King's
sight, so as to make him aware of his presence,
then shrank modestly backward and out of sight,
until he should be summoned to speak or to lis-
ten. The Monarch's first address was an un-
pleasant one: — l <So, Oliver, your fine schemes
are melting like snow before the south wind ! —
I pray to our Lady of Embrun that they resem-
ble not the ice-heaps of which the Switzer churls
188 THE POLITICIAN.
tell such stones, and come rushing down upon
our heads."
" I have heard with concern that all is not
well, Sire," answered Oliver.
" Not well !" exclaimed the King, rising and
hastily marching up and down the gallery, — M All
is ill, man — and as ill nearly as possible ; — so
much for thy fond romantic advice, that I, of all
men, should become a protector of distressed
damsels ! I tell thee Burgundy is arming, and on
the eve of closing an alliance with England.
And Edward, who hath his hands idle at home,
will pour his thousands upon us through that un-
happy gate of Calais. Singly, I might cajole or
defy them ; but united, united — and with the dis-
content and treachery of that villain Saint Paul ! —
All thy fault, Oliver, who counselled me to receive
the women, and to use the services of that damn-
ed Bohemian to carry messages to their vassals."
<* My lord," said Oliver, « you know my rea-
sons. The Countess's domains lie between the
frontiers of Burgundy and Flanders — her castle
is almost impregnable — her rights over neigh-
bouring estates are such as, if well supported,
cannot but give much annoyance to Burgundy,
were the lady but wedded to one who should be
friendly to France."
«' It is, it is a tempting bait," said the King ;
c «and could we have concealed her being here,
we might have arranged such a marriage for
this rich heiress. — But that cursed Bohemian,
how could'st thou recommend such a heathen
hound for a commission which required trust?"
" Please you," said Oliver, "to remember, it
was your Grace's self who trusted him too far —
much farther than I recommended. He would
have borne a letter trustily enough to the Coun-
tess's kinsman, telling him to hold out her castle,
and promising speedy relief; but your Highness
THE POLITICIAN. 189
must needs put his prophetic powers to the test ;
and thus he became possessed of secrets which
were worth betraying.''
" I am ashamed, I am ashamed," — said Louis.
*' And yet, Oliver, they say that these heathen
people are descended from the sage Chaldeans,
who did read the mysteries of the stars in the
plains of Shinar."
Well aware that his master, with all his acute-
ness and sagacity, was the more prone to be de-
ceived by soothsayers, astrologers, diviners, and
all that race of pretenders to occult science, that
he conceived himself to have some skill in these
arts, Oliver dared to press this point no farther ;
and only observed that the Bohemian had been
a bad prophet on his own account, else he would
have avoided returning to Tours, and saved him-
self from the gallows he had merited.
'« It often happens that those who are gifted
with prophetic knowledge," answered Louis,
with much gravity, " have not the power of fore-
seeing those events in which they themselves are
personally interested.''
" Under your Majesty's favour," replied the
confidant, "that seems as if a man could not see
his own hand by means of the candle which he
holds, and which shews him every other object
in the apartment."
"He cannot see his own features by the light
which shews the faces of others,'' replied Louis ;
"and that is the more faithful illustration of the
case. — But this is foreign to my purpose at pre-
sent. The Bohemian hath had his reward, and
peace be with him.— But these ladies,— Not only
does Burgundy threaten us with war for harbour-
ing them, but their presence is like to interfere
with mv projects in my own family. My simple
cousin of Orleans hath seen this damsel, and I
prophecy that the sight of her is like to make
190 THE POLITICIAN.
him less pliable in the matter of his alliance with
Joan."
u Your Majesty," answered the counsellor,
" may send the ladies of Croye back to Burgun-
dy, and so make your peace with the Duke.
Many might murmur at this as dishonourable ;
but if necessity demands the sacrifice — "
"If profit demanded the sacrifice, Oliver, the
sacrifice should be made without hesitation,'' an-
swered the King. "I am an old experienced
salmon, and use not to gulp the angler's hook be-
cause it is busked up with a feather called ho-
nour. But what is worse than a lack of honour,
there were, in returning those ladies to Burgun-
dy, a forfeiture of those views of advantage
which moved us to give them an asylum. It
were heart-breaking to renounce the opportunity
of planting a friend to ourselves, and an enemy
to Burgundy, in the very centre of his domi-
nions, and so near to the discontented cities of
Flanders. Oliver, I cannot relinquish the ad-
vantages which our scheme of marrying the
maiden to a friend of our own house seems to
hold out to us."
" Your Majesty," said Oliver, after a moment's
thought, " might confer her hand on some right
trusty friend, who would take all blame on him-
self and serve your Majesty secretly, while in
public you might disown him."
" And where am I to find such a friend ?"
said Louis. < 4 Were I to bestow her upon anv
one of our mutinous and i!l ruled nobles, would
it not be rendering him independent ? and hath
it not been my policy for years to prevent them
from becoming so ? — Dunois indeed — him, and
him only, I might perchance trust. — He would
fight for the crown of France, whatever were his
condition. But honours and wealth change men's
natures — Even Dunois I will not trust,"
THE POLITICIAN. 191
" Your Majesty may find others," said Oliver^
in his smoothest manner, and in a tone more in-
sinuating than that which he usually employed
in conversing with the King, who permitted him
considerable freedom ; » c men dependent entirely
on your own grace and favour, and who could
no more exist without your countenance than
without sun or air — men rather of head than of
action — men who "
u Men who resemble thyself, ha!" said King
Louis. — *< No, Oliver, by my faith that arrow
was rashly shot. — What, because I indulge thee
with my confidence, and let thee in reward, poll
my lieges a little now and then, doest thou think
it makes thee fit to be the husband of that beau-
tiful vision, and a Count of the highest class to
the boot ? thee — thee, I say, low born and lower-
bred, whose wisdom is at best a sort of cunning,
and whose courage is more than doubtful ?*'
" Your Majesty imputes to me a presumption
of which I am not guilty ,'* said Oliver.
" lam glad to hear it, man,' 1 replied the King ;
u and truly, I hold your judgment the healthier
that you disown such a reverie. But methinks
thy speech sounded strangely in that key. — Well,
to return. — I dare not wed this beauty to one of
my subjects— -I dare not return her to Burgundy
— I dare not transmit her to England, or to Ger-
many, where she is likely to become the prize of
one more likely to unite with Burgundy than
with France, and who would be more ready to
discourage the honest malcontents in Ghent and
Liege, than to yield them that wholesome coun-
tenance which might always find Charles the
Hardy enough to exercise his valour on, without
stirring from his own domains — and they were
in so ripe a humour for insurrection, the men of
Liege in especial, that they alone, well heated
and supported, would find my fair cousin work
192 1HE POL1TIC1AJS.
for more than a twelvemonth ; — and backed by
warlike Count of Croye, — O Oliver ! the plan is
too hopeful to be resigned without a struggle. —
Cannot thy fertile brain devise some scheme ?"
Oliver paused for a long time — -then at last re-
plied, " What if a bridal could be accomplished
betwixt Isabelle of Croye, and young Adolphus,
the Duke of Gueldres ?"
" What !" said the King, in astonishment ;
" sacrifice her, and she, too, so lovely a creature,
to the furious wretch who deposed, imprisoned,
and has often threatened to murder, his own fa-
ther ! — No, Oliver, no — that were too unuttera-
bly cruel even for you and me, who look so sted-
fastly to our excellent end, the peace and the
welfare of France, and respect so little the means
by which it is attained. Besides, he lies distant
from us, and is detested by the people of Ghent
and Liege. — No, no, I will none of Adolphus of
Gueldres — think on some one else."
«« My invention is exhausted, sire" said the
counsellor ; " I can remember no one who, as
husband to the Countess of Croye, would be
likely to answer your Majesty's views. He must
unite such various qualities — a friend to your
Majesty — an enemy to Burgundy — of policy
enough to conciliate the Gauntois and Liegeois,
and of valour sufficient to defend his little domi-
nions against the power of Duke Charles — Of no-
ble birth besides — that your highness insists up-
on ; and of excellent and most virtuous charac-
ter, to the boot of all."
« l Nay, Oliver," said the King, " I leaned not
so much — that is vso very much on character ; but
methinks Isabelle's bridegroom should be some-
thing less publickly and generally abhorred than
Adolphus of Gueldres. — For example, since I
myself must suggest some one, — Why not Wil-
liam de la Marck ?"
THE POLITICIAN. £*3
* v On my halidome, sire," said Oliver, " lean-
not complain of your demanding too high a stand-
ard of moral excellence in the happy man, if the
Wild Boar of Ardennes can serve your turn.
De la Marck ! — why, he is the most notorious
robber and murderer on all the Frontiers — ex-
communicated by the Pope for a thousand
crimes."
" We will have him relaxed, friend Oliver—
Holy Church is merciful."
" Almost an outlaw," continued Oliver, " and
under the ban of the Empire, by an ordinance
of the Chamber at Ratisbon."
" We will have the ban taken off, friend Oli-
ver," continued the King, in the same tone ; ** the
Imperial Chamber will hear reason."
" And admitting him to be of noble birth,"
said Oliver, u he hath the manners, the face, and
the outward form, as well as the heart, of a Flem-
ish butcher — She will never accept of him."
" His mode of wooing, if I mistake him not,"
said Louis, M will render it difficult for her to
make a choice."
" I was far wrong indeed, when I taxed your
Majesty with being over scrupulous," said the
counsellor. " On mv life, the crimes of Adol-
phus are but virtues to those of De la Marck !
And then hoiv is he to meet with his bride ?
y our Majesty knows he dares not stir far
from his own Forest of Ardennes."
" That must be cared for," said the King ;
" And, in the first place, the two ladies must be
acquainted privatelv that they can be no longer
maintained at this 'court, excepting at the ex-
pense of a war between France and Burgundy,
and that, unwilling to deliver them up to my
fair counsin of Burgundy, I am desirous they
should secretlv depart from my dominions.
Vol. I. — lir
194 THE POLITICIAN,
44 They will demand to be conveyed to Eng-
land," said Oliver ; fc4 and we will have her re*
turn with an island lord, with a round fair face,
long brown hair, and three thousand archers at
his back."
u No — no," replied the King ; " we dare not
(you understand me) so far offend our fair cou-
sin of Burgundy as to let her pass to England
— It would bring his dipleasure as certainly as
our maintaining her here. No, no — to the safe-
ty of the Church alone we will venture to com-
mit her ; and the utmost we can do is to con-
nive at the ladies Hameline and Isabelle de
Croye departing in disguise, and with a small
retinue, to take refuge with the Bishop of Liege,
who will place the fair Isabelle, for the time,
under the safeguard of a convent."
* l And if that convent protect her from Wil-
liam de la Marck, when he knows of your Ma-
jesty's favourable intentions, I have mistaken
the man."
" Why, yes," answered the King, u thanks to
our secret supplies of money, De la Marck hath
together a handsome handful of as unscrupulous
soldiery as ever were outlawed ; with which he
contrives to maintain himself among the woods,
in such a condition as makes him formidable
both to the Duke and Bishop of Liege. He
lacks nothing but some territory which he may
call his own, and this being so fair an opportu-
nity to establish himself by marriage, I think
that, Pasques-dieu ! he will find means to win
and wed, without more than a hint on our part.
The Duke of Burgundy will then have such a
thorn in his side, as no lancet of our time will
easily cut out from him. The Boar of Arden-
nes, whom he has already outlawed, strengthen-
ed by the possession of that fair lady's lands,
THE POLITICIAN. 195
castles, and seignorie, with the discontented
Liegeois to boot, who, by my faith, will not be
in that case unwilling to choose him for their
captain and leader — let him then think of wars
with France when he will, or rather let him
bless his stars if she war not with him. — How
dost like the scheme, Oliver, ha?"
u Rarelv," said Oliver, M save and except the
doom which confers that lady on the Wild Boar
of Ardennes. — By my halidome, saving in a lit-
tle outward shew of gallantry, Tristan, the Pro-
vost-Marshal, were the more proper bridegroom
of the two."
u Anon thou didst propose Master Oliver the
barber," said Louis ; " but friend Oliver and
gossip Tristan, excellent men in the way of coun-
sel and execution, are not the stuff that men make
Counts of. Know you not that the burghers of
Flanders value birth in other men, precisely be-
cause they want it themselves ? — A plebian mob
ever desire an aristocratic leader. Yonder Ked,
or Cade, or — how called they him f — in Engiana,
was fain to lure his rascal route after him, by pre-
tending to the blood of the Mortimers. William
de la Marck comes of the blood of the princes of
Sedan — And now to business. I must deter-
mine the ladies of Croye to a speedy and secret
flight, under sure guidance. This will be easily
done — we have but to hint the alternative of sur-
rendering them to Burgundy. Thou must find
means to let William De la Marck know of their
motions, and let him choose his own time and
place to push his suit. I know a fit person to
travel with them."
" May I ask to whom your Majesty commits
such an important charge ?" asked the tonsor.
M To a foreigner, be sure," replied the King;
M one who has neither kin nor interest in France,
196 THE POLITICIAN,
to interfere with the execution of my pleasure
and who knows too little of the country and its
factions, to suspect more of my purpose than I
chuse to tell him — In a word, I design to em-
ploy the young Scot who sent you hither but
now."
Oliver paused in a manner which seemed to
imply a doubt of the prudence of the choice, and
then added, " Your Majesty has reposed confi-
dence in that stranger boy earlier than is your
wont."
" I have my reasons," answered the King. — -
u Thou knowest (and he crossed himself) my
devotion for the blessed Saint Julian. I had been
saying my orisons to that holy saint late in the
night before last, and I made it my humble pe-
tition that he would augment my househould
with such wandering foreigners, as might best
establish throughout our kingdom unlimited de-
votion to our will ; and I vowed to the good
Saint in guerdon,, that I would, in his name, re-
CtlVc, ana relieve, and maintain them."
" And did Saint Julian," said Oliver, M send
your Majesty this long-legged importation from
Scotland in answer to your prayers ?"
Although the barber, who well knew that his
master had superstition in a large proportion to
his want of religion, and that on such topics no-
thing was more easy than to offend him- — al-
though, I sav, he knew the royal weakness, and
therefore carefully put the preceding question in
the softest and most simple tone of voice, Louis
felt the inuendo which it contained, and regard-
ed the speaker with high displeasure.
" Sirrah," he said, " thou art well called Oli-
ver the Devil, who dares thus to sport at once
with thy master and with the blessed Saints. I
tell thee, wert thou a grain less necessary to me
THE POLITICIAN. 197
I would have thee hung up on yonder oak before
the Castle, as an example to all who scoff at
things holy ! — Know, thou infidel slave, that mine
eyes were no sooner closed, than the blessed
Saint Julian was visible to me, leading a young
man, whom he presented to me, saying, that his
fortune should be to escape the sword, the cord,
the river, and to bring good fortune to the side
which he should espouse, and to the adventures
in which he should be engaged. I walked out
on the succeeding morning, and I met with this
youth. In his own country he hath escaped the
sword, amid the massacre of his whole fam-
ily, and here, within the brief compass of two
days, he hath been strangly rescued from drown-
ing and from the gallows, and hath already, on
a particular occasion, as I but lately hinted to
thee, been of the most material service to me. I
receive him as sent hither by Saint Julian, to
serve me in the most difficult, the most danger-
ous, and even the most desperate services."
The King, as he thus expressed himself, doff-
ed his hat, and selecting from the numerous lit-
tle leaden figures with which the hat-band was
garnished that which represented Saint Julian,
he placed it on the table, as was often his wont
when some peculiar feeling of hope, or perhaps
of remorse, happened to thrill across his mind,
and, kneeling down before it, muttered, with an
appearance of profound devotion, " Sancte Ju~
Hane, adsis preeibus nostris I Or a, or a, pro no-
bis r
This was one of those ague-fits of supersti~
tioua devotion, which often seized on Louis in
such extraordinary times and places, that they
gave one of the most sagacious Monarchs who
ever reigned, the appearance of a mad man, or
17*
198 E#E POLl
at least of one whose mind was shaken by some
deep consciousness of guilt.
While he was thus employed, his favourite
looked at him with an expression of sarcastic
contempt, which he scarce attempted to dis-
guise. Indeed it was one of this man's peculi-
arities, that in his whole intercourse with his
master, he laid aside that fondling, purring affec-
tation of officiousness and humility, which dis-
tinguished his conduct to others ; and if he still
bore some resemblance to a cat, it was when the
animal is on its guard, — watchful, animated,
and alert for sudden exertion. The cause of
this change was probably Oliver's consciousness,
that his master was himself too profound a hy-
pocrite not to see through the hypocrisy of
others.
u The features of this youth, then, if I may
presume to speak," said Oliver, " resemble those
of him whom your dream exhibited IV
M Closely and intimately," said the King,
whose imagination, like that of superstitious
people in general, readily imposed upon itself —
" I have had his horoscope cast, besides, by
Galeotti Martivalle, and I have plainly learned,
through his art and mine own observation, that,
in many respects, this unfriended youth hath his
destiny under the same constellation with mine."
Whatever Oliver might think of the causes
thus boldly assigned for the preference of an in-
experienced stripling, he dared make no farther
objections, well knowing that Louis, who, while
residing in exile, had bestowed much of his at-
tention on the supposed science of astrologv.
would listen to no raillery of anv kind which im-
peached his skill. He 'therefore only replied,
that he trusted the youth would prove faithful in
trie discharge of a task so delicate.
T«E POLITICIAN. 19b
u We will take care he hath no opportunity
ro be otherwise," said Louis; " for he shall be
privy to nothing, save that he is sent to escort
the Ladies of Croye to the residence of the
Bishop of Liege. Of the probable interference
of William de la Marck, he shall know as little
as they themselves. None shall know that se-
cret, saving the guide ; and Tristan or thou
must find one fit for our purpose."
" But in that case," said Oliver, "judging
of him from his country and his appearance, the
young man is like to stand to his arms so soon
us the Wild Boar comes on them, and may not
come off so easily from the tusks as he did this
morning."
44 If they rend his heart-strings," said Louis,
composedly, u Saint Julian, blessed be his name,
can send me another in his stead. It skills as
little that the messenger is slain after his duty is
executed, as that the flask is broken when the
wine is drunk out. Meanwhile, we must expe-
dite the ladies' departure, and then persuade the
Count de Crevecoeur that it has taken place with-
out our connivance, we having been desirous to
restore them to the custody of our fair cousin ;
which their sudden departure has unhappily pre-
vented."
M The Count, is perhaps too wise, and his mas-
ter too prejudiced, to believe it."
" Holy Mother!'' said Louis, " what unbelief
would that be in Christian men ! But, Oliver,
they shall believe us. We will throw into our
whole conduct towards our fair cousin, Duke
Charles, such thorough and unlimited confidence,
that, not to believe we have been sincere with
him in every respect, he must be worse than an
infidel. I tell thee, so convinced am I that I
could make Charles of Burgundy think of me in.
200 THE POLITICIAN.
every respect as I would have him, that, were it
necessary for silencing his doubts, I would ride
unarmed, and on a palfrey, to visit him in his
tent, with no better guard about me than thine
own simple person, friend Oliver."
" And I," said Oliver, " though I pique not
myself upon managing steel in any other shape
than that of a razor, would rather charge a Swiss
battalion of pikes, than I would accompany your
Highness upon such a visit of friendship to
Charles of Burgundy, when he hath so many
grounds to be well assured that there is enmity
in your Majesty's bosom against him,"
M Thou art a fool, Oliver," said the King —
u and that with all thy pretensions to wisdom —
and art not aware that deep policy must often
assume the appearance of the most extreme sim-
plicity, as courage occasionallv shrouds itself
under the show of modest timidity. Were it
needful, full surely would I do what I have said
— the Saints always blessing our purpose, and
the heavenly constellations bringing round, in
their course, a proper conjuncture for such an>
exploit."
In these words did King Louis XI. give the
first hint of the extraordinary resolution which
he afterwards adopted, of duping his great rival y
that had very nearly proved his own ruin.
He parted with his counseller, and presently
afterwards went to the apartment of the Ladies
of Croye. Few persuasions beyond his mere li-
cence would have been necessary to determine
their retreat from the Court of France, upon the
first hint that they might not be eventually pro-
tected against the Duke of Burgundy ; but it was
not so easy to induce them to chuse Liege for the
place of their retreat. They entreated and re-
quested to be transferred to Bretagne or Calais r
THB POLITICIAN. 201
where, under protection of the Duke of Bretagne,
or King of England, they might remain in a state
of safety, until the Sovereign of Burgundy should
relent in his rigorous purpose towards them. But
neither of these places of safety at all suited the
plans of Louis, and he was at last successful in
inducing them to adopt that which did coincide
with them.
The power of the Bishop of Liege for their
defence was not to be questioned, since his eccie-
siastical dignitv gave him the means of protecting
the fugitives against all Christian princes ; while,
on the other hand, his secular forces, if not nu-
merous, were at least sufficient to defend his per-
son, and all under his protection from any sudden
violence. The difficulty was to reach the little
Court of the Bishop in safety ; but for this Louis
promised to provide, by spreading a report that
the Ladies of Croye had escaped from Tours by
night, under fear of being delivered up to the
Burgundian Envoy,' and had taken their flight
towards Bretagne. He also promised them the
attendance of a small, but faithful retinue, and
letters to the commanders of such towns and for-
tresses as they might pass, with instructions to
use every means for protecting and assisting them
in their journey.
The Ladies of Croye, although internally re-
senting the ungenerous and discourteous manner
in which Louis thus deprived them of the pro-
mised asylum in his Court, were so far from ob-
jecting to the hasty departure which he proposed,,
that they even anticipated his project, by entreat-
ing to be permitted to set forward that same night.
The Lady Hameline was already tired of a place
where there were neither admiring courtiers, nor
festivities to be witnessed ; and the Lady Isabelle
thought she had seen enough to conclude, that
202 THE POLITICIAN.
were the temptation to become a little stronger,
Louis XL, not satisfied with expelling them from
his Court, would not hesitate to deliver her up
to her irritated Suzerain, the Duke of Burgundy.
Lastly, Louis himself readily acquiesced in their
hasty departure, anxious to preserve peace with
Duke Charles, and alarmed lest the beauty of
Isabelle should interfere with and impede the
favourite plan which he had formed, for bestow-
ing the hand of his daughter Joan upon his cou«"
sin of Orleans.
t 203 j
CHAPTER III.
TIIE JOURNEY.
Talk not of Kings — I scorn the poor comparison ,
I am a Sage, and can command the elements—
At least men think I can ; and on that thought
I found unbounded empire.
Albufnazar.
Occupation and adventure might be said to
crowd upon the young Scotchman with the force
of a spring-tide, for he was speedily summoned to
the apartment of his Captain, the Lord Crawford,
where, to his astonishment, he again beheld the
King. After a few words respecting the honour
and trust which were about to be reposed in him.,
which made Quentin internally afraid that they
were again about to propose to him such a watch
as he had kept upon the Count of Crevecceur, or
perhaps some duty still more repugnant to his
feelings, he was not relieved merely, but delight-
ed, with hearing that he was selected, with the as-
sistance of four others under his command, one
of whom was a guide, to escort the Ladies of Croye
to the little Court of their relative, the Bishop of
Liege, in the safest and most commodious, and,
at the same time, in the most secret manner pos-
sible. A scroll was given him, in which were set
down directions for his guidance for the places
of halt, (generally chosen in villages, monasteries,
and places remote from towns,) and for the ge-
neral precautions which he was to attend to, es-
pecially on approaching the frontier of Burgundy.
He was sufficiently supplied with instructions
204 ltfE jOURNE\i
what he ought to say and do to sustain the per-
sonage of the Maitre d'Hotel of two English
ladies of rank, who had been on a pilgrimage
to Saint Martin of Tours, and were to visit the
holy city of Cologne, and worship thereliques of
the sage Eastern Monarchs, who came to adore
the nativity of Bethlehem ; for under that cha-
racter the Ladies of Croye were to journey.
Without having any defined notions of the
cause of his delight, Quentin Durward's heart
leapt for joy at the idea of approaching thus
nearly to the person of the beauty of the turret,
and in a situation which entitled him to her con-
fidence, since her protection was in so great a
degree enstructed to his conduct and courage.
He felt no doubt in his own mind that he should
be her successful guide through the hazards of
her pilgrimage. Youth seldom thinks of dan-
gers, and bred up free, and fearless, and self-
confident, Quentin, in particular, only thought of
them to defy them. He longed to be exempted
from the restraint of the Royal presence, that he
might indulge the secret glee with which such
unexpected tidings filled him, and which prompt-
ed hi n to bursts of delight which would have
been totally unfitting for that society.
But Louis had not yet done with him. That
cautious Monarch had to consult a counsellor of
a different stamp from Oliver le Diable, and who
was supposed to derive his skill from the supe-
rior and astral intelligences, as men, judging from
their fruits, were apt to think the counsels of
Oliver sprung from the Devil himself.
Louis therefore led the way, followed by the
impatient Quentin, to a separate tower of the
Castle of Plessis, in which was installed, in
no small ease and splendour, the celebrated as-
trologer, poet, and philosopher, Galeotti Marti or
THE JOURNEY, 205
Martins, or Martivalle, a native of Narni, in
Italy, the author of the famous Treatise. De
Vulgo Incognitis* and the subject of his age's
admiration, and of the panegyrics of Paulus
Jovius. He had long flourished at the court of
the celebrated Matthias Corvinus, King of Hun-
gary, from whom he was in some measure de-
coyed by Louis, who grudged the Hungarian mo-
narch the society and the counsels of a sage, ac-
counted so skilful in reading the decrees of Hea-
ven.
Martivalle was none of those ascetic, withered
pale professors of mystic learning, who bleared
their eyes over the midnight furnace, and mace-
rated their bodies by outwatching the polar bear.
He indulged in all courtly pleasures, and, until
he grew corpulent, had excelled in all martial
sports and gymnastic exercises, as well as in the
use of arms ; insomuch, that Janus Pannonius has
left a Latin epigram, upon a wrestling match
betwixt Galeotti and a renowned champion of
that art, in the presence of the Hungarian King
and Court, in which the Astrologer was com-
pletely victorious.
The apartments of this courtly and martial
sage were far more splendidly furnished than any
which Quentin had yet seen in the royal palace,
and the carving and ornamented wood-work of
his library, as well as the magnificence displayed
in the tapestries, shewed the elegant taste of the
learned Italian. Out of his study one door
opened to his sleeping apartment, another led to
the turret which served as his observatory. A
large oaken table, in the midst of the apartment*
was covered with a rich Turkey carpet, the spoils
of the tent of a Pacha after the great battle of
♦Concerning things unknown to the generality of man-
kind.
Vol. I 18
206 THE JOURNEY.
Jaiza, where the Astrologer had fought abreast
with the valiant champion of Christendom, Mat-
thias Corvinus. On the table lay a variety of
mathematical and astrological instruments, all of
the most rich materials and curious workmanship.
His astrolabe of silver was the gift of the Em-
peror of Germany, and his Jacob's staff of ebony,
jointed with gold, and curiously inlaid, was a
mark of esteem from the reigning Pope.
There were various other miscellaneous ar-
ticles disposed on the table, or hanging around
the walls ; amongst others, two complete suits of
armour, one of mail, the other of plate, both of
which, from their great size, seemed to call the
gigantic Astrologer their owner : a Spanish to-
ledo, a Scottish broad-sword, a Turkish scymitar,
with bows, quivers, and other warlike weapons ;
musical instruments of several different kinds ; a
silver crucifix, a sepulchral antique vase, and se-
veral of the little brazen Penates of the ancient
heathens, with other curious non-descript articles,
some of which, in the superstitious opinions of
that period, seemed to be designed for magical
purposes. The library of this singular character
was of the same miscellaneous description with
his other effects. Curious manuscripts of classi-
cal antiquity lay mingled with the voluminous
labours of Christian divines, and of those pains-
taking sages who professed the chemical science,
and proffered to guide their students into the most
secret recesses of nature, by means of the Her-
metical Philosophy. Some were written in the
eastern character, and others concealed their sense
or nonsense under the veil of hieroglyphics and
cabalistic characters. The whole apartment, and
its furniture of every kind, formed a scene very
impressive on tfee fancy, considering the gen eral
belief then indisputably entertained, concerning
THE JOURNEY. 207
the truth of the occult sciences ; and that effect
was increased b\- the manners and appearance of
the individual himself, who, seated in a huge
chair, was employed in curiously examining a
specimen, just issued from the Frankfort press,
of the newly invented art of printing.
Galeotti Martivalle was a tall, bulky, yet
stately man, considerably past his prime, and
whose youthful habits of exercise, though still
occasionally resumed, had not been able to con-
tend with a natural tendency to corpulence,
increased by sedentry study, and indulgence in
the pleasures of the table. His features, though
rather overgrown, were dignified and noble, and
a Santon might have envied the dark and down-
ward sweep of his long-descending beard. His
dress was a chamber-robe of the richest Genoa
velvet, with ample sleeves, clasped with frogs of
gold, and lined with sables. It was fastened
round his middle by a broad belt of virgin parch-
ment, round which were represented, in crimson
characters, the signs of the Zodiac. He rose and
bowed to the King, yet with the air of one to
whom such exalted society was familiar, and who
was not at all likely to compromise the dignity
then especially affected by the pursuers of science.
" You are engaged, father, 1 ' said the King,
a and, as I think, with this new-fashioned art of
multiplying manuscripts, by the intervention of
machinery. Can things of such mechanical and
terrestrial import interest the thoughts of one,
before whom heaven has enrolled her own celes-
ual volumes?"
"My brother," replied Martivalle, — u for so the
tenant of this cell must term even the King of
France, when he deigns to visit him as a dis-
ciple, — believe me that, in considering the conse-
quences of this invention, I read with a certain
208 THE JOURNEY.
augury, as by any combination of the heavenly
bodies, the most awful and portentuous changes.
When I reflect with what slow and limited sup-
plies the stream of science hath hitherto descend-
ed to us ; how difficult to be obtained by those most
ardent in its search how certain to be neglected
by all who regard their ease j how liable to be
diverted, or altogether dried up, by the invasions
of barbarism ; can I look forward without won-
der and astonishment, to the lot of a succeeding
generation, on whom knowledge will descend like
the first and second rain, uninterrupted, unabat-
ed, unbounded, fertilizing some grounds, and
overflowing others ; changing the whole form of
social life ; establishing and overthrowing reli-
gions ; erecting and destroying kingdoms "
" Hold, Galeotti," said Louis, — " shall these
changes come in our time ?"
" No, my brother," replied Martiville ; " this
invention may be likened to a young tree, which
is now newly planted, but shall, in succeeding
generations, bear fruit as fatal, yet as precious, as
that of the Garden of Eden, the knowledge,
namely, of good and evil."
Louis answered, after a moment's pause,
" Let futurity look to what concerns them — we
are men of this age, and to this age we will con-
fine our care. Sufficient for the day is the evil
thereof. — Tell me, hast thou proceeded farther
in the horoscope which I sent to thee, and of
which you made me some report ? I have brought
the party hither, that you may use palmistry,
or chiromancy, if such is your pleasure, The
matter is pressing.''
The bulky sage arose from his seat, and, ap-
proaching the young soldier, fixed on him his
keen large dark eyes, as if he were in the act of
internally spelling and dissecting every linea-
THE JOURNEY. 209
merit and feature — Blushing and borne down
by this close examination on the part of one
whose expression was so reverential at once and
commanding, Quentin bent his eyes on the
ground, and did not again raise them, till in the
act of obeying the sonorous command of the As-
trologer, " Look up and be not afraid, but hold
forth thy hand."
When Marti valle had inspected his palm, ac-
cording to the form of the mystic arts which he
practised, he led the King some steps aside. —
" My royal brother," he said, u the physiognomy
of this youth, together with the lines impressed on
his hand, confirm, in a wonderful degree, the re-
port which I founded on his horoscope, as well
as that judgment which your own proficiency in
our sublime arts induced you at once to form of
him. All promises that this youth will be brave
and fortunate."
" And faithful ?" said the King ; " for valour
and fortune square not always with fidelity."
" And faithful also," said the Astrologer ;
•* for there is manly firmness in look and eye,
and his linea vitce is deeply marked and clear,
which indicates a true and upright adherence to
those who do benefit or lodge trust in him. But
yet "
" But what?" said the King; u Father Gale-
otti, wherefore do you now pause ?"
u The ears of Kings,'' said the Sage, " are tike
the palates of those dainty patients which are un-
able to endure the bitterness of the drugs neces-
sary for their recovery."
" My ears and my palate have no such nice-
ness," said Louis; let me hear what is useful coun-
sel, and swallow what is wholesome medicine,
I quarrel not with the rudeness of the one, or the
harsh taste of the other. I have not been cock-
IS*
210 THE JOURNEY.
ered in wantonness or indulgence ; my youth wa*
one of exile and suffering. My ears are used to
harsh counsel, and take no offence at it."
" Then plainly, Sire," replied Galeotti, " if
you have aught in your purposed commission,
which — which, in short, may startle a scrupulous
conscience — entrust it not to this youth — at least,
not till a few years exercise in your service has
made him as unhesitating as others."
" And is this what you hesitated to speak, my
good Galeotti r and didst thou think thy speak-
ing it would offend me ?" answered the King.
" Alack, I know that thou art well sensible
that the path of royal policy cannot be always
squared (as that of private life ought invariably
to be,) by the abstract maxims of religion, and of
morality. Wherefore do we, the Princes of the
earth, found churches and monasteries, make
pilgrimages, undergo penances and perform
devotions with which others may dispense, un-
less it be because the benefit of the public, and
the welfare of our kingdoms, force us upon
measures which grieve our consciences as Chris-
tians ? But Heaven has mercy — the Church, an
unbounded stock of merits, and the intercession
of our Lady of Embrun, and the blessed saints,
is urgent, everlasting, and omnipotent." — He laid
his hat on the table, and devoutly kneeling be-
fore the images stuck into the hat-band, repeat-
ed,' in an earnest tone, u Sancte Huberte, Sonde
Juliane, Sonde Martine, Sando Rosalia, Sancti
quotquot adestis, Orate, pro me peccotore /" He
then smote his breast, arose, re-assumed his hat
and continued, — " Be assured, good father, that
whatever there may be in our commission, of the
nature at which you have hinted, the execution
shall not be entrusted to this youth, nor shall he
be privy to such part of our purpose."
THE JOURNEY, 211
" In this," said the Astrologer, " you, my royal
brother,will walk wisely. — Something may be ap-
prehended likewise from the rashness of this
your young commissioner ; a failing inherent in
those of sanguine complexion. But I hold that,
by the rules of art, this chance is not to be
weighed against the other properties discovered
from his horoscope and otherwise."
" Will this next midnight be a propitious hour
in which to commence a perilous journey ?'' said
the King. — u See, here is your Ephemerides —
you see the position of the moon in regard to Sa-
turn, and the ascendance of Jupiter — That should
argue, methinks, in submission to your better art,
success to him who sends forth the expedition at
such an hour."
" To him who sends forth the expedition," said
the Astrologer, after a pause, " this conjunction
doth indeed promise success ; but, methinks, that
Saturn being combust, threatens danger and m-
fortune to the party sent ; whence I infer that the
errand may be perilous, or even fatal, to those
who are to journey. Violence and captivity,
methinks, are intimated in that adverse conjunc-
tion."
" Violence and captivity to those who are sent,"
answered the King, '* but success to the wishes
of the sender — Runs it not thus, my learned fa-
ther ?"
" Even so," replied the Astrologer.
The King paused, without giving any further
indication how far this presaging speech (proba-
bly hazarded by the Astrologer from his know-
ledge that the commission related to some dan-
gerous purpose,) squared with his real object,
which as the reader is aware, was to betray the
Countess Isabelle of Croye into the hands of
William de la Marck, a leader distinguished for
his turbulent disposition and ferocious bravery.
212 THE JOURNEY.
The King then pulled forth a paper from his
pocket, and ere he gave it to Martivalle, said, in a
tone which resembled that of an apology,
u Learned Galeotti, be not surprised, that, pos-
sessing in you an oracular treasure, superior to
that lodged in the breast of any now alive, not
excepting the great Nostradamus himself. I am
desirous frequently to avail myself of your skill
in those doubts and difficulties, which beset every
Prince who hath to contend with rebellions within
his land, and with external enemies, both power-
ful and inveterate. 1 '
" When I was honoured with your request,
Sire," said the philosopher, lt and abandoned the
Court of Buda for that of Plessis, it was with
the resolution to place at the command of my
royal patron whatever my art had that might be
of service to him."
" Enough, good Martivalle — I pray thee attend
to the import of this question." — He proceeded
to read from the paper in his hand : — M A person
having on hand a weighty controversy, which is
like to draw to debate either by law T or by force
of arms, is desirous, for the present, to seek ac-
commodation by a personal interview with his
antagonist. He desires to know what day will
be propitious for the execution of such a purpose ;
also, what is likely to be the-success of such a ne-
gociation, and whether his adversary will be
moved to answ r er the confidence thus reposed in
him with gratitude and kindness, or may rather •
be likely to abuse the opportunity and advantage
which such a meeting mav afford him r"
" It is an important question," said Martivalle,
when the King had done reading, u and requires
that I should set a planetary figure, and give it
instant and deep consideration."
" Let it be so, my good father in the sciences,
THE JOURNEY. 213
and thou shalt know what t is to oblige a King
of France. We are determined, if the constella-
tions forbid not, — and our own humble art leads
us to think that they approve our purpose, — to
hazard something even in our own person, to
stop these anti-Christian wars.' 1
•• Mav the Saints forward your Majesty's pious
intent. w said the Astrologer, " and guard your
sacred person !"
kC Thanks, learned father. — Here is something,
the while, to enlarge your curious library.''
He placed under one of the volumes a small
purse of gold — for. economical even in his super-
stitions, Louis conceived the Astrologer suffi-
ciently bound to his service bv the pensions he
had assigned him, and thought himself entitled
to the use of his skill at a moderate rate, even
upon great exigencies.
Louis having thus, in legal phrase, added a re-
freshing fee to his general retainer, turned from
him to address Durward kw Follow me," he said,
k< my bonny Scot — as one chosen bv Destiny and
a Monarch to accomplish a bold adventure. All
must be got ready, that thou may'st put foot*in
stirrup the very instant the bell of Saint Martin's
tolls twelve. One minute sooner, one minute
later, were to forfeit the favourable aspect of the
constellations which smile on your adventur.
Thus saying, the King left the apartment, fol-
lowed by his young grandsman ; and no sooner
were they gone, than the astrologer gave way to
very different feelings from those which seemed
to animate him during the royal presence.
k - The niggardly slave !" he said, weighing the
purse in his hand, — for, a man of unbounded ex-
pense, he had almost constant occasion for iv
— ■• The base sordid cullion ! A coxswain's wife
would give more to know that the husband had
214 THE JOURNEY.
crossed the narrow seas in safety. He acquire any
tincture of humane letters ! yes, when prowling
foxes and veiling wolves become musicians. He
read the glorious blazoning of the firmamen t
ay, when sordid moles shall become lynxes. Post
tot promissa — after so many promises made, to
entice me from the court of the magnificent Mat-
thias, where Hun and Turk, Christian and infi-
del, the Czar of Muscovia and the Cham of
Tartary themselves, contended to load me with
gifts, — doth he think I am to abide in this old
Castle, like a bullfinch in a cage, fain to sing as
oft as he chuses to whistle, and all for seed and
water ? — Not so — aut viveniam via?n, autfaciam
— I will discover or contrive a remedy. The
Cardinal Balue is politic and liberal — this query
shall to him, and it shall be his Eminence's own
fault if the stars speak not as he would have
them."
He again took the despised guerdon, and
weighed it in his hand. " It may be," he said,
" there is some jewel or pearl of price concealed
in this paltry case — I have heard he can be libe-
ral even to lavishness, when it suits his caprice or
interest."
He emptied the purse, which contained neither
more nor less than ten gold pieces. The indig-
nation of the Astrologer was extreme. " Thinks
he that for this paltry hire I will practise that
celestial science which I have studied with the
Armenian Abbot of Istrahoff, who had not seen
ihe sun for forty years — with the Greek Dubra-
vius, who is said to have raised the dead — and
have even visited the Scheik Eba Hali in his cave
in the deserts of Thebais ? No, by heaven ! he
that contemns art shall perish through his own
ignorance. Ten pieces ! — a pittance which I am
THE JOURNEY. 21o
half ashamed to offer to Toinette, to buy her new
breast-laces."
So saying, the indignant Sage nevertheless
plunged the contemned pieces of gold into a
large pouch which he wore at his girdle, which
Toinette and other abettors of lavish expense,
generally contrived to empty fully faster than
the philosopher, with all his art, could and the
means of filling it.
216 ]
CHAPTER IV.
THE JOURNEY.
see thee yet, fair France — thou favour'd land
Of art and nature — thou art still before me ;
Thy sons, to whom thy labour is a sport,
So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute ;
Thy sun-burnt daughters, with their laughing- eyes
And glossy raven locks. But, favour'd France,
Thou hast had many a tale of woe to tell,
In ancient times as now.
Jlnonymmis,
Avoiding all conversation with any one, (for
such was his charge,) Quentin Durward proceed-'
ed hastily to array himself in a strong but plain
cuirass, with thigh and arm-pieces, and placed
on his head a good steel cap without any visor.
To these were added a handsome cassock of sha-
moy leather finely dressed, and laced down the
seams with some embroidery, such as might be-
come a superior officer in a noble household.
These things were brought to his apartment
by Oliver, who, with his quiet insinuating smile
and manner, acquainted him that his uncle had
been summoned to mount guard, purposely that
he might make no inquiries concerning these
mysterious movements.
1 HE JOURNEY. 217
- \ur excuse will be made to your kinsman,"
said Oliver, smiling again ; u and, mv dearest
son, when vou return safe from the execution of
this pleasing trust, I doubt not you will be found
worthy of such promotion as will dispense with
your accounting for your motions to anv one,
while it will place vou at the head of those who
must render an account of theirs to vou "
So spoke Oliver le Diable, calculating, proba-
blv, in his own mind, the great chance there was
that the poor vouth, whose hand he squeezed
affectioately as he spoke, must necessarilv en-
counter death or captivitv in the commission en-
trusted to his charge.
At a few minutes before twelve at midnight,
Quentin, according to his directions, proceed-
ed to the second court-yard, and paused under
the Dauphin's Tower, which, as the reader
knows, was assigned for the temporarv resi-
dence of the Countesses of Croye. He found,
at this place of rendezvous, the men and horses
appointed to compose the retinue, leading two
sumpter mules already loaded with baggage, and
holding three palfrevs for the two Countesses and
a faithful waiting- woman, with a statelv war-
horse for himself, whose steel-plated saddle
glanced in the pale moonlight. Not a word of
recognition was spoken on either side. Am
men sate still in their saddles, as if thev Were
motionless, and by the same imperfect light
Quentin saw with pleasure that they were all
1, and held long lances in their hancs.
They were onlv three in number; but one of
them whispered to Quentin, in a strong Gascon
.accent, that their guide was to join them beyond
Tours.
Meantime, lights glanced to and fro at the
lattices of the tower, as if there was bustle and
Vol. 1.— 19
218 THE JOURNEY.
preparation among its inhabitants. At length
a small door, which led from the bottom of the
tower to the court, was unclosed, and three fe-
males came forth, attended by a man wrapped
in a cloak. They mounted in silence the pal-
treys which stood prepared for them, while
their attendant on foot led the way, and gave
the pass-words and signals to the watchful
guards, whose posts they passed in succession.
Thus they at length reached the exterior of these
formidable barriers. Here the man on foot, who
had hitherto acted as their guide, paused, and
bpoke low and earnestly to the two foremost fe-
males.
u May heaven bless you, Sire," said a voice
which thrilled upon Quentin Durward's ear,
" and forgive you, even if your purposes be more
interested than your words express ! To be
placed under the protection of the good Bishop'
of Liege is the utmost extent of my desire."
The person whom she thus addressed, mut-
tered an inaudible answer, and retreated back
through the barrier-gate, while Quentin thought
that, by the moon-glirnpse, he recognized in
him the King himself, whose anxiety for the de-
parture of his guests had probably induced him
to give his presence, in case scruples should arise
on their part, or difficulties on that of the guards
of the Castle.
When the riders were beyond the Castle, it
was necessary for some time to ride with great
precaution, in order to avoid the pit-falls, snares,
and similar contrivances, which were placed for
the annoyance of strangers. The Gascon was,
however, completely possessed of the clew to
this labyrinth, and in a quarter of an hour's
riding, they found themselves beyond the limits
of Piessis le Pare, and not far distant from the
city of Tours.
THE JOURNEY. 219
The moon, which had now extricated herself
from the clouds through which she was former-
ly wading, shed a full sea of glorions light upon
a landscape equally glorious. They saw the
princely Loire rolling his majestic tide through
the richest plain in France, and sweeping along
between banks ornamented with towers, and ter-
races, and with olives and vineyards. They saw
the walls of the ancient capital of Touraine
raising their portal towers and embattlements
white in the moonlight, while, from within their
circle, rose the immense gothic mass which the
devotion of the sainted Bishop Perpetuus erect-
ed, as early as the fifth century, and which the
zeal of Charlemagne and his successors had en-
larged with such architectural splendour, as ren-
dered it the most magni6cent church in France.
The towers of the church of Saint Gatien were
also visible, and the gloomy strength of the Cas-
tle, which was said to have been, in ancient times,
the residence of the Emperor Valentinian.
Even the circumstances in which he w T as
placed, though of a nature so engrossing, did not
prevent the wonder and delight w T ith which the
young Scotchman, accustomed to the waste
though impressive landscape of his own moun-
tains, and the poverty even of his country's most
stately scenery, looked on a scene, which art and
nature seemed to have vied in adorning with
their richest splendour. But he was recalled to
the business of the moment by the voice of the
elder lady (pitched at least an octave higher than
those soft tones which bid adieu to King Louis,)
demanding to speak with the leader of the band.
Spurring his horse forward, Quentin reverently
presented himself to the ladies in that capacity,
and thus underwent the interrogatories of the La*
dv Hamelin,
220 THE JOURNEY.
" What was his name, and what his degree
He told both.
" Was he perfectly acquainted with the
road ?"
" He coulel not," he replied, " pretend to much
knowledge of the route, but he was furnisheel
with full instructions, and he was, at their first
resting-place^ to be provided with a guide, in all
respects competent to the task of directing their
farther journey ; meanwhile, a horseman who had
just joined them, and made the number of their
guard four, was to be their guide for the first
stage."
u And wherefore were you selected for such a
duty, young gentleman ?" said the lady — " 1 am
told you are the same youth who was lately upon
guard in the gallery in which we met the Princess
of France. You seem young and inexperienced
for such a charge — a stranger, too, in France, and
speaking the language as a foreigner."
,4 I am bound to obey the commands of the
King, madam, but not to reason on them," an-
swered the young soldier.
u Are you of noble birth ?" said the same
querist.
" I may safely affirm so, madam," replied
Quentin.
" And are you not," said the younger lady,
addressing him in her turn, but with a timorous
accent, M the same whom I saw when I was called
to wait upon the King at yonder inn ?"
Lowering his voice, perhaps from similar feel-
ings of timidity, Quentin answered in the affir-
mative.
u Then, methinks, my cousin," said the Lad)
Isabelle, addressing the Lady Hameline, " we
must be safe under this young gentleman's safe-
guard ; he looks not, at least, like one to wbotv
THE JOURNEY. 221
the excution of a plan of treacherous cruelty
upon two helpless women could be with safety
entrusted."
" On my honour, madam," said Durward,
u by the fame of my House, by the bones of my
ancestry, I could not for France and Scotland laid
into one, be guilty of treachery or cruelty towards
you !"
" You speak well, young man," said the Lady
Hameline ; 4 but we are accustomed to hear fair
speeches from the King of France and his agents.
It was by these that we were induced, when the
protection of the Bishop of Liege might have been
attained with less risk than now, or when we might
have thrown ourselves on that of Winceslaus of
Germany, or of Edward of England, to seek re-
fuge in France. And in what did the promises
of the King result ? In an obscure and shameful
concealing of us, under plebian names, as a sort
of prohibited wares, in yonder paltry hostelry,
when we, — who, as thou knowest, Marthon, (ad-
dressing her domestic,) never put on our head-
tire save under a canopy, and upon a dais of three
degtees, — were compelled to attire ourselves
standing on the simple floor, as if we had been
two milk-maids."
Marthon admitted that her lady spoke a most
melancholy truth.
" I would that had been the sorest evil, dear
kinswoman," said the Lady Isabella ; " I could
gladly have dispensed with state."
M But not with society," said the other Coun-
tess ; u that, my sweet counsin, was impossible."
u I would have dispensed with all, my dearest
kinswoman," answered Isabelle, in a voice which
penetrated to the very heart of her young con-
ductor and guard, " with all, for a safe and ho<-
sourable retirement. I wish not — God knows, I
19*
^2 THE JOURNEY.
never wished — to occasion war betwixt Franee
and my native Burgundy, or that lives should be
lost for such as me. I only implored permission
to retire to the Convent of Marmonthier, or to
any other holy sanctuary "
" You spoke then like a fool, my cousin," an-
swered the elder lady, " and not like a daughter
of my noble brother. It is well there is still one
alive, who hath some of the spirit of the noble
House of Croye. How should a high-born lady-
be known from a sun-burnt milk-maid, save that
spears are broken for the one, and only hazel-
poles for the other ? I tell you, maiden, that while
I was in the very earliest bloom, scarcely older
than yourself, the famous Passage of Arms atHa-
flinghem was held in my honour ; the challengers
were four, the assailants so many as twelve. It
lasted three days ; and cost the lives of two ad-
venturous knights, the fracture of one back-bone,
one collar-bone, three legs and two arms, besides
flesh-wounds and bruises beyond the heralds'
counting ; and thus have the ladies of our House
ever been honoured. Ah, had you but half the
heart of your noble ancestry, you would find
means at some court, where ladies' love and fame
in arms are still prized, to maintain a tournament,
at which your hand should be the prize, as was that
of \ our great-grandmother of blessed memory, at
the spear-running of Strasbourg ; and thus should
you gain the best Lance in Europe to maintain
the rights of the House of Croye, both against
the oppression of Burgundy and the policy of
France."
" But, fair kinswoman," answered the younger
Countess, " I have been told by my old nurse,
that although the Rhingrave was the best lance
at the great tournament at Strasburgh, and so
won the hand of my respected grandmother, yet
THE JOURNEY. 223
the match was no happy one, as he used often to
scold, and sometimes to beat, my great-grandmo-
ther of blessed memory."
M And wherefore not ?" said the elder Coun-
tess, in her romantic enthusiasm for the profes-
sion of chivalry; kt why should those victorious
arms, accustomed to blows abroad, be bound to
restrain their energies at home ? A thousand
times rather would I be beaten twice a-day, by
a husband whose arm was as much feared by
others as by me, than be the wife of a coward,
who dared neither to lift hand to his wife, nor to
any one else !"
" I should wish you joy of such a restless mate,
fair aunt," replied Isabelle, tc without envying
you ; for if broken bones be lovely in tourneys,
there is nothing less amiable in ladies' bower."
u Nay, but the beating is no necessary conse-
quence of wedding with a knight of fame in arms;
though it is true that our ancestor of blessed me-
mory, the Rhingrave Gottfried, was something
rough- tempered, and addicted to the use of
Rhein-wein. — The very perfect knight is a lamb
among ladies, and a lion among lances. There
was Thibault of Montigni — God be with him! —
he was the kindest soul alive, and not only was
he never so discourteous as to lift hand against
his lady, but, by our good dame, he who beat
all enemies without doors, found a fair foe who
could belabour him within. Well, 'twas his
own fault — he was one of the challengers at the
Passage of Haflinghem, and so well bestirred
himself, that, if it had pleased Heaven, and your
grandfather, there might have been a lady of
Montigni, who had used his gentle nature more
gently. "
The Countess Isabelle, who had some reason
to dread this Passage of Haflinghem, it being a
224 THE J0URNE1
topic upon which her aunt was at all times very
diffuse, suffered the conversation to drop ; and
Quentin, with the natural politeness of one who
had been gently nurtured, dreading lest his pre-
sence might be a restraint on their conversation,
rode forward to join the guide, as if to ask him
some questions concerning their route.
Meanwhile, the ladies continued their journey
in silence, or in such conversation as is not worth
narrating, until day began to break ; and as they
had then been on horseback for several hours,
Quentin, anxious lest they should be fatigued, be-
came impatient to know their distance from the
nearest resting-place.
" I will shew it you," answered the guide, u in
half an hour."
" And then you leave us to other guidance ?"
continued Quentin.
" Even so, Seignior Archer," replied the man ;
^my journies are always short and straight. —
When you and others, Seignor Archer, go by the
bow, I always go by the cord."
The moon had by this time long decayed, and
the lights of dawn were beginning to spread bright
and strong in the east, and to gleam in the bosom
of a small lake, on the verge of which they had
been riding for a short space of time. This lake
lay in the midst of a wide plain, scattered over
with single trees, groves, and thickets ; but which
might be yet termed open, so that objects began
to be discerned with sufficient accuracy. Quen-
tin cast his eye on the person whom he rode be-
side, and under the shadow of a slouched over-
spreading hat, which resembled the sombrero of
a Spanish peasant, he recognized the facetious
features of the same Petit- Andre, whose fingers,
not long since, had, in concert with those of his
lugubrious brother, Trois-Eschelles, been so un-
x'HE jOURXLY. 225
pleasantly active about his throat. — Impelled by
aversion, not altogether unmixed with fear, (for
in his own country the executioner is regarded
with almost superstitious horror,) which his late
narrow escape had not diminished, Durward in-
stinctively moved his horse" s head to the right,
and pressing him at the same time with the spur,
made a demi-volte, which separated him eight
feet from his hateful companion.
" Ho, ho, ho, ho !" exclaimed Petit-Andre ;
" by our Lady of the Greve, our young soldier
remembers us of old. — What, comrade, you bear
no malice, I trust ? — every one wins his bread in
this country. No man need be ashamed of ha-
ving come through my hands, for I will do my
work with any that ever tied a living weight to
a dead tree. — And God hath given me grace to
be such a merry fellow withal — Ha! Hal ha !^»
I could tell you such jests I have cracked be-
tween the foot of the ladder and the top of the
gallows, that, by my halidome, I have been obliged
to do my job rather hastily, for fear the fellows
should die with laughing, and so shame mv mys-
tery !"
As he thus spoke, he edged his horse sideways,
to regain the interval which the Scot had left be-
tween them, saving at the same time, a Come,
Seignor Archer, let there be no unkindness be-
twixt us ! — For my part, I always do my duty
without malice, and with a light heart, and I never
love a man better than when I have put my scant-
of-wind collar about his neck, to dub him Knight
of the Order of Saint Patibularius, as the Pro-
vost's Chaplain, the worthy Father Vaconeldiabk
is wont to call the Patron Saint of the Provos-
try.'"
" Keep back, thou wretched object!" exclaimed
Quentin, as the finisher of the lav,' again sought
226 THE JOURNEY.
to approach him closer, " or I will be tempted to
teach you the distance that should be betwixt men
of honour, and such an outcast."
" La you there, how hot you are !*' said the
fellow ; u had you said men of honesty, there had
been some savour of truth in it ; — but for men of
honour, good lack, I have to deal with them every
day, as nearly and closely as I was about to do
business with you. — But peace be with you, and
keep your company to yourself. I would have be-
stowed a flagon of Auvernat upon you to wash
away every unkindness — but you scorn my cour-
tesy. — Well. Be as churlish as you list — I never
quarrel with my customers — my jerry-come-tum-
bles, my merry dancers, my little play-fellows, as
Jacques Butcher says to his lambs — those in fine,
who, like your seignorship, have H. E. M. P.
written on their foreheads — No, no, let them use
me as they list, they shall have my good service
at last — and yourself shall see, when you next
come under Petit-Andre's hands, that he knows
how to forgive an injury."
So saying, and summing up the whole with a
provoking wink, and such an interjectional tchick
as men quicken a dull horse with, Petit- Andre
drew off to the other side of the path, and left
the youth to digest the taunts he had treated him
with, as his proud Scotch sto mach best might. A
strong desire had Quentin to have belaboured
him while the staff of his lance could hold to-
gether ; but he put a restraint on his passion, re-
collecting that a brawl with such a character could
be creditable at no time or place, and that a quar-
rel of any kind, on the present occasion, would
be a breach of duty, and might involve the most
perilous consequences. He therefore swallowed
his wrath at the ill-timed and professional jokes of
Mons Petit-Andre, and contented himself with
THE JOURNEY. 227
devoutly hoping that they had not reached the
ears of his fair charge, on which they could not
be supposed to make an impression in favour of
himself, as one obnoxious to such sarcasms. But
he was speedily roused from such thoughts by
the cry of both the ladies at once, u Look back —
look back ! — For the love of Heaven look to your-
self, and us — we are pursued !"
Quentin hastily looked back, and saw that two
armed men were in fact following them, and ri-
ding at such a pace as must soon bring them up
with their party. " It can," he said, " be only
some of the Provostry making their rounds in the
Forest. — Do thou look," he said to Petit-Andre,
vt and see what they may be. 9 '
Petit-Andre obeyed ; and rolling himself jo-
cosely in the saddle after he had made his obser-
vations, replied, u These, fair sir, are neither your
comrades nor mine — neither Arches nor Marshal-
men — for I think they wear helmets, with visors
lowered, and gorgets of the same. — A plague
upon these gorgets, of all other pieces of armour !
— I have fumbled with them an hour before I
could undo the rivets."
" Do you gracious ladies," said Durward, with-
out attending to Petit-Andre, u ride forward — ■
not so fast as to raise an opinion of your being in
flight, and yet fast enough to avail yourself of the
impediment which I shall presently place between
you and these men who follow us."
The Countess Isabelle looked to their guide,
and then whispered her aunt, who spoke to Quen-
tin thus — a We have confidence in your care, fair
Archer, and will abide rather the risk of whatever
may chance in your company, then we will go on-
ward with that man, whose mein is, we think, of
no good augury."
u Be it as you will, ladies," said the youth —
228 THE JOURNEY.
" T^ere are but two who come after us, and
though they be knights, as their arms seem to
shew, they shall, if they have any evil purpose,
learn how a Scotchman can do his devoir in the
prtsence and defence of such as you are. — Which
of you there,'' he continued, addressing the guards
whom he commanded, ,c is willing to be my com-
rade, and to break a lance with these gallants ?"
Two of the men obviously faultered in reso-
lution ; but the third, Bertrand Guyot, swore,
" that, cap de dioii^ were they Knights of King
Arthur's Round Table, he would try their met-
tle, for the honour of Gascon v."
While he spoke, the two knights, for thev
seemed of no less rank, came with the rear of
the party, in which Quentin, with his sturdy ad-
herent, had by this time stationed himself. They
were fully accoutred in excellent armour of po-
lished steel, without any device by which they
could be distinguished.
One of them, as they approached, called out
to Quentin, M Sir Squire, give place — we come
to relieve you of a charge which is above your
rank and condition. You will do well to leave
these ladies in our care, who are fitter to wait
upon them, especially as we know that in yours
they are little better than captives."
" In return to your demand, sirs," replied
Durward, " know, in the first place, that I am
discharging the duty imposed upon me by my
present Sovereign ; and next, that however un-
worthy I may be, the ladies desire to abide under
my protection."
" Out, sirrah !"• exclaimed one of the cham-
pions ; u will you, a wandering beggar, put your-
self on terms of resistance against belted knights?"
" They are indeed terms of resistance," said
Quentin, u since they oppose your insolent and
THE JOURNEY. 229
unlawful aggression; and if there be difference of
rank between us, which as yet I know not, your
discourtesy has done it away. Draw your sword,
or, if you will use the lance, take ground for your
career."
While the knights turned their horses, and rode
back to the distance of about a hundred and fifty
yards, Quentin, looking to the ladies, bent low on
his 6addle-bow, as if desiring their favourable re-
gard, and as they streamed towards him their ker-
chiefs, in token of encouragement, the two assail-
ants had gained the distance necessary for their
charge.
Calling to the Gascon to bear himself like a
man, Durward put his steed into motion; and the
four horsemen met in full career in the midst of the
ground which at first separated them. The shock
was fatal to the poor Gascon; for his adversary,
aiming at his face, which was undefended by a visor,
run him through the eye into the brain, so that he
fell dead from his horse.
On the other hand, Quentin, though labouring
under the same disadvantage, swayed himself in the
saddle so dexterously, that the hostile lance, slightly
scratching his cheek, passed over his right shoul-
der; while his own spear, striking his antagonist
fair upon the breast, hurled him to the ground.
Quentin jumped off, to unhelm his fallen opponent;
but the other knight, (who, by the way, had never
yet spoken,) seeing the fortune of his companion,
dismounted still more speedily than Durward, and
bestriding his friend, who lay senseless, exclaimed,
" In the name of God and Saint Martip, mount,
good fellow, and get thee gone with thy woman's
W yr~! — Ventre Sunt Gris, they have caused mis-
chief enough this morning."
M By your leave, Sir Knight," said Quentin, who
could not brook the menacing tone in which this ad-
vice was given, u I will first see whom I have had
vol. i. — 20
230 THE JOURNEY.
to do with, and learn who is to answer for the death
of my comrade."
" That shalt thou never live to know or to tell,"
answered the knight. " Get thee back in peace,
good fellow. If we were fools for interrupting your
passage, we have had the worse, for thou hast done
more evil than the lives of thou and thy whole band
could repay. — Nay, if thou wilt have it, (for Quen-
tin now drew his sword, and advanced on him,) take
it with a vengeance!"
So saying, he dealt the Scot such a blow on the
helmet, as, till that moment, (though bred where
good blows were plenty,) he had only read of in
romance. It descended like a thunderbolt, beating
down the guard which the young soldier had raised
to protect his head, and, reaching his helmet of
proof, cut it through so far as to touch his hair, but
without farther injury; while D irward, dizzy, stun-
ned, and beaten down on one knee, was for an in-
stant at the mercy of the knight, had it pleased him
to second his blow. But compassion for Quentin's
youth, or admiration of his courage, or a generous
love of fair play, made him withhold from taking
such advantage; while Quentin, collecting himself,
sprung up and attacked his antagonist with the ener-
gy of one determined to conquer or die, and at the
same time with the presence of mind necessary for
fighting the quarrel out to the best advantage. Re-
solved not again to expose himself to such dreadful
blows as he had just sustained, he employed the ad-
vantage of superior agility, increased by the compa-
rative lightness of his armour, to harass his antago-
nist, by traversing on all sides, with a suddenness of
motion and rapidity of attack, against which the
knight, in his hta\y panoply, found it difficult to de-
fend himself without much fatigue.
It was in vain that this generous antagonist called
aloud to Quentin, 44 that there now remained no cause
of fight betwixt them, and that he was loath to be
THE JOURNEY. 231
constrained to do him injury." Listening only to the
suggestions of a passionate wish to redeem the
shame of his temporary defeat, Durward continued
to assail him with the rapidity of lightning — now-
menacing him with the edge, now with the point of
his sword — and ever keeping such an eye on the
motions of his opponent, of whose superior strength
he had had terrible proof, that he was ready to spring
backward or aside, from under the blows of his tre-
mendous weapon.
u Now the devil be with thee for an obstinate and
presumptuous fool," muttered the knight, " that can-
not be quiet till thou art knocked on the head!" So
saying, he changed his mode of fighting, collected
himself as if to stand on the defensive, and seemed
contented with parrying, instead of returning, the
blows which Quentin unceasingly aimed at him, with
the internal resolution, that the instant when either
loss of breath, or any false or careless pass of the
young soldier, should give an opening, he would
put an end to the fight by a single blow. It is likely
he might have succeeded in this artful policy, but
Fate had ordered it otherwise.
The duel was still at the hottest, when a large
party of horse rode up, crying, a Hold, in the
King's name!" Both champions stepped back —
and Quentin saw, with surprise, that his Captain,
Lord Crawford, was at the head of the party who
had thus interrupted their combat. There was also
Tristan l'Hermite, with two or three of his follow-
ers; making, in all, perhaps twenty horse.
232 THE GUIDE.
CHAPTER V.
THE GUIDE.
Pie was a son of Egypt, as he told me,
And one descended from those dread magicians,
Who waged rash war, when Israel dwelt in Goshen..
With Israel and her Prophet — matching rod
With his the sons of Levi's — and encountering
Jehovah's miracles with incantations,
Till upon A%ypt came the avenging angel,
And those proud sages wept for their first-born,
As wept the unletter'd peasant.
Anonymous,
The arrival of Lord Crawford and his guard
put an immediate end to the engagement which we
endeavoured to describe in the last chapter; and the
Knight, throwing off his helmet, hastily gave the
old Lord his sword, saying, " Crawford, I render
myself — But hither — and lend me your ear — a word,
for God's sake — save the Duke of Orleans!"
"How: — what? — the Duke of Orleans!" exclaimed
the Scottish commander, — How came this, in the
name of the foul fiend? It will ruin the callant with
the King, for ever and a day."
" Ask no questions," said Dunois — for it was no
other than he— u it was all ray fault. See, he stirs.
I came forth but to have a snatch at yonder damsel,
and make myself a landed and a married man— and
see what is come on't. Keep back your canaille — let
no man look upon him." So saying, he opened the
visor of Orleans, and threw water on his face,
which was afforded by the neighbouring lake.
Quentin Durward, meanwhile, stood like one
planet-struck; so fast did new adventures pour in
upon him. He had now, as the pale features of his
first antagonist assured him, borne to the earth the
first Prince of the blood in France, and had mea-
THE GUIDE. 233
sured swords with her best champion, the cele-
brated Dunois; — both of them achievements honour-
able in themselves; but whether they might be
called good service to the King, was a very differ-
ent question.
The Duke had now recovered his breath, and
was able to sit up and give attention to what passed
betwixt Dunois and Crawford, while the former
pleaded eagerly, that there was no occasion to men-
tion in the matter the name of the most noble Or-
leans, while he was ready to take the whole blame
on his own shoulders; and to avouch that the Duke
had only come thither in friendship to him.
Lord Crawford continued listening, with his eyes
fixed on the ground, and from time to time he
sighed and shook his head. At length he said,
looking up, "Thou knowest, Dunois, that, for thy
father's sake, as well as thine own, I would full fain
do thee a service."
"It is not for myself I demand any thing," an-
swered Dunois. " Thou hast my sword, and I am
your prisoner — what needs more? — But it is for
this noble Prince, the only hope of France, if God
should call the Dauphin. He onlv came hither to
do me a favour — in an effort to make my fortune —
in a matter which the King had partly encouraged."
"Dunois," replied Crawford, "if another had
told me thou hadst brought the noble Prince into
this jeopardy to serve any purpose of thine own, I
had told them it was false. And now, that thou
doest thyself so, I can hardly believe it is for the
sake of speaking the truth."
" Noble Crawford," said Orleans, who had now
entirely recovered from his swoon, "you are too
like in character to your friend Dunois, not to do
him justice. It was indeed I that dragged him
hither, most unwillingly, upon an enterprize of
hair-brained passion, suddenly and rashly under-
taken. Look on me all who will," he added, riskig
20*
234 THE GUIDE.
up and turning to the soldiery— 1 ' I am Louis of
Orleans, willing to pay the penalty of my own folly.
I trust the King will limit his displeasure to roe, as
is but just. Meanwhile, as a Child of France must
not give up his sword to any one — not even to you,
brave Crawford — fare thee well, good steel."
So saying, he drew his sword from its scabbard,
and flung it into the lake. It went through the air
like a stream of lightning, and sunk in the flashing
waters, which speedily closed over it. All remained
standing in irresolution and astonishment, so high
was the rank, aud so much esteemed was the cha-
racter, of the culprit; while at the same time, all
were conscious that the consequences of his rash en-
terprize, considering the views which the King had
upon him, were likely to end in his utter ruin.
Dunois was the first who spoke, and it was in the
chiding tone of an offended, and distrusted friend: —
" So! your Highness hath judged it fit to cast away
your best sword, in the same morning when it was
your pleasure to fling away the King's favour, and
to slight the friendship of Dunois?"
" My dearest kinsman," said the Duke, " when
or how was it in my purpose to slight your friend-
ship, by telling the truth when it was due to your
safety and my honour?"
"What had you to do with my safety, my most
princely cousin, I would pray to know?" answered
Dunois shortly; — u What, in God's name, was it to
you, if I had a mind to be hanged, or strangled, or
flung into the Loire, or poniarded, or broke on the
wheel, or hung up alive in an iron cage, or buried
alive in a castle-fo^se, or disposed of in any other
way in which it might please King Louis to dispose
of his faithful subject? — (you need not wink and
frown, and point to Tristan l'Hermite — I see the
scoundrel as well as \ou do.) But it would not have
stood so hard with me — And so much for my safety.
And then for your own honour*— by the blush of
THE GUIDE. 235
Saint Magdalene, I think the honour would have-
been to have missed this morning's work, or kept it
out of sight. Here has your highness got yourself
unhorsed by a wild Scottish boy.''
u Tut, tut!" said Lord Crawford; M never shame
thee for that. — It is not the first time a Scottish boy
hath broke a good lance — I am glad the youth hath
borne him well."
" I will say nothing to the contrary," said Dunois;
" yet, had your Lordship come something later than
you did, there might have been a vacancy in your
band of Archers."
M Ay, ay," answered Lord Crawford; " I can
read your hand-writing in that cleft morion. — Some
one take it from the lad, and give him a bonnet,
which, with its steel lining, will keep his head better
than that broken loom. — And, Dunois, I must r.ow
request the Duke of Orleans and you to take horse
and accompany me, as I have power and commission
to convey you to a place different from that which
my good will might assign you."
M May I not speak one word, my Lord of Craw-
ford, to yonder fair ladies:" said the Duke of Or-
leans.
u Not one syllable," answered Lord Crawford;
" I am too much a friend of your highness, to per-
mit such an act of folly." — Then addressing Quen-
tin, he added, M You, young man, have done your
duty. Go on to obey the charge with which you are
entrusted."
" Under favour, my Lord," said Tristan, with
his usual brutality of manner, M the youth must
find another guide. I cannot want Petit- Andre,
when there is so like to be business on hand for
him."
kk The young man," said Petit-Andre, now com-
ing forward, u has only to keep the path which" lies
straight before him, and it will conduct him to a
place where he will find the man who is to act as his
236 THE GUIDE.
guide. — I would not for a thousand ducats be absent
from my chief this day! I have hanged knights and
squires many a one, and wealthy Echevins, and
burgomasters to boot— even counts and marquesses
have tasted of my handy-work — but,a-humph"
He looked at the Duke, as if to intimate that he
would have filled up the blank, with "a Prince of
the blood!" — " Ho, ho, ho! Petit- Andre, thou wilt
be read of in Chronicle. "
44 Do you permit your ruffians to hold such lan-
guage in such a presence?" said Crawford, looking
sternly to Tristan.
44 Why do you not correct him yourself, my
Lord?" said Tristan, sullenly.
" Because thy hand is the only one in this com-
pany that can beat him, without being degraded by
such an action."
44 Then rule your own men, my Lord, and I
will be answerable for mine," said the Provost-Mar-
shal.
Lord Crawford seemed about to give a passionate
reply; but, as if he had thought better of it, turned
his back short upon Tristan, and requesting the
Duke of Orleans, and Dunois, to ride one on either
hand of him, he made a signal of adieu to the ladies,
and said to Quentin, " God bless thee, my child;
thou hast begun thy service valiantly, though in an
unhappy cause." He was about to go off — when
Quentin could hear Dunois whisper to Crawford,
u Do you carry us to Plessis?"
44 No, my unhappy and rash friend," answered
Crawford, with a sigh; 44 to Loches."
44 To Loches!" The sound of a name yet more
dreaded than Plessis itself, fell like a death-toll upon
the ear of the young Scotchman. He had heard it
described as a place destined to the workings of those
secret acts of cruelty with which even Louis shamed
to pollute the interior of his own residence. There
were, in this place of terror, dungeons under dun-
THE GUIDE. 237
geons, some of them unknown even to the keepers
themselves; living graves, to which men were con-
signed with little hope of farther employment during
the rest of their life, than to breathe impure air, and
feed on bread and water. At this formidable castle
were also those dreadful places of confinement call-
ed cages, in which the wretched prisoner could nei-
ther stand upright, nor stretch himself at length, an
invention, it is said, of the Cardinal Balue. It is no
wonder that the name of this place of horrors, and
the consciousness that he had been partly the means
of despatcning thither two such illustrious victims,
struck such sadness into the heart of the young Scot,
that he rode for some time with his head dejected,
his eyes fixed on the ground, and his heart filled with
the most painful reflections.
As he was now again at the head of the little troop,
and pursuing the road which had been pointed out
to him, the Lady Hameline had an opportunity to
say to him, —
u Methinks, fair sir, you regret the victory which
your gallantry has attained in our behalf?"
There was something in the question which
sounded like irony, but Quentin had tact enough to
answer simply and with sincerity.
"I can regret nothing that is done in the service
of such ladies as you are; but, methinks, had it con-
sisted with your safety, I had rather have fallen by
the sword of so good a soldier as Dunois, than have
been the means of consigning that renowned knight
and his unhappy chief, the duke of Orleans, to yon-
der fearful dungeons."
" It xvas, then, the Duke of Orleans," said the
elder lady, turning to her niece. " I thought so, even
at the distance from which we beheld the fray.— You
see, kinswoman, what we might have been, had this
sly and avaricious monarch permitted us to be seen
at his court. The first Prince of the blood of France,
and the valiant Dunois, whose name is known as widt
238 THE GUIDE.
as that of his heroic father — This young gentleman
did his devoir bravely and well; but methinks 'tis
pity that he did not succumb with honour, since his
ill-advised gallantry has stood betwixt us and these
princely rescuers."
The Countess Isabelle replied in a firm and almost
a displeased tone; with an energy, in short, which
Quentin had not yet seen her use.
" Madam," she said," but that I know you jest, I
would say your speech is ungrateful to our brave de-
fender, to whom we owe more, perhaps, than you
are aware of. Had these gentlemen succeeded so far
in that rash enterprize as to have defeated our escort,
is it not still evident, that, on the arrival of the Royal
Guard, we must have shared their captivity? For
my own part, I give tears, and will soon bestow
masses, on the brave man who has fallen, and I trust
(she continued, more timidly) that he who lives will
accept my grateful thanks."
As Quentin turned his face towards her, to return
the fitting acknowledgments, she saw the blood which
streamed down one side of his face, and exclaimed,
in a tone of deep feeling, " Holy Virgin, he is wound-
ed! he bleeds! — Dismount, sir, and let your wound
be bound up."
In spite of all that Durward could say of the slight-
ness of his hurt, he was compelled to dismount, and
to seat himself on a bank, and unhelmet himself, while
the ladies of Croye, who, according to a fashion not
as yet antiquated, pretended some knowledge of leech
craft, washed the wound, staunched the blood, and
bound it with the kerchief of the younger countess, in
order to exclude the air, for so their practice pre-
scribed.
In modern times, gallants seldom or never take
wounds for ladies' sake, and damsels on their side
never meddle with the cure of wounds. Each has
a danger the less. That which the men escape will
be generally acknowledged; but the peril of dressing
THE GUIDE. 239
such a slight wound as that of Quentin's, which in-
volved nothing formidable or dangerous, was perhaps
as real in its way as that of encountering it.
We have already said the patient was eminently
handsome ; and the removal of his helmet, or, more
properly, of his morion, had suffered his fair locks
to escape in profusion, around a countenance in which
the hilarity of youth was qualified by a blush of
modesty at once and pleasure. And then the feel-
ings of the younger Countess, when compelled to
hold the kerchief to the wound, while her aunt sought
in their baggage for some vulnerary remedy, were
mingled at once with a sense of delicacy and embar-
rassment ; a thrill of pity for the patient, and of
gratitude for his services, which exaggerated, in her
eyes, his good mien and handsome features. In short,
this incident seemed intended by Fate to complete
the misterious communication which she had, by
many petty and apparently accidental circumstances,
established betwixt two persons, who, though far
different in rank and fortune, strongly resembled
each other in youth, beauty, and the romantic ten-
derness of an affectionate disposition. It was no won-
der, therefore, that from this moment the thoughts
of the Countess Isabtlle, already so familiar to his
imagination, should become paramount in Qaentin's
bosom, nor that, if the maiden's feelings were of a
less decided character, at least so far as known to
herself, she should think of her young defender, to
whom she had just rendered a service so interesting,
with more emotion than of any of the whole band
of high-born nobles who had for two years besieged
her with their adoration. Above all, when the
thought of Campo-Basso, the unworthy favourite
of Duke Charles, with his hypocritical mien, his
base, treacherous spirit, his wry neck, and his squint,
occurred to her, his portrait was more disgustingly
hideous than ever, and deeply did she resolve no
240 THE GUIDE.
tyranny should make her enter into so hateful a
union.
In the mean time, whether the good Lady Ha-
meline of Croye understood and admired mascu-
line beauty as much as when she was fifteen years
younger, (for the good Countess was at least thirty-
five, if the records of that noble house speak the
truth,) or whether she thought she had done their
young protector less justice than she ought, in the
first view which she had taken of his services, it is
certain that he began to find favour in her eyes.
" My niece," she said, u has bestowed on you a
kerchief for the binding of your wound; I will give
you one to grace your gallantry, and to encourage
you in your further progress in chivalry."
So saying, she gave him a richly embroidered
kerchief of blue and silver, and pointing to the*
housing of her palfrey, and the plumes in her
riding-cap, desired him to observe that the colours
were the same.
The fashion of the time prescribed one absolute
mode of receiving such a favour, which Quentin
followed accordingly, by tying the napkin around
his arm; yet his manner of acknowledgment h»d
more of awkwardness, and less of gallantry in it,
than perhaps it might have had at another time,
and in another presence; for though the wearing of
a lady's favour, given in such a manner, was merely
matter of general compliment, he would much ra-
ther have preferred the right of displaying on his
arm that which bound the wound inflicted by the
sword of Dunois.
Meantime they continued their pilgrimage, Quen-
tin now riding abreast of the ladies, into whose
society he seemed to be tacitly adopted. He did
not speak much, however, being filled by the silent
consciousness of happiness, which is afraid of giving
too strong vent to its feelings. The Countess Isa-
belle spoke still less, so that the conversation was
THE GUIDE. 241
chiefly carried on by the Lady Hameline, who
showed no inclination to let it drop; for, to initiate
the young Archer, as she said, into the principles
and practice of chivalry, she detailed to him, at full
length, the Passage of Arms at Haflinghem, where
she had distributed the prizes among the victors.
Not much interested, I am sorry to say, in the
description of this splendid scene, or in the he-
raldric bearings of the different Flemish and Ger-
man knights, which the lady blazoned with pitiless
accuracy, Quentin began to entertain some alarm
lest he should have passed the place where his
guide was to join him — a most serious disaster,
and from which, should it really have taken place,
the very worst consequences were to be appre-
hended.
While he hesitated whether it would be better to
send back one of his followers, to see whether this
might not be the case, he heard the blast of a horn,
and looking in the direction from which the sound
came, beheld a horseman riding very fast towards
them. The low size, and wild, shaggy, untrained
state of the animal, reminded Quentin of the moun-
tain breed of horses in his own country; but this
was much more finely limbed, and, with the same
appearance of hardness, was more rapid in its
movements. The head particularly, which, in the
Scottish poney, is often lumpish and heavy, was
small and well placed in the neck of this animal,
with thin jaws, full sparkling eyes, and expanded
nostrils.
The rider was even more singular in his appear-
ance than the horse which he rode, though that was
extremely unlike the horses of France. Although
he managed his palfrey with great dexterity, he
sat with his feet in broad stirrups, something re-
sembling a shovel, so short, that his knees were
well nigh as high as the pommel of his saddle. His
dress was a red turban of small size, in which he
Vol. I.— 21
242 THE GUIDE.
wore a sullied plume, secured by a clasp of silver;
his tunic, which was shaped like those of the Estra-
diots, a sort of troops whom the Venetians at that
time levied in the provinces, on the eastern side of
their gulf, was green in colour, and tawdrily laced
with gold; he wore very wide drawers or trowsers
of white, though none of the cleanest, which ga-
thered beneath the knee, and his swarthy legs were
quite bare, unless for the complicated laces which
bound a pair of sandals on his feet; he had no spurs,
the edge of his large stirrups being so sharp as to
serve to goad the horse in a very severe manner.
In a crimson sash this singular horseman wore a
dagger on the right side, and on the left a short
crooked Moorish sword, and by a tarnished baldrick
over the shoulder hung the horn which announced
his approach. He had a swarthy and sun-burnt
visage, with a thin beard, and piercing dark eyes,
a well-formed mouth and nose, and other features
which might have been pronounced handsome, but
for the black elf-locks which hung around his face,
and the air of wildness and emaciation, which ra-
ther seemed to indicate a savage than a civilized
man.
" He also is a Bohemian," said the ladies to each
other; " Holy Mary, will the King again place con-
fidence in these outcasts?"
w I will question the man, if it be your pleasure,"
said Quentin, " and assure myself of his fidelity as
I best may."
Durward, as well as the Ladies of Croye, had
recognized in this man's dress and appearance, the
habit and the manners of those vagrants, with whom
he had nearly been confounded by the hasty pro-
ceedings of Trois-Eschelles and Petit Andre, and
he too entertained very natural apprehensions con-
cerning the risk of reposing trust in one of that va-
grant race.
THE GUIDE. 243
" Art thou come hither to seek us?" was his first
question.
The stranger nodded.
"And for what purpose?"
"To guide you to the Palace of Him of Liege."
" Of the Bishop?"
The Bohemian again nodded.
" What token canst thou give me, that we should
yield credence to thee?"
" Even the old rhyme, and no other," answered
the Bohemian,—
" The page slew the boar,
The peer had the gloire."
" A true token," said Quentin; " Lead on, good
fellow — I will speak further with thee presently."
Then falling back to the ladies, he said, " I am con-
vinced this man is the guide we are to expect, for
he hath brought me a pass-word, known, I think,
but to the King and me. But I will discourse with
him further, and endeavour to ascertain how far he
is to be trusted."
244 THE VAGRANT.
CHAPTER VI.
THE VAGRANT,
I am as free as Nature first made man,
Ere the base laws of servitude beg-an,
When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
The Conquest of Givnada.
While Quentin held the brief communication
with the ladies necessary to assure them that this
extraordinary addition to their party was the guide
whom they were to expect on the King's part, he
noticed, (for he was as alert in observing the mo-
tions of the stranger, as the Bohemian could be on
his part,) that the man not only turned his head as
far back as he could, to peer at them, but that, with
a singular sort of agility, more resembling that of
a monkey than of a man, he had screwed his whole
person around on the saddle, so as to sit almost
sidelong upon the horse, for the convenience, as it
seemed, of watching them more attentively.
Not greatly pleased with this manoeuvre, Quen-
tin rode up to the Bohemian, and said to him, as
he suddenly assumed his proper position on the
horse, " Methinks, friend, you will prove but a
blind guide, if you look at the tail of your horse ra-
ther than his ears."
41 And if I were actually blind," answered the Bo-
hemian, " I could guide you through any county
in this realm of France, or in those adjoining to it."
u Yet you are no Frenchman born," said the
Scot.
44 I am not," answered the guide.
44 What countryman, then, are you?" demanded
Quentin.
44 I am of no country," answered the guide*
44 How! of no country?" repeated the Scot.
THE VAGRANT. 245
" No," answered the Bohemian, " of none. I am
a Zingaro, a Bohemian, an Egyptian, or whatever
the Europeans, in ..heir different languages, may
choose to call our people; but I ha* e no country."
" Are you a Christian?" asked the Scotchman.
The Bohemian shook his head.
" Dog," said Qlu ntin, (tor there was little tole-
ration in the spirit of Catholicism in those days,)
" doest thou worship Mahoun?"
H No," was the indifferent and concise answer of
the guide, who neither seemed offended nor surpris-
ed at the young man's violence of manner.
" Are you a Pagan, then, or what are you?"
" I have no religion," answered the Bohemian.
Durward started back; for, though he had heard
of Saracens and Idolaters, it had never entered into
his ideas or belief, that any body of men could exist
who practised no mode of worship whatsoever. He
recovered from his astonishment, to ask where his
guide usually dwelt.
" Wherever I chance to be for the time," replied
the Bohemian. " I have no home."
" How do you guard your property?"
u Excepting the clothes which I wear, and the
horse I ride on, I have no property."
u Yet you dress gaily, and ride gallantly," said
Durward. " What are your means of subsistence?"
u I eat when I am hungry, drink when I am
thirsty, and have no other means of subsistence
than chance throws in my way," replied the vaga-
bond.
" Under whose laws do you live?"
u I acknowledge obedience to none, but as it suits
my pleasure," said the Bohemian.
44 Who is your leader, and commands you?"
u The Father of our tribe — if I choose to obey
him," said the guide—* 1 otherwise I have no com-
mander."
u You are then," said the wondering querist,
21*
246 THE VAGRANT.
44 destitute of all that other men are combined by —
yon have no law, no leader, no settled means of sub-
sistence, no house or home. You have, may Heaven
compassionate you, no country — and, may Heaven
enlighten and forgive you, you have no God! What
is it that remains to you, deprived of government,
domestic happiness, and religion?"
44 I have liberty," said the Bohemian — a I crouch
to no one — obey no one — respect no one. — I go
where I will — live as I can — and die when my day
comes."
44 But you are subject to instant execution at the
pleasure of the Judge."
u Be it so," returned the Bohemian; " I can but
die so much the sooner."
44 And to imprisonment also," said the Scot; " and
where, then, is your boasted freedom?"
44 In my thoughts," said the Bohemian, " which no
chains can bind; while yours, even when your limbs
are free, remain fettered by your laws and your su-
perstitions, your dreams of local attachment, and
your fantastic visions of civil policy. Such as I are
free in spirit when our limbs are chained — You are
imprisoned in mind, even when your limbs are most
at freedom."
44 Yet the freedom of your thoughts," said the
Scot, u relieves not the pressure of the gyves on your
limbs."
44 For a brief time that may be endured; and if
within that period I cannot extricate myself, and fail
of relief from my comrades, I can always die, and
death is the most perfect freedom of all."
There was a deep pause of some duration, which
Quentin at length broke by resuming his queries.
44 Your's is a wandering race, unknown to the
nations of Europe — Whence do they derive their
origin?"
44 I may not tell you," answered the Bohemian.
44 When will they relieve this kingdom from their
THE VAGRANT. 247
presence, and return to the land from whence they
came ?" said the Scot.
" When the day of their pilgrimage shall be ac-
complished," replied his vagrant guide.
u Are you not sprung from those tribes of Israel
which were carried into captivity beyond the great
river Euphrates ?" said Quentin, who had not for-
gotten the lore which had been taught him at Aber-
brothock.
41 Had we been so," answered the Bohemian,
" we had followed their faith, and practised their
rites."
u What is thine own name?" said Durward.
" My proper name is only known to mv brethren
— The men beyond our tents call me Hayraddin
Maugrabin, that is, Hayraddin the African Moor.* 5
u Thou spcakest too well for one who hath lived
always in ths filthy horde," said the Scot.
" I have learned some of the knowledge of this
land," said Hayraddin — u When I was a little bov,
our tribe was chased by the hunters after human
flesh. An arrow went through my mother's head,
and she died. I was entangled in the blanket on
her shoulders, and was taken by the pursuers. A
priest begged me from the Provost's archers, and
trained me up in Frankish learning for two or three
years."
" How came you to part with him ?" demanded
Durward.
" I stole money from him — even the God which
he worshipped," answered Hayraddin, with perfect
composure; "he detected me, and beat me — I stab-
bed him with my knife, fled to the woods, and was
again united to my people."
" Wretch !" said Durward, "did you murder your
benefactor ?"
w What had he to do to burden me with his
benefics ? — The Zingaro boy was no house-bred cur
to dog the heels of his master, and crouch beneath
243 THE VAGRANT.
his blows, for scraps of food — He was the impri-
soned wolf-welp, which at the first opportunity broke
his chain, rended his master, and returned to his
wilderness."
There was another pause, when the young Scot,
with a view of still farther investigating the character
and purpose of this suspicious guide, asked Hay-
raddin, u Whether it was not true that his people,
amid their ignorance, pretended to a knowledge of
futurity, which was not given to the sages, philoso-
phers, and divines, of more polished societv ?"
" We pretend to it," said Hayraddin, "and it is
with justice."
" How can it be that so high a gift is bestowed on
so abject a race ?" said Quentm.
" Can I tell you?" answered Hayraddin — " Yes,
I may indeed ; but it is when you shall explain to
me why the dog can trace the footsteps of a man,
while man, the nobler animal, hath no power to trace
those of the dog. These powers, which seem to you
so wonderful, are instinctive in our race. From the
lines on the face and on the hand, we can tell the
future fate of those who consult us, even as surely
as you know from the blossom of the tree in spring,
what fruit it will bear in, the harvest."
" I doubt of your knowledge, and defy you to the
proof."
" Defy me not, Sir Squire," said Maugrabin Hay-
raddin — " I can tell thee, that, sav what you will of
youi religion, the Goddess whom you worship rides
in this company."
" Peac. !" said Quentin,in astonishment; "on thy
life, not a nord farther, but in answer to what I
ask thee — Can'st thou be faithful ?"
" I can — til men can," said the Bohemian.
" Bit wilt thou be faithful ?"
" Would'st thou believe me the more should I
swear it?" answered Maugrabin, with a sneer.
" Thy life is in my hand," said the young Scot.
THE VAGRANT. 249
4i Strike, and see whether I fear to die," answered
the Bohemian.
" Will money render thee a trusty guide ?" de-
manded Durward.
" If I be not such without it, No," replied the
heathen.
" Then what will bind thee?" asked the Scot.
" Kindness," replied the Bohemian.
" Shall I swear to show thee such, if thou art true
guide to us on this pilgrimage?"
" No," replied Hayraddin, " it were extravagant
waste of a commodity so rare. — To thee I am bound
already."
" How?" exclaimed Durward, more surprised
than ever.
"Remember the chesnut-trees on the banks of the
Cher! The victim, whose body thou didst cut dovyn,
was my brother, Zamet the Maugrabin."
44 And yet," said Quentin, 4 - 1 find you in corres-
pondence with those very officers by whom your
brother was done to death; for it was one of them
who directed me where to meet with you — the same,
doubtless, who procured yonder ladies your services
as a guide."
." What can we do?" answered Hayraddin,
gloomily — u These men deal with us as the sheep-
dogs do with the flock; they protect us for a while,
drive us hither and thither at their pleasure, and
always end by guiding us to the shambles."
Quentin had afterwards occasion to learn that the
Bohemian spoke truth in this particular, and that
the Provost guard, employed to suppress the vaga-
bond bands by which the kingdom was infested, en-
tertained correspondence amongst them, and forbore,
for a certain time, the exercise of their duty, which
always at last ended in conducting their allies to the
gallows. This is a sort of political relation between
thief and officer, for the profitable exercise of their
250 THE VAGRANT.
mutual professions, which has subsisted in all coun-
tries, and is by no means unknown to our own.
Durward, parting from the guide, fell back to the
rest of the retinue, very little satisfied with the char-
acter of Hayraddin, and entertaining little confidence
in the professions of gratitude which he had person-
ally made to him. He proceeded to sound the other
two men who had been assigned him for attendants,
and he was concerned to find them stupid, and as
unfit to assist him with counsel, as in the rencounter
they had shown themselves reluctant to use their
weapons.
" It is all the better," said Quentin to himself,
his spirit rising with the apprehended difficulties of
his situation; u that lovely young lady shall owe all
to me. — What one hand — ay, and one head can do,
— methinks I can boldly count upon. I have seen
my father's house on fire, and him and my brothers
lying dead among the flames— I gave not an inch
back, but fought it out to the last. Now I am two
years older, and have the best and fairest cause to
bear me well, that ever kindled mettle within a brave
man's bosom."
Acting upon this resolution, the attention and ac-
tivity which Quentin bestowed during the journey,
had in it something that gave him the appearance of
ubiquity. His principal and most favourite post was
of course by the side of the ladies; who, sensible of
his extreme attention to their safety, began to con-
verse with him in almost the tone of familiar friend-
ship, and appeared to take great pleasure in the nai-
vete, yet shrewdness, of his conversation. Yet
Quentin did not suffer the fascination of this inter-
course to interfere with the vigilant discharge of his
duty.
If he was often by the side of the Countesses,
labouring to describe to the natives of a level coun-
try the Grampian mountains, and, above all, the
beauties of Glen-IIouiakin, — he was as often riding
THE VAGRANT. 251
with Hayraddin, in the front of the little cavalcade,
questioning him about the road, and the resting-pla-
ces, and recording his answers in his mind, to ascer-
tain whether upon cross-examination he could discov-
er any thing like meditated treachery. As often he
was in the rear, endeavouring to secure the attach-
ment of the two horsemen, by kind words, gifts, and
promises of additional recompense, when their task
should be accomplished.
In this way they travelled for more than a week,
through bye-paths and unfrequented districts, and
by circuitous routes, in order to avoid large to-.v^s.
Nothing remarkable occurred, though they now and
then met stroling gangs of Bohemians, who respect-
ed them, as under the conduct of one of their tribe,
—-straggling soldiers, or perhaps banditti, who deem-
ed their party too strong to be attacked, — or parties of
the Marechaussee, as they would now be termed,
whom Louis, who searched the wounds of the land
with steel and cautery, employed to suppress the dis-
orderly bands which infested the interior. These
last suffered them to pursue their way unmolested,
by virtue of a password, with which Quentin had
been furnished for that purpose by the king himself.
Their resting places were chiefly the monasteries,
most of which were obliged by the rules of their
foundation to receive pilgrims, under which charac-
ter the ladies travelled, with hospitality, and without
any troublesome inquiries into their rank and cha-
racter, which most persons of distinction were de-
sirous of concealing while in the discharge of their
vows. The pretence of weariness was usually em-
ployed by the Countesses of Croye, as an excuse for
instantly retiring to rest, and Quentin, as their Ma-
jor Domo, arranged all that was necessary betwixt
thtm and their entertainers, with a shrewdness which
saved them all trouble, and an alacrity that failed
not to excite a corresponding degree of good will on
252 THE VAGRANT.
the part of those who were thus sedulously attended
to.
One circumstance gave Quentin peculiar trouble,
which was the character and nation of his guide;
who, as a heathen, and an infidel vagabond, addict-
ed besides to occult arts, (the badge of all his tribe,)
was looked upon as a very improper guest for the
holy resting-places at which the company usually
halted, and was with the utmost reluctance admitted
within even the outer circuit of their walls. This
was very embarrassing; for, on the one hand, it was
necessary to keep in good humour a man who was
possessed of the secret of their expedition; and on
the other, Quentin deemed it indispensable to main-
tain a vigilant though secret watch on Hayraddin's
conduct, in order that, as far as might be, he should
hold no communication with any one without being
observed. This of course was impossible, if the Bo-
hemian was lodged without the precincts of the con-
vent at which they stopped, and Durward could not
help thinking that Hayraddin was desirous of bring-
ing about this latter arrangement; for, instead of
keeping himself still and quiet in the quarters allot-
ted to him, his conversation, tricks, and songs, were,
at the same time, so entertaining to the novices and
younger brethren, and so unedifying in the opinion
of the seniors of the fraternity, that, in more cases
than one, it required all the authority, supported by
threats, which Quentin could exert over him, to re-
strain his irreverent and untimeous jocularity, and
all the interest he could make with tne Superiors, to
prevent the heathen hound from being thrust out of
doors. He succeeded, however, by the adroit manner
in which he apologized for the indecorums commit-
ted by their attendant, and the skill with which he
hinted the hope of his being brought to a better
sense of principles and behaviour, by the neighbour-
hood of holy reliques, consecrated buildings, and,
above all, of men dedicated to religion.
THE VAGRANT. 253
But upon the tenth or twelfth day of their jour-
ney, after they had entered Flanders, and were ap-
proaching the town of Namur, all the efforts of
Quentin became inadequate to suppress the conse-
quences of the scandal given by his heathen guide.
The scene was a Franciscan convent, and of a strict
and reformed order, and the Prior a man who after-
wards died in the odour of sanctity. After rather
more than the usual scruples, (which were indeed in
such a case to be expected,) had been surmounted,
the obnoxious Bohemian at length obtained quarters
in an out- house inhabited by a lay-brother, who act-
ed as gardener. The ladies retired to their apart-
ment as usual, and the Prior, who chanced to have
some distant alliances and friends in Scotland, and
who was fond of hearing foreigners tell of their na-
tive countries, invited Quentin, with whose mien
and conduct he seemed much pleased, to a slight
monastic refection in his own cell. Finding the Fa-
ther a man of intelligence, Quentin did not neglect
the opportunity of making himself acquainted with
the state of affairs in the country of Liege, of which,
during the last two days of their journey, he had
heard such reports, as made him very apprehensive
for the security of his charge during the remainder
of their route, nay, even of the Bishop's power to
protect them, when they should be safely conducted
to his residence. The replies of the Prior were not
very consolatory.
He said, that " the people of Liege were wealthy
burghers, who, like Jehurun of old, had waxed fat
and kicked — that they were uplifted in heart be-
cause of their wealth and their privileges — that they
had divers disputes with the Duke of Burgundy,
their liege lord, upon the subject of imposts and
immunities — and that they had repeatedly broken
out into open mutiny, whereat the Duke was so
much incensed, as being a man of a hot and fiery
nature, that he had sworn, by Saint George, on the
Vol. I — 22
254 THE VAGRANT.
next provocation, he would make the city of Liege
like to the desolation of Babylon, and the downfall
of Tyre, a hissing and a reproach to the whole terri-
tory of Flanders."
" And he is a prince, by all report, like to keep
such a vow,' said Quentin; "so the men of Liege
will probably beware how they give him occasion."
"It were to be so hoped," said the Prior; "and
such are the prayers of the godly in the land, who
would not that man's blood were poured forth like
water, and that they should perish, even as utter
castaways, ere they make their peace with Heaven.
Also the good Bishop labours night and day to
preserve peace, as well becometh a servant of the
altar, for it is written in holy scripture, Beati pad-
Jici. But"— here the good Prior stopped with a
deep sigh.
Quentin modestly urged the great importance of
which it was to the ladies whom he attended, to
have some assured information respecting the inter-
nal state of the country, and what an act of Chris-
tian charity it would be, if the worthy and reverend
Father would enlighten them upon that subject.
" It is one," said the Prior, " on which no man
speaks with willingness; for those who speak evil
of the powerful, etiam in cubiculo, may find that a
winged thing shall carry the matter to his ears.
Nevertheless, to render you, who seem an ingenu-
ous youth, and your ladies, who are devout vota-
resses accomplishing a holy pilgrimage, the little
service that is in my power, I will be plain with
you."
He then looked cautiously round, and lowered
his voice, as if afraid of being overheard.
" The people of Liege," he said, " are privily in-
stigated to their frequent mutinies by men of Be-
lial, who pretend, but, as I hope, falsely, to have
commission to that effect from our most Christian
King; whom, however, I hold to deserve that term
THE VAGRANT. 25$
better than were consistent with his thus disturbing
the peace of a neighbouring state. Yet so it is, that
his name is freely used by those who uphold and
inflame the discontents at Liege. There is, more-
over, in the land, a nobleman of good descent, and
fame in warlike affairs; but otherwise, so to speak,
Lapis cffensionis et petra scandali,—?i stumbling-
block of offence to the countries of Burgundy and
Flanders. His name is William de la Marck."
" Called William with the Beard, 7 ' said the young
Scotchman, "or the Wild Boar of Ardennes?"
" And rightly so called, my son," said the Prior;
" because he is as the wild boar of the forest, which
treadeth down with his hoofs, and rendeth with his
tusks. And he hath formed to himself a band of
more than a thousand men, all, like himself, con-
temners of civil and ecclesiastical anthority, and
holds himself independent of the Duke of Bur-
gundy, and maintains himself and his followers by-
rapine and wrong, wrought without distinction,
upon churchmen and laymen. Imposuit manus in
Christos Domini^ — he hath stretched forth his hand
upon the anointed of the Lord, regardless of what
is written, — 'Touch not mine anointed, and do my
prophets no wrong.' Even to our poor house did
he send for sums of gold and sums of silver, as a
ransom for our lives and those of our brethren; to
which we returned a Latin supplication, stating
our inability to answer his demand, and exhorting
him in the words of the preacher, Ne moliaris amico
tuo, malum cum habet in te jiduciam. Nevertheless,
this Gulielmus Barbatus, this William de la Marck,
as completely ignorant of humane letters as of hu-
manity itself, replied, in his ridiculous jargon, 4 Si
*, r ^ j^~i,r,ti^ hrulabo monasterium vestrum. yr
" Of which rude .Latin, however, yuu my good
father, were at no loss to conceive the interpre-
tation?"
" Alas, my son," said the Prior, " Fear and Ne-
256 THE VAGRANT.
cessity are shrewd interpreters; and we were ob-
liged to melt down the silver vessels of our altar to
satisfy the rapacity of this cruel chief. May heaven
requite it to him seven-fold! Pereat improbus —
Amen, amen, anathema esto.'"
" I marvel," said Quentin, " that the Duke of
Burgundy, who is so strong and powerful, doth not
bait this boar, of whose ravages I have already heard
so much."
" Alas ! my son," said the Prior, " he is now at
Peronne, assembling his captains of hundreds and
his captains of thousands, to make war against
France; and thus, while Heaven hath set discord be-
tween the hearts of those great princes, the country
is misused by such subordinate oppressors. But it
is in evil time that the Duke neglects the cure of
these internal gangrenes ; for this William de la
Marck hath of late entertained open communication
with Rouslaer and Pavilion, the chiefs of the dis-
contented at Liege, and it is to be feared he will
soon stir them up to some desperate enterprize."
" But the Bishop of Liege," said Quentin, " he
hath still power to subdue this disquiet and turbu-
lent -pirit — hath he not, good father? — Your answer
to this question concerns me much."
"The Bishop, my child," replied the Prior, " hath
the sword of Saint Peter, as well as the keys. He
hath power as a secular prince, and he hath the
powerful protection of the House of Burgundy; he
hath also spiritual authority as a prelate, and he sup-
ports both with a reasonable force of good soldiers
and men-at-arms. This William de la Marck was
bred in his household, and bound to him by many
benefits. But he gave vent, even in the court of
the Bishop, to his fu-r^p <>«ri ki-~-i ^ ---v *~^*p*«?
and was expelled thence for a homicide, committed
on one of the Bishop's chief domestics. From
thenceforward, being banished from the good Pre-
late's presence, he hath been his constant and unre-
THE VAGRANT. 257
lenting foe; and now, I grieve to say, he hath girded
his loins, and strengthened his horn against him."
14 You consider, then, the situation of the worthy
Prelate as being dangerous," said Quentin, very
anxiously.
" Alas! my son," said the good Franciscan, "what
or who is there in this weary wilderness, whom we
may not hold as in danger? But heaven forefend, I
should speak of the reverend Prelate as one whose
peril is imminent. He has much treasure, true
counsellors, and brave soldiers; and, moreover, a
messenger who passed hitherto the eastward yester-
day, saith that the Duke hath despatched, upon the
Bishop's request, an hundred men-at-arms, who,
with the retinue belonging to each lance, are enough
to deal with William de la Marck, on whose name
be sorrow! — Amen."
At this crisis their conversation was interrupted
by the Sacristan, who, in a voice almost inarticulate
with anger, accused the Bohemian of having prac-
tised the most abominable arts of delusion among
the younger brethren. He had added to their nightly
meal cups of a heady and intoxicating cordial, of ten
times the strength of the most powerful wine, under
which several of the fraternity had succumbed, —
and indeed, although the Sacristan had been strong
to resist its influence, they might yet see, from his
inflamed countenance and thick speech, that even he,
the accuser himself, was in some degree affected by
this unhallowed potation. Moreover, the Bohemian
had sung songs of worldly vanity and impure plea-
sures; he had derided the cord of Saint Francis,
made jest of his miracles, and termed his votaries
fools and lazy knaves. Lastly, he had practised
palmistry, and foretold to the young Father Cheru-
bin, that he was beloved by a beautiful lady, who
should make him father to a thriving boy."
The Father Prior listened to these complaints for
some time in silence, as struck with mute horror by
22*
258 the vagrant.
their enormous atrocity. When the Sacristan had
concluded, he rose up, descended to the court of the
convent, and ordered the lay brethren, on pain of the
worst consequences of spiritual disobedience, to beat
Hayraddin out of the sacred precincts, with their
broom staves and cart-whips.
This sentence was executed accordingly, in the
presence of Quentin Durward, who, ho vvsoe ver vexed
at the occurrence, easily saw that his interference
would be of no avail.
The discipline inflicted upon the delinquent, not-
withstanding the exhortations of the Superior, was
more ludicrous 1 than formidable. The Bohemian
ran hither and thither through the court, amongst
the clamour of voices, and noise of blows, some of
which reached him not, because purposely mis-
aimed; others, designed for his person, were eluded
by his activity; and the few that fell upon his back
and shoulders, he took without either complaint or re-
ply. The noise and riot was the greater, that the
inexperienced cudgel-players, among whom Hayrad-
din ran the gauntlet, hit each other more frequently
than they did him, till at length, desirous of ending
a scene which was more scandalous than edifying,
the Prior commanded the wicket to be flung open,
and the Bohemian, darting through it with the speed
of lightning, fled forth into the moonlight.
During this scene, a suspicion which Durward
had formerly entertained, recurred with additional
strength. Hayraddin had, that very morning, pro-
mised to him more modest and discreet behaviour
than he was wont to exhibit, when they rested in a
convent on their journey; yet he had broken his en-
gagement, and had been even more offensively ob-
streperous than usual. Something probably lurked
under this; for whatever were the Bohemian's de-
ficiencies, he lacked neither sense, nor, when he
pleased, self-command; and might it not be probable
that he wished to hold some communication, either
THE ESPIED SPY. 259
with his own horde or some one else, from which he
was debarred in the course of the day, by the vigi-
lance with which he was watched by Quentin, and
had recourse to this stratagem in order to get him-
self turned out of the convent?
No sooner did this suspicion dart once more
through Quentin's mind, than, alert as he always
was in his motions, he resolved to follow his cudgel-
led guide, and observe (secretly if possible) how
he disposed of himself. Accordingly, when the Bo-
hemian fled, as already mentioned, out at the gate
of the convent, Quentin, hastily explaining to the
Prior the necessity of keeping sight of his guide,
followed in pursuit of him.
CHAPTER VII.
THE ESPIED SPY.
What, the rude ranger? and spied spy? — hands off— ■
You are for no such rustics.
Ben Jomon's Tale of Robin Hood.
When Quentin sallied from the convent, he could
mark the precipitate retreat of the Bohemian, whose
dark figure was seen in the fair moonlight, flying
with the speed of a flogged hound quite through
the street of the little village, and across the level
meadow that lay beyond.
u My friend runs fast," said Quentin to himself;
" but he must run faster yet to escape the fleetest
foot ever pressed the heather of Glen-Houlakin."
Being fortunately without his cloak and armour,
the Scottish mountaineer was at liberty to put forth
260 THE ESPIED SPY.
a speed which was unrivalled in his own glens, and
which, notwithstanding the rate at which the Bohe-
mian ran, was like soon to bring his pursuer up
with him. This was not, however, Quentin's object;
for he considered it more essential to watch his
motions, than to interrupt them. He was the rather
led to this, by the steadiness with which the Bohe-
mian directed his course; and which continuing,
even after the impulse of the violent expulsion had
subsided, seemed to indicate that his career had
some more certain goal for its object than could
have suggested itself to a person unexpectedly
turned out of good quarters, when midnight was
approaching, to seek a new place of repose. He
never even looked behind him; and consequently
Durward was enabled to follow him unobserved.
At length the Bohemian having traversed the
meadow, and attained the side of a little stream, the
sides of which were clothed with alders and wil-
lows, Quentin observed that he stood still, and
blew a low note on his horn, which was answered
by a whistle at some distance.
" This is a rendezvous," thought Quentin; " but
how shall I come near enough to overhear the im-
port of what passes? the sound of my steps, and the
rustling of the boughs through which I must force
my passage will betray me, unless I am cautious—
I will stalk them, by Saint Andrew, as if they were
Glen-Isla deer — they shall learn that I have not
conned woodcraft for nought. Yonder they meet,
the two shadows — and two of them there are — odds
against me if I am discovered, and if their purpose
be unfriendly, as is much to be doubted. And then
the Countess Isabelle loses her poor friend! Well —
and he were not worthy to be called such, if he
were not ready to meet a dozen in her behalf. Have
I not crossed swords with Dunois, the best knight
in France, and shall I fear a tribe of yonder vaga-
THE ESPIED SPY. 261
bonds? — Pshaw — God and Saint Andrew to friend,
they will find me both stout and wary."
Thus resolving, and with a degree of caution
taught him by his sylvan habits, our friend de-
scended into the channel of the little stream, which
varied in depth, sometimes scarce covering his
shoes, sometimes coming up to his knees, and so
crept along, his form concealed by the boughs over-
hanging the bank, and his steps unheard amid the
ripple of the water. (We have ourselves, in the
days of yore, thus approached the nest of the wake-
ful raven.) In this manner, the Scot drew near
unperceived, until he distinctly heard the voices
of those who were the subject of his observation,
though he could not distinguish the words. Being
at this time under the drooping branches of a mag-
nificent weeping willow, which almost swept the
surface of the water, he caught hold of one of its
boughs, by the assistance of which, exerting at once
much agility, dexterity, and strength, he raised
himself up into the body of the tree, and sat, secure
from discovery, among the central branches.
From this situation he could discover that the
person with whom Hayraddin was now conversing
was one of his own tribe, and, at the same time,
he perceived, to his great disappointment, that no
approximation could enable him to comprehend
their language, which was totally unknown to him.
They laughed much; and as Hayraddin made a
sign of skipping about, and ended by rubbing his
shoulder with his hand, Durward had no doubt
that he was relating the story of the bastinading,
which he had sustained nrpu'mne to ^„o^~ f — - .u~
On a sudden, a whistle was again heard in the
distance, which was once more answered by a low
tone or two of Hayraddin's horn. Presently after-
wards, a tall stout soldierly-looking man, a strong
contrast in point of thewes and sinews to the small
262 THE ESPIED SPY.
and slender-limbed Bohemians, made his appearance.
He had a broad baldrick over his shoulder, which
sustained a sword that hung almost across his per-
son; his hose were much slashed, through which
slashes was drawn silk or tiffany, of various co-
lours; they were tied by at least five hundred points
or strings, made of riband, to the tight buff-jacket
which he wore, and the right sleeve of which dis-
played a silver boar's head, the crest of his captain.
A very small hat sat jauntily on one side of his head,
from which descended a quantity of curled hair,
which fell on each side of a broad face, and mingled
with as broad a beard, about four inches long. He
held a long lance in his hand; and his whole equip-
ment was that of one of the German adventurers,
who were known by the name of Lanzknechts, in En-
glish, spearmen, who constituted a formidable part
of the infantry of the period. These mercenaries
were, of course, a fierce and rapacious soldiery, and
having an idle tale current among themselves, that a
Lanzknecht was refused admittance into heaven on
account of his vices, and into hell on the score of his
tumultuous, mutinous, and insubordinate disposi-
tion, they manfully acted as if they neither sought
the one, nor eschewed the other.
4t Donner and blitz!" was his first salutation, in a
sort of German French, which we can only imper-
fectly imitate, " Why have you kept me dancing in
attendance dis dree nights?"
" I could not see you sooner, Meinherr," said
Hayraddin, very submissively; "there is a young
Scot, with as quick an eye as the wild-cat, who
watches mv least motions. He suspects me already,
and, should ne mia nis suspinvuo j~~.~.- _i T «»«»
a dead man on the spot, and he would carry back the
women into France again?"
" Was henker!" said the Lanzknecht; " we are
three — we will attack them to-morrow, and carry the
women off without going farther. You said the two
THE ESPIED SPY. 263
valets were cowards — you and your comrade may
manage them, and the Teufel sail hold me, but I
match your Scots wild cat."
M You will find that fool-hardy," said Hayraddin;
41 for, besides that we ourselves count not much in
fighting, this spark hath matched himself with the
best knight in France, and come off with honour—
I have seen those who saw him press Dunois hard
enough."
41 Hagel and Sturmwetter! It is but your cowardice
that speaks," said the German soldier.
44 I am no more a coward than yourself," said
Hayraddin; 4t but my trade is not fighting. — II you
keep the appointment where it was laid, it is well—
if not, I guide them safely to the Bishop's Palace,
and William de la Marck may easily possess himself
of them there, providing he is half as strong as he
pretended a week since."
" Poz tausend!" said the soldier, " we are as
strong and stronger; but we hear of a hundreds of
the lances of Burgund, — das ist — see you, — fire men
to a lance do make five hundreds, and then, hold me
the devil, they will be fainer to seek for us, than we
to seek for them; for der Bischoff hath a goot force
on footing — ay, indeed!"
44 You must then hold to the ambuscade, at the
Cross of the Three Kings, or give up the adventure,"
said the Bohemian.
" Geb up — geb up the adventure of the rich bride
for our noble hauptman — Teufel! I will charge
through hell first. — Mein soul, we will be all princes
and hertzogs,whom they call dukes, and we willhab
a snab at the wein-kellar, and at the mouldy French
crowns, and it may be at the pretty garces too, when
He with de beard is weary on them."
"The ambuscade at the Cross of the Three Kings
then still holds," said the Bohemian.
44 Mein Got, ay, — you will swear to bring them
there; and when they are on their knees before the
264 THE ESPIED SPY.
cross, and down from off their horses, which all men
do, except such black heathens as thou, we will
make in on them and they are ours."
44 Ay; but I promised this piece of necessary vil-
lainy only on one condition," said Hayraddin.— u I
will not have a hair of the young man's head touch-
ed. If you swear this to me, by your Three dead
Men of Cologne, I will swear to you, by the Seven
Night Walkers, that I will serve you truly as to the
rest. And if you break your oath, the Night Walk-
ers shall wake you seven nights from your sleep,
between night and morning, and, on the eighth, they
shall strangle and devour you."
44 But, donner and hagcl, what need you be so cu-
rious about the life of this boy, who is neither your
bloot nor kin?" said the German.
44 No matter for that, honest Heinrick; some men
have pleasure in cutting throats, some in keeping
them whole — So swear to me, that you will spare
him life and limb, or, by the bright star Aldeboran,
this matter shall go no further— Swear, and by the
Three Kings, as \ou call them, of Cologne — I know
you care for no other oath."
44 Du bist ein comische man," said the Lanz-
knecht, 44 I was swear "
44 Not yet," said the Bohemian — " Faces about,
brave Lanzknecht, and look to the east, else the
Kings may not hear you."
The soldier took the oath in manner prescribed,
and then declared that he would be in readiness, ob-
serving the place was quite convenient, being scarce
five miles from their present leaguer.
44 But, were it not making sure work to have a
fahnlein of riders on the other road, by the left side
of the inn, which might trap them if they go that
way?"
The Bohemian considered a moment, and then
answered, 44 No — the appearance of their troops in
that direction might alarm the garrison of Namur,
THE ESPIED SPY. £65
and then they would have a doubtful fight, instead
of assured success. Besides, they shall travel on the
right bank of the Macs, for I can guide them which-
way I will; for sharp as this same Scoctish moun-
taineer is, he hath never asked any one's advice,
save mine, upon the direction of their route. — Un-
doubtedly, I was assigned to him by an assured
friend, whose word, no man mistrusts, till they come
to know him a little."
u Hark ye, friend Hayraddin," said the soldier,
u I would ask you somewhat. — You and your bru-
der were, as you say yourself, gross sternen-deuter,
that is, star-lookers and giester-seers — Now, what
henker was it made you not foresee him to be
hanged?"
" I will tell you, Heinrick," said Hayraddin; —
u if I could have known my brother was such a fool
as to tell the counsel of King Louis to Duke Charles
of Burgundy, I could have foretold his death as
sure as I can foretell fair weather in Julv. Louis
hath both ears and hands at the court of Burgundy,
and Charles's counsellors love the chink of French
gold as well as thou doest the clatter of a wine-pot.«—
But fare thee well, and keep appointment. — I must
await my early Scot a bow-shot without the gate of
the den of the lazy swine yonder, else will he think
me about some excursion which bodes no good to the
success of his journey."
" Take a draught of comfort first " said the Lanz-
knecht, tendering him a flask, — u but I forget; thou
art beast enough to drink nothing but water, like a
vile vassal of Mahound and Termagund."
" Thou art thyself a vassal of the wine-measure,
and the flagon," said the Bohemian, — " I marvel
not that thou art only trusted with the blood-thirsty,
and the violent part of executing what better heads
have devised. — He must drink no wine, who would
know the thoughts of others, or hide his own. But
why preach to thee, who hast a thirst as eternal as a
Vol. L— 23
266 THE ESPIED SPY.
sand-bank in Arabia? — Fare thee well.— Take my
comrade Tuisco with thee — his appearance about
the monastery may breed suspicion."
The two worthies parted, after each had again
pledged himself to keep the rendezvous at the Cross
of the Three Kings.
Qucntin Dur^ard watched until they were out of
sight, and then descended from his place of conceal-
ment, his heart throbbing at the narrow escape which
he and his fair charge had made — if, indeed, it
could yet be achieved, — from a deep-laid plan of
villainy. Afraid, on his return to the monastery, of
stumbling upon Hayraddin, he made a long detour,
at the expense of traversing some very rough ground,
and was thus enabled to return to his asylum on a
different point from that on which he left it.
On the route, he communed earnestly with him-
self concerning the safest plan to be pursued. He
had formed the resolution, when he first heard Hay-
raddin avow his treachery, to put him to death so
soon as the conference broke up, and his compa-
nions were at a sufficient distance; but when he
heard the Bohemian express so much interest in
saving his own life, he felt it would be difficult for
him to execute upon him, in its rigour, the punish-
ment his treachery had deserved. He therefore re-
solved to spare his life, and even, if possible, still
to use his services as a guide, under such precau-
tions as should ensure the security of the precious
charge, to the preservation of which his own life was
internally devoted.
But whither were they to turn — the Countesses
of Croye could neither obtain shelter in Burgundy,
from which the}- had fled, nor in France, from
which they had been in a manner expelled. The
violence of Duke Charles in the one country, was
scarce more to be feared than the cold and tyranni-
cal policy of King Louis in the other. After deep
thought, Durward could form no better or safer
TflE ESPIED SPY. 267
plan for their safety, than that, evading the ambus-
cade, they should take the road to Liege by the left
hand of the Maes, and throw themselves, as the
ladies themselves originally designed, upon the pro-
tection of the excellent Bishop. That Prelate's will
to protect them could not be doubted, and, if rein-
forced bv this Burgundian party of men-at-arms, he
might be considered as having the power. At any
rate, if the dangers to which he was exposed from
the hostility of William de la Marck, and from the
troubles in the citv of Liege, appeared imminent,
he could still protect the unfortunate ladies until
they could be despatched to Germany with a suit-
able escort.
To sum up this reasoning, for when is a mental
argument conducted without some reference to
selfish considerations? — Quemin imagined that the
death or captivitv to which King Louis had, in cold
blood, consigned him, set him at liberty from his
engage mt nts to the Crown of France; which, there-
fore, it w as his determined purpose to renounce.
The Bishop of Liege was likelv, he concluded, to
need soldiers, and he thought that, by the interpo-
sition of his -fair friends, who now, especially the
elder Countess, treated him with much familiarity,
he might get aome command, and perhaps might
have the charge of conducting the Ladies of Croye
to some place more safe than the neighbourhood of
Liege. And to conclude, the ladies had talked, al-
though almost in a sort of jest, of raising the
Countess's own vassals, and, as others did in these
stormy times, fortifying her strong castle against
all assailants whatsoever; they had jestingly asked
Quentin, whether he would accept the perilous office
of their Seneschal; and on his accepting the office
with ready glee and devotion, they had, in the same
spirit, permitted him to kiss both their hauds on
that confidential and honourable appoiir N$y»
he thought that the hand of the Countess Isabelle,
268 75H« ESPIED SPY
one of the best formed and most beautiful to which
true vassal ever did such homage, trembled when
his lips rested on it a moment longer than ceremony
required, and that some confusion appeared on her
cheek and in her eye as she withdrew it. Something
Blight come of all this; and what brave man, at
Quentin Durward 7 s age, but would gladly have
taken the thoughts which it awakened, into the con-
siderations which were to determine his conduct?
This point settled, he had next to consider in
what degree he was to use the further guidance
of the faithless Bohemian. He had renounced his
first thought of killing him in the wood, and if he
took another guide, and dismissed him alive, it
would be sending the traitor to the camp of William
de la Marck, with intelligence of their motions. He
thought of taking the Prior into his councils, and
requesting him to detain the Bohemian by force
until they should have time to reach the Bishop's
castle; but, on reflection, he dared not hazard such
a proposition to one who was timid both as an old
man and a friar, who held the safety of his con-
vent the most important object of his duty, and
who trembled at the mention of the Wild Boar
of Ardennes.
At length Durward settled a plan of operation,
on which he could the better reckon, as the execu-
tion rested entirely upon himself; and in the cause
in which he was engaged, he felt himself capable
of every thing. With a firm and bold heart, though
conscious of the dangers of his situation, Quentin
might be compared to one walking under a load, of
the weight of which he is conscious, but which yet
is not beyond his strength and power of endurance.
Just as his plan was determined, he reached the
convent.
Upon knocking gently at the gate, a brother, con-
siderately stationed for that purpose by the Prior,
opened it, and acquainted him that the brethren
THE ESPIED SPY. 269
were to be stationed in the choir till day-break, pray-
ing Heaven to Forgive to the community the various
scandals which had that evening taken place amorig
them.
The worthy friar offered Quentin permission to
attend their devotions; but his clothes were in such
a wet condition, that the young Scot was obliged to
decline the opportunity, and request permission in-
stead to sit by the kitchen fire, in order to his attire
being dried before morning, as he was particularly
desirous that the Bohemian, when they should next
meet, should observe no traces of his having been
abroad during the night. The friar not only grant-
ed his request, but afforded him his own company,
which fell in very happily with the desire which
Durward had to obtain information concerning the
two routes which he had heard mentioned by the
Bohemian in his conversation with the Lanzknecht.
The friar, entrusted upon many occasions with the
business of the convent abroad, was the person in
the fraternity best qualified to afford him the infor-
mation he requested, but observed that, as true pil-
grims, it became the duty of the ladies whom Quen-
tin escorted to take the road on the right side of the
Maes, by the Cross of the Kings, where the blessed
reliques of Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar,(as the
Catholic Church has named the eastern Magi who
came to Bethlehem with their offerings,) had rested
as they were transported to Colonge, and on which
spot they had wrought many miracles.
Quentin replied, that the ladies were determined
to observe all the holy stations with tne utmost
punctuality, aud would certainly visit that of the
Cross, either in going to, or returning from Cologne,
but they had heard reports that the road by the
right side of the river was at present rendered un-
safe by the soldiers of the ferocious William de
la Marck.
" Now may Heaven forbid," said Father Francis,
270 THE ESPIED SPY.
" that the Wild Boar of Ardennes should again
make his lair so near us! — Nevertheless, the broad
Maes will be a good barrier betwixt us, even should
it so chance."
u But it will be no barrier between my ladies and
the marauder, should we cross the river, and travel
on the right bank," answered the Scot.
tk H aven will protect its own, young man," said
the friar; u for it were hard to think that the Kings
of yonder blessed city of Cologne, who will not en-
dure that a Jew or Infidel should even enter within
the walls of their town, could be oblivious enough
to permit their worshippers, coming to their shrine
as true pilgrims, to be plundered and misused by
such a miscreant dog as this Boar of Ardennes, who
is worse than a whole desert of Saracen heathens,
and all the ten tribes of Israel to boot."
Whatever reliance Quentin, as a sincere Catholic,
was bound to rest upon the special protection of
Melchior, Caspar, and Balthasar, he could not but
recollect, that the pilgrim habits of the ladies being
assumed out of mere earthly policy, he and his
charge could scarce expect their countenance on the
present occasion; and therefore resolved, as far as
possible, to avoid placing the ladies in any predica-
ment where miraculous interposition might be ne-
cessary; whilst, in the simplicity of his good faith,
he himself vowed a pilgrimage to the three Kings
of Cologne in his own proper person, providing the
simulate design of those over whose safety he was
now watchful, should be permitted by those reason-
able and royal, as well as sainted personages, to at-
tain the desired effect.
That he might enter into this obligation with all
solemnity, he requested the friar to show him into
one of the various chapels which opened from the
main body of the church of the convent, where upon
his knees, and with sincere devotion, he ratified
the vow which he had made internally. The distant
THE ESPIED SPY. 271
sound of the choir, the solemnity of the deep and
dead hour which he had chosen for this act of devo-
tion, the effect of the glimmering lamp with which
the little Gothic building was illuminated — all con-
tributed to throw Quentin's mind into the state when
it most readily acknowledges its human frailty, and
seeks that supernatural aid and protection, which,
in every worship, must be connected with repentance
for past sins and resolutions of future amendment.
That the object of his devotion was misplaced, was
not the fault of Quentin; and, its purpose being sin-
cere, we can scarce suppose it unacceptable to the
only true deity, who regards the motives and not
the forms of prayer, and in whose eyes the sincere
devotion of a heathen is more estimable than the
specious hypocrisy of a Pharisee.
Having commended himself and his helpless com-
panions to the Saints, and to the keeping of Provi-
dence, Quentin at length retired to rest, leaving the
friar much edified by the depth and sincerity of his
devotion.
END OF VOL. I.
HECKMAN IMl
"noewinc. l-M
MAV 96 I