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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