No human quality is so well wove
In warp and woof, but there 's some flaw in it:
I've known a brave man fly a shepherd's cur,
A wise man so demean him, drivelling idiocy
Had wellnigh been ashamed on't. For your crafty,
Your worldly wise man, he, above the rest,
Weaves his own snares so fine, he 's often caught in them.
OLD PLAY
Quentin, during the earlier part of the night journey, had to combat
with that bitter heartache which is felt when youth parts, and probably
forever, with her he loves. As, pressed by the urgency of the moment,
and the impatience of Crevecoeur, they hasted on through the rich
lowlands of Hainault, under the benign guidance of a rich and lustrous
harvest moon, she shed her yellow influence over rich and deep pastures,
woodland, and cornfields, from which the husbandmen were using her light
to withdraw the grain, such was the industry of the Flemings, even at
that period, she shone on broad, level, and fructifying rivers, where
glided the white sail in the service of commerce, uninterrupted by rock
and torrent, beside lively quiet villages, whose external decency and
cleanliness expressed the ease and comfort of the inhabitants,--she
gleamed upon the feudal castle of many a Baron and Knight, with its deep
moat, battlemented court, and high belfry--for the chivalry of Hainault
was renowned among the nobles of Europe--and her light displayed at a
distance, in its broad beam, the gigantic towers of more than one lofty
minster.
Yet all this fair variety, however, differing from the waste and
wilderness of his own land, interrupted not the course of Quentin's
regrets and sorrows. He had left his heart behind him when he departed
from Charleroi, and the only reflection which the farther journey
inspired was that every step was carrying him farther from Isabelle. His
imagination was taxed to recall every word she had spoken, every look
she had directed towards him, and, as happens frequently in such cases,
the impression made upon his imagination by the recollection of these
particulars, was even stronger than the realities themselves had
excited.
At length, after the cold hour of midnight was past, in spite alike of
love and of sorrow, the extreme fatigue which Quentin had undergone the
two preceding days began to have an effect on him, which his habits
of exercise of every kind, and his singular alertness and activity
of character, as well as the painful nature of the reflections which
occupied his thoughts, had hitherto prevented his experiencing. The
ideas of his mind began to be so little corrected by the exertions of
his senses, worn out and deadened as the latter now were by extremity of
fatigue, that the visions which the former drew superseded or perverted
the information conveyed by the blunted organs of seeing and hearing,
and Durward was only sensible that he was awake, by the exertions which,
sensible of the peril of his situation, he occasionally made to
resist falling into a deep and dead sleep. Every now and then, strong
consciousness of the risk of falling from or with his horse roused him
to exertion and animation, but ere long his eyes again were dimmed by
confused shades of all sorts of mingled colours, the moonlight landscape
swam before them, and he was so much overcome with fatigue, that the
Count of Crevecoeur, observing his condition, was at length compelled
to order two of his attendants, one to each rein of Durward's bridle, in
order to prevent the risk of his falling from his horse.
When at length they reached the town of Landrecy, the Count, in
compassion to the youth, who had now been in a great measure without
sleep for three nights, allowed himself and his retinue a halt of four
hours, for rest and refreshment. Deep and sound were Quentin's slumbers,
until they were broken by the sound of the Count's trumpet, and the cry
of his Fouriers [subordinate officers who secure quarters for the army
while manoeuvring] and harbingers, “Debout! debout! Ha! Messires, en
route, en route! [arise, let us set out!]”
Yet, unwelcomely early as the tones came, they awaked him a different
being in strength and spirits from what he had fallen asleep. Confidence
in himself and his fortunes returned with his reviving spirits, and
with the rising sun. He thought of his love no longer as a desperate
and fantastic dream, but as a high and invigorating principle, to be
cherished in his bosom, although he might never purpose to himself,
under all the difficulties by which he was beset, to bring it to any
prosperous issue.
“The pilot,” he reflected, “steers his bark by the polar star, although
he never expects to become possessor of it, and the thoughts of Isabelle
of Croye shall make me a worthy man at arms, though I may never see
her more. When she hears that a Scottish soldier named Quentin Durward
distinguished himself in a well fought field, or left his body on the
breach of a disputed fortress, she will remember the companion of
her journey, as one who did all in his power to avert the snares and
misfortunes which beset it, and perhaps will honour his memory with a
tear, his coffin with a garland.”
In this manly mood of bearing his misfortune, Quentin felt himself more
able to receive and reply to the jests of the Count of Crevecoeur, who
passed several on his alleged effeminacy and incapacity of undergoing
fatigue. The young Scot accommodated himself so good humouredly to the
Count's raillery, and replied at once so happily and so respectfully,
that the change of his tone and manner made obviously a more favourable
impression on the Count than he had entertained from his prisoner's
conduct during the preceding evening, when, rendered irritable by the
feelings of his situation, he was alternately moodily silent or fiercely
argumentative. The veteran soldier began at length to take notice of his
young companion as a pretty fellow, of whom something might be made, and
more than hinted to him that would he but resign his situation in the
Archer Guard of France, he would undertake to have him enrolled in the
household of the Duke of Burgundy in an honourable condition, and
would himself take care of his advancement. And although Quentin, with
suitable expressions of gratitude, declined this favour at present,
until he should find out how far he had to complain of his original
patron, King Louis, he, nevertheless, continued to remain on good
terms with the Count of Crevecoeur, and, while his enthusiastic mode of
thinking, and his foreign and idiomatical manner of expressing himself,
often excited a smile on the grave cheek of the Count, that smile had
lost all that it had of sarcastic and bitter, and did not exceed the
limits of good humour and good manners.
Thus travelling on with much more harmony than on the preceding day, the
little party came at last within two miles of the famous and strong town
of Peronne, near which the Duke of Burgundy's army lay encamped, ready,
as was supposed, to invade France, and, in opposition to which, Louis XI
had himself assembled a strong force near Saint Maxence, for the purpose
of bringing to reason his over powerful vassal.
Perrone, situated upon a deep river, in a flat country, and surrounded
by strong bulwarks and profound moats, was accounted in ancient as in
modern times, one of the strongest fortresses in France. [Indeed, though
lying on an exposed and warlike frontier, it was never taken by an
enemy, but preserved the proud name of Peronne la Pucelle, until the
Duke of Wellington, a great destroyer of that sort of reputation, took
the place in the memorable advance upon Paris in 1815. S.] The Count of
Crevecoeur, his retinue, and his prisoner, were approaching the fortress
about the third hour after noon, when riding through the pleasant glades
of a large forest, which then covered the approach to the town on the
east side, they were met by two men of rank, as appeared from the number
of their attendants, dressed in the habits worn in time of peace, and
who, to judge from the falcons which they carried on their wrists,
and the number of spaniels and greyhounds led by their followers, were
engaged in the amusement of hawking. But on perceiving Crevecoeur, with
whose appearance and liveries they were sufficiently intimate, they
quitted the search which they were making for a heron along the banks of
a long canal, and came galloping towards him.
“News, news, Count of Crevecoeur,” they cried both together, “will you
give news, or take news? or will you barter fairly?”
“I would barter fairly, Messires,” said Crevecoeur, after saluting them
courteously, “did I conceive you had any news of importance sufficient
to make an equivalent for mine.”
The two sportsmen smiled on each other, and the elder of the two, a
fine baronial figure, with a dark countenance, marked with that sort of
sadness which some physiognomists ascribe to a melancholy temperament,
and some, as the Italian statuary augured of the visage of Charles I,
consider as predicting an unhappy death, turning to his companion, said,
“Crevecoeur has been in Brabant, the country of commerce, and he has
learned all its artifices--he will be too hard for us if we drive a
bargain.”
“Messires,” said Crevecoeur, “the Duke ought in justice to have the
first of my wares, as the Seigneur takes his toll before open market
begins. But tell me, are your news of a sad or a pleasant complexion?”
The person whom he particularly addressed was a lively looking man,
with an eye of great vivacity, which was corrected by an expression
of reflection and gravity about the mouth and upper lip--the whole
physiognomy marking a man who saw and judged rapidly, but was sage and
slow in forming resolutions or in expressing opinions. This was the
famous Knight of Hainault, son of Collara, or Nicolas de l'Elite, known
in history, and amongst historians, by the venerable name of Philip de
Comines, at this time close to the person of Duke Charles the Bold, and
one of his most esteemed counsellors. He answered Crevecoeur's question
concerning the complexion of the news of which he and his companion, the
Baron D'Hymbercourt, were the depositaries.
[Philip de Comines was described in the former editions of this work
as a little man, fitted rather for counsel than action. This was a
description made at a venture, to vary the military portraits with which
the age and work abound. Sleidan the historian, upon the authority of
Matthieu d'Arves, who knew Philip de Comines, and had served in his
household, says he was a man of tall stature, and a noble presence.
The learned Monsieur Petitot... intimates that Philip de Comines made a
figure at the games of chivalry and pageants exhibited on the wedding of
Charles of Burgundy with Margaret of England in 1468.... He is the first
named, however, of a gallant band of assailants, knights and noblemen,
to the number of twenty, who, with the Prince of Orange as their leader,
encountered, in a general tourney, with a party of the same number under
the profligate Adolf of Cleves, who acted as challenger, by the romantic
title of Arbre d'or. The encounter, though with arms of courtesy, was
very fierce, and separated by main force, not without difficulty. Philip
de Comines has, therefore, a title to be accounted tam Martre quam
Mercurio... S.]
[D'Hymbercourt, or Imbercourt, was put to death by the inhabitants
of Ghent, with the Chancellor of Burgundy, in the year 1477. Mary of
Burgundy, daughter of Charles the Bold, appeared in mourning in the
marketplace, and with tears besought the life of her servants from her
insurgent subjects, but in vain. S.]
“They were,” he said, “like the colours of the rainbow, various in hue,
as they might be viewed from different points, and placed against the
black cloud or the fair sky.--Such a rainbow was never seen in France or
Flanders, since that of Noah's ark.”
“My tidings,” replied Crevecoeur, “are altogether like the comet,
gloomy, wild, and terrible in themselves, yet to be accounted the
forerunners of still greater and more dreadful evils which are to
ensue.”
“We must open our bales,” said Comines to his companion, “or our market
will be forestalled by some newcomers, for ours are public news.--In one
word, Crevecoeur--listen and wonder--King Louis is at Peronne.”
“What!” said the Count in astonishment, “has the Duke retreated without
a battle? and do you remain here in your dress of peace, after the town
is besieged by the French?--for I cannot suppose it taken.”
“No, surely,” said D'Hymbercourt, “the banners of Burgundy have not gone
back a foot, and still King Louis is here.”
“Then Edward of England must have come over the seas with his bowmen,”
said Crevecoeur, “and, like his ancestors, gained a second field of
Poictiers?”
“Not so,” said Comines. “Not a French banner has been borne down, not
a sail spread from England--where Edward is too much amused among the
wives of the citizens of London to think of playing the Black Prince.
Hear the extraordinary truth. You know, when you left us, that the
conference between the commissioners on the parts of France and Burgundy
was broken up, without apparent chance of reconciliation.”
“True, and we dreamt of nothing but war.”
“What has followed has been indeed so like a dream,” said Comines, “that
I almost expect to awake, and find it so. Only one day since, the Duke
had in council protested so furiously against farther delay that it was
resolved to send a defiance to the King, and march forward instantly
into France. Toison d'Or, commissioned for the purpose, had put on his
official dress, and had his foot in the stirrup to mount his horse, when
lo! the French herald Montjoie rode into our camp.
“We thought of nothing else than that Louis had been beforehand with
our defiance, and began to consider how much the Duke would resent the
advice which had prevented him from being the first to declare war. But
a council being speedily assembled, what was our wonder when the herald
informed us, that Louis, King of France, was scarce an hour's riding
behind, intending to visit Charles, Duke of Burgundy, with a small
retinue, in order that their differences might be settled at a personal
interview!”
“You surprise me, Messires,” said Crevecoeur, “yet you surprise me less
than you might have expected, for, when I was last at Plessis les Tours,
the all trusted Cardinal Balue, offended with his master, and Burgundian
at heart, did hint to me that he could so work upon Louis's peculiar
foibles as to lead him to place himself in such a position with regard
to Burgundy that the Duke might have the terms of peace of his own
making. But I never suspected that so old a fox as Louis could have
been induced to come into the trap of his own accord. What said the
Burgundian counsellors?”
“As you may guess,” answered D'Hymbercourt, “talked much of faith to be
observed, and little of advantage to be obtained by such a visit, while
it was manifest they thought almost entirely of the last, and were only
anxious to find some way to reconcile it with the necessary preservation
of appearances.”
“And what said the Duke?” continued the Count of Crevecoeur.
“Spoke brief and bold as usual,” replied Comines. “'Which of you was
it,' he asked, 'who witnessed the meeting of my cousin Louis and
me after the battle of Montl'hery, when I was so thoughtless as to
accompany him back within the intrenchments of Paris with half a score
of attendants, and so put my person at the King's mercy?' I replied,
that most of us had been present, and none could ever forget the alarm
which it had been his pleasure to give us. 'Well,' said the Duke, 'you
blamed me for my folly, and I confessed to you that I had acted like
a giddy pated boy, and I am aware, too, that my father of happy memory
being then alive, my kinsman, Louis, would have had less advantage
by seizing on my person than I might now have by securing his. But,
nevertheless, if my royal kinsman comes hither on the present occasion,
in the same singleness of heart under which I then acted, he shall be
royally welcome.--If it is meant by this appearance of confidence to
circumvent and to blind me, till he execute some of his politic schemes,
by Saint George of Burgundy, let him to look to it!' And so, having
turned up his mustaches and stamped on the ground, he ordered us all to
get on our horses, and receive so extraordinary a guest.”
[After the battle of Montl'hery, in 1465, Charles... had an interview
with Louis under the walls of Paris, each at the head of a small party.
The two Princes dismounted, and walked together so deeply engaged
in discussing the business of their meeting, that Charles forgot the
peculiarity of his situation; and when Louis turned back towards the
town of Paris, from which he came, the Count of Charalois kept him
company so far as to pass the line of outworks with which Paris was
surrounded, and enter a field work which communicated with the town by
a trench.... His escort and his principal followers rode forward from
where he had left them. ... To their great joy the Count returned
uninjured, accompanied with a guard belonging to Louis. The Burgundians
taxed him with rashness in no measured terms. “Say no more of it,” said
Charles; “I acknowledge the extent of my folly, but I was not aware
what I was doing till I entered the redoubt.” Memoires de Philippe de
Comines.--S.]
“And you met the King accordingly?” replied the Count of Crevecoeur.
“Miracles have not ceased--How was he accompanied?”
“As slightly as might be,” answered D'Hymbercourt, “only a score or two
of the Scottish Guard, and a few knights and gentlemen of his household
among whom his astrologer, Galeotti, made the gayest figure.”
“That fellow,” said Crevecoeur, “holds some dependence on the
Cardinal Balue--I should not be surprised that he has had his share in
determining the King to this step of doubtful policy. Any nobility of
higher rank?”
“There are Monsieur of Orleans, and Dunois,” replied Comines.
“I will have a rouse with Dunois,” said Crevecoeur, “wag the world as it
will. But we heard that both he and the Duke had fallen into disgrace,
and were in prison.”
“They were both under arrest in the Castle of Loches, that delightful
place of retirement for the French nobility,” said D'Hymbercourt,
“but Louis has released them, in order to bring them with him--perhaps
because he cared not to leave Orleans behind. For his other attendants,
faith, I think his gossip, the Hangman Marshal, with two or three of his
retinue, and Oliver, his barber, may be the most considerable--and the
whole bevy so poorly arrayed, that, by my honour, the King resembles
most an old usurer, going to collect desperate debts, attended by a body
of catchpolls.”
“And where is he lodged?” said Crevecoeur.
“Nay, that,” replied the Comines, “is the most marvellous of all. Our
Duke offered to let the King's Archer Guard have a gate of the town, and
a bridge of boats over the Somme, and to have assigned to Louis himself
the adjoining house, belonging to a wealthy burgess, Giles Orthen, but,
in going thither, the King espied the banners of De Lau and Pencil de
Riviere, whom he had banished from France, and scared, as it would seem,
with the thought of lodging so near refugees and malcontents of his own
making, he craved to be quartered in the castle of Peronne, and there he
hath his abode accordingly.”
“Why, God ha' mercy!” exclaimed Crevecoeur, “this is not only not being
content with venturing into the lion's den, but thrusting his head into
his very jaws.--Nothing less than the very bottom of the rat trap would
serve the crafty old politician!”
“Nay,” said Comines, “D'Hymbercourt hath not told you the speech of
Le Glorieux [the jester of Charles of Burgundy of whom more hereafter.
S.]--which, in my mind, was the shrewdest opinion that was given.”
“And what said his most illustrious wisdom?” asked the Count.
“As the Duke,” replied Comines, “was hastily ordering some vessels and
ornaments of plate and the like, to be prepared as presents for the King
and his retinue, by way of welcome on his arrival:
“'Trouble not thy small brain about it, my friend Charles,' said Le
Glorieux, 'I will give thy cousin Louis a nobler and a fitter gift than
thou canst, and that is my cap and bells, and my bauble to boot, for,
by the mass, he is a greater fool than I am, for putting himself in thy
power.'
“'But if I give him no reason to repent it, sirrah, how thou?' said the
Duke.
“'Then, truly, Charles, thou shalt have cap and bauble thyself, as the
greatest fool of the three of us.'
“I promise you this knavish quip touched the Duke closely--I saw him
change colour and bite his lip. And now, our news are told, noble
Crevecoeur, and what think you they resemble?”
“A mine full charged with gunpowder,” answered Crevecoeur, “to which,
I fear, it is my fate to bring the kindled linstock. Your news and mine
are like flax and fire, which cannot meet without bursting into flame,
or like certain chemical substances which cannot be mingled without an
explosion. Friends--gentlemen--ride close by my rein, and when I tell
you what has chanced in the bishopric of Liege, I think you will be of
opinion that King Louis might as safely have undertaken a pilgrimage to
the infernal regions as this ill timed visit to Peronne.”
The two nobles drew up close on either hand of the Count, and listened,
with half suppressed exclamations, and gestures of the deepest
wonder and interest, to his account of the transactions at Liege
and Schonwaldt. Quentin was then called forward, and examined and
re-examined on the particulars of the Bishop's death, until at length
he refused to answer any farther interrogatories, not knowing wherefore
they were asked, or what use might be made of his replies.
They now reached the rich and level banks of the Somme, and the ancient
walls of the little town of Peronne la Pucelle, and the deep green
meadows adjoining, now whitened with the numerous tents of the Duke of
Burgundy's army, amounting to about fifteen thousand men.