'T is listening fear, and dumb amazement all,
When to the startled eye, the sudden glance
Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud.
THOMSON'S SUMMER
The preceding chapter, agreeably to its title, was designed as a
retrospect which might enable the render fully to understand the terms
upon which the King of France and the Duke of Burgundy stood together,
when the former, moved partly perhaps by his belief in astrology, which
was represented as favourable to the issue of such a measure, and in a
great measure doubtless by the conscious superiority of his own powers
of mind over those of Charles, had adopted the extraordinary, and upon
any other ground altogether inexplicable, resolution of committing his
person to the faith of a fierce and exasperated enemy--a resolution also
the more rash and unaccountable, as there were various examples in that
stormy time to show that safe conducts, however solemnly plighted, had
proved no assurance for those in whose favour they were conceived; and
indeed the murder of the Duke's grandfather at the Bridge of Montereau,
in presence of the father of Louis, and at an interview solemnly
agreed upon for the establishment of peace and amnesty, was a horrible
precedent, should the Duke be disposed to resort to it.
But the temper of Charles, though rough, fierce, headlong, and
unyielding, was not, unless in the full tide of passion, faithless or
ungenerous, faults which usually belong to colder dispositions. He was
at no pains to show the King more courtesy than the laws of hospitality
positively demanded; but, on the other hand, he evinced no purpose of
overleaping their sacred barriers.
On the following morning after the King's arrival, there was a general
muster of the troops of the Duke of Burgundy, which were so numerous
and so excellently appointed, that, perhaps, he was not sorry to have an
opportunity of displaying them before his great rival. Indeed, while he
paid the necessary compliment of a vassal to his Suzerain, in declaring
that these troops were the King's and not his own, the curl of his upper
lip and the proud glance of his eye intimated his consciousness that the
words he used were but empty compliment, and that his fine army at his
own unlimited disposal, was as ready to march against Paris as in any
other direction. It must have added to Louis's mortification that
he recognised, as forming part of this host, many banners of French
nobility, not only of Normandy and Bretagne, but of provinces more
immediately subjected to his own authority, who, from various causes of
discontent, had joined and made common cause with the Duke of Burgundy.
True to his character, however, Louis seemed to take little notice of
these malcontents, while, in fact, he was revolving in his mind the
various means by which it might be possible to detach them from the
banners of Burgundy and bring them back to his own, and resolved for
that purpose that he would cause those to whom he attached the greatest
importance to be secretly sounded by Oliver and other agents.
He himself laboured diligently, but at the same time cautiously, to make
interest with the Duke's chief officers and advisers, employing for
that purpose the usual means of familiar and frequent notice, adroit
flattery, and liberal presents; not, as he represented, to alienate
their faithful services from their noble master, but that they might
lend their aid in preserving peace betwixt France and Burgundy--an end
so excellent in itself, and so obviously tending to the welfare of both
countries and of the reigning Princes of either.
The notice of so great and so wise a King was in itself a mighty bribe;
promises did much, and direct gifts, which the customs of the time
permitted the Burgundian courtiers to accept without scruple, did still
more. During a boar hunt in the forest, while the Duke, eager always
upon the immediate object, whether business or pleasure, gave himself
entirely up to the ardour of the chase, Louis, unrestrained by his
presence, sought and found the means of speaking secretly and separately
to many of those who were reported to have most interest with Charles,
among whom D'Hymbercourt and Comines were not forgotten; nor did he fail
to mix up the advances which he made towards those two distinguished
persons with praises of the valour and military skill of the first, and
of the profound sagacity and literary talents of the future historian of
the period.
Such an opportunity of personally conciliating, or, if the reader
pleases, corrupting the ministers of Charles, was perhaps what the King
had proposed to himself as a principal object of his visit, even if
his art should fail to cajole the Duke himself. The connection betwixt
France and Burgundy was so close that most of the nobles belonging to
the latter country had hopes or actual interests connected with the
former, which the favour of Louis could advance, or his personal
displeasure destroy. Formed for this and every other species of
intrigue, liberal to profusion when it was necessary to advance his
plans, and skilful in putting the most plausible colour upon his
proposals and presents, the King contrived to reconcile the spirit of
the proud to their profit, and to hold out to the real or pretended
patriot the good of both France and Burgundy as the ostensible motive;
whilst the party's own private interest, like the concealed wheel of
some machine, worked not the less powerfully that its operations' were
kept out of sight. For each man he had a suitable bait, and a proper
mode of presenting it; he poured the guerdon into the sleeve of those
who were too proud to extend their hand, and trusted that his bounty,
thought it descended like the dew, without noise and imperceptibly,
would not fail to produce, in due season, a plentiful crop of goodwill
at least, perhaps of good offices, to the donor. In fine, although he
had been long paving the way by his ministers for an establishment of
such an interest in the Court of Burgundy as should be advantageous
to the interests of France, Louis's own personal exertions, directed
doubtless by the information of which he was previously possessed,
did more to accomplish that object in a few hours than his agents had
effected in years of negotiation.
One man alone the King missed, whom he had been particularly desirous
of conciliating, and that was the Count de Crevecoeur, whose firmness,
during his conduct as Envoy at Plessis, far from exciting Louis's
resentment, had been viewed as a reason for making him his own if
possible. He was not particularly gratified when he learnt that the
Count, at the head of an hundred lances, was gone towards the frontiers
of Brabant, to assist the Bishop, in case of necessity, against William
de la Marck and his discontented subjects; but he consoled himself that
the appearance of this force, joined with the directions which he
had sent by faithful messengers, would serve to prevent any premature
disturbances in that country, the breaking out of which might, he
foresaw, render his present situation very precarious.
The Court upon this occasion dined in the forest when the hour of noon
arrived, as was common in those great hunting parties; an arrangement
at this time particularly agreeable to the Duke, desirous as he was to
abridge that ceremonious and deferential solemnity with which he was
otherwise under the necessity of receiving King Louis. In fact, the
King's knowledge of human nature had in one particular misled him on
this remarkable occasion. He thought that the Duke would have been
inexpressibly flattered to have received such a mark of condescension
and confidence from his liege lord; but he forgot that the dependence
of this dukedom upon the Crown of France was privately the subject of
galling mortification to a Prince so powerful, so wealthy, and so proud
as Charles, whose aim it certainly was to establish an independent
kingdom. The presence of the King at the Court of the Duke of Burgundy
imposed on that prince the necessity of exhibiting himself in the
subordinate character of a vassal, and of discharging many rites
of feudal observance and deference, which, to one of his haughty
disposition, resembled derogation from the character of a Sovereign
Prince, which on all occasions he affected as far as possible to
sustain.
But although it was possible to avoid much ceremony by having the dinner
upon the green turf, with sound of bugles, broaching of barrels, and all
the freedom of a sylvan meal, it was necessary that the evening
repast should, even for that very reason, be held with more than usual
solemnity.
Previous orders for this purpose had been given, and, upon returning to
Peronne, King Louis found a banquet prepared with such a profusion
of splendour and magnificence, as became the wealth of his formidable
vassal, possessed as he was of almost all the Low Countries, then the
richest portion of Europe. At the head of the long board, which groaned
under plate of gold and silver, filled to profusion with the most
exquisite dainties, sat the Duke, and on his right hand, upon a seat
more elevated than his own, was placed his royal guest. Behind him stood
on one side the son of the Duke of Gueldres, who officiated as his grand
carver--on the other, Le Glorieux, his jester, without whom he seldom
stirred for, like most men of his hasty and coarse character, Charles
carried to extremity the general taste of that age for court fools and
jesters--experiencing that pleasure in their display of eccentricity
and mental infirmity which his more acute but not more benevolent rival
loved better to extract from marking the imperfections of humanity in
its nobler specimens, and finding subject for mirth in the “fears of the
brave and follies of the wise.” And indeed, if the anecdote related by
Brantome be true, that a court fool, having overheard Louis, in one
of his agonies of repentant devotion, confess his accession to the
poisoning of his brother, Henry, Count of Guyenne, divulged it next day
at dinner before the assembled court, that monarch might be supposed
rather more than satisfied with the pleasantries of professed jesters
for the rest of his life.
But, on the present occasion, Louis neglected not to take notice of the
favourite buffoon of the Duke, and to applaud his repartees, which he
did the rather that he thought he saw that the folly of Le Glorieux,
however grossly it was sometimes displayed, covered more than the usual
quantity of shrewd and caustic observation proper to his class.
In fact, Tiel Wetzweiler, called Le Glorieux, was by no means a jester
of the common stamp. He was a tall, fine looking man, excellent at many
exercises, which seemed scarce reconcilable with mental imbecility,
because it must have required patience and attention to attain them.
He usually followed the Duke to the chase and to the fight; and at
Montl'hery, when Charles was in considerable personal danger, wounded
in the throat, and likely to be made prisoner by a French knight who
had hold of his horse's rein, Tiel Wetzweiler charged the assailant so
forcibly as to overthrow him and disengage his master. Perhaps he was
afraid of this being thought too serious a service for a person of his
condition, and that it might excite him enemies among those knights and
nobles who had left the care of their master's person to the court
fool. At any rate, he chose rather to be laughed at than praised for
his achievement; and made such gasconading boasts of his exploits in the
battle, that most men thought the rescue of Charles was as ideal as the
rest of his tale; and it was on this occasion he acquired the title
of Le Glorieux (or the boastful), by which he was ever afterwards
distinguished.
Le Glorieux was dressed very richly, but with little of the usual
distinction of his profession; and that little rather of a symbolical
than a very literal character. His head was not shorn; on the contrary,
he wore a profusion of long curled hair, which descended from under his
cap, and joining with a well arranged and handsomely trimmed beard, set
off features, which, but for a wild lightness of eye, might have been
termed handsome. A ridge of scarlet velvet carried across the top of
his cap indicated, rather than positively represented, the professional
cock's comb, which distinguished the head gear of a fool in right of
office. His bauble, made of ebony, was crested as usual with a fool's
head, with ass's ears formed of silver; but so small, and so minutely
carved, that, till very closely examined, it might have passed for an
official baton of a more solemn character. These were the only badges of
his office which his dress exhibited. In other respects, it was such as
to match with that of the most courtly nobles. His bonnet displayed a
medal of gold, he wore a chain of the same metal around his neck, and
the fashion of his rich garments was not much more fantastic than those
of young gallants who have their clothes made in the extremity of the
existing fashion.
To this personage Charles, and Louis, in imitation of his host, often
addressed themselves during the entertainment; and both seemed to
manifest, by hearty laughter, their amusement at the answers of Le
Glorieux.
“Whose seats be those that are vacant?” said Charles to the jester.
“One of those at least should be mine by right of succession, Charles,”
replied Le Glorieux.
“Why so, knave?” said Charles.
“Because they belong to the Sieur D'Hymbercourt and De Comines, who are
gone so far to fly their falcons, that they have forgot their supper.
They who would rather look at a kite on the wing than a pheasant on the
board, are of kin to the fool, and he should succeed to the stools, as a
part of their movable estate.”
“That is but a stale jest, my friend Tiel,” said the Duke; “but, fools
or wise men, here come the defaulters.”
As he spoke, Comines and D'Hymbercourt entered the room, and, after
having made their reverence to the two Princes, assumed in silence the
seats which were left vacant for them.
“What ho! sirs,” exclaimed the Duke, addressing them, “your sport has
been either very good or very bad, to lead you so far and so late. Sir
Philip de Comines, you are dejected--hath D'Hymbercourt won so heavy
a wager on you?--You are a philosopher, and should not grieve at bad
fortune.--By Saint George D'Hymbercourt looks as sad as thou dost.--How
now, sirs? Have you found no game? or have you lost your falcons? or
has a witch crossed your way? or has the Wild Huntsman [the famous
apparition, sometimes called le Grand Veneur. Sully gives some account
of this hunting spectre. S.] met you in the forest? By my honour, you
seem as if you were come to a funeral, not a festival.”
While the Duke spoke, the eyes of the company were all directed towards
D'Hymbercourt and De Comines; and the embarrassment and dejection of
their countenances, neither being of that class of persons to whom such
expression of anxious melancholy was natural, became so remarkable, that
the mirth and laughter of the company, which the rapid circulation
of goblets of excellent wine had raised to a considerable height, was
gradually hushed; and, without being able to assign any reason for such
a change in their spirits, men spoke in whispers to each other, as on
the eve of expecting some strange and important tidings.
“What means this silence, Messires?” said the Duke, elevating his voice,
which was naturally harsh. “If you bring these strange looks, and this
stranger silence, into festivity, we shall wish you had abode in the
marshes seeking for herons, or rather for woodcocks and howlets.”
“My gracious lord,” said De Comines, “as we were about to return hither
from the forest, we met the Count of Crevecoeur--”
“How!” said the Duke, “already returned from Brabant?--but he found all
well there, doubtless?”
“The Count himself will presently give your Grace an account of his
news,” said D'Hymbercourt, “which we have heard but imperfectly.”
“Body of me, where is the Count?” said the Duke.
“He changes his dress, to wait upon your Highness,” answered
D'Hymbercourt.
“His dress? Saint Bleu!” exclaimed the impatient Prince, “what care I
for his dress! I think you have conspired with him to drive me mad.”
“Or rather, to be plain,” said De Comines, “he wishes to communicate
these news at a private audience.”
“Teste dieu! my Lord King,” said Charles, “this is ever the way our
counsellors serve us.--If they have got hold of aught which they
consider as important for our ear, they look as grave upon the matter
and are as proud of their burden as an ass of a new pack saddle.--Some
one bid Crevecoeur come to us directly!--He comes from the frontiers of
Liege, and we, at least” (he laid some emphasis on the pronoun), “have
no secrets in that quarter which we would shun to have proclaimed before
the assembled world.”
All perceived that the Duke had drunk so much wine as to increase the
native obstinacy of his disposition; and though many would willingly
have suggested that the present was neither a time for hearing news nor
for taking counsel, yet all knew the impetuosity of his temper too well
to venture on farther interference, and sat in anxious expectation of
the tidings which the Count might have to communicate.
A brief interval intervened, during which the Duke remained looking
eagerly to the door, as if in a transport of impatience; whilst the
guests sat with their eyes bent on the table, as if to conceal their
curiosity and anxiety. Louis, alone maintaining perfect composure,
continued his conversation alternately with the grand carver and with
the jester.
At length Crevecoeur entered, and was presently saluted by the
hurried question of his master, “What news from Liege and Brabant, Sir
Count?--the report of your arrival has chased mirth from our table--we
hope your actual presence will bring it back to us.”
“My Liege and master,” answered the Count in a firm but melancholy tone,
“the news which I bring you are fitter for the council board than the
feasting table.”
“Out with them, man, if they were tidings from Antichrist!” said the
Duke; “but I can guess them--the Liegeois are again in mutiny.”
“They are, my lord,” said Crevecoeur very gravely.
“Look there,” said the Duke, “I have hit at once on what you had been
so much afraid to mention to me: the hare brained burghers are again
in arms. It could not be in better time, for we may at present have the
advice of our own Suzerain,” bowing to King Louis, with eyes which spoke
the most bitter though suppressed resentment, “to teach us how such
mutineers should be dealt with.--Hast thou more news in thy packet?
Out with them, and then answer for yourself why you went not forward to
assist the Bishop.”
“My lord, the farther tidings are heavy for me to tell, and will be
afflicting to you to hear.--No aid of mine, or of living chivalry, could
have availed the excellent Prelate. William de la Marck, united with the
insurgent Liegeois, has taken his Castle of Schonwaldt, and murdered him
in his own hall.”
“Murdered him!” repeated the Duke in a deep and low tone, which
nevertheless was heard from the one end of the hall in which they were
assembled to the other, “thou hast been imposed upon, Crevecoeur, by
some wild report--it is impossible!”
“Alas! my lord!” said the Count, “I have it from an eyewitness, an
archer of the King of France's Scottish Guard, who was in the hall when
the murder was committed by William de la Marck's order.”
“And who was doubtless aiding and abetting in the horrible sacrilege,”
said the Duke, starting up and stamping with his foot with such fury
that he dashed in pieces the footstool which was placed before him. “Bar
the doors of this hall, gentlemen--secure the windows--let no stranger
stir from his seat, upon pain of instant death!--Gentlemen of my
chamber, draw your swords.”
And turning upon Louis, he advanced his own hand slowly and deliberately
to the hilt of his weapon, while the King, without either showing fear
or assuming a defensive posture, only said--“These news, fair cousin,
have staggered your reason.”
“No!” replied the Duke, in a terrible tone, “but they have awakened a
just resentment, which I have too long suffered to be stifled by
trivial considerations of circumstance and place. Murderer of
thy brother!--rebel against thy parent--tyrant over thy
subjects!--treacherous ally!--perjured King!--dishonoured
gentleman!--thou art in my power, and I thank God for it.”
“Rather thank my folly,” said the King; “for when we met on equal terms
at Montl'hery, methinks you wished yourself farther from me than we are
now.”
The Duke still held his hand on the hilt of his sword, but refrained
to draw his weapon or to strike a foe who offered no sort of resistance
which could in any wise provoke violence.
Meanwhile, wild and general confusion spread itself through the hall.
The doors were now fastened and guarded by order of the Duke; but
several of the French nobles, few as they were in number, started from
their seats, and prepared for the defence of their Sovereign. Louis had
spoken not a word either to Orleans or Dunois since they were
liberated from restraint at the Castle of Loches, if it could be termed
liberation, to be dragged in King Louis's train, objects of suspicion
evidently, rather than of respect and regard; but, nevertheless, the
voice of Dunois was first heard above the tumult, addressing himself to
the Duke of Burgundy.
“Sir Duke, you have forgotten that you are a vassal of France, and that
we, your guests, are Frenchmen. If you lift a hand against our Monarch,
prepare to sustain the utmost effects of our despair; for, credit me, we
shall feast as high with the blood of Burgundy as we have done with its
wine.--Courage, my Lord of Orleans--and you, gentlemen of France, form
yourselves round Dunois, and do as he does.”
It was in that moment when a King might see upon what tempers he could
certainly rely. The few independent nobles and knights who attended
Louis, most of whom had only received from him frowns or discountenance,
unappalled by the display of infinitely superior force, and the
certainty of destruction in case they came to blows, hastened to array
themselves around Dunois, and, led by him, to press towards the head of
the table where the contending Princes were seated.
On the contrary, the tools and agents whom Louis had dragged forward out
of their fitting and natural places into importance which was not due
to them, showed cowardice and cold heart, and, remaining still in their
seats, seemed resolved not to provoke their fate by intermeddling,
whatever might become of their benefactor.
The first of the more generous party was the venerable Lord Crawford,
who, with an agility which no one would have expected at his years,
forced his way through all opposition (which was the less violent, as
many of the Burgundians, either from a point of honour, or a secret
inclination to prevent Louis's impending fate, gave way to him), and
threw himself boldly between the King and the Duke. He then placed his
bonnet, from which his white hair escaped in dishevelled tresses, upon
one side of his head--his pale cheek and withered brow coloured, and his
aged eye lightened with all the fire of a gallant who is about to dare
some desperate action. His cloak was flung over one shoulder, and his
action intimated his readiness to wrap it about his left arm, while he
unsheathed his sword with his right.
“I have fought for his father and his grandsire,” that was all he said,
“and by Saint Andrew, end the matter as it will, I will not fail him at
this pinch.”
What has taken some time to narrate, happened, in fact, with the speed
of light; for so soon as the Duke assumed his threatening posture,
Crawford had thrown himself betwixt him and the object of his vengeance;
and the French gentlemen, drawing together as fast as they could, were
crowding to the same point.
The Duke of Burgundy still remained with his hand on his sword, and
seemed in the act of giving the signal for a general onset, which
must necessarily have ended in the massacre of the weaker party, when
Crevecoeur rushed forward, and exclaimed in a voice like a trumpet, “My
liege Lord of Burgundy, beware what you do! This is your hall--you are
the King's vassal--do not spill the blood of your guest on your hearth,
the blood of your Sovereign on the throne you have erected for him,
and to which he came under your safeguard. For the sake of your house's
honour, do not attempt to revenge one horrid murder by another yet
worse!”
“Out of my road, Crevecoeur,” answered the Duke, “and let my vengeance
pass!--Out of my path! The wrath of kings is to be dreaded like that of
Heaven.”
“Only when, like that of Heaven, it is just,” answered Crevecoeur
firmly. “Let me pray of you, my lord, to rein the violence of your
temper, however justly offended.--And for you, my Lords of France, where
resistance is unavailing, let me recommend you to forbear whatever may
lead towards bloodshed.”
“He is right,” said Louis, whose coolness forsook him not in that
dreadful moment, and who easily foresaw that if a brawl should commence,
more violence would be dared and done in the heat of blood than was
likely to be attempted if peace were preserved.
“My cousin Orleans--kind Dunois--and you, my trusty Crawford--bring not
on ruin and bloodshed by taking offence too hastily. Our cousin the Duke
is chafed at the tidings of the death of a near and loving friend,
the venerable Bishop of Liege, whose slaughter we lament as he does.
Ancient, and, unhappily, recent subjects of jealousy lead him to suspect
us of having abetted a crime which our bosom abhors. Should our host
murder us on this spot--us, his King and his kinsman, under a false
impression of our being accessory to this unhappy accident, our fate
will be little lightened, but, on the contrary, greatly aggravated, by
your stirring.--Therefore stand back, Crawford.--Were it my last word, I
speak as a King to his officer, and demand obedience.--Stand back, and,
if it is required, yield up your sword. I command you to do so, and your
oath obliges you to obey.”
“True, true, my lord,” said Crawford, stepping back, and returning to
the sheath the blade he had half drawn.--“It may be all very true; but,
by my honour, if I were at the head of threescore and ten of my brave
fellows, instead of being loaded with more than the like number of
years, I would try whether I could have some reason out of these fine
gallants, with their golden chains and looped up bonnets, with braw
warld dyes [gaudy colors] and devices on them.”
The Duke stood with his eyes fixed on the ground for a considerable
space, and then said, with bitter irony, “Crevecoeur, you say well;
and it concerns our honour that our obligations to this great King, our
honoured and loving guest, be not so hastily adjusted, as in our hasty
anger we had at first proposed. We will so act that all Europe shall
acknowledge the justice of our proceedings.--Gentlemen of France, you
must render up your arms to my officers! Your master has broken the
truce, and has no title to take farther benefit of it. In compassion,
however, to your sentiments of honour, and in respect to the rank which
he hath disgraced, and the race from which he hath degenerated, we ask
not our cousin Louis's sword.”
“Not one of us,” said Dunois, “will resign our weapon, or quit this
hall, unless we are assured of at least our King's safety, in life and
limb.”
“Nor will a man of the Scottish Guard,” exclaimed Crawford, “lay
down his arms, save at the command of the King of France, or his High
Constable.”
“Brave Dunois,” said Louis, “and you, my trusty Crawford, your zeal will
do me injury instead of benefit.--I trust,” he added with dignity, “in
my rightful cause, more than in a vain resistance, which would but
cost the lives of my best and bravest. Give up your swords.--The noble
Burgundians, who accept such honourable pledges, will be more able than
you are to protect both you and me.--Give up your swords.--It is I who
command you.”
It was thus that, in this dreadful emergency, Louis showed the
promptitude of decision and clearness of judgment which alone could have
saved his life. He was aware that, until actual blows were exchanged, he
should have the assistance of most of the nobles present to moderate the
fury of their Prince; but that, were a melee once commenced, he himself
and his few adherents must be instantly murdered. At the same time, his
worst enemies confessed that his demeanour had in it nothing either of
meanness or cowardice. He shunned to aggravate into frenzy the wrath of
the Duke; but he neither deprecated nor seemed to fear it, and continued
to look on him with the calm and fixed attention with which a brave man
eyes the menacing gestures of a lunatic, whilst conscious that his own
steadiness and composure operate as an insensible and powerful check on
the rage even of insanity.
Crawford, at the King's command, threw his sword to Crevecoeur, saying,
“Take it! and the devil give you joy of it.--It is no dishonour to the
rightful owner who yields it, for we have had no fair play.”
“Hold, gentlemen,” said the Duke in a broken voice, as one whom passion
had almost deprived of utterance, “retain your swords; it is sufficient
you promise not to use them. And you, Louis of Valois, must regard
yourself as my prisoner, until you are cleared of having abetted
sacrilege and murder. Have him to the Castle.--Have him to Earl
Herbert's Tower. Let him have six gentlemen of his train to attend him,
such as he shall choose.--My Lord of Crawford, your guard must leave
the Castle, and shall be honourably quartered elsewhere. Up with every
drawbridge, and down with every portcullis.--Let the gates of the town
be trebly guarded.--Draw the floating bridge to the right hand side of
the river.--Bring round the Castle my band of Black Walloons [regiments
of Dutch troops, wearing black armour], and treble the sentinels on
every post!--You, D'Hymbercourt, look that patrols of horse and foot
make the round of the town every half hour during the night and every
hour during the next day--if indeed such ward shall be necessary after
daybreak, for it is like we may be sudden in this matter.--Look to the
person of Louis, as you love your life.”
He started from the table in fierce and moody haste, darted a glance of
mortal enmity at the King, and rushed out of the apartment.
“Sirs,” said the King, looking with dignity around him, “grief for the
death of his ally hath made your Prince frantic. I trust you know better
your duty, as knights and noblemen, than to abet him in his treasonable
violence against the person of his liege Lord.”
At this moment was heard in the streets the sound of drums beating, and
horns blowing, to call out the soldiery in every direction.
“We are,” said Crevecoeur, who acted as the Marshal of the Duke's
household, “subjects of Burgundy, and must do our duty as such. Our
hopes and prayers, and our efforts, will not be wanting to bring about
peace and union between your Majesty and our liege Lord. Meantime, we
must obey his commands. These other lords and knights will be proud to
contribute to the convenience of the illustrious Duke of Orleans, of
the brave Dunois, and the stout Lord Crawford. I myself must be your
Majesty's chamberlain, and bring you to your apartments in other guise
than would be my desire, remembering the hospitality of Plessis. You
have only to choose your attendants, whom the Duke's commands limit to
six.”
“Then,” said the King, looking around him, and thinking for a moment--“I
desire the attendance of Oliver le Dain, of a private of my Life Guard
called Balafre, who may be unarmed if you will--of Tristan l'Hermite,
with two of his people--and my right royal and trusty philosopher,
Martius Galeotti.”
“Your Majesty's will shall be complied with in all points,” said the
Count de Crevecoeur. “Galeotti,” he added, after a moment's inquiry,
“is, I understand, at present supping in some buxom company, but he
shall instantly be sent for; the others will obey your Majesty's command
upon the instant.”
“Forward, then, to the new abode, which the hospitality of our cousin
provides for us,” said the King. “We know it is strong, and have only to
hope it may be in a corresponding degree safe.”
“Heard you the choice which King Louis has made of his attendants?” said
Le Glorieux to Count Crevecoeur apart, as they followed Louis from the
hall.
“Surely, my merry gossip,” replied the Count. “What hast thou to object
to them?”
“Nothing, nothing--only they are a rare election!--A panderly barber--a
Scottish hired cutthroat--a chief hangman and his two assistants, and
a thieving charlatan.--I will along with you, Crevecoeur, and take
a lesson in the degrees of roguery, from observing your skill in
marshalling them. The devil himself could scarce have summoned such a
synod, or have been a better president amongst them.”
Accordingly, the all licensed jester, seizing the Count's arm
familiarly, began to march along with him, while, under a strong guard,
yet forgetting no semblance of respect, he conducted the King towards
his new apartment.
[The historical facts attending this celebrated interview are expounded
and enlarged upon in this chapter. Agents sent by Louis had tempted
the people of Liege to rebel against their superior, Duke Charles, and
persecute and murder their Bishop. But Louis was not prepared for their
acting with such promptitude. They flew to arms with the temerity of a
fickle rabble, took the Bishop prisoner, menaced and insulted him, and
tore to pieces one or two of his canons. This news was sent to the Duke
of Burgundy at the moment when Louis had so unguardedly placed himself
in his power; and the consequence was that Charles placed guards on the
Castle of Peronne, and, deeply resenting the treachery of the king of
France in exciting sedition in his dominions, while he pretended the
most intimate friendship, he deliberated whether he should not put
Louis to death. Three days Louis was detained in this very precarious
situation, and it was only his profuse liberality amongst Charles's
favourites and courtiers which finally ensured him from death or
deposition. Comines, who was the Duke of Burgundy's chamberlain at the
time, and slept in his apartment, says Charles neither undressed nor
slept, but flung himself from time to time on the bed, and, at other
times, wildly traversed the apartment. It was long before his violent
temper became in any degree tractable. At length he only agreed to
give Louis his liberty, on condition of his accompanying him in person
against, and employing his troops in subduing, the mutineers whom
his intrigues had instigated to arms. This was a bitter and degrading
alternative. But Louis, seeing no other mode of compounding for the
effects of his rashness, not only submitted to this discreditable
condition, but swore to it upon a crucifix said to have belonged to
Charlemagne. These particulars are from Comines. There is a succinct
epitome of them in Sir Nathaniel Wraxall's History of France, vol.
i.--S.]