I'll take thee to the good green wood,
And make thine own hand choose the tree.
OLD BALLAD
“Now God be praised, that gave us the power of laughing, and making
others laugh, and shame to the dull cur who scorns the office of a
jester! Here is a joke, and that none of the brightest (though it might
pass, since it has amused two Princes), which hath gone farther than a
thousand reasons of state to prevent a war between France and Burgundy.”
Such was the inference of Le Glorieux, when, in consequence of the
reconciliation of which we gave the particulars in the last chapter, the
Burgundian guards were withdrawn from the Castle of Peronne, the abode
of the King removed from the ominous Tower of Count Herbert, and, to the
great joy both of French and Burgundians, an outward show at least of
confidence and friendship seemed so established between Duke Charles
and his liege lord. Yet still the latter, though treated with ceremonial
observance, was sufficiently aware that he continued to be the object of
suspicion, though he prudently affected to overlook it, and appeared to
consider himself as entirely at his ease.
Meanwhile, as frequently happens in such cases, whilst the principal
parties concerned had so far made up their differences, one of the
subaltern agents concerned in their intrigues was bitterly experiencing
the truth of the political maxim that if the great have frequent need
of base tools, they make amends to society by abandoning them to their
fate, so soon as they find them no longer useful.
Thus was Hayraddin Maugrabin, who, surrendered by the Duke's officers
to the King's Provost Marshal, was by him placed in the hands of his two
trusty aides de camp, Trois Eschelles and Petit Andre, to be dispatched
without loss of time. One on either side of him, and followed by a few
guards and a multitude of rabble--this playing the Allegro, that the
Penseroso, [the mirthful and the serious. Cf. Milton's poems by these
names.]--he was marched off (to use a modern comparison, like Garrick
between Tragedy and Comedy) to the neighbouring forest; where, to
save all farther trouble and ceremonial of a gibbet, and so forth, the
disposers of his fate proposed to knit him up to the first sufficient
tree.
They were not long in finding an oak, as Petit Andre facetiously
expressed it, fit to bear such an acorn; and placing the wretched
criminal on a bank, under a sufficient guard, they began their
extemporaneous preparations for the final catastrophe. At that moment,
Hayraddin, gazing on the crowd, encountered the eyes of Quentin Durward,
who, thinking he recognized the countenance of his faithless guide in
that of the detected impostor, had followed with the crowd to witness
the execution, and assure himself of the identity.
When the executioners informed him that all was ready, Hayraddin, with
much calmness, asked a single boon at their hands.
“Anything, my son, consistent with our office,” said Trois Eschelles.
“That is,” said Hayraddin, “anything but my life.”
“Even so,” said Trois Eschelles, “and something more, for you seem
resolved to do credit to our mystery, and die like a man, without making
wry mouths--why, though our orders are to be prompt, I care not if I
indulge you ten minutes longer.”
“You are even too generous,” said Hayraddin.
“Truly we may be blamed for it,” said Petit Andre, “but what of that?--I
could consent almost to give my life for such a jerry come tumble, such
a smart, tight, firm lad, who proposes to come from aloft with a grace,
as an honest fellow should.”
“So that if you want a confessor--” said Trois Eschelles.
“Or a lire of wine--” said his facetious companion.
“Or a psalm--” said Tragedy.
“Or a song--” said Comedy.
“Neither, my good, kind, and most expeditious friends,” said the
Bohemian. “I only pray to speak a few minutes with yonder Archer of the
Scottish Guard.”
The executioners hesitated a moment; but Trois Eschelles, recollecting
that Quentin Durward was believed, from various circumstances, to stand
high in the favour of their master, King Louis, they resolved to permit
the interview.
When Quentin, at their summons, approached the condemned criminal, he
could not but be shocked at his appearance, however justly his doom
might have been deserved. The remnants of his heraldic finery, rent to
tatters by the fangs of the dogs, and the clutches of the bipeds who had
rescued him from their fury to lead him to the gallows, gave him at once
a ludicrous and a wretched appearance. His face was discoloured with
paint and with some remnants of a fictitious beard, assumed for the
purpose of disguise, and there was the paleness of death upon his cheek
and upon his lip; yet, strong in passive courage, like most of his
tribe, his eye, while it glistened and wandered, as well as the
contorted smile of his mouth, seemed to bid defiance to the death he was
about to die.
Quentin was struck, partly with horror, partly with compassion, as
he approached the miserable man; and these feelings probably betrayed
themselves in his manner, for Petit Andre called out, “Trip it more
smartly, jolly Archer.--This gentleman's leisure cannot wait for you, if
you walk as if the pebbles were eggs, and you afraid of breaking them.”
“I must speak with him in privacy,” said the criminal, despair seeming
to croak in his accent as he uttered the words.
“That may hardly consist with our office, my merry Leap the ladder,”
said Petit Andre, “we know you for a slippery eel of old.”
“I am tied with your horse girths, hand and foot,” said the criminal.
“You may keep guard around me, though out of earshot--the Archer is your
own King's servant. And if I give you ten guilders--”
“Laid out in masses, the sum may profit his poor soul,” said Trois
Eschelles.
“Laid out in wine or brantwein, it will comfort my poor body,” responded
Petit Andre. “So let them be forthcoming, my little crack rope.”
“Pay the bloodhounds their fee,” said Hayraddin to Durward, “I was
plundered of every stiver when they took me--it shall avail thee much.”
Quentin paid the executioners their guerdon, and, like men of promise,
they retreated out of hearing--keeping, however, a careful eye on the
criminal's motions. After waiting an instant till the unhappy man should
speak, as he still remained silent, Quentin at length addressed him,
“And to this conclusion thou hast at length arrived?”
“Ay,” answered Hayraddin, “it required neither astrologer, or
physiognomist, nor chiromantist to foretell that I should follow the
destiny of my family.”
“Brought to this early end by thy long course of crime and treachery?”
said the Scot.
“No, by the bright Aldebaran and all his brother twinklers!” answered
the Bohemian. “I am brought hither by my folly in believing that the
bloodthirsty cruelty of a Frank could be restrained even by what they
themselves profess to hold most sacred. A priest's vestment would have
been no safer garb for me than a herald's tabard, however sanctimonious
are your professions of devotion and chivalry.”
“A detected impostor has no right to claim the immunities of the
disguise he had usurped,” said Durward.
“Detected!” said the Bohemian. “My jargon was as good as yonder old fool
of a herald's, but let it pass. As well now as hereafter.”
“You abuse time,” said Quentin. “If you have aught to tell me, say it
quickly, and then take some care of your soul.”
“Of my soul?” said the Bohemian, with a hideous laugh. “Think ye a
leprosy of twenty years can be cured in an instant?--If I have a soul,
it hath been in such a course since I was ten years old and more, that
it would take me one month to recall all my crimes, and another to tell
them to the priest!--and were such space granted me, it is five to one I
would employ it otherwise.”
“Hardened wretch, blaspheme not! Tell me what thou hast to say, and I
leave thee to thy fate,” said Durward, with mingled pity and horror.
“I have a boon to ask,” said Hayraddin; “but first I will buy it of you;
for your tribe, with all their professions of charity, give naught for
naught.”
“I could well nigh say, thy gifts perish with thee,” answered Quentin,
“but that thou art on the very verge of eternity.--Ask thy boon--reserve
thy bounty--it can do me no good--I remember enough of your good offices
of old.”
“Why, I loved you,” said Hayraddin, “for the matter that chanced on the
banks of the Cher; and I would have helped you to a wealthy dame.
You wore her scarf, which partly misled me, and indeed I thought that
Hameline, with her portable wealth, was more for your market penny than
the other hen sparrow, with her old roost at Bracquemont, which Charles
has clutched, and is likely to keep his claws upon.”
“Talk not so idly, unhappy man,” said Quentin; “yonder officers become
impatient.”
“Give them ten guilders for ten minutes more,” said the culprit,
who, like most in his situation, mixed with his hardihood a desire of
procrastinating his fate, “I tell thee it shall avail thee much.”
“Use then well the minutes so purchased,” said Durward, and easily made
a new bargain with the Marshals men.
This done, Hayraddin continued.--“Yes, I assure you I meant you well;
and Hameline would have proved an easy and convenient spouse. Why, she
has reconciled herself even with the Boar of Ardennes, though his mode
of wooing was somewhat of the roughest, and lords it yonder in his sty,
as if she had fed on mast husks and acorns all her life.”
“Cease this brutal and untimely jesting,” said Quentin, “or, once more I
tell you, I will leave you to your fate.”
“You are right,” said Hayraddin, after a moment's pause; “what cannot
be postponed must be faced!--Well, know then, I came hither in this
accursed disguise, moved by a great reward from De la Marck, and hoping
a yet mightier one from King Louis, not merely to bear the message of
defiance which yon may have heard of, but to tell the King an important
secret.”
“It was a fearful risk,” said Durward.
“It was paid for as such, and such it hath proved,” answered the
Bohemian. “De la Marck attempted before to communicate with Louis by
means of Marthon; but she could not, it seems, approach nearer to him
than the Astrologer, to whom she told all the passages of the journey,
and of Schonwaldt; but it is a chance if her tidings ever reach Louis,
except in the shape of a prophecy. But hear my secret, which is more
important than aught she could tell. William de la Marck has assembled
a numerous and strong force within the city of Liege, and augments it
daily by means of the old priest's treasures. But he proposes not to
hazard a battle with the chivalry of Burgundy, and still less to stand
a siege in the dismantled town. This he will do--he will suffer the hot
brained Charles to sit down before the place without opposition, and
in the night, make an outfall or sally upon the leaguer with his whole
force. Many he will have in French armour, who will cry, France, Saint
Louis, and Denis Montjoye, as if there were a strong body of French
auxiliaries in the city. This cannot choose but strike utter confusion
among the Burgundians; and if King Louis, with his guards, attendants,
and such soldiers as he may have with him, shall second his efforts, the
Boar of Ardennes nothing doubts the discomfiture of the whole Burgundian
army.--There is my secret, and I bequeath it to you. Forward or prevent
the enterprise--sell the intelligence to King Louis, or to Duke Charles,
I care not--save or destroy whom thou wilt; for my part, I only grieve
that I cannot spring it like a mine, to the destruction of them all.”
“It is indeed an important secret,” said Quentin, instantly
comprehending how easily the national jealousy might be awakened in a
camp consisting partly of French, partly of Burgundians.
“Ay, so it is,” answered Hayraddin; “and now you have it, you would fain
begone, and leave me without granting the boon for which I have paid
beforehand.”
“Tell me thy request,” said Quentin. “I will grant it if it be in my
power.”
“Nay, it is no mighty demand--it is only in behalf of poor Klepper, my
palfrey, the only living thing that may miss me.--A due mile south, you
will find him feeding by a deserted collier's hut; whistle to him thus”
(he whistled a peculiar note), “and call him by his name, Klepper, he
will come to you; here is his bridle under my gaberdine--it is lucky
the hounds got it not, for he obeys no other. Take him, and make much of
him--I do not say for his master's sake,--but because I have placed
at your disposal the event of a mighty war. He will never fail you at
need--night and day, rough and smooth, fair and foul, warm stables and
the winter sky, are the same to Klepper; had I cleared the gates of
Peronne, and got so far as where I left him, I had not been in this
case.--Will you be kind to Klepper?”
“I swear to you that I will,” answered Quentin, affected by what seemed
a trait of tenderness in a character so hardened.
“Then fare thee well!” said the criminal. “Yet stay--stay--I would not
willingly die in discourtesy, forgetting a lady's commission.--This
billet is from the very gracious and extremely silly Lady of the Wild
Boar of Ardennes, to her black eyed niece--I see by your look I have
chosen a willing messenger.--And one word more--I forgot to say, that in
the stuffing of my saddle you will find a rich purse of gold pieces,
for the sake of which I put my life on the venture which has cost me
so dear. Take them, and replace a hundred fold the guilders you have
bestowed on these bloody slaves--I make you mine heir.”
“I will bestow them in good works and masses for the benefit of thy
soul,” said Quentin.
“Name not that word again,” said Hayraddin, his countenance assuming a
dreadful expression; “there is--there can be, there shall be--no such
thing!--it is a dream of priestcraft.”
“Unhappy, most unhappy being! Think better! let me speed for a
priest--these men will delay yet a little longer. I will bribe them to
it,” said Quentin. “What canst thou expect, dying in such opinions, and
impenitent?”
“To be resolved into the elements,” said the hardened atheist, pressing
his fettered arms against his bosom; “my hope, trust, and expectation is
that the mysterious frame of humanity shall melt into the general mass
of nature, to be recompounded in the other forms with which she daily
supplies those which daily disappear, and return under different
forms--the watery particles to streams and showers, the earthy parts to
enrich their mother earth, the airy portions to wanton in the breeze,
and those of fire to supply the blaze of Aldebaran and his brethren.--In
this faith have I lived, and I will die in it!--Hence! begone!--disturb
me no farther!--I have spoken the last word that mortal ears shall
listen to.”
Deeply impressed with the horrors of his condition, Quentin Durward yet
saw that it was vain to hope to awaken him to a sense of his fearful
state. He bade him, therefore, farewell, to which the criminal only
replied by a short and sullen nod, as one who, plunged in reverie,
bids adieu to company which distracts his thoughts. He bent his course
towards the forest, and easily found where Klepper was feeding. The
creature came at his call, but was for some time unwilling to be caught,
snuffing and starting when the stranger approached him. At length,
however, Quentin's general acquaintance with the habits of the animal,
and perhaps some particular knowledge of those of Klepper, which he had
often admired while Hayraddin and he travelled together, enabled him to
take possession of the Bohemian's dying bequest. Long ere he returned
to Peronne, the Bohemian had gone where the vanity of his dreadful creed
was to be put to the final issue--a fearful experience for one who had
neither expressed remorse for the past, nor apprehension for the future!