THE ACHIEVEMENT.
The forest of Hallate--of which the great forest of Chantilly, as it
is called, is in fact but an insignificant remnant,--was, in the days
of Philip of Valois, one of the most magnificent woods at that time in
Europe, giving its name to a whole district, in the midst of which was
situated the fine old palace and abbey of St. Christopher, or St.
Christofle en Hallate, the scene of many of the most important
transactions in French history. I do not find that the palace was much
used in the reign of Charles VI.; and it was very possibly going to
decay, though the abbey attached to it still remained tenanted by its
monks, and the forest still afforded the sport of the chase to the
French monarchs and their court, being filled with wolves, stags,
boars, and even bears (if we may believe the accounts of the time),
which were preserved with more care, from all but princely hands, than
even the subjects of the Sovereign.
The great variety of the ground--the hills, the dales, the fountains,
the cliffs, that the district presented--the rivers that intersected
it, the deep glades and wild savannahs of the forest itself--the
villages, the towns, the chapels, the monasteries, which nestled
themselves, as it were, into its bosom--the profound solitude of some
parts, the busy cultivation of others, the desert-like desolation of
certain spots, and the soft, calm monotony of seemingly interminable
trees which was to be found in different tracts--rendered the forest
of Hallate one of the most interesting and changeful scenes through
which the wandering foot of man could rove. Whether he sought the city
or the hermitage, whether the grave or the gay, whether the sun or the
shade, here he might suit his taste; and the mutations of the sky, in
winter, in summer, in morning, in evening, in sunshine, or in clouds,
added new changes to each individual spot, and varied still farther a
scene which in itself seemed endless in its variety.
About three o'clock on the afternoon of a day in early May, with a
cool wind stirring the air, and some light vapours floating across the
heaven, a gentleman, completely armed except the head, with a lance on
his shoulder, and a page carrying his casque behind him, rode slowly
into one of the wide savannahs, following a peasant with a staff in
his hand, who seemed to be showing him the way. His horse bore evident
signs of having been ridden far that day, without much time for grooms
to do their office in smoothing down his dark brown coat; but
nevertheless, though somewhat rough and dusty, the stout beast seemed
no way tired; and, to judge by his quick and glancing eye, his bending
crest, and the eager rounding of his knee, as if eager to put forth
his speed, one would have supposed that he had rested since his
journey, and tasted his share of corn.
"Ay, there is a piqueur of the hunt," said the gentleman, marking with
a glance a man, clothed in green and brown, who stood holding a brace
of tall dogs at the angle of one of the roads leading into the heart
of the forest. "You have led us right, good fellow. There is your
guerdon."
The peasant took the money; and, as it was somewhat more than had been
promised, made a low rude bow and stumped away; and the gentleman,
turning to his page, beckoned him up.
"Think you, Will, that you have French enough," he asked, in English,
when the boy was close to him, "to tell them where we are, and what to
do?"
"Oh, I will make them understand," replied the page, with all the
confidence of youth. "I picked up a few words in Ghent, and a few more
as we came along; and what tongue wont do, hand and head must."
"Well, give me the casque," said his master, "and you take my barret;"
and receiving the _chapel de fer_ from the boy's hands, he placed it
on his head, raised the visor till it rested against the crest, and
rode slowly on towards the attendant of the chase, who, with all a
sportsman's eagerness, was watching down the avenue attentively.
"Good morning, my friend," said the gentleman in French.
"Good afternoon, sir," answered the piqueur; for the vulgar are always
very careful to be exact in their time of day. He did not look round,
however, and the stranger went on to inquire if the King were not
hunting in the forest.
The man now turned and eyed the questioner. His splendid arms showed
he was a gentleman; and he was alone, so that no treason could be
intended. "Yes, sir," replied the piqueur; "I expect him this way
every minute. Do you want to see him?"
"Why, not exactly," said the stranger. "Some of the people told me the
good Duke of Burgundy was with him; and, as it is he with whom I want
to speak, if their report be true, it may save me a ride to Paris."
"The good Duke is with the King," rejoined the man; "but s'life I know
not whether he will be so long: for fortune alters favour, they say,
and times have changed of late--though it is no business of mine, and
so I say nothing; but the Duke was ever a friend to the Commons, and
to the citizens of Paris more than all."
"Have they had good sport to-day?" demanded Richard of Woodville; for
doubtless the reader has already discovered one of the interlocutors
in this dialogue. "'Tis somewhat late in the year, is it not,
piqueur?"
"Ay that it is, for sundry kinds of game," replied the man; "but there
are some not out, and others just coming in; and we are obliged to
suit ourselves to the poor old King's health. He is free just now from
his black sickness, and would have had a glorious day of it, had not
Achille, the subveneur, who is always wrong, and always knows better
than any one else, mistaken which way the _piste_ lay. But hark! they
are blowing the death: the beast has been killed, and not past this
way, foul fall him. My dogs have not had breath to-day."
"Then they will not come hither, I suppose?" said Richard of
Woodville.
"Oh, yes! 'tis a thousand chances to one they will," answered the man.
"If they force another beast, they must quit that ground, and cross
the road to Senlis; and if they return with what they have got, they
must take the Paris avenue, so that in either case they will come
here."
While he spoke, there was a vast howling of dogs, and blowing of horns
at some distance; and Woodville, trusting to the piqueur's sagacity
for the direction the Court would take, waited patiently till the
sounds accompanying the _curee_ were over, and then gazed down the
avenue. In about ten minutes some horsemen began to appear in the
road; and then a splendid party issued forth from one of the side
alleys, followed by a confused crowd of men, horses, and dogs. They
came forward at an easy pace, and Richard of Woodville inquired of his
companion, which was the Duke of Burgundy.
"What, do you not know him?" said the man, in some surprise. "Well,
keep back, and I will tell you when they are near."
The young Englishman, without reply, reined back his horse for a step
or two, so as to take up a position beyond the projecting corner of
the wood; and, while the piqueur continued gazing down the avenue,
still holding his dogs in the leash, Woodville turned a hasty glance
behind him, to see if he could discover anything of his page. The boy
was nearer than he thought, but was wisely coming round the back of
the savannah, where the turf was soft and somewhat moist, so that his
approach escaped both the eyes and ears of the royal attendant, till,
approaching his master's side, he said something which, though spoken
in a low tone, made the man turn round. At the same moment, however,
the first two horsemen passed out of the road into the open space; and
immediately after, the principal party appeared.
At its head, a step before any of the rest, came a man, seemingly past
the middle age, with grey hair and a noble presence, but with cheeks
channelled and withered, more by sickness and care than years. His eye
was peculiarly clear and fine, and not a trace was to be seen therein
of that fatal malady which devoured more than one-half of his days.
His aspect, indeed, was that of a person of high intellect; and though
his shoulders were somewhat bowed, and his seat upon his horse not
very firm, there were remains of the great beauty of form and dignity
of carriage, which had distinguished the unhappy Charles in earlier
days.
Close behind the King came a youth of eighteen or nineteen years of
age, with a fine, but somewhat fierce and haughty countenance, a cheek
colourless and bare, and a bright but haggard eye; and near him rode a
somewhat younger lad, of a fresher and more healthy complexion, round
whose lip there played ever and anon a gay and wanton smile. Almost on
a line with these, were three or four gentlemen, one far advanced in
years, and one very young; while the personage nearest the spot where
Richard of Woodville sat, seemed still in the lusty prime of manhood,
stout but not fat, broad in the shoulders, long in the limbs, though
not much above the middle height. He was dressed in high boots, and
long striped hose of blue and red, with a close-fitting pourpoint of
blue, and a long mantle, with furred sleeves, hanging down to his
stirrups. On his head he bore a cap of fine cloth, shaped somewhat
like an Indian turban, with a large and splendid ruby in the front,
and a feather drooping over his left ear. His carriage was princely
and frank, his eye clear and steadfast, and about his lip there was a
firm and resolute expression, which well suited the countenance of one
who had acquired the name of John the Bold.
"If that be not the Duke of Burgundy," said Richard of Woodville, to
the piqueur, in a low tone, as the party advanced, "I am much
mistaken."
"Yes, yes," replied the man, nodding his head, "that is he, God bless
him!--and that is the Duke of Aquitaine, the King's son, just before
him. Then there is the Duke of Bavaria on the other side----"
The young Englishman did not wait to hear enumerated the names of
all the personages of the royal train, but, as soon as the King
himself had passed, rode up at once to the Duke of Burgundy, who
turned round and gazed at him with some surprise, while the young pale
Duke of Aquitaine bent his brow, frowning upon him with an inquiring
yet ill-satisfied look.
"My lord the Duke," said Woodville, tendering the letter he had
received from De Roucq, "I bear you this from Flanders."
The Duke took it, and, without checking his horse, but merely throwing
the bridle over his arm, opened the letter, and looked at the
contents. "Ha!" he exclaimed, as he read--"Ha! I thank you, sir;" and,
making a sign for Richard and his page to follow, he spurred on, and
passed the two young Princes to the side of the King.
"This gentleman, Sire," he said, displaying the letter, "brings me
troublous tidings from my poor county of Flanders, which call for my
immediate presence; and, therefore, though unwilling to leave you,
royal sir, at a time when my enemies are strong in your capital and
court, I must even take my leave in haste; but I will return with all
convenient speed."
The King had drawn his bridle, and, turning round, gazed from the Duke
to Richard of Woodville, with a look of hesitation; but, after a
moment's pause, he answered, with a cold and constrained air, "Well,
Duke of Burgundy, if it must be so, go. A fair journey to you,
cousin;" and without farther adieu, he gave a glance to his sons, and
rode on.
The Duke of Burgundy bowed low, and held in his horse while the royal
party passed on, exchanging no very placable looks with the young Duke
of Aquitaine, his son-in-law, and giving a sign to four or five
gentlemen who were following in the rear, but immediately fell out of
the train, and ranged themselves around him.
"Who are you, sir?" demanded the Prince, turning to Woodville, while
the King and his court proceeded slowly towards a distant part of the
savannah, and, by the movements of different gentlemen round the Duke
of Aquitaine, there seemed to be some hurried consultation going on.
"An English gentleman, my lord, attached to the Count, your son,"
replied Woodville, without farther explanation; but seeing that a
number of men completely armed, who followed the principal body of
courtiers, had been beckoned up, he added, "Methinks, fair sir, there
is not much time to lose. Yonder is the way--I am not alone." Without
reply, the Duke gave one quick glance towards the royal party, set
spurs to his horse, and rode quickly along the road to which Woodville
pointed. He had hardly quitted the savannah, and entered the long
broad avenue, however, when the sound of a horse's feet at the full
gallop came behind, and a voice exclaimed, "My lord, my lord the Duke!
the King has some words for your ear."
It was a single cavalier who approached; but the quick ear of Richard
of Woodville caught the sound of other horse following, though the
angle of the wood cut off the view of the royal train.
"Good faith," answered the Duke, turning his head towards the
messenger, but without stopping, "they must be kept for another
moment. My business will have no delay." But, even as he spoke, he
caught sight of a number of men-at-arms following the first, and just
entering the alley in a confused and scattered line.
"But you must, my lord!" exclaimed the gentleman who had just come up.
"I have orders to use force."
The Duke and his attendants laid their hands upon their swords; but
Woodville raised his lance high above his head, and shook it in the
air, shouting, "Ho, there!--Ho! Ride on, my lord, ride on! I will stay
them."
"Now, gold spurs for a good lance!" cried the Duke of Burgundy; "but I
will not let you fight alone, my friend;" and, wheeling his horse, he
formed his little troop across the road.
"Ho, there! Ho!" shouted Woodville again; and instantly he heard a
horn answering from the wood. "The first man is mine, my lord," he
cried, setting his lance in the rest and drawing down his visor. "Fall
back upon our friends behind: you are unarmed!" and, spurring on his
charger at full speed, he passed the King's messenger, (who was only
habited in the garments of the chase,) towards a man-at-arms, who was
coming at full speed some fifty yards in advance of the party sent to
arrest the Duke. His adversary instantly charged his lance likewise;
no explanation was needed; and the two cavaliers met in full shock
between the parties. The spear of the Frenchman struck right on
Woodville's cuirass, and broke it into splinters; but the lance-head
of the young Englishman caught his opponent on the gorget, and,
without wavering in his seat, he bore him back over the croup to the
ground. Then, wheeling rapidly, he galloped back to the Duke's side;
while, at a brisk pace, but in perfect order, his band came up under
the young Lord of Lens; and the English archers, springing to the
ground, put their arrows to the strings and drew the bows to the ear,
waiting for the signal to let fly the unerring shaft.
"Hold! hold!" cried the Duke. "Gallantly done, noble sir!--you have
saved me; but let us not shed blood unnecessarily;" and, casting his
eye over Woodville's troop, he added, "We outnumber them far; they
will never dare attack us."
As he spoke, the men-at-arms of France paused in their advance, and
some of the foremost, dismounting from their horses, raised the
overthrown cavalier from the ground, and were seen unlacing his
casque. At the same time, the gentleman who had first followed the
Duke of Burgundy began quietly retreating towards his friends, and
though the Duke called to him aloud to stop, showed no disposition to
comply.
"Shall I bring him back, noble Duke?" exclaimed the young Lord of
Lens, eager to win some renown.
"Yes, ride after him, young sir," said John the Bold.
"Remember, he is unarmed," cried Richard of Woodville, seeing the
youth couch his lance, and fearing that he might forget, in his
enthusiasm, the usages of war.
"You are of a right chivalrous spirit, sir," said the Duke, turning to
the young Englishman. "Do you know, my Lord of Viefville, who is that
gentleman, whom he unhorsed just now?"
"The Count de Vaudemont, I think," replied the nobleman to whom he
spoke. "I saw him at the head of the men-at-arms in the forest."
"Oh, yes, it is he," rejoined another. "Did you not see the cross
crosslets on his housings?"
"A good knight and stout cavalier as ever couched a lance," observed
the Duke of Burgundy. "The young kestrel has caught the hawk," he
continued, as the Lord of Lens, riding up to him of whom he had been
in pursuit, brought him back apparently unwillingly towards the
Burgundian party.
"Ah! my good Lord of Vertus," exclaimed John the Bold, "you have gone
back with half your message. Fie! never look white, man! We will not
hurt you, though we have strong hands amongst us, as you have just
seen. Offer my humble duty to the King, and tell him that I should at
once have obeyed his royal mandate to return, but that my affairs are
very urgent, and that I knew not how long I might be detained to hear
his royal will."
"And what am I to say to our lord?" asked the Count de Vertus, "for
Monsieur de Vaudemont, his son's bosom friend, overthrown by your
people, and well-nigh killed, I fear?"
"My daughter ought to be his son's bosom friend," replied the Duke,
sharply, "but she is not, it seems; and as to Monsieur de Vaudemont,
perhaps you had better tell the King that he was riding too fast and
had a fall: it will be more to his credit than if you say, that he met
a squire of Burgundy in fair and even course, and was unhorsed like a
clumsy page; and now, my Lord of Vertus, I give you the good time of
day. You said something about force just now; but methinks you will
forget it; and so will I."
Thus saying, the Duke turned his horse and rode away down the avenue;
the English archers sprang upon their steeds again; and Richard of
Woodville, beckoning the young Lord of Lens to halt, caused his whole
troop to file off before him, and then with his companion brought up
the extreme rear. A number of the French men-at-arms followed at a
respectful distance, till the party entered the village of Fleurines,
in the forest; but there, having satisfied themselves that there was
no greater body of the men of Burgundy in the neighbourhood--which
might have rendered the King's journey back to Paris somewhat
dangerous--they halted and retired.
The Duke had turned round to watch their proceedings more than once;
nor did he take any farther notice of Richard of Woodville till the
French party were gone. When they were no longer in sight, however, he
called him to his side, and questioned him regarding himself.
"I do not remember you about my son, fair sir," he said, "and I am not
one to forget men who act as you have done to-day."
"I have been in your territories, my Lord Duke, but a short time,"
replied Richard of Woodville. "As I came seeking occasions of honour
to the most chivalrous court in Europe, and as I was furnished with
letters from my Sovereign to yourself, and to your son, vouching
graciously for my faith, the Count was kindly pleased to give me a
share in anything that was to be done to-day. Happening to be in the
saddle this morning somewhat before the rest of the Lord of Roucq's
troop, and my horses being somewhat fresher, the good old knight sent
me on, thinking you might need aid before you reached the rendezvous
you had given him."
"Ay, he judged right," replied the Duke; "and had I known as much,
when I wrote to him, as I learned yesterday, I would have had him at
the gates of Paris; for my escape at all has been a miracle. They only
put off arresting me or stabbing me in my hotel till the King returned
from this hunting, in order to guard against a rising of the citizens.
Have you this letter from King Henry about you?"
"My page has it in his wallet, noble Duke," replied the young
Englishman. "Will you please to see it?"
John nodded his head, and, calling up the boy, Richard of Woodville
took the letter from him, and placed it in the Prince's hands. The
Duke opened and read it with a smile; then, turning to Woodville, he
said, "You justify the praises of your King, and his request shall be
attended to by me, as in duty bound. Men look to him, sir, with eyes
of expectation, and have a foresight of great deeds to come. His
friendship is dear to me; and every one he is pleased to send shall
have honour at my hands for his sake. Ah! there is Pont St. Maxence,
and the bright Oise. De Roucq is, probably, there by this time."
"I doubt it not, my lord," answered Richard of Woodville; "he could
not be far behind."
"Who is that youth," demanded the Duke, "who seems your second in the
band?"
"One of your own vassals, noble sir," replied the English gentleman,
"full of honour and zeal for your service, who will some day make an
excellent soldier. He is the young Lord of Lens."
"Ah!" said the Duke in a sorrowful tone, "I have bad news for him. His
uncle Charles is a prisoner in Paris, taken out of my very house
before my eyes; and I doubt much they will do him to death. Break it
to him calmly this evening, sir. But see! here are several of good old
De Roucq's party looking out for us. Methinks he would not have heard
bad tidings of his Duke without riding to rescue him."
Thus saying he spurred on, meeting, ere he reached Pont St. Maxence,
one or two small bodies of men-at-arms, who saluted him as he passed,
shouting "Burgundy! Burgundy!" and fell in behind the band of Richard
of Woodville. The single street of the small town was crowded with
people; and before the doors of the two inns which the place then
possessed was seen the company of the Lord of Roucq, with the men
dismounted, feeding their horses, but all armed, and prepared to
spring into the saddle at a moment's notice.
The approach of the Duke was greeted by a loud shout of welcome--not
alone from his own soldiers, but also from the people of the town; for
in the northern and eastern provinces of France, as well as in the
capital, John the Bold was the most popular prince of the time. De
Roucq immediately advanced on foot to hold his stirrup, but his Lord
grasped him by the hand and wrung it hard, saying, "I am safe, you
see, old friend--thanks to your care, and this young gentleman's
conduct."
"Ay, I thought he would do well," replied the old soldier, "for he is
up in the morning early."
"He has done well," said the Duke, dismounting; and, turning to
Woodville, who had sprung from his horse, he said, "You rightly
deserve some honour at my hands. Though we have no spurs ready, I will
dub you now; and we will arm you afterwards at Lille. Kneel down."
Richard of Woodville bent his knee to the ground before the crowd that
had gathered round; and, drawing his sword, the Duke of Burgundy
addressed to him, as usual, a short speech on the duties of chivalry,
concluding with the words--"thus remember, that this honour is not
alone a reward for deeds past, but an encouragement to deeds in
future. It is a bond as well as a distinction, by which you are held
to right the wronged--to defend the oppressed--to govern yourself
discreetly--to serve your Sovereign Lord--and to be the friend and
protector of women, children, and the weak and powerless. Let your
lance be the first in the fight; let your purse be open to the poor
and needy; let your shield be the shelter of the widow and orphan; and
let your sword be ever drawn in the cause of your King, your country
and your religion. In the name of God, St. Michael, and St. George, I
dub you knight. Be loyal, true, and valiant."
At each of the last words he struck him a light stroke with the blade
of his sword upon the neck; and the crowd around, well pleased with
every piece of representation, uttered a loud acclamation as the young
knight rose; and the Duke took him in his arms, and embraced him
warmly. Old De Roucq, and the noblemen who had accompanied John the
Bold from the forest, grasped the young Englishman's hand one by one;
and the Duke, turning to the Lord of Lens, added, with a gracious
smile, "I trust to do the same for you, young sir, ere long. In the
meanwhile, that you may have occasion to win your chivalry, I name you
one of my squires; and, by God's grace, you will not be long without
something to do."
The youth kissed his hand joyfully; and the Duke retired to the inn.
Richard of Woodville paused for a moment to distribute some handfulls
of money amongst the crowd, who were crying "Largesse" around, and
then followed the old Lord of Roucq, to give him information of all
that had taken place in the forest of Hallate, before they proceeded
together to receive the farther orders of the Duke of Burgundy.[8]
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[Footnote 8: Some authors, and especially Monstrelet, represent the
Duke of Burgundy as effecting his escape from the forest of Villeneuve
St. George; but the reader of course cannot entertain the slightest
doubt that the author of the present veracious history is, like all
other modern historians and critics, better acquainted with the events
of distant times than the poor ignorant people who lived in them.]
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