THE DISAPPOINTMENT.
Months had passed. The clang of trumpets and timbrels had sounded
beneath the walls of Paris, from morning till well nigh vespers; and
the clear blue country sky was glowing with the last rays of the sun
before he set. But, still the redoubted chivalry of Burgundy, with
glittering arms and royal pageantry, stood upon the frosty ground
before the gates, the towers of which were crowded with armed men who
dared not issue forth to meet their enemies in the field, less because
they doubted their own strength--for they were treble at least in
number--than because they knew that, within that city, the popular
heart beat high to take part with the bold Duke John, "the people's
friend."
Faults he had many; crimes of a dark dye he had committed; the blood
of the Duke of Orleans was fresh upon his hand; but his princely
generosity, his daring courage, and more than all, his love of the
Commons, a body grown everywhere already into terrible importance,
wiped out all stains in the eyes of the citizens of Paris; and they
longed to build up once more the fabric of his power on the ruin of
those proud nobles, who, still in their attachment to pure feudal
institutions, looked upon the craftsman and the merchant as little
better than half emancipated serfs.
Long ere this period, the power of the middle classes had grown into
an engine which might be guided, but could not be resisted without
danger. In England, its influence had first been recognised by the
great De Montford, who had wisely attempted to direct its young
energies in a just and beneficial course; for which the land we live
in--nay, perhaps the world--owes him still a deep debt of gratitude.
Influenced by the character of the nation, its progress in this
country was marked by slow but steady increase of strength; and it
went on gaining fresh vigour, more from the natural result of contests
between the various institutions which it was destined to supersede,
than from its own efforts to extend its sphere. Rebellious nobles
looked to it for aid; kings courted its support; usurpers submitted
more or less their claims to its approval; and from each and all it
obtained concessions. Seldom meeting any severe check--till in long
after years, a fatal effort was made to raise an embankment against
it, when it burst in a deluge over every obstacle--during the early
period of our history it diffused itself calmly, more like the quiet
overflowing of the fertilizing rill, than the rush and destructive
outbreak of a pent-up torrent. But in France such was not the case,
and for ages the struggle to resist it went on; while, partaking of
the fierce but desultory and ungoverned activity of the people, it
sometimes burst forth, sometimes was driven back, till at length its
hour came, and it swept all before it, washing away the seeds of good
and evil alike, and leaving behind a new soil for the plough,
difficult to labour, and fertile of thorns as well as verdure.
In these middle ages of which I write, few were wise enough to see the
existence, and comprehend the inevitable course, of the great latent
principle which was destined to take the place of every other. The
fact--the truth--that all power is from the people, and that wisdom is
the helm which must guide it, was a discovery of after times; and was,
moreover, so repugnant to the spirit of the feudal system--that
strange, but great ideal--that in the land where feudal institutions
were most perfect, the men who owed them all, never dreamed that they
could be swept away by the seemingly weak and homely influences which
they were accustomed to use at their will: even as our ancestors, not
many years ago, little imagined that the vapour which rose from the
simmering kettle of the peasant or the mechanic, would one day waft
navies through the ocean, and reduce space to nothing.
If there were any in that land of France who, without a foresight of
what was to be, merely owned the existence of a great popular power,
it was but to use it for their own purposes, ever prepared to check it
the moment it had served their object. Some, indeed, in habits of mind
and disposition, were of a character to win its aid by demeanour and
conduct, and such was pre-eminently John the Bold. Strange too, to
say, that very chivalrous spirit which characterized so many of his
actions, won to his side a great body of the nobles without alienating
the middle and the lower classes; but it was, that he was more the
knight than the feudal baron--more the sovereign than the great lord.
It must never be forgotten, in viewing the history of those times,
that the original object of the institution of chivalry, was to
correct the evils of the feudal system; to strike the rod from the
hand of the oppressor, to defend the defenceless, and to right the
wronged; and had chivalry remained in its purity, it might have
averted long the downfall of the system with which it was linked. The
people loved the true knight as much as they hated the feudal lord;
and long after the decay of the order, even the affectation of its
higher qualities both won regard from the lower classes, and excited
the admiration of all those above them, who retained any sparks of the
spirit which once animated it.
Thus, the Duke of Burgundy, though surrounded by many of the highest
in the land, and possessed of their affection in an extraordinary
degree, was popular with the trader in his shop, and the peasant in
his cot. Town after town had opened its gates to him as he advanced;
and now he stood before the gates of Paris, trusting to the citizens
to rise and give him admission. But the love with which he was
regarded by the people was as well known to others as to himself, and
all chance of a demonstration in his favour had been guarded against
with the most scrupulous care. The Dauphin Duke of Aquitaine, whether
willingly or unwillingly it is difficult to say, marched through the
streets of the capital surrounded by the family of Orleans, and the
partizans of Armagnac, and followed by no less than eleven thousand
men-at-arms, exhorting the populace in every quarter, by the voice of
a herald, to remain tranquil, and resist the suggestions of the agents
of the Burgundian faction: "and thus," says one of the historians of
the day, "they provided so well for the guard of the town, that no
inconvenience occurred."
The walls and gates were covered with soldiery; the heralds and
messengers of the Duke were not suffered to approach, though their
words were peaceful; and some of the Burgundian nobles who ventured
too near, in order to speak with those whom they thought personally
friendly, were driven back by arrows and quarrels. Even the kings of
arms were threatened with death if they approached within bow-shot;
and, though one was found bold enough to fix the letters of which he
was the bearer, on a lance before the gate of St. Anthony, and others
contrived to obtain secret admission into the town, to distribute the
Duke's proclamation amongst the people, and even affix copies to the
gates of the churches and palaces, so strict was watch kept upon the
citizens, that a rising was impossible.
Disappointed and angry, but with apparent scorn, the Duke, who had not
sufficient forces to render an attack upon the wall successful, even
if it had been politic to make it, withdrew to St. Denis at nightfall;
and the menacing array disappeared from before Paris, like a pageant
that had passed away. The leaders of the troops of Burgundy, separated
from those of Flanders and Artois, took up their abode where they had
been quartered in the morning, at the hostel called "the Lance,"
nearly opposite to the abbey; and, while the Duke remained for several
hours closeted with some of his oldest councillors, the Lord of Croy
drew Richard of Woodville apart from the rest, and whispered that he
wished to speak with him alone in his chamber.
The young knight followed him at once; for the intimacy which had
arisen between them at Lille, and on the road to Ghent, had ripened
into friendship during their long expedition into Burgundy; and
without preface, the noble Burgundian exclaimed, as soon as the door
was closed, "This will not go forward, Woodville. The Duke, bold as he
is, will not strike a stroke against the King's capital, with the King
therein. I see it well; and, with this enterprise, passes away my hope
of delivering my poor boy John, who lies, as you know, a prisoner at
Montl'herry, unless I can take some counsel for his aid."
"Nay, my good lord," replied Richard, with a smile; "doubtless you
have taken counsel already, and all I can say is, that if I can aid
you, my hand is ready. Can you not march to Montl'herry, and deliver
him? The country is clear of men, for every one capable of bearing
arms for the enemy, has been gathered into Paris."
"I have thought of it, Woodville," replied the Lord of Croy; "but a
large body moving across the country would soon call the foe forth in
great numbers; and, moreover, my lord the Duke could ill spare so many
men as your band and mine would carry off. But I would give my land of
Nuranville to any one who would lead a small party to Montl'herry, and
set free the boy, as I have planned it."
"Ah, my lord, I thought your scheme was fixed," said the young knight,
laughing at the circuitous manner in which his friend had announced
his wishes. "Let me know what it is, and as I said before, if I can
succour your son, I am ready."
"To say truth, it is the boy's own device," replied the Burgundian;
"he has made a friend of the chaplain in the castle, where they hold
him; and by this good man's hands I receive letters from him. He tells
me that, if a small body of resolute gentlemen, not well known to be
of our party, could enter the town and keep themselves quiet therein
for one day, he could find means to go forth to mass and escape under
their escort. I have chosen out twenty of my surest men; but, as it
was needful that they should pass for followers of the Duke of
Orleans, I could not send any one to command them who had gained much
renown in France, lest he should be known. Thus they want a leader;
and where can I find one of sufficient experience, and yet not likely
to be recognised, if you refuse me?"
"That will I not, my lord," replied Richard of Woodville; "but I must
have the Duke's leave. Who are the men to go with me? I know most of
those under your banner."
"Lamont de Launoy," replied the Burgundian, "Villemont de Montebard,
whom you know well; and Jean Roussel are amongst them. Then, as for
the Duke's leave, that is already gained; for I spoke to him as we
marched back tonight; and he himself suggested that you should lead
the party, because you speak the French tongue well, and yet your face
is unknown in France."
"A work of honour and of friendship shall never find me behind, my
lord," replied the young knight; "and I will be ready to mount an hour
before daylight; but I must have full command, my lord. Some of your
men are turbulent; so school them well to obey; and, in the mean time,
I will despatch a letter or two, for good and evil news have reached
me here together."
"The good from your fair lady, I can guess," said the Lord of Croy,
"for I have heard to-day of her father's journey back through Ghent
towards England. The evil is not without remedy, I trust?"
"No, I trust not," replied Woodville; "it comes from a dear friend of
mine, Sir Henry Dacre, who writes word that some one has done me harm
in the King's opinion, and speaks of letters sent from his Highness
long ago, requiring my return, surely delivered, and yet unnoticed and
unanswered. Now, no such letters ever reached my hand; nor can I dream
who could have power to wrong me with King Henry; for the only one
inclined to do so is a banished man."
"Three times have I remarked a stranger amongst your people, since we
were at Charleville," answered the Lord of Croy; "once it was at
Besancon, once at Toul, and the other day again at Compiegne. His face
is unknown to me, and yet he was talking gaily with your band, as if
he were one of them; but he stayed not long; for this last time, I saw
him as I passed through the court of the inn, and he was gone when I
returned."
"It shall be inquired into," replied Richard of Woodville. "But now I
must to these letters, my good lord; and tomorrow, an hour ere
daybreak, I will be in the saddle. Pray God give us success, and that
I may restore your son to your arms."
The Lord of Croy thanked him as such prompt kindness might well merit,
and took his leave; but as soon as he was gone, Richard of Woodville
leaned his head upon his hand in thought, and with a somewhat dark and
gloomy brow remained in meditation for several minutes.
"What is it makes me so sad?" he asked himself; "it cannot be this
empty piece of malice, from some unworthy fool, whose calumnies I can
sweep away in a moment, and whose contrivances I can frustrate by a
word of plain truth. The King does not believe that I would contemn
his commands--in his heart he does not, I am sure! Yet I feel as if
some great misfortune hung upon the wings of the coming hours!
Perchance I may fall in this very enterprise. Who can tell? Many a man
finds his fate in some petty skirmish who has passed through stricken
fields unwounded. The lion-hearted Richard himself brought his life
safe from Palestine, and a thousand glorious fields--from dangers of
all kinds, sufferings, and imprisonment, to lose it before the walls
of a pitiful castle scarce bigger than a cottage. Well, what is to be,
will be; but I must provide against any event;" and, calling some of
his men to speak with him, he told them that he was about to be absent
for three days, taking no one with him but his page. He then gave them
directions, in case of any mischance befalling him, either to find
their way back to England, or to continue to serve with the band of
the Lord of Croy; but, at all events, unless specially summoned by the
King of England, not to quit the Duke as long as he remained in the
field. This done, he turned to his letters, and remained writing till
a late hour of the night.