Quentin Durward 9781474433013

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THE EDINBURGH EDITION OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Professor David Hewitt

PATRONS

His Grace the Duke of Buccleuch : Dame Jean Maxwell-Scott The Royal Society of Edinburgh : The University of Edinburgh CHIEF FINANCIAL SPONSOR

Bank of Scotland ADVISORY BOARD

Sir Kenneth Alexander, Chairman Professor David Daiches, Vice-Chairman DrW.E.K. Anderson : Thomas Crawford Professor Andrew Hook : Professor R.D. S.Jack Professor A. N.Jeffares : ProfessorD.N.MacCormick Professor Douglas Mack : Allan Massie Professor Jane Millgate : Professor David Nordloh Sir Lewis Robertson Secretary to the Board Dr Archie Turnbull GENERAL EDITORS

Dr J. H. Alexander, University ofAberdeen Professor P. D. Garside, University ofWales (Cardiff) Claire Lamont, University ofNewcastle G. A. M. Wood, University ofStirling

Research Fellow Dr Alison Lumsden Typographical Adviser Ruari McLean

VOLUME FIFTEEN

QUENTIN DURWARD

THE EDINBURGH EDITION OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Professor David Hewitt

PATRONS

His Grace the Duke of Buccleuch : Dame Jean Maxwell-Scott The Royal Society of Edinburgh : The University of Edinburgh CHIEF FINANCIAL SPONSOR

Bank of Scotland ADVISORY BOARD

Sir Kenneth Alexander, Chairman Professor David Daiches, Vice-Chairman DrW.E.K. Anderson : Thomas Crawford Professor Andrew Hook : Professor R.D. S.Jack Professor A. N.Jeffares : ProfessorD.N.MacCormick Professor Douglas Mack : Allan Massie Professor Jane Millgate : Professor David Nordloh Sir Lewis Robertson Secretary to the Board Dr Archie Turnbull GENERAL EDITORS

Dr J. H. Alexander, University ofAberdeen Professor P. D. Garside, University ofWales (Cardiff) Claire Lamont, University ofNewcastle G. A. M. Wood, University ofStirling

Research Fellow Dr Alison Lumsden Typographical Adviser Ruari McLean

VOLUME FIFTEEN

QUENTIN DURWARD

EDINBURGH EDITION OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS

to be complete in thirty volumes Each volume will be published separately but original conjoint publication of certain works is indicated in the EEWN volume numbering [4a, b; 7a, b, etc.]. Where EEWN editors have been appointed, their names are listed

1 2 3 4a 4b 5 6 7a 7b 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18a 18b 19 20 21 22 23a 23b 24 25a 25b

Waverley [1814] P. D. Garside Guy Mannering [1815] P. D. Garside The Antiquary [1816] David Hewitt The Black Dwarf [1816] P. D. Garside TheTaleofOld Mortality [1816] Douglas Mack Rob Roy [1818] David Hewitt The Heart of Mid-Lothian [1818] David Hewitt & Alison Lumsden The Bride ofLammermoor [1819] J. H. Alexander A Legend of the Wars of Montrose [1819] J. H. Alexander Ivanhoe [ 1820] Graham Tulloch The Monastery [ 1820] Penny Fielding The Abbot [ 1820] Christopher Johnson Kenilworth [1821] J. H. Alexander The Pirate [ 1822] Mark Weinstein with Alison Lumsden The Fortunes of Nigel [ 1822] Frank Jordan Peveril of the Peak [ 1822] Alison Lumsden Quentin Durward [1823] G. A. M. Wood and J. H. Alexander Saint Ronan’s Well [1824] Mark Weinstein Redgauntlet [1824] G. A. M. Wood with David Hewitt The Betrothed [1825] J. B. Ellis The Talisman [1825] J. B. Ellis Woodstock [1826] Tony Inglis Chronicles of the Canongate [ 1827] Claire Lamont The Fair Maid of Perth [1828] A. Hook and D. Mackenzie Anneof Geierstein [1829] J. H. Alexander Count Robert of Paris [1831] J. H. Alexander Castle Dangerous [1831] J. H. Alexander Storiesfrom The Keepsake [1828] Graham Tulloch Introductions and Notes from the Magnum Opus edition of 1829–33 Introductions and Notes from the Magnum Opus edition of 1829–33

WALTER SCOTT

QUENTIN DURWARD

Edited by J. H. Alexander and G. A. M. Wood

EDINBURGH

University Press

EDINBURGH EDITION OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS

to be complete in thirty volumes Each volume will be published separately but original conjoint publication of certain works is indicated in the EEWN volume numbering [4a, b; 7a, b, etc.]. Where EEWN editors have been appointed, their names are listed

1 2 3 4a 4b 5 6 7a 7b 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18a 18b 19 20 21 22 23a 23b 24 25a 25b

Waverley [1814] P. D. Garside Guy Mannering [1815] P. D. Garside The Antiquary [1816] David Hewitt The Black Dwarf [1816] P. D. Garside TheTaleofOld Mortality [1816] Douglas Mack Rob Roy [1818] David Hewitt The Heart of Mid-Lothian [1818] David Hewitt & Alison Lumsden The Bride ofLammermoor [1819] J. H. Alexander A Legend of the Wars of Montrose [1819] J. H. Alexander Ivanhoe [ 1820] Graham Tulloch The Monastery [ 1820] Penny Fielding The Abbot [ 1820] Christopher Johnson Kenilworth [1821] J. H. Alexander The Pirate [ 1822] Mark Weinstein with Alison Lumsden The Fortunes of Nigel [ 1822] Frank Jordan Peveril of the Peak [ 1822] Alison Lumsden Quentin Durward [1823] G. A. M. Wood and J. H. Alexander Saint Ronan’s Well [1824] Mark Weinstein Redgauntlet [1824] G. A. M. Wood with David Hewitt The Betrothed [1825] J. B. Ellis The Talisman [1825] J. B. Ellis Woodstock [1826] Tony Inglis Chronicles of the Canongate [ 1827] Claire Lamont The Fair Maid of Perth [1828] A. Hook and D. Mackenzie Anneof Geierstein [1829] J. H. Alexander Count Robert of Paris [1831] J. H. Alexander Castle Dangerous [1831] J. H. Alexander Storiesfrom The Keepsake [1828] Graham Tulloch Introductions and Notes from the Magnum Opus edition of 1829–33 Introductions and Notes from the Magnum Opus edition of 1829–33

WALTER SCOTT

QUENTIN DURWARD

Edited by J. H. Alexander and G. A. M. Wood

EDINBURGH

University Press

© The University Court of the University of Edinburgh 2001 Edinburgh University Press 22 George Square, Edinburgh

Typeset in Linotronic Ehrhardt by Speedspools, Edinburgh and printed and bound in Great Britain on acid-free paper at the University Press, Cambridge

ISBN 978 1 4744 3301 3 (ePDF)

ISBN 0 7486 0579 7

A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior permission in writing from the publisher.

FOREWORD

The Publication of Waverley in 1814 marked the emergence of the modern novel in the western world. It is difficult now to recapture the impact of this and the following novels of Scott on a readership accus­ tomed to prose fiction either as picturesque romance, ‘Gothic’ quaint­ ness, or presentation of contemporary manners. For Scott not only invented the historical novel, but gave it a dimension and a relevance that made it available for a great variety of new kinds of writing. Balzac in France, Manzoni in Italy, Gogol and Tolstoy in Russia, were among the many writers of fiction influenced by the man Stendhal called ‘notre père, Walter Scott’. What Scott did was to show history and society in motion: old ways of life being challenged by new; traditions being assailed by counter-state­ ments; loyalties, habits, prejudices clashing with the needs of new social and economic developments. The attraction of tradition and its ability to arouse passionate defence, and simultaneously the challenge of pro­ gress and ‘improvement’, produce a pattern that Scott saw as the living fabric of history. And this history was rooted in place; events happened in localities still recognisable after the disappearance of the original actors and the establishment of new patterns ofbelief and behaviour. Scott explored and presented all this by means of stories, entertain­ ments, which were read and enjoyed as such. At the same time his passionate interest in history led him increasingly to see these stories as illustrations of historical truths, so that when he produced his final Magnum Opus edition of the novels he surrounded them with historical notes and illustrations, and in this almost suffocating guise they have been reprinted in edition after edition ever since. The time has now come to restore these novels to the form in which they were presented to their first readers, so that today’s readers can once again capture their original power and freshness. At the same time, serious errors of tran­ scription, omission, and interpretation, resulting from the haste of their transmission from manuscript to print can now be corrected. David Daiches EDINBURGH

University Press

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

viii

General Introduction

xi

QUENTIN DURWARD

Volume I

1

Volume II

131

Volume III

261

Essay on the Text

403

genesis

403

composition

405

later editions

421

the present text

429

Emendation List

446

End-of-line Hyphens

494

Historical Note

496

Explanatory Notes

507

Glossary

571

Map

596

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The Scott Advisory Board and the editors of the Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels wish to express their gratitude to The University Court of the University of Edinburgh for its vision in initiating and supporting the preparation of the first critical edition of Walter Scott's fiction. Those Uni­ versities which employ the editors have also contributed greatly in paying the editors' salaries, and awarding research leave andgrantsfor travel and mater­ ials. In the case ofQuentin Durward particular thanks are due to the Univer­ sities of Aberdeen and Stirling. Although the edition is the work ofscholars employed by universities, the project could not have prospered without the help ofthe sponsors cited below. Their generosity has met the direct costs of the initial research and of the preparation ofthe text ofthe novels appearing in this edition. BANK OF SCOTLAND

The collapse ofthe great Edinburgh publisher Archibald Constable in January 1826 entailed the ruin ofSir Walter Scott who found himselfresponsible for his own private debts, for the debts ofthe printing business ofJames Ballan­ tyne and Co. in which he was co-partner, and for the bank advances to Archibald Constable which had been guaranteed by the printing business. Scott's largest creditors were Sir William Forbes and Co., bankers, and the Bank ofScotland. On the advice ofSir William Forbes himself, the creditors did not sequester his property, but agreed to the creation ofa trust to which he committed his future literary earnings, and which ultimately repaid the debts ofover £120,000for which he was legally liable. In the same year the Government proposed to curtail the rights of the Scottish banks to issue their own notes; Scott wrote the 'Letters ofMalachi Malagrowther' in their defence, arguing that the measure was neither in the interests ofthe banks nor ofScotland. The 'Letters' were so successful that the Government was forced to withdraw its proposal and to this day the Scottish Banks issue their own notes. A portrait ofSir Walter appears on all current bank notes ofthe Bank of Scotland because Scott was a champion ofScottish banking, and because he was an illustrious and honourable customer notjust of the Bank ofScotland itself, but also ofthree other banks now incorporated within it—the British Linen Bank which continues today as the merchant banking arm ofthe Bank ofScotland, Sir William Forbes and Co., and Ramsays, Bonars and Com­ pany. Bank of Scotland’s support ofthe EEWN continues its long andfruitful involvement with the affairs ofWalter Scott. viii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ix

THE BRITISH ACADEMY AND THE ARTS AND HUMANITIES RESEARCH BOARD

Between 1992 and 1998 the EEWN was greatly assisted by the British Acad­ emy through the award ofa series ofresearch grants which provided most of the support required for employing a research fellow, without whom steady progress could not have been maintained. In addition the preparation of this edition of Quentin Durward was materially assisted by a semester's Research Leavefor J. H. Alexander, funded by the Humanities Research Board ofthe British Academy. In 2000 theAHRB awarded the EEWN with a majorgrant which now ensures the completion ofthe Edition. While much ofthe prepara­ tion of this edition of Quentin Durward was completed before the latter award was made, securing the future is essential to productive work in the present. To both of these bodies, the British Academy and the Arts and Humanities Research Board, the Advisory Board and the editors express their thanks. OTHER BENEFACTORS

The Advisory Board and the editors also wish to acknowledge with gratitude the generous grants and gifts to the EEWNfrom the P. F. Charitable Trust, the main charitable trust of the Fleming family which founded the City firm which bears their name; the Edinburgh University General Council Trust, now incorporated within the Edinburgh University Development Trust; Sir Gerald Elliott; the Carnegie Trust for the Universities of Scotland, which awarded a personal research grant to J. H. Alexander; and the Robertson Trust whose help has been particularly important in the preparation of this volume. QUENTIN DURWARD

The manuscript of Quentin Durward is owned by the National Library of Scotland. To expedite the preparation ofthe text ofthis edition, the Library generously agreed to lenditto the Aberdeen University Libraryfor an extended period; in addition the NLS owns proofs of the novel and the most of the relevant publishing papers. We cannot overstate the extent to which we are indebted to the Trustees and the staffofthe NLS, and wish to thank them for their continuing help and support. Thanks are also due to the following institutions and their staff: Aberdeen University Library; the Bodleian Library, Oxford; the British Library; Edinburgh University Library; Historic Archives ofthe Diocese ofOrleans; Princeton University Library; Stirling University Library; and the Scottish National Portrait Gallery. The following individuals have assisted in many and various ways: Professor Dieter Berger, Dr Erica Dodd, Professor John Dunkley, Professor Peter Garside, Caroline Jackson-Houlston, Claire Lamont, Dr Robin MacLachlan, Professor Donald E. Meek, Sandrine Rich­ ert, Professor Roger Robinson, Dr Carole Russell, Professor Alison Saunders,

X

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Dr Peter Schmid, Professor William B. Todd, and Professor Graham Tul­ loch. Special thanks are due to Michael Murphyfor generous and invaluable help with matters connected with Touraine. Professor David Hewitt has, as always, been an exemplary general editor. Thanks are also due to our consultants, particularly Professor John Cairns (Scots Law), Professor Thomas Craik (literary allusionsparticularly Shake­ speare), Roy Pinkerton (the classics), and Professor David Stevenson (his­ tory). The manuscript was collated by Gerard Carruthers, and as always additional research and much corroborative investigation was conducted by Dr Alison Lumsden, the past and present EEWN research fellows. We owe much to the vigilance ofthe keyboarder, Audrey Inglis, the typesetter, Harry McIntosh, the proof-reader Dr Sheena Sutherland, and Rev. Dr Ian Clark, whose knowledge ofhistory and eye for typographical detail have prevented errors in both categories.

The general editorfor this volume was David Hewitt.

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

What has the Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels achieved? The original version ofthis General Introduction said that many hundreds of readings were being recovered from the manuscripts, and commented that although the individual differences were often minor, they were ‘cumulatively telling’. Such an assessment now looks tentative and tepid, for the textual strategy pursued by the editors has been justified by spectacular results. In each novel up to 2000 readings never before printed are being recovered from the manuscripts. Some of these are major changes although they are not always verbally extensive. The restoration of the pen-portraits of the Edinburgh literati in Guy Mannering, the recon­ struction of the way in which Amy Robsart was murdered in Kenilworth, the recovery of the description of Clara Mowbray’s previous relation­ ship with Tyrrel in Saint Ronan ’s Well—each of these fills out what was incomplete, or corrects what was obscure. A surprising amount of what was once thought loose or unidiomatic has turned out to be textual corruption. Many words which were changed as the holograph texts were converted into print have been recognised as dialectal, period or technical terms wholly appropriate to their literary context. The mis­ takes in foreign languages, in Latin, and in Gaelic found in the early printed texts are usually not in the manuscripts, and so clear is this manuscript evidence that one may safely conclude that Friar Tuck’s Latin in Ivanhoe is deliberately full of errors. The restoration of Scott’s own shaping and punctuating of speech has often enhanced the rhetor­ ical effectiveness of dialogue. Furthermore, the detailed examination of the text and supporting documents such as notes and letters has re­ vealed that however quickly his novels were penned they mostly evolved over long periods; that although he claimed not to plan his work yet the shape of his narratives seems to have been established before he com­ mitted his ideas to paper; and that each of the novels edited to date has a precise time-scheme which implies formidable control of his stories. The Historical and Explanatory Notes reveal an intellectual command of enormously diverse materials, and an equal imaginative capacity to synthesise them. Editing the texts has revolutionised the editors’ under­ standing and appreciation of Scott, and will ultimately generate a much wider recognition ofhis quite extraordinary achievement. The text of the novels in the Edinburgh Edition is normally based on the first editions, but incorporates all those manuscript readings which were lost through accident, error, or misunderstanding in the process of xi

xii

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

converting holograph manuscripts into printed books. The Edition is the first to investigate all Scott’s manuscripts and proofs, and all the printed editions to have appeared in his lifetime, and it has adopted the textual strategy which best makes sense ofthe textual problems. It is clear from the systematic investigation of all the different states of Scott’s texts that the author was fully engaged only in the early stages (manuscripts and proofs, culminating in the first edition), and when preparing the last edition to be published in his lifetime, familiarly known as the Magnum Opus (1829–33). There may be authorial read­ ings in some of the many intermediate editions, and there certainly are in the third edition of Waverley, but not a single intermediate edition of any of the nineteen novels so far investigated shows evidence of sus­ tained authorial involvement. There are thus only two stages in the textual development of the Waverley Novels which might provide a sound basis for a critical edition. Scott’s holograph manuscripts constitute the only purely authorial state of the texts of his novels, for they alone proceed wholly from the author. They are for the most part remarkably coherent, although a close examination shows countless minor revisions made in the process of writing, and usually at least one layer of later revising. But the heaviest revising was usually done by Scott when correcting his proofs, and thus the manuscripts could not constitute the textual basis of a new edition; despite their coherence they are drafts. Furthermore, the holograph does not constitute a public form ofthe text: Scott’s manuscript punctu­ ation is light (in later novels there are only dashes, full-stops, and speech marks), and his spelling system though generally consistent is personal and idiosyncratic. Scott’s novels were, in theory, anonymous publications—no title page ever carried his name. To maintain the pretence of secrecy, the original manuscripts were copied so that his handwriting should not be seen in the printing house, a practice which prevailed until 1827, when Scott acknowledged his authorship. Until 1827 it was these copies, not Scott’s original manuscripts, which were used by the printers. Not a single leaf of these copies is known to survive but the copyists probably began the tidying and regularising. As with Dickens and Thackeray in a later era, copy was sent to the printers in batches, as Scott wrote and as it was transcribed; the batches were set in type, proof-read, and ultimately printed, while later parts of the novel were still being written. When typesetting, the compositors did not just follow what was before them, but supplied punctuation, normalised spelling, and corrected minor errors. Proofs were first read in-house against the transcripts, and, in addition to the normal checking for mistakes, these proofs were used to improve the punctuation and the spelling. When the initial corrections had been made, a new set of proofs went to James Ballantyne, Scott’s friend and partner in the printing firm

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

xiii

which bore his name. He acted as editor, not just as proof-reader. He drew Scott’s attention to gaps in the text and pointed out inconsistencies in detail; he asked Scott to standardise names; he substituted nouns for pronouns when they occurred in the first sentence of a paragraph, and inserted the names of speakers in dialogue; he changed incorrect punctuation, and added punctuation he thought desirable; he cor­ rected grammatical errors; he removed close verbal repetitions; and in a cryptic correspondence in the margins of the proofs he told Scott when he could not follow what was happening, or when he particularly en­ joyed something. These annotated proofs were sent to the author. Scott usually accepted Ballantyne’s suggestions, but sometimes rejected them. He made many more changes; he cut out redundant words, and substituted the vivid for the pedestrian; he refined the punctuation; he sometimes reworked and revised passages extensively, and in so doing made the proofs a stage in the creative composition of the novels. When Ballantyne received Scott’s corrections and revisions, he tran­ scribed all the changes on to a clean set of proofs so that the author’s hand would not be seen by the compositors. Further revises were pre­ pared. Some of these were seen and read by Scott, but he usually seems to have trusted Ballantyne to make sure that the earlier corrections and revisions had been executed. When doing this Ballantyne did not just read for typesetting errors, but continued the process of punctuating and tidying the text. A final proofallowed the corrections to be inspected and the imposition of the type to be checked prior to printing. Scott expected his novels to be printed; he expected that the printers would correct minor errors, would remove words repeated in close proximity to each other, would normalise spelling, and would insert a printed-book style of punctuation, amplifying or replacing the marks he had provided in manuscript. There are no written instructions to the printers to this effect, but in the proofs he was sent he saw what Ballan­ tyne and his staff had done and were doing, and by and large he accepted it. This assumption of authorial approval is better founded for Scott than for any other writer, for Scott was the dominant partner in the business which printed his work, and no doubt could have changed the practices of his printers had he so desired. It is this history of the initial creation of Scott’s novels that led the editors of the Edinburgh Edition to propose the first editions as base texts. That such a textual policy has been persuasively theorised by Jerome J. McGann in his A Critique ofModern Textual Criticism (1983) is a bonus: he argues that an authoritative work is usually found not in the artist’s manuscript, but in the printed book, and that there is a collective responsibility in converting an author’s manuscript into print, exercised by author, printer and publisher, and governed by the nature of the understanding between the author and the other parties. In Scott’s case

xiv

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

the exercise of such a collective responsibility produced the first editions of the Waverley Novels. On the whole Scott’s printers fulfilled his expectations. There are normally in excess of 50,000 variants in the first edition of a three-volume novel when compared with the manuscript, and the great majority are in accordance with Scott’s general wishes as described above. But the intermediaries, as the copyist, compositors, proof-readers, and James Ballantyne are collectively described, made mistakes; from time to time they misread the manuscripts, and they did not always understand what Scott had written. This would not have mattered had there not also been procedural failures: the transcripts were not thor­ oughly checked against the original manuscripts; Scott himself does not seem to have read the proofs against the manuscripts and thus did not notice transcription errors which made sense in their context; Ballan­ tyne continued his editing in post-authorial proofs. Furthermore, it has become increasingly evident that, although in theory Scott as partner in the printing firm could get what he wanted, he also succumbed to the pressure of printer and publisher. He often had to accept mistakes both in names and the spelling of names because they were enshrined in print before he realised what had happened. He was obliged to accept the movement of chapters between volumes, or the deletion or addition of material, in the interests of equalising the size of volumes. His work was subject to bowdlerisation, and to a persistent attempt to have him show a ‘high example’ even in the words put in the mouths of his characters; he regularly objected, but conformed nonetheless. From time to time he inserted, under protest, explanations of what was happening in the narrative because the literal-minded Ballantyne required them. The editors of modern texts have a basic working assumption that what is written by the author is more valuable than what is generated by compositors and proof-readers. Even McGann accepts such a position, and argues that while the changes made in the course of translating the manuscript text into print are a feature of the acceptable ‘socialisation’ of the authorial text, they have authority only to the extent that they fulfil the author’s expectations about the public form of the text. The editors of the Edinburgh Edition normally choose the first edition of a novel as base-text, for the first edition usually represents the culmination of the initial creative process, and usually seems closest to the form of his work Scott wished his public to have. But they also recognise the failings of the first editions, and thus after the careful collation of all pre-publica­ tion materials, and in the light of their investigation into the factors governing the writing and printing ofthe Waverley Novels, they incorp­ orate into the base-text those manuscript readings which were lost in the production process through accident, error, misunderstanding, or a misguided attempt to ‘improve’. In certain cases they also introduce into the base-texts revisions found in editions published almost immediately

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

XV

after the first, which they believe to be Scott’s, or which complete the intermediaries’ preparation of the text. In addition, the editors correct various kinds of error, such as typographical and copy-editing mistakes including the misnumbering of chapters, inconsistencies in the naming of characters, egregious errors of fact that are not part of the fiction, and failures of sense which a simple emendation can restore. In doing all this the editors follow the model for editing the Waverley Novels which was provided by Claire Lamont in her edition of Waverley (Oxford, 1981): her base-text is the first edition emended in the light of the manuscript. But they have also developed that model because working on the Waver­ ley Novels as a whole has greatly increased knowledge of the practices and procedures followed by Scott, his printers and his publishers in translating holograph manuscripts into printed books. The result is an ‘ideal’ text, such as his first readers might have read had the production process been less pressurised and more considered. The Magnum Opus could have provided an alternative basis for a new edition. In the Advertisement to the Magnum Scott wrote that his insolvency in 1826 and the public admission of authorship in 1827 restored to him ‘a sort of parental control’, which enabled him to re­ issue his novels ‘in a corrected and... an improved form’. His assertion of authority in word and deed gives the Magnum a status which no editor can ignore. His introductions are fascinating autobiographical essays which write the life of the Author of Waverley. In addition, the Magnum has a considerable significance in the history of culture. This was the first time all Scott’s works of fiction had been gathered together, published in a single uniform edition, and given an official general title, in the process converting diverse narratives into a literary monument, the Waverley Novels. There were, however, two objections to the use of the Magnum as the base-text for the new edition. Firstly, this has been the form of Scott’s work which has been generally available for most of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries; a Magnum-based text is readily accessible to any­ one who wishes to read it. Secondly, a proper recognition of the Mag­ num does not extend to approving its text. When Scott corrected his novels for the Magnum, he marked up printed books (specially pre­ pared by the binder with interleaves, hence the title the ‘Interleaved Set’), but did not perceive the extent to which these had slipped from the text of the first editions. He had no means of recognising that, for example, over 2000 differences had accumulated between the first edi­ tion of Guy Mannering and the text which he corrected, in the 1822 octavo edition of the Novels and Tales of the Author of Waverley. The printed text of Redgauntlet which he corrected, in the octavo Tales and Romances of the Author of Waverley (1827), has about 900 divergences from the first edition, none of which was authorially sanctioned. He himself made about 750 corrections to the text of Guy Mannering and

xvi

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

200 to Redgauntlet in the Interleaved Set, but those who assisted in the production of the Magnum were probably responsible for a further 1600 changes to Guy Mannering, and 1200 to Redgauntlet. Scott marked up a corrupt text, and his assistants generated a systematically cleanedup version of the Waverley Novels. The Magnum constitutes the author’s final version of his novels and thus has its own value, and as the version read by the great Victorians has its own significance and influence. To produce a new edition based on the Magnum would be an entirely legitimate project, but for the reasons given above the Edinburgh editors have chosen the other valid option. What is certain, however, is that any compromise edition, that drew upon both the first and the last editions published in Scott’s lifetime, would be a mistake. In the past editors, following the example of W. W. Greg and Fredson Bowers, would have incorporated into the firstedition text the introductions, notes, revisions and corrections Scott wrote for the Magnum Opus. This would no longer be considered acceptable editorial practice, as it would confound versions of the text produced at different stages of the author’s career. To fuse the two would be to confuse them. Instead, Scott’s own material in the Inter­ leaved Set is so interesting and important that it will be published separately, and in full, in the two parts of Volume 25 of the Edinburgh Edition. For the first time in print the new matter written by Scott for the Magnum Opus will be wholly visible. The Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels aims to provide the first reliable text of Scott’s fiction. It aims to recover the lost Scott, the Scott which was misunderstood as the printers struggled to set and print novels at high speed in often difficult circumstances. It aims in the Historical and Explanatory Notes and in the Glossaries to illuminate the extraordinary range of materials that Scott weaves together in creating his stories. All engaged in fulfilling these aims have found their en­ quiries fundamentally changing their appreciation of Scott. They hope that readers will continue to be equally excited and astonished, and to have their understanding of these remarkable novels transformed by reading them in their new guise. DAVID HEWITT

January 1999

QUENTIN DURWARD. BY THE AUTHOR OF “WAVERLEY,

PEVERIL OF THE PEAK,” &c.

La guerre est ma patrie, Mon harnois ma maison, Et en toute saison Combattre c’est ma vie.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

EDINBURGH : PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO. EDINBURGH ; AND HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO.

LONDON.

1823.

INTRODUCTION And One who hath had losses—go to. Much Ado about Nothing

When honest Dogberry sums up and recites all the claims which he had to respectability, and which, as he opined, ought to have exempted him from the injurious appellation conferred on him by Master Gentleman Conrade, it is remarkable that he lays not more emphasis even upon his double gown, (a matter of some importance in a certain ci-devant capital which I wot of,) or upon his being “a pretty piece of flesh as any in Messina,” or even upon the conclusive argument of his being “a rich fellow enough,” than upon his being one that hath had losses. Indeed, I have always observed your children ofprosperity, whether by way ofhiding their full glow ofsplendour from those whom fortune has treated more harshly, or whether that to have risen in spite of calamity is as honourable to their fortune as it is to a fortress to have undergone a siege,—however this be, I have observed that such per­ sons never fail to entertain you with an account of the damage they sustain by the hardness of the times. You seldom dine at a wellsupplied table, but what the intervals between the Champagne, the Burgundy, and the Hock, are filled, if your entertainer be a monied man, with the fall of interest and the difficulty of finding investments for cash, which is therefore lying idle on his hands; or, if he be a landed proprietor, with a woeful detail of arrears and diminished rents. This hath its effects—the guests sigh and shake their head in cadence with their landlord, look on the sideboard loaded with plate, sip once more the rich wines which flow around them in quick circula­ tion, and think of the genuine benevolence, which, thus stinted of its means, still lavishes all that it yet possesses on hospitality; and, what is yet more flattering, on the wealth, which, undiminished by these losses, still continues, like the inexhaustible hoard of the generous Aboulcasem, to sustain, without impoverishment, such copious evacuations. This querulous humour, however, hath its limits, like to the con­ ning of grievances, which all valetudinaries know is a most fascinating pastime, so long as there is nothing to complain of but chronic com­ plaints. But I never heard a man whose credit was actually verging to decay talk of the diminution of his funds; and my kind and intelligent physician assures me, that it is a rare thing with those afflicted with a 3

4

QUENTIN DURWARD

good sound fever, or any such active disorder, which With mortal crisis doth portend His life to appropinque an end,

to make his agonies the subject of amusing conversation. Having deeply considered all these things, I am no longer able to disguise from my readers, that I am neither so unpopular nor so low in fortune, as not to have my share in the distresses which at present afflict the monied and landed interest of these realms. Your authors who live upon a mutton chop may rejoice that it has fallen to three­ pence per pound, and, if they have children, gratulate themselves that the peck-loaf may be had for sixpence. But we who belong to the tribe which are ruined by peace and plenty—we who have lands and beeves, and sell what these poor gleaners must buy—we are driven to despair by the very events which would make all Grub-street illuminate all its attics, if Grub-street could spare candle-ends for the purpose. I therefore put in my proud claim to share in the distresses which only affect the wealthy; and write myself down, with Dogberry, “a rich fellow enough,” but still “One who hath had losses.” With the same generous spirit of emulation, I have had lately recourse to the universal remedy for the impecuniosity of which I complain—a brief residence in a southern climate, by which I have not only saved many cart-loads of coals, but have also had the pleasure to excite general sympathy for my decayed circumstances among those, who, if my revenue had continued to be spent among them, would have cared little ifI had been hanged. Thus, while I drink my vin ordinaire, my brewer finds the sale ofhis small-beer diminished —while I discuss my flask of cinquefrancs, my modicum of port hangs on my wine-merchant’s hands—while my coutelet a-la-Maintenon is smoking on my plate, the mighty sirloin hangs on its peg in the shop of my blue-aproned friend in the village. Whatever, in short, I spend here, is missed at home; and the few sous earned by the garçon per­ ruquier, nay, the very crust I give to his little bare-bottomed, red-eyed poodle, are autant perdu to my old friend the barber, and honest Trusty, the mastiff-dog in the yard. So that I have the happiness of knowing at every turn, that my absence is both missed and moaned by those who would care little were I in my coffin were they sure of the custom of my executors. From this charge of self-seeking and indif­ ference, however, I solemnly except Trusty, the yard-dog, whose courtesies towards me, I have reason to think, were of a more disinter­ ested character than those of any other person who assisted me to consume the bounty of the Public. Alas! the advantage of exciting such general sympathies at home cannot be secured without incurring considerable personal incon­

INTRODUCTION

5

venience. “If thou wishest me to weep, thou must first shed tears thyself,” says Horace; and, truly, I could sometimes cry myself at the exchange I have made of the domestic comforts which custom had rendered necessaries, for the foreign substitutes which caprice and love of change have rendered fashionable. I cannot but confess with shame, that my home-bred stomach longs for the genuine steak, after the fashion of Dolly’s, hot from the gridiron, brown without, and scarlet when the knife is applied; and all the delicacies of Vere’s carte, with his thousand various orthographies ofBiffsticks de Mouton, do not supply the chasm. Then my mother’s son cannot delight in thin pota­ tions; and, in these days when malt is had for nothing, I am convinced that a double straick ofJohn Barleycorn must have converted “the poor domestic creature, small-beer,” into a liquor twenty times more gen­ erous than the acid unsubstantial tipple which here bears the profaned name of wine, though, in substance and qualities, much similar to your Seine water. Their higher wines indeed are well enough—there is nothing to except against in their Chateau Margout, or Sillery; yet I cannot but remember the generous qualities of my sound old Oporto. Nay, down to the garçon and his poodle, though they are both amusing animals, and play ten thousand monkey-tricks which are diverting enough, yet there was more sound humour in the wink with which our old village Packwood used to communicate the news of the morning, than all Antoine’s gambols could have expressed in a week, and more ofhuman and dog-like sympathy in the wag ofold Trusty’s tail, than if his rival, Toutou, had stood on his hind-legs for a twelvemonth. These signs of repentance come perhaps a little late, and I own (for I must be entirely candid with my dear friend the Public), that they have been somewhat matured, by the perversion of my niece Christy to the ancient Popish faith by a certain whacking priest in our neigh­ bourhood, and the marriage of my Aunt Dorothy to a demi-solde captain of horse, a ci-devant member of the Legion of Honour, and who would, he assures us, have been a Field-Marshal by this time, had our old friend Bonaparte continued to live and to triumph. For the matter of Christy, I must own her head had been so fairly turned at Edinburgh with five routes a-night, that, though I somewhat dis­ trusted the means and medium of her conversion, I was at the same time glad to see that she took a serious thought of any kind. Besides, there was little loss in the matter, for the Convent took her off my hands for a very reasonable pension. But Aunt Dorothy’s marriage on earth was a very different matter from Christian’s celestial espousals. In the first place, there was two thousand three-per-cents as much lost to my family as if the sponge had been drawn over the national slate—for who the deuce could have thought Aunt Dorothy would

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have married? Above all, who would have thought a woman of fifty years’ experience would have married a French anatomy, his lower branch of limbs corresponding with the upper branch, as ifone pair of half-extended compasses had been placed perpendicularly upon the top of another, while the space on which the hinges revolved quite sufficed to represent the body? All the rest was moustache, pelisse, and calico trowser. She might have commanded a Polk of real Cos­ sacks in 1815, for half the wealth which she surrendered to this military scarecrow. However, there is no more to be said upon the matter, especially as she had come the length of quoting Rousseau for sentiment—and so let that pass. Having thus expectorated my bile against a land, which is, notwith­ standing, a very merry land, and which I cannot blame, because I sought it, and it did not seek me, I come to the more immediate purpose ofthis Introduction, and which, my dearest Public, ifI do not reckon too much on the continuance of your favour, (though, to say truth, consistency and uniformity of taste is scarce to be reckoned upon by those who court your good graces), may perhaps go far to make me amends for the loss and damage I have sustained by bringing Aunt Dorothy to the country of thick calves, slender ancles, black moustaches, bodiless limbs, (I assure you the fellow is, as my friend Lord L——said, a complete giblet-pie, all legs and wings), and fine sentiments. Ifshe had taken from the half-pay list a ranting Highland­ man, ay, or a dashing son ofgreen Erin, I would never have mentioned the subject; but as the affair has happened, it is scarce possible not to resent such a gratuitous plundering of her own lawful heirs and exec­ utors. But “be hushed my dark spirit,” and let us invite our dear Public to a more pleasing theme to us, a more interesting one to others. By dint of drinking acid tiff, as above mentioned, and smoking segars, in which I am no novice, my Public are to be informed, that I gradually drank and smoked myself into a certain degree of acquaint­ ance with un homme comme ilfaut, one of the few fine old specimens of nobility who are still to be found in France; who, like mutilated statues of an antiquated and obsolete worship, still command a certain por­ tion of awe and estimation in the eyes even of those by whom neither one nor other were voluntarily rendered. On visiting the coffee-house ofthe village, I was, at first, struck with the singular dignity and gravity of this gentleman’s manners, his sedu­ lous attachment to shoes and stockings, in contempt of half-boots and pantaloons, the croix de Saint Louis at his button-hole, and a small white cockade in the loop of his old-fashioned schakos. There was something interesting in his whole appearance; and besides, his grav­ ity among the lively groupe around him, seemed, like the shade of a

INTRODUCTION

7

tree in the glare of a sunny landscape, more interesting from its rarity. I made such advances towards acquaintance as the circumstances of the place, and the manners of the country, authorized—that is to say, I drew near him, smoked my segar by calm and intermitted puffs, which were scarcely visible, and asked him those few questions which good breeding everywhere, but more especially in France, permits strangers to put, without hazarding the imputation of impertinence. The Marquis de Hautlieu, for such was his rank, was as short and sententious as French politeness permitted—he answered every question, but proposed nothing, and encouraged no further inquiry. The truth was, that, not very accessible to foreigners of any nation, or even to strangers amongst his own countrymen, the Marquis was peculiarly shy towards the English. A remnant of ancient national prejudice might dictate this feeling; or it might arise from his idea that they are a haughty, purse-proud people, to whom rank, united with straitened circumstances, affords as much a subject for scorn as for pity; or, finally, when he reflected on certain recent events, he might perhaps feel mortified, as a Frenchman, even for those successes which had restored his master to the throne, and himself to a dimin­ ished property and dilapidated chateau. His dislike, however, never assumed a more active form than that of alienation from English society. When the affairs of strangers required the interposition of his influence in their behalf, it was uniformly granted with the courtesy of a French gentleman, who knew what is due to himself and to national hospitality. At length, by some chance, the Marquis made the discovery, that the new frequenter of his ordinary was a native of Scotland, a circum­ stance which told mightily in my favour. Some of his own ancestors, he informed me, had been of Scottish origin, and he believed his house had still some relations in what he was pleased to call the prov­ ince of Hanguisse, in that country. The connection had been acknow­ ledged early in the last century on both sides, and he had once almost determined, during his exile, (for it may be supposed that the Marquis had joined the ranks of Condé, and shared all the misfortunes and distresses of emigration), to claim the acquaintance and protection of his Scottish friends. But after all, he said, he cared not to present him­ self before them in circumstances which could do them but small credit, and which they might think entailed some little burthen, per­ haps even some little disgrace; so that he thought it best to trust in Providence, and do the best he could for his own support. What that was I could never learn; but I am sure it inferred nothing which could be discreditable to the excellent old man, who held fast his opinions and his loyalty through good and bad repute, till time restored him,

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aged, indigent, and broken-spirited, to the country which he had left in the prime of youth and health, and in a tone of high resentment, which promised speedy vengeance upon those who expelled him. I might have laughed at some points of the Marquis’s character, at his prejudices, particularly, both of birth and politics, if I had known him under more prosperous circumstances; but, situated as he was, even if they had not been fair and honest prejudices, turning on no base or interested motive, one must have respected him as we respect the con­ fessor or the martyr ofa religion which is not entirely our own. By degrees we became good friends, drank our coffee, smoked our segar, and took our bavarois together, for more than six weeks, with little interruption from avocations on either side. Having, with some difficulty, got the key-note of his inquiries concerning Scotland, by a fortunate conjecture that the province of Hanguisse could only be our shire of Angus, I was enabled to answer most of his queries concern­ ing his allies there in a manner more or less satisfactory, and was much surprised to find the Marquis much better acquainted with the genea­ logy of some of the distinguished families in that county than I could possibly have expected. On his part, his satisfaction at our intercourse was so great, that he at length wound himselfto such a pitch ofresolution, as to invite me to dine at the Chateau de Hautlieu, well deserving the name, as occupy­ ing a commanding eminence on the banks of the Loire. This building lay about three miles from the town at which I had settled my tempor­ ary establishment; and when I first beheld it, I could easily forgive the mortified feelings which the owner testified, at receiving a guest in the asylum which he had formed out of the ruins of the palace of his fathers. He gradually, with much gaiety, which yet evidently covered a deeper feeling, prepared me for the sort of place I was about to visit; and for this he had full opportunity whilst he drove me in his little cabriolet, drawn by a large heavy Norman horse, towards the ancient building. Its remains ran along a beautiful terrace overhanging the river Loire, which had been formerly laid out with a succession of flights of steps, highly ornamented with statues, rock-work, and other artificial embellishments, descending from one terrace to another, until the very verge of the river was attained. All this architectural decoration, with its accompanying parterres of rich flowers and exotic shrubs, had many years since given place to the more profitable scene of the vine­ dresser’s labours; yet the remains, too massive to be destroyed, were still visible, and, with the various artificial slopes and levels of the high bank, bore perfect evidence how completely Art had been here employed to decorate Nature.

INTRODUCTION

9

Few of these scenes are now left in perfection, for the fickleness of fashion has accomplished in England the total change which devasta­ tion and popular fury have produced in the French pleasure grounds. For my part, I am contented to subscribe to the opinion of the best qualified judge of our time,* who thinks we have carried to an extreme our taste for simplicity, and that the neighbourhood of a stately man­ sion requires some more ornate embellishments than can be derived from the meagre accompaniments of grass and gravel. A highly romantic situation may be degraded perhaps by an attempt at such artificial ornament; but then, in by far the greater number of sites, the intervention of more architectural decoration than is now in use, seems necessary to redeem the naked tameness of a large house placed by itself in the midst of a lawn, where it looks as much uncon­ nected with all around, as if it had walked out of town upon an airing. How the taste came to change so suddenly and absolutely, is rather a singular circumstance, unless we explain it on the same principle on which the three friends of the Father in Moliere’s comedy recom­ mend a cure for the melancholy of his Daughter—that he should furnish her apartments, viz. with paintings,—with tapestry,—or with china, according to the different commodities in which each of them was a dealer. Tried by this scale, we may perhaps discover, that of old the architect laid out the garden and the pleasure-grounds in the neighbourhood of the mansion, and, naturally enough, displayed his own art there in statues and vases, and paved terraces and flights of steps, with ornamented balustrades; while the gardener, subordinate in rank, endeavoured to make the vegetable kingdom correspond to the prevailing taste, and cut his ever-greens into verdant walls, with towers and battlements, and his detached trees into a resemblance of statuary. But the wheel has since revolved, so as to place the land­ scape-gardener, as he is called, upon almost a level with the architect; and hence a liberal and somewhat a violent use made of spade and pick-axe, and a converting the ostentatious labours of the architect into a ferme ornée, as little different from the simplicity of Nature, as displayed in the surrounding country, as the comforts of convenient and cleanly walks, imperiously demanded in the vicinage of a gentle­ man’s residence, can possibly admit. To return from this digression, which has given the Marquis’s cabriole (its activity greatly retarded by the downward propensities of Jean-Roast-beef, which I suppose the Norman horse cursed as * See Price’s Essay on the Picturesque, in many passages; but I would particularize the beautiful and highly poetical account which he gives of his own feelings on destroying, at the dictate of an Improver, an ancient sequestred garden, with its yew hedges, ornamented iron-gates, and secluded wilderness.

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heartily as his countrymen of old time execrated the stolid obæsity of a Saxon slave,) time to ascend the hill by a winding causeway, now much broken, we came in sight of a long range of roofless buildings, connected with the western extremity of the castle, which was totally ruinous. “I should apologize,” he said, “to you, as an Englishman, for the taste of my ancestors in connecting that row of stables with the architecture of the chateau. I know in your country it is usual to remove them to some distance; but my family had a hereditary pride in horses, and were fond of visiting them more frequently than would have been convenient if they had been kept at a greater distance. Before the Revolution, I had thirty fine horses in that ruinous line of buildings.” This recollection of past magnificence escaped from him accident­ ally, for he was generally sparing in alluding to his former opulence. It was quietly said, without any affectation either of the importance attached to early wealth, or as demanding sympathy for its having past away. It awakened unpleasing reflections, however, and we were both silent, till, from a partially repaired comer of what had been a porter’s lodge, a lively French paysanne, with eyes as black as jet, and as brilliant as diamonds, came out with a smile, which shewed a set of teeth that duchesses might have envied, and took the reins of the little carriage. “Madelon must be groom to-day,” said the Marquis, after gra­ ciously nodding in return for her deep reverence to Monseigneur, “for her husband is gone to market; and for La Jeunesse, he is almost distracted with his various occupations. Madelon,” he continued, as we walked forward under the entrance-arch, crowned with the mutil­ ated armorial bearings of former lords, now half-obscured by moss and rye-grass, not to mention the vagrant branches of some unpruned shrubs,—“Madelon was my wife’s god-daughter, and was educated to be fille-de-chambre to my daughter.” This little passing intimation, that he was a widowed husband and childless father, increased my respect for the unfortunate gentleman, to whom every particular attached to his present situation brought doubtless its own share of food for melancholy reflection. He pro­ ceeded, after the pause of an instant, with something a gayer tone.— “You will be entertained with my poor La Jeunesse,” he said, “who, by the way, is ten years older than I am—(the Marquis is above sixty)— he reminds me of the player in the Roman Comique, who acted a whole play in his own proper person—he insists on being maitre d’hotel, maitre de cuisine, valet-de-chambre, a whole suite of attendants in his own poor individuality. He sometimes reminds me of a character in the Bridle of Lammermore, which you must have read, as it is the

INTRODUCTION

II

work of one of your gens de lettres, qu'on appellent, je crois, le Chevalier Scott.” “I presume you mean Sir Walter?” “Yes—the same—the same,” said the Marquis; “I always forget names which commence avec cette lettre impossible.” We were now led away from more painful recollections; for I had to put my French friend right in two particulars. In the first I prevailed with difficulty; for the Marquis, though he disliked the English, yet having been three months in London, piqued himself in understand­ ing the most intricate difficulties of our language, and appealed to every dictionary, from Florio downwards, that la Bride must mean the Bridle. Nay, so sceptical was he on this point of philology, when I ventured to hint that there was nothing about a bridle in the whole story, he, with great composure, and little knowing to whom he spoke, laid the whole blame ofthat inconsistency on the unfortunate author. I had next the common candour to inform my friend, upon grounds which no one could know so well as myself, that my distinguished literary countryman, of whom I will always speak with the respect his talents deserve, was not responsible for the slight works which the humour of the public had too generously, as well as too rashly, ascribed to him. Surprised by the impulse of the moment, I might even have gone further, and clenched the negative by positive evid­ ence, owning to my entertainer that no one else could possibly have written these works, since I myself was the author, when I was saved from so rash a commitment of myself by the calm reply of the Mar­ quis, that he was glad to hear these sort of trifles were not written by a person of condition. “We read them,” he said, “as we listen to the pleasantries of a comedian, or our ancestors to those of a professed family-jester, with a good deal of amusement, which, however, we should be sorry to derive from the mouth of one who has better claims to our society.” I was completely recalled to my constitutional caution by this declaration; and became so much afraid of committing myself, that I did not even venture to explain to my aristocratic friend, that the gentleman whom he had named owed his advancement, for aught I had ever heard, to certain works of his, which may be, without injury, compared to romances in rhime. The truth is, that, amongst some other unjust prejudices, at which I have already hinted, the Marquis had contracted a horror, mingled with contempt, for almost every species of author-craft, slighter than that which compounds a folio volume of law or of divinity, and looked upon the author of a romance, novel, fugitive poem, or periodical piece of criticism, as men do on a venomous reptile, with fear at once

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and with loathing. The abuse of the press, he contended, especially in its lighter departments, had poisoned the whole morality of Europe, and was gradually once more regaining an influence which had been silenced amidst the voice ofwar. All writers, except those ofthe largest and heaviest calibre, he conceived to be devoted to this evil cause, from Rousseau and Voltaire down to Pigault le Brun and the author of the Scotch novels; and although he admitted he read them pour passer le temps, yet, like Pistol eating his leek, it was not without execrating the tendency, as he devoured the story, of the work with which he was engaged. Observing this peculiarity, I backed out of the candid confession which my vanity had meditated, and engaged the Marquis in further remarks on the mansion of his ancestors. “There,” he said, “was the theatre where my father used to procure an order for the special attendance of some of the principal actors of the Comedie Françoise, when the King and Madame Pompadour more than once visited him at this place;—yonder, more to the centre, was the Baron’s hall, where his feudal jurisdiction was exercised when criminals were to be tried by the Seigneur or his bailif; for we had, like your old Scotch nobles, the right of pit and gallows, orfossa cum furca, as the civilians term it; —beneath that lies the Question-chamber, or apartment for torture; and, truly, I am sorry a right so liable to abuse should have been lodged in the hands of any living creature. But,” he added, with a feeling of dignity derived even from the atrocities which his ancestors had com­ mitted beneath the grated windows to which he pointed, “such is the effect of superstition, that, to this day, the peasants dare not approach the dungeons, in which, it is said, the wrath of my ancestors had perpetrated, in former times, much cruelty.” As we approached the window, while I expressed some curiosity to see this abode of terror, there rose from its subterranean abyss a shrill shout of laughter, which we easily detected as produced by a groupe of playful children, who had made the neglected vaults a theatre, for a joyous romp at Colin Maillard. The Marquis was somewhat disappointed, and had recourse to his tabatiere; but, recovering in a moment, observed, these were Made­ lon’s children, and familiar with the supposed terrors of the subterra­ nean recesses. “Besides,” he added, “to speak the truth—these poor children have been born after the period of supposed illumination, which dispelled our superstition and our religion at once; and this bids me to remind you, that it is ajour maigre. The Curé of the parish is my only guest, besides yourself—and I would not voluntarily offend his opinions. Besides,” he continued, more manfully, and throwing off his restraint, “adversity has taught me other thoughts on these

INTRODUCTION

13

subjects than those which prosperity dictated—and I thank God I am not ashamed to avow, that I follow the observances ofmy church.” I hastened to answer, that, though they might differ from those of my own, I had every possible respect for the religious rules of every Christian community, sensible that we addressed the same Deity, on the same grand principle of Salvation, though with different forms; which variety of worship, had it pleased the Almighty not to permit, our observances would have been as distinctly prescribed to us as they are laid down under the Mosaic law. The Marquis was no shaker of hands, but upon the present occa­ sion he grasped mine, and shook it kindly—the only mode of acquies­ cence in my sentiments which perhaps a zealous Catholic could, or ought, consistently to have given upon such an occasion. This circumstance of explanation and remark, with others which arose out of the view of the extensive ruins, occupied us during two or three turns upon the long terrace, and a seat of about a quarter of an hour’s endurance in a vaulted pavilion of freestone, decorated with the Marquis’s armorial bearings, the roof of which, though disjointed in some of its groind-arches, was still solid and entire. “Here,” said he, resuming the tone of a former part ofhis conversation, “I love to sit either at noon, when the alcove affords me shelter from the heat, or in the evening, when the sun’s beams are dying on the broad face of the Loire—Here, in the words of your great poet, whom, Frenchman as I am, I am more intimately acquainted with than most Englishmen, I love to rest myself, Shewing the code of sweet and bitter fancy.”

Against this various reading of a well-known passage in Shake­ speare I took care to offer no protest; for I suspect Shakespeare would have suffered in the opinion of so delicate a judge as the Marquis, had I proved his having written “chewing the cud,” according to all other authorities. Besides, I had had enough of our former dispute, having been long convinced (though not till ten years after I left Edinburgh College,) that the pith of conversation does not consist in exhibiting your own superior knowledge on matters of small consequence, but in enlarging, improving, and correcting the information you possess, by the authority of others. I therefore let the Marquis shew his code at his pleasure, and was rewarded by his entering into a learned and wellinformed disquisition on the florid style of architecture introduced into France during the seventeenth century. He pointed out its merits and its defects with considerable taste; and having touched on topics similar to those which I have formerly digressed upon, he made an appeal of a different kind in their favour, founded upon the

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associations with which they were combined. “Who,” he said, “would willingly destroy the terraces of the Chateau of Sully, since we cannot tread them without recalling the image of that statesman, alike distin­ guished for severe integrity and for strong and unerring sagacity of mind? Were they an inch less broad, a ton’s weight less massive, or were they deprived of their formality by the slightest inflexions, could we suppose them to remain the scene of his patriotic musings? Would an ordinary root-house be a fit scene for the Duke occupying an arm­ chair, and his Duchess a tabouret—teaching from thence lessons of courage and fidelity to his sons,—of modesty and submission to his daughters,—of rigid morality to both; while the circle of young noblesse listened with ears attentive, and eyes modestly fixed on the ground, in a standing posture, neither replying nor sitting down, with­ out the express command of their prince and parent?—No, Mon­ sieur,” he said, with enthusiasm; “destroy the princely pavilion in which this edifying family-scene was represented, and you remove from the mind the vraisemblance, the veracity of the whole repres­ entation. Or can your mind suppose this distinguished peer and pat­ riot walking in a jardin Anglaise?—why you might as well fancy him dressed with a blue frac and white waistcoat, instead of his Henri Quatre coat and chapeau a-plumes—Consider how he could have moved in the tortuous maze of what you have called aferme ornée, with his usual attendance of two files of Swiss guards preceding, and the same number following him. To recal his figure, with his beard— haut-des-chausses a canon, united to his doublet by ten thousand aiguil­ ettes and knots of riband, you could not, supposing him in a modern jardin Anglaise, distinguish the picture in your imagination, from the sketch of some mad old man, who has adopted the humour of dressing like his great-great-grandfather, and whom a party of gens-d’armes was conducting to the Maison des Fous, But look on the long and magnificent terrace, if it yet exists, which the loyal and exalted Sully was wont to make the scene of his solitary walk twice a-day, while he pondered over the patriotic schemes which he nourished for advan­ cing the glory of France; or, at a later, and more sorrowful period of life, brooded over the memory of his murdered master, and the fate of his distracted country. Throw in that noble back-ground of arcades, vases, images, urns, and whatever could express the vicinity of a ducal palace, and the landscape becomes consistent at once. The factionaires, with their harquebusses ported, placed at the extremities of the long and level walk, intimate the presence of the feudal prince; while the same is more clearly shewn by the guard of honour which precede and follow him, their halbards carried upright, their mien martial and stately, as if in the presence of an enemy, yet moved, as it were, with

INTRODUCTION

15

the same soul as their princely superior—teaching their steps to attend upon his, marching as he marches, halting as he halts, accom­ modating their pace even to the slight irregularities of pause and advance dictated by the fluctuations of his reverie, and wheeling with military precision before and behind him, who seems the centre and animating principle of their armed files, as the heart gives life and energy to the human body. Or, if you smile,” added the Marquis, looking doubtfully on my countenance, “at a promenade so inconsist­ ent with the light freedom of modern manners, could you bring your mind to demolish that other terrace trode by the fascinating Mar­ chioness de Sevigné, with which are united so many recollections connected with passages in her enchanting letters?” A little tired of this disquisition, which the Marquis certainly dwelt upon to exalt the natural beauties of his own terrace, which, dilapid­ ated as it was, required no such formal recommendation, I informed my friend, that I had just received from England a journal of a tour made in the south of France by a young Oxonian friend of mine, a poet, a draughtsman, and a scholar,—in which he gives such an anim­ ated and interesting description of the Chateau-Grignan, the dwell­ ing of Madame de Sevigné’s beloved daughter, and frequently the place of her own residence, that no one who ever read the book would be within forty miles of the same, without going a pilgrimage to the spot. The Marquis smiled, seemed very much pleased, and asked the title at length of the work in question; and writing down to my dicta­ tion, “An Itinerary of Provence and the Rhone, made during the year 1819; by John Hughes, A. M., of Oriel College, Oxford,”—observed, he could now purchase no books for the chateau, but would recom­ mend that the Itineraire should be commissioned for the library to which he was abonné in the neighbouring town. “And here,” he said, “comes the Curé, to save us farther disquisition; and I see La Jeun­ esse gliding round the old portico on the terrace, with the purpose of ringing the dinner-bell—a most unnecessary ceremony for assem­ bling three persons, but which it would break the old man’s heart to forego. Take no notice of him at present, as he wishes to perform the duties of the inferior departments incognito—when the bell has ceased to sound, he will blaze forth on us in the character of major­ domo.” As the Marquis spoke, we were advanced towards the eastern extremity of the Chateau, which was the only part of the edifice that remained still habitable. “The Bande Noire,” said the Marquis, “when they pulled the rest of the house to pieces, for the sake of the lead, timber, and other mater­ ials, have, in their ravages, done me the undesigned favour to reduce it

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to dimensions better fitting the circumstances of the owner. There is enough of the leaf left for the caterpillar to coil up his chrysalis in, and what needs he care what reptiles have devoured the rest of the bush?” As he spoke thus, we reached the door, at which La Jeunesse appeared, with an air at once of prompt service and deep respect, and a countenance, which, though puckered by a thousand wrinkles, was ready to answer the first good-natured word ofhis master with a smile, which shewed his white set of teeth firm and fair, in despite of age and suffering. His clean silk stockings, washed till their tint had become yellowish—his cue tied with a rosette—the thin grey curl on either side of his lank cheek—the pearl-coloured coat, without a collar—the solitaire, the jabot, the ruffles at the wrist, and the chapeau-bras—all announced that La Jeunesse considered the arrival of a guest at the Chateau as an unusual event, which was to be met with a correspond­ ing display of magnificence and parade on his part. As I looked at the faithful though fantastic follower of his master, who doubtless inherited his prejudices as well as his cast-clothes, I could not but own, in my own mind, the resemblance pointed out by the Marquis betwixt him and my own Caleb, the trusty squire of the Master of Ravenswood. But a Frenchman, a Jack-of-all-trades by nature, can, with much more ease and suppleness, address himself to a variety of services, and suffice in his own person to discharge them all, than is possible for the formality and slowness of a Scotchman. Superior to Caleb in dexterity, though not in zeal, La Jeunesse seemed to multiply himself with the necessities of the occasion, and discharged his several tasks with such promptitude and assiduity, that farther attendance than his was neither missed nor wished for. The dinner, in particular, was exquisite. The soup, although bear­ ing the term of maigre, which Englishmen use in scorn, was most delicately flavoured, and the matelot of pike and eels reconciled me, though a Scotchman, to the latter. There was even apetitplât of bouilli for the heretic, so exquisitely dressed as to retain all the juices, and, at the same time, rendered so thoroughly tender, that nothing could be more delicate. The potage, with another small dish or two, were equally well arranged. But what the old maitre d’hotel valued himself upon as something superb, smiling with self-satisfaction, and in enjoyment ofmy surprise, as he placed it on the table, was an immense assiette of spinage, not smoothed into a uniform surface, as by our unimaginative cooks upon your side of the water, but swelling into hills, and declining into vales, over which swept a gallant stag, pursued by a pack of hounds in full cry, and a noble field of horsemen with bugle horns, and whips held upright, and brandished after the manner of broadswords—hounds, huntsmen, and stag, being all very artifi­

INTRODUCTION

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cially cut out of toasted bread. Enjoying the praises which I failed not to bestow on this chefd'œuvre, the old man acknowledged it had cost the best part of two days to bring to perfection; and added, giving honour where honour was due, that an idea so brilliant was not entirely his own, but that Monseigneur himself had taken the trouble to give him several valuable hints, and even condescended to assist in the execution of some of the most capital figures. The Marquis blushed a little at this eclaircissement, which he might probably have wished to suppress, but acknowledged he had wished to surprise me with a scene from the popular poem of my country, Miladi Lac. I answered, that so splendid a cortege much more resembled a grand chasse of Louis Quatorze than of a poor King of Scotland, and that the paysage was rather like Fontainebleau than the wilds of Callender. He bowed graciously in answer to this compliment, and acknow­ ledged that recollections of the costume of the old French court, when in its splendour, might have misled his imagination—and so the con­ versation passed on to other matters. Our dessert was exquisite—the cheese, the fruits, the sallad, the olives, the çernaux, and the delicious white wine, each in their way were impayables; and the good Marquis, with an air of great satisfac­ tion, observed, that his guest did sincere homage to their merits. “After all,” he said, “and yet it is but confessing a foolish weakness— but, after all, I cannot but rejoice in feeling myself equal to offering a stranger a sort of hospitality which seems pleasing to him. Believe me, it is not entirely out of pride that we pauvres revenants live so very retired, and avoid the duties of hospitality. It is true, that too many of us wander about the halls of our fathers, rather like ghosts of their deceased proprietors, than like living men restored to their own pos­ sessions—Yet it is rather on your account, than to spare our own feelings, that we do not cultivate the society of our foreign visitors. We have an idea that your opulent nation is particularly attached tofaste, and to grande chere—to your ease and enjoyments of every kind; and the means of entertainment left to us are, in most cases, so limited, that we feel ourselves totally precluded from such expence and osten­ tation. No one wishes to offer his best where he has reason to think it will not give pleasure; and, as many of you publish your journals, Monsieur le Marquis would not probably be much gratified, by seeing the poor dinner which he was able to present to Milord Anglois put upon permanent record.” I interrupted the Marquis, that were I to wish an account of my entertainment published, it would be only in order to preserve the memory of the very best dinner I ever had eaten in my life. He bowed in return, and presumed “that I either differed much from the

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national taste, or the accounts of it were greatly exaggerated. He was particularly obliged to me for shewing the value of the possession which remained to him. “The useful,” he said, “had no doubt survived the sumptuous at Hautlieu as elsewhere. Grottoes, statues, curious conservatories of exotics, “temple and tower,” had gone to the ground; but the vineyard, the potager, the orchard, the etang, still existed; and once more he expressed himself happy to find, that their combined productions could make what even a Briton accepted as a tolerable meal. I only hope,” he continued, “that you will convince me your compliments are sincere, by accepting the hospitality of the Chateau de Hautlieu as often as better engagements will permit dur­ ing your stay in this neighbourhood.” I readily promised to accept an invitation offered with such grace, as to make the guest appear the person conferring the obligation. The conversation then changed to the history of the chateau and its vicinity—a subject which was strong ground to the Marquis, though he was no great antiquary, and even no very profound historian, where these topics were out of question. The Curé, however, chanced to be both, and withal a very conversible pleasing man, with an air ofpreven­ ance, and ready civility of communication, which I have found a lead­ ing characteristic of the Catholic clergy, whenever they are learned or well-informed men. It was from him that I learned there still existed the remnants of a fine library in the Chateau de Hautlieu. The Mar­ quis shrugged his shoulders as the Curé gave me this intimation, looked to the one side and the other, and displayed the same sort of petty embarrassment which he had been unable to suppress when La Jeunesse blabbed something of his interference with the arrange­ ments of the cuisine. “I should be happy to shew the books,” he said, “but they are in such a wild condition—so dismantled, that I am ashamed to shew them to any one.” “Forgive me, my dear sir,” said the Curé, “you know you permitted the great English Bibliomane, Dr Dibdin, to consult your curious reliques, and you know how highly he spoke of them.” “What could I do, my dear friend,” said the Marquis; “the good Doctor had heard some exaggerated account of these remnants of what was once a library—he had stationed himself in the auberge below, determined to carry his point or die under the walls. I even heard of his taking the altitude of the turret, in order to provide scaling-ladders—you would not have had me reduce a respectable divine, though of another church, to such an act of desperation. I could not have answered it in conscience.” “But you know, besides, Monsieur le Marquis,” continued the Curé, “that Dr Dibdin was so much grieved at the dilapidation your

INTRODUCTION

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library had sustained, that he avowedly envied the powers of our church, so much did he long to launch an anathema at the heads of the perpetrators.” “His resentment was in proportion to his disappointment, I sup­ pose,” said our entertainer. “Not so,” said the Curé; “for he was so enthusiastic on the value of what remains, that I am convinced that nothing but your positive request to the contrary prevented the Chateau of Hautlieu occupying at least twenty pages in that splendid work of which he sent us a copy, and which will remain a lasting monument of his zeal and erudition.” “Dr Dibdin is extremely polite,” said the Marquis; “and, when we have had our coffee—here it comes—we will go to the turret; and I hope, as Monsieur has not despised my poor fare, so he will pardon the state of my confused library, while I shall be equally happy if it can afford any thing which can give him amusement. Indeed,” he added, “were it otherwise, you, my good father, have every right over books, which, without your intervention, would never have returned to the owner.” Although this additional act of courtesy was evidently wrested by the importunity of the Curé from his reluctant friend, whose desire to conceal the nakedness of the land, and the extent of his losses, seemed always to struggle with his disposition to be obliging, I could not help accepting an offer, which, in strict politeness, I ought perhaps to have refused. But then, the remains of a collection of such curiosity as had given to our bibliomaniacal Doctor the desire of leading the forlorn hope in an escalade—it would have been a desperate act of self-denial to have declined an opportunity of seeing it. La Jeunesse brought coffee, such as we only taste on the continent, upon a salver, covered with a napkin, that it might be censé for silver; and chasse-caffé from Martinique on a small waiter, which was certainly so. Our repast thus finished, the Marquis conducted me up an escalier derobé into a very large and well-proportioned saloon, of nearly one hundred feet in length; but so waste and dilapidated, that I kept my eyes on the ground, lest my kind entertainer should feel himself called upon to apologize for tattered pictures and tom tapestry; and, worse than both, for casements that had yielded, in one or two instances, to the boisterous blast. “We have contrived to make the turret something more habitable,” said the Marquis, as he moved hastily through this chamber of desola­ tion. “This,” he said, “was the picture gallery in former times, and in the boudoir beyond, which we now occupy as a book-closet, were preserved some curious cabinet paintings, whose small size required that they should be viewed nearly.”

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As he spoke, he held aside a portion of the tapestry I have men­ tioned, and we entered the room of which he spoke. It was octangular, corresponding to the external shape of the turret whose interior it occupied. Four of the sides had latticed windows, commanding each, from a different point, the most beautiful prospect over the majestic Loire, and the adjacent country through which it winded; and the casements were filled with stained glass, through two of which streamed the lustre of the setting sun, showing a brilliant assemblage of religious emblems and armorial bearings, which it was scarce possible to look at with an undazzled eye; but the other two windows, from which the sunbeams had passed away, could be closely examined, and plainly shewed that the lattices were glazed with stained glass, which did not belong to them originally, but, as I afterwards learned, to the profaned and desecrated chapel of the castle. It had been the amusement of the Marquis, for several months, to accomplish this rifacciamento, with the assistance of the Curate and the all-capable La Jeunesse; and though they had only patched together fragments, which were in many places very minute, yet the stained glass, till examined very closely, and with the eye of an anti­ quary, produced, on the whole, a very pleasing effect. The sides of the apartment not occupied by the lattices, were (excepting the space for the small door) fitted up with presses and shelves, some of walnut tree, curiously carved, and brought to a dark colour by time, nearly resembling that of a ripe chesnut, and partly of common deal, employed to repair and supply the deficiencies occa­ sioned by violence and devastation. On these shelves were deposited the wrecks, or rather the precious reliques, of a most splendid library. The Marquis’s father had been a man of information, and his grandfather was famous, even in the court of Louis XIV., where literature was in some degree considered as the fashion, for the extent of his acquirements. Those two proprietors, opulent in their fortunes, and liberal in the indulgence of their taste, had made such additions to a curious old Gothic library, which had descended from their ancestors, that there were few collections in France which could be compared to that of Hautlieu. It had been completely dispersed, in consequence of an ill-judged attempt of the present Marquis, in 1790, to defend his Chateau against a revolutionary mob. Luckily, the Curé, who, by his charitable, moderate conduct, and his evangelical virtues, possessed much interest among the neighbouring peasantry, pre­ vailed on many of them to buy, for the petty sum of a few sous, and sometimes at the vulgar rate of a glass of brandy, volumes which had cost large sums, but which were carried off in mere spite by the ruffians who pillaged the castle. He himself also had purchased as

INTRODUCTION

21

many of the books as his funds could possibly reach, and to his care it was owing that they were restored to the turret in which I found them. It was no wonder, therefore, that the good Curé had some pride and pleasure in shewing the collection to strangers. In spite of odd volumes, imperfections, and all the other mortifica­ tions which an amateur encounters in looking through an ill-kept library, there were many articles in that of Hautlieu calculated, as Bayes says, “to elevate and surprise” the Bibliomaniac. There was The small rare volume, dark with tarnish’d gold,

as Dr Ferriar feelingly sings—curious and richly painted missals, manuscripts of 1380, 1320, and even earlier, and works in Gothic type, printed in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. But of these I intend to give a more detailed account, should the Marquis grant his permission. In the meantime, it is sufficient to say, that, delighted with the day I had spent at Hautlieu, I frequently repeated my visit, and that the key of the octangular tower was always at my command. In those hours I became deeply enamoured of a part of French history, which, although most important to that of Europe at large, and illustrated by an inimitable old historian, I had never sufficiently studied. At the same time, to gratify the feelings of my excellent host, I occupied myself occasionally with some family memorials, which had fortu­ nately been preserved, and which contained some curious particulars respecting the connection with Scotland, which first found me favour in the eyes of the Marquis de Hautlieu.

I pondered on these things, more meo, until my return to Britain, to beef and sea-coal-fires, a change of residence which took place since I drew up these Gallic reminiscences. At length, the result ofmy medi­ tations took the form of which my readers, if not startled by this preface, will presently be enabled to judge. Should the Public receive it with favour, I will not regret having been for a short time an Absentee.

QUENTIN DURWARD VOLUME I

Chapter One THE CONTRAST Look here upon this picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. Hamlet

The latter part of the fifteenth century prepared a train of future events, which ended by raising France to that state of formid­ able power, which has ever since been, from time to time, the principal object of jealousy to the other European nations. Before that period, she had to struggle for her very existence with the English, already possessed of her fairest provinces; while the utmost exertions of her King, and the gallantry of her natives, could scarce protect the remainder from a foreign yoke. Neither was this her sole danger. The Princes who possessed the grand fiefs of the crown, and, in particular, the Dukes of Burgundy and Bretagne, had come to wear their feudal bonds so lightly, that they had no scruple in lifting the standard against their liege and sovereign lord, the King of France, on the slightest pretences. When at peace, they reigned as absolute princes in their own provinces; and the House of Burgundy, possessed of the district so called, together with the fairest and richest part of Flanders, was of itself so wealthy, and so powerful, as to yield nothing to the crown, either in splendour or in strength. In imitation of the grand feudatories, each inferior vassal of the crown assumed as much independence as his distance from the sover­ eign power, the extent of his fief, or the strength of his residence, enabled him to maintain; and these petty tyrants, no longer amen­ able to the exercise of the law, perpetrated with impunity the wildest 23

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excesses of fantastic oppression and cruelty. In Auvergne alone, a report was made of more than three hundred of these independent nobles, to whom incest, murder, and rapine, were the most ordinary and familiar actions. Besides these evils, another, sprung out of the long-continued wars betwixt the French and English, added no small misery to this dis­ tracted kingdom. Numerous bodies of soldiers collected into bands, under officers chosen by themselves, from among the bravest and most successful adventurers, had been formed in various parts of France out of the refuse of all other countries. These hireling combat­ ants sold their swords for a time to the best bidder; and, where such offer was wanting, they made war on their own account, seizing castles and towns, which they used as the places of their retreat,—making prisoners, and ransoming them,—exacting tribute from the open vil­ lages and the country around them,—and acquiring, by every species of rapine, the appropriate epithets of Tondeurs and Escorcheurs, that is, Clippers and Flayers. In the midst of the horrors and miseries arising from so distracted a state of public affairs, reckless and profuse expence distinguished the courts of the lesser nobles as well as of the superior princes; and their dependents, in imitation, expended in rude, but magnificent display, the wealth which they extorted from the people. A tone of romantic and chivalrous gallantry (which, however, was often disgraced by unbounded license,) characterized the intercourse between the sexes; and the language of knight-errantry was yet used, and its observances followed, though the pure spirit of honourable love, and benevolent enterprize, which it inculcates, had ceased to qualify and atone for its extravagancies. The jousts and tournaments, the enter­ tainments and revels, which each petty court displayed, invited to France every wandering adventurer; and it was seldom that, when arrived there, he failed to employ his rash courage, and headlong spirit ofenterprize, in actions for which his happier native country afforded no free stage. At this period, and as if to save this fair realm from the various woes with which it was menaced, the tottering throne was ascended by Louis XI., whose character, evil as it was in itself, met, combated, and in a great degree neutralized, the mischiefs of the time—as poisons of opposing qualities are said, in ancient books of medicine, to have the power ofcounteracting each other. Brave enough for every useful and political purpose, Louis had not a spark of that romantic valour, or of the pride connected with, and arising out of it, which fought on for the point of honour, when the point of utility had been long gained. Calm, crafty, and profoundly

[Chap. 1]

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attentive to his own interest, he made every sacrifice, both ofpride and passion, which could interfere with it. He was careful in disguising his real sentiments and purposes from all who approached him, and frequently used the expressions, “that the king knew not how to reign, who knew not how to dissemble; and that, for himself, if he thought his very cap knew his secrets, he would throw it into the fire.” No man of his own, or ofany other time, better understood how to avail himself of the frailties ofothers, and when to avoid giving any advantage by the untimely indulgence of his own. He was by nature vindictive and cruel, even to the extent of finding pleasure in the frequent executions which he commanded. But, as no touch of mercy ever induced him to spare, when he could with safety condemn, so no sentiment of vengeance ever stimulated to premature violence. He seldom sprang on his prey till it was fairly within his grasp, and till all chance of rescue was in vain; and his movements were so studiously disguised, that his success was generally what first announced to the world what object he had been manoeuvring to attain. In like manner, the avarice ofLouis gave way to apparent profusion, when it was necessary to bribe the favourite or minister of a rival prince for averting any impending attack, or to break up any alliance confederated against him. He was fond of license and pleasure; but neither beauty nor the chase, though both were ruling passions, ever withdrew him from the most regular attendance to public business and the affairs of his kingdom. His knowledge of mankind was pro­ found, and he had sought it in the private walks of life, in which he often personally mingled; and, though personally proud and haughty, he hesitated not, with an inattention to the arbitrary divisions of soci­ ety, which was then thought something portentously unnatural, to raise from the lowest rank men whom he employed on the most important duties, and knew so well how to choose them, that he was rarely disappointed in their qualities. Yet there were contradictions in the nature of this artful and able monarch; for humanity is never uniform. Himself the most false and insincere of mankind, some of the greatest errors of his life arose from too rash a confidence in the honour and integrity of others. When these errors took place, they seem to have arisen from an over-refined system of policy, which induced Louis to assume the appearance of undoubting confidence in those whom it was his object to over-reach; for, in his general conduct, he was as jealous and suspicious as any tyrant who ever lived. Two other points may be noticed, to complete the sketch of this formidable character, who rose among the rude chivalrous sovereigns

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of the period to the rank of a keeper among wild beasts, who, by superior wisdom and policy, by distribution of food, and some discip­ line by blows, comes finally to predominate over those, who, if unsub­ jected by his arts, would by main strength have tom him to pieces. The first of these attributes was Louis’s excessive superstition, a plague with which Heaven often afflicts those who refuse to listen to the dictates of Religion. The remorse arising from his evil actions, Louis never endeavoured to appease by any relaxation in his Machi­ avellian stratagems, but laboured, in vain, to soothe and silence that painful feeling by superstitious observances, severe penance, and pro­ fuse gifts to the ecclesiastics. The second property, with which the first is sometimes found strangely united, was a disposition to low pleasures and obscure debauchery. The wisest, or at least the most crafty Sovereign of his time, was fond of ordinary life, and, being himself a man of wit, enjoyed the jests and repartees of social conver­ sation more than could have been expected from other points of his character. He even mingled in the comic adventures of obscure intrigue, with a freedom scarce consistent with the habitual and guarded jealousy of his character; and was so fond of this species of humble gallantry, that he caused a number of its gay and licentious anecdotes to be enrolled in a collection well known to book-collectors, in whose eyes (and the work is unfit for any other) the right edition is very precious. By means of this monarch’s powerful and prudent, though most unamiable character, it pleased Heaven, who works by the tempest as well as by the soft small rain, to restore to the great French nation the benefits of civil government, which, at the time of his accession, they had nearly lost altogether. Ere he succeeded to the crown, Louis had given evidence of his vices rather than of his talents. His first wife, Margaret of Scotland, was “done to death by slanderous tongues” in her husband’s court, where, without his encouragement, no word had been breathed against that amiable and injured princess. He had been an ungrateful and a rebellious son, at one time conspiring to seize his father’s person, and at another, levying open war against him. For the first offence, he was banished to his appanage of Dauphiné, which he governed with much sagacity—for the second, he was driven into absolute exile, and forced to throw himself on the mercy, and almost the charity, of the Duke of Burgundy and his son, where he enjoyed hospitality, afterwards indifferently requited, until the death of his father in 1461. In the very outset of his reign, Louis was almost overpowered by a league formed against him by the great vassals of France, with the

[Chap. 1]

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Duke of Burgundy, or rather his son, the Count de Charolois, at its head. They levied a powerful army, blockaded Paris, fought a battle of doubtful event under its very walls, and put the French Monarchy on the brink of actual destruction. It usually happens in such cases, that the most sagacious general of the two gains the real fruit, though perhaps not the martial fame, of the disputed field. Louis, who had shewn great personal bravery during the battle of Montlhery, was able, by his prudence, to avail himself of its undecided event, as if it had been a victory on his side. He temporized until the enemy had broken up their leaguer, and shewed so much dexterity in sowing jealousies among those great powers, that their alliance “for the public weal,” as they termed it, but, in reality, for the overthrow of all but the external appearance of the French monarchy, broke to pieces, and was never again renewed in a manner so formidable. From this period, for several years, Louis, relieved of all danger from England, by the Civil Wars of York and Lancaster, was engaged, like an unfeeling but able physician, in curing the wounds of the body politic, or rather in stop­ ping, now by gentle remedies, now by the use of fire and steel, the progress of those mortal gangrenes with which it was then infected. The brigandage of the Free Companies, and the unpunished oppres­ sions of the nobility, he laboured to lessen, since he could not actually stop them; and gradually, by dint of unrelaxed attention, he gained some addition to his own regal authority, or effected some diminution of those by which it was counterbalanced. Still the King of France was surrounded by doubt and danger. The members of the league “for the public weal,” though not in unison, were in existence, and that scotched snake might re-unite and become dangerous again. But a worse danger was the increasing power of the Duke of Burgundy, then one of the greatest Princes of Europe, and little diminished in rank by the very precarious dependence of his duchy upon the crown of France. Charles, surnamed the Bold, or rather the Audacious, for his cour­ age was allied to rashness and frenzy, then wore the ducal coronet of Burgundy, which he burned to convert into a royal and independent regal crown. The character of this Duke was in every respect the direct contrast to that of Louis XI. The former was calm, deliberate, and crafty, never prosecuting a desperate enterprize, and never abandoning a probable one, however distant the promise of success. The genius of the Duke was entirely different. He rushed on danger because he loved it, and on difficulties because he despised them. As Louis never sacrificed his interest to his passions, so Charles, on the other hand, never sacrificed his passion, or even his humour, to any other consideration. Notwithstanding the

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near relationship that existed between them, and the support which the Duke and his father had afforded to Louis in his exile when Dauphin, there was mutual contempt and hatred betwixt them. The Duke of Burgundy despised the cautious policy of the King, and imputed to the faintness of his courage, that he sought by leagues, purchases, and other indirect means, those advantages, which, in his place, he would have snatched with an armed hand; and he hated him, not only for the ingratitude he had manifested for former kindnesses, and for personal injuries and imputations which the ambassadors of Louis had cast upon him, when his father was yet alive, but also, and especially, because of the support which he afforded in secret to the discontented citizens of Ghent, Liege, and other great towns in Flanders. These turbulent cities, jealous oftheir privileges, and proud of their wealth, frequently were in a state of insurrection against their liege lords the Dukes of Burgundy, and never failed to find under­ hand countenance at the Court of Louis, who embraced every opportunity of fomenting disturbance within the dominions of his overgrown vassal. The contempt and hatred ofthe Duke were retaliated by Louis with equal energy, though he used a thicker veil to conceal his sentiments. It was impossible for a man of his profound sagacity not to despise the stubborn obstinacy which never resigned its purpose, however fatal perseverance might prove, and the headlong impetuosity, which com­ menced its career without allowing a moment’s consideration for the obstacles to be encountered. Yet the King hated Charles even more than he contemned him, and his scorn and hatred were the more intense, that they were mingled with fear; for he knew that the onset of the mad bull, to whom he likened the Duke ofBurgundy, must ever be formidable, though the animal makes it with shut eyes. It was not alone the wealth of the Burgundian provinces, the discipline of the warlike inhabitants, and the mass of their crowded population, which the King dreaded, for the personal qualities of their leader had also much in them that was dangerous. The very soul of bravery, which he pushed to the verge of rashness, and beyond it—profuse in expendit­ ure—splendid in his court, his person and his retinue, in all which he displayed the hereditary magnificence of the house of Burgundy, Charles the Bold drew into his service almost all the fiery spirits of the age whose temper was congenial; and Louis saw too clearly what might be attempted and executed by such a train of desperate resol­ utes, following a leader of a character as ungovernable as their own. There was yet another circumstance which increased the animosity of Louis towards his overgrown vassal; for he owed him favours which he never meant to repay, and was under the frequent necessity of

[Chap. 2]

THE WANDERER

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temporizing with him, and even of enduring bursts of petulant insol­ ence, injurious to the regal dignity, without being able to treat him as other than his “fair cousin of Burgundy.” It was about the year 1468, when the feuds were at the highest, though a dubious and hollow truce, as frequently happened, existed for the time betwixt them, that the present narrative opens. The person first introduced on the stage will be found indeed to be of a rank and circumstance, which one would have thought scarce needed illustration from a dissertation on the relative position of two great princes. But the passions of the great, their quarrels, and their recon­ ciliations, involve the fortunes ofall who approach them; and it will be found, on proceeding further in our story, that this preliminary Chap­ ter is necessary for comprehending the adventures of the individual whom we are about to describe.

Chapter Two THE WANDERER Why then the world is my oyster, which I with sword will open. Ancient Pistol

It was upon a delicious summer morning, before the sun had assumed its scorching power, and while the dews yet cooled and perfumed the air, that a youth, coming from the north-eastward, approached the ford of a small river, or rather a large brook, tributary to the Cher, near to the royal castle of Plessis, whose dark and multi­ plied battlements rose in the back ground over the extensive forest with which they were surrounded. These woodlands comprized a noble chase, or royal park, fenced by an enclosure, termed, in the Latin of the middle ages, Plexitium, which gives the name of Plessis to so many villages in France. The castle and village of which we particu­ larly speak, was called Plessis-les-Tours, to distinguish it from others of the same name, and was built about two miles to the southward of the fair town of that name, the capital of ancient Touraine, whose rich plain has been termed the Garden of France. On the bank of the abovementioned brook, opposite to that which the traveller was approaching, two men, who appeared in deep con­ versation, seemed, from time to time, to watch his motions; for, as their station was much more elevated, they could remark him at con­ siderable distance. The age of the young traveller might be about nineteen, or betwixt

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that and twenty, and his face and person, which were very prepossess­ ing, did not, however, belong to the country in which he was now a sojourner. His short grey cloak and hose were rather of Flemish than of French fashion, while the smart blue bonnet, with a single sprig of holly and an eagle’s feather, was already recognized as the Scottish head-gear. His dress was very neat, and arranged with the precision of a youth conscious of possessing a fine person. He had at his back a satchell, which seemed to contain a few necessaries, a hawking gaunt­ let on his left hand, though he carried no bird, and in his right a stout hunter’s pole. Over his left shoulder hung an embroidered scarf which sustained a small pouch of scarlet velvet, such as was then used by fowlers of distinction to carry their hawks’ food, and other matters belonging to that much admired sport. This was crossed by another shoulder-belt, which sustained a hunting knife, or couteau de chasse. Instead of the boots of the period, he wore buskins of halfdressed deer’s-skin. Although his form had not yet attained its full strength, he was tall and active, and the lightness of the step with which he advanced shewed that his pedestrian mode oftravelling was pleasure rather than pain to him. His complexion was fair, in spite of a general shade of darker hue, with which the foreign sun, or perhaps constant expos­ ure to the atmosphere in his own country, had, in some degree, embrowned it. His features, without being quite regular, were frank, open, and pleasing. A half smile, which seemed to arise from a happy exuberance of animal spirits, shewed, now and then, that his teeth were well set, and as pure as ivory; whilst his bright blue eye, with a corresponding gaiety, had an appropriate glance for every object which it encoun­ tered, expressing good humour, lightness of heart, and determined resolution. He received and returned the salutation of the few travellers who frequented the road in these dangerous times, with the action which suited each. The strolling spearman, half-soldier, half-brigand, measured the youth with his eye, as if balancing the prospect of booty with the chance of desperate resistance; and read such a prospect of the latter in the fearless glance of the passenger, that he changed his ruffian purpose for a surly “good morrow, comrade,” which the young Scot answered with as martial, though a less sullen tone. The wander­ ing pilgrim, or the begging friar, answered his reverend greeting with a paternal benedicite; and the dark-eyed peasant girl looked after him for many a step when they had passed each other, and interchanged a laughing good-morrow. In short, there was something attractive about his whole appearance not easily escaping attention, and which derived

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from the combination of fearless frankness and good humour, with sprightly looks, and a handsome face and person. It seemed, too, as if his whole appearance bespoke one who was entering on life with no apprehension of the evils with which it is beset, and not much means ofstruggling with its hardships, excepting a lively spirit and a courage­ ous disposition; and it is with such tempers that youth most readily sympathizes, and for whom age and experience feel affectionate and pitying interest. The youth whom we have described, had been long visible to the two persons who loitered on the opposite side of the small river which divided him from the park and the castle; but as he descended the rugged bank to the water’s edge, with the light step of a roe which visits the fountain, the younger of the two said to the other, “It is our man—it is the Bohemian—if he attempts to cross the ford, he is a lost man—the water is up, and the ford impassable.” “Let him make that discovery himself, gossip,” said the elder per­ sonage; “it may, perchance, save a rope, and break a proverb.” “I judge him by the blue cap,” said the other, “for I cannot see his face.—Hark sir—he hollos to know whether the water be deep.” “Nothing like experience in this world,” answered the elder person —“let him try.” The young man, in the meanwhile, receiving no hint to the con­ trary, and taking the silence of those to whom he appealed as an encouragement to proceed, entered the stream without further hes­ itation than the delay necessary to take off his buskins. The elder person, at the same moment, hollowed to him to beware, adding, in a lower tone, to his companion, “Mortdieu—gossip—you have made another mistake—this is not the Bohemian chatterer.” But the intimation to the youth came too late—he either did not hear or could not profit by it, being already in the deep stream. To one less alert, and practised in the exercise of swimming, death had been certain, for the brook was both deep and strong. “By Saint Anne! but he is a proper youth,” said the elder man— “Run, gossip, and help your blunder by giving him aid, if thou canst. He belongs to thine own troop if old saws speak truth, for water will never drown him.” Indeed, the young traveller swam so strongly, and buffeted the waves so well, that, notwithstanding the strength of the current, he was carried but a little way down from the ordinary landing place. By this time the younger of the two strangers was hurrying down to the shore to render assistance, while the other followed him at a graver pace, saying to himself as he approached, “I knew water would never drown that young fellow.—By my halidome, he is ashore, and grasps

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his pole—if I make not the more haste, he will beat my gossip for the only charitable action which I ever saw him perform in my life.” There was some reason to augur such a conclusion of the adven­ ture, for the bonny Scot had already accosted the younger Samaritan, who was hastening to his assistance, with these ireful words—“Dis­ courteous dog! why did you not answer when I called to know if the passage was to be attempted? May the foul fiend cumber me, but I will teach you the respect due to strangers on the next occasion.” This was accompanied with that significant flourish with his pole which is called le moulinet, because the artist, holding it by the middle, brandishes the two ends in every direction, like the sails of a windmill in motion. His opponent, seeing himself thus menaced, laid hand upon his sword, for he was one of those who on all occasions are more ready for action than for speech. But his more considerate comrade, who came up, commanded him to forbear, and, turning to the young man, accused him in turn of precipitation in plunging into the swollen ford, and of intemperate violence in quarrelling with one who was hastening to his assistance. The young man, on hearing himself thus reproved by a man of advanced age and respectable appearance, immediately lowered his weapon, and said he would be sorry ifhe had done them injustice; but, in reality, it appeared to him as if they had suffered him to put his life in peril for want of a word of timely warning, which could be the part neither of honest men nor of good Christians, far less of respectable burgesses, such as they seemed to be. “Fair son,” said the elder person, “you seem, from your accent and complexion, a stranger; and you should recollect your dialect is not so easily comprehended by us, as perhaps it may be uttered by you.” “Well, father,” answered the youth, “I do not care much about the ducking I have had, and I will readily forgive you being partly the cause, providing you will direct me to some place where I can have my clothes dried; for it is my only suit, and I must keep it somewhat decent.” “For whom do you take us, fair son?” said the elder stranger, in answer to this question. “For substantial burgesses, unquestionably,” said the youth; “or, hold—you, master, may be a money-broker, or a com-merchant; and this man a butcher, or grazier.” “You have hit our capacities rarely,” said the elder, smiling. “My business is indeed to deal in as much money as I can; and my gossip’s dealings are somewhat of kin to the butcher’s. As to your accommoda­ tion, we will try to serve you; but I must first know who you are, and whither you are going; for, in these times, the roads are filled with

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travellers on foot and horseback, who have any thing in their head but honesty and the fear of God.” The young man cast another keen and penetrating glance on him who spoke, and on his silent companion, as if doubtful whether they, on their part, merited the confidence they demanded; and the result of his observation was as follows. The eldest, and most remarkable of these men in dress and appear­ ance, resembled the merchant or shopkeeper of the period. His jer­ kin, hose, and cloak, were of a dark uniform colour, but worn so threadbare, that the acute young Scot conceived, that the wearer must be either very rich or very poor, probably the former. The fashion of the dress was close and short—a kind of garments which were not then held decorous among gentry, or even the superior class of cit­ izens, who generally wore loose gowns which descended below the middle ofthe leg. The expression ofthis man’s countenance was partly attractive, and partly forbidding. His strong features, sunk cheeks, and hollow eyes, had, nevertheless, an expression of shrewdness and humour congen­ ial to the character of the young adventurer. But then, those same sunken eyes, from under the shroud of thick black eye-brows, had something that was at once commanding and sinister. Perhaps this effect was increased by the low fur cap, much depressed on the fore­ head, and adding to the shade from under which those eyes peered out; but it is certain that the young stranger had some difficulty to reconcile his looks with the meanness of his appearance in other respects. His cap, in particular, in which all men of any quality dis­ played either a brooch of gold or of silver, was ornamented with a paltry image of the Virgin, in lead, such as the poorer sort of pilgrims bring from Loretto. His comrade was a stout-formed, middle-sized man, more than ten years younger than his companion, with a down-looking visage and a very ominous smile, when by chance he gave way to that impulse, which was never except in reply to certain secret signs which seemed to pass between him and the elder stranger. This man was armed with a sword and dagger; and, underneath his plain habit, the Scotsman observed that he concealed a jazeran, or flexible shirt of linked mail, which, as being often worn by those, even ofpeaceful professions, who were called upon at this perilous period to be frequently abroad, confirmed the young man in his conjecture, that the wearer was by profession a butcher, grazier, or something ofthat description. The young stranger, comprehending in one glance the result of the observation which has taken us some time to express, answered, after a moment’s pause, “I do not know whom I may have the honour to

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address,” making a slight reverence at the same time, “but I am indifferent who knows that I am a cadet of Scotland, that come to seek my fortune in France or elsewhere, after the custom of my country­ men.” “Pasques-dieu! and a gallant custom it is,” said the elder stranger. “You seem a fine young springaid, and at the right age to prosper, whether among men or women. What say you?—I am a merchant, and want a lad to assist in my traffic—I suppose you are too much a gentleman to assist in such mechanical drudgery?” “Fair sir,” said the youth, “if your offer be seriously made—of which I have my doubts—I am bound to thank you for it, and I thank you accordingly—but I fear I should be altogether unfit for your service.” “What, I warrant thou knowst better how to draw the bow, than how to draw a bill of charges,—canst handle a broadsword better than a pen—ha!” “I am, master,” answered the young Scot, “a brae-man, and there­ fore, as we say, a bow-man. But I have been in a convent, where the good fathers taught me to read and write somewhat, and even to cypher.” “Pasques-dieu! that is too magnificent,” said the merchant. “By our Lady ofEmbrun, thou art a prodigy, man!” “Rest you merry, fair master,” said the youth, who was not much pleased with his new acquaintance’s jocularity, “I must go dry myself, instead ofstanding dripping here, answering questions.” The merchant only laughed louder as he spoke, and answered, “Pasques-dieu! the proverb never fails—fier comme un Ecossois—but come, youngster, you are of a country I have a regard for, having traded in Scotland in my time—an honest poor set of folks they are; and, ifyou will come with us to the village, I will bestow on you a cup of burned sack and a warm breakfast, to atone for your drenching.—But, tete-bleau! what do you with a hunting glove on your hand? Know you not there is no hawking permitted in the royal chase?” “I was taught that by a rascally forester ofthe Duke ofBurgundy—I did but fly the falcon I had brought with me from Scotland, and that I reckoned on for bringing me into some note, at a heron near Peronne, and the rascally schelm shot my bird with an arrow.” “What did you do?” said the merchant. “Beat him,” said the youngster, brandishing his staff, “as near to death as a Christian man should belabour another, for I wanted not to have his blood to answer.” “Know you, that had you fallen into the Duke ofBurgundy’s hands, he would have hung you up like a chesnut?”

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“Ay, I am told he is as prompt as the King of France for that sort of work. But, as this happened near Peronne, I made a leap over the frontier, and laughed at him. If he had not been so hasty, I might perhaps have taken service with him.” “He will have a heavy miss of such a paladin as you are, if the truce should break off,” said the merchant, and threw a look at his compan­ ion, who answered him with one of the downcast lowering smiles, which gleamed along his countenance, enlivening it as a passing met­ eor enlivens a winter sky. The young Scot suddenly stopped, pulled his bonnet over his right eyebrow, as one that would not be ridiculed, and said firmly, “My masters, and especially you, sir, the elder, and who should be the wiser, you will find, I promise, no wise or safe jesting at my expence. I do not altogether like the tone of your conversation. I can take a jest with any man, and a rebuke, too, from my elder, and say thank you, sir, if I know it to be deserved; but I do not like being borne in hand as if I were a child, when, God wot, I find myself man enough to belabour you both, if you provoke me too far.” The eldest man seemed like to choke with laughter at the lad’s demeanour—his companion’s hand stole to his sword-hilt, which the youth observing, dealt him a blow across the wrist, which made him incapable of grasping it; while his companion’s mirth was only increased by the incident. “Hold, hold,” he cried, “most doughty Scotchman, even for thine own dear country’s sake. And you, gossip, forbear your menacing look. Pasques-dieu! let us be just traders, and set offthe wetting against the knock on the wrist, which was given with so much grace and alacrity. And hark ye, friend,” he said to the young man, with a grave sternness, which, spite of all the youth could do, damped and overawed him, “no more violence—I am no fit object for it, and my gossip, as you may see, has had enough of it. Let me know your name.” “I can answer a civil question civilly,” said the youth; “and will pay fitting respect to your age, if you do not urge my patience with mock­ ery. Since I have been here in France and Flanders, men have called me, in their fantasy, the Varlet with the Velvet Pouch, because of this hawk-purse which I carry by my side. But my true name, when at home, is Quentin Durward.” “Durward!” said the querist; “is it a gentleman’s name?” “By fifteen descents in our family,” said the lad; “and that makes me reluctant to follow any other trade than arms.” “A true Scot—plenty of blood, plenty of pride, and right great scarcity ofducats, I warrant thee—well—Gossip,” he said to his com­ panion, “go before us, and tell them to have some breakfast ready

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yonder at the Fleur-de-Lys; for this youth will do as much honour to it as a starved mouse to a housewife’s cheese.—And for the Bohemian —hark in thy ear”— His comrade answered by a gloomy, but intelligent smile, and set forward at a round pace, while the elder man continued, addressing young Durward,—“You and I will push forward together, and we may take a mass at Saint Hubert’s Chapel in our way through the forest; for it is not good to think of our fleshly before our spiritual wants.” Durward, as a good Catholic, had nothing to object against this proposal, although he would probably have been desirous, in the first place, to have dried his clothes and refreshed himself. Meanwhile, they soon lost sight of their downward-looking companion, but con­ tinued to follow the same path which he had taken, until it led them into a wood of tall trees, mixed with thickets and brush-wood, tra­ versed by long avenues, through which were seen, as through a vista, the deer trotting in little herds, with a degree of security which argued their consciousness of being completely protected. “You asked me if I were a good bowman,” said the young Scot— “Give me a bow and a brace of shafts, and you shall have a piece of venison.” “Pasques-dieu! my young friend,” said his companion, “take care of that; my gossip yonder hath a special eye to the deer; they are under his charge, and he is a strict keeper.” “He hath more the air of a butcher, than of a gay forester,” answered Durward. “I cannot think yon hang-dog look of his belongs to any one who knows the gentle rules of wood-craft.” “Oh, my young friend,” answered his companion, “my gossip hath somewhat an ugly favour to look upon at the first, but those who become acquainted with him, never are known to complain of him.” Quentin Durward found something singularly and disagreeably significant in the tone with which this was spoken; and, looking sud­ denly at the speaker, thought he saw in his countenance, in the slight smile that curled his upper lip, and the accompanying twinkle of his keen dark eye, something to justify his unpleasing surprise. “I have heard of robbers,” he thought to himself, “and of wily cheats and cut­ throats—what if yonder fellow be a murderer, and this old rascal his decoy-duck? I will be on my guard—they will get little by me but good Scottish knocks.” While he was thus reflecting, they came to a glade, where the large forest trees were more widely separated from each other, and where the ground beneath, cleared of underwood and bushes, was clothed with a carpet of the softest and most lovely verdure, which, screened from the scorching heat of the sun, was here more beautifully tender

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than it is usually to be seen in France. The trees in this secluded spot were chiefly beeches and elms of huge magnitude, which rose like great hills of leaves into the air. Amidst these magnificent sons of the earth, there peeped out, in the most open spot of the glade, a lowly chapel, near which trickled a small rivulet. Its architecture was of the rudest and most simple kind; and there was a very small lodge beside it, for the accommodation of a hermit or solitary priest, who remained there for regularly discharging the duty of the altar. In a small niche, over the arched door-way, stood a stone image of Saint Hubert, with the bugle-horn around his neck, and a leash of greyhounds at his feet. The situation of the chapel in the midst of a park or chase, so richly stocked with game, made the dedication to the Sainted Huntsman peculiarly appropriate. Towards this little devotional structure the old man directed his steps, followed by young Durward; and, as they approached, the priest, dressed in his sacerdotal garments, made his appearance, in the act of proceeding from his cell to the chapel, for the discharge doubtless ofhis holy office. Durward bowed his body reverently to the priest, as the respect due to his sacred office demanded; whilst his companion, with an appearance of still more deep devotion, kneeled on one knee to receive the holy man’s blessing, and then followed him into church, with a step and manner expressive of the most heartfelt contrition and humility. The inside of the chapel was adorned in a manner adapted to the occupation of the patron-saint while on earth—the richest furs of animals which are made the objects of the chase in different countries, supplied the place of tapestry and hangings, around the altar and elsewhere, and the characteristic emblazonments of bugles, bows, quivers, and other emblems of hunting, surrounded the walls, and were mingled with the heads of deer, wolves, and other animals con­ sidered beasts of sport. The whole adornments took a sylvan charac­ ter; and the mass itself, being considerably shortened, proved to be of that sort which is called a hunting-mass, because in use said before the noble and powerful, who, while assisting at the solemnity, are usually impatient to commence their favourite sport. Yet, during this brief ceremony, Durward’s companion seemed to pay the most rigid and scrupulous attention; while his younger com­ panion, not quite so much occupied with religious thoughts, could not forbear blaming himself in his own mind, for having entertained sus­ picions derogatory to the character of so good and so humble a man. Far from now holding him as a companion and accomplice ofrobbers, he had much to do to forbear regarding him as a saint-like personage. When mass was ended, they retired together from the chapel, and

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the elder said to his young comrade, “It is but a short walk from hence to the village—you may now break your fast with an unprejudiced conscience—follow me.” Turning to the right, and proceeding along a path which seemed gradually to ascend, he desired his companion by no means to quit the track, but, on the contrary, to keep the middle of it as nearly as he could. Durward could not help asking the cause of this precaution. “You are now near the court, young man,” answered his guide; “and, Pasques-dieu! there is some difference betwixt walking in this region and on your own heathy hills. Every yard of this ground, excepting the path which we now occupy, is rendered dangerous, and well nigh impracticable, by snares and traps, armed with scythe­ blades, which shred off the unwary passenger’s limb as sheerly as a hedge-bill lops a hawthorn-sprig—and calthrops that would pierce your foot through, and pit-falls deep enough to bury you in for ever; for you are now within the precincts ofthe royal demesne, and we shall presently see the front ofthe Chateau.” “Were I the King of France,” said the young man, “I would not take so much trouble with traps and gins, but would try instead to govern so well, that no one should dare to come near my dwelling with a bad intent; and for those who came there in peace and good will, why, the more of them the merrier we should be.” His companion looked round with an alarmed gaze, and said, “Hush, hush, Sir Varlet with the Velvet Pouch! for I forgot to tell you, that one great danger of these precincts is, that the very leaves of the trees are like so many ears, which carry all which is spoken to the King’s own cabinet.” “I care little for that,” answered Quentin Durward; “I bear a Scot­ tish tongue in my head, bold enough to speak my mind to King Louis’s face, God bless him—and, for the ears you talk of, if I could see them growing on a human head, I would crop them out of it with my wood­ knife.”

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Chapter Three THE CASTLE Full in the midst a mighty pile arose, Where iron-grated gates their strength oppose To each invading step—and, strong and steep, The battled walls arose, the fosse sunk deep. Slow round the fortress roll’d the sluggish stream, And high in middle air the warder’s turrets gleam. Anonymous

While Durward and his new acquaintance thus spoke, they came in sight of the whole front of the Castle of Plessis-les-Tours, which, even in those dangerous times, when the great found themselves obliged to reside within places of fortified strength, was distin­ guished for the extreme and jealous care with which it was watched and defended. From the verge of the wood where young Durward halted with his companion, in order to take a view of this royal residence, extended, or rather arose, though by a very gentle elevation, an open esplanade, clear of trees and bushes of every description, excepting one gigantic and half-withered old oak. This space was left open, according to the rules of fortification in all ages, in order that an enemy might not approach the walls under cover, or unobserved from the battlements, and beyond it arose the Castle itself. There were three external walls, battlemented and turretted from space to space, and at each angle, the second inclosure rising higher than the first, and being built so as to command it in case it was won by the enemy; and being again, in the same manner, surmounted by the third and innermost barrier. Around the external wall, as the Frenchman informed his young companion, (for as they stood lower than the foundation of the wall, he could not see it,) was sunk a ditch of about twenty feet in depth, supplied with water by a dam-head on the river Cher, or rather on one of its tributary branches. In front of the second inclosure, he said, there ran another fosse, and a third, both of the same unusual dimensions, was led between the second and the innermost inclosure. The verge, both of the outer and inner circuit of this triple moat, was strongly fenced with palisades of iron, serving the purpose of what are called chevaux-de-frise in modem fortifica­ tion, the top of each pale being divided into a cluster of sharp spikes, which seemed to render any attempt to climb over an act of self­ destruction.

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From within the innermost inclosure arose the castle itself, con­ taining buildings of different periods, crowded around, and united with the ancient and grim-looking donjon-keep, which was older than any of them, and which rose, like a black Ethiopian giant, high into the air, while the absence of any windows larger than shot-holes, irregu­ larly disposed for defence, gave the spectator the same unpleasant feeling which we experience on looking on a blind man. The other buildings seemed scarcely better adapted for the purposes of comfort, for what windows they had opened to an internal court-yard; so that the whole external front looked much more like that ofa prison than of a palace. The reigning King had even increased this effect; for, desir­ ous that the additions which he himself made to the fortifications should be of a character not easily distinguished from the original building, (for, like many jealous persons, he loved not that his suspi­ cions should be observed,) the darkest-coloured brick and freestone was employed, and soot mingled with the lime, so as to give the whole Castle the same uniform tinge of extreme and rude antiquity. This formidable place had but one entrance, at least Durward saw none along the spacious front, except where, in the centre of the first and outward boundary, arose two strong towers, the usual defences of a gateway; and he could observe their ordinary accompaniments, portcullis and draw-bridge—of which the first was lowered, and the last raised. Similar entrance-towers were visible on the second and third bounding wall, but not in the same line with those on the out­ ward circuit; because the passage did not cut right through the whole three inclosures at the same point, but, on the contrary, those who entered had to proceed nearly thirty yards betwixt the first and second wall, exposed, if their purpose were hostile, to missiles from both; and again, when the second boundary was passed, they must make a second digression from the straight line, in order to attain the portal of the third and innermost inclosure; so that before gaining the outer court, which ran along the front of the building, two narrow and dangerous defiles were to be traversed, under a flanking discharge of artillery, and three gates, defended in the strongest manner known to the age, were to be successively forced. Coming from a country alike desolated by foreign war and internal feuds,—a country, too, whose unequal and mountainous surface, abounding in precipices and torrents, affords so many situations of strength,—Quentin Durward was sufficiently acquainted with all the various contrivances by which men, in that stem age, endeavoured to secure their dwelling. But he frankly owned to his companion, that he did not think it had been in the power of art to do so much for defence, where nature had done so little; for the situation, as we have hinted,

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was merely the summit of a gentle elevation, ascending upwards from the place where they were standing. To enhance his surprise, his companion told him that the environs of the Castle, except the single winding path by which the portal might be safely approached, were, like the thickets through which they had passed, surrounded with every species of hidden pit-fall, snare, and gin, to entrap the wretch who should venture thither without a guide; that upon the walls were constructed certain cradles of iron, called swallows' nests, from which the sentinels, who were regularly posted there, could take deliberate aim at any who should attempt to enter without the proper signal or pass-word of the day; and that the Archers of the Royal Guard performed that duty day and night, for which they received high pay, rich clothing, and much honour and profit, at the hands of King Louis. “And now tell me, young man,” he continued, “did you ever see so strong a fortress, and do you think there are men bold enough to storm it?” The young man looked long and fixedly on the place, the sight of which interested him so much, that he had forgotten, in the eagerness of youthful curiosity, the wetness of his dress. His eye glanced, and his colour mounted to his cheek like that of a daring man who meditates an honourable action, as he replied, “It is a strong castle, and strongly guarded; but there is no impossibility to brave men.” “Are there any in your country who could do such a feat?” said the elder, rather scornfully. “I will not affirm that,” answered the youth; “but there are thou­ sands that, in a good cause, would attempt as bold a deed.” “Umph!”—said the senior, “perhaps you are yourself such a gal­ lant?” “I should sin if I were to boast where there is no danger,” answered Quentin Durward; “but my father has done as bold an act, and I trust I am no bastard.” “Well,” said his companion, smiling, “you might meet your match, and your kindred withal in the attempt; for the Scottish Archers of King Louis’s Life-guard stand sentinels on yonder walls—three hun­ dred gentlemen of the best blood in your country.” “And were I King Louis,” said the youth, in reply, “I would trust myself to the three hundred Scottish gentlemen, throw down my bounding walls to fill up the moat, call in my noble peers and paladins, and live as became me, amid breaking of lances in gallant tourna­ ments, and feasting of days with nobles, and dancing of nights with ladies, and have no more fear of a foe than I have of a fly.” His companion again smiled, and turning his back on the castle, which, he observed, they had approached a little too nearly, he led the

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way again into the wood, by a more broad and beaten path than they had yet trodden. “This,” he said, “leads us to the village ofPlessis, as it is called, where you, as a stranger, will find reasonable and honest accommodation. About two miles onward lies the fine city of Tours, which gives name to this rich and beautiful earldom. But the village Plessis, or Plessis of the Park, as it is sometimes called, from its vicinity to the royal residence, and the chase with which it is encircled, will yield you nearer, and as convenient hospitality.” “I thank you, kind master, for your information,” said the Scot; “but my stay will be so short here, that so I fail not in a morsel of meat, and a drink of something better than water, my necessities in Plessis, be it of the park or the pool, will be amply satisfied.” “Nay,” answered his companion, “I thought you had some friend to see in this quarter.” “And so I have—my mother’s own brother,” answered Durward; “and as pretty a man, before he left the braes of Angus, as ever planted brogue on heather.” “What is his name?” said the senior; “we will inquire him out for you; for it is not safe for you to go up to the Castle, where you might be taken for a spy.” “Now, by my father’s hand!” said the youth, “I taken for a spy!—by heaven, he shall brook cold iron that brands me with such a charge!— But for my uncle’s name, I care not who knows it—it is Lesly—Lesly —an honest and a noble name.” “And so it is, I doubt not,” said the old man; “but there are three of the name in the Scottish Guard.” “My uncle’s name is Ludovic Lesly,” said the young man. “Of the three Leslys,” answered the merchant, “two are called Ludovic.” “They call my kinsman Ludovic with the Scar,” said Quentin.— “Our family names are so common in a Scottish house, that, where there is no land in the case, we always give a to-name.” “A nomme de guerre, I suppose you to mean,” answered his compan­ ion; “and the man you speak of, we, I think, call Le Balafré, from that scar on his face—a proper man, and a good soldier. I wish I may be able to help you to an interview with him, for he belongs to a set of gentlemen whose duty is strict, and who do not often come out of garrison, unless in the immediate attendance on the King’s person.— And now, young man, answer me one question. I will wager you are desirous to take service with your uncle in the Scottish Guard. It is a great thing, if you propose so; especially as you are very young, and some years’ experience is necessary for the high office which you aim at.”

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“Perhaps I may have thought on some such thing,” said Durward, carelessly; “but if I did, the fancy is off.” “How so, young man?” said the Frenchman, something sternly— “Do you speak thus of a charge which the most noble of your country­ men feel themselves emulous to be admitted to?” “I wish them joy of it,” said Quentin, composedly.—“To speak plain, I should have liked the service of the French King full well; only, dress me as fine, and feed me as high as you will, I love the open air better than being shut up in a cage or a swallow’s nest yonder, as you call these same grated pepper-boxes. Besides,” he added, in a lower voice, “to speak truth, I love not the Castle when the covin-tree bears such acorns as I see yonder.” “I guess what you mean,” said the Frenchman; “but speak yet more plainly.” “To speak more plainly, then,” said the youth, “there grows a fair oak some flight-shot or so from yonder castle—and on that oak hangs a man in a grey jerkin, such as this which I wear.” “Ay and indeed!” said the man of France—“Pasques-dieu! see what it is to have youthful eyes!—why, I did see something, but only took it for a raven among the branches. But the sight is no way strange, young man; when the summer fades into autumn, and moonlight nights are long, and roads become unsafe, you will see a cluster of ten—ay of twenty such acorns, hanging on that old doddered oak.—But what then?—they are so many banners displayed to scare knaves; and for each rogue that hangs there, an honest man may reckon that there is a thief, a traitor, a robber on the highway, a pillour and oppressor of the people, the fewer in France—these, young man, are signs of our Sovereign’s justice.” “I would have hung them further from my palace though, were I King Louis,” said the youth.—“In my country we hang up dead cor­ bies where living corbies haunt, but not in our gardens or pigeon­ houses. The very scent ofthe carrion—fough—reached my nostrils at the distance where we stood.” “If you live to be an honest and loyal servant of your Prince, my good youth,” answered the Frenchman, “you will know there is no perfume to match the scent of a dead traitor.” “I shall never wish to live till I lose the scent of my nostrils or the sight of my eyes,” said the Scot.—“Shew me a living traitor, and here are my hand and my weapon; but when life is out, hatred should not live longer.—But here, I fancy, we come upon the village, where I hope to shew you that neither ducking nor disgust have spoiled mine appetite for my breakfast. So, my good friend, to the hostelrie, with all the speed you may.—Yet, ere I accept of your hospitality, let

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me know by what name to call you.” “Men call me Maitre Pierre,” answered his companion.—“I deal in no titles. A plain man, that live on mine own good—that is my designa­ tion.” “So be it, Maitre Pierre,” said Quentin, “and I am happy my good chance has thrown us together; for I want a word ofseasonable advice, and can be thankful for it.” While they spoke thus, the tower of the church, and a tall wooden crucifix, rising above the trees, shewed that they were at the entrance ofthe village. But Maitre Pierre, deflecting a little from the road, which had now joined an open and public causeway, said to his companion, that the inn to which he intended to introduce him stood somewhat secluded, and received only the better sort of travellers. “If you mean those who travel with the better-filled purses,” answered the Scot, “I am none of the number, and will rather stand my chance of your flayers on the highway than of your flayers in the hostelrie.” “Pasques-dieu!” said his guide, “how cautious your countrymen of Scotland are! An Englishman, now, throws himself headlong into a tavern, eats and drinks of the best, and never thinks of the reckoning till his belly is full. But you forget, Master Quentin, since Quentin is your name, you forget I owe you a breakfast for the wetting which my mistake procured you—It is the penance of my offence towards you.” “In truth,” said the light-hearted young man, “I had forgot wetting, offence, and penance and all. I have walked my clothes dry, or nearly so—and I will not refuse your offer in kindness, for my dinner yesterday was a light one, and supper I had none. You seem an old and respectable burgess, and I see no reason why I should not accept your courtesy.” The Frenchman smiled aside, for he saw plainly that the poor lad, while he was probably half-famished, had yet some difficulty to recon­ cile himself to the thoughts of feeding upon a stranger’s cost, and was endeavouring to subdue his inward pride by the reflection, that, in such slight obligations, the acceptor performed as complaisant a part as he by whom the courtesy was offered. In the meanwhile, they descended a narrow lane, overshadowed by tall elms, at the bottom of which a gate-way admitted them into the court-yard of an inn of unusual magnitude, calculated for the accom­ modation of the nobles and suitors who had business at the neigh­ bouring castle, where very seldom, and only when such hospitality was altogether unavoidable, did Louis XI. permit any of his court to have apartments. A scutcheon, bearing thefleur-de-lys, hung over the prin­

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cipal door of the large irregular building; but there was about the yard and the offices little or none of the bustle which in those days, when many attendants were maintained both in public and private houses, marked that business was alive, and custom plenty. It seemed as if the stem and unsocial character of the royal mansion in the neighbour­ hood had communicated a portion of its solemn and terrific gloom even to a place designed for the temple of social indulgence, merry society, and good cheer. Maitre Pierre, without calling any one, and even without approach­ ing the principal entrance, lifted the latch of a side door, and led the way into a large room, where a faggot was blazing on the hearth, and arrangements made for a substantial breakfast. “My gossip has been careful,” said the Frenchman to the Scot— “You must be cold, and I have commanded a fire; you must be hungry, and you shall have breakfast presently.” He whistled, and the landlord entered, answered his bonjour with a reverence, but in no respect shewed any part of the prating humour properly belonging to a French publican of all ages. “I expected a gentleman,” said Maitre Pierre, “to order breakfast— Hath he done so?” In answer, the landlord only bowed; and while he continued to bring, and arrange upon the table, the various articles ofa comfortable meal, omitted to extol their merits by a single word.—And yet the breakfast merited such eulogiums as French hosts are wont to confer upon their regales, as the reader will be informed in the next Chapter.

Chapter Four THE DEJEUNER Sacred heaven! What masticators! What bread! Yorick’s Travels

We left our young stranger in France, situated more comfortably than he had found himself since entering the territories of the ancient Gauls. The breakfast, as we hinted in the conclusion of the last Chap­ ter, was admirable. There was a paté de Perigord, over which a gastro­ nome would have wished to live and die, like Homer’s lotus-eaters, forgetful of kin, native country, and all social obligations whatsoever. Its vast walls of magnificent crust seemed raised like the bulwarks of some rich metropolitan city, an emblem of the wealth which they are designed to protect. There was a delicate ragout, with just that petit point de l'ail which Gascons love, and Scotchmen do not hate. There

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was, besides, a delicate ham, which had once supported a noble wild boar in the neighbouring wood of Mountrichart. There was the most delicate white bread, made into little round loaves called boules, (whence the bakers took their French name of boulangers,) of which the crust was so inviting, that, even with water alone, it would have been a delicacy. But the water was not alone, for there was a flask of leather called bottrine, which contained about a quart of exquisite Vin de Beaulne. So many good things might have created appetite under the ribs of death. What effect, then, must they have produced upon a youngster of scarce twenty, who (for the truth must be told) had eaten little for the two last days, save the scarcely ripe fruit which chance afforded him an opportunity ofplucking, and a very moderate portion of barley-bread. He threw himself upon the ragout, and the plate was presently vacant—he attacked the mighty pasty, marched deep into the bowels of the land, and, seasoning his enormous meal with an occasional cup of wine, returned to the charge again and again, to the astonishment ofmine host, and the amusement ofMaitre Pierre. The latter, indeed, probably because he found himself the author of a kinder action than he had thought of, seemed delighted with the appetite of the young Scot; and when, at length, he observed that his exertions began to languish, endeavoured to stimulate him to new efforts, by ordering confections, darioles, and any other light dainties he could think of, to entice the youth to continue his meal. While thus engaged, Maitre Pierre’s countenance expressed a kind of good humour almost amounting to benevolence, which appeared remote from its ordinary sharp, caustic, and severe character. The aged almost always sympathize with the enjoyments of youth, and with its exertions of every kind, when the mind of the spectator rests on its natural poise, and is not disturbed by inward envy or idle emulation. Quentin Durward also, while thus agreeably employed, could do no otherwise than discover that the countenance ofhis entertainer, which he had at first deemed so unprepossessing, mended when it was seen under the influence of the Vin de Beaulne, and there was kindness in the tone with which he reproached Maitre Pierre, that he amused himselfwith laughing at his appetite, without eating any thing himself. “I am doing penance,” said Maitre Pierre, “and may not eat any thing before noon, save some confiture and a cup of water. Bid yonder lady,” he added, turning to the inn-keeper, “bring them hither to me.” The inn-keeper left the room, and Maitre Pierre proceeded,— “Well, have I kept faith with you concerning my breakfast?” “The best meal I have eaten,” said the youth, “since I left Glenhoulakin.” “Glen—what?” demanded Maitre Pierre; “are you going to raise

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the devil, that you use such long-tailed words?” “Glen-houlakin, which is to say the Glen of the Midges, is the name of our ancient patrimony, my good sir. You have bought the right to laugh at the sound, if you please.” “I have not the least intention to offend,” said the old man; “but I was about to say, since you like your present meal so well, that the Scottish archers of the guard eat as good a one, or a better, every day.” “No wonder,” said Durward, “for ifthey are shut up in the swallows' nests all night, they must needs have a curious appetite in the morn­ ing.” “And plenty to gratify it upon,” said Maitre Pierre. “They need not, like the Burgundians, choose a bare back, that they may have a full belly—they dress like counts, and feast like abbots.” “It is well for them,” said Durward. “And wherefore will you not take service here, young man? Your uncle might, I dare say, have you placed on the file when there should a vacancy occur. And, hark in your ear, I myself have some little interest, and might be of some use to you. You can ride, I presume, as well as draw the bow?” “Our race are as good horsemen as ever put a plated shoe into a steel stirrup; and I know not but I might accept of your kind offer. Yet, look you, food and raiment are needful things, but, in my case, men think of honour, and advancement, and brave deeds of arms. Your King Louis —God bless him, I say, for he is friend and ally of Scotland—but he lies here in his Castle, or only rides from one fortified town to another; and gains cities and provinces by politic embassies, and not in fair fighting. Now, for me, I am of the Douglasses’ mind, who always kept the fields, because they loved better to hear the lark sing than the mouse squeak.” “Young man,” said Maitre Pierre, “do not judge too rashly of the actions of sovereigns. Louis seeks to spare the blood of his subjects, and cares not for his own. He shewed himself a man of courage at Montlhéry.” “Ay, but that was some dozen years ago or more,” answered the youth.—“I should like to follow a master that would keep his honour as bright as his shield, and always venture first in the very throng ofthe battle.” “Why did you not tarry at Brussels, then, with the Duke of Bur­ gundy? He would put you in the way to have your bones broken every day; and, rather than fail, would do the job for you himself—especially if he heard that you had beaten his forester.” “Very true,” said Quentin; “my unhappy chance has shut that door against me.”

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“Nay, there are plenty of dare-devils abroad with whom mad youngsters may find service,” said his adviser. “What think you, for example, of William de la Marck?” “What!” exclaimed Durward, “serve Him with the Beard—serve the Wild Boar of Ardennes—a captain of pillagers and murderers, who would take a man’s life for the value of his gaberdine, and who slays priests and pilgrims as if they were so many lance-knechts and men-at-arms? It would be a blot on my father’s scutcheon for ever.” “Well, my young hot-blood,” replied Maitre Pierre, “ifyou hold the Sanglier too unscrupulous, wherefore not follow the young Duke of Gueldres?” “Follow the foul fiend as soon,” said Quentin. “Hark in your ear— he is a burthen too heavy for earth to carry—hell gapes for him!—men say that he keeps his own father imprisoned, and that he has even struck him—Can you believe it?” Maitre Pierre seemed somewhat disconcerted with the naive horror with which the young Scotsman spoke of filial ingratitude, and he answered, “You know not, young man, how short while the relations of blood subsist amongst those of elevated rank;” then changed the tone of feeling in which he had begun to speak, and added, gaily, “besides, if the Duke has beaten his father, I warrant you, his father hath beaten him of old, so it is but a clearing of scores.” “I marvel to hear you speak thus,” said Quentin Durward, colour­ ing with indignation; “gray hairs such as yours, sir, ought to have fitter subjects for jesting—if the old Duke did beat his son in childhood, he beat him not enough, for better he had died under the rod, than lived to make the Christian world ashamed that such a monster had been ever baptized.” “At this rate,” said Maitre Pierre, “as you weigh the character of each prince and leader, I think you were better become a captain yourself, for where will one so wise find a chieftain fit to command him?” “You laugh at me, Maitre Pierre,” said the youth, good-hum­ ouredly, “and perhaps you are right, but you have not named a man who is a gallant leader, and keeps a brave party up here, under whom a man might seek service well enough.” “I cannot guess whom you mean.” “Why he that hangs like Mahound’s coffin (a curse be upon him!) between the two loadstones—he that no man can call either French or Burgundian, but who knows to hold the balance between them both, and makes both of them fear and serve him, for as great princes as they be.” “I cannot guess whom you mean,” said Maitre Pierre, thoughtfully.

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“Why, whom should I mean but the noble Louis de Luxembourg, Count of Saint Paul, the High Constable of France? Yonder he makes his place good, with his gallant little army, holding his head as high as either King Louis or Duke Charles, and balancing between them, like the boy who stands on the midst of a plank, while two others are swinging on the opposite ends.” “He is in danger of the worst fall of the three,” said Maitre Pierre. “And hark ye, my young friend, you who hold pillaging such a crime, do you know that your politic Count of Saint Paul was the first who set the example of burning the country during the time of war? and that before the shameful devastation which he committed, open towns and villages, which made no resistance, were spared on all sides?” “Nay, faith,” said Durward, “if that be the case, I shall begin to think no one of these great men is much better than another, and that a choice among them is but like choosing a tree to be hung up on. But this Count de Saint Paul, this Constable, hath possessed himself by clean conveyance of the town which takes its name from my hon­ oured saint and patron, Saint Quentin, (here he crossed himself,) and methinks, were I dwelling there, my holy patron would keep some look-out for me—he has not so many named after him as your more popular saints—and yet he must have forgotten me, poor Quentin Durward, his spiritual god-son, since he lets me go one day without food, and leaves me the next morning to the herbourage of Saint Julian, and the chance courtesy of a stranger, purchased by a ducking in the renowned river Cher, or one of its tributaries.” “Blaspheme not the saints, my young friend,” said Maitre Pierre. “Saint Julian is the faithful patron oftravellers; and, peradventure, the blessed Saint Quentin hath done more and better for thee than thou art aware of.” As he spoke, the door opened, and a girl, rather above than under fifteen years old, entered with a platter, covered with damask, on which was placed a small saucer of the dried plums which have always added to the reputation of Tours, and a cup of the curiously chased plate which the goldsmiths of the same city were anciently famous for executing, with a delicacy of workmanship that distinguished them from the other cities in France, and even excelled the skill of the metropolis. The form of the goblet was so elegant, that Durward thought not of observing closely whether the material were of silver, or, like what had been placed before him, of a baser metal, but so well burnished as to resemble the richer ore. But the sight of the young person by whom this service was executed, attracted Durward’s attention far more than the petty par­ ticulars of the duty which she performed.

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He had just made the discovery, that a quantity of long black tresses, which, in the maiden fashion of his own country, were unadorned by any ornament, excepting a simple chaplet lightly woven out of ivy leaves, but which were combed down with the greatest care, formed a veil around a countenance, which, in its regular features, dark eyes, and pensive expression, resembled that of Melpomene, though there was a faint glow on the cheek, and an intelligence on the lips and in the eye, which made it seem that gaiety was not foreign to a countenance so expressive, although it might not be its most habitual expression. Quentin even thought he could discern that depressing circumstances were the cause why a countenance so young and so lovely was graver than belongs to early beauty; and as the romantic imagination of youth is rapid in drawing conclusions from slight pre­ mises, he was pleased to infer, from what follows, that the fate of this beautiful vision was wrapped in silence and mystery. “How now, Jacqueline!” said Maitre Pierre, when she entered the apartment—“Wherefore this? Did I not desire that Dame Perette should bring what I wanted?—Pasques-dieu! is she, or does she think herself, too good to serve me?” “My mother is ill at ease,” answered Jacqueline, in a hurried yet a humble tone; “ill at ease, and keeps her chamber.” “She keeps it alone, I hope?” replied Maitre Pierre, with some emphasis; “I am vieux routier—and none of those upon whom feigned disorders pass for apologies.” Jacqueline turned pale, and even tottered at the answer of Maitre Pierre; for it must be owned, that his voice and looks, at all times harsh, caustic, and unpleasing, had, when he expressed anger or suspicion, an effect both sinister and alarming. The mountain chivalry of Quentin Durward was instantly awak­ ened, and he hastened to approach Jacqueline, and relieve her of the burthen she bore, and which she passively resigned to him, while, with a timid and anxious look, she watched the countenance of the angry burgess. It was not in nature to resist the piercing and pity-craving expression ofher looks, and Maitre Pierre proceeded, not merely with an air of diminished displeasure, but with as much gentleness as he could assume in countenance and manner, “I blame not thee, Jac­ queline, and thou art too young to be—what it is pity to think thou must be one day—a false and treacherous thing, like the rest of thy giddy sex. No man ever lived to man’s estate, but he had the oppor­ tunity to know you all. Here is a Scottish cavalier will tell you the same.” Jacqueline looked for an instant on the young stranger, as if to obey Maitre Pierre, but the glance, momentary as it was, appeared to

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Quentin Durward a pathetic appeal to him for support and sympathy; and with the promptitude dictated by the feelings of youth, and the romantic veneration for the female sex inspired by his education, he answered hastily, “That he would throw down his gage to any antag­ onist, of equal rank and equal age, who should presume to say such a countenance, as that which he now looked upon, could be animated by other than the purest and the truest mind.” The young woman grew deadly pale, and cast an apprehensive glance upon Maitre Pierre, in whom the bravadoe of the young gallant seemed only to excite laughter, more scornful than applausive. Quen­ tin Durward, whose second thoughts generally corrected the first, though sometimes after they had found utterance, blushed deeply at having uttered what might be construed into an empty boast, in pres­ ence of an old man of a peaceful profession; and, as a sort of just and appropriate penance, resolved patiently to submit to the ridicule which he had incurred. He offered the cup and trencher to Maitre Pierre with a blush on his cheek, and a humiliation of counten­ ance, which endeavoured to disguise itself under an embarrassed smile. “You are a foolish young man,” said Maitre Pierre, “and know as little of women as of princes, whose hearts,” he said, crossing himself devoutly, “God keeps in his right hand.” “And who keeps those of the women, then?” said Quentin, resolved, if he could help it, not to be borne down by the assumed superiority of this extraordinary old man, whose lofty and careless manner possessed an influence over him ofwhich he felt ashamed. “I am afraid you must ask of them in another quarter,” said Maitre Pierre, composedly. Quentin was again rebuffed, but not utterly disconcerted. “Surely,” he said to himself, “I do not pay this same burgess of Tours all the deference which I yield him, on account of the miserable obligation of a breakfast, though it was a right good and substantial meal. Dogs and hawks are attached by feeding only—man must have kindness, if you would bind him with the cords of affection and obligation. But he is an extraordinary person; and that beautiful emanation that is even now vanishing—surely a thing so fair belongs not to this mean place, belongs not even to the money-gathering merchant himself, though he seems to exert authority over her, as doubtless he does over all whom chance brings within his little circle. It is wonderful what ideas of consequence these Flemings and Frenchmen attach to wealth—so much more than wealth deserves, that I suppose this old merchant thinks the civility I pay to his age is given to his money—I, a Scottish gentleman ofblood and coat-armour, and he a mechanic of Tours!”

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Such were the thoughts which hastily traversed the mind of young Durward; while Maitre Pierre said, with a smile, and at the same time patting Jacqueline’s head, from which hung down her long tresses, “This young man will serve me, Jacqueline—thou mayst withdraw. I will tell thy negligent mother she does ill to expose thee to be gazed on unnecessarily.” “It was only to wait on you,” said the maiden. “I trust you will not be displeased with your kinswoman, since”—— “Pasques-dieu!ˮ said the merchant, interrupting her, but not harshly, “do you bandy words with me, you brat, or stay you to gaze upon the youngster here?—begone—he is noble, and his services will suffice me.” Jacqueline vanished; and so much was Quentin Durward interes­ ted in her sudden disappearance, that it broke his previous thread of reflection, and he complied mechanically, when Maitre Pierre said, in the tone of one accustomed to be obeyed, as he threw himself carelessly upon a large easy-chair, “Place that tray beside me. The merchant then let his dark eye-brows sink over his keen eyes, so that the last became scarce visible, or but shot forth occasionally a quick and vivid ray, like those of the sun setting behind a dark cloud, through which its beams are occasionally darted, but singly, and for an instant. “That is a beautiful creature,” said the old man at last, raising his head, and looking steady and firmly at Quentin, when he put the question—“a lovely girl to be the servant of an auberge—she might grace the board of an honest burgess; but ’tis a vile education, a base origin.” It sometimes happens that a chance shot will demolish a noble castle in the air, and the architect on such occasions entertains little good-will towards him who fires it, although the damage on their part may be wholly unintentional. Quentin Durward was disconcerted, and was disposed to be angry—he himself knew not why—with this provoking old man, for acquainting him that this beautiful creature was neither more nor less than what her occupation announced—the servant of this auberge—an upper servant, indeed, and probably a niece of the landlord, or such like; but still a domestic, and obliged to comply with the humour of the customers, and particularly of Maitre Pierre, who probably had sufficiency of whims, and was rich enough to insure their being attended to. The thought, the lingering thought, again returned on him, that he ought to make the old gentleman understand the difference betwixt their conditions, and call on him to mark, that, how rich soever he

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might be, his wealth put him on no level with a Durward of Glenhoulakin. Yet, whenever he looked on Maitre Pierre’s countenance with such a purpose, there was, notwithstanding the downcast look, pinched features, and mean and miserly dress, something which pre­ vented the young man from asserting the superiority over the mer­ chant, which he conceived himself to possess. On the contrary, the oftener and more fixedly Quentin looked at him, the stronger became his curiosity to know who, or what, this man actually was; and he set him down internally for at least a Syndic or high magistrate of Tours, or one who was, in some way or other, in the full habit of exacting and receiving deference. Meantime, the merchant seemed again sunk into a reverie, from which he raised himself only to make the sign of the cross devoutly, and to eat some dried fruit, with a morsel of biscuit. He then signed to Quentin to give him the cup, adding, however, as he presented it— “You are noble?” “I surely am,” replied the Scot, “if fifteen descents can make me so —So I told you before—but do not constrain yourselfon that account, Maitre Pierre—I have always been taught it is the duty of the young to assist the more aged.” “An excellent maxim,” said the merchant, availing himself of the youth’s assistance in handing the cup, and filling it from a ewer which seemed of the same materials with the goblet, without any of those scruples in point of propriety which perhaps Quentin had expected to excite. “The devil take the ease and familiarity of this old mechanical burgher,” said Durward once more to himself; “he uses the attend­ ance of a noble Scottish gentleman with as little ceremony as I would to that of a gillie from Glen-isla.” The merchant, in the meanwhile, having finished his cup of water, said to his companion, “From the zeal with which you seemed to relish the Vin de Beaulne, I fancy you would not care much to pledge me in this elemental liquor. But I have an elixir about me which can convert even the rock water into the richest wines of France.” As he spoke, he took a large purse from his bosom, made of the fur of the sea-otter, and streamed a shower of small silver pieces into the goblet, until the cup, which was but a small one, was more than half full. “You have reason to be more thankful, young man,” said Maitre Pierre, “both to your patron Saint Quentin, and to Saint Julian, than you seemed to be but now. I would advise you to bestow alms in their name. Remain in this hostelry until you see your kinsman, Le Balafré, who will be relieved from guard in the afternoon. I will cause him to be

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acquainted that he may find you here, for I have business in the Castle.” Quentin Durward would have said something to excuse himself from accepting the profuse liberality of his new friend; but Maitre Pierre, bending his dark brows, and erecting his stooping figure into an attitude of more dignity than he had yet seen him assume, said, in a tone of authority, “No reply, young man, but do what you are com­ manded.” With these words, he left the apartment, making a sign as he depar­ ted, that Quentin must not follow him. The young Scotsman stood astounded, and knew not what to think of the matter. His first most natural, though perhaps not most digni­ fied impulse, drove him to peep into the silver goblet, which assuredly was more than half full of silver pieces, to the number of several scores, of which perhaps Quentin had never called twenty his own at one time during the course of his whole life. But could he reconcile it to his dignity as a gentleman, to accept the money of this wealthy plebeian?—this was a trying question; for, though he had secured a good breakfast, it was no great reserve upon which to travel either back to Dijon, in case he chose to hazard the wrath, and enter the service, of the Duke of Burgundy, or to Saint Quentin, if he fixed on that of the Constable Saint Paul; for to one of these powers, if not to the King of France, he was determined to offer his services. He perhaps took the wisest resolution in the circumstances, in resolving to be guided by the advice of his uncle; and, in the meantime, he put the money into his velvet hawking-pouch, and called for the landlord of the house, in order to restore the silver cup—resolving, at the same time, to ask him some questions about this liberal and authoritative merchant. The man of the house appeared presently; and, if not more com­ municative, was at least more loquacious, than he had formerly appeared. He positively declined to take back the silver cup. It was none of his, he said, but Maitre Pierre’s, who had bestowed it on his guest. He had, indeed, four silver hanaps of his own, which had been left him by his grandmother of happy memory, but no more like the beautiful carving of that in his guest’s hand than a peach was like a turnip,—that was one of the famous cups of Tours, wrought by Martin Dominique, an artist who might brag all Paris. “And pray who is this Maitre Pierre,” said Durward, interrupting him, “who confers such valuable gifts on strangers?” “Who is Maitre Pierre?” said the host, dropping the words as slowly from his mouth as ifhe had been distilling them. “Ay,” said Durward, hastily and peremptorily, “Who is this Maitre

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Pierre, and why does he throw about his bounties in this fashion, and who is the butcherly-looking fellow whom he sent forward to order breakfast?” “Why, fair sir, as to who Maitre Pierre is, you should have asked the question at himself—and for the gentleman who ordered breakfast to be made ready, may God keep us from his closer acquaintance!” “There is something mysterious in all this,” said the young Scot. “This Maitre Pierre tells me he is a merchant.” “And if he told you so,” said the innkeeper, “surely he is a mer­ chant.” “What commodities does he deal in?” “O, many a fair matter of traffic,” said the host; “and specially he has set up silk manufactories here, which match those rich bales that the Venetians bring from India and Cathay. You might see the rows of mulberry trees as you came hither, all planted by Maitre Pierre’s commands, to feed the silk-worms.” “And that young person who brought in the confections, who is she, my good friend?” said the guest. “My lodger, sir, with her guardian, some sort ofaunt or kinswoman, as I think,” replied the inn-keeper. “And do you usually employ your guests in waiting on each other?” said Durward; “for I observed that Maitre Pierre would take nothing from your hand, or that ofyour attendant.” “Rich men may have their fancies, for they can pay for them,” said the landlord; “this is not the first time that Maitre Pierre has found the true way to make gentlefolks serve at his beck.” Quentin Durward felt somewhat offended at the insinuation; but, disguising his resentment, asked whether he could be accommodated with an apartment at this place for a day, and perhaps longer. “Certainly,” the innkeeper replied; “for whatever time he was pleased to command it.” “Could he be permitted,” he asked, “to pay his respects to the ladies, whose fellow-lodger he was about to become?” The innkeeper was uncertain. “They went not abroad,” he said, “and received no one at home.” “With the exception, I presume, ofMaitre Pierre?” said Durward. “I am not at liberty to name any exceptions,” answered the man, firmly, but respectfully. Quentin, who carried the notions of his own importance pretty high, considering how destitute he was of means to support them, being somewhat mortified by the innkeeper’s reply, did not hesitate to avail himself of a practice common enough in that age. “Carry to the ladies,” he said, “a flask of vernât, with my humble duty; and say, that

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Quentin Durward, of the house of Glen-houlakin, a Scottish cavalier of honour, and now their fellow-lodger, desires the permission to dedicate his homage to them in a personal interview.” The messenger departed, and returned, almost instantly, with the thanks of the ladies, who declined the proffered refreshment, and, returning their thanks to the Scottish cavalier, regretted that, residing there in privacy, they could not receive his visit. Quentin bit his lip, took a cup of the rejected vernât, which the host had placed on the table. “By the mass but this is a strange country,” he said to himself, “where merchants and mechanics exercise the man­ ners and munificence of nobles, and little travelling damsels, who hold their court in a cabaret, keep their state like disguised princesses! I will see that black-browed maiden again or it will go hard, however;” and having formed this prudent resolution, he demanded to be con­ ducted to the apartment which he was to call his own. The landlord presently ushered him up a turret staircase, and from thence along a gallery, with many doors opening from it, like those of cells in a convent; a resemblance which our young hero, who recol­ lected with much ennui an early specimen of a monastic life, was far from admiring. The host paused at the very end ofthe gallery, selected a key from the large bunch which he carried at his girdle, opened the door, and shewed his guest the interior of a turret-chamber, small indeed, but clean and solitary, and having the pallet bed, and the few articles of furniture, in unusually good order; the room seemed, on the whole, a little palace. “I hope you will find your dwelling agreeable here, fair sir,” said the landlord.—“I am bound to pleasure every friend of Maitre Pierre.” “O happy ducking!” exclaimed Quentin Durward, cutting a caper on the floor, so soon as his host had retired: “Never came good luck in a better or a wetter form. I have been fairly deluged by my good fortune.” As he spoke thus, he stepped towards the little window, which, as the turret projected considerably from the principal line of the build­ ing, not only commanded a very pretty garden of some extent belong­ ing to the inn, but overlooked, beyond its boundary, a pleasant grove of those very mulberry trees which Maitre Pierre was said to have planted for the support of the silk-worm. Besides, turning the eye from these more remote objects, and looking straight along the wall, the turret of Quentin was opposite to another turret, and the little window at which he stood commanded a similar little window, in a corresponding projection ofthe building. Now it would be difficult for a man twenty years older than Quentin, to say why this locality interes­ ted him more than either the pleasant garden or the grove of mul­

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berry trees; for, alas! eyes which have been used for forty years and upwards, look with indifference on little turret-windows, though the lattice be half-open to admit the air, while the shutter is half-closed to exclude the sun, or perhaps a too curious eye—nay, even though there hang on the one side of the casement a lute, partly mantled by a light veil of sea-green silk. But at Durward’s happy age, such accidents, as a painter would call them, form sufficient foundation for a hundred airy visions and mysterious conjectures, at recollection of which the fullgrown man smiles while he sighs, and sighs while he smiles. As it may be supposed that our friend Quentin wished to learn a little more of his fair neighbour, the owner of the lute and veil, as it may be supposed he was at least interested to know whether she might not prove the same whom he had seen in humble attendance on Maitre Pierre, it must of course be understood, that he did not pro­ duce a broad, flat, staring visage and person in full front of his own casement. Durward knew better the art ofbird-catching; and it was to his keeping his person skilfully withdrawn on one side of his window, while he peeped through the lattice, that he owed the pleasure of seeing a white, round, beautiful arm take down the instrument, and that his ears had presently after their share in the reward of his dexterous management. The maid of the little turret, of the veil and of the lute, sung exactly such a little air as we are accustomed to suppose flowed from the lips of the high-born dames of chivalry, when knights and troubadours listened and languished. The words had neither so much sense, wit, or fancy, as to withdraw the attention from the music, nor the music so much of art, as to drown all feeling of the words. The one seemed fitted to the other; and if the song had been recited without the notes, or the air played without the words, neither would have been worth noting. It is, therefore, scarce fair to put upon record lines intended not to be said or read, but only to be sung. But such scraps of old poetry have always had a sort of fascination for us; and as the tune is lost for ever—unless Bishop happens to find the notes, or some lark teaches Stephens to warble the air—we will risk our credit, and the taste of the lady of the lute, by preserving the verses, simple and even rude as they are. “Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark his lay who trill’d all day, Sits hush’d his partner nigh; Breeze, bird, and flower, they know the hour, But where is County Guy?

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“The village maid steals through the shade, Her shepherd’s suit to hear; To Beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier. The star ofLove, all stars above, Now reigns o’er earth and sky; And high and low the influence know— But where is County Guy?”

Whatever the reader may think ofthis simple ditty, it had a powerful effect on Quentin, when married to heavenly airs, and sung by a sweet and melting voice, the notes mingling with the gentle breezes which wafted perfumes from the garden, and the figure being so partially and obscurely visible, as threw a veil ofmysterious fascination over the whole. At the close of the air, the listener could not help shewing himself more boldly than he had yet done, in a rash attempt to see more than he had yet been able to discover. The music instantly ceased—the casement was closed, and a dark curtain, dropped on the inside, put a stop to all further observation on the part of the neighbour in the next turret. Durward was mortified and surprised at the consequence of his precipitance, but comforted himself with the hope, that the lady of the lute could neither easily forego the practice of an instrument which seemed so familiar to her, nor cruelly resolve to renounce the pleas­ ures of fresh air and an open window, for the churlish purpose of preserving for her own exclusive ear the sweet sounds which she created. There came, perhaps, a little feeling of personal vanity to mingle with these consolatory reflections. If, as he shrewdly sus­ pected, there was a beautiful dark-tressed damsel inhabitant of the one turret, he could not but be conscious that a handsome, young, roving, bright-locked gallant, a cavalier of fortune, was the tenant of the other; and romances, those prudent instructors, had taught his youth, that, if damsels were shy, they were yet neither void of interest nor ofcuriosity in their neighbours’ affairs. Whilst Quentin was engaged in these sage reflections, a sort of attendant or chamberlain of the inn informed him that a cavalier desired to speak with him below.

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Chapter Five THE MAN-AT-ARMS —Full ofstrange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon’s mouth. As You Like It

The cavalier who awaited Quentin Durward’s descent into the apartment where he had breakfasted, was one of those of whom Louis XI. had long since said, that they held in their hands the fortune of France, as to them was entrusted the direct custody and protection of the royal person. Charles the Sixth had instituted this celebrated body, the Archers, as they were called, of the Scottish Body-guard, with better reason than can generally be alleged for establishing around the throne a guard offoreign and mercenary troops. The divisions which tore from his side more than half of France, together with the wavering and uncertain faith of the nobility who yet acknowledged his cause, ren­ dered it impolitic and unsafe to commit his personal safety to their keeping. The Scottish nation was the hereditary enemy ofthe English, and the ancient, and, as it seemed, the natural allies of France. They were poor, couragious, faithful—their ranks were sure to be supplied from the superabundant population oftheir own country, than which none in Europe sent forth more or bolder adventurers. Their high claims of descent, too, gave them a good title to approach the person of a monarch more closely than other troops, while the smallness of their numbers prevented the possibility of their mutinying, and becoming masters where they ought to be servants. On the other hand, the French monarchs made it their policy to conciliate the affections of this selected band of foreigners, by allow­ ing them honorary privileges and ample pay, which last most of them disposed ofwith military profusion in supporting their supposed rank. Each of them ranked as a gentleman in place and honour; and their near approach to the King’s person gave them dignity in their own eyes, as well as in those of the nation of France. They were sumptu­ ously armed, equipped, and mounted; and each was entitled to allow­ ance for a squire, or valet, a page, and two yeomen, one of whom was termed coutelier, from the large knife which he wore to dispatch those whom in the melée his master had thrown to the ground. With these followers, and a corresponding equipage, an Archer of the Scottish

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Guard was a person of quality and importance; and vacancies being generally filled up by those who had been trained in the service as pages or valets, the cadets of the best Scottish families were often sent to serve under some friend and relation in those capacities, until a chance of preferment should occur. The coutelier and his companion, not being noble or capable of this promotion, were recruited from persons of inferior quality; but as their pay and appointments were excellent, their masters were easily able to select from among their wandering countrymen the strongest and most courageous to wait upon them in that description. Ludovic Lesly, or, as we shall more frequently call him, Le Balafré, by which name he was generally known in France, was upwards of six feet high, robust, strongly compacted in person, and hard-favoured in countenance, which latter attribute was much increased by a large and ghastly scar, which, beginning on his forehead, and narrowly missing his right eye, had laid bare the cheek-bone, and descended from thence almost to the tip of his ear, exhibiting a deep seam, which was sometimes scarlet, sometimes purple, sometimes blue, and some­ times approaching to black; but always hideous, because at variance with the complexion of the face in whatever state it chanced to be, whether agitated or still, flushed with unusual passion, or in its ordin­ ary state of weather-beaten and sun-burned swarthiness. His dress and arms were splendid. He wore his national bonnet, crested with a tuft offeathers, and with a Virgin Mary ofmassive silver for a brooch. These brooches had been presented to the Scottish Guard, in consequence of the King, in one of his fits of superstitious piety, having devoted the swords ofhis guard to the service ofthe Holy Virgin, and, as some say, carried the matter so far as to draw out a commission to Our Lady as their Captain General. The Archer’s gorget, arm-pieces, and gauntlets, were of the finest steel, curiously inlaid with silver, and his hauberk, or shirt of mail, was as clear and bright as the frost-work of a winter morning upon fem or briar. He wore a loose surcoat, or cassock, of rich blue velvet, open at the sides like that of a herald, with a large white cross of embroidered silver bisecting it both before and behind—his knees and legs were pro­ tected by hose of mail and shoes of steel—a broad strong poniard (called the Mercy ofGod) hung by his right side—the bauldrick for his two-handed sword, richly embroidered, hung upon his left shoulder; but, for convenience, he at present carried in his hand that unwieldy weapon, which the rules ofhis service forbade him to lay aside. Quentin Durward, though, like the Scottish youth of the period, he had been early taught to look upon arms and war, thought he had never seen a more martial-looking, or more completely equipped and

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accomplished man-at-arms, than now saluted him in the person of his mother’s brother, called Ludovic with the Scar, or Le Balafré. Yet he could not but shrink a little from the grim expression of his counten­ ance, while, with its rough moustachios, he brushed first the one and then the other cheek of his kinsman, welcomed his fair nephew to France, and, in the same breath, asked what news from Scotland. “Little good, fair uncle,” replied young Durward; “but I am glad that you know me so readily.” “I would have known thee, boy, in the landes of Bourdeaux, had I met thee marching there like a crane on a pair of stilts. But sit thee down—sit thee down—if there is sorrow to hear of, we will have wine to make us bear it.—Ho! old Pinch-Measure, our good host, bring us of thy best, and that in an instant.” The well-known sound of the Scottish-French was as familiar in the taverns near Plessis, as that of the Swiss-French in the modern guinguettes of Paris; and promptly—ay, with the promptitude of fear and precipitation, was it heard and obeyed. A flagon of champagne soon stood before them, of which the elder took a draught, while the nephew helped himself only to a moderate sip, to acknowledge his uncle’s courtesy, saying, in excuse, “that he had already drunk wine that morning.” “That had been a rare apology in the mouth of thy sister, fair nephew,” said Le Balafré; “you must fear the wine-pot less, if you would wear beard on your face, and write yourself soldier. But come—come—unbuckle your Scottish mail-bag—give us the news of Glen-houlakin—how doth my sister?” “Dead, fair uncle,” answered Quentin, sorrowfully. “Dead!” echoed his uncle, with a tone rather marked by wonder than sympathy—“why, she was five years younger than I, and I was never better in my life. Dead! the thing is impossible. I have never had so much as a headache, unless after revelling out my two or three days’ furlow with the brethren of the joyous science—and my poor sister is dead!—And your father, fair nephew, hath he married again?” And, ere the youth could reply, he read the answer in his surprise at the question, and said, “What, no?—I would have sworn that Allan Durward was no man to live without a wife—he loved to have his house in order—loved to look on a pretty woman too, and was some­ what strict in life withal—matrimony did all this for him. Now I care little about these comforts, and I can look on a pretty woman without thinking of the sacrament of wedlock—I am scarce holy enough for that.” “Alas! fair uncle, my mother was left a widow a year since, when

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Glen-houlakin was harried by the Ogilvies. My father, and my two uncles, and my two elder brothers, and seven of my kinsmen, and the harper, and the tasker, and some six more ofour people, were killed in defending the castle—and there is not a burning hearth or a standing stone in all Glen-houlakin.” “Cross of Saint Andrew!” said Le Balafré; “that is what I call an onslaught. Ay, these Ogilvies were ever but sorry neighbours to Glenhoulakin—an evil chance it was—but fate of war—fate of war.— When did this mishap befal, fair nephew?” With that he took a deep draught of wine in lieu, and shook his head with much solemnity, when his kinsman replied, that his family had been destroyed upon the festival of Saint Jude last bye-past. “Look ye there,” said the soldier; “I said it was all chance—on that very day I and twenty of my comrades carried the Castle of Roche­ noir by storm, from Amaury Bras-de-fer, a captain of free lances, whom you must have heard of. I killed him on his own threshold, and gained as much gold as made this fair chain, which was once twice as long as it now is—and that minds me to send part of it on an holy errand.—Here, Andrew—Andrew!” Andrew, his yeoman, entered, dressed like the Archer himself in the general equipment, but without the armour for the limbs,—that of the body more coarsely manufactured—his cap without a plume, and his cassock made of serge, or coarse cloth, instead of rich velvet. Untwining his gold chain from his neck, Balafré twisted off, with his firm and strong-set teeth, about four inches from the one end of it, and said to his attendant, “Here, Andrew, carry this to my gossip, jolly Father Boniface, the monk of Saint Martin’s—greet him well from me, by the same token that he could not say God save ye when we last parted at midnight—tell my gossip that my brother and sister, and some others of my house, are all dead and gone, and I pray him to say masses for their souls as far as the value of these links will carry him, and to do on trust what else may be necessary to free them from Purgatory. And hark ye—as they were just-living people, and free from all heresy, it may be that they are well nigh out of limbo already, so that a little matter may have them free of the fetlocks; and in that case, look ye, ye will say I desire to take out the gold in curses upon a generation called the Ogilvies, in what way soever the church may best come at them. You understand all this, Andrew?” The coutelier nodded. “Then look that none of these links find their way to the wine­ house ere the Monk touches them; for if it so chance, thou shalt taste of saddle-girth and stirrup-leather, till thou art as raw as Saint Bartholomew.—Yet hold, I see thy eye has fixed on the wine measure,

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and thou shalt not go without tasting.” So saying, he filled him a brimful cup, which the coutelier drank off, and retired to do his patron’s commission. “And now, fair nephew, let us hear what was your own fortune in this unhappy matter.” “I fought it out among those who were older and stouter than I was, till we were all brought down,” said Durward, “and I received a cruel wound.” “Not a worse slash than I received ten years since myself,” said Le Balafré.—“Look at this, my fair nephew,” tracing the dark crimson gash which was imprinted on his face—“An Ogilvy’s sword never ploughed so deep a furrow.” “They ploughed deeply enough,” answered Quentin, sadly; “but they were tired at last, and my mother’s entreaties procured mercy for me, when I was found to retain some spark of life—but although a learned monk of Aberbrothock, who chanced to be our guest at the fatal time, and narrowly escaped being killed in the fray, was permitted to bind my wounds, and finally to remove me to a place of safety, it was only on promise, given both by my mother and him, that I should become a monk.” “A monk!” exclaimed the uncle—“Holy Saint Andrew! there is what never befel me—no one, from my childhood upward, ever so much as dreamed of making me a monk. And yet I wonder when I think of it; for you will allow that, bating the reading and writing, which I could never learn, and the psalmody, which I could never endure, and the dress, which is that of a mad beggar—our Lady forgive me!—(here he crossed himself)—and their fasts, which do not suit my appetite, I would have made every whit as good a monk as my little gossip at Saint Martin’s yonder. But I know not why, none ever proposed the station to me.—On, fair nephew, you were to be a monk then—and wherefore, I pray you?” “That my father’s house might be ended, either in the cloister or in the tomb,” answered Quentin, with deep feeling. “I see,” answered his uncle—“I comprehend—cunning rogues— very cunning—they might have been cheated though, for look ye, fair nephew, I myself remember the canon Robersart who had taken the vows, and afterwards broke out of cloister, and became a captain of Free Companions—he had a mistress, the prettiest wench I ever saw, and three as beautiful children—there is no trusting monks, fair nephew,—no trusting them—they may become soldiers and fathers when you least expect it—but on with your tale.” “I have little more to tell,” said Durward, “except that, considering my poor mother in some degree as a pledge for me, I took the dress of

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a novice, and conformed to the cloister rules, and even learned to read and write.” “To read and write!” exclaimed Le Balafré, who was one of those sort of people who think all knowledge is miraculous which chances to exceed their own—“To write, sayst thou, and to read! I cannot believe it—never Durward could write his name that ever I heard of, nor Lesly either. I can answer for one of them—I can no more write than I can fly. Now, in Saint Louis’s name, how did they teach it you?” “It was troublesome at first,” said Durward, “but became more easy by use; and I was weak with my wounds and loss of blood, and desirous to gratify my preserver, Father Peter, and so I was the more easily kept to my task. But after several months’ languishing, my good kind mother died, and as my health was now fully restored, I com­ municated to my benefactor, who was also Sub-Prior of the Convent, my reluctance to take the vows; and it was agreed between us, since my vocation lay not to the cloister, that I should be sent out into the world to seek my fortune, and that, to save the Sub-Prior from the anger of the Ogilvies, my departure should have the appearance of flight; and to colour it, I brought off the Abbot’s hawk with me. But I was regularly dismissed, as will appear from the hand and seal of the Abbot himself.” “That is right—that is well,” said his uncle. “Our King cares little what theft thou may’st have made, but hath a horror at any thing like a breach of the cloister. And, I warrant thee, thou hadst no great treas­ ure to bear thy charges?” “Only a few pieces of silver,” said the youth; “for to you, fair uncle, I must make a free confession.” “Alas!” replied Le Balafré, “that is hard—now, though I am never a hoarder of my pay, because it doth ill to bear a charge about one in these perilous times, yet I always have (and I would advise you to follow my example) some odd gold chain or bracelet, or carcanet, that serves for the ornament of my person, and can at need spare a super­ fluous link or two for any immediate purpose.—But you may ask, fair kinsman, how you are to come by such toys as this?—(he shook his chain with complacent triumph)—they hang not on every bush—they grow not in the fields like the daffodils, with whose stalks children make knights’ collars. What then?—you may get such where I got this, in the service of the good King of France, where there is always wealth to be found, ifa man has but the heart to seek it, at the risk ofa little life or so.” “I thought,” said Quentin Durward, evading a decision to which he felt himself as yet scarce competently informed, “that the Duke of Burgundy keeps a more noble state than the King of France, and that

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there is more honour to be won under his banners––that good blows are struck there, and deeds of arms done; while the Most Christian King, they say, gains his victories by his ambassadors' tongues.” “You speak like a foolish boy, fair nephew,” answered he with the Scar; “and yet, I bethink me, when I came hither I was nearly as simple. I could never think of a King but what I supposed him either sitting under the high deas, and feasting amid his high vassals and Paladins, eating blanc-manger, with a great gold crown upon his head, or else charging at the head of his troops like Charlemagne in the romaunts, or like Robert Bruce or William Wallace in our own true histories. Hark in thy ear, man––it is all moonshine in the water. Policy–policy does it all––it is an art our King has found out, to fight with other men’s swords, and to wage his soldiers out of other men’s purses. Ah! it is the wisest Prince who ever put purple on his back— and yet he weareth not much of that neither—I see him often go plainer than I would think befitted me to do.” “But you meet not my exception, fair uncle,” answered young Dur­ ward; “I would serve, since serve I must in a foreign land, somewhere where a brave deed, were it my hap to do one, might work me a name.” “I understand you, fair nephew,” said the royal man-at-arms, “I understand you passing well; but you are unripe in these matters. The Duke of Burgundy is a hot-headed, impetuous, pudden-headed, iron-ribbed dare-all. He charges at the head of his nobles and native knights, his liegemen of Artois and Hainault; think you, if you were there, or ifI were there myself, that we could be much further forward than the Duke and all his brave nobles of his own land? if we were not up with them, we had a chance to be turned on the Provost Marshall’s hands for being slow in making to; if we were abreast of them, all would be called well, and we might be thought to have deserved our pay; and grant that I was a spear’s-length or so in the front, which is both difficult and dangerous in such a melée, where all do their best, why, my lord duke says, in his Flemish, when he sees a good blow struck, ‘Ha! gut getroffen! a good lance—a brave Scot—give him a florin to drink our health;’ but neither rank, nor lands, nor treasures, come to the stranger in such a service—all goes to the children of the soil.” “And where should it go, in heaven’s name, fair uncle?” demanded young Durward. “To him that protects the children of the soil,” said Balafré, draw­ ing up his gigantic height. “Thus says King Louis:—‘My good French peasant—mine honest Jacques Bonhomme—get you to your tools, your plough and your harrow, your pruning knife and your hoe —here is my gallant Scot that will fight for you, and you shall only have

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the trouble to pay him—And you, my most serene duke, my illustrious count, and my most mighty marquis, e’en rein up your fiery courage till it is wanted, for it is apt to start out of the career, and to hurt its master; here are my companies of ordonance—here are my French Guards—here are, above all, my Scottish Archers, and mine honest Ludovic with the Scar, who will fight, as well or better than you, with all that undisciplined valour, which, in your fathers’ time, lost Cressy and Azincour.’ Now, see you not in which of these states a cavalier of fortune holds the highest rank, and must come to the highest hon­ our?” “I think I understand you, fair uncle,” answered the nephew; “but, in my mind, honour cannot be won where there is no risk run. This is —I pray you pardon me—an easy and almost slothful life, to mount guard round an elderly man whom no one thinks of harming, to spend summer-day and winter-night upon yonder battlements, and shut up all the while in iron cages, for fear you should desert your posts— uncle, uncle, it is but the hawk upon his perch, who is never carried out to the fields!” “Now, by Saint Martin of Tours, the boy has some spirit—a right touch of the Lesly in him—much like myself, though always with a little more folly in it. Hark ye, youth—Long live the King of France! —scarce a day but there is some commission in hand, by which some of his followers may win both coin and credit. Think not that the bravest and most dangerous deeds are done by daylight. I could tell you of some, as scaling castles, making prisoners, and the like, where one who shall be nameless hath run higher risk, and gained greater favour, than any desperado in the train of Desperate Charles of Bur­ gundy. And if it please his Majesty to remain behind, and in the back­ ground, while such things are doing, he hath the more leisure of spirit to admire, and the more liberality of hand to reward the adventurers, whose danger perhaps, and whose feats of arms, he can better judge of than if he had personally shared them. O, ’tis a sagacious and most politic monarch!” His nephew paused, and then said, in a low but impressive tone of voice, “The good Father Peter used often to teach me there might be much danger in deeds by which little glory was acquired. I need not say to you, fair uncle, that I do in course suppose that these secret commissions must needs be honourable.” “For whom or for what take you me, fair nephew?” said Balafré, somewhat sternly; “I have not been trained, indeed, in the cloister, neither can I write or read—but I am your mother’s brother—I am a loyal Lesly—think you that I am like to recommend to you any thing unworthy?—the best knight in France, Du Guesclin himself, if he

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were alive again, might be proud to number my deeds among his achievements.” “I cannot doubt your warranty, fair uncle,” said the youth; “you are the only adviser my mishap has left me. But is it true, as fame says, that this King keeps a meagre court here at his Castle of Plessis? No repair of nobles or courtiers, none of his grand feudatories in attendance, none of the high officers of the crown; halfsolitary sports, shared only with the menials of his household; secret councils, to which only low and obscure men are invited; rank and nobility depressed, and men raised from the lowest origin to the kingly favour—all this seems unregulated, resembles not the manners of his father, the noble Charles, who tore from the fangs of the English lion this more than half-conquered kingdom of France.” “You speak like a giddy child,” said Le Balafré, “and even as a child you harp ever the same notes on a new string. Look you: if the King employs Oliver Dain, his barber, to do what Oliver can do better than any peer of them all, is not his kingdom the gainer? If he bids his stout Provost-Marshal Tristan arrest such or such a seditious burgher, take off such or such a turbulent noble, the deed is done and no more of it; when, were the commission given to a duke or peer of France, he might perchance send the King back a defiance in exchange. If, again, the King pleases to give to plain Ludovic Balafré a commission which he will execute, instead of employing the High Constable, who would perhaps betray it, doth it not shew wisdom? Above all, doth not a monarch ofsuch conditions best suit cavaliers offortune, who must go where their services are most highly prized, and most frequently in demand?—No, no, child, I tell thee Louis knows how to chuse his confidents, and what to charge them with; suiting, as they say, the burthen to each man’s back. He is not like the King of Castile, who choked of thirst, they say, because the Great Butler was not beside to hand his cup.—Hark to the bell of Saint Martin’s! I must hasten back to the Castle—farewell—make much of yourself, and at eight to­ morrow morning present yourself before the drawbridge, and ask for me at the centinel—take heed you step not off the straight and beaten path in approaching the portal! it may cost you a limb, which you will sorely miss. You shall see the King, and learn to judge him for yourself —Farewell.” So saying, Balafré hastily departed, forgetting, in his hurry, to pay for the wine he had called for, a shortness of memory incidental to persons ofhis description, and which his host, overawed, perhaps, by the nodding bonnet and ponderous two-handed sword, did not pre­ sume to use any efforts for correcting. It might have been expected that, when left alone, Durward would

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have again betaken himself to his turret, in order to watch for the repetition of those delicious sounds which had soothed his morning reverie. But that was a chapter of romance, and his uncle’s conversa­ tion had opened to him a page of the real history of life. It was no pleasing one, and for the present the recollections and reflections which it excited, were qualified to overpower other thoughts, and especially all of a light and soothing nature. Quentin resorted to a solitary walk along the banks of the rapid Cher, having previously inquired of his landlord for one which he might traverse without fear of disagreeable interruption from snares and pitfalls, and there endeavoured to compose his turmoiled and scattered thoughts, and consider his future motions, upon which his meeting with his uncle had thrown some dubiety.

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Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dantonly gaed he, He play’d a spring and danced it round Beneath the gallows tree. Old Song

The manner in which Quentin Durward had been educated, was not of a kind to soften the heart, or perhaps to improve the moral feeling. He, with the rest of his family, had been trained to the chase as an amusement, and taught to consider war as their only serious occu­ pation, and that it was the great duty of their lives stubbornly to endure, and fiercely to retaliate, the attacks of their feudal enemies, by whom their race had been at last almost annihilated. And yet there mixed with these feuds a spirit of rude chivalry, and even courtesy, which softened their rigour; so that revenge, their only justice, was still prosecuted with some regard to humanity and generosity. The lessons of the worthy old monk, better attended to, perhaps, during a long illness and adversity, than they might have been in health and success, had given young Durward still farther insight into the duties of humanity towards each other; and, considering the ignorance of the period, the general prejudices entertained in favour of a military life, and the manner in which he himself had been bred, the youth was disposed to feel more accurately the moral duties incumbent on his station than was usual at the time. He reflected on his interview with his uncle with a sense of embar­

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rassment and disappointment. His hopes had been high; for although intercourse by letters was out of question, yet a pilgrim, or an adven­ turous trafficker, or a crippled soldier, sometimes brought Lesly’s name to Glen-houlakin, and all united in praising his undaunted courage, and his success in many petty enterprizes which his master had entrusted to him. Quentin’s imagination had filled up the sketch in his own way, and assimilated his successful and adventurous uncle (whose exploits probably lost nothing in the telling) to some of the champions and knight-errants of whom minstrels sang, and who won crowns and kings’ daughters by dint of sword and lance. He was now compelled to rank his kinsman much lower in the scale of chivalry, though, blinded by the high respect paid to parents, and those who approach that character; moved by every early prejudice in his favour; inexperienced besides, and passionately attached to his mother’s memory, he saw not, in the only brother of that dear relation, the character which he truly held, which was that of an ordinary mercenary soldier, neither much worse nor greatly better than the numbers of the same profession whose presence added to the dis­ tracted state ofFrance. Without being wantonly cruel, Balafré was, from habit, indifferent to human life and human suffering; he was profoundly ignorant, greedy of booty, unscrupulous how he acquired it, and profuse in expending it on the gratification of his own passions. The habit of attending exclusively to his own wants and interests, had converted him into one of the most selfish animals in the world; so that he was seldom able, as the reader may have remarked, to proceed far in any subject without considering how it applied to himself, or, as it is called, making the case his own, though not upon feelings connected with the golden rule, but such as were very different. To this must be added, that the narrow round of his duties and his pleasures had gradually circumscribed his thoughts, hopes, and wishes, and quenched in a great measure the wild spirit of honour, and desire of distinction in arms, by which he had been once animated. Balafré was, in short, a keen soldier, hardened, selfish, and narrow-minded; active and bold in discharge of his duty, but acknowledging few objects beyond it, excepting the formal observance of a careless devotion, relieved by an occasional debauch with brother Boniface, his comrade and con­ fessor. Had his genius been of a more extended character, he would probably have been promoted to some important command, for the King, who knew every soldier of his body-guard personally, reposed much confidence in Balafré’s courage and fidelity; and besides, the Scot had either wisdom or cunning enough perfectly to understand, and ably to humour, the peculiarities of that sovereign. Still, however,

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his capacity was too much limited to admit of his rising to higher rank, and though smiled on and favoured by Louis on many occasions, Balafré continued a mere life-guards-man. Without seeing the full scope of his uncle’s character, Quentin felt shocked at his indifference to the disastrous extirpation of his brother-in-law’s whole family, and could not help being surprised, moreover, that so near a relative had not offered him the assistance of his purse, which, but for the generosity of Maitre Pierre, he would have been under the necessity of directly craving from him. He wronged his uncle, however, in supposing that this want ofattention to his probable necessities was owing to actual avarice. Not precisely needing money himself at that moment, it had not occurred to Balafré that his nephew might be in exigencies; otherwise, he held a near kinsman so much a part of himself, that he would have provided for the weal of the living nephew, as he endeavoured to do for that of his deceased sister and her husband. But whatever was the motive, the neglect was very unsatisfactory to young Durward, and he wished more than once he had taken service with the Duke of Burgundy before he quarrelled with his forester. “Whatever had then become of me,” he thought to himself, “I would always have been able to keep up my spirits with the reflection, that I had, in case of the worst, a stout back-friend in this uncle of mine. But now I have seen him, and, woe worth him, there has been more help in a mere mechanical stranger than I have found in my own mother’s brother, my countryman and a cavalier. One would think the slash, that has carved all comeliness out of his face, had let at the same time every drop of gentle blood out of his body.” Durward now regretted he had not had an opportunity to mention Maitre Pierre to Balafré, in hopes of obtaining some farther account of that personage; but his uncle’s questions had been huddled fast on each other, and the summons of the great bell of Saint Martin’s of Tours had broken off their conference rather suddenly. That old man, he recollected, was crabbed and dogged in appearance, sharp and scornful in language, but generous and liberal in his actions; and such a stranger is worth a cold kinsman—“What says our old Scottish proverb?—‘Better kind fremit, than fremit kindred.’ I will find out that man, which, methinks, should be no difficult task, since he is so wealthy as mine host bespeaks him. He will give me good advice for my governance, at least; and if he goes to strange countries, as many such do, I know not but his may be as adventurous a service as that of those Guards ofLouis.” As Quentin framed this thought, a whisper from those recesses of the heart in which lies much that the owner does not know of, or will

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not acknowledge willingly, suggested that, perchance, the lady of the turret, she of the veil and the lute, might share that adventurous journey. As the Scottish youth made these reflections, he met two grave­ looking men, apparently citizens ofTours, whom, doffing his cap with the reverence due from youth to age, he respectfully asked to direct him to the house ofMaitre Pierre. “The house of whom, my fair sir?” said one ofthe passengers. “Of Maitre Pierre, the great silk-merchant, who planted all the mulberry trees in the park yonder,” said Durward. “Young man,” said one of them who was nearest to him, “you have taken up an idle trade a little too early.” “And have chosen wrong subjects to practise your fooleries upon,” said the farther one, still more gruffly. “The Syndic of Tours is not accustomed to be thus talked to by strolling jesters from foreign parts.” Quentin was so much surprised at the causeless offence which these two decent-looking persons had taken at a very simple and civil question, that he forgot to be angry at the rudeness of their reply, and stood staring after them as they walked on with amended pace, often looking back at him, as if they were desirous to get as soon as possible out ofhis reach. He next met a party of vine-dressers, and addressed to them the same question; and, in reply, they demanded to know whether he wanted Maitre Pierre, the schoolmaster? or Maitre Pierre, the car­ penter? or Maitre Pierre, the beadle? or half-a-dozen Maitre Pierres besides. When none of these corresponded with the description of the person after whom he inquired, the peasants accused him of jesting with them impertinently, and threatened to fall upon him and beat him, in guerdon ofhis raillery. The oldest among them, who had some influence over the rest, prevailed on them to desist from violence. “You see by his speech and his fool’s cap,” he said, “that he is one of the foreign mountebanks who are come into the country, and whom some call magicians and soothsayers, and some jugglers and the like, and there is no knowing what tricks they have amongst them. I have heard of such a one paying a liard to eat his belly-full of grapes in a poor man’s vineyard; and he eat as many as would have loaded a wain, and never undid a button of his jerkin—And so let him pass quietly, and keep his way, as we will keep ours.—And you, friend, ifyou would shun worse use, walk quietly on, in the name of God, our Lady of Marmouthier, and Saint Martin of Tours, and cumber us no more about your Maitre Pierre, which may be another name for the devil for aught we know.”

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The Scot, finding himself much the weaker party, judged it his wisest course to walk on without reply; but the peasants, who at first shrunk from him in horror, at his supposed talents for sorcery and grape-devouring, took heart of grace as he got to a distance, and having uttered a few cries and curses, finally gave them emphasis with a shower of stones, though at such a distance as to do little or no harm to the object of their displeasure. Quentin, as he pursued his walk, began to think, in his turn, either that he himself lay under a spell, or that the people of Touraine were the most stupid, brutal, and inhos­ pitable of the French peasants. The next incident which came under his observation did not tend to diminish this opinion. On a slight eminence, rising above the rapid and beautiful Cher, in the direct line of his path, two or three large chesnut trees were so happily placed as to form a distinguished and remarkable groupe; and beside them stood three or four peasants, motionless, with their eyes turned upwards, and fixed, apparently, upon some object amongst the branches of the tree next to them. The reveries of youth are seldom so profound as not to yield to the slightest impulse of curiosity, as easily as the lightest pebble, dropped casually from the hand, breaks the surface of a limpid pool. Quentin hastened his pace, and ran lightly up the rising ground, time enough to witness the ghastly spectacle which attracted the notice of these gazers—which was nothing less than the body of a man, convulsed by the last agony, suspended on one of the branches. “Why do you not cut him down?” said the young Scot, whose hand was as ready to assist affliction, as to maintain his own honour when he deemed it assailed. One of the peasants, turning on him an eye from which fear had banished all expression but its own, and a face as pale as clay, pointed to a mark cut upon the bark of the tree, bearing the same rude resemb­ lance to a fleur-de-lys which certain talismanic scratches, well known to our revenue officers, bear to a broad arrow. Neither understanding nor heeding the import of this symbol, Quentin Durward sprung lightly as the ounce up into the tree, drew from his pouch that most necessary implement of a Highlander or woodsman, the trusty skene dhu, and, calling to those below to receive the body on their hands, cut the rope asunder in less than a minute after he had perceived the exigency. But his humanity was ill seconded by the by-standers. So far from rendering Durward any assistance, they seemed terrified at the auda­ city of his action, and took to flight with one consent, as if they feared their merely looking on might have been construed into accession to his daring deed. The body, unsupported from beneath, fell heavily

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to earth, in such a manner, that Quentin, who presently afterwards jumped down, had the mortification to see that the last sparks of life were extinguished. He gave not up his charitable purpose, however, without further efforts. He freed the wretched man’s neck from the fatal noose, undid the doublet, threw water on the face, and practised the other ordinary remedies resorted to for recalling suspended animation. While he was thus humanely engaged, a wild clamour of tongues, speaking a language which he knew not, arose around him; and he had scarcely time to observe that he was surrounded by several men and women of a singular and foreign appearance, when he found himself roughly seized by both arms, while a naked knife, at the same moment, was offered to his throat. “Pale slave of Eblis!” said a man, in imperfect French, “are you robbing him you have murthered?—But we have you—and you shall abuy it.” There were knives drawn on every side of him as these words were spoken, and the grim and distorted countenances which glared on him, were like those ofwolves rushing on their prey. Still the young Scot’s courage and presence of mind bore him out. “What mean ye, my masters?” he said; “if that be your friend’s body, I have just now cut him down, in pure charity, and you will do better to try to recover his life, than to misuse an innocent stranger to whom he owes his chance of escape.” The women had by this time taken possession ofthe dead body, and continued the attempts to recover animation which Durward had been making use of, though with the like bad success; so that, desist­ ing from their fruitless efforts, they seemed to abandon themselves to all the oriental expressions of grief; the women making a piteous wailing, and tearing their long black hair, while the men seemed to rend their garments, and to sprinkle dust upon their head. They gradually became so much engaged in their mourning rites, that they bestowed no longer any attention on Durward, of whose innocence they were probably satisfied from circumstances. It would certainly have been his wisest course to have left these wild people to their own courses, but he had been bred in almost a reckless contempt of dan­ ger, and felt all the eagerness ofyouthful curiosity. The singular assemblage, both male and female, wore turbans and caps, more similar, in general appearance, to his own bonnet, than to those generally worn in France. Several of the men had curled black beards, and the complexion of all was nearly as dark as that of Africans. One or two, who seemed their chiefs, had some tawdry ornaments of silver about their necks and in their ears, with showy

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scarfs of yellow, or scarlet, or light green; but their legs and arms were bare, and the whole troop seemed wretched and squalid in appear­ ance. There were no weapons amongst them that Durward saw, excepting the long knives with which they had lately menaced him, and one short crooked sabre, or Moorish sword, which was worn by an active-looking young man, who often laid his hand upon the hilt, while he surpassed the rest of the party in his extravagant expressions of grief, and seemed to mingle with them threats of vengeance. The disordered and yelling group were so different in appearance from any beings whom Quentin had yet seen, that he was on the point of concluding them to be a party of Saracens, of those “heathen hounds,” who were the opponents of gentle knights and Christian monarchs, in all the romances which he had heard or read, and was about to withdraw himself from a neighbourhood so perilous, when a galloping of horse was heard, and the supposed Saracens, who had raised by this time the body of their comrade upon their shoulders, were at once charged by a party ofFrench soldiers. This sudden apparition changed the measured wailing of the mourners into irregular shrieks of terror. The body was thrown to the ground in an instant, and those who were around it shewed the utmost and most dexterous activity in escaping, under the bellies as it were of the horses, and from the points of the lances which were levelled at them, with exclamations of “Down with the accursed heathen-thieves —take and kill—bind them like beasts—spear them like wolves!” These cries were accompanied with corresponding acts of viol­ ence; but such was the alertness of the fugitives, the ground being rendered unfavourable to the horsemen by thickets and bushes, that only two were struck down and made prisoners, one of whom was the young fellow with the sword, who had previously offered some resist­ ance. Quentin Durward, whom Fortune seemed at this period to have chosen for the butt of her shafts, was at the same time seized by the soldiers, and his arms, in spite ofhis remonstrances, bound down with a cord; those who apprehended him showing a readiness and dispatch in the operation, which proved them to be no novices in matters of police. Looking anxiously to the leader of the horsemen, from whom he hoped to obtain liberty, Quentin knew not exactly whether to be pleased or alarmed upon recognizing in him the down-looking and silent companion of Maitre Pierre. True, whatever crime these strangers might be accused of, this officer might know, from the history of the morning, that he, Durward, had no connection with them whatsoever; but it was a more difficult question, whether this sullen man would be either a favourable judge or a willing witness in

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his behalf, and he felt doubtful whether he would mend his condition by making any direct application to him. But there was little leisure for hesitation. “Trois-Eschelles and Petit-André,” said the down-looking officer to two of his band, “these same trees stand here quite convenient. I will teach these misbeliev­ ing, thieving sorcerers to interfere with the King’s justice, when it has visited any oftheir accursed race. Dismount, my children, and do your office briskly.” Trois-Eschelles and Petit-André were in an instant on foot, and Quentin observed that they had each, at the crupper and pommel of his saddle, a coil or two of ropes, which they hastily undid, and shewed that, in fact, each coil formed a halter, with the fatal noose adjusted, ready for execution. The blood ran cold in Quentin’s veins, when he saw three cords selected, and perceived that it was pur­ posed to put one around his own neck. He called on the officer loudly, reminded him of their meeting that morning, claimed the right of a free-born Scotsman, in a friendly and allied country, and denied any knowledge of the persons along with whom he was seized, or oftheir misdeeds. The officer whom Durward thus addressed, scarce deigned to look at him while he was speaking, and took no notice whatsoever of the claim he preferred to prior acquaintance. He barely turned to one or two of the peasants who were now come forward, either to volunteer their evidence against the prisoners, or out of curiosity, and said gruffly, “Was yonder young fellow with the vagabonds?” “That he was, sir, and it please your noble Provost-ship,” answered one of the clowns; “he was the very first blasphemously to cut down the rascal whom his Majesty’s justice most deservedly hung up, as we told your worship.” “I’ll swear by God, and Saint Martin of Tours, to have seen him with their gang,” said another, “when they pillaged our metairie.” “Nay, but, father,” said a boy, “yonder heathen was black, and this youth is fair; yonder one had short curled hair, and this hath long fair locks.” “Ay, child,” said the peasant, “and yonder one had a green coat and this a grey jerkin. But his worship, the Provost, knows that they can change their complexions as easily as their jerkins, so that I am still minded he was the same.” “It is enough you have seen him intermeddle with the course of the King’s justice, by attempting to recover an executed traitor,” said the officer.—“Trois-Eschelles and Petit-André—dispatch.” “Stay, seignior officer!” exclaimed the youth, in mortal agony— “hear me speak—let me not die guiltlessly—my blood will be required

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ofyou by my countrymen in this world, and by heaven’s justice in that which is to follow.” “I will answer my actions in both,” said the Provost, coldly; and made a sign with his left hand to the executioners; then, with a smile of triumphant malice, touched with his fore-finger his right arm, which hung suspended in a scarf, disabled probably by the blow which Durward had dealt him that morning. “Miserable, vindictive wretch!”—answered Quentin, persuaded by that action that private revenge was the sole motive of this man’s rigour, and that no mercy was to be expected from him. “The poor youth raves,” said the functionary; “speak a word of comfort to him ere he makes his transit. Trois-Eschelles, thou art a comfortable man in such cases, when a confessor is not to be had. Give him one minute of ghostly advice, and dispatch matters in the next. I must proceed on the rounds.—Soldiers, follow me!” The Provost rode on, followed by his guard, excepting two or three who were left to assist in the execution. The unhappy youth cast after him an eye almost darkened by despair, and thought he heard, in every tramp ofhis horse’s retreating hoofs, the last slight chance ofhis safety vanish. He looked around him in agony, and was surprised, even in that moment, to see the stoical indifference of his fellow-prisoners. They had previously testified every sign of fear, and made every effort to escape; but now, when secured, and destined apparently to inevit­ able death, they awaited its arrival with the most stoical indifference. The scene of fate before them gave, perhaps, a more yellow tinge to their swarthy cheeks; but it neither agitated their features, nor quenched the stubborn haughtiness of their eye. They seemed like foxes, which, after all their wiles and artful attempts at escape are exhausted, die with a silent and sullen fortitude, which wolves and boars, the fiercer objects of the chase, do not exhibit. They were undaunted by the conduct ofthe fatal executioners, who went about their work with more deliberation than their master had recommended, and which probably arose from their having acquired by habit a kind of pleasure in the discharge of their horrid office. We pause an instant to describe them, because, under a tyranny, whether despotic or popular, the character of the hangman becomes a subject of grave importance. These functionaries were essentially different in their appearance and manners. Louis used to call them Democritus and Heraclitus, and their master, the Provost, termed them, Jean-qui-pleure, et Jeanqui-rit. Trois-Eschelles was a tall, thin, ghastly man, with a peculiar gravity of visage, and a large rosary round his neck, the use of which he was

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accustomed piously to offer to those sufferers on whom he did his duty. He had one or two Latin texts continually in his mouth on the nothingness and vanity of human life; and, had it been regular to have enjoyed such a plurality, he might have held the office of confessor to the jail in commendam with that of executioner. Petit-André, on the contrary, was a joyous-looking, round, active, little fellow, who rolled about in execution ofhis duty as ifit was the most diverting occupation in the world. He seemed to have a sort of fond affection for his victims, and always spoke of them in kindly and affectionate terms. They were his poor honest fellows, his pretty dears, his gossips, his good old fathers, as their age or sex might be; and as Trois-Eschelles endeav­ oured to inspire them with a philosophical or religious regard to futurity, Petit-André seldom failed to refresh them with a jest or two, to make them pass from life as something that was ludicrous, con­ temptible, and not worthy of serious consideration. I cannot tell why or wherefore it was, but these two excellent per­ sons, notwithstanding the variety of their talents, and the rare occur­ rence of such among persons of their profession, were both more utterly detested than, perhaps, any creatures of their kind, whether before or since; and the only doubt of those who knew ought of them was, whether the grave and pathetic Trois-Eschelles, or the frisky, comic, alert Petit-André, was the object of the greatest fear or of the deepest execration. It is certain they bore the palm in both particulars over every hangman in France, unless it were perhaps their master, Tristan 1’Hermite, the renowned Provost-Marshal, or his master, Louis XI. It must not be supposed that these reflections were of Quentin Durward’s making. Life, death, time, and eternity, were swimming before his eyes—a stunning and overwhelming prospect, from which human nature recoiled in its weakness, though human pride would fain have borne up. He addressed himself to the God of his fathers; and when he did so, the little rude and unroofed chapel, which now held almost all his race but himself, rushed on his recollection. “Our feudal enemies gave us graves in our own land,” he thought, “but I must feed the ravens and kites of a foreign land, like an excommunic­ ated felon.” The tears gushed involuntarily from his eyes. TroisEschelles, touching one shoulder, gravely congratulated him on his heavenly disposition for death, and pathetically exclaiming, Beati qui in Domino moriuntur, remarked the soul was happy that left the body while the tear was in the eye. Petit-André, slapping the other shoul­ der, called out, “Courage, my fair son! since you must begin the dance, let the ball open gaily, for all the rebecs are in tune,” twitching the halter at the same time, to give point to his joke. As the youth

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turned his dismayed looks, first on one and then on the other, they made their meaning plainer by gently urging him forwards to the fatal tree, and bidding him be of good courage, for it would be over in a moment. In this fatal predicament, the youth cast a distracted look around him. “Is there any good Christian who hears me,” he said, “that will tell Ludovic Lesly of the Scottish Guard, called in this country Le Balafré, that his nephew is here basely murthered?” The words were spoken in good time, for an Archer of the Scottish Guard, attracted by the preparations for the execution, was standing by, with one or two other chance-passengers, to witness what was passing. “Take heed what you do,” he said to the executioners; “if this young man be of Scottish birth, I will not permit him to have foul play.” “Heaven forbid, Sir Cavalier,” said Trois-Eschelles; “but we must obey our orders,” drawing Durward forwards by one arm. “The shortest play is ever the fairest,” said Petit-André, pulling him onward by the other. But Quentin had heard words of comfort, and, exerting his strength, he suddenly shook offboth the finishers of the law, and, with his arms still bound, ran to the Scottish Archer. “Stand by me,” he said in his own language, “stand by, countryman, for the love of Scotland and Saint Andrew! I am innocent—I am your own native landsman. Stand by me, as you shall answer at the last day!” “By Saint Andrew! they shall make at you through me,” said the Archer, and unsheathed his sword. “Cut my bonds, countryman,” said Quentin, “and I will do some­ thing for myself.” This was done with a touch of the Archer’s weapon; and the liber­ ated captive, springing suddenly on one of the Provost’s guard, wrested from him a halberd with which he was armed; “And now,” he said, “come on, if you dare.” The two officers whispered together. “Ride thou after the Provost-Marshal,” said Trois-Eschelles, “and I will detain them here, if I can.—Soldiers of the Provost’s guard, stand to your arms.” Petit-André mounted his horse and left the field, and the other marshalls-men in attendance drew together so hastily at the com­ mand ofTrois-Eschelles, that they suffered the other two prisoners to make their escape during the confusion. Perhaps they were not very anxious to detain them; for they had of late been sated with the blood of such wretches, and, like other ferocious animals, were, through

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long slaughter, become tired of carnage. But the pretext was, that they thought themselves immediately called upon to attend to the safety of Trois-Eschelles; for there was a jealousy, which occasionally led to open quarrels betwixt the Scottish Archers and the Marshal-guards, who executed the orders of their Provost. “We are strong enough to beat the proud Scots twice over, if it be your pleasure,” said one of these soldiers to Trois-Eschelles. But that cautious official made a sign to him to remain quiet, and addressed the Scottish Archer with great civility. “Surely, sir, this is a great insult to the Provost-Marshal, that you should presume to inter­ fere with the course ofthe King’s justice, duly and lawfully committed to his charge; and it is no act of justice to me, who am in lawful possession of my criminal; neither is it a well-meant kindness to the youth himself, seeing that fifty opportunities of hanging him may occur, without his being found in so happy a state of preparation as he was before your ill-advised interference.” “If my young countryman,” said the Scot, smiling, “be of opinion I have done him an injury, I will return him to your charge without a word more dispute.” “No, no!—for the love of Heaven, no!” exclaimed Quentin. “I would rather you swept my head off with your long sword—it would better become my birth, than to die by the hands of such a foul churl.” “Hear how he revileth,” said the finisher of the law. “Alas! how soon our best resolutions pass away—he was in a blessed frame for departure but now, and in two minutes he has become a contemner of authorities.” “Tell me at once,” said the Archer, “what has this young man done?” “Interfered to take down the dead body of a criminal, when the fleur-de-lys was marked on the tree where he was hung with my own proper hand,” said the executioner. “How is this, young man?” said the Archer; “how come you to have committed such an offence?” “As I desire your protection,” answered Durward, “I will tell you the truth as if I were at confession. I saw a man struggling on the tree, and I went to cut him down out ofmere humanity. I thought neither of fleur-de-lys nor of clove-gilliflower, and had no more idea of offend­ ing the King of France than our Father the Pope.” “What a murrain had you to do with the dead body, then?—you’ll see them hanging, in the rear of this gentleman, like grapes, on every tree, and you will have enough to do in this country if you go agleaning after the hangman. However, I will not quit a countryman’s cause if I can help it.—Hark ye, Master Marshals-man, you see this is

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entirely a mistake—you should have some compassion on so young a traveller—in our country at home he has not been accustomed to see such active proceedings as yours and your master’s.” “Not for want of need of them, Seignior Archer,” said Petit-André, who returned at this moment. “Stand fast, Trois-Eschelles, for here comes the Provost-Marshal; we shall presently see how he will relish having his work taken out of his hand before it is finished.” “And in good time,” said the Archer, “here come some of my comrades.” Accordingly, as the Provost Tristan rode up with his patrole on one side of the little hill which was the scene of the altercation, four or five Archers came as hastily up upon the other, and at their head the Balafré himself. Upon this urgency, Lesly shewed none of that indifference towards his nephew of which Quentin had in his heart accused him; for he no sooner saw his comrade and Durward standing upon their defence, than he exclaimed, “Cunningham, I thank thee. Gentlemen—com­ rades—lend me your aid—it is a young Scottish gentleman—my nephew—Lindesay—Guthrie—Tyrie—draw, and strike in.” There was now every prospect of a desperate scuffle between par­ ties which were not so disproportioned in numbers, but that the better arms of the Scottish cavaliers gave them an equal chance of victory. But the Provost-Marshal, either doubting the issue of a conflict, or aware that it would be disagreeable to the King, made a sign to his followers to forbear from violence, while he demanded of Balafré, who now put himself forward as the head of the other party, “what he, a cavalier of the King’s Body-Guard, purposed by opposing the exe­ cution ofa criminal?” “I deny that I do so,” answered the Balafré. “Saint Martin! there is, I think, some difference between the execution of a criminal, and the slaughter ofmy own nephew.” “Your nephew may be a criminal as well as another, Seignior,” said the Provost-Marshal; “and every stranger in France is amenable to the laws of France.” “Yes, but we have privileges, we Scottish Archers,” said Balafré; “have we not, comrades?” “Yes—yes,” they all exclaimed together. “Privileges, privileges!— long live King Louis—long live the bold Balafré—long live the Scot­ tish Guard—And death to all who would infringe our privileges!” “Take reason with you, gentlemen cavaliers,” said the ProvostMarshal; “consider my commission. “We will have no reason at your hand,” said Cunningham; “our own officers shall do us reason. We will be judged by the King’s grace,

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or by our own Captain, now that the Lord High Constable is not in presence.” “And we will be hanged by none,” said Lindesay, “but Sandie Wilson, the auld Marshalsman of our ain body.” “It would be a positive cheating of Sandie, who is as honest a man as ever tied noose upon hemp, did we give way to any other proceeding,” said the Balafré. “Were I to be hanged myself, no other should tie tippet about my craig.” “But hear ye,” said the Provost-Marshal, “this young fellow belongs not to you, and cannot share what you call your privileges.” “What we call our privileges, all shall admit to be such,” said Cun­ ningham. “We will not hear them questioned!” was the universal cry of the Archers. “Ye are mad, my masters,” said Tristan 1’Hermite—“No one dis­ putes your privileges; but this youth is not one of you.” “He is my nephew,” said the Balafré, with a triumphant air. “But no Archer of the Guard, I think,” retorted Tristan 1’Hermite. The Archers looked on each other in some uncertainty. “Stand to yet, cousin,” whispered Cunningham to Balafré—“Say he is engaged with us.” “Saint Martin! you say well, fair kinsman,” answered Lesly; and, raising his voice, swore that “he had that day enrolled his kinsman as one of his own retinue.” This declaration was a decisive argument. “It is well, gentlemen,” said the Provost Tristan, who was aware of the King’s nervous apprehension of disaffection creeping in among his Guards—“You know, as you say, your privileges, and it is not my duty to have brawls with the King’s Guards, if it is to be avoided. But I will report this matter for the King’s own decision; and I would have you to be aware, that, in doing so, I act more mildly than perhaps my duty warrants me.” So saying, he put his troop into motion, while the Archers, remain­ ing on the spot, held a hasty consultation what was next to be done. “We must report the matter to Lord Crawford, our Captain, in the first place, and have the young fellow’s name put on the roll.” “But, gentlemen, and my worthy friends and preservers,” said Quentin, with some hesitation, “I have not yet determined whether to take service with you or no.” “Then settle in your own mind,” said his uncle, “whether you choose to do so, or be hanged—for I promise you that, nephew of mine as you are, I see no other chance of your ’scaping the withie.”

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This was an unanswerable argument, and reduced Quentin at once to acquiescence in what he might have otherwise considered as no very agreeable proposal; but the recent escape from the halter, which had been actually around his neck, would probably have reconciled him to a worse alternative than was proposed. “He must go home with us to our Caserne,” said Cunningham; “there is no safety for him out of our bounds whilst these man-hunters are prowling about.” “May I not then abide for this night at the hostelrie where I break­ fasted, fair uncle?” said the youth—thinking, perhaps, like many a new recruit, that even a single night offreedom was something gained. “Yes, fair nephew,” answered his uncle, ironically, “that we may have the pleasure of fishing you out of some canal or moat, or perhaps out of a loop of the Loire, knit up in a sack, for the greater convenience of swimming—for that is like to be the end on’t.—The ProvostMarshal smiled on us when we parted,” continued he, addressing Cunningham, “and that is a sign his thoughts were dangerous.” “I care not for his danger,” said Cunningham; “such game as we are is beyond his bird-bolts. But I would have thee tell the whole to the Devil’s Oliver, who is always a good friend to the Scottish Guard, and will see Father Louis before the Provost can, for he is to shave him to­ morrow.” “But hark you,” said Balafré, “it is ill going to Oliver emptyhanded, and I am as bare as the birch in December.” “So are we all,” said Cunningham—“Oliver must not scruple to take our Scottish words for once. We will make up something hand­ some among us against the next pay-day; and ifhe expects to share, let me tell you, the pay-day will come about all the sooner.” “And now for the Chateau,” said Balafré; “and my nephew shall tell us by the way how he brought the Provost-Marshal on his shoul­ ders, that we may know how to shape our report both to Crawford and Oliver.”

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Chapter Seven THE ENROLMENT

Justice ofPeace.—Here, hand me down the Statute—read the articles— Swear, kiss the book—subscribe, and be a hero; Drawing a portion from the public stock For deeds of valour to be done hereafter— Sixpence per day, subsistence and arrears. The Recruiting Officer

An attendant upon the Archers having been dismounted, Quen­ tin Durward was accommodated with his horse, and, in company of his martial countrymen, rode at a round pace towards the Castle of Plessis, about to become, although on his own part involuntarily, an inhabitant of that gloomy fortress, the outside of which had, that morning, struck him with so much surprise. In the meanwhile, in answers to his uncle’s repeated interrogations, he gave him an exact account of the accident which had that morning brought him into so much danger. Although he himselfsaw nothing in his narrative save what was affecting, he found it was received with much laughter by his escort. “And yet it is no good jest either,” said his uncle, “for what, in the devil’s name, could lead the senseless boy to meddle with the body ofa cursed misbelieving Jewish Moorish pagan?” “Had he quarrelled with the Marshals-men about a pretty wench, as Michael of Moffat did, there had been more sense in it,” said Cunningham. “But I think it touches our honour, that Tristan and his people pretend to confound our Scottish bonnets with these pilfering vaga­ bonds’ tocques and turbands, as they call them,” said Lindesay—“If they have not eyes to see the difference, they must be taught it by rule of hand. But ’tis my belief, Tristan but pretends to mistake, that he may snap up the kindly Scots that come over to see their kinsfolks.” “May I ask, kinsman,” said Quentin, “what sort of people these are ofwhom you speak?” “In troth you may ask,” said his uncle, “but I know not, fair nephew, who is able to answer you. Not I, I am sure, although I know, it may be, as much as other people—but they have appeared in this land within a year or two, just as a flight of locusts might do.” “Ay,” said Lindesay, “and Jacques Bon-homme, (that is our name for the peasant, young man,—you will learn our way of talk by times) —honest Jacques, I say, cares little what wind either brings them or

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the locusts, so he but know any gale that would carry them away again.” “Do they do so much evil?” said the young man. “Evil? why, boy, they are heathens—or Jews—or Mahomedans at the least, and neither worship our Lady nor the Saints—(crossing himself)—and steal what they can lay hands on, and sing, and tell fortunes,” added Cunningham. “And they say there are some goodly wenches amongst their women,” said Guthrie; “but Cunningham knows that best.” “How, brother!” said Cunningham; “I trust ye mean me no reproach?” “I am sure I said ye none,” answered Guthrie. “I will be judged by the company,” said Cunningham.—“Ye said as much as that I, a Scottish gentleman, and living within pale of holy church, had a fair friend among these off-scourings of Heathenesse.” “Nay, nay,” said Balafré, “he did but jest—We will have no quarrels among comrades.” “We must have no such jesting then,” said Cunningham, murmur­ ing as ifhe had been speaking to his own beard. “Be there such vagabonds in other lands than France?” said Lindesay. “Ay, in good sooth, are there—tribes of them have appeared in Germany, and in Spain, and in England,” answered Balafré. “By the blessing of good Saint Andrew, Scotland is free of them yet.” “Scotland,” said Cunningham, “is too cold a country for locusts, and too poor a country for thieves.” “Or perhaps John Highlander will suffer no thieves to thrive there but his own,” said Guthrie. “I let you all know,” said Balafré, “that I come from the Braes of Angus, and have gentle Highland kin in Glen-Isla, and I will not have the Highlanders slandered.” “You will not deny that they are cattle-lifters?” said Guthrie. “To drive a spreagh, or so, is no thievery,” said Balafré, “and that I will maintain when and how you dare.” “For shame, comrade,” said Cunningham; “who quarrels now?— the young man should not see such mad misconstruction.—Come, here we are at the Chateau. I will bestow a runlet of wine to have a rouse in friendship, and drink to Scotland, Highland and Lowland both, ifyou will meet me at dinner at my quarters.” “Agreed—agreed,” said Balafré; “and I will bestow another, to wash away unkindness, and to drink a health to my nephew on his first entrance to our corps.” At their approach, the wicket was opened, and the draw-bridge fell.

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One by one they entered; but when Quentin appeared, the centinels crossed their pikes, and commanded him to stand, while bows were bent and harquebusses aimed at him from the walls—a rigour of vigilance used, notwithstanding that the young stranger came in com­ pany of a party of the garrison, nay, of the very body which furnished the centinels who were then upon duty. Balafré, who had remained by his nephew’s side on purpose, gave the necessary explanations, and, after some considerable hesitation and delay, the youth was conveyed under a strong guard to the Lord Crawford’s apartments. This Scottish nobleman was one of the last reliques of the gallant band of Scottish lords and knights who had so long and so truly served Charles VII. in those bloody wars which decided the independence of the French crown, and the expulsion of the English. He had fought, when a boy, abreast with Douglas and with Buchan, had ridden beneath the banner of the Maid ofArc, and was perhaps one of the last of those associates of Scottish chivalry who had so willingly drawn their swords for the fleur-de-lys, against their “auld enemies of Eng­ land.” Changes which had taken place in the Scottish kingdom, and perhaps his having become habituated to French climate and man­ ners, had induced the old Baron to resign all thoughts of returning to his native country, the rather that the high office which he held in the household ofLouis, and his own frank and loyal character, had gained a considerable ascendancy over the King, who, though in general no ready believer in human virtue or honour, trusted and confided in those of the Lord Crawford, and allowed him the greater influence, because he was never known to interfere excepting in matters which concerned his charge. Balafré and Cunningham followed Durward and the guard to the apartment of their officer, by whose dignified appearance, as well as with the respect paid to him by these proud soldiers, who seemed to respect no one else, the young man was much and strongly impressed. Lord Crawford was tall, and through advanced age had become gaunt and thin; yet retaining in his sinews the strength at least, if not the elasticity, of youth, he was able to endure the weight of his armour during a march as well as the youngest man who rode in his band. He was hard-favoured, with a scarred and weather-beaten countenance, and an eye that had looked upon Death as his play-fellow in thirty pitched battles, but which nevertheless expressed a good-humoured contempt of danger, rather than the ferocious courage of a mercenary soldier. His tall erect figure was at present wrapped in a loose cham­ ber-gown, secured around him by his buffbelt, in which was hung his richly-hilted poniard. He had round his neck the collar and badge of

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the order of Saint Michael. He sate upon a couch covered with deer’s hide, and with spectacles on his nose, (then a recent invention,) was labouring to read a huge manuscript called the Rosier de la Guerre, a code of military and civil policy which Louis had compiled for the benefit of his son the Dauphin, and upon which he was desirous to have the opinion of the experienced Scottish warrior. Lord Crawford laid his book somewhat peevishly aside upon the entrance of these unexpected visitors, and demanded, in his broad national dialect, “what, in the foul fiend’s name, they lacked now?” Balafré, with more respect than perhaps he would have shewn to Louis himself, stated at full length the circumstances in which his nephew was placed, and humbly requested his Lordship’s protection. Lord Crawford listened very attentively. He could not but smile at the simplicity with which the youth had interfered in behalf of the hanged criminal, but he shook his head at the account which he received of the ruffle betwixt the Scottish Archers and the Provost-Marshal ’s guard. “How often,” he said, “will you bring me such ill-winded pirns to ravel out? How often must I tell you, and especially both you, Ludovic Lesly, and you, Archie Cunningham, that the foreign soldier should bear himself modestly and decorously towards the people ofthe coun­ try, if you would not have the whole dogs of the town at your heels? However, if you must have a bargain, I would rather it were with that loon of a Provost than any one else; and I blame you less for this onslaught than for other frays that you have made, Ludovic, for it was but natural and kind-like to help your young kinsman. The simple bairn must come to no scathe neither—so give me the roll of the company yonder down from the shelf, and we will even add his name to the troop, that he may enjoy the privileges.” “May it please your Lordship”—said Durward—– “Is the lad crazed!” exclaimed his uncle—“Would you speak to his Lordship, without a question asked?” “Patience, Ludovic,” said Lord Crawford, “and let us hear what the bairn has to say.” “Only this, ifit may please your Lordship,” replied Quentin, “that I told my uncle formerly I had some doubts about entering this service. I have now to say that they are entirely removed, since I have seen the noble and experienced commander under whom I am to serve; for there is authority in your look.” “Weel said, my bairn,” said the old Lord, not insensible to the compliment; “we have had some experience, had God sent us grace to improve by it, both in service and in command. There you stand, Quentin, in our honourable corps of Scottish Body-guards, as esquire to your uncle, and serving under his lance. I trust you will do well, for

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you should be a right man-at-arms, if all be good that is up-come, and you are come of a gentle kindred.—Ludovic, you will see that your kinsman follows his exercises diligently, for we will have spears break­ ing one of these days.” “By my hilts, and I am glad of it, my Lord—this peace makes cowards ofus all. I myself feel a sort of decay of spirit, closed up in this cursed dungeon of a Castle.” “Well, a bird whistles in my ear,” continued Lord Crawford, “that the old banner will be soon dancing in the field again.” “I will drink a cup the deeper this evening to that very tune,” said Balafré. “Thou wilt drink to any tune,” said Lord Crawford; “and I fear me, Ludovic, you will drink a bitter browst of your own brewing one day.” Lesly, a little abashed, replied, “that it had not been his wont for many a day; but his Lordship knew the use of the company, to have a carouse to the health of a new comrade.” “True,” said the old leader, “I had forgot the occasion. I will send a few stoups of wine to assist your carouse, but let it be over by sunset. And, hark ye—let the soldiers for duty be carefully pricked off, and see that none of them be more or less partakers of your debauch.” “Your Lordship shall be heedfully obeyed,” said Ludovic, “and your health duly remembered.” “Perhaps,” said Lord Crawford, “I may look in myself upon your mirth—just to see that all is carried decently.” “Your Lordship shall be most dearly welcome,” said Ludovic; and the whole party retreated in high spirits to prepare for their military banquet, to which Lesly invited about a score of his comrades, who were pretty much in the habit ofmaking their mess together. A soldier’s festival is generally a very extemporé affair, providing there is enough of meat and drink to be had; but, on the present occasion, Ludovic bustled about to procure some better wine than ordinary; observing, that the “old Lord was the surest gear in their aught, and that, while he preached sobriety to them, he himself, after drinking at the royal table as much wine as he could honestly come by, never omitted any creditable opportunity to fill up the evening over the wine-pot; so you must prepare, comrades,” he said, “to hear the old histories of the battles ofVernoil and Beaugé.” The Gothic apartment in which they generally met was, therefore, hastily put into the best order; their grooms were dispatched to collect green rushes to spread upon the floor; and banners, under which the Scottish Guard had marched to battle, or which they had taken from the enemies’ ranks, were displayed, by way of tapestry, over the table, and around the walls of the chamber.

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The next point was, to invest the young recruit as hastily as possible with the dress and appropriate arms of the Guard, that he might appear in every respect the sharer of its important privileges, in virtue of which, and by the support of his countrymen, he might freely brave the power and the displeasure of the Provost-Marshal—although the one was known to be as formidable, as the other was unrelenting. The banquet was joyous in the highest degree; and the guests gave vent to the whole current of their national partiality on receiving into their ranks a recruit from their beloved father-land. Old Scottish songs were sung, old tales of Scottish heroes told—the achievements of their fathers, and the scenes in which they were wrought, were recalled to mind; and, for a time, the rich plain of Touraine seemed converted into the mountainous and sterile regions of Caledonia. When their enthusiasm was at the high flood, and each was endeav­ ouring to say something to enhance the dear remembrance of Scot­ land, it received a new impulse from the arrival of Lord Crawford, who, as Balafré had well prophesied, sate as it were on thorns at the royal board, until an opportunity occurred ofmaking his escape to the revelry of his own countrymen. A chair of state had been reserved for him at the upper end of the table; for, according to the manners of the age, and the constitution of that body, although their leader and commander under the King and High Constable, the members of the corps, (or as we should now say the privates,) being all ranked as noble by birth, their Captain sate with them at the same table without impro­ priety, and might mingle when he chose in their festivity, without derogation from his dignity as commander. At present, however, Lord Crawford declined occupying the seat prepared for him, and bidding them “hold themselves merry,” stood looking on the revel with a countenance which seemed greatly to enjoy it. “Let him alone,” whispered Cunningham to Lindesay, as the latter offered the wine-cup to their noble Captain, “let him alone—hurry no man’s cattle—let him take it of his own accord.” In fact, the old Lord, who at first smiled, shook his head, and placed the untasted wine-cup before him, began presently, as if it were in absence of mind, to sip a little of the contents, and in doing so, fortunately recollected that it would be ill luck did he not drink a draught to the health of the gallant lad who had joined them this day. The pledge was filled, and answered, as may be well supposed, with many a joyous shout, when the old leader proceeded to acquaint them that he had possessed Master Oliver with an account of what had passed that day: “And as,” he said, “the scraper of chins hath no great love for the stretcher ofthroats, he has joined me in obtaining from the

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King an order, commanding the Provost to suspend all proceedings, under whatsoever pretence, against Quentin Durward; and to respect, on all occasions, the privileges of the Scottish Guard.” Another shout broke forth, the cups were again filled, till the wine sparkled on the brim, and there was an acclaim to the health of the noble Lord of Crawford, the brave conservator of the privileges and rights ofhis countrymen. The good old Lord could not but in courtesy do reason to this pledge also, and gliding into the ready chair as it were, without reflecting what he was doing, he caused Quentin to come up beside him, and assailed him with many more questions concerning the state of Scotland, and the great families there, than he was well able to answer; while ever and anon, in the course of his queries, the good Lord kissed the wine-cup by way of parenthesis, remarking, that sociality became Scottish gentlemen, but that young men, like Quentin, ought to practise it cautiously, lest it might degen­ erate into excess; upon which occasion he uttered many excellent things, until his own tongue, although employed in the praises of temperance, began to articulate something thicker than usual. It was now that, while the military ardour of the company augmented with each flagon which they emptied, Cunningham called on them to drink the speedy hoisting of the Oriflamme (the royal banner of France). “And a breeze ofBurgundy to fan it!” echoed Lindesay. “With all the soul that is left in this worn body do I accept the pledge, bairns,” echoed Lord Crawford; “and old as I am, I trust I may see it flutter yet. Hark ye, my mates, (for wine had made him something communicative,) ye are all true servants to the French crown, and wherefore should you not know there is an envoy come from Duke Charles ofBurgundy, with a message of an angry favour.” “I saw the Count of Crevecoeur’s equipage, horses, and retinue,” said another of the guests, “down at the inn yonder, at the Fleur-deLys. They say the King will not admit him into the Castle.” “Now, heaven send him an ungracious answer!” said Guthrie; “but what is it he demands?” “A world of grievances upon the frontier,” said Lord Crawford; “and latterly, that the King hath received under his protection a lady of his land, a young Countess, who hath fled from Dijon, because, being a ward of the Duke, he would have her marry his favourite, Campo-basso.” “And hath she actually come hither alone, my Lord?” said Linde­ say. “Nay, not altogether alone, but with the old Countess, her kinswo­ man, who hath yielded to her cousin’s wishes in this matter.” “And will the King,” said Cunningham, “he being the Duke’s

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feudal sovereign, interfere between the Duke and his ward, over whom Charles hath the same right, which, were he himself dead, the King would have over the heiress of Burgundy?” “The King will be ruled, as he is wont, by rules of policy; and you know,” continued Crawford, “that he hath not publicly received these ladies, nor placed them under the protection of his daughter the Lady of Beaujeu, or the Princess Joan, so, doubtless, he will be guided by circumstance. He is our master—but it is no treason to say, he shall chase with the hounds, and run with the hare, with any Prince in Christendom.” “But the Duke of Burgundy understands no such doubling,” said Cunningham. “No,” answered the old Lord; “and, therefore, it is like to make work between them.” “Well—Saint Andrew further the fray,” said Balafré. “I had it foretold me ten, ay, twenty years since, that I was to make the fortune of my house by marriage. Who knows what may happen, if once we come to fight for honour and ladies’ love, as they do in the old romaunts?” “Thou name ladies’ love, with such a trench in your visage!” said Guthrie. “As well not love at all, as love a Bohemian woman of Heathen­ esse,” answered Balafré. “Hold there, comrades,” said Lord Crawford; “no tilting with sharp weapons, no jesting with keen scoffs—friends all. And for the lady, she is too wealthy to fall to a poor Scots lord, or I would put in my own claim, fourscore years and all. But here is her health, neverthe­ less, for they say she is a lamp ofbeauty.” “I think I saw her,” said another soldier, “when I was upon guard this morning at the inner barrier; but she was more like a dark lantern than a lamp, for she and another were brought into the Chateau in close litters.” “Shame! Shame! Arnot!” said Lord Crawford; “a soldier on duty should say nought of what he sees. Besides,” he added, after a pause, his own curiosity prevailing over the shew of discipline which he had thought it necessary to assert, “why should these litters contain this very same Countess Isabelle de Croye?” “Nay, my Lord,” replied Arnot, “I know nothing of it save this, that my coutelier was airing my horses in the road to the village, and fell in with Doguin the muleteer, who brought back the litters to the inn, for they belong to the fellow of the Fleur-de-Lys yonder, and so Doguin asked Saunders Steed to take a cup of wine, as they were acquainted, which he was no doubt willing enough to do—–”

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“No doubt—no doubt,” said the old Lord; “it is a thing I wish were corrected among you, gentlemen, but all your grooms and couteliers, and jackmen, as we should call them in Scotland, are but too ready to take a cup ofwine with any one—it is a thing perilous in war, and must be amended. But, Andrew Arnot, this is a long tale of yours, and we will cut it with a drink; as the Highlander says, Skeoch doch nan skial, and that’s good Gaelic.—Here is to the Countess Isabelle of Croye, and a better husband to her than Campo-basso, who is a base Italian cullion!—And now, Andrew Arnot, what said the muleteer to this yeoman of thine?” “Why he told him in secrecy, if it please your Lordship,” continued Arnot, “that these two ladies whom he had presently before conveyed up to the Castle in the close litters, were great ladies, who had been living in secret at his master’s house for some days, and that the King had visited them more than once very privately, and had done them great honour, and that they had fled up to the Castle, as he believed, for fear of the Count de Crevecœur, the Duke of Burgundy’s ambas­ sador, whose approach was just announced by an advanced courier.” “Ay, Andrew, come you there to me?” said Guthrie; “then I will be sworn it was the Countess whose voice I heard singing to the lute as I came even now through the inner court—the sound came from the bay-windows of the Dauphin’s Tower, and such melody was there as no one ever heard before in the Castle of Plessis of the Park. By my faith, I thought it was music of the Fairy Melusina’s making—there I stood, though I knew your board was covered, and that you were all impatient—there I stood—like”—–– “Like an ass, Johnny Guthrie,” said his commander; “thy long nose smelling the dinner, thy long ears hearing the music, and thy short wit unable to tell which of them thou didst prefer.—Hark! is not that the Cathedral bell tolling to vespers?—Sure it cannot be that time yet— the mad old sexton has toll’d even-song an hour too soon.” “In faith, the bell rings but too justly to the hour,” said Cunning­ ham; “yonder the sun is sinking on the west side of the fair plain.” “Ay,” said the Lord Crawford, “is it even so?—Well, lads, we must live within compass—Fair and soft goes far—slow fire makes sweet malt—to be merry and wise is a sound proverb.—One other rouse to the weal ofold Scotland, and then each man to his duty.” The parting-cup was emptied, and the guests dismissed—the stately old Baron taking the Balafré’s arm, under pretence of giving him some instructions concerning his nephew, but, perhaps, in reality lest his own lofty pace should seem in the public eye less steady than became his rank and high command. A solemn countenance did he bear as they passed through the two courts which separated his

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lodging from the festal chamber, and solemn as the gravity of a hogs­ head was the farewell caution, with which he prayed Ludovic to attend to his nephew’s motions, especially in the matters of wenches and wine-cups. Meanwhile, not a word that was spoken concerning the beautiful Countess Isabelle had escaped the young Durward, who, inducted into a small cabin, which he was to share with his uncle’s page, made his new and lowly abode the scene of much high musing. The reader will easily imagine that the young soldier should build a fine romance on such a foundation as the supposed, or rather the assumed, identi­ fication of the Maiden of the turret, to whose lay he had listened with so much interest, and the fair cup-bearer of Maitre Pierre, with a fugitive Countess, of rank and wealth, flying the pursuit of a hated lover, the favourite of an oppressive guardian, who abused his feudal power. There was an interlude in Quentin’s vision concerning Maitre Pierre, who seemed to exercise such authority even over the formid­ able officer from whose hands he had that day, with much difficulty, made his escape. At length the youth’s reveries, which had been respected by little Will Harper, the companion ofhis cell, were broken in upon by the return of his uncle, who commanded Quentin to bed, that he might arise by times in the morning, and attend him to his Majesty’s antichamber, to which he was called by his turn of duty, along with five ofhis comrades.

Chapter Eight THE ENVOY

Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; For ere thou canst report I will be there, The thunder of my cannon shall be heard— So, hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath. KingJohn

Had sloth been a temptation by which Durward was easily beset, the noise with which the caserne ofthe guards resounded after the first toll of Primes, had certainly banished the syren from his couch. But the discipline of his father’s tower, and of the convent of Aberbrothock, had taught him to start with the dawn, and he did on his clothes gaily, amid the sounding of bugles and the clash of armour, which announced the change of the vigilant guards—some of whom were returning to barracks after their nightly duty, whilst others were marching out to that of the morning—and others, again, amongst

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whom was his uncle, were arming for the immediate attendance upon the person of Louis. Quentin Durward soon put on, with the feelings of so young a man on such an occasion, the splendid dress and arms appertaining to his new situation; and his uncle, who looked with great accuracy and interest to see that he was completely fitted out in every respect, did not conceal his satisfaction at the improvement which had been thus made in his nephew’s appearance. “If thou doest prove as faithful and bold as thou art well-favoured, I shall have in thee one of the hand­ somest and best esquires in the Guard, which cannot but be an hon­ our to thy mother’s family. Follow me to the presence-chamber; and see thou keep close at my shoulder.” So saying, he took up a partizan, large, weighty, and beautifully inlaid and ornamented, and directing his nephew to assume a lighter weapon of a similar description, they proceeded to the inner-court of the palace, where their comrades, who were to form the guard of the interior apartments, were already drawn up, and under arms—the squires each standing behind their masters, to whom they thus formed a second rank. Here were also in attendance many huntsmen and prickers, with gallant horses and noble dogs, on which Quentin looked with such inquisitive delight, that his uncle was obliged more than once to remind him that they were not there for his private amusement, but for the King’s, who had a strong passion for the chase, one of the few inclinations which he indulged, even when coming into competition with his course of policy; being so strict a protector of the game in the royal forests, that it was currently said, you might kill a man with greater impunity than a stag. On a signal given, the guards were put into motion by the command of Balafré, who acted as officer upon the occasion; and, after some minutiæ of word and signal, which all went to shew the extreme and punctilious jealousy with which their duty was performed, they marched into the hall of audience, where the King was presently expected. New as Quentin was to scenes ofsplendour, the effect of that which was now before him rather disappointed the expectations which he had formed of the brilliancy of a court. There were household officers indeed, richly attired; there were guards gallantly armed, and there were domestics of various degrees: But he saw none of the ancient counsellors of the kingdom, none of the high officers of the crown, heard none of the names which in those days sounded an alarum to chivalry; saw none either of those generals or leaders, who, possessed of full prime of manhood, were the strength of France, or of the more youthful and fiery nobles, those early aspirants after honour, who were

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her pride. The jealous habits, the reserved manners, the deep and artful policy of the King, had estranged this splendid circle from the throne, and they were only called around it upon certain stated and formal occasions, when they went reluctantly, and returned joyfully, as the animals in the fable are supposed to have approached and left the den of the lion. The very few persons who seemed to be there in the character of counsellors, were mean-looking men, whose countenances some­ times expressed sagacity, but whose manners shewed they were called into a sphere for which their previous education and habits had quali­ fied them but indifferently. One or two persons, however, did appear to Durward to possess a more noble mien, and the strictness of the present duty was not such as to prevent his uncle communicating the names of those whom he thus distinguished. With the Lord Crawford, who was in attendance, dressed in the rich habit of his office, and holding a leading staff of silver in his hand, Quentin, as well as the reader, was already acquainted. Among others who seemed of quality, the most remarkable was the Count de Dunois, the son of that celebrated Dunois, known by the name of the Bastard of Orleans, who, fighting under the banner ofJeanne d’Arc, acted such a distinguished part in liberating France from the English yoke. His son well supported the high renown which had descended to him from such an honoured source; and, notwithstanding his con­ nection with the royal family, and his hereditary popularity both with the nobles and the people, Dunois had, upon all occasions, mani­ fested such an open, frank loyalty of character, that he seemed to have escaped all suspicion, even on the part of the jealous Louis, who loved to see him near his person, and sometimes even called him to his councils. Although accounted complete in all the exercises ofchivalry, and possessed of much of the character of what was then termed a perfect knight, the person of the Count was far from being a model of romantic beauty. He was under the common size, though very strongly built, and his legs rather curved outwards, into that make which is more convenient for horseback, than elegant for a pedestrian. His shoulders were broad, his hair black, his complexion swarthy, his arms remarkably long and nervous. The features of his countenance were irregular, even to ugliness; yet, after all, there was an air of conscious worth and nobility about the Count de Dunois, which stamped, at the first glance, the character of the high-born nobleman, and the undaunted soldier. His mien was bold and upright, his step free and manly, and the harshness ofhis countenance was dignified by a glance like an eagle, and a frown like a lion. His dress was a hunting suit, rather sumptuous than gay, and he acted on most occasions as

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Grand Huntsman, though we are not inclined to believe that he actu­ ally held the office. Upon the arm of Dunois, walking with a step so slow and melan­ choly, that he seemed entirely to rest on his kinsman and supporter, came Louis Duke of Orleans, the first Prince of the blood royal, and to whom the guards and attendants rendered their homage as such. The jealously-watched object of Louis’s suspicions, this Prince, who, failing the King’s offspring, was heir to the kingdom, was not suffered to absent himself from court, and, while residing there, was denied alike employment and countenance. The dejection which his degraded and almost captive state naturally impressed on the deport­ ment ofthis unfortunate Prince, was at this moment greatly increased, by his consciousness that the King meditated, with respect to him, one of the most cruel and unjust actions which a tyrant could commit, by compelling him to give his hand to the Princess Joan of France, the younger daughter of Louis, to whom the Duke had been contracted in infancy, but whose deformed person rendered the insisting upon such an agreement an act of abominable rigour. The exterior ofthis unhappy Prince was in no respect distinguished by personal advantages; and in mind he was of a gentle, mild, and beneficent disposition, qualities which were even visible through the veil of extreme dejection, with which his natural character was at present obscured. Quentin observed that he studiously avoided even looking at the Royal Guards, and when he returned their salute, that the Duke kept his eyes bent on the ground, as if he feared the King’s jealousy might have construed that gesture of ordinary courtesy, as arising from the purpose ofestablishing a separate and personal inter­ est among them. Very different was the conduct of the proud Cardinal and Prelate, John ofBalue, the favourite Minister of Louis for the time, whose rise and character bore as close a resemblance to that of Wolsey, as the difference betwixt the crafty and politic Louis, and the headlong and rash Henry VIII. ofEngland, would permit. The former had raised his minister from the lowest rank, to the dignity, or at least to the emolu­ ments, of Grand Almoner of France, loaded him with benefices, and obtained for him the hat of a Cardinal; and although he was too cautious to repose in the ambitious Balue the unbounded power and trust which Henry placed in Wolsey, yet he was more influenced by him than by any other of his avowed counsellors. The Cardinal, accordingly, had not escaped the error incidental to those who are suddenly raised to power from an obscure situation, for he entertained a strong persuasion, dazzled doubtless by the suddenness ofhis eleva­ tion, that his capacity was equal to intermeddling with affairs of every

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kind, even those most foreign to his profession and studies. Tall and ungainly in his person, he affected gallantry and admiration of the fair sex, although his manners rendered his pretensions absurd, and his profession marked them as indecorous. Some male or female flatterer had, in evil hour, possessed him that there was much beauty of con­ tour in a pair of huge substantial legs, which he had derived from his father, a car-man of Limoges; and with this idea he had become so infatuated, that he always had his cardinal’s robes a little looped up on one side, that the sturdy proportion of his limbs might not escape observation. As he swept through the stately apartment in his crimson dress and rich cope, he stopped repeatedly to look at the arms and appointments of the cavaliers on guard, asked them several questions in an authoritative tone, and took upon him to censure some of them for what he termed irregularities of discipline, in language to which these experienced soldiers dared venture no reply, although it was plain they listened to it with impatience and with contempt. “Is the King aware,” said Dunois to the Cardinal, “that the Bur­ gundian Envoy is peremptory in demanding an audience?” “He is,” answered the Cardinal; “and here, as I think, comes the all-efficient Oliver Dain, to let us know his royal pleasure.” As he spoke, a remarkable person, who then divided the favour of Louis with the proud Cardinal himself, entered from the inner apart­ ment, but without any ofthat important and consequential demeanour which marked the full-blown dignity ofChurchman. On the contrary, this was a little, pale, meagre man, whose plain black silk jerkin and hose, without either coat, cloak, or cassock, were ill qualified to set off to advantage a very ordinary person. He carried a silver basin in his hand, and a napkin flung over his arm indicated his menial capacity. His visage was penetrating and quick, although he endeavoured to banish such expression from his features, by keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, as, with the stealthy and quiet pace of a cat, he seemed modestly rather to glide than to walk through the apartment. But though modesty may easily disguise worth, it cannot hide court­ favour; and all attempts to steal unperceived through the presence­ chamber were vain, on the part of one known to have such possession of the King’s ear, as had been attained by his celebrated barber and groom of the chamber, Oliver le Dain, called sometimes Oliver le Mauvais, and sometimes Oliver le Diable, epithets derived from the unscrupulous cunning with which he assisted the execution of the schemes of his master’s tortuous policy. At present he spoke earnestly for a few moments with the Count de Dunois, who instantly left the chamber, while the tonsor glided quietly back towards the royal apart­ ment whence he had issued, every one giving place to him; which

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civility he only acknowledged by the most humble inclinations of the body, excepting in very few instances, where he made one or two persons the subject of envy to all the other courtiers by whispering a single word in their ear; and at the same time muttering something of the duties of his place, he escaped from their replies, as well as from the eager salutations of those who wished to attract his notice. Ludo­ vic Lesly had the good fortune to be one of the individuals who, on the present occasion, was favoured by Oliver with a single word of assur­ ance that his matter was fortunately terminated. Presently afterwards, he had another proof of the same agreeable tidings, for Tristan l’Hermite, the Provost-Marshal of the Royal Household, entered the apartment, and came straight to the place where Le Balafré was posted. This formidable officer’s dress, which was very rich, had only the effect of making his sinister countenance and bad mien more strikingly remarkable, and the tone which he meant for conciliatory, was like nothing so much as the growling of a bear. The import of his words, however, was more amicable than the voice in which they were pronounced. He regretted the mistake which had fallen between them on the preceding day, and observed it was owing to the Sieur Le Balafré’s nephew not wearing the uniform ofhis corps, or announcing himself as belonging to it, which had led him into the error for which he now asked forgiveness. Ludovic Lesly made the necessary reply, and as soon as Tristan had turned away, observed to his nephew, that they had now the distinc­ tion of having a mortal enemy from henceforward in the person of this dreaded officer. “But a soldier,” said he, “who does his duty, may laugh at the Provost-Marshal.” Quentin could not help being of his uncle’s opinion, for, as Tristan parted from them, it was with the look of angry defiance which the bear casts upon the hunter whose spear has wounded him. Indeed, even when less strongly moved, his sullen eye expressed a malevol­ ence of purpose which made men shudder to meet his glance; and the thrill of the young Scot was the deeper and more abhorrent, that he seemed to himself still to feel on his shoulders the grasp of the two death-doing functionaries of this fatal officer. Meanwhile, Oliver, after he had prowled around the room in the stealthy manner which we have endeavoured to describe,—all, even the highest officers, making way for him, and loading him with their ceremonious attentions, which his modesty seemed desirous to avoid, —again entered the inner apartment, the doors of which were pres­ ently thrown open, and King Louis entered the presence-chamber. Quentin, like all others, turned his eyes upon him; and started so suddenly, that he almost dropped his weapon, for he recognized in the

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King of France that silk-merchant, Maitre Pierre, who had been the companion of his morning walk. Singular suspicions respecting the real rank of this person had at different times crossed his thoughts; but this, the proved reality, was wilder than his wildest conjecture. The stem look of his uncle, offended at this breach of the decorum of his office, recalled him to himself; but not a little was he astonished when the King, whose quick eye had at once discovered him, walked straight to the place where he was posted, without taking notice of any one else.—“So,” he said, “young man, I am told you have been brawl­ ing on your first arrival in Touraine; but I pardon you, as it was chiefly the fault of a foolish old merchant, who thought your Caledonian blood required to be heated in the morning with Vin de Beaulne. If I can find him, I will make him an example to those who debauch my Guards.—Balafré,” he added, speaking to Lesly, “your kinsman is a fair youth, though a fiery. We love to cherish such spirits, and mean to make more than ever we did of the brave men who are around us.— Let the year, day, hour, and minute of his birth be written down, and given to Oliver Dain.” Balafré bowed to the ground, and re-assumed his erect military position, as one who would shew by his demeanour his promptitude to act in the King’s quarrel or defence. Quentin, meantime, recovered from his first surprise, studied the King’s appearance more attent­ ively, and was surprised to find how differently he construed his deportment and features. These were not much changed in exterior, for Louis, always a scorner of outward show, wore, on the present occasion, an old dark­ blue hunting-dress, not much better than the plain burgher suit of the preceding day, and garnished with a huge rosary of ebony, which had been sent to him by no less a person than the Grand Seignior, with an attestation that it had been used by a Coptic hermit on Mount Leb­ anon, a personage of profound sanctity. And for his cap with a single image, he now wore a hat, the band of which was garnished with at least a dozen of little paltry figures of saints stamped in lead. But those eyes, which, according to Quentin’s former impressions, only twinkled with the love ofgain, had, now that they were known to be the property of an able and powerful monarch, a piercing and majestic glance; and those wrinkles on the brow, which he had supposed were formed during a long series of petty schemes of commerce, seemed now the furrows which sagacity had worn while toiling in meditation upon the fate of nations. Presently after the King’s appearance, the Princesses of France, with the ladies of their suite, entered the apartment. With the eldest, afterwards married to Peter ofBourbon, and known in French history

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by the name of the Lady of Beaujeu, our story has but little to do. She was tall, and rather handsome, possessed eloquence, talent, and much of her father’s sagacity, who reposed much confidence in her, and loved her as much perhaps as he loved any one. The younger sister, the unfortunate Joan, the destined bride of the Duke of Orleans, advanced timidly by the side of her sister, conscious of a total want of those external qualities which women are most desirous of possessing, or being thought to possess. She was pale, thin, and sickly in her complexion, her shape visibly bent to one side, and her gait so unequal that she might be called lame. A fine set of teeth, and eyes which were expressive of melancholy, softness, and resignation, with a quantity of light brown locks, were the only redeeming points which flattery itselfcould have dared to number, to counteract the general homeliness of her face and figure. To com­ plete the picture, it was easy to remark, from the Princess’s negligence in dress, and the timidity of her manners, that she had an unusual and distressing consciousness of her own plainness ofappearance, and did not dare to make any of those attempts to mend by manners or by art what nature had left amiss, or in any other way to exert a power of pleasing. The King (who loved her not) stepped hastily to her as she entered.—“How now!” he said, “our world-contemning daughter— Are you robed for a hunting-party, or for the convent, this morning? Speak—answer.” “For which your highness pleases, sire,” said the Princess, scarce raising her voice above her breath. “Ay, doubtless—you would persuade me it is your desire to quit the court, Joan, and renounce the world and its vanities.—Ha! maiden! Wouldst thou have it thought that We, the First Born ofHoly Church, would refuse our daughter to Heaven?—Our Lady and Saint Martin forbid we should refuse the offering, were it worthy of the altar, or were thy vocation in truth thitherward.” So saying, the King crossed himself devoutly, looking, in the mean time, as appeared to Quentin, very like a cunning vassal, who was depreciating the merit of something which he was desirous to keep to himself, in order that he might stand excused for not offering it to his chief or superior. “Dares he thus play the hypocrite with Heaven,” thought Durward, “and sport with God and the Saints, as he may safely do with men, who dare not search his nature too closely?” Louis meantime resumed, after a moment’s mental devotion— “No, fair daughter—I and another know your real mind better—Ha! fair cousin of Orleans, do we not? Approach, fair sir, and lead this devoted vestal of our’s to her horse.” Orleans started when the King spoke, and hastened to obey him;

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but with such precipitation of step, and confusion, that Louis called out, “Nay, cousin, rein your gallantry, and look before you—Why, what a headlong matter a gallant’s haste is on some occasions!—You had well nigh taken Anne’s hand instead of her sister’s.—Sir, must I give Joan’s to you myself?” The unhappy Prince looked up, and shuddered like a child, when forced to touch something at which it has instinctive horror—then making an effort, took the hand which the Princess neither gave nor yet withheld. As they stood, her cold damp fingers enclosed in his trembling hand, with their eyes looking on the ground, it would have been difficult to say which of these two youthful beings was rendered most utterly miserable—the Duke, who felt himself fettered to the object of his aversion by bonds which he durst not tear asunder, or the unfortunate young woman, who too plainly saw that she was an object of abhorrence to him, to gain whose kindness she would willingly have died. “And now to horse, gentlemen and ladies—we will ourselves lead forth our daughter of Beaujeu,” said the King; “and God’s blessing and Saint Hubert’s be on our morning sport.” “I am, I fear, doomed to interrupt it, sire,” said the Compte de Dunois—“The Burgundian Envoy is before the gates of the Castle, and demands an audience.” “Demands an audience, Dunois?” replied the King—“Did you not answer him, as we sent you word by Oliver, that we were not at leisure to see him to-day,—and that to-morrow was the festival of Saint Martin, which, please Heaven, we would disturb by no earthly thoughts,—and that on the succeeding day we were designed for Amboise—but that we would not fail to appoint him as early an audience, when we returned, as our pressing affairs would permit?” “All this I said,” answered Dunois; “but yet, sire”–— “Pasques-dieu! man, what is it that thus sticks in thy throat?” said the King. “This Burgundian’s terms must have been hard of diges­ tion.” “Had not my duty, your Grace’s commands, and his character as an Envoy restrained me,” said Dunois, “he should have tried to digest them himself; for, by our Lady of Orleans, I had more mind to have made him eat his own words, than to have brought them to your Majesty.” “Body ofme, Dunois,” said the King, “it is strange that thou, one of the most impatient fellows alive, should’st have so little sympathy with the like infirmity in our blunt and fiery cousin, Charles of Burgundy. —Why, man, I mind his blustering messages no more than the towers of this Castle regard the whistling of the north-east wind, which

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comes from Flanders, as well as this brawling Envoy.” “Know then, sire,” replied Dunois, “that the Count of Crevecœur tarries below with his retinue of pursuivants and trumpets, and says, that since your Majesty refuses him the audience which his master has instructed him to demand, upon matters of most pressing concern, he will remain there till midnight, and accost your Majesty at whatever hour you are pleased to issue from your Castle, whether for business, exercise, or devotion; and that no consideration, except the use of absolute force, shall compel him to desist from this resolution.” “He is a fool,” said the King, with much composure. “Does the hot­ headed Hainaulter think it any penance for a man of sense to remain for twenty-four hours quiet within the walls of his Castle, when he hath the affairs of a kingdom to occupy him? These impatient cox­ combs think that all men, like themselves, are miserable, save when in saddle and stirrup. Let the dogs be put up, and well looked to, gentle Dunois—we will hold council to-day, instead of hunting.” “My Liege,” answered Dunois, “you will not thus rid yourself of Crevecœur; for his master’s instructions are, that if he hath not this audience which he demands, he shall nail his gauntlet to the palisades before the Castle, in name ofmortal defiance on the part of his master, shall renounce the Duke’s fealty to France, and declare instant war.” “Ay,” said Louis, without any perceptible alteration of voice, but frowning until his piercing dark eyes became almost invisible under his shaggy eye-brows, “is it even so?—will our ancient vassal prove so masterful—our dear cousin treat us thus unkindly?—Nay then, Dunois, we must unfold the Oriflamme, and cry Dennis Montjoye!” “Marry and amen, and in a most happy hour!” said the martial Dunois; and the guards in the hall, unable to resist the same impulse, stirred each upon his post, so as to produce a low but distinct sound of clashing arms. The King cast his eye proudly round, and, for a moment, thought and looked like his heroic father. But the excitement of the moment presently gave way to the host of political considerations, which, at that conjuncture, rendered an open breach with Burgundy so peculiarly perilous. Edward IV., abrave and victorious King, who had in his own person fought thirty battles, was now established on the throne ofEngland, was brother to the Duchess of Burgundy, and, it might well be supposed, waited but a rupture between his near connection and Louis, to carry into France, through the ever-open gate of Calais, those arms which had been triumphant in the civil wars, and to obliterate the recollection of civil dissentions by that most popular of all occupations amongst the English, an inva­ sion of France. To this consideration was added the uncertain faith of the Duke of Bretagne, and other weighty subjects of reflection. So

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that after a deep pause, when Louis again spoke, although in the same tone, it was with an altered spirit. “But God forbid,” he said, “that aught less than necessity should make us, the Most Christian King, give cause to the effusion of Christian blood, if any thing short of dishonour may avert such a calamity. We tender our subjects’ safety dearer than the ruffle which our own dignity may receive from the rude breath of a malapert ambassador, who hath perhaps exceeded the errand with which he was charged.—Admit the Envoy of Bur­ gundy to our presence.” “Beatipacifici,” said the Cardinal Balue. “True; and your eminence knoweth that they who humble them­ selves shall be exalted,” added the King. The Cardinal spoke an Amen, to which few assented; for even the pale cheek of Orleans kindled with shame, and Balafré suppressed his feelings so little as to let the butt-end of his partizan fall heavily on the floor,—a movement of impatience for which he underwent a bitter reproof from the Cardinal, with a lecture on the mode of handling his arms when in presence of the Sovereign. The King himself seemed unusually embarrassed at the silence around him. “You are pensive, Dunois,” he said—“You disapprove of our giving way to this hot­ headed Envoy.” “By no means,” said Dunois; “I meddle not with matters beyond my sphere. I was but thinking of asking a boon of your Majesty.” “A boon, Dunois—what is it?—you are an infrequent suitor, and may count on our favour.” “I would, then, your Majesty would send me to Evreux, to regulate the clergy of the diocese,” said Dunois, with military frankness. “That were indeed beyond thy sphere,” replied the King, smiling. “I might order priests as well,” replied the Count, “as my Lord Bishop of Evreux, or my Lord Cardinal, if he likes the title better, can exercise the soldiers of your Majesty’s guard.” The King smiled again, and more mysteriously, while he whispered Dunois, “The time may come when you and I will regulate the priests together—But this is for the present a good conceited animal of a Bishop. Ah! Dunois—Rome, Rome puts him and other burthens upon us—But patience, cousin, and shuffle the cards, till our hand is a stronger one.”* The flourish of the trumpets in the court-yard now announced the * Dr Dryasdust here remarks, that cards, said to have been invented in a preceding reign, for the amusement of Charles VI. during the intervals of his mental disorder, seem speedily to have become common among the courtiers, since they already furnished Louis XI. with a metaphor. The same proverb was quoted by Durandarte, in the enchanted cave ofMontesinos.

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arrival of the Burgundian nobleman. All in the presence-chamber made haste to arrange themselves according to their proper places of precedence, the King and his daughters remaining in the centre of the assembly. The Count of Crevecœur, a renowned and undaunted warrior, entered the apartment; and, contrary to the usage among the envoys of friendly powers, he appeared all armed, excepting his head, in a gorgeous suit of the most superb Milan armour, made of steel, inlaid and embossed with gold, which was wrought into the fantastic taste called the Arabesque. Around his neck, and over his polished cuirass, hung his master’s order of the Golden Fleece, one of the most honoured associations of chivalry then known in Christendom. A handsome page bore his helmet behind him, a herald preceded him, bearing his letters of credence, which he offered on his knee to the King; while the ambassador himself paused in the midst of the hall, as ifto give all present time to admire his lofty look, commanding stature, and undaunted composure of countenance and manners. The rest of his attendants waited in the anti-chamber, or court-yard. “Approach, Seignior Count of Crevecœur,” said Louis, after a moment’s glance at his commission; “we need not our Cousin’s let­ ters of credence, either to introduce to us a warrior so well known, or to assure us of your highly deserved credit with your master. We trust that your fair partner, who shares some of our ancestral blood, is in good health. Had you brought her in your hand, Seignior Count, we might have thought you wore your armour, on this unwonted occa­ sion, to maintain the superiority of her charms against the amorous chivalry of France. As it is, we cannot guess the reason of this com­ plete panoply.” “Sire,” replied the ambassador, “the Count of Crevecœur must lament his misfortune, and entreat your forgiveness, that he cannot, on this occasion, reply with such humble deference as is due to the royal courtesy with which your Majesty has honoured him. But although it is only the voice of Philip Crevecœur de Cordes which speaks, the words which he utters must be those of his gracious Lord and Sovereign the Duke of Burgundy.” “And what has Crevecœur to say in the words of Burgundy?” said Louis, with an assumption of sufficient dignity. “Yet hold—remem­ ber that in this presence Philip Crevecœur de Cordes speaks to him whom he calls his Sovereign’s Sovereign.” Crevecœur bowed, and then spoke aloud:—“King of France, the mighty Duke of Burgundy once more sends you a written schedule of the wrongs and oppressions committed on his frontiers by your Maj­ esty’s garrisons and officers; and the first point of inquiry is, whether

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it is your Majesty’s purpose to make him amends for these injuries?” The King, looking slightly at the memorial which the herald delivered to him upon his knee, said, “These matters have been already long before our Council. Of the injuries complained of, some are in requital of those sustained by my subjects, some are affirmed without any proof, some have been retaliated by the Duke’s garrisons and soldiery; and if there remain any which fall under none of those predicaments, we are not, as a Christian prince, averse to make satis­ faction for wrongs actually sustained by our neighbour, though com­ mitted not only without our countenance, but against our express order.” “I will convey your Majesty’s answer,” said the ambassador, “to my most gracious master; yet, let me say, that as it is in no degree different from the evasive replies which have already been returned to his just complaints, I cannot hope that it will afford the means of re-establish­ ing peace and friendship betwixt France and Burgundy.” “Be that at God’s pleasure,” said the King. “It is not for dread ofthy Master’s arms, but for the sake of peace only, that I return so temper­ ate an answer to his injurious reproaches. Proceed with thine errand.” “My Master’s next demand,” said the Ambassador, “is, that your Majesty will cease your secret and underhand dealings with his towns of Ghent, Liege, and Malines. He requests that your Majesty will recall the secret agents, by whose means the discontents of his good citizens of Flanders are inflamed; and dismiss from your Majesty’s dominions, or rather deliver up to the condign punishment of their liege lord, those traitorous fugitives, who, having fled from the scene oftheir machinations, have found too ready a refuge in Paris, Orleans, Tours, and other French cities.” “Say to the Duke of Burgundy,” replied the King, “that I know of no such indirect practices as those with which he injuriously charges me; that my subjects of France have frequent intercourse with the good cities of Flanders, for the purpose of mutual benefit by free traffic, which it would be as much contrary to the Duke’s interest as to mine to interrupt; and that many Flemings have residence in my kingdom, and enjoy the protection of my laws, for the same purpose; but none, to our knowledge, for those of treason or mutiny against the Duke. Proceed with your message—you have heard my answer.” “As formerly, Sire, with pain,” replied the Count ofCrevecœur; “it not being of that direct or explicit nature which the Duke, my master, will accept, in atonement for a long train of secret machinations, not the less certain, though now disavowed by your Majesty. But I proceed with my message. The Duke ofBurgundy further requires the King of France to send back to his dominions without delay, and under a

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secure safe-guard, the persons of Isabelle Countess of Croye, and of her relation and guardian the Countess Hameline, of the same family, in respect the said Countess Isabelle, being by the law of the country, and the feudal tenure of her estates, the ward of the said Duke of Burgundy, hath fled from his dominions, and from the charge which he, as a careful Prince, was willing to extend over her, and is here maintained in secret by the King ofFrance, and by him fortified in her contumacy to the Duke, her natural lord and guardian, contrary to the laws of God and man, as they ever have been acknowledged in civil­ ized Europe.—Once more I pause for your Majesty’s reply.” “You did well, Count of Crevecœur,” said Louis, scornfully, “to begin your embassy at an early hour; for, if it be your purpose to call on me to account for the flight of every vassal whom your master’s heady passion may have driven from his dominions, the bead-roll may last till sun-set. Who can affirm that these ladies are in my dominions? Who can presume to say, if it be so, that I have either countenanced their flight hither, or have received them with offers of protection?” “Sire,” said Crevecœur, “may it please your Majesty, I was pro­ vided with a witness on this subject—one who beheld these fugitive ladies in the inn called the Fleur-de-Lys, not far from this Castle —one who saw your Majesty in their company, though under the unworthy disguise of a burgess of Tours—one who received from them, in your royal presence, messages and letters to their friends in Flanders—all which he conveyed to the hand and ear of the Duke of Burgundy.” “Bring him forward,” said the King; “place the man before my face who dare maintain these palpable falsehoods.” “You speak in triumph, my lord; for you are well aware that this witness exists no longer. When he lived, he was called Zamet Maugrabin, by birth one of those Bohemian wanderers. He was yesterday, as I have learned, executed by a party of your Majesty’s Provostguard, to prevent, doubtless, his standing here, to verify what he said of this matter to the Duke of Burgundy, in presence of his Council, and ofme, Philip Crevecœur de Cordes.” “Now, by our Lady of Embrun!” said the King, “so gross are these accusations, and so free of consciousness am I of ought that approaches them, that, by the honour of a King, I laugh, rather than am wroth at them. My Provost-guard put to death, as is their duty, thieves and vagabonds; and my crown is to be slandered with whatso­ ever these thieves and vagabonds may have said to our hot cousin of Burgundy and his wise counsellors! I pray you, tell my kind cousin, if he loves such companions, he had best keep them in his own states— for here they are like to meet short shrift and a tight cord.”

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“My master needs no such subjects, Sir King,” answered the Count, in a tone more disrespectful than he had yet permitted himself to make use of; “for the noble Duke uses not to inquire of witches, wandering Egyptians, or other, upon the destiny and fate ofhis neigh­ bours and allies.” “We have had patience enough, and to spare,” said the King, inter­ rupting him; “and since thy sole errand here seems to be for the purpose of insult, we will send some one in our name to the Duke of Burgundy—convinced, in thus demeaning thyself towards us, thou hast exceeded thy commission, whatever that may have been.” “On the contrary,” said Crevecœur, “I have not yet acquitted myself of it. Hearken, Louis of Valois, King of France—Hearken, nobles and gentlemen, who may be present—Hearken, all good and true men—And thou, Toison d’Or,” addressing the herald, “make proclamation after me.—I, Philip Crevecœur of Cordes, Count of the Empire, and Knight of the honourable and princely Order of the Golden Fleece, in the name of the most puissant Lord and Prince, Charles, by the Grace of God, Duke ofBurgundy and Lothairingia, of Brabant and Limbourg, of Luxembourg and of Gueldres; Earl of Flanders and of Artois; Count Palatine of Hainault, of Holland, Zea­ land, Namur, and Zutphen; Marquis of the Holy Empire; Lord of Friezeland, Salines, and Malines, do give you, Louis, King of France, openly to know, that you having refused to remedy the various griefs, wrongs, and offences, done and wrought by you, or by and through your aid, suggestion, and instigation, against the said Duke and his loving subjects, he, by my mouth, renounces all allegiance and fealty towards you, your crown and dignity, pronounces you false and faith­ less, and defies you as a Prince, and as a man—there lies my gage, in evidence of what I have said.” So saying, he plucked the gauntlet off his right hand, and flung it down on the floor of the hall. Until this last climax of audacity, there had been a deep silence in the royal apartment during the extraordinary scene; but no sooner had the clash of the gauntlet, when cast down, been echoed by the deep voice of Toison d’Or, the Burgundian herald, with the ejacula­ tion, “Vive Bourgogne!” than there was a general tumult. While Dunois, Orleans, old Lord Crawford, and one or two others, whose rank authorized their interference, contended which should lift up the gauntlet, the others in the hall exclaimed, “Strike him down! Cut him to pieces! Comes he here to insult the King of France in his own palace!” But the King appeased the tumult by exclaiming, in a voice like thunder, which overawed and silenced every other sound, “Silence,

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my lieges! lay not a hand on the man, not a finger on the gage!—And you, Sir Count, of what is your life composed, or how is it warranted, that you thus place it on the cast of a die so perilous? Or is your Duke made of a different metal from other princes, since he thus asserts his pretended quarrel in a manner so unusual?” “He is indeed framed of a different and more noble metal than the other princes of Europe,” said the undaunted Count of Crevecœur; “for, when not one of them dared to give shelter to you—to you, I say, King Louis—when you were an exile from France, and pursued by the whole bitterness of your father’s revenge, and all the power of his kingdom, you were received and protected like a brother by my noble master, whose generosity of disposition you have so grossly misused. Farewell, Sire, my mission is discharged.” So saying, the Count de Crevecœur left the apartment abruptly, and without further leave-taking. “After him—after him—take up the gauntlet and after him!” said the King. “—I mean not you, Dunois, nor you, my Lord of Crawford, who, methinks, may be too old for such hot frays; nor you, Cousin of Orleans, who are too young for them.—My Lord Cardinal—my Lord Bishop of Angers—it is your holy office to make peace among princes; —do you lift the gauntlet, and remonstrate with Count Crevecœur on the sin he has committed, in thus insulting a great Monarch in his own Court, and forcing us to bring the miseries of war upon his kingdom and that of his neighbour.” Upon this direct personal appeal, the Cardinal Balue proceeded to lift the gauntlet, with such precaution as one would touch an adder,— so great was apparently his aversion to this symbol of war,—and presently left the royal apartment to hasten after the challenger. Louis paused and looked round the circle of his courtiers, most of whom, except such as we have already distinguished, being men of low birth, and raised to their rank in the King’s household for other gifts than courage or feats of arms, looked pale on each other, and had obviously received an unpleasant impression from the scene which had been just acted. Louis gazed on them with contempt, and then said aloud, “Although the Count of Crevecœur be presumptuous and overweening, it must be confessed that in him the Duke of Burgundy hath as bold a servant as ever bore message for a prince. I would I knew where to find as faithful an Envoy to carry back my answer.” “You do your French nobles injustice, Sire,” said Dunois; “not one of them but would carry a defiance to Burgundy on the point of his sword.” “And, Sire,” said old Crawford, “you wrong also the Scottish gen­ tlemen who serve you. I, or any of my followers, being of meet rank,

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would not hesitate a moment to call yonder proud Count to a reckon­ ing; my own arm is yet strong enough for the purpose, if I have but your Majesty’s permission.” “But your Majesty,” continued Dunois, “will employ us in no ser­ vice through which we may win honour to ourselves, to your Majesty, or to France.” “Say rather,” said the King, “that I will not give way, Dunois, to the headlong impetuosity, which, on some knight-errant punctilio, would wreck yourselves, the throne, France, and all. There is not one of you who knows not how precious every hour of peace is at this moment, when so necessary to heal the wounds of a distracted country; yet there is not one of you who would not rush into war on account of the tale of a wandering gipsey, or of some errant damosel whose reputa­ tion, perhaps, is scarce higher.—Here comes the Cardinal, and we trust with more pacific tidings.—How now, my Lord—have you brought the Count to reason and to temper?” “Sire,” said Balue, “my task hath been difficult. I put it to yonder proud Count, how he dared to use towards your Majesty, the pre­ sumptuous reproach with which his audience had broken up, and which must be understood as proceeding, not from his master, but from his own insolence, and as placing him therefore in your Maj­ esty’s danger, for what penalty you might think proper.” “You said right,” replied the King; “and what was his answer?” “The Count,” continued the Cardinal, “had at that moment his foot in the stirrup, ready to mount, and, on hearing my expostulation, he turned his head without altering his posture. ‘Had I,’ said he, ‘been fifty leagues distant, and had heard by report that the question vitu­ perative of my Prince had been asked by the King of France, I had, even at that distance, instantly mounted, and returned to disburthen my mind of the answer which I gave him but now.’ ” “I said, sirs,” said the King, turning around, without any shew of angry emotion, “that in Count Philip of Crevecœur, our cousin the Duke possesses as worthy a servant as ever rode at a prince’s right hand.—But you prevailed with him to stay?” “To stay for twenty-four hours, and in the meanwhile to receive back his gage of defiance,” said the Cardinal: “he has dismounted at the Fleur-de-Lys.” “See that he be nobly attended and cared for, at our charges,” said the King; “such a servant is a jewel of a prince’s crown.—Twentyfour hours?” he added, muttering to himself, and looking as if he were stretching his eyes to see into futurity; “twenty-four hours—’ tis ofthe shortest—yet twenty-four hours, ably and skilfully employed, may be worth a year in the hand of indolent or incapable agents.—Well—To

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the forest—to the forest, my gallant lords!—Orleans, my fair kins­ man, lay aside that modesty, though it becomes you—mind not my Joan’s coyness. The Loire may as soon avoid mingling with the Cher, as she from favouring your suit—or you from preferring it,” he added, as the unhappy prince moved slowly on after his betrothed bride. “And now for your boar-spears, gentlemen, for Allegre, my pricker, hath harboured one that will try dog and man.—Dunois—lend me your spear—take mine—it is too weighty for me, but when did you complain of such a fault in your lance?—To horse—to horse, gentle­ men.” “And all the chase rode on.”

Chapter Nine THE BOAR-HUNT I will converse with unrespective boys And iron-witted fools. None are for me That look into me with suspicious eyes. King Richard

All the experience which the Cardinal had been able to collect of his master’s disposition, did not, upon the present occasion, pre­ vent his falling into a great error of policy. His vanity induced him to think that he had been more successful in prevailing upon the Count of Crevecœur to remain at Tours, than any other mediator whom the King might have employed, would, in all probability, have been. And as he was well aware of the importance which Louis attached to the postponement of a war with the Duke of Burgundy, he could not help shewing that he conceived himself to have rendered the King great and acceptable service. He pressed nearer to the King’s person than he was wont to do, and endeavoured to engage him in conversation on the events of the morning. This was injudicious in more respects than one, for princes love not to see their subjects approach them with an air conscious of deserving, and thereby seeming desirous to extort acknowledgment and recom­ pense of their services; and Louis, the most jealous monarch that ever lived, was peculiarly averse and inaccessible to any one who seemed either to presume upon service rendered, or to pry into his secrets. Yet, hurried away, as the most cautious sometimes are, by the selfsatisfied humour of the moment, the Cardinal continued to ride on the King’s right hand, turning the discourse, whenever it was possible,

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upon Crevecœur and his embassy; which, although it might be the matter at that moment most in the King’s thoughts, was nevertheless precisely that which he was least willing to converse on. At length Louis, who had listened to him with attention, yet without having returned any answer which could tend to prolong the conversation, signed to Dunois, who rode at no great distance, to come up on the other side of his horse. “We came hither for sport and exercise,” said he, “but the reverend Father here would have us hold a council of state.” “I hope your Highness will excuse my assistance,” said Dunois; “I am bom to fight the battles of France, and have heart and hand for that, but I have no head for her councils.” “My Lord Cardinal hath a head turned for nothing else, Dunois— he hath confessed Crevecœur at the Castle-gate, and he hath com­ municated to us his whole shrift—Said you not the whole?ˮ he con­ tinued, with an emphasis on the word, and a glance at the Cardinal, which shot from betwixt his long dark eye-lashes, as a dagger gleams when it leaves the scabbard. The Cardinal trembled, as, endeavouring to reply to the King’s jest, he said, “That though his Order was obliged to conceal the secrets of their penitents in general, there was no sigilium confessionis, which could not be melted at his Majesty’s breath.” “And as his Eminence,” said the King, “is ready to communicate the secrets of others to us, he naturally expects that we should be equally communicative to him—and, in order to get upon this recip­ rocal footing, he is very reasonably desirous to know ifthese two ladies of Croye be actually in our territories. We are sorry we cannot indulge his curiosity, not ourselves knowing in what precise place errant damsels, disguised princesses, distressed countesses, may lie leaguer within our dominions, which are, we thank God and our Lady of Embrun, rather too extensive for us to answer easily his Eminence’s most reasonable enquiries.—Now, what say you, Dunois?” “I will answer you, my Lord, ifyou will tell me in sincerity, whether you want war or peace,” replied Dunois, with a frankness which, while it arose out of his own native openness and intrepidity of character, made him from time to time a considerable favourite with Louis, who, like all astucious persons, was as desirous of looking into the hearts of others as of concealing his own. “By my halidome,” said he, “I should be as well contented as thyself, Dunois, to tell thee my purpose, did I myself but know it exactly. But say I declared for war, what should I do with this beautiful and wealthy young heiress, supposing her in my dominions?” “Bestow her in marriage on one of your own gallant followers, who

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has a heart to love and an arm to protect her,” said Dunois. “Upon thyself, ha!” said the King. “Pasques-dieu! thou art more politic than I took thee for, with all thy bluntness.” “Nay, Sire, I am aught except politic. By our Lady of Orleans, I come to the point at once, as I ride my horse at the ring. Your Majesty owes the house of Orleans at least one happy marriage.” “And I will pay it, Count. Pasques-dieu, I will pay it!—See you not yonder fair couple?” The King pointed to the unhappy Duke of Orleans and the Prin­ cess, who, neither daring remain at a greater distance from the King, nor in his sight appear separate from each other, were riding side by side, yet with an interval of two or three yards betwixt them, a space which timidity on the one side, and aversion on the other, prevented them from diminishing, while neither dared to increase it. Dunois looked in the direction of the King’s signal, and as the situation of his unfortunate relative and the destined bride reminded him of nothing so much as of two dogs, which, forcibly linked together, remain nevertheless as widely separated as the length of their collars will permit, he could not help shaking his head, though he ventured not on any other reply to the hypocritical tyrant. Louis seemed to guess his thoughts. “It will be a peaceful and quiet household they will keep—not much disturbed with children, I should augur. But these are not always a blessing.” It was, perhaps, the recollection of his own filial ingratitude that made the King pause as he made the last reflection, and which con­ verted the sneer which trembled on his lip into something resembling an expression of contrition. But he instantly proceeded in another tone. “Frankly, my Dunois, much as I revere the holy sacrament ofmatri­ mony (here he crossed himself), I would rather the house of Orleans raised for me such gallant soldiers as thy father and thyself, who share the blood-royal of France without claiming its rights, than that the country should be rent to pieces, as England, by wars by the rivalry of legitimate candidates for the crown. The lion should never have more than one cub.” Dunois sighed and was silent, conscious that contradicting his arbitrary Sovereign might well hurt his kinsman’s interests, but could do him no service; yet he could not forbear adding, in the next moment, “Since your Majesty has alluded to the birth of my father, I must needs own, that, setting the frailty of his parents on one side, he might be termed happier, and more fortunate, as the son of lawless love, than of conjugal hatred.”

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Thou art a scandalous fellow, Dunois, to speak thus of holy wed­ lock. But to the devil with the discourse, for the boar is unharboured. —Lay on the dogs, in the name of the holy Saint Hubert!—Ha! ha! Tra-la-la-lira-la!”—And the King’s horn rung merrily through the woods, as he pushed forwards on the chase, followed by two or three of his guards, amongst whom was our friend Quentin Durward. And here it was remarkable that, even in the keen prosecution of his favourite sport, the King, in indulgence of his caustic disposition, found leisure to amuse himselfby tormenting Cardinal Balue. It was one of that able statesman’s weaknesses, as we have else­ where hinted, to suppose himself, though of low rank and limited education, qualified to play the courtier and the man of gallantry. He did not, indeed, actually enter the lists like Becket, or levy soldiers like Wolsey. But gallantry, in which they also were proficients, was his professed pursuit; and he likewise affected great fondness for the martial amusements of the chase. But, however well he might succeed with certain ladies, to whom his power, his wealth, and his influence as a statesman, might atone for deficiencies in his appearance and man­ ners, the gallant horses, which he purchased at almost any price, were totally insensible to the dignity of carrying a Cardinal, and paid no more respect to him than they would have done to his father the tailor, whom he rivalled in horsemanship. The King knew this, and, by alternately exciting and checking his own horse, he brought that of the Cardinal, whom he kept close by his side, into such a state of mutiny against his rider, that it became apparent they must soon part com­ pany; and then, in the midst of its starting, bolting, rearing, and lashing out, alternately, the royal tormentor rendered the rider miser­ able, by questioning him upon many affairs ofimportance, and hinting his purpose to take that opportunity ofcommunicating to him some of those secrets of state, which the Cardinal had but a little while since seemed so anxious to learn. A more awkward situation could hardly be imagined, than that of a privy-councillor forced to listen to and reply to his Sovereign, while each fresh gambade of his unmanageable horse placed him in a new and more precarious attitude—his violet robe flew loose in every direction, and nothing secured him from an instant and perilous fall, save the depth of the saddle, and its height before and behind. Dunois laughed without restraint; while the King, who had a private mode of enjoying his jest inwardly, without laughing aloud, mildly rebuked his minister on his eager passion for the chase, which would not permit him to dedicate a few moments to business. “I will no longer be your hinderance,” continued he, addressing the terrified Cardinal, and giving his own horse the rein at the same time.

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Before Balue could utter a word by way of answer or apology, his horse, seizing the bit with his teeth, went forth at an uncontroulable gallop, soon leaving behind the King and Dunois, who followed at a more regulated pace, enjoying the statesman’s distressed pre­ dicament. If any of our readers has chanced to be run away with in his time, (as we ourselves have in ours,) he will have a full sense at once of the pain, peril, and ridicule of the situation. Those four legs of the quadruped, which, noway under the rider’s controul, nor sometimes under that of the creature they more properly belong to, fly at such a rate as if the hindermost meant to overtake the foremost —those clinging legs of the biped which we so often wish safely planted on the green sward, but which now only augment our dis­ tress by pressing the animal’s sides—the hands which have forsaken the bridle for the mane—the body which, instead of sitting upright on the centre of gravity, as Old Angelo used to recommend, or stooping forwards like a jockey at Newmarket, lies, rather than hangs, crouched upon the back of the animal, with no better chance of saving itself than a sack of corn,—combine to make a picture more than sufficiently ludicrous to spectators, however uncomfort­ able to the exhibiter. But add to this some singularity of dress or appearance on the part of the unhappy cavalier—a robe of office, a splendid uniform, or any other peculiarity of costume,—and let the scene of action be a race-course, a review, a procession, or any other place of concourse and public display, and if the poor wight would escape being the object of a shout of inextinguishable laugh­ ter, he must contrive to break a limb or two, or, which will be more effectual, to be killed on the spot; for on no slighter condition will his fall excite any thing like serious sympathy. On the present occa­ sion, the short violet-coloured gown of the Cardinal, which he used as a riding dress, (having changed his long robes before he left the Castle,) his scarlet stockings, and scarlet hat, with the long strings hanging down, together with his utter helplessness, gave infinite zest to his exhibition of horsemanship. The horse, having taken matters entirely into his own hand, flew rather than galloped up a long green avenue, overtook the pack in hard pursuit of the boar, and then, having overturned one or two yeomen prickers, who little expected to be charged in the rear,—having ridden down several dogs, and greatly confused the chase,—animated by the clamours and threats of the huntsman, carried the terrified Cardinal past the formidable animal itself, which was rushing on at a speedy trot, furious and embossed with the foam which churned around his tusks. Balue, at beholding himself so near the boar, set up a dreadful cry for help, which, or perhaps the sight of the boar, produced such an

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effect on his horse, that the animal interrupted its headlong career by suddenly springing to one side; so that the Cardinal, who had long only kept his seat because the motion was straight forward, now fell heavily to the ground. This conclusion of Balue’s chase took place so near the boar, that, had not the animal been at that moment too much engaged about his own affairs, the vicinity might have proved as fatal to the Cardinal, as it is said to have done to Favila, King of the Visigoths, in Spain. He got off, however, for the fright, and crawling as hastily as he could out of the way of hounds and huntsmen, saw the whole chase sweep by him without affording him assistance; for hunters in those days were as little moved to sympathy for such mis­ fortunes as they are in our own. The King, as he passed, said to Dunois, “Yonder lies his Eminence low enough—he is no great huntsman, though for a fisher (when a secret is to be caught,) he may match Saint Peter himself. He has, however, for once, I think, met with his match.” The Cardinal did not hear the words, but the scornful look with which they were spoken led him to suspect their general import. The devil is said to seize such opportunities of temptation as was now afforded by the passions of Balue, bitterly moved as they had been by the scorn of the King. The momentary fright was over so soon as he had assured himself that his fall was harmless; but mortified vanity, and resentment against his Sovereign, had a much longer influence on his feelings. After all the chase had passed him, a single cavalier, who seemed rather to be a spectator than a partaker of the sport, rode up with one or two attendants, and expressed no small surprise to find the Car­ dinal there upon foot, without a horse or attendants, and in such a plight as plainly shewed the nature of the accident which had there placed him. To dismount, and offer his assistance in this predicament, —to cause one of his attendants resign a staid and quiet palfrey for the Cardinal’s use—to express his surprise at the customs of the French Court, which thus permitted them to abandon to the dangers of the chase, and forsake in his need, their wisest statesman, were the natural modes of assistance and consolation which so strange a rencontre supplied to Crevecœur; for it was the Burgundian ambassador who came to the assistance of the fallen Cardinal. He found him in a lucky time and humour for essaying some of those practices on his fidelity, to which it is well known that Balue had the criminal weakness to listen. Already in the morning, as the jealous temper of Louis had suggested, more had passed betwixt them than the Cardinal durst have reported to his master. But although he had listened with gratified ears to the high value, which, he was assured by

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Crevecœur, the Duke of Burgundy placed upon his person and tal­ ents, and not without a feeling of temptation, when the Count hinted at the munificence of his master’s disposition, and the rich benefices of Flanders, it was not until the accident we have related had highly irritated him, that, stung with wounded vanity, he resolved, in a fatal hour, to shew that no enemy can be so dangerous as an offended friend and confidant. On the present occasion, he hastily requested Crevecœur to separ­ ate from him, lest they should be observed, but appointed him a meeting for the evening in the Abbey of Saint Martin’s at Tours, after vesper service; and that in a tone which assured the Burgundian that his master had obtained an advantage hardly to be hoped for. In the meanwhile, Louis, who though the most politic Prince of his time, upon this, as on other occasions, suffered his passions to inter­ fere with his art, followed contentedly the chase of the wild boar, which was now come to an interesting point. It had so happened that a sounder (i. e. in the language of the period, a boar of only two years old,) had crossed the track of the proper object of the chase, and withdrawn in pursuit of him all the dogs, (saving two or three couple of old staunch hounds,) and the greater part of the huntsmen. The King saw, with internal glee, Dunois, as well as others, follow upon this false scent, and enjoyed in secret the thought of triumphing over that accomplished knight, in the art of venerie, which was then thought almost as glorious as that ofwar. Louis was well mounted, and followed close on the hounds; so that, when the boar turned to bay in a marshy piece of ground, there was no one near him but the King himself. Louis shewed all the bravery and expertness of an experienced huntsman; for, unheeding the danger, he rode up to the tremendous animal, which was defending itself with fury against the dogs, and struck him with his boar-spear; yet as the horse shyed from the boar, the blow was not so effectual as either to kill or disable him. No effort could prevail on the horse to charge a second time; so that the King, dismounting, advanced on foot against the furious animal, holding naked in his hand one of those short, sharp, straight, and pointed swords, which huntsmen used for such encounters. The boar instantly quitted the dogs to rush on his human enemy, while the King, taking his station, and posting himself firmly, presented the sword, with the purpose of aiming it at the boar’s throat, or rather chest, within the collar-bone; in which case, the weight of the beast, and the impetuosity of his career, would have served to accelerate his own destruction. But, owing to the wetness of the ground, the King’s foot slipped, just as this delicate and perilous manœuvre ought to

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have been accomplished, and the point of the sword encountering the cuirass of bristles on the outside of the creature’s shoulder, glanced off without making any impression, and Louis fell flat on the ground. This was so far fortunate for the moment, because the animal, owing to the King’s fall, missed his blow in his turn, and only rent with his tusk the King’s short hunting-cloak, instead of ripping up his thigh. But as, after running a little a-head in the fury of his course, the boar turned to repeat his attack on the King in the moment when he was rising, the life of Louis was in imminent danger, when Quentin Dur­ ward, who had been thrown out in the chase by the slowness of his horse, but who, nevertheless, had luckily distinguished and followed the blast of the King’s horn, rode up, and transfixed the animal with hisspear. The King, who had by this time recovered his feet, came in turn to Durward’s assistance, and cut the animal’s throat with his sword. Before speaking a word to Quentin, he measured the huge creature not only by paces, but even by feet—then wiped the sweat from his brow, and the blood from his hands—then took off his hunting cap, hung it on a bush, and devoutly made his orisons to the little leaden images which it contained—and then looking upon Durward, said to him, “Is it thou, my young Scot?—thou hast begun thy woodcraft well, and Maitre Pierre owes thee as good entertainment as he gave thee at the Fleur-de-Lys yonder.—Why doest thou not speak? Thou hast lost thy forwardness and fire, methinks, at the Court, where others find both.” Quentin, as shrewd a youth as ever Scottish breeze breathed cau­ tion into, was far too wise to embrace the perilous permission of familiarity which he seemed thus invited to use. He answered in very few and well-chosen words, that if he ventured to address his Majesty at all, it could be but to crave pardon for the rustic boldness with which he had conducted himself when ignorant ofhis high rank. “Tush! man,” said the King; “I forgive thy sauciness for thy spirit and shrewdness. I admired how near thou didst hit upon my gossip Tristan’s occupation. You have nearly tasted of his handy-work since, as I am given to understand. I bid thee beware of him—he is a mer­ chant who deals in rough bracelets and tight necklaces. Help me to my horse—I love thee, and will do thee good—build on no one’s favour but mine—not even on thine uncle’s or Lord Crawford’s—and say nothing of thy timely aid in this matter of the boar, for if a man makes boast that he has served a King in such a pinch, he must take that braggart humour for its own recompence.” The King then winded his horn, which brought up Dunois and several attendants, whose compliments he received on the slaughter

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of such a noble animal, without scrupling to appropriate a much greater share of merit than actually belonged to him; for he men­ tioned Durward’s assistance as slightly as a sportsman, who, in boast­ ing of the number of birds which he has bagged, does not always dilate upon the presence and assistance of the game-keeper. He then ordered Dunois to see that the boar’s carcase was sent to the brother­ hood of Saint Martin, at Tours, to mend their fare upon holidays, and that they might remember the King in their private devotions. “And,” said Louis, “who hath seen his Eminence my Lord Car­ dinal? Methinks it were but poor courtesy, and cold regard to Holy Church, to leave him afoot here in the forest.” “May it please you, sire,” said Quentin, when he saw that all were silent, “I saw his Lordship the Cardinal accommodated with a horse, on which he left the forest.” “Heaven cares for its own,” replied the King. “Set forward, my lords—we’ll hunt no more this morning.—You, Sir Squire,” addressing Quentin, “reach me my wood-knife—it has dropped from the sheath beside the quarrie there. Ride in, Dunois—I follow instantly.” Louis, whose lightest motions were often conducted like strata­ gems, thus gained an opportunity to ask Quentin privately, “My bonny Scot—thou hast an eye, I see—can’st thou tell me who helped the Cardinal to a palfrey?—some stranger, I should suppose, for, as I passed without stopping, the courtiers would likely be loath to do him such a turn.” “I saw those who aided his Eminence but an instant, sire,” said Quentin; “for I had been unluckily thrown out, and was riding fast, to be in my place; but I think it was the Ambassador ofBurgundy and his people.” “Ha!” said Louis.—“Well—be it so—France will match them yet.” There was nothing more remarkable happened, and the King, with his retinue, returned to the Castle.

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Chapter Ten THE SENTINEL Where should this music be? i’ the air, or the earth? The Tempest –––I was all ear, And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of death. Comus

Quentin had hardly reached his little cabin, in order to make some necessary changes in his dress, than his worthy relative required to know from him the full particulars which had befallen at the hunt. The youth, who could not help thinking that his uncle’s hand was probably more powerful than his understanding, took care, in his reply, to leave the King in full possession of the victory which he had seemed desirous to appropriate. The Balafré’s reply was an account of how much better he himself would have behaved in the like circum­ stances, and it was mixed with a gentle censure of his nephew’s slack­ ness, in not making in to the King’s assistance, when he might be in imminent peril. The youth had prudence, in answer, to abstain from all further vindication ofhis own conduct, excepting that, according to the rules of woodcraft, he held it ungentle to interfere with the game attacked by another hunter, unless he was specially called upon for his assistance. This discussion was scarce ended, when occasion was afforded Quentin to congratulate himself for observing some reserve towards his kinsman. A low tap at the door announced a visitor—it was presently opened, and Oliver Dain, or Mauvais, or Diable, for by all these names he was known, entered the apartment. This able but most unprincipled man has been already described, in so far as his exterior is concerned. The aptest resemblance of his motions and manners might perhaps be to those of the domestic cat, who, while couched in seeming slumber, or gliding through the apart­ ment with slow, stealthy, and timid steps, is now engaged in watching the hole of some unfortunate mouse, now in rubbing herself with apparent confidence and fondness against those by whom she desires to be caressed, and, presently after, is flying upon her prey, or scratch­ ing, perhaps, the very object of her former cajolements. He entered with stooping shoulders, a humble and modest look, and threw such a degree of civility into his address to the Seignior Balafré, that no one who saw the interview could have avoided con-

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eluding that he came to ask a boon of the Scottish Archer. He con­ gratulated Lesly on the excellent conduct of his young kinsman in the chase that day, which, he observed, had attracted the King’s particular attention. He here paused for a reply; and with his eyes fixed on the ground, save just when once or twice they stole upwards to take a side glance at Quentin, he heard Balafré observe, “That his Majesty had been unlucky in not having himself by his side instead of his nephew, as he would questionless have made in and speared the brute, a matter which he understood Quentin had left upon his Majesty’s royal hands, so far as he could learn the story. But it will be a lesson to his Majesty,” he said, “while he lives, to mount a man of my inches on a better horse, for how could my great hill of a Flemish dray-horse keep up with his Majesty’s Norman runner? I am sure I spurred till his sides were furrowed. It is ill considered, Master Oliver, and you must represent it to his Majesty.” Master Oliver only replied to this observation by turning towards the bold bluff speaker one of those slow, dubious glances, which, accompanied by a slight motion of the hand, and a gentle depression of the head to one side, may be either interpreted as a mute assent to what is said, or as a cautious deprecation of farther prosecution of the subject. It was a keener, more scrutinizing glance which he bent on the youth, as he said, with an ambiguous smile, “So, young man, is it the wont of Scotland to suffer your Princes to be endangered for the lack of aid, in such emergencies as this of to-day?” “It is our custom,” answered Quentin, determined to throw no farther light on the subject, “not to encumber them with assistance in honourable pastimes, when they can aid themselves without it—we hold that a Prince in a hunting field must take his chance with others —and that he comes there for the very purpose—What were wood­ craft without fatigue and without danger?” “You hear the silly boy,” said his uncle; “that is always the way with him, he hath an answer and a reason ready to be rendered for every one. I wonder whence he hath caught the gift; I never could give a reason for any thing I have ever done in my life, except for eating when I was a-hungry, calling the muster-roll, and such points of duty as the like.” “And pray, worthy Seignior,” said the royal tonsor, looking at him from under his eye-lids, “what might your reason be for calling the muster-roll on such occasions?” “Because the Captain commanded me,” said Balafré. “By Saint Giles, I know no other reason! If he had commanded Tyrie or Cun­ ningham, they must have done the same.” “A most military final cause!” said Oliver.—“But, Seignior Balafré,

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you will be glad, doubtless, to learn, that his Majesty is so far from being displeased with your nephew’s conduct, that he hath selected him to execute a piece of duty this afternoon.” “Selected him?" said Balafré, in great surprise;—“Selected me, I suppose you mean.” “I mean precisely as I speak,” replied the barber, in a mild but decided tone; “the King hath a commission with which to entrust your nephew.” “Why, wherefore, and for what reason?” said Balafré; “why doth he chuse the boy, and not me?” “I can go no farther back than your own ultimate cause, Seignior Balafré—such are his Majesty’s commands. But,” said he, “if I might use the presumption to form a conjecture, it may be his Majesty hath work to do, fitter for a youth like your nephew than an experienced warrior like yourself, Seignior Balafré.—Wherefore, young gentle­ man, get your weapons and follow me. Bring with you a harquebuss, for you are to mount sentinel.” “Sentinel!” said the uncle—“Are you sure you are right, Master Oliver? The inner guards have ever been mounted by those only who have (like me) served twelve years in our honourable body.” “I am quite certain of his Majesty’s pleasure,” said Oliver, “and must no longer delay executing it.—Have the goodness to assist to put your nephew in order for the service.” Balafré, who had no ill-nature, or even much jealousy in his dis­ position, hastily set about adjusting his nephew’s dress, and giving him directions for his conduct under arms, but was unable to refrain from larding them with interjections of surprise at such luck chancing to fall upon the young man so early. “It had never taken place before in the Scottish Guard,” he said, “not even in his own instance. But doubtless his service must be to mount guard over the papinjays and Indian peacocks, which the Vene­ tian ambassador had lately presented to the King—it could be nothing else, and such duty being only fit for a beardless boy, (here he twirled his own grim moustaches,) he was glad the lot had fallen on his fair nephew.” Quick, and sharp of wit, as well as ardent in fancy, Quentin saw visions of higher importance in this early summons to the royal pres­ ence, and his heart beat high at anticipation ofrising into early distinc­ tion. He determined carefully to watch the manners and language of his conductor, which he suspected must, in some cases at least, be interpreted by contraries, as soothsayers are said to discover the inter­ pretation of dreams. He could not but hug himselfon having observed strict secrecy on the events of the chace, and then formed a resolution,

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which, for so young a person, had much prudence in it, that, while he breathed the air of this secluded and mysterious court, he would keep his thoughts locked in his bosom, and his tongue under the most careful regulation. His equipment was soon complete, and, with his harquebuss on his shoulder, (for though they retained the name of Archers, the Scottish Guard very early substituted fire-arms for the long-bow, in the use of which their nation never excelled,) he followed Master Oliver out of the barrack. His uncle looked long after him, with a countenance in which wonder was blended with curiosity; and though neither envy nor the malignant feelings which it engenders, entered into his honest medi­ tations, there was yet a sense of wounded or diminished self-import­ ance, which mingled with the pleasure excited by his nephew’s favourable commencement of service. He shook his head gravely, opened a privy cupboard, took out a large bottrine of stout old wine, shook it to examine how low the contents had ebbed, filled and drank a hearty cup; then took his seat, half reclining, on the great oaken settle, and having once again slowly shaken his head, received so much apparent benefit from the oscilla­ tion, that, like the toy called a mandarin, he continued the motion until he dropped into a slumber, from which he was first roused by a signal to dinner. When Quentin Durward left his uncle to these sublime medita­ tions, he followed his conductor, Master Oliver, who, without cross­ ing any ofthe principal courts, led him partly through private passages exposed to the open air, but chiefly through a maze of stairs, vaults, and galleries, communicating with each other by secret doors, and at unexpected points, into a large and spacious latticed gallery, which, from its breadth, might have been almost termed a hall, hung with tapestry more ancient than beautiful, and with a very few of the hard, cold, ghastly-looking pictures, belonging to the first dawn of the arts, which preceded their splendid sunrise. These were designed to rep­ resent the Paladins of Charlemagne, who made such a distinguished figure in the romantic history of France; and as the gigantic form of the celebrated Orlando constituted the most prominent figure, the apartment acquired from him the title of Roland’s Hall, or Roland’s Gallery. “You will keep watch here,” said Oliver, in a low whisper, as if the hard delineations of monarchs and warriors around could have been offended at the elevation of his voice, or as if he had feared to awaken the echoes that lurked among the groin’d vaults and Gothic drop­ work of this huge and dreary apartment.

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“What are the orders and signs of my watch?” answered Quentin, in the same suppressed tone. “Is your harquebuss loaded?” replied Oliver, without answering his query. “That,” answered Quentin, “is soon done;” and proceeded to charge his weapon, and to light the slow-match, (by which when necessary it was discharged,) at the embers of a wood-fire, which was expiring in the huge hall chimney—a chimney itself so large, that it might have been called a Gothic closet or chapel appertaining to the hall. When this was performed, Oliver told him that he was ignorant of one ofthe high privileges of his own corps, which only received orders from the King in person, or the High Constable of France, in lieu of their own officers. “You are placed here by his Majesty’s command, young man,” added Oliver, “and you will not be long here without knowing wherefore you are summoned—meantime your walk extends along this gallery—you are permitted to stand still while you list, but on no account to sit down, or quit your weapon. You are not to sing aloud, or whistle, upon any account; but you may, if you list, mutter some of the church’s prayers, or what you list that has no offence in it, in a low voice. Farewell, and keep good watch.” “Good watch!” thought the youthful soldier as his guide stole away from him with that noiseless gliding step which was peculiar to him, and vanished through a side-door behind the arras—“Good watch! but upon whom, and against what?—for what, save bats or rats, are there here to contend with, unless these grim old representatives of humanity should start into life for the disturbance of my guard? Well —it is my duty, I suppose, and I must perform it.” With the vigorous purpose of discharging his duty, even to the very rigour, he tried to while away the time with some of the pious hymns which he had learned in the convent in which he had found shelter after the death of his father—allowing in his own mind, that, but for the change of a novice’s frock for the rich military dress which he now wore, his solitary walk in the royal gallery of France resembled greatly those of which he had tired excessively in the cloistered seclusion of Aberbrothock. Presently, as if to convince himself he now belonged not to the cell but to the world, he chaunted to himself, but in such tone as not to exceed the license given to him, some of the ancient rude ballads which the old family harper had taught him, of the defeats of the Danes at Aberlemno and Forres, the murther of King Duffus at Forfar, and other pithy sonnets and lays, which appertained to the history of his distant native country, and particularly of the district to

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which he belonged. This wore away a considerable space of time, and it was now more than two hours past noon, when Quentin was reminded by his appetite, that the good fathers of Aberbrothock, however strict in demanding his attendance upon the hours of devo­ tion, were no less pointed in summoning him to those of refection; whereas here, in the interior of a royal palace, after a morning spent in exercise, and a noon exhausted in duty, no man seemed to consider it as a natural consequence that he must be impatient for his dinner. There are, however, charms in sweet sounds which can lull to rest even the natural feelings of impatience, by which Quentin was now visited. At the opposite extremities ofthe long hall or gallery, were two large doors ornamented with heavy architraves, probably opening into different suites ofapartments, to which the gallery served as a medium of mutual communication. As the sentinel directed his solitary walk betwixt these two entrances, which formed the boundary of his duty, he was startled by a strain of music, which was suddenly waked near one of those doors, and which, at least in his imagination, was a combination of the same lute and voice by which he had been enchanted upon the preceding day. All the dreams of yesterday morn­ ing, so much weakened by the agitating circumstances which he had since undergone, again arose more vivid from their slumber, and, planted on the spot where his ear could most conveniently drink in the sounds, Quentin remained, with his harquebuss shouldered, his mouth half open, ear, eye, and soul directed to the spot, rather the picture of a sentinel than the living form,—without any other idea, than that of catching, if possible, each passing sound of the dulcet melody. These delightful sounds were but partially heard—they lan­ guished, lingered, ceased totally, and were from time to time renewed after uncertain intervals. But, besides that Music, like Beauty, is often most delightful, or at least most interesting to the imagination, when its charms are but partially displayed, and the imagination is left to fill up what is from distance but imperfectly detailed, Quentin had matter enough to fill up his reverie during the intervals of fascination. He could not doubt, from the report of his uncle’s comrades, and the scene which had passed in the presence-chamber that morning, that the syren who thus delighted his ears, was not, as he had profanely supposed, the daughter or kinswoman of a base Caharetier, but the disguised and distressed Countess, for whose cause Kings and Princes were now about to buckle on armour, and put lance in rest. A hundred wild dreams, such as romantic and adventurous youth read­ ily nourished in a romantic and adventurous age, chased from his eyes the bodily presentment of the actual scene, and substituted their own

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bewildering delusions, when at once, and rudely, they were banished by a rough grasp laid upon his weapon, and a harsh voice which exclaimed, close to his ear, “Ha! Pasques-dieu, Sir Squire, methinks you keep sleepy ward here!” The voice was the tuneless, yet impressive and ironical tone of Maitre Pierre, and Quentin, suddenly recalled to himself, saw, with shame and fear, that he had, in his reverie, permitted Louis himself— entering probably by some secret door, and gliding along by the wall, or behind the tapestry—to approach him so nearly, as almost to master his weapon. The first impulse of his surprise was to free his harquebuss by a violent exertion, which made the King stagger backward into the hall. His next apprehension was, that, in obeying the animal instinct, as it may be termed, which prompts a brave man to resist an attempt to disarm him, he had aggravated, by a personal struggle with the King, the negligence with which he had performed his duty upon guard; and, under this impression, he recovered his harquebuss without almost knowing what he did, and having again shouldered it, stood motionless before the Monarch, whom he had reason to conclude he had mortally offended. Louis, whose tyrannical disposition was less founded on a natural ferocity or cruelty of temper, than on cold-blooded policy and jealous suspicion, had, nevertheless, a share of that caustic severity which would have made him a despot in private conversation, and always seemed to enjoy the pain which he inflicted on occasions like the present. But he did not push his triumph far, and contented himself with saying,—“Thy service of the morning hath already overpaid some negligence in so young a soldier—hast thou dined?” Quentin, who rather looked to be sent to the Provost-Marshal than greeted with such a compliment, answered humbly in the negative. “Poor lad,” said Louis, in a softer tone than he usually spoke in, “hunger hath made him drowsy.—I know thine appetite is a wolf,” he continued; “and I will save thee from one wild beast as thou didst me from another—thou hast been prudent too in that matter, and I thank thee for it. Canst thou yet hold out an hour without food?” “Four-and-twenty, Sire,” replied Durward, “or I were no true Scot.” “I would not for another kingdom be the pasty to encounter thee after such a vigil,” said the King; “but the question now is, not of thy dinner, but of my own. I admit to my table this day, and in strict privacy, the Cardinal Balue and this Burgundian—this Count de Crevecoeur—and something may chance—the devil is most busy when foes meet on terms of truce.”

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He stopped, and remained silent, with a deep and gloomy look. As the King was in no haste to proceed, Quentin at length ventured to ask what his duty was to be in these circumstances. “To keep watch at the beauffet, with thy loaded weapon,” said Louis; “and if there is treason, to shoot the traitor dead.” “Treason, Sire?—and in this guarded Castle!” exclaimed Quentin Durward. “You think it impossible,” said the King, not offended, it would seem, by his frankness; “but our sad history has shewn that treason can creep into an augre-hole.—Treason excluded by guards! O thou silly boy!—quis custodiat ipsos custodes—who shall exclude the treason of those very warders?” “Their Scottish honour,” answered Durward, boldly. “True—most right—thou pleasest me,” said the King, cheerfully; “the Scottish honour was ever true, and I trust it accordingly—but Treason!”—here he relapsed into his former gloomy mood, and traversed the apartment with unequal steps—“She sits at our feasts, she sparkles in our bowls, she wears the beard of our counsellors, the smiles of our courtiers, the crazy laugh of our jesters—above all, she lies hid under the friendly air of a reconciled enemy. Louis of Orleans trusted John of Burgundy—he was murdered in the Rue Barbette. John of Burgundy trusted the faction of Orleans—he was murdered on the bridge of Montereau. I will trust no one—no one. Hark ye—I will keep my eye on that insolent Count—ay, and on the Churchman too, whom I hold not too faithful—when I say, Ecosse, en avant, shoot Crevecœur dead on the spot.” “It is my duty,” said Quentin, “your Majesty’s life being endan­ gered.” “Certainly—I mean it no otherwise,” said the King.—“What should I get by slaying this insolent soldier?—Were it the Constable Saint Paul indeed”—Here he paused, as if he thought he had said a word too much, but resumed, laughing, “There’s our brother-in-law, James ofScotland—your own James, Quentin—poniarded the Doug­ las when on a hospitable visit, within his own royal castle of Skirling.” “Of Stirling,” said Quentin, “and so please your highness—it was a deed ofwhich came little good.” “Stirling call you the castle?” said the King, overlooking the latter part of Quentin’s speech—“Well, let it be Stirling—the name is noth­ ing to the purpose. But I meditate no injury to these men—none—it would serve me nothing—they may not purpose equally fair by me—I rely on thy harquebuss.” “I shall be prompt at the signal,” said Quentin; “but yet——” “You hesitate,” said the King. “Speak out—I give thee full leave—

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from such as thee hints may be caught that are right valuable.” “I would only presume to say,” replied Quentin, “that your Majesty having occasion to distrust this Burgundian, I marvel that you suffer him to approach so near your person, and that in privacy.” “O content you, Sir Squire,” said the King. “There are some dangers, which, when they are braved, disappear, and which yet, when there is an obvious and apparent dread of them displayed, become certain and inevitable. When I walk boldly up to a surly mastiff, and caress him, it is ten to one I soothe him to good temper; if I shew fear of him, he flies on me and rends me. I will be thus far frank with thee —It concerns me nearly that this man returns not to his headlong master in a resentful humour. I run my risk, therefore. I have never shunned to expose my life for the weal ofmy kingdom.—Follow me.” Louis led his young Life-guardsman, for whom he seemed to have taken a special favour, through the side-door by which he had himself entered, saying, as he shewed it him, “He who would thrive at court must know the private wickets and concealed stair-cases—ay, and the traps and pitfalls of the palace, as well as the principal entrances, folding-doors, and portals.” After several turns and passages, the King entered a small vaulted room, where a table was prepared for dinner with three covers. The whole furniture and arrangements of the room were plain almost to meanness. A beauffet, or folding and moveable cupboard, held a few pieces of gold and silver plate, and was the only article in the chamber which had, in the slightest degree, the appearance of royalty. Behind this cupboard, and completely hidden by it, was the post which Louis assigned to Quentin Durward; and after having ascertained, by going to different parts of the room, that he was invisible on all quarters, he gave him his last charge—“Remember the word, Ecosse, en avant; and so soon as ever I utter these sounds, throw down the screen—spare not for cup or goblet, and be sure thou take good aim at Crevecœur— If thy piece fail, cling to him, and use thy knife—Oliver and I can deal with the Cardinal.” Having thus spoken, he whistled aloud, and summoned into the apartment Oliver, who was premier-valet of the chamber as well as barber, and who, in fact, performed all offices immediately connected with the King’s person, and who now appeared, attended by two old men, who were the only assistants or waiters at the royal table. So soon as the King had taken his place, the visitors were admitted; and Quentin, though himself unseen, was so situated as to remark all particulars of the interview. The King welcomed his visitors with a degree of cordiality, which Quentin had the utmost difficulty to reconcile with the directions

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which he had previously received, and the purpose for which he stood behind the beauffet with his deadly weapon in readiness. Not only did Louis appear totally free from apprehension of any kind, but one would have supposed that those guests whom he had done the high honour to admit to his table, were the very persons in whom he could most unreservedly confide, and whom he was most willing to honour. Nothing could be more dignified, and, at the same time, more courte­ ous, than his demeanour. While all around him, including even his own dress, was far beneath what the petty princes of the kingdom displayed in their festivities, his own language and manners were those of a mighty Sovereign in his most condescending mood. Quen­ tin was tempted to suppose, either that the whole of his previous conversation with Louis had been a dream, or that the dutiful demeanour of the Cardinal, and the frank, open, and gallant bearing of the Burgundian noble, had entirely erased the King’s suspicions. But whilst the guests, in obedience to the King, were in the act of placing themselves at the table, his Majesty darted one keen glance on them, and then instantly directed his look to Quentin’s post. This was done in an instant; but the glance conveyed so much doubt and hatred towards his guests, such a peremptory injunction on Quentin to be watchful in attendance, and prompt in execution, that no room was left for doubting that the sentiments of Louis continued unaltered, and his apprehensions unabated. He was, therefore, more than ever astonished at the deep veil under which that Monarch was able to conceal the movements of his jealous disposition. Appearing to have entirely forgotten the language which Crevecœur had held towards him in the face of his court, the King con­ versed with him of old times, of events which had occurred during his own exile in the territories of Burgundy, and inquired respecting all the nobles with whom he had been then familiar, as if that period had indeed been the happiest of his life, and as if he retained towards all who had contributed to soften the term of his exile the kindest and most grateful sentiments. “To an ambassador of another nation,” he said, “I would have thrown something of state into our reception; but to an old friend, who shared my board at the Castle of Genappes, I wished to shew myself, as I love best to live, old Louis of Valois, as simple and plain as any of his Parisian badauds. But I directed them to make some better cheer for you, Sir Count, for I know your Burgundian proverb, ‘Mieux vault bon repas que bel habit, and I bid them have some care of our table. For our wine, you know well it is the subject of an old emulation betwixt France and Burgundy, which we will presently reconcile; for I will drink to you in Burgundy, and you, Sir Count, shall pledge me in

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Champagne.—Here, Oliver, let me have a cup of Vin d’Auxerre;” and he hummed gaily a song then well known— “Auxerre est la boisson des Rois.”

“Here, Sir Count, I drink to the health of the noble Duke of Bur­ gundy, our kind and loving cousin.—Oliver, replenish yon golden cup with Vin de Rheims, and give it to the Count on your knee—he repres­ ents our loving brother.—My Lord Cardinal, we will ourselves fill your cup.” “You have already, Sire, even to overflowing,” said the Cardinal, with the lowly mien of a favourite towards an indulgent master. “Because we know that your Eminence can carry it with a steady hand,” said Louis. “But which side do you espouse in the great con­ troversy—Sillery or Auxerre—France or Burgundy?” “I will stand neutral, Sire,” said the Cardinal, “and replenish my cup with Auvernat.” “A neutral has a perilous part to sustain,” said the King; but as he observed the Cardinal colour somewhat, he glided from the subject, and added, “But you prefer the Auvernat, because it is so noble it suffers not water.—You, Sir Count, hesitate to finish your cup. I trust you have found no national bitterness at the bottom.” “I would, Sir,” said the Count de Crevecœur, “that all national quarrels could be as pleasantly ended as the rivalry betwixt our vine­ yards.” “With time, Sir Count, with time—such time as you have taken to your draught of Champagne.—And now that it is finished, favour me by putting the goblet in your bosom, and keeping it as a pledge of our regard. It is not to every one we would part with it. It belonged of yore to that Terror of France, Henry V. of England, and was taken when Rouen was reduced, and those islanders expelled from Normandy by the joint arms of France and Burgundy—it cannot be better bestowed than on a noble and valiant Burgundian, who well knows that on the union of these two nations depends the continuance of the freedom of the continent from the English yoke.” The Count made a suitable answer, and Louis gave unrestrained way to the satirical gaiety of disposition which sometimes enlivened the darker shades of his character. Leading, of course, the conversa­ tion, his remarks, always shrewd and caustic, and often actually witty, were seldom good-natured, and the anecdotes with which he illus­ trated them were often more humorous than delicate; but in no one word, syllable, or letter, did he betray the state of mind of one who, apprehensive of assassination, hath in his apartment an armed soldier, with his piece loaded, in order to prevent or anticipate the deed.

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The Count of Crevecœur gave frankly into the King’s humour; while the smooth churchman laughed at every jest, and enhanced every ludicrous idea, without expressing any shame at expressions which made the rustic young Scot blush even in his place of conceal­ ment. In about an hour and a half the tables were drawn; and the King, taking courteous leave of his guests, gave the signal that it was his desire to be alone. So soon as all, even Oliver, had retired, he called Quentin from his place of concealment; but with a voice so faint, that the youth could scarce believe it to be the same which had so lately given animation to the jest, and zest to the tale. As he approached he saw an equal change in his countenance. The light ofassumed vivacity had left his eyes, the smile had deserted his face, and he exhibited all the fatigue of a celebrated actor, when he has finished the exhausting representation of some favourite character. “Thy watch is not yet over,” he said to Quentin—“refresh thyself for an instant—yonder dormant table affords the means—I will then instruct thee in thy farther duty. Meanwhile, it is ill talking between a full man and a fasting.” He threw himself back on his seat, covered his brow with his hand, and was silent. END OF VOLUME FIRST

QUENTIN DURWARD VOLUME II

Chapter One THE HALL OF ROLAND Painters shew Cupid blind—Hath Hymen eyes? Or is his sight warp’d by those spectacles Which parents, guardians, and advisers, lend him, That he may look through them on lands and mansions, On jewels, gold, and all such rich dotations, And see their value ten times magnified— Methinks ’twill brook a question. The Miseries ofEnforced Marriage

Louis the XIth of France, though the sovereign in Europe who was fondest and most jealous of power, desired only its substantial enjoyment; and though he knew well enough, and at times exacted strictly, the observances due to his rank, was in general singularly careless of shew. In a prince of better qualities, the familiarity with which he invited subjects to his board—nay, occasionally sat at theirs,—must have been highly popular; and even such as he was, the King’s homeliness of manners atoned for many of his vices with that class of his subjects who were not particularly exposed to their consequences. The tiers etat, or commons of France, who rose to more opulence and con­ sequence under the reign of this sagacious Prince, respected his per­ son, though they loved him not; and it was resting on their support that he was enabled to make his party good against the hatred of the nobles, who conceived that he diminished the honour of the French crown, and obscured their own splendid privileges, by the very neglect of form which gratified the citizens and commons. With patience, which most other princes would have considered as 131

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degrading, and not without a sense of amusement, the Monarch of France waited till his life-guard’s-man had satisfied the keenness of a youthful appetite. It may be supposed, however, that Quentin had too much sense and prudence to put the royal patience to a long or tedious proof; and indeed he was repeatedly desirous to break off his repast ere Louis would permit him. “I see it in thine eye,” he said, “that thy courage is not half abated—go on—God and Saint Dennis!—charge again. I tell thee that meat and mass (he crossed himself) never hindered the work of a good Christian man. Take a cup of wine—but mind thou be cautious of the wine-pot—it is the vice of thy country­ men as well as of the English, who, lacking that folly, are the choicest soldiers ever wore armour. And now wash speedily—forget not thy benedicite, and follow me.” Quentin Durward obeyed, and, conducted by a different, but as maze-like an approach as he had formerly passed, he followed Louis into the Hall of Roland. “Take notice,” said the King, imperatively, “thou hast never left this post—let that be thine answer to thy kinsman and comrades— and, hark thee, to bind the recollection on thy memory, I give thee this gold chain, (flinging on his arm one of considerable value.) If I go not brave myself, those whom I trust have ever the means to ruffle it with the best. But, when such chains as these bind not the tongue from wagging too freely, my gossip, L’Hermite, hath an amulet for the throat, which never fails to work a certain cure. And now attend.—No man, save Oliver or I myself, must enter here this evening, but ladies will come hither, perhaps from the one extremity of the hall, perhaps from the other, perhaps from both. You may answer if they address you, but, being on your duty, your answer must be brief, and you must neither address them in your turn, nor engage in any prolonged dis­ course. But hearken to what they say—thine ears, as well as thy hands, are mine—I have bought thee body and soul. Therefore, if thou hearest aught of their conversation, thou must retain it in memory until it is communicated to me, and then forget it.—And, now I think better on it, it will be best that thou pass for a Scottish recruit, who hath come straight down from his mountains, and hath not yet acquired our most Christian language—right—so, if they speak to thee, thou wilt not answer—this will free you from embarrassment, and lead them to converse without regard to your presence. You understand me—farewell. Be wary, and thou hast a friend.” The King had scarce spoken these words ere he disappeared behind the arras, leaving Quentin to meditate on what he had seen and heard. The youth was in one of those situations from which it is pleasanter to look forwards than to look back; for the reflection that he

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had been planted like a marksman in a thicket who watches for a stag, to take the life of the noble Count of Crevecœur, had in it nothing ennobling. It was very true that the King’s measures seemed on this occasion merely cautionary and defensive; but how did he know but he might be soon commanded on some offensive operation of the same kind? This would be an unpleasant crisis, since it was plain, from the character of his master, that there would be destruction in refusing, while his honour told him there would be disgrace in com­ plying. He turned his thoughts from this subject ofreflection, with the sage consolation so often adopted by youth when prospective dangers intrude themselves on their mind, that it was time enough to think what was to be done when the emergence actually arrived, and that sufficient for the day was the evil thereof. Quentin made use of this sedative reflection the more easily, that the last commands of the King had given him something more agree­ able to think of than his own condition. The Lady of the Lute was certainly one of those ladies to whom his attention was to be dedic­ ated; and well in his mind did he promise to obey one part of the King’s mandate, and listen with diligence to every word that might drop from her lips, that he might know ifthe magic ofher conversation equalled that of her music. But with as much sincerity did he swear to himself, that no part of her discourse should be reported by him to the King, which might affect the fair speaker otherwise than favourably. Meantime, there was no fear of his again slumbering on his post. Each passing breath of wind, which, finding its way through the open lattice, waved the old arras, sounded like the approach of the fair object of his expectation. He felt, in short, all that mysterious anxiety, and eagerness of expectation, which is always the companion of love, and sometimes hath a considerable share in creating it. At length, a door actually creaked and jingled, (for the doors even of palaces did not in the fifteenth century turn on their hinges so noiseless as ours)—but, alas! it was not at that end of the chamber from which the lute had been heard. It opened, however, and a female figure entered, followed by two others, whom she directed by a sign to remain without, while she herself came forward into the hall. By her imperfect and unequal gait, which shewed to peculiar disadvantage as she walked along this long gallery, Quentin at once recognized the Princess Joan, and, with the respect which became his situation, drew himself up in a fitting attitude of silent vigilance, and lowered his weapon to her as she passed. She acknowledged the courtesy by a gracious inclination of her head, and he had an opportunity of seeing her countenance more distinctly than he had in the morning. There was little in the features of this ill-fated princess to atone for

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the misfortune of her shape and gait. Her face was, indeed, by no means disagreeable in itself, though destitute ofbeauty; and there was a meek expression of suffering patience in her large blue eyes, which were commonly fixed upon the ground. But besides that she was extremely pallid in complexion, her skin had the yellowish discoloured tinge which accompanies habitual bad health; and though her teeth were white and regular, her lips were thin and pale. The Princess had a profusion of flaxen hair, but it was so light-coloured, as to be almost of a bluish tinge; and her tire-woman, who doubtless considered the luxuriance of her mistress’s tresses as a beauty, had not greatly improved matters by arranging them in curls around her pale coun­ tenance, to which they gave an expression almost unearthly. To make matters still worse, she had chosen a vest or cymar of a pale green silk, which gave her, on the whole, a ghastly and even spectral appearance. While Quentin followed this singular apparition with eyes in which curiosity was blended with compassion, for every look and motion of the Princess seemed to call for the latter feeling, two ladies entered from the upper end ofthe apartment. One of these was the young person, who, upon Louis’s summons, had served him with fruit, while Quentin made his memorable break­ fast at the Fleur-de-Lys. Invested now with all the mysterious dignity belonging to the nymph of the veil and lute, and proved, besides, (at least in Quentin’s estimation,) to be the high-born heiress of a rich earldom, her beauty made ten times the impression upon him which it had done when he beheld in her one whom he deemed the daughter of a paltry innkeeper, in attendance upon a rich and humorous old burgher. He now wondered what fascination could ever have con­ cealed from him her real character. Yet her dress was nearly as simple as before, being a suit of deep mourning, without any ornaments. Her head-dress was only a veil of crape, which was entirely thrown back, so as to leave her face discovered; and it was only Quentin’s know­ ledge of her actual rank, which gave in his estimation new elegance to her beautiful shape, a dignity to her step which had before remained unnoticed, and to her regular features, brilliant complexion, and daz­ zling eyes, an air ofconscious nobleness, that enhanced their beauty. Had death been the penalty, Durward must needs have rendered to this beauty and her companion the same homage which he had just paid to the royalty of the Princess. They received it as those who were accustomed to the deference of inferiors, and returned it with cour­ tesy; but he thought—perhaps it was but a youthful vision—that the younger lady coloured slightly, kept her eyes on the ground, and seemed embarrassed, though in a trifling degree, as she returned his military salutation. This must have been owing to her recollection of

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the audacious stranger in the neighbouring turret at the Fleur-de-Lys —but did that discomposure express displeasure? this question he had no means to determine. The companion of the youthful Countess, dressed like herself simply, and in deep mourning, was at the age when women are apt to cling most closely to that reputation for beauty which has for years been diminishing. She had still remains enough to show what the power of her charms must once have been, and, remembering past triumphs, it was evident from her manner that she had not relin­ quished the pretensions to future conquests. She was tall and grace­ ful, though somewhat haughty in her deportment, and returned the salute of Quentin with a smile of gracious condescension, whispering, the next instant, something into her companion’s ear, who turned her head towards the soldier, as ifto comply with some hint from the elder lady, but answered, nevertheless, without raising her eyes. Quentin could not help suspecting that the observation called on the young lady to notice his own good mien; and he was (I do not know why) pleased with the idea, that the party referred to did not choose to look at him, in order to verify with her own eyes the truth of the observa­ tion. Probably he thought there was already a sort of mysterious con­ nexion beginning to exist between them, which gave importance to the slightest trifle. This reflection was momentary, for he was instantly wrapped up in attention to the meeting of the Princess with these stranger ladies. She had stood still upon their entrance, in order to receive them, con­ scious, perhaps, that motion did not become her well; and as she was somewhat embarrassed in receiving and repaying their compliments, the elder stranger, ignorant of the rank of the party whom she addressed, was led to pay her salutation in a manner, rather as if she conferred than received an honour through the interview. “I rejoice, madam,” she said, with a smile, which was meant to express condescendence at once and encouragement, “that we are at length permitted the society of such a respectable person of our own sex as you appear to be. I must say, that my niece and I have had but little for which to thank the hospitality of King Louis— Nay, niece, never pluck my sleeve—I am sure I read in the looks of this young lady, sympathy for our situation.—Since we came hither, fair madam, we have been used little better than mere prisoners; and after a thousand invitations to throw our cause and our persons under the protection of France, the Most Christian King has afforded us but a base inn for our residence, and now a comer of this moth-eaten palace, out of which we are only permitted to creep towards sunset, as if we were bats or owls, whose appearance in the

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sunshine is to be held matter of ill omen.” “I am sorry,” said the Princess, faltering with the awkward embar­ rassment of the interview, “that we have been unable, hitherto, to receive you according to your deserts—your niece, I trust, is better satisfied?” “Much—much better than I can express,” answered the youthful Countess.—“I sought but safety, and I have found solitude and secresy besides. The seclusion of our former residence, and the still greater solitude of that now assigned to us, augment, in my eyes, the favour which the King vouchsafed to us unfortunate fugitives.” “Silence, my silly cousin,” said the elder lady, “and let us speak according to our conscience, since at last we are alone with one of our own sex—I say alone, for that handsome young soldier is a mere statue, since he seems not to have the use of his limbs, and I am given to understand he wants that ofhis tongue, at least in civilized language —I say, since no one but this lady can understand us, I must own there is nothing I have regretted equal to taking this French journey. I looked for a splendid reception, tournaments, carousels, pageants, and festivals; and instead of which, all has been seclusion and obscur­ ity! and the best society whom the King introduced to us was a Bohemian vagabond, by whom he directed us to correspond with our friends in Flanders.—Perhaps,” said the lady, “it is his politic inten­ tion to mew us up here until our lives’ end, that he may seize on our estates, on the extinction of the ancient house of Croye. The Duke of Burgundy was not so cruel—he offered my niece a husband, though he was a bad one.” “I should have thought the veil preferable to an evil husband,” said the Princess, with difficulty finding opportunity to interpose a word. “One would at least wish to have the choice, Madam,” replied the voluble dame. “It is, Heaven knows, on account of my niece that I speak; for myself, I have long laid aside thoughts of changing my condition. I see you smile, but by my halidome, it is true—yet that is no excuse for the King, whose conduct, like his person, hath more resemblance to that of old Michaud, the money-changer of Ghent, than to the successor of Charlemagne.” “Hold!” said the Princess; “remember you speak ofmy father.” “Of your father!” replied the Burgundian lady in surprise. “Of my father,” repeated the Princess, with dignity. “I am Joan of France.—But fear not, madam,” she continued, in the gentle tone which was natural to her, “you designed no offence, and I have taken none. Command my influence to render your exile, and that of this interesting young person, more supportable—alas! it is but little I have in my power, but it is willingly offered.”

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Deep and submissive was the reverence with which the Countess Hameline de Croye, so was the elder lady called, received the obliging offer of the Princess’s protection. She had been long the inhabitant of courts, was mistress of the manners which are there acquired, and held firmly the established rule of courtiers of all ages, who, although their usual private conversation turns upon the vices and follies of their patrons, and on the injuries and neglect which they themselves have sustained, never suffer such hints to drop from them in presence of the Sovereign or those of his family. The lady was, therefore, scandalized to the last degree at the mistake which had induced her to speak so indecorously in presence of the daughter of Louis. She would have exhausted herself in expressing regret and making apolo­ gies, had she not been put to silence and restored to equanimity by the Princess, who requested, in the most gentle manner, yet which, from a Daughter of France, had the weight of a command, that no more might be said in the way either of excuse or of explanation. The Princess Joan then took her own chair with a dignity which became her, and compelled the two strangers to sit, one on either hand, to which the younger consented with unfeigned and respectful diffidence, and the elder with an affectation of deep humility and respect, which was intended for such. They spoke together, but in such a low tone, that the sentinel could not overhear their discourse, and only remarked, that the Princess seemed to bestow much of her regard on the younger and more interesting Countess; and that the Lady Hameline, though speaking a great deal more, attracted less of the Princess’s attention by her full flow of conversation and compli­ ment, than did her kinswoman by her brief and modest replies to what was addressed to her. The conversation of the ladies had not lasted a quarter of an hour, when the door at the lower end of the hall opened, and a man entered shrouded in a riding-cloak. Mindful of the King’s injunction, and determined not to be a second time caught slumbering, Quentin Durward instantly moved towards the intruder, and, interposing between him and the ladies, requested him to retire instantly. “By whose command?” said the stranger, in a tone of contemp­ tuous surprise. “By that of the King,” said Quentin, firmly, “which I am placed here to enforce.” “Not against Louis of Orleans,” said the Duke, dropping his cloak. The young man hesitated a moment—but how enforce his orders against the first Prince of the blood, about to be allied, as the report now generally went, with the King’s own family? “Your Highness’s pleasure,” he said, “is too great to be withstood

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by me. I trust your Highness will bear me witness that I have done the duty ofmy post, so far as your will permitted.” “Go to—you shall have no blame, young soldier,” said Orleans; and passing forwards, paid his compliments to the Princess, with that air of constraint which always marked his courtesy when addressing her. “He had been dining,” he said, “with Dunois, and understanding there was society in Roland’s Gallery, he had ventured on the freedom of adding one to the number.” The colour which mounted into the pale cheek of the unfortunate Joan, and which for the moment spread something like beauty over her features, evinced that this addition to the company was any thing but indifferent to her. She hastened to present the Prince to the two ladies of Croye, who received him with the respect due to his eminent rank, and the Princess, pointing to a chair, requested him to join their conversation party. The Duke declined the freedom of assuming a seat in such society; but taking a cushion from one of the settles, he laid it at the feet of the beautiful young Countess of Croye, and so seated himself, that, with­ out appearing to neglect the Princess, he was enabled to bestow the greater share of his attention on her beautiful neighbour. At first, it seemed as if this arrangement rather pleased than offended his destined bride. She encouraged the Duke in his gallant­ ries towards the fair stranger, and seemed to regard them as compli­ mentary to herself. But the Duke of Orleans, though accustomed to subject his mind to the stern yoke of his uncle when in the King’s presence, had enough of princely nature to induce him to follow his own inclinations whenever that restraint was withdrawn; and his high rank giving him a right to overstep the ordinary ceremonies, and advance at once to familiarity, his praises of the Countess Isabelle’s beauty became so energetic, and flowed with such unrestrained free­ dom, owing perhaps to his having drunk a little more wine than usual —for Dunois was no enemy to the worship ofBacchus—that at length he seemed almost impassioned, and the presence of the Princess appeared well nigh forgotten. The tone ofcompliment which he indulged was grateful only to one individual in the circle; for the Countess Hameline already anticip­ ated the dignity of an alliance with the first Prince of the blood, by means of her whose birth, beauty, and large possessions, rendered such an ambitious consummation by no means impossible, even in the eyes of a less sanguine projector, could the views of Louis XI. have been left out of the calculation of chances. The younger Countess listened to the Duke’s gallantries with anxiety and embarrassment,

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and ever and anon turned an entreating look towards the Princess, as if requesting her to come to her relief. But the wounded feelings and the timidity ofJoan of France, rendered her incapable of an effort to make the conversation more general; and at length, excepting a few interjectional civilities of the Lady Hameline, it was maintained almost exclusively by the Duke himself, though at the expence of the younger Countess of Croye, whose beauty formed the theme of his high-flown eloquence. Nor must I forget that there was a third person—the unregarded sentinel, who saw his fair visions melt away like wax before the sun, as the Duke persevered in the warm tenor ofhis passionate discourse. At length the Countess Isabelle de Croye made a determined effort to cut short what was becoming intolerably disagreeable to her, especially from the pain to which the conduct of the Duke was apparently sub­ jecting the Princess. Addressing the latter, she said, modestly, but with some firmness, that the first boon she had to claim from her promised protection was, “that her Highness would undertake to convince the Duke ofOrleans, that the ladies of Burgundy, though inferior in wit and manners to those of France, were not such absolute fools as to be pleased with no other conversation than that of extravagant compliment.” “I grieve, lady,” said the Duke, preventing the Princess’s answer, “that you will satirize, in the same sentence, the beauty ofthe dames of Burgundy, and the sincerity of the knights of France—if we are hasty and extravagant in the expression of our admiration, it is because we love as we fight, without letting cold deliberation come into our bosoms, and surrender to the fair with the same rapidity with which we defeat the valiant.” “The beauty of our countrywomen,” said the young Countess, with more of reproof than she had yet ventured to use towards the high­ born suitor, “is as unfit to claim such triumphs, as the valour of the men ofBurgundy is incapable of yielding them.” “I respect your patriotism, Countess,” said the Duke; “and the last branch of your theme shall not be impugned by me, till a Burgundian knight shall offer to sustain it with lance in rest. But for the injustice which you have done to the charms which your land produces, I appeal from yourself to yourself.—Look there,” he said, pointing to a large mirror, the gift of the Venetian republic, and then of the highest rarity and value, “and tell me, as you look, what is the heart that can resist the charms there represented?” The Princess, unable to sustain any longer the neglect of her lover, here sunk backwards on her chair, with a sigh, which at once recalled the Duke from the land of romance, and induced the Lady Hameline

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to ask whether her Highness found herself ill. “A sudden pain shot through my forehead,” said the Princess, attempting to smile; “but I will be presently better.” Her increasing paleness contradicted her words, and induced the Lady Hameline to call for assistance, as the Princess was about to faint. The Duke, biting his lip, and cursing the folly which could not keep guard over his tongue, ran to summon the Princess’s attendants, who were in the next chamber, and when they came hastily, with the usual remedies, he could not but, as a cavalier and gentleman, give assist­ ance to support and to recover her. His voice, rendered almost tender by pity and self-reproach, was the most powerful means of recalling her to herself, and just as the threatened swoon was passing away, the King himself entered the apartment.

Chapter Two THE POLITICIAN This is a lecturer so skill’d in policy, That (no disparagement to Satan’s cunning,) He well might read a lesson to the devil, And teach the old seducer new temptations. OldPlay

As Louis entered the Gallery, he bent his brows in the manner we have formerly described as peculiar to him, and sent, from under his gathered and gloomy eye-brows, a keen look on all around; in darting which, as Quentin afterwards declared, his eyes seemed to turn so small, so fierce, and so piercing, as to resemble those of an aroused adder looking through the bush ofheath in which he lies coiled. When, by this momentary and sharpened glance, the King had reconnoitred the cause of the bustle which was in the apartment, his first address was to the Duke of Orleans. “You here, my fair cousin?” he said;—and turning to Quentin, added, sternly, “Had you not charge?” “Forgive the young man, Sire,” said the Duke; “he did not neglect his duty—but I was informed that the Princess was in this gallery.” “And I warrant you would not be withstood when you came hither to pay your court,” said the King, whose detestable hypocrisy per­ sisted in representing the Duke as participating in a passion which was felt only on the side of his unhappy daughter; “and it is thus you debauch the sentinels of my guard, young man?—But what cannot be

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pardoned to a gallant who lives par amours !” The Duke of Orleans raised his head, as if about to reply, in some manner which might correct the opinion conveyed in the King’s observation; but the instinctive reverence, not to say fear, of Louis, in which he had been bred from childhood, chained up his voice. “And Joan hath been ill?” said the King; “but do not be grieved, Louis—it willsoonpass away—lend her your armto her apartment, while I will conduct these stranger ladies to theirs.” The order was given in a tone which amounted to a command, and Orleans accordingly made his exit with the Princess at one extremity of the gallery, while the King, ungloving his right hand, courteously handed the Countess Isabelle and her kinswoman to their apartment, which opened from the other. He bowed profoundly as they entered, and remained standing on the threshold for a minute after they had disappeared; then, with great composure, shut the door by which they had retired, and turning the huge key, took it from the lock and put it into his girdle,—an appendage which gave him still more perfectly the air of some old miser, who cannot journey in comfort unless he bear with him the key of his treasure-chest. With slow and pensive pace, and eyes fixed on the ground, Louis now paced towards Quentin Durward, who, expecting his share ofthe royal displeasure, viewed his approach with no little anxiety. “Thou has done wrong,” said the King, raising his eyes, and fixing them firmly on him when he had come within a yard of him,—“thou hast done foul wrong, and deservest to die.—Speak not a word in defence!—What hadst thou to do with Dukes or Princesses?—What with any thing but my order?” “So please your Majesty,” said the young soldier, “what could I do?” “What couldst thou do when thy post was forcibly passed?” answered the King, scornfully,—“What is the use of that weapon on thy shoulder?—Thou shouldst have levelled thy piece, and if the presumptuous rebel did not retire on the instant, he should have died within this very hall! Go—pass into these further apartments. In the first thou wilt find a large staircase, which leads to the inner Bailley— there thou wilt find Oliver Dain—send him to me—do thou begone to thy quarters—as thou does value thy life, be not so loose of thy tongue as thou hast been this day slack of thy hand.” Well pleased to have escaped so easily, yet with a soul which revolted at the cold-blooded cruelty which the King seemed to require from him in the execution of his duty, Durward took the road indicated, hastened down stairs, and communicated the royal pleas­ ure to Oliver, who was waiting in the court beneath. The wily tonsor

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bowed, sighed, and smiled, as, with a voice even softer than ordinary, he wished the youth a good evening; and they parted, Quentin to his quarters, and Oliver to attend the King. In this place, the Memoirs which we have chiefly followed in com­ piling this true history, were unhappily defective; for, founded chiefly on information supplied by Quentin, they conveyed no information concerning the dialogue which, in his absence, took place betwixt the King and his secret counsellor. Fortunately, the Library of Hautlieu contained a manuscript copy of the Chronique Scandaleuse of Jean de Troyes, much more full than that which has been printed; to which are added several curious memoranda, which we incline to think were written down by Oliver himself after the death of his master, and before he had the hap to be rewarded with the halter which he had so long merited. From this we have been able to extract a very full account of his conversation with Louis upon the present occasion, which throws a light upon the policy of that Prince, which we might other ways have sought for in vain. When the favourite attendant entered the Gallery of Roland, he found the King pensively seated upon the chair which his daughter had left some minutes before. Well acquainted with his temper, he glided on with his noiseless step until he had just crossed the line of the King’s sight, so as to make him aware of his presence, then shrunk modestly backwards and out of sight, until he should be summoned to speak or to listen. The Monarch’s first address was an unpleasant one:—“So, Oliver, your fair schemes are melting like snow before the south wind!—I pray to our Lady ofEmbrun that they resemble not the ice-heaps of which the Switzer churls tell such stories, and come rushing down upon our heads.” “I have heard with concern that all is not well, Sire,” answered Oliver. “Not well!” exclaimed the King, rising and hastily marching up and down the gallery,—“All is ill, man—and as ill nearly as possible—so much for thy fond romantic advice, that I, of all men, should become a protector of distressed damsels! I tell thee Burgundy is arming—and on the eve of closing an alliance with England. And Edward, who hath his hands idle at home, will pour his thousands upon us through that unhappy gate of Calais. Singly, I might cajole or defy them—but united—united—and with the discontent and treachery ofthat villain Saint Paul!—All thy fault, Oliver, who counselled me to receive the women, and to use the services of that damned Bohemian to carry messages to their vassals.” “My lord,” said Oliver, “you know my reasons—the Countess’s domains lie between the frontiers of Burgundy and Flanders—her

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castle is almost impregnable—her rights over neighbouring estates are such as, if well supported, cannot but give much annoyance to Burgundy, were the lady but wedded to one who should be friendly to France.” “It is—it is a tempting bait,” said the King; “and could we have concealed her being here, we might have arranged such a marriage for this rich heiress.—But that cursed Bohemian, how could’st thou recommend such a heathen hound for a commission which required trust?” “Please you,” said Oliver, “to remember, it was your Grace’s self who trusted him too far—much further than I recommended—he would have borne a letter trustify enough to the Countess’s kinsman, telling him to hold out her castle, and promising speedy relief, but your Highness must needs put his prophetic powers to the test, and thus he became possessed of secrets which were worth betraying.” “I am ashamed—I am ashamed,”—said Louis. “And yet, Oliver, they say that these heathen people are descended from the sage Chal­ deans, who did read the mysteries of the stars in the plains of Shinar.” Well aware that his master, with all his acuteness and sagacity, was the more prone to be deceived by soothsayers, astrologers, diviners, and all that race of pretenders to occult science, that he conceived himself to have some skill in these arts, Oliver dared to press this point no farther; and only observed that the Bohemian had been a bad prophet on his own account, else he would have avoided returning to Tours, and saved himself from the gallows he had merited. “It often happens that those who are gifted with prophetic know­ ledge,” answered Louis, with much gravity, “have not the power of foreseeing those events in which they themselves are personally inter­ ested.” “Under your Majesty’s favour,” replied the confidant, “that seems as if a man could not see his own hand by means of the candle which it holds, and which shews him every other object in the apartment.” “He cannot see his own features by the light which shews the faces of others,” replied Louis; “and that is the more faithful illustration of the case—But this is foreign to my purpose at present—the Bohemian hath had his reward, and peace be with him—But these ladies,—Not only does Burgundy threaten us with war for harbouring them, but their presence is like to interfere with my projects in my own family. My simple cousin of Orleans hath seen this damsel, and I prophecy that the sight of her is like to make him less pliable in the matter of his alliance with Joan.” “Your Majesty,” answered the counsellor, “may send the ladies of Croye back to Burgundy, and so make your peace with the Duke.

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Many might murmur at this as dishonourable—but if necessity demands the sacrifice”—— “If profit demanded the sacrifice, Oliver, the sacrifice should be made without hesitation,” answered the King. “I am an old experi­ enced salmon, and rise not to the angler’s hook because it is busked up with a feather called honour. But what is worse than a lack of honour, there were, in returning those ladies to Burgundy, a forfeiture of those views of advantage which moved us to give them an asylum. It were heart-breaking to renounce the opportunity of planting a friend to ourselves, and an enemy to Burgundy, in the very centre of his domin­ ions, and so near to the discontented cities of Flanders. Oliver, I cannot relinquish the advantages which our scheme of marrying this maiden to a friend of our own seems to hold out to us.” “Your Majesty,” said Oliver, after a moment’s thought, “might confer her hand upon some right feal friend, who would take all blame on himself, and serve your Majesty secretly, while in public you might disown him.” “And where am I to find such a friend?” said Louis. “Were I to bestow her upon any one of our mutinous and ill-ruled nobles, would it not be rendering him independent? and hath it not been my policy for years to prevent them from becoming so?—Dunois indeed—him, and him only, I might perchance trust—he would fight for the crown of France, whate’er was his condition—but honours and wealth change men’s natures—Even Dunois I will not trust.” “Your Majesty may find others,” said Oliver, in his smoothest manner, and a tone more insinuating than that which he usually employed in conversing with the King, who permitted him consider­ able freedom; “men dependent entirely on your own grace and favour, and who could no more exist without your countenance than without sun or air—men rather of head than of action—men who”—— “Men who resemble thyself, ha?” said King Louis.—“No, Oliver, by my faith that arrow was rashly shot.—What, because I indulge thee with my confidence, and let thee, in reward, poll my lieges a little now and then, doest thou think it makes thee fit to be the husband of that beautiful vision, and a Count of the highest class to boot?—thee— thee, I say, low-born and lower-bred, whose wisdom is at best a sort of cunning, and whose courage is more than doubtful?” “Your Majesty imputes to me a presumption of which I am not guilty,” said Oliver. “I am glad to hear it, man,” replied the King; “and truly, I hold your judgment the sounder that you disown such a reverie. But methinks thy speech sounded strangely in that key.—Well, to return.—I dare

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not wed this beauty to one of my subjects—I dare not return her to Burgundy—I dare not transmit her to England, or to Germany, where she is likely to become the prize of one more likely to unite with Burgundy than with France, and who would be more ready to dis­ courage the honest malcontents in Ghent and Liege, than to yield them that wholesome countenance which might always find Charles the Hardy enough to exercise his valour on, without stirring from his own domains—and they were in so ripe a humour for insurrection, the men of Liege in especial, that they alone, well heated and supported, would find my fair cousin work for more than a twelvemonth;—and backed by a warlike Count of Croye,—O, Oliver! the plan is too hopeful to be resigned without a struggle.—Cannot thy fertile brain devise some scheme?” Oliver paused for a long time—then at last replied, “What ifa bridal could be accomplished betwixt Isabelle of Croye, and young Adolphus, the Duke of Gueldres?” “What!” said the King, in astonishment; “sacrifice her, and she, too, so lovely a creature, to the furious wretch who deposed, imprisoned, and has often threatened to murther, his own father!— no, Oliver, no—that were too unutterably cruel even for you and me, who look so stedfastly to our excellent end, the peace and the welfare of France, and respect so little the means by which it is attained. Besides, he lies distant from us, and is detested by the people of Ghent and Liege.—No, no, I will none of Adolphus of Gueldres—think on someone else.” “My invention is exhausted, sire,” said the counsellor; “I can remember no one who, as husband to the Countess of Croye, would be like to answer your Majesty’s views. He must unite such various qualities—a friend to your Majesty—an enemy to Burgundy—of policy enough to conciliate the Gauntois and Liegeois, and of valour sufficient to defend his little dominions against the power of Duke Charles—Of noble birth besides, that your Highness insists upon, and ofexcellent and most virtuous character, to the boot of all.” “Nay, Oliver,” said the King, “I leaned not so much—that is so very much on character—but methinks Isabelle’s bridegroom should be something less publicly and generally abhorred than Adolphus of Gueldres—For example, since I myself must suggest some one— Why not William de la Marek?” “On my halidome, sire,” said Oliver, “I cannot complain of your demanding too high a standard of moral excellence in the happy man, ifthe Wild Boar ofArdennes can serve your turn. De la Marek—Why, he is the most notorious robber and murtherer on all the frontiers— excommunicated by the Pope for a thousand crimes.”

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“We will have him relaxed, friend Oliver—Holy Church is merci­ ful.” “Almost an outlaw,” continued Oliver, “and under the ban of the Empire, by an ordinance of the Chamber at Ratisbon.” “We will have the ban taken off, friend Oliver,” continued the King, in the same tone; “the Imperial Chamber will hear reason.” “And admitting him to be of noble birth,” said Oliver, “he hath the manners, the face, and the outward form, as well as the heart, of a Flemish butcher—She will never accept of him.” “His mode ofwooing, ifI mistake him not,” said Louis, “will render it difficult for her to make a choice.” “I was far wrong indeed, when I taxed your Majesty with being over scrupulous,” said the counsellor. “On my life, the crimes of Adolphus are but virtues to those of De la Marck!—And then how is he to meet with his bride?—Your Majesty knows well he dares not stir far from his own Forest ofArdennes.” “That must be cared for,” said the King; “and, in the first place, the two ladies must be acquainted privately that they can be no longer maintained at this court, excepting at the expense of a war between France and Burgundy, and that, unwilling to deliver them up to my fair cousin of Burgundy, I am desirous they should secretly depart from my dominions.” “They will demand to be conveyed to England,” said Oliver; “and we will have her return with an island lord, with a round fair face, long brown hair, and three thousand archers at his back.” “No—no,” replied the King; “we dare not (you understand me) so far offend our fair cousin ofBurgundy as to let her pass to England—it would bring his displeasure as certainly as our maintaining her here. No, no—To the safety of the Church alone we will venture to commit her; and the utmost we can do is to connive at the Ladies Hameline and Isabelle de Croye departing in disguise, and with a small retinue, to take refuge with the Bishop of Liege, who will place the fair Isa­ belle, for the time, under the safeguard of a convent.” “And if that convent protect her from William de la Marck, when he knows of your Majesty’s favourable intentions, I have mistaken the man.” “Why, yes,” answered the King, “thanks to our secret supplies of money, De la Marck hath together a handsome handful of as unscru­ pulous soldiery as ever were outlawed, with which he contrives to maintain himself among the woods, in such a condition as makes him formidable both to the Duke and Bishop of Liege. He lacks nothing but some territory which he may call his own, and this being so fair an opportunity to establish himself by marriage, I think that, Pasques-

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dieu! he will find means to win and wed, without more than a hint on our part. The Duke of Burgundy will then have such a thorn in his side, as no lancet of our time will easily cut out from him. The Boar of Ardennes, whom he has already outlawed, strengthened by the pos­ session of that fair lady’s lands, castles, and seignorie, with the discon­ tented Liegeois to boot, who, by my faith, will not be in that case unwilling to choose him for their captain and leader—Let him then think ofwars with France when he will, or rather let him bless his stars if she war not with him.—How does like the scheme, Oliver, ha?” “Rarely,” said Oliver, “save and except the doom which confers that lady on the Wild Boar ofArdennes.—By my halidome, saving in a little outward shew of gallantry, Tristan, the Provost-Marshal, were the more proper bridegroom.” “Anon thou didst propose Master Oliver the barber,” said Louis; “but friend Oliver and gossip Tristan, excellent men in the way of counsel and execution, are not the stuff that men make Counts of. Know you not that the burghers of Flanders value birth in other men, precisely because they want it themselves?—a. plebeian mob ever desire an aristocratic leader. Yonder Ked, or Cade, or how called they him, in England, was fain to lure his rascal route after him, by pre­ tending to the blood of the Mortimers. William de la Marck comes of the blood of the princes of Sedan.—And now to business. I must determine the Ladies of Croye to a speedy and secret flight, under sure guidance—this will be easily done—We have but to hint the alternative ofsurrendering them to Burgundy. Thou must find means to let William de la Marck know oftheir motions, and let him chuse his own time and place to push his suit. I know a fit person to travel with them.” “May I ask to whom your Majesty commits such an important charge?” asked the tonsor. “To a foreigner, be sure,” replied the King; “one who has neither kin nor interest in France, to interfere with the execution of my pleasure—and who knows too little of the country, and its factions, to suspect more of my purpose than I chuse to tell him—In a word, I design to employ the young Scot who sent you hither but now.” Oliver paused in a manner which seemed to imply a doubt of the prudence of the choice, and then added, “Your Majesty has reposed confidence in that stranger boy earlier than is your wont.” “I have my reasons,” answered the King.—“Thou knowst my devo­ tion for the blessed Saint Julian. I had been saying my orisons to that holy Saint late in the night before last, and I made it my humble petition that he would augment my household with such wandering foreigners as might best establish throughout our kingdom unlimited

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devotion to our will; and I vowed to the good Saint in guerdon, that I would, in his name, receive, and relieve, and maintain them.” “And did Saint Julian,” said Oliver, “send your Majesty this longlegged importation from Scotland in answer to your prayers?” Although the barber, who well knew that his master had supersti­ tion in a large proportion to his want of religion, and that on such topics nothing was more easy than to offend him—although, I say, he knew this weakness, and therefore carefully put the preceding ques­ tion in the softest and most simple tone of voice, Louis felt the inuendo which it contained, and regarded the speaker with high displeasure. “Sirrah,” he said, “thou art well called Oliver the Devil, who dares thus to sport at once with thy master and with the blessed Saints. I tell thee, wert thou a grain less necessary to me, I would have thee hung up on yonder oak before the Castle, as an example to all who scoff at things holy!—Know, thou infidel slave, that mine eyes were no sooner closed, than the blessed Saint Julian was visible to me, leading a young man, whom he presented to me, saying, that his fortune should be to escape the sword, the cord, the river, and to bring good fortune to the side which he should espouse, and to the adventures in which he should be engaged. I walked out on the succeeding morning, and I met with this youth. In his own country he hath escaped the sword, amid the massacre of his whole family, and here, within the brief compass of two days, he hath been strangely rescued from drowning and from the gallows, and hath already, on a particular occasion, as I formerly hinted to thee, been of the most material service to me. I receive him as sent hither by Saint Julian, to serve me in the most difficult, the most dangerous, and even the most desperate services.” The King, as he thus expressed himself, doffed his hat, and select­ ing from the numerous little leaden figures with which the hat-band was garnished that which represented Saint Julian, he placed it on the table, as was often his wont when some peculiar feeling of hope, or perhaps of remorse, happened to thrill across his mind, and, kneeling down before it, muttered, with an appearance of profound devotion, “SancteJuliane, adsisprecibus nostris. Ora, ora,pro nobis.” This was one of those ague-fits of superstitious devotion which often seized on Louis in such extraordinary times and places, that they gave one of the most sagacious Monarchs who ever reigned, the appearance of a madman, or at least of one whose mind was shaken by some deep consciousness of guilt. While he was thus employed, his favourite looked at him with an expression of sarcastic contempt, which he scarce attempted to dis­ guise. Indeed it was one of this man’s peculiarities, that in his

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whole intercourse with his master, he laid aside that fondling, purring affectation of officiousness and humility which distinguished his con­ duct to others; and if he still bore some resemblance to a cat, it was when the animal is on its guard,—watchful, animated, and alert for sudden exertion. The cause of this change was probably Oliver’s consciousness, that his master was himself too profound a hypocrite not to see through the hypocrisy of others. “The features of this youth, then, if I may presume to speak,” said Oliver, “resemble those of him whom your dream exhibited?” “Closely and intimately,” said the King, whose imagination, like that of superstitious people in general, readily imposed upon itself— “I have had his horoscope cast, besides, by Galeotti Martivalle, and I have plainly learned, through his art and mine own observation, that, in many respects, this unfriended youth hath his destiny under the same constellations with mine.” Whatever Oliver might think of the causes thus boldly assigned for the preference of an inexperienced stripling, he dared make no fur­ ther objections, well knowing that Louis, who, while residing in exile, had bestowed much of his attention on the supposed science of astro­ logy, would listen to no raillery of any kind which impeached his skill. He therefore only replied, that he trusted the youth would prove faithful in the discharge of a task so delicate. “We will take care he hath no opportunity to be otherwise,” said Louis; “for he shall be privy to nothing, save that he is sent to escort the Ladies of Croye to the residence of the Bishop of Liege. Of the probable interference ofWilliam de la Marck, he shall know as little as they themselves. None shall know that secret saving the guide; and Tristan or thou must find one fit for our purpose.” “But in that case,” said Oliver, “judging of him from his country and his appearance, the young man is like to stand to his arms so soon as the Wild Boar comes on them, and may not come off so easily from the tusks as he did this morning.” “If they rend his heart-strings,” said Louis, composedly, “Saint Julian, blessed be his name, can send me another in his stead—it skills as little that the messenger is slain after his duty is executed, as that the flask is broken when the wine is drunk out.—Meanwhile, we must expedite the ladies’ departure, and then persuade the Count de Crevecœur that it has taken place without our connivance, we having been desirous to restore them to the custody of our fair cousin; which their sudden departure has unhappily prevented.” “The Count is perhaps too wise, and his master too prejudiced, to believe it.” “Holy Mother!” said Louis, “what unbelief would that be in

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Christian men. But, Oliver, they shall believe us. We will throw into our whole conduct towards our fair cousin, Duke Charles, such thor­ ough and unlimited confidence, that, not to believe we have been sincere with him in every respect, he must be worse than an infidel. I tell thee, so convinced am I that I could make Charles of Burgundy think of me in every respect as I would have him, that, were it neces­ sary for silencing his doubts, I would ride unarmed, and on a palfrey, to visit him in his tent, with no better guard about me than thine own simple person, friend Oliver.” “And I,” said Oliver, “though I pique not myself upon managing steel in any other shape than that of razors, would rather charge a Swiss battalion of pikes, than I would accompany your Highness upon such a visit of friendship to Charles of Burgundy, when he hath so many grounds to be well assured that there is enmity in your Majesty’s bosom against him.” “Thou art a fool, Oliver,” said the King, “and that with all thy pretensions to wisdom, and art not aware that deep policy must often assume the appearance of the most extreme simplicity, as courage occasionally shrouds itself under the show of modest timidity—the Saints always blessing our purpose, and the heavenly constellations bringing round, in their course, a proper conjuncture for such an exploit.” In these words did King Louis XI. give the first hint ofthe extraord­ inary resolution which he afterwards adopted, with a confidence in his power of duping his great rival, that had very nearly proved his own ruin. He parted with his counsellor, and presently afterwards went to the apartment of the Ladies of Croye. Few persuasions beyond his mere licence would have been necessary to determine their retreat from the Court of France, upon the first hint that they might not be eventually protected against the Duke of Burgundy; but it was not so easy to induce them to chuse Liege for the place of their retreat. They entreated and requested to be transferred to Bretagne or Calais, where, under protection of the Duke ofBretagne, or King of England, they might remain in a state of safety, until the Sovereign ofBurgundy should relent in his rigorous purposes towards them. But neither of these places of safety at all suited the plans of Louis, and he was at last successful in inducing them to adopt that which did coincide with them. The power of the Bishop of Liege for their defence was not to be questioned, since his ecclesiastical dignity gave him the means of protecting the fugitives against all Christian princes; while, on the other hand, his secular forces, ifnot numerous, were at least sufficient

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to defend his person, and all under his protection, from any sudden violence. The difficulty was to reach the little Court of the Bishop in safety; but for this Louis promised to provide, by spreading a report that the Ladies of Croye had escaped from Tours by night, under fear of being delivered up to the Burgundian Envoy, and had taken their flight towards Bretagne. He also promised them the attendance of a small, but faithful retinue, and letters to the commanders of such towns and fortresses as they might pass, with instructions to use every means for protecting and assisting them in their journey. The Ladies of Croye, although internally resenting the ungenerous and discourteous manner in which Louis thus deprived them of the promised asylum in his Court, were so far from objecting to the hasty departure which he proposed, that they even anticipated his project, by entreating to be permitted to set forward that same night. The Lady Hameline was already tired of a place where there were neither admiring courtiers, nor festivities to be witnessed; and the Lady Isa­ belle thought she had seen enough to conclude, that were the tempta­ tion to become a little stronger, Louis XI., not satisfied with expelling them from his Court, might perhaps have delivered her up to her irritated Suzerain, the Duke ofBurgundy. Lastly, Louis himselfread­ ily acquiesced in their hasty departure, anxious to preserve peace with Duke Charles, and alarmed lest the beauty of Isabelle should interfere with and impede the favourite plan which he had formed, for bestow­ ing the hand of his daughter Joan upon his cousin of Orleans.

Chapter Three THE JOURNEY

Talk not of Kings—I scorn the poor comparison; I am a sage , and can command the elements— At least men think I can; and on that thought I found unbounded empire. Albumazar

Occupation and adventure might be said to crowd upon the young Scotsman with the force of a spring-tide, for he was speedily summoned to the apartment of his Captain, the Lord Crawford, where, to his astonishment, he again beheld the King. After a few words respecting the honour and trust which was about to be reposed in him, which made Quentin internally afraid that they were again about to propose to him such a watch as he had kept upon the Count of Crevecœur, or perhaps some duty still more repugnant to his feelings,

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he was not relieved merely, but delighted, with hearing that he was selected, with the assistance of four others under his command, one of whom was a guide, to escort the Ladies of Croye to the little Court of their relative, the Bishop of Liege, in the safest and most commodi­ ous, and, at the same time, in the most secret manner possible. A scroll was given him, in which were set down directions for his guidance for the places of halt, (generally chosen in villages, monasteries, and places remote from towns,) and for the general precautions which he was to attend to, especially on approaching the frontier of Burgundy. He was sufficiently supplied with money, and instructed what he ought to say and do to sustain the personage of the Maitre d’Hotel of two English ladies of rank, who had been on a pilgrimage to Saint Martin of Tours, and were to visit the holy city of Cologne, and worship the reliques of the three sage Eastern Monarchs, who came to adore the nativity of Bethlehem; for under that character the Ladies of Croye were to journey. Without having any defined notions of the cause of his delight, Quentin Durward’s heart leapt for joy at the idea of approaching thus nearly to the person of the Beauty of the turret, and in a situation which entitled him to her confidence, since her protection was in so great a degree entrusted to his conduct and courage. He felt no doubt in his own mind that he should be her successful guide through the hazards of her pilgrimage. Youth seldom thinks of dangers, and bred up free, and fearless, and self-confiding, Quentin, in particular, only thought of them to defy them. He longed to be exempted from the restraint of the Royal presence, that he might indulge the secret glee with which such unexpected tidings filled him, and which prompted him to bursts of delight which would have been totally unfitting for that society. But Louis had not yet done with him. That cautious Monarch had to consult a counsellor of a different stamp from Oliver le Diable, and who was supposed to derive his skill from the superior and astral intelligences, as men, judging from their fruits, were apt to think the counsels ofOliver sprung from the Devil himself. Louis therefore led the way, followed by the impatient Quentin, to a separate tower of the Castle of Plessis, in which was installed, in no small ease and splendour, the celebrated astrologer, poet, and philo­ sopher, Galeotti Marti, or Martius, or Martivalle, a native of Nami, in Italy, the author of the famous Treatise, De Vulgo Incognitis* and the subject of his age’s admiration, and of the panegyrics of Paulus Jovius. He had long flourished at the court of the celebrated Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary, from whom he was in some measure decoyed * Concerning things unknown to the generality ofmankind.

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by Louis, who grudged the Hungarian monarch the society and the counsels of a sage accounted so skilful in reading the decrees of Heaven. Martivalle was none of those ascetic, withered, pale professors of mystic learning, who bleared their eyes over the midnight furnace, and macerated their bodies by outwatching the polar bear. He indulged in all courtly pleasures, and, until he grew corpulent, had excelled in all martial sports and gymnastic exercises, as well as in the use of arms; insomuch, that Janus Pannonius has left a Latin epigram, upon a wrestling match betwixt Galeotti and a renowned champion of that art, in the presence of the Hungarian King and Court, in which the Astrologer was completely victorious. The apartments of this courtly and martial sage were far more splendidly furnished than any which Quentin had yet seen in the royal palace, and the carving and ornamented wood-work of his library, as well as the magnificence displayed in the tapestries, shewed the eleg­ ant taste of the learned Italian. Out of his study one door opened to his sleeping apartment, another led to the turret which served as his observatory. A large oaken table, in the midst of the apartment, was covered with a rich Turkish carpet, the spoils of the tent of a Pacha after the great battle ofJaiza, where the Astrologer had fought abreast with the valiant champion ofChristendom, Mathias Corvinus. On the table lay a variety of mathematical and astrological instruments, all of the most rich materials and curious workmanship. His astrolabe ofsil­ ver was the gift of the Emperor of Germany, and his Jacob’s staff of ebony, jointed with gold, and curiously inlaid, was a mark of esteem from the reigning Pope. There were various other miscellaneous articles disposed on the table, or hanging around the walls; amongst others, two complete suits of armour, one of mail, the other of plate, both of which, from their great size, seemed to call the gigantic Astrologer their owner; a Spanish toledo, a Scottish broad-sword, a Turkish scymitar, with bows, quivers, and other warlike weapons; musical instruments of several different kinds; a silver crucifix, a sepulchral antique vase, and several of the little brazen Penates of the ancient heathens, with other curious non-descript articles, some of which, in the superstitious opinion of that period, seemed to be designed for magical purposes. The library of this singular character was of the same miscellaneous description with his other effects. Curious manuscripts of classical antiquity lay mingled with the voluminous labours of Christian divines, and of those pains-taking sages who professed the chemical science, and proffered to guide their students into the most secret recesses of nature, by means of the Hermetical Philosophy. Some

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were written in the eastern character, and others concealed their sense or nonsense under the veil of hieroglyphics and cabalistic char­ acters. The whole apartment, and its furniture ofevery kind, formed a scene very impressive on the fancy, considering the general beliefthen indisputably entertained, concerning the truth of the occult sciences; and that effect was increased by the manners and appearance of the inhabitant himself, who, seated in a huge chair, was employed in curiously examining a specimen, just issued from the Frankfort press, of the newly invented art ofprinting. Galeotti Martivalle was a tall, bulky, yet stately man, considerably past his prime, and whose youthful habits of exercise, though still occasionally resumed, had not been able to contend with a natural tendency to corpulence, increased by sedentary study, and indulgence in the pleasures of the table. His features, though rather overgrown, were dignified and noble, and a Santon might have envied the dark and downward sweep of his long-descending beard. His dress was a chamber-robe of the richest Genoa velvet, with ample sleeves, clasped with frogs of gold, and lined with sables. It was fastened round his middle by a broad belt of virgin parchment, round which was represented, in crimson characters, the signs of the Zodiac. He rose and bowed to the King, yet with the air of one to whom such exalted society was familiar, and who was not at all likely to compromise the dignity then affected by the pursuers of science. “You are engaged, father,” said the King, “and, as I think, with this new-fashioned art of multiplying manuscripts, by the intervention of machinery. Can things of such mechanical and terrestrial import interest the thoughts of one, before whom heaven has unrolled her own celestial volumes?” “My son,” replied Martivalle,—“for so the tenant of this cell must term even the King of France, when he deigns to visit him as a disciple,—believe me that, in considering the consequences of this invention, I read with as certain augury, as by any combination of the heavenly bodies, the most awful and portentous changes. When I reflect with what slow and limited supplies the stream of science hath hitherto descended to us; how difficult to be obtained by those most ardent in its search; how certain to be neglected by all who regard their ease; how liable to be diverted, or altogether dried up, by the invasions of barbarism; can I look forward without wonder and aston­ ishment, to the lot of a succeeding generation, on whom knowledge will descend like the first and second rain, unintercepted, unabated, unbounded—fertilizing some grounds, and overflowing others— changing the whole form ofsocial life—establishing and overthrowing religions—erecting and destroying kingdoms”------

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“Hold, Galeotti,” said Louis,—“shall these changes come in our time?” “No, my son,” replied Martivalle; “this invention may be likened to a young tree, which is now newly planted, but shall, in succeeding generations, bear fruit as fatal, yet as precious, as that ofthe Garden of Eden, the knowledge, namely, of good and evil.” Louis answered, after a moment’s pause, “Let futurity look to what concerns them—we are men of this age, and to this age we will confine our care. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.—Tell me, hast thou proceeded further in the horoscope which I sent to thee, and of which you made me some report? I have brought the party hither, that you may use palmistry, or chiromancy, ifsuch is your pleasure. The matter is pressing.” The bulky Sage arose from his seat, and, approaching the young soldier, fixed on him his keen large dark eye, as if he was in the act of internally spelling and dissecting every lineament and feature. Blush­ ing and borne down by this close examination on the part ofone whose expression was so reverend at once and commanding, Quentin Dur­ ward bent his eyes on the ground, and did not again raise them, till in the act of obeying the sonorous command ofthe Astrologer, “Look up and be not afraid, but hold forth thy hand.” When Martivalle had inspected his palm, according to the form of the mystic arts which he practised, he led the King some steps aside. —“My royal son,” he said, “the physiognomy of this youth, together with the lines impressed on his hand, confirm, in a wonderful degree, the report which I founded upon his horoscope, as well as that judg­ ment which your own proficiency in our sublime arts induced you at once to form of him. All promises that this youth will be brave and fortunate.” “And faithful?” said the King; “for valour and fortune square not always with fidelity.” “And faithful also,” said the Astrologer; “for there is manly firm­ ness in look and eye, and his linea vitæ is deeply marked and clear, which indicates a true and upright adherence to those who do benefit or lodge trust in him. But yet----- ” “But what?” said the King; “Father Galeotti, wherefore do you now pause?” “The ears of Kings,” said the Sage, “are like the palates of those dainty patients which are unable to endure the bitterness of the drugs necessary for their recovery.” “My ears and my palate have no such niceness,” said Louis; “let me hear what is useful counsel, and swallow what is wholesome medicine. I quarrel not with the rudeness of the one, or the harsh taste of the

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other. I have not been cockered in wantonness or indulgence; my youth was one of exile and suffering. My ears are used to harsh counsel, and take no offence at it.” “Then plainly, Sire,” replied Galeotti, “if you have aught in your purposed commission, which—which, in short, may startle a scrupu­ lous conscience—entrust it not to this youth—at least, not till a few years exercise in your service has made him as unhesitating as others.” “And is this what you hesitated to speak, my good Galeotti? and didst thou think thy speaking it would offend me?” answered the King. “Alack, I know that thou as well art sensible that the path of royal policy cannot be always squared (as that of private life ought invariably to be), by the abstract maxims of religion, and of morality. Wherefore do we, the Princes of the earth, found churches and mon­ asteries, make pilgrimages, undergo penances, and perform devotions with which others may dispense, unless it be because the benefit of the public, and the welfare of our kingdoms, force us upon measures which grieve our consciences as Christians? But Heaven has mercy— the Church, an unbounded stock ofmerits, and the intercession of our Lady of Embrun, and the blessed saints, is urgent, everlasting, and omnipotent.”—He laid his hat on the table, and devoutly kneeling before the images stuck into the hat-band, repeated, in an earnest tone, “Sancte Huberte, Sancte Juliane, Sancte Martine, Sancta Rosalia, Sancti quotquot adestis, Orate, pro me peccatore” He then smote his breast, arose, re-assumed his hat and continued,—“Be assured, good father, that whatever there may be in our commission, of the nature at which you have hinted, the execution shall not be entrusted to this youth, nor shall he be privy to such part of our purpose.” “In this,” said the Astrologer, “you, my royal son, will walk wisely. —Something may be apprehended likewise from the rashness of this your young commissioner, a failing inherent in those of the sanguine complexion—but I hold that, by the rules of art, this chance is not to be weighed against the other properties discovered from his horo­ scope and otherwise.” “Will this next midnight be a propitious hour in which to commence a perilous journey?” said the King.—“See, here is your Ephemerides —you see the position of the moon in regard to Saturn, and the ascendance ofJupiter—that should argue, methinks, in submission to your better art, success to him who sends forth the expedition at such an hour.” “To him who sends forth the expedition,” said the Astrologer, after a pause, “this conjunction doth indeed promise success; but, methinks, that Saturn being combust, threatens danger and infortune to the party sent; whence I infer that the errand may be perilous, or even

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fatal, to those who are to journey—violence and captivity, methinks, are intimated in that adverse conjunction.” “Violence and captivity to those who are sent,” answered the King, “but success to the wishes ofthe sender—runs it not thus, my learned father?” “Even so,” replied the Astrologer. The King paused, without giving any further indication how far this presaging speech (probably hazarded by the Astrologer from his knowledge that the commission related to some dangerous purpose,) squared with his real object, which, as the reader is aware, was to betray the Countess Isabelle of Croye into the hands of William de la Marck, a leader distinguished for his turbulent disposition and fero­ cious bravery. The King then pulled forth a paper from his pocket, and, ere he gave it to Martivalle, said, in a tone which resembled that of an apo­ logy,—“Learned Galeotti, be not surprised, that, possessing in you an oracular treasure, superior to that lodged in the breast of any now alive, not excepting the great Nostradamus himself, I am desirous frequently to avail myself of your skill in those doubts and difficulties which beset every Prince who hath to contend with rebellions within his land, and with external enemies, both powerful and inveterate.” “When I was honoured with your request, Sire,” said the philo­ sopher, “and abandoned the Court of Buda for that of Plessis, it was with the resolution to place at the command of my royal patron what­ ever my art had that might be of service to him.” “Enough, good Martivalle—I pray thee attend to the import of this question.”—He proceeded to read from the paper in his hand:—“A person having on hand a weighty controversy, which is like to draw to a debate either by law or by force of arms, is desirous, for the present, to seek accommodation by a personal interview with his antagonist. He desires to know what day will be propitious for the execution ofsuch a purpose; also, what is likely to be the success of such a negociation, and whether his adversary will be moved to answer the confidence thus reposed in him, with gratitude and kindness, or may rather be likely to abuse the opportunity and advantage which such a meeting may afford him?” “It is an important question,” said Martivalle, when the King had done reading, “and requires that I should set a planetary figure, and give it instant and deep consideration.” “Let it be so, my good father in the sciences, and thou shalt know what it is to oblige a King of France. We are determined, if the constellations forbid not,—and our own humble art leads us to think that they approve our purpose,—to hazard something even in our own

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person, to stop these anti-Christian wars.” “May the Saints forward your Majesty’s pious intent,” said the Astrologer, “and guard your sacred person!” “Thanks, learned father—here is something, the while, to enlarge your curious library.” He placed under one of the volumes a small purse of gold,—for, economical even in his superstitions, Louis conceived the Astrologer sufficiently bound to his service by the pensions he had assigned him, and thought himself entitled to the use of his skill at a moderate rate, even upon great exigences. Louis having thus, in legal phrase, added a refreshing fee to his general retainer, turned from him to address Durward.—“Follow me,” he said, “my bonny Scot—as one chosen by Destiny and a Monarch to accomplish a bold adventure. All must be got ready, that thou may’st put foot in stirrup the very instant the bell of Saint Mar­ tin’s tolls twelve. One minute sooner, one minute later, were to forfeit the favourable aspect of the constellations which smile on your adven­ ture.” Thus saying, the King left the apartment, followed by his young guardsman; and no sooner were they gone, than the Astrologer gave way to very different feelings from those which seemed to animate him during the royal presence. “The niggardly slave!” he said, weighing the purse in his hand,— for, a man of unbounded expense, he had almost constant occasion for money—“The base sordid cullion!—a coxswain’s wife would give more to know that her husband had crossed the narrow seas in safety. He acquire any tincture ofhumane letters!—yes, when prowling foxes and yelling wolves become musicians. He read the glorious blazoning ofthe firmament!—ay, when sordid moles shall become lynxes.—Post tot promissa—after so many promises made, to entice me from the court ofthe magnificent Matthias—where Hun and Turk—Christian and Infidel—the Czar of Muscovia and the Cham of Tartary them­ selves, contended to load me with gifts,—doth he think I am to abide in this old Castle, like a bullfinch in a cage, fain to sing as oft as he chuses to whistle, and all for seed and water?—Not so—aut inveniam viam, autfaciam—I will discover or contrive a remedy. The Cardinal Balue is politic and liberal—this query shall to him, and it shall be his Eminence’s own fault if the stars speak not as he would have them.” He again took the despised guerdon, and weighed it in his hand. “It may be,” he said, “there is some jewel or pearl of price concealed in this paltry case—I have heard he can be liberal even to lavishness when it suits his caprice or his interest.” He emptied the purse, which contained neither more nor less than

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ten gold pieces. The indignation of the Astrologer was extreme.— “Thinks he that for this paltry hire I will practise that celestial science which I have studied with the Armenian Abbot of Istrahoff, who had not seen the sun for forty years—with the Greek Dubravius, who is said to have raised the dead,—and have even visited the Scheik Ebn Hali in his cave in the deserts of Thebais?—No, by heaven!—he that contemns art shall perish through his own ignorance. Ten pieces!—a pittance which I am half ashamed to offer to Toinette, to buy her new breast-laces.” So saying, the indignant Sage nevertheless plunged the contemned pieces of gold into a large pouch which he wore at his girdle, which Toinette, and other abettors of lavish expence, generally contrived to empty fully faster than the philosopher could find the means of filling it.

(Chapter Four THE JOURNEY

I see thee yet, fair France—thou favour’d land Of art and nature—thou art still before me; Thy sons, to whom their labour is a sport, So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute; Thy sun-burnt daughters, with their laughing eyes And glossy raven locks. But, favour’d France, Thou hast had many a tale of woe to tell, In ancient times as now. Anonymous

Avoiding all conversation with any one, (for such was his charge,) Quentin Durward proceeded hastily to array himself in a strong but plain cuirass, with thigh and arm-pieces, and placed on his head a good steel-cap without any visor. To these was added a handsome cassock of shamoy leather, finely dressed, and laid down the seams with some embroidery, such as might become a superior officer in a noble household. These things were brought to his apartment by Oliver, who, with his quiet insinuating smile and manner, acquainted him that his uncle had been summoned to mount guard purposely that he might make no inquiries concerning these mysterious movements. “Your excuse will be made to your kinsman,” said Oliver, smiling again; “and, my dearest son, when you return safe from the execution of this pleasing trust, I doubt not you will be found worthy of such promotion as will dispense with your accounting for your motions to

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any one, while it will place you at the head of those who must render an account of theirs to you.” So spoke Oliver le Diable, calculating, probably, in his own mind, the great chance there was that the poor youth, whose hand he squeezed affectionately as he spoke, must necessarily encounter death or captivity in the commission entrusted to his charge. At a few minutes before twelve at midnight, Quentin Durward, according to his directions, proceeded to the second court-yard, and paused under the Dauphin’s Tower, which, as the reader knows, was assigned for the temporary residence of the Countesses of Croye. He found, at this place of rendezvous, the men and horses appointed to compose the retinue, leading two sumpter mules already loaded with baggage, and holding three palfreys for the two Countesses and a faithful waiting-woman, with a stately war-horse for himself, whose steel-plated saddle glanced in the pale moonlight. Not a word of recognition was spoken on either side. The men sate still in their saddles, as if they were motionless, and by the same imperfect light Quentin saw with pleasure that they were all armed, and held long lances in their hands. They were only three in number; but one of them whispered to Quentin, in a strong Gascon accent, that their guide was to join them beyond Tours. Meantime, lights glanced to and fro at the lattices of the tower, as if there was bustle and preparation amongst its inhabitants. At length a small door, which led from the bottom of the tower to the court, was unclosed, and three females came forth, attended by a man wrapped in a cloak. They mounted in silence the palfreys which stood prepared for them, while their attendant on foot lit the way, and gave the pass­ words and signals to the watchful guards, whose posts they passed in succession. Thus they at length reached the exterior of these formid­ able barriers. Here the man on foot, who had hitherto acted as their guide, paused, and spoke low and earnestly to the two foremost females. “May heaven bless you, Sire,” said a voice which thrilled upon Quentin Durward’s ear, “and forgive you, even if your purposes be more interested than your words express! To be placed under the protection of the good Bishop of Liege is the utmost extent of my desire.” The person whom she thus addressed, muttered an inaudible answer, and retreated back through the barrier-gate, while Quentin thought that, by the moon-glimpse, he recognized in him the King himself, whose anxiety for the departure of his guests had probably induced him to give his presence, in case scruples should arise on their part, or difficulties on that of the guards of the Castle.

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When the riders were beyond the Castle, it was necessary for some time to travel with great precaution, in order to avoid the pit-falls, snares, and similar contrivances, which were placed for the annoyance of strangers. The Gascon was, however, completely possessed of the clew to this labyrinth, and in a quarter of an hour’s riding, they found themselves beyond the limits of Plessis le Parc, and not far distant from the city ofTours. The moon, which had now extricated herself from the clouds through which she was formerly wading, shed a full sea of glorious light upon a landscape equally glorious. They saw the princely Loire rolling his majestic tide through the richest plain in France, and sweeping along between banks ornamented with towers and terraces, and with olives and vineyards. They saw the walls of the ancient capital of Touraine raising their portal-towers and embattlements white in the moonlight, while, from within their circle, rose the immense gothic mass which the devotion of the sainted Bishop Per­ petuus erected, as early as the fifth century, and which the zeal of Charlemagne and his successors had enlarged with such architectural splendour as rendered it the most magnificent church in France. The towers of the church of Saint Gatien were also visible, and the gloomy strength of the Castle, which was said to have been, in ancient times, the residence of the Emperor Valentinian. Even the circumstances in which he was placed, though of a nature so engrossing, did not prevent the wonder and delight with which the young Scotsman, accustomed to the waste though impressive land­ scape of his own mountains, and the poverty even of his country’s most stately scenery, looked on a scene, which Art and Nature seemed to have vied in adorning with their richest splendour. But he was recalled to the business of the moment by the voice of the elder lady (pitched at least an octave higher than those soft tones which bid adieu to King Louis), demanding to speak with the leader of the little band. Spurring his horse forward, Quentin reverently presented him­ self to the ladies in that capacity, and thus underwent the interroga­ tions of the Lady Hameline. “What was his name, and what his degree?” He told both. “Was he perfectly acquainted with the road?” “He could not,” he replied, “pretend to much knowledge of the route, but he was furnished with full instructions, and he was, at their first resting-place, to be provided with a guide, in all respects compet­ ent to the task of directing their farther journey; meanwhile, a horse­ man who had just joined them, and made the number of their guard four, was to be their guide for the first stage.”

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“And wherefore were you selected for such a duty, young gentle­ man?” said the lady—“I am told you are the same youth who was lately upon guard in the gallery in which we met the Princess of France. You seem young and inexperienced for such a charge—a stranger, too, in France, and speaking the language as a foreigner.” “I am bound to obey the commands of the King, madam, but not to reason on them,” answered the young soldier. “Are you of noble birth?” said the same querist. “I may safely affirm so, madam,” replied Quentin. “And are you not,” said the younger lady, addressing him in her turn, but with a timorous accent, “the same whom I saw when I was called to wait upon the King at yonder inn?” Lowering his voice, perhaps from similar feelings of timidity, Quentin answered in the affirmative. “Then, methinks, my cousin,” said the Lady Isabelle, addressing the Lady Hameline, “we must be safe under this young gentleman’s safeguard—he looks not, at least, like one to whom the execution of a plan of treacherous cruelty upon two helpless women could be with safety entrusted.” “On my honour, madam,” said Durward, “by the fame of my House, by the bones of my ancestry, I could not, for France and Scotland laid into one, be guilty of treachery or cruelty towards you!” “You speak well, young man,” said the Lady Hameline; “but we are accustomed to hear fair speeches from the King of France and his agents—it was by these that we were induced, when the protection of the Bishop of Liege might have been attained with less risk than now, or when we might have thrown ourselves on that of Wenceslaus of Germany, or Edward of England, to seek refuge in France. And in what did the promises of the King result? In an obscure and shameful concealing of us, under plebeian names, as a sort of prohibited wares, in yonder paltry hostelry, where we,—who, as thou knowst, Marthon, (addressing her domestic,) never put on our head-tire save under a canopy, and upon a dais of three degrees,—were compelled to attire ourselves, standing on the simple floor, as if we had been two milk­ maids.” Marthon admitted that her lady spoke a most melancholy truth. “I would that had been the sorest evil, dear kinswoman,” said the Lady Isabelle; “I could gladly have dispensed with state.” “But not with society,” said the other Countess; “that, my sweet cousin, were impossible.” “I would have dispensed with all, my dearest kinswoman,” answered Isabelle, in a voice which penetrated to the very heart of her young conductor and guard, “with all, for a safe and honourable

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retirement. I wish not—God knows, I never wished—to occasion war betwixt France and my native Burgundy, or that lives should be lost for such as me. I only implored permission to retire to the Convent of Marmouthier, or to any other holy sanctuary.” “You spoke then like a fool, my cousin,” answered the elder lady, “and not like a daughter of my noble brother. It is well there is still one alive, who hath some of the spirit of the noble House of Croye. How should a high-born lady be known from a sun-burned milk-maid, save that spears are broken for the one, and only hazel-poles for the other? I tell you, maiden, that while I was in the very earliest bloom, scarcely older than yourself, the famous Passage of Arms at Haflinghem was held in my honour—the challengers were four, the assailants so many as twelve. It lasted three days, and cost the lives of two adventurous knights, the fracture of one back-bone, one collar-bone, three legs, and two arms, besides flesh-wounds and bruises beyond the heralds’ counting; and thus have the ladies of our House ever been honoured. Ah, had you but half the heart of your noble ancestry, you would find means at some court, where ladies’ love and fame in arms are still prized, to maintain a tournament, at which your hand should be the prize, as was that of your great-grandmother of blessed memory, at the spear-running of Strasbourg; and thus should you gain the best Lance in Europe, to maintain the rights of the House of Croye, both against the oppression ofBurgundy and the policy ofFrance.” “But, fair kinswoman,” answered the younger Countess, “I have been told by my old nurse, that although the Rhingrave was the best lance at the great tournament at Strasburgh, and so won the hand of my respected ancestor, yet the match was no happy one, as he used often to scold, and sometimes to beat, my great-grandmother of blessed memory.” “And wherefore not?” said the elder Countess, in her romantic enthusiasm for the profession of chivalry; “why should those victori­ ous arms, accustomed to blows abroad, be bound to restrain their energies at home? A thousand times rather would I be beaten twice aday by a husband whose arm was as much feared by others as by me, than be the wife of a coward, who dared neither to lift hand to his wife, nor to any one else!” “I should wish you joy of such a restless mate, fair aunt,” replied Isabelle, “without envying you, for if broken bones be lovely in tour­ neys, there is nothing less amiable in ladies’ bower.” “Nay, but the beating is no necessary consequence of wedding with a knight of fame in arms, though it is true that our ancestor of blessed memory, the Rhingrave Gottfried, was something rough-tempered, and addicted to the use of Rhein-wein. The very perfect knight is a

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lamb among ladies, and a lion among lances. There was Thibault of Montigni—God be with him!—he was the kindest soul alive, and not only was he never so discourteous as to lift hand against his lady, but, by our good dame, he who beat all enemies without doors, found a fair foe who could belabour him within—Well—’twas his own fault—he was one of the challengers at the Passage of Haflinghem, and so well bestirred himself, that, if it had pleased Heaven, and your grand­ father, there might have been a lady of Montigni who had used his gentle nature more gently.” The Countess Isabelle, who had some reason to dread this Passage of Haflinghem, it being a topic upon which her aunt was at all times very diffuse, suffered the conversation to drop; and Quentin, with the natural politeness of one who had been gently nurtured, dreading lest his presence might be a restraint on their conversation, rode forwards to join the guide, as if to ask him some questions concerning the route. Meanwhile, the ladies continued their journey in silence, or in such conversation as is not worth narrating, until day began to break; and as they had then been on horseback for several hours, Quentin, anxious lest they should be fatigued, became impatient to know their distance from the nearest resting-place. “I will shew it you,” answered the guide, “in halfan hour.” “And then you leave us to other guidance?” continued Quentin. “Even so, Seignior Archer,” replied the man; “my journies are always short and straight.—When you and others, Seignior Archer, go by the bow, I always go by the cord.” The moon had by this time long decayed, and the lights of dawn were beginning to spread bright and strong in the east, and to gleam on the bosom of a small lake, on the verge of which they had been riding for a short space of time. This lake lay in the midst of a wide plain, scattered over with single trees, groves, and thickets; but which might be yet termed open, so that objects began to be discerned with sufficient accuracy. Quentin cast his eye on the person whom he rode beside, and under the shadow of a slouched over-spreading hat, which resembled the sombrero of a Spanish peasant, he recognized the facetious features of the same Petit-Andre, whose fingers, not long since, had, in concert with those ofhis lugubrious brother, TroisEschelles, been so unpleasantly active about his throat.—Impelled by aversion, not altogether unmixed with fear, (for in his own country the executioner is regarded with almost superstitious horror,) which his late narrow escape had not diminished, Durward instinctively moved his horse’s head to the right, and pressing him at the same time with the spur, made a demi-volte, which separated him eight feet from his hateful companion.

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“Ho, ho, ho, ho!” exclaimed Petit-André; “by our Lady of the Gréve, our young soldier remembers us of old.—What, comrade— you bear no malice, I trust?—every one wins his bread in this country. No man need be ashamed of having come through my hands, for I will do my work with any that ever tied a living weight to a dead tree.—And God hath given me grace to be such a merry fellow withal—ha! ha! ha!—I could tell you such jests I have cracked between the foot of the ladder and the top of the gallows, that, by my halidome, I have been obliged to do my job rather hastily, for fear the fellows should die with laughing, and so shame my mystery!” As he thus spoke, he edged his horse sideways, to regain the interval which the Scot had left between them, saying at the same time, “Come, Seignior Archer, let there be no unkindness betwixt us;—for my part, I always do my duty without malice, and with a light heart, and I never love a man better than when I have put my scant-of-wind collar about his neck, to dub him Knight of the Order of Saint Patibularius, as the Provost’s Chaplain, the worthy Father Vaconeldiablo, is wont to call the Patron Saint of the Provostry.” “Keep back, thou wretched abject!” exclaimed Quentin, as the finisher of the law again sought to approach him closer, “or I will be tempted to teach you the distance that should be betwixt men of honour, and such an outcast.” “Lo you there, how hot you are!” said the fellow; “had you said men ofhonesty, there had been some savour oftruth in it—but for men of honour, good lack, I have to deal with them every day, as nearly and closely as I was about to do business with you.—But peace be with you, and keep your company to yourself. I would have bestowed a flagon ofAuvernât upon you to wash away unkindness—but you scorn my courtesy. Be as churlish as you list—I never quarrel with my customers—my jerry-come-tumbles, my merry dancers, my little play-fellows, as Jack Butcher says to his lambs—those in fine, who, like your seigniorship, have H. E. M. P. written on their foreheads— no, no, let them use me as they list, they shall have my good service at last—and yourselfshall see, when you next come under Petit-André’s hands, that he knows how to forgive an injury.” So saying, and summing up the whole with a provoking wink, and such an interjectional tchick as men quicken a dull horse with, PetitAndré drew off to the other side of the path, and left the youth to digest the taunts he had treated him with, as his proud Scotch stomach best might. A strong desire had Quentin to have belaboured him while the staff of his lance could hold together; but he put a restraint on his passion, recollecting that a brawl with such a character could be creditable at no time or place, and that a quarrel of any kind, on the

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present occasion, would be a breach of duty, and might involve the most perilous consequences. He therefore swallowed his wrath at the ill-timed and professional jokes of Petit-André, and contented him­ selfwith devoutly hoping that they had not reached the ears of his fair charge, on which they could not be supposed to make an impression in favour of himself, as one obnoxious to such sarcasms. But he was speedily roused from such thoughts by the cry of both the ladies at once, “Look back—look back!—for the love of Heaven look to your­ self, and us—we are pursued!” Quentin Durward hastily looked back, and saw that two armed men were in fact following them, and riding at such a pace as must soon bring them up with their party. “It can,” he said, “be only some of the Provostry making their rounds in the Forest.—Do thou look,” he said to Petit-André, “and see what they may be.” Petit-André obeyed; and rolling himselfjocosely in the saddle after he had made his observations, replied, “These, fair sir, are neither your comrades nor mine—neither Archers nor Marshalmen—for I think they wear helmets, with visors lowered, and gorgets of the same. —A. plague upon these gorgets, of all other pieces of armour!—I have fumbled with them an hour before I could undo the rivets.” “Do you, gracious ladies,” said Durward, without attending to Petit-André, “ride forward—not so fast as to raise an opinion of your being in flight, and yet fast enough to avail yourselfof the impediment which I shall presently place between you and these men who follow us.” The Countess Isabelle looked to their guide, and then whispered her aunt, who spoke to Quentin thus—“We have confidence in your care, fair Archer, and will abide rather the risk of whatever may chance in your company, than we will go onward with that man, whose mien is, we think, of no good augury.” “Be it as you will, ladies,” said the youth—“There are but two who come after us, and though they be knights, as their arms seem to shew, they shall, if they have any evil purpose, learn how a Scotsman can do his devoir in the presence and defence of such as you are.—Which of you three,” he continued, addressing the guards whom he com­ manded, “is willing to be my comrade, and to break a lance with these gallants?” Two of the men obviously faultered in resolution; but the third, Bertrand Guyot, swore, “that, cap de diou, were they Knights of King Arthur’s Round Table, he would try their mettle, for the honour of Gascony.” While he spoke, the two knights, for they seemed of no less rank, came up with the rear of the party, in which Quentin, with his

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sturdy adherent, had by this time stationed himself. They were fully accoutred in excellent armour of polished steel, but without any device by which they could be distinguished. One of them, as they approached, called out to Quentin, “Sir Squire, give place—we come to relieve you of a charge which is above your rank and condition. You will do well to leave these ladies in our care, who are fitter to wait upon them, especially as we know that in yours they are little better than captives.” “In return to your demand, sirs,” replied Durward, “know, in the first place, that I am discharging the duty imposed on me by my present Sovereign; and next, that however unworthy I may be, the ladies desire to abide under my protection.” “Out, sirrah!” exclaimed one of the champions; “will you, a wan­ dering beggar, put yourself on terms of resistance against belted knights?” “They are indeed terms of resistance,” said Quentin, “since they oppose your insolent and unlawful aggression; and if there be differ­ ence of rank between us, which as yet I know not, your discourtesy has done it away. Draw your sword, or, if you will use the lance, take ground for your career.” While the knights turned their horses, and rode back to the distance of about a hundred and fifty yards, Quentin, looking to the ladies, bent low on his saddle-bow, as if desiring their favourable regard, and as they streamed towards him their kerchiefs, in token of encourage­ ment, the two assailants had gained the distance necessary for their charge. Calling to the Gascon to bear himself like a man, Durward put his steed into motion; and the four horsemen met in full career in the midst of the ground which at first separated them. The shock was fatal to the poor Gascon; for his adversary, aiming at his face, which was undefended by a visor, run him through the eye into the brain, so that he fell dead from his horse. On the other hand, Quentin, though labouring under the same disadvantage, swayed himself in the saddle so dexterously, that the hostile lance, slightly scratching his cheek, passed over his right shoulder; while his own spear, striking his antagonist fair upon the breast, hurled him to the ground. Quentin jumped off, to unhelm his fallen opponent; but the other knight, (who, by the way, had never yet spoken,) seeing the fortune of his companion, dismounted still more speedily than Durward, and bestriding his friend, who lay senseless, exclaimed, “In the name of God and Saint Martin, mount, good fellow, and get thee gone with thy woman’s ware!—Ventre Saint Gris, they have caused mischiefenough this morning.”

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“By your leave, Sir Knight,” said Quentin, who could not brook the menacing tone in which this advice was given, “I will first see whom I have had to do with, and learn who is to answer for the death of my comrade.” “That shalt thou never live to know or to tell,” answered the Knight. “Get thee back in peace, good fellow. If we were fools for interrupting your passage, we have had the worse, for thou hast done more evil than the lives of thou and thy whole band could repay.—Nay, if thou wilt have it, (for Quentin now drew his sword, and advanced on him,) take it with a vengeance!” So saying, he dealt the Scot such a blow on the helmet, as, till that moment, (though bred where good blows were plenty,) he had only read of in romance. It descended like a thunderbolt, beating down the guard which the young soldier had raised to protect his head, and, reaching his helmet of proof, cut it through so far as to touch his hair, but without further injury; while Durward, dizzy, stunned, and beaten down on one knee, was for an instant at the mercy of the knight, had it pleased him to second his blow. But compassion for Quentin’s youth, or admiration of his courage, or a generous love of fair play, made him withhold from taking such advantage; while Quentin, collecting him­ self, sprung up and attacked his antagonist with the energy of one determined to conquer or die, and at the same time with the presence of mind necessary for fighting the quarrel out to the best advantage. Resolved not again to expose himself to such dreadful blows as he had just sustained, he employed the advantage of superior agility, increased by the comparative lightness of his armour, to harass his antagonist, by traversing on all sides, with a suddenness ofmotion and rapidity of attack, against which the knight, in his heavy panoply, found it difficult to defend himself without much fatigue. It was in vain that this generous antagonist called aloud to Quentin, “that there now remained no cause of fight betwixt them, and that he was loath to be constrained to do him injury.” Listening only to the suggestions of a passionate wish to redeem the shame of his temporary defeat, Durward continued to assail him with the rapidity of lightning —now menacing him with the edge, now with the point ofhis sword— and ever keeping such an eye on the motions of his opponent, of whose superior strength he had had terrible proof, that he was ready to spring backward, or aside, from under the blows of his tremendous weapon. “Now the devil be with thee for an obstinate and presumptuous fool,” muttered the Knight, “that cannot be quiet till thou art knocked on the head!” So saying, he changed his mode of fighting, collected himself as if to stand on the defence, and seemed contented with

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parrying, instead of returning, the blows which Quentin unceasingly aimed at him, with the internal resolution, that the instant when either loss of breath, or any false or careless pass of the young soldier, should give an opening, he would put an end to the fight by a single blow. It is likely he might have succeeded in this artful policy, but Fate had ordered it otherwise. The duel was still at the hottest, when a large party ofhorse rode up, crying, “Hold, in the King’s name!” Both champions stepped back— and Quentin saw, with surprise, that his Captain, Lord Crawford, was at the head of the party who had thus interrupted their combat. There was also Tristan 1’Hermite, with two or three of his followers; making, in all, perhaps twenty horse.

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He was a son of Egypt, as he told me, And one descended from those dread magicians, Who waged rash war, when Israel dwelt in Goshen, With Israel and her Prophet—matching rod With his the son of Levi’s—and encountering Jehovah’s miracles with incantations, Till upon Egypt came the avenging Angel, And those proud sages wept for their first-born, As wept the unletter’d peasant. Anonymous

The arrival of Lord Crawford and his guard put an immediate end to the engagement which we endeavoured to describe in the last chapter; and the Knight, throwing offhis helmet, hastily gave the old Lord his sword, saying, “Crawford—I render myself—but hither and lend me thine ear—a word, for God’s sake—Save the Duke of Orleans!” “How?—what?—the Duke of Orleans!” exclaimed the Scottish commander,—“How came this, in the name of the foul fiend?—it will ruin the callant with the King, for ever and a day.” “Ask no questions,” said Dunois—for it was no other than he—“it was all my fault.—See, he stirs. I came forth but to have a snatch at yonder damsel, and make myself a landed and a married man—and see what has come on’t. Keep back your canaille—let no man look upon him.” So saying, he opened the visor of Orleans, and threw water on his face, which was afforded by the neighbouring lake. Quentin Durward, meanwhile, stood like one planet-struck, so fast

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did new adventures pour in upon him. He had now, as the pale features of his first antagonist assured him, borne to the earth the first Prince of the blood in France, and had measured swords with her best champion, the celebrated Dunois;—both of them achievements hon­ ourable in themselves; but whether they might be called good service to the King, was a very different question. The Duke had now recovered his breath, and was able to sit up and give attention to what passed betwixt Dunois and Crawford, while the former pleaded eagerly, that there was no occasion to mention in the matter the name of the most noble Orleans, while he was ready to take the whole blame on his own shoulders; and to avouch that the Duke had only come thither in friendship to him. Lord Crawford continued listening, with his eyes fixed on the ground, and from time to time he sighed and shook his head. At length he said, looking up, “Thou knowst, Dunois, that, for thy father’s sake, as well as thine own, I would full fain do thee a service.” “It is not for myselfI demand any thing,” answered Dunois. “Thou hast my sword, and I am your prisoner—what needs more?—But it is for this noble Prince, the only hope of France, if God should call the Dauphin. He only came hither to do me a favour—in an effort to make my fortune—in a matter which the King had partly encour­ aged.” “Dunois,” replied Crawford, “if another had told me thou hadst brought the noble Prince into this jeopardy to serve any purpose of thine own, I had told them it was false. And now that thou doest thyself say so much injury, I can hardly believe it is for the sake of speaking the truth.” “Noble Crawford,” said Orleans, who seemed now to have entirely recovered from his swoon, “you are too like in character to your friend Dunois not to do him justice. It was indeed I that dragged him hither, most unwillingly, upon an enterprize of hair-brained passion, sud­ denly and rashly undertaken.—Look on me all who will,” he added, rising up and turning to the soldiery—“I am Louis of Orleans, willing to pay the penalty of my own folly—I trust the King will limit his displeasure to me, as is but just.—Meanwhile, as a Child of France must not give up his sword to any one—not even to you, brave Craw­ ford—fare thee well, good steel.” So saying, he took his sword from his side, and flung it into the lake. It went through the air like a stream of lightning, and sunk in the flashing waters, which speedily closed over it. All remained standing in irresolution and astonishment, so high was the rank, and so much esteemed was the character, of the culprit; while at the same time, all were conscious that the consequences of his rash enterprize, consid­

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ering the views which the King had upon him, were likely to end in his utter ruin. Dunois was the first who spoke, and it was in the chiding tone of an offended and distrusted friend:—“So! your Highness hath judged it fit to cast away your best sword in the same morning when it was your pleasure to fling away the King’s favour, and to slight the friendship of Dunois.” “My dearest kinsman,” said the Duke, “when or how was it in my purpose to slight your friendship, by telling the truth when it was due to your safety and my honour?” “What had you to do with my safety, my most princely cousin, I would pray to know?” answered Dunois shortly;—“What, in God’s name, was it to you, if I had a mind to be hanged, or strangled, or flung into the Loire, or poniarded, or broke on the wheel, or hung up alive in an iron cage, or buried alive in a castle-fosse, or disposed of in any other way in which it might please King Louis to dispose ofhis faithful subject?—(you need not wink and frown, and point to Tristan 1’Hermite—I see the scoundrel as well as you do.) But it would not have stood so hard with me—And so much for my safety. And then for your own honour—by the blush of Saint Magdalene, I think the honour would have been to have kept this morning’s work out ofsight. Here has your highness got yourself unhorsed by a wild Scottish boy.” “Tut, tut!” said Lord Crawford; “never shame thee for that.—It is not the first time a Scottish boy hath broke a good lance—I am glad the youth hath borne him well.” “I will say nothing to the contrary,” said Dunois; “yet, had your Lordship come something later than you did, there might have been a vacancy in your band of Archers.” “Ay, ay,” answered Lord Crawford; “I can read your hand-writing in that cleft morion.—Some one take it from the lad, and give him a bonnet, which, with its steel lining, will keep his head better than that broken loom.—And, Dunois, I must now request the Duke of Orleans and you to take horse and accompany me, as I have power and commission to convey you to a place different from that which my good will might assign you.” “May I not speak one word, my Lord of Crawford, to yonder fair ladies?” said the Duke of Orleans. “Not one syllable,” answered Lord Crawford; “I am too much a friend of your highness, to permit such an act of folly.”—Then, addressing Quentin, he added, “You, young man, have done your duty—go on to obey the charge with which you are entrusted.” “Under favour, my Lord,” said Tristan, with his usual brutality of manner, “the boy must find another guide. I cannot want Petit-André,

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when there is so like to be business on hand for him.” “The young man,” said Petit-André, now coming forward, “has only to keep the path which lies straight before him, and it will conduct him to a place where he will find the man who is to act as his guide.—I would not for a thousand ducats be absent from my Chief this day! I have hanged knights and squires many a one, and wealthy Echevins, and burgo-masters to boot—even counts and marquesses have tasted ofmy handy-work—but, a—–humph”–—He looked at the Duke as if to intimate that he would have filled up the blank with “a Prince of the blood!”—“Ho, ho, ho!—Petit-André, thou wilt be read of in Chronicle.” “Do you permit your ruffians to hold such language in such a presence?” said Crawford, looking sternly to Tristan. “Why do not you correct him yourself, my Lord?” said Tristan, sullenly. “Because thy hand is the only one in this company that can beat him without being degraded by such an action.” “Then rule your own men, my Lord, and I will be answerable for mine,” said the Provost-Marshal. Lord Crawford seemed about to give a passionate reply; but, as if he had thought better of it, turned his back short upon Tristan, and requesting the Duke of Orleans, and Dunois, to ride one on either hand of him, he made a signal of adieu to the ladies, and said to Quentin, “God bless thee, my child; thou hast begun thy service valiantly, though in an unhappy cause.” He was about to go off—when Quentin could hear Dunois whisper to Crawford, “Do you carry us to Plessis?” “No, my unhappy and rash friend,” answered Crawford, with a deep sigh; “to Loches.” “To Loches!” The sound of a name yet more dreaded than Plessis itself, fell like a death-toll upon the ear of the young Scotsman. He had heard it described as a place destined to the working of those secret acts of cruelty with which even Louis shamed to pollute the interior of his own residence. There were in this place of terror dungeons under dungeons, some of them unknown even to the keepers themselves; living graves, to which men were consigned with little hope of farther employment during the rest of their life, than to breathe impure air, and feed on bread and water. At this formidable castle were also those dreadful places of confinement called cages, in which the wretched prisoner could neither stand upright, nor stretch himself at length, an invention, it is said, of the Cardinal Balue. It is no wonder that the name of this place of horrors, and the consciousness that he had been partly the means of dispatching thither two such

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illustrious victims, struck such sadness into the heart of the young Scot, that he rode for some time with his head dejected, his eyes fixed on the ground, and his heart filled with the most painful reflections. As he was now again at the head of the little troop, and pursuing the road which had been pointed out to him, the Lady Hameline had an opportunity to say to him,— “Methinks, fair sir, you regret the victory which your gallantry has attained in our behalf?” There was something in the question that sounded like irony, but Quentin had tact enough to answer simply and with sincerity. “I can regret nothing that was done in the service of such ladies as you are—but, methinks, had it consisted with your safety, I had rather have fallen by the sword of so good a soldier as Dunois, than have been the means of consigning that renowned knight and his unhappy chief, the Duke of Orleans, to yonder fearful dungeons.” “It was, then, the Duke of Orleans,” said the elder lady, turning to her niece. “I thought so, even at the distance from which we beheld the fray.—You see, kinswoman, what we might have been, had this sly and avaricious monarch permitted us to be seen at his court. The first Prince of the blood of France, and the valiant Dunois, whose name is known as wide as that of his heroic father—this young gentleman did his devoir bravely and well, but methinks ’tis pity that he did not succumb with honour, since his ill-advised gallantry has stood betwixt us and these princely rescuers.” The Countess Isabelle replied in a firm and almost a displeased tone; with an energy, in short, which Quentin had not yet heard her use. “Madam,” she said, “but that I know you jest, I would say your speech is ungrateful to our brave defender, to whom we owe more, perhaps, than you are aware of. Had these gentlemen succeeded so far in that rash enterprize as to have defeated our escort, is it not still evident, that, on the arrival of the Royal Guards, we must have shared their captivity? For my own part, I give tears, and will soon bestow masses, on the brave man who has fallen, and I trust (she continued, more timidly) that he who lives will accept my grateful thanks.” As Quentin turned his face towards her, to return the fitting acknowledgments, she saw the blood which streamed down one side of his face, and exclaimed, in a tone of deep feeling, “Holy Virgin, he is wounded! he bleeds!—Dismount, fair sir, and let your wound be bound up.” In spite of all which Durward could say of the slightness of his hurt, he was compelled to dismount, to seat himself on a bank, to unhelmet himself, while the ladies of Croye, who, according to a

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fashion not as yet antiquated, pretended some knowledge of leech­ craft, washed the wound, staunched the blood, and bound it with the kerchief of the younger Countess, in order to exclude the air, for so their practice prescribed. In modern times, gallants seldom or never take wounds for ladies’ sake, and damsels on their side never meddle with the cure of wounds. Each sex has a danger the less. That which the men escape will be generally acknowledged; but the peril of dressing such a slight wound as that of Quentin, which involved nothing formidable or dangerous, was perhaps as real in its way as that of encountering it. We have already said the patient was eminently handsome; and the removal of his helmet, or, more properly, of his morion, had suffered his fair locks to escape in profusion, around a countenance in which the hilarity of youth was qualified by a blush of modesty at once and pleasure. And then the feelings of the younger Countess, when com­ pelled to hold the kerchiefto the wound, while her aunt sought in their baggage for some vulnerary remedy, were mingled at once with a sense of delicacy and embarrassment, a thrill of pity for the patient, and of gratitude for his services, which exaggerated, in her eyes, his good mien and handsome features. In short, this incident seemed intended by Fate to complete the mysterious communication which she had, by many petty and apparently accidental circumstances, established betwixt two persons, who, though far different in rank and fortune, strongly resembled each other in youth, beauty, and the romantic tenderness of an affectionate disposition. It was no wonder, therefore, that from this moment the thoughts of the Countess Isa­ belle, already so familiar to his imagination, should become para­ mount in Quentin’s bosom, nor that, if the maiden’s feelings were of a less decided character, at least so far as known to herself, she should think of her young defender, to whom she had just rendered a service so interesting, with more emotion than on any of the whole band of high-born nobles who had for two years past besieged her with their adoration. Above all, when the thought of Campo-Basso, the unworthy favourite of Duke Charles, with his hypocritical mien, his base, treacherous spirit, his wry neck, and his squint, occurred to her, his portrait was more disgustingly hideous than ever, and deeply did she resolve no tyranny should make her enter into so hateful a union. In the mean time, whether the good Lady Hameline of Croye understood and admired masculine beauty as much as when she was fifteen years younger, (for the good Countess was at least thirty-five, if the records of that noble house speak the truth,) or whether she thought she had done their young protector less justice than she ought, in the first view which she had taken of his services, it is certain

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that he began to find favour in her eyes. “My niece,” she said, “has bestowed on you a kerchief for the binding of your wound; I will give you one to grace your gallantry, and to encourage you in your farther progress in chivalry.” So saying, she gave him a richly embroidered kerchief of blue and silver, and pointing to the housing of her palfrey, and the plumes in her riding-cap, desired him to observe that the colours were the same. The fashion of the time prescribed one absolute mode of receiving such a favour, which Quentin followed accordingly, by tying the nap­ kin around his arm; yet his manner of acknowledgment had more of awkwardness, and less of gallantry in it, than perhaps it might have had at another time, and in another presence; for though the wearing of a lady’s favour, given in such a manner, was merely matter of general compliment, he would much rather have preferred the right of displaying on his arm that which bound the wound inflicted by the sword of Dunois. Meantime they continued their pilgrimage, Quentin now riding abreast of the ladies, into whose society he seemed to be tacitly adopted. He did not speak much, however, being filled by the silent consciousness ofhappiness, which is afraid of giving too strong vent to its feelings. The Countess Isabelle spoke still less, so that the conver­ sation was chiefly carried on by the Lady Hameline, who shewed no inclination to let it drop; for, to initiate the young Archer, as she said, into the principles and practice of chivalry, she detailed to him, at full length, the Passage ofArms at Haflinghem, where she had distributed the prizes among the victors. Not much interested, I am sorry to say, in the description of this splendid scene, or in the heraldric bearings of the different Flemish and German knights, which the lady blazoned with pitiless accuracy, Quentin began to entertain some alarm lest he should have passed the place where his guide was to join him—a most serious disaster, and from which, should it really have taken place, the very worst con­ sequences were to be apprehended. While he hesitated whether it would be better to send back one of his followers, to see whether this might not be the case, he heard the blast of a horn, and looking in the direction from which the sound came, beheld a horseman riding very fast towards them. The low size, and wild, shaggy, untrimmed state of the animal, reminded Quentin of the mountain breed of horses in his own country; but this was much more finely limbed, and, with the same appearance of hardness, was more rapid in its movements. The head particularly, which, in the Scottish poney, is often lumpish and heavy, was small and well placed

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in the neck of this animal, with thin jaws, full sparkling eyes, and expanded nostrils. The rider was even more singular in his appearance than the horse which he rode, though that was extremely unlike the horses ofFrance. Although he managed his palfrey with great dexterity, he sate with his feet in broad stirrups, something resembling a shovel, so short, that his knees were well nigh as high as the pommel of his saddle. His dress was a red turban of small size, in which he wore a sullied plume, secured by a clasp of silver; his tunic, which was shaped like those of the Estradiots, a sort of troops whom the Venetians at that time levied in the provinces on the eastern side of their gulf, was green in colour, and tawdrily laced with gold; he wore very wide drawers or trowsers of white, though none of the cleanest, which gathered beneath the knee, and his swarthy legs were quite bare, unless for the complicated laces which bound a pair of sandals on his feet; he had no spurs, the edge of his large stirrups being so sharp as to serve to goad the horse in a very severe manner. In a crimson sash this singular horseman wore a dagger on the right side, and on the left a short crooked Moorish sword, and by a tarnished baldrick over the shoulder hung the horn which announced his approach. He had a swarthy and sun-burned visage, with a thin beard, and piercing dark eyes, a well-formed mouth and nose, and other features which might have been pronounced handsome, but for the black elf-locks which hung around his face, and the air of wildness and emaciation, which rather seemed to indicate a savage than a civilized man. “He also is a Bohemian,” said the ladies to each other; “Holy Mary, will the King again place confidence in these outcasts?” “I will question the man, if it be your pleasure,” said Quentin, “and assure myselfof his fidelity as I best may.” Durward, as well as the Ladies of Croye, had recognized in this man’s dress and appearance, the habit and the manners of those vagrants, with whom he had nearly been confounded by the hasty proceedings of Trois-Eschelles and Petit-André, and he too enter­ tained very natural apprehensions concerning the risk of reposing trust in one of that vagrant race. “Art thou come hither to seek us?” was his first question. The stranger nodded. “And for what purpose?” “To guide you to the Palace ofHim of Liege.” “Of the Bishop?” The Bohemian again nodded. “What token canst thou give me, that we should yield credence to thee?”

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“Even the old rhyme, and no other,” answered the Bohemian,— “The page slew the boar, The peer had the gloire.”

“A true token,” said Quentin; “Lead on, good fellow—I will speak further with thee presently.” Then falling back to the ladies, he said, “I am convinced this man is the guide we are to expect, for he hath brought me a pass-word, known, I think, but to the King and me. But I will discourse him further, and endeavour to ascertain how far he is to be trusted.”

Chapter six THE VAGRANT

I am as free as Nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran. The Conquest ofGrenada

While Quentin held the brief communication with the ladies necessary to assure them that this extraordinary addition to their party was the guide whom they were to expect on the King’s part, he noticed, (for he was as alert in observing the motions of the stranger, as the Bohemian could be on his part,) that the man not only turned his head as far back as he could, to peer at them, but that, with a singular sort of agility, more resembling that of a monkey than of a man, he had screwed his whole person around on the saddle, so as to sit almost sidelong upon the horse, for the convenience of watching them more attentively. Not greatly pleased with this manoeuvre, Quentin rode up to the Bohemian, and said to him, as he suddenly assumed his proper posi­ tion on the horse, “Methinks, friend, you will prove but a blind guide, if you look to the tail of your horse rather than his ears.” “And if I were actually blind,” answered the Bohemian, “I could guide you through any county in this realm of France, or in those adjoining to it.” “Yet you are no Frenchman born,” said the Scot. “I am not,” answered the guide. “What countryman, then, are you?” said Quentin. “I am of no country,” answered the guide. “How? ofno country?” repeated the Scot. “No,” answered the Bohemian, “of none. I am a Zingaro, a Bohe­ mian, an Egyptian, or whatever the Europeans, in their different lan­ guages, may chuse to call our people, but I have no country.”

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“Are you a Christian?” asked the Scotsman. The Bohemian shook his head. “Dog,” said Quentin, (for there was little toleration in the spirit of Catholicism in these days,) “doest thou worship Mahoun?” “No,” was the indifferent and concise answer of the guide, who neither seemed offended nor surprised at the young man’s violence of manner. “Are you a Pagan then, or what are you?” “I have no religion,” answered the Bohemian. Quentin Durward started back; for, though he had heard of Sara­ cens and Idolaters, it had never entered into his ideas or belief, that any body of men could exist who practised no mode of worship whatsoever. He recovered from his astonishment, to ask where his guide usually dwelt. “Wherever I chance to be for the time,” replied the Bohemian. “I have no home.” “How do you guard your property?” “Excepting the clothes which I wear, and the horse I ride on, I have no property.” “Yet you dress gaily, and ride gallantly,” said Durward. “What are your means of subsistence?” “I eat when I am hungry, drink when I am thirsty, and have no other means of subsistence than chance throws in my way,” replied the vagrant. “Under whose laws do you live?” “I acknowledge obedience to none, but as it suits my pleasure,” said the Bohemian. “Who is your leader, and commands you?” “The Father ofour tribe—ifI chuse to obey him,” said the guide— “otherwise I have no commander.” “You are then,” said the wondering querist, “destitute of all that other men are combined by. You have no law, no leader, no settled means of subsistence, no house or home. You have, may Heaven compassionate you, no country—and, may Heaven enlighten and for­ give you, you have no God! What is it that remains to you, deprived of government, domestic happiness, and religion?” “I have liberty,” said the Bohemian—“I crouch to no one—obey no one—respect no one.—I go where I will—live as I can—and die when my day comes.” “But you are subject to instant execution, at the pleasure of the Judge.” “Be it so,” returned the Bohemian; “I can but die so much the sooner.”

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“And to imprisonment also,” said the Scot; “and where, then, is your boasted freedom?” “In my thoughts,” said the Bohemian, “which no chains can bind; while yours, even when your limbs are free, remain fettered by your laws and your superstitions, your dreams of local attachment, and your fantastic visions of civil policy. Such as I are free in spirit when our limbs are chained—You are imprisoned in mind, even when your bodies are most at freedom.” “Yet the freedom of your thoughts,” said the Scot, “relieves not the pressure of the gyves on your limbs.” “For a brief time that may be endured; and if within that period I cannot extricate myself, and fail of relief from my comrades, I can always die, and death is the most perfect freedom of all.” There was a deep pause of some duration, which Quentin Durward broke by resuming his queries. “Your’s is a wandering race, unknown to the nations of Europe— Whence do they derive their origin?” “I may not tell you,” answered the Bohemian. “When will they relieve this kingdom from their presence, and return to the land from whence they came?” said the Scot. “When the day of their pilgrimage shall be accomplished,” replied his vagrant guide. “Are you not sprung from those tribes of Israel which were carried into captivity beyond the great river Euphrates?” said Quentin, who had not forgotten the lore which had been taught him at Aberbroth­ ock. “Had we been so,” answered the Bohemian, “we had followed their faith, and practised their rites.” “What is thine own name?” said Durward. “My proper name is only known to my brethren—the men beyond our tents call me Hayraddin Maugrabin, that is, Hayraddin the African Moor.” “Thou speakest too well for one who hath lived always in thy filthy horde,” said the Scot. “I have learned some of the knowledge of this land,” said Hay­ raddin.—“When I was a little boy, our tribe was chased by the hunters after human flesh. An arrow went through my mother’s head, and she died. I was entangled in the blanket on her shoulders, and was taken by the pursuers. A priest begged me from the Provost’s archers, and trained me up in Frankish learning for two or three years.” “How came you to part with him?” demanded Durward. “I stole money from him—even the God which he worshipped,” answered Hayraddin, with perfect composure; “he detected me, and

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beat me—I stabbed him with my knife, fled to the woods, and was again united to my people.” “Wretch!” said Durward, “did you murder your benefactor?” “What had he to do to burthen me with his benefits?—The Zingaro boy was no house-bred cur to dog the heels of his master, and crouch beneath his blows, for scraps of food—he was the imprisoned wolf­ whelp, which at the first opportunity broke his chain, rended his master, and returned to the wilderness.” There was another pause, when the young Scot, with a view of still further investigating the character and purpose of this suspicious guide, asked Hayraddin, “Whether it was not true that his people, amid their ignorance, pretended to a knowledge offuturity, which was not given to the sages, philosophers, and divines, of more polished society?” “We pretend to it,” said Hayraddin, “and it is with justice.” “How can it be that so high a gift is bestowed on so abject a race?” said Quentin. “Can I tell you?” answered Hayraddin—“Yes, I may indeed; but it is when you shall explain to me why the dog can trace the footsteps of a man, while man, the nobler animal, hath no power to trace those of the dog. These powers, which seem to you so wonderful, are instinctive in our race—from the lines on the face and on the hand, we can tell the future fate of those who consult us, even as surely as you know from the blossom ofthe tree in spring, what fruit it will bear in the harvest.” “I doubt ofyour knowledge, and defy you to the proof.” “Defy me not, Sir Squire,” said the Maugrabin Hayraddin—“I can tell thee, that, say what you will of your religion, the Goddess whom you worship rides in this company.” “Peace!” said Quentin, in astonishment; “on thy life, not a word further, but in answer to what I ask thee.—Can’st thou be faithful?” “I can—All men can,” said the Bohemian. “But wilt thou be faithful?” “Would’st thou believe me the more should I swear it?” answered Maugrabin, with a sneer. “Thy life is in my hand,” said the young Scot. “Strike, and see whether I fear to die,” answered the Bohemian. “Will money render thee a trusty guide?” demanded Durward. “If I be not such without it, No,” replied the heathen. “Then what will bind thee?” asked the Scot. “Kindness,” replied the Bohemian. “Shall I swear to shew thee such, if thou art true guide to us on this pilgrimage?” “No,” replied Hayraddin, “it were extravagant waste of a commod­

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ity so scarce.—I am bound to thee already.” “How?” exclaimed Durward, more surprised than ever. “Remember the chesnut-trees on the banks of the Cher—the vic­ tim, whose body thou didst cut down, was my brother, Zamet the Maugrabin.” “And yet,” said Quentin, “I find you in correspondence with those very officers by whom your brother was done to death; for it was one of them who directed me where to meet with you— the same, doubtless, who procured yonder ladies your services as a guide.” “What can we do?” answered Hayraddin, gloomily—“These men deal with us as the sheep-dogs do with the flock; they protect us for a while, drive us hither and thither at their pleasure, and always end by guiding us to the shambles.” Quentin had afterwards occasion to learn that the Bohemian spoke truth in this particular, and that the Provost-guard, employed to sup­ press the vagabond bands by which the kingdom was infested, enter­ tained correspondence amongst them, and forbore, for a certain time, the exercise of their duty, which always at last ended in conducting their allies to the gallows. This is a sort of political relation between thief and officer, for the profitable exercise of their mutual profes­ sions, which has subsisted in all countries, and is by no means unknown to our own. Durward, parting from the guide, fell back to the rest of the retinue, very little satisfied with the character of Hayraddin, and entertaining little confidence in the professions of gratitude which he had person­ ally made to him. He proceeded to sound the other two men who had been assigned him for attendants, and he was concerned to find them stupid, and as unfit to assist him with counsel, as in the rencounter they had shewn themselves reluctant to use their weapons. “It is all the better,” said Quentin to himself, his spirit rising with the apprehended difficulties of his situation; “that lovely young lady shall owe all to me.—What one hand—ay, and one head can do,— methinks I can boldly count upon. I have seen my father’s house on fire, and him and my brothers lying dead amongst the flames—I gave not an inch back then, but fought it out to the last. Now I am two years older, and have the best and fairest cause to bear me well that ever kindled mettle within a brave man’s bosom.” Acting upon this resolution, the attention and activity which Quen­ tin bestowed during the journey, had in it something that gave him the appearance of ubiquity. His principal and most favourite post was of course by the side of the ladies; who, sensible of his extreme attention to their safety, began to converse with him in almost the tone of

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familiar friendship, and appeared to take great pleasure in the naiveté, yet shrewdness, of his conversation. Yet Quentin did not suffer the fascination of this intercourse to interfere with the vigilant discharge of his duty. If he was often by the side of the Countesses, labouring to describe to the natives of a level country the Grampian mountains, and, above all, the beauties of Glen-Houlakin, he was as often riding with Hay­ raddin, in the front of the little cavalcade, questioning him about the road, and the resting-places, and recording his answers in his mind, to ascertain whether upon cross-examination he could discover any thing like meditated treachery. As often he was in the rear, endeav­ ouring to secure the attachment of the two horsemen, by kind words, gifts, and the promises of additional recompense, when their task was accomplished. In this way they travelled for more than a week, through bye-paths and unfrequented districts, and by circuitous routes, in order to avoid large towns. Nothing remarkable occurred, though they now and then met strolling gangs of Bohemians, who respected them, as under the conduct of one of their tribe,—straggling soldiers, or perhaps ban­ ditti, who deemed their party too strong to be attacked,—or parties of the Marechaussée, as they would now be termed, whom Louis, who searched the wounds of the land with steel and cautery, employed to suppress the disorderly bands which infested the interior. These last suffered them to pursue their way unmolested, by virtue of a pass­ word, with which Quentin had been furnished for that purpose by the King himself. Their resting-places were chiefly the monasteries, most of whom were obliged by the rules of their foundation to receive pilgrims, under which character the ladies travelled, with hospitality, and with­ out any troublesome inquiries into their rank and character, which most persons of distinction were desirous of concealing while in the discharge of their vows. The pretence of weariness was usually employed by the Countesses of Croye, as an excuse for instantly retiring to rest, and Quentin, as their Major Domo, arranged all that was necessary betwixt them and their entertainers, with a shrewdness which saved them all trouble, and an alacrity which failed not to excite a corresponding degree of good will on the part of those who were thus sedulously cared for. One circumstance gave Quentin peculiar trouble, and that was the character and nation of his guide; who, as a heathen, and an infidel vagabond, addicted besides to occult arts, (the badge of all his tribe,) was looked upon as a very improper guest for the holy resting-places at which the company usually halted, and was with the utmost reluctance

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admitted within even the outer circuit of their walls. This was very embarrassing; for, on the one hand, it was necessary to keep in good humour a man who was possessed of the secret of their expedition; and on the other hand, Quentin deemed it indispensable to maintain a vigilant though secret watch over Hayraddin’s motions, in order that, as far as might be, he should hold no communication with any one without being observed. This of course was impossible, if the Bohe­ mian was lodged without the precincts of the convent at which they stopped, and Durward could not help thinking that Hayraddin was desirous of bringing about this latter arrangement; for, instead of keeping himself still and quiet in the quarters allotted to him, his conversation, tricks, and songs, were, at the same time, so entertaining to the novices and younger brethren, and so unedifying in the opinion of the seniors of the fraternity, that, in more cases than one, it required all the authority, supported by threats, which Quentin could exert over him, to restrain his irreverent and untimeous jocularity, and all the interest he could make with the Superiors, to prevent the heathen hound from being thrust out of doors. He succeeded, however, by the adroit manner in which he apologized for the indecorums committed by their attendant, and hinted a hope of his being brought to a better sense of principles and behaviour, by the neighbourhood of holy reliques, consecrated buildings, and, above all, of men dedicated to religion. But upon the tenth or twelfth day of their journey, after they had entered Flanders, and were approaching the town of Namur, all the efforts of Quentin became inadequate to suppress the consequences of the scandal given by his heathen guide. The scene was a Franciscan convent, and of a strict and reformed order, and the Prior a man who afterwards died in the odour of sanctity. After rather more than the usual scruples, (as was indeed in such a case to be expected,) had been surmounted, the obnoxious Bohemian at length obtained quar­ ters in an out-house inhabited by a lay-brother, who acted as gar­ dener. The ladies retired to their apartment, as usual, and the Prior, who chanced to have some distant alliances and friends in Scotland, and who was fond of hearing foreigners tell of their native countries, invited Quentin, with whose mien and conduct he seemed much pleased, to a slight monastic refection in his own cell. Finding the Father a man of intelligence, Quentin did not neglect the opportunity of making himself acquainted with the state of affairs in the country of Liege, ofwhich, during the last two days oftheir journey, he had heard such reports as made him very apprehensive for the security of his charge during the remainder of their route, nay, even of the Bishop’s power to protect them, when they should be safely conducted to his

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residence. The replies of the Prior were not very consolatory. He said, that “the people of Liege were wealthy burghers, who, like Jeshurun of old, had waxed fat and kicked—that they were uplifted in heart because of their wealth and their privileges—that they had had divers disputes with the Duke of Burgundy, their liege lord, upon the subject of imposts and immunities—and that they had repeatedly broken out into open mutiny, whereat the Duke was so much incensed, as being a man of a hot and fiery nature, that he had sworn, by Saint George, on the next provocation, he would make the city of Liege like to the desolation of Babylon, and the downfall of Tyre, a hissing and a reproach to the whole territory of Flanders.” “And he is a prince, by all report, like to keep such a vow,” said Quentin; “so the men of Liege will probably beware how they give him occasion.” “It were to be so hoped,” said the Prior; “and such are the prayers of the godly in the land, who would not that man’s blood were poured forth like water, and that they should perish, even as utter castaways, ere they make their peace with Heaven. Also the good Bishop labours night and day to preserve peace, as well becometh a servant of the altar, for it is written in holy scripture, Beati pacifici. But”—here the good Prior stopped with a deep sigh. Quentin Durward modestly urged the great importance which it was to the ladies whom he attended, to have some assured information respecting the internal state of the country, and what an act of Chris­ tian charity it would be, if the worthy and reverend Father would enlighten them upon that subject. “It is one,” said the Prior, “on which no man speaks with willing­ ness, for those who speak evil of the powerful, etiam in cubiculo, may find that a winged thing shall carry the matter to his ears. Neverthe­ less, to render you, who seem an ingenuous youth, and your ladies, who are devout votaresses accomplishing a holy pilgrimage, the little service that is in my power, I will be plain with you.” He then looked cautiously around him, and lowered his voice, as if afraid ofbeing overheard. “The people of Liege,” he said, “are privily instigated to their frequent mutinies by Men of Belial, who pretend, but, as I hope, falsely, to have commission to that effect from our most Christian King; whom, however, I hold to deserve that term better than were consistent with his thus disturbing the peace of a neighbouring state. Yet so it is, that his name is freely used by those who uphold and inflame the discontents at Liege. There is, moreover, in the land, a nobleman of good descent, and fame in warlike affairs—but other­ wise, so to speak, Lapis offensionis et petra scandali,—a stumbling-

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block of offence to the countries of Burgundy and Flanders. His name is William de la Marck.” “Called William with the Beard,” said Quentin Durward, “or the Wild Boar ofArdennes.” “And rightly so called, my son,” said the Prior; “because he is as the wild boar of the forest, which treadeth down with his hoofs, and rendeth with his tusks. And he hath formed to himself a band of more than a thousand men, all, like himself, contemners of civil and ecclesi­ astical authority, and holds himself independent of the Duke of Bur­ gundy, and maintains himself and his followers by rapine and wrong, wrought without distinction, upon churchmen and laymen. Imposuit manus in christos Domini,—he hath stretched forth his hand upon the anointed ofthe Lord, regardless ofwhat is written,—‘Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no wrong.’—Even to our poor house did he send for sums of gold and sums of silver, as a ransom for our lives, and those of our brethren; to which we returned a Latin sup­ plication, stating our inability to answer his demand, and exhorting him in the words of the Preacher, Ne moliaris amico tuo malum cum habet in tefiduciam. Nevertheless, this Guliehnus Barbatus, this Wil­ liam de la Marck, as completely ignorant of humane letters as of humanity itself, replied, in his ridiculous jargon, ‘Si non payatis, bru­ labo monasterium vestrum.’” “Of which rude Latin, however, you, my good father, were at no loss to conceive the interpretation.” “Alas, my son,” said the Prior, “Fear and Necessity are shrewd interpreters, and we were obliged to melt down the silver vessels of our altar to satisfy the rapacity of this cruel chief—may heaven requite it to him seven-fold! Pereat improbus—Amen, amen, anathema esto !” “I marvel,” said Quentin, “the Duke ofBurgundy, who is so strong and powerful, doth not bait this boar, of whose ravage I have already heard so much.” “Alas! my son,” said the Prior, “he is now at Peronne, assembling his captains of hundreds and his captains of thousands, to make war against France, and thus, while Heaven hath set discord between the hearts of those great princes, the country is misused by such subor­ dinate oppressors. But it is in evil time that the Duke neglects the cure of these internal gangrenes, for this William de la Marek hath of late entertained open communication with Rouslaer and Pavilion, the chiefs of the discontented at Liege, and it is to be feared he will soon stir them up to some desperate enterprize.” “But the Bishop of Liege,” said Quentin, “he hath still power to subdue this disquiet and turbulent spirit—hath he not, good father? —Your answer to this question concerns us much.”

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“The Bishop, my child,” replied the Prior, “hath the sword of Saint Peter, as well as the keys. He hath power as a secular prince, and he hath the powerful protection of the House of Burgundy; he hath also spiritual authority as a prelate, and he supports both with a reasonable force of good soldiers and men-at-arms. This William de la Marck was bred in his household, and bound to him by many benefits. But he gave vent, even in the court of the Bishop, to his fierce and blood­ thirsty temper, and was expelled thence for a homicide, committed upon one ofthe Bishop’s chief domestics. From thenceforward, being banished from the good Prelate’s presence, he hath been his constant and unrelenting foe, and now, I grieve to say, he hath girded his loins, and strengthened his horn against him.” “You consider, then, the situation of the worthy Prelate as being dangerous,” said Quentin, very anxiously. “Alas! my son,” said the good Franciscan, “what or who is there in this weary wilderness, whom we may not hold as in danger? But heaven forefend I should speak of the reverend Prelate as one whose peril is imminent. He has much treasure, true counsellors, and brave soldiers; and, moreover, a messenger who passed hither to the eastward yesterday, saith that the Duke hath dispatched, upon the Bishop’s request, an hundred men-at-arms, who, with the retinue belonging to each lance, are enough to deal with William de la Marck, on whose name be sorrow!—Amen.” At this crisis their conversation was interrupted by the Sacristan, who, in a voice almost inarticulate with anger, accused the Bohemian of having practised the most abominable arts of delusion among the younger brethren. He had added to their nightly meal cups of a heady and intoxicating cordial, often times the strength ofthe most powerful wine, under which several of the fraternity had succumbed,—and indeed, although the Sacristan had been strong to resist its influence, they might yet see, from his inflamed countenance and thick speech, that even he, the accuser himself, was in some degree affected by this unhallowed potation. Moreover, the Bohemian had sung songs of worldly vanity and impure pleasures; he had derided the cord of Saint Francis, made jest of his miracles, and termed his votaries fools and lazy knaves. Lastly, he had practised palmistry, and foretold to the young Father Cherubin, that he was beloved by a beautiful lady, who should make him father to a thriving boy. The Father Prior listened to these complaints for some time in silence, as struck with mute horror by their enormous atrocity. When the Sacristan had concluded, he rose up, descended to the court of the convent, and ordered the lay brethren, on pain of the worst con­ sequences of spiritual disobedience, to beat Hayraddin out of the

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sacred precincts, with their broom-staves and cart-whips. This sentence was executed accordingly, in the presence of Quen­ tin Durward, who, howsoever vexed at the occurrence, easily saw that his interference would be ofno avail. The discipline inflicted upon the delinquent, notwithstanding the exhortations of the Superior, was more ludicrous than formidable. The Bohemian ran hither and thither through the court, amongst the clamour ofvoices, and noise ofblows, some of which reached him not, because purposely mis-aimed; others, designed for his person, were eluded by his activity; and the few that fell upon his back and shoul­ ders, he took without either complaint or reply. The noise and riot was the greater, that the inexperienced cudgel-players, among whom Hayraddin ran the gauntlet, hit each other more frequently than they did him, till at length, desirous of ending a scene which was more scandalous than edifying, the Prior commanded the wicket to be flung open, and the Bohemian, darting through it with the speed of lightning, fled forth into the moonlight. During this scene, a suspicion which Durward had formerly enter­ tained, recurred with additional strength. Hayraddin had, that very morning, promised to him more modest and discreet behaviour than he was wont to exhibit, when they rested in a convent on their journey; yet he had broken his engagement, and had been even more offens­ ively obstreperous than usual. Something probably lurked under this; for whatever were the Bohemian’s deficiencies, he lacked neither sense, nor, when he pleased, self-command; and might it not be probable that he wished to hold some communication, either with his own horde or some one else, from which he was debarred in the course of the day, by the vigilance with which he was watched by Quentin, and had recourse to this stratagem in order to get himself turned out of the convent? No sooner did this suspicion dart once more through Quentin’s mind, than, alert as he always was in his motions, he resolved to follow his cudgelled guide, and observe (secretly if possible) how he dis­ posed of himself. Accordingly, when the Bohemian fled, as already mentioned, out at the gate of the convent, Quentin, hastily explaining to the Prior the necessity of keeping sight of his guide, followed in pursuit of him.

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Chepter Seven THE ESPIED SPY What, the rude ranger? and spied spy?—hands off— You are for no such rustics. Ben Jonson’s Tale ofRobin Hood

When Quentin sallied from the convent, he could mark the pre­ cipitate retreat of the Bohemian, whose dark figure was seen in the far moonlight, flying with the speed of a flogged hound quite through the street ofthe little village, and across the level meadow beyond. “My friend runs fast,” said Quentin to himself; “but he must run faster yet to escape the fleetest foot ever pressed the heather of Glen­ houlakin.” Being fortunately without his cloak and armour, the Scottish mountaineer was at liberty to put forth a speed which was unrivalled in his own glens, and which, notwithstanding the rate at which the Bohe­ mian ran, was like soon to bring his pursuer up with him. This was not, however, Quentin’s object; for he considered it more essential to watch his motions, than to interrupt them. He was the rather led to this, by the steadiness with which the Bohemian directed his course; and which continuing, even after the impulse of the violent expulsion had subsided, seemed to indicate that his career had some more certain goal for its object than could have suggested itself to a person unexpectedly turned out of good quarters, when midnight was approaching, to seek a new place of repose. He never even looked behind him; and consequently Durward was enabled to follow him unobserved. At length the Bohemian having traversed the meadow, and attained the side of a little stream, the sides of which were clothed with alders and with willows, Quentin observed that he stood still, and blew a low note on his horn, which was answered by a whistle at some little distance. “This is a rendezvous, ” thought Quentin; “but how shall I come near enough to overhear the import of what passes?—the sound ofmy steps, and the rustling of the boughs through which I must force my passage will betray me, unless I am cautious—I will stalk them, by Saint Andrew, as if they were Glen-Isla deer—they shall learn that I have not conned woodcraft for nought. Yonder they meet, the two shadows—and two of them there are—odds against me if I am dis­ covered, and if their purpose be unfriendly, as is much to be doubted —I am disarmed—And then the Countess Isabelle loses her poor

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friend!—Well—and he were not worthy to be called such, if he were not ready to meet a dozen in her behalf—have I not crossed swords with Dunois, the best knight in France, and shall I fear a tribe of yonder vagabonds?—pshaw—God and Saint Andrew to friend, they will find me both stout and wary.” Thus resolving, and with a degree of caution taught him by his sylvan habits, our friend descended into the channel of the little stream, which varied in depth, sometimes scarce covering his shoes, sometimes coming up to his knees, and so crept along, his form concealed by the boughs overhanging the bank, and his steps unheard amid the ripple of the water. (We have ourselves, in the days of yore, thus approached the nest of the wakeful raven.) In this manner, the Scot drew near unperceived, until he distinctly heard the voices of those who were the subjects of his observation, though he could not distinguish the words. Being at this time under the drooping branches of a magnificent weeping willow, which almost swept the surface of the water, he caught hold of one of its boughs, by the assistance of which, exerting at once much agility, dexterity, and strength, he raised himself up into the body of the tree, and sate, secure from discovery, among the central branches. From this situation he could discover that the person with whom Hayraddin was now conversing was one of his own tribe, and, at the same time, he perceived, to his great disappointment, that no approx­ imation could enable him to comprehend their language, which was totally unknown to him. They laughed much; and as Hayraddin made a sign of skipping about, and ended by rubbing his shoulder with his hand, Durward had no doubt that he was relating the story of the bastinading, which he had sustained previous to his escape from the convent. On a sudden, a whistle was again heard in the distance, which was once more answered by a low tone or two of Hayraddin’s horn. Pres­ ently afterwards a tall stout soldierly-looking man, a strong contrast in point of thewes and sinews to the small and slender-limbed Bohe­ mians, made his appearance. He had a broad baldrick over his shoul­ der, which sustained a sword that hung almost across his person; his hose were much slashed, through which slashes was drawn silk or tiffany, of various colours; they were tied by at least five hundred points or strings, made of ribband, to the tight buff-jacket which he wore, and the right sleeve of which displayed a silver boar’s head, the crest of his Captain. A very small hat sat jauntily on one side of his head, from which descended a quantity of curled hair, which fell on each side of a broad face, and mingled with as broad a beard, about four inches long. He held a long lance in his hand; and his whole

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equipment was that of one of the German adventurers, who were known by the name of Lanzknechts, in English, spearmen, who con­ stituted a formidable part ofthe infantry of the period. These mercen­ aries were, of course, a fierce and rapacious soldiery, and having an idle tale current among themselves, that a Lanzknecht was refused admittance into heaven on account of his vices, and into hell on account of his tumultuous, mutinous, and insubordinate disposition, they manfully acted as if they neither sought the one, nor eschewed the other. “Donner and blitz!” was his first salutation, in a sort of GermanFrench, which we can only imperfectly imitate, “Why have you kept me dancing in attendance dis dree nights?” “I could not see you sooner, Meinherr,” said Hayraddin, very sub­ missively; “there is a young Scot, with as quick an eye as the wild-cat, who watches my least motion. He suspects me already, and, should he find his suspicion confirmed, I were a dead man on the spot, and he would carry back the women into France again.” “Was henker!” said the Lanzknecht; “we are three—we will attack them to-morrow, and carry the women offwithout going further. You said the two valets were cowards—you and your comrade may manage them, and the Teufel sall hold me, but I match your Scots wild-cat.” “You will find that fool-hardy,” said Hayraddin; “for, besides that we ourselves count not much on fighting, this spark hath matched himself with the best knight in France, and come off with honour—I have seen those who saw him press Dunois hard enough.” “Hagel and sturmwetter! it is but your cowardice that speaks,” said the German soldier. “I am no more a coward than yourself,” said Hayraddin; “but my trade is not fighting—ifyou keep the appointment where it was laid, it is well—ifnot, I guide them safely to the Bishop’s Palace, and William de la Marck may easily possess himself of them there, providing he is half as strong as he pretended a week hence.” “Poz tausend!” said the soldier, “we are as strong and stronger, but we hear ofa hundreds of the lances ofBurgund,—das ist,—see you,— five men to a lance do make five hundreds, and then, hold me the devil, they will be fainer to seek for us, than we to seek for them, for der Bischoffhath a goot force on footing—ay, indeed!” “You must then hold to the ambuscade, at the Cross of the Three Kings, or give up the adventure,” said the Bohemian. “Geb up—Geb up the adventure of the rich bride for our noble hauptman—Teufel! I will charge through hell first.—Mein soul, we will be all princes and hertzogs, whom they call dukes, and we will hab a snab at the wein-kellar, and at the mouldy French crowns, and it may

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be at the pretty garces too, when He with de beard is weary on them.” “The ambuscade at the Cross of the Three Kings then still holds,” said the Bohemian. “Mein Gott, ay,—you will swear to bring them there, and when they are on their knees before the cross, and down from off their horses, which all men do, except such black heathens as thou, we will make in on them, and they are ours.” “Ay, but I promised this piece of necessary villainy only on one condition,” said Hayraddin.—“I will not have a hair of the boy’s head touched. If you swear this to me, by your Three dead Men of Cologne, I will swear to you, by the Seven Night Walkers, that I will serve you truly as to the rest. And ifyou break your oath, the Night Walkers shall wake you seven nights from your sleep, between night and morning, and, on the eighth, they shall strangle and devour you.” “But, donner and hagel, what need you be so curious about the life of this boy, who is neither your bloot or kin?” said the German. “No matter for that, honest Heinrick; some men have pleasure in cutting throats, some in keeping them whole—So swear to me, that you will spare him life and limb, or, by the bright star Aldeboran, this matter shall go no further—Swear, and by the Three Kings, as you call them, ofCologne—I know you care for no other oath.” “Du bist ein comische man,” said the Lanzknecht, “I was swear”—– “Not yet,” said the Bohemian—“Faces about, brave Lanzknecht, and look to the east, else the Kings may not hear you.” The soldier took the oath in manner prescribed, and then declared that he would be in readiness, observing the place was quite conveni­ ent, being scarce five miles from their present leaguer. “But, were it not making sure work to have a fahnlein of riders on the left side of the river, which might trap them if they go that way?” The Bohemian considered a moment, and then answered, “No— the appearance of their troops in that direction might alarm the gar­ rison of Namur, and then they would have a doubtful fight, instead of assured success. Besides, they shall travel on the right bank of the Maes, for I can guide them which way I will, for sharp as this same Scottish mountaineer is, he hath never asked any one’s advice, save mine, upon the direction of their route.—Undoubtedly, I was assigned to him by an assured friend, whose word no man mistrusts till they come to know him a little.” “Hark ye, friend Hayraddin,” said the soldier, “I would ask you somewhat.—You and your bruder were, as you say yourself, gross sternen-deuter, that is, star-lookers and geister-seers—Now, what henker was it made you not foresee him to be hanged?”

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“I will tell you, Heinrick,” said Hayraddin;—“if I could have known my brother was such fool as to tell the counsel of King Louis to Duke Charles of Burgundy, I could have foretold his death as sure as I can foretell fair weather in July. Louis hath both ears and hands at the Court of Burgundy, and Charles’s counsellors love the chink of French gold as well as thou doest the clatter of a wine-pot.—But fare thou well, and keep appointment—I must await my lively Scot a bow­ shot without the gate ofthe den of lazy swine yonder, else will he think me about some excursion which bodes no good to the success of his journey.” “Take a draught of comfort first,” said the Lanzknecht, tendering him a flask,—“but I forget; thou art beast enough to drink nothing but water, like a vile vassal ofMahound and Termagaunt.” “Thou art thyself a vassal of the wine-measure, and the flagon,” said the Bohemian,—“I marvel not that thou art only trusted with the blood-thirsty, and the violent part ofexecuting what better heads have devised.—He must drink no wine, who would know the thoughts of others, or hide his own. But why preach to thee, who hast a thirst as eternal as a sand-bank in Arabia?—Fare thee well.—Take my com­ rade Tarik with thee—his appearance about the monastery may breed suspicion.” The two worthies parted, after each had again pledged himself to keep the rendezvous at the Cross of the Three Kings. Quentin Durward watched until they were out of sight, and then descended from his place of concealment, his heart throbbing at the narrow escape which he and his fair charge had made—if, indeed, it could yet be achieved,—from a deep-laid plan of villainy. Afraid, on his return to the convent, of stumbling upon Hayraddin, he made a long detour, at the expense of traversing some very rough ground, and was thus enabled to return to the monastery on a different point from that on which he left it. On the route, he communed earnestly with himself concerning the safest plan to be pursued. He had formed the resolution, when he first heard Hayraddin avow his treachery, to put him to death so soon as the conference broke up, and his companions were at a sufficient distance. But when he heard the Bohemian express so much interest in saving his own life, he felt it would be difficult for him to execute upon him, in its rigour, the punishment his treachery had deserved. He therefore resolved to spare his life, and even, ifpossible, still to use his services as a guide, under such precautions as should ensure the security of the precious charge, to the preservation of which his own life was internally devoted. But whither were they to turn—the Countesses of Croye could

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neither obtain shelter in Burgundy, from which they had fled, nor in France, from which they had been in a manner expelled. The violence of Duke Charles in the one country, was scarce more to be feared than the cold and tyrannical policy of King Louis in the other. After deep thought, Durward could form no better or safer plan for their safety, than that, evading the ambuscade, they should take the road to Liege by the left hand of the Maes, and throw themselves, as the ladies themselves originally designed, upon the protection of the excellent Bishop. That Prelate’s will to protect them could not be doubted, and, if reinforced by this Burgundian party of men-at-arms, he might be considered as having the power. At any rate, if the dangers to which he was exposed from the hostility of William de la Marck, and from the troubles in the city of Liege, appeared imminent, he could still protect the unfortunate ladies until they could be dispatched to Germany with a suitable escort. To sum up this reasoning,—for when is a mental argument con­ ducted without some reference to selfish considerations?—Quentin imagined that the death or captivity to which King Louis had, in cold blood, consigned him, set him at liberty from his engagements to the Crown of France; which, therefore, it was his determined purpose to renounce. The Bishop of Liege was likely, he concluded, to need soldiers, and he thought that, by the interposition of his fair friends, who now, especially the elder Countess, treated him with much familiarity, he might get some command, and perhaps might have the charge of conducting the Ladies of Croye to some place more safe than the neighbourhood of Liege. And to conclude, the ladies had talked, although almost in a sort of jest, of raising the Countess’s own vassals, and, as others did in these stormy times, fortifying her strong castle against all assailants whatsoever. And they had jestingly asked Quentin, whether he would accept the perilous office of their Senes­ chal; and on his accepting the office with ready glee and devotion, they had, in the same spirit, permitted him to kiss both their hands on that confidential and honourable appointment. Nay, he thought that the hand of the Countess Isabelle, one of the best formed and most beautiful to which true vassal ever did such homage, trembled when his lips rested on it a moment longer than ceremony required, and that some confusion appeared on her cheek and in her eye as she withdrew it. Something might come of all this; and what brave man, at Quentin Durward’s age, but would gladly have taken the thoughts which it awakened, into the considerations which were to determine his con­ duct? This point settled, he had next to consider in what degree he was to use the farther guidance of the faithless Bohemian. He had

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renounced his first thought of killing him in the wood, and if he took another guide, and dismissed him alive, it would be sending the traitor to the camp ofWilliam de la Marck, with intelligence of their motions. He thought of taking the Prior into his councils, and requesting him to detain the Bohemian by force until they should have time to reach the Bishop’s castle. But, on reflection, he dared not hazard such a pro­ position to one who was timid both as an old man and a friar, who held the safety of his convent the most important object of his duty, and who trembled at the mention of the Wild Boar of Ardennes. At length Durward settled a plan of operation, on which he could the better reckon, as the execution rested entirely upon himself, and in the cause in which he was engaged he felt himself capable of every thing. With a firm heart, and a bold heart, though conscious of the dangers of his situation, Quentin might be compared to one walking under a load, of the weight of which he is conscious, but which yet is not beyond his strength and power of endurance. Just as his plan was determined, he reached the convent. Upon knocking gently at the gate, a brother, considerately stationed for that purpose by the Prior, opened it, and acquainted him that the brethren were to remain in the choir till day-break, praying Heaven to forgive to the community the various scandals which had that evening taken place among them. The worthy friar offered Quentin permission to attend their devo­ tions; but his clothes were in such a wet condition, that the young Scot was obliged to decline the opportunity, and request permission to sit by the kitchen fire, in order to his attire being dried before morning, as he was particularly desirous that the Bohemian, when they should next meet, should observe no traces of his having been abroad during the night. The friar not only granted his request, but afforded him his own company, which fell in very happily with the desire which Dur­ ward had to obtain information concerning the two routes which he had heard mentioned by the Bohemian in his conversation with the Lanzknecht. The friar, entrusted upon many occasions with the busi­ ness of the convent abroad, was the person in the fraternity best qualified to afford him the information he requested, but observed that, as true pilgrims, it became the duty of the ladies whom Quentin escorted to take the road on the right side of the Maes, by the Cross of the Kings, where the blessed reliques of Caspar, Melchior, and Bal­ thasar, (as the Catholic Church has named the eastern Magi who came to Bethlehem with their offerings,) had rested as they were transported to Cologne, and on which spot they had wrought many miracles. Quentin replied, that his ladies were determined to observe all the

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holy stations with the utmost punctuality, and would certainly visit that of the Cross, either in going to, or returning from Cologne, but they had heard reports that the road by the right side of the river was presently rendered unsafe by the soldiers of the ferocious William de la Marck. “Now may Heaven forbid,” said Father Francis, “that the Wild Boar of Ardennes should again make his lair so near us!—Neverthe­ less, the broad Maes will be a good barrier betwixt us, even should it so chance.” “But it will be no barrier between my ladies and the marauder, should we cross the river, and travel on the right bank,” answered the Scot. “Heaven will protect its own, young man,” said the friar; “for it were hard to think that the Kings of yonder blessed city of Cologne, who will not endure that a Jew or Infidel should even enter within the walls oftheir town, could be oblivious enough to permit their worship­ pers, coming to their shrine as true pilgrims, to be plundered and misused by such a miscreant dog as this Boar of Ardennes, who is worse than a whole desert of Saracen heathens, and all the ten tribes oflsraeltoboot.” Whatever reliance Quentin, as a sincere Catholic, was bound to rest upon the special protection of Melchior, Caspar, and Balthasar, he could not but recollect, that the pilgrim habits of the ladies being assumed out of mere earthly policy, he and his charge could scarce expect their countenance on the present occasion; and therefore resolved, as far as possible, to avoid placing the ladies in any predica­ ment where miraculous interposition might be necessary; whilst, in the simplicity of his good faith, he himself vowed a pilgrimage to the Three Kings of Cologne in his own proper person, providing the simulate design of those over whose safety he was now watchful, should be permitted by those reasonable and royal, as well as sainted personages, to attain the desired effect. That he might enter into this obligation with all solemnity, he requested the friar to shew him into one of the various chapels which opened from the main body of the church of the convent, where upon his knees, and with sincere devotion, he ratified the vow which he had made internally. The distant sound of the choir, the solemnity of the deep and dead hour which he had chosen for this act of devotion, the effect of the glimmering lamp with which the little Gothic building was illuminated—all contributed to throw Quentin’s mind into the state when it most readily acknowledges its human frailty, and seeks that supernatural aid and protection, which, in every worship, must be connected with repentance for past sins and resolutions of future

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amendment. That the object of his devotion was misplaced, was not the fault of Quentin; and, its purpose being sincere, we can scarce suppose it unacceptable to the only true Deity, who regards the motives and not the forms of prayer, and in whose eyes the sincere devotion ofa heathen is more estimable than the specious hypocrisy of a Pharisee. Having commended himself and his helpless companions to the Saints, and to the keeping of Providence, Quentin at length retired to rest, leaving the friar much edified by the depth and sincerity of his devotion.

Chapter Eight PALMISTRY

When many a merry tale and many a song Cheer’d the rough road, we wish’d the rough road long. The rough road, then, returning in a round, Mock’d our enchanted steps, for all was fairy ground. Samuel Johnson

By peep of day Quentin Durward had forsaken his little cell, had roused the sleepy grooms, and, with more than his wonted care, seen that every thing was prepared for the day’s journey. Girths and bridles, the horse-furniture, and the shoes of the horses themselves, were carefully inspected with his own eyes, that there might be as little chance as possible of the occurrence of any of those casualties, which, petty as they seem, often interrupt or disconcert a journey. The horses were also under his own inspection carefully fed, so as to render them fit for a long day’s journey, or, if that should be necessary, for a hasty flight. Quentin then betook himself to his own chamber, armed himself with unusual care, and belted on his sword with the feeling at once of approaching danger, and of stern determination to dare it to the uttermost. These generous feelings gave him a loftiness of step, and a dignity of manner, which the Ladies of Croye had not yet observed in him, though they had been highly pleased and interested by the grace, yet naiveté, of his general behaviour and conversation, and the mixture of shrewd intelligence which naturally belonged to him, with the simpli­ city arising from his secluded education and distant country. He let them understand, that it would be necessary that they should prepare for their journey this morning rather earlier than usual; and, accord­

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ingly, they left the convent immediately after a morning repast, for which, as well as the other hospitalities of the House, the ladies made acknowledgment by a donative to the altar befitting rather their rank than their appearance. But this excited no suspicion, as they were supposed to be English-women; and the suspicion of superior wealth attached at that time to the insular character as strongly as in our own day. The Prior blessed them as they mounted to depart, and congratu­ lated Quentin on the absence of his heathen guide; “for,” said the venerable man, “better stumble in the path, than be upheld by the arm of a thief or robber.” Quentin was not quite ofhis opinion; for, dangerous as he knew the Bohemian to be, he thought he could use his services, and, at the same time, baffle his treasonable purpose, now that he saw clearly to what it tended. But his anxiety upon the subject was soon at an end, for the little cavalcade was not an hundred yards from the monastery and the village before Maugrabin joined it, riding as usual on his little active and wild-looking jennet. Their road led them along the side of the same brook where Quentin had overheard the mysterious conference of the preceding evening, and Hayraddin had not long rejoined them, ere they passed under the very willow tree which had afforded Dur­ ward the means of concealment, when he became an unsuspected hearer of what then passed betwixt that false guide and the Lanz­ knecht. The recollections which the spot brought back stirred Quentin to enter abruptly into conversation with his guide, whom hitherto he had scarce spoken to. “Where hast thou found night-quarter, thou profane knave?” said the Scot. “Your wisdom may guess, by looking on my gabardine,” answered the Bohemian, pointing to his dress, which was covered with the seeds ofhay. “A good hay-stack,” said Quentin, “is a convenient bed for an astrologer, and a much better than a heathen scoffer at our blessed religion, and its ministers, ever deserves.” “It suited my Klepper better than me though,” said Hayraddin, patting his horse on the neck; “for he had food and shelter at the same time. The old bald fools turned him loose, as if a wise man’s horse could have infected with wit or sagacity a whole convent of asses. Lucky that Klepper knows my whistle, and follows me as truly as a hound, or we had never met again, and you in your turn might have whistled for a guide.” “I have told thee more than once,” said Durward, sternly, “to

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restrain thy ribaldry when thou chancest to be in worthy men’s com­ pany, a thing which, I believe, hath rarely happed to thee in thy life before now; and I promise thee that, did I hold thee as faithless a guide as I esteem thee a blasphemous and worthless caitiff, my Scot­ tish dirk and thy heathenish heart had ere now been acquainted, although the doing such a deed were as ignoble as the sticking of swine.” “A wild boar is near a-kin to a sow,” said the Bohemian, without flinching from the sharp look with which Quentin regarded him, or altering, in the slightest degree, the caustic indifference which he affected in his language; “and many men,” he subjoined, “find both pride, pleasure, and profit in sticking them.” Astonished at the man’s ready impudence, and uncertain whether he did not know more of his own history and feelings than was pleas­ ant for him to converse upon, Quentin broke off a conversation in which he had gained no advantage over Maugrabin, and fell back to his accustomed post beside the ladies. We have already observed, that a considerable degree of familiarity had begun to establish itself between them. The elder Countess treated him (being once well assured of the nobility of his birth) like a favoured equal; and though her niece shewed her regard to their protector less freely, yet, under every disadvantage ofbashfulness and timidity, Quentin thought he could plainly perceive that his company and conversation were not by any means indifferent to her. Nothing gives such life and soul to youthful gaiety as the conscious­ ness that it is successfully received, and Quentin had accordingly, during the former period of their journey, amused his fair charge with the liveliness of his conversation, and the songs and tales of his native country, the former of which he sung in his native language, while his efforts to render the latter into his foreign and imperfect French, gave rise to a hundred little mistakes and errors of speech, as diverting as the narratives themselves. But on this anxious morning, he rode beside the ladies of Croye without any of his usual attempts to amuse them, and they could not help observing his silence as something remarkable. “Our young champion has seen a wolf,” said the Lady Hameline, alluding to an ancient superstition, “and he has lost his tongue in consequence.” “To say I had tracked a fox were nearer the mark,” thought Dur­ ward, but gave the reply no utterance. “Are you well, Seignior Quentin?” said the Countess Isabelle, in a tone of interest at which she herselfblushed, while she felt that it was something more than the distance between them warranted.

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“He hath sate up carousing with the jolly friars,” said the Lady Hameline; “the Scots are like the Germans, who spend all their mirth over the Rhein-wein, and bring only their staggering steps to the dance in the evening, and their aching heads to the ladies’ bower in the morning.” “Nay, gentle ladies,” said Quentin, “I deserve not your reproach— the good friars were at their devotions almost all night, and for myself, my drink was barely a cup of their thinnest and most ordinary wine.” “It is the badness of his cheer that has put him out of humour,” said the Countess Isabelle. “Cheer up, Seignior Quentin, and should we ever visit my ancient Castle of Bracquemont together, if I myself should stand your cup-bearer, and hand it to you, you shall have a generous cup of wine, that the like never grew upon the vines of Hochheim or Johannisberg.” “A glass of water, noble lady, fromyour hand”—Thus did Quentin begin, but his voice trembled; and Isabelle continued, as if she had been insensible of the tenderness of the accentuation upon the per­ sonal pronoun. “The wine was stocked in the deep vaults of Bracquemont, by my great-grandfather the Rinegrave Godfrey”—– “Who won the hand of her great-grandmother,” said the Lady Hameline, interrupting her niece, “by proving himself the best son of chivalry, at the great tournament of Strasbourg—ten knights were slain in the lists. But these days are now over, and no one now thinks of encountering peril for the sake of honour, or to relieve distressed beauty.” To this speech, which was made in the tone in which a modem beauty, whose charms are rather on the wane, may be heard to con­ demn the rudeness of the present age, Quentin Durward took upon him to reply, “that there was no lack of that chivalry which the Lady Hameline seemed to consider as extinct, and that, were it eclipsed everywhere else, it would still glow in the bosoms of the Scottish gentlemen.” “Hear him!” said the Lady Hameline; “he would have us believe that in his cold and bleak country, still lives the noble fire which has decayed in France and Germany!—the poor youth is like a Swiss mountaineer, mad with partiality to his native land—he will next tell us of the vines and olives of Scotland.” “No, madam,” said Durward; “of the wine and the oil of our mountains I can say little more than that our swords can compel these rich productions, as tribute from our wealthier neighbours. But for the unblemished faith and unfaded honour of Scotland, I must now put to the proof how far you can repose trust in it, however mean the

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individual who can offer nothing more as a pledge of your safety.” “You speak mysteriously—You know ofsome pressing and present danger,” said the Lady Hameline. “I have read it in his eye for this hour past,” exclaimed the Lady Isabelle, clasping her hands. “Sacred Virgin, what will become ofus?” “Nothing, I hope, but what you would desire,” answered Durward. “And now I am compelled to ask—gentle ladies, can you trust me?” “Trust you?” answered the Countess Hameline—“certainly—but why the question? or how far do you ask our confidence?” “I, on my part,” said the Countess Isabelle, “trust you implicitly, and without condition—ifyou can deceive us, Quentin, I will no more look for truth, save in Heaven.” “Gentle lady,” replied Durward, highly gratified, “you do me but justice. My object is to alter our route, by proceeding directly by the left bank of the Maes to Liege, instead of crossing at Namur. This differs from the order assigned by King Louis, and the instructions given to the guide. But I heard news in the monastery of marauders on the right bank of the Maes, and ofthe march ofBurgundian soldiers to suppress them. Both circumstances alarm me for your safety. Have I your permission so far to deviate from the route ofyour journey?” “My ample and full permission,” said the younger lady. “Cousin,” said the Lady Hameline, “I believe with you, that this youth means us well—but bethink you—we transgress the instruc­ tions of King Louis, so positively iterated.” “And why should we regard his instructions?” said the Lady Isa­ belle. “I am, I thank Heaven for it, no subject of his, and, as a suppli­ ant, he has abused the confidence he induced me to repose in him. I would not dishonour this young gentleman by weighing his word for an instant against the injunctions of yonder crafty and selfish despot.” “Now, may God bless you for that very word, Lady,” said Quentin, joyously; “and if I deserve not the trust it expresses, tearing with wild horses in this life, and eternal tortures in the next, were e’en too good for my deserts.” So saying, he spurred his horse, and rejoined the Bohemian. This worthy seemed of a remarkably passive, if not a forgiving temper. Injury or threat never dwelt, or at least seemed not to dwell, in his recollection; and he entered into the conversation which Durward presently commenced, just as if there had been no unkindly word betwixt them in the course ofthe morning. The dog, thought the Scotsman, snarls not now, because he intends to clear scores with me at once and forever, when he can snatch me by the very throat; but we will try for once whether we cannot foil a traitor at his own weapons.—“Honest Hayraddin,” he said, “thou hast trav­

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elled with us for ten days, yet hast never shewn us a specimen of your skill in fortune-telling; which you are, nevertheless, so fond of prac­ tising, that you must needs display your prophetic gifts in every con­ vent at which we stop, at the risk of being repaid by a night’s lodging under a hay-stack.” “You have never asked me for a specimen of my skill,” said the gypsey. “You are like the rest of the world, contented to ridicule those mysteries which they do not understand.” “Give me a proof of your skill,” said Quentin; and, ungloving his hand, he held it out to the seer. Hayraddin carefully regarded all the lines which crossed each other on the Scotsman’s palm, and noted, with equally scrupulous attention, the little risings or swellings at the roots of the fingers, which were then believed as intimately connected with the disposition, habits, and fortunes of the individual, as the organs of the brain are pretended to be in our own time. “Here is a hand,” said Hayraddin, “which speaks of toils endured, and dangers encountered. I read in it an early acquaintance with the hilt of the sword, and yet some acquaintance with the clasps of the mass-book.” “This of my past life you may have learned elsewhere,” said Quen­ tin; “tell me something of the future.” “This line from the hill of Venus,” said the Bohemian, “not broken off abruptly, but attending and accompanying the line of life, argues a certain and large fortune by marriage, whereby the party shall be raised among the wealthy and the noble by the influence of successful love.” “Such promises you make to all who ask your advice,” said Quen­ tin; “they are part ofyour art.” “What I tell you is as certain,” said Hayraddin, “as that you shall in brief space be menaced with mighty danger; which I infer from this bright blood-red line cutting the table-line transversely, and intimat­ ing stroke of sword, or other violence, from which you shall only be saved by the attachment of a faithful friend.” “Thyself, ha?” said Quentin, somewhat indignant that the chiro­ mantist should thus practise on his credulity, and endeavour to found a reputation by predicting the consequences of his own treachery. “My art,” replied the Zingaro, “tells me nought that concerns myself.” “In this, then, the seers of my land,” said Quentin, “excel your boasted knowledge; for their skill teaches them the dangers by which they are themselves beset. I left not my hills without having felt a portion of the double vision with which their inhabitants are gifted,

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and I will give thee a proof of it, in exchange for thy specimen of palmistry. Hayraddin, the danger which threatens me lies on the right bank of the river—I will avoid it by travelling to Liege on the left bank.” The guide listened with an apathy, which, knowing the circum­ stances in which Hayraddin stood, Quentin could not by any means comprehend. “If you accomplish your purpose,” was the Bohemian’s reply, “the dangerous crisis will be transferred from your lot to mine.” “I thought,” said Quentin, “that you said but now, that you could not presage your own fortune?” “Not in the manner in which I have but now told you yours,” answered Hayraddin; “but it requires little knowledge of Louis of Valois, to presage that he will hang your guide, because your pleasure was to deviate from the road which he recommended.” “The attaining with safety the purpose ofthe journey, and ensuring its happy termination,” said Quentin, “must atone for a deviation from the exact line of the prescribed route.” “Ay,” replied the Bohemian, “if you are sure that the King thought ofthe same termination ofthe pilgrimage which he insinuated to you.” “And of what other termination is it possible that he could have been meditating? or why should you suppose he had any purpose in his thought, other than was avowed in his direction?” answered Quentin. “Simply,” replied the Zingaro, “that those who know ought of the Most Christian King, are aware, that the purpose about which he seems most anxious, is always that which he is least willing to declare. Let our gracious Louis send twelve embassies, and I will forfeit my neck to the gallows a year before it is due, if in eleven of them there is not something at the bottom of the ink-horn more than the pen has written in the letters of credence.” “I regard not your foul suspicions,” replied Quentin; “my duty is plain and peremptory—to convey these ladies in safety to Liege, and I take it on me to think that I best discharge that duty in changing our prescribed route, and keeping the left side of the river Maes. It is likewise the direct road to Liege. By crossing the river, we should lose time, and incur fatigue, to no purpose—wherefore should we do so?” “Only because pilgrims, as they call themselves, destined for Cologne,” said Hayraddin, “do not usually descend the Maes so low as Liege, and that the route of the ladies will be accounted contradict­ ory of their professed destination.” “If we are challenged on that account,” said Quentin, “we will say that alarms of the wicked Duke of Gueldres, or of William de la Marck, or of the Ecorcheurs and Lanzknechts, on the right side of the

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river, justifies our holding by the left, instead of our intended route.” “As you will, my good seignior,” replied the Bohemian—“I am, for my part, equally ready to guide you down the left as down the right side of the Maes—Your excuse to your master you must make out for yourself.” Quentin, although rather surprised, was, at the same time, delighted with the ready, or at least the unrepugnant acquiescence of Hayraddin in their change of route, for he needed his assistance as a guide, and yet had feared that the disconcerting of his intended act of treachery would have driven him to extremity. Besides, to expel the Bohemian from their society, would have been the ready mode to bring down William de la Marck, with whom he was in corres­ pondence, upon their intended route; whereas, while with them, Quentin thought he could manage to prevent Hayraddin having any communication with strangers, unless he was himself aware of it. Leaving off, therefore, all thoughts of their original route, the little party followed that by the left bank of the broad Maes, so speedily and successfully, that the next day early brought them to the purposed end of their journey. They found that the Bishop of Liege, for the sake of his health, as he himself alleged, but rather, perhaps, to avoid being surprised by the numerous and mutinous population of the city, had established his residence in his beautiful Castle of Schonwaldt, about a mile without Liege. Just as they approached the Castle, they saw the Prelate returning in long procession from the neighbouring city, in which he had been officiating at the performance of High Mass. He was at the head of a splendid train of religious, civil, and military men, mingled together, or, as the old ballad-maker expresses it, With many a cross-bearer before, And many a spear behind.

The procession made a noble appearance, as, winding along the verdant banks of the broad Maes, it wheeled into, and was as it were devoured by, the huge Gothic portal of the Episcopal residence. But when the party came more near, they found that circumstances around the Castle argued a doubt and sense of insecurity, which contradicted that display of pomp and power which they had just witnessed. Strong guards of the Bishop’s soldiers were heedfully maintained all around the mansion and in its immediate vicinity, and the prevailing appearances in an ecclesiastical court, seemed to argue a sense of danger in the reverend Prelate, who found it necessary thus to surround himself with all the defensive precautions of war. The Ladies of Croye, when announced by Quentin, were reverently ushered into the great Hall, where they met with the most cordial

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reception from the Bishop, who met them there at the head ofhis little court. He would not permit them to kiss his hand, but welcomed them with a salute, which had something in it of gallantry on the part of a prince to fine women, and something also of the holy affection of a pastor to the sisters of his flock. Louis of Bourbon, the reigning Bishop of Liege, was in truth a generous and kind-hearted prince; whose life had not indeed been always confined, with precise strictness, within the bounds of his clerical character; but who, notwithstanding, had uniformly main­ tained the frank and honourable character of the House of Bourbon, from which he was descended. In latter times, as age advanced, the Prelate had adopted a life more beseeming a member of the hierarchy than his early reign had exhib­ ited, and was loved among the neighbouring princes, as a noble eccle­ siastic, generous and magnificent in his ordinary mode of life, though preserving no very severe rectitude of character, and governing with an easy indifference, which, amid his wealthy and mutinous subjects, rather encouraged than subdued rebellious purposes. The Bishop was so fast an ally of the Duke of Burgundy, that the latter claimed almost a joint sovereignty in his bishopric, and repaid the good-natured ease with which the Prelate admitted claims which he might easily have disputed, by taking his part on all occasions, with the determined and furious zeal which was a part of his character. He used to say, he considered Liege as his own, the Bishop as his brother, (indeed they might be accounted such, in consequence of the Duke having married, to his first wife, the Bishop’s sister,) and that he who annoyed Louis of Bourbon, had to do with Charles of Burgundy; a threat which, considering the character and the power of the prince who used it, would have been powerful with any but the rich and discontented city of Liege, where much wealth had, according to the ancient proverb, made wit waver. The Prelate, as we have said, assured the Ladies of Croye of such intercession as his interest at the court of Burgundy, used to the uttermost, might gain for them, and which, he hoped, might be the more effectual, as Campo-Basso, from some late discoveries, stood rather lower than formerly in the Duke’s personal favour. He prom­ ised them also such protection as it was in his power to afford; but the sigh with which he gave the warrant, seemed to allow that his power was more precarious than in words he was willing to admit. “At every event, my dearest daughters,” said the Bishop, with an air in which, as in his previous salute, a mixture of spiritual unction qualified the hereditary gallantry of the House of Bourbon, “Heaven forbid I should abandon the lamb to the wicked wolf, or noble ladies to

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the oppression of faitours. I am a man of peace, though my abode now rings with arms; but be assured I will care for your safety as for my own, and should matters become yet more distracted here, which, with our Lady’s grace, we trust will be rather pacified than inflamed, we will provide for your safe-conduct to Germany; for not even the will of our brother and protector, Charles of Burgundy, shall prevail with us to dispose of you in any respect contrary to your own inclina­ tion. We cannot comply with your request of sending you to a convent, for alas! such is the influence of sons of Belial among the inhabitants of Liege, that we know no retreat to which our authority extends, beyond the bounds of our own castle, and the protection of our sol­ diery. But here you are most welcome, and your train shall have all honourable entertainment, especially this youth, whom you recom­ mend so particularly to our countenance, and on whom we bestow our blessing.” Quentin kneeled, as in duty bound, to receive the Episcopal bene­ diction. “For yourselves,” proceeded the good Prelate, “you shall reside here with my sister Isabella, a Canoness ofTriers, and with whom you may dwell in all honour, even under the roof of so gay a bachelor as the Bishop ofLiege.” He gallantly conducted the ladies to his sister’s apartment, as he concluded the harangue of welcome; and his Master of the House­ hold, an officer, who, having taken Deacon’s orders, held something between a secular and ecclesiastical character, entertained Quentin with the hospitality which his master enjoined, while the other per­ sonages of the retinue of the Ladies of Croye were committed to the inferior departments. In this arrangement Quentin could not help remarking, that the presence of the Bohemian, so much objected to in country convents, seemed, in the household of this wealthy, and‘perhaps we might say worldly prelate, to attract neither remark nor objection.

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Chapter Nine THE CITY Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To any sudden act of mutiny! Julius Cæsar

Separated from the Lady Isabelle, whose looks had been for so many days his load-star, Quentin felt a strange vacancy and chillness of the heart, which he had not yet experienced in any of the vicissi­ tudes to which his life had subjected him. No doubt the cessation of the close and unavoidable intercourse and intimacy betwixt them was the necessary and inevitable consequence of the Countess having obtained a place of settled residence; for, under what pretext could she, had she meditated such an impropriety, have had a gallant young squire, such as Quentin, in constant attendance upon her? But the shock of the separation was not the more welcome that it seemed unavoidable, and the proud heart of Quentin swelled at find­ ing he was parted with like an ordinary postillion, or an escort whose duty is discharged; and his eyes sympathized so far as to drop a secret tear or two over the ruins of all those airy castles, so many of which he had employed himself in constructing during their too interesting journey. He made a manly, but, at first, a vain effort to throw off this mental dejection; and so, yielding to the feelings he could not sup­ press, he sate him down in one of the deep recesses formed by a window which lighted the great Gothic hall of Schonwaldt, and there mused upon his hard fortune, which had not assigned him rank or wealth sufficient to prosecute his daring suit, until at length his natural buoyancy of temper returned, much prompted by the title of an old romaunt which had been just printed at Strasburgh, and which lay beside him in the window, the title of which set forth How the Squire of lowe degree, Loved the King’s daughter of Hongarie.

While he was tracing the “lettres blake” of the ditty so congenial to his own situation, Quentin was interrupted by a touch on the shoul­ der, and, looking up, beheld the Bohemian standing by him. Hayraddin, never a welcome sight, was odious from his late treach­ ery, and Quentin sternly asked him, why he dared take the freedom to touch a Christian and a gentleman? “Simply,” answered the Bohemian, “because I wished to know if the Christian gentleman had lost his feeling as well as his eyes and

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ears. I have stood speaking to you these five minutes, and you have stared on that scrap of yellow parchment, as if it were a spell to turn you into a statue, and had already wrought half its purpose.” “Well, what doest thou want?—speak, and begone!” “I want what all men want, though few are satisfied with it,” said Hayraddin; “I want my due—my ten crowns of gold for guiding the ladies hither.” “With what face darest thou ask any guerdon beyond my sparing thy worthless life?” said Durward, fiercely; “thou knowst that it was thy purpose to have betrayed them on the road.” “But I did not betray them,” said Hayraddin; “if I had, I would have asked no guerdon from you or from them, but from him whom their keeping upon the right-hand side of the river might have benefitted— the party that I have served is the party who must pay me.” “Thy guerdon perish with thee, then, traitor!” said Quentin, telling out the money; for he had been, in his capacity of major domo, furnished with a sum for all such expences. “Get thee to the Boar of Ardennes, or to the devil! but keep hereafter out of my sight, lest I send thee thither before thy time.” “The Boar of Ardennes!” repeated the Bohemian, with a stronger emotion of surprise than his features usually expressed; “it was then no vague guess, no general suspicion, which made you insist on chan­ ging the road. Can it be—are there really in other lands arts of proph­ ecy more sure than those of our wandering tribes? The willow tree under which we spoke could tell no tales. But no—no—no—Dolt that I was—I have it—I have it—the willow tree by the brook near yonder convent—I saw you look towards it as you passed it, about half a mile from yon hive of drones—that could not indeed speak, but it might hide one who could hear. I will hold my councils in an open plain henceforth; not a bunch of thistles shall be near me for a Scot to shroud amongst—Ha! ha! the Scot hath beat the Zingaro at his own subtle weapons. But know, Quentin Durward, that you have beat me to the marring of thine own fortune—Yes! the fortune I told thee of, from the lines on thy hand, had been richly accomplished but for thine own obstinacy.” “By Saint Andrew,” said Quentin, “thy impudence makes me laugh in spite ofmyself—how, or in what, should thy successful villainy have been of service to me? I heard, indeed, that you did stipulate to save my life, which condition your worthy allies would speedily have for­ gotten, had we once come to blows—but in what thy betrayal of these ladies could have served me, but by exposing me to death or captivity, is a matter beyond human brains to conjecture.” “No matter thinking of it then,” said Hayraddin, “for I mean still to

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surprise you with my gratitude. Had you kept back my hire, I should have held that we were quit, and had left you to your own foolish guidance. As it is, I remain your debtor for yonder matter on the banks of the Cher.” “Methinks I have already taken out the payment in cursing and abusing thee,” said Quentin. “Hard words, or kind ones,” said the Zingaro, “are but wind, which make no weight in the balance. Had you struck me, indeed, instead of threatening”—– “I am like enough to take out payment in that way, ifyou provoke me longer.” “I would not advise it,” said the Zingaro; “such payment, made by a rash hand, might exceed the debt, and unhappily leave a balance on your side, which I am not one to forget or forgive. And now farewell, but not for a long space—I go to bid adieu to the Ladies of Croye.” “Thou?” said Quentin in astonishment—“thou be admitted to the presence of the ladies, and here, where they are in a manner recluses, under the protection of the Bishop’s sister, a noble canoness?—it is impossible.” “Marthon, however, waits to conduct me to their presence,” said the Zingaro, with a sneer; “and I must pray your forgiveness if I leave you something abruptly.” He turned as if to depart, but instantly coming back, said, with a tone of deep and serious emphasis, “I know your hopes—they are daring, yet not vain ifI aid them. I know your fears—they should teach prudence, not timidity. Every woman may be won—a count is but a nickname, which will befit Quentin as well as the other nickname of duke befits Charles, or that of king befits Louis.” Ere Durward could reply, the Bohemian had left the hall. Quentin instantly followed; but, better acquainted than the Scot with the passages of the house, Hayraddin kept the advantage which he had gotten; and his pursuer lost sight of him as he descended a small back stair-case. Still Durward followed, though without exact conscious­ ness of his own purpose in doing so. The staircase terminated by a door opening into the alley of a garden, in which he again beheld the Zingaro hastening down a pleached walk. On two sides, the garden was surrounded by the buildings of the castle—a huge old pile, partly castellated, and partly resembling an ecclesiastical building; on the other two sides, the enclosure was a high embattled wall. Crossing the alleys of the garden to another part of the building, where a postem-door opened behind a large massive buttress, overgrown with ivy, Hayraddin looked back, and waved his hand in signal of an exulting farewell to his follower, who saw that in

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effect the postern-door was opened by Marthon, and that the vile Bohemian was admitted into the precincts, as he naturally concluded, of the apartment of the Countesses of Croye. Quentin bit his lips with indignation, and blamed himself severely that he had not made the ladies sensible of the full infamy of Hayraddin’s character, and acquainted with his machinations against their safety. The arrogating manner in which the Bohemian had promised to back his suit, added to his anger and his disgust; and he felt as if even the hand of the Countess Isabelle would be profaned, were it possible to attain it by such patronage. “But it is all a deception,” he said—“a turn of his base juggling artifice. He has procured access to these ladies upon some false pretence, and for some mischievous intention. It is well I have learned where they lodge. I will watch Marthon, and solicit an inter­ view with them, were it but to place them on their guard. It is hard that I must use artifice and brook delay, when such as he have admittance openly and without scruple. They shall find, however, that though I am excluded from her presence, Isabelle’s safety is still the chief subject ofmy vigilance.” While the young lover was thus meditating, an aged gentleman of the Bishop’s household approached him from the same door by which he had himself entered the garden, and made him aware, though with the greatest civility of manner, that the garden was private, and reserved only for the use of the Bishop, and guests of the very highest distinction. Quentin heard him repeat this information twice ere he put the proper construction upon it; and then starting as from a reverie, he bowed and hurried out of the garden, the official person following him all the way, and overwhelming him with formal apologies for the necessary discharge of his duty. Nay, so pertinacious was he in his attempts to remove the offence which he conceived Durward to have taken, that he offered to bestow his own company upon him, to con­ tribute to his entertainment; until Quentin, internally cursing his formal foppery, found no better way of escape, than pretending a desire to visit the neighbouring city, and setting off thither at such a round pace as speedily subdued all desire of the gentleman-usher to accompany him further than the drawbridge. In a few minutes, Quen­ tin was within the walls of the city of Liege, then one of the richest in Flanders, and of course in the world. Melancholy, even love-melancholy, is not so deeply seated, at least in minds of a manly and elastic character, as the soft enthusiasts who suffer under it are fond of believing. It yields to unexpected and striking impressions upon the senses, to change of place, to such scenes as create new trains of association, and to the influence of the

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busy hum of mankind. In a few minutes, Quentin’s attention was as much engrossed by the variety of objects presented in rapid succes­ sion by the busy streets of Liege, as if there had neither been a Countess Isabelle, or a Bohemian in the world. The lofty houses,—the stately, though narrow and gloomy streets, —the splendid display of the richest goods, and most gorgeous armour in the warehouses and shops around,—the walks crowded by busy citizens of every description, passing and repassing with faces of careful importance or eager bustle,—the huge wains, which trans­ ported to and fro the subjects of export and import, the former con­ sisting of broad cloth and serge, arms of all kinds, nails and iron work of every kind, while the latter comprehended every article of use or luxury, intended either for the consumption of an opulent city, or received in barter, and destined to be transported elsewhere,— all these objects combined to form an engrossing picture of wealth, bustle, and splendour, to which Quentin had been hitherto a stranger. He admired also the various streams and canals, drawn from and communicating with the Maes, which, traversing the city in various directions, offered to every quarter the commercial facilities of water­ carriage, and he failed not to hear a mass in the venerable old Church of Saint Lambert, said to have been founded in the eighth century. It was upon leaving this place of worship that Quentin began to observe, that he, who had been hitherto gazing on all around him with the eagerness of unrestrained curiosity, was himself the object of attention to several groupes of substantial-looking burghers, who seemed assembled to look upon him as he left the church, and amongst whom arose a buzz and whisper, which spread from one party to another; while the number of gazers continued to augment rapidly, and the eyes of each who added to it were eagerly directed to Quentin, with a stare which expressed much interest and curiosity, mingled with a certain degree of respect. At length he now formed the centre of a considerable crowd, which yet yielded before him while he continued to move forwards; while those who followed or kept pace with him, studiously avoided pressing on him, or impeding his motions. Yet his situation was too embarrass­ ing to be long endured, without making some attempt to extricate himself, and to obtain some explanation. Quentin looked around him, and fixing upon a jolly, stout-made, respectable man, whom, by his velvet cloak and gold chain, he con­ cluded to be a burgher of eminence, and perhaps a magistrate, he asked him, “Whether he saw any thing particular in his appearance, to attract public attention in a degree so unusual? or whether it was the ordinary custom of the people of Liege thus to throng around

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strangers who chanced to visit their city?” “Surely not, good seignior,” answered the burgher; “the Liegeois are neither so idly curious as to practise such a custom, nor is there any thing in your dress or appearance, saving that which is most welcome to this city, and which our townsmen are both delighted to see and desirous to honour.” “This sounds very polite, worthy sir,” said Quentin, “but, by the Cross of Saint Andrew, I cannot even guess at your meaning.” “Your oath, sir,” answered the merchant of Liege, “as well as your accent, convinces me that we are right in our conjecture.” “By my patron Saint Quentin!” said Durward, “I am farther off from your meaning than ever.” “There again now,” rejoined the Liegeois, looking, as he spoke, most provokingly, yet most civilly, politic and intelligent.—“It is surely not for us to see that which you, worthy seignior, deem worthy to conceal. But why swear by Saint Quentin, if you would not have me construe your meaning?—We know the good Count of Saint Paul, who lies there at present, wishes well to our cause.” “On my life,” said Quentin, “you are under some delusion. I know nothing of Saint Paul.” “Nay, we question you not,” said the burgher; “although, hark ye— I say hark in your ear—my name is Pavillon.” “And what is my business with that, Seignior Pavilion?” said Quen­ tin. “Nay, nothing—only methinks it might satisfy you that I am trust­ worthy.—Here is my colleague Rouslaer, too.” Rouslaer advanced, a corpulent dignitary, whose fair round belly, like a battering ram, “did shake the press before him,” and, whisper­ ing caution to his neighbour, said, in a tone of rebuke, “You forget, good colleague, the place is too open—the seignior will retire to your house or mine, and drink a glass of Rhenish and sugar, and then we shall hear news of our good friend and ally, whom we love with all our honest Flemish hearts.” “I have no news for any of you,” said Quentin, impatiently; “I will drink no Rhenish; and I only desire of you, as men of account and respectability, to disperse this idle crowd, and allow a stranger to leave your town as quietly as he came into it.” “Nay, then, sir,” said Rouslaer, “since you stand so much on your incognito, and with us, too, who are men of confidence, let me ask you roundly, wherefore wear you the badge of your company if you would remain unknown in Liege?” “What badge, and what order?” said Quentin; “you look like rever­ end men and grave citizens, yet, on my soul, you are either mad

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yourselves, or desire to drive me so.” “Sapperment!” said the other burgher, “this youth would make Saint Lambert swear!—why, who wear bonnets with the Saint Andrew’s cross and fleur-de-lis, save the Scottish Archers of King Louis’s Guards?” “And supposing I am an Archer ofthe Guard, why should you make a wonder of my wearing the badge of my company?” said Quentin, impatiently. “He has avowed it, he has avowed it,” said Rouslaer and Pavillon, turning to the assembled burghers, in attitudes ofcongratulation, with waving arms, extended palms, and large round faces radiating with glee. “He hath avowed himself an Archer of Louis’s Guard—of Louis, the guardian of the liberties ofLiege!” A general shout and cry now arose from the multitude, in which were mingled the various sounds of “Long live Louis of France! Long live the Scottish Guard! Long live the valiant Archer! Our liberties, our privileges, or death! No imposts! Long live the valiant Boar of Ardennes! Down with Charles of Burgundy! and confusion to Bour­ bon and his bishopric!” Half-stunned by the noise, which began anew in one quarter so soon as it ceased in another, rising and falling like the billows of the sea, and augmented by thousands of voices which roared in chorus from distant streets and market-places, Quentin had yet time to form a conjecture concerning the meaning of the tumult, and a plan for regulating his own conduct. He had forgotten that, after his skirmish with Orleans and Dunois, one of his comrades had, at Lord Crawford’s command, replaced the morion, cloven by the sword of the latter, with one of the steel-lined bonnets, which formed a part of the proper and well-known equip­ ment of the Scots Guards. That an individual of that body, which was always kept very close to Louis’s person, should have appeared in the streets of a city, whose civil discontents had been aggravated by the agents of that King, was naturally enough interpreted by the burghers of Liege into a determination on the King’s part openly to assert their cause; and the apparition of an individual archer was magnified into a pledge of immediate and active support from Louis—nay, into an assurance that his auxiliary forces were actually entering the town at one or other, though no one could distinctly tell which, of the city­ gates. To remove a prejudice so generally adopted, Quentin easily saw was impossible—nay, that any attempt to undeceive men so obstin­ ately prepossessed in their belief, would be attended with personal risk, which, in this case, he saw little use of incurring. He therefore

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hastily resolved to temporize, and to get free the best way he could; and this resolution he formed while they were in the act of conducting him to the Stadthouse, where the notables of the town were fast assembling, in order to hear the tidings which he was presumed to have brought, and to regale him with a splendid banquet. In spite ofall his opposition, which was set down to modesty, he was on every side surrounded by the donors of popularity, the unsavoury tide of which now floated around him. His two burgomaster friends, who were Schoppen, or Syndics of the city, had made fast both his arms. Before him, Nikkei Blok, the chief of the butchers’ incorpora­ tion, hastily summoned from his office in the shambles, brandished his death-doing axe, yet smeared with blood and brains, with a cour­ age and grace which brantwein alone could inspire. Behind him came the tall, lean, raw-boned, very drunk, and very patriotic figure ofClaus Hammerlein, president of the mystery of the workers in iron, and followed by at least a thousand unwashed artificers of his class. Weavers, nailors, ropemakers, artizans of every degree and calling, thronged forward to join the procession from every gloomy and nar­ row street. Escape seemed a desperate and impossible adventure. In this dilemma, Quentin appealed to Rouslaer, who held one arm, and to Pavillon, who had secured the other, and who were conducting him forwards at the head of the ovation, of which he had so unexpec­ tedly become the principal object. He hastily acquainted them “with his having thoughtlessly adopted the bonnet ofthe Scottish Guard, on an accident having occurred to the head-piece in which he had pro­ posed to travel—he regretted that, owing to this circumstance, and the sharp wit with which the Liegeois drew the natural inference of his quality and the purpose of his visit, these things had been publicly discovered; and he intimated, that, ifjust now conducted to the Stadthaus, he might unhappily feel himself under the necessity of com­ municating to the assembled notables certain matters, which he was directed by the King to reserve for the private ears of his excellent gossips, Meinheers Rouslaer and Pavilion of Liege.” This last hint operated like magic on the two citizens, who were the most distinguished leaders of the insurgent burghers, and were, like all demagogues of their kind, desirous to keep every thing within their own management, so far as possible. They therefore hastily agreed that Quentin should leave the town for the time, and return by night to Liege, and converse with them privately in the house ofRouslaer, near the gate opposite to Schonwaldt. Quentin hesitated not to tell them, that he was at present residing in the Bishop’s palace, under pretence of bearing him dispatches from the French court, although his real errand was, as they had well conjectured, designed to the citizens of

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Liege; and this tortuous mode of conducting a communication, as well as the character and rank of the person to whom it was supposed to be entrusted, was so consonant to the character of Louis, as neither to excite doubt or surprise. Almost immediately after this eclaircissement was completed, the progress of the multitude brought them opposite to the door of Pavil­ lon’s house, in one of the principal streets, but which communicated from behind with the Maes, by means of a garden, as well as an extensive manufactory of tan-pits, and other conveniences for dress­ ing hides; for the patriotic burgher was a felt-dresser, or currier. It was natural that Pavillon should desire to do the honours of his dwelling to the supposed envoy of Louis, and a halt before his house excited no surprise on the part of the multitude; who, on the contrary, greeted Meinheer Pavillon with a loud vivat, as he ushered in his distinguished guest. Quentin speedily laid aside his remarkable bon­ net, for the cap of a felt-maker, and flung a long cloak over his other apparel. Pavillon then furnished him with a passport to pass the gates of the city, and to return by night or day as should suit his conveni­ ence; and lastly, committed him to the charge of his daughter, a fair and smiling Flemish lass, with instructions how he was to be disposed of, while he himself hastened back to his colleague, to amuse their friends at the Stadthouse, with the best excuses which they could invent for the disappearance of King Louis’s envoy. We cannot, as the footman says in the play, recollect the exact nature of the lie which the bell-wethers told the flock; but no task is so easy as that of imposing upon a multitude whose eager prejudices have more than half done the business, ere the impostor has spoken a word. The worthy burgess was no sooner gone, than his plump daughter Trudchen, with many a blush, and many a wreathed smile, which suited very prettily with lips like cherries, laughing blue eyes, and a skin transparently pure, escorted the handsome stranger through the pleached alleys ofthe Sieur Pavilion’s garden, down to the water-side, and there saw him fairly embarked in a boat, which two stout Flem­ ings, in their trunk-hose, fur-caps, and many-button’d jerkins, had got in readiness with as much haste as their Low Country nature would permit. As the pretty Trudchen spoke nothing but German, Quentin,—no disparagement to his loyal affection to the Countess of Croye,—could only express his thanks by a kiss on those same cherry lips, which was very gallantly bestowed, and accepted with all modest gratitude; for gallants with a form and a face like our Scottish Archer, were not of every day occurrence amongst the bourgeoisie of Liege. While the boat was rowed up the sluggish waters of the Maes, and

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passed the defences of the town, Quentin had time enough to reflect, what account he ought to give of his adventure in Liege, when he returned to the Bishop’s palace of Schonwaldt; and disdaining alike to betray any person who had reposed confidence in him, although by misapprehension, or to conceal from the hospitable Prelate the mutinous state of his capital, he resolved to confine himself to so general an account as might put the Bishop upon his guard, while it should point out no individual to his vengeance. He was landed from the boat, within half a mile of the castle, and rewarded his rowers with a guilder, to their great satisfaction. Yet, short as was the space which divided him from Schonwaldt, the castle-bell had tolled for dinner, and Quentin found, moreover, that he had approached the castle on a different side from that of the principal entrance, and that to go round would throw his arrival con­ siderably later. He therefore made straight towards the side that was nearest him, as he discerned that it presented an embattled wall, probably that ofthe little garden already noticed, with a postern open­ ing upon the moat, and a skiff moored by the postern, which might serve, he thought, upon his summons, to pass him over. As he approached, in hopes to make his entrance this way, the postern opened, a man came out, and, jumping into the boat, made his way to the farther side of the moat, and then, with a long pole, pushed the skiff back towards the place where he had embarked.—As he came near, Quentin discerned that this person was the Bohemian, who avoiding him, as was not difficult, held a different path towards Liege, and was presently out of his ken. Here was new subject for meditation. Had this vagabond heathen been all this while with the Ladies of Croye, and for what purpose should they so far have graced him with their presence? Tormented with this thought, Durward became doubly determined to seek an explanation with them, for the purpose at once of laying bare the treachery of Hayraddin, and announcing to them the perilous state in which their protector, the Bishop, was placed, by the mutinous state of his town of Liege. As Quentin thus resolved, he entered the castle by the principal gate, and found that part ofthe family who assembled for dinner in the great hall, including the Bishop’s attendant clergy, officers of the household, and strangers below the rank ofthe very first nobility, were already placed at their meal. A seat at the upper end of the board had, however, been reserved beside the Bishop’s domestic chaplain, who welcomed the stranger with the old college jest of, Sero venientibus ossa, while he took care so to load his plate with dainties, as to take away all appearance ofthat reality, which, in Quentin’s country, is said

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to render a joke either no joke, or at best an unpalatable one. In vindicating himself from the suspicion of ill breeding, Quentin briefly described the tumult which had been occasioned in the city by his being discovered to belong to the Scottish Archer-guard of Louis, and endeavoured to give a ludicrous turn to the narrative, by saying, that he had been with difficulty extricated by a fat burgher of Liege and his pretty daughter. But the company were too much interested in the story to taste the jest. All operations of the table were suspended while Quentin told his tale; and when he had ceased, there was a solemn pause, which was only broken by the Major-Domo saying, in a low and melancholy tone, “I would to God that we saw those hundred lances ofBurgundy!” “Why should you think so deeply on it?” said Quentin—“You have many soldiers here, whose trade is arms; and your antagonists are only the rabble of a disorderly city, who will fly before the first flutter of a banner with men-at-arms arrayed beneath it.” “You do not know the men of Liege,” said the Chaplain, “of whom it may be said, that, not even excepting those of Ghent, they are at once the fiercest and the most unstable in Europe. Twice has the Duke of Burgundy chastised them for their repeated revolts against their Bishop, and twice hath he suppressed them with much severity, abridged their privileges, taken away their banners, and established rights and claims to himself, which were not before competent over a free city of the Empire—Nay, the last time he defeated them with much slaughter near Saint Tron, where Liege lost nearly six thousand men, what with the sword, what with those drowned in the flight; and thereafter, to disable them from farther mutiny, Duke Charles refused to enter at any of the gates which they had surrendered, but, beating to the ground forty cubits breadth of their city wall, marched into Liege as a conqueror, with visor closed and lance in rest, at the head ofhis chivalry, by the breach which he had made. Nay, well were the Liegeois then assured, that, but for the intercession of Duke Philip the Good, this Charles, then called Count of Charolois, would have given their town up to spoil. And yet, with all these fresh recol­ lections, with their breaches unrepaired, and their arsenals scarcely supplied, the sight of an Archer’s bonnet is sufficient again to stir them to uproar. May God amend all! but I fear there will be bloody work between so fierce a population and so fiery a Sovereign; and I would my excellent and kind master had a see of lesser dignity and more safety, for his mitre is lined with thorns instead of ermine. This much I say to you, Seignior Stranger, to make you aware, that, if your affairs detain you not at Schonwaldt, it is a place from which each man of sense should depart as speedily as possible. I apprehend that your

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ladies are of the same opinion; for one of the grooms who attended them on the route has been sent back by them to the court of France with letters, which, doubtless, are intended to announce their going in search of a safer asylum.”

Chapter Ten THE BILLET Go to—thou art made, if thou desirest to be so—If not, let me see thee still the fellow of servants, and not fit to touch Fortune’s fingers. Twelfth Night

When the tables were drawn, the Chaplain, who seemed to have taken a sort of attachment to Quentin Durward’s society, or who perhaps desired to extract from him further information concerning the meeting ofthe morning, led him into a withdrawing apartment, the windows of which, on one side, projected into the garden; and as he saw his companion’s eye gaze rather eagerly upon the spot, he pro­ posed to Quentin to go down and take a view of the curious foreign shrubs with which the Bishop had enriched its parterres. Quentin excused himself, as unwilling to intrude, and therewithal communicated the check which he had received in the morning. The Chaplain smiled, and said, “That there was indeed some ancient prohibition respecting the Bishop’s private garden; but this,” he added, with a smile, “was when our reverend father was a princely young prelate of not more than thirty years of age, and when many fair ladies frequented the castle for ghostly consolation. Need there was,” he said, with a downcast look, and a smile, half simple and half intelli­ gent, “that these ladies, pained in conscience, who were ever lodged in the apartments now occupied by the noble Canoness, should have some space for taking the air, secure from the intrusion of the profane. But of late years,” he added, “this prohibition, although not formally removed, has fallen entirely out of observance, and remains but as the superstition which haunts the brain of a superannuated gentleman­ usher. If you please,” he added, “we will presently descend, and try whether the place be haunted or no.” Nothing could have been more agreeable to Quentin than the pro­ spect of a free communication with this garden, through means of which, according to a chance which had hitherto attended his passion, he hoped to communicate with, or at least obtain sight of, the object of his affections, from some such turret or balcony-window, or similar

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“coin of vantage,” as at the hostelrie of the Fleur-de-Lys, near Plessis, or the Dauphin’s Tower, within that Castle itself. Isabelle seemed still destined, wherever she made her abode, to be the Lady of the Turret. When Durward descended with his new friend into the garden, the latter seemed a terrestrial philosopher, entirely busied with the things of the earth; while the eyes of Quentin, if they did not seek the heavens, like those of an astrologer, ranged, at least, all around the windows, balconies, and especially the turrets, which projected on every part from the inner front ofthe old building, in order to discover that which was to be his cynosure. While thus employed, the young lover heard with total neglect, if indeed he heard at all, the enumeration of plants, herbs, and shrubs, which his reverend conductor pointed out to him; of which this was choice, because of prime use in medicine; and that more choice, for yielding a rare flavour to potage; and a third, choicest of all, because possessed of no merit but its extreme scarcity. Still it was necessary to preserve some semblance at least of attention; which the youth found so difficult, that he fairly wished at the devil the officious naturalist and the whole vegetable kingdom. He was relieved at length by the striking of a clock, which summoned the Chaplain to some official duty. The reverend man made many unnecessary apologies for leaving his new friend, and concluded by giving him the agreeable assurance, that he might walk in the garden till supper, without much risk of being disturbed. “It is,” said he, “the place where I always study my own homilies, as being most sequestered from the resort of strangers. I am now about to deliver one of them in the chapel, if you please to favour me with your audience.—I have been thought to have some gift—but the glory be where it is due.” Quentin excused himself for this evening, under pretence of a severe head-ach, which the open air was like to prove the best cure for; and at length the well-meaning priest left him to himself. It may be well imagined, that in the curious inspection which he now made, at more leisure, of every window or aperture which looked upon the garden, those did not escape which were in the immediate neighbourhood of the small door by which he had seen Marthon admit Hayraddin, as he pretended, to the apartment of the Count­ esses. But nothing stirred or shewed itself, which could either confute or confirm the tale which the Bohemian had told, until it was becom­ ing dusky; and Quentin began to be sensible, he scarce knew why, that his sauntering so long in the garden might be subject of displeasure or suspicion.

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Just as he had resolved to depart, and was taking what he had destined for his last turn under the windows which had such attraction for him, he heard above him a slight and cautious sound, like that of a cough, as intended to call his attention, and to avoid the observation of others. As he looked up in joyful surprise, a casement opened—a female hand was seen to drop a billet, which fell into a rosemary bush that grew at the foot of the wall. The precaution used in dropping this letter, prescribed equal prudence and secrecy in reading it. The gar­ den, surrounded, as we have said, upon two sides, by the buildings of the palace, was commanded, of course, by the windows of many apartments; but there was a sort of grotto of rock-work, which the Chaplain had shewn Durward with much complacency. To snatch up the billet, thrust it into his bosom, and hie to this place of secrecy, was the work of a single minute. He there opened the precious scroll, and blessed, at the same time, the memory of the Monks ofAberbrothock, whose nurture had rendered him capable to decypher its contents. The first line contained the injunction, “Read this in secret,”—and the contents were as follows: “What your eyes have too boldly said, mine have perhaps too rashly understood. But unjust persecution makes its victims bold, and it were better to throw myself on the gratitude ofone, than to remain the object ofpursuit to many. Fortune has her throne upon a rock; but brave men fear not to climb. If you dare do aught for one that hazards much, you need but pass into this garden at prime to-morrow, wearing in your cap a blue-and-white feather; but expect no further communication. Your stars have, they say, destined you for greatness, and disposed you to gratitude.— Farewell—be faithful, prompt, and resolute, and doubt not thy for­ tune.” Within this letter was enclosed a ring with a table diamond, on which were cut in form of a lozenge, the ancient arms of the House of Croye. The first feeling of Quentin upon this occasion was unmingled ecstasy—a pride and joy which seemed to raise him to the stars,—a determination to do or die, influenced by which he treated with scorn the thousand obstacles that placed themselves betwixt him and the goal ofhis wishes. In this mood of rapture, and unable to endure any interruption which might withdraw his mind, were it but for a moment, from so ecstatic a subject of contemplation, Durward, retiring to the interior of the castle, hastily assigned his former pretext of a headach for not joining the household of the Bishop at the supper-meal, and lighting his lamp, betook himself to the little chamber which had been assigned him, to read, and to read again and again, the precious billet, and to kiss a thousand times the no less precious ring.

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But such high-wrought feelings could not remain long in the same ecstatic tone. A thought pressed upon him, though he repelled it as ungrateful—as even blasphemous—that the frankness of the confes­ sion implied less delicacy, on the part of her who made it, than was consistent with the high romantic feeling of adoration with which he had hitherto worshipped the Lady Isabelle. No sooner did this ungra­ cious thought intrude itself, than he hastened to stifle it, as he would have a hissing and hateful adder, that had intruded itself into his couch. Was it for him—him the Favoured—on whose account she had stooped from her sphere, to ascribe blame to her for the very act of condescension, without which he dared not have raised his eyes towards her? Did not her very dignity of birth and of condition, reverse, in her case, the usual rules which impose silence on the lady until the lover shall have first spoken? To these arguments, which he boldly formed into syllogisms, and avowed to himself, his vanity might possibly suggest one which he cared not to embody even mentally with the same frankness—that the merit of the party beloved might per­ haps warrant, on the part of the lady, some little departure from common rules—And, after all, as in the case of Malvolio, there was example for it in chronicle. The Squire of low degree, of whom he had been just reading, was, like himself, a gentleman void of land and living, and yet the generous Princess of Hungary bestowed on him, without scruple, more substantial marks of her affection, than the billet he had just received:— “Welcome,” she said, “my swete Squyre, My hertis roote, my soule’s desire; I will give thee kisses three, And als five hundrid poundis in fee.”

And again the same faithful history made the King of Hongrie himself avouch, “I have yknown many a page Come to be Prince by marriage.”

So that, upon the whole, Quentin generously and magnanimously reconciled himself to a line of conduct on the Countess’s part, by which he was likely to be so highly benefited. But this scruple was succeeded by another doubt, harder of diges­ tion. The traitor Hayraddin had been in the apartment of the ladies, for aught Quentin knew, for the space of four hours, and considering the hints which he had thrown out, of possessing an influence of the most interesting kind over the fortunes of Quentin Durward, what should assure him that this train was not of his laying? and if so, was it not probable that such a dissembling villain had set it on foot to conceal some new plan of treachery—perhaps to seduce Isabelle out

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of the protection of the worthy Bishop? This was a matter to be closely looked into, for Quentin felt a repugnance to this individual propor­ tioned to the unabashed impudence with which he had avowed his profligacy, and could not bring himself to hope, that any thing in which he was concerned could ever come to an honourable or happy conclusion. These various thoughts rolled o’er Quentin’s mind like misty clouds, to dash and obscure the fair landscape which his fancy had at first drawn, and his couch was that night a sleepless one. At the hour of prime—ay, and an hour before it, was he in the castle-garden, where no one now opposed either his entrance or his abode, with a feather of the assigned colour, as distinguished as he could by any means procure in such haste. No notice was taken of his appearance for nearly two hours; at length he heard a few notes of the lute, and presently the lattice opened right above the little postern-door at which Marthon had admitted Hayraddin, and Isabelle, in maidenly beauty, appeared at the opening, greeted him half-kindly half-shyly, coloured extremely at the deep and significant reverence with which he returned her courtesy—shut the casement, and disappeared. Daylight and champain could discover no more. The authenticity ofthe billet was ascertained—it only remained what was to follow; and of this the fair writer had given him no hint. But no immediate danger impended—The Countess was in a strong castle, under the protec­ tion of a Prince, at once respectable for his secular, and venerable for his ecclesiastical authority. There was neither immediate room nor occasion for the adventurous Squire interfering in the adventure; and it was sufficient if he kept himself prompt to execute her commands whensoever they should be communicated to him. But Fate purposed to call him into action sooner than he was aware of. It was the fourth night after his arrival at Schonwaldt, when Quen­ tin had taken measures of sending back on the morrow to the court of Louis, the remaining groom who had accompanied him on his journey, with letters from himself to his uncle and Lord Crawford, renouncing the service of France, for which the treachery to which he had been exposed by the private instructions assigned to Hayraddin gave him an excuse, both in honour and prudence; and he betook himself to his bed with all the rosy-coloured ideas around him which flutter about the couch of a youth when he loves dearly, and thinks his love is as sincerely repaid. But Quentin’s dreams, which at first partook of the nature of those happy influences under which he had fallen asleep, began by degrees to assume a more terrific character. He walked with the Countess Isabelle beside a smooth and inland

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lake, such as formed the principal characteristic ofhis native glen; and he spoke to her of his love without any consciousness of the impedi­ ments which lay between them. She blushed and smiled when she listened—even as he might have expected from the tenor of the letter, which, sleeping or waking, lay nearest to his heart. But the scene suddenly changed from summer to winter—from calm to tempest; the winds and the waves rose with such a contest of surge and whirl­ wind, as if the demons of the water and of the air had been contending for their roaring empires in rival-strife. The rising waters seemed to cut offtheir advance and their retreat—the increasing tempest, which dashed them against each other, seemed to render their remaining on the spot impossible; and the tumultuous sensations produced by the apparent danger awoke the dreamer. He awoke; but although the circumstances of the vision had disap­ peared, and given place to reality, the noise, which had probably suggested them, still continued to roar in his ears. Quentin’s first impulse was to sit erect in bed, and listen with astonishment to sounds, which, if they had announced a tempest, might have shamed the wildest that ever burst down from the Gram­ pians; and again in a minute he became sensible, that the tumult was not excited by the fury of the elements, but by the wrath of men. He sprung from bed, and looked from the window of his apart­ ment; but it opened into the garden, and on that side all was quiet, though the opening the casement made him still more sensible, from the shouts which reached his ears, that the outside of the castle was beleaguered and assaulted, and that by a numerous and determined enemy. Hastily collecting his dress and arms, and putting them on with such celerity as darkness and surprise permitted, his attention was solicited by a knocking at the door ofhis chamber. As Quentin did not immediately answer, the door, which was but a slight one, was forced open from without, and the intruder, announced by his pecu­ liar dialect to be the Bohemian, Hayraddin Maugrabin, entered the apartment. A phial, which he held in his hand, touched by a match, produced a dark flash of ruddy fire, by means of which he kindled a lamp, which he took from his bosom. “The horoscope of your destinies,” he said to Durward, without any farther greeting, “now turns upon the determination ofa minute.” “Caitiff!” said Quentin, in reply, “there is treachery around us, and where there is treachery, thou must have a share in it.” “You are mad,” answered the Maugrabin—“I never betrayed any one but to gain by it—and wherefore should I betray you, by whose safety I can take more advantage than by your destruction? Hearken for a moment, if it be possible for you, to one note of reason, ere it is

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sounded into your ear by the death-shout of ruin. The Liegeois are up —William de la Marck with his band leads them—were there means of resistance, their numbers, and his fury, would overcome them, but there are next to none. If you would save the Countess and your own hopes, follow me, in the name of her who sent you a table-diamond, with three leopards engraved on it!” “Lead the way,” said Quentin, hastily—“In that name I dare every danger.” “As I shall manage it,” said the Bohemian, “there is no danger, if you can but withhold your hand from strife which does not concern you; for, after all, what is it to you whether the Bishop, as they call him, slaughters his flock, or the flock slaughter the shepherd?—ha! ha! ha!—follow me, but with caution and patience; subdue your own courage, and confide in my prudence—and—my debt ofthankfulness is paid, and you have a Countess for your spouse—follow me.” “I follow,” said Quentin, drawing his sword; “but the moment in which I detect the least sign of treachery, thy head and body are three yards separate.” Without more conversation, the Bohemian, seeing that Quentin was now fully armed and ready, ran down the stairs before him, and winded hastily through various side-passages, until they gained the little garden. Scarce a light was to be seen on that side, scarce any bustle was to be heard; but no sooner had Quentin entered the open space, than the noise on the opposite side of the castle became ten times more stunningly audible, and he could hear the various war­ cries of “Liege! Liege! Sanglier! Sanglier!” shouted by the assail­ ants, while the feebler cry of “Our Lady for the Prince Bishop!” was raised in a faint and a faltering tone, by those who had hastened, though surprised and at disadvantage, to the defence of the walls. But the interest of the fight, notwithstanding the martial character of Quentin Durward, was indifferent to him in comparison of the fate of Isabelle of Croye, which, he had reason to fear, would be a dreadful one, unless rescued from the power of the dissolute and cruel freebooter, who was now, as it seemed, bursting the gates ofthe castle. He reconciled himself to the aid of the Bohemian, as men in a desperate illness refuse not the remedy prescribed by quacks and mountebanks, and followed across the garden, with the intention of being guided by him until he should discover symptoms of treachery, and then piercing him through the heart, or striking his head from his body. Hayraddin seemed himselfconscious that his safety turned on a feather-weight, for he forbore, from the moment they entered the open air, all his wonted gibes and smirks, and seemed to have made a vow to act at once with modesty, courage, and activity.

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At the opposite door, which led to the ladies’ apartments, upon a low signal made by Hayraddin, appeared two women, muffled in the black silk veils which were then, as now, worn by the women in the Netherlands. Quentin offered his arm to one of them, who clung to it with trembling eagerness, and indeed hung upon him so much, that had her weight been greater, she must have much impeded their retreat. The Bohemian, who conducted the other lady, took the road straight for the postern which opened upon the moat, through the garden wall, close to which the little skiff was drawn up, by means of which Quentin had formerly observed Hayraddin himself retreating from the castle. As they crossed, the shouts of storm and successful violence seemed to announce that the castle was in the act of being taken; and so dismal was the sound in Quentin’s ears, that he could not help swearing aloud, “But that my blood is irretrievably devoted to the fulfillment of my present duty, I would back to the wall, take faithful part with the hospitable Bishop, and silence some of those knaves whose throats are full ofmutiny and robbery.” The lady, whose arm was still folded in his, pressed it slightly as he spoke, as if to make him understand that there was a nearer claim on his chivalry than the defence of Schonwaldt; while the Bohemian exclaimed, loud enough to be heard, “Now, that I call right Christian frenzy, which would turn back to fight, when love and fortune both demand that we should fly—On, on—with all the haste you can make —horses wait us in yonder thicket of willows.” “There are but two horses,” said Quentin, who saw them in the moonlight. “All that I could procure without exciting suspicion—and enough besides,” replied the Bohemian. “You two must ride for Tongres ere the way becomes unsafe—Marthon will abide with the women of our horde, with whom she is an old acquaintance. Know, she is a daughter of our tribe, and only dwelt among you to serve our purpose as occa­ sion should fall.” “Marthon!” exclaimed the Countess, looking at the veiled female, with a shriek of surprise; “is not this my kinswoman?” “Only Marthon,” said Hayraddin—“Excuse me this one little piece of deceit. I dared not carry off both the Ladies of Croye from the Wild Boar ofArdennes.” “Wretch!” said Quentin, emphatically—“but it is not—shall not be too late—I will back to rescue the Lady Hameline.” “Hameline,” whispered the lady, in a disturbed voice, “hangs on thy arm, to thank thee for her rescue.” “Ha! what!—How is this?” said Quentin, extricating himself from

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her hold, and with less gentleness than he would at any other time have used towards a female of any rank—“Is the Lady Isabelle then left behind?—Farewell—farewell.” As he turned to hasten back to the castle, Hayraddin laid hold of him—“Nay, hear you—hear you—you run upon your death! What the foul fiend did you wear the colours of the old one for?—I will never trust blue and white silk again. But she has almost as large a dower—has jewels and gold—hath pretensions, too, upon the earl­ dom.” While he spoke thus, panting on in broken sentences, the Bohe­ mian struggled to detain Quentin, who at length laid his hand on his dagger, in order to extricate himself. “Nay, if that be the case,” said Hayraddin, unloosing his hold, “go —and the devil, if there be one, go alongst with you.”—And, soon as freed from his hold, the Scot shot back to the castle with the speed of the wind. Hayraddin then turned round to the Countess Hameline, who had sunk down on the ground, between fear, shame, and disappointment. “Here has been a mistake,” he said; “up, lady, and come with me— I will provide you, ere morning comes, a gallanter husband than this smock-faced boy, and if one will not serve, you shall have twenty.” The Lady Hameline was as violent in her passions, as she was vain and weak in her understanding. Like many other persons, she went tolerably well through the ordinary duties of life; but in a crisis like the present, she was entirely incapable of doing aught, save pouring forth unavailing lamentations, and accusing Hayraddin of being a thief, a base slave, an impostor, a murderer. “Call me Zingaro,” returned he, “and you have said all at once.” “Monster! you said the stars had decreed our union, and caused me to write—O wretch that I was!” exclaimed the unhappy lady. “And so they had decreed your union,” said Hayraddin, “had both parties been willing—but think you the blessed constellations can make any one wed against his will?—I was led into error with your accursed Christian gallantries, and fopperies of ribbands and favours —and the youth prefers veal to beef, I think—that is all.—Up and follow me; and take notice, I endure neither weeping or swooning.” “I will not stir a foot,” said the Countess, obstinately. “By the bright welkin, but you shall though!” exclaimed Hay­ raddin. “I swear to you, by all that ever fools believed in, that you have to do with one, who would care little to strip you naked, bind you to a tree, and leave you to your fortune!” “Nay,” said Marthon, interfering, “by your favour, she shall not be misused. I wear a knife as well as you, and can use it—she is a kind

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woman, though a fool.—And you, madam, rise up and follow us— here has been a mistake, but it is something to have saved life and limb. There are many in yonder castle would give all the wealth in the world to stand where we do now.” As Marthon spoke, a clamour, in which the shouts of victory were mingled with screams of terror and despair, was wafted to them from the Castle of Schonwaldt. “Hear that, lady!” said Hayraddin, “and be thankful you are not adding your treble pipe to yonder concert. Believe me, I will care for you honestly, and the stars shall keep their words, and find you a good husband.” Like some wild animal, exhausted and subdued by terror and fatigue, the Countess Hameline yielded herself up to the conduct of her guides, and suffered herselfto be passively led whichever way they would. Nay, such was the confusion of her spirits and the exhaustion of her strength, that the worthy couple, who half bore, half led her, carried on their discourse in her presence without her even under­ standing it. “I ever thought your plan was folly,” said Marthon. “Could you have brought the young people together, indeed, we might have had a hold on their gratitude and a footing in their castle. What chance of so handsome a youth wedding this old fool?” “Rizpah,” said Hayraddin, “you have borne the name of a Chris­ tian, and dwelt in the tents of these besotted people, till thou hast become a partaker in their follies. How could I dream that he would have made scruples about a few years, youth or age, when the advant­ ages ofthe match were so evident. And thou knowst, there would have been no moving yonder coy wench to be so frank as this coming Countess here, who hangs on our arms as dead a weight as a wool­ pack. I loved the lad too, and would have done him a kindness—to wed him to this old woman, was to make his fortune—to unite him to Isabelle, were to have brought on him De la Marck, Burgundy, France, all who claim an interest in disposing of her hand. And this silly woman’s wealth being chiefly in gold and jewels, we should have had our share. But the bow-string has burst, and the arrow failed. Away with her—we will bring her to William with the Beard. By the time he has gorged himself with wassail, as is his wont, he will not know an old Countess from a young one. Away, Rizpah—bear a gallant heart—the bright Aldeboran still influences the destinies of the Children of the Tents.”

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Chapter Eleven THE SACK

The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, And the flesh’d soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty ofbloody hand shall range, With conscience wide as hell.

Henry V The surprised and affrighted garrison of the Castle of Schon­ waldt had, nevertheless, for some time, made good the defence of the place against the assailants; but the immense crowds which, issuing from the city of Liege, thronged to the assault like bees, distracted their attention, and abated their courage. There was also disaffection at least, if not treachery among the defenders, for some called out to surrender, and others, deserting their posts, tried to escape from the castle. Many threw themselves from the walls into the moat, and such as escaped drowning, flung aside their distinguishing badges of service, and saved themselves by mingling among the motley crowd of assailants. Some few, indeed, from attachment to the Bishop’s person, drew around him, and con­ tinued to defend the great Keep, to which he had fled; and others, doubtful of receiving quarter, or from the impulse of desperate cour­ age, held out other detached bulwarks and towers of the extensive building. But the assailants had got entire possession of the courts and lower parts of the edifice, and were busy pursuing the vanquished, and searching for spoil, when one individual, as if he sought for that death from which all others were flying, endeavoured to force his way into the scene of tumult and horror, under apprehensions still more hor­ rible to his imagination, than the realities around were to his sight and senses. Whoever had seen Quentin Durward that fatal night, not knowing the meaning of his conduct, had accounted him a raging madman; whoever could have appreciated his motives, had ranked him little beneath a hero of romance. Approaching Schonwaldt on the same side from which he had left it, the youth met several fugitives making for the wood, who naturally avoided him as an enemy, because he came in an opposite direction from that which they had adopted. When he came nearer, he could hear, and partly see, men dropping from the garden-wall into the castle fosse, and others who seemed precipitated from the battlements by the assailants. His courage was not staggered, even for an instant.

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There was no time to look for the boat, even had it been practicable to use it, and it was in vain to approach the postern of the garden, which was crowded with fugitives, who ever and anon, as they were thrust through it by the pressure behind, fell into the moat which they had no means of crossing. Avoiding that point, Quentin threw himself into the moat, near what was called the little gate of the castle, and where there was a drawbridge, which was still elevated. He avoided with difficulty the fatal grasp of more than one sinking wretch, and swimming to the drawbridge, caught hold of one of the chains which was hanging down, and, by a great exertion ofstrength and activity, swayed himself out of the water, and attained the platform from which the bridge was suspended. As with hands and knees he struggled to make good his footing, a Lanzknecht, with his bloody sword in his hand, made towards him, and raised his weapon for a blow, which must have been fatal. “How now, fellow!” said Quentin, in a tone of authority—“Is that the way in which you assist a comrade?—Give me your hand.” The soldier in silence, and not without hesitation, reached him his arm, and helped him upon the platform, when, without allowing time for reflection, the Scot continued in the same tone ofcommand—“To the western tower, if you would be rich—the Priest’s treasury is in the western tower.” The words were echoed on every hand; “To the western tower—to the western tower—the treasure is in the western tower!” And the stragglers who were within hearing of the cry, took, like a herd of raging wolves, the direction opposite to that which Quentin, come life, come death, was determined to pursue. Bearing himself as if he were one, not of the conquered, but of the victors, he made away into the garden, and pushed across it, with less interruption than he could have expected; for the cry of “To the western tower!” had carried off one body of the assailants, and another was summoned together, by war-cry and trumpet-sound, to assist in repelling a desperate sally, attempted by the defenders of the Keep, who had hoped to cut their way out of the castle, bearing the Bishop along with them. Quentin, therefore, crossed the garden with an eager step and throbbing heart, commending himself to those heavenly powers which had protected him through the numberless perils of his life, and bold in his determination to succeed, or leave his life in this desperate undertaking. Ere he reached the garden, three men rushed on him with levelled lances, crying, “Liege, Liege!” Putting himself in defence, but without striking, he replied, “France, France, friend to Liege!”

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“Vivat France!” cried the burghers of Liege, and passed on. The same signal proved a talisman to avert the weapons of four or five of La Marck’s followers, whom he found straggling in the garden, and who set upon him, crying, “Sanglier!” In a word, Quentin began to hope, that his character as an emissary of King Louis, the private instigator of the insurgents of Liege, and the secret supporter of William de la Marck, might possibly bear him through the horrors of the night. On reaching the turret, he shuddered when he found the little side-door, through which Marthon and the Countess Hameline had formerly joined him, was now blockaded with more than one dead body. Two of them he dragged hastily aside, and was stepping over the third body, in order to enter the portal, when the supposed dead man laid hand on his cloak, and entreated him to stay and assist him to rise. Quentin was about to use rougher methods than struggling to rid himself ofthis untimely obstruction, when the fallen man continued to exclaim, “I am smothered here, in mine own armour!—I am the Syndic Pavillon of Liege!—if you are for us, I will enrich you—if you are for the other side, I will protect you; but—but—do not leave me to die the death of a smothered pig!” In the midst of this scene of blood and confusion, the presence of mind of Quentin suggested to him, that this dignitary might have the means of protecting their retreat. He raised him on his feet, and asked him if he was wounded. “Not wounded—at least I think not—” answered the burgher; “but much out of wind.” “Sit down then on this stair, and recover your breath,” said Quen­ tin; “I will return instantly.” “For whom are you?” said the burgher, still detaining him. “For France—for France,” answered Quentin, studying to get away. “What, my lively young Archer?” said the worthy Syndic. “Nay, ifit has been my fate to find a friend on this fearful night, I will not quit him, I promise you. Go where you will, I follow—and, could I get some of the tight lads of our guildry together, I might be able to help you in turn, but they are all squandered abroad like so many pease.— O, it is a fearful night!” During this time, he was dragging himself on after Quentin, who, aware of the importance of securing the countenance of a person of such influence, slackened his pace to assist him, although cursing in his heart the incumbrance that retarded his pace. At the top ofthe little stair was an anti-room, with boxes and trunks,

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which bore marks of being rifled, as some of the contents lay on the floor: a lamp, dying in the chimney, shed a feeble beam on a dead or senseless man, who lay across the hearth. Bounding from Pavillon, like a greyhound from the keeper’s leash, and with an effort which almost overthrew him, Quentin sprung through a second and a third room, the last of which seemed to be the bed-room of the Ladies of Croye. No living mortal was to be seen in either of them. He called upon the Lady Isabelle’s name, at first gently, then more loudly, and then with an accent of despairing emphasis. But no answer was returned. He wrung his hands, tore his hair, and stamped on the earth with desperation. At length, a feeble glimmer oflight, which shone through a crevice in the wainscoating of a dark nook in the bed-room, announced some recess or concealment behind the arras. Quentin hasted to examine it. He found there was indeed a concealed door, but it resisted his hurried efforts to open it. Heedless of the personal injury he might sustain, he rushed at the door with the whole force and weight of his body; and such was the impetus ofan effort made betwixt hope and despair, that it would have burst much stronger fastenings. He thus forced his way, almost headlong, into a small oratory, where a female figure, which had been kneeling in agonizing sup­ plication before the holy image, now sunk at length on the floor, under the new terrors implied in this approaching tumult. He hastily raised her from the ground, and, joy of joys! it was she whom he sought to save—the Countess Isabelle. He pressed her to his bosom—he con­ jured her to awake—entreated her to be of good cheer—for that she was now under the protection of one who had heart and hand enough to defend her against armies. “Durward,” she said, as she at length collected herself, “is it indeed you?—then there is some hope left. I thought all living and mortal friends had left me to my fate—do not again abandon me.” “Never—never,” said Durward. “Whatever shall happen—what­ ever danger shall approach, may I forfeit the benefits purchased by yonder blessed sign—if I be not the sharer of your fate until it is again a happy one!” “Very pathetic and touching, truly,” said a rough, broken, asthmatic voice behind—“A love affair, I see; and, from my soul, I pity the tender creature, as ifshe were my own Trudchen.” “You must do more than pity us,” said Quentin, turning towards him; “you must assist in protecting us, Meinheer Pavillon. Be assured, this lady was put under my especial charge by your ally the King of France, and ifyou aid me not to shelter her from every species of offence and violence, your city will lose the favour of Louis of

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Valois. Above all, she must be guarded from the hands ofWilliam de la Marck.” “That will be difficult,” said Pavillon, “for these schelms of Lanz­ knechts are very devils at rummaging out the wenches. But I’ll do my best—we will to the other apartment, and there I will consider—it is but a narrow stair—and you can keep the door with a pike, while I look from the window, and get together some of my brisk boys of the currier’s guildry of Liege, that are as true as the knives they wear in their girdles.—But first—undo me these clasps, for I have not worn this corslet since the battle of Saint Tron, and I am two stone heavier since that time, if there be truth in Dutch beam and scale.” The undoing of the iron enclosure gave great relief to the honest man, who, in putting it on, had more considered his zeal to the cause of Liege, than his capacity of bearing arms. It afterwards turned out, that being, as it were, borne forward involuntarily, and hoisted over the walls by his company as they thronged to the assault, the magis­ trate had been carried here and there, as the tide of attack and defence flowed or ebbed, without the power, latterly, of even uttering a word; until, as the sea casts a log of drift-wood ashore in the first creek, he had been ultimately thrown down in the entrance to the Ladies of Croye’s apartments, where the incumbrance of his own armour, with the superincumbent weight of two men slain in the entrance, and who fell above him, might have fixed him down long enough, had he not been relieved by Durward. The same warmth of temper which rendered Hermann Pavillon a hot-headed intemperate zealot in politics, had the more desirable consequence of making him in private a good-tempered, kind­ hearted man, who, if sometimes a little misled by vanity, was always well-meaning and benevolent. He told Quentin to have an especial care of the poor pretty yungfrau; and after this unnecessary exhorta­ tion, began to hollow from the window, “Liege, Liege, for the gallant guild ofcurriers!” One or two of his immediate followers collected at the summons, and the peculiar whistle with which it was accompanied, (each of the crafts having such a signal amongst themselves,) and, more joining them, established a guard under the window from which their leader was bawling, and before the postern door. Matters seemed now settling into some sort of tranquillity. All opposition had ceased, and the leaders of different classes were taking measures to prevent indiscriminate plunder. The great bell was tolled as summons to a military council, and its iron tongue communicating to Liege the triumphant possession of Schonwaldt by the insurgents, was answered by all the bells of that city, whose distant and clamorous

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voices seemed to cry hail to the victors. It would have been natural, that Meinheer Pavillon should now have sallied from his fastness; but, either in reverend care of those whom he had taken under his protection, or perhaps for the better assurance of his own safety, he contented himself with dispatching messenger on messenger, to command his Lieutenant, Peter Geis­ laer, to attend him directly. Peter came at length, to his great relief, as being the person upon whom, on all pressing occasions, whether of war, politics, or com­ merce, Pavillon was most accustomed to repose confidence. He was a stout squat figure, with a square face, and broad black eye-brows, that announced him no granter of propositions,—an advice-giving coun­ tenance, so to speak; a buff jerkin, a broad belt and cutlass by his side, and a halberd in his hand. “Peterkin, my dear lieutenant,” said his commander, “this has been a glorious day—night, I should say—I trust thou art pleased for once?” “I am well enough pleased that you are so,” said the doughty Lieu­ tenant; “though I should not have thought of your celebrating the victory, if you call it one, up in this garret by yourself, when you are wanted in council.” “But am I wanted there?” said the Syndic. “Ay, marry are you, to stand up for the rights of Liege, that are in more danger than ever,” answered the Lieutenant. “Pshaw, Peterkin,” answered his principal, “thou art ever such a frampold grumbler”—– “Grumbler! not I,” said Peter; “what pleases other people will always please me—only I wish we have not got King Stork, instead of King Log, like the fabliau that the Clerk of Saint Lamberts used to read us out ofMeister Æsop’s book.” “I cannot guess your meaning, Perkin,” said the Syndic. “Why then I tell you, Master Pavillon, that this Boar, or Bear, is like to make his own den of Schonwaldt, and is probable to turn out as bad a neighbour as ever was the old Bishop, and worse. Here has he taken the whole conquest in his own hand, and is only doubting whether he should be called Prince or Bishop;—and it is a shame to see how they have mishandled the old man among them.” “I will not permit, Peterkin,” said Pavillon, bustling up; “I disliked the mitre, but not the head that wore it. We are ten to one in the field, Peter, and will not permit these courses.” “Ay, ten to one in the field,” answered Peter, “but only man to man in the castle; besides that Nikkel Blok, the butcher, and all the rabble of the suburbs, take part with William de la Marck, partly for saus and

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braus, (for he has broached all the ale-tubs and wine-casks,) and partly for old envy at us, who are the craftsmen, and have privileges.” “Peter,” said Pavillon, “we will go presently to the city. I will stay no longer in Schonwaldt.” “But the bridges are up, master,” said Geislaer—“the gates locked and guarded by these Lanzknechts—and, if we were to try to force our way, these fellows, whose every day’s business is war, might make wild work with us, that fight only ofa holiday.” “But why has he secured the gates?” said the alarmed burgher; “or what business hath he to make honest men prisoners?” “I cannot tell—not I,” said Peter. “Some noise there is about the Ladies of Croye, who have escaped during the storm of the castle; and that first put the Man with the Beard beside himself with anger, and now he is beside himself with drink also.” The Burgo-master cast a disconsolate look towards Quentin, and seemed at a loss what to resolve upon. Durward, who had not lost a word of a conversation which alarmed him very much, saw neverthe­ less that their only safety depended on his preserving his own pres­ ence ofmind, and sustaining the courage ofPavillon. He struck boldly into the conversation, as one who had a right to have a voice in the deliberation.—“I am ashamed,” he said, “Meinheer Pavillon, to observe you hesitate what to do on this occasion. Go boldly to William de la Marck, and demand to leave the castle, you, your lieu­ tenant, your squire, and your daughter. He can have no pretence for keeping you prisoner.” “For me and my lieutenant—that is myself and Peter—good—but who is my squire?” “I am, for the present,” replied the undaunted Scot. “You?” said the embarrassed burgess; “but are you not the envoy of King Louis of France?” “True, but my message is to the magistrates of Liege—and only in Liege will I deliver it.—Were I to acknowledge my quality before William de la Marck, must I not enter into negociation with him?—ay, and, it is like, be detained by him. You must get me secretly out of the Castle in the capacity ofyour squire.” “Good—my squire—But you spoke ofmy daughter—my daughter is, I trust, safe in my house in Liege—where I wish her father was, with all my heart and soul.” “This lady,” said Durward, “will call you father while we are in this place.” “And for my whole life afterwards,” said the Countess, throwing herself at the citizen’s feet, and clasping his knees.—“Never shall the day pass in which I will not honour you, love you, and pray for you as a

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daughter for a father, if you will but aid me in this fearful strait—O be not hard-hearted! think your own daughter may kneel to a stranger, to ask him for life and honour—think ofthis—and give me the protection you would wish her to receive!” “In troth,” said the good citizen, much moved by her pathetic appeal—“I think, Peter, that this pretty maiden hath a touch of our Trudchen’s sweet look,—I thought so from the first; and that this brisk youth here, who is so ready with his advice, is somewhat like Trudchen’s bachelor—I wager a groat, Peter, that this is a true-love matter, and it is a sin not to further it.” “It were shame and sin both,” said Peter, a good-natured Fleming, notwithstanding all his self-conceit; and as he spoke, he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jerkin. “She shall be my daughter, then,” said Pavillon, “well wrapped up in her black silk veil; and if there are not enough of true-hearted skinners to protect her, being the daughter oftheir Syndic, it were pity they should ever tug leather more.—But hark ye,—questions must be answered—what should my daughter make here at such an onslaught?” “What should half the women in Liege make here when they fol­ lowed us to the castle,” said Peter, “excepting because it was just the place in the world that they should not have come to?—Youryungfrau Trudchen has come a little further than the rest—that is all.” “Admirably spoken,” said Quentin; “be but confident, and take this gentleman’s good counsel, noble Meinheer Pavillon, and, at no trouble to yourself, you will do the most worthy action since the days of Charlemagne.—Here, sweet lady, wrap yourself close in this veil, (for many articles of female apparel lay scattered about the apartment,)— be but confident, and a few minutes will place you in freedom and safety.—Noble sir,” he added, addressing Pavillon, “set forwards.” “Hold—hold—hold one minute,” said Pavillon, “my mind mis­ gives me—this De la Marck is a fury—a perfect boar in his nature as in his name—what if this young lady be one of those of Croye?—and what ifhe discover her, and be addicted to wrath?” “And if I were one of those unfortunate women,” said Isabelle, again attempting to throw herself at his feet, “could you for that reject me in this moment of despair? Oh, that I had been indeed your daughter, or the daughter of the poorest burgher!” “Not so poor—not so poor neither, young lady—we pay as we go,” said the citizen. “Forgive me, noble sir,”—again began the unfortunate maiden. “Not noble, nor sir neither,” said the Syndic; “a plain burgher of Liege, that pays bills of exchange in ready guilders—but that is noth­

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ing to the purpose—Well, say you be a countess, I will protect you nevertheless.” “You are bound to protect her, were she a duchess,” said Peter, “having once passed your word.” “Right, Peter, very right, it is our old Low Dutch fashion—ein wort, ein man; and now let us to this gear. We must take leave of this William de la Marck; and yet I know not—my mind misgives me when I think of him; and were it a ceremony which could be waived, I have no stomach to go through it.” “Were you not better, since you have a force together, make for the gate and force the guard?” said Quentin. But with united voice, Pavillon and his adviser exclaimed against the propriety of such an attack upon their ally’s soldiers, with some hints concerning its rashness, which satisfied Quentin that it was not a risk to be hazarded with such associates. They resolved, therefore, to repair boldly to the great hall of the castle, where, as they understood, the Wild Boar of Ardennes held his feast, and demand free egress for the Syndic of Liege and his company, a request too reasonable, as it seemed, to be denied. Still the good Burgo-master groaned when he looked on his companions, and exclaimed to his faithful Peter,—“See what it is to have too bold and too tender a heart! Alas! Perkin, how much courage and humanity have cost me! and how much I may yet have to pay for my virtues, before Heaven makes us free of this damned Castle of Schonwaldt!” As they crossed the courts, still strewed with the dying and dead, Quentin, while he supported Isabelle through the scene of horrors, whispered to her courage and comfort, and reminded her that her safety depended entirely on her firmness and presence ofmind. “Not on mine—not on mine,” she said, “but on yours—on yours only.—O, if I but escape this fearful night, never shall I forget him who saved me! One favour more only, let me implore at your hand, and I conjure you to grant it, by your mother’s fame and your father’s honour!” “What is it you can ask that I could refuse?” said Quentin, in a whisper. “Plunge your dagger in my heart,” said she, “rather than leave me captive in the hands ofthese monsters.” Quentin’s only answer was a pressure of the young Countess’s hand, which seemed as if, but for terror, it would have returned the caress. And, leaning on her youthful protector, she entered the fearful hall, preceded by Pavillon and his Lieutenant, and followed by a dozen of the Kurschen-schaft, or skinner’s trade, who attended, as a guard ofhonour, on the Syndic.

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As they approached the hall, the yells of acclamation, and bursts of wild laughter, which proceeded from it, seemed rather to announce the revel of festive demons, rejoicing after some accomplished tri­ umph over the human race, than ofmortal beings, who had succeeded in a bold design. An emphatic tone ofmind, which despair alone could have inspired, supported the assumed courage of the Countess Isa­ belle; undaunted spirits, which rose with the extremity, maintained that of Durward; while Pavillon and his lieutenant made a virtue of necessity, and endured like bears bound to a stake, which must neces­ sarily stand the dangers of the course.

Chapter Twelve THE REVELLERS

Cade.—Where’s Dick, the butcher of Ashford? Dick.—Here, sir. Cade.—They fell before thee like sheep and oxen; and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughter-house.

Second Part ofKing Henry VI

There could hardly exist a more strange and horrible change than had taken place in the castle hall of Schonwaldt since Quentin had partaken of the noontide meal there; and it was indeed one which painted, in the extremity oftheir dreadful features, the miseries ofwar —more especially when waged by those most relentless of all agents, the mercenary soldiers of a barbarous age—men, who had, by habit and profession, become familiarized with all that was cruel and bloody in the profession, while they were devoid alike of patriotism and ofthe romantic spirit of chivalry,—the peculiar virtues, the former of the bold peasants, who fought in defence of their country, and the latter of the gallant knighthood of the period, who combated for honour and their ladies’love. Instead of the orderly, decent, and somewhat formal meal, at which civil and ecclesiastical officers had, a few hours since, sate mingled in the same apartment, where a light jest could only be uttered in a whisper, and where even amid superfluity of feasting and of wine, there reigned a decorum which almost amounted to hypocrisy, there was now such a scene of wild and roaring debauchery, as Satan him­ self, had he taken the chair as founder of the feast, could scarcely have improved. At the head of the table sate, in the Bishop’s throne and state, which had been hastily brought thither from his great council-chamber, the

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redoubted Boar of Ardennes himself, well deserving that dreaded name, in which he affected to delight, and which he did as much as he could think of to deserve. His head was unhelmeted, but he wore the rest of his ponderous and bright armour, which indeed he rarely laid aside. Over his shoulders hung a strong surcoat, made of the dressed skin of a huge wild boar, the hoofs being of solid silver, and the tusks of the same. The skin of the head was so arranged, that, drawn over the casque, when the Baron was armed, or over his bare head, in the fashion of a hood, as he often affected when the helmet was laid aside, and as he now wore it, the effect was that of a grinning, ghastly monster; and yet the countenance which it overshadowed scarce required such horrors to improve those which were natural to its ordinary expression. The upper part of De la Marck’s face, as Nature had formed it, almost gave the lie to his character; for though his hair, when uncovered, resembled the rude and wild bristles of the hood he had drawn over it, yet an open, high, and manly forehead, broad ruddy cheeks, large, sparkling, light-coloured eyes, and a nose hooked like the beak of the eagle, promised something valiant and generous; yet the effect of these more favourable traits was entirely overpowered by the expression of violence and insolence, which, joined to debauchery and intemperance, had stamped upon the features a char­ acter inconsistent with the rough gallantry which they would other­ wise have exhibited. The former had, from habitual indulgence, swoln the muscles of the cheeks, and those around the eyes, in particular the latter; evil practices and habits had dimmed the eyes themselves, reddened the part of them that should have been white, and given the whole face a hideous resemblance of the monster, which it was the terrible Baron’s pleasure to resemble. But from an odd sort of contradiction, De la Marck, while he assumed in other respects the appearance of the Wild Boar, and even seemed pleased with the name, yet endeavoured, by the length and growth of his beard, to conceal the circumstance that had originally procured him that denomination. This was an unusual thickness and projection of the mouth and upper-jaw, which, with the huge projecting side-teeth, gave that resemblance to bestial confasciation, which, joined to the delight that De la Marck had in haunting the forest so called, origin­ ally procured for him the name of the Boar of Ardennes. The beard, broad, griesly, and uncombed, neither concealed the natural horrors of the countenance, nor dignified its brutal expression. The soldiers and officers sate around the table, intermixed with men of Liege, some of them of the very lowest description; among whom Nikkel Blok the butcher, placed near De la Marck himself, was

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distinguished by his tucked up sleeves, which displayed arms smeared to the elbows with blood, as was the cleaver which lay on the table before him. The soldiers wore, most of them, their beards long and grisly, in imitation of their leader; had their hair plaited and turned upwards, in the manner that might best improve the natural ferocity of their appearance; and intoxicated, as many of them seemed to be, partly with the sense of triumph, and partly with the large libations of wine which they had been quaffing, presented a spectacle at once hideous and disgusting. The language which they held, and the songs which they sung, without even pretending to pay each other the com­ pliment of listening, were so full of license and blasphemy, that Quen­ tin blessed God that the extremity of the noise prevented them from being intelligible to his companion. It only remains to say, of the burghers who were associated with William de la Marck’s soldiers in this fearful revel, that the wan faces and anxious mien of the greater part shewed that they either disliked their entertainment, or feared their companions; while some of lower education, or a nature more brutal, saw only in the excesses of the soldier a gallant bearing, which they would willingly imitate, and the tone of which they endeavoured to catch so far as was possible, and stimulated themselves to the task, by swallowing immense draughts of wine and schwarzbier—indulging a vice which at any rate was too common in the Low Countries. The preparations for the feast had been as disorderly as the quality of the company. The whole of the Bishop’s plate—nay, even that belonging to the Church, for the Boar of Ardennes regarded not the imputation of sacrilege—were mingled with black jacks, or huge tankards made of leather, and drinking-horns of the most ordinary description. One circumstance of horror remains to be added and accounted for; and we willingly leave the rest of the scene to the imagination of the reader. Amidst the wild license assumed by the soldiers of De la Marck, one who was excluded from the table, (a Lanzknecht, remark­ able for his courage and for his daring behaviour during the storm of the evening,) had impudently snatched up a large silver goblet, and carried it off, declaring it should atone for the loss of his share of the feast. The leader laughed till his sides shook at a jest so congenial to the character of the company; but when another, less renowned, it would seem, for audacity in battle, ventured on using the same free­ dom, De la Marck instantly put a check to a jocular practice, which would soon have cleared his table of all the more valuable decorations. —“Ho! by the spirit of the thunder!” he exclaimed, “those who dare not be men when they face the enemy, must not pretend to be thieves

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amongst their friends. What! thou frontless dastard thou—thou who didst wait for opened gate and lowered bridge, when Conrade Horst forced his way over moat and wall, must thou be malapert?—Knit him up to the stanchions of the hall-window—he shall beat time with his feet, while we drink a cup to his safe passage to the devil.” The doom was scarce sooner pronounced than accomplished; and in a moment the wretch wrestled out his last agonies, suspended from the iron bars. His body still hung there when Quentin and the others entered the hall, and, intercepting the pale moonbeam, threw on the Castle-floor an uncertain shadow, which dubiously, yet fearfully, intimated the nature of the substance that produced it. When the Syndic Pavillon was announced from mouth to mouth in this tumultuous meeting, he endeavoured to assume, in right of his authority and influence, an air of importance and equality, which a glance at the fearful object at the window, and at the wild scene around him, rendered it very difficult for him to sustain, notwith­ standing the exhortations of Peter, who whispered in his ear, “Up heart, master, or we are but gone men.” The Syndic maintained his dignity, however, as well as he could, in a short address, in which he complimented the company upon the great victory gained by the soldiers of De la Marck and the good citizens of Liege. “Ay,” answered De la Marck, sardonically, “we have brought down the game at last, quoth my lady’s brach to the wolf-hound. But ho! Sir Burgomaster, you come like Mars, with Beauty by your side. Who is this fair one?—Unveil—unveil—no woman calls her beauty her own to-night.” “It is my daughter, noble leader,” answered Pavillon; “and I am to pray your forgiveness for her wearing a veil. She has a vow for that effect to the Three Blessed Kings.” “I will absolve her of it presently,” said De la Marck; “for here will I, in one stroke of a cleaver, consecrate myself Bishop of Liege; and I trust one living bishop is worth three dead kings.” There was a shuddering among the guests; for the community of Liege, and even some of the rude soldiers, reverenced the Kings of Cologne, as they were commonly called, though they respected noth­ ing else. “Nay, I mean no treason against their defunct majesties,” said De la Marck; “only bishop I am determined to be—a prince both secular and ecclesiastical, having power to bind and loose, will best suit a band of reprobates such as you, to whom no one else would give absolution.—But come hither, noble Burgomaster—sit beside me, when you shall see me make a vacancy for my own preferment.—

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Bring in our predecessor in the holy seat.” A bustle took place in the hall, while Pavillon, excusing himself from the proffered seat of honour, placed himself near the bottom of the table, his followers keeping close behind him, not unlike a flock of sheep which may be sometimes seen to assemble in the rear of an old bell-wether, who is, from office and authority, judged by them to have rather more courage than themselves. Near the spot sat a very hand­ some lad, a natural son, as was said, of the ferocious De la Marck, and concerning whom he sometimes shewed affection, and even tender­ ness. The mother of the boy, a beautiful concubine, had perished by a blow dealt her by the ferocious leader in a fit of drunkenness or jealousy; and her fate had caused her tyrant as much remorse as he was capable of feeling. His attachment to the surviving orphan might be partly owing to these circumstances. Quentin, who had learned this point of the leader’s character from the old priest, planted himself as close as he could to the youth in question; determined to make him, in some way or other, either a hostage or a protector, should other means of safety fail him. While all stood in a kind ofsuspense, waiting the event of the orders which the tyrant had issued, one of Pavillon’s followers whispered to Peter, “Did not our master call that wench his daughter?—why, it cannot be our Trudchen—this strapping lass is taller by two inches, and there is a black lock of hair peeps forth yonder from under her veil. By Saint Michael of the Market-place, you might as well call a black bullock’s hide a white heifer’s!” “Hush! hush!” said Peter, with some presence of mind—“What if our master hath a mind to steal a piece of doe-venison out of the Bishop’s park here, without our good dame’s knowledge? is it for thou or me to be a spy on him?” “That will not I, brother,” answered the other, “though I would not have thought of his turning deer-stealer at his years. Sapperment— what a shy fairy it is! See how she crouches down on yonder seat, behind folk’s backs, to escape the gaze of the Marckers.—But hold— hold—what are they about to do with the poor old Bishop?” As he spoke, the Bishop of Liege, Louis of Bourbon, was dragged into the hall of his own palace by the brutal soldiery. The dishevelled state ofhair, beard, and attire, bore witness to the ill-treatment he had already received; and some of his sacerdotal robes hastily flung over him, appeared to have been put on in scorn and ridicule of his quality and character. By good fortune, as Quentin was compelled to think it, the Countess Isabelle, whose feelings at seeing her protector in such an extremity might have betrayed her own secret and compromised her safety, was so situated as neither to hear nor see what was about to

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take place; and Durward sedulously interposed his own person before her, so as to keep her from observing alike, and from observation. The scene which followed was short and fearful. When the unhappy Prelate was brought before the footstool of the savage leader, although in former life only remarkable for his easy and good-natured temper, he shewed in this extremity a sense of his dignity and noble blood, well becoming the high race from which he was descended. His look was composed and undismayed: his gesture, when the rude hands which dragged him forward were unloosed, was noble, and at the same time resigned, somewhat between the bearing of a feudal noble and of a Christian martyr; and so much was even De la Marck himself staggered by the firm demeanour of his prisoner, and recol­ lection of the early benefits he had received from him, that he seemed irresolute, cast down his eyes, and it was not until he had emptied a large goblet of wine, that, resuming his haughty insolence of look and manner, he thus addressed his unfortunate captive:—“Louis of Bourbon,” said the truculent soldier, drawing hard his breath, clench­ ing his hands, setting his teeth, and using the other mechanical actions to rouse up and sustain his native ferocity of temper—“I sought your friendship, and you rejected mine. What would you now give that it had been otherwise?—Nikkel, be ready.” The butcher rose, seized his weapon, and stealing round behind De la Marck’s chair, stood with it uplifted in his bare and sinewy arms. “Look at that man, Louis of Bourbon,” said De la Marck again— “What terms wilt thou now offer, to escape this dangerous hour?” The Bishop cast a melancholy but unshaken look upon the grisly satellite, who seemed prepared to execute the will of the tyrant, and then said with firmness, “Hear me, William de la Marck; and good men all, if there be any here who deserves that name, hear the only terms I can offer to this ruffian.—William de la Marck, thou hast stirred up to sedition an imperial city—hast assaulted and taken the palace of a Prince of the Holy German Empire—slain his people— plundered his goods—maltreated his person;—for this thou art liable to the Ban of the Empire—hast deserved to be declared outlawed and fugitive, landless and rightless. Thou hast done more than all this. More than mere human laws hast thou broken—more than mere human vengeance hast thou deserved. Thou hast broken into the sanctuary of the Lord—laid violent hands upon a Father of the Church—defiled the House of God with blood and rapine, like a sacrilegious robber”—– “Hast thou yet done?” said De la Marck, fiercely interrupting him, and stamping with his foot. “No,” answered the Prelate, “for I have not yet told thee the terms

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which you demanded to hear from me.” “Go on,” said De la Marck; “and let the terms please me better than the preface, or woe to thy grey head!” And flinging himself back in his seat, he grinded his teeth, till the foam flew from his lips, as from the tusks of the savage animal whose name and spoils he wore. “Such are thy crimes,” resumed the Bishop, with calm determina­ tion; “now hear the terms, which, as a merciful Prince and a Christian Prelate, setting aside all personal offence, forgiving each peculiar injury, I condescend to offer. Fling down thy leading-staff—renounce thy command—unbind thy prisoners—restore thy spoil—distribute what else thou has of goods, to relieve those whom thou hast made orphans and widows—array thyself in sackcloth and ashes—take a palmer’s staff in thy hand, and go on pilgrimage to Rome, and we will ourselves be intercessors with the Imperial Chamber at Ratisbon for thy life, with our Holy Father the Pope for thy miserable soul.” While Louis of Bourbon proposed these terms, in a tone as decided as if he still occupied his episcopal throne and the usurper kneeled a suppliant at his feet, the tyrant slowly raised himself in his chair; the amazement with which he was at first filled giving way gradually to rage, until, as the Bishop ceased, he looked to Nikkei Blok, and raised his finger, without speaking a word. The ruffian struck, as if he had been doing his office in the common shambles, and the murdered Bishop sunk, without a groan, at the foot of his own episcopal throne. The Liegeois, who were not prepared for so horrible a catastrophe, and who had expected to hear the conference end in some terms of accommodation, started up unanimously, with cries of execration, mingled with shouts of vengeance. But William de la Marck, raising his tremendous voice above the tumult, and shaking his clenched hand and extended arm, called out in tones of thunder, “How now, ye porkers ofLiege!—ye wallowers in the mud of the Maes!—do ye dare to mate yourselves with the Wild Boar of Ardennes?—Up, ye Boar’s brood! (an expression by which he himself, and others, often designed his soldiers,) let these Flemish hogs see your tusks!” Every one of his followers started up at the command, and mingled as they were among their late allies, prepared too for such a surprisal, each had, in an instant, his next neighbour by the collar, while his right hand brandished a broad dagger, that glimmered against lamplight and moonshine. Every arm was uplifted, but no one struck; for the victims were too much surprised for resistance, and it was probably the object of De la Marck only to impose terror on his civic confeder­ ates. But the courage of Quentin Durward, prompt and alert in resolu­

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tion beyond his years, and stimulated at the moment by all that could add energy to his natural shrewdness and resolution, gave a new turn to the scene. Imitating the action of the followers of De la Marck, he sprung on Carl Eberson, the son of their leader, and mastering him with ease, had his dirk at the boy’s throat, while he exclaimed, “Is that your game?—then here I play my part.” “Hold!—hold!” exclaimed De la Marck, “it is a jest—a jest—think you I would injure my good friends and allies of the city of Liege?— Soldiers, unloose your holds—sit down—take away the carrion, (giv­ ing the Bishop’s corpse a thrust with his foot,) which hath caused this strife among friends, and let us drown unkindness in a fresh carouse.” All unloosened their holds, and the citizens and soldiers stood gazing on each other, as if they scarce knew whether they were friends or foes. Quentin Durward took advantage of the moment. “Hear me,” he said, “William de la Marck, and you, burghers and citizens of Liege—And do you, young sir, stand still, (for the boy Carl was attempting to escape from his gripe;) no harm shall befal you, unless another of these sharp jests shall pass round.” “Who art thou, in the fiend’s name,” said the astonished De la Marck, “who art come to hold terms and take hostages from us in our own lair—from us, who exact pledges from others, but yield them to no one?” “I am a servant of King Louis ofFrance,” said Quentin, boldly; “an Archer ofhis Scottish Guard, as my language and dress may partly tell you. I am here to behold and to report your proceedings; and I see with wonder, that they are those of heathens, rather than Christians —of madmen, rather than men possessed of reason. The hosts of Charles of Burgundy will be instantly in motion against you all, and if you wish assistance from France, you must conduct yourself in a different manner.—For you, men of Liege, I advise your instant return to your own city; and if there is any obstruction offered to your departure, I denounce those by whom it is offered, foes to my master, the Most Christian Majesty of France.” “France and Liege! France and Liege!” cried the followers of Pavillon, and several other citizens, whose courage began to rise at the bold language held by Quentin. “France and Liege, and long live the gallant Archer! We will live and die with him!” William de la Marck’s eyes sparkled, and he grasped his dagger as if about to launch it at the heart of the audacious speaker; but glancing his eye around, he read something in the looks of his soldiers, which even he was obliged to respect. Many of them were Frenchmen, and all of them knew the private support which William had received, both

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in men and in money, from that kingdom; nay, some of them were rather startled at the violent and sacrilegious action which had been just committed. The name of Charles of Burgundy, a person likely to resent to the uttermost the deeds of that night, and the extreme impolicy of at once quarrelling with the Liegeois and provoking the Monarch of France, made an appalling impression on their minds, confused as their intellects were. De la Marck, in short, saw he would not be supported, even by his own band, in any further act ofviolence, and relaxing the terrors of his brow and eye, declared that “he had not the least design against his good friends of Liege, all of whom were at liberty to depart from Schonwaldt at their pleasure; although he had hoped they would revel one night with him, at least, in honour of their victory.” He added, with more calmness than he commonly used, that “he would be ready to enter into negociation concerning the partition of spoil, and the arrangement of measures for their mutual defence, either the next day, or as soon after as they would. Meantime, he trusted that the Scottish gentleman would honour his feast and favour him by remaining all night at Schonwaldt.” The young Scot returned his thanks, but said, his motions must be determined by those ofPavillon, to whom he was directed particularly to attach himself; but that, unquestionably, he would attend him on his next return to the quarters of the valiant William de la Marck. “If you depend on my motions,” said Pavillon, hastily, “you are likely to quit Schonwaldt without an instant’s delay;—and, if you do not come back to Schonwaldt, save in my company, you are likely not to see it again in a hurry.” This last part of the sentence the honest citizen muttered to him­ self, afraid of the consequences of giving audible vent to feelings, which, nevertheless, he was unable altogether to suppress. “Keep close about me, my brisk Kurschner lads,” he said to his body-guard, “and we will get as fast as we can out of this den of thieves.” Most of the better classes of the Liegeois seemed to entertain similar opinions with the Syndic, and there was not so much joy amongst them at the obtaining possession of Schonwaldt, as now seemed to arise from the prospect of getting safe out of it. They were suffered to leave the castle without opposition of any kind, and glad was Quentin when he turned his back on those formidable walls. For the first time since they had entered that dreadful hall, Quentin ventured to ask the young Countess how she did. “Well, well,” she answered, in feverish haste, “excellently well—do not stop to ask a question; let us not lose an instant in words—let us fly —let us fly!”

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She endeavoured to mend her pace as she spoke; but with so little success, that she must have fallen from exhaustion, had not Durward supported her. With the tenderness of a mother, when she conveys her infant out of danger, the young Scot raised his precious charge in his arms; and, while she encircled his neck with one arm, lost to every other thought save the desire of escaping, he would not have wished one of the risks of the night unencountered, since such had been the conclusion. The honest burgo-master was, in his turn, supported partly and partly dragged forward by his faithful counsellor Peter, and another of his clerks; and thus, in breathless haste, they reached the banks of the river, encountering many strolling bands of citizens, who were eager to know the event of the siege, and the truth of certain rumours already afloat, that the conquerors had quarrelled among themselves. Evading their curiosity as they best could, the exertions ofPeter and some of his companions at length procured a boat for the use of the company, and with it an opportunity ofenjoying some repose, equally welcome to Isabelle, who continued to lie almost motionless in the arms of her deliverer, and to the worthy burgo-master, who, after delivering a broken string ofthanks to Quentin Durward, whose mind was at the time too much occupied to answer him, began a long harangue, which he addressed to Peter, upon his own courage and benevolence, and the dangers to which these virtues had exposed him, on this and other occasions. “Ah, Peter, Peter,” he said, resuming the complaint of the preced­ ing evening; “if I had not had a bold heart, I would never have stood out against paying the burghers-twentieths, when every other living soul was willing to pay the same.—Ay, and then a less stout heart had not seduced me into that other battle of Saint Tron, where a Hainault man-at-arms thrust me into a muddy ditch with his lance, which neither heart nor hand that I had could help me out of, till the battle was over.—Ay, and then, Peter, my courage seduced me, moreover, into too straight a corslet, which would have been the death ofme, but for this gallant young gentleman, whose trade is fighting, whereof I wish him heartily joy. And then for my tenderness of heart, Peter—it has made a poor man ofme—that is, it would have made a poor man of me, if I had not been tolerably well to pass in this wicked world;—and Heaven knows what trouble it is like to bring on me yet, with ladies, and countesses, and keeping of secrets, which, for ought I know, may cost me halfmy fortune, and my neck into the bargain.” Quentin could remain no longer silent, but assured him, “that whatever danger or damage he should incur on the part of the young

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lady now under his protection, should be thankfully acknowledged, and as far as was possible repaid.” “I thank you, young Master Squire Archer, I thank you,” answered the citizen of Liege; “but who was it told you that I desired any repayment at your hand, for doing the duty of an honest man? I only regretted that it might cost me so and so—and I hope I may have leave to say so much to my lieutenant, without either grudging my loss or my peril.” Quentin accordingly concluded that his present friend was one of the numerous class ofbenefactors to others, who take out their reward in grumbling, without meaning more than, by shewing their griev­ ances, to exalt a little the idea of the valuable service by which they have incurred them, and therefore prudently remained silent, and suffered the Syndic to maunder on to his lieutenant concerning the risk and the loss he had encountered by his zeal for the public good, and his disinterested services to individuals, until they reached his own habitation. The truth was, that the honest citizen felt that he had lost a little consequence, by suffering the young stranger to take the lead at the crisis which had occurred at the castle-hall of Schonwaldt; and however delighted with the effect of Durward’s interference at the moment, it seemed to him, on reflection, that he had sustained a diminution of importance, for which he endeavoured to obtain com­ pensation, by exaggerating the claims which he had upon the gratitude of his country in general, his friends in particular, and more especially still, on the Countess of Croye, and her youthful protector. But when the boat stopped at the bottom of his garden, and he had got himself assisted on shore by Peter, it seemed as if the touch of his own threshold had at once dissipated these feelings of wounded selfopinion and jealousy, and converted the discontented and obscured demagogue into the honest, kind, hospitable, and friendly host. He called loudly for Trudchen, who presently appeared; for fear and anxiety would permit few within the walls ofLiege to sleep during that eventful night. She was charged to pay the utmost attention to the care of the beautiful and half-fainting stranger; and admiring her personal charms, while she pitied her distress, Gertrude discharged the hospit­ able duty with the zeal and affection ofa sister. Late as it now was, and fatigued as the Syndic appeared, Quentin, on his side, had difficulty to escape a flask of choice and costly wine, as old as the battle of Azincour; and must have submitted to take his share, however unwilling, but for the appearance of the mother of the family, whom Pavilion’s loud summons for the keys of the cellar brought forth from her bed-room. She was a jolly little round-about

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woman, who had been pretty in her time, but whose principal charac­ teristics for several years had been a red and sharp nose, a shrill voice, and a determination that the Syndic, in consideration of the authority which he exercised when abroad, should remain under the rule of domestic discipline at home. So soon as she understood the nature of the debate between her husband and his guest, she declared roundly, that the former, instead of having occasion for more wine, had got too much already; and far from using, in furtherance of his request, any of the huge bunch of keys which hung by a silver chain at her waist, she turned her back on him without ceremony, and ushered Quentin to the neat and pleasant apartment in which he was to spend the night, amid such appliances to rest and comfort as probably he had till that moment been entirely a stranger to; so much did the wealthy Flemings excel, not merely the poor and rude Scots, but the French themselves, in all the conveniencies of domestic life.

Chapter Thirteen THE FLIGHT

—–Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible; Yea, get the better of them. ———–Set on your foot; And, with a heart new fired, I follow you, To do I know not what. Julius Cæsar

In spite of a mixture of joy and fear, doubt, anxiety, and other agitating passions, the exhausting fatigues of the preceding day were powerful enough to throw the young Scot into a deep and profound repose, which lasted until late on the day following; when his worthy host entered the apartment, with looks of care on his brow. He seated himself by his guest’s bedside, and began a long and complicated discourse upon the domestic duties of a marriage life, and especially upon the awful power and right supremacy which it became married men to sustain in all differences of opinion with their wives. Quentin listened with some anxiety. He knew that husbands, like other belligerent powers, were sometimes disposed to sing Te Deum, rather to conceal a defeat than to celebrate a victory; and he hastened to probe the matter more closely, by “hoping their arrival

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had been attended with no inconvenience to the good lady of the household.” “Inconvenience!—no,” answered the burgo-master—“No woman can be less taken at unawares than Mother Mabel—always happy to see her friends—always a clean lodging and a handsome meal ready for them, with God’s blessing on bed and board—No woman on earth so hospitable—only ’tis pity her temper is something particular.” “Our residence here is disagreeable to her, in short?” said the Scot, starting out ofbed, and beginning to dress himselfhastily. “Were I but sure the Lady Isabelle were fit for travel after the horrors of the last night, we would not increase the offence by remaining here an instant longer.” “Nay,” said Pavilion, “that is just what the young lady herselfsaid to Mother Mabel, and truly I wish you saw the colour that came to her face as she said it—A milk-maid that has skated five miles to market against the frost wind was a lily compared to it—I do not wonder Mother Mabel may be a little jealous, poor dear soul.” “Has the Lady Isabelle then left her apartment?” said the youth, continuing his toilette operations with more dispatch than before. “ Yes,” replied Pavilion; “and she expects your approach with much impatience, to determine which way you shall go, since you are both determined on going—But I trust you will tarry breakfast?” “Why did you not tell me this sooner?” said Durward, impatiently. “Softly—softly,” said the Syndic; “I have told it you too soon, I think, if it puts you into such a hasty fluster. Now I have some more matter for your ear, if I saw you had some patience to listen to me.” “Speak it, worthy sir, as soon and as fast as you can. I listen devoutly.” “Well, then,” resumed the burgo-master, “I have but one word to say, and that is, that Trudchen, who is as sorry to part with yonder pretty lady as if she had been some sister of her’s, wants you to take some other disguise—for there is word in the town that the Ladies of Croye travel the country in pilgrim’s dresses, attended by a French life-guardsman of the Scotch Archers; and it is said one of them was brought into Schonwaldt last night by a Bohemian after we had left it; and it was said still farther, that he had assured William de la Marck that you were charged with no messages either to him or to the good people of Liege, and that you had stolen away the young Countess, and travelled with her as her paramour. And all this news hath come from Schonwaldt this morning; and it has been told to us and the other councillors, who know not well what to advise; for though our own opinion is that William de la Marck hath been a thought too rough both with the Bishop and with ourselves, yet there is a great

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belief that he is a good-natured soul at bottom—that is, when he is sober—and that he is the only leader in the world to command us against the Duke of Burgundy;—and, in troth, as matters stand, it is partly my own mind that we must keep fair with him, for we have gone too far to draw back.” “Your daughter advises well,” said Quentin Durward, abstaining from reproaches or exhortations, which he saw would be alike useless to sway a resolution, which had been adopted by the worthy magistrate in compliance at once with the prejudices of his party and the inclina­ tion of his wife—“Your daughter counsels well—we must part in disguise, and that instantly. We may, I trust, rely upon you for the necessary secrecy, and for the means of escape?” “With all my heart—with all my heart,” said the honest citizen, who, not much satisfied with the dignity ofhis own conduct, was eager to find some mode of atonement. “I cannot but remember that I owed you my life last night, both for unclasping that accursed steel doublet, and helping me through the other scrape, which was worse, for yonder Boar and his brood looked more like devils than men. So I will be true to you as blade to haft, as our cutlers say, who are the best in the whole world. Nay, now you are ready, come this way—you shall see how far I can trust you.” The Syndic led him from the chamber in which he had slept to his own compting-room, in which he transacted his affairs of business; and after bolting the door, and casting a piercing and careful eye around him, he opened a concealed and vaulted closet behind the tapestry, in which stood more than one iron chest. He proceeded to open one which was full of guilders, and placed it at Quentin’s discre­ tion, to take whatever sum he might think necessary for his compan­ ion’s expences and his own. As the money with which Quentin was furnished at leaving Plessis was now nearly expended, he hesitated not to accept the sum of two hundred guilders; and by doing so took a great weight from the mind of Pavilion, who considered the desperate transaction in which he thus voluntarily became the creditor, as an atonement for the breach of hospitality which various considerations in a great measure com­ pelled him to commit. Having carefully locked his treasure-chamber, the wealthy Fleming next conveyed his guest to the parlour, where, in full possession of her activity of mind and body, though pale from the scenes of the preced­ ing night, he found the Countess attired in the fashion of a Flemish maiden of the middling classes. No other was present excepting Trudchen, who was sedulously employed in completing the Count­ ess’s dress, and instructing her how to bear herself. She extended her

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hand to him, which when he had reverently kissed, she said to him, “Seignior Quentin, we must leave our friends here, unless I would bring on them a part of the misery which has pursued me ever since my father’s death. You must change your dress and go with me, unless you also are tired ofbefriending a being so unfortunate.” “I!—I tired of being your attendant!—to the end of the earth will I guard you! But you—you yourself—Are you equal to the task you undertake?—Can you, after the terrors of last night”–— “Do not recall them to my memory,” answered the Countess; “I remember but the confusion of a horrid dream.—Has the excellent Bishop escaped?” “I trust he is in freedom,” said Quentin, making a sign to Pavilion, who seemed about to enter on the dreadful narrative, to be silent. “Is it possible for us to rejoin him?—Hath he gathered any power?” said the lady. “His only hopes are in heaven,” said the Scot; “but wherever you wish to go, I stand by your side, a determined guide and guard.” “We will consider,” said Isabelle; and—after a moment’s pause— she added, “A convent would be my choice, but that I fear it would prove a weak defence against those who pursue me.” “Hem! hem!” said the Syndic; “I could not well recommend a convent within the district of Liege; because the Boar of Ardennes, though in the main a brave leader, a trusty confederate, and a wellwisher to our city, has, nevertheless, rough humours, and payeth on the whole little regard to cloisters, convents, nunneries, and the like. Men say that there are a score of nuns—that is, such as were nuns— who march always with his company.” “Get yourself in readiness hastily, Seignior Durward,” said Isa­ belle, interrupting this detail, “since to your faith I must needs commit myself.” No sooner had the Syndic and Quentin left the room, than Isabelle began to ask at Gertrude various questions concerning the roads, and so forth, with such clearness of spirit and pertinence, that the latter could not help exclaiming, “Lady, I wonder at you!—I have heard of masculine firmness, but yours is more than belongs to humanity.” “Necessity,” answered the Countess—“necessity, my friend, is the mother of courage, as of invention. No long time since, I fainted when I saw a drop of blood shed from a trifling cut—I have since seen life­ blood flow around me, I may say, in waves, yet I have retained my senses and my self-possession.—Do not think it was an easy task,” she added, laying on Gertrude’s arm a trembling hand, although she still spoke with a firm voice; “the little world within me is like a garrison besieged by a thousand foes, whom nothing but the most determined

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resolution can keep from storming it on every hand, and at every moment. Were my situation one whit less perilous than it is—were I not sensible that my only chance to escape a fate more horrible than death, is to retain my recollection and self-possession—Gertrude—I would at this moment throw myself into your arms, and relieve my bursting bosom by such a transport oftears and sorrow, as ever rushed from a breaking heart!” “Do not do so, lady!” said the sympathizing Fleming; “take cour­ age, tell your beads, throw yourself on the care of Heaven; and surely, if Heaven ever sent a deliverer to one ready to perish, that bold and adventurous young gentleman must be designed for yours. There is one, too,” she added, blushing deeply, “in whom I have some interest. Say nothing to my father, but I have ordered my bachelor, Hans Glover, to wait for you at the eastern gate, and never to see my face more, unless he brings word that he has guided you safe from the territory.” To kiss her tenderly was the only way by which the young Countess could express her thanks to the frank and kind-hearted city-maiden, who returned the embrace affectionately, and added, with a smile, “Nay, if two maidens and their devoted bachelors cannot succeed in a disguise and an escape, the world is changed from what it wont to be.” A part of this speech again called the colour into the Countess’s pale cheeks, which was not lessened by Quentin’s sudden appearance. He entered completely attired as a Flemish boor of the better class, in the holiday suit of Peter, who expressed his interest in the young Scot by the readiness with which he parted with it for his use; and swore, at the same time, that, were he to be curried and tugged worse than ever was bullock’s hide, they should make nothing out of him, to the betraying of the young folks. Two stout horses had been provided by the activity ofMother Mabel, who really desired the Countess and her attendant no harm, so that she could make her own house and family clear of the dangers which might attend upon harbouring them. She beheld them mount and go off with great satisfaction, after telling them that they would find their way to the east gate by keeping their eye on Peter, who was to walk in that direction as their guide, but without holding any visible communication with them. The instant her guests had departed, Mother Mabel took the opportunity to read a long practical lecture to Trudchen upon the folly of reading romances, whereby the flaunting ladies of the court were grown so bold and venturous, that, instead of applying to learn some honest housewifery, they must ride, forsooth, a damsel-errant­ ing through the country, with no better attendant than some idle squire, debauched page, or rake-helly archer from foreign parts, to

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the great danger of their health, the impoverishment of their sub­ stance, and the irreparable prejudice oftheir reputation. All this Gertrude heard in silence, and without reply; but, consid­ ering her character, it might be doubted whether she derived from it the practical inference which it was her mother’s purpose to enforce. Meantime, the travellers had gained the eastern gate of the city, traversing crowds of people, who were fortunately too much busied in the political events and rumours of the hour, to give any attention to a couple who had so little to render their appearance remarkable. They passed the guards in virtue of a permission obtained for them by Pavilion, but in the name of his colleague Rouslaer, and they took leave of Peter Geislaer with a friendly, though brief, exchange of good wishes on either side. Immediately afterwards, they were joined by a stout young man, riding a good grey horse, who presently made him­ self known as Hans Glover, the bachelor of Trudchen Pavilion. He was a young fellow with a good Flemish countenance—not, indeed, of the most intellectual cast, but arguing more hilarity and good-humour than wit, and, as the Countess could not help thinking, scarce worthy to be bachelor to the generous Trudchen. He seemed, however, fully desirous to second the views which she had formed in their favour; for, saluting them respectfully, he asked of the Countess in Flemish, on which road she desired to be conducted. “Guide me,” said she, “towards the nearest town on the frontiers of Brabant.” “You have then settled the end and object of your journey?” said Quentin, approaching his horse to that of Isabelle, and speaking French, which their guide did not understand. “Surely,” replied the young lady; “for, situated as I now am, it must be of no small detriment to me if I were to prolong a journey in my present circumstances, even though the termination should be a rig­ orous prison.” “A prison?” said Quentin. “Yes, my friend, a prison; but I will take care that you shall not share it.” “Do not talk—do not think of me,” said Quentin. “Saw I you but safe, my own concerns are little worth minding.” “Do not speak so loud,” said the Lady Isabelle; “you will surprise our guide—you see he has already rode on before us;”—for, in truth, the good-natured Fleming, doing as he desired to be done by, had removed from them the constraint of a third person upon Quentin’s first motion towards the lady.—“Yes,” she continued, when she noticed they were free from observation, “to you, my friend, my pro­ tector—why should I be ashamed to call you what Heaven has made

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you to me?—to you it is my duty to say, that my resolution is taken to return to my native country, and to throw myself on the mercy of the Duke ofBurgundy.It was mistaken, though well-meant advice, which induced me ever to withdraw from his protection, and place myself under that of the crafty and false Louis of France.” “And you resolve to become the bride, then, of the Count of Campo-basso, the unworthy favourite of Charles?” Thus spoke Quentin, with a voice in which internal agony struggled with his desire to assume an indifferent tone, like that of the poor condemned criminal, when, affecting a firmness which he is far from feeling, he asks ifthe death-warrant be arrived. “No, Durward, no,” said the Lady Isabelle, sitting up erect in her saddle, “to that hated condition all Burgundy’s power shall not sink a daughter of the House of Croye. Burgundy may seize on my lands and fiefs, he may imprison my person in a convent; but that is the worst I have to expect; and worse than that I will endure ere I give my hand to Campo-basso.” “The worst?” said Quentin; “and what worse can there be than plunder and imprisonment?—Oh, think, while you have God’s free air around you, and one by your side who will hazard life to conduct you to England—to Germany—even to Scotland—in all of which you would find generous protectors—O, while this is the case, do not resolve so rashly to abandon the means of liberty—of liberty, the best gift that Heaven gives us!—O, well sung a poet of my own land— Ah, Freedom is a noble thing— Freedom makes man to have liking— Freedom the zest to pleasure gives— He lives at ease who freely lives. Grief, sickness, poortith, want, are all Summ’d up within the name of thrall.”

She listened with a melancholy smile to her guide’s tirade in praise of liberty; and then answered, after a moment’s pause, “Freedom is for man alone—woman must ever seek a protector, since nature made her incapable to defend herself. And where am I to find one? —in the voluptuary Edward of England—in the inebriated Wences­ laus of Germany—in Scotland?—Ah, Durward, were I your sister, and could you promise me shelter in some of those mountain-glens which you love to describe, where, for charity, or for the few jewels I have preserved, I might lead an unharassed life, and forget the lot I was born to—Could you promise me the protection ofsome honoured matron of the land—of some baron whose heart was as true as his sword—that were indeed a prospect for which it were worth the risk of further censure to wander farther and wider!”

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There was a faultering tenderness of voice, with which the Count­ ess Isabelle made this admission, that at once filled Quentin with a sensation of joy, and cut him to the very heart. He hesitated a moment ere he made an answer, hastily reviewing in his own mind the possibil­ ity there might be that he could procure her shelter in Scotland; but the melancholy truth rushed on him, that it would be alike base and cruel to point out to her a course, which he had not the most distant power or means to render safe. “Lady,” he said at last, “I should act foully against my honour and oath of chivalry, did I suffer you to ground any plan upon the thoughts that I have the power in Scotland to afford you other protection, than that of the poor arm which is now by your side. I scarce know that my blood flows in the veins of an individual who now lives in my native land. The Knight of Innerquharity stormed our castle at midnight, and cut off all that belonged to my name. Were I again in Scotland, our feudal enemies are numer­ ous and powerful, I single and weak; and had the King a desire to do me justice, he dared not, for the sake of redressing the wrongs of a poor individual, provoke a chiefwho rides with five hundred horse.” “Alas!” said the Countess, “there is then no corner of the world safe from oppression, since it rages as unrestrained amongst those wild hills which afford so few objects to covet, as in our rich and abundant lowlands!” “It is a sad truth, and I dare not deny it,” said the Scot, “that, for little more than the pleasure of revenge and the lust of bloodshed, our hostile clans do the work of executioners on each other; and Ogilvies and the like act the same scenes in Scotland, as De la Marck and his robbers do in this country.” “No more of Scotland, then,” said Isabelle, with a tone of indiffer­ ence, either real or affected—“no more of Scotland,—which indeed I mentioned but in jest, to see ifyou really dared recommend to me, as a place of rest, the most distracted kingdom in Europe. It was but a trial of your sincerity, which I rejoice to see may be relied on, even when your partialities are most strongly excited. So once more I will think of no other protection than can be afforded by the first honourable baron holding of Duke Charles, to whom I am determined to render myself.” “And why not rather betake yourself to your own estates, and to your own strong castle, as you designed when at Tours?” said Quen­ tin. “Why not call around you the vassals of your father, and make treaty with Burgundy, rather than surrender yourself to him? Surely there must be many a bold heart that would fight in your cause; and I know at least of one, who would willingly lay down his life to give example.”

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“Alas!” said the Countess, “that scheme, the suggestion of the crafty Louis, and, like all which he ever suggested, designed more for his advantage than for mine, has become impracticable, since it was betrayed to Burgundy by the double traitor Zamet Maugrabin. My kinsman was then imprisoned, and my houses garrisoned. Any attempt of mine would but expose my vassals to the vengeance of Duke Charles; and why should I occasion more bloodshed than has already taken place on so worthless an accompt? No—I will submit myself to my Sovereign as a dutiful vassal, in all which shall leave my personal freedom of choice uninfringed—the rather that I trust my kinswoman, the Countess Hameline, who first counselled, and indeed urged my flight, has already taken this wise and honourable step.” “Your kinswoman!” repeated Quentin, awakened to recollections to which the young Countess was a stranger, and which the rapid succession of perilous and stirring events, had, as matters of nearer concern, in fact banished from his memory. “Ay—my cousin—the Countess Hameline of Croye—know you aught of her?” said the Countess Isabelle; “I trust she is now under the protection of the Burgundian banner. You are silent—know you aught of her?” The last question, urged in a tone of the most anxious inquiry, obliged Quentin to give some account of what he knew of the Count­ ess’s fate. He mentioned, that he had been summoned to attend her in a flight from Liege, which he had no doubt the Lady Isabelle would be partaker in—he mentioned the discovery that had been made after they had gained the forest—and finally, he told his own return to the castle, and the circumstances in which he found it. But he said nothing of the views with which it was plain the Lady Hameline had left the Castle of Schonwaldt, and as little about the floating report of her having fallen into the hands of William de la Marck. Delicacy pre­ vented even hinting at the one, and regard for the feelings of his companion, at a moment when strength and exertion were most demanded of her, prevented him from alluding to the latter, which had, besides, only reached him as a mere rumour. The tale, though abridged of these important particulars, made a strong impression on the Countess Isabelle, who, after riding some time in silence, said at last, with a tone of cold displeasure, “And so you abandoned my unfortunate relative in a wild forest, at the mercy of a vile Bohemian and a traitorous waiting-woman?—Poor kinswoman, thou wert wont to praise this youth’s good faith!” “Had I not done so, madam,” said Quentin, not unreasonably offended at the turn thus given to his gallantry, “what had been the

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fate ofone to whose service I was far more devotedly bound? Had I not left the Countess Hameline of Croye to the charge of those whom she had herself selected as counsellors and advisers, the Countess Isa­ belle had been ere now the bride of William de la Marck, the Wild Boar of Ardennes.” “You are right,” said the Countess Isabelle, in her usual manner; “and I, who have the advantage of your unhesitating devotion, have done you foul and ungrateful wrong. But oh, my unhappy kinswoman! —and the wretch Marthon, who enjoyed so much of her confidence and deserved it so little—it was she that introduced to my kinswoman the wretched Zamet and Hayraddin Maugrabin, who, by their pre­ tended knowledge in soothsaying and astrology, obtained a great ascendancy over her mind; it was she who, strengthening their pre­ dictions, encouraged her in—I know not what to call them—delusions concerning matches and lovers, which my cousin’s age rendered ungraceful and improbable. I doubt not that, from the beginning, we had been surrounded by these snares by Louis of France, in order to determine us to take refuge at his court, or rather to put ourselves into his power; after which rash act on our part, how unkingly, unknightly, unnoble, ungentlemanly-like, he hath conducted himself towards us, you, Quentin Durward, can be a witness. But alas! my kinswoman— what think you will be her fate!” Endeavouring to inspire hopes which he scarce felt, Durward answered, that the avarice of these people was stronger than any other passion; that Marthon, even when he left them, seemed to act rather as the Lady Hameline’s protectress; and, in fine, that it was difficult to conceive any object these wretches could accomplish by the ill-usage or murther of the Countess, whereas they might be gainers by treating her well, and putting her to ransom. To lead the Countess Isabelle’s thoughts from this melancholy subject, Quentin frankly told her the treachery of the Maugrabin, which he had discovered in the night-quarter near Namur, and which appeared the result of an agreement betwixt the King and William de la Marck. Isabelle shuddered with horror, and then recovering her­ self, said, “I am ashamed, and I have sinned in permitting myself so far to doubt of the saints’ protection, as for an instant to have deemed possible the accomplishment of a scheme so utterly cruel, base, and dishonourable, while there are pitying eyes in Heaven to look down on human miseries. It is not a thing to be thought of with fear or abhor­ rence, but to be rejected as such a piece of incredible treachery and villainy, as it were atheism to believe could ever be successful. But I now see plainly why that hypocritical Marthon often seemed to foster every seed ofpetty jealousy or discontent betwixt my poor kinswoman

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and myself, whilst she always mixed with flattery, addressed to the individual who was present, whatever could prejudice her against her absent cousin. Yet never did I dream she could have proceeded so far as to have caused my once affectionate kinswoman to have left me behind in the perils of Schonwaldt, while she made her own escape.” “Did the Lady Hameline not mention to you, then,” said Quentin, “her intended flight?” “No,” replied the Countess, “but she alluded to some communica­ tion which Marthon was to make to me. To say truth, my poor kinswo­ man’s head was so turned by the mysterious jargon of the miserable Hayraddin, whom that day she had admitted to a long and secret conference, and she threw out so many strange hints, that—that—in short, I cared not to press on her, when in that humour, for any explanation. Yet it was cruel to leave me behind her.” “I will excuse the Lady Hameline from such unkindness,” said Quentin; “for such was the agitation of the moment, and the darkness of the hour, that I believe the Lady Hameline as certainly conceived herself accompanied by her niece, as I at the time, deceived by Marthon’s dress and demeanour, supposed I was in the company of both the Ladies of Croye;—and ofher especially,” he added, with a low but determined voice, “without whom the wealth of worlds would not have tempted me to leave Schonwaldt.” Isabelle stooped her head forwards, and seemed scarce to hear the emphasis with which Quentin had spoken. But she turned her face to him again when he began to speak of the policy of Louis; and it was not difficult for them, by mutual communication, to ascertain that the Bohemian brothers, with their accomplice Marthon, had been the agents ofthat crafty monarch, although Zamet, the elder ofthem, with a perfidy peculiar to his race, had attempted to play a double game, and had been punished accordingly. In the same humour of mutual confidence, and forgetting the singularity of their own situation, as well as the perils of the road, the travellers pursued their journey for several hours, only stopping to refresh their horses at a retired dorff, or hamlet, to which they were conducted by Hans Glover, who, in all other respects, as well as in leaving them much to their own freedom in conversation, conducted himself like a person of reflection and discretion. Meantime, the artificial distinction which divided the two lovers, (for such we may now term them,) seemed dissolved, or removed, by the circumstances in which they were placed; for if the Countess boasted the higher rank, and was by birth entitled to a fortune incal­ culably larger than that ofthe youth, whose revenue lay in his sword, it was to be considered that, for the present, she was as poor as he, and

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for her safety, honour, and life, exclusively indebted to his presence of mind, valour, and devotion. They spoke not indeed of love, for though the young lady, her heart full of gratitude and confidence, might have pardoned such a declaration, yet Quentin, on whose tongue there was laid a check, both by natural timidity and by the sentiments ofchivalry, would have held it an unworthy abuse of her situation had he said any thing which could have the appearance of taking undue advantage of the opportunities which it afforded them. They spoke not then of love, but the thoughts of it were on both sides unavoidable; and thus they were placed in that relation to each other, in which sentiments of mutual regard are rather understood than announced, and which, with the freedoms which it permits, and the uncertainties that attend it, often forms the most delightful hours of human existence, and as frequently leads to those which are darkened by disappointment, fickleness, and all the pains of blighted hope and unrequited attach­ ment. It was two hours after noon, when the travellers were alarmed by the report of the guide, who, with paleness and horror in his countenance, said that they were pursued by a party of De la Marck’s Schwarzreiters. These soldiers, or rather banditti, were bands levied in the Lower Circles of Germany, and resembled the Lanzknechts in every particular, except that the former acted as light cavalry. To maintain the name of Black Troopers, and to strike additional terror into their enemies, they usually rode on black chargers, and smeared with black ointment their arms and accoutrements, in which operation their hands and faces often had their share. In morals and in ferocity these Schwarz-reiters emulated their pedestrian brethren the Lanz­ knechts. On looking back, and discovering along the long level road which they had travelled a cloud of dust advancing, with one or two of the headmost troopers riding furiously in front of it, Quentin addressed his companion—“Dearest Isabelle, I have no weapon left save my sword; but since I cannot fight for you, I will fly with you—could we gain yonder wood that is before us before they come up, we may easily find means to escape.” “So be it, my only friend,” said Isabelle, pressing her horse to the gallop; “and thou, good fellow,” she added, addressing Hans Glover, “get thee offto another road, and do not stay to partake our misfortune and danger.” The honest Fleming shook his head, and answered her generous exhortation, with Nein, nein! das geht nichts, and continued to attend them, all three riding towards the shelter of the wood as fast as their jaded horses could go, pursued, at the same time, by the Schwarz-

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reiters, who increased their pace when they saw them fly. But notwith­ standing the fatigue of the horses, still the fugitives, being unarmed, and riding lighter in consequence, had considerably the advantage of the pursuers, and were within about a quarter of a mile of the wood, when a body of men-at-arms, under a knight’s pennon, was discov­ ered advancing from the cover, so as to intercept their flight. “They have bright armour,” said Isabelle; “they must be Burgund­ ians—be they who they will, we must yield to them, rather than to the lawless miscreants who pursue us.” A moment after, she exclaimed, looking on the pennon, “I know the cloven heart which it displays!—it is the banner of the Count of Crevecæur, a noble Burgundian—to him I will surrender myself.” Quentin Durward sighed, but what other alternative remained? and how happy would he have been but an instant before, to have been certain of the escape of Isabelle, even under worse terms? They soon joined the band of Crevecæur, and the Countess demanded to speak to the leader, who had halted his party till he should reconnoitre the Black Troopers; and as he gazed on her with doubt and uncertainty, she said, “Noble Count,—Isabelle of Croye, the daughter of your old companion in arms, Count Reinold of Croye, renders herself, and asks protection from your valour for her and hers.” “Thou shalt have it, fair kinswoman, were it against a host—always excepted my liege Lord ofBurgundy. But there is little time to talk ofit —these filthy-looking fiends have made a halt, as if they intended to dispute the matter.—By Saint George ofBurgundy, they have the insolence to advance against the banner of Crevecæur!—What, will not the knaves be ruled?—Damian, my lance—Advance banner— Lay your spears in the rest—Crevecæur to the Rescue!” Crying his war-cry, and followed by his men-at-arms, he galloped forward to charge the Schwarz-reiters. END OF VOLUME SECOND

QUENTIN DURWARD VOLUME III

Chapter One THE SURRENDER

Rescue or none, Sir Knight, I am your captive; Deal with me what your nobleness suggests— Thinking the chance of war may one day place you Where I must now be reckon’d—i’ the roll Ofmelancholy prisoners. Anonymous

The skirmish betwixt the Schwarz-reiters and the Burgundian men-at-arms lasted scarcely five minutes, so soon were the former put to the rout by the superiority of the latter, in armour, weight of horses, and military spirit. In less than the space we have mentioned, the Count of Crevecæur, wiping his bloody sword upon his horse’s mane ere he sheathed it, came back to the verge of the forest, where Isabelle had remained a spectator of the combat. One part of his people followed him, while the other continued to pursue the enemy for a little space alongst the causeway. “It is shame,” said the Count, “that the weapons of knights and gentlemen should be soiled by the blood of those brutal swine.” So saying, he returned his weapon to the sheath, and added, “This is a rough welcome to your home, my pretty cousin, but wandering princesses must expect such adventures. And well I come up in time, for, let me assure you, the Black Troopers respect a countess’s cor­ onet as little as a country-wench’s coif, and I think your retinue is not qualified for much resistance.” “My Lord Count,” said the Lady Isabelle, “without farther preface, let me know if I am a prisoner, and where you are to conduct me.” “You know, you silly child,” answered the Count, “how I would

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answer that question, did it rest on me. But you, and your foolish match-making, marriage-hunting aunt, have made such wild use of your wings of late, that I fear you must be contented to fold them in a cage for a little while. For my part, my duty, and it is a sad one, will be ended when I have conducted you to the Court of the Duke, at Peronne; for which purpose, I hold it necessary to deliver the com­ mand ofthis reconnoitring party to my nephew, Count Stephen, while I return with you thither, as I think you may need an intercessor—And I hope the young giddy-pate will discharge his duty wisely.” “So please you, fair uncle,” said Count Stephen, “if you doubt my capacity to conduct the men-at-arms, even remain with them yourself, and I will be the servant and guard of the Countess Isabelle of Croye.” “No doubt, fair nephew,” answered his uncle, “this were a goodly improvement on my scheme—But methinks I like it as well in the way I planned it—please you, therefore, to take notice, that your business here is not to hunt after and stick these black hogs, for which you seemed but now to have felt an especial vocation, but to bring me true tidings what is going forward in the country of Liege, concerning which we hear such wild rumours. Let some half a score of lances follow me, and the rest remain with my banner, under your guidance.” “Yet one moment, Cousin of Crevecæur,” said the Countess Isa­ belle, “and let me, in yielding myself prisoner, stipulate at least for the safety ofthose who have befriended me in my misfortunes. Permit this good fellow, my trusty guide, to go back unharmed to his native town ofLiege.” “My nephew,” said Crevecæur, after looking sharply at Glover’s honest breadth of countenance, “shall guard this good fellow, who seems, indeed, to have little harm in him, as far into the territory as he himself advances, and then leave him at liberty.” “Fail not to remember me to the kind Gertrude,” said the Countess to her guide, and added, taking a string of pearls from under her veil, “Pray her to wear these in remembrance ofher unhappy friends.” Honest Glover took the string of pearl, and kissed, with clownish gesture but sincere kindness, the fair hand which had found such a delicate mode of remunerating his own labour and peril. “Umph! signs and tokens!” said the Count; “any further bequests to make, my fair cousin?—it is time we were on the way.” “Only,” said the Countess, making an effort to speak, “that you will be pleased to be favourable to this—this—this young gentleman.” “Umph!” said Crevecæur, casting the same penetrating glance on Quentin which he had bestowed on Glover, but apparently with a much less satisfactory result, and mimicking, though not offensively, the embarrassment of the Countess.—“Umph!—Ay,—this is a blade

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of another temper.—And pray, my cousin, what has this—this—this very young gentleman done, to deserve such intercession at your hands?” “He has saved my life and honour,” said the Countess, reddening with shame and resentment. Quentin also blushed with indignation, but wisely concluded, that to give vent to it might only make matters worse. “Life and honour?—umph!”—said again the Count of Crevecæur; “methinks it had been as well, my cousin, if you had not put yourself in the way of lying under such obligations to this very young gentleman.—But let it pass. The young gentleman may wait on us, if his quality permit, and I will see he has no injury—only, I will myself take the office of protecting your life and honour, and may perhaps find for him some fitter duty than that of being squire of the body to damosels errant.” “My Lord Count,” said Durward, unable to keep silence any longer, “lest you should talk of a stranger in slighter terms than you might afterwards think becoming, I take leave to tell you, that I am Quentin Durward, an Archer ofthe Scottish Body-guard, in which, as you well know, none but gentlemen and men of honour are enrolled.” “I thank you for your information, and I kiss your hands, Seignior Archer,” said Crevecæur, in the same tone of raillery. “Have the goodness to ride with me to the front of the party.” As Quentin moved onward at the command of the Count, who had now the power, ifnot the right, to dictate his motions, he observed that the Lady Isabelle followed his motions with a look of anxious and timid interest, which amounted almost to tenderness, and the sight of which brought water into his own eyes. But he remembered that he had a man’s part to sustain before Crevecæur, who, perhaps of all the chivalry in France or Burgundy, was least like to be moved to any thing but laughter by a tale of true-love sorrow. He determined, therefore, not to wait his addressing him, but to open their conversation in a tone which should assert his claim to fair treatment, and to more respect than the Count, offended perhaps at finding a person of such inferior note placed so near the confidence of his high-born and wealthy cousin, seemed disposed to entertain for him. “My Lord Count of Crevecæur,” he said, in a temperate but firm tone ofvoice, “may I request of you, before our interview goes further, to tell me if I am at liberty, or am to account myself your prisoner?” “A shrewd question,” replied the Count, “which, at present, I can only answer by another—Are France and Burgundy, think you, at peace or war with each other?” “That,” replied the Scot, “you, my lord, should certainly know

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better than 1.1 have been absent from the court of France, and have heard no news for some time.” “Look you there,” said the Count; “you see how easy it is to ask questions, how difficult to answer them. Why, I myself, that have been at Peronne with the Duke for this week and better, cannot resolve this riddle any more than you; and yet, Sir Squire, upon solution of that question depends the said point, whether you are prisoner or free man; and, for the present, I must hold you as the former—Only, if you have really and honestly been of service to my kinswoman, and if you are candid in your answers to the questions I shall ask, affairs shall stand the better with you.” “The Countess of Croye,” said Quentin, “is best judge if I have rendered any service, and to her I refer you on that matter. My answers you will yourselfjudge of when you ask me the questions.” “Umph!—haughty enough,” muttered the Count of Crevecæur, “and very like a lad that wears a lady’s favour in his hat, and thinks he must carry things with a high tone, to honour the precious remnant of silk and tinsel.—Well, sir, I trust it will be no abatement of your dignity, if you answer me how long you have been about the person of the Lady Isabelle of Croye?” “Count of Crevecæur,” said Quentin Durward, “if I answer ques­ tions which are asked in a tone approaching towards insult, it is only lest injurious inferences should be drawn from my silence respecting one to whom we are both obliged to render justice. I have acted as escort to the Lady Isabelle since she left France to retire into Flan­ ders.” “Ho! ho!” said the Count; “and that is to say, since she fled from Plessis-les-Tours?—You, an Archer of the Scottish Guard, accom­ panied her, of course, by the express orders of King Louis?” However little Quentin thought himself indebted to the King of France, who, in contriving the surprisal of the Countess Isabelle by William de la Marck, had probably calculated on the young Scotsman being slain in her defence, he did not yet conceive himself at liberty to betray any trust which Louis had reposed, or had seemed to repose in him, and therefore replied to Count Crevecæur’s inference, “that it was sufficient for him to have the authority of his superior officer for what he had done, and he inquired no further.” “It is quite sufficient,” said the Count. “We know the King does not permit his officers to send the Archers of his Guard to prance like paladins by the bridle-rein of wandering ladies, without he hath some politic purpose to serve. It will be difficult for King Louis to continue to aver so boldly, that he knew not of the Ladies of Croye’s having escaped from France, since they were escorted by one of his own Life­

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guard.—And whither, Sir Archer, was your retreat directed?” “To Liege, my lord,” answered the Scot; “where the ladies desired to be placed under the protection of the late Bishop.” “The late Bishop!” exclaimed the Count of Crevecœur; “is Louis of Bourbon dead?—not a word of his illness had reached the Duke— ofwhat did he die?” “He sleeps in a bloody grave, my lord—that is, if his murderers have conferred one on his remains.” “Murdered!” exclaimed Crevecœur again—“Holy Mother of Heaven! Youngman, it is impossible.” “I saw the deed done with my own eyes, and many an act of horror besides.” “Saw it! and made not in to help the good Prelate!” exclaimed the Count; “or to raise the castle against his murderers?—know’st thou not, that even to look on such a deed, without resisting it, is profane sacrilege?” “To be brief, my lord,” said Durward, “ere this act was done, the castle was stormed by the blood-thirsty William de la Marck, with help of the insurgent Liegeois.” “I am struck with thunder,” said Crevecœur. “Liege in insurrec­ tion!—Schonwaldt taken!—the Bishop murdered!—Messenger of sorrow, never did one man unfold such a packet of woes!—Speak— knew you of this assault—of this insurrection—of this murther?— Speak—thou art one of Louis’s trusted Archers, and it is he that has aimed this fearful arrow.—Speak, or I will have thee torn with wild horses!” “And if I am so torn, my lord, there can be nothing rent out of me, that may not become a true Scottish gentleman. I know no more of these villainies than you,—was so far from being partaker in them, that I would have withstood them to the uttermost, had my means, in a twentieth degree, equalled my inclination. But what could I do?— they were hundreds, and I but one. My only care was to rescue the Countess Isabelle, and in that I was happily successful. Yet, had I been near enough when the ruffian deed was so cruelly done on the old man, I had saved his grey hairs, or I had avenged them; and as it was, my abhorrence was spoken loud enough to prevent other horrors.” “I believe thee, youth,” said the Count; “thou art neither of an age nor nature to be trusted with such bloody work, however well fitted to be the squire of dames. But alas! for the kind and generous Prelate, to be murthered on the hearth where he so often entertained the stranger with Christian charity and princely bounty—and that by a wretch—a monster—a portentous growth of vice and cruelty—bred up in the very hall where he has embrued his hands in his benefactor’s

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blood! But I know not Charles of Burgundy—nay, I should doubt of the justice of Heaven,—if vengeance be not as sharp, and sudden, and severe, as this villainy has been unexampled in atrocity. And, if no other were to pursue the murtherer,”—here he paused, grasped the hilt of his sword, then quitting his bridle, struck both gauntletted hands upon his breast, until his corslet clattered, and finally held them up to heaven, as he solemnly continued—“I—I—Philip Crevecœur of Cordes, make a vow to God, Saint Lambert, and the Three Kings of Cologne, that small shall be my thought of other earthly concerns, till I take full revenge on the murtherers of the good Louis of Bour­ bon, whether I find them in forest or field, in city or in country, in hill or plain, in King’s court, or in God’s church! and thereto I pledge lands and living, friends and followers, life and honour. So help me God and Saint Lambert of Liege, and the Three Kings of Cologne!” When the Count of Crevecœur had made his vow, his mind seemed in some sort relieved from the overwhelming grief and aston­ ishment with which he had heard the fatal tragedy that had been acted at Schonwaldt, and he proceeded to question Durward more minutely concerning the particulars of that disastrous affair, which the Scot, noways desirous to abate the spirit of revenge which the Count enter­ tained against William de la Marck, gave him at full length. “But those blind, unsteady, faithless, fickle beasts, the Liegeois,” said the Count, “that they should have combined themselves with this inexorable robber and murtherer, to put to death their lawful Prince!” Durward here informed the enraged Burgundian that the Liegeois, or at least the better class of them, however rashly they had run into rebellion against their Bishop, had no design, so far as appeared to him, to aid in the execrable deed of De la Marck; but, on the contrary, would have prevented it if they had had the means, and were struck with horror when they beheld it. “Speak not of the faithless, inconstant, plebeian rabble!” said Crevecœur. “When they took arms against a Prince, who had no fault, save that he was too kind and too good a master for such a set of ungrateful slaves—when they armed against him, and broke into his peaceful house, what was there in the intention but murther?—When they banded themselves with the wild Boar of Ardennes, the greatest homicide in the marches of Flanders, what else could there be in his purpose but murther, which is the very trade he lives by?—and again, was it not one of their own vile rabble who did the very deed, by thine own account?—I hope to see their canals running blood by the light of their burning houses. Oh, the kind, noble, generous lord, whom they have murthered!—other vassals have rebelled under the pressure of imposts and penury, but the men of Liege, in the fulness of insolence

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and plenty.”—He again abandoned the reins of his war-horse, and wrung bitterly the hands, which his mail-gloves rendered intractable. Quentin easily saw that the grief which he manifested was augmented by the bitter recollection of past intercourse and friendship with the sufferer, and was silent accordingly respecting feelings which he was unwilling to aggravate, and at the same time felt it impossible to sooth. But the Count of Crevecœur returned again and again to the subject—questioned him on every particular of the surprise of Schonwaldt, and the death of the Bishop; and then suddenly, as if he had recollected something which had escaped his memory, demanded what had become of the Lady Hameline, and why she was not with her kinswoman? “Not,” he added contemptuously, “that I consider her absence as at all a loss to the Countess Isabelle; for, although she was her kinswoman, and upon the whole well-meaning, yet the Court of Cocagne never produced such a fantastic fool; and I hold it for cer­ tain, that her niece, whom I have always observed to be a modest and orderly young woman, was led into the absurd frolic of flying from Burgundy to France, by that blundering, romantic, old match-making and match-seeking ideot!” What a speech for a romantic lover to hear! and to hear, too, when it would have been ridiculous in him to attempt what it was impossible for him to achieve,—namely, to convince the Count, by force of arms, that he did foul wrong to the Countess—the peerless in sense as in beauty—in terming her a modest and orderly young woman; qualities which might have been predicated with propriety of the daughter of a sun-burned peasant, who lived by goading the oxen, while her father held the plough. And then, to suppose her under the domination and supreme guidance of a silly and romantic aunt!—the slander should have been repelled down the slanderer’s throat. But the open, though severe, countenance of the Count of Crevecœur, the total contempt which he seemed to entertain for those feelings which were upper­ most in Quentin’s bosom, overawed him;—not for fear of the Count’s fame in arms—that was a risk which would have increased his desire of making out a challenge—but in dread of ridicule, the weapon of all others most feared by enthusiasts of every description, and which, from its predominance over such minds, often checks what is absurd, and often smothers that which is noble. Under the influence of this fear of becoming an object of scorn rather than resentment, Durward, though with some pain, confined his reply to a confused account ofthe Lady Hameline having made her escape from Schonwaldt before the attack took place. He could not, indeed, have made his story very distinct, without throwing ridicule on the near relation of Isabelle, and perhaps incurring some himself, as

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having been the object of her preposterous expectations. He added to his embarrassed detail, that he had heard a report, though a vague one, of the Lady Hameline having again fallen into the hands of William de la Marck. “I trust in Saint Lambert that he will marry her,” said Crevecœur; “as, indeed, he is like enough to do, for the sake of her money-bags; and equally likely to knock her upon the head, so soon as these are either secured in his own grasp, or, at furthest, emptied.” The Count then proceeded to ask so many questions concerning the mode in which both ladies had conducted themselves on the journey, the degree of intimacy to which they admitted Quentin him­ self, and other trying particulars, that, vexed and ashamed and angry, the youth was scarce able to conceal his embarrassment from the keen-sighted soldier and courtier, who seemed suddenly disposed to take leave of him, saying, at the same time, “Umph—I see it is as I conjectured, on one side at least—I trust the other party has kept her senses better.—Come, Sir Squire, spur on, and keep the van, while I fall back to discourse the Lady Isabelle. I think I have learned now so much from you, that I can talk to her of these sad passages without hurting her nicety, though I have fretted your’s a little.—Yet stay, young gallant—one word ere you go. You have had, I imagine, a happy journey through Fairy-land—all full of heroic adventure, and high hope and wild minstrel-like delusion, like the gardens of Morgaine la Fay—Forget it all, young soldier—,” he added, touching him on the shoulder; “remember yonder lady only as the honoured Countess of Croye—forget her as a wandering and adventurous damsel: And her friends—one of them I can answer for—will remember, on their part, only the services you have done her, and forget the unreasonable reward which you have had the boldness to propose to yourself.” Enraged that he had been unable to conceal from the sharp-sighted Crevecœur feelings which the Count seemed to consider as the object of ridicule, Quentin replied, indignantly, “My Lord Count, when I require advice of you, I will ask it; when I demand assistance of you, it will be time enough to refuse it; when I set peculiar value on your opinion ofme, it will not be too late to express it.” “Heyday!” said the Count; “I have come between Amadis and Oriana, and must expect a challenge to the lists!” “You speak as ifthat were an impossibility,” said Quentin—“When I broke a lance with the Duke of Orleans, it was against a breast in which flowed better blood than that of Crevecœur—When I meas­ ured swords with Dunois, I engaged abetter warrior.” “Now Heaven nourish thy judgment, gentle youth,” said Creve­ cœur. “If thou speak’st truth, thou hast had singular luck in this

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world; and, truly, if it be the pleasure of Providence exposes thee to such trials, without a beard on thy lip, thou wilt be mad with vanity ere thou writest thyself man. Thou canst not move me to anger, though thou may’st to mirth. Believe me, though thou may’st have fought with Princes, and played the champion for Countesses, by some of those freaks which Fortune will sometimes exhibit, thou art by no means the equal of those of whom thou hast been either the casual opponent, or more casual companion. I can allow thee, like a youth who hath listened to romances till he fancied himself a Paladin, to form pretty dreams for some time; but thou must not be angry at a well-meaning friend, though he shake thee something roughly by the shoulders to awake thee.” “My Lord Count,” said Quentin, “my family”—— “Nay, it was not utterly of family that I spoke,” said the Count; “but of rank, fortune, high station, and so forth, which place a distance between various degrees and classes of persons—as for birth, all men are descended from Adam and Eve.” “My Lord Count,” repeated Quentin, “my ancestors, the Dur­ wards of Glen-houlakin”—— “Nay,” said the Count, “if you claim a farther descent for them than from Adam, I have done—good even to you.” He reined back his horse, and paused to join the Countess, to whom, if possible, his insinuations and advices, however well meant, were still more disagreeable than to Quentin, who, as he rode on, muttered to himself, “Cold-blooded, insolent, overweening cox­ comb!—would that the next Scottish Archer who has his arquebuss pointed at thee, may not let thee off so easily as I did!” In the evening they reached the town of Charleroi, on the Sambre, where the Count of Crevecœur had determined to leave the Countess Isabelle, whom the terror and fatigue of yesterday, joined to a flight of fifty miles since morning, and the various distressing sensations by which it was accompanied, had made incapable of travelling further, with safety to her health. The Count consigned her, in a state of great exhaustion, to the care of the Abbess of the Cistercian convent in Charleroi, a noble lady, to whom both the families of Crevecœur and Croye were related, and in whose prudence and kindness he could repose confidence. Crevecœur himselfonly stopped to recommend the utmost caution to the governor of a small Burgundian garrison who occupied the place, and required him also to mount a guard of honour upon the convent during the residence of the Countess Isabelle of Croye,— ostensibly to secure her safety, but perhaps secretly to prevent her attempting to escape. The Count only assigned as a cause for the

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garrison being vigilant, some vague rumours which he had heard of disturbances in the Bishopric of Liege. But he was determined him­ self to be the first who should carry the formidable news of the insur­ rection and the murther of the Bishop, in all their horrible reality, to Duke Charles; and for that purpose, having procured fresh horses for himself and suite, he mounted with the resolution of continuing his journey to Peronne without stopping for repose; and informing Quentin Durward that he must attend him, he made, at the same time, a mock apology for parting fair company, but hoped, that to so devoted a squire of dames a night’s journey by moonshine would be more agreeable, than supinely to yield himself to slumber like an ordinary mortal. Quentin, already sufficiently afflicted by finding that he was to be parted from Isabelle, longed to answer this taunt with an indignant defiance; but aware that the Count would only laugh at his anger, and despise his challenge, he resolved to wait some future time, when he might have an opportunity ofobtaining some amends from this proud lord, who, though for very different reasons, had become nearly as odious to him as the Wild Boar of Ardennes himself. He therefore assented to Crevecceur’s proposal, as to what he had no choice of declining, and they pursued in company, and with all the dispatch they could exert, the road between Charleroi and Peronne.

(Chapter Two) THE UNBIDDEN GUEST

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 well nigh 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 com­ bat with that bitter heart-ache, when youth parts, and probably for ever, with her he loves, as, pressed by the urgency of the moment, and the impatience of Crevecœur, they hasted on through the rich low­ lands 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 corn fields, from which the husbandmen were using her light to draw the grain, such was the industry of the

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Flemings, even at that period—She shone on broad, level, and fructi­ fying rivers, where glided the white sail in the service of commerce, uninterrupted by rock or torrent, beside lovely quiet villages, whose external decency and cleanliness expressed the ease and comfort of the inhabitants: she gleamed upon the feudal castle of many a gallant Baron and Knight, with its deep moat, battlemented court, and high belfry, for the chivalry of Hainault was renowned amongst the nobles of Europe: and her light displayed at a distance, in its broad beam, the gigantic towers ofmore than one lofty minster. Yet all this fair variety, however differing from the waste and wil­ derness 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 further journey inspired was, that every step was carrying him further 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 ofsorrow, 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 reflectionswhich 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 per­ verted 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, a 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 sort of mingled colours, the moonlight landscape swam before them, and he was so much over­ come with fatigue, that the Count of Crevecceur, observing his condi­ tion, was at length compelled to order two of his attendants, one to each rein of Durward’s bridle, in order to prevent the possibility ofhis 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

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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 and harbingers, “Debout! debout!—Ha! Messires, en route, en route!” —Yet, unwelcomely early as the tones came, they awaked him a dif­ ferent being in strength and spirits from what he had fallen asleep. Confidence in himself and his fortunes returned with Durward’s 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 invigor­ ating principle, to be cherished in his bosom, although he might never propose 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 pos­ sessor 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 dis­ puted 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 Crevecœur, who passed several on his alleged effeminacy and incapacity of under­ going fatigue. The young Scot accommodated himself so good-hum­ ouredly 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 him, 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 ofBurgundy 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 ofhis original patron, King Louis, he nevertheless continued to be on good terms with the Count of Crevecœur; 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

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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 ofBurgundy’s army lay encamped, ready, as was supposed, to invade France; and, in opposi­ tion to which, Louis XI. had himself assembled a strong force near Saint Maxence, for the purpose ofbringing to reason his over-power­ ful vassal. Peronne, situated upon a deep river, in a flat country, and sur­ rounded by strong bulwarks and profound moats, was accounted in ancient, as in modem times, one of the strongest fortresses in France.* The Count of Crevecceur, 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 cov­ ered 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 Crevecceur, 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 artificial canal, and came galloping towards him. “News, news, Count of Crevecceur!” they cried both together;— “will you give news, or take news? or will you barter fairly?” “I would barter fairly, Messires,” said Crevecceur, 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 taller of the two, a fine baronial figure, with a dark countenance, marked with that sort of sadness which some physiognomists ascribe to a melancholy tem­ perament, and some, as the Italian statuary augured of the visage of Charles I., consider as predicting an unhappy death, turning to his companion, said, “Crevecceur 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 Crevecceur, “the Duke ought in justice to have the first of my wares, as the Seigneur takes his toll before open market * 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.

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begins. But tell me, are your news of a sad or a pleasant complexion?” The person whom he particularly addressed was a little livelylooking 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 rather of counsel than of action, who saw and judged rapidly, but was sage and slow in forming resolutions or in expressing opinions. This was the famous Sieur d’Argenton, better 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 Crevecœur’s question concerning the complexion of the news of which he and his companion, the Baron de Hymbercourt, were the depositaries.—“They were,” he said, “like the colours of the rainbow, various in hue, as they might be viewed from different points, and placed betwixt the black cloud and the fair sky—Such a rainbow was never seen in France or Flanders since that ofNoah’s ark.” “My tidings,” replied Crevecœur, “are altogether like the comet; gloomy, wild, and terrible in themselves, yet to be accounted the forerunners of still greater and more terrible evils which are to ensue.” “We must open our bales,” said D’Argenton to his companion, “or our market will be forestalled by some new-comer, for ours are public news. In one word, Crevecœur—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 ofBurgundy 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 Crevecœur, “and, like his ancestor, gained a second field of Poictiers.” “Not so,” said D’Argenton—“not a French banner has been borne down, not a sail spread from England—where Edward is too much amused among the wives ofthe London citizens to think ofplaying 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 dreamed of nothing but war.” “What has followed has been indeed so like a dream,” said D’Argenton, “that I almost expect to awake and find it so. Only one day since, the Duke had in council protested so furiously against further delay, that it was resolved to send a defiance to the King, and

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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 Mont-joie 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 their 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 him, 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 Crevecœur; “and yet you sur­ prise 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 bring himself into 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 council?” “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 Crevecœur. “Spoke briefand bold, as usual,” replied D’Argenton.—“ ‘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 entrenchments 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 in the same singleness of heart under which I acted on the former occa­ sion, he shall be royally welcome—if it is meant by this appearance of confidence, to circumvent and to blind me, till he executes some of his politic schemes, by Saint George ofBurgundy, let him look to it!’ And so, having turned up his mustaches, and stamped on the ground, he

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ordered us all to get on our horses, and receive so extraordinary a guest.” “And you met the King accordingly?” replied the Count of Crevecœur—“Miracles have not ceased!—How was he accompanied?” “As slightly as might be,” answered 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 gayer figure.” “That fellow,” said Crevecœur, “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 the higher rank?” “There are Monseigneur of Orleans and Dunois,” replied D’Argenton. “I will have a rouze with Dunois,” said Crevecœur, “wag the world as it will. But we heard they were in prison.” “They were both under arrest in the Castle ofLoches, that delight­ ful place of retirement for the French nobility,” said 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 Marshall, with two or three of his retinue, and Oliver, his barber, may be the most consid­ erable—and the whole so poorly arrayed, that, by my honour, the King resembles most an old usurer going to collect desperate debts, attended by a body of catch-poles.” “And where is he lodged?” said Crevecœur. “Nay, that,” replied D’Argenton, “is the most marvellous of all. Our Duke offered to let the King’s Archers guard 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 Poncet de Riviere, whom he had banished from France; and scared with the thought of being so near refugees and malcontents of his own making, he craved to be lodged in the Castle of Peronne, and there he hath his abode accordingly.” “Why, God ha’ mercy!” exclaimed Crevecœur, “this is not only 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 D’Argenton, “Hymbercourt hath not told you the speech of Le Glorieux—which, in my mind, was the shrewdest opin­ ion that was given.” “And what said his most illustrious wisdom?” asked the Count.

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“As the Duke,” replied D’Argenton, “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 then?’ 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 Crevecœur, and what think you they resemble?” “A mine full charged with gun-powder,” answered Crevecœur, “to which, I fear, it is my fate to bring the linstock. Your news and mine are like flax and fire, 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 forwards, and examined and re-examined on the particulars of the Bishop’s death, until at length he refused to answer any further 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 saw 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.

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Chapter Three THE INTERVIEW

When Princes meet, Astrologers may mark it An ominous conjunction, full of boding, Like that of Mars with Saturn. OldPlay

One hardly knows whether to term it a privilege or a penalty annexed to the quality of princes, that, in their intercourse with each other, they are required, by the respect which is due to their own rank and dignity, to regulate their feelings and expressions by a severe etiquette, which precludes all violent and avowed display of passion, and which, but that the whole world are aware that this assumed complaisance is a matter of ceremony, might justly pass for profound dissimulation. It is no less certain, however, that the overstepping of these bounds ofceremonial, for the purpose ofgiving more direct vent to their angry passions, has the effect of compromising their dignity with the world in general, as was particularly noted when those distin­ guished rivals, Francis the First, and the Emperor Charles, gave each other the lie direct, and were desirous of deciding their differences hand to hand, in single combat. Charles of Burgundy, the most hasty and impatient, nay, the most imprudent prince of his time, found himself, nevertheless, fettered within the magic circle which prescribed the most profound deference to Louis, as his Suzerain and liege Lord, who had deigned to confer upon him, a vassal of the crown, the distinguished honour of a per­ sonal visit. Dressed in his ducal mantle, and attended by his great officers, and principal knights and nobles, he went in gallant caval­ cade, to receive Louis XI. His retinue absolutely blazed with gold and silver; for the wealth of the Court of England being exhausted by the wars of York and Lancaster, and the expenditure of France limited by the economy of the Sovereign, that of Burgundy was for the time the most magnificent in Europe. The cortege of Louis, on the contrary, was few in number and comparatively mean in appearance, and the exterior of the King himself, in a thread-bare cloak, with his wonted old high-crowned hat stuck full of images, rendered the contrast yet more striking; and while the Duke, richly attired with coronet and mantle of state, threw himself from his noble charger, and, kneeling on one knee, offered to hold the stirrup while Louis dismounted from his little ambling palfrey, the effect was almost grotesque.

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The greeting between the two potentates was, of course, as full of affected kindness and compliment as it was totally devoid of sincerity. But the temper of the Duke rendered it much more difficult for him to preserve the necessary appearances, in voice, speech, and demean­ our, while in the King, every species of simulation and dissimulation, seemed so much a part of his nature, that those best acquainted with him could not have distinguished what was feigned from what was real. Perhaps the most accurate illustration, were it not unworthy two such high potentates, would be, to suppose the King in the situation of a stranger, perfectly acquainted with the habits and dispositions of the canine race, who, for some purpose of his own, is desirous to make friends with a large and surly mastiff who holds him in suspicion, and is disposed to fly upon him on the first symptoms either of diffidence or ofumbrage. The mastiffgrowls internally, erects his bristles, shews his teeth, yet takes shame to fly upon the intruder, who seems at the same time so kind, and so confiding, and therefore the animal endures advances which are far from pacifying him, watching at the same time the slightest opportunity which may justify him in his own eyes for seizing his friend by the throat. The King was no doubt sensible, from the altered voice, con­ strained manner, and abrupt gestures of the Duke, that the game he had to play was delicate, and perhaps he more than once repented having ever taken it in hand. But repentance was too late, and all that remained for him was that inimitable dexterity ofmanagement, which the King understood equally at least to any man that ever lived. The demeanour which Louis used towards the Duke, was such as to resemble the kind overflowing of the heart in a moment of sincere reconciliation with an honoured and tried friend, from whom he had been estranged by temporary circumstances now passed away, and forgotten as soon as removed. The King blamed himself for not having sooner taken the decisive step, ofconvincing his kind and good kinsman by such a mark of confidence as he was now bestowing, that the angry passages which had occurred betwixt them were nothing in his remembrance, when weighed against the kindness which received him when an exile from France, and under the displeasure of the King his father. He spoke of the Good Duke of Burgundy, as Philip the father of Duke Charles was currently called, and remembered a thou­ sand instances ofhis paternal kindness. “I think, cousin,” he said, “your father made little difference in his affection, between you and me; for I remember, when by accident I had bewildered myself in a hunting-party near Genappes and came back later than you and the rest of the party, I found the Good Duke

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upbraiding you with leaving me in the forest, as if you had been careless of the safety of an elder brother.” The Duke of Burgundy’s features were naturally harsh and severe; and when he attempted to smile, in polite acquiescence to the truth of what the King told him, the grimace which he made was truly diabol­ ical. “Prince of dissemblers,” he said, in his secret soul, “would that it stood with my honour to remind you how you have requited all the benefits ofour House!” “And then,” continued the King, “if the ties of consanguinity and gratitude are not sufficient to bind us together, my fair cousin, we have those of spiritual relationship—for I am god-father to your fair daughter Mary, who is as dear to me as one of my own maidens; and when the Saints (their holy name be blessed!) sent me a little blossom which withered in the course of three months, it was your princely father who held it at the font, and celebrated the ceremony of baptism with richer and prouder magnificence, than Paris itself could have afforded. Never shall I forget the deep, and indelible impression which the generosity of Duke Philip, and yours, my dearest cousin, made upon the half-broken heart ofthe poor exile.” “Your Majesty,” said the Duke, compelling himself to make some reply, “acknowledged that slight obligation in terms which overpaid all the display which Burgundy could make, to shew due sense of the honour you had done its Sovereign.” “I remember the words you mean, fair cousin,” said the King, smiling; “I think they were, that in guerdon of the benefit of that day, I, poor wanderer, had nothing to offer, save the persons of myself, of my wife, and of my child—well, and I think I have indifferently well redeemed my pledge.” “I mean not to dispute what your Majesty is pleased to aver,” said the Duke; “but”—— “But you ask,” said the King, interrupting him, “how my actions have accorded with my words—marry thus—the body of my infant child Joachim rests in Burgundian earth—my own person I have this morning placed unreservedly in your power—and, for that ofmy wife, —truly, cousin, I think, considering the period of time which has passed, you will scarce insist on my keeping my word in that particular. She was born on the day of the Blessed Annunciation, (he crossed himself, and muttered an Ora pro nobis,) some fifty years since; but she is no further distant than Rheims, and if you insist on my promise being fulfilled to the letter, she shall presently wait your pleasure.” Angry as the Duke of Burgundy was at the barefaced attempt of the King to assume towards him a tone of friendship and intimacy, he

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could not help laughing at the whimsical reply of that singular mon­ arch, and his laugh was as discordant as the abrupt tones of passion in which he often spoke. Having laughed longer and louder than was at that time, or would now be, thought fitting the time and occasion, he answered in the same tone, bluntly declining the honour of the Queen’s company, but stating his willingness in her stead to accept that of the King’s eldest daughter, whose beauty was celebrated. “I am happy, fair cousin,” said the King, with one of those dubious smiles of which he frequently made use, “that your gracious pleasure has not fixed on my younger daughter Joan. I should otherwise have had spear-breaking between you and my cousin of Orleans; and, had harm come of it, I must on either side have lost a kind friend and affectionate cousin.” “Nay, nay, my royal sovereign,” said Duke Charles, “the Duke of Orleans shall have no interruption from me in the path which he has chosen par amours—the cause in which I couch my lance against Orleans, must be fair and straight.” Louis was far from taking amiss this brutal allusion to the personal deformity of the Princess Joan. On the contrary, he was rather pleased to find that the Duke was content to be amused with broad jests, in which he was himself a proficient, and which (according to the mod­ ern phrase,) spared much sentimental hypocrisy. Accordingly, he speedily placed their intercourse on such a footing, that Charles, though he felt it impossible to play the part of an affectionate and reconciled friend to a monarch whose ill offices he had so often encountered, and whose sincerity on the present occasion he so strongly doubted, yet had no difficulty in acting the hearty landlord towards a facetious guest; and so the want of reciprocity in kinder feelings between them, was supplied by the tone of good fellowship which exists betwixt two boon companions,—a tone natural to the Duke from the frankness, and, it might be added, the grossness of his character, and to Louis, because though capable of assuming any mood of social intercourse, that which really suited him best was mingled with grossness of ideas, and of caustic humour in expression. Both Princes were happily able to preserve, during the period of a banquet at the town-house of Peronne, the same kind of conversation, on which they met as on a neutral ground, and which, as Louis easily perceived, was more available than any other to keep the Duke of Burgundy in that state of composure which seemed necessary to his own safety. Yet he was alarmed to observe that the Duke had around him several of those French nobles, and those of the highest rank, and in situations of great trust and power, whom his own severity or injustice

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had driven into exile; and it was to secure himself from the possible effects of their resentment and revenge, that (as already mentioned) he requested to be lodged in the Castle or Citadel of Peronne, rather than in the town itself. This was readily granted by Duke Charles, with one of those grim smiles, of which it was impossible to say whether it meant good or harm to the party whom it concerned. But when the King, expressing himself with as much delicacy as he could, and in the manner he thought best qualified to lull suspicion asleep, asked, whether the Scottish Archers of his Guard might not maintain the custody of the Castle of Peronne during his residence there, in lieu of the gate of the town which the Duke had offered to their care, Charles replied, with his wonted sternness of voice, and abruptness of manner, rendered more alarming by his habit, when he spoke, of either turning up his moustachios or handling his sword and dagger, the last of which he used frequently to draw a little way, and then return to the sheath—“Saint Martin! No, my liege—you are in your vassal’s camp and city—so men call me in respect to your Majesty —my castle and town are yours—and my men are yours; so it is indifferent whether they or the Scottish Archers guard either the outer gate or defences of the Castle.—No, by Saint George! Peronne is a virgin fortress—she shall not lose her reputation by any neglect of mine. Maidens must be carefully watched, my royal cousin, if we would have them continue to live in good fame.” “Surely, fair cousin, and I altogether agree with you,” said the King, “being, in fact, more interested in the reputation of the good little town than you are—Peronne being, as you know, fair cousin, one of those upon the same river Somme, which, pledged to your father of happy memory for certain sums of money, are liable to be redeemed upon re-payment. And, to speak truth, coming, like an honest debtor, disposed to clear offmy obligations of every kind, I have brought here a few sumpter mules loaded with silver for the redemption—enough to maintain even your princely and royal establishment, fair cousin, for the space of three years.” “I will not receive a penny of it,” said the Duke, twirling his mous­ tachios; “the day of redemption is past, my royal cousin—nor was there ever serious purpose that the right should be exercised, the cession of these towns being the sole recompence my father ever received from France, when, in a happy hour for your family, he consented to forget the murder of my grandfather, and to exchange the alliance of England for that of your father. Saint George! if he had not so acted, your royal self, far from having towns on the Somme, could scarce have kept those beyond the Loire. No—I will not render a stone ofthem, were I to receive for every stone so rendered its weight

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in gold. I thank God, and the wisdom and valour of my ancestors, that the revenues of Burgundy, though it be but a duchy, will maintain my state, even when a King is my guest, without obliging me to barter my heritage.” “Well, fair cousin,” answered the King, with the same mild and placid manner as before, and unperturbed by the muttering and viol­ ent gestures of the Duke, “I see that you are so good a friend to France, that you are unwilling to part with aught that belongs to her. But we shall need some moderator in these affairs when we come to treat of them in council—What say you to Saint Paul?” “Neither Saint Paul, nor Saint Peter, nor e’er a Saint in the Calen­ dar,” said the Duke of Burgundy, “shall preach me out of possession ofPeronne.” “Nay, but you mistake me,” said King Louis, smiling; “I mean Louis de Luxembourg, our trusty constable, the Count of Saint Paul. —Ah! Saint Mary ofEmbrun! we lack but his head at our conference, the best head in France, and the most useful to the restoration of perfect harmony betwixt us.” “By Saint George of Burgundy!” said the Duke, “I marvel to hear your Majesty talk thus of a man, false and perjured, both to France and Burgundy—one who hath ever endeavoured to fan into a flame our frequent differences, and that with the purpose of giving himself the airs of a mediator. I swear by the Order I wear, that his marshes shall not be long a resource for him!” “Be not so warm, cousin,” said the King, smiling, and speaking under his breath; “when I wished for the constable’s head, as a means of ending the settlement of our trifling differences, I had no desire for his body, which might remain at Saint Quentin’s with much conveni­ ence.” “Ho! ho! I take your meaning, my royal cousin,” said Charles, with the same dissonant laugh which some of the King’s coarse pleasant­ ries had extorted, and added, stamping with his heel on the ground, “I allow, in that sense, the head of the Constable might be useful at Peronne.” These, and other discourses, by which the King mixed hints at serious affairs amid matters of mirth and amusement, did not follow each other consecutively; but were adroitly introduced during the time of the Banquet at the Hotel de Ville, during a subsequent inter­ view in the Duke’s own apartments, and, in short, as occasion seemed to render the introduction ofsuch delicate subjects easy and natural. Indeed, however rashly Louis had placed himself in a risk, which the Duke’s fiery temper, and the mutual subjects of exasperated enmity which subsisted betwixt them, rendered of doubtful and

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perilous issue, never pilot on an unknown coast conducted himself with more firmness and prudence. He seemed to sound with the utmost address and precision, the depths and shallows of his rival’s mind and temper, and manifested neither doubt nor fear, when the result of his experiments discovered much more of sunken rocks, and of dangerous shoals, than of safe anchorage. At length a day closed, which must have been a wearisome one to Louis, from the constant exertion of vigilance, precaution, and atten­ tion which his situation required, as it was a day of constraint to the Duke, from the necessity of suppressing the violent feelings to which he was in the general habit of giving uncontrolled vent. No sooner was the latter retired into his own apartment, after he had taken formal leave of the King for the night, than he gave way to the explosion of passion which he had so long suppressed, and many an oath and abusive epithet, as his jester, Le Glorieux, said, “fell that night upon heads which they were never coined for”—his domestics reaping the benefit of that hoard of injurious language which he could not in decency bestow on his royal guest, even in his absence, and which was yet become too great to be altogether suppressed. The jest of the clown had some effect in tranquillizing the Duke’s angry mood; —he laughed loudly, threw the jester a piece of gold, caused himself to be disrobed in tranquillity, swallowed a deep cup of wine and spices, went to bed, and slept soundly. The couchee of King Louis is more worthy of notice than that of Charles; for the violent expression of exasperated and headlong pas­ sion, as indeed it belongs more to the brutal than the intelligent part of our nature, has little to interest us, in comparison to the deep workings of a vigorous and powerful mind. Louis was escorted to the lodgings he had chosen in the Castle, or Citadel of Peronne, by the chamberlains and harbingers of the Duke of Burgundy, and received at the entrance by a strong guard ofarchers and men-at-arms. As he descended from his horse to cross the drawbridge, over a moat of unusual width and depth, he looked on the sentinels, and observed to D’Argenton, who accompanied him, with other Bur­ gundian nobles, “They wear Saint Andrew’s crosses—but not those ofmy Scottish Archers.” “You will find them as ready to die in your defence, sire,” said D’Argenton, whose sagacious ear had detected in the King’s tone of speech a feeling, which doubtless Louis would have concealed if he could. “They wear the Saint Andrew’s Cross as the appendage of the collar of the Golden Fleece, my master the Duke of Burgundy’s order.”

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“Do I not know it?” said Louis, shewing the collar which he himself wore in compliment to his host; “It is one of the numerous and dear bonds of fraternity which exist between my kind brother and myself— we are brothers in chivalry, as in spiritual relationship, cousins by birth, and friends by every tie of kind feeling and good neighbourhood —No farther than the base court, my noble lords and gentlemen! I can permit your attendance no farther—you have done me enough of grace.” “We were charged by the Duke,” said Hymbercourt, “to bring your Majesty to your lodging—we trust, your Majesty will permit us to obey our master’s command.” “In this small matter,” said the King, “I trust you will allow my command to outweigh his, even with you his liege subjects.—I am something indisposed, my lords—something fatigued; great pleasure hath its toils as well as pain—I trust to enjoy your society better to­ morrow—Yours especially, noble Hymbercourt, whom I have known such a faithful friend in peace, so stout an opponent in war—And yours too, Seignior Philip ofArgenton—I am told you are the annalist of the time—we that desire to have a name in history, must speak you fair, for men say your pen hath a sharp point, when you will—Good night, my lords and gentles, to all and to each of you.” The Lords of Burgundy retired, much pleased with the grace of Louis’s manner, and the artful distribution of his attentions; and the King was left with only one or two of his own personal followers, under the archway of the base-court of the Castle of Peronne, looking on the huge tower which occupied one of the angles, being in effect the Donjon, or principal Keep of the place. This tall, dark, massive building was seen clearly by the same moon which was lighting Quen­ tin Durward betwixt Charleroi and Peronne, which, as the reader is aware, shone with peculiar lustre. The great Keep was in form nearly resembling the White Tower in the citadel of London, but still more ancient in its architecture, deriving its date, as was affirmed, from before the days of Charlemagne. The walls were of a tremendous thickness, the windows very small, and grated with thick bars of iron, and the huge clumsy bulk of the building cast a dark and portentous shadow over the whole of the court-yard. “I am not to be lodged there?,” the King said, with a shudder, that had something in it ominous. “No,” replied the grey-headed seneschal, who attended upon him unbonnetted—“God forbid!—Your Majesty’s apartment is prepared in these lower buildings which are hard by, and in which King John slept two nights before the battle of Poitiers.” “Hum—that is no lucky omen neither—” muttered the King; “but

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what of the Tower, my old friend? and why should you desire of Heaven that I may not be there lodged?” “Nay, my gracious liege,” said the seneschal, “I know no evil of the Tower at all—only that the sentinels say lights are seen, and strange noises heard in it at night, and there are reasons why that may be the case, for anciently it was used as a state prison—and—there are many tales ofdeeds which have been done in it.” Louis asked no further questions, for no man was more bound than he to respect the secrets of a prison-house. At the door of the apart­ ments destined for his use, which, though of later date than the Tower, were still both ancient and gloomy, stood a small party of his guard, with their faithful old commander at their head. “Crawford—my honest and faithful Crawford,” said the King, “where hast thou been to-day?—Are the lords of Burgundy so inhos­ pitable as to neglect one of the bravest and most noble gentlemen who ever trode a court?—I saw you not at the banquet.” “I declined it, my liege,” said Crawford—“times are changed with me—the day has been that I could have ventured a carouse with the best man in Burgundy, and that in the juice of his own grape; but a matter of four pints now flusters me, and I think it concerns your Majesty’s service on this occasion to set an example to my callants.” “Thou art ever prudent,” said the King; “but surely your toil is the less when you have so few men to command?—and a time of festivity requires not so severe self-denial on your part as a time of danger.” “If I have few men to command,” said Crawford, “I have the more need to keep the knaves in fitting condition, and whether this be like to end in feasting or fighting, God and your Majesty know better than old John of Crawford.” “You surely do not apprehend any danger?” said the King hastily, yet in a whisper. “Not I,” answered Crawford; “I wish I did; for, as old Earl Tine­ man used to say, apprehended dangers may be always defended dan­ gers.—The word for the night, ifyour Majesty pleases?” “Let it be Burgundy, in honour of our host and of a liquor that you love, Crawford.” “I will quarrel with neither Duke nor drink, so called,” said Craw­ ford, “providing always that both be sound. A good night to your Majesty.” “A good night, my trusty Scot,” said the King, and passed on to his apartments. At the door of his bed-room Le Balafré was placed sentinel. “Fol­ low me hither,” said the King, as he passed him; and the Archer accordingly, like a piece of machinery put into motion by an artist,

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strode after him into the apartment, and remained there fixed, silent, and motionless, attending the royal command. “Have you heard from that wandering Paladin, your nephew?” said the King; “for he hath been lost to us, since, like a young knight who had set out upon his first adventures, he sent us home two prisoners as the first fruits ofhis chivalry.” “My lord, I heard something of that,” said Balafré; “and I hope your Majesty will believe, that if he hath acted wrongfully, it was in no shape by my precept or example, since I never was so bold an ass as to unhorse any of your Majesty’s most illustrious house, better knowing my own condition, and”—– “Be silent on that point,” said the King; “your nephew did his duty in the matter.” “There indeed,” continued Balafré, “he had the cue from me.— ‘Quentin,’ said I to him, ‘whatever comes of it, remember you belong to the Scottish Archer-guard, and do your duty, whatever come on’t. ’ ” “I guess he had some such exquisite instructor,” said Louis; “but it concerns me that you answer my question—have you heard of your nephew of late?—Stand aback, my masters,” he added, addressing the gentlemen ofhis chamber, “for this concerneth no ears but mine.” “Surely, please your Majesty,” said Balafré, “I have seen this very evening the groom Charlot, whom my kinsman dispatched from Liege, or some castle of the Bishop’s which is near it, and where he has lodged the Ladies of Croye in safety.” “Now our Lady of Heaven be praised for it!” said the King. “Art thou sure of it?—sure of the good news?” “As sure as I can be of aught,” said the Balafré; “the fellow, I think, hath letters for your Majesty from the Ladies of Croye.” “Haste to get them,” said the King—“Give thy harquebuss to one of these knaves—to Oliver—to any one.—Now our Lady of Embrun be praised! and silver shall be the screen that surrounds her high altar!” Louis, in this fit of gratitude and devotion, doffed, as usual, his hat, selected from the figures with which it was garnished that which represented his favourite image of the Virgin, placed it on a table, and kneeling down, repeated reverently the vow he had made. The groom, being the first messenger whom Durward had dis­ patched from Schonwaldt, was now introduced with his letters. They were addressed to the King by the Ladies of Croye, and barely thanked him in very cold terms for his courtesy while at his court, and, something more warmly, for having permitted them to retire, and sent them in safety from his dominions; expressions at which Louis laughed very heartily, instead of resenting them. He then demanded

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of Charlot, with obvious interest, whether they had not sustained some alarm or attack upon the road? Charlot, a stupid fellow, and selected for that quality, gave a very confused account of the affray in which his companion, the Gascon, had been killed, but knew of no other. Again Louis demanded of him, minutely and particularly, the route which the party had taken to Liege; and seemed much interes­ ted when he was informed, in reply, that they had, upon approaching Namur, kept the more direct road to Liege, upon the right bank of the Maes, instead of the left bank, as recommended in their route. The King then ordered the man a small present, and dismissed him, dis­ guising the anxiety he had expressed, as if it had only concerned the safety ofthe Ladies of Croye. Yet the news, though they implied the failure of one of his own favourite plans, seemed to imply more internal satisfaction on the King’s part than he would have probably indicated in a case ofbrilliant success. He sighed like one whose breast has been relieved from a heavy burthen, muttered his devotional acknowledgments with an air of deep sanctity, raised up his eyes, and hastened to adjust newer and surer schemes of ambition. With such purpose, Louis ordered the attendance of his astrologer, Martius Galeotti, who appeared with his usual air ofassumed dignity, yet not without an uncertainty on his brow, as if he had doubted the King’s kind reception. It was, however, favourable, even beyond the warmest which he had ever met with at any former interview. Louis termed him his friend, his father in the sciences—the glass by which kings should look into distant futurity—and ended by thrusting on his finger a ring of very considerable value. Galeotti, not aware of the circumstances which had thus suddenly raised his character in the estimation of Louis, yet understood his own profession too well to let that ignorance be seen. He received with grave modesty the praises of Louis, which he contended were only due to the nobleness of the science which he practised, a science the rather the more deserving of admiration on account of its working miracles through means of so feeble an agent as himself; and he and the King took leave, for once much satisfied with each other. On the Astrologer’s departure, Louis threw himself into a chair, and appearing much exhausted, dismissed the rest of his attendants, excepting Oliver alone, who, creeping around with gentle assiduity and noiseless step, assisted him in the task of preparing for repose. During the time while he received this assistance, the King, unusual to his wont, was so silent and passive, that his attendant was struck by the unusual change in his deportment. The worst minds have often something of good principle in them—banditti shew fidel­

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ity to their captain, and sometimes a protected and promoted favourite has felt a gleam of sincere interest in the monarch to whom he owed his greatness. Oliver le Diable (or by whatever other name he was called expressive of his evil propensities,) was, nevertheless, scarce so completely identified with Satan as not to feel some touch of gratitude for his master in this singular condition, when, as it seemed, his fate was deeply interested, and his strength seemed to be exhausted. After for a short time rendering to the King in silence the usual services paid by a servant to his master at the toilette, the attendant was at length tempted to say, with the freedom which his Sovereign’s indulgence had permitted him in such circumstances, “Tete-dieu, Sire, you seem as if you had lost a battle; and yet I, who was near your Majesty during this whole day, never knew you fight a field so gallantly.” “A field!” said King Louis, looking up, and assuming his wonted causticity of tone and manner, “Pasques-dieu, my friend Oliver, say I have kept the arena in a bull-fight; for a blinder, and more stubborn, untameable, uncontestable brute, than our cousin of Burgundy, never existed, save in the shape ofa Murcian bull, trained for the bull-feasts. —Well, let it pass—I dodged him bravely. But, Oliver, rejoice with me that my plans in Flanders have not taken effect, whether as concerns these two rambling Princesses of Croye or in Liege—you understand me.” “In faith, I do not, Sire,” replied Oliver; “it is impossible for me to congratulate your Majesty on the failure of your favourite schemes, unless you tell me some reason for the change in your own wishes and views.” “Nay,” answered the King, “there is no change in either in a gen­ eral view. But, Pasques-dieu, my friend, I have this day learned more of Duke Charles than I before knew. When he was Count de Charolois, in the time of the old Duke Philip and the banished Dauphin of France, we drank, and hunted, and rambled together, and many a wild adventure we have had. And in these days I had a decided advantage over him, like that which a strong spirit naturally assumes over a weak one. But he has since changed—has become a dogged—daring— assuming—disputatious dogmatist, who nourishes an obvious wish to drive matters to extremities, while he thinks he has the game in his own hands. I was compelled to glide as gently away from each offens­ ive topic, as if I touched red-hot iron. I did but hint at the possibility of these erratic Countesses of Croye, ere they attained Liege, (for thither I frankly confessed that, to the best of my belief, they were gone,) falling into the hands of some wild snapper upon the frontiers, and, Pasques-dieu, you would have thought I had spoken of sacrilege. It is needless to tell thee what he said, and quite enough to say, that I

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would have held my head’s safety very insecure, if in that moment account had been brought of the success of thy friend, William with the Beard, in his and thy honest scheme of bettering himself by marriage.” “No friend ofmine, ifit please your Majesty,” said Oliver—“neither friend nor plan of mine.” “True, Oliver,” answered the King; “thy plan had been to shave such a bridegroom—well thou didst wish her as bad a one, when thou didst modestly hint at thyself. However, Oliver, lucky who hath her not; for Hang, Draw, and Quarter, were the most gentle words which my gentle cousin spoke of him who should wed the young Countess, his vassal, without his most ducal permission.” “And he is, doubtless, as jealous of any disturbances in the good town ofLiege?” asked the favourite. “As much, or much more so,” replied the King, “as your under­ standing may easily anticipate; but ever since I resolved on coming hither, my messengers have been in Liege, to repress, for the pre­ sent, every movement to insurrection; and my very busy and bustling friends, Rouslaer and Pavilion, have orders to be quiet as a mouse until this happy meeting between my cousin and me is over.” “Judging, then, from your Majesty’s account,” said Oliver, drily, “the utmost to be hoped from this meeting is, that it should not make your condition worse?—Surely this is like the crane that thrust her head into the fox’s mouth, and was glad to thank her good fortune that it was not bitten off. Yet your Majesty seemed deeply obliged even now to the sage Philosopher who encouraged you to play so hopeful a game.” “No game,” said the King, sharply, “is to be despaired of until it is lost, and that I have no reason to expect will be my own case. On the contrary, if nothing occurs to stir the rage of the vindictive madman, I am sure of victory; and, surely, I am not a little obliged to the skill which selected for my agent, as the conductor of the Ladies of Croye, a youth whose horoscope so far corresponded with mine, that he hath saved me from danger, even by the disobedience of my own com­ mands, and taking the route which avoided De la Marck’s ambus­ cade.” “Your Majesty,” said Oliver, “may find many agents who will serve you on these terms.” “Nay, nay, Oliver,” said Louis, impatiently, “the heathen poet speaks of Vota diis exaudita malignis,—wishes, that is, which the saints grant to us in their wrath; and such, in the circumstances, would have been the success of William de la Marck’s exploit, had it taken place about this time, and while I am in the power of this Duke ofBurgundy.

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—And this my own art foresaw—fortified by that ofGaleotti;—that is, I foresaw not the miscarriage of De la Marck’s undertaking, but I foresaw that the expedition of yonder Scottish Archer should end happily for me—and such has been the issue, though in a manner different from what I expected; for the stars, though they foretell general results, are yet silent on the means by which such are accomp­ lished, being often the very reverse of what we expect, or even desire. —But why talk I of these mysteries to thee, Oliver? who art in so far worse than the very devil, who is thy namesake, since he believes and trembles; whereas thou art an infidel both to religion and to science, and wilt remain so till thine own destiny is accomplished, which, as thy horoscope and physiognomy alike assure me, will be by the interven­ tion ofthe gallows.” “And if it indeed shall be so,” said Oliver, in a resigned tone of voice, “it will be so ordered because I was too grateful a servant to scruple at executing the commands ofmy royal master.” Louis burst out into his usual sardonic laugh.—“Thou has broke thy lance on me fairly, Oliver; and, by our Lady, thou art right, for I defied thee to it. But, prithee, tell me in sadness, does thou discover any thing in these men’s manners towards us which may argue any suspicion of ill usage?” “My liege,” replied Oliver, “your Majesty, and yonder learned Philosopher, look for augury to the stars and heavenly host—I am an earthly reptile, and consider but the things connected with my voca­ tion. But, methinks, there is a lack ofthat earnest and precise attention on your Majesty, which men shew to a welcome guest of a degree so far above them. The Duke to-night pleaded weariness, and saw your Majesty not further than to the street, leaving to the officers of his household the task ofconveying you to your lodgings. The rooms here are hastily and carelessly fitted up—the tapestry is hung up awry, and in one of the pieces, as you may observe, the figures are reversed, and stand on their heads, while the trees grow with their roots upper­ most.” “Pshaw! accident, and the effect of hurry,” said the King. “When did you ever know me concerned about such trifles as these?” “Not on their own account are they now worth notice,” said Oliver; “but as intimating the degree of esteem in which the officers of the Duke’s household observe your Grace to be held by him. Believe me, that had his desire seemed sincere that your reception should be in all points punctiliously discharged, the zeal of his people would have made minutes do the work of days—And when,” he added, pointing to the basin and ewer, “was the furniture of your Majesty’s toilette of other substance than silver?”

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“Nay,” said the King, with a constrained smile, “that last remark, Oliver, is too much in the style of thine own peculiar occupation to be combatted by any one.—True it is, that when I was only a refugee and exile, I was served upon gold-plate by order of this same Charles, who accounted silver too mean for the Dauphin, though he seems to hold that metal too rich for the King of France. Well, Oliver, we will to bed —Our resolution has been made and executed, there is now nothing to be done but to play manfully the game on which we have entered. I know that my cousin ofBurgundy, like other wild bulls, shuts his eyes when he begins his career. I have but to watch that moment, like the tauridors whom we saw at Burgos, and his impetuosity places him at my mercy.”

Chapter Four THE EXPLOSION ’Tis 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 reader 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 superior­ ity 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 unaccount­ able, as there were various examples in that stormy time to shew, that safe-conducts, however solemnly plighted, had proved no assurance for those in whose favour they were conceived; and that 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 shew the King more courtesy than the laws of

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hospitality positively demanded; but, on the other hand, he evinced no purpose ofoverleaping their sacred barriers. Upon the next morning after the King’s arrival, there was a general muster of the troops of the Duke of Burgundy, which were so numer­ ous 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 con­ sciousness, that the words he used were but empty compliment, and that this 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 recognized, as forming part of this host, many banners of French nobility, not only of Normandy and Bret­ agne, but of provinces more immediately subjected to his own author­ ity, who, from various causes of discontent, had joined and made common cause with the Duke ofBurgundy. 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 ofBurgundy and bring them back to his own, and resolved for that purpose, that he would cause the principals among them 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. The notice of so great and so wise a King was in itself a mighty bribe; promises did much, and direct gifts, which the custom 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 of business or pleasure, gave himself entirely up to the ardour of the chase, Louis, unres­ trained 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 Hymbercourt and D’Ar­ genton were not forgotten; nor did he fail to mix up the advances which he made towards these two distinguished persons with praise of the valour and military skill ofthe former, and ofthe profound sagacity

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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 pro­ posals 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 ofboth 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; he poured the guerdon into the sleeve of those who were too shy to extend their hand, and trusted that his bounty, though it descended like the dew without noise and imperceptibly, would not fail to produce, in due season, a plenty crop of good will 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 doubt­ less by the information of which he was previously possessed, did more to accomplish that wish in a few hours, than his agents in years of negotiation. One man alone the King missed, whom he had been particularly desirous of conciliating, and that was the Count de Crevecœur, whose firmness, during his conduct as Envoy at Plessis, far from exciting Louis’s resentment, had been viewed only as a reason for making him his own ifpossible. 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 ofthis 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 on these great hunting-parties; an

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arrangement on this occasion particularly agreeable to the Duke, desirous as he was to abridge that ceremonious and deferential solem­ nity 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 dependance of his 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 his own Court imposed on him the necessity ofexhibiting himself in the subordinate character of a vassal, and of discharging many rites of feudal observance and deference, which, to one of his haughty dis­ position, 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 put over the dinner upon the green turf, with sound ofbugles, broaching ofbarrels, and all the freedom of a sylvan meal, it was necessary that the evening repast should, even for that very reason, be held with higher than usual solemnity. Previous orders for this purpose had been given, and, upon returning to Per­ onne, 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—finding 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 imperfec­ tions 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 an anecdote related by Brantôme 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, Charles Count of Guyenne, divulged it next day at dinner before the assembled court, that monarch might be supposed rather more than satisfied with the pleas­ antries ofprofessed jesters for the rest of his life.

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But, on the present occasion, Louis neglected not to take notice of the favourite jester 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 Witzweiler, called Le Glorieux, was by no means a jester ofthe common stamp. He was a tall, fine-looking man, excellent at many exercises, which seemed scarce reconcileable with mental imbecility, because it must have required patience and attention to acquire them. He usually followed the Duke to the chase and to the fight; and at Montl’hery, when he was in considerable personal dan­ ger, wounded in the throat, and likely to be made prisoner by a French knight who had hold of his horse’s rein, Tiel Witzweiler 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 the tale; and it was on this occasion he acquired the title of Le Glorieux, 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 long profusion of 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 very extremity of the existing fashion. To this personage Charles, and Louis, in imitation of his host, often

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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 the jester. “Why so, knave?” said Charles. “Because they belong to the Sieur d’Hymbercourt and D’Ar­ genton, 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 moveable 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, D’Argenton and 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 thou doest.—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 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 D’Argenton; and the embarrassment and dejection of their countenance, neither being of that class of persons to whom such expression of anxious melancholy was natural, became so remarkable, that the mirth and the laughter of the com­ pany, 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 D’Argenton, “as we were about to return hither from the forest, we met the Count of Crevecœur.”

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“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 imper­ fectly.” “Body ofme, 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 D’Argenton, “he wishes to commun­ icate 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 con­ sider as important for our ear, they look as grave upon the matter, and are as proud of their burthen as an ass of a new pack-saddle.—Some one bid Crevecœur 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 pro­ claimed before the assembled world.” All perceived that the Duke had drank so much wine as to increase the native obstinacy of his disposition; and though many would will­ ingly have suggested that the present was neither a time for hearing news, or for taking counsel, yet all knew the impetuosity of his temper too well to venture on further interference, and sate in anxious expectation of the tidings which the Count might have to communic­ ate. A brief interval intervened, during which the Duke remained look­ ing eagerly to the door, as if in a transport of impatience, while the guests sate 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 Crevecœur 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 melan­ choly tone, “the news which I bring you are fitter for the council board than the feasting table.” “Out with them, man, ifthey were tidings from Antichrist,” said the Duke; “but I can guess them—the Liegeois are again in mutiny.”

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“They are, my lord,” said Crevecœur, very gravely. “Look there now,” said the Duke, “I have hit at once on what you have been so much afraid to mention to me—the hair-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 your­ self 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, have taken his Castle of Schonwaldt, and murdered him in his own hall.” “Murdered him!” repeated the Duke, in a deep and low tone, but which nevertheless was heard from the one end of the hall in which they were assembled to the other; “thou hast been imposed upon, Crevecœur, by some wild report—it is impossible.” “Alas! my lord!” said the Count, “I have it from an eye-witness, 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 sacri­ lege,” 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 ofthis 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 shewing 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 further from me than we are now.” The Duke still held his hand on the hilt of the 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.

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Meantime, wild and general confusion spread itself through the hall. The doors were now fastened and guarded at the 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 Sover­ eign. 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 or regard; but, neverthe­ less, 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 French­ men. If you lift a hand against our Monarch, prepare to sustain the utmost efforts 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 ofinfinitely superior force, and the certainty of destruction, 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 places, into importance which was not due to them, shewed 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 Craw­ ford, 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 himselfboldly between the King and 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 the 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.”

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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 Crevecœur rushed forward, and exclaimed in a voice like the sound of 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 murther by another yet worse!” “Out of my road, Crevecœur,” 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 Crevecœur, firmly—“Let me pray of you, my lord, to rein the violence of a 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 like 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 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 sus­ pect us of having abetted a crime which our bosom abhors. Should he murther us on this spot—us, his King and his kinsman, under a false impression of our being accessories 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, ifit 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 three-score and ten of my braw

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fellows, instead of being loaded with more than the like number of years, I would try whether I would have some reason out of these fine gallants, with their golden chains and looped-up bonnets, with brawwarld dyes and devices on them.” The Duke stood with his eyes fixed on the ground for a consider­ able space, and then said, with bitter irony, “Crevecœur, 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 purposed. 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 further 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 degener­ ated, 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 ofmy 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 shewed 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 would have the assistance ofmost of the nobles present to moderate the fury of their Prince; but that were a melée once commenced, he himself and his few adherents must be instantly murthered. 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 steadi­ ness and composure operate as an insensible but powerful check on the rage even of insanity. Crawford, at the King’s command, threw his sword to Crevecœur,

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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 murther. 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 else­ where.—Up with every drawbridge, and down with every portcullislet the gates of the town be trebly guarded—draw to the right-hand side of the river the floating-bridge—Bring round the Castle my band of Black Walloons, and treble the centinels on every post—You, Hymbercourt, look that patroles of horse and foot make 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 day-break, for it is like we may be sudden in this matter.—Look to the person ofLouis, 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 beat­ ing, and horns blowing, to call out the soldiery in every direction. “We are,” said Crevecœur, who acted as the Marshal of the Duke’s household, “subjects ofBurgundy, and must do our duty as such. Our hopes, our prayers, and our efforts, will not be wanting to bring about peace and union between your Majesty and our liege Lord—mean­ time, 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 apart­ ments 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 Balafré, who may be unarmed if you will—Of Tristan 1’Hermite, with two of his people—and my right loyal and trusty philosopher, Martius Galeotti.”

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“Your Majesty’s wish shall be complied with in all points,” said the Count de Crevecœur. “Galeotti,” he added, after a moment’s inquiry, “is, I understand, at present supping in some buxom com­ pany, 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 ofour 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 attend­ ants?” said Le Glorieux to Count Crevecœur 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 pandarly barber—a Scotch hired cut-throat—a chief hangman and his two assistants, and a thieving charlatan.—I will along with you, Creve­ cœur, 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 famil­ iarly, 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.

Chapter Five UNCERTAINTY —Then happy low, lie down, Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Henry IV.—Part Second

Forty men-at-arms, carrying alternately naked swords and blazing torches, served as the escort, or rather the guard, of King Louis, from the town-hall of Peronne to the Castle; and as he entered within its darksome and gloomy strength, it seemed as if a voice screamed in his ear that warning which the Florentine has inscribed over the portal of the infernal regions, “Leave all hope behind.” At that moment, perhaps, some feeling of remorse might have crossed the King’s mind, had he thought on the hundreds, nay thou­ sands, whom, without cause or on light suspicion, he had committed to the abysses of his dungeons, deprived of all hope of liberty, and

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loathing even the life to which they clung by animal instinct. The broad glare of the torches outfacing the pale moon, which was more obscured on this than on the former night, and the red smoky light which they dispersed around the ancient buildings, gave a darker shade to that huge Donjon, called the Earl Herbert’s Tower. It was the same which Louis had viewed with gloomy presentiment on the preceding evening, and of which he was now doomed to become an inhabitant, under the terror ofwhat violence soever the wrathful tem­ per of his overgrown vassal might tempt him to exercise on him in those secret recesses of despotism. To aggravate the King’s painful feelings, he saw, as he crossed the court-yard, one or two bodies, over each of which had been hastily flung a military cloak. He was not long of discerning that they were corpses ofslain archers ofhis Scottish Guard, who having disputed, as the Count of Crevecœur informed him, the command given them to quit their post near the King’s apartments, a brawl had ensued between them and the Duke’s Walloon body-guards, and before it could be composed by the officers on either side, several lives had been lost. “My trusty Scots!” said the King, as he looked upon this melan­ choly spectacle; “had they brought only man to man, all Flanders, and Burgundy to boot, had not furnished champions to mate you.” “Ay, an it please your Majesty,” said Balafré, who attended close behind the King, “Maistery mows the meadow—few men can fight more than two at once.—I myselfnever care to meet three, unless it be in the way of special duty, when one must not stand to count heads.” “Art thou there, old acquaintance?” said the King, looking behind him; “then I have one true subject with me yet.” “And a faithful minister, whether in your councils, or in his offices about your royal person,” whispered Oliver le Dain. “We are all faithful,” said Tristan 1’Hermite, gruffly; “for should they put to death your Majesty, there is not one ofus whom they would suffer to survive you, even ifwe would.” “Now, that is what I call good corporal bail for fidelity,” said Le Glorieux, who, as already mentioned, with the restlessness proper to an infirm brain, had thrust himselfinto their company. Meanwhile, the Seneschal, hastily summoned, was turning with laborious effort the ponderous key which opened the reluctant gate of the huge Gothic Keep, and was at last fain to call on the assistance of one of Crevecœur’s attendants. When they had succeeded, six men entered with torches, and shewed the way through a narrow and winding passage, commanded at different points by shot-holes from vaults and casements constructed behind, and in the thickness of, the

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massive walls. At the end of this passage, arose a stair of correspond­ ing rudeness, consisting of huge blocks of stone, roughly dressed with the hammer, and of unequal height. Having mounted this rude ascent, a strong iron-clenched door admitted them to what had been the great hall of the donjon, lighted but very faintly even during the day-time, (for the apertures, diminished in appearance by the excess­ ive thickness of the walls, resembled slits rather than windows,) and now, but for the blaze of the torches, almost perfectly dark. Two or three bats, and other birds of evil presage, roused by the unusual glare, flew against the lights, and threatened to extinguish them; while the Seneschal formally apologized to the King, that the State-hall had not been put in order, such was the hurry of the notice sent to him; and indeed, that, in truth, the apartment had not been in use for twenty years, and rarely before that time, so far as ever he had heard, since the time of King Charles the Simple. “King Charles the Simple!” echoed Louis; “I know the history of the Tower now.—He was here murdered by his treacherous vassal, Herbert, Earl of Vermandois—so say our annals. I knew there was something concerning the Castle of Peronne which dwelt on my mind, though I could not recall the circumstance.—Here, then, my predecessor was slain!” “Not here—not exactly here—an it please your Majesty,” said the old Seneschal, stepping onward with the eager haste of a cicerone, who shews the curiosities of such a place—“Not here, but in the side­ chamber a little onward, which opens from your Majesty’s bed-cham­ ber.” He hastily opened a wicket at the upper end of the hall, which led into a bed-chamber, small, as is usual in these old buildings; but even for that reason, rather more comfortable than the waste hall through which they had passed. Some hasty preparations had been here made for the King’s accommodation. Arras had been tacked up, a fire lighted in the rusty grate, which had been long unused, and a pallet laid down for those gentlemen who were to pass the night in his chamber, as was then usual. “We will get beds in the hall for the rest of your attendants—but we have had such brief notice, if it please your Majesty—And if it please your Majesty to look upon this little wicket behind the arras, it opens into the little old cabinet in the thickness of the wall where Charles was slain; and there is a secret passage from below, which admitted the men who were to deal with him. And your Majesty, whose eye­ sight I hope is better than mine, may see the blood still on the oak­ floor, though the thing was done five hundred years ago.” While he thus spoke, he kept fumbling to open the little postern of

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which he spoke, until the King said, “Forbear, old man—forbear but a little while, when thou mayst have a newer tale to tell, and fresher blood to show.—My Lord of Crevecœur, what say you?” “I can but answer, Sire, that these two interior apartments are as much at your Majesty’s disposal as those in your own Castle of Plessis, and that Crevecœur, a name never blackened by treachery or assas­ sination, has the guard of the exterior defences.” “But the private passage into that closet, of which the old man speaks?” This King Louis said in a low and anxious tone, holding Crevecœur’s arm fast with one hand, and pointing to the wicket-door with the other. “It is but some dream of Mornay’s,” said Crevecœur, “or some old and absurd tradition of the place;—but we will examine.” He was about to open the closet door, when Louis answered, “No, Crevecœur, no—your honour is sufficient warrant.—But what will your Duke do with me, Crevecœur?—he cannot hope to keep me long a prisoner—and—in short, give me your opinion, Crevecœur.” “My Lord and Sire,” said the Count, “how the Duke of Burgundy must resent this horrible cruelty on the person of his near relative and ally, is for your Majesty to judge; and what right he may have to consider it as instigated by your Majesty’s emissaries, you only can know. But my master is noble in his dispositions, and made incapable, even by the very strength ofhis passions, ofany under-hand practices. Whatever he does, will be done in the face of day, and of the two nations. And I can but add, that it will be the wish of every counsellor around him—excepting perhaps one—that he should behave in this matter with mildness and generosity, as well as justice.” “Ah! Crevecœur,” said Louis, taking his hand as if affected by some painful recollections, “how happy is the Prince who has coun­ sellors near his person, who can guard him against the effects of his own angry passions—their names will be read in golden letters, when the history of his reign is perused.—Noble Crevecœur, had it been my lot to have such as thou art about my person!” “It had in that case been your Majesty’s study to have got rid of them as fast as you could,” said Le Glorieux. “Aha! Sir Wisdom, art thou there?” said Louis, turning round, and instantly changing the pathetic tone in which he had addressed Crevecœur, and adopting with facility one which had a turn of gaiety in it—“Hast thou followed us hither?” “Ay, sir,” answered Le Glorieux, “Wisdom must follow in motley, where Folly leads the way in purple.” “How shall I construe that, Sir Solomon,” answered Louis— “Wouldst thou change conditions with me?”

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“Not I, by my halidome,” quoth Le Glorieux, “ifyou would give me fifty crowns to boot.” “Why, wherefore so?—methinks I could be well enough contented, as princes go, to have thee for my King.” “Ay, Sire,” replied Le Glorieux; “but the question is, whether, judging ofyour Majesty’s wit from its having lodged you here, I should not have cause to be ashamed of having so dull a fool.” “Peace, sirrah,” said the Count of Crevecœur; “your tongue runs too fast.” “Let it take its course,” said the King; “I know of no such fair subject of raillery, as the follies of those who should know better.— Here, my sagacious friend, take this purse of gold, and with it the advice, never to be so great a fool as to deem yourself wiser than other people. Prithee, do me so much favour, as to inquire after my astrolo­ ger, Martius Galeotti, and send him hither to me presently.” “I will, without fail, my Liege,” answered the jester; “and I wot well I shall find him at Jan Doppletbur’s, for philosophers, as well as fools, know where the best wine is sold.” “Let me pray for free entrance for this learned person through your guards, Seigneur de Crevecœur,” said Louis. “For his entrance, unquestionably, ” answered the Count; “but it grieves me to add, that my instructions do not authorize me to permit any one to quit your Majesty’s apartments.—I wish your Majesty a good night,” he subjoined, “and will presently make such arrange­ ments in the outer hall, as may put the gentlemen who are to inhabit it, more at their ease.” “Give yourself no trouble for them, Sir Count,” replied the King, “they are men accustomed to set hardships at defiance; and to speak truth, excepting that I wish to see Galeotti, I would desire as little further communication from without for this night as may be consist­ ent with your instructions.” “These are to leave your Majesty,” replied Crevecœur, “undis­ puted master in your own apartments—such are my master’s orders.” “Your master, Count Crevecœur,” answered Louis, “whom I may also term mine, is a right gracious master.—My dominions,” he added, “are somewhat shrunk in compass, now that they have dwindled to an old hall and a bed-chamber—but they are still wide enough for all the subjects which I can at present boast of.” The Count of Crevecœur took his leave; and shortly after, they could hear the noise of the sentinels moving to their posts, accompan­ ied with the word ofcommand from the officers, and the hasty tread of the guards who were relieved. At length, all became still, and the only sound which filled the air, was the sluggish murmur of the river

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Somme, as it glided, deep and muddy, under the walls of the castle. “Go into the hall, my mates,” said Louis to his train; “but do not lay down to sleep—hold yourselves in readiness, for there is still some­ thing to be done to-night, and that of moment.” Oliver and Tristan retired to the hall accordingly, in which Le Balafré and the Provost-Marshal’s two officers had remained, when the others entered the bed-chamber. They found that those without had thrown faggots enough upon the fire, to serve the purpose of light and heat at the same time, and wrapping themselves in their cloaks, had sate down on the floor, in postures which variously expressed the discomposure and dejection of their minds. Oliver and Tristan saw nothing better to be done, than to follow their example; and, never very good friends in the days of their court-prosperity, they were both equally reluctant to repose confidence in each other upon this strange and sudden reverse of fortune. So that the whole party sate in silent dejection. Meanwhile, their master underwent, in the retirement of his secret chamber, agonies which might have atoned for some of those which had been imposed by his command. He paced the room with short and unequal steps, often stood still and clasped his hands together, and gave loose, in short, to agitation, which in public he had found himself able to suppress so successfully. At length, pausing and wringing his hands, he planted himself opposite to the wicket-door, which had been pointed out by old Mornay as leading to the scene of the murder of one of his predecessors, and gradually gave voice to his feelings in a broken soliloquy. “Charles the Simple—Charles the Simple—what will posterity call the Eleventh Louis, whose blood will probably soon refresh the stains of thine? Louis the Fool—Louis the Driveller—Louis the Infatuated —are all terms too slight to mark the extremity ofmy ideocy. To think these hot-headed Liegeois, to whom rebellion is as natural as their food, would remain quiet—to dream that the Wild Beast of Ardennes would for a moment be interrupted in his career of force and blood­ thirsty brutality—to suppose that I could use reason and arguments to any good purpose with Charles ofBurgundy, until I had tried the force of such exhortations with success upon a wild bull—Fool, and double ideot that I was! But the villain Martius shall not escape—He has been at the bottom of this—he and the vile priest, the detestable Balue. If I ever get out of this danger, I will tear from his head the Cardinal’s cap, though I pull the scalp alongst with it. But the other traitor is in my hands—I am yet King enough—have yet an empire roomy enough—for the punishment of the quack-salving, word­ mongering, star-gazing, lie-coining impostor, who has at once made a

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prisoner and a dupe of me!—The conjunction of the constellations— ay—the conjunction—He must talk nonsense which would scarce gull a thrice-sodden sheep’s-head, and I must be ideot enough to think I understood him! But we will see presently what the conjunc­ tion hath really boded. But first let me to my devotions.” Above the little door, in memory perhaps of the deed which had been done within, was a rude niche, containing a crucifix cut in stone. Upon this emblem the King fixed his eyes, as if about to kneel, but stopped short, as if he applied to the blessed image the principles of worldly policy, and deemed it rash to approach his presence without having secured the private intercession of some supposed favourite. He therefore turned from the crucifix as unworthy to look upon it, and selecting from the images with which, as often mentioned, his hat was completely garnished, a representation of the Lady of Clery, knelt down before it, and made the following extraordinary prayer; in which, it is to be observed, the grossness of his superstition induced him, in some degree, to consider the Virgin of Clery as a different person from the Madonna of Embrun, a favourite idol, to whom he often paid his vows. “Sweet Lady of Clery,” he exclaimed, clasping his hands and beat­ ing his breast while he spoke—“blessed Mother of Mercy! thou who art omnipotent with Omnipotence, have compassion with me a sin­ ner! It is too true, that I have something neglected thee for thy blessed sister of Embrun—but I am a King—my power is great—my wealth boundless; and, were it otherwise, I would double the gabelle on my subjects, rather than not pay my debts to you both. Undo these iron doors—fill up these tremendous moats—lead me, as a mother leads a child, out of this present and pressing danger! IfI have given thy sister the command of my guards, thou shalt have the broad and rich prov­ ince of Champagne; and its vineyards shall pour their abundance into thy convent. I had promised the province to my brother Charles; but he, thou knowst, is dead—poisoned by that wicked Abbé of Angely, whom, if I live, I will punish!—I promised this once before, but this time I will keep my word.—If I had any knowledge of the crime, believe, dearest patroness, it was but because I knew no better method of quieting the discontents of my kingdom. O, do not reckon that old debt to my accompt to-day; but be, as thou hast ever been, kind, benignant, and easy to be entreated! Sweetest Lady, work with thy child, that he will pardon all my past sins, and one—one little deed which I must do this night—nay, it is no sin, dearest Lady of Clery— no sin, but an act of justice privately administered—for the villain is the greatest impostor that ever poured falsehood into a Prince’s ear, and leans besides to the filthy heresy of the Greeks. He is not worth

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thy protection; leave him to my care, and hold it as good service, as the man is a necromancer and wizard, that is not worth thy thought and care—a dog, the extinction of whose life ought to be of as little consequence in thine eyes, as the treading out a spark that drops from a lamp or springs from a fire. Think not of this little matter, gentlest, kindest Lady, but only think how thou canst best aid me in my troubles! and I here bind my royal signet to thy effigy, in token that I will keep word concerning the county of Champagne, and that this will be the last time I will trouble thee in affairs of blood, knowing thou art so gentle and so tender-hearted.” After this extraordinary contract with the object of his adoration, Louis recited, apparently with deep devotion, the seven penitential psalms in Latin, and several aves, and prayers especially belonging to the service of the Virgin. He then arose, satisfied that he had secured the intercession of the Saint to whom he had prayed, the rather, as he craftily reflected, that most of the sins for which he had requested her mediation on former occasions had been of a different character, and that, therefore, the Lady of Clery was less likely to consider him as a hardened and habitual shedder of blood, than the other saints whom he had more frequently made confidents of his crimes in this respect.* When he had thus cleared his conscience, or rather whited it over like a sepulchre, the King thrust his head out at the door of the hall, and summoned Le Balafré into his apartment. “My good soldier,” he said, “thou hast served me long, and hast had little promotion. We are here in a case where I may either live or die—but I would not willingly die an ungrateful man, or leave, so far as the saints may place it in my power, either a friend or enemy unrecompenced. Now, I have a friend to be rewarded—that is thyself—An enemy to be punished according to his deserts, and that is the base, treacherous villain, Martius Gale­ otti, who, by his impostures and specious falsehoods, has trained me hither into the power of my mortal enemy, with as firm a purpose of my destruction, as ever butcher had of slaying the beast which he drove to the shambles.” “I will challenge him on that quarrel,” said Le Balafré. “I doubt not but the Duke of Burgundy is so much a friend to men of the sword, that he will allow us a fair field within some reasonable space; and if your Majesty live so long, and enjoy so much freedom, you shall behold me do battle in your right, and take as proper a vengeance on * While I perused the corresponding passages in the old manuscript chronicle, I could not help feeling astonished that a mind so powerful as that of Louis XI. certainly was, could so delude itself by a sort of superstition, of which one would think the stupidest savages incapable; but the terms of the King’s prayer, on a similar occasion, as preserved by Brantome, are of a tenor fully as extraordinary.

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this philosopher as your heart could desire.” “I commend your bravery and your devotion to my service,” said the King. “But this treacherous villain is a stout man-at-arms, and I would not willingly risk thy life, my brave soldier.” “I were no brave soldier, ifit please your Majesty,” said Balafré, “ifI dared not face a better man than him. A fine thing it would be for me, who can neither read nor write, to be afraid of a fat lurdane, who has done little else all his life!” “Nevertheless,” said the King, “it is not our pleasure so to put thee in venture, Balafré. This traitor comes hither, summoned by our command—we would have thee, so soon as thou canst find occasion, close up with him, and smite him under the fifth rib—doest thou understand me?” “Truly I do,” answered Le Balafré; “but, if it please your Majesty, this is a matter entirely out ofmy course ofpractice. I could not kill you a dog, unless it were in hot assault, or pursuit, or defiance given, or such like.” “Why sure, thou doest not pretend to tenderness of heart?” said the King, “thou who hast been first in storm and siege, and most eager, as men tell me, on the pleasures and advantages which men gain on such occasions by the rough heart and the bloody hand?” “My lord,” answered Le Balafré, “I have neither feared nor spared your enemies, sword in hand. And an assault is a desperate matter, under risks which raise a man’s blood so that, by Saint Andrew, it will not settle for an hour or two, which I call a fair license for plundering after a storm. And God pity us poor soldiers, who are first driven mad with danger, and then madder with victory. I have heard of a legion consisting entirely of saints; and methinks it would take them all to pray and intercede for the rest of the army, and for all who wear plumes and corslets, buff-coats and broad-swords. But what your Majesty purposes is out of my course of practice, though I will never deny that it has been wide enough. As for the astrologer, if he be a traitor, let him e’en die a traitor’s death—I will neither meddle nor make with it. Your Majesty has your Provost, and two of his Marshal’s-men without, who are more fit for dealing with him than a Scottish gentleman ofmy family and standing in the service.” “You say well,” said the King; “but, at least, it belongs to thy duty to prevent interruption, and guard the execution of my most just sen­ tence.” “I will do so against all Peronne,” said Le Balafré. “Your Majesty need not doubt my fealty in that which I can reconcile to my con­ science, which, for mine own convenience and the service of your royal Majesty, I can vouch to be a pretty large one—At least, I know I

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have done some deeds for your Majesty, which I would rather have eaten a handful of my own dagger than I would have done for anyone else.” “Let that rest,” said the King; “and hear you—when Galeotti is admitted, and the door shut on him, do you stand to your weapon, and guard the entrance on the inside of the apartment. Let no one intrude —that is all I require of you. Go hence, and send the Provost-Marshal tome.” Balafré left the apartment accordingly, and in a minute afterwards Tristan 1’Hermite entered from the hall. “Welcome, gossip,” said the King; “what thinkst thou of our situ­ ation?” “As ofmen sentenced to death,” said the Provost-Marshal, “unless there come a reprieve from the Duke.” “Reprieved or not, he that decoyed us into this snare shall go our fourier to the next world, to take up lodgings for us,” said the King, with a griesly and ferocious smile. “Tristan, thou hast done many an act of brave justice—finis—I should have said funis coronat opus— thou must stand by me to the end.” “I will, my liege,” said Tristan; “I am but a plain fellow, but I am grateful. I will do my duty within these walls, as elsewhere; and while I live, your Majesty’s breath shall pour as potential a note of condemna­ tion, and your sentence be as literally executed, as when you sate on your own throne. They may deal with me the next hour for it if they will—I care not.” “It is even what I expected of thee, my loving gossip,” said Louis; “but hast thou good assistance?—the traitor is strong and able-bod­ ied, and will doubtless be clamorous for aid. The Scot will do nought but keep the door; and well that he can be brought to that by flattery and humouring. Then Oliver is good for nothing but lying, flattering, and suggesting dangerous counsels; and, Ventre Saint-dieu! I think is more like one day to deserve the halter himself, than to use it on another. Have you men, think you, and means, to make sharp and sure work?” “I have Trois-Eschelles and Petit-André with me,” said he—“men so expert in their office, that out of three men, they would hang up one ere his two companions were aware. And we have all resolved to live or die with your Majesty, knowing we shall have as short breath to draw were you gone, as ever fell to the lot of any of our patients.—But what is to be our present subject, an it please your Majesty? I love to be sure of my man; for, as your Majesty is pleased sometimes to remind me, I have now and then mistaken the criminal, and strung up in his place an honest labourer, who had given your Majesty no offence.”

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“Most true,” said the other. “Know then, Tristan, that the con­ demned person is Martius Galeotti.—You start, but it is even as I say —the villain hath trained us all hither by false and treacherous repres­ entations, that he might put us into the hands of the Duke of Bur­ gundy without defence.” “But not without vengeance!” said Tristan; “were it the last act of my life, I would sting him home like an expiring wasp, should I be crushed to pieces on the next instant!” “I know thy trusty spirit,” said the King, “and the pleasure which, like other good men, thou doest find in the discharge of thy duty, since virtue, as the schoolmen say, is its own reward. But away, and prepare the priests, for the victim approaches.” “Would you have it done in your own presence, my gracious liege?” said Tristan. Louis declined this offer; but charged the Provost-Marshal to have every thing ready for the punctual execution of his commands the moment the Astrologer left his apartment; “for,” said the King, “I will see the villain once more, just to observe how he bears himselftowards the master whom he has led into the toils. I shall love to see the sense ofapproaching death strike the colour from that ruddy cheek, and dim that eye which laughed as it lied.—O, that there were but another with him, whose counsels aided his prognostications! But if I survive this— look to your scarlet, my Lord Cardinal! for Rome shall scarce protect you—be it spoken under favour of Saint Peter and the blessed Lady of Clery, who is all over mercy.—Why do you tarry? Go get your grooms ready. I expect the villain instantly. I pray to Heaven he take not fear and come not!—that were indeed a baulk. Begone, Tristan— thou wert not wont to be so slow when business was to be done.” “On the contrary, an it like your Majesty, you ever wont to say that I was too fast, and mistook your purpose, and did the job on the wrong subject. Now, please your Majesty to give me a sign, just when you part with Galeotti for the night, whether the business goes on or no. I have known your Majesty—once or twice—change your mind, and blame me for over-dispatch.” “Thou suspicious creature,” answered King Louis, “I tell thee I will not change my mind;—but, to silence thy remonstrances— Observe, if I say to the knave at parting, ‘There is a heaven above us!’ then let the business go on; but if I say, ‘Go in peace,’ you will understand that my purpose is altered.” “My head is somewhat of the dullest out of my own department,” said Tristan 1’Hermite. “Stay, let me rehearse—If you bid him depart in peace, I am to have him dealt upon.” “No—no—ideot, no,” said the King; “in that case, you let him pass

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free. But ifI say, ‘There is a heaven above us!’ up with him a yard or two nearer the planets he is so conversant with.” “I wish we may have the means here,” said the Provost. “Then up with him or down with him, it matters not which,” answered the King, grimly smiling. “And the body?” said the Provost, “how shall we dispose of it?” “Let me see an instant,” said the King—“the windows of the hall are too narrow—but that projecting oriel is wide enough. We will over with him into the Somme, and put a paper on his breast, with the legend, ‘Let the justice of the King pass toll-free.’ The Duke’s officers may seize it for duties ifthey dare.” The Provost-Marshal left the apartment of Louis, and summoned his two assistants to council in an embrasure in the great hall, where Trois-Eschelles stuck a torch against the wall to give them light. They discoursed in whispers, little noticed by Oliver le Dain, who seemed sunk in dejection, and Le Balafré, who was fast asleep. “Comrades,” said the Provost to his executioners, “perhaps you have thought that our vocation was over, or that, at least, we were more likely to be the subjects of the duty of others, than to have any more to discharge on our own part. But courage, my mates! our gracious master has reserved for us one noble cast of our office, and it must be gallantly executed, as by men who would live in history.” “Ay, I guess how it will be,” said Trois-Eschelles; “our patron is like the old Kaisars of Rome, who, when things came to an extremity, or, as we would say, to the ladder-foot with them, were wont to select from their own ministers of justice some experienced person, who might spare their sacred persons from the awkward attempts of a novice or blunderer in our mystery. It was a pretty custom for Ethnics —but, as a good Catholic, I should make scruple at laying hands on the Most Christian King.” “Nay, but, brother, you are ever too scrupulous,” said Petit-André. “If he issues word and warrant for his own execution, I see not how we can in duty dispute it. He that dwells at Rome must obey the Pope— the Marshal’s-men must do their master’s bidding, and he the King’s.” “Hush, you knaves!” said the Provost-Marshal, “there is here no purpose concerning the King’s person, but only that of the Greek heretic pagan and Mahomedan wizard, Martius Galeotti.” “Galeotti?” answered Petit-André; “that comes quite natural. I never knew one of these legerdemain fellows, who pass their life, as one may say, in dancing upon a tight rope, but what they came at length to caper on the end of one—tchick.” “My only concern is,” said Trois-Eschelles, looking upwards, “that

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the poor creature must die without confession.” “Tush! tush!” said the Provost-Marshal, in reply, “he is a rank heretic, witch, and necromancer—a whole college of priests could not absolve him from the doom he has deserved. Besides, if he hath a fancy that way, thou hast a gift, Trois-Eschelles, to serve him for ghostly father thyself. But, what is more material—I fear you must use your poniards, my mates, for you have not here the fitting conveni­ ences for the exercise of your profession.” “Now, our Lady of the Isle of Paris forbid,” said Trois-Eschelles, “that the King’s command should find me destitute of my tools! I always wear around my body Saint Francis’s cord, doubled four times, with a handsome loop at the further end of it; for I am of the company ofSaint Francis, and may wear his cowl when I am in extremis—I thank God and the good fathers of Saumur.” “And for me,” said Petit-André, “I have always in my budget a handy block and sheaf, or a pulley, as they call it, with a strong screw for securing it where I list, in case we should travel where trees are scarce or high branched from the ground. I have found it a great convenience.” “That will suit us well,” said the Provost-Marshal; “you have but to screw your pulley into yonder beam above the door, and pass the rope over it. I will keep the fellow in some conversation near the spot until you adjust the noose under his chin, and then”— “And then we run up the rope,” said Petit-André, “and—tchick— our Astrologer is so far in heaven, that he hath not a foot on earth.” “But these gentlemen,” said Trois-Eschelles, looking towards the chimney, “do not these help, and so take a handsell of our vocation?” “Hem! no,” answered the Provost; “the barber only contrives mis­ chief, which he leaves other men to execute; and for the Scot, he keeps the door when the deed is a-doing, which he hath not spirit or quickness sufficient to partake in more actively—every one to his trade.” With infinite dexterity, and even a sort of delight which sweetened the sense oftheir own precarious situation, the worthy executioners of the Provost’s mandates adapted their rope and pulley for putting in force the sentence which had been uttered against Galeotti by the captive Monarch—seeming to rejoice that that last action was to be one so consistent with their past life. Tristan 1’Hermite sat eyeing their proceedings with a species of satisfaction; while Oliver paid no attention to them whatever; and Ludovic Lesly, if, awaked by the bustle, he looked upon them at all, considered them as engaged in matters entirely unconnected with his own duty, and for which he was not to be regarded as responsible in one way or other.

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Chapter Six RECRIMINATION Thy time is not yet out—the devil thou servest Has not as yet deserted thee—he aids The friends who drudge for him, as the blind man Was aided by the guide, who lent his shoulder O’er rough and smooth, until he reached the brink Of the fell precipice—then hurl’d him downward.

OldPlay When obeying the command, or rather the request ofLouis,—for he was in circumstances in which, though a monarch, he could only request Le Glorieux to go in search of Martius Galeotti,—the jester had no trouble in executing his commission, betaking himself at once to the best tavern in Peronne, of which he himself was rather more than an occasional frequenter, being a great admirer of that species of liquor which reduced all other men’s brains to a level with his own. He found, or rather observed, the Astrologer in the comer of the public drinking-room—or Stove, as it is called in German and Flem­ ish—sitting in close colloquy with a female in a singular, and some­ thing like a Moorish or Asiatic garb, who, as Le Glorieux approached Martius, rose as in the act to depart. “These,” said the stranger, “are news upon which you may with absolute certainty rely;” and with that disappeared among the crowd of guests who sat grouped at different tables in the apartment. “Cousin Philosopher,” said the jester, presenting himself, “Heaven no sooner relieves one sentinel than he sends another to supply the place. One fool being gone, here I come another, to guide you to the apartments ofLouis of France.” “And art thou the messenger?” said Martius, gazing on him with prompt apprehension, and discovering at once the jester’s quality, though less intimated, as we have before noticed, than was usual, by his external appearance. “Ay, sir, and like your learning,” answered Le Glorieux; “when Power sends Folly to intreat the approach of Wisdom, ’tis a sure sign what foot the patient halts upon.” “How if I refuse to come, when summoned at so late an hour by such a messenger?” said Galeotti. “In that case, we will consult your ease, and carry you,” said Le Glorieux. “Here are half a score of stout Burgundian yeomen at the

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door, with whom He of Crevecœur has furnished me to that effect. For know, that my friend Charles of Burgundy and I have not taken away our kinsman Louis’s crown, which he was ass enough to put into our power, but have only filed and clipt it a little; and, though reduced to the size of a spangle, it is still pure gold. In plain terms, he is still paramount over his own people, yourself included, and Most Chris­ tian King of the old dining hall in the Castle of Peronne, to which you, as his liege subject, are presently obliged to repair.” “I attend you, sir,” said Martius Galeotti, and accompanied Le Glorieux accordingly—seeing, perhaps, that no evasion was possible. “Ay, sir,” said the Fool, as they went towards the Castle, “you do well—for we treat our kinsman as men use an old famished lion in his cage, and thrust him now and then a calf, to mumble with his old jaws.” “Do you mean,” said Martius, “that the King intends me bodily injury?” “Nay, that you can guess better than I,” said the jester; “for, though the night be cloudy, I warrant you can see the stars through the mist. I know nothing of the matter, not I—only my mother always told me to go warily near an old rat in a trap, for he was never so much disposed to bite.” The Astrologer asked no more questions, and Le Glorieux, accord­ ing to the custom of those of his class, continued to run on in a wild and disordered strain of sarcasm and folly mingled together, until he delivered the philosopher to the guard at the castle-gate of Per­ onne; where he was passed from warder to warder, and at length admitted within Herbert’s Tower. The hints of the jester had not been lost on Martius Galeotti, and he saw something which seemed to confirm them in the look and manner of Tristan, whose mode of addressing him, as he marshalled him to the King’s bed-chamber, was lowering, sullen, and ominous. A close observer of what passed on earth, as well as among the heavenly bodies, the pulley and the rope also caught the Astrologer’s eye; and as the latter was in a state of vibration, he concluded that some one who had been busy adjusting it had been interrupted in the work by his sudden arrival. All this he saw, and summoned together his subtlety to evade the impending danger, resolved, should he find that impossible, to defend himself to the last against whomsoever should assail him. Thus resolved, and with a step and look corresponding to the determination he had taken, Martius presented himself before Louis, alike unabashed at the miscarriage ofhis predictions, and undismayed at the Monarch’s anger, and its probable consequences. “Every good planet be gracious to your Majesty!” said Galeotti,

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with an inclination almost oriental in manner—“Every evil constella­ tion withhold their influences from my royal master!” “Methinks,” replied the King, “that when you look around this apartment—when you think where it is situated, and how guarded, your wisdom might consider that my propitious stars had proved faithless, and that each evil conjunction had already done its worst. Art thou not ashamed, Martius, to see me here, and a prisoner, when you recollect by what assurances I was lured hither?” “And art thou not ashamed, my royal Sire?” replied the philo­ sopher; “thou, whose step in science was so forward, thy apprehen­ sion so quick, thy perseverance so unceasing—art thou not ashamed to turn from the first frown of fortune, like a craven from the first clash of arms? Didst thou propose to become participant of those mysteries which raise men above the passions, the mischances, the pains, the sorrows of life, a state only to be attained by rivalling the firmness of the ancient Stoic, and doest thou shrink from the first pressure of adversity, and forfeit the glorious prize for which thou didst start as a competitor, frightened out of the course, like a scared racer, by shad­ owy and unreal evils?” “Shadowy and unreal! frontless as thou art!” exclaimed the King, “is this dungeon unreal?—the weapons of the guards of my detested enemy Burgundy, which you may hear clash at the gate, are those shadows?—What, traitor, are real evils, if imprisonment, dethrone­ ment, and danger of life, are not so?” “Ignorance—Ignorance, my son, and prejudice,” answered the sage, with great firmness, “are the only real evils. Believe me, that Kings in the plenitude of power, if immersed in ignorance and preju­ dice, are less free than sages in a dungeon, and loaded with material chains. Towards this true happiness it is mine to guide you—be it yours to attend to my instructions.” “And it is to such philosophical freedom that your lessons would have guided me?” said the King very bitterly. “I would you had told me at Plessis, that the dominion promised me so liberally was an empire over my own passions; that the success of which I was ensured, related to my progress in philosophy; and that I might become as wise and as learned as a strolling mountebank of Italy, at the pitiful price of forfeiting the fairest crown in Christendom, and becoming tenant ofa dungeon in Peronne? Go—sir—and think not to escape condign punishment—There is a Heaven above us!” “I leave you not to your fate,” replied Martius, “until I have vindic­ ated, even in your eyes, darkened as they are, that reputation, a brighter gem than the brightest in thy crown, and at which the world shall wonder, ages after all the race of Capet are mouldered into

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oblivion in the charnels of Saint Denis.” “Speak on,” said the King; “thine impudence cannot make me change my purpose or my opinion—Yet as I may never again pass judgment as a King, I will not censure thee unheard. Speak, then— though the best thou canst say will be to speak the truth—confess that I am a dupe—thou an impostor—thy pretended science a dream— and the planets which shine above us as little influential of our des­ tinies, as their shadows, when reflected in the river, are capable of altering its course.” “And how know’st thou,” answered the Astrologer boldly, “the secret influence of yonder blessed lights? Speak’st thou of their inab­ ility to influence waters, when yet thou knowest that even the weakest, the moon herself,—weakest because nearest to this wretched earth of ours,—holds yet under her domination, not such poor streams as the Somme, but the tides of the mighty ocean itself, which ebb and increase as her disk waxes and wanes, and watch her influences as a slave waits the nod of a Sultana? And now, Louis ofValois, answer my parable in turn—Confess, art thou not like the foolish passenger, who becomes wroth with his pilot because he cannot bring the vessel into harbour, without experiencing occasionally the adverse force ofwinds and currents? I could indeed point to thee the probable issue of thine enterprize as prosperous, but it was in the power of Heaven alone to conduct thee thither; and if the path be rough and dangerous, was it in my power to smooth it or render it more safe? Where is thy wisdom of yesterday, which taught thee so truly to discern that the ways of des­ tiny are often ruled to our advantage, though in opposition to our wishes?” “You remind me—you remind me,” said the King, hastily, “of one specific falsehood. You foretold, yonder Scot should accomplish his enterprize fortunately for my interest and honour; and thou knowst it has so terminated, that no more mortal injury could I have received, than from the impression which the issue of that affair is like to make on the excited brain of the Mad Bull of Burgundy—this is a direct falsehood—thou canst plead no evasion here—Canst refer to no remote favourable turn of the tide, which, like an ideot sitting on the bank until the river shall pass away, thou wouldst have me await contentedly.—Here thy craft deceived thee—thou wert weak enough to make a specific prediction, which has proved directly false.” “Which will prove most firm and true,” answered the Astrologer, boldly. “I would desire no greater triumph of art over ignorance, than that prediction and its accomplishment will afford. I told thee he would be faithful in any honourable commission—Hath he not been so?—I told thee he would be scrupulous in aiding any evil enterprize

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—Hath he not proved so? If you doubt it, go ask the Bohemian, Hayraddin Maugrabin.” The King here coloured deeply with shame and anger. “I told thee,” continued the Astrologer, “that the conjunction of planets under which he set forth, augured danger to the person—and hath not his path been beset by dangers?—I told thee, that it augured an advantage to the sender,—and of that thou wilt soon have the benefit.” “Soon have the benefit!” exclaimed the King, “Have I not the result already, in disgrace and imprisonment?” “No,” answered the Astrologer, “the End is not as yet—thine own tongue shall ere long confess the benefit which thou hast received, from the manner in which thy messenger bore himself in thy commis­ sion.” “This is too—too insolent,” said the King, “at once to deceive and to insult—but hence!—think not my wrongs shall be unavenged.— There is a Heaven above us!” Galeotti turned to depart. “Yet stop—thou bearst thine imposture bravely out.—Let me hear thine answer to one question, and think ere you speak.—Can thy pretended skill ascertain the hour of thine own death?” “Only by referring to the fate of another,” said Galeotti. “I understand not thine answer,” said Louis. “Know then, O King,” said Martius, “that this only I can tell with certainty concerning mine own death, that it shall take place exactly twenty-four hours before that of your Majesty.” “Ha! sayest thou?” said Louis, his countenance again altering.— “Hold—hold—go not—wait one moment.—Saidst thou, my death should follow thine so closely?” “Within the space oftwenty-four hours,” repeated Galeotti, firmly, “if there be one sparkle of true divination in those bright and myster­ ious intelligences, which speak, though without a tongue—I wish your Majesty good rest.” “Hold—hold—go not,” said the King, taking him by the arm, and leading him from the door. “Martius Galeotti, I have been a kind master to thee—enriched thee—made thee my friend—my compan­ ion—the instructor of my studies.—Be open with me, I entreat you. —Is there aught in this art of yours in very deed?—Shall this Scot’s mission be, in fact, propitious to me?—and is the measure of our lives so very—very nearly matched? Confess, my good Martius—you speak after the trick of your trade—Confess, I pray you, and you shall have no displeasure at my hand. I am in years—a prisoner—likely to be deprived of a kingdom—to one in my condition, truth is worth

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kingdoms, and it is from thee, dearest Martius, that I must look for this inestimable jewel.” “And I have laid it before your Majesty,” said Galeotti, “at the risk that, in brutal passion, you might turn upon me and rend me.” “Who, I, Galeotti?” replied Louis mildly; “Alas! thou mistakest me —Am I not captive,—and should not I be patient, especially since my anger can only shew my impotence?—Tell me then in sincerity— Have you fooled me? or is your science true, and do you truly report it?” “Your Majesty will forgive if I reply to you,” said Martius Galeotti, “that time only—time and the event, will convince incredulity. It suits ill the place of confidence which I have held at the council-table of the renowned conqueror, Matthias Corvinus of Hungary—nay, in the cabinet of the Emperor himself—to reiterate assurances of that which I have advanced as true. If you will not believe me, I can but refer to the course of events—a day, or two days’ patience, will prove or disprove what I have averred concerning the young Scot; and I will be contented to die on the wheel, and have my limbs broken joint by joint, if your Majesty have not advantage, and that in a most important degree, from the dauntless conduct of that Quentin Durward. But if I were to die under such tortures, it would be well your Majesty should seek a ghostly father; for, from the moment my last groan was drawn, only twenty-four hours would remain to you for confession and penit­ ence.” Louis continued to keep hold of Galeotti’s robe as he led him towards the door, and pronounced as he opened it, in a loud voice, “To-morrow we’ll talk more of this. Go in Peace, my learned father— Go in Peace—Go in Peace!” He repeated these words three times; and, still afraid that the Provost Marshal might mistake his purpose, he led the Astrologer into the hall, holding fast his robe, as if afraid that he should be tom from him, and put to death before his eyes. He did not unloose his grasp until he had not only repeated again and again the gracious phrase, “Go in peace,” but even made a private signal to the Provost-Marshal, to enjoin a suspension of all proceedings against the person of the Astrologer. Thus did the possession of some secret information, joined to audacious courage and readiness of wit, save Galeotti from the most imminent danger; and thus was Louis, the most sagacious, as well as the most vindictive, amongst the monarchs of the period, cheated of his revenge by the influence of superstition upon a selfish temper, and a mind to which, from the consciousness of many crimes, the fear of death was peculiarly terrible.

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He felt, however, considerable mortification at being obliged to relinquish his purposed vengeance; and the disappointment seemed to be shared by his satellites to whom the execution was to have been committed. Le Balafré alone, perfectly indifferent on the subject, so soon as the countermanding signal was given, left the door at which he had posted himself, and in a few minutes was again asleep. The Provost Marshal, as the group reclined themselves to repose in the hall after the King had retired to his bed-chamber, continued to eye the goodly form of the Astrologer, with the look of a mastiff watching a joint of meat which the cook had retrieved from his jaws, while his attendants communicated to each other in brief sentences their characteristic sentiments. “The poor blinded necromancer,” whispered Trois-Eschelles, with an air of spiritual unction and commiseration, to his comrade, Petit-André, “hath lost the fairest chance of expiating some of his vile sorceries, by dying through means of the cord of the blessed Saint Francis! and I had purpose, indeed, to leave the comfortable noose around his neck, to scare the foul fiend from his unhappy carcase.” “And I,” said Petit-André, “have missed the rarest opportunity of knowing how far a weight of seventeen stone will stretch a three-plied cord!—it would have been a rare experiment in our line,—and the jolly old boy would have died so easily!” While this dialogue was going forward, Martius, who had taken the opposite side of the huge stone fire-place, round which the whole group was assembled, regarded them askance, and with a look of sus­ picion. He first put his hand into his vest, and satisfied himselfthat the handle of a very sharp double-edged poniard, which he always carried about him, was disposed conveniently for his grasp; for, as we have already noticed, he was, though now somewhat unwieldy, a powerful athletic man, and prompt and active at the use of his weapons. Satis­ fied that this trusty implement was in readiness, he next took from his bosom a scroll of parchment, inscribed with Greek characters, and marked with cabalistic signs, drew together the wood in the fire-place, and made a blaze by which he could distinguish the features and atti­ tude ofall who sate or lay around—the heavy and deep slumbers ofthe Scottish soldier, who lay motionless, with his rough countenance as immoveable as if it were cast in bronze—the pale, thin, anxious face of Oliver, who at one time assumed the appearance of slumber, and again opened his eyes and raised his head hastily, as if stung by some internal throe, or awakened by some distant sound—the discon­ tented, savage, bull-dog aspect of the Provost, who looked —frustrate ofhis will, Not half sufficed, and greedy yet to kill—

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while the back-ground was filled up by the ghastly hypocritical coun­ tenance of Trois-Eschelles, whose eyes were cast up towards heaven, as if he was internally saying his devotions; and the grim drollery of Petit-Andre, who amused himself with mimicking the gestures and wry faces of his comrade before he betook himself to sleep. Amidst these vulgar and ignoble countenances, nothing could shew to greater advantage than the stately form, handsome mien, and com­ manding features of the Astrologer, who might have passed for one of the ancient magi, imprisoned in a den of robbers, and about to invoke a spirit to accomplish his liberation. And had he been only distin­ guished by the beauty of the graceful and flowing beard which des­ cended over the mysterious roll which he had in his hand, one might have been pardoned regretting that so noble an appendage had been bestowed on him, who put both talents, learning, and the advantages of eloquence, and a fine person, to the purposes of a cheat and an impostor. Thus passed the night in Count Herbert’s Tower, in the Castle of Peronne. When the first light of dawn penetrated the ancient Gothic chamber, the King summoned Oliver to his presence, who found the Monarch sitting in his night-gown, and was astonished at the altera­ tion which one night of mortal anxiety had made in his looks. He would have expressed some anxiety upon the subject, but the King silenced him by entering into a statement of the various modes by which he had previously endeavoured to form friends at the court of Burgundy, and which Oliver was charged to prosecute so soon as he should be permitted to stir abroad. And never was that wily minister more struck with the clearness of the King’s intellect, and his intimate knowledge of all the springs which influence human actions, than he was during that memorable consultation. About two hours afterwards, Oliver accordingly obtained permis­ sion from the Count of Crevecœur to go out, and execute the com­ missions which his master had entrusted him with; and Louis, sending for the Astrologer, in whom he seemed to have renewed his faith, held with him, in like manner, a long consultation, the issue of which appeared to give him more spirits and confidence than he had at first exhibited; so that he dressed himself, and received the morning compliments of Crevecœur with a calmness, at which the Burgundian lord could not help wondering, the rather that he had already heard that the Duke had passed several hours in a state of mind which seemed to render the King’s safety very precarious.

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Chapter Seven UNCERTAINTY

Our counsels waver like the unsteady bark, That reels amid the strife ofmeeting currents. OldPlay

If the night passed by Louis was fearfully anxious and agitated, that spent by the Duke of Burgundy, who had at no time the same mastery over his passions, and indeed, who permitted them almost a free and uncontrolled dominion over his actions, was still more dis­ turbed. According to the custom ofthe period, two ofhis principal and most favoured counsellors, Hymbercourt and D’Argenton, shared his bed­ chamber, pallet couches being prepared for them near the bed of the prince. Their attendance was never more necessary than upon this night, when, distracted by sorrow, by passion, by the desire ofrevenge, and by the sense of honour, which forbade him to exercise it upon Louis in his present condition, the Duke’s mind resembled a volcano in eruption, which throws forth all the different contents ofthe moun­ tain, mingled and molten into one mass. He refused to throw offhis clothes, or to make any preparation for sleep; but spent the night in a violent succession of the most stormy passions. In some paroxysms he talked incessantly to his attendants so thick and so rapidly, that they were really afraid his senses would give way; choosing for his theme, the merits and the kindness of heart of the murdered Bishop of Liege, and recalling all the instances of mutual kindness, affection, and confidence, which had passed between them, until he had worked himself into such a transport of grief, that he threw himself upon his face on the bed, and seemed ready to choke with the sobs and tears which he endeavoured to stifle. Then starting from the couch, he gave vent at once to another and more furious mood, and traversed the room hastily, uttering incoher­ ent threats, and still more incoherent oaths of vengeance, while, stamping with his foot, according to his customary action, he invoked Saint George, Saint Andrew, and whomever else he held most holy, to bear witness, that he would take bloody vengeance on De la Marck, on the people of Liege, and on him who was the author of the whole.— These last threats, uttered more obscurely than the others, obviously concerned the person of the King; and at one time the Duke expressed his determination to send for the Duke of Normandy, the

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brother of the King, and with whom Louis was on the worst terms, in order to compel the captive monarch to surrender either the Crown itself, or some of its most valuable rights and appanages. Another day and night passed in the same stormy and fitful delib­ erations, or rather rapid transitions of passion; for the Duke scarcely eat or drank, and never changed his dress; nay, demeaned himself so wildly, that his attendants became almost afraid of his brain becoming unsettled. By degrees he became more composed, and began to hold, from time to time, consultations with his ministers, in which much was proposed, but nothing resolved upon. Comines assures us, that at one time a courier was mounted in readiness to depart for the purpose of summoning the Duke of Normandy; and in that event, the prison of the deposed monarch would probably have been found, as in similar cases, a briefroad to his grave. At other times, when Charles had exhausted his fury, he sate with his features fixed in stern and rigid immobility, like one who broods over some desperate deed, to which he is as yet unable to work up his resolution. And unquestionably it would have needed little more than an insidious hint from any ofthe counsellors who attended his person, to have pushed the Duke to some very desperate action. But the nobles of Burgundy, from the sacred character attached to the person of a King, and a Lord Paramount, and from a regard to the public faith, as well as that of their Duke, which had been pledged when Louis threw himself into their power, were almost unanimously inclined to recommend moderate measures; and the arguments which Hymbercourt and D’Argenton had now and then ventured to insinuate during the night, were, in the cooler hours of the next morning, advanced and urged by Crevecœur and others. Possibly their zeal in behalf of the King might not be entirely disinterested. Many, as we have mentioned, had already experienced the bounty of the King; others had either estates or pretensions in France, which placed them a little under his influence; and it is certain that the treasure, which had loaded four mules when the King entered Per­ onne, became much lighter in the course of these negotiations. In the course of the third day, the Count of Campo-basso brought his Italian wit to assist the counsels of Charles; and well was it for Louis, that he had not arrived when the Duke was in his first fury. Immediately on his arrival, a regular meeting of the Duke’s counsel­ lors was convened, for considering the measures to be adopted in this singular crisis. On this occasion, Campo-basso gave his opinion, couched in the apologue of the Traveller, the Adder, and the Fox; and reminded the Duke of the advice which Reynard gave to the man, that he should

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crush his mortal enemy, now that chance had placed his fate at his disposal. D’Argenton, who saw the Duke’s eyes sparkle at a proposal which his own violence of temper had already repeatedly suggested, hastened to state the possibility, that Louis might not be, in fact, so directly accessory to the sanguinary action which had been committed at Schonwaldt; that he might be able to clear himselfofthe imputation laid to his charge, and perhaps to make other atonement for the distractions which his intrigues had occasioned in the Duke’s domin­ ions, and those of his allies; and that an act of violence perpetrated on the King, was sure to bring both on France and Burgundy a train of the most unhappy consequences, among which not the least to be feared was, that the English might avail themselves ofthe commotions and civil discord which must needs ensue, to repossess themselves of Normandy and Guyenne, and renew those dreadful wars, which had only and with difficulty been terminated, by the union of both France and Burgundy against the common enemy. Finally, he confessed, that he did not mean to urge the absolute and free dismissal of Louis; but only, that the Duke should avail himself no further of his present condition, than merely to establish a fair and equitable treaty between the countries, with such security on the King’s part, as should make it difficult for him to break his faith, or disturb the internal peace of Burgundy in future. Hymbercourt, Crevecœur and others, signified their reprobation of the violent measures proposed by Campo-basso, and their opinion, that in the way of treaty more permanent advant­ ages could be obtained, and in a manner more honourable for Bur­ gundy, than by an action which would stain her with a breach of faith and hospitality. The Duke listened to these arguments with his looks fixed on the ground, and his brows so knitted together as to bring his bushy eye­ brows into one mass. But when Crevecœur proceeded to say, that he did not believe Louis either knew of, or was accessory to, the atrocious act of violence committed at Schonwaldt, Charles raised his head, and darting a fierce look at his counsellor, exclaimed, “Have you too, Crevecœur, heard the gold of France clink?—methinks it rings in my councils as merrily as ever the bells of Saint Denis—Dare any one say that Louis is not the fomenter of these feuds in Flanders?” “My gracious lord,” said Crevecœur, “my hand has ever been more conversant with steel than with gold—and so far am I from holding that Louis is free from the charge ofhaving caused the disturbances in Flanders, that it is not long since, in the face of his whole court, I charged him with that breach of faith, and offered him defiance in your name. But although his intrigues have been doubtless the ori­ ginal cause of these commotions, I am so far from believing that he

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authorized the death of the Archbishop, that I believe one of his emissaries publicly protested against it; and I could produce the man, were it your Grace’s pleasure to see him.” “It is our pleasure,” said the Duke. “Saint George! can you doubt that we desire to act justly?—even in the highest flight of our pas­ sion, we are known for an upright and a just judge. We will see France ourselves—we will ourselves charge him with our wrongs, and ourselves state to him the reparation which we expect and demand—if he shall be found guiltless of this murther, the atone­ ment for other crimes may be more easy—if he hath been guilty, who shall say that a life of penitence in some retired monastery were not a most deserved and a most merciful doom?—Who,” he added, kindling as he spoke, “shall dare to blame a revenge yet more direct and more speedy?—let your witness attend—we will to the Castle at the hour before noon. Some articles we will minute down with which he shall comply, or woe on his head! Break up the council, and dismiss yourselves. I will but change my dress, as this is scarce a fitting trim in which to wait on my most gracious Sovereign.” With a deep and bitter emphasis on the last expression, the Duke arose, and strode out of the room. “Louis’s safety, and, what is worse, the honour of Burgundy, depends on a cast of the dice,” said Hymbercourt to Crevecœur and to D’Argenton—“Haste thee to the Castle, D’Argenton—thou hast a better filed tongue than either Crevecœur or I. Explain to Louis what storm is approaching—he will best know how to pilot himself. I trust this Life-guardsman will say nothing which can aggravate, for who knows what may have been the secret commission with which he was charged?” “The young man,” said Crevecœur, “seems bold, yet prudent and wary far beyond his years. In all which he said to me he was tender of the King’s character, as ofthat ofthe Prince whom he serves. I trust he will be equally so in the Duke’s presence. I must go seek him, and also the young Countess of Croye.” “The Countess!—you told us you had left her at Saint Bridget’s Nunnery.” “Ay, but I was obliged,” said the Count, “to send for her express, by the Duke’s orders; and she has been brought hither in a litter, as being unable to travel otherwise. She was in a state of the deepest distress, both on account of the uncertainty of the fate of her kinswoman, the Lady Hameline, and the gloom which overhangs her own; guilty as she has been of a feudal delinquency, in withdrawing herself from the protection of her liege lord, Duke Charles, who is not the person in

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the world most likely to view with indifference what trenches on his seignorial rights.” The knowledge that the young Countess was in the hands of Charles, added fresh and more pointed thorns to Louis’s reflections. He was conscious that, by explaining the intrigues by which he had induced the Lady Hameline and her to resort to Plessis-les-Tours, she might supply that evidence which he had removed by the execu­ tion of Zamet Maugrabin; and he knew well how much such proof of his having interfered with the rights of the Duke of Burgundy, would furnish both motive and pretext for Charles’ availing himself to the uttermost of the present predicament. Louis discoursed on these matters with great anxiety to the Sieur d’Argenton, whose acute and political talents better suited the King’s temper than the blunt martial character of Crevecœur, or the feudal haughtiness of D’Hymbercourt. “These iron-handed soldiers, my good friend Comines,” he said to his future historian, “should never enter a King’s cabinet, but be left with the halberds and partizans in the anti-chamber—their hands are indeed made for our use, but the monarch who puts their heads to any better occupation than that of anvils for his enemies’ swords and maces, ranks with the fool who presented his mistress with a dog­ leash for a carcanet. It is with such as thou, Philip, whose eyes are gifted with the quick and keen sense that sees beyond the exterior surface of affairs, that Princes should share their council-table—their cabinet—what do I say?—the most secret recesses oftheir souls.” D’Argenton, himself so keen a spirit, was naturally gratified with the approbation of the most sagacious Prince in Europe; and he could not so far disguise his internal satisfaction, that Louis was not aware that he had made some impression on him. “I would,” he continued, “that I had such a servant, or rather that I were worthy to have one!—I had not then been in this unfortunate situation—which, nevertheless, I should hardly regret, could I but discover any means of securing the services of so experienced a stat­ ist.” D’Argenton said, that all his faculties, such as they were, were at the service of his Most Christian Majesty, saving always his allegiance to his rightful lord, Duke Charles of Burgundy. “And am I one who would seduce you from that allegiance?” said Louis, pathetically. “Alas! am I not now endangered by having reposed too much confidence in my vassal? and can the cause of feudal good faith be more sacred with any than with me, whose safety depends on an appeal to it?—No—Philip de Comines—continue to serve Charles of Burgundy; and you will best serve him, by bringing

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round a fair accommodation with Louis of France. In doing thus, you will serve us both, and one, at least, will be grateful. I am told your appointments in this court hardly match those of the Grand Falconer; and thus the services of the wisest counsellor in Europe are put on a level, or rather ranked below, those of a fellow who feeds and physicks kites! France has wide lands—her King has much gold. Allow me, my friend, to rectify this scandalous inequality—the means are not distant —permit me to use them.” The King produced a weighty bag of gold; but Comines, more delicate in his sentiments than most courtiers of that time, declined the proffer, declaring himself perfectly satisfied with the liberality of his native Prince, and assuring Louis that his desire to serve him could not be increased by the acceptance of any such gratuity as he had proposed. “Singular man!” exclaimed the King; “let me embrace the only courtier of his time at once capable and incorruptible. Wisdom is to be desired more than fine gold; and believe me, I trust in thy kindness, Philip, at this pinch, more than I do in the purchased assistance of many who have received my gifts. I know you will not counsel your master to abuse such an opportunity, as fortune, and, to speak plain, De Comines, as my own folly has afforded him.” “To abuse it, by no means,” answered D’Argenton; “but most cer­ tainly to use it.” “How, and in what degree?” said Louis. “I am not ass enough to expect that I shall escape without some ransom—but let it be a reason­ able one—reason I am ever willing to listen to—at Paris or at Plessis, equally as at Peronne.” “Ah, but if it like your Majesty,” replied De Comines, “Reason at Paris or Plessis was used to speak in so low and soft a tone of voice, that she could not always gain an audience of your Majesty—at Per­ onne, she borrows the speaking-trumpet of Necessity, and her voice becomes lordly and imperative.” “You are figurative,” said Louis, unable to restrain an emotion of peevishness; “I am a plain man, Sir of Argenton. I pray you leave your tropes, and come to plain ground. What does your Duke expect of me?” “I am the bearer of no propositions, my lord,” said De Comines; “the Duke will soon explain his own pleasure—but some things occur to me as proposals, for which your Majesty ought to hold yourself prepared. As, for example, the final cession of these towns here upon the Somme.” “I expected so much,” said Louis. “That you should disown the Liegeois, and William de la Marck.”

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“As willingly as I disclaim Hell and Satan,” said Louis. “Ample security will be required, by hostages, or occupation of fortresses, or otherwise, that France shall in future abstain from stir­ ring up rebellion among the Flemings.” “It is something new,” answered the King, “that a vassal should demand pledges from his Sovereign: but let that pass too.” “A suitable and independant apanage for your illustrious brother, the ally and friend of my master—Normandy or Champagne. The Duke loves your father’s house, my Liege.” “So well,” answered Louis, “that, mort Dieu! he’s about to make them all kings—is your budget of hints yet emptied?” “Not entirely,” answered the counsellor: “it will certainly be required that your Majesty will forbear molesting, as you have done of late, the Duke de Bretagne, and that you will no longer contest the right which he and other grand feudatories have, to strike money, to term themselves dukes and princes by the grace of God”—— “In a word, to make so many kings of my vassals. Sir Philip, would you make a fratricide of me?—You remember well my brother Charles—he was no sooner Duke of Guyenne than he died.—And what will be left to the descendants of Charlemagne, after giving away these rich provinces, save to smear themselves with oil at Rheims, and to eat their dinner under a high canopy!” “We will diminish your Majesty’s concern on that score, by giving you a companion in that solitary exaltation,” said Philip de Comines. —“The Duke of Burgundy, though he claims not at present the title of an independent king, desires nevertheless to be freed in future from the abject marks of subjection required of him to the crown of France —it is his purpose to close his ducal coronet with an imperial arch, and surmount it with a globe, in emblem that his dominions are independ­ ent.” “And how dares the Duke of Burgundy, the sworn vassal of France,” exclaimed Louis, starting up, and shewing an unwonted degree of emotion—“how dares he propose such terms to his Sover­ eign, as, by every law ofEurope, should infer a forfeiture ofhis fief?” “The doom of forfeiture would be in this case difficult to enforce,” answered D’Argenton, calmly.—“Your Majesty is aware, that the strict interpretation of the feudal law is becoming obsolete even in the Empire, and that superior and vassal endeavour to mend their situ­ ation in regard to each other, as they have power and opportunity.— Your Majesty’s interferences with the Duke’s vassals in Flanders will prove an exculpation of my master’s conduct, supposing him to insist that, by enlarging his independence, France should in future be debarred from any pretext of doing so.”

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“D’Argenton, D’Argenton!” said Louis, arising again, and pacing the room in a pensive manner, “this is a dreadful lesson on the text Væ victis—You cannot mean that the Duke will insist on all these hard conditions?” “At least I would have your Majesty be in a condition to discuss them all.” “Yet moderation, D’Argenton, moderation in success, is—no one knows better than you—necessary to its ultimate advantage.” “So please your Majesty, the merit of moderation is, I have observed, most apt to be extolled by the losing party—the winner holds in more esteem the prudence which calls on him not to leave an opportunity unimproved.” “Well—we will consider—” replied the King; “but at least thou hast reached the extremity of your Duke’s unreasonable exaction— there can remain nothing else—or if there does, for so thy brow intimates—What is it—what indeed can it be—unless it be my crown? which these previous demands, if granted, will deprive of all its lustre!” “My lord,” said D’Argenton, “what remains to be mentioned, is a thing partly—indeed in a great measure—within the Duke’s own power, though he means to invite your Majesty’s accession to it, for in truth it touches you nearly.” “Pasques dieu!” exclaimed the King impatiently, “what is it?— Speak out, Sir Philip—am I to send him my daughter for a concubine, or what other dishonour is he to put on me?” “No dishonour, my liege; but your Majesty’s cousin, the illustrious Duke of Orleans”—— “Ha!” exclaimed the King; but D’Argenton proceeded without heeding the interruption. “—Having conferred his affections on the young Countess Isabelle de Croye, the Duke expects your Majesty will, on your part, as he on his, yield your assent to the marriage, and unite with him in endowing the right noble couple with such an apanage, as, joined to the Count­ ess’s estates, may form a fit establishment for a Child of France.” “Never—never!” said the King, bursting out into that emotion which he had of late suppressed with much difficulty, and striding about in a disordered haste, which formed the strongest contrast to the self-command which he usually exhibited,—“Never—never!— let them bring scissars, and shear my hair like that of the parish-fool, whom I have so richly resembled! let them bid the monastery or the grave yawn for me—let them bring red-hot basins to sear my eyes— axe or aconite—whatever they will, but Orleans shall not break his plighted faith to my daughter, or marry another while she lives!”

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“Your Majesty,” said D’Argenton, “ere you set your mind so keenly against what is proposed, will consider your own want of power to prevent it. Every wise man, when he sees a rock giving way, withdraws from the bootless attempt of preventing the fall.” “But a brave man,” said Louis, “will at least find his grave beneath it.—D’Argenton, consider the great loss—the utter destruction, such a marriage will bring upon my kingdom. Recollect, I have but one feeble boy, and this Orleans is the next heir—consider that the church hath consented to his union with Joan, which unites so happily the interests of both branches of my family,—think on all this, and think too that this union has been the favourite scheme of my whole life— that I have schemed for it, fought for it, watched for it, prayed for it,— and sinned for it. Philip de Comines, I will not forego it! Think, man, think!—pity me in this extremity—thy quick brain can speedily find some substitute for this sacrifice—some ram to be offered up instead of that which is dear to me as the Patriarch’s only son was to him. Philip, pity me!—you, at least, should know, that to men of judgment and foresight, the destruction of the scheme on which they have long dwelt, and for which they have long toiled, is more inexpressibly bitter than the transient grief of ordinary men, whose pursuits are but the gratification ofsome temporary passion—you, who know how to sym­ pathize with the deeper, the more genuine distress of baffled pru­ dence and disappointed sagacity,—will you not feel for me?” “My Lord and King!” replied D’Argenton, “I do sympathize with your distress, in so far as duty to my master——” “Do not mention him!” said Louis, acting, or at least seeming to act, under an irresistible and headlong impulse, which withdrew the usual guard which he maintained over his language—“Charles of Burgundy is unworthy of your attachment. He who can insult and strike his councillors—he who can distinguish the wisest and most faithful among them, by the opprobrious name of BootedHead!——” The wisdom ofPhilip de Comines did not prevent his having a high sense of personal consequence; and he was so much struck with the words which the King uttered, as it were in the career of a passion which overleaped ceremony, that he could only reply by repetition of the words “Booted-Head! It is impossible that my master the Duke could have so termed the servant who has been at his side since he could mount a palfrey—and that too before a foreign monarch—it is impossible!” Louis instantly saw the impression he had made, and avoiding alike a tone of condolence, which might have seemed insulting, and one of sympathy, which might have savoured of affectation, he said, with

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simplicity, and at the same time with dignity, “My misfortunes make me forget my courtesy, else I had not spoken to you of what it must be unpleasant for you to hear. But you have in reply taxed me with having uttered impossibilities—this touches my honour; yet I must submit to the charge, if I tell you not the circumstances which the Duke, laughing until his eyes ran over, assigned for the origin of that opprobrious name, which I will not offend your ears by repeating. Thus, then, it chanced. You, Sir Philip de Comines, were at a hunt­ ing-match with the Duke of Burgundy, your master; and when he alighted after the chase, he required your services in drawing off his boots. Reading in your looks, perhaps, some natural resentment of this disparaging treatment, he ordered you to sit down in turn, and tendered you the same office he had just received from you. But offended at your understanding him literally, he no sooner plucked one of your boots off, than he brutally beat it about your head till the blood flowed, exclaiming against the insolence of a subject, who had the presumption to accept of such a service at the hand of his Sover­ eign; and hence he, or his privileged fool Le Glorieux, are in the current habit of distinguishing you by the absurd and ridiculous name of Tête-bottée, which makes one of the Duke’s most ordinary subjects of pleasantry.” While Louis thus spoke, he had the double pleasure ofgalling to the quick the person whom he addressed—an exercise which it was his nature to enjoy, even where he had not, as in the present case, the apology, that he did so in pure retaliation,—and that of observing that he had at length been able to find a point in D’Argenton’s character which might lead him gradually from the interests of Burgundy to those of France. But although the deep resentment which the offended courtier entertained against his master induced him at a future period to exchange the service of Charles for that of Louis, yet, at the present moment, he was contented to throw out only some general hints of his friendly inclination towards France, which he well knew the King would understand how to interpret. And indeed it would be unjust to stigmatize the memory of the excellent historian with desertion of his master on this occasion, although he was cer­ tainly now possessed with sentiments much more favourable to Louis than when he entered the apartment. He constrained himself to laugh at the anecdote which Louis had detailed, and then added, “I did not think so trifling a frolic would have dwelt on the mind of the Duke so long as to make it worth telling again. Some such passage there was of drawing off boots and the like, as your Majesty knows that the Duke is fond of rude play—but it has been much exaggerated in his recollection. Let it pass on.”

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“Ay, let it pass on,” said the King; “it is indeed shame it should have detained us a minute. And now, Sir Philip, I hope you are French so far as to afford me your best counsel in thesediflicult affairs. You have, I am well aware, the clew to the labyrinth, if you would but impart it.” “Your Majesty may command my best advice and service,” replied D’Argenton, “under reservation always of my duty to my own mas­ ter.” This was nearly what the courtier had before stated; but he now repeated in a tone so different, that whereas Louis understood from the former declaration, that the reserved duty to Burgundy was the prime thing to be considered, so he now saw clearly that the emphasis was reversed, and that more weight was now given by the speaker to his promise of counsel, than to a restriction which seemed interposed for the sake of form and consistency. The King resumed his own seat, and compelled D’Argenton to sit by him, listening at the same time to that statesman, as if the words of an oracle sounded in his ears. D’Argenton spoke in that low and impressive tone, which implies at once great sincerity and some caution, and at the same time so slowly, as if he was desirous that the King should weigh and consider each individual word as having its own peculiar and determined meaning. “The things,” he said, “which I have suggested for your Majesty’s consideration, harsh as they sound in your ear, are but substitutes for still more violent proposals brought forwards in the Duke’s councils, by those who are more hostile to your Majesty. And I need scarce remind your Majesty, that the more direct and more violent sugges­ tions find readiest acceptance with our master, who loves brief and dangerous measures better than those that are circuitous, but at the same time safe.” “I remember—” said the King, “I have seen him swim a river at the risk of drowning, though there was a bridge to be found for riding two hundred yards round.” “True, Sire—and he that weighs not his life against the gratifica­ tion of a moment of impetuous passion, will, on the same impulse, prefer the gratification of his will tb the increase of his substantial power.” “Most true,” replied the King; “a fool will ever grasp rather at the appearance than the reality of authority. All this I know to be true of Charles of Burgundy. But, my dear friend D’Argenton, what do you infer from these premises?” “Simply this, my lord,” answered D’Argenton, “that as your Maj­ esty has seen a skilful angler control a large and heavy fish, and finally draw him to land by a single hair, which fish had broke through a

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tackle tenfold stronger, had the fisher presumed to strain the line on him, instead of giving him head enough for all his wild flourishes; even so your Majesty, by gratifying the Duke in these particulars on which he has pitched his ideas of honour, and the gratification of his revenge, may evade many of the other unpalatable propositions at which I have hinted; and which—including, I must state openly to your Majesty, some of those through which France would be most especially weakened—will slide out of his remembrance and atten­ tion, and being referred to subsequent conferences and future discus­ sion, maybe altogether eluded.” “I understand you, my good Sir Philip—but to the matter,” said the King. “To which of those happy propositions is your Duke so much wedded, that contradiction will make him unreasonable and intract­ able?” “To any or to all of them, if it please your Majesty, on which you may happen to contradict him—this is precisely what your Majesty must avoid; and to take up my former parable, you must needs remain on the watch, ready to give the Duke line enough whenever he shoots away under the impulse of his rage. His fury, already considerably abated, will waste itself ifhe be unopposed, and you will presently find him become more friendly and more tractable.” “Still,” said the King, musing, “there must be some particular demands which lie deeper at my cousin’s heart than the other pro­ posals—were I but aware of these, Sir Philip——” “Your Majesty may make the lightest of his demands the most important, simply by opposing it,” said D’Argenton; “nevertheless, my lord, thus far I can say, that every shadow of treaty will be broken off, if your Majesty renounce not William de la Marck and the Liegeois.” “I have already said that I will disown them,” said the King, “and well they deserve it at my hand—the villains have commenced their uproar at a moment which might have cost me my life.” “He that fires a train ofpowder,” replied D’Argenton, “must expect a speedy explosion of the mine—but more than a mere disowning of their cause will be expected of your Majesty by Duke Charles; for know, that he will demand your Majesty’s assistance to put the insur­ rection down, and your royal presence to witness the punishment which he destines for the rebels.” “That may scarce consist with our honour, D’Argenton,” said the King. “To refuse it will scarce consist with your Majesty’s safety,” replied Comines. “Charles is determined to shew the people of Flanders, that no hope, nay no promise, of assistance from France, will save them in

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their mutinies from the wrath and vengeance ofBurgundy.” “But, D’Argenton, I will speak plainly,” answered the King— “Could we but procrastinate matters, might not these rogues of Liege make their own part good against Duke Charles? The knaves are numerous and steady—Can they not hold out their town against him?” “With the help of the thousand archers of France whom your Majesty promised them”—— “Whom I promised them!” said the King—“Alas! good Sir Philip! you much wrong me in saying so.” “—But with whom,” continued D’Argenton, without heeding the interruption, “as your Majesty will not likely find it convenient to strengthen them, what chance will the burghers have in making good their town, in whose walls the large breaches made by Charles after the battle of Saint Tron are still unrepaired; so that the lances of Hainault, Brabant, and Burgundy, may advance to the attack twenty men in front?” “The improvident idiots!” said the King—“If they have thus neg­ lected their own safety, they deserve not my protection—pass on—I will make no quarrel for their sake.” “The next point, I fear, will sit closer to your Majesty’s heart,” said De Comines. “Ah!” replied the King, “you mean that infernal marriage. I will not consent to the breach ofthe contract betwixt my daughterJoan and my cousin of Orleans—it would be wresting the sceptre of France from me and my posterity; for that feeble boy the Dauphin is a blighted blossom, which will wither without fruit. This match between Joan and Orleans has been my thought by day, my dream by night—I tell thee, D’Argenton, I cannot give it up!—Besides, it is inhuman to require me, with my own hand, to destroy at once my own scheme of policy, and the happiness ofa pair brought up for each other.” “Are they then so much attached?” said D’Argenton. “One ofthem at least is,” said the King, “and the one for whom I am bound to be the most anxious. But you smile, Sir Philip—you are no believer in the force of love.” “Nay,” said D’Argenton, “if it please you, Sire, I am so little an infidel in that particular, that I was about to ask whether it would reconcile you in any degree to your acquiescing in the proposed mar­ riage betwixt the Duke of Orleans and Isabelle de Croye, were I to satisfy you that the Countess’s inclinations are so much fixed on another, that it is likely it will never be a match?” King Louis sighed.—“Alas!” he said, “my good and dear friend, from what sepulchre have you drawn such dead man’s comfort? Her

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inclination, indeed!—Why, to speak truth, supposing that Orleans detested my daughter Joan, yet, but for this ill-ravelled web of mis­ chance, he must needs have married her; so you may conjecture how little chance there is of this damsel being able to refuse him under a similar compulsion, and he a Child of France besides.—Ah, no, Philip!—little fear of her standing obstinate against the suit of such a lover.—Varium etmutabile, Philip.” “Your Majesty may, in the present instance, undervalue the obstin­ ate courage of this young lady. She comes of a race determinedly wilful; and I have picked out of Crevecœur that she has formed a romantic attachment to a young squire, who, to say truth, rendered her many services on the road.” “Ha!” said the King—“an archer of my Guards, by name Quentin Durward?” “The same, as I think,” said D’Argenton; “he was made prisoner along with the Countess, travelling almost alone together.” “Now, our Lord and our Lady, and Monseigneur Saint Martin, and Monseigneur Saint Julian, be praised every one of them!” said the King, “and all laud and honour to the learned Galeotti, who read in the stars that this youth’s destiny was connected with mine! If the maiden be so attached to him as to make her refractory to the will of Burgundy, this Quentin hath indeed been rarely useful to me.” “I believe, my lord, in Crevecœur’s report there is some chance of her being sufficiently obstinate—beside, doubtless, the noble Duke himself, notwithstanding what your Majesty was pleased to hint in way of supposition, will not willingly renounce his fair cousin, to whom he has been long engaged.” “Umph!” answered the King—“But you have never seen my daughter, an—a howlet, man!—an absolute owl, whom I am ashamed of! But let him be only a wise man, and marry her, I will give him leave to be mad par amours for the fairest lady in France.—And now, Philip, have you given me the full map of your master’s mind?” “I have possessed you, Sire, of those particulars on which he is at present most disposed to insist. But your Majesty well knows that the Duke’s disposition is like a sweeping torrent, which only passes smoothly forward when its waves encounter no opposition; and what may be presented to chafe him into fury, it is impossible even to guess. Were more distinct evidence of your Majesty’s practices, (pardon the phrase, where there is so little time for ceremony,) with the Liegeois and William de la Marck to occur unexpectedly, the issue might be terrible.—There are strange news from that country—they say La Marck hath married Hameline, the elder Countess of Croye.” “That old fool was so mad on marriage, that she would have

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accepted the hand of Satan,” said the King; “but that La Marck, beast as he is, should have married her, rather more surprises me.” “There is a report also,” continued Comines, “that an envoy, or herald, on La Marck’s part, is approaching Peronne;—this is like to drive the Duke frantic with rage—I trust that he has no letters, or the like, to shew on your Majesty’s part?” “Letters to a Wild Boar!” answered the King.—“No, no, Sir Philip, I was no such fool as to cast pearls before swine—What little inter­ course I had with the brute animal was by message, in which I always employed such low-bred slaves and vagabonds, that their evidence would not be received in a trial for robbing a hen-roost.” “I can then only further recommend,” said D’Argenton, taking his leave, “that your Majesty should remain on your guard, be guided by events, and, above all, avoid using any language or argument with the Duke which may better become your dignity than your present condi­ tion.” “If my dignity,” said the King, “grow troublesome to me, which it seldom doth while there are deeper interests to think of, I have a special remedy for that swelling ofthe heart—it is but looking into that ruinous closet, Sir Philip, and thinking of the death of Charles the Simple; and it cures me as effectually as the cold bath would cool a fever.—And now, my friend and monitor—must thou be gone? Well, Sir Philip, the time must come when thou wilt tire reading lessons of state policy to the Bull of Burgundy, who is incapable of comprehend­ ing your most simple argument—if Louis of Valois then lives, thou hast a friend in the Court of France. I tell thee, my Philip, it would be a blessing to my kingdom should I ever acquire thee; who, with a profound view of subjects of state, has also a conscience, capable of feeling and discerning between right and wrong. So help me, our Lord and Lady, and Monseigneur Saint Martin, Oliver and Balue have hearts as hardened as the nether mill-stone; and my life is embittered by remorse and penances for the crimes they make me commit. Thou, Sir Philip, possessed of the wisdom of present and past times, canst teach how to become great without ceasing to be virtuous.” “A hard task, and which few have attained,” said the historian; “but which is yet within the reach of princes, who will strive for it—mean­ time, Sire, be prepared, for the Duke will presently confer with you.” Louis looked long after Philip when he left the apartment, and at length burst into a bitter laugh. “He spoke of fishing—I have sent him home, a trout properly tickled!—And he thinks himself virtuous because he took no bribe, but contented himself with flattery and promises, and the pleasure of avenging an affront to his vanity!—

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Why, he is but so much the poorer for the refusal of the money—not a jot the more honest. He must be mine though, for he hath the shrewd­ est head among them. Well, now for a nobler game! I must face this Leviathan Charles, who will presently swim hitherward, cleaving the deep before him. I must, like a trembling sailor, throw a tub over board to amuse him. But I may one day find the chance of driving a harpoon into his entrails!”

Chapter Eight THE INTERVIEW Hold fast thy truth, young soldier.—Gentle maiden, Keep you your promise plight—leave age its subtleties, And grey-hair’d policy its maze of falsehood; But be you candid as the morning sky, Ere the high sun sucks vapours up to stain it. The Trial

On the perilous and important morning which preceded the meeting of the two Princes in the Castle of Peronne, Oliver le Dain did his master the service of an active and skilful agent, making inter­ est for Louis in every quarter, both with presents and promises; so that when the Duke’s anger should blaze forth, all around should be interested to smother, and not to increase the conflagration. He glided like night, from tent to tent, from house to house, making himself friends, but not in the Apostle’s sense, with the Mammon of unright­ eousness. As was said of another active political agent, “his finger was in every man’s palm, his mouth was in every man’s ear;” and for various reasons, some of which we have formerly hinted at, he secured the favour of many Burgundian nobles, who either had something to hope or fear from France, or who thought that, were the power of Louis too much reduced, their own Duke would be like to pursue the road to despotic authority, to which his temper naturally inclined him, with a daring and unopposed pace. Where Oliver thought his own presence or arguments might be less acceptable, he employed that of other servants of the King; and it was in this manner that he obtained, by the favour of the Count of Crevecœur, an interview betwixt Lord Crawford, accompanied by the Balafré, and Quentin Durward, who, since he had arrived at Peronne, had been detained in a sort of honourable confinement. Private affairs were assigned as the cause of requesting this meeting; but it is probable that Crevecœur, who was afraid that his master might be stirred up in passion to do something dishonourably violent

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towards Louis, was not sorry to afford an opportunity to Crawford to give some hints to the young Archer, which might prove useful to his master. The meeting between the countrymen was cordial and even affect­ ing. “Thou art a singular youth,” said Crawford, stroking the head of young Durward, as a grand-sire might do that of his descendant; “Certes, you have had as meikle good fortune as if you had been bom with a lucky-hood on your head.” “All comes of his gaining an archer’s place at such early years,” said Le Balafré; “I never was half so much talked of, fair nephew, because I was five-and-twenty years old before I was hors depage.” “And an ill-looking mountainous monster of a page thou wert, Ludovic,” said the old commander, “with a beard like a baker’s shool, and a back like old Wallace Wight.” “I fear,” said Quentin, with downcast eyes, “I shall enjoy that title to distinction but a short time—since it is my purpose to resign the service in the Archer-guard.” Le Balafré was struck almost mute with astonishment, and Craw­ ford’s ancient features gleamed with displeasure. The former at length mustered words enough to say, “Resign!—leave your place in the Scottish Archers!—such a thing was never dreamed of.—I would not give up my situation, to be made Constable of France.” “Hush! Ludovic,” said Crawford; “this youngster knows better how to shape his course with the wind than we of the old world do. His journey hath given him some pretty tales to tell about King Louis; and he is turning Burgundian, that he may make his own little profit by telling them to Duke Charles.” “If I thought so,” said Le Balafré, “I would cut his throat with my own hand, were he fifty times my sister’s son.” “But you would first inquire, whether I deserved to be so treated, fair kinsman,” answered Quentin;—“and you, my lord, know that I am no tale-bearer; nor shall either question or torture draw out of me a word to King Louis’s prejudice, which may have come to my know­ ledge while I was in his service.—So far my oath of duty keeps me silent. But I will not remain in that service, in which, besides the perils of fair battle with mine enemies, I am to be exposed to the dangers of ambuscade on the part of my friends.” “Nay, if he objects to lying in ambuscade,” said Le Balafré, looking sorrowfully at the Lord Crawford, “I am afraid, my lord, that all is over with him! I myself have had thirty bushments break upon me, and truly I think I have laid in ambuscade twice as often myself, it being a favourite practice in our King’s mode ofmaking war.”

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“It is so indeed, Ludovic,” answered Lord Crawford; “neverthe­ less, hold your peace, for I believe I understand this gear better than you do.” “I wish to our Lady you may, my lord,” answered Ludovic; “but it wounds me to the very midriff, to think my sister’s son should fear an ambushment.” “Young man,” said Crawford, “I partly guess your meaning—you have met foul play on the road where you travelled by the King’s command, and you think you have reason to charge him with being the author of it.” “I have been threatened with foul play in the execution ofthe King’s commission; but I have had the good fortune to elude it—whether his Majesty be innocent or guilty in the matter, I leave to God and his own conscience. He fed me when I was a-hungered—received me when I was a wandering stranger. I will never load him in his adversity with accusations which may indeed be unjust, since I heard them only from the vilest mouths.” “My dear boy—my own lad!” said Crawford, taking him in his arms —“Ye think like a Scot every joint of you—like one that will forget a cause of quarrel with a friend whose back is already at the wall, and remember nothing of him but his kindness.” “Since my Lord Crawford has embraced my nephew,” said Ludo­ vic Lesly, “I will embrace him also—though I would have you to know, that to understand the service of an ambushment is as necessary to a soldier, as it is to a priest to be able to read his breviary.” “Be hushed, Ludovic,” said Crawford; “ye are an ass, my friend, and ken not the blessing Heaven has sent you in this braw callant.— And now tell me, Quentin my man, hath the King any advice of this brave, christian, and manly resolution of yours? for, poor man, he had need in this strait to ken what he has to reckon upon. Had he but brought the whole brigade of Guards with him!—But God’s will be done—Kens he of your purpose think you?” “I really can hardly tell,” answered Quentin; “but I assured his learned Astrologer, Martius Galeotti, of my resolution to be silent on all that could injure the King with the Duke of Burgundy. The par­ ticulars which I suspect, I will (under your favour) communicate not even to your lordship; and to the philosopher I was, of course, far less willing to unfold myself.” “Ha!—Ay!—” answered Lord Crawford—“Oliver did indeed tell me that Galeotti prophesied most stoutly concerning the line of con­ duct you were to hold; and I am truly glad to find he did so on better authority than the stars.” “He prophecy!” said Le Balafré, laughing; “the stars never told him

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that honest Ludovic Lesly used to help yonder wench of his to spend the fair ducats he flings into her lap.” “Husht! Ludovic,” said his captain, “husht! thou beast, man!—if thou doest not respect my grey hairs, because I have been e’en too much of a routier myself, respect the boy’s youth and innocence, and let us have no more of such unbecoming daffing.” “Your honour may say your pleasure,” answered Ludovic Lesly; “but, by my faith, second-sighted Saunders Souplejaw, the town­ souter of Glen-houlakin, was worth Gallotti, or Gullipotty, or what­ ever ye call him, twice-told for a prophet. He foretold that all my sister’s children would die some day; and he foretold it in the very hour that the youngest was bom, and that is this lad Quentin—who, no doubt, will one day die, to make up the prophecy—the more’s the pity—the whole curney of them is gone but himself. And Saunders foretold to myself one day, that I should be made by marriage, which doubtless will also happen in due time, though it hath not yet come to pass—though how or when I can hardly guess, as I care not myself for the wedding state, and Quentin is but a child. Also, Saunders pre­ dicted”—— “Nay,” said Lord Crawford, “unless the prediction be singularly to the purpose, I must cut you short, my good Ludovic: for both you and I must now leave your nephew, with prayers to Our Lady to strengthen him in the good mind he is in; for this is a case in which a light word might do more mischief than all the Parliament of Paris could mend. My blessing with you, my lad; and be in no hurry to think of leaving our body, for there will be good blows going presently in the eye of day, and no ambuscade.” “And my blessing too, nephew,” said Ludovic Lesly; “for since you have satisfied our most noble captain, I also am satisfied, as in duty bound.” “Stay, my lord, stay,” said Quentin, and led Lord Crawford a little apart from his uncle. “I must not forget to mention, that there is a person besides in the world, who, having learned from me these circumstances, which it is essential to King Louis’s safety should at present remain concealed, may not think that the same obligation of secrecy which attaches to me as the King’s soldier, and as having been relieved by his bounty, is at all binding on her.” “On her!” replied Crawford; “nay, if there be a woman in the secret, the Lord ha’ mercy, for we are all on the rocks again!” “Do not suppose so, my lord,” replied Durward, “but use your interest with the Count of Crevecœur to permit me an interview with the Countess Isabelle of Croye, who is the party possessed of my secret, and I doubt not that I can persuade her to be as silent as I shall

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unquestionably myself remain, concerning whatsoever may incense the Duke against King Louis.” The old soldier mused for a long time—looked up to the ceiling, then down again upon the floor—then shook his head,—and at length said, “There is something in all this, which, by my honour, I do not understand—the Countess Isabelle of Croye!—an interview with a lady of her birth, blood, and possessions!—and thou a raw Scots lad, so certain of carrying thy point with her? Thou art either strangely confident, my young friend—or else—you have used your time well upon the journey. But, by the Cross of Saint Andrew! I will move Crevecœur in thy behalf; and as he truly fears that Duke Charles may be provoked against the King to the extremity of falling foul, I think it likely he may grant thy request, though, by my honour, it is a comical one.” So saying, and shrugging up his shoulders, the old Lord left the apartment, followed by Ludovic Lesly, who, forming his looks on those of his principal, endeavoured, though knowing nothing of the cause of his wonder, to look as mysterious and important as Crawford himself. In a few minutes Crawford returned, but without his attendant Le Balafré. The old man seemed in singular humour, laughing and chuckling to himself in a manner which strangely distorted his old and rigid features, and at the same time shaking his head, as at something which he could not help condemning, while he found it irresistibly ludicrous. “My certes, countryman,” said he, “but you are not blate— you will never lose fair lady for faint-heart! Crevecœur swallowed your proposal as he would have done a cup of vinegar, and swore to me roundly, by all the Saints in Burgundy, that, but that the honour of princes and the peace of kingdoms were at stake, you should never see even so much as the print of the Countess Isabelle’s foot on the clay. Were it not that he hath a dame, and a fair one, I would have thought he meant to break a lance for the prize himself. Perhaps he thinks of his nephew, the County Stephen. A Countess!—would no less serve ye to be minting at?—But come along—your interview with her must be brief—But I fancy you know how to make the most of little time— ho! ho! ho!—by my faith, I can hardly chide thee for the presumption, I have such good will to laugh at it!” With a brow like scarlet, at once offended and disconcerted by the blunt inferences of the old soldier, and vexed at beholding in what an absurd light his passion was viewed by every person of experience, Durward followed Lord Crawford in silence to the Ursuline convent in which the Countess was lodged, and in the parlour of which he found the Count de Crevecœur.

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“So, young gallant,” said the latter, sternly, “you must see the fair companion of your romantic expedition once more, it seems?” “Yes, my Lord Count,” answered Quentin, firmly; “and, what is more, I must see her alone.” “That shall never be,” said the Count de Crevecœur. “Lord Craw­ ford, I make you judge—this young lady, the daughter ofmy old friend and companion in arms, the richest heiress in Burgundy, has con­ fessed a sort of a—what was I going to say?—in short, she is a fool— and your man-at-arms here a presumptuous coxcomb—in a word, they shall not meet alone.” “Then will I not speak a single word to the Countess in your presence,” said Quentin, much delighted. “You have told me much that I did not dare, presumptuous as I may be, even to hope.” “Ay, truly said, my friend,” said Crawford. “You have been impru­ dent in your communications; and since you refer to me, and there is a good stout grating across the parlour, I would advise you to trust to it, and let them do the worst with their tongues. What, man! the life of a King, and many thousands besides, is not to be weighed with the chance of two young things whilly-whawing in ilk other’s ears for a minute.” So saying, he dragged off Crevecœur, who followed very reluct­ antly, and casting many angry glances at the young Archer as he left the room. In a moment after, the Countess Isabelle entered on the other side of the grate, and no sooner saw Quentin alone in the parlour, than she stopped short, and cast her eyes on the ground for the space of half a minute. “Yet why should I be ungrateful,” she said, “because others areunjustlysuspicious?—My friend—mypreserver,Imayalmostsay, so much have I been beset by treachery—my only faithful and con­ stant friend!” As she spoke thus, she extended her hand to him through the grate, nay, suffered him to retain it, until he had covered it with kisses, not unmingled with tears. She only said, “Durward, were we ever to meet again, I would not permit this folly.” If it be considered that Quentin had guarded her through so many perils—that he had been, in fact, her only faithful and zealous protector, perhaps my fair readers, even if countesses and heiresses should be of the number, will pardon the derogation. But the Countess extricated her hand at length, and stepping a pace back from the grate, asked Durward, in a very embarrassed tone, what boon he had to ask of her?—“For that you have a request to make, I have learned from the old Scottish Lord, who came here but now with my cousin of Crevecœur. Let it be but reasonable,” she said, “but

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such as poor Isabelle can grant with duty and honour uninfringed, and you cannot tax my slender powers too highly. But, O! do not speak hastily—do not say,” she added, looking around with timidity, “aught that might, ifoverheard, do prejudice to us both.” “Fear not, noble lady,” said Quentin, sorrowfully; “it is not here that I can forget the distance which fate has placed between us, or expose you to the censures of your proud kindred, as the object of the most devoted love to one, poorer and less powerful—not perhaps less noble than themselves. Let that pass like a dream of the night to all but one bosom, where, dream as it is, it will fill up the room of all existing realities.” “Hush! hush!” said Isabelle; “for your own sake,—for mine,—be silent on such a theme—tell me rather what it is you have to ask of me. “Forgiveness to one, who, for his own selfish views, hath conducted himselfas your enemy.” “I trust I forgive all my enemies,” answered Isabelle; “but oh, Durward! through what scenes has your courage and presence of mind protected me!—yonder bloody hall—the good Bishop—I knew not till yesterday half the horrors I have unconsciously witnessed!” “Do not think on them,” said Quentin, who saw the transient colour which had come to her cheek during their conference fast fading into the most deadly paleness—“Do not look back, but look steadily for­ wards, as they needs must who walk in a perilous road. Hearken to me. King Louis deserves nothing better at your hand, of all others, than to be proclaimed the wily and insidious politician which he really is. But to tax him as the encourager of your flight—still more as the author of a plan to throw you into the hands of De la Marck—will at this moment produce perhaps the King’s death or dethronement; and, at all events, the most bloody war between France and Burgundy which the two countries have ever been engaged in.” “These evils shall not arrive for my sake, if they can be prevented,” said the Countess Isabelle; “and indeed your slightest request were enough to make me forego my revenge, were that at any time a passion which I deeply cherish. Is it possible I would rather remember King Louis’s injuries than your invaluable services?—Yet how is this to be? When I am called before my Sovereign, the Duke of Burgundy, I must either stand silent, or speak the truth. The former would be contumacity—and to a false tale you will not desire me to train my tongue.” “Surely not,” said Durward; “but let your evidence concerning Louis be confined to what you yourself positively know to be truth— and when you mention what others have reported, no matter how

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credibly, let it be as reports only, and beware of pledging your own personal evidence to that, which, though you may fully believe, you cannot personally know. The assembled Council of Burgundy cannot refuse to a Monarch the justice, which in my country is rendered to the meanest person under accusation. They must esteem him inno­ cent, until direct and sufficient proofshall demonstrate his guilt. Now, what does not consist with your own certain knowledge, should be proved by other evidence than your report from hearsay.” “I think I understand you,” said the Countess Isabelle. “I will make my meaning plainer,” said Quentin, and was illustrat­ ing it accordingly by more than one instance, when the convent-bell tolled. “That,” said the Countess, “is a signal that we must part—part for ever—but do not forget me, Durward; I will never forget you—your faithful services—” She could not speak more, but again extended her hand, which was again pressed to his lips; and I know not how it was, that, in endeav­ ouring to withdraw her hand, the Countess came so close to the grating, that Quentin was encouraged to press the adieu on her lips. The young lady did not chide him—perhaps there was no time, for Crevecœur and Crawford, who had been from some loop-hole eye­ witnesses, if not ear-witnesses also, of what was passing, rushed into the apartment, the first in a towering passion, the latter laughing, and holding him back. “To your chamber, young mistress—to your chamber,” exclaimed the Count to Isabelle, who, flinging down her veil, retired in all haste, —“which should be exchanged for a cell, and bread and water.—And you, gentle sir, who are so malapert, the time will come when the interests of kings and kingdoms may not be connected with such as you are, and you shall then learn the penalty ofyour audacity in raising your beggarly eyes”—– “Hush! hush!—enough said—rein up—rein up,” said the old Lord;—“and you, Quentin, I command you, be silent, and begone to your quarters—There is no such room for scorn neither, Sir Count of Crevecœur—Quentin Durward is as much a gentleman as the King, only, as the Spaniard says, not so rich. He is as noble as myself, and I am chief of my name. Tush, tush, man, you must not speak to us of penalties.” “My lord, my lord,” said Crevecœur, impatiently, “the insolence of these foreign mercenaries is proverbial, and should receive rather rebuke than encouragement from you, who are their leader.” “My Lord Count,” answered Crawford, “I have ordered my com­ mand for these fifty years, without advice either from Frenchman or

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Burgundian; and I intend to do so, under your favour, so long as I shall continue to hold it.” “Well, well, my lord,” said Crevecœur, “I meant you no disrespect —your nobleness, as well as your age, entitle you to be privileged in your impatience; and for these young people, I am satisfied to over­ look the past, since I will take care that they never meet again.” “Do not take that upon your salvation, Crevecœur,” said the old Lord, laughing, “mountains, it is said, may meet, and why not mortal creatures that have legs, and life and love to put those legs in motion? Yon kiss, Crevecœur, came tenderly off—methinks it was ominous.” “You are striving again to disturb my patience,” said Crevecœur, “but I will not give you that advantage over me. Hark! they toll the summons to the Castle—an awful meeting, of which God only can foretelthe issue.” “This issue I can foretel,” said the old Scottish Lord, “that if violence is to be offered to the person of the King, few as his friends are, and surrounded by his enemies, he shall neither fall alone nor unavenged; and grieved I am, that his own positive orders have pre­ vented my taking measures to prepare for such an issue.” “My Lord of Crawford,” said the Burgundian, “to anticipate such evil is the sure way to give occasion to it. Obey the orders of your royal master, and give no pretext for violence by taking hasty offence, and you will find that the day will pass over more smoothly than you now conjecture.”

Chapter Nine THE INVESTIGATION Me rather had, my heart might feel your love, Than my displeased eye see your courtesy. Up, cousin, up—your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least—although your knee be low. King Richard II

At the first toll ofthe bell, which was to summon the great nobles ofBurgundy together in council, with the very few French peers who were to be present on the occasion, Duke Charles, followed by a part of his train, armed with partizans and battle-axes, entered the Hall of Herbert’s Tower, in the Castle of Peronne. King Louis, who had expected the visit, arose and made two steps towards the Duke, and then remained standing with an air of dignity, which, in despite of the meanness of his dress, and the familiarity of his ordinary manners, he

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knew very well how to assume when he judged it necessary. Upon the present important crisis, the composure of his demeanour had an evident effect upon his rival, who changed the abrupt and hasty step with which he entered the apartment, into one more becoming a great vassal entering the presence of his Lord Paramount. Apparently the Duke had formed the internal resolution to treat Louis, in the outset at least, with the formalities due to his high station; but at the same time it was evident, that, in doing so, he put no small constraint upon the fiery impatience of his own disposition, and was scarce able to control the feelings of resentment, and the thirst of revenge, which boiled in his bosom. Hence, though he compelled himself to use the outward acts, and in some degree the language, ofcourtesy and rever­ ence, his colour came and went rapidly—his voice was abrupt, hoarse, and broken—his limbs shook, as impatient of the curb imposed on his motions—he frowned, and bit his lip until the blood came—and every look and movement shewed that the most passionate prince who ever lived, was under the domination of one of his most violent accesses of fury. The King marked this war of passion with a calm and untroubled eye; for, though he gathered from the Duke’s looks a foretaste of the bitterness of death, which he dreaded alike as a mortal and a sinful man, yet he was resolved, like a wary and skilful pilot, neither to suffer himself to be disconcerted by his own fears, nor to abandon the helm, while there was a chance of saving the vessel. When the Duke, in a hoarse and broken tone, said something of the scarcity of accom­ modations, he answered with a smile, that he could not complain, since he had as yet found Herbert’s Tower a better residence than it had proved to one of his ancestors. “They told you the tradition then?” said Charles—“Yes—here he was slain—but it was because he refused to take the cowl, and finish his days in a monastery.” “The more fool he,” said Louis, affecting unconcern, “since he gained the torment of being a martyr, without the merit of being a saint.” “I come,” said the Duke, “to pray your Majesty to attend a high council, at which things of weight are to be deliberated upon concern­ ing the welfare ofFrance and Burgundy. You will presently meet them —that is, if such be your pleasure—–” “Nay, my fair cousin,” said the King, “never strain courtesy so far, as to entreat what you may so boldly command—to council, since such is your Grace’s pleasure. We are somewhat shorn of our train,” he added, looking upon the small suit that arranged themselves to attend him—“but you, cousin, must shine out for us both.”

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Marshalled by Toison d’Or, chief of the heralds of Burgundy, the Princes left the Earl Herbert’s Tower, and entered the castle-yard, which Louis observed was filled with the Duke’s body-guard and men-at-arms, splendidly accoutred, and drawn up under arms. Crossing the court, they entered the Council-hall, which was in a much more modem part of the building than that of which Louis had been the tenant, and though in disrepair, had been hastily arranged for the solemnity of a public council. Two chairs of state were erected under the same canopy, that for the King being raised two steps higher than that which the Duke was to occupy. About twenty of the chief nobility sate, arranged in due order, on either hand of the chairs of state. And thus, when they were both seated, the person for whose trial, as it might be called, the council was summoned, held the highest place, and appeared to preside in it. It was perhaps to get rid of this inconsistency, and the scruples which might have been inspired by it, that Duke Charles, having bowed slightly to the royal chair, bluntly opened the sitting with the following words:— “My good vassals and counsellors—it is not unknown to you what disturbances have arisen in our territories, both in our father’s time, and in our own, from the rebellion of vassals against superiors, and subjects against their princes. And lately, we have had the most dread­ ful proof of the height to which these evils have arrived, in one case by the scandalous flight of the Countess Isabelle of Croye, and her aunt the Lady Hameline, to take refuge with a foreign power, thereby renouncing their fealty to us, and inferring the forfeiture of their fiefs; and in another more dreadful and deplorable instance, by the sacrile­ gious and bloody murther of our beloved brother and ally the Bishop of Liege, and the rebellion of that treacherous city, which was but too mildly punished for the last insurrection. We have been informed that these sad events may be traced, not merely to the inconstancy and folly of women, and the presumption of pampered citizens, but to the agency of foreign power, and the interference of a mighty neighbour, from whom, if good deeds could merit any return in kind, Burgundy could have expected nothing but the most sincere and devoted friend­ ship. If this should prove truth,” said the Duke, setting his teeth, and pressing his heel against the ground, “what consideration shall with­ hold us—the means being in our power—from taking such measures as shall effectually, and at the very source, close up the main spring, from which these evils have yearly flowed on us?” The Duke had begun his speech with some calmness, but he elev­ ated his voice at the conclusion; and the last sentence was spoken in a tone, which made all the counsellors tremble, and brought a transient

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fit of paleness across the King’s cheek. He instantly recalled his cour­ age, however, and addressed the council in his turn, in a tone evincing so much ease and composure, that the Duke, though he seemed desirous to interrupt or stop him, found no decent opportunity to do so. “Nobles ofFrance and ofBurgundy,” he said, “Knights ofthe Holy Spirit and of the Golden Fleece, since a King must plead his cause as an accused person, he cannot desire nobler judges, than the flower of nobleness, and muster and pride of chivalry. Our fair cousin of Bur­ gundy hath but darkened the dispute between us, in so far as his courtesy has declined to state it in precise terms. I, who have no cause for observing such delicacy, nay, whose condition permits me not to do so, crave leave to speak more precisely. It is to us, my lords—to us, his liege Lord, his kinsman, his ally, that unhappy circumstances, perverting our cousin’s clear judgment and better nature, have induced him to apply the hateful charges of seducing his vassals from their allegiance, stirring up the people of Liege to revolt, and stimulat­ ing the outlawed William de la Marck to commit a most cruel and sacrilegious murther. Nobles of France and Burgundy, I might truly appeal to the circumstances in which I now stand, as being in them­ selves a complete contradiction of such an accusation; for is it to be supposed, that, having the sense of a rational being left me, I should have thrown myself unreservedly into the power of the Duke of Bur­ gundy, while I was practising treachery against him, such as could not fail to be discovered, and which, being discovered, must place me, as I now stand, in the power of an exasperated prince? The folly of one who should seat himself quietly down to repose on a mine, after he had lighted the match which was to cause instant explosion, would have been wisdom compared to mine. I have no doubt, that, amongst the perpetrators of those horrible treasons at Schonwaldt, villains have been busy with my name—but am I to be answerable, who have given them no right to use it?—If two silly women, disgusted on account of some romantic cause of displeasure, sought refuge at my court, does it follow that they did so by my direction?—It will be found, when inquired into, that, since honour and chivalry forbade my sending them back prisoners to the Court of Burgundy,—which I think, gentlemen, no one who wears the collar of these orders would suggest,—that I came as nearly as possible to the same point, by placing them in the hands of the venerable father in God, who is now a saint in heaven.”—Here Louis seemed much affected, and pressed his kerchief to his eyes—“A member of my own family, and still more closely united with that of Burgundy, whose situation, exalted condi­ tion in the church, and, alas! whose numerous virtues qualified him to

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be the protector of these unhappy wanderers for a little while, and the mediator betwixt them and their liege Lord. I say, therefore, the only circumstances which seem in my brother ofBurgundy’s hasty view of this subject, to argue unworthy suspicions against me, are such as can be explained on the fairest and most honourable motives; and I say, moreover, that no one particle of credible evidence can be brought to support the injurious charges which have induced my brother to alter his friendly looks towards one who came to him in full confidence of friendship, have caused him to turn his festive hall into a court of justice, and his hospitable apartments into a prison.” “My lord, my lord,” said Charles, breaking in so soon as the King paused, “for your being here at a time so unluckily coinciding with the execution of your projects, I can only account by supposing, that those who make it their trade to impose on others, do sometimes egregiously delude themselves. The engineer is sometimes killed by the springing of his own petard.—For what is to follow, let it depend on the event of this solemn inquiry.—Bring hither the Countess Isabelle of Croye!” As the young lady was introduced, supported on the one side by the Countess of Crevecœur, who had her husband’s commands to that effect, and on the other by the Abbess of the Ursuline convent, Charles exclaimed, with his usual harshness of voice and manner,— “Soh! sweet Princess—you, who could scarce find breath to answer us when we last laid our just and reasonable commands on you, yet have had wind enough to run as long a course as ever did hunted doe —what think you of the fair work you have made between two great Princes, and two mighty countries, that have been like to go to war for your baby-face?” The publicity of the scene, and the violence of Charles’s manner, totally overcame the resolution which Isabelle had formed ofthrowing herself at the Duke’s feet, and imploring him to take possession of her estates, and permit her to retire into a cloister. She stood motionless like a terrified female in a storm, who hears the thunder roll on every side of her, and apprehends, in every fresh peal, the bolt which is to strike her dead. The Countess of Crevecœur, a woman of spirit equal to her birth and to the beauty which she preserved even in her mat­ ronly years, judged it necessary to interfere. “My Lord Duke,” she said, “my fair cousin is under my protection. I know better than your Grace how women should be treated, and we will leave this presence instantly, unless you use a tone and language more suitable to our rank and sex.” The Duke burst out into a laugh. “Crevecœur,” he said, “thy tameness hath made a lordly dame of thy Countess; but that is no affair of mine. Give a seat to yonder simple girl, to whom, so far from

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feeling enmity, I design the highest grace and honour.—Sit down, mistress, and tell us at your leisure what fiend possessed you to fly from your native country, and to embrace the trade ofa damsel adven­ turous.” With much pain, and not without several interruptions, Isabelle confessed, that, being absolutely determined against a match pro­ posed to her by the Duke of Burgundy, she had indulged the hope of obtaining protection at the Court ofFrance. “And under protection of the French Monarch,” said Charles— “Of that, doubtless, you were well assured.” “I did indeed so think myself assured,” said the Countess Isabelle, “otherwise I had not taken a step so decided.”—Here Charles looked upon Louis with a smile of inexpressible bitterness, which the King supported with the utmost firmness, excepting that his lip grew some­ thing whiter than it was wont to be.—“But my information concerning King Louis’s intentions towards us,” continued the Countess, after a short pause, “was almost entirely derived from my unhappy aunt, the Lady Hameline, and her opinions were formed upon the assertions and insinuations of persons whom I have since discovered to be the vilest traitors, and most faithless wretches in the world.” She then stated, in brief terms, what she had since come to learn of the treach­ ery of Marthon, and of Hayraddin Maugrabin, and added, that she “entertained no doubt that the elder Maugrabin, called Zamet, the original adviser of their flight, was capable of every species of treach­ ery, as well as of assuming the character of an agent of Louis without authority.” There was a pause while the Countess had concluded her story, which she prosecuted, though very briefly, from the time she left the territories of Burgundy, in company with her aunt, until the storm of Schonwaldt, and her final surrender to the Count of Crevecœur. All remained mute after she had finished her brief and broken narrative, and the Duke of Burgundy bent his fierce dark eyes on the ground, like one who seeks for a pretext to indulge his passion, but finds none sufficiently plausible to justify himselfin his own eyes. “The mole,” he said at length, looking upwards, “winds not his dark subterranean path beneath our feet the less certainly, that we, though conscious of his motions, cannot absolutely trace them. Yet I would know of King Louis, wherefore he maintained these ladies at his Court, had they not gone thither by his own invitation.” “I did not so entertain them, fair cousin,” answered the King. “Out of compassion, indeed, I received them in privacy, but took an early opportunity of placing them under the protection of the late excellent Bishop, your own ally, and who was (may God assoil him!) a better

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judge than I, or any secular prince, how to reconcile the protection due to fugitives, with the duty which a king owes to his ally from whose dominions they have fled. I boldly ask this young lady, whether my reception of them was cordial, or whether it was not, on the contrary, such as made them express regret that they had made my Court their place ofrefuge?” “So much was it otherwise than cordial,” answered the Countess, “that it induced me, at least, to doubt how far it was possible that your Majesty should have actually given us the invitation of which we had been assured, by those who called themselves your agents; since, supposing them to have proceeded only as they were duly authorized, it would have been hard to reconcile your Majesty’s conduct with that to be expected from a king, a knight, and a gentleman.” The Countess turned her eyes to the King as she spoke, with a look which was probably intended as a reproach, but the breast of Louis was armed against all such artillery. On the contrary, waving slowly his expanded hands, and looking around the circle, he seemed to make a triumphant appeal to all present, upon the testimony borne to his innocence in the Countess’s reply. Burgundy, meanwhile, cast on him a look which seemed to say, that if in some degree silenced, he was as far as ever from being satisfied, and then said abruptly to the Countess,—“Methinks, fair mistress, in this account ofyour wanderings, you have forgot all mention ofcertain love-passages—so, ho! blushing already?—certain knights of the forest, by whom your quest was for a time interrupted. Well—that incident hath come to our ear, and something we may presently form out of it.—Tell me, King Louis, were it not well, before this vagrant Helen of Troy, or of Croye, sets more kings by the ears, were it not well to carve out a fitting match for her?” King Louis, though conscious what ungrateful proposal was like to be made next, gave a calm and silent assent to what Charles said; but the Countess herself was restored to courage by the very extremity of her situation. She quitted the arm of the Countess of Crevecœur, on which she had hitherto leaned, came forwards timidly, yet with an air of dignity, and, kneeling before the Duke’s throne, thus addressed him:—“Noble Duke of Burgundy, and my liege Lord—I acknow­ ledge my fault in having withdrawn myselffrom your dominions with­ out your gracious permission, and will most humbly acquiesce in any penalty you are pleased to impose. I place my lands and castles at your rightful disposal, and pray you only of your own bounty, and for the sake ofmy father’s memory, to allow the last ofthe line of Croye such a moderate maintenance as may find her admission into a convent for the remainder of her life.”

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“What think you, Sire, of this young person’s petition to us?” said the Duke, addressing Louis. “As of a holy and a humble motion,” said the King, “which doubt­ less comes from that Grace which ought not to be resisted or with­ stood.” “The humble and lowly shall be exalted,” said Charles. “Arise, Countess Isabelle—we mean better for you than you have devised for yourself—we mean neither to sequestrate your estates, nor to abase your honours, but, on the contrary, will add largely to both.” “Alas! my lord,” said the Countess, continuing on her knees, “it is even that well-meant goodness which I fear still more than your Grace’s displeasure, since it compels me”—– “Saint George of Burgundy!” said Duke Charles, “Is our will to be thwarted, and our commands disputed, at every turn? Up, I say, minion, and withdraw for the present—when we have time to think of thee, we will so order matters, that, Teste-Saint-Gris! you shall either obey us, or do worse.” Notwithstanding this stern answer, the Countess Isabelle remained at his feet, and would probably, by her pertinacity, have driven him to say something yet more severe, had not the Countess of Crevecœur, who better knew that Prince’s humour, interfered to raise her young friend, and to conduct her from the hall. Quentin Durward was now summoned to appear, and presented himself before the King and Duke with that freedom, distant alike from bashful reserve and intrusive boldness, which becomes a youth at once well-bom and well-nurtured, who gives honour where it is due, but without permitting himself to be dazzled or confused by the presence of those to whom it is to be rendered. His uncle had fur­ nished him with the means ofagain equipping himself in the arms and dress of an Archer of the Scottish Guard, and his complexion, mien, and air, singularly fitted his splendid appearance. His great youth, too, prepossessed the counsellors in his favour, the rather that no one could easily believe that the sagacious Louis would have chosen so very young a person to become the confidant of political intrigue; and thus the King enjoyed, in this as in other cases, considerable advant­ age from his singular choice of agents, in the class of age as well as of rank, where such election seemed least likely to be made. At the command of the Duke, sanctioned by that of Louis, Quentin com­ menced an account of his journey with the Ladies of Croye to the neighbourhood of Liege, premising a statement of King Louis’s instructions, which were, that he should escort them safely to the castle of the Bishop. “And you obeyed my orders accordingly,” said the King.

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“I did, Sire,” replied the Scot. “You omit a circumstance,” said the Duke. “You were set upon in the forest by two wandering knights.” “It does not become me to remember or to proclaim such an incid­ ent,” said the youth, blushing ingenuously. “But it doth not become me to forget it,” said the Duke of Orleans. “This youth discharged his commission manfully, and maintained his trust in a manner that I shall long remember.—Come to my apart­ ment, Archer, when this matter is over, and thou shalt find I have not forgot thy brave bearing, while I am glad to see it is equalled by thy modesty.” “And come to mine,” said Dunois. “I have a helmet for thee, since I think I owe thee one.” Quentin bowed low, and the examination was resumed. At the command of Duke Charles, he produced the written instructions which he had received for the direction ofhis journey. “Did you follow these instructions literally, soldier?” said the Duke. “No, if it please your Grace,” replied Quentin. “They directed me, as you may be pleased to observe, to cross the Maes, near Namur; whereas I kept the left bank, as being both the nigher and the safer road to Liege.” “And wherefore that alteration?” said the Duke. “Because I began to suspect the fidelity of my guide,” answered Quentin. “Now mark the questions I have next to ask thee,” said the Duke. “Reply truly to them, and fear nothing from the resentment of any one. But if you palter or double in your answers, I will have thee hung alive in an iron chain from the steeple of the market-house, where thou shalt wish for death for many an hour ere he comes to relieve you!” There was a deep silence ensued. At length, having given the youth time, as he thought, to consider the circumstances in which he was placed, the Duke demanded to know of Durward, who his guide was, by whom supplied, and wherefore he had been led to entertain suspicion of him? To the first of these questions, Quentin Durward answered, by naming Hayraddin Maugrabin, the Bohemian; to the second, that the guide had been recommended by Tristan l’Hermite; and in reply to the third point, he mentioned what had happened in the Franciscan convent, near Namur; how the Bohemian had been expelled from the holy house; and how, jealous of his behaviour, he had dogged him to a rendezvous with one of William de la Marck’s Lanzknechts, where he overheard them arrange a plan for surprising the ladies who were under his protection.

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“Now, hark thee,” said the Duke, “and once more remember thy life depends on thy veracity—Did these villains mention their having this King’s—I mean this very King Louis of France’s authority, for their scheme ofsurprising the escort, and carrying away the ladies?” “If such infamous fellows had said so,” replied Quentin, “I know not how I should have believed them, having the word of the King himselfto place in opposition to theirs.” Louis, who had listened hitherto with most earnest attention, could not help drawing his breath deeply, when he heard Durward’s answer, in the manner of one from whose bosom a heavy weight has been at once removed. The Duke again looked disconcerted and moody; and returning to the charge, questioned Quentin still more closely, whether he did not understand from these men’s private conversation, that the plot which they meditated had King Louis’s sanction? “I repeat, that I heard nothing which could authorize me to say so,” answered the young man, who, though internally convinced of the King’s accession to the treachery of Hayraddin, yet held it contrary to his allegiance to bring forwards his own suspicions on the subject; “and if I had heard such men make such an assertion, I again say, that I would not have given their testimony weight against the instructions of the King himself.” “Thou art a faithful messenger,” said the Duke, with a sneer; “and I venture to say, that, in obeying the King’s instructions, thou hast disappointed his expectations in a manner that thou might’st have smarted for; but that subsequent events have made thy bull-headed fidelity seem like good service.” “I understand you not, my lord,” said Quentin Durward; “all I know is, that my master King Louis sent me to protect those ladies, and that I did so accordingly, both on the journey to Schonwaldt, and through the subsequent scenes which took place. I understood the instructions of the King to be honourable, and I executed them hon­ ourably; had they been of a different tenor, they would not have suited one ofmy name or nation.” “Fier comme un Ecossois,” said Charles, who, however disappointed at the tenor of Durward’s reply, was not unjust enough to blame him for his boldness. “But, hark thee, Archer—what instructions were these which made thee, as some sad fugitives from Schonwaldt have informed us, parade the streets of Liege, at the head of these mutin­ eers, who afterwards cruelly murdered their temporal Prince and spiritual Father? And what harangue was it which thou didst make after that murder was committed, in which you took upon you, as an agent for Louis, to assume authority among the villains who had just perpetrated so great a crime?”

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“My lord,” said Quentin, “there are enough to testify, that I assumed not the character of an envoy of France in the town of Liege, but had it fixed upon me by the obstinate clamours of the people themselves, who refused to give credit to any disclamation which I could make—this I told to the domestics of the Bishop when I had made my escape from the city, and recommended their attention to the security of the Castle, which might have prevented the calamity and horror of the succeeding night. It is, no doubt, true, that I did, in the extremity ofdanger, avail myselfof the influence which my imputed character gave me, to save the Countess Isabelle, to protect my own life, and, so far as I could, to rein in the humour for slaughter, which had already broke out in so dreadful an instance. I repeat, and will maintain it with my body, that I had no commission from the King of France; and that, finally, when I did avail myself of that imputed character, it was as if I had snatched up a shield to protect myself in a moment of emergency, and used it, as I should surely have done, for defence ofmyselfand others, without inquiring whether I had right to the heraldric emblazonments which it displayed.” “And therein my young companion and prisoner,” said Creve­ cœur, unable any longer to remain silent, “acted with equal spirit and good sense; and his doing so cannot justly be imputed as blame to King Louis.” There was a murmur of assent among the surrounding nobility, which sounded joyfully in the ears of King Louis, whilst it gave no little offence to those of Charles. He rolled his eyes angrily around; and the sentiments, so generally expressed by so many of his highest vassals and wisest councillors, would not perhaps have prevented his giving way to his violent and despotic temper, had not D’Argenton, who foresaw the danger, prevented it, by suddenly announcing a herald from the city ofLiege. “A herald from weavers and nailers!” exclaimed the Duke—“admit him instantly—by our Lady, I will learn from this same herald some­ thing further of his employers’ hopes and projects, than this young French-Scottish man-at-arms seems desirous to tell me!”

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Chapter Ten THE HERALD Ariel.———Hark! they roar. Prospero. Let them be hunted soundly. The Tempest

There was room made in the assembly, and no small curiosity evinced by those present to see the herald whom the insurgent Liegeois had ventured to send to so haughty a Prince as the Duke of Burgundy, while in such high indignation against them. For it must be remembered, that at this period heralds were only dispatched from Sovereign Princes to each other upon solemn occasions; and that the inferior nobility employed pursuivants, a lower rank of officers at arms. It may be also noticed in passing, that Louis XI., a habitual derider of whatever did not promise real power or substantial advant­ age, was in especial a professed contemner of heralds and heraldry, “red, blue, and green, with all their trumpery,” to which the pride of his rival Charles, which was of a very different kind, attached no small degree of ceremonious importance. The herald, who was now introduced into the presence of the monarchs, was dressed in a tabard or coat, embroidered with the arms of his master, in which the Boar’s-head made a distinguished appear­ ance in blazonry, which, in the opinion of the skilful, was more showy than accurate. The rest of his dress, always sufficiently tawdry, was overcharged with lace, embroidery, and ornament of every kind; and the plume of feathers which he wore was so high, as if intended to sweep the roof of the hall. In short, the usual gawdy splendour of the heraldric attire was caricatured and overdone. The Boar’s-head was not only repeated on every part of his dress, but even his bonnet was formed into that shape, and it was represented with bloody tusks, or, in proper language, langed and dentatedgules; and there was something in the man’s appearance which seemed to imply a mixture ofboldness and apprehension, like one who has undertaken a dangerous commis­ sion, and is sensible that audacity alone can carry him through it with safety. Something of the same mixture of fear and effrontery was visible in the manner in which he paid his respects, and he shewed also a grotesque awkwardness not usual amongst those who were accus­ tomed to be received in the presence of princes. “Who art thou, in the devil’s name?” was the greeting with which Charles the Bold received this singular envoy.

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“I am Rouge Sanglier,” answered the herald, “the Officer-at-arms of William de la Marck, by the Grace of God, and the Election of the Chapter, Prince Bishop ofLiege.” “Ha!” exclaimed Charles, but as if subduing his own passion, he made a sign to him to proceed. “And in right of his wife, the Honourable Countess Hameline of Croye, Count of Croye, and Lord ofBracquemont.” The utter astonishment of Duke Charles at the extremity of bold­ ness with which these titles were announced in his presence, seemed to strike him dumb; and the herald conceiving, doubtless, that he had made a suitable impression by the annunciation of his character, proceeded to state his errand. “Annuncio vobis gaudium magnum,” he said; “I let you, Charles of Burgundy and Earl of Flanders, to know, in my master’s name, that under favour of a dispensation from our Holy Father of Rome, pres­ ently expected, and appointing a fitting substitute ad sacra, he pro­ poses to exercise at once the office of Prince Bishop, and maintains the rights of the Count of Croye.” The Duke of Burgundy, at this and other pauses in the herald’s speech, only ejaculated “Ha!” or some similar interjection, without making any answer; and the tone of exclamation was that of one who, though surprised and moved, is willing to hear all that is to be said ere he commits himself by making an answer. To the further astonish­ ment of all who were present, he forbore from his usual abrupt and violent gesticulations, remaining with the nail of his thumb pressed against his teeth, which was his favourite attitude when giving atten­ tion, and keeping his eyes bent on the ground, as if unwilling to betray the passion which might gleam in them. The envoy, therefore, proceeded boldly and unabashed in the delivery of his message. “In the name, therefore, of the Prince Bishop ofLiege, and Count of Croye, I am to require of you, Duke Charles, to desist from those pretensions and encroachments which you have made on the free and imperial city of Liege, by connivance with the late Louis ofBourbon, unworthy Bishop thereof.”— “Ha!” again exclaimed the Duke. “Also to restore the banners of the community, which you took violently from the town, to the number of six-and-thirty;—to rebuild the breaches in their walls, and restore the fortifications which you tyrannically dismantled,—and to acknowledge my master, William de la Marck, as Prince Bishop, lawfully erected in a free Chapter of Canons, of which behold the proces verbal.” “Have you finished?” said the Duke. “Not yet,” replied the envoy: “I am further to require your Grace,

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in the name and on the part of the said right noble and venerable Prince, Bishop, and Count, that you do presently withdraw the gar­ rison from the Castle of Bracquemont, and other places of strength, belonging to the Earldom of Croye, which have been placed there, whether in your own most gracious name, or in that of Isabelle, or in any other; until it shall be decided by the Imperial Diet, whether the fiefs in question shall not pertain to the sister of the late Count, my most gracious Lady Hameline, rather than to his daughter, in respect of thejus emphyteusis.” “Your master is most learned,” replied the Duke. “Yet,” continued the herald, “the noble and venerable Prince and Count will be disposed, all other disputes betwixt Burgundy and Liege being settled, to fix upon the Lady Isabelle such an apanage as may become her quality.” “He is generous and considerate,” said the Duke, in the same tone. “Now, by a poor fool’s conscience,” said Le Glorieux apart, to the Count of Crevecœur, “I would rather be in the worst cow’s hide that ever died of the murrain, than in that fellow’s painted coat! The poor man goes on like drunkards, who only look to the other pot, and not to the score which mine host chalks up behind the lattice.” “Have you yet done?” said the Duke to the herald. “One word more,” answered Rouge Sanglier, “from my noble and venerable lord aforesaid, respecting his worthy and trusty ally, the Most Christian King”—— “Ha!” exclaimed the Duke, starting, and in a fiercer tone than he had yet used; but checking himself, he instantly composed himself again to attention. “Which most Christian King’s royal person it is rumoured that you, Charles of Burgundy, have placed under restraint, contrary to your duty as a vassal of the Crown of France, and to the faith observed among Christian Sovereigns. For which reason, my said noble and venerable master, by my mouth, charges you to put his royal and Most Christian ally forthwith at freedom, or to receive the defiance which I am authorized to pronounce to you.” “Have you yet done?” said the Duke. “I have,” answered the herald, “and await your Grace’s answer, trusting it may be such as will save the effusion of Christian blood.” “Now, by Saint George ofBurgundy”——said the Duke;—but ere he could proceed further, Louis arose, and struck in with a tone of so much dignity and authority, that Charles could not interrupt him. “Under your favour, fair cousin ofBurgundy,” said the King; “we ourselves crave priority of voice in replying to this insolent fellow.— Sirrah herald, or whatever thou art, carry back notice to the perjured

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outlaw and murderer, William de la Marck, that the King of France will be presently before Liege, for the purpose of punishing the sacri­ legious murder of his late beloved kinsman, Louis of Bourbon; and that he proposes to gibbet De la Marck alive, for the insolence of terming himself his ally, and putting his royal name into the mouth of one ofhis own base messengers.” “Add whatever else on my part,” said Charles, “which it may not misbecome a prince to send to a common thief, and murtherer.—And be gone!—Yet stay.—Never herald went from the Court ofBurgundy without having cause to cry, Largesse!—Let him be scourged till the bones are laid bare!” “Nay—but if it please your Grace,” said Crevecœur and D’Hymbercourt together, “he is a herald, and so far privileged.” “It is you, Messires,” replied the Duke, “who are such owls, as to think that the tabard makes the herald. I see by that fellow’s blazoning he is a mere impostor. Let Toison d’Or step forwards, and question him in your presence.” In spite of his natural effrontery, the envoy of the Wild Boar of Ardennes now became pale; and that notwithstanding some touches ofpaint with which he had adorned his countenance. Toison d’Or, the chief herald, as we have elsewhere said, of the Duke, and King-atarms within his dominions, stepped forwards with the solemnity of one who knew what was due to his office, and asked his supposed brother, in what college he had studied the science which he pro­ fessed. “I was bred a pursuivant at the Heraldric College of Ratisbon,” answered Rouge Sanglier, “and received the diploma of Ehrenhold from that same learned fraternity.” “You could not derive it from a source more worthy,” answered Toison d’Or, bowing still lower than he had done before; “and if I presume to confer with you on the mysteries of our sublime science, in obedience to the orders ofthe most gracious Duke, it is not in hopes of giving, but of receiving knowledge.” “Go to,” said the Duke, impatiently. “Leave off ceremony, and ask him some question that may try his skill.” “It were injustice to ask a disciple of the worthy College of Arms at Ratisbon, if he comprehendeth the common terms of blazonry,” said Toison d’Or; “but I may, without offence, crave of Rouge Sanglier to say if he is instructed in the more mysterious and secret terms of the science, by which the more learned do emblematically, and as it were parabolically, express to each other what is conveyed to others in the ordinary language, taught in the very accidence as it were of Her­ aldry?”

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“I understand one sort of blazonry as well as another,” answered Rouge Sanglier, boldly; “but it may be we have not the same terms in Germany which you have here in Flanders.” “Alas, that you will say so!” replied Toison d’Or; “our noble sci­ ence, which is indeed the very banner of nobleness, and glory of generosity, being the same in all Christian countries, nay, known and acknowledged even by the Saracens and Moors. I would, therefore, pray of you to describe what coat you will after the celestial fashion, that is, by the planets.” “Blazon it yourself as you will,” said Rouge Sanglier; “I will do no such apish tricks upon commandment, as an ape is made to come aloft.” “Surely, brother, you mistake the matter, and are too wilful. I will then ask of you, what is the vulgar blazonry of a shield which displays the King of Beasts climbing to nobility, coloured ofmagnanimity, in a field of generosity, hedged in by a girdle of lilies?” “I will not answer the question,” said the herald of La Marck, his confident voice degenerating into “a quaver of consternation”; “it is captious, and you lie at the catch with me.” “Alas,” said the Burgundian herald; “why it is but the Scottish arms, the lion rampant gules, within a tressure of fleurs de lis. I fear I must denounce either an obstinate or a false brother.” “Shew him a coat, and let him blazon it his own way,” said the Duke; “and if he fails, I promise him that his back shall be gules, azure, and sable.” “Here,” said the herald ofBurgundy, taking from his pouch a piece of parchment, “is a scroll, in which certain considerations led me to prick down, after my poor fashion, an ancient coat. I will pray my brother, if indeed he belong to the honourable College of Arms at Ratisbon, to decypher it in fitting language.” Le Glorieux, who seemed to take great pleasure in this discussion, had by this time hustled himself close up to the two heralds. “I will help thee, good fellow,” said he to Rouge Sanglier, as he looked hopelessly upon the scroll. “This, my lords and masters, represents the cat looking out at the dairy-window—more shame to Cis Dairy­ maid, who shut her in there.” This sally occasioned a laugh, which was something to the advant­ age of Rouge Sanglier, as it led Toison d’Or, indignant at the misconstruction of his drawing, to explain it as the coat-of-arms assumed by Childebert, King of France, after he had taken prisoner Gandemar, King of Burgundy; representing an ounce, or tiger-cat, the emblem of the captive prince, behind a grating or, as Toison d’Or technically defined it, “Sable, a musion passant Or, oppressed

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with a trellis gules, cloué ofthe second.” “By my bauble,” said Le Glorieux, “if the cat resemble Burgundy, she has the right side ofthe grating now-a-days.” “True, good fellow,” said Louis, laughing, while the rest of the presence, and even Charles himself, seemed disconcerted at so broad a jest,—“I owe thee a piece of gold for turning something that looked like sad earnest, into the merry game which I trust it will end in.” “Silence, Le Glorieux,” said the Duke; “and you, Toison d’Or, who are too learned to be intelligible, stand back, and bring that rascal forwards some ofyou.—Hark ye, villain,” he said, in his harshest tone, “do you know the difference between argent and or?” “I am but a poor fellow, Sire,” said the herald, dropping on his knees. “A poor fellow!—but art thou a herald or not?” replied the Duke. “For pity’s sake, your Grace, be good unto me!—Noble King Louis, speak for me!” “Speak for thyself,” said the Duke—“At a word, art thou herald or not?” “Only for this occasion,” said the detected official. “Now, by St George!” said the Duke, eyeing Louis askance, “we know that no king—no gentleman—save one would have so prosti­ tuted the noble science on which royalty and gentry rests, save that King who sent to Edward of England a serving-man disguised as a herald.” “Such a stratagem,” said Louis, “could only be justified at a court where no heralds were at the time, and when the emergency was urgent. But, though it might have passed on the blunt and thick-witted islander, no one with brains a whit better than those of a wild boar would have thought of passing such a trick upon the accomplished court ofBurgundy.” “Send him who will,” said the Duke, fiercely, “he shall return on their hands in poor case.—Here!—drag him to the market-place!— slash him with bridle-reins and dog-whips until the tabard hang about him in tatters!—Upon the Rouge Sanglier!—ça, ça!—Haloo, haloo!” Four or five large hounds, such as are painted in the hunting-pieces on which Rubens and Schneiders laboured in conjunction, caught the well-known notes with which the Duke concluded, and began to yell and bay as if the boar were just roused from his lair. “By the rood!” said King Louis, observant to catch the vein of his dangerous cousin, “since the ass has put on the boar’s hide, I would set the dogs on him to bait him out of it!” “Right! right!” exclaimed Duke Charles, the fancy exactly chiming

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in with his humour at the moment—“it shall be done!—Uncouple the hounds!—Hyke a Talbot! hyke a Beaumont!—We will course him from the door of the Castle to the east gate.” “I trust your Grace will treat me as a beast of chase,” said the fellow, putting the best face he could upon the matter, “and allow me fair law.” “Thou art but vermin,” said the Duke, “and entitled to no law, by the letter of the book of hunting; nevertheless, thou shalt have sixty yards in advance, were it but for the sake of thy unparalleled impud­ ence. Away, away, sirs!—we will see this sport.”—And the council breaking up tumultuously, all hurried, none faster than the two Princes, to enjoy the humane pastime which King Louis had sug­ gested. The Rouge Sanglier shewed excellent sport; for, winged with ter­ ror, and having half a score of fierce boar-hounds hard at his haunches, encouraged by the blowing of horns and the woodland cheer of the hunters, he flew like the very wind, and, had he not been encumbered with his herald’s coat, (the worst possible habit for a runner,) he might have fairly escaped dog-free; he also doubled once or twice, in a manner much approved of by the spectators. None of those, nay, not even Charles himself, was so delighted with the sport as King Louis, who, partly from political considerations, and partly as being naturally pleased with the sight of human sufferings when ludicrously exhibited, laughed till the tears ran from his eyes, and, in his ecstacies of rapture, caught hold of the Duke’s ermine cloak, as if to support himself; whilst the Duke, no less delighted, flung his arm around the King’s shoulder, making thus an exhibition ofconfidential sympathy and familiarity, very much at variance with the terms on which they had so lately stood together. At length the speed of the pseudo-herald could save him no longer from the fangs of his pursuers; they seized him, pulled him down, and would probably soon have throttled him, had not the Duke called out —“Stave and tail!—stave and tail!—take them off him!—he hath shewn so good a course, that, though he has made no sport at bay, we will not have him dispatched.” Several officers accordingly busied themselves in taking off the dogs; and they were soon seen coupling some up, and pursuing others which ran through the streets, shaking in sport and triumph the tattered fragments of painted cloth and embroidery rent from the tabard, which the unfortunate wearer had put on in an unlucky hour. At this moment, and while the Duke was too much engaged with what passed before him to mind what was said behind him, Oliver le Dain, gliding behind King Louis, whispered into his ear—“It is the

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Bohemian, Hayraddin Maugrabin—it were not well he should come to speech of the Duke.” “He must die,” answered Louis, in the same tone—“dead men tell no tales.” One instant afterwards, Tristan l’Hermite, to whom Oliver had given the hint, stepped forward before the King and the Duke, and said, in his blunt manner, “So please your Majesty and your Grace, this piece of game is mine, and I claim him—he was marked with my stamp—the fleur-de-lis is branded on his shoulder, as all men may see—he is a known villain, and hath slain the King’s subjects, robbed churches, deflowered virgins, slain deer in the royal parks”—— “Enough, enough,” said Duke Charles, “he is my royal cousin’s property by many a good title. What will your Majesty do with him?” “Ifhe is left to my disposal,” said the King, “I will only give him one lesson in the science of heraldry, in which he is so ignorant—only explain to him, practically, the meaning of a cross potence, with a noose dangling proper.” “Not as to be by him borne, but as to bear him.—Let him take his degrees under your gossip Tristan—he is a deep professor of such mysteries.” Thus answered the Duke, with a burst of discordant laughter at his own wit, which was so cordially chorused by Louis, that his rival could not help looking kindly at him while he said— “Ah, Louis, Louis! would to God thou wert as faithful a monarch as thou art a merry companion! I cannot but think often on the jovial times we used to spend together.” “You may bring them back when you will,” said Louis; “I will grant you as fair terms as for very shame’s sake you ought to ask in my present condition, without making yourself the fable of Christendom; and I will swear to observe them upon the holy relique which I have ever the grace to bear about my person, being a fragment of the true cross.” Here he took a small golden reliquary, which was suspended from his neck next to his shirt by a chain of the same metal—and having kissed it devoutly, continued— “Never was false oath sworn on this most sacred relique, but it was avenged within the year.” “Yet,” said the Duke, “it was the same on which you swore amity to me when you left Burgundy, and shortly after sent the Bastard of Rubempré to murther or kidnap me.” “Nay, gracious cousin, now you are ripping up ancient grievances,” said the King; “I promise you, that you were deceived in that matter— moreover, it was not upon this relique which I then swore, but upon

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another fragment of the true cross which I got from the Grand Seig­ nior, weakened in virtue, doubtless, by sojourning with infidels— besides—did not the war of the Public Good break out within the year —and was not a Burgundian army encamped at Saint Denis, backed by all the great feudatories of France, and was I not obliged to yield up Normandy to my brother?—O God, shield us from perjury on such a warrant as this!” “Well, cousin,” answered the Duke, “I do believe thou hadst a lesson to keep faith another time—And now for once, without finesse and doubling, will you make good your promise, and go with me to punish this murthering La Marck and the Liegeois?” “I will march against them,” said Louis, “with the Ban and ArriereBan of France, and the Oriflamme displayed.” “Nay, nay,” said the Duke, “that is more than is needful, or may be adviseable. The presence of your Scottish Guard, and two hundred choice lances, will serve to shew that you are a free agent—a large army might”—— “Make me so in effect, you would say, my fair cousin?” said the King. “Well, you shall dictate the numbers of my attendants.” “And to put this fair cause of mischief out of the way, you will agree to the Countess Isabelle of Croye wedding with the Duke of Orleans?” “Fair cousin,” said the King, “you drive my courtesy to extremity. The Duke is the betrothed bride of my daughter Joan. Be generous— yield up this matter—and let us speak rather of the towns on the Somme.” “My Council will talk to your Majesty of these,” said Charles; “I myself have less at heart the acquisition of territory, than the redress of injuries. You have tampered with my vassals, and your royal pleas­ ure needs dispose of the hand of a Ward of Burgundy. Your Majesty must bestow it within the pale of your own royal family, since you have meddled with it—otherwise, our conference breaks off.” “Were I to say I did this willingly,” said the King, “no one would believe me; therefore do you, my fair cousin, judge of the extent of my wish to oblige you, when I say, most reluctantly, that the parties consenting, and a dispensation from the Pope being obtained, my own wishes shall be no bar to this match which you propose.” “All besides can be easily settled by our ministers,” said the Duke, “and we are once more cousins and friends.” “May heaven be praised!” said Louis, “who, holding in his hand the hearts of princes, doth mercifully incline them to peace and clem­ ency, and prevent the effusion of human blood.—Oliver,” he added apart to that favourite, who ever waited around him like the familiar

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beside a sorcerer, “hark thee—tell Tristan to be speedy in dealing with yonder runagate Bohemian.”

Chapter Eleven THE EXECUTION I’ll take thee to the good green wood, And make thine own hand choose the tree. OldBallad

“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 may pass, since it hath 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 Chap­ ter, the Burgundian guards were withdrawn from the Castle of Per­ onne, the abode of the King removed from the ominous Tower of Count Herbert, and, to the great joy both of French and Burgund­ ians, 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 suffici­ ently aware that he continued to be the object of suspicion, though he prudently affected to overlook it, and seemed to consider himself as entirely at his ease. Meanwhile, as frequently happens in such cases, whilst the prin­ cipal parties concerned had so far made up their differences, one of the subaltern agents concerned in their intrigues was bitterly experi­ encing 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. This 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 PetitAndré, 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,—he was marched off (to use a modem comparison, like Garrick between Tragedy and Comedy,) to the neighbouring forest; where, to save all further trouble and cere­ monial of a gallows, and so forth, the disposers of his fate proposed to

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knit him up to the first sufficient tree. They were not long of finding an oak, as Petit-André facetiously expressed it, fit to bear such an acorn; and placing the wretched criminal on a bank, under a sufficient guard, they began their extem­ poraneous 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 faith­ less guide in that of the detected impostor, had followed with the crowd to witness the execution, and assure himself ofthe identity. When the executioners informed him that all was ready, Hay­ raddin, with much calmness, asked a single boon at their hands. “Any thing, my son, consistent with our office,” said Trois-Esch­ elles. “That is,” said Hayraddin, “any thing but my life.” “Even so,” said Trois-Eschelles, “and something more; for as 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 ifI do indulge you ten minutes longer.” “You are even too generous,” said Hayraddin. “Truly we may be blamed for it,” said Petit-André; “but what of that?—I could consent almost to give my life for such a jerry-cometumble, such a smart, tight, firm lad, who proposes to come from aloft with a grace, as an honest fellow should do.” “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 recol­ lecting that Quentin Durward was believed, from various circum­ stances, 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 her­ aldric 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 ofa fictitious beard, assumed for the purpose of disguise, and there was the pale­ ness of death upon his cheek and upon his lip; yet, strong in passive

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courage, like most of his tribe, his eye, while it glistened and wan­ dered, 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-André called out, “Trip it more smartly, jolly Archer—this gentleman’s leisure cannot wait for you, if you walk as an the pebbles were eggs, and you afraid ofbreaking 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-theladder,” said Petit-André; “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 ear-shot— 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 TroisEschelles. “Laid out in wine or Brantwein, it will comfort my poor body,” responded Petit-André. “So let them be forthcoming, my little crack­ rope.” “Pay the blood-hounds 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 un­ happy 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, nor physiognomist, nor chiromantist, to foretell that I should follow the destiny ofmy family.” “Brought to this early end by thy long course of crime and treach­ ery?” said the Scot. “No, by the bright Aldeboran and all his brother twinkiers!” answered the Bohemian. “I am brought hither by my folly, in believing that the blood-thirsty cruelty of a Franck could be restrained even by what they themselves pretend 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

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disguise he has 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. “Ifyou have ought 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.” “I have a boon to ask,—but first I will buy it of you; for your tribe, with all their professions of charity, give nought for nought.” “I could well nigh say thy gifts perish with thee, 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 like to keep his claws upon.” “Talk not so idly, unhappy man,” said Quentin; “yonder men 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 Marshal’s 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 hath reconciled herself even with the Boar of Ardennes, though his mode of wooing was somewhat of the roughest, and queens it yonder in his stithe, 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,

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and hoping a yet mightier one from King Louis, not merely to bear the message of defiance which you 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 out-fall 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 ofthe whole Burgundian army.—There is my secret, and I bequeath it to you. Forward, or prevent the enterprize— 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 compre­ hending 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 is in my power.” “Nay, it is no mighty demand—it is only in behalf of poor Klepper, my palfrey, the only live 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

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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!—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 Ar­ dennes, 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 in the venture which has cost me so dear— take them, and replace a hundred-fold the guilders you have be­ stowed on these bloody slaves—I make you mine heir.” “I will bestow them in good works, and masses for the benefit ofthy 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 priest-craft!” “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 this 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,—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 Aldeboran 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 Dur­ ward yet saw that it was vain to hope to awaken him to a sense of his fearful state. He bid 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 feed­ ing. The creature came at his call, but was for some time unwilling to

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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 Klep­ per, 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 ofhis 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!

Chapter Twelve A PRIZE FOR HONOUR ʼTis brave for Beauty when the best blade wins her. The Count Palatine

When Quentin Durward reached Peronne, a council was sit­ ting, in the issue of which he was interested more deeply than he could have apprehended, and which, though held by persons of a rank with whom one of his could scarce be supposed to have community of interest, had nevertheless the most extraordinary influence on his fortunes. King Louis, who, after the interlude of De la Marck’s envoy, had omitted no opportunity to cultivate the returning interest which that circumstance had given him in the Duke’s opinion, had been engaged in consulting him, or, it might be almost said, receiving his opinion, upon the number and quality of the troops, by whom, as auxiliary to the Duke of Burgundy, he was to be attended in their joint expedition against Liege. He plainly saw the wish of Charles was to call into his camp such Frenchmen as, from their small number and high quality, might be considered rather as hostages than as auxiliaries; but, observant of Crevecœur’s advice, he assented as readily to whatever the Duke proposed, as if it had arisen from the free impulse of his own mind. The King failed not, however, to indemnify himself for his com­ plaisance, by the indulgence of his vindictive temper against Balue, whose counsels had led him to repose such exuberant trust in the Duke ofBurgundy. Tristan, who bore the summons for moving up his auxiliary forces, had the further commission to carry the Cardinal to the Castle of Loches, and there shut him up in one of those iron cages, which he himself is said to have invented. “Let him make proof of his own devices,” said the King; “he is a

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man of holy church—we may not shed his blood; but, Pasques-dieu! his bishoprick, for ten years to come, shall have an impregnable fron­ tier to make up for its little extent!—And see the troops are brought up instantly.” Perhaps, by this prompt acquiescence, Louis hoped to evade the more unpleasing condition with which the Duke had clogged their reconciliation. But ifhe so hoped, he greatly mistook the temper ofhis cousin. For never man lived more tenacious of his purpose than Charles of Burgundy, and least of all was he willing to relax any stipulation which he had made in resentment, or revenge, of a sup­ posed injury. No sooner were the necessary expresses dispatched to summon up the forces who were selected to act as auxiliaries, than Louis was called upon by his host to give public consent to the espousals of the Duke of Orleans and Isabelle of Croye. The King complied with a heavy sigh, and presently after urged a slight expostulation, founded upon the necessity of observing the wishes of the Duke himself. “These have not been neglected,” said the Duke of Burgundy; “Crevecoeur hath communicated with Monseigneur d’Orleans, and finds him (strange to say,) so dead to the honour of wedding a royal bride, that he acceded to the proposal of marrying the Countess of Croye, as the kindest proposal which fortune could have made to him.” “He is the more ungracious and thankless,” said Louis; “but the whole shall be as you, my cousin, will; if you can bring it about with consent of the parties themselves.” “Fear not that,” said the Duke; and accordingly, not many minutes after the affair had been proposed, the Duke of Orleans and the Countess of Croye, the latter attended as on the preceding occasion, by the Countess of Crevecœur, and the Abbess of the Ursulines, were summoned to the presence of the Princes, and heard from the mouth of Charles of Burgundy, unobjected to by that of Louis, who sate in silent and moody consciousness of diminished consequence, that the union of their hands was designed by the wisdom of both Princes, to confirm the perpetual alliance which in future should take place betwixt France and Burgundy. The Duke of Orleans had much difficulty in suppressing the joy which he felt upon the proposal, and which delicacy rendered improper in the presence of Louis. It required his habitual awe for that monarch, to enable him to rein in his delight, so much as merely to reply, “that his duty compelled him to place his choice at the disposal of his Sovereign.” “Fair cousin of Orleans,” said Louis, with sullen gravity, “since I

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must speak on so unpleasant an occasion, it is needless for me to remind you, that my sense of your merits had led me to propose for you a match into my own family. But since my cousin of Burgundy thinks, that the disposing of your hand otherwise is the surest pledge of amity between his dominions and mine, I love both too well not to sacrifice to them my own hopes and wishes.” The Duke of Orleans threw himselfon his knees, and kissed,—and for once with sincerity ofattachment,—the hand which the King, with averted countenance, extended to him. In fact, he, as well as most present, saw, in the reluctant acquiescence of this accomplished dis­ sembler, who even with that very purpose had suffered his reluctance to be visible, a King relinquishing his favourite project, and subjugat­ ing his paternal feelings to the necessities of state, and interest of his country. Even Burgundy was moved, and Orleans’ heart smote him for the joy which he involuntarily felt at being freed from his engage­ ment with the Princess Joan. If he had known how deeply the King was cursing him in his soul, and what thoughts of future revenge he was agitating, it is probable his own delicacy on the occasion would not have been so much hurt. Charles next turned to the young Countess, and bluntly announced the proposed match to her, as a matter which neither admitted delay or hesitation; adding, at the same time, that it was but a too favourable consequence of her intractability on a former occasion. “My Lord Duke and Sovereign,” said Isabelle, summoning up all her courage, “I observe your Grace’s commands, and submit to them.” “Enough, enough,” said the Duke, interrupting her, “we will arrange the rest.—Your Majesty,” he continued, addressing King Louis, “hath had a boar’s hunt in the morning, what say you to rousing a wolfin the afternoon?” The young Countess saw the necessity of decision.—“Your Grace mistakes my meaning,” she said, speaking though timidly, yet loudly and decidedly enough to compel the Duke’s attention, which, from some consciousness, he would otherwise have willingly denied to her. —“My submission,” she said, “only respected those lands and estates which your Grace’s ancestors gave to mine, and which I resign to the House of Burgundy, if my Sovereign thinks my disobedience in this matter renders me unworthy to hold them.” “Ha! Saint George!” said the Duke, stamping furiously on the ground, “does the fool know in what presence she is—and to whom she speaks?” “My lord,” replied she, still undismayed, “I am before my Suzerain, and I hope a just one. Ifyou deprive me of my lands, you take away all

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that your ancestors’ generosity gave, and you break the only bonds which attach us together. You gave not this poor and persecuted form, still less the spirit which animates me—and these it is my purpose to dedicate to Heaven in the convent of the Ursulines, under the guid­ ance of this Holy Mother Abbess.” The rage and astonishment of the Duke can hardly be conceived, unless we could estimate the surprise of a falcon, against whom a dove should ruffle its pinions in defiance.—“Will the Holy Mother receive you without an appanage?” he said, in a voice of scorn. “If she doth her convent in the first instance so much wrong,” said the Lady Isabelle, “I trust there is charity enough among the noble friends of my house, to make up some support for the orphan of Croye.” “It is false!” said the Duke; “It is a base pretext to cover some secret and unworthy passion.—My Lord of Orleans, she shall be yours, if I drag her to the altar with my own hands!” The Countess of Crevecœur, a high-spirited woman, and confid­ ent in her husband’s merits and favour, could keep silence no longer. —“My lord,” she said, “your passions transport you into language utterly unworthy—the hand of no gentlewoman can be disposed ofby force.” “And it is no part of the duty of a Christian Prince,” added the Abbess, “to thwart the wishes of a pious soul, who, broken with the cares and persecutions of the world, is desirous to become the bride of Heaven.” “Neither can my cousin of Orleans,” said Dunois, “with honour accept a proposal, to which the lady has thus publicly stated her objections.” “If I were permitted,” said Orleans, on whose facile mind Isabelle’s beauty had made a deep impression, “some time to endeavour to place my pretensions before the Countess in a more favourable light”—— “My lord,” said Isabelle, whose firmness was now fully supported by the encouragement which she received from all around, “it were to no purpose—my mind is made up to decline this alliance, though far above my deserts.” “Nor have I time,” said the Duke, “to wait till these whimsies are changed with the next change of the moon.—Monseigneur d’Or­ leans, she shall learn within this hour that obedience becomes matter ofnecessity.” “Not in my behalf, Sire,” answered the Prince, who felt that he could not, with any shew of honour, avail himself of the Duke’s obstinate disposition;—“to have been thus openly and positively

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refused, is enough for a Son of France. He cannot prosecute his addresses farther.” The Duke darted one furious glance at Orleans, another at Louis; and reading in the countenance of the latter, in spite of his utmost efforts to suppress his feelings, a look of secret triumph, he became outrageous. “Write,” he said to the Secretary, “our doom of forfeiture and imprisonment against this disobedient and insolent minion. She shall to the Zucht-haus—to the penitentiary, to herd with those whose lives have rendered them her rivals in effrontery!” There was a general murmur. “My Lord Duke,” said the Count of Crevecœur, taking the word for the rest, “this must be better thought on. We, your faithful vassals, cannot suffer such a dishonour to the nobility and chivalry of Bur­ gundy—if the Countess hath done amiss, let her be punished—but in the manner that becomes her rank, and ours, who stand connected with her house by blood and alliance.” The Duke paused a moment, and looked full at his counsellor with the stare of a bull, who, when compelled by the neat-herd from the road which he wishes to go, deliberates in himself whether to obey, or to rush on his driver and toss him into the air. Prudence, however, prevailed over fury—he saw the sentiment was general in his council—was afraid of the advantages which Louis might derive from seeing dissension among his vassals; and probably —for he was rather of a coarse and violent, than of a malignant temper,—felt shame of his own dishonourable proposal. “You are right,” he said, “Crevecœur, and I spoke hastily. Her fate shall be determined according to the rules of chivalry. Her flight to Liege hath given the signal for the Bishop’s murther. He that best avengeth that deed, and brings us the head of the Wild Boar of Ardennes, shall claim her hand of us; and if she denies it, we can at least grant him her fiefs, leaving it to his generosity to allow her what means he will to retire into a convent.” “Nay!” said the Countess, “I beseech of your Grace not to make me thus the laughing-stock of your court—think I am the daughter of Count Reinold—of your father’s old, valiant, and faithful servant. Would you hold me out as a prize to the best sword-player?” “Your ancestress,” said the Duke, “was won at a tourney—you shall be fought for in real melée. Only thus far, for Count Reinold’s sake— the successful prizer shall be a gentleman—of unimpeached birth, and unstained bearings—but be he such, and the poorest who ever drew the tongue of a buckle through the strap of a sword-belt, he shall have at least the proffer of your hand. I swear it by Saint George,

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by my ducal crown, and by the order that I wear!—Ha! Messires,” he added, turning to the nobles present, “this at least is, I think, conform to the rules of chivalry.” Isabelle’s remonstrances were drowned in a general and jubilant assent, above which was heard the voice ofold Lord Crawford, regret­ ting the weight of years that prevented his striking for so fair a prize. The Duke was gratified by the general applause, and his temper began to flow more smoothly, like that of a swoln river when it hath subsided within its natural boundaries. “Are we, to whom fate has given dames already,” said Crevecœur, “to be bye-standers at this fair game? It does not consist with my honour to be so, for I have myself a vow to be paid at the expense of that tusked and bristled brute, La Marek.” “Strike boldly in, Crevecœur,” said the Duke; “win her, and if thou canst not wear her thyself, bestow her where thou wilt—on Count Stephen, your nephew, if you list.” “Gramercy, my lord!” said Crevecœur, “I will do my best in the battle; and should I be fortunate enough to be foremost, Stephen shall try his eloquence against that of the Lady Abbess.” “I trust,” said Dunois, “that the chivalry ofFrance are not excluded from this fair contest.” “Heaven forbid! brave Dunois,” answered the Duke, “were it but for the sake of seeing you do your uttermost. But,” he added, “though there be no fault in the Lady Isabelle wedding a Frenchman, it will be necessary that the Count of Croye must become a subject of Bur­ gundy.” “Enough, enough,” said Dunois, “my bar sinister will never be surmounted by the coronet of Croye—I shall live and die French. But yet, ifI am to lose the lands, I will strike a blow for the lady.” Le Balafré dared not speak aloud in such a presence, but he mut­ tered to himself— “Now, Saunders Souplejaw, hold thine own!—thou always saidst the fortune of our house was to be made by marriage, and never had you such a chance to keep your word with us.” “No one thinks of me,” said Le Glorieux, “who am sure to carry off the prize from all of you.” “Right, my sapient friend,” said Louis; “when a woman is the case, the greatest fool is ever the first in favour.” While the princes and their nobles thus jested over her fate, the Abbess and the Countess of Crevecœur endeavoured in vain to con­ sole Isabelle, who had withdrawn with them from the council-pres­ ence. The former assured her, that the Holy Virgin would frown on every attempt to withdraw a true votaress from the shrine of Saint

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Ursula; while the Countess of Crevecœur whispered the more tem­ poral consolation, that no true knight, who might succeed in the emprize proposed, would avail himself, against her inclinations, ofthe Duke’s award; and that—perhaps—the successful competitor might prove one who should find such favour in her eyes as to reconcile her to obedience. Love, like despair, catches at straws; and, faint and vague as was the hope which this insinuation conveyed, the tears ofthe Countess Isabelle flowed more placidly while she dwelt upon it.

Chapter Thirteen THE SALLY The wretch condemn’d with life to part, Still still on hope relies, And every pang that rends the heart Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the glimmering taper’s light, Adorns and cheers the way; And still the darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray. Goldsmith

FEW DAYS had passed ere Louis had received, with a smile of grati­ fied vengeance, the intelligence, that his favourite and his counsellor, the Cardinal Balue, was groaning within a cage of iron, so disposed as scarce to permit him to enjoy repose in any posture except when recumbent; and of which, be it said in passing, he remained the unpitied tenant for nearly twelve years. The auxiliary forces which the Duke had required him to bring up had also appeared; and he com­ forted himselfthat their numbers were sufficient to protect his person against violence, although too limited to cope, had such been his purpose, with the large army of Burgundy. He saw himself also at liberty, when time should suit, to resume his project of marriage between his daughter and the Duke of Orleans; and, although he was sensible of the indignity of serving with his noblest peers under the banners of his own vassal, and against the people whose cause he had abetted, he did not allow these circumstances to embarrass him in the meanwhile, trusting that a future day would bring him amends.—“For chance,” said he to his trusty Oliver, “may indeed win one hit, but it is patience and wisdom which gain the game at last.” With such sentiments, upon a beautiful day in the latter end of harvest, the King mounted his horse; and, indifferent that he was looked upon rather as a part ofthe pageant of a victor, than in the light

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of an independent Sovereign surrounded by his guards and his chiv­ alry, King Louis sallied from under the Gothic gateway ofPeronne, to join the Burgundian army, which commenced at the same time their march against Liege. Most of the ladies of distinction who were in the place attended, dressed in their best array, upon the battlements and defences of the gate, to see the gallant show of the warriors setting forth on the expedition. Thither had the Countess Crevecœur brought the Countess Isabelle. The latter attended very reluctantly; but the per­ emptory order of Charles had been, that she who was to bestow the palm in the tourney, should be visible to the knights who were about to enter the lists. As they thronged out from under the arch, many a pennon and shield was to be seen, graced with fresh devices, expressive of the bearer’s devoted resolution to become a competitor for a prize so fair. Here a charger was painted starting for the goal,—there an arrow aimed at a mark,—one knight bore a bleeding heart, indicative of his passion,—another a scull, and a coronet of laurels, shewing his deter­ mination to win or die. Many others there were; and some so cun­ ningly intricate and obscure, that they might have defied the most ingenious interpreter. Each knight, too, it may be presumed, put his courser to his mettle, and assumed his most gallant seat in the saddle, as he passed for a moment under the view of the fair bevy ofdames and damsels, who encouraged their valour by their smiles, and the waving of kerchiefs and of veils. The Archer-guard, selected almost at will from the flower of the Scottish nation, drew general applause, from the gallantry and splendour of their appearance. And there was one among these strangers, who ventured on a demonstration of acquaintance with the Lady Isabelle, which had not been attempted even by the most noble of the French nobility. It was Quentin, who, as he passed the ladies in his rank, presented to the Countess ofCroye, and on the point of his lance, the letter ofher aunt. “Now, by my honour,” said the Count of Crevecœur, “that is over insolent in an unworthy adventurer.” “Do not call him so, Crevecœur,” said Dunois; “I have good reason to bear testimony to his gallantry—and in behalf of that lady, too.” “You make words of nothing,” said Isabelle, blushing with shame, and partly with resentment; “it is a letter from my unfortunate aunt— She writes cheerfully, though her situation must be dreadful.” “Let us hear—let us hear—what says the Boar’s bride,” said Crevecœur. The Countess Isabelle read the letter, in which her aunt seemed

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determined to make the best of a bad bargain, and to console herself for the haste and indecorum of her wedding, by the happiness ofbeing wedded to one of the bravest men of the age, who had just acquired a princedom by his valour. She implored her niece not to judge of her William (as she called him) by the report of others, but to wait till she knew him personally—he had his faults, perhaps, but they were such as belonged to characters whom she had ever venerated. William was rather addicted to wine, but so was the gallant Sir Godfrey, their grandsire—he was something hasty and sanguinary in his temper— such had been her brother, Reinold ofblessed memory—he was blunt in speech—few Germans were otherwise—and a little wilful and per­ emptory, but she believed all men loved to rule. More there was to the same purpose; and the whole concluded with the hope and request, that Isabelle would, by means of the bearer, endeavour her escape from the power of the tyrant of Burgundy, and come to her loving kinswoman’s Court of Liege, where any little differences concerning their mutual rights of succession to the Earldom might be adjusted by Isabelle’s marrying Carl Eberson—a bridegroom younger indeed than his bride, but that, as she (the Lady Hameline) might perhaps say from experience, was an inequality more easy to be endured than Isabelle could be aware of. Here the Countess Isabelle stopped; the Abbess observing, with a prim aspect, that she had read quite enough concerning such worldly vanity, and the Count of Crevecœur breaking out, “Aroint thee, deceitful witch!—why this device smells rank as the toasted cheese in a rat-trap—Now fie, and double fie, upon the old decoy-duck!” The Countess of Crevecœur gravely rebuked her husband for his violence—“The Lady Hameline,” she said, “must have been deceived by De la Marck with a show of courtesy.” “He shew courtesy!” said the Count—“I acquit him of such dis­ simulation—you may as well expect courtesy from a literal wild boar —you may as well try to lay leaf-gold on old rusty gibbet-irons. No— ideot as she is, she is not quite goose enough to fall in love with the fox who has snapped her, and that in his very den. But you women are all alike—fair words carry it—and, I dare say, here is my pretty cousin impatient to join her aunt in this fool’s paradise, and marry the BoarPig.” “So far from being capable of such folly,” said Isabelle, “I am doubly desirous of vengeance on the murther of the excellent Bishop, because it will, at the same time, free my aunt from the villain’s power.” “Why there spoke the voice of Croye!” exclaimed the Count; and no more was said concerning the letter.

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But while Isabelle read her aunt’s epistle to her friends, it must be observed that she did not think it necessary to recite a certain postscript, in which the Countess Hameline, lady-like, gave an account of her occupations, and informed her niece, that she had laid aside for the present a surcoat which she was working for her husband, bearing the arms of Croye and La Marck in conjugal fashion, parted per pale, because her William had determined, for purposes of policy, in the first action to have others dressed in his coat-armour, and himself to assume the arms of Orleans, with the bar sinister—in other words, those of Dunois. There was also a slip of paper in another hand, the contents of which the Countess did not think it necessary to mention, being simply these words—“If you hear not of me soon, and that by the trumpet of Fame, conclude me dead, but not unworthy.” A thought, hitherto repelled as wildly incredible, now glanced with double keenness through Isabelle’s soul. As female wit seldom fails in the contrivance of means, she so ordered it, that ere the troops were fully on march, Quentin Durward received from an unknown hand the billet of Lady Hameline, marked with three crosses opposite to the postscript, and having these words subjoined—“He who feared not the arms of Orleans when on the breast of their gallant owner, cannot dread them when displayed on that of a tyrant and murtherer.” A thousand thousand times was this intimation kissed and pressed to the bosom of the young Scot! for it marshalled him on the path where both Honour and Love held out the reward, and possessed him with a secret unknown to others, by which to distinguish him whose death could alone give life to his hopes, and which he prudently resolved to lock up in his own bosom. But Durward saw the necessity of acting otherwise respecting the information communicated by Hayraddin, since the proposed sally of De la Marck, unless heedfully guarded against, might prove the destruction of the besieging army; so difficult was it, in the tumultuary warfare of these days, to recover from a nocturnal surprise. After pondering on the matter, he formed the additional resolution, that he would not communicate the intelligence save personally, and to both the Princes while together; perhaps, because he felt that to mention so well-contrived and hopeful a scheme to Louis whilst in private, might be too strong a temptation to the wavering probity of that Monarch, and lead him to assist, rather than repel, the intended sally. He deter­ mined, therefore, to watch for an opportunity of revealing the secret whilst Louis and Charles were together, which, as they were not particularly fond of the constraint imposed by each other’s society, was not likely soon to occur. Meanwhile the march continued, and the confederates soon

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entered the territories of Liege. Here the Burgundian soldiers, at least a part of them, composed of those bands who had acquired the title of Escorcheurs, or flayers, shewed, by the usage which they gave the inhabitants, under pretext of avenging the Bishop’s death, that they well deserved that honourable title; while their conduct greatly preju­ diced the cause of Charles, the aggrieved inhabitants, who might otherwise have been passive in the quarrel, assuming arms in selfdefence, harassing his march, by cutting off small parties, and falling back before the main body upon the city itself, thus augmenting the numbers and desperation of those who had resolved to defend it. The French, few in number, and those the choice soldiers of the country, kept, according to the King’s orders, close by their respective stand­ ards, and observed the strictest discipline; a contrast which increased the suspicions of Charles, who could not help remarking, that the troops of Louis demeaned themselves as if they were rather friends to the Liegeois, than allies ofBurgundy. At length, without experiencing any serious opposition, the army arrived in the rich valley of the Maes, and before the large and popu­ lous city of Liege. The Castle of Schonwaldt they found had been totally destroyed, and learned that William de la Marck, whose sole virtues were of a military cast, had withdrawn his whole forces into the city, and was determined to avoid the encounter of the chivalry of France and Burgundy in the open field. But the invaders were not long of experiencing the danger which must always exist in attacking a large town, however open, if the inhabitants are disposed to defend it desperately. A part of the Burgundian vanguard, conceiving that, from the dis­ mantled and breached state of the walls, they had nothing to do but march into Liege at their ease, entered one of the suburbs with the shouts of “Burgundy, Burgundy! Kill, kill—all is ours—remember Louis of Bourbon!” But as they marched in disorder through the narrow streets, and were partly disbanded for the purposes of pillage, a large body of the inhabitants issued suddenly from the town, fell furiously upon them, and made considerable slaughter. De la Marck even availed himself of the breaches in the walls, which permitted the defenders to issue out at different points, and by taking separate routes into the contested suburb, to assail in the front, flank, and rear at once, the assailants, who, stunned by the furious, unexpected, and multiplied nature of the resistance offered, could hardly stand to their arms. The evening, which began to close, added to the confusion. When this news was brought to Duke Charles, he was furious with rage, which was not much appeased by the offer of King Louis, to send the French men-at-arms into the suburbs, to rescue and bring

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off the Burgundian vanguard. Rejecting this offer briefly, he would have put himself at the head ofhis own Guards; but Hymbercourt and Crevecœur entreated him to leave the service to them, and marching into the scene of action at two points, with more order and proper arrangement for mutual support, these two celebrated captains suc­ ceeded in repulsing the Liegeois, and in extricating the vanguard, who lost, besides prisoners, no less than eight hundred men, of whom about a hundred were men-at-arms. The prisoners, however, were not numerous, most ofthem having been rescued by D’Hymbercourt, who now proceeded to occupy the contested suburb, and to place guards opposite to the town, from which it was divided by an open space, or esplanade, of five or six hundred yards, left free of buildings for the purposes of defence. There was no moat betwixt the suburb and town, the ground being rocky in that place. A gate fronted the suburb, from which sallies might be easily made, and the wall was pierced by two or three of those breaches which Duke Charles had caused to be made after the battle of Saint Tron, and which had been hastily repaired with mere barricades oftimber. D’Hymbercourt turned two culverins on the gate, and placed two others opposite to the breach to repell any sally from the city, and then returned to the Burgundian army, which he found in great disorder. In fact, the main body and rear of the numerous army of the Duke had continued to advance, while the broken and repulsed vanguard was in the act ofretreating; and they had come into collision with each other, to the great confusion of both. The necessary absence of Hym­ bercourt, who discharged all the duties of Mareschal du Camp, or, as we should now say, of Quarter-master-general, augmented the dis­ order; and to complete the whole, the night sunk down dark as a wolfs mouth; there fell a thick and heavy rain, and the ground on which the beleaguering army must needs take up their position, was muddy and intersected with many canals. It is scarce possible to form an idea of the confusion which prevailed in the Burgundian army, where leaders were separated from their soldiers, and soldiers from their standards and officers; where every one, from the highest to the lowest, was seeking shelter and accommodation where he could find it; where the wearied and wounded, who had been engaged in the battle, were calling in vain for shelter and refreshment, while those who knew nothing of the disaster, were pressing on to have their share in the sack of the place, which they had no doubt was proceeding merrily. When Hymbercourt returned, he had a task to perform of incred­ ible difficulty, and embittered by the reproaches of his master, who made no allowance for the still more necessary duty in which he had been engaged, until the temper of the gallant soldier began to give way

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under his unreasonable reproaches.—“I went hence to restore some order in the van,’ he said, “and left the main body under your Grace’s own guidance; and now, on my return, I can neither find that we have front, flank, or rear, so utter is the confusion.” “We are the more like a barrel of herrings,” answered Le Glorieux, “which is the most natural resemblance for a Flemish army.” The jester’s speech made the Duke laugh, and perhaps prevented a farther prosecution of the altercation betwixt him and his general. By dint of great exertion, a small Lust-haus, or country-villa of some wealthy citizen of Liege, was secured and cleared of other occupants, for the accommodation of the Duke and his immediate attendants; and the authority of Hymbercourt and Crevecœur at length established a guard in the vicinity, of about forty men-at-arms, who lighted a very large fire, made with the timbers ofthe out-houses, which they pulled down for the purpose. A little to the left of this villa, and betwixt it and the suburb, which, as we have said, was opposite to the city-gate, and occupied by the Burgundian vanguard, lay another pleasure-house, surrounded by a garden and court-yard, and having two or three small closes or fields in the rear of it. In this the King of France established his own head­ quarters. He did not himself pretend to be a soldier, further than a natural indifference to danger and much sagacity qualified him to be called such; but he was always careful to employ the most skilful in that profession, and reposed in them the confidence they merited. Louis and his immediate attendants occupied the house; a part of his Scottish Guard were placed in the court, where there were out­ houses and sheds to shelter them from the weather; the rest were stationed in the garden. The rest of the French were quartered closely together and in good order, with alarm-posts appointed, in case of their having to sustain an attack. Dunois and Crawford, assisted by several old officers and soldiers, amongst whom Le Balafré was conspicuous for his diligence, con­ trived, by breaking down walls, making openings through hedges, filling up ditches, and the like, to facilitate the communication of the troops with each other, and the orderly combination of the whole in case of necessity. Meanwhile, the King judged it proper to go without farther cere­ mony to the quarters of the Duke of Burgundy, to ascertain what was to be the order of proceeding, and what co-operation was expected from him. His presence occasioned a sort of council of war to be held, of which Charles might not otherwise have dreamed. It was then that Quentin Durward prayed earnestly to be admitted, as having some­ thing of importance to deliver to the two Princes. This was obtained

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without much difficulty, and great was the astonishment of Louis, when he heard him calmly and distinctly relate the purpose ofWilliam de la Marck, to make a sally upon the camp of the besiegers, under the dress and banners of the French. Louis would probably have been much better pleased to have had such important news communicated in private; but as the whole story had been publicly told, he only observed, “that, whether true or false, such a report concerned them most materially.” “Not a whit!—not a whit,” said the Duke, carelessly. “Had there been such a purpose as this young man announces, having been communicated to him as that ofWilliam de la Marck, it had not been communicated to me by an Archer of the Scottish Guard.” “However that may be,” answered Louis, “I pray you, fair cousin, you, and your captains, to attend, that to prevent the unpleasing con­ sequences of such an attack, should it be made unexpectedly, I will cause my soldiers to wear white scarfs over their armour.—Dunois, see it given out on the instant—that is,” he added, “ifour brother and general approves of it.” “I see no objection,” replied the Duke, “ifthe chivalry ofFrance are willing to run the risk of having the name of Knights of the Smock­ sleeve bestowed on them in future.” “It would be a right well adapted title, friend Charles,” said Le Glorieux, “considering that a woman is the reward of the most vali­ ant.” “Well spoken, Sagacity,” said Louis—“Cousin, good night—I will go arm me—By the way, what if I win the Countess with mine own hand?” “Your Majesty,” said the Duke, in an altered tone of voice, “must then become a true Fleming.” “I cannot be more so,” answered Louis, in a tone of the most sincere confidence, “than I am already, could I but bring you, my dear cousin, to believe it.” The Duke only replied by wishing the King good night, in a tone resembling the snort of a shy horse, starting from the caress of the rider when he is about to mount, and is soothing him to stand still. “I could pardon all his duplicity,” said the Duke to Crevecœur, “but cannot forgive his supposing me capable of the gross folly of being duped by his professions.” Louis, too, had his confidences with Oliver le Dain when he returned to his own quarters.—“This Scot,” he said, “is such a mix­ ture of shrewdness and simplicity, that I know not what to make of him. Pasques-dieu! think of his unpardonable folly in bringing out honest De la Marck’s plan of a sally before the face of Burgundy,

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Crevecœur, and all of them, instead of rounding it into my ear, and giving me at least the choice ofabetting or defeating it!” “It is better as it is, Sire,” said Oliver; “there are many in your present train who would scruple to assail Burgundy undefied, or to ally themselves with La Marck.” “Thou art right, Oliver—such fools there are in the world, and we have no time to reconcile their scruples by a little dose of self-interest. We must be true men, Oliver, and good allies of Burgundy, for this night at least,—time may give us chance of a better game. Go, tell no man to unarm himself; and let them shoot, in case of necessity, as sharply on those who cry France and St Denis! as if they cried Hell and Satan! I will myself sleep in my armour. Let Crawford place Quentin Durward on the extreme point of our line of sentinels, next to the city—let him e’en have the first benefit of the sally which he has announced to us—if his luck bear him out, it is the better for him. But take an especial care of Martius Galeotti, and see he remain in the rear, in a place of the most absolute safety—he is even but too ventur­ ous; and, like a fool, would be both swordsman and philosopher. See to these things, Oliver—and good night—Our Lady of Clery, and Monseigneur Saint Martin of Tours, be gracious to my slumbers!”

Chapter

ourteen F

THE SALLY He look’d, and saw what numbers numberless The city-gates out pour’d. Paradise Regained

A dead silence soon reigned over that great host which lay in leaguer before Liege. For a long time the cries of the soldiers repeat­ ing their signals, and seeking to join their several banners, sounded like the howling of bewildered dogs seeking their masters. But at length, overcome with weariness through the fatigues of the day, the disbanded soldiers crowded under such shelter as they could light upon, and those who could find none sunk down, through very fatigue, under walls, hedges, and such temporary protection, there to await for morning,—a morning which some of them were never to behold. A dead sleep fell on almost all, excepting those who kept a faint and weary watch by the lodgings of the King and the Duke. The dangers and hopes of the morrow—even the schemes of glory which many of the young nobility had founded upon the splendid prize held out to him who should avenge the murdered Bishop of Liege—glided

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from their recollection as they lay stupified with fatigue and sleep. But not so Quentin Durward. The knowledge that he alone was possessed of the means of distinguishing La Marck in the contest—the recol­ lection by whom that information had been communicated, and the fair augury which might be drawn from her conveying it to him—the thought that his fortune had brought him, indeed, to a most perilous and doubtful crisis, but one where there was still, at least, a chance of his coming off triumphant, banished every desire to sleep, and strung his nerves with vigour, which defied fatigue. Posted, by the King’s express order, on the extreme point between the French quarters and the town, a good way to the right of the suburb which we have mentioned, he sharpened his eye, to penetrate the mass of darkness which lay before him, and excited his ears, to catch the slightest sound which might announce any commotion in the beleaguered city. But its huge clocks had successively knelled three hours after midnight, and all was still dark and silent as the grave. At length, and when he began to think the attack would be deferred till day-break, and joyfully recollected that there would be then light enough to descry the Band Sinister across the Fleurs-de-lys of Orleans, he thought he heard in the city a humming murmur, like that of disturbed bees mustering for the defence of their hives. He listened —the noise continued—but it was of a character so undistinguished by any peculiar or precise sound, that it might be the murmur of a wind arising among the boughs of a distant grove, or perhaps some stream swollen by the late rain, which was discharging itself into the sluggish Maes with more than usual sound. Quentin was prevented by these considerations from instantly giving the alarm, which, if done causelessly, would have been a heavy offence. But, when the noise rose louder, and seemed pouring at the same time towards his own post, and towards the suburb, he deemed it his duty to fall back as silently as possible, and call his uncle, who commanded the small body of Archers destined to his support. All were on their feet in a moment, and with as little noise as possible. In less than a second, Lord Craw­ ford was at their head, and, dispatching an archer to alarm the King and his household, drew back his little party to some distance behind their watchfire, that they might not be seen by its light. The rushing sound, which had approached them more nearly, seemed suddenly to have ceased; but they still heard distinctly the more distant heavy tread of a large body ofmen approaching the suburb. “The lazy Burgundians are asleep on their post,” whispered Craw­ ford; “make for the suburb, Cunningham, and awaken the stupid oxen.” “Keep well to the rear as you go,” said Durward; “ifever I heard the

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tread of mortal men, there is a strong body interposed between us and the suburb.” “Well said, Quentin, my dainty callant,” said Crawford; “thou art a soldier beyond thy years—they only make halt till the others come forward—I would I had some knowledge where they are!” “I will creep forward, my lord,” said Quentin. “Do so, my bonny chield; thou hast sharp ears and eyes, and good will—but take heed—I would not lose thee for two and a plack.” Quentin, with his harquebuss ready prepared, stole forward, through ground which he had reconnoitred carefully in the twilight of the preceding evening, until he was not only certain that he was in the neighbourhood of a very large body of men, who were standing fast betwixt the King’s quarters and the suburbs, but also that there was a detached party of smaller number in advance, and very close to him. They seemed to whisper together, as if uncertain what to do next. At last, the steps of two or three Enfans perdus, detached from that smaller party, approached him so near as twice a pike’s length. Seeing it impossible to retreat undiscovered, Quentin called out aloud, “Qui vive?' and was answered by “ Vive Li—Li—ege—c’est-à-dire," (added he who spoke, correcting himself,) “Vive la France!ˮ—Quentin instantly fired his harquebuss—a man groaned and fell, and he him­ self, under the instant but vague discharge of a number of pieces, the fire of which ran in a disorderly manner alongst the column, and shewed it to be very numerous, hastened back to the main guard. “Admirably done, my brave boy!” said Crawford.—“Now, callants, draw in within the court-yard—they are too many for us to mell with in the open field.” They drew within the court-yard and garden accordingly, where they found all in great order, and the King prepared to mount his horse. “Whither away, Sire?” said Crawford; “you are safest here with our own people.” “Not so,” said Louis; “I must instantly to the Duke—he must be convinced of our good faith at this critical moment, or we shall have both Liegeois and Burgundians upon us at once.” And, springing on his horse, he bade Dunois command the French troops without the house, and Crawford the Archer-guard and other household troops within the lust-haus and its inclosures. He commanded them to bring up two sakers, and as many falconets, (pieces of cannon for the field,) which had been left about half a mile in the rear; and, in the mean time, to make good their posts, but by no means to advance, whatever success they might obtain; and having given these orders, rode off to the Duke’s quarters.

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The delay which permitted these arrangements to be carried fully into effect, was owing to Quentin’s having fortunately shot the proprietor of the house, who acted as guide to the column which was designed to attack it, and whose attack, had it been made instantly, might have been successful. Durward, who, by the King’s order, attended him to the Duke’s, found the latter in a state of choleric distemperature, which almost prevented his discharging the duties of a general, which were never more necessary; for besides the noise of a close and furious combat which had now taken place in the suburb upon the left of their whole army,—besides the attack upon the King’s quarters, which was fier­ cely maintained in the centre,—a third column of Liegeois, of even superior numbers, had filed out from a more distant breach, and, marching by lanes, vineyards, and passes, known to themselves, had fallen upon the right flank of the Burgundian army, who, alarmed at their war-cries of Vive la France! and Denis Montjoie! which mingled with those ofLiege and Rouge Sanglier, and at the idea thus inspired, of treachery on the part of their French confederates, made a very desul­ tory and imperfect resistance; while the Duke, foaming, and swear­ ing, and cursing his liege Lord and all that belonged to him, called out to shoot with bow and gun on all that was French, whether black or white,—alluding to the sleeves with which Louis’s soldiers had desig­ nated themselves. The arrival of the King, only attended by Le Balafre and Quentin, and half a score of Archers, restored confidence. Hymbercourt, Crevecœur, and others of the Burgundian leaders, whose names were then the praise and dread of war, rushed devotedly into the conflict; and, while some hastened to bring up more distant troops, to whom the panic had not extended, others threw themselves into the tumult, re-animated the instinct of discipline, and while the Duke toiled in the front like an ordinary man-at-arms, brought their men by degrees into array, and dismayed the assailants by the use of their artillery. The conduct of Louis, on the other hand, was that of a calm, collected, sagacious leader, who neither sought nor avoided danger, but shewed so much self-possession and sagacity, that the Burgund­ ian leaders readily obeyed the orders which he issued. The scene was now become in the utmost degree animated and horrible. On the left the suburb, after a fierce contest, had been set on fire, and a wide and dreadful conflagration did not prevent the burn­ ing ruins from being still disputed. In the centre, the French troops, though pressed by immense odds, kept up so close and constant a fire, that the little pleasure-house shone bright with the glancing flashes, as if surrounded with a martyr’s crown of flames. On the right, the battle

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swayed backwards and forwards with varied success, as fresh rein­ forcements poured out of the town, or were brought forward from the rear of the Burgundian host. And the strife continued with unremit­ ting fury for three mortal hours, which at length brought the dawn, so much desired by the besiegers. The enemy, at this period, seemed to be slackening their efforts upon the right and in the centre, and several discharges of cannon were heard from the Lust-haus. “Go,” said the King, to Le Balafre and Quentin, the instant his ear had caught the sound; “they have got up the sakers and falconets: the Lust-haus is safe, blessed be the Holy Virgin!—Tell Dunois to move this way, but rather nearer the city, with all our men-at-arms, except­ ing what he may leave for the defence of the house, and cut in between those thick-headed Liegeois on the right and the city, from which they are supplied with recruits.” The uncle and nephew galloped off to Dunois and Crawford, who, tired of their defensive war, joyfully obeyed the summons, and, filing out at the head of a gallant body of about two hundred French gentle­ men, beside squires &c. and the greater part of the Archers, marched across the field, trampling down the wounded, till they gained the flank of the large body of Liegeois, by whom the right of the Burgund­ ians had been so fiercely assailed. The increasing day-light discov­ ered that the enemy were continuing to pour out from the city, either for the purpose of continuing the battle on that point, or of bringing safely off those forces who were already engaged. “By Heaven!” said old Crawford to Dunois, “were I not certain it is thou that art riding by my side, I would say I saw thee among yonder banditti and burghers, marshalling and arraying them with thy mace —only, if yon be thou, thou art bigger than thou art wont to be. Art thou sure yonder armed leader is not thy wraith, thy double-man, as these Flemings call it?” “My wraith!” said Dunois; “I know not what you mean. But yonder is a caitiff with my bearings displayed on crest and shield, whom I will presently punish for his insolence.” “In the name of all that is noble, my lord, leave the vengeance to me,” said Quentin. “To thee indeed, young man?” said Dunois; “that is a modest request—no—these things brook no substitution.”—Then turning in his saddle, he called out to those around him, “Gentlemen of France, form your line—level your lances—let the rising sunbeams shine through the battalions of yonder swine of Liege and hogs of Ardennes, that masquerade in our ancient coats.” The men-at-arms answered with a loud shout of “A Dunois! a Dunois!—Long live the bold Bastard!—Orleans to the rescue!”—

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And, with their leader in the centre, charged at full gallop. They encountered no timid enemy. The large body which they charged, consisted (excepting some mounted officers) entirely of infantry, who, setting the butt of their lances against their feet, the front rank kneeling, the second stooping, and those behind presenting their spears over their heads, offered such resistance to the rapid charge of the men-at-arms as the hedge-hog presents to his enemy. Few were able to make way through that iron-wall; but of those few was Dunois, who, giving spur to his horse, and making the noble animal leap more than twelve feet at a bound, fairly broke his way into the middle of the phalanx, and made towards the object of his animosity. What was his surprise to find Quentin still by his side, and fighting on the same front with himself—youth, desperate courage, and the determination to do or die, having still kept him abreast with the best knight in Europe, for such was Dunois reported at the period. Their spears were soon broken; but the lanzknechts were unable to withstand the blows of their long heavy swords; while the horses and riders, armed in complete steel, sustained little injury from their lances. Still they contended with rival efforts to burst forwards to the spot where he who had usurped the armorial bearings of Dunois was doing the duty of a good and valiant leader, when Dunois, observing the boar’s-head and tusks in another part of the conflict, called out to Quentin, “Thou art worthy to avenge the arms of Orleans! I leave thee the task.—Balafre, support your nephew—but let none dare to inter­ fere with Dunois’ boar-hunt.” That Quentin Durward joyfully acquiesced in this division of labour cannot be doubted, and each pressed forward upon his separ­ ate object, followed, and defended from behind, by such as were able to keep up with them. But at this moment the column which De la Marck had proposed to support, when his own course was arrested by the charge of Dunois, had lost all the advantages they had gained during the night; while the Burgundians, with returning day, had resumed those which belong to superior discipline. The great mass of Liegeois were compelled to retreat, and at length to flight; and, falling back on those who were engaged with the French men-at-arms, the whole became a confused tide of fighters, fliers, and pursuers, which rolled itself towards the city-walls, and at last was poured into the ample and undefended breach through which the Liegeois had sallied. Quentin made more than human exertions to overtake the special object of his pursuit, who was still in his sight, striving, by voice and example, to renew the battle, and bravely supported by a chosen party of lanzknechts. Le Balafré, and several of his comrades, attached

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themselves to Quentin, much marvelling at the extraordinary gallantry displayed by so very young a soldier. On the very brink of the breach, De la Marck—for it was he himself—succeeded in effecting a momentary stand, and repelling some of the most forward of the pursuers. He had a mace ofarms in his hand, before which every thing seemed to go down, and was so covered with blood, that it was now impossible to discern the bearings on his shield which had so much incensed Dunois. Quentin now found little difficulty in singling him out; for the commanding situation of which he had possessed himself, and the use he made of his mace, caused many of the assailants to seek safer points of attack than that where so desperate a defender presented himself. But Quentin, to whom the importance attached to victory over this formidable antagonist was better known, sprung from his horse at the bottom of the breach, and letting the noble animal, the gift of the Duke of Orleans, run loose through the tumult, ascended the ruins, to measure swords with the Boar of Ardennes. The latter, as if he had seen his intention, turned towards Durward with mace uplifted; and they were on the point of encounter, when a dreadful shout of tri­ umph, of tumult, and of despair, announced that the besiegers were entering the city at another point, and in the rear of those who defended the breach. Assembling around him, by voice and bugle, the desperate partners of his desperate fortune, De la Marck at these appalling sounds abandoned the breach, and endeavoured to effect his retreat towards a part of the city from which he might escape to the other side of the Maes. His immediate followers formed a deep body of well-disciplined men, who, never having given quarter, were resolved now not to ask it, and who, in that hour of despair, threw themselves into such order, that their front occupied the whole breadth of the street, through which they slowly retired, making head from time to time, and checking the pursuers, many of whom began to seek a safer occupation, by breaking into the houses for plunder. It is therefore probable that De la Marck might have effected his escape, his disguise concealing him from those who promised themselves to win honour and grandeur upon his head, but for the staunch pursuit of Quentin, his uncle Le Balafré, and some of his comrades. At every pause which was made by the lanzknechts, a furious combat took place betwixt them and the Archers, and in every meleé Quentin sought De la Marck; but the latter, whose present object was to retreat, seemed to evade his purpose of bringing him to a single combat. The confu­ sion was general in every direction. The shrieks and cries of women, the yelling of the terrified inhabitants, now subjected to the extremity ofmilitary licence, sounded horribly shrill amid the shouts ofbattle,—

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like the voice of misery and despair contending with that of fury and violence, which should be heard farthest and loudest. It was just when De la Marck, retiring through this infernal scene, had passed the door of a small chapel of peculiar sanctity, that the shouts of “France! France!—Burgundy! Burgundy!” apprized him that a party of the besiegers were entering the farther end ofthe street, which was a narrow one, and that his retreat was cut off.—“Conrade,” he said, “take all the men with you, and charge yonder fellows roundly, and break through if you can—with me it is over. I am man enough, now that I am brought to bay, to send some of these vagabond Scots to hell before me.” His lieutenant obeyed, and, with most of the few lanzknechts who remained alive, hurried to the farther end of the street, with the purpose of charging those Burgundians who were advancing, and so breaking their way. About six of De la Marck’s best men remained to perish with their master, and fronted the Archers, who were not many more in number.—“Sanglier! Sanglier! Hola! gentlemen of Scot­ land,” said he, waving his mace, “who longs to win a coronet, —who strikes at the Boar’s-head?—You, young man, have, methinks, a hankering, but you must win ere you wear it.” Quentin heard but imperfectly the words, which were partly lost in the hollow helmet; but the action could not be mistaken, and he had but time to beg his uncle and comrades, as they were gentlemen, to stand back, when De la Marek sprung upon him with a bound like a tiger, aiming at the same time a blow with his mace, so as to make his hand and foot keep time together, and giving his stroke the full advantage of the descent of his leap; but, light of foot and quick of eye, Quentin leaped aside, and disappointed an aim which would have been fatal had it taken effect. They then closed, like the wolfand the wolf-dog, their comrades on either side remaining inactive spectators, for Le Balafré roared out for fair play, adding, “that he would venture his nephew on him were he as wight as Wallace.” Neither was his confidence unjustified; for, although the blows of the mace fell like those of the hammer on the anvil, yet the quick motions, and dexterous swordmanship, of the young Archer, enabled him to escape, and to requite them with the point of his less noisy, though more fatal weapon; and that so often, and so effectually, that the huge strength of his antagonist began to give way to fatigue, while the ground on which he stood became a puddle of blood. Yet still unabated in courage and resentment, he fought on with as much mental energy as at first, and Quentin’s victory seemed dubious and distant, when a female voice behind him called him by his name,

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ejaculating, “Help!—help!—for the sake of the blessed Virgin— help!” He turned his head, and with a single glance beheld Gertrude Pavilion, her mantle stripped from her shoulders, dragged forcibly along by a French soldier; one of several, who, breaking into the chapel close by, had seized, as their prey, on the terrified females who had taken refuge there. “Wait me but one moment,” exclaimed Quentin to De la Marck, and sprung to extricate his benefactress from a situation of which he conjectured all the dangers. “I wait no man’s pleasure,” said De la Marck, flourishing his mace, and beginning to retreat—glad, no doubt, at being free of so formid­ able an assailant. “You shall wait mine though, by your leave,” said Le Balafré; “I will not have my nephew baulked.”—So saying, he instantly assaulted De la Marck with his two-handed sword. Quentin found, in the meanwhile, that the rescue of Gertrude was a task more difficult than could be finished in one moment. Her captor, supported by his comrades, refused to relinquish his prize, and whilst Durward, aided by one or two of his countrymen, endeavoured to compel him to do so, the former beheld the chance which Fortune had so kindly afforded him for fortune and happiness, glide out of his reach; so that when he stood at length in the street with the liberated Gertrude, there was no one near them. Totally forgetting the defenceless situation of his companion, he was about to spring away in pursuit of the Boar of Ardennes, as the greyhound tracks the deer, when, clinging to him in her despair, she exclaimed, “For the sake of your mother’s honour, leave me not here!—as you are a gentleman, protect me to my father’s house, which once sheltered you and the Lady Isabelle!—for her sake, leave me not!” The call was agonizing, but it was irresistible; and bidding a mental adieu, with unutterable bitterness offeeling, to all the gay hopes which had carried him through that bloody day, and which at one moment seemed to approach consummation, Quentin, like an unwilling spirit, who obeys a talisman which he cannot resist, protected Gertrude to Pavilion’s house, and arrived in time to protect that and the Syndic himself against the fury of the licentious soldiery. Meantime, the King and the Duke of Burgundy entered the city on horseback, and through one of the breaches. They were both in com­ plete armour, but the latter, covered with blood from the plume to the spur, drove his steed furiously up the breach, which Louis sur­ mounted with the stately pace of one who leads a procession. They dispatched orders to stop the sack of the city, which had already

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commenced, and to assemble their scattered troops. The Princes themselves proceeded towards the great church, both for the protec­ tion of many of the distinguished inhabitants, who had taken refuge there, and in order to hold a sort of military council after they had heard High Mass, for the decision of such claims concerning spoil, prisoners, and so forth, as usually arose in those days after an action. Busied as other officers of his rank in collecting those under his command, Lord Crawford, at the turning of one of the streets which leads to the Maes, met Le Balafré sauntering composedly towards the river, holding in his hand, by the gory locks, a human head, with as much indifference as a fowler carries a game-pouch. “How now, Ludovic!” said his commander; “what are ye doing with that carrion?” “It is all that is left of a bit of work which my nephew shaped out, and I finished,” said Le Balafré—“A good fellow that I dispatched yonder, and who prayed me to throw his head into the Maes.—Men have queer fancies when old Small-Back is gripping them; but SmallBack must lead down the dance with us all in our turn.” “And you are going to throw that head into the Maes?” said Craw­ ford, looking more attentively on the ghastly memorial ofmortality. “Ay, truly am I,” said Ludovic Lesly. “If you refuse a dying man his boon, you are like to be haunted with his ghost, and I love to sleep sound at nights.” “You must take your chance of the ghaist, man,” said Crawford; “for, by my soul, there is more lies on that dead pow than you think for. Come along with me—not a word more—Come along with me.” “Nay, for that matter,” said Le Balafré, “I made him no promise; for, in troth, I had off his head before the tongue was well done wagging; and as I feared him not living, by Saint Martin of Tours, I fear him as little when he is dead. Besides, my little gossip, the Friar of St Martin’s, will lend me a pot ofholy water.” When High Mass had been said in the Cathedral Church of Liege, and the terrified town was restored to some moderate degree of order, Louis and Charles, with their peers around, proceeded to hear the claims ofthose who had any to make for services performed during the battle. Those which respected the County of Croye and its fair mis­ tress were first received, and, to the disappointment of sundry claim­ ants, who had thought themselves sure of the rich prize, there seemed a mystery and doubt to involve their several pretensions. Crevecœur showed a boar’s hide, such as De la Marck usually wore; Dunois produced a cloven shield, with his armorial bearings; and there were others who claimed the merit of having dispatched the murtherer of the Bishop, producing similar tokens—the rich reward fixed on De la

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Vol. 3,ch. 14

Marck’s head had brought death to all who were armed in his resemb­ lance. There was much noise and contest amongst the competitors, and Charles (internally regretting the rash promise which had placed the hand and wealth of his fair vassal on such a hazard) was in hopes he might find means of evading all these conflicting claims, when Craw­ ford pressed forwards into the circle, dragging Le Balafré after him, who, awkward and bashful, followed like an unwilling mastiff towed on in a leash, as his leader exclaimed,—“Away with your hoofs and hides, and painted iron!—no one, save he who slew the Boar, can shew the tusks!” So saying, he flung on the floor the bloody head, easily known as that ofDe la Marck, by the singular conformation ofthe jaws, which in reality had a certain resemblance to those of the animal whose name he bore, and which was instantly recognized by all who had seen him. “Crawford,” said Louis, while Charles sate silent, in gloomy and displeased surprise, “I trust it is one of my trusty Scots who has won this prize?” “It is Ludovic Lesly, Sire, whom we call Le Balafré,” replied the officer. “But is he noble?” said the Duke; “is he of gentle blood?—other­ wise our promise is void.” “He is a cross ungainly piece of wood enough,” said Crawford, looking at the tall, awkward, embarrassed figure of the soldier; “but I will warrant him a branch of the tree of Rothes for all that—and they have been as noble as any house in France and Burgundy, ever since it is told of their founder that, Between the Less-lee and the mair He slew the Knight, and left him there.”

“There is then no help for it,” said the Duke; “and the fairest and richest heiress in Burgundy must be the wife of a rude mercenary soldier like this, or die secluded in a convent—and she the only child of our faithful Reginald de Croye—I have been too rash.” And a cloud settled on his brow, to the surprise of his peers, who seldom saw him evince the slightest token of regret for an adopted resolution. “Hold, but an instant,” said the Lord Crawford, “it may be better than your Grace conjectures—hear but what this cavalier has to say.— Speak out, man, and a murrain to thee,” he added apart to Le Balafré. But that blunt soldier, though he could have made a shift to express himself intelligibly enough to King Louis, to whose familiarity he was habituated, yet found himself incapable of enunciating his resolution

[Chap. 37]

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399

before so splendid an assembly as that before which he then stood; and after having turned his shoulder to the princes, and preluded with a hoarse chuckling laugh, and two or three tremendous contortions of countenance, he was only able to produce the words, “Saunders Souplejaw—” and then stuck fast. “May it please your Majesty, and your Grace,” said Crawford, “I must speak for my countryman and old comrade. You shall under­ stand, that he has had it prophesied to him by a Seer in his own land, that the fortune of his house is to be made by marriage; but as he is like myself, something the worse for the wear,—loves the wine-house better than a lady’s summer-parlour, and, in short, having some bar­ rack tastes and likings, which would make greatness in his own person rather an encumbrance to him, he hath acted by my advice, and re­ signs the pretensions acquired by the feat of slaying William de la Marck, to him by whom the Wild Boar was actually brought to bay, who is his maternal nephew.” “I will vouch for that youth’s services and prudence,” said King Louis, overjoyed to see that fate had thrown so gallant a prize to one over whom he had some influence. “Without his prudence and vigil­ ance we had been ruined—it was he who made us aware of the night­ sally.” “I then,” said Charles, “owe him some reparation for doubting his veracity.” “And I can attest his gallantry as a man-at-arms,” said Dunois. “But,” interrupted Crevecœur, “though the uncle be a Scottish gentilâtre, that makes not the nephew necessarily so.” “He is of the House of Durward,” said Crawford; “descended from that Allan Durward who was High Steward of Scotland.” “Nay, if it be Durward,” said Crevecœur, “I say no more.—For­ tune has declared herself on his side too plainly for me to struggle further with her humoursome ladyship.” “We have yet to inquire,” said Charles, thoughtfully, “what the fairlady’s sentiments are towards this fortunate adventurer.” “By the mass!” said Crevecœur, “I have but too much reason to believe your Grace will find her more amenable to authority than on former occasions.—But why should I grudge this youth his prefer­ ment? since, after all, it is Sense, Firmness, and Gallantry, which have put him in possession of Wealth, Rank, and Beauty!”

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Vol. 3,ch. 14

I had already sent these sheets to the press, concluding, as I thought, with a moral of excellent tendency for the encouragement of all fair-haired, light-eyed, long-legged emigrants from my native country, who might be willing in stirring times to take up the gallant profession of Cavalieros of Fortune. But a friendly monitor, one of those who like the lump of sugar which is found at the bottom of a tea­ cup as well as the flavour of the souchong itself, has entered a bitter remonstrance, and insists that I should give a precise and particular account of the espousals of the young heir of Glen-houlakin and the lovely Flemish Countess, and tell what tournaments were held, and how many lances were broken, upon so interesting an occasion; nor withhold from the curious reader the number of sturdy boys, who inherited the valour of Quentin Durward, and of bright damsels, in whom were renewed the charms of Isabelle de Croye. I replied in course of post, that times were changed, and public weddings were entirely out of fashion. In days, traces of which I myself can remem­ ber, not only were the “fifteen friends” of the happy pair invited to witness their union, but the bridal minstrelsy still continued, as in the “Ancient Mariner,” to “nod their heads” till morning shone on them. The sack-posset was eaten in the nuptial chamber—the stocking was thrown—and the bride’s garter was struggled for in presence of the happy couple whom Hymen had made one flesh. The authors of the period were laudably accurate in following its fashions. They spared you not a blush of the bride, not a rapturous glance of the bride­ groom, not a diamond in her hair, not a button on his embroidered waistcoat; until at length, with Astræa, “they fairly put their charac­ ters to bed.” But how little does this agree with the modest privacy which induces our modem brides—sweet bashful darlings—to steal from pomp and plate, and admiration and flattery, and, like honest Shenstone, Seek for freedom at an inn.

To these, unquestionably, an exposure of the circumstances of publicity with which a bridal in the fifteenth century was always cele­ brated, must appear in the highest degree disgusting. Isabelle de Croye would be ranked in their estimation far below the maid who milks, and does the meanest chars; for even she, were it in the church­ porch, would reject the hand of her journeyman shoe-maker, should he propose “faire des noces” as it is called in Parisian signs, instead of going down on the top of the long coach to spend the honey-moon incognito at Deptford or Greenwich. I will not, therefore, tell more of this matter, but will steal away from the wedding as Ariosto from that ofAngelica, leaving it to whom it may please to add farther particulars,

[Chap. 37]

THE SALLY

after the fashion of their own imagination. Some better bard shall sing in feudal state How Bracquemont’s Castle op’d its Gothic gate, When on the wand’ring Scot, its lovely heir Bestow’d her beauty and an earldom fair.* * E come a ritornare in sua contrada Trovasse e buon naviglio e miglior tempo E de l'India a Medor desse lo scettro Forse altri cantera con miglior plettro. Orlando Furioso, Canto XXX. Stanza 16

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I. THE GENESIS OF QUENTIN DURWARD 2. THE COMPOSI­ TION of quentin durward: the Manuscript; changes between

Manuscript and Author’s Proofs; changes by James Ballantyne in Author’s Proofs; changes by Scott in Author’s Proofs; changes between Author’s Proofs and First Edition 3. the later editions: octavo Novels and Romances of the Author of Waverley; duodecimo Novels and Romances; eighteenmo Novels and Romances; the Interleaved Set and the Magnum 4. the present text: emendation of pre-proof changes [punctuation and capitalisation; misreadings; wrong substitu­ tions; wrong insertions and omissions; miscellaneous]; emendation of author’s-proof corrections; emendation of post-proofchanges. The following conventions are used in transcriptions from Scott’s manuscript: deletions are enclosed 〈 thus〉 and insertions ↑thus↓; a deletion within a deletion is indicated 〈〈thus〉〉 and an insertion within an insertion ↑↑thus↓↓; the letters ‘NL’ (new line) are Scott’s own, and indicate that he wished a new paragraph to be opened, in spite of running on the text. Editorial comments within quotations are designated by square parentheses [thus]. The same conventions are used as appropri­ ate for indicating variants between the printed editions. Full details of works referred to by authors or short titles in this essay can be found at the head of the Explanatory Notes, 507-08.

I. THE GENESIS OF

QUENTIN DURWARD

On 10 November 1822 Scott wrote to the London actor-manager Dan­ iel Terry, who adapted many of his novels for the stage and was one of the few people officially apprised of his authorship of the Waverley Novels: I have not been very well—a whoreson thickness ofblood, and a depression of spirits arising from the loss of friends (to whom I am now to add poor Wedderburne) have annoyed me much; and Peveril will, I fear, smell ofthe apoplexy. I propose a good rally, however, and hope it will be a powerful effect. My idea is, entre nous, a Scotch archer in the French king’s guard, tempore Louis XL., the most picturesque of all times.1 The ‘good rally’ involved extending Peveril of the Peak into a fourth volume, which Scott wrote in a fortnight before the end ofthe year, as he explained to his intimate Yorkshire friend J. B. S. Morritt in a letter of 11 January 1823: I fear you will think P. [Peveril] which I hope you have long since received—sent 1’apoplexie. Sooth to say I tired of it most d——nably and Ballantyne mutinied on me to make me put more strength and spirit into a fourth volume which (needs must go when the Devil typographically speaking drives) I wrote in 14 days 403

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as much too fast as the others were too slow. I hope to do much better things in my next having an admirable little corner of history fresh in my head where the vulgar dogs ofimitators have no sense to follow me. My idea is strictly entre nous the adventures of a young Scotchman going to France to be an archer ofthe Scots guard tempore Ludovici ximi. You who study Philip de Comine[s] will easily imagine what a carte de pais I have [before] me.2 It may well be that the chief impulse towards moving to continental Europe for Quentin Durward was, as Scott suggests, a desire to exploit a totally fresh field and thus out-distance his imitators, but other contrib­ utory factors may be surmised. The period which saw the foundation of modern France was of profound concern to Scott as to all of his British readers, given the history of the preceding three decades. Scott’s wife was of French descent. His eldest son Walter was pursuing his military education in Europe (albeit in Germany rather than France) during 1822. In May of that year Scott had ideas of joining young Walter in the spring of 1823 for a continental tour: ‘I am half minded if you remain in Berlin till next spring to come over myself for you—we might take three or four months on the continent and take a peep of Italy the Tyrol Switzerland & come back through France or by the Rhine’.3 Scott’s reinvention of the Company of Archers as the ancient bodyguard of the Scottish kings, on the occasion of George IV’s visit to Edinburgh in August 1822, is no doubt connected with the Scottish Archers in the new novel.4 Lockhart notes a further brace of contributory factors: It was, perhaps, some inward misgiving towards the completion of Peveril, that determined Scott to break new ground in his next novel; and as he had before awakened a fresh interest by venturing on English scenery and history, try the still bolder experiment of a continental excursion. However this may have been, he was en­ couraged and strengthened by the return of his friend, Mr Skene, about this time, from a tour in France; in the course of which he had kept an accurate and lively journal, and executed a vast variety of clever drawings, representing landscapes and ancient buildings, such as would have been most sure to interest Scott had he been the companion of his wanderings. Mr Skene’s ms. collections were placed at his disposal, and he took from one of their chapters the substance of the original Introduction to Quentin Durward.5 Skene’s contribution is considered in the Historical Note (499). Scott started writing his new novel very shortly after that 11 January 1822 letter to Morritt, and on 23 January he informed Archibald Con­ stable that he was ‘getting on’,6 but he had been consciously preparing the ground during the final months of 1822. Constable’s son David was a curator of the Advocates Library, and often obtained books from that collection for Scott’s use. On 4 November he wrote to his father: ‘I shall endeavour to get Du Clos from the Library to morrow—The other work which Sir Walter alludes to is that of Le Grand, Histoire de la vie Privée

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des Français & if it is in the Library I will get it also’.7 The books in question are Charles Pineau-Duclos’s The History ofLouis XL, King of France, and Le Grand d’Aussy’s Histoire de la vie privée desfrançois.8 On 9 December David sent his father a list of works that might be useful (not all of them in the Advocates Library), but hardly anything in the novel as completed can be traced back to them.9 In a letter to Constable docketed 18 December 1823 Scott says as much: Books ofhistory help me little except Commines. I think there must be some description of the village & Castle ofPlessis les Tours in some of the numerous modern tours or in some of the old geographical & statistical accounts of France there are Delices de la France & books of that kind. If you will send your porter before dinner to day I will return the books you kindly sent me. It is topography that I would fain be at.10 Topography indeed gave Scott much trouble as he prepared for the novel and wrote the opening chapters. Lockhart observes that ‘his diffi­ culties in this new undertaking were frequent, and of a sort to which he had hitherto been a stranger. I remember observing him many times in the Advocates’ Library poring over maps and gazetteers with care and anxiety.’11 Peveril ofthe Peak appeared in January 1823, and such was the burst of speed that Scott had put on with its fourth volume that on the 14 December preceding Constables had written to Black, Young, & Young, the agents for the translators of the novels into German, that ‘we think it right to state that another work of the Author ofWaverley will go to press next month—& we expect to Publish it by April’. This astonish­ ing timetable, as it turned out, was almost adhered to.12 One unusual feature of the short preparation and production period was that the name of the new novel was kept secret, and chapter titles provided in the running heads instead.13 This was to avoid pirate printing from proof sheets in America (interfering with the authorised transmission of material to Carey & Lea in Philadelphia), which was believed to have occurred with Peveril.14 The extraordinary speed with which Quentin Durward was produced may well help to explain the strange mixture of paper used for the first edition, suggesting a degree ofmaking do.15 2. THE COMPOSITION OF QUENTIN DURWARD

Scott, we have seen, had started writing Quentin Durwardby 23 January 1823. It was on that date he wrote to Constable that, although he was unable to find out anything about the physical location of Plessis-lèsTours, he was ‘getting on and instead of description holding the place of sense I must try to make such sense as I can find hold the place of description’.16 Indeed a letter from Cadell to Constable of either the 21st or the 26th (the date is ambiguous) suggests that work began several days earlier: ‘Ballantyne has just sent to say that six sheets of the

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New book〈s〉 are ready for Press & wishes to Know what the impression ought to be—of Peveril we have not a book'.17 Scott was evidently enjoy­ ing the composition, for Cadell wrote again on 28 January: ‘Sir Walter has this moment been here—in great glee—More ms to Ballantyne to day—he said I shall push on. I am well & shall work on. I do not know how I may be years after this’,18 and on 5 February the author’s mood had only intensified:

I am so thoroughly convinced of the propriety of his continuing on on on with his works of fancy that during the last three weeks wherein I have had the comfort of seeing him almost every day, I have throughout encouraged him by every argument I could think of, and he has taken every thing I said with great apparent satisfac­ tion—one day he said—“we shall have to call a halt some day but we shall ride as long as we can” on another day he said “I am wholly against any hiatus in these works I have some five or six subjects in my head and were I to delay either in bringing them out or some­ thing to intervene the public will expect a finely wrought story &c &c which would work up their expectations which there is no chance of theing [i.e. their being] gratified in—besides some other person may step into the arena, and give me a heavy oar to work to make up to him again”—on another occasion he said “I am now young & healthy & strong, some two or three years hence, ’tis hard to say how I may be[”]— So completely is this my own opinion after the success ofPeveril infour Vols and at two guineas—that I shall do every thing in my poor power to accomplish this to us most desirable end—I said to Sir Walter one of these days “I would as soon stop a winning horse as a successful author, with the public in his favor” It is in our interest in every point of view to encourage him on— Vol I of the New is well on—it is to be done in March—and (thank God for it) two more this year—he says he wants to write up his engagements, and we should do nothing to impede them19 By 13 February Constables were able to announce to their London­ based agent for America, John Miller, that the first volume was ‘far on’, stressing that ‘the work is not to be named till it is completed’.20 On 26 February they were still expecting to be able to let their Dublin booksel­ ler Milliken have the new work ‘by the end of March or beginning of April’, and by 4 March ‘the 2nd Vol is in the printers hands’.21 Scott wrote to Constable on 26 March that ‘The 3d. Vol. is well’, and on Saturday the 29th he announced to Ballantyne that he would send with Monday’s Edinburgh coach ‘some copy making about a 3d. of vol. 3d.’, trusting that ‘Durward will be out this month’: presumably he means April rather than March. He added: ‘Cadell may advertize when he pleases the title Durward. It is curious how the most trifling thing is pickd up about these tales.’22 It is clear that at this stage Scott had in mind that the title should be simply ‘Durward’, but in his reply dated 31

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March Constable urged the title by which the novel came to be known: ‘We might now if agreeable to you announce “Durward” indeed it might be useful to do so without much delay I have somehow a partiality to the title of “Quentin Durward” it reminds us of Guy Mannering. I hope you will pardon my throwing out this hint—’23 On 7 April Constables an­ nounced the familiar title to Milliken, with a publication date around the 25th.24 Some time during March or early April Scott cut down the envisaged historical scope of the final volume, leaving material for what eventually became Anne ofGeierstein six years later:

I am very glad you like the sheets—(Q. Durward) they will improve as they go on & the story shall be simple & intelligible yet with much bustle & event—But my lāād must I fear remain a lāād for the story will only occupy a month at most—I am obliged to leave out the battle ofMorat But a long farewell to Nancy I mean the battle of Nancy not the damsel—But what I most of all regret is the Death of Louis XI indeed so much do I regret it that I will perhaps employ the next three volumes in killing him my own way.25 Scott’s note to Ballantyne with the final leaves of manuscript is unfortu­ nately undated: ‘I send you the conclusion with an apology talis qualis for not making more of a conclusion’.26 The novel was not absolutely com­ plete until 3 May, when Scott responded to Ballantyne’s objections to the ‘abrupt conclusion’ by adding ‘a few lines’.27 A vexing episode attended the publication of Quentin Durward. On 6 May Constable wrote to Scott:

Altho Mr Ballantyne will have written to you on the Subject of a most extraordinary and unprecedented Article which appeard in a Literary Work entitled the Museum published on Saturday last by Mr Valpy Red Lion Court Fleet—cont[ainin]g a Review of Quentin Durward—with very Copious extracts from the first Vol­ ume of that work—Yet I cannot refrain informing you of the Steps which on due consideration appeared to Mr Ballantyne and us necessary to be adopted for preventing any Continuation of the Article in the Museum of next Saturday------ We should have done nothing in this most Vexatious affair without Your previous advice and Sanction, had the time admitted ofit, there cannot be a ques­ tion of the illegality and gross impropriety of Mr Valpys proceed­ ings & that he is liable for all the consequences of the Piracy—he has Committed. We have written him a letter of remonstrance of which I take the liberty to enclose a Copy—but in case he should be disposed to disregard any thing short of legal measures—Mr Sharon Turner an eminent Solicitor—has our instructions by this days post to take whatever Steps he may Concieve becoming and necessary on the occasion... Mr. Ballantyne will of course have sent you the publication in question, which I may however state contains unqualified praise ofQ. D.28

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Hurst, Robinson & Co. accused Constables of sending an advance copy of the novel to London, which had fallen into Abraham Valpy’s hands and resulted in the publication of substantial extracts from the first volume in The Museum for 3 May.29 Suspicion fell on the agent who sent advance sheets to Philadelphia, John Miller, but Cadell was convinced by that gentleman’s protestations of innocence in the matter and sur­ mised that Scott himself had some knowledge of the offending copy: ‘I was convinced the moment I got Millers last letter, that he was free— and still more so—when the Author said “do not be hard upon them”— he must have been aware that there was some book or other in Lon­ don’.30 In the event Valpy, while denying Constables’ view ofthe matter, had agreed not to publish any more extracts before the novel appeared.31 The first edition of Quentin Durward numbered 10,000 (with some 400 extra copies), of which 8180 were taken for sale in and from Lon­ don by Hurst, Robinson & Co. for £7600.32 The steamship with bales of Quentin Durward sheets did not arrive in London until 16 May. Binders worked all night, and before 11 am on Saturday 17th all the London copies had been delivered to the booksellers and sets were being sent out to the country shops. Constable, who was in London, agreed that, because of the great and urgent demand, the novel should be published on the 17th rather than waiting until the 20th.33 The selling price was£1 115. 6d. Cadell responded by bringing the Edinburgh publication date forward to Monday 19th, observing: ‘I Knew full well that Robinson could not Keep the book till Tuesday if he got it on Saturday, he may write as he chooses—but he finds reasons many for doing all he can for himself—I accordingly despatched all our Country orders so as to meet Saturdays publication in London’. Later in his letter Cadell observes: ‘I do not think Sir W. will be easily turned aside from writing these books —I had a long crack with him on Thursday last—among other things he said they were no trouble to him—from systematic labour’.34 In spite of the new novel’s popularity, its sale seemed rather slow, and Constable put this down to its coming too quickly on the heels ofPeveril ofthe Peak: ‘there is no Satisfying the public for in the midst of much Applause of Quentin D. I sometimes here Murmurs about its coming too quick for the pocket—there is unparalelled genius—in the Works of the Author of Waverley—but Novelty has helped their sale’.35 On 24 May Cadell noted that there had been ‘a considerable demand this time from Glas­ gow’, and on the 29th he thought that the sales in fact were comparable with those of Ivanhoe and Kenilworth, but Constable continued to find sales sluggish.36 There was no doubt as to the novel’s popularity, as Mrs Hughes attested to Scott on 27 May in an amusing anecdote:

I was in the [Leamington] library yesterday when a vulgar, showily dressed lady came in & enquired angrily, why “Squinting Durfot which every body was talking of had not been sent to her:” the man of the shop explained that as she had not put her name on the list

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she must wait till her turn came that he would immediately insert her on the list & that she would receive it in rotation; this appeased her & she departed saying “Very well as no offence is meant ’tis all very well, only my money is as good as anothers & I like to be in the fashion—so Sir, when my rotation comes, be sure you send the book,[”]—Pearls before Swine thought I.37 The Manuscript. The original manuscript of Quentin Durward^ com­ plete, with 244 leaves, is in the National Library of Scotland.38 Scott followed his usual practice of covering each recto densely; there is no space at the top or at the bottom or at the right, and only a narrow margin at the left. The size of the handwriting varies according to the author’s mood, and perhaps his state of health, but usually there will be between 750 and 800 words on a leaf. (The Introduction is more spa­ ciously written, with 40 rather than 50 lines to the leaf, and up to 12 rather than 16 words to the line.) Scott used the verso of the previous leaf for corrections and for insertions varying from a single word to substantial passages. The evidence of pens and ink suggests that most of the alterations were made at the time of composition, but that some were introduced after the relevant portion of the main text had been com­ posed, perhaps at the beginning of the following day’s task. Such evid­ ence is, however, often difficult to interpret in this manuscript, since Scott was apparently experimenting with the new patent steel pens, which he valued as relieving him from the eye-straining chore of mend­ ing quills, and he frequently changes pens every few lines.39 A typical leaf contains some fifteen corrections, or visible hesitations where Scott has begun a word and stumbled, or changed his mind. With so many minute alterations it would be impossible to quantify or classify satisfactorily the different types ofchanges made in the course of composition, or to describe them in detail, but many of them clearly anticipate the sorts of alteration which Scott, and in some cases his intermediaries, made at later stages, the most pervasive being innumer­ able clarifications, often by substituting nouns or proper names for pronouns. Phrases or sentences are often added (or substituted) for the sake of clarity or precision. Thus, at 28.5-7 Scott originally wrote of Duke Charles’s imputing ‘to the faintness of his [Louis’s] courage that he sought by indirect means those advantages which in his place he would [have] snatchd with an armed hand’. Shortly after writing this he realised that the reader needed more help and inserted ‘ ↑ leagues pur­ chases and other ↓’ on the facing verso with an indication that the phrase was to be inserted before ‘indirect’. A very simple phrase simil­ arly added clarifies the action at 31.11-12: ‘as he [Quentin] descended the rugged bank t to the water’s edge ↓’, and a little later a descriptive detail is inserted: ‘a wood of tall trees mixd with thickets and brush­ wood ↑ traversed by long avenues ↓ through which were seen as

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through a vista the deer’ (36.14–16).4° Other characteristic changes in the manuscript may be divided for convenience into seven categories. 1] Some of the many repetitions of words in close sequence are eliminated. In the Introduction Scott becomes fixated on the word ‘move’ during the Marquis’s description of Sully’s processions: ‘yet moved as it were with the same soul as their princely superior—〈mov­ ing〉 teaching their steps to attend upon his 〈moving〉 ↑ marching ↓as he m〈ov〉 ↑ ar ↓ ches halting as he halts’ (14.43–15.2). On the following leaf there is an example of a repetition caught ‘in the act’: ‘over which swept a gallant stag pursued by a pack of hounds in full cry an[d] a 〈galla〉 noble feild of horsemen’ (16.40–41). The need to avoid a repe­ tition can result in an enrichment of the text, as in the description of Galeotti’s library: ‘the carving and ornamented woodwork ↑ of his library ↓ as well as the 〈taste〉 〈taste〉 ↑ magnificence ↓ displayd in the tapestries shewd the elegant taste of the learnd Italian’ (153.15–17); so, too, with a reference to the mock herald’s qualifications: ‘ “I was bred a pursuivant at the Heraldric College of Ratisboun” answerd (the) Noir Sanglier “and reserved the diploma of Ehrenhold from that same learnd (colleg) fraternity—” ’ (362.26–28). On one occasion at least the word substituted for the first thought markedly changes the sense, as Quentin first becomes aware of the noise of the assault on Schonwaldt: ‘He listend—the noise continued—but it was of a character so undistinguishd by any 〈of the〉 peculiar or precise sound that it might be the murmur of a wind arising among the boughs of a distant grove or perhaps some stream swoln by the 〈nig〉 [or 〈reig〉] late rain which was discharging itself into the 〈distan〉 sluggish Meuse with more than usual sound’ (389.21-26): in avoiding a repetition of ‘distant’ (which indic­ ates the dominant motive of the sentence) Scott brings the swollen river closer to Quentin and increases the sense of menace. 2] Scott’s second thoughts in the manuscript often result in attractive local enrichment of the text. The unhappy relationship of Orleans and Joan is pointed by a change at 100.9-10: ‘As they stood 〈hand in hand〉 ↑ her cold damp fingers enclosed in his trembling hand ↓ with their eyes looking on the ground …’. The mood of the lakeside setting for Quentin’s encounter with Dunois is greatly enhanced by a manuscript alteration from a routine statement to an atmospheric setting of the scene for a fatal encounter: ‘〈It was now light enough to discover objects and they had attaind〉 ↑ The moon had by this time long decayd and the lights of dawn were begin to spread bright and strong in the east and 〈they〉 to gleam on the bosom of a small lake on the verge of which they had been riding for a short space of time [the binding hides any punctu­ ation] This lake lay in the midst of ↓ a wide plain …’ (164.26–30). A telling small detail is introduced during Quentin’s quest for Isabelle at Schonwaldt: ‘At length a feeble glimmer of light which shone through a

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crevice in the 〈apartment〉 wainscoating of ↑ a dark nook in ↓ the bed­ room announced some 〈sec〉 [the letters deleted are doubtful] recess or concealment behind the arras’ (230.11–14). An elaboration of the description of the mock herald’s tawdry finery is telling in a quite differ­ ent way: at 359.23–29 ‘The rest of his dress … formd into that shape &’ is a verso insertion. Manuscript enrichments sometimes improve the rhetorical move­ ment of speeches. One may instance Bertrand Guyot’s oath ‘that ↑↑↑“cap de diou that↓↓ were they knights of King Arthurs round table” ↓ he would try their mettle for the honour of Gascony’ (166.39–41). The last speech of the entire novel is untypical only in the number of such changes to a single utterance: ‘“〈I think〉 ↑By the Mass ↓ ” said Crevecoeur “I have but too much reason to 〈think〉 believe your Grace will find her more 〈manageable〉 amenable to authority than on former occasions…” ’ (399.34–36). 3] The substitution of a more vivid or simply more appropriate word can be observed on many occasions. Thus, originally the Countess Hameline ‘suffered herself to be patiently led’ by Hayraddin, but Scott remembered that Hameline could not be credited with patience and substituted ‘passively’ for ‘patiently’ (226.14). Louis was at first made to say of Hayraddin as herald: ‘the knave has put on the Boar’s hide’, but Scott introduced an animal-fable element by changing ‘knave’ to ‘ass’ (364.41). An entirely inappropriate word was quickly changed at 395.3, where the battle at Liege was almost called ‘splendid’: ‘this 〈splen〉 infernal scene’.41 4] Tell-tale anticipations make it clear that Scott often had a later part of a passage in mind as he was writing the earlier part. During their approach to Plessis, Maitre Pierre asks Quentin: ‘ “did you ever see so strong a fortress and do you think there are men 〈in your country that dared〉 ↑ bold enough ↓ to storm it”’ (41.15–16). The phrase ‘in your country’ is not forgotten, and a few lines later Maitre Pierre asks, ‘ “Are there any in your country could do such a feat” (41.23). The paragraph at 187.5 originally began (though it is not a new paragraph in the manuscript) ‘A suspicion however shot through his brain which had sometime intruded itself before.’ Scott deleted this, and penned the description of Hayraddin’s undignified exit from the monastery. Only when he had completed this did he take up his original idea at 187.18.42 5] On numerous occasions, deleted final inverted commas indicate that Scott has been prompted, as he writes, to expand on his original conception of a speech. Charles’s long utterance at 303.3–19 was ori­ ginally intended to consist of only the first sentence, ending ‘use them’. Contrariwise, his speech at 328.4–19 was to end before the clinching final sentence: “… break up the Council and dismiss yourselves— ↑ I will but change my dress as this is scarce a fitting trim in which to wait on

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my most gracious Sovereign”—With a deep and bitter emphasis on the last expression the Duke ↓ 〈So saying〉 he rose and strode out of the room. Sometimes, a complete speech is added, as in the case of Le Balafre’s amusing utterance at 379.30–34, where the two paragraphs ‘Le Balafre … word with us” ’ were inserted on the verso, apparently as part of the initial composition process. 6] The narrative of Quentin Durward was evidently very much under control. Occasionally, though, Scott needed to insert a piece of plot business subsequent to his initial penning of a passage (usually relating to the Croyes), and sometimes he added several sentences filling in some aspect of the personality or appearance of one ofhis characters.43 7] Scott occasionally found that the material in a chapter extended beyond what he had intended, so that the matter referred to in the ori­ ginal motto (and/or the chapter title) had to be postponed to the follow­ ing chapter. This is apparent from the commencement of the narrative. At the beginning of the first chapter Scott originally put a motto appar­ ently of his own composing: As he arrived on that 〈str〉 foreign shore A stranger met him in whose doubtful look Mirth mingled with suspicion Wellcome mingled With the mark fear of something dangerous As timid strangers greet the 〈English m〉 island mastiff The sea-voyage. The chapter turned out to be entirely taken up with the historical over­ view, so Scott returned and substituted the Hamlet motto. The original lines were never printed. The chapter was originally entitled ‘The Meeting’, but that title was deleted along with the original motto and no substitute provided in the manuscript. There is no manuscript title for Chapter 2.44 There are five chapters whose endings evidence a noteworthy change in intention. Scott added the quotation from W. R. Spencer to Volume 1, Chapter 8 (‘NL “And all the chase rode on.” ’). The end of the following chapter came at the conclusion of a writing session. On resuming work, Scott at first simply ran the paragraph on, but then decided to begin a new chapter. The last paragraph of Volume 2, Chap­ ter 11, building up tension before the entry into the hall at Schonwaldt, was added after Chapter 12 had been begun. In Volume 3, Chapter 6 all except the first sentence of the last three paragraphs was added after the commencement of Chapter 7 (from ‘When the first light’ to the end), thus ensuring that Louis’s recovery of spirits has been described before the parallel process involving Charles. The division between Chapters 12 and 13 of the final volume was unusually arrived at. In manuscript the end of Chapter 12 reads: ‘… the tears of the Countess Isabelle flowd more placidly while she dwelt upon it. 〈So truly as well as beautifully

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hath the poet 〈stood〉 said/ The wretch condemnd with lif〉’. Scott then decided to begin a new chapter and made the Goldsmith lines the motto. Changes between Manuscript and Author’s Proofs. In order to convert Scott’s manuscript of Quentin Durward into the first edition as published the processes described in the General Introduction were followed: the manuscript was copied in order to preserve Scott’s (theoretical) anonymity, the copyist for Quentin Durwardbeing George Huntly Gordon, who was regularly employed in that capacity;45 the compositors would have set the text from the copy of Scott’s manuscript and at the same time supplied punctuation, standardised spelling, and corrected minor errors, in conformity (theoretically) with a series of standing orders discussed in the ‘Present Text’ section below. The first proofs were read against the copy; James Ballantyne edited second (author’s) proofs and sent them on to Scott who both corrected and revised as he saw fit; Scott was sent revises when required, but otherwise Ballantyne was left to supervise the translation of the author’s revisions and corrections into print. Between the manuscript and first edition of Quentin Durward over 4000 verbal alterations, in single words and groups of words, were made, as well as some 40,000 other changes designed to convert Scott’s manuscript punctuation and layout to that expected in a public printed document. (Like all such figures in this essay these figures should be regarded as indicative rather than precise, given that there is inevitably a degree of arbitrariness in such categor­ isations and reckonings.) The survival of a complete set of author’s proofs for this novel, together with later proofs covering the third vol­ ume, makes it possible to chart the progress of the text with some precision. Four gatherings of the material for Volume 3 are clearly final proofs, with press figures in place and only a handful of mostly mech­ anical tidyings-up to be carried out.46 The rest represent an earlier stage, or possibly two earlier stages, since the amount of correction varies considerably from gathering to gathering. In any event, the earliest of the late proofs cannot be earlier than fourth stage, since many changes have been made between the corrected second-stage (author’s) proofs and those surviving from a later stage.47 All but some 1900 of the 40,000 non-verbal changes between manu­ script and first edition were made before the author’s proofs were run off. At the same time over a thousand verbal alterations were made. An attempt to indicate the principal categories of verbal alterations made by intermediaries at this stage may be helpful. Nearly 250 single words were inserted, usually to fill a lacuna which Scott had left inadvertently, sometimes at the end of a line. Quite often, though, words were unnecessarily inserted. Examples ofboth necessary and unnecessary insertions can be found on 344. At line 24 Scott has missed ‘not’ out of the phrase ‘which he could not help condemning’

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and the missing word is duly supplied. But at lines 31 and 37 words are unnecessarily added: ‘I would have thought ↑ that ↓ he meant to break a lance’, and‘I have such ↑a ↓ goodwill’. On the other hand, more than 70 words were omitted, whether acci­ dentally or deliberately. At 52.33-34 the author’s proof omits ‘provok­ ing’ from the manuscript’s characterisation of Louis as ‘this provoking old man’. The word was probably simply overlooked, though an inter­ mediary might have had a reason for considering it inappropriate. An example of an omission almost certainly deliberately made can be found at 125.42, where the manuscript’s ‘Quentin Durward’ becomes simply ‘Quentin’ to match the designations of the hero immediately preced­ ing it. Nearly 300 words were either simply misread, or changed usually for no obvious reason. Simple misreading accounts for the transformation of ‘the all-efficient’ Oliver to ‘the all-sufficient’ at 96.19–20, of ‘any other mediator’ to ‘any other moderator’ at 109.22, and for the addition or omission of a final ‘-s’ on nearly 30 occasions. Approximate copying, or deliberate change, may be found at 294.18–19 where in the manu­ script Louis ‘pourd the guerdon into the sleeve of those who were too shy to extend their hand’ and the proofs substitute ‘too high’ for ‘too shy’, and at 305.6 where ‘gloomy presentiment’ becomes ‘misgiving presentment’. On some 170 occasions the intermediaries corrected obvious verbal slips of different kinds in the manuscript. Thus, at 98.37 ‘wrinkles on the power’ is corrected to ‘wrinkles on the brow’, and at 217.20 the manuscript’s ‘on the preceding evening’ becomes ‘in the morning’. Where at 299.24–25 the manuscript falters with ‘he dashd in pieces the foot [end of line] stool which was placed before up—Bar the doors of this hall gentleman’, the proofs correct to ‘before him’ and ‘gentlemen’. Nearly 60 ugly repetitions ofwords in close proximity were eliminated by author’s-proof stage. At 10.20–21 the manuscript reads: ‘a smile which showd a set of teeth which Duchesses might have envied’. The proof changes the second ‘which’ to ‘that’. The manuscript at 139.3–4 has ‘the timidity of Joan of France renderd incapable of an effort to render the conversation more general’: besides inserting the missing ‘her’ the proofs change the ‘render’ to ‘make’. A handful of changes evidently designed to avoid repetition were, however, made unnecessar­ ily or insensitively. Thus at 308.32–35 the manuscript reads: ‘“These [instructions] are to leave your Majesty” replied Crevecoeur “undis­ puted master in your own apartments—such are my masters orders”— “Your master Count Crevecoeur whom I may also term mine is a right gracious master…” ’. An intermediary disrupts the word-play between the two speakers by changing ‘master in’ to ‘possession of’. Some 60 changes were made before author’s proofs to correct what an intermediary considered a grammatical lapse in the manuscript. The

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corrections can be uncontentious, as when the manuscript has ‘the little cavalcade was not a hundred yards from the monastery and the village than 〈Zamet〉 Maugrabi[n] joined it’, where ‘than’ is corrected to ‘be­ fore’ (197.15–17). There is, though, a tendency to over-correct gram­ matically, as when ‘it’ is changed to ‘them’ at the end of the manuscript’s ‘But for the unblemishd faith and unfaded honour of Scotland I must now put to the proof how far you can repose trust in it’ (199.41–43). Some 50 changes to the forms of words, or phonologically significant spelling changes, were made (‘along/st’, ‘on/upon’, and ‘sat/e’, etc.), and there were small numbers of miscellaneous changes: stylistic, alterations of word order, conversion from roman to italic or vice versa, and so forth. Changes by James Ballantyne in Author’s Proofs. It is not always possible to distinguish with certainty which proofcorrections were made by James Ballantyne and which by Scott, but differences in ink and in the forms of words and signs usually make identification feasible. Ballan­ tyne in particular effected many mechanical corrections of typograph­ ical errors which are not considered here. He also made just under 300 textual corrections, equally distributed between verbal and non-verbal alterations, in the three volumes (some 60 in the first volume, and over 100 in each of Volumes 2 and 3). Among miscellaneous punctuational changes he adds nearly 40 commas, and deletes just over 20; he changes nearly 20 full-stops to question-marks, introduces a handful of ex­ clamation-marks, raises or lowers a few initial letters, and alters a few spellings. Ballantyne corrects hitherto undetected manuscript errors on over 40 occasions. Most frequently these involve lacunae: at 104.22–24, con­ fronted with the unfinished phrase ‘He requests that your Majesty will recall the secret agents, by whose means the discontents of his good citizens;’, he completed it by adding before the semicolon ‘are inflamed’ (which Scott capped by inserting before Ballantyne’s words ‘of Flan­ ders’). More straightforwardly, at 132.22 it is Ballantyne who ensures that chains ‘bind not the tongue’ rather than ‘the throat’ as in the manu­ script. Most substantially, and unusually, Ballantyne appears to have composed three lines to sort a manuscript confusion of speakers: at 128.14–18 he divides and augments what is in proof, as in manuscript, a single speech of Balue by inserting a complete speech by Louis in the middle ofthe request at ‘replenish my cup with Auvernat, because it is so noble’. Ballantyne makes over 60 corrections of verbal misreadings introduced into the proofs, sometimes restoring the manuscript reading either by reference to the actual manuscript or independently: at 241.34 he re-inserts ‘to be declared’ between ‘deserved’ and ‘outlawed’, replacing the proof comma between the words, and at 248.21 he restores ‘since’ in place of‘Sure’ in the phrase ‘Sure you are both determined on

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going’. On 20 occasions Ballantyne corrects what he sees as grammatical errors, and he sorts ten repeated words. He also makes a dozen or so changes apparently in the interests of clarity, as in his helpful insertion of ‘more’ into the phrase ‘There was nothing more remarkable hap­ pened’ at 117.31, or in his clarification ofa sentence at 359.9–12. In proof this reads: ‘For it must be remembered, that at this period heralds were only dispatched from princes to each other upon solemn occasions, as the inferior nobility employed pursuivants …’. Ballantyne changes ‘princes’ to ‘sovereign Princes’, and he effects a further change to result in ‘occasions, and that the inferior’ (the comma became a semi-colon between the author’s and the surviving late proofs). Besides making changes himself, Ballantyne frequently draws Scott’s attention to problems in the proofs, by putting a cross in the margin, often accompanied by the word ‘Imperfect’, and (on some 60 occasions) by adding a comment. Sometimes Scott responds to the comments with corrections, sometimes with rejoinders. This running exchange gives a vivid insight into the relationship between the author and his principal intermediary. In his comments Ballantyne picks up authorial oversights of various degrees of importance. For example, at 21.27 he spots that the authorial persona’s ‘return to Britain’ has not been explained: ‘By examining Sheet A. it will be found, that the writer is distinctly stated to be still in France; as he laments over his French fare, and sighs for that of Eng­ land’. Scott added a passage which not only explains the matter but elaborates: ‘my return to Britain ↑ to beef and sea-coal fires a change of residence which took place since I drew up these Gallic reminiscences. At length—↓ the result of my meditations …’. At 36.27 Ballantyne observes of Scott’s attribution of the speech to ‘Maitre Pierre’ : ‘He has not been named before’. Scott corrected this to ‘his companion’ in a revise.48 At 46.9–10 Quentin is described as ‘a youngster of scarce twenty–one’. Ballantyne observes: ‘Nay, grieve I to say he is not twenty’, and the age was duly corrected. On the other hand Scott countered Ballantyne’s objection at 174.31–33 that Isabelle was ‘now only 15’, and therefore too young to have been besieged by noble admirers for two years, with the rejoinder ‘17 if you please’. When Scott made Quentin ask at 82.9 ‘May I not then abide another night at the hostelrie…?’ Ballantyne objected: ‘I do not think it appears that he had staid there one night. Only 6 or 7 hours seem to have elapsed since the opening of the book.’ Scott duly changed ‘another’ to ‘for this’. Less satisfactory was Scott’s response to Ballantyne’s observation on the reference at 157.10–11 to Louis’s ‘real object, which was to place the Countess Isabelle of Croye in the hands of William de la Marck’: ‘All this has been very fully stated before’. Scott fudges the issue clumsily: ‘which ↑ as the reader is aware ↓ was to 〈place〉 ↑ betray ↓ the Countess Isabelle of Croye 〈in〉 ↑ into ↓ the hands’.

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Sometimes Ballantyne’s comments prompt Scott to sharpen the sense of a passage. At 26.29–30 the proof reads: ‘Ere he succeeded to the crown, Louis had given sufficient evidence of his talents as well as of his vices’. The sentences that follow prompted Ballantyne to remark: ‘These seem to be evidence, rather of his vices 〈and〉 than talents’. Scott changed the introductory sentence to read: ‘… Louis had given evid­ ence of his vices rather than of his talents’. A similar comment at 114.35 led Scott to change ‘topics’ to ‘modes of assistance & consolation’, and at 359.36 the ‘clownish’ Hayraddin becomes ‘grotesque’ in response to another objection. Ballantyne’s observations are sometimes stylistic. At 40.18–20 the proof has: ‘This formidable place had but one entrance, at least no other was visible along the spacious front which was visible to Durward, except where, not in the centre of the first and outward boundary, arose two strong towers’. Ballantyne noted that this was ‘Tautological’, and Scott changed ‘no other’ to ‘none’ and deleted the ‘not’. This was an imperfect response to Ballantyne’s observation, and after Scott’s in­ volvement more radical pruning left the passage in its present form: ‘… at least Durward saw none along the spacious front, except where, in the centre …’. At 177.8 Ballantyne asks ‘Is it English “to discourse a man”?’ and Scott replies ‘I think so’; nevertheless, Ballantyne’s inser­ tion of ‘discourse ↑ with ↓ him’ made it to the first edition. The chan­ ging of‘compelled’ to ‘required’ at 278.9 was a response to the objection ‘A privilege can hardly compel’. Scott does not always respond to Ballantyne’s observations: the hint prompted by the reference to ‘the near relationship’ between Louis and Charles at 27.43-28.1, ‘One would like to know what the relationship was’, is ignored; and the comment on Quentin’s suspicions of Louis’s conduct at 193.17–21, ‘I cant recollect any reasons he had for this consideration however the fact might be’ only prompts the authorial rejoinder ‘Oh Lord Sir!’. The most elaborate of the exchanges between Ballantyne and Scott involves a debate about motivation. At 309.43–310.5 Louis’s long speech originally ended: ‘… lie-coining impostor—But first let me to my devotions.’. Ballantyne comments: ‘Is it meant that so able a King as this was wroth with the Cardinal & Astrologer, because they had eviladvised him?—I thought the 〈plot〉 ↑ plan ↓, ill as it succeeded, was all the King’s own.’ Scott replied: ‘Have you never observed that men disappointed in their plans were disposed to transfer the whole blame to their abettors—Louis was as I have painted him a bigot to astrology & naturally became furious when he suspectd deception. Balue he pun­ ishd cruelry for encouraging him to do what he had himself projected.’ Nevertheless, he was prompted to insert five lines after ‘impostor’ to clarify the point. Several of the exchanges between author and intermediary are not

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readily susceptible to categorisation. The second stanza of ‘County Guy’ (58.1–8) was added (on a separate sheet) at Ballantyne’s request: ‘Do give us at least one more stanza, to this admirable remain of tender chivalry!’ At 140.17–21 he asks in connection with the chapter motto ‘From what?’, and Scott replies ‘Anything’: in the event it is ascribed as usual to ‘OldPlay’. The footnote on 273 was originally part of the text. Ballantyne commented: ‘Very funny, and I well know you will retain it. But it breaks the tone, quoth JB.’ Scott replied: ‘You may knock out the brains & serve them on [or ‘in’] a plate by themselves—ie. make a note of the passage if you have a mind.’ Ballantyne notes, presumably for himself, in square brackets, ‘[I will so do.]’

Changes by Scott in Author’s Proofs. Scott made over 2400 changes in author’s proofs, some 350 of them non-verbal. The non-verbal changes include over 80 splitting of existing paragraphs and nearly 200 punctuational changes, notably the addition of some 50 commas and the deletion of half that number. The 2000-plus verbal changes may be roughly categorised as follows. More than a quarter of Scott’s proof changes (nearly 600) appear to have been made with clarification in mind. At 126.39–41 he adds the explanatory words ‘and Quentin though himself unseen was so situated as to remark all particulars of the interview’ to help the reader follow the mechanics of the scene. This change was no doubt prompted by Ballantyne’s query at 127.18: ‘He is said, at page 265 [126.28], to have been “invisible in all quarters;” and I cannot well conceive, how the King and his life-guardsman could so distinctly see each other, without the chance at least of Quentin’s being seen by the visitors’. Scott changes ‘directed his look to Quentin’ to ‘directed his look to Quentins post’. Although some of Scott’s clarifications seem perfunctory or unneces­ sary, they are for the most part genuinely helpful, as a set of four in close proximity at 168.20–27 will show: … Quentin, collecting himself, t sprung up and I attacked his antagonist with the energy of one determined to conquer or die, and ↑at the same time ↓ with the presence ofmind necessary for fighting the quarrel out to the best advantage. Resolved no〈 more〉 ↑ again ↓ to expose himself to such dreadful blows as he had just sustained, he employed the advantage of superior agil­ ity, increased by the ↑ comparative ↓ lightness ofhis armour, to harass his antagonist…. Scott makes some 300 changes apparently designed to enhance his text stylistically or rhetorically. As examples of phraseology made more forceful one may cite: ‘the furrows which sagacity had worn while toiling 〈to decide〉 ↑in meditation upon ↓ the fate of nations’ (98.39–40), where the revised version mirrors the effort involved; ‘ridicule, the weapon of all others most feared by enthusiasts of every description,

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and which from its predominance over such minds, often checks 〈the〉 ↑ what is ↓ absurd, and often smothers that which is noble’ (267.34–37), introducing a neat and effective parallel; and ‘a confused tide … which rolled itself towards the city-walls, and at length ↑ was pourd ↓ into the ample and undefended breach’ (393.36–39), where the revision carries the imagery through. Matching examples of rhetor­ ical strengthening are: ‘I will do my work with any that ever tied a living weight to a 〈hempen cord〉 ↑dead tree↓’ (165.4–5); ‘you have borne the name ↑of a Christian↓, and dwelt in the tents of these ↑besotted↓ people till thou hast been a partaker in their follies’ (226.23–25); and ‘〈Here I come〉 ↑One fool being gone here I come another↓ to guide you to the apartments of Louis of France’ (317.27–28). On some 70 occasions Scott substitutes a more appropriate single word for a less appropriate one: e.g. ‘the grave and 〈 dignified〉 ↑pathetic↓ Trois-Eschelles’ (77.21); ‘Life, death, time, and etern­ ity, were s〈ail〉 ↑ wimm↓ ing before his eyes’ (77.28–29); and ‘the 〈gallows〉 ↑ withy ↓’ (81.43: the proofs have a lacuna here, caused by a failure to understand the manuscript’s ‘withie’).49 Scott replaces with synonyms over 250 words inadvertently repeated: e.g. ‘〈change〉 ↑ the fickleness ↓ of fashion has accomplished in Eng­ land the total change’ (9.1–02); ‘the centinel … remarked, that the Princess seemed to bestow much of her 〈attention〉 ↑regard↓ on the younger and more interesting Countess; and that the 〈Countess〉 ↑Lady↓ Hameline, though speaking a great deal more, attracted less of the Princess’s attention’ (137.22–26: ‘centinel’ is changed to ‘sen­ tinel’, perhaps by Ballantyne). Scott’s replacement of the second ‘Countess’ may be thought, as is not seldom the case, to involve the loss ofa pattern of repetition rhetorically effective rather than ugly. On over 170 occasions Scott corrects hitherto undetected manuscript errors. At 280.43 he had written ‘a tone of freindship and infancy’, prompting Ballantyne to comment ‘Yes. It is so.’ to which Scott replied ‘Alas that you will say so’ before substituting the intended ‘intimacy’. It was again Ballantyne who spotted a simple reversal of the intended meaning at 283.7–8: ‘I see that you are so good a friend to France, that you are unwilling to keep aught that belongs to her.’ He commented ‘Not plain this. Quite willing to keep, it would seem.’ Scott substituted ‘part with’ for ‘keep’. Many of the mistakes involve manuscript lacunae, as at 179.27, where Hayraddin’s speech does not proceed beyond ‘Had we been so’ in manuscript: in proof Scott adds ‘we had followd their faith and practised their rites’. Again on over 170 occasions Scott corrects misreadings of his manuscript: ‘lined with 〈silver〉 ↑sables↓’ (154.18); ‘they str〈ain〉↑eam↓ed〉 towards him their kerchiefs’ (167.24); ‘they have forgot their su〈bject〉 ↑ pper↓’ (297.9–10); ‘a part of their 〈miser〉 ↑ move ↓ able

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estate’ (297.12). He did not always recover the original reading: at 226.40 the manuscript expression ‘the children of the tents’ was mis­ read as ‘the Children of the Mist’ (probably by association with A Legend of the Wars of Montrose); Scott changed this to ‘the Children of the desert’. Less than 80 of Scott’s proof changes seem to have been made to effect a change in the sense of a passage, and none of them is of more than local significance: e.g. ‘the look of angry defiance which the 〈lion〉 ↑ bear ↓ casts upon the hunter’ (97.29–30); and ‘Louis … sate in silent and moody consciousness 〈that the part which he played on the occasion was none of the most respectable〉 ↑of diminishd conse­ quence ↓ ’ (375.32–33).5° On the whole Scott was not in creative mood when correcting the Quentin Durward proofs, but there are some 70 modest augmentations of the manuscript material. Among the most effective elaborations, other than those clearing up minor local confusions in description or plotting, are the following: ‘Trois-Eschelles – gravely congratulated him on his heavenly disposition for death, and ↑ pathetically exclaiming Beati qui in Domino moriuntur↓ remarked the soul was happy that left the body while the tear was in the eye’ (77.36–40); ‘you may… mutter some of the church’s prayers ↑ or what you list that has no offence in it in a low voice ↓ ’ (122.19–21); ‘↑Such as I are free in spirit when our limbs are chained You are imprisond in mind 〈when you〉 even when your bodies are most 〈fre〉 at freedom ↓’ (179.6–8); and ‘the Archer accordingly ↑ like a peice of machinery put into motion by an artist ↓ strode after him’ (286.42–287.1). Other minor proof changes by Scott include some 60 italicisations for emphasis, a similar number of grammatical corrections, over 150 sub­ stitutions of nouns for pronouns (including over 50 at the beginning of paragraphs), and nearly 40 insertions of speech attributions of the ‘said so-and-so’ variety.

Changes between Author’s Proofs and First Edition. Between the corrected author’s proofs and the first edition a further 1900 or so changes were made (‘post-proof’ changes for short), over 450 of them verbal. There is no reason to think that Scott was responsible for any of them, though one cannot be certain. The surviving late proofs for Vol­ ume 3 show that only some 90 changes were made at the stages they represent, and only five tiny changes between those late stages and the first edition. It is clear that of the 750 or so post-proof changes in Volume 3, over 650 were made between the corrected author’s proofs and the surviving late stages. The 1400-plus non-verbal post-proof changes include: some 350 commas added and 160 deleted; nearly 150 commas changed to semi­ colons as against some 30 moved in the opposite direction; the intro­

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duction of 130 exclamation marks and 70 question marks (in various combinations); the addition of 120 dashes and the elimination of 70 others (again in various combinations); the introduction of 75 new sentence divisions; 35 reductions of upper to lower case initial letters; 25 spelling changes without phonological implications; and a similar number of italicisations of words. The 450-plus verbal changes made after the author’s proofs match the more routine of Scott’s alterations. Some no repeated words are changed. At 389.1–2 an effective change of this kind is at the centre of a late re-working of the sentence structure. The author’s proof reads: ‘But not so Quentin Durward—the thought that he alone was possessed…’. The word ‘thought’ here is matched by ‘recollection’ later in the sen­ tence, and then (clumsily) by a repeated ‘thought’. Nothing was done about this at author’s-proof stage, but in the surviving late proof it has been changed to the first-edition reading: ‘But not so with Quentin Durward. The knowledge that he alone was possessed …’. Several of the changes, however, involve the elimination of effective rhetorical repetition, as at 190.5–7: ‘a Lanzknecht was refused admittance into Heaven on account of his vices, and into hell on 〈account〉 ↑ the score ↓ of his tumultuous, mutinous, and insubordinate disposition’. The late proofs also show that some 50 instances of perceived gram­ matical error have been sorted. Many of these changes are unexception­ able, but there is a strong tendency to make pedantic changes such as ‘to them 〈was〉 ↑ were ↓ entrusted the direct custody and protection of the royal person’ (59.10–11). A similar number of alterations designed to improve the style are often of questionable success. The arbitrary nature of many such changes is typified by the following example: ‘though I pique not myself upon managing steel in any other shape than that of 〈razors〉 ↑ a razor ↓ …’(150.10–11). The other principal types of late changes are: some 40 changes to the designation of the hero, mostly from ‘Quentin Durward’ to ‘Quentin’, ‘Durward’, or ‘young Durward’; a similar number of changes in the preferred forms of common words; and the correction of a small num­ ber of errors persisting from manuscript and others introduced at earlier proof stages. Corrections to the novel’s concluding Ariosto quotation were made while the final sheet was being run off: ‘ritonare’ was corrected to ‘ritornare’ and ‘Trovosse’ to ‘Trovasse’ (both adopted in the present text); at the same time ‘de l’India’ was changed to ‘dell’India’, but in this case the original reading was correct. 3. LATER EDITIONS As shown in the accompanying stemma, or family-tree of editions, the main line of development in the printed text of Quentin Durward runs from the first edition, through the octavo (8vo) Novels and Romances of

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the Author ofWaverley and the interleaved copy of that edition annotated by Scott in 1830, to the Magnum Opus edition in which this novel appeared in December 1831 and January 1832. (The ‘second edition’ was merely a reissue of the first edition with new title-pages designed to boost sales of remaining copies.) The Novels and Romances—containing The Pirate, The Fortunes ofNigel, Peverilofthe Peak, andQuentinDurward —appeared in three formats: octavo, duodecimo, and 18mo. All three Novels and Romances texts of Quentin Durward share many readings against the first edition, and the 18mo shares many further readings with the 8vo against the 12mo. The 8vo and 12mo must, therefore, have been set from a copy of the first edition marked with corrections, and the 18mo must have been set from a copy of the 8vo. There is no reason to think that Scott was involved in the preparation of any of the Historical Romancestexts.

The Octavo Novels and Romances. On 16 April 1823, a month before the first edition of Quentin Durward was published, Constables offered Scott £5250 for the copyright of the four novels, including Quentin, that were to make up the next collected edition, and for which the suggested title was ‘Historical Novels’ or ‘Romances and Tales’; Scott accepted the offer on 19 April.51 The formal agreement for the three formats of what had become known as ‘Novels and Romances’ did not follow immediately. On 10 September 1823 Cadell wrote to Constable: I shall, I think, make agreement for 2000 Novels & Romances 7 V[ols] 1500 [ditto] 9V[ols] on Same terms as Novels & Tales & H. [Historical] Romances— also for a miniature [18mo] edition—this last to come out in Octo­ ber 24 the others in November & March next.52 On 31 October he wrote to Hurst, Robinson & Co.: We now send Specimen Copies of the Novels & Romances of the Author ofWaverley 7 Vols octavo, and to each of the volumes are attached proofs of the vignettes—some of the volumes want a small

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portion, which is made up with the odds & ends—this also applies to the foolscap [12mo] edition of the Same Work of which we sent [i.e. send] all that is ready—the vignettes for these are not so forward as to be attached—the last volume of the octavo you will find wants a good many sheets—they were not passed and it was as well to send them uniform—this book will be ready the week after next—and will be shipped on 14 Nov53

There appears to have been an unexpected delay, and it was not until 4 December 1823 that the 8vo Novels and Romances were announced as published ‘This day’ in the Edinburgh Evening Courant, and the Morning Chronicle did not announce the London issue of the series among the ‘Books published this day’ until 12 January 1824. Quentin Durward occupied part of Volume 6 and the whole of Volume 7 of this seven­ volume set. The title-page is dated 1824, and the selling price was four guineas. There are just over 1000 variants between the 8vo Quentin Durward and the first-edition text, distributed equally through the text. Roughly four-fifths of these are non-verbal (including nearly 200 inconsequen­ tial spelling changes: ‘inquire’ to ‘enquire’ or the reverse, ‘license’ to ‘licence’, etc.). Nearly 300 commas are inserted, and only some 60 deleted. Close on 100 initial letters are capitalised, and half that number reduced to lower case. Of the variants classed as verbal, around half may be described as stylistic, including the elimination of repeated words and the introduction of grammatical corrections, mostly pedantic. Some of the changes classed as stylistic may simply be misreadings (e.g. ‘scul­ lion’ for ‘cullion’ at 158.25), and there are a further 25 or so changes which are probably just that. Most of the remaining verbal changes involve knowledgeable and sensible corrections, or what were intended as corrections. Some of them are corrections of foreign forms, some sort typographical errors, and two recover manuscript readings: ‘perhaps ↑ a ↓ too curious eye’ (57.4); ‘knowest 〈not〉 that’ (320.12). Of the nearly 200 verbal variants, more than half were taken from the marked-up copy of the first edition, and of the 850 or so non-verbal variants exactly half are from the same source.

The Duodecimo Novels and Romances. The production of the 12mo (‘foolscap 8vo’) edition was not altogether smooth. There was a problem with the paper. Constables wrote on 19 January complaining of the quality of the supply furnished by the addressees Longman & Dick­ inson: ‘We shall probably soon want a supply of sheet & half foolscap what you call copy—but Ballantyne has complained most grievously of the quality of the last, & has given you blame on that score as a reason for the work of the Novels & Romances fc 8vo being inferior in appearance to the same book on your demy [the 8vo]’.54 Quentin Durward occupies the last two volumes of the nine-volume

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set, which was announced by the Edinburgh Evening Courant as ‘just published’ on 3 January 1824, and among the ‘Books published this day’ by the Morning Chronicle in London on 31 January. The selling price was £37s.6d. There are around 1250 variants between the 12mo text and the first edition, one-fifth of them verbal. Given the rather higher total than for the 8vo, the proportion taken from the marked-up first edition is corres­ pondingly a little less. The verbal variants peculiar to the 12mo are headed numerically by miscellaneous changes in the forms of words and spelling changes with phonological implications (some 50); they in­ clude over twenty mis-readings, but also several eliminations of verbal repetition and useful corrections, the latter including ‘Quatorze’ for ‘Quartorze’ (17.12, recovering the manuscript reading) and ‘Eberson’ for ‘Ebersson’ (382.18). The non-verbal changes peculiar to the 12mo match those in the 8vo closely: commas and so forth are just added and deleted in different places.

The 18mo Historical Romances, The 18mo Historical Romances were stereotyped, thus allowing copies to be printed to order rather than the size of the impression having to be determined in advance. (Stereo­ typing involved the creation ofplates from hand-set type; once the plates were made the type could be redistributed and the plates stored and used as necessary.) On 12 February 1824 Constables wrote to Hurst, Robinson & Co.: The volumes printed here are shipped—Moyes must be a slow slow creature to have been so long about his 3 Vols [Volumes 4–6 of the 18mo Historical Romances] —had we Known that he was so ill prepared we had not have thought of giving him a sheet—we have got much blame for giving them away—his getting any portion of the Novels & Romances is past praying for as they are to be stereotyped—shall you settle with Moyes or us?—the regulation of the quantity printed of the Miniature Novels & Romances at first shall be very much under your regulation—we should think 1000 or 1500 to start with—you shall have every fair advantage in this way—we intend to do die 16 Vols foolscap [12mo] in the same way —both to be ready next October’.55

Again there was a delay. On 16 August Constables appealed to Hurst, Robinson & Co.: ‘The printer is entirely out of paper for the Novels & Romances 180 please to forward a supply p[er] Steam without a days delay’; and on 7 October they wrote further: ‘We hope to be able next week to ship 500 Copies of the Edition of the Novels & Romances 18[m]o to enable you to Complete your Sale orders’.56 According to the Literary Gazette, however, the 18mo edition was not issued in London until 8 January 1825, and the first announcement in Edinburgh, in the Edinburgh Evening Courant, was in an omnibus advertisement on 2 May.

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The selling price was £29s. Quentin Durward occupied part of Volume 6 and all of Volume 7 of the seven-volume set. The 18mo text shows a little over 1400 variants from the first edition, more than one in six verbal. Some 500 of these are the variants common to all three formats. More than 450 are variants shared with the 8vo against the 12mo. The remaining 450-plus are readings peculiar to the 18mo. The unique verbal variants include some 40 verbal forms, most frequently ‘Signior’ rather than the ‘Seignor’ of the first edition or the ‘Seignior’ of the 8vo and 12mo. There are some 14 misreadings, or probable misreadings, and words are added, deleted, or changed with­ out much justification on some 25 occasions. It is, though, the only one of the three formats to correct ‘saus and brans’ to ‘saus and braus’ (232.43-233.1). The unique non-verbal changes are again of the usual varieties. The Interleaved Set and the Magnum. The full story of the making of the Magnum Opus is told in Jane Millgate’s Scott’s Last Edition (Edinburgh, 1987), and the Interleaved Set of the Waverley Novels in which Scott wrote all his notes and textual revisions for the final edition to be published in his lifetime is described in Scott ’s Interleaved Waverley Novels, ed. Iain G. Brown (Aberdeen, 1987). For Quentin Durward it was a copy of the octavo edition of Novels and Romances which was interleaved for his use. On 20 April 1830 Cadell recorded in his diary that he received a ‘portion of Quentin Durward’, which was probably the Magnum Introduction.57 On the 23rd Scott wrote: I see you had written before receiving mine ofyesterday by the Carlisle mail with 1 st. Volume ofQuentin Durward. I hope to send the second with this note. I thought it one of the worst of the sett but upon going over it I think it a good one though rather for the foreign market. … There is still a note wanting to the inclosed about William de la Marck.58 Cadell replied on the 26th acknowledging, inter alia, receipt of ‘the Conclusion ofQuentin Durward’ and adding: your progress with the Notes is wonderful—it calls for the unquali­ fied applause of those who are most interested and be assured something will be done. I cannot leave this subject without a re­ mark on your own opinion ofQuentin Durward—there are few of the later ones more popular—it always was a great favorite—I have never heard a remark against it but for not giving the ⟨Lady⟩ hero the honor of Killing William de la Marck59 Between 21 December 1830 and 15 January 1831, Cadell ‘revised’ Quentin Durward, transcribing Scott’s new material, and no doubt mak­ ing changes to it and to the text as he went. From 27 January to 16 February he was dealing with proofs of the new material.60 Volumes 31 and 32 of the Magnum edition, containing Quentin

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Durward, and costing 5s. each, were published on 1 December 1831 and 1 January 1832. Scott revised the text ofQuentin Durward more thoroughly than usual with the middle and later novels in the Interleaved Set. Apart from the new Introduction and some 90 new, or largely new, footnotes and end­ notes, he made over 550 changes, almost all of them verbal. Roughly half of these were evidently intended to clarify matters for his readers. The clarifications are often very minor, and some of them hardly seem necessary. They can be modestly helpful, as when Quentin ‘was sur­ prised to find how differently he ↑now↓ construed his [Louis’s] de­ portment and features ↑than he had done at their first interview↓’ (98.23–24), or when Louis says in his prayer of his intention to have Galeotti killed: ‘hold it as good service ↑ that I rid the world of him ↓, ⟨as⟩ ↑for↓ the man is a necromancer and wizard’ (311.1–2). Several small but useful clarificatory details are added to the account of the siege ofLiège. Some 120 of the Interleaved changes are generally stylistic. They include the effective substitution of‘confess’ for ‘they know’ in line 7 of the ‘County Guy’ song (57.43) and the changing of‘clamours’ to ‘clam­ ourous expostulations’ at 113.39. Occasionally Scott’s changes in the Interleaved Set inadvertently create awkward repetitions. Thus, at 244.3–6 he attempts a stylistic enhancement: ‘The name of Charles of Burgundy, a person likely to resent to the utmost the deeds of that night, ↑ had an appalling sound ↓, and the extreme impolicy of at once quar­ relling with the Liegeois and provoking the Monarch of France, made an appalling impression on their minds’. This may conceivably have been intended as a rhetorical repetition, but the inserted ‘appalling’ was probably wisely changed to ‘alarming’ in the Magnum. Some ofthe most striking stylistic enhancements occur in speeches. Le Glorieux says of Louis: ‘we treat our kinsman as men use an old famished lion in his cage, and thrust him now and then a calf ⟨,⟩ to mumble ↑, ↓ ⟨with⟩ ↑ to keep↓ his old jaws ↑in exercize↓’ (318.12–14). Louis tells Comines ‘I am a ⟨plain⟩ ↑dull blunt↓ man’ (330.34), and later refers to ‘looking into a ↑ certain↓ ruinous closet... and thinking of the death of Charles the Simple’ (339.19–21). In addition to the generally stylistic changes, Scott catches and eliminates some 50 repeated words. Occa­ sionally he substitutes a notably more appropriate word for one less appropriate: Isabelle wishes Hameline ‘joy of such ⟨a restless⟩ ↑an active↓ mate’ (163.37); Crevecoeur is described as ‘tapping’ rather than ‘touching’ Quentin on the shoulder (268.24); and William de la Marck’s sole ‘talents’, not ‘virtues’, were of a military cast (384.21). Scott sorted a few clear errors, and eliminated (partly by means of a general direction to the printer) what he saw as the anachronistic appel­ lation ‘D’Argenton’ for ‘Comines’. At 18.21–22 he was faced with a problem which he had himself created in proof. In manuscript he had

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written: ‘the Catholic clergy whenever they are learnd or well-informd men’. In proof, prompted by Ballantyne to avoid a repetition of ‘learned’, he changed the second part of this to read: ‘whenever they are ⟨learned or⟩ well-informed ↑or other wise↓ ⟨men⟩’, which duly appeared as the first edition’s ‘whenever they are well-informed or otherwise’. Confronted with the same curious reading in the 8vo, Scott dealt with it in the Interleaved Set by changing ‘whenever’ to ‘whether’. In the opening chapters Scott corrects unnecessarily to make Dame Perette Jacqueline’s ‘Kinswoman’, rather than ‘mother’ (50.20, 52.5): there is no reason why as part of the pretence forced on them aunt Hameline and niece Isabelle should not be mother and daughter. More straightforward is the restoration of the manuscript spelling and signi­ ficance of ‘Daylight and champa⟨g⟩ ↑ i ↓ n⟨e⟩ could discover no more’ (221.20), and of ‘braus' rather than ‘brans' (233.1: previously corrected in the 18mo). There are only some 30 examples of significant additions in the interleaved text (in addition to nearly 20 insertions of ‘said so-and-so’ markers). The most striking are occasional moments when Scott moves briefly into creative mode. In Le Balafré’s panegyric on his gold chain Scott adds ‘ ↑ or it may be a superfluous stone for sale that can answer↓ ⟨for⟩ any immediate purpose’ (64.33); still more briefly, Princess Joan’s tresses are arranged ‘in curls around her pale countenance, to which they ⟨gave⟩ ↑added↓ an expression almost ↑corpse-like &↓ un­ earthly’ (134.11–12: ‘gave’ reappears in the next sentence); at 171.32 Lord Crawford adds after ‘broken loom.—’ ‘↑And let me tell your Lordship⟨s⟩ that your ⟨own⟩ own armour of proof is not without some marks of good Scottish handwriting—⟨And⟩ But↓, Dunois ...’. Right at the end of the novel there is a jeu d’esprit: ‘. . . her humoursome ladyship ↑;—but it is wonderful how from the Lord to horseboy how wonderfully those Scots stick by each other [new paragraph] “High­ landers should[er] to shoulder” answerd Lord Crawford laughing at the mortification of the ⟨stout⟩ ↑↑↑proud↓↓ Burgundians↓’ (399.31). There are additions to our understanding of the characters: ‘Quentin, as shrewd a youth as ever Scottish breeze breathed caution into, ↑had ⟨on him⟩ ↑↑imbibed↓↓ more awe than confidence ⟨in⟩ ↑↑towards↓↓! his dangerous master, and↓ was far too wise . . .’ (116.26–27); William de la Marck is ‘a ⟨leader⟩ ↑nobleman indeed of high birth but degraded by his crimes into a leader of banditti↓’ (157.12); Hayraddin replies to Hameline ‘↑ composedly↓’ (225.28); and Louis speaks ‘↑laughing or affecting to laugh↓’ (364.25). Less exciting are additions of historical details, as with Cardinal Balue’s father, ‘a car-man of Limoges ↑ or according to other authorities a miller of Verdun↓’ (96.7; compare 112.21: ‘his father the ⟨tailor⟩ ↑ carter miller or tailor↓’). Scott also adds occasional hints to smooth the progress of the plot, as when Louis adds to his questions to

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Crevecoeur:' ↑ Nay who is it that will assert that [if] they are in France their place of retirement is within my knowlege? ↓' (105.17) At 160.6 the narrative adds, referring to Oliver le Diable: ‘ ↑ He added to his fair words a small purse of gold to defray necessary expences on the road as a gratuity on the Kings part.↓’ Very few of Scott’s alterations of the interleaved text involve a distinct change of sense, and most of such changes are of only local significance: ‘it is with such tempers that youth most readily sympathizes, and for whom ↑chiefly↓ age and experience feel affectionate and pitying in­ terest’ (31.6–8); ‘You and I will ⟨push⟩ ↑walk leisurely↓ forward together’ (36.6). Others have wider implications for the reader’s under­ standing of the characters: Louis ‘looked round ⟨with⟩ ↑affecting↓ an alarmed gaze’ (38.23); he says to Quentin ‘I ⟨love⟩ ↑like↓ thee’ (116.37); the Bishop’s forces ‘⟨were⟩ ↑ seem’d↓ at least sufficient’ for the purposes of defence (150.43); and there is Galeotti’s ‘⟨knowledge⟩ ↑conjecture↓ that the commission related to some dangerous purpose’ (157.9). Scott would no doubt have seen proofs of the new interleaved mater­ ial (the introduction and at any rate the longer notes). No evidence has been found to suggest that he also corrected proofs of the main text. It is possible that he had some input into the extensive changes introduced after the Interleaved Set, but they may well have been entirely Robert Cadell’s doing. There are over 1600 changes between Interleaved Set and Magnum, nearly 500 of them verbal. The non-verbal changes are taken to include spelling changes without phonological implications—princip­ ally ‘Crevecœur’ to ‘Crèvecœur’ (nearly 200 times) and ‘shew’ to ‘show’ (some 90 times), as well as alterations in punctuation. The latter are headed by deletions of commas (nearly 150) and commas added (some 90); over 100 dashes are deleted, and half that number added. The verbal changes are taken to include some 130 changes to intro­ duce favoured forms of common words (e.g. ‘Scotch’ to ‘Scottish’ or ‘Scots’, ‘excepting’ to ‘except’, ‘like’ to ‘likely’), as well as standardisa­ tions of names (notably Le Balafré, and D’Hymbercourt). Around 130 changes seem to have been made on stylistic grounds. The general effect is that of a smoothing-out of what might be seen as awkward: e.g. ‘such game as we are ⟨is⟩ beyond his bird-bolts’ (82.18–19); ‘The moon had by this time long ⟨decayed⟩ ↑been down↓’ (164.26). Many of the changes seem arbitrary—e.g. ‘preach me out of ↑the↓ possession of Peronne’ (283.12–13) and ‘⟨Upon⟩ ↑On↓ the ⟨next⟩ ↑following↓ morning after the King’s arrival. . .’ (293.3)—but there are some undeniable improvements: e.g. ‘Great pleasure hath its toils↑,↓ as well as ↑great↓ pain’ (285.14–15); ‘⟨During the time while⟩ ↑While↓ he received this assistance. . .’ (288.40). In addition to these general stylistic changes, over 50 changes

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were made to avoid verbal repetition. Nearly 40 prominent words are changed, mostly for no apparent reason: e.g. ‘such copious (evacuations) ↑drains↓’ (3.32–33); 'a quarter of a hour’s ⟨endurance⟩ ↑duration↓’ (13.16–17); ‘a battle of doubtful ⟨event⟩ ↑issue↓ . . . its undecided ⟨event⟩ ↑character↓’ (27.2–8). Over 30 changes were apparently made with increased clar­ ity in mind. As with Scott’s Interleaved Set clarifications, these often seem less than essential, but there are one or two useful changes in this area: ‘against the↑ir↓ “auld enemies of England.”’ (85.18); Quentin ‘hath an answer or a reason ready to be rendered ⟨for⟩ ↑to↓ every one’ (119.32–33). If Scott was not involved in the post-interleaved Set alterations, there are a handful of them involving a distinct change in sense which cer­ tainly go beyond an intermediary’s standing orders: e.g. ‘Yet there were contradictions in the ⟨nature⟩ ↑character↓ of this artful and able mon­ arch; for human⟨ity⟩ ↑nature↓ is (never) ↑rarely↓ uniform’ (25.33– 34); Quentin ‘flung a ⟨long⟩ cloak over his other apparel’ (214.16–17); ‘the mercenary soldiers of a barbarous age—men who, by habit and profession, had become familiarized with all that was cruel and bloody in the ⟨profession⟩ ↑art of war↓, while they were devoid alike of patriot­ ism and of the romantic spirit of chivalry⟨,—the peculiar virtues, the former of the bold peasants, who fought in defence of their country, and the latter of the gallant knighthood of the period, who combated for honour and their ladies’ love⟩’ (236.24–30). The Magnum has a curious addition after ‘his daring suit.’ at 206.26: ‘ ↑ [new paragraph] Quentin tried to dispel the sadness which overhung him by dispatching Charlet, one of the valets, with letters to the court of Louis, announcing the arrival of the Ladies of Croye at Liege.↓ ’. A more convincing addition to fill a small hole in the plotting was made when Louis finds ‘a small party of ⟨his own guard⟩ ↑the Scottish Guard↓, ⟨with their faithful old commander⟩ ↑ which the Duke, although he declined to concede the point to Louis, had ordered to be introduced, so as to be near the person of their master. The faithful Lord Crawford was ↓ at their head’ (286.11–12).

4. THE PRESENT TEXT

The aim of the present editorial process is to produce a text as close as possible to what Scott and his intermediaries would have achieved had they been able to devote the requisite time to the task, and had the inter­ mediaries been more completely respectful of Scott’s intentions as evid­ ent in the manuscript. To this end, more than 2200 emendations have been made to the first-edition base-text, roughly half of them verbal. The most pervasive contribution of the intermediaries was the translation of Scott’s manuscript punctuation, sentence structure, and orthography into an acceptable printed system. Notwithstanding the

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Edinburgh Edition’s policy of accepting first-edition punctuation in general, every punctuational sign and sentence division in the firstedition text has been examined to ascertain that it does not distort or unnecessarily restrict Scott’s apparent intention as evidenced in the particulars of the manuscript. It is clear that the intermediaries were expected to make many changes in addition to supplying punctuation. They were instructed to operate a set of standing orders involving the following procedures: changing words repeated in close proximity to each other; elimination of inappropriate Scotticisms; correction of clear grammatical errors; sub­ stitution of nouns or proper names for pronouns (particularly at the beginning of paragraphs); insertion of speech indicators; and addition of appropriate (usually single) words to fill obvious lacunae left by Scott in his haste. When correcting the proofs of Quentin Durward Scott continued these procedures as well as introducing occasional changes to the sense and a few additional passages (he rarely deleted material), stylistic improvements, clarifications of narrative business, and addi­ tional ‘said so-and-so’s for unallocated speeches. In general the Edin­ burgh Edition accepts changes to the manuscript resulting from the application of standing orders, though in the not infrequent cases where the rules have been applied mechanically or pedantically, or where their use has created unforeseen problems (such as generating new repeti­ tions), the manuscript reading is restored. Changes made by intermedi­ aries which are not in accordance with the presumed standing orders are normally rejected, as are those which result from their mechanical and insensitive application. The overwhelming majority of the emendations are from the manu­ script. Most of these are taken directly from manuscript, though preserving the first-edition punctuation when appropriate. Some are ‘manuscript-derived’, in a few cases fulfilling the evident intention of the imperfect manuscript, but mostly interpreting the manuscript’s movement in appropriate first-edition terms. Some 20 emendations derive from proofs, where a subsequent ‘correction’ has resulted in textual degeneration. Nearly 100 emendations are derived from Scott’s own proof corrections, which were sometimes imperfectly taken in or occasionally missed altogether. Some 60 emendations come from later editions, mostly providing necessary punctuation, and sometimes cor­ recting errors thitherto unnoticed. There are also 20 editorial emenda­ tions designed to sort clear errors persisting through all the editions published in Scott’s lifetime. Emendation of pre-proof changes. Of the 2200-plus emenda­ tions, some 1500 are designed to correct errors introduced by interme­ diaries between the manuscript and the uncorrected author’s proofs (‘pre-proof’ changes for short).

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1] Punctuation and Capitalisation, Over 650 emendations have been made affecting pre-proof non-verbal changes (some 1.7% of the total made by intermediaries). Although the intermediaries clearly had authority to lower or raise initial letters, on over 40 occasions one of Scott’s numerous manuscript initial capital letters lowered in the first edition has been restored in the present text where it is clear that something has been lost. Scott’s capitalisation of personifications has been respected, e.g. ‘Art and Nature’ (161.27), and ‘Despair’ (370.10); and among other capitalisations now appearing in the text for the first time are: ‘Improver’ (9.42), ‘Desperate Charles of Burgundy’ (66.27), ‘the Beauty of the turret’ (152.19), and ‘Men ofBelial’ (184.36). More importantly, on over 550 occasions the pre-proof intermedi­ aries altered sentence divisions or otherwise failed to follow clear manuscript directions. As a result many nuances, especially in speech rhythms, were lost. Among the most valuable now recovered are the fol­ lowing examples: ‘it is Lesly⟨.⟩ ↑— ↓ Lesly—an honest and ↑ a ↓ noble name’ (42.23-24: the manuscript has ‘honest an and noble’); ‘TroisEschelles and Petit-André⟨,⟩ ↑—↓ dispatch’ (75.41: the comma is Scott’s proof response to the gap caused by an intermediary’s deletion of his manuscript dash); ‘speak a word of comfort to him ere he make ↑ s ↓ his transit⟨,⟩ ↑.↓ Trois-Eschelles⟨;⟩ ↑, ↓ thou art a comfortable man in such cases’ (76.11–13); 'Dunois⟨,⟩↑—↓ lend me your spear⟨,⟩—take mine—it is too weighty for me⟨;⟩ ↑,↓ but when did you complain of such a fault in your lance?’ (109.7–9); ‘and ↑—↓ my debt of thankfulness is paid’ (223.14–15); 'Good⟨,⟩↑—↓my squire⟨;⟩—(b)↑B↓ut' (233.36); ‘Thou art either strangely confident, my young friend⟨,⟩↑—↓ or else ↑— ↓ you have used your time well upon the journey’ (344.8–10). That final intermediary re-punctuation may perhaps involve an element of censorship. The remaining punctuational emendations (over 50) involve such procedures as: restoring to questions utterances taken without manu­ script authority as being exclamations or statements (e.g. 144.32 and 253.18); formalising the indication of interrupted speech (e.g. 52.8 and 367.17); and, very occasionally, rectifying punctuation which is, even in terms of contemporaneous practice, eccentric or misleading (e.g. see the Emendation List entries for 33.40,120.5,275.36, and 397.42). 2] Misreadings. On more than 150 occasions intermediaries appar­ ently misread words in Scott’s manuscript. (Some of the transcribing or composing seems to have been rather approximate, especially where small, common words are concerned, so it is impossible to tell where misreading ends and deliberate substitution begins.) Among the most striking restorations of Scott’s original words are the following: ‘you harp ⟨over⟩ ↑ever↓ the same notes on a new string’ (67.15); ‘wolves and ⟨bears⟩ ↑boars↓, the fiercer objects of the chase’ (76.29-30); ‘This was so far fortunate for the (Monarch) ↑moment↓ ’ (116.4); ‘his

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⟨soldierly⟩ ↑ solitary ↓ walk’ (122.34); ‘Scheik ⟨Eba⟩ ↑Ebn↓ Hali’ (159.5–6); ‘Which of you ⟨there⟩ ↑three↓’ (166.34–35); ‘wild, shaggy, ⟨untrained⟩ ↑untrimd↓, (175.39: ‘untrimmed’ in the present text); ‘my ⟨early⟩ ↑ lively ↓ Scot’ (192.7); ‘at once the fiercest and the most ⟨untameable⟩ ↑unstable↓ in Europe’ (216.18–19); ‘the assail­ ants had got ⟨into⟩ ↑ entire ↓ possession’ (227.23); ‘⟨lively⟩ ↑ lovely ↓ quiet villages’ (271.3); ‘⟨C⟩ ↑ c ↓ ertain knights of the forest, by whom your ⟨quiet⟩ ↑quest↓ was for a time interrupted’ (354.24–25); ‘the kindest proposal which ⟨father⟩ ↑ fortune ↓ could have made to him’ (375.22–3). Many of the misreadings are, of course, much more mundane: confusions of ‘the’/‘his’/‘her’, the omission or addition of final ‘-s’, and so forth. 3] Wrong substitutions. The intermediaries often changed words for synonyms or near synonyms. The reason was sometimes to eliminate verbal repetitions, but quite often there is no obvious purpose. Small words in particular may well have fallen victim to approximate reading, and others to a simple impulse to do something. Sometimes there may have been a desire for pedantic grammatical correctness, or a failure to recognise a term. On over 150 occasions substitutions have been re­ versed in the present text: e.g. ‘holding it ⟨by⟩ ↑in↓ the middle’ (32.10: the present text restores ‘by’); ‘I think you ⟨were⟩ ↑had↓ become a captain yourself’ (48.30-31); ‘⟨fair⟩ ↑dear↓ uncle’ (61.7); ‘The ⟨reveries⟩ ↑ meditations ↓ of youth’ (72.17); ‘doubting the issue of ⟨a⟩ ↑ the ↓ conflict’ (80.23); ‘he almost dropped his weapon, ⟨for⟩ ↑when↓ he recognized . . . Maitre Pierre’ (97.43-98.1); ‘upon whom, and against ⟨what⟩ ↑ whom ↓ ’ (122.25); ‘rather the picture of a sentinel than ⟨the⟩ ↑a↓ living form’ (123.24–25); ‘You ... hesitate to ⟨finish⟩ ↑fill↓ your cup’ (128.19); ‘some right ⟨feal⟩ ↑trusty↓ friend’ (144.15); ‘How ⟨does⟩ ↑dost↓ like the scheme . . .?’ (147.9); 'an energy . . . which Quentin had not yet ⟨heard⟩ ↑seen↓ her use’ (173.26-27); ‘fare ⟨thou⟩ ↑thee↓ well’ (192.6–7); ‘hold ⟨one⟩ ↓a↓ minute’ (234.31); ‘It was the same which Louis had viewed with ⟨gloomy⟩ ↑misgiving↓ present⟨i⟩ment, (305.5–6); ‘no ⟨less⟩ ↑fewer↓ than eight hundred men’ (385.7). Among the substitutions reversed are a handful of mechanical operations of the verbal repetition standing order, where a rhetorical repetition has been inadvertently eliminated: e.g. ‘To the western tower—⟨to the western tower—⟩the treasure is in the western tower!’ (228.24–25); ‘methinks it ⟨had⟩ ↑ would have ↓ been as well, my cousin, if you had not put yourself in the way of lying under such obligations’ (263.9–10); ‘“These are to leave your Majesty . . . undisputed ⟨master in⟩ ↑ possession of↓ your own apartments⟨—such⟩↑. Such↓ are my master’s orders’ (308.32– 33); ‘Stay, my lord, ⟨stay⟩’ (343.31). In addition to the substitutions mentioned, there are some 200 occa­ sions where Scott’s preferred forms of spelling of particular words

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(which are not always consistent) are changed: ‘amongst’ to ‘among’; ‘forwards’ to ‘forward’; ‘further’ to ‘farther’ and the reverse; ‘murther’ to ‘murder’; ‘seignior’ to ‘seignor’; ‘-est’ to ‘-st’ and the reverse, and so forth. 4] Wrong insertions and omissions. Since Scott often inadvertently omits single words and it was one of the functions of the intermediaries to fill the gaps, it is hardly surprising that they sometimes imagined gaps where none existed, usually as a result of failing to recognise an idio­ matic usage. The intermediaries also omitted words for no apparent good reason, usually either through simple eye-slip or again because of failure to recognise an idiom. Such mistaken additions or deletions account for more than 150 emendations. In the following examples one or more words were inserted un­ necessarily: ‘with something ↑of↓ a gayer tone’ (10.36); ‘stimulated ↑him↓ to ↑a↓ premature violence’ (25.13–14); ‘a cadet of Scot­ land↑ and↓ that ↓I↑ come to seek my fortune’ (34.2–3); ‘how short ↑a↓ while’ (48.18); ‘out of ↑the↓the↓ question’ (69.2); ‘pos­ sessed him ↑with the idea↓ that’ (96.5); ‘the full-blown dignity of ↑the↓ ⟨C⟩)↑c↓hurchman’ (96.24); ‘our scheme of marrying (this) ↑the↓ maiden to a friend of our own ↑house↓’ (144.12–13); ‘to ↑the↓ boot’ (144.36); ‘such ↑a↓ fool’ (192.2); ‘taken ↑a↓ formal leave’ (284.13); ‘Crevecœur . . . has the guard of the exterior defences ↑ of it ↓ ’ (307.6–7). In the following examples one or more words were unnecessarily omitted: ‘a liberal and somewhat ⟨a⟩ violent use made of spade and pick­ axe’ (9.31–32); ‘gray hairs such as yours ⟨Sir⟩ ought to have fitter subjects for jesting’ (48.24-–5); ‘the bell rings but too justly ⟨to⟩ the hour’ (91.32); ‘dared ⟨venture⟩ no reply’ (96.15); ‘just as the ⟨threatend⟩ swoon was passing away’ (140.13); ‘said ⟨the⟩ Maugrabin Hayraddin’ (180.26); ‘odds against me if I am discovered, and if their purpose be unfriendly, as is much to be doubted—⟨I am disarmd—⟩And then the Countess Isabelle loses her poor friend’ (188.37-189.1: a verso addition was overlooked); ‘With a firm ↑ and bold ↓ heart, ⟨and a ⟨⟨light⟩⟩ ↑ bold ↓ heart⟩’ (194.13); ‘to require your Grace, ⟨in the name and⟩ on the part ofthe said... Prince’ (360.43–361.2). 5] Miscellaneous. Among small categories of pre-proof changes re­ quiring emendation are a handful of noteworthy or substantial altera­ tions of Scott’s sense. At 8.33–43 the description of Hautlieu was changed from the past tense to the present (‘run . . . are . . . bear’). Quentin is dignified a little by being made to say ‘the good fathers taught me to read and write ⟨somewhat⟩’ (34.18–19). One of the best-known sentences in the novel is not familiar as Scott wrote it: ‘Whoever had seen Quentin Durward that fatal night, not knowing the meaning of his conduct, had accounted him a raging madman; whoever ⟨could have⟩ ↑had↓ appreciated his motives, had ranked him ⟨little⟩ ↑ nothing ↓

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ESSAY ON THE TEXT

beneath a hero ofromance’ (227.29–32). In a handful of instances faults in the manuscript have led to misinter­ pretation. The end of a line at 16.39 has the imperfect word ‘unimagina’, which leads to the first edition’s ‘uninaugurated cooks’ rather than ‘unimaginative cooks’. The manuscript phrase ‘some attractive’ becomes ‘some attraction’ rather than ‘something attractive’ (30.42). A more extensive problem occurs at 31.35–36, where the manuscript reads: ‘He belongs to thine own troop if old saws speak truth for water will never ⟨drow⟩ [end of line] drown him’. This appears in the first edition as ‘He belongs to thine own troop—ifold saws speak truth, water will not drown him’, but with different punctuation it is possible to retain the manuscript words: ‘He belongs to thine own troop if old saws speak truth, for water will never drown him.’ At 85.42–43 there is a manu­ script reference to a ‘buff belt in which was hund his richly-hilted poniard’. The faulty word is replaced by ‘suspended’ rather than the obviously intended ‘hung’. At 270.40 ‘dra the grain’ suggests ‘draw’ rather than the first edition’s ‘withdraw’. At 286.20-21 the manuscript reads: ‘I think it concerns your Majestys service on this occasion [end of leaf] example to my callants’. The intermediary filled in ‘↑ to set in this an ↓example’, but he ignored ‘on this occasion’. The present text reads ‘service on this occasion to set an example’. A complex case occurs at 338.28–29, where the manuscript reads: ‘you have never seen my daughter an[end of line]—a howlet man—an ⟨abresolute⟩ absolute owl’. This appears in the proofs as ‘you have never seen my daughter Anne—A howlet, man!—an absolute owl’. Scott’s intention was rather (as realised in the present text): ‘you have never seen my daughter, an— a howlet, man!—an absolute owl’.

Emendation of author,s-proof corrections. The corrections made on the author’s proofs by James Ballantyne before they went to Scott may, in general, be taken to have received authorial approval. Unlike the changes made by intermediaries before drawing the author’s proofs, the corrections on the proofs were clearly visible to Scott. Nevertheless, there are 16 cases at least where Ballantyne’s changes seem unnecessary if not deleterious, and since Scott has not specifically endorsed them they have, as the Emendation List indicates, been emended from manu­ script in the present text. The cases in question involve: pedantic grammatical changes at 151.36, 154.19, 155.15, and 364.22 (‘rest⟨s⟩’); alterations in the form or spelling of words at 168.43,232∙3,257∙23, and 362.16; the insertion noted earlier of ‘with’ into the expression ‘dis­ course him’ at 177.8, and other insertions at 351.41 and 359.23; the substitution of‘since’ for ‘hence’ at 190.32, and of‘profess’ for ‘pretend’ at 370.40 (filling a lacuna in the proofs, but resulting in an unintended repetition); an italicisation at 276.43; and an over-emphatic punctu­ ational change at 339.17–18. At 394.5 Ballantyne changed ‘arms’ to

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‘iron’ in ‘mace of arms’, and this was adopted without Scott’s endorse­ ment. A series of almost 100 emendations has been made in cases when Scott’s own proof corrections have not been correctly taken into the first-edition text. Most of these emendations involve small matters of words mistaken, added, or omitted, of spelling, or of punctuation less than entirely faithful to the corrections61 One or two corrections have been misinterpreted. At 45.2–3 Scott deletes ‘more’ in the proof phrase ‘in those days, when many more attendants were maintained’, but an intermediary also deleted ‘many’, which is now restored. It will be re­ called that at 137.22–26 the proof reads: ‘the centinel . . . only re­ marked, that the Princess seemd to bestow much of her attention on the younger and more interesting Countess; and that the Countess Hameline... attracted less of the Princess’s attention’. Scott (after eliminat­ ing a repetition by changing the first ‘attention’ to ‘regard’) deleted the second ‘Countess’ and substituted ‘Lady’. In the event, though, an intermediary made the change to the first ‘Countess’ instead. A second thought was ignored at 222.16, where Scott inserted ‘sound’ in place of ‘roar’ and then wrote ‘Stet’. A very few corrections were overlooked altogether, or conceivably rejected.62 Scott’s proof corrections are in general regarded as binding by the present edition, but there are a few exceptions. On one occasion, where two gatherings of proof overlapped by two pages (because of a series of authorial insertions in the preceding pages), Scott made two sets of corrections. At 47.36 he inserted the word ‘foremost’ in the first set in the phrase ‘always venture ↑ foremost ↓ in the very throng of the battle’. In the second set he inserted ‘first’. His second thought has been preferred here. The present editors agree with the intermediaries in rejecting Scott’s substitution of‘a man’ for ‘one’ in the phrase ‘quarrel­ ling with one’ at 32.17, since ‘man’ is already present in lines 16 and 19 (twice). They also accept the rejection of the tense change from ‘had’ to ‘hath’ at 120.32. They have decided to change Scott’s inserted ‘yonder at the Mulberry grove’ (36.1) to ‘yonder at the Fleur-de-Lys’ to avoid the uncertainty about the name of that hostelry. They have rejected his insertion of hyphens in ‘lanzknechts’ at 393.43, 394.37, and 395.12, since it differs from his earlier preference for the unhyphenated form of the word. At 337.8 Scott added to D’Argenton’s interrupted speech after ‘them’ the words ‘↑they might have done something, but↓,. These words undermine Louis’s rejoinder, and also mean that Ballan­ tyne had to modify D’Argenton’s continuation. The manuscript reading is more satisfactory, and is now restored. Most importantly, the decision has been taken to reinstate five passages marked by Scott for deletion (see Emendation List for 363.12, 363.35, 364.11, 387.10, and 397.5). Scott very rarely deletes material, and it seems likely that he was under pressure from Ballantyne at this point. Unfortunately, the lower parts of

4

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3.262 and 3.264 (EEWN, 363–64) have been cut off: no doubt they contained interesting exchanges. Given the quality and interest of the deleted material, and the absence of any good reason for deleting it, it seems appropriate to make these restorations. It may be that lying be­ hind the deletions is Ballantyne’s warning on the first page of gathering R (3.257: EEWN, 361): ‘We are very near the end. I fear me we shall be abrupt at last.’

Emendations of post-proof changes. As noted above, some 1900 changes were made between the corrected author’s proofs and the first edition, most of them before the surviving late proofs for the third volume. It is clear from Ballantyne’s changes in the late proofs that he was quite prepared to introduce what he saw as stylistic enhancements on his own initiative at this stage. The following examples may be noted: ‘that I have no reason to expect ↑ it ↓ will be ↑in↓ my own case’ (290.29); ‘Louis’s own personal exertions . . . did more to accomplish that ⟨wish⟩ ↑ object ↓ in a few hours, than his agents ↑ had effected ↓ in years of negotiation’ (294.25–28); ‘knowing thou art so ↑ kind, so ↓ gentle↑,↓ and so tender-hearted’ (311.9–10); ‘the pleasures and advantage↓s↑ which (men gain) ↑are gained↓ on such occasions’ (312.20-21); ‘it belongs to thy duty to prevent interruption, and ↑ to ↓ guard the execution of my most just sentence’ (312.37–39). None of these changes is evidently an enhancement, and none is in accordance with the presumed standing orders. The editors have therefore decided to treat the post-proof changes in the same way as those introduced pre­ proof, and to emend those which do not appear to follow orders. As a result, more than a quarter of the 1900 post-proof changes have been emended. Some of these emendations may, of course, inadvertently reverse changes made by Scott himself in revises, but the routine nature of most of the changes suggests that authorial input post-proof was certainly neither extensive nor intensive.63 Roughly half of the 500-0dd emendations of post-proof changes are non-verbal. They consist primarily of the rejection of some 70 new sentence divisions, tending to formalise speech, of miscellaneous punc­ tuation changes (notably a tendency to introduce exclamation marks), and ofover 30 examples of positively unhelpful punctuation. Over 100 of the verbal emendations of post-proof changes involve substitutions of a pedantic, pedestrian, uncomprehending, or just point­ less kind, and these are here reversed. For pedantry one may cite the following: ‘the architect on such occasions entertains little good-will towards him who fires it, although the damage on ⟨their⟩ ↑the offender’s↓ part may be wholly unintentional’ (52.30–32); ‘to them ⟨was⟩ ↑ were ↓ entrusted the direct custody and protection of the royal person’ (59.10–11); and ‘William de la Marck, united with the insur­ gent Liegeois, ⟨have⟩ ↑has↓ taken his Castle of Schonwaldt’

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(299.12–13). For pedestrian and unnecessary clarification: ‘like what had been placed before ⟨him⟩ ↑himself↓’ (49.39); ‘He ⟨had just⟩ ↑speedily↓ made the discovery’ (50.1); and ‘should other means of safety fail ⟨him⟩ ↑them↓' (240.17–18). For incomprehension: ‘in ⟨name⟩ ↑token↓ of mortal defiance’ (101.20); and ‘to discourse ↑with↓ the Lady Isabelle’ (268.18). And for pointlessness: ‘acting, or at least (seeming) ↑appearing↓ to act’ (333.26–27). Over 20 of these substitutions are unnecessary replacements for ‘Quentin Durward’ (‘Quentin’, ‘Durward’, ‘young Durward’ etc.). There are nearly 40 insertions and deletions of individual words, which fall into the same categories, and a dozen mechanical eliminations ofeffective repetition. Nearly 80 changes in preferred spellings and forms were made, of the same sort as pre-proof, and these are returned to Scott’s manuscript forms here. A small number of more substantial post-proof changes have also been emended. For example, at 110.32 the end of Louis’s speech is elaborated: ‘. . . enquiries. ⟨Now⟩↑—But supposing they were with us,↓ what say you ↑,↓ Dunois ↑, to our cousin’s peremp­ tory demand ↓ ?’ This is in fact unnecessary, since Scott had added in proof to Louis’s next speech: '↑supposing her in my dominions↓’. The phrase ‘ ↑ (and he crossed himself) ↓’ is added before ‘my devo­ tion’ post-proof at 147.39, as is ‘↑ Were it needful, full surely would I do what I have said— ↓’ before ‘the Saints’ at 150.19 and ‘↑ with all his art↓ ’ after ‘the philosopher’ at 159.13. At 326.5–8 there is a substantial stylistic change: ‘the Duke scarcely eat or drank, ⟨and⟩ never changed his dress, ⟨nay,⟩ ↑ and, altogether,↓ demeaned himself ⟨so wildly, that his attendants became almost afraid of his brain becoming unsettled⟩ ↑ like one in whom rage might terminate in utter insanity ↓’ (this and the changes that follow in this essay were made before the surviving late proofs). There is an addition to Quentin’s speech at 390.6: ‘“I will creep forward, my lord,” said Quentin⟨.⟩↑, “and endeavour to bring you information↓."'. The same is true of the beginning of Balafré’s speech at 397.14–15: ‘It is all that is left ofa bit of work which my nephew shaped out, and ⟨I⟩ ↑ nearly ↓ finished, ↑ and I put the last hand to ↓’. A number of emendations have been made to reverse the first edi­ tion’s attempt to convert the ‘father’/‘son’ relationship in the mystical arts between Galeotti and Louis to ‘brother’. Scott made the change to ‘brother’ in proof at 154.29 and 155.3, and Ballantyne at 155.24 and 156.28. Whether Scott followed Ballantyne or vice-versa is unclear, but in any case the attempt left several ‘father’s in place and simply dis­ rupted the manuscript’s coherence. Scott’s French is sometimes eccentric, but it has been judged on balance best not to emend it. It is part of the flavour of the first-edition text; it sometimes gives us a guide to what he heard (as with ‘bavaroise’ for ‘bavarois’, or—usually—‘Des Comines’ for ‘De Comines’, for example); and there is great difficulty in determining precisely what

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ESSAY ON THE TEXT

was acceptable rendering of French in English works of his time— where legitimate variation ends and error begins. An exception is the correction of ‘le boisson’ to ‘la boisson’, where Scott has simply intro­ duced a schoolboy howler into a quotation from an identified source (128.3). On the rare occasions when Scott’s variant manuscript spell­ ing is correct it has been adopted: for example ‘Quatorze’ for ‘Quart­ orze’ (17.12), ‘bourgeoisie’ for ‘burgeoisie’ (214.42), and ‘Charolois’ for ‘Charalois’ (216.33). French names have been emended only when a particular form is incorrect, unsupported by any of the sources located, and when the correct form occurs at least once in the manuscript. The only name to be repeatedly emended as a result of this policy is that of Comines, who appears in manuscript as either ‘D’Argenton’ or ‘Des Comines’. The slight anachronism involved in giving him his later title of ‘D’Argenton’ presents no problem, but ‘Des Comines’ is unhistor­ ical. Once, though, at 297.20 Scott refers to him as ‘Philip de Comines’: the first edition follows this, and at 329.42 it corrects the manuscript ‘des’ to ‘de’. The present text adopts ‘de’ and ‘De’ editorially in place of ‘des’ and ‘Des’ on nine occasions. On the other hand, the grave accent usually found in ‘Crèvecœur’ does not appear anywhere in the manu­ script or first edition, and although there is manuscript authority for dispensing with the eccentric accent found in ‘de Cordès’ at 103.33 and 38, there is no similar authority for further correcting to the normal ‘des Cordes’ (d’Esquerdes). It may be mentioned here that with the Scottish name ‘Lesly’ Scott’s clear manuscript preference is for that spelling: he uses ‘Lesley’ only six times. The first edition generally has ‘Lesly’, but sometimes ‘Leslie’, and once ‘Lesley’. Scott’s preferred form is adopted throughout. The new text ofQuentin Durward is markedly more vigorous than any hitherto available, maintaining the energy of Scott’s primary creative impulse in manuscript, while fully recognising the need for that manu­ script to receive the attention of several intermediaries to prepare it for the public. NOTES 1

2 3

4

Letters, 7.281. Scott had been deeply affected by the death ofJohn Ballan­ tyne on 16 June 1821 and, more recently, by that ofWilliam Erskine on 14 August 1822. Scott’s legal colleague James Wedderburn, Solicitor-Gen­ eral for Scotland, died on 7 November 1822. Scott had also been affected by the suicide ofLord Castlereagh on 12 August. Peveril ofthe Peak was published in January 1823. Letters, 7.308. A ‘carte de pais (pays)’ is a map. Letters, 7.167:15 May [1822]. John Sutherland points to the significance for Quentin Durward of Scott’s ‘paternal anxieties and hopes’ for his son: The Life ofWalter Scott (Oxford, 1995), 262. John Prebble, The King’sJaunt (London, 1988), 91–92.

notes

5 6 7 8

9 10

11 12

13

14 15

439

Lockhart, 5.253. Letters, 7.322: Scott to Constable, [23 January 1823]. MS 679, f. 278r. For the full titles of the two works, see the headnote to the Explanatory Notes, 507. For details taken from Duclos see the notes to 25.4–6, 41.3–7,80.17–19, and 321.24–26; and for those from Le Grand see the notes to 127.39–40,128.1–3, and 128.18–19. MS 683,ff. 7r–9r. Letters, 7.283–84. For Scott’s use of Philippe de Comines see Historical Note, 497. Lockhart, 5.253–54. MS 791, p. 694. On 23 December (pp. 699–700) Constables, bearing in mind the expansion ofPeveril ofthe Peak to four volumes, wrote further: ‘We shall consider you the purchasers of the sheets of the next work p £95 —we have made up our minds in consequence of the applications we have had not to give under £25. per Vol for 3 Vols but as 4 Vols are as much against our wish as possible we shall make 4 Vols £95 … We shall let you know the subject of the next work.—’ On 9 January 1823 Scott wrote to Daniel Terry: ‘I think I have something new likely to be actually dramatical. I will send it you presently; but, on your life, show it to no one, for certain reasons. The very name is kept secret, and, strange to tell, it will be printed without one’: Letters, 7.306. Lockhart, 5.245. Greville Worthington says that ‘There are no watermarks as a general rule’ in the first volume ofQuentin Durward: A Bibliography ofthe Waverley Novels (London and New York, 1931), 127. Todd and Bowden find watermarks ‘seldom in volume 1: William B. Todd and Ann Bowden, Sir Walter Scott: A BibliographicalHistory 1796–1832 (New Castle, Delaware, 1998), 582. In copies examined gathering A is usually watermarked 1822. Thereafter the unwatermarked paper is ofdifferent thicknesses and textures from gathering to gathering, with different meshes on the various wove molds. All copies revealed a surprising number of drip marks, some of them extending for a quarter ofa sheet, suggesting that the printers were using up cheap and inferior stocks of paper. For Volumes 2 and 3, Worthington finds that ‘The watermarks are irregular and vary in different copies’ (127–28), while Todd and Bowden simply note ‘irregular’. In Volume 2, between gatherings D and U there is paper watermarked ‘London/ 1817’,‘D&ACowan/ 1819’, and ‘ACowan/ 1822’, which must have been used randomly, given the various permutations observed. A. Cowan was Scott’s close associate, and his Penicuick mills supplied much of the paper found in the Waverley Novels. The ‘A Cowan’ watermark was used to 1824, when the firm changed to A. Cowan & Son. The ‘D & A Cowan’ watermark was from molds in use before Alexander Cowan became sole partner of the firm during 1819: Letters, 5.464n. In Volume 3, unwatermarked paper is the norm, though ‘London /1817’ makesa surprising reappearance in gatherings K and L; otherwise ‘A Cowan ∕ 1822’, or simply ‘ 1822’ are found. Paper watermarked ‘ 1823’, variously noted in gatherings P and R, is ofa very different grain and colour, and is also the paper used for the preliminaries (half-title and title leaves) for all

440

16

17

18 19

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30 31

32

33 34

ESSAY ON THE TEXT

three volumes of the novel. No cancels have been found in any copies of the first edition. Letters, 7.322. It must have been around the same time that Scott asked his friend the legal antiquarian Thomas Thomson ‘Can you airtme to any tolerable topographical account of the central provinces of France?’ (MS 1750, f. 373r). There is no reason to think this request produced any significant result. It is not known precisely at what stage the Introduction was penned, but it must have been before the printers approached the end of the first volume, since there are only 273 pages numbered in arabic, taking account of the 63 pages of the Introduction numbered in roman. Scott’s difficulty in finding information about Plessis-lès-Tours might suggest that by late January he had not received James Skene’s journal which suggested the Introduction in January, since that journal contains an account ofPlessis (see Historical Note, 499). Skene’s own account sug­ gests that Scott had begun the novel proper before receiving the journal. MS 323, f. 366r. If the six sheets are of the main narrative (it is not clear exactly when the Introduction was written and printed) they would extend to EEWN,60. MS 323,f.370V. MS 323, f. 372r–373r. In a note written probably in May 1822, when The Fortunes ofNigel was ‘in the Press’, Cadell notes that three successors have been contracted for: these turned out to be Peυeril ofthe Peak, scheduled for publication late in 1822, Quentin Durward, planned for early in 1823, and ‘a 4th now contracted for & which must be published within a year’, which was Saint Ronan’s Well, Constable has added a later note, confirming that what proved to be Saint Ronan’s Well was contacted for in May 1822 and going on ‘5. & 6. do [ditto] in 1823.1 am not certain but there was another’ (MS 23232, f. 62v). MS 792, p. 47. MS 792, pp. 59,67. Letters, 7.357,362,361. MS 868, f. 7r. MS 792, p. 82. MS 21059, f. 154r Scott to Ballantyne, March 1823. MS 2526, f. 83r. MS 21059,f. 155r. MS 868, ff. 16r–17r. MS 323, ff. 394r–v, 395r–v: Cadell to Constable, 8 and 12 May 1823. The Museum; or Record ofLiterature, Fine Arts, Science, Antiquities, the Drama. & c., No. 54 (3 May 1823), [273]–80. MS 323, f. 399r:Cadell to Constable, 19 May 1823. MS 323, f. 396r:Cadell to Constable, 12 May 1823. No. 55 of The Museum (10 May) began with an announcement that it was discontinuing its review of the novel for the present, but in fact it concluded the review, with briefer extracts, in the following two numbers (17 and 23 May). MS 323, f. 415r: Cadell to Constable, 29 May 1823; MS 326, f. 317r: Hurst, Robinson & Co. to Constables, 28 April 1823. MS 320, f. 109r, 107r. MS 323, f. 399r, 401r. In his reply Constable indicated that there had been

NOTES

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37 38

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complaints from other Dublin booksellers that Milliken had received his copies on the 19th, while they had to wait for theirs: ‘they say & with justice that this should not have been so managed. & had they not published here [London] till the 20th the vexation would have been greatly increased’ (MS 320, f. 111r–v). MS 320, f. 116r: Constable to Cadell, 23 May 1823. MS 323, ff. 403r, 415v; MS 320, f. 126r (7 June), f. 138r (13 June), f. 161r (9 September). MS 3896, f. 168r. MS 23046. The quarto-type leaves of the manuscript measure approxim­ ately 26 by 20 cm and were mostly formed by the folding in two and probably cutting of two sets of folio-type leaves derived from demy sheets. The leaves have been folded length-wise at the left edge to produce a margin 1.5 cm wide. Two batches of paper are involved. The first has as watermark a crowned horn device (compare Heawood 2761) with the date 1817 below, and as countermark ‘Valleyfield’ and the same date. This paper was made by A. Cowan and Son at their Valleyfield works. The second batch has for watermark a similar crowned horn device with a florid ‘AC’ below, and for countermark ‘A. Cowan 1822’. The chain lines are 2.4 cm apart. The manuscript is complete with 244 leaves, numbered consecutively in this essay. As there is no library foliation, in the remainder of this essay the leaves have been given editorial numbers. The relationship between the EEWN foliation and Scott’s numbering will be clear from the following table.

Editorial

Scott’s foliation

Volume 1

21–28 29 30–35 36 37–50 51 52–61 62 63–88

(blank, except for ‘Introduction’ on the recto) [1],2–l8 unnumbered (‘Vol I.’ on the recto, and an insertion on the verso) [1], 2–8 unnumbered: blank recto with insertions on the verso 9–14 *15 (blank recto with insertions on the verso) [15: the binding obscures the number], 16–28 unnumbered: blank recto with insertions on the verso 29–38 unnumbered: blank recto with insertions on the verso 39–64

Volume 2 89–162

[1],2–74

Volume 3 163–66 167 168–219 220 221–44

[1],2–4 4*: blank recto with insertions on the verso 5–56 56*: blank recto with insertions on the verso 57–80

1

2–19 20

442

39

40

41

42

43

ESSAY ON THE TEXT On 19 December 1822 Scott wrote to Ballantyne: ‘I am almost quite out of pens. I send you my exhausted box in testimony’. In September 1823 he was to write to Constable: ‘Pray get me a box ofBramah’s patent pens such as the empty box inclosed. I use them fast now for mending is out of the question with me.’ (Letters, 7.284; 8.88). Other examples include: ‘⟨suited⟩ ↑stood somewhat secluded and re­ ceived↓ ’ (44.13–14); ‘⟨Of these was⟩ ↑With the Lord Crawford who was in attendance dressd in the the rich habit ofhis office & holding a leading staffof silver in his hand Quentin as well as the reader was already acquainted. Among others↓ ’ (94.15–18); ‘ ↑(at least in Quen­ tins estimation)↓ ’ (134.22–23); ‘ ↑who by my faith will not be in that case unwilling to chuse him for their captain and leader↓ ’ (147.6–7); ‘ ↑(indeed they might be accounted such in consequence of the Duke having married to his first wife the Bishops sister)↓ ’ (204.25–26); ‘ ↑or huge tankards made↓ ’ (238.27–28); and ‘to ⟨give vent to their senti­ ments⟩ repose confidence in each other’ (309.14: in this case Scott con­ tinues his sentence immediately after making the deletion). Other examples include: ‘LaJeunesse considerd the arrival of a guest at the Chateau as an unusual event which was to be met with a ⟨fitting⟩ corresponding display of magnificence and parade on his part’ (16.13–15); ‘so splendid a⟨n array⟩ ↑cortege↓ ’ (17.11); ‘⟨high⟩ ↑strong↓ and steep’ (39.5); and ‘an intelligence on the ⟨mouth⟩ lips and in the eye’ (50.7–8). The paragraph at 134.15–18 originally ended: ‘the upper end of the apartment ⟨and advancing to meet her saluted her ⟪be⟫ as strangers and indeed though with perfect politeness yet in a manner which indicated they were ignorant of her rank⟩’. After erasing the words indicated, Scott wrote three paragraphs descriptive of the Croyes before taking up the erased concept at 135.23. The most extensive and significant additions include the following: 7.11–25 (‘ ↑The truth… hospitality.↓’: the Marquis’s national feel­ ing); 26.29–41 (‘ ↑Ere he succeeded…1461↓ ’: Louis’s youth); 30.6–16 (‘ ↑ His dress… deers-skin.↓ ’: Quentin’s outfit); 89.39–90.14 (‘ ↑“And hath… between them—”↓ ’: politics of the Croyes); 93.19–28 (‘↑Here were also… the guards↓ NL ⟨They⟩’: Louis’s passion for the chase); 96.1–10 (‘ ↑Tall and ungainly…obser­ vation.↓ ’: Balue’s legs); 138.31–34 (‘⟨that his stile⟩ ↑and flowd… seemd↓was almost impassiond’: Orleans and wine); 148.29–149.7 (‘ ↑The King… the hypocrisy of others↓ ’: Louis and Oliver); 193.42–194.13 (‘ ↓NL. This point settled… capable ofevery thing. ↓ ’: Quentin’s plans); 203.24–37 (‘ ↑Just as they approachd… they had just witnessd. ↓’: the episcopal procession); 213.6–19 (‘ ↑In spite… adven­ ture.↓ ’: Quentin’s procession); 215.12–36 (‘ ↑Quentin found… and found↓ ’: Hayraddin and the Croyes); 228.40–229.9 (‘ ↑ere he reachd the garden… On reaching ↓’: siege business); 254.37–255.10 (‘ ↑ “And why not… uninfringed ↓ ’: Croye business, further ex­ panded by the proofinsertion of‘My kinsman was then imprisond & my houses garrisond.’); 287.43–288.19 (‘ ↑He then demanded… Ambi­ tion. ↓ ’: Louis’s questioning of Chariot); 372.4–11 (‘↑ “It was a fearful

notes

44

45

46

47

443

risque”… could tell— ↓’: Marthon and Galeotti); 373.8–12 (‘ ↑ Stay— I would not… one word more ↓ Hameline’s letter); 385.8–22 (‘ ↑ The prisoners… in great disorder. NL. (While ↑↑D’Humbercourt↓↓ ⟪he⟫ was engaged in ⟪putting⟫ securing the suburb⟩ In fact ↓ ⟨Meantime⟩ the main-body’: battle business); 388.12–19 (‘ ↑ Let Craw­ ford place Quentin… good night— ↓’: disposition ofQuentin and Gale­ otti); and 390.38–43 (‘ ↑ He commanded… quarters. NL. ↓’: battle business). The present title and motto ofVolume 1, Chapter 8 were originally inten­ ded for Chapter 7, and the present motto ofVolume 2, Chapter 4 for Chapter 3. In the latter case, Scott did not delete the motto at Chapter 3 but at the beginning of Chapter 4 he wrote: ‘Here repeat the mottoe of Chapt3d. which will be supplied by another’. Both chapters have the title ‘The Journey’, which applies only to Chapter 4. Volume 2, Chapter 5 is entitled ‘The Guide’ and has an original motto alluding to Hayraddin, but the Moor appears only at the very end of the chapter, and Scott originally intended to entitle Chapter 6 ‘The Guide’ and ordered the motto transferred. How­ ever, he then decided to leave things as they were for Chapter 5; in manu­ script the title of Chapter 6 reads ‘The ⟨guide⟩ Vagrant’, and a new motto is supplied from The Conquest ofGrenada. The motto of Volume 2, Chapter 11 from 2 Henry VI was ordered to be transferred to Chapter 12, and post­ manuscript the Henry V motto was provided for the earlier chapter. The manuscript as it went to the copyist had no mottoes for: Volume 1, Chap­ ters 6 and 10; Volume 2, Chapters 3 (the motto ordered cancelled) and 13; Volume 3, Chapters 1,3,7,11, and 12. It had no chapter titles for: Volume 1, Chapters 1 and 2; Volume 2, Chapters 8 to 12; Volume 3, Chapters 1,3, 7,10,12, and 13. In proof, Volume 3, Chapter 7 was given the same motto (‘Uncertainty’) as that in the manuscript for Chapter 5, and in manuscript the last two chapters were both entitled ‘The Sally’. Gordon’s role is clear from his copying a number of Scott’s shorter verso insertions on to the facing recto, presumably before he gave the previous batch ofmanuscript back to Ballantyne: see, for example, ff. 73,103,185, and 223. The gatherings are L (for which only one of the two press figures is present), P, R, and Z. They are on good-quality paper, unlike the other proofs. Evidence of late proofs can be found in four editions published in America in 1823. So fierce was the competition to publish Scott novels that, as noted above, Carey & Lea ofPhiladelphia had an arrangement whereby they received advance sheets ofa novel. Besides Carey’s, the other three editions were by Robert Wright also in Philadelphia, E. Duyckinck in New York, and Samuel H. Parker in Boston. The textual evidence suggests that the Carey edition was copied by the other three publishers independ­ ently. In the case ofQuentin Durward this affects not only the final gather­ ings of the whole novel, but some earlier gatherings as well. The portion of the American editions corresponding to the final two gatherings of the novel (Y and Z of Volume 3) derives from uncorrected author’s proofs. The portion corresponding to gatherings S, T, U, and X derives from uncor­ rected late proofs, in which the changes made in author’s proofs have been

444

48

49

50

51 52 53 54 55

ESSAY ON THE TEXT

incorporated, but leaving some 30 emendations to be made in each gather­ ing before the final first-edition text. (Unfortunately, these gatherings in the surviving late proofs are all final stage, making a direct comparison between third and fourth stages impossible.) The portion ofthe American editions corresponding to the final gathering (X) of the Volume 2 in the first edition was set from uncorrected author’s proofs, and that correspond­ ing to gatherings A, T, and X from uncorrected late proofs. Among the important changes awaiting execution at late-proof stage are the provision of the motto fromJulius Caesar for Volume 2, Chapter 13 and the sorting­ out of the chapter tide for Volume 3, Chapter 12. In author’s proofs Scott had added a chapter tide, ‘A prize for honour’, and a one-line motto from an imaginary work The Count Palatine. This had been misinterpreted, so that ‘A prize for honour’ becomes the first line ofa two-line motto, leading to the provision of a different title, ‘The council’ (which also appears in the running heads). Presumably this was corrected in the late proofs. Although the copy of the Carey & Lea edition examined includes the concluding paragraphs of the novel, this conclusion was not available to them at the time of first publication: William B. Todd and Ann Bowden, Sir Walter Scott: A Bibliographical History 1796–1832 (New Castle, Dela­ ware, 1988), 585. It appears in the copy examined in the Bodleian Library (Vet K6 e 80) as a separate pasted leaf on a rougher paper than that of the preceding pages. It is also found in the copies of the Wright (Princeton University) and Parker (National Library of Scodand) editions examined. It does not appear in the copy of the Duyckinck owned by J. H. Alexander. Ballantyne sent Scott revises of gatherings Band C (1.17–48: EEWN, 28.35–40.42), partly to check that the authorial poof additions to the description of the situation ofPlessis at the beginning of Chapter 2 had been correctly taken in (Scott took the opportunity to refine this further), but also because he suspected that Scott had confused the older and younger Frenchmen in gathering B—there is a confusing misreading of the manuscript at one point—and because of Scott’s anticipation ofmatters by carelessly identifying Louis in gathering C. Other examples include: ‘the ⟨elegant⟩ ↑ sturdy ↓ proportion ofhis limbs’ (96.9);‘The ⟨insolent⟩ ↑ arrogating ↓ manner’(209.6–7); and‘TroisEschelles, with an air of spiritual ⟨affection⟩ ↑ unction ↓’ (323.13–14). Other examples include: ‘a total want ofthose external qualities which women are most desirous ofpossessing ↑ or being thought to possess ↓ ’ (99.7–8); ‘upon the ⟨seventh⟩ ↑ tenth or twelfth ↓ day of their journey’ (183.24); ‘feelings which he was ⟨most⟩ unwilling to aggravate’ (267.5–6); ‘Comines, more delicate in his sentiments than most courtiers of that ⟨or of succeeding⟩ time⟨s⟩’ (330.9–10); and ‘Some such passage there was of ⟨throwing⟩ ↑ drawing off ↓ boots and the like’ (334.41). Letters, 7.378–79. MS 323, f. 466v. MS 23619, f. 194r–v. MS 792, p. 194. MS 23620, f. 18r. The last three volumes of the 18mo Historical Romances had been given to J. Moyes ofLondon to print, rather than to Ballantyne. Presumably Cadell meant that new stereotype plates of the 7-volume 8vo

NOTES

445

and 9–volume 12mo sets were to be made to cope with possible future demand. 56 MS 792, pp. 322,340. 57 MS 21020, f. 18v. 58 Letters, 11.339–40. 59 MS 794, f. 366r. 60MS 21020, ff. 53v–55r; MS 21021, ff. 3v–9v. 61 See for examples the entries in the Emendation List for 27.1,36.2,36.3, 37.27,37.33,49.23, 108.27,110.42, and 215.19. 62 See the Emendation List for 10.30,53.14,161.2,194.23,231.31,265.42, and 266.2. 63 Apart from the surviving revises for gatherings in Volume 1, there is specific evidence for only one other revise. In a letter to Ballantyne endorsed by the recipient ‘ 1823, March’ and ‘While printing Q. Durward’, Scott writes: ‘I send Copy galore—by some mistake instead of 〈sheet 〉 the duplic­ ate of sheet Q. I fetched the inclosed ofHogg & naturally looking at it I found my self introduced with singular vulgarity & bad taste. However it is needless to say any thing about it—As Spenser says / Let Grill be Grill, & have his hoggish mind / Or in an adage more appropriate for the occasion “The more you stir the more it will stink” / I shall be desirous to have my own sheet & so soon as that can be gotten a copy of the first Vol. as printed’ (MS 5317, f. 61r). The revise referred to must have been gathering Q of Volume 2 (224.26–230.43), which contains an unusual amount ofauthor­ ial correction, including the insertion of the motto to Volume 2, Chapter 11 from Henry V. Hogg’s work is The Three Perils ofWoman, near the beginning of which there is a spirited vignette of‘Wattie Scott’ (ed. David Groves, Antony Hasler, and Douglas S. Mack (Edinburgh, 1995), 11–12). Given that Scott is likely to have made further changes in any proof that passed in front of him, a number of stylistic changes made post­ proofin this gathering have been allowed to stand in the present edition.

EMENDATION LIST

The base-text for this edition ofQuentin Durward is a specific copy of the first edition, owned by the Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels. All emendations to this base-text, whether verbal, orthographic, or punctuational, are listed below, with the exception of certain general categories of emendation described in the next paragraph, and of those errors which result from accidents of printing such as a letter dropping out, provided always that evidence for the ‘correct’ reading has been found in at least one other copy of the first edition. Inverted commas are sometimes found in the first edition for dis­ played verse quotations, sometimes not; the present text has standard­ ised the inconsistent practices of the base-text by eliminating such inverted commas, except when they occur at the beginnings or ends of speeches. The typographic presentation ofmottoes, volume and chapter headings, and the opening words of volumes and chapters, has been standardised. James Ballantyne and Co. had only one italic ligature for both ‘æ’ and‘æ ’; the two are differentiated in this edition. Ambigu­ ous end-of-line hyphens in the base-text have been interpreted in accordance with the following authorities (in descending order of priority): predominant first-edition usage; 8vo; 12mo; 18mo; Magnum; manuscript. Each entry in the list below is keyed to the text by page and line number; the reference is followed by the new, EEWN reading, then in brackets the reason for the emendation, and after the slash the base-text reading that has been replaced. The great majority of emendations are derived from the manuscript, or from the proofs corrected by Scott. Most merely involve the replace­ ment of one reading by another, and these are listed with the simple explanation ‘(MS)’, ‘(proofs)’, ‘(proof correction)’or ‘(late proofs). The spelling and punctuation of some emendations from the manuscript have been normalised in accordance with the prevailing conventions of the base-text. And although as far as possible emendations have been fitted into the existing base-text punctuation, at times it has been neces­ sary to provide emendations with a base-text style of punctuation. Where the manuscript reading adopted by the EEWN has required editorial intervention to normalise spelling or punctuation, the exact manuscript reading is given in the form: ‘(MS actual reading)’. Where the new reading has required significant editorial interpretation of the manuscript, not anticipated by the first edition, the explanation is given in the form ‘(MS derived: actual reading)’. Occasionally, some explana­ tion of the editorial thinking behind an emendation is required, and this is provided in a brief note. In transcriptions from Scott’s manuscript: deletions are enclosed 〈thus〉 and insertions ↑ thus ↓. In spite of the care taken by the intermediaries, some local confusions 446

EMENDATION LIST

447

in the manuscript persisted into the first edition. When straightening these, the editors have studied the manuscript context so as to determine Scott’s original intention, and where the original intention is discernible it is of course restored. But from time to time such confusions cannot be rectified in this way. In these circumstances, the reading from the earli­ est edition to offer a satisfactory solution is adopted as the neatest means of rectifying a fault. Readings from the later editions are indicated by ‘(8vo)’, ‘(12mo)’, ‘(18mo)’, or ‘(Magnum)’. Emendations which have not been anticipated by a contemporaneous edition are indicated by ‘(Editorial)’. 3.2 3.25 3.25 3.35 4.11 4.18 4.31 4.36 5.10

5.14

5.16

5.30 5.33 5.37 5.39 5.43 6.16 6.17 6.20 6.41 7.10 7.12 7.41 8.9 8.15 8.33 8.40 8.42 9.10 9.19

9.21 9.31 9.38

9.42

One (MS 〈o 〉 ↑O ↓ ne) / one effects—the (MS) / effects. The head (MS) / heads valetudinaries (MS) / valetudinarians sixpence. But (MS) / sixpence; but One (MS) / one earned (MS earnd) / gained those (MS) / those, chasm (MS) / vacancy MS ‘chasm’ was misread as ‘charm’, which Scott corrected to ‘vacancy’ in proof. profaned (MS) / honoured MS ‘profaned’ was misread as ‘profound’, which Scott corrected to ‘honourd’ in proof. wines indeed are (proof correction: wines ↑ indeed ↓ are) / wines, indeed, are Aunt(MS) / aunt Bonaparte (MS) / Buonaparte kind. Besides (MS) / kind;—besides Aunt (MS) / aunt Aunt (MS) / aunt favour (MS) / favours is (MS) / are Aunt (MS) / aunt schakos (MS) / schaker further (MS) / farther amongst (MS) / among could never (MS) / never could religion (MS) / religion, answer most (MS) / answer the most ran (MS) / run were (MS) / are bore (MS) / bear ornament (MS) / ornaments paintings,—with tapestry,—or (proof correction) / paintings—with tapestry—or(MS asEd1) Scott did not delete the commas when inserting dashes in proof. that of old (MS) / that, of old, somewhat a violent use made (MS) / somewhat violent use is made cabriole (MS) / cabriolet The post-proof change was strictly a correction, but ‘cabriole’ was widely used in Scott’s time. Improver (MS) / improver

448 9.42 9.43 10.30 10.36 11.36

12.12 12.37 12.41 13.1 13.6 13.23 14.19 14.20 14.23 14.36 14.42 16.31 16.39 16.43 17.3 17.12 17.13 17.29 17.32 18.2 18.3 18.5

18.21

18.23 18.29 18.32 18.39 18.40 19.31 19.31 19.31 20.21 20.38 21.7 21.8 23.10

24.5 24.13 25.13 25.14 26.7

EMENDATION LIST sequestred (MS) / sequestrated iron-gates (MS) / iron gates “Madelon was (proof correction: “Madelon, 〈 ” he said,“〉 was) / “Madelon,” he continued, “was something a (MS) / something of a may be, without injury, compared (MS may be without injury com­ pared) / may, without injury, be compared further (MS) / farther truth—these (MS) / truth, these yourself—and (MS your [end of line] self—and) / yourself, and dictated—and (MS) / dictated; and Salvation (MS) / salvation Loire—Here (MS Loire [end ofline] Here) / Loire—here Angloise?—why (MS derived: angloise— ↑ why... ↓) / Angloise? Why frac (MSderived: frac) / froc attendance (MS derived: attentands) / attendants country. Throw in (MS) / country;—throw into halbards (MS) / halberts petitplât (MS derived: petit plât) / petit plat unimaginative (MS derived: unimagina [end of line]) / uninaugurated huntsmen (MS) / huntsman bring to (MS) / bringit to Quatorze (MS) / Quartorze Fontainebleau (MS) / Fontainbleau Yet (MS) / yet enjoyments (MS) / enjoyment possession (MS) / possessions “The (proof) / The (MS as Ed1) “temple and tower,” had (MS derived: “temple and tower had) / temple and tower, had are learned or well-informed men (MS are learnd or well-informd men) / are well-informed or otherwise See Essay on the Text, 426–27. remnants (MS) / remnant condition—so (MS) / condition, so Bibliomane (MS) / Bibliomaniac scaling-ladders—you (MS) / scaling-ladders. You desperation. (MS) / desperation? conducted (MS) / led me (MS) / me, derobé (MS) / derobé, apartment not (MS) / apartment, not charitable, moderate (MS derived: charitable 〈and〉 moderate) / charit­ able and moderate Hautlieu (MS) / Hautlieu, was (proof correction: 〈were〉 ↑was ↓) / were, which (MS) / that Scott changed ‘which’ to ‘that’ in proof, but then countermanded the instruction with a ‘stet’. Either ‘which’ or ‘that’ has to be repeated. sprung (proofs) / springing (MS spring) towns (MS) / towers stimulated to premature (MS stimulated to 〈a〉 premature) / stimulated him to a premature sprang (MS) / sprung Religion (MS) / religion

EMENDATION LIST 26.9 27.1

27.39 27.42 27.43 28.38 29.4 29.10 29.18 30.6

30.42 30.43 31.14 31.19 31.19 31.20 31.23 31.26 31.29 31.35 31.35

32.1 32.2 32.7 32.7 32.10 32.14 32.17 32.30 33.33 33.40 34.2 34.7 34.12 34.14 34.17 34.19 34.31 34.34 34.40 35.13 35.24 35.27 35.29 35.36 35.39 35.41 35.42 36.1

449

soothe (MS) / sooth Charolois (proof correction: Charl〈eroi〉 ↑ olois ↓) / Charalois (MS Charleroi) promise (MS) / prospect passions (MS) / passion consideration (MS) / considerations age (MS) / age, the feuds (MS) / their feuds princes. But (MS) / princes; but Ancient Pistol (MS) / Ancient Pistol head-gear. His (proofs) / head-gear, His (MS head-gear↑ His...↓) The full-stop is in the proofs, but it has fallen out in some copies of Ed1 and the resulting space has been wrongly filled with a comma in others. something attractive (MS derived: some attractive) / some attraction which derived (MS) / which it derived Bohemian—if (proof correction) / Bohemian! If Hark sir (proofcorrection: Hark〈y〉 〈, 〉 sir) / Hark, sir hollos (MS) / halloos elder person—“let (MS elder person “let) / other—“let appealed (MS appeald) / applied hollowed (MS hollowd) / hallooed late—he (MS) / late. He troop if (MS) / troop—if truth, for water will never (MS truth for water will never) / truth, water will not if(MS) / If my (MS) / his was to (MS was 〈fit〉 to) / was fit to cumber (MS) / catch by(MS) / in speech. But (MS) / speech; but one (MS) / a man you being (MS) / your being which (MS) / that profession a (MS) / profession, a Scotland, that come (MS derived: Scotland that come) / Scotland; and that I come you?—I (MS you—I) / you? I accordingly—but (MS) / accordingly; but knowst (MS) / knowest brae-man... bow-man (MS) / braeman... bowman write somewhat, and (MS write somewhat and) / write, and burned (MS burnd) / burnt Burgundy—I (MS) / Burgundy. I another, for (MS derived: another for) / another; for promise (MS) / presume sake. And (MS derived: sake And) / sake; and alacrity. And (MS alacrity “And) / alacrity.—And violence—I (MS) / violence. I side. But (MS) / side; but lad (MS) / young man Scot—plenty (MS) / Scot! Plenty thee—well—Gossip (MS) / thee.—Well, gossip Fleur-de-Lys (Editorial) / Mulberry-grove See Essay on the Text, 435.

450 36.2 36.3 36.27 37.25 37.27 37.33 39.27

40.16 40.21 40.39 40.41 41.26 41.30 41.34 42.21 42.21 42.23 42.24

42.27 42.28 42.33 42.42 43.19 43.22 43.27 43.29 43.40 44.3 44.27 44.31 45.3

45.16 45.17 45.28 46.29 46.32 46.37 46.40 47.20 47.25 47.36 48.3 48.5 48.7

EMENDATION LIST cheese.—And (proof correction: cheese. ↑ —And ↓) / cheese. And ear”— (proof correction) / ear—” Oh (MS) / Ah patron-saint while on earth—the (MS patron-Saint—the) / patron­ saint while on earth. The hangings, (proof correction) / hangings because in use said before (proofcorrection: because ↑ in use ↓ said) / because in use before surmounted (MS 〈surrounded〉 surmounted) / commanded MS ‘surmounted’ was misread as ‘surrounded’, which Scott corrected to ‘commanded’ in proof. was (MS) / were he (ISet) / they (MS as Ed1) Quentin Durward (MS) / young Durward dwelling. But (MS) / dwellings; but attempt (proof correction) / attempt Quentin Durward (MS Quentin 〈Dur〉 Durward) / young Durward Life-guard (MS life-guard) / Life-guards “I(8vo) / I(MS asEd1) by (MS) / By Lesly—Lesly (MS) / Lesly. Lesly honest and a noble (MS derived: honest an and noble) / honest and noble Lesly (MS) / Leslie Leslys (Editorial) / Leslies (MS Lesleys) A(MS) / A years’ (8vo) / years (MS as Ed1) eyes!—why (MS eyes—why) / eyes! Why ten—ay (proof correction: ten—aye) / ten, ay France—these (MS) / France. These further (MS) / farther village, where (MS derived: village where) / village; where that live (proof correction) / that can live so—and (MS) / so, and the poor lad (MS) / the youth when many attendants (proof correction: when many 〈more〉 attend­ ants) / when attendants The MS reads ‘when many more attendants’. In proof Scott deleted ‘more’ but left ‘many’. entered, answered (MS derived: enterd answerd) / entered,—an­ swered reverence, but (MS derived: reverence but) / reverence,—but What masticators! What (MS What Masti〈g〉 ↑ c ↓ ators! What) / what masticators! what emulation, (MS) / emulation deemed (MS deemd) / found confiture (MS) / comfiture my breakfast (MS) / the breakfast I promised you e’er (MS derived: ere) / ever rides from (MS) / rides about from first (proof correction) / foremost See Essay on the Text, 435. Marek (MS) / Mark Wild (Editorial) / wild (MS as Ed1) lance-knechts (MS) / lance-knights

EMENDATION LIST 48.12 48.13 48.17 48.18 48.23 48.24 48.25 48.26 48.26 48.29 48.30 48.31 48.34 48.38 49.15 49.23 49.25

49.34 49.36 49.38 49.39 50.1 50.3 50.4

50.18 50.23 50.37 51.1 51.9 51.11 51.21 52.4 52.8 52.11 52.26 52.29 52.31 52.32 52.33 52.41 53.14 53.16 53.18 53.28 54.3 54.11 54.22

54.43 55.1

451

as (MS) / a him!—men (MS him—men) / him! Men Scotsman (MS) / Scotchman short while (MS) / short a while Quentin Durward (MS) / the Scotchman yours, sir, ought (MS derived: yours Sir ought) / yours ought jesting—if (MS) / jesting. If enough, for (MS derived: enough for) / enough; for than lived (MS) / than have lived character (MS) / characters were (MS) / had yourself, for (MS derived: yourself for) / yourself; for right, but (MS derived: right but) / right; but Mahound’s (MS Mahounds) / Mahomet’s up on (MS) / upon herbourage (proof correction) / harbourage (MS herberage) The proof change was made by James Ballantyne. Cher, or one of its tributaries. ” (MS Cher. ”) / Cher, or one of its tributaries. of the same city (MS) / ofthat city in (MS) / of were (MS) / was him (MS) / himself had just (MS) / speedily simple (MS) / single leaves, but which were combed down with the greatest care, formed (proof correction derived: leaves, but ↑ which ↓ combed down with the greatest care, formed) / leaves, formed Pasques-dieu! is (MS Paques-dieu! is) / Pasques-dieu!—Is routier—and (MS) / routier, and be—what (MS) / be, what Quentin Durward (MS) / Durward bravadoe (proofcorrection: bravad〈e〉 ↑ oe ↓) / bravado Quentin Durward (MS) / Durward princes, whose (MS derived: princes whose) / princes,—whose mayst (MS) / mayest since”——(MS) / since——” begone (MS) / Begone auberge—she (MS auberge [end of line] she) / auberge?—she chance shot (MS) / chance-shot their (MS) / the offender’s Quentin Durward (MS) / Quentin this provoking old (MS) / this old thought, again (8vo) / thought again (MS as Ed1) some dried (proof correction: some 〈of the〉 dried) / some ofthe dried noble? (MS) / noble. before—but (proof correction: ↑... before— ↓ but) / before. But would to that (MS) / would that to excuse (MS) / to have excused Scotsman (MS) / Scotchman these powers (proofs: these ↑ powers ↓) / those powers The MS is ambiguous, but the change to the proof‘these’ was made after Scott’s involvement. Who (MS) / who fashion, and (MS derived: fashion and) / fashion? And

452 55.5 55.27 55.28 55.42 56.9 56.23 56.24

57.4 57.11 58.3 58.12 59.4 59.10 59.14 59.36 60.6 60.1o 60.11 60.22 60.25

61.2 61.7 61.16 61.20 61.20 61.21 61.24 61.37 61.38 61.39 61.40 61.41 61.43 62.4 62.8 62.29 62.33 62.40 63.10 63.15 63.21 63.22 63.22 63.23 63.30 63.34 63.35 63.35 63.38 63.39 63.43 64.28

EMENDATION LIST himself—and (MS) / himself; and Quentin Durward (MS) / The young Scotchman resentment, asked (MS derived: resentment askd) / resentment, he asked age. “Carry (8vo) / age; “Carry (MS age “Carry) he said (MS) / said he but clean (MS) / but which, being clean order; the room seemed (proof correction: order; 〈and〉 the room seemed) / order, seemed perhaps a too (MS) / perhaps too veil, as (proof correction) / veil,—as Beauty (proof correction) / beauty figure being (MS) / figure of the songstress being reputation [new line] Even (MS) / reputation even was (MS) / were around (MS) / round squire, or (MS squire or) / squire, a coutelier (MS) / coutelier description (MS) / capacity Lesly (MS) / Leslie sun-burned (MS sunburnd) / sun-burnt brooch. These brooches had (Magnum) / brooch. These had (MS brooch 〈in con〉 ↑ these ↓ had) Balafre. Yet (MS) / Balafré; yet fair(MS) / dear guinguettes (MS guinguettes) / ginguettes “that (Editorial) / that(MS asEd1) drunk (MS) / drank morning.” (MS morning—”) / morning. But come (MS) / But, come wife—he (MS life—he) / wife. He too, and (MS derived: too and) / too; and Now I (MS) / Now, I comforts, and (MS derived: comforts and) / comforts; and thinking of (MS) / thinking on fair (MS) / dear castle—and (MS) / castle; and was—but (MS) / was; but tell (MS) / Tell hark ye—as (MS hearkye—as) / hark ye, as these (MS) / the this, my (MS derived: this 〈fur〉 [end of line] row my) / this now, my life—but (MS) / life; but there (MS) / that me—no (MS) / me. No upward (MS) / upwards monk. And (MS) / monk—And me.—On (MS me—On) / me.—O so comprehend—cunning (MS) / comprehend. Cunning cunning—they (MS) / cunning!—They though, for (MS derived: though for) / though; for Companions—he (MS) / Companions. He there (MS) / There degree as a (MS) / degree a hard—now (MS) / hard. Now

EMENDATION LIST 64.35 64.41 65.6 65.6 65.11 65.12 65.14 65.20 65.25 66.3 66.12 66.15 66.19 66.20 66.27 66.31 66.41

66.41 66.42 66.43 67.15 67.17 67.18 67.22 67.28 67.30 67.30 67.31 67.32 67.34 67.36 67.43 68.18 68.34 69.2 69.11 69.13 69.14 69.35 70.31 71.8 71.32 71.38 71.39 71.40 71.41

71.41 72.6 72.17

453

they hang (MS) / They hang “I thought,” said Quentin Durward, evading (MS “I thought” said Quentin Durward evading) / “I understood,” said Quentin, evading simple. I (MS) / simple: I him either sitting (MS) / him sitting thy (MS) / thine all—it (MS) / all. It who (MS) / that you, fair (MS you fair) / you, my fair further (MS) / farther career (MS carreer) / course risk run. This (MS risque run—this) / risk. Sure, this upon (MS) / up in spirit—a right (MS) / spirit! a him—much (MS) / him; much Desperate (MS) / desperate danger (MS) / dangers read—but (proof correction: ↑…read— ↓ but) / read. But (MS clois­ ter but) brother—I (MS) / brother; I Lesly—think (MS derived: Lesley think) / Lesly. Think unworthy?—the (MS unworthy—the) / unworthy? The ever (MS) / over his kingdom (MS his Kingdom) / the kingdom Tristan (MS) / Tristan, Ludovic Balafré (MS Norman Balafré) / Ludovic le Balafré confidents (MS) / confidants thirst, they say, because (MS thirst they say because) / thirst, because Great Butler (MS 〈g〉 ↑ G↓ reat Butler) / great butler cup.—Hark (MS ↑... cup— ↓Hark) / cup.—But hark Castle—farewell (MS castle—farewell) / Castle.—Farewell centinel—take (MS) / centinel. Take yourself—Farewell (MS) / yourself—farewell alone, (proofs) / alone (MS as Ed1) it (proof correction) / a towards each other (MS) / towards others of question (MS) / of the question chivalry, (proofs) / chivalry; (no punctuation in MS) character; moved (proof correction: character〈,〉 ↑; ↓ 〈and〉 moved) / character—moved favour; inexperienced (proofs) / favour—inexperienced (no MS punc.) discharge (MS) / in the discharge Martin’s (MS) / Martin sir (MS Sir) / son he said (MS) / said he And so (MS) / and so ours.—And (8vo) / ours: And (MS ours—And) worse use, walk (MS worse use walk) / worse, walk Marmouthier (8vo) / Marmonthier The MS is ambiguous, but ‘u’ is the normal form. cumber (MS) / trouble though (proof correction) / although reveries (MS) / meditations The proofs sent to Scott had a lacuna, which Scott filled with ‘medita­ tions’, but his MS reading makes good sense.

454 72.33 73.4 73.15 73.31 74.3 74.22 74.23 74.30

75.17 75.39 75.41 75.41 75.42 76.10 76.12 76.12

76.30 76.40 77.20 77.32 78.2 78.7 78.17 78.23

78.38 79.13 79.39 79.40 79.41 80.1 80.2 80.4 80.12 80.14 80.17 80.18 80.19 80.20 80.23 80.32 80.37 80.37

80.39 81.17 81.23 81.24 81.33 81.43 82.2

EMENDATION LIST Quentin (MS) / young further (MS) / farther murthered (MS murtherd) / murdered head (MS) / heads amongst (MS) / among points (MS) / point heathen-thieves (MS) / heathen thieves Quentin Durward, whom Fortune (MS Quentin Durward whom For­ tune) / Quentin, whom fortune Scotsman (MS Scot〈ch〉 ↑s↓ man) / Scotchman enough you (MS) / enough that you officer.—“Trois-Eschelles (8vo) / officer,—“Trois-Eschelles (MS officer “Trois-Eschelles) Petit-André—dispatch (MS) / Petit-André, dispatch seignior (MS Seignior) / signior mercy was (MS) / mercy whatever was makes (MS) / make transit. Trois-Echelles, thou (MS derived: transit. Trois-Eschelles thou) / transit, Trois-Eschelles; thou boars (MS) / bears et(MSet) / and ought (MS) / aught rude (MS) / rude, forwards (MS) / forward Lesly (MS) / Leslie forwards (MS) / forward “stand by, countryman (MS ↑... “stand by ↓ “countrymen) / “coun­ tryman Petit-André (Magnum) / Petit André (MS Petit Andre) criminal; neither (proofs) / criminal. Neither (MS criminal neither) then?—you’ll (MS then—you’ll) / then? You’ll grapes, (12mo) / grapes (MS as Ed1) a-gleaning (Magnum) / a gleaning The MS links the two elements. mistake—you (MS) / mistake. You traveller—in (MS) / traveller. In Seignior (MS) / Signior up upon (MS) / up on Lesly (MS) / Leslie comrades—lend (MS comerades—lend) / comrades, lend it (MS) / It Tyrie—draw (MS) / Tyrie, draw between parties which (MS) / between the parties, who a conflict (MS) / the conflict Seignior (MS) / Signor Yes—yes (MS) / Yes, yes Privileges, privileges!—long (MS derived: Privileges privileges—long) / Privileges—privileges! Long And (MS) / and my (MS) / my “he(MS) / he retinue.” (MS retinue”) / retinue. Archers, (12mo) / Archers (MS as Ed1) withie (MS) / gallows acquiescence (MS acquiscence) / acquiesce

EMENDATION LIST

455

82.27 he(MS) / Ae 83.15 answers (MS) / answer 83.29 taught it by (MS) / taught by 83.30 ’tis (MS tis) / it’s 83.36 people—but (MS) / people; but 84.4 Evil? why (MS) / Evil?—why 84.4 heathens—or (MS) / heathens, or 84.4 Jews—or (MS) / Jews, or 84.8 their women (MS) / these women 84.33 spreagh (MS) / spreagh 85.10 apartments (MS) / apartment 85.13 Charles VII. (Editorial) / Charles VI. (MS Charles Vlth.) 85.18 against their (Magnum) / against the (MS as Ed1) 85.38 Death (MS) / death 8 5.42 hung (MS derived: hund) / suspended The proofs have a lacuna, which Scott filled with ‘suspended’, eewn realises his evident MS intention. 86.1 sate (MS) / sat 86.26 scathe (MS) / skaith 86.26 neither—so (MS) / neither; so 86.29 Lordship”—said (MS) / Lordship—” said 87.3 exercises (MS) / exercise 87.8 whistles (MS) / whistled 87.14 Lesly (MS) / Leslie 87.18 carouse, but (MS derived: carouze but) / carouse; but 87.19 off, and (MS derived: off and) / off; and 87.21 heedfully (MS) / lawfully 87.21 Ludovic (MS) / Ludovick 87.27 Lesly (MS) / Leslie 88.12 plain (MS) / plains 88.14 at the high (MS) / at high 88.17 sate (MS) / sat 88.23 corps, (or as (MS corps or as) / corps, (as 88.24 sate (MS) / sat 88.32 wine-cup (MS wine cup) / wine 89.6 Lord of Crawford (MS Lord of Crawfurd) / Lord Crawford 89.24 and old (MS) / and as old 89.27 you (MS) / ye 89.30 Fleur-de-Lys (Editorial) / Mulberry Grove (MS as Ed1) See Essay on the Text, 435. 89.32 said Guthrie (Magnum) / says Guthrie (MS as Ed1) 89.33 demands (MS) / complains of 90.6 daughter the (MS) / daughter, the 90.8 circumstance (MS) / circumstances 90.20 Thou (MS) / Thou 90.20 your (MS) / thy 90.26 Scots (MS) / Scotch 90.27 claim, fourscore years and all. But (MS claim ↑ fourscore years & all ↓ But) / claim, fourscore years and all, or not very far from it. But 90.33 Shame! Shame! (MS) / Shame! shame! 90.36 assert (MS) / exert 90.41 Fleur-de-Lys yonder, and (Editorial) / Mulberry-grove yonder—he of the Fleur-de-Lys, I mean—and (MS Mulberry-grove yonder and) See Essay on the Text, 435. 91.2 gentlemen, but (MS derived: gentlemen but) / gentlemen; but

456 91.2 91.4 91.12 91.16 91.22 91.24 91.25 91.26 91.26 91.28

91.30 91.32 91.43 92.2 92.6 92.22 92.33 92.34 93.1 93.2 93.19

93.32 94.1 95.4 95.16 96.5 96.15 96.20 96.24 96.25 97.1 97.2 97.6 97.8 97.43 98.16 98.21

98.29 98.34 99.16 99.26 99.27 99.28 99.40 100.2 100.17 100.30 101.16 101.20

EMENDATION LIST couteliers (MS coutiliers) / couteliers it (MS) / It conveyed (MS conveyd) / convoyed honour, and (MS derived: honourand) / honour; and Tower, and (MS derived: tower and) / Tower; and making—there (MS) / making. There stood, though (MS derived: stood though) / stood—though stood—like (MS) / stood, like like”——(Magnum) / like——” (MS as Ed1) short wit unable to (MS derived: short witt unable to) / short discretion not enabling thee to yet—the (MS) / yet?—The justly to the (MS justly to 〈his〉 the) / justly the they(MS) / he attend to his (MS) / attend his inducted (MS) / conducted turn (MS) / hour couch. But (MS) / couch; but Aberbrothock (MS) / Aberbrothick for the immediate (MS) / for immediate Louis, [new paragraph] Quentin (MS) / Louis. Quentin many huntsmen and prickers (MS many huntsmen and 〈bric〉 prickers) / many yeomen-prickers The proofs have ‘many handsome prickers’, leading Scott to substitute ‘yeomen-’. presently (MS) / immediately habits, the reserved manners, the (MS derived: habits the reserved manners the) / habits—the reserved manners—the seemed entirely to (MS seemd entirely to) / seemed to whom the Duke had (proof correction) / whom he had him that (MS) / him with the idea that dared venture no (MS) / dared no all-efficient (MS) / all-sufficient of Churchman (MS) / ofthe churchman whose plain black silk (MS) / whose black-silk inclinations (MS) / inclination in very (MS) / in a very salutations (MS) / solicitations word ofassurance that (MS) / word, to assure him that for (MS) / when us.—Let (proof correction: us. ↑ —Let... ↓) / us. Let Quentin, meantime (MS Quentin meantime) / Quentin, in the mean­ time person (MS) / personage impressions (MS) / impression manners (MS) / manner doubtless—you (MS) / doubtless, you maiden! Wouldst (MS Maiden! Wouldst) / maiden, wouldst We, the First Born (MS We the First Born) / we, the first-born daughter—I (MS) / daughter, I you—Why (MS) / you.—Why we (MS) / We sire”——(MS Sire”——) / sire——” we (MS) / We name (MS) / token

EMENDATION LIST 102.24 102.24 102.27 102.40 103.16 103.17 103.19 103.19 103.24 103.33 103.37

103.38 104.7 105.11 105.16 105.18 105.27 105.29 105.31

105.36 105.42 106.4 106.27 106.27 106.27 106.28 107.20 108.13 108.22

108.25 108.26 108.27 108.32 108.35 108.35 108.39 108.41 108.42 108.43 109.2 109.4 109.6 109.7 109.7 109.8 109.8 109.11

you (MS) / You infrequent (MS) / unfrequent clergy of the diocese,” (MS clergy ofthe diocese”) / clergy,” Charles VI. (Editorial) / Charles V. (MS Charles V ) give all present (MS) / give present manners (MS) / manner Seignior (MS) / Seignor of (MS) / de Seignior (MS seignior) / Seignor de Cordes (Editorial) / de Cordès (MS as Ed1) See Essay on the Text, 438. remember that in this presence Philip (MS) / remember, that in this presence, Philip de Cordes (MS) / de Cordès soldiery (MS) / soldiers of (MS) / De Who can presume (MS) / who can presume was (MS) / was dare (MS) / dares Maugrabin (MS) / Magraubin Provost-guard (MS provost-gaurd) / Provost-Marshal MS ‘provost-guard’ was misread as ‘Provost-general’, corrected by Scott to ‘Provost-Marshal’ in proof. ought (MS) / aught states—for (MS) / estates; for other (MS) / others towards you, your (MS towards you your) / towards your dignity, pronounces (MS derived: dignty [end of line] pronounces) / dignity—pronounces faithless, and (MS derived: faithless and) / faithless; and man—there (MS) / man. There Angers (Editorial) / Auxerre (MS as Ed1) damosel (MS) / demosel danger (MS) / discretion Ed1 has a lacuna, which Scott filled with ‘discretion’. eewn restores the MS reading. mount, and (proofs) / mount; and (MS mount and) posture (MS) / position the question (proof correction) / a question in Count (MS in 〈the〉 Count) / in the Count hours, and (MS derived: hours and) / hours; and receive back his (MS) / receive again his The proofs have ‘receive his’, and Scott inserts ‘again’. ofa (MS) / ina hours—’tis (MS hours—tis) / hours?—’tis shortest—yet (MS) / shortest. Yet Well—To (MS) / Well.—To you—mind (MS) / you; mind suit—or (MS) / suit, or gentlemen, for (MS derived: gentlemen for) / gentlemen; for try dog (MS) / try both dog Dunois—lend (MS) / Dunois, lend spear—take mine—it (MS) / spear,—take mine, it me, but (MS derived: me but) / me; but “And all the chase rode on.” (MS) / And all the chase rode on.

457

458 109.17 109.22 110.13 110.20 110.25 11 o.31 110.32

110.42 111.10 111.40

112.4 112.5 112.5 112.16 112.18 112.30 112.35 112.36 113.7 113.7 113.15 113.16 113.41 113.42 114.4 114.11 115.4 115.6 115.12 115.24 116.4 116.23 116.35 116.37 116.37 116.39 116.40 117.16 117.18 117.22 117.22 117.23 117.23 117.23 117.30 118.10 118.11 118.20 118.20 118.31 118.31 118.38

EMENDATION LIST King Richard (MS) / King Richard mediator (MS) / moderator Dunois—he (MS) / Dunois; he Order (MS 〈o〉 ↑O ↓rder) / order him—and (MS) / him; and extensive for (MS) / extensive, for Now, what say you, Dunois?” (MS Now what say you Dunois—”) / But supposing they were with us, what say you, Dunois, to our cousin’s peremptory demand?” her in (proof correction) / her to be in daring remain (MS) / daring to remain moment, “Since (MS moment “Since) / moment, [new paragraph] “Since Tra (MS) / tra woods, as (MS) / woods as forwards (MS) / forward amusements (MS) / amusement in hisappearance (MS) / in appearance since (MS) / before flew (MS) / flying secured (MS) / securing ridicule (MS) / absurdity Those (MS) / These Old (MS) / old forwards (MS) / forward which churned (MS) / which he churned at(MS) / on This (MS) / The to (MS) / by accident we have related had (MS) / accident, as we have related, had shew that (MS) / shew, that be (MS) / have been asthatofwar (MS) / aswar moment (MS) / Monarch doest(MS) / dost him—he (MS) / him; he good—build (MS) / good. Build one’s (MS ones) / man’s boar, for (MS derived: boar for) / boar; for that (MS) / the lords—we’ll (MS lords—will) / lords; we’ll quarrie (MS) / quarry Scot—thou (MS) / Scot, thou can’st (MS canst) / Can’st some (MS) / Some suppose, for (MS derived: suppose for) / suppose; for I (MS) / I Well—be (MS) / Well, be than (MS) / when befallen at (MS) / befallen him at further (MS) / farther excepting (MS) / excepting, who (MS) / which couched (MS couchd) / couching Seignior (MS) / Seignor

EMENDATION LIST 119.11 horse, for (MS derived: horse for) / horse; for 119.27 it—we (MS) / it. We 119.28 others—and (MS) / others, and 119.29 purpose—What (MS) / purpose.—What 119.32 answer and (MS derived: answer an) / answer or 119.37 Seignior (MS) / Seignor 119.43 Seignior (MS) / Seignor 120.5 suppose you (MS) / suppose, you 120.11 Seignior (MS) / Seignor 120.12 Balafré—such (MS) / Balafré; such 120.14 nephew than an (MS) / nephew, than for an 120.15 Seignior (MS) / Seignor 120.31 papinjays (MS) / popinjays 120.38 at anticipation (MS) / at the anticipation 120.38 early distinction (MS) / speedy distinction 121.1 that, while (proof correction) / that while 121.22 a signal (MS) / the signal 121.42 groin’d vaults (MS) / groined-vaults 122.16 summoned—meantime (MS summond—mean [end of line] time) / summoned. Meantime 122.17 gallery—you (MS) / gallery. You 122.25 against what (MS) / against whom 122.27 Well—it (MS) / Well, it 122.34 solitary (MS) / soldierly 122.40 defeats (MS) / defeat 123.25 the living (MS) / a living 123.30 Music (MS) / music 123.30 Beauty (MS) / beauty 124.16 the negligence (MS) / the displeasure produced by the negligence 124.21 on a natural (MS) / on natural 124.28 hast (MS) / Hast 124.34 another—thou (MS) / another; thou 124.42 Crevecœur—and (MS Crevecueur—and) / Crevecœur, and 125.6 Sire?—and (MS) / Sire! and 125.6 Quentin Durward (MS) / Durward 125.9 our sad history (MS derived: our said history) / our history 125.14 True—most (MS) / True; most 125.15 accordingly—but (MS) / accordingly. But 125.16 here (MS) / Here 125.23 ye—I (MS) / ye; I 125.24 Count—ay (MS Count—aye) / Count; ay 125.25 faithful—when (MS) / faithful. When 125.35 highness—it (MS) / highness.—It 125.39 none—it (MS) / none—It 125.40 nothing—they (MS) / nothing. They 125.40 me—I (MS) / me.—I 125.43 leave—from (MS derived: leave [end of line] from) / leave. From 126.9 soothe (MS) / sooth 126.40 all particulars (proof correction) / all the particulars 128.3 la boisson (Editorial) / le boisson (MS le boisson) See Essay on the Text, 438. 128.7 ourselves (MS) / ourself 128.19 finish (MS) / fill 128.24 Count, with (MS derived: Count [end of line] with) / Count—with 128.27 One we (MS) / one that we

459

460

EMENDATION LIST

128.28 Terror (MS) / terror 128.30 Burgundy—it (MS) / Burgundy. It 128.31 on (MS) / in 131.13 Enforced (Magnum) / enforced (MS enforced) 132.7 abated—go (MS) / abated. Go 132.8 (he crossed (MS (he crossd) / (crossing 132.9 wine—but (MS) / wine; but 132.14 Quentin Durward (MS) / Quentin 132.25 myself, must enter (MS myself must enter) / myself, enters 132.25 evening, but (MS derived: evening but) / evening; but 132.28 brief, and (MS derived: briefand) / brief; and 132.30 say—thine (MS) / say. Thine 132.36 language—right—so (MS language ↑ —right—so... ↓) / language.— Right.—So 132.39 me—farewell (MS) / me.—Farewell 132.43 forwards (MS) / forward 133.17 those ladies to (MS) / those to 133 32 ours)—but (MS) / ours;) but 133.32 chamber (MS) / hall 133.37 walked along (MS walkd along) / traversed 134.11 matters (MS) / matters, 134.41 younger (MS) / young 135.1 Fleur-de-Lys—but (MS Fleur delys—but) / Fleur-de-Lys; but 135.2 this (MS) / This 135.13 turned her head towards (MS turnd her head towards) / turned towards 135.32 condescendence (MS) / condescension 135.35 Louis—Nay (MS) / Louis.—Nay 136.4 deserts—your (MS) / deserts.—Your 136.5 satisfied?” [new paragraph] “Much (8vo) / satisfied.” [new paragraph] “Much (MS satisfied “Much) 136.11 elder (MS) / elderly 136.18 carousels (MS) / carousals 136.25 cruel—he (MS) / cruel; he 136.42 supportable—alas! (MS) / supportable. Alas! 136.43 power, but (MS derived: power but) / power; but 137.24 Countess; and that the Lady (proof correction: Countess; and that the (Countess) ↑ Lady ↓) / lady; and that the Countess 137.32 Quentin Durward (MS) / Quentin 137.40 moment—but (MS) / moment; but 138.11 like (MS) / of 139.2 feelings and (MS) / feelings, and 139.9 person—the (MS) / person, the 139.20 fools as (MS) / fools, as 139.24 France—if (MS) / France. If 140.13 the threatened swoon (MS the threatend swoon) / the swoon 140.23 sent, from (8vo) / sent from (MS as Ed1) 140.34 duty—but (MS duty—“but) / duty; but 141.7 Louis—it (MS) / Louis; it 141.7 away—lend (MS) / away; lend 141.8 stranger (MS) / strange 141.23 has (MS) / hast 141.26 What with (MS) / what with 141.27 any (MS) / any 141.34 further (MS) / farther The proofs have the normal MS form, which was changed after Scott

EMENDATION LIST had approved them. The MS is ambiguous. 141.35 Bailley—there (MS Baill⟨i⟩ ↑e↓ y—there) / Bailley; there 141.36 Dain—send (MS) / Dain. Send 141.37 quarters—as (MS) / quarters.—As 141.37 does(MS) / dost 141.39 to have escaped (MS derived: to escaped) / to escape 142.7 betwixt (MS) / between 142.13 hap to (MS hap [end of line] to) / happiness to 142.17 other ways (MS other [end of line] ways) / otherwise 142.22 shrunk (MS) / shrank 142.23 backwards (MS) / backward 142.25 fair (MS) / fine 142.32 possible—so (MS) / possible;—so 142.34 arming—and (MS) / arming, and 142.37 them—but united—united (MS) / them; but united, united 142.42 reasons—the (MS) / reasons. The 143.5 is—it (MS) / is, it 143.11 further (MS) / farther 143.11 recommended—he (MS) / recommended. He 143.13 relief, but (MS derived: reliefbut) / relief; but 143.14 test, and (MS derived: test and) / test; and 143.16 ashamed—I (MS) / ashamed, I 143.31 it (MS) / he 143.35case—But (MS) / case.—But 143.35 present—the (MS) / present. The 143.36 him—But (MS) / him.—But 144.1 dishonourable—but (MS) / dishonourable; but 144.2 sacrifice”——(MS) / sacrifice—” 144.5 rise not to the (MS rise not to ⟨a hook⟩ the) / use not to gulp the 144.12 this (MS) / the 144.13 own seems (MS) / own house seems 144.15 upon (MS) / on 144.15 feal (MS) / trusty 144.22 trust—he (MS) / trust.—He 144.23 whate’er was (MS whateer was) / whatever were 144.23 condition—but (MS) / condition. But 144.26 and a (MS) / and in a 144.31 who”——–(Magnum) / who——–” (MS as Ed1) 144.32 ha? (MS) / ha! 144.36 to boot?—thee (MS to boot—thee) / to the boot? thee 144.42 sounder (MS) / healthier 145.19 murther (MS) / murder 145.19 father!—no (MS father—no) / father!—No 145.24 No, no, I (MS derived: No no I) / No, no—I 145.28 like (MS) / likely 145.32 besides, that (MS derived: besides that) / besides—that 145.32 upon, and (MS derived: upon and) / upon; and 145.35 character—but (MS) / character; but 145.37 Gueldres—For (MS) / Gueldres.—For 145.37 some one—Why (MS someone—Why) / some one,—why 145.41 Marck—Why (MS) / Marck!—why 145.42 murtherer (MS) / murderer 146.15 knows well he dares (MS) / knows he dare 146.27 England—it (MS) / England—It 146.29 To (MS) / to

461

462 146.39 147.7 147.9 147.13 147.18 147.19 147.24 147.24 147.33 147.39 147.43 148.8

148.25 148.35 148.35 149.2 149.15 149.17 149.34 150.1 150.1 150.11 150.16 150.17 150.19

150.24

150.36 151.19 151.33 151.36 152.10 152.14 152.19 153.2 153.20 153.37 154.7 154.19 154.23 154.29 154.40 154.41 154.41 154.42 154.43 154.43

EMENDATION LIST outlawed, with (MS derived: outlawd ↑ with… ↓) / outlawed; with Let (MS) / let does (MS) / dost bridegroom.” (MS bridegroom”—) / bridegroom of the two.” themselves?—a (MS themselves—a) / themselves?—A or how called they him, in (MS derived: or how calld they him in) / or— how called they him?—in guidance—this (MS) / guidance. This done—We (MS done—⟨but⟩ We) / done—we pleasure—and (MS) / pleasure; and knowst my (MS) / knowest (and he crossed himself) my foreigners (MS) / foreigners, this weakness (MS) / the royal weakness MS ‘this’ was mis-read as ‘the’, prompting Scott to insert ‘royal’. I formerly (MS) / I but lately nostris. Ora (MS nostris [end of line] Ora) / nostris! Ora nobis.” (MS) / nobis!” humility (MS) / humility, constellations (MS) / constellation further (MS) / farther stead—it (MS) / stead. It men. (MS) / men! shall (MS) / shall James Ballantyne italicised this word in proof, but Scott demurred. ofrazors (MS) / ofarazor King, “and (MS derived: King “and) / King—“and wisdom, and (MS derived: wisdom and) / wisdom—and timidity—the (MS timidity ↑—↓ ↑ the… ↓) / timidity. Were it needful, full surely would I do what I have said—the adopted, with a confidence in his power of (MS adopted with a confid­ ence in his power of) / adopted, of purposes (MS) / purpose might perhaps have delivered (MS might perhaps have deliverd) / would not hesitate to deliver Scotsman (MS) / Scotchman which was (MS) / which were with money, and instructed (Editorial) / with instructions (MS with [end of leaf] and instructed) the three sage (MS) / the sage Beauty (MS) / beauty sage (MS) / sage, Turkish (MS) / Turkey opinion (MS) / opinions inhabitant (MS) / individual was represented (MS) / were represented then affected (MS) / then especially affected son (MS) / brother See Essay on the Text, 437. unintercepted (MS) / uninterrupted unbounded—fertilizing (Editorial) / unbounded, fertilizing (MS un­ bounded fertilizing) others—changing (Editorial) / others; changing (MS others changing) life—establishing (MS) / life; establishing religions—erecting (MS) / religions; erecting kingdoms”——–(Magnum) / kingdoms——–” (MS as Ed1)

EMENDATION LIST son (MS) / brother See Essay on the Text, 437. 155.10 further (MS) / farther 155.15 eye (MS) / eyes 155.15 he was (MS) / he were 155.16 feature. Blushing (MS) / feature.—Blushing 155.18 reverend (MS) / reverential 155.18 Quentin Durward (MS) / Quentin 155.24 son (MS) / brother See Essay on the Text, 437. 155.26 upon (MS) / on 156.10 thou as well art (MS) / thou art well 156.23 peccatore. ” (Editorial) / peccatore !” (MS peccatore”) Compare 148.35. 156.28 son (MS) / brother See Essay on the Text, 437. 156.30 commissioner, a (MS derived: commissioner a) / commissioner; a 156.30 of the sanguine complexion—but (MS of the sanguine complection–— but) / of sanguine complexion. But 156.37 that (MS) / That 157.1 journey–—violence (MS) / journey. Violence 157.4 runs (MS) / Runs 157.19 difficulties (MS) / difficulties, 157.28 to a debate (MS) / to debate 158.4 father—here (MS) / father.—Here 158.10 exigences (MS) / exigencies 158.25 cullion!—a (MS cullion–—a) / cullion!—A 158.31 Matthias—where (MS) / Matthias, where 158.31 Turk—Christian (MS) / Turk, Christian 158.32 Infidel—the (MS) / Infidel, the 158.41 lavishness (MS) / lavishness, 158.42 or his interest (proof correction) / or interest 159.5 Ebn (MS) / Eba 159.13 philosopher could (MS) / philosopher, with all his art, could 159.29 was (8vo) / were (MS as Ed1) 159.30 laid (MS) / laced 159.35 guard (MS) / guard, 160.7 Quentin Durward (MS) / Quentin 160.23 amongst (MS) / among 160.27 lit (MS) / led 161.2 travel (proof correction) / ride Scott’s proof substitution was not taken in. 161.19 splendour (MS) / splendour, 161.25 Scotsman (MS) / Scotchman 161.27 Art and Nature (MS) / art and nature 161.31 the little band (MS) / the band 161.33 interrogations (MS) / interrogatories 162.17 safeguard—he (MS safe-guard—he) / safe-[end ofline]guard; he 162.25 agents—it (MS) / agents. It 162.27 Wenceslaus (MS) / Winceslaus 162.28 or Edward (MS) / or of Edward 162.31where (MS) / when 162.31 knowst (MS) / knowest 162.40 were (MS) / was 163.4 Marmouthier (8vo) / Marmonthier

155.3

463

464 163.8 163.12 163.13 163.27 163.33 163.38 163.41 163.43 164.5 164.8 164.14 164.15 164.23 164.24 165.2 165.6 165.13 165.13 165.19 165.23 165.24 165.28 165.29 165.31 165.32 165.32 166.3 166.8 166.10 166.33 166.35 167.2 167.10 168.9 168.16 168.43 169.19 169.28 169.28 169.28 169.29 169.29 169.32 169.37 169.40

170.15 170.25 170.25

170.28 170.30 170.34 170.38

EMENDATION LIST Compare 71.41. sun-burned (MS sun-burnd) / sun-burnt honour—the (MS) / honour; the days, and (MS derived: days and) / days; and ancestor (8vo) / grandmother (MS as Ed1) a-day(MS) / a-day, you, for (MS derived: you for) / you; for arms, though (MS derived: arms though) / arms; though Rhein-wein. The (MS) / Rhein-wein.—The within—Well—’twas (MS within—Well—twas) / within.—Well, ’twas Montigni who (MS) / Montigni, who forwards (MS) / forward the route (MS) / their route Seignior (MS) / Seignor Seignior (MS) / Seignor comrade—you (MS comerade—you) / comrade, you withal—ha (MS) / withal—Ha Seignior (MS) / Seignor us;—for (proofcorrection: us ↑ ; ↓ —for) / us!—For abject (MS) / object Lo(MSL⟨a⟩↑o↓) / La it—but (MS) / it;—but away unkindness (MS) / away every unkindness courtesy. Be (MS courtesy—Be) / courtesy.—Well. Be Jack (MS) / Jacques seigniorship (MS) / seignorship foreheads—no (MS) / foreheads—No of Petit-André (MS ofPetit André) / ofMons. Petit-André back!—for (MS back—for) / back!—For Quentin Durward (MS) / Quentin Scotsman (MS) / Scotchman you three (MS) / you there steel, but without (MS steel but without) / steel, without on (MS) / upon wilt (MS) / wilt further (MS) / farther defence (MS) / defensive son (MS) / sons Crawford—I (MS Crawfurd—I) / Crawford, I myself—but (MS) / myself—But hither and (MS hither &) / hither—and thine (MS) / your Save (MS) / save fiend?—it (MS fiend? It) / fiend? It has (MS) / is planet-struck, so (MS derived: planet [end of line] struck so) / planetstruck; so knowst (MS) / knowest now that (MS) / now, that thyself say so much injury, I (MS thyself say so much injury I) / thyself so, I seemed now to have (MS seemd now to have) / had now entirely Dunois (MS) / Dunois, folly—I (proof correction: ↑ folly— ↓I) / folly. I took his sword from his side (MS) / drew his sword from its scabbard

EMENDATION LIST

171.4 offended (MS) / offended, 171.5 sword (MS) / sword, 171.7 Dunois.” (MS Dunois”—) / Dunois?” 171.21 kept this morning’s work out (MS keepd this mornings workout) / missed this morning’s work, or kept it out 171.39 Then, addressing (8vo) / Then addressing (MS then addressing) 171.41 duty—go (MS derived: duty〈”he a〉 go) / duty. Go The letter deleted after ‘he’ is unclear. 171.43 boy (MS) /youth 172.8 a–—humph (MS) / a-humph 172.9 blank (MS) / blank, 172.10 ho!—Petit-André (MS ho!—Petit-Andre) / ho! Petit-André 172.14 not you (MS) / you not 172.16 him (MS) /him, 172.29 a deep sigh (MS) / a sigh 172.31 Scotsman (MS) / Scotchman 172.32 working (MS) / workings 173.9 that (MS) / which 173.11 was done (MS) /is done 173.12 are—but (MS) / are; but 173.21 this (MS) /This 173.22 well, but (MS derived: well but) / well; but 173.26 heard (MS) / seen 173.32 Guards (MS guards) / Guard 173.39 Dismount, fair sir (MS dismount fair Sir) / Dismount, sir 173.41 which (MS) / that 173.42 dismount, to (MS dismount 〈and〉 to) / dismount, and to 173.42 and to unhelmet (MS) / and unhelmet 174.7 Each sex has (MS) / Each has 174.9 Quentin (MS) / Quentin’s 174.18 embarrassment, a (MS derived: embarassment [end of line] a) / em­ barrassment; a 174.31 on any (MS) / ofany 175.4 farther (MS) / further 175.39 untrimmed (MS untrimd) / untrained 176.5 sate (MS) /sat 176.11 provinces (MS) / provinces, 176.20 sun-burned (MS sunburnd) / sun-burnt 177.8 discourse him (MS) / discourse with him 177.24 convenience of(MS) / convenience, as it seemed, of 177.29 to (MS) /at 177.35 said (MS) / demanded 177.37 How? (MS) /How! 177.40 people, but (MS derived: people but) / people; but 178.1 Scotsman (MS) / Scotchman 178.4 these (MS) / those 178.10 Quentin Durward (MS) / Durward 178.24 vagrant (MS) /vagabond 179.8 bodies (proofcorrection) / limbs 178.3 2 by. You (MS derived: by—You) / by—you 179.14 Quentin Durward broke (MS) / Quentin at length broke 179.30 brethren—the (MS) / brethren—The 180.4 burthen (MS) / burden 180.6 food—he (MS) / food—He 180.8 the wilderness (MS) / his wilderness

465

466

180.10 180.22 180.26 180.30 180.31 181.1 181.1 181.3 181.36 181.37 182.7 182.13 182.13 182.27 182.36 182.38 182.39

183.4 183.5

183.20 183.30 183.41 184.3

184.4 184.22 184.22 184.27 184.33 184.36 184.42 185.3 185.4 185.12 185.18 185.18 185.24 185.26 185.27 185.29 185.30 185.34 185.37 185.43 186.9 186.11 186.17 186.38 188.5 188.9

EMENDATION LIST

further (MS) / farther race—from (MS) / race. From said the Maugrabin Hayraddin (MS said the Maubrabin Hayraddin)/ said Maugrabin Hayraddin further (MS) / farther All (MS) /all scarce (proof correction) / rare I am bound to thee already (MS) / To thee I am bound already Cher—the (MS) / Cher! The back then, but (MS back then but) / back, but well (MS) /well, Glen-houlakin, he (Magnum; MS derived: Glen-Houlakin he) / Glen-Houlakin,—he The upper-case ‘H’ (lowered in Magnum) is unique in the novel. and the promises (MS) / and promises was (MS) / should be whom (MS) / which alacrity which (MS) / alacrity that cared for (MS) / attended to trouble, and that was (proof correction: trouble, 〈which〉 ↑ & that ↓ was) / trouble, which was (MS trouble which was) other hand, Quentin (MS other hand Quentin) / other, Quentin watch over Hayraddin’s motions (MS watch over Hayraddins motions) / watch on Hayraddin’s conduct and hinted a (MS) / and the skill with which he hinted the as was (MS) / which were reports (MS) / reports, Jeshurun (Magnum) / Jehurun (MS as Ed1) The MS form results from a confusion with ‘Jehu’. had had divers (MS) / had divers Quentin Durward (MS) / Quentin importance which (MS) / importance of which willingness, for (proofs) / willingness; for (MS willingness for) around him, and (MS around him and) / round, and Men (MS) / men affairs—but (MS) / affairs; but Quentin Durward (MS) / the young Scotchman Ardennes, (MS) / Ardennes? christos(MS christos) / Christos Preacher (proofcorrection) / preacher tuo malum (proof correction) / tuo, malum (not in MS) interpretation.” (proofs) / interpretation?” (MS interpretation”—) interpreters, and (MS derived: interpreters and) / interpreters; and may (MS) / May “the (MS) / “thatthe ravage (MS) / ravages France, and (MS derived: France and) / France; and gangrenes, for (MS derived: gangrenes for) / gangrenes; for us (MS) / me upon (MS) / on foe, and (MS derived: foe and) / foe; and forefend I (MS forfend I) / forefend, I boy. (8vo) / boy.” (MS boy”—) Ben Jonson’s (Magnum) / BenJonson’s (MS BenJonsons) meadow beyond (MS) / meadow that lay beyond

EMENDATION LIST

188.28 188.32 188.38 189.2 189.4 189.14 189.19 190.6 190.15 190.19 190.23 190.26 190.29 190.32 190.33 190.36 190.40 191.4 191.4 191.8 191.9 191.16 191.23 191.29

191.35 191.42

192.2 192.6 192.7 192.8 192.13 192.20 192.23

192.28 192.30 192.36 193.16 193.29 193.43 194.6 194.11 194.12 194.13

467

and with willows (MS) / and willows passes?—the (MS passes—the) / passes? the doubted—I am disarmed—And (MS derived: doubt ↑ ed ↓ ↑ I am disarmd— ↓ And) / doubted. And A verso insertion was missed. behalf—have (MS) / behalf.—Have pshaw (MS) / Pshaw subjects (MS 〈sub〉 ↑ 〈ob〉 ↓ ject ↑ s ↓) / subject sate (MS) / sat hell on account (MS) / hell on the score motion (MS) / motions further (MS) / farther on (MS) / in sturmwetter! it (MS Sturmwetter it) / sturmwetter! It fighting—if (MS derived: fighting if) / fighting.—If hence (MS) / since stronger, but (MS derived: stronger but) / stronger; but them, for (MS derived: them for) / them; for up—Geb(MS) / up—geb Gott (MS) / Got there, and (MS derived: there and) / there; and Ay, but (MS derived: Aye but) / Ay; but boy’s (MS boys) / youngman’s or (MS) / nor swear”–— (MS) / swear–—” on the left side of the river, which (proofcorrection: on the other 〈road, by〉 〈side of〉 ↑ left side of the river ↓ [lacuna], which) / on the other road, by the left side of the inn, which The proofs read ‘on the other road, by [lacuna], which’. Scott deletes ‘road, by’, writes ‘side of’ and then deletes it, and writes instead ‘left side of the river’, EEWN recovers Scott’s evident intention. will, for (proofs) / will; for (MS will for) geister-seers (8vo) / giester-seers The MS is ambiguous, but Scott probably intended the correct form. such fool (MS) / such a fool fare thou (MS) / fare thee lively (MS) / early oflazy (MS) / of the lazy Termagaunt (MS) / Termagund Tarik (MS) / Tuisco MS ‘Tarik’ was misread as ‘Twirk’, which Scott corrected to ‘Tuisco’. Three (Magnum) / three (MS as Ed1) The MS always has ‘three’, which Ed1 changes to ‘Three’ except here and at 195.29. convent (MS) / monastery the monastery (MS) / his asylum distance. But (MS) / distance; but reasoning,—for (8vo) / reasoning, for (MS reasoning for) whatsoever. And they (MS) / whatsoever; they farther (MS) / further castle. But (MS) / castle; but himself, and (MS derived: himself and) / himself; and engaged he (MS) / engaged, he firm heart, and a bold heart, though (MS firm heart and a 〈light〉 ↑ bold ↓ heart though) / firm and bold heart, though

468

EMENDATION LIST

194.20 remain (MS) / be stationed 194.23 permission to (proof correction: permission 〈instead〉 to) / permission instead to 194.43 his (MS) / the 195.4 presently (MS) / at present 195.29 Three(8vo) / three(MSasEd1) 196.17 Samuel Johnson (Magnum) / SamuelJohnson. (MS 〈Dr. Jo〉 Saml. Johnson.) 197.3 donative (MS) / donation 197.3 altar (MS) / altar, 197.5 suspicion (MS) / attribute 197.15 the subject (MS) / this subject 197.23 guide (proofcorrection) / guide, 198.2 happed (MS hapd) / happened 198.13 impudence (MS) / confidence 198.39 Durward (MS) / Quentin 198.41 Seignior (MS) / Seignor 199.1 sate (MS) / sat 199.6 reproach—the (MS) / reproach. The 199.7 night, and (MS derived: night and) / night; and 199.10 Seignior (MS) / Seignor 199.10 Quentin, and (MS derived: Quentin and) / Quentin; and 199.15 Thus did (MS) / Thus far did 199.16 Isabelle (MS) / Isabella 199.20 Godfrey”–—(Editorial) / Godfrey. ” (MS Godfrey–—”) The punctuation should indicate interrupted speech. 199.29 Quentin Durward (MS) / Quentin 199.36 Germany!—the (MS Germany—the) / Germany! The 199.40 more than (proofcorrection) / more, than 199.43 it (MS) / them 200.2 You know (MS) / you know 200.7 gentle (MS) / Gentle 200.8 but (MS) / But 200.9 or (MS) / Or 200.11 condition—if (MS) / Condition. If 200.22 this (MS) / the 200.23 well—but (MS) / well;—but 200.26 his, and (MS derived: his and) / his; and 200.36 in (MS) / on 200.40 Scotsman (MS) / Scotchman 201.3 your prophetic gifts (MS) / your gifts 201.10 seer (MS Seer) / gypsey 201.12 Scotsman’s (MS Scotsmans) / Scotchman’s 201.19 sword, and (MS derived: sword and) / sword; and 201.19 acquaintance with (MS) / acquaintance also with 201.43 gifted, and (MS derived: gifted and) / gifted; and 202.12 “but (MS) / but 202.24 ought (MS) / aught 202.32 Liege, and (MS derived: Leige and) / Liege; and 202.36 wherefore (MS) / Wherefore 202.39 Liege, and (MS derived: Leige and) / Liege; and 203.2 seignior (MS Seignior) / seignor 203.38 and in its (MS) / and its 204.7 and kind-hearted (MS) / and a kind-hearted 205.7 inclination (MS) / inclinations

EMENDATION LIST

469

205.8 convent, for (MS derived: convent for) / convent; for 205.9 of sons (MS) / of the sons 205.13 entertainment, especially (MS entertainment, particularly) / entertain­ ment; especially 205.32 remark nor objection (MS) / objection nor remark 206.11 necessary and inevitable consequence (MS) / necessary consequence 206.18 and his (MS) / while his 206.23 sate (MS) / sat 206.26 suit, until at (MS suit untill at) / suit. At 206.27 prompted (MS) / excited 206.29 forth (MS) / forth, 206.32 lettres (MS) / letteres 207.4 want?—speak (MS want—speak) / want? Speak 207.6 due—my (MS) / due; my 207.9 knowst (MS) / knowest 207.13 benefitted—the (MS ↑… benefited ↓ —the) / benefitted. The 207.22 guess, no general suspicion, which (MS derived: guess, no general suspicion which) / guess—no general suspicion—which 207.23 road, (proofs) / road? (MS road—) 207.26 was—I (MS) / was!—I 207.26 it—the willow tree by (MS it—the willow-tree ↑ by… ↓) / it!—The willow by 207.29 hear. (MS) / hear! 207.32 beat me (MS) / foiled me 207.37 how (MS) / How 208.9 threatening”–—(MS) / threatening–—” 208.18 canoness?—it (MS Canoness—it) / canoness? It 208.26 won—a (MS) / won. A 208.32 his (MS) / the 209.17 her (MS 〈their〉 ↑ her ↓) / their 209.34 to visit (MS) / of visiting 209.35 desire of (MS) / desire in 209.36 further (MS) / farther 210.4 or (MS) / nor 210.11 cloth (MS) / cloths 210.33 forwards (MS) / forward 210.38 a jolly, stout-made, respectable (8vo) / a jolly stout-made respectable (MS a respectable; proof correction: a ↑ jolly stout made ↓ respect­ able) 211.2 seignior (MS Seignior) / seignor 211.15 seignior (MS) / seignor 211.15 deem worthy (MS) / deem it proper 211.19 delusion. I (MS) / delusion—I 211.23 Seignior (MS) / Seignor 211.28 and, whispering (MS and whispering) / and who, whispering 211.30 seignior (MS) / seignor 211.32 news (MS) / more 212.3 swear!—why (MS swear—why) / swear! Why 212.30 Scots (MS) / Scotch 212.30 that (proofcorrection: th〈e〉 ↑ at ↓) / this 212.34 assert (MS) / assist 212.40 prejudice (MS) / conviction 213.22 forwards (MS) / forward 213.29 Stadt-haus (MS) / Stadt-house 213.42 bearing him dispatches (MS) / bearing dispatches

470

EMENDATION LIST

214.4 or (MS) / nor 214.42 amongst (MS) / among 214.42 bourgeoisie (MS) / burgeoisie 215.19 upon his summons (proof correction) / upon summons 216.19 unstable (MS) / untameable 216.33 Charolois (MS) / Charalois 216.41 Seignior (MS derived: Seignoir) / Seignor 217.13 further (MS) / farther 217.36 this (MS) / the 218.29 but(MS) / But 218.32 like (MS) / likely 218.36 upon (MS) / into 219.16 capable to decypher (MS) / capable of decyphering 219.19 But (MS) / But, 219.41 the little chamber (MS) / the chamber 220.8 have a (MS) / have stifled a 220.14 the lover (MS) / her lover 220.19 rules—And (proofcorrection) / rules; and 220.26 hertis (MS) / heartis 220.31(MS) / page, 220.37 apartment (MS) / apartments 221.7 rolled o’er Quentin’s (proofs) / rolled over Quentin’s (MS rolld 〈in〉 Quentins) The deleted word in the MS is doubtful. 221.20 champain (MS) / champagne 221.31 measures of (MS) / measures for 221.35 instructions assigned to (MS) / instructions of 222.9 rival-strife (MS) / rival strife 222.16 roar (MS) / sound 222.24 opening the (MS) / opening of the 222.36 said to (MS) / said energetically to 222.38 us, and (MS derived: us and) / us; and 222.39 must (MS) / must 222.40 answered the Maugrabin (MS answerd the Maugrabin) / answered Maugrabin 223.2 were (MS) / Were 223.3 them, but (MS derived: them but) / them; but 223.5 me, (8vo) / me (MS as Ed1) 223.12 slaughter (MS) / slaughters 223.12 shepherd?—ha! ha! ha!—follow (MS shepherd—ha [end of line] ha! ha!—follow) / shepherd?—Ha! ha! ha! Follow 223.14 and—my (MS) / and my 223.15 spouse—follow (MS) / spouse.—Follow 223.28 and a faltering (proofcorrection: and 〈in〉 a faultering) / and faltering 224.7 lady (MS) / female 224.24 fly—On (MS) / fly.—On 224.25 horses (MS) / Horses 224.36 me this one little (MS) / me that little 225.14 alongst (MS) / along 225.18 fear, shame (MS fear shame) / shame, fear 225.32 you (MS) / you, 225.35 that is (MS) / that’s 225.36 or (MS) / nor 225.43 it—she (MS) / it—She 226.1 us—here (MS) / us—Here

EMENDATION LIST

471

226.2 mistake, but (MS mistake but) / mistake; but 226.21 castle. What (MS castle what) / castle. But what 226.27 evident, (proofs) / evident? (MS evident—) 226.27 knowst (MS) / knowest 226.30 kindness—to (MS) / kindness: to 226.31 fortune—to (MS) / fortune; to 226.33 France, all (MS) / France,—all 226.39 heart—the (MS derived: heart the) / heart. The 226.40 Tents (MS tents) / Desert MS ‘Tents’ was misread as ‘Mist’, which Scott corrected to ‘Desert’. 227.17 badges ofservice, and (MS badges of service and) / badges, and 227.21 the impulse (MS) / an impulse 227.23 entire (MS) / into 227.31 whoever could have appreciated his motives, had ranked him little beneath (MS derived: who ever could have appreciated his motives had ranked little beneath) / whoever had appreciated his motives, had ranked him nothing beneath 228.1 no time (MS) / not time 228.20 allowing time (MS) / allowing him time 228.25 tower—to the western tower—the (MS) / tower—the 228.30 away (MS) / a way 228.31 To (8vo) / to (MS as Ed1) 229.11 formerly (MS) / shortly before 229.19 Liege!—if (MS) / Liege! If 229.28 stair (MS) / stone 229.34 on (MS) / in 229.35 follow—and (MS) / follow; and 229.37 turn, but (MS derived: turn but) / turn; but 229.37 pease (MS) / peas 229.43 the little stair (MS) / the stair 230.1 of being (MS) / of having been 230.2 floor: a (MS) / floor. A 230.4 from the (MS) / from his 230.10emphasis. But (MS) / emphasis, but 230.17 with the (MS with 〈his〉 ↑ the ↓) / with his 230.31 do (MS) / Do 230.34 sign—if(MS 〈I〉 ↑ i ↓ f) / sign, if 230.42 France, and (MS derived: France and) / France; and 231.4 wenches. But (MS) / wenches; but 231.5 we (MS) / We 231.5 it (MS) / It 231.6 stair—and (MS) / stair, and 231.9 first—undo (MS) / first undo 231.9 clasps, for (MS derived: clasps for) / clasps—for 231.10 Tron, and (MS derived: Tron and) / Tron; and 231.10 two (MS) / three 231.31 hollow (MS) / hollo 231.31 gallant guild (proof correction: gallant 〈skinner’s〉 guild) / gallant skin­ ner’s guild 231.34 and the (MS) / and at the 231.35 amongst (MS) / among 231.35 and, (8vo) / and (proof correction as Ed1) 231.43 of that (MS) / in that 231.43 city, whose (MS derived: city whose) / city; whose 232.1 cry hail (MS) / cry, Hail

472

EMENDATION LIST

victors, [new paragraph] It (MS) / victors. It reverend (MS) / reverent Peter (MS) / Peterkin Peter (MS) / Peterkin speak; a buff jerkin, a (proofs) / speak. He was endued with a buff jerkin, and wore a (MS speak a buff jerkin a) 232.26 grumbler”–—(Magnum) / grumbler—” (MS grumbler”) 232.27 Peter (MS) / Peterkin 232.28 me—only (MS) / me. Only 232.30 Meister (MS) / Meister’s 232.31 Perkin (MS) / Peterkin 232.33 and is (proofcorrection: and 〈may be〉 ↑ is… ↓) / and ’tis 232.38 permit, Peterkin (MS permit Andrew) / permit it, Peterkin 232.40 Peter (MS) / Peterkin 232.41 field,” answered Peter, “but (MS field” answerd Peter—“but) / field, but 233.1 braus (MS braus) / brans 233.6 Lanzknechts—and (MS lan〈d〉 ↑ z ↓ knechts—and) / Lanzknechts; and 233.7 every day’s (MS every days) / every-day 233.8 with (MS) / of 233.12 castle; and that (proofs) / castle. That 233.14 he is (MS) / he’s 233.17 a conversation which (MS) / the conversation, which 233.26 Peter—good (MS) / Peter?—good 233.36 Good—my squire—But (MS) / Good, my squire;—but 234.3 this—and (MS) / this, and 234.5 by (MS) / with 234.23 further (MS) / farther 234.24 “be but confident, and (MS “be but confident and) / “only be bold, and 234.30 forwards (MS) / forward 234.31 one (MS) / a 234.32 me—this (MS) / me!—This 234.32 fury—a (MS) / fury; a 234.33 name—what (MS) / name; what 234.33 this (MS) / the 234.43 guilders—but (MS) / guilders.—But 235.1 purpose—Well (MS) / purpose.—Well 235.5 fashion—ein (MS fashion—ein) / fashion, ein 235.6 gear. We (proof correction: gear.〈—〉We) / gear.—We The MS reads: ‘gear—We’. Faced in the proofs with ‘gear. We’ Scott inserted a dash after the full stop and then deleted it. 235.7not—my (MS) / not, my 235.22 much courage and humanity have (MS) / much have courage and humanity 235.22 I may (proofcorrection) / may I 236.24 who had, by (MS who had by) / who, by 236.25 profession, become (MS profession become) / profession, had become 236.32 since (MS) / before 236.32 sate (MS) / sat 236.39 sate (MS) / sat 237.21 the expression of (proofcorrection) / his habits of 237.36 to bestial confasciation (MS) / to the bestial creation 237.39 griesly (MS) / grisly 237.41 sate (MS) / sat 232.1 232.3 232.6 232.8 232.13

EMENDATION LIST

237.41 238.7 238.22 238.36 239.1 239.4 239.4 239.17 239.18 239.23 239.26 239.31 239.39 240.16 240.18 240.20 240.21 240.22 240.22 240.25 240.28 240.28 240.33 240.37 241.28 241.29 241.39 241.40 242.11 242.14

242.17 242.29

242.30 242.33 243.5 243.6 243.7 243.7 243.9 243.16

243.32 243.33 244.4 244.17

244.25 244.37

473

with men (MS) / with the men large (MS) / long at any rate (MS) / at all times the loss of his (MS) / his loss of the amongst (MS) / among stanchions (MS) / staunchions hall-window—he (MS hall window—he) / hall-window!—He ear, “Up (MS ear “Up) / ear, with some perturbation, “Up men.” (MS) / men!” sardonically (MS) / sarcastically Unveil—unveil (MS unveil—unveil) / Unveil, unveil “for here will I, in one stroke of a cleaver, consecrate (proof correction derived: “〈when once I〉 ↑ For here 〈do〉 will in one stroke ofa cleaver↓ consecrate) / “for here, with one stroke ofa cleaver, will I consecrate be—a (MS) / be. A make him, in (ISet) / make, in (MS make [end of line] in) him (MS) / them whispered to Peter (MS whisperd to Peter) / whispered Peter daughter?—why (MS daughter—why) / daughter?—Why Trudchen—this (MS Trudchen—she) / Trudchen. This inches, and (MS derived: inches and) / inches; and heifer’s!” (MS heifers—”) / heifer’s! knowledge? is (MS knowlege, 〈it〉 is) / knowledge? And is thou (MS) / thee hold—hold—what (MS) / hold, hold; what ofhair (MS) / ofhis hair then said (MS) / then he said deserves (MS) / deserve House of God (proof correction) / house of God robber”–—(MS) / robber—–” has (MS) / hast intercessors with (MS intercessors 〈for〉 with) / intercessors for thee with throne and the (MS) / throne, and as if the called out in tones of thunder (MS calld out in tones of thunder) / shouted aloud The proofs omit the MS phrase, leaving a lacuna which Scott filled with ‘shouted aloud’. Liege!—ye (MS Leiege—ye) / Liege! ye designed (MS designd) / designated had (MS) / held game?—then (MS game—then) / game? then “Hold!—hold!” (MS “Hold—hold—”) / “Hold! hold!” jest—think (MS) / jest!—Think holds—sit down—take (MS) / holds; sit down; take Liege—And (Editorial) / Liege;—and (MS Liege—and) The normal convention for a change of addressee is an initial capital. is offered (MS is offerd) / is so offered the Most (MS the most) / his Most uttermost (MS) / utmost would honour his feast and favour him by (proofcorrection derived: would ↑ honour his feast ↓ favour him by) / would honour his feast by likely not (MS) / not likely kind, and (MS derived: kind and) / kind; and

474

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244.42 words—let (MS) / words—Let 245.9 supported partly and partly dragged (MS supported ↑ partly ↓ and ↑ partly ↓ dragd) / supported and dragged The proofs read: ‘supported partly, and dragged’. Scott deleted the remaining ‘partly’. 245.21 Quentin Durward (MS) / Durward 245.26 “Ah, Peter (MS “Ah Peter) / “Peter 245.36 Peter—it (MS) / Peter, it 245.38 and Heaven knows what (MS) / and, Heaven knows, what 245.40 ought (MS) / aught 245.41 bargain.” (MS) / bargain!” 245.42 “that (Editorial) / that (MS as Ed1) 246.2 repaid.” (MS repaid”—) / repaid. 246.6 so—and (MS) / so; and 246.29 these (MS) / those 247.5 domestic (MS) / due 247.15 conveniences (MS) / conveniences 247.34 marriage (MS) / married 248.4 taken at unawares (MS) / taken unawares 248.14 Mabel, and (MS derived: Mabel and) / Mabel; and 248.15 A (MS) / a 248.16 was (MS) / is 248.21 go, since (MS derived: go since) / go—since 248.22 going—But (MS) / going.—But 248.27 can. I (MS) / can—I 248.32 disguise—for (MS disguize—for) / disguise; for 248.34 Scotch (MS) / Scottish 248.37 messages (MS) / message 248.42 hath (MS) / has 249.3 troth (MS) / truth 249.7 useless (MS) / unavailing 249.10 well—we (MS) / well—We 249.18 looked (MS lookd) / look 249.23 compting-room (MS comptng(house) room) / counting-room 249.30 at(MS) / on 249.41 classes (MS) / class 250.1 which when (MS) / which, when 250.2 Seignior (proof correction) / Seignor 250.6 attendant!—to (MS attendant—to) / attendant!—To 250.7 Are (MS) / are 250.8 night”–— (MS) / night–—” 250.18 and—after a moment’s pause—she (MS derived: and after a moments pause—She) / and after a moment’s pause, she 250.28 Seignior (MS) / Seignor 250.35 yours is more (MS) / yours appears to me more 251.4 Gertrude—I (MS) / Gertrude, I 251.6 ever (MS) / never 251.10 Heaven ever (MS) / ever Heaven 251.13 father, but (MS derived: father but) / father; but 251.17 wayby which (MS) / way in which 251.21 what it (MS) / what I am told it 252.1 impoverishment (MS) / impoverishing 252.22 conducted, (MS) / conducted? 253.1 me?—to(18mo) / me—to (MS as Ed1) 253.18 worst? (MS) / worst!

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475

England—to Germany—even to Scotland—in (MS) / England, to Germany, even to Scotland, in 253.23 liberty—of liberty, the (MS liberty—of liberty the) / liberty, the 253.24 gives us!—O (MS gives us—O) / gives!—O 253.35 one?—in (MS one—in) / one?—In 253.43 prospect (MS) / prospect, 253.44 further (MS) / farther 254.4 his own mind (MS) / his mind 254.16 and had (MS) / and even had 254.22 lowlands (MS) / Lowlands 254.33 So once more (MS) / So, once more, 255.4 Maugrabin (Magnum) / Hayraddin (MS as Ed1) 255.8 accompt (MS) / account 255.8 No—I (MS) / No, I 255.10 uninfringed—the (MS) / uninfringed; the 255.20 silent—know (MS) / silent. Know 255.31prevented even (MS) / prevented his even 255.36 The tale (MS) / This tale 255.36 these (proofs) / those The MS is ambiguous. The change to ‘those’ was made after the proofs seen by Scott. 256.8 kinswoman!—and (MS kinswoman—and) / kinswoman! and 256.20 unnoble (MS) / ignoble 256.21 bea (MS) / bear 256.28 murther (MS) / murder 257.18 the time (MS) / the same time 257.23 forwards (MS) / forward 258.2 spoke (MS) / spoke 258.8 spoke (MS) / spoke 258.30 travelled (MS travelld) / traversed 258.33 you—could (MS) / you. Could 259.7 Burgundians—be (MS) / Burgundians. Be 259.11 displays!—it (MS displays—it) / displays! It 259.23 excepted (MS) / excepting 259.23 it—these (MS) / it. These 259.29 galloped forward (MS gallopd forward) / galloped rapidly forward 259.30 Schwarz-reiters (8vo) / Schwarz-reitters (MS Schwarz-ritters) 261.15 horses (MS) / horse 261.19 the enemy (MS) / the flying enemy 261.20 alongst (MS) / along 261.25 come (MS) / came 261.29 farther (MS) / further 262.3 them in (MS) / them up in 262.14 scheme—But (MS plan—But) / scheme; but 262.15 it—please (MS) / it. Please 262.32 these (MS) / this 262.32 friends (MS freinds) / friend 262.33 pearl (MS) / pearls 262.34 gesture but sincere (MS) / gesture, but with sincere 262.35 labour (MS) / labours 262.37 it (MS) / It 263.8 umph (MS) / Umph 263.8 Count of Crevecœur (MS Count of Creveoeur) / Count Crevecœur 263.9 it had been (MS) / it would have been 263.14 being squire (MS) / being a squire 253.21

476

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263.21 Seignior (MS) / Seignor 263.32 their (MS) / the 263.38 further (MS) / farther 264.4 questions, how (MS questions how) / questions, but how 264.4 Why, (8vo) / Why (MS as Ed1) 264.4 that (MS) / who 264.8 Only, (8vo) / Only (MS as Ed1) 264.14 me the questions (MS) / me your questions 264.16 like a lad (MS) / like one 264.32 Scotsman (MS Scots [end of line] man) / Scotchman 265.5 dead?—not (MS dead [end of line] not) / dead?—Not 265.5 Duke—of (MS) / Duke—Of 265.10 Heaven! Young (MS) / Heaven!—young 265.14 know’st (MS knowst) / Know’st 265.23 murther (MS) / murder 265.25 fearful (MS) / painful 265.27 am (MS) / am 265.40 murthered (MS murtherd) / murdered 265.42 wretch—a monster—a (MS) / wretch! a monster! a 265.42 vice (proofcorrection: (blood) ↑ vice ↓) / blood 265.42 cruelty—bred (MS) / cruelty!—bred 266.2 Heaven,—if(proofcorrection: Heaven, t—I if) / Heaven, if 266.4 murtherer (MS) / murderer 266.4 grasped the hilt ofhis (MS graspd the hilt of his) / grasped his 266.7 I—Philip (MS) / I, Philip 266.10murtherers (MS) / murderers 266.24 murtherer (MS) / murderer 266.26 into rebellion (MS) / into the rebellion 266.29 it. (12mo) / it.” (MSit—”) 266.35 the intention (MS) / their intention 266.35 murther?—When (MS derived: murder—When) / murder?—when The movement is taken from MS, and ‘murder’ emended to ‘murther’ to match lines 38 and 42. 266.38 but (MS) / but 266.38 murther (MS) / murder 266.38 by?—and (MS by—and) / by? And 266.42 murthered (MS murtherd) / murdered 266.42 other (MS) / Other 266.43 penury, but (MS derived: penury but) / penury; but 267.2 intractable (MS) / untractable 267.5 accordingly (MS) / accordingly; 267.18 old (MS) / old, 267.19 ideot (proofcorrection) / idiot 267.26 sun-burned (MS sunburnd) / sun-burnt 267.30 countenance (MS) / physiognomy 267.32 him;—not (proofcorrection: him〈,〉 t;— ↓ not) / him; not 267.38 fear (MS) / fear, 268.7(MS) / like 268.8 furthest (MS furthes) / farthest 268.16 least—I (MS) / least; I 268.18 discourse the (MS) / discourse with the 268.24 Fay—Forget (proof correction: F〈ee.〉 ↑ ay— ↓ Forget) / Fay. Forget 268.24 soldier—,” (proofcorrection: 〈buck〉 ↑ soldier— ↓,”) / soldier,” 269.13 family”–—(Magnum) / family–—” (MS as Ed1) 269.16 persons—as (MS derived: persons ↑ as… ↓) / persons.—As

EMENDATION LIST

477

269.19 Glen-houlakin”–—(Magnum) / Glen-houlakin–—” (MS as Ed1) 269.21 done—good (MS) / done! Good 269.25 coxcomb!—would (proofs) / coxcomb!—Would (MS coxcomb would) 269.26 arquebuss (MS) / harquebuss 269.32 further (MS) / farther 270.4 murther (MS) / murder 270.35 loves, as (proofs derived: loves; as) / loves. As 270.38 harvest-moon. She (MS harvest moon. She) / harvest-moon, she 270.40 draw (MS derived: dra [end of line]) / withdraw Scott fills a lacuna in the proofs with ‘withdraw’; EEWN adopts the evident MS intention. 271.1 period—She (proof correction: period〈;〉 ↑ —She… ↓) / period; she 271.3 lovely (MS) / lively 271.5 inhabitants: she (proof correction: inhabitants〈;passed〉 by ↑: she … ↓) / inhabitants;—she Scott no doubt intended to delete ‘by’; the initial letter of‘she’ is a long ‘s’. 271.7 amongst (MS) / among 271.8 Europe: and (proof correction: Europe ↑: and… ↓) / Europe;—and 271.9 minster (MS) / Minster 271.14 further from (MS) / farther from 271.35 sort (MS) / sorts 271.39 possibility (MS) / risk 272.7 with Durward’s reviving (proof correction: with 〈his〉 ↑ Durwards ↓ reviving) / with his reviving 272.16 soldier named Quentin Durward (MS) / soldier, named Quentin Dur­ ward, 272.40 he nevertheless continued (MS (they) ↑ he ↓ nevertheless continued) / he, nevertheless, continued 274.9 de (Editorial) / des (MS as Ed1) See Essay on the Text, 438. 274.14 viewed (MS veiwd) / received 274.20 D’Argenton (MS) / d’Argenton 274.21 new-comer (MS newcomer) / new-comers 274.22 news. In (MS) / news.—In 274.28 foot, and (MS derived: foot and) / foot; and 274.34 the London citizens to (MS the London citizens to) / the citizens of London, to 274.37 was (8vo) / were (MS as Ed1) 274.39 True, and (MS derived: True and) / True; and 274.39 dreamed (MS dreamd) / dreamt 275.5 defiance, and (MS derived: defiance ↑ and… ↓) / defiance; and 275.9 behind him, intending (MS behind him intending) / behind, intending 275.32 present, and (MS derived: present &) / present; and 275.35 boy—and (MS) / boy; and 275.36 memory being (MS) / memory, being 275.38 hither in the same singleness of heart under which I acted on the former occasion, he (proof correction: hither in the same singleness of heart ↑ under which ↓ I 〈had on that〉 ↑ acted on the former ↓ occasion, he) / hither on the present occasion, in the same singleness ofheart under which I then acted, he 275.40 if (MS) / If 276.7 household, among (MS derived: house [end of line] hold among) / household—among 276.7 gayer (MS) / gayest

478

EMENDATION LIST

of the higher (MS) / of higher Archers guard a (MS archers guard a) / Archer-Guard have a Poncet (MS) / Pencil scared with (MS) / scared, as it would seem, with nothing (MS) / Nothing his most (MS) / his most full charged (MS full [end of line] charged) / full-charged forwards (MS) / forward and saw the (MS) / and the between (MS) / betwixt by accident (MS) / by an accident hunting-party near Genappes… party, I (MS hunting party near Genappes and came back later than you and the rest of the party I) / hunting-party, I 279.43 Good (8vo) / good (MS as Ed1) 280.7 “Prince (MS) / Prince 280.7 dissemblers,” he (Magnum) / dissemblers, he (MS dissemblers he) 280.7 “would (Magnum) / would (MS as Ed1) 280.9 House!” (MS House—”) / House! 280.12 relationship—for I (MS) / relationship; for, I 280.20 exile.”(MS) / exile!” 280.28 child—well (MS) / child.—Well 280.31but”–—(MS) / but–—” 280.33 marry thus—the (MS) / Marry thus: the 280.35 wife,—truly (8vo) / wife, truly (MS wife—truly) 280.40 further (MS) / farther 281.4 now be, (12mo) / now, be (MS now be) 281.6 willingness in her stead to (MS) / willingness to 281.16 amours—the (MS amours—the) / amours. The 281.25 offices (MS) / of-[end ofline]ces 281.30 betwixt (MS) / between 282.16 liege—you (MS Leiege—you) / liege. You 282.18 yours—and (MS) / yours, and 282.28 certain sums (MS) / redemption 282.35 cousin—nor (MS) / cousin; nor 283.16 conference, (proofs) / conference! (no punctuation in MS) 283.36 matters (MS) / matter 284.8 exertion ofvigilance (MS exertion of ↑ vigilance… ↓) / exertion, vigilance 284.13 taken formal (MS) / taken a formal 284.19 jest (MS) / jests 285.2 the numerous and dear (MS) / the dear 285.3 myself—we (MS) / myself. We 285.4 relationship, cousins (MS derived: relationship cousins) / relationship; cousins 285.5 neighbourhood—No (MS) / neighbourhood.—No 285.10 lodging—we (MS) / lodging.—We 285.14 fatigued; great (MS) / fatigued. Great 285.15 pain—I (MS) / pain.—I 285.15 to-morrow—Yours… war—And (MS tomorrow—yours especially noble Hymbercourt whom I have known such a faithful freind in peace so stout an opponent in war—and) / to-morrow.—And 285.18 Seignior (MS) / Seignor 285.20 will—Good night (MS will—Goodnight) / will.—Good night 285.21 and to each (MS) / and each 276.11 276.28 276.32 276.33 276.38 276.43 277.14 277.25 277.30 279.41 279.41 279.42

EMENDATION LIST

479

285.26 effect (MS) / fact 285.31 citadel (proof correction: 〈Tower〉 ↑ citadel ↓) / Citadel 285.32 from before the (MS) / from the 285.34 with thick bars (MS) / with bars 285.37 there?” (12mo) / there,”(MS there”) 285.40 apartment is (MS) / apartments are 286.5 night, and (MS derived: night and) / night; and 286.6 prison—and—there (MS) / prison, and there 286.11 his guard (MS) / his own guard 286.18 me—the (MS) / me. The 286.21 service on this occasion to set an example (MS derived: service on this occasion [end of page] example) / service to set in this an example The proofs seen by Scott have ‘service in this example’, which James Ballantyne changed in MS 3405 to the Ed1 reading, EEWN recovers Scott’s apparent intention in MS. 286.26 condition, and (MS derived: condition and) / condition; and 287.11 and”–—(MS) / and–—” 287.16 come (MS) / comes 287.18 question—have (MS question have) / question—Have 287.24 has (MS) / hath 287.27 the Balafré (MS the Balafre) / Le Balafré 288.25 which kings (MS which Kings) / which a king The MS was wrongly transcribed as ‘the King’, which Scott changes in the proofs to ‘a king’. 288.26 ended (MS derived: added) / concluded 289.3 Oliver le Diable (MS Oliver le 〈Dain〉 ↑ Diable ↓) / Oliver Diable 289.17 uncontestable (MS derived: uncontestible) / uncontrollable 289.20 concerns (MS) / concerning 289.31together, and (MS derived: together and) / together—and 289.33 him, like (MS derived: him like) / him—like 289.34 dogged—daring—assuming—disputatious (MS dogged—daring— assuming—disputatacious) / dogged, daring, assuming, disputatious 289.43 thee (MS) / you 290.2 account (MS) / accounts 290.8 bridegroom—well (MS) / bridegroom. Well 290.10 Hang, Draw, and Quarter (MS Hang Draw and Quarter) / hang, draw, and quarter 290.29 expect will be my (MS) / expect it will be in my 290.30 the vindictive (MS) / this vindictive 291.15 servant to scruple at executing (MS) / servant not to execute 291.17 burst out into (MS burst out 〈alaugh〉 into) / burst into 291.17 has (MS) / hast 291.19 does (MS) / dost 291.20 manners (MS) / measures 291.27 Duke to-night (MS Duke tonight) / Duke, to-night, 291.28 further (MS) / farther 291.30 awry, and (MS derived: awry and) / awry—and 291.36 they now worth (proofcorrection) / they worth 291.40 punctiliously (Editorial) / perfunctorily (MS as Ed1) The MS / Ed1 reading makes no sense. Magnum changes ‘perfunctorily discharged’ to ‘marked by scrupulous attention’, but EEWN adopts Scott’s presumed intention. 292.3 refugee and exile (MS refugee and 〈in〉 exile) / refugee, and an exile 292.4 this (MS) / the 292.7 is now nothing (MS) / is nothing

480

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292.10 like the (MS like 〈one of〉 the) / like one of the 292.19 agreeably (MS) / agreeable 292.31 and that (MS) / and indeed 293.31Princes, (MS princes.) / Princes of either. The proofs misread MS as ‘Prince’, prompting Scott to change it to ‘Princes ofeither’. 293.33 custom (MS) / customs 293.36 whether ofbusiness (MS) / whether business 293.42 these (MS) / those 293.42 praise (MS) / praises 294.14 Burgundy as the ostensible motive, whilst (proof correction: Bur­ gundy〈;while his〉 ↓ as the ostensible motive, whilst… ↓) / Burgundy, as the ostensible motive; whilst 294.18 presenting; he (proof correction ↑… presenting ↓ he) / presenting it; he Scott inadvertently deleted the semicolon in the proofs at the end of an excision of several words to be replaced by a new phrase. 294.19 shy (MS) / high 294.21 plenty (MS) / plentiful 294.27 wish (MS) / object 294.27 agents in (MS) / agents had effected in 294.32 viewed only as (MS viewd only as) / viewed as 294.43 on (MS) / in 295.8 of his (MS) / ofthis 295.20 solemnity. Previous (MS solemnity. 〈NL〉 Previous) / solemnity, [new paragraph] Previous 295.40 Charles (Editorial) / Henry (MS as Ed1) 295.40 Guyenne (MS) / Gayenne 296.6 Witzweiler (MS) / Wetzweiler 296.13 Witzweiler (MS) / Wetzweiler 296.18 court-fool: At (proof correction: court-fool〈; a〉 ↑: A ↓t) / court-fool. At 296.21 the tale (MS) / his tale 296.25 profession, and (proofs) / profession; and (MS profession and) 296.42 the very extremity (MS) / the extremity 297.8 d’Hymbercourt (MS) / D’Hymbercourt 297.29 countenance (MS) / countenances 298.6 Duke, (MS King—) / Duke.” 298.15 if (MS) / If 298.18 directly—he (MS) / directly!—He 298.22 drank (MS) / drunk 298.26 further (MS) / farther 298.26 sate (MS) / sat 298.31 sate (proof correction) / sat 298.37 Count?—the (MS Count—the) / Count?—The 299.2 there now (MS) / there, man 299.8 packet?—out (MS pacquet—out) / packet? Out 299.13 have (MS) / has 299.26 death—Gentlemen (MS death—gentlemen) / death!—Gentlemen 299.34 brother, rebel (MS derived: brother rebel) / brother!—rebel 299.35 parent, tyrant (MS derived: parent tyrant) / parent!—tyrant 299.35 subjects, treacherous ally, perjured King, dishonoured gentleman— thou (MS derived: subjects treacherous ally perjured King dishonourd gentleman—thou) / subjects!—treacherous ally!—perjured King!— dishonoured gentleman!—thou

EMENDATION LIST

481

further (MS) / farther any wise (MS) / anywise or (MS) / and efforts (MS) / effects And (Editorial) / and (MS as Ed1) does.” (MSdoes.) / does!” the sword (MS) / his sword like the sound ofa (MS derived: like sound ofa) / like a do!—this (MS do—this) / do! This hearth—the (MS) / hearth, the murther (MS) / murder pass. Out (MS) / pass!—Out path!—the (MS path—the) / path!—The a temper (MS) / your temper, he murther (MS) / our host murder were (MS) / Were obedience—stand (MS) / obedience—Stand officers—your (MS) / officers! Your Crawford—your (MS) / Crawford, your it (MS) / It murthered (MS murtherd) / murdered but (MS) / and it, and (proofs) / it! and (MS it and) it—it (MS) / it.—It swords—it (MS derived: swords [end of line] it) / swords; it murther (MS) / murder Castle—have (MS) / Castle—Have let (MS) / Let draw (proof correction) / Draw post—You (MS) / post!—You hopes, our (MS hopes our) / hopes and Lord—meantime (MS Lord—mean time) / Lord. Meantime wish (MS) / will “Forward then (MS) / “Forward, then, Nothing—nothing (MS) / Nothing, nothing gloomy presentiment (MS) / misgiving presentment exercise on him in (MS) / exercise in his (MS) / the their (MS derived: the ↑ r ↓) / the of, (proofcorrection: of ↑, ↓) / of this rude ascent (MS) / this ascent indeed (proof correction) / adding so (MS) / So here—not exactly here—an it (MS) / here, not exactly here, and stepping onward with (MS stepping 〈fo〉 onward with) / stepping with attendants—but (MS) / attendants; but cabinet (MS) / cabinet, the little postern (proofcorrection: the 〈wicket〉 ↑ little postern ↓) / the postern The MS has ‘the little wicket’; Scott changes ‘wicket’ to ‘postern’ in proof; ‘little’ is deleted after Scott. 307.7 defences.” (MS defences”—) / defences of it.” 307.15 your (MS) / Your 307.16 Crevecœur?—he cannot (MS Crevecoeur—he cannot) / Crevecœur. He cannot

299.39 299.43 300.8 300.13 300.15 300.16 300.40 301.9 301.11 301.12 301.15 301.17 301.17 301.20 301.33 301.37 301.38 302.11 302.22 302.28 302.35 302.41 303.1 303.1 303.4 303.7 303.7 303.12 303.12 303.14 303.30 303.31 304.1 304.6 304.14 305.6 305.9 305.14 305.16 305.43 306.3 306.13 306.18 306.22 306.23 306.35 306.38 306.43

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307.17 prisoner—and (MS) / prisoner; and 307.30 his person (MS) / him 307.31 passions—their (MS) / passions! Their 307.39 Hast thou (MS) / Hast thou 308.3 methinks (MS) / Methinks 308.20 Seigneur (MS) / Seignor 308.30 without for this (MS) / without this 308.33 master in (MS) / possession of 308.33 apartments—such (MS) / apartments. Such 308.37 bed-chamber—but (MS) / bed-chamber; but 309.2 lay (MS) / lie 309.3 sleep—hold (MS) / sleep. Hold 309.10 sate (MS) / sat 309.15 sate (proof correction) / sat 309.27 Simple—what (MS) / Simple?—what 309.30 ideocy. To (MS; proofs) / idiocy! To (MS ideocy—To) The spelling derives from the MS, the full-stop from the proofs. 309.40 alongst (MS) / along 310.2 ay—the (proofcorrection: aye—the) / ay, the 310.3 ideot (proof correction) / idiot 310.10 his presence (MS) / its presence 310.23 is too true (MS) / is true 310.24 Embrun—but (MS) / Embrun; but 310.24 great—my (MS) / great, my 310.30 Champagne (MS) / Champaigne 310.32 knowst (MS) / knowest 310.35 was but because (MS) / was because 310.37 accompt (MS) / account 310.39all my past (MS) / all past 310.41 administered—for (MS administerd—for) / administered; for 311.1 care, and (MS derived: care and) / care; and 311.10 so gentle and so (MS) / so kind, so gentle, and so 311.20 this (MS) / that 311.25 die—but (MS) / die; but 311.28 An (MS) / an 311.40 that a mind so powerful as that of (MS) / that an intellect such as that of The proofs have a lacuna in the sense (‘that of’), filled by Scott with ‘an intellect such as that’. 312.6 him(MS) / he 312.11 command—we (MS derived: command [end of line] we) / command. We 312.12 doest (MS) / Doest 312.18 doest (MS) / dost 312.20 which men gain (MS) / which are gained 312.24 blood so that (MS) / blood so, that 312.25 two, which (MS derived: two which) / two,—which 312.38 and guard (MS) / and to guard 312.43 At (MS) / at 313.3 anyone else (MS) / any else 313.11 thinkst (MS) / thinkest 313.17 griesly (MS) / grisly 313.18 funis (MS) / funus 313.21 as (MS) / or 313.23 sate (MS) / sat 313.32 it on (MS) / it to

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314.2 say—the (MS) / say. The 314.29 you ever (MS) / you were ever 314.33 Majesty—once or twice—change (MS) / Majesty once or twice change 314.36 remonstrances—Observe (MS) / remonstrances, observe 314.42 upon.” (proofs) / upon?” 314.43 No—no—ideot (MS) / No, no—idiot 315.1 us!’ (proof correction) / us; The proofs have ‘us’!’. Scott reverses the punctuation marks. 315.6 body? (MS) / body, 315.8 narrow—but (MS) / narrow; but 315.20 part (MS) / parts 315.28 Ethnics—but (MS) / Ethnics; but 315.29 Catholic (MS) / catholic 315.39 Galeotti? (MS) / Galeotti! 316.3 heretic, witch, and (MS heretic, witch and) / heretic and 316.6 material—I (MS) / material, I 316.7 mates, for (MS derived: mates for) / mates; for 316.24 and—tchick—our (MS and—tckik—our) / and, tchick, our 317.18 or (MS) / a 317.26 he (MS) / it 318.12 well—for (MS) / well; for 319.4 apartment—when (MS apartment—When) / apartment, when 319.9 thou not (MS) / thou not 319.11 thou not (MS) / thou not 319.16 doest (MS) / dost 319.25 Ignorance—Ignorance (MS) / Ignorance—ignorance 319.25 son (MS) / brother See Essay on the Text, 437. 319.35 ensured (MS) / assured 319.38 Go—sir—and (MS Go—Sir—and) / Go, sir, and 320.3 purpose (MS) / purposes 320.5 truth—confess (MS) / truth. Confess 320.6 dupe—thou an impostor—thy (MS) / dupe, thou an impostor, thy 320.6 dream—and (MS) / dream, and 320.7 destinies (MS) / destiny 320.12 knowest that (MS) / know’st not that 320.14 ours,—holds (late proofs) / ours—holds (MS ours holds) 320.16 influences (MS) / influence 320.24 smooth it or (MS) / smooth or 320.30 knowst (MS) / knowest 320.33 Burgundy—this (MS) / Burgundy. This 320.34 falsehood—thou (MS) / falsehood—Thou 320.35 tide, which (MS tide which) / tide, for which 320.35 ideot (MS) / idiot 320.36 await (MS) / wait 320.37 thee—thou (MS) / thee—Thou 321.6 dangers (MS) / danger 321.13 thy messenger (MS) / the messenger 321.13 in thy (MS) / in discharging thy 321.16 but (MS) / But 321.18 bearst (MS) / bearest 321.19 thine (MS) / your 321.32 tongue—I (MS) / tongue.—I 321.39 me?—and (MS me—and) / me?—And 321.40 Martius—you (MS) / Martius, you

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322.5 me—Am (MS) / me!—Am 322.8 me? or (MS) / me?—Or 322.10 forgive if (MS) / forgive me if 322.16 events—a (MS) / events. A 322.22 was drawn (MS) / is drawn 322.23 would (MS) / will 322.27 Go in Peace, my learned father—Go in Peace—Go in Peace!” (MS Go in Peace my learned father—Go in Peace—Go in Peace”) / Go in peace, my learned father—Go in peace—Go in peace !” 323.6 again (proofcorrection) / fast 323.8 King had retired (MS) / King retired 323.21 it (MS) / It 323.21 rare (MS) / glorious 323.23 this dialogue (MS) / this whispered dialogue 323.30 weapons (MS) / weapon 323.31 implement (MS) / instrument 323.35 sate (MS) / sat 323.37 pale, thin, anxious (MS pale thin anxious) / pale and anxious 324.10 And had (MS) / And, indeed, had 324.10 been only distinguished by the beauty (MS been only distinguishd by the beauty) / been distinguished by nothing else than the beauty 324.12 had (MS) / held 324.15 fine (MS) / majestic 324.15 the purposes (MS) / the mean purposes 324.22 upon (MS) / on 325.12 bed-chamber, pallet couches (MS bed chamber pallet couches) / bed­ chamber, couches 325.21 stormy (MS) / strong 325.28 on (MS) / in 326.6 drank… unsettled. By (MS drank and never changed his dress nay demeand himself so wildly that his attendants became almost afraid of his brain becoming unsettled [new paragraph] By) / drank, never changed his dress, and, altogether, demeaned himself like one in whom rage might terminate in utter insanity. By 326.15 sate (MS) / sat 327.18 further (MS) / farther 327.34 methinks (MS) / Methinks 327.35 Denis—Dare (MS) / Denis? Dare 327.38 gold—and (MS) / gold; and 328.5 justly?—even (MS justly—even) / justly? Even 328.7 ourselves… ourselves… ourselves (MS) / ourself… ourself… ourself 328.9 demand—if(MS) / demand. If 328.9 murther (MS) / murder 328.10 easy—if(MS) / easy—If 328.13 spoke, “shall (MS spoke shall) / spoke, “who shall 328.14 speedy?—let (MS speedy—let) / speedy? Let 328.14 we (MS) / We 328.23 depends (MS) / depend 328.38 in (MS) / on 329.3 knowledge (MS knowlege) / information 329.6 Plessis-les-Tours (18mo Plessis les Tours) / Peronne (MS as Ed1) 329.11 the present (MS) / his present 329.13 d’Argenton (Editorial) / D’Argenton (MS as Ed1) 329.18 anti-chamber—their (MS) / anti-chamber. Their

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329.24 council-table—their (MS) / council-table, their 329.25 souls ( MS ) / soul 329.30 he continued (MS) / continued he 329.31 one!—I (MS one—I) / one! I 329.32 situation—which (MS) / situation; which 329.42 No—Philip (MS) / No, Philip 330.7 inequality—the (MS) / inequality. The 330.7 distant—permit (MS derived: distant [end of line] permitt) / distant— Permit 330.9 of gold (MS) / ofmoney 330.16 time (MS) / time, 330.21 De(Editorial) / Des(MSasEd1) 330.28 De (Editorial) / Des (MS as Ed1) 330.37 De (Editorial) / Des (MS as Ed1) 330.38 pleasure—but (MS) / pleasure; but 331.1 kings—-is (MS Kings—is) / kings.—Is 331.24 de (Editorial) / des (MS as Ed1) 331.27 France—it (MS) / France;—it 331.35 forfeiture would be in this case difficult (MS) / forfeiture it would in this case be difficult 332.3 victis—You (MS victis—You) / victis!—You 332.10 party—the (MS) / party. The 332.13 Well—we (MS) / Well, we 332.14 exaction—there (MS derived: exaction [end of line] there) / exaction? there The word ‘exaction’ is at the extreme end of a line: it may read ‘exac­ tions’. 332.15 nothing else—or (MS) / nothing—or 332.35 Never—never (MS) / Never, never 332.38 Never—never (MS) / Never, never 332.42 will, but (MS derived: will but) / will—but 333.13 de (Editorial)/des (MS as EdI) 333.26 seeming (MS) / appearing 333.33 de(Editorial)/des(MS asEd1) 333.39 monarch—it (MS) / monarch?—it 334.6 ran (MS) / run 334.8 de (Editorial) / des (MS as Ed1) 334.13 tendered (MS tenderd) / rendered 334.23 was his (MS was 〈in〉 his) / was in his 334.42 play—but (MS) / play; but 335.1let (MS) / let 335.10 repeated in (proofcorrection: ↑ … repeated ↓ in) / repeated it in 335.24 forwards (MS) / forward 335.28 circuitous … safe (MS) / safe … circuitous 335-33 Sire—and (MS) / Sire; and 336.1 Philip—but (MS) / Philip; but 336.13 intractable (MS) / untractable 336.16 him—this (MS) /him. This 336.23 proposals—were (MS) / proposals. Were 336.31 hand—the (MS) / hand; the 336.34 mine—but (MS) / mine.—But 336.34 than a mere disowning (MS) / than mere disavowal The proofs have ‘than mere disowning’, prompting Scott’s further change. 337.3 procrastinate matters (MS) / procrastinate the matter

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337.8 them”—–(MS) / them, they might have done something; but—–” 337.11 “—But with whom … strengthen them, what ( MS “But ↑ with ↓ whom” 〈said〉 continued D’Argenton without heeding the interruption Your majesty will not likely find it convenient to strengthen them what) / “—But without whom,” continued D’Argenton, not heeding the in­ terruption,—“as your Majesty will not now likely find it convenient to supply them,—what See Essay on the Text, 435 337.15 Saint(MS) /St 337.19 protection—pass (MS) / protection. Pass 337.22 De(Editorial)/Des( MS asEd1) 337.23 marriage. ( MS marrage.) / marriage! 338.9 determinedly (MS) / determinately 338.23 report there (MS) / report, that there 338.24 obstinate—beside (MS) / obstinate; besides 338.29 daughter, an—a (MS derived: daughter an[end ofline]—a) / daughter Joan.—A An intermediary misinterpreted ‘an’ as ‘Anne’, and this was changed to ‘Joan’ between author’s and late proofs. See Essay on the Text, 434. 339.17 me, which (MS derived: me which) / me,—which 339.18 of, I ( MS derived: of I)/of,—I 339.19 heart—it (MS) / heart—It 339.19 that ruinous (MS) / a ruinous 339.22 monitor—must (MS) / monitor, must 339.25 if (MS) /If 339.28 has (MS) /hast 339.37 will strive for it—meantime (MS will—meantime) / will strive for it. Meantime 340.4 Leviathan (MS) / leviathan 340.6 chance of (MS) / chance—of 340.7 entrails!” (late proofs) / entrails” (MS entrails”–—) The author’s proofs have a full stop. This was replaced in the late proofs by an exclamation mark which has dropped out in all copies ofthe first edition examined. 340.29 like (MS) /likely 340.30 temper (MS) /heart 340.34 Count of (MS) / Count de 340.36 theBalafré (MS)/LeBalafré 341.1 was halfso (MS) / was so 341.18 service in (MS)/service of 341.32 kinsman,” (proofs) / kinsman?”(MS kinsman”) 342.7 meaning—you (MS) / meaning. You 342.19 you—like (MS) / you!—Like 342.30 this (MS)/his 342.36 will (under … communicate not even (MS) / will not (under … communicate even 342.39 Ay (MS Aye) /ay 343.3 Husht … husht (MS derived: Hushd … hushd) / Hush... hush 343.3 if(MS)/If 343.4 doest (MS) / dost 343.8 Souplejaw (Magnum) / Souplesaw (MS as Ed1) 343.9 Gullipotty (MS) / Gallipotty 343.18 wedding (proofcorrection) / wedded 343.18 child (proof correction) / lad 343.1 8 predicted”–— (proofcorrection) / predicted–—”

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343.21 Ludovic: (MS Ludovick:) / Ludovic, 343.24 mend. My (MS) / mend.—My 343.28 Lesly (Editorial) / Lesley (MS as Ed1) 343.31 lord, stay,” (MS Lord stay”) / lord,” 344.6 understand—the (MS) / understand. The 344.7 Scots (MS) / Scottish The proofs have ‘Scotch’, changed by Scott to ‘Scottish’. 344.9 friend—or else—you (MS freind—or else—you) / friend, or else you 344.14 one.” (MS) / one!” 344.16 Lesly(MS)/Lesley 344.26 faint-heart (MS) / faint heart 344.31 hath (MS)/had 344.31 thought he (MS) / thought that he 344.34 ye (MS)/you 344.36 by (MS)/By 344.37 such good (MS) / such a good 345.6 judge—this (MS) / judge. This 345.8 fool—and (MS) / fool, and 345.9 in a (MS)/In a 345.36 fact (MS)/truth 346.13 theme—tell (MS) / theme. Tell 346.19 yonder (MS) / Yonder 346.20 have (MS)/had 346.22 conference fast (MS) / conference, fast 346.23 forwards (MS) / forward 346.26 politician which (MS politician Which) / politician, which 346.39 contumacity—and (MS) / contumacity; and 346.42 truth—and (MS) / truth; and 347.14 ever—but (MS) / ever!—But 347.31 eyes”–—– (Magnum) / eyes–—–” (MS as Ed1) 348.3 disrespect—your (MS) / disrespect; your 348.30 knee be low. (Editorial) / knee— (MS knee.) 348.38 despite (MS) / spite 349.17 domination (MS) / dominion 349.25 of accommodations (MS of accomodations) / of his accommodations 349.40 command—to (MS) / command—To 350.4 under arms (proofcorrection: 〈in〉 ↑ under ↓ arms) / in martial array 350.10 occupy. About (proof correction derived: occupy; ↑ About … ↓) / occupy; about 350.11 sate (proofcorrection) / sat 350.12 state. And (proof correction) / state; and 350.19 counsellors—it (MS) / counsellors, it 350.23 arrived, in one case by (MS arrived by ↑ in one case by … ↓ ) / arrived in our case, by 350.28 murther(MS)/murder 350.38 measures (MS) / measures, 351.7 Fleece, (proofs) / Fleece! 351.13 us … us(MS)/Us … Us 351.19 murther (MS) / murder 351.26 an exasperated (MS) / a justly exasperated 351.41 “A (proofs) / “In the hands, I say, ofa (MS “a) 351.43 virtues (MS) / virtues, 352.27 baby-face (MS) / baby face 353.3 and to embrace (MS) / and embrace 353.8 at (MS)/of

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353.10 assured.” (proofs) / assured?” (MS assured—”) 353.27 concluded (MS) / continued 353.29 storm (MS) / storming 354.7 otherwise (MS) / otherways 354.9 given us the (MS) / given the 354.24 so (MS)/So 354.24 certain knights (MS) / Certain knights 354.25 quest (MS)/ quiet 354.34 forwards (MS) / forward 354.36 Lord—I(mslord—I)/Lord;I 355.1this (MS)/the 355.3 and a humble (MS) / and humble 355.4 Grace (MS)/grace 355.8 yourself—we (MS ) / yourself. We 355.12 me”–— (MS)/me–—” 355.34 intrigue (MS)/intrigues 356.28 iron chain (MS) / iron-chain 356.29 comes (MS) /come 357.2 veracity—Did (MS veracity〈”〉—Did) / veracity, did 57. 6 word (MS word〈s〉) / words 3 357.14 plot (MS)/plots 357.18 forwards (MS) / forward 357.28 those (MS) /these 357.29 on (MS)/in 357.36 Archer—what (MS) / Archer, what 357.37 these (MS) / those 357.38 these (MS)/those 358.5 make—this (MS) / make. This 358.18 heraldric(MS)/heraldic 358.19 therein (MS) / therein, 358.32 instantly—by (MS derived: instantly “by) / instantly. By 359.21 appearance (MS) / appearance, 359.23 dress, always sufficiently tawdry, was (proofs) / dress—a dress always sufficiently tawdry—was (MS dress always sufficiently tawdry was) 359.27 heraldric (MS) / heraldic 360.1Officer-at-arms (MS Officer at arms) / officer-at-arms 360.2 Grace (MS) / grace 360.2 Election (MS) / election 360.6 And (MS) / And, 360.12 tostate(MS)/sostate(MS asEd1) 360.15 from(MS)/of 360.17 maintains the rights of the Count (MS maintains the right ↑ s ↓ of the Count) / maintain the rights of Count 360.43 Grace, in the name and on ( MS Grace in the name and on) / Grace, on 361.5 or in any (MS) / or any 361.20 lattice.”(proofs) / lattice. (MS lattice”.) 361.24 King”–—(MS)/King–—” 361.35 Duke, (proofs) / Duke (MS as Ed1) 361.38 Burgundy”–— (MS) / Burgundy—” 362.3 murder ofhis (MS murdere 〈r〉 ofhis) / murderer ofhis 362.8 murtherer (MS) / murderer 362.9 be gone (MS) / begone 362.12 Nay—but (MS)/Nay, but 362.16 forwards (MS) / forward 362.22 forwards (MS) / forward

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362.26 Heraldric (MS) / Heraldic 363.12 aloft.” [new paragraph] “Surely, … a false brother.” [new paragraph] “Shew (MS derived: aloft.” “Surely brother you mistake the matter and are too willful [end of line] I will then ask ofyou what is the vulgar blazonry ofa shield which displays the King ofBeasts climbing to nobility colourd of magnanimity in a feild of generosity hedged in by a girdle oflilies”—“I will not answer the question” said the Herald ofLa Marck his confident voice degenerating into “a quaver of consterna­ tion” it is captious and you lie at the catch with me.” “Alas said the Burgundian Herald “why it is but the Scottish arms the 〈lo In〉 〈o〉 Or. the lion rampant gules within a tressure of fleurs de lis—I fear I must denounce either obstinate or a false brother”—“Shew) / aloft.” [new paragraph] “Shew See Essay on the Text, 435–36. The punctuation is taken from the proofs, with the insertion of an additional comma after ‘gules’. 363.28 my poor (MS) / my own poor 363.32 hustled (MS) / bustled 363.35 dairy-window—more shame to Cis Dairymaid, who shut her in there.” (MS dairy-window—more shame to Cis Dairymaid who shut her in there.”) / dairy-window.” See Essay on the Text, 435–36. 364.10 forwards (MS) / forward 364.11 or?” [new paragraph] “lam … replied the Duke, [new paragraph] For (MS Or—” “I am but a poor fellow Sire” said the 〈Duke〉 herald drop­ ping on his knees”—“A poor fellow!—but art thou a herald or not?” replied the Duke—“For) / or?” [new paragraph] “For See Essay on the Text, 435–36. 364.17 At(MS)/In 364.21 know that no … one would (MS know that no … one would) / know no … one, who would 364.22 rests,(MS)/rest! 364.23 King(MS)/King, 364.37 on (MS)/upon 365.6 law.” (proofs) / law?” (MS law”—) 365.9 impudence. Away (MS) / impudence.—Away 365.19 have fairly (MS) / fairly have 365.21 those (MS) / these 365.23 sufferings (MS) / suffering 365.33 take (MS)/Take 365.33 him!—he (MS him—he) / him!—He 366.1it(MS)/It 366.8 was (MS)/is 366.10 see—he (MS)/see.—He 366.11 parks”—– (MS) / parks–—” 366.19 his degrees (MS) / the degrees 366.19 of such (MS) / in such 366.26 times (Editorial) / time (MS as Ed1) 366.27 them(MS)/it 366.34 metal—and (MS) / metal, and 366.40 murther (MS) / murder 366.42 matter—moreover (MS) / matter.—Moreover 366.43 this (MS) / this 367.2 infidels—besides—did (MS infidels—besides—〈was〉 ↑ did ↓) / infi­ dels. Besides, did 367.3 year—and (MS) / year; and

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367.5 France, and (MS derived: France and) / France; and 367.9 time—And (MS) / time.—And 367.11 murthering (MS) / murdering 367.12 Ban (MS)/Ban, 367.16 agent—a (MS) / agent. A 367.17 might”–— (MS) / might—–” 367.24 bride (MS) / bridegroom 367.25 matter—and (MS) / matter, and 367.29 pleasure needs (proofcorrection: ↑… pleasure ↓ needs) / pleasure must needs 367.36 obtained (MS obtaind) / attained 368.11 ithath(MS)/ithas 368.36 Penseroso,—he (late proofs) / Penseroso, he (MS Penseroso he) The dash which appears in the late proofs has dropped out in Ed1. 368.39 gallows (MS)/gibbet 369.2 of(MS)/in 369.18 I do indulge (MS) / I indulge 370.7 Archer—this (MS archer this) / Archer—This 370.10 Despair (MS) / despair 370.13 Petit-André (8vo) / Petit-Andre (MS Petit Andre) 370.20 Brantwein (MS) / brantwein 370.21 Petit-André (8vo) / Petit-Andre (MS as Ed1) 370.37 No, by (MS derived: No by) / No; by 370.40 pretend (MS) / profess 371.4 ought (MS) / aught 371.12 not!—tell (MS not—tell) / not! Tell 371.13 fate.” (proofs) / fate,” said Durward, with mingled pity and horror, (MS fate—”) 371.42 faced. Well (proofs) / faced!—Well (MS faced—Well) 372.38 live (MS)/living 373.3 stables (MS) / stables, 373.14 life in (MS)/life on 373.14 dear—take (MS) / dear. Take 373.28 this (MS)/the 373.34 Begone (MS) / begone 375.1 Pasques-dieu (MS Pasques-dieu) / Pasques-Dieu 375.3 little (MS) / small 375.8 cousin. For (MS) / cousin; for 375.22 fortune (MS) / father 375.32 sate (MS)/sat 375.39 Louis. It (MS) / Louis; and it 376.15 at(MS)/on 376.40 is—and (MS)/is—And 377.3 animates me—and (MS animates—and) / animates me—And 377.18 silence (MS) / silent 377.20 unworthy—the (MS)/unworthy—The 377.32 light”–—– (MS) / light–—–” 377.37 these (MS)/ those 377.43 thus (MS)/once 378.9 Zucht-haus—to the penitentiary (proof correction derived: Z〈a〉 ↑ u ↓ cht-haus, ↑ to the—penitentiary ↓) / Zucht-haus, to the penitentiary 378.14 Burgundy—if (MS) / Burgundy. If 378.20 in (MS)/with 378.29 murther (MS) / murder

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378.30 avengeth (MS)/avenges 378.30 Wild Boar (MS) / Wild-Boar 378.34 “I beseech of your Grace … court—think (MS “I beseech ofyour grace not to make me thus the laughing-stock ofyour court—think) / “think The phrase was apparently omitted by the copyist. 378.39 sake—the (MS) / sake, the 378.40 gentleman—of(MS) / gentleman, of 378.41 bearings—but (MS) / bearings; but 379.3 chivalry, (MS Chivalry.) / chivalry? 379.13 brute, La Marek (m s brute La Marek) / brute, De la Marck 379.21 contest.” (proofs) / contest?” (MS contest”—.) 379.27 will never (MS) / may never 379.28 shall (MS)/will 379.33 made (MS) / won 379.37 is the (MS)/is in the 380.1whispered the more (MS whisperd the more) / whispered more 380.4 that—perhaps—the (MS) / that perhaps the 380.35 meanwhile (MS) / meantime 380.36 win(MS)/gain 380.37 gain (MS)/win 381.5 place attended (MS) / place, attended 381.31 Quentin (MS)/ Quentin Durward 381.32 Croye, and on (MS Croye and on) / Croye, on 381.34 adventurer.” (MS) / adventurer!” 381.41 hear—let us hear—what (MS) / hear, let us hear what 382.6 personally—he (MS) / personally. He 382.9 grandsire—he (MS) / grandsire;—he 382.9 temper—such (MS) / temper, such 382.10 memory—he (MS) / memory;—he 382.11 speech—few (MS) / speech, few 382.11 otherwise—and (Editorial) / otherwise; and (MS otherwise and) 382.15 the power of the tyrant (MS) / the tyrant 382.18 Eberson (12mo) / Ebersson (MS as Ed1) 382.24 vanity (MS)/vanities 382.25 why(MS)/Why 382.30 of such (MS) / of all such 382.30 dissimulation—you (MS) / dissimulation. You 382.33 ideot(MS)/idiot 382.39 murther (MS) / murderers 382.42 Why there spoke (MS) / Ah! there indeed spoke 383.9 the bar (MS) / a bar 383.21 murtherer (ms) / murderer 383.31 tumultuary (MS) / tumultuous 383.32 these (MS)/those 383.40 together (MS) / met 384.28 but march (MS) / but to march 384.30 remember (MS) / Remember 384.32 disbanded (MS) / dispersed 384.32 purposes (MS) / purpose 384.37 rear (MS)/rear, 385.7 less (MS) / fewer 385.29 ground (MS) / ground, 385.37 refreshment, while (MS refreshment while) / refreshment; and while 386.14 timbers (MS) / timber 387.10 announces, having … it (MS announces having been communicated to

492

EMENDATION LIST

him as that of William de la Marek it) / announces, it See Essay on the Text, 435–36. 387.25 night—I (MS) / night, I 387.26 me—By (MS)/me.—By 387.30 “I cannot be more so,” (MS “I cannot be more so”) / “I cannot,” 387.31 confidence, “than (MS confidence than) / confidence, “be more so than 388.1 into (MS)/in 388.5 with La Marck (MS) / withDelaMarck 388.6 Oliver—such (MS) / Oliver. Such 388.14 city—let (MS) /city. Let 388.19 Oliver—and (MS Oliver—&) / Oliver, and 388.31 disbanded (MS) / dispersed 389.2 so Quentin (MS) / so with Quentin 389.6 him, indeed, to (proofs) / him to (MS him indeed to) 389.7crisis, but (MS crisis—but) / crisis indeed, but 389.13 mass of darkness which (MS) / mass which 389.16 all was still dark and (MS) / all continued still and 389.19 Fleurs-de-lys (proofs) / Fleur-de-lis (MS fleurs-de lys) 389.22 continued—but (MS) / continued; but 389.28 causelessly (MS) / carelessly 390.4 years—they (MS) / years. They 390.5forward—I (MS) / forward.—I 390.7 Quentin, [new paragraph] “Do (MS Quentin “Do) / Quentin, “ and endeavour to bring you information.” [new paragraph] “Do 390.26 many for us to (MS many 〈forto〉 for us to) / many to 390.31 our (MS) / your 390.33 Duke—he (MS derived: Duke he) / Duke. He 391.40 In (MS in)/On 391.43 right (18mo)/left (MS as Ed1) 392.3 host. And (MS) / host; and 392.9 falconets: the (MS falconnets: the) / falconets—the 392.1 8 beside squires &c. and (MS beside squires &c and) / besides squires, and 392.24 those (MS)/the MS ‘those’ was misread as ‘their’, prompting Scott’s change to ‘the’. 392.37 request—no (MS) / request.—No 392.38 in (MS)/on 392.39 lances—let (MS) / lances! Let 393.12 on (MS)/in 393.15 reported at (MS) / reported, and truly reported, at 393.19 they contended (MS) / they were contending 393.19 forwards (MS) / forward 393.24 nephew—but (MS) / nephew; but 393.43 lanzknechts (MS) / lanz-knechts See Essay on the Text, 435. 394.2 so very young (MS) / so young 394.3 was he himself (MS) / was himself 394.5 arms (MS) / iron 394.6 now (MS) / almost 394.11 his mace (MS) / his terrible mace 394.37 lanzknechts (MS) / lanz-knechts 394.40 to a single (MS) / to single 395.6 party (MS) / part 395.12 lanzknechts (MS) / lanz-knechts

EMENDATION LIST

493

395.23 beg(MS)/bid 395.35 mace (MS)/despairing robber The proofs misread ‘mace’ as ‘man’, leading Scott to substitute ‘des­ pairing robber’. 395.41 resentment (MS) / ire 396.1“Help!—help!—for the sake of the blessed Virgin—help!” (MS “help —help—for the sake of the blessed virgin—help—”) / “Help! help! for the sake of the blessed Virgin!” 396.14 said Le Balafré (MS said Le Balafre) / said Balafré 396.28 as (MS)/As 396.30 for (MS)/For 396.31 The (MS) / Her 397.5 Mass, for the decision … action, (MS Mass, 〈and〉 for the decision of such claims ↑ concerning spoil prisoners and so forth ↓ as usually arose 〈after〉 in those days after an action.) / Mass. See Essay on the Text, 435–36. 397.15 and I finished,” (proofs) / and nearly finished, and I put the last hand to,” (MS and I finishd”) 397.18 turn (MS) / time 397.28 troth (MS)/truth 397.31 Martin’s (8vo) / Martins (proof correction as Ed1) 397.38 seemed a mystery and doubt (MS seemd a mystery and doubt) / seemed doubt and mystery 397.42 others (MS)/others, 397.42 murtherer (MS) / murderer 398.1 had (MS) / having 398.3 amongst (MS) / among 398.7 forwards (MS) / forward 398.10 no (MS)/No 398.19 the officer (MS) / the old soldier 398.24 soldier (MS) / Archer 398.26 and Burgundy (MS & Burgundy) / or Burgundy 398.29 there. ” ( 12mo) / there, (MS there—) 398.33 Croye—I (MS) / Croye!—I 398.38 conjectures—hear (MS conjectures—here) / conjectures. Hear 398.40 could have made (MS) / could make MS ‘could have made’ was misread as ‘could not make’, corrected by James Ballantyne in proof. 399.4 produce (MS) / pronounce 399.14 feat(MS)/fate 399.20 it(MS)/It 399.29 be Durward (MS be 〈A1〉 Durward) / be young Durward 399.30 plainly (MS) / plainly, 399.33 are (MS) / may be 399.37 Sense, Firmness, and Gallantry (MS 〈s〉 ↑ S ↓ ense ↑ Firmness ↓ and Gallantry) / sense, firmness, and gallantry 399.38 Wealth, Rank, and Beauty (MS Wealth Rank & Beauty) / Wealth, R.ANK,andBEAUTY 400.6 tea-cup (Editorial) / tea-cup, (not in MS)

END-OF-LINE HYPHENS

All end-of-line hyphens in the present text are soft unless included in the list below. The hyphens listed are hard and should be retained when quoting. 3.19 well-supplied 4.9 three-pence 8.39 vine-dresser’s 13.37 well-informed 14.8 arm-chair 15.36 major-domo 28.15 under-hand 30.15 half-dressed 36.35 cut-throats 38.12 scythe-blades 38.31 wood-knife 39.39 self-destruction 43.31 pigeon-houses 46.41 Glen-houlakin 53.1 Glen-houlakin 57.8 full-grown 62.7 Glen-houlakin 62.14 Roche-noir 62.40 wine-house 66.28 back-ground 67.32 to-morrow 71.4 grave-looking 76.40 Jean-qui-rit 77.36 Trois-Eschelles 79.41 a-gleaning 80.40 Provost-Marshal 82.15 Provost-Marshal 82.21 to-morrow 82.23 empty-handed 89.30 Fleur-de-Lys 96.33 court-favour 96.34 presence-chamber 98.26 dark-blue 101.10 hot-headed 102.20 hot-headed 105.31 Provost-guard 108.39 Twenty-four 109.36 self-satisfied 119.29 wood-craft 121.42 drop-work 139.30 high-born 146.43 Pasques-dieu 148.3 long-legged 160.27 pass-words

162.34 163.33 164.36 165.37 174.1 180.6 184.43 186.7 188.11 190.10 192.7 210.19 211.25 212.38 213.29 217.32 223.25 226.29 231.27 246.29 250.38 258.19 258.43 264.43 274.2 285.15 302.3 306.24 306.40 306.41 309.33 309.42 325.12 329.21 333.31 343.8 347.21 362.21 367.12 368.33 369.21 370.12 370.18 370.21 494

milk-maids a-day Trois-Eschelles Petit-André leech-craft wolf-whelp stumbling-block blood-thirsty Glen-houlakin German-French bow-shot water-carriage trust-worthy city-gates Stadt-haus gentleman-usher war-cries wool-pack kind-hearted self-opinion life-blood Schwarz-reiters Schwarz-reiters Life-guard lively-looking to-morrow braw-warld side-chamber eye-sight oak-floor blood-thirsty word-mongering bed-chamber dog-leash Booted-Head town-souter eye-witnesses King-at-arms Arriere-Ban Petit-André jerry-come-tumble Leap-the-ladder Trois-Eschelles crack-rope

END-OF-LINE HYPHENS

382.36 384.7 386.20 386.26 387.20

Boar-Pig self-defence head-quarters out-houses Smock-sleeve

397.17 399.20 400.6 400.36

Small-Back night-sally tea-cup church-porch

495

HISTORICAL NOTE

Full details of works referred to by short titles in this Note can be found at the head of the Explanatory Notes, 507-08.

Historical sketch. The historical context of Quentin Durward in the second half of the fifteenth century is summed up with admirable con­ cision by G. M. Handley: The novel deals with one ofthe most critical periods in the history of France and ofEurope, a time when the old order of things was passing way. England was exhausted, the French wars and the War of the Roses had decimated its ancient nobility and depleted its treasury; ofall its extensive dominions in France only Calais re­ mained … the vassals of the French crown were endeavouring to emancipate themselves from its control. The country was honey­ combed with plots and secret combinations. Taking advantage of the general confusion, groups ofrobbers and freebooters ravaged the country under men like the Duke of Gueldres and William de la Marck, who threw off the habits of knights and gentlemen to prac­ tise the violences and brutalities ofcommon bandits. The use of gunpowder was revolutionising methods and ideas of warfare, as it deprived the Knight of all advantage which the pos­ session ofarmour had given him. The Feudal system was dying out, and along with it the spirit of chivalry. The common people were no longer bought and sold like cattle with the land on which they lived; the middle classes were commencing to trade and grow rich, and further, they combined together in guilds to defend their rights and advance their common interests.1 In this context, and in this novel, Crevecoeur, Dunois, Charles the Bold (in part) and Scott’s fictitious hero Quentin Durward look back to the old chivalric traditions involving loyalty to one’s feudal superior and centring on an élite body of knights aspiring to follow a lofty code, fighting to defend the oppressed and the honour of their ladies. The old feudal order had been characterised by powerful counties, duchies, and principalities, largely independent of external control. Louis XI stands for the new centralising monarchy, cunning, Machiavellian, unrespect­ ful of traditional rules. William de la Marck is a particularly brutal example of the rogue baron; and the Liégois represent the new trading class. To the east of France was the boundary of the Holy Roman Empire: covering most of central Europe, the Empire was a conglomeration of states owing ultimate feudal allegiance to an Emperor elected by three archbishops and four German princes. The city and ecclesiastical prin­ cipality of Liège were nominally subject to the Holy Roman Emperor 496

HISTORICAL NOTE

497

alone, but they lay in the middle of the northern Burgundian territories, and in the fifteenth century they were subject to constant attempts by the ambitious dukes of Burgundy to subjugate them, from their defeat by John the Fearless in 1407 until the death of Charles the Bold in 1467 and the restoration of their liberties by his daughter Mary. Far to the north was France’s old ally, Scotland. A poor country, it suffered throughout the fifteenth century from a series of minority kingships: the consequence of endemic intrigue and violence, these minorities in their turn made difficult the imposition of effective and lasting social and political stability. The lawlessness ofhis native country has left Quentin Durward an orphan.

Scott’s sources. By far the most important of Scott’s sources for Quentin Durward is the splendid Memoirs of Philippe de Comines (or Commynes). Comines, who has more than a walk-on role in the novel itself, was chamberlain and trusted councillor of Charles the Bold until 1472, when Louis XI persuaded him to enter his service. The following year he became Seigneur of Argenton (his castle was situated some 70 km N of Niort, Deux-Sèvres). Scott’s contrasting portraits of Louis and Charles, crafty king and fiery duke, essentially derive from Comines, whose memoirs, covering the period 1464–98, are generally regarded as the first example of modern analytical history rather than chronicle. Comines is interested in characters, and in the workings of divine provi­ dence. While recognising Comines as a pioneering classic, modern historians tend to be to a greater or lesser extent sceptical of the accuracy of his narrative,2 but Scott gives full credit to his account. Comines is included in the invaluable collection of French historical memoirs edited by Claude Bernard Petitot, though Scott also owned an edition of 1556 (CLA, 37).3 He was able to derive details from other early documents printed by Petitot, as well as from Petitot’s extensive connecting commentaries. His use of these and of later chroniclers and historians is discussed under the character of Louis XI below, and specific debts identified are registered in the Explanatory Notes. Scott’s usual method of dealing with historical incidents, such as Péronne or Liège, is to take the broad outline from Comines and fill it in imaginatively, using the occasional vivid detail (such as the muddiness of the Liège landscape: 385.30–31) from Comines or other sources. His most extensive elaboration of Comines can be seen in the chapters covering the incidents at Péronne which stand at the centre of the novel in more than a purely bibliographic sense. Comines’s narrative, it has been suggested, is already largely fictitious, making a minor encounter into a dynastic turning-point (in this he is followed by Wraxall: 1.111–14). Already in 1689 Varillas (1.302–07) had expanded on Comines by filling in the conjectured thought-processes of Louis and Charles. Scott does not draw on Varillas’s expansions, but provides his own imaginary accounts of the interviews between the two rulers, after an equally imaginary atmospheric description of the King’s forced change of lodging. The business of the astrologer and the herald is also of course almost entirely fictitious, certainly in this context. The relevant

SELECTIVE GENEALOGICAL TABLE

49^ HISTORICAL NOTE

HISTORICAL NOTE

499

explanatory notes indicate the skeleton on which Scott has built up these central chapters. It is likely that Scott drew some details for his descriptions ofnorthern France from the journal and drawings kept by his friend James Skene of Rubislaw, as Lockhart suggests (see Essay on the Text, 404). Unfortu­ nately Skene’s journals with details of his continental journeys have disappeared,4 so it is impossible to say with certainty how much Scott owed to them for his topographical and architectural descriptions. Lock­ hart is, however, apparently correct in stating that he took from one of Skene’s journal chapters ‘the substance of the original [1823] Introduc­ tion to Quentin Durward’. A manuscript volume (only partly completed) has survived of drawings (for etching) and notes intended by Skene to form a second volume of A Series of Sketches of the existing Localities alluded to in the Waverley Novels, the first volume of which had been published in 21 numbers in 1829–31.5 One of the drawings, dated 1821, is of the castle at La Barben in Provence, and Skene comments (Illustra­ tion 29): ‘This extensive and important Castle in Provence belongs to the noble family of de Forbin, for a description of which see my journal of a six months residence in Aix. I had paid a visit to my friend the present Marquis while residing in this antient stronghold of his family, and having in conversation with Sir Walter Scott describe[d] the scene; and the now altered fortunes of the family, he transferred the account to the romance in the composition of which he happened at the time to be engaged.’6 The medieval castle of La Barben, seat of the Forbin family, situated 25 km west of Aix-en-Provence, was severely damaged during the French Revolution and practically rebuilt in the 19th century.

Principal Characters. Balue. Jean de Balue (1421–91), of uncertain but humble origin, became Bishop of Evreux in 1465, and additionally of Angers in June 1467. He was made a cardinal in November 1468. In 1469 he was imprisoned by Louis XI, partly because ‘ledit cardinal écrivoit à mon­ seigneur de Guyenne, l’exhortant de ne prendre nul autre partage que celuy que ledit duc de Bourgogne luy avoit procuré par la paix faite à Peronne: laquelle avoit esté promise, et jureé entre ses mains’ (the cardinal had written to the Duke of Guienne not to accept of any other share than that which the Duke of Burgundy had procured for him by the treaty at Péronne [i.e. Champagne and Brie], which the king had promised and sworn to observe’ (Comines, 2.15: Petitot, 11.519). Released in 1480, he went to Rome and in 1490 he was restored briefly to Angers before his death. Balue’s ambitious self-promotion is noted by Mézeray (2.129), and his addiction to intrigue by Varillas (1.293). Scott owes to Roye (in Petitot, 13.388–89) the notion that he be­ trayed Louis into the hands of Charles the Bold at Péronne: ‘non ayant Dieu en memoire, ne l’honneur et prouffit du Roy ne du royaulme devant ses yeux, [il] mena le Roy jusques à Peronne’ (with no regard for God or for the honour and profit of the King or the kingdom, [he] led the King to Péronne); and the problem with his runaway horse which prompted that betrayal (113–14) was also suggested by an incident in

500

HISTORICAL NOTE

Roye (Petitot, 13.313) where in 1465 Balue escaped an assault in Paris by virtue of his excellent mule which carried him off to his lodging (see Scott’s note in the Magnum, 31.174–75n). Later research confirms Balue’s self-interested ambition, and his eventual treachery, but it also stresses his intelligence and his undoubted ability in the service of his king and country. Louis of Bourbon. Louis de Bourbon (1438–82), Bishop of Liège 1456, was first cousin to Charles the Bold. In an ill-advised act of nepotism Philip the Good persuaded the Pope to appoint him prince­ bishop of Liège in 1456 when he was only 18. His undisciplined charac­ ter made him entirely unsuitable for this office: C. B. Wheeler writes of this ‘turbulent youth who preyed on the people of his diocese and violently defied all their rights, using his powers, both temporal and spiritual, solely for the gratification of his own vanities and lusts’.7 Scott has changed his character radically, and he has advanced the date of his murder by 14 years. Charles. Charles ‘the Bold’ (1433–77), Duke of Burgundy 1467, has been much less the subject of controversy than his rival Louis. Wraxall’s account (1.107) does not differ significantly from that of Comines: ‘Violent and impetuous in his manners, bold even to rashness, inflexible in the prosecution of whatever designs he had once adopted, aiming at royalty, and exhausting his revenues, as well as his forces, in vain attempts to extend his dominions, he was at last over-reached in policy by the king of France. Unequal to the execution of the projects which he had conceived, Charles destroyed the fabric which his three predeces­ sors had erected, and expired the victim of his immoderate, and illregulated ambition.’ Scott’s characterisation follows the orthodox line of his sources, but he totally neglects Burgundian cultural achievements under Charles, though they are stressed by Petitot (9.52): during most of the fifteen th century Burgundy was home to artists, poets, and musi­ cians of the highest order. Comines. Philippe de Comines (Commynes) (1447?–1511) entered the service of Charles the Bold in 1464, becoming his chamberlain in 1467. According to his own account, which Scott follows, he played a prominent part in the negotiations between Charles and Louis at Pér­ onne in October 1468. In 1471 he transferred his allegiance to Louis, who offered him better pay, and in 1473 became Seigneur of Argenton. As noted above, Comines’s memoirs were Scott’s main source for Quen­ tin Durward. Scott’s Comines, with his disdain for financial reward, is morally loftier, though physically shorter, than the historical original, but the historical Comines’s intellectual affinity with Louis (rather than Charles) is central to Scott’s portrayal.8 Crevecoeur. Philippe de Crèvecoeur (1418–94), Seigneur of Cordes (Esquerdes), appears several times in Comines, notably (2.2: Petitot, 11.446) as ‘homme sage’ (a wise man) discomfiting the Liégois in 1467, and commanding the Burgundian archers who escorted Louis to Pér­ onne (2.5: Petitot, 11.467). He passed into the French service after the death of Charles the Bold in 1477. His character and role in the novel are apparently imaginary.

HISTORICAL NOTE

501 The Croyefamily. The individual members of the Croye family in the novel are imaginary, but the historical Croy family was prominent in Franco-Burgundian relations. Antoine (c. 1402–75) and his brother Jean (d. 1473), Seigneur of Chimay (first count 1473) had been favoured by Philip the Good (Antoine was his first chamberlain), but his son Charles was hostile to them, in general because of their eminence, and in particular because he blamed them for advising his father, ageing and desirous of ease, to take Louis’s money in redemption of the Somme towns. At the time of the novel (1468) they were accused of treasonable dealings with France and England, though Charles eventually let the matter rest and in 1473 Antoine was restored to his dignities. Oliver Dain. Oliver was by birth a Fleming, named Olivier Necker (German ‘teaser’); this was rendered in French by ‘le Diable’ or ‘le Mauvais’ (‘the Devil’, or ‘the Bad’); but when Louis ennobled him in 1474 he surnamed him ‘Le Dain’. Louis employed his surgeon-barber in many positions of trust, for which Comines thought him ill qualified. After Louis’s death Olivier was executed by sentence of the Parliament of Paris in 1484 for taking advantage of a woman with a promise to save her husband whom he then had strangled (Petitot, 12.257n). Scott’s characterisation is essentially imaginary. Dunois. The Dunois who features in the novel is a son of the Jean d’Orléans (1402–68), Count of Dunois (the ‘Bastard of Orleans’), who was actually opposed to Louis from the dauphin’s revolt against his father Charles VII in 1447 until Jean and Louis were reconciled in 1465. In 1439 Jean married for the second time, and had a son François (1447–91), who became Count of Longueville in 1468 (founding an illustrious dynasty) and Count of Dunois in 1488. The young Dunois’s valour and loyalty in the novel echo his father’s character. Quentin Durward. The character is imaginary, but James Anderson notes9 that he may have been modelled on James Somerville who in 1614 insisted on seeking his fortune in continental warfare. His cousin the Earl of Wintoune ‘gave him a letter of recommendatione to his uncle Sir John Seatoune, who was at that tyme a captaine in the French king’s regiment of guardes’ (Memorie of The Somervilles, [ed. Walter Scott], 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1815), 2.148). Galeotti. The name, but nothing else, is taken from Marzio Galeotti, or Galeotti Martius, who was never active in Louis’s service (see note to 152.38–42). Hymbercourt. Guy de Brimeu (1433–77), Seigneur of Humbercourt, was Charles the Bold’s governor of the territory of Liège. He was despatched thither before the meeting of Louis and Charles at Péronne, and according to Comines (2.7: Petitot, 11.474) was captured by the insurgents but escaped. Since he could not have been present at Pér­ onne most of his role in the novel is imaginary. Comines commends his prudence in general, but censures his rashness during the attack on Liège: Scott has him act prudently and valiantly throughout. Joan. Scott’s characterisation of Louis XI’s unfortunate daughter Jeanne (1464–1505) follows closely the account given by Wraxall, who stresses Louis’s cruelty in insisting on her union with Louis of Orleans

502

HISTORICAL NOTE

(1.107), her ‘most estimable and amiable qualities’ (1.148), and her saintly acceptance (‘submissive in her disgrace, and humble from a consciousness of her personal demerits’) of her husband’s divorcing her on his accession as Louis XII ( 1.150). Louis XI. Louis XI (1423–83), who succeeded to the French throne in 1461, has been subject to an immense range of interpretations, from Comines’s carefully balanced account drawn from first-hand acquaint­ ance, and Jean de Roye’s diary of Louis’s reign misleadingly known as the Scandalous Chronicle, through virulently hostile neo-feudal sources such as Claude de Seyssel and Brantôme, Mézeray’s pioneering but still hostile study of 1643–51 and Varillas’s panegyric of 1689, the balanced and scholarly Duclos in 1746 and the severe Wraxall in 1777 (3rd edition 1807), to modern admirers of Louis’s statecraft such as Pierre Champion and Paul Murray Kendall and sceptics such as Karl Bitt­ mann and Richard Vaughan.10 In the first edition of Quentin Durward Scott, with his rounded picture of Louis derived from Comines, pre­ sents a distinctly more favourable view of the King than does Wraxall, for whom he is a ‘prince odious in his character, detestable in his principles of conduct’ (1.96): for example, Scott says that he governed Dauphiné ‘with much sagacity’ (26.37), whereas Wraxall talks of his ‘exactions and oppressions’ (1.91); Wraxall also says that he was ‘justly’ suspected of poisoning his brother Charles (1.115), whereas Scott leaves this as a suspicion (298,307). Although Wraxall recognises Louis’s achievement in advancing, by his incorporation of Burgundy, Artois, and Provence, the formation of modern France begun by his father Charles VII’s reconquest of almost all the territories held by the English, he nevertheless sums up his understanding of the King thus: A prince odious in his character, detestable in his principles of conduct; violating every maxim of honorable or virtuous policy; deviating frequently even from the rules of self-interest; uniformly flagitious, and systematically bad: yet attaining by the mazes of an insidious and eccentric subtlety, to the completion of almost all his views; and finally acquiring a prerogative and authority un­ known to any ofhis predecessors. Such is Louis the eleventh. (1.96–97) In the Magnum, with the darkening of historical vision characteristic of his final years, Scott’s Louis moves closer to the demonic figure of the neo-feudal chroniclers who wrote in the decades after the King’s death, but even the Magnum does not justify Kendall’s stricture: ‘Sir Walter Scott … stamped on the world’s imagination … the image of a sinister gargoyle lit by the lurid flames of the declining Middle Ages’. There is, though, an element of truth in Kendall’s condemnation of Scott’s Plessis-lès-Tours as ‘The lurid, gloomy, grotesque habitation of pop­ ular fancy, with dead men swinging from trees and the King sliding about like a diabolic monk’ (28, 363n). This is over-stated, but it does point to Scott’s bringing forward to 1468 details taken from Comines’s description of Louis’s last years, and it is certainly the case that Scott’s description ofPlessis is largely imaginary. De la Marek. The historical Guillaume I de la Marek on whom Scott’s

HISTORICAL NOTE

503

character is primarily based was the fourth son ofJean II de la Marck (d. 1470: he was seigneur inter alia of Braquemont near Dieppe, which his father Everard II had acquired in 1424 from his brother-in-law Louis de Braquemont). Unpredictable and outrageous, in 1467 he had sup­ ported the rebellious Liégois, but in 1468 he joined Everard to fight on the Burgundian side, and continued to shift his allegiance during the following decade. He appears briefly in Comines (5.16: Petitot, 12.280) as ‘un beau chevalier et vaillant, trés-cruel et mal conditionné’ (a noble gentleman and a brave soldier, but a man of a cruel and malicious temper) who, in spite of Burgundian financial inducements, favoured the citizens of Liège against Bishop Louis, and in 1482 killed Louis who had put himself at the head of his troops, and succeeded in having his own son elected bishop. According to Molinet, William’s nickname was ‘la Barbe’ (the Beard),11 and the ‘sanglier d’Ardennes’ (boar of the Ardennes) was the eldest of his brothers Everard III; but the epithet was applied to more than one of the de la Marck clan, and Jean de Roye calls Guillaume I by that name. Guillaume’s outrageous career led to his excommunication in 1482, and finally to his execution at the behest of Emperor Maximilian in 1485. It was Guillaume’s nephew Robert II de la Marck (d. 1536), Seigneur of Sedan, known as ‘le Diable’ (the Devil) on account of a career as wild as his uncle’s, who married, between 1485 and 1488, Catherine de Croy (d. 1544), daugh­ ter of Philippe, Count of Chimay (who died in 1482 or 1483), son of Jean de Croy. Maugrabin. Hayraddin Maugrabin’s second name may have been suggested by the magician Maugraby in the third volume of the sequel to the Arabian Nights, Les Veillées du Sultan Schahriar, translated by [Denis] Cazotte and [Jacques] Chavis.12 The translators gloss his name as ‘barbaresque’ (from the Barbary—North African—coast: 4.81). Like Hayraddin, Maugraby is a sort of free thinker: ‘Man, without science, … is nothing: His strength and agility is greatly inferior to that of several other animals, and he only possesses the slender advantage of communicating his thoughts … Nature is only a mystery to those who are ignorant of our art, and enjoy not the … opportunity … of finding a key to her secrets’.13 Orleans. Louis d’Orléans (1462–1515), son of Charles Duke of Orleans, succeeded to the dukedom on his father’s death in 1466. Forced by Louis XI to marry his daughter Joan, he had his marriage annulled after succeeding Charles VIII as king with the title Louis XII in 1498. His character is apparently imaginary. Tristan l'Hermite. Born in Flanders very early in the century, Louis, known as Tristan 1’Hermite, served under Charles VI and Charles VII (as grand master of artillery in 1436) before entering Louis Xi’s service. He was a notable soldier, and was employed to suppress brigands. He retired from Louis’s service some years before the date of the story. Scott took the hint for his character and office in the novel from Claude de Seyssel (see note to 43.22–23). Trois-Echelles and Petit-André. Trois-Echelles is entirely fictitious; Petit-André was suggested by the ‘Petit Jehan’ (Little John), who

504

HISTORICAL NOTE

executed the Constable St Pol very neatly in 1475 (Roye, in Petitot, 14.24–25). The Scottish Archers Crawford and Ludovic Lesley appear to be entirely imaginary, though the latter’s name is taken from a Scots col­ onel in the German wars of the early 17th century.14

Locations. For the most part there is little precision of historical detail in the novel’s settings. Péronne, the castle of Schonwaldt, and Liège in general are not delineated in any detail. The exception is the picture of Plessis-lès-Tours.15 Here Scott reaches forward in time to the end of Louis’s life for the concept of the recluse’s retreat. Although the ironmongery deployed as outer defences in the novel is taken from Comines’s account of Louis’s final years, architecturally the actual chateau of Plessis (which Comines does not describe in detail) was far from the elaborate and gloomy structure Scott delineates. Louis bought it in 1463 and rebuilt it essentially as a bright country house with an outer and inner courtyard, the latter being surrounded with a moat. Scott was conscious of his lack of information about Plessis (see Essay on the Text, 405), which led him to model his castle on the structures of the earlier middle ages. He correctly deduced from maps, however, that the site was not chosen primarily for defensive purposes, though the grounds were surrounded by water in the form of the Loire, its tributary the Cher, and the connecting canal of St Anne. During Louis’s reign it was known as Montilz-lez-Tours, but Lquis liked to call it ‘le Plessis du Parc’, and it later became known as Plessis-lès-Tours (Plessis near Tours). The building was largely demolished at the time of the French Revolution, and in 1998, after various vicissitudes, the remaining wing of the chateau was converted from a museum to a Centre for European Theatre.

Table of dates. 1422 1423

1447

1456

1461 1464

1465

Charles VII accedes to the French throne. The future Louis XI is born to Marie ofAnjou (aunt ofMar­ garet, consort ofHenry VI of England) and Charles VII. Louis, after plotting a palace revolution against his father, retires to his appanage of Dauphiné (26.35–37,111–25). After reforming the administration ofDauphiné, Louis attempts to pursue an independent foreign policy. Forced to flee to the Burgundian court from the French army sent to discipline him, he remains there under the protection ofDuke Philip for five years (280.19–20). Louis succeeds to the throne on death of Charles VII. Louis redeems from Duke Philip ofBurgundy for 400,000 crowns the strategically important Somme towns (including St Quentin and Amiens) which had been mortgaged to the Duke by Charles VII in 1435 (282.26–29,330.40–41). Duke Philip ofBurgundy heads a coalition of nobles in the War for the Public Good against Louis XI’s attempts at centralisation (26–27). After the inconclusive battle ofMontlhéry near

HISTORICAL NOTE

1466

1467

1468

1471

505

Paris on 16 July (26–27,47,275,296,299), Louis agrees in the Treaty of Conflans (5 October) to return the Somme towns to the Count of Charolais, to make the Count of St Pol Constable of France, and to create his own brother Charles (Duke of Berry) Duke of Normandy. Arnoul Duke of Gueldres is im­ prisoned by his ambitious son Adolphe: in December 1470 he is released at the insistence of Pope Paul IV and Emperor Fried­ rich III (48.10–28). Duke Philip of Burgundy takes Dinant, near Liège, and his son Charles concludes a truce with the Liégois who are advancing to relieve it. The Liégois break the 1466 truce and Charles, now Duke of Burgundy, defeats them at Brustem and obtains the surrender of St Trond, Tongres, and finally (through the sagacity of the Seigneur ofHumbercourt) Liège itself. 17 May the English Parliament is informed of English plans to recover Normandy and Gascony from France in alliance with Burgundy (142.34–37), and of the imminent marriage of Edward IV’s sister Margaret to Charles the Bold (which took place on 2 July). The Dukes of Normandy and Brittany make peace with Louis. 9–14 OctoberLouis and Charles meet at Péronne (Volume 2). 27–30 OctoberLouis and Charles take Liège (Volume 3). Charles Duke of Guienne dies, it is rumoured poisoned at the instigation of his brother Louis XI. NOTES

1

Geo[rge] M. Handley, Notes on Scott ’s ʻQuentin Durwardʼ (n.d., London: Normal Tutorial Series), [9]. 2 Prominent among the sceptics is Karl Bittmann, who uses contemporan­ eous sources to suggest that Comines was a romancer, and in particular that his account of Péronne is largely fictitious, and the importance he ascribes to it illusory: LudwigXI. undKarlderKühne: DieMemoiren des Philippe de Commynesalshistorische Quelle, 2 vols (Göttingen, 1964–70). Bittmann’s analysis is accepted by Samuel Kinser in his edition of The Memoirs ofPhilippe de Commynes, 2 vols (Columbia, South Carolina, 1969–73: see index under ‘Bittmann’) and by Richard Vaughan in his study Charles the Bold: The Last Valois Duke ofBurgundy (London, 1973), 56; but Paul Murray Kendall is inclined to give Comines more credit: Louis XI (London, 1971), 378–81. 3 It was presumably this edition that Scott asked Constable to get his son David to borrow for him: ‘I will be obliged to Mr. David to get from the Library & send me the large copy ofPhilip de Commines in 4to. I returnd it intending to bring mine from Abbotsford but left it in my hurry and the author is the very key to my period’ (Letters, 7.323: [23 January 1823]). 4 After the death of Charlotte Skene-Tytler, Keith Marischal, Humbie, East Lothian, Skene’s manuscripts were sold at auction by Lyon and Turnbull in Edinburgh on 12 September 1952. It has not been possible to trace the

506

5

6

7 8

9 10 11

12 13

14 15

historical note

current owner of what the sale catalogue (annotated copy in National Library of Scotland: AZA.6o.d) describes as ‘A Series of 13 Vols., of a Journal of Foreign Travel, Promiscuous Studies, and General Memoranda … pen drawings, with orig. sketches, and engravings inserted’ (Item 523), nor of‘Collection of Orig. Water-Colours, Sepia, Pencil drawings, etc., … ofJourney in France, Switzerland, Italy, etc., during 1820–21 ’ (Item 533). The volumes (Item 494 in the Lyon and Turnbull sale) were acquired by Dr James C. Corson and are now in Edinburgh University Library (Corson 1755). Illustration 30 depicts the surviving wing of Plessis-lès-Tours: it is dated 3 May 1828, but Skene appends the note ‘see my journal in Provence for an account ofPlessis’. Quentin Durward, ed. C. B. Wheeler (Oxford, 1920), 505. In a Magnum note (32.156–57) Scott recognises that Comines was a tall man, and martially accomplished. James Anderson, Sir Walter Scott and History (Edinburgh, 1981), 78. Pierre Champion, Louis XI, 2 vols (Paris, 1927); Paul Murray Kendall, LouisXI(London, 1971), 28,363n. For Bittmann and Vaughan see note 2. Chroniques deJean Molinet, in Collection des chroniques nationalesfrançaises, ed. J[ean]-A[lexandre C.] Buchon, 47 vols (Paris, 1826–28), Vols 43–47,44.242. See also Baron J. de Chestret de Haneffe, Histoire de la maison de la Marck (Liège, 1898), 117n. 4 vols, Geneva, 1793. This translation of a passage at 4.128–30 appears in Tales ofthe East, ed. Henry Weber, 3 vols (Edinburgh, 1812), 2.230: CLA, 43. See A Legend ofthe Wars ofMontrose, EEWN 7b, 16.26–27 and note. See P. Genévrier, Walter Scott historienfrançais, ou le roman tourangeau de ‘Quentin Durward’ (Tours, 1935), 38–63.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

In these notes a comprehensive attempt is made to identify Scott’s sources, and all quotations, references, historical events, and historical personages, to explain proverbs, and to translate difficult or obscure language. (Phrases are explained in the notes while single words are treated in the glossary.) The notes are brief; they offer information rather than critical comment or exposition. When a quotation has not been recognised this is stated: any new information from readers will be welcomed. References are to standard editions, or to the editions Scott himself used. Books in the Abbotsford Library are identified by reference to the appropriate page of the Catalogue of the Library at Abbotsford. When quotations reproduce their sources accurately, the reference is given without comment. Verbal differences in the source are indicated by a prefatory ‘see’, while a general rather than a verbal indebtedness is indicated by ‘compare’. Biblical References are to the Authorised Version, unless otherwise stated. Plays by Shakespeare are cited without authorial ascription, and references are to William Shakespeare: The Complete Works, edited by Peter Alexander (London and Glasgow, 1951, frequently reprinted). The following publications are distinguished by abbreviations, or are given without the names of their authors: Brantome Pierre de Bourdeille, Abbé séculier de Brantôme, Vies des grands capitaines estrangers et françois, in Œuvres complètes, ed. J. A. C. Buchon, 2 vols (Paris, 1842), 1.7–700: compare CLA, 121. Cheviot Andrew Cheviot, Proverbs, Proverbial Expressions, and Popular Rhymes ofScotland (Paisley and London, 1896). CLA [J. G. Cochrane], Catalogue ofthe Library atAbbotsford (Edinburgh, 1838). Comines Philippe de Comines, Mémoires [indicating book and chapter], in Petitot (see below), Vols 11–13. Duclos Charles Pineau-Duclos, The History ofLouis XI., King ofFrance, 2 vols (London, 1746); first published as Histoire de LouisXI, 3 vols (Paris, 1745). Grellmann Dissertation on the Gipseys…from the German ofH. M. G. Grell­ mann (London, 1807). Holinshed Holinshed’s Chronicles ofEngland, Scotland, and Ireland, 6 vols (London, 1807–08): CLA, 29. Hoyland John Hoyland, A Historical Survey ofthe Customs, Habits, and Present State ofthe Gypsies (York, 1816): CLA,202. Hughes John Hughes, An Itinerary ofProvence and the Rhone, made during the Year 1819 (London, 1822): CLA, 255. Indagine John Indagine, The Book ofPalmestry and Physiognomy, trans. Fabian Withers, 6th edn (London, 1666): compare CLA, 134. Le Grand d’Aussy [Pierre Jean Baptiste] Le Grand d’Aussy, Histoire de la vie privée desfirançois, depuis l’origine de la nationjusqu’à nosjours, new edn by J. B. B. Roquefort, 3 vols (Paris, 1815). Letters The Letters ofSir Walter Scott, ed. H. J. C. Grierson and others, 12 vols (London, 1932–37). Lockhart J. G. Lockhart, Memoirs ofthe Life ofSir Walter Scott, Bart., 7 vols (Edinburgh, 1837–38). Magnum Walter Scott, Waverley Novels, 48 vols (Edinburgh, 1829–33).

507

508

explanatory notes

Mathieu P. Mathieu, The History ofLewis the Eleventh, trans. Edward Grime­ ston, 2 vols (London, 1614). Mézeray François [Eudes] de Mézeray, Histoire de France, depuis Faramond iusqu’à maintenant, 3 vols (Paris, 1643–51): CLA, 46. Minstrelsy Walter Scott, Minstrelsy ofthe Scottish Border, ed. T. F. Henderson, 4 vols (Edinburgh, 1902). ODEP The Oxford Dictionary ofEnglish Proverbs, 3rd edn, rev. F. P. Wilson (Oxford, 1970). OED The Oxford English Dictionary, 12 vols (Oxford, 1933). Petitot [Claude Bernard] Petitot, Collection complète des mémoires relatifs a l’histoire de France, first series, 52 vols (Paris, 1819–26): CLA, 49. Prose Works The Prose Works ofSir Walter Scott, Bart., 28 vols (Edinburgh, 1834–36). Ray J[ohn] Ray, A Compleat Collection ofEnglish Proverbs, 3rd edn (London, 1737): CLA, 169. Roye Les Chroniques deJean de Troyes [the ‘Scandalous Chronicle’], in Petitot, 13.237–14.118. Strauss Emanuel Strauss, Dictionary ofEuropean Proverbs, 3 vols (London, 1994). Sully The Memoirs ofthe Duke ofSully, Prime-Minister to Henry the Great, trans. Charlotte Lennox, [ed. Walter Scott], 5 vols (London, 1810). Supplèment Supplément aux Mémoires de Messire Philippe de Comines, Seigneur d’Argenton, [ed. Jean Godefroy] (Brussels, 1713). History The Modern Part ofan Universal History, from the Earliest Account of Time, 44 vols (London, 1759–66): CLA, 206. Varillas [Antoine] Varillas, Histoire de Louis XI, 2 vols (The Hague, 1689). Wraxall Nathaniel William Wraxall, The History ofFrance, under the Kings ofthe Race of Valois, 3rd edn, 2 vols (London, 1807): CLA, 204. The present edition of Quentin Durward is particularly indebted to that by C. B. Wheeler (Oxford, 1920), and also to the Dryburgh Edition, 25 vols (London, 1892–94), Vol. 16, and to the World’s Classics edition by Susan Manning (Oxford, 1992). Information derived from the notes of the late Dr J. C. Corson is indicated by ‘(Corson)’. Quentin Durward the first name derives from the saint mar­ tyred at St Quentin (see note to 49.16–18): it crossed the Channel with the Normans and was common in England until the 13th century, survived in Scotland until the 17th, and was re-introduced into the English-speaking world by Scott’s novel. The surname means ‘door-keeper’ (see note to 399.28). That both names were unfamiliar in England is suggested by the lady reported by Mary Ann Hughes as having asked a circulating librarian why she had not been sent ‘Squinting Durfot which every body was talking of’ (MS 3896, f. 168r: 27 May 1823; printed in Sir Walter's Post-Bag, ed. Wilfred Partington (London, 1932), 181). See Essay on the Text, 408–09. title-page Waverley, Peveril ofthe Peak Scott’s first novel, published in 1814, and his most recent one, published in January 1823 with the date 1822. title-page epigraph not identified; probably by Scott. The French words mean: ‘War is my native land, my armour my house, and continuous fighting is my life.’ Scott may be recalling Don Quixote’s quotation oflines from a ballad perhaps dating from the 14th century, ‘La constancia’ (Spanish Steadfastness): ‘mis arreos son las armas,/… mi dormir siempre velar’ (arms are my ornaments … and fighting ever my repose: Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote, Part 1 (1605), Ch. 2). 3.2–3 motto see MuchAdo about Nothing, 4.2.77–78, where Dogberry

title-page

EXPLANATORY NOTES

509

responds to Conrade’s calling him a ‘coxcomb’ and an ‘ass’ by asserting that he is ‘one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses’. The first paragraph continues to quote from and allude to the same speech. 3.8–9 double gown… wot of Dogberry has ‘two gowns’ and is thus a person of some means and consequence. The ‘ci-devant capital’ is Edinburgh, which ceased to be the capital of an independent nation as a result of the Act of Union of 1707. In Scott’s Edinburgh, under an Act of 1672, to have a double gown was to be both a Lord of Council and Session (the civil court), and a Lord ofJusticiary (the criminal court), which resulted in a much higher salary than occupying only one of the offices. 3.25–26 in cadence with in harmony with. 3.31–32 like the inexhaustible hoard… Aboulcasem in Tales ofthe East, 3 vols (Edinburgh, 1812), edited by Scott’s friend Henry Weber (2.308–29), Aboulcasem ofBasra exercises unbounded generosity from an inexhaustible store of treasures (CLA, 43). 3.37–38 whose credit was actually verging to decay whose reputation for financial dependability was actually approaching ruin. 4.2–3 With mortal crisis … an end see Samuel Butler, Hudibras, Part 1 (1663), 3.589–90. 4.7–8 the distresses … these realms

the depression which followed the end of the Napoleonic wars in 1815 resulted in decreased profits for the British mercantile and landowning classes (as well as severe distress for the lower classes). 4.9–10 three-pence 1.25P. 4.12 land and beeves 2 HenryIV, 3.2.300 (Falstaff’ssoliloquy). 4.14–15 Grub-street illuminate all its attics Grub Street, situated just outside the boundaries of the City ofLondon, was noted as the residence of impoverished authors, the poorest of whom would live in its attics. Since 1829 it has been known as Milton Street. In Scott’s time citizens who approved of notable political developments would place lighted candles in their windows in celebration. 4.17 write myselfdown style myself. 4.26 vin ordinaire French local wine. 4.27 cinque francs French (cinq francs) five francs. In the 1820s this would have been roughly equivalent to £0.20. 4.28 couteleta-la-Maintenon French (côtelette à-la-Maintenon: coutelet actually means ‘little knife’) lamb or veal cutlets served with sliced mushrooms etc. in a thick sauce, named after Françoise d’Aubigné (1635–1719), Marchioness of Maintenon, mistress and second wife of Louis XIV. The precise method of preparation varied. 4.31–32 garçon perruquier French barber; wig-dresser. 4.33 autant perdu French (autant de perdu) so much lost. 5.1–2 Ifthou wishest… Horace translating the ArsPoetica (Art of Poetry), lines 102–03, by Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65–8 bc). 5.7 Dolly’s a celebrated tavern in Paternoster Row, London, between 1702 and 1883. 5.8 Vere’s carte in his Travelsfrom Berlin, through Switzerland, to Paris, in the Year 1804,3 vols (London, 1804), Augustus von Kotzebue describes the extensive menu (French carte) on offer at Very’s (Very’s) famous restaurant in the Palais Royal. Although he notes that, since the arrival ofNaudet’s rival establishment, it was ‘no longer considered as the first’ (2.97) it was still highly esteemed 20 years later: Momentoes, Historical and Classical, ofa Tour through Part ofFrance, Switzerland, and Italy, in the Years 1821 and 1822,2 vols (London, 1824), 1.54.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

510 5.9

Biffsticks de Mouton

French (‘biftècs’, ‘bifftecks’ etc.) mutton

steaks, chops. 5.10 delight in take pleasure in. 5.12 a double straick ofJohn Barleycorn

a double measure (or two bushels) ofbarley, as used for making malt liquor. 5.12–13 the poor domestic creature, small-beer see 2 Henry IV, 2.2.10–11. 5.16 your Seine water the River Seine flows through Paris. 5.17 except against take exception to. 5.17 Chateau Margout, or Sillery notable wines from Bordeaux (Mar­

gaux claret) and Champagne. 5.18 Oporto port wine, processed in Oporto, Portugal. 5.21–22 our old village Packwood our local cutler. George Packwood (d. 1811) was a London cutler who pioneered systematic advertising. Susan Man­ ning observes that more generally cutlers were known as ‘packwoods’ and noted for their gossip. 5.25 Toutou French doggie; bow-wow. 5.31 the Legion ofHonour an order created by Napoleon in 1802 to acknowledge and reward either civil or military merit. In fact on Napoleon’s downfall in 1814 it was expressly decreed that the prerogatives enjoyed by existing legionnaires should continue, and that the Legion should continue to exist alongside the newly restored ancient royal orders of St Louis, St Michael, and the Holy Spirit; following the Emperor’s final defeat at Waterloo in 1815 Louis XVIII, after debate, confirmed these measures. However older military members had been disadvantaged by a reduction in their pension between 1814 and 1820, and they felt that the Legion was coming to be regarded as inferior to the old orders. At the 1830 revolution the Legion became the sole national order, which it remains. 5.32–33 had our old friend Bonaparte … triumph after his final defeat at Waterloo in 1815 Napoleon was imprisoned on the island of St Helena, where he died in 1821. 5.40 Christian’s celestial espousals since at least the early 5th century, a nun taking her vows has been conceived ofas participating in a marriage ceremony with Christ as bridegroom. ‘Christian’ is the formal version of ‘Christy’. 5.41–43 two thousand three-per-cents … the national slate threeper-cents were government securities consolidated in 1751 into a single stock yielding an interest of three per cent. These investments have vanished like chalk figures sponged offa slate used by a schoolchild or a trader. 6.7–8 a Polk ofreal Cossacks in 1815 a polk is a regiment of light cavalry from the area N of the Black Sea. The Cossacks were prominent in the Russian army’s contribution to Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo. 6.10–11 quoting Rousseau for sentiment Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–78) was regarded by those sharing the narrator’s conservative views as a subversive influence because of his stress on the essential goodness of human­ kind when uncorrupted by society’s institutions. 6.21–22 as my friend Lord L—–said … wings the nobleman has not been identified. 6.27 be hushed my dark spirit Thomas Campbell, ‘Lines Written on Visiting a Scene in Argyleshire’ (1800), line 28. 6.32 unhommecommeilfaut French a perfect gentleman. 6.38–40 his sedulous attachment … pantaloons between 1790 and 1820 in England and France there was great opposition to the replacement of knee-breeches and stockings by pantaloons (tight-fitting trousers, often worn tucked inside boots, or buttoned or buckled above the ankles), but by 1820

EXPLANATORY NOTES

511

pantaloons had prevailed. Boots became fashionable in the 1780s after a cen­ tury’s disfavour. 6.40 croix de Saint Louis French cross of St Louis. Louis IX, King of France 1226–70, canonised in 1297, was regarded as the patron and model of the French monarchy. In 1693 Louis XIV established the Order of St Louis ‘to reward military merit without distinction of birth’; it was abolished in 1791 during the French Revolution but operated again briefly in 1814–15 and from 1816, after the final defeat of Napoleon, until the revolution of 1830 (see note to 5.31). A red cross and ribbon were worn on the breast. 6.40–41 a small white cockade the white cockade was a sign of allegiance to the French royal house. 7.8 Hautlieu French high place. There is a house of this name beside Vouvray, 9 km E of Tours, but it bears no resemblance to Scott’s creation. 7.18–19

those successes which had restored his master to the throne

after Napoleon’s flight to Elba in 1814, and more effectively after Waterloo in 1815, Louis XVIII (1755–1824), brother of the executed Louis XVI, was restored to the French throne. 7.34 Condé Louis-Joseph de Bourbon (1736–1818), 8th Prince of Condé 1740–1818, and his son Louis-Henri-Joseph (1756–1830) went into exile in 1789 and were active in counter-revolutionary activities in various countries until their return to France in 1814. 9.1–5 the fickleness of fashion … our time in his An Essay on the Picturesque, as Compared with the Sublime and the Beautiful (London, 1794; revised edn, London, 1796) Sir Uvedale Price argued that the movement—pioneered by Lancelot (‘Capability’) Brown (1715–83) and involving other ‘improvers’—from an overtly formal gardening based on squares and parallelograms to an allegedly more natural landscaping based on segments of circles and ellipses with clumps and belts of trees, was actually mannered, monotonous, and destructive ofmuch of value both natural and formal. The eloquent confessional passage referred to in the footnote occurs in a companion volume published in 1798 entitled Essays on the Picturesque, as Compared with the Sublime and the Beautiful, 2.142–54: compare CLA, 202. 9.16–21 on the same principle … dealer see L’Amour médecin (French Love’s the Best Doctor, 1665) by Molière (1622–73). There are only two tradesmen in the play: an upholsterer and tapestry dealer, and a jeweller. 9.33 ferme ornée French model farm. 9.39 Jean-Roast-beef a Briton. 10.1–2 his countrymen ofold time… a Saxon slave recalling the opposition ofNorman and Saxon after the Norman conquest ofEngland in 1066, as depicted in Ivanhoe (1819). 10.11 the Revolution the French Revolution which began in 1789. 10.25 LaJeunesse French ‘The Youth’ or ‘The Boy’. 10.39–40 the player in the Roman Comique… person in the second chapter of this picaresque narrative (French Comic Story, 1651–57) by Paul Scarron (1610–60), the strolling player La Rancune (Spite, Malice) tells how he presented a play by himself, characterising king, queen, and ambassador in different voices. 10.42–11.3 a character… Sir Walter the Marquis refers to Caleb Bal­ derstone, Edgar Ravenswood’s servant in The Bride ofLammermoor(1819), still officially anonymous in 1823. The French phrase (correctly with ‘appelle’) means ‘men of letters who is, I believe, called Sir [Walter] Scott’. 11.5 avec cette lettre impossible French with this impossible letter. French does not have the sound represented by ‘w’ in English. 11.11–12 every dictionary… the Bridle French bride means ‘bridle’. In his Queen Anna’s New World ofWords; or, Dictionarie ofthe Italian and English

512

EXPLANATORY NOTES

Tongues (London, 1611), John Florio (1553?–1625) defines ‘Bride di ferro’ as ‘rings or iron bands that binde the shankes of the wheele, which we call the stirrops ofa wheele’. 11.36–37 certain works ofhis… romances in rhime Scott’s literary fame was initially based on a series of verse romances beginning with The Lay of the Last Minstrel (1805). His name appeared on the title-pages of most of these, whereas the Waverley Novels were published anonymously even after his offi­ cial avowal ofhis authorship in 1827. 11.41 folio volume large and imposing book. 12.6 Rousseau… Voltaire… Pigault le Brun for Rousseau see note to 6.10–11. Voltaire (François-Marie Arouet, 1694–1778) was a leading French sceptic. Charles-Antoine-Guillaume Pigault de 1’Epinoy (Pigault-Lebrun, 1753–1835), also a sceptic, was a popular society novelist during the Revolu­ tionary and Napoleonic periods. 12.7 the Scotch novels the Scottish titles among the Waverley Novels. 12.7–8 pour passer le temps French to pass the time. 12.8 like Pistol eating his leek in Henry V, 5.1, especially lines 50–51. 12.15 Comedie Françoise the Comédie-Française, the French National Theatre, was formed in 1680. 12.16 the King and Madame Pompadour Louis XV (reigned 1715–74) and his principal mistress Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson (1721–64), Marchioness of Pompadour 1745–64. 12.20 the right ofpit and gallows… term it until 1746 (in strict law) Scottish barons had the right of capital jurisdiction over their lands and tenants. The word pit refers either to the water-filled trench in which females were drowned, or to an underground prison or dungeon. The Latin phrase means literally ‘trench and fork’,fork signifying ‘gallows’. French seigneurs (lords) had analogous rights until the Revolution. Civilians are lawyers trained in the Civil Law; but here feudal law is at issue, and the contrast may be with canonists, those involved with the study of the Canon (ecclesiastical) Law. 12.33 Colin Maillard French blind man’s buff. 12.38–39 the period ofsupposed illumination… at once by implica­ tion the Marquis blames the Enlightenment for what he sees as the fanatical extremism of the French Revolution’s thoroughgoing assault on the Christian faith in the name of Reason. 12.40 jourmaigre French fast day. 13.9 the Mosaic law the early Jewish law attributed to Moses, expounded in minute detail in the first five books of the Bible. 13.26–31 Shewing the code… authorities the line (As You Like It, 4.3.100) appears in all editions of Shakespeare until 1859as: ‘Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy’. In his 1859 edition Howard Staunton was die first to emend ‘food’ to ‘cud’. Either Scott is amused that in fact no authorities had made what he considered an obvious correction, or he is having a joke at the expense of too literal emendations. 13.32–33 Edinburgh College the University of Edinburgh. 14.2 the terraces ofthe Chateau ofSully the chateau of Sully, in the Loiret department, on the Loire 40 km E ofOrleans, was one ofthe residences ofMaximilien de Béthune (1560–1641), created Duke of Sully in 1606, who as Minister of Finance reformed France’s fiscal system. The duke added to the existing 14th-century building and embellished the castle with gardens and elevated riverside terraces. 14.8–14 the Duke… prince and parent compare Sully, 5.142: ‘he [Sully] went into the hall, where he dined:… at the upper end of the table two armed chairs were placed for the duke and dutchess; all his children, married as well as unmarried, of whatever rank or dignity, had only stools; for at that time

EXPLANATORY NOTES

513

the subordination between parents and their children was so great, that they were not permitted to sit in their presence, without being commanded to do so’. 14.19 jardin Angloise French (jardin anglois, jardin anglais) English gar­ den; landscaped rather than French formal garden. Scott’s form is an amalgam of‘jardin anglois’ and ‘jardin à 1’angloise’. 14.20–21 a blue frac… chapeau a-plumes with a frock coat and plain waistcoat in Regency style, rather than with a richly decorated coat of the style favoured under Henri IV (reigned 1589–1610) and a matching high hat with an elaborate arrangement of plumes at the front. 14.23–24 his usual attendance… following him compare Sully, 5.142, which notes that when Sully took the air ‘his equerries, gendemen, and officers, walked before him, preceded by two Swiss with their halberts; the duke came next, with some of his friends and relations on each side of him, with whom he conversed; then followed the officers ofhis French and Swiss guards; and the procession was always closed by four Swiss’. 14.25 haut-des-chaussesacanon French breeches tied below the knees with garters, and ending in canons (tubes) at shin-level. 14.30 Maison des Fous French lunatic asylum. 14.33–34 the patriotic schemes… France notable among these schemes were important international negotiations, the planning ofa great road and canal system, strengthening of the military forces, and construction of frontier defensive works. 14.35–36

the memory ofhis murdered master… distracted country

Henri IV was assassinated in 1610 by a religious fanatic. Sully’s colleagues were restive under his domineering leadership, and in 1611 Marie de Médicis, as Regent for Louis XIII, accepted his resignation. There followed a return to power of corrupt and self-interested factionaries who had been suppressed under Henri IV’s firm rule. 15.10–11

that other terrace… Marchioness deSevigné Mariede

Rabutin-Chantal (1626–96), Marchioness of Sévigné 1644. Hughes (104) mentions ‘Mad. de Sevigné’s fears lest her daughter should be carried away from her “belle terrasse” [beautiful terrace] by the force ofthe Bise… this violent and piercing wind’. 15.25–26 An Itinerary … Oxford Hughes (102–18) describes Chât­ eau-Grignan, 20 km SE of Montélimar (Drôme), the seat of Francois Adhémar ofMonteil (1632–1714), Count of Grignan 1668–1714, whom 1669married Madame de Sevigne’s daughter Françoise-Marguerite (1646–1705), the re­ cipient of most of her letters. 15.29 was abonné French subscribed. 15.41 Bande Noire French black band. This was the name (derived from that applied to companies of mercenaries in the 16th century) given to an association of speculators, active during the second and third decades of the 19th century, who bought large estates to break them up, and châteaux and monuments to pull them down and sell the materials. 16.19–20 my own Caleb… Ravenswood in The Bride ofLammermoor (1819). 16.20–22 a Frenchman… services compare Samuel Johnson, London (1738), line 115: ‘All Sciences a fasting Monsieur knows’. 16.31 a petit plât ofbouilli French a little dish ofboiled meat. 16.35 maitre d’hotel steward; chiefdomestic servant. 17.2 chefd’œuvre French masterpiece. 17.10 the popular poem… Miladi Lac Scott’s verse romance The Lady ofthe Lake (1810) opens with the disguised James V chasing a stag through the Trossachs area W of Callander, Perthshire. 17.12–13 Louis Quatorze… Fontainebleau Louis XIV was King of

514

EXPLANATORY NOTES

France 1643–1715; Fontainebleau, 56 km SE ofParis, longa royal residence, was surrounded by the hunting forest of that name. 17.25 pauvres revenants French poor ghosts. 17.32 grande chere French ‘grande chère’: high living. 17.38 Milord Anglois a prosperous Englishman or Briton. 18.5–6 “temple and tower,” had gone to the ground see John Milton, Sonnet VIII ‘When the assault was intended to the City’ (1645), lines 11–12: ‘when temple and tower/ Went to the ground’. 18.18 out ofquestion not being discussed. 18.32–37 the great English Bibliomane… carry his point Thomas Frognall Dibdin (1776–1847) wrote Bibliomania; or, Book-madness, 2 vols (London, 1809,1811): CLA, 247,197. The military overtones of the phrase ‘carry his point’ (win by assault) are prompted by Dibdin’s mock-heroic application of quest romance formulae to the book-lover’s search for rarities. 18.38 taking the altitude measuring the height. 18.39–40 a respectable divine, though ofanother church Dibdin was a Doctor of Divinity of Oxford University, and a clergyman of the Church of England. 19.21 the nakedness ofthe land Genesis 42.9,12. 19.25–26 forlorn hope body of men selected to begin an attack. 19.29 censé for French taken for; supposed to be. 19.31 escalier derobé French (escalier dérobé) private staircase. 19.42 cabinet paintings paintingsofa small size appropriate to a private chamber or boudoir. 20.28 a man ofinformation a well-informed man. 21.7–8 calculated… the Bibliomaniac see the comedy The Rehearsal (London, 1672), attributed to George Villiers (1628–87), 2nd Duke of Buck­ ingham, 4.1 (p. 37: ‘elevate’) and 2.3 (p. 16: ‘surprise’). The speaker on both occasions, Bayes, is a satirical portrait of a laureate (as crowned with bay leaves), author ofa heroic tragedy. The play was drafted in 1663 when the poet laureate was William D’Avenant (1606–68; laureate from 1638), but it was revised as an attack on his successor John Dryden (1631–1700) and first acted in 1671. 21.9–10 The small rare volume… Dr Ferriar see John Ferriar, The Bibliomania: An Epistle to Richard Heber, Esq. (London, 1809), line 138: CLA, 186. 21.20 an inimitable old historian Comines: see Historical Note, 500. 21.27 more meo Latin in my own way; as is my custom. 21.28 sea-coal-fires fires of coal in the modern sense, as opposed to charcoal (often called simply ‘coal’ up to Scott’s time). In Paul’s Letters to his Kinsfolk (Edinburgh, 1816) Scott noted (305) that Parisians used wood or charcoal for fuel in stoves, rather than sea-coal in open chimneys. 21.32–33 I will not regret… an Absentee in Maria Edgeworth’s novel The Absentee (published in 1812, and a favourite of Scott’s) Lord Clonbrony, the absentee landlord of Irish estates, is persuaded by his son to return from Lon­ don where he has been spending his revenues to satisfy his extravagant wife’s demands, and resume responsibility for his property and tenants. 23.6–8 motto Hamlet, 3.4.53–54 (Hamlet, contrasting portraits ofhis murdered father and his usurping uncle Claudius). 23.14 possessed ofher fairest provinces the territories under English occupation varied widely at different periods. In terms of the treaty ofBrétigny (1360), all of SW France had become, or in the case of Gascony (a shifting area in the S part of the historic region of Guyenne or Aquitaine) been confirmed as, English territory following the victory by Edward the Black Prince at Poitiers (1356). Henry V (reigned 1413–22) took Normandy for England in 1417–18, and also the northern part ofMaine; in the treaty ofTroyes (1420) he was

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adopted as heir by Charles VI; but he died two years later, the scheme for uniting the English and French monarchies fell, and by 1453 his son Henry VI (reigned 1422–61,1470–71) had lost all the territories mentioned to France under Charles VII, leaving only Calais and the Channel Islands in English possession. 23.18 Bretagne French Brittany. 23.18–19 their feudal bonds under the feudal system that prevailed in most of Europe during the Middle Ages, all land was theoretically owned by the mon­ arch and leased to tenants-in-chief in return for their loyalty; they in turn let out fiefs (feudal estates) in return for military service and other obligations. 23.19 lifting the standard taking up arms. 23.22–23 the House ofBurgundy… Flanders Flanders was a princip­ ality in the SW ofthe Low Countries, now divided between Belgium, Holland, and France. Philippe le Téméraire (Philip the Bold, 1342–1404), Duke of Burgundy in 1364–1404, acquired it by his marriage with Margaret ofFlanders in 1369. 24.1 Auvergne a region, formerly a province, in S France. 24.7–17 Numerous bodies… Flayers Scott’s account is based on Peti­ tot, 11.159. 24.35 the tottering throne although Charles VII’s reign (1422–61) saw important military victories, France was slackly governed, resulting in civil anar­ chy. 24.37–39 as poisons… each other e.g. see David Hume, Political Dis­ courses (Edinburgh, 1752), 38 (Discourse 2: OfLuxury): ‘one poison may be an antidote to another’. 25.4–6 frequently used the expressions… the fire the two expres­ sions are linked by Duclos (2.425), though he says simply ‘je le brulerois' (I would bum it). 25.10–11 finding pleasure in the frequent executions which he commanded so Wraxall (1.137), who says that Louis had more than 4000 persons executed by torture and usually attended the proceedings in person with ‘barbarous gratification’. 25.23 neither beauty nor the chase… ruling passions Comines says ofLouis: ‘Des dames, il ne s’en est point meslé, tant que j’ay esté avcc luy’ (he was never involved with ladies during the time I was with him); but the historian also notes that he was passionately fond ofhunting (6.13: Petitot, 12.406–07). Wraxall, though, refers to a series ofmistresses (1.155–56). 25.28–32 he hesitated not… their qualities Comines relates (1.13: Petitot, 11.416) that on one occasion Charles the Bold (as Count of Charolois) told Louis that ‘à la verité 1’on s’ebahissoit assez, et mesmement chez luy, de quoy si petits personnages… s’empeschoient de si grand’matiere’ (indeed there was a good deal ofastonishment (even in his own household) that such inconsiderable persons… should be employed in managing so important an affair). Louis’s preference for low-born agents is mentioned by several of Scott’s sources. 26.8–9 his Machiavellian stratagems in IIPrincipe (Italian The Prince, 1513), Niccolò Machiavelli (1469–1527) argued that a ruler should preserve and increase his power and that of the state by all necessary means. 26.21–23 a collection… very precious Les Cent nouvelles nouvelles (French The hundred new tales) was a manuscript collection ofmostly risqué anecdotes (many of them true) in circulation at the Burgundian court. Louis would have become familiar with them during his residence at Genappe (see note to 127.36): Philippe le Bon had commissioned a French translation of the Italian Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio (1313?–75) under the title Cent nou­ velles.

516

explanatory notes

26.26 small rain light rain; drizzle. 26.30–33 His first wife… princess Margaret of Scotland (1425?–45),

married the dauphin Louis in 1436. She died, it was said as a result of malicious slander (Wraxall, 1.157n), in 1445. The quotation is from Much Ado About Nothing, 5.3.3, where it is the first line of Claudio’s epitaph on his fiancee Hero, whom he believes to have died as a result of his having mistakenly accused her of unfaithfulness. 26.34–27.14 his father’s person… a manner so formidable for the events referred to in this passage see Historical Note, 504 (1447). Dauphiné was a province in SE France provided for the maintenance of the heir to the throne: Wraxall (1.84) says that Louis was banished from the court for four months, and that, ‘instantly retiring’ into Dauphiné, he did not return till after his father’s death. Comines also says that he ‘resolved to retire’ (‘se delibera partir de là’, 6.13: Petitot, 12.409); in his commentary (8.79) Petitot uses the word ‘relégué’ (banished), but at 11.184–85 he notes that although some say Louis was exiled for four months, in 1456 Charles said that his son had quitted the court voluntarily. The ‘battle of doubtful event’ is Montlhéry (see Historical Note, 50405:1465). 27.3 doubtful event uncertain issue. 27.1516 the Civil Wars ofYork and Lancaster the Wars of the Roses, fought in 1455–85 for the possession of the English crown between the houses ofYork and Lancaster. 27.20 the Free Companies as described at 24.7–17. 27.26 the league “for the public weal” see Historical Note, 504 (1465). 27.27–28 that scotched snake… again see Macbeth, 3.2.13–14: ‘We have scotch’d the snake, not kill’d it;/ She’ll close [re-unite], and be herself’ (with Lewis Theobald’s 1734 emendation from ‘scorch’d’). 27.32 the Bold, or rather the Audacious in French, ‘Le Téméraire’. At 145.7 he is ‘the Hardy’. 28.28 the mad bull… Burgundy Scott may be recalling Roye’s account of Louis’s gift to Edward IV in October 1474 of‘un asne, ung loup, et ung sanglier’ (an ass, a wolf, and a wild boar: Petitot, 13.450). The animals were believed to represent Louis’s three principal enemies: the Duke ofBrittany, Edward IV, and Charles the Bold. 29.3 his “fair cousin ofBurgundy” Scott is probably recalling Louis’s ironic praise of the princes and nobles engaged in the ‘War of the Public Good’ (see Historical Note, 504 (1465)), including ‘L’orgueil grand de beau cousin de Bretagne./ Et la puissance invincible de beau frere de Charolois’ (the great pride ofmy fair cousin ofBritanny, and the invincible power of my fair brother of Charolais’ (Petitot, 11.414n). 29.17–18 motto see The Merry Wives ofWindsor, 2.2.3. 29.23 the Cher a tributary on the S side of the Loire. 29.23 the royal castle ofPlessis see Historical Note, 504. 29.29 Plessis-les-Tours les (lès) means ‘near’. 29.30 about two miles to the southward Plessis-lès-Tours is situated 2 km WSW of the medieval centre of Tours. 29.31 the capital ofancient Touraine the province of Touraine in central France was abolished in 1790, when it was divided between the modern departments of Indre-et-Loire (principally), Loir-et-Cher, Indre, and Vienne. 30.4–5 the smart blue bonnet… Scottish head-gear the blue bonnet (Tam o’ Shanter style) had long been a distinguishing Scottish appendage: when on the occasion of George IV’s visit to Edinburgh in 1822 the Royal Company of Archers (founded 1676) became the King’s Body Guard for Scot­ land, their blue bonnets were graced with eagle feathers according to rank. 30.14–15 couteau de chasse French hunting knife.

EXPLANATORY NOTES 31.15 31.17

517

the water is up the river is running high. save a rope… proverb the reference is to the French proverb, ‘ne

peut noier qui doit pendre’ (he who must hang cannot drown): Strauss, no. 1044. 31.20 Nothing like experience in this world compare the proverb ‘Experience is the best teacher’ (and ‘mother of wisdom’ etc.): Strauss, no. 965. 31.33 Saint Anne the mother of the Virgin Mary (her name is not given in the Bible). The cult of St Anne was very popular in the later middle ages. 31.43 By my halidome an interjection expressing surprise or assertion (literally by my holiness). 32.4–5 the younger Samaritan… assistance alluding to the proverb of the Good Samaritan: Luke Ch. 10. 32.7 May the foul fiend cumber me see note to 190.21: the ‘foul fiend’ is the Devil. 32.10 le moulinet French the flourish (derived from moulin ‘windmill’). 32.41 of kin to like. 33.7–15 The eldest… ofthe leg

the description is based on Comines: see note to 278.33–35. 33.16–24 The expression… peered out Scott follows the depiction of Louis in the engraving found in Mézeray, 2.98. 33.27–29 a paltry image ofthe Virgin… Loretto the Holy House at Loreto, near Ancona in E Central Italy, is alleged to have been inhabited by the Virgin Mary at the time of the Annunciation by an angel ofher forthcoming motherhood, and to have been miraculously transported by angels from Nazar­ eth to Dalmatia (W Croatia) in 1291, and thence to Loreto in 1295 (after a stop in a laurel grove—whence its name—in 1294). The town is still a pilgrimage centre largely devoted to the sale ofreligious objects. For the lead images in Louis’s cap see note to 278.33–35. 34.5 Pasques-dieu French oath, literally God’s Easter. Varillas observes (2.354) that this was Louis’s favourite oath. 34.14–15 draw… draw playing on two senses of draw’, to pull back the string, to bend; to write out. 34.17–18 a brae-man, and therefore, as we say, a bow-man no other example of this phrase has been found. A brae-man is a man living on the southern slopes of the Grampian mountains. 34.22 our Lady ofEmbrun Louis much revered a painting on stone of the Virgin and Child receiving the homage ofthe Magi, an object ofpilgrimage in the cathedral ofEmbrun, Dauphiné (now Hautes Alpes): it was destroyed during the French Revolution and replaced by a mosaic. 34.23 Rest you merry be merry; (God) keep you merry. 34.27 fier comme un Ecossois proud as a Scotsman. Proverbial: see Cheviot, 47. 34.31 burned sack Spanish or Canary white wine made hot. 34.32 téte-bleau in French oaths ‘bleu’ (blue) was often substituted for ‘dieu’ (God): hence God’s head (‘tête’). The spelling ‘bleau’ is found in English before Scott. 34.36 bringing me into some note affording me some degree of celeb­ rity. 34.36 Peronne Péronne, a town 45 km E ofAmiens (both Somme). 35.5 have a heavy miss of greatly feel the lack of. 35.16 borne in hand managed. 35.28 spite of notwithstanding. 35.35 the Varlet with the Velvet Pouch compare the reference to young Cambusnethan c. 1500 in Memorie ofthe Somervilles, [ed. Walter Scott], 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1815), 1.305: ‘This gentleman, frequently at his halking or

518

explanatory notes

hunting, used to wear at his syde a letherne bag, covered with scarlet satine, for holding of his halkes meat, which gave the first ryse and occasione to that nickname wherby he was called, SirJohn with the read bag, and continues soe to be designed by all that speakes ofhim untill this day’. (Noted by James Ander­ son, Sir Walter Scott and History (Edinburgh, 1981), 79). 36.7 Saint Hubert’s Chapel along with St Eustace, Hubert (d. 727) is a patron saint of huntsmen, having been converted, according to tradition, when out hunting on Good Friday. 36.21–22 take care ofthat be careful in that matter. 36.33 curled bent or raised slightly on one side, as an expression ofcontempt or scorn. 37.33 in use customarily; in common practice. 39.3–9 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 39.17 takeaviewof take a look at; make an inspection of. 39.36–38 palisades ofiron… sharp spikes compare Comines (6.12: Petitot, 12.403): ‘Ledit seigneur, vers la fin de ses jours, fit clorre, tout à 1’entour, sa maison du Plessis-lez-Tours, de gros barreaux de fer, en forme de grosses grilles… Lesdites grilles estoient centre le mur, du costé de la place, de l’autre part du fossé: car il estoit à fonds de cuve, et y fit mettre plusieurs broches de fer, massonnées dedans le mur, qui avoient chacune trois ou quatre pointes: et les fit mettre fort pres l’une de l’autre’ (The king, towards the end ofhis days, caused his residence ofPlessis-lès-Tours to be enclosed with great bars ofiron in the form of thick grates… The grates were against the boundary wall on the outside of the ditch, and sank to the bottom. He had several spikes ofiron fastened into the wall, set very close together, and each furnished with three or four points). 41.3–7 the environs… pit-fall, snare, and gin this was perhaps sug­ gested by Duclos’s observation (2.397) that Louis ‘fit semer dix-huit-mille chausse-trapes dans les fossés’ (had 18,000 calthropes strewn in the moats). 41.8–12 upon the walls… day and night compare Comines (6.7: Petitot, 12.375): ‘Aussi fit faire quatre moyneaux tous de fer bien espais, en lieu par où 1’on pouvoit bien tirer à son aise… et à la fin y mit quarante arbalestriers: qui jour et nuict estoient en ces fossez avec commission de tirer a tout homme qui en approcheroit de nuict jusques à ce que la porte fut ouverte le matin’ (Also he caused four watch-houses to be made of very thick iron, arranged for ease of shooting;… in them he placed forty ofhis crossbow men, who were upon guard day and night, with orders to fire upon any man that ventured to approach during the night, before the opening of the gate in the morning). 41.33–35 the Scottish Archers… your country the Scottish Archers were inaugurated by Charles VII, drawing on the remnants ofthe Scottish auxiliaries who had been almost wiped out by the English at the battle of Verneuil in 1424 (see note to 87.37). In Louis XI’s time there were actually only 100 of them: Scott seems to have misread Comines, who refers to 300 men-atarms (‘trois cens hommes-d’armes’) overall (2.10: Petitot, 11.490–91: com­ pare 500 (2.11), where Louis has with him ‘his guard ofa hundred Scots’ (sa garde de cent Escossois)). 42.1 a more broad and beaten path possibly recalling Sin and Death paving after Satan ‘a broad and beaten way / Over the dark abyss’: John Milton, Paradise Lost, 2.1025–26. 42.21 by my father’s hand a proverbial oath: e.g. see BenJonson, The Case isAlterd(1609),3.1. 42.32 in the case involved. 42.33 nomme de guerre French (nom) nick-name. 42.34 LeBalafré French the One with the Facial Scar. 43.2 is off has passed. 43.16 flight-shot the distance to which a flight-arrow, a light well-

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feathered arrow for long-distance shooting, carries: this can be up to 400 metres. 43.22–23 a cluster often—ay oftwenty… oak Tristan’s pitiless promptness in carrying out executions and the ‘large numbers of people usually to be seen hanging from trees around the King’s residences’ (on voyoit d'ordinaire autour des lieux où ilse tenoit grandnombre dependus aux arbres) can be found in Mézeray, 2.193 (quoting Claude de Seyssel: see Supplément, 295). 43.30–31 In my country… living corbies haunt this practice, designed to scare the living crows away from crops, is still current in Scotland. 43.39 life is out life is over. 44.2 Maitre Pierre French Master Peter. 44.3 live on mine own good live off my own property. 44.27 your offer in kindness your kind offer. 44.33 upon a stranger’s cost at a stranger’s expense. 44.41–43 very seldom… apartments Scott follows Comines (6.7: Peti­ tot, 12.374). 44.43 the fleur-de-lys French lily-flower: the heraldic lily, emblem of the French monarchy. 45.16 bon jour French good-day; hello. 45.28–29 motto see Laurence Sterne, The Life and Opinions ofTristram Shandy, Vol. 7 (1765), Ch. 8. Scott’s attribution recalls rather Sterne’s A Senti­ mentalJourney Through France and Italy, by Mr Yorick (1768). 45.31–32 the territories ofthe ancient Gauls by the 4th century BC the Celtic Gauls had expanded from the Rhine valley to occupy in addition modern France and parts ofBelgium and N Italy. 45.33 paté de Perigord French pasties ofpartridges with truffles from the Périgord region in SW France (comprising Dordogne and part of Lot-etGaronne departments). 45.34–35 like Homer’s lotus-eaters… whatsoever see Homer’s Odys­ sey, Bk 9, where travellers who eat the lotus fruit become addicted to idleness and forget their native country. 45.38–39 petit point de l’ail French slight flavour of garlic (properly ‘petite pointe d’ail’). 45.39 Gascons natives of the province of Gascony in SW France. 46.2 the neighbouring wood ofMountrichart the forest of Mont­ richard is actually some 35 km E of Tours. 46.7–8 Vin de Beaulne French Beaune wine. Beaune (Côte-d’Or) is the centre of the Burgundian wine trade. 46.8–9 under the ribs ofdeath John Milton, Comus (written 1634, published 1637), line 561. 46.14–15 marched deep into the bowels ofthe land see Richard III, 5.2.3–4. 47.2 Glen-houlakin… Glen ofthe Midges

Gaelic ‘Gleann Chuileagan’ (Glen of the Flies). In the Scottish Highlands ‘there are great swarms of little flies which natives call malhoulakins: houlack, they tell me, signifies, in the country language, afly, and houlakin is the diminutive ofthat name’: [Edward Burt,] Lettersfrom a Gentleman in the North ofScotland, 5th edn, ed. R. Jamieson (2 vols, London, 1818), 2.230. (Noted by James Anderson, Sir Walter Scott and History (Edinburgh, 1981), 79.) 47.12–13 choose a bare back… belly one of many variants of the prover­ bial ‘The belly robs the back’: Morris Palmer Tilley, A Dictionary ofthe Proverbs in England in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 1950), B288. 47.27–29 I am ofthe Douglasses’ mind… squeak the Douglas family proverb also appears in The Fair Maid ofPerth (EEWN 21,317.39): ‘kept the

520

EXPLANATORY NOTES

fields’ here means ‘stayed out-of-doors’. For the saying see Cheviot, 205–06. 47.33–34 Montlhéry… some dozen years ago or more for the battle, which was actually only three years ago, see Historical Note, 504–05 (1465). 47.35–36 keep his honour as bright as his shield compare Ulysses to Achilles in Troilus and Cressida, 3.3.150–53: ‘Perseverance… / Keeps honour bright. To have done is to hang/ Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail/ In monumental mock’ry.’ 48.3 William de la Marck see Historical Note, 502–03. 48.10–28 the young Duke ofGueldres… baptised the Gueldres story is told by Comines (4.1: Petitot, 12.95–97), who appears to compress the events into six months. Adolphe (d. 1477), considering that since his father Arnoul (1410–73) had been duke for 44 years it was now his turn, threw him into prison, not releasing him until commanded to do so by Pope and Emperor (see Historical Note, 504–05 (1465)). Historically (in Petitot’s own version: 9.62–64) the imprisonment lasted from 1465 till 1470. Comines does not say that Adolphe struck his father. Gueldres was a duchy, with a dependent county of Zutphen, mostly in the present SE Netherlands. 48.12 the foul fiend the Devil. 48.35 keeps a brave party up here probably maintains a brave body of soldiers here (in France). 48.38–39 hangs like Mahound’s coffin… loadstones the iron coffin of the prophet Mohammed was reputed to hang suspended from magnets in the roof of‘the famous Temple’ at Mecca: e.g. see Henry Smith, Gods Arrow Against Atheists (London, 1604), 52. 49.1–2 Louis de Luxembourg… France Louis of Luxembourg (1418–75), Count of St Pol 1433–75, was created Constable of France (chief military commander) in 1465. He profited by constantly playing Burgundy and France offagainst each other, but eventually he exasperated both parties and Charles the Bold delivered him up to Louis XI for trial and execution. St Pol (Paul Aurelian, c. 480–c. 579) was a Breton saint ofWelsh birth, but the spelling ‘St Paul’ is found in 15th-century documents. 49.9–10 your politic Count… war Comines notes (3.11: Petitot, 12.85) that while Burgundy was besieging Amiens in 1471 St Pol had burned a castle, contrary to normal custom, and Charles had reciprocated by much burn­ ing. 49.16–18 hath possessed himself… Saint Quentin the town of St Quentin (Aisne) grew up round the tomb of the 3rd-century martyr of that name. Comines alludes (3.1–2: Petitot, 12.1–9) to clandestine negotiations involving French officials before St Pol took St Quentin in December 1470. The term clean conveyance means ‘cunning contrivance’, ‘sleight ofhand’. 49.27 Saint Julian Julian the Hospitaller, the legendary patron saint of travellers, is said to have built a hospital for the poor at an important river­ crossing and acted as a guide for people crossing the river. 49.32–33 the dried plums… Tours prunes stuffed with stewed apple and apricot pulp, and flambéd with rum, are still a local delicacy in Tours. 50.6 Melpomene the muse of tragedy. 50.23 vieuxroutier French an old hand; an old campaigner; a man of the world. 51.13 construed into interpreted as. 52.29 chance shot i.e. random cannon-ball. 53.24 in point of in respect of. 53.29 Glen-isla a glen in Angus. 53.34 rock water water issuing from a rock, naturally clear and cold. 54.20 Dijon the Burgundian capital. 54.37–38 one ofthe famous cups… Martin Dominique the silver-

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smith is probably imaginary, but Tours precious-metal workers (along with craftsmen and artists in other media) were at their most refined during the reign of Louis XI. The first name recalls St Martin of Tours. 55.12–16 he has set up silk manufactories here … silk-worms it was not until 1470 that Louis established silk factories at Tours, using Italians brought from Lyons which had obtained the French silk trade monopoly in 1450. Bales of silk were brought from Provence, Spain, and Italy, but by 1546 white mulberry trees for silk-worms were planted in the area around Tours itself. 55.14 Cathay China. 55.26 at his beck at the slightest indication of his will or command. 55.39–40 carried the notions … pretty high had pretty high ideas concerning his own importance. 55.43 vernât Auvenât wine from the Orleans region, which had a generally high reputation until the early 17th century. 56.3 dedicate his homage pay his dutiful respects. 56.12 keep their state observe the pomp and ceremony befitting their high position. 56.13 or it will go hard unless I am prevented by overwhelming diffi­ culties. 56.23 solitary i.e. a single room. 56.23 pallet bed straw mattress. 56.28 cutting a caper dancing in a frolicsome way. 57.15 in full front of right in front of. 57.33–34 Bishop … Stephens Sir Henry Rowley Bishop (1786–1855), a popular composer, and Catherine Stephens (1794–1882), a celebrated singer who became Countess of Essex in 1838. 57.37–58.8 Ah! County Guy … County Guy? the verses are Scott’s own. 58.32 romances vernacular narratives, in verse or prose, relating the legendary or extraordinary adventures of heroes of chivalry. 59.3–6 motto As You Like It, 2.7.150,152–53. 59.8–11 one ofthose … the royal person for the Scots guards see note to 41.33–35. Scott may be recalling a conversation, with similar phrasing but very different import, between the Dauphin Louis and the Count ofDammartin in 1446, recorded by Petitot (11.183): ‘Vers les fêtes de Pâque [1446], le Dauphin, étant au château de Chinon, lui [Dammartin] montra des Ecossais de la garde du Roi, et lui dit: “Voyez lá ceux qui tiennent le royaume de France en sujétion, à bien peu d’occasion on en viendroit à bout et bien aisé.” Le comte répondit “que c’étoit belle chose que cette garde, et aussi une grande sûreté pour le corps du Roi, et que sans elle on eût entrepris beaucoup de choses qu’on n’a pas faites.” ’ (Towards Easter the Dauphin, being at the castle of Chinon, pointed out to [Dammartin] the King’s Scots guards, saying to him: “Look: those are the rulers of the French kingdom; it would take much effort to put a stop to that and be free of it.” The count replied “that it was a fine state of affairs that this guard protected the King’s person so effectively, and that ifit were not for it one could have undertaken many things that one decided not to.”) 59.12–16 Charles the Sixth … halfofFrance as the intermittently mad Charles VI’s royal authority waned the rivalry between the dukes ofBurgundy and Orleans led to the former allying himself with England: by the time of Charles’s death in 1422 the English controlled France N of the Loire as well as Aquitaine in the SW. It was in fact his son, Charles VII, who inaugurated the Scottish Archers (see note to 41.33–35). 59.19–20 The Scottish nation … allies ofFrance the first alliance between France and Scotland was established in 1295; for the next 250 years they were allies against England.

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59.34–60.1 They were sumptuously armed … importance in fact, such provision was not unusual for a man-at-arms: Mathieu notes (2.185) that in 1474 Louis ‘made an Edict touching the Men at Armes of his Realme, by the which hee declared, That a Launce should keepe but sixe horses: that is to say, the Launce three horsesfor himself his Page and Cutler, and the two Archers two horses, and one horsefor the Groome’. 60.24–29 a Virgin Mary … their Captain General no source has been found for the brooch or commission, which may be imaginary. 60.28 draw out draw up; write out in proper form. 60.33–34 a loose surcoat … silver the surcoat bears the St Andrew’s saltire emblem, an X-shaped cross, which (white on a light blue background) has been the Scottish national flag since at least the late 13th century. 60.37 Mercy ofGod ‘the armourer … invented a thin dagger, which could be inserted between the plates [of a coat of armour]. This dagger was called the dagger ofmercy, apparently a curious title, considering it was the instrument of death; but, in truth, the laws of chivalry obliged the conqueror to shew mercy, if, when the dagger was drawn, the prostrate foe yielded himself, rescue or no rescue’ (Charles Mills, The History ofChivalry or Knighthood and its Times, 2 vols (London, 1825), 1.92: CLA, 231). Compare Scott’s reference to the ‘dagger of mercy’ in his ‘Essay on Chivalry’ (1818: Prose Works, 6.75). 60.42 look upon regard favourably; hold in esteem. 61.9–10 I would have known thee … stilts ‘The crutches or stilts, which in Scotland are used to pass rivers. They are employed by the peasantry of the country near Bourdeaux, to traverse those deserts of loose sand called Landes’ (Magnum, 31.72n). 61.24 write yourself style yourself. 61.32 the joyous science minstrelsy. The expression is a translation of the Provençal term for the art of poetry, ‘gai saber’. 61.41 the sacrament ofwedlock in the Roman Catholic Church marriage is one of seven sacraments. 62.1 the Ogilvies this clan had a reputation for belligerence: for instance, after the truce between Scotland and England concluded in 1431 they were prominent in violent clan rivalries in NE Scotland. 62.6 Cross ofSt Andrew! see note to 60.33–34. 62.10 in lieu by way ofconsolation. 62.11–12 the festival ofSaint Jude 28 October. StJude is the patron of lost causes. 62.14–15 the Castle ofRoche-noir … Amaury Bras-de-fer the French names mean ‘black rock’ and ‘iron-arm’. In the later 9th century Bau­ duin-Bras-de-Fer was entrusted by the French king Charles the Bald with the mission of organising resistance to the Danish invaders in Flanders. 62.15 freelances mercenaries. 62.27 Saint Martin’s the 5th-century basilica of St Martin was originally a monastery, but by medieval times there were no longer monks as Scott supposes. The basilica, containing the shrine of St Martin (d. 397), who became Bishop of Tours in 372, was rebuilt from the 10th to the 13th centuries. Following a disastrous collapse in 1793 it was finally cleared away in 1802, apart from two towers, and replaced by a neo-Byzantine edifice in 1886–1902. 62.32 on trust on credit. 62.35 free ofthe fetlocks free of captivity. 62.36 takeout use up the value in another form. 62.38 comeat reach;attack. 62.42–43 as raw as Saint Bartholomew according to tradition, St Barth­ olomew was flayed alive as an early martyr. 62.43 fixed on fastened on.

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63.16 Aberbrothock now known by its abbreviated name of Arbroath, a town on the Angus coast with a priory founded in 1178, which became an abbey in 1285 and was ruined by neglect after its dissolution at the Reformation. 63.36 the canon Robersart according to Froissart (Sir John Froissart, Chronicles ofEngland, France, and the Adjoining Countries, trans. Thomas Johnes, 4 vols (Hafod, 1803–05)), the soldier known as ‘the canon de Robesart’ (Nord) defected to the service of Edward III c. 1368 (1.352,560): CLA, 28. This was one Thierri, who had been governor of Coucy (Aisne). He died in 1395 or 1396. It was said that he was called ‘canon’ because his name was Cannon in English. The story given here is apparently a fiction deriving from this title, and the suggestion of‘Robber’s Art’. 64.8 in Saint Louis’s name see note to 6.40. 64.19 brought off took away. 64.24–25 treasure to bear thy charges wealth to cover your expenses. 64.29 bear a charge carry a (valuable) load. 64.32 at need when the need arises. 64.37 knights’ collars this expression for a sort ofdaffodil daisy-chain has not been found elsewhere. 65.2–3 the Most Christian King Mathieu notes (2.70) that ‘ The Kings of France cary the Title of Most Christian since Clovis [465–511, King of the Franks]’, and that Charles the Bald (823–77) had used the title at his corona­ tion in 843. Strictly speaking each king had to be so distinguished by the pope, and in the autumn of 1469 Pope Paul II formally granted the title to Louis XI and (in a new move) all his successors. 65.5 bethink me recollect. 65.9–10 Charlemagne … Robert Bruce … William Wallace Charles the Great, King of the Franks 768–814, celebrated as a Christian military leader in medieval romances; Robert Bruce, King of Scots 1306–29, and his fellow patriot Sir William Wallace (1272?–1305). 65.11 moonshine in the water proverbial: ODEP, 542. 65.12 found out discovered. 65.14 put purple on his back purple was long a distinguishing colour of kings and emperors. 65.16 befitted me was appropriate or agreeable to me. 65.19 work me a name make a name for me. 65.24 Artois and Hainault Artois was formerly a province in NE France, embracing most of the Pas-de-Calais; Hainaut was a county considerably larger than the present province of that name in S W Belgium, extending into the present NE France and bounded on the S by Artois and the bishopric of Cambrai. Flanders was Burgundian territory: see note to 23.22–23. 65.27–28 turned on the Provost Marshall’s hands … making to turned over to the head of the military police for being slow in setting to work. 65.30 in the front in front; ahead. 65.32–33 in his Flemish … gut getroffen! ‘gut getroffen’ is German, rather than Flemish (Dutch spoken in N and W Belgium) for ‘well hit’; Dutch would be ‘goed getroffen’. 65.35-36 children ofthe soil native inhabitants. 65.41 Jacques Bonhomme French James Goodman; name for a peasant. 66.2 rein in check; hold in. 66.3 start out ofthe career swerve suddenly from its course. 66.4 my companies ofordonance first established by Charles VII by a royal ordinance of2 November 1437, these organised companies ofmen-atarms led to the emergence of the French standing army. 66.4–5 my French Guards Louis did not establish his company of 100

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French bodyguards, to complement the Scottish archers, until 1472 (Petitot, 12.8on). 66.7–8 Cressy and Azincour the battles of Crecy (1346) and Agincourt (1415), celebrated English victories against France. 66.19 Saint Martin ofTours see note to 62.27. 66.37 in course of course; naturally. 66.43 Du Guesclin Bertrand du Guesclin (1320–80), a renowned French military leader, who was regarded as a pattern of chivalry. 67.11–13 the noble Charles … kingdom ofFrance see note to 59.12–16. By 1453 Charles VII had driven the English from France, except for Calais which remained English till 1558. 67.16–18 Oliver Dain … Tristan see Historical Note, 501,503. 67.18–19 takeoff kill. 67.23 the High Constable St Pol: see note to 49.1–2. 67.28 what to charge them with what duty or responsibility to impose on them. 67.28–29 suiting … man’s back compare the proverb ‘Heaven suits the back to the burden’: ODEP, 312. 67.29–31 the King ofCastile … his cup this may be a version of the death ofPhilip III(1578–1621), King of Spain from 1598, which was said (in humorous exaggeration of the formality of court etiquette) to have been caused partly because he sat too near a brazier which could not be moved until the appropriate officer arrived. 67.32 make much ofyourself indulge yourself. 67.33–34 askformeatthecentinel ask the sentinel for me. 68.3–4 that was a chapter ofromance … life compare John Logan, ‘Ode on the Death of a Young Lady’, lines 51–52: ‘The Wild Romance of Life is done;/ The real History is begun’ (Poems, by the Rev. Mr. Logan (London, 1781), n:cf. CLA, 190). 68.16–20 motto see the refrain of Robert Burns, ‘McPherson’s Farewell’ (1788). 69.6 filled up completed the vacant parts. 69.7–8 assimilated … to compared with; put in the same class as. 69.28–29 the golden rule the precept ofJesus: ‘Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them’ (Matthew 7.12). 70.13 in exigencies in want; in pressing need. 70.22–23 woe worth him woe betide him; a curse upon him. 70.3 5–36 our old Scottish proverb … kindred a variant of Cheviot, 56: ‘Better a fremit friend than a friend fremit’. Magnum 31.90 has the following note: ‘ Better kind strangers than estranged kindred. The motto is engraved on a dirk, belonging to a person who had but too much reason to choose such a device. It was left by him to my father, and is connected with a strange course of adventures, which may one day be told. The weapon is now in my possession.’ 71.40–41 our Lady ofMarmouthier the abbey ofMarmoutier outside Tours was founded c. 372 by St Martin (for whom see note to 62.27). According to tradition, Martin dedicated a grotto chapel at Marmoutier to the Virgin Mary, and this chapel became known as ‘la chapelle Notre-Dame des Sept-Dorm­ ants’ because the legendary Seven Sleepers (seven noble Christian youths of Ephesus who, after taking refuge in a cave to escape persecution, slept for 187 years) were believed to be Martin’s disciples or cousins. Roye notes (Petitot, 14.40) that Louis was in the habit of sending money to many places where the Virgin Mary was especially reverenced. 72.4 took heart of grace plucked up courage. 72.14 happily placed … groupe Scott is using the language ofart criti­ cism: a groupe is ‘an assemblage of (two or more) figures or objects forming in

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combination either a complete design, or a distinct portion of a design’(OED). 72.31–32 certain talismanic scratches … a broad arrow government property was marked with the conventionalised sign of an arrow-head of the familiar shape (as opposed to a fork-head with barbs pointing forwards). 72.35–36 skene dhu a small dagger tucked by Highlanders into the top of the stocking (Gaelic sgian dubh ‘black knife’). 72.42 construed into interpreted as. 73.14 Eblis the principal devil in the Moslem tradition. For the Moslem element in Scott’s gypsies see note to 192.12–13. 73.20 bore him out sustained him. 73.29–31 the women making a piteous wailing … head compare Grellmann (69): ‘The Gipsey’s decease is instantly succeeded by the most frantic lamentations’. 73.40–43 Several ofthe men … ears compare Hoyland, 19, for a quoted description of the gypsies who arrived in Paris in 1427: ‘Nearly all of them had their ears bored, and one or two silver rings in each, which they said were esteemed ornaments in their country. The men were black, their hair curled.’ 74.11 Saracens Moslems, infidels. 75.3–4 Trois-Echelles and Petit-André French Three Ladders and Little Andrew. See Historical Note, 503–04. 75.37–38 I am still minded I still think. 76.39–41 Louis used to call them … Jean-qui-rit Democritus (c. 460–c. 370 BC) was a Greek philosopher who held that happiness was to be sought in the moderation of desire: he was known as ‘the laughing philosopher’. Heraclitus (active around 500 BC) was another Greek philosopher who held that all things are in a state of flux (‘all things change’): because of his melan­ choly views he was often contrasted with Democritus. The French names, meaning ‘laughingJohn’ and ‘weepingJohn’, recall the poem ‘Jean qui pleure et Jean qui rit’ (1772) by Voltaire, in which John cries when thinking of sad things and laughs when enjoying life. Since Trois-Echelles is fictitious Louis’s con­ trast must be so too. 77.5 incommendam with alongside. 77.23 bore the palm were pre-eminent. 77.38–39 Beati … moriuntur Latin Blessed are they which die in the Lord (Revelation 14.13: see the Vulgate version). The verse is often associated with funeral services. 78.18 The shortest play is ever the fairest compare the proverb ‘The less play the better’ (Ray, 306; ODEP, 631). 78.21 finishers ofthe law a phrase formerly in common jocular use meaning ‘hangmen’. 78.26 make at approach with hostile intent. 78.37 stand to your arms form up with arms presented. 79.30–31 with my own proper hand by my very own hand. 79.39 What a murrain exclamation of anger: literally ‘what a plague’; effectively ‘what the devil’. 80.14 Upon this urgency in this urgent situation. 80.16 standing upon their defence adopting a defensive posture. 80.17–19 Cunningham … Lindesay—Guthrie—Tyrie a [Robert] Cunningham (‘Conigham’) is mentioned in Duclos (1.55) as Commander of the Scottish Guards with whom Louis had intrigued as Dauphin in 1446: several of the guards were executed, but he was spared at the intercession of the King of Scots. (This incident properly belongs to 1450, when some ofthe Scots treacherously plotted with the English during Charles VII’s attack on them in Normandy.) The other archers, and those named later, are probably fictitious. 80.19 strike in interpose; join in the affair.

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80.40–43 Take reason with you … do us reason be sensible ... do us justice. The phrase ‘at your hand’ means ‘from you’. 80.43 the King’s grace the King. 81.20 Stand to yet keep up the attack. 82.24 as bare as the birch in December proverbial: compare Ray, 293 and ODEP, 29. 82.26–27 make up something handsome get together a handsome or considerable sum of money. 83.3–8 motto not identified; probably by Scott. It is not from The Recruiting Officer (1706) by George Farquhar, which is in prose. 83.24 Michael ofMoffat apparently an imaginary person, from Moffat in Dumfriesshire. 83.29–30 byruleofhand probably by exercise of authority or by force. 83.34 In troth truly; indeed. 83.36–37 they have appeared in this land … just as a flight oflocusts might do Grellmann observes (3) that the gipsies ‘like locusts, have overrun most of the countries of Europe’. 83.39 by times soon. 84.1 so he but know ifonlyheknew. 84.15 a fair friend a friend of the fair sex; a woman. 84.22 in good sooth truly; really. 84.22–24 tribes ofthem … Scotland is free ofthem yet the gypsies arrived in continental Europe soon after 1400, but they did not cross the Chan­ nel for another century (Hoyland, 11,75). 84.33 driveaspreagh go on a foray to lift cattle. 85.3 harquebusses the (h)arquebus, a light hand-held gun not requiring a rest, originally with a hook-like projection on the underside of the barrel, was the forerunner of the musket. Its effective range was less than 200 metres. 85.4–5 in company of amidst. 85.9–10 Lord Crawford the character is fictitious. 85.13–14 those bloody wars … English see note to 23.14. 85.15 Douglas … Buchan Archibald Douglas (1369?–1424), who suc­ ceeded as 4th Earl ofDouglas c. 1400 and was created Duke ofTouraine in 1423; and John Stewart (1381?–1424), who was created Earl ofBuchan in 1406 and Constable ofFrance in 1421. Both of these Scots nobles were killed in the French service at the battle of Verneuil (see note to 87.37). 85.16 theMaidofArc Joan ofArc (c. 1412–31),the peasant girl who led France to victory against England. 85.18–19 their “auld enemies ofEngland” England is traditionally the ‘auld enemy’ of Scotland: see note to 59.19–20. 85.19 Changes … Scottish kingdom Scott may be thinking of the mur­ der ofJames I in 1437 and the turbulence of the following two decades ofJames II’s minority and early reign. See the account in Tales ofa Grandfather (Prose Works, 22.268–301). 85.39 pitched battles battles planned beforehand and fought on chosen ground (as opposed to skirmishes). 85.43–86.1 the collar and badge … Saint Michael the chivalric Order of St Michael was instituted by Louis XI on 1 August 1469. Its collar, decorated with gold scallop shells, supported a badge (emblem) depicting the Archangel Michael slaying the Devil as a dragon. 86.2 spectacles … then a recent invention the first European eyeglasses were made in Italy c. 1286. 86.3–5 a huge manuscript … the Dauphin Le Rosier desguerres (French The Rosebush ofWars) is in fact a quite short collection of maxims on civil and military matters which may have been composed by Louis himself for his son

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Charles (later Charles VIII), who was not born until 1470. It survives in various manuscripts and was first published at Paris in 1521. 86.9 the foul fiend’s the Devil’s. 86.18 ravel out unwind; disentangle. 86.21 the whole dogs all the dogs. 87.1 ifall be good that is up-come if all is as good as it looks. Proverbial: see Scottish National Dictionary, upcome, I.2. 87.5 By my hilts a form ofasseveration. See e.g. Thomas Shadwell, The Volunteers; or, The Stock-Jobbers: A Comedy (London, 1693), 6 (Act 1, Scene 1). 87.15 the use the common practice. 87.19 pricked off chosen. 87.20 more or less whether to a greater or lesser extent. 87.28 making their mess taking their meals. 87.32 the surest gear in their aught the most reliable thing in their possession; their strongest asset. 87.37 thе battles ofVemoil and Beaugé the Scots under the Earl of Buchan (see note to 85.15) played a prominent part in the French victory over the English at Baugé (Maine-et-Loire) in 1421; but the English turned the tables at Vemeuil-sur-Arvre (Eure) in 1424, when the Earl ofDouglas was killed. 88.28 hold themselves merry continue to be merry. 88.32–33 hurry no man’s cattle proverbial: ODEP, 394. 89.8 do reason to do justice in drinking. 89.13 kissed the wine-cup took a sip of liquor; drank. 89.21 the Oriflamme (the royal banner ofFrance) the Oriflamme was the red sacred banner of the Abbey of St Denis near Paris, entrusted by the abbots to the early kings ofFrance for their expeditions from 1124. 89.29 the Count ofCrevecœur’s equipage forCrèvecoeurseeHistor­ icalNote, 500. 89.38 Campo-basso Nicholas de Montfort (Cola di Monforte, d. 1478), Count of Campobasso, was the leader of the Italian mercenaries in the service of Burgundy, but not until late 1472 or early 1473. 90.6–7 his daughter the Lady ofBeaujeu, or the Princess Joan Prin­ cess Anne (1461–1522), elder daughter of Louis XI, married in 1474 Pierre, Seigneur ofBeaujeu, who became Duke of Bourbon in 1488. Joan (Jeanne) (1464–1505) was Louis’s younger daughter. 90.8–9 he shall chase … with the hare proverbial: Ray, 197; ODEP, 689. 90.13–14 make work cause disturbance. 90.25 keen scoffs extremely sharp mockery or expressions ofscorn. 90.30 a dark lantern a lantern with a slide by which the light can be concealed. 90.32 close litters portable couches with the curtains drawn. 90.37 Countess Isabelle de Croye see Historical Note, 501. 91.6 Skeoch doch nan skial Gaelic proverb, ‘Sgithichidh deoch an sgeul’ (‘The drink will weary the tale’). 91.19 come you there to me? is that so? you don’t say so! 91.24 music ofthe Fairy Melusina’s making Scott seems to be think­ ing only of the mellifluous name. In a German version, which he owned (CLA, 53), of the original French romance composed in 1392–93 by Jean d’Arras for Jean Duke ofBerry, Reymund marries the beautiful and mysterious Melusina, promising not to ask after her on a Saturday. His brother tells him on a Saturday that people are saying she is a whore or a ghost. He makes a hole in a door with his sword and sees Melusina in the bath with a serpent form from the waist down. When later he has cause to be angry with her he calls her a wicked snake.

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Melusina blesses him, turns half serpent, circles the castle in the air three times, and disappears with a piteous cry. 91.25 your board was covered your table was laid. 91.35 within compass within the bounds of moderation. 91.35 Fair and soft goes far proverbial: Ray, 104; ODEP, 238. 91.35–36 slow fire makes sweet malt proverbial: see Ray, 158; ODEP, 750. 91.36 to be merry and wise … proverb ‘it is good to be merry and wise’: ODEP, 527; compare Ray, 135. 91.38 parting-cup a drinking-cup with two handles on opposite sides, used by two people taking a draught of liquor at parting. 92.1–2 solemn as the gravity ofa hogshead a jocular comparison play­ ing on gravity as ‘solemnity’ and ‘weight’ or ‘density’. 92.21 by times early; in good time. 92.26–30 motto KingJohn, 1.1.24–27 (John sending the French ambas­ sadorhome). 92.34–35 the convent ofAberbrothock see note to 63.16. 92.35 did on put on. 93.25–27 being so strict … a stag so Seyssel (Supplément, 286). 94.5–6 as the animals in the fable … lion Scott is probably reversing the sense of Aesop’s fable of the fox[es] and the lion (4.12), in which a group of foxes decline to visit a lion, because they notice that all the visitors’ footprints point towards the lion’s lair: ‘For to entre in to the hows of a grete lord/ it is wel facyle but for to come oute of hit ageyne it is moche dyffycyle’ (Caxton’s Aesop, ed. R. T. Lenaghan (Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1967), 130–31). 94.7–11 The very few persons … indifferently see note to 25.28–32. 94.16 leading staff staff borne by a commanding officer. 94.18–22 the Count de Dunois … yoke for the younger Dunois see Historical Note, 501. His father jean (1402–68), Count ofDunois in 1439–68—illegitimate son of Louis (1372–1407), 1st Duke ofOrleans 1392–1407—defended Orleans against the English till Joan ofArc arrived in 1429. 94.40–41 his step free his movements natural and unaffected. 95.5 Louis Duke ofOrleans … blood royal see Historical Note, 503. 95.15–17 the Princess Joan of France …infancy for Joan see note to 90.6–7. Historically, Orleans and she had been contracted to each other a few days after her birth, and were to marry in 1476 when Louis was 14 and she 12. 95.30 JohnofBalue see Historical Note, 499–500. 95.31–33 Wolsey … Henry VШ. the immensely ambitious Thomas Wolsey (c. 1475–1530) was created cardinal in 1515 and in the same year became Lord Chancellor of England under Henry VIII (reigned 1509–47). 95.35 Grand Almoner the Grand Almoner was the king’s principal spir­ itual officer: he acted as the royal confessor and principal judge of ecclesiastical affairs. 96.5 possessed him persuaded him. 96.7 Limoges city in W central France (Haute–Vienne). 96.37–38 le Mauvais … le Diable French the wicked …the devil. For Oliver (Olivier), see Historical Note, 501. 98.12 Vin de Beaulne see note to 46.7–8. 98.21 act in the King’s quarrel perform his duties on the King’s side in a contest. 98.28–31 a huge rosary … a Coptic hermit on Mount Lebanon the hermit would derive from the native Christian church in Egypt, whose liturgy is in Coptic, the ancient language of Egypt with Greek influence. From the 6th century Mount Lebanon, the central part of modern Lebanon, became predom­

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inantly Christian, and at the time of the novel’s action Coptic hermits were among the many ascetics of various traditions living in the area and subject to pillaging by the ruling Mamlukes of Egypt, from whom the Turks might have acquired such a rosary. The Grand Seignior was the Ottoman Emperor, at the time Selim II (1524–74, sultan from 1566), but Scott may be thinking of Comines’s observation (6.10: Petitot, 12.391–92) that Bajazet II (1447–1512, sultan from 1481) sent the dying Louis a list of all the Christian relics in Constantinople, offering to let him have them if he would detain his brother and rival Zizim in France. Scott may also be recalling Louis’s summoning a Calab­ rian hermit to his sickbed at the same period (Comines, 6.8: Petitot, 12.377–78). 98.31 And for and instead of. 98.33 stamped in lead made oflead and impressed with a device by means ofa die. 98.42–99.1 the eldest … the Lady ofBeaujeu see note to 90.6–7. 99.28 the First Bom ofHoly Church ‘The Kings ofFrance haue des­ erued, the glorious Surname ofEldest Sonne ofthe Church, hauing defended it from great enemies, and freed it from terrible persecutions’ (Mathieu, 2.125). ‘I know not the precise time when the use of the … phrase commenced, it may either be construed, as alluding to this circumstance, that of all the kingdoms in modem Europe, France was the earliest converted to the Church ofRome; or as implying, that the Royal House ofFrance is the oldest royal dynasty existing within the limits of Christendom’ (GenealogicalMemoirs ofthe Royal House ofFrance … by the late Richard Barrè, LordAshburton (London, 1825), 44). 100.19 Saint Hubert’s see note to 36.7. 100.25–27 the festival of Saint Martin … thoughts St Martin’s Day is 11 November. Louis’s unwillingness to deal with business on religious festivals is noted by Comines (4.9: Petitot, 12.148). 100.27 we were designed for we intended to go to. 100.28 Amboise a royal château 24 km E ofTours. 100.36 I had more mind I was inclined rather. 100.39 Body ofme an oath without any specific meaning. 101.11 Hainaulter Crèvecœur was actually a close neighbour ofHainaut (see note to 65.24), Crèvecœur-sur-l’Escaut being 8 km S of Cambrai (both Nord), and Esquerdes 9 km SW of St-Omer (both Pas-de-Calais). 101.15 put up shut up; returned to their kennels. 101.20 in name of by way of; in token of. 101.26 Dennis Montjoye! the war cry of medieval France. ‘Dennis’ refers to the abbey of that name (see note to 89.21) and to St Denys whom it honours, martyred at Paris c. 250. There are numerous theories about the origin of ‘montjoie’. 101.27 Marry and amen to be sure indeed (Romeo andJuliet, 4.5.8). 101.34–37 Edward IV … the Duchess ofBurgundy Margaret (1446–1503), sister of Edward IV (reigned 1461–83), married Charles Duke ofBurgundy in 1468. Edward led his forces in several important battles during the Wars of the Roses, but he was not personally involved in anything like 30. Robert Henry notes that Edward ‘gained nine pitched battles, in which he was present, and fought on foot, and never lost one’ (The History ofGreat Britain, 5 th edn, 12 vois (London, 1814), 9.245: compare CLA, 28). 101.39 the ever-open gate of Calais Calais was in English hands from 1347 until 1558. 101.43 the Duke ofBretagne until his defeat by Louis’s forces in Septem­ ber 1468 François II (1433–1488), Duke ofBrittany 1458–88, inclined to support the Anglo-Burgundian alliance.

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102.10 Beati pacifici Latin Blessed are the peacemakers (Matthew 5.9: Vulgate version). 102.11–12 they who humble themselves shall be exalted see Matthew 23.12, Luke 14.11 and 18.14. 102.26–27 I would … the diocese Dunois’s comment is ascribed by Peti tot (11.287n) to Antoine I of Chabannes (1408–88), Count of Dammartin 1439–88. 102.34–35 this is … animal ofa Bishop compare Louis’s expression in a letter printed by Brantôme (1.192): ‘il est bon diable d’evesque pour à ceste heure; je ne sçay qu’il sera pour l’advenir’ (he is for the present a good devil of a bishop; I don’t know what he will be in the future). The remark is also recorded byPetitot, 11.518n. 102.36 patience, cousin, and shuffle the cards see Miguel de Cervan­ tes Saavedra, Don Quixote (1605,1615), Part 2, Ch. 23 (Durandarte’sphleg­ matic aphorism when kept by enchantment in the cave of Montesinos). 102.39–42 Dr Dryasdust … metaphor Dr Dryasdust, who is here ima­ gined as having annotated the point in question (in an unspecified manner), is a fictitious antiquary residing at York. He first appears as a correspondent of Jonathan Oldbuck in The Antiquary (1816: eewn 3,282.2), then more promin­ ently as the dedicatee ofIvanhoe (1819: eewn 8,5.3). He is the addressee of the ‘Introductory Epistle’ to The Fortunes ofNigel (1822), and is the nominal author of the ‘Prefatory Letter’ to Peveril ofthe Peak (1822), and of the ‘Conclu­ sion’ to Redgauntlet (1824: EEWN 17,378–80). The origin of playing cards is obscure: they are recorded in Italy in 1299 and in France early in the 14th century. 103.11 order ofthe Golden Fleece this chivalric Order was founded in 1430 by Philip the Good, Duke ofBurgundy (father of Charles the Bold). Its name alludes to the Greek legend ofJason and the Golden Fleece, with subsidi­ ary reference (among others) to the Burgundian wool trade. The rich ceremo­ nial garments of the order were predominantly red and purple and included a gold collar with a small gold sheep suspended from it. 103.14 letters ofcredence letters of recommendation. 103.24 in your hand by the hand. 104.5 requital of retaliation or revenge for. 104.30 indirect practices deceitful, corrupt dealings. 105.3 in respect considering; seeing; since. 105.7–8 fortified in her contumacy encouraged or morally strengthened in her perverse and obstinate resistance of, or disobedience to, authority. 105.29–30 Zamet Maugrabin for the surname see Historical Note, 503. One Sebastian Zamet, an Italian, appears as a surname in Sully, 2.316,319n. 105.35 our Lady of Embrun see note to 34.22. 105.43 short shrift a brief space of time allowed for the criminal to make his confession to a priest and receive absolution before execution. 106.4 or other or others. 106.9 demeaning thyself behaving. 106.12 Louis ofValois when Charles IV, the last Capetian king of France (see note to 319.43), died without male issue in 1328 Philippe de Valois suc­ ceeded him as Philippe VI, inaugurating the Valois dynasty which was to end with the death of Charles VIII in 1498. 106.14 Toison d’Or French Golden Fleece, one of the principal Burgund­ ian heralds. At the beginning of 1471 the position was held by Gilles Gobert, who probably assumed the office when Jean Lefebre de Saint-Remy retired on 7 May 1468 (Collection des chroniques nationalesfrançfaises, ed. J[ean]-A[lexandre C.] Buchon, 47 vols (Paris, 1826–28), 43.94n).

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106.18–22 Charles … Malines the titles follow Olivier de la Marche (Petitot, 9.87). Lotharingia is the Latin name for the duchy of Lorraine, which Charles was to conquer in 1475. The other territories are: the duchy ofBrabant, now divided between the Belgian provinces ofBrabant and Antwerp and the Dutch province of North Brabant; Limbourg, a small Belgian duchy on the River Meuse; the duchy of Luxembourg (including the area now a province in SE Belgium); Artois, a county consisting of most of the Pas-de-Calais depart­ ment; Zealand (Zeeland) a county in the SW Netherlands; Namur, a county in S Belgium; Zutphen, a county in E Central Netherlands (attached to Gueldres and acquired with it in 1473: see note to 48.10–28); Friezeland (Friesland), an extensive set of coastal territories in the N Netherlands, acquired by Charles but never subdued by him; Salines (Salins-les Bains), a seigniority in the Jura department; and Malines (Mechelen), a city state in N Central Belgium. 106.36 Vive Bourgogne! French long live Burgundy! 107.3 cast ofa die throw ofa dice. 107.18 hot frays violent brawls. 107.20 Bishop ofAngers Cardinal Balue: see Historical Note, 499–500. 108.13 errant damosel see note to 263.14–15. 108.27–28 vituperative of violently abusive of. 108.38 at our charges at our expense. 109.6 Allegre the name is probably fictitious. Scott may have taken the name from ‘M[onsieur] d’Alegre’, also given as ‘Alègre’, one ofLouis XII’s captains (Brantôme, 1.202). 109.7 harboured C. B. Wheeler notes that in hunting to harbour is to see a beast of chase safely lodged in a thicket overnight, ready for the next day’s sport. 109.11 And all the chase rode on William Robert Spencer, ‘Beth Gélert, or the Grave of the Greyhound’, Poems (London, 1811), 78–86 (80: line 20): CLA, 201. ‘The chase’ means ‘the hunt’, ‘the hunters’. 109.14–17 motto see Richard III, 4.2.28–30. 109.32–33 recompenceof reward for. 110.21 sigillum confessionis Latin seal of confession. 110.28–29 errant damsels see note to 263.14–15. 110.29 lie leaguer reside as agents or ambassadors. 110.39 Bymyhalidome see note to 31.43. 111.4 our Lady ofOrleans Notre-Dame des Miracles (Our Lady of Miracles) at Orleans was a pilgrimage site from the 5 th century: Joan of Arc visited the sanctuary in the Church of St Paul in 1429. The original miraculous ebony statue was burned in the 16th century, but a stone copy was made and is still venerated in the chapel which escaped the wartime destruction of the church in 1944. 111.5 as I ride my horse at the ring a circlet ofmetal was suspended from a post, and each mounted contestant in turn would try to carry it off on the tip of his lance. 111.5–6 Your Majesty owes … marriage Louis may be alluding to the history of Charles, Duke ofOrleans. His first wife, Isabella of France (1389–1409), the daughter of Charles VI, whom he married in 1406, died in childbirth. In 1415 he was captured at Agincourt. Charles VII, regarding him as a rival, refused to ransom him from captivity in London. During his captivity, his second wife Bonne d’ Armagnac died in 1435. It was not until 1441 that he was ransomed by Philip the Good, Duke ofBurgundy, who arranged for his third marriage to Marie de Clèves in 1462. The marriage which resulted in the birth of the Louis ofOrleans of the novel in the latter year was thus ofBurgundian rather than French provision. Matthieu (2.132) notes that after his ransom Duke Charles ‘was not received by King Charles the seventh, according to his hopes and the greatnesse ofhis quality’, a lack ofesteem ‘which did wound his

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heart with so sencible a griefe, as Claudius of Seysell finds no other cause of his death’. 111.22–23 It will be a peaceful … children Claude de Seyssel (Supplé­ meni, 289) observes that Louis’s motive in arranging this marriage was that the Orleans line should come to an end as a result ofJoan’s presumed sterility, and Mézeray notes (2.369) that Louis insisted on this match ‘for reasons of state, not for affection’ (‘par maxime d’Estat non par affection’). Wraxall (1.143n) quotes from a letter from Louis to the Count ofDammartin, jesting that Joan and Louis would not have ‘beaucoup d’embarras à nourrir les enfans qui nait­ roient de leur union’ (much trouble in feeding the children that would result from their union), and concludes that ‘Malignity, rather than policy, or parental affection, dictated, therefore, the king’s determination’. 111.25 his own filial ingratitude see Historical Note, 504 (1447). 111.34–35 rent to pieces … the crown see note 1027.15–16. 112.3 Lay on hunting put on the scent. 112.13–14 enter the lists like Becket, or levy soldiers like Wolsey Thomas à Becket (1118?–1170), who became Archbishop of Canterbury in 1162, was noted for his prowess in individual combat as well as his military leadership; Cardinal Wolsey (see note to 95.31–33) frequently raised armed forces for foreign war. 112.21–22 his father the tailor, whom he rivalled in horsemanship see Historical Note, 499–500. 113.15 Old Angelo Anthony Angelo Malevotti Tremamondo, the royal riding master in Edinburgh, who died in 1805, aged 84. 113.16 Newmarket a town and racecourse in Suffolk, England, 20 km E of Cambridge. It is the headquarters ofBritish horse-racing. 113.19 more than sufficiently ludicrous to spectators more than enough to strike spectators as ludicrous. 113.37–38 ridden down either overtaken or collided with. 114.7 – 8 as it is said to have done … Spain Favila, king ofAsturias (a small Christian kingdom in NW Spain) c. 737–39 ‘was a Gothic king … who, going to hunt wild beasts, was devoured by a bear’ (Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote (1605,1615), Part 2, Ch. 34). He was the son of Don Pelayo who had survived the defeat by the Moors ofhis people the Christian Visigoths (who had settled in Spain in 415) and established the Asturian king­ dom c.718. 114.8 got off … for got off with. 114.14–15 though for a fisher … himself alluding to the promise of Jesus that the fishermen Simon (Peter) and Andrew would, as his disciples, become fishers (converters) of men (Matthew 4.19; Mark 1.17). 115.10 the Abbey of Saint Martin’s see note to 62.27. 115.24 well mounted seated on a good horse. 116.4 so far in such a degree. 116.6 ripping up tearing open. 116.10 thrown out left behind. 116.17 by paces by pacing. A military pace is two and a half feet (0.75m). 116.33 hit upon get at; guess. 116.37 build on rely confidently on. 116.41 braggart humour boasting mood. 117.15 Heaven cares for its own apparently proverbial: compare the concluding speech in M. G. (‘Monk’) Lewis, Alfonso King ofCastile (London, 1801), 69 (Act 4, Scene 1: ‘Heaven will defend its own’). 117.18 Ride in go home; return from the countryside to the stable. 117.22–23 helped … to provided with. 118.34 motto The Tempest,1.2.387.

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118.5–8 motto John Milton, Comus (written 1634, published 1637), lines 559–61. 118.18–119.8 making in … made in intervening … intervened. 119.11 a man ofmy inches a person ofmy height. 119.40–41 Saint Giles possibly an 8th-century figure, he was one of the most popular saints in medieval times. Balafré’s invocation of his name recalls the dedication of St Giles’ Cathedral, the High Kirk of Edinburgh. 119.43 final cause in philosophy, the end or purpose for which a thing is done, viewed as the cause of the act. 120.17 mount sentinel go on duty as a sentinel. 120.42 hug himself congratulate himself. 121.6–7 though they retained … the long-bow Comines notes, though, that at Liège the Scottish archers shot many arrows, doing more damage to the Burgundians than to the Liégois (2.12: Petitot, 11.504–05). 121.21 the toy called a mandarin a toy representing a grotesque seated figure in Chinese costume, so contrived as to continue nodding for a long time after it is shaken. 121.33–38 These were designed … Roland’s Gallery Orlando, or Roland, was the greatest of the twelve paladins, or knights, of Charlemagne (for whom see note to 65.9–10). 122.29–30 even to the very rigour with the utmost exactitude. 122.40–42 the defeats ofthe Danes … KingDufius at Forfar medi­ eval incised stones at Forres (Moray) and Aberlemno (Angus) were popularly believed to depict battles between the Scots and the Danes (Norsemen), ex­ pelled from mainland Scotland in the 11th century. King Dubh, or Duffus, was murdered in 966 at Forres (not Forfar) by his rival and successor Calen. No ballads are known on either of these subjects. 123.40 put lance in rest the rest was a contrivance fixed to the right side of the cuirass (upper body-armour) to receive the butt-end of the lance when lowered for charging, and to prevent it from being driven back on impact. 124.40 admit to receive at. 125.10 creep into an augre–hole compare Donalbain to Malcolm in Macbeth, 2.3.120–21: ‘What should be spoken/ Here, where our fate, hid in an auger-hole,/ May rush and seize us?’ 125.11 quis custodiat ipsos custodes Latin who would guard the guards themselves? Satires, 6.031–32, by Juvenal (flourished ad 98–128). All printed texts ofJuvenal available in Scott’s time have ‘custodiet’ (will guard), but ‘custodiat’ appears in an Oxford manuscript fragment which first became known to the scholarly world in 1899 and is now widely preferred. 125.20–23 Louis ofOrleans … Montereau Louis (1372–1407), created 1st Duke of Orleans in 1392, was assassinated in 1407 in the rue Berbette, Paris, on the orders ofJean sans Peur (John the Fearless, 1371–1419), who had become Duke ofBurgundy in 1404. Jean was murdered by the dauphin’s Armagnac supporters on the bridge over the Seine at Mon­ tereau-Faut-Yonnein 1419. 125.25 Ecosse, en avant French forward, Scotland. 125.30–31 the Constable Saint Paul see note to 49.1–2. 125.32–36 our brother-in-law … little good as dauphin in 1436 Louis contracted a marriage with Margaret of Scotland (1425?–1445), daughter of James I (King of Scots 1406–37) and sister ofJames П (King 1437–60). In 1452 James II murdered William Douglas (born c. 1425; succeeded as 8th Earl of Douglas in 1443), who had been summoned to Stirling Castle for political negotiations, leading to a period of civil war between supporters of the King and the Douglasses. 126.28 on all quarters from all directions.

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126.30 – 31 spare not for don’t abstain if it means damaging; don’t refrain from action on account of. 126.35 premier-valet ofthe chamber principal valet. 127.36 the Castle ofGenappes Genappe, the residence, 26 km S of Brussels, assigned to Louis by Philip the Good during his exile in Burgundy as dauphin. 127.39–40 Mieux … bel habit French a good dinner is worth more than a fine coat: see Strauss, no. 197. Le Grand d’Aussy (1.18) records a 16th-century observation that this proverb is especially in vogue in Burgundy, where people are the greatest gourmands in France. 127.40–41 have some care ofour table pay some attention or regard to provision of food for us. 128.1–3 Vin d’Auxerre … Auxerre est la boisson des Rois French Auxerre wine … Auxerre is the drink of kings. Le Grand d’Aussy (3.46–47) numbers among this Burgundian wine’s admirers Louis XTV, Louis XV, and Henri IV of France, and quotes the couplet ‘Auxerre est la boisson des Rois, / Heureux qui les boira tous trois’ (happy those who will drink all three of them [Auxerre, Irancy, and Coulanges (close together in the Yonne department), favourite beverages ofHenri IV]). By Scott’s time, however, much of the area was producing mediocre wine. 128.6 Vin de Rheims French Reims wine. As line 13 makes clear, this is champagne (then a still wine) from Sillery, 10 km SE of Reims. 128.13 Sillery or Auxerre France or Burgundy. Sillery was in France, whereas Auxerre (Yonne) was in the Duchy ofBurgundy. 128.18–19 you prefer the Auvernat … water for Auvernât wine see note to 55.43. Its noble abhorrence of water was noted in 1617: Le Grand d’Aussy, 3.22. 128.28–30 that Terror ofFrance … Burgundy Henry V had taken Rouen in 1419: Charles VII recaptured it in 1449 and completed the conquest of Normandy in 1450, but there was no official Burgundian involvement. 129.1 gave … into fell in with. 129.17 dormant table table fixed to the floor. 129.18–19 it is ill talking between a full man and a fasting prover­ bial: ODEP, 293. In Tales ofa Grandfather (Prose Works, 22.289–90) Scott tells how William, 8 th Earl of Douglas (see note to 125.32–36), invited James II’s messenger Sir Patrick Gray to dine, saying that ‘It was ill talking between a full man and a fasting’. While Sir Patrick ate, Patrick MacLellan, tutor or guardian to the young Earl ofBombie, who had incurred Douglas’s displeasure by refus­ ing to join with him against the King, was executed. See Redgauntlet (1824), eewn 17,97.40–42 and 477. 131.6–13 motto not identified; probably by Scott. It does not appear in George Wilkins’ play The Miseries ofInforced Marriage (1607). Hymen is the Greek god ofmarriage. 131.23–24 tiers etat French (tiers état) third estate. The three estates were clergy, nobility, and townsmen. 132.6–7, thy courage Louis is apparently playing on courage as ‘lust or appetite’ and ‘valour’. 132.8–9 meat and mass … man proverbial: Ray, 300; ODEP, 521. 132.21 ruffle it swagger; behave arrogantly. 133.13 sufficient for the day was the evil thereof see Matthew 6.34, which has become proverbial: ODEP, 785. 135.32 condescendence at once and encouragement condescension and encouragement at one and the same time. 135.36 never pluck in no way snatch at. 136.11–12 speak according to our conscience speak our minds.

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136.23 mew us up confine us. 136.34–35 old Michaud, the money-changer of Ghent the character is apparently imaginary. 136.35 Charlemagne see note to 65.9–10. 137.14–15 a Daughter ofFrance a female member of the French royal family: see note to 170.35. 138.3 Goto come on. 138.26 his uncle presumably (loosely) Louis XI himself: Louis and Orleans were great-grandsons of Charles V (1338–80). Orleans’s uncle would strictly be Jean Count of Dunois, the Bastard of Orleans (1402–24 November 1468), half-brother ofhis father Charles Duke of Orleans (1391–1465). 138.33 Bacchus Greek god of wine. 139.1 ever and anon every now and then. 139.10 like wax before the sun recalling the Classical legend of Icarus, whose attempt to fly ended when the sun melted the wax of his artificial wings. 139.35 lance in rest see note to 123.40. 139.37–39 a large mirror … value although mirrors were made in Venice before 1500, these were only small convex metal discs of the sort common since Classical times. The art of casting large sheets of glass and backing them with thin sheets ofreflecting tin and mercury, leading to the widespread production of high-quality mirrors in Venice, was invented in the 16th century. 140.17–21 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 141.1 par amours French by way of sexual (or illicit) love. 141.35 the inner Bailley the inner court between the defensive walls of the castle. 142.4–5 the Memoirs … history i.e. the (imaginary) documents men­ tioned at the end of the ‘Introduction’: 21.20–25. 142.9–10 the Chronique Scandaleuse ofJean de Troyes the presumed author is now known as Jean de Roye. The ‘Scandalous Chronicle’, first pub­ lished probably towards the end of the 15th century, is included in Petitot, 13.237–14.118. 142.17 other ways otherwise. 142.34–37 Burgundy is arming … that unhappy gate ofCalais for Burgundy and England see Historical Note, 505 (17 May 1468). For Calais see note to 101.39. 142.38–39 the discontent and treachery of … Saint Paul this refers to St Pol’s general unreliability (see note to 49.1–2) rather than to any specific historical concern in 1468. 143.13 hold out defend to the last. 143.17–18 the sage Chaldeans … Shinar in Daniel 2.1–4 the Chai­ deans are astrological soothsayers, and in 1.2 the land of Shinar is Babylonia. 143.30 Under … favour with … permission; by… leave. 144.5 busked up adorned. 144.8 views ofadvantage prospects of resulting benefit. 144.36 to boot into the bargain. 145.16–19 Adolphus, the Duke of Gueldres … father see note to 48.10–28. 145.30 Gauntois and Liegois citizens of Ghent and Liège. 145.33 to the boot ofall in addition to everything. 145.38 William de la Marck see Historical Note, 502–03. 146.34 under the ban … the Chamber at Ratisbon the Imperial Cham­ her, Reichstag, or Diet, was the legislature of the electors, greater princes, and (sometimes, and from 1489 always) the free cities of the Holy Roman Empire held under the Emperor’s authority at various locations, and from 1663 in perpetual session at Regensburg (French Ratisbon), Bavaria. The bishop of

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Liège was a Prince of the Empire and a vassal of the Emperor, so the banned (outlawed) de la Marek’s activities were a particular affront to the Emperor, but by this period the Emperor’s actual power in the outlying states was weak. 146.16 Forest ofArdennes a wooded region now in SE Belgium, N Luxembourg, and the Ardennes department of France. 146.17 cared for taken care of. 147.10 save and except but for. 147.11 Bymyhalidome see note to 31.43. 147.11 saving in but for. 147.19–21 Cade … Mortimers in 1450 Jack Cade (d. 1450) headed a Kentish rebellion against Henry VI, claiming descent from Roger de Mortimer (1287?–1330, created 1st Earl of March in 1328). The expression ‘raskall rout’ occurs in Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene, Bk 5 (1596), 2.54.8. 147.20–21 pretending to claiming (to be of). 147.21–22 comes ofthe blood ofthe princes ofSedan Guillaume’s grandfather Everard II de la Marek (d. 1440), had acquired the seigneiury of Sedan from his brother-in-law, Louis de Braquemont, in 1424. He ceded the title to Guillaume’s father Jean II de la Marek in 1429, and just before his death in 1470 Jean II in turn ceded the government and revenues of Sedan to his second son Robert I de la Marek. The title became a principality only in 1572. The expression ‘comes of’ means ‘is descended from’. 147.24 sure guidance safe leadership. 147.40 Saint Julian see note to 49.27. 148.2 receive, and relieve, and maintain giver shelter to, feed, and support by expenditure. 148.29–35 The King … Sancte Juliane … pro nobis The Latin prayer means ‘Holy Julian, hear our prayers! Pray, pray, for us!’ Louis’s habit of praying to the saints represented by the images in his hat is recorded in Seyssel (Supplement296–97). 148.33 thrill across pass with a thrill of emotion through. 148.36 ague-fits ofsuperstitious devotion compare King Richard’s ‘This ague fit offear is over-blown [past]’: Richard II, 3.2.190. 149.30 stand to his arms take his place with weapon presented. 149.31 comes on … come off advances with hostile intent upon … leave the field of combat; escape. 150.29 determine their retreat make them decide to retreat. 151.27–31 motto not identified; probably by Scott. Albumazar was a 9th­ century Arabian astrologer. The lines are not from Thomas Tomkis’s Albu­ mazar: a Comedy (published 1615: CLA, 215), which Dryden revived in 1668. 152.4 their relative, the Bishop ofLiege see Historical Note, 500. 152.11 sustain the personage play the part of the character. 152.11 Maitre d’Hotel steward; chief domestic servant. 152.13–15 the holy city of Cologne … Bethlehem from the 6th century it was generally believed that the magi, or wise men, of the nativity story were kings and three in number. In 1162 the Emperor Friedrich Barbarossa took their alleged relics from Milan, whither they were said to have been brought from Constantinople in the 5th century, to Cologne Cathedral, where they remain. 152.38–42 Galeotti Marti … Hungary Marzio Galeotti (c. 1440–94), a notable Italian scholar, was attached to the court ofMatthias Corvinus (Mátyás Hunyadi, 1443–90), King of Hungary 1458–90, whose Latin name means ‘the Raven’. [Gabriel] Naudé records (Supplément, 59) how Louis persuaded Gale­ otti to leave Hungary for the French court, but the scholar broke his neck and died when dismounting from his horse at their first meeting in 1476. Paolo Giovio

EXPLANATORY NOTES

537

(1483–1552), an Italian historian, included a panegyric of Galeotti in his Elogia Veris Clarorvm Virorvm ImaginibvsApposita (Venice, 1546), ff. 28v–29r. Narni is a town 60 km N of Rome. 153.6 outwatching the polar bear see John Milton, ‘Il Penseroso’ (writ­ ten c. 1630; published 1645), line 87. The watcher will sit up till dawn, for the constellation ofthe Great Bear never sets in northern latitudes. 153.9 Janus Pannonius has left a Latin epigram Epigrams, Book 1, No. 14, ‘Palestra Galeotti’ by the Hungarian poet Jean de Cisnige (d. 1464) (Jani Pannonii Poëmata, 2 parts (Traiecti ad Rhenum, 1784), 1.461): Qualis in Aetola moerens Achelous arena, Herculea legit cornua fracta manu; Talis luctator Galeotto fusus Halesus, Turpia pulverea signa reliquit humo. Matthiae regi Latiae placuere palaestrae, Risit Strigonia clarus ab arce pater. At te ne pudeat ludi cessisse magistro, Improbe, Mercurius noster et ista docet.

C. B. Wheeler translates as follows: ‘As on the sands ofAetolia Achelous rue­ fully picked up his horn broken by the hand ofHercules, so the wrestler Halesus when overthrown by Galeotti left the marks of his shame on the dusty ground. King Matthias delighted in the wrestling of the Italian, the father laughed aloud from his Strigonian citadel. But you, you rascal, need feel no shame to have been worsted by a schoolmaster; why, our Mercury teaches that also. ’ Strigonium was the modem Esztergom, near Budapest; Mercury was the patron of wrestlers. The epigram is quoted by [Gabriel] Naudé in Supplément, 58. 153.21–22 the great battle ofJaiza … Mathias Corvinus Jaiza or Jajce, formerly capital ofBosnia, was captured by the Turks in June 1463 and re-taken in December by Matthias Corvinus; a further siege and assault the following year by the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, Mehmed II (1431–81), failed. 153.25 Jacob’s staff an instrument for taking the altitude of the sun. 153.30 mail … plate armour composed ofinterlaced rings … armour composed ofpieces of steel or iron. 153.43 the Hermetical Philosophy alchemy, named after its supposed originator Hermes Trismegistus, a combination of the Egyptian god of wisdom and science Thoth and the Greek god of wealth Hermes. 154.1–3 in the eastern character … cabalistic characters Scott knew the mixture of oriental calligraphy (including Hebrew) and emblems employed by adepts in the occult sciences from Georg Conrad Horst’s Zauber-Bibliothek (Library ofMagic, 6 parts, Mainz, 1821–26), 1.125 etc. He may have specifically in mind that in the cabbalistic system of mystical interpretation of the Bible, developed between the 9th and 13 th centuries, the letters of the biblical text were converted into numbers and manipulated to reveal supposed hidden truths. 154.8–9 the Frankfort press … printing the first printed book (a Bible) was produced by Johannes Gutenberg in Mainz c. 1453–55; the first book printed at Frankfurt-am-Main dates from 1511. 154.19 virgin parchment fine parchment made of the skin ofa young lamb. 154.40 the first and second rain compare Deuteronomy 11.14, where God promises to give ‘the first rain and the latter rain’ in autumn and spring. 155.56 fruit as fatal … good and evil Genesis 2.9. 155.9 Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof see note to 133.13. 155.10–12 the horoscope … palmistry, or chiromancy Indagine (А4r) stresses the close connection between astrology and palmistry: ‘having

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recourse first unto the hand, and marking and noting such signs and tokens as therein shall appear; then beholding the proportion and lineaments of the whole body, and according to the prescript rules to weigh and consider the equality and agreeableness between them, with like respect had unto the Nativity, judging either by the Artificial Horoscope, or by the Natural course of the Sun: thou shalt not only see and perceive a great necessity and affinity between our Ter­ restrial and Celestial bodies, but also fore-see and know a thousand accidents either good or evil, provided unto us, and hanging over our heads.’ 155.33 linea vitæ Latin line of life (in palmistry). Indagine says (B3v–B4r): ‘The line of Life, called also the line of the Heart, beginneth … at the hill of the fore-finger, passing by the midst of the palm, goeth to the wrist.… This is alwaies to bee noted in all principal lines, that if they be straight, not divided, neither cut, and well coloured, it doth declare a good complexion [nature, character]’. Quentin’s line has none of the imperfections which would denote craftiness, inconstancy, treachery, or deceit. 156.18 the Church, an unbounded stock ofmerits according to the Roman Catholic concept of supererogation, good works beyond what God commands or requires (notably those of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and the Saints) are held to constitute a store of merit which the Church may dispense to others to make up for their deficiencies. 156.22–23 Sancte Huberte … peccatore Latin Holy Hubert … all you saints who hear me, pray for me a sinner. St Rosalia was a 12th-century Sicilian saint who is said to have lived as an anchoress in a cave and later in a grotto. See notes to 36.7 (Hubert), 49.27 (Julian), and 62.27 (Martin). 156.35–157.2 here is your Ephemerides … adverse conjunction in astrology, Saturn is generally considered a malign influence, Jupiter a benign: this applies specifically to those engaged in journeys. The proximity of the moon to a malign planet can mitigate its baleful influence. Two planets are in conjunction when they are within half their orbs (spheres of influence) of each other. Authorities differ on what results when a planet is combust (i.e. conjunct with the Sun), but it can denote imminent serious injury on a journey, and to a person of subordinate status. 157.18 Nostradamus Michel de Notredame, a noted French physician and astrologer, who was not born until 1503, and who died in 1566. 157.23 the Court ofBuda the Hungarian royal court in part ofmodem Budapest, united with Pest in 1873. 157.28–29 draw to a debate come to a contention. 157.38 set a planetary figure draw up a horoscope. 158.11–12 a refreshing fee … retainer an extra fee to that paid to retain his services. 158.27 humane letters refined studies. 158.29–30 Post tot promissa Latin after so many promises. 158.31–32 Hun and Turk … Tartary Hun is probably used in the sense of‘Hungarian’; Muscovia denotes Russia; the Cham ofTartary was the ruler of a central Asian region E of the Caspian Sea. 158.35–36 aut inveniam viam, aut faciam Latin I will either find a way or make one. Proverbial. 159.3–6 the Armenian Abbot … Thebais this appears to be a mere farrago. The Armenian Church has been a distinct community since 374, with doctrines similar to those of Orthodox Christianity. Istrahoff is perhaps Con­ stanţa, on the Black Sea in Romania, or Bratislava, Slovakia, which were both known as Istropolis (the city on the Danube). Susan Manning suggests Trieste (NE Italy, on the Istria peninsula): in that connection it may be noted that from the end of the 12th century until 1375 some Armenians were united with the Roman Catholic Church, and contact continued into the 15th century. No

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Greek Dubravius has been discovered: the name may be derived, as Manning suggests, from John Dubraw (d. 1553: Latin Dubravius), a Bohemian historian, Bishop ofOlmutz; or it may be from Roderick Dubraw, a Bohemian lawyer (d. 1545). Ali Ben Abn-Ragel (‘Alī Ibn Abi ’l-Riḏjāl, or in Latin Haly filius Abenragel) was an 11th-century Arab astrologer; Thebais is the neighbour­ hood of Thebes on the Nile. (Incorporating suggestions from Dryburgh and Manning.) 159.17–25 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 161.4–5 the clew to this labyrinth in Greek legend, Theseus used a clew, or ball of thread, to enable him to retrace his steps to the entrance of the maze after killing the monstrous Minotaur. 161.13 olives olives are characteristic rather ofProvence and Languedoc in the S of France than of the Loire valley. 161.15–17 the immense gothic mass … fifth century Perpetuus was the third successor of St Martin as Bishop ofTours (c. 461–c. 494): he en­ larged the basilica of St Martin (see note to 62.27) 473 and installed the saint’s relics there. 161.20 the church of Saint Gatien the cathedral of Tours, erected between the 13th and 16th centuries. Gatian (d. c. 337) was the founder and first bishop of the diocese ofTours. 161.21–22 the Castle … the Emperor Valentinian Valentinian I (312–75, Roman Emperor in the West from 364) made Caesarodunum, loc­ ated where E Tours now stands, the metropolis of an area roughly correspond­ ing to the later provinces ofTouraine, Brittany, Maine, and Anjou. Valentinian’s castle was finished in 370, and in 1034 a new castle was built on the site, utilising the remains of the Roman walls for part of its foundations. 162.7 reason on discuss; argue about. 162.27–28 Wenceslaus ofGermany Wenceslas IV (‘the Drunkard’) (1361– 1419), had actually been Holy Roman (German) Emperor 1378–1400. The current Emperor was Friedrich III (1415–93), crowned by the Pope in 1452. 162.30 prohibited wares forbidden or contraband goods. 162.31 Marthon named after a village in the Charente department. 163.3–4 the Convent ofMarmouthier see note to 71.40–41. 163.11 the famous Passage ofArms at Haflinghem as in Ivanhoe, EEwn 8,66.36, apassage ofarms is a tournament in which a group of knights take on all challengers. Graham Tulloch notes that Scott seems to have been the first to use this phrase in English, apparently basing it on the Frenchpasd’armes, the name given to a stylised representation of the defence ofa passage or cross­ roads against all comers. Haflinghem may be Havelange, Belgium, which has a mansion formerly belonging to the noble family ofBouillon, but the tournament is probably imaginary. 163.12 challengers … assailants challengers called on others to fight; assailants accepted the challenge. 163.20–21 your great-grandmother … Strasbourg the great-grand­ mother and the tournament are both probably fictitious, though tournaments were certainly held at Strasbourg in the 15th century. 163.42 the Rhingrave Gottfried a Rhinegrave (German ‘Rheingraf’) was one of the counts with territories bordering the Rhine, but Gottfried (Englished as Godfrey at 199.20) is not known to have been historical. 163.43 The very perfect knight echoing the description of the ‘verray [true], parfit gentil knyght’, in Geoffrey Chaucer, ‘General Prologue’ to The Canterbury Tales, 1 (A), 72, in The Riverside Chaucer, 3rd edn, ed. Larry D. Benson (Oxford, 1988): see CLA, 42,154,155,172,239. 164.1–2 Thibault ofMontigni the character is probably imaginary: Montigny is a common place-name.

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164.4 without doors out of doors. 164.33 a slouched … hat a soft felt hat with a broad brim hanging over the face. 165.1–2 our Lady ofthe Gréve in Scott’s time criminals were still ex­ ecuted in the Place de Grève (French Strand Square, since 1806 Place de l’Hôtel-de-Ville, ‘City Hall Square’) in Paris. 165.8 by my halidome see note to 31.43. 165.16 Saint Patibularius a jesting derivation from Latinpatibulum ‘gib­ bet’. 165.17 Vaconeldiablo Spanish he goes with the devil. Dryburgh suggests the term is a corruption of Spanish ‘Baco el Diablo’ (Bacchus the Devil), referring to the Greek god of wine. 165.19–20 the finisher ofthe law see note to 78.21. 165.23 Lo you there exclamation preceding an emphatic statement. 165.25 good lack goodness me. 165.25–26 nearly and closely particularly and intimately. 165.31 in fine in short. 165.33 use me behave towards me. 165.37 quicken a dull horse stimulate a listless horse. 165.38 drew off moved off; withdrew. 166.8 look to attend to. 166.22–23 raise an opinion ofyour being make people think that you are. 166.39 Bertrand Guyot the figure is probably imaginary. 166.39cap de diou God’s head. This is a Gascon version of the French oath ‘tête de dieu’. Brantôme (1.194) tells ofa judge from the area who used the expression. 166.39–40 Knights ofKing Arthur’s Round Table the legendary Brit­ ish king seated his knights at a round table to avoid disputes over precedence. 167.5 give place get out of the way. 167.14 on terms ofresistance in a relationship ofopposition. 167.14–15 belted knights ‘belted’ refers to a distinctive cincture indicat­ ing nobility. Although properly only earls are belted, the expression ‘belted knight’ occurs in several ballads and in Robert Burns, ‘Is there for honest poverty’(1795), line 25. 167.19 done it away removed it; destroyed it. 167.19–20 take ground move into position. 167.42 woman’s ware jocularwomen. 167.42 Ventre Saint Gris French Christ’s bowels! The euphemistic oath invokes an imaginary saint. 168.3 had to do with had dealings with. 168.13–14 beating down the guard battering down the defensive posture. 169.15–24 motto not identified; probably by Scott, in a pastiche ofMilton’s epic style. The reference is to the Israelite Aaron’s contest with the Egyptian magicians (Exodus Chs 7–9) and God’s killing of‘all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, from the firstborn ofPharaoh that sat on his throne unto the firstborn of the captive that was in the dungeon’ (Exodus 12.29). Aaron was ‘the son of Levi’ as a member of the priestly tribe of the Levites descended from Levi, son of Jacob. 169.28 I render myself I give myselfup; I surrender. 169.32 the foul fiend the Devil. 169.33 for ever and a day jocular for all future time. 170.19–20 ifGod should call the Dauphin Charles was not bom till 30 June 1470. He was a sickly child for the first few years of his life. 170.35 a Child ofFrance a member of the French royal family: the term

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enfant was applied to the legitimate offspring of the King of France and the children ofhis eldest son. 171.1 the views which the King had upon him the expectations the King had of him. 171.14 broke on the wheel criminals were sometimes executed by being tied to a wheel and having their limbs broken with an iron bar. 171.18–19 it would not have stood so hard with me I would not have been in a situation so difficult to endure. 171.20 the blush ofSaint Magdalene Mary Magdalene, referred to several times in the gospels, has traditionally been identified with the prostitute who anointed Jesus’s feet (Luke 7.37–38). 171.23 never shame thee don’t be ashamed. 171.29 read your hand-writing recognise your work. 171.42 Under favour with your permission. 172.7 to boot into the bargain. 172.29 Loches a castle 40 km SE ofTours. 172.39–41 cages … the Cardinal Balue Scott may be following the Universal History (20.265) or Pierre Bayle, Dictionaire historique et critique, 4 vols (Amsterdam, 1730), 3.176 (Note Q): CLA, 46. In these works (perhaps be­ cause ofa misreading of Comines (6.12: Petitot, 12.402) or following author­ ities such as Mézeray (Abregé chronologique ou extraict de l’histoire de France (3 vols continuously paginated, Paris, 1667), 729), Balue is credited with the invention, rather than William de Haraucourt, Bishop ofVerdun from 1456 to 1500. In fact, such cages had long been employed in Italy and Spain, and they were known in France itself in the early decades ofthe 15th century; furthermore, it is unlikely that Balue was ever held at Loches. 174.33 Campo-Basso see note to 89.38. 176.10 Estradiots light cavalry, originally raised in Greece and Albania, serving in Venetian and other armies in the 15th and 16th centuries. 177.2–3 The page … the gloire not identified. The word gloire is French for ‘glory’. The form ofthe rhyme may have been suggested by proverbial utterances such as that in Cervantes, Don Quixote, 1.19: ‘váyase el muerto a la sepultura у el vivo a la hogaza’ (to the grave with the dead, and the living to the bread). 177.12–15 motto John Dryden, The Conquest ofGranada (1672), Part 1, 1.1.207–09. The words are spoken by Almanzor, a courageous independent warrior. 177.18 on the King’s part as the King’s agent. 178.4 Mahoun the prophet Mohammed. 179.5 local attachment devotion to a particular country. In proof Scott’s manuscript ‘loyal’ was changed to ‘local’, probably by himself, and probably to allude to Richard Polwhele, The Influence ofLocalAttachment With Respect to Home: A Poem (London, 1796: compare CLA, 204). 179.6 civil policy government; political science. 179.12 fail of come short ofobtaining. 179.23–24 Are you not sprung … Euphrates? in 721 BC ten ofthe original twelve tribes of Israel were carried away from N Palestine into Assyria (now NE Iraq). They became known as the Lost Tribes of Israel, and there has been much speculation about what eventually became ofthem. There is a parallel notion in Grellmann (140), where some suppose the gipsies ‘to be Cain’s descendants, who, on account of the curse denounced against their stock, have been compelled to lead a wandering vagrant life’. 179.30–31 beyond our tents not of our race. 179.31–32 Hayraddin Maugrabin … Moor see Historical Note, 503. 180.9 with a view of with the design of.

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180.25 doubt of am doubtful about. 181.17–18 entertained correspondence amongst them kept up com­ munication or relationship with them. 182.18 respected them refrained from interfering with them. 182.34 Major Domo head servant; steward. 182.41 the badge ofall his tribe see Shylock in The Merchant ofVenice, 1.3.105: ‘For suff’rance is the badge [i.e. token] ofall our tribe’. 183.17 interest he could make with personal influence he could bring to bear upon. 183.27 Franciscan belonging to the order founded by St Francis ofAssisi in 1209. 183.29 in the odour ofsanctity with a reputation for holiness. Eminent saints were supposed to exhale a sweet odour at death or subsequent disinter­ ment. 184.2–3 like Jeshurun ofold … kicked alluding to Moses’ rebuke to Israel: Deuteronomy 32.15. Jeshurun, used ironically by Moses, means ‘honest’ or ‘upright’. 184.9 Saint George virtually nothing is known of the 3rd-century saint who was adopted as a patron embodying the chivalrous ideal not only by Burgundy (which also acknowledged St Andrew as patron) but by England, Venice, Genoa, Portugal, and Catalonia. 184.10–11 the desolation ofBabylon … reproach Babylon, the site of the Jewish 6th-century BC captivity, is threatened with being made ‘an hissing [object ofexpressed opprobrium], and a reproach’ atJeremiah 29.18; its des­ olation is frequently foreseen, e.g. at Jeremiah 50.23. The downfall of the prosperous Phoenician city of Tyre, Israel’s rival, is prophesied in Isaiah Ch. 23 and Ezekiel Chs 27–28. 184.16–17 man’s blood were poured forth like water compare Psalm 79.3: ‘Their blood have they shed like water’. 184.20 Beatipacifici see note to 102.10. 184.28–29 those who speak … ears ‘Curse not the king, no not in thy thought; and curse not the rich in thy bedchamber [Vulgate: “in secreto cubi­ culi”]: for a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter’ (Ecclesiastes 10.20). 184.36 Men ofBelial men of wickedness, of the Devil. See e.g. 1 Samuel 30.22. 184.43 Lapis offensioniset petra scandali Latin a stumblingstone and rock of offence (Romans 9.33: Vulgate version). 185.11–13 Imposuitmanus in christos Domini … ofthe Lord the Latin and English echo the Vulgate and Authorised versions of 1 Samuel 26.9. 185.13–14 Touch not … wrong see 1 Chronicles 16.22 and Psalm 105.15 (Authorised Version). 185.18–19 Ne moliaris amico tuo … fiduciam Latin Devise not evil against your friend, when he trusts you (Proverbs 3.29: see the Vulgate version). 185.19 GuliehmusBarbatus Latin Bearded William. 185.20 humane letters polite learning. 185.21–22 Sinon payatis … vestrum dog-Latin if you don’t pay up, I’ll burn your monastery. 185.28 Pereat improbus … esto Latin let the wicked man perish—Amen, amen, let him be accursed! 185.33 his captains ofhundreds … thousands echoinge.g. Numbers 31.14. 185.38 Rouslaer and Pavilion the two burghers are apparently imaginary. 186.1–2 the sword of Saint Peter … prince the keys are a symbolic

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representation of papal authority, claimed by the Pope as successor of St Peter on the basis of Matthew 16.19 (‘I [Jesus] will give unto thee [Peter] the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shalt be loosed in heaven’); hence they represent Roman Catholic ecclesiastical authority generally. The sword of St Peter (see John 18.10), when unsheathed, represents the exercise of secular power or papal authority, here exercised by a prince-bishop: since the late 10 th century the see of Liège had been a territorial as well as an ecclesiast­ ical jurisdiction. 186.11–12 girded his loins, and strengthened his horn the termino­ logy is biblical, though without any specific allusion. In the Old Testament horn is used to designate human strength. 186.21–22 the retinue belonging to each lance each man-at-arms would be attended by a group of archers and foot-soldiers. The term lance could denote a full set of warriors: see note to 59.34–60.1. 186.33 unhallowed potation wicked, unholy drink. 186.34–35 the cord ofSaint Francis the hemp cord worn by St Francis and Franciscans (for whom see note to 183.27). 186.37 Father Cherubin the name derives from that applied to an order of angels. 187.33–34 how he disposed ofhimself what he chose to do with himself. 188.3–5 motto see The Sad Shepherd; or, A Tale ofRobin Hood (published 1641), by Ben Jonson ( 1572–1637), 2.5.5–6. 189.4 God and Saint Andrew to friend with God and Saint Andrew on my side. 189.30 On a sudden suddenly. 189.33 thewes and sinews muscles and tendons. 190.2 Lanzknechts German lancemen. Originally the word was Landsknechte (landsmen), serfs employed as soldiers by nobles of the Holy Roman Empire, first organised by Maximilian I in 1487. By the 17th century it had come to indicate German mercenaries. 190.6–7 on the score of on account of. 190.10 Donner and blitz! German oath ‘Donner und Blitz! ’ (thunder and lightning!). Scott’s mixture of German and English is probably meant to give a flavour of what Grellmann (83) calls ‘gibberish’ (corrupt German) rather than the Hindostani-derived gypsy language. 190.18 Was henker German oath what the devil (literally what [the] hang­ man). 190.21 the Teufel sall hold me, but I match the devil take me unless I match; I will certainly match. The German oath is ‘Der Teufel hole mich’. 190.23 count not much on do not much care for. 190.24 come off left the field of combat. 190.26 Hagel and sturmwetter German oath hail and stormy weather! 190.33 Poz tausend German oath what the deuce! (literally God’s thousand). 190.34–35 a hundreds ofthe lances… five men to a lance for lance see note to 186.21–22: das ist is German for ‘that is’. 190.35–36 hold me the devil the devil take me. See note to line 21. 190.37 der Bischoff German the Bishop. 190.37 on footing for ‘on foot’, ‘actively deployed’. 191.4 Mein Gott German oath my God. 191.6–7 make in on engage with. 191.11 the Seven Night Walkers night walkers are ‘night prowlers’. Hay­ raddin’s ‘Seven Night Walkers’ have not been plausibly identified. 191.15 donner and hagel German oath ‘Donner und Hagel’ (thunder and hail).

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191.19 Aldeboran Aldebaran, a star of the first magnitude in the constella­ tion Taurus. 191.22 Du bist ein comische man German (Du bist ein komischer Mann) you are a funny fellow. 191.24 Faces about a military command, meaning ‘turn to face in the oppos­ ite direction’. 191.25 look to the east… hear you i.e. look towards the relics of the Three Kings at Cologne. 191.41–42 gross sternen-deuter German (‘grosse Sterndeuter’) great astrologers. 191.42–43 whathenker see note to 190.18. 192.7–8 a bow-shot see note to 43.16. 192.12–13 thou art beast… Mahound and Termagaunt Mahound and Termagaunt are Mohammed and Termagant, the latter a god imagined by medieval Christians to be worshipped especially by Moslems (who are teetotal). Grellmann says (79) that gypsies conformed outwardly with the religion of their adopted country, but he also notes (207) that they arrived in Europe from India by way ofEgypt and (117) that they were wont to claim Egyptian origins, so the Lanzknecht’s assumption that Hayraddin is a Moslem is understandable. Grell­ mann also notes (23): ‘The common beverage of the Gipseys is water; now and then beer, when it costs them nothing. Wine is too expensive, nor is it particularly grateful to them. The case is very different when brandy comes in question, of which they are immoderately fond.’ 193.24 get some command get some soldiers. 194.26 in order to his attire being so that his attire might be. 194.38 Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar the names are first mentioned in the 6th century. 195.13 Heaven will protect its own see note to 117.15. 195.19–20 the ten tribes oflsrael to boot see note to 179.23–24. The phrase to boot means ‘into the bargain’. 196.4–6 in whose eyes… a Pharisee echoing the parable of the pharisee and the publican: Luke 18.9–14. 196.13–17 motto the couplets, known as ‘Verses Modelled on Pope’ (1781), and presumed to be by Samuel Johnson (1709–84), begin with ‘While’ and have ‘impatient’ rather than ‘enchanted’ in the last line. 196.18 peep ofday first appearance of daylight. 196.30 dare it meet it defiantly. 197.3 a donative to the altar a gift to the church. 197.36 Klepper German nag; hack. 197.42 whistled for gone without. 198.36–38 Our young champion… consequence a garbled version of the superstition alluded to in Eclogues, 9.53–54 by Virgil (70–19 bc): ‘vox quoque Moerim/ iam fugit ipsa; lupi Moerim videre priores’ (even voice itself now fails Moeris; wolves have seen Moeris first). 199.11 Bracquemont for the castle ofBraquemont, 5 km E of Dieppe, which was a possession of the de la Mark family, see Historical Note, 503. 199.13 that the like the like of which. 199.14 Hochheim … Johannisberg Hochheim and Johannisberg white wines are among the finest from the Rheingau region in W Germany. 199.20 the Rinegrave Godfrey see note to 163.42. 199.23 the great tournament ofStrasbourg see note to 163.20–21. 199.37 partiality to excessive preference for. 200.23 bethink you reflect. 200.41 clear scores with be even with. 201.15–16 as the organs ofthe brain… our own time alludingto

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phrenology, the theory originated by Franz Josef Gall (1758–1828) and Johann Spurzheim (1776–1832): that the mental powers of the individual consist of separate faculties, each of which has its organ and location in a definite region of the surface of the brain, the size or development of which is commensurate with the development of the particular faculty; and that a study of the bumps on the skull can reveal the development and position of these organs. 201.19–20 the clasps ofthe mass-book the fastenings of the covers of the service-book or missal. 201.23–27 This line from the hill ofVenus… love for the line of life see note to 155.33. The hill of Venus is the swelling at the base of the thumb. Indagine observes ([C6r-v]): ‘if there appear in the same place a short line going downward, by the Line of Life, (and therefore is called the sister of the Line of Life) it signifieth a man delighting in Venery [sexual pleasure]. Not­ withstanding the same line being long, not broken off, wholly accompanying the Line of Life thorow, doth promise continual riches. ’ 201.31–33 this bright blood-red line … other violence the table line, or line of fortune, runs horizontally across the palm immediately below the fingers. Indagine explains ([C6r]) that if it is divided by another line below the middle finger there is danger of violent death. 201.43 double vision second sight. 202.30 letters ofcredence letters of recommendation. 202.42 Duke ofGueldres see note to 48.10–28. 203.1 holding by continuing on. 203.4 make out manage. 203.16 Leaving off abandoning. 203.22 his beautiful Castle of Schonwaldt the castle is apparently imaginary. The name is an old German form of a word meaning ‘beautiful wood’. 203.26 the performance ofHigh Mass the celebration of Mass with elaborate ceremonial. 203.29–30 With many a cross-bearer … spear behind see ‘Bishop Thurstan, and the King of Scots’, lines 7–8: Thomas Evans, Old Ballads, Historical and Narrative, With Some ofModern Date, 4 vols (London, 1784), 4.87. (Corson) 203.37–38 heedfully maintained carefully placed in defensive position. 204.6 Louis of Bourbon see Historical Note, 500. 204.14–15 a noble ecclesiastic an ironical description of Chaucer’s Par­ doner: see Geoffrey Chaucer, ‘General Prologue’ to The Canterbury Tales, 1 (A), 708, in The Riverside Chaucer, 3rd edn, ed. Larry D. Benson (Oxford, 1988): see CLA, 42,154,155,172,239. 204.25–26 the Duke having married … the Bishop’s sister Charles’s first wife was Catherine of France (1428–46), sister of Louis XI, whom he married when a boy in 1440 and who died in 1446 aged 17. It was his second wife, Isabelle de Bourbon, who was the bishop’s sister (Isabelle and the bishop were first cousins of Charles). He married her in 1452, and she died in 1465: he then married Margaret ofYork on 3 July 1468. 204.30–31 much wealth had … made wit waver proverbial: see Ray, 307 and ODEP, 873. 204.35 some late discoveries since Campobasso did not come into Bur­ gundian service until late 1472 or early 1473, history can throw no light on these ‘late discoveries’ (recent revelations). 204.40 At every event in any case. 204.42–43 Heaven forbid … wolf compare John 10.12–13. 205.7 dispose of deal with. 205.9 the sons ofBelial see note to 184.36.

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205.19 my sister Isabella, a Canoness of Triers this fictitious sister has the name of Charles the Bold’s second wife: see note to 204.25–26. A canoness was a member of a community of women living under a rule but not taking perpetual vows. 205.24 having taken Deacon’s orders having been ordained deacon, but not having proceeded to the usual further stage of being ordained priest. 206.3–5 motto see Julius Caesar, 3.2.210–11. 206.17 parted with dismissed. 206.27–31 an old romaunt… Hongarie a variant of the opening lines of ‘The Squyr of Lowe Degre’ inAncient Engleish Metrical Romanceës, ed. Joseph Ritson, 3 vols (London, 1802), 3.145: CLA, 174. In 1458 a printing press was set up at Strasbourg, but there is no evidence that this romance was printed on it. 206.32 lettres blake black-letter or Gothic type. The phrase is from Chau­ cer, ‘The Friar’s Tale’, The Canterbury Tales,III (d), 1364, in The Riverside Chaucer, 3rd edn, ed. Larry D. Benson (Oxford, 1988): see CLA, 42,154,155, 172,239. 207.16 major domo head servant; steward. 208.1 kept back withheld. 208.5 taken out received. 208.43–209.1 in effect in fact. 209.33 formal foppery unduly ceremonious affectation. 209.43–210.1 the busy hum ofmankind see John Milton, ‘L’Allegro’ (written c. 1630, published 1645), line 118. 210.20–21 the venerable old Church of Saint Lambert … eighth cen­ tury Lambert (c. 635–c. 705) was Bishop of Maastricht, and patron saint of Liège which grew up round the church built to house his relics after his martyr­ dom there. The town authorities were persuaded by revolutionaries to destroy the church in 1793. 211.18 who lies there at present see note 1049.16–18. 211.27–28 whose fair round belly … “did shake the press before him” see Henry VIII, 4.1.76–79: ‘Great-bellied women,/ That had not half a week to go, like rams/ In the old time of war, would shake the press,/ And make ’em reel before ’em.’ The phrase ‘fair round belly’ is applied to the justice in As You Like It,2.7.154. 211.39 men of confidence men trusted with matters of importance or secrecy. 212.3 Saint Lambert see note to 210.20–21. 213.7 donors ofpopularity givers of popular admiration. 213.10 Nikkel Blok probably a fictitious figure: in Anne ofGeierstein (EEWN 22,303.3) a butcher and grazier at Dijon is called Martin Blok. 213.12 yet smeared still smeared. 213.15 Hammerlein German little hammer. 213.16 unwashed artificers see KingJohn, 4.2.201. 213.27 sharp wit discerning cleverness. 213.43 designed to intended for. 214.11 do the honours render the civilities. 214.20–21 disposed of dealt with. 214.23–25 We cannot … the flock see Richard Brinsley Sheridan, The Rivals (1775), 2.1. 214.29 wreathed smile see John Milton, ‘L’Allegro’ (written c. 1630, published 1645), line 28. 214.30 suited … with matched; harmonised with. 215.19 pass him over cross him to the other side. 215.41–42 Sero venientibus ossa Latin the bones for those who come late; i.e. first come, first served. Proverbial.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

547

215.43–216.1 that reality … an unpalatable one alluding to the Scottish proverb ‘Sooth bourd is no bourd’ (A true joke is no joke): Ray, 303; ODEP, 753. James Kelly explains: ‘Spoken when People reflect too satyrically upon the real Vices, Follies, and Miscarriages of their Neighbours’ (A Complete Collection ofScotish Proverbs (London, 1721), 3: CLA, 169). 216.19–26 Twice has the Duke … the flight in an ill-advised act of nepotism Philippe le Bon (Philip the Good) had in 1456 persuaded the Pope to appoint his 18-year-old nephew Louis de Bourbon (see Historical Note, 500) as prince-bishop of Liège. In the course of putting down consequent revolts, Charles the Bold had sacked Dinant, the second town of the principality, on 23 August 1466 (when he was Count of Charolais); and on 28 October 1467, after his father Philippe’s death, he defeated a force sent from the city ofLiège to relieve the Burgundian siege of St Trond. The figure of 6000 dead is from Comines (2.2: Petitot, 11.447), but although the historian mentions marshes (446) there is no specific mention of drowning. Comines records (2.4: Petitot, 11.457) the breaking down of the walls to the extent of 20 brasses (some 30 metres) and the removal of the banners from Liège. 216.34 up to spoil to be plundered. 217.7–10 motto see Twelfth Night, 2.5.138–39. Go to means ‘Come on’. 217.14 withdrawing apartment drawing room. 218.1 coin ofvantage projecting comer affording a facility for observa­ tion: Macbeth, 1.6.7. 218.42 subject of liable to. 219.28–30 a table diamond … Croye the arms have been engraved (necessarily with enormous difficulty) on a diamond which has been cut with a flat surface. See also note to 223.6. 220.19–20 as in the case ofMalvolio … chronicle see Twelfth Night, 2.5.36–37: ‘There is example for’t: the lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe’ (Shakespeare’s allusion is unexplained). 220.20–32 The Squire oflow degree … by marriage for The Squyr of Lowe Degre see note to 206.27–31: the lines are derived from 571–74 and

373–74. 221.20 Daylight and champain could discover no more see Twelfth Night, 2.5.142. 222.33–35 A phial … lamp fire was sometimes produced by dipping a sulphur-tipped match into a bottle containing phosphorous. 223.1 are up are in a state of insurrection; have risen in rebellion. 223.6 three leopards three leopards (lions ‘passant guardant’, walkingand showing full face) appear in the English royal coat of arms, and in the devices of various French families, but the Croy coat of arms is quite different. 224.16–17 take faithful part with faithfully side with. 224.29 Tongres a town 19 km N ofLiège. 224.32–33 as occasion should fall as the need should arise. 225.5 run upon your death bring your death on yourself. 225.6 the foul fiend the Devil. 225.40 care little have little objection. 226.23 Rizpah Rizpah is the name of King Saul’s concubine: 2 Samuel

3.7. 226.26 made scruples hesitated. 226.32 brought on him brought into conflict with him. 226.39 Aldeboran see note to 191.19. 227.3–7 motto Henry V, 3.3.10–13. 227.22 held out defended. 228.3 ever and anon continually; at intervals. 228.42 Putting himselfin defence preparing himself for combat.

548

EXPLANATORY NOTES

228.42 Putting himselfin defence preparing himself for combat. 229.1 Vivat France! Latin long live France! France for ever! 230.26 forthat because. 231.5 will to will go to. 231.11 beam and scale bar and scales of a balance. 231.30 yung frau German girl (‘Jungfrau’). 232.3 in reverend care of out of deeply respectful concern for: The Taming ofthe Shrew, 4.1.188. 232.12 announced him … propositions i.e. made it known that he was not accustomed to agree with suggestions from others. 232.28–30 King Stork … Meister ᴁsop’s book in Aesop’s fable some frogs asked Jupiter for a king. He threw a log into the water, but when they found it was only a log they asked him for another king. Jupiter then gave them a heron who set about eating them up. 232.35 in his own hand under his own authority. 232.38 bustling up showing officious agitation. 233.7–8 make wild work with us reduce us to confusion. 234.5 In troth indeed; truly. 234.18 what should my daughter make what business would my daugh­ ter have? 234.27 Charlemagne see note to 65.9–10. 234.30 set forwards start moving. 234.31–32 my mind misgives me I have misgivings. 234.43 bills ofexchange bills acknowledging a debt and promising to meet it at a specified date. 235.4 passed your word given your pledge. 235.5–6 our old Low Dutch fashion—ein wort, ein man German proverb ‘Ein Wort, ein Mann’: a man of his word. 236.9 bears bound to a stake to be baited by dogs for entertainment. 236.13–18 motto 2 Henry VI,4.3.1–5. 236.37 founder ofthe feast giver of the banquet. 238.22 at any rate under any circumstances. 239.3–4 Knit him up … hall-window compare Mathieu (2.67), where a cardinal has the offending Provost of Rome put to death, ‘command[ing] his Muletier to hang him at the barre in his Hall, with one of his Mules halters: At the sight of this Prouost, hanging at the window, the Popes Officers made great complaints’. 239.7 wrestled out struggled through. 239.13 in right of claiming (as) by right. 239.17–18 Up heart take courage. 239.18 gone men lost or dead men. 239.23–24 brought down the game killed or wounded the quarry. 239.24 mylady’sbrach echoing 1 Henry VI, 3.1.237 and King Lear, 1.4.111: brach means ‘a female hound’. 239.25 Mars Roman god of war. 239.40 having power to bind and loose see note to 186.1–2. 240.1 in the holy seat occupying the office ofbishop. 240.24 Saint Michael ofthe Market-place the archangel Michael is pat­ ron of merchants, amongst many professions. 242.20 looked to directed a look at. 242.31 mate yourselves with esteem yourselves comparable with; consort with. 243.4 Carl Eberson no son of this name is recorded in the de la Marck genealogy: Guillaume had two sons, Jean (d. 1519) and Guillaume junior (d. 1516). In German Ebermeans ‘boar’.

EXPLANATORY NOTES 243.20 244.23

549

hold terms either enter into negotiation or lay down conditions. Ifyou depend on my motions ifyou are governed by my move­

ments. 245.1 mend her pace travel faster. 245.30 that other battle of Saint Tron see note to 216.19–26. 245.38 well to pass well off; well to do. 246.6 so and so an unspecified amount. 246.10 takeout receive;obtain. 246.14 maunder on grumble. 246.28 the touch the act of touching. 246.40 the battle ofAzincour for Agincourt see note to 66.7–8. 247.19–26 motto Julius Caesar, 2.1.324–26,331–33. ‘Set on your foot’ means ‘advance; get moving’. 247.35 awful power and right supremacy see The Taming ofthe Shrew, 5.2.109. 247.38–39 Te Deum Latin [We praise] thee, O God. The opening words of the canticle, formerly sung to give thanks for military victories. 248.42 a thought a very little; ever so slightly. 249.4 keep fair with keep in with; keep on good terms with. 249.18–19 true … as blade to haft the phrase is also used proverbially in Kenilworth, EEWN 11, 36.33. 250.36–37 Necessity … invention alluding to the common proverb, ‘Necessity is the mother of invention’: ODEP, 558. 250.42 the little world within me compare The Tragedy ofthat Famous Roman Oratour Marcus Tullius Cicero (London, 1651), 1.242: ‘Ihavealittle world within my selfe’. 251.9 tell your beads say your prayers; specifically say the prayers of the rosary, devoted to Christ and the Virgin Mary, using a string of beads to count them off. 251.25 holiday suit best attire, worn on religious festivals. 251.28 make nothing out ofhim fail to get anywhere with him. 251.40 applying to devoting herself assiduously to. 251.41–42 a damsel-erranting playing the part of a heroine of medieval romance who wandered in search of adventures. See note to 263.14–15. 252.24 Brabant see note to 106.18–22. 252.39 doing as he desired to be done by proverbial, from Luke 6.31: Ray, 131; ODEP, 191. 253.26–31 Ah, Freedom … thrall compare The Brus, 1.225–28, by John Barbour (13i6?–95). The first couplet and the fourth line are essentially Barbour’s, modernised; in Barbour the third line runs ‘Fredome all solace to man giffis’; the third couplet is Scott’s own, based on the sense of the rest of the passage in The Brus. 253.36–37 Wenceslaus of Germany see note to 162.27–28. 254.7 point out suggest. 254.13–14 The Knight oflnnerquharity compare Kennaquhair (‘don’t know where’) in The Monastery. But inner (more commonly inver) is Gaelic (inbhir) for ‘river mouth, or confluence’, and in his Caledonia, 3 vols (London, 1807–24) George Chalmers says that quhair (Gaelic char) signifies ‘crooked’ or ‘bending’(1.21,2.899): CLA, 1. The preferred modern derivation of quhair is from a Celtic root meaning ‘the clear one’ or ‘the green one’. 254.14 cut off put to sudden death. 254.25–27 Ogilvies and the like … this country see note to 62.1. 254.3 5 holding ofDuke Charles holding his title as a dependent of Duke Charles. 256.26 in fine in short.

550

EXPLANATORY NOTES

257.13 press on put pressure on. 257.36 a person ofreflection a perceptive person. 258.20–21 the Lower Circles ofGermany the provinces ofnorthern Germany. 258.22–26 To maintain … their share Magnum, 32.123 cites support­ ing evidence from Fynes Moryson, An Itinerary, 3 parts (London, 1617), 3.165. 258.34 come up reach us. 258.41 Nein, nein! das geht nichts German (… nicht) No, no, that won’t do. 259.10–11 the cloven heart the visual representation of the French name Crèvecœur. 259.19–20 the daughter of … Count Reinold ofCroye the count is fictitious. 259.27 be ruled either listen to reason or submit to authority. 261.6–11 motto not identified; probably by Scott. ‘Rescue or none’ is a standard medieval phrase. 261.14 put to the rout put to a disorderly retreat. 261.25 And well it is just as well. 262.7 my nephew, Count Stephen the count is apparently fictitious. 262.22 stipulate … for require as an essential condition. 262.36 signs and tokens probably implying ‘special signs and pass-words’. 262.43–263.1 a blade ofanother temper literally a blade of a different quality. Compare 1 Henry VI,2.4.13: ‘Between two blades, which bears the better temper’. The term blade also means ‘a gallant’. 263.11 wait on accompany on the way. 263.14–15 squire ofthe body to damosels errant a ‘squire of the body’ was an officer charged with personal attendance on a knight-errant (itinerant knight): Scott coins damosel-erranton the basis of Spenser’s ‘Errant Damzell’ (The Faerie Queene, 3 (1590), 1.24: compare Kenilworth, EEWN 11,254.3). 263.21 kiss your hands pay my respects to you. 264.3 Look you there there you are. 264.5 and better and more. 264.17 carry things with a high tone behave in a haughty manner. 264.19 about the person of in attendance upon. 265.7 a bloody grave the grave of one who has died by bloodshed. 265.13 made not in did not intervene. 265.39 squire ofdames one who devotes himselfto the service of ladies: Spenser, The Faerie Queene, 3 (1589), 7.51.9 and 53.2. 265.42 portentous growth monstrous product.

266.8 Cordes see Historical Note, 500. 266.8 Saint Lambert see note to 210.20–21. 266.16 in some sort to some extent. 266.26 run into involved themselves in. 267.14–15 the Court ofCocagne Cockaigne is an imaginary utopian country of luxury, peace, communal ownership, sexual ease, and perpetual youth and springtime: see Le Grand [d’Aussy], Fabliaux ou contes du XIIe et du XIIIesiècle, 4 vols(Paris, 1779–81), 1.227–29: CLA, 118. 267.27 held the plough guided the plough. 267.34 making out issuing. 268.8 at furthest at the latest. 268.17 keep the van stay at the front of the party. 268.23–24 the gardens ofMorgaine la Fay in the chivalric epic poem Orlando innamorato by Matteo Maria Boiardo (1441–94) the hero Orlando finds the enchantress Morgana in a beautiful garden at the bottom of a magic lake (2.8–9).

EXPLANATORY NOTES

551

268.36–37 Amadis and Oriana hero and heroine ofthe medieval chival­ ric romance Amadis de Gaul, of Iberian origin. Amadis serves his mistress, the princess Oriana, in many knightly feats and secures her father’s consent to their marriage. 269.3 writest thyself style yourself. 269.28 Charleroi, on the Sambre thistown,53kmSofBrussels,wasnot founded until 1666. 269.34 Cistercian belonging to a monastic order founded in 1098 at Cit­ eaux, France, as a stricter offshoot of the Benedictines. If the convent, referred to at 328.35–36 as ‘Saint Bridget’s Nunnery’, is not fictitious, it may be a version of, or connected with, the Cistercian abbey of Soleilmont, founded by a papal bull of 1239, at Gilly, now a suburb of Charleroi. The order founded by St Bridget of Sweden around 1346 established several houses in Flanders by 1464, but none near the site of Charleroi. 270.10 squire ofdames see note to 263.14–15. 270.21 pursued in company followed all together. 270.25–32 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 270.28 demean him conduct himself. 270.38 harvest-moon this is the full moon within two weeks of the autumn equinox (22–23 September). 271.41 Landrecy Landrecies is 28 km S of Valenciennes (both Nord). 272.4 Debout! … en route! French up! … my lords, time to be going! The unwelcome arousal recalls the Prologue to Molière’s play La Princesse d’ Elide (1664). 272.42 idiomatical i.e. using idioms associated with his native Scots rather than with correct French. 273.8 Saint Maxence although Louis frequently visited the town of PontSte-Maxence (40 km E of Beauvais, both Oise), his journey to Peronne was by way of Compiegne and Noyon—the route taken (in reverse) by Scott on his continental journey in 1815. 273.8 bringing to reason bringing to a sensible view of the matter. 273.30–34 the taller ofthe two … unhappy death the ‘melancholy tem­ perament’ is one of the four medieval temperaments, determined by the pre­ dominant humour, the others being the choleric, phlegmatic, and sanguine. Guy ofBrimeu, Count ofMeghem, Seigneur ofHumbercourt, was killed by the citizens of Ghent in 1477 for allegedly infringing their civic privileges and accepting bribes: for his role in the novel see Historical Note, 501. The Italian statuary, or sculptor, was Gianlorenzo Bernini (1598–1680). Sir Anthony Van Dyke (1599–1641) painted three portraits of Charles I, King of Great Britain until his execution in 1649, from different angles, on one canvas, from which Bernini cast a statue. When the sculptor was shown the pictures, ‘not being at all informed whose face it was, he told the Messenger that brought them, that he was certain the Person which those represented, was born to great honour, and as certainly to as great misfortune’: [John Davies ofKidwelly], The Civil Warres ofGreat Britain and Ireland (London, 1661), 13. The statue was destroyed in the Whitehall Palace fire of 1698, but a cast of Charles’s head made from it is preserved at Berkeley Castle, Gloucestershire. 273.39–274.1 the Seigneur takes his toll before open market begins this commercial version of the ‘droit de seigneur’, by which the lord took his share of the goods on sale, was considered a fair feudal practice, giving a just return to the owner of the land and authoriser of the market. 273.41 la Pucelle French the maiden. The term was applied to a fortress which had never been captured. 273.41–43 until the Duke ofWellington … 1815 on 26 June 1815, ten days after the final defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo, Peronne surrendered to the

552

EXPLANATORY NOTES

allied forces under Arthur Wellesley ( 1769–1852), first Duke of Wellington 1814–52. 274.7–9 the famous Sieur d’Argenton … Philip de Comines see Historical Note, 500. 274.16 that ofNoah’s ark Genesis 9.12–17. 274.18–19 to be accounted … ensue comets were believed to portend momentous, and usually disastrous, events. 274.21 our market will be forestalled our sale will be anticipated by others selling similar goods before the market opens. 274.25 dress ofpeace civilian attire. 274.31–35 Poictiers … the Black Prince Edward III, King of England 1327–77, led several campaigns in France; his eldest son, Edward the Black Prince (1330–76), played a notable part in the victories at Crécy (1346) and Poitiers (1356). 274.36–37 the conference … broken up Mézeray (2.131) describes how Charles defiantly terminated the conference of French and Burgundian envoys [in late September 1468], at which the French asked him to abandon his Breton allies in return for a free hand with Liège. Mézeray’s account is not supported by modern historians, who point out that the Bretons had submitted to Louis in early September, and that the conference ran into difficulties be­ cause of Charles’s territorial and quasi-regal ambitions. The phrase ‘on the parts of’ means ‘on the sides of’, ‘representing’. 275.1Toison d’Or see note to 106.14. 275.3 Mont-joie Louis’s herald of this name, from Picardy, is found in Roye (Petitot, 14.17). For the origins of the name see note to 101.26. That it is appropriate for a herald is suggested by de la Marche’s observation that at a tournament in Brussels in 1451 ‘ “Montjoye” was cried with great vigour by the heralds’ (fut crié Montjoye par les heraux: Petitot, 10.61 ; compare 193). 275.5 been beforehand with anticipated. 275.28–35 the meeting ofmy cousin … giddy-pated boy the incid­ ent, including Charles’s acknowledgment of h is folly, is related by Comines (1.13: Petitot, 11.420–22). For the battie ofMontlhéry see Historical Note, 504–05(1465). 275.39 singleness ofheart honesty; freedom from guile or deceit. 275.42 Saint George ofBurgundy see note to 184.9. 275.42 look to it beware; be careful. 276.5–7 only a score or two…his household Comines says that Louis came without a guard, though shortly after leaving Péronne he has his Scots guards and a small body offis standing forces (2.10: Petitot, 11.490), and that

he requested an escort ofBurgundian archers, who were commanded by Crèvecœur; also, that he was accompanied by several distinguished personages (2.5: 11.467–68). Duclos (1.325) says that there were 80 Scots guards and 60 horsemen. 276.9 holds some dependence on derives some support from. 276.15–16 wag the world as it will however things may develop. Prover­ bial: Ray, 172; compare ODEP, 919. 276.28–31 Our Duke offered … Giles Orthen the only historical ele­ ment here is that, according to Comines, Louis was at first lodged ‘chez le receveur (qui avoit belle maison, et prés du chasteau)’ (with the collector of taxes, who had a fine house not far from the castle) (2.5: Petitot, 11.468). The name seems to be fictitious. 276.31–32 De Lau and Poncet de Riviere Comines (2.5: Petitot, 11.469) names these nobles, among others who had joined Burgundy . They are Antoine de Castelnau, Seigneur ofLau, who had once been a close friend of Louis and his Grand Chamberlain, but had betrayed him during the ‘War of the

EXPLANATORY NOTES

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Public Good’ in 1465, been imprisoned by him the following year and escaped to Burgundy in September 1468; and Poncet, Seigneur of La Rivière, formerly commander of Louis’s archers, who had been deprived of his command for deserting the king’s cause, also in 1465, and was made Bailiff of Montferrant instead. 276.40–41 the speech ofLe Glorieux the name, which was indeed that of Charles’s jester (Vaughan, 142), means ‘glorious, self-important, boastful’. 277.6 my cap and bells, and my bauble to boot my fantastically-shaped cap with small bells on it, and my fantastically-carved head with asses’ ears carried as rod of office into the bargain. 277.12 bite his lip perhaps recalling the King in Richard III, 4.2.27. 277.33–34 about fifteen thousand men the figure of 15,000 is in line with Comines’s estimates of Charles’s core strength at Liège two years earlier (2.1 : Petitot, 11.437; compare 457 (2.4)). He puts the allied army at Liège in 1468 at about 40,000 (509). 278.3–6 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 278.17–20 when those distinguished rivals … single combat the Universal History recounts (17.349–50,20.365) how in 1528 Henry VIII of England and François I, King of France 1515–47, declared war against Charles V, King of Spain 1516–56, Holy Roman Emperor 1519–56. In his reply to François, Charles accused him of dishonourable conduct, and François retorted by challenging the Emperor to single combat. Eventually the affair fizzled out. For the ‘lie direct’ as the climax of a series of increasingly aggressive forms of challenge see As You Like It, 5.4.77,81. 278.29–30 the wars ofYork and Lancaster see note to 27.15–16. 278.33–3 5 the exterior ofthe King … images for this description Scott is probably drawing on Comines’s description of the meeting in 1463 be­ tween Louis and Henry IV, King of Castile, at the Bidassoa river, the SW French frontier with Spain: ‘Nostre roy s’habilloit fort court, et si mal que pis ne pou­ voit: et assez mauvais drap portoit aucunesfois, et un mauvais chapeau, different des autres, et une image de plomb dessus’ (Our king wore a short coat, as ill made as was possible; sometimes he wore very coarse cloth, and an old hat dif­ ferent from everybody else, with an image of lead upon it) (2.8: Petitot, 11.480). 279.5 simulation and dissimulation false pretence and hypocrisy. 279.16 takes shame is ashamed. 279.42 bewildered myself gone astray. 280.8 stood with was consistent with. 280.12–16 god-father to your fair daughter Mary … at the font dur­ ing Louis’s residence in Charles’s territories, he acted as godfather to the duke’s daughter Marie (1457–82); Charles acted in the same capacity to Louis’s son Joachim (named after St Joachim, said to be the father of the Virgin Mary), born 27 July 1459, died 29 November. 280.20 the poor exile see Historical Note, 504 (1456). 280.26–28 in guerdon … my child so Petitot, 11.214. 280.29 redeemed my pledge kept my promise. 280.35–39 my wife … was born … fifty years since theangelic announcement to the Virgin Mary of the miraculous conception ofJesus is commemorated on 25 March, on which date Charlotte of Savoy was said to have been born in 1439, marrying Louis in 1451 when she would have been 12; in 1468, therefore, she would have been 29. It is now thought likely that she was born c. 1445. 280.39 Ora pro nobis Latin [Holy Mary,] pray for us [sinners]. The phrase is from the devotional recitation ‘Ave Maria’ (Hail Mary). 280.40 no further distant than Rheims Reims is just over 100 km distant from Péronne by road.

554

EXPLANATORY NOTES

281.7 the King’s eldest daughter Princess Anne: see note to 90.6–7. 281.16 par amours French by way of sexual (or illicit) love. 281.21–22 according to the modern phrase … sentimental hypocrisy Lady Louisa Stuart had objected to Claverhouse’s use of‘sentimental’ in The Tale ofOld Mortality as anachronistic for the 17th century: Letters, 4.293–94n. The word first appears in the mid-18th century. 281.25 ill offices disservices. 281.41–282.1 Yet he was alarmed … into exile in Comines (2.5: Petitot, 11.469–70) Louis receives notice of the turncoats’ presence in Pér­

onne. 282.26–29 Peronne being … re-payment Péronne was not one of the mortgaged Somme towns (Historical Note, 504:1464), but along with the neighbouring Roye and Montdidier it was often linked with them in negotiations between France and Burgundy. 282.30 clear offmy obligations settle my debts. 282.31 a few sumpter mules loaded with silver perhaps suggested by Wraxall (1.108), where, like Philip of Macedon, Louis believes no ‘fortress impregnable, where a mule laden with silver could enter’. 282.39 the murder ofmy grandfather see note to 125.20–23. 283.7–8 so good a friend to France … belongs to her compare the Kingin Henry V, 5.2.170–73. 283.12 preach me out ofpossession see Christopher Marlowe, TheJew ofMalta (c. 1590), 1.2.115: ‘Preach me not out of my possessions’. 283.16 Saint Mary ofEmbrun see note to 34.22. 283.23 the Order I wear that of the Golden Fleece: seenoteto 103.11. 283.23 his marshes the marshlands bordering the River Somme. 283.26–29 when I wished … convenience Comines recounts this joc­ ular remark, made to Lord Howard and the Seigneur of Contay in 1475 when St Pol’s manipulations of Louis and Charles were about to be put a stop to (4.11: Petitot, 12.163). 283.38 Hotel de Ville French Town Hall. 284.41–42 They wear the Saint Andrew’s Cross … Golden Fleece the saltire cross (X-shaped, in various colours) was a Burgundian emblem, Andrew being their principal patron saint. The order of the Golden Fleece was under the patronage of St Andrew, but the appendage suspended from its collar was a small gold sheep. The incident was probably suggested by Comines’s account (see note to 276.31–32) of French turncoats wearing St Andrew’s crosses out of respect to Duke Charles. 285.6 the base court the lower or outer court in a castle, usually occupied by servants. The use of the term here is probably meant to recall Richard II’s symbolic descent to meet the usurper Bolingbroke in Richard II, 3.3.180–82. 285.19–20 speak you fair address you courteously or kindly. For the sentiment compare Hamlet on the Players: ‘they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time; after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live’ (Hamlet, 2.2.517–20). 285.31 the White Tower in the citadel ofLondon the original keep of the Tower of London, begun in 1078 by William the Conqueror. 285.41–42 in which Kmg John … Poitiers in fact in 1356 Jean II (King of France 1350–64) marched S from Normandy to be defeated by Edward the Black Prince at Poitiers (which is over 400 km from Péronne); after the battle he was held in captivity in England. 286.9 the secrets of a prison-house see Hamlet, 1.5.14 (the Ghost). 286.31–32 old Earl Tineman Archibald (1369?–1424), 4th Earl of Douglas (1400?). ‘This Archibald is hee who was called Tine-man, for his unfortunate and hard successe he had, in that he tint (or lost) almost all his men,

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and all the battels that hee fought’ (David Hume of Godscroft, The History ofthe Houses ofDouglas andAngus (Edinburgh, 1644), 115): compare CLA, 3,20. 286.32–33 apprehended dangers… defended dangers compare the proverb ‘Forewarned, forearmed’ (Ray, 109; ODEP, 280). 286.36–37 I will quarrel…both be sound providing that the Duke is honest and sincere, and the wine good and strong. 287.8–9 in no shape in no manner; not at all. 287.31–32 silver shall be the screen… altar compare Louis’s vow of a silver screen for the shrine of St Martin if a prophecy of Charles’s death at Nancy should prove true: Petitot, 11.330n, cited in Magnum, 32.252. 289.16 kept the arena maintained my place in the arena. 289.18 Murcian Murcia is a historic region in SE Spain. 290.7 shave there is a punning reference to the meaning‘strip someone clean of money or possessions’. 290.10 Hang, Draw, and Quarter the traditional punishment for treason, involving half-hanging, castrating and disembowelling, decapitation, and divi­ sion of the main body into four parts. 290.19 quiet as a mouse proverbial: see Morris Palmer Tilley, A Diction­ ary ofthe Proverbs in England in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 1950), M1224. 290.23–25 like the crane… not bitten off in Aesop’s fable a crane extracts a bone from a wolf’s throat. When she asks to be paid for her services the wolf says that she should be grateful he did not bite off her head. 290.40 Vota diis exaudita malignis Latin prayers granted by unkindly gods. See Juvenal (writing c. 98–128), Satires, 10.111. 291.8 in so far to such an extent. 291.9–10 the very devil… believes and trembles see James 2.19. One of Olivier’s designations was ‘le Diable’ (‘the Devil’). 291.19 in sadness seriously. 291.23 heavenly host sun, moon, and stars. 292.11 we saw at Burgos Burgos in N Spain was the capital of the Castilian monarchs. Louis’s 1463 meeting with Henry IV at the Bidassoa river (see note to 278.33–35) was the closest he came to Burgos: Scott is probably influenced by accounts of earlier conferences at Burgos in Sir John Froissart, Chronicles ofEngland, France, and the Adjoining Countries, trans. Thomas Johnes, 4 vols (Hafod, 1803–05), 3.283,367: CLA, 28. 292.15–18 motto Summer (1727), one of the four poems on The Seasons by James Thomson (1700–48), lines 1128–30. 292.19 agreeably to in accordance with. 292.31–32 the murder ofthe Duke’s grandfather… Montereau see note to 125.20–23. 293.8 curl a slight bending or raising on one side, as an expression of contempt or scorn. 293.25 make interest with bring personal influence to bear upon; conci­ liate. 293.27 liberal presents Comines notes (2.9: Petitot, 11.484) that, after Charles had learnt of the (apparent) murder of the Bishop ofLiège, Louis ‘faisoit parler à tous ceux qu’il pouvoit penser qui luy pourroient ayder: et ne failloit pas à promettre: et ordonna distribuer quinze mille escus d’or’ (applied to all such as he thought qualified to help him, making them promises, and ordering 15,000 gold crowns to be distributed). 294.22 In fine in short. 295.17 put over get through. 295.29 the son ofthe Duke ofGueldres this is probably the notorious Adolphe: see note to 48.10–28.

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295.37 fears ofthe brave and follies ofthe wise The Vanity ofHuman Wishes (1749), line 316, by Samuel Johnson (1709–84). 295.38–41 an anecdote related by Brantôme… court the story is told in Brantome, 1.188. Compare 310.15 and note. 296.6 Tiel Witzweiler Scott’s source for this name ofLeGlorieux (see note to 276.40–41) has not been traced. The surname means ‘jest-hamlet’. 296.11–14 at Montl’hery… his master The incident is related by Comines (1.4: Petitot, 11.365), where the rescuer is named as Jean Cadet, son of a Paris doctor. As Petitot notes, Olivier de la Marche names him in his Memoires as Robert Cotereau (the relevant passage is in Petitot, 10.237). For the battle of Montlhery see Historical Note, 504–05 (1465). 296.22 the title ofLeGlorieux see note to 276.40–41. 296.33 in right of by virtue of. 296.38 match with equal. 297.12 moveable estate Scots Law property which passes to the next of kin of the deceased instead of the heir-at-law. 297.16 made their reverence bowed. 297.24–25 the Wild Huntsman in 1796 Scott published as ‘The Chase’ (later called ‘The Wild Huntsman’) his translation of‘Der wilde Jäger’ (1778) by Gottfried August Burger (1747–94), in which an impious hunter is con­ demned to pursue the chase ‘Till time itself shall have an end’. In the Magnum edition ofQuentin Durward, however (32.194), he refers to the spectre associ­ ated with the French royal estate of Fontainebleau referred to in Sully (2.281–82): ‘It is yet a question, of what nature that illusion might be which was seen so often, and by so many persons, in the forest of Fontainebleau: it was a spectre, surrounded with a pack of hounds, whose cries were heard, and who were seen at a distance, but vanished when any one approached near to it’. 298.6 Body ofme a euphemistic variant of the oath ‘God’s body!’. 298.42 Antichrist a great personal opponent of Christ and his kingdom, expected by the early Church to appear before the end of the world, and much referred to in the middle ages. 299.2 Look there you see. 299.8 answer for answer charges relating to. 299.25 Bar the doors… secure the windows Scott echoes Comines’s account (2.7: Petitot, 11.476), where Charles ‘envoya fermer les portes de la ville, et du chasteau, et fit semer une assez mauvaise raison, c’estoit qu’on le faisoit pour une boëte qui estoit perduë, où il y avoit de bonnes bagues et de l’argent’ (ordered the gates of the town and castle to be shut, and gave out a pretty poor reason, namely that it was done for [the discovery of] a casket which was lost, and in which there were fine rings and money). 299.38–40 when we met… we are now for Montlhéry see Historical Note, 504–05 (1465). The Universal History (20.257) observes: ‘After this terror was over, both sides claimed a victory, to which neither had any title. Yet the chiefs on both sides behaved well. The count de Charolois, like a gallant soldier, the king like a great captain, who, though his troops were routed, rallied them in good time, and marched away to Paris.’ 300.26 cowardice and cold heart see 1 Henry IV, 2.3.27,4.3.7 (‘fear and cold heart’). 303.1 the devil give you joy ofit proverbial: e.g. see John Dryden, ‘The Devil give him joy of both’ (Amboyne: A Tragedy (London, 1673), 5 (Act 1, Scene 1)). 303.7 Have him cause him to go. 303.14 Black Walloons the term ‘Walloon guards’ is normally applied to the battalions of soldiers drawn from the Low Countries which were famed for their loyal service to the kings of Spain from 1703 until 1822. Between 1469 and 1475

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Charles the Bold ofBurgundy formalised the provision of military personnel by his Flemish feudal subjects, and this became the basis for the ‘Walloon infantry’ which was a formidable fighting force until its absorption into the Spanish army in 1808. Charles had a large personal guard, but it was not specifically Walloon (i.e. from the Low Countries). None of the bodies mentioned is recorded as having been known as ‘black’. 303.15 make round make their circuit; patrol. 303.18 Look to keep watch upon. 303.27 call out summon. 303.36 in other guise in a manner other. 304.21 all-licensed jester see King Lear, 1.4.199. 304.27–29 motto 2 Henry IV,3.1.30–31. 304.34–35 that warning… behind see the Inferno (3.9), the first part of the Divina Commedia by Dante Alighieri (1265–1321), a native of Florence. 305.21 brought only man to man i.e. brought only one man for each of the Scots. 305.22 to boot into the bargain. 305.24 Maistery mows the meadow proverbial: see Ray, 299, and ODEP, 518. Maistery (mastery) means superior power. James Kelly explains: ‘Spoken when People of Power and Wealth effect a great Business in a short Time’ (A Complete Collection ofScotish Proverbs (London, 1721), 251: CLA, 169). 305.27 old acquaintance 1 Henry IV, 5.4.102. 305.34 corporal bail giving oneself as security. 306.16–18 King Charles the Simple… Vermandois Charles III (879–929), King of France 893–922, was imprisoned at Péronne by the ambi­ tious Herbert II (d. 943), Count of Vermandois, and died there. The descrip­ tion ofLouis’s lodging is imaginary: in Comines it is not clear whether Louis was forced to change his lodgings within the castle when it was shut up (2.5 and 2.7: compare Petitot, 11.470 and 11.476). 306.40 deal with dispose of. 306.41–42 the blood still on the oak-floor Scott is recalling the alleged indelible stain made by the blood of David Rizzio (or Ricco: 1533?–1566) on the floor in Holyrood Palace, Edinburgh. Rizzio was murdered for political reasons and because he was suspected of being the lover of Mary Queen of Scots. 307.24 in the face of day openly. 307.26 excepting perhaps one C. B. Wheeler suggests that this is Car­ dinal Balue, formally one of the King’s counsellors, but playing a double game: see Crevecæur’s remark at 275.12–20. 307.41 purple see note to 65.14. 308.17 JanDoppletbur Dutch and German John Double-peasant, or Double-neighbour. 309.4 ofmoment of importance. 309.21 gave loose gave expression. 310.5 let me let me go. 310.14 the Lady of Clery Louis had a special reverence for Our Lady of Cléry-St-André, 15 km SW ofOrleans (both Loiret), in whose basilica he lies buried. 310.15 the following extraordinary prayer the prayer is based on a much simpler utterance recorded by Brantôme in his sketch of Louis (see note to 295.38). In a Magnum note (32.234–35) Scott translates it thus: ‘Ah, my good Lady, my gentle mistress, my only friend, in whom alone I have resource, I pray you to supplicate God in my behalf, and to be my advocate with him that he may pardon me the death of my brother whom I caused to be poisoned by that wicked Abbot of Saint John. I confess my guilt to thee as to my good patroness

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and mistress. But then what could I do? he was perpetually causing disorder in my kingdom. Cause me then to be pardoned, my good Lady, and I know what a reward I will give thee.’ 310.21–22 thou who art omnipotent with Omnipotence in Roman Catholic theology, the Virgin Mary as Mother of God obtains all graces for sinners by her maternal intercession. 310.25 gabelle this term came to be applied specifically to the tax on salt which Philippe VI introduced in 1341 to finance the struggle against the Eng­ lish. It involved a royal monopoly on the sale of salt: commissioners had the duty of seizing salt, paying the merchants for it, and storing it in royal warehouses to be sold by ‘gabelliers’ whence citizens were obliged to buy a stipulated amount. Intended to be temporary, the greatly resented tax was made permanent by Charles VII in 1439 and survived, with many modifications, before being finally abolished in 1789. 310.31–32 my brother Charles… Angely see note to 295.38. 310.36–37 do not reckon that old debt to my accompt to-day the phrasing recalls the King’s prayer before Agincourt in Henry V, 4.1.288–90. 310.38–39 work with thy child influence Jesus. 310.43 the filthy heresy ofthe Greeks most likely this is gnosticism, which was often thought of as a perversion of Christian orthodoxy by the intro­ duction of a dualistic view, deriving from Greek philosophy, ofhigher (spiritual) and lower (phenomenal) worlds; redemption from the lower world could be achieved by attaining secret knowledge which might include astrological and alchemical speculation. 311.12–13 the seven penitential psalms Psalms 6,32,38,51,102,130, and 143. 311.21–22 whited it over like a sepulchre see Matthew 23.27. 312.12 closeup come together. 312.12 under die fifth rib to the heart: see 2 Samuel 2.23. 312.15 course ofpractice line of business. 312.27–28 a legion consisting entirely ofsaints according to legend, St Maurice commanded a wholly Christian ‘Theban Legion’ from Egypt in the Emperor Maximian’s army at the end of the 3rd century. Refusing to join in pagan rites, they were massacred by the Emperor’s orders at St-Maurice-enValais. 312.33–34 I will neither meddle nor make with it proverbial: Ray, 53, 202; ODEP, 522. The word make means ‘interfere’. 313.1–2 I would rather have eaten… dagger to‘eat a dagger’is to be stabbed: see Hickscomer'mA Select Collection ofOld English Plays, ed. Robert Dodsley, revised by W. Carew Hazlitt, 15 vols (London, 1874–76), 1.168. 313.5 stand to your weapon take your place with weapon presented. 313.18 finis… funis coronat opus Latin the end… the rope crowns the work. Louis is playing with the proverb ‘Finis coronat opus’ (The end crowns the work). The pun follows Dromio of Ephesus in The Comedy ofErrors, 4.4.39–40. 313.29 well that probably it will be difficult enough to ensure that; it is with difficulty that. 313.31 Ventre Saint-dieu! French oath bowels ofHoly God! 314.11 virtue… is its own reward proverbial: ODEP, 861. 314.24 under favour of with the support of. 314.25 all over wholly. 314.37 There is a heaven above us proverbial: see ODEP, 365. 314.42 dealt upon set to work upon. 315.10 Let the justice… toll-free in 1417 Charles VI’s consort Queen Isabelle’s alleged lover was executed by being sewn up in a leather sack inscribed

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with the words, ‘ Laissezpasser lajustice du Roi’ (Let the justice of the king have a free passage), and thrown into the River Seine: Petitot, 6.330. 315.23–28 our patron… our mystery Scott’s source for this practice has not been traced. 315.33 He that dwells… the Pope compare the proverb: ‘It is hard to sit in Rome and strive against the Pope’ (Ray, 308; ODEP, 737). 316.9 our Lady ofthe Isle ofParis Notre-Dame de Paris, to whom the cathedral on the Ile de la Cité is dedicated. 316.11 Saint Francis’s cord see note to 186.34–35. 316.13 in extremis Latin in dire straits; on the point of death. 316.14 the good fathers of Saumur there is no record ofa Franciscan community in or near Saumur (Maine-et-Loire). There was a Benedictine abbey of Saint-Florent-lès-Saumur, dating from the 7th century, and rebuilt in the 12th. 316.31–32 every one to his trade proverbial, deriving from 1 Corinthians 7.20: ODEP, 230. 316.43 in one way or other in any way. 317.3–9 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 317.18–19 Stove, as it is called in German and Flemish German ‘Stube’; Dutch ‘stoof’. 317.19 close colloquy intimate conversation. 317.33 and like if it please. 317.35 what foot the patient halts upon alluding to the proverbial‘To know on which foot a man halts’, i.e. what is wrong with him (ODEP, 279). 317.38 consult your ease have an eye to your comfort. 318.4 filed and clipt worn down and mutilated by paring the edges. 319.16 the ancient Stoic the Stoics followed the austere ethical principles of the Greek Zeno of Citium in Cyprus (active c. 300 bc). 319.43 the race ofCapet the royal line of France, descended from Hugh Capet, Duke of Paris, who became King in 987. When the direct Capetian line ended in 1328 (see note to 106.12) the Valois dynasty took over the title. 320.1 the charnels of Saint Denis St Denis (see note to 89.21 ) was the burying-place of the French royal family. 320.35–36 like an ideot… pass away see Epistles, 1.2.41–43, by Horace (65–8 BC): ‘qui recte vivendi prorogat horam,/ rusticus exspectat dum defluat amnis; at ille/ labitur et labetur in omne volubilis aevum’ (He who puts off the hour of right living is like the bumpkin waiting for the river to run out; yet on it glides, and on it will glide, rolling its flood forever). 320.43 scrupulous in aiding reluctant to aid; chary of aiding. 321.11 the End is not as yet see Matthew 24.6, Mark 13.7, and Luke 21.9. 321.24–26 this only I can tell… your Majesty Galeotti’s prophecy has at least three possible sources. In the Magnum (32.251) Scott observes that a similar story is related of the Roman emperor Tiberius in Tacitus, Annals (c. ad 104–09), 6.21. Tiberius tests the sagacity of his astrologer Thrasyllus by having in attendance a servant with instructions to hurl him into the sea if so instructed and asking Thrasyllus whether he has cast his own horoscope for the present day. Thrasyllus answers that he has, and that he is threatened with some un­ known peril, and Tiberius embraces him, assures him of his safety, and trusts him as an oracle from then on. In the same Magnum note Scott alludes to another astrologer making the prophecy attributed to Galeotti (with a three day interval) to Louis after incurring his anger by forecasting the death ofa female favourite of the king: this is found in Duclos, 2.413–14, and also in Pierre Bayle, Dictionaire historique et critique, 4 vols (Amsterdam, 1730), 3.175 (Note P): CLA, 46. Finally, Comines (6.12: Petitot, 12.401) records that Louis’s powerful physician James Coctier warned Louis: ‘Jesçay bien qu ’un matin vous

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m'envoyerez, comme vousfaites d'autres: maispar la… vous ne vivrez point huictjours après' (I know well that some time or other you will dismiss me from court, as you have done the rest; but be sure… you shall not live eight days after it). 321.38 in very deed in reality; in truth. 321.42 in years old. 322.13 Matthias Corvinus ofHungary see note to 152.38–42. 322.18 to die on the wheel… joint by joint see note 10171.14. 322.42–43 a mind… peculiarly terrible compare Comines (6.12: Petitot, 12.398): ‘oncques homme ne craignit plus la mort, et ne fit tant de choses, pour y cuider mettre remede’ (never man was more fearful ofdeath, nor used more means to prevent it); also Wraxall, 1.147: ‘[Louis] underwent by anticipation all the horrors of a slow and progressive dissolution, aggravated by the remorse ofa guilty conscience’. 323.18 the foul fiend the Devil. 323.42–43 frustrate ofhis will… kill John Dryden, ‘Theodore and Honoria’, lines 193–94, from Fables Ancient and Modern (1700). 325.3–5 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 325.20–22 He refused to throw offhis clothes… passions Comines describes Charles’s behaviour on the third night after the arrival ofthe news from Liège in similar terms (2.9; Petitot, 11.486): ‘Ceste nuict, qui fut la tierce, ledit duc ne se dépoüilla oncques: seulement se coucha par deux ou trois fois sur son lit, et puis se pourmenoit: car telle estoit sa façon, quand il estoit troublé’ (The third night [after this had happened], the Duke ofBurgundy did not pull offhis clothes, but only threw himself twice or thrice upon the bed, and then got up again and walked about, as his custom was when anything vexed him). 325.39–326.1 the Duke ofNormandy… the King in February 1466 Louis had forced his younger brother Charles, Duke ofBerry (1446–72), whom he had reluctantly created Duke of Normandy after the War for the Public Good in 1465, to take refuge in Brittany. 326.6 demeaned himself behaved. 326.10–12 Comines assures us… Normandy Comines, 2.9: Petitot, 11.485. 326.22 Lord Paramount supreme feudal lord, himself subject to no feudal superior. 326.41–327.2 the apologue… his disposal in a re-working ofa Clas­ sical fable by the late 12th-century Marie de France a man finds a frozen snake and puts it in his bosom to warm it; it revives and stings him. He scolds the snake who says that it is only acting according to its nature. A passing fox rebukes both participants: the serpent for committing ‘une vilaine action’, die man for insult­ ing an enemy when in danger. An apologue is a moral fable; Reynards is a quasi­ proper name for a fox. Scott partly remembered, or adapted, Marie’s version of the fable from Le Grand [d’Aussy], Fabliaux ou contes du XIIe et du XIIIe siècle, 4 vols (Paris, 1779–81; Vol. 4, dated 1781, entided Contes dévots, fables et romans anciens; pour servir de suite aux Fabliaux), 4.193–94 (‘L’homme, le renard et le serpent’): CLA, 118. He is probably also recalling Charles VII’s reference to the fable in warning Philippe ofBurgundy that in giving hospitality to the Dauphin Louis ‘he was nourishing a serpent, which, when warmed, would strike its deadly fangs into the bosom ofits protector’ (Wraxall, 1.93). 327.13–14 repossess themselves ofNormandy and Guyenne see note to 23.14. 328.35–36 Saint Bridget’s Nunnery see note to 269.34. 328.42 a feudal delinquency an offence against feudal etiquette. 329.12–13 Louis discoursed… the Sieur d’Argenton Scott derived the basic idea of this interview from Comines’s coy comment (2.9: Petitot,

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11.486): ‘Le Roy eut quelque ami qui l’en advertit, l’asseurant de n’avoir nul mal, s’il accordoit ces deux poincts, mais que en faisant le contraire, il se mettait en si grand peril, que nul plus grand ne luy pourroit advenir’ (The king had some friend or other who had given him notice of it before, and assured him that his person would be in no manner of danger, provided he would consent to those two points; but that if he refused, he would run himself into so great danger, that nothing in the world could be greater). 329.43–330.1 bringing round bringing about. 330.16–17 Wisdom is to be desired more than fine gold compare Proverbs 3.14,8.19,16.16. The phrasing is influenced by Psalm 19.10: ‘More are they [the judgments of the Lord] to be desired than gold, yea, than much fine gold’. 330.40–41 the final cession… Somme of the issues mentioned by d’Argentan only this was included in the treaty of Péronne. It was also agreed that Louis should join Charles in moving against Liège, and (perhaps secretly) that Charles of France, who had renounced Normandy, should have Champagne and Brie instead. For the towns see Historical Note, 504 (1464). 331.7 your illustrious brother Charles: see preceding note, and note to

325.39–326.1. 331.10 mort Dieu! French oath God’s death! 331.13–14 forbear molesting… the Duke de Bretagne on 1o Septem­ ber 1468 Louis had forced François II (1435–88), Duke ofBrittany 1458–88, and his own brother Charles Duke of Normandy to break off their alliance with Burgundy. 331.18–19 my brother Charles… died Charles, Duke ofBerry, was not created Duke of Guienne until 1470, when Louis persuaded him to accept that territory in place ofNormandy, rather than Champagne and Brie, and he did not die until 1472. 331.20 Charlemagne see note to 65.9–10. 331.21 to smear themselves with oil at Rheims French kings were anointed in Reims cathedral. 331.28–30 it is his purpose… independent until the 15th century only Holy Roman Emperors considered themselves entitled to wear the closed (arched) imperial crown, but with the growth in national consciousness in the later part of that century individual sovereigns adopted the closed crown to assert their imperial power in their own territories: Edward IV of England was the first to do so, in 1461; he was followed by James III, King of Scots, in coins of 1483, Henry VII of England in 1485, and Charles VIII of France in 1495, after his conquest of Naples: it first appears on the French Great Seal in the reign of Henri II in 1547. In 1473 Charles had sought to become King of the Romans (vice-Emperor) with the ultimate aim of succeeding to the crown of the Empire itself; at least he had hoped to be recognised by the Emperor as King of an expanded Burgundy, but Friedrich had declined to sanction even that. The expression in emblem means ‘as a symbolic representation’. 332.3 Væ victis Latin woe to the vanquished: Ab Urbe Condita (History of Rome), 5.48.9, by Livy (59 bc–ad 17). 332.34 a Child ofFrance see note to 170.35. 333.7–8 I have but one feeble boy the future Charles VIII, not actually born until 1470, was indeed a sickly child. 333.15–16 some ram… to him in Genesis Ch. 22 the story is told of Abraham’s obedient willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac, and of God’s provi­ sion of a ram to be sacrificed instead. 333.31–32 Booted-Head the incident which Louis proceeds to describe is taken from Petitot ( 11.127): ‘Jacques Marchand rapporte, sur le témoignage d’un veillard contemporain, que Comines, revenant de la chasse avec le comte,

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s’oublia jusqu’à dire à ce prince de le débotter; que Charles lui tira effective­ ment ses bottes et l’en frappa au visage, en lui disant: Comment, coquin, tu souffies que lefils de ton maître te rende un si vil service? Il ajoute que depuis cette aventure Comines fut surnommé la tête bottée’ (James Marchand reports, on the authority ofan aged contemporary, that Comines, returning from the chase with the Count, forgot himselfso far as to command that prince to take his boots off for him; that Charles did indeed remove the boots and strike him in the face with them, saying:Rascal, how canyou allowyour master’s son to renderyou such a menial service? He adds that after that incident Comines received the nickname BootedHead). Scott notes in the Magnum (32.27in): ‘I have endeavoured to give the anecdote a turn more consistent with the sense and prudence of the great author concerned’. 335.1 let it pass on i.e. let us pass on to another subject. 335.7 under reservation always of always reserving to myself. 336.18 give… line enough allow full play. 337.4 make their own part good make a successful resistance. 337.13 making good holding. 337.16–17 twenty men in front with a front file extending to twenty men. 337.26–27 that feeble boy… fruit see note to 170.19–20. 338.5 aChildofFrance see note to 170.35. 338.7 Varium et mutabile Latin [woman is ever] fickle and changeable: Aeneidby Virgil (70–19 bc), 4.569. 338.10 picked out of elicited frpm. 338.31 par amours French by way of sexual (or illicit) love. 339.8 cast pearls before swine proverbial (ODEP, 617), deriving from Matthew 7.6. 339.11 robbing a hen-roost Henry Fielding, Joseph Andrews ( 1742), Bk 1, Ch. 12, echoing Philip Massinger,A New Way to Pay OldDebts (published 1633), 2.1.64–65. 339.31 hearts as hardened as the nether mill-stone see Job 41.24. 340.3–6 this Leviathan… amuse him see the ‘Preface’ to Jonathan Swift, A Tale ofa Tub (1704). 340.10–15 motto unidentified; probably by Scott. The ‘maze of falsehood’ can be found in ‘To the Memory of the Right Honourable the Lord Talbot’ (1737), line 143, by James Thomson ( 1700–48). 340.22 like night compare the mariner in ‘The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere’ (1798), 619, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 340.22–24 making himselffriends… unrighteousness the reference is to the advice ofJesus himself at the end of the parable of the unjust steward (Luke 16.9): the meaning ofhis words is much debated. 340.24–25 As was said… every man’s ear the reference has not been traced. Comines observes (4.9: Petitot, 12.134) that Louis ‘aimoit à parler en l’oreille’ (liked to whisper into people’s ears). 341.8–9 born with a lucky-hood on your head born with a caul, which was proverbially thought to ensure good fortune, and especially to preserve from drowning: ODEP, 76. On 9 February 1823, around the time when this passage was being composed, the antiquaryJoseph Train wrote to Scott with an account of a Buckhaven fisher Arthur Thomson: ‘The fishes taken by Arthur are always larger and far more numer[o]u[s] than those taken by any other person and all this good fortune is ascribed to his having been born with a Haly Hoo’ [Holy Hood] on his head’. 341.12 was hors de page French had finished serving my apprenticeship as a page. 341.15 old Wallace Wight Sir William Wallace: see note to 65.9–10. 341.23 Constable ofFrance see note to 49.1–2.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

563

341.25 shape his course steer for his destination. 342.14–15 He fedme… a wandering stranger see Matthew 25.35. 342.36 under your favour subject to correction; with due submission. 343.7 say your pleasure say what you like. 343.8 Souplejaw Scots nimbly-jerk; loquacious. 343.13 makeup complete. 343.24 the Parliament ofParis the French supreme court, hearing appeals from regional courts and princely jurisdictions, and deciding civil and criminal cases that affected the crown. 343.36 attaches to me as is involved in my being. 343.39 on the rocks destroyed; shipwrecked. 344.10–11 move… in solicit… on. 344.12 falling foul quarrelling. 344.25 Mycertes by my faith. 344.26 you will never lose fair lady for faint-heart alluding to the proverb ‘Faint heart never won fair lady’ (Ray, 104; ODEP, 238). 344.34 minting at aspiring to. 344.37 I have such good will to laugh I take such pleasure in laughing. 344.41 the Ursuline convent the Ursuline order of Augustinian nuns was founded especially for teaching girls and nursing the sick, by St Angela ofBrescia, but not until 1535. 345.18 be weighed with be of equal importance with. 347.4–8 the justice… hearsay Quentin is justified in his claim: in Scotland guilt had to be proved. 347.32 rein up literally check and hold in (your horse); hence hold back! steady on! 347.34 no such room no great occasion. 347.35–36 as much a gentleman… not so rich compare the Spanish proverb ‘Tan bueno es como el rey y el Papa el que no tiene capa’ (The man who doesn’t wear a cope is as good as king or Pope): Strauss, no. 1337. 348.1 under your favour subject to correction; with due submission. 348.7 Do not take that upon your salvation do not assert that swearing by your salvation. 348.8 mountains… may meet proverbs assert the opposite: ‘Friends may meet, but mountains never greet’ (Ray, 110); ‘It is an old saying, that mountains and hills never meet; But I see that men shall meet, though they do not seek’ (ODEP, 290). 348.10 came tenderly off was executed tenderly. 348.27–31 motto see King Richard II,3.3.192–95. ‘Me rather had’ means ‘I had rather’. 349.5 Lord Paramount see note to 326.22. 349.20–21 the bitterness ofdeath 1 Samuel 15.32. 349.30 take the cowl become a monk. 349.43 shine out be effulgent with splendour. 351.6–7 Knights ofthe Holy Spirit the French chivalric Order of the Holy Spirit was not established until 1579, by Henri III. 351.39 father in God bishop. 352.15–16 The engineer… petard see Hamlet, 3.4.206–07. 353.3–4 a damsel adventurous compare the term ‘knight adventurous’ in Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, The Knight ofthe Burning Pestle (1613), 3.1.368. 3 54.28 Helen ofTroy in Greek legend, the beautiful Helen’s elopement with Paris of Troy gave rise to the Trojan war. 354.28 set… by the ears makes… quarrel. 355.6 The humble and lowly shall be exalted referring to Luke 1.52,

564

EXPLANATORY NOTES

especially in the translation as part of the ‘Magnificat’ in the Book ofCommon Prayer. ‘[God] hath exalted the humble and meek’. 357.17 accession to knowledge of. 357.34 Fier comme un Escossois see note to 34.27. 358.11 rein in restrain. 359.3–5 motto The Tempest, 4.1.260–61. 359.16 red, blue, and green, with all their trumpery compare John Milton, Paradise Lost, 3.474–75: ‘Friars/ White, black and gray, with all their trumpery’. 359.30 langed and dentated gules heraldry with a tongue and teeth in red. 360.1 Rouge Sanglier French Red Boar. 360.2–3 the Election ofthe Chapter in 1139 the 2nd Lateran Council gave cathedral chapters (made up of the canons of the diocese) the right to elect bishops, and this was confirmed in 1448, though in 1516 the King of France was granted the right to nominate French bishops. 360.6 in right of through the legal entitiement of. 360.7 Lord ofBracquemont see Historical Note, 503. 360.13 Annuncio vobis gaudium magnum Latin I bring you tidings of great joy. See Luke 2.10 (Vulgate version). 360.13–14 let you… to know inform you. 360.14 Earl ofFlanders for Flanders see note to 23.22–23. 360.15 under favour of subject to correction by. 360.15 our Holy Father ofRome the Pope. 360.16 ad sacra Latin to deal with spiritual matters. 360.36–37 to restore the banners… six-and-thirty this is probably suggested by Comines (2.4: Petitot, 11.457), who notes that after demolishing the walls and fortifications of Liège in 1467 Charles ‘fut recueilly à grand’gloire et grand’obeissance: et par especial de ceux de Gand, qui… le recueillirent comme vainqueur: et furent aportées toutes les bannieres, par les plus notables de la ville, au-devant de luy, jusques à Bruxelles, et ceux qui les apportoient vinrent à pied’ (was received with great honour and obedience, especially by the citizens of Ghent who… entertained him as a conqueror, the chief citizens marching on foot as far as Brussels to meet him, and carrying all the town banners along with them). In fact Ghent did not submit to Charles until 1469. 360.41 proces verbal minutes. 361.6 the Imperial Diet see note to 146.3–4. 361.9 jus emphyteusis Roman law a lease at a fixed rent in perpetuity on land belonging to another person. The use of the term here is, as C. B. Wheeler observes, ‘mere jargon’. 361.41 Under your favour by your leave. 361.42 priority ofvoice the right to speak first. 362.7–8 may not misbecome Henry V, 2.4.118. 362.13 so far to that extent. 362.26 the Heraldric College ofRatisbon this Regensburg (French Ratisbon) college is unknown to history. 362.27 diploma ofEhrenhold herald’s diploma. Ehrenholdis German for ‘herald’. 362.34 Goto come on. 363.6–7 known… Moors the heraldic system existing in Islamic countries by the 12th century influenced the terms and motifs of European heraldry. 363.9 by the planets according to John Ferne, The Blazon ofGentrie (Lon­ don, 1586), 168–[ 171 ], one of thirteen alternative ways of‘blazoning’ or ex­ pounding heraldic devices was to invoke the celestial bodies corresponding to each colour: CLA, 24.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

565

363.11–12 come aloft a showman’s word of command to a performing animal to appear on stage. 363.14–21 the vulgar blazonry… fleurs de lis Toison d’Or asks for an interpretation in layman’s language of a blazoning in terms of‘vertues’, one of John Feme’s methods (see note to 363.9). The lion gules (red) is correctly blazoned following Ferne’s ‘Charity and magnanimity [lofty courage, forti­ tude]’. The virtue ofgenerosity is however not assigned to a colour. Scott has taken it from the title of the first part of Ferne’s treatise, ‘The Glory of Generos– itie [Nobility of birth or lineage]’. Thefield (background) to the Scottish lion would be or (yellow, blazoned as ‘Faith & constancy’). 363.18 a quaver ofconsternation Robert Southey, ‘A Ballad, Shewing how an old woman rode double, and who rode before her’ (1799), line 146 (Corson). 363.19 lie at the catch with me seek an opportunity of catching me out. See John Bunyan, The Pilgrim's Progress, [Part 1] (London, 1678), 123,124. 363.28 prick down trace a pattern with prick-marks or dots. 363.40–41 Childebert… Gandemar Childebert I (c. 498-558), King of Paris from 511, and his brother Chlotar conquered part ofBurgundy in 534, imprisoning its king Godemar. 363.43–364.1 Sable… ofthe second heraldry black, a wild-cat walking and looking towards the dexter (right) side, with three paws on the ground and the right fore-paw raised, gold, partly hidden by a red trellis with nails of gold. The device, and the rival interpretations, are taken from John Ferne, 188-89: see note to 363.9. 364.9 too learned to be intelligible compare Much Ado About Nothing, 5.1.216–17: ‘This learned constable is too cunning to be understood’. 364.22–24 that King… a herald the king was Louis himself, in Comines’s account (4.7: Petitot, 12.133–38). 364.32 in poor case in a poor state. 364.34 ҫa, ҫa! French come on, come on! 364.36–37 the hunting-pieces… in conjunction Frans Snyders (1579–1657) was noted for his skill in painting animals, fruits, and flowers. He executed these features in many of the paintings produced by Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640). 365.2 Hyke a Talbot! hyke a Beaumont! hyke was a call to encourage a hound, and Talbot and Beaumont were common hounds’ names. In [George Turbervile,] The Noble Art ofVenerie or Hunting, etc. (London, 1611), 112 (CLA, 105) the huntsman is advised to encourage any hound that is on the right trail: ‘let him blow with his horne, and afterwardes hallow vnto that hound naming him, as to say, Hyke a Talbot, or Hyke a Bewmont, Hyke, hyke, to him, to him &c’.( Talbot is also the generic name for a particular breed of hunting–dog.) 365.5–6 fair law a fair start, as allowed to deer, boar, etc. but not inferior animals such as rabbits. 365.14 winged with given speed by. 365 33 Stave and tail! bear-baiting stop (by beating back the bear and re­ straining the dogs by pulling their tails). 365.34 made no sport hunting failed to entertain by exhibiting spirit or courage in defence. 365.36 taking off diverting; withdrawing. 366.1–2 come to speech of have an interview with. 366.3–4 dead men tell no tales proverbial: ODEP, 171. 366.16–17 a cross potence… proper in heraldry a ‘cross potence’ is a cross with expanding arms terminating in fleurs-de-lys, the word potence itself meaning ‘gibbet’; proper means both ‘straight’ and, in heraldry, ‘in its natural colours’.

566 366.18–19 366.30–32

EXPLANATORY NOTES

take his degrees obtain the appropriate qualifications. I will swear… the true cross in Comines Louis and Charles

‘swore peace on the true cross which St Charlemagne was wont to use, called the Cross ofVictory, taken out of the king’s casket’ (‘ fut tirée des coffres du Roy, la vraye croix, que sainct-Charlemagne portoit, qui s’appelle la Croix de Victoire, et jurerent la paix’) (2.9: Petitot, 11.487–88). 366.38–40 it was thesame… kidnap me Comines (1.1: Petitot, 11.336–39) recounts how Charles when Count of Charolais believed that Louis XI had sent the illegitimate son ofAnthony, 2nd Seigneur of Rubempré, to carry him captive into France. The oath on a fragment of the true cross may have been suggested by Comines’s reference (4.6: Petitot, 12.128–29) to St Pol’s demand that Louis should guarantee his safety by swearing on the cross of St Lo [Laud] of Angers. 366.41 ripping up opening up again (like old wounds). 367.1–2 another fragment… the Grand Seignior see note to 98.28–31. 367.3 the war ofthe Public Good see Historical Note, 504 (1465). 367.12–13 the Ban and Arriere-Ban the ban (proclamation) involved the nobility with their feudal subjects and the arriére-ban (subsequent proclama­ tion) theoretically involved all able-bodied men between 18 and 60. By the 15th century, however, most of the latter paid an exemption fee, and only nobles practising arms were called up. The complete phrase (‘ban et arriereban’) is found in Roye (Petitot, 13.348). 367.25 yield up relinquish; give up. 367.29 tampered with tried to enter into secret dealings with; plotted with; corrupted. 367.30 needs dispose of insists on making arrangements concerning. 368.5–7 motto an anglicised version of stanza 41, line 3–4, of‘Lord Soulis’, the ballad imitation by John Leyden (1775–1811), in Scott’s Minstrelsy ofthe Scottish Border, ed. T. F. Henderson, 4 vols (Edinburgh, 1902), 4.235 (originally published 1802–03). 368.36 the Allegro…the Penseroso alluding to John Milton’s compan­ ion poems ‘L’Allegro’ and ‘Il Penseroso’ (written c. 1630, published 1645): they depict the moods ofmirth and melancholy. 368.37 Garrick between Tragedy and Comedy the title ofa celebrated painting by SirJoshua Reynolds (1723–92), first exhibited 1762, now in a private collection: it depicts the actor David Garrick (1717–79) hesitating between the claims of the muses ofTragedy and Comedy. Hughes (43) had used the painting to characterise the competing claims on the traveller’s atten­ tion of waiting-maids at a French inn. 369.17 making wry mouths contorting your features with disgust. 369.23 with a grace gracefully; in style. 369.25 a lire ofwine lire is French for ‘lira’, an Italian silver coin worth about 5p. Hayraddin is being given the opportunity to buy a lira’s worth of wine as a final drink. 370.6–7 Trip it step nimbly. 370.8 walk as an the pebbles were eggs proverbial: compare ODEP, 218. 370.26–27 men ofpromise men of their word. 371.17 reserve thy bounty keep your bounty for yourself. 371.23 market-penny purchase-money; i.e. choice. 372.9 it is a chance if it will be a fluke if. 372.16 sit down before lay siege to. 372.23–24 nothing doubts doubts in no way. 373.2 at need in an emergency. 373.14 in the venture at risk.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

567

373.26 To be resolved into the elements compare Christopher Marlowe, Doctor Faustus (c. 1589–92; published 1604), 5.2.188: ‘Their [i.e. beasts’] souls are soon dissolved in elements’. For Hayraddin’s attitude compare also Grellmann (69): ‘ The preparations for death are usually regulated according to a person’s religious principles; but the Gipsey, who neither knows nor believes any thing concerning the immortality ofthe soul, or of rewards and punishments beyond this life, for the most part dies like a beast—ignorant of himselfand his Creator, as well as utterly incapable of forming any opinion respecting a higher destination’. 374.7 put to the final issue brought to the ultimate decisive point. 374.12–13 motto not identified; probably by Scott. The Count Palatine was the ruler of the Lower Palatinate on the Rhine and the Upper Palatinate in Bavaria. The term blade means both ‘sword’ and ‘gallant’. 374.26–28 the wish…hostages than as auxiliaries Comines says (2.9: Petitot, 11.485) that Louis offered as hostages, among others: Jean II (1427–88), Duke ofBourbon 1456–88; the Duke’s brother Charles (1433–88), Archbishop of Lyon from 1444; and St Pol. The offer, however, was apparently not taken up. 374.37–38 one ofthose iron cages… have invented see note to 172.39–41. 374.39 make proofof test; try out. 375.40 rein in restrain. 377.20 be disposed of have arrangements made regarding it. 378.1 aSonofFrance see note to 170.35. 378.12–13 taking the word for beginning to speak on behalf of. 378.36 Count Reinold see note to 259.19–20. 378.37 hold me out offer me; present me. 379.2–3 conform to in conformity with. 379.14 Strike… in enter the competition. 379.14–15 win her, and ifthou canst not wear her alluding to the proverbial ‘to win and wear [possess]’ a lady (ODEP, 892). 379.27 bar sinister heraldry a bar (properly bend or baton) laid diagonally across the coat ofarms to denote illegitimacy. Dunois was the illegitimate son of Louis (1372–1407), 1st Duke ofOrleans 1392–1407. 379.32 Saunders Souplejaw, hold thine own see note to 343.8: hold means ‘stick to’, ‘abide by’. 379.37 is the case is involved. 380.6 catches at straws alluding to the proverb‘A drowning man will catch at a straw’ (ODEP, 205). 380.11–19 motto see ‘From the Oratorio of the Captivity’, in The Haunch ofVenison, A Poetical Epistle to Lord Clare (London, 1776), a posthumous pub­ lication of Oliver Goldsmith (1730–74). 380.25 for nearly twelve years from January 1470 until December 1480. 381.21–22 put his courser to his mettle tested his horse’s spirits. 382.8–9 Sir Godfrey, their grandsire see note to 163.42. 382.18 Carl Eberson see note to 243.4. 382.24–25 Aroint thee, deceitful witch Aroint thee means ‘Get thee gone’. See Macbeth, 1.3.6 and King Lear, 3.4.122, the latter probably suggesting the ‘toasted cheese’ which follows (compare 4.6.89–90). 382.35 carry it win the day. 383.6 parted per pale divided into two parts by a vertical line. 383.17 on march marching. 384.8 cutting off putting to death. 384.15 demeaned themselves behaved. 384.39–40 stand to their arms form up with arms presented. Scott’s

568

EXPLANATORY NOTES

account is based on Comines (2.10: Petitot, 11.494–95), though the historian refers to a preceding action in which a Liégois sally was defeated. 384.41–385.8 When this news… men-at arms the figures are from Comines (2.10: Petitot, 11.495), but there Humbercourt is one of the com­ manders of the rash Burgundian vanguard (along with Thibault de Neufchâtel, Marschal ofBurgundy, rather than Crèvecœur), and there is no mention of an offer by Louis to rescue it. Moreover the rescue takes place at dawn. The phrase bring off means‘recover’. 385.13–14 There was no moat… that place the detail is from Comines (2.11: Petitot, 11.499). 385.26 Mareschal du Camp Scott gives one ofthe various meanings of this term. 385.28–29 dark as a wolf’s mouth proverbial: ODEP, 167. 385.30–31 muddy and intersected with many canals compare Comines (2.11: Petitot, 11.498–99), where the Burgundians have to go ‘ bien trois lieuës, tant y a de barricaves et de mauvais [che]mins, aussi c’estoit au fin coeur d’hyver’ (full three leagues about owing to the sloughs and bad paths; also, it was mid-winter). 385.31–39 It is scarce possible… proceeding merrily the confusion, weariness, and hunger of the Burgundian forces works up hints in Comines (2.10: Petitot, 11.497,499). 386.5–6 a barrel ofherrings… Flemish army the jest was probably suggested by an incident on 12 February 1429 during the siege of Orleans, when provisions for the English assailants were safely delivered after a skirmish: ‘The battle was called the Fight of the Herrings on account of a great many barrels of that fish making a part of the convoy for behoof of the Englishmen in the season of Lent which was now approaching’ (Sir Walter Scott, Tales ofa Grandfather: The History ofFrance (Second Series) ,ed. William Baker and J. H. Alexander (DeKalb, Illinois, 1996), 48). 386.9–18 a small Lust-haus… another pleasure-house Comines (2.11: Petitot, 11.498,500), has merely ‘une grande cense ou metairie, fort grande et bien maisonnée’ (a large and well-furnished farm) and ‘une petite maisonnette’ (a little house). 386.33 breaking down walls Scott takes a hint from Comines (2.11: Petitot, 11.500), where the walls of a barn in which Louis’s finest men-at-arms are quartered are ‘broken down, to render their sallies the more easy’ (‘et rompirent les parois de ladite grange, pour plus aisement saillir’): in the histor­ ian’s version, eight days pass before the city is stormed. The rest of the action in the novel is mostly Scott’s invention: he omits entirely the burning of the city and the suffering in the surrounding countryside (Comines, 2.14: Petitot, 11.509–11). 387.9 Notawhit not in the least. 388.15 bear him out supports him. 388.23–25 motto John Milton,1671), Paradise ( 3.310 Regained –11. 388.26–27 in leaguer engaged in a siege. 389.30 fallback retreat;retire. 390.8 for two and a plack for a considerable sum ofmoney: ‘An homely

Scottish expression for something you value’ (Magnum, 32.381). 390.12 standing fast drawn up in battle array and presenting a firm front. 390.16 Enfans perdus French, literally lost children; soldiers sent ahead on

a risky mission. 390.17 twice a pike’s length the pike could be up to six metres in length. 390.18–20 Qui vive?… la France! French Who goes there?… Long live

Liége—that is to say, Long live France! 390.26 draw in collect; assemble.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

569

sakers… falconets Comines (2.10: Petitot, 11.495) says that Charles brought up four cannon (‘quatre pieces de bonne artillerie’) against Liége; but the terms sakers andfalconets, denoting the two smallest sizes of cannon, did not appear until the early 16th century. 390.41 make good their posts hold their positions. 391.2–4 Quentin’s having fortunately shot… attack it in Comines (2.12: Petitot, 11.503–04) the two proprietors of the properties taken over by Charles and Louis respectively act as guides to a detachment of600 Liégois supporters from nearby Franchimont; both are shot early in the resulting assaults. 391.33–36 The conduct ofLouis… issued the contrast between Charles’s and Louis’s behaviour before Liége is noted by Mathieu, 1.116–118, and especially (116): ‘The King shewed himselfe vnto the Towne as soone as the Duke, and they were amazed at his diligence, the name of King and his presence put the Duke out of countenance. The Adamant hath no vertue neer vnto the Diamond, the King would not seeme other then a King he takes the word and commands what should be done.’ 391.41 pressed by immense odds subjected to pressure or assault by a force greatly superior in numbers. 392.2 brought forward brought to the front. 392.9 got up prepared; made ready. 392.12 cutin occupy a position (between others). 392.23–24 bringing…off rescuing. 392.29–30 thy double-man, as these Flemings call it Dutch ‘dobbel­ ganger’ or German ‘Doppelganger’. Dutch dubbelman means ‘someone playing two roles’, and German Doppelmann means ‘deceitful person’. 392.42 A Dunois! French rallying callTo Dunois! 392.43 the bold Bastard the younger Dunois was actually born in wedlock, and even his father had been legitimated by Charles VII in recognition of his prominent role in the conquest of Normandy and Guienne in 1450–51. 394.5 mace ofarms French ‘masse d’armes’: a heavy staff or club (usually simply called a ‘mace’), either entirely of metal or having a metal head, often spiked. 394.17 measure swords contend in battle. 394.30 making head offering resistance. 395.19 strikes at aims to defeat. 395.33 Wallace see note to 65.9–10. 397.5 High Mass Mass celebrated with elaborate ceremonial. 397.14 shaped out formed; gave shape to. 397.17 Small-Back Death, imagined as a skeleton. 397.18 lead down the dance i.e. lead the dance ofmankind to the grave. 397.25 lies on depends on. 398.25 the tree ofRothes George Leslie (c. 1417–1489 or 1490) was created Earl ofRothes (Moray) before 20 March 1457. 398.28–29 Between the Less-lee… there the couplet is quoted by Richard Verstegan, Restitution OfDecayed Intelligence in Antiquities, Concerning the Most Noble and RenownedEnglish Nation (London, 1673), 323,with the comment: ‘A Combat being once fought in Scotland between a Gentleman of the Lesleyes, and a Knight ofHungary, wherein the Scottish Gentleman was Victor, in memory thereof, and of the place where it happened, these ensuing Verses do in Scotland yet remain’ (CLA, 26). 398.33 Reginald de Croye see note to 259.19–20 (Reginald is the English form of Reinold). 398.40 made a shift managed (with difficulty). 399.28 that Allan Durward– High Steward of Scotland the Lord 390.39

570

EXPLANATORY NOTES

High Steward was the chief officer of the Royal Household in Scotland, admin­ istrator of the Crown Revenues, and commander, under the king, of the army in battle. With the accession of Robert II (Steward of Scotland) to the throne in 1371 the title was transferred to the crown prince. Alan Durward (door-ward or keeper) married an illegitimate daughter of Alexander II, King of Scots 1214–49, and became High Steward in 1257, dying in 1275. Scott would have found him described as ‘an active and ambitious baron’ in George Chalmers, Caledonia, 3 vols (London, 1807–24), 1.513n. 400.5 Cavalieros ofFortune soldiers of fortune: i.e. freelance soldiers; high–class mercenaries. 400.5 a friendly monitor James Ballantyne: see Essay on the Text, 407. 400.14–15 in course ofpost by return mail. 400.15–22 public weddings… one flesh as in many cultures, it was formerly the custom in Scotland for the consummation ofa marriage to be attested by witnesses. The ‘fifteen friends’ have not been found elsewhere. For the ‘bridal minstrelsy’ see Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ‘The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere’ (1798), lines 39–40: ‘Nodding their heads before her goes/ The merry Minstralsy’. Either the bride’s or the bridegroom’s left stocking was thrown over the shoulder, and the person on whom it fell or who secured it was destined to be married next. The bride would leave a garter unsecured so that it might be plucked for luck by one of the guests. 400.20 sack-posset a drink prepared in various ways: hot milk might be curdled with sack, with sugar and spices; or eggs and sugar might be beaten into sack. 400.22 Hymen in Classical mythology, the god ofmarriage. 400.26–27

with Astraea, “they fairly put their characters to bed.”

see

Alexander Pope, Imitations ofHorace, Epistle 2.1, lines 290–91: ‘The stage how loosely does Astraea tread,/ Who fairly puts all Characters to bed’. Pope was among those who found the plays ofAphra Behn (1640–89) obscene: he here calls her by her assumed name ofAstraea, the daughter of Zeus and Themis in Greek mythology. 400.31 Seek for freedom at an inn see ‘Written at an Inn at Henley’, by William Shenstone (1714–63), line 16. 400.35–36

the maid who milks, and does the meanest chars

see

Antony and Cleopatra, 4.15.74–75. were it in the church-porch weddings were formerly cele­ brated in the church porch rather than in the body of the church. 400.38 fairedesnoces French alluding to the Parisian innkeeper’s sign: ‘salle a faire des noces’ (hall for wedding festivities). 400.39 long coach by the Stage Coach Act of 1810 (50 Geo IIIc.48.II) ‘all Stage Coaches called Long Coaches or Double bodied Coaches, shall be permitted to carry Eight Outside Passengers and no more, exclusive of the Coachman, but including the Guard’. 400.41–401.11 as Ariosto… Stanza 16 Scott imitates lines from Ludovico Ariosto’s epic Orlandofurioso (1516), 30.16. They may be literally translated: And how to return to her country she [Angelica] will find a good ship and better weather, and will give the sceptre of India to Medoro perhaps someone else may sing with a better lyre’. Angela, daughter of the Great Kham, falls in love with a common soldier boy Medoro, heals his war-wounds, marries him, and sets off to Cathay where (her father and brother having died) she will be queen and Medoro king.

400.36–37

GLOSSARY

This selective glossary defines single words; phrases are treated in the Explanatory Notes. It covers archaic and dialect terms, and occurrences of familiar words in senses that are likely to be strange to the modem reader. For each word (or clearly distinguishable sense) glossed, up to four occurrences are noted; when a word occurs more than four times in the novel, only the first instance is given, followed by ‘etc.’ Orthograph­ ical variants of single words are listed together, usually with the most common use first. Often the most economical and effective way of defining a word is to refer the reader to the appropriate explanatory note. aback at a distance 287.19 abate diminish, reduce 132.7,

account importance, consideration

227.12,266.20 abide remain in residence, dwell, stay, continue 82.9 etc.; put up with, sustain 166.28 abject degraded person 165.19 abonne French see note to 15.29 abroad out ofone’s abode 33.38 etc.; at large 48.1; widely scattered 229.37 absentee one who systematically stays away from their home or country 21.33 (see note) absolute perfect 175.9,388.17 abuy pay the penalty for 73.16 access attack, fit 349.17 accession adherence, assent, agree­ ment 72.42, 295.40,332.21, 357.17 accidence the science of the inflex­ ions of words (the first part ofLatin grammar learned by beginners) 362.42 accident casual appearance 57.6 acclaim shout of applause 89.5 accommodate provide 55.28,83.10, 117.13 accommodations lodgings 349.25 accompany attend with (as) a retinue 276.4,284.35 accomplished complete, perfect 61.1 accompt account 255.8,310.37 accost address 32.4,101.6

accoutred equipped 167.2,350.4 accoutrements equipment 258.25 accuracy exactness 93.5,164.32,

211.35

175.30

aconite either poisonous plant or

poison derived from it 332.42 acquaint inform 52.34 etc. acquirement personal attainment

20.31 addicted given up 234.34 adjust arrange, compose 288.18;

settle 302.8,382.17 admire wonder at 116.33 advance send ahead 91.18; raise, lift

up 259.27 adventure perilous enterprize

158.14 etc.; event 32.3 adventurer soldier of fortune 24.9

etc. adventurous having many adven­

tures, daring 268.26,353.3 advice notice, intelligence 342.28 affect ostentiously like 237.9; like to

wear 237.9 affirm aver, assert 41.25 etc. afloat in general circulation 245.14

afoot on foot, without a horse 117.11 agitate revolve in the mind 376.18 aggravate exasperate or embitter a person 328.27 a-gleaning picking up after reapers 79.41

572

GLOSSARY

aide-de-camp confidential subor­

dinate officer 368.33 aiguilette aglet, ornamental metal tag 14.25 ain Scots own 81.4 air exercise horses in the open air 90.39 alley bordered walk 208.35,208.40, 214.32 alliances kindred 183.34 als also 220.28 amateur person with a taste for something 21.6 ambuscade ambush 190.38 etc. ambushment ambush 342.6,342.24 amenable responsible to in law, an­ swerable 80.33 amulet charm worn to prevent dis­ ease 132.23 an if 305.23,313.40,314.29,370.8 anathema (ecclesiastical) curse 19.2 anatomy walking skeleton 6.2 ancient adjective long–tanding, long–established 7.13 etc. ancient noun ensign 29.18 anciently in former times 49.34, 286.6 angle projecting comer ofa building 39.25 animal creature 5.20,69.25,102.34 annalist chronicler 285.18 anon just now 147.14 answer answer for 18.41,34.41, 76.3; satisfy a pecuniary claim 185.17 antichamber room admitting to the royal bedchamber 92.22 anticipate forestall 128.42,348.20; accelerate 151.13 ap(p)anage territory allocated to a younger child ofa king etc. 26.36, 3317,332.33,361.13 apologue moral fable 326.42 appanage province provided for the maintenance of younger children of a king or prince 26.36; dependent territory 326.3; endowment 377.9 applausive expressive of approval 51.10 appointments equipment, ouffit(s), allowance(s) 60.8,96.12,330.3 appropinque approach 4.3 approximation coming near in place 189.23 arabesque with intertwining motifs

of Arabic or Moorish origin 103.10 architrave surround 123.12 argent heraldry silver or white 364.11 arquebuss harquebuss, portable gun

(used with tripod in the field) 14.39 etc. arras tapestry screen hung around the walls of a room 122.24 etc. array verb bring into martial order, draw up 216.16,300.21,392.27 array noun 391.32 arrogating unduly assuming 209.6 art cunning, artfulness 115.15,294.5 artificer craftsman 213.16 artifices cunning, trickery 273.36 artificially cunningly, skilfully

16.43 artist proficient practitioner 32.10;

craftsman, mechanic 54.38,286.43 ascendance astrology rising above the

eastern horizon, rising towards the zenith 156.37 assiette French prepared dish of food 16.38 assign allege, offer 149.16 etc. assoil release from purgatory 353.43 astral starry 152.32

astrolabe instrument for astronom­ ical calculations 153.24 astucious astute 110.37 asylum sanctuary, place of refuge 8.27 etc. atheism impiety 256.41 attend pay attention to, keep an eye on 92.2; give heed 387.14 auberge French inn 18.36,52.26, 52.36 audacity daring, confidence, bold­ ness, effrontery 72.40 etc. aught see note to 87.33 augre-hole hole drilled by a boring­ tool 125.10 augur anticipate, conjecture from signs, have a foreboding 32.3, 111.23,273.33 augury divination 154.32,291.23; omen 166.30; promise, indication 389.5 auld Scots old, 85.18 auvernatfor 128.15,128.18, and

2.92.1 see note to 128.18 auxiliary foreign or allied 212.37 ave Ave Maria, Hail Mary (devotional

recitation from Luke 1.28 and 42) 311.13

GLOSSARY

avocation distraction 8.12 back-friend backer, friend who

bespeak indicate 31.3; pronounce

stands at one’s back 70.22 badaud French idler 127.38 badge heraldic emblem 85.43 etc.; token, distinguishing sign 182.41, 296.37

bibliomane eager book-collector

bailley court 141.35 (see note) bairn Scots child 86.26,86.33,86.39, 89.24 bait hunt or worry with dogs, harass

with persistent attacks 185.30, 364.42 balance scales 208.8 baldrick, bauldrick shoulder-sash to support sword 60.37,176.19, 189.34 ban formal denunciation, sentence of outlawry 146.3,241.34 banditti marauders, brigands 182.19,258.20,288.43,292.27 bargain fight 86.22 bark sailing vessel 272.13,325.3 barrack (characteristic of) barracks 121.9,399.11 base-court, base court for 285.6 and 285.25 see note to 285.6 bastinading cudgelling 189.28 bating excepting 63.24 bauble for 277.6,277.9,296.33, and 364.2 see note to 277.6 baulk noun hindrance, defeat 314.27 baulk verb disappoint in expectations 396.15 bavarois French (bavaroise) tea with fem syrup 8.11 bead-roll (long) list of names of people 105.14 beam bar 231.11 bearings heraldic devices, coat of arms 10.28 etc. beauffet sideboard, side table 125.4, 126.23,127.2 beeveox4.12 bell-wether leading sheep of a flock

214.25,240.6 benedicite God bless you! 30.40;

invocation of a blessing (on oneself) 132.13 benefice ecclesiastical living95.35, 115.3 benignant gracious, benevolent 310.38 beseem befit 204.13

573

70.38 18.32 bibliomaniac eager book-collector

21.8 bibliomaniacal eager in collecting

books 19.25 billet letter, note 217.6 etc. bird-bolt blunt-headed arrow for

shooting birds 82.19 birth noble lineage 8.5 etc. bitterness animosity 107.10,128.20,

353.13

black-browed with black eye-brows

56.13 black jack leather beer-jug 238.27

blade for 262.43 and 374.12 see notes blanc-manger French dish of fowl (or sometimes meat) minced with cream, almonds, sugar, eggs etc. 65.8 blate Scots bashful, timid 344.25 blazon describe heraldically in a cor­ rect manner 175.30,362.15, 3.262.37 blazoning illuminating (as of a medieval manuscript) 158.28 blazonry (correct description of) heraldic devices or armorial bear­ ings 35922,362.37,363.1,36323 blockaded blocked 229.11 bloot German (Blut) blood 191.16 blunt dull, stupid, obtuse 364.27 board table 52.27 etc. Bohemian gypsy 31.14 etc. bonnet cap (usually rimless) 30.4 boon adjective jolly, convivial 281.30 boon noun favour 102.23 etc. boor peasant, countryman 251.24 bootless useless 333.4 bosom surface 164.28 bottrine French apparently leather bottle 46.7,121.17 bouilli French boiled or stewed meat, especially beef 16.31 boulanger French baker 46.4 boule French small round loaf46.3 bounding boundary 40.24,41.38 bounds neighbourhood 82.7,205.11 brach bitch hound 239.24 braeman one who lives on the south­ ern slopes of the Grampian moun­ tains 34.17

574

GLOSSARY

brag challenge 54.38 branch division of a subject 139.34 Brantwein German (Branntwein) spirits 213.13,370.20 brave finely-dressed 132.21 braw Scots handsome, worthy 342.27 braw-warld Scots showy, gaudy 301.43 brawling noisily quarrelsome, blus­ tering 101.1 breach violation 64.24 etc.; gap in fortification made by battery 216.31 etc.; rupture 101.34 breast-laces ornamental cords for part of garment covering breast 159.9 breviary service-book 342.25 bride bridegroom 367.24 briefly tersely 385.1 brigandage banditry, pillage 27.20 bright-locked fair-haired 58.31 brisk lively 231.7,234.8,244.30 broadsword, broad-sword cutting sword with broad blade 16.43, 34.15,153.32,312.30 brogue basic shoe once worn in the Scottish and Irish countryside 42.17 brook suffer 42.22; admit of 131.12, 392 37; tolerate, put up with 168.1, 209.15 browst Scots brew 87.13 bruder German (Bruder) brother 191.41 bubble unsubstantial, delusive 59.4 budgetbag316.15,331.11 buff(made of) stout dressed dull

yellow velvety ox-leather 85.42, 189.38,232.13,312.30 bull-feast bull-fight 289.18 burghers-twentieth tax on non­ nobles 245.28 burned heated 34.31 bushment ambush 341.41 busk see note to 144.5 buskin half-length boot 30.15, 31.25 bustle see note to 232.38 butt1 mark for archery practice, object of ridicule 74.31 butt2 thicker end 393.4 butt-end thicker end 102.15 buxom plump and comely, lively 304.3 cabalistic see note to 154.2

cabaret public house 56.12 cabaretier French innkeeper 123.38 cabin small (bed)room 92.7,118.9 cabinet 38.27 etc. private apartment;

for 19.42 see note cabriole cabriolet 8.31 cabriolet light two–wheeled hooded

one-horse chaise 9 38 cadence see note to 3.26 cadet younger son ofa family, gentle­

man entering the army without a commission 34.2,60.3 caitiff wretch, villain 198.4,222.38, 392.32 calico white cotton cloth 6.7 callant boy, youth 169.33 etc. calthrop iron ball with spikes laid to impede cavalry 38.14 canaille rabble 169.37 candid pure, clear 340.13 captious carping 363.19 car-man carter, carrier 96.7 carcanet precious collar or necklace 64.31,329.22 care worry, concern 155.9,247.31, 265.32,311.3 career charge, swift running course 28.24 etc. careful full of care or concern, anxious 105.6,210.9 carouse toast, drinking bout 87.16, 87.18,243.11,286.18 carousel knightly tournament with plays and exercises 136.18 carry conduct, escort 172.26,190.17, 374.36; carry on 87.24; for 264.17 and 382.35 see notes carte French menu 5.8 case plight 373.5 casement casemate, vaulted defens­ ive chamber built in the thickness of ramparts 305.43 caserne barracks 82.6,92.32 casque helmet 237.8 cassock long coat or cloak worn by

soldiers 60.33,62.23,15930; long loose coat or gown 96.26 cast specimen 315.21 cast-clothes discarded garments 16.17 castellated having battlements 208.38 casualty accident, mishap 196.23 catastrophe dénouement of a drama 242.24,369.5

GLOSSARY catch-pole officer who arrests for

575

substance for searing tissue 182.22 cavalier gentleman trained to arms, gallant 50.40 etc.

spikes on top ofa fence to repel in­ truders 39.37 chield Scots lad 390.7 chiromancy palmistry 155.12 chiromantist palmist 201.35 choice of special excellence 218.14 etc. chronic lingering, long-continued, non-acute 3.36

celerity speed 222.28 censé French see note to 19.29 ceremonious formal 97.39,295.2,

churl peasant 79.22,142.27 ci-devant former 3.9,5.31 cicerone guide who explains an­

debt276.25 causeway paved path or road 10.2,

44.12,261.20 cautery metal instrument or caustic

359.18 çernaux French (cernaux) half­

shelled walnuts 17.19 certes assuredly 341.8; for 344.25

see note chafe inflame or excite (feelings)

301.30,338.37 champain open country 221.20 chance fortune, luck 44.6 etc.; unfor­

tunate event, mishap 62.13; occur­ rence 345.19 chance-passengers casual passers­ by 78.11 chapeau-bras French three–cornered flat silk hat able to be carried under the arm 16.12 chaplet wreath for the head 50.3 char piece of domestic work 400.36 character status, assumed part 15.36 etc. charge order(s), instruction(s) 126.29,140.32,159.26,171.41; trust, responsibility 43.4 etc.; for 64.29 see note charger horse ridden in charging the enemy 258.24,278.37,381.16 chase hunting-ground, park-land 29.26,34.33,37.11,42.7 chasm void 5.10 chasse hunting-party 17.12 chasse-caffé French (chasse-café) liqueur, drink of spirits taken ostensibly to remove taste of coffee or tobacco 19.29 chatterer babbler, prattler 31.28 check verb stop sharply or suddenly 112.23 check noun reproof, rebuff217.20; stop 238.40 cheer hospitable entertainment, food (for entertainment) 45.8,127.39, 199.9 chevaux-de-frise French metal

tiquities 306.23 circumstance means, position in the

world 29.8 civilian student of civil law

12.20 clench clinch, settle conclusively

11.22 clipper sheep-shearer 24.17 clog burden, encumber 375.6 close enclosed field 386.19 clove-gilliflower clove scented

species of pink 79.37 clown peasant 75.27 clownish awkward 262.33 coat coat-of-arms 363.8,363.23,

363.28,392.41 coat-armour (one who bears) a coat

of arms 51.43; coat or vest bearing heraldic arms 383.8 cockade rosette or knot of ribbons worn in the hat 6.41 cocker pamper 156.1 coif close-fitting cap covering head (top, back, and sides) 261.27 coin coign, projecting angle of building218.1 collar ornamental chain forming part of knight’s insignia 64.37 etc. collier charcoal maker 372.39 colour appearance 294.11 colour disguise 64.19 combust astrology in or near conjunc­ tion with the sun, when apparently extinguished by its light 156.42 comfort invigorating refreshment 192.11 comfortable reassuring, comforting 76.13 comical strange, odd 344.13 coming compliasant, responsive to

advances 226.28 commission verb order to be pur­ chased 15.28

576

GLOSSARY

commission noun order, command,

conjuncture juncture 101.33; astro­

instruction, charge 63.3 etc. commodious convenient 152.4 commonly usually, normally 134.4, 244.13 commons the body of people not en­ nobled 131.24,131.30 compassionate regard with pity 178.34 complacency tranquil pleasure, self­ satisfaction 219.12 compacted knit together 60.13 compel extort by force 199.40 complacent self-satisfied, tranquilly pleased 64.35 complaisance politeness, deference 278.13,374.32 complaisant obliging 44.35 complete fully accomplished 94.29 compose pacify 305.18

logy conjunction, apparent coincid­ ence or proximity of two heavenly bodies 150.21 conjure beseech, implore 230.25, 235.32 consciousness knowledge of one’s own guilt 105.36 etc. consequential self-important 96.23 conservator preserver 89.6 considerate prudent 32.14 considerately deliberately 194.18 consideration circumstance 101.8 consist be consistent, be compatible 336.39 etc. construe interpret, put a construction on 95.26,98.23,307.42; deduce 211.17; for 51.13 and 72.42 see notes contemn scorn, view with contempt 28.26,159.7 contemner scorner, despiser 79.25, 185.8,359.15 contumacity act of disobedience 346.39 contumacy obstinate disobedience 105.8 convenience utensil 316.19 convent monastery 34.18 etc. conversible disposed to (pleasant in) conversation 18.19 corbie Scots crow 43.30,43.31 correspondence (clandestine or illi­ cit) communication 181.6,181.18 (see note), 203.12 corslet piece ofdefensive armour covering the body 231.10,245.34, 266.6,312.30 cortege procession 17.11; train of attendants 278.32 couchee sovereign’s evening recep­ tion 284.24 counsel secret purpose 192.2; pru­ dence 274.5; purpose 325.3 countenance (appearance of) favour, approbation, patronage, moral support 28.16 etc. counterfeit represented pictorially 23.7 county count 57.37,57.44, 58.8, 344.33 . couple pairs 115.19 course verb hunt 365.2 course noun (reprehensible) custom

compting-room office 249.23

con repeat like a remembered school lesson, express 3.34; study 188.36 concourse gathering of people 113.24 condescend agree 242.9 condescendence condescension 135.32 condign appropriate to the crime, well-deserved and severe 104.25, 319.39 condition (elevated) (social) posi­ tion 11.27 etc.; prerequisite 113.27 conditions behaviour, temper, per­ sonal qualities 67.25 conduct noun guidance 152.21, 182.19,226.13 conduct verb command 262.11 confasciation bundling together

237.36 confection (sweet) delicacy 46.22,

55.17

conference (serious) conversation

70.32 etc. confessor person avowing their reli­

gion despite persecution 8.8 confidence see note to 211.39 confiture preparation of preserved

fruit etc., confection 46.37 conformation structure 398.13 confound fail to distinguish, confuse

83.27,176.32 confused mixed, blended together

271.35

confusion destruction, ruin 212.18

GLOSSARY

or practice 73.36,232.40; on­ slaught 236.10; action of pursuing game with hounds 352.24 cousin term ofaddress by a sovereign to a fellow-sovereign or nobleman 29.3 etc.; collateral relative, kins­ person 81.20 etc.; friend 102.36 etc. coutelier French cutler, equerry 59.37 etc. cover place-setting 126.21 covin-tree large tree in front of a Scottish mansion where the laird met or took leave of visitors 43.11 crack-rope gallows bird 370.21 craig Scots neck 81.8 craven coward 319.12 creature humorous intoxicating liquor 5.13 credit reputation 57.34 cross perverse 398.23 cross-examination minute and re­ peated examination 182.10 crouch bow low in reverence 178.37 crown head 190.43; gold coin 207.6, 308.2 cubit unit of length approximately equal to length of forearm 216.29 cue pigtail 16.10 cuirass body-armour 103.10, 159.28; animal’s protective cover­ ing 116.2 cuisine French kitchen 18.28 cullion base despicable person, ras­ cal 91.9,158.25 culverin long cannon 385.19 cumber harass, destroy 32.7; trouble 71.41 cup-bearer one serving his noble master with wine 199.12 curiosity interest 19.24 curious(ly) ingenious(ly), ex­ quisitely), interesting(ly) 18.4 etc.; sharp 47.9; careful(ly) 154.8,218.34: anxious 191.15 curl see note to 293.8 curled see note to 36.33 curney Scots company 343.14 curé French parish priest 12.40 etc. currier dresser of leather after tan­ ning 214.10, 231.8,231.32 curry treat (tanned leather) by soak­ ing, scraping, beating, etc. 251.27 cut shorten 91.6 cymar chemise, woman’s dress

577

hanging straight from the shoulders I34.13 cynosure polestar, thing serving for guidance or direction, person who is the centre of attraction or ad­ miration 218.10 cypher do basic arithmetic 34.20 daffing Scots playing the fool 343.6 dainties choice viands, delicacies 46.22,215.42,295.27 dainty fastidious, over-nice 155.39; handsome 390.3 damosel maiden 108.13 damp discourage 35.29 danger power, jurisdiction 82.18, 108.22 dantonly Scots boldly, bravely, defi­ antly 68.17 dare defy 196.30,223.7 dariole delicious tart 46.22 darken obscure 351.10 darksome sombre 304.33 dash erase, efface 221.8 dastard despicable coward 239.1 dazzled overpowered, confused 95.42,355.27 deal noun timber of fir or pine 20.25 deal verb do 261.7 dealings communication 104.21 deas canopy over throne 65.7 decay dim 164.26; die down 199.36 decoy entice by cunning and deceitful attractions 152.42,313.15 decoy-duck person enticing another into danger 36.37,382.26 deeply seriously 4.5 etc. defiance renunciation of allegiance, declaration ofhostilities, challenge to combat 101.20 etc. defy reject, despise 106.28 degree step 162.33; part 265.31 dejected bent downwards 173.2 dejeuner breakfast 45.27 demean for 270.28,326.6, and 384.15 see notes demesne private crown property 38.16 demi-solde French half-pay, on re­ duced salary because temporarily laid off or permanently retired 5.30 demi-volte horse’s half-turn made with the fore-legs raised 164.42 denomination designation, title 237.34 denounce proclaim 243.32

578

GLOSSARY

depositary person to whom some­

thing is committed for safe keeping 274.13 deprecation expression of feeling against 119.20 depth measurement from front to back 112.37 descent stage in the line of descent, generation 35.39,53.17 design designate 242.33 designate particularise 391.22 desperate reckless 28.39 etc.; very risky 27.38 etc.; extreme, excessive 19.26; not recoverable, given up as hopeless 276.24 determination decision arrived at 212.34,222.37,318.40 determine bring to a decision, per­ suade 147.23,150.29 (see note), 256.18 determined defined, exact 335.21 device heraldic design 167.3, 381.14; fanciful design 302.4 devoir duty 166.34,173.22 devote dedicate 60.27 etc. devoted dedicated 99.42 devotedly enthusiastically 391.27 die dice 107.3 dilate express oneselfat length 117.5 disappoint foil, thwart 395.28 disbanded dispersed 384.32,388.31 disburthen discharge 108.29 disclamation disclaimer, denial 358.4 disconcert throw into confusion 196.24,349.23 disconcerting upsetting of plans 203.9 discourse converse with 177.8, 268.18 discover uncover 134.31; reveal 221.20,392.21 discuss consume with leisurely en­ joyment 4.27 dismantled stripped of covering 18.29; having fortifications dis­ mantled 372.15 dismounted deprived of his horse 83.9 dispose place 40.6,153.28,323.28; make fit or ready 219.26; arrange, prepare 380.22 disposer ruler, governor 368.39 disposition frame ofmind, mood

77.38; arrangement of affairs 307.22 disquiet restless, disturbed 185.42 dissonant harsh sounding, jarring 283.31 distemperature bad temper 391.7 distinguish recognise 116.11, 167.3,383.25,389.3 distinguished distinctive 221.12 distinguishing distinctive 227.17 distract disorder, confuse, tear with dissention 14.36 etc.; disperse 227.11 distraction disorder, confusion 327.8 ditty composition intended to be set to music and sung 58.9; poem 206.32 divers various, several 184.5 divine clergyman, theologian 18.40, 153.41,180.13 diviner soothsayer, sorcerer 143.20 doddered having lost the top or branches through age or decay 43.23 donative donation 197.3 donjon(-keep) great tower or inner­ most keep ofa castle 40.3,285.27, 305.5,306.5 doom decree, sentence of punish­ ment 147.10 etc. dorffvillage 257.33 double use duplicity 356.27 double-man see note to 392.29 doublet close-fitting body garment 14.25,73.5; body armour of steel plates covered with cloth or leather 249.16 doubling deceitful action, double­ dealing 90.11,367.10 doubt fear 188.38 doubtful of uncertain issue 191.33,

276.11,389.7 doubting uncertain (of) 80.23,

232.35

draw draw up 34.15; clear (away)

129.5,217.11; cart away 270.40; for 60.28,157.28, and 290.10 see notes dray-horse large and powerful cart­ horse 119.12 dress prepare and finish 159.30, 237.5; smooth 306.2 drop-work pendants 121.42

GLOSSARY

dubiously uncertainly, vaguely

239.10 ducat any one of various gold and sil­ ver coins 35.42, 172.5,343.2 due payment legally due 207.6 dusky somewhat dark, dim 218.41 duty prescribed military service 41.12 etc. dye paltry ornament 302.4 eat ate 71.37,326.6 echevin French (échevin) municipal magistrate 172.6 eclaircissement French (éclaircissement) clarification, explana­ tion 17.8,214.5 Egyptian gipsy 106.4,177.39 education upbringing (with refer­ ence to social station) 52.27,94.10, 196.37,238.18 effeminacy unmanly weakness 272.24 egress right or liberty of going out 235.I7 elastic buoyant 209.40 election choice 304.14,355.37 elemental made of a single element (water) 53.33 elf-lock a tangled mass of hair 176.23 emanation beam, flash, or ray or light 51.35 embattled fortified 208.40,215.16 emblazonment heraldic device or decoration 37.28,358.18 embossed foaming at the mouth from exhaustion 113.41 embrasure window recess 315.13 embrown darken 30.23 embrue stain 265.43 emergence emergency 133.12 emoluments rewards, remunera­ tions, salaries 95.34 emprize chivalric undertaking 3803 emulous desirous 43.5 endurance duration 13.17 ensure warrant, guarantee 319.35 entertainment treatment, reception 17.41,205.13,238.17; providing for wants of a guest 17.33; meal, banquet 116.22 entertainer host 3.21 etc. entrenchments fortifications 275.30 ephemerides astronomical table or almanac 156.35 equipage furniture, trappings,

579

accoutrements 59.39,89.29 Erin Ireland 6.24 escalade scaling of walls with ladders

19.26 escorcheur, ecorcheur French flayer

24.16,202.43,384.3 esplanade open level space of ground

39.18,385.12 esquire noble attendant on a knight

86.42,93.10 essay try 114.38 estradiots see note to 176.10 etang French (étang) shallow pool 18.6 ethnic pagan, heathen 315.28 evacuation depletion of resources 3.33 evangelical imbued with the spirit of the Chrisian gospel, appropriate to a preacher of the gospel 20.38 event outcome 27.3 etc. ever always, on all occasions 28.28 etc. ewer wide-mouthed jug 53.22, 291.42 exactly to perfection 57.22 exaltation exalted position, elevated rank 331.24 excite set in motion 112.23; sharpen into acute activity 389.13 exception objection 65.17 exculpation vindication 331.41 exercise verb employ, use 56.10, 145.7; drill 102.31; carryout 325.16 exercises noun military drill 87.3 exigence exigency 158.10 exotic plant introduced from abroad 18.5 expectorate spit out 6.12 express express messenger 375.12 exquisite accomplished in a particu­ lar field, consummate, perfect 287.17 extremity an extreme measure 203.10; extravagance 295.32 fable idle talk, byword 366.29 facetious witty, amusing, humorous, gay 164.35,281.28,369.25 facetiously wittily, humorously 369.2 factionaire French (factionnaire) sentry 14.38 fahnlein German (Fähnlein) troop 191.29

580

GLOSSARY

fail miss, not obtain 42.10 fain adjective obliged 147.20,158.34, 305.39; glad 190.36 fain adverb willingly 77.31,170.16,

filed polished, smooth 328.25 fille-de-chambre French lady’s maid 10.31 fire ardent courage, spirit 116.24,

372.33 fair adjective good 8.7. etc.; specious, flattering 162.24,382.35; for 249.4 and 285.20 see notes fair adverb full, straight 167.36 fairly actually, completely 5.34

199.35,300.37 fixedly intently, steadily 41.17,53.7 flagon large wine bottle 61.17,89.20, 165.28,192.14 flask bottle 4.27 etc. flaunting ostentatious 251.39 flayer robber 44.17,44.17; skinner

etc. fairy small graceful woman 240.32 faith allegiance owed to a superior 59.17 etc.; faithfulness 199.42

etc. faitour vagrant pretending to tell fortunes 205.1 falconet light cannon 390.39,392.9 familiar familiar spirit, demon attending on summons 367.43 fantastic extravagant, grotesque 16.16,103.9,296.41; perverse, irrational, unreal 179.6,272.9; capricious, impulsive 267.15; arbitrary 24.1 fantasy whimsical notion 35.35 fascination spell-bound state 134.27 fast firm, firmly tied 204.19 faste French splendour, ostentatious display 17.31 fastness stronghold 232.3 fate death, destruction 76.25 favour appearance 89.28; liking 126.15; something given or worn as a token of favour or allegiance 175.10,175.14,225.34,264.16; for 143.30,171.42,342.36, and 361.41 see notes feal loyal, faithful 144.15 fealty allegiance, feudal obligation 101.21,106.26,350.26; fidelity

312.41 fell terrible 317.8 fetlock see note to 62.35 feudatory holders of feudal estate 23.26,67.6,331.15,367.5 fictitious artificial, imitation 369.41 fief feudal estate 23.17 etc. field heraldry background 363.16 fiery ardent, fierce 28.37 etc. file noun roll 47.16 file verb march in file 391.13, 392.16

24.17 Fleming native of Flanders 51.40

etc. flesh’d bent on destruction, innured to or eager for bloodshed 227.4 flight swift movement 269.30 flight-shot see note to 43.16 floating passed from mouth to mouth 255.30 florin widely-used gold coin first struck in Florence in 1252 65.34 fluster confuse with drink, make slightly intoxicated 286.20 folding-door door made up of two leaves 126.19 foppery foolishness, 209.33; folly, absurdity 225.34 force overpower by force 235.11 forefend forbid 186.17 formidable giving cause for fear 28.29 etc. forth forward 113.2 forward eager, zealous 319.10 forwardness zeal 116.24 fosse moat, defensive ditch 39.6, 39.33,171.15, 227.38 fourier French (fourrier) harbinger, officer sent ahead of royal party to secure lodgings 272.3,313.16 fowler hunter of wild birds 30.12,

397.11 frac tail coat 14.20 frailty moral weakness 111.41, 195.41 frame frame of mind 79.24 framed constructed 107.6 frampold peevish 232.26 fran(c)k(ish) western European 179.40,370.39 free frank, open, unreserved 64.27 freebooter person who goes in search of plunder 223.34 fremit adjective cold, unfriendly 70.36

GLOSSARY fremit noun stranger, somebody not kith and kin 70.36 frenzy mental derangement, folly 27.33,224.23,302.37 fret irritate, annoy 268.20 frock monk’s loose gown 122.33 frog ornamental coat-fastening with spindle-shaped button and loop 154.18 frolic prank 267.17,334.39 front verb face 385.14; confront 395.16 front noun position 393.13 frontless shameless 239.1,319.20 fructifying (making) fruitful 271.1 fugitive ephemeral, occasional 11.42 fulness excess 266.43 furlow leave of absence from duty 61.32 furniture implements, utensils

291.42 gabelle French (salt)tax 310.25 gaberdine loose long upper garment 48.6,372.41 gae Scots go 68.17 gage glove thrown down as a symbol ofchallenge 51.4,106.28,107.1, 108.36 gallant chivalrously brave gentleman, ladies’ man 41.27 etc. gallantly with courteous politeness 205.22,214.40; excellently 93.37; in gorgeous style 178.20 gallantry marked politeness towards women, sexual intrigue or flirtation 24.23 etc. gambade leap or bound of a horse 112.34 game-pouch bag for carrying game

397.11 gang company 75.31,182.18 garce French young girl, bitch, trollop 191.1 gasconading extravagantly boastful 296.19 gate means of entrance 101.39,

142.37,227.3 gather (be) drawn together 140.24, 176.13 gear matter, business 235.6,342.2; for 87.32 see note geb German give 190.40,190.40 geister-seer German (Geisterseher) visionary 191.42

581

generosity nobility of birth or lineage 363.6 generous rich and strong, invigorat­ ing, ample 5.13,5.18,199.13 genius natural character, disposition 27.39,69.38 gentilatre French lesser nobility 399.26 gentle noble 36.26 etc. gently as befits a person of noble birth 164.9,164.13 ghaist Scots ghost 397.24 ghastly death-like, pale, wan 76.42 etc. ghostly spiritual 76.14,217.25, 316.6,322.22 gibbet-irons chains with which ex­ ecuted criminals were hung from projecting arm of an upright post 382.32 giblet-pie pie made of offal 6.22 giddy inconstant, foolish 50.39, 67.14 giddy-pate inconstant or foolish person 262.9 giddy-pated inconstant, foolish

275.35 gillie attendant on a Highland chief 53.29 gin snare, trap 38.19,41.7 girth leather band round horse to secure saddle 196.20 glass telescope 288.25 gloire glory 177.3 good entertaining 102.34 goodly fair, comely 84.8; splendid, excellent 262.13; amply propor­ tioned 323.9 gorget piece of armour for the throat 60.30,166.18,166.19 gossip Mend 31.16 etc.

governance behaviour, conduct of life or business 70.39 grace honour 285.8,366.31; for 369.23 see note gramercy thank you kindly 379.17 grandsire grandfather 300.41; an­ cestor, progenitor 382.9 grate grating 345.25,345.31,345.40 grateful pleasing, agreeable 138.36 gratitude favour, reward 219.21, 219.26 gratulate congratulate 4.10 grave influential, respected 211.43 grave-looking apparently influential

582

GLOSSARY

or respected 71.4 grazier a person who grazes or feeds cattle for market 32.38,33.40 griesly grim, ghastly 237.39,313.17 gripe tight embrace 243.17 groat silver coin worth 5p 234.9 groin’d provided with ribs 121.42 groind-arches arches provided with ribs 13.19 groom serving-man 10.23 guerdon recompense, reward 71.30

etc. guess think, judge, suppose 287.17 guilder gold coin first struck in the 14th-century Low Countries

215.10 etc. guildry guild 229.36,231.8 guinguette French suburban tavern 61.16 gules heraldry red 359.30,363.21, 363.24,364.1 gull deceive 310.3 gyve shackle 179.10 ha’have 276.36,343.39 hab German (haben) have 190.42 halbard, halberd halbert, weapon combining spear and battle-axe 14.42,78.32,232.14,329.18 half-boot boot reaching half-way to the knee 6.39 half-dressed partly prepared and finished 30.15 halidome for 31.43 etc. see note to 31.43 hanap wine-cup 54.34 handsell reward 316.27 hap good fortune 65.19,142.13 harangue speech addressed to an assembly 205.23,357.40 harbinger one sent ahead to purvey lodgings 272.4,284.30 harbour see note to 109.7 hard-favoured having a hard or un­ pleasing appearance 60.13,85.37 harquebuss portable gun (used with tripod in the field) 14.39 etc. haste hasten, move quickly 230.14, 270.36,287.29,328.24 hasty quick-tempered 35.3 etc. hauberk long coat of mail 60.31 hauptman German captain, leader 190.41 headlong rash, madly impetuous

24.31 etc. head thought, intellect 144.30

head-tire head-dress 162.32 heady impetuous, violent 105.14; stupefying 186.27 heated inflamed with rage or passion 145.9 heathenesse heathenism, heathen countries 84.15,90.22 hedge-bill hooked blade for trim­ ming hedges 38.14 help mend, remedy 31.34 hence since 190.32 heraldric heraldic 358.18,359.27 herbourage lodging 49.23 hertzog German (Herzog) duke

190.42 heyday expression of (mock) sur­ prise 268.36 high luxuriously 43.8,300.13 hilarity cheerfulness 174.14,252.17 hire wages 159.2,208.1 hireling serving for wages, mercen­

ary 24.10 hissing object of scorn 184.11 hit successful stroke 380.36 hitherward in this direction 340.4 hock white wine from the Rhine re­ gion 3.21 hogshead large cask 92.1 hold use 172.12,238.9,243.36; for 88.28 and 243.20 see notes hollo, hollow halloo 31.19,31.26, 231.31 homicide murderer 266.37 horde tribe 179.34,187.27,224.31 horse troop ofhorse, horses 5.31 etc. horse-furniture horse-trappings 196.21 horse-girth leather band round horse to secure saddle 370.14 host army 243.27 etc.; for 291.23 see

note housewifery household manage­ ment 251.41 housing horse-covering 175.6 howlet owl, owlet 297.40,338.29 howsoever however 187.3 huddled crowded together without order 70.30 humorous whimsical, peevish 134.26 humour mood, whim, inclination, mental disposition, state of public feeling 3.34 etc. humoursome capricious, peevish 399.31

GLOSSARY hunting-mass short mass said hast­ ily for hunters 37.33 hunting-piece picture representing a hunting scene 364.36 husbandman farmer 270.39 ideal imaginary 296.21 idiomatical see note to 272.42 idle foolish, worthless, leading to no solid result 46.29,71.12,190.5 ilk each 345.19 ill-ravelled badly tangled 338.2 ill-ruled undisciplined 144.19 immunity exemption from taxation 184.6 impayable French priceless 17.20 impeach discredit, disparage 149.20 impolicy bad policy, inexpediency

244.5 impost tax, (customs) duty 184.6, 212.17,266.43 impraticable impassible, inaccess­ ible 38.12 improve increase, intensify, make worse 236.38,237.12,238.5 improver for 9.42 see note to 9.1–5 impugn call into question 139.34 incidental liable to happen (to), naturally attaching (to) 67.39, 95.40 indemnify compensate 374.32 indifferent of no consequence (either way), unimportant 138.13, 198.24,223.31 ; not more advant­ ageous to one person than to an­ other 282.19 indifferently moderately, fairly 280.28 inexorable relentless 266.24 infer imply 7.41 ; involve, bring about 331.34,350.26 influence occult force from the stars affecting humans 58.7,319.2, 320.11; flowing matter 270.38 infortune mishap, ill fortune 156.42 ingenuous noble, frank, open, can­ did 184.30 ingenuously with innocent frank­ ness, guilelessly 356.5 injurious(ly) wrongful(ly), insult­ ing(ly) 104.19 etc. ink-horn small portable vessel for holding writing ink 202.29 insensible incapable of being per­ ceived by the bodily senses 302.41 intelligence spirit 152.33,321.32

583

intelligent knowing 36.4,211.14, 217.26 intercessor mediator 242.14,262.8 interest personal influence 20.39 etc. interested self-seeking 8.8,160.35; involved, concerned 289.7,340.21 interjectional thrown in between other remarks 139.5; ejaculative 165.37 intermeddle meddle or interfere impertinently 75.39,95.43,300.27 intermitted broken off intermittently 7.4 internally mentally 53.9 etc. interpose place oneself (between) 137.33,390.1; introduce by way of interference 335.14 interposition intervention, medi­ ation 7.22, 193.22,195.27 interpretation meaning 185.24 interrogation question 161.33 interrogatory question 277.27 intractable not to be manipulated easily, refractory, stubborn ireful angry 267.2,336.13 iron-clenched made secure with iron 306.4 iron-handed despotic 329.16 iterate state repeatedly 200.24 jabot French frill edging the opening of a man’s shirt-front 16.12 jackman Scots attendant or retainer of a nobleman or landowner 91.3 jazeran French light coat of mail armour 33.36 jealous apprehensive, suspicious 25.40 etc.; careful (in guarding) 28.13,39.14,131.15 jealousy apprehension, suspicion, mistrust 23.12 etc.; zeal, devotion

93.31 jennet small Spanish horse 197.18 jerry-come-tumble tumbler, acro­ bat 165.30 journeyman person hired to work for another 400.37 juggling cheating, deceptive 209.11 justly correctly, accurately 91.32, 278.13 kaisar emperor 315.24 keen-sighted sharp witted 268.14 ken verb Scots know 342.27,342.30, 342.32 ken noun sight 215.26

584

GLOSSARY

kerchiefhandkerchief 167.24 etc. key tone 144.43 kind-like natural 86.25 kindly native-born, of a good natural disposition 83.31 kindness affection 100.15 etc. king-at-arms chiefherald 362.21 knavish impertinent, rascally 277.11 knell toll 389.15 knight-errantry practice of knights wandering in search of adventures

24.25 knit string 239.3 Kurschen-schaft German (Kürschenschaft) furriers’ trade 235.42 Kürschner German (Kürschner) furrier 244.30 lance horse-soldier armed with a lance 62.15 etc.; for 190.35 and 216.12 see note to 190.35 lance-knecht mercenary foot-sol­ dier 48.7 landes French sandy plains 61.9 landsman fellow-countryman 78.25 lanzknecht German for 190.2 etc. see note to 190.2 lard intersperse, interpolate 120.27 largesse call for a gift of money 362.10 latticed furnished with lattice-work windows 121.29 lay arrange 190.29 lay-brother man who has taken reli­ gious vows employed mostly in manual labour 183.32 lea tract of open land especially grass­ land 57.38 leading-staffstaff borne by a com­ manding officer, truncheon 242.9 league five kilometres 108.27 leaguer camp (especially of a be­ siegingarmy) 27.10,191.28, 372.18,388.27; for 110.29 see note lean lay emphasis 145.34 leash set of three 37.10 leech-craft the art of healing, med­ ical science 174.1 legerdemain juggling, tricky 315.40 leviathan huge aquatic animal (usu­ ally a whale), person of formidable

power 340.4 liard French coin of very small value, half-farthing 71.36

libation liquid poured out to be drunk, draught 238.7 liberties privileges, immunities, or rights enjoyed by prescription or grant212.13,212.16 license, licence permission 122.39, 150.29; excessive freedom 238.32, 394.43; dissolute practices 25.22; disregard of propriety 238.11 lieutenant trusty assistant, officer acting for a superior 232.6 etc. lightness unsteadiness 296.29 like adjective likely 35.19 etc. like verb please 314.29,317.33, 330.28 liking pleasure 253.27; taste 399.12 linstock staff bearing lighted match

277.15 lire see note to 369.25 list please 122.17 etc. litter framework supporting couch

90.32 etc. livery servant in livery 273.22 living possessions 220.22,266.13 load-star star serving as a guide for navigation (especially the pole­ star); person or object on which one’s hopes are fixed 206.7 loadstone piece of naturally magnet­ ised stone used as a magnet 48.39 lofty proud 51.25,91.41,103.16 long-bow hand-drawn bow dischar­ ginga long feathered arrow 121.7 loom implement 171.32 loon worthless person 86.23 loop winding of a river in its valley 82.14 looped-up with brims held up by a loop or cord or braid 302.3 lordly haughty, imperious 330.32, 352.42 lovely suitable to attract love 163.38 love-passage amorous interchange

354.24 lucky-hood caul 341.9 (see note) lurdane sluggard 312.7 Lust-haus German pleasure-house, summerhouse 386.9,390.38, 392.7,392.10 macerate cause the body to wear away especially by fasting 153.6 magnificent munificent 158.31, 204.15; great as an achievement

34.21 magnanimity lofty courage, forti­

GLOSSARY tude 363.15 magus member of an ancient Persian priestly caste 324.9 maigre French not containing meat 16.29; for 12.40 see note main sheer 26.4 maintain defend 103.26 etc.; pay for, fund 163.19 maistery mastery, superiority 3O5.24 make form of body, build 94.33 malapert presumptuous, impudent, saucy 102.7,239.3,347.28 manage submit to one’s will 176.5, 190.20; wield, make use of a weapon 150.10 mandarin see note to 121.21 mantled concealed, obscured 57.5 manufactory factory, work-shop 214.9 marches border territories 266.37 marechaussée French (maréchaussée) mounted constabulary 182.21 mark target 381.17 market-penny a perquisite made by one who buys for another 371.23 marriage married 247.34 marry to be sure 101.27,232.23; simply 280.33 marshal-man, marshalls-man, marshal’s-man man of the royal household 78.39 etc. marshall rank or arrange in order 304.18,392.27; conduct, guide 318.30,350.1,383.23 masquerade go about in disguise 392.41 mass bewildering abundance 389.13 master possess 124.9 masterful overbearing, imperious 101.25 mast-husks pig-food 371.37 match verb encounter as an adversary, prove a match for 117.30 etc. match noun prepared cord for firing explosive 351.28 mate match 242.31,305.22 matelot dish of fish served in a sauce of wine, onions, etc. 16.30 measure duration 321.39 mechanic artisan, person oflow status 51.43 mechanical (involving) working at a trade, low in social status 34.9, 53.26,70.23

585

meet fitting, appropriate 107.43 meikle Scots much 341.8 mein German my 190.41,191.4 Meinherr, Meinheer German sir, Mr 190.13 etc. Meister German Master 232.30 melée hand-to-hand fight, skirmish, combat 59.38 etc. mell engage in combat 390.26 memorial record, memoir 21.22; memorandum, statement of facts 104.2; reminder 397.20 mend improve, get better 46.32 messires French my lords 272.4 etc. metairie French (métairie) small­ holding, farm 75.31 metal the stuff of which a person is made 107.4,107.6 mettle spirit, courage 166.40, 181.38; for 381.22 see note methinks it seems to me 49.19 etc. mew see note to 136.23 mien appearance 14.42 etc. mind remind 62.18 minion hussy 355.15,378.8 mint see note to 344.34 misbecome be unfitting for 362.8 miscreant adjective heretic, infidel 195.18 miscreant noun villain 259.9 moderator mediator, arbitrator 283.9 modicum moderate portion 4.27 monitor adviser 400.5 monseigneur French honorific title 10.24 etc. moon-glimpse momentary shining of the moon 160.40 morion helmet without beaver or visor 171.30,174.12,212.28 mortal long and tedious 392.4 mortdieu, mort Dieu French oath confound it! 31.27,331.10 motions activities, conduct, move­ ments 68.12 etc. motley multicoloured costume of a professional jester 307.40 mountebank itinerant quack, char­ latan 71.33,223.37,319.36 moustachios moustache 61.4, 282.14,282.34 mumble chew or bite softly with toothless gums 318.13 murrain infectious disease of live­ stock 361.18; plague 79.39 (see

586

GLOSSARY

note), 398.39 muster pattern 351.9 muster-roll offical list of officers and men 119.35 muttering complaining 283.6 mystery hidden or secret matter 143.18 etc.; art, craft 165.10, 315.28,369.16; trade guild or company 213.15 nailer, nailor nail-maker 213.17, 358.31 nearly close(ly) 41.43 etc.; close-up, with close scrutiny 19.43; particu­ larly, in a special degree or manner 126.11 neat-herd cowherd 378.19 necessity circumstances 102.3 etc. necromancer wizard, magician 311.2,316.3,323.13 nether lower 339.31 niceness delicate sensitivity, fastidi­ ousness 155.40 nicety fastidiousness, reserve, delic­ acy 268.20 night-gown dressing-gown 324.20 night-quarter night lodging 197.28, 256.32 noblesse nobility 14.12 noise report, rumour 233.11 non-descript not easily described or classified 153.36 noon afternoon 123.7 noway, noways not at all, by no means 113.8,266.20 nurture training, education 219.16 obligation service or debt for which gratitude is due 18.14,44.35, 51.31,280.22 obnoxious liable, subject, exposed 166.6 obscure low, mean 26.13 obscured fallen into obscurity 246.30 occasion (personal) need 158.24, 224.32,247.8; circumstances 283.39 odd forming part of an incomplete set 21.5 offence impropriety 122.20 offices parts of a house, or attached buildings, used for household work or storage 45.2 off-scourings refuse, rubbish 84.15 on’t of it 82.15,169.37,270.29, 287.16

open unwalled, unenclosed 24.14 openly in public 106.23,377.43 opine think, suppose 3.5 or French gold 106.35 etc.; heraldry gold or yellow 364.11 order verb govern, give orders to, arrange 102.29 etc.; ordain, decree 291.15 order noun insignia of an order 103.11,283.23,379.1; profession 110.20 orderly well-behaved 267.17,267.24 ordinary noun public eating-house, tavern providing meals 7.27 ordinary adjective regular, usual 24.3 etc.; coarse 238.28 ordonance artillery 66.4 (see note) oriel large recess with window 315.8 orison prayer 116.19,147.40 ounce lynx 72.34,363.41 out expression of reproach 167.13 out-fall sally or sortie from fortified place 372.17 outface outdo 305.2 outrageous furious 378.6 ovation procession of acclamation 213.22 over-dispatch excessive promptit­ ude 314.34 overcharged overloaded 359.24 overgrown abnormally large, having grown too much 28.18,28.42, 154.14,305.9 overpay do more than compensate for 124.27,280.22 owl stupid person 338.29,362.14 Oxonian (being) a member of Oxford University 15.17 pacha Turkish officer of high rank 153.20 packet parcel of letters or despatches 265.22,299.8 pack-saddle saddle adapted for sup­ porting pack(s) 298.17 painted ornamented with designs executed in colour 361.18,365.39 paladin, Paladin outstanding knight (originally one of twelve at Charle­ magne’s court), champion 35.5, 269.9,287.3 pale noun stake 39.38; area of juris­ diction or protection, bounds 84.14,367.31; for 383.6 see note pale adverb fearfully 107.32 palm prize 381.11; for 77.23 see note

GLOSSARY palmer pilgrim 242.13 palter equivocate, play fast and loose 356.27 pandarly given to assisting evil de­ signs 304.14 panoply complete suit of armour 103.28,168.28 pantaloons see note to 6.40 papinjay parrot 120.31 Paques-dieu, Pasques-Dieu, Pasques dieu French oath, literally God’s Easter 34.5 etc. parabolically figuratively 362.41 pard leopard 59.3 park land used for keeping deer 29.26 etc. parterre level space with ornament­ ally arranged flower-beds 8.38, 217.18 particulars noun small matters, de­ tails, minutiae 11.7 etc. particular adjective peculiar, singular 210.41,248.7; detailed, minute 400.8 parting-cup see note to 91.38 partizan long-handled spear 93.13, 102.15,329.18,348.35 passage event, occurrence 268.19, 372.8; proceeding 334.41; inter­ change of words or actions 279.34; for 163.11,164.6,164.10, and 175.26 see note to 163.11 pathetic full of pathos, passionate 51.1 etc. patient person subject to someone’s care or correction 313.39 patron patron saint 49.18 etc. paysage French countryside 17.13 paysanne French peasant girl 10.19 peck-loafloafmade from a peck (measure) of flour 4.11 pelisse long fur-lined mantle or cloak 6.6 penates household gods 153.35 pennon flag, banner (especially long triangular or swallow-tailed vari­ ety) 259.5,259.10,381.13 pension payment, regular or re­ peated payment 5.39,158.8 pepper-box pepper-pot, small cylin­ drical turret 43.10 peremptory admitting no refusal, imperative, incontrovertible 127.20,202.32,381.9; stubborn, obstinate, self-willed 382.11

587

performance ceremony 203.26 person sustained or assumed charac­ ter 131.25 petard small bomb 352.16 philosopher person versed in the occult 152.37 etc. physick treat with medicine (espe­ cially purgatives) 330.5 piece gun 126.32,128.42,141.32 pile lofty mass ofbuildings 39.3, 208.38 pillour robber, plunderer 43.26 pinch crisis, emergency, extremity 116.40,300.43,330.18 pique pride 11.9,150.10 pirn spool of thread etc. 86.17 pitch fix 336.4; for 85.39 see note pit-fall, pitfail concealed pit inten­ ded as booby-trap 38.15 etc. pith essence 13.33 planet-struck stricken with sudden amazement 169.40 pleached formed by interlacing of boughs and twigs 208.36,214.32 pleasure-house summer house 386.18,391.42 plebeian noun commoner, person of low birth 54.18 plebeian adjective made up of per­ sons of low birth 147.18,266.31, belonging to persons of low birth 162.30 pledge verb toast, drink the health of someone 53.32,127.43 pledge noun toast 88.39,89.8; surety, hostage 63.43,331.6; security as guarantee of good faith 200.1 plenitude fullness, perfection 319.27 plenty plentiful, abundant 45.4, 168.12 plexitium Latin woodlands enclosed for game-hunting 29.27 plight pledged 340.11 plurality more than one job held at the same time 77.4 point tagged lace or cord fastening hose to jacket 189.38 pointed precise 123.5 police public order 74.3 5 policy political science, political sagacity or diplomacy, cunning 25.38 etc. politic political, characterised by

588

GLOSSARY

diplomacy, cunning, shrewd 47.26 etc. polk regiment of Cossacks 6.7 poll rob, plunder 144.34 poniard noun and verb (stab or kill with a) dagger 60.36 etc. poortith Scots poverty 253.30 porker pig raised for food 242.30 portal stately or principal entrance 40.30 etc. portal-tower entrance-tower 161.14 portentous monstrous 265.42 portentously extraordinarily 25.29 post position, place, station 41.9 etc. postem(-door) back or private door 209.1 etc. postillion servant riding a horse 206.17 potage French soup, especially thick (vegetable) soup 16.34,218.15 potager kitchen garden 18.6 potential powerful 313.22 pouch bag 30.11 etc. pow Scots head 397.25 power ruler, powerful person 54.22, 247.35; fighting force, army 250.14 practice (underhand) dealing, in­ trigue, stratagem 104.30,114.39, 307.23,338.38 prate chatter 45.17 predicament category 104.8 predicate affirm, assert 267.25 prefer proffer, present, offer 75.22, 221.7 premier-valet see note to 126.35 premise state before something else 355.40 presage omen 306.9 presaging giving augury 157.8 present verb place in a particular dir­ ection or position 115.38,393.5 presently immediately, without delay, soon, shortly 21.31 etc.; at present 195.4 presentment representation 23.7; appearance 123.43 press noun printing industry 12.1; large book-cupboard 20.22; crowd 211.28; urge on 258.36 press verb assail 190.25,391.41 pretend presume, claim 83.27, 370.40; (lay) claim 174.1 etc. pretend see note to 147.20 pretender (baseless) claimant 143.21

pretension aspiration 135.10, 377.31 ; (assertion of a) claim 225.8 etc. pretty brave, gallant, excellent 3.10, 42.16,272.32; proper 315.28 prevenance French (prévenance) thoughtfulness, consideration, kindness 18.19 prevent anticipate 139.22 pricker mounted attendant at a hunt 93.20,109.6,113.37 prime, Primes noun the (hour of the) first service of the day (at 6 a.m. or sunrise) 92.33,219.24, 221.10 prime adjective of primary import­ ance 218.14, 335.12 prithee pray thee 291.19,308.14 privy private, concealed 121.16 privily secretly 183.35 prizer contestant 378.40 probable plausible 27.38 projector person who forecasts 138.41 promenade walk taken in a formal manner 15.8 proofarmour of established strength 168.15 proper individual 10.40,79.31, 195.29; excellent, fine, handsome 31.33,42.35,147.13; heraldry rep­ resented in natural colours rather than conventional tinctures 366.17 proprietor land-owner 3.24,20.31 prosecute deal with in detail 353.28 provost provost-marshal, head of military police 75.36 etc. provostry area of jurisdiction of a provost 165.18,166.13 psalmody practice of singing psalms and hymns 63.25 pudden-headed stupid 65.22 puissant powerful 106.17 punctilio delicate point of honour, trifling point 108.8 punctual precise observation of rule or obligation 195.1 purchase acquire by suffering 230.33 purpose verb plan, design, intend 75.14 etc. purpose noun intention 15.31 etc. purse-proud puffed up on account of one’s wealth 7.15 pursuivant junior heraldic officer

GLOSSARY 101.3,359.12,362.26 put impose 332.25 quack-salving charlatanical 309.42 qualified fit, competent 261.28 quality (high) rank or social position 33.26 etc. quarrie animal taken by hunters 117.18 quip sarcastic remark 277.11 ragout highly seasoned dish of meat cut into small pieces and stewed with vegetables 45.38,46.13 raise stir up for defence 193.27, 265.14; conjure up 46.43 rake-helly fashionable and dissolute 251.43 ranting boisterous, roistering, merry 6.23 rantingly in a hilarious, excited, or roistering manner 68.16 rapine plunder, pillage 24.3,24.16, 185.10,241.39 rare excellent, splendid 3.39,61.22, 218.15,304.14 rarely splendidly, excellently 32.39, 147.10; exceptionally 338.22 rascal belonging to the rabble 147.20 raw-boned excessively lean or gaunt 213.14 rebec three-stringed bowed instru­ ment resembling a violin 77.42 reckon depend 6.16 etc. reckoning bill 44.21 recover restore 73.23,73.26; revive 75.40,140.11 reduce compel to surrender 128.29 refection refreshment, meal(s) 123.5,183.37 regale feast, choice item of food 45.25 regular recognised as formally cor­ rect 77.3; formal, properly consti­ tuted 326.38 regularly in a proper or formally cor­ rect manner 37.8,64.20 regulate control, govern 102.26, 102.33,113.4,278.10; adapt to cir­ cumstances 212.25 regulation control 121.4 rehearse repeat so as to memorise 314.41 rein control 100.2,301.20; for 66.2, 347.32,358.11, and 375.40 see notes relax discharge from penalty 146.1

589

remark observe, take notice of 29.36 etc. remarkable conspicuous 72.14 etc. rencontre chance meeting 114.35 rencounter hostile encounter 181.29 repair verb go 235.16,318.8 repair noun frequent coming or going 67.5 representation statement designed to influence action 314.3 reproach shame, disgrace 84.11, 184.11 repute reputation 7.43 requite avenge (an injury), repay 18527,395.37 resemblance comparison, likeness, image 118.29,386.6 resent avenge 244.4 reserve store, stock 54.19 resolute a resolute or determined person 28.39 resort verb proceed, go 68.8,329.6 resort noun frequenting 218.27 respect take into account 145.22 rest device attached to breastplate to support butt-end of lance or spear when charging 123.40,139.35, 216.30,259.28 retaliate repay in kind, requite 28.19,68.26,104.6 revenue source of income 257.42 reverence bow, curtsey 34.1 etc. reverend deeply respectful 30.39, 155.18,232.3; worthy of respect 211.42 reverently with profound respect 161.32,203.42,250.1 reverie day-dream, musing 15.4 etc. review formal inspection ofmilitary or naval forces 113.23 Rhein-wein German (Rheinwein) wine from the Rhine region 163.43, 199.3 Rhenish wine from Rhine region 211.31,211.35 rhingrave count with land bordering the Rhine 163.25,163.42 riband, ribband ribbon 14.26, 189.38,225.34 richly-hilted with an ornate handle 85.43 ridicule absurdity 113.7 rifacciamento Italian repair, res­ toration 20.16 right proper, suitable 87.1,247.35

590

GLOSSARY

roaring full of din and noise 222.9, 236.36 roll swagger 77.6; rotate 166.15 romantic fantastic, extravagant 142.33 romaunt romance 65.10,90.18, 206.28 rood cross 364.40 room opportunity to do something 221.25; space 346.10; occasion 347.34 root-house either barn for storing roots or ornamental building made chiefly of tree-roots 14.8 round adjective quick, brisk 36.5, 83.11,209.35 round verb whisper 388.1 round-about plump 246.43 roundly plainly, frankly, without qualification 211.40,247.7, 344.28; briskly, promptly, unsparingly 395.8 rouse, rouze noun drinking-bout, glassful 84.38, 91.36,276.15 rouse verb cause game to leave cover or lair 364.39,376.29 route fashionable gathering or assembly 5.35; disorderly rabble 147.20 routier French old hand 50.23,343.5 rude unrefined, primitive, rough, un­ couth 24.21 etc. rudeness harshness 155.43; lack of refinement 199.29; roughness of workmanship 306.2 ruffian villainous 30.37,265.34 ruffle noun1 skirmish 86.16 ruffle noun2 annoyance 102.6 ruffle verb see note to 132.21 runagate vagabond 368.2 runlet cask, caskful 84.37 runner good racing horse 119.13 rustic unrefined, without good breeding 116.30; simple, unsoph­ isticated 129.4 sable heraldry black 363.25 sables fur of Siberian marten 154.18 sacerdotal priestly 37.16,240.38 sack general name for a class of white wines from Spain and the Canaries 34.31 sack-posset see note to 400.20 saddle-bow the arched front part of a saddle 167.23

saddle-girth leather band round horse to secure saddle 62.42 sae Scots so 68.16,68.16,68.17 safeguard, safe-guard protection 105.1,146.33,162.17,301.14 saint-bleu French oath confound it! 298.9 saker small cannon 390.39,392.9 saloon drawing-room, reception room 19.32 salute verb greet 61.1,298.35 salute noun kiss 204.3,204.41 sanglier French boar 48.10 etc. sanguine ruddy 156.30 santon Moslem hermit or holy man 154.15 sapient wise 379.37 sapperment German oath (variant of ‘Sakrament’) 212.2 satellite follower 241.27,323.3 saw proverb, saying 31.35 scant-of-wind causing shortness of breath 165.15 scarcity inadequacy, meanness 349.25 scathe harm 86.26 schakos German shako, cylindrical military hat with peak and plume or pompon 6.41 schedule classified statement arranged under headings 103.41 schelm villain, rascal 34.37,231.3 schoolman scholar 314.11 schoppen German assessors 213.9 schwarzbier German (Schwarzbier) dark beer, brown ale 238.22 Schwarz-reiter German (Schwarz­ reiter) for 258.19 etc. see 258.19–28 score chalked record of liquor con­ sumed on credit 361.20 scrupulous see note to 320.43 scutcheon armorial device, hatch­ ment 44.43,48.8 search examine 99.38,182.22 second repeat 168.18; confirm 252.20; for 364.1 see note sedulous(ly) deliberately and con­ sciously continued 6.38; persist­ en(ly), diligent(ly), assiduous(ly), attentive(ly) 182.38,241.1,249.42 segar cigar 6.30,7.4,8.11 seigneur lord of the manor 12.19, 273.39 seignior respectful form of address,

GLOSSARY sir 75.42 etc. seignorie feudal lordship 147.5 self-confiding self-confident 152.24 self-opinion self-esteem 246.29 seneschal steward 193.30 etc. sententious pompously formal 7.9 sequestrate confiscate 355.8 sequestred secluded 9.42 service manner of serving in warfare 342.24 settle long wooden bench, usually with arms and high back, with stor­ age under seat 121.19,138.18 shadow trace 336.27 shambles slaughterhouse 181.14, 213.11,242.22,311.33 shame outrival 222.19 shamoy chamois 159.30 sharply eagerly, vigorously 388.11 sheafsheave, pulley 316.16 sheep’s-head simpleton 310.3 sheerly completely, thoroughly 38.13 shool Scots shovel 341.14 short adjective inadequate 91.28 short adverb angrily 172.21 shot-hole small hole in a fortified wall for shooting through 40.5, 305.42 shroud hide 207.31 Sieur respectful title for a French­ man 97.20 etc. sign make a sign by moving the hand 53.13,110.6 simple innocent, foolish 65.6 etc. simplicity foolishness 86.14, 150.18; lack ofsophistication 196.36,387.41 simulate pretended, feigned 195.30 simulation false pretence 279.5 single separate 164.30 sirrah contemptuous sir 148.12 etc. skill matter 149.34 skinner person who prepares skins for sale 234.16,235.42 slight trifling, lacking substance 11.19,11.40; thin, flimsy 222.30; small 183.37; slighting, contemp­ tuous, disdainful 263.17; weak 309.30 slightly carelessly 104.2,117.3; lightly 224.19; in a slight or small degree, with little respect or cere­ mony 276.5 slouched see note to 164.33

591

slow-match slowly-burning cord for firing gun 122.6 small-beer weak or inferior beer 4.26,5.13 smart suffer severely 357.25 smock-faced effeminate-looking 225.21 snab probably snabbling, plundering 190.43 snapper person who snaps up or seizes a thing quickly 289.41 sociality social companionship with one’s fellows 89.14 society persons with whom one may have companionship 138.8 solitaire loose necktie of black silk or broad ribbon 16.12 something somewhat 10.36 etc. son representative 199.22 sorry either painful, grievous or vile, worthless 62.7 sou (French coin worth) 5 centimes or 1 p 4.31,20.40 souchong fine black China tea 400.7 sound adjective good and strong 5.18; for 286.37 see note sound verb examine or question indir­ ectly 181.27,293.23 sounder boar in its first or second year 115.17 spark foppish young man 190.23 speaking-trumpet trumpet-like loudspeaker 330.31 spear-running jousting with spears 163.21 spell scan intensely 155.16 spinage spinach 16.38 sport trifle, dally 99.37,148.13 sports pastimes, especially fieldsports 67.7 spreagh see note to 84.33 spring noun Scots lively dance-tune 68.18 spring verb gallop 114.2; detonate 372.28 springaid youth 34.6 springing explosion 352.15 squander scatter or disperse in vari­ ous directions 229.37 square correspond, harmonise, be consistent (with) 155.30,157.10; regulate 156.11 Stadthaus, Stadt-house German town hall 213.3, 213.29, 214.22 stagger unsettle, shake in purpose,

592

GLOSSARY

bewilder 227.39,241.12,299.30 stand act as 199.12; withstand, en­ dure 236.10 startle put off, offend, shock 21.30, 156.5,244.2 state ‘solemn pomp, appearance of greatness’ (Dr Johnson) 56.12 etc. station office, employment 63.30, 68.38; holy place to be visited by pilgrims 195.1 statist politician, statesman 329.33 statuary maker of statues, sculptor 273.33 staunch hunting dog able to be relied on to find or follow the scent or to mark the game 115.20 steady steadily 52.25 stem severe, harsh, grim 40.40, 138.26; resolute in battle, bold 196.30 stick kill with a sharp instrument 198.6,198.12,262.16 stithe sty 371.37 stiver coin of small value 370.24 storm storming 353.29 stoup small cask, flagon measure 87.18 stout having body or density 121.17 stoutly firmly, decidedly 342.40 stove sitting-room heated with a fur­ nace 317.18 straick Scots see note to 5.12 straight tight-fitting 245.34 strain pull forcibly 336.1 strange foreign 70.39 stranger foreign(er) 32.27 etc. strength power of contending in war­ fare 23.28,93.42; fortress 161.21 strengthen encourage 256.13 strict holding a rigorous and austere standard of living 61.39 strike coin 331.15; send 372.21; fight 379.6; for 395.19 see note study verb devise, expend thought in preparing 218.26; attempt 229.31 study noun aim, concern, solicitous endeavour 307.34 subaltern subordinate 368.27 subdue control 223.13,360.4 subjoin add at the end of a spoken statement 198.11,308.24 subordinate secondary 185.35 substantial prosperous, of social standing 32.36; essential 131.15; real 335.35

substantial-looking having the appearance of prosperity and social standing 210.25 succumb give way to superior force or authority 173.23 sudden swift in action 266.2,303.18 suddenly quickly 177.27 suddenness swiftness 168.27 suffer tolerate 128.19,378.14 sufferer one who suffers death 77.1, 267.5 sufficient substantial 369.1 suggestion evil prompting 106.25 suite retinue 10.41,98.42,270.6 sullied soiled, with its colour dulled 176.8 sumpter carrying baggage 160.12, 282.31 superannuated old and infirm 217.32 superincumbent lying on top 231.22 superior noun head ofa religious community 183.17,187.6 superior adjective celestial 152.32 suppliant humble petitioner 200.26, 242.18 supplication written or formal peti­ tion 185.16 support noun maintenance 7.40, 377.12 support verb put up with, tolerate, en­ dure 353.14 supreme deriving from superior authority 267.28 surcoat loose robe worn over armour 6o.33,237.5, 383.5 surmount rise above 39.27 surprisal assault 242.36, capture by a sudden attack 264.31 suspicious deserving of suspicion 180.10 sustain bear 30.11,30.14; undergo 189.28 suzerain feudal overlord 151.20 etc. sway swing 167.34,228.11,392.1 syllogism a specious reasoning 220.15 sylvan associated with the woods, rustic 37.31,189.7,295.19 syndic magistrate entrusted with civil affairs 53.9 etc. syren tempting or alluring thing 92.33; person singing sweetly 123.37 tabard herald’s jerkin embroidered

GLOSSARY with sovereign’s arms 359.20 etc. tabatiere French snuffbox 12.35 table-diamond, table diamond diamond cut with a large flat upper surface 219.28,223.5 tabouret low backless seat or stool for one person 14.9 talismanic having magic powers, acting as a charm 72.31 tamper see note to 367.29 tan-pit pit containing the liquor in which hides are placed in taning 214.9 tarry wait for, stay for 248.22 tasker piece-worker especially a thresher 62.3 taste relish 216.8 tauridor toreador, bull-fighter 292.11 tell count 207.15; for 251.9 see note temper calmness, equanimity 108.16; mental balance, habitual disposition 28.38 etc. temporize procrastinate, comply temporarily with the requirements of a particular situation, negotiate 27.9,29.1,213.1 tender verb regard, care for, value 102.5 tender adjective careful of the welfare 328.31 terrestrial earthly, worldly, mun­ dane 154.26,218.5 teste-Saint-Gris French oath God’s head! 355.16 (see note to 167.42) téte-bleu French oath (tête-bleu) see note to 34.32 tete-dieu, teste-dieu French (têtedieu) zounds! death! 289.11, 298.14 Teufel German devil 190.21 (see note), 190.41 thitherward in that direction 99.31 thrall slavery, captivity 253.31 thrice-sodden trebly stupid 310.3 tickle catch 339.41 tiffpoor, weak, or diluted liquor 6.29 tiffany thin transparent silk or gauze 189.37 tiger-cat one of a number of animals resembling the tiger 363.41 tight excellent, capable, smart, lively 229.36,369.22 tilting charging on horseback against

593

an opponent 90.24 tippet stole, jocular hangman’s noose 81.8 tirade declamation 253.32 tire-woman lady’s maid 134.9 tocque hat with full pouched crown and narrow closely turned-up brim 83.28 toils net(s), trap 314.19 toledo sword with finely-tempered blade (especially one made at Toledo) 153.32 to-name nickname 42.32 tondeur French shearer 24.16 tone disposition, mood 8.2; spirit 281.29,281.30 tonsor barber 96.42,119.37,141.43, 147.30 touch relate to, have bearing on, con­ cern 83.26,332.22,334.4 tourney tournament 163.38,378.38, 381.11 tower fortress, stronghold 92.34 town-house town-hall 281.36 town-souter Scots town tailor 343.8 tete-bottée French booted head 334.20 trace decipher 206.32 traffic trade 34.8,55.12,104.33 trafficker trader 69.3 train noun procession 203.27 train verb lead, induce by enticement, decoy 311.30,314.3 trap trap-door 126.18 transfix pierce through 116.12 transport vehement fit 251.6, 298.30,325.27 traverse dodge, move from side to side 168.27 treble high-pitched, shrill 226.9 trench noun facial cut or scar 90.20 trench verb encroach 329.1 trencher plate 51.16 tressure heraldry narrow band around coat-of-arms 363.21 trick custom 321.41 trim outfit, dress 328.18 tropes figurative language 330.35 troth truth 83.34 etc. troubadour wandering minstrel 57.24 true proper 55.26; keen, sharp 231.8 trumpet trumpeter 101.3 trunk-hose full bag-like breeches (sometimes padded) worn over

594

GLOSSARY

tights 214.34 tug stretch 234.17,251.27 tumultuary turbulent 383.31 tumultuous(ly) turbulent(ly) 190.7 etc. turband French turban 83.28 turmoiled agitated 68.11 turn act of goodwill, service 117.25; trick 209.10; character, quality 307.38 turned naturally suited 110.13 tush expression ofimpatience, scorn, or disgust 116.32 etc. twice-told twice as much 343.10 two-handed wielded with both hands 60.38,67.41,396.16 unbidden uninivited 270.24 unclose open 160.25 unequal variable, uneven 40.37 etc. ungentle discourteous, unchivalrous 118.21 ungraceful unattractive 256.16 ungracious discourteous, unpleas­ ant 89.32,220.6; unmannerly, lacking in courtesy 375.24 ungrateful unpleasant, distasteful 354.30 unhappy disastrous 47.42 etc.; illfated 76.17 etc. unharboured dislodged from shelter 112.2 unhelm remove someone’s helmet 167.37 unhesitating unscrupulous 156.7 unimproved not taken advantage of, neglected 332.12 unkindly without natural affection 101.25; hostile 200.38 unkindness hostility, ill will 84.41, 165.13,165.28,243.11; lack of natural affection, cruelty 257.15 unnoble ignoble 256.20 unregulated not in accordance with proper standards 67.11 unrepugnant unresisting 203.7 unrespective inattentive 109.14 unroofed stripped of its roof 77.32 untimeous unseasonable, untimely 183.16 unwonted unusual, infrequent 103.25 uphold sustain by aid or assistance 184.40 uplifted rendered proud 184.3 upper superior in authority 52.36 uproar insurrection 216.37,336.32

urge strain, put excessive pressure on 35.33; present earnestly 375.16 urgency urgent need or situation 80.14 urgent strongly presented 156.19 Ursuline see note to 344.41 use custom 87.15; useful purposes 210.12 valet footman acting as attendant or servant to a horseman 59.36,60.3, 190.20 valet-de-chambre French valet, gen­ tleman’s personal attendant 10.41 valetudinary valetudinarian, person constantly concerned about their health 3.35 vassal feudal subordinate 23.26 etc. vein humour, mood 364.40 venerie hunting 115.23 venture danger 312.10 venturous daring, willing to take risks 251.40,388.17 vernât for 55.43 and 56.8 see note to 55.43 vest gown 134.13,323.26 vicinage neighbourhood 9.35 vine-dresser one engaged in prun­ ing, training, and cultivation of vines 8.39,71.23 virgin see note to 154.19 virtue power 367.2 vista long narrow opening created in a wood to disclose a view 36.15 vivat hurrah (for) 214.14,229.1 votaress woman devoted to a reli­ gious life 184.31,379.43 vraisemblance verisimilitude 14.17 vulgar calculated according to com­ mon practice 20.41 vulnerary useful in healing wounds 174.17 wade move through clouds or mists 161.9 wage pay 65.13 wain wagon 71.37,210.9 wait await, wait for 224.25 etc. waiter salver, small tray 19.30 wake bring into being 123.16 wakeful vigilant 189.12 walk beat 122.16,122.34,123.14 want lack 136.15,147.18 wanton sport, move gaily 373.32 wantonly light-heartedly, frolic­ somely 68.16 ward lookout 124.4,303.17

GLOSSARY warm amorous, indelicate 139.11; heated, angry 283.25 warrant assurance 204.38,367.7 warranted guaranteed security 107.2 warranty assurance 67.3 wassail riotous festivity, spiced ale 226.37 waste adjective devastated, ruinous 19.33,306.29; barren 161.25 waste noun wild and desolate region 271.10 waste verb consume, exhaust 336.20 weal welfare, well-being 27.12 etc. wear possess and enjoy as one’s own 379.15 (see note) weel Scots well 86.39 weigh value, care for 335.33 wein-kellar German (Weinkeller) wine-cellar 190.43 welkin firmament 225.38 well-favoured good-looking93.9 whacking abnormally large 5.29 whilly-whaw Scots talk as lovers, ex­ change sweet nothings 345.19 whimsy whim, freakish idea 377.37 whomever whomsoever 325.34 wicket(-door) side-door, small door 84.43 etc. wight adjective valiant 341.15,395.33 wight noun person, creature 113.24 wild uncontrolled 262.2,318.24; disordered, confused 18.29; im­ petuous, enthusiastic 69.32; for 233.7 see note

595

wind blow 116.42 wine-pot large wine bottle 87.36 withie willow noose 81.43 without outside 5.7 etc.; unless 264.40 wood-craft, woodcraft skill in for­ est matters especially hunting 36.26 etc. wood-knife huntsman’s dagger or shortknife 38.31,117.17 woodsman huntsman 72.35 word-mongering dealing in empty words 309.42 world-contemning scorning or re­ jecting the secular world 99.21 worship honour 84.5,152.14, 220.6 worthy of note or standing 198.1, 362.29,362.36 wot know 3.9,35.17,308.16 wraith spectral appearance 392.29, 39.31 wreathed formed by altering the fea­ tures into a smile 214.29 wrong injury, harm, mischief 103.42 etc. wry twisted, crooked 174.35 yard-dog watchdog kept in a house­ yard 4.38 yield give as due or right 51.31, 176.42,243.21,332.32 yon yonder person 392.28 zingaro gipsy 177.38etc. Zucht-haus German prison 378.9