Quentin Durward

“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 he carefully pricked off; and see that none of them be more or less partakers of your debauch.”

“Your Lordship shall be lawfully 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 of making their mess together.

A soldier’s festival is generally a very extempore 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 of Vernoil and Beauge [in both these battles the Scottish auxiliaries of France, under Stewart, Earl of Buchan, were distinguished… S.].”

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.

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 fatherland. 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 plains of Touraine seemed converted into the mountainous and sterile regions of Caledonia.

When their enthusiasm was at high flood, and each was endeavouring to say something to enhance the dear remembrance of Scotland, it received a new impulse from the arrival of Lord Crawford, who, as Le Balafre had well prophesied, sat as it were on thorns at the royal board, until an opportunity occurred of making 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 (as we should now say, the privates) being all ranked as noble by birth, their captain sat with them at the same table without impropriety, 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 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 winecup 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 well be 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 of throats, he has joined me in obtaining from the King an order, commanding the Provost to suspend all proceedings, under whatever 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 Crawford, the brave conservator of the privileges and rights of his 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 degenerate 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 of Burgundy 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 as 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 ye not know there is an envoy come from Duke Charles of Burgundy, 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 Mulberry Grove. 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 complains of?”

“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, Campobasso.”

“And hath she actually come hither alone, my lord?” said Lindesay.

“Nay, not altogether alone, but with the old Countess, her kinswoman, who hath yielded to her cousin’s wishes in this matter.”

“And will the King,” said Cunningham, “he being the Duke’s 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 daughters, the Lady of Beaujeu, or the Princess Joan, so, doubtless, he will be guided by circumstances. He is our Master – but it is no treason to say, he will 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 likely to make work between them.”

“Well – Saint Andrew further the fray!” said Le Balafre. “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 thy visage!” said Guthrie.

“As well not love at all, as love a Bohemian woman of Heathenesse,” retorted Le Balafre.

“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 Scottish lord, or I would put in my own claim, fourscore years and all, or not very far from it. But here is her health, nevertheless, for they say she is a lamp of beauty.”

“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 naught of what he sees. Besides,” he added after a pause, his own curiosity prevailing over the show of discipline which he had thought it necessary to exert, “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 Mulberry Grove yonder – he of the Fleur de Lys, I mean – 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.”

“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 of wine 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 [‘Cut a tale with a drink;’ an expression used when a man preaches over his liquor, as bons vivants say in England. S.]; and that ‘s good Gaelic. – Here is to the Countess Isabelle of Croye, and a better husband to her than Campobasso, 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 convoyed up to the Castle in the close litters, were great ladies, who had been living in secret at his 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 Crevecoeur, the Duke of Burgundy’s ambassador, 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 the 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 – ”

[The Fairy Melusina: a water fay who married a mortal on condition that she should be allowed to spend her Saturdays in deep seclusion. This promise, after many years, was broken, and Melusina, half serpent, half woman, was discovered swimming in a bath. For this breach of faith on the part of her husband, Melusina was compelled to leave her home. She regularly returned, however, before the death of any of the lords of her family, and by her wailings foretold that event. Her history is closely interwoven with the legends of the Banshee and Mermaid.]

“ – Like an ass, Johnny Guthrie,” said his commander; “thy long nose smelling the dinner, thy long ears hearing the music, and thy short discretion not enabling thee to decide which of them thou didst prefer. – Hark! is that not the Cathedral bell tolling to vespers? – Sure it cannot be that time yet? The mad old sexton has toll’d evensong an hour too soon.”

“In faith, the bell rings but too justly the hour,” said Cunningham; “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 of old Scotland, and then each man to his duty.”

The parting cup was emptied, and the guests dismissed – the stately old Baron taking the Balafre’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 serious countenance did he bear as he passed through the two courts which separated his lodging from the festal chamber, and solemn as the gravity of a hogshead was the farewell caution with which he prayed Ludovic to attend 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, conducted 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, identification 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 from 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 formidable 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 of his cell, were broken in upon by the return of his uncle, who commanded Quentin to bed, that he might arise betimes in the morning, and attend him to his Majesty’s antechamber, to which he was called by his hour of duty, along with five of his comrades.

CHAPTER VIII: 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.

    KING JOHN

Had sloth been a temptation by which Durward was easily beset, the noise with which the caserne of the guards resounded after the first toll of primes, had certainly banished the siren from his couch; but the discipline of his father’s tower, and of the convent of Aberbrothick, 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 some were marching out to that of the morning – and others, again, amongst whom was his uncle, were arming for 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 dost prove as faithful and bold as thou art well favoured, I shall have in thee one of the handsomest and best esquires in the Guard, which cannot but be an honour 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 partisan, 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 yeomen 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 the animals 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 in 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.