condition, was at length compelled to order two of his attendants, one to each rein of Durward's bridle, in order to prevent the risk of his 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 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 different being in strength and spirits from what he had fallen asleep. Confidence in himself and his fortunes returned with his 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 invigorating 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 possessor 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 disputed 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 Crevecoeur, who passed several on his alleged effeminacy and incapacity of undergoing fatigue. The young Scot accommodated himself so good-humouredly 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 his young companion, 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 of Burgundy 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 of his original patron, King Louis, he, nevertheless, continued to remain on good terms with the Count of Crevecoeur; 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 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 of Burgundy's army lay encamped, ready, as was supposed, to invade France; and, in opposition to which, Louis XI. had himself assembled a strong force near Saint Maxence, for the purpose of bringing to reason his over-powerful vassal.
Peronne, situated upon a deep river, in a flat country, and surrounded by strong bulwarks and profound moats, was accounted in ancient, as in modern times, one of the strongest fortresses in France[39]. The Count of Crevecoeur, 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 covered 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 Crevecoeur, 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 canal, and came galloping towards him.
'News, news, Count of Crevecoeur!' they cried both together; – 'will you give news, or take news? or will you barter fairly?'
'I would barter fairly, Messires,' said Crevecoeur, 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 elder of the two, a fine baronial figure, with a dark countenance, marked with that sort of sadness which some physiognomists ascribe to a melancholy temperament, and some, as the Italian statuary augured of the visage of Charles I., consider as predicting an unhappy death[40], turning to his companion, said, 'Crevecoeur 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 Crevecoeur, 'the Duke ought in justice to have the first of my wares, as the Seigneur takes his toll before open market begins. But tell me, are your news of a sad or a pleasant complexion?'
The person whom he particularly addressed was a lively-looking 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 who saw and judged rapidly, but was sage and slow in forming resolutions or in expressing opinions. This was the famous Knight of Hainault, son of Collart, or Nicolas de l'Elite, known in history, and amongst historians, by the venerable name of Philip des Comines, at this time close to the person of Duke Charles the Bold[41], and one of his most esteemed counsellors. He answered Crevecoeur's question concerning the complexion of the news of which he and his companion, the Baron d'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 against the black cloud or the fair sky – Such a rainbow was never seen in France or Flanders since that of Noah's ark.'
'My tidings,' replied Crevecoeur, 'are altogether like the comet; gloomy, wild, and terrible in themselves, yet to be accounted the forerunners of still greater and more dreadful evils which are to ensue.'
'We must open our bales,' said Comines to his companion, 'or our market will be forestalled by some new-comers, for ours are public news. – In one word, Crevecoeur – 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 of Burgundy 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 Crevecoeur, 'and, like his ancestors, gained a second field of Poictiers.'
'Not so,' said Comines – 'Not a French banner has been borne down, not a sail spread from England – where Edward is too much amused among the wives of the citizens of London, to think of playing 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 dreamt of nothing but war.'
'What has followed has been indeed so like a dream,' said Comines, 'that I almost expect to awake, and find it so. Only one day since, the Duke had in Council protested so furiously against farther delay, that it was resolved to send a defiance to the King, and 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 the 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, 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 Crevecoeur; 'and yet you surprise 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 place himself in 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 Burgundian counsellors?'
