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 shall 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 descendant and representative of Charlemagne, after giving away these rich provinces, save to be smeared with oil at Rheims, and to eat his 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 des 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 independent.'
'And how dares the Duke of Burgundy, the sworn vassal of France,' exclaimed Louis, starting up, and showing an unwonted degree of emotion – 'how dares he propose such terms to his Sovereign, as, by every law of Europe, should infer a forfeiture of his fief?'
'The doom of forfeiture it would in this case be difficult to enforce,' answered Des Comines, 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 situation 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.'
'Comines, Comines!' said Louis, arising again, and pacing the room in a pensive manner, 'this is a dreadful lesson on the text V? 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, Des Comines, 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 – 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 Des Comines, '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 Des Comines 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 appanage, as, joined to the Countess'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 scissors, 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 redhot 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!'
'Your Majesty,' said Des Comines, '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. Des Comines, 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 des 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 project 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 of some temporary passion – you, who know how to sympathize with the deeper, the more genuine distress of baffled prudence and disappointed sagacity, – will you not feel for me?'
'My Lord and King!' replied Des Comines, 'I do sympathize with your distress, in so far as duty to my master' –
'Do not mention him!' said Louis, acting, or at least appearing 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 counsellors – he who can distinguish the wisest and most faithful among them, by the opprobrious name of Booted-Head!' –
The wisdom of Philip des 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 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 Des Comines, were at a hunting-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 rendered 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 Sovereign; and hence he, or his privileged fool Le Glorieux, is in the current habit of distinguishing you by the absurd and ridiculous name of Tetebotte, which makes one of the Duke's most ordinary subjects of pleasantry.'[54]
While Louis thus spoke, he had the double pleasure of galling to the quick the person whom he addressed – an exercise which it was in 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 Des Comines'
