Quentin Durward, Walter Scott [good books to read for beginners .txt] 📗
- Author: Walter Scott
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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 the 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 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 visitors 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 courteous than his demeanour. While all around him, including even his own dress, was far beneath the splendour which 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. Quentin 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 suspicion.
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 Crevecoeur had held towards him in the face of his Court, the King conversed 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 often shared my board at the Castle of Genappes [during his residence in Burgundy, in his father's lifetime, Genappes was the usual abode of Louis.... S.], I wished to show myself, as I love best to live, old Louis of Valois, as simple and plain as any of his Parisian badauds [idlers]. But I directed them to make some better cheer than ordinary for you, Sir Count, for I know your Burgundian proverb, 'Mieux vault bon repas que bel habit' [a good meal is better than a beautiful coat. (Present spelling is vaut.)]; and therefore 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 Champagne.—Here, Oliver, let me have a cup of Vin d'Auxerre;” and he hummed gaily a song then well known,
“Auxerre est le boisson des Rois.” [Auxerre wine is the beverage of kings]“Here, Sir Count, I drink to the health of the noble Duke of Burgundy, our kind and loving cousin.—Oliver, replenish yon golden cup with Vin de Rheims, and give it to the Count on your knee—he represents our loving brother.—My Lord Cardinal, we will ourself 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 controversy, 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 a wine it endures not water.—You, Sir Count, hesitate to empty your cup. I trust you have found no national bitterness at the bottom.”
“I would, Sire,” said the Count de Crevecoeur, “that all national quarrels could be as pleasantly ended as the rivalry betwixt our vineyards.”
“With time, Sir Count,” answered the King, “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 that 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 conversation, his remarks, always shrewd and caustic, and often actually witty, were seldom good natured, and the anecdotes with which he illustrated 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 an attack on his person.
The Count de Crevecoeur gave frankly in to the King's humour [the nature of Louis XI's coarse humour may be guessed at by those who have perused the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles, which are grosser than most similar collections of the age. S.]; while the smooth churchman laughed at every jest and enhanced every ludicrous idea, without exhibiting any shame at expressions which made the rustic young Scot blush even in his place of concealment. 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 scarcely 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 of assumed vivacity had left the King's 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, in which, while upon the stage, he had displayed the utmost vivacity.
“Thy watch is not yet over,” said he to Quentin; “refresh thyself for an instant—yonder 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.
CHAPTER XI: THE HALL OF ROLAND Painters show cupid blind—Hath Hymen eyes? Or is his sight warp'd by those spectacles which parents, guardians, and advisers, lent 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 't will brook a question. THE MISERIES OF ENFORCED MARRIAGE
Louis XI 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, he was in general singularly careless of show.
In a prince of sounder moral 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 the consequences of his suspicion and jealousy. The tiers etat, or commons of France, who rose to more opulence and consequence under the reign of this sagacious Prince, respected his person, 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 that very neglect of form which gratified the citizens and commons.
With patience which most other princes would have considered as degrading, and not without a sense of amusement, the Monarch of France waited till his Life Guardsman 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 good naturedly, “that thy courage is not half abated. Go on—God and Saint Denis!—charge again. I tell thee that meat and mass” (crossing 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 countrymen 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 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, enters here this evening; but ladies will come hither, perhaps from the one extremity of the hall, perhaps from the other, perhaps one from each. You may answer if they address you, but, being on duty, your answer must be brief; and you must neither address them in your turn, nor engage in any prolonged discourse. 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
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