Quentin Durward

by Walter Scott

  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 fondestand most jealous of power, desired only its substantial enjoyment;and though he knew well enough, and at times exacted strictly, theobservances due to his rank, he was in general singularly careless ofshow.

  In a prince of sounder moral qualities, the familiarity with which heinvited subjects to his board--nay, occasionally sat at theirs--musthave been highly popular; and even such as he was, the King's homelinessof manners atoned for many of his vices with that class of his subjectswho were not particularly exposed to the consequences of his suspicionand jealousy. The tiers etat, or commons of France, who rose to moreopulence and consequence under the reign of this sagacious Prince,respected his person, though they loved him not; and it was resting ontheir support that he was enabled to make his party good against thehatred of the nobles, who conceived that he diminished the honour of theFrench crown, and obscured their own splendid privileges by that veryneglect of form which gratified the citizens and commons.

  With patience which most other princes would have considered asdegrading, and not without a sense of amusement, the Monarch of Francewaited till his Life Guardsman had satisfied the keenness of a youthfulappetite. It may be supposed, however, that Quentin had too much senseand prudence to put the royal patience to a long or tedious proof; andindeed he was repeatedly desirous to break off his repast ere Louiswould permit him.

  "I see it in thine eye," he said good naturedly, "that thy courage isnot half abated. Go on--God and Saint Denis!--charge again. I tell theethat meat and mass" (crossing himself) "never hindered the work of agood Christian man. Take a cup of wine; but mind thou be cautious of thewine 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. Andnow wash speedily--forget not thy benedicite, and follow me."

  Quentin obeyed, and, conducted by a different but as maze-like anapproach as he had formerly passed, he followed Louis into the Hall ofRoland.

  "Take notice," said the King, imperatively, "thou hast never left thispost--let that be thine answer to thy kinsman and comrades--and, harkthee, to bind the recollection on thy memory, I give thee this goldchain" (flinging on his arm one of considerable value). "If I go notbrave myself, those whom I trust have ever the means to ruffle it withthe best. But when such chains as these bind not the tongue from waggingtoo freely, my gossip, L'Hermite, hath an amulet for the throat, whichnever fails to work a certain cure. And now attend.--No man, save Oliveror 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, beingon duty, your answer must be brief; and you must neither address themin your turn, nor engage in any prolonged discourse. But hearken to whatthey 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 thenforget it. And, now I think better on it, it will be best that thou passfor 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 youfrom embarrassment, and lead them to converse without regard to yourpresence. You understand me.--Farewell. Be wary, and thou hast afriend."

  The King had scarce spoken these words ere he disappeared behind thearras, leaving Quentin to meditate on what he had seen and heard. Theyouth was in one of those situations from which it is pleasanter to lookforward than to look back; for the reflection that he had been plantedlike a marksman in a thicket who watches for a stag, to take the life ofthe noble Count of Crevecoeur, had in it nothing ennobling. It was verytrue that the King's measures seemed on this occasion merely cautionaryand defensive; but how did the youth know but he might be sooncommanded on some offensive operation of the same kind? This would be anunpleasant crisis, since it was plain, from the character of his master,that there would be destruction in refusing, while his honour told himthat there would be disgrace in complying. He turned his thoughts fromthis subject of reflection with the sage consolation so often adopted byyouth when prospective dangers intrude themselves on their mind, that itwas time enough to think what was to be done when the emergence actuallyarrived, and that sufficient for the day was the evil thereof.

  Quentin made use of this sedative reflection the more easily that thelast commands of the King had given him something more agreeable tothink of than his own condition. The Lady of the Lute was certainly oneof those to whom his attention was to be dedicated; and well in his minddid he promise to obey one part of the King's mandate, and listen withdiligence to every word that might drop from her lips that he might knowif the magic of her conversation equalled that of her music. But withas much sincerity did he swear to himself, that no part of her discourseshould be reported by him to the King which might affect the fairspeaker otherwise than favourably.

  Meantime, there was no fear of his again slumbering on his post. Eachpassing breath of wind, which, finding its way through the open lattice,waved the old arras, sounded like the approach of the fair object ofhis expectation. He felt, in short, all that mysterious anxiety andeagerness of expectation which is always the companion of love, andsometimes hath a considerable share in creating it.

  At length, a door actually creaked and jingled (for the doors evenof palaces did not in the fifteenth century turn on their hinges sonoiseless as ours); but, alas! it was not at that end of the hall fromwhich the lute had been heard. It opened, however, and a female figureentered, followed by two others, whom she directed by a sign to remainwithout, while she herself came forward into the hall. By her imperfectand unequal gait, which showed to peculiar disadvantage as she traversedthis long gallery, Quentin at once recognised the Princess Joan, andwith the respect which became his situation, drew himself up in anattitude of silent vigilance, and lowered his weapon to her as shepassed. She acknowledged the courtesy by a gracious inclination ofher head, and he had an opportunity of seeing her countenance moredistinctly than he had in the morning.

  There was little in the features of this ill fated Princess to atone forthe misfortune of her shape and gait. Her face was, indeed, by no meansdisagreeable in itself, though destitute of beauty; and there was ameek impression of suffering patience in her large blue eyes, whichwere commonly fixed upon the ground. But besides that she was extremelypallid in complexion, her skin had the yellowish discoloured tinge whichaccompanies habitual bad health; and though her teeth were white andregular, her lips were thin and pale. The Princess had a profusion offlaxen hair, but it was so light coloured as to be almost of a bluishtinge; and her tire woman, who doubtless considered the luxuriance ofher mistress's tresses as a beauty, had not greatly improved matters byarranging them in curls around her pale countenance, to which they addedan expression almost corpse-like and unearthly. To make matters stillworse, she had chosen a vest or cymar of a pale green silk, which gaveher, on the whole, a ghastly and even spectral appearance.

  While Quentin followed this singular apparition with eyes in whichcuriosity was blended with compassion, for every look and motion of thePrincess seemed to call for the latter feeling, two ladies entered fromthe upper end of the apartment.

  One of these was the young person who upon Louis's summons had servedhim with fruit, while Quentin made his memorable breakfast at the Fleurde Lys. Invested now with all the mysterious dignity belonging to thenymph of the veil and lute, and proved, besides (at least in Quentin'sestimation), to be
the high born heiress of a rich earldom, her beautymade ten times the impression upon him which it had done when hebeheld in her one whom he deemed the daughter of a paltry innkeeper, inattendance upon a rich and humorous old burgher. He now wondered whatfascination could ever have concealed from him her real character. Yether dress was nearly as simple as before, being a suit of deep mourning,without any ornaments. Her headdress was but a veil of crape, which wasentirely thrown back, so as to leave her face uncovered; and it was onlyQuentin's knowledge of her actual rank, which gave in his estimation newelegance to her beautiful shape, a dignity to her step which had beforeremained unnoticed, and to her regular features, brilliant complexion,and dazzling eyes, an air of conscious nobleness that enhanced theirbeauty.

  Had death been the penalty, Durward must needs have rendered to thisbeauty and her companion the same homage which he had just paid to theroyalty of the Princess. They received it as those who were accustomedto the deference of inferiors, and returned it with courtesy; but hethought--perhaps it was but a youthful vision--that the young ladycoloured slightly, kept her eyes on the ground, and seemed embarrassedthough in a trifling degree, as she returned his military salutation.This must have been owing to her recollection of the audaciousstranger in the neighbouring turret at the Fleur de Lys; but did thatdiscomposure express displeasure? This question he had no means todetermine.

  The companion of the youthful Countess, dressed like herself simplyand in deep mourning, was at the age when women are apt to clingmost closely to that reputation for beauty which has for years beendiminishing. She had still remains enough to show what the power ofher charms must once have been, and, remembering past triumphs, it wasevident from her manner that she had not relinquished the pretensions tofuture conquests. She was tall and graceful, though somewhat haughtyin her deportment, and returned the salute of Quentin with a smile ofgracious condescension, whispering the next instant something into hercompanion's ear, who turned towards the soldier as if to comply withsome hint from the elder lady, but answered, nevertheless, withoutraising her eyes. Quentin could not help suspecting that the observationcalled on the young lady to notice his own good mien; and he was (I donot know why) pleased with the idea that the party referred to did notchoose to look at him, in order to verify with her own eyes the truthof the observation. Probably he thought there was already a sortof mysterious connexion beginning to exist between them, which gaveimportance to the slightest trifle.

  This reflection was momentary, for he was instantly wrapped up inattention to the meeting of the Princess Joan with these strangerladies. She had stood still upon their entrance, in order to receivethem, conscious, perhaps, that motion did not become her well; andas she was somewhat embarrassed in receiving and repaying theircompliments, the elder stranger, ignorant of the rank of the party whomshe addressed, was led to pay her salutation in a manner rather as ifshe conferred than received an honour through the interview.

  "I rejoice," she said, with a smile which was meant to expresscondescension at once and encouragement, "that we are at lengthpermitted the society of such a respectable person of our own sex asyou appear to be. I must say that my niece and I have had but little forwhich to thank the hospitality of King Louis.--Nay, niece, never pluckmy sleeve--I am sure I read in the looks of this young lady sympathyfor out situation.--Since we came hither, fair madam, we have been usedlittle better than mere prisoners; and after a thousand invitations tothrow our cause and our persons under the protection of France, theMost Christian King has afforded us at first but a base inn for ourresidence, and now a corner of this moth eaten palace, out of which weare only permitted to creep towards sunset, as if we were bats or owls,whose appearance in the sunshine is to be held matter of ill omen."

  "I am sorry," said the Princess, faltering with the awkwardembarrassment of the interview, "that we have been unable, hitherto, toreceive you according to your deserts.--Your niece, I trust, is bettersatisfied?"

  "Much--much better than I can express," answered the youthful Countess."I sought but safety and I have found solitude and secrecy besides. Theseclusion of our former residence, and the still greater solitude ofthat now assigned to us, augment, in my eye, the favour which the Kingvouchsafed to us unfortunate fugitives."

  "Silence, my silly cousin," said the elder lady, "and let us speakaccording to our conscience, since at last we are alone with one of ourown 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 givento understand he wants that of his tongue, at least in civilizedlanguage--I say, since no one but this lady can understand us, I mustown there is nothing I have regretted equal to taking this Frenchjourney. I looked for a splendid reception, tournaments, carousals,pageants, and festivals; instead of which, all has been seclusion andobscurity! and the best society whom the King introduced to us, was aBohemian vagabond, by whose agency he directed us to correspond withour friends in Flanders.--Perhaps," said the lady, "it is his politicintention to mew us up here until our lives' end, that he may seize onour estates, after the extinction of the ancient house of Croye. TheDuke of Burgundy was not so cruel; he offered my niece a husband, thoughhe was a bad one."

  "I should have thought the veil preferable to an evil husband," said thePrincess, with difficulty finding opportunity to interpose a word.

  "One would at least wish to have the choice, madam," replied the volubledame. "It is, Heaven knows, on account of my niece that I speak; formyself, I have long laid aside thoughts of changing my condition. I seeyou smile, but by my halidome, it is true--yet that is no excuse for theKing, whose conduct, like his person, hath more resemblance to thatof old Michaud, the moneychanger of Ghent, than to the successor ofCharlemagne."

  "Hold!" said the Princess, with some asperity in her tone; "remember youspeak of my father."

  "Of your father!" replied the Burgundian lady, in surprise.

  "Of my father," repeated the Princess, with dignity, "I am Joan ofFrance.--But fear not, madam," she continued, in the gentle accent whichwas natural to her, "you designed no offence, and I have taken none.Command my influence to render your exile and that of this interestingyoung person more supportable. Alas! it is but little I have in mypower, but it is willingly offered."

  Deep and submissive was the reverence with which the Countess Hamelinede Croye, so was the elder lady called, received the obliging offer ofthe Princess's protection. She had been long the inhabitant of courts,was mistress of the manners which are there acquired, and held firmlythe established rule of courtiers of all ages, who, although their usualprivate 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 the presence of theSovereign or those of his family. The lady was, therefore, scandalisedto the last degree at the mistake which had induced her to speak soindecorously in presence of the daughter of Louis. She would haveexhausted herself in expressing regret and making apologies, had shenot been put to silence and restored to equanimity by the Princess,who requested, in the most gentle manner, yet which, from a Daughter ofFrance, had the weight of a command, that no more might be said in theway either of excuse or of explanation.

  The Princess Joan then took her own chair with a dignity which becameher, and compelled the two strangers to sit, one on either hand, towhich the younger consented with unfeigned and respectful diffidence,and the elder with an affectation of deep humility and deference whichwas intended for such.

  They spoke together, but in such a low tone that the sentinel could notoverhear their discourse, and only remarked that the Princess seemed tobestow much of her regard on the younger and more interesting lady; andthat the Countess Hameline, though speaking a great deal more, attractedless of the Princess's attention by her full flow of conversation andcompliment, than did her kinswoman by her brief and modest replies towhat was addressed to her.

  The conversation of the ladies had not lasted a quarter of an hour, whe
nthe door at the lower end of the hall opened, and a man entered shroudedin a riding cloak. Mindful of the King's injunction, and determined notto be a second time caught slumbering, Quentin instantly moved towardsthe intruder, and, interposing between him and the ladies, requested himto retire instantly.

  "By whose command?" said the stranger, in a tone of contemptuoussurprise.

  "By that of the King," said Quentin, firmly, "which I am placed here toenforce."

  "Not against Louis of Orleans," said the Duke, dropping his cloak.

  The young man hesitated a moment; but how enforce his orders againstthe first Prince of the Blood, about to be allied, as the report nowgenerally went, with the King's own family?

  "Your Highness," he said, "is too great that your pleasure should bewithstood by me. I trust your Highness will bear me witness that I havedone the duty of my post so far as your will permitted."

  "Go to--you shall have no blame, young soldier," said Orleans; andpassing forward, paid his compliments to the Princess, with that air ofconstraint which always marked his courtesy when addressing her.

  He had been dining, he said, with Dunois, and understanding there wassociety in Roland's Gallery, he had ventured on the freedom of addingone to the number.

  The colour which mounted into the pale cheek of the unfortunate Joan,and which for the moment spread something of beauty over her features,evinced that this addition to the company was anything but indifferentto 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 thePrincess, pointing to a chair, requested him to join their conversationparty.

  The Duke declined the freedom of assuming a seat in such society; buttaking a cushion from one of the settles, he laid it at the feet of thebeautiful young Countess of Croye, and so seated himself, that, withoutappearing to neglect the Princess, he was enabled to bestow the greatershare of his attention on her lovely neighbour.

  At first, it seemed as if this arrangement rather pleased than offendedhis destined bride. She encouraged the Duke in his gallantries towardsthe fair stranger, and seemed to regard them as complimentary toherself. But the Duke of Orleans, though accustomed to subject his mindto the stern yoke of his uncle when in the King's presence, had enoughof princely nature to induce him to follow his own inclinations wheneverthat restraint was withdrawn; and his high rank giving him a right tooverstep the ordinary ceremonies, and advance at once to familiarity,his praises of the Countess Isabelle's beauty became so energetic, andflowed with such unrestrained freedom, owing perhaps to his having drunka little more wine than usual--for Dunois was no enemy to the worship ofBacchus--that at length he seemed almost impassioned, and the presenceof the Princess appeared well nigh forgotten.

  The tone of compliment which he indulged was grateful only to oneindividual in the circle; for the Countess Hameline already anticipatedthe dignity of an alliance with the first Prince of the Blood, by meansof her whose birth, beauty, and large possessions rendered such anambitious consummation by no means impossible, even in the eyes of aless sanguine projector, could the views of Louis XI have been leftout of the calculation of chances. The younger Countess listened to theDuke's gallantries with anxiety and embarrassment, and ever and anonturned an entreating look towards the Princess, as if requesting her tocome to her relief. But the wounded feelings and the timidity of Joan ofFrance rendered her incapable of an effort to make the conversation moregeneral; and at length, excepting a few interjectional civilities of theLady Hameline, it was maintained almost exclusively by the Duke himself,though at the expense of the younger Countess of Croye, whose beautyformed the theme of his high flown eloquence.

  Nor must I forget that there was a third person, the unregardedsentinel, who saw his fair visions melt away like wax before the sun,as the Duke persevered in the warm tenor of his passionate discourse.At length the Countess Isabelle de Croye made a determined effort to cutshort what was becoming intolerably disagreeable to her, especially fromthe pain to which the conduct of the Duke was apparently subjecting thePrincess.

  Addressing the latter, she said, modestly, but with some firmness, thatthe first boon she had to claim from her promised protection was, "thather Highness would undertake to convince the Duke of Orleans that theladies of Burgundy, though inferior in wit and manners to those ofFrance, were not such absolute fools as to be pleased with no otherconversation than that of extravagant compliment."

  "I grieve, lady," said the Duke, preventing the Princess's answer, "thatyou will satirize, in the same sentence, the beauty of the dames ofBurgundy and the sincerity of the Knights of France. If we are hasty andextravagant in the expression of our admiration, it is because we loveas we fight, Without letting cold deliberation come into our bosoms, andsurrender to the fair with the same rapidity with which we defeat thevaliant."

  "The beauty of our countrywomen," said the young Countess, with more ofreproof 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 lastbranch of your theme shall not be impugned by me, till a Burgundianknight shall offer to sustain it with lance in rest. But for theinjustice which you have done to the charms which your land produces, Iappeal from yourself to yourself.--Look there," he said, pointing to alarge mirror, the gift of the Venetian republic, and then of the highestrarity and value, "and tell me, as you look, what is the heart that canresist 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 recalledthe Duke from the land of romance, and induced the Lady Hameline to askwhether her Highness found herself ill.

  "A sudden pain shot through my forehead," said the Princess, attemptingto smile; "but I shall be presently better."

  Her increasing paleness contradicted her words, and induced the LadyHameline to call for assistance, as the Princess was about to faint.

  The Duke, biting his lip, and cursing the folly which could not keepguard over his tongue, ran to summon the Princess's attendants, whowere in the next chamber, and when they came hastily, with the usualremedies, he could not but, as a cavalier and gentleman, give hisassistance to support and to recover her. His voice, rendered almosttender by pity and self reproach, was the most powerful means ofrecalling her to herself, and just as the swoon was passing away, theKing himself entered the apartment.