Quentin Durward. Вальтер Скотт

the ward of the said Duke of Burgundy, hath fled from his dominions, and from the charge which he, as a careful guardian, was willing to extend over her, and is here maintained in secret by the King of France and by him fortified in her contumacy to the Duke, her natural lord and guardian, contrary to the laws of God and man, as they ever have been acknowledged in civilized Europe. – Once more I pause for your Majesty’s reply.”

      “You did well, Count de Crevecoeur,” said Louis, scornfully, “to begin your embassy at an early hour; for if it be your purpose to call on me to account for the flight of every vassal whom your master’s heady passion may have driven from his dominions, the head roll may last till sunset. Who can affirm that these ladies are in my dominions? who can presume to say, if it be so, that I have either countenanced their flight hither, or have received them with offers of protection? Nay, who is it will assert, that, if they are in France, their place of retirement is within my knowledge?”

      “Sire,” said Crevecoeur, “may it please your Majesty, I was provided with a witness on this subject – one who beheld these fugitive ladies in the inn called the Fleur de Lys, not far from this Castle – one who saw your Majesty in their company, though under the unworthy disguise of a burgess of Tours – one who received from them, in your royal presence, messages and letters to their friends in Flanders – all which he conveyed to the hand and ear of the Duke of Burgundy.”

      “Bring them forward,” said the King; “place the man before my face who dares maintain these palpable falsehoods.”

      “You speak in triumph, my lord, for you are well aware that this witness no longer exists. When he lived, he was called Zamet Magraubin, by birth one of those Bohemian wanderers. He was yesterday – as I have learned – executed by a party of your Majesty’s Provost Marshal, to prevent, doubtless, his standing here to verify what he said of this matter to the Duke of Burgundy, in presence of his Council, and of me, Philip Crevecoeur de Cordes.”

      “Now, by Our Lady of Embrun,” said the King, “so gross are these accusations, and so free of consciousness am I of aught that approaches them, that, by the honour of a King, I laugh, rather than am wroth at them. My Provost guard daily put to death, as is their duty, thieves and vagabonds; and is my crown to be slandered with whatever these thieves and vagabonds may have said to our hot cousin of Burgundy and his wise counsellors? I pray you, tell my kind cousin, if he loves such companions, he had best keep them in his own estates; for here they are like to meet short shrift and a tight cord.”

      “My master needs no such subjects, Sir King,” answered the Count, in a tone more disrespectful than he had yet permitted himself to make use of; “for the noble Duke uses not to inquire of witches, wandering Egyptians, or others, upon the destiny and fate of his neighbours and allies.”

      “We have had patience enough, and to spare,” said the King, interrupting him; “and since thy sole errand here seems to be for the purpose of insult, we will send some one in our name to the Duke of Burgundy – convinced, in thus demeaning thyself towards us, thou hast exceeded thy commission, whatever that may have been.”

      “On the contrary,” said Crevecoeur, “I have not yet acquitted myself of it – Hearken, Louis of Valois, King of France – Hearken, nobles and gentlemen, who may be present. – Hearken, all good and true men. – And thou, Toison d’Or,” addressing the herald, “make proclamation after me. – I, Philip Crevecoeur of Cordes, Count of the Empire, and Knight of the honourable and princely Order of the Golden Fleece, in the name of the most puissant Lord and Prince, Charles, by the grace of God, Duke of Burgundy and Lotharingia, of Brabant and Limbourg, of Luxembourg and of Gueldres; Earl of Flanders and of Artois; Count Palatine of Hainault, of Holland, Zealand, Namur, and Zutphen; Marquis of the Holy Empire; Lord of Friezeland, Salines, and Malines, do give you, Louis, King of France, openly to know, that you, having refused to remedy the various griefs, wrongs, and offences, done and wrought by you, or by and through your aid, suggestion, and instigation, against the said Duke and his loving subjects, he, by my mouth, renounces all allegiance and fealty towards your crown and dignity – pronounces you false and faithless; and defies you as a Prince, and as a man. There lies my gage, in evidence of what I have said.”

      So saying, he plucked the gauntlet off his right hand, and flung it down on the floor of the hall.

      Until this last climax of audacity, there had been a deep silence in the royal apartment during the extraordinary scene; but no sooner had the clash of the gauntlet, when cast down, been echoed by the deep voice of Toison d’Or, the Burgundian herald, with the ejaculation, “Vive Bourgogne!” than there was a general tumult. While Dunois, Orleans, old Lord Crawford, and one or two others, whose rank authorized their interference, contended which should lift up the gauntlet, the others in the hall exclaimed, “Strike him down! Cut him to pieces! Comes he here to insult the King of France in his own palace?”