The rage and astonishment of the Duke can hardly be conceived, unless we could estimate the surprise of a falcon, against whom a dove should ruffle its pinions in defiance. – "Will the Holy Mother receive you without an appanage?" he said, in a voice of scorn.
"If she doth her convent, in the first instance, so much wrong," said the Lady Isabelle, "I trust there is charity enough among the noble friends of my house, to make up some support for the orphan of Croye."
"It is false!" said the Duke; "it is a base pretext to cover some secret and unworthy passion. – My Lord of Orleans, she shall be yours, if I drag her to the altar with my own hands!"
The Countess of Crèvecoeur, a high-spirited woman, and confident in her husband's merits and his favour with the Duke, could keep silent no longer. – "My lord," she said, "your passions transport you into language utterly unworthy – The hand of no gentlewoman can be disposed of by force."
"And it is no part of the duty of a Christian Prince," added the Abbess, "to thwart the wishes of a pious soul, who, broken with the cares and persecutions of the world, is desirous to become the bride of Heaven."
"Neither can my cousin of Orleans," said Dunois, "with honour accept a proposal, to which the lady has thus publicly stated her objections."
"If I were permitted," said Orleans, on whose facile mind Isabelle's beauty had made a deep impression, "some time to endeavour to place my pretensions before the Countess in a more favourable light" –
"My lord," said Isabelle, whose firmness was now fully supported by the encouragement which she received from all around, "it were to no purpose – my mind is made up to decline this alliance, though far above my deserts."
"Nor have I time," said the Duke, "to wait till these whimsies are changed with the next change of the moon. – Monseigneur d'Orleans, she shall learn within this hour, that obedience becomes matter of necessity."
"Not in my behalf, Sire," answered the Prince, who felt that he could not, with any show of honour, avail himself of the Duke's obstinate disposition; – "to have been once openly and positively refused, is enough for a Son of France. He cannot prosecute his addresses farther."
The Duke darted one furious glance at Orleans, another at Louis; and reading in the countenance of the latter, in spite of his utmost efforts to suppress his feelings, a look of secret triumph, he became outrageous.
"Write," he said to the Secretary, "our doom of forfeiture and imprisonment against this disobedient and insolent minion! She shall to the Zuchthaus, to the penitentiary, to herd with those whose lives have rendered them her rivals in effrontery!"
There was a general murmur.
"My Lord Duke," said the Count of Crèvecoeur, taking the word for the rest, "this must be better thought on. We, your faithful vassals, cannot suffer such a dishonour to the nobility and chivalry of Burgundy. If the Countess hath done amiss, let her be punished – but in the manner that becomes her rank, and ours, who stand connected with her house by blood and alliance."
The Duke paused a moment, and looked full at his counsellor with the stare of a bull, which, when compelled by the neat-herd from the road which he wishes to go, deliberates with himself whether to obey, or to rush on his driver, and toss him into the air.
Prudence, however, prevailed over fury – he saw the sentiment was general in his council – was afraid of the advantages which Louis might derive from seeing dissension among his vassals; and probably – for he was rather of a coarse and violent, than of a malignant temper – felt ashamed of his own dishonourable proposal.
"You are right," he said, "Crèvecoeur, and I spoke hastily. Her fate shall be determined according to the rules of chivalry. Her flight to Liege hath given the signal for the Bishop's murder. He that best avenges that deed, and brings us the head of the Wild Boar of Ardennes, shall claim her hand of us; and if she denies his right, we can at least grant him her fiefs, leaving it to his generosity to allow her what means he will to retire into a convent."
"Nay!" said the Countess, "think I am the daughter of Count Reinold – of your father's old, valiant, and faithful servant. Would you hold me out as a prize to the best sword-player?"
"Your ancestress," said the Duke, "was won at a tourney – you shall be fought for in real melée. Only thus far, for Count Reinold's sake, the successful prizer shall be a gentleman, of unimpeached birth, and unstained bearings; but, be he such, and the poorest who ever drew the strap of a swordbelt through the tongue of a buckle, he shall have at least the proffer of your hand. I swear it, by St George, by my ducal crown, and by the Order that I wear! – Ha! Messires," he added, turning to the nobles present, "this at least is, I think, in conformity with the rules of chivalry?"
Isabelle's remonstrances were drowned in a general and jubilant assent, above which was heard the voice of old Lord Crawford, regretting the weight of years that prevented his striking for so fair a prize. The Duke was gratified by the general applause, and his temper began to flow more smoothly, like that of a swollen river when it hath subsided within its natural boundaries.
"Are we, to whom fate has given dames already," said Crèvecoeur, "to be bystanders at this fair game? It does not consist with my honour to be so, for I have myself a vow to be paid at the expense of that tusked and bristled brute, De la Marck."
"Strike boldly in, Crèvecoeur," said the Duke; "win her, and since thou canst not wear her thyself, bestow her where thou wilt – on Count Stephen, your nephew, if you list."
"Gramercy, my lord!" said Crèvecoeur, "I will do my best in the battle; and, should I be fortunate enough to be foremost, Stephen shall try his eloquence against that of the Lady Abbess."
"I trust," said Dunois, "that the chivalry of France are not excluded from this fair contest?"
"Heaven forbid! brave Dunois," answered the Duke, "were it but for the sake of seeing you do your uttermost. But," he added, "though there be no fault in the Lady Isabelle wedding a Frenchman, it will be necessary that the Count of Croye must become a subject of Burgundy."
"Enough, enough," said Dunois, "my bar sinister may never be surmounted by the coronet of Croye – I will live and die French. But yet, though I should lose the lands, I will strike a blow for the lady."
Le Balafré dared not speak aloud in such a presence, but he muttered to himself –
"Now, Saunders Souplejaw, hold thine own! – thou always saidst the fortune of our house was to be won by marriage, and never had you such a chance to keep your word with us."
"No one thinks of me," said Le Glorieux, "who am sure to carry off the prize from all of you."
"Right, my sapient friend," said Louis; "when a woman is in the case, the greatest fool is ever the first in favour."
While the princes and their nobles thus jested over her fate, the Abbess and the Countess of Crèvecoeur endeavoured in vain to console Isabelle, who had withdrawn with them from the council-presence. The former assured her, that the Holy Virgin would frown on every attempt to withdraw a true votaress from the shrine of Saint Ursula; while the Countess of Crèvecoeur whispered more temporal consolation, that no true knight, who might succeed in the emprize proposed, would avail himself, against her inclinations, of the Duke's award; and that perhaps the successful competitor might prove one who should find such favour in her eyes as to reconcile her to obedience. Love, like despair, catches at straws; and, faint and vague as was the hope which this insinuation conveyed, the tears of the Countess Isabelle flowed more placidly while she dwelt upon it.[58]
Note 58
The perilling the hand of an heiress upon the event of a battle, was not so likely to take place in the fourteenth century as when the laws of chivalry were in more general observance. Yet it was not unlikely to occur to so absolute a Prince as Duke Charles, in circumstances like those supposed.