public glory or of private vengeance-heroes and heroines-well-fed priests and free companions-the plunderer and the plundered-are all here acting in character, and combining to form a national drama, that makes us alternately shudder and glow. Rumour had induced us to expect a wondrous legend of the Maid of Orleans, and we had prepared ourselves for some of those brilliant and heroic deeds in the description of which the author of Ivanhoe excels all others. But it is as well as it is. The character of a crafty King, drawn at full and unsparing length, is something new in romance; and while we have passages of arms, and deeds achieved for ladye-love, we have something of the salt and bitterness of sorrow and suffering to give us a new impulse.

A glimpse of the story may not be unwelcome to our readers, and will at least be necessary to explain the extracts which we wish to make from some of the most striking passages. It is simple and

soon told. About the year 1450, when the calm and crafty and deliberate Lewis of France was embroiled with Charles the Bold, the fierce and impetuous Duke of Burgundy, it happened that Quentin Durward, a Scottish youth of an ancient and noble family, was compelled by a fatal feud with the Ogilvies to go in quest of a happier. fortune in France. At that period the Royal Scottish guards were in their glory-composed of the boldest and bravest well-born youths of Scotland-enjoying large immunities; and, what was fortunate for our hero, his maternal uncle, Ludovic Lesley, a blunt and forward soldier, was among the number. With the hope of preferment and anxious to distinguish himself, by some deed of arms, young Durward approached the royal castle of Plessis, and had the good fortune to obtain the King himself for a companion and counsellor, in the disguise of a rich burgher. But if he was anxious on his arrival to be enrolled in the Scottish guards, a walk through the groves round the royal residence made his resolution waver; the Provost Marshal had passed before him, and he observed dead bodies hung among the boughs-he loved not the vicinity of trees which bore such ominous fruit. An adventure, which nearly cost him his life, compelled him to join the guard; and the King who from the first had been much struck with his manly beauty, his native discretion, and his dauntless bravery, soon distinguished him by his particular notice-the more so that he saved his Majesty's life from a wild boar which attacked him during the chase. But put not your trust in princes—the young adventurer was singled out by his Majesty to execute a perilous mission-to escort the young and beautiful Countess of Croye, to the citadel of Liege, and place her under the protection of the Bishop. She fled from Burgundy to elude an unequal marriage; and Lewis, lest he should incur the Duke's open resentment by countenancing her, sent her away with many a golden word, and full assurance of safety-but with the determination that the bitter enemy of Burgundy, the noted freebooter, William de la Marck, should capture her by the way, and retain her for a mistress or a wife. This treachery to his preserver and the young and desolate Countess, was foiled by the good fortune and by the bravery of Durward. He had not gone far on his way, when he

was assailed by an unlooked for enemy-the Duke of Orleans, who, enamoured of the young Countess, and assisted by the son of the famous Bastard of Orleans, the renowned Dunois, resolved to seize her; but he unhorsed the former, and displayed great skill and bravery in a single combat with the latter, and carried away the lady towards Liege. His courage and his sagacity enabled him to detect and defeat the treacherous ambush which the king had caused de la Marck to lay for him, and he arrived at Liege in safety, and placed her under the care of the good Bishop.

But here the dangers of Durward and the Countess became greater than ever. The castle of the Bishop was attacked and stormed by La Marck, and it required all the bravery and presence of mind of her youthful protector to save her from the ferocious freebooter and his equally ferocious companions. He carried the young Burgundian beauty through a fearful scene of iniquity and blood and imminent peril; and escaping from Liege in the midst of a hot pursuit, was glad to welcome, as a lesser evil, the appearance of the Count of Crevecœur, who was hastening to aid the bishop with a hundred lances from Burgundy. Meanwhile Lewis, unaware that De la Marck, whose designs upon Liege he secretly encouraged, had carried matters to such mortal extremity, was desirous of achieving a master-stroke in policy, and, encouraged by the predictions of a treacherous astrologer, went boldly to Peronne, and visited his rancorous enemy of Burgundy. In the midst of feasting and mirth, Count Crevecœur arrived; and announced that Liege was in possession of William de la Marck, the castle of Schonwaldt taken by storm and sacked, and the Bishop inhumanly murdered. Lewis was cast into captivity, as the prime mover of all this villainy, and he only escaped long imprisonment, and, perhaps, death, by the generous prudence of Durward, who concealed the King's treachery to the Countess and himself. Good fortune and discreet management combined to turn the whole fury of the fiery Burgundian towards the murderer La Marck. Against this powerful desperado, who proposed to defend Liege, marched the King and the Duke, with the flower of the Burgundian chivalry, assisted by the veteran guards of France, and Dunois, and some of the bravest of her peers. It will be imagined that the Countess of Croye was not insensible of the bravery and the kindness of Durward; young and beautiful herself, she made an early impression on his heart, and affection, long before the conclusion of the story, became mutual. But she seriously offended her liege lord by a second refusal to obey him in a matter of marriage; and, as a punishment to her obstinacy and the price of reconcilement, she was ordered to give her hand to any one of a gentleman's degree, who should slay the freebooter of Liege. But this promised to be somewhat of a dangerous task. La Marck had been long renowned as a leader among the Free Companions was distinguished for his prowess-his common weapon was an iron mace-and so great was his strength, that whatever he struck went down. By a strange chance, Durward obtained information that De la Marck, for the purpose of distracting the Bur

gundians, had put himself in arms and bearings resembling Dunoisthat he had conferred the dangerous gift of his own boar's hide with its tusks and hoofs of silver on one of his captains, and disguised others of his followers like the chief peers of France; add to all this he resolved to attack his enemies at night, and in several places at once. Accordingly he charged the French and Burgundian chivalry, shouting out the war-shouts of the French leaders, whose bearings had been assumed, and succeeded for a while in exciting alarm and disorder; but with dawn of day his good fortune began to fail. He was observed, and singled out by young Durward, who rushed upon him through the hottest of the fight; and, after a fierce contest, he was repulsed into Liege, and the town was entered at several places at once. All chance of success and hope of escape being cut off by the bravery of the Scottish Guard, the wild Boar of Ardennes, for so was La Marck called by the peasantry, was brought to bay, and a desperate combat, single-handed, took place, between the gigantic freebooter, and his equally brave, and far more agile, enemy. Durward eluded the ponderous blows of the mace, and repaid him with many a deadly thrust, till the place where they fought became a puddle of blood. At this moment a young woman, who had assisted the Countess and Durward to escape from Liege, shrieked out his name, and implored his help: she had been torn from a place of sanctuary by the French soldiers. He relinquished the combat with a sigh-flew to her assistance, and succeeded in protecting her; but by this time the tide of battle had swept along, and he thought on his evil fortune in deep and bitter despair. It happened, however, that Ludovic Lesley took Durward's place, and assailing La Marck with his two-handed sword, ceased not to follow him till he completed what his nephew had so gallantly begun, and claiming in right of the freebooter's head the hand of the Countess of Croye, resigned it to Quentin Durward.

The nar

Such is the barren outline of this remarkable romance. rative part is the least fascinating; the chief charm lies in the varied display of human character; and of this no description can give any idea. We wish we could find room for the notice of the person of young Durward-his conversation with the wily King-his adventure with the Provost Marshal and his two assistants-and the manner in which he mounted guard with a levelled harquebuss when his Majesty dined in private with the Ambassador of Burgundy. For his interview with his uncle, Ludovic Lesley, we must make room.

Quentin Durward, though, like the Scottish youth of the period, he had been early taught to look upon arms and war, thought he had never seen a more martial-looking, or more completely equipped and accomplished manat-arms, than now saluted him in the person of his mother's brother, called Ludovic with the Scar, or Le Balafré; yet he could not but shrink a little from the grim expression of his countenance, while, with its rough mustachios, he brushed first the one and then the other cheek of his kinsman, welcomed his fair nephew to France, and, in the same breath, asked what news from Scotland.

"Little good, dear uncle," replied young Durward; "but I am glad that you know me so readily."

"I would have known thee, boy, in the landes of Bourdeaux, had I met thee marching there like a crane on a pair of stilts. But sit thee down-sit thee down-if there is sorrow to hear of, we will have wine to make us bear it.-Ho! old Pinch-Measure, our good host, bring us of thy best, and that in an instant."

The well-known sound of the Scottish-French was as familiar in the taverns near Plessis, as that of the Swiss-French in the modern ginguettes of Paris; and promptly-ay, with the promptitude of fear and precipitation, was it heard and obeyed. A flagon of champagne soon stood before them, of which the elder took a draught, while the nephew helped himself only to a moderate sip, to acknowledge his uncle's courtesy, saying, in excuse, that he had already drank wine that morning.

That had been a rare apology in the mouth of thy sister, fair nephew," said Le Balafré; " you must fear the wine-pot less, if you would wear beard on your face, and write yourself soldier. But, come-come-unbuckle your Scottish mail-bag-give us the news of Glen-houlakin-how doth my sister?"

Dead, fair uncle," answered Quentin, sorrowfully.

"Dead!" echoed his uncle, with a tone rather marked by wonder than sympathy-" why, she was five years younger than I, and I was never better in my life. Dead! the thing is impossible. I have never had so much as a headache, unless after revelling out my two or three day's furlow with the brethren of the joyous science-and my poor sister is dead!—And your father, fair nephew, hath he married again ?"

And, ere the youth could reply, he read the answer in his surprise at the question, and said, "What, no?-I would have sworn that Allan Durward was no man to live without a wife. He loved to have his house in order— loved to look on a pretty woman too; and was somewhat strict in life withal— matrimony did all this for him. Now, I care little about these comforts; and I can look on a pretty woman without thinking on the sacrament of wedlock-I am scarce holy enough for that."

"Alas! dear uncle, my mother was left a widow a year since, when Glenhoulakin was harried by the Ogilvies. My father, and my two uncles, and my two elder brothers, and seven of my kinsmen, and the harper, and the tasker, and some six more of our people, were killed in defending the castle ; and there is not a burning hearth or a standing stone in all Glen-houlakin.”

"Cross of Saint Andrew!" said Le Balafré; "that is what I call an onslaught. Ay, these Ogilvies were ever but sorry neighbours to Glenhoulakin-an evil chance it was; but fate of war-fate of war.-When did this mishap befal, fair nephew?" With that he took a deep draught of wine in lieu, and shook his head with much solemnity, when his kinsman replied, that his family had been destroyed upon the festival of Saint Jude last bye-past.

"Look ye there," said the soldier, " I said it was all chance-on that very day I and twenty of my comrades carried the castle of Roche-noir by storm, from Amaury Bras-de-fer, a captain of free lances, whom you must have heard of. I killed him on his own threshold, and gained as much gold as made this fair chain, which was once twice as long as it now is—and that reminds me to send part of it on an holy errand. Here, Andrew-Andrew!"

Andrew, his yeoman, entered, dressed like the Archer himself in the general equipment, but without the armour for the limbs,-that of the body more coarsely manufactured-his cap without a plume, and his cassock made of serge, or coarse cloth, instead of rich velvet. Untwining his gold chain from his neck, Balafré twisted off, with his firm and strong-set teeth, about four inches from the one end of it, and said to his attendant, "Here, Andrew, carry this to my gossip, jolly Father Boniface, the monk of Saint Martin's greet him well from me, by the same token that he could not say

God save ye when we last parted at midnight-Tell my gossip that my brother and sister, and some others of my house, are all dead and gone, and I pray him to say masses for their souls as far as the value of these links will carry him, and to do on trust what else may be necessary to free them from purgatory. And hark ye, as they were just-living people, and free from all heresy, it may be that they are well nigh out of limbo already, so that a little matter may have them free of the fetlocks; and in that case, look ye, ye will say I desire to take out the gold in curses upon a generation called the Ogilvies, in what way soever the church may best come at them. You understand all this, Andrew ?"

Of the low deep game of cunning and deceit, which Louis played so dexterously with the Burgundian Ambassador, and, indeed, with every one, not except his own council, who, promoted from the basest situations to be his ministers of intrigue and vengeance, were as barren of virtue as himself, we can give no account. Perhaps the following prayer, which was wrung from his majesty, when death or perpetual captivity looked him steadily in the face, may save us the shame of an imperfect description:

Above the little door, in memory perhaps of the deed which had been done within, was a rude niche, containing a crucifix cut in stone. Upon this emblem the King fixed his eyes, as if about to kneel; but stopped short, as if he applied to the blessed image the principles of worldly policy, and deemed it rash to approach its presence without having secured the private intercession of some supposed favourite. He therefore turned from the crucifix as unworthy to look upon it, and selecting from the images with which, as often mentioned, his hat was completely garnished, a representation of the Lady of Clery, knelt down before it, and made the following extraordinary prayer; in which, it is to be observed, the grossness of his superstition induced him, in some degree, to consider the Virgin of Clery as a different person from the Madonna of Embrun, a favourite idol, to whom he often paid his vows.

"Sweet Lady of Clery," he exclaimed, clasping his hands and beating his breast while he spoke-" blessed Mother of Mercy! thou who art omnipotent with Omnipotence, have compassion with me, a sinner! It is true, that I have something neglected thee for thy blessed sister of Embrun; but I am a King-my power is great, my wealth boundless; and, were it otherwise, I would double the gabelle on my subjects, rather than not pay my debts to you both. Undo these iron doors-fill up these tremendous moats-lead me, as a mother leads a child, out of this present and pressing danger! If I have given thy sister the command of my guards, thou shalt have the broad and rich province of Champaigne; and its vineyards shall pour their abundance into thy convent. I had promised the province to my brother Charles ; but he, thou knowest, is dead-poisoned by that wicked Abbé of Angely, whom, if I live, I will punish!-I promised this once before, but this time I will keep my word. If I had any knowledge of the crime, believe, dearest patroness, it was because I knew no better method of quieting the discontents of my kingdom. O, do not reckon that old debt to my account to-day; but be, as thou hast ever been, kind, benignant, and easy to be entreated! Sweetest Lady, work with thy child, that he will pardon all past sins, and one-one little deed which I must do this night-nay, it is no sin, dearest Lady of Clery-no sin, but an act of justice privately administered; for the villain is the greatest impostor that ever poured falsehood into a Prince's ear, and leans besides to the filthy heresy of the Greeks. He is not worthy thy protection; leave him to my care; and hold it as good service, as the man is a necromancer and wizard, that is not worth thy thought and care-a dog, the exVOL. I. PART I.

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