Louis The Politic And Charles The Bold


In the latter half of the fifteenth century Europe had two notable

sovereigns, Louis XI. of France and Charles the Bold, or Charles the

Rash, of Burgundy; the one famous in history for his intricate policy,

the other for his lack of anything that could fairly be called policy.

The relations between these two men ranged from open hostility to a

peace of the most fragile character. The policy of Louis was of the kind

tha
was as likely to get him into trouble as out of it. The rashness

and headstrong temper of Charles were equally likely to bring trouble in

their train. In all things the two formed a strongly contrasted pair,

and their adjoining realms could hardly hope for lasting peace while

these men lived.



The hand of Charles was ever on his sword. With him the blow quickly

followed the word or the thought. The hand of Louis--"the universal

spider," as his contemporaries named him--was ever on the web of

intrigue which he had woven around him, feeling its filaments, and

keeping himself in touch with every movement of his foes. He did not

like war. That was too direct a means of gaining his ends. It was his

delight to defeat his enemies by combinations of state policy, to play

off one against another, and by incessant intrigue to gain those ends

which other men gained by hard blows.



Yet it is possible for a schemer to overdo himself, for one who trusts

to his plots and his policy to defeat himself by the very neatness and

intricacy of his combinations, and so it proved on one occasion in the

dealings between these two men. The incident which we propose to relate

forms the subject of "Quentin Durward," one of the best-known novels by

Sir Walter Scott, and is worth telling for itself without the

allurements of romance.



"Louis had a great idea of the influence he gained over people by his

wits and his language," says one of his biographers. "He was always

convinced that people never said what ought to be said, and that they

did not set to work the right way." He liked to owe success to himself

alone, and had an inordinate opinion of his power both of convincing and

of deceiving people. In consequence, during one of his periods of

strained relations with Charles of Burgundy, which his agents found it

impossible to settle, this royal schemer determined to visit Charles in

person, and try the effect on his opponent of the powers of persuasion

of which he was so proud.



It was as rash a project as Charles himself could have been guilty of.

The fox was about to trust himself in the den of the angry lion. But

Louis persisted, despite the persuasions of his councillors, sent to

Charles for a letter of safe-conduct, and under its assurance sought

the Duke of Burgundy in his fortified town of Peronne, having with him

as escort only fourscore of his Scotch guard and sixty men-at-arms.



It was a mad movement, and led to consequences of which Louis had not

dreamed. Charles received him civily enough. Between rash duke and

politic king there was every show of amity. But the negotiations went on

no more rapidly now than they had done before. And soon came news which

proved that Louis the schemer had, for once at least, played the fool,

and put himself in a position of the utmost danger.



The policy of the royal spider had been stretched too far. His webs of

plot had unluckily crossed. In truth, shortly before coming to Peronne,

he had sent two secret agents to the town of Liege, to stir the unruly

citizens up to rebellion against the duke. Quite forgetting this trifle

of treachery, the too-hasty plotter had sought the duke's stronghold

with the hope of placating him with well-concocted lies and a smooth

tongue. Unluckily for him, his agents did not forget their orders.



The Liegoise broke out into rebellion, under the insidious advice of the

French king's agents, advanced and took the town of Tongres, killed some

few people, and made prisoner there the bishop of Liege and the lord of

Humbercourt. The fugitives who brought this news to Peronne made the

matter even worse than this, reporting that the bishop and lord had

probably been killed. Charles believed them, and broke into a fury that

augured badly for his guest.



"So the king came here only to deceive me!" he burst out. "It is he who

by his ambassadors excited these bad folks of Liege! By St. George, they

shall be severely punished for it, and he himself shall have cause to

repent."



The measures taken by the incensed duke were certainly threatening. The

gates of the town and castle were closed and guarded by archers. Louis

was to all intents and purposes a prisoner, though the duke, a little

ashamed, perhaps, of his action, affirmed that his purpose was to

recover a box of gold and jewels that had been stolen from him.



The den of the lion had closed on the fox. Now was the time for the fox

to show his boasted wit, for his position was one of danger. That

rash-headed Duke of Burgundy was never the man to be played with, and in

his rage was as perilous as dynamite. It was, in truth, an occasion

fitted to draw out all the quickness and shrewdness of mind of Louis,

those faculties on which he prided himself! To gain friends in the

castle he bribed the household of the duke. As for himself he remained

quiet and apparently easy and unsuspicious, while alertly watchful to

avail himself of any opportunity to escape from the trap into which he

had brought himself. During the two days that succeeded, the rage of

Charles cooled somewhat. Louis had offered to swear a peace, to aid

Charles in punishing the Liegoise for their rebellion, and to leave

hostages for his good faith. This the angry duke at first would not

listen to. He talked of keeping Louis a prisoner, and sending for Prince

Charles, his brother, to take on himself the government of France. The

messenger was ready for this errand; his horse in the court-yard; the

letters written. But the duke's councillors begged him to reflect. Louis

had come under his safe-conduct. His honor was involved. Such an act

would be an eternal reproach to Burgundy. Charles did reflect, and

slowly began to relent. He had heard again from Liege. The affair was

not so bad as he had been told. The bishop and lord had been set free.

The violent storm in the duke's mind began to subside.



Early in the next day the irate duke entered the chamber of the castle

in which he held his royal guest a prisoner. The storm had fallen, but

the waves still ran high. There was courtesy in his looks, but his voice

trembled with anger. The words that came from his lips were brief and

bitter; there was threat in his manner; Louis looked at him with more

confidence than he felt.



"Brother," he said, "I am safe, am I not, in your house and your

country?"



"Yes," answered the duke, with an effort at self-repression; "so safe

that if I saw an arrow from a bow coming towards you I would throw

myself in the way to protect you. But will you not be pleased to swear

to the treaty just as it is written?"



"Yes, and I thank you for your good-will," said Louis, heartily.



"And will you not be pleased to come with me to Liege to help me punish

the treason committed against me by these Liegoise, all through you and

your journey hither? The bishop is your near relative of the house of

Bourbon."



"Yes, Paques-Dieu!" replied Louis; "and I am much astounded by their

wickedness. But let us begin by swearing this treaty; and then I will

start with as many or as few of my people as you please."



"My brother, the fox, is over-willing," may have been the thought that

passed through the duke's mind. "He is ready to lose his foot to get his

body out of the trap."



But whatever his thoughts, in action he took prompt measures to bind the

slippery king to his promise. From Louis's boxes was produced the cross

of St. Laud, claimed to be made of the wood of the true cross, and so

named because it was usually kept in the church of St. Laud, at Angers.

It was said to have belonged to Charlemagne, and Louis regarded it as

the most sacred of relics. On this the king swore to observe the treaty,

though it contained clauses to which he would not have assented under

other circumstances. The document was immediately signed. Louis, for the

first moment since learning of his almost fatal blunder, breathed at

ease. As for the second part of his promise, that of helping Charles to

punish the townsmen whom he had himself stirred to rebellion, it little

troubled his conscience--if he possessed any sentiment that could

properly be denominated by this name.



On the day after the signing of the treaty the two princes set out

together. Charles was followed by his army, Louis by his modest

body-guard, which had been augmented by three hundred men-at-arms, just

arrived from France. On the 27th of October [1468] they arrived at the

rebellious city. There seemed no trouble to get into it. No wall or

ditch surrounded it. The duke had previously deprived it of these

obstacles to his armies. But an obstacle remained in the people, who

could not easily be brought to believe that the king of France and the

Duke of Burgundy, those fire-and water-like potentates, were true

allies. The thing seemed impossible. Louis was their friend, and would

certainly strike for them. They made a sortie from the city, shouting,

"Hurrah for the king! Hurrah for France!"



To their consternation, they saw Louis and Duke Charles together at the

head of the advancing army, the king wearing in his hat the cross of St.

Andrew of Burgundy, his false voice shouting "Hurrah for Burgundy!"



The surprise of the Liegoise was shared by many of the French, whose

sense of national honor was shocked to see so utter a lack of pride and

so open a display of treachery in their monarch. They had not deemed his

boasted policy capable of such baseness. Louis afterwards excused

himself with the remark, "When pride rides before, shame and hurt

follow close after," a saying very pretty as a politic apothegm, but not

likely to soothe the wounded pride of France.



The treachery of Louis roused a different feeling in the hearts of the

Liegoise,--that of indignation. They determined to defend their city,

despite its lack of ramparts, and met the advancing army with such

spirit that it was obliged to convert its assault into a siege. Night

after night the Burgundian army was troubled by the bold sorties of the

citizens. In one of these the duke and king both were in danger of

capture. At ten o'clock, one night, about six hundred well-armed men

made a sudden assault upon the duke's quarters. They were ill-defended.

Charles was in bed. Only twelve archers were on guard, and these were

playing at dice. The assault came with startling suddenness. The archers

seized their arms, but had great difficulty in defending the door-way.

Charles hastened to put on breast-plate and helmet and to join them.

But only the opportune arrival of aid saved him from being seized in the

midst of his army.



Louis ran a similar danger. His quarters had simultaneously been

attacked. Luckily for him, his Scotch guardsmen were more ready than

those of Burgundy. They repulsed the attack, with little heed whether

their arrows killed hostile Liegoise or friendly Burgundians. As for the

assailants, they found it easier to get into the French camp than out of

it. They were killed almost to a man.



On the next day the duke and his councillors determined on an assault.

The king was not present, and when he heard of it he did not favor the

plan.



"You have seen the courage of these people," he remarked. "You know how

murderous and uncertain is street-fighting. You will lose many brave men

to no purpose. Wait two or three days, and the Liegoise will certainly

come to terms."



Most of the Burgundian captains were of the same opinion. The duke,

whose rash spirit could ill brook opposition, grew angry.



"He wishes to spare the Liegoise," he angrily exclaimed. "What danger is

there in this assault? There are no walls; they cannot put a single gun

in position; I certainly will not give up the assault. If the king is

afraid, let him get him gone to Namur."



This insult to the king, which shocked the Burgundians themselves, was

repeated to him, and received in silence. He had made up his mind to

drain the cup of humiliation to the dregs. The next day, October 30, the

assault was made, Charles at the head of his troops. Louis came up to

join him.



"Bide your time," said Charles. "Put not yourself uselessly in danger. I

will send you word when it is time."



"Lead on, brother," answered Louis. "You are the most fortunate prince

alive; I will follow you."



On they marched--into, as it proved, an undefended city. The Liegoise

had been discouraged by the fall of many of their bravest men. It was

Sunday; no attack was looked for; "the cloth was laid in every house,

and all were preparing for dinner"; the Burgundians moved through empty

streets, Louis following with his own escort, and shouting, "Hurrah for

Burgundy!"



By mid-day the vengeance of Charles was complete; the town had been

pillaged; there was nothing left to take in house or church; many a

floor was stained with blood; Liege for the time was ruined.



As for the arch-deceiver to whom all this was due, he completed his work

of baseness by loading the duke with praises, his tone and manner so

courteous and amiable that Charles lost the last shreds of his recent

anger.



"Brother," said the king the next day, "if you still need my help, do

not spare me. But if you have nothing more for me to do, it would be

well for me to go back to Paris, to make public in my court of

parliament the arrangement we have come to together; otherwise it would

risk becoming of no avail. You know that such is the custom of France.

Next summer we must meet again. You will come into your duchy of

Burgundy, and I will go and pay you a visit, and we will pass a week

joyously together in making good cheer."



It may be that this smooth speech was accompanied by a mental

commentary,--"Let me once get from under your claws, my playful tiger,

and I will not be fool enough to put myself back there again,"--but if

so nothing of the kind appeared on his face.



Charles made no answer. He sent for the treaty, and left it to the king

to confirm or renounce it, as he would. Louis expressed himself as fully

satisfied with its terms, and on the next day, November 2, set out on

his return to France. Charles kept him company for some distance. On

parting, the king said,--



"If my brother Charles, who is in Brittany, should not be content with

the assignment which I, for love of you, have made him, what would you

have me do?"



"If he do not please to take it, but would have you otherwise satisfy

him, I leave that to the two of you to settle," said Charles.



With these words he turned back, leaving Louis to pursue his way free

once more, "after having passed the most trying three weeks of his

life."



That the fox kept faith with the lion, or the lion with the fox, is not

to be looked for. New disputes broke out, new battles were fought,--not

now in alliance,--and the happiest day in the life of Louis XI. was that

in which he heard that Charles of Burgundy, the constant thorn in his

chaplet, had fallen on the fatal field of Nancy, and that France was

freed from the threatening presence of the bold and passionate duke.



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