being that his combats were fought with battle-axe and sword instead of
fists, and that his backers were princes, his admirers high-born ladies,
instead of the low-lived class of bruisers who now support such
_knightly_ exhibitions. Four centuries and more have passed since the
days of Sir Jacques. It is to be hoped that long before another century
has passed, there will be an end of all single combats in civilized
lands.

_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
that 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 wor