惊婚记 英文版 Quentin Durward
瓦尔特.司各特 Sir Walter Scott
CHAPTER XIX: THE CITY Page 1
Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you upTo any sudden act of mutiny.
JULIUS CAESAR
Separated from the Lady Isabelle, whose looks had been for so manydays his loadstar, Quentin felt a strange vacancy and chillness ofthe heart, which he had not yet experienced in any of the vicissitudesto which his life had subjected him. No doubt the cessation of theclose and unavoidable intercourse and intimacy betwixt them was thenecessary consequence of the Countess's having obtained a placeof settled residence, for under what pretext could she, had shemeditated such an impropriety, have had a gallant young squire suchas Quentin in constant attendance upon her?
But the shock of the separation was not the more welcome thatit seemed unavoidable, and the proud heart of Quentin swelled atfinding he was parted with like an ordinary postilion, or an escortwhose duty is discharged, while his eyes sympathised so far as todrop a secret tear or two over the ruins of all those airy castles,so many of which he had employed himself in constructing duringtheir too interesting journey. He made a manly, but, at first, avain effort to throw off this mental dejection, and so, yieldingto the feelings he could not suppress, he sat him down in one ofthe deep recesses formed by a window which lighted the great Gothichall of Schonwaldt, and there mused upon his hard fortune, whichhad not assigned him rank or wealth sufficient to prosecute hisdaring suit.
Quentin tried to dispel the sadness which overhung him by dispatchingCharlet, one of the valets, with letters to the court of Louis,announcing the arrival of the Ladies of Croye at Liege. At lengthhis natural buoyancy of temper returned, much excited by the titleof an old romaunt (a poetical romance) which had been just printedat Strasbourg, and which lay beside him in the window, the titleof which set forth --
How the Squire of lowe degreeLoved the King's daughter of Hungarie.
(An old English poem reprinted in Hazlitt's Remains of Early PopularPoetry of England.)
While he was tracing the "letters blake" of the ditty so congenialto his own situation, Quentin was interrupted by a touch on theshoulder, and, looking up, beheld the Bohemian standing by him.
Hayraddin, never a welcome sight, was odious from his late treachery,and Quentin sternly asked him why he dared take the freedom totouch a Christian and a gentleman?
"Simply," answered the Bohemian, "because I wished to know if theChristian gentleman had lost his feeling as well as his eyes andears. I have stood speaking to you these five minutes, and youhave stared on that scrap of yellow paper, as if it were a spellto turn you into a statue, and had already wrought half its purpose."
"Well, what dost thou want? Speak, and begone!"
"I want what all men want, though few are satisfied with it," saidHayraddin, "I want my due, ten crowns of gold for guiding the,ladies hither."
"With what face darest thou ask any guerdon beyond my sparing thyworthless life?" said Durward, fiercely, "thou knowest that it wasthy purpose to have betrayed them on the road."
"But I did not betray them," said Hayraddin, "if I had, I wouldhave asked no guerdon from you or from them, but from him whom theirkeeping on the right hand side of the river might have benefited.The party that I have served is the party who must pay me."
"Thy guerdon perish with thee, then, traitor," said Quentin, tellingout the money. "Get thee to the Boar of Ardennes, or to the devil!but keep hereafter out of my sight, lest I send thee thither beforethy time."
"The Boar of Ardennes!" repeated the Bohemian, with a strongeremotion of surprise than his features usually expressed -- "itwas then no vague guess -- no general suspicion -- which made youinsist on changing the road? -- Can it be -- are there really inother lands arts of prophecy more sure than those of our wanderingtribes? The willow tree under which we spoke could tell no tales.But no -- no -- no -- dolt that I was! -- I have it -- I have it!-- the willow by the brook near yonder convent -- I saw you looktowards it as you passed it, about half a mile from yon hive ofdrones -- that could not indeed speak, but it might hide one whocould hear! I will hold my councils in an open plain henceforth, nota bunch of thistles shall be near me for a Scot to shroud amongst.-- Ha! ha! the Scot hath beat the Zingaro at his own subtle weapons.But know, Quentin Durward, that you have foiled me to the marringof thine own fortune. -- Yes! the fortune I have told thee of, fromthe lines on thy hand, had been richly accomplished but for thineown obstinacy."
"By Saint. Andrew," said Quentin, "thy impudence makes me laugh inspite of myself. -- How, or in what, should thy successful villainyhave been of service to me? I heard, indeed, that you did stipulateto save my life, which condition your worthy allies would speedilyhave forgotten, had we once come to blows -- but in what thy betrayalof these ladies could have served me, but by exposing me to deathor captivity, is a matter beyond human brains to conjecture."
"No matter thinking of it, then," said Hayraddin, "for I mean stillto surprise you with my gratitude. Had you kept back my hire, Ishould have held that we were quit, and had left you to your ownfoolish guidance. As it is, I remain your debtor for yonder matteron the banks of the Cher."
"Methinks I have already taken out the payment in cursing andabusing thee," said Quentin.
"Hard words, or kind ones," said the Zingaro, "are but wind, whichmake no weight in the balance. Had you struck me, indeed, insteadof threatening --"
"I am likely enough to take out payment in that way, if you provokeme longer."
"I would not advise it," said the Zingaro, "such payment, made bya rash hand, might exceed the debt, and unhappily leave a balanceon your side, which I am not one to forget or forgive. And nowfarewell, but not for a long space -- I go to bid adieu to theLadies of Croye."
"Thou?" said Quentin, in astonishment -- "thou be admitted to thepresence of the ladies, and here, where they are in a manner reclusesunder the protection of the Bishop's sister, a noble canoness? Itis impossible."
"Marthon, however, waits to conduct me to their presence," saidthe Zingaro, with a sneer, "and I must pray your forgiveness if Ileave you something abruptly."
He turned as if to depart, but instantly coming back, said, with atone of deep and serious emphasis, "I know your hopes -- they aredaring, yet not vain if I aid them. I know your fears, they shouldteach prudence, not timidity. Every woman may be won. A count is buta nickname, which will befit Quentin as well as the other nicknameof duke befits Charles, or that of king befits Louis."
Ere Durward could reply, the Bohemian had left the hall. Quentininstantly followed, but, better acquainted than the Scot with thepassages of the house, Hayraddin kept the advantage which he hadgotten, and the pursuer lost sight of him as he descended a smallback staircase. Still Durward followed, though without exact consciousnessof his own purpose in doing so. The staircase terminated by a dooropening into the alley of a garden, in which he again beheld theZingaro hastening down a pleached walk.
On two sides, the garden was surrounded by the buildings of thecastle -- a huge old pile, partly castellated, and partly resemblingan ecclesiastical building, on the other two sides, the enclosurewas a high embattled wall. Crossing the alleys of the garden toanother part of the building, where a postern door opened behind alarge massive buttress, overgrown with ivy, Hayraddin looked back,and waved his hand in a signal of an exulting farewell to hisfollower, who saw that in effect the postern door was opened byMarthon, and that the vile Bohemian was admitted into the precincts,as he naturally concluded, of the apartment of the Countesses ofCroye. Quentin bit his lips with indignation, and blamed himselfseverely that he had not made the ladies sensible of the full infamyof Hayraddin's character, and acquainted with his machinationsagainst their safety. The arrogating manner in which the Bohemianhad promised to back his suit added to his anger and his disgust,and he felt as if even the hand of the Countess Isabelle would beprofaned, were it possible to attain it by such patronage.
"But it is all a deception," he said, "a turn of his base, jugglingartifice. He has procured access to those ladies upon some falsepretence, and with some mischievous intention. It is well I havelearned where they lodge. I will watch Marthon, and solicit aninterview with them, were it but to place them on their guard. Itis hard that I must use artifice and brook delay, when such as hehave admittance openly and without scruple. They shall find, however,that though I am excluded from their presence, Isabelle's safetyis the chief subject of my vigilance."
While the young lover was thus meditating, an aged gentleman ofthe Bishop's household approached him from the same door by whichhe had himself entered the garden, and made him aware, though withthe greatest civility of manner, that the garden was private, andreserved only for the use of the Bishop and guests of the veryhighest distinction.
Quentin heard him repeat this information twice ere he put theproper construction upon it, and then starting as from a reverie,he bowed and hurried out of the garden, the official person followinghim all the way, and overwhelming him with formal apologies forthe necessary discharge of his duty. Nay, so pertinacious was hein his attempts to remove the offence which he conceived Durward tohave taken, that he offered to bestow his own company upon him, tocontribute to his entertainment until Quentin, internally cursinghis formal foppery, found no better way of escape, then pretendinga desire of visiting the neighbouring city, and setting off thitherat such a round pace as speedily subdued all desire in the gentlemanusher to accompany him farther than the drawbridge. In a few minutes,Quentin was within the walls of the city of Liege, then one of therichest in Flanders, and of course in the world.
Melancholy, even love melancholy, is not so deeply seated, at leastin minds of a manly and elastic character, as the soft enthusiastswho suffer under it are fond of believing. It yields to unexpectedand striking impressions upon the senses, to change of place, tosuch scenes as create new trains of association, and to the influenceof the busy hum of mankind. In a few minutes, Quentin's attentionwas as much engrossed by the variety of objects presented in rapidsuccession by the busy streets of Liege, as if there had beenneither a Countess Isabelle nor a Bohemian in the world.
The lofty houses -- the stately, though narrow and gloomy streets-- the splendid display of the richest goods and most gorgeousarmour in the warehouses and shops around -- the walks crowdedby busy citizens of every description, passing and repassing withfaces of careful importance or eager bustle -- the huge wains,which transported to and fro the subjects of export and import,the former consisting of broadcloths and serge, arms of all kinds,nails and iron work, while the latter comprehended every articleof use or luxury, intended either for the consumption of an opulentcity, or received in barter, and destined to be transported elsewhere-- all these objects combined to form an engrossing picture ofwealth, bustle, and splendour, to which Quentin had been hithertoa stranger. He admired also the various streams and canals, drawnfrom and communicating with the Maes, which, traversing the cityin various directions, offered to every quarter the commercialfacilities of water carriage, and he failed not to hear a mass inthe venerable old Church of Saint Lambert, said to have been foundedin the eighth century.
It was upon leaving this place of worship that Quentin began toobserve that he, who had been hitherto gazing on all around himwith the eagerness of unrestrained curiosity, was himself the objectof attention to several groups of substantial looking burghers,who seemed assembled to look upon him as he left the church, andamongst whom arose a buzz and whisper, which spread from one partyto another, while the number of gazers continued to augment rapidly,and the eyes of each who added to it were eagerly directed toQuentin with a stare which expressed much interest and curiosity,mingled with a certain degree of respect.
At length he now formed the centre of a considerable crowd, whichyet yielded before him while he continued to move forward, while thosewho followed or kept pace with him studiously avoided pressing onhim, or impeding his motions. Yet his situation was too embarrassingto be long endured, without making some attempt to extricate himselfand to obtain some explanation.
Quentin looked around him, and fixing upon a jolly, stout made,respectable man, whom, by his velvet cloak and gold chain, heconcluded to be a burgher of eminence, and perhaps a magistrate,he asked him whether he saw anything particular in his appearance,to attract public attention in a degree so unusual? or whether itwas the ordinary custom of the people of Liege thus to throng aroundstrangers who chanced to visit their city?
"Surely not, good seignior," answered the burgher, "the Liegeoisare neither so idly curious as to practise such a custom, nor isthere anything in your dress or appearance saving that which is mostwelcome to this city, and which our townsmen are both delighted tosee and desirous to honour."
"This sounds very polite, worthy sir," said Quentin, "but, by theCross of Saint Andrew, I cannot even guess at your meaning."
"Your oath," answered the merchant of Liege, "as well as youraccent, convinces me that we are right in our conjecture."
"By my patron Saint Quentin!" said Durward, "I am farther off fromyour meaning than ever."
"There again now," rejoined the Liegeois, looking, as he spoke,most provokingly, yet most civilly, politic and intelligent.
"It is surely not for us to see that which you, worthy seignior,deem it proper to conceal: But why swear by Saint Quentin, if youwould not have me construe your meaning? -- We know the good Countof Saint Paul, who lies there at present, wishes well to our cause."
"On my life," said Quentin, "you are under some delusion. -- I knownothing of Saint Paul."
"Nay, we question you not," said the burgher, "although, hark ye-- I say, hark in your ear -- my name is Pavillon."
"And what is my business with that, Seignior Pavillon?" said Quentin.
Rouslaer advanced, a corpulent dignitary, whose fair round belly,like a battering ram, "did shake the press before him," and who,whispering caution to his neighbour, said in a tone of rebuke, "Youforget, good colleague, the place is too open -- the seignior willretire to your house or mine, and drink a glass of Rhenish andsugar, and then we shall hear more of our good friend and ally,whom we love with all our honest Flemish hearts."
"I have no news for any of you," said Quentin, impatiently, "I willdrink no Rhenish, and I only desire of you, as men of account andrespectability, to disperse this idle crowd, and allow a strangerto leave your town as quietly as he came into it."
"Nay, then, sir," said Rouslaer, "since you stand so much on yourincognito, and with us, too, who are men of confidence, let me askyou roundly, wherefore wear you the badge of your company if youwould remain unknown in Liege."
"What badge, and what order?" said Quentin, "you look like reverendmen and grave citizens, yet, on my soul you are either mad yourselves,or desire to drive me so."
"Sapperment!" said the other burgher, "this youth would make SaintLambert swear! Why, who wear bonnets with the Saint Andrew's crossand fleur de lys, save the Scottish Archers of King Louis's Guards?"
"And supposing I am an Archer of the Scottish Guard, why should youmake a wonder of my wearing the badge of my company?" said Quentinimpatiently.
"He has avowed it, he has avowed it!" said Rouslaer and Pavillon,turning to the assembled burghers in attitudes of congratulation,with waving arms, extended palms, and large round faces radiatingwith glee. "He hath avowed himself an Archer of Louis's Guard --of Louis, the guardian of the liberties of Liege!"
A general shout and cry now arose from the multitude, in which weremingled the various sounds of "Long live Louis of France! Long livethe Scottish Guard! Long live the valiant Archer! Our liberties,our privileges, or death! No imposts! Long live the valiant Boar ofArdennes! Down with Charles of Burgundy! and confusion to Bourbonand his bishopric!" Half stunned by the noise, which began anewin one quarter so soon as it ceased in another, rising and fallinglike the billows of the sea, and augmented by thousands of voiceswhich roared in chorus from distant streets and market places,Quentin had yet time to form a conjecture concerning the meaningof the tumult, and a plan for regulating his own conduct:
He had forgotten that, after his skirmish with Orleans and Dunois,one of his comrades had, at Lord Crawford's command, replaced themorion, cloven by the sword of the latter, with one of the steellined bonnets which formed a part of the proper and well knownequipment of the Scottish Guards. That an individual of this body,which was always kept very close to Louis's person, should haveappeared in the streets of a city whose civil discontents hadbeen aggravated by the agents of that King, was naturally enoughinterpreted by the burghers of Liege into a determination on thepart of Louis openly to assist their cause, and the apparitionof an individual archer was magnified into a pledge of immediateand active support from Louis -- nay, into an assurance that hisauxiliary forces were actually entering the town at one or other,though no one could distinctly tell which, of the city gates.
To remove a conviction so generally adopted, Quentin easily saw wasimpossible -- nay, that any attempt to undeceive men so obstinatelyprepossessed in their belief, would be attended with personal risk,which, in this case, he saw little use of incurring. He thereforehastily resolved to temporize, and to get free the best way hecould, and this resolution he formed while they were in the act ofconducting him to the Stadthouse (town house), where the notablesof the town were fast assembling, in order to hear the tidings whichhe was presumed to have brought, and to regale him with a splendidbanquet.
In spite of all his opposition, which was set down to modesty,he was on every side surrounded by the donors of popularity, theunsavoury tide of which now floated around him. His two burgomasterfriends, who were Schoppen, or Syndics of the city, had made fastboth his arms. Before him, Nikkel Blok, the chief of the butchers'incorporation, hastily summoned from his office in the shambles,brandished his death doing axe, yet smeared with blood and brains,with a courage and grace which brantwein (spirits) alone couldinspire. Behind him came the tall, lean, rawboned, very drunk, andvery patriotic figure of Claus Hammerlein, president of the mysteryof the workers in iron, and followed by at least a thousand unwashedartificers of his class. Weavers, nailers, ropemakers, artisans ofevery degree and calling, thronged forward to join the processionfrom every gloomy and narrow street. Escape seemed a desperate andimpossible adventure.