惊婚记 英文版 Quentin Durward
瓦尔特.司各特 Sir Walter Scott
CHAPTER XXIV: THE SURRENDER
Rescue or none, Sir Knight, I am your captive:Deal with me what your nobleness suggests --Thinking the chance of war may one day place youWhere I must now be reckon'd -- I' the rollOf melancholy prisoners.
ANONYMOUS
The skirmish betwixt the Schwarzreiters and the Burgundian menat arms lasted scarcely five minutes, so soon were the former putto the rout by the superiority of the latter in armour, weight ofhorse, and military spirit. In less than the space we have mentioned,the Count of Crevecoeur, wiping his bloody sword upon his horse'smane ere he sheathed it, came back to the verge of the forest,where Isabelle had remained a spectator of the combat. One part ofhis people followed him, while the other continued to pursue theflying enemy for a little space along the causeway.
"It is shame," said the Count, "that the weapons of knights andgentlemen should be soiled by the blood of those brutal swine."
So saying, he returned his weapon to the sheath and added, "Thisis a rough welcome to your home, my pretty cousin, but wanderingprincesses must expect such adventures. And well I came up in time,for, let me assure you, the Black Troopers respect a countess'scoronet as little as a country wench's coif, and I think yourretinue is not qualified for much resistance."
"My Lord Count," said the Lady Isabelle, "without farther preface,let me know if I am a prisoner, and where you are to conduct me."
"You know, you silly child," answered the Count, "how I wouldanswer that question, did it rest on my own will. But you, and yourfoolish match making, marriage hunting aunt, have made such wilduse of your wings of late, that I fear you must be contented tofold them up in a cage for a little while. For my part, my duty,and it is a sad one, will be ended when I have conducted you to theCourt of the Duke, at Peronne for which purpose I hold it necessaryto deliver the command of this reconnoitring party to my nephew,Count Stephen, while I return with you thither, as I think youmay need an intercessor. -- And I hope the young giddy pate willdischarge his duty wisely."
"So please you, fair uncle," said Count Stephen, "if you doubt mycapacity to conduct the men at arms, even remain with them yourself,and I will be the servant and guard of the Countess Isabelle ofCroye."
"No doubt, fair nephew," answered his uncle, "this were a goodlyimprovement on my scheme, but methinks I like it as well in theway I planned it. Please you, therefore, to take notice, that yourbusiness here is not to hunt after and stick these black hogs, forwhich you seemed but now to have felt an especial vocation, but tocollect and bring to me true tidings of what is going forward inthe country of Liege, concerning which we hear such wild rumours.Let some half score of lances follow me and the rest remain withmy banner under your guidance."
"Yet one moment, cousin of Crevecoeur," said the Countess Isabelle,"and let me, in yielding myself prisoner, stipulate at least for thesafety of those who have befriended me in my misfortunes. Permitthis good fellow, my trusty guide, to go back unharmed to his nativetown of Liege."
"My nephew," said Crevecoeur, after looking sharply at Glover'shonest breadth of countenance, "shall guard this good fellow, whoseems, indeed, to have little harm in him, as far into the territoryas he himself advances, and then leave him at liberty."
"Fail not to remember me to the kind Gertrude," said the Countessto her guide, and added, taking a string of pearls from under herveil, "Pray her to wear this in remembrance of her unhappy friend."
Honest Glover took the string of pearls, and kissed with clownishgesture, but with sincere kindness, the fair hand which had foundsuch a delicate mode of remunerating his own labours and peril.
"Umph! signs and tokens," said the Count, "any farther bequests tomake, my fair cousin? -- It is time we were on our way."
"Only," said the Countess, making an effort to speak, "that youwill be pleased to be favourable to this -- this young gentleman."
"Umph!" said Crevecoeur, casting the same penetrating glance onQuentin which he had bestowed on Glover, but apparently with a muchless satisfactory result, and mimicking, though not offensively,the embarrassment of the Countess.
"Umph! -- Ay -- this is a blade of another temper. -- And pray, mycousin, what has this -- this very young gentleman done, to deservesuch intercession at your hands?"
"He has saved my life and honour," said the Countess, reddeningwith shame and resentment.
Quentin also blushed with indignation, but wisely concluded thatto give vent to it might only make matters worse.
"Life and honour? -- Umph!" said again the Count Crevecoeur, "methinksit would have been as well, my cousin, if you had not put yourselfin the way of lying under such obligations to this very younggentleman. -- But let it pass. The young gentleman may wait on us,if his quality permit, and I will see he has no injury -- only Iwill myself take in future the office of protecting your life andhonour, and may perhaps find for him some fitter duty than that ofbeing a squire of the body to damosels errant."
"My Lord Count," said Durward, unable to keep silence any longer,"lest you should talk of a stranger in slighter terms than youmight afterwards think becoming, I take leave to tell you, that Iam Quentin Durward, an Archer of the Scottish Bodyguard, in which,as you well know, none but gentlemen and men of honour are enrolled."
"I thank you for your information, and I kiss your hands, SeigniorArcher," said Crevecoeur, in the same tone of raillery. "Have thegoodness to ride with me to the front of the party."
As Quentin moved onward at the command of the Count, who had nowthe power, if not the right, to dictate his motions, he observedthat the Lady Isabelle followed his motions with a look of anxiousand timid interest, which amounted almost to tenderness, and thesight of which brought water into his eyes. But he remembered thathe had a man's part to sustain before Crevecoeur, who, perhaps ofall the chivalry in France or Burgundy, was the least likely to bemoved to anything but laughter by a tale of true love sorrow. Hedetermined, therefore, not to wait his addressing him, but to openthe conversation in a tone which should assert his claim to fairtreatment, and to more respect than the Count, offended perhaps atfinding a person of such inferior note placed so near the confidenceof his high born and wealthy cousin, seemed disposed to entertainfor him.
"My Lord Count of Crevecoeur," he said, in a temperate but firmtone of voice, "may I request of you, before our interview goesfarther, to tell me if I am at liberty, or am to account myselfyour prisoner?"
"A shrewd question," replied the Count, "which at present I canonly answer by another. -- Are France and Burgundy, think you, atpeace or war with each other?"
"That," replied the Scot, "you, my lord, should certainly knowbetter than I. I have been absent from the Court of France, andhave heard no news for some time."
"Look you there," said the Count, "you see how easy it is to askquestions, but how difficult to answer them. Why, I myself, whohave been at Peronne with the Duke for this week and better, cannotresolve this riddle any more than you, and yet, Sir Squire, uponthe solution of that question depends the said point, whether youare prisoner or free man, and, for the present, I must hold youas the former. -- Only, if you have really and honestly been ofservice to my kinswoman, and for you are candid in your answersto the questions I shall ask, affairs shall stand the better withyou."
"The Countess of Croye," said Quentin, "is best judge if I haverendered any service, and to her I refer you on that matter. Myanswers you will yourself judge of when you ask me your questions."
"Umph! -- haughty enough," muttered the Count of Crevecoeur, "andvery like one that wears a lady's favour in his hat, and thinks hemust carry things with a high tone, to honour the precious remnantof silk and tinsel. Well, sir, I trust it will be no abatement ofyour dignity, if you answer me, how long you have been about theperson of the Lady Isabelle of Croye?"
"Count of Crevecoeur," said Quentin Durward, "if I answer questionswhich are asked in a tone approaching towards insult, it is onlylest injurious inferences should be drawn from my silence respectingone to whom we are both obliged to render justice. I have acted asescort to the Lady Isabelle since she left France to retire intoFlanders."
"Ho! ho!" said the Count, "and that is to say, since she fledfrom Plessis les Tours? -- You, an Archer of the Scottish Guard,accompanied her, of course, by the express orders of King Louis?"
However little Quentin thought himself indebted to the King ofFrance, who, in contriving the surprisal of the Countess Isabelleby William de la Marck, had probably calculated on the youngScotchman's being slain in her defence, he did not yet conceivehimself at liberty to betray any trust which Louis had reposed,or had seemed to repose, in him, and therefore replied to CountCrevecoeur's inference that it was sufficient for him to have theauthority of his superior officer for what he had done, and heinquired no farther.
"It is quite sufficient," said the Count. "We know the King doesnot permit his officers to send the Archers of his Guard to prancelike paladins by the bridle rein of wandering ladies, unless hehath some politic purpose to serve. It will be difficult for KingLouis to continue to aver so boldly that he knew' not of the Ladiesof Croye's having escaped from France, since they were escortedby one of his own Life guard. -- And whither, Sir Archer, was yourretreat directed?"
"To Liege, my lord," answered the Scot, "where the ladies desiredto be placed under the protection of the late Bishop."
"The late Bishop!" exclaimed the Count of Crevecoeur, "is Louis ofBourbon dead? -- Not a word of his illness had reached the Duke.-- Of what did he die?"
"He sleeps in a bloody grave, my lord -- that is, if his murderershave conferred one on his remains."
"Murdered!" exclaimed Crevecoeur again. -- "Holy Mother of Heaven!-- young man, it is impossible!"
"Saw it! and made not in to help the good Prelate!" exclaimed theCount, "or to raise the castle against his murderers? -- Know'stthou not that even to look on such a deed, without resisting it,is profane sacrilege?"
declining, and they pursued in company, andwith all the despatch .
"To be brief, my lord," said Durward, "ere this act was done, thecastle was stormed by the bloodthirsty William de la Marck, withhelp of the insurgent Liegeois."
"I am struck with thunder," said Crevecoeur. "Liege in insurrection!-- Schonwaldt taken! -- the Bishop murdered -- Messenger of sorrow,never did one man unfold such a packet of woes! -- Speak -- knewyou of this assault -- of this insurrection -- of this murder? --Speak -- thou art one of Louis's trusted Archers, and it is he thathas aimed this painful arrow. -- Speak, or I will have thee tornwith wild horses!"
"And if I am so torn, my lord, there can be nothing rent out ofme, that may not become a true Scottish gentleman: I know no moreof these villainies than you -- was so far from being partaker inthem, that I would have withstood them to the uttermost, had mymeans in a twentieth degree equalled my inclination. But what couldI do? -- they were hundreds, and I but one. My only care was torescue the Countess Isabelle, and in that I was happily successful.Yet, had I been near enough when the ruffian deed was so cruellydone on the old man, I had saved his gray hairs, or I had avengedthem, and as it was, my abhorrence was spoken loud enough to preventother horrors."
"I believe thee, youth," said the Count, "thou art neither of an agenor nature to be trusted with such bloody work, however well fittedto be the squire of dames. But alas! for the kind and generousPrelate, to be murdered on the hearth where he so often entertainedthe stranger with Christian charity and princely bounty -- and thatby a wretch, a monster! a portentous growth of blood and cruelty!-- bred up in the very hall where he has imbrued his hands in hisbenefactor's blood! But I know not Charles of Burgundy -- nay, Ishould doubt of the justice of Heaven, if vengeance be not as sharp,and sudden, and severe, as this villainy has been unexampled inatrocity. And, if no other shall pursue the murderer" -- here hepaused, grasped his sword, then quitting his bridle, struck bothgauntleted hands upon his breast, until his corselet clattered, andfinally held them up to heaven, as he solemnly continued, -- "I --I, Philip Crevecoeur of Cordes, make a vow to God, Saint Lambert,and the Three Kings of Cologne, that small shall be my thought ofother earthly concerns, till I take full revenge on the murderersof the good Louis of Bourbon, whether I find them in forest orfield, in city or in country, in hill or in plain, in King's Courtor in God's Church! and thereto I pledge hands and living, friendsand followers, life and honour. So help me God, and Saint Lambertof Liege, and the Three Kings of Cologne!"
When the Count of Crevecoeur had made his vow, his mind seemed insome sort relieved from the overwhelming grief and astonishmentwith which he had heard the fatal tragedy that had been actedat Schonwaldt, and he proceeded to question Durward more minutelyconcerning the particulars of that disastrous affair, which theScot, nowise desirous to abate the spirit of revenge which the Countentertained against William de la Marck, gave him at full length.
"But those blind, unsteady, faithless, fickle beasts, the Liegeois,"said the Count, "that they should have combined themselves withthis inexorable robber and murderer, to put to death their lawfulPrince!"
Durward here informed the enraged Burgundian that the Liegeois,or at least the better class of them, however rashly they had runinto the rebellion against their Bishop, had no design, so far asappeared to him, to aid in the execrable deed of De la Marck but,on the contrary, would have prevented it if they had had the means,and were struck with horror when they beheld it.
"Speak not of the faithless, inconstant plebeian rabble!" saidCrevecoeur. "When they took arms against a Prince who had no fault,save that he was too kind and too good a master for such a set ofungrateful slaves -- when they armed against him, and broke into hispeaceful house, what could there be in their intention but murder?-- when they banded themselves with the Wild Boar of Ardennes,the greatest homicide in the marches of Flanders, what else couldthere be in their purpose but murder, which is the very trade helives by? And again, was it not one of their own vile rabble whodid the very deed, by thine own account? I hope to see their canalsrunning blood by the flight of their burning houses. Oh, the kind,noble, generous lord, whom they have slaughtered! -- Other vassalshave rebelled under the pressure of imposts and penury but the menof Liege in the fullness of insolence and plenty."
He again abandoned the reins of his war horse, and wrung bitterlythe hands, which his mail gloves rendered untractable. Quentineasily saw that the grief which he manifested was augmented by thebitter recollection of past intercourse and friendship with thesufferer, and was silent accordingly, respecting feelings which hewas unwilling to aggravate, and at the same time felt it impossibleto soothe. But the Count of Crevecoeur returned again and again tothe subject -- questioned him on every particular of the surpriseof Schonwaldt, and the death of the Bishop, and then suddenly,as if he had recollected something which had escaped his memory,demanded what had become of the Lady Hameline, and why she was notwith her kinswoman?
"Not," he added contemptuously, "that I consider her absence asat all a loss to the Countess Isabelle, for, although she was herkinswoman, and upon the whole a well meaning woman, yet the Courtof Cocagne never produced such a fantastic fool, and I hold it forcertain that her niece, whom I have always observed to be a modestand orderly young lady, was led into the absurd frolic of flyingfrom Burgundy to France, by that blundering, romantic old matchmaking and match seeking idiot!"
(Court of Cocagne: a fabled land intended to ridicule the storiesof Avalon, the apple green island, the home of King Arthur. "Itshouses were built of good things to eat: roast geese went slowlydown the street, turning themselves, and inviting the passersby toeat them; buttered larks fell in profusion; the shingles of thehouses were of cake." Cent. Dict. Cocagne has also been calledLubberland.)
What a speech for a romantic lover to hear! and to hear, too,when it would have been ridiculous in him to attempt what it wasimpossible for him to achieve -- namely, to convince the Count, byforce of arms, that he did foul wrong to the Countess -- the peerlessin sense as in beauty -- in terming her a modest and orderly youngwoman, qualities which might have been predicated with proprietyof the daughter of a sunburnt peasant, who lived by goading theoxen, while her father held the plough. And then, to suppose herunder the domination and supreme guidance of a silly and romanticaunt! -- The slander should have been repelled down the slanderer'sthroat. But the open, though severe, physiognomy of the Count ofCrevecoeur, the total contempt which he seemed to entertain forthose feelings which were uppermost in Quentin's bosom, overawedhim, not for fear of the Count's fame in arms, that was a riskwhich would have increased his desire of making out a challenge --but in dread of ridicule, the weapon of all others most feared byenthusiasts of every description, and which, from its predominanceover such minds, often checks what is absurd, and fully as oftensmothers that which is noble.
Under the influence of this fear of becoming an object of scornrather than resentment, Durward, though with some pain, confinedhis reply to a confused account of the Lady Hameline's having madeher escape from Schonwaldt before the attack took place. He couldnot, indeed, have made his story very distinct, without throwingridicule on the near relation of Isabelle and perhaps incurring somehimself, as having been the object of her preposterous expectations.He added to his embarrassed detail, that he had heard a report,though a vague one, of the Lady Hameline's having again fallen intothe hands of William de la Marck.
"I trust in Saint Lambert that he will marry her," said Crevecoeur,"as indeed, he is likely enough to do, for the sake of her moneybags,and equally likely to knock her on the head, so soon as these areeither secured in his own grasp, or, at farthest, emptied."
The Count then proceeded to ask so many questions concerning themode in which both ladies had conducted themselves on the journey,the degree of intimacy to which they admitted Quentin himself, andother trying particulars, that, vexed, and ashamed, and angry, theyouth was scarce able to conceal his embarrassment from the keensighted soldier and courtier, who seemed suddenly disposed to takeleave of him, saying, at the same time, "Umph -- I see it is as Iconjectured, on one side at least, I trust the other party has kepther senses better. -- Come, Sir Squire, spur on, and keep the van,while I fall back to discourse with the Lady Isabelle. I think Ihave learned now so much from you, that I can talk to her of thesesad passages without hurting her nicety, though I have frettedyours a little. -- Yet stay, young gallant -- one word ere you go.You have had, I imagine, a happy journey through Fairyland -- allfull of heroic adventure, and high hope, and wild minstrel-likedelusion, like the gardens of Morgaine la Fee (half-sister ofArthur. Her gardens abounded in all good things; music filled theair, and the inhabitants enjoyed perpetual youth). Forget it all,young soldier," he added, tapping him on the shoulder, "rememberyonder lady only as the honoured Countess of Croye -- forget heras a wandering and adventurous damsel. And her friends -- one ofthem I can answer for -- will remember, on their part, only theservices you have done her, and forget the unreasonable rewardwhich you have had the boldness to propose to yourself."
Enraged that he had been unable to conceal from the sharp sightedCrevecoeur feelings which the Count seemed to consider as theobject of ridicule, Quentin replied indignantly, "My Lord Count,when I require advice of you, I will ask it, when I demand assistanceof you, it will be time enough to grant or refuse it, when I setpeculiar value on your opinion of me, it will not be too late toexpress it."
"Heyday!" said the Count, "I have come between Amadis and Oriana,and must expect a challenge to the lists!"
Of what did he die?"Speak -- thou art one of Louis's trusted Archers.
(Amadis is the hero of a famous mediaeval romance originally writtenin Portuguese, but translated into French and much enlarged bysubsequent romancers. Amadis is represented as a model of chivalry.His lady was Oriana.)
"You speak as if that were an impossibility," said Quentin. "WhenI broke a lance with the Duke of Orleans, it was against a headin which flowed better blood than that of Crevecoeur. -- When Imeasured swords with Dunois, I engaged a better warrior."
"Now Heaven nourish thy judgment, gentle youth," said Crevecoeur,still laughing at the chivalrous inamorato. "If thou speak'st truth,thou hast had singular luck in this world, and, truly, if it bethe pleasure of Providence exposes thee to such trials, withouta beard on thy lip, thou wilt be mad with vanity ere thou writestthyself man. Thou canst not move me to anger, though thou maystto mirth. Believe me, though thou mayst have fought with Princes,and played the champion for Countesses, by some of those freaks whichFortune will sometimes exhibit, thou art by no means the equal ofthose of whom thou hast been either the casual opponent, or morecasual companion. I can allow thee like a youth, who hath listened toromances till he fancied himself a Paladin, to form pretty dreamsfor some time, but thou must not be angry at a well meaning friend,though he shake thee something roughly by the shoulders to awakethee."
"My Lord of Crevecoeur," said Quentin, "my family --"
"Nay, it was not utterly of family that I spoke," said the Count,"but of rank, fortune, high station, and so forth, which placea distance between various degrees and classes of persons. As forbirth, all men are descended from Adam and Eve."
"My Lord Count," repeated Quentin, "my ancestors, the Durwards ofGlen Houlakin --"
"Nay," said the Count, "if you claim a farther descent for themthan from Adam, I have done! Good even to you."
He reined back his horse, and paused to join the Countess, to whom,if possible, his insinuations and advices, however well meant,were still more disagreeable than to Quentin, who, as he rode on,muttered to himself, "Cold blooded, insolent, overweening coxcomb!-- Would that the next Scottish Archer who has his harquebusspointed at thee, may not let thee off so easily as I did!"
In the evening they reached the town of Charleroi, on the Sambre,where the Count of Crevecoeur had determined to leave the CountessIsabelle, whom the terror and fatigue of yesterday, joined to aflight of fifty miles since morning, and the various distressingsensations by which it was accompanied, had made incapable oftravelling farther with safety to her health. The Count consignedher, in a state of great exhaustion, to the care of the Abbess ofthe Cistercian convent in Charleroi, a noble lady, to whom boththe families of Crevecoeur and Croye were related, and in whoseprudence and kindness he could repose confidence.
Crevecoeur himself only stopped to recommend the utmost caution tothe governor of a small Burgundian garrison who occupied the place,and required him also to mount a guard of honour upon the conventduring the residence of the Countess Isabelle of Croye -- ostensiblyto secure her safety, but perhaps secretly to prevent her attemptingto escape. The Count only assigned as a cause for the garrison'sbeing vigilant, some vague rumours which he had heard of disturbancesin the Bishopric of Liege. But he was determined himself to be thefirst who should carry the formidable news of the insurrection andthe murder of the Bishop, in all their horrible reality, to DukeCharles, and for that purpose, having procured fresh horses forhimself and suite, he mounted with the resolution of continuinghis journey to Peronne without stopping for repose, and, informingQuentin Durward that he must attend him, he made, at the sametime, a mock apology for parting fair company, but hoped that toso devoted a squire of dames a night's journey by moonshine wouldbe more agreeable than supinely to yield himself to slumber likean ordinary mortal.
Quentin, already sufficiently afflicted by finding that he wasto be parted from Isabelle, longed to answer this taunt with anindignant defiance, but aware that the Count would only laugh at hisanger, and despise his challenge, he resolved to wait some futuretime, when he might have an opportunity of obtaining some amendsfrom this proud lord, who, though for very different reasons,had become nearly as odious to him as the Wild Boar of Ardenneshimself. He therefore assented to Crevecoeur's proposal, as to whathe had no choice of declining, and they pursued in company, andwith all the despatch they could exert, the road between Charleroiand Peronne.