惊婚记 英文版 Quentin Durward
瓦尔特.司各特 Sir Walter Scott
CHAPTER XXXVII: THE SALLY Page 2
Quentin heard but imperfectly the words, which were partly lostin the hollow helmet; but the action could not be mistaken, and hehad but time to bid his uncle and comrades, as they were gentlemen,to stand back, when De la Marck sprang upon him with a bound likea tiger, aiming, at the same time a blow with his mace, so as tomake his hand and foot keep time together, and giving his strokefull advantage of the descent of his leap, but, light of foot andquick of eye, Quentin leaped aside, and disappointed an aim whichwould have been fatal had it taken effect.
They then closed, like the wolf and the wolf dog, their comradeson either side remaining inactive spectators, for Le Balafre roaredout for fair play, adding that he would venture his nephew on himwere he as wight as Wallace.
Neither was the experienced soldier's confidence unjustified; for,although the blows of the despairing robber fell like those of thehammer on the anvil, yet the quick motions and dexterous swordsmanshipof the young Archer enabled him to escape, and to requite them withthe point of his less noisy, though more fatal weapon; and that sooften, and so effectually, that the huge strength of his antagonistbegan to give way to fatigue, while the ground on which he stoodbecame a puddle of blood. Yet, still unabated in courage and ire,the wild Boar of Ardennes fought on with as much mental energy asat first, and Quentin's victory seemed dubious and distant, whena female voice behind him called him by his name, ejaculating,
"Help! help! for the sake of the blessed Virgin!"
He turned his head, and with a single glance beheld GertrudePavillon, her mantle stripped from her shoulders, dragged forciblyalong by a French soldier, one of several who, breaking into thechapel close by, had seized, as their prey, on the terrified femaleswho had taken refuge there."
"Wait for me but one moment," exclaimed Quentin to De la Marck, andsprang to extricate his benefactress from a situation of which heconjectured all the dangers.
"I wait no man's pleasure," said De la Marck, flourishing his mace,and beginning to retreat -- glad, no doubt, at being free of soformidable an assailant.
, "I have but too much reason tobelieve your Grace will find her .
"You shall wait mine, though, by your leave," said Balafre; "I willnot have my nephew baulked."
So saying, he instantly assaulted De la Marck with his two handedsword.
Quentin found, in the meanwhile, that the rescue of Gertrude was atask more difficult than could be finished in one moment. Her captor,supported by his comrades, refused to relinquish his prize: andwhilst Durward, aided by one or two of his countrymen, endeavouredto compel him to do so, the former beheld the chance which Fortunehad so kindly afforded him for fortune and happiness glide out ofhis reach; so that when he stood at length in the street with theliberated Gertrude, there was no one near them. Totally forgettingthe defenceless situation of his companion, he was about to springaway in pursuit of the Boar of Ardennes, as the greyhound tracksthe deer, when, clinging to him in her despair, she exclaimed, "Forthe sake of your mother's honour, leave me not here! -- As you area gentleman, protect me to my father's house, which once shelteredyou and the Lady Isabelle! -- For her sake leave me not!"
Her call was agonizing, but it was irresistible; and bidding amental adieu, with unutterable bitterness of feeling, to all thegay hopes which had stimulated his exertion, carried him throughthat bloody day, and which at one moment seemed to approachconsummation, Quentin, like an unwilling spirit who obeys a talismanwhich he cannot resist, protected Gertrude to Pavillon's house,and arrived in time to defend that and the Syndic himself againstthe fury of the licentious soldiery.
Meantime the King and the Duke of Burgundy entered the city onhorseback and through one of the breaches. They were both in completearmour, but the latter, covered with blood from the plume to thespur, drove his steed furiously up the breach, which Louis surmountedwith the stately pace of one who leads a procession. They dispatchedorders to stop the sack of the city, which had already commenced,and to assemble their scattered troops. The Princes themselvesproceeded towards the great church, both for the protection ofmany of the distinguished inhabitants who had taken refuge there,and in order to hold a sort of military council after they hadheard high mass.
Busied, like other officers of his rank, in collecting those underhis command, Lord Crawford, at the turning of one of the streetswhich leads to the Maes, met Le Balafre sauntering composedlytowards the river, holding in his hand, by the gory locks, a humanhead with as much indifference as a fowler carries a game pouch.
"How now, Ludovic!" said his commander; "what are ye doing withthat carrion?"
"It is all that is left of a bit of work which my nephew shaped outand nearly finished and I put the last hand to," said Le Balafre,"a good fellow that I dispatched yonder and who prayed me to throwhis head into the Maes. -- Men have queer fancies when old SmallBack (a cant expression in Scotland for Death, usually delineatedas a skeleton. S.) is gripping them, but Small Back must lead downthe dance with us all in our time."
"And you are going to throw that head into the Maes?" said Crawford,looking more attentively on the ghastly memorial of mortality.
"Ay, truly am I," said Ludovic testily. "If you refuse a dying manhis boon, you are likely to be haunted by his ghost, and I love tosleep sound at nights."
"You must take your chance of the ghaist, man," said Crawford; "for,by my soul, there is more lies on that dead pow than you think for.Come along with me -- not a word more -- Come along with me."
"Nay, for that matter," said Le Balafre, "I made him no promise;for, in truth, I had off his head before the tongue had well donewagging; and as I feared him not living, by St. Martin of Tours,I fear him as little when he is dead. Besides, my little gossip,the merry Friar of St. Martin's, will lend me a pot of holy water."
When high mass had been said in the Cathedral Church of Liege andthe terrified town was restored to some moderate degree of order,Louis and Charles, with their peers around, proceeded to hear theclaims of those who had any to make for services performed duringthe battle. Those which respected the County of Croye and its fairmistress were first received, and to the disappointment of sundryclaimants, who had thought themselves sure of the rich prize, thereseemed doubt and mystery to involve their several pretensions.Crevecoeur showed a boar's hide, such as De la Marck usually wore;Dunois produced a cloven shield with his armorial bearings; andthere were others who claimed the merit of having dispatched themurderer of the Bishop, producing similar tokens -- the rich rewardfixed on De la Marck's head having brought death to all who werearmed in his resemblance.
There was much noise and contest among the competitors, and Charles,internally regretting the rash promise which had placed the hand andwealth of his fair vassal on such a hazard, was in hopes he mightfind means of evading all these conflicting claims, when Crawfordpressed forward into the circle, dragging Le Balafre after him,who, awkward and bashful, followed like an unwilling mastiff towedon in a leash, as his leader exclaimed, "Away with your hoofs andhides and painted iron! -- No one, save he who slew the Boar, canshow the tusks!"
So saying, he flung on the floor the bloody head, easily known asthat of De la Marck by the singular conformation of the jaws, whichin reality had a certain resemblance to those of the animal whosename he bore, and which was instantly recognized by all who hadseen him.
(We have already noticed the anachronism respecting the crimes ofthis atrocious baron; and it is scarce necessary to repeat, thatif he in reality murdered the Bishop of Liege in 1482, the Countof La Marck could not be slain in the defence of Liege four yearsearlier. In fact, the Wild Boar of Ardennes, as he was usuallytermed, was of high birth, being the third son of John I, Countof La Marck and Aremberg, and ancestor of the branch called Baronsof Lumain. He did not escape the punishment due to his atrocity,though it did not take place at the time, or in the manner,narrated in the text. Maximilian, Emperor of Austria, caused himto be arrested at Utrecht, where he was beheaded in the year 1485,three years after the Bishop of Liege's death. S.)
"Crawford," said Louis, while Charles sat silent in gloomy anddispleased surprise, "I trust it is one of my faithful Scots whohas won this prize?"
"It is Ludovic Lesly, Sire, whom we call Le Balafre," replied theold soldier.
"But is he noble?" said the Duke; "is he of gentle blood? --Otherwise our promise is void."
"He is a cross, ungainly piece of wood enough," said Crawford,looking at the tall, awkward, embarrassed figure of the Archer; "butI will warrant him a branch of the tree of Rothes for all that --and they have been as noble as any house in France or Burgundy eversince it is told of their founder that --
baulked."thrown-- and the bride's garter was struggled for in presence.
"'Between the less-lee and the mair,He slew the Knight, and left him there.'"
(An old rhyme by which the Leslies vindicate their descent froman ancient knight, who is said to have slain a gigantic Hungarianchampion, and to have formed a proper name for himself by a playof words upon the place where he fought his adversary. S.)
"There is then no help for it," said the Duke, "and the fairest andrichest heiress in Burgundy must be the wife of a rude mercenarysoldier like this, or die secluded in a convent -- and she the onlychild of our faithful Reginald de Croye! -- I have been too rash."
And a cloud settled on his brow, to the surprise of his peers,who seldom saw him evince the slightest token of regret for thenecessary consequences of an adopted resolution.
"Hold but an instant," said the Lord Crawford, "it may be betterthan your Grace conjectures. Hear but what this cavalier has tosay. -- Speak out, man, and a murrain to thee," he added, apart toLe Balafre.
But that blunt soldier, though he could make a shift to expresshimself intelligibly enough to King Louis, to whose familiarityhe was habituated, yet found himself incapable of enunciating hisresolution before so splendid an assembly as that before which hethen stood; and after having turned his shoulder to the princes, andpreluded with a hoarse chuckling laugh, and two or three tremendouscontortions of countenance, he was only able to pronounce the words,"Saunders Souplejaw" -- and then stuck fast.
"May it please your Majesty and your Grace," said Crawford, "I mustspeak for my countryman and old comrade. You shall understand thathe has had it prophesied to him by a seer in his own land, thatthe fortune of his house is to be made by marriage; but as he is,like myself, something the worse for the wear -- loves the winehouse better than a lady's summer parlour, and, in short, havingsome barrack tastes and likings, which would make greatness inhis own person rather an encumbrance to him, he hath acted by myadvice, and resigns the pretentions acquired' by the fate of slayingWilliam de la Marck, to him by whom the Wild Boar was actuallybrought to bay, who is his maternal nephew."
"I will vouch for that youth's services and prudence," said KingLouis, overjoyed to see that fate had thrown so gallant a prizeto one over whom he had some influence. "Without his prudence andvigilance, we had been ruined. It was he who made us aware of thenight sally."
"I, then," said Charles, "owe him some reparation for doubting hisveracity."
"And I can attest his gallantry as a man at arms," said Dunois.
composedlytowards the river, holding in his hand, by the gory locks, a humanhead.
"But," interrupted Crevecoeur, "though the uncle be a Scottishgentillatre, that makes not the nephew necessarily so."
of the blessed Virgin!"Sire, whom we call Le Balafre?
"He is of the House of Durward," said Crawford, "descended fromthat Allan Durward who was High Steward of Scotland."
"Nay, if it be young Durward," said Crevecoeur, "I say no more.-- Fortune has declared herself on his side too plainly for me tostruggle farther with her humoursome ladyship -- but it is strange,from lord to horseboy, how wonderfully these Scots stick by eachother."
"Highlander shoulder to shoulder," answered Lord Crawford, laughingat the mortification of the proud Burgundian.
"We have yet to inquire," said Charles thoughtfully, "what the fairlady's sentiments may be towards this fortunate adventurer."
"By the mass" said Crevecoeur, "I have but too much reason tobelieve your Grace will find her more amenable to authority thanon former occasions. -- But why should I grudge this youth hispreferment? Since, after all, it is sense, firmness, and gallantrywhich have put him in possession of WEALTH, RANK, and BEAUTY!"
* * * * *
I had already sent these sheets to the press, concluding, as Ithought, with a moral of excellent tendency for the encouragementof all fair haired, blue eyed, long legged, stout hearted emigrantsfrom my native country, who might be willing in stirring timesto take up the gallant profession of Cavalieros of Fortune. But afriendly monitor, one of those who, like the lump of sugar whichis found at the bottom of a tea cup, as well as the flavour of thesouchong itself, has entered a bitter remonstrance, and insiststhat I should give a precise and particular account of the espousalsof the young heir of Glen Houlakin and the lovely Flemish Countess,and tell what tournaments were held, and how many lances werebroken, upon so interesting an occasion; nor withhold from thecurious reader the number of sturdy boys who inherited the valourof Quentin Durward, and of bright damsels, in whom were renewed thecharms of Isabelle de Croye. I replied, in course of post, thattimes were changed, and public weddings were entirely out of fashion.In days traces of which I myself can remember, not only were the"fifteen friends" of the happy pair invited to witness their Union,but the bridal minstrelsy still continued, as in the "AncientMariner," to "nod their heads" till morning shone on them. The sackposset was eaten in the nuptial chamber -- the stocking was thrown-- and the bride's garter was struggled for in presence of the happycouple whom Hymen had made one flesh. The authors of the periodwere laudably accurate in following its fashions. They spared younot a blush of the bride, not a rapturous glance of the bridegroom,not a diamond in her hair, not a button on his embroidered waistcoat;until at length, with Astraea, "they fairly put their charactersto bed." (the reference is to the plays of Mrs. Aphra Behn. "Thestage how loosely doth Astraea tread, who fairly puts each characterto bed.") But how little does this agree with the modest privacywhich induces our modern brides -- sweet bashful darlings! -- tosteal from pomp and plate, and admiration and flattery, and, likehonest Shenstone ((1714-1763): an English poet best known by TheSchoolmistress),
"Seek for freedom at an inn!"
To these, unquestionably, an exposure of the circumstances ofpublicity with which a bridal in the fifteenth century was alwayscelebrated, must appear in the highest degree disgusting. Isabellede Croye would be ranked in their estimation far below the maidwho milks, and does the meanest chores; for even she, were it inthe church porch, would reject the hand of her journeyman shoemaker,should he propose faire des noces (to celebrate a wedding festivity),as it is called on Parisian signs, instead of going down on the topof the long coach to spend the honeymoon incognito at Deptford orGreenwich. I will not, therefore, tell more of this matter, butwill steal away from the wedding, as Ariosto from that of Angelica,leaving it to whom it may please to add farther particulars, afterthe fashion of their own imagination.
"Some better bard shall sing, in feudal stateHow Bracquemont's Castle op'd its Gothic gate,When on the wand'ring Scot, its lovely heirBestow'd her beauty and an earldom fair."
(Ariosto (1474-1533): an Italian poet, the author of the poemOrlando Furioso, whose popularity was due largely to the subject --combats and paladins, lovers' devotion and mad adventures. Angelicais the heroine. Scott is sometimes called the Ariosto of the North.)
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