惊婚记 英文版 Quentin Durward
瓦尔特.司各特 Sir Walter Scott
CHAPTER V: THE MAN AT ARMS Page 1
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,Seeking the bubble reputationEven in the cannon's mouth.
AS YOU LIKE IT
The cavalier who awaited Quentin Durward's descent into the apartmentwhere he had breakfasted, was one of those of whom Louis XI hadlong since said that they held in their hands the fortune of France,as to them were intrusted the direct custody and protection of theroyal person.
Charles the Sixth had instituted this celebrated body, the Archers,as they were called, of the Scottish Bodyguard, with better reasonthan can generally be alleged for establishing round the thronea guard of foreign and mercenary troops. The divisions which torefrom his side more than half of France, together with the waveringand uncertain faith of the nobility who yet acknowledged his cause,rendered it impolitic and unsafe to commit his personal safety totheir keeping. The Scottish nation was the hereditary enemy of theEnglish, and the ancient, and, as it seemed, the natural alliesof France. They were poor, courageous, faithful; their ranks weresure to be supplied from the superabundant population of theirown country, than which none in Europe sent forth more or bolderadventurers. Their high claims of descent, too, gave them a goodtitle to approach the person of a monarch more closely than othertroops, while the comparative smallness of their numbers preventedthe possibility of their mutinying, and becoming masters where theyought to be servants.
On the other hand, the French monarchs made it their policy toconciliate the affections of this select band of foreigners, byallowing them honorary privileges and ample pay, which last mostof them disposed of with military profusion in supporting theirsupposed rank. Each of them ranked as a gentleman in place and honour;and their near approach to the King's person gave them dignity intheir own eyes, as well as importance in those of the nation ofFrance. They were sumptuously armed, equipped, and mounted; andeach was entitled to allowance for a squire, a valet, a page; andtwo yeomen, one of whom was termed coutelier, from the large knifewhich he wore to dispatch those whom in the melee his master hadthrown to the ground. With these followers, and a correspondingequipage, an Archer of the Scottish Guard was a person of qualityand importance; and vacancies being generally filled up by thosewho had been trained in the service as pages or valets, the cadetsof the best Scottish families were often sent to serve under somefriend and relation in those capacities, until a chance of prefermentshould occur.
The coutelier and his companion, not being noble or capable ofthis promotion, were recruited from persons of inferior quality;but as their pay and appointments were excellent, their masterswere easily able to select from among their wandering countrymen thestrongest and most courageous to wait upon them in these capacities.
Ludovic Lesly, or as we shall more frequently call him, Le Balafre,by which name he was generally known in France, was upwards of sixfeet high, robust, strongly compacted in person, and hard favouredin countenance, which latter attribute was much increased by a largeand ghastly scar, which, beginning on his forehead, and narrowlymissing his right eye, had laid bare the cheek bone, and descendedfrom thence almost to the tip of his ear, exhibiting a deep seam,which was sometimes scarlet, sometimes purple, sometimes blue,and sometimes approaching to black; but always hideous, because atvariance with the complexion of the face in whatever state it chancedto be, whether agitated or still, flushed with unusual passion, orin its ordinary state of weather-beaten and sunburnt swarthiness.
His dress and arms were splendid. He wore his national bonnet,crested with a tuft of feathers, and with a Virgin Mary of massivesilver for a brooch. These brooches had been presented to theScottish Guard, in consequence of the King, in one of his fits ofsuperstitions piety, having devoted the swords of his guard to theservice of the Holy Virgin, and, as some say, carried the matterso far as to draw out a commission to Our Lady as their CaptainGeneral. The Archer's gorget, arm pieces, and gauntlets, were ofthe finest steel, curiously inlaid with silver, and his hauberk, orshirt of mail, was as clear and bright as the frostwork of a wintermorning upon fern or brier. He wore a loose surcoat or cassock ofrich blue velvet, open at the sides like that of a herald, with alarge white St. Andrew's cross of embroidered silver bisecting itboth before and behind; his knees and legs were protected by hoseof mail and shoes of steel; a broad, strong poniard (called theMercy of God), hung by his right side; the baldric for his twohanded sword, richly embroidered, hung upon his left shoulder; butfor convenience he at present carried in his hand that unwieldyweapon which the rules of his service forbade him to lay aside.
(St. Andrew was the first called to apostleship. He made manyconverts to Christianity and was finally crucified on a cross ofpeculiar form, which has since been called the St. Andrew's cross.Certain of his relics were brought to Scotland in the fourth century,and he has since that time been honoured as the patron saint ofthat country. He is also the patron saint of the Burgundian Order,the Golden Fleece.)
Quentin Durward -- though, like the Scottish youth of the period,he had been early taught to look upon arms and war -- thought hehad never seen a more martial looking, or more completely equippedand accomplished man at arms than now saluted him in the person ofhis mother's brother, called Ludovic with the Scar, or Le Balafre;yet he could not but shrink a little from the grim expression ofhis countenance, while, with its rough moustaches, he brushed firstthe one and then the other cheek of his kinsman, welcomed his nephewto France, and, in the same breath, asked what news from Scotland.
"Little good tidings, dear uncle," replied young Durward; "but Iam glad that you know me so readily."
"I would have known thee, boy, in the landes of Bourdeaux, had I metthee marching there like a crane on a pair of stilts (the crutchesor stilts which in Scotland are used to pass rivers. They areemployed by the peasantry of the country near Bordeaux to traversethose deserts of loose sand called Landes. S). But sit thee down --sit thee down -- if there is sorrow to hear of, we will have wineto make us bear it. -- Ho! old Pinch Measure, our good host, bringus of thy best, and that in an instant."
The well known sound of the Scottish French was as familiar inthe taverns near Plessis as that of the Swiss French in the modernguinguettes (common inns) of Paris; and promptly -- ay, with thepromptitude of fear and precipitation, was it heard and obeyed. Aflagon of champagne stood before them, of which the elder took adraught, while the nephew helped himself only to a moderate sip toacknowledge his uncle's courtesy, saying, in excuse, that he hadalready drunk wine that morning.
"That had been a rare good apology in the mouth of thy sister, fairnephew," said Le Balafre; "you must fear the wine pot less, if youwould wear beard on your face, and write yourself soldier. But, come-- come -- unbuckle your Scottish mail bag -- give us the news ofGlen Houlakin -- How doth my sister?"
"Dead, fair uncle," answered Quentin, sorrowfully.
"Dead!" echoed his uncle, with a tone rather marked by wonder thansympathy, -- "why, she was five years younger than I, and I wasnever better in my life. Dead! the thing is impossible. I havenever had so much as a headache, unless after revelling out of mytwo or three days' furlough with the brethren of the joyous science-- and my poor sister is dead -- And your father, fair nephew, hathhe married again?"
And, ere the youth could reply, he read the answer in his surpriseat the question, and said, "What! no -- I would have sworn thatAllan Durward was no man to live without a wife. He loved to havehis house in order -- loved to look on a pretty woman too; and wassomewhat strict in life withal -- matrimony did all this for him.Now, I care little about these comforts, and I can look on a prettywoman without thinking on the sacrament of wedlock -- I am scarceholy enough for that."
"Alas! dear uncle, my mother was left a widow a year since, whenGlen Houlakin was harried by the Ogilvies. My father, and my twouncles, and my two elder brothers, and seven of my kinsmen, andthe harper, and the tasker, and some six more of our people, werekilled in defending the castle, and there is not a burning hearthor a standing stone in all Glen Houlakin."
"Cross of Saint Andrew!" said Le Balafre; "that is what I call anonslaught! Ay, these Ogilvies were ever but sorry neighbours toGlen Houlakin -- an evil chance it was; but fate of war -- fateof war. -- When did this mishap befall, fair nephew?" With that hetook a deep draught of wine, and shook his head with much solemnity,when his kinsman replied that his family had been destroyed uponthe festival of Saint Jude (October 28) last bypast.
"Look ye there," said the soldier; "I said it was all chance --on that very day I and twenty of my comrades carried the Castleof Roche Noir by storm, from Amaury Bras de fer, a captain offree lances, whom you must have heard of. I killed him on his ownthreshold, and gained as much gold as made this fair chain, whichwas once twice as long as it now is -- and that minds me to sendpart of it on an holy errand. -- Here, Andrew -- Andrew!"
Andrew, his yeoman, entered, dressed like the Archer himself inthe general equipment, but without the armour for the limbs -- thatof the body more coarsely manufactured -- his cap without a plume,and his cassock made of serge, or ordinary cloth, instead of richvelvet. Untwining his gold chain from his neck, Balafre twistedoff, with his firm and strong set teeth, about four inches fromthe one end of it, and said to his attendant, "Here, Andrew, carrythis to my gossip, jolly Father Boniface, the monk of St. Martin's;greet him well from me, by the same token that he could not say Godsave ye when we last parted at midnight. -- Tell my gossip that mybrother and sister, and some others of my house, are all dead andgone, and I pray him to say masses for their souls as far as thevalue of these links will carry him, and to do on trust what elsemay be necessary to free them from Purgatory. And hark ye, as theywere just living people, and free from all heresy, it may be thatthey are well nigh out of limbo already, so that a little mattermay have them free of the fetlocks; and in that case, look ye, yewill say I desire to take out the balance of the gold in cursesupon a generation called the Ogilvies of Angus Shire, in what waysoever the church may best come at them. You understand all this,Andrew?"
The coutelier nodded.
"Then look that none of the links find their way to the wine houseere the monk touches them; for if it so chance, thou shalt tasteof saddle girth and stirrup leather till thou art as raw as SaintBartholomew (he was flayed alive. In Michael Angelo's Last Judgmenthe is represented as holding his skin in his hand) -- Yet hold, Isee thy eye has fixed on the wine measure, and thou shalt not gowithout tasting."
So saying, he filled him a brimful cup, which the coutelier drankoff, and retired to do his patron's commission.
"And now, fair nephew, let us hear what was your own fortune inthis unhappy matter."
"I fought it out among those who were older and stouter than Iwas, till we were all brought down," said Durward, "and I receiveda cruel wound."
"Not a worse slash than I received ten years since myself," saidLe Balafre. "Look at this, now, my fair nephew," tracing the darkcrimson gash which was imprinted on his face. -- "An Ogilvy's swordnever ploughed so deep a furrow."
"They ploughed deep enough," answered Quentin, sadly, "but theywere tired at last, and my mother's entreaties procured mercy forme, when I was found to retain some spark of life; but althougha learned monk of Aberbrothik, who chanced to be our guest at thefatal time, and narrowly escaped being killed in the fray, waspermitted to bind my wounds, and finally to remove me to a placeof safety, it was only on promise, given both by my mother and him,that I should become a monk."
"A monk!" exclaimed the uncle. "Holy Saint Andrew! that is whatnever befell me. No one, from my childhood upwards, ever so muchas dreamed of making me a monk. And yet I wonder when I think ofit; for you will allow that, bating the reading and writing, whichI could never learn, and the psalmody, which I could never endure,and the dress, which is that of a mad beggar -- Our Lady forgiveme! (here he crossed himself) and their fasts, which do not suit myappetite, I would have made every whit as good a monk as my littlegossip at St. Martin's yonder. But I know not why, none ever proposedthe station to me. -- Oh, so, fair nephew, you were to be a monk,then -- and wherefore, I pray you?"
"That my father's house might be ended, either in the cloister orin the tomb," answered Quentin, with deep feeling.
"I see," answered his uncle -- "I comprehend. Cunning rogues --very cunning! They might have been cheated, though; for, look ye,fair nephew, I myself remember the canon Robersart who had takenthe vows and afterwards broke out of cloister, and became a captainof Free Companions. He had a mistress, the prettiest wench I eversaw, and three as beautiful children. -- There is no trustingmonks, fair nephew -- no trusting them -- they may become soldiersand fathers when you least expect it -- but on with your tale."
"I have little more to tell," said Durward, "except that, consideringmy poor mother to be in some degree a pledge for me, I was inducedto take upon me the dress of a novice, and conformed to the cloisterrules, and even learned to read and write."
"To read and write!" exclaimed Le Balafre, who was one of that sortof people who think all knowledge is miraculous which chances toexceed their own. "To write, say'st thou, and to read! I cannotbelieve it -- never Durward could write his name that ever I heardof, nor Lesly either. I can answer for one of them -- I can nomore write than I can fly. Now, in Saint Louis's name, how did theyteach it you?"
"It was troublesome at first," said Durward, "but became moreeasy by use; and I was weak with my wounds, and loss of blood, anddesirous to gratify my preserver, Father Peter, and so I was themore easily kept to my task. But after several months' languishing,my good, kind mother died, and as my health was now fully restored,I communicated to my benefactor, who was also Sub Prior of theconvent, my reluctance to take the vows; and it was agreed betweenus, since my vocation lay not to the cloister, that I should besent out into the world to seek my fortune, and that to save the SubPrior from the anger of the Ogilvies, my departure should have theappearance of flight; and to colour it I brought off the Abbot'shawk with me. But I was regularly dismissed, as will appear fromthe hand and seal of the Abbot himself."
"That is right, that is well," said his uncle. "Our King careslittle what other theft thou mayst have made, but hath a horror atanything like a breach of the cloister. And I warrant thee, thouhadst no great treasure to bear thy charges?"
"Only a few pieces of silver," said the youth; "for to you, fairuncle, I must make a free confession."
"Alas!" replied Le Balafre, "that is hard. Now, though I am nevera hoarder of my pay, because it doth ill to bear a charge aboutone in these perilous times, yet I always have (and I would adviseyou to follow my example) some odd gold chain, or bracelet, orcarcanet, that serves for the ornament of my person, and can atneed spare a superfluous link or two, or it may be a superfluousstone for sale, that can answer any immediate purpose. But you mayask, fair kinsman, how you are to come by such toys as this." (Heshook his chain with complacent triumph.) "They hang not on everybush -- they grow not in the fields like the daffodils, with whosestalks children make knights' collars. What then? -- you may getsuch where I got this, in the service of the good King of France,where there is always wealth to be found, if a man has but theheart to seek it at the risk of a little life or so."
"I understood," said Quentin, evading a decision to which he felthimself as yet scarcely competent, "that the Duke of Burgundy keepsa more noble state than the King of France, and that there is morehonour to be won under his banners -- that good blows are struckthere, and deeds of arms done; while the most Christian King, theysay, gains his victories by his ambassadors' tongues."
"You speak like a foolish boy, fair nephew," answered he with thescar; "and yet, I bethink me, when I came hither I was nearly assimple: I could never think of a King but what I supposed him eithersitting under the high deas, and feasting amid his high vassalsand Paladins, eating blanc mange, with a great gold crown upon hishead, or else charging at the head of his troops like Charlemagnein the romaunts, or like Robert Bruce or William Wallace in ourown true histories, such as Barbour and the Minstrel. Hark in thineear, man -- it is all moonshine in the water. Policy -- policy doesit all. But what is policy, you will say? It is an art this FrenchKing of ours has found out, to fight with other men's swords, andto wage his soldiers out of other men's purses. Ah! it is the wisestprince that ever put purple on his back -- and yet he weareth notmuch of that neither -- I see him often go plainer than I wouldthink befitted me to do."
(Charlemagne (742?-814): King of the Franks and crowned Emperorof the Holy Roman Empire in 800. His kingdom included Germany andFrance, the greater part of Italy, and Spain as far as the Ebro. AsEmperor of the West he bore the title Caesar Augustus. He establishedchurches and monasteries, and encouraged arts and learning. Hefigures largely in mediaeval minstrelsy, where the achievements ofhis knights, or paladins, rival those of Arthur's court.)
(Robert Bruce: the grandson of Robert Bruce, the competitor with JohnBaliol for the Scottish throne. He defeated the English forces atBannockburn in 1314, and thus secured the independence of Scotland,an independence which lasted until the two kingdoms were unitedunder one crown in 1707.)
(William Wallace: another brave Scottish leader in the war forindependence against Edward I of England. Wallace was betrayedin 1305 and carried to London, where he was cruelly executed as atraitor.)
(Barbour: an eminent Scottish poet contemporary with Chaucer. Hisprincipal work, The Bruce, records the life and deeds of RobertBruce.)
(Harry the Minstrel or "Blind Harry" was the author of a poem onthe life and deeds of Wallace which was held in peculiar reverenceby the Scotch people.)
"But you meet not my exception, fair uncle," answered young Durward;"I would serve, since serve I must in a foreign land, somewherewhere a brave deed, were it my hap to do one, might work me a name."