Sae rantingly, sae wantingly,
Sae dantingly gaed he,
He play'd a spring and danced a round
Beneath the gallows tree!
OLD SONG
[The Bohemians: In... Guy Mannering the reader will find some remarks
on the gipsies as they are found in Scotland. Their first appearance in
Europe took place in the beginning of the fifteenth century. The account
given by these singular people was, that it was appointed to them, as
a penance, to travel for a certain number of years. Their appearance,
however, and manners, strongly contradicted the allegation that they
travelled from any religious motive. Their dress and accoutrements were
at once showy and squalid; those who acted as captains and leaders of
any horde,... were arrayed in dresses of the most showy colours, such
as scarlet or light green; were well mounted; assumed the title of dukes
and counts, and affected considerable consequence. The rest of the tribe
were most miserable in their diet and apparel, fed without hesitation
on animals which had died of disease, and were clad in filthy and scanty
rags.... Their complexion was positively Eastern, approaching to that of
the Hindoos. Their manners were as depraved as their appearance was poor
and beggarly. The men were in general thieves, and the women of the most
abandoned character. The few arts which they studied with success were
of a slight and idle, though ingenious description. They practised
working in iron, but never upon any great scale. Many were good
sportsmen, good musicians.... But their ingenuity never ascended into
industry.... Their pretensions to read fortunes, by palmistry and by
astrology, acquired them sometimes respect, but oftener drew them under
suspicion as sorcerers; the universal accusation that they augmented
their horde by stealing children, subjected them to doubt and
execration.... The pretension set up by these wanderers, of being
pilgrims in the act of penance, although it... in many instances
obtained them protection from the governments of the countries through
which they travelled, was afterwards totally disbelieved, and they
were considered as incorrigible rogues and vagrants.... A curious and
accurate account of their arrival in France is quoted by Pasquier “On
August 27th, 1427, came to Paris twelve penitents,... viz. a duke,
an earl, and ten men, all on horseback, and calling themselves good
Christians. They were of Lower Egypt, and gave out that, not long
before, the Christians had subdued their country, and obliged them
to embrace Christianity on pain of being put to death. Those who were
baptized were great lords in their own country, and had a king and queen
there. Soon after their conversion, the Saracens overran the country,
and obliged them to renounce Christianity. When the Emperor of Germany,
the King of Poland, and other Christian princes heard of this, they fell
upon them, and obliged the whole of them, both great and small, to quit
the country, and go to the Pope at Rome, who enjoined them seven years'
penance to wander over the world, without lying in a bed. They had been
wandering five years when they came to Paris first.... Nearly all of
them had their ears bored, and wore two silver rings in each.... The men
were black, their hair curled; the women remarkably black, their only
clothes a large old duffle garment, tied over the shoulders with a
cloth or cord, and under it a miserable rocket;... notwithstanding
their poverty, there were among them women who, by looking into people's
hands, told their fortunes, and what was worse, they picked people's
pockets of their money, and got it into their own, by telling these
things through airy magic, et cetera.” Pasquier remarks upon this
singular journal that however the story of a penance savours of a trick,
these people wandered up and down France, under the eye, and with the
knowledge, of the magistrates, for more than a hundred years; and it was
not till 1561, that a sentence of banishment was passed against them
in that kingdom. The arrival of the Egyptians (as these singular people
were called) in various parts of Europe, corresponds with the period in
which Timur or Tamerlane invaded Hindostan, affording its natives the
choice between the Koran and death. There can be little doubt that
these wanderers consisted originally of the Hindostanee tribes, who,
displaced, and flying from the sabres of the Mohammedans, undertook this
species of wandering life, without well knowing whither they were going.
When they are in closest contact with the ordinary peasants around
them, they still keep their language a mystery. There is little doubt,
however, that it is a dialect of the Hindostanee, from the specimens
produced by Grellman, Hoyland, and others, who have written on the
subject. S.]
The manner in which Quentin Durward had been educated was not of a kind
to soften the heart, or perhaps to improve the moral feeling. He, with
the rest of his family, had been trained to the chase as an amusement,
and taught to consider war as their only serious occupation, and that it
was the great duty of their lives stubbornly to endure, and fiercely to
retaliate, the attacks of their feudal enemies, by whom their race had
been at last almost annihilated. And yet there mixed with these feuds a
spirit of rude chivalry, and even courtesy, which softened their rigour;
so that revenge, their only justice, was still prosecuted with some
regard to humanity and generosity. The lessons of the worthy old monk,
better attended to, perhaps, during a long illness and adversity, than
they might have been in health and success, had given young Durward
still farther insight into the duties of humanity towards others;
and considering the ignorance of the period, the general prejudices
entertained in favour of a military life, and the manner in which he
himself had been bred, the youth was disposed to feel more accurately
the moral duties incumbent on his station than was usual at the time.
He reflected on his interview with his uncle with a sense of
embarrassment and disappointment. His hopes had been high; for although
intercourse by letters was out of the question, yet a pilgrim, or an
adventurous trafficker, or a crippled soldier sometimes brought Lesly's
name to Glen Houlakin, and all united in praising his undaunted courage,
and his success in many petty enterprises which his master had intrusted
to him. Quentin's imagination had filled up the sketch in his own way,
and assimilated his successful and adventurous uncle (whose exploits
probably lost nothing in the telling) to some of the champions and
knights errant of whom minstrels sung and who won crowns and kings'
daughters by dint of sword and lance. He was now compelled to rank his
kinsman greatly lower in the scale of chivalry; but, blinded by the high
respect paid to parents and those who approach that character--moved
by every early prejudice in his favour--inexperienced besides, and
passionately attached to his mother's memory, he saw not, in the only
brother of that dear relation, the character he truly held, which was
that of an ordinary mercenary soldier, neither much worse nor greatly
better than many of the same profession whose presence added to the
distracted state of France.
Without being wantonly cruel, Le Balafre was, from habit, indifferent
to human life and human suffering; he was profoundly ignorant, greedy of
booty, unscrupulous how he acquired it, and profuse in expending it on
the gratification of his passions. The habit of attending exclusively
to his own wants and interests had converted him into one of the most
selfish animals in the world; so that he was seldom able, as the reader
may have remarked, to proceed far in any subject without considering
how it applied to himself, or, as it is called, making the case his own,
though not upon feelings connected with the golden rule, but such as
were very different. To this must be added that the narrow round of
his duties and his pleasures had gradually circumscribed his thoughts,
hopes, and wishes, and quenched in a great measure the wild spirit of
honour, and desire of distinction in arms, by which his youth had been
once animated.
Balafre was, in short, a keen soldier, hardened, selfish, and narrow
minded; active and bold in the discharge of his duty, but acknowledging
few objects beyond it, except the formal observance of a careless
devotion, relieved by an occasional debauch with brother Boniface, his
comrade and confessor. Had his genius been of a more extended character,
he would probably have been promoted to some important command, for the
King, who knew every soldier of his bodyguard personally, reposed much
confidence in Balafre's courage and fidelity; and besides, the Scot had
either wisdom or cunning enough perfectly to understand, and ably
to humour, the peculiarities of that sovereign. Still, however, his
capacity was too much limited to admit of his rising to higher rank,
and though smiled on and favoured by Louis on many occasions, Balafre
continued a mere Life Guardsman, or Scottish Archer.
Without seeing the full scope of his uncle's character, Quentin felt
shocked at his indifference to the disastrous extirpation of his brother
in law's whole family, and could not help being surprised, moreover,
that so near a relative had not offered him the assistance of his purse,
which, but for the generosity of Maitre Pierre, he would have been
under the necessity of directly craving from him. He wronged his uncle,
however, in supposing that this want of attention to his probable
necessities was owing to avarice. Not precisely needing money himself at
that moment, it had not occurred to Balafre that his nephew might be in
exigencies; otherwise, he held a near kinsman so much a part of himself,
that he would have provided for the weal of the living nephew, as he
endeavoured to do for that of his deceased sister and her husband. But
whatever was the motive, the neglect was very unsatisfactory to young
Durward, and he wished more than once he had taken service with the Duke
of Burgundy before he quarrelled with his forester. “Whatever had then
become of me,” he thought to himself, “I should always have been able to
keep up my spirits with the reflection that I had, in case of the worst,
a stout back friend in this uncle of mine. But now I have seen him, and,
woe worth him, there has been more help in a mere mechanical stranger,
than I have found in my own mother's brother, my countryman and a
cavalier! One would think the slash, that has carved all comeliness out
of his face, had let at the same time every drop of gentle blood out of
his body.”
Durward now regretted he had not had an opportunity to mention Maitre
Pierre to Le Balafre, in the hope of obtaining some farther account
of that personage; but his uncle's questions had followed fast on each
other, and the summons of the great bell of Saint Martin of Tours had
broken off their conference rather suddenly. That old man, he thought
to himself, was crabbed and dogged in appearance, sharp and scornful in
language, but generous and liberal in his actions; and such a stranger
is worth a cold kinsman.
“What says our old Scottish proverb?--'Better kind fremit, than fremit
kindred.' ['Better kind strangers than estranged kindred.' The motto is
engraved on a dirk, belonging to a person who had but too much reason to
choose such a device. It was left by him to my father. The weapon is now
in my possession. S.] I will find out that man, which, methinks, should
be no difficult task, since he is so wealthy as mine host bespeaks him.
He will give me good advice for my governance, at least; and if he goes
to strange countries, as many such do, I know not but his may be as
adventurous a service as that of those Guards of Louis.”
As Quentin framed this thought, a whisper from those recesses of the
heart in which lies much that the owner does not know of, or will
not acknowledge willingly, suggested that, perchance, the lady of the
turret, she of the veil and lute, might share that adventurous journey.
As the Scottish youth made these reflections, he met two grave looking
men, apparently citizens of Tours, whom, doffing his cap with the
reverence due from youth to age, he respectfully asked to direct him to
the house of Maitre Pierre.
“The house of whom, my fair son?” said one of the passengers.
“Of Maitre Pierre, the great silk merchant, who planted all the mulberry
trees in the park yonder,” said Durward.
“Young man,” said one of them who was nearest to him, “you have taken up
an idle trade a little too early.”
“And have chosen wrong subjects to practise your fooleries upon,”
said the farther one, still more gruffly. “The Syndic of Tours is
not accustomed to be thus talked to by strolling jesters from foreign
parts.”
Quentin was so much surprised at the causeless offence which these two
decent looking persons had taken at a very simple and civil question,
that he forgot to be angry at the rudeness of their reply, and stood
staring after them as they walked on with amended pace, often looking
back at him, as if they were desirous to get as soon as possible out of
his reach.
He next met a party of vine dressers, and addressed to them the same
question; and in reply, they demanded to know whether he wanted Maitre
Pierre, the schoolmaster? or Maitre Pierre, the carpenter? or Maitre
Pierre, the beadle? or half a dozen of Maitre Pierres besides. When none
of these corresponded with the description of the person after whom he
inquired, the peasants accused him of jesting with them impertinently,
and threatened to fall upon him and beat him, in guerdon of his
raillery. The oldest amongst them, who had some influence over the rest,
prevailed on them to desist from violence.
“You see by his speech and his fool's cap,” said he, “that he is one
of the foreign mountebanks who are come into the country, and whom some
call magicians and soothsayers, and some jugglers, and the like, and
there is no knowing what tricks they have amongst them. I have heard of
such a one's paying a liard [a small copper coin worth a quarter of a
cent, current in France in the fifteenth century.] to eat his bellyfull
of grapes in a poor man's vineyard; and he ate as many as would have
loaded a wain, and never undid a button of his jerkin--and so let him
pass quietly, and keep his way, as we will keep ours.--And you, friend,
if you would shun worse, walk quietly on, in the name of God, our Lady
of Marmoutier, and Saint Martin of Tours, and trouble us no more about
your Maitre Pierre, which may be another name for the devil, for aught
we know.”
The Scot finding himself much the weaker party, judged it his Wisest
course to walk on without reply; but the peasants, who at first shrunk
from him in horror, at his supposed talents for sorcery and grape
devouring, took heart of grace as he got to a distance, and having
uttered a few cries and curses, finally gave them emphasis with a shower
of stones, although at such a distance as to do little or no harm to the
object of their displeasure. Quentin, as he pursued his walk, began to
think, in his turn, either that he himself lay under a spell, or that
the people of Touraine were the most stupid, brutal, and inhospitable of
the French peasants. The next incident which came under his observation
did not tend to diminish this opinion.
On a slight eminence, rising above the rapid and beautiful Cher, in
the direct line of his path, two or three large chestnut trees were
so happily placed as to form a distinguished and remarkable group; and
beside them stood three or four peasants, motionless, with their eyes
turned upwards, and fixed, apparently, upon some object amongst the
branches of the tree next to them. The meditations of youth are seldom
so profound as not to yield to the slightest, impulse of curiosity, as
easily as the lightest pebble, dropped casually from the hand, breaks
the surface of a limpid pool. Quentin hastened his pace, and ran lightly
up the rising ground, in time enough to witness the ghastly spectacle
which attracted the notice of these gazers--which was nothing less than
the body of a man, convulsed by the last agony, suspended on one of the
branches.
“Why do you not cut him down?” said the young Scot, whose hand was as
ready to assist affliction, as to maintain his own honour when he deemed
it assailed.
One of the peasants, turning on him an eye from which fear had banished
all expression but its own, and a face as pale as clay, pointed to a
mark cut upon the bark of the tree, having the same rude resemblance
to a fleur de lys which certain talismanic scratches, well known to
our revenue officers, bear to a broad arrow. Neither understanding nor
heeding the import of this symbol, young Durward sprung lightly as
the ounce up into the tree, drew from his pouch that most necessary
implement of a Highlander or woodsman, the trusty skene dhu [black
knife; a species of knife without clasp or hinge formerly much used
by the Highlanders, who seldom travelled without such an ugly weapon,
though it is now rarely used. S.], and, calling to those below to
receive the body on their hands, cut the rope asunder in less than a
minute after he had perceived the exigency.
But his humanity was ill seconded by the bystanders. So far from
rendering Durward any assistance, they seemed terrified at the audacity
of his action, and took to flight with one consent, as if they feared
their merely looking on might have been construed into accession to his
daring deed. The body, unsupported from beneath, fell heavily to earth
in such a manner that Quentin, who presently afterwards jumped down, had
the mortification to see that the last sparks of life were extinguished.
He gave not up his charitable purpose, however, without farther efforts.
He freed the wretched man's neck from the fatal noose, undid the
doublet, threw water on the face, and practised the other ordinary
remedies resorted to for recalling suspended animation.
While he was thus humanely engaged, a wild clamour of tongues, speaking
a language which he knew not, arose around him; and he had scarcely time
to observe that he was surrounded by several men and women of a singular
and foreign appearance, when he found himself roughly seized by both
arms, while a naked knife, at the same moment, was offered to his
throat.
“Pale slave of Eblis!” [in Mohammedan religion the name of the chief of
the fallen angels] said a man, in imperfect French, “are you robbing him
you have murdered?--But we have you--and you shall abuy it.”
There were knives drawn on every side of him, as these words were
spoken, and the grim and distorted countenances which glared on him were
like those of wolves rushing on their prey.
Still the young Scot's courage and presence of mind bore him out. “What
mean ye, my masters?” he said; “if that be your friend's body, I have
just now cut him down, in pure charity, and you will do better to try
to recover his life, than to misuse an innocent stranger to whom he owes
his chance of escape.”
The women had by this time taken possession of the dead body, and
continued the attempts to recover animation which Durward had been
making use of, though with the like bad success; so that, desisting from
their fruitless efforts, they seemed to abandon themselves to all the
Oriental expressions of grief; the women making a piteous wailing,
and tearing their long black hair, while the men seemed to rend their
garments, and to sprinkle dust upon their heads. They gradually became
so much engaged in their mourning rites, that they bestowed no longer
any attention on Durward, of whose innocence they were probably
satisfied from circumstances. It would certainly have been his wisest
plan to have left these wild people to their own courses, but he had
been bred in almost reckless contempt of danger, and felt all the
eagerness of youthful curiosity.
The singular assemblage, both male and female, wore turbans and caps,
more similar in general appearance to his own bonnet than to the hats
commonly worn in France. Several of the men had curled black beards, and
the complexion of all was nearly as dark as that of Africans. One or two
who seemed their chiefs, had some tawdry ornaments of silver about their
necks and in their ears, and wore showy scarfs of yellow, or scarlet,
or light green; but their legs and arms were bare, and the whole troop
seemed wretched and squalid in appearance. There were no weapons among
them that Durward saw, except the long knives with which they had lately
menaced him, and one short, crooked sabre, or Moorish sword, which was
worn by an active looking young man, who often laid his hand upon
the hill, while he surpassed the rest of the party in his extravagant
expressions of grief, and seemed to mingle with them threats of
vengeance.
The disordered and yelling group were so different in appearance from
any beings whom Quentin had yet seen, that he was on the point of
concluding them to be a party of Saracens, of those “heathen hounds,”
who were the opponents of gentle knights and Christian monarchs in
all the romances which he had heard or read, and was about to withdraw
himself from a neighbourhood so perilous, when a galloping of horse was
heard, and the supposed Saracens, who had raised by this time the body
of their comrade upon their shoulders, were at once charged by a party
of French soldiers.
This sudden apparition changed the measured wailing of the mourners into
irregular shrieks of terror. The body was thrown to the ground in
an instant, and those who were around it showed the utmost and most
dexterous activity in escaping under the bellies as it were of the
horses, from the point of the lances which were levelled at them,
with exclamations of “Down with the accursed heathen thieves--take and
kill--bind them like beasts--spear them like wolves!”
These cries were accompanied with corresponding acts of violence; but
such was the alertness of the fugitives, the ground being rendered
unfavourable to the horsemen by thickets and bushes, that only two were
struck down and made prisoners, one of whom was the young fellow with
the sword, who had previously offered some resistance. Quentin, whom
fortune seemed at this period to have chosen for the butt of her shafts,
was at the same time seized by the soldiers, and his arms, in spite of
his remonstrances, bound down with a cord; those who apprehended him
showing a readiness and dispatch in the operation, which proved them to
be no novices in matters of police.
Looking anxiously to the leader of the horsemen, from whom he hoped
to obtain liberty, Quentin knew not exactly whether to be pleased or
alarmed upon recognising in him the down looking and silent companion of
Maitre Pierre. True, whatever crime these strangers might be accused
of, this officer might know, from the history of the morning, that
he, Durward, had no connection with them whatever; but it was a more
difficult question, whether this sullen man would be either a favourable
judge or a willing witness in his behalf, and he felt doubtful whether
he would mend his condition by making any direct application to him.
But there was little leisure for hesitation. “Trois Eschelles and Petit
Andre,” said the down looking officer to two of his band, “These same
trees stand here quite convenient. I will teach these misbelieving,
thieving sorcerers to interfere with the King's justice, when it has
visited any of their accursed race. Dismount, my children, and do your
office briskly.”
Trois Eschelles and Petit Andre were in an instant on foot, and Quentin
observed that they had each, at the crupper and pommel of his saddle,
a coil or two of ropes, which they hastily undid, and showed that, in
fact, each coil formed a halter, with the fatal noose adjusted, ready
for execution. The blood ran cold in Quentin's veins, when he saw three
cords selected, and perceived that it was proposed to put one around his
own neck. He called on the officer loudly, reminded him of their meeting
that morning, claimed the right of a free born Scotsman in a friendly
and allied country, and denied any knowledge of the persons along with
whom he was seized, or of their misdeed.
The officer whom Durward thus addressed, scarce deigned to look at
him while he was speaking, and took no notice whatever of the claim he
preferred to prior acquaintance. He barely turned to one or two of the
peasants who were now come forward, either to volunteer their evidence
against the prisoners, or out of curiosity, and said gruffly, “Was
yonder young fellow with the vagabonds?”
“That he was, sir, and it please your noble Provostship,” answered one
of the clowns; “he was the very first blasphemously to cut down the
rascal whom his Majesty's justice most deservedly hung up, as we told
your worship.”
“I'll swear by God, and Saint Martin of Tours, to have seen him with
their gang,” said another, “when they pillaged our metairie [a small
farm].”
“Nay, but,” said a boy, “yonder heathen was black, and this youth is
fair; yonder one had short curled hair, and this hath long fair locks.”
“Ay, child,” said the peasant, “and perhaps you will say yonder one had
a green coat and this a gray jerkin. But his worship, the Provost, knows
that they can change their complexions as easily as their jerkins, so
that I am still minded he was the same.”
“It is enough that you have seen him intermeddle with the course of the
King's justice, by attempting to recover an executed traitor,” said the
officer.--“Trois Eschelles and Petit Andre, dispatch.”
“Stay, signior officer!” exclaimed the youth in mortal agony; “hear me
speak--let me not die guiltlessly--my blood will be required of you by
my countrymen in this world, and by Heaven's justice in that which is to
follow.”
“I will answer for my actions in both,” said the Provost, coldly, and
made a sign with his left hand to the executioners; then, with a smile
of triumphant malice, touched with his forefinger his right arm, which
hung suspended in a scarf, disabled probably by the blow which Durward
had dealt him that morning.
“Miserable, vindictive wretch!” answered Quentin, persuaded by that
action that private revenge was the sole motive of this man's rigour,
and that no mercy whatever was to be expected from him.
“The poor youth raves,” said the functionary: “speak a word of comfort
to him ere he make his transit, Trois Eschelles; thou art a comfortable
man in such cases when a confessor is not to be had. Give him one minute
of ghostly advice, and dispatch matters in the next. I must proceed on
the rounds.--Soldiers, follow me!”
The Provost rode on, followed by his guard, excepting two or three, who
were left to assist in the execution. The unhappy youth cast after him
an eye almost darkened by despair, and thought he heard in every tramp
of his horse's retreating hoofs the last slight chance of his safety
vanish. He looked around him in agony, and was surprised, even in that
moment, to see the stoical indifference of his fellow prisoners. They
had previously testified every sign of fear, and made every effort of
escape; but now, when secured and destined apparently to inevitable
death, they awaited its arrival with the utmost composure. The scene
of fate before them gave, perhaps, a more yellow tinge to their swarthy
cheeks; but it neither agitated their features, nor quenched the
stubborn haughtiness of their eye. They seemed like foxes, which, after
all their wiles and artful attempts at escape are exhausted, die with a
silent and sullen fortitude which wolves and bears, the fiercer objects
of the chase, do not exhibit. They were undaunted by the conduct of the
fatal executioners, who went about their work with more deliberation
than their master had recommended, and which probably arose from their
having acquired by habit a sort of pleasure in the discharge of their
horrid office. We pause an instant to describe them, because, under
a tyranny, whether despotic or popular, the character of the hangman
becomes a subject of grave importance.
These functionaries were essentially different in their appearance and
manners. Louis used to call them Democritus and Heraclitus, and their
master, the Provost, termed them Jean qui pleure and Jean qui rit.
[Democritus and Heraclitus: two Greek philosophers of the fifth century;
the former because of his propensity to laugh at the follies of men was
called the “laughing philosopher;” the latter, according to a current
notion, probably unfounded, habitually wept over the follies of mankind]
[Jean qui pleure, and Jean qui rit: John who weeps and John who laughs.
One of these two persons,.. might with more accuracy have been called
Petit Jean, than Petit Andre. This was actually the name of the son of
Henry de Cousin, master executioner of the High Court of Justice. S.]
Trois Eschelles was a tall, thin, ghastly man, with a peculiar gravity
of visage, and a large rosary round his neck, the use of which he was
accustomed piously to offer to those sufferers on whom he did his
duty. He had one or two Latin texts continually in his mouth on the
nothingness and vanity of human life; and, had it been regular to have
enjoyed such a plurality, he might have held the office of confessor
to the jail in commendam with that of executioner. Petit Andre, on the
contrary, was a joyous looking, round, active, little fellow, who
rolled about in execution of his duty as if it were the most diverting
occupation in the world. He seemed to have a sort of fond affection for
his victims, and always spoke of them in kindly and affectionate terms.
They were his poor honest fellows, his pretty dears, his gossips, his
good old fathers, as their age or sex might be; and as Trois Eschelles
endeavoured to inspire them with a philosophical or religious regard to
futurity, Petit Andre seldom failed to refresh them with a jest or two,
as if to induce them to pass from life as something that was ludicrous,
contemptible, and not worthy of serious consideration.
I cannot tell why or wherefore it was, but these two excellent persons,
notwithstanding the variety of their talents, and the rare occurrence of
such among persons of their profession, were both more utterly detested
than perhaps any creatures of their kind, whether before or since; and
the only doubt of those who knew aught of them was, whether the grave
and pathetic Trois Eschelles or the frisky, comic, alert Petit Andre
was the object of the greatest fear, or of the deepest execration. It
is certain they bore the palm in both particulars over every hangman
in France, unless it were perhaps their master Tristan l'Hermite, the
renowned Provost Marshal, or his master, Louis XI.
It must not be supposed that these reflections were of Quentin Durward's
making. Life, death, time, and eternity were swimming before his eyes--a
stunning and overwhelming prospect, from which human nature recoiled in
its weakness, though human pride would fain have borne up. He addressed
himself to the God of his fathers; and when he did so, the little rude
and unroofed chapel, which now held almost all his race but himself,
rushed on his recollection.
“Our feudal enemies gave my kindred graves in our own land,” he thought,
“but I must feed the ravens and kites of a foreign land, like an
excommunicated felon!”
The tears gushed involuntarily from his eyes. Trois Eschelles, touching
one shoulder, gravely congratulated him on his heavenly disposition
for death, and pathetically exclaiming, Beati qui in Domino moriuntur
[blessed are they who die in the Lord], remarked, the soul was happy
that left the body while the tear was in the eye. Petit Andre, slapping
the other shoulder, called out, “Courage, my fair son! since you must
begin the dance, let the ball open gaily, for all the rebecs are in
tune,” twitching the halter at the same time, to give point to his joke.
As the youth turned his dismayed looks, first on one and then on the
other, they made their meaning plainer by gently urging him forward to
the fatal tree, and bidding him be of good courage, for it would be over
in a moment.
In this fatal predicament, the youth cast a distracted look around him.
“Is there any good Christian who hears me,” he said, “that will tell
Ludovic Lesly of the Scottish Guard, called in this country Le Balafre,
that his nephew is here basely murdered?” The words were spoken in good
time, for an Archer of the Scottish Guard, attracted by the preparations
for the execution, was standing by, with one or two other chance
passengers, to witness what was passing.
“Take heed what you do,” he said to the executioners, “if this young man
be of Scottish birth, I will not permit him to have foul play.”
“Heaven forbid, Sir Cavalier,” said Trois Eschelles; “but we must obey
our orders,” drawing Durward forward by one arm. “The shortest play is
ever the fairest,” said Petit Andre, pulling him onward by the other.
But Quentin had heard words of comfort, and, exerting his strength, he
suddenly shook off both the finishers of the law, and, with his arms
still bound, ran to the Scottish Archer. “Stand by me, countryman,” he
said, in his own language, “for the love of Scotland and Saint Andrew!
I am innocent--I am your own native landsman. Stand by me, as you shall
answer at the last day.”
“By Saint Andrew! they shall make at you through me!” said the Archer,
and unsheathed his sword.
“Cut my bonds, countryman,” said Quentin, “and I will do something for
myself.”
This was done with a touch of the Archer's weapon, and the liberated
captive, springing suddenly on one of the Provost's guard, wrested from
him a halbert with which he was armed. “And now” he said, “come on, if
you dare.”
The two officers whispered together.
“Ride thou after the Provost Marshal,” said Trois Eschelles, “and I will
detain them here, if I can. Soldiers of the Provost's guard, stand to
your arms.”
Petit Andre mounted his horse, and left the field, and the other
Marshals men in attendance drew together so hastily at the command of
Trois Eschelles, that they suffered the other two prisoners to make
their escape during the confusion. Perhaps they were not very anxious
to detain them; for they had of late been sated with the blood of
such wretches, and, like other ferocious animals, were, through long
slaughter, become tired of carnage. But the pretext was, that they
thought themselves immediately called upon to attend to the safety of
Trois Eschelles; for there was a jealousy, which occasionally led to
open quarrels, betwixt the Scottish Archers and the Marshal guards, who
executed the orders of their Provost.
“We are strong enough to beat the proud Scots twice over, if it be your
pleasure,” said one of these soldiers to Trois Eschelles.
But that cautious official made a sign to him to remain quiet, and
addressed the Scottish Archer with great civility. “Surely, sir, this
is a great insult to the Provost Marshal, that you should presume to
interfere with the course of the King's justice, duly and lawfully
committed to his charge; and it is no act of justice to me, who am in
lawful possession of my criminal. Neither is it a well meant kindness
to the youth himself, seeing that fifty opportunities of hanging him may
occur, without his being found in so happy a state of preparation as he
was before your ill advised interference.”
“If my young countryman,” said the Scot, smiling, “be of opinion I have
done him an injury, I will return him to your charge without a word more
dispute.”
“No, no!--for the love of Heaven, no!” exclaimed Quentin. “I would
rather you swept my head off with your long sword--it would better
become my birth, than to die by the hands of such a foul churl.”
“Hear how he revileth,” said the finisher of the law. “Alas! how soon
our best resolutions pass away!--he was in a blessed frame for departure
but now, and in two minutes he has become a contemner of authorities.”
“Tell me at once,” said the Archer, “what has this young man done.”
“Interfered,” answered Trois Eschelles, with some earnestness, “to take
down the dead body of a criminal, when the fleur de lys was marked on
the tree where he was hung with my own proper hand.”
“How is this, young man?” said the Archer; “how came you to have
committed such an offence?”
“As I desire your protection,” answered Durward, “I will tell you the
truth as if I were at confession. I saw a man struggling on the tree,
and I went to cut him down out of mere humanity. I thought neither of
fleur de lys nor of clove gilliflower, and had no more idea of offending
the King of France than our Father the Pope.”
“What a murrain had you to do with the dead body, then?” said the
Archer. “You 'll see them hanging, in the rear of this gentleman, like
grapes on every tree, and you will have enough to do in this country
if you go a-gleaning after the hangman. However, I will not quit a
countryman's cause if I can help it.--Hark ye, Master Marshals man, you
see this is entirely a mistake. You should have some compassion on so
young a traveller. In our country at home he has not been accustomed to
see such active proceedings as yours and your master's.”
“Not for want of need of them, Signior Archer,” said Petit Andre, who
returned at this moment. “Stand fast, Trois Eschelles, for here comes
the Provost Marshal; we shall presently see how he will relish having
his work taken out of his hand before it is finished.”
“And in good time,” said the Archer, “here come some of my comrades.”
Accordingly, as the Provost Tristan rode up with his patrol on one side
of the little bill which was the scene of the altercation, four or five
Scottish Archers came as hastily up on the other, and at their head the
Balafre himself.
Upon this urgency, Lesly showed none of that indifference towards his
nephew of which Quentin had in his heart accused him; for he no sooner
saw his comrade and Durward standing upon their defence, than he
exclaimed, “Cunningham, I thank thee.--Gentlemen--comrades,
lend me your aid.--It is a young Scottish gentleman--my
nephew--Lindesay--Guthrie--Tyrie, draw, and strike in!”
There was now every prospect of a desperate scuffle between the parties,
who were not so disproportioned in numbers but that the better arms of
the Scottish cavaliers gave them an equal chance of victory. But the
Provost Marshal, either doubting the issue of the conflict, or aware
that it would be disagreeable to the King, made a sign to his followers
to forbear from violence, while he demanded of Balafre, who now put
himself forward as the head of the other party, what he, a cavalier of
the King's Bodyguard, purposed by opposing the execution of a criminal.
“I deny that I do so,” answered the Balafre. “Saint Martin! [patron
saint of Tours, Lucca, and of penitent drunkards. He was greatly
honoured in the Middle Ages.] there is, I think, some difference between
the execution of a criminal and a slaughter of my own nephew!”
“Your nephew may be a criminal as well as another,” said the Provost
Marshal; “and every stranger in France is amenable to the laws of
France.”
“Yes, but we have privileges, we Scottish Archers,” said Balafre, “have
we not, comrades?”
“Yes, yes,” they all exclaimed together. “Privileges--privileges! Long
live King Louis--long live the bold Balafre--long live the Scottish
Guard--and death to all who would infringe our privileges!”
“Take reason with you, gentlemen cavaliers,” said the Provost Marshal;
“consider my commission.”
“We will have no reason at your hand,” said Cunningham; “our own
officers shall do us reason. We will be judged by the King's grace,
or by our own Captain, now that the Lord High Constable is not in
presence.”
“And we will be hanged by none,” said Lindesay, “but Sandie Wilson, the
auld Marshals man of our ain body.”
“It would be a positive cheating of Sandie, who is as honest a man as
ever tied noose upon hemp, did we give way to any other proceeding,”
said the Balafre. “Were I to be hanged myself, no other should tie
tippet about my craig.”
“But hear ye,” said the Provost Marshal, “this young fellow belongs not
to you, and cannot share what you call your privileges.”
“What we call our privileges, all shall admit to be such,” said
Cunningham.
“We will not hear them questioned!” was the universal cry of the
Archers.
“Ye are mad, my masters,” said Tristan l'Hermite. “No one disputes your
privileges; but this youth is not one of you.”
“He is my nephew,” said the Balafre, with a triumphant air.
“But no Archer of the Guard, I think,” retorted Tristan l'Hermite.
The Archers looked on each other in some uncertainty.
“Stand to it yet, comrade,” whispered Cunningham to Balafre. “Say he is
engaged with us.”
“Saint Martin! you say well, fair countryman,” answered Lesly; and
raising his voice, swore that he had that day enrolled his kinsman as
one of his own retinue. This declaration was a decisive argument.
“It is well, gentlemen,” said the Provost Tristan, who was aware of
the King's nervous apprehension of disaffection creeping in among his
Guards. “You know, as you say, your privileges, and it is not my duty to
have brawls with the King's Guards, if it is to be avoided. But I will
report this matter for the King's own decision; and I would have you
to be aware, that, in doing so, I act more mildly than perhaps my duty
warrants.”
So saying, he put his troop into motion, while the Archers, remaining on
the spot, held a hasty consultation what was next to be done. “We must
report the matter to Lord Crawford, our Captain, in the first place, and
have the young fellow's name put on the roll.”
“But, gentlemen, and my worthy friends and preservers,” said Quentin,
with some hesitation, “I have not yet determined whether to take service
with you or no.”
“Then settle in your own mind,” said his uncle, “whether you choose to
do so, or be hanged--for I promise you, that, nephew of mine as you are,
I see no other chance of your 'scaping the gallows.”
This was an unanswerable argument, and reduced Quentin at once to
acquiesce in what he might have otherwise considered as no very
agreeable proposal; but the recent escape from the halter, which had
been actually around his neck, would probably have reconciled him to a
worse alternative than was proposed.
“He must go home with us to our caserne,” said Cunningham; “there is
no safety for him out of our bounds, whilst these man hunters are
prowling.”
“May I not then abide for this night at the hostelry where I
breakfasted, fair uncle?” said the youth--thinking, perhaps, like many a
new recruit, that even a single night of freedom was something gained.
“Yes, fair nephew,” answered his uncle, ironically, “that we may have
the pleasure of fishing you out of some canal or moat, or perhaps out
of a loop of the Loire, knit up in a sack for the greater convenience
of swimming--for that is like to be the end on't. The Provost Marshal
smiled on us when we parted,” continued he, addressing Cunningham, “and
that is a sign his thoughts were dangerous.”
“I care not for his danger,” said Cunningham; “such game as we are
beyond his bird bolts. But I would have thee tell the whole to the
Devil's Oliver [Oliver Dain: Oliver's name, or nickname, was Le Diable,
which was bestowed on him by public hatred, in exchange for Le Daim, or
Le Dain. He was originally the King's barber, but afterwards a favourite
counsellor. S.], who is always a good friend to the Scottish Guard, and
will see Father Louis before the Provost can, for he is to shave him
tomorrow.”
“But hark you,” said Balafre, “it is ill going to Oliver empty handed,
and I am as bare as the birch in December.”
“So are we all,” said Cunningham. “Oliver must not scruple to take our
Scottish words for once. We will make up something handsome among us
against the next payday; and if he expects to share, let me tell you,
the payday will come about all the sooner.”
“And now for the Chateau,” said Balafre; “and my nephew shall tell us by
the way how he brought the Provost Marshal on his shoulders, that we may
know how to frame our report both to Crawford and Oliver.”