I am as free as Nature first made man,
Ere the base laws of servitude began
When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
THE CONQUEST OF GRENADA
While Quentin held the brief communication with the ladies necessary
to assure them that this extraordinary addition to their party was the
guide whom they were to expect on the King's part, he noticed (for he
was as alert in observing the motions of the stranger, as the Bohemian
could be on his part) that the man not only turned his head as far back
as he could to peer at them, but that, with a singular sort of agility,
more resembling that of a monkey than of a man, he had screwed his whole
person around on the saddle so as to sit almost sidelong upon the horse,
for the convenience, as it seemed, of watching them more attentively.
Not greatly pleased with this manoeuvre, Quentin rode up to the Bohemian
and said to him, as he suddenly assumed his proper position on the
horse, “Methinks, friend, you will prove but a blind guide, if you look
at the tail of your horse rather than his ears.”
“And if I were actually blind,” answered the Bohemian, “I could not the
less guide you through any county in this realm of France, or in those
adjoining to it.”
“Yet you are no Frenchman,” said the Scot.
“I am not,” answered the guide.
“What countryman, then, are you,” demanded Quentin.
“I am of no country,” answered the guide.
“How! of no country?” repeated the Scot.
“No,” answered the Bohemian, “of none. I am a Zingaro, a Bohemian, an
Egyptian, or whatever the Europeans, in their different languages, may
choose to call our people, but I have no country.”
“Are you a Christian?” asked the Scotchman.
The Bohemian shook his head.
“Dog,” said Quentin (for there was little toleration in the spirit of
Catholicism in those days), “dost thou worship Mahoun?”
[Mahoun: Mohammed. It was a remarkable feature of the character of these
wanderers that they did not, like the Jews whom they otherwise resembled
in some particulars, possess or profess any particular religion,
whether in form or principle. They readily conformed, as far as might
be required, with the religion of any country in which they happened to
sojourn, but they did not practise it more than was demanded of them....
S.]
“No,” was the indifferent and concise answer of the guide, who neither
seemed offended nor surprised at the young man's violence of manner.
“Are you a Pagan, then, or what are you?”
“I have no religion,” answered the Bohemian.
Durward started back, for though he had heard of Saracens and Idolaters,
it had never entered into his ideas or belief that any body of men could
exist who practised no mode of worship whatever. He recovered from his
astonishment to ask his guide where he usually dwelt.
“Wherever I chance to be for the time,” replied the Bohemian. “I have no
home.”
“How do you guard your property?”
“Excepting the clothes which I wear, and the horse I ride on, I have no
property.”
“Yet you dress gaily, and ride gallantly,” said Durward. “What are your
means of subsistence?”
“I eat when I am hungry, drink when I am thirsty, and have no other
means of subsistence than chance throws in my Way,” replied the
vagabond.
“Under whose laws do you live?”
“I acknowledge obedience to none, but an it suits my pleasure or my
necessities,” said the Bohemian.
“Who is your leader, and commands you?”
“The father of our tribe--if I choose to obey him,” said the guide,
“otherwise I have no commander.”
“You are, then,” said the wondering querist, “destitute of all that
other men are combined by--you have no law, no leader, no settled means
of subsistence, no house or home. You have, may Heaven compassionate
you, no country--and, may Heaven enlighten and forgive you, you have no
God! What is it that remains to you, deprived of government, domestic
happiness, and religion?”
“I have liberty,” said the Bohemian “I crouch to no one, obey no
one--respect no one--I go where I will--live as I can--and die when my
day comes.”
“But you are subject to instant execution, at the pleasure of the
Judge?”
“Be it so,” returned the Bohemian, “I can but die so much the sooner.”
“And to imprisonment also,” said the Scot, “and where, then, is your
boasted freedom?”
“In my thoughts,” said the Bohemian, “which no chains can bind, while
yours, even when your limbs are free, remain fettered by your laws and
your superstitions, your dreams of local attachment, and your fantastic
visions of civil policy. Such as I are free in spirit when our limbs are
chained.--You are imprisoned in mind even when your limbs are most at
freedom.”
“Yet the freedom of your thoughts,” said the Scot, “relieves not the
pressure of the gyves on your limbs.”
“For a brief time that may be endured,” answered the vagrant, “and if
within that period I cannot extricate myself, and fail of relief from
my comrades, I can always die, and death is the most perfect freedom of
all.”
There was a deep pause of some duration, which Quentin at length broke
by resuming his queries.
“Yours is a wandering race, unknown to the nations of Europe.--Whence do
they derive their origin?”
“I may not tell you,” answered the Bohemian.
“When will they relieve this kingdom from their presence, and return to
the land from whence they came?” said the Scot.
“When the day of their pilgrimage shall be accomplished,” replied his
vagrant guide.
“Are you not sprung from those tribes of Israel which were carried into
captivity beyond the great river Euphrates?” said Quentin, who had not
forgotten the lore which had been taught him at Aberbrothick.
“Had we been so,” answered the Bohemian, “we had followed their faith
and practised their rites.”
“What is thine own name?” said Durward.
“My proper name is only known to my brethren. The men beyond our tents
call me Hayraddin Maugrabin--that is, Hayraddin the African Moor.”
“Thou speakest too well for one who hath lived always in thy filthy
horde,” said the Scot.
“I have learned some of the knowledge of this land,” said Hayraddin.
“When I was a little boy, our tribe was chased by the hunters after
human flesh. An arrow went through my mother's head, and she died. I
was entangled in the blanket on her shoulders, and was taken by the
pursuers. A priest begged me from the Provost's archers, and trained me
up in Frankish learning for two or three years.”
“How came you to part with him?” demanded Durward.
“I stole money from him--even the God which he worshipped,” answered
Hayraddin, with perfect composure, “he detected me, and beat me--I
stabbed him with my knife, fled to the woods, and was again united to my
people.”
“Wretch!” said Durward, “did you murder your benefactor?”
“What had he to do to burden me with his benefits?--The Zingaro boy was
no house bred cur, to dog the heels of his master, and crouch beneath
his blows, for scraps of food:--He was the imprisoned wolf whelp,
which at the first opportunity broke his chain, rended his master, and
returned to his wilderness.”
There was another pause, when the young Scot, with a view of still
farther investigating the character and purpose of this suspicious
guide, asked Hayraddin whether it was not true that his people, amid
their ignorance, pretended to a knowledge of futurity which was not
given to the sages, philosophers, and divines of more polished society.
“We pretend to it,” said Hayraddin, “and it is with justice.”
“How can it be that so high a gift is bestowed on so abject a race?”
said Quentin.
“Can I tell you?” answered Hayraddin.--“Yes, I may indeed, but it is
when you shall explain to me why the dog can trace the footsteps of a
man, while man, the nobler animal, hath not power to trace those of the
dog. These powers, which seem to you so wonderful, are instinctive in
our race. From the lines on the face and on the hand, we can tell the
future fate of those who consult us, even as surely as you know from the
blossom of the tree in spring what fruit it will bear in the harvest.”
“I doubt of your knowledge, and defy you to the proof.”
“Defy me not, Sir Squire,” said Hayraddin Maugrabin. “I can tell you
that, say what you will of your religion, the Goddess whom you worship
rides in this company.”
“Peace!” said Quentin, in astonishment, “on thy life, not a word
farther, but in answer to what I ask thee.--Canst thou be faithful?”
“I can--all men can,” said the Bohemian.
“But wilt thou be faithful?”
“Wouldst thou believe me the more should I swear it?” answered
Maugrabin, with a sneer.
“Thy life is in my hand,” said the young Scot.
“Strike, and see whether I fear to die,” answered the Bohemian.
“Will money render thee a trusty guide?” demanded Durward.
“If I be not such without it, no,” replied the heathen.
“Then what will bind thee?” asked the Scot.
“Kindness,” replied the Bohemian.
“Shall I swear to show thee such, if thou art true guide to us on this
pilgrimage?”
“No,” replied Hayraddin, “it were extravagant waste of a commodity so
rare. To thee I am bound already.”
“How?” exclaimed Durward, more surprised than ever.
“Remember the chestnut trees on the banks of the Cher! The victim whose
body thou didst cut down was my brother, Zamet the Maugrabin.”
“And yet,” said Quentin, “I find you in correspondence with those very
officers by whom your brother was done to death, for it was one of
them who directed me where to meet with you--the same, doubtless, who
procured yonder ladies your services as a guide.”
“What can we do?” answered Hayraddin, gloomily. “These men deal with us
as the sheepdogs do with the flock, they protect us for a while, drive
us hither and thither at their pleasure, and always end by guiding us to
the shambles.”
Quentin had afterwards occasion to learn that the Bohemian spoke truth
in this particular, and that the Provost guard, employed to suppress
the vagabond bands by which the kingdom was infested, entertained
correspondence among them, and forbore, for a certain time, the exercise
of their duty, which always at last ended in conducting their allies
to the gallows. This is a sort of political relation between thief and
officer, for the profitable exercise of their mutual professions, which
has subsisted in all countries, and is by no means unknown to our own.
Durward, parting from the guide, fell back to the rest of the retinue,
very little satisfied with the character of Hayraddin, and entertaining
little confidence in the professions of gratitude which he had
personally made to him. He proceeded to sound the other two men who
had been assigned him for attendants, and he was concerned to find them
stupid and as unfit to assist him with counsel, as in the rencounter
they had shown themselves reluctant to use their weapons.
“It is all the better,” said Quentin to himself, his spirit rising with
the apprehended difficulties of his situation, “that lovely young lady
shall owe all to me. What one hand--ay, and one head can do--methinks I
can boldly count upon. I have seen my father's house on fire, and he and
my brothers lying dead amongst the flames--I gave not an inch back, but
fought it out to the last. Now I am two years older, and have the best
and fairest cause to bear me well that ever kindled mettle within a
brave man's bosom.”
Acting upon this resolution, the attention and activity which Quentin
bestowed during the journey had in it something that gave him the
appearance of ubiquity. His principal and most favourite post was of
course by the side of the ladies, who, sensible of his extreme attention
to their safety, began to converse with him in almost the tone of
familiar friendship, and appeared to take great pleasure in the naivete,
yet shrewdness, of his conversation. Yet Quentin did not suffer the
fascination of this intercourse to interfere with the vigilant discharge
of his duty.
If he was often by the side of the Countesses, labouring to describe to
the natives of a level country the Grampian mountains, and, above all,
the beauties of Glen Houlakin, he was as often riding with Hayraddin
in the front of the cavalcade, questioning him about the road and the
resting places, and recording his answers in his mind, to ascertain
whether upon cross examination he could discover anything like meditated
treachery. As often again he was in the rear, endeavouring to secure
the attachment of the two horsemen by kind words, gifts, and promises of
additional recompense, when their task should be accomplished.
In this way they travelled for more than a week, through bypaths and
unfrequented districts, and by circuitous routes, in order to avoid
large towns. Nothing remarkable occurred, though they now and then met
strolling gangs of Bohemians, who respected them, as under the conduct
of one of their tribe--straggling soldiers, or perhaps banditti,
Who deemed their party too strong to be attacked--or parties of the
Marechaussee [mounted police], as they would now be termed, whom Louis,
who searched the wounds of the land with steel and cautery, employed to
suppress the disorderly bands which infested the interior. These last
suffered them to pursue, their way unmolested by virtue of a password
with which Quentin had been furnished for that purpose by the King
himself.
Their resting places were chiefly the monasteries, most of which were
obliged by the rules of their foundation to receive pilgrims, under
which character the ladies travelled, with hospitality and without any
troublesome inquiries into their rank and character, which most persons
of distinction were desirous of concealing while in the discharge
of their vows. The pretence of weariness was usually employed by the
Countesses of Croye as an excuse for instantly retiring to rest, and
Quentin, as their majordomo, arranged all that was necessary betwixt
them and their entertainers, with a shrewdness which saved them all
trouble, and an alacrity that failed not to excite a corresponding
degree of good will on the part of those who were thus sedulously
attended to.
One circumstance gave Quentin peculiar trouble, which was the character
and nation of his guide, who, as a heathen and an infidel vagabond,
addicted besides to occult arts (the badge of all his tribe), was often
looked upon as a very improper guest for the holy resting places at
which the company usually halted, and was not in consequence admitted
within even the outer circuit of their walls, save with extreme
reluctance. This was very embarrassing, for, on the one hand, it was
necessary to keep in good humour a man who was possessed of the secret
of their expedition, and, on the other, Quentin deemed it indispensable
to maintain a vigilant though secret watch on Hayraddin's conduct, in
order that, as far as might be, he should hold no communication with
any one without being observed. This of course was impossible, if the
Bohemian was lodged without the precincts of the convent at which they
stopped, and Durward could not help thinking that Hayraddin was desirous
of bringing about this latter arrangement for, instead of keeping
himself still and quiet in the quarters allotted to him, his
conversation, tricks, and songs were at the same time so entertaining
to the novices and younger brethren, and so unedifying in the opinion of
the seniors of the fraternity, that, in more cases than one, it required
all the authority, supported by threats, which Quentin could exert over
him, to restrain his irreverent and untimeous jocularity, and all the
interest he could make with the Superiors, to prevent the heathen hound
from being thrust out of the doors. He succeeded, however, by the adroit
manner in which he apologized for the acts of indecorum committed by
their attendant, and the skill with which he hinted the hope of his
being brought to a better sense of principles and behaviour, by the
neighbourhood of holy relics, consecrated buildings, and, above all, of
men dedicated to religion.
But upon the tenth or twelfth day of their journey, after they had
entered Flanders, and were approaching the town of Namur, all the
efforts of Quentin became inadequate to suppress the consequences of the
scandal given by his heathen guide. The scene was a Franciscan convent,
and of a strict and reformed order, and the Prior a man who afterwards
died in the odour of sanctity. After rather more than the usual scruples
(which were indeed in such a case to be expected) had been surmounted,
the obnoxious Bohemian at length obtained quarters in an out house
inhabited by a lay brother, who acted as gardener. The ladies retired
to their apartment, as usual, and the Prior, who chanced to have some
distant alliances and friends in Scotland, and who was fond of hearing
foreigners tell of their native countries, invited Quentin, with whose
mien and conduct he seemed much pleased, to a slight monastic refection
in his own cell. Finding the Father a man of intelligence, Quentin did
not neglect the opportunity of making himself acquainted with the state
of affairs in the country of Liege, of which, during the last two
days of their journey, he had heard such reports as made him very
apprehensive for the security of his charge during the remainder of
their route, nay, even of the Bishop's power to protect them, when they
should be safely conducted to his residence. The replies of the Prior
were not very consolatory.
He said that the people of Liege were wealthy burghers, who, like
Jeshurun [a designation for Israel] of old, had waxed fat and
kicked--that they were uplifted in heart because of their wealth
and their privileges--that they had divers disputes with the Duke of
Burgundy, their liege lord, upon the subject of imports and immunities
and that they had repeatedly broken out into open mutiny, whereat the
Duke was so much incensed, as being a man of a hot and fiery nature,
that he had sworn, by Saint George, on the next provocation, he would
make the city of Liege like to the desolation of Babylon and the
downfall of Tyre, a hissing and a reproach to the whole territory of
Flanders.
[Babylon: taken by Cyrus in 538 B. C. See Revelation xviii, 21: “A
mighty angel took up a stone... and cast it into the sea, saying, Thus
with violence shall that great city Babylon be thrown down, and shall be
found no more.”]
[Tyre: conquered by Alexander the Great in 332 B. C. “I will make thee
a terror, and thou shalt be no more... yet shalt thou never be found
again, saith the Lord God.” Ezekiel xxvi, 21.]
“And he is a prince by all report likely to keep such a vow,” said
Quentin, “so the men of Liege will probably beware how they give him
occasion.”
“It were to be so hoped,” said the Prior, “and such are the prayers of
the godly in the land, who would not that the blood of the citizens
were poured forth like water, and that they should perish, even as utter
castaways, ere they make their peace with Heaven. Also the good Bishop
labours night and day to preserve peace, as well becometh a servant
of the altar, for it is written in Holy Scripture, Beati pacifici.
But”--Here the good Prior stopped, with a deep sigh.
Quentin modestly urged the great importance of which it was to the
ladies whom he attended, to have some assured information respecting the
internal state of the country, and what an act of Christian charity it
would be, if the worthy and reverend Father would enlighten them upon
that subject.
“It is one,” said the Prior, “on which no man speaks with willingness,
for those who speak evil of the powerful, etiam in cubiculo [even in the
bed chamber], may find that a winged thing shall carry the matter to his
ears. Nevertheless, to render you, who seem an ingenuous youth, and your
ladies, who are devout votaresses accomplishing a holy pilgrimage, the
little service that is in my power, I will be plain with you.”
He then looked cautiously round and lowered his voice, as if afraid of
being overheard.
“The people of Liege,” he said, “are privily instigated to their
frequent mutinies by men of Belial [in the Bible this term is used as
an appellative of Satan], who pretend, but, as I hope, falsely, to have
commission to that effect from our most Christian King, whom, however,
I hold to deserve that term better than were consistent with his thus
disturbing the peace of a neighbouring state. Yet so it is, that his
name is freely used by those who uphold and inflame the discontents at
Liege. There is, moreover, in the land, a nobleman of good descent, and
fame in warlike affairs, but otherwise, so to speak, Lapis offensionis
et petra scandali--and a stumbling block of offence to the countries of
Burgundy and Flanders. His name is William de la Marck.”
“Called William with the Beard,” said the young Scot, “or the Wild Boar
of Ardennes?”
“And rightly so called, my son,” said the Prior, “because he is as the
wild boar of the forest, which treadeth down with his hoofs and rendeth
with his tusks. And he hath formed to himself a band of more than a
thousand men, all, like himself, contemners of civil and ecclesiastical
authority, and holds himself independent of the Duke of Burgundy, and
maintains himself and his followers by rapine and wrong, wrought without
distinction upon churchmen and laymen. Imposuit manus in Christos
Domini--he hath stretched forth his hand upon the anointed of the Lord,
regardless of what is written, 'Touch not mine anointed, and do my
prophets no wrong.'--Even to our poor house did he send for sums of
gold and sums of silver, as a ransom for our lives, and those of
our brethren, to which we returned a Latin supplication, stating our
inability to answer his demand, and exhorting him in the words of the
preacher, Ne moliaris amico tuo malum, cum habet in te fiduciam [devise
not evil against thy neighbour who dwelleth by thee in security].
Nevertheless, this Guilielmus Barbatus, this William de la Marck, as
completely ignorant of humane letters as of humanity itself, replied, in
his ridiculous jargon, Si non payatis, brulabo monasterium vestrum [if
you do not pay, I will burn your monastery. A similar story is told of
the Duke of Vendome, who answered in this sort of macaronic Latin the
classical expostulations of a German convent against the imposition of a
contribution. S.].”
“Of which rude Latin, however, you, my good father,” said the youth,
“were at no loss to conceive the meaning?”
“Alas! my son,” said the Prior, “Fear and Necessity are shrewd
interpreters, and we were obliged to melt down the silver vessels of our
altar to satisfy the rapacity of this cruel chief. May Heaven requite it
to him seven fold! Pereat improbus--Amen, amen, anathema esto! [let the
wicked perish. Let him be anathema! 'In pronouncing an anathema against
a person, the church excludes him from her communion; and he must, if he
continue obstinate, perish eternally.' Cent. Dict.]”
“I marvel,” said Quentin, “that the Duke of Burgundy, who is so strong
and powerful, doth not bait this boar to purpose, of whose ravages I
have already heard so much.”
“Alas! my son,” said the Prior, “the Duke Charles is now at Peronne,
assembling his captains of hundreds and his captains of thousands, to
make war against France, and thus, while Heaven hath set discord between
the hearts of those great princes, the country is misused by such
subordinate oppressors. But it is in evil time that the Duke neglects
the cure of these internal gangrenes, for this William de la Marck hath
of late entertained open communication with Rouslaer and Pavillon, the
chiefs of the discontented at Liege, and it is to be feared he will soon
stir them up to some desperate enterprise.”
“But the Bishop of Liege,” said Quentin, “he hath still power enough to
subdue this disquieted and turbulent spirit--hath he not, good father?
Your answer to this question concerns me much.”
“The Bishop, my child,” replied the Prior, “hath the sword of Saint
Peter, as well as the keys. He hath power as a secular prince, and
he hath the protection of the mighty House of Burgundy, he hath also
spiritual authority as a prelate, and he supports both with a reasonable
force--of good soldiers and men at arms. This William de la Marck was
bred in his household, and bound to him by many benefits. But he gave
vent, even in the court of the Bishop, to his fierce and bloodthirsty
temper, and was expelled thence for a homicide committed on one of the
Bishop's chief domestics. From thenceforward, being banished from the
good Prelate's presence, he hath been his constant and unrelenting foe,
and now, I grieve to say, he hath girded his loins, and strengthened his
horn against him.”
“You consider, then, the situation of the worthy Prelate as being
dangerous?” said Quentin, very, anxiously.
“Alas! my son,” said the good Franciscan, “what or who is there in this
weary wilderness, whom we may not hold as in danger? But Heaven forefend
I should speak of the reverend Prelate as one whose peril is imminent.
He has much treasure, true counsellors, and brave soldiers, and,
moreover, a messenger who passed hither to the eastward yesterday saith
that the Duke of Burgundy hath dispatched, upon the Bishop's request,
an hundred men at arms to his assistance. This reinforcement, with the
retinue belonging to each lance, are enough to deal with William de la
Marck, on whose name be sorrow!--Amen.”
At this crisis their conversation was interrupted by the Sacristan,
who, in a voice almost inarticulate with anger, accused the Bohemian of
having practised the most abominable arts of delusion among the younger
brethren. He had added to their nightly meal cups of a heady and
intoxicating cordial, of ten times the strength of the most powerful
wine, under which several of the fraternity had succumbed, and indeed,
although the Sacristan had been strong to resist its influence, they
might yet see, from his inflamed countenance and thick speech, that even
he, the accuser himself, was in some degree affected by this unhallowed
potation. Moreover, the Bohemian had sung songs of worldly vanity and
impure pleasures, he had derided the cord of Saint Francis, made jest of
his miracles, and termed his votaries fools and lazy knaves. Lastly, he
had practised palmistry, and foretold to the young Father Cherubin
that he was helped by a beautiful lady, who should make him father to a
thriving boy.
The Father Prior listened to these complaints for some time in silence,
as struck with mute horror by their enormous atrocity. When the
Sacristan had concluded, he rose up, descended to the court of the
convent, and ordered the lay brethren, on pain of the worst consequences
of spiritual disobedience, to beat Hayraddin out of the sacred precincts
with their broom staves and cart whips.
This sentence was executed accordingly, in the presence of Quentin
Durward, who, however vexed at the occurrence, easily saw that his
interference would be of no avail.
The discipline inflicted upon the delinquent, notwithstanding the
exhortations of the Superior, was more ludicrous than formidable. The
Bohemian ran hither and thither through the court, amongst the clamour
of voices, and noise of blows, some of which reached him not because
purposely misaimed, others, sincerely designed for his person, were
eluded by his activity, and the few that fell upon his back and
shoulders he took without either complaint or reply. The noise and
riot was the greater, that the inexperienced cudgel players, among whom
Hayraddin ran the gauntlet, hit each other more frequently than they
did him, till at length, desirous of ending a scene which was more
scandalous than edifying, the Prior commanded the wicket to be flung
open, and the Bohemian, darting through it with the speed of lightning,
fled forth into the moonlight. During this scene, a suspicion which
Durward had formerly entertained, recurred with additional strength.
Hayraddin had, that very morning, promised to him more modest and
discreet behaviour than he was wont to exhibit, when they rested in a
convent on their journey, yet he had broken his engagement, and had been
even more offensively obstreperous than usual. Something probably lurked
under this, for whatever were the Bohemian's deficiencies, he lacked
neither sense, nor, when he pleased, self command, and might it not be
probable that he wished to hold some communication, either with, his own
horde or some one else, from which he was debarred in the course of
the day by the vigilance with which he was watched by Quentin, and had
recourse to this stratagem in order to get himself turned out of the
convent?
No sooner did this suspicion dart once more through Quentin's mind,
than, alert as he always was in his motions, he resolved to follow his
cudgelled guide, and observe (secretly if possible) how he disposed of
himself. Accordingly, when the Bohemian fled, as already mentioned, out
at the gate of the convent, Quentin, hastily explaining to the Prior the
necessity of keeping sight of his guide, followed in pursuit of him.