Quentin Durward

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER IV: THE DEJEUNER

  Sacred heaven! what masticators! what bread!

  YORICK'S TRAVELS

  We left our young stranger in France situated more comfortably than hehad found himself since entering the territories of the ancient Gauls.The breakfast, as we hinted in the conclusion of the last chapter, wasadmirable. There was a pate de Perigord, over which a gastronome wouldhave wished to live and die, like Homer's lotus eaters [see the Odyssey,chap. ix, where Odysseus arrives at the land of the Lotus eaters:"whosoever of them ate the lotus's honeyed fruit resolved to bringtidings back no more and never to leave the place, but with the Lotuseaters there desired to stay, to feed on lotus and forget his goinghome." Palmer's Translation.], forgetful of kin, native country, and allsocial obligations whatever. Its vast walls of magnificent crust seemedraised like the bulwarks of some rich metropolitan city, an emblem ofthe wealth which they are designed to protect. There was a delicateragout, with just that petit point de l'ail [a little flavor of garlic.The French is ungrammatical.] which Gascons love, and Scottishmen donot hate. There was, besides, a delicate ham, which had once supported anoble wild boar in the neighbouring wood of Mountrichart. There was themost exquisite white bread, made into little round loaves called boules(whence the bakers took their French name of boulangers), of which thecrust was so inviting, that, even with water alone, it would have been adelicacy. But the water was not alone, for there was a flask of leathercalled bottrine, which contained about a quart of exquisite Vin deBeaulne. So many good things might have created appetite under the ribsof death. What effect, then, must they have produced upon a youngster ofscarce twenty, who (for the truth must be told) had eaten little for thetwo last days, save the scarcely ripe fruit which chance afforded him anopportunity of plucking, and a very moderate portion of barley bread?He threw himself upon the ragout, and the plate was presently vacant--heattacked the mighty pasty, marched deep into the bowels of the land, andseasoning his enormous meal with an occasional cup of wine, returned tothe charge again and again, to the astonishment of mine host, and theamusement of Maitre Pierre.

  The latter indeed, probably because he found himself the author of akinder action than he had thought of, seemed delighted with the appetiteof the young Scot; and when, at length, he observed that his exertionsbegan to languish, endeavoured to stimulate him to new efforts byordering confections, darioles [cream cakes], and any other lightdainties he could think of, to entice the youth to continue his meal.While thus engaged, Maitre Pierre's countenance expressed a kind of goodhumour almost amounting to benevolence, which appeared remote from itsordinary sharp, caustic, and severe character. The aged almost alwayssympathize with the enjoyments of youth and with its exertions of everykind, when the mind of the spectator rests on its natural poise and isnot disturbed by inward envy or idle emulation.

  Quentin Durward also, while thus agreeably employed, could do nootherwise than discover that the countenance of his entertainer, whichhe had at first found so unprepossessing, mended when it was seen underthe influence of the Vin de Beaulne, and there was kindness in the tonewith which he reproached Maitre Pierre, that he amused himself withlaughing at his appetite, without eating anything himself.

  "I am doing penance," said Maitre Pierre, "and may not eat anythingbefore noon, save some comfiture and a cup of water.--Bid yonder lady,"he added, turning to the innkeeper, "bring them hither to me."

  The innkeeper left the room, and Maitre Pierre proceeded, "Well, have Ikept faith with you concerning the breakfast I promised you?"

  "The best meal I have eaten," said the youth, "since I left GlenHoulakin."

  "Glen--what?" demanded Maitre Pierre. "Are you going to raise the devil,that you use such long tailed words?"

  "Glen Houlakin," answered Quentin good humouredly, "which is to say theGlen of the Midges, is the name of our ancient patrimony, my good sir.You have bought the right to laugh at the sound, if you please."

  "I have not the least intention to offend," said the old man; "but Iwas about to say, since you like your present meal so well, that theScottish Archers of the guard eat as good a one, or a better, everyday."

  "No wonder," said Durward; "for if they be shut up in the swallows'nests all night, they must needs have a curious appetite in themorning."

  "And plenty to gratify it upon," said Maitre Pierre. "They need not,like the Burgundians, choose a bare back, that they may have a fullbelly--they dress like counts, and feast like abbots."

  "It is well for them," said Durward.

  "And wherefore will you not take service here, young man? Your unclemight, I dare say, have you placed on the file when there shoulda vacancy occur. And, hark in your ear, I myself have some littleinterest, and might be of some use to you. You can ride, I presume, aswell as draw the bow?"

  "Our race are as good horsemen as ever put a plated shoe into a steelstirrup; and I know not but I might accept of your kind offer. Yet, lookyou, food and raiment are needful things, but, in my case, men think ofhonour, and advancement, and brave deeds of arms. Your King Louis--Godbless him, for he is a friend and ally of Scotland--but he lies here inthis castle, or only rides about from one fortified town to another;and gains cities and provinces by politic embassies, and not in fairfighting. Now, for me, I am of the Douglases' mind, who always kept thefields, because they loved better to hear the lark sing than the mousesqueak."

  "Young man," said Maitre Pierre, "do not judge too rashly of the actionsof sovereigns. Louis seeks to spare the blood of his subjects, and caresnot for his own. He showed himself a man of courage at Montl'hery."

  "Ay, but that was some dozen years ago or more," answered the youth--"Ishould like to follow a master that would keep his honour as brightas his shield, and always venture foremost in the very throng of thebattle."

  "Why did you not tarry at Brussels, then, with the Duke of Burgundy?He would put you in the way to have your bones broken every day; and,rather than fail, would do the job for you himself--especially if heheard that you had beaten his forester."

  "Very true," said Quentin; "my unhappy chance has shut that door againstme."

  "Nay, there are plenty of daredevils abroad, with whom mad youngstersmay find service," said his adviser. "What think you, for example, ofWilliam de la Marck?"

  "What!" exclaimed Durward, "serve Him with the Beard--serve the WildBoar of Ardennes--a captain of pillagers and murderers, who would takea man's life for the value of his gaberdine, and who slays priests andpilgrims as if they were so many lance knights and men at arms? It wouldbe a blot on my father's scutcheon for ever."

  "Well, my young hot blood," replied Maitre Pierre, "if you hold theSanglier [Wild Boar] too unscrupulous, wherefore not follow the youngDuke of Gueldres?"

  [Adolphus, son of Arnold and of Catherine de Bourbon.... He made waragainst his father; in which unnatural strife he made the old manprisoner, and used him with the most brutal violence, proceeding, itis said, even to the length of striking him with his hand. Arnold, inresentment of this usage, disinherited the unprincipled wretch, and soldto Charles of Burgundy whatever rights he had over the duchy of Gueldresand earldom of Zutphen.... S.]

  "Follow the foul fiend as soon," said Quentin. "Hark in your ear--he isa burden too heavy for earth to carry--hell gapes for him! Men say thathe keeps his own father imprisoned, and that he has even struck him--canyou believe it?"

  Maitre Pierre seemed somewhat disconcerted with the naive horror withwhich the young Scotsman spoke of filial ingratitude, and he answered,"You know not, young man, how short a while the relations of bloodsubsist amongst those of elevated rank;" then changed the tone offeeling in which he had begun to speak, and added, gaily, "besides, ifthe Duke has beaten his father, I warrant you his father hath beaten himof old, so it is but a clearing of scores."

  "I marvel to hear you speak thus," said the Scot, colouring withindignation; "gray hairs such as yours ought to have fitter subjects forjesting. If the old Duke did beat his son in childhood, he beat him note
nough; for better he had died under the rod, than have lived to makethe Christian world ashamed that such a monster had ever been baptized."

  "At this rate," said Maitre Pierre, "as you weigh the characters of eachprince and leader, I think you had better become a captain yourself; forwhere will one so wise find a chieftain fit to command him?"

  "You laugh at me, Maitre Pierre," said the youth, good humouredly, "andperhaps you are right; but you have not named a man who is a gallantleader, and keeps a brave party up here, under whom a man might seekservice well enough."

  "I cannot guess whom you mean."

  "Why, he that hangs like Mahomet's coffin [there is a tradition thatMahomet's coffin is suspended in mid air Without any support, the mostgenerally accepted explanation being that the coffin is of iron and isplaced between two magnets] (a curse be upon Mahomet!) between the twoloadstones--he that no man can call either French or Burgundian, but whoknows to hold the balance between them both, and makes both of them fearand serve him, for as great princes as they be."

  "I cannot guess whom you mean," said Maitre Pierre, thoughtfully.

  "Why, whom should I mean but the noble Louis de Luxembourg, Count ofSaint Paul, the High Constable of France? Yonder he makes his place goodwith his gallant little army, holding his head as high as either KingLouis or Duke Charles, and balancing between them like the boy whostands on the midst of a plank, while two others are swinging on theopposite ends."

  [This part of Louis XI's reign was much embarrassed by the intriguesof the Constable Saint Paul, who affected independence, and carried onintrigues with England, France, and Burgundy at the same time. Accordingto the usual fate of such variable politicians, the Constable ended bydrawing upon himself the animosity of all the powerful neighbours whomhe had in their turn amused and deceived. He was delivered up by theDuke of Burgundy to the King of France, tried, and hastily executed fortreason, A. D. 1475. S.]

  "He is in danger of the worst fall of the three," said Maitre Pierre."And hark ye, my young friend, you who hold pillaging such a crime, doyou know that your politic Count of Saint Paul was the first who set theexample of burning the country during the time of war? and that beforethe shameful devastation which he committed, open towns and villages,which made no resistance, were spared on all sides?"

  "Nay, faith," said Durward, "if that be the case, I shall begin to thinkno one of these great men is much better than another, and that a choiceamong them is but like choosing a tree to be hung upon. But thisCount de Saint Paul, this Constable, hath possessed himself by cleanconveyance of the town which takes its name from my honoured saint andpatron, Saint Quentin" [it was by his possession of this town ofSaint Quentin that the Constable was able to carry on those politicalintrigues which finally cost him so dear. S.] (here he crossed himself),"and methinks were I dwelling there, my holy patron would keep somelook out for me--he has not so many named after him as your more popularsaints--and yet he must have forgotten me, poor Quentin Durward, hisspiritual godson, since he lets me go one day without food, and leavesme the next morning to the harbourage of Saint Julian, and the chancecourtesy of a stranger, purchased by a ducking in the renowned riverCher, or one of its tributaries."

  "Blaspheme not the saints, my young friend," said Maitre Pierre. "SaintJulian is the faithful patron of travellers; and, peradventure, theblessed Saint Quentin hath done more and better for thee than thou artaware of."

  As he spoke, the door opened, and a girl rather above than under fifteenyears old, entered with a platter, covered with damask, on which wasplaced a small saucer of the dried plums which have always added to thereputation of Tours, and a cup of the curiously chased plate whichthe goldsmiths of that city were anciently famous for executing with adelicacy of workmanship that distinguished them from the other cities ofFrance, and even excelled the skill of the metropolis. The form of thegoblet was so elegant that Durward thought not of observing closelywhether the material was of silver, or like what had been placed beforehimself, of a baser metal, but so well burnished as to resemble thericher ore.

  But the sight of the young person by whom this service was executedattracted Durward's attention far more than the petty minutiae of theduty which she performed.

  He speedily made the discovery that a quantity of long black tresses,which, in the maiden fashion of his own country, were unadorned byany ornament, except a single chaplet lightly woven out of ivy leaves,formed a veil around a countenance which, in its regular features, darkeyes, and pensive expression, resembled that of Melpomene [the Museof tragedy], though there was a faint glow on the cheek, and anintelligence on the lips and in the eye, which made it seem that gaietywas not foreign to a countenance so expressive, although it might not beits most habitual expression. Quentin even thought he could discern thatdepressing circumstances were the cause why a countenance so young andso lovely was graver than belongs to early beauty; and as the romanticimagination of youth is rapid in drawing conclusions from slightpremises, he was pleased to infer, from what follows, that the fate ofthis beautiful vision was wrapped in silence and mystery.

  "How now, Jacqueline?" said Maitre Pierre, when she entered theapartment. "Wherefore this? Did I not desire that Dame Perette shouldbring what I wanted?--Pasques dieu!--Is she, or does she think herself,too good to serve me?"

  "My kinswoman is ill at ease," answered Jacqueline, in a hurried yet ahumble tone,--"ill at ease, and keeps her chamber."

  "She keeps it alone, I hope!" replied Maitre Pierre, with some emphasis;"I am vieux routier [one who is experienced in the ways of the world],and none of those upon whom feigned disorders pass for apologies."

  Jacqueline turned pale, and even tottered at the answer of MaitrePierre; for it must be owned that his voice and looks, at all timesharsh, caustic, and unpleasing, had, when he expressed anger orsuspicion, an effect both sinister and alarming.

  The mountain chivalry of Quentin Durward was instantly awakened, and hehastened to approach Jacqueline and relieve her of the burden she bore,and which she passively resigned to him, while, with a timid and anxiouslook, she watched the countenance of the angry burgess. It was not innature to resist the piercing and pity craving expression of her looks,and Maitre Pierre proceeded, not merely with an air of diminisheddispleasure, but with as much gentleness as he could assume incountenance and manner, "I blame not thee, Jacqueline, and thou art tooyoung to be, what it is pity to think thou must be one day--a false andtreacherous thing, like the rest of thy giddy sex. No man ever livedto man's estate, but he had the opportunity to know you all [he (Louis)entertained great contempt for the understanding, and not less for thecharacter, of the fair sex. S.]. Here is a Scottish cavalier will tellyou the same."

  Jacqueline looked for an instant on the young stranger, as if to obeyMaitre Pierre, but the glance, momentary as it was, appeared toDurward a pathetic appeal to him for support and sympathy; and withthe promptitude dictated by the feelings of youth, and the romanticveneration for the female sex inspired by his education, he answeredhastily that he would throw down his gage to any antagonist, of equalrank and equal age, who should presume to say such a countenance as thatwhich he now looked upon, could be animated by other than the purest andthe truest mind.

  The young woman grew deadly pale, and cast an apprehensive glance uponMaitre Pierre, in whom the bravado of the young gallant seemed only toexcite laughter, more scornful than applausive. Quentin, whose secondthoughts generally corrected the first, though sometimes after theyhad found utterance, blushed deeply at having uttered what might beconstrued into an empty boast in presence of an old man of a peacefulprofession; and as a sort of just and appropriate penance, resolvedpatiently to submit to the ridicule which he had incurred. He offeredthe cup and trencher to Maitre Pierre with a blush in his cheek, and ahumiliation of countenance which endeavoured to disguise itself under anembarrassed smile.

  "You are a foolish young man," said Maitre Pierre, "and know as littleof women as of princes,--whose hearts," he said, crossing himselfdevoutly, "God k
eeps in his right hand."

  "And who keeps those of the women, then?" said Quentin, resolved, if hecould help it, not to be borne down by the assumed superiority of thisextraordinary old man, whose lofty and careless manner possessed aninfluence over him of which he felt ashamed.

  "I am afraid you must ask of them in another quarter," said MaitrePierre, composedly.

  Quentin was again rebuffed, but not utterly disconcerted. "Surely,"he said to himself, "I do not pay this same burgess of Tours all thedeference which I yield him, on account of the miserable obligation ofa breakfast, though it was a right good and substantial meal. Dogs andhawks are attached by feeding only--man must have kindness, if youwould bind him with the cords of affection and obligation. But he isan extraordinary person; and that beautiful emanation that is evennow vanishing--surely a thing so fair belongs not to this mean place,belongs not even to the money gathering merchant himself, though heseems to exert authority over her, as doubtless he does over all whomchance brings within his little circle. It is wonderful what ideas ofconsequence these Flemings and Frenchmen attach to wealth--so muchmore than wealth deserves, that I suppose this old merchant thinks thecivility I pay to his age is given to his money. I a Scottish gentlemanof blood and coat armour, and he a mechanic of Tours!"

  Such were the thoughts which hastily traversed the mind of youngDurward; while Maitre Pierre said with a smile, and at the same timepatting Jacqueline's heed, from which hung down her long tresses, "Thisyoung man will serve me, Jacqueline, thou mayst withdraw. I will tellthy negligent kinswoman she does ill to expose thee to be gazed onunnecessarily."

  "It was only to wait on you," said the maiden. "I trust you will not bedispleased with my kinswoman, since"--

  "Pasques dieu!" said the merchant, interrupting her, but not harshly,"do you bandy words with me, you brat, or stay you to gaze upon theyoungster here?--Begone--he is noble, and his services will suffice me."

  Jacqueline vanished; and so much was Quentin Durward interested in hersudden disappearance that it broke his previous thread of reflection,and he complied mechanically when Maitre Pierre said, in the tone ofone accustomed to be obeyed, as he threw himself carelessly upon a largeeasy chair, "Place that tray beside me."

  The merchant then let his dark eyebrows sink over his keen eyes so thatthe last became scarce visible, or but shot forth occasionally a quickand vivid ray, like those of the sun setting behind a dark cloud,through which its beams are occasionally darted, but singly and for aninstant.

  "That is a beautiful creature," said the old man at last, raisinghis head, and looking steadily and firmly at Quentin, when he put thequestion,--"a lovely girl to be the servant of an auberge [an inn]? Shemight grace the board of an honest burgess; but 'tis a vile education, abase origin."

  It sometimes happens that a chance shot will demolish a noble castle inthe air, and the architect on such occasions entertains little goodwilltowards him who fires it, although the damage on the offender's part maybe wholly unintentional. Quentin was disconcerted, and was disposed tobe angry--he himself knew not why--with this old man, for acquaintinghim that this beautiful creature was neither more nor less than whather occupation announced; the servant of the auberge--an upper servant,indeed, and probably a niece of the landlord, or such like; but stilla domestic, and obliged to comply with the humour of the customers, andparticularly of Maitre Pierre, who probably had sufficiency of whims,and was rich enough to ensure their being attended to.

  The thought, the lingering thought, again returned on him, that heought to make the old gentleman understand the difference betwixt theirconditions, and call on him to mark, that, how rich soever he might be,his wealth put him on no level with a Durward of Glen Houlakin. Yet,whenever he looked on Maitre Pierre's countenance with such a purpose,there was, notwithstanding the downcast look, pinched features, andmean and miserly dress, something which prevented the young man fromasserting the superiority over the merchant which he conceived himselfto possess. On the contrary, the oftener and more fixedly Quentin lookedat him, the stronger became his curiosity to know who or what this manactually was; and he set him down internally for at least a Syndic orhigh magistrate of Tours, or one who was, in some way or other, in thefull habit of exacting and receiving deference. Meantime, the merchantseemed again sunk into a reverie, from which he raised himself only tomake the sign of the cross devoutly, and to eat some of the dried fruit,with a morsel of biscuit. He then signed to Quentin to give him the cup,adding, however, by way of question, as he presented it, "You are noble,you say?"

  "I surely am," replied the Scot, "if fifteen descents can make me so--soI told you before. But do not constrain yourself on that account, MaitrePierre--I have always been taught it is the duty of the young to assistthe more aged."

  "An excellent maxim," said the merchant, availing himself of the youth'sassistance in handing the cup, and filling it from a ewer which seemedof the same materials with the goblet, without any of those scruples inpoint of propriety which, perhaps, Quentin had expected to excite.

  "The devil take the ease and familiarity of this old mechanicalburgher!" said Durward once more to himself. "He uses the attendance ofa noble Scottish gentleman with as little ceremony as I would that of agillie from Glen Isla."

  The merchant, in the meanwhile, having finished his cup of water, saidto his companion, "From the zeal with which you seem to relish theVin de Beaulne, I fancy you would not care much to pledge me in thiselemental liquor. But I have an elixir about me which can convert eventhe rock water into the richest wines of France."

  As he spoke, he took a large purse from his bosom, made of the fur ofthe sea otter, and streamed a shower of small silver pieces into thegoblet, until the cup, which was but a small one, was more than halffull.

  "You have reason to be more thankful, young man," said Maitre Pierre,"both to your patron Saint Quentin and to Saint Julian, than you seemedto be but now. I would advise you to bestow alms in their name. Remainin this hostelry until you see your kinsman, Le Balafre, who will berelieved from guard in the afternoon. I will cause him to be acquaintedthat he may find you here, for I have business in the Castle."

  Quentin Durward would have said something to have excused himself fromaccepting the profuse liberality of his new friend; but Maitre Pierre,bending his dark brows, and erecting his stooping figure into anattitude of more dignity than he had yet seen him assume, said in a toneof authority, "No reply, young man, but do what you are commanded."

  With these words he left the apartment, making a sign, as he departed,that Quentin must not follow him.

  The young Scotsman stood astounded, and knew not what to think ofthe matter. His first most natural, though perhaps not most dignifiedimpulse, drove him to peer into the silver goblet, which assuredly wasmore than half full of silver pieces to the number of several scores, ofwhich perhaps Quentin had never called twenty his own at one time duringthe course of his whole life. But could he reconcile it to his dignityas a gentleman, to accept the money of this wealthy plebeian?--This wasa trying question; for, though he had secured a good breakfast, it wasno great reserve upon which to travel either back to Dijon, in case hechose to hazard the wrath and enter the service of the Duke of Burgundy,or to Saint Quentin, if he fixed on that of the Constable Saint Paul;for to one of those powers, if not to the king of France, he wasdetermined to offer his services. He perhaps took the wisest resolutionin the circumstances, in resolving to be guided by the advice of hisuncle; and, in the meantime, he put the money into his velvet hawkingpouch, and called for the landlord of the house, in order to restore thesilver cup--resolving, at the same time, to ask him some questions aboutthis liberal and authoritative merchant.

  The man of the house appeared presently; and, if not more communicative,was at least more loquacious, than he had been formerly. He positivelydeclined to take back the silver cup. It was none of his, he said, butMaitre Pierre's, who had bestowed it on his guest. He had, indeed, foursilver hanaps of his own, which had been left him by his g
randmother,of happy memory, but no more like the beautiful carving of that in hisguest's hand, than a peach was like a turnip--that was one of the famouscups of Tours, wrought by Martin Dominique, an artist who might brag allParis.

  "And, pray, who is this Maitre Pierre," said Durward, interrupting him,"who confers such valuable gifts on strangers?"

  "Who is Maitre Pierre?" said the host, dropping the words as slowly fromhis mouth as if he had been distilling them.

  "Ay," said Durward, hastily and peremptorily, "who is this MaitrePierre, and why does he throw about his bounties in this fashion?And who is the butcherly looking fellow whom he sent forward to orderbreakfast?"

  "Why, fair sir, as to who Maitre Pierre is, you should have asked thequestion of himself; and for the gentleman who ordered breakfast to bemade ready, may God keep us from his closer acquaintance!"

  "There is something mysterious in all this," said the young Scot. "ThisMaitre Pierre tells me he is a merchant."

  "And if he told you so," said the innkeeper, "surely he is a merchant."

  "What commodities does he deal in?"

  "Oh, many a fair matter of traffic," said the host; "and especially hehas set up silk manufactories here which match those rich bales thatthe Venetians bring from India and Cathay. You might see the rowsof mulberry trees as you came hither, all planted by Maitre Pierre'scommand, to feed the silk worms."

  "And that young person who brought in the confections, who is she, mygood friend?" said the guest.

  "My lodger, sir, with her guardian, some sort of aunt or kinswoman, as Ithink," replied the innkeeper.

  "And do you usually employ your guests in waiting on each other?" saidDurward; "for I observed that Maitre Pierre would take nothing from yourhand, or that of your attendant."

  "Rich men may have their fancies, for they can pay for them," said thelandlord; "this is not the first time Maitre Pierre has found the trueway to make gentlefolks serve at his beck."

  The young Scotsman felt somewhat offended at the insinuation; but,disguising his resentment, he asked whether he could be accommodatedwith an apartment at this place for a day, and perhaps longer.

  "Certainly," the innkeeper replied; "for whatever time he was pleased tocommand it."

  "Could he be permitted," he asked, "to pay his respects to the ladies,whose fellow lodger he was about to become?"

  The innkeeper was uncertain. "They went not abroad," he said, "andreceived no one at home."

  "With the exception, I presume, of Maitre Pierre?" said Durward.

  "I am not at liberty to name any exceptions," answered the man, firmlybut respectfully.

  Quentin, who carried the notions of his own importance pretty high,considering how destitute he was of means to support them, beingsomewhat mortified by the innkeeper's reply, did not hesitate to availhimself of a practice common enough in that age. "Carry to the ladies,"he said, "a flask of vernat, with my humble duty; and say that QuentinDurward, of the house of Glen Houlakin, a Scottish cavalier of honour,and now their fellow lodger, desires the permission to dedicate hishomage to them in a personal interview."

  The messenger departed, and returned, almost instantly, with the thanksof the ladies, who declined the proffered refreshment, and, with theiracknowledgments to the Scottish cavalier, regretted that, residing therein privacy, they could not receive his visit.

  Quentin bit his lip, took a cup of the rejected vernat, which the hosthad placed on the table. "By the mass, but this is a strange country,"said he to himself, "where merchants and mechanics exercise the mannersand munificence of nobles, and little travelling damsels, who hold theircourt in a cabaret [a public house], keep their state like disguisedprincesses! I will see that black browed maiden again, or it will gohard, however;" and having formed this prudent resolution, he demandedto be conducted to the apartment which he was to call his own.

  The landlord presently ushered him up a turret staircase, and fromthence along a gallery, with many doors opening from it, like those ofcells in a convent; a resemblance which our young hero, who recollected,with much ennui, an early specimen of a monastic life, was far fromadmiring. The host paused at the very end of the gallery, selected a keyfrom the large bunch which he carried at his girdle, opened the door,and showed his guest the interior of a turret chamber; small, indeed,but which, being clean and solitary, and having the pallet bed andthe few articles of furniture, in unusually good order, seemed, on thewhole, a little palace.

  "I hope you will find your dwelling agreeable here, fair sir," said thelandlord. "I am bound to pleasure every friend of Maitre Pierre."

  "Oh, happy ducking!" exclaimed Quentin Durward, cutting a caper onthe floor, so soon as his host had retired: "Never came good luck in abetter or a wetter form. I have been fairly deluged by my good fortune."

  As he spoke thus, he stepped towards the little window, which, as theturret projected considerably from the principal line of the building,not only commanded a very pretty garden of some extent, belonging to theinn, but overlooked, beyond its boundary, a pleasant grove of thosevery mulberry trees which Maitre Pierre was said to have planted forthe support of the silk worm. Besides, turning the eye from these moreremote objects, and looking straight along the wall, the turret ofQuentin was opposite to another turret, and the little window at whichhe stood commanded a similar little window in a corresponding projectionof the building. Now, it would be difficult for a man twenty years olderthan Quentin to say why this locality interested him more than eitherthe pleasant garden or the grove of mulberry trees; for, alas! eyeswhich have been used for forty years and upwards, look with indifferenceon little turret windows, though the lattice be half open to admit theair, while the shutter is half closed to exclude the sun, or perhapsa too curious eye--nay, even though there hang on the one side of thecasement a lute, partly mantled by a light veil of sea green silk. But,at Durward's happy age, such accidents, as a painter would call them,form sufficient foundation for a hundred airy visions and mysteriousconjectures, at recollection of which the full grown man smiles while hesighs, and sighs while he smiles.

  As it may be supposed that our friend Quentin wished to learn a littlemore of his fair neighbour, the owner of the lute and veil--as it may besupposed he was at least interested to know whether she might not provethe same whom he had seen in humble attendance on Maitre Pierre, it mustof course be understood that he did not produce a broad staring visageand person in full front of his own casement. Durward knew better theart of bird catching; and it was to his keeping his person skilfullywithdrawn on one side of his window; while he peeped through thelattice, that he owed the pleasure of seeing a white, round, beautifularm take down the instrument, and that his ears had presently aftertheir share in the reward of his dexterous management.

  The maid of the little turret, of the veil, and of the lute sang exactlysuch an air as we are accustomed to suppose flowed from the lips of thehigh born dames of chivalry, when knights and troubadours listened andlanguished. The words had neither so much sense, wit, or fancy as towithdraw the attention from the music, nor the music so much of art asto drown all feeling of the words. The one seemed fitted to the other;and if the song had been recited without the notes, or the air playedwithout the words, neither would have been worth noting. It is;therefore, scarcely fair to put upon record lines intended not to besaid or read, but only to be sung. But such scraps of old poetry havealways had a sort of fascination for us; and as the tune is lost forever unless Bishop [Sir Henry Rowley, an English composer and professorof music at Oxford in 1848. Among his most popular operas are GuyMannering and The Kniqht of Snowdon] happens to find the notes, or somelark teaches Stephens [Catherine (1794-1882): a vocalist and actresswho created Susanna in the Marriage of Figaro, and various parts inadaptation of Scott.] to warble the air--we will risk our credit, andthe taste of the Lady of the Lute, by preserving the verses, simple andeven rude as they are:

  Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the
bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day, Sits hush'd his partner nigh; Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, But where is County Guy?

  The village maid steals through the shade, Her shepherd's suit to hear; To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high born Cavalier. The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o'er earth and sky; And high and low the influence know --But where is County Guy?

  Whatever the reader may think of this simple ditty, it had a powerfuleffect on Quentin, when married to heavenly airs, and sung by a sweetand melting voice, the notes mingling with the gentle breezes whichwafted perfumes from the garden, and the figure of the songstressbeing so partially and obscurely visible as threw a veil of mysteriousfascination over the whole.

  At the close of the air, the listener could not help showing himselfmore boldly than he had yet done, in a rash attempt to see more than hehad yet been able to discover. The music instantly ceased--the casementwas closed, and a dark curtain, dropped on the inside, put a stop to allfarther observation on the part of the neighbour in the next turret.

  Durward was mortified and surprised at the consequence of hisprecipitance, but comforted himself with the hope that the Lady of theLute could neither easily forego the practice of an instrument whichseemed so familiar to her, nor cruelly resolve to renounce the pleasuresof fresh air and an open window for the churlish purpose of preservingfor her own exclusive ear the sweet sounds which she created. Therecame, perhaps, a little feeling of personal vanity to mingle with theseconsolatory reflections. If, as he shrewdly suspected, there was abeautiful dark tressed damsel inhabitant of the one turret, he could notbut be conscious that a handsome, young, roving, bright locked gallant,a cavalier of fortune, was the tenant of the other; and romances, thoseprudent instructors, had taught his youth that if damsels were shy, theywere yet neither void of interest nor of curiosity in their neighbours'affairs.

  Whilst Quentin was engaged in these sage reflections, a sort ofattendant or chamberlain of the inn informed him that a cavalier desiredto speak with him below.